#i am not kidding when i say watching burrow's end gave me inspiration. it gave me LIFE

[irisbaggins]

In the light of my discovery, I just have to say, Aabria, thank you. Your storytelling, your world-building, it sparked to life something I had sorely missed. It sparked the analytical in me, gave me a fire I haven't seen in years. You and the other wonderful players gave me inspiration, and helped me write an essay I thought would be out of my reach. Thank you so much for this gift of Burrow's End. I am so grateful.

[vivianweasley]

Let Her Go (F.W. x Reader)

Summary: “Only know you love her when you let her go.” childhood friends to lovers, unrequited love

Prompt: This is for @vogueweasley‘s 1K writing challenge and the prompt is #44 “What am I in your life? Because as of lately I feel as though I’ve been nothing to you.” Congrats again lovely!!

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst to a bit of fluff, unrequited love, mention of alcohol (Fred being drunk), language (one curse word), Fred being stupid

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: Did I write another friends to lovers with unrequited love? Yes, but I love this idea and I’m just writing to cope. The inspiration is Let Her Go by Passenger! Hope you guys would like it! (Also, let’s pretend they used telephone)

Special thanks to @valwritesx for the support<3

Disclaimer: all the pictures used in the header are from Pinterest. Credit goes to the original owners.

Please do NOT repost or translate my work on another site without explicit permission! Thank you! Reblogs and comments are always welcome:)

In your memories, you were always following Fred Weasley around.

You followed him around when he and George were throwing dungbombs in their neighbor’s garden. You were six, and he was seven.

You followed him around when it was your first year at Hogwarts. You were an awkward first year, but he has already established quite a reputation.

You followed him everywhere. Whether it was a quidditch game or detention, you were always there with him. Some people called you his sidekick, but you never really minded because you were absolutely head over heels for him.

You knew he knew about your stupid little crush; you weren’t trying to hide your feelings anyway. And you knew that your feelings weren’t reciprocated, but that didn’t matter. Loving him was your own business. Plus, you knew that at least you meant something to him, so you’ve still got a chance.

You loved him with all your heart and without a doubt. It was one-sided and lonely, but you never cared. Well, at least not until now.

~

It was your party to celebrate receiving a brilliant job offer from America. All of your friends were there.

“I’m so happy for you! But I’m also gonna miss you a lot!” George exclaimed for like the twentieth time today.

You chuckled, “I know, Georgie, I’ll miss you too! And I’m not leaving until the end of the next month. I’ve still got a lot to take care of before I go.” Now that you were actually talking about leaving, the whole concept of living in another country so far away finally began to feel more realistic. “There are just so many things and people I’ll miss.”

“By people, you mean Fred, right?” Ginny teased, “Speaking of which, where is he?”

“I don’t know. He promised he would come,” you replied, couldn’t control the blush that was climbing up your cheeks.

Ginny was right. Of course you were going to miss all of your friends dearly, but you were also going to miss Fred just a little more than the others. And that’s why you were a bit disappointed that he was so late to your party. You couldn’t stop yourself from checking the clock and the door every now and then. The butterflies in your stomach started dancing whenever you heard something outside, but they always die down when you realized it wasn’t him.

The clock soon struck 12, and when you were saying goodbye to the last of the guests, you finally accepted the fact that Fred was not going to show up tonight. 

~

You were helping at the joke shop the next day, and it was already noon when you heard Fred walking down the stairs. 

“Morning,” you could still hear the sleepiness in his voice, and you could tell from his messy hair and puffy eyes that it was a hangover. You frowned a little but you tried not to overthink. Surely he had a good reason, right?

“It’s already noon, brother,” George asked the question for you, “where were you last night?”

“I ran into Lee after work, and we went to the pub. Why?”

“Why? It was Y/N’s party last night, you forgot?”

“Wait, it was last night? Ah shit, I forgot. I’m sorry Y/N,” he turned to look at you. You could see the sorry on his face, but you couldn’t hear it in his voice. You knew that expression all too well. It was the same reaction whenever he got caught playing pranks on someone. He was saying that he’s sorry, but you knew he didn’t mean it.

“Fred, you do realize that she’s leaving soon, right?” George was finding this unbelievable too.

“Oh c’mon, last time I checked, we still have something called a portkey. And I’m sure Y/N will be visiting us pretty often, right Y/N?” The carelessness in his voice stung you.

Hurt, mixed with anger, was rushing to your brain. It was the moment that struck you, a moment that should have happened a long time ago. 

You always thought that even though Fred didn’t love you back, at least you were still a very important friend to him. But now you’ve finally realized that maybe this was just another self-comforting lie. It was not the first time he forgot something about you, and it seemed like he never cared anyway. 

“What am I in your life?” You asked quietly, “Because as of lately, I feel as though I’ve been nothing to you.”

“What are you saying? Y/N, you’re not making any sense.”

“I always thought it’s alright that my feelings aren’t reciprocated because it’s just my own business. But I’m not just that stupid girl who has a crush on you; I’m also your friend! And friends shouldn’t treat friends like nothing.” Your voice sounded calm, but tears were streaming down your face, “It was always me who’s looking for you and thinking about you, but friendship takes two, Fred. Maybe you should start trying too.” 

Then you just stormed out of the joke shop, before George could try to talk you round and before Fred could probably tell a joke to laugh it off.

~

One week later, you left for your new job in a hurry. You said goodbye to every one of your friends, except for Fred. 

Fred was feeling guilty but also confused. Why did you snap like that? What he did was surely just a small mistake, right? And he wasn’t too worried. He was sure that you would forgive him and come back to him. You always do. In fact, he was convinced that he could see you again the next holiday. 

Halloween night, George had plans, so Fred was in charge of closing up tonight. Looking at the empty bowl of sweets on the counter, Fred thought about you. You always remembered to fill it up, especially around Halloween.

The autumn wind was getting cold, and he pulled his coat tighter as he walked outside. The kids on the street were all dressed up, going from door to door trick-or-treating. Fred remembered how you two and George would always go trick-or-treating together on Halloween since you were kids. Even after you all grew up, you would still drag him to go with you. But now he was walking alone in his business suit, on his way home. This moment he felt as if the kid inside him has left with you.

When he got home, he turned on the TV and started switching channels absentmindedly. You should be there, suggesting to watch a horror movie, but then deciding on something family-friendly. You would always try to have a Halloween movie marathon but end up falling asleep, lying on his shoulder. He found it adorable, but he never told you that.

Fred sighed as he laid back on the couch. This was the first Halloween without you.

~

Christmas morning, Fred walked downstairs, noticing something was different in the air. The Burrow was quieter. Sure, most of his family were already up and were gathered around the Christmas tree, chatting and laughing. But you weren’t there.

You weren’t there, showing up at the Burrow way too early in the morning. You weren’t there knocking on his door and waking him up using a cheerful, sing-song voice. He would always groan and tell you to give him five more minutes. But this year, when he woke up to the mechanical sound of the alarm clock, he really missed your cheerful voice.

Fred walked downstairs with everyone wishing him a Merry Christmas, but his eyes were searching the crowd for a glimpse of you that was just impossible to be found. This was the first Christmas without you.

~

New Year’s Eve, Fred and George were at the local pub’s New Year countdown party, along with the other boys. Just like usual, the boys had too much drink and passed out in the pub.

When Fred was only half-awake, he heard your voice calling him, “Freddie! C’mon, let’s get you home!” A soft smile appeared on his lips. You were back! He knew you would be back for the new year. He knew you wouldn’t leave him for too long.

You were always there to pick him up and carry him home after New Year’s party. He was always amazed at how you managed to carry him as he was taller than you, but you were always there for him. He just felt so lucky now to have you in his life, and seeing you in front of him made him smile like an idiot.

You were frowning seeing him lying on the floor, but you soon gave in when you saw that smile. You chuckled and whispered, “Happy New Year, Freddie.” 

The soft smile stayed on Fred’s lips. He felt at home.

When Fred woke up again, he found himself lying on the floor of the pub. The pub was already empty. The boys were already gone. Someone must have picked them up, but there was no one for him. He finally began to realize that it was just a dream. You were still in America, and he was still a loser who’s lying alone on the cold floor on the first day of the new year. 

Fred managed to walk out of the pub. The freezing wind was slapping on his face, trying to sober him up. He walked past a coffee shop. That was your favorite. 

You were all he could think of now. Fred knew that you had a crush on him, but he always believed that it was just a stupid little childhood crush and it would fade as soon as you all grow up. He was just too familiar with you, and familiarity wasn’t what he thought he was looking for in romance.

But you were already in every part of his life. No matter where he goes or what he does, you were always there. But now you weren’t.

There was the first time Fred told a joke, and you weren’t the first to laugh. He loved the way you laugh, for it could always brighten up his whole day, but he never admitted it. 

There was the first time he was humming a song, and you weren’t there to sing along. He loved your voice, for it could always calm him down, but he wouldn’t tell you that.

There was the first time when he realized that he needed you in his life.

The first time when he realized that he loved you more than he thought he did.

It was like muscle memory for him to remember everything about you, but he wasn’t even aware of that, and you obviously didn’t know too. Instead of showing you how much he loved and appreciated you, he just took you for granted because he thought you would never leave. 

Fred dialed your number that night. He thought he might go crazy if he couldn’t hear your voice tonight. As he waited for you to pick up, he felt the inside of his stomach were all twisted together, but it was soon replaced by butterflies when he heard your voice.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N, it’s me, Fred,” he didn’t know why he stuttered, “S-so, I was wondering...do you know where is the photo of us at the station? It was your first year of school. Did you take it with you?”

“No, I gave it to George. Why?” He couldn’t tell your emotion through the phone. Were you annoyed? Or were you happy to hear his voice too?

“Oh, umm, nothing, just missing the old days.” 

“Oh, okay...Anything else?”

There were so many things that he wanted to say. He wanted to tell you that he’s sorry and he missed you so much, but you sounded impatient. So all he managed to say was, “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

There was a few seconds of silence; then he heard you reply, “Happy New Year, Fred.”

Hanging up the phone, Fred felt his heart sank. He hated how emotionless you sounded, and he knew he had to do something. Maybe he couldn’t convince you to come back to him, but at least he owed you an apology.

~

Valentine’s Day. Evening, you walked out of the building you worked in. It was on a wizarding street just like Diagon Alley, so it didn’t take you too long to adjust to the new environment. 

The shops on this street were all having Valentine’s specials, and it reminded you of the Valentine’s specials of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Fred always had the most interesting and romantic ideas-you shook your head. You promised yourself not to think about him anymore.

A shop at the corner captured your attention. You’ve never seen this shop before. You looked for the name of the shop and the sign above read “WWW’.

Just when you thought you were losing your mind and associating everything with Fred again, the shop owner walked out. 

Fred smiled when he saw you. The same beaming smile that had you head over heels for him for as long as you could remember. “Hi, I'm new here. Would you mind showing me around?”

~

A/N: Sorry if the ending feels a bit rushed! I felt like it made sense to end here so the reader could decide if she wants to forgive him or not. 

taglist: @valwritesx @protect-remus @zaphdekota @glimmering-darling-dolly @dogweedanddeathcaps @gloryekaterina @reenfluffmarshmallow @wand3ringr0s3 @heavenlymidnight @hunnybunimdun @izzyyy-1 @magicalxdaydream @starlightweasley @shadowsinger11 @idont-knowrn @thisismynerdyself @theweasleysredhair @harrysweasleys @levylovegood @cinammonjae @mrbillymontgomery @slytherinsunrise @rosemusic18 @sarcasticallywitty15​ @ac127​ @1127203457 

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[yujikuna]

when the night is over

summary: bucky comes home to you after a long mission

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2k

warnings: fluff, angst, and like two lines of smutty action

a/n: i always said i would never post my stuff on tumblr, but here i am. also, i’m sorry in advance. inspired by when the night is over by lord huron.

The white house across the field is illuminated like a mirage in the desert. The scene is picturesque in the way that dawn has begun to take over the sky, and the large willow tree that sits by the pond east of the house flutters in the breeze.

Every light is on, and the sconce above the front door is lit as a silent invitation for him to enter. Small lanterns line the path leading from the driveway to the porch, beckoning him forward.

He strips himself of his gear before he ascends the porch steps. There was no place for it there. This was holy ground not meant to be tainted by the dirt and blood caked on his soles and his heart. Each piece he takes off feels like a layer of skin being pulled back until he is left with only a bruised and tattered soul longing for solace. His boots are left in the yard.

