#i wrote myself a note about this when i first found the prompt and it just said

[strangersmunsons]

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 5 Prompt: Love Notes 💌 ~ 2,300 words Eddie writes you an anonymous love note. it doesn't go according to plan.

Dear ____

I hope you’re not too weirded out by this. To be perfectly honest with you, it seemed like a really good idea when I saw this pink paper in the art room and swiped it, but now I’m not so sure…

Ah, fuck it. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? The pen has been put to paper — I might as well nut up and finish the job.

I really like you. I think about you all the time.

You don’t know me, but we had a class together two years ago. And on the first day, when I was still fresh off a jilt by a different girl, you came in and sat down. I didn’t think much of anything at first; you were just another body in the classroom, and I was wallowing in self-pity, nursing my metaphorical wounds. But as the minutes passed, I found myself glancing over at you — at first just once, then again, and then again, and then I was staring, and all I could think was: she’s really beautiful. And then I couldn’t stop looking.

Day after day I’d watch you in class and in the hallways and anywhere else you and I happened to be occupying the same space. I still do. There’s just something about you that keeps drawing me in. You seem so genuinely good and kind, like you would never hurt anybody, not even a guy like me. But I still can’t bring myself to approach you, because I look at you, and then I look at myself, and I feel like I don’t deserve to be loved that way, by someone as perfect as you. I can’t take the leap no matter how badly I want it.

I have dreams about you. I dream about what it would feel like to hold your hand, to put my arms around you, and to feel yours around me. If my subconscious is feeling particularly indulgent, I might get a kiss. But mostly in these dreams we just exist together, which feels like the most unattainable fantasy of them all. They’re the sweetest dreams to have but the worst to wake up from. 

I’m not sure why I’m confessing this all to you now. Everyone else is sending each other candy grams and roses; I suppose it means I’m not as immune to this Hallmark-conspired holiday as I thought. If nothing else, I hope this gives you at least an inkling of how wonderful you are, in case you ever had any doubts. You’re a sweet girl. Anybody would be really lucky to be with you. Especially me.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Deliberately omitting his signature, Eddie sets his pen down and stares at the paper in front of him, rereading the fucking novel he just wrote you.

See, now this is far too much. 

Cheeks violently red, he slumps over the table in embarrassment. God, he sounds like such a serial killer! He can’t give this to you, no way. Even if it is anonymous.

…can he?

On one hand, you might find it touching. On the other hand, you might find it both disturbing and grossly predative. 

If it’s truly any one thing, it’s honest — Eddie has spent the past two and half years being completely and utterly infatuated with you. He’d call it love, if he’d ever said a single word to you. But instead he’s camped out here in the library during his lunch period, spilling his guts out all over this cotton-candy pink paper, with no intention of revealing his identity. 

He sighs, and with nimble fingers, folds the paper into a shape that resembles a heart. Tucking the love note into the pocket of his vest, he wrenches himself away from the table and stalks out of the library. His expression is sour; to the outward observer, he looks mightily pissed off, although what he’s really  experiencing is a fierce combination of ambivalence and humiliation towards his own actions. You’d never guess that his heart is thumping wildly against his chest as he speeds through the empty hallways, getting closer and closer to your locker, still uncertain of what he’s going to do when he actually gets there.

But he knows that if he’s going to do something, he needs to do it now, because lunch will be over in mere minutes, and then everyone will start pouring out of the cafeteria.

133…134…135…there it is.

Eddie stares at your locker as though in a trance. He fishes the note from his pocket and simply clutches it in his fist, mind racing.

Can I? Should I? If she’s disgusted she won’t know it’s me. No. No. Maybe I shouldn’t. Bad idea. BAD. Or maybe…I should…

“Whatcha got there, freak?”

A beefy arm shoves him violently from behind, knocking him to the ground. His fingers automatically close around the note, instant panic setting all his nerve endings on fire.

No. Oh God, no. 

He quickly tries to haul himself back to his feet, but he’s outnumbered. Two jocks pin him to the ground by his arms, thwarting any desperate punches he might have swung. A third yanks the note from his hand, smoothing out the meticulously-folded paper he’d poured his soul onto. 

There’s a roaring in his ears, but it’s not enough to completely drown out the bell ringing in the distance. Then the student voices start floating down the hallway, alerting Eddie to the fact that, not only is he about to suffer greatly at the hands of these meatheads, but he’s unfortunately also going to have an audience when it happens.

The third jock holding the note reads it silently, a slow, evil grin splitting across his face. He starts howling with laughter. “Shit, Munson! I mean, I figured you’d be desperate for pussy, but this? This is a whole new level of pathetic.”

“Give it back!” Eddie snarls, desperately trying to free himself. 

The third jock doubles over, cackling, then reads aloud in a nasally, mocking voice, “I have dreams about you…”

One of the goons pinning Eddie down snorts, and loosens his grip. “Hold up, I wanna read it —” 

Eddie, sensing his chance, breaks out of their grasp, and makes a move to snatch his note back. Before he can, the third jock crumples it into a ball and tosses it over his head to one of his friends; Eddie makes a wild grab for it, and misses.

High school students start to trickle in, drawn to a fight like flies to honey, crowding at the edges of the scene. 

The four boys play a game of Eddie-in-the-middle, the onlookers puzzled but intrigued, watching the mysterious paper whiz back and forth through the air. Growing angrier by the second, fed up with the childish antics, Eddie finally stops trying to catch the note. Instead, he cocks his fist back and lets it smash into the third jock’s nose.

There’s a collective “oooh!” from the mass of students. Eddie and the jock scuffle, both now determined to fuck the other one up as badly as possible. One goon steps in to help his friend, while the other scoops the wadded-up paper off the floor, so he can finally skim the content of Eddie’s heart for himself.

And then suddenly, the most devastating thing of all: the asshole is hollering your name over the din.

For the first time ever, Eddie finds himself hoping that the bully he’s fighting actually kills him. Because death would be better than this.

“Where’s she at? She’s gotta hear this — hey, guess what! The freak is in love with you!”

Eddie wheels around in horror. The other goon grabs him from behind, rendering him motionless again, but it barely registers. The crowd has parted like the Red Sea, everyone stepping aside to make a clear path for you to walk through. You approach nervously, looking completely bewildered as to why you’re being summoned. Eddie wishes that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

The goon thrusts the paper out to you. “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer,” he sneers.

“More like a stalker,” the third jock interjects, voice thick from his swollen nose. He steps in front of Eddie and gives him a bloody smile, flexing his hand menacingly. “Hold his face steady for me, would ya?”

“Stop it!” you shriek suddenly, snatching the paper without bothering to look at it. “You’re such assholes!”

“That’s ENOUGH!”

Principal Higgins has finally decided to do his job, it seems. He marches through the crowd — “Get to class, all of you!” — and pulls the two boys apart. 

“My office. Now.”

He corrals the four boys down the hallway, towards the office, as the other students scatter about, flushed with excitement. None of them cast a backwards glance at you, head bent, reading the crumpled note with a furrowed brow.

~

An hour later and Eddie’s finally trudging his way through the parking lot.

He’s been sentenced to three days’ suspension. The guy he clocked made it out with one after-school detention, which he’ll most likely get out of due to basketball obligations, and the other two got off scot-free. Principal Higgins’s reasoning was that Eddie, because he’s the only one who did any ‘real’ damage, should get the worst punishment.

Sure, he threw the hardest punch. But the idea that any of those three are suffering worse than he is right now is downright laughable.

The hot, bitter embarrassment of it all is making his skin itch. There’s a lump in his throat; he can feel the start of angry tears prickling in his eyes. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before he starts driving — the last thing he needs right now is an excuse for one of Hawkins’ finest to pull him over. God knows how much they love doing that.

“Eddie!”

He doesn’t turn around, rage and shame making him want to disappear. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now, or ever again, probably.

“Eddie! Wait!” 

A light hand caresses his back, then curls around his bicep. He whips around, already on the defensive; you flinch backwards at his aggressive stance.

As soon as he sees that it’s you, all the tension in his body dissipates. His eyes widen and his lips part in shock; his skin becomes dead-white, then bright red in the span of about four seconds.

“I’m sorry,” the words tumble out of his mouth. “For the note — for everything. You weren’t supposed to know it was me.” He stares down at his feet, unable to look at you. 

“Did you really mean it? All that stuff you said?”

Eddie shifts his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. “Well…yeah.” He rubs his clammy forehead with his hand in distress, heart rate spiking again. “I’m sorry, you probably think I’m the biggest fucking creep, I wasn’t even sure if I was going to give it to you —”

“I don’t think you’re a creep.”

Eddie falls silent. His eyes finally flit up to meet yours, and he’s surprised to find that you don’t look…angry. Or repulsed, or even annoyed. Your gaze is soft, the corners of your mouth pulled slightly down in a worried frown. You look concerned. 

Is that for him?

“You swear you weren’t playing a joke on me?” you ask.

Eddie starts, taken aback. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do something like that to you, ever. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

You nod slowly, seeming to believe him. You swing your backpack off your shoulder so you can unzip the front pocket, and pull the dreaded love note from inside. Eyes roaming the paper once more, a small smile appears on your lips. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.” Then your expression turns more serious, and there’s a slight tremble in your voice. “And I’m so sorry that those jerks did that to you. That was terrible. But you don’t have to be embarrassed about me reading it. I love the note. Thank you for writing it.”

He can scarcely believe this conversation is happening. He’s thought about you standing in front of him like this for years — imagined what it would be like to have you look at him and really see him, the way you do right now. Now that he’s living it, it’s almost too much for him to handle.

You hesitate, like you’re unsure of what to say next. “Um, to be honest, I didn’t think you even knew who I was.”

“How could I not?” he says dazedly. The notion that he might not know who you are is absurd to him.

You shyly avert your eyes, like you’re overwhelmed by the praise. Pressing on, you tell him, “You did get one thing wrong, though.”

Eddie cocks his head to the side, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I’m not perfect — certainly not too perfect for you to come and talk to, or — or ask out. I think you’re a good guy.”

Is there air left in his lungs? It doesn’t feel like it. “Oh,” he manages faintly. He’s too scared to say anything else, that a single incorrect word will break this spell.

You give him a gentle smile. “So…are you busy right now?”

Eddie hides his shaking hand behind his back, blushing furiously. “No, I’m not busy right now. Actually, um, I’m not even allowed back here for the next three days, so…yeah, I’m — I’m pretty open.”

You nudge his arm playfully. “Do you wanna go do something?”

Even through his leather jacket the contact makes his skin tingle. “Yes!” he practically shouts, then lowers his volume. “Sorry. I mean, you read my note. So you understand that this is kind of a big deal for me.”

You laugh, and not unkindly. 

“Well, let’s get going then. We have a lot of time to make up for.”

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

[ladamedusoif]

My Kiss, Only For You

The Thief x Museum Guide F!Reader - One Shot

Pairing: The Thief x Museum Guide F!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI)

Content/warnings: oral (f receiving); theft (I mean, obviously); smut; did I mention theft; strong language

Summary: You've noticed a regular attendee on the guided tours you offer as part of your job at the museum - and one day, he decides to ask you for more information on a favourite exhibit.

Notes: I keep on getting sent to horny jail by @lunapascal and @julesonrecord. (P would be very disappointed in you two insisting on incarcerating me all the time.)

This time, for reasons I'm still not entirely sure about, I was sentenced to 'double jail' and have two punishment pieces to write to get myself free. This first one, chosen by @julesonrecord, involves The Thief (from the wine ads) and the prompt "stealing a kiss".

