#and had two and a half pages in a google doc

[ladyofrosefire]

I’m trying to figure out what the hell the deal is with Bg3 and kink, and I think that, while it is much less precious about sex and sexuality than a lot of things are, it does fall into some of the same traps in a way that… well, it irks me. Disclaimer that while I did do some poking around, there are some romance scenes I have not seen. I’ll run through the ones I know about for those of you who haven’t picked up a brain bug about this. 

Wyll gets nothing. This is a separate post that other people have made better than I have. 

Shadowheart’s romance scene in Act 3 runs one of two ways— either you go for a swim with her, she gets poked by a rock, and you pause while she gets rid of the offending object, or you do the Nightfall Feast, where you get pushed to the ground, she tells you to stop being so gentle, and the whole thing is framed as an “act of wickedness” in parallel to you having just dumped the Nightsong’s blood on a statue of Selune. You have literal blood on your hands during this scene. 

Karlach pegs you in Act 3. I, personally, do not count this as being particularly kinky. The whole concept of measuring kink is a little silly, in my humble opinion, but it seems strange to say penetration gets kinkier when it’s not a flesh-and-blood penis. (If you have sex with her in Act 2, it is kinkless.)

Gale’s got his whole astral projection thing going, which brings us solidly into kink territory. Tav mostly hangs out. We’ll circle back to this. There is also a non-illusory version, but it is exclusively fade-to-black. 

Astarion does a whole seduction act in Act 1, which leads to a short and honestly quite tame (although fun!) scene. Act 3, you either get the spawn ending where you have sex on his grave (he pushes you down, and it is later flagged as ‘had sex as equals’), or you get the ascension and the whole “on your knees” bit. 

Lae’zel very explicitly talks in terms of obedience and dominance and submission, and you can tell her to submit to you. We will also circle back to this scene. In act 2, you beat the crap out of each other, and either you get the option to say, “you are mine,” or you lose, and you get, “I am yours” after she also says she doesn’t want to hurt you.

Halsin has the bear scene. Or he tries very hard not to turn into a bear. Tav is once again mostly hanging out. There was a dev note at one point saying Tav was meant to hold onto his head while he went down on them, but that does not happen in this scene. 

Minthara shows Tav exactly where to put their hands and mouth. Repeatedly. At length. There is no option to take control of the scene. 

A pattern emerges from these scenes fairly quickly: if Tav is active, they are either actively submitting (i.e., the Minthara scene) or engaging without power exchange (Shadowheart, Karlach, Astarion’s act 1 and spawn scenes). Gale’s scene is a special case since he’s controlling the illusion, but Larian could have decided Tav was allowed to imagine themself with a few extra limbs. They probably chose not to do this to spare the poor animators. However, with the rest of the pattern, it still makes me raise an eyebrow. The Halsin scene, to me, is especially egregious as you do precisely fuck-all. At multiple times, you get very clear camera angles of Tav’s completely relaxed hands that give the distinct impression that Tav is in full pillow princess mode. 

You will also note kink and morality seem to have an… interesting relationship. Explicit powerplay occurs with Lae’zel in Act 1 (she is still solidly in the mindset inspired by Vlaakith and is arguably evil-aligned at this point), Minthara (you get this scene by slaughtering the grove), and Ascended Astarion (you just killed 7,000 people and he thinks you’re, and I quote, “degrading yourself”). You also get a hint of this in the contrast between Shadowheart’s Selunite Swim and the Nightfall Feast. This feels related to why when you try to flip the script on Lae’zel, you use an intimidation check rather than persuasion or performance. This could be explained by saying that Larian has decided that orders are best represented by intimidation, even in a romantic context, but most of the intimidation checks we get are open threats, often of physical violence. I’m not entirely sure how much Lae’zel drops her powerplay as she becomes a kinder person. I’d love to hear from people who have done more of her romance than I have. 

Abdirak is a torturer serving an evil goddess. He gets the player’s consent and is reasonably sweet to them if they obtain his goddess’s blessing. There are even two seconds of aftercare! His actual purpose, however, is to torture the man next door, and the two companions who cheer him on are Astarion and Shadowheart, both of whom are having some struggles with morality at this point in the game. 

And then there’s the Drow twins— and specifically Sorn. If someone other than Tav approaches him, he says you need a “rear of cast-iron” to take what he dishes out. His ambient dialogue talks about scaring off clients who were paying him to apply a clamping device to something delicate. But if you see him alone, your options are roleplay, sensation play, or size kink. I did say I wouldn’t try to measure kink, but it feels like false advertising. (You can wrestle him in the Drizzt Do’urden roleplay scenario. It is an ability check. This raises questions for me about how this was negotiated, but it’s not a deal breaker.) Where’s the sadism promised in his ambient dialogue? Some characters just aren’t subs, that’s fine, but this is about patterns, not individual characters. 

I should pause here to say that the only thing in the above with which I have an actual issue on an individual level is Tav being so limp in the Halsin scene. It would be nice if Tav touched back in a way more significant than holding onto his arms a bit and laying a limp hand on his thigh if he stays elf shaped. This is not a moral complaint— it’s aesthetic. Frankly, none of this is saying Larian has done anything immoral.

However. I’m a little frustrated, as someone who does not have a submissive bone in my body, that all but one romance scene in this game is designed for a submissive Tav or a Tav who does not want powerplay. It’s not uncommon to find people who are okay with impact play if you don’t want to hit, CNC if you don’t want to be the faux-aggressor, ageplay or petplay if you don’t want to be the adult/owner. This is not a kink-positive stance or even kink-neutral. I should also note here that I do not judge any of the characters mentioned, not even Abdirak, for their interest in consensual kink. If I judge them, it’s for unrelated reasons. Or reasons that should be unrelated but often don’t feel like it, as it seems like Larian has set them up to be interested in powerplay and sadism because of their less-than-decent moral leanings. Abdirak wants to whip Tav because he’s a follower of the Lady of Pain. Ascended Astarion isn’t playing when he tells Tav he wants to own them, body, mind, and soul, and there’s no safewording out of every other interaction after that. Shadowheart tells you to stop being gentle because she has become a Dark Justiciar. Lae’zel stops wanting to hurt Tav— and you consent to the fight— because she’s learning about care and softness. I don’t think she stops being kinky, but there are patterns, and patterns that extend beyond the boundaries of the game. 

Frankly, I’m not sure what sort of conclusion I’m aiming for here. There are patterns in Larian’s approach to sex, power, and pain that indicate some very familiar hangups. It would be nice if there were more room for a dominant Tav, not even with every character, but with a few of them. Some people don’t sub. Some characters don’t sub. It makes sense. But I’ll be rotating this further. And writing fic. To anyone else who likes writing a dominant Tav: hi! Keep doing what you’re doing!

I wouldn’t be posting this if I didn’t want to hear other people’s thoughts, but quick disclaimer: I will block anyone who comes onto this post to talk about how great the vampire ascendant is. It’s not personal. I simply would blacklist anything to do with that if I could, and the way the tag’s been going, I can’t. You saw the tags on this, and you clicked anyway. Similarly, if you’re going to throw a shitfit about how no one should like whipping a consenting partner, don’t waste your breath. You get the picture. 

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (7) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: Michael can’t stop thinking about that night with you. Conflicted but unable to ignore his feelings, he opens up to Jack about what you mean to him. Meanwhile, you receive an educational award, a recognition of your dedication and impact. There’s going to be a ceremony, and Aiden promises he’ll be there to support you.

Word Count: 8560

Warning: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s)

Authors Note: Hi! Very sorry, I’ve been out of the country for the past week. I’m headed back home. I’m sitting at my gate in the airport as I type this out lmfao. Thank you for being patient. I worked on it when I had access to wifi. Omg when I saw that this part has 28 pages on Google docs. I’m shook lol. I know the slow burn is killing some of you (I’m a sucker for a slow burn I’m sorry not sorry), but buckle upppp bc it’s a long one! Enjoy - ryn

“Hey, are you doing okay?” Jack asked as they stood in the hospital elevator together.

Michael shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jack gave him a look—flat, skeptical. “I’m not talking about work. I already know how you’re feeling about that. I mean… other stuff. Personal stuff.”

Michael’s gaze stayed fixed on the ground, but Jack didn’t let it drop.

Dana had come to Jack during one of the shift changes, asking if he knew what was going on with Michael. She said he’d been off all week, distracted, withdrawn, not quite himself—ever since the Pitfest incident.

She knew how heavy that night had been—how hard it had hit him. Robby was tough; she’d always known that. She knew the kind of trauma he carried, the way he shoved it down deep and locked it away where no one could see.

But it was something other than the trauma he carries.

Jack had shrugged it off at the time. “Robby being Robby,” he’d said. “You know how he gets sometimes.”

But he’d noticed it too.

Michael was present, technically. He clocked in, saw patients, cracked a joke here and there. But behind his eyes, there was nothing. Like the lights were on, but no one was home. And Jack knew Michael, he had known him for years. He knew how he operated, knew the rhythm of his moods.

But this? This was different.

That night with you, it had been eating at Michael. He couldn’t stop replaying it in his head, the way you’d found him crying in his sleep, how gently you’d woken him, how you’d led him, half-asleep and half-broken, back to bed. And how you didn’t leave.

You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t judge. You just laid beside him, quiet, steady, grounding. You curled up like you belonged there, the two of you wrapped in each other’s arms. And for the first time in what felt like months, maybe years, he let himself be held.

It had already begun to blur the lines between friendship and something more. But it wasn’t until the next morning that he crossed a boundary he couldn’t ignore.

You’d been looking through his old photos together, laughing at stories from his med school days, the two of you joking, flirting even. And then, the moment turned. Michael leaned in, hovering over you, too close, too much.

Michael, he didn’t say anything.

But that silence said everything.

And from that, Jack knew something was up. Something Michael wasn’t talking about.

So he shifted gears.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime. They stepped out and made their way to the staff room, heading straight for their lockers to grab their things.

“Hey,” Jack said, casually, “the Steelers game is on tonight. Wanna come over? Hang out? Pizza, beer?”

He tried to keep his tone light, like it was just a regular night. No pressure. No expectations.

But the offer wasn’t really about football. And Michael knew that.

He hesitated, just for a second. Then gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, okay.”

—

They sat in Jack’s living room, the game playing quietly in the background. The pizza box sat open on the coffee table, half-eaten slices growing cold, a few empty beer cans scattered nearby.

At some point during the second quarter, with the game half-forgotten and the beer flowing a little too easily, Michael started talking.

Really talking.

He told Jack everything, from the beginning starting from the night Aiden flaked on you at Bella Notte to last week, and all the moments in between.

“I’m sorry, you did what now?” Jack laughs in disbelief, nearly choking on his drink. “You were hovering over her? In your bed?”

Michael groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m not repeating what I said.”

“Oh, I heard you loud and clear,” Jack says, grinning like a kid who’s just been handed gossip gold. “But you, Michael Robinavitch, pulling moves? Moves that are—”

“Nothing happened,” Michael snaps, a little too fast.

Jack smirks. “Uh-huh. Right. Except something was clearly about to happen… if it hadn’t been, you know, interrupted.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Michael muttered.“It just… happened. One second we were joking around, and the next… I don’t know. The lines blurred.”

“Oh, you were thinking,” Jack said, raising his brows and taking a sip of his beer. “Just not with your brain.”

Michael shot him a look. “Quit it,” he said, annoyed.

But Jack only laughed harder.

“I’m only teasing,” he said, holding up a hand in mock innocence. “But you’ve gotta admit this is wildly off-brand for you.”

Michael didn’t respond. He just took a long sip of his beer and stared straight ahead at the tv.

“So,” he said, quieter now, “is she still with her jackass boyfriend?”

Michael exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. As far as I know.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted again, this time with something softer behind the grin. “Man. That’s rough.”

Jack leaned back into the couch, his teasing finally turning into something closer to concern. “You really like her, huh?”

Michael crosses his arms across his chest and leans back into the couch. . “Yeah. I do…a lot actually.”

Jack let out a low whistle. “That’s… complicated. Especially if she’s still with that guy. What’s his name again?”

“Aiden”

“Right, Aiden the jackass. Pfft, you could take him. I’d back you up. Oh! Or maybe our medical power tools—”

“Jack,” Michael muttered

Jack held up his hands. “I’m kidding! …Mostly.”

Michael shook his head, but the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

“I mean,” Jack went on, leaning forward with a grin, “I’ve seen you mad. It’s intense.”

“Jack, I’m not going to fight Aiden… or scare him with power tools. This isn’t high school,” Michael said flatly, shooting him a look. “We’re too grown for that—and you, of all people, should know better.”

“I don’t know…. you sound like a lovesick teenager.”

Jack just grinned. Michael thought he was absolutely ridiculous sometimes. They were both middle-aged men, for god’s sake—but he also knew Jack was half-joking. Mostly.

“Oh come on,” Jack said, undeterred. “You’re not gonna fight for her? I mean, you already blew the whole ‘just neighbors… just friends’ boundary out of the water.” He gave a crooked grin. “Might as well do something about it.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” Jack said, his voice softer now, more serious. “It’s not. But neither is sitting on this, torturing yourself every day while she’s across the hall and you pretend like nothing’s changed.”

Michael went quiet. His fingers tightened slightly around the beer can.

Jack watched him for a beat, then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re not a villain for having feelings, Robby. It’s not like you planned this.”

“I didn’t,” Michael said quickly. Too quickly. His jaw tensed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a mess.”

Jack shook his head. “You can’t control who you fall for. The heart wants what it wants.”

“I don’t want to be the reason she leaves someone,” Michael said quietly.

Jack gave him a look. “And what if staying is making her miserable?”

Michael’s mouth opened, then closed. He had no answer for that. He swallowed hard, the weight of Jack’s words pressing down on him.

“She deserves to be happy,” Michael finally said, voice low. “But… I don’t know if I’m the one who can give that to her.”

Jack leaned forward, eyes steady. “Maybe it’s not about being the one. Maybe it’s about giving her the chance to find it, whatever that means.”

Jack let out a quiet sigh. “Look…from what you’ve told me? The way you treat her, the way you look out for her, talk about her… You can make her happy. Hell, I think you already do. You just don’t see it.”

He gave a crooked smile, voice softening.

“I know I’m getting sappy here, but I’ve known you a long time. Years. I know your heart, man. And it’s a good one.”

Michael looked at him, something raw flickering in his eyes.

Jack shrugged. “Don’t let fear convince you she’s better off without it.”

He paused, then added with a sidelong glance, “And just because she’s young and you’re… seasoned—”

“Hey,” Michael cut in, shooting him a look.

Jack smirked. “—doesn’t mean you don’t deserve something real. Something good. If anything, it means you’d know how to appreciate it.”

He leaned back, his grin fading into something quieter, more sincere.

“You’ve lived enough to know what love really takes. That’s not a flaw, man. That’s exactly why you’re the kind of person who could make it last.”

—-

You were standing in the elevator when the doors began to close—only to stutter open again as Michael slipped through at the last second.

“Hey,” he said, settling beside you, towering just slightly, looking down with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Hi.” You offered a small smile.

It was awkward, thick with everything unsaid from the past week and you didn’t like it. Neither did Michael.

Since that night, the two of you hadn’t spoken or seen each other much. And yet, just like him, you hadn’t stopped thinking about it that night.

“Were you stuck staying late on shift?” you asked, it was almost midnight.

He shook his head. “Nah. Normal twelve-hour shift, thankfully. I was over at my buddy Abbot’s place. We caught the Steelers game.”

“How about you?” He asks.

“Dinner with some coworkers,” you replied, then added with a faint grin, “And don’t worry, I’ve got my keys this time. I’m sober. No passing out in the hall tonight.” You tried to make light of it, referencing the last time you’d seen each other, hoping humor might smooth over the awkward edge that still lingered.

Michael chuckled under his breath, the sound warm but still a little guarded. “Good to know.”

“Any occasion for dinner?” he asked.

And just like that, the awkwardness began to slip away, the two of you falling back into your familiar rhythm.

The elevator chimed softly and stopped on the sixth floor. The doors slid open, and the two of you stepped out, walking side by side down the hallway.

“Actually, yeah,” you said, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “I’m getting an education award from the state.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. “Congratulations!” His smile was bright, genuine and proud. “That’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your gaze brushing before flicking away.

“There’s gonna be a ceremony for me and other educators receiving awards,” you added, voice light but a little unsure. “Dinner, speeches, the whole nine.”

Michael looked over at you, still smiling. “Wow. That sounds… fancy.”

You laughed gently. “It is. I guess,” you murmured. “It’s kind of surreal. It’s in a couple of weeks. I’m just not used to being… celebrated.”

“Well, you should be,” he said, voice gentler now. “You work your ass off. You care. That matters. Seriously, You deserve it.”

Your heart gave a small squeeze. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

The elevator opened on six, and the two of you stepped out in silence, walking side by side down the hallway.

“I haven’t told anyone yet,” you admitted, glancing down at your keys. “Nobody knows—besides the admin and staff at school.”

You hesitated, then added with a faint, ironic smile, “I haven’t even told Aiden.”

Michael’s brow lifted. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “And now that you know, you’re officially the first.”

You reached your doors.

Michael didn’t say it, but he was glad—quietly, deeply—to be the first. He fought the smile threatening to give him away.

“I’ll see you later,” you said, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

The door clicked shut, and Michael stood there for a beat, staring at the door like it might open again. His conversation with Jack played on a loop in his mind—the way Jack had looked at him and said, “You already blew the ‘just neighbors…just friends’ boundary out of the water. Might as well do something about it.”

He didn’t have the courage. Not yet at least.

Then he turned to his door

“Michael, wait!”

He paused, glancing back. “Yeah?”

You reappeared in the doorway, holding out a small folded bundle. “Here—the clothes you let me borrow.”

“If I didn’t give them back now, I’d probably keep them.”

He smiled, a quiet kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would that have been so bad?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again—unsure what to say.

Why did I even say that? Michael shifted his weight, silently cursing himself. Real smooth—just keep making it more awkward.

“Thanks,” was all he said.

“Goodnight, Michael.”

He nodded once. “Night.”.

And when your door closed behind you, you leaned against it, pressing your hand to your chest, trying to slow a heartbeat. The flirting he’s done has been throwing you in for a loop.

—

You settled in for the evening, the steam of the shower still clinging to your skin as you stepped into fresh clothes. Aiden had come over not long after, casual as ever, his arms wrapping around you like nothing had changed.

You told him the news.

“That’s great, babe,” he said, planting a quick kiss on your lips without really looking up from his phone.

“The ceremony is in a couple of weeks,” you reminded him, watching his expression carefully.

“I’ll be there,” he said casually, finally glancing up.

“Really?”

Your eyes lit up with cautious hope, the kind that had been disappointed before. You wanted to believe him, needed to, but part of you couldn’t help preparing for the letdown.

“Yeah, of course,” he said with a grin, slipping his arm around your waist like that was enough.

You hesitated. “But… what if something comes up at work? You’re not gonna forget, are you?”

He smiled, brushing a thumb along your cheek like he was soothing a child. “You want me there with you, right?”

“Yes,” you said softly. “More than anything.”

“Then I promise—I’ll be there.”

You nodded slowly, forcing a smile even as something uneasy settled in your chest. You wanted to take his word at face value, but it didn’t feel quite real. Not yet. Not until he actually showed up.

“Are you sure?” you asked again, needing to hear it once more.

He laughed lightly, almost dismissively. “Yes, I’m sure! I promise I’ll be there.”

You let out a breath and nodded, trying to lock that promise away like it meant something permanent. And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself picture him there, smiling from the crowd, clapping as your name was called. Like he was proud of you. Like he saw what this moment meant.

But deep down, a voice you tried to ignore whispered: you’ve heard this before.

—

It was the night of your award ceremony.

Michael knocked on your door, shifting as he stood there, the bouquet of tulips hidden behind his back.

When you opened the door, he nearly forgot why he was there.

You wore a simple, elegant dress—nothing flashy, but it suited you perfectly. You looked breathtaking. It reminded him of that night at Bella Notte months ago, when Aiden hadn’t shown and something quiet but undeniable had begun to bloom between the two of you.

You blinked, slightly startled. You’d thought it was Aiden. But instead, there stood Michael, in his glasses, a t-shirt, hoodie, and jean. Completely casual. Completely him.

Michael blinked back, his mouth parting slightly. Speechless.

You furrowed your brow, half amused. “What? Is there something on my face?”

He shook his head slowly, like he was trying to clear it. “You just…you look beautiful.”

“Oh…” your face flushed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“I, uh—these are for you. Congratulations again on your award” He pulled the bouquet of tulips from behind his back, holding them out with a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

Your expression softened instantly.

“Michael….” you sighed, the word tender, almost breathless, as you took the flowers from him. Tulips, your favorite.

You held them close, smiling up at him. “Thank you, they’re lovely”

“Aiden’s going, right?” Michael asked, his tone casual—but his eyes gave him away. There was skepticism there. Maybe even hope. Hope that, for your sake, Aiden would finally show up when it mattered.

“Yes,” you said, nodding. “He’s meeting me there. I’m catching a Uber”

Michael frowned before he could stop himself. Meeting him there? Catching an Uber? He wasn’t gonna pick you up and take you?

That didn’t sit right. Aiden should be arriving with you. Standing at your side. Proud. Present. Steady.

He didn’t say it, but it lingered behind his quiet response. “Right… yeah.”

You held the bouquet a little tighter, fingers pressing into the stems as if they could anchor you. You pretended not to notice the way Michael was still watching you—his gaze steady, searching.

There was so much Michael wanted to say to you things that had been sitting heavy on his chest for weeks. But he knew this wasn’t the time, and it certainly wasn’t the place. This moment wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about how he felt for you, or how much he hated the way Aiden kept letting you down.

Tonight was about you.

About your heart, your commitment, your quiet strength. About everything you’d poured into your students, your classroom, your community. You deserved to be celebrated—for the impact you made every single day, often without thanks.

So he swallowed the words he wasn’t ready to say, and instead, stood beside you in quiet support. Because that, at least, he could give you tonight.

“I’m uh- heading out actually,” he said gently, nudging his head toward the elevators. “I can walk you outside?”

You turned toward him, surprised but grateful. “Yeah… yeah, okay. My uber should be here soon actually”

You carefully set the flowers down inside your apartment, then grabbed your purse, keys, and phone. Michael waited patiently, offering you a small nod when you were ready.

The two of you made your way to the elevator. When the doors opened in the lobby, you stepped out together into the quiet of the apartment's entrance.

Outside, the air was cooler, the sharp contrast to the warm, crowded hall above. The city hummed in the distance, cars passing, faint music spilling from nearby venues, but it all felt muted, like the world had turned down its volume just for the two of you.

Michael glanced over at you, hands in his pockets. “You sure you don’t wanna cancel your uber? I can just take you” he says, taking his keys out of his pockets ” he offered gently. “I don’t mind.”

You shook your head with a small smile. “No, it’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Thank you, though.”

He didn’t press—just stood there for a moment, watching you. Then he said, “I’ll wait with you, then. Until your Uber shows up.”

“Michael I’ll be okay, I don’t want to hold you up.”

“Like I’m letting you stand outside alone at night.”

Your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen. “The Uber’s like… ten minutes away.”

“Michael, the Ubers gonna be here in like 5 minutes”

“5 minutes is enough time for something to go wrong,” he said, then added, “Or for nothing to happen at all. Which would be ideal.”

You knew arguing with him wasn’t going to change anything. He was going to stay—because that’s who he was. The kind of person who looked out for people, even when they didn’t ask. Especially when they didn’t ask.

You fought back a smile, despite yourself.

The sound of a car pulling up broke the quiet.

Michael stepped forward without hesitation, opening the door for you. “Here,” he said softly.

You slipped inside, the warmth of the car a relief against the chill night air.

Your hand lingered on the door handle.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“Yeah of course”

Michael gave a small nod, his eyes steady on you for a moment before he stepped back.

The door closed gently, and the car began to pull away.

——

Aiden never showed.

You reminded him. Weeks before. Days before. The night before. You called, texted him.

And still… he never came.

Your coworkers asked where your boyfriend was or if you were there with someone, their smiles were polite but curious.

You gave a soft excuse. One that could have been true—Something came up, a family emergency.

You accepted your award, the weight of it grounding in your hands as the applause echoed around you. You stepped up to the mic, gave your speech—clear, heartfelt, steady. A smile touched your lips as camera flashes sparked across the room, capturing it all.

But inside, your heart was breaking.

You scanned the crowd instinctively, even though you already knew. Aiden wasn’t there.

You’d told yourself it wouldn’t matter—that the night would still mean something. That the recognition, the moment, would be enough.

But you felt completely empty. Alone.

After accepting your award, you made up your mind—you were leaving. You knew you should stay, celebrate the other educators being honored, but you just didn’t have it in you. The disappointment sat heavy in your chest. You had let yourself believe he was actually going to show… that this time, maybe, he meant it.

Clutching your award tightly, you made your way down the stairs of the entrance of the banquet hall, each step echoing your resolve to go home and forget this night.

Then you saw him.