The second step creaks under his weight and the rusted hinges of the screen door screech when he opens it. He would have liked to remember to fix them later, but all of his worries and responsibilities are forgotten as soon as he steps over the threshold into the metaphorical Eden that he shares with you.

There’s no need to knock. This is their sanctuary. A safe haven far, far away from the terrors of the world.

“Bucky? Is that you?”

Of course it’s him. It’s always him. No one else knows that this place exists.

His bare feet pad across the cold hardwood, following your voice and the smell of breakfast to the kitchen. It makes him think of someone else, someone older with blue eyes and brown hair like his who sang as they cooked and made him their certified taste-tester. But the thought is fleeting, and he pushes it away.

You’re a vision standing there in front of the stove. A dream. But you have to be real. There’s no way a man as twisted as he could ever create something as ethereal as you.

Bucky takes a moment to watch you. You’re humming and swaying to the song coming from the radio sitting by the window as you flip blueberry pancakes and sizzling bacon and stir scrambled eggs. He can’t see your face from where he’s standing, but he doesn’t need to.

He’s happy. He’s so utterly, devastatingly, happy that he can’t contain everything he feels within his cracked heart and has to let it pour out of him. Has to let it go wherever it can find a home. It always ends up finding its home with you.

He found his home with you.

He doesn’t think twice as he crosses the kitchen to wrap his arms around your waist and bury his face in your hair, the strong scent of your shampoo tickling his nose. His titanium hand grasps your hip as his flesh one gathers your hair to push it over your right shoulder. You let out a soft sigh when you feel the tip of his nose trace a line from your shoulder up your neck, ending with a kiss behind your ear.

“If you want breakfast you’ll stop while you’re ahead, Sarge,” you tease. You don’t move away, though, just close your eyes and tilt your head back to rest on his broad shoulder.

“Don’t need food,” Bucky says, the words muffled by your neck. “Just need you.”

The song changes, slightly more up-beat than the one before, but he just presses his chest closer to your back. He feels seventeen again, swaying with you to the mellow jazz in the background. The hand that was holding your hair trails down your side, stops to give your hip a little squeeze, and then continues its journey to your leg.

His calloused palm is rough against the soft skin of your thigh. A hum falls from your lips when his fingertips dance across the peach fuzz there, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It travels upwards again, but stops at the delicate hem of silky fabric.

“This a new dress?” Bucky’s face is still burrowed in the juncture between your shoulder and neck, a grin on his face when he feels you try and fail to suppress a shiver at his lips moving across your skin when he asks the question.

“Mhm. Got it on sale a few weeks ago,” you say. The kitchen is quiet for a moment, only the sounds of soft music and sizzling bacon filling the silence before you speak again. “You’ve been gone so long, Bucky.”

“I know. ‘M sorry. ‘M here now, though.”

You turn in his arms to face him. Something warm that he hasn’t felt since he left bursts in his chest when he sees your face. He had been gone longer than usual this time. Mission after mission after mission-- they never seemed to end. But even after all that time, here you were, just as beautiful as always. It was like you never changed.

A smile takes over your face when you look at him. “Your hair’s longer,” you say, running your fingers through the tangled brown tresses before swiping your thumb across his cheek to remove a smudge of dirt. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up and breakfast will be ready by the time you get back?”

He wants to protest, wants to stay there in front of the stove with you and sway until the food is burnt and the sun finishes rising and sets again in the night. Wants to hold you until the house gives in on top of you and you both turn to dust and become one with the earth below.

He would be okay with that, content with the thought of his aching bones finally being laid to rest entwined with yours, but you just kiss the tip of your pointer finger and press it to the dimple of his chin before shooing him away and turning back to the food.

Breakfast is spent with you on his lap, his metal arm wrapped around your waist to keep you from getting up, the two of you basking in the first light of daybreak as it filters through the sheer curtains hanging on the window. In between bites he kisses your shoulder blade, and when you finish you cuddle against him while he goes back for seconds.

You’re so warm against him, and he can’t help but tuck his hand underneath your dress to feel the heat of your skin on his. He swears he can almost see his own breath.

‘S cold, he told you there in the kitchen. The furnace is acting up, you had replied. Another thing to add to the nonexistent list he was keeping.

Dishes are left on the table. Pans are left on the stove. The sink is so full that it’s overflowing to the counter. They’ll clean later. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. It can wait, but they can’t.

In the living room, a basket of laundry is taken from the couch and deposited on the arm chair instead. A stale cup of water from the night before is moved from the coffee table and poured into the overgrown pothos by the window and Bucky watches you sit the glass on the floor. It can wait.

It’s so achingly domestic, he thinks, coming home to a well-loved house and being well-loved by the woman in it. There are no false pretenses, no need for the two of them to pretend to be someone they’re not. It’s almost like he never left-- like time in the little white house in the field was frozen, allowing the two of you to pick back up exactly where you left off.

Bucky dutifully follows you to the couch, and the last of the tension in his body melts away when he opens his arms for you to fall in to.

He plans on staying there forever.

Soft touches and soft kisses and even softer words. The radio plays softly in the background as you tell him what he missed, and he listens diligently while you run your fingers through his hair. Eventually you pick up a thin book and a pen. You tried to show him how to solve the puzzle in front of you, but each time you looked at him you noticed the spaced out look and dopey smile he always got when he was watching you, and gave up soon after.

“…Six, seven, eight, nine.” The last number is nearly cut off by a choked giggle when you feel him start to kiss down your neck. He can tell you’re trying to ignore him, but he continues mapping his way down your body, looking up at you as he kisses the inside of your knee. “Bucky.”

The expression on your face is adorably stern, but the almost imperceptible quirk of your lips and the benign tone of your voice tells him everything he needs to know.

It’s there on the couch that he is given his final homecoming with your arms wrapped around him tightly and his hands, one warm and rough and the other smooth metal, grasping your legs. You’re a vision above him. A dream. Beautiful. Ethereal. He feels your warm breath ghost over his face and your eyelashes brush his cheek before you cum around him, a whispered ‘I love you’ and one final kiss urging him to follow. He would follow you anywhere. His beautiful girl. His home.

The air between the two of you is electric as you fall into his chest. He swears he can feel it in his fingertips, his toes, his brain, his heart. Every nerve in his body feels alive.

Another giggle and a slow, languid kiss is shared between you. “Do you think that was it?”

Bucky reclines on the couch, bringing you with him. “I hope so,” he mumbles into your hair. He pulls the discarded blanket over you to slow the creeping chill seeping into his bones. “We gotta get a move on if we’re gonna have four.”

You pinch his side and push yourself onto your elbows. “Four?” you ask, a teasing glint in your eye. “I’m pretty sure I agreed to one.”

“Nope, I vividly remember you telling me we could have as many as I want, and I want four.” The sun has set, but he ignores the darkness outside, instead focusing on your blissful smile and the way the soft light of the lamp on the table dances over your skin.

“Absolutely not. There’s no way I could handle four kids.”

“Okay,” he says, a cheeky grin on his face, “we’ll compromise and have six instead.”

“Six?” you squawk, your tone full of mirth. “Why stop there? We might as well have enough babies to fill an entire freight car.”

The electricity that runs through his body in response to your final two words is enough to make his jaw lock and his muscles seize. He can’t speak, can’t think, can’t hear your worried pleas for him to look at you.

Bucky wants it to stop. It’s too painful, too much, too soon, and he can see you above him still through the fog of his mind-- his shining sun. He can see you, can feel your hands on his face but you’re soon eclipsed by the current running through his body.

Too painful, too much, too soon. The night wasn’t over yet. He was supposed to still have time. Too soon, too soon, too soon.

Did he tell you he loved you? He knows he does, he knows you know, but did he tell you? He can’t see the sun anymore. Was it even there to begin with? He can’t remember.

Bucky closes his eyes, unable to move. He feels lost inside his own mind. Where was he?

When he opens them he thinks he sees the sun. But it’s not soft daylight being filtered through lace curtains or your warmth melting him down to his core. It’s harsh and white and he’s so, so cold.

A man steps in front of his chair.

“Доброе утро, солдат.”

“Я жду приказаний.”

[creativewritingpracticestudio]

Tour Life, Baby(Joey Jordison x Reader)

@fateblood I’m so, so, so sorry for the long wait! I watched as many interviews as I could to try and get a feel for Joey’s personality, sorry if it isn’t exactly right! This is younger Joey.

Description: Just a sweet fluffy fic about tour life on the road with Joey.

Warnings: Cursing

Permanent Taggers: @smokeandmirrorz @holyjunkie @overlyobsessedfangirl @slashevilsister

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauties.”

You awoke with a start as you felt the blankets being pulled off of you, and opened a bleary eye to see Corey, the lead singer of your boyfriend’s band, standing over you with a smirk on his face. Joey, who had fallen asleep while he was spooning you from behind, reached down and pulled the covers back over the two of you, shooting Corey a quick death glare. “Go away.”

Corey laughed, pulled the covers back down again, and walked off towards the opposite end of the tour bus. “You’ll have to get up anyway, Joey, we gotta do sound check. Come on, princess, get up and go change.” Corey left, dodging a pillow that Joey threw at him, and Joey groaned loudly as he burrowed his face into your neck. “I don’t wanna get up.”

You giggled, sitting up to rub the sleep from your eyes. “I know, Joey, but you gotta get up. You can sleep more after the concert.” He sighed, begrudgingly climbing out of the bunk. “Okay, okay. Kiss me first, though.” You leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, and he walked off towards the bathroom to change. You watched him go, smiling to yourself.

Even though you technically could have just stayed in bed and caught up on sleep, since you weren’t a band member and therefore didn’t have to go to sound check, you decided to get up and get ready too, just to be fair to Joey. When he came back from the bathroom, you were fixing yourself breakfast in the makeshift kitchen. He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you cooked.

“Save me some for when I get back?” You smiled. “Sure, baby. Now get going before Corey comes in here and kicks your ass.” He groaned again, but kissed your cheek and walked out the door. You laughed as you watched him go. He really needs to start going to bed earlier. Of course, it wasn’t his fault entirely. The two of you had stayed up watching various children’s cartoons on the tour bus’s TV set until about 4 in the morning.

You spent the next two hours doing basically nothing except watching TV and eating snacks. At about 10:00AM, Joey walked back in, looking slightly less tired than he had earlier. “How was soundcheck?” He shrugged, but smiled. “Some fans came up to us on the way back, so we talked to them for a while and took some photos and signed some stuff.” You smiled. Joey absolutely loved meeting fans. “See? Bet that made soundcheck worth it!”

He laughed, sitting next to you and pulling you into his lap. “Missed you.” You smiled and kissed his cheek. “I missed you too, baby. Here, saved you some bacon and pancakes.” As he ate, he talked about the fans he’d met, including one who’d told him that he was their biggest inspiration for wanting to make music. Joey’s face lit up as he talked about it, and you couldn’t help but grin the whole time he spoke. You knew those kinds of things stuck with him.

You went to put the plates in the tiny kitchen sink, and turned to Joey with a smile. “Bet you’re excited to see all those other fans in VIP tonight.” He nodded. “Yeah. Speaking of which, the rest of the band and I won’t be back til at least 2 or 3 in the morning. Will you be okay here by yourself?” You shrugged. “I should be. I usually am, anyway.” Joey frowned. “That’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

You looked up, concerned. “What do you mean, baby?” Joey stared at you seriously. “Do you want me to fly you back home?” You raised your eyebrows, alarmed. Where was this coming from. “Do you want me to go back home?” He shook his head. “No, but I know it can’t be easy having to stay cooped up in this tour bus for so long. You can be honest. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go home. I’ll pay for your ticket.”

You set down the plates and walked over to your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. You then pulled away and looked him in the eyes. “Baby. Listen to me. I don’t want to go home. I’ll admit, it’s a little cramped on here sometimes, but there’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you. Hell, I’ll go on a million tours with you if it means we can be together. I love you, okay?” You kissed him on the forehead.

Joey looked relieved. “Thank fucking God. I was trying to be caring or whatever but I really didn’t want you to go. I’ll go insane if I have to do this without you. I love you too.” You laughed and gently ruffled his hair as you went back to washing dishes. “Good thing I’m not leaving anytime soon. You can’t get rid of me, Joey, I’m like a plague.” You flicked dishwater at him, and he fake-complained. “Babe, watch the shirt!”

