#but remember it’s always easier to cut words than to add them

[daydadahlias]

(Too terrified to ask this on my blog, so anon it is 😂)

This may be a dumb question, or one that's hard to answer, but do you have any advice for writing long pieces of work without dragging on? The longest fic I've ever written is 4k. I feel like, if I try to write something long, I over explain stupid things like how they positioned their legs when they climbed over a fence and stuff like that. You're writing is so clear, and it's never dragging on or over-explaining, yet it's really long. So yeah, I'm just asking if you've got any tips on that.

well, I think number one it’s important to remember that no length is key! Just because a fic is “long,” doesn’t mean it’s telling a story well. plenty of fantastic stories can be told in 4k or less :)

but I think that most of the length in my writing is coming from emphasis on internal monologue / character building and repetition hehe

a lot of my writing is a character reflecting on how they feel about what’s happening and how that’s informing actions taking place around them.

When I write, I sort of follow the format of “action tag, internal monologue, description, reflection on what’s happened thus far in the story to remind readers what’s happening and also to inform future character decisions based on past ones, and finally, some rhetorical questions for emphasis.”

I also try to make that sort of dispersed when writing so it doesn’t read like I’m going off a Format.

I don’t know if this is actually going to make any sense to anyone but me lmfao but I tried to color coordinate the format im talking about w/ two scenes. One from my long fic Scene 14 and one from my fic Fine Print

pink = dialogue

orange = action currently happening

green = flowery cushion shit that establishes sense of character and conflict

yellow = references to previous points in the fic that inform the characters current decisions / thoughts

blue = questions 💙

Theoretically, you should be able to see how these things are dispersed throughout so it doesn’t make it feel like it’s being “over explained” or too wordy or dragging on, like you said! I try to never spend too much time on one thing.

I used to over write like crazy (and people could tell yikes) because I spent too much time on one thing, and I also repeated shit like crazy. So my best advice to you is to just try to play around !! Mix and match action with dialogue and setting description and internal monologue !! Don’t stay on one boat too long!

and remember that each line in your story should inform the next!

[inkskinned]

hey it's nanowrimo. i have tips bc i've done it about 34 times.

Don't edit. Ever. Stop it. If you just decide to start a new project half thru this one with all new characters, no problem. pick up and keep writing as if you'd already written the first half of that.

"but i spelled it wrong" whatever. "but the grammar" whatever. make it exist first. no time for sense. think like you're working on a typewriter. no backspace. only forward go.

Don't re-read further than a paragraph or two backwards. "did i mention the gun before?" listen - it doesn't matter. if you need there to be a gun there, the gun is there. put it back in once you finish the book.

"i forgot the specifics of X thing i already wrote" whatever. change it, make a note/comment to figure it out later, and just write what makes sense for the moment. "no raquel it's legit the characters name and origin" idc that character is now reborn as Claudius from Elsewhere. it's fine.

only you see your mistakes. nobody else knows. one of the ways writing and dance overlap - only you know the choreography. nobody else will know if you miss a step, so just keep dancing and pretend you meant to do it like that.

it's an illusion that you need to write linearly - from point A to point B to point C. Nah; that's just timeline propaganda. I've written a LOT of books out of order and just reordered them once i've finished. if you have a scene you'd LOVE to write but can't get there yet because of plot, just fuckin write the scene. I've always found its easier to establish "point F" "point J" and "Point A" and then wiggle my way between those scenes.

write what you WANT to write. 230 pages of smut? of well-researched discussion on bread? whatever. the point is to strengthen muscles however you can.

if you miss a day, a week, whatever. not the end of the world. we all have dry days. also time is a myth so u can do this challenge whenever u want.

as soon as you try to write for a specific audience, you kill your voice. you are writing for yourself. stop thinking about how people will take ur book. it don't matter. what matter is u, enjoying writing. i luv u.

play to your strengths. i have characters talk so much because i don't know how to write a plot if it kills me but i'm really good at dialogue so.

i love a flight of fancy. write a poem in there. shift tactics and write in code. keep it fun for yourself.

see what happens if you shift something major about ur main characters - gender, wealth, superpowers. or if you change point-of-view. or if you kill everyone in a big explosion. do NOT edit anything before this or after it. often these little weird one-off exercises teach me what interests me about what i'm working on. it is never what i thought. plus it is a fun way to add like 1k words.

stretch.

it's for fun and for practice. stop doing that project if it's giving you anxiety. once my nano was literally 50k words of half-started stories. just things i tried and tried and tried and wasn't able to flesh out. oops. but i am now 50k words of a better writer.

add dragons?

read books/listen to books on tape/etc. people often make the mistake of "buckling down" to just write. you need inspiration. you need to like. fill up on words. you need to remember how it feels to lose yourself in a story.

i don't have the time or space to really talk about this in this post but a lot of creative people turn to drugs/alcohol because it can help you be more creative. this is harmful, and walking a blade that only cuts deep. if you notice you and your loved ones are turning more to substances, please know i love you and i hope you are able to get help soon. i feel like this almost never gets mentioned because it's kind of a hazy underbelly to art. you are always more important than the work.

on that note. drink your fukin. water.

don't talk about a story until you've finished it. once you tell the story, it exists already, and isn't about discovery. i usually have a very canned "haha we'll see" response.

grapes :) tasty snack.

i love you be free.

[msbarrybeeson]

Don’t | Donnie X Reader

A/N: This was so lovely to write. In my opinion, Donnie would be the most challenging of the four brothers. I think there are specifics to his behavior and personality, so trying to accurately replicate it does take some time. Apologies for any out-of-characterness from Donnie. Remember that constructive criticism is always appreciated, especially for characters, and enjoy! 

Requested: @sunnyselks 

Summary: You were wounded from protecting Donnie. When you were waving off his demands to treat you, he had to take it into his own hands to tend to you.

Genre: Hurt-Comfort

Reader: Second POV. Gender-neutral pronouns if any.

Pairing: Rise!Donnie X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, needles, cuts. Argument over each other’s safety.

Word Count: ~1060

~

“Don, I’m fine.”

“Oh, sure, tell me that while your clothes are soaked in blood!” Donnie yelled. “Take off your shirt, (Name), or I’m not letting you leave the grounds of this room.”

“Donnie,” you stressed, clutching the wound on your arm. 

“(Name), don’t.”

You turned away from him, about to leave his room despite his warning. “It’s a minor injury, I’m perfectly fi—.”

Suddenly, small chips leeched onto your arm, catching you off-guard. They unfolded into wrist binds, where you realized this was his way of forcing you to stay put.

“Don!” you grunted, as the binds pulled you toward facing a wall. “Are you serious!?”

“As Galileo is about his heliocentric model.” Donnie took a binder clip from one of his desk drawers. “You leave me no choice, (Name).” As soon as the turtle lifted your shirt up from behind, chills ran over your skin from the cold air hitting the other cut on your back. He wrapped the hem over your collar, then proceeded to clip it.

“I could’ve done this myself or gone to a hospital,” you muttered.

Donnie scoffed. “And let them force you to pay expensive bills as your last resort when you have me? I thought you knew better than that.” He cleaned the blood around your wound with a wet paper towel before applying an alcohol wipe to disinfect.

“You know full well you can’t stitch your own back either. You wouldn’t want to risk inquiring your parental guardians for help in the end and being forced to give a whole explanation.”

“...”

From the corner of your eyes, you could see Donnie picking up a needle. The thought of it puncturing you made you shudder. There were vaccinations and blood tests, but they never changed your tension with needles.

You wanted to get this over with— the suspense was only making you more vulnerable.

“Are you going to inject the needle, Donnie—?” Your nails immediately dug into your palm as pain struck. "Argh..!" You winced badly.

“Don’t move,” he paused, “if that wasn’t obvious enough.”

“Easier said than done when I'm not used to having my skin pricked—!” You seethed, “Urgh.. couldn’t you have numbed it?”

“What, with lidocaine?” Donnie replied monotonously. “No, because you wouldn’t learn and would try to save me again—,” he pricked the needle the fourth time, “even though you are a human who could’ve gotten killed— God—why in the name of logic did you do that, (Name)!?”

“I did it to protect you!” you argued.

“Don’t you dare ignore the fact that you could’ve gotten killed!”

“I am capable of my own safety.”

“Scoffs. Think common sense, (Name). You’re a human,” he reminded, the anger in his voice showing. “I’m a mutant turtle; I have the biological features to defend myself!”

“You’re a soft-shelled turtle.”

Donnie stopped moving the needle. "Really, assuming that my soft-shell automatically makes me vulnerable? Are you trying to tell me I’m unable to protect myself because of that, (Name)?”

He frowned. “I have my technology— my intelligence to accommodate, so don’t put yourself in danger whenever the hell possible and let me handle myself. End of discussion.”

You wanted to slam your fists. As he was about to add another stitch, your body shook.

“They destroyed your battle shell!” Anguish scratching your voice. “Just because you're a mutant or because you have your military-grade tech, doesn't mean you won't get murdered, crushed!

God, don’t take it the wrong way. I’m not trying to assume or belittle neither you nor your tech. All I'm concerned about is keeping you alive!”

“...”

“You weakened your voice. “If me getting injured means you’d be okay, then that’s enough for me.”

Donnie’s breath hitched.

..You knew your turtle wasn’t great at apologizing, but his silence told you everything. He didn’t make a snarky or sarcastic remark.. instead, he listened.

“..I’m sorry.”

“I know. But don’t put yourself down.. I never once thought you're supposed to be perfectly strong or invulnerable. That applies to everyone all the same. Flaws happen, whether we're fine with it or not.”

You turned your head to look at Donnie. Something was still bothering him.

“But I’ll try not to scare you again if that makes you feel better.” The tension left his face, and he proceeded to finish the last few stitches.

It was all calm and quiet until he dragged his cold finger lightly over the stitched-up wound. You shuddered.

“You keep flinching so much.”

“You’re one to talk, you’re sensitive to touch as much as I am, if not so much more.”

“No, no, not that. I find it interesting, because.. I don’t see you reacting so violently when April stitched up the other cut on your back. You know, from falling off the table.” As Donnie applied a cotton pad and tape to cover your wound, he looked up to meet your eyes.  

But you quickly faced away to the other direction.

Donnie leaned the same way, one of his brows raised.

And you avoided eye-contact yet again.

.

.

.

Ah.

“You’re flustered.”

“What?” The red rushing to your ears.

“Flustered,” he repeated. “Its definition being ‘agitated, confused, ruffled—.’”

“No, I meant: how am I flustered?”

Donnie dragged his finger along your skin again. You felt your face heat up.

“You’re flustered from having your back exposed to me.”

“I’m not.” You sensed his ego returning.

“Tell that to my lie-detector and we’ll see how that goes.”

“You have a polygraph?”

“Of course not,” Donnie actually scoffed. “We all know polygraphs are never accurate enough to be trusted.” He unclipped your shirt and released the binds on your wrists.

You groaned, rubbing your aching hands. “You had me binded to a wall, and lifted my shirt to stitch my cut— so of course— I would feel exposed.. and flustered.” You sat in your turtle's desk chair.

“Yes, exactly, I did that to treat you." He crossed his arms. "And I find that hypocritical, considering you exposed yourself and your whereabouts on the Internet."

You gave him a look, before holding your knees to your chest. There was a change in expression as you whispered, "..Thanks."

Donnie stood awkwardly, rubbing his arm once he heard you and finding sincerity on your face. The soft-shelled turtle stepped closer to you and slowly wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

"Hey, I thought you don't like this intimate stuff," you joked.

Now Donnie himself became flustered. “Don’t, (Name).”

[hyuckbeam]

hit or miss

you’re given a bet by your own best friend to finally earn you some kissing experience at the ripe age of 18, but what if he’s the one you’ve been wanting to kiss all along?

pairing | bff!haechan x reader

genre | fluff, just a bit of angst

warnings | y/n uses she/her pronouns, both y/n and hyuck are dumdums! kind of slow burn, curse words are explicitly mentioned, cousin!winter, i think that’s all but lmk if i missed anything!

wc | 4.3k words

note | this is pretty inspired by the webtoon “the kiss bet” because i currently have a hyper fixation on it and i absolutely love all the characters ;0; this is also way longer than intended but anyways,, i hope u enjoy! all rbs and likes are appreciated, thank you <3

D-15.

“in three, two, one, happy birthday, y/n!” your best friend, haechan announces aloud for everyone in your apartment complex to hear at 12 in the morning.

“come on! make a wish before the candles blow out!” winter, your cousin, urges you with a big smile on her face.

having just finished your night time routine and prepared yourself for a night's worth of sleep, you were rather shocked to see them with one of those trendy bento cakes and rainbow colored party hats adorning their heads.

despite your confusion, you walk up towards them with a grateful smile resting upon your lips. “seriously, when did you guys plan this?”

“oh, it was all my- ow, hey!” haechan gets cut off midway through his statement because of a nudge from winter’s elbow.

“what he was trying to say was it was all my doing. you’re welcome bubs!” your cousin beams, eyes creasing into crescents. “though i’d wish you’d hurry up. this cake isn’t holding itself up for you, y’know?” she adds on rather playfully but you can tell she truly meant it.

gathering a deep breath, you blow out the candles and cheers erupt from the people you deem closest to you. winter then sets down the cake on your coffee table in relief as your best friend slings his arm over your shoulder.

“sooo y/n, got anything planned for the year? a small resolution or something like that, i don’t know.” he rambles off, suggesting the idea of having a goal to work towards now that you were deemed an adult (though, haechan kept referring to this as the year that marks your jail-ability era).

you feel a little tingly from his touch, even when you know the two of you are just friends and nothing more. what you’re feeling is probably just a phase. it’ll go away.

“i’m not really sure, got any ideas for me?” you ask the two instead, eyeing them both in a back and forth motion.

“we can always work on that dating experience of yours- last i remember, it was up to the high number count of… zero.” your cousin chips in from the side as she slices the cake for the three of you to share, her tone sarcastic while she teases you.

it’s true, you didn’t have a lot (re: any) of experience in the dating sector, but perhaps that could change starting this year. “that… might not be such a bad idea.”

haechan’s interest seems to have been piqued — he’s making that look. that specific expression where the corners of his lips turn upwards, a brow raised, and that glint in his eye. oh, you know it all too well.

“come on.” you urge the boy. “start sharing your idea. i can practically see your mind ready to explode.”

“well, since you’ve asked me ever so kindly. how ‘bout a bet?” he starts, taking a few steps towards you with that cocky expression of his. “i bet you 10 dollars to kiss someone in two months. not that hard, right?”

“what- you want me to kiss some random person for 10 bucks?” you gawk out in surprise.

he only shakes his head, “i never said it needed to be a stranger. just, someone in general.”

you processed the idea thoroughly, running all sorts of possible scenarios in your head. wouldn’t it be much easier to kiss… haechan himself? that just seemed like the most plausible approach for you.

he wasn't a stranger — the furthest from one. you were comfortable with him. the kiss didn’t have to mean anything (though it might mean a tiny bit more to you), and in addition, you’d be making some cash.

everything seemed to check out. the only problem was that you had to ask him to kiss you. still, surely this was better than any other alternative, right?

“i’ll do it but… can’t i just kiss you and get it over with?” you finally voice out your thoughts, pretending to make your question sound playful in case the request backfires on you.

“you’re my best friend, that’s a little odd, don’t you think so?” haechan replies in the same tone, lightly ruffling your hair before going over to retrieve a slice of cake from winter.

ouch. way to have your first bit of “dating experience” be your best friend… friend zoning you. what a lovely start to your 18th birthday.

D-13.

a few days had passed since the bet you made with haechan had been established, but not one ounce of progress had been made.

to be fair, how were you supposed to kiss someone else when all you’ve ever wanted was for that kiss to be with your best friend? that’s tough luck.

you attending classes today doesn’t really help with your thoughts either, especially when both haechan and winter had been asking about said progress one after the other.

you’d be lying if they weren’t starting to give you a headache.

as if on cue, winter approaches you, some lecture books in hand and her bag slung on her shoulder. “y/n! how’s your progress?” here we go again.

“just as i told you yesterday, nothing yet.” you reply with a small sigh.

winter senses the frustration behind your words, encouraging her to suggest ideas to help you. “how about finding someone you like? it might make it easier for you know… to kiss them.”

“i don’t think that’s still a good- actually, you might just be onto something, minjeong.” your gears start to churn in your mind. in order to wash haechan off your mind, you might as well find someone else and maybe get an actual relationship out of it.

the idea was just perfect for you.

“have i ever told you how much i love you? i gotta go but i’ll see you after class, winter!” you excitedly bid her a goodbye, rushing to your classroom so you could better plan out your new gameplan.

though the most ideal situation was long gone, you now had a back up plan and you weren’t going to back down so easily from the bet.

you were now busily scribbling on your notepad, forgetting that a new student was to transfer into your class today. the teacher calls upon your attention and as you look up, your eyes land on a boy with great resemblance to a cute bunny.

apparently he’s the new transfer student.

the teacher gives him a moment to introduce himself. “hello everyone, my name is na jaemin. i hope we all get along!” so that’s his name, you thought to yourself.

surprisingly, he was told to take the seat in front of yours, offering you a small smile and a curt wave, one that you gladly return, before he takes his seat.

actually, maybe you really could forget haechan for just a teensy bit.

D-6.

a week goes by without haechan seeing you once. an entire week. was he always this eager to see you? to bask in the warm sight that is you? he thinks he must be going crazy.

the only time he ever gets updates about you is through winter which aren’t much to go on. he does remember a key detail she mentioned previously about how you’ve been spending time with that new student, jaemin.

what was so special about him anyways? well, he was surely going to find out soon.

as the bell rings to signal the start of recess, he dashes out of his classroom, taking big steps towards yours.

there, haechan finds you in his seat and he’s about to approach you until he sees you’re in the middle of a conversation with the one and only, na jaemin.

