#I've never written fan fiction before so like.. let me know if you like it?

[breathlesswinds]

(Devlog) What We Learned Making A Trans Dating Game

Hello, Amelia here, the writer for Breathless Winds. It's been 250,000+ words, countless revisions, and three years since this game entered development, and I wanted to talk about what I've learned leading up to release.

The concept for Breathless Winds was actually sort of a joke between friends. I was talking with Doris about how there should be a dating game where you play as a trans woman and your dating options revolve around certain ‘tropes’ we’d both seen in trans fiction-- the totally accepting cishet guy who falls in love with the trans heroine before she even knows she’s a woman, the cool trans woman who the heroine doesn’t know if she wants to date or wants to be, and so on.

Doris wound up suggesting we make this game ourselves. We both like visual novels and want to tell LGBT stories. Still half-jokingly and half-seriously, we started fleshing out what the romance options would be and coming up with a setting-- and soon, we were fully committed to making this game real.

I was a fan of visual novels but had only ever written prose. I knew which visual novels I liked and which scenes stood out, but I didn’t know why they did or how to make my own. 

I read some great advice from visual novel developers, but a good amount of my knowledge came from just working on Breathless Winds. As our first project, this game has grown a lot with us and we’ve learned a lot while making it.

Learning How to Write Visual Novels

A bad habit I had to break out of was only using the ‘novel’ part of the game and not the ‘visual’ part. I would sometimes write “He smiled” or lines like that, and Doris informed me that we can convey this much more simply with a sprite change.

It sounds obvious in retrospect, but lines like that are often pretty invisible when you’re reading a non-visual novel. These lines change the sprite of the character inside your head (if that makes sense, haha). I realized that I’m so used to them being ‘invisible’ that I didn’t notice their absence in visual novels I liked, so I would accidentally include them while writing. 

I was also writing these routes in a word processor, so I didn’t have the visual portion to reference, myself. I wound up making a lot of ‘tone’ notes like, “Lantana should be smug here” so that the meaning would carry when revising and implementing these into Ren’py. 

So, while visual novels share a lot with prose, they’re an entirely different medium. On the subject of representing things visually, I’ve struggled trying to figure out how much can be visually represented and how much should be written. 

Every asset in the game has to be drawn by Doris, so if I want the characters to go to a new location for a scene, I have to keep in mind that’s another background that Doris has to draw. If I want a new character to show up, that’s another sprite she has to draw. I don’t want to overload her, but if I’m trying to avoid this entirely, characters sometimes wind up standing in one room talking for ages without anything significant changing on-screen.

I’ve learned that it’s recommended for something to almost always be changing on-screen, though, so sometimes I just have to ask Doris to make a new asset for a certain scene. I still try to stick to locations/characters that already exist more often than not.

Every single thing in a visual novel is deliberate. Another thing I’ve had to learn that I never even considered before is how to write each line so it fits in the text box. It sounds obvious, but when I’m playing a visual novel, I don’t usually think about how each line has to be carefully constructed so it doesn’t need to be split up into two or more text boxes. In my mind, if a visual novel is well-created, there’s not much that breaks a reader’s immersion.

Planning & Outlining

The previous section might sound really weird to some people, so let me elaborate.  I’m a lifelong ‘write by the seat of your pants’-er, so the biggest trial-and-error of creating Breathless Winds for me was planning out the game.

Initially, I created outlines for each of the four routes, and we agreed ahead of time on which CGs each route would have. That way, Doris could draw the necessary backgrounds and CGs while I was in the long process of drafting this game.  My original outlines weren’t great. I know a lot of people have different experiences with writing, but for me personally, a story is always shaping itself in my mind. When I started making the outlines for Breathless Winds, I knew the concepts we wanted to convey, but I didn’t know what each route (and the game as a whole) was really about yet. This might sound weird and unprofessional, but sometimes, I don’t know what a story is about until I finish the first draft.

So while I was writing, I would look at my outlines and I would think, “this doesn’t actually make sense, he wouldn’t say that” or “this plot point would work better if moved to this other section” or “there’s a plot hole here I didn’t notice”. The story wound up changing a lot in this way as I learned what it’s really ‘about’. 

And even after I finished the first draft, I’d get feedback from Doris and/or my editor and they would suggest fixes to problems that even I hadn’t noticed, and then I would revise the route some more, and later on I’d come back and need to redo part of the route to comply with something I wrote in a later route-- I haven’t really felt ‘finished’ with Breathless Winds at any point, and I think I’ll still feel this way after the game is released.

This means that sometimes, a background was created but would go unused because there was no space for the scene that would use it, or we’d need a new CG last-minute, or so on. 

When I’m figuring things out as I go while writing a non-VN, the only person that I can adversely affect is my own self… so I’m eternally grateful for all of Doris’s patience with me on this matter. I think Breathless Winds has come out a much better game for all the re-plotting and revision. 

I redid the outlines several times as I went. I think I’ve understood how to create outlines that personally work for me-- ‘living’ outlines that hit all the main points, but leave wiggle room for moments when a character does something unexpected, work the best for me.

Scope Creep

So, originally, each route was meant to be 40,000 words. “With four routes, that’s only 160,000 words!” I thought. “And some of my favorite visual novels are about that long, so I can write that much, too!” ← clueless

This is the most infamous mistake that new creators make, and I walked right into it. I should have known better since I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with past non-VN writing projects before, but I was starry-eyed and didn’t realize how much work it is to make a VN. Some of those favorite visual novels I referenced were made by much larger teams, writers whose full-time job was writing (I wrote all of these routes on the side while working at a day job). 

If I could have done it again, I would have asked Doris to start out with a really short VN. But, I don’t regret making Breathless Winds at all. It’s brought Doris and I a lot closer, for one. Every time I thought I wanted to give up on this, Doris would motivate me to continue. Without the two of us both and our strong friendship, Breathless Winds wouldn’t exist, and I think that’s beautiful. 

No matter what, we’re going to see it through to the end. (I hope people like it, though…)

Anyway, here I am talking about how much 40,000 words is. Each route now is about 60k to 70k words. The problem with having evolving outlines is that they can often evolve into double their original size.

We came up with the idea of the poachers really early in development, and then not addressing the poachers felt like a failing, but by that point it was too late to remove the poachers entirely… and so the game wound up a lot longer dealing with the poachers. 

I think that if we had an editor sooner on in the game’s development, then we might have had someone to tell us, “do you really need all of this in the game? Does this plot point really need to be there? Will you be able to write all of this in a reasonable amount of time?”, haha. But Doris and I were really excited about the possibilities of this game when we started creating it, and without anyone to reel us back in, we wound up coming up with more and more things we wanted to put in the game.

Did you know there was going to be an island full of talking rats who say things like “the big cheese” and stuff all the time in Breathless Winds? Yeah. 

The Core Design Philosophy of Breathless Winds

So, for anyone who’s read this far but doesn’t know yet-- the premise of Breathless Winds is that you play as a trans woman who doesn’t know she’s trans yet, and she finds love with one of four love interests as she discovers her gender identity. 

In real life, it can be a lot messier for a person to date when discovering their gender identity. To put it briefly and mildly, a trans person’s life and sense of personal identity can rapidly change during a gender crisis and the early stages of transition. 

However, we wanted to make this game a ‘wish-fulfillment’ type story-- a trans fantasy about acceptance, community, and love. During a gender crisis, it can be easy to feel as if one has lost touch with themselves and become isolated from others. A sincere wish shared by many trans people is to be accepted, loved, and even celebrated as their true gender, not just tolerated. 

Since many trans people don’t get love and acceptance in real life, especially with the ongoing transphobic moral panic, we wanted to create a game that would bring this feeling of trans joy and celebration to trans audiences. 

We also hope that cis players will still enjoy the story and characters, and maybe come away from the game with a new understanding about being transgender and other aspects of LGBT identity (although we never intended this game to be ‘educational’).

Making Characters that Celebrate Trans Identity

Although we went through several revisions, the core identities of each character stayed the same since the game was first ‘jokingly’ pitched. In another post, I discussed how each character is themed around a change in seasons. (I also wound up theming them around the four humors when I was initially concepting them-- I really wanted to avoid too much ‘overlap’ in the LI’s personalities, haha). 

Ultimately, characters are created to serve a role. The LIs in Breathless Winds were designed to be love interests, of course-- characters who would appeal to the hypothetical trans femme audience. As mentioned earlier, we modeled them after other trans fiction tropes because these types of characters have a certain tried-and-true appeal, but this left plenty of flexibility to put our own spin on it. 

A trans woman being loved as a woman by a cishet guy can feel like a high form of ‘passing’, ‘fitting in’ to the female gender role, and being validated by his orientation. He only likes women, and he likes you, so you’re undoubtedly a woman. As a cishet guy, he represents a sort of acceptance into a societal norm that trans women can desire to live to. (Lantana, as a cis lesbian, represents the sapphic counterpoint to this-- although there is of course a big gap between the ‘normalcy’ of a cishet man and a cis lesbian woman, and I don’t mean to say those two are equivalent.) 

But not all trans women want to live to that (cis) societal norm. Rue and Valerian, as a trans woman and a trans man respectively, are the t4t options. 

Rue’s route represents that trans/sapphic ‘envy’ (“do I want her or do I want to be her?”) as well as finding power in community aside from what society considers ‘normal’. We’ve always been pretty clear about what we wanted to do with Rue’s route.

We went back and forth a lot more on Valerian’s route. Initially, we were unsure if he should be trans. He and Rue are the two less-friendly love interests (at least initially), so I was afraid it would come across that t4t is a more hostile option, which is not true at all. But it also felt like a mistake to not have a trans man in the game-- but making Gallardia trans would have required a big overhaul of what we had in mind for him and his route. (Although, childhood friends t4t is a really good idea...)

Beyond that, Valerian takes a villainous role in any route that isn't his own. We were worried that it would be wrong to have a trans antagonist who represents unjust power. However, Breathless Winds is a queer game with other positive trans characters, and we've always approached Valerian as a hot anti-villain man that you can't help but like.

In the end, Valerian’s route is about breaking generational cycles and what it is that makes you a man, and I also managed to sneak in a scene where they dance at a ball in the royal palace, so in the end I think it all worked out great.

Wish Fulfillment and Catharsis

Doris and I both agreed that we wouldn’t depict on-screen transphobia in Breathless Winds. Poppy worries about not being accepted, but fear of acceptance can come with any change in identity. Rue was rejected by her family for being trans, but this doesn’t take place ‘on screen’ in the game. There exist certain metaphorical parallels for transness and transphobia, but every route has a happy ending. 

Following up on this-- it can be difficult to write about discovery of gender identity without writing about transphobia, considering how many trans people suffer from internalized transphobia during their period of repression.

Sometimes, repressed/closeted transgender people ‘hyper-perform’ their assigned gender as a form of denial. A trans woman might grow out a beard and join a gym, while a trans man might become very interested in makeup and feminine clothing. 

In Breathless Winds, Poppy often struggles with ‘strength’ and what it means to be a man. In several routes, she tries to prove her strength under the assumption that being stronger would make her happy. Afraid the world would reject her if she became who she really is, she preemptively rejects herself.

Not every trans person suffers from prolonged denial, internalized transphobia, or even gender dysphoria. I don’t think it’s impossible to tell a purely-positive story about trans joy. 

While Poppy never gets rejected for being trans, faces transphobia, gets called a slur, etc, she faces both internal and external (metaphorical) obstacles to realizing and accepting her identity. 

Gallardia represents a societal norm that Poppy can’t live up to herself as a man.

Lantana suffers from certain aspects of her identity as a woman, which makes Poppy feel guilt for wanting to be a girl.

Rue is isolated from town at the start of her route, a ‘punishment’ for breaking this societal norm.

Valerian has to hyper-conform to his masculine gender role at first in toxic ways before finding acceptance from within and from his loved ones.

These struggles are real to a lot of people, but instead of pretending they don’t exist, I hoped to tell a story about catharsis. Poppy is able to live up to her truth as a woman and finds love with Gallardia, Poppy and Lantana redefine what being a woman should and does mean to them, Rue and Poppy find community in others who don’t fit the norm, Poppy and Valerian stop seeking gender validation from a society that was never made to serve them. 

Although these powerful forces of oppression exist, loving yourself as a trans person- and loving those around you, protecting the natural world, and standing up for what you believe in- can save the day. That’s the kind of story we wanted to tell.

Wrap-up

There’s a lot more I could write, but this has already gotten really long (sorry!) so I’ll wrap it up here. 

Learning how to write a visual novel in terms of technical skill (how to depict events on-screen, how long each line should be) as well as in terms of writing skill (how to outline the game, how to plan visual assets) has been a massive undertaking for me. 

Writing Breathless Winds has been a big challenge but also deeply rewarding, and all of your support has made the experience even more wonderful. Thank you for reading and thank you for supporting the game!

[braxlrose]

I miss ur writings sm :(

I am so sorry that I've been gone for so long, I haven't posted any fan fiction in so many months and honestly I lost motivation 😭 so many ppl who were in this fandom and I created a community with, were slowly getting over this "phase" and it definitely affected me. But I'm going to try and get back into writing. I hope this will do good for now! Ive had a lot of ppl recently ask for 2005 bill hcs, and I've done that before so if this is repetitive for something else I've written, sorry!

content warnings: none

a/n: I'll be updating my tag list since it hasn't been updated since like August of last year and I don't want to be tagging people who don't care or want to see these posts anymore. So if you wanna be tagged, let me know!

2005!bill kaulitz x f!reader

sfw:

- I'm an alternative person so whenever I write for bill, I always imagine him with an alternative girl 😞 even though from what I've seen he's never really been w/ an alternative one, BUT LETS PRETEND OKAY 🙏🙏

• he absolutely loves doing hair together, I think he enjoys helping you do your hair in the morning and your make up. And he's even more greatful if you do his makeup. Then he can just relax while you help him.

• pookie has crunchy ass hair at the end of the day when he has to wash it out, don't make fun of him 😞

• getting piercings together is something he LOVES doing with you. Mainly early piercings because he only has a tongue and eyebrow piercing on his face.

• if you made music too, he would always go to your concerts and basically scream the entire time. Hopefully, you'd do the same for him.

• if you have longer nails, head scratches are always a must and he will lay in your lap for literal hours while you pamper him.

- I personally think he would love to learn words in your language if you keep something different than German. And despite what anybody thinks, he finds it hilarious to learn the dirty words.

• if you cook him something from your culture, he will literally die. He basically thinks everything about you is so cool, and learning about a culture different from his is so exciting

• but if you two really want to date, you'll have to both try to learn English or each other language because there is going to be a hard language barrier between you two.

- I think one of the reasons he would've fallen in love with you is because you were upfront with him. He's not the type of guy to just go up and kiss someone so if you confess first, that would make things so much easier.

- obviously, you'd have to get along with Tom, Georg and Gustav. So if you don't, there's no way he'll go out with you, especially if you can't get along or hate Tom.

-Dates together consist of stuff you guys bought somewhere, or if you guys went to a fastfood restaurant.

• He doesn't have a lot of money yet so dates wouldn't exactly be high class, hopefully you don't mind 😉

-Since this is around the time Tokio Hotel is getting increasingly famous, there are fangirls around trying to flirt and ask out bill all the time and he has to shoo them off. He reminds you every night about how much he loves you and that those fan girls shouldn't bother you.

-he likes to spoon you a lot, and you two switch back n forth between him being the big spoon and the small spoon.

• I think he also really likes it when you lay on top of him, with your face in his neck and your legs wrapped around him. (This also works sitting upwards).

• cuddling with him is so nice too because he actually smells really good 😱

- I think he still gets very insecure sometimes because of the haters and people who harass the band because they don't like them and you reassure him a lot.

a/n pt 2: sorry this wasn't too long! I'm trying to get back into the groove of writing so if this is terrible I'm sorry 😞

taglist: none right now

[novelizt]

PEERING EYES OVER WROUGHT-IRON FENCES ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ childhood friends (to estranged friends) to lovers. angst w/ a happy ending.

WC ➺ 12.2k

SYNOPSIS ➺ to uncover the mystery of iris griffith's murder, it's time to face the music, cross the fence, and talk to a friend you never expected to become a stranger to.

WARNINGS ➺ mentions of the lockwood family tragedies, strained family dynamics, discussions and descriptions of murder

DISCLAIMER ➺ fem! reader. lockwood & co. are aged up to about 18-years-old, I try to shoe-horn forensic science into psychical investigations (I am not a professional so... it's unrealistic, sorry.), and Lockwood calls reader cherry/cherry cheeks

NOTE ➺ I can't remember if Portland Row has wrought-iron fences. In case it doesn't, it does now — this is fan fiction. Also, this is the first time I've finished a story this lengthy and I feel really proud of myself. I hope you enjoy!

The first time Lockwood had laid eyes on you, you were a set of peering eyes over a wrought-iron fence. He could barely see over it, but he could remember how round and shiny your eyes were. All doll-like and unrealistic. Honestly, it scared him. You couldn't blame little Lockwood for scuttling back to his sister.

That same day, your parents had brought you over and formally introduced themselves. Between your parents's statuesque figures, stood you.

Contrary to your encyclopaedic eyes, your mannerisms were timid. You looked miniscule in your Sunday dress. You looked like a breeze could knock you over. Anthony couldn't help but feel bad for running from you earlier.

Following introductions, a terse dinner ensued. Your parents were doctors, the kind who would scamper about in hospitals in scrubs and white coats — people who believed in science. His were researchers who dabbled in spiritual devices of different cultures — people who preferred to find the emotional aspect in the supernatural. Suffice it to say, the conversation was very one-sided.

Even then, Anthony was determined to be your friend. He thought having pretentious parents, like yours, would spoil the fun in things like spinning tops or fencing or enjoying pie with ice cream after supper. (Your parents had insisted the sugar would make it difficult for you to sleep.)

Anthony had made up his mind before you even uttered a word to him.

The instant the adults had dismissed you to the living room with Anthony and Jessica, he had snuck you a pie with extra ice cream on top. He and Jessica had their backs to the door so in the unlikely event that your parents came in, they wouldn't see you breaking their rules.

You weren't much younger than Anthony back then, but with cherry smeared across your cheek and ice cream clinging to your lip, he thought you were as cute as a button. He wasn't aware that he had been smiling at you so widely.

He missed the knowing glint in Jessica's eyes.

Across the peaceful months you'd spent as friends, Anthony and Jessica would tell you about their parents' most recent findings and you'd tell them the most bizarre concepts you learned at the academy.

At night, Anthony would sit by the window in his attic room, flagging out written messages on a sketch pad. Across the way, you would poke your head out to read it.

lots of apples are falling these days. want some?

my parents won't let me

that's because an apple a day keeps the doctors away. i think they're scared

no way... papa says he cuts people open. how could he be scared of apples?

ew... and I dunno, cherry. do you want apples or not?

stop calling me that

apples?

sure...

come down

ARE YOU MENTAL??

He was, indeed, crazy. He had tiptoed all the way downstairs and grabbed his mother and father's favorite jackets on the way out.

In the bite of night and the glow of ghost-lamps, he looked up at your house to see your head poking out of of a different window, a crazed expression on your face. 'What are you doing?' you mouthed.

"Hurry!" He yelled back. He chuckled when you'd flinched and checked behind you. He held up the jackets and took a breath, watching in amazement as fog formed from it.

All while you tapped the window sill in thought. You took one more contemplative glance behind you, then shut the window.

You were vaulting over the fence in no time. He caught you, cushioning your fall with the jackets he'd taken and greeted you with an incandescent smile. Even in greenlight, your little heart skipped a beat.

"Here. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold. We'd both be in trouble if you did."