Aiden was rushing up the stairs—out of breath, eyes scanning—until they landed on you. Both of you froze.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

“I—” he started, but stopped himself. He looked down, noting the award in your hand, then back at you. “I’m late.”

You blinked, slowly. “Yeah.”

“But…I’m here…”

“Only after the fact”

“I tried to get here in time. I really did.”

Your fingers clenched a little tighter around the award. You swallowed the lump rising in your throat and forced yourself to stay calm. “But you didn’t.”

He took another step closer, hesitant. “Something came up with the case. It wasn’t what I planned.”

You nodded, lips pressed together. “It never is!”

“You said you’d be here! I actually believed you this time. God, do you know how embarrassing it was? Everyone had someone supporting them, by their side— I was completely alone!” Your voice breaks

“I said I’m sorry!” he snapped, moving toward you. “I’ll go to another one. Come on, there’s gonna be others—”

“Others?” You stared at him. “Are you kidding me? This was it! I was awarded by the state, Aiden. This isn’t some participation ribbon! This was a big deal! A moment to acknowledge my dedication—”

He cuts me off “Okay, dedication for babysitting kids all day?”

You froze.

“Babysit kids?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, sharp and stunned. “Is that what you think I do? Seven hours a day, five days a week, 10 months out of the year?! Babysit kids?!”

Your voice rose. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” You wanted to throw your award at him for saying that.

“What do you want me to say?!”

“That you care! That you understand! That you see me!”

The words shot out of you like they’d been waiting, burning, buried for too long.

“That you love me…” your voice breaks into a sob

“I do love you!”

You shook your head, swiping at your cheeks with your hands.

Without a word, you continued down the steps, heels echoing against the stone until you reached the pavement at the base of the stairs, just outside the building.

Aiden followed you down the stairs, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m doing the best I can—”

You took a shaky breath. “I don’t need perfection, Aiden. I never did. I needed you to show up. And you couldn’t even do that for me.” You turn to face him.

“You’re being dramatic—”

“Dramatic?” you echoed, your voice shaking. “For wanting to matter? For wanting someone who actually sees me?”

Aiden exhaled sharply, looking away. “You always twist things—”

“I twist things?” you said, your voice rising with disbelief. “You forgot my award ceremony, Aiden! You said you’d be there. You flaked on dinner, never fixed the window like you promised, and you bailed on Career Day! Michael wouldn’t have—”

The second his name slipped out, regret slammed into your chest. You hadn’t meant to say it. You didn’t even know why it came out—but it had. And now it hangs between you like a lit match over gasoline.

You froze, breath caught in your throat. Aiden’s eyes narrowed. “Michael? As in your neighbor? What about Michael?”

You looked away, shame creeping in.

“What about Michael?!” he repeated, louder now, voice sharp. “You clearly meant to say it. So what—how long have you two been hanging out behind my back?”

“He’s my friend,” you said, trying to stay calm.

“Friend?” Aiden scoffed. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Yes. Just a friend.” Deep down you knew he was something more.

He shook his head slowly, the pain in his expression unmistakable. “Feels like more than that.”

“It’s not,” you said, your voice strained. “It’s not like that.”

But it was.

You knew it, even as the words left your mouth. A lie—small, desperate, meant more for yourself than for him. You tried to deny it, to push the truth back down that you felt something for him where it couldn’t reach you.

“Then why bring him up in the middle of our fight?” Aiden shot back. “Why compare me to him?”

You exhaled, voice quiet but unwavering.

“Because he’s there, Aiden. He shows up.”

Aiden stared at you, stunned. “So that’s it? That’s the bar now? Just, showing up? What do you think I’m doing now?!”

“It’s not the same!” you snapped. “He remembers things I tell him! He asks about my day! He listens when I talk! He sees me!”

“Oh, and I don’t?” His voice was rising again, hurt curdling into anger. “Now I’m the bad guy because some neighbor with too much free time knows how to make small talk?”

Aiden's eyes locked on yours, hard. “So what, you want to be with him?”

You blinked, heart pounding. “I want to be with someone who treats me like I matter.”

That stopped him. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

You kept going, your voice quieter now—measured, but unwavering. “This isn’t about Michael. It’s about us. About how I’ve felt completely alone in this relationship. Like I’m constantly waiting…waiting for you to remember, to care, to just try! And in the meantime, someone, anyone, treats me like I matter, and it makes the distance between us feel even bigger.”

His expression shifted, guarded now. “And I’m just supposed to accept that this epiphany of yours, this sudden hunger to be ‘seen’—has nothing to do with him?”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Come on. You’ve thought about it. About him. Don’t insult me.”

You hesitated. Just for a moment. But it was enough.

For a moment, he looked at you and something shifted in his face. A flicker of recognition, a crack in his defenses. But it didn’t soften him. It hardened.

He scoffed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wow. So that’s what we are now? A placeholder until someone else makes you feel seen?”

You flinched. “No-”

“No?” His voice was sharp, brittle. “Because it sure as hell sounds like you’ve already made your choice.”

Your chest tightened. “I haven’t made any choice. I’ve been asking, begging through my actions, what I do—for you to be present, to care about something that matters to me.”

“You think I don’t care?” he snapped. “I’m drowning in this case! I’m trying to build something—”

“And in the process, you’ve left me behind,” you said, the ache in your voice undeniable. “I needed a partner. Someone who shows up, even when it’s inconvenient. Someone who chooses me, even when it’s hard.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, eyes dark and unreadable. For once, he had nothing to say.

You swallowed hard. “Michael didn’t take anything from you. He didn’t steal your place. You gave it up. One forgotten moment at a time.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and unforgiving. Aiden looked away, jaw working, emotions warring behind his eyes.

He shook his head slowly, voice low. “So that’s it. I screw up one night—”

You cut him off, fierce now. “It’s not one night, Aiden. It’s all the nights before this. The missed dinners, the forgotten promises, the way I’ve been begging for scraps of your attention while you bury yourself in work.”

Your voice broke, raw and honest. “Aiden, I’ve been right here, trying. You’re the one who’s been miles away.”

Aiden’s eyes burned with anger, jaw clenched tight. “So that’s it with us?”

You swallowed hard, your heart twisting. “No… I don’t know what this is anymore.”

“And what about Michael?” He spat the name like a challenge.

His eyes narrowed, voice low and fierce. “So all this time, you’ve been hanging around him? Thinking about him? While you’re still dating me?” He scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

You shook your head, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m thinking anymore! Part of me still wants to fight for us—for what we had in the beginning. But…” Your throat tightened. “I’m scared I’m holding onto a version of you that doesn’t exist anymore.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes, maybe, but it was buried just as quickly beneath the weight of his anger.

“I can’t keep doing this alone,” you added, almost pleading.

Aiden turned toward the door, jaw tight, ready to leave—but you stepped in front of him, blocking his path, desperation bleeding into your voice.

“Aiden, wait. Don’t leave like this. Please.”

He froze, but he didn’t soften. His fists clenched at his sides as he stared at you, his voice tight with frustration. “Maybe I should. Maybe that’s what you want anyway.” He paused, bitterness rising. “Someone like Michael.”

The name hung heavy between you—too loud, too sharp.

Your breath caught. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he snapped, stepping back. “You say you don’t know what you’re thinking, but you sure seem to know where to run when things fall apart.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned and started walking, fast.

You hesitated for a second—then followed. “Aiden!”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even look back.

By the time you caught up, he was already in his car, yanking the door open like he couldn’t get away from you fast enough.

You hurried after him, heart racing. “Aiden don’t walk away! Just talk this out with me’”

“Talk?! Is that what this is?! There’s nothing to talk about!” he snapped, one leg already in the car.

“Aiden, please—” you reached out instinctively, desperate, your voice cracking under the weight of everything falling apart.

“Don’t.” His voice was sharp. Final.

And then he slammed the door.

The engine roared to life, headlights flashing, and without another glance in your direction, he peeled off—tires screeching as he disappeared down the street, leaving you alone on the sidewalk, breathless and hollow.

The sob tore out before you could stop it. Another followed, harder this time. Your whole body trembled. Each breath came jagged, raw. All the pain, all the emotions you’ve been harboring inside your heart finally made its way out.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, crying. The world blurred and shifted around you, cars passing like shadows.

Without thinking, you set your award down on the curb and pulled out your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed his number.

Aiden’s words echoed in your head—You sure seem to know where to run when things fall apart.

And maybe he was right.

But right now, you didn’t care.

Because with Michael, you felt safe. You didn’t have to explain every feeling, or hold yourself together for someone else’s sake. You knew you could rely on him. And tonight, more than anything, you needed that comfort.

You needed him.

—

Michael was at the bar with a mix of day and night shift crew, the usual haunt after a long, draining week. Some still had shifts ahead of them, others were finally off for the weekend, but for now, they were all crammed around a long high-top table, half-empty pint glasses and plates of shared appetizers scattered between them.

Laughter rippled through the group as John Shen, a nightshift attendant, launched into another story from his med student days—something about an embarrassing moment he had in med school.

Michael sat in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took a sip of his water. He was just starting to relax when he felt the buzz of his phone in his jeans pocket.

He fished it out, still half-listening to the punchline, until he saw the name on the screen.

His smile faded.

Your name flashed across the screen.

Sliding his finger across to answer, he pressed the phone to his ear, covering the other with his hand to block out the bar noise.

“Hello?”

“Michael?”

Your voice was soft, shaky. Just the way you said his name made something twist deep in his chest.

Something was wrong.

“What happened? You okay?” he asked, already leaning off the barstool.

“Alright, who wants another round?” Mateo Diaz, one of the dayshift nurses called out as he stood.

“Blue Moon!” someone shouted.

“Vodka soda!”

“Whiskey, neat!”

“Dr Robby, drink?” Mateo asked, raising his nearly empty beer glass toward him.

Michael shook his head, hand pressed tighter over his free ear to hear you better.

The voices on your end were quieter—but over the bar’s noise, he could still hear your breath catch.

You hesitated. Then, hearing the laughter and clinking glasses on his end, you spoke again, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Shit… right, you’re busy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just—”

He heard it then.

Not just the words, but the way your voice cracked on the last syllable, small and raw. You were crying.

He tried to keep it light, just enough to steady you. “Changed your mind about the Uber, huh?”

He knew it wasn’t the best time for jokes, but maybe—just maybe—you’d give him the faintest laugh.

“Something like that.”

He closed his eyes briefly. He didn’t want to assume—but his mind was already jumping to the only explanation that made sense.

Aiden.

“Yeah. Text me where the ceremony is,” he said, voice low and steady. “Hang tight—I’m on my way.”

“Okay.”

“Hey—don’t wait outside for me, alright? Stay in the lobby. I’ll come get you. I’ll see you in a few”

He hung up. Michael headed back over to the table grabbing his hoodie from the stool he was occupying moments ago.

“Hey—everything good?” Jack asked, frowning as he turned toward him.

Michael shook his head, jaw tight. “Jackass Aiden…I don’t think he show up for her award ceremony”

“You’re kidding,” Jack muttered, equal parts disbelief and disgust.

“Just- something happened. I’m gonna go get her.”

“Wait—damn. I was supposed to be Mohan’s DD tonight,” Michael said, suddenly remembering. “You think—?”

“I got Samira. I only had one—I’ll call it a night on drinks,” Jack said.

“Mo!” Michael called out across the table.

Samira Mohan, still in her scrubs with her hair pinned back, looked up.

“I gotta head out. But Abbot’s gonna give you a ride, okay?” he said, giving Jack’s shoulder a squeeze.

Samira glanced between the two of them, then nodded. “Okay.”

Jack offered her a small smile, nodding. She returned it, soft and understanding.

Jack looked away from her gaze, still a little embarrassed about the time he’d awkwardly tried to flirt with Samira—right after a heart procedure, during the chaos of the PittFest incident.

It hadn’t landed.

She’d just stared at him, confused, like he’d spoken a language she didn’t understand. The whole thing had gone completely over her head, and honestly… he was still recovering.

There was a quiet admiration he held for her, one he didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Dr. Robby leaving already?” Mel King, a resident, sat back straight on her stool with her club soda in front of her.

Trinity Santo, an intern at the edge of the table, arched a brow at him. Next to her sat Dennis Whitaker, a fourth year med student.

“Something came up. I gotta head out,” Michael replied, already pulling on his hoodie.

Mateo returned just then, balancing a tray of drinks. He paused when he saw Michael slipping away.

“What? No way! It can’t be your bedtime already, Dr Robby!” Mateo cracked, handing out bottles and glasses with a grin.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Get home safe, all of you. Make good choices!”

A scattered chorus of “Later, Robby!” And goodbyes followed him.

Princess Dela Cruz and Perla Alawi leaned toward each other, whispering in Tagalog, eyes tracking Michael as he left.

“What, are you too gossiping about now?” Jack raises his eyebrow.

“Nothing” they say at the same time.

Trinity, who’d been quietly sipping her drink, looked up with a smirk. “Apparently… rumor has it Robby has a girlfriend.”

Both Princess and Perla snapped their heads toward her.

“Traitor!” Perla hissed.

“What?” Trinity shrugged, totally unfazed. “You know I speak Tagalog, And anyway, it’s not like you guys were being subtle. Everyone in the ER was gonna find out eventually. Might as well start the betting pool now.”

“Aww, Dr. Robby has a girlfriend?” Mel cooed, genuinely delighted. “That’s sweet.”

“No way Robby has a girlfriend,” Mateo said flatly, shaking his head. “I mean it’s Robby. He’s been lone wolfing it for a while”

“You’d be surprised. He dated Jake’s mom—Janey—but that was ages ago,” Princess pointed out.

“I heard from someone that he had dated Dr. Collins,” Samira chimed in.

“Did he really?” Dennis asked, brows furrowing in surprise. “I thought they just…butted heads each other.”

“I think they did,” Perla said, lowering her voice with dramatic flair. “There was a lot of tension between them back in the day. Like, a lot.” She nods knowingly.

“But he's attending and she’s a resident…that is not allowed?” Mel speaks up

“We’ve seen a lot of things—but hey, that’s none of our business.” Princess says

“Yeah, but you still gossip about it.” Trinity side eyes Princess.

“Well, we work twelve-hour shifts. Gotta keep ourselves entertained somehow.”

“Entertained?” Samira snorted. “You practically run the hospital’s rumor mill.”

“Oh my god, would you all quit it?” Jack cut in, laughing. “We’re really sitting here dissecting Robby’s dating history?”

“If anyone should know his dating history it’s you! You’re his best friend! He tells you everything,” Princess said, pointing her straw at him.

“Not everything,” Jack said, holding up a finger.

“Eh, but mostly everything,” Perla teased.

“So tell us,” John said, looking straight at Jack. “Robby got a girlfriend? Is that who he’s ditching us to run off to?”

The entire table went still. Drinks paused mid-air halfway to lips.

All eyes locked on Jack.

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and gave them that maddening, unreadable expression.

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

There was a beat of silence—

Then Trinity slapped her hand on the table. “Twenty bucks says he is.”

“I’m in,” Dennis said quickly, already pulling out his phone to keep track of the amount and who was betting.

“Are you guys serious right now?” Samira laughed, raising an eyebrow as the table lit up with energy. “We’re betting?” Samira raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling.

“Thirty says she works at the hospital,” Princess grinned.

“Fifty says she doesn’t even work in medicine,” Perla added.

The table erupted into overlapping chatter and laughter, everyone talking over each other, money getting thrown down, wild theories flying left and right.

Mel, sitting back, shook her head with a small smile. “You’re all ridiculous. Leave the poor guy alone.”

“We should get more staff in on this. You know who’d be all over this? Becky from pre-op. She’s got spreadsheets for this kind of thing.”

“Oh God,” Jack groaned. “Please don’t start a bracket.”

“He’s gonna have your asses when he finds out you’re making bets on his relationship status,” Jack warned.

“Well, he doesn’t need to know… now does he?” someone quipped.

“This is good for group morale,” Perla added innocently. “You know—bringing us together as one.”

Jack just groaned, rolling his eyes—but he couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out.

——

Michael saw you.

You were sitting on the steps outside, arms wrapped tightly around yourself like they were the only thing holding you together.

He called out your name, voice laced with concern.

You turned, eyes swollen, face streaked with tears.

“Michael,” you breathed. You stood up.

Without another word, he closed the distance between you and wrapped you in his arms, gently pulling you into him.

“I told you to wait inside,” he said softly.

His arms encircled you—steady, warm, protective. His grip was firm, grounding you as you broke down against his chest. One hand stroked your hair, slow and soothing, while his chin came to rest lightly on the crown of your head.

He let you cry, saying nothing. Just held you, patient and silent.

After a while, when your sobs had softened, he finally spoke.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low. “Look at me.”

But you only cling to him tighter.

“Sweetheart,” he says, softer now. “Look at me.”

The term of endearment catches you off guard. You sniffle and glance up at him through damp lashes.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently wiping away the tears on your cheek.

“Are you hurt at all?” he asks, pulling back just enough to assess you, the ER doctor flickering through in his careful gaze.

You see the worry in his eyes..

You shake your head.

He studies you for another long moment.

“You sure?” he asks, dipping his head slightly, trying to catch your gaze as your eyes dart away.

He searches your face, quietly, carefully—looking for the truth. For any flicker of doubt or something unsaid hiding behind your eyes.

You nod, “Yes, I promise”

You hug him again, as you continue to cry.

Then he nods, gentle and certain. “Okay…okay Shhh. It’s okay, sweetheart”

He pulls you into him again, his arms wrapping around you protectively. His hands rubbing your back. Swaying the two of you softly.

—-

Michael took you for a walk, helping you regulate your emotions.

The two of you didn’t speak, walking in silence. Your crying had subsided, but your eyes still felt heavy, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You wished you could say something—anything—to fill the quiet, but the only sound was the gentle rustling of leaves as you walked side by side.

Neither of you was in a rush. The walk stretched on without a clear destination, and you weren’t sure how long you’d been walking—only that the coolness of the evening air had begun to settle on your skin.

Eventually, you reached a small park tucked into the city, just across the street from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. It wasn’t far from where the banquet had been held, or where Robby had parked his car.

The two of you sat on a cold metal bench near the park’s aging fountain. The water trickled softly behind you, barely masking the distant blare of horns and the occasional echo of a siren cutting through the night. But here, in this spot, Michael felt like everything felt quieter. Slowed.

A breeze passed, lifting a few strands of your hair. Michael didn’t say anything. He just sat beside you, elbows on his knees, waiting, holding space, letting you have the space to speak, if you wanted.

Michael and some of the day and night shift staff sometimes hung out in this very spot to decompress. They’d pop open a beer or two, leaning back on the benches or sitting in the grass. It was their go-to when they didn’t feel like heading to a bar—when they wanted something quieter, more intimate. A laid-back place to breathe, unwind, and just exist for a while.

“Let me guess, Aiden didn’t show,” he mutters. That’s another thing to add to the growing list of disappointments since Aiden became friends with you—flaked on dinner, jammed your window, missed career day, and now your award ceremony. What’s next?

You nodded your fingers gliding over your award.

“He did… but he showed up late. We got into this huge fight. I just blew up at him. I told him how important this was to me…and then I brought up…”

You stop, debating whether to tell him he made it into the argument.

You decided not to.

“-everything I’ve been feeling just poured out…”

You sit the award beside you on the bench.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That he wasn’t there to support you… to cheer you on. I’m sorry he keeps breaking promises. And for not being there in the way you needed him to be.”

You were shivering and a cool night breeze blew.

Without a word, Michael shrugged off his hoodie and gently draped it around your shoulders. The warmth of the fabric—and of him—seeped into your skin. He held the collar for a moment longer than necessary, steadying it on you, steadying you.

You looked up, and he didn’t look away. The air between you shifted—soft, fragile, electric.

Neither of you moved at first, but then, slowly, as if pulled by something, you both leaned in. Your breaths mingled, noses nearly brushing, his eyes flicking to your lips. And then, just before they could meet, you stopped.

Instead, you rested your forehead against his, your breath catching.

He didn’t move away. Didn’t pull back. Just stayed there, his hand still on your shoulder, grounding you.

His voice was barely audible, but it cut through the quiet. “Why are you with him?”

He paused, and in that quiet, you felt the weight of everything he wasn’t saying—his confusion, his hurt, maybe even jealousy.

Then, he gently pulled his head back to look at you. His brows were drawn, eyes searching yours like they were trying to find the answer you couldn’t give.

Slowly, he reached up and cupped the side of your face, his palm warm against your skin. His thumb moved in a slow, tender arc across your cheek—a silent comfort, a wordless plea.

“I just… I don’t understand why you stay”

You didn’t answer right away—because the truth was, you didn’t know anymore.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I just… part of me wants things to work. It wasn’t always like this in the beginning. But now…”

You looked down, your voice faltering.

“Now it’s like he’s a stranger. Like I’m holding on to someone who isn’t even there anymore.”

“He’s a man, Michael. He’s just… complicated.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but firm.

“Aiden’s a boy—not a man. And there’s a difference.A man won’t make you question whether you’re loved,” he continued. “He won’t make you beg for affection, or feel like you’re asking for too much just by wanting to be seen.”

You stood there, breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, heart pounding with everything he was saying—and everything he wasn’t.

Michael looked at you for a long moment, then shook his head softly, almost in disbelief.

“You’re so kind,” he said, voice low. “So damn funny, so smart—God, the way you light up when you talk about the things you love…you deserve so much more than this. So much more.”

His eyes softened.

“Thank you, Michael. For everything. For always being there for me. You’re… a great friend.”

You didn’t see him as just a friend. Not even close. But the moment didn’t feel safe enough—you didn’t feel safe enough—to say what you really meant. So you pushed it down, wrapped it in gratitude, and handed it to him like it was all you had to offer. But you said it anyway. It killed you to say them.

And it killed him to hear them.

But he just nodded, eyes steady, even as something in him quietly broke.

The two of you drove back home in silence. When you stepped into the elevator, he stood beside you, hands in his pockets, close but careful.

At your door, he hesitated.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. His eyes closed for the briefest second, like he was memorizing the feel of it.

When you pulled back, his gaze lingered on you. He looked like he wanted to say something. Like he wanted to close the distance and kiss you, really kiss you—but he didn’t.

Instead, he just looked down at you, a war in his eyes.

“Goodnight” he whispered

“Goodnight”

You stepped inside your apartment and closed the door quietly behind you. The stillness inside felt heavy, like even the walls were waiting for you to say what you didn’t. You leaned back against the door, eyes closing as a slow exhale left your lungs.

Regret pressed down on you.

You should’ve told him the truth.

That he wasn’t just a friend. That he never had been. That the way he made you feel, steady, grounded, safe, was unlike anything you’d ever known. With Michael, you felt seen, heard, understood in ways you hadn’t thought possible. He made space for you without asking for anything in return. And still… you’d called him a friend.

But you said it anyway.

Because you were scared. Not of him—God, no—but of what it would mean if you let yourself fall for someone like him.

Someone who showed up. Someone who didn’t run. Someone who looked at you like you were worth something.

And deep down, you didn’t believe you were. You told yourself he deserved better. That he could do better.

But none of that made the ache go away.

It only made it worse.

Then came a knock.

Your heart jumped.

Maybe this was your chance. Maybe it wasn’t too late to take it all back, to say what you meant instead of what felt safe.

Maybe you could change it all.

If you were brave enough.

You opened the door.

“Aiden.”

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967@lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg @valutfromlune @baileythepenguin @galmorizethechaos @capj-1437 @airgoddess @nah2991 @interestellarprincess @laurensfilm @peachjellyy

Across The Hall | (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

[codderanged]

After Party - Phillip Graves X Shadow!Reader

A/N : This came to me as I listened to Dealer by S3RL! Sorry it’s so long compared to my usual stuff (ToT ) Also sorry but this one is mega indulgent LMAO. I love myself some acts of service and intimacy via things that aren’t sex and the idea that nudity does not equal sexual tension. Enjoy!!

A/N2 : THIS BITCH WAS 15 PAGES IN GOOGLE DOCS

Word Count : 4,699

TW : Drugs, alcohol, hallucinogenic consumption, description of involuntary actions, reader under the influence, good trip turned bad, anxiety, hallucinations (visual and auditory), nonsexual nudity

No one remembers when it became a tradition but at some point in Shadow Company, without Graves knowing a thing, someone decided to start throwing post-mission parties. Most Shadows referred to them simply as “after parties” and whenever an outsider asked the explanation was always that it was simply a glorified way of saying a group was going to rest and veg out together. 

These parties were exclusive. At first they were small, just a small group of Shadows who started it, then they became huge. Half of a barracks hall used to party late at night when everyone was sure the commander was asleep like kids using the house while their parents are away. Anyone who wanted to attend needed an inside connection to be invited specifically or taken in as a plus one. 

Hence why this particular recruit didn’t expect to be invited to the after party this time. 

They were newer to the team but most definitely had proven themselves as a useful asset. A few good friends had been made and they’d established a nice circle to sit with in the mess hall during breakfast. But none of those friends struck them as the type to go to these parties. Not when they’d heard that recently they’d been getting progressively more wild. More booze, louder music, a little bit of drugs, etc.. 