“this is how you do this, right?” jaemin asks you, directing your sight to a piece of paper that has a bunch of math formulas written on it.

“yeah! i’m surprised you got that rather quickly.” you compliment the boy in front of you with a small laugh.

your thoughts on jaemin have changed drastically since the first time you met him. he’s a sweet boy, someone you could never take advantage of. it just felt wrong to you so you just dropped your entire plan as a whole.

it was alright to lose the bet. at least you kind of made a new friend out of it, right? you smile to yourself at that thought.

to haechan, however, your smile is so bright in jaemin’s presence, it’s practically blinding everyone in sight. have you ever smiled at him like that? wait- why does that matter?

he doesn’t like you, no way.

you’re best friends, yeah. his love for you is as platonic as can be — at least that’s what he tells himself.

for someone as bold as haechan, he can’t seem to find the confidence in him to walk towards your table and steal your attention. instead, he steps out of the classroom, unnoticed by you.

D-5.

“JAEMIN DID WHAT!?” haechan yells into his phone, winter being on the receiving end of the call.

the girl tuts, “scream one more time and i’m hanging up on you. and yes, i heard he confessed to y/n. i don’t think she gave him an answer though.”

“sorry, look, i was just really surprised.” a deep sigh comes out from haechan before the call goes silent. he takes the time to process the situation, but the idea of you and jaemin being together just rubs him off the wrong way.

“doesn’t she see how bad he is for her?” he finally reasons out.

“uhuh, in what sense exactly?” winter retorts.

“he’s probably just using her to gain attention or something! can’t i look out for my own best friend?” the response is laughable, even to haechan, but he goes along with it.

winter laughs into the call, “are you even hearing yourself? that’s pretty baseless, even for you haechan.” she replies shortly afterwards. “seems to me like you’re jealous.”

“are you hearing yourself, winter? no i’m not! get your head screwed on properly!” haechan answers back in the same incredulous manner as she did to him just a few seconds ago. “who would i even be jealous of?”

“jaemin. who else? i think it’s pretty clear to most. you aren’t that great at managing your feelings, y’know-” the girl’s voice cuts off for a second, “-oh, i’m being called to dinner now but seriously, get yourself together haechan. i know you like my cousin. bye!”

the line goes beep and haechan tosses his phone onto his bed. she really did just leave him hanging like that. how could she after bringing that idea up?!

jealous? not a chance. haechan never gets jealous.

D-4.

haechan wakes up the next day feeling tired, having not slept a wink after winter’s words kept replaying in his head.

i know you like my cousin.

you like my cousin.

you like her.

and these same words follow him as he makes it all the way to school. perhaps seeing you in school would help him understand his feelings better.

he really just wants this to be over with.

with trudged steps, he makes his way to your classroom and luckily enough for him, there you were already in class before the first bell rang.

he blames it on the lack of sleep but you look so ethereal sitting down in your chair as you bop your head lightly to the music that’s presumably playing on your earphones.

the sight is something to behold- that is until he pivots his head ever so slightly and sees jaemin accompanying you. god, why does he have to be there.

so maybe haechan does get jealous. sometimes.

maybe that’s why he acts without thinking, swiftly dragging you from your chair and out to the school courtyard despite your protests.

“hyuck let me go-” you grumble, tugging on your arm but he doesn’t budge one bit. it’s only when you reach a bench in the furthest part of the courtyard he decides to get go of your wrist.

“seriously, what is wrong with you?” you scoff out in disbelief. “this is the first time we’ve spoken in days. i think you could’ve just asked me if you really wanted to talk.” with the addition of those words, haechan finally realizes what he’s done. he knows it was wrong but he isn’t going to back down from the argument that was brewing between you two.

“me? how about you? you’ve been so lovey dovey with mr. perfect all this time! don’t you have yourself to blame on why we haven’t seen each other in so long?” he spat out coldly.

your heart sinks, and yet, you can’t help but feel even more enraged. its true, you’re part of the reason for the lack of communication between you two. after all, communication is a two way system. but doesn’t that also mean he’s also to blame?

“i enjoy jaemin’s company a lot! is that so wrong?” you shoot back, biting your bottom lip before mumbling the latter part of your statement. “at least he isn’t as grumpy as the person standing in front of me.”

ouch.

the boy hears this and gets ticked off even more. maybe it really is the lack of sleep but he seriously can’t understand her reasoning anymore. instead, he assumes she’s just doing all of this for the bet.

“do you really want to win the bet so bad? if that’s what you want, just kiss me and be over with it. i’m literally letting you win. you can stop seeing jaemin now.”

and that’s when it hits you a little.

why is he bringing the bet up all of a sudden when you just want a genuine relationship with jaem- oh. he couldn’t possibly see you as someone like that right? he said it himself! he doesn’t like you and even denied your request to kiss him a few weeks ago.

but, if that were all true, what other explanation would there be to his actions?

he takes your silence as a no, prompting him to leave you in the courtyard all alone.

you couldn’t seem to understand him at all no matter how hard you tried.

as soon as you got home from classes that same day, you rushed yourself back home and into the comfort of your bed and pillows — treating them as if they were your closest confidants and cried while you shared your troubles.

it wasn’t productive on your end but it was much needed for you to at least think straight. you’d been bottling your contemplations all day long after all.

here you are laying lifeless on your bed, using all your braincells to dicern what the fuck happened earlier this morning.

you know haechan doesn’t like you. you’ve said it to yourself so many times now.

maybe he’s just jealous you’ve been spending more time with jaemin because, although you have different intentions before, you realized you couldn’t see him in that way nor had the heart to just use him for your own gain.

haechan was a different story though. you feel flushed just thinking about him, knowing full well the both of you are in the middle of an argument between each other.

remembrance of the frustration hits, making you groan at the thought of having to remedy it. if you and haechan had anything in common, it would be the stubbornness you both share.

the last time you both got into an argument this big was back in junior high. neither of you spoke to the other for an entire month. it got so bad that both your parents had to call each other up to devise a way to get an apology out from the both of you.

though it would make the entire situation much easier, your parents no longer delve into these types of problems — and neither do haechan’s. you’re both all alone to fix this one yourselves and you wish you’d been more grateful to your parents for mending your relationship with haechan.

deep down, you already know the both of you will struggle to find the right timing, but you certainly hope that day would come soon. you didn’t exactly like being away from him either (even if he made you feel like shit for the rest of the day).

you decide to sleep off your worries for the night, hoping and praying that tomorrow would be a better day for you.

D-3.

tomorrow is not any better of a day.

jaemin and haechan both invited you to eat with them for lunch which quickly escalated into a light argument between the two. you couldn’t even bring yourself to butt into their conversation, seeing how they were fighting over something so silly.

“i’m her best friend, we do this pretty much everyday!” you hear haechan yell at jaemin, his frustration for the other getting the best of him. “plus, i need to talk with her. without you.”

“if the two of you are just best friends, then what gives you the right to dictate her answers?” jaemin fires back, keeping a calm and collected appearance throughout.

this shuts haechan up and the entire cafeteria goes dead silent. oh boy, did you want to curl up into a little hole. everyone was staring and you didn’t like that one bit.

nevertheless, you decided to be the bigger person — uttering a small apology to jaemin before walking off to the table you usually sat at with haechan — the latter following you a few steps behind.

neither of you speak as you begin to eat your separate meals, another sign the relationship between you two was starting to fade out into dust.

winter joins your lunch table shortly after witnessing the drama unfold, she looks at haechan with an unreadable expression and the boy stays quiet during the whole meal.

didn't he say he wanted to talk? an apology for the day before would have been nice.

you get fed up by the silence, placing your food back on the tray before picking it up. you mutter a quiet “i can’t seem to understand you at all.” directed at hyuck before leaving and switching over to the table where jaemin and his friends are sitting.

it all happened too fast and haechan didn’t realize you were leaving until you already did. he really did want to talk but how was he supposed to do that after having that situation with jaemin?

he wanted to calm down first but you had other plans. you really left him in shambles this time.

winter can’t help but sigh at the ongoing conflict. she silently wishes she wasn’t involved this much if it was going to turn out like this.

D-2.

haechan knows he truly has to make it up to you (including a long overdue explanation of why he’s been acting weirdly the past few days) but doesn’t know how to do that. apologies never came easy to him. his mind couldn’t help but go blank everytime he tried thinking of a way to approach you without making things more complicated than they already are.

the sheer amount of times he’s hit a brick wall has him calling the only person who probably knows more about you than he, himself, does.

he picks up his phone, searching through his contacts before landing on a single person, now waiting for the phone to ring.

“hello?” winter’s voice reaches him through the call. “i knew you’d call after what happened at the cafeteria.”

it takes a moment for haechan to answer, “maybe if jaemin wasn’t so aggressive–”

“you both were. now spill, have you gotten your feelings sorted yet?” the girl pushes his dramatics aside, getting straight to the point.

“i… think i do. you were right all along.” haechan finishes. although it was hard for him to admit at first, now that he’s actually said it out loud, it might be the first time he’s been feeling a sense of clarity after so long.

winter hums at his confession. “at least you’re finally taking a step in the right direction. now, to win her back…” she smiles to herself, already having a plan in mind.

you, on the other hand, have been seeing haechan and winter together often for the past week. naturally, your mind begins to wonder if your own cousin is the reason why haechan rejected you way back during your small birthday celebration.

the evidence matches up pretty well — he probably couldn’t reject you directly because she was in the room with the two of you that day. he isn’t spending as much time with you anymore because he’s spending time with her.

they look good together.

those words linger in your head more than you’d like to admit.

you feel cast aside by the people you’ve known practically your entire life but you don’t have much of a choice but to return to jaemin’s company. after all, you chose to eat the rest of your lunch at his table instead of the one that brought familiarity to you.

D-DAY.

day after day, the two of you just seemed to grow even more distant and you wondered if the end of your long-term friendship was nigh approaching. you barely saw him roaming through the halls of campus anymore, much less your cousin.

you didn’t dislike the new friend group you had (jaemin introducing you to his friends after you finally told him about your situation with haechan, but you couldn’t help but feel… dissatisfied with your current situation.)

as your class ends, you prepare yourself for another silent walk home. despite having those new friends, you felt lonelier than you ever had. you missed them. you missed him. and yet, life seemed to have other plans for you.

even trudging down these halls filled with other students made you lonely.

truthfully, you would do anything to have them back- a pain to your forehead snaps you out of your thoughts. you had bumped into someone. well, not just someone, but the person you’ve been longing for the most.

haechan. he was right in front of you after who knows how long it’s been.

you felt like crying on the spot but held in your emotions to appear like your life was anything but lost. haechan knew that look on your face, presuming you haven’t been well ever since the two of you have spoken. he takes your hands that have slumped to your sides into his, and the small gesture reminded you of the warmth he’d bring into your life.

“are you up for a short conversation perhaps?” you only nod and he takes that as a signal in the right direction, though, he isn’t used to you acting around him like this. oh boy, this was going to be more than a short conversation.

haechan leads you into the gymnasium and the two of you sit down by the bleachers with no sight of other students in the area.

“before you get mad- i wanted to apologize first. i shouldn’t have acted the way i did. i was childish.” he begins, holding eye contact with you to show his sincerity. “frankly, i was jealous. jealous you spent more time with jaemin, and you seemed to enjoy you time with him more than the times we hang out together. i shouldn’t have made you feel sad in any way, but i did and that’s completely my fault. i’m sorry.” you know his words hold both his feelings and the truth.

he wasn’t going to lie to you. he never once did during the time you knew each other.

however, what he admitted to had you flustered.

he was jealous of you and jaemin? it was a little hard to believe until you remembered the latter confessed to you the past week. oh god, did word of that spread out? nevermind that, what happened between you and jaemin was the least of your worries, the boy in front of you was. what if haechan got the wrong idea from the rumors?

“it’s not completely your fault. we both were pretty stubborn.” you reply, a soft chuckle leaving your lips to ease the tension between you two. “and if… if you’re curious, i never returned jaemin’s feelings back.

haechan gets pretty taken aback by your statement, now wondering why you brought it up. “oh… i know.”

“you knew? did winter tell you?” you question in anticipation. “i guess the both of you are pretty close now.”

“she did but i swear our friendship is nothing like that!” it was his turn to get flustered. “she could never replace your spot in my life.”

“i’m a little confused though after all of this…” you gesture out, referring to the situation that has just recently moved past you two. “what spot do i even have?”

he pauses, taking his time to think of the right words he wants to tell you but they all get stuck in his throat. the expression on your face showed how you took his silence negatively, prompting him to speak. “i like you. i couldn’t admit it even to myself for the longest time and-” having enough of his rambling, you inch a little closer and give him a kiss on the lips.

it’s brief, and yet, it continues to linger on his lips. “you kissed me.”

“why do you think i never gave jaemin an answer to jaemin’s confession?”

“so you were really saving it for me? i’m honored.” he chuckles out, playfully holding his hand to his chest.

“well, you should be.” you add on with the same bright smile he’s seen you flash at jaemin, except this time, it was absolutely for him.

“i guess that also means you won the bet?” he recalls, a brow raising at you.

you give him a light nudge on his shoulder while suppressing a giggle, “oh, shut up and just kiss me. you owe me 10 bucks by the way.”

tags !!

[testingthewatersss]

Snow Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, flashbacks etc. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Oneshot 4580 words Angst, comfort, fluff.  18+ MDNI You always tell him not to blame the weather, but that's easier said than done.

Snow was falling thick, and fast, fluttering down outside of the large windows that made up one of the walls of the common room.

Bucky was watching. He’d been watching since 3am, and it was almost 7 now.

“Is it setting?”

Y/N’s voice seems to take him off guard, but only for a moment. He turns towards her, before nodding and returning his attention the white expanse of the grounds.

“Good” she murmurs, stroking his shoulder as she walks towards the kitchenette, “I love the snow.”

He scoffs at that.

Of course you do, he thinks dryly.

“Don’t look at me like that, Barnes” she scolds playfully, “It’s not the weathers fault that bad things happened in it.”

He hadn’t even started watching her again, but he had, so he stops, pointedly staring out of the window again.

“Want a re-fill?”

There’s an empty mug by his knee. He’s perched on the bench, nose practically pressed against the glass, and it’s obvious from the stiffness of his movements that he hasn’t moved much since he sat down.

“Please, doll”

This time, she kisses him. Pressing her lips against his brow as she retrieves his cup in silence.

“Did you get any sleep?” she asks when she’s back in the kitchen, “I didn’t notice you slipping out.”

“Couple of hours, maybe”

She hums, accepting his response and adding an extra cube of sugar into his coffee.

“You could’ve woken me” Y/N reminds him, passing him his drink,

This time, she doesn’t walk away. She leans against the window, drinking from her own mug, and letting her free hand brush against his arm.

He reaches up for her fingers, tangling them in his flesh ones and bringing them to his lips.

She smiles as he rubs his face against her knuckles;

“You need to shave” she teases, taking the hint and stroking his cheek, “Unless you’re planning on growing it out?”

Bucky thinks she sounds almost hopeful. He finds himself wondering if she’d like that, if she’d like him better with a beard.

He doesn’t ask, but something must show behind his eyes, because the woman he’s with chuckles breathily, and shakes her head-

“You know I think you’re gorgeous, Buck”

He rolls his eyes, but, his stomach does unfurl a little.

“Gorgeous and exhausted” she adds as he lefts her hand go, “When did you last get a full nights sleep, huh?”

“1932” he replies, tone calm, “I’m alright, doll— really, I just, I just can’t settle”

His gaze flickers back to the falling snow, and she hears herself let out a sigh.

“Is it warm enough, or shall I get Tony to give the heatin’ a boost?”

“It’s fine” he says, “You do too much, doll, you and your brother- I can’t keep askin’-”

“you never ask for anything” she cuts in, “Seriously, Buck, I don’t think I remember a single time you’ve asked us for-”

“I’m always causin’ you problems” he grumbles, looking between the view, and his drink, “always takin’ things from ya’, things I— things I don’t-”

“Hey” She calls, “Look at me.”

He does.

Instantly, his eyes snap to hers, and any words he’d been meaning to say have died in his throat.

Her hand is warm from the drink she’s just placed on the small table she’s stood beside. She moves it slowly, so he’ll know it’s not a threat, but still, despite all of that, he finds himself snapping his head to the side to protect himself from a slap.

It’s a jerky movement that he manages to control. His eyes stay trained on her, even though almost screwed them shut.

“Breathe” she reminds him softly, “You’re alright.”

The nod he gives her is timid, but as her palm finally softens against his cheek, he lets out a shallow breath that melts against the window.

“You don’t cause me problems” she says calmly, “and you don’t take much, either… maybe a coffee, here and there, but I’d say all things considered-”

“I take up half your time” he replies, voice small, “doll, I- I love you— You’re… you’re everythin’ t’me and I… I know I must get on your nerves sometimes but I-”

Y/N shakes her head, looking down at the surface he’s perched on,

There’s enough room, she decides, gesturing for him to budge up;

He takes the hint, shuffling a little so that she can sit behind him.

His legs have too bend, and her back is against the wall, but within the space of a minute, he’s curling himself into the new arrangement, letting himself lean back into her chest.

“I love you too” she tells him honestly, “You could take up all my time and I’d be happy about it”

Bucky scoffs at that, even though the sound is tempered by the mug he’s brought up to his lips.

“I’m serious” she counters, “When I tell you that you can wake me up anytime, or come to the office out of hours to find me, you think I’m just, bein’ polite?”