He threw his mother's coat over your head. It was so big, it enveloped you like a gown. You tried to slip your arms through the sleeves but you only got halfway before you wiggled the limp fabric in his face. He swatted you away but folded them up enough so your palms could come through.

His father's jacket was huge on him, too, but he had the kind of air that made him look natural in it.

In his efforts to help you, his own hands had turned red from the cold. You seized them and stuffed them in your pockets, since your—his mother's—jacket had the lined pockets.

After huddling for warmth, you two grew warm enough to walk further into the backyard and pick up handfuls of apples. You found that you could only fit three apples in each pocket, so you held more by tucking your shirt into your pants and shooting them into your shirt. Anthony had done the same. You didn't realize how ridiculous your actions were until you saw how puffed his figure looked with that many apples stuffed down his shirt.

You snorted so loud it hurt, slapping your hand over your mouth to kill any more laughs that could alert the sleeping adults.

He turned his head to you, like an owl. It made more apples fall from your shirt as your shoulders shook. He shushed you, frantically glancing at the house. "What's wrong with you?"

You shook your head, riding the wave of maturity before it crashed. Little laughs and apples spilled from you. "You look like a pufferfish!"

He looked down and examined himself then, indignantly, he pointed at you. "You're literally spewing apples, you're just as bad!"

Restraint crumbled. Your hand came away and your laughs filled the silent night air. Anthony's laughs began to dance with yours until the pair of you were reduced to shaking stumps surrounded by fallen apples.

"Don't look at me! You're making me laugh!"

"Your face is funnier!"

"Stop it!"

"Cherry— You're only making me laugh more!"

It was no surprise that his parents had woken up and scolded you two accordingly. While they tutted at you, you two sat under the same blanket. Elbowing each other when they began to question who'd initated it.

You weren't a snitch. You did not tell, and they never found out who caused the trouble.

Jessica later rewarded you both with a cookie under their noses. You cracked your cookie in half to share with her. Anthony did the same to his, giving his other half to you.

—

Those memories were a far cry from the present. On some days, they felt like dreams. Now, all you are to him is a pair of peering eyes over wrought-iron fences.

Lockwood would catch glimpses of you on the way back from a case. He would nod, you would nod. Then both of you would continue on with your lives like the era of cherry pies and fallen apples had never happened.

Some days, he would turn the newspapers, checking to see if student doctor you had earned any new accolades in your scholastic journey to saving lives, but he never had it in him to say hello to you.

That morning's issue had you on the front page. You with your resplendent eyes and smile finally sporting a white coat at the ripe of eighteen, the first one of your age to earn 'Doctor' as a suffix to your name. Apparently, you'd applied your studies on forensic science to aid psychical investigations involving mummified body parts.

Seems you were doing well.

He placed the paper face down on the thinking cloth, ignoring Lucy's questioning gaze as he took a sip of tea.

"What's happened now?" Lucy asked, stretching her neck to see what made him so upset. She settled back into her seat after she set her eyes on the crossword puzzle, unable to glimpse the front page. "Kipps's crew?" she guessed.

"No, he would have his brow furrowed like this–" George turned to show his brows knitted together so hard they looked like they were drawn on with marker. "–if it was Kipps. It's got to be something else."

"Oh, right," Lucy said with bite, smacking her head like that made sense. "How could I forget?"

George shrugged, grinning like he had a secret on the tip of his tongue. "I don't know, Luce. Maybe it's the letters you've been receiving from one; Norrie White."

Lucy's chair scraped as she stood, gaping at George with anger tightening her mouth. "You went through my mail!"

"She wrote her name in marker. Red. Marker. I would have to be blind to miss it."

Lockwood kicked back and watched the drama ensue, a smile easing itself back on his face. Lucy and George's petty squabble was always a shot of espresso on a rather depressing morning. They made an excellent stopper to all his wonderings about the past.

"That was none of your business!" Lucy shrieked. In her fury, her hands itched to do something... to throw something.

Lockwood realized too late. He vaulted forward to pry the newspaper from her fingers, but Lucy's rage made her a savage. She chucked the newspaper at George with the velocity of a racing car.

The headlines collided with George's face with a resounding thud.

His glasses fell and landed with a unceremonious noise. Thankfully, unscathed from the impact.

The same could not be said for his nose.

George's face pulsed like he had been stung by the world's largest be. He splayed his hand over his nose to check for bleeding and groaned.

"That hurt..."

"Of course it did. I intended it to," Lucy huffed. She scooped up George's glasses and the paper. "That ought to teach you about looking at my correspondence."

"Didn't have to thump me that hard though," George grumbled, snatching his glasses back.

He looked like a dartboard bullseye wearing glasses. Lockwood couldn't focus on it though. His eyes were honed in on the newspaper Lucy was currently unraveling.

He bit his cheek and decided to finish his tea in one gulp. "Well," Lockwood started, fixing his collar as he stood. "I'd better see what we're taking on tonight. I'll be—"

"Hey, this is that girl next door." Lucy pushed her face closer to the paper to reassure herself that she wasn't seeing wrong. She'd seen that blouse and trouser combo on you a few days ago. "Yeah! That's her!"

George showed a rare kind of expression. A raised brow aimed at Lockwood. "She's a doctor now. How could that be upsetting?"

"Don't tell me you have a rivalry with her because she poked you in the bum when you were little," Lucy joked.

Lockwood's face flushed. He looked at the kitchen door, contemplating escape, then back to his friends. He leaned on the doorframe, attempting to look lax but coming off as stiff as a board. "Who said I was upset?"

"You were quiet over tea," George said.

"What of it?" Lockwood pushed.

George gave him an are you kidding me kind of look. "You never shut up when you can help it."

"And you did this." Lucy copied his pondering face, and Lockwood grimaced—reminding himself to school his expressions better.

"Please. For all things good, never do that again, and I am not upset at her—"

"Defensive now? You so are," George chuckled.

Lockwood's jaw ticked. "I am not—"

Saved by the bell. All three heads turned to the door with interest. It was still early in the day, so a new client was unexpected.

"I'll get it," Lockwood said. He left a prattling Lucy and George in the winds of his coat.

The doorbell rang again before he got to it. "Keep your shirt on—"

George and Lucy idled at the foot of the stairs as the door swung open. George let out a gasp, Lucy elbowed him to keep quiet.

Speak of the devil and he will appear. Though, you were more seraphic in that white dress, innocently festooned with embroidered cherries. Your smile was as disarming as ever. It was even brighter than the light haloing your hair.

"Hello."

Lucy tripped over air at the sweetness of your voice, now understanding how the word 'mellifluous' came to be.

Lockwood was indifferent.

Just staring at the back of his head, Lucy knew he was sporting an expression reserved just for Kipps and his crew. It made her want to kick his shin and tell him to get himself together.

"Hi," Lockwood finally greeted, tone bleak. "What are you doing here?"

"Lockwood," George finally intervened. Seems he was taken by how you carried yourself, too.

Both your and Lockwood's heads turned to him.

"Oh, you must be George Karim." Your smile widened, outshining the light above the door. "And Lucy Carlyle. Pleasure to finally meet you."

Lucy and George rarely agreed on things, but they spoke like they were on the same wavelength then. "Pleasure is ours."

A little laugh escaped you, just as graceful as the swish of your skirt. You introduced yourself, discounting your new title. "My parents asked me to invite friends to my celebratory dinner tonight but I don't have people I'd really consider friends." Your honeyed eyes drifted back to Lockwood, trying not to wilt under his blasé gaze. "I was thinking you three could drop by. No need to bring anything but yourselves. We have pie and ice cream for dessert."

Hope was alight in your eyes. The insider statement flew over George and Lucy's heads, and apparently, Lockwood's too. Your expression dampened as it struck you.

"That sounds nice," George said pleasantly.

Lucy nodded in agreement. "And it's not every day we get invited to a free meal."

"With pie." George was already dreaming about it.

Lockwood let out a breath. "Sorry. We have a case tonight."

"No, that's for Friday night," George interrupted. "Isn't that right, Lucy?"

"That's right," Lucy doubled down.

Both of Lockwood & Co.'s best simply blinked and grinned at Lockwood's taut form.

"Great," you quipped. Your eyes lingered on Lockwood but moved to George and Lucy when he showed no interest in being civil. "I'll see you tonight, then. Have a nice day!"

"You too!"

Lockwood gave you a sufficient nod and lipped smile as he closed the door. The moment you were out of sight, the room turned sepia.

Silence for a moment, then George.

"There is definitely something going on here."

—

Despite Lucy and George's joint efforts to pry answers from him, Lockwood did not bend. When the light began to die outside, they retired to their own rooms to prepare. Finally leaving him in silence.

Lockwood chose to wear his usual get-up. The only difference was his waistcoat. It sported a thin, stylish red stripe down it's right side; George had worn an unstained shirt for once, so he did put a bit more effort into his looks that evening; and Lucy wore her best skirt and sweater to put her best foot forward.

"Now," Lockwood said as they all spiraled down the steps. "You have to remember a few things about our neighbors."

"And that would be?" George rolled his eyes.

"They're doctors," Lockwood answered like it was a sin.

"All of them?" Lucy asked with interest.

"Yes, the entire family," Lockwood confirmed. "You have to remember that when they start getting weird about our work."

"Why?" Lucy flicked a crumb left on George's shoulder once they reached the last step. "We get help from hospitals when we need to examine post-mortem documents. It's not like our professions are worlds apart."

"You mean I get help," George corrected firmly. "Not like either of you do the grisly work when it comes to research."

"Well, you're the best at it," Lucy said placatingly.

"'Course I am," George nipped.

Lockwood shushed them. "Regardless of what they say, do not loose your cool. They think getting you worked up means they win.

"They can't be that bad. Your girl was nice enough," Lucy said.

Lockwood's brows furrowed then unfurrowed. "She's not my girl," he said, opening the door with zeal.

"Sure," Lucy grinned as she slipped past.

—

34 Portland Row looked the same as 35 from the outside. The interior decor made it clear that the home was made up of doctors. Successful ones, by the looks of it.

You greeted them at the door with the same radiatant smile from the papers. Your dress was marvelous but Lucy and George could not help but look over your shoulder, into the opulence of 34 Portland Row.

Like always, Lockwood greeted you with a nod and addressed you by name. It wasn't much but you accepted it with cheeks strained from practicing your smile.

As you lead them to the dining room, their eyes wandered at their own volition. Lockwood couldn't help but do the same.

The crystal chandelier in the living room was as decadent as ever; the doorknobs had been changed to be made of glass and silver; the bookshelves were packed with newer books—likely yours; the wall next to the stairs still held your height measurements from years ago. He caught your eye as he did so, trying not to flinch at the waves of melancholy that crashed over him. He chose to look at the back of your head as the light of the dining room enveloped them.

Like every room in this house, a chandelier sat in the middle. Everything was gleaming. Not a speck was out of place, except maybe him. Perfect, just like the family that lived here.

The table was already set with steaming meals of steak, veggies, and mashed potatoes. There was a pitcher of juice in the middle but Lockwood noticed that he, Lucy, and George's glasses were already filled with water. Your mother had just finished filling the last one when she offered her most deceitful smile.

"Anthony Lockwood and friends..." your mother greeted. Her tone was eloquent but the drawl in it sent an unwelcomed pang of anxiety through Lockwood, he tensed then forced himself to relax. "Haven't seen you around lately, Tony."

"Running a business does eat time, unfortunately." He spared her a terse smile and sat at the chair you directed him to — just across from you. Lucy sat beside you, and George had the misfortune of sitting next to your father. Lockwood cleared his throat to break the silence. "You haven't aged a day, Mrs.—"

"Doctor, actually. We've had this conversation before," she chortled with a furled smile you would only expect from the devil's mistresses.

Lucy and George found sudden interest in their food. Your shoulders sunk, but like times before, you didn't say anything. Lockwood tried not to look surprised.

"Right... Doctor. My apologies." He straightened himself in his seat. "You two look swell. How has the winter been treating you?"

"Oh, it's absolutely tiring," your father said. He had the kind of tone that suggested that he was always pouting. At least he wasn't spitting venom while he was talking about himself. "Patients coming in but rarely being able to make it out. Terrible thing, really."

"Sorrows to those who have passed because of the upstart," your mother chipped in. "Our little darling saved some lives in lieu of her recent graduation, and she's only been a doctor for a few days!"

Your mother smiled at you. You refused to look up from your dinner. "All I did was administer CPR. The hospital was understaffed that day. I work in a different department, mama."

Her smile faded before her eyes snapped to Lockwood, her grin sharpening.

"Can you imagine that? Not even a day as a doctor and she's already on the papers. Real talent gets recognized straight away, everyone knows."

Your father did not finish chewing his steak before he joined in. "Kids these days run around wasting their time on things other than their academics. What do they expect to do after their talents fade, huh? Our girl has no worries in that department."

George pushed his plate away after a blob of spit landed on his potatoes. He thought it was best to put down his utensils as well. His grip was turning his knuckles white. Lucy had resorted to pushing her asparagus to calm the anger beginning to stoke in her mind. They were beginning to see why Lockwood did not want to come. The aforementioned remained with a practiced smile on his face.

Your eyes conveyed your apologies yet Lockwood refused to look at you. You were as meek as the girl Lockwood first saw over the fence. Your voice was weaker when you used it in this house. "Mama, papa. Those kids risk their lives to make living easier for everyone. Bravery like that can't be learned from textbooks."

"No, but keeping your nose out of that business altogether will keep you alive." Your mother's expression changed, a beguiling woman turning into medusa before their very eyes.

You sunk under the weight of her stare. You might as well have turned to stone.

"Knowledge keeps you alive," your father added. "Perusing supernatural business will only end with dead kids or orphans who have to resort to psychical work to get by. Some of them work up the nerve to call it a real profession."

A resounding ring resounded from Lockwood's side of the table. He had dropped his knife. His smile had gone. His lips twitched, like he wasn't sure what to do or say. Ultimately saying nothing.

Your eyes glossed over, anger and sadness swirling together in your belly. You were ready to let loose, to set your parents straight. Yet, one look at your father's face was enough to have you curling in on yourself.

The temperature dropped like the conversation had. No one said a thing when smoke began to choke the room.

"Well," your mother cheered. "Seems like the pie is ruined. I'm afraid we'll have to end supper here."

—

Lucy rushed the door open, just itching to unload the tangle of colorful words she'd thought up in that stuffy house of yours.

"They were horrendous," George said, throwing his flannel aside. "I thought that junior doctor was nice but now I know she's Medusa's spawn."

"She is. And have you seen her dad?" Lucy doubled down. She considered going downstairs to release her pent-up emotions but thought better of it. "Terrible, the lot of them."

Lockwood had thought the same cruel thoughts but hearing it from them made him defensive. You weren't bad. You were just a bystander. Your lack of responses hurt as bad as your parents's passive-aggressive jabs, but you weren't even close to being half the evil your parents were. He felt his stomach churning as they began to drag your name through the dirt.

"We are never going back there," George declared. "You were right, Lockwood."

"I need 24 hours of sleep to recover from it. I've never felt so murderous before." That was Lucy's way of saying goodnight. She started for the steps right after.

"I think we should go back. So you can finish the job," George said, following Lucy up the stairs.

Lockwood stumbled ahead, throwing his coat on the newel and collapsing at the foot of the steps. From where he lazed, he continued to hear Lucy and George bicker.

"Maybe you could call up that Norrie White to help you get away with murder," George said encouragingly.

"Don't even start on that, George," Lucy warned.

Her door closed.

"Fine," George said despondenty. "It was just a suggestion, geez."

His door closed, too.

Lockwood let out a breath. It felt like his soul had left his body for a moment of reprieve. He didn't have even five minutes of silence before he heard urgent taps reverberating through his ears. He sat up, alarmed, trying to assess where the noise could have come from.

After a quick sweep, he swung the kitchen door open and discovered you on the other side of the garden door, knuckles raping against the glass with a pained look on your face.

He contemplated leaving you out in the cold but decided that he wasn't that kind of person. He opened the door and wasn't all that surprised that your habit of forgetting a jacket stayed true. You were shivering.

"Anthony—"

"Give me a moment," he interrupted. He turned, walked back to the steps to retrieve his coat, then returned to drape it over your shoulders. "Come in. Sit. You never remember to bring a coat at night, stubborn girl."

You smile despite the frost on your face. Your face turns pink as the warmth of 35 Portland Row thaws you. He sits you on his usual seat and takes George's cushioned seat instead.

"Old habits die hard," you chuckle, holding his coat tighter. If you bent your head enough, you would get a whiff of him on it. You could have tried to do it inconspicuously but he was sitting right there, he would know. "I'm sorry... for everything. I thought they wouldn't– I really should have known they would say things like that. I apologize for them. I really do feel bad. If Mr. Karim and Ms. Carlyle are still up, I'd like to tell them as well."

"They've retired for the night," he reports. He redacts the part that they were discussing the demise of your family. "but thank you for coming to say that."

"And I'm sorry I didn't say anything," you add.

Lockwood doesn't say anything to that. In his mind, you would have stopped them if you were really sorry. "Why did you come here? And please don't say you're inviting us to another dinner."

"Goodness, no." You snort. "I... have a case. I don't know who else to surrender the evidence to."

His brows jump. "You're asking for psychical service? From me? Us, I mean."

You nod. "I hear that Ms. Carlyle is particularly gifted. What I think we're facing is something special. Something no regular agent can feel out."

"Why hasn't Fittes or Rotwell been put up to this if it's that important?"

"Because it's a personal study of mine." You drop a manila folder on the thinking cloth. Lockwood didn't even notice you were holding it earlier. "It's a closed case. An unsolved one. The autopsy is gruesome and justice was never brought to the victim. I searched her property myself and found the source. I tried to communicate with her but I can't do it."

"And you think Lucy is the Listener for the job?"

"Yes. I don't just want to get rid of a ghost, Anthony, I want to lay her to rest. To give her peace."

He leans back in his chair, drinking in the information while he raked a hand through his hair. "You investigated the area of the haunting alone?"

"In daylight," you said in your defense. "My sense of touch is useful enough for me to know if something is a source. Problem is, I can't get any psychical resonance to find out who had killed her."

"Amazing..." he breathed. He didn't know you had that level of sensitivity. Still, he had to think of this as an official case. He righted his posture immediately. "I'll ask George and Lucy in the morning. Can you come by at nine?"

"Yeah. My parents are at work before then. No worries about them."

"Good."

You nod, not knowing what else to do. "Good."

You stared at each other. Possibly taking in how much time had changed you; The scars he'd earned through the years, the callouses on your hands from studying, blemishes, changed mannerisms—and then the unspoken reminder that you had drifted apart after the Lockwood family turned from four to one. You were completely different people to the children who used to laugh through these halls.

"I better get going," you said. You couldn't handle Lockwood and his expressive eyes. You don't know if he was doing it consciously, but it was like you could see his sadness bleeding into the world just by glancing at them.

He nodded like a puppet on a string, pulling himself up and leading you to the garden door once more.

"Goodnight," you said, mustering a friendly smile that was, thankfully, returned.

"Night... Cherry," he replied.

You smiled for a moment more before you snuck back home. Neither of you remembered that you had his coat until morning.

—

You were knocking at 35 Portland Row at 8:55. You stood stiffly, not knowing how to conduct yourself after last night's catastrophe. Lockwood's coat was folded over your arm when George answered the door.

Opposite of the day before, his face was flat. If you turned around and left, you'd be doing him a favor. Unfortunately for him, you were there with intention.

"I need the help of Lockwood & Co."

George opened his mouth, probably thinking of some creative way to say 'shove off'. Lockwood's voice from the kitchen bellowed over his train of thought. "It that her? Let her in, Georgie."