Please enjoy my first foray into writing smut about a (very sexy) man from an ad campaign.

I wrote this at like, 1am and am still worried there are sections I thought I wrote but that were actually happening in a dream. Bear that in mind as you read.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“And we finish with the jewel - if you’ll permit me a little pun - of the collection, the remarkable Katarzyna’s Kiss ruby.”

The afternoon’s tour group is mostly teenagers on a school trip, and they couldn’t be less interested in the bright red gemstone illuminated in the case behind you if they tried. One of them lazily lifts their phone to snap a photo, apparently of the display. It’s only when you see them pouting for a selfie that you realise they’ve had a BeReal notification.

You keep going with the standard tour script, putting your heart into it as always. You notice a familiar face at the back of the group, listening attentively: a handsome, dark-eyed man you guess must be in his mid to late forties, who is a regular attendee of your tours in the museum. He seems to be particularly interested in the gemstones and jewellery collections, always turning up for those tours with a notebook and a random, specialist text on the subject. 

“The story behind this gemstone and its unusual name is that a seventeenth-century Polish princess supposedly fell in love with the apprentice to the court jeweller. Now, as you can imagine, in those days an apprentice jeweller would never be considered an appropriate match for a princess, and their love was doomed from the start.”

The handsome man smiles at you, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. You offer a little smile in return, noticing how the museum lighting catches the attractive patches of grey in his sparse beard.

“The poor young apprentice had never kissed his princess, and not because he didn’t want to - they were afraid they would be caught in the carefully-monitored world of the court.” Your expression turns sad as you move to the next part. 

“One day, the young jeweller heard that his beloved was to be married - the next day, in fact. He was distraught. But when the princess woke on her wedding day, equally heartbroken, she found this ruby - so the story goes - in a gorgeous, handmade silver box, engraved with the words ‘My kiss, only for you’”.

One of the teenagers at the front yawns dramatically, setting the others off into fits of giggles. You sigh. “And that brings our tour to an end, I guess. Gift shop that way, toilets over there, if you want to find out more about the collections you can purchase a guidebook…”

Your voice trails as the group rapidly disperses. Only your handsome regular is left. You hadn’t noticed before how nicely dressed he is - not showy, not in the least, but his clothes have that unmistakable air of quality and expense. Today he’s wearing a dark green, beautifully cut casual jacket with a Nehru collar, combined with dark jeans and a pristine white grandfather shirt. 

“Thank you for a wonderful tour, as usual.” His voice is warm and low, a pleasing sound in the near-empty gallery. 

“Thank you,” you return the compliment. “You’re one of our regulars, aren’t you?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose and nods. You notice he’s holding a small green notebook in one hand, and a pen in the other. “I must admit, though, that I prefer to go on your tours. You are a natural - truly, a joy to listen to. So knowledgeable!” He turns and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “And, if you’ll forgive me for being forward, even lovelier to look at than Katarzyna’s Kiss.”

You raise your eyebrows. The closest thing to flirting you’d experienced in your time as a guide was when elderly men would corner you near the military history displays and wax lyrical at you about nineteenth-century battleships.

The man has moved closer, now, to you and to the display case. He appraises the ruby at close range. “I’d like to talk to you a little more about this beautiful thing - I’m fascinated by the story.” He turns and looks at you over the top of his glasses. “Would dinner tonight be a good time to talk about this kiss?”

To your surprise, he’d booked a table at the fanciest restaurant in the city. Dinner had been a delight, swapping stories of rare jewels and favourite galleries and museums around the world. 

He had changed since this afternoon, and arrived dressed in an exquisite green and black check suit with a black shirt and tie. He was attractive, there was no way around it - but you preferred to keep your guard up a little longer.

You were about to order a cab when you realised you didn’t have your phone.

“Shit. I must have left it in the office.” 

“It’s not too far away, is it?” He is the picture of concern. “I’ll gladly accompany you back to the museum.”

So he does, offering you his arm at one point like a man in an old movie. You huff a laugh at the gesture until you realise he’s serious. 

“Oh, god. I’m sorry.”

He keeps his arm out, offered to you, and smiles at you with an eyebrow raised. “Chivalry isn’t quite dead yet, ma chérie.”

Maybe it’s the sneaking into the museum after hours, with its connotations of illicit shenanigans, maybe it’s the whiskey you had after dinner, or maybe it’s just the way his suit sits so perfectly over his broad frame, as if it’s begging to be touched and clung to. 

Whatever it is, you’ve barely entered your small office when you’re pushing him against the wall and kissing him like your life depends on it. He groans into your mouth and it goes straight to your pussy. 

He guides you back onto the desk and sits you on the edge, lowering you down carefully as he stands above you. He trails a long, thick finger across the neckline of your dress, slipping his fingertip under the fabric to trace the outline of your breasts.

You whine in pleasure and frustration as he kisses your body. 

“Tell me more about Katarzyna’s Kiss, beautiful. Do you believe the story?”

He keeps kissing as you talk, through the fabric of your dress down to your thighs, where he hitches up the skirt and encourages you to open your legs a little wider. You moan as you feel his fingers tracing up the inside of your thighs.

“I want to kiss you, mi amor, but I will only do so if you say the word.”

You nod frantically, all thoughts of the bright red ruby forgotten. 

He brings his torso down to meet yours, placing a soft, wet kiss to your lips. You hear the zipper of his pants come down and you know that he has taken his cock in his hand. With the other, he reaches past the top of your head, stretching his hand out along the desk and resting his fingers on the marass of papers and, you judge by the clicks going on behind you, your computer keyboard.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me again?” Your voice is heavy, confused. He’s kept one hand behind you, still resting on the keyboard, as he intersperses caressing and kissing your breasts with giving his cock a quick stroke.

“I am, chérie, be patient. The kiss I plan to steal now is more valuable than any ruby - tastes better, too.”

He drops to his knees and pulls your legs apart, dragging your panties down over your soft thighs and knees. He begins by literally kissing your cunt, placing soft, delicate kisses to the wet folds before his broad tongue strokes its way from your opening all the way to your clit. It elicits a muffled scream from you.

“You can’t be there already, beautiful thing.” You aren’t, but the way he’s ‘kissing’ your pussy, then driving his fingers inside you, is getting you very close.

When he begins to suck your clit you feel the pressure building, and soon your slick is coating his perfect nose, his mouth, his face - and his beard. It glistens in the soft light of your desk lamp. 

“Fuck me,” you murmur quietly. 

“Not tonight, dear one,” he says as he returns to standing, zipping back up his pants. “Stay put, I’ll get something to clean you up. Where are the bathrooms?”

You point him towards them, unable to stand up just yet. He’s made you feel completely boneless, fucked out with just his mouth and fingers on your own desk. It had been a while since anyone made you come at all, let alone like that.

You realise you don’t even know his name.

And soon, you realise he’s been gone a rather long time.

The museum’s back corridors are unsettling at night. You wander up and down, calling quietly into the darkness to see if you can find him.

The wail of the siren is deafening as you race back to your office, frantically trying to log back in to check where the alarm has been triggered. You try to contact the night security team, but there’s no response. The screen eventually lights up and you see it: the Kiss ruby. That’s what they’re after.

Security arrives in the exhibition gallery a few minutes after you, leaving it to you to reveal the carefully opened case and the empty plastic clasp that once held the ruby on display.

Where was he? Did he get stuck in part of the building and panic when the alarm went off?

You reach into your pocket to find your phone before you remember you don’t even have his number. 

You find a crisp, folded piece of paper in your dress pocket. It had definitely not been there earlier.

You sneak off behind another display to open the note, before police arrived to question you. The handwriting is fanciful, rendered in pen and ink:

I have helped myself to Katarzyna’s, I’m afraid, but remember that the kiss I gave you tonight - my kiss - is only for you.

Adieu, chérie!

Your Gentleman Thief

[looneyleyle]

the self-destructive habits of a hopeless romantic ~ j. hughes

synopsis: monetizing one's self-sabotaging habits, surprisingly, has its downfalls. one of them being leaving that one attractive hockey player that is an absolute gentleman who loves you with his whole entire heart.

warnings: self-sabotage, self-deprecation, angsty (but with happy ending)

word count: 3425 words

note: once again unedited but i wanted to get this one out there

???'s pov

time and time again, the world has seen the self destructive habits of humans. well, that makes it seem serious. the world has seen the countless missed opportunities due to a fear of another's reaction. the world has seen the blunders due to saving face. the world has seen the heartbreaks due to miscommunication. time and time again, the world has seen how people sabotage their own lives for the dumbest reasons.

esther graham was no different.

in fact, she capitalized on her ability to put herself into the worst emotional distress possible. every heartbreak produced a great work of literature that would nearly sell out in bookstores all over the northeast. she wasn't a new york times best seller by any means, but she was a small town writer from mont vernon, new hampshire. she made a name for herself during her time at hamilton college in their creative writing program. in her junior year of college, she published her first book, woes of a teenage failure, a novel following what could have been for a young college drop out named sophia. the book was a hit amongst her peers and professors, and by word of mouth, ended up selling 200 copies. the book, as ms. graham remarked, was her own "what-if" story, as she almost dropped out of college the beginning of her sophomore year.

and how do i know so much about ms. graham?

well, because i am ms. esther graham.

and i'm here to tell you all about the biggest blunder of my life.

after my first book, i hit major writing block. i would stare at my computer screen for hours just to delete the only three words that i could come up with. i would sit in coffee shops, pen in hand, ready for inspiration to strike, and yet, nothing. i was nearing the end of my college career, riding on the coattails of my first and only book's success, and couldn't figure out how to continue. my professors taught me plenty of ways to try and combat writer's block, but nothing worked.

until i met ryan. a devilishly handsome man all the way from the cheese state of wisconsin, who was meeting up with some college friends for the annual boston beanpot. we had our meet cute at a nearby pizza joint, in which i sat down and started chatting with him, thinking he was a publisher that i was supposed to meet with. after realizing my blunder when he had absolutely no idea what an anthology was, he asked if i wanted to join him and his friends at the beanpot, as one of their friends had cancelled, leaving them with an extra ticket.

ryan and i dated for four months. we would take turns traveling between my college in new york and his in wisconsin until eventually it became too much, or should i say, too little for him, and he broke it off. in my rage and complete depression from the breakup, i wrote my next hit, until the sun sets, a 142-page anthology of gut-wrenching poems, which was eventually integrated into hamilton college's curriculum for their young adult modern literature class. i was quite proud of that.

after that, i found myself yet again staring at blanks screens and empty notepads.

that is, until chloe. a beautiful new york native whom i had actually met while dating ryan. she was a hostess at a restaurant ryan and i would always go to. she was pursuing her masters in psychology, which gave me fascinating insights and tactics to use in my books. we were never officially together, but we had something for almost three months before she was whisked off by some californian named ella. i never saw her again, which prompted my next book, the ninth floor, a murder mystery following a closeted lesbian couple in 1940's hollywood (it was one of the girlfriends the whole time).

at this point, when i hit a creative block for the third time, i realized that i needed my heart or brain to be in absolute shambles in order to produce my best work. i needed to be at some sort of life crisis, and the easiest way to do so was to love another and let that love be ripped out of your life.

so, i began dating for the sake of my career. it was like i sought out the most manipulative, scummy people in the world who were able to get away with it just because they were attractive. over the course of a year, my first year out of college, i dated a total of three men and one woman, and poured my emotions out into a collection of short stories titled lavender.

and that was when i met jack.

i was in new jersey for a book signing at this little bookstore which, as it turns out, was right by the prudential center. as i left the bookstore, i was nearly run over by an overly excited man-child with a giant bag slung upon his shoulder.