He doesn’t reply to that. He doesn’t really know what to say.

“I love you-” she repeats, a little more firmly, “-so, if you need it warmer, then tell me, okay? we can do that-”

“It’s not that” he mumbles, “I just… I can’t sleep, darlin’ I… I can’t, and then when I do, it’s like… god, you— you’re gonna’ think I’m crazy—”

“I know you’re crazy, Barnes” she teases, “I’m still here”

She is, he thinks, despite everything I’ve done, she’s still here.

“I see things” he confesses, “It’s like I’m dreaming but… but more, real, y’know and it’s, it’s so sharp, it’s…” he takes in a shaky breath, “It feels like it’s happenin’ and then, I wake up, and it’s only been 10 minutes, maybe 20 tops, doll— 20 is the longest I’ve seen it last and it, it hurts, not just… not just in my head, and it’s, it’s not always because whatever I’m seein’ is painful it’s, it’s when I wake up, the exact moment I come round it, it’s like I’m-”

“being shocked?”

He’s silent, then. Gawking at his own reflection in the window.

She doesn’t speak again, so eventually he nods.

“yeah…” he agrees, “yeah, it feels like… it feels like electricity”

“You’re not crazy” she tells him, pressing her lips against the back of his head, “has this been happening-”

“ever since I got out” he tells her sadly, “I’m tryin’— I swear, but it… it’s-”

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart”

It’s clear from the look on his face, that that takes him totally be surprise;

“You know what’s wrong with me” he realises

“There’s nothing wrong with you” Y/N counters quickly, “but, yeah, I know what’s happenin’ and why”

The way he’s turned himself to face her is awkward, considering their position, but still, she smiles at him as reassuringly as she can before drawing in a breath and getting ready to begin her explanation.

“If you’re trying to keep somebody under any type of mind-control then them sleeping isn’t ideal” she says, “It lets the mind rest, and heal, and deeper stages of REM sleep help the subconcious to process events, y’know? It helps everything heal.”

Bucky nods, to show he’s following her-

“So, the last thing HYDRA wanted, considering that their way of ‘programming’ you relied so heavily on that not happening, was to have you passing out for a decent amount of time” she continues, “Having you in a cryo tank was perfect, really, because it’s not sleep. It’s not resting, really, it’s just putting everything on pause, including the brain”

He blinks, and Y/N finds herself reaching up, to stroke his cheek again.

This time, he doesn’t flinch. He keens back into the contact, relishing in the skin on skin.

“but” she murmurs, “they had to have you out of there sometimes, right? There’s no point having an asset who can’t come out of the freezer for more than a couple of hours at a time— so, they needed to find a way to stop you from sleeping.”

“is… is that possible?”

“Not really” she says with a sad smile, “It’s nature, and you’re human, serum or not— There’s only so much your body can take before exhaustion kicks in and you pass out”

He nods in agreement, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“But, they didn’t really care about breaking you” she sighs, “and keeping you as ‘blank’ as possible was a priority so, they did what they could, and it worked.”

“Do you know what it was?” he asks, already assuming that she does.

“I’d wager it included pumping you full of drugs, sticking you in a cell, and tasing you every time you’d been unconscious for more than 20 minutes in a row”

Bucky grimaces,

“20 minutes is around the usual time someone is asleep before they hit the REM cycle” she explains, “anything before that is just ‘light’ sleep, it’s enough to keep someone alive, y’know? It covers the basic ground work, but any actual recovery is happening later on in the cycle, so, from a HYDRA officer’s perspective, training you to function on that bare minimum will’ve been ideal, because then, they could send you off on missions that lasted days, and trust that you’re not going to pass out and undo any of the fiddling they’ve done in there-”

Her thumb brushes his temple like a kiss, and he suddenly feels very, very sick.

“So, they… they made it so I… I literally can’t sleep?”

“It won’t have taken them long” she says, “a couple of days of constant conditioning and your body will’ve adapted.”

“I…I can’t remember anythin like that-”

“No” Y/N agrees, “No, you’ll have blocked that out, love, it’s… it’s probably better that way, I don’t think you’d be any better off if you did”

So, I might’ve been tortured into never sleeping again, but at least I don’t remember the process, he thinks, almost bitterly,

“Is this just it, then, doll?”

Y/N feels her head tilt in response to his question. She brushes a stray curl back behind his ear as she shakes her head,

“No” she says, “No, Buck… you can retrain yourself, but it… it’s a little more complicated.”

“Why?”

“Because” She says “using some type of stimuli is what makes the technique so effective— It’s the shock and the pain from the shock that makes the body learn what not to do.”

Oh, he realises,

“And we can’t just torture me to sleep”

“No” Y/N chuckles sadly, “No, sweetheart, we can’t.”

He nods, defeated.

“But” she begins, “we can do what we did with the rest— what we’re doing, with the rest.”

“The rest?” he asks, confused, “the rest of what?”

“The rest of the bullshit they had you scared of” she explains, “This wasn’t the only thing they’d trained you on”

No, he thinks, No, it wasn’t.

“You’re gettin’ so much better” she tells him proudly, “I mean god, Buck— you don’t ask me for permission to sit down, anymore, or to eat— you come and find me, when you need me, and you go to the gym with Steve, you never would’ve been able to do any of that half a year ago, remember? you—”

“Couldn’t have done any of it without you” he cuts in, “Y/N, I- I couldn’t have handled any of this if you hadn’t been so patient with me in the beginning and even now, even now I still forget sometimes and-”

“But that’s what I’m saying” she says,“It’s going to take time, love, because we’re not using pain as a deterrent. We’re re-conditioning you to know that you’re safe, now, and that’s a lot more complicated than just making rules for someone to follow, and hurting them if they break them.”

“and… and we can do that with sleeping?”

He sounds so small, so honestly hopeful, that Y/N can’t help but smile;

“Of course we can, love”

Love

The sweet natured term of endearment makes him blush as he nuzzles into her hand,

“It’s going to take time” she murmurs, “but, every time you wake up, and it hurts, and you’re scared— then I’m going to tell you that it’s okay, that you’re safe, and then we’re going to breathe it out, and help you fall back to sleep until eventually, your subconcious relaxes, and it’s not just a few minutes at a time, and then-”

“Eventually” he whispers, “eventually, you think I’ll be able to make it through the night?”

“I know you will.”

She sounds so certain that he can’t help but believe her.

“and do, do you think the… the things I see, when I’m… when I sleep, will those-”

“That’s different, sweetheart”

Now her voice is laced with sympathy, and Bucky can’t help but swallow as he feels a terrible swell of dread settle in his core.

“Dreams are your minds way of processing things” she says, “There’s nothing anyone can do to stop them, and, honestly, considering how much you’ve got bottled up that you never really got to process, I’d say that they’re not going to lighten up any time soon.”

At least she’s honest, he thinks, at least she’s telling me the truth,

“But… you—You, won’t… You won’t kick me out, if I— if I-”

“No” she’s quick to promise, “No, Bucky, I’m never goin’ to be upset with you for not bein’ able to handle a nightmare, okay? I love you, and none of this is your fault.”

He almost can’t believe that she means what she’s saying. But then, he looks at her, and remembers how good she is, how in love with her he is and how, no matter how much he might not like her answers, she doesn’t ever lie to him.

“I love you more” he whispers, “I didn’t want to wake ya’ today” he admits, “..I felt bad, and I— I wanted to let ya’ sleep in”

“Because you’re sweet” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss him, “You’re sweet, and thoughtful and tired”

He chuckles, rubbing his nose against hers.

“C’mon, try and cat nap, huh?”

Her suggestion makes him cock his head curiously,

“I’m stayin’ right here, we have a couple’ more hours until the others start swarming” she says, “so, why don’t you cuddle up, and try and get a little bit of rest?”

“and when I… when I wake up?”

“You must’ve gotten real good at hiding it” she notes, “because I’ve been spent whole nights asleep next to you without noticing”

He hums considerately before replying,

“the shock… Its like it.. it stops me from moving, and I don’t scream, doll, I- y’know I can’t really do that, they-”

“They didn’t like that.”

He shakes his head

“So” she exhales, taking his mug and placing it on the ground, “Now, we’re going to work on you letting me know when you wake up, okay?”

He bites his lip, clearly nervous as she guides him back down against her chest.

“How? H-how would I do that?”

The waver in his voice breaks her heart. She holds him a fraction tighter, and adjusts their position so that he’s curled up between her thighs,

“Any way you want” she purrs, “You can move? You can do anythin’ at all, just try and let me know- and if it hurts, if it hurts, then you can try and tell me that too”

“I… I’ll try” he replies, “But I… I don’t know how I’d… I’d tell ya’ if it hurts, I- I never— they… the things they’d do if I made a fuss ‘bout things like that, I-”

“We’ll work on it, love”

She sounds so calm, so stable, that all he can do is exhale, nodding in acceptance as he lets himself settle impossibly further into their embrace.

Within minutes, he’s sleeping.

Or, he seems to be, at least.

To feed her own curiosity if nothing else, Y/N looks at her watch the second she realises that his breathing pattern has changed. She makes a note of the time, and then, she watches him.

He appears to be peaceful, or, well— he’s still.

Of course he is, she thinks dryly, if he’s too scared to react to the feeling of being electrocuted, he’s hardly going to be tossing and turning, is he?

She consoles herself by stroking his hair, by soothing him the way she does when he has woken her up- When he’s been thrown back into reality from a nightmare so heinous that even decades of conditioning can’t stop him for begging for mercy.

Her fingers run through his hair, she hushes him, and whispers gentle terms of endearment into the air above his head,

and then, when it has been exactly 17 minutes since he’d closed his eyes,

he misses a breath, the regular rise and fall of his chest falters, and his metal fingers tighten around the hem of her shirt.

“It’s okay” she murmurs, tone quiet, “It’s alright”

Terrified blue eyes roll up to her, and she can tell from the look behind them that he’s worried about being in trouble;

“Does it hurt?”

He gives her a small, jerky nod and bites his lip.

“Ouch” she exhales, hoping he’ll copy her.

“O-ouch…” he mimics, throat tight.

She beams at him, and nods.

“Want to go back to sleep?”

I can’t, is his initial, panic driven response, but then, he feels fingers in his hair, he feels her thighs carding him in and offers her a very, careful nod.

“Okay, love— I’m here, I’m right here”

With a deep, forced inhale, he shuts his eyes.

This time, Y/N notices how both of his hands stay fisted in her top. She notices how he’s hiding his nose in the crook of his metal arm, almost like he’s trying to protect himself from some kind of attack, and, finally she notices how actually, all of this really should’ve been obvious from the start.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart” she murmurs, “I should’ve picked up on this all sooner”

Unsurprisingly Bucky doesn’t reply. He stays silent, and unmoving for 11 more minutes.

It’s almost like clock-work. The second the hand on her watch flicks over, he gasps, and then he chokes, tensing every muscle in his body.

The whole thing seems less subtle this time around, though she suspects that’s because she knows what to look for now;

“Okay” she soothes, “Hey, sweetheart-”

Bucky gulps, adrenaline flooding his body as he tries to snap himself back to reality. He blinks three times fast, looking up at Y/N from his position against her chest;

“Ouch” he whispers, desperate for approval, “Ouch?”

“Yeah” Y/N agrees, carding his hair back, “Yeah, baby, ouch”

He nods, and then he hides his face, again.

For a moment, she considers that he might be trying to go back to sleep, but then, she notices the way his chest is heaving.

“Oh, Buck” she murmurs, using her arms to usher him closer to her front “C’mere, it’s alright”

He shuffles up until the his face is against the crook of her neck. He wraps his arms around her waist, and then, he’s sobbing.

“T-that o-one was bad, doll- I— I— I was- I was falling, I- I couldn’t see anything, and I— I- I was just—just falling, and th-then it… it it hurt so much”

“I’ve got you” she promises, “I’m right here”

He’s clinging onto her, she thinks, he’s holding onto her like he’s afraid going to disappear—

He is, she realises, he’s scared he’s going to snap back to being somewhere else.

That, is tragic. The way that he’s so painful unsure of himself, is tragic.

but, it’s not particularly surprising.

Not considering how long he’s spent being thrown back and forth from horrible, vivid nightmares, to cryo tanks and torture chambers and forced murders and now, to a friendly reality-

No wonder he has emotional whiplash, especially considering the way he’s been conditioned not to show any emotions at all.

“I’m sorry” he gulps, trying to reign himself back in, “I, god, I- I’m sorry”

He’s pushing himself up on his forearms, staring right at her as she shakes her head.

“No, Buck” she murmurs, “You did great—You’re doing great”

That seems to surprise him. His head tilts curiously, and as his lower lip trembles, she notes the way he doesn’t seem to lock his jaw to stop it.

“You did exactly what we talked about” she continues, “Remember?”

He does remember, so he nods. The praise in her tone helping his racing pulse to settle.

“I… I remember, doll, I— I- I think that’s why I- why I’m feelin’ it so much”

She doesn’t understand. He knows she doesn’t from the crease between her brows. It’s the same one that appears when she’s working in the labs and she can’t quite place the formula.

It’s so familiar, that he can’t help but smile at it, even though his eyes are still streaming.

“Normally, I— I just… I just try and stay still, and, and quiet so I don’t wake you up, or I get up and try and keep busy, I- I don’t usually think about what… what happened.”

“Is this better, or worse?”

She’s actually asking. She’s not just being polite, she’s genuinely interested, and it shows.

“Better, I think” he decides after a beat, “It… it’s not- not easy, but wi-with you here I feel— I feel safe, and it’s… it’s nice to get it out. It makes me feel human”

Y/N nods, smiling as she brings her fingers up to dry his cheeks.

“I love you” she murmurs, “I love you, and I’m so, so proud of ya’”

“Oh, god” he whispers, blushing now, “I… I love ya’ more— I don’t know what I’d do without ya’”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, since I’m not goin’ anywhere”

Then, Bucky kisses her.

His metal hand comes up to cup her cheek, and he presses his lips against hers, like she’s oxygen and he’s drowning.

It’s so tender and sweet that Y/N can’t help but peck at his cheek when he finally pulls away.

“Look at that” she coos, nodding towards the window, where the snow is coming down thick and fast, “it’s really pilling up now”

Bucky chuckles, wiping the last trace of tears from his eyes as he nods.

“Hope Tony’s not plannin’ on takin’ any cars out”

“No” she sighs happily, “I don’t think he will be”

“You really like it, don’t ya’, doll?”

“I really do” she agrees, “It’s pretty, don’t ya think?”

“I suppose”

She laughs at that, and he thinks it sounds like music, like the nicest song he’s ever heard.

“Don’t blame the weather for what happened in it” she says, more gently than she’d said it earlier, “Didn’t you ever make snowmen as a kid?”

“Sure I did,” he tells her, “but, I spent half my winters growing up dragging Steve back inside”

“You’d think he’d have stayed inside by himself” she scoffs, “Unless he liked bein’ sick”

“Have you met Steve?” he replies dryly, “He’s got the self preservation of a plank of wood”

“True” she allows, “but, still… you must’ve had some fun”

“Some” he agrees, with a quiet edge of nostalgia, “I think I always preferred the bit that came after”

“Hmm?” she presses, hoping he’ll expand on his own.

After a second, he offers her another smile,

“Sometimes” he says, “My sisters would drag me out in it, and Stevie… he’d be over the moon, so off we’d go” he continues, “and then by the time I couldn’t feel my feet anymore we’d head back to the house— My ma would’ve filled up the tub by the fire, and the girls would go first, then Steve and then me… and then, once we were all warmed up she’d make us milk and honey and we’d all just… watch the windows and drink it… I- I always thought that was nicer than actually bein’ outside in it”

“You’re such a sweetheart” Y/N purrs, stroking his cheek again, “You just want to be cozy, huh?”

“I… I think that I’ve always been that way”

I bet you have, she thinks affectionately, You’re the softest man alive.

“Well” she whispers, “I can’t fill up a big tub for you to share with Rodgers, but, I can probably find some milk and honey for you?”

“Are you serious?”

He’s starring at her, wide eyed and pink cheeked, and she can’t help but press another kiss against his lips-

“I’m serious” she swears quietly, “Did she add anythin’ special, love? or was it just warm?”

“I… I think she’d put a stick of cinnamon in it if we had the money, doll- but, don’t, don’t worry, bout-”

She lets her finger drift over his mouth to silence him.

“I think I can manage that” she murmurs, “Why don’t you grab a blanket? Pick a spot and we’ll get comfy, yeah?”

“Can we stay here, doll?”

“Sure we can” she answers easily, already heading towards the kitchen, “We should have a couple of hours until the others start to surface— Did you make a date with Steve in the gym this mornin’?”

“No” he says, “He offered like always but I said my back’s been achin’ something fierce… told him I was goin’ to rest it up for a couple of days.”

Y/N hums considerately, carefully setting a pan of milk onto the heated stove. She watches as Barnes’ stands, following her suggestion of grabbing a blanket from the hidden bench he’d been sat on before settling himself back down on the surface.

He is being careful, she notes, Definitely bending from his knees—

“How long has it been bothering you?” she asks, dropping a small collection of cinnamon sticks into the now simmering pot, “and don’t just say it’s a lie you cooked up to get out of goin’ to the gym at 6am.”

The chuckle he gives her makes her even more certain that that had been his initial plan.

“About a week” he replies, “It comes and goes, Doll— it’s just been, y’know, coming more often than it’s going lately.”

She believes him, so she nods before stirring in honey to the mixture she’s tending.