Of course the question of whether they’d accept or not was a big one. Saying yes was dragging them into something likely bigger than they even knew, but declining would most likely prevent them from ever going in the future. It took a lot of consideration but they simply chose to go but avoid any of the heavy partying. It would set their reputation well but hopefully prevent anyone from offering them drugs thinking they were into that sort of thing. 

That night they made their way to the barracks hall the party was held in. Always the one furthest from Grave’s own quarters. From the entrance they could see the party down the hall. A few people kept the doors of their rooms open to let Shadows in and out and it seemed there was already a line for the bathroom. The recruit was stopped by a taller Shadow who asked for proof of invite. In response they took out the little piece of paper their friend had scribbled on, signing that they were the one who invited the newbie. The bouncer Shadow nodded and handed the slip back to the shorter, “Enjoy.” 

They scuttled along further down the hall. Upon closer inspection it seemed there was a designated room for smoking what smelled like weed, another room for snacks and drinks, and everything else was free range to hang out. Without missing a beat the recruit went into the snack room. Getting food was a good way to start a conversation, right? Bond over similar tastes and snack combos seemed like a normal conversation topic. The room was simply decorated with a couple of black lights, a singular strobe, a speaker, and a few tables with snacks and drinks laid out on them. However, what caught the Shadow’s eye through the throng of buzzing coworkers was the table with a large closed-topped pitcher labeled “Southern Style Tea”. Ignoring all the other drink options they raced towards the table, grabbed a red solo cup, and filled it. 

Just before taking the first sip they noticed two tiny plates next to the large cooling vat. One was labeled “Sugar cubes” in simple messy black sharpie while the other was labeled the exact same thing except in fancier pink cursive marker. The recruit chuckled and grabbed a couple sugar cubes under the pink label and tossed them into their drink. It was a party, of course they had to pick the more whimsical option. After stirring their drink a bit the recruit took a few sips and shuffled off to the side so they could observe from the wall. Hopefully some easy opportunity to interact would come along and they would be able to hop in on a conversation. 

After ten minutes that opportunity still hadn’t come. They stood there sipping their tea and even got a refill with more sugar cubes. It was likely the music but slowly their head grew fuzzy and every now and then they swore they saw something moving from the corner of their eye. Just as they went to grab a sugar cube for their third cup of tea, their Shadow friend came by, standing just a couple feet away. “Well hey there!” he greeted with a sickeningly intoxicated laugh. His eyes lazily drifted to see the sugar cubes. “Oh wow I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”

The recruit raised a brow in confusion, “Well it’s just sugar, yeah? Not like I haven’t shown off my sweet tooth before.”

Their friend shook his head, “No, that’s not sugar.” The Shadow moved to stand directly next to them and pointed at the sugar cubes with black sharpie. “That’s sugar,” he pointed at the pink labeled ones, “and that’s sugar cubes soaked in LSD.”

“LSD…?” the other mumbled, staring in horror as they processed it all. The senior Shadow laughed loudly.

“Oh boy! How much did you have? You’re way in for it,” he slurred through his amusement. With a sigh he put a hand on the other’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine I’m sure. Just uh… don’t get caught.” 

He nodded, popped a raw sugar cube into his mouth, and walked away with drink in hand. The stunned recruit stood there staring between the cup in their hand and the sugar cubes in the little dish. How many had they had? Six, maybe even seven. They left their cup on the table and shakily began trying to exit the room. It seemed whatever they did was in slow motion and just about everything around them was going too fast to see anything other than the motion blur. No one they shoved past seemed to care or notice, simply stumbling to the side while too busy with their conversation or dancing. The music bumped so loud that the bass sent vibrations through their very core and the lights seemed to flash in their eyes even when they weren’t looking at them. Like a kaleidoscope, shapes and color swirled around the border of their vision, obscuring the things in their peripheral vision and distracting them as they ambled out into the hall. The music seemed to echo there and the noise felt like it was going to burst their ears open. People passed by, not paying any mind, and the recruit wandered around. They didn’t realize but their mouth hung open a little and in the midst of everything they were going much slower than they felt they were. Things blurred further and everything seemed to swirl around in their vision. The buzz of everyone yelling over the music was merely a monotonous hum that settled itself into the back of their mind. 

It took some time for them to find it but eventually they came across a room where everyone seemed to be smoking weed. There were a couple groups of people passing different forms of the substance around who didn’t seem to want to be as loud as everyone else outside the room. The Shadow saw this as a perfect place to settle and enjoy the sudden euphoria budding in their chest. 

They stumbled over to a bean bag chair in the corner and let their weight crash down into the squishy cushion. Sprawled out across the big bean bag they stared up at the ceiling, watching the little shapes and colors drift by and feeling the bass of the party music rumble underneath them. It felt like merely a minute but it must have been an hour when they finally looked up to see half the people from the rotations gone and the other either sleeping or mumbling amongst each other. The party outside was still raging but strangely the sudden change in the room disturbed the Shadow more than they were prepared for. Something about it didn’t quite click to them as their eyes slowly dragged across the room to see if perhaps everyone was only hiding. 

No one was there. No one was hidden under the blankets or in the corners of the room.

Unless they were. Unless this was some ploy to trick them and possibly humiliate them. 

While the shapes and colors still blotted their vision they pulled their knees to their chest and looked around the room a little more panicked than before. Their arms held their knees close as their breathing quickened. Everything appeared to close in on them. The walls leaned in and the people in the room slowly grew bigger as if trying to intimidate the poor Shadow rocking gently back and forth in the corner. The others in the room didn’t seem to notice, though, as they all talked amongst one another and even lit up a new joint to share. The pungent smell immediately slammed the Shadow in the corner like a truck. It infiltrated their nasal cavity and made them more nauseous than ever before. Their hand covered their mouth and they did their best to not look at the group in case the mere sight of the source would trigger their gag reflex. The music from outside was shaking too hard and the words felt much too loud in their inner ears like some kind of pressurizing system. It all bumped and shook and sent relentless shivers up the Shadow’s spine.

The Shadow could not see as the group’s attention turned to the door. A couple of them stood and went to the doorway, peeking out into the hall, and the recruit finally noticed. The group’s joint had been forgotten as they all gathered by the door. What felt like only a second later they were all scrambling around the room, shoving previous smokes into plastic bags to hide the smell and spraying an ungodly amount of air freshening spray to drown it out. Of course the beachy scent only gave the recruit in the corner an intense ache in the base of their neck. 

One of the stoners approached the Shadow, standing over them and saying something that sounded distorted to the point the recruit couldn’t understand. They stared, mouth open and pupils blown wide. The stoner’s words didn’t even penetrate their mind. Their heart rate went wild and the ache in their neck spread up to their temples and behind their ears. All that their mind could think of was how big this person was, standing over them and raising their voice about something. The idea that someone was upset because of them suddenly caused anxiety to prickle up into their shoulders and back. Thoughts raced through their head on double time trying to figure out what they did wrong as a frown crossed their face. 

Quickly the thoughts felt all-consuming. It was like every noise in the room was nothing compared to the thrum of their own heart in their ears and foreign voices like cursed whispers filled their head in an agonizingly loud cacophony. As their hands went up to cover their ears the stoner standing above them huffed in annoyance and stomped off. The Shadow on the floor rocked back and forth, glancing around as if they could find the source of all the noise. It wasn’t the group of people still panicking as they picked up the room, was it? When they spoke to one another was it about the Shadow in the corner? Did they look pitiful or were they, arguably even worse, some kind of nuisance? 

Though the swirling colors and the loud voices persisted, everything else stopped as a figure stood in the doorway. Behind him Shadows were in the hall panicking as they rushed around. 

It was Commander Graves. 

His brows pinched together and his fists clenched at his sides as he stood there. The group in the room stood stock still as they stared. Each of them was thinking the same thing. They all knew what Graves standing there meant. 

It was all over. 

No more after parties.

Some of them would likely get terminated.

Graves’s eyes scanned the room like he was assessing a room during a mission. The stoner didn’t dare make eye contact with him; their own gazes glued to the floor instead. It didn’t take long for Graves to see the Shadow huddled in the corner. They simply stared at him, brows pressed together and lips curled down in a pouty frown. The commander looked to the stoners and pointed to the high Shadow as he spoke. They couldn’t tell what he was saying, or what the stoners said in response, but Graves seemed immediately concerned as he looked at the Shadow again. The man didn’t bother even looking at the other Shadows as he barked some order. They all quickly nodded and exited the room, their collective “yup yup!” sounding loud and distorted in the high Shadow’s head. 

Once the others were gone he cautiously stepped towards the other Shadow. They stared up at him like he was some enigma. Or perhaps like he wasn’t real. 

“Hey now, y’hear me?” Graves asked quietly. He wasn’t one for drugs and had only chewed tobacco as a kid but he’d dealt with drugged up people before and knew a few things about helping. 

The Shadow merely tilted their head to the side in response, mouth not opening. Graves sighed and crouched down in front of them in an attempt to appear small. 

“Y’understand me?” He asked again. Once again the only response was the thousand yard stare and Graves’s shoulders sagged a little. He waddled forward a little, “C’mere, ‘m gonna help ya.”

Of course the warning was nothing when the Shadow was barely understanding anything happening around them nevertheless comprehending what was real or fake. Graves hesitated only a moment, worried that perhaps he was overstepping his authority and responsibility, before reaching to grab them. Their reaction was delayed and by the time they mumbled an incoherent babble of confusion Graves was already carrying them in his arms; their chin on his shoulder and their legs wrapped around his waist. His steady hands were gentle as they held the Shadow with a hand on their back and an arm under their rear. He was careful of their knees as he exited the room, awkwardly waddling sideways as to avoid a hit altogether. 

Once out in the hall he looked around, barked a few orders the Shadow in his arms couldn’t quite grasp, and began heading out of the hall. The Shadow could see their coworkers picking things up and cleaning the ruined floor. The lights were on, the strobes were off, the tables and speakers were being put away. A few Shadows stared after Graves and others were helping corral drunk and high Shadows alike into their rooms. 

It all disappeared as Graves rounded the corner and made his way into the dark hallways. The Shadow in his arms closed their eyes but the colors in their vision remained and the darkness gave them a strange feeling like everything was gone or perhaps not be there when their eyes opened again. Just as they’d started trying to reel their mind in, Graves interrupted their thoughts, “‘M gonna take care of ya, alright?”

The Shadow simply mumbled something quiet that resembled “yup yup” moments later. Graves couldn’t help but chuckle at the response. It was endearing for a reason he couldn’t quite pin. Something about one of his lethal little Shadows being subdued was simply too foreign to not catch his attention. Of course the reason was incredibly displeasing and all Graves could hope for was that they were going to end up alright in the end. 

The commander struggled with the knob to his personal barracks for just a moment before clicking the door open, shuffling inside, and then pulling the door closed behind him. His barracks were only slightly bigger than that of the Shadows. He designed the place but he sure wasn’t selfish with the power. Each room had its own shared bathroom with another and Graves simply had his own bathroom. Which, to be fair, was in fact quite grand. A large tub, a separate shower, and plenty of counter space. The entire room was decorated fairly scarcely with the only hint of Grave’s less military side being the hats and boots hidden away in his closet. Everything was some shade of grey or black, the entire room feeling like a pit of monotonous darkness besides the singular warm beside lamp clicked on from when he had woken up. 

He stared around at his room, supposedly thinking, before taking a deep breath and heading for his bathroom. Graves was careful as he sat the Shadow on the bathroom counter, standing in front of them to keep them in place with his hands resting on the counter on each side. They stared at him with that thousand yard stare look but strangely their blown out pupils made it almost look like they were enamored by Graves. The idea tickled him and the corner of his mouth quirked up just a little as he shook his head lightly. “You poor lil thing…” he sighed.

Graves observed the Shadow as their eyes lazily wandered the room. The movement was rhythmic like they were stuck in a cycle of staring at the tub behind Graves, then the carpet, then the shampoo bottles in the shower, then repeating once again. The commander frowned as he gently touched the back of his hand to their forehead to get a feel for their temperature. Of course they felt like they were overheating like some overrun generator. That wasn’t to mention the thin layer of sweat that had accumulated on their entire body, clinging to them grossly and emanating a smell like a weird mix of wet dog and sweaty child. Graves set his hand gently on their cheek, trying to get them to look at him. It took several seconds for their eyes to mosey on to meet his own. 

“Hey, can y’ talk to me?” he asked softly. There was no telling what they took or how much. From the symptoms it seemed like some kind of depressant and by the way they seemed barely aware of their surroundings they took quite a bit of it. 

The Shadow hummed so quiet it was nearly inaudible, “Yup yup…” Graves sighed with a hint of relief. At least they were somewhat still there. Considering the ‘yup yup’ they could probably recognize him. 

“Yer in a tough spot, soldier,” Graves explained. His thumbs gently rubbed their cheek bone back and forth before he noticed the unconscious movement moments later and moved his hand to the counter. “I’m gonna help you out, alright? That okay with you?”

Silent moments passed but Graves remained patient as he waited for an answer. Even as their lips parted but nothing came out he still stood there, head slightly tilted to the side, waiting for a response. The Shadow’s eyes caught the bright bathroom light and they groaned as they shoved their face down into Grave’s shoulder to hide from it, and slurred, “Yessir… yup yup…” 

Graves let out a little huff from his nose as his arms wrapped around them protectively. “I gotcha soldier.” His chin settled onto their shoulder and he mumbled quietly so as to not hurt their head, “‘M gonna take care of ya.”

He reluctantly let them go, pausing to be sure that they could sit up on their own, before heading for the large tub and beginning to run the water and dumping in some body wash just for the suds that would arise. He kept his hand under the tap just to be sure it wasn’t too hot or cold then shook it dry as he walked back over to the Shadow. “Gonna clean y’ up so you can get some good rest, alright?”

The Shadow, seeming to have come to their senses just a little, grumbled in acknowledgement. Graves nodded, more to himself than to the Shadow, and set his hands on their hips. He paused as his face heated up from the thought of what he was doing. Graves immediately slapped himself though, trying to steel his mind against it all. This wasn’t for his personal enjoyment. This was to take care of them. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes up on the ceiling as he assisted the Shadow with removing their clothes. Once he had their things folded and set to the side to be washed later he helped them down from the counter and held them up as they walked to the bath. Initially the Shadow grumbled, not wanting to leave their spot on the counter since the cold marble had finally grown warm, but as they felt the steam arising from the bath they quickly stopped protesting and slipped inside eagerly, head and shoulders just above the water.

Once sure the Shadow was settled Graves made quick work of changing into some random shorts in his closet so he wouldn’t get his pants wet. He sat on the edge of the rub, put his legs in the water on either side of the recruit, and let their head rest on his thighs. The Shadow seemed content simply sitting there soaking with a little smile on their face. Graves had a smile of his own as he reached down and cupped some water in his hands to pour over their head. He was careful to put a hand on their brow to prevent water in their eyes. Then he went for his bottle of shampoo and began to lather it in his hands. 

The Shadow leaned into his touch as he carefully scrubbed their scalp then proceeded to rinse the product out. His fingers on their scalp seemed to scratch some itch deep in their brain. Fresh-cut nails digging in to really get at the roots for a wash that felt borderline purifying. Graves carded through every section and got each and every little knot and tangle out. The room spelled like green apple as he continued on, the shampoo’s scent filling just about every cavity in the Shadow’s senses. Afterwards Graves gently scrubbed their body down, once again looking anywhere he could that wasn’t their body. His eyes kept away, instead taking great note of the grout between the floor tiles or the way the paint was textured on the ceiling. Anything to try and give the Shadow some semblance of privacy as he helped them. Oddly enough Graves didn’t struggle to navigate them despite not being able to see where his hands were. He pretended in his head that it was because it was simply his understanding of anatomy. Knowing where to strike a foe meant you had to know where everything else was as well. The commander knew, though, in the back of his head, that it was because he’d see this Shadow before. He’d found himself enraptured by their performance and physique. Their uniform always left much to the imagination but walking around base, with mere training gear on, he’d seen more of them and loved every bit. Graves had dreams of seeing this body, kissing every inch in pure reverence, and running his hands through their hair sweetly, just to make them feel loved.

The thought turned a little sour as Graves remembered why exactly he was here touching and seeing them. This was not quite the sweet union he’d imagined in his head. 

Graves heaved a heavy sigh as he shook his head. The Shadow below him was smiling wide with their head resting back onto his lap. Their eyes wandered around the ceiling and occasionally his face but had no true path. The nearly pitiful sight made all of Grave’s annoyance wash away as he cupped their cheek and smiled softly down at them. 

“Gonna get out now, alright? Get all warm n’ head to bed,” he whispered quietly down to them. They finally fixed their eyes on his and nodded with a mumble of approval. 

At that Graves carefully stood himself up and with one foot in the tub and another he assisted the Shadow out of the water. They shivered and grumbled uncomfortably as the cool air hit their wet skin, but Graves was quick to grab a towel and wrap them up. He held them close as they snuggled into the fabric and in turn pressed their face to his chest. Even as water dripped from their hair and soaked his shirt he didn’t protest. When they were dry except for their still dripping hair Graves sat them down on the counter, excusing himself for just a moment, before heading for his closet to grab something comfortable for both of them to sleep in. He emerged from his walk-in closet moments later with a simple hoodie and shorts with a drawstring for the Shadow and some sweats and a tee for himself. Graves was sure the clothes would probably be too big for the Shadow but he didn’t mind the idea of them cuddled up in the too-big clothes contentedly sleeping. A pang went through his chest at the thought so sweet and he went a little faster as he helped them dry their hair and the rest of their body before awkwardly assisting them in getting the fresh clothes on then getting changed himself.

Though the process took a while, when it was finally complete Graves was more than happy with the result he saw before him. His cute little Shadow sitting on the counter with their legs on either side of his waist. The commander’s hoodie was most definitely oversized for them but they seemed to enjoy it, flapping the extra length of the sleeves around like a child looking for mental stimulation. Graves chuckled and couldn’t bother holding down his smile, “Y’ sure don’t seem tired, now do ya? Still gotta rest, sug- soldier.”

Just like before the Shadow grumbled and nodded, “Yup yup..” 

“C’mon then, careful now,” Graves coaxed as he backed away to let them get down from the counter. With shaky legs like a newborn deer they stepped down. Graves took their hand and carefully guided them from the bathroom to the main room of his dorm. He turned the bathroom light off behind him as he went along.

“Yer doin’ great. Just a lil’ further now,” he praised in a low hum. The moment they reached his bed the Shadow practically collapsed down into the sheets. Graves panicked for a moment before seeing them wiggle their way into the blankets and tuck their face into the pillow. He was about to slip in alongside them when he paused. Hypothetically, waking up to your commander cuddled up next to you would be quite disturbing. Especially if you had, hypothetically, not remembered anything of the night prior. Instead of getting in bed with them Graves leaned down to tuck them in and, indulgently, leave a little peck to their forehead, before rummaging around under his bed until he found some extra blankets and pillows. He set himself up a pallet on the floor next to the bed. 

Just in case they were unable to sleep Graves stayed up for about an hour more. He was sitting up next to the edge of the mattress with his head propped up on his palm. His blue eyes searched their content face the entire time, taking note of every little twitch of their brow or slight movement in their lips. Anything that might mean they were stirring awake made his shoulders tense in anticipation, ready to jump in and help them settle back to sleep. 

They never once stirred but did once mumble something Graves could not make out. He eventually passed out in his silent vigil, but seeing their face as he closed his eyes was all he needed to sleep soundly through just like his Shadow did. 

[green-with-envy-phandom-event]

hello! I am making an archive of Danny Phantom events, with descriptions of the events' histories, and would love to include the Green with Envy event.

what year did this event begin, and during what months does it take place? Is this a competitive event?

would i be allowed to add the linearts from GWE to this archive?

Hello, Mod @weshney here, the original creator of Green With Envy!

Green With Envy started in 2023 from this post.

Originally I had zero intention of running the event. I just made a discord server for people to discuss the idea since the post saw so much interest. For instance, it wasn’t long before this post, rules suggestions from @jackdraw-spwrite and various comments spawned.

Somehow, me helping with ideas in the discord server came with the expectation that I was running it. Lol. So many people were very hyped, so I buckled up and put on my big girl pants so as to not let them down.

Keep in mind, this was with zero experience running an event, no prior interaction with ANY events, online or otherwise, and approximately 4 months exposure to tumblr. What did I have? Nearly 20 years avid reading of DP crossover fanfics. Hahaha.

Soon, I had participants, sign-ups, a rules doc, a second mod, @bibliophilea, for giving advice/suggestions and concentrated power of, "If I'm gonna do this, I have to do it right."

Thus, an event that runs 3 months of the year was born. January and February are the first half---those two months are non-competitive and accept line art donations to the event. We hoard those lines in a Google Drive folder, and then release them to the wild in March for a coloring competition. Other people can color along, but official event colorists will have their work reblogged to the main event page and score points for their teams. There are ten teams in total, so the number of people in each team is rather small. I've heard Green With Envy is somewhat like other competitive Phandom events, but also drastically different. The points system encourages using strategy, so what you color and when makes a huge difference. There is also a bonus point system in place at the end to encourage detailed and creative coloring as well.

The first year of the event there were no automated points; I kept track of the scoreboard manually. Yes, there were mistakes, but everyone had a blast with the event and many people are still here 3 years later.

Many of the mods are actually from year one's Red Team. Why, do you ask? I am a bully. I harrassed anyone (mainly @dooshek), who gave me energy.

I made sure to enable up the wazoo with challenges and gaslighting until every single one of their hairbrained, psychotic ideas made it on screen or paper. (I literally made them think another team was plotting against them right up until the moment the competition ended. They still weren't 100% sure they weren't their own biggest enemy until the scores dropped. *wheeze*)

This was how we got such ridiculous colors as a lightbox, hand-cut papercraft, the repainting of the signing of the declaration of independence, the little baby man apocalypse, the chronicals of Jeff Jefferson, and many more!

Year one was wild, and every year after that has just proved how the event leaves no one sane. Just take a look as some of these! Oil paintings, lightboxes, water colors, collages, spray paint, animations, paint pours, crazy renders. You want a worm Danny? A fish Danny? An octopus Danny? If you can think of it, we probably have it!

This event is 90% meme and feral energy. The hype is infectious, and participants are already starting to compare it to the bigger events with how excited it makes them.

The challenges that spawned from this event even gave us a LBM Alphabet in the server!

Cute, huh?

I'm retiring this year, but I have trained new mods, the absolutely insane @foxyteah has made automated sheets for my ridiculous rule system, and there is a task list for future generations! The gremlin enclosure is ripe for more enrichment next year, so stay tuned for future chaos!

[roseghoul26]

Chapter 8: ...Your Ivy Grows...

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny, Emotional Manipulative Relationship (not with Arthur), Mostly Follows Timeline of Game, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Arthur Is Bad At Emotions, Confessions, First Time Together, Cunnilingus, Missionary, Doggy Style, Tags Updated Per Chapter Author's Note: this chapter is just smut. hope you all enjoy! also, this chapter marks the over half-way point of the series! thank you so much for the continued support! <3 aslo idk if anyone else has had this issue but when you reach 100 pages on a google doc grammar correct stops working? i literally have to break this story up into two docs lmao Taglist: @lokiofasgard12 @ultraporcelainpig @that-one-beannnn @morethantheycansay @nn-hh192 Chapter List

Even though Arthur pledged to take his time with you, you could tell that he was using every bit of restraint in him to keep from taking you right there. His fingers were tight on your thigh, tight enough to leave marks, yet you found that you couldn’t complain. How could you, when all you could say was his name as soft pants and moans?

His lips were unrelenting in their exploration of your neck and shoulders, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your body by just kissing it. One of your hands carded into his dusty brown hair, and if your mind wasn’t so overwhelmed with just the feeling of him, you would’ve marveled at how soft it still was. Yet all that came to your mind was how wonderful his lips felt, and how wonderful they would feel elsewhere. It made your head fall back again, barely noticing the impact of it against the wall, his hand no longer there to protect it. 

No, the hand that had once been so reverently holding you had shifted south, lightly brushing over the side of your body. He just skirted the outline of your breasts through your nightgown, where you wanted, needed him to touch you. You must’ve made some noise of complaint when he continued down, because you felt his smirk again, lips pulling against the delicate skin of your neck. That damn smirk, you could picture it now, and that mischievous glint in his cerulean eyes.

You thought you had gotten your wish when you felt him grab a thin strap of your nightgown with his teeth, slowly dragging it down your shoulder. Goosebumps erupted across the skin when you felt the drag of his beard, the dainty strap tickling your skin where it hung loosely. You expected him to slide the other one off, but when his kisses lingered on the newly exposed skin and his hands remained planted on the lower part of your body, you decided to do it instead, your patience from a few moments prior no longer existing.

With one hand still in his hair, you began to try to bring it down, but you were stopped before it could even budge an inch. Arthur had somehow been able to tell what you were doing, despite being fully enraptured with caressing your body, and had pinned your hand to the wall above you. His hand no longer held your thigh, but you still kept a leg hooked around his body, keeping him as close as you could. A started noise had left you, which turned into a light moan, his actions making you crave more. 