"luke, watch out, you nearly killed that woman!" a voice yelled from where the man came from.

"i'm so sorry about that miss, my brother can get a bit overexcited sometimes." looking at the person talking to me, i found a young, very attractive brunet with the most adorable smile. i straightened myself up instinctively, wanting to appear presentable.

"no worries. if you don't mind me asking, what got him so riled up that he almost trampled me?" the man let out a laugh at my statement.

"of course, we owe you at least that much for your near-death experience. he just got nominated for the calder trophy." he explained, as if those words meant anything to me. seeing my blank stare, he clarified. "a rookie of the year award. we play for the new jersey devils." the boy in question came up and joined us, grinning ear to ear.

"ahhh, i see. i'm not a big hockey watcher, which i know is absolute blasphemy for someone who grew up in new hampshire." his jaw nearly dropped.

"you're from up here and don't like hockey? we have to change that." he exclaimed. in my peripheral vision, i could see his brother trying to hide his laughter at his brother's forwardness.

"ill have to come and watch a game sometime." i mused.

"we have a game coming up next week against the blue jackets. i could maybe snatch you a seat in exchange for your number." he proposed. his brother snorted at that, having to turn around to hide his obvious laughter. the man paid his brother no mind, just looking at me with a big smile on his face.

"trying to bribe me mister?"

"is it working?" i put my hand out and he immediately put his phone in my hand, adding my information into his contacts.

"esther? that's nice, you look like a esther." i quirked an eyebrow at him, but continued on anyways.

"and you? what should i call you?"

"call me yours. or jack, either works." the brother was doubled over on the floor at this point, jack finally acknowledging him by kicking him slightly, making him fall over.

"anyways, ms. esther, we have to get going, but ill see you next week at our game." he put out his hand for me to shake.

"you've got yourself a deal jack."

and just like that, jack and i started talking. his eagerness was cute, he texted me no more than ten minutes after meeting me. we talked every day, mainly on calls, asking each other questions and such to get to know each other.

and sure enough, the next week, i found myself back in new jersey watching the brothers play. i assumed jack was going to be some sort of benchwarmer or something, but that didn't seem to be the case. despite my lack of hockey knowledge, i could tell the boy was good, and he had quite a fan base if the amount of women wearing his jersey meant anything. and i felt severely out of place, simply wearing a grey sweater and jeans, unlike everyone else in the stands, decked out in red.

after that, i found myself going to a couple more hockey games, for no particular reason. jack would try to explain the game over video calls and our occasional coffee meet ups, but i couldn't for the life of me wrap my head around it. why do they all get off the ice every five seconds? and what the hell is offsides?? jack always laughed at my confusion, telling me that i'd get it one day.

we spent a couple months thriving off of video chats and once-in-a-blue-moon hangouts, until i got a job as an editor for a local paper. i was good at editing, always having good grammar and an eye for design, but it wasn't my dream. despite it not being my dream, i needed a stable income, and fast. my mind was devoid of ideas, and it didn't seem like that would change any time soon.

plus, it helped that this stable income happened to be in new york city, putting me a lot closer to a certain someone. and, with me being closer, that certain someone would pop on by a lot more than before. and eventually, chinese takeout dinners turned into staying the night, which turned into coming up for the weekend, which turned into the line of friendship being crossed into something more.

and then, i made the dumbest mistake of my life.

i let him go.

now, i know what you must be thinking. he must have done something wrong, he must have cheated or neglected me or done something so completely unforgivable that i would just throw away the most amazing thing in my life. and i wish i was here to tell you that was the truth.

but it wasn't.

jack was nothing but a gentleman, and i was just a broken girl doing the only thing i knew how to do: leave. i like to tell myself that it was for my career, that i needed to write another book, that i wasn't fulfilled in my job and that i was putting myself first by doing this, but i was perfectly content with my life. i was an editor for a major publishing company, i started writing little happy poems about my mundane life with jack, and wanted nothing more. i had no reason to run away. i just woke up in his bed one day and realized that i wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, and i couldn't accept that. i had gotten so used to leaving people that i assumed that they would leave me if i hadn't done so first, and i couldn't lose the one real thing i ever had.

so naturally, my self-destructive, self-sabotaging self let him go, the exact opposite of what i wanted.

and when i got back to my apartment after writing jack a confusing and half-assed letter, i cried. i cried and cried and cried, and i always wrote about characters crying until they couldn't anymore, but that day, i couldn't find the end to my tears. for hours tears would either slowly leak or violently pour from my eyes, and they never did end, not even when i passed out on my couch from exhaustion.

and after a week, i was expecting to pick myself up and start writing my next best seller, coping with my writing. but i sat there, and my florescent computer screen simply sat there, staring back at me. and when i left my apartment for a change of scenery, the blank pages of my notebook mocked me. i flipped through past works, all of them being little poems about jack, and the waterworks continued, right in the middle of a starbucks.

after a week and four days, i couldn't take it. i had to make things right, i had to at least see him. it always worked in the books, right? someone makes a huge mistake, they break up, they see each other again and realize they're both miserable without each other and then get back together and live happily ever after.

when i knocked on the door to jack's apartment, i was met with an unimpressed looking luke. at the sight of him, the waterworks started up again.

"you're an idiot, you know that?" i nodded furiously at this, sobs wrecking through my body. i couldn't see through the tears in my eyes, but i could tell the luke hadn't moved a muscle.

"he deserved better and you know that." i felt my soul being crushed. "i mean, a letter? seriously esther? and a half-assed one at that. i know damn well you don't have a degree in creative writing for that bullshit."

i opened my mouth to explain, but nothing came up. what would i say, that i was a broken person? cop out. that i did it to everyone? not much better. that i got scared? fucking coward.

"if you think that you deserve to see my brother, then i'll let you in." he told me, moving out of the way, door open wide. i just stood there, staring at him through teary eyes. my brain cheered, finally able to go in, but my feet wouldn't move.

my heart still clenched and ached, and with every thought of moving forward, into that apartment, it hurt more. jack didn't deserve this. after all the nights of him reading my poems about him and praising my work, after all the sweet things he'd say when i was down, after all the little acts of kindness he showed me, after all the love he poured into us, he didn't deserve to be broken by me. hurt people hurt people, the scholars had that right. he didn't deserve to be broken.

and so, i got ready to leave, again.

"i'm sorry." was all i said, turning around with heavy legs and a heavy heart. i heard luke let out a sigh as i walked away, closing the door behind him.

a couple of days went by and i found myself back at their apartment. i knew they wouldn't be there, they had an away game in anaheim the night before, and i knew from my time with jack that they would always spend the night in the city before coming back, especially after a win, a 5-0 win no less.

i stood there in front of their door, a small box in my hands, contemplating. jack didn't deserve this, but a selfish part of me needed this. i placed the box gingerly outside of their door and left the building. if the box was taken by some nosy neighbor, or thrown in the trash by some janitor, then it would be fate. it would be a sign to move on. but, there was a chance that jack and luke would come back to their apartment, and would pick up the box, and jack would recognize my handwriting. and, instead of throwing the box in the trash like any normal self-respecting person receiving a box from their shitty ex, he would take it to his room, and open it up to see my notebook, with a bookmark starting at the pages when i first started seeing him. and he would read the poems and maybe, just maybe, he'd see the note written on the bookmark to meet me at the park near his apartment, and maybe, just maybe, he'd be willing to hear me out.

i went to that park every single day for exactly one month and six days, always arriving by 1 pm, never late. and i would stay there until 4 pm, waiting.

on the 37th day, i was sitting there, editing, funnily enough, a sports column about the recent devils and islanders game. i watched it, absolutely terrible game it was, the islanders beating the devils for the first time in the season. our sports journalist, while passionate and very knowledgeable about seemingly every sport out there, had a knack for writing long, run-on sentences that reflected his rambling nature. as i sat there on the same park bench i had been sitting on for the previous 36 days, a figure stopped in front of me. i finished up the sentence i was working on before looking up.

and while i hate cliches, the wind was absolutely knocked out of my lungs.

"h-hey jack." i started, immediately putting away my work, giving him my full attention.

"hey esther." a shiver ran down my spine from him just saying my name. it had been so long, and while it lost its loving tone, i welcomed it with open arms. jack moved, taking the spot next to me, looking out at the trees in front of us. when it became apparent he wasn't going to say anything, i started the conversation.

"i see you read the notebook."

"i finished it three weeks ago." he replied, voice lacking its usual emotion. tears welled up in my eyes. three weeks.

"oh."

"i came here immediately after finishing it." i felt my eyes bulge out of their sockets at that. he continued, "i went to that bench over there and watched as you fidgeted in your spot, looking frantically at everyone who passed by. i watched the next day as you sat in the pouring rain with no umbrella. i sat over on that bench every day that i was here since reading your notebook."

a silence fell upon us, my mind reeling, trying to figure out what he was trying to say, from his emotionless face to the fact that he came.

"do you know how much it hurt? waking up to empty sheets and some half-assed note with the lamest excuses on earth?" i hadn't really paid mind to the tears rolling down my cheeks until he brought that up, sending me back to that morning, quickly scribbling out some gibberish before leaving the best part of my life behind.

"i was going to wait another month, y'know. to see if you were still gonna come here every day."

"so why didn't you?" i asked, sniffling intensely, trying to calm down my sobs.

"luke said i was absolutely miserable without you. coach told me i wasn't focused. my teammates pointed out that i barely left my apartment. the icing on the cake was when my mom started asking if you would be coming over to the lakehouse this summer. i realized, as pathetic as it seems, that i can't live without you."

my attempts at stopping my crying were thrown out the window at that. i could probably fill the hudson river with the amount of tears i had shed over the past two months.

"how can i make it up to you. please, please let me make it up to you." i begged, fully facing him, my hands angrily playing with the sleeves of my shirt because if i didn't, i would be reaching out to the man in front of me.

"never pull that shit again." he bargained, looking me dead in the eyes for the first time in months. and in that moment, i saw just how bad he was doing. sunken eyes with heavy bags, his skin dull, hair slightly unkempt under his hat.

"never again." i promised, putting out my pinky to him, something he would always do when he promised me to not get hurt in games. he let out a hoarse laugh, looking away from me, and when he looked back, i saw the tears brewing in his eyes. he took my pinky in his and held it there, between us.

"now, i'm not gonna just take you right back after all that. that was really shitty and i need some time to get over that. but, as i've found out, i can't really function without you. so maybe you could start with coming to my games again, and i could take you out for coffee next week."

"sounds perfect."

i accepted my life as an editor for the local newspaper, accepted that i probably wouldn't write another page-turning sell-out book, accepted that i was completely content with whatever happened to me, so long as jack was there with me.

and with that, my self-destructive, soul-crushing, heart-breaking tendencies reached their end.

[vickyvicarious]

Jonathan is really being very clear about his survival strategy today.

I began to fear as I wrote in this book that I was getting too diffuse; but now I am glad that I went into detail from the first, for there is something so strange about this place and all in it that I cannot but feel uneasy. [...] Let me be prosaic so far as facts can be; it will help me to bear up, and imagination must not run riot with me. If it does I am lost. Let me say at once how I stand—or seem to.

Write everything down in detail so that he can confirm it later. Already, several odd instances have happened, as well as him noting multiple times on different days that "the Count himself did x" which then supported his theory, confirmed today, that there are no servants here.