“I’m not sure sparrin’ is helpin’ much” he scoffs, bringing his knees up to his chest, “I know he likes runnin’ through drills but, maybe I’m gettin’ too old—”

“You’re the same age, more or less” she quips, “I’m all for you bailing on the daily workouts, but you’ve gotta lie better than that”

He chuckles quietly, moving to stand as he sees her gathering mugs, she meets his eyes shaking her head,

“Stay down” she insists, “I have two hands.”

He surrenders silently, another sign, Y/N thinks, that his back really is bothering him.

“It might not be as good as your mothers” she warns, handing him the steaming mug, “But it’s hot and sweet”

“Just like you, doll”

She laughs, tucking herself back into her previous position so that he can go lean against her chest;

“I think we should take it easy today” she suggests softly, breath warm against the back of his neck, “No running, or meeting’s, or following Rodgers to head office… just- me and you, maybe some old movies…”

“God, sugar-” Bucky sighs, whole posture relaxing, “God, that sounds amazing"

[bunnyswritings]

ur blog is soo helpful !!!! ive been looking into writing more lately and this is like a godsend <3 i was wondering if u could do some starter tips?? like stuff to avoid as a new writer :o ps. hope ur having a wonderful week!!!

ahhh, hello!! this is such a sweet message, and thank you, i hope you have a fruitful week ahead too ♡ i'm so glad you're writing more lately- i'll def do my best to provide some starter tips (though i'm really also a starter myself 😅 so i hope you like these, and feel free to let me know what you think!) also, just to put it out there that these are what i found helpful personally / what i think will be helpful, and may / may not resonate with everyone. Also, this topic is soooo broad and there are a million things that can be covered, but for now I'll just keep it short and go with stuff to avoid (or rather, approach differently) as per request. if you / anyone else would like another post for more specific writing tips, feel free to drop it in my ask box!

Some general writing tips — stuff to avoid; little things to not overdo

over-planning

overusing fancy vocabulary

over-describing

over-criticising your work

over-comparing

more details under the cut!

Over-planning — plan the general outline, direction of your plot, message of your story, characters and their rough personalities; yes, do all that well! good planning makes for a good story, but i think it's helpful to remember that sometimes things don't pan out the way we envision them to. and it's important to let certain things go, appropriately of course. if your initial storyline doesn't quite fit the characterisation of the protagonist etc (and vice versa), then perhaps it's time to rethink things — and NOT be too hard-up about it. [tldr: be flexible!]

Overusing bombastic vocabulary — i'm sure you've come across millions of writing advice pieces that aim to spruce up your vocabulary with bombastic phrases. by all means go ahead and pick a few that fit the mood and style of your writing. otherwise, i'd say that sometimes, less is more. throwing in fancy words for the sake of it may not be as helpful as you think. there should be a fine balance between using words that add flavour + help to illustrate nuances and using words to make your piece seem complex. simplicity goes a long way, as i've learnt. but having said that, building up a solid repertoire of vocabulary / good phrases is always helpful, the key thing is using those phrases in the right context. definitely easier said than done, so i suggest reading your favourite author's works couple of times through and pick up their way of using language to their advantage.

Over-describing — narration, descriptive language are great, and can really help to nudge your story in the right direction. it helps set the scene, the mood, and all these are critical in writing... BUT! not the same can be applied to describing actions. not every single action has to be written out explicitly — an example: she walks over to the kitchen, turns around, and opens the refrigerator. she then takes out a canned drink, and places the drink on the countertop... etc — you get the point. some things can be left implied, rather than explicit.

Over-criticising your work — ahh, the age-old piece of advice. i do it all the time, and you probably do too... sometimes, being harsh on yourself and on your work may seem like the only way to better yourself and push your limits, but often times, i personally find that this is counter-productive both on the physical and mental front. it wears you down, it is a nidus for dejection and negative vibes. i think the way i try to get round this is by taking pride in my own work; telling myself that 'this is something i wrote, these are my ideas put into prose, these are my thoughts written on paper'. the caveat here is that avoiding being over-critical of your work DOES NOT and should not mean avoiding proofreading. proofreading is extremely crucial to check for grammatical and structural errors (i recommend doing it once or twice yourself, and if possible, getting a fresh pair of eyes to do the same).

Over-comparing — this ties in nicely with the previous point. take pride in your work! this is something original from you and you only, written in your unique style. having authors/writers whom you look up to is essential in moulding your writing style and habits, but should not be the sole focus when you write. remember that every writer is different, every piece of writing is different; this goes even for pieces with similar plots / tropes / character personalities. nuances, subtleties and underlying messages can come through very differently when written by different people. after all, our life journeys are all personal, which is a factor influencing the way we convey messages across through the written word.

and... that's it for now! i really hope that this helps. honestly, i'm scratching the surface here, and there are lots more i can talk about when i have more braincells >_<

feel free to drop any other requests or questions in my ask if you'd like ♡

[i-think-i-did-it-again]

The Tour XI

Warning: swearing, smut

The elephant in the room was suffocating. No one was saying much, all pretending that their phones were way more interesting than the world around them, except for Colson that was. He stood, staring at the wall as if he was admiring a great work of art in a museum. The groupies that had pushed their way into the green room immediately felt the tension and all came up with terrible excuses to leave. When it was finally time for the concert to start, you made no attempt to move from your spot in the corner and you could tell that bothered Colson.

Ever since your outburst in the lobby after your friends had caught the two of you making out, Colson had listened to your request for him to leave you alone. Although, you didn’t give him much choice not to. Whenever he entered a room, you found a reason to leave, if there was a chance the two of you would be alone, you’d excuse yourself to make a phone call. You spent most of your free time locked in your hotel room and if you were required to follow Colson to line with your contract, you kept a safe distance. Always making sure he was within your eye line but never close enough that he could talk to you.

“I’ll catch up with you guys,” Ashleigh calls out as everyone begins to file out of the room. She sits crossed legged next to you on the couch, her whole body turned towards you, waiting for you to talk.

“I’m not ready to talk about it,” you mumble, staring at your cuticles.

“I know but maybe it would help if you did. Everyone…” her voice trails off with a shake of her head.

“Everyone what?” you spit at her and you can feel the bile rising in your throat.

“Hey, calm down. It’s me, remember?” guilt floods you and you mumble an apology. “It doesn’t matter what everyone thinks but we are worried about the two of you. You haven’t spoken since…the incident and it’s starting to show.” when you go to speak, her voice cuts you off. “Everyone is noticing.”

You’re not sure what her emphasis means until she pulls out her phone and shoves it in your face. Dozens of text messages from Francis and Kathy questioning Colson’s mood in his latest interviews, his lack of stage presence and the fact that he hasn’t made an appearance at any nightclubs that he was scheduled at for PR photo ops. Ashleigh’s replies are her best attempt at mediating but you can tell by the responses she gets that they’re pissed. You see your name pop up numerous times in the message chain but you don’t want to know what they have to say about you. 

“Ash, I’m so sorry. I was here to make your life easier and I just made it worse.” you grab her hands in yours and try your best to apologise. 

“I knew there was something going on between the two of you but I couldn’t really put my finger on it. Rook was the one that thought you two were hooking up and I told him he was crazy. I guess he just knows you better than me.”

You don’t really know what to say to that. Although you’re closer to Ashleigh now, you have known Rook for longer and he just knows you. You’ve always known he’s an observant guy. He doesn’t pick up on nearly as much as Colson does but when he really wants to know something, he pays attention. 

“It’s over anyway, whatever the hell it was. I guess I could probably be nicer to Kells so he’s in a better mood but I can’t guarantee that will make a difference.”

“Ok, this is probably going to make me an awful person but do you think…maybe… you could try being more than a friend?” your jaw drops and she quickly rushes to explain. “I’m not saying you have to make out with him or sleep with him but could you at least flirt a little? Make him think he has a chance even if he really doesn’t?”

You don’t answer her. You just kind of shrug in a ‘no words necessary’ way. You’re not willing to commit to anything and you promised yourself that you would find your fun elsewhere for the rest of the trip but you can see the weight everything is having on your best friend. You don’t want to add to her burdens by being difficult. 

Just be nice to him and he’ll perk up a little. 

The cold shoulder routine was starting to wear on you anyway. It was a hard wall to keep up, especially with someone you care so much for. You also hated the way it made the rest of your friends so uncomfortable. You didn’t want to be the Debby downer on the tour. 

You follow Ashleigh out of the green room and to the side of the stage to watch the performance. You hadn’t really noticed it before but you could see that Colson’s heart wasn’t really in it. He was pulling his voice to stop from belting out his lyrics, he was barely moving around the stage and he wasn’t interacting with anyone, the crowd or his band. He looked bored. 

When the set came to an end and the crowd screamed for an encore like they always do, Colson ignored them, and Ashleigh, and headed back to the green room. He pushed past a large group of fans with backstage passes and all the girls in short skirts and low cut tops. It was like he didn’t even notice them there. 

Had I really been that blind to his attitude?

You tell Ashleigh to give you a minute alone with him and you push through the same crowd of now very angry people. When you get to the green room it’s empty so you head to the small restroom next door and hear the sound of the water. You wait awkwardly in the doorway for what feels like an eternity. When you realise he’s not planning to leave the shower any time soon, you decide to just have the conversation here. 

“Colson?” you call out and you hate the way your voice wavers on his name. 

“What?” he asks in such a monotone voice it barely even sounds like him. 

“Can we talk?”

“I’m a little fucking busy!” 

Ugh, dick. 

You push your way further into the bathroom and push open the stall door. Colson is just standing under the scorching hot water, staring up at the roof with no real emotion on his face. It’s…unsettling. You’re trying very hard to not let your eyes variate from his face but it’s easier said than done. 

“Get out of the shower,” you tell him in your sternest voice. 

“No.”

“I’m not playing. Get. Out.”

“No.”

You kick your shoes off before stepping into the cubicle with him. You reach for the tap trying hard to not step under the shower head but Colson has other ideas. He grabs the top of your arms and pulls you under the water with him, holding you against his body. You try to pull away but he’s too strong for you. You try to scream out at him but his lips are on yours too quickly, silencing you. You stay ridgid, not giving in to his kiss or his naked body. 

“Kiss me,” he begs against your lips but you still resist. “Please?” That soft word begins to crack its way through your walls. “I need you.”

You’re complete and utter putty in his hands and you hate yourself for it. Your lips begin to respond to his, allowing him to slip his tongue past them. He moans at the taste of you. You run your nails down his back and he growls, gripping your ass tightly. He tries to push you back against the wall but you hold your ground. If you’re doing this, you’re doing it your way. 

“Undo my pants,” you command him and he looks at you with a face that tells you he’s both pissed off and turned on at the same time. 

He kneels before you and unbuttons and unzips your jeans. You lift your soaking wet shirt over your head and discard it with his clothes. You unclip your bra and drop it beside him. He looks up at your naked breasts, lust filling his eyes at the sight. 

When Colson finally manages to rip your drenched jeans and panties off, he tries to stand but you hold the top of his head, forcing him to stay kneeling before you. He looks up at you from beneath his lashes with a confused expression. You just smile that sweet, flirty smile that you know drives him wild. 

“Eat me,” you demand and he needs no further instructions. 

Colson’s mouth immediately suctions to your pussy and you mewl with pleasure. You throw your head back and moan as his mouth and tongue assaults your slit. He finds your clit and circles it over and over with his tongue before sucking on it, hard. You grip his hair and tug every time he finds just the right spot. He notices your pattern and begins to focus all his attention on your clit. He slips his long slender finger inside you and begins to pump in and out of you like a mad man. Your vision begins to blur and your ability to hold yourself up becomes more and more difficult. Colson grips your ass, holding you in place and keeping you upright. He squeezes and the mix of pleasure becomes too overwhelming and a powerful orgasm tears through you. Your legs quiver and you worry you may fall but Colson ensures that you don’t. 

As you come down from your high, Colson stands and begins kissing your neck. He pinches your nipples between his fingers and you start to purr but then remind yourself you’re in charge. 

“Thanks for the ride, big boy,” you smile before pushing Colson back against the wall and away from you. 

You open the door, grab a towel to wrap around yourself and pick your wet clothes up from the floor. You leave Colson to stand there in his confusion and quickly sneak into the green room to grab a change of clothes from Sophie’s bag before anyone else appears. You sit down on the couch, a shit eating grin plastered across your face. 

Just because he wants me, doesn’t mean he can have me.  ********************

Tag list: @mgklove99xx

[star-girl69]

But You

Tsu’tey x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of injury, mentions of death, grief, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Three- Don’t Doubt Your Dreams

—-

Mo’at hums as she rubs a paste over your arm, soothing the immediate sting immediately. After the walk back, the questions from your father and Tsu’tey, the sun is starting to set outside of Hometree.

The fires are soon lit, and if this was a normal night, you would be sitting around one with Neytiri and your parents. Instead, Mo’at rubs a paste into your scratched arms and hums.

“Better?” she asks, turning to grab a bandage to wrap the worst cut in.

“Yes,” you mutter, still feeling shaken up from seeing them and their gun so close. From all the memories it stirred up. “Thank you, Mother.”

“No trouble,” she murmurs, finishing the last of the wrap before her eyes meet yours. Ever since that day, she has always looked at you like a small piece of Sylwanin is still in you. Maybe you look like her, and just never noticed. Maybe you act like her in her absence.

Losing one daughter, Mo’at can’t lose another one.

She gives Neytiri a wider berth, seeing as she’s been trained all of her life to be a huntress. She wields her bow like it’s an extension of her body. She knows how to kill.

But you always spent your days in the healing tent with her and Sylwanin. You don’t know how to kill, and while you can shoot a bow- it’s nothing like the talent or precision most in the clan have.

Her eyes stare deeply into yours, like she’s searching for a memory she can never reach. Then, like she remembers who she’s looking at, her stare softens and you look away.

“Are you going to come to the fire?” her thumb presses into the pulse point on your wrist.

“No, no,” you murmur, sluggishly bringing yourself to your knees and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I think I will just sleep early tonight.”

Her frown is evident on her face, and you think maybe she’ll command you to come to dinner anyways, but she only nods after hesitating.

“For tonight,” she says. You smile, although it doesn’t meet your eyes, and her hands loosen and you start to pull away from her- “If your dreams- if-” maybe she doesn’t even want to speak it into the air. Maybe she doesn’t want to touch the bottom, stir up the sand and cloud the water. “You can always wake up,” she decides on.

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip quickly. “I know,” you say. “I know.”

—-

“Are not you bored of that?”

You don’t bother to turn. You already know who it is. There’s this air about him, this part of him that’s forever ingrained in him and this parent of you that’s forever in him. You don’t pretend to know why.

Sometimes, asking “why” in this world is just a waste of time. It’s better to just take it in stride, as it comes, go add another notch to your belt and go on with your day. It’s easier to live, and not question why you are. It’s easier to just breathe.

“No,” you say, hearing his soft footsteps against the ground. You look through the thick foliage of the bush again, looking for any berries you missed in this spot.

“I do not understand. You do not wish to- do something?”

You snort, low enough you hope he cannot hear. He crouched next to you anyways, regardless of if he heard.

“I am doing something, Tsu’tey. It is alright to just be a healer and not a warrior, you know.”

He only hums, grabbing a large berry from a little further along the bush and dropping it into your open palm. You don’t bother to say thank you, to fill the air with such trivial words.

“But you are happy?”

You shoot him a glance, but he only stares intently in front of him.

“Yes,” you whisper, even though it might be a lie. “Are you?”

“I want more from this life than to hunt.”

You turn your sights upward, another berry, two, all going straight into the satchel around your waist.

“What is that?”

“A mate,” he shrugs. “Children.”

His words almost seem stupid to you. “You are old enough, Tsu’tey. And very desired. You can have whoever you want.”

“Maybe,” he grunts, but your heart stings with betrayal.

You’ve been drawn to him ever since you were old enough to recognize faces. You’ve wanted him ever since you could want. First, as a friend, then as something more. Soon, you’ll have none of him. Only dreams.

“Maybe?” you ask, trying to pretend your heart is not twisting oddly in your chest. This infatuation, imprint you have on him- it will lead no where. You need to realize that.

“The woman I want does not know I want her.”

“Oh,” you mumble stupidly, after waiting a second. You never let yourself dwell too much on a life with him, but it still hurts. Of course it does. You are young and just looking for your place in life. “Tell her.”

“Tell her?” he laughs. “Then I will lose her. I- I would rather have some of her than none of her.”

You have this vision of yourself facing destiny, facing the force that decides all. You imagine screaming at it, jaw unhinged and so loud you will break the world.

“Then you do not really want her.”

He scoffs. “You do not know,” he hisses.

You pick another berry, two, three, four.

“If you really want her, then you wouldn’t settle for just a piece of her. And I doubt she wants that either. Why would she want a mate who will not fight for her? Who does not want her fully?”

Silence overtakes the forest for a second, save the sound of you searching the bush, the wind rustling the plants, the small pop as you take the bright red berry from its stem.

“Of course I want her fully,” he whispers.

“Then have her.” You know it is not you, you know it is not what you deserve. You have too much bad luck already on your plate- you would never expect this much good luck to try and outweigh it.

You just want to help your friend. Your friend.

“I will,” he rumbles, and you hear him shift. You think he will leave, and even now- you know it is the best for him to go, but you don’t want him to.

Maybe Tsu’tey is right. You would rather a piece of him than none of him.

Something touches your face. Lightly, upon your cheek, but rough with scars and evidence of hard work. In your confusion, you let your neck go slack, so he barely even needs to apply much pressure to turn your head to face his.

When your find the strength to look at him, to see him, to really See him- his mouth is slightly parted, his eyes fixed on your lips.

You want to scream and push him away. You want to run into his arms, press your lips against his forever, because he is better than air. He is better than life.