But even though he had stopped you, you weren’t going to give up that easily. “Arthur,” you whined out, giving him the best pleading eyes you could, hoping that he would take pity on you. “Undress me,” you uttered, for what you now realized to be the first time in your life; you’d never had the desire to do so before. 

Arthur paused for a moment before raising his head enough so that his lips were just hovering over yours. Yet no matter how much you strained, no matter how much you reached, you couldn’t connect them. “I did say I was takin’ my time with ya, did I not?”

Damn him and his unwavering resolve to torture you. “You did, but-”

His lips finally connecting with yours silenced you, your words trailing off into a mumble. He pulled away much too quickly for your liking, and you tried to voice your displeasure, but another short kiss stopped you. “I ain’t goin’ back on my word. I’ve waited so damn long to have you like this; I’m savorin’ ya for as long as I can.” 

If only he knew that you felt the exact opposite. He ghosted over your lips before landing at your jaw, right below his ear. His voice was low and husky right in your ear, and it was both the feeling and the words he spoke that left you shuddering. “Trust me when I say this ain’t endin’ without that beautiful body of yours completely uncovered.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his compliment. “You ain’t ever seen my body,” you tried to deflect his words. 

“I ain’t gotta see it to know.” He bit at your earlobe. “Now, you gonna be patient?” His fingers gently squeezed the wrist he held above your body. 

Wordlessly, you nodded. As much as you would’ve loved to have him keep you restrained, the angle was starting to get uncomfortable. When he let go, you chose to rest it on his shoulder, and you could feel the way his muscles flexed as he moved again. Lips returned to your bare right shoulder, and they began to trail down your arm, all the way down to your fingers. It was a strange feeling, but you were loving it. Never before had someone treated your body so carefully, like you were the most precious thing they’ve ever held. 

But here Arthur was, kissing your skin like it was made of gold, like you were a gift sent down from the Gods. As much as you longed to hear those three words from his mouth, you certainly felt like he was showing you that he did indeed love you, just like you requested, and you felt your heart soar. 

After reaching your fingers, you felt him caress the kiss-adorned skin with a calloused hand, something like awe across his features. When you grew bashful under his gaze, your head turning away, you saw him look up out of the corner of your eye. “What?” He asked, coming out almost like a breathy laugh. “Look at me, darlin’.”

Swallowing, you forced your gaze back onto him, your face burning when he still had that same awestruck expression. “I won’t be able to if you keep lookin’ at me like that.”

Intrigued, he dragged his hand back up your arm, resting against the side of your neck. As much as you wanted to look away, you forced yourself to keep your attention on him. “Like what?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer. “Like you’re the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen? Like I’m the luckiest bastard, who damn well doesn’t deserve ya, someone as kind and breathtaking and good as you? Like I want to spend every moment with you, holdin’ you, touchin’ you, purely and utterly devoted to you?” 

Arthur shook his head, a small laugh leaving him. “Nah, I can’t stop lookin’ at you like that, darlin’. I refuse to stop lookin’ at you like that. So, you,” his hand was now cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing over your lips, “are just gonna have to accept it.”

You had no response to his words, drawing up a blank in your mind, and his touches certainly weren’t helping. God, you fucking loved him so much. 

When his mouth crashed into yours, you realized that you had said that out loud, but you didn’t care. Relief coursed through your body when you felt him finally tug the other strap down, a little more forceful than necessary. It was subtle, but the strings of his restraint had begun to fray. 

When he pulled away, you felt him begin a similar trail down your left arm, and you let yourself just get lost in the sensations. It differed when he got to your hand, your fingers more specifically. You heard his breath hitch, and you glanced down at him, confused. 

“You haven’t put it back on,” he muttered, and it took a few moments for you to realize that he was talking about your ring. You knew it was risky, keeping it off when Hans could be home at literally any time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put it back on during the past couple of weeks.

“No,” you whispered, “because there’s only one person my heart belongs to, and it certainly ain’t the man who gave me that ring.”

An almost pained noise left Arthur, and you thought something was truly wrong until his eyes bore into yours. The once awestruck, loving look was now replaced with some more primal, more hungry, and you sucked in a gasp. His body was almost instantly pressed into yours, crowding you up against the wall. His mouth was attacking your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks that would darken by morning. If you had any rational thought left in you, you would’ve made sure he kept his marks somewhere you could easily hide them, but you had none left.

“Say it again,” he groaned into your skin. 

“My heart is yours, Arthur.” You don’t think you’ve ever uttered truer words before. 

“Mine…” he breathed out, like he was trying to convince himself that it was true.

“I’m yours.”

 He moaned at that, his breath fanning across your skin. “Mine,” he repeated with more certainty, unyielding still with his ministrations. 

You never thought that you would ever like anyone having a claim to you, even more so when you got married to Hans. But you realized that you didn’t mind because unlike the marriage it was mutual. Arthur was yours as much as you were his. 

“Yours.”

It seemed like that was the last thing you needed to say before his restraint snapped. 

You were startled when you felt the ground no longer beneath your foot that was still against the ground, Arthur picking you up with ease with two hands beneath your thighs. Your other leg joined in wrapping around his body, your hands grappling for purchase across the broad expanse of his shoulders. He wasted no time, heading straight up the staircase to where he knew your room to be. His footsteps were surprisingly quiet, and you realized that he still remembered your rule of no shoes in the house, and you somehow fell even more in love with him for heeding what you said, no matter how small or insignificant it was. 

It was hard to kiss him because of all the jostling of climbing upstairs, but you tried anyway. You almost immediately tore away when you accidentally bit down hard on his bottom lip from all the movement, but it quickly died in your throat at the somehow even hungrier look Arthur shot you. “Darlin’ we ain’t gonna make it to the bed if ya do things like that,” he spoke after his grip on you faltered slightly, but you were clinging on to him too tightly to really tell. 

“Is that a promise?” You teased.

Arthur barked out a small laugh at that, his eyes crinkling. “The stairs ain’t gonna be the most comfortable place, but if you insist…” He made a show of bending over slowly, trying to deposit you onto the wooden stairs. You immediately made a noise of protest, and Arthur straightened back up, laughing yet again. “Is that a no, then?”

“It’s a no. But maybe next time,” you giggled.

“Next time,” he echoed, and you could barely detect the small amount of disbelief in his voice. 

He had reached the top of the stairs now, passing the first door to Hans’ office. As you passed, a thought filled your mind that got your heart racing even more, biting back a moan. You pictured yourself laying back on the desk, Arthur’s face between your legs, your cries muffled with-

The familiar surroundings of your room tore you from your thoughts, and a shaky breath left you. You missed the look that Arthur gave you, fully aware of the kinds of images that had just flashed through your mind. But he didn’t say anything, merely tucking them away into his mind for a later day. Like you said, there was always a next time.

Arthur set you on the side of the bed, standing in between your legs, You had to strain your neck to look up at him, and you followed him as he sank to his knees before you. If it didn’t look like he was worshiping you earlier, it certainly looked like it now. Awe was back on his features, eye wide, letting out soft, pleased sighs as he took you in. Moonlight spilled in from behind you, casting you in a cool white light, your shadow cast over him. 

Even though there was a rug, you knew that how he was sitting was probably not the most comfortable, and you tried to usher him to the bed. Arthur just shook his head, pressing a grateful kiss to the back of your hand. “In a moment, darlin’,” he reassured.

You shivered when you felt his hands on your thighs, skirting up the sides of your body slowly, methodically. It seemed like the small walk had calmed him some, his interest in slowly driving you insane returning. Warm hands grazed the undersides of your breasts, before grazing against your perked nipples that poked through the thin material of the nightgown. It made you jolt, earning a low chuckle from the man.

You gasped when he did it again, your body pressing into his large hands. “Arthur,” you sighed out, and he hummed in response, engrossed in the way you reacted to him touching you. Every brush of his fingers, every gentle squeeze, shot another jolt through your body, arousal coiling in your lower body. 

Your body was growing incredibly warm, and even though the material of the gown was light, it still felt like you were wearing a winter jacket in the desert. But you didn’t make a move to take it off yourself. “Undress me?” You tried again, this time phrasing it like a question. 

“You sure, darlin’?”

You were touched by his consideration, but you were almost growing desperate at this point. “Please, Arthur.”

Arthur took a second to judge the validity of your response before a soft smile spread on his face. He toyed at the hem of your nightgown, which had ridden up to your upper thighs. “I suppose I can arrange that.” You were barely able to lift your hips before Arthur was tearing your nightgown off over your head, tossing it beside him. 

In just your undergarments, you watched as Arthur slowly took in your exposed body, the same look on his face that he had downstairs. “How did I get so damn lucky?” His hands joined in the exploration of your body, pulling out small noises from you. “My beautiful girl.”

His hands felt so much better when there wasn’t a barrier of fabric between them, you realized when he returned to your breasts. Despite the roughness of his skin, he was still gentle with his touches, and the juxtaposition made your head spin. It was hard to remember the fact that this was a rough, grizzled man, who had seen the worst the world had to offer, yet regarded you so carefully.

Your hand reacquainted itself with his hair when his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, his fingers playing with the other. Teeth grazed against the sensitive bud, making your hips jump from where you sat on the bed, a cry of his name leaving your lips. Fingers tightened in his hair, and Arthur groaned. His mouth was still pulling pleasure from your breasts, and the noise he made just added to the stimulation, the low timbre rolling through your body. 

After a few moments of lavishing your breasts with attention, he was descending even further, lips barely leaving your body, leaving a trail of hickeys in his wake. When he stopped right above the ribbon that held your undergarments, he brought his gaze up to you, a silent question in his eyes, a stifled gasp leaving you when you realized what he was asking for. You’d heard stories, tales of lovers going down on their partners, bringing them pleasure with their mouths. You’d always just shake your head, not believing that someone would want to do that; it was one-sided satisfaction, in your mind.  

But his gaze held nothing but pure want, like he needed to do this, craved it more than any fine liquor. It made you evaluate how one-sided the satisfaction might be. You hadn't realized you’d been silent for an extended period until Arthur’s voice pulled you from your mind. “Please, darlin’.” 

Oh, you liked that. Another gasp left you, this one less stifled than the previous, and you felt something throb between your legs. Arthur picked up on your reaction, realization making him grin, eager to see you squirm. “Please, lemme taste ya,” he pitched his voice even lower. “I wanna feel ya cum on my face, darlin’. I wanna feel you soak-”

He was cut off by a sharp pull on his hair, yanking his head back, your other hand covering his mouth. Your cheeks were blazing, embarrassed beyond belief, but you’d be a liar if you said his words weren’t doing something to you. Any more, though, and you would explode. “You have a dirty mouth, Arthur Morgan.” You prayed that your voice didn’t sound too airy. 

A light nip at your hand made you pull away, shooting a disingenuous glare at him. “You love it, darlin’.” 

How right he was. If his hands inched any further downward, he’d be able to feel the effect he was having on you. You rolled your eyes but didn’t offer any rebuttal. You felt him run his fingers beneath the ribbon, eliciting a shiver through your body. “Can I?” He asked, still waiting for your answer. 

You had just gotten out a quiet yes before a hand pushed you down to the bed, gentle yet commanding. Arthur spread your legs, groaning appreciatively at the sight before him. There wasn’t any shock on his features as he took in the darkened patch on your undergarments; he knew exactly what he did to you. He quickly undid the ribbon, then yanked the garment down your legs, letting it dangle precariously off one of your feet. 

Neither of you cared, Arthur especially, his eyes locked onto your glistening cunt. Holding the insides of your thighs, he kept your legs open, rubbing soothingly into the skin as he made his way closer. Anticipation made you shake, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, rising in pace when his breath ghosted over you. 

Both of you let out sighs when his mouth made contact, your body jumping at the foreign contact. Sensations you’d never felt before invaded your body, almost too many for you to keep track of. His beard prickled against the highly sensitive skin, a complete difference from the soft glide of his tongue through you. You barely even saw the way his eyes rolled back, completely taken in by the way you tasted. 

You whined out his name as he did it again, and his eyes glanced up at you between your legs. It was an even better sight than anything you could've ever imagined, and you couldn’t help the slight mortification when you realized you said it aloud. It was the second time that night something had spilled from you that you hadn’t wished to reveal, and you debated just covering your mouth so that it wouldn’t happen again. 

Even though you couldn’t see it, you just knew that he was smirking, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve thought of this before, darlin’?” He asked between passes of his tongue, pleasure building slowly in your core. But you could tell that he was very clearly avoiding your clit, his tongue always stopping or passing it, just to rile you up. And it was working. 

“Arthur,” you whined, but you knew at this point trying to plead with him was an uphill battle. 

“Have you thought of this before?” He asked again, and you realized that he wasn’t going to give what you wanted until you answered him. 

“Yes,” you admitted, and even though your response was hardly louder than a whisper, it felt like you shouted it to the world. Of course, you’d imagined Arthur like this before, and so much more. It wasn’t often, either during the one time Hans had been intimate with you recently or during the lonely weeks by yourself. You’d imagine him as you slip a hand between your legs, softer and smaller than Arthur’s, but you always tried to not dwell on that fact. 

He rewarded your response by finally making contact where you wanted him, a loud cry tumbling from your lips as he lapped at your clit. You fumbled at the bedsheets, trying to find something to grab onto that wasn’t his hair as he wracked your body with pleasure. “What’d ya think ‘bout?” His words were muffled, and it took you a few moments to form a coherent thought.

Apparently, you took too long, and you felt his attention move away from your clit, choosing to just pass around it instead. You loved and hated the way he was toying with you, leaving you a writhing mess beneath him. “I’ve- I’ve thought ‘bout this,” you vaguely gestured to where he was, and you sighed out when his tongue returned to the sensitive nerves. “I’ve thought ‘bout your fingers…” you had to take a moment, pleasure becoming overwhelming. “Imagined how they’d feel on me, in me…”

On cue, you felt his rough fingers brush against your folds, making you shudder. “I’ve thought ‘bout you bendin’ me over, takin’ me roughly, makin’ me scream.” You felt Arthur groan. But… but I also imagined you takin’ me gently, makin’ love to me, and I can’t… I can’t figure out which one I want more…” 

“We’ll just have to try both then, darlin’.”

You opened your mouth, ready to say more, but you stopped. “Anythin’ else?” You heard him ask, and you damned him for having such acute observation skills. 

“I’ve…” You couldn’t believe you were about to admit this to him. “Whenever he…” you didn’t even want to say his name, “you know, had me… I imagined it was you instead.”

You watched blue eyes widen. “You have?”

You couldn’t tell if he was disgusted by the fact, having gone still between your legs, but you were too nervous that you’d just royally fucked this all up to care. “I asked ya a question,” he muttered, pulling his head far enough away so you could see him better. Even still, you couldn’t read the expression on his face, and you ducked your head in shame. 

“I have,” you whispered out. 

“When?”

Of course, he had to ask that. That answer might put him off even more, but as you glanced back down at him, you found that you couldn’t without the truth. “Remember when you came over to the house for the first time? Durin’ the middle of the night?” You laughed bitterly. “I could barely look you in the eye, I felt so guilty.” And you still felt guilty, and it tore at your chest. “I’m sorry, Arthur-”

You tried to close your legs, his grip having gone lax, but as soon as he felt you move it was back. He yanked you closer to him, his mouth meeting you halfway, attacking your clit with precision. Short laps that had created a gradual and steady build of pleasure had been replaced for heavy, intense presses of his tongue, ruthless and unyielding. He was devouring you now, a complete switch up from the casual pace before, and you could do nothing but take it. 

He wasn’t talking now, too concentrated on making you finish to do so. His name spilled from your lips, and you desperately gripped at the bedsheets, hips bucking and writhing. It didn’t take long for your orgasm to approach, having been edged on for so long. “Arthur, I’m… please,” you begged him not to cut you off this time, and you could’ve cried in relief when he didn’t. 

With a loud final cry of his name that made you glad you lived in the middle of the woods, you came, your cunt clenching around nothing as waves of pleasure spasmed your body. The grip on the sheets turned vice-like as every nerve in your body was set alight, white-hot pleasure taking over all your senses. Arthur continued to pleasure you, the noises growing obscene, and you eventually had to pull him away, as it became too much. 

His wish had certainly been fulfilled, his lower face and beard soaked with your release. His eyes were impossibly dark, panting wildly, and he almost looked animalistic. Slowly, you watched as he lowered one last time, eyes never leaving yours as he kissed your clit, a jolt of overstimulation hitting you at the contact. 

Arthur stood now, hands bracing on either side of your hips as he stood. The first thing you noticed, besides his disheveled expression, was the substantial tent in the front of his pants, his cock straining against the denim. On shaky knees, you sat up, your arms bracing for support on his broad chest. Two arms wrapped around your body, hands resting on your back, keeping you pressed close to him. Leaning down, he kissed you, and you groaned when his tongue pressed into your mouth, tasting your release on him. 

But you couldn’t ignore the way he pressed into you, and you managed to sneak a hand between your bodies, fingers running gently over him. He tore away from the kiss then, an airy noise that almost sounded like a chuckle leaving him. Smiling sweetly at him, you retracted your hand, only to start unbuttoning his shirt with thinly veiled desperation. Your hands were still shaking, which just made getting the little buttons undone an almost impossible task.

You felt him wrap his hands around your wrist, halting you. Gentle kisses were pressed against your hands before he set them beside you. His less-shaky hands quickly unbuttoned his shirt, your eyes greedily taking him in as the first bare expanse of his chest was exposed to you. As his shirt hit the ground, the sound it made barely covered up the noise you made when his upper half was exposed to you for the first time. 

You knew he was a large man, but seeing him bare made the fact clear. Another fact that you quickly came to realize was that he was the most stunning man you’ve ever had the privilege to see. It had long been clear that he was a beautiful man, but you were quite literally staring at him with an open mouth, your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest. 

Scars littered his body, the most substantial one being on his shoulder. It looked like a freshly healed gunshot wound, which made your heart lurch. Smaller scars trailed down his body, mostly straight lines and a few jagged edges. A dusting of wiry, brown hair covered his entire body, and you didn’t bother to resist the urge to run your hands through it. It was softer than you expected, and you let your hands roam freely, loving the way that Arthur seemed to purr under your touch. It turned into a groan when you brushed over his nipples, finding pleasure in teasing him the way he had done to you. 

“You’re so gorgeous, Arthur,” you cooed out, nails scratching lightly over his skin. It was his turn to shudder, to be turned to jelly because of your actions. Your name left his lips as a whine, and you couldn’t deny how incredible it made you feel. His abdominal muscles jumped when your fingers ghosted over them, his breath catching when you began to tug at his gunbelt. “Take this off?” You asked, resting your chin against his chest and looking up at him. “Please?”

He had already started taking it off as soon as you asked, but you knew that he’d love hearing the added please. And he did, his eyes rolling back as he groaned. It didn’t take long before he was setting the belt down on the ground, being gentle to not cause a misfire of the weapon. 

He was less considerate with his regular belt, the accessory hitting the ground with a large clattering noise that made you jump. You grinned when you heard the sound of a zipper, and you worked your own hands down to help him ease off his pants, underwear included, down enough to free him. A hiss left his mouth as his cock was exposed to the air, and you dared to look down. 

Even with the lack of light, you could tell that he was quite well-endowed. When you took him in hand, you were almost startled to find that you couldn’t wrap your hand around him, but pure desire blocked out those thoughts. You didn’t care if it hurt, you needed him now. 

You stroked him a few times, pants of air escaping his lips, and his hips jolted when your thumb brushed over his tip. Precum coated the digit, and you brought it to your mouth. You made a show of cleaning it off, tongue running over the length of it before taking it into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you groaned in approval as the salty tang hit your tastebuds. 

Removing it from your mouth with a pop, you sat back on your heels, helping to work his garments down his thighs, before letting it drop and pool at his feet. As he kicked it away, you let your eyes roam unabashedly, finally having a perfect view of his thick legs, also adorned with a light covering of hair. Backing up further on the bed and adjusting so that your head lay against pillows, you raised an amused brow when Arthur just stood there, eyes also roaming your body shamelessly. 

“Are you just gonna stand there all night?” You teased. 

“If you want me to.” There was an honesty to his words that had you melting, but you just rolled your eyes instead. 

“C’mere,” you laughed, holding out a hand. He took it, letting you pull him onto the bed. He was on top of you in seconds, lips attaching to your neck again, a hand running down your body. Your own hands were all over him, every new piece of skin becoming familiar. You could feel his cock brush against your stomach as he leaned above you, leaking onto your skin.

As much as you loved his attention, you were so close to getting what you wanted that you couldn’t wait any longer. “Arthur,” you gasped out, “I need you.”

“You have me, darlin’. It’s just… you sure you’re ready?” You expected to find a hint of arrogance in his voice, but you found none, just genuine concern. 

“I’m ready.”

Arthur brushed his lips over yours, then rested his forehead against yours. That awestruck, almost disbelieving look was back as he situated himself between your legs. Before he could, you snuck a hand down, holding him gently at the base to help him ease into you. He nearly faltered right there, not expecting to feel your hand, and you just smiled as sweetly as you could at him. 

You whined when you felt him begin to press into you, removing your hand so that you didn’t hurt him on accident. Instead, you gripped onto his shoulders, nails biting into the skin, which seemed to just spur Arthur on more. He was slow, almost tortuously slow as he eased into you, strained breaths hitting your face. He was all you could feel, the delicious stretch of him; you’ve never felt such a wonderful pain. 

It felt like hours had passed before you felt Arthur’s hips press flush against yours. Your chest rose and fell rapidly like you’d just run for miles. He felt incredible, and you could tell that he felt similarly by the small groans he tried to stifle. He stayed still inside you for a moment, letting you adjust, which the rational part of your brain was grateful for. But you had long since been ready for him, and you desperately needed him to move. 

Petting back his hair, you brought his attention to you. So many emotions flashed in his eyes as he regarded you, a soft smile gracing his lips. You’d think that right now he’d look the most tense, but you’d never seen him so relaxed. The furrow in his brow was long gone, the crinkles in his eyes from smiling, not from squinting worriedly. 

“I love you, Arthur,” you found yourself saying again that night, and you swore his ears turned red. 

He stammered out something in response, but you just shushed him gently, running a hand back through his hair. “You don’t gotta say it back. I just needed you to know.”

“Oh, I know, darlin’. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”

You just hummed in response, before wiggling your hips slightly. He got the message, slowly pulling himself out of you, leaving only the tip in. His eyes never once left you, gauging your reactions. All you could do was moan, too overwhelmed with the feeling of him to do anything else. 

It didn’t take too long for him to build a slow rhythm, the rocking of his hips gentle. Even his touch was light as it danced over your skin, making you shiver. With each thrust in and out, your breasts moved with the motion, and eventually, Arthur just couldn’t resist the temptation. His lips were all over them as he continued to rock into you. 

Your legs had locked around his waist, keeping his body as close to you as possible. You felt so full, hitting spots inside of you that you hadn’t even reached before. Every slow drag of his hips was magnificent, and you could feel the slow beginnings of another orgasm begin to form. It was long since reaching its completion, but you knew exactly what you needed to reach it faster. 

Carding your fingers into his hair, you pressed your lips against his, this kiss sloppy and uncoordinated, but you did manage to snag his lip between your teeth. It gave you the reaction you wanted, his hips bucking into yours harshly, making you cry out with pleasure. “Arthur…” you tried to speak, but another roll of his hips made you moan, cutting you off. 

“Darlin’, you feel so… God.”

“Arthur,” you tried again. “Faster, please.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Praises tumbled from you as he picked up the pace, and you felt yourself building faster. Yet it wasn’t enough, and you finally just told him what you needed from him. 

“I need you to fuck me, Arthur.”

If he was shocked by your words, he did a damn good job hiding it. He said your name, low, cautionary, making you shiver again. He continued the pace he was at, though, and your fingers tugged at his hair in mild frustration. “Darlin’, you-”

“Fuck me, Arthur.” You didn’t care that you sounded like you were whining. When he pulled out of you completely, you were confused, but it was quickly replaced by sheer arousal at the look on his face.

Like you weighed nothing, you were flipped over by Arthur, being manhandled by him turning you on a lot more than you thought it would. Now on your hands and knees, you didn’t even get to glance back at him before he was filling you again. His hands dug into the flesh of your hips as he pounded into you relentlessly, and you’re sure your voice would be hoarse later because of how loudly you were crying out. 

With every thrust in, he hit something in you that made you see stars. “Is this what my girl wanted?” You heard him ask, panting lightly from exertion. “Am I fuckin’ you just like ya wanted?”

“God, Arthur, yes!” You could feel your release coming closer, faster than you anticipated. 

“Is this what you imagined?” He leaned down close to your ear. “Is this what you imagined I’d do to you, instead of him?” He said the last word with so much venom, so much hatred. Jeasuly, you realized, looked good on him. But he didn’t need to know that Hans had never had you like this; you were enjoying his anger. 

“Even better.” You admitted. “So much better.”

You groaned when you felt his hand sneak between your legs, rubbing at your clit with hard, short circles. “You feel even better than I imagined, darlin’.” His words hit you like a freight train, and you glanced back at him, shocked. “What, you thought you’re the only one with dirty thoughts?” His lips grazed your shoulderblades. “Oh, darlin’, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this for longer than I care to admit.”