Things were quiet for a few minutes as you washed the dishes and Joey looked over the letters he’d been given by fans, and then after about 15 minutes, Joey spoke up. “You know, you could come with me to the concerts if you wanted to. I know they get really loud, but you could stand on the side of the stage and you could wear earplugs or headphones or whatever.” You thought it over for a moment.

“You know what? That sounds like fun. I’ll go!” Joey perked up and smiled. “Okay, sounds good. You can be like my cheerleader. Ew, why did I say that? Ignore me. Don’t be a fucking cheerleader. Just be you.” You giggled. “Aw, no, why can’t I be a cheerleader? I’ll wear a mini skirt and do a cute little chant for you!” Joey playfully rolled his eyes. “I love you, but I’ll call security on you if you do that, baby.”

You smirked. “They can’t catch me. Anyway, maybe I can hang out during the VIP meet and greet and meet some of your fans!” Joey grimaced. “I don’t know about that. One of the fans I met earlier said something about trying to steal you from me if they ever met you.” You grinned. “Really? Were they cute?” Joey threw a napkin at you, which you dodged as you burst out laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

——————————-

“Fuck, that was epic!” You followed Joey onto the tour bus, the both of you sweaty as hell and extremely tired. It was about 1 in the morning, and the two of you had just gotten back from the concert. Joey’s hair was wild, and his mask was pushed up on his head. He tiredly sat down on one of the couches and grinned. “Yeah?” The rest of the band had decided to go out and party at a bar for a little bit, so it was just the two of you. “Yeah! You guys rocked!”

He rested his head against the wall. “My bones hurt.” You pouted. “Aw, poor baby.” He good-naturedly flipped you off, and you laughed as you plopped down next to him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. “Ew, baby, you’re sweaty.” He rolled his eyes. “Love you too. And you’re not exactly one to talk. I don’t even know how you managed to sweat at all, considering all you did was watch us perform.”

You shrugged. “Who knows? Either way, we need to shower and go to sleep so you don’t wake up in the morning cranky again.” Joey glared. “I’m not cranky in the morning.” You walked towards the tour bus’s shower and smirked. “Whatever you say, Jordison. Come on, I’m tired and my shirt is practically glued to my body.” He begrudgingly got up and followed you to the bathroom. “I’m using your shampoo this time. It smells better than mine.”

Within an hour, the two of you were showered and in bed, you in one of his tshirts and a pair of his boxers. “Why the hell aren’t they back yet? Assholes.” You laughed. “They probably just got arrested for vandalism or something, don’t worry. Now go to bed before I knock you out myself.” Joey cuddled up to you and laid his head against your shoulder, closing his eyes. “Night, baby. I love you.” You smiled and kissed his forehead. “Love you too.”

Joey quickly fell asleep, and you stared up at the ceiling, feeling happier than you’d ever been. Life on tour could be crazy, and cramped, and sometimes even a little boring, but being with Joey was better than anything else. You’d put up with a thousand nights of craziness and drunk bandmates and being sweaty if it meant he’d always be with you. No matter what happened, it was you and him, putting up with the tour life together. That’s tour life, baby.

[okay-j-hannah]

The Vague Truth

Smosh : Fic

Damien x Reader

Word Count: 3380 

Warnings: Just a longer fic with some lovely big bro Wes - which I FREAKING LOVE ❤

Inspiration and dialogue came from this episode: DROPPING TRUTH BOMBS

Request: “Hi ♥️♥️ could I get a Damien x reader where the reader is Wes’ sister. She comes to visit the team a lot and gets put into videos. Fans slowly start to ship her and Damien but they also request for her to be in a video. And the one time she is in a video Damien and her flirt by not meaning too and end up going out on a dinner date that night. Thank you!” - Anon

A/N: You’re practically one of the fam as you visit your brother Wes and his friends on filming sets - subconsciously developing a flirty relationship with one Damien Haas

(Y/D/D) = Your dream date

(Y/S/N) = Your ship name

 (Two of the HANDSOMEST BOIS in the same place...? Sometimes I wonder why my heart hasn’t IMPLODED YET)

The incessant tapping of her fingernails on the phone screen filled the extra prop room – the space she always retreated to whenever Wes was needed for more filming.

She loved visiting her brother, feeling like she was a part of the great work community Smosh had built. For the first time since moving to LA, she had felt like she was making real friends; taking solace in their company.

She was currently scrolling through the latest video she had guest starred in; it having been posted that afternoon. Re-watching the fun time she had on Two Truths with her brother and Damien and Courtney as commentators reminded her of this newfound comfort she had in her friends.

But the comments that followed chipped away at that warm feeling.

“I don’t know about that (Y/N) chick – why do they keep bringing on new people?”

“Bring back the old Smosh members!?”

“Let’s just stick with Courtney and Olivia. They’re much prettier.”

“We have Wes, we don’t need another Johnson.”

There was a creak of the floorboards and (Y/N) found her eyes whipping up to the doorway, hiding her phone screen against her chest. Wes suddenly sprinted within the room, silver hair flying as he hurried to plant himself right on (Y/N)’s stomach.

“Wes!” she wheezed on impact. “Can’t… breathe.”

He snickered, watching her squirm, “Are you calling me fat?”

“No! I’m calling you very m-muscular and a foot taller than me.” She shoved her small fists into his arm in an attempt to throw him off her.

Instead his slid off her and the couch to sit cross-legged before her, holding his ankles with his hands, “Whatcha doin’?”

She quickly searched for her phone that was sent flying from her chest when he landed on her. But her frantic movements signaled Wes to look as well, finding the phone and its open contents first.

“(Y/N), are you reading the comment section again?” He kept his eyes on the device and he too scrolled through the responses.

She huffed, leaning back onto the couch, crossing her feet against the cushions, “So what if I am?”

Wes’ usual joyous face began to fall, a frown deepening. He flickered his eyes to his sister, seeing her gaze plastered to the ceiling in burrowing thought.

“You know how I feel about you reading the video comments,” he put the phone facedown in the carpet, folding his arms on the lip of the couch cushion. “You’re going to care too much about what they’re saying.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” she mumbled, feeling him inch closer to her. Wes was always trying to sneak in a hug where he could. “You’re not the unwanted Johnson sibling.”

Wes flexed his jaw, hurt swarming into his gaze, “Actually we’re the Johnson twins…”

“We’re literally three years apart, Wesley.”

“And the fandom knows us as the Johnson twins. Meaning, we’re a packaged deal! If they don’t want you, then they can’t have me.”

(Y/N) smirked, a ghost of a laugh under her breath, “Thanks, Wes. I guess there’s one good thing that comes out of this. People are starting to recognize me.”

He laughed, straightening out, “And it only took three videos – that’s pretty quick.”

She swung her legs over, sitting up and thinking hard, “Now all we have to do is convince them that you copied my hair color. Then I’d sign a permanent contract.”

There was a glint in his eye, and she knew what was coming, quickly pulling her feet up to her chest as he stood.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I got it dyed first.”

She squirmed to where she could slip behind the couch, standing and using the furniture as an obstruction, “But how many times do I need to remind you that I showed you my Pinterest idea board before you dyed it.”

Wes bit the inside of his cheek, planting his hands on his hips, “Are you accusing me of…?”

“You stole my idea – therefore you copied my hair.” She sucked in her lips to refrain from laughing, inching her way around the couch and away from his hands. “If you’re tired of this same old argument – why don’t you just go back to brunette?”

He finally launched at her, tumbling over the side of the couch as she squealed and ran off to the doorway. She paused, one hand on the frame as Wes came barreling towards her, yelling.

“You’re just saying that so you can relish in the victory of being the only one with silver hair!”

She sprinted off again, realizing she left her shoes back in the room as her socked feet pounded against the carpet. She scrambled around another corner, spotting someone casually making their way down the hall.

In an instant she was next to them, pulling on their arm with a huge grin on her face, “Wes is trying to destroy my insides with his tickles!”

She looked into the person’s face to find Damien staring down at her puzzled, a slight red tinge to his complexion.

Wes quickly appeared, huffing slightly at the sprinting he used to get there, “Let the girl go and I won’t tackle you to the ground.”

Damien was finally making connections in his head, (Y/N) hiding against his back and sending shivers down his spine. He folded his arms and gave a pointed eye towards Wes.

“How about you drop the subject and we can go to the Cheesecake Factory?” Damien gave Wes a small wink before tilting his head towards (Y/N) – a smirk on his face.

The brother raised his eyebrows in understanding, pretending to be contemplating the offer, “I do love me a slice of raspberry cheesecake.” A hand was to his chin as Damien silently held up three fingers, counting down.

(Y/N) was pressed tightly against her so-called protector, a grin on her face that wasn’t to last very long. Within a second, Damien turned on her, finding her arms quickly and holding them together as Wes bounded forward to attack her sides.

(Y/N) squealed more, trying to close in on herself as both men began tickling her sides and the crook of her neck. They were snickering themselves as she spouted profanities in their faces.

“I can’t believe… I thought…” she huffed and squirmed against their hands. “This is treason of the highest degree!”

Damien finally let go, his face red from much more than just straining to keep (Y/N) contained. Wes backed off as well, pumping a fist into the air.

“Brother 1; sister 0.”

She was about throw another snide comment back at him when he held a finger to her lips, continuing, “You know the reason I found you in the first place was to bring you to the next shoot. We have a Board AF livestream to film.” And he trotted down the rest of the hallway, sneaking a few giggles as he waved a few fingers in her direction.

“I hate him sometimes,” (Y/N) muttered, holding a stitch in her side. “But I love him for it.”

Damien laughed, slowly starting to make his way forward, “I guess you’re being integrated more into the family – making all these videos.”

She took a deep breath, straightening out and following him, though slightly behind, “Is that a good thing?”

“Technically you’re like the sister-in-law of the Smosh Family, seeing as you’re related to Wes. So, you’re basically already in.”

“That’s not what I asked, traitor.” She fell in step right behind him.

“What did you call me?” He snickered.

“You’re a traitor!” And with that she jumped right onto his back, causing him to stumble a few steps before he wrapped his arms around her legs.

“God, (Y/N)! I could’ve dropped you.” Thank goodness she couldn’t feel his rising heartrate.

She just tisked her tongue and mushed him forward, “You sided with my giant of a brother – you’re a traitor. And as punishment you have to carry me to the games room.”

He shifted her weight on his back before laughing, “You could have just said that instead of surprise attacking me.”

“And you could’ve protected me instead of carrying out an ambush.”

She giggled, lightly placing her arms around his neck and nuzzling her head against his. She found thoughts swirling into her mind without much filtering:

“He smells so nice.”

“I didn’t realize he was this broad.”

“He’s carrying me like I’m nothing.”

“Seriously, what cologne is he wearing?”