I started, for it amazed me that I had not seen him, since the reflection of the glass covered the whole room behind me. In starting I had cut myself slightly, but did not notice it at the moment. Having answered the Count's salutation, I turned to the glass again to see how I had been mistaken. This time there could be no error, for the man was close to me, and I could see him over my shoulder. But there was no reflection of him in the mirror! The whole room behind me was displayed; but there was no sign of a man in it, except myself.

When something weird happens, double-check to make sure you observed it correctly. In this case he checked back in his mirror and yes, there really was no reflection.

When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came over me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door and peering out of every window I could find; but after a little the conviction of my helplessness overpowered all other feelings. When I look back after a few hours I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved much as a rat does in a trap. When, however, the conviction had come to me that I was helpless I sat down quietly—as quietly as I have ever done anything in my life—and began to think over what was best to be done. I am thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only am I certain; that it is no use making my ideas known to the Count. He knows well that I am imprisoned; and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own fears, or else I am in desperate straits; and if the latter be so, I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through.

A whole bunch going on here. His instinctive reaction is panic, but a type of panic that actually matches his character really well: being thorough, checking every possible option. But as soon as he can, he calms down and tries to think things through logically. His solution: keep quiet about it.

We saw this the other day in the caleche ride actually. Jonathan specifically said that he if he was right that the driver was deliberately delaying, then asking about it wouldn't help in any case. It's the same thing here: his own observations make it clear that Dracula is acting against him, and confronting him about it would only prompt him to lie. Worse, he may get more openly aggressive. Better to stay quiet and observant. Try to think clearly.

He did not come at once into the library, so I went cautiously to my own room and found him making the bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along thought—that there were no servants in the house. When later I saw him through the chink of the hinges of the door laying the table in the dining-room, I was assured of it; for if he does himself all these menial offices, surely it is proof that there is no one else to do them. This is a terrible thought; for if so, what does it mean that he could control the wolves, as he did, by only holding up his hand in silence. How was it that all the people at Bistritz and on the coach had some terrible fear for me? What meant the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose, of the mountain ash? Bless that good, good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck! for it is a comfort and a strength to me whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with disfavour and as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that there is something in the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium, a tangible help, in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort? Some time, if it may be, I must examine this matter and try to make up my mind about it. In the meantime I must find out all I can about Count Dracula, as it may help me to understand. To-night he may talk of himself, if I turn the conversation that way. I must be very careful, however, not to awake his suspicion.

Jonathan recontextualizes earlier incidents based on his current knowledge, and builds hypotheses about what might be going on. He doesn't immediately jump to conclusions but he also doesn't dismiss seemingly supernatural or superstitious elements, both helpful and harmful. He uses the fact that Dracula likes to talk to him in order to subtly gather information. He also is clear here that he doesn't immediately write down his suspicions. He's thought since the beginning that Dracula was alone here, but has confined himself to mentioning direct observations until he had firm enough evidence to confirm his theory. I think this is especially interesting in the context of things like him not mention outright that Dracula could beat him in a physical confrontation, or stuff like him not wandering the castle too far yesterday. He may well be thinking about what 'locked doors' mean with great worry immediately, but he doesn't act right away and doesn't tell his entire chain of thought to his journal. Later on when he may seem to jump to conclusions at times it's very possible that he's had theories percolating for a long time before mentioning them.

Above all he tries to operate under facts, and to keep calm and amass as much information as possible, while staying under the radar as much as possible.

[northlight14]

@ everyone going back to school, especially all my fellow neurodivergents and specifically those with special interests or hyperfixations, there is no wrong way of revising! It doesn’t matter if it seems “unusual” to other people, if it works for you, use it!!

I just finished collage and because of my funky brain, I can have a difficult time remembering information, especially things like names and specific details. And considering a lot of the classes I was taking required me to remember a lot of different theories, that was proving to be a bit of an issue. Cut to when we were getting up to our A level mocks and my English literature teacher at the time starts going round the entire classroom asking everyone how they revise one by one. Everyone’s saying the usual stuff of “I reread the material” “I use flash cards” “I make notes” etc. All stuff I’ve tried to do in the past but just never worked for me because my brain functions differently. She then gets to me and asks how I revise and I explain that I’ll try and make connections in my brain between the thing I’m studying and whatever my interests are. I’ve always found this to be useful for me because it keeps my brain interested in what I’m studying by using my special interests and also requires me to actively think about and analyse what I’m studying so that I can make those connections. However, my teacher just looked at me with the most condescending smile on her face and asked “does that really work?” Obviously I got uncomfortable and said “yeah it does” but she then proceeded to ask “do you do anything else?” And making it out as if I was an idiot for doing something like that and just making me feel embarrassed in front of the class. Eventually, I just said one of the generic answers everyone else had so she’d leave me alone.

However, I’m petty as hell so when it came to the mocks I used that method to memorise one of my theories for media studies. Cut to that theory being the one that stuck in my head the most, just proving to me that this method my teacher decided “doesn’t work” without actually listening to me, does in fact work for me. Fast forward to my actual A Levels and I used that method again. Ace Attorney had just become my new special interest/hyperfixation so I used that for a lot of the theories. Specifically, one of the theories I linked it to “The Steel Samurai”, a tv show within the Ace Attorney universe. Then when I went into my exam I saw a theory question. For those who don’t know, for theory questions they just ask you to apply a theory to a specific text but they only name the theory, they don’t tell you what the theory includes. While at first wasn’t sure what the theory was and went to answer another question, I then quickly remembered “the steel samurai” and even wrote down “the steel samurai” next to the question as a reminder for myself for when I went to answer it and it helped a lot as a prompt. Once again, the method my teacher decided “didn’t work” was the very reason I was able to answer that question and passed my media exam

Again, it doesn’t matter what other people’s opinions are on how you revise, if it works for you, please use it! You know your brain better than anyone else. Do whatever helps you understand the material and keeps your brain engaged

[munsonsreputation]

#4 taylor x stranger things 🧣 - send me your character of choice and a taylor song and ill write a short imagine based on it!!!! (yes queen taylor gets her own prompt alright!!!! HAHAHAAH)

(i don't think you understand you hard i smiled when i saw this prompt) begin again (taylor's version) with steve!

hi cleo!!!!

so sorry this took so long, but i hope i was able to do this request justice!! i love the album red (tv, of course) and to me, begin again screams steve finding love again!! i wrote it in the pov of reader and i hope you love it!!!

thanks again for your request and support!!! 🧣🍂☕️📚

The air was filled with warmth, wrapping you in the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the sweetness of the doughs baking in the ovens. They were a slight chatter over the customers dining in around you and making their orders at the registers, but you were too busy to notice all of that.

You were caught up in everything that was Steve Harrington. The dreamy boy from Hawkins sitting across from you in the cafe where you were nursing a latte while listening to him speak about Christmas movies he and his friends were planning to watch over the holidays.

Steve wasn’t what you had expected at all, especially for this meeting between you and him to be one of your first dates. In all honestly, you were predicting the usual awkward silence and vague conversation, all while he tried to flirt his way back to your place, but it was the complete opposite.

He had arrived early, already saving a table for the two of you. And when he saw you through the glass windows, approaching the shop, he immediately stood, waving hello and stretching your chair out as came over to him.

Talking to him wasn’t as nerve-racking as you’d thought it would be. If anything, it came smoothly, like second nature as you told him about the drive over where you heard James Taylor on the radio and how it reminded you of how the two met and stumbled upon this date in the first place.

You searching through endless stacks of records trying to find the very specific James Taylor album you needed to complete your collection.

After Steve had heard you talking to the owners of the store, he had found it in another section, misplaced by a previous customer. He approached you, carrying a smile as he handed over the vinyl and then struck up a conversation about music. And of course, not leaving before he asked you out on a date.

“You okay? Tired of hearing me talk about Christmas movies?” His ramble suddenly ceased with a laugh, noting the way your eyes were a bit glazed over, staring through him rather than at him.

You shook your head, snapping out of the slight daydream you found yourself falling into.

Smiling lightly, you offered a response, “No, please, enlighten me about Bruce Willis and the 40 stories of sheer adventure.” You half joked, seeing him chuckle by the way you were able to memorize the movie’s stupid catchphrase.

Taking a sip of your latte, you watched him shrug his shoulders, and advert his attention towards you, “Alright, enough about me, you alright? You seem a little shy.”

Not that it bothered him one bit considering that you were shy in the record store you two met in, but he was crossing his fingers that you weren’t regretting this date. That it was just the jitters and you would come out of your shell, eventually.

“Oh, I’m really fine. It’s just that this is my first date in a while, so y’know, don’t want to make a fool out of myself.” You told him with a light wince.

Steve shook his head knowingly, waving off that thought of yours, and instead offering you a soft expression as he leaned forward and rested his chin on his fist, looking at you.

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, too…gotta tell you, I was a nervous wreck waiting here for you.” He tsked, tapping his fingers on the table as you rose a suspecting brow at him.

“Seriously! I thought you were gonna stand me up or something.” He looked away for a moment, shyly not meeting your eyes until he heard your laughter.

“Me?!” You giggled, throwing your head back as he nodding with a smile, tugging his lips up in a smile.

“Yes you! You’re beautiful and amazing and I don’t know what I did right to get a date with you.”

His words made you blush, tucking your cheek against your shoulder, feeling like a high schooler all over again with a schoolgirl crush.

Steve didn’t know how much it took for you to take a chance on a date with him. You weren’t really looking for a relationship, let alone a date, but you decided to jump in headfirst and just give it go.

And you were glad that you did because Steve was different in a lot of ways.

He didn’t comment on how your high heels made him feel short.

Or how he didn’t understand why you liked James Taylor’s music in the first place.

He didn’t understand why you thanked him profusely after he pulled out your chair for you, but you did.

You knew that relationships were never easy for you, but Steve made it feel like it could be that way.

“Steve, you don’t know how much I like you, and this is only our first date.” You declared softly, creeping your fingers closer to his hand across the table, yet not meeting his, petrified of his reply to your honesty.

He grinned, eyes flickering to your hands as he made the move to brush his fingers against yours, resting them snugly on top of one another before meeting his eyes to yours.

“I feel the exact same way.”

Steve had always thought that the feeling of infatuation was supposed to spark with pandemonium. The kind where it was obsessive and all over the place, but with you it felt peaceful. Sure, he was nervous asking you on a date and even waiting here for your arrival, but there was that underlying assurance of peace.

So for the first time in a long time, for you and Steve it felt like a new start.

One that you both could watch begin again.

leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver

[nectar-cellar]

5 Facts about Count Vladislaus Straud IV 

@holocene-sims Anna, thank you for sending this in and sparking my inspiration! I’ll be using this prompt as a character-building exercise for Vlad. He has absolutely grown into one of my favorite sims and it was long overdue. Warning, I wrote a lot over the weekend and I enjoyed every minute of it. 

In the pics above, I aged him down to create what he would’ve looked like as a young, gloomy nobleman. This would have been before he became a vampire. I gave him a softer, more melancholic expression, you’ll understand why. He's aged like fine wine, hasn’t he? Human Vlad or Grand Master Vampire Vlad, I can’t choose, I love them both.

Some notes: 

I used the Sims Wiki lore as a starting point but I never force myself to stick too strictly to what is canon with any of my premade sims. The lore gave me some good ideas though.

I kept the timeline vague because I’m pretty ignorant about historical time periods but I imagine Vlad was a human sometime in the 1800s. History buffs, feel free to correct me. I didn’t end up taking more pictures because I have no period-appropriate attire, oh well.  

Content warning: blood, violence, war, murder. He didn’t exactly have a fun human life.

Fact 1. 

