#i wrote this while struggling with intense anxiety

[rottenshotgungames]

I want to start talking about my personal game design philosophy

Stop Saying “No”

Let’s be honest here, you’ve written a hard limit into at least one of your games. We all have, I certainly have. It’s one of those simple yet effective pieces of tech (one that’s existed since the dawn of games) that can be introduced to bring an option in line with some other option, or to prevent a scaling into eternity, or some other third thing. Maybe skills have maximums, or you can only use a certain number of consumables in a combat, or an item can only be activated every other scene or round. Whatever it is, you’ve written into your game a rule that tells the players, “No. You cannot do this thing.”

I think we overuse hard limits. My goal is to convince you that hard limits, that the “No” you’ve introduced into your rules, is the game design equivalent of junk food: easy to use and bad in large quantities.

My argument boils down to two simple points:

Hard limits are frustrating and boring

Hard limits limit your design

In addition, I will be detailing three alternatives to hard limits:

Costs

Consequences

Balance

Hard vs. Soft

Before we begin, I want to clarify the difference between a hard limit and a soft limit:

A hard limit can generally be defined as, "A rule which expressly forbids or otherwise disallows something, either in a given circumstance or in general."

A soft limit, in contrast, can generally be defined as, "A rule which disincentivizes or otherwise indirectly limits something."

Alright, on with the show.

Hard Limits are Frustrating and Boring

This is what I like to call the, “What do you mean I can’t use my telekinesis to disarm that guy??? That’s fucking stupid!” Put simply, people like using their toys, and people dislike being told they can’t use their toys for whatever reason. Even if you haven’t had as vitriolic of a reaction as the one described earlier, I’m more than positive you’ve felt this way toward some rule in an RPG at some point. Even if a hard limitation is completely reasonable, it can still be frustrating to encounter; I understand why I can’t raise my Skill levels above my character level in Pathfinder, but it was still annoying and saddening the first time I heard it.

There’s this tweet from a while back, in which one Mr. Joshy McCroo (@riseupcomus) argues that any hard CC that fully prevents you from taking actions is inherently poor design as it does nothing but frustrate the person that it’s used on. This is the very same concept, and for the very same reason: it’s just not fun.

The fundamental reason for the frustration caused by hard limits is that they restrict player choice. When you introduce a hard “no,” you often remove an opportunity to create interesting decisions, and decisions are the foundation of play. Boredom with a system or a situation is spawned by a lack of choice, by a necessity to perform the same action over and over or an inability to do anything. When you give players a variety of tools that can each be used consistently—particularly in tactical games—they will use those tools in interesting, creative, and fun ways; if you restrict those tools, restrict the freedom to use those tools as desired, boredom and frustration can set in quickly.

Hard Limits Limit Your Design

This point is less objective and far more experiential / personal. This isn’t meant to demean opposing views or differing design philosophies.

As stated earlier, hard limits are simple, effective, and easy to use. If you come up against a design wall, such as an option being too powerful or players over-centralizing, it can be easy to just institute a rule that says “You can’t use this constantly,” or “You can only have this many Gizmos™️,” but doing so will often deprive you of an opportunity to innovate or otherwise improve your design sense.

For me, learning design was a serious process of Example and Trial. I’d use reference points (such as RPGs or Video Games that I really liked) to guide me through tough decisions, and when I didn’t have that guide I’d just write and revise until something fit. Eventually, I realized that growing as a designer and developing my own philosophy meant expanding beyond (even if ever-so-slightly) my influences, and the balance shifted from Example(60)/Trial(40) to Example(30)/Trial(70). For me, the fun of design is coming up against these kinds of issues and seeing if I can develop a novel approach or take a stale approach and spice it up, and I feel myself getting better every time I try.

Hard limits are easy to use and generally (relatively) easy to implement, as such they offer less opportunity for growth.