But she never thought anything more of these sudden realizations. At least she hadn’t ever before.

~~~ 

The group of six gathered around the game table, two to each side. Damien had sloppily dropped (Y/N) next to her chair, unintentionally making her stumble and grasp the tabletop for support.

Mari had grabbed her arm in an attempt to help, “What’s wrong with your legs? Couldn’t walk yourself in?”

“Uh – Damien is my slave for the rest of the day.” She sat down, realizing that Damien had already planted himself in the seat next to her.

“That was a one-time thing, (Y/N). Calm down.” His lips curving into a smile as she dramatically gasped.

Leaning over so her chin was grazing his arm, she asked, “What if I fell and twisted my ankle and couldn’t walk and you just so happened to be the only other person around and have to help me?” She batted her eyelashes as he finally turned to watch the teasing glint in her eye, “Would you just abandon me?”

“You know I wouldn’t do that,” he snickered, voice slightly quieter than before.

“Livestream is on!” Matt Raub yelled from behind the scenes, “Have at it, kids.”

(Y/N) continued to have her face right against Damien’s arm, staring back into his bashful eyes, “How can I believe you? You literally ninja attacked me ten minutes ago.”

He accepted some pads of paper Flitz threw towards him, breaking eye contact with (Y/N), “Do all those ice cream deliveries mean nothing to you? Or how about all the times I let you crash on my couch cause your roommates were partying?”

(Y/N) had a finger up towards his face with a speculating eye when Wes unexpectedly shouted to the cameras.

“Hey, guys! Welcome to Board AF. Today we’re playing Dan and Phil’s Truth Bombs.”

“Oh, I love being honest. I’m way too honest,” Joven stated, readjusting in his seat.

Damien gave a classic straining look towards the cameras while (Y/N) happily clapped her hands, “I’m gonna expose all of you.”

“You think so?” Flitz smirked, “You think you know that much about us already?”

“I guess this is a test to see how much Wes talks about us to his family,” Mari laughed, watching everyone’s reaction.

Damien giggled at the scared look on Wes’ face, “I don’t know. I think we can turn that around.” He pointedly stared at (Y/N), “We could be completely exposing you this game – you don’t know what Wes says about you here.”

“I have nothing but kind words for my little sis,” Wes muttered, smiling towards (Y/N) but then flipping to wink at the camera.

“Are you doubting the amount of tea I have on you?” she turned to Damien, a broad, menacing grin appearing.

He just plainly gazed at her, an indifferent smile on his face as he watched her tension in amusement.

She finally huffed, leaning away, “Stop being cute, it’s distracting.”

Flitz put a hand to his mouth, flipping his gaze from one camera to another to catch his reaction. Damien was the complete opposite, bowing his head to try and mask the heat warming his cheeks.

“Damn, alright,” Joven muttered, putting his hands behind his head, “The truth begins to appear.”

“Let’s find out about Damien!” Flitz yelled, slamming a fist into the table.

It seemed to make Dames jump back into his usual entertainer persona, “Okay! Now…” he pulled a pad of paper close to him as he continued, “I’ll be writing my own answers down here.”

“Yeah, we know the rules lover boy,” Mari muttered, leaning into (Y/N) beside her – laughing at the puzzled expression she developed.

“The five questions for me are: Which form of torture would make them confess everything?”

“Cats!” (Y/N) immediately yelled, slapping the table as if there was a buzzer there.

Damien paused, snickering, “What did their parents shout the moment they were born?”

“Cats,” Mari deadpanned, earning a well-aimed high five from (Y/N).

“What one thing would they save from a fire?” Damien continued, then gesturing to the girls to repeat what they’d been saying.

“(Y/N)!” Flitz yelled, throwing his hands to his chest as he started giggling.

“You better save (Y/N) from a fire,” Wes mumbled, eyeing the confused boy across from him.

Damien spluttered, not expecting the turn of events, “If – If (Y/N) was burning in a building and I just happen to pass by, then sure… I’d save her.”

(Y/N) leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder briefly, “He actually does care.”

And it took some real effort for Damien to push past the laughing everyone was suffering from, “Who is one person they wouldn’t mind being set up with?” That didn’t help the butterflies forming in his stomach.

“I think we can all guess that one,” Joven stated, not-so-subtly looking between (Y/N) and Damien.

Of course, (Y/N) was too busy trying to figure out a person Damien would actually like to date.

“If they were an app, which app would they be? Boom…” he set all the cards down and quickly went to his pad to write. “Now these guys get to write down what they think the answers are.”

“I swear – if I get this wrong,” (Y/N) muttered, fingers to her temples. “I swear I know Damien and Mari the best.”

“I’m assuming you’re not mentioning how well you know me because you know no one doubts our great relationship?” Wes stated, grabbing his pencil and batting his eyes at his sister.

She shrugged her shoulders, subtly beginning to peer over Damien’s arm, “|Or maybe I just forgot you were here for a second.”

“Are you trying to cheat?” Damien accused, pushing away the girl beside him and ignoring the sputters coming from the disgruntled Wes.

(Y/N) slightly pushed him back, “No! I know everything about you, remember?”

He jabbed another hand into her side, “Don’t make me ambush you again.”

“How dare you,” she laughed, slapping his hands away, “My ribs are still tingling from the last attack.”

“Just to be clear, we are talking about the tickle fight that happened right before this?” Wes stated, eyeing the duo suspiciously.

Joven threw his pencil to the tabletop, stretching, “Leave the kids be, Wes. They’re young and free to do whatever they…”

“Alright!” Damien shouted, turning to a camera before letting Joven read too much into their conversation. “So, I will read off my answer key first and we will see which questions are correct.”

“What one thing would they save from a fire?” Mari read off the cards.

“My cats.”

“Me!”

Damien and (Y/N) looked at each other for a split second before she couldn’t contain herself at the puzzled expression he gave.

“Sorry, I had to.”

“Well, this person responded with ‘Damien’s cats.’ So, they win a point! Next – let’s do… Who is one person they wouldn’t mind being set up with?”

Mari laughed, “This has to be obvious.”

Damien lifted the pad of paper and hesitated, his mouth slightly open, “I don’t think I want to say her name.”

“Nope!” Joven jutted a finger into the air, “This is Truth Bombs, you have to reveal the truth.”

“What if I was just vague?” he held onto the pad tightly, only looking towards the middle of the table, “For their own protection and my own peace of mind.”

(Y/N) folded her arms, swinging around in her chair and bumping her feet against Damien’s legs, “You don’t want to tell us who you like? Is she, like – a terrible person?”

“Quite the opposite actually,” he snuck a genuine look into her eyes before addressing the rest of the group. “It’s someone from Smosh. That’s it! I won’t say anything more.”

Everyone blew up, throwing angry hands as (Y/N) became antsy. She squirmed in her chair, staring at him and gasping, “Someone at the office? How come I never…?”

“Come on, (Y/N)!” Joven groaned, running his hands over his face. “It’s obviously y…”

“Alrighty, the person responded with my same answer, so they get a point too. Next!” Damien nervously yelled over the protest of everyone at the table.

Flitz stared pointedly into the camera, making it known that he was the one that responded with the same answer as Damien. He started laughing, putting a hand to his mouth and leaning into Joven who was smirking in a defeated fatherly sort of way.

They were quick to pass through the rest of Damien’s cards, his anxious hands shaking against the pads of paper; he was praying that no one said anything more about his vague answers.

(Y/N) was wholeheartedly enjoying herself as it came her turn to answer the questions laid before her, “I’m so excited about these!”

Mari read off her first card, snickering, “What would her dream date be?”

A giggle behind her words, (Y/N) responded with, “Well, probably (Y/D/D).”

“You hear that, Damien?” Flitz questioned, raising an eyebrow, “You better take notes.”

But Dames quickly stiffened his back, his eyes slightly widened as he hushed his friend.

(Y/N) subtly heard and laughed along, “Yeah, Day. It’s a great date to take a girl on. Besides, who can say no to that face?” She leaned over once again to wrap her hands around his one arm, posing for the camera.

Damien snickered, trying to push away the butterflies attempting to squirm out of his stomach, “More like I’m gonna need to find someone to take you on that date. It sounds like a lot of fun.”

Joven was facepalming into Flitz’ shoulder while Wes looked confused towards the two. Mari had a comforting hand on his shoulder as they continued with the rest of the rounds.

It wasn’t until after the game when anything more progressed, Damien dragging a whining (Y/N) behind him.

She had a hand clutching his arm as she persisted, “Just one more piggyback ride to the office and I swear I’ll let it go.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he stated, raising a hand to the back of his neck. “It’s just a date.”

“With a girl from the office! That’s so specific, yet so vague at the same time,” she pouted, pulling on his arm again. “But with one ride I’ll put my serious interrogation to a…”

“Or you could accept my offer for a day out (Y/D/D) and we can forget all the stuff that happened during the game.”

She paused, dropping his arm immediately, “Me? You want to go on a date with me?”

“Why not?” he stated, staring towards the ground, “I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t know…”

“Well, how could I say no to such a handsome face?” she laughed, watching him whip his eyes to her.

“For real?”

She laughed, snaking her arm back around his, “Like you said, why not? It’ll be fun.”

“(Y/N)! Damien. Glad I found you,” Ian came bounding through the doors with a phone to his face. “Have you seen any of the livestream reactions? It’s going crazy.”

“No,” (Y/N) admitted, not minding anyone seeing her arm wrapped around Damien’s. “What’re they saying.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen more shippers in one place at one time,” Ian laughed, continuously scrolling. “I think you and Damien broke the fandom.”

“The viewers are shipping us?” Damien questioned; his voice quiet but finding himself gazing down towards (Y/N).

Ian shrugged his shoulders, “Could (Y/S/N) be anyone else?”

(Y/N) laughed again, pressing her head into Damien’s arm and feeling him reach down for her hand.

“They’re shipping who?”

Wes came strutting into the hallway, immediately noticing who was holding hands with his little sis, “What is…?”

(Y/N) bit her lip, glancing up, “Listen…” A smile grew on her face as Damien stiffened at the look Wes was giving him.

Perfect chaos.  

~~~

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[camillemontespan]

ten years from now [AU. drake walker x camille montespan] [part eleven: whiskey & roses]

I really like this gif.. just everything about it.

Master List if you want to catch up

A/N: I think I’m not 100% happy with this chapter because a large part of this is taken from personal experience so I guess it kinda hurts. I’m actually nervous to post this!

My situation wasn’t exactly like Drake and Camille’s (like I’ve never been engaged lol or had an affair) but my ex boyfriend sort of inspired this fic.  Our relationship was absolutely not like Drake and Camille’s, for one thing we weren’t best friends lol but we ended the way Drake ended things with Camille - he went to university while I was in my final year of high school. He just stopped messaging me back. I felt left behind. I was both Drake and Camille in that situation. 

Three years after, he re-appeared in my life again. Camille’s confusion stems from my own personal confusion because I too felt adrift and unsure. Camille’s indecision, I hope, was written in a more realistic way. It’s not clear cut because it never is. She’s only human, she isn’t perfect. She is going to make mistakes. 

So, Camille’s realisation in this chapter is inspired by my own thoughts. 

FYI, I am now in a happy long term relationship with the best guy ever.  Nearly 7 years! I’m starting to hint about weddings etc.. let’s watch him run for the hills! Lol I joke. 

@moonlightgem7​​​​​​​​ @jovialyouthmusic​​​​​​​​ @mskaneko​​​​​​​​ @ibldw-main​​​​​​​​ @katedrakeohd​​​​​​​​ @pug-bitch​​​​​​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​​​​​ @princessleac1​​​​​​​​ @burnsoslow​​​​​​​​  @loveellamae​​​​​​​​  @pedudley​​​​​​​​ @oofchoices​​​​​​​​ @emichelle​​​​​​​​ @simplymissjulia​​​​​​​​ @dcbbw​​​​​​​​ @sirbeepsalot​​​​​​​​ @rainbowsinthestorm​​​​​​​​ @notoriouscs​​​​​​​​ @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​​​​​​​​ @addictedtodrakefanfic​​​​​​​​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​​​​​​​ @nomadics-stuff​​​​​​  @gardeningourmet​​​​ @marshmallowsandfire​​

**********************************************

Camille woke up to a text from Liam. 

Thinking of you, darling. I'm sorry I couldn't come with you. I feel terrible. Call me later? I'd love to know how Gisele is doing. I've ordered flowers to be delivered to her FYI. She likes roses right? Who am I kidding, of course she does! She only gave me a tour of her garden! Anyway, I love you. Can't wait to see you when you're home x

********************

Drake dropped Camille off at the hospital that morning. She was very quiet, more so than usual. At first, he was worried he had done something wrong but after their phone call last night, when they had spoken about Jackson and laughed about past memories, he thought that perhaps she was just worried about her grandma. 

‘Let me know when you’re out and I’ll pick you up,’ he told her gently. ‘You okay?’

Camille nodded. ‘She’s never been in hospital before.. Just nervous, that’s all.’

Drake squeezed her hand, reassured. ‘She’ll be fine. See you soon.’

Camille smiled bravely and got out of the pick up truck. Drake watched her enter the hospital, hoping all would be well. 

*************************************

Gisele was awake, although slightly woozy from morphine, when Camille entered the hospital room. A bouquet of roses stood on the window sill. The note card had a message from Liam. 

Keep smelling the roses. Get better soon, thinking of you. Liam x

Camille had fought back tears as she read the message. Forcing down the lump in her throat, Camille turned her attention to Gisele. 

‘Mon petit chou..’ she croaked, reaching out to take Camille’s hands. ‘You’re so pretty, like my roses.'

Camille kissed her grandma’s hands and sat down close to the bed. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

‘Pfft, fine,’ Gisele said. ‘Fine, fine, fine..’ 

Gisele eyed Camille. ‘You don’t look fine though. What’s wrong, mon cheri?’

Camille waved her hand but Gisele narrowed her eyes, not believing her. ‘Camille..’

Gisele never called Camille by her first name. She always called her granddaughter by pet names, such as little sunflower, little mushroom, little flower, always in French. 

Swallowing, Camille shook her head. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Anyway, Drake was telling me about your fall. You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you? Silly grandma.’

Gisele brightened at the mention of Drake. ‘Oh yes, he helped me! He called the ambulance, such a kind, good man..’