If you weren’t currently about to fall apart beneath him, you would’ve asked him to tell you more. But you couldn’t, and you felt the tension in you begin to shatter. “Arthur, I’m…”

“I’ll be right behind ya,” he groaned into your skin. “C’mon, darlin’, let me feel ya…” With a final thrust of his hips and press of his fingers, you came again, your arms shaking. It only took a few more thrusts for Arthur, especially because of the way your walls fluttered and clenched around him, and he quickly pulled out of you before spilling across your back.

Your arms finally gave out, collapsing face-first into the pillows. Pleasure coursed through your body, making your muscles buzz pleasantly. You felt the bed shift, and you whined at the lack of heart from Arthur. “I’ll be right back, darlin’. I promise,” he chuckled lightly.

True to his word, he was back within moments. You must’ve dozed off for a second, but you were woken up with a start when you felt a damp, warm washrag wipe at your skin. “S’just me,” he reassured, quickly cleaning your skin of his release. 

When you heard him set it on the nightstand, you finally rolled over, glancing up at Arthur. After enhancing soft smiles, he leaned down and kissed you, which quickly turned from light grazing of lips to a heated kiss. When his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, you felt arousal begin to creep back into your system. The things this man did to you.

Still, much to his evident disappointment, you pulled him away. You saw the bags under his eyes, still as evident as they were a while ago. “Arthur,” you sighed, “you’re exhausted.”

He just shrugged, clearly not regarding his well-being. “I made ya a promise, darlin’,” he smirked. “Besides, I don’t think I could sleep if I wanted to.”

“But-”

His lips silenced you, and when he pulled away you glared lightly at him. “We’ll just sleep in late tomorrow, no?”

You sighed, but it was hard to remain adamant in your stance with the way he pleaded at you with his eyes. “I suppose-” His lips collided against yours, climbing on top of you, like he couldn’t bear to be away from you any longer. But what made you gasp was the feeling of his almost hard cock pressing against you, ready for another round. 

The two of you didn’t go to bed until the light from the sunrise streamed into the room, tangled up in a mess of blankets and limbs.

[raasturi]

You know what, the Fairly OddParents fandom has been quite tame. Let's spice things up a little bit.

Doesn't anybody else get that silly feeling when you see fanart of Peri being like a father to Dev, like... where's the rest of you 😍? Don't be shy, show us where Dale is. Or are you too scared? (I wouldn't blame you, I was too at first)

Small warning: this post includes slight swearing and many brain-numbing headcanons. I'm not responsible for any mental anguish you may experience

I would like to quickly apologize to the 6 people shipping Peri with Dale. I thought I was the only one but it seems like I've finally found my people. Anyways, back to the topic.

Now that you're here, I may as well show some more art of these two goobers +some silly headcanons. These are my AUed* versions of the two in my odd semi-realistic style that I completely ditch whenever I don't have the patience to draw faces (I often suck at drawing them. No wonder all my OCs are furries)

Note: him being slightly chubby and him having mobility issues are both headcanons I have shamelessly borrowed from others in the fandom. Also am I the only one who thinks Peri WOULDN'T be 6 ft tall? In the series he's like 5 apples tall, so wouldn't it make sense for him to be a bit short?

Note: there's like a bunch of lore explaining the reason why Dale looks so fucked up in my version. I scarred him for life, oopsie! But at least he has Peri now who "forces" him to go to therapy 😍. I may need to make a seperate post where I only talk about him and his past if I have the motivation.

I know a lot of you don't even know the pain of trying to convert a stylized character into a realistic style and still making them look good and kinda recognizable. I envy you who have less realistic art styles.

*And yes, I did say AU. More specifically I'm talking about the "Missionaries of Eden AU" (by me). I'm not gonna go into detail now, but basically it's a semi-biblical and more serious take on FOP, where the fairies are angels, anti-fairies are demons and pixies... I think they can stay as pixies, or maybe they're ghosts, bees? (There's a lot of things I still need to figure out) Their tasks are to work as missionaries on the planets of Eden (planets where life exists). There's a bunch of other lore (some of which I've explained on my casual/personal account on Instagram), but it's best I leave it for another time.

Btw: if you've seen me talk about a "Below the Stars AU", "Bible AU", "Ager DLC" or something else, it's all just the same thing. I just had a hard time coming up with a good name for it lol.

Also speaking of which, I have another post coming up (hopefully) where I explain my reasons for shipping Peri and Dale. It can honestly, out of context, seem like a toxic yaoi crack ship, but believe it or not but I managed to make it the opposite; plausible AND healthy. I want to enlighten you all plus I really want to yap about them.

It feels super funny to ship such a underrated ship. I'm used to shipping semi-popular ships, so to now be all alone feels kinda fun! They have so much potential and so few are seeing the vision?? Though to be fair I'm also glad it's not that famous lmao.

Ps. Ignore the fact I haven't posted anything here for at least half-a-year. All my mutuals are on Instagram, so I don't have a need to post here, though now I've decided to dedicate this account to hyperfixation slop so maybe you'll be hearing from me much sooner.

Ps. Ps. I currently have a 22-page-long google doc filled with lore and info about almost everything I've thought of for the AU, but it's 80% in Finnish so sharing it is useless.

Man, I love writing unnecessary long posts knowing I'm the only one reading them❤️😍 though if you HAVE gotten this far, here's a little treat:

My body refuses to draw Dale in his original outfit. I like to pretend Peri helped him change a bit (most notably taking off his goddamn shoes, though they do have some lore that I've created. GGHHRRAAA EVERYTHING HAS LORE ATTACHED TO IT GRRRR). Also Dev isn't actually grumpy, he just likes to act tough.

My art style looks probably so inconsistent❤️

[tovesaiko]

what's in a name

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet

They’re eating dinner when Osha asks the question. She’s sitting on the stone steps in their cave, cradling a bowl of soup in her hands. She looks relaxed, one leg propped on the step, the other curled under her.

“I still can't believe I never heard of you back at the temple. You're not that old,” there's mischief in her eyes as she adds that last part. Surprised, Qimir drops his spoon into his soup.

He wonders if she minds, if she would prefer they were closer in age. Imagines how it would be if he knew her before. What it would be like to train together as padawans and share their first experiences. Imagines sneaking out of the Jedi temple with her to lie in a meadow, young and innocent. Kissing for the first time, surrounded by flowers and sunlight and life.

It makes him think about his time as Vernestra's padawan. The years he spent training under her were nothing like the vision he just conjured. He had a different name then, already half-forgotten and alien to him. It belonged to a different person – a person he hasn't been for a long time. Even if she heard of him, she wouldn't know it, she wouldn’t recognise that other name. And who's to say what lies Vernestra spun when she returned to Coruscant without her padawan? He knows her well enough to know she would never let the story of his fall to the dark side see the light of day. Would never let the world learn how she maimed him and left him half-dead for the local predators to finish the job for her. No, she would make sure to control the narrative. He has a feeling even he wouldn’t recognise the version of the story she presented to the Jedi.

Would he still be the boy he used to be if he knew Osha back then? Would having her by his side keep him in the light? He thinks it’s more likely it would make him fall sooner. Because try as he might, he can’t imagine having Osha in his life and not loving her with a burning passion. Having her in his life and meekly adhering to the ridiculously strict tenets of the Jedi code.

Qimir may not be the name given to him by his parents, but he only spent a few years with them, barely remembers life before he was taken by the Jedi anyway, so does it even matter? This is the name he chose for himself. As a cover at first, yes, but then – then it was the name Osha knew him by. Just like his bumbling alter ego, it holds fragments of his true self. Even if the name wasn't his originally, he wants to be Qimir. Osha's Qimir.

This is now also on ao3 along with my other fic!

what's in a name

walking away from all you know

By popular demand, and by 'popular demand' I mean literally one person, I'm sharing my writing for the first time in years😅 Please be gentle.

I've been turning the issue of Qimir's name in my head over and over again. Pondering the significance of name vs. identity, and whether his real name is actually important when he must have changed so much ever since he became the Stranger, like a magical orb. Last night I couldn't sleep until I got this out of my head and on paper (well, on a google doc but, you know). I have two notebook pages of bullet points of things I'd like to see explored in a continuation of Osha and Qimir's story and the name reveal, or lack thereof, is one of them. Who knows, maybe now that I got this one out I'll latch onto another and cook something up to be read by me and exactly one other person.

@septemberlikeastorm thanks for being an excellent hypeman and getting my rusty writing gears going again by inspiring me with your lovely fic. Everyone go read cascade ocean wave blues come on ao3, it's the best thing since sliced bread 👌

[glassartpeasants]

The Park

Tree Demon!Eustass Kidd x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, horror, major character death, you don't die so, slight gore, I did your mom dirty in this, so everyone pour one out for (Y/N)'s mom

a/n: longest thing ever written so far. 32 pages in Google Docs

~~~

“You're part of a greater purpose! A chance to help the gods shine their luck down on our crops!” An elder spoke, walking with a cane along the unbeaten path. Two other men held the squirming woman, ensuring no escape.

“The gods have forgotten us, left us to suffer as we haven’t given them what they truly crave. A mortal woman whose blood they’ll use to water our crops! To feed the starving people of our home.” the elder continued.

Each step taken was closer to the clearing in the trees. A small spot in the deep woods. A place that no one was allowed to go. That the woods could never be entered, as the green leaves and pine were sacred in keeping the gods happy and the crops healthy. So when the leaves fell earlier than the year before and the fields dry, they knew what must be done in order to keep the gods from damning their home. 

Upon finding the clearing, the men dropped down their captive onto the dirt ground. A thud residents through the forest as dust flies up from the impact. The sun beats down as the elder pulls out more rope, giving it to the men who, in turn, loop it around the woman's already bound feet. They tie it tightly before dragging her towards the large tree in the middle of a clearing.

“Tie her to the trunk. She mustn't leave this site for the gods need their mortals to bring order and peace back to our village.” Stepping back, the rugged man turns his back as he moves towards the way he came, ignoring the cries and pleas that the woman let out behind the cloth gag the men had put around her so she wouldn’t wake the village when they’d brought her out to the woods. “Come now, the light soon fades, and we mustn’t witness the gods.”

The two men stand up after properly tying the woman to the trunk of the tree, never sparing a second glance at the trembling woman. She watched as they walked away, leaving her alone to die by the elements. 

When night fell, a cracking sound echoed in the clearing. The pained woman's eyes flutter open and search for the sound. When she felt the rope bound to her feet being tugged, her head snapped down, fearing the worst. That some predator was pulling her towards them to be eaten. She hissed as the rope dug into her skin, while her eyes adjusted to the dark. The stars were her only light as the soaked cloth in her mouth covered her scream of horror.

The large tree that was tied to her feet began to shift. Bark moving against itself and falling to the ground in small chunks. The leaves fall, and moss quickly grows around it like clothing. Its limbs snapping as it morphs into humanoid-looking appendages. Roots pulling from the ground, twisting and turning to stimulate a foot. Or mimic a human foot. Branches began to fall off, leaving them with sharp points like antlers against its head.

Bark began to split and open, sharpening till it was like razors with a black void behind them. Black holes turning into openings as two amber dots simulating irises began to glow. An ear-piercing scream then rang through the forest. Its body jerked and cracked as the woman watched in terror. The rope that once connected them snapped in half, the rope no match for whatever that thing was. The thing then stops before turning to the motionless woman on the ground.

It was taller and larger than anything she’s ever seen, nothing like any of the gods the elders had spoken of. Whatever she was looking at was wrong. Other worldly, not of the earth, as the birds stopped singing and the wind stopped blowing. All was quiet except the beat of her heart as dread and fear took over him as the creature walked over to her.

Once it had finally finished shifting from the stationary tree it had once been, the thing had taken the form of a man, or the best it could be with the it's unnatural skin and humanoid appearance. With a scream of terror, the woman began to squirm and crawl away as the creature outstretched its clawed hand. She let out a cry of pain as the thing grabbed the back of her head, her hair draping between the creature's clawed fingers. Its nails dug into her skin.

Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she accepted her death. Accepted the fact that the gods had abandoned her and left her to be devoured. Closing her eyes tightly, she waited for the razor-sharp teeth to dig into her flesh. 

~~~

“You're never gonna believe this, Nami! Law stood me up! Again! God, why am I even surprised?” Sitting on a park bench, you look through the snacks and treats you brought for the small picnic you had planned for the two of you. Trees surrounded you as you sat in a clearing in the woods. An old camping spot that your father used to take you and your siblings as kids. You were so excited to show Law ever since he promised you, for sure this time, he’d be here. He wouldn’t let his job call him in on his day off. He’d put you first for once. 

Yet here you sat, alone in the woods, with the sun setting and the wind growing colder. The silence surrounding you seemed endless as you began to pack the picnic you had so carefully planned and crafted for days. The once happy atmosphere was now replaced by a sense of longing and hurt. 

“Can’t believe I’m going through this shit again. Falling for that assholes words for the third time! God, why do I even bother? He doesn’t give a shit about me whenever his job calls! That’s all he cares about.” Tears of rage and betrayal spill down your cheeks as you clench your fists and hook the picnic basket on your arm. Looking down at your phone, you see that the lack of service in the forest had caused the call between you and Nami to disconnect. 

A teardrop or two fell on the screen on your phone, causing you to use your free arm to wipe away the tears, feeling weak and small at falling for his words again. Opening the basket lid, you carefully pack up the food, drinks, and utensils and place them into the wicker carrier. Holding it to your side, you jumble with your phone, trying to push on the flashlight as the once sunny day now turned night in the short amount of time you’ve been in the woods. It only serves to annoy you more. 

“Of course. Now I can’t see shit and i'm walking around this damn forest alone in the pitch black. God, could this day get any worse?” While you’ve been in this forest countless times, the unknown beyond the trees and being so alone had you pulling out Nami’s contact before trying to call her once more. When it rings and she picks up on the third one, you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Hey Nami, it’s me. Our call disconnected earlier, so I hope it’s cool if I call you back. It’s getting darker in the forest and I'm trying not to flip out cause I can't see shit in front of me. My car is like 20 minutes away, so I’m hoping you can talk to me while on my way there so I don’t feel so alone in the dark.”

“No problem (Y/N). I’m glad you called me back. Got worried when I couldn't call you back after our line disconnected.” Her words had you letting out a much-needed chuckle. 

“Well, I’m glad I could ease your worries.” Looking ahead, the only thing you see is the gravel trail and the forest that borders each side. The gravel crunches under your shoes, the sound bouncing off the trees and echoing in your ears. Pine, cedar, birch, and even some maple trees have listened as you make your way to the parking lot. Their leaves litter the ground as they look down on you.

“What made you want to go to the park again? Especially a national park that's 25 minutes from your place?”

“One, it's a beautiful place. I’ve been wanting to show him where my parents used to take me and my siblings camping. It’s a place that means a lot to me, and I wanted to share it with him.”

“I thought people couldn’t camp in national parks?”

“Normally you can’t, but I guess this place has an exception. My family always went to campsite 38 since it had a beautiful, huge clearing that was perfect for a family camping trip.”

“Ah, I see. Damn girl, you don’t deserve to get stood up at a place that means so much to you. I hope you give him hell, honestly. And even though I don't wanna say it, but I  told you that he was a selfish dick and you should dump him immediately.”

While you didn’t want to admit it, you have thought about it. Thinking about leaving the man who seemed to love his job more than you did. It hurt like a bitch you coldn’t stand the thought of being alone. You left your family three hours away to be with him. Without him, you wouldn’t even have a place to stay. Cause despite it all, it was he who held you close at night. Him who pressed a gentle kiss to your head when he thought you were asleep. 

Sighing, you continued walking the trail. “Easier said than done. I live at his place. I ended my lease to live with him. Moved away from my hometown and family to go with him when he got a promotion. I’ve given him a lot to be with him, and now to just throw it away?” The thought gave you a sickly feeling. You’ve never been so in love before that you'd leave everything you knew behind.

“I’m sorry (Y/N). I know it’s probably hard. But think about the long run. Would you like to be in second place in a job for the rest of your life? Or would you rather be someone's first for everything?”

“You're right, and I hate it. I love him so much, but it feels like he doesn’t love me like I love him.” Feeling tears threatening to fall harder, you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and take a breath.

“Sometimes you love someone, you gotta let them go.”

“Maybe if I listen to the passengers, it might help.” You and Nami chuckle despite the sad smile gracing your lips. “Give me some courage.”

“Speaking of courage, how are you faring out there? I know it’s dark in the city, so I can’t imagine how dark it is in the forest when it doesn’t have street lights like the city.” 

“I’ve been in these woods for years. My father would always take us here, and I almost know this place like the back of my hand. If I remember correctly, there should be a water well in 20 steps from here.” Upon turning on your phone flashlight, and unshockingly, only a foot or two away was a water well next to two trees. “Boom, water well.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact it’s darker than hell. I would be running on that gravel trail. Haven’t you seen the movies? This is literally how you get killed.”

“I'm only 15 minutes away from my car, calm down. If anyone were to die first in a horror movie, it’d be you.” A laugh escapes your lips as you hear Nami gasp from the other side. You can only roll your eyes with a smile as she rants to defend herself.

“You really need to start taking your protection seriously, though. There are crazies out there in this day and age.”

“Nami, please, I’m fine! I can kick ass with the multiple forks and knives i have in my picnic basket.” You say with a smirk as your hand moves into the picnic basket, grabbing one of the knives you brought with you to cut sandwiches. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

SNAP

Your body jerked to a stop as your head whips 180 degrees, as the sound of a twig breaking had your heart stopping and lumping in your throat. Shining the light of your phone behind you, your met with nothing. 

The gravel trail you just walked on, looking infinitely into the dark as your phone light only goes so far. Yet you couldn’t see any branches, nor did you feel yourself stepping on one. Perhaps there was an animal around?

“Probably just a raccoon.” Whispering to yourself, you turn back around and continue on your journey. You were curious to search to figure out what caused the noise, but decided against it. After all, you knew this place almost like a second home. There shouldn’t be anything that could hurt you. Hell, you haven’t even heard of a bear even being sighted near the campsites. 

“Hey! Did you hear me?!”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Nami, got distracted. What do you need?” Tearing your gaze from the gloomy forest, you face your phone, looking down at it. 

“I’ve got to go see my sister. She’s not feeling well recently, and I wanna drop by and give her some stuff to help her feel better.”

“Ah, okay!"

"Be safe, alright? Text me when you get home, cause I don’t want you getting lost and dying out there.”

“Don’t worry, Nami, I’ll be okay. I’ll even text you and send you a video, alright? How does that sound?”

“Good, stay safe (Y/N) and good night.”

“Good night, Nami.” Turning off the call, you continue to use your phone as a flashlight so you can walk along the gravel trail.

As you walk down the trail, it’s then that you notice how truly quiet the forest is now that you and Nami are no longer talking. The only sound was your feet crunching against the rocks. No rustling leaves, crickets, or the skittering of critters. Just silence. All sorts of trees, from pine to maple, passed the vast abyss. Your only light is the moonlight if you didn't count your phone. And even that light was fleeting in the overpowering darkness.

Subconsciously, you began to walk faster. An unknown feeling overwhelms you. It could just be some owls who were more than willing to watch you walk along the lonely trail. The creature replacing what would be campers, as every site you passed by was empty. You knew it would be, as the ranger told you you’d be the only one at the park, that this weekend was absolutely deserted. 

So as you passed by the trees, each empty campsite, you felt yourself running just a bit faster. Now that night had taken root. It fully sets in just how lonely it was, even if you’ve camped here every year since you were eight.

It just felt different this time, cause now there weren’t children's giggles, dancing flames of a campfire, or the boisterous words of your father and his stories. Stories of monsters and legends in the woods. Only for the purpose of scaring you and your siblings. Each story seemed embedded in your brain as you feel your feet pick up the pace in a rush.  Gravel spraying behind you as you began to run. At the same time, not many of the stories got to you now that you were fully grown. But there was one, just one, that seemed to worm its way into your brain. Making anxiety skyrocket and your heart beat a little too fast as you caught your eyes trying to scan the dark forest and barely lit trail in front of you.

Your mother seemed to always hate this story. When you were young, you didn’t know why. While it was scary, your mom seemed even more scared than you, a mere child. It took growing up and learning something about your mother to understand why it was so horrifying.

“Really, Patrick? This story again? You tell it every time we're out here…” Your mother’s voice comes across the campsite as she sits on a rock near the fire, looking at your father, who’s crouched down starting the fire. A big grin on his face as he lets out a chuckle. 

“Oh, Annabella, this is the best one! The true story!” Hearing your father's words, you and your siblings rush up to your father, eyes wide. Your father soaked up the attention he brought upon himself. “A true story about this campsite, even!”

“Wow, really?! Come on, dad, tell us! Tell us!” Jumping up and down, you and your siblings chant pleas to hear the tale. The prospect of a true horror story of the place you’d call your second home.

“Alright! Gather round, munchkins, and listen to the infamous tale of ‘The Monster of Sabaody’!” Your father exclaimed in an over-the-top manner, wiggling his fingers in a spooky manner.

“Long ago, when your mom and I were tots, this place was established to what it is today! There were tons of workers participating in making this. Rangers, construction workers, environmentalists, and everything under the sun. But one day, one of the rangers went missing. A young lady fresh out of training, and it was her first day on the job. She was last seen doing her rounds. The next day, another woman, this time a cop who was looking for the girl before.”

“Now, with those two women missing and no trace of either of them, concern grew about wild animals, but with how much money they poured into the park, they still went on with construction. Still wanting to keep the park running. And for a year after the women went missing, no one else did. No incidents, reports, or anything.” Your father gains an uneasy grin as you can hear your mother shuffle on the rock while maneuvering to hug herself as if it were cold. 

“Until the anniversary of the women's disappearance that night, when the park was full of families, a chill ran over the trees. Something was wrong. And soon, when the sun rose, the campers and rangers discovered something terrifying. Something gut-wrenching.”

“A camper belonging to a newlywed couple had been broken into. The whole thing was turned upside down, a cluttered mess. When entering the ‘master bedroom’, there was a husband dead, or what was left of him. But the wife was nowhere to be found. The commotion was enough to make civilians flee the park, except for a few people. One of them was a female hiker. She didn’t care that there had been a brutal crime so close to her. She was determined to finish her hike, so she stayed.”

“Darling, it’s getting late and we don’t want to scare the kids-”

“Nonsense! What’s camping without scary stories?” You and your siblings cheer, wanting to hear the rest of the story. With a smirk on your father's face, he turns to you and your siblings and continues the tale.

“When the next day came, there wasn’t a sign of the female hiker; She didn’t log out on the trail paper, none of the rest of the campers around claimed to have even seen her leave the campsite. Once more, they searched the woods, looking for the wife and hiker. Every tree, rock, log, and cave, nothing was left untouched or unexplored. Yet just as the women before them, no sign. Again, two more missing women which left the only one-year park with four missing women. And as each year passed, it wasn’t until the third year that the disappearances just stopped. No more missing women, nothing. No one was ever found or held responsible.” Jumping up, your mother moved quickly into the tent without a word. It didn’t take a genius to know he was upset, but your father didn’t seem to care as he continued. Telling all of your siblings more scary stories that had you staying up all night scared shitless.

When you were 19, you were finally told about why your mother hated the story so much. Why did she barely hold together as your father told the story each and every year? Thanks to your mother and your curious nature. The real, more detailed version was much more horrific and depressing, as your mom’s story only solidifies your fear at just how close the story was to you.

“Hey, mom, why did dad’s old campfire story scare you? I mean it can’t be real. Wouldn’t the park be shut down if eight women went missing?” Sitting down on the couch with your mother in her chair, a book in her lap, with steaming tea in a cup beside her, like so many times before. Except upon hearing your question, you could see a look of pain and fear. The look of a pain that never healed. 

“Mom? Are you okay? You look pale.” Leaning forward, you put your hand on her shoulder as you furrow your brows. 

“He doesn’t know. Your father…how could I tell him?” Your mother's lips quivered before she grabbed your hand and held it tight.

“When I was 6 years old. I went to the campsite with my mom and dad. My father was like yours; he didn’t really believe or care if it was true. So on the park's birthday, my father took me and my mom there. Our vacation fell on the anniversary of those poor women's deaths. We had bought a used trailer that year that we were going to use. The door didn’t lock, and my dad didn’t care.” Squeezing your hand, she takes a shaky breath. “The first day was great. We played at the playground, swam in the beautiful lake, ate s'mores, and they even let me sleep in the bed with them. But the second night…” An almost silent sob leaves your mom's lips as she holds your hand even tighter before continuing.

“I was sleeping in the small bed area that was above the dining table; it even had a window where I could see the outside. It was high enough that my parents were worried I’d fall and get hurt. I had to beg them to let me. I was so happy when they finally said yes that I immediately got ready for bed and snuggled in.”

“My mother left the camper to go use the restroom that was three campsites down since the bathroom in the camper didn’t work. She said she’d be back. My father nodded to her as he thought I was already asleep. He moved to grab his pajamas and closed the door. As he was pulling his shirt over his head, the camper door opened up. The cold air hit my covered form, making me freeze. I turned a bit, looking outside the window to see if my mom was back already, but what I saw wasn’t my mom. Instead of the soft smile my mom always wore, it was this…thing. It was huge as it stuck its large arm into the trailer.”