Some alternatives to hard limits, and why you might consider using them:

Costs

Two prevalent examples of costs are weapon ammunition and (≥2) times per Scene/Combat/Rest/Day abilities (both of these can be found in D&D 3e onward and many of its derivatives).

A cost is basically just a hard limit that's been a few steps removed, but those few steps manage to turn it into a soft limit of sorts. Costs fundamentally take a hard "No" and turn it into a "Yes, but . . ."

This is probably the easiest alternative to implement, which explains why it's kinda found everywhere. Even spell slots in the Dragon Game are a form of cost limitation. It's also just a generally strong solution, usually removing a significant amount of frustration and adding opportunities for resource management gameplay. However, if not implemented with care or consideration for surrounding options, you could end up with people carrying over 500 arrows at any given time or once more falling into a set rotation of combat abilities that they perform round-to-round (thereby negating the boredom fix).

Consequences

This is my personal favorite alternative.

A consequence, like a cost, is a "Yes, but" that disincentivizes an option or changes how a player thinks about using that option. There are two major differences between a cost and a consequence:

Costs are always negative in nature (you are spending something as part of doing something), consequences can be but aren't necessarily negative.

Costs always lead to a state that acts as a hard limit (once the resource is empty, you cannot do the thing), consequences do not directly involve a hard limit.

Two prevalent examples of consequences are taking damage for doing something (such as the Stress generated by Blades in The Dark's flashback mechanic) and gaining / losing affinity with a person or faction (a la Over War: The Night Comes Down).

The primary benefit of implementing a consequence is the interconnection with other mechanics. Costs are relatively self contained—usually only branching out to a currency mechanic, a weight mechanic, or a leveling mechanic at the very most—because the threat of a hard limit somewhere down the line is often enough to change how players approach a specific mechanic or situation on its own; consequences, on the other hand, necessitate an understanding of and interaction with other mechanics in the system because they literally cannot exist without them. If using a specific ability is going to give you a status condition—for example—that status condition inherently affects other mechanics and how you interact with them as well, changing how you think about that ability and its place in your toolset pretty substantially.

As an example, there's a Priest ability in Hollow Halls (my fantasy dungeon crawler) entitled Glimpse The Plan. Glimpse The Plan doubles the user's Believe proficiency (stat used for casting Parable spells), but also afflicts them with the Blind and Afraid statuses (which are both pretty bad). The Priest playtester quickly realized that if he was Afraid all of the time, then he effectively eliminated half of the consequences—and wouldn't ya know it, there's an option to become permanently Afraid at character creation to increase your health.

All of that being said (and my favoritism clearly on display), consequences can suffer from a difficulty of implementation. Some consequences, particularly the taking of damage, are really easy to throw about haphazardly and thereby suffer from the same "limitation of design" problem that hard limits do; but escaping those, adding consequences that are unique and create interesting choices, takes time and care and an awareness of how certain mechanics can and do interact. Even the easier-to-implement consequences can often take a few tries to fine-tune.

Balance

This is simultaneously the simplest and most complicated alternative. To balance something here means to compare an option to other surrounding options, weigh the value of each, and slowly tweak numbers until they're all in line with each other. Generally speaking, the easiest way to do this is to craft an option as a baseline and balance everything else around that option, but there are times where you'll create a more powerful ability that you don't want to change, thereby causing it to become the new baseline and so on and so forth.

This alternative involves a lot of trial and error, a lot of guesswork, a lot of testing, and a willingness to add, remove, and change elements of any given option. It’s time consuming, stressful, and incredibly rewarding. I don’t recommend going pure nitty-gritty numbers-hound in every situation, or even in every game, but—if used properly—this option can create an incredibly healthy and interesting environment of options.

The primary strength of numbers balancing is that you'll probably be doing it at least a little bit anyways. Unless you're part of the "balance is for pussies" crowd, some amount of balance work will be done on every option you introduce into the game. This is kinda just, y'know, the logical extreme of that process.

All three listed alternatives can be used with each other, even on a single mechanic.