She smiled wistfully. ‘Liam is also kind and good.. He sent me roses.. '

Camille's heart beat a little faster at Gisele mentioning Liam. But then, why wouldn’t she? The two of them got on like a house of fire when they met properly. Gisele had flirted with him, for God’s sake. 

‘Two young men, both so loyal and kind to you, mon cheri..’ Gisele whispered, smiling wider. ‘One from your past, the other is.. Well, he is your one, isn’t he? He is your present and future..’

She was really doped up on morphine.

‘Grandma..’ Camille muttered. 

Gisele pointed her finger in the air. ‘Drake and Liam.. Both so good.. Past and future collide.’

Camille blinked back tears as the heavy weight of reality bore down on her shoulders. Indeed, Drake was her past. The past had already been written. So why was she going back to it? Why was she opening the door to the past when her future looked bright? Why was she hurting the man she was going to marry? 

Camille knew why if she really thought about it. Drake made her feel things. He made her feel like fire. He made her feel alive. 

Their history was a well written and comprehensive book made up of volumes. Each page was filled with their words, spoken and unspoken. They had been together through everything. They had supported each other and loved each other. Nobody else could read their book and understand it. It was the book of Drake and Camille. 

But Drake had left her all those years ago without warning. He had taken her heart and crushed it into pieces, not even bothering to give her an explanation.  He had left her life without saying goodbye. He left her suspended, floating in the air, unable to fall to earth. Life without Drake had left her without an anchor to keep her grounded. Without Drake, she hadn't known who she was. Who was Camille Montespan? 

Of course, she knew now what Drake had gone through. Why he had stopped talking to her. But if he had truly loved her, he would have treated her heart like fine china, like Liam did. He would have kept it safe. He would have realised what he was dealing with. The fifteen years that shaped their relationship should not have been so easily discarded. 

Camille didn't want to hurt him. She really didn't. But their relationship had already been fractured by hurt and pain. It was complicated, too complicated. Seeing him again had only made her doubt everything she had; she felt untethered again, suspended in the air, floating like a balloon, unable to drop back to earth. Camille was sick of this feeling.

For ten years, Camille had unknowingly been keeping the door open for him. Drake could have re-entered whenever he wished. 

Enough now. 

Camille needed to return to earth. 

**************************************

Drake noted how quiet Camille was when he picked her up an hour later. ‘How was she?’ he finally asked when they were driving through town. 

‘Doped up on morphine, could barely get a coherent sentence out of her,’ Camille muttered, looking out of the window. 

Drake sighed and stopped talking. He knew that when Camille was in these uncharacteristic moods, he should let her be. She would come to him eventually.

They reached her grandma's house. Clambering out of the truck, they walked up the path to the house together. Camille unlocked the door and entered, Drake close behind. 

'I need to water her roses,' Camille said softly. 

Drake sank down at the kitchen table and watched Camille as she filled a pitcher with water. She went outside and started to water the roses that her grandmother loved so much. 

Drake watched Camille as she crouched to inspect a rose bush. In her unguarded moment, she looked like she might crumble. Drake saw with alarm that tears were starting to trickle down her cheeks. 

He was on his feet instantly, rushing outside to comfort her. Drake got to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. 

'Don't worry about Gisele, she'll be fine..' he soothed. 'It's okay..' 

Camille let out a harsh sob. She burrowed her face into Drake's neck, crying openly, her tears sliding down Drake's throat. 

'Shh honey, it's alright..' he murmured. 

'It's not,' Camille choked out. 'It's really not.' 

'She'll be out of hospital soon -' 

'I'm thinking about us, Drake,' Camille interrupted, her voice thick. 'This situation. It's getting hard. Really fucking hard.' 

Drake went silent. His heart sank as he realised that she had been quiet because of him. She had been thinking. 

'Okay,' he said, keeping his voice steady. 'What do you want to do about it?' 

Camille exhaled. Her eyes met his. 'I'm getting married, Drake,' she whispered. 'It's not clean cut for me-'

'Do you still love him?' Drake interrupted. 

Camille went quiet, her jaw setting. Drake closed his eyes. 'Camille..' 

Camille nodded, mutely answering his question.

'So you've just been stringing me along then?' Drake asked. His heart was hammering inside his chest. 'You see your ex and thought it would spice things up if you had some fun before you settled down? Is that it?' 

'No!' Camille burst out. 'I'd never do that to you!' 

'Then tell me how it is then!' Drake cried. 'How can you kiss me in mazes and sleep with me? How can you talk to me about your deepest thoughts and have phone calls with me late at night reminiscing? How can you do all of that while still loving him?' 

Camille struggled to her feet. Drake followed suit so he stood over her. 

'You confuse me!' Camille said, her voice rising. 'You remind me of everything that has happened with us. The good and the bad. The good is fucking incredible, Drake, but I feel like we're just picking up where we left off.  With Liam in the mix, I feel like I’m free falling. It’s gotten too hard!-' 

'I get it!' Drake interrupted. 'Look, I've tried to be your friend but it's not working. There's too much under the surface. So yeah, it is complicated. But maybe it's complicated because really, deep down, you want me. You want us. If you didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation!'

He was aware he sounded desperate now. It was pathetic. 

Camille took a deep breath. 'Do you want me to break up with him? Cancel my wedding? Throw away everything I've worked for?' 

'You're not happy,' Drake said, his eyes boring into hers. He took her by the arms. 'I know you're not. You're not the same when you're with him. You fit into this mould that's been made for you, this sophisticated New Yorker with the job, the lifestyle, the fiancée. But that's not you. Camille, everything you have worked for is just a facade. It's smoke and mirrors - '

'How dare you!' Camille shouted, pushing him away. 'You know nothing about my life! You know nothing about Liam! You were out of my life for ten years, Drake. Ten years!' 

'Camille,' Drake ground out. He was losing patience now. 'If you go back to him, you’re settling. You’re settling for a life of comfort and safety but that’s not the way to live-' 

'I stand to lose everything while you don't put anything on the line,' Camille told him, raising her chin defiantly. 'You want me to break his heart.'

'Someone's gonna get their heart broken, Camille,' Drake muttered. 'And right now, you seem more keen to break mine.' 

Camille stepped back. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

'Liam is a good man,' Camille told him. 'He's never hurt me. He loves me. I can't keep doing this, going behind his back and lying.' 

'So you're ending this?' Drake asked in disbelief. Camille looked up, willing the tears to stop falling. Drake stared at her, his eyes narrow. ‘Camille, fucking talk to me.’

Camille wrung her hands together. 'Given our track record, Drake, surely we should be used to leaving each other by now.' 

Drake looked away. Camille stepped forward. 'Drake, it's getting too messy.' 

'So you've made your decision?' Drake asked, still not looking at her. 

'I'm taking the space you gave me,' Camille whispered. 

Drake nodded mutely. He shoved his hands in his pockets. 

'Nothing more to say then, huh?' he said quietly. 

'Drake -' 

'Don't, Camille,' Drake interrupted, looking at her now. She looked distraught. Drake imagined he looked the same.  'I'll give you your space. Enjoy life with Liam.' 

Camille watched as Drake shoved past her. She heard the front door slam and she knew that he had left her life for the second time, but this time, from her own making. 

************************ 

That evening, Drake sat on the jetty with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He was intending to get black out drunk and sink into oblivion. 

He felt empty. His life had become brighter with her in it. Camille had a way of making him feel light, happy and content. He felt like he was worth something when he was with her. 

Drake regretted how things had ended between them. He always did. If Drake had his way, things between him and Camille would never end. 

Drake loved her. 

He closed his eyes. 'I never told her I loved her..' he whispered to himself. 'I told her everything else except that.' 

Realisation dawned on him. It was true. Not once had he told Camille those three important words while they had reunited this past month. He had been too caught up in the heated moments with her. He had been drowning, unable to come up for air. Now, he had reached the surface, breaking the still waters.

'I love you,' he said out loud. 'I love you. I love you.' 

Drake let out a breath and clenched the bottle of whiskey. 

'I love you.' 

Drake needed to tell her. He needed to show her what life with him would be like. Endless summers in Texas. Coffee and pancakes in the morning. Complete and utter adoration. Babies. 4th of July. Fireworks. Whiskey. Love. 

He had grown up now. He was older and wiser than he had been ten years ago. He could offer her a future he hadn't been aware of before. Drake could see clearly now, crystal clear.

Camille still saw him as her ex boyfriend. Drake hadn't done anything to show her that he could be more than that. 

He couldn't make the same mistake twice. Swigging his whiskey, Drake made a decision. He was going to fight for his future. He swore to himself that ten years from now, Camille would be in it. 

She was his past, present and future and there was no way he was giving that up so easily. 

***********************************

 In the pit of her stomach, Camille felt pain. Sheer, blinding pain.

She had hurt Drake. She hadn’t wanted to. But she had to get back to reality and own up to her indiscretions. She had to move forward, even if that meant doing the hard thing. 

Camille drafted a text to Liam now.

I’ll be flying home tomorrow. Grandma is alright. Can we talk? x

She sent the message. 

Camille was back to reality, colliding with the earth, bracing for impact.

[randomly-random-jen]

The Completely Inaccurate Misadventures [2/?]

[part 1]

2. In Which Mistakes Are Made

A hum built around Church then a POP. Carolina was suddenly staring at him, head cocked. “Where’s your armor?”

It took him a split-second to register her confused words. He glanced down at his clothes and shrugged. “It’s not like it matters what I look like. I’m a frickin computer program. I’m non-corporeal. I don’t need armor if I can’t be shot.”

She laughed.

“What?”

“I didn’t think you knew what non-corporeal meant.”

“Hey, fuck you. I’m not an idiot. I have a Ph.D. in like five things. Uh- computer science, and uh-” He rubbed his forehead. “Engineering.”

Carolina kept laughing. “For someone that’s made entirely of memories, you sure forget a lot.”

“Not enough,” he muttered. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his shoes again. That right lace was still untied. Stupid shoelace.

Her laughter tapered off. “Church, what’s wrong?”

“Epsilon. My name is Epsilon.” He couldn’t take it anymore. He blinked out, cocooning himself in the little corner of Carolina’s brain that he’d claimed for himself. He could go back into the memory chip in her armor, but, yeah, that wasn’t fun last time. Carolina’s thoughts tickled the back of his mind. He burrowed under the covers. “Go away.”

“Jesus, Church, do you ever clean up after yourself?”

He tossed the blanket off to find Tex looking around, lips curled in disgust. She picked up an empty pizza box then dropped it, wiping her hands on her pants.

“What the hell are you doing here? Get out.”

“I thought we established that you’re stuck with me.”

“Well go find your own place to live.”

“Carolina know she’s renting brain space to a slob? She was always super meticulous about tidiness even as a kid.”

Church groaned, tossing the blanket back over his face. “When will this nightmare end?”

He felt the side of the bed dip then Tex pulled the blanket down. He just glared at her.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said.

“For what?”

“Making you question your existence.”

“Fucking existential crisis,” he muttered, looking away.

“Move over.” She nudged him with her leg so he scooted over to let her lie down. They didn’t say anything for a long time, but Church was very aware of the side of her body pressed up against his. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remind himself that none of this was real. The room, the pizza box, himself. None of it was real. Just ones and zeroes he arranged in a comforting pattern.

“This is worse than our first apartment. Remember, in Boston?”

Church snorted. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“There were rats, Church. Rats.”

He chuckled. I remember you climbing up on the counters. The big, strong Marine—scared of a little mouse.”

“It was a fucking rat. They carry diseases and stuff.”

Church couldn’t hold back the laughter at the memory. Or how offended Tex sounded right now. Then she punched him in the arm.

“Ow.”

“Jerk.”

They stared at each other a long time, lying on that bed. A whole hurricane of emotions swirled in Church’s head. And as always, Tex was at the center of them. “We had some good times, right?” he finally asked. “It wasn’t all bad.”

“No, it wasn’t all bad.”

Memories he’d tried to keep locked in one of those boxes leaked out. The apartment with the rats, his graduation from MIT, their first house, feeling utterly lost when she deployed, the Christmas he tried to make turkey and didn’t know you had to thaw it for days, and she just laughed and laughed that a genius could be so dumb. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stuff them away before they overwhelmed him.

But they didn’t. They slowed, and the noise in his brain quieted. The memories were still there, though. Tex in a wedding gown. And combat boots. Because she’s Tex. He’d never been so in awe as that day, watching her walk down the aisle. How could he be so fucking lucky? The image morphed to Tex painting a room. Bright sunny yellow. Stomach just started to swell.

Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes.

He was rushing to the hospital. He’d been at a conference in London. He’d hitched the first red-eye home he could get, but the traffic was awful, and his heart was pounding the whole drive. He’d stumbled into the room, tripping over his goddamn shoelace, and found Tex cuddling a little pink bundle. He’d stopped breathing. He took back the awe thing. This day was the most awe-inspiring day.

Sorry, I’m late, was all he could say.

Tex had shaken her head like she expected him to be a complete disaster. And accepted it. “It’s okay,” she said, motioning him over. “You’ll just have to make sure you’re on time for the next one.”

“Next one?” He hadn’t even gotten used to the idea of this one.

She laughed at the terrified look on his face.

There was no next one, though. The memories faded, leaving him with a sort of confused contentment. “Did you do that?” he whispered. “I’ve never been able to control them. Not the-” He waved his hand in the air, unable to articulate his meaning. “They always overwhelm me.” He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I fucked everything up,” he mumbled. “After- After Allison died. I fucked it all up. My life and Carolina’s. And all the Freelancers and basically the whole fucking galaxy”

Tex leaned her head on his shoulder. “That was someone else, Church. You’re not that person.”

“Then why am I stuck with his memories?”

She didn’t answer. They just laid there staring at the ceiling fan. After a while Tex sighed. “You should think about getting a bigger place. Or at least cleaning up. This, Church, is gross.”

“Why? You moving in?”

“Epsilon? Epsilon? Get out here,” a distant voice called.

Church groaned. “The landlady can be such a pain sometimes.”

Tex laughed. “Are you going to answer her?”

“No. I’m mad at her. First, she doesn’t believe me when I said someone was calling my name then she turned me off, and then she treats me like she owns me. I’m not- I’m not a-” He sighed. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

“Epsilon!”

“She sounds pissed.”

“Yeah, and she’s just like her mother when she gets angry. It’s pretty fucking scary.”

Tex smacked his arm, making him laugh.

Carolina’s tone changed. “Church? Please, I’m sorry for whatever I said. Would just come out here so we can talk.”

His heart seized up.

“Please, Church.”

He glanced at Tex then blinked. He stood in front of Carolina, arms crossed. “What?”

She sighed. “Thank you. I’ve been calling for ages.”

“I know; I’ve been ignoring you.”

Her shoulders slumped, and Church felt like a complete ass. Before he could say anything else, though, she let out a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He cocked his head at her. “I’m a computer program; I don’t have feelings.”

“What is with you today?”

The anger was bubbling up again until he felt a calming sensation start at the back of his head. An image of Tex tossing all of his stuff out the window. “What?” she asked. “This place is gross.”

He pressed his fingers against his temples. “Just stop. Everyone stop.”

“Church, are you okay?” Carolina sounded alarmed. And when he loosened the barrier between their thoughts, he could feel the concern. And a tinge of fear. Shit shit shit. If there was one thing Leonard Church was good at it was hurting the people he cared about.

He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Carolina.” He realized he had no idea what he was apologizing for anymore. An image of a girl in pigtails on a swing yelling, “higher,” filled his head.

“Stop doing that,” he growled getting another concerned head cock from the woman in front of him. “Not you,” he told her.

That didn’t help the situation. “I think there’s something wrong with you,” Carolina said slowly. “Maybe your program is degrading or something. I’m worried, Church.”

He blinked at her. “I didn’t think you cared.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“No, go back.”

He groaned. This day was getting better and better. Carolina stared at him, waiting.

Fuck. “I gotta go.” He popped into the memory unit. It was much quieter. Not like when she turned it off, but the outside world was turned to a dull hum. “Finally.” He quickly built a wall around himself.

“Church, don’t do that. Get out here right now. Quit being a baby,” Carolina said, her voice distant.

“You’re going to have to deal with her eventually.”

He growled. “Can we discuss this whole deletion program again?”

Tex rolled her eyes and squatted in front of him. “You know you don’t want that. I can feel it.”

He sighed. “Well can you stop fucking with my memories and reading my thoughts?”

“Okay. On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You clean out that pigsty you call a room.”

“Fine, whatever.”

Tex brushed the hair from his face. “Go talk to her.”

“But I don’t wanna. She’s going to yell at me again.”

“Do you blame her? You’re acting like an asshole.”

He looked away. “Well, she’s scary. And intimidating. And scary. She’s way bigger than me. She can turn me off. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

“Yes. Now go tell her.” Tex gave him a hard shove, and he stumbled back into reality.

“The fuck?”

Anxiety rolled off of Carolina where she stood—he didn’t even need their flimsy neural link to feel it. “What is going on?” she asked tensely. “Is there something wrong with your programming. I need to know.”

“No,” he said, kicking imaginary dirt. “There’s nothing wrong with my programming.”

She sat down in front of him. “Then what’s wrong?”

He shrugged. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Is this about the whispers.”

He looked out at the trees. Anywhere but at her. “Maybe.”

There was a soft hiss, and when he looked back, she was pulling off her helmet. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You weren’t making any sense. I had to do something.”

“You turned me off. I didn’t like it.”

“Oh.”

“That’s not fair, you know.”

Carolina was quiet a moment. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

“Because I’m not a person to you; I’m just a tool. I tried to tell her that.”

“Her?”

He cringed when he realized what he’d said. Then sighed. “Tex. She’s in here, too. Apparently, I’m unable to get rid of her.”

“Tex is in there. In the memory unit?”

“In my head. My code, you know. I tried deleting her. Right before you rescued me from the storage unit. I did delete her. It was better for both of us because all we ever do is make each other miserable. And she was gone for a while. But I guess there’s some part of my coding that rewrites her every time she’s deleted.”

“Tex is in there,” she repeated.

Church sighed. “Look, I know you two have had your differences, but-”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” She got up and walked away.

What? “Hey, I was talking to you,” he yelled, but she kept walking. He popped up in front of her. “You can’t actually get away from me, you know.”

“I could turn you off again.”

He froze, watching her walk away, insides twisting, before appearing next to her again. “Please don’t do that, Carolina. Don’t do that ever again.”

She glanced at him then quickly away, face tight. “Then put your armor back on.”

What was with her and the 180 change of subjects? “Why?”

“Because you look like him,” she shouted. “And it makes it really, really hard to talk to you right now.”

“Oh. Right.” He just stared at her, but she wouldn’t look at him. He sighed and imagined himself back in his armor. “Better?”

She still didn’t look at him. “God, can we not do this?”

Church was quiet. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

He popped back into his room. His stuff was shoved into a corner. “Hey, you brought it back in.”

Tex shrugged. “Seemed mean to get rid of it all when Carolina was already kicking you around like a puppy dog.”

He shook his head. “You know, most people don’t kick puppies.”

She laughed. “You okay?”

“Do you care?”

Maybe she sensed that he wasn’t trying to be snarky because his tone sure didn’t convey it, but he was tired and confused and frustrated. Tex pushed his glasses up his nose. “Yes, I care, Church. I’ve always cared even when I didn’t show it.”

“Okay.” He didn’t look at her. “I’m not sure what’s real anymore. I’m not even sure what’s going on.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Things were a little less confusing without-” She was gone. “Oh, come on, Tex, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean- Aw, fuck it. I’m done with this shit.” 

Maybe there was something wrong with his code because he felt like he was losing his fucking mind. He ran every diagnostic he could think of, and they all came back normal. Well as normal as they ever did because Church had always been a little unstable. There was this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he didn’t like it.

“Carolina?” he asked the empty room. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight.”

She didn’t answer.

God, he was so tired. Which made no sense because he was just code. Code couldn’t get tired. But that’s how he felt. Like he could just delete his entire program and not care.

“Please don’t do that.” Carolina’s voice boomed in the small space. “Church?”

He popped up in front of her but couldn’t look at her. The shame was overwhelming. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just an asshole, I guess.”

“Church, I-” Her voice caught, getting his attention. “I don’t want you to leave. It was just a fight. People fight. Roommates especially.” She looked away.

“Roommates?”

“You are taking up space in my brain.”

Church smiled weakly. “I guess. About that—Tex thinks we should get to have more space. Maybe two bedrooms. One to sleep in and one for my junk.”

She frowned at him. “Are you serious about Tex?”

He nodded. He didn’t know how to explain it. He kicked one of those invisible rocks again. “Please don’t make her leave. She will if you ask, but-”

Carolina rubbed her temples in a very familiar way then reached behind her and yanked his memory unit from her armor. It was like having his existence ripped from him. The room was gone. The quiet murmur of her thoughts—white noise he’d gotten used to. Gone. He just stared at her.

“Why did you do that?”

“I need a break, okay? And you asked me not to shut you off.”

“Oh.” He felt cold. Empty. lost.

“What’s Tex got to say about that?” The disdain rolled off her lips.

Church swallowed hard, not looking at her. “She’s just complaining about interior decorators.”

Carolina blinked at him then shook her head like he was just too difficult to understand.

“Nevermind.”

“Can I see her?” she asked softly after a while.

“I- I don’t know. I mean, she’s inside my head.”

“She’s code like you, right? Can’t she just be like you can?”

“I guess. Hold on.”

The memory unit was dark. And empty. “Tex?”

“This is a bad idea, Church,” she said coming up behind him. 

“Maybe it’ll help.”

She scoffed. “In what reality has me and Carolina speaking ever helped? She hates me.”

Church stared at the ground. You’d think he’d imagine his shoe tied by now. He bent down to fix it.

“Fine.”

He looked around. Tex was gone. Shit. He blinked back outside. Tex was flickering next to him.

“Okay,” she said, “this isn’t as easy as it looks.”

Church was suddenly filled with apprehension. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Mom?”

They both froze. Carolina’s face was streaked with tears. Church had forgotten Tex didn’t have her armor on. And she wasn’t wearing the face they’d given the beta AI. He didn’t know what to do now. Tex looked just as shocked and confused and terrified. Then Carolina was gone. Running. She hit a burst of speed from her equipment and was out of sight.

“Um, can’t we just go get her?”

He looked down at the memory unit. “She pulled me.” He blinked up at Tex. “She left me.”

“I’m sorry, Church. I’m sure she’ll come back.”

He sat down, head in his hands. “Yeah, because this is a valuable piece of tech.”

Tex sat next to him. “Because she cares about you.”

“I’m just a computer program, remember. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

“When did you get so melodramatic?”

He snorted. “When did I meet you?”

She bumped into him, nearly knocking him over. “What do we do now?”

“I guess we wait and see if she comes back.”

And if she doesn’t? He heard the words inside his head.

He didn’t want to think about that.

[part 3]

[artistrashofmine]

Carn

BNHA fic inspired by Jeff Le Bars Carn

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782935

The red scarf, and heavy jacket did nothing to deter the harsh wind that blew fresh snow off the hills, blending with the flakes that rained down on the child, like pins and needles. His boots sinking violently into the layers with a crack as the hardened sheets split under the leather. It took all his might to keep on balance, to keep his nose tucked towards his chest, to keep the involuntary tears out of his eyes in fear of them freezing on his pale cheeks. 

Why’d he have to come out here? Each step drained a year’s worth of his energy. He had to decide now was the best time to leave? He could barely make out the shadows of his surroundings. He ran away, and now he’s lost, was the child good for nothing after all? The rigid trees, the mountains, they were nothing but shadows peeking out through the shower of snow. 

“No,” the meek complaint was lost in the wind, so was the scarf, the only thing keeping his face from frostbite, even the elements were against him.

He wanted to sob, he wanted to go home, to his mom’s arms and cry. He didn’t even know the way back, where did he come from? There was holes from where he sank down to his ankles, but he couldn’t see.

And his gloves did nothing to break his fall, sinking into the snow just as his feet had done, just as his knees did. The icy substance finding its way up his sleeve, dancing along his wrist. He found his head to follow, resting against his fate, his doom. He was going to die here, die like this. Shivering in the freezing blanket winter had wrapped around him.

What would his parents think? Did they know he was gone by now? Were they looking for him? His mother would, wouldn’t she? His father… he was another story. What about his siblings? He barely spoken to them, he was never allowed around them. Would they even know of his escape? 

Would his family find him? His body frozen to the ground, or would he already be six-feet under, in a fresh ground of white, made from the blizzard he tried so hard to fight? On one side, he didn’t want them to find him dead like that, on the other, he didn’t want to be forgotten, left alone to rot, or worse, wolf food. 