“I could hear the breathless grunt from my father as it pulled its arm out of the trailer, my father’s head clutched tightly in his grasp. Before I could call out for my father, I watched as it began to slam my father onto the ground. One. Two. Three. The sickening sound of bones hitting the dirt and shattering, I can’t ever forget.” Your mother sniffled as she trembled. “I still hear it in my dreams.”

“Mom, what are you talking about?” Confused, you put your other hand on hers. Rubbing her shoulder and scooting closer to her.

“It didn’t see me. That or it didn’t care. Either way, I watched in horror as my father was quickly turning into nothing but bloody pulp in the dirt. The man who was my everything, who taught me how to ride a bike, was getting killed by this thing. I couldn’t even tell what it was as it just looked like a shadow. The fire outside not even giving me a full picture.”

Your eyes widen as you feel your heartbreak. Never have you seen your mother like this, never did you think you would. Her tears were like acid on your skin as you couldn’t imagine the pain, watching her father be brutally murdered in front of her. Yet, even as she spoke, you couldn’t help but think about what she meant by ‘think’. Was there some monster that killed him rather than some perp who attacked him from behind? That it was dark and foggy on the night it happened, right? There wasn’t any explanation for why she was so insistent on there being a monster. Monsters aren’t real, right?

“Holy shit mom…I never knew. Why-”

“Then it stopped. The thing stopped slamming my father…what was left of him…into the ground.” Your mother clung to you, almost as if she was going to collapse from how hard she had been crying. “I felt my world crumbling when I saw my mom coming back, even having firewood in her arms. Her smile was as bright as she thought she’d come back to us.”

“That thing turned its head, whatever it was. I could hear snapping and cracking as the thing stood to its full height. It was ginormous, and I watched as it moved and hid into the darkness, watching as my mom walked into the camp. Once she saw my father, she ran to the camper. Ran to see me, to make sure I was okay. But before she could make it to the door, I saw the same hand that had been used to bash my father into the ground grab her from above. Like he was behind the camper. The last thing I heard was a muffled scream and the sound of monstrous footsteps.” Your mom hugged you tight, almost suffocating as she held you over the arm of the chair she sat in. “I never saw her again.”

You quickly return her hug as you can feel how drenched your shoulder is from all your mom's tears. Years' worth of tears being unloaded on your shoulder. You pat her on the back, trying to console her as best as you could. “Why didn’t you tell Dad? I’m sure he wouldn’t have told the story.” Knowing the truth was overbearing. The knowledge that the people in your father's favorite campfire story were someone of your own flesh and blood.

“It was all my fault…if I had just warned my dad…my mom…”

“No, mom, listen, it’s not your fault. It was never your fault. What could you have done? You were only six. It would’ve hurt you, too. So please, don’t blame yourself, mom.”

“I don’t even know what happened to my mom. I never saw her again. Never even saw a trace of her.” Gripping you tighter, your mother held you as if you’d disappear.

“It’s okay, mom. I’m here, cry all you need.”

Apparently, your mother never got therapy for it since right after she was taken in, she was put in the foster care system. She didn’t have anyone to take her in or care for her. You're the first person she's ever told about what she’s witnessed. The nightmare that plagued her every night.

She never told your father, fearing he wouldn’t believe her. That he’d brush her off just like everyone else, and she didn’t think she could handle it. And based on the blubbering, mess she was when she told you everything, you understood her fear. The nightmarish reality she experienced so young. Seeing her father murdered in real time and not being able to do anything, then her mother being abducted in front of her is something you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.

And now, it all came together. Those other women, your grandmother and grandfather, always haunted your mom even more every time your father told the story to you and your siblings. Over and over and over again.

“Mom, Dad says that incident happened before you were both born. Why would he say that?” Looking at her with gentle eyes. 

“He doesn’t know the full timeline. Your father's a storyteller, not one for research as much as it hurts.” She answered with a sniffle.

“Oh, mom.” Pulling her into a hug, you rub her back in soothing circles. The two of you swaying gently back and forth. “You should’ve said something to him. Dad loves you. I’m sure he’d understand.”

“Easier said than done, darling.” She whispers shakily. Nodding, you simply let her cling to you and weep.

Memories of your mom's story, the accounts of the other missing women play in your mind. What had happened to those women, and where did the perpetrator go? Did they ever catch the person responsible? If not, it’d explain a lot more about your mother's hesitance to tell your father even more. But what if it was simply a coincidence? After all, there was only one confirmed death, your grandfather. Perhaps they were just missing people. People go missing in National forests all the time. Not to mention, technology wasn’t as good as it is now.

Your mind runs as your legs burn from running down the gravel trail. The unsteady ground has you slightly slipping as you kick up small rocks with each panicked step. The phone in your hand didn’t mean a thing since you couldn’t hold it straight, which seemed like an impossible task as your mind was in flight mode. 

Yet as the trail seemed endless, you could see the small opening to the parking lot. The sound of your ragged breath echoed around you as your lungs burned. Shoving your hand into your pocket, you pull out your car keys. You could hear your car roaring to life, giving you more hope as you kicked in the last burst of energy you could muster, pushing through the burning of your lungs and legs. 

Bursting through the trail's entrance, you dash to your car, throwing open the door and slamming it shut. Not forgetting to look at it before putting your seatbelt on.

Your eyes shot to the forest in front of you as your headlights shone the first 10-15 feet ahead of your car. The once pitch black forest now on display for your viewing displeasure. Yet as you look across the now illuminated fauna, you catch yourself looking for the thing your mother described to you, but your rational mind knew better. There was nothing staring back at you. Only empty forest as far as your headlights showed.

Shaking your head, you just peel out of the park's parking lot. Wanting to go home and just put this experience behind you. To ignore it all. Cause you were simply overreacting. Whoever that freak was all those years ago would either be dead or too old to do anything to you.

~~~

Lying in your bed next to your boyfriend, you stare at the ceiling, confused and restless. No amount of counting sheep or cuddling up to Law had your eyelids feeling heavy. Nothing seemed to work, so you're stuck imagining and wondering. There must be real answers, right? More information out there about those missing women, your grandparents. Something to ease your racing mind.

Quickly sitting up, you grab your computer and begin to research the park and your mother's testimony of your grandma's disappearance and your grandfather's murder. Entering the golden question, you're met with newspaper articles, history sources, and surprisingly so many others. Names of women pile up on the computer screen. PDFs of old newspapers, certificates, and records also show up, but one seemed to stand out from the rest.

‘Local Mom Gone Missing! No Trace Found!’

Clicking on the link, you were brought to another PDF of an old newspaper article. And to your dismay or delight, it’s an article about the violent murder of your grandparents. Telling you how they found each individual. Well, how they found your grandfather, and it was just as gory to read the passage, that it made you sick to your stomach. Skipping over it, you try to continue reading the rest of the article. Yet upon getting to a certain passage, your met with what you recognize as your mom's testimony from when she was a child. A flicker of unease creeps along your skin as you read. The fact that they interviewed a small child only hours after her parents's murder didn’t sit right with you. Even if they were doing it to catch the killer. 

Not wanting to read it anymore, you move to look at another article, this time you see one that doesn’t seem to make sense with the rest of them. It was a paper about the history of the park from before it was made into said park. While it was another PDF, it seems that it came from a book about the history of the entire area, not just the park. Furrowing your brows, you click on it, feeling a weird urge to check it.

‘Sabaody National Park is a beautiful place with mountains, trails, and gorgeous fauna that biologists would die for! But with each beautiful view comes a dark past that can’t be ignored. Especially with the surrounding town growing bigger and bigger.’

‘Discovered evidence and stories from back before the world government was established have shown stories of human sacrifices and legends of monsters roaming the dark trees. Archaeologists have unearthed pottery shards after construction for a hospital started. Images and patterns were painted onto the hardened clay.’

‘There were multiple figures on each shard, but there was one figure that seemed to be an object of fear for the people who lived here before. When they searched around the site more and the surrounding area, a researcher found a book in the local library that had given more information about times after the world government was established.’

Upon looking more into the PDF, you're met with a picture of a drawing of people walking through the woods, with them holding people above their heads. Unease settled in your stomach as you looked at them deeply. It was something that you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. You didn’t know why, but it felt like someone was tugging at your soul as you looked at the bound person that was being carried into the forest. 

Looking at it a little more, you get a sick feeling in your stomach, so you just decide to move along with the article, but as you scroll down, your computer refuses to load the rest of the PDF. Your nose twitches as you load the page once, twice, three times, and wait 5 minutes each, you give in that it's not going to work. So you simply exit the window and go to continue your search elsewhere. 

After what felt like hours, you run a hand through your hair, grumbling a curse as you close your laptop. Each article and link was the same thing, always beating around the bush or never telling you anything about what you read the first time. 

Putting your laptop back in its case and into your nightstand shelf, you lie back down next to Law. The blankets curled around the two of you as you watched him peacefully sleep. Almost not if he had a care in the world, despite knowing how much of a workaholic he truly is. Yet he manages to sleep while you're stuck lying awake with knowledge that plagues you.

Sighing, you just close your eyes and hope that maybe if you imagine yourself sleeping, you’d be able to.

~~~

The street seemed endless, no matter how many steps you took, it felt as if you were going in circles. Seeing the same buildings over and over again. Your eyes straight ahead, never leaving in front of you.

SNAP

The snap of something behind you had your eyes widening, yet your feet never stopped moving. Still carrying you along the streets. The one tense atmosphere now growing unsettling as leaves rustled behind you, despite your passing, no trees or fallen leaves. Your body desperately tried to stop, yet you kept going, never able to turn your head to see behind you. 

Turning a corner, you're still unable to see things out of your peripheral vision. It could also be due to the fact that no,w instead of the city streets, you were back on the gravel trail. Trees surrounded you as, instead of street lights, the moon was now your only light source through the dense forest. Your boots crunched against the gravel as the rustle of leaves only grew louder as the wind whipped at the trees. The once singular sound now everywhere. 

Your feet carried you till you were at the campsite you were at only hours prior. The same one you and your family would take and use as a child. It looked occupied since you could see the shadows of people inside on the trees. The fire crackled as you smelled the scent of it so clearly. The familiar red tent, your parents slept in, while you and your siblings slept in the bigger black tent.

You stood there in silence, watching, as the fire finally smoldered out. The cracking now gone, bringing back the silence of rustling leaves, yet you still didn’t move. It was like a million-ton weight was connected to your feet.

Despite there now being nothing around the big campsite, a feeling of fear crept down your spine. Something was wrong, something wasn’t right about it all. Like, there was something eating at the back of your mind. That something was going to happen before you knew it.

And then it did.

Your blood ran cold as you witnessed this black mass emerge from the woods. The sound of crunching leaves, snapping branches, and a silent hum that seemed to embed itself in your brain.

It was taller than anything you’ve ever seen, practically towering over your father's truck as it crept out of the trees. Despite it being huge, it didn’t make a single sound except for the small rustle of leaves like a rabbit. No thunderous footsteps or how the earth should’ve shook as it walked. 

The only distinguishable feature was two amber ‘eyes’ that glowed like its own fire. It stared at the thin fabric of your parents' tent, studying it like it had never seen anything before. Tapping it with its claws. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you felt goosebumps cover your skin.

The sound of shredding fabric echoed in your ears as you watched in horror as the creature ripped into the tent. Reaching in, the creature ripped it open more before leaning down to look into it. You watch as it pulls out what seems to be your father's shirt. It looked at it before it let out a growl and shredded the cloth into millions of pieces. The fire in its eyes burned brighter than ever with a rage. 

The monster stopped moving for a second before it snapped its neck towards you with the sound of a breaking bone. A silent curse left your lips as you felt the blood in your body turning cold. It stared at you, a silent standoff, before the horrifically shaped creature rushed at you at inhuman speed.

No sound left your lips as you opened your mouth to scream as the black mass stretched out its large arms and jumped at you, its claws just about to grab you.

With a horrified scream and a cold sweat, you sit up in bed. Panting and shaking, you look around, seeing that instead of the forest, you're in the safety of your shared bedroom. Looking to the side, you notice that Law is still sleeping next to you, out cold from a stressful day at the hospital. Wiping the sweat from your brow, your body trembles in fear. 

You’ve never felt like this before. Never been filled with such a gut-wrenching fear in your life. And it was all over a dream that was playing off something you were looking into just because of some dumbass’s who wandered too far away from camp and your mothers childhood trauma.

Throwing your legs over the side of the bed, you stand up and slowly make your way to the kitchen. Perhaps getting some water and taking a magnesium pill would help you go back to sleep. Hopefully, a dreamless sleep. Yet, as you walked through the house, it felt as if you were being watched or followed almost. And even though the blinds were down and the curtains were closed, you still kept looking over your shoulder. You were home, so far away from the park. The doors and windows were locked, your apartment had a locked entry so no intruders could ever get in, so why were there goosebumps plaguing your skin and chills running up your spine?

Looking out the living room window just for a quick peace of mind, you can see how the stars were invisible from the light pollution. The moon, still full, looked back down at you through the blinds. Reminding you of your dream and the incident only hours earlier. Looking towards the entrance of your apartment building and the streets that surround it, you're met with nothing. Only empty streets and flickering lamps, not even a single sign of life in sight. Yet in the distance, you could see the tall trees of the park. The eerie feeling almost overwhelming because as you stared, you feared something you couldn’t see was staring back at you.

~~~

“Something's wrong. You look like you haven't slept and are picking at your food.” Snapping your head up, you're met with Law’s eyes staring back at you with that familiar scan he does to his patients at the hospital. The breakfast on your plate uneaten, instead, scattered all over the plate. 

“Just not hungry.” You murmur as you continue to fiddle with the eggs on your plate.

“Liar.” Grumbling, you ran a hand over your face. Why the hell did he want to know so bad? Not to mention how could you even explain how your mind rushed 100 miles an second that didn’t make you sound crazy?

“You’ve been acting weird since you came back from the park yesterday. Is this about me canceling at the last minute? I said I was sorry and that I’d make it up to you.”

“I know you did. It’s something else.” You could feel your lip twitch when you remember the original reason you were pissed in the first place. So now you were annoyed, pissed off, freaked out and wanting to scream.

“It’s nothing.” Standing up from the table, you grab your food and put some foil on it. “I’ll save this for later after work.” Opening the fridge, you carefully place your plate among the scattered groceries before shutting it closed. There was a tense silence between Law and you before his voice rang in your ears, causing your lip to twitch once more.

“If it means that much to you, we can go to the park after I’m off work. I get off at 8 pm, so I’ll meet you at the park.” The sigh that left his lips made you want to decline. If he was going to be like this, why bother taking him and dealing with him, most likely complaining about a spot that means so much to you?

“Fine. I’ll meet you at the park. Campsite 38 and you’ll find a large dirt road and a gravel trail to get to the parking lot, and signs that’ll give you directions along with a ranger to help you, probably. Sounds good?”

“Yeah.”

With so little words, you and Law go your separate ways, getting ready for both your respective jobs. You watched Law put his scrubs on, along with you putting on your uniform. Grabbing your own jacket, you put it on before putting on your shoes and rushing out the door, not wanting to be late.

~~~

As you walked down the gravel trail towards the campsite, your mind wandered with each step. Was this a good idea? Were you just upset that Law didn’t come with you the first time that you would do anything for him to come with you now, even if it didn’t feel the same as it used to anymore? Sure, you knew about your mom's story for a while, but it didn’t change your feelings about the place you’d call your second home. 

Well, what you used to call your second home.

Before this, you’ve brought all your friends and such to this campsite, camping and hanging out. Just having a little girls' trip before you all go back to your s/o. Countless times you’ve been here as an adult, even showing up with your siblings for old times' sake. So why now did it not feel right to be here?

Sighing in exasperation, you finally make it to campsite 38. The large clearing almost feels like a stage. You walk towards the picnic table that sits close to the treeline. The wood of the structure was covered in leaves and dead pine needles that covered most of the forest floor.

With a quick, large breath and a swipe of the arm, most, if not all, the debris was gone. You quickly put the picnic basket that you had remade on the table; you even grabbed the classic red and white plaid tablecloth to put on first. If you were gonna do this, at least you might as well make it like your parents had done.

When you finished setting it all up, you sat down on your side as you turned on your phone, looking at the time. 

8:10 pm

A frown etched on your face upon seeing it. When you first got to the park, it was 7:30, and since it took twenty minutes to walk to the campsite, you would’ve gotten there at 7:50-7:55. And since Law got off at 8, he should've been here by now since the hospital was only 5 minutes away. 

“Ugh, god i'm so stressed that I can’t even do math right.” He’d be here at 8:20 pm or a few minutes later. If it took you twenty minutes to even get to the campsite and you knew where you were going, then no doubt it’d take Law a bit longer too. That is, if he swallowed his pride and asked a ranger to help him.

You run both your hands along your face as you reach into the picnic basket and grab some grapes to eat. Plopping one in your mouth, you simply stare at the trees around you. Your mom's story and the dream you had last night ran through your mind.

“It couldn’t be real, could it? No, monsters like that don’t exist. She probably just blanked it out because of the trauma.” Leaning your head on your hand, you question everything. While you believed your mom in what happened, how could someone just abduct someone and no one hear a scream? How could no one have heard the pounding or beating of her father when he was ‘pounded into the ground’? There is no way that anyone wouldn’t have heard the sound of breaking bones and thuds of flesh against dirt. 