Vlad was born into an upper-middle class family in Eastern Europe. His father was a high-ranking military officer, and his mother was a music teacher. As a child, Vlad was pulled in two directions: his mother wanted to cultivate his love for literature and his talent for music, while his father wanted him to follow in his footsteps as a military officer, and take interest in more traditionally masculine pursuits. He grew up in a home that was materially privileged but emotionally chaotic. 

After Vlad came of age, he followed his father’s wishes and joined the military, hoping to finally earn his approval and carry on the family legacy. Reserved, proper and soft-spoken, Vlad quickly found that he did not fit in with his peers, nor did he enjoy the harsh, physically intense, and strict authoritarian environment of the military. The bare conditions of the camps, the long and tiring days, and the constant travel made Vlad disillusioned with the life that he had been pressured to choose, and the career that lay ahead of him. His mother had desperately wished for him to study the arts at university instead, and Vlad would later wonder what life would have been like if he’d been brave enough to take a different path. 

Vlad’s performance as a soldier was poor. His meek personality, his weak physical strength, and his inferior performance made him the target of his peers and his superiors’ bullying. His father’s high status made his incompetence even more humiliating, and worse, prevented him from being dismissed from the military like the other flunkies. 

Fact 2.

One of Vlad’s formative childhood memories was when his father brought home a rabbit he had hunted, and forced the young boy to prepare it for his mother to cook. Vlad remembers being repulsed by the act of butchering the animal while his father instructed him in an increasingly loud and agitated manner. Finally, Vlad vomited from stress and disgust, then his father angrily took over. Vlad left the kitchen but the sound of the knife hitting the chopping block in a rage was heard all throughout the house. Later, dinner was eaten in silence. 

Vlad was traumatized by the incident, but afterwards became morbidly fascinated with animal and human biology, and mortality. He never quite saw the world the same way again.

Fact 3.

Vlad’s time in the army changed him into a tougher, crueler, and desensitized version of himself. He remembers how powerful he felt the first time he fought back against a fellow soldier who had been antagonizing him in the barracks, and won. He had never been one for violence until he discovered how good it felt to beat an enemy into bloody submission with his bare hands. He remembers the stunned silence of the onlookers, and how people acted differently towards him after that. He was treated with slightly more respect, or at least left alone more often. 

Vlad remembers the first time he killed someone in battle. He had downed an enemy soldier on the field with his firearm, and had gone over to check. The man was critically injured and bloodied, but not dead. Vlad then shot him a second time, in the head, at point blank range. He was later congratulated by his teammates who had witnessed the murder. Vlad remembers how the fallen enemy had been a young man, just like him. His face had been frozen in shock, his body convulsing with shallow, panicked breaths as he bled out. Vlad had shot him a second time to end his suffering. Vlad knew the reality of war was to kill or be killed, but he didn’t know if it was more ethical to end someone’s life or merely injure them enough to preserve his own safety. As the battles continued, he stopped caring. 

Fact 4.

During the war, a small team of 25 soldiers, including Vlad, was sent to an isolated, mountainous region (what is now Forgotten Hollow) on a reconnaissance mission to explore the possibility of setting up a military base in the area. While traveling through the woods, the troop was attacked by vampire bats, but Vlad was the only one bitten. Soon after, he became inexplicably pale, weak, and averse to sunlight, to the unsympathetic disdain of the others. He became hungrier than usual, and he found himself strangely fixated on the necks, exposed skin, and bloodied bandages of his fellow soldiers. 

Late one night, towards the end of the mission, Vlad overheard a group of soldiers talking as he was taking a walk by himself around the outskirts of the base camp to get some fresh air. Most of the others had already gone to sleep. Although he felt feverish, weak, and he had a piercing headache, his other senses, like smell and hearing, were strangely sharper than ever before. The soldiers were discussing the troop’s plans to abandon him at the site due to his weakened state and overall lack of competence as a soldier, and to explain away his death as an illness or an accident. Vlad realized this conspiracy to get rid of him had been brewing for a while, and they were going to seize the opportunity while he was mysteriously sick. The oddly small size of the troop and the suspiciously faraway location they were exploring suddenly made sense to him. 

An animalistic rage unlike anything he’d ever felt before took hold of him and he attacked the group, lunging at their necks. The next thing Vlad knew, he woke up in the middle of the campsite at dawn, feeling vaguely injured but not in pain, and surrounded by the drained, mutilated, and semi-devoured bodies of all his former troop members. The air was heavy with the smell of blood and meat. Vlad remembers how he was no longer hungry, weak, or scared. All he felt was a calm realization followed by relief that he had survived the ordeal.

Although the region would not make a useful military base or attractive settlement due to its isolated location and depressing weather, the surroundings did provide a strangely cozy place for a homestead. Surrounded by tall mountains, thick forests, and close to a few small lakes, Vlad had at last found his safe haven. Newly invigorated, he began to dispose of the bodies and the evidence, and build a shelter from the usable camp supplies left behind. It would be a while before the military sent another troop to check on them, and he had plenty of time to think about his alibi and future plans while he waited. No one would ever know what happened on that failed reconnaissance mission.

Fact 5   

War, betrayal, and trauma made Vlad a cruel, violent, and power-hungry ruler of the small town of Forgotten Hollow. At first, when the town was newly founded, he kept his vampirism a secret and fed on wild animals and livestock. As the decades went by, and more people settled into the town, he became bolder with terrorizing the residents, feeding on humans, and turning humans into younger and weaker vampires under his control. He also returned to the aristocratic lifestyle he had before his military service, building a mansion for himself and pursuing his interests in reading, music, and art. He cultivated the appearance of a charismatic, worldly, and well-groomed gentleman to covertly move through human society, and to better seduce and disarm his victims. 

Vlad’s reign of terror only came to an end when the other vampires in the town, particularly the Vatore siblings, banded together to overpower him and report him to the International Council of Occult Beings, a council headed by the world’s most powerful occult beings to govern the supernatural population. After a lengthy trial, as punishment for breaking numerous Vampire Code of Ethics laws, Vlad’s vampiric abilities were severely restricted by magic, he was exiled from Forgotten Hollow, and forced to live in the supernatural community of Moonlight Falls where he would be monitored and unable to act with impunity against a vulnerable human population.    

In the aftermath of his trial and punishment, Vlad is content to turn over a new leaf. He admits that at some point, his descent into depravity was no longer justified by his past. All he can do is resolve to change for the better, and he knows there will be harsher consequences from the Council if he does not obey their laws. He is even thankful to have the opportunity to rediscover the humanity and softness he once had a long, long time ago. He knows the regret and guilt he feels are signs that there is hope for him. Still, he wonders if the monstrous, evil side of him, the side of him that delighted in causing pain and terror, can ever be fully put back in its cage. He thinks it’s best if he isolates himself in his mansion and stays far away from everyone. 

These days, Vlad’s favorite pastimes are playing classical pieces on the piano, reading books by candlelight, and sipping on chilled packs of ethically sourced, cruelty free, non-human-based plasma from a wine glass.  

[mayhem24-7forever]

A Little Out of The Ordinary: Part 2 (Whumptober 2022)

~ Part One ~

Whumptober Prompts (from this list): Tossing and Turning - Caught in a Storm - Sleeping in Shifts

Character: Jake “Hangman” Sersin (Top Gun: Maverick)

Author’s Notes: If you are not over eighteen, this is not for you! I deserve a safe place to express myself and that includes not wanting minors to read my content, even when it is not sexual in nature. Thank you. I actually switched this with the day 9 prompts so that I could do a two parter for 1 and 2, sorry. fic divider by @jbarneswilson​

Warnings: pregnancy hormones causing trouble, heartbreak, unplanned pregnancy, running away from your problems, angst with a happy ending

“Let me know if you need anything my love.” Y/N’s aunt said from the doorway of the guest bedroom and Y/N nodded with a weak smile from where she lay on the bed. “Goodnight sweetie.”

“Goodnight auntie.” she replied in a mumble, turning her back to the door as her aunt closed it.

This had been her nightly routine for the past few weeks… well, six to be exact. Six weeks ago she had said goodbye to Jake as he left for a long mission, unsure if he would even come back. The next day, she had gone to the doctor’s office for a regular check-up and almost fainted when the nurse informed her that she was almost six weeks pregnant. That afternoon, she had shown up on Penny’s doorstep, sobbing and exceptionally emotional (and irrational) and made the rash decision that Jake could never love her and that it was best for her to leave. Penny, of course, desperately tried to convince her to take a moment to think it through but her raging pregnancy hormones won over and she wrote him a letter, leaving it with Penny to give to him when he returned. Within a few days, her cousins came to help her pack up her apartment and drove her an hour up the coast to stay with them.

For six weeks, Y/N had been trying to get used to her new life as a single pregnant woman living with her aunt and uncle. Her cousins and their families lived nearby and she spent most of her day helping out with all the kids and learning how to be a mom. The morning sickness had been the worst, hours spent sitting on the floor of the bathroom with her head halfway in the toilet, her aunt or one of her cousins rubbing her back and holding her hair back for her. She had gotten an ultrasound done, her aunt there to hold her hand and wipe her tears when she saw the little black and white sonogram of the growing bean in her stomach.

She thought a lot about Jake in those weeks, which is what she found herself doing that very night after her aunt left her room. Tossing and turning, she couldn't seem to get comfortable or to turn off her rambling thoughts, the storm raging outside not being any help. Flashes of lightning lit up the room sporadically through the thin curtains, followed by the rolling sound of thunder and the ever-present tapping on the rain on the windowpane.

Twelve weeks of pregnancy meant that a lot of the first trimester symptoms were waining and without the heavy emotions of the hormonal swings, she was left to realize just how stupid and hasty she had been in her decision making. She should have talked to him face to face, not left him a letter. She should have told him in person and let him give his opinion, it was after all, his child too. But she knew what he would have said. They had pillow talked about their plans for the future one night and she knew Jake had big plans for his military career. He had no intentions of a wife or kids. She loved Jake more than anything in the world, which is exactly why she couldn’t tie him down with a family when all he wants to do is fly.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand for what must have been the thirtieth time that evening, the screen lighting up with yet another notification of new text messages, missed calls, and voicemails. From the frequency, she knew that Jake must have returned from deployment that afternoon and read the letter earlier that evening. She knew it was wrong and cowardly but she was too nervous and scared to open the notifications so she turned her phone off and rolled back over to try and sleep. It took a while longer and she cried the whole time but she was eventually able to fall into a restless sleep, dreaming about being back in Jake’s arms.

“Wake up, my love.” Her aunt’s voice rang through her dreams, bringing her back to consciousness. “Y/N, wake up.”

“Auntie?” she asked groggily, squinting up at her aunt in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Come downstairs, there’s something you need to see.” her aunt replied before walking out of her room, leaving the door open.

Y/N shook her head in confusion but got up nevertheless, glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand to see that it was almost three in the morning. With the storm still raging outside, she shuffled to the closet to grab a robe and slippers before heading downstairs to see what was going on. As she descended, she could hear raised voices and as she stepped off the bottom step she could see her uncle arguing with someone at the front door, a wooden baseball bat in hand. Her aunt stood next to him, phone in hand and poised as if she was ready to call someone. Upon noticing Y/N’s arrival, she called her over, pointing out the door.

“Sweetheart, do you know this man?” she asked softly. “Because if you don’t I’m gonna call the police. He’s been pounding on the door and calling for you.”

Y/N reached the door and looked over her uncle’s shoulder to find a surprising sight. Jake Seresin was standing on the front porch, soaked through by the rain like a drowned cat.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed in relief when he saw her and took a step forwards but was stopped by the end of her uncle’s bat.