Another shiver wracked his spin, for a whole new reason, because there were wolves out here. They lived by the mountains, in a land of thick forests, his dad was a hunter, of course there were wolves out here. 

The whole reason he decided now was better than ever, because they, and by they he means his father, decided to take him to look for game, supper. They were running low on dry and canned goods, wild game was scarce at this time during the season, but far from impossible to find. Then the storm hit, quick and unexpected. He was given his chance, he took it. He took it, and now he was going to pay for it, with his life.

“Are you lost?”    

His head pounded in protest at his feeble attempt of lifting, but the second he laid his heterochromatic eyes on the owner of said question, the child jolted back, gasping in the frigid air, flinching as it pierced his lungs, before glaring wide-eyed at the predator. Right in front of him, bright red eyes, like flames, like daggers coated in blood, staring into in soul. Fur, a pale blond, blown by the wind, a thick winter coat. Snout, sniffling at the child.

“You are going to die.” Large, pointed teeth, as he sneered out the sentence, the conclusion that Shouto didn’t need to be told.

Speak of the devil and then he comes in the form of the child’s end, a wolf, double the size- no triple the size of himself. Aggressive, breathing heavy.

And he flinched, quickly returning his gaze to the other “follow me...”

And then he was leaving, shifting through the snow, the storm. Shouto found himself on his knees, gaping at the animal who let him live.

“Follow me if you want to stay alive!” The growling voice carried through the wind, strangely hypnotizing.

And what did Shouto have to lose? Maybe he was hearing things, maybe he was seeing things, but the wolf was talking to him, urging him on. Maybe he was already dead, or maybe this would be his saving hope. So he dragged himself up on shaky legs, or, well, his whole body was shaking, but it wouldn’t stop him, he could do this. Wherever it lead, it was better than laying down and dying. Even if he took five steps, only to collapse in the snow, even if he was being led to his death, the heterochromatic followed the distant shadow, the echo of the animals voice. 

It wasn’t until he placed himself onto a rock, right foot slipping, that he noticed the dark crimson colour he was slipping on. He’s seen it before, his family were hunters, of course he’s seen blood, it wasn’t the first time he stepped in it too. 

Bloody smears, in the patted down snow, mapping his way to where the wolf sat, and the child felt bile rising to the back of his throat. He averted his eyes from the silhouette. 

The wolf was hurt, he was losing a lot of blood, the stains got larger as he staggered forward, up the hill. Then he raised his eyes, only there wasn’t a wolf sitting there anymore. There was a blond, a human, with those red eyes, deep red eyes. The same ones he’s been following. 

“As you can see, I am dying.” The same voice, same growl, but the words were said mournfully, by the human.

He sat in the snow, on knee bent, the other… the leg, no, his whole thigh, a bloody mess. His hand could only cover a part of the messy scene. Was that how it’d look if all the animals they brought in were humans? It was sad, pitiful and painful at the same time. Was this- who did this to him? 

“W-what-” Shouto’s voice cracked, he could barely hear the word himself, and he doubted he could finish the question, he doubted he wanted to know the answer.  

Instead of trying the child pushed forward, towards the body. The blond watched carefully as Shouto sat himself down beside the older one.

“Without me, my-” He started, considered the implications of his next words, “my family, they’ll die too.”

His eyes were so serious, the child wondered what they looked like as a kid. As a puppy? Was he a human or a wolf? The man in question turned, those eyes glancing down the other side of the hill where a dark borrow lay, he was mournful. That’s what those eyes held. It was daunting, unfitting for what Shouto pictured the other to appear as. Would he really die? Couldn’t the heterochromatic see him on a day where both their health were strong, where the snow didn’t burn his cheeks, blind their vision.

Though it had calmed down.

Did that mean they’d be fine? Was this their beacon of hope? Could they help each other to get better? The man claimed he’d die, they’d die, but Shouto thought he was wrong. They could make it. Shouto knew some first aid, he had to, with the rough terrain they’d trek every other day, the dangers that lurked around every corner. He might not know enough first aid for all of that though.

Once again, the bile rose, and that hopeless feeling returned, hopeless and frustrated. The child wanted to cry, he wanted his mom to make everything better, she always knew what to say, what to do. He wanted to yell at his dad, for making them come out here. He wanted to yell at himself for getting lost. 

Then again, if he didn’t run off, he wouldn’t have met the other.

“I brought you here, so that you could protect them for me.” The heterochromatic eyes snapped up to meet determined red ones, and once again, he turned those eyes down the hill behind them. 

It must of been where his family lays, burrowed in the ground, sheltered from the harsh winter snowfall. So they were wolves? Then how’d he become human? And why was he giving up on himself? Surely they could find help, the storm already began dying down. The man was able to speak, walk, it couldn’t be that bad. 

 His eyes were widened, and were those the wolf ears? Blond wolf ears were now a top his head. Shouto was witnessing him slowly returning to the wolf state. He didn’t think it possible for a human to become animal, just like that. It was illogical, but what did the child know of logic anyways?

“You must kill me,” The gasp those words earned was as sharp as an icicle, piercing his lungs, piercing the blond’s ears, “I’ll give my life to save yours.”

And Shouto hoped the wolf felt guilty, a sick sort of selfish. He didn’t want to be alone, he didn’t want to kill the wolf. Not when that’s what he tried so hard to escape from. His father's constant nagging, always speaking of the next hunt, explaining concepts of mammals bodies that the child never cared to know, nor ever would. How to kill them, in the most profitable ways. How to cut them up, clean them.

And maybe he felt guilty for knowing those things, because, at the moment, he didn’t want to know how to kill something. It meant he had no excuse to do so. That he’d lose the being who saved him, gave him hope, the potential for a new friendship, maybe even a fresh start. They could exist together, maybe Shouto could have been a part of his family, not protecting them. Well, he’d do that too, if it meant he could become friends with the wolf.

“You can keep warm with my pelt,” His jaw tensed, “keep full with my flesh.”

This time the heterochromatic was sure he would puke. Eat another human? He couldn’t, that was wrong… but they ate animals everyday, him, his parents, his siblings. Served at the diner table with no issue. So were humans any different? Or wolf-humans? Where they even the same species? 

“But you must protect them, got it?” His teeth were as sharp as his eyes, the canines morphing into place, “feed them, keep them safe… god knows he needs it. Promise me that!”

The child jolted, the words as sharp as his teeth.

“If you don’t. Get away from here.” The fur was growing back into place, and Shouto couldn’t help but feel like prey, circled by the creatures, as if his eyes were the barrel of a gun, shoot to kill, “go die.”

More shivers wracked up his spine, teeth clattering together. The other falling back into the snow, but his eyes never left. 

“Now you must decide” The transformation had finished, those same red eyes staring at him from the golden fur. 

He shivered, his teeth clattered. He longed for the red scarf, lost to the storm. Somewhere in the vast frozen fields and forest. Caught on a tree? Buried? He wondered if someone would find it, would they know it was his? The hetrochromatic’s family were most often the only ones out here, they’d know if they’d see it, wouldn’t they? Were they looking for him as they spoke? Shouto shuffled over to those eyes, to the sun that lay half-dead in the snow. Just as he had felt not even an hour ago. Maybe it was, it felt like days. He fell to his knees, gloved hands grabbing at the fur. Wolve’s fur was soft, he knew from experience. Was this creature’s fur soft as well? His hands were too frozen to feel, even if they were no fabric between them.

And he looked into those hardened, fiery eyes, “I accept.” 

Maybe the scarf was lost to the wind.

Cra-

Never to be found.

-ack.

That was fine, the wolf’s eyes were a prettier red anyways.

Auah.

He inhaled the icy air. His hands were shaking. The wolf had closed his eyes. His head lulled into the snow. He wanted to see them one last time, but that was fine. 

It would be fine.

Shuick.

The branch didn’t go in as easy as he would have liked, making a mess of the snow around them, of his own clothing. But it was fine. 

Shouto got to glance at those red eyes one more time as they opened in a painful end. But it was quick, he’d make quick work of the wolf.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It reminded him of the sunrise that came with the morning, the wolf’s eyes. It reminded him of the bloody mess left on the ground the disfigured body, the mess of his hands. 

Though the blond was right. He’d keep warm with this pelt, and his stomach was full. Then there was the den down the hill, he’d cover himself, lugging the fur down. Because he had a promise, a promise to his new friend. Only friend he’s ever made. 

A promise he couldn’t keep, not when he paused meters from the burrow. When a pair of bright green eyes glanced on curiously from the dark. Not when the brave soul of dark green fur crept out, hunched towards the ground, those eyes flickering between the two. 

When his ears folded back, “Kacchan…?”

His friend had a name. He killed his friend, he killed this kid’s caretaker. He couldn’t stay, he wanted to go home, this wasn’t home. And the green-eyed wolf let out a yelp as the heterochromatic turned his back on him.

He ran up the hill, fur on his back, through the forest. To the top. He wanted to go home, back to his mom’s arms. His mom… she was down the other side of the hill, with his dad, his brother and sister. They had come looking for him.

The red sunrise shined upon them. 

He reached out to them, and they backed up. So he ran down the hill. 

And his mother took the shotgun from his father's hands. 

Bam.

[celticvampriss]

The Four Rules of Trost

(Not sure why I decided to write this, but it was partly inspired by a post I read recently on Fairies and names and also in part from a book I started and never finished.  It’s been so long since I’ve posted anything I basically forgot how this works. Anyway...

Jeankasa: Fairy AU (For the Fairytale Weekend)

He was an idiot, honestly, with a knack for trouble and a big mouth.  All his life the warnings were drilled into his head.  He could recite the Four Rules of Trost--a quaint village lost in a lush wilderness, you’ve never heard of it--in his sleep.  They were nursery rhymes and ghost stories.  The Four Rules were etched into wood and engraved into metal.  A little decoration in every home adorned with flowers and vines--A Happy Home Abides the Four Rules of Trost.

Rule One: never stray from the path.

Not that it mattered, there was no where to go.  The woods were too dense, the trees too giant, the wilderness too massive.  Sure, travelers had ventured off beyond the town’s borders, beyond the great lake for fishing or the ten miles or so used for hunting trails, but none returned.  (Why would they?  Jean had often wondered if they were asking themselves the right questions.  Were these travelers consumed by the nightmares of the Fairy Lands or did they just have the good sense not to come back?)

Either way, Jean never left the path.  Maybe a foot, as a dare, but that was a right of passage for kids in Trost.  See how far you can go before you got scared and Jean would not be called chicken by the Jeager boy, not a chance.  So he had set a single boot off the path.  The wind had nearly blown in him over, tearing his coat clear over his head to cover his eyes, and the sounds--such other-worldly shrieks that sent chills down his back.

Rule Two: Never, ever stray from the path at night, in fact, stay inside if at all possible

This rule was harder to follow, but the only one that had a bit of leniency.  A pressing chore or server sickness might mean you left your house at night, but you sure as shit stayed on the path.  Jean never tested this rule, expect for one single time when necessity sent him out of doors after the sun had set.  His mother had been so awfully sick and the doctor was three miles away.  Armed with a rake, a lantern as a shield, Jean had set out into the darkness to fetch him.

That was the first time he saw one, a Fae.  There were all sorts magical what-not in the woods--that was the reason for the Rules, better to be safe when a small human village finds itself in the midst of a Faery Wood--but the Fae were the worst.  Tricky, mischievous spirits with no sense of right or wrong.  Curse your entire family for five generations?  Sure, why not, it’s Tuesday.  Fix your horse’s lame leg?  Fine, just bring me the hair of your first born.  

Over time, Trost had learned it was best to avoid Fae entirely.  Which brings me to 

Rule Three: Do Not Talk To The Fae

Now, Jean was twelve, precocious, stubborn, and a bit of an idiot.  So when he saw her--just past his little bubble of lantern light, just off the path, engulfed in shadows, eyes gleaming in the beams of moonlight breaking the canopy--it took every ounce of willpower in his twelve year old body to turn his head forward and keep walking.

She followed, slowly, lazily.  Like he was a frog she spotted and decided to follow back to its pond.  He would glance without turning his head and there she was, watching, silent.  But he was twelve and, yeah, Fae were supposed to be “possessed of an ethereal beauty” but what the elders didn’t tell you was that they were hot.  

So try as he might, he was a hormonal boy, so he kept glancing.  More than he should if he were only afraid--which he was, to clarify, terrified.  

“You can look if you like, there is no harm in a look,” she said, voice like magic--he swore he could taste it--and then he tripped.

Jean scrambled to catch his lantern, praying under his breath that it remained lit, and trembling when she stepped into its light.