No doubt that your nightmare must have been influenced by your mother's story and those shattered pottery pieces that were photographed. Monsters weren’t real. It was just some sick fuck who killed your grandparents and was never caught. 

~~~

Looking down at your phone once again, you feel your eyes water and your lip stinging between your teeth. You slam your phone down on the table before covering your eyes with your hands. Tears slip past your fingers and down your hands. Hiccups and weeps echo through the campsite. Each sound only makes your heart hurt more as time flashes behind your eyelids. 

9 pm.

Of course, why are you even surprised? How could he lie to your face again? Get your hopes up and crush them the same day? What have you done for him to blow you off so easily? Did you piss him off? Are you doing something wrong constantly that he hates?

Slamming your tear-soaked hands on the table, you shoot up from your seat. Gritting your teeth, you roughly began shoving the stuff you’d packed into the picnic basket. Not caring if anything got smashed or ripped. What was the point anyway? You’d be the only one to eat them since half the time, Law forgot to even eat the lunches you’ve packed him! Forgot or didn’t want to, it was a fight you always had with your mind. He’d tell you he’d forget, but his actions make you think he just doesn’t want to. If so, he could at least be a man and tell you.

Picking up the basket aggressively, you stomp away from the picnic table, your phone still clutched tightly in your hands as you point it down the trail. It shook with each step you took, as you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking with the sadness and anger. Tears slipping down your cheeks before hitting the ground. Your sniffling echoes through the trees as you can’t help how your mind and heart wants to drive far away and never look back. Go home and have your mom hold you while you cry at the unfairness of it all.

Yet, as you thought it couldn’t get any worse, you get the notification of a battery at 5%. Frustration fills you again as once more, there was just another reason this week couldn’t get any shitter. Not only were you standing up, AGAIN, but you were about to be walking in pitch black forest. And if those YouTube videos you watch in your free time taught you anything, it’s that you should never walk in the dark when in a forest. That's how you get lost and or hurt.

The gravel crunches against your feet as your lip trembles and your head begins to ache. You can even get a good cry in without having a headache!

“This is the last time Law does this shit to me.” Gritting your teeth, you shake with rage as while the tears stopped flowing, your anger still burned bright. No way you could do this anymore. You don’t think your heart can take the constant disappointment and lies. 

Turning the corner on the trail, you see the gravel scattered like a small explosion had taken place. Looking around, you furrow your brows as you continue forward. After all, it was the only way to get back to your car.

Slowly, you approach the crater, noting how there was gravel all over the place off the trail. With the light of your phone getting dimmer, you crouch down to see better. Upon inspection, you notice a colorful mess on the side in a bush. Reaching out, you pull the object away from the leaves. To your surprise, it's a bouquet of flowers. Your favorite flowers, to be specific.

Furrowing your brows, you bring it closer. How in the world did this get out here? It looked like it was even bought today. You didn’t see it when you walked in earlier, and there certainly wasn’t a crater in the ground either.

Standing up, you try to figure out what the hell caused this. Where could it be or what could it be? You look down at your phone percentage, 3%. Curiosity ate at you, but your common sense told you to keep walking, that you didn’t have the time to play explorer.

Trusting your gut, you continue moving. The flowers still in your hand. After all, they were still good, so why put them to waste? They’d have a good home at the apartment that you unfortunately shared with your asshole boyfriend. 

“At least you smell nice.” You murmur to yourself as you finally catch a light in the distance. Finally, you're close to the parking lot. Pulling out your keys, you then begin to carefully jog to the light.

As you get closer to the light, you notice that your car isn’t the only one in the parking lot. No, there's yours and Laws.

You turn your head all around, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who just now showed up. Walking towards his car, you notice it’s not warm. Law always has it on warm cause he’s always so cold. So if it’s not warm, then it's been here awhile, but how could that be: You haven’t even seen any sight of him at all. Not even a sign-

A light bulb turns on in your head as the flowers in your hand suddenly felt like they're one ton. Your eyes slowly float down as you grip the flowers. Putting the picnic basket on Law's car hood, you bring the flowers closer. The fauna still feeling so heavy.

As you examine the bouquet, the words of your favorite florist look back at you. It was a small shop that not many knew in the downtown area of the city. It’s where you met Law even.

Your heart sinks in your chest as you whip around and face the trail you just left. Was Law in there? How long has he been in there? Did this mean he came after all? And he even bought you your favorite flowers from your favorite florist? If so, where was he? Was he lost? Is he okay? A million questions run through your head.

Running towards the trail, you feel your heart beating harshly in your chest. The flowering gripped tightly in your hand, you begin to call out to Law as guilt starts to eat at you.

He really did show up, he really kept his promise, and you doubted him. It felt as if someone was gripping your heart in a death grip as you ran through the gravel. Your phone light now dead, yet you still run, determined to find Law even if it’s in the dark.

“Law! Law! Where are you?! Are you here?! Please! Say something!” The sound of your pleas rings through your ears as your head constantly snaps side to side, desperate to find Law. Or even a small thing-

The crater!

That's where you found the flowers! He must be near there! What if he fell and knocked himself out, and that's what caused the crater! And if that's the case, then you must’ve even walked past him! What if he was seriously hurt?!

You continue calling out his name as you run even faster to the indent. Each step kicks up gravel. The moonlight is your only guide as your lungs burn.

When you finally did reach the indent, you called out louder. Hell, you even strayed from the trail as you pushed your way through bushes and small trees. The light of the moon does little to help you as you only grow more stressed, almost to the point of tears. Tears of fear or stress were your only guesses as the desperation to find Law grew worse with each minute.

Taking a step forward, you trip over a fallen tree, the decaying log swallowing your foot and making you fall flat on your face. Moss and leaves cushion your fall as you drop the flowers and your phone.

“Shit! Shit! Where is it?!” Your hands constantly slam on the ground constantly. If you lost your phone you were screwed! It had almost your entire life on it, and it had 2% left on it! You could use it at least to find Law! Or at least try!

When your hands skimmed the ground, you felt a weird substance covering your hands. “Ugh, great…” You complain as you try to brush it off somewhere else. “Gross.” Continuing your search, you move around the dirt, yet you still feel your knees and hands getting covered in the mucky substance. 

While constantly searching, your hand touches something that feels a lot like cloth. Furrowing your brows, you go to bring it closer to your face to see, only to realize that it was attached to something. No, not something, someone. Unease settles in your stomach with each second. Something wasn’t right here.

“Law?” A cracked whisper left your throat as you looked down more at the ground. Narrowing your eyes, you tug on the cloth once more, and still it goes unmoving. You crawl over a bit more to where the source of the cloth was. Determined to try and understand what you weren’t seeing. Both your hands go towards the cloth, slowly but surely, trying to pinpoint what's holding it down. 

Your hands move more around the bulky cloth before you finally manage to find what you believe is the root of the weight. Yet as you grab it, the familiar sounds of Law’s ringtone echoes around the leaves and trees. Snapping your head, you see the glow of a phone under some leaves. Not wasting a second, you quickly grab it and you're met with the familiar lock screen of you and Law hugging one another. Something you made him put as his lock screen.

Quickly, you roll down the notification bar and turn on the flashlight, now illuminating the area around you. Looking up from the phone, your eyes go wide as ablood-curdlingg scream leaves your throat as you quickly scurry back, dropping the phone to your side as you cover your mouth in horror.

Tears pour down your face as the realization of what you were seeing washes over you. The cloth you had spent feeling was the denim of those jeans that Law loved so much. It even had the spots on them that you always thought were so cute. But now, they were covered in the dark muck of mud and another substance that you didn’t dare name. 

You look down at your body and you feel bile rising in your throat as you see that your own jeans and shirt were covered in reddish brown. The smell of something metallic finally hits your nose. Snatching up the fallen phone, you quickly aim it at the sight in front of you. Your eyes unable to look at it as the words of your mother run through your mind. 

 ‘...I watched as it began to slam my father onto the ground. One. Two. Three. The sickening sound of bones hitting the dirt and shattering, I can’t ever forget…I watched in horror as my father was quickly turning into nothing but bloody pulp in the dirt…’

The exact image your mother described of her own father was the one you were looking at now. Except this time, it was right in front of you and to the man you loved.

“No…this can’t be happening.” Reaching out your hand tentatively, you question if you actually had the guts to touch what once was your boyfriend. Tears poured down your face as horror and heartbreak fought each other side by side. One telling you to run as fast as you can, while the other asks you to stay by his side. To not leave him to whatever creature had done this to him.

You quickly remember Law’s phone and instantly pick it up. Turning on the device, you input the emergency number as your eyes remain trained on Law. Or what was left of him.

“Hello (---), what’s your emergency?”

“My boyfriend's just been murdered…” Whispering into the phone, you switch your glances every which way. Scared that something might be listening. Your body trembles in fear as you can't find the strength to move or stand at all.

“Okay, dear, can you tell me your address? I’ll send the cops right away. Are you safe right now?”

“I don’t know…we were supposed to meet up in Sabaody Park for a picnic, but he never showed, so-so I thought he forgot. But-But…” Globs of tears stream down your face as small hiccups erupt from your throat. Guilt ate you alive as the smell of metal and moss hit your nose. Only an hour ago, you were cursing his name for not showing up, for not keeping his promise. 

“You're in Saboady National Park? Is there any way you could be more specific? I want the cops to help you as fast as we can.” The responder asked, the sound of her worried voice making your head spin.

“I’m on the trail around campsite fifteen. I’m a little off the trail.” Each word felt like nails scratching your throat as your mind refused to comprehend the situation you're in. Sitting in the dirt in the pitch black calling (---) cause you found your boyfriend's dead body. 

“Okay. Can you stay on the phone for me? I want to make sure you're safe and sound.” Even though they couldn’t see you, you nod to the responder.

“Yeah…yeah, I can.” Looking down at your own blood-drenched clothes, you felt disgusting. Blood and dirt covered your hands and knees. The once pristine clothing is now nothing but a mess. 

SNAP

Your blood freezes cold as the sound of a big step and a breaking twig echoes in the trees. There wasn’t anything you could see. And that scared the fuck out of you. Your fight or flight kicked in, and just as you were speaking on the phone on the ground, bawling your eyes out, you were now doing the same thing, except running. Tears fly down your face as you run back to the parking lot. The light so far in the distance, seemingly as far as the moon.

Holding the phone tightly, you look over your shoulder, needing to know what was behind you. But there was nothing. Just pitch black. Same with what's in front of you. All you can think of is using the sound of gravel to help keep you on the trail. You were too afraid to leave the phone for even a moment, worried that you’d lose it the moment it left your ear.

"What’s happening? Is someone chasing you?” The operator asks in concern as you hear typing on the keyboard from the other side.

“I heard something-” the gravel gives way under your feet, causing you to trip, landing harshly against the rocky terrain. Your head hits the rocks, and your vision blurs. A small trickle of blood slips down your eyebrow as your eyes scan for the phone. The glowing light in front of you, yet as you reach out to grab it, you miss, getting a handful of rocks. You keep reaching out, yet missing the phone every time. Once your vision clears, you see the phone in front of you. The light is doing nothing to shine in the area around you. Reaching out once more, you go to grab the phone as you push yourself up.

CRACK

Your heart stops as your body freezes. Right in front of you was something you’d never expected to see. Wide-eyed, you stare down at the giant mass that destroyed Law’s phone. It was like a trunk fell from the sky. You could barely see anything, the moonlight only being your guide. The cosmic light stared down at you, and shone down on whatever the hell was in front of you.

Your mouth drops open in horror as the familiar amber eyes stare you down. Each second you spend looking at the thing, the more of your mother's words hit your ears. Despite not being fully able to see the creature in front of you, you knew what you were looking at.

The moonlight now circled it, showing you the wood-like skin that covered it. Moss and leaves accompany it. It was taller than anything you’ve ever seen. No doubt more than double your height. Yet what truly had you frozen in fear was the huge, clawed thing it called an arm. It was enormous, bigger than the other humanoid appendages. It was spiked with seemingly sharp sticks. The claws looked like they could pierce through you if they simply tapped you.

“...prettyyy…” Before you could speak, your heart drops to your stomach as it quickly reaches out, wrapping its hard hand around your arm. It lifted you up quickly, bringing your face to its own. “...smell nice…” On the other hand, it quickly grabs your head before you can scream. The wood scraps harshly against your face, making tears fall fast. You can feel it starting to move quickly, but it makes no sound as it rushes its way through the trees and brush.

Thrashing around, you try hitting, kicking, just anything to be free. But nothing works. Its grip only gets tighter as it ruins faster and deeper into the woods. Dragging you farther from the light and any sort of help that would’ve come. 

As you were dragged away, you could only hope Law and your mom would forgive you.

[starqueensthings]

Extra large, black, no sweetener!

Summary: the most random little ficlet that’s ever come from my brain. I likely should have saved this for a coffee shop AU, but the threat of it disappearing amidst my 2767634 other google docs is too high. So, please enjoy a soft lil, gender neutral, all ages welcome Cody ficlet about caf and muffins.  

WC/Warnings: 2356 words, 2nd POV (you/you’re) | brief mentions of pregnancy and labour (readers relative)

A/N: not proof read. If you happen across a passive verb or run on sentence, no you did not. 

ao3 here

Others may have found the cacophony inside the caf house somewhat obtrusive. Those accustomed to the traditionally calm ambience of a secluded bistro where they could simply lose themselves in the pages of an old book or sip their favorite elaborately prepared caf, would have been utterly aghast at the throng of patrons lined up outside of Renee’s, most  laughing loudly with their adjacent neighbour, or chatting uninhibitedly in languages you’d never heard before. 

Perhaps it was the welcome emergence of radiant sunshine this morning that had such an array of Coruscanti citizens seeking the comfort of a fresh scone and blue milk latte. Or, sadly, maybe it was the promise of cold and desolate weather tomorrow that had many seeking out the succor of a treat before that uncomfortable emergence of a fall drizzle. Or, perhaps, it was simply always this busy; with the Grand Republic Medical Facility in such close proximity, it was perfectly logical that such a diverse clientele, and a vast number of them, would visit the nearby caf house. Regardless of why, the sheer din of voices inside those four austere walls was a welcome change to the rhythmic beeps! that had relentlessly assaulted your awareness for nearly two full rotations. 

41 hours to be exact since the shrill chime of your holopad had roused you from your slumber, though it was the sheer panic immediately apparent in your sister’s voice that had sent you leaping earnestly from your bed and pulling on the nearest disjointed pieces of clothing. 

“My water broke!” she’d cried, her voice wavering beneath the surging anxiety of her imminent labour. “Can you meet me at the hospital?” 

41 hours since you’d pulled your speeder hurriedly into a parking space and sprinted through those hospital doors. 41 hours of sporadically having your hand squeezed to the point of simply wishing it would fall off. 41 hours of trying to doze in that creaky hospital chair, while the luminous barrage of Coruscant’s skyline kept you from truly finding the reprieve of sleep. 41 hours of the nurse droids rolling into the room at infuriatingly regular intervals, blinding her with an infrared beam of light as they scanned her vitals before disappearing again. 41 hours of listening to your sister, who’s anxiety was already exacerbated by the imminent reality of raising a child alone, whimpered amidst endless rounds of contractions, those excruciating cramps wracking her entire body with no relief. 41 hours… and still no sign of that baby. 

The hospital caf had been largely digestible for the first rotation, yet as sleep deprivation sunk further into your bones and apprehension continued to fester in those quiet minutes between contractions, just the thought of attempting to force that sludge down your throat saw your stomach churning anew.  

So at daybreak this morning, as the FX-9 medical droid finally conceded to numbing the lower half of her body and permitted your sister the solace of some much needed rest, you departed that stuffy hospital room in search of some real sustenance. 

Renee’s was the first door you’d found on your limited travels, its myriad of somewhat rickety bistro tables scattered both inside that congested space and across the front patio seemed a perfect place to mentally decompress before the need to rush back into the whirlwind of labour reemerged. More so, the thought of a nice baked good had you nearly drooling as you pulled the door ajar and filed into the line behind two bickering Ugnaughts. 

“‘Scuse me.” A voice broke into your wandering thoughts moments later, shortly followed by a thick purple arm reaching daringly across your chest. 

“No worries,” you offered that Devaronian man as he apologized for invading your personal space atop the need to deposit his used fork into the trash beside you, though even attempting a small step to the left neath an effort to grant him more space was a task near impossible thanks to the expanding crowd around the Pick-Up counter. 

“EXTRA LARGE, BLACK, NO SWEETENER!” 

How such a tiny body could have emitted such an assertive sound had you stifling a chuckle as you made your way through the throng toward the petite Pantoran woman placing a large kraft paper cup on the counter, yanking her askew apron back into place before disappearing again. You eyed that waiting caf near-possessively as you stumbled forward, stammering apologies to those you accidentally trod on in your efforts to reach it through the crowd. The promise of that hot, freshly brewed, steaming caf now felt like a talisman against the stress and anxiety awaiting you back on the 8th floor of that medical building, and you’d be damned if you didn’t savour every single sip—

“Oops, sorry…” 

An armoured hand knocked gently against yours as you reached to retrieve your blessed order, those gloved fingers instantly retracting as they collided with yours.

“No no, I’m sorry,” you asserted, looking upward at the person whose caf order perfectly matched yours.  

Even more shocking than the boisterous voice of the tiny blue woman, was the notion that you hadn’t initially noticed this man’s presence upon entering that cramped and crowded space. He stood out like a sore thumb amid that crowd in his dominating suit of white and orange plastoid, the deep scar wrapping from brow to cheek rendering him instantly imposing despite the softness behind those golden eyes.“I, uh… I assumed that was mine,” you continued somewhat breathlessly as his gaze found yours and momentarily froze the air in your lungs. “You’re a ‘black, no sweetener’ too?” 

He nodded, lips tensing under the first signs of smile. “The only way to drink a caf, if you ask me.”

“Agreed,” you grinned, trying to determine if the relentless hammering of your heart against the walls of your chest was the result of that unexpected confrontation, or the tingly feeling left in the wave of his eyes dancing across your features. “I can’t get behind this new trend of weird vegetable-spiced creams and chemically altered sugars. My molars hurt just thinking about it.” 

“You should hear my brother when he orders his,” the man answered with a laugh, those soft creases atop his forehead deepening as his amusement tugged his eyebrows upward slightly. “It’s some ‘non-fat, flip-it-back, no fuzz, extra cold’ …thing. Doesn’t even look like caf by the time they’re done making it.” 

You could only offer a small snicker in response, too distracted by how the small roll of those gorgeous eyes entirely lacked the contempt you’d expect to see when complaining about a sibling’s needless opulence, instead twinkling with something near a suppressed affection. 

“Well,” you started, feeling your face begin to flush under his soft gaze. “Feel free to take this one. I’m not in any sort of hurry.” 

“No no,” he argued, instantly protesting your offer by taking a small step away from the counter. “You go ahead. I’ll wait for the next.” 

“No, honestly,” you argued, retrieving the cup and giving him an encouraging nod as you pushed it against his worn and abraded chest plate. “I was going to wait around a little and see if they put out more muffins anyways. I was eying the last meiloorun one, but someone nabbed it before I could order.” 

“Ah,” he uttered, suddenly lifting a tiny wax paper bag to eye level and looking at you apologetically. “Guilty. Apparently we’re stealing each other's caf and breakfast.” 

“Apparently…” you teased amidst a feigned disapproval, heading shaking slowly while that persistent smile crept further across your lips. “You’re lucky you have a blaster at your hip or I’d be giving you a lot more attitude.” 

“Tell you what,” he proposed after a snort, “Since neither of us are in much of a hurry, I’ll take this caf and go grab us a table outside. Once you get yours, come find me and we’ll split the muffin. How’s that sound?” 

“Sounds like a plan,” you agreed with a nod. “As long as I get the bottom.” 

“The– the bottom?” His brows furrowed instantly, eyes widening while the tips of his ears reddenned. 

“Of the muffin,” you clarified instantly, feeling your own cheeks flush. “The bottom part of the muffin.” 

“Oh– right,” he answered, an apologetic smile peeling across those supple lips before a small snort shook his shoulders. “Okay, I’ll head outside.” 

It was only barely that you suppressed the embarrassing grin doming your cheeks in earnest as that unknown soldier disappeared through the front door and into that glowing sunshine, hands drumming anxiously against the outer parts of your thighs as you attempted to refocus your attention on the serving staff bustling around behind the counter. Seconds felt like hours, minutes like days. Would he actually wait for you? Save you a seat? Split his breakfast? Or had he already taken his wares and left, too polite to grant you a true rejection whilst surrounded on all sides by others?

With something near-impatience welling in your chest, you chewed on your lip and stared intently at every staff member that approached the counter with a kraft paper cup in their hands, heart lurching anew with every order called loudly atop the din of that growing crowd until finally… 

“EXTRA LARGE, BLACK, NO SWEETENER.”

Muscles seizing briefly as the shriek of that tiny Pantoran server took you by surprise, your feet took you hurriedly toward the counter, hands scooping up that steaming cup and wreathing it near-protectively as you thanked the woman and turned on your heel. 

That orange paint was immediately apparent some half a dozen tables from the door, gaze downward at the cup wreathed by his left hand, while his right drummed somewhat thoughtlessly against the tabletop next to an equally worn and distressed looking helmet. 

“Made it.” 

You’d hardly reached to place that cup down on the table and shove your wallet back into place before he rose from his seat to greet you, the legs of that aged and wobbly iron seat scraping loudly atop the stone below atop his sudden motion. 

That unexpected chivalry nearly froze you in your tracks as you nudged your own chair away from the table enough to lower your aching body down, offering him an appreciative smile as he waited until you’d situated yourself before mirroring your action.  

“Just sat down when I realized, I didn’t even ask your name,” he spoke amidst a dazzling smile, wasting no time passing that wax paper bag across the table for you to claim your part of that baked good first. 

“To be fair, I didn’t ask yours either,” you chuckled, extracting that glorious looking fruit pastry from its slightly crumpled container and quickly separating the top section from the bottom. 

He repeated your name under his breath as he took his half from your grasp and placed it on a napkin he’d spread across the table top in front of him. “I’m Cody,” he advised, glancing upward to gift you another near-dismantling smile. 

“Thank you for sharing your breakfast, Cody,” you spoke, tearing off a small piece of that fragrant pastry and plopping it in your mouth. “I really appreciate it. Don’t have any proof, but I’d bet any amount of credits the hospital food is slowly poisioning me.” 

“Uh oh,” he answered gravely. “Hospital? You okay?” 

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” you answered, dismissing his concern with a casual wave. “My sister’s having a baby. She’s been in labour for nearly two days and both of us are going a little nuts. I had to escape for a while.” 

“A baby,” he repeated. “That’s gotta be exciting. Worth the wait, I’d think?” 

“It is…” you agreed slowly, unable to hide the apprehension neath your tone. “She’s on her own though, so she’s a little more anxious than excited right now. What about you? Usually the clones we see walking around here are Reds. Are you posted here, or just between missions?” 

“Neither really,” he answered, brushing crumbs from his fingers and pausing to swallow a mouthful. “My corps and I are technically assigned to the warship my General commands, but he’s a member of the Jedi council so we’re planetside pretty often, though it usually only lasts a few hours.” 

“That sounds kriffing exhausting,” you exclaimed with a frown. “To never get a break from battle?”

“It definitely can be,” he admitted with a shrug. “But sometimes having a break makes it tougher to get back into the action. It's almost better to stay on the combat base where you’re still immersed in the thick of it, though I have a feeling the food in the hospital might be the same as the food in the mess hall, so it’s nice to get out for a real caf every once in a while.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed, lips compressing into a disconcerted grimace as your gaze danced warmly across that battle worn, plastoid kit hugging his body like a rigid second skin. “Well now I’m even more sorry I almost stole your caf.”  

“Don’t be,” Cody protested instantly, leaning back in his chair and shifting to rest his arm casually across the backrest. “I’m not. Not at all. In fact, I was going to ask yo—” 

A sudden chirp erupted from your holopad, it’s cry ringing loudly from the depths of your bag. You gasped, fingers releasing the last of those muffin remnants atop their haste to collect that singing device. 

“Maker!” you cried, eyes quickly scanning that interrupting message. “It’s baby time! I have to go. Um… thank you. This was really lovely, and… I wish I could stay, but… I… it’s time… she’ll kill me…” 

“Well let’s go then,” Cody answered atop a genuine chuckle, instantly returning to his feet and collecting their discarded napkins and wrappers from the table. “I’ll walk you back. And maybe we can talk about… I don't know… splitting another muffin next time I’m planetside?” 

“Sounds like a plan, as long as I get—” 

“Bottom. I’ll remember.” 

Tag list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @mythical-illustrator @arctrooper69 @somewhere-on-kamino

Other written works here

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Round 2

Propaganda Under Cut

Gwen Cooper

she literally did nothing worse than the rest of the team yet so many people hate her guts and there is a literal gwen bashing tag for her on ao3. just cause she's a complicated character and confident and assertive and oh yeah she had sexual tension with jack harkness who ended up w ianto in the end. god forbid.

fans think she "gets in the way" of the canon m/m pairing of the series just because she has straightbait scenes with one of the two guys. when in reality she literally has a husband and has been nothing but supportive of her friends and their relationship 😭 she tends to be written as like super insensitive and spoiled and its unbearable 

An amazing, badass woman who has a complicated relationship with Jack Harkness, 1/2 of “Janto,” the ship she “gets in the way of.” People use this slight complication to decide they HATE HER and turn her into this vile, evil, vindictive person. She often tries killing Ianto (other half of “Janto”) in many poorly-written fics, simply so that everyone can realise how badly they treat poor, poor Ianto. This makes Jack fall harder in love with Ianto xoxo Mwuah Mwuah and Gwen is hated and killed. This occurrence is so common that it has its own tag on AO3: “Gwen Bashing.” The writing, again, is always very bad, and solely created to make people hate Gwen. She’s chill in the actual show though. Very supportive of the two men and their relationship, and is literally happily married. She is not at all like what people make her out to be.

Kairi

kairi is the third protagonist of the kingdom hearts series and the third member of the destiny trio, alongside fan favorites sora and riku. sora/riku shippers HATE kairi, and will go out of their way to discount her at every turn. the hate for her ranges from typical "she's a boring bitch" to fans of soriku making five-hour long video essays reassuring their fellow shippers that the big bad kairi won't show up in the next installment – to quote one video, "she's in a box. she's on the shelf. four walls, no door." kairi is the greatest bogeyman the soriku fandom has ever known, to the point where most of said video essays and fanon meta posts focus not on why sora and riku should get together, but rather on why they don't like kairi.

Literally has a 100+ page Google doc fan theory writing her out of the narrative and putting all of her (few) canonical accomplishments onto half of the popular m/m ship (soriku). Don't even get me started on how her memory was completely written out of the canon plot of re:coded. KH is a nightmare to explain so dude trust me she is THE victim of yaoi

She is so fundamental to the plot and themes and narratives of game and yet it is near impossible to find anything about her thats not ship bashing pre-mlm with the other two characters. I dont even care if she ends up with one of the main characters i just want fans to see her as a cool character to love or like, anything other than “annoying comphet girl.” You can write your mlm but pleaae stop inventing comphet where it doesnt exist. She does not even get to spend time with sora ever?? Why does everyone see her as a threat and a thing to destroy?? Let her have friends so help me

[acrisius-ii]

its 1:05 and i made another RPG

have you, a ttrpg player, ever wanted real in-game rules for going out and getting fucking sloshed

have you, a game master, ever wanted a combat system that didn't make you want to throw yourself into a fishtank?

have you, again a ttrpg player, ever wanted to pierce the firmament with an arrow or create many explosive barrels?

do you want the narrow possibility of your character getting nerve damage, or better yet, the worlds most unorthodox lobotomy?

i got something for you. Spear and Spell 2e, ready and waiting for you, completely free! or pwyw, i suppose. link right here!

someone please look at this the pdf was a huge ass and a half to download because google docs doesnt allow you to download docs of a certain size as a pdf which. god. someone help me. I had to upload two seperate docs and then stitch them back together like victor frankenstein if victor frankenstein was asian and deeply stupid. it also meant i couldnt put in page numbers. how do people do this shit man.

[maximwtf]

“For the sake of survival.”

art by: Kyokosayuki (Tumblr)

Helen Distortion x Reader

words: 1600

google docs pages: 3,5

Warnings: panic attackey themes, hurt/comfort

opening: You’re a new distortion who just took their first human. With the distress that came with it, you find your way to Helen for assistance. 

AN// Did I spend any time checking if the plot goes along with how the spiral avatars work? No. Am I still going to do this because I like the idea and I need the edgy content in my life? Yes. Pretend like this makes sense. Any pronouns for reader!

           “For the sake of survival.”

You wanted to say that it hadn’t been you, and it was The Spiral that had done it. But somewhere deep down you knew it was all your doing, you had chosen to do it. To feed on the human you had taken. Your thoughts kept repeating, trying their best to calm your mind. Animals did the same in nature, didn’t they? They did anything they could to survive when it came to feeding. So why should you feel awful about how oddly nice it was to take that randomly chosen specimen through your doors? No, none of that was truly helping, it made your thoughts spiral even more. 