George was mumbling something but he stepped aside and didn't stab you with a nearby rapier. You believed that meant there was a chance to redeem yourself.

You were lead to the receiving room where you were shortly joined by Lockwood and an either groggy or bloodthirsty Lucy. George had retired to the kitchen to bring in biscuits. You hadn't earned the respect to have cake in the vicinity.

Lockwood lead the conversation, eyes trained on you. It made you conscious enough to shuffle and pick at the frayed seams of his coat.

"You only gave us a few details about this case. Evidently it was murder but it was closed and unsolved for two decades."

"I have the rest here," you said, revealing another manila folder. This one was thicker, packed with all you knew about it. It was the real deal. As you passed it across the table, the three of them ogled at the vivid red 'confidential' stamp slanted across the front. "Her name was Iris Griffiths. She was a forensic scientist who cracked several unsolved cases in her time. She had sensitive hearing, from what her colleagues said. She wasn't working on any new cases before her housemate reported her dead on a random night."

"Was it during winter? She could have been ghost-touched." Lucy suggested with a clipped tone. She just wanted to close the case and never see you again.

You shook your head, reaching across and guiding Lockwood's hand to another page in the folder. "Her autopsy shows several lacerations and bruises but no remnants of ghost touch. Her body was already decomposing when she was found."

"And her flatmate? They could be a suspect." George pitched.

You shook your head again. "Celia Rodney was out of town with her fiancé. Several colleagues were interviewed and confirmed it."

Lockwood looked up. "Then we have to assume that it's someone from Griffith's personal life. Did she have a lover?"

"This is like the Annie Ward case all over again," Lucy groaned.

You continued nonetheless. "She did have a lover, actually. Howard Gasley was her co-worker and boyfriend. They had a good relationship, according to the interviews, so I don't suspect any foul play between them."

George leaned against the right side of his chair. There was a creak from the old thing but he ignored it. "What if their relationship was rocky behind the scenes?"

You looked down at the evidence file and sighed. "I guess we will find out when Ms. Carlyle's able to speak with her. All our suspects have solid alibis. To obtain justice for Iris Griffith, we'll have to be her witnesses."

George turns stiff. "We? Lockwood."

Lucy does the same. "You're asking me to communicate with a ghost?"

Lockwood tries to settle them down with a relaxed smile. "It's high time I stop scolding you for being good at what you do, Luce. Our client is explicitly asking you to exploit your talent and find us a killer. The client is always right. Isn't that right, George?"

George grumbles a reply you don't hear, and Lucy nods limply, like she can't comprehend the fact that Lockwood was being so lax about this. What happened to the dangers of communicating with ghosts?

Regardless, they realize that arguing with him was going to be a losing battle. He has that look in his eye—one akin to an adrenaline junkie who's about about to jump from a cliff, and his eyes are set on you.

Lucy and George watched as you returned his coat before they shot each other looks.

What happened to hating you and your white-coat family? Lockwood marched to the beat of his own drum, apparently.

They had their kits ready before dark and met you on the street you'd told them about. Lockwood saw your peering eyes over the run-down house's picket fence and quickened his pace.

"Lovely place," Lucy drawled, eyeing the chipping paint with faint curiosity. Two decades could do so much to a nice house.

"Very lively," George seconded with bite, side-stepping the corpse of a rat.

"I have the source inside, under a chain net," you inform them. You push open the door, wincing as the hinges break and send the wood slamming to the floor. "I hope the house holds long enough to finish this investigation."

"Finally," cheered Lucy. "something we can agree on."

Lockwood was contemplating over how to behave himself. One second, he was keeping pace with you, then walking ahead the next, then falling behind you. He cycled between all three, ignoring George's rolling eyes and Lucy's sighs until all four of you reach the second-floor's lavatory. Luckily, no one had fallen through the floor.

"Do tell me we're not dealing with supernatural turd," George begged.

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "I'll be the one doing the Listening so you can take your complaints outside, George."

"This might be worse," you answer them when you pull off the chain net from an odd looking thing. It looked like a starfish wrapped in ripped and yellowed tissue paper. Lucy gagged when she took a second look.

"Mummified hand," Lockwood said aloud, trying to keep a placid smile on his face. "I always tell you to never mess with mummified body parts but we'll have to make an exception."

"Mummified parts bridge the forensic and psychical field, unfortunately." You cover the source back up as a mercy to Lucy. "They couldn't find her hand before they autopsied her body. Found this under a plank in her bedroom."

"Handy," George said dryly.

Lucy glared at him. "Not the time."

"I'm not sorry," he replied.

"You could have mentioned this sooner," Lockwood interjected, turning his head to you.

You gave a smile in response. "I think it's just another piece of evidence that proves someone had been very angry with her."

"Did the academy teach you to smile so morbidly?" George questioned.

"No, that's just her face." Lockwood said gravely.

George spared you a look that resembled concern. "Pity."

You dropped your smile and walked passed a chuckling Lockwood.

—

Lucy couldn't hear a thing while there was light out. Even with the chain net off, all she could hear was George's heavy breathing.

Lockwood had everyone sat in the disparaging kitchen to have tea and some biscuits before night fell. All the courtresy of Lockwood & Co., of course. Papers spread across the table, rehashing the details in hopes that it would help Lucy discern which questions to prioritize once she made contact with Griffith.

George squinted his eyes at the court transcripts. "There's an awful lot of witnesses."

"It was a big case. Griffith did wonders to connect the world of science and the psychic." You dipped a biscuit into your overly sweetened tea; it was not so coincidentally your favorite brand, and took a bite. "She inspired me to study. It's been a dream of mine to solve her case."

George nodded with the most plastic smile on his face. "Wonderful. We're fulfilling childhood wishes while Lucy experiences rediscovered trauma."

You sighed and sunk into the rotting seat. There was no salvaging an acquaintanceship with George at this rate. You lulled your head to look at Lockwood. He spared you a smile but looked away just as quick.

"Don't interrupt me, that's all I ask," Lucy said as the clock struck six.

Papers were put away, circles were drawn, several more candles were lit, and Lucy hunkered down in the lavatory. The door was closed to give her room to work, leaving you to stand between Lockwood and George. You hobbled from heel to heel as you eyed their rapiers and their weary wandering.

The silence reminded you too much of home. Words poured out of you to chase away your parents's images in your mind. "How strong are Ms. Carlyle's talents? I've only heard heresay about her abilities."

"None of your business—"

"She's the best Listener in the field," Lockwood answered. Even in the dim light, you could see his smile pull higher. It made your heart do funny things while your stomach dropped. "I ought to think she'd be on parr with Marissa Fittes, given enough time. Maybe even better."

George nodded in agreement, turning his head as the ghost-lamps outside flickered to life. The green hue bled into the room, dimming the atmosphere even more.

You leaned against the wall as a chill crept out from under the lavatory door. "I have no doubt that we'll be able to get our answer then."

"Oh! Ow!" George exclaimed.

You didn't have a rapier or any form of weapon but you turned to him like you could help, just to find he was simply hugging himself.

"Got really cold all of a sudden. Felt like something passed through me," he said. He looked down at his thermometer. "Temp's dropped significantly. This visitor is a force."

"That's why she got the best of the best to do it," Lockwood boasted, winking your way and changing his stance as a spectral glow began to flicker under the door.

"Do we have a guess on what we could be facing?" you asked, backing away.

Lockwood didn't miss the tremoring in your hands. "No, but where where is a lack of knowledge, there is faith. We'll make it out this alive."

"Oh," you laughed unhumorously. "how reassuring."

"He's good at that," George added flatly.

Lockwood held out an arm, guiding you to stand between him and George. Their backs turned to you, their rapiers raised and at the ready.

"Here," Lockwood didn't look away from the dark as he unclasped a salt-bomb and a flask of lavender water. He held them out and you took them with shaking hands.

Malaise stalked in on you three, making the hairs on your arm stand. You gripped the salt-bomb and lavender water for dear life. Pressure squeezed down on your chest and your heart raced for a danger unseen.

"This much activity before ten? Griffith must have had qualms about dying." George said.

Lockwood chuckled, nodding along. "Wonder how nobody reported this much activity if the source was hidden all this time."

"Nobody wanted to visit this place when the killer was still at large," you answered, struggling to keep your tone even. "Some kids started some rumors during the court proceedings. They said someone just wanted the house badly enough to kill for it."

"That would be unfortunate," George said. "Imagine all that commotion over a killer who simply wanted real estate."

You tried to stiffle a laugh but failed. "It does sound ridiculous."

Lockwood chanced a glance at you, catching your faulty smile before a scream shook the Earth.

"Lucy?"

"Lucy!"

"Ms. Carlyle?"

She came bursting out of the lavatory, two fingers pinching the mummified hand, and looking quite disgruntled before she stood in the boy's protective circle.

"We might need Little Miss Doctor to stand in the iron circle," Lucy said, fumbling for her rapier and holding the source a ways from her body. Frost was gripping at her gloves.

The plan was scraped with one glance to the circle. It had been thrashed by Griffith from the time Lucy came tumbling out of the lavatory.

"Type two," all three of them agreed.

"What happened?" asked George. His eyes darted down the hallway with more apprehension than before.

"She got angrier and angrier the more names I mentioned," she answered. "I felt like she was about to drown me."

You took the mummified hand from her grasp. The sigh she let out was laughable. "Did she say who killed her?"

Lucy shook her head as she readied herself. Miasma was building. Fear gripped you like nothing you'd experienced before. When you touched the hand, that feeling multiplied. You heard murmurs but nothing substantial.

Shell...

Kill me...

Secret...

You couldn't stitch those words together to come to any conclusion. You were crossing your fingers that Lucy could. The possibilities kept you up at night. If you weren't thinking about your estranged friendship with Lockwood, you were thinking of getting justice for this woman you didn't even know. The cold pinching your skin from the source was a reminder that it wasn't over.

Like a light in the dark, Lucy looked at you and said, "She kept nodding her head whenever I asked if some person killed her; She said yes to Rodney. She said yes to Gasley—"

"So even she doesn't know who killed her?" George laughed emptily. "Brilliant."

"We might have to investigate more on our own to find more details." Lockwood nudged your side. You thought it was to shield you from the cold but that would be too presumptuous. He had bumped into you to swipe away the apparition of Iris Griffith.

She came and went like a zap of electricity. Frantic and unpredictable. Every time you caught sight of her mauled face, your heart picked up. How these three hadn't double over from heart failure was a mystery. Your knees gave up when she'd appeared beside you.

Your eyes watched her in slow motion. The rippling gashes in her plasma, her sneering face, her slashed dress... She was a hairsbreadth away from you before your instincts kicked in.

Your blood fell to your feet but your hand reached into your pocket in a panic, saving yourself as you pulled out a silver button. You threw it at her face and, fortunately, it was enough to disperse her ghost.

Lockwood let out a loud breath of relief but jumped back into the rhythm when her apparition reappeared. "Was that my mother's button? Nevermind. Time to make our exit! Luce, where's the chain net?"

She clicked her tongue. "Dropped it. Her manifestation appeared right in front of me."

"Go get it then!" George rushed, swiping at the air and setting off the first salt-bomb of the night.

"I would if I could," Lucy replied with a bite in her tone. She grimaced at the hand in your vice. "It's in the toilet."

"Pick it up! You've held worse." George backed into Lucy. They switched places.

"It's best if you don't," you advised. "This place has been deserted for years. Who knows what kind of bacteria's been growing in the bowl."

"Oh, you have to know everything, don't you?" George hissed.

Lucy didn't snap at you this time. "Listen to the doctor, George! Did we bring any more chain nets?"

Lockwood reached for your shirt, tugging you towards him as Griffith bit the air where your head would have been. He held you between his arms as blood rushed to your ears and cheeks. Lockwood's breath tickled your ear. The warmth of your face was a juxtaposition to the cold encasing your hands. "My bag! It's a bit away. We'll have to split up."

"Try not to die," George said with false sweetness. He and Lucy ran the opposite way you and Lockwood had.

Griffith chased them. The farther she got, the more you remembered how to breath.

"Calm down, cherry cheeks, ghosts can feed off of your fear," he tried to pacify you. The rasp of his voice evened your heart rate enough for you to get your brain turning again.

"Right. You're right..." You looked ahead, through the darkness and could barely make out the lumps on the ground. "Chain, we have to get the chain net."

"I've got you," he assured.

Even if your pivotal functions had returned to normal, your legs hadn't gotten the memo. Getting up made your knees buckle and legs feel like cooked pasta. As if the cold eating your fingers weren't bad enough.

Lockwood caught you around the waist, holding your weight while he held his rapier at the ready. "Hold on to the source and remember the salt-bomb."

You nodded firmly, clutching both to your chest as you two made a joint effort to get to the bags.

You were almost there, just passed the iron circle that Griffith had broken through, when she appeared above you like an unwanted mistletoe.

You screamed, Lockwood said something to console you, you threw the salt-bomb without taking off the clip, and Lockwood quickly sliced off the top to set it off. Salt sprayed over you two. His body folded over yours as it showered down.

Griffith's yells faded for a moment, a moment long enough for you to slide forward and grab the chain net that clung onto the side pocket of Lockwood's kit. Your hand wrapped around it, Iris's spectral glow kissed your skin, you felt the chill of it — she was colder than her source.

Suddenly, Lockwood had tugged you back towards him. His pull was strong enough to knock you onto your side. It would bruise but at least you weren't ghost-touched.

You wrapped the mummified hand in the net and sighed as the glow faded away and the screaming ceased. The frostbite on your fingers were worth the pain. You were alive.

Silence and heavy breathing ensued.

You rolled the rest of the way on your back, heaving for breath you won't get back. Not while Lockwood remained hovering over you.

The candles had been blown out in the earlier attack. The only light came from the ghost-lamps that sifted through the broken windows. Everything was in that ugly shade of bottle green... but that didn't make him any less magnificent.

Sweat collected on his brow, his mouth was agape—chasing for breath, and his lips were curled in that kind of smirk you could only dream about. Holding your breath did little for your racing heart.

"You okay, cherry cheeks?" His lips moved like their one purpose was to enrapture you.

You nodded dumbly, unable to find your words.

—

Portland Row was cloaked by the night when you four made your escape.

The three of them headed for the 35th while you bound up the steps to your parents' place. George and Lucy gained enough respect for you to wish you a good night before heading in, successfully tuckered out. Lockwood remained, staring at you with his hands in his trouser pockets.

He raised his brows at you then motioned to your front door. "Head on in. It would weigh on my conscience if I don't see you home safe. Your parents would have my head."

"You..." you paused at the fog before you. It was colder out than you thought. "You called me cherry cheeks earlier."

His stance turned tense. He rocked on his heels before he mustered a smile. "Old habits die hard... Sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

"It's okay," you reassured, returning the smile. "I missed it."

"You don't mind then?"

You shook your head. "Never did."

His smile broadened, teasing a glimpse of his pearly whites before he looked at his shoes to hide it. "See you tomorrow then, cherry."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him. These days, both of you were tall enough to see each other clearly over the wrought-iron fencing. You missed the days you had to tiptoe to show him a smile.

You had no problems shooting him a smile from over the fence. You had no problems coming home to your perfectionist parents. You had no problems imagining your world without Lockwood in it... but you missed him.

Now that the events kept replaying in your head, all you could think while you looked at him was I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry.

Lockwood had the talent of knowing when you wanted to say something but couldn't bring yourself to. He forgot how when you had grown apart. Now, in the quiet of the night and the privacy of the stars, it came back to him like the memories he tamped down by closing his window.

"What's wrong?" He asked, setting his hands on the freezing iron fence.

You feel the knot in your throat and the tears in your eyes. It hurts to hold back. Your lungs are lined with spikes as you take a breath. It feels like you're cracking your ribs open as you cave and admit to him, "I don't want to go home to them."

It may have been a trick of the light, but you swear there were tears in his eyes, too. His smile had changed. It was the same one you were accustomed to—the one he used to welcome you into his parents's house all those years ago. Like no time had passed at all, he beckons you. "Come on in then. 35 Portland Row is always open for you. It's your home, too."

—

One night's sleep on 35 Portland Row's most uncomfortable couch was worlds better than the comfy bed in your own cold home. You stretch like a cat to work out all the kinks in your joints, smiling at the air for no reason other than the happiness that filled you the moment you realized you were at the Lockwoods'. Your frosted hands had been wrapped up over a very sleepy catch-up the night before.

Ambient music was playing in your head as you took in your surroundings. The browned books and the disarray of trinkets left all around you were more home than anything you were used to.

It felt like you were wading through the most pleasant dream.

It all screeched to a halt the moment you swung your foot down and stepped on something squishy and loud—it groaned like a beast.

Terror clawed out of your throat in the form of a scream. Juttery legs hopped onto the back of the couch to gain height, and weary eyes looked down at the monster under the bed— er, sofa.

The lump inflated, made of patchwork quilt... until that fell away to reveal a very disheveled and very grumpy Anthony Lockwood.

"Ow," he simply said.

Your soul returned to your body. You offered a little laugh as you eased back down on the couch. "Sorry, Anthony."

"Don't worry yourself," he assured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I was the one who snuck down here."

You were a kid when you admitted to being afraid of being alone. It was thoughtful of him to come down here to keep you company when he had a perfectly good bed upstairs.

With a fluttering belly and a sheepish smile, you reached out and patted his sleepy head. "You've always been good to me. I should be more grateful."

He opened one eye to look at you while he rubbed the sleep out of the other. A corner of his lip tipped up into a lazy smile. "You can start with a 'thank you', darling."

"Thank you," you said all too quickly. The deeper octave and the rasp in his voice had finally hit home. It made your cheeks warm.

Judging by the growing smile on his face, he had accomplished what he was intending to.

Your shoulders jumped. A knock broke through the calmness of the air. You turned and saw George in an apron and kitchen mitts. "Are you two going to give each other goo-goo eyes all morning or are you joining us for breakfast?"

—

The investigation resumed as soon as the breakfast plates had been cleaned.

You split into two groups. George and Lucy were off to the archives to work out all of Griffith's social connections, and you and Lockwood were off to the hospital to look for documents that contained the same M.O. or similar timeline to Griffith's case.

"I thought police were the only ones allowed to hold information like this," Lockwood admitted as you two shuffled through files upon files in the hospital archives.

"Most of it, they do. I just hope there's something here relevant to our case," you reply. "If we have to hand this off to detectives, DEPRAC will get involved. They'll just close the case and leave it be."

He nudges up to you after a good three hours of finding absolutely nothing. "Let's look at the last few cases she solved. Could have a clue."

"All of those are solved though," you respond. You were biting your nails at this point. You had to find something before questioning Griffith's ghost again—for Lucy's sanity and for the group's safety.

Lockwood took you by the shoulders just as you began to imagine the worst. "Cherry," he said to snap your attention to him. "If we can't find anything, I don't want you joining us on this one."

"What?" You back away from him in your incredulity. "I helped last night, didn't I? This is my investigation as much as it is yours, Anthony."

"This visitor is a type two, cher. It's not as simple as solving a case. This means lives are in the balance—"

"I'm aware." You put your foot down. You slapped his hands away and shimmy a thick stack from under the desk. "I'm aware of the risks and I consent to them." You pick up the one at the top of the stack and shove it into his chest. He had always liked the curiosity in your eyes, so he was taken aback by the void in them as you looked at him. "I have enough people treating me like I belong at home or behind the safety of iron fences—I do not need you to coddle me like that. My parents do it enough."

He watched your back as you look through the second file in the stack. "You know I don't mean to coddle you..."

"You're doing it right now." Your tone carries a point. "You're telling me to sit this one out because it's too dangerous."