She had stood just off the path, radiant in the glow, hair black as the night and face set in a serious sort of scowl.  

“You’re afraid,” She said, almost like a question, then she looked away, “You’re all afraid.”

Jean had sat in the dirt, thankfully struck dumb and incapable of breaking Rule Three.  But it was looking that did all the harm.  Because she was clearly Fae, clearly powerful, clearly terrifying, but also...sad.  Her scowl, her eyes, they were...heavy.  Like she had known more horror than happiness.  

Then he did something truly stupid, he empathized.  He felt sorry for her, felt her loneliness, her sorrow, and was genuinely grieved for whatever she had endured to put that grief in her eyes.  

But the moment was fleeting, because she was gone before he could break Rule Three and with her leaving his wits returned.  His mother was sick and he had a mission, there was a reason he was out after nightfall.

And that was that.  He dreamed of the Fae girl for months, years.  He thought about her in passing moments, but time lessened the intensity of those thoughts.  

But then he turned eighteen and did the truly idiotic.  He broke the fourth Rule, which everyone knew to be the most severe.

Rule Four: Do Not GIVE A FAE YOUR NAME

Eighteen and angry.  Angry because a small village with no travelers or tourists left one a bit suffocated.  He felt caged, constricted, which was insane because he didn’t know that anything else existed.  All he knew was that the life he’d been dealt felt wrong and stifling.  Restlessness settled in his spirit.  A longing for something he couldn’t name or understand.  Which was the worst sort.  He couldn’t even properly dream of ‘other’ because to a small village cut off by a sea of magical monster trees the only ‘other’ was the very possibly deadly unknown.

And this frustration had burrowed into his heart for a few years.  While the kids his age were doing their village thing--becoming farmers or merchants or parents--he was left brooding and annoyed.  Which made him so very reckless and so very, very stupid.

Twigs and leaves snapped and crunched beneath his boots as Jean worked the little used hunting trails on the outer most limits of their village.  It was starting to get overgrown, but still definitely a path.  His toes caught on rocks and he accidentally startled a squirrel that kicked up a flurry of dead leaves as it scurried up a nearby tree.

In other words, he wouldn’t be catching anything that day.  Instead his bow was slung on his back, not even in hand, and he stomped his frustration into the dirt.  At least the outer trails offered some sense of thrill.  Their low traffic made it difficult to recognize their course and he would find himself searching from the log of a fallen tree cutting the path in two.  But he always found it, for it was always there in the dirt, and so the risk was not that great.  

Jean hopped from the fallen tree--a giant, that appeared to have been beaten by a round of unlucky lightening strikes--and as his feet landed, his eyes caught movement.

At first he reached for his bow, considering that he might have gotten lucky and a very unwise deer had ignored his noisy wandering and come too close, but then he realized that was not the case.  

She was there.  In the day light, autumn wind catching the ends of her black hair, and eyes staring through him.  

And he was too unhappy to fight the recklessness in his soul.  For first, he broke Rule Three.

“It’s you,” He said, hoping she would recognize him.

Her nod was a victory and he savored that elation as he reminded his feet to stay put.

“Are you feeling better?”  He asked, though he didn’t think she was, for she looked exactly the same.

But her eyes narrowed in curiosity and her head tilted, “What do you mean?  Better from what?”

He shrugged.  “I don’t know, I guess.”

“I had a feeling you’d talk to me,” she said, “But you realize it’s against the Rules.”

The Fae knew about the Rules?  Figures.  “Yeah, I know.  I think I’m beyond caring at this point.  Besides, I get the feeling you won’t hurt me.”

“I may.  I may not.  Hurt can mean so many things.”

“Fair, I guess.”  He scratched at his head, finally tearing his eyes from her face.  He looked at the path and suddenly all those warnings went off in his head.  This was a very stupid idea.  He shouldn’t have opened his mouth.  He started to turn away from her, to walk back toward the safety of Trost, “Look, I gotta get home.  I just...” He stopped, he turned back to her, just for a second, “I wanted to say I hope you find happiness.  I doubt I will, but you seem like the type who deserves a bit of good in their life.  I hope you get it.”  He gave her an awkward wave.  “Bye.”

But she was fast, insanely fast, and she was ahead of him.  Not on the path, obviously, but near it.

“Why would you say that?”

“What?  Did I offend you?”  He wrung his hands through his hair, “Oh shit.  I’ve offended a Fae.  Please don’t curse me.”

“Quiet,” She said, and his jaw snapped shut.  “I am not going to curse you.  I simply...I only wish to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why?  How?  You have seen me once, yet you speak like you have intimate knowledge of my past.  And...you are kind.”  She huffed, clearly frustrated.  “Humans hate and mistrust the Fae.  Why would you wish me well?”

Jean honestly didn’t know.  He said what felt right, he didn’t think about it.  “Look, I can’t give you any sort of insightful answer.  I don’t know you, I just know that when I look at you...I guess it’s like I can see your misery and I hate it.  Especially now, cause it looks a little like mine.”

“Like yours?”

“The loneliness.  I get that.  I may not really know trauma, my past has been pretty sheltered and uneventful, but my present is...shit.  Or I feel shitty, at least.  Like I don’t belong here.  Like I want more than what I have.  Which is wrong, I know, but it’s how I feel.  I don’t even know if there is anything beyond the woods.  No one does.  But I may be tempted...”  He bit his lip, thinking better of his comments.  He may have entertained a fantasy or two of venturing out past the woods, but it was only a fantasy.

She was silent for a long time.  He was beginning to feel like he’d done something wrong.  Well, aside from the obvious talking to her in the first place.

“Do you really want to see the Woods?”

Jean shivered.  His gut screamed.  He took a step back.  “Why?”

“Because I know what’s in the wood and beyond.”

“Yeah, but...humans don’t ever come back from that.”

“Maybe they don’t want to,” She said, and he couldn’t hold in the laugh.

“That’s exactly what I thought.”  She was putting him at ease again, which was dangerous.  “Wait, but how do I know you’re not just leading me to my death? Those people could have all died.  We don’t know.”

“Oh, they died,” She said, tone even, “You need permission to walk through the Fae Wood.  And magic.  They didn’t have it.”

“O...kay.  Then why in the hell would I follow you?  They all died.  You just confirmed it.”

She held out her hand, “I can give you permission.”

Jean paused.  He considered it.  Which was insane.  He needed to run.  Turn around and run home and never leave his house again.  He couldn’t be trusted.  But that is not what he did.

“What will it cost me?”

She smiled, for the first time, “Only your name.  Will you give me your name?”

Some stored away vault in his brain tried to remind him about Fae and their tricky wording, but it was no use.  He was too busy being very reckless.

See, instinct can be a funny thing.  While, Jean knew he should be running scared, that is not what felt right.  He was a slave to honesty, brutal or otherwise.  Idiotic or otherwise.  And he honestly trusted her.  

“I give you my name and you can help me leave?  See more than just the village?”

“For a start.”

While he stood there and considered, a part of him had already made the decision.  It had been made when he saw her on the path.  It had been made seven years ago when he was twelve and he saw more than Fae.  

He was an idiot, honestly, with a knack for trouble and a big mouth.  

“My name is Jean.”

And the magic was sealed.  For to give a Fae your name was to give them power over you.  And her wording had been precise.  But it was a magic that could work both ways.  

“You going to give me your name?”

“Mikasa.”

He smiled.  And then he broke Rule One.  He stepped off the path.  And all was quiet.  He was free.

For when Fae and human have power over each other, they are equal.  

[cyndecreativity]

RE: latest ask game

L, O, X, Z

How do you select the names of your characters?

Names? Over the years I’ve made a bunch of characters for video games and DnD and stuff and MOST of the time, I will just use whatever pops into my head first. In the beginning, that meant I was using things I enjoyed, like Lucretia. But I’ve tried to move away from that by virtue of people deciding those names are memes now. In some video games, where there’s a randomizer, I would randomize until I found a good name that I could tweak to something I liked. Siliandra was my name in FFXI and then I used it again in World of Warcraft, then I shortened it to Liandra for Dragon Age and Dark Souls.

For Zodiac, the names were all my husband’s idea. The characters were originally his, and they’ve changed into something else, but kept the names. He’s a huge DnD player and the names are things like William Fymithral or Garren Grin. Characters I made are things like Idania, so named because I looked up a name for my Spanish class (Mireya) and found Idania to mean something like hardworking in some other language and liked it. And I’ve never found it again. The other names were just from Wikipedia. EXCEPT for Jorgus. 

We were talking about the outline I had and he suggested a character he called Jonesy as like this shitty bully kid. I said that’d be his last name, of course, and since we were watching all of JoJo, he said his name should be something to facilitate JoJo. I said I was gonna name his Fergus because it’s a sufficiently bad name that would warrant wanting to call him something else, like Jonesy for his last name. My husband laughed and said we should just call him Jorgus, that way it’d be JoJo. And I made a face and then said, you know what? Yeah. His name is Jorgus now.

What types of scenes are hardest for you to write?

Scenes that are the hardest for me to write are usually scenes with some kind of broken thought process or struggling not to identify the POV character. I was trying to write a scene that I eventually gave up on with one of my characters tied to a post and scared because they’re supposed to be “feral” from being in the woods for years, alone, and hunted. I just couldn’t do it.

I used to think I couldn’t do fight scenes, but I read a fanfic I wrote in like 2014 and there was a pretty cool fight scene near the end and I was like Oh, maybe I can do that? I guess they’re still the hardest.

(I spend a lot of time instrospecting so those aren’t really the hardest for me.)

I also have problems with either knowing where I want a scene to end, starting it, and finding the characters reacting to stimuli in ways that don’t lead to the conclusion I wanted. So, like, trying to get two characters to bone and they won’t. Or getting two characters to reconcile and they won’t.

I have found, however, that I’ve turned to Stage Direction style writing wherein I have too many short sentences depicting like a turn or a look without any kind of thought. And with my Dragon Age fanfic, I used that as my first draft. But now I’m self-conscious about it so it’s getting harder to look at it as a First Draft, which means I can’t just go on. Ah, the struggles of being a writer.

What inspires you as a writer?

I actually feel like I answered this a while ago, let’s see. Without reading it, let’s see if I can answer this with any similarity.

I’ve been having this argument with my husband about ART because he’s an artist and he respects and admires Nier and Nier Automata for it’s artistic value and he loves Evangelion. And I can’t... find it within myself to do so. So I’ve decided to call myself a philistine in defense of my distaste for these things. I don’t find beauty or meaning in them. Either because their messages are not clear enough or they’re desiring a specific reaction that I’m not able to have because I am the beholder and what I glean from the piece is not necessarily what you said. Maybe.

So inspiration for me comes in the form of gaining that beauty and enjoyment from something and wanting to also do that thing. I really enjoyed, say, FF6 and the character that I loved the most was Edgar. So I want to write something that gives him a happy ending with a character that totally isn’t some better version of me an OC. I loved watching my favorite Youtuber play a randomizer, so now I’m going to play one. I loved reading a book, so now I’m gonna write one.

That’s kinda the long and short of it. What inspires me is the joy I can feel from the thing I’m engaging with, either the fandom’s love or the media itself.

What made you decide to write your story?

I want to say that I didn't consciously decide anything. Most of the stories I come up with are solely because I couldn't sleep of I'm inspired by fixing something in a given story I've experienced. I want to see these two characters smooch or help one get closure and better mental health, etc.

My husband has been having a bit of an issue with his mental health re: his own art, and I’ve explained this same thing to him: You have to decide if doing the thing you like to do is worth more than the pain of NOT doing it. For me, that manifests as writing even if, like, once a month, I am miserable because I didn’t get the attention I wanted on the work I’ve put in on something. Why bother writing when no one reads it? Because the writing is more fun to me than the misery of being ignored.

And that’s kind of all of it. I don’t really have any conscious themes or activism or anything that I’m trying to convey in my stories, they’re just stories I came up with and had to write because I was having One Fun doing it. Zodiac is too fun for me to give up, it’s a nice healthy default state to settle into whenever I can’t sleep. “What if Alden is in the basement? That’s where they fight? Eli would notice that, though. So Tristan fights him in the burrow- how long would he had been there?”

Or, you know, “I should go back and update these stories I wrote and enjoyed when I was a kid. Make this Edgar/OC fanfic better, fix up this Protomen fanfic, tweak this Loki thing, rewrite the FF7 one. Yeah, that’s nice.”

Thank you for asking!