“You stay back!” he ordered before looking to his niece. “Do you know this crazy guy or do I get to kick his ass for trespassing and harassment?”

“Oh my god, Jake!” she cried out, hands flying to her mouth as she gasped in surprise. “Yes, I know him. It’s okay, he’s not here to hurt anyone.”

“You sure?” her uncle asked, seemingly slightly disappointed he didn’t get to chase Jake off his lawn with his bat.

“Yes, I’m sure.” she replied, eyes still locked on Jake in bewilderment before turning to her uncle and aunt. “Can you give me a minute alone with him? Please?”

Her uncle nodded gruffly, giving Jake a piercing look of warning before moving to allow her outside. She thanked her aunt and uncle, apologizing for the trouble before closing the door behind her.

“Jake, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“I needed to talk to you but you weren’t picking up the phone. I went to your old apartment and had to bribe the landlady to give me your forwarding address. Then I kind of stole Bradshaw’s bronco to drive the hour out here but the storm hit while I was driving.” Jake explained, slightly out of breath. “Then the stupid car broke down a couple blocks away so I ran here. Your uncle thought I was insane and your aunt was gonna call the cops but I convinced them to go get you to prove you know me. I’m just so fucking happy I found you.”

“I- I-” she tried, her brain struggling to catch up with what was happening. “But why are you here?”

“Because I’m an idiot!” he replied, which only made her more confused. “I never told you how much you meant to me and I should have! I came back from the mission ready to tell you everything but you were gone and it’s my fault, I know that. I made you think that I didn’t care about you but it’s not true.”

“Jake, I-” she began but he stepped forwards and cut her off.

“I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you and I can’t believe it took me so long to tell you.” he said, eyes pleading with her to believe him. “I love you and I’m ready to be a dad. Please tell me your feelings haven’t changed, please.

“They haven’t.” she replied decisively, tears coming to her eyes.

“You were right about something in the letter… this wasn’t supposed to happen. You and me, I mean. We were never supposed to happen.” he said and as a look of hurt flashed across her face he quickly added “A smart, kind, beautiful, and amazing woman like you never should have gotten involved with a cocky self-involved asshole like me. But you did. And I’m so glad you did because I love you and I can’t imagine a life without you now.”

“Jake, what about your plans for your career? Your future?” she asked.

“Fuck my plans!” He exclaimed as he stepped forwards to put his hands on her cheeks so he could gaze right into her eyes to ensure she listened to every single word of what he had to say. “Fuck the medals and the promotions and all of it because there is nothing in this world I want more than being with you and this baby. So please, say you’ll have me.”

She replied by throwing her arms around him, locking her lips with his to show him everything she wanted to say but didn’t have the words for. Jake’s entire body untensed, melting against her as he pulled her in closer to kiss her back like he might never have the chance to again. She felt drops on her face and was unsure if it was the water dripping from his hair or the tears pouring from her eyes but she didn’t care. When they finally pulled back for air, they rested their foreheads against one another, grinning at one another in utter bliss.

“I love you too.” she said quietly, a slight shiver running through her body as his cold hands upon her face wiped away her tears, a huge smile on his face.

He suddenly realized something and pulled backwards, his hands going to hold her shoulders as he looked her up and down frantically.

“Oh my god, the baby! It’s cold and I’m wet and now you’re wet and that can’t be good for the baby and-” he rambled panicking, stopping to look at her curiously when she laughed.

“Relax, Jake!” she told him. “It’s alright! The baby and I are fine, it’s just a little rain!”

“It’d still make me feel better if I could get you inside.” he said, grabbing her hand and opening the door. “Unless your uncle is gonna try and kill me again.” he added with a laugh and they went inside together, as happy as could be.

[i984]

Signing off...

Hello! I want to start this post by telling you guys something really interesting...

Tl;dr: I'm taking a break for a month due to severe stress and performance anxiety, plus college and work is kicking me in the arse, but do send requests and prompts in because I need to write them FLUFF to get rid of the stress. Love ya!

So a month ago I stumbled upon a really amazing writer here on tumblr dearest, and I immediately fell in love with their work. It was so well written, and I couldn't comprehend the fact that it was the first ever story they've ever written and they wrote it under such circumstances that if I were to be put in their position, I can guarantee I wouldn't even be able to string a coherent sentence.

Anyway, that really got me thinking.

It's been two months since I first started writing, and revisiting old works of mine reveals something along the lines of "I'm not improving," and "I'm not creative."

It's been a problem I seem to notice, is that I struggle a lot with characterization (ESPECIALLY this) and pacing, among other things that makes me view my works mostly as blegh.

I know comparing is probably not the best way to develop, and I wouldn't say I'm envious of people's talents (because it's obvious some people are just so great at stuff lmao) but it's more like I'm disappointed in myself I guess(?)

In the collective 20 works that I've published over the two months, I still can't fully grasp what works and what doesn't with the Fandom, and I can't quite identify nor fix the problems in my writings. Combined with the burn out, this makes writing a very painful process for me even though I really want to enjoy it.

I rely very heavily on external validations and to see that in the midst of the dead Fandom (when compared to when it's at its peak), people can still garner almost 1k notes in the span of a week (and I can see why it's very well loved), posting here just makes me so stressed when I shouldn't even be.

It got so bad to the point I have trouble breathing every time I think about writing, and although now it doesn't happen as often, the performance anxiety is pretty much there.

Work, as well as college too has been a pretty great contributor for my stress and to put writing on top of that is just excruciating for me.

And that's why I'm taking a break!

It'll probably a month break like how I've stated in previous post, because it's become apparent I need rest LMAO

Thank you so much for the support you guys have shown and sent my way, I want to say that I really appreciate it! Honestly I wouldn't get this far without you guys, I love you so much!

I've set some reblogs for other creator's works while I'm gone, because I've been meaning to read but I just haven't found the opportunity for it. People here make such great works <3

If you guys have any requests, PLEASE DON'T HESITATE TO SEND THEM IN. I know this might feel contradictory but as I pointed out, I'm not really imaginative or creative, and I really want to write things, but most of the time I cant come up with anything or what I think is good isn't what you guys want (I know I still have a bunch of requests sitting around, but like I said I write when inspiration struck me).

So yes, send requests in so that I can do some writing during the break, and hopefully come back with a bunch of requests already done and ready to post!

Also, if you guys make it this far, I've got a surprise for you which is I'm finally trying to work on the series I've been planning to do since January HAHA! We'll have to see where it takes me but right now I have so much ideas running around in my brain and not enough waking hour in the day to develop and write it.

How do you guys feel about lord crime v.s. master detective trope BECAUSE I AM CRAZY ABOUT IT.

I'll see you guys when I do :) Love you! ❤

Special thanks to:

@missmonsters2 and @robiin-buckley for being the people who literally BURNS my heart with the desire and give me the courage to write, I wouldn’t be here without you 🥺💘

@ocyrus for being my first ever anon, I cannot stress how much I owe you <3

@tulipsbymybed for hyping me up when I first started and when I thought my work is a shitshow.

@vorsdanysstuff for being the first person to reblog my stuff and says some very very nice things about it and gave me more confidence to write, and also. For finding me and being the love of my life. I treasure you with my whole being.

@wol-fica for feeding me with cat pictures and being my lovely wife who misses me when I'm gone and makes picrews of us together, I love you so much 💓

@maryannecrimsworth for noticing my username and for loving my blogs questionable aesthetic, and for talking to me about dystopia and being my favorite lil bro!

@cursedchar for being the awkward mutual at first but now we spew chaos every where and every time we talk and interact. Honestly, you bring the wild side in me out to the world. Still hate your angsty stuff tho.

@tundra1029 FOR BEING THE ICON THAT GIVES GOOD ASS AMAZING PROMPTS and being a super lovely person and a great writer, I love you buddy <3

@alexkolax for well. You know me the most out of everyone in this site. My respect and trust for you is through the roof and cannot be expressed with mere words. Thank you for being here, Lex.

@ricosnumber1fan for being there in most of my works. I still think about you and scroll through your comments and reblogs. You're the best (second to sourdough tho).

@theflamboyantshadow for always leaving amazing comments under my posts, you are the sweetest person ever and I really wish you a great fucking life. Love you.

@iamnicodemus for writing that dragon Wednesday fic... and LEAVING THE MOST FLATTERING REBLOGS. ILYSM AND. you always make me smile when I think of you LMAO

@literally everybody else who've single handedly kept me alive and well on this site, I appreciate all your little asks, reblogs, comments, likes, and just UGH my heart aches for every single one of you.

Pray I return soon.

[babyjakes]

tear-jerker.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | whumptember 2022

prompt | sad movie

pairing | boyfriend!chris evans x reader

warnings | TW: GIFTED, THE MOVIE. THST IS A WHOLE TRJGGER WARNING WITHJN ITSELF., (spoilers for the movie!! duh), in case you haven't watched gifted, here are some of the relevant tw's that come up in this fic: parent committing suicide, abandonment, big childhood trauma vibes. if you haven't seen the movie, please watch the linked scenes in the author's note before reading! idk if the fic will make sense otherwise lol. reader is me this fic is about ME PWRSONALLY, chris comforts reader (Me <3), overall lighthearted vibes but don't be fooled gifted IS the saddest movie of all time and this is the only way i could write a fic about it to cope

word count | 1,284

an | okay!! this fic was really a doozy for me and i'm not sure how well i actually executed it but it was one of the first fics i knew i wanted to write for this writing challenge so here we are lol :'-) if you know me you KNOW i cannot handle gifted it hits me everywhere that hurts and so i have always found the idea of writing a fic like this interesting. while reader here is obviously very impacted by the movie, some might not be and that's okay!! i really wrote this one for myself lol <33 for reference, here are the four scenes mentioned in the fic. beware, if you decide to watch, you WILL cry.

the hospital scene | frank leaves mary at the foster home | frank comes to bring mary home | deleted scenes: mary and the psychologist and frank and mary in the car

Watching as the happy family rose to their feet and cheered on the screen before you, you could already feel your chest tightening as your eyes began to water. With the addition of occasional pans to the little blonde girl's face as she watched the scene play out before her, a precious smile forming between her rosy cheeks as a joyous string chorus sang through the speakers, you knew you were in trouble.

"That's exactly how it was when you were born," Frank told the child, and you had to use every ounce of strength within you to keep it together at the line. With his arm wrapped around you, Chris could sense your rising emotions, bringing his hand down to rub over your back gently.

"This happy?" Mary asked as you held your breath.

"This happy." Frank's confirmation nearly did you in, but as sweet Roberta gazed lovingly down at the niece and her uncle, the next line that came only managed to be worse.

"Who came out and told everybody?"

As Frank reached to brush a stray strand of the child's hair out of the child's face, the first few tears managed to escape the corners of your eyes as you were already sure of the answer to come. "I did."

"Jesus," you breathed, grabbing for the remote on the coffee table in front of you and hitting pause in a matter of seconds. Wiping both of your eyes, you huffed out a hot load of air, rolling your eyes playfully as Chris chuckled from beside you.

"Baby," he hummed, "what's the matter?"

"You didn't tell me it was this sad, Chris!" you nearly whined, curling into the large man's embrace as he held you close to him, shaking his head.

"This isn't nearly the worst of it," he told you. "This is a happy scene, y/n. Look, they're all smiling," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but like..." voice trailing off, it was now your turn to shake your own head. "You know what I meant. Meanie," you huffed, crossing your arms.

"Oh bubba," Chris sighed through a smile, rubbing your cheek with his hand gently. "You're in for a rough night."