Conclusion

I do not think that hard limits are inherently bad. I really need to make it clear that I DO NOT think that you should never use them (as much as that may be suggested by the title of this post). Sometimes you'll be on a serious time crunch, or you won't be able to come up with a suitable alternative, or it's the most thematically or mechanically sound option, so on and so forth. There are instances in which it will be appropriate, or even preferable, to use a hard limit—but that doesn’t make an over-reliance upon them any better for you or the people playing your game.

Honestly, what I want people to take away from this post is very simple: every design decision matters. Even seemingly inconsequential choices with limited impact can have profound effects on an important moment for some of your players, and as such are worth considering carefully.

Self-Promo

Hey, I'm Gio. I run Rotten Shotgun games. If you wanna support me, or keep up to date on my work, you can find me on Itch.io at https://rotten-shotgun-games.itch.io/

Otherwise, I hope y'all have a great night and a great day!

[tryslora]

On Writing Combat and Sex Scenes

Today I want to talk about writing sex and combat (and no, I do not mean combative sex). This post is inspired by a few recent events:

Once, a long time ago, I read a blog post that said “if you can write a combat scene, you can write a sex scene” and that was mind-blowing for me because while I was well-versed in writing erotica, I couldn’t write combat to save my life.

More recently, at Boskone, I participated on a panel about writing combat, and the research involved there-in.

Even more recently, I had someone look at me say, “You’re not a gay guy. How do you write gay sex scenes?”

So. Let’s begin.

I get it—sex and combat aren’t interchangeable. But at their core, they have some strong similarities which can be leveraged while writing. Both are intense, high drama, and can involve a lot of anxiety and quick thought. Both tend to narrow focus down to the moment and the current feeling and action. Both are heightened emotion and physical reaction. Both can involve actions that lie outside the author’s personal experience.

I started writing erotica when I was a freshman in college. I posted it online (does anyone remember rec.arts.erotica?) and was surprised (and pleased) by the compliments I received. Turned out my readers were not expecting the idea of emotion being entangled in their erotica. They were invested emotionally in how the stories went, and how my characters felt. Since I was writing from the point of view that made sense to me at the time, they were het stories from a female perspective, and they were very focused on the emotional connections and how the physical events heightened those emotions.

Male readers were surprised by the intensity of the feelings that these stories gave them (as opposed to pure arousal). It got me thinking about how I wrote, and why I wrote, and I tried to talk about it some at the time. I was eighteen. I was still a new writer. The internet itself was new. I wasn’t entirely certain how to frame it, but I remember getting one comment where a guy was surprised at how struck he’d been by the moment in the scene where everything shuddered to a halt due to an event in the story that interrupted the action, and I replied that that was because I wasn’t writing about the sex. I was writing about the character’s reaction to the sex.

Which has always been how I write. At the time, that was my only tool: put myself in the character’s mind, and write what they feel. If that’s affection and attraction and physical reaction, write that. Tangle it up, and hope the reader feels that entanglement.

Now, fast forward several years, and take a little side trip onto a tangent wherein I learned something very important about writing craft.

I was reading Syne Mitchell’s End in Fire, I think it was, and I kept having panic attacks. Now, I did most of my reading late, often when I woke in the middle of the night due to stress, or just because my brain refused to rest. I was in a rough place in life in general, with a lot of external work stuff going on and very small children. I wasn’t sleeping well. And it took me some time to figure out why I was struggling to read a book which I actually loved (and when I read it later in life, I enjoyed it greatly).

It was the sentence structure.

In order to induce the emotion of the scene, the sentences were short. Sharp. Quick. There was no time for the reader to breathe, much like there was no time for the heroine to do anything but act. The reader was caught up in the rising tension, to the point where my anxious, sleep-deprived brain, caught a panic attack from it.

The technique was brilliant.