“I will have her,” he repeats, finally looking up to your eyes, a silent question posed in the stillness of the forest. “If she wants me.”

“If she wants you?” you breathe, the berries and the bush and the world long since forgotten.

“If she wants me. If she will have me, let me have her.”

It is a fever dream. It is not real. “She wants you. She wants you.”

And his lips press against yours, his hand flatten across your face, holding you to him like your water that he is all too willing to drown in.

And when he runs his hand along your arm, that is when you realize there are not scratches that he skims over. This is not you.

—-

taglist:

@eywas-heir @ssc7514 @n7cje @tejas-kris @yeosxxx @iwaslikeblah @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @cawi00

everything taglist:

@monsterwasstolen @fanboyluvr @artologia-blog1 @tulipatheticee @elvyshiarieko @fluffisalliwant @fluffi19 @jeizllz @myheartfollower @fy-fy-world @minkyungseokie @ivy-plays @blueberryfailureclinic @cryingwhilereading @thatratprincessforever @dumb-fawkin-bitch @sillyblues @buttercup-beeee

[thosehallowedhalls]

Second Chances

Book: Post Crimes of Passion 2

Pairing: Trystan Thorne x M!MC (Gabriel Rose)

Rating: Teen

Word count: 1598

A/N: For @lilyoffandoms. I hope I did them justice. (And for the record, your art is so beautiful that I still came out the winner here.)

@choicesficwriterscreations @choicesfebruary2024

Gabriel sits on the rooftop of their apartment, their legs dangling carelessly from the ledge. They take in the crispness of the air, enjoying the way it caresses their skin. It’s a beautiful night, breezy but not cold. Too bad it reminds them badly of another night a year ago, one they would rather forget.

It was going as well as expected, which is to say not well at all.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I can’t do this anymore, Trystan.”

“I know things have been… difficult, but…”

Gabriel snorted. “Difficult. That’s one word for it.”

“But we can make it work. I can…”

“We can’t make it work. We’ve tried. How many times have we seen each other these past six months, Trystan? The number should be easy enough to remember, considering it’s a big fat zero.”

“That’s only because this is my first year on the throne. Once things settle a bit…”

“Settle? You’re a king. You’re never going to have fewer responsibilities than you do now.”

Trystan’s face was a mask of anguish. “Gabriel, please don’t do this. I love you.”

Even as the words cut deep into their heart, Gabriel almost rolled their eyes. Trust Trystan to pick this moment to say those words for the first time.

He took a deep breath. “I think I believe you. I almost wish I didn’t. Maybe this would be easier.”

It wouldn’t, of course. Leaving Trystan could never be easy. It felt more along the lines of undergoing open heart surgery without anesthesia.

“Gabriel, I…” Frustration settled on Trystan’s features at the knock on the door. “Not now!”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” a flustered voice said from the other side. “But this is an emergency.”

Gabriel had no trouble recognizing the voice as that of Luka, Trystan’s new personal assistant. God knew they had spent more time talking to him than to their own partner in the last six months. Notifications of cancelled flights. State emergencies. Trystan didn’t have time for anything but Drakovia anymore. So it wasn’t a surprise when he ran a hand over his face and sighed.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” he said. Then he turned pleading eyes on them. “Gabriel, just… let me get this out of the way and we can talk more. Maybe over a late dinner tonight?” He tried to smile. “I promise escargot isn’t on the menu.”

Gabriel said nothing. This last instance of Trystan choosing Drakovia over them did nothing but cement their certainty. So once Trystan walked out, they went back to their room, left a note for him on their nightstand, and called a cab.

They were going back home.

It’s almost a year to the day since they walked out of the palace and Trystan’s life. It still hurts. They’re all but resigned to the fact that it always will.

Trystan has respected the request in their note not to contact them again. But perversely, part of Gabriel is upset about that. They want it to be as hard for Trystan to resign himself to their separation as it has been for them.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here.”

Gabriel spins around so fast, they almost plummet from the rooftop to their death. 

“Trystan?”

“The one and only.” He attempts a grin, but it’s so forced it almost looks painful. “I missed you.”

Unbelievable. “You show up out of the blue, in my own damn home I might add, and all you have to say is ‘I miss you’?”

“It’s all I’ve thought for the past year. So while it’s not all I have to say, it’s certainly a big part of what I have to say.”

Oh no. Absolutely not. Gabriel is not getting sucked into this emotional vortex again.

“What are you doing here, Trystan?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

“Does modern technology no longer exist in Drakovia?”

Oddly, the sarcasm seems to put Trystan more at ease. “It depends on your definition of modern. We installed landlines last week. Truly innovative stuff.”

“And you couldn’t use one of those shiny new landlines to, I don’t know, call?”

There’s not a trace of humor left on Trystan’s expression. “I had to see you.”

“And say what?”

“Haven’t you been checking the news lately?”

“Yes. We’re in the middle of a recession. Now what are you doing here?”

“Would you come with me? I promise I’ll tell you everything, but…”

“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I abdicated.”

It’s like a bomb has exploded. Gabriel is stunned speechless. For a moment, they’re not sure they heard correctly.

“What did you say?”

“I abdicated. Gabriel, please. I’ll tell you everything and answer any questions you might have. But come with me.”

They stand slowly. “Okay. But I have a lot of questions, so you had better be ready to answer them all.”

Several minutes later, Gabriel unconsciously lays a hand on Trystan’s arm.

“Are we going where I think we’re going?”

The answering smile is a little shaky. Almost like Trystan is… nervous.

“I once took you to the last place I visited before I left Drakovia. I thought we could do this in the first place you visited when you came back to New York.”

“How do you…”

“I know you,” he says simply.

Gabriel swallows. It’s an exquisite kind of ache, being seen so clearly. In this particular case, it’s dangerous, too. The man in the driver seat has already broken their heart once. And he did it gradually, piece by piece, so that when they tried to put it back together, some pieces were irrevocably lost. A jigsaw puzzle that will never be the same again. Never be whole again.

They can’t put themselves in that position again. No matter how much they love Trystan, how much they have accepted they will always love Trystan, they can’t let themselves become Eveline.

Once they get to the NYC Botanical Gardens, Gabriel looks at the woman opening the doors, then back at Trystan. They roll their eyes.

“How the hell did you manage to get us in so late?” They ask as they walk into the gardens, the mingling scents of flowers a soothing balm.

“My darling detective, even a former king has some influence.”

“Yeah, about that. You say you abdicated. As in gave up the throne?”

“Gabriel, I realize you are but a commoner…” He grins when they throw a wadded-up piece of paper at him. “But even you must know what abdication means.”

“I’m trying to have a conversation here, so dial down the jokes.” But they can’t resist the sly grin. “And you’re a commoner now too.”

“So I am. But as it happens, I couldn’t care less about having a kingdom. I only care about trying to fix the havoc I wreaked upon the single most important part of my life.”

“Trystan…”

He shakes his head. Then he pulls something out of his pocket. Gabriel gasps.

“Is that…?”

“Your note? Yes.” He strokes his thumb over it, automatically. As though it’s a habit so well ingrained, he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “I’ve carried this note with me everywhere I went, every day for a year.”

They hesitantly hold out a hand. “May I?”

When Trystan hands it over, Gabriel’s fingers trace the creases of the paper. They’re deep, as though the paper has been folded and unfolded countless times throughout the past year. They unfold it once more.

For the record, I love you too. But love isn’t always enough, Trystan. I have to go. We both deserve better than this. Love, Gabriel P.S. Please don’t try to contact me.

“You’ve been carrying this?” They ask softly.

Trystan nods. “At first, it was a reminder to respect your wishes. All I wanted was to call you, to hear your voice, so I had to keep reminding myself you didn’t want that. Then… I guess it became a way to stay close to you.” He straightens, looks Gabriel in the eye. “Last week, a maid took my clothes to be laundered before I had a chance to search through my pockets. I thought I lost it, your note. I panicked.”

“Oh, Trystan.”

“That’s when it hit me.” He takes a hesitant step towards them, then another. He keeps walking until he and Gabriel are mere inches apart. “You mean more to me than Drakovia. How could I possibly be a good leader when I kept resenting my people for keeping me away from you?”

“So you walked away.”

“Yes. And as soon as I had, I jumped on Mags’ plane to get here and beg for another chance.”

Are they dreaming? Gabriel isn’t sure. If they are, they never want to wake up.

Trystan takes their hands. “I love you. I will always love you. Please tell me it isn’t too late for us.”

Blinking back tears, Gabriel shakes their head. “Bold of you to bring me here, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“You know you all but gave me home advantage, right?”

Trystan laughs, running his fingers down their cheek. “You didn’t need a place to have the upper hand. You just had to be you.”

They lean in. If Gabriel had let themselves imagine what a reunion kiss with Trystan would be like, they probably would have thought of something more intense. But this. This soft, tender kiss, a slow reacquaintance where each revels in being reunited… It’s hard to believe anything else could be better.

Because this is Trystan. It’s Gabriel.

It’s everything.

[a-driftamongopenstars]

to let go is to embrace; astarion x oc fic

to let go is to embrace (763 words); astarion x gleam; t rated, tw injuries, act 3 spoilers - also on ao3

finally finished Astarion's quest. ough ough ough. it was perfect. he didn't go through with the ritual, and the ending of Cazador was fucking perfect.

His throat aches from screaming. His limbs burn with exhaustion. His vision is blurry, tears dried on the eyelashes. His hands still remember the grip of the dagger and the breaking bones and flesh of Cazador as he killed him one final time.

But his heart feels… lighter.

The weight of two century old pain is so much easier to bear when its creator can add to it no more. Not to him, nor to anyone else. But the guilt and the fear still lurk on the edges, threatening to return and to crush him, now that there is no barrier of a seemingly unachievable goal. 

The lights of the inn room are dimmed, all is quiet. Astarion, resting on a bed, looks up at Gleam, who sits beside him, a sponge in their hand. Bottles of salves are lined up on a bedside table, and there is a wash basin with water, diluted with blood. 

They offer Astarion a kindness after another, this time by helping with the plentiful wounds that Cazador and his minions left in the fight.

Astarion's heart fills with affection, just as his eyes sting with tears. He is too tired and too weak to push it all back. For once, he thinks, for fucking once someone cares about him. For him. He wants to be grateful and return it twicefold, but he doesn't know how. What does he have to offer? 

Gleam draws the sponge gently down his arm, washing away the blood, the pain. They drip the salve where bruises remain, those that Shadowheart's magic could heal no longer. Astarion watches quietly, as cuts close up into smooth skin and purple blemishes disappear.

"All right?" Gleam asks, noticing Astarion's glance. 

"Quite so," he replies, offering a small smile. Nothing else he knows to say, and his throat closes up on words.

Gleam pauses, resting the sponge aside.

Their eyes shine softly in the dim light. Light blue against black sclera, just like stars. Have they always been so bright? 

Unbidden tears make themselves known again, and Astarion swallows.

"Come here," Gleam offers, their voice softened. And Astarion moves, away from the pillows set up for him and into his tiefling's arms. 

To let go of all the worldly hardships, to let go of pain of memories and of things that have finally come to an end. To embrace a new future, because he has one now. Uncertain, but a future nonetheless.

Gleam's arms hold him strongly. Astarion breathes them in, soaks soundless tears into the soft folds of their shirt. He does not notice how his fingers curl into it, knuckles whitening against already pale skin. 

"I don't know what to do," he whispers into Gleam's shoulder, his voice weakened.

Gleam's arms remain solid strong around him, and soothing with comfort. They are a rock in a crashing sea, they are a lighthouse on the edge of a cliff, they are a rope thrown into the depths of a darkest well. 

"Astarion," Gleam says gently, yet firmly. 

Their hand runs through Astarion's hair, and momentarily he is distracted. 

"You have all the time in the world to figure it out. Free, safe. And with me by your side, if you will have me." 

Astarion's scoffs, pulling back to look at Gleam. Gods, he is beautiful. With a hero complex, proven so many times over, but Astarion cannot help but like that. Love that.

"Well, of course," Astarion smiles through tears. "Where shall I be without my handsome and daring barbarian?" 

Gleam laughs, reaching over for the sponge again as Astarion lays his hand upon theirs. Their fingers lace together, and he cannot help but love the way it looks. All the little things, he craves them like water to a dying man, but cannot allow himself to take any more than what he finds acceptable.

And even that is too much.

“Thank you,” he says at last. “For this. And for everything you have done for me. Which is an awful lot, I hope you are keeping tabs.”

Gleam smiles and draws Astarion’s hand to their cheek.

“I think your tab can be forgiven. Anything you need, on me.”

Astarion’s lips spread into a wider smile, he is about to make quite a joke of that, but another tearful gasp escapes his mouth instead. Since when does laughter makes him cry?

He rests against the pillow once more, watching Gleam resume the process. His mind is calmer, his heart is gentler.

Astarion wonders if Gleam knows that they are healing more than the visible bleeding wounds. 

[descendinginto-madness]

you're safe now.

word count: 878

content warnings: mentions & descriptions of injury

summary: the aftermath of a mission gone... not so right.

author's notes: taking a small break from ocs. just for a little through don't get used to it 😋 alsoooo obv i can't control how peope interpret my work but just keep in mind i didn't write this with a romantic ship in mind 🫶

contains mild spoilers for dan heng's lore

“You should be more careful,” Dan Heng says, sitting next to Stelle on the edge of her bed with a first aid kit. She rolls her eyes, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “You know I'm right.”

“I'm always careful,” she replies, almost annoyed, and he raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything to that. Instead he simply moves a bit closer. Stelle has already taken off her hoodie, making it easier for him to access a fairly big cut on her arm; it's unfortunately not the only injury she came back with from the mission, but the most serious one - from what Dan Heng could see - and it makes him a bit relieved that there's nothing more serious or harder to treat. 

“Show me,” he asks, and she pulls away the now bloodied piece of cloth she was pressing against the wound. The Vidyadhara takes a moment to look at the cut, before he proceeds to clean it; he doesn't hesitate with his movements, but he's also gentle, careful not to cause Stelle more pain. 

He finishes cleaning the excess blood and bits of dirt that got into the cut, and turns away for a moment to grab the disinfectant.

“It might sting a little,” he warns, but when the only reaction he gets from Stelle is a nod, he realizes that something is not quite right.

There's no snarky or slightly unhinged remark, just silence; she has been awfully quiet for the past few minutes, and if that wasn't enough Dan Heng also notices her face looks pale, and his eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yeah?” She looks back at him, seemingly slightly surprised by the question.

“Not feeling faint or anything like that? You look pale.” He doesn't let it show in his voice, but there's concern starting to grow inside him. What if her injuries are worse than what he initially thought? What if there is some more serious wound that she has been hiding from him up until now? Or what if the Stellaron decided to sabotage her body again and she’s feeling sick? 

He goes on to disinfect the wound carefully, trying to make it seem like everything's fine. It's better not to freak Stelle out… Or give her a reason to tease him again.

She does neither of that, though.

“Do I?” she just asks, and then shakes her head. “No, I'm fine. Don't worry about it.”

There's a “but”, he can sense it, but it doesn't seem like she's going to continue, and Dan Heng isn't sure how to make her talk. It's painfully obvious to him that there is something weighing on her mind, but he doesn't know how to approach it. He sighs quietly; sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes the Vidyadhara powers included mind reading - that way, maybe he could make some use of them.

As he reaches for the bandages, though, he suddenly realizes something.

He remembers how he found Stelle - in a dead end, backed into a wall, bloodied and dirty and clearly exhausted, trying to ward off three monsters at once. He remembers the look on her face; it was determination, but also fear, and it turned into relief only after she finally spotted him.

When he begins wrapping the bandage around her arm he asks yet another question, but this time his voice is softer.

“Still thinking about what happened?” 

He has to wait a few seconds for a response; once again, it's a nod.

“Yeah,” she admits, her voice similarly quiet. She's silent for a bit more, as if she was thinking about whether she really should say anything more. “...Sorry,” she finally adds. “You're right. I should be more careful, if I was then—”

“Stelle,” he interrupts her. She looks up at him, and their eyes meet. “Do you think I'm angry at you?”

“Maybe?” she laughs, but he notices her eyes are a bit more glossy than usual. 

“Then you should know that I'm not,” he says. He finishes bandaging her arm and gently takes her hands to examine them; thankfully, there seem to be no injuries there. “I might get annoyed, but I'm not actually angry, okay?” he asks.

“But… I don't know,” she says. “It’s just… It was scary? I don't know.” Her eyes wander back down, to the ground, and the look on Dan Heng's face softens. “If you didn't show up…”

“I know,” he replies. It's… Oddly painful to see Stelle like this, so unlike herself. This entire thing seems to have affected her more than he initially thought, and it makes him feel guilty for not noticing it sooner. At the same time, he feels odd being the one to comfort her right now - March is definitely way better at this than him - but… He supposes that this one time, he won't mind. But that obviously means he can't leave her with only two words, so he speaks again. 

“I can imagine this was quite scary, but it's done now, right?” he adds. “You're here, and you're safe, and that's the most important thing.”

She's quiet for a moment, but, eventually, she nods.

“...Right,” she says, and he's glad to see than when she smiles this time, it doesn't look forced anymore. 