"No." As the little girl broke down in tears, reaching out to hit lightly at Frank who stood kneeled down before her, once again you found yourself battling tears of your own as the tragic lone violin played its bitter tune.

"See what I meant?" Chris hummed softly into your hair, now holding you gently on his lap as the poor girl on the screen kept pleading with the actor.

"No, no, no," she kept repeating, "you promised me." Gulping, your bottom lip trembled as you bit it, the little actress's performance pulling you under with impressive ease.

"You better not..." you mumbled, "he better not-"

"Frank! Frank- don't leave me! Please!" Letting out an embarrassingly loud sob, you squeezed your eyes shut as the music grew louder, the screaming child's poor voice getting swallowed up by the sound. This time, it was Chris who reached for the remote, once again hitting pause as he brushed back your hair from your warm face.

"Oh sweetheart," he laughed a bit again, this time with a few tears of his own shining in his eyes. "C'mere baby, it's okay."

"Why would you leave her there," you cried as you turned to hide in the safety of his sweatshirt, his large arms tightening around you to hold you close.

"Honey," he chuckled, "it was part of the script. Frank's a bit of an asshole here, I'm sorry."

"Meanie," you said again, more than anything directing your words at the grumpy character on the screen who you were at this point convinced could never redeem himself.

"You said you wouldn't leave me," Mary sobbed as Frank held her up in the air, close to his chest. You had started crying as soon as he had shown up at the house, a mess of tissues now collecting on the coffee table in front of you.

"I made a mistake," Frank admitted through heavy breaths, the character's guilt radiating through his expression as the heaviness of the moment, even with the separation of the screen, was palpable in the room. "I'm sorry." Hearing a sniffle come from beside you, you turned to see that Chris's eyes had reddened; in his hand, he held a crumpled-up tissue of his own.

"This part always gets me," he told you, his hand rubbing soothingly over your back as he tried to pull himself together.

Wrapping her arms around Frank's neck, Mary whimpered, "I was so sad." Cursing under your breath, you couldn't believe how powerful and tragic this film truly was. You had seen most of Chris's work, but this now took the cake over anything and everything else. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Leaning the side of your head against the man beneath you's chest, you sniffled weakly as the two continued on speaking softly about the little girl's cat.

"It's okay, bubba. I'm sorry. I probably should've given you a bigger warning; I never remember how sad this shit is until I watch it again," Chris told you as he pat your cheeks gently with a clean tissue.

"S'okay," you told him. "It's a good story, really beautiful. Just hard to watch."

"I know, honey. We can rewatch The Losers next, how about that?" Bringing your head up a little at the suggestion, you nodded, causing Chris to smile as he leaned down to kiss the bridge of your nose. "Know that's your favorite, and I think we both need a good laugh. You wanna make another bag of popcorn?"

[Bonus]

"Am I gonna cry again?" you asked hesitantly as Chris pulled you onto his lap, scanning his thumb on his phone to open up to YouTube. It had been a few weeks since you watched Gifted, and the impact the film left on you had lingered for days. Now, as Chris held one arm around your waist as the video loaded of a "deleted scene" he thought you should see, you weren't entirely sure if you were ready for more heartache.

"I don't know, probably not. It's not really a sad scene, just an important one. Or at least I think it's important," he explained as the clip began to play. "This was Mary's visit to a psychologist," Chris explained over the unfamiliar lady and the child's first few exchanged lines.

"Are you mad at your mother? For going away?" the woman asked. Intrigued, you decided to give in and listen.

"She didn't go away. She killed herself," Mary corrected.

"Okay. Um... and does that make you angry sometimes?"

"No," the little girl answered, seeming confused as to why she was being questioned like this to begin with.

Leaning in a little closer, the psychologist softened her voice. "Mary..." Tapping the child on the hand, she asked, "do you blame yourself... for what happened to your mother?"

"Oh my god," you exclaimed quietly in horror. Chris only nodded against you as you stared in shock at the screen. "What the hell? That's-"

"Hold on," he shushed you, quickly clicking to another link that began to play instantly. Mary and Frank sat in the truck, and the first words that left the girl's mouth had you nearly shaking.

"Did my mom kill herself because of me?"

"What?" Frank blurted, his reaction similar in nature to yours.

As the two continued on talking, you shook your head again, mumbling something under your breath that made Chris chuckle. "I hope he goes and kills that lady. What a sick thing to say to a child. I hate her."

[risingoflights]

twitter is...

like. artists have been protesting artstation’s allowance of AI generated art by posting a ‘NO AI’ image right - now if you go to Artstation’s main page it’s mostly those images.

cool!

techbro makes a post MOCKING the protest by AI-generating an image that’s made up of those protest images like ‘oh no my AI art is ruined because this is what I get when entering the ‘trending on artstation’ prompt now!’. The post aims to point out artists don’t know how AI tech works.

Bleh.

ARTISTS takes the techbro’s post as GENUINE, and post screencaps of it celebrating the fact the protest is working. The artists’ posts gets a lot of attention, and are still up despite people pointing out the techbro’s intention was to MOCK artists.

techbros are now seeing this and gleefully announcing how stupid and gullible artists are!

i have screenshots of all the above because apparently i want to remember this moment of feeling both very angry and very frustrated by a number of things this scenario demonstrates about being an artist online and social media, but posting those would increase the chances of THIS post going outside my usual circle which I don’t want.

so, friends, my own takeaway from this so far is,

a. no matter how much techbros would say otherwise, AI art generation depends on having real art to feed into the machines. the fact that techbros are SO HOSTILE to artists - the very people they depend on! - bewilders me, but there’s that pretty common sense of entitlement that people have toward things found online. have myself been told multiple times that if i didn’t want an artwork reposted, repurposed, etc, i shouldn’t have posted it in the first place. ‘found on google/pinterest/buzzfeed’ and ‘credit to the artist’ is a common caption. this is now that sentiment amplified. techbros probably also think there’s no way their well of stolen material will dry up... because artists depend on posting to survive and are not all going to collectively stop.

b. misinformation doesn’t help the cause!

c. waiting, optimistically, for the techbro’s mocking post to actually become true - that artists will flood the well with unusable images that will make AI generation too hard, or at least much harder.

d. waiting for tech to defeat the tech to come along, waiting for more regulations... Feeling, though, as a self-employed artist in this capitalist hellscape that ultimately money will win

e. seeing a bunch of ARTISTS lamenting the ‘no AI’ images on artstation because it’s inconveniencing their usual use of it!

f. artstation’s statement about the protest basically amounts to ‘well we respect artists’ copyright but we won’t ban AI art because we don’t want to gatekeep’. Gatekeep? That’s the wording they chose to use??

g. as a side-note, you know that scene in The Incredibles movie where Syndrome says ‘when everyone’s a super, no one will be’ and like. when everyone’s an artist i guess no one will be? and in The Incredibles 2 where Evelyn says ‘I think people will choose ease over quality every time’ - god isn’t that so applicable?

this is all very stupid and very tiring, but it just feels like something we’ll be dealing with now, i guess, on top of everything else. so that’s cool!

may well delete this later. i wrote this in an uncharacteristic rage! was so happy not checking twitter obsessively last few weeks because i’ve been so busy and this is what i come back to today, christ!

[case-of-traxits]

Eee! So many ask prompts to choose from! How about no.12 (words not meant to be heard) with Tseng/Aeris? Hope this provides a fun prompt to scratch your writer’s itch!

12. Things you said when you thought I was asleep. [Prompted from this post.]

I BET YOU THOUGHT I'D MISSED THIS ONE OR DECIDED NOT TO DO IT.

Well. Definitely not. I've been stewing on this prompt for nearly three weeks now. And then, yesterday morning, as soon as I wrote a thing about it being important to just write instead of waiting for inspiration, I opened up the doc I'd saved this prompt in and BAM. Got my little 50 words out and suddenly there was part of a fic!

It was supposed to be a mini fic. I think I'm just going to have to resign myself to the fact that I am bad at mini fics.

I hope you enjoy it!

Stay with Me (I will wait for you)

Word count: 2626 words. Content Notes: Ambiguous relationship. Big surprise, right? Characters: Tseng and Aerith Gainsborough. Soundtrack: Worship, by Amber Run. Summary: Aerith spends some time in Tseng's apartment, and overhears him reporting to his boss.

The first time she'd gone to his apartment, she almost hadn't found it at all.  It was in Upper Eight of course, but it was quite a ways from the rail line and the theater district where she found the most buyers for her flowers.  She had followed the endlessly winding streets, glancing between the names and the map in her hand and the business card where he'd written his address, and she'd walked by the building twice before she realized that it was apartments.

She was so far into Little Wutai that almost none of the signs were in Standard anymore, but she finally found numbers, and from there, she made her way up to the top floor and into his apartment.

( Posted Here on AO3 )

[lord-angelfish]

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

Hi Louie :3

Firebenders Don't Burn

Firebenders don't burn. Especially not Royal firebenders. Zuko has never been burned before. Father's hand is on his face. Zuko is burning.

One of, like, two angst pieces I've ever written and the first one I wrote for myself and just. Okay. Okay I saw this artwork and it gave me the most brainworms and I am simply so very, very proud of myself for this. It's just so good and so devastating. Probably my favorite fic I've ever written, tbh.

Untitled Wingfic (Midam)

Adam grooms Michael's wings, there's discussion about going to the moon, and - as always - they're disgustingly adorably domestic together.

So I've noted before that I write better when it's prompted by something/is for a friend, and this one was written for my friend @nalivaa based on this artwork of hers (it's ADORABLE, you should go check out all of her art if you're into midam), and I just. It's sweet and adorable and I like it. :)

On Reminiscing of Danger, Dragons, and Courage

"The first time I saw you, you were — to my eyes at least — naught but a pitiful halfling, unable to defend yourself, especially from the likes of me; I found you stumbling around where you should not have been able to even reach, and my only thought was that surely you would faint at the mere sight of my fury, and I would be rid of you easily. And yet, even as I threatened you as a trespasser, you did not back down, though you were shaking in fright and must have been wishing that you had never stepped foot on my mountain — and no, do not try to argue that I, at the time of our first encounters, was anything but terrible,"  he adds, looking sternly at the hobbit, who had been about to protest at Thorin's never-ending guilt about the way he had comported himself when the two had met. Or, dragon shifter Thorin comes in from the winter storm, reminisces with Bilbo about their first meeting, and they're both subsequently very soft with each other. And Thorin is a little shit who is incapable of not teasing his hobbit.

Last one - this one was written for bagginshield week 2023, I believe, and I like it because I like dragons and mushy feelings, and this delivers on both counts. Also, it's nice that the story fits together, y'know?

[threetangerines]

title: mornings

prompts: sunlight and sleep

summary: in which a morning spent with yoongi changes your perspective on mornings.

warnings: major major fluff🥺, a little ass grabbing, sexual undertones if you squint

word count: 783 words

note: this is my first time writing something like this, so i’m sorry if it’s awful:(( I TRIED MY BEST!! 3tan yoongi and oc have my heart entirely and i love fluffy moments between them. i also couldn’t sleep last night, so i wrote this at like 4am when i found myself thinking of them </3

-

Relief. That's how it felt to see Yoongi. 

Whether you had a long day at work, low energy from interacting with people, or just drained from life, Yoongi simply brought relief to your life. It's also relieving to see him sleeping next to you the next morning and glowing in the soft sunlight, because it means he’s still here. Here with you, next to you, and with you. Almost like he still wants you and still wants to be with you. 