"It's risk assessment—"

"You're underestimating me—"

He slams his hand down on the paper you're idly reading. Bringing your attention to him. "I do this because I don't want to lose you."

Your anger falls away.

The reminder of how how much he'd lost occurs to you. It makes your arms grow limp and your heart to shrink. You can only stare at him with those same eyes he can't unsee even when his are closed. He hates the way he's made sadness swim in them. "Anthony..."

He said your name with the same caution. "You want to know why I became distant?"

"People grow apart when they grow up, Anthony. It's not your fault—"

He knelt beside you, laying his heart out right then and there. "I couldn't stand watching you with your perfect family. They always said any field tampering with the supernatural was a death sentence. I hated how they were right. I hated how they made you so small. I couldn't watch you like that. I hated that you turned into a doctor, just like them. I hated how they were so bad and so cruel, but they were always right."

You were quelled into silence. Biting your lip to keep the tears in. He held your hands delicately, careful of your injury. His touch was light but you knew you would feel it for hours. You held his hands with as much strength as you could muster, even as your skin burned and screeched for reprieve, you did not let go. "They are wrong about you..." you whisper to him.

He went on, plastering on a smile you knew was fake. It sheared your heart to know that. "I knew they were right when they said you would do great things... But they said so many other things that hurt. I couldn't stand being around. It just made me remember that no one was around to defend me anymore. I'm sorry that I had to leave you out, too. Seeing you reminded me of everything they said and I... I couldn't shake it."

Your eyes hurt so much. You gave up somewhere along the way and let the tears fall. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to fight them. I wanted to say so many things but they've always been so- so..."

"Scary?" he supplied with a pathetic laugh. "I know. Don't blame yourself."

You bobbed your head, sniffing as tears went. "You don't have to apologize for all that, Anthony. I'm so sorry, I didn't stand by you when you needed me. But I am going to see this case through to the end, I've dedicated my life to it."

Even when you were hiccuping and heaving for air, you wiped away the tear that tracked down his cheek. His heart surrendered to you then.

"Okay... And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ignored you like I did," he said again, just because he felt like you needed to hear it.

"No. I'm sorry," you reply. Vehemently wiping his eyes. "Anthony, come on. Don't cry. I'm not worth crying for."

"Oh, don't say that," he said lightly. "You're worth everything, cher."

Both of you manage a smile but neither of you are well enough to hold it. You laugh at each other's attempts.

You came clean to him too: How your parents had made you the sun of their solar system; How they poured their knowledge into you like you were a cup meant to hold their images in vivid color; How they moulded you into being the projection of a golden girl—their magnum opus. You carried the weight of their world. Most days, they acted more like teachers than parents. It got worse the older you got. Trophies and medals took the places of photographs until all you became was your achievements.

"They were so hard on you..." he said slowly. It was just sinking I just how trapped you were. You were cornered in a place that was supposed to covet you.

"Still, I should have defended you. I hate that I didn't," you said, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. It was the most ungraceful thing he'd seen you do but it brought him back to the cherry pie incident, and he found that he couldn't even think of you in a bad light.

"It's water under the bridge. I hate your parents, but there is one thing we can agree on," Lockwood said, cracking a semblance of a smile.

You cocked your brow at him. Teary eyes and all, he still found you as cute as a button.

"I would make you the sun of my solar system, too. They got that right."

With a snort, you said, "You're good at buttering people up, you know that?" You shoved his shoulder to shut him up but he caught the red on your ears and the smile you hid with a tilt of your head.

—

When you rendezvoused with George and Lucy, it was around 5:40 in the afternoon. The sun was dipping and the ghoulish were about to walk the earth. If George or Lucy noticed the redness in your eyes, they said nothing of it. You hurried along inside the stranded house and relayed newfound information.

"The last case Griffith reviewed involved a woman named Shelly Carson. She immigrated from America and died at 17 while she was interning for Hayes Inc." You flipped the file open on the kitchen table over tea. "They profiled the case to be a suicide but I don't think Griffith agreed." Your finger pointed to the lower left corner where Griffith would put her stamp of approval. The line was void of it. "She wrote 'Garrote not rope??' on the unofficial report. Carson's case could have been a murder."

The information set off a spark in George. He was rubbing invisible dirt from his glasses and finished doing so as you concluded your assessment. "We found a Shelly Carson in our search too," he said. Everyone lent their ears. "She was friends with Griffith in childhood. Alongside Rodney and Gasley. The four of them were close friends from well-off families."

"Ah, they're rich. Explains a lot," Lucy snorted. George ignored her quip.

"Turns out Rodney and Carson were both interested in Gasley. Rodney moved on with some bloke named Jerome Holt, but she suspected him of having an affair with Carson. Holt proposed to prove her wrong."

Lockwood tilted his head. "Sounds like gossip, Georgie."

George brandished an old leather diary. "We tracked down Howard Gasley. He gave us this."

Lockwood lit up. Sitting up with renewed energy. "How did you manage that?"

Lucy grinned. "The death of his girlfriend weighed on his conscience. All I had to do was tell him that her ghost can't be put to rest. Spilled like a waterfall after that."

"So, he did kill her?" You asked.

"Well, that's the difficult bit... The rest of the pages were ripped out and he didn't explicitly say he did. Maybe he did do it, he likes ripping things." George revealed, pointing the diary at the mummified hand in the net. "I think he's involved, one way or another."

Lockwood looked at it, then looked at Lucy. "What do you think, Luce?"

She looked at all three of you with a gleam in her eye. "I think we're about to find our killer."

—

The set-up was same as last night, except the iron circle had been extra fortified to fit all four of you in case things get out of hand. Lockwood stuffed lavenders into your pockets as Lucy lit the the candles.

"If you die tonight, I will not forgive you," Lockwood said as he put a salt-bomb in your hand.

"Same goes for you," you retort with a smile.

He returns your grin, tapping your sides and making your heart flutter before he sets off to help George with inventory.

You cross the chains to help Lucy in the lucky room chosen to host the seance in. With all the furniture pushed to the walls, the sitting room was the epitome of morbid. The carpet was patterned in a way that made it perfect for summoning and the cobwebs embellishing the place contributed to the unsettling ambiance. Lucy herself was lighting candles around the source. You took a pack of matches and helped light the rest of them.

"How are you feeling?" you asked as you lit the last candle and killed the match.

"Confident," she replied. She even spared you a smile. "And you?"

"Scared. Excited, mostly."

She bobs her head. She had a far-away look in her eye before she asked, "Your room is an attic room, correct?"

The nature of the question surprised you. "Yes. Why?"

A smile teased her lips. "I knew it." She looked at you like she saw right through you. "Lockwood was loitering near the window this morning. Just thought it was odd."

You hear him in your mind then — cherry cheeks. Warmth crawled up your neck as Lockwood and George entered the room.

"What are you two blabbering about?" George questioned, off-put by Lucy's smile and your flushed face.

"Nothing," you said together, one more pitched than the other.

George didn't look convinced.

Lockwood spoke up. " You ladies ready? Let's catch ourselves a killer."

The door was left open with an heavy stopper, giving you ample room to run to the iron circle in case things took a turn for the worst. Though, you doubted it would. The other three shared the sentiment. Some kind of energy buzzed between you four and livened the room, something that wasn't there the night before.

Lucy looked between you and Lockwood with a knowing expression you only ever saw from Jessica Lockwood. It was gone as quick as it came but the brief blast from the past made you dizzy. The resemblance must have been what made Lockwood so comfortable with her.

Lockwood had crossed the room and stood by you. Close enough to catch you if you stumbled forward in your daze.

He glanced at his wrist to check the time. "7:30's a good time. Ready, Lucy?"

"Ready," she confirmed. With a tug, the iron net came off of Griffith's mummified hand.

George and Lockwood reconsidered their stances with their rapiers as warmth was immediately sapped from the room. It was akin to jumping into a lake without testing the waters. Blood rushed to your ears. The whispering began again.

"We're here to help you," Lucy said calmly.

Wind began to pick up despite the windows being closed. Lucy persevered. "Iris Griffith, I know that you're experiencing a great injustice. Let me help you. Talk to me."

Lucy closed her eyes. You trust that she was establishing a connection with Griffith. The chill subsided by a fraction, her eyes were moving rapidly like you do when you're in the middle of a dream.

"There's a spectral glow behind you, George." Lockwood caught that faster than you. He was glaring down at the opposite corner of the room.

George's face remained impassive. "You'll tell me if she gets too close."

"Shush!" Lucy threw a hand up in the air. "Shell... Shelly? Yes, what about Shelly Carson? She died before you. You saw her case. They got the autopsy wrong, didn't they?"

A faraway scream interrupted the silence. You fumbled forward. Lockwood caught your arm. "Careful there, cherry cheeks." You lived up to your nickname.

"They all kept... Secret...?" Lucy murmured. "They all killed you to keep a secret?"

If this were a cartoon, you imagine everyone to have exclamation marks above their heads. Finally, some of the mystery began to come into focus. Who are 'they' and what secret were they so desperate to keep?

"Secret... Shelly Carson?" Lucy's expression lightened and the room grew slightly warmer. "Yes! Their secret is Shelly Carson. No? Oh, then what— They killed her to keep the secret... then paid people to say they were innocent."

"Rich people," George tutted.

The anticipation was killing you. All those nights of research, pouring over case files and autopsies were boiling down to this. You gripped Lockwood's sleeve to ground yourself. He glanced at your hand, worried you were seeing something he wasn't, but felt a smile twitching on his lips when he noticed the elation on yours.

Lucy'a voice pierced the air. "They killed her to keep what secret?"

The silence, the anticipation, and the chill in the room melded.

"Rodney pregnant? With Gasley's—" Lucy shut herself up. It was like a bad episode of a telenovela, but this was real, and someone had died because of it. "And when you were about to uncover the truth about Shelly... Rodney and Gasley they got you, too? I'm sorry to hear that. Gasley must have regrets. He had left a diary and... your, ah, hand so we could uncover your story."

It wasn't the most peaceful way to end a talk with a ghost. As soon as Lucy finished the conversation, the apparition of Iris Griffith had appeared once more. Contrary to your hypothesis, finding out the motive and her killers did not put her to rest at all.

She wailed louder than the previous night and zipped about even faster than before. Nothing Lockwood & Co. couldn't handle though. You showered the room with lavender and salt as Lockwood & Co. danced with a ghost.

—

You all appreciated a bit of silence after getting your ears blown off by a visitor. The world clearly didn't like you enough to grant the request, judging by the hunched and fuming figures of your parents blocking the door to 35 Portland Row. They sported crossed arms and crossed expressions. Your mother, specifically, was blowing steam from her ears.

Seeing your sweaty and worn form only confirmed their suspicions: You'd been running around with ghost hunters.

"You ungrateful brat..." your mother muttered.

Lucy stepped forward, blocking her way to you. She was hardened by her own experiences and least expected the horrid woman to turn on her own daughter for simply doing something outside of white-tiled establishments. You were grateful for it.

That only stirred the pot for your parents.

"We sheltered you, spoiled you, and educated you to be the lady you are today. You are our legacy." Your father harumphs forward. "We made you what you are and you would throw that all away by risking your stupid little life for some miniscule ghost adventure!"

George is the next to block their way. He wasn't that protective type, but he did look the part when he wanted to. "It was her childhood dream. Let her live." Leave it to George to be forward.

Your mother stamped her feet. The display was so awfully childish you had to look away. "You are children who don't know a single thing about building a foundation for a good life! You are going to run my daughter to ruin!"

Because of her display, Lockwood & Co. weren't so intimidated by her anymore.

Lockwood had stepped ahead, completing the wall that prevented your iron-fisted parents from getting to you ever again. "We're the best psychical agents in London. We expect a little more respect, doctor."

You could hear the smile in his voice. You couldn't help but smile, too.

With a last burst of anger, your father yelled to you. "You either come home or you find your own way. I'd rather live without a daughter than live with a disappointing one."

It shouldn't hurt as much as it did, but you had given your whole life to live up to the version of you they were dreaming of. Even if you had achieved all that, all it took was having a moment of autonomy for them to turn against you and disregard your sacrifices.

Lockwood had turned to you with a face so full of hope, it brought you back to the other night at the horrid dinner party and the night you snuck out to pick apples. After all that's happened, you found it in yourself to steel your resolve and face your father with bravery that felt unnatural but oh-so addicting.

"I'm going home," you told them.

You walked passed a stunned George and a speechless Lucy. Lockwood was far bluer than the two, but you shot him a smile that put all his worries to rest.

When you were kids, he was the one to take you by the hand and drag you off on a new adventure. This time, it was you so took his hand and pulled him passed your parents's skyscraping figures and into the comforts of 35 Portland Row.

Home, at last.

The first thing you saw as you pulled Lockwood through the threshold was his smile, radiant as ever. He didn't give you much time to admire it. He swooped down and stole your first kiss before you could even blink.

You could hear Lucy and George laugh over your parents plights. You were tired, sweaty, and covered in salt but all you could think of was; you should have done this sooner.

The next morning, you submitted the evidence and psychical report to the relevant authorities, convicting Celia Rodney and Howard Gasley for their crimes. Griffith's source was relinquished from your possession and burned at the Fittes Furnaces, marking the end of Griffith's case. It was the best thing you could do to bring her peace.

Shortly after, Lockwood and Co. welcomed you as the company's official forensic consultant, and in 35 Portland Row, you were finally comfortable in your own skin.

You and Lockwood now stand on the same side of the fence. There is no need shyly avoid your peering eyes when he could have the satisfaction of seeing them flutter close as he kisses you.

Thought, it is nice to remember that all this started with those peering eyes over wrought-iron fences. You and Lockwood reminisce those days over a cherry pie with extra ice cream or an afternoon picking apples from the backyard.

Every now and again, Lockwood would toss an apple over to your parents's side of the fence to scare them.

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

LOVELOCKED (PEOWIF BONUS CHAPTER)

NOTE ➺ Thank you to everyone who made it through to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. It's the first time I completed a project this big so I hope it brings you some joy. To everyone mourning the seasons we'll never get, I'm with you. To my fellow writers, I'd appreciate a tip or two to improve my stories. To everyone in general, may you continue finding fics that comfort you 💙

[s1k0zu]

Hey everyone,

While I was a bit (okay a lot) late to board the Austin train, once I did, I fell HARD. Before I saw him in Dune II, I knew about him, but never thought to take a second look.

Then I saw Dune and I still can't get Austin's performance out of my head. He was amazing! 😍

I've devoured everything I can find with him since then, and I've been reading a lot of fan fiction lately, and a scene has been playing on repeat in my mind, so I decided to write it down.

I love all the Feyd fics but I find myself wanting more of Austin and less of Feyd (he's just a bit too intense and I kinda miss the hair). So I came up with the idea below.

Let me know if you liked it and if you want me to try writing about something else. 🫣

Fair warning ⚠️ I've never written any fiction before, so this will probably be a mess...and it's maybe a bit too long.

🔞 It's pure smut, so minors stay away!

Under his skin

You and Austin have been together since before his Elvis movie.

You'd met when you were teenagers and became fast friends, but until you had to spend two weeks locked together in his apartment in Australia, because of the pandemic, that was all you were - friends.

You'd visited him for the weekend and then the lockdown forced you to stay.

The tension between the two of you had started escalating gradually, until one night he couldn't resist kissing you any longer. All it took was that one kiss and you were his forever.

You started getting jobs in the crew of all of his projects so you could stay together, which is why you're now in Budapest on the set of Dune II.

It's early morning and it's already as hot as hell. Add to that the giant sound box you've been setting up, so Austin can film his fight scenes in it later, and you're close to fainting.

You haven't seen Austin in two months, because he was busy training in L.A. and you were on location in Jordan with the rest of the cast.

You flew in with the night flight, dropped your bags at his place and went straight to set. He was already there, getting into costume, and you didn't have the time to see him.

Once you're done setting up and finally have some free time you head to his trailer to surprise him and wish him luck.

You open the door and cool air hits your face. Then you see him and you're sure the chill running down your body isn't from the AC.

He's gloriously naked, a black loincloth is all that covers his body. They've painted his torso with black lines and he's got his bald cap already in place. You've seen him in full costume before, but only in photos. This hits differently.

There's something feral and imposing about him and it's doing things to you. Gone is the sweet, gentle Austin you know and in his place is a man who exudes power and dominance.

His body is pure perfection and you know how hard he worked to get here.

"Hey, Earth to y/n. Are you ok?" Austin's voice comes through the fog.

"Yeah", you sigh, "It's just..."

"What?", he asks, a sly smirk forming on his lips.

"Let's just say if you weren't about to shoot, I'd be ruining your makeup right now", you say, raking your gaze over his gorgeous naked body.

"Fuck", he mutters and steps toward you, biting his lower lip, his eyes darkening with want.

"Ah, ah", you stop him, placing a hand on his chest, "makeup."

"Damn you woman! How am I supposed to focus now?", he asks brushing a stray hair behind your ear.

"Hey, I'm not the one wearing next to nothing here," you tell him, "and you're not the only one having a hard time focusing."

You brush your lips against his and his hands instantly grip your face as he deepens the kiss. All the frustration of not being able to touch each other for the past two months melts as your tongues dance frantically, fighting for dominance.

"I'll make you a deal," you say, panting, "you go slay them with your talent and we can come back here during the lunch break, to finish this."

"Deal", he says huskily in your ear, melting you with his beautiful voice.

A crew member comes in to call him to set and breaks the tension before you two can go any further.

You watch him perform, always in awe of his ability to switch between himself and the character in seconds. You busy yourself with work and bringing him water bottles and towels between takes, and just like that the hours go by and it's time for lunch.

"I can't wait to take this thing off my head. I'm sweating like a pig," Austin says, taking a towel from your hands. He's been doing fighting scenes for the past hour and he's in full combat get up.

"I'll stick around to help with the set. Text me when you're done and we can take a shower," you say, walking your fingers playfully up his chest. You lean up to give him a quick kiss but he grabs your waist to keep you there, turning it into a steamy makeout session.

"I've missed you so much," Austin breathes out, his forehead touching yours.

"I've missed you too," you say, tilting his head lower to kiss his nose.

You disengage and he heads to his trailer so the makeup team can remove his bold cap.

A while later you get a text from Austin:

R u coming? We had a deal remember?

You mutter an excuse and head towards his trailer, willing yourself not to run.

#

When you enter, you see him running a hand through his wet hair, the bald cap gone. He still hasn't removed his costume.

"Want some help with that my lord", you ask, starting to unzip the back of his wetsuit.

When he hears you call him that Austin feels a shiver run down his body. He turns and wraps his arms around you.

"Say that again," he growls.

His eyes are dark with desire and you swear you can see Feyd still lurking in the background, ready to pounce.

"You should play the bad guy more often. It's a good look on you...my lord."

"Yeah? Wanna show me just how much you like it?"

You grip his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, and kiss him long and hard, your tongues fighting for dominance. You bite his lip when he pulls away and the groan that escapes from his throat sets your whole body on fire.

He returns the favour by placing kisses on your jaw and down your neck. When he reaches your collarbone he gives it a bite in just the right spot, making heat pool between your legs.

You lean into him, feeling his erection against you and bite his earlobe, whispering into his ear: "I want you inside me."

Austin's hands tighten on your ass and he gives you a smouldering look. His blue eyes are dark with desire as he dives in to kiss you again.

You start undressing each other frantically, hands running all over, tongues locked in a dizzying dance. The room fills with the sounds of heavy breathing, your moans, Austin's groans and wet kisses.

He grabs you by the hand and pulls you into the shower.

You're both panting while he turns around to fidget with the water tap. You admire his naked body while he adjusts the temperature. He's a work of art - all lean muscle chiselled to perfection.