[love-byers]

i fully believe the reason the final cut of this scene is so different is because they changed it to be more subtle. cause if you imagine it played out on screen, it's so unbelievably romantic. the final cut is also extremely romantic, but the og is just nuts to me. i'm also pretty sure the duffers said they change things and cut things out to make things less obvious, so take that as you will

1. will is still kneeling on the floor, but there's no direction for mike to sit on his bed. it says mike goes up to him, which could be a lot of things, but since will is still on the floor im guessing mike was meant to squat down to his level or kneel next to him. already way more intimate than the final cut where mike sits on his bed. so as we go through this, make sure you keep in mind they are sitting right next to each other

i imagine he was supposed to be right there

2. 'you didn't have to' wasn't in the original script. originally, mike and will were supposed to let will's words hang in the air and smile at each other for a second or two (probably the same amount of time between 'you didn't have to' and 'hey, also-' in the final cut). they were supposed to smile at each other until mike says "Hey, listen [...]", then will looks away. a few uncut seconds of them....smiling at each other.....until one of them awkwardly breaks the silence.... y'all.

id also like to bring up what finn said about mike not knowing about will's feelings, but there also being a mutual understanding and acceptance. i think what he means is that they mutually understand how different and special their relationship is. "i didn't say it..." with no response but a shared smile implies the same thing the final cut does. will didn't have to, mike understood anyway. that shared smile is supposed to be them acknowledging that. they both know it, and i honestly don't know how finn and noah were supposed to act that out without it being so obviously flirty and blushy. hence why they most likely didn't keep it in. also remember that they're supposed to be right next to each other probably face to face. THE OG WOULDVE BEEN SO BLUSHY AND AWKWARD LIKE.......

3. "If we're....friends again. Best friends."

lord jesus

given that at this point in s4 the audience is meant to have already put it together that will likes mike, that line is crazy to me.

"If we're..."

WHY DID HE HAVE TO THINK??? WHY DID HE HESITATE???? the watcher already knows there is romance present in this dynamic, how fucking else is that meant to be taken?? this is also stranger things, the show where a staple in their romances is that they always claim they're just friends, when they're not. and it's MIKE saying this, not will.

and right after this, it says "Will finally looks at mike, emotional." so during mike's entire monologue, will isn't looking at him. to be honest i think them staring into each other's souls in the final cut it more romantic, but mike saying all this to a will who isn't looking at him adds a lot of depth. imagine mike saying all that and staring at will, who isn't looking back. it puts more romantic emphasis on mike. it's like mike wants will's approval.

smooth transition into—

4. "Yeah?" "Yeah."

good god it's so romantic

they swapped this for "Cool." "Cool." which can be interpreted as platonic a lot easier. and the time they did use "yeah?" "yeah." was during the van scene. it happens in the og script for the bedroom scene too, except it was WILL asking and MIKE confirming. they're flip flopped.

we can't know for sure what scene they filmed first, but i think it might've been van scene first and then the bedroom scene, cause i know the roller rink scenes and scenes in the house were filmed near the end of filming as a whole.

i probably sound crazy, but let's entertain that possibility for a second. cause one was filmed first, which means one was changed first.

the van scene lines were originally "You really think so?" "I know so." , but they changed it to "Yeah?" "Yeah." so what if they changed it so it would parallel the bedroom scene?

if they kept it as it was originally written, the scenes would be very obvious parallels. one talks and talks and talks about their feelings for the other. then the other asks for confirmation, and confirmation is given. it would've paralleled mike's monologue to will to a love confession, which is WAY too obvious

i cannot express to you how crazy this makes me 

5. "This intimate moment is shattered"

i don't even have to explain why this is a romantic trope, it just is

i'm gonna assume they were still supposed to have their gazes torn from each other like in the final cut, but imagine that happening while they're way closer. SO much more obviously romantic. they could've been in the same shot when it happens like in the other two scenes where they're interrupted, but in the final cut they aren't. and it's entirely possible they changed that cause the og is just WAY too romantic

i also want to highlight a couple parallels between this scene and the van scene cause this script pretty much confirmed they're connected and i honestly never thought about it until now

> "These past few months she's been so...lost without you."

> "Listen, the truth is, this last year has been weird, you know? And, you know, Max and Lucas and Dustin—they're great, they're great, it's just...it's Hawkins, it's not the same without you."

> "Mike takes this all in. Emotional now too."

"You really think so?"

"I know so."

and in the final cut

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

> "Will finally looks at mike, emotional."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

and in the final cut

"Cool."

"Cool."

and of course, the painting. the bedroom scene is the set up for the painting. will grabs it before the shoot out happens. and the van scene is the pay off. idk how in the hell i never picked up on that, but i see it now

but yeah. i guess the duffers realized on set how obviously romantic the byler scenes play out and had to fix it so it'll still fly under the radar for most people

not me though y'all stay safe ❤️

[it-was-funeral-grey]

Phantoms of you (Ghost x F!Reader)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: It's always easier to admit something when you think you have nothing to lose.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, mentions of kissing, vulgarities, weapons, violence, death and destruction, mentions of food and birthdays, Simon is taller than reader.

Word count: <2.8k

Inspired by: Phantom of the Opera - Andrew Lloyd Webber

"And do I dream again? For now I find, the Phantom of the opera is there."

Author's note: I hope this is ok, i tried :')

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

The server had offered him a new job. Something about eliminating an ex-intelligence agent that had accessed the server.

He'll take any job. It doesn't matter how tough.

Anything to keep his mind off her.

("Oh my god! Yes!")

Her.

Her with somebody else.

(Her eyes sparkled as she looked at the man, offering a hand to help him off the floor.

Simon doesn't remember ever being able to make her look at him like that.)

Her.

Her and her new ring.

(She had held his hand so gently as he stood up.

She was always so, so gentle.)

His Dahila.

Fuck.

Simon slams the car door shut, and the loud sound temporarily silences the sound of her laughter in his head.

The mission, Simon thinks. Focus.

"What the hell, LT?" a man complains. "We're supposed to be quiet! What if we get caught?"

Not a bad idea, Simon decides. He'd gladly give himself up if it meant he'd stop thinking about her. He'll gift wrap himself up. Tie a bow on his head. They'd torture and mock him, and he'd thank them.

The pain of torture is a small price to pay to distract him from the ache in his chest.

Maybe he should include a thank you card as well.

(She had made him a card for his birthday.)

No, don't start now.

Ignoring his sergeant, Simon walks away from the car, pushing past branches to look over the cliff. A short distance below, amongst the trees, stands a dirty, small building about four stories tall. A small jump is all it'd take to access the roof.

(She had cut out little ghosts from papers of all colours and stuck them onto the front of the card.

"It's you, Simon! Mini yous!")

By the time Simon returns to the car, Soap has already laid out their weapon in the car boot.

"Get the rappelling gear out," Simon instructs, moving over to him. "A building with four stories. No windows. No enemies on the ground. Make a jump to the roof - it's a small jump - and head down. I'll head up and meet you halfway."

"Got it." Soap replies, leaning further into the boot to retrieve the gear, while Simon starts to check their weapons.

(She had sprinkled glitter all over the front page of the card. He was washing glitter off his person for days after. Gaz and Soap had made fun of him for weeks.)

Stop. Simon lets out a grunt and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Alright, LT?" Soap's voice is laced with concern as he hands the gear over.

Great, Simon thinks. Now Soap is worried.

"Nothin' to worry about," Simon curtly replies, placing the gear on the floor. "Carry on." He then resumes his weapon check, giving his rifle a once over.

(Inside, she had drawn an adorable picture of the two of them. A stick man with a skull face was him, while a stick woman holding a flower to his side was her. The two figures had a bent line attaching them to each other, which he assumes is supposed to represent them holding hands.)

Simon grabs a loaded magazine, missing the magazine well twice before finally managing to insert it into the rifle.

(Above the two figures, a 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' was written, every letter of a different colour. Simon had never known that there were so many colours.

Once again, she shows him that life is full of surprises, and he feels like a child discovering something new and exciting again.)

Simon reaches for his pistol, nearly dropping it as he checks it. He ignores Soap's concerned glance, opting to prove that he's fine by expertly reloading the gun.

(She had used stickers of trees and flowers to make a garden for the figures to stand in. The card is beautiful.

But the sight next to him was absolutely breathtaking.)

He ends up hitting the pistol out of his hands with its magazine. Soap looks away, pretending not to see his lieutenant's slip up.

Cheeks burning under the balaclava and white skull mask, Simon picks up the pistol, forcing it into his thigh holster with a vengeance. Standing up, he gathers his knives, inspecting each and every one of them.

(She was blushing.

Oh lord.

Her eyes shift from side to side as she fidgets with her fingers. She looks so shy, so precious, and so, so cute.

Hang him for lying if he said he didn't get an ego boost, knowing he was the cause. His hand clenches a throw pillow, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her and-

"Could you…turn to the back of the card?" she whispered her request, shifting uncomfortably on the couch beside him.

How could he refuse his beautiful woman?

Reluctantly pulling his eyes from her, he looks back down at the card, turning it around…

And is greeted by a blank page.

"Hm? There's noth-"

A hand cups his cheek, and there's a warm, light pressure on the other. He feels her press into his side, her warmth immediately spreading over his arms.

She's so close.

But it's all gone in less than a second.)

Enough, Simon pleads to himself. But it seemed the more he tried to run away, the faster the memories chased him.

The memories sting like salt in a wound, reminding him of what he had, and had so carelessly thrown away.

He should have been stronger. He should have had more trust in them. He should have explained what was happening and dealt with it together with her.

But he didn't.

(Simon stares at her as she pulls away, sitting back down.)

Fuckin' hell.

(She's nervous as she gazes up at him, face entirely flushed.)

Simon grips the hilt of his knife so hard it cracks.

(A second that feels like an eternity of silence passes.

She hides her face behind her hands.

Don't do that.

Gently pulling her hands away from her face, Simon pins them into the couch's backrest, shifting to stand in front of her.

"I'm so sorry! I should have asked you first I-"

"Don't do that."

"I'm really sorry! I'll-"

"Don't ever hide your face from me."

"Huh?!"

And the last of Simon's self-control disappears.)

"Bloody, fuckin' hell!" with a yell, Simon thrust the knife into the nearest surface, the blade digging deep into the inner side of the car boot.

"Jesus, LT! What's gotten into ya?"

(The feel of her lips against his. Her arms pulling him closer. The look in her eyes when he-)

It's too much. Every memory shatters his heart into impossibly smaller pieces.

Everything reminds him of her. He can't block it. He's always prided himself on having the perfect defence in combat, but when it comes to her, he's helpless.

(He could confide in her every dark thought, memory and thing he'd done.

She'd accept him as he is. Listening as he falls apart in her embrace.

And Simon thinks that for her, he wants to be stronger. To be better. To be a happier person, all for her.)

This has to stop before it gets Soap and him killed. He needs to calm down.

Simon examines the area. Recalling the route here, Simon remembers that they had driven past a field not far from their current location.

"We leave in fifteen. I need to take a walk."

"LT!"

Most people think intelligence agents are 'super spies' and carry out dangerous missions to obtain tidbits of information.

They couldn't be more wrong.

Intelligence agents are no different than regular folk. They run to catch the bus to work. They worry about rent. They wonder what they're having for lunch.

They really are just regular people. Minus the fact that they manage and collect top-secret military data daily.

As an intelligence agent, your role is simple. Organise and analyse the data you collect from espionage agents and send it to the respective teams that require them via the Special Ops server. It's pretty much an office job with regular hours.

(It is rare that intelligence agents would be assigned to work directly with special ops teams, let alone be able to speak with them.

"You'll be working with a soldier from the UK. You are temporarily relieved of all other duties until this mission is finished."

"A single soldier? Not a team?"

"Yeah, he's that good. Focus all your efforts on making sure he completes his mission.")

After the laptop crashed, Samuel freaked out.

("The fuck did you just do?" He shouts, reaching over to the laptop.

"It's normal for laptops like yours to crash when accessing the server," you replied, flinching when Samuel slammed the laptop shut. "Normal laptops aren't built to handle that much data all at once. You'll need to replace the CPU."

A lie. That wasn't why it crashed. But it seemed to convince Samuel.

"So? Who are they?"

"Task force 141."

"…That's all you've got?" He huffs. "That's not enough."

"If you get me another laptop, I can search up more." you plead.

He'll kill you and Max the moment you have no use.

You need more time.

"Ha! It'll just crash like this one!"

"But I'm faster than that," you assure. "Now that I know what team I'm looking for, I'll have enough time to access their files before the computer crashes again."

There's silence as Samuel considers your proposal.

"Fine," Samuel concedes. "I'll get you another laptop."

You fight back a sigh of relief.

Grabbing the broken device, Samuel walks to the ladder and climbs out of the basement, leaving you alone.)

Your sense of time has gone to hell.

You're not sure how long it's been since Samuel left, but you're thankful for a moment of solitude.

A lonely, final moment of peace before you either get burned alive with Max or get gunned down by Special Ops. You hope it's the latter.

Knowing how fast the intelligence team is, a Special Ops team is probably on their way to kill you. Or maybe they're already here, preparing to strike.

You retired from the intelligence team 3 years ago.

Accessing the server again means that Special Ops would come, and that's what you want. Thankfully, Samuel didn't know that. He's always been careless.

The Special Ops will come here, kill your captors and save Max.

But they'd kill you too.

To them, Max is a prisoner. But you are a traitor who sells secrets to enemies.

They won't hear you out. They'll shoot you and bring your corpse back for verification before dumping you into an unmarked grave.

Yeah, you've heard the stories. You've even helped to track down people like you before.

Tears cloud your vision, but you blink them away.

No, you can't cry. If you do, that'll make things worse.

("Let it out, love," Simon had whispered in your ear. "I'm here.")

God dammit.

("Hey, look at me," Simon's voice is gentle yet commanding. Dropping his gun, he cups your face. "I said look at me. You're safe now."

Your knees buckle, and Simon slowly lowers you to the ground. He held you close, rubbing soothing circles on your back as you sobbed into his vest.

He lets you stay like that for a while before standing and helping you up.

"We have to go.")

Pathetic.

You're going to die, and the only person you think about is him.

A tear rolls down your cheeks.

Him.

Him and the way he saved your life that night.

(There were tears in her eyes as she aimed the gun at you.

"Please…just walk away."

"You know I can't do that, Eliza-"

"Yes, you can! Just turn around and go!" Her grip on the trigger tightened.

"Eliza, please!"

"I won't shoot! I promise! Just go-"

A gunshot.

She was on the ground now. Something is pooling beneath her.)

Him.

Him and meeting in person for the first time.

("Are you alright?" a voice asks.

It sounds so familiar.

It sounds like him.

You can't respond. You can't move.

Your eyes are fixed on Eliza as she dies before you.

The sound of footsteps.

Now there's someone in a white skull mask before you, blocking you.

The only thing you see is him.)

You can't control it. You clamp a hand over your mouth as you begin to sob.

Him.

Him and the way he had carried you to safety.

(Simon had you in a bridal carry, darting through the trees as bullets whizzed past.

"Close your eyes," he pants. "It'll be over soon."

He suddenly lurches forward, and you feel his arm around you tense.

You let out a gasp. He's been shot!

"It's fine," he groans, readjusting his grip on you. "Hold on tight."

He doesn't stop running, even as more bullets begin to pierce his body.

His grip on you never loosened. Even when you begged him to let you down so you could help him.

He doesn't stop.

Not until you were safe.)

There are shouts from above, followed by the sound of gunshots.

They're here.

("I won't…let anyone hurt you," he had promised, voice slurring. "No…one, you hear?"

It took two medics to pull your hands out of his.

Still trying to protect you, even when delirious from blood loss. That spoke volumes about the strength of his resolve.)

You promised, you whimper. Where are you, Simon?

Wiping your tears, you let out a hollow laugh.

Of course you're not coming.

There's no Simon to save you now.

I want to see you, Simon. Just one last time, ok?

You humour yourself for a moment, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you try and imagine hard enough, he'd appear before you.

Above, the pounding of footsteps mixed with gunshots intensifies.

I waited for you, Simon. Every day. I'd take the long way home after work just to check if you're at the bar.

Feelings you had locked shut come pouring out of your heart. But the one you wanted to give those feeling to isn't here.

I found someone new, Simon. He treats me kindly. He helps out at the shop sometimes. He proposed to me. We're getting married.

The shouts of men pierce through the basement hatch.

But I still take the long way home. I still wear the ring you made me. I still make you a birthday card every year.

It's quieter now, with only the occasional firing of a gun.

They're checking their kills. Your captors are dead.

It'd only be a moment before they check the basement.

Do you know why, Simon?

There are footsteps directly above you. You hear a man mutter something.

Do you know why, Simon?

You don't want to admit it, even if it's to yourself.

You hear the hatch above you open. Your fingers tremble. Your heart pounds inside your chest. Your squeeze your eyes even harder, preparing yourself.

You don't want to die. You're not ready to go.

I'm scared, Simon.

Someone lands on the basement floor. You hear the rustling of gear.

"She's here, LT!" a voice calls out.

You hear the sound of a gun reloading, and another person lands in the basement.

You want to run. You want the opportunity to at least try to run for your life. But Samuel had chained your legs to the chair. There's no chance of escape.

Do you know why, Simon?

One set of footsteps quickly approaches you. You clench your jaw.

"LT…?"

Any second now, the killing shot is coming.

Do you really want to leave without even admitting it one last time?

Do you know why, Simon?

"Because I love you, Simon!" it comes out more like a cry, than a declaration.

There, you've said it.

You still love Simon Riley.

You have never stopped loving him.

Despite your heart pounding in fear, you feel at peace.

There's silence in the room, but not a second later, it's broken by the sound of a rifle shifting.

Taking aim for your head, you suppose.

But just as you hear that, there's a loud thud and a groan.

"What the FUCK, LT!"

The loud sound shocks your eyes open. You look up from your lap, wondering what is dragging out your imminent execution.

Just to be greeted by the sight of a man in a white skull mask.

Join the Taglist!

The picture inside the card looks something like this:

I'm not an artist lmao. There's no colours so feel free to imagine it! Also i didn't include a hairstyle for the reader.