But it had been oddly nice, hadn’t it? You didn’t feel weak or ‘hungry’ anymore. So you must have done the right thing, even if it had cost the life of one human. But there was still that small part of you, of who you used to be that recoiled at these thoughts and actions, making you feel like you could tear into two. Why were you comparing yourself to wild animals, you were a human! Or- had been at the very least. But that didn’t change anything, no matter what you were now. That was still completely wrong, all of it. It was wrong of you to feel good about doing what you had. 

The state of your mind made the corridors change faster, the colours of the different doors switching sharply along with the paintings, images and mirrors. You wanted to get out of there, somewhere else. As much as the endless corridors were feeding you, that small part deep down was still disgusted and ashamed. 

So you opened a door for yourself, not taking longer than a second to step out and slam the faint yellow door shut. You didn’t have to stand in the quiet street for long, to in some way sense where you were headed. Or at least where you thought you should go. You didn’t know many people or avatars, but there was someone who you half trusted enough. Perhaps she’d take you seriously, this time… You walked for a bit, not long. Something in you said that you didn’t have to, and that silent voice was correct. A yellow door met you near a bridge, making an extended creak as it opened on its own, inviting you in without any words being said. You noticed a slight panic that had been stirring within you, trying to shrug it off for now. A wave of hesitation flushed over you, but you knew what had to be done. With a quick step you passed through the threshold of the door, it closing slowly on its own after. 

“Oh, darlin’! What a pleasure to see a familiar face!” A rather cheerful voice met you, but the person behind it was nowhere to be seen. Your eyes stared at the confusing corridor in front of you, not afraid of it. You’d know where to go if you had to. “Hi.” You dared to reply, not trusting your voice enough to say more. One of the doors opened and after some time someone stepped out with a wide smile that soon turned into something that you decided was a frown. “Is everything okay, dear?” Her high pitched voice asked as she made her way over to your shaken form. You couldn’t find genuine concern in her voice even if you tried, but that’s how she was. Not that it mattered if she cared, you just wanted to talk to someone. 

“No, not quite.” You mumbled out, words shaken as you had expected them to be earlier. “Oh, twisted much?” She asked, a grin-like smile forming on her face. It made you roll your eyes, but you doubted she saw it since your gaze was stuck on the carpet. “You could say so.” Your voice was failing you, it wavering and quiet. “Hm. Do tell me about it, love.” She said, voice suddenly a lot more kinder, as if she had taken a full turn on how she wanted to approach you. She placed her palm to your lower back, guiding you further in the corridors, as if inviting you to walk with her. And you went along, feeling more awful by the moment. 

Your chest felt tight, tighter than before. Breathing uneven, almost like you’d been crying earlier but there were no tears, just the sobs that forced you to breathe in that all too familiar uncomfortable way. It made you grit your teeth as you tried to swallow down the awful feeling that’d been creeping up. The feeling of Helen’s hand at the small of your back helped, just a little. And the feeling of walking, knowing you had to focus on that in the moment. Helen’s voice brought you out of your thoughts. “So?” She asked again with a hum, but it sounded cold. “I- I took someone.” You opened your eyes a little wider, trying to take a deep breath but that just made you look like you’d been drowning earlier. You heard Helen’s mouth open, as she was going to obviously have to ask a follow up on that. You managed to speak up first. “To feed The Spiral. I took someone.” Your body trembled at the thought, having to stop walking which seemed to displease Helen, but she didn’t say anything of it. “Okay?” Helen’s voice had a hint of confusion in it, but as if she was trying to hide some amusement behind it. “Y-you don’t understand! I didn’t want to do that! It felt wrong!” You quickly replied, distress clear on your face as you looked at the slightly taller woman next to you “I didn’t like it..” Your, now a lot more broken voice added, gaze moving to the floor slowly. Helen falls silent for quite some time, recognizing the words from a long time ago. 

In the silence, the sounds of the doors moving and your uneven breathing sounded insanely loud. You had nothing else to say, and thankfully you didn’t have to come up with anything. The sound of Helen kneeling down ever so slightly, to your level, came from next to you. “I know, dear.” She says, something new in her voice but you couldn’t place a finger on exactly what.

Helen understood what you had meant, and some part of her didn’t want to do the same to you that had been done to her. She didn’t want to dismiss someone experiencing this crisis the same way Jon had done to her, when she had reached out. The wrong feeling she had had must have been the same you felt, and Helen knew all too well how awful it was. 

Your eyes moved quickly up to her’s, brows slightly furrowed. She didn’t seem to need to hear the next question on your mind, answering it before you were even able to open your mouth. “Because I once felt the same way.” She said, tilting your face upwards with one finger, it felt less sharp than you had expected. Her spiralling eyes were somehow calming, or maybe it was the things she was saying. You couldn’t tell anymore. “But you hear me out, mhm?” She continued talking, perhaps sensing that you weren’t feeling up to it as your mind was trying to calm itself. “You have to do what you must, in order to survive.” She got a little closer. “And if that something is what we do, then you just have to give in.” She sighed slowly, you finding yourself following her breathing pattern by instinct. She was about to continue her speech, but you spoke up first. “But it feels wrong…” You said, eyes staring at Helen, as if not believing this was how you had to exist now, but deep down already knowing the truth. “Yes…It does.” Helen stood up properly, her eyes still on your form. “But the good thing is, it gets easier.” The other distortion said, her voice seemingly back to its normal pitch, assuming she had noticed you were doing better. 

You stood silently in front of her, not sure what to say. She might as well have been lying, but what did you care. Even if she was saying the things she knew you wanted to hear, that was better than telling yourself the truth you didn’t want to hear in the first place. Or perhaps, she wasn’t lying. Either way, you acted on that thought. With a quick step forwards you gave her a quick hug, making sure not to stick around for too long. But even with that caution in mind, you seemed to have startled her. Helen’s eyes were a little more wide now, a blank expression on her face. For a brief moment you could have sworn she hadn’t found the gesture pleasant, but the blank expression soon turned into something that resembled a smile. “Thank you.” You said.

A/N// Okay, this shall mark as the last fanfic I’ll be writing before the first 2/5 final exams. See you after :”D!!

[traitor-boyfriend]

Louise I'm dying to know what this 150 page fic is about...

in the interest of full disclosure i have had SO many ideas for fics and have drafted all of them in varying degrees. that one is definitely the longest but there are a couple not too far behind. i have no idea if it will ever see the light of day (knowing myself, probably not -- but not impossible!) so i'll try to give it a brief synopsis.

story basically takes place in two parts: we start with stan, who is now 31 years old. he lives in a farmhouse in south park (initial idea was mr. jenkins' property, though since i began writing this pre-tegridy, which is already a bonkers sentence, trey comes in clutch with the assist and hands me an easy rewrite.) and is married to bebe, who is a livestock veterinarian. stan works as a handyman in town. bebe is also 4mos pregnant with their first child.

on a nondescript afternoon, kyle waltzes onto his property and back into south park for the first time since he abruptly and without warning left eight years prior. he is in town for two weeks to help his parents square away their finances and sell the house in preparation for their retirement. kyle wants to reconnect; stan does not. does anyway. cue a lot of passive aggressive sexual tension and miscommunication amidst all the nostalgic navel gazing.

notable side characters: butters is the elementary guidance counselor. craig is the 6th grade science teacher. kenny is a bartender. cartman is a public access televangelist. wendy is in the middle of her campaign to become mayor. randy is randy. sharon is terminally ill in palliative hospice care and is expected to die within the next six weeks. her death occurs towards the end of kyle's stay, which prolongs his stay by a short while.

second half takes place eight years later. stan and bebe are freshly and (mostly) amicably divorced, with a 7 year old daughter. stan is having trouble adjusting to his life as a middle aged divorced dad. kyle again waltzes back into his life to disrupt it by revealing his intent to move back home to south park. well intentioned and poorly timed chaos ensues wherever kyle rears his head.

it's definitely a stan/kyle story but a lot of this was also the backdrop for me to do an indulgent character study of stan. i_just_think_he's_neat.jpg

while i'm at it, as i've been pouring over flashdrives and hardrives and google docs and .docx files the last few weeks, i'll mention a few other fics i've written significant amounts for under the cut if anyone's interested.

-- 60s period piece. stan/craig and stan/kyle. desiring more out of life than accepting defeat and returning home to a life in the lumberyard or the sugar beet factory like his peers back in his quiet mountain town, stan drops out of college nearing the end of his first semester sophomore year of college as he's failing miserably. he rides the rails to new york to pursue his real dream, which is to be a folk singer. he lands at the doorstep of the only person he knows in new york -- craig, who is living in greenwich village. craig left south park immediately after high school and is an aspiring playwright. he and stan had an exploratory sexual relationship as school boys out of convenience, and their correspondence since has been sparse. craig immediately wants to tell him to hit the bricks, but he feels some pity for stan and allows him to stay with him, so long as it is short and temporary (narrator voice: it was not).

meanwhile, kyle is something of an upper crust socialite in manhattan, with deep ties to the art world. his grandmother, cleo broflovski, was a pivotal figure in the dadaist movement and her body of work has established the broflovskis as a family of significant wealth, which is aided in the modern day by gerald's rising star as a preeminent lawyer in the booning world of 60s corporate IP law after abandoning his early specialization in civil rights. this is a point of estrangement for kyle, who grew up idolizing his father, as he finds his work unethical. but not unethical enough to refuse the rewards. there is also the open secret of kyle's flagrant homosexuality, which embarrasses gerald deeply. ike plays baseball at penn state. kyle has an indefinite room at the hotel chelsea and spends his days reading, smoking, having gay sex, and scouting the city for creatives in need of a doting patron. he is also hopelessly addicted to cocaine.

stan make pennies busking outside the cafe wha? when he's spotted by recording manager eric cartman, who is looking for a new cash cow that is young, dumb, and easy to trick in order to take advantage of the folk revival, and he's just found it. simultaneously, craig is preparing to have his first meeting with kyle about his potential interest in craig's stage play. he was put in touch with him via friend wendy, who has worked with kyle in the recent past. wendy's cousin is the manager at julius's, a de facto gay bar that kyle frequented until he was forbidden due to his "disorderly" conduct (see: cruising). she proposed quid pro quo -- she will convince her cousin to rescind kyle's ban if he will read craig's manuscript. kyle agrees to the terms.

they meet a week later at said bar, and stan asks to tag along, figuring he should try to get to know as many people as possible. craig reluctantly agrees. craig knows of kyle through conflicting reputations, depending who you ask. at the bar they make brief small talk. kyle is polite, if not suspiciously so when he tells craig that he sees promise in his work but feels no attachment to it. craig, impatient and not wanting to wait to have something come of his current squalor, implores kyle to reconsider. this goes back and forth before kyle takes this as an insult to his judgment. he rudely tells craig his work is derivative and that tennessee williams has too many poor imitators as is. craig throws kyle's drink in his face and turns heel to leave. kyle, high as a kite, finds this all delightful. stan, horrified by craig's behavior, immediately apologizes and begins dabbing kyle with cocktail napkins and attempting to save face for craig. craig calls for stan like a dog and tells him to knock it off, or he's on his own to figure the way out home. stan apologizes profusely again before following suit. kyle is unbelievably charmed by stan's boyishness and unassuming affect, the guitar on his back, his role as the lamb in the lion's den in the duo, and finds himself overwhelmed with the inexplicable urge to know as much about him as possible. kyle, with wendy as the intermediary, reaches out to craig to let him know that he has indeed reconsidered his position, and would like to speak to him and his 'associate' again. craig wants to tell kyle to go fuck himself, but relents when stan makes the case for not wasting the opportunity.

-- surrealist horror and also black comedy. not necessarily relationship focused, but stan/kyle is very much in play. background: stuart elopes with a younger woman and abandons the mccormick family; at the time kenny + boys are 15/16, karen is 13. due to the stress of carol working two jobs and doing a great job at being an okay-ish only moderately neglectful parent, karen begins frequently running away. she usually just stays the night with a friend or is only 'gone' for a few hours until kenny finds her or she willingly comes home. real "boy who cried wolf" situation. until one day, karen runs away and has now been gone for three days. detective yates assures they are looking for her (they are not) and that she'll probably come home any second (she doesn't) because the kicker is that karen, legitimately, is missing. the morning of this fourth day, kyle, cartman, stan, and kenny all wake up to find dead coyotes with slit throats on their doorsteps. what a really weird coincidence, right.

as a group, they have been canvassing the neighborhood for a few days, asking all of karen's friends -- they assure none of them have seen her. kenny is unable to focus on anything else as stan and kyle try to offer empty hope. as they progress through the school day, they are alarmed when an emergency assembly is called. detective yates and the police department are there. they are now taking karen's disappearance seriously, as in the night, two of their fellow students have vanished and are reported missing: butters stotch and heidi turner. this is alarming to cartman, as butters was supposed to finish his book report on wuthering heights last night. who will he boss around now. this is debilitating to stan, as heidi turner has been his girlfriend for the last four months. the police encourage the students to go about their normal day, beware of strangers, lock their doors, and stay off the internet. kyle is trying to figure out what the connection between karen, heidi, and butters could possibly be, and if the coyotes on their doorstep are also involved somehow. they resolve after school that it's up to them to find their friends.

what neither kenny nor karen nor anyone else knows is that karen is also a netherborn. because the curse was made at kenny's birth he suffers the effects of immortality but the curse doesn't only affect one child; carol's womb is cursed forever and any child birthed thereafter suffers as well.

and what they also don't know is why she's missing, which is damien. damien is hellbent (ha) on destroying south park and kenny, kyle, cartman, and stan for driving him back to hell. he needs a female netherborn host after she has reached the age of menarche in order to cast the earth unto darkness, and the only thing that can kill a netherborn is, of course, another netherborn. on the day karen runs away, she runs deep into the woods. south park, with a history as an old mining town, has a series of collapsed mines, some deeper than others. damien mimics the voice of someone in distress, guiding karen toward him and pretending to be an innocent who explored too deeply in one of these mines, and uses this to lure her to him. after, he has systematically lured the person each of the boys care most about. well, except for kyle.

that night, it's about 7pm, the boys are now scouring these very woods in search of karen or any clues to her disappearance. it's at this point that stan asks kenny if he has every thought to check the proximity of any mine shafts, or whether karen would go to them. kenny doesn't believe she would, but no stone unturned. the woods diverge, and kenny and cartman take the right path, stan and kyle the other. they communicate with high range walkie talkies they all agreed to get two summers ago. we focus on stan and kyle's leg of the journey and their conversations -- hypothesis on what's causing these events, stan's nervousness for heidi's safety, kyle's hormonal and passive aggressive gay angst, etc. they happen upon another coyote. stan is too upset to look closely, and falls back to wait by a tree while kyle investigates. his back is turned only for a minute or two, but when stan provides no response to his out loud thinking, kyle turns around to find stan gone. he calls for him a few times with a growing sense of impending doom. when he tries stan on the walkie, it's only unnaturally loud and ear piercing static.

oh and what no one knows again is that kyle also has psychokinesis.

-- stan/kyle, established relationship. stan and kyle are in their 40s, they now live in michigan. stan is a departmental manager at a grocery store after a nearly fatal injury forced him to give up his career as a firefighter. kyle is a school administrator. they have three children: a boy, 15, who is ike's biological son that kyle has had custody of since he was 6. they also have two younger girls, 8 and 5. ongoing argument is about their son's desire to leave his current school in order to attend a boarding school 7 hours away due to its illustrious hockey program. the girls are precocious and shy and a little bit neurotic. it's a normal day in the marsh-broflovski household until stan is shaken awake at two in the morning by kyle and informed they are flying back to south park, as gerald has just had a stroke and is in the hospital.

back in south park, they head to the hospital. things are not looking good. adult kyle has a very strained relationship with ike and gerald specifically, but his duty first and foremost is to his mother. their lives were all derailed when five years after it first started, gerald was tried and convicted on two counts of manslaughter and serves eight years in prison after he resumes his online skankhunt trolling, which is so prolonged and so malicious in nature it causes two teenage girls to kill themselves. the public outcry and national attention it receives hastens the sentencing despite the precedent for it being currently charted territory. anyway gerald dies several hours later without regaining consciousness.

kyle takes charge of all arrangements to be made immediately, including the fact they will now be in south park for a week in order to observe shiva for gerald. stan and kyle agreed that the kids would be raised jewish; stan took a few conversion classes, but it was never all that important to kyle that stan convert specifically and the importance of doing it gets lost for stan in the day to day of life. all this to say he did not realize this was happening. gerald's funeral is the following morning and for the next seven days kyle, stan, their children, ike, ike's current girlfriend, sheila, and gerald's brother sit shiva in the broflovski household; over the week, kyle has to confront and reconcile with the difficult relationship he has with his family in a town full of people he hoped to get away from forever who are now only an unlocked door away.

-- short story. stan/kyle, and i guess in a coy way also jimbo/ned. when stan is on the cusp of puberty, jimbo begins a 'tradition' that the two days before thanksgiving, he takes stan on an uncle/nephew hunting trip. stan hates this tradition. their freshman year of community college, stan invites kyle on this trip. kyle, meanwhile, is dealing with sheila's sudden and untimely death just before they graduate high school. stan is trying and struggling with how to be there for kyle, cos he's different now. during the trip, kyle kills a wounded animal. stan and kyle fight about this, though the fight is Actually About A Lot More Than That. stan has a private conversation with jimbo about his concern for kyle after it's only the two of them, and after getting surprisingly sensitive advice from his uncle, stan attempts to resolve their conflict. they do, in an odd manner. thanksgiving is consequently weird, with the broflovskis joining the marsh's for thanksgiving as a show of love and support during this difficult time. death makes everything weird.

i have others but these are what i have the most fleshed out for. i realize parent death is a recurring theme and don't worry, one day i will think of a great idea to kill randy.

[anaconda-creates]

Going back to forgotten google docs every now and again and re-reading old creative writing is such an experience. Past me had some good stuff going lol anyways here's a collection of snippets from two character's lives I wrote for a dead dnd campaign. if you're bored.

✦ ✦ ✦

Part one

✦ ✦ ✦

Seren whistled, amused. “Take a look at that fancy sign-off. The signature takes up a quarter of the page!” She waved the page with the ostentatious stationary at Magnus and Romary. “When I’m rich and powerful, I’m going to have a seal with my name that takes up a full half of the page, just so I can send notes to you that say ‘good morning’. The rest will alllllllll be signature.” 

“Surely we won’t be living so far apart that we have to send letters to each other,” said Magnus. 

“‘Course not,” said Seren, studying the decree again. “We’ll all live next door to each other. Or each have a floor of one of those fancy pent-house places they’re building. I just want to annoy Romi with all the postage.” She grinned impishly at Romary, who rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t call me that. How would you pay for all that paper, anyways?” She said. “I told you: rich and powerful. We’ll be able to do whatever we want,” said Seren. 

“And what’s your plan to get rich and powerful?” asked Romary flatly. 

Seren shrugged. “I’ll get to that.” 

“My question is, what happens when we get married and have kids?” wondered Magnus. “Will we still be neighbors and see each other every day?” 

“I wouldn’t count on getting married, Mag,” said Seren, shaking her head in mock pity. “I don’t think you’ll have much luck with the girls. I certainly wouldn’t marry you.”

“That’s not fair,” said Magnus, playfully offended. “You don’t like any boys.” 

“And how would you know that?” Seren retorted.

“If you had eyes for guys, there’s no way you’d snub me so quick,” Magnus joked with a smirk. 

“I pity the woman who has to spend the rest of her life putting up with you,” said Romary dryly, cracking a grin. “I have a hard enough time managing it, and I’ve only had to deal with you for fourteen years.” 

“Ha-ha. I love you too, dear sister.” said Magnus. “What does that thing say, anyway?” He nodded to the paper Seren was still holding, changing the topic. “And where did you get it again?” 

“Some sort of royal decree or whatnot. I swiped it off a bulletin a while ago.”

“You aren’t supposed to take those,” said Romary. 

“That’s too bad,” said Seren. “Somebody really must be missing their unattended copy of whatever publicly available royal decree just got sent out. Real shame.” 

Romi scowled in frustration. “It’s the principle of the matter.”

“It’s the principle, nyeeehhhh” Said Seren in a high pitched mockery of Romary. Magnus snickered. “Do you want to know what it says or not?” 

“Read it, then,” said Romary. 

“Give me a second…” Seren trailed off, and reread the passage. Her brow furrowed. “Oh,” she said. 

“What is it?” Pressed Romary. 

“It looks like Echoria is officially independent from Avefalle,” she began. “There’s… no Avefalle at all anymore. The Kiernans finally took Alve Ethael.”

The news was not unexpected, but it was still difficult to accept. The brief light mood was swiftly banished, like a tree’s leaves scattered in a strong breeze. A heavy somberness settled over the group.

“Oh,” said Magnus. There was nothing else to say. The three stood together in silence for a while. It would have felt wrong to speak, to move on so quickly. They were learning, after all, that life outside of Avefalle moved fast, especially in this young city, barely older than they were. It made sense– the people of the city had short lives, so they felt compelled to do as much as they could while they were still breathing. But right now, silence felt sacred. So, the three young elves let time pass in unrushed stillness. 

Romary finally broke the spell. She made a crisp soldier's salute, an ancient sign of respect she should have been too young to know. They’d all been forced to grow up early, but she even more than the others.  The scar marring her face was testament to that. It spoke of battles fought and lost, things no child should have experienced. Her eyes too, stormy gray, bore the troubles of one thrice her age. 

“What now?” said Magnus. He looked tired now, altogether different from the casual banterer of minutes ago. Seren looked to Romary too, unsure. 

“I don’t know,” said Romary simply. She looked out at the unfinished city, being built from the ground up. The others joined her. Somehow, someway, it was time for them to find their place in it.

✦ ✦ ✦

part two:

https://www.tumblr.com/anaconda-creates/773800737560051712/part-two-renna-exclaimed-romary?source=share

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Critique Partner Basics

What Is a Critique Partner?

A critique partner (CP) is another writer with whom you exchange writing to get feedback from each other on your drafts so you can get better. A partner for critiques!

Do I Need One?

You should really probably have one if:

You’re trying for professional publication/marketing/selling your writing

Getting better writing skills is something you aim for

Otherwise, no, not really.

Do They Cost Money?

No, they cost time and effort and mutual support.

Can’t I Just Hire an Editor Instead?

Sure, but honestly, they don’t work as well. Critiquing other people and trying to see how their story works and articulate it to help them is half of the skilling up having a CP provides.

What Does a Critique Partner Do?

This depends on the people involved and what they’re good at critiquing for and what they want help with. In general, I expect these two things from CPs:

My story document back marked up with live-reading comments from track changes or Google Docs or a PDF with annotations or whatever.

An edit letter of 1-2 pages of overall thoughts to edit towards.

The in-line edits help if something small isn’t adding up, two details don’t match, and gives me a good idea at what point something repetitive became a serious issue, so I know how much patience my CP had with a flaw before they started losing it. It’s also usually fun—this is where I get CP comments laughing at my jokes or yelling about how much they love characters or snarking at them.

In-line comments tend to look something like this:

A mix of pointing out problem spots and bits they love. Often they will fix your typos, but that's generally not what you're getting a CP for.

Edit letters are often broken into sections of things they CP wants to talk about: what they thought of the characters, the stakes, the plot, the pacing, the structure, or any other element they want to specifically call out. A lot of it will be reflective of the line edits, but since it’s written later, it tends to be more cohesive and thoughtful of how things feel by the end of the story after seeing where the entire story goes instead of the experience of puzzling it out as they read it.

Sometimes they will offer suggestions, some more specific than others. They will tell you the things that are working and the things they aren’t, ideally.

I like to also have a back-and-forth with my CP after getting notes to answer questions and brainstorm ideas. This is optional; not everyone likes this.

What Should I Look For in a Critique Partner?

Someone who likes your writing, respects your abilities as a writer, and provides feedback you find useful.

A lot of writers, especially without strong community ties, often find themselves willing to accept basically anyone who is going to read their thing and give them some notes on it. That’s a pretty surefire path to unhappiness and dissatisfaction.

I get it. I’ve done it a lot myself. But I’m going to advise you not to do it. If someone doesn’t get your writing or your story and wants to change it to something more like what they would like, that’s not helpful.

Here’s a few examples to illustrate the difference:

If your CP points out a few sentences that sound a little award or a paragraph is flat, that’s probably helpful! If they try to completely rewrite sections to better look more like their writing style, that’s probably not.

If your CP thinks maybe the story you have has themes or characters that sound more adult than YA and have you considered aging them up, that’s probably helpful! If they  suggest you age up the characters because adult books can tackle a concept that interests them and it wasn’t in your story, that’s probably not.

If your CP says the ending of your story left a lot of loose threads from subplots or other questions that were raised in the story and it feels unfinished, that’s probably helpful! If they say the ending of your story wasn’t satisfying to them because they didn’t like the message it sent to watch a character win, that’s probably not.

Basically, is your CP giving you feedback that will help you write the story you want to write? Do you both even want the same story out of the draft? Do they respect what you bring to the table?

How Do I Find One of These?

Ah, the million-dollar question.

Most writers find them through friends or writing communities they’re in. My best CPs have always been writer friends first, and then we start sending each other pages to test how well our vibes work. Make them on forums, on discord, on social media, in person writer’s groups, writing workshops and classes; whatever. You know a friend who is writing and whose writing you like and you’re both looking for someone to help edit? Great!

There are also sometimes events like CPMatch on Twitter, which are hashtag events to pitch your book and yourself as an editor to see if anyone is interested in reading it and swapping feedback with you.

Some people will run CP matchmaking. Sometimes this costs money. Personally, I don’t think I would bite for one of those, because if I didn’t get a useful CP out of it, I’d feel like it’s wasted money and time and not just time. But it is work for the matchmaker and some people are satisfied with matchmaking options, so having someone try to hook you up, for free or not, is also an option.

Websites like Critique Match also exist for the purposes of finding a CP. I don’t know how popular it is, but it’s also an option.

Most writing discords will have a “seeking feedback” channel and you can reach out there.

[surnumanaja]

Sneakily starting to post my processes of my exhange works, while the ao3 exhange is still on anon but not for long (in 5 or so hours until the authors are revealed) 🤫 it 's been fun one until i stepped into a bucket and had to walk to the finish with it (and even then it was fun, i just had to pretend i stuck my foot in the bucket purposely)

Sorry it's very long and might need several reblogs for the pictures 😅

And to be fair, i have posted wips here when it was all very vague (the vernicular typographic stuff that didn't make the cut, how i was designed building for the main fight to take place in). I also made my close friends bear through exchange work progress on ig stories because i couldn't be shut about it 😅

Before the exhange i was exploring ideas how enviroments affect characters and vice versa. I have my slight grievances with how cities are depicted in Veilguard. Both Minrathous and Treviso make sense as playable jungle-gym (which makes fun gameplay) but little sense as a livable city. Being most familiar with Tallinn's architecture and how the city as developed into being, there's no denying that my designs are heavily inspired by Tallinn seaside districts (Kalamaja being an old fisher village that grew into factory workers living district in 19th century and Rotermann salt storage that served the port)

After getting my assignment it was soooo clear for me that three of the four prompts i got would work really well as one story. To bad that I only write fics in Estonian. Thus it had to be some sort of visual story, like a comics. And how long could it possible be? Surely not over 20 panels? 🤡 Right?

So being very normal person who thinks about surroundings normal amount, I started with designing the Shadow Dragons Obstacle Course for themain action to take place in. Here the main inspiration were Rotermann salt storage and Linnahall docks in Tallinn.

At some point i started asking myself why am i drawing a port (actually, no im lying, i know exactly what i wanted the obstacle course to result 😈) , and answers and follow up questions to that started to become into the back story (why and how Tarquin and Ashur end up in the salt storage? And is it a salt storage?) which trickled surely only few more panels to the storyboard that I just had started to draw.

Finished the storyboard about a week and a half after the exhange had begun. Counted my frames (which was my first error, because my numbers memory has been extremely shit for past year), got about 50. Bit more than I had planned, but doable.

So I very confidently started to draw first panels. To be honest I had over rendered few very storywise not so necessary scenes, just because they were too fun do draw. 😅

I also wanted to play around with typography/calligraphy and character voices and onomatopoeia.

By the time I had drawn what I thought was 20% of the comics, it seemed to put all the panels, finished or just sketches from the storyboard, to google docs, so i could start to write and spell-check the dialogue. Generally, one page consisted two single-image frames. Big was my surprise when reached page 25 in google doc (what should've marked the end of my 50 panel comics) I was no where near the end.

I still had time to switch gears – focus only of the prompts and maybe switch medium. Single scene felt still too lacking. So it either had to be animation (i had caught cold and was feverish) or a short comics.