Your eyes travel down his chest to the trail of hair under his belly button and between his thighs and the sizeable erection he's got. His penis is perfect: a round red tip, its length marbled by veins. You can't wait to taste it and feel it inside you.

You can't believe he's yours.

"My eyes are up here, gorgeous", Austin's amused voice brings you out of your dazed wet dream.

"And what a sight they are," you smile up at him.

After seeing you standing gloriously naked before him, raking your lust-filled stare over his body, Austin can't hold himself back any longer.

His hands come up to grab your face and he bends down to devour you. As the kiss deepens, Austin's hands travel down your body, lingering on your breasts. He pinches one of your nipples and you moan into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss to look at you.

Before you can answer he bends down and licks your neck, slowly descending to your left nipple.

"Fuck you're gorgeous. I can't wait to be inside you."

You start kissing his neck, his chest, his abs, your hands trailing down to his hips. His skin tastes salty from the sweat. You kneel in front of him and lick his length slowly, feeling the veins with your tongue. He lets out a groan and braces himself against the tiled wall.

You place tiny nibbles on the head, squeezing his balls, teasing him. He shudders in ecstasy as you swallow as much of his length as you can and start moving your head up and down slowly.

"Fuck, y/n, you have to stop or I'll come...," Austin pants on top of you. You speed up your pace, locking eyes with him.

Seeing you kneeling before him, your mouth on him, looking at him like that drives him over the edge. Austin comes with a groan and you feel his seed spill into your throat. You take him out of your mouth and give the head a little kiss.

"You taste so fucking good every time," you say standing up.

Austin grabs your cheeks and gives you a rough kiss.

"You have no idea how hot you look on your knees, do you?"

When one of his hands sneaks between your legs and he rubs his fingers on your clit you feel a jolt run over your whole body and you can't stop the moan coming out of your mouth.

Austin hears you moan, hands digging into his back and throws caution away - he bites down hard on your nipple, sliding his fingers into you.

"Fuck Austin", is all you can say, your mind going blank with pleasure. You don't know what's gotten into him, but you love this new, dangerous and dominant side he's showing you.

Austin places wet kisses and nibbles all over your breasts and stomach, pumping his fingers into you. You writhe in his arms, hands tugging his hair.

When his mouth descends on your clit you moan loudly. He bites it and then licks the sore spot, curling his fingers inside you. This sends jolts of electricity all over your body and you feel yourself coming, nails digging into his hair.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," he says, voice hoarse from lust. You can feel his hard length pressing against your entrance.

Austin groans in pleasure when he hears you moan his name, the pain from your nails digging into his scalp sending bolts of pleasure straight to his groin.

He gets up, grabs your hips and lifts you, your back against the tiled wall.

You look at his soft, puffy lips and can't help kissing him again. Austin groans and slips his tongue into your mouth, making you dizzy.

When he finally breaks the kiss to look at you, you see the passion burning in his eyes, but there's something else there too - something feral. You realise he hasn't shaken Feyd off completely.

That sparks something in you, emboldens you.

"Have your way with me, my lord na-Baron. I'm all yours", you say, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling on it, your hips bucking into him.

Hearing you say that, something in Austin snaps. He can't think anymore, all he knows is that he wants to be inside you, now.

With a quiet growl he bends down to crash his lips into yours, sliding into you in one swift move.

You can't help the cry that comes out of your mouth when he slams into you. You were already wet, but he's big.

The sharp pain quickly turns into intense pleasure as he starts thrusting into you with abandon. You can feel every vein on his hard length as he's stretching you and filling you in the best way.

You've been together for years and every time he enters you feels like the first time. It's like your bodies are pieces of the same puzzle. The feel of him inside you is divine.

Austin doesn't wait for you to adjust to his size, he couldn't even if he wanted to. He's possessed by the desire to be inside you, to own you. He picks up his pace, slamming into you, his teeth leaving red marks all over your neck and shoulders. His left hand is moulded to your thigh, his right squeezing your breast.

You've never seen him like this, so forceful and primal, and you realise you love it. As the pain shoots through the pleasure you find yourself coming, trying not to scream. You mould your lips to Austin's to stifle your moans and that just spurs him on. He continues to slam into you, balls-deep, throughout your climax.

After a while, Austin comes to his senses and realises he's too rough, he's hurting you. Just as he slows down his pace, releasing you from his grip, he hears you say:

"No, don't hold back. I want you to lose control. Ravage me."

He looks into your eyes, making sure he didn't just imagine that, and sees only carnal desire and love there. He can't believe you're his.

"Fuck, I love you," he whispers.

You smile and bite his neck hard. The little control he'd managed to take back shatters. Austin slips out of you so he can turn you around, your back towards him, and slams back into you.

One of his hands travels to your neck and squeezes, the other goes to your nipple.

This angle helps him sink even deeper inside you. The sensation is almost too much and you feel the waves of another orgasm coming. Sex with Austin is always great but this is different. He's lost all control and given in to his desire, and you fucking love it.

Austin feels your walls clenching around him and he knows you're close. The hand around your throat tightens as he moves his other hand from your breast to your clit, running his fingers in agonisingly slow circles, and right before you come he inserts two fingers in.

The feeling of his fingers and his hard length inside you is too much and you trip over the edge, your whole body shaking. You claw at his neck and bury your fingers into his hair as he swallows your moans with a kiss when you both come.

You've never seen this side of him before. He's always so protective of you, so gentle. You realise he's been holding himself back, afraid to lose control and hurt you.

He looks at you apprehensively and you smile at him, tugging him close so you can wrap your hands around his neck and give him a slow, tender kiss.

For a while the only sounds in the shower are the running water and your heavy breathing as you're both coming down from your highs.

Eventually, Austin lets you go and eases out of you with a groan. Your legs are shaking as you lean onto the tile wall while he turns around to adjust the showerhead.

He melts into you, relieved you're okay.

You disengage and proceed with your shower, washing each other's hair and bodies, placing soft kisses here and there.

When you're done, Austin stops the water. He swaddles you in a huge fluffy towel, picks you up and carries you to the bed.

He lies next to you on his side, head propped up, facing you, tiny droplets of water running down his face and torso.

"I'm sorry", he says quietly, giving you a sad puppy look and caressing your face.

"For what? Giving me multiple orgasms?"

"No..." he laughs and then falls silent.

"I hurt you. I don't know what came over me."

"Not what, who. You've still got some of Feyd lurking in the background," you say a soft smile playing on your lips.

"That's not an excuse y/n. I should've stopped...I should've..." he trails off, looking remorseful.

"I don't know if you noticed Butler but I liked it. A lot", you lift his head so he can look at you.

"I'm not made of china you know. Promise me you'll stop holding back on me. This was fucking amazing."

"Yeah it was, wasn't it," he says, finally relaxing, "Okay, but on one condition: you promise to tell me if I cross the line."

"Deal," you say and mould your lips over his.

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: Sweet Delights (Colin & Penelope AU)

Hello! I have no idea how many people are going to see this. So if you've followed me for awhile, hi, I'm back. Sort of! And if you're new, hi!

It's been 8 months since I've written and posted anything due to too much stress and writers block. But yesterday I saw that @the-slumberparty was hosting a summer event and I looked at the prompts and it just seemed like fun.

I chose Cookie Dough (bakery AU) with Cherries (meet cute) and paired it with a modern day AU Bridgerton.

Title: Sweet Delights

Fandom: Bridgerton AU & Modern

Pairing: AU Colin Bridgerton x AU Penelope Featherington

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: suggestive

Author's Note: The characters are the following ages, Colin - 33, Daphne - 32, Penelope - 28, Felicity - 21 (she's the youngest Featherington sister in the books)

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Usage Disclaimer: This work is for fans only. This author does not give permission for it to be shared, spoken of, referred to in any public manner (podcast, tv, online, etc.) that wants to either make a celebrity uncomfortable, mock fan fiction/fandom in any way, or the author themselves. Requests can be made, but it is unlikely the author will change their mind. If no response is given to a request then the answer is a solid no, not interested and the work cannot be shared, spoken of or even referred to, regardless of the manner or context.

"The things I do for you," Colin Bridgerton mumbled as he walked down the street with his sister Daphne.

She shot him a peevish look before replying, "And who else was I supposed to ask to go with me to sample cake for mum's party?"

Colin considered that for a second before sighing. She was right, damnit. Of all eight Bridgerton siblings, his palette was the most like their mothers. Not to mention the fact that he was always hungry.

"Here we are," Daphne said, gesturing to a sign that read 'Sweet Delights'.

Ever the gentleman, Colin opened the door for his sister and let her enter before he followed.

A tall, skinny redhead was behind the counter and Colin opted to stand to the side, letting his sister introduce herself. He let his eyes wander around the shop, taking in the mix of modern and antique decor.

Spotting a frame with several news clippings, he wandered over to look at it. Learning that the shop had been in this building since just after World War II and the original owner, Penelope Thomas, had recently retired and sold the business to her granddaughter, Penelope Featherington. Both women were pictured side by side and Colin felt drawn to the younger one despite knowing he'd never met her before.

"Colin," he heard his sister call.

Colin turned and collided with someone.

There was a shriek and then cakes went flying.

Acting on pure instinct, Colin grabbed the woman, trying to steady them both, but then his foot slipped on frosting and he felt himself falling, the woman with him.

They landed with a crash, the woman landing on top of him as cake splatted to the ground around them.

"Oh my god," the woman said once everything was silent. "Oh my god. I am so -"

Colin opened his eyes and found the woman, Penelope, from the clippings, laying on top of him.

"Are you alright?" Daphne's worried voice reached Colin's ears.

"I'm fine," Colin assured her. "Are you ok?" His eyes met Penelope's and felt his heart skip a beat.

"Y- yes," she replied. Her eyes remained locked with his for a second before she shook her head, as if finally remembering that she was on top of him in the middle of the floor. "Oh my god."

"Careful!" the other redhead exclaimed. "There's cake and frosting everywhere."

Then she and Daphne were there and helped Penelope untangle herself without making things worse.

Finally, Colin sat up and rubbed the back of his head, only to pull his hand away and find red.

He tilted his head and studied the substance that clearly wasn't blood. Bringing his hand to his face, he sniffed it.

"Colin?" his sister asked, concerned.

"It's strawberry coulis," Colin and Penelope said at the same time.

—

Most of the time, Penelope Featherington felt like she was the owner of a bake shop. But there were sometimes when she felt anything but.

Today was one of those days. It felt like nothing had gone right all day.

Then, to top it all off, her younger sister, Felicity, had forgotten to tell her that she'd scheduled a last minute cake tasting for a new customer named Daphne Basset.

Penelope had had exactly twenty minutes before the appointment to scramble everything together, thankful that most of their flavor combinations were featured in their cupcakes, before the appointment.

She heard the bell on the door jingle as she put the last cupcake on the tray and breathed a sigh of relief.

She took a minute to clean herself up and then left the kitchen with the tray of samples.

Everything was fine for the first five and a half steps. She saw the woman talking to Felicity and then saw the man looking at the news clippings. She couldn't see his face, but he was tall and had gorgeous chestnut hair that she just wanted to run her fingers through.

"Colin?" The voice came out of nowhere and he turned unexpectedly.

She tried to avoid the collision, but it likely made the situation worse. Her overcorrection had left her unbalanced and he'd tried to save her, but it had led to them both ending up on the floor.

She'd landed on top of him, all her wobbly bits pressed against his solid body. His strong arms wrapped around her, still holding her close.

"Oh my god," she said, once the room had fallen silent. "Oh my god." She felt his hands drop from around her. "I am so -" 

"Are you alright?" the woman's worried voice asked, interrupting her. Penelope assumed she had to be Daphne Basset.

"I'm fine." She could feel the vibration of his words as he assured his companion before he asked her, "Are you ok?"

Their eyes met and the anger that Penelope had suspected to see wasn't there. Instead, his eyes were filled with nothing but kindness and a hit of surprise. There was something else in his look, but Penelope wasn't sure how to interpret it.

"Y- yes," she stammered, unable to pull her eyes from his. There was something about him that seemed so familiar and yet different all at the same time. Then she remembered where she was. On top of him in the middle of her bakery. "Oh my god."

She started to push herself off him, but stopped when she heard Felicity call out, "Careful!"

Between Felicity and Daphne, they helped Penelope get up without causing more damage to herself, Colin or the bake shop.

Once she was on her feet, Penelope surveyed the damage. All of the cupcakes had been ruined and they'd managed to smash a few under them when they fell.

"Colin?"

Hearing the concern in Daphne's voice, Penelope shifted her gaze to Colin who was studying something red in his hand.

Her eyes dropped back to the floor where they'd been just moments before and saw the chocolate cupcake with the chocolate mousse cupcake where his head had been. It was smashed and its filling had oozed out. 

"It's strawberry coulis," Colin and Penelope said at the same time.

—

"Are you sure?" Daphne asked, concern still laced in her voice.

"I'm fine, Daph," he sighed. Then, turning to the other women, said, "Sisters, am I right?"

"Older or younger?" the one that wasn't Penelope asked.

"Younger," Colin and Daphne echoed.

"Definitely a you problem then," the young woman said with a smirk. "Us younger sisters never do anything wrong, isn't that right, Penelope?"

Colin smiled when he saw Penelope roll her eyes at her younger sister. He chose to ignore what that might mean.

With his eyes on Penelope, he saw her straighten her shoulders and turn to Daphne. "I am so sorry about this," she apologized and gestured to the mess around them. "If you choose us to make the cake for your party, it will be on the house."

"That is very kind of you, but we insist on paying," Daphne told her.

"They're Eloise's siblings," her younger sister explained. "Bridgerton."

The unease in Penelope's stance all but vanished. "You're Eloise's siblings?" she repeated.

Colin felt her eyes on him as she studied him and then Daphne. Then she nodded and said, "Yes. I see the resemblance now."

"You know Eloise?" he asked. He hadn't known that, but evidently Daphne had.

"She and her sisters went to the school as we did," Daphne told him. "Eloise and Penelope were in the same year and were roommates at one point."

"Our last year," Penelope supplied. "We've lost touch in the years since, I'm afraid."

Her sister cleared her throat, forcing all the attention to her. "It's just that, if Mr. Bridgerton has coulis in his hair, he'll likely want to wash it out as soon as possible. It is quite sticky."

"She's right," Daphne said with a sigh. "And we drove together, too. I guess we'll have to reschedule."

"Actually, Penelope's apartment is just up the stairs," the younger sister said. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind if Mr. Bridgerton wanted to rinse off. Especially not since she, herself, needs to go upstairs and change."

—

If looks could kill, Felicity would be dead from the glare that Penelope shot her sister.

"Oh, that would be splendid!" Daphne exclaimed. "And while they do that, I can help you clean, Felicity."

Penelope blinked and shook her head confused. This was her bake shop, since when did her sister call the shots?

"Just go, Pen," Felicity said, waving her towards the kitchen and the stairs beyond it. "By the time you two come back down, this place will be clean and we can start over."

Penelope sighed and turned to Colin. "Come with me, I guess," she said.

"If you're uncomfortable, I can call for a taxi," he told her once they were alone in the kitchen. "It's no trouble." Then he tossed her a smirk and said, "After all, I have four younger sisters. I know how managing they can be."

Penelope studied him for a moment, giving herself time to decide. She knew two of his sisters, Eloise and Francesca, quite well and given everything that had transpired in the last fifteen minutes, she still felt comfortable in his presence.

"Come along," she said. "I think I still have some stuff my ex left here that you can wear." She paused and asked, "Assuming you don't have anything against wearing vegan, cruelty free clothing."

Colin paused and tilted his head, giving her a confused look. "Is there really such a thing?" he asked.

"According to my ex there is," she replied and then cringed. She and Alfred, never Alfie, Debling had been broken up for six months and here she was talking about him like a love sick fool. She stopped suddenly on the stairs and turned to face Colin, who was two steps behind her, but they were nearly face to face because of the difference. "I'm not hung up on my ex. I just like facts and facts are easy."

Colin tilted his head again and she wasn't sure if she found it adorable or annoying. "I like facts, too," he finally said.

Penelope took a breath, nodded her head and then continued up the stairs. She unlocked her apartment door and then stepped aside to let him in.

"The bathroom is right there," she pointed to one of the few doors in the apartment. "I'm afraid all of my stuff is rather girly," she apologized. "But you're welcome to use any of it."

"It's better than strawberry coulis, I'm sure," Colin said. "The clothes?"

"Oh right," she said and then, because it was established they both liked facts, added, "I know I said they were my ex's, but I bought them on sale and then we broke up, so they were never actually his. It was just too late to return them."

—

Colin tried not to look, but he found it impossible not to as Penelope got down on her hands and knees to pull a box out from under her bed.

She had a nice ass.

He'd noticed it on the stairs and had been caught completely off guard when she'd spun around suddenly. If she'd caught him staring, she hadn't said anything.

"I know they're here somewhere," she said, her ass in the air as she searched.

Colin opened his mouth to respond, but wasn't sure what one was supposed to say in such a situation.

'Take your time' seemed indecent, especially since his eyes kept going to her butt.

'I'm in no rush' was a lie, he could feel the stickiness on the back of his neck.

"Ah ha!" she exclaimed. "Found them!"

Colin watched as she shoved the box back under her bed. Then he quickly averted his gaze as she stood up and made her way to him.

"Here you go," she said, holding them out. "And you can just keep them. I don't have any use for them."

"Thank you," he replied. Then gestured to the bathroom. "I'll just…"

"Oh yes, of course," she said. "And I'll change, too. But over there." She pointed to an old-fashioned privacy screen. "Uh, enjoy your shower." Then she cringed.

"Thanks," he said before giving her what he hoped was a friendly smile.

He went into the bathroom and closed the door.

He gotten as far as removing his shirt when there was a knock.

"I, uh, have a bag for your clothes," she said from the other side.

Colin glanced at himself in the mirror and then decided 'why the hell not' and opened the door.

—

Penelope had expected him to just open the door enough to accept the bag, but when he opened it fully and revealed his chests, she visibly swallowed.

Her eyes traveled up from his trim waist, up to his toned pecs and, finally, up to his face. Where she saw a heated look staring back at her.

"Here's the bag," she said quickly and then hurried away from the door, wishing like hell that she didn't live in a studio apartment.

A second later, the bathroom door closed and she waited until she heard the water turn on before she made her way to the antique privacy screen.

There was a wicked part of her brain that told her to just barge into the bathroom and kiss Colin Bridgerton and give into the desire that was evidently building between them. But the cautious side of her brain, the part that had been ever present and nagged while she was dating Alfred, told her to proceed with caution.

There was no unease, she realized as she changed clothes. When she'd dated Alfie, as Felicity loved to call him these days, there had been a sense of unease at every turn.

They'd only dated for less than a year, but he'd constantly been asking her to change herself and her world while expecting her to accept him exactly as he was. The turning point had come when he'd all but demanded she abandon her grandmother's tried and true recipes and convert the bakery to an exclusively vegan and gluten free one.

That's when she had realized that she would never be good enough for him. There would always be parts of her life that he'd expect her to change to please him. That she wasn't good enough just being herself.

Stepping out behind the privacy screen, Penelope studied the bathroom door. While she'd only just met Colin, she knew about him and his family. While Eloise hadn't spoken a lot about her family, per say, they'd been classmates from the ages of 11 to 18 and she could recall a story or two about the Bridgerton older brothers.

—

Strawberry coulie free, Colin stepped out of the bathroom wearing the gifted joggers and hoodie. They were a little loose on him, but otherwise were comfortable.

Feeling eyes on him, he looked up and caught Penelope looking at him. When her cheeks started to redden, he tilted his head and studied her.