[lemmetreatya]

HAIII so uhm questionnn or request whatever the fuck same thing. Can we get abbachio w a traditional goth gf?? Maybe also add in she also likes rock (maybe plays electric guitar too) bonus points for a personality like gyro, mista or joseph? Just a goofy dumbass most of the time :>

Abbacchio x Goth!gf Reader

I feel like abba would have such a “you-annoy-me-so-much-but-i-seem-to-tolerate-you-alot-more-than-everyone-else” air about you because i feel like all the personalities given are very polar opposites to him sjskd but Enjoy! 🫶🏾💕

Modern AU

Contains: Strong Language

You clapped your hands together, placing them under your nose before inhaling for several seconds. 

“So, you’re not gonna believe this.” You squeaked. 

Abbacchio sighed loudly, eyes attached to the computer screen in front of him as he focusedly scrolled the excel sheet. 

“Don’t tell me it’s another fucking guitar?” 

“With your credit card this time!” You splayed your hands in front of you, undetecting of why he was against the purchase. 

Abbacchio could only shake his head. He wasn’t angry. No, he could never be angry at you but he was definitely regretting telling you his card pin. Only a little though. 

“And what makes you think I’m gonna take that any easier than the last three times?” He grumbled. 

“Because,” You stressed the first word by longing out the vowels. “You said I wasn’t allowed to buy the guitar and that I should save my money and that’s exactly what I did. I didn’t even make the purchase, I just gave the cashier your card and told her your pin.” 

Abbacchio quickly snapped his head in your direction as he gave you a bewildered look. 

“You gave the cashier my card pin?!”

“She said she wouldn’t remember it!” You said matter-of-factly, your hands on your hips in a proud stance as your face beamed. 

The man could only look you up and down, his eyes watery as if he was about to cry, but he didn’t. All he did was slowly turn back to his computer with his hand over his mouth — most probably stifling a scream.

Abbacchio loves to buy you things. If anything, he’d try get at any chance to buy you something but you happen to have this dutiful pendant to purchase every pretty electric guitar that catches your attention

It’s not that he doesn’t like guitars or you playing but mostly because you’ve got way too many. Some you haven’t touched in ages.

“I’ll literally buy you anything, anything! New makeup?! Or maybe something from that new shop you like but please, anything but a new guitar, Bella amor!”

He wouldn’t mind if it was any other item, but electric guitars are just…. really expensive 😭😭 He’s a practical man through and through

Apart from that, Abbacchio is very fond of you. He doesn’t say it much but he prefers your company over many other. And that’s saying a lot concerning Abbacchio doesn’t do too well with warming up to others in the first place

He doesn’t seem to find himself being able to get angry at you. If he does in the rare occasion, it’s still your face he wants to see

Abbacchio is so good at makeup its crazy. For someone who only really uses lipstick and a bit of kohl every now and then, his artistic execution is phenomenal.

He’d give you a few pointers every now and then when you ask but he doesn’t genuinely like to teach makeup or give lessons. he’d rather just do it and be over with it

His friends love when you play guitar!! Especially Bruno! Whenever Abbacchio is having a bit of a hermit phase they’ll come over to see him but they’d always hear you play through the wall

“She’s really good.” Bruno would faintly say, cutting between Leone and Nero’s hushed conversation.

The two men looked towards the short bobbed haired male, their eyebrows creased but unoffended.

“Chi?” Leone would say, his eyes weary from stress but still attentive.

“Chi altro? La tua ragazza, eh?” After his reply, Bruno got up from where he sat to lay his ear closer to the wall of you and Leone’s bedroom. A small smile looped on his face as he listened for several more seconds.

“Hm, è molto talentuosa. A lot like how you used to play, Leone.” Nero brooded.

Abbacchio didn’t reply.

Abbacchio is the one who taught you how to play guitar. You’ve always had a love for Rock music but it’s playing guitar that truly brought the both of you together.

He used to play in a band but life got a bit too buys, a bit too stressful and really overwhelming so he had to drop out.

Abbacchio doesn’t wish to be in a band again. It’s left too much of a sour taste in his mouth so he avoids it. So does playing the electric guitar and it’s maybe why hes a bit harsh on you for buy so many

But regardless, he treasures you too much to say no whenever your playing.

”Oh my gosh, have you seen this video?”

You shoved your phone in Abbacchio’s face, his eyes languidly changing focus from the tv to the phone screen.

It took a few seconds for him to register what was going on. You tried to conceal your laughter, his eyebrows creased whenever something alarming happened — that was until the very last few seconds where his mouth dropped in astonishment.

“No fucking way.”

“I know right?!” You couldn’t help but cackle in laughter, your head flinging backwards. Abbacchio took your phone from you, rewatching the video as his mouth continued to hang.

You watched as he replayed it a few times, still in disbelief at the situation.

“Yo, I definitely want a cat like this. I’ll train it to attack people who get on my nerves.” He said, finally handing you back your device. “Also, send that to me.”

You nodded in reply to his question as you took back your phone, drabs of laughter still falling from your lips.

“OMG, that’d be so cool. We can train it to be a secret service agent pet— Like Bond from Spy X Family!” You said.

Abbacchio had a thinking face on, his eyes squinting in thought.

“Wait, yeah. Actually, I think I’d want to train a dog instead.”

“You think so?” You pocketed your phone, cocking your head over at the man.

“I know so.” He replied. “They’re a lot easier to train. Cats tends to do what they want most of the time. If they don’t want to do something then they won’t.”

With a simple shrug, you gave Abbacchio a warm smile.

“Hm, fair enough. Although the way you describe cats … it reminds me a lot like someone I know.”

Squinting, Abbacchio gave you an annoyed look.

“You better not be insinuating what I think you’re insinuating.”

[aaronpaceluvbot]

song lyrics (aaron x reader)

summary: in which you have a slight fight with Drum over your favorite practice room. you need it to practice your music and he needs it to practice whatever it is he does, but Aaron finds out and comes to your rescue. 

before you read: this is probably the most self indulgent fic i’ve ever written, forgive any inaccuracies. i'm assuming aaron can play piano because my school only lets you play percussion if you can play piano, school starts at 6:45 for me so it does in this fic as well, LOWKEY OOC AARON…, voice teachers are scary af , READER IS FEM, written in honor of me having a recital in a week and i am in fact losing my voice, DRUM APPEARS AND LIKE THE THING IS IS THAT I DONT REMEMBER WHO’S WHO SO HE’S JUST REFERRED TO AS DRUM , this flows so weirdly sorry yall i promise i had an outline , this is like the 20th fic that reader cries in (reader is so me.), i didn’t wince as much while writing the affection (PROGRESS!!!), THIS IS  NOT PROOFREADDD  reader is implied to be in choir and not in play an instrument anymore, SOME MUSICAL TERMS?? if you’re confused about them I Will Add Explanations. 

WC: 6.2k words. holy moly. 

songs referenced that are good to listen to:

sebben crudele

ah! tardai troppo

—

You always tried to get to school early to make use of the practice rooms especially since everyone seemed to want to use them at that time. You especially needed to practice considering the fact that you had a rehearsal today with your accompanist and you hadn’t practiced at all for it. You found that arguably the best practice room was open so you placed your stuff in there and tried to quickly get your binder and your anthology book for lessons. You noticed a person standing in front of the room. He notices you as well. “Are you using it?” He asks, looking at you expectantly.

“Yeah? My stuff is already in there,” you tell him, clutching your binder. If he really wanted to fight about a practice room at 6 in the morning, he could if he wanted to. You would gladly give it up if he was going to keep it going, but you’d make practicing absolute hell for him. 

“Well I need to use it to record something for an assignment,” he says, clearly expecting you to give up the practice room. You roll your eyes at him. He really couldn’t have used one of the other open practice rooms? Sure their acoustics were horrible in comparison to this one, but your stuff was already in there! 

“I needed to use it to practice something for voice lessons,” you respond, raising your binder and book up. He looks at it, confused. 

“Can’t you do that somewhere else?” He asks, giving you a look of disdain. You roll your eyes and decide to end the conversation. When you said you’d make practicing hell for him, you weren’t joking. You enter the practice room next to his and you pull out your sheet music. After doing some light hums and lip trills, you pull out a couple arias from your book. Quickly taking a sip of water, you sing a couple scales. Your voice seemed to be in good condition today. Perfect. You decide on the easier of the two arias to avoid straining your voice - Sebben Crudele. You sing through it to see if you had it memorized and thankfully you did! This would help you avoid the wrath of your voice teacher. You were going through the rough patches of the song when you heard a knock on the door. You look through the window and see the guy from earlier.

You open the door and give him a confused look. He clears his throat. “Do you mind keeping it down? Everytime I record my part check, I hear more of you than I hear myself!” He’s cut off by the sound of yelling down the hall.

“DRUM. DRUM. DRUM I SWEAR TO GOD.” You both look to see where the voice is coming from and you see the source coming this way. It was a brunette boy who looked outraged at the guy who knocked on your door. You both look at him confused. Why was he calling out for a drum???

“Aaron what’s wrong???” The guy asked, looking confused. 

“Tell me why I found your crumpled up sheet music on the floor covered in spit,” Aaron says, clearly pissed. He gives you a look and then Drum?? one as well. “Is he bothering you?” He asks. You sigh and nod. 

“She was bothering me! She kept like making all these high pitched noises!” Drum?? says, looking at you as if you committed a war crime. 

“This is what happens when you make the wrong person mad,” you mutter, rolling your eyes at the dude in front of you. Aaron sighs at the exchange. 

“Do you mean singing?” He asks him, giving him a dirty look.

“Yeah! That thing!! Can’t you do that anywhere?? So she doesn’t really need the practice room!” Drum tried arguing. 

“You can also play your little instruments anywhere, but I’m not complaining about that,” you retort.

“Aaron!! Do Something!!” He says. The boy rolls his eyes.

“Just leave her alone. She has a point. What’s your name?” Aaron asks, turning to you. You tell him your name and he nods. “If he keeps bothering you, or if any of the drumline bothers you, come to me and I’ll set things straight.” You nod at his comment, amused that he’d even say something like that. He was probably a section leader, you thought, judging by the way he commanded that guy to leave you alone. He reminded you of one of your old section leaders. You leave it at that and shut the door and continue practicing. 

Aaron sighed as he dragged Drum away from the practice rooms and into the band room. He gave him the dirtiest of looks. “Why would you embarrass us like that?” He asks, rubbing his temples as Drum struggled to come up with an explanation. “You know what Wiley said, to leave the vocalists alone if they’re practicing. They need the practice rooms just as much as we do.”

“Yeah but she was so loud! She was louder than me trying to play the part check!” He whines. Aaron does the thing that you do to dogs to get them to calm down. He pokes his neck with two fingers. 

“If she’s louder than your playing, then that’s your issue. An instrument playing at forte will always be louder than someone singing forte,” he grumbles, obviously fed up with his antics. This wasn’t the first time that a spat between Drum and a vocalist occurred. “Just practice elsewhere. Practice here for god’s sake.” Aaron decides to walk out of the room, but stay nearby to see if he actually practices. He does not. He let out a loud exhale as he tried to come up with a prank to use to get Drum to practice productively. The bell rang and interrupted his thinking. 

You let out a sigh as the bell rang. You didn’t want to go to class and would much rather practice your music. Instead of putting your belongings back into the choir room, you decided to just put them in your backpack. As you exited, he called out your name. You turn to face him and greet him with a smile. “Thanks for earlier,” you say, fidgeting with your hands.

He nods. “It was nothing.” The two of you walk in awkward silence until you exit the music hallway. 

“So what class are you headed to?” You ask him as you both go the same way.

“Poetry.” “Do you like it?” You ask. He didn’t seem like the type to take poetry in the first place, but we all have our interests.

“I think it’s a good outlet for me, even though I wasn’t the biggest fan of it when I took the class. I only took it because my counselor said I couldn’t take a different class.” You nod at his words. You had beef with your counselor so you understand why he felt that way. “What class are you going to?” He asks, looking you straight in the eye. You only realized this now, but he was really attractive. You brush it off and continue the conversation. You can talk about him to your friends later. 

“English,” you say, shuddering. He gives you a confused look.

“Who do you have?”

“Williams.” He makes a face that could only be described as pure loathing.

“Well I’m sorry for your loss. I hated her when I had her.” 

“I always feel horrible for the classes near us whenever she goes on one of her rants,” you murmur, thinking back to the time that she got really pissed about a kid’s essay and threw a heavy metal water bottle. 

“No yeah, my poetry class is right next door and every time she starts going on a tangent, my teacher just tells us to brace ourselves and he plays music,” he says, almost amused. You nod and let out a laugh. The two of you walk in silence to the English wing and separate once you two get to your respective classes. But before the two of you enter your respective classes he stops you. You give him a confused look.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, tilting your head. He shakes his head with a smile. “No, just hand me your phone,” he says, sticking his hand out.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to ask for my number so soon,” you joke, obviously keeping your phone away from him. He laughs as you try to keep him from getting it.

“Well then, if you don’t want my number, then I guess you’ll have to fall victim to all the band kids who are gonna bother you in the practice rooms,” he says, shrugging and getting ready to leave.

“Wait! Aaron, no!” You say, grabbing his hand and placing your phone in it. He lets out a chuckle at how you caved. He puts his number into your phone and sends himself a text. He pulls out his phone and checks to see if it sent. It did. 

“If any band kids pester you again, just text me and I’ll gladly come to your rescue,” he says, smirking at you. 

“Thanks for the offer Prince Charming, but I don’t think you’ll have to.”

“Oh so you think I’m charming?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at you. You shake your head and try to hide your laughter as you head to class, but he stops you again. “What class do you have after this?”

“Math…”

“With who?” 

“Miller…”

“We’re in the same class.”

“What? How have I not noticed you?” You ask him, trying to recall if he ever was in your class.

“I don’t know, but I knew you looked familiar earlier. Let’s walk to math together afterwards?” You nod and finally get into your classroom just before the bell rang.

—

You wait for Aaron outside of your classroom. The door to his class is still closed, but right as you’re about to leave, the door swings open. He comes out of class, eyes scanning the area, looking for you. He smiles when he sees that you waited for him. “Glad that you didn’t forget about our little plan,” he says, walking next to you. 

“How could I? It’s not everyday that you talk to Mr. Prince Charming himself,” you say, laughing at your own joke. 

“If anything, Peter’s Prince Charming. I think I’m more of a Derek Charming,” he says shrugging. 

“Like from Ever After High?” You ask, looking amused.

“Yeah, that one.” 

“What do you know about Ever After High?” You tease.

“I’ll have you know that I watch it with my little sister,” he says, sticking his hands up in defense. A thought pops into your head.

“Wait, so where do you sit in math? I still don’t know how I didn't notice that you were in my class.”

“I’m like all the way in the back corner by the door.” You nod. 

“That’s a really good seat. I got stuck sitting by her desk. But looking out the windows is really nice, if she actually leaves the blinds open.” You both snicker at your comment. Your teacher was infamous for having an insanely dark classroom that everyone fell asleep in. Her blinds were always closed and her lights would always be off and instead, she would only have fairy lights on. You both entered the class and you both chatted at his spot until the bell rang. You wandered off to your desk and sat there, getting your things out.

“Ok class! I have a bad headache right now, so you guys can just do these practice problems with a partner and just check them with the answer key by the end of class,” she said, handing out sheets of paper. You turn to look for a partner and realize that your friend was absent today. You sigh and figure that you’ll just work alone on it. When you get ready to start the first problem, you notice a figure standing by your desk. You look up and see Aaron.

“Wanna be my partner?” He asks and you nod. You follow him to his seat and pull up a chair. He’s actually pretty good at math which is nice since math is definitely one of your weak spots. The two of you make small talk until he asks an interesting question. “Would you want to hypothetically help me pull a prank?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“On who?” “The guy from earlier. He’s in my section and he’s been causing some trouble lately and I need to keep him in line somehow.” You nod at his reasoning. It makes sense, but you’ve never heard of anyone pulling pranks to keep anyone in line. The worst thing a section leader has done in choir was probably just throw a stand with someone’s binder and music in it but that was different from a prank. 

“I’ll think about it. I just need more details, you know?” He nods. “What would you even do?” He says something regarding his drum. “But how would I be involved?”

“I just need you to do your thing and sing your little heart out. That shouldn’t be too difficult right?” You let out a small laugh at his question.

“It shouldn’t be. Any suggestions on what I should be singing?” You ask jokingly. But he seems to take it seriously.

“Do you have your music on you?” You nod and pull out your anthology book and hand it to him. He reads the title. 

“Coloratura arias for soprano. Neat.” He flips through the book, examining the music. He places the book between the two of you so you both can get a look. You already knew the contents of the book, so you chose to observe him. He grimaced as he looked at a page. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, trying to see what page he was on. It was a page from the aria “Ah! Tardai Troppo”. All the melismas must’ve been what he was referencing. “Nothing. Your music just looks intimidating. But I think you should sing this one.” He gently shuts the book and hands it to you. Your hands brush for a split second. You’re definitely going to tell your friends about him. You put your book away in your bag and continue on with the math problems. 

— 

Later in the day, you walk to the music hallway with a skip in your step after your interactions with Aaron. He’s really sweet and funny and just… he’s amazing. You go to find your voice teacher in the choir room, but you see her speaking to Garth. Garth was one of your closest friends as you often kept him company when he wasn’t busy accompanying any of the choirs. Both of them looked concerned and only looked even more worried when they both saw you. “Did someone die?” You ask, looking around. No one else was there except for the three of you.