In an attempt to not wake the sleeping beauty next to you, you slowly turn to your side to face him. As you lay there and admire him, the only word that comes into mind is ‘unfair.’ How can someone be so… pretty? How can someone look so attractive while they’re asleep? It's truly unfair. You’ll have to get him back for this someday.

Bringing a hand up to his cheek, you gently caress the soft skin as if you were touching porcelain. He truly is a work of art, and art should be treated with care and gentleness. You can’t help but smile to yourself because this moment is real. He's here with you, and he’s yours. After moving a small strand of hair away from his eyes, you slowly retract your hand away. 

“Why’d you stop?” Yoongi slowly opens his eyes while gently guiding your hand back to his cheek. Funny how he still manages to take your breath away after all this time. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” You murmur while avoiding his eyes to hide your embarrassment. 

You let out a yelp when you suddenly feel Yoongi's hand on your waist pull you closer to him, causing your hands fly out towards his chest to balance yourself. The very same hand moves down to the back of your knee and lifts it so that your leg is resting on top of his hip. Yoongi lets out a snicker at your flustered expression, “Cute.”

“Nuh uh.” You softly hit his chest. “You’re so unfair.” 

“What are you gonna do about it, doll?” He smirks. The same perpetrator of a hand moves down to grip your ass and pushes your pelvis towards his. 

Your jaw is absolutely unhinged at this point. How does he have the energy to tease you at the ass crack of dawn? Luckily, you’re not one to go down without a fight. Your hands push against his shoulders causing him to lay on his back while you move to straddle him. “Don’t push me, doll.” You playfully frown. 

Yoongi smirks in amusement. ‘Cute’ he thinks to himself.

After a moment of silence, he gently grabs your hands and intertwines his fingers with yours. His thumb mindlessly caresses yours as he thinks to himself how well your hands fit in his. He looks back up at you in admiration and stares at you in awe for what feels like eternity, almost like he’s trying to memorize all of your features. Wordless confessions spoken through each other’s eyes and this moment feels right. You feel as though a flower field is blooming inside you.

“Kiss me.”

Granting his wish, you lean down to connect your lips with his in a gentle kiss. He moves one of his hands to carress your cheek while the other is still holding onto yours and his thumb still caressing yours. 

“I could wake up like this forever.” He breathlessly says against your lips.

“Me too.” You smile while gently laying a kiss on his forehead. 

You lay down on top of him and rest your head against his chest. He rests his arm across your back, while you draw small patterns on his chest with your fingers. 

After a moment of comfortable silence, you both find yourselves dozing back to dreamland. Yoongi places a gentle kiss on the crown of your head before slightly tightening his hold on you. Peeking up at him, you find his eyes closed and smile to yourself before resting your head against his chest again. You think that his heart is beating a bit fast, but maybe you’re just imagining it. Closing your eyes, you begin to doze off too. 

Maybe mornings weren’t so bad afterall. Maybe mornings didn’t have to be so tiring and dreadful. Maybe mornings had the ability to be peaceful and joyful. To think that mornings could be something that you look forward to because of one person. If this was how all of your mornings were, you’re sure nothing could ruin your day. 

Mornings with Yoongi are gentle. Mornings with Yoongi made your heart flutter. Every morning spent together are what you both yearn for. Mornings together are a relief.

-🥮

[mushiewrites]

okay but seriously can you maybe go into what inspired you to write tiny boy big complaints, handsy hyperfixation (a classic), and the newest snf one?? and also maaaaybe the older one about teleporting if you wanna do that one too???

thank youuuuuu :))

- cal <333

from this milestone post / tiny boy big complaints / handsy hyperfixation / losing the battle winning the war / the troubles with teleporting

some of my favs in here <3

tiny boy big complaints my beloved ): and cals fav <3333 this fic is so special to me even though it's one of the lower note ones! it was actually a prompt sent in by cal (found here), so it's kind of hilarious to me it turned out to be his favorite one ):

I wanted george to be soft and tiny and I wanted dream to be soft but playful with him, and somehow I created one of my favorite things ever by doing so. I think this is another fic that I didn't really brainrot the concept with anyone, I am actually 99.9% positive I blacked out and wrote this entire thing and then made cal read it for me before I posted it and cal helped me pick the title tooooooo

cal is just the best is the bottom line actually :D this one was written for him and me and us and that's really all I can say about this one <3

- - - - - -

handsy hyperfixation was started december 26th, the morning after the dream team did their christmas stream, because I went completely insane over pictures of dreams hands (enjoy the blurry pictures <3)

then I sent these messages to cal (yes he is nick nelson) followed after I blacked out and wrote 4K words in one sitting:

then I let the fic sit until the end of february, and I finished it in the beginning of march. I will be honest, this one was absolutely 100000% a self indulgent fic, purely for myself and I didnt really care if I posted it or not. cal actually told me to name it "mushie's self indulgent hand fic", which....absolutely not....but it's correct. whatever. sue me, Im obsessed with dreams hands ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

this is my favorite thing I've ever written, it's my baby, it's 7.2K words for me and me alone lmfao. I actually was terrified to post it bc I didn't think anyone would read it, and now it's over 100 notes. I actually could cry thinking about how proud I am of it (even though I messed up some things in it, I don't care, I poured so much into this fic)

so yeah. that's handsy 🥺

- - - - - -

losing the battle winning the war was written 100% because of @wishitweresummer. this little idiot asked to commission me (which I said no to bc she's an idiot) bc she wanted to read about back of the neck raspberries....I wonder why? she also wanted it to be the first time george got back of the neck raspberries! cute, right? again....I wonder why :D

cal named it and its the perfect title tbh

summer requested for it to be playful and I know summer loves rough, so I made sure to really play up the snf fighting dynamic and I actually love what I created ):

she ALSO requested for george to struggle and be cocky, and for him to come out on top and completely destroy sap. she said she wanted it to be in a place that wasn't super common, a new spot for george to discover, and I adore the spot above the hip bc it's such a surprisingly sensitive spot! so that's how that was born

I truly just wrote this up to make sure I flustered the shit out of summer. I included things that people know get her and things that only I (and maybe one or two others) know about purely just to have summer yell at me for it :D

I love how this one turned out, targeted fics always turn out better to me for some reason <3

- - - - - -

the troubles with teleporting was the first time I ever wrote XD 🥺 this was a prompt that emma sent in, I can't find the actual prompt bc it was when my tumblr was a different name and the link is broken BUT

I remember just getting this idea to make the teleporting itself tk george at first instead of XD doing it right away, just bc I had the idea that it would kind of feel like when you go down a drop on a rollercoaster???? but a little more intense?

I also remember being super excited bc emma actually had the idea of the teleporting itself tkling instead of XD, but neither of us mentioned it to each other until after I wrote it that way! great minds think alike :D

again, it was my first time writing XD, and for those of you who don't know, XD is one of my all time favorite lers to read and write. I wanted to make sure I did XD justice, and I really love this silly lil fic, and how XD winds up just tkling the heck out of george at the end anyways (they even lifted george's arms up above his head while XD's bottom set got his ribs oh my goodness that was cruel huh 🫠)

the teases in this were pretty good too (':

[mwahkazu]

hi mae! i used to write quite a bit, but i stopped after a while due to burnout but here i am again lmao

anyways, if you're okay with it, could you give some writing tips/how you do your writing process? dw if you don't want to or just can't explain it! :D

hi anon! oof…you’re experience actually brought back some flashbacks for me LMAO i went through the exact same thing a couple years back! ended up losing motivation/burnout, left and then came back for a second attempt 😅

i’ll do my best to offer you what i can and things that i found helpful to get back into the groove of writing <3

( long post ahead )

writing tips:

the first thing i heavily suggest is to just write. don’t focus too much on things like grammar, whether the story flows well, dialogue, or anything just write whatever comes to mind. you can worry about those things afterwards once you’re editing and revising!

along with that do some rough drafts! i know we all hated that stuff so much when we wrote essays and stuff for school but believe me having drafts truly does help when writing a story

if you dont like how one story turned out DONT DELETE IT. save it and come back to it another time! maybe you didn’t like how it flowed but you really liked that one dialogue or description you wrote and perhaps want to build a story based off of that or add it to a current wip

decide on what it is you want to write! maybe you just want to have a blog strictly centered around one character or person, write smau’s, oneshots, hcs, etc. or maybe even a culmination of everything! all of these are considered writing and will always have an audience wanting to read them on here

one of the main reasons my burnout happened was because i gave myself too much work and a schedule. i know some authors like to have a schedules for their work but i honestly found it very pressuring which resulted in my uploading works i wasn’t proud of or that were rushed :((

write whenever you feel like it! remember that you’re your own boss on here! there’s no problem with updating once every month or every other day. writing takes time. i assure you your blog isn’t going anywhere if you leave it or take a break from writing for a couple of days

at the same time you also need to know your limits as a writer. don’t feel the need to constantly be uploading fics every single day! that’s one of the main reasons writers on here sometimes abandon their blogs or series. ofc if you’re able to handle doing so then by all means go for it. but i know for most it’s taxing and leads to a lot of burnouts and lack of motiviation

so take your time. if you have an idea for a series or story plan it out first and then once you’ve got a good idea of how you want everything to play out then you can upload it!

don’t feel ashamed about looking up things online! i for one am constantly looking up ways to describe certain things like emotion, expressions, scenes, etc. ( insert me typing “synonyms for (word)” 😭 ). it just goes to show you want to improve your writing and make it more interesting!

writing is all about trial and error. there is no wrong or right way of doing it. i know when it comes to tumblr, getting your fics recognized and read by others can be very hard with the algorithm and such relying heavily on reblogs which most fics struggle to gain a lot of as people just opt for just liking.

but please don’t be discouraged by how many notes your works receive! as long as you stay consistent and true to your writing it’s bound to reach others and receive the recognition it deserves <3

writing process:

as for my writing process it’s a bit all over the place lol

a lot of my stories/smaus i come up with due to being inspired by something! whether it’s from a song, a prompt/dialogue starter i found on pinterest, a movie/anime show, aus/tropes, or sometimes having a random thought like “what if character a and character b were this and that”

but once i have an idea i start planning it out! i recently made the transition of planning out my writing from google docs to notion and omg… it’s become a life saver i highly recommend using notion as a way to plan out your fics snd such

everything is just so organized, there are templates online to use that you can add personal touches/adjustments to to really make it your own!

usually when i come up with a fic idea i already have a character in mind that i would like to do it for but if you dont have one or are struggling to decide, pick at random my friend LMAO ik a lot of my moots sometimes use a character wheel or random pick generator online to decide on characters and from what i’ve seen it helps them a lot😭

when planning out my fics i dont focus too heavily on every little detail. it’s called the planning stage for a reason. i just focus on the major points i want to make sure i hit, write out certain ideas i have in mind for a specific scene or dialogue sequence, character/world building and all that good stuff

creating a playlist for the story also helps me a lot too! really establishes the mood of the story and even gives me some additional inspo/support! one thing i recently started doing is finding a playlist on youtube that fits the mood of my story and then opening another yt tab and searching for ambience sound and playing them both at the same time lol ( trust the process )

once i feel satisfied with my planning i move on to the writing ( the most dreadful part of all /lh ). as i mentioned in the writing tips section, i just write whatever comes to mind and keep going until i get stumped or run out of ideas

if i hit that point i take a break and focus on doing other things like working on another piece or doing something outside of writing ( cough playing stardew valley ) or talking to my lovely moots <3

this is also considered a writing tip but take breaks! i cannot stress this enough. don’t spend hours just writing! take breaks in between, distract yourself with something else. sometimes your mind just needs a break from writing for a bit.