"Why do you do that?" she asked him. "Tilt your head when you look at me?"

"I dunno," he said. "I didn't even realize I was doing it. I guess, I just find you intriguing."

"Is that a good thing?" she asked him. She hadn't moved from her position about ten feet away from him.

"Yes."

They stood silently for a moment before she gestured to the stairs. "I suppose we should go help our sisters."

They made their way back down the stairs, but instead of finding their sisters, they found a note on the workbench.

Penelope read it and then handed it to him.

Pen,

Daphne forgot she had dinner plans with her husband tonight and I have a date. You and Colin will need to finalize the flavors tonight. The party is next week.

Felicity

"This has Daphne written all over it," Colin accused. "I'm sorry about this. My sister is happily married and thinks everyone else should be too."

"Don't blame your sister entirely," Penelope said, shaking her head. "Felicity isn't innocent in this."

"Younger sisters, am I right?" Colin echoed his sentiment from earlier, which had the desired effect, making Penelope smile. "Tell me how I can help."

—

"Tell me how I can help," Colin's voice reverberated in her mind.

Alfie had never offered to help. Not even when the shop was in a rush and he was waiting for her to close for the day. He'd just sit at the table in the corner and read.

Propelled by some source within her, Penelope closed the difference, wrapped her arm around Colin's neck and pulled his face towards hers and kissed him. It took a second, but soon his arms were around her and he was kissing her back.

It was the first kiss she had always dreamed of and more.

She saw fireworks.

She felt sparks.

But more than anything, she felt wanted.

When they finally broke apart, Colin rested his forehead against hers and they stared at each other while they caught their breath.

—

One Year Later

"Colin!" Penelope shrieked as he dipped his finger into the strawberry coulis. "That's for your mum's cake!"

"She'll never know," he replied before he licked finger clean.

He knew that Penelope knew that he knew she was watching his tongue closely as he cleaned his finger.

"Colin," she said in a faux warning tone.

"Penelope," he replied in a mocking tone.

Then he grinned and dipped his finger again, this time he held it out to her.

Her eyes met his and he tilted his head, daring her to join his game.

His mother's party was until tomorrow evening, which meant he could help Penelope decorate the cake, and make more coulis, in the morning.

"Penelope," he said in a seductive tone.

"Colin," she replied in the same tone. Then she took his hand and licked the strawberry coulis off his finger, swirling her tongue in the devastating manner that she knew would completely undo him.

"You have five minutes to clean up," he told her once she released his finger. "And then I'm either taking you on the workbench or carrying you upstairs."

She only needed four and they left a trail of clothing going up the stairs.

[froggywritesstuff]

compromise | yandere!j.d

ship/pairing: yan!jd x g/n!willing!reader

request: anon: helloo, could you do a yan jd but with a willing reader? like they really don't give a shit about anything and ignore all the red flags. thank you and have a good day!!

warnings: yandere themes, manipulation, toxic relationships, death threats (both implied and explicit), minor character death, not proofread

A/N: this is like the anti 'I Say No'. ty for requesting this, it was a bit difficult to write as i've never written this kind of concept and i've been going through some major writers block, but i hope you like it, sorry if it doesn't make sense. i do not in any way support yandere behaviour, please know that this writing is purely fictional, and should not ever be reenacted in real life

The sound of the phone ringing made you stand up quickly, already knowing who was calling.

"Jesus, Y/N, again? This is like the fifth time he's called." your friend groaned in annoyance. They were never a fan of your boyfriend, especially after he kept interrupting their time to hang out with you.

You sent Parker an apologetic smile, "I know, I'm sorry, he just gets annoyed if I ignore him."

Rushing to answer the phone, you couldn't see Parker's look of concern as you said that.

"JD, you know I'm fine, right?" you said, grinning as you spoke.

"You never know, Y/N. Anything can happen when you invite a stranger into your home."

"Parker's not a stranger, babe. You have nothing to worry about," you were practically pleading with him, though you knew he wouldn't drop the subject easily.

"Oh, so I'm not allowed to worry about you anymore?" he retorted, laughing to hide the harsh tone in his words.

That wasn't what you said at all, but why argue over it? You'd never win.

"Of course you are," you responded sweetly, "But I know Parker's annoyed you're interrupting our sleepover." you said it as a joke, not thinking enough to know JD would take offence.

"Well would Parker rather me do what I have every right to do and talk to you, or wake up with a bullet in their head."

You whipped your head around to face Parker, checking that they weren't close enough to hear before turning back, "The first option." you said, rolling your eyes, feeling a smile tug on your lips. You knew it was bad he made threats like that, especially when you never knew if those threats were just threats, or if he'd follow through with them, but you knew there was no use in fighting him. Over time you had become desensitised to his toxic behaviour. It was just easier to let him try to control your life, especially when you knew he could end it with ease.

"I thought so." you could practically hear his smirk over the phone. The two of you continued talking for a few minutes, much to Parker's disappointment, before JD finally let you hang up. You turned to face Parker, frowning when they left the room. You walked out the door and called out their name, which was followed by Parker responding in a rather annoyed tone, "I'm in the kitchen."

You walked to the kitchen, smiling as you saw Parker, "Sorry that took so long, I know it's annoying, he's just really protective."

Parker took a sip from the glass of water in their hands, "Does he think I'm an axe murderer or something? He calls you non-stop every time we hang out, what's his deal?"

You sighed, thinking carefully about what to say, "He... he just doesn't trust a lot of people around me."

Parker shook their head in disbelief, "I've known you for years, Y/N. Longer than he's known you." You were grateful for that fact. If JD had met you before Parker, you would've never been friends. He drove away anyone who tried to get close to you. You let JD do a lot of things, but you never let him drive Parker away. Of course, you had to beg him not to hurt them.

"I know, he just..." you trailed off. You genuinely didn't know how to defend him.

Parker sighed, "Y/N, I'm happy you have a boyfriend, I think it's great. But you have to understand that JD is not a good boyfriend."

"Yes he is, he's just a lot sometimes."

Parker rolled their eyes, "I don't understand why you're still with him, he's such a dick." noticing your hurt expression, Parker set their glass of water down, and moved closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, "I'm sorry... I know you love him, he just..."

You smiled at them, "Let's just not talk about him tonight." 

As much as you loved Parker, you knew if they continued talking about JD like that, you'd both end up saying something you'd regret.

Like you said, JD wasn't brought up for the rest of the night. Luckily, he decided to stop calling you as well. The rest of the sleepover carried on like normal sleepovers would, you and Parker talking for nearly the entire night, until the sun eventually came up, and in what felt like no time at all, Parker went back home.

You sat in your room, thinking of ways to entertain yourself, when you heard a knock at the window. You jumped in fear, calming yourself when you saw your boyfriend smiling from the other side. You stood up, opening up the window and pulling your boyfriend inside and embracing him into a hug.

"I missed you," he mumbled, pressing a kiss on your head.

You laughed against his chest, "I know Jason."

He pulled away from the hug, kissed your lips, before he spoke, "About last night..." your heart dropped as he pulled out some polaroid pictures from his coat pocket. Whenever he killed someone he always took pictures and showed them to you. And you knew he was more than capable of killing Parker.

"I know you don't want me hurting Parker," you mentally braced for the news, "So I found a compromise."

You stared at him in confusion, "A compromise."

He nodded, grinning wide as he handed you the pictures.

"Is this..." you trailed off, staring up at your boyfriend, lips turning upward into a smile.

"Billy Jameson, Johnson?" 

"Billy Jackson," you finished, "from my english class."

He smiled at your excitement, "He's the dickhead in your class, right?"

You nodded, a part of you was scared that he forgot his reason for killing someone, but there was no use in bringing that up, "Yeah, he fucking sucks." you said, staring at the pictures of Billy's hanging corpse.

"Don't worry, I didn't just knock him out and hang him," he began, "I fucked him up a bit beforehand."

You smiled, pulling him into another hug, "Thank you Jason."

He quickly returned the hug, wrapping his arms tightly around your body, "Anything for you, darling."

buy me a coffee <3

[antiyourwokehomophobia2]

As someone who writes and someone who reads a lot of writing, I have something I'd like to say to other creators.

At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, I never leave comments. On anything. It's actually a habit I'm actively trying to break out of as I get further along into my writing career because I know how much comments mean to me and so I want to provide that for the creators I come across.

But the grand grand grand majority of work I have read and loved? I have never commented on. To this day, I have never written a review on Goodreads. Not even for books that have stuck with me since I was a child. I've never written a comment on any of the fanfiction I've read or on any Tumblr art that I come across.

I am speaking about work that has literally changed my life. There are fanfictions out there that I have remembered for years after I read them. The authors have no idea. I never wrote a comment letting them know. They have no clue how much their work meant to me and impacted me. Just yesterday I was thinking about a fan fiction I read when I was early in my teen years (so about 10 years ago or so). To be fair I don't think I could have written an eloquent comment at 13, but that's not the point. The point is that I remembered that fanfiction after 10 whole years and the creator doesn't have the slightest clue in the world that their words re-entered the mind of someone who has not revisited the work for a decade.

There are so many fanfictions that I have bookedmarked that I genuinely love to death, and I've never said anything under them. I still reread them to this day even though I bookmarked them when I was much younger. There are certain lines in them that have given me feelings that I have tried to replicate in my own writing. I hope that people who read my work can feel how I felt when I read some of the fanfics that I have saved on my phone. The creators, again, have literally no idea. Don't get me wrong: their fanfics have gotten comments from other people, but if I'm anything to go by then there are so many other people who never verbally expressed their love even though they absolutely do have love for the work.

To be quite honest I am just not the type of person who thinks to write comments. Even though I fully understand how much comments mean to creators (which is why I'm going out of my way to be better about leaving them), I just... Have never been the type of person to write about how much a piece of art means to me. A piece of art can shake me to my absolute core and imprint on me and I will never tell the person who made it how much I love it.

As someone who also creates, I know how it feels to get low engagement on work you have spent an inordinate amount of time on. I know it can be discouraging and make you feel like what you make isn't worth anything. I also know firsthand that someone can have an indescribable amount of love for what you do and keep that to themselves. I am not the only person out there like this. That's not a guess. I've heard people before say that they feel weird commenting on work that is "too old" even though they love it. Or they feel like creators don't want to get a notification for a simple "woah".

Someone can love your work dearly and not think to comment for a number of reasons. That doesn't mean that your work isn't valuable and it doesn't mean nobody loves it. And honestly? Even if your work really does only bring you joy, I still think that you should create it! But that's a point for another post. My point for this one is that a lot more people silently love your work than you realize. Unfortunately (or very fortunately depending on how you look at it) they probably outnumber the people who do comment.

So I'm sharing this with all other creators. You have so many silent lovers. Secret admirers exist in the world of creating, too, and I think that that is very important for you to remember. If you ever feel down about the fact that people may not say the things that you want them too? Consider that they're thinking it instead. Keep creating!!

[deanscherrypie420]

Demon Blood - Part 1

A/N : Hi! This is my first public fan fiction I've written. I hope you enjoy! (Supernatural storyline is not followed) I didn't word count but uh.. It's.. It's long :D

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader (Y/N), Sam Winchester, Bobby, Castiel.

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Fem!Reader, Sam X Reader (Platonic) Castiel X Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Angst, demons, blood, injuries, mild detail into injuries, cursing, arguing, physical fights, supernatural hunts, slow burn (Let me know if I missed anything :) )

Summary: You were born a demon. You never found out why, but you have demon blood in your veins. Your father left when you were young and you've lived with Bobby ever since. One day, the Winchesters come storming back into your life for a place to stay. Sour memories are brought up and you and Dean can't stop fighting..

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She woke up to commotion in the main room. She glanced around her bedroom and pushed the blankets away. Grabbing her gun from underneath her pillow, she quietly walked to her door, listening in for any context. All she heard was men laughing. Groaning slightly, she made her way out to the living room. Immediately Bobby turns to her, a weary smile on his face.

"Y/N! The Winchester boys are gonna be staying here for a bit between hunts."

She glanced at them. Sam had changed a bit, he was tall, very fit. He'd grown his hair out more and he had an awkward smile. Dean was.. Dean. She didn't need to get into more detail.

"Why? Can't they just motel surf?" She said bitterly. She glared at the older Winchester. He had a small shit-eating grin on his face and it made her sick. "Or did you miss me, De?" She said with a tight smile, sarcasm lacing her words line thorns on a rose.

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She was coloring at the dining room when two boys arrived. The older man dropping them off seemed to be in a hurry and just as quickly as he was there, he was gone. Bobby had guided the two over to her and she smiled big.

"Hi! I'm Y/N! What are your names?" She said excitedly. One of the boys was older than her, taller too. He seemed to be about twelve years old. The other one was definitely around her age, maybe just a little older. The older one glanced down at his brother and he answered, "I'm Dean. He's Sam."

This was the start of a friendship between Sam and her. They were best friends, always drawing or reading together. One time she even stole a book from a library for him. Dean on the other hand, didn't like her that much. He wasn't outright mean or anything, he just didn't spend time with her. Everything was fine until one day..

"Guess what! Look what I can do!" She giggled as she dragged Sam closer. Intrigued, Dean came over as well, glancing over his little brother's shoulder. She closed her Y/E/C eyes, and when she opened them again they were like a sea of ink. Dean grabbed Sam and pulled him back, shoving the little girl to the floor. Her eyes quickly went back to normal but they were filled with tears. "W-what's wrong?" She asked.

"You're some sort of demon freak! Stay the hell away from me and my brother!" Dean shouted at her. Bobby soon rushed into the room and went to Y/N's side. She was crying now. Bobby had to explain to the boys how she was indeed, a demon.

It was never the same after that.

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At dinner they ordered take-out from a nearby fast food restaurant. It was quiet. The air was a bit tense, just the sounds of food packages moving around occasionally and beer bottles being set down. She wasn't legally allowed to drink for another six days, but who's counting?

"So, what's it like being a demon? Bein' all grown up now I'm sure you use your bullshit in some way." Dean said casually, a smartass grin on his face. He was taunting her.

She took a deep breath before responding, "It's great, y'know. I live normally. Just like any hunter would." She took another sip of beer and gave a unamused smile.

Dean cleared his throat, taking a swig of beer himself. "Yeah well, I bet your family is scared, huh? Never knowing when you might kill them.." He said coolly. It was such a random comment. He was trying to get a reaction out of her and she knew it. It was making her blood boil.

"Good thing I've never hurt any human before, huh?" She was tense and everybody could tell. Bobby and Sam were allowing the conversation to continue, cautiously glancing at her to make sure she was alright.

She's not sure exactly when the argument escalated but it did. They were yelling at each other and she was pissed. He brought up a time when she got violent, and for some reason he was so hell bent on bringing up her family. God, it infuriated her! She screamed at him, "Good thing I don't have a family to kill! Nobody has to worry about fucking shit!" She then stormed out and sat on the porch, trying to control her breathing.

Shortly after her, Sam walked out. "Hey, you okay?" He said quietly as he sat down next to her. She scoffed and nodded. "Yeah, golden." It was quiet for a moment. "We don't have much family either. Our dad is.. who knows where, and our mom is dead." He said quietly. She glanced over at him and smiled softly, "Yeah, but you have each other. I got no one." Her voice was gentle. Sam wrapped an arm around her and sighed, "You have me."

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Bobby had taken them to a playground for her seventh birthday. He was trying to distract her from the thought of her dad. The boys had been staying with Bobby for a year now, Dean was thirteen years old and Sammy was nine. Sam and her were still okay, despite his older brother's wishes. Her, Sam and Dean were at the top of the tallest slide and she was yelling for Bobby to watch her go down.

"Bobby! Bobby! Look at me! Watch!" She squealed excitedly. She was such a bubbly kid. Bobby looked over and smiled. "Go! C'mon now." He cheered her on the best he could. She was giggling and as she was about to go down she felt the wind knock out of her. Before she knew it she was falling down to the ground, and then It went blank.

She woke up moments later to Bobby and Sam next to her, helping her up. She was crying hard. Bark and dirt covered her new "birthday dress" and she was bleeding from scrapes all over. Sam hugged her tightly as she cried while Bobby scolded Dean for pushing her.

"I got you, it's- it's okay, Y/N. I'm here." Sam said, squeezing her tighter.

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She was in the Impala with the boys on a hunting trip. The only reason she was brought along - and the only reason she agreed - was because they suspected it was demons. She was in the backseat with her earbuds in, listening to Taylor Swift to block out whatever the hell Dean was listening to.

It was night time when they arrived in Colorado. They were in a small town, a rather trashy town to say the least. They booked a motel room because, as Dean said, "We aren't gonna book two rooms and change routine just 'cause you wanna feel special, sweetheart. Suck it up."

She set her stuff down by the couch while Sam went to shower. Dean grabbed a beer and made himself comfortable on his bed. He turned on the T.V and started watching a show she couldn't care less about. She made a makeshift bed on the sofa and laid down. She was exhausted.

When Sam came out of the shower, Dean went in. She cursed him under her breath for not letting her shower first.

"Hey, earth to Y/N." Sam said, waving his hand In front of her. She snapped out of her thinking and gave an awkward laugh. "Sorry, I was just zoning out." She rubbed the back of her neck. He ruffled her hair as he walked past and smiled. "Yeah, I noticed. Take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch." She rolled her eyes at the suggestion, "No. I'm fine, Sammy." They bickered about it for a minute before Dean stepped out of the shower. "She gets the couch, Sam. End of discussion."

The room was filled with tension and she told Sam she was gonna clean up really quick. She went into the bathroom and showered. The water was cold, Dean purposefully using as much warm water as he could. When she was finished, she wrapped herself in a towel and peeked out the bathroom door. "Sammy," She said sweeter than usual, catching both the boy's attention, "Can you please grab me a shirt? I kinda forgot one." He smiled and nodded, "No problem." He reached into a bag and grabbed a t-shirt. Once he gave it to her she retreated back into the bathroom. Her face was flushed and she felt like an idiot. What the fuck was that, Sammy, can you pretty please grab me a shirt? She mocked herself, Sounded like you were trying to fuck him, Jesus.

She left the bathroom and made her way over to the couch. Dean stared at her the whole time, making her slightly uncomfortable. "Can I help you?" She said, more attitude in her tone than she intended. Dean gave a tight smile back. "You're wearing my shirt." He said calmly. For some reason, everything he did seemed to irritate her. "Oh, boo-hoo. Cry about it. It's just a shirt." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Don't give me attitude, I'm just pointing It out." He winked at her, a grin on his face. Is this fucker serious right now? She thought to herself. "Fucking. Gross." She said as she peeled the shirt from her body, leaving herself in nothing but sweats and a bra. She tossed the shirt at him and flipped him off, "Go bang a bartender or something, don't flirt with me." She scoffed and shook her head, "I might kill you, remember?" The room went silent as she lay down on the couch, quickly falling into an uncomfortable sleep.

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"Rise and shine, doll face! We got work to do." Dean announced as he opened the curtains to the motel window, the bright sunlight causing her to cringe. She forced herself up and immediately noticed a new face.

"Who the fuck is that?" She said bluntly, staring at the man.

"I'm Castiel, the Winchesters guardian angel. Nice to meet you." He said almost robot-like as he stuck his hand out to shake hers. She just rolled her eyes and shook her head, going over to the coffee machine and pouring herself a cup. Castiel tilted his head and quirked a brow at the brothers. "Was I inappropriate?" He questioned. Sam quickly answered before Dean could, "No, she's just not a morning person." Castiel seemed to accept this answer and remained seated.

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"Fucking bitch!" She yelled out as the demon sliced her chest, throwing her to the floor. It grabbed her by her throat and squeezed, nearly crushing it before chucking her to the wall.