“No, it’s not that. I’m afraid I won’t be able to accompany you during solo/ensemble night. Something personal came up,” Garth says. You nod in understanding. Whatever it was, you hope that he’s ok. “It’s ok Garth! I just need to find someone else to accompany me right?” You ask, looking between the two of them. Your voice teacher nods and Garth clears his throat.

“Yep! And in fact, I think I have the perfect person for you. Do you know Aaron? Aaron Pace?” Garth asks. You nod. “I’m sure he’d be willing to accompany you. In fact, I think he has lunch this hour so you could ask him right now and you could give him my music as well.” He hands you the sheet music. 

“I’ll go hunt him down!” You say, giving a mock salute to the two of them. You exit the choir room and head into the practice rooms. You send Aaron a quick text. 

where are you?

He responds just as fast. 

practice rooms, why?

You sigh

i need to meet with you, it’s important. 

meet me in the big piano practice room. i’m already there. 

You circle around the practice rooms and find the one he was talking about. He was sitting on the piano bench on his phone and looking up. His eyes brightened when he saw you and he let out a chuckle when you tried to pull open the heavy door. “What’s up?” He asks, looking concerned after seeing the look on your face.

“I kind of have a favor to ask you. It’s fine if you don’t want to, but basically I need an accompanist for solo ensemble night and mine kind of bailed and he told me to ask you if you could be my accompanist,” you sputter out. He nods, deep in thought.

“I mean sure, why not? Solo ensemble night is like, a month away right?” You nod. “That should be enough time for me to learn the music. Do you have it with you?” You murmur something that seemed like a response and you handed him the sheet music. “Oh nice. This is the song we were looking at earlier, and most of it looks easy enough to learn in like 30 minutes or so. Tell you what, since we’re both a little occupied with our little prank today, when I get home I’ll learn it and if I can learn it pretty quickly, I’ll send you a text and you can come over. If not, we can just run it tomorrow during lunch.” “Yep! That sounds good. Thank you so much for agreeing to this even though I kinda just sprang it onto you,” you say sheepishly. 

“Well I’ll be off now. Good luck with whatever his name is.” He laughs at your comment and you walk out. Little did you know, he only agreed to it because it was you. 

—

Later in the day, you get a text from Aaron. 

i finished learning it. there were only a couple tricky spots, so you can come over now. here’s my address - xxxx

You read through the text and type out a response

would you mind picking me up? It’s totally fine if you can’t, my car’s just getting an oil change right now

You hear the chime of a notification

what's your address? i’ll be omw

You send him your address. After 15 minutes or so you hear the doorbell ring. You grab your things and then head downstairs to look through the peephole. You see him standing there. You open the door. “Hi,” you say, feeling immediately awkward after saying it.

“Hi,” he says back. It takes 5 seconds of awkward silence before the two of you burst out in laughter. “So are you ready to go?” He asks, fiddling with his hands.

“Mhm!! Let me just lock the door real quick and then we can go.” You exit the house and try to lock the door. You stand there, trying to hold all your things while trying to put the key into the lock and Aaron takes your music from you when he notices you struggling. You thank him and you both get into his car, with him opening the door for you. You two both sit in comfortable silence as he drives to his house. You both get out and he uses his house keys to get inside. He gives you a slight tour and leads you to the room where his piano is. He grabs a stand nearby and hands it to you. You decide to break the silence. 

“How was it?” You ask, and he hums in response as he’s setting up his music. He freezes like a deer in headlights. 

“How was what?” 

“Learning the music,” you say, deciding to copy him and set up your music as well. He nods at your response. You notice that he hasn’t responded and has what seems to be a thinking face. 

“It wasn’t horrible,” Aaron says, shrugging. You laugh at his response. “What? It wasn’t!” 

“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at how long it took for you to come up with a response,” you say, covering your mouth before your laughter turned into a fit of giggles. 

“You are the absolute worst,” he says jokingly, making an exaggerated sighing noise and marking something in his music. 

“But you love me for it!” You say, mimicking his actions. He rolls his eyes at you and clears his throat. 

“Is there anything that you do that isn’t written in the music?” He asks, picking his pencil up.

“There’s a few ritardandos and other things, but we could just go through the piece and fix it as we go,” you say, flipping through your music. A question lies on the tip of your tongue, but you decide not to ask. Aaron can tell that you were thinking about something though based off of your facial expression. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just curious about why you asked that,” you admit.

“Because I’m accompanying you… It’s not my first time doing this,” he says, laughing at your dumbfounded expression. “You’re the soloist, not me. I’ll always be sure to watch you and follow you.” 

“How? Are you gonna practice or something?” You tease, laughing at your own joke. 

“I wouldn’t mind doing so if it was you,” he retorts. “But if that’s all, then that should be fine. We should be able to get started.” 

You nod and you take a swig of water from your water bottle. He plays the intro to the piece. It goes shockingly well considering that he just learnt the piece and that you hadn’t practiced much, but you eventually get to the end of whatever good luck the two of you had. You got to a very painful melisma with way too many accidentals to count which made it hard to stay in key. 

[a melisma is basically a riff - it’s singing multiple notes on one syllable]. 

Aaron makes a face and stops playing when your voice trails off. “What happened?” He asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“Nothing! I’m fine, I just psyched myself out a little bit with that part. I think I just need to review it really slowly really quickly,” you say, shuddering at the fact. Normally you could sing it in front of literally anyone, but why were you scared to sing it in front of Aaron? He wasn’t going to blow up at you or anything for not being able to sing it.

“No yeah, I get that,” he says, nodding at your comment. 

“It’s just embarrassing that I messed up,” you say sheepishly, choosing to fiddle with a corner of your sheet music.

“Don’t worry about it, you sounded great,” he says, turning to face you and giving you what seems to be a genuine smile. You nod and murmur a quick thank you. “So do you want me to play your part for you, or do you want to play it?”

“I can play it.” With that, he scoots over on the piano bench and gives you space to sit. You play your starting note and hum it. You try to make your way through the melisma, but it’s been a while since you had to play an instrument. Aaron notices you struggling after a few rough attempts. 

“Here, let me,” he says, so quietly that it was almost a whisper. He gently removes your hands from the keys and instead places his on the keys. With his free hand, he places your hands on top of his and slowly breaks it down for you, letting you control the tempo. After doing this a few times, he looks at you expectantly. “Do you feel better?” He asks, turning to face you. 

He looks you straight in the eye. You nod and quickly get up from the bench, trying to hide the flustered look on your face. You think he doesn’t and the rest of the rehearsal goes smoothly. Afterwards, you both make arrangements to meet up again and rehearse before solo ensemble night. 

—

After a few more rehearsals, you became much more comfortable performing with Aaron. In fact, you became so comfortable that instead of having productive rehearsals, you’d spend the time mostly talking. You both leaned towards each other to listen to what the other would say. The two of you would talk about small things, like new music that you got or just about your day. But this rehearsal was different. You had been on the brink of losing your voice due to the fact that you’d been overusing it lately, but you tried not to let that get the best of you. You kept running through the piece with him over and over again, but it kept getting harder and harder to get up there. Eventually it got to a point where nothing would come out. When he couldn’t hear your voice, he turned to look at you, but all he saw was you taking deep breaths with teary eyes.

Aaron didn’t know what possessed him, but he immediately got up and went to you. As he got closer, he realized that you started crying harder and started sniffling as well. He starts trying to calm you down, but you decide to wrap your arms around him. He holds you and tries to soothe you as your tears keep coming and eventually they come to a stop. “Are you alright? What happened?” He asks as you pull away from him and just stare. He’s surprised when your voice comes out hoarse and raspy. 

“Nothing. I just needed to shut up for a little bit, go on vocal rest, you know? And I was stupid and I chose to ignore it and it just-” You say, trailing off. He nods and opens his arms towards you, giving you a silent offer for a hug. You accept it and he rubs your back as you try to keep calm.

“You don’t need to push yourself. Solo ensemble night is going to go well, don’t worry about it,” he murmurs as you choose to bury your head in his shoulder. He pats your head and is eventually able to coax all the negative feelings out of you. That night, you realized one thing. You absolutely and positively have a thing for Mr. Aaron Pace.

—

That night you decided that you needed to tell someone about what happened and what you should do. You were in absolute shambles. You didn’t know what to do. If you told him about your feelings and destroyed the friendship the two of you had, you didn’t know what you’d do. You decided to call Cadence since she’d probably know the most about him in the first place. 

Your phone rang a few times until Cadence answered. You had science with her and the two of you became friends due to the fact that you two both came to class when there were no other seats open, so you both just ended up sitting next to each other. “Hi!! What’s up?” Cadence asks, angling her camera until you could only see her forehead and her eyes. You laugh at her and take a screenshot to annoy her with later. “Why’d you screenshot it?” She asks, zooming out to give you a dirty look.

“No reason,” you say, smirking. “But seriously I wanna ask you about something.” “I’m all ears,” she says, placing her phone on her bed and staring directly into the camera.

“Ew… Don’t do that…” You say, covering your eyes and exaggeratedly shuddering at her actions. “Fine, but what is it that you wanted to talk about?”

“I think I have a crush on someone-” “Who? Is it Aaron?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows. Your jaw drops. Was it that obvious? “It wasn’t… Actually it kinda was, but if he hasn’t said anything about it yet, then I’d say that he thinks highly of you at least. If he didn’t, he probably would’ve told you to drop it or to stop talking to him.”

“I said that out loud?” You ask, looking confused. She nods.

“Mhm. But seriously, I think you have a chance. Maybe all you need to do is tell him!” “But what if I ruin our friendship by doing that?”

“Well, do the benefits outweigh the risks? Because if you’re really worried about ruining the friendship or something, just ask yourself that before doing so. Other than that, I don’t know what to tell you.” You proceed to tell her about the incident and what happened and she gives the same insight. “He’s blunt. He’s not gonna act like that just because. In fact, I’m surprised he even agreed to being your accompanist in the first place. But there’s a first for everything, so I say you should just go for it.” With that, your conversation with Cadence ends. You let out a loud exhale as you let yourself fall onto your bed. You truly didn’t know what to do. 

—

You decided the best way to deal with this was to distance yourself from him. Cadence was right, you needed to be able to weigh both the pros and cons before confessing. You needed to clear your head, and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to do that if you kept talking to him. Your walk to class felt lonely without him and you felt your heart ache when you passed him in the hallway. He tried to wave to you, but you flat-out ignored him. After English, you made sure to take a different route to your shared math class. This routine continued until solo ensemble night. 

—

When the night came, you paced anxiously backstage. You were ready to get this over with and be free from your thoughts of Aaron. However, he didn’t make it easy. You were busy watching someone’s performance on stage and didn’t notice him walking over and standing next to you. Someone clearing their throat catches your attention. “You know, you shouldn’t be doing that. It messes with your voice,” you say, not realizing who you were speaking to.

“But I’m not singing,” he says. You turn and finally notice who’s next to you. 

“Aaron?” You ask, mouth open in shock. You didn’t think he’d willingly talk to you after you tried distancing yourself from him. 

“Did I do something to you? Did I cross a line during that one rehearsal? If I did something, please tell me. I can’t have you ignoring me like this, especially not when I feel- nevermind,” he murmurs, all of it coming out at once.

“You didn’t do anything. It was just me being stupid,” you mutter, rubbing your temples in embarrassment.

“Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t stupid. I’m sure you had a good reason,” he says, trying to get through to you. You shake your head, but you can’t. He takes your face in his hands and looks you in the eye. 

“It was stupid. It was so so stupid. I thought that distancing myself from you would help me figure out whether or not I should confess to you and it didn’t work at all and now I’m just left with all these feelings for you and I don’t know what to do,” you blurt out, immediately covering your mouth. You’re shocked that all these words exit your mouth, especially since you were so terrified of confessing to him in the first place. Aaron lets out a deep breath and hugs you tightly. 

“You know, you could’ve just told me. I don’t just act this way with anyone. I really do care for you. I have feelings for you as well,” he whispers into your ear. “Can I kiss you?” He asks, pulling away from the hug. You nod and wrap your arms around his neck and he places his hands on your waist. The two of you pull away from each other just before you’re called to the stage. “Good luck out there. Not that you’ll need it,” he says, smirking at you. He pats your head and quickly fixes your hair before the two of you walk out. 

“I could say the same to you,” you whisper to him in the wings. He smiles at you and then takes his seat on the piano bench and you take yours by the microphone. The performance goes well.

—

The two of you have a fit of laughter as you both make your way to the parking lot. “I hate these heels,” you say, giggling as you take them off and go barefoot on the concrete. You let out a shriek when Aaron picks you up.

“What? You said you hate your heels, so I just gave you a solution. I can’t have my pretty little girlfriend walking barefoot in the school parking lot. Who knows what you’ll get from walking here?” He jokes, and you let more giggles escape. 

“So that’s what I am, huh? Your girlfriend? And you think I’m pretty?” You ask, laughing as he pretends to think. 

“Mhm, and I think you’re very pretty,” he says, chuckling at you. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and pecks you on the forehead, causing you to fake swoon. 

“You are the absolute worst, you know that right?” You say, mimicking his words from a while ago.

“You love me for it though,” he says, smiling at you. He puts you down when the two of you reach his car, only to open the door for you and let you in. “Where do you wanna eat?” You shrug and tell him that it didn’t matter and that he could just go through any drive-thru. After getting some fast food, the two of you headed to his house. The drive was shrouded in comfortable silence since both of you guys decided to eat in the parking lot and then drive home. The two of you agreed on having a sleepover after solo ensemble night beforehand so you two could talk about it afterwards and get food together.

Once the two of you got to his house and went through your nighttime routines, the two of you sat on his bed. “So are you sure about the whole having feelings for me too thing or…” You ask, trying to break the silence. He playfully rolls his eyes at you. “No, I just invited you to my house to spend the night because I actually hate you and want to punt you out the window while you sleep,” he says sarcastically. You laugh at his joke and embrace him. “But seriously, I do care for you. In fact, I have something to show for it.” He gets up from his spot on the bed and you follow as well, just now noticing his too short Star Wars pajama pants. He goes to his desk and you stand there awkwardly before he places a box in your hands. He notices you looking between him and the box.

“What is it?” You ask, examining the outside of the box. It was just a plain, small, shipping box - the kind you’d use for jewelry.

“Just open it,” he says, grinning and giving you his hand. You take it and let him lead you back to your spots on the bed. You open the box and find it filled with small strips of paper stapled to a larger piece. 

“What is this?” You ask, smiling as you read the paper. You feel your face heat up and you feel flustered when you read the bottom panel of the box. It read: ‘songs that remind me of you and why”. “Shut up,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand. “You did not.”

“I did,” he says, laughing at your reaction. “Go through the songs.” You do, and you notice that they’re all songs that would play during the time the two of you spent together. From discussions about Laufey to trying to get him to scream Taylor swift to arguing about composers, they were all there. You gently shut the box and wrap him in the tightest hug that you could. You quickly break away to give him a peck on the lips, and he decides to deepen it. You finally pull away from him, slightly out of breath and trying to get air back into your lungs.

“When did you make this?” You ask him. 

“Around when you were keeping your distance. We had this poetry assignment and I was inspired by it,” he says. “I wanted to preserve all our memories together. After all, I know that music means just as much to you as it does to me and I wanted something that would remind me of that.” You nod at his words. 

“I’m glad we’re able to share that then,” you murmur. You wish that you were able to hear the rest of his words, but sleep was catching up to you and you quickly knocked out. He didn’t mind though. The two of you had so much more time to discuss these things in the future.

[pianocat939]

Hey Celina-

So I've been wanting to start a writing blog myself and I have a vague idea on what I wanna write about. But I don't know how to exactly write it...

I was wondering, how does your writing process go? What do you do in longer pieces specifically?

I'm a hellfire of a writer and I find it absolutely hilarious that people want advice from me, but I'm more than honoured to give you my burnt pasta advice-

Ok first things first- give yourself like a minute to think of a big idea-

Like nothing too specific- for example not a whole sentence explaining the plot or character, rather just a few words: Ex. Evil Queen.

From there I like to jot down the words onto the document/platform I'm working on and start typing out random sentences that come to mind.

This can be both starting the story or fleshing out the character. That way, you don't have to be stuck on thinking of writing a specific topic.

Now there's one thing I like to point out in particularly how I write. I like to stick with my initial image of the character HEAVILY. I don't know if people notice this, but I keep a common theme with most of characters from when I first wrote them. [Unless if it's an AU of some sort]. Ex. personality traits, background, etc.

From there I usually end up building an outline of the plot.

Now my teachers have always said to keep your outline like a few words long, but I like keeping my bullet points detailed. So my points end up being a few sentences each, considering I'm writing the plot.

You don't need to write your outline in a grammatically correct method nor does it have to be pretty. Like my outlines are honestly like "This mf dies by accidentally tripping and tumbling down the hill like a wheel of cheese." It's easier for me to keep track of my thoughts and often times I can add a funny thing from those said sentences.

This is the part where I start to slack off compared to other writers.

I'm sure most writers actually proofread their work and ask for peer review, but I don't lmao. (Honestly, primarily because I don't write long pieces as much)

I would suggest those, but at the same time I don't do them aha...

Anyway, once you finish your outline, give a brisk run through and cut out anything you think is unneeded or unclear. Remember, writing beautiful is easy, it's the clarity that's hard. In my case I think it's very true since I sometimes use big words.

Then you actually write your draft-

USE THE THESAURUS. I don't know how many times I've needed to say that to people. I always put a lot of synonyms for my adjectives. It gives a lot of colour.

Then carefully read your paragraphs so you can cut out anything you don't need or makes it difficult to keep clear.

I do the last few changes [adding/removing, more fancy words]

And then bam-

Finished.

(Sorry if this was messy lmao. But hey, this is how I truly write)

- Celina