She got into the predicament because she was playing bait. "A demon can't kill you, so just go in there and distract him while we figure something out." Dean explained to her. She had rolled her eyes and agreed, now wishing she hadn't.

"Not so strong now, are you, little girl?" The vessel cooed, making her teeth grind. She flung herself forward and shoved it to the ground, her eyes pooled with black. She heard a gunshot as she fell to the ground with it, but she didn't care, she was determined to kill this demon.

Suddenly, after tearing it apart, she was pulled off of It. She went to attack whatever the fuck interrupted her but she was quickly soothed by Sam's voice. 'Hey, calm down. Shh.." He whispered in her ear. Her muscles relaxed and she exhaled, her eyes returning to normal. "Fuck, we didn't mean to shoot you. Dean, wheres Cas?" Sam asked urgently. She was beginning to feel lightheaded and she realized that she was the one who got shot. The bullet went in right by her hip, the soft flesh around it soaked in blood. She couldn't make out what the boys were arguing about, but before she knew it she was laying flat on the ground while Dean tried to remove the bullet from her side. Sam was above her, definitely talking to her but she couldn't hear him. Black spots formed in the corners of her eyes and soon it consumed her.

She was out.

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She woke up in the motel bed, a groan leaving her throat. Both of the brothers perked up and looked over at her. Sam rushed to your side and began rambling, asking if you were alright and such. Her headache was banging against her temples and she shut her eyes tight. "Sam, shut up. I'm fine." She said sternly, quickly silencing the younger Winchester. Dean cocked a brow, "He's just making sure you're okay. Son of a bitch shot you, be grateful he gives a damn." Dean all but nearly yelled, his tone clearly pissed off. "Dean, shut the fuck up. I'm not in a mood to bitch with you right now." She snapped back, pushing herself up out of bed. She had bruising underneath each of her eyes, it was mild but it was there. Her forehead was scratched and she had a long incision down her chest. It felt like the wounds were burning through her clothes and It just pissed her off more.

Pulling her out of her thoughts, Dean shouted at her. "I'm sick and tired of you thinking you're some sort of fucking god because you're a demon. Get off your fucking high horse and be grateful we patched your ass up!" His brows were furrowed and his fists were balled up, his knuckles white. She grit her teeth and shoved him back. "It's your fucking job." She said as he banged against the wall. "Your job is to protect people, whether it be me or Sammy. Don't give me the "be grateful" speech when you aren't appreciative of shit!" She yelled back at him.

He sprang forward, not knowing what came over him. He slapped her so hard across the face her mind shook. "Good thing you're not a person. You're a disgusting fucking demon, sweetheart!" He chuckled dryly, "We should have left you for dead."

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It's been hours since she's been back at the motel. She checked her phone and it was nearing three in the morning. 2:37 AM. Great. She laughed to herself. She was freezing, the cold wind and rain chilling her to the bone.

By the time she made it to the bus stop, there was only an hour left until it took off. She sat down on a bench, the warm heaters inside the building making her head lull back. She closed her eyes and exhaled.

"5;00 AM Bus to South Dakota Leaving In Five Minutes." The intercom said, waking her up. She hopped on the bus and made herself comfortable in a seat closer to the front. She would be back home within a few hours.

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When she returned home, her clothing was still damp and she looked pretty.. rough. She quickly made her way past Bobby, and into her bedroom. She changed into a new set of clothes and took a deep breath. She knew the boys would be home soon, so she had to figure out a way to explain the situation to-

"Are you alright?" Bobby yelled through the door, knocking quickly before opening it. She smiled at his familiarity, the comfort of being home. He quickly rushed over to her and grabbed her face. "Who in bloody hell laid a hand on my kid?" He said through gritted teeth. She just shrugged and waved his hand away, sighing. "Hunts are rough." She remarked dryly. Bobby exhaled and turned her head to the side, not caring that she waved him off. "Only a demon would hit a woman like this." He said coldly and a part of her inside smiled.

Who's the demon now, De?

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"De! De! Look at what I drew for you!" She said, wobbling around as she ran up to him with a picture in hand. It was Deans thirteenth birthday. He was waiting for his dad at the kitchen table. He was supposed to come.

The picture was in bright colors and it read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEDE!!" In big pink letters. There was a cake drawing on it with three candles, she explained It was for the three of them. "One is for you, the red one! See, see! The green one is for Sammy, because he really likes trees! And- and the pink one-" Dean cut her off, "I don't care! Get your stupid ass picture away from me and stop calling me that!" He shouted as he grabbed the paper and ripped it, throwing the two halves back at her in little crumpled balls. Her eyes watered and she nodded, picking up the scraps. "I'm sorry, De.." She said quietly, and he pushed her hard. "Don't fucking call me that!" He yelled.

"Do not cuss at her like that, boy!" Bobby had said when he came in, yelling at Dean. She ran to her room and cried.

She couldn't stop crying.

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When the boys got home Bobby immediately approached them. Dean was prepared for Bobby's wrath. How he would yell at him for laying a hand on her.

"You boys! I swear to God! You need to take better care of her, that evil creature got 'er good! Cut her up and slapped her hard." Bobby said with the shake of his head. Dean's eyebrows quirked in confusion, cautiously answering, "The demon slapped her?" Sam glanced down at his brother and shook his head. "Who else woulda done it, Dean? Monsters are sick people.." Bobby said before waving the boys off and walking away.

Before Sam or Dean could say anything, Y/N appeared in the doorway, mimicking Bobby's voice.

"Only a demon would hit a woman like this." She said with a smug grin. Dean's eyes darted towards her and he seethed. "Bullshit. He didn't say that." Y/N just smiled, walking over to him and placing a hand on his chest. Sam raised a brow, a bit antsy. Dean's heartbeat was racing. He cheeks grew flushed and she just chuckled softly. Her hand trailed up Dean's collar and found its way to his cheek, cupping it gently.

"Only a demon, De."

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A/N : That's the end of part one! I wrote this all in one sitting and I didn't exactly proof read, so let me know If there are any mess ups! I hope you enjoyed :)

Thank you so much for reading! If you have any rec's feel free to send them over :)

[melbatron5000]

Fangirling for personal improvement

My Good Omens hyperfixation has made me a better writer.

I did not expect that when I got hooked on the Ineffable Mystery and started digging for Clues.

I've been writing fiction for decades. I have five books out, seven if you count the side adventure novellas I wrote to entice people to my email list. I'm currently editing the sixth (eighth?).

I have a few deeply devoted fans. I have a handful of good reviews on my books.

I also have a full-time day job, because selling books ain't making me rich.

My goal has never been to be rich, it's been to make a living doing something I love. And I'm still not there yet. It's largely my own fault, there are things I could be doing, but I'm too scared of rejection to do them. I've been working on that fear of rejection, but it's been a bit of a roller coaster of feeling better and then feeling worse and scared again.

As part of my attempt to feel better, I decided to re-edit my very first book and re-release it. I'm indie, so I can do that.

Everyone always asks for the first book, and I've learned a lot as a writer since I put it out, so it's not necessarily my best foot forward. Several people have told me to let that go and write another book, but when I'm selling, shoppers are never interested in the newest book (unless they already read the first one), they want the first book. And if the first book doesn't catch them, they won't care about the newest book. So I want the first book to make the best impression it can.

My day job and self-esteem issues have made the editing process slow going. It's been over a year. (I'm also editing the sixth book on top of that, so I may be biting off more than I want to chew. But anyway.)

I took hyperfixating on Good Omens as a little bit of a mental break from grinding on my own stories. After I did that for a while, I figured it was time to get back to grinding.

Holy shit was it easier!

I had a sentence that I had re-written like, five times, trying to capture exactly what I wanted to say. When I came back to my hand-written edits, I saw immediately how to word the sentence to say what I wanted with the most punch. I also saw that in my efforts to correct some author tics, I had re-written some of my sentences to be more "correct" but lose their impact. I could see at a glance which ones needed a little tidying to take care of tics, which ones needed total re-writing, and which ones were good as they were, tics or not.

As I began working on edits again, I also started to feel more confident. I have a better way with words than I had given myself credit for. My characters are interesting. My stories have a deeper meaning. I have a clear-cut idea of what kind of author I want to be.

I had a moment of feeling like I want to make Neil Gaiman proud of me, and of course that's a wildly unrealistic thing to want, and I was feeling sort of defeated at how no matter if I ever have success or not I will always be too small a fish for him to ever notice me, and so will never make him proud. But watching him be so encouraging and lovely on Tumblr has been deeply vicariously uplifting to me. In the distant, good-will-towards-all-baby-writers way he has, Neil may never hear of me personally, but he is, in fact, proud of me nonetheless. This has meant more to me than I know how put into words.

This is all literally because of Good Omens.

I've always loved both Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. They are master-class writers, for sure. I've read everything by both of them, multiple times.

Reading and re-reading are not the same as hyperfixating, it turns out. It's not the same as reading meta-analyses of a master work and going, "Oh, I never saw that before, but it absolutely tracks!" It's not the same as seeing the same words or phrases repeated over and over by people who love them, and seeing why those phrases in particular have caught people's imaginations, the layers of meaning available in them. Reading and re-reading are not the same as dipping a toe into writing my own metas, using my own skills to break down an amazing story I love and examine its working parts and see how it ticks.

I'm not developing new skills that I didn't have before, I'm using the same skills I've gained over the years of trying to write good books. But I am using them in new ways, and maybe more importantly, I'm using them on a book that I love by two authors I really care about, rather than a book I don't like assigned by an instructor or chosen by someone writing a book on how to analyze writing. Being able to ask myself, "Why do I love this bit so much?" as opposed to "What's so brilliant about this book I've never read and never will?"

My confidence is so much higher than it has been in years, and it's holding steady. Every time I look at my own writing, I'm jazzed and pleased, rather than intimidated and concerned. I'm excited to start working on more stories. I'm excited to really give it a go to get them selling enough to make a living at it.

All because of Good Omens.

[hellfire--cult]

fic authors self rec game

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💞

thank you for tagging me @thecreelhouse 💜

okay, i'll give a little lore for each fic

Do I wanna Know? - Stripper!Eddie x Shy!Fem!Reader

I wrote this fic thinking it was going to be a two piece. I had it all figured out in my head, and then when I wrote it the words kept flowing. I also didn't think it would really catch people's attention, I just needed to write that idea in my head. I put a lot of self indulgent things in it, thoughts and mannerisms, so it was also a bit healing to write. It also brought me a lot of joy that people felt identified and that it helped them understand themselves or they felt seen through my fic and it felt like a warm hug.

2. Hooked on you - Hook!Eddie x Fem!Reader

This came to me in a vision after watching Peter Pan from 2001. But I am also a big fan of hidden messages through fantasy, or through fiction, like little riddles of hidden meanings behind the whole world one creates. For example, in my story, Neverland is a place of self acceptance, of saving, to those who are ready to leave way too early because of grief or a broken heart. I do have backstories for each character and if you read the story you know reader's, but safe to say, all of them, including the kids, suffered gravely. I also loved the mixture of fantasy and wanting to live in ignorance to one's depression and anxiety cause I think we can all kind of relate to that, even to this day. I started writing to escape reality, and reader here slipped into neverland in order to escape it.

3. The White Rabbit series, including Bunny, Bunny, Bunny and Run, Rabbit, Run. - Mafia!Eddie x Fem!Reader - Steddie x Fem!Reader

I wanted to expand my boundaries a bit. I always wanted to write a fic that didn't consist of love, only pure lust and desire, as well as dark romance features. This was literally all self indulgent, with things I've wanted to experiment writing, filled with explicit scenes and using words I never used before. It is just literal sex, but I am pretty proud of my detailing of scenes, of my smut scenes. I was always afraid of making smut scenes bland, the need for realism too great in my body lmao.

4. Please, Trust me. - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Oof. I really don't know how to word this right so bare with me. I wanted to show that some people that feel like suicide is the only way to be free, some embrace this possibility with open arms and with relief in their faces. Reader was ready to go. Through and through. She wasn't sad about it. She was excited for it. And it wasn't because she was 'crazy' or 'unstable'. She was perfectly conscious of her decision. I wanted people to see though, that there's always a purpose. That you just need to wait. And maybe that purpose comes with a person, and sometimes it doesn't. I wanted people to know that there's also hope. But my main purpose was to show that suicide doesn't always mean bad.

5. Baring Teeth - Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

My baby. Even if it's still on going, and my updates have stopped, I am still writing it. I am proud of this fic in particular because of the plot twists that I have in mind for the future of the fic. I am also proud to like, write something that people, that are not into Omegaverse, can read cause I slowly give hints of what it is, and descriptions as we go further into the story. It's not like I hit people with it without them knowing what it is. People that have never read any of the sort can easily read this and slowly get accustomed to what Omegaverse is.

This was hard. I honestly took a lot of time to think of what I was proud of LMAO

no pressure tags and sorry if you were already tagged: @andvys @munson-mjstan @loveshotzz @pastel-pillows @ghost-proofbaby @lokis-army-77 @munson-blurbs @rip-quizilla

[daily-rayless]

25 Years of Rosa

I've been doing this character appreciation series for a while now, and it's about time we got to a very special character – the first character from the first JRPG I ever played that I first really fangirled over – the first character that was my Number One Favorite Video Game Character – Rosa Farrell from Final Fantasy 4.

June 1999

We are going so far back that I have no idea what my first Rosa fan art was. It's not this – but I wanted to highlight it because I was incredibly proud of myself. Rosa, all sad and anguished because she's missing Cecil.

But let's talk some about her, the good and the -- maybe? -- bad.

October 1999

I first played FF4 in May 1999, on a rickety and unreliable Super Nintendo. The cartridge was prone to failure and wiped out my first save once I'd gotten the team underground. But by then, I was invested, too invested to give up and play Chrono Trigger or something. I had to find out what happened to Cecil and Rosa and everyone, so I slammed that cartridge right back in and started up a new game. Fortunately, that one lasted all the way through.

January 2000

As I said, it was my first JRPG, and I adored the medium, especially the story. Along with having a rickety SNES, I also had a house with a not-great internet connection, and this was long before you could easily look up Let's Plays and videos of your favorite scenes. Convinced in my young mind that the game might never properly work for me again and would never, I don't know, be republished, I immediately sat down and wrote a detailed, dramatized summary of the whole thing just so I wouldn't forget it.

April 2000

And my favorite element of the story was Rosa, the healer, the archer, the female lead. Maybe it's just that FF4 was my first game, but I like to think there's a special spark to Rosa that makes her stand out.

June 2000

I was bubbling over with enthusiasm and, along with writing out a detailed summary, I subjected my patient and obliging mother to endless dissertations on the characters and story. I specifically remember talking to her about Rosa, and her commenting that Rosa was a traditionally “feminine” character, even “passive” – a healer, a love interest, needing to be rescued not once, but twice.

November 2000

And I think that's worth exploring – as neutrally as possible. On one hand, in fiction we do have a very long history of imperiled, secondary, predominantly supportive heroines, and the fact that so many had to be written that way reflects something bad in the real world. On the other hand, I really do believe that most tropes are just tropes, and even if they've been overused, often badly used, that doesn't mean they can't be used.

August 2001

In a lot of ways, Rosa is a very safe character. Though she's a studied mage and master archer, that's not why she's in the story. Her main involvement is as a love interest, both to the hero Cecil and his rival/best friend Kain.

November 2001

Rosa's reason for joining the adventure comes down to her love for Cecil. She isn't seeking her own quest. She never states a goal that isn't Cecil's. In fairness, the game is very stripped down, and none of the characters voice very complex motives. You could just as easily say Cecil is Cid's reason for joining the adventure.

November 2002

But Rosa's story beats all come down to Cecil and Kain. Surely, on such an adventure, Rosa would grow and discover things about herself, but you never hear about it. What you hear about is her worrying about Cecil, worrying about the fate of the world, taking care of others, and of course getting kidnapped. All very safe, non-disruptive things for a female character.

June 2004

There are even moments where the game leans into a slight but still apparent sexism. At the siege of Fabul, despite Rydia and Rosa being practiced fighters and valuable mages, they're sent to tend to the injured while the men go off to fight.

June 2005

This is echoed at the end of the game when Cecil himself, who knows full well how powerful Rosa and Rydia are, still forbids them to join him in the ending level. There's some brief resistance, but then the girls, in all apparent obedience, quietly leave while the men remain to save the world.

September 2005

Part of it may be that Rosa comes from a very early video game, but if we look at sci-fi/fantasy itself as a genre, we had more boundary-pushing heroines long before the early 1990s, at least in the West. By then, we already had Princess Leia, Red Sonja, Alanna the Lioness, and others.

April 2006

Rosa is brave, talented, and loyal, but is she ultimately a regressive character?

October 2007

I don't know if I have a perfect answer to that. What I do know is that one of the things I've always loved most about Rosa is that she knows her own mind. Yeah, she'll support you. Yeah, she'll cast Protect and Haste on you, and then she'll Cure you when Bahamut takes your HP down to 1. But she does not do it meekly.

2008

One of her first scenes is her comforting Cecil as he deals with his thorny ethical angst. But she quickly stops murmuring kindly to him and tells him he can't just mope and complain about things. He has to take a stand. He has to own his actions – change himself, one of the themes of the game. She sees it long before he does, and she isn't exactly tender as she tells him.

July 2009

She joins the adventure for Cecil, but she doesn't join with him. He leaves without her (she doesn't beg to come with him, she has things to do) and when he goes missing, she sets off on her own in search of him, going faster and getting farther than he did before desert sickness stops her cold.

March 2010

And at the end of the game when this selfsame Cecil, this guy who grew up with her and is in a relationship with her and knows her so well, tells her to go home and be safe while he and the guys save the world, she does meekly turn around and leave. But she doesn't go far. She and Rydia stow aboard his spaceship and travel with him and the men to the moon. Whereupon she tells Cecil, with no ambiguity, that he cannot keep her from coming.

October 2011

Which is a good thing, because I have beaten FF4 many times, and let me tell you, you are not surviving the ending boss without Rosa Curing you, Protecting you, and probably Lifing you more than once.

February 2013

So have I exonerated Rosa? I've shown how assertive she really is. Have I proved she's not regressive?

October (?) 2018

Honestly, I'm not a big fan of the assertive woman = automatically good female character theory. A woman can be physically weak, even psychologically timid, and still be an incredibly interesting, complex, and strong character. And another can be bold and brave and badass and still remain uninteresting and shallow.

2020

But I think I've shown that, whatever Rosa is, she's not passive.

August 2021

Being a back-row archer isn't a problem, being a healer isn't a problem, being conventionally feminine isn't a problem. Even, at the end of the day, being a “safe” character isn't actually a problem. It comes down to how well the character's written – and, even more subjectively, how they connect with the audience.

May 2024

Rosa connected powerfully with me. Since then, other characters have come and eclipsed her number one spot in my heart. But I still love her a lot, and I don't want to see her dismissed.

[bethanydelleman]

Hey Bethany, this is in response to you saying you would like to read "Emma" from the perspective of Jane Fairfax. Do you know the book "Jane Fairfax", by English writer Joan Aiken? It tells the story of Emma from Jane's perspective, starting in her childhood, and it was published in 1993. It stood next to Emma and Pride and Prejudice on my parents' bookshelves and was actually my first contact with Jane Austen's body of work, because its language is easier to follow for a child or teenager, but as much as I love Jane Austen's other works, it made it hard for me to get through Emma because I already liked Jane Fairfax so much. It's been a few years since I last read it, so I don't remember the plot so very well, but I think it mirrors quite accurately what happens in Emma (I am not completely sure about that, though, because my view on Emma is skewed by this book, so don't quote me on that). It also made me understand better why she marries Frank Churchill and it also gives a deeper insight into the differences between Emma and Jane, both character-wise and regarding their upbringing. If you already know this book or if you ever get around reading it, I would be interested in hearing your thoughts on it. I also really enjoy reading your blog and your opinions, analyses and interpretations on Austen's books. I have loved her books for a long time and your posts often open up new perspectives that I hadn't considered before, which I really appreciate. Take care!

I'm always interested to hear about someone's journey to Austen! Starting with fan fiction is probably an usual one. And thank you for the compliment!

I've been asked about this novel before... I'll quote myself: When it comes to FF of Emma, I have a cardinal rule: Mr. Dixon and Jane Fairfax cannot be in love. This FF breaks my cardinal rule and for that reason I haven't read it. This doesn't mean it's a bad book, the sample seemed fairly well-written, but it's probably not for me.

Also, from what I've read in reviews, this book ascribes to the theory that Jane Fairfax didn't love Frank Churchill and married him to escape poverty. I have toyed with that idea myself, but Jane's actions in the novel just don't fit with a mercenary marriage, mostly because when Jane thinks Frank doesn't love her anymore, she lets him go. Lucy Steele would never! She clings to Edward like gum until she has a viable and secured second option. So for me, it's unlikely that Jane wasn't also in love.

[squishy-lombax]

Umbrella (Fowlham fanfic)

Believe it or not, I've never written a fan fiction before! I hope you enjoy my first attempt! I decided to go with a comfort fandom of mine, RC9GN with a pairing I think is cute and sadly did not have much scene-time; FowlHam. If you're here from my Secret Trio comic book, this fic takes place before the events of my comic. Side note: I head-canon Randy with ADHD and Theresa with Autism. Reminiscent of the relationship that my partner and I have in real life. So hopefully I represented the disorders well.

It was an over-cast day when McFist's new McSneak shoes went on sale. The forecast said it would rain, so all those in line held umbrellas. No one was willing to miss the release of these new shoes just because of a little rain. Randy Cunningham was one of those lucky people waiting in line. Well, if you call standing in line for hours since the butt crack of dawn with the threat of rain "lucky." His best friend, Howard Weinerman, was there too; although, he came hours later with snacks.

Following the sound of groans and curses, "Th-thank *gasp* honking *gasp* cheese I found you Cunningham," Howard exclaimed as he shoved his way in line next to Randy, "Let me tell you! If I had to fight off one more toddler before finding you, I would have given up!"

"Well maybe I wouldn't be so far in line if you had gotten here on time," Randy greeted his friend, grabbing a bag of chips from his arms.

"Just be thankful I kept you updated. Do you know how hard it is to text when one of your hands looks like this?!' Howard said forcing a McCheeto dust covered hand up to Randy's face.

"Hey! Watch the hoodie, you shoob!" Randy retorted as a mild slapping match ensued.

The violence stopped as quickly as it started when the first drops of rain began to fall. There was a brief commotion as people extended their umbrellas. Randy grabbed his umbrella and found that opening it when one hand was occupied by a bag of chips was difficult. After fumbling for a few seconds he eventually turned to Howard for assistance. Howard obliged but kept a smug smile the whole time. Howard reached his dust covered hand over and pressed the release button. With the power of teamwork, the umbrella opened. Randy rolled his eyes as Howard added "see, it's pretty difficult when you're burdened with the best snacks borrowed money can buy".

"Okay, but did borrowed money," Randy air-quoted, "buy you an umbrella?"

Howard was unable to continue their battle of wits as the rain began to downpour. The umbrella-less Howard ducked under Randy's inconspicuous Ninja-themed umbrella as their playful argument was momentarily forgotten.

Rain has a funny effect on people. It has a magic that can cause a whole crowd of excited people to fall into a silence. Only something so powerful can make Randy and Howard quiet for more than two minutes. Howard licked his fingers of the McCheeto dust before popping open another bag. Randy, his bag of chips forgotten, began to disassociate as he stared out into the steady shower. The puddle forming in a nearby pothole caught his eye first. Then, a splash created by a car as it nearly hit a woman at the bus stop. Until he settled on a soaked Theresa running across the street. "Wait- a soaked Theresa running across the street?" Randy did a double take before his mind could wander to the next moving object. Yup, that was Theresa. She was without an umbrella and carrying what he thought was a grocery bag.

Nudging Howard, "Do you think I should help her?" Randy asked.

"Help who, bro?! You can't just change subjects on me like that, you know this!"

"Oh, sorry, Theresa. I mean- Theresa is across the street and looks like she needs help." Randy explained, pointing to where the girl was now walking after making it successfully to the other side of the road.

"Cunningham, you just stood in line for four hours and you're about to leave because you don't think women can hold bags?!"

"What?! No- that's- can't you see she is soaking wet?" Randy responded, arms flailing in the general direction of said drenched girl.

"Well, luckily she's already wet. Otherwise, that fall would honkin' suck!" Howard stated, desperately trying to stay under the moving umbrella.

"Fall-?" Randy muttered as he turned back to look at Theresa, who was currently on the ground and frantically trying to scoop up the contents of her dropped bag.

Randy wasn't sure if hisNinj-stincts kicked in or what, but he found himself handing Howard's snacks back and hopping over the crowd barricades he spent hours behind that morning. Making it to the busy street, the man-on-a-mission didn't bother to wait for the crosswalk sign. Instead, snapping his umbrella closed, Randy weaved his way through traffic. He began jumping between cars, narrowly avoiding splashes, and finished off with a roll over a hood. Only for him to pop the umbrella back open over Theresa's head.

Theresa was crouched with a can of soup in her hand, staring up, wide-eyed at Randy, who was desperately trying to look cool and not winded. This pose was held for a few seconds too long, as no words passed between the two. The awkwardness snapped Randy back to reality as his thoughts ran rampant: "What the juice did I just do?! Did anyone see that? No one thinks I'm the Ninja, right? Anyone could have done that! Why would they think I'm the Ninja? I just wanted to help a friend! Maybe I should say something to her- have I not said anything to her yet?! Okay, she's standing up now. How long has she been staring at me? What should I say? Hm, I forgot how tall she is-"

"Thank you," Theresa spoke.

"Soup."

"Huh?"

"The soup in your hand- I mean, I'm here to help with the soup- I mean the groceries!" Randy blurted.

"Oh, thanks. Uh- I already said that-" Theresa trailed off, her free hand pulling at her wet hair as she looked down at the scattered food.

The next few seconds were spent picking up the groceries. Randy, for reasons he didn't understand, was trying to avoid eye contact with Theresa. Instead, he was trying to focus on saving the items in the deepest puddles first. The bread was thankfully protected by it's plastic covering. The cans were fine too, although their labels would probably warp. However, some fruits and vegetables were bruised or smashed. The umbrella balanced in his elbow, Randy dropped the items in the rescued grocery bag that Theresa held out. With the task finished, Randy was forced to acknowledge Theresa again. Her hair was a disaster, but it appeared as though she attempted to smooth it while Randy wasn't looking. Her mascara ran down her face as she gave a small smile between blushing cheeks. She wasn't wearing her usual school uniform. Instead, she was wearing a small pink T-shirt and a black knee-length skirt. Of course, both were now wet and clung to her body, but Randy used all his Ninja strength to direct his eyes back to her face. She had a knowing look in her eyes, which caused Randy to blush.

"Thanks again for the help," Theresa said. "I have to get going now, though."

"In the rain?" Randy asked, still sheltering them both under his umbrella.

"I mean, I kind of have no choice. Unless you were offering to walk me home?"

Randy was struggling to read the situation. He hadn't intended to walk her home, but then again, he wasn't exactly sure what he intended when he abandoned Howard and ran across the road. Glancing back in that direction, Randy made out the shape of Howard, flailing his arms around and presumably cussing him out for leaving him alone without an umbrella. Randy's hesitation to answer must have faltered Theresa's confidence, for she began to move around him to carry on her way.

"No wait!" Randy reached out and grabbed her arm. "What kind of helpful hero would I be if I let you walk home in the rain?" "Nice, saved it!" He gave himself a mental high-five.

"Great! Uh- I mean- if you're sure" Theresa said, looping her arm with his, removing the choice of backing out.

The body contact was enough to short-circuit Randy's brain, causing him to completely forget about Howard and the new McSneak shoes. "L-let me take that bag for you," Randy added as he took the semi-heavy grocery bag on his other arm. "So, um, where do you live exactly?" He asked, realizing he didn't know. Theresa's blush deepened at the gesture and answered, "It's in that neighborhood near the cemetery, a few more blocks away."

They walked in silence peacefully as they enjoyed the rhythm of the rain. At least, that's probably what it would have looked like to any stranger seeing the "couple" walking down the sidewalk. In reality, Randy's mind was in turmoil. Mainly because he didn't know what was going to happen after all this was done. Theresa clung to his arm as if he was her lifeline, but her face was obscured by her bangs. Their relationship, if you could call it that, was complicated. They could be considered friends, but they weren't close, nor did they know each other well. Meanwhile, Theresa's crush on him had been obvious since day one. Randy, with his life already so hectic, didn't act on her advances one way or another. Did he like her back? Of course he did, but why hadn't he asked her out yet? The idea was almost too overwhelming. Having a girlfriend would wonk up what little semblance of routine and free time he had left. Stringing her along made him feel like a total shoob though. Is that what he was doing? He didn't even know.

Biting his lip, he looked down at the bag he was carrying. Having to go out and buy his own groceries was a relatable feeling to him. With his dad out of the picture and his mom away for business most days, average household chores were left up to him. Well, as many household chores a teen boy with a secret double life can accomplish. It made him wonder why Theresa was doing the job of a parent, too. Again, they didn't know each other very well. It was worth a shot to ask...

"Sooooo, who's all this for?" Randy broke the silence in a normal and not at all awkward way.

"Me...?" Theresa answered, seemingly brought out of her own thoughts.

"All of it?" He joked as he heaved the bag like it weighed a ton.

"N-no! It's for my grandma, too!" Theresa flustered, the joke seeming lost to her.

"Oh, cool, you bring food to your grandma?"

"Kinda. You can meet her if you want," Theresa replied absent-mindedly.

"Oh, ho-ho. I'm meeting your grandma? I am speed-running through this relationship!" Randy teased. "Why the juice did I just say that?! Man, I really am stringing her along-"

"W-what?! I mean- sure, b-but I haven't told her about you yet or anything, so it might be weird..." Theresa trailed off. Ugh, she was so cute when she was flustered. "Why are you having these thoughts? You're the Ninja! The Nomicon would chew me out for this..."

The cemetery was coming into view, but Theresa didn't say when to turn and they kept walking. The rain had become a gentle drizzle and made for perfect cemetery weather. Surprisingly, there were a few people inside standing near some headstones. Although, Randy may have missed them if it wasn't for their large umbrellas. It was a nice moment despite the dark subject matter. Randy's mind drifted again as he thought about other, more fun, dates Theresa and he could go on. He had to quickly remind himself this wasn't a date though. "It could be," a small voiced whispered in his mind. After all, if he had time to stand in line for four hours just for a pair of sneakers, maybe he did have time for a girlfriend. He just needed to take that plunge and stop using his Ninja life as an excuse not to get on with his own life. He tightened his grip on the umbrella handle, bracing himself as he tried to think of what to say-

"Hm, I think I could make this work..." Theresa was mumbling to herself.

"Make what work?" Randy asked, snapping out of his trance.

"I just feel bad because I've of been stringing you along. I'm pretty busy, what with my baton practice and taking care of my grandma. It's difficult to find time just for friends, better less a boyfriend!" She replied matter-of-factly, "But you're right, maybe we should make things official" She finished, finally looking Randy in the eyes. Her big, beautiful eyes, surrounded by black smudge that used to be mascara.

Laughing was probably not the response she was looking for, but Randy couldn't contain the irony. Umbrella in one hand and groceries in the other, Randy had to keep himself from doubling over as his sides ached from the laughter. Theresa, on the other hand, broke away from his arm and looked like she was going to pass away where she stood. "W-wait, is that not what you meant?! You were just joking, weren't you?! Oh my Ninja, I'm such an idiot!" The poor girl looked like she was about to cry at this point.

"No, no, it's not that," Randy breathed between laughter. "I just felt like I was the one leading you on! I never really told you whether I was interested or not. Meanwhile, you've been all over me."

"I have?!" Theresa's whole face was as red as the Ninja's scarf.

Theresa's response made Randy's mind temporarily blank as he tried to figure out whether she was joking by asking that or if she was genuinely unaware that the whole school knew about her crush on him. Luckily, she was able to snap his mind back before it ran away from him again. "Wait, so you are interested, right? I mean, in being girlfriend and boyfriend?" her words trailing off.

Ho-boy, the question when asked so directly made the whole situation overwhelming. Randy wasn't sure if he was happy or not that he left the Nomicon at home today. If it was here now, it would definitely be buzzing and he'd have an excuse to leave. But it wasn't here. It was just him, Theresa, and the steady tapping of the rain on the umbrella. "You gotta say something, anything!"

"LET'S. Go. To. Your. Grandma's." was apparently the strategy he was going with.

"Sooo that's a yes, then?" Theresa hummed, taking Randy's arm back into her possession.

"Mhm," was all the reply she got, but it was enough. Theresa's ability to read social cues may be wonk, but poor Randy was a total open book. Including that silly little secret he kept about being the Ninja. Despite her messy hair and ruined makeup, Theresa beamed the whole way to Grandma's.

[draconicstella88888]

I hope it's alright to ask, because I assume by your banner and AO3 icon, you like Miko, and I just wanted to fish your brain for why you like Yae Miko, if I may.

I want to better understand the Yae Miko so I can maybe write her, and figured a fan might be the best place to ask. I'm sorry if this should have been a DM instead of an ask, I don't really know how to Tumblr

My first ask! I've always wanted one of these! I am also very open to any form of DMs so just shoot me one of those whenever!

I absolutely adore so many aspects of Yae Miko. I think first of all it is just nice seeing a strong woman in fiction, Yae was one of my first introductions to Genshin characters and how they are written. I adore the character writing and it was so nice to see a character that sees the MC as nothing more than a tool tbh. And not in a "I am doing this to become powerful or be evil" but in a "I need to save, and mostly talking to my depressed ass GF. You're my ticket to her so lets go."

The way she is so cold and seemingly uncaring, probably because of how much she has lost and endured, yet she has not given up and still believes in the one person she loves. It's hard not to talk abt Yae without mentioning Ei, but I think one thing I really like is this feeling of both of them being "the lesser half", if u get what I mean.

Like, Yae Miko trained under Saiguu, and Ei's role as the outward Shogun was trust upon her. They both had to fill shoes far too big for themselves, and all they really had was each other.

"Unwavering belief in that one person" is how I would sum up Yae. She does everything for Ei, and she never wavers. It's almost a little funny that she is "head priestess" because if they were in any other scenario I would have still called her "incredibly devout".

Also she just carries herself with confidence and cunning that I envy and wish I had, but instead I am stuck being a Yoimiya-kinnie instead.

Yae Miko is incredibly independant yet desperately dependant on a single person. It is a dichotomy that is fascinating and the potential stories both before she gets together with Ei, and after, are near endless.

I suppose the whole "waiting for that one person" also just really resonates with me. I could go on but I'll stop myself here, for now.

[that-bookworm-guy]

A rainbow stack of Trans Books

I've rewritten this caption over & over. I've researched & written stats for trans, as well as queer hate crime. I've written about my own experiences. I wanted something with impact, to make people think & hopefully make a tiny difference. Except I won't make a difference, & that's okay

I'm tired of hearing about all the anti LGBTQ+ bills. I'm tired of hearing about trans hate. I'm tired of experiencing hate. I'm tired of my family being scared for me every time I go out. I'm tired of constantly fighting between being a proud queer person or living stealth. Both have their pros & cons, but I shouldn't have to pick, I should be allowed to just be

I was trying to write about how just 1 person supporting us makes a difference, how calling something out for being transphobic, homophobic, ableist, racist, etc, can help. But I've written about it before, other people have said it too. We can keep trying. We will never give up, but right now, I'm tired from it all

This pride month, I'm tired. I know others are too & that's okay

But we have 2 of the most powerful tools, books & social media. There is power in reading banned books. They are banned for reasons. We can have a quiet revolution. Read queer books all year. Read queer books from different countries, read fiction, non-fiction, read poems, & fan fiction. Read & share books. Read about different identities & different experiences. Educate yourself, because right now, that knowledge is power. Don't let them erase us. I've seen how this community can pull together.

So, bookblr, I ask 1 simple thing. Please keep reading & sharing queer books all year, not just pride month

For those reading this, you are never alone 💙

Books in stack:

1. The Strangeworlds Travel Agency - L.D. Lapinski

2. The Transgender Issue - Shon Faye

3. Trans Like Me - CN Lester

4. Top to Bottom - Finlay Games

5. The Gender Games - Juno Dawson

6. Trans Britain - Edited by Christine Burns

7. A Trans Man Walks into a Gay Bar - Harry Nicolas

Books standing to the left of the stack:

8. Gender Euphoria - Edited by Laura Kate Dale

9. What's the T? - Juno Dawson

[lonewolfinthetardis]

My experience reading Respawn of the Dead

So I decided to read a classic piece of TF2 fan fiction, Respawn of the Dead. It has glowing reviews and it seemed like an interesting idea for a fan fiction, albeit one I've read countless times. I enjoyed the first few chapters, until I came upon something that stayed with me the entire time I read the fic. The characterisation of the mercs.

Spoilers below the line

Yes I know that this fic was published only two years after the game came out, therefore we knew basically nothing about the backstories of our beloved mercenaries. But the way these characters were written rubbed me the wrong way. These were not the lovable characters that I've come to know and love (the exception being Pyro). These were characters that I had trouble visualising in my head, I could not see them as the beloved mercenaries of Team Fortress 2 (except Pyro again, and sometimes Heavy).

The author of course went down the route of "Medic and Heavy are German and Russian, let's make them an ex-nazi and a communist!", which is something that has me fuming. Of all the possible backstories for those two, the author had to choose that?! I honestly thought it was a joke at first, but nope, that was the backstories they chose for those two much loved characters.

Don't get me started on Soldier! This man is a raging homophobe and xenophobe (the fic's words, not mine). This fan fiction is also the only time I've read Soldier using racial slurs about Demo. There's other issues with Soldier, but I don't have time for that.

Other issues I found with this fic were the constant outdated terms, derogatory names, racisms, and homophobia. While I understand that this fan fiction was set in the 1960's, and those terms were common then, doesn't mean that readers had to go in without knowing what they were in for. Which brings me to my next point!

The tagging, or the non-existant tagging. This fic contains extremely confronting imagery, scenes, and language. You'd think that there would be at least some tags right? Wrong. The only tag is the Heavy/Medic ship tag. No warning of gore, violence, major character death, or implied non-con. No warnings about the racial slurs, bigotry, or just general tags telling the reader what the fic is about.

I genuinely don't know why no-one else has brought up the horrible mischaracterisation in this fic before (yes I know it's 15 years old), and I don't get why so many are praising how well it's written?! There are no paragraph breaks telling you where one scene ends and another begins, which left me confused until I came across context clues.

All in all, this fan fiction left me fuming. I understand not getting the characterisation right due to how new the game was, but a little imagination would've been nice.

The only good thing about this fic was Pyro. They were a lovely character, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading about them. It was definitely a refreshing part of the reading journey.

Respawn of the Dead had an interesting idea, but was executed poorly in some places. While some may love this part of TF2 fan fiction history, I will gladly leave it in my "never read again pile".