Now back to our original timeline, wherein I read a post about how if you can write combat, you can write sex scenes. This post assumed that more people felt comfortable writing violence than sex. I was the reverse. I’d been writing about sex for over a decade when I saw this post, and it made a light bulb go off in my brain.

If writing sex was like writing combat… was the reverse also true? Could I improve my skills at writing battles by analyzing what worked when I wrote erotica?

So I tried doing just that. Back then, I found combat overwhelming. There was so much going on, and I was trying so hard to write good description that I lost all of the intensity. I was focusing on everything that was going on at the same time.

Thinking about how sex scenes were all intense emotion and narrowed focus, I applied that to my combat scenes. I wrote only what the point of view character experienced, and tied everything to their actions and reactions. I thought about how they breathed, how they moved, how they thought. I used those short, sharp sentences as they processed the scene. 

That doesn’t mean I forgot about everything else going on in the scene. That’s impossible. After all, in any story the things the character doesn’t pay attention to might be as important as the things they do focus on. Stuff still happens, and there is still fallout. I needed to know what else was happening so that if the character moved from one place to another, or did something that put them in the path of a different part of the action, I could have them start processing it.

But it also meant that on the page, out of sight was out of mind. Everything narrowed down to the now. The immediacy. Suddenly my combat scenes snapped into focus.

During the panel at Boskone, all of the panelists had experience with different fighting styles (fencing, street combat, and of course, me with taekwondo). I spoke about how for me, that narrow focus is very real when I spar. I know there are some people who naturally see a move or two ahead while fighting; I don’t. I am stuck in act and react mode. Can I kick them now? Can I attempt a head shot? Oh, no, circle back and away or they’re going to hit me… that’s how my brain works during a sparring match.

It’s not like a total blackout—there should be a vague awareness of things around the character. Sounds in particular, or sometimes flashes of movement. Something distracting can catch the attention of the fighter, but the personal fight will always pull the character back.

Combat feels easy when I’m writing like that.

Of course, there’s still the question of writing about something if I’ve never experienced it. As someone did point out to me: I am not a gay man, so how does that affect writing sex scenes? I’ve also never fought with a sword. Brawled. Fought from horseback. I have, however, held a blade, shot a gun, shot an arrow, rode a horse. I have a vague idea of how these things work, much like I have a working knowledge of sex in general.

So yes, research gets involved. Sometimes research is observational, sometimes it’s reading (there’s so much good stuff out there). I highly recommend video for combat scenes—find things that have the feel that you’re going for, then put yourself in the place of the character you want to write about. Practice. Work through the ideas of how things fit together, and what your character will (and will not!) know during the fight.

If you need to, stand up and block the scene by thinking about how you would experience it. What can you see, and what is out of sight? If someone is coming at you with a blade, what are your options? How do height differences affect you? Yes, I have asked friends and husband to help me block scenes. 

“Stand right there and show me what it looks like if you punch me. Okay, so if I do this then…” Yeah. It’s a thing. But it works.

When doing your research, remember that movie fighting (and hell, movie sex scenes) isn’t realistic. It’s meant to look good. For combat, if you can find re-enactments, or sparring videos, I highly recommend taking a look at those. 

Anyway, the point is: I don’t have to have shot someone, and I don’t have to have had gay sex in order to write about them. What I do need to know is how it feels emotionally to do those things, and I can extrapolate that from what I do know. I need to know enough about the details so I can get it right, and that’s where research will help me. Also, use language to create emotion. Because emotions are where we grab the reader, and how we pull them into the scene.

Combat and sex aren’t so different when it comes to writing, and the personal experience. Now, go forth and write!

[bloodylullaby]

Tomorrow's promise

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Word Count: 800

Master List

Authors Note: I'm having a rough time, so I wrote this to help. I hope this gives comfort to you as well ❤️

Lately, life has been throwing you some serious curveballs. Whether it's your professional pursuits, academic pursuits, or personal life, it feels like you're constantly hitting roadblocks. Summer classes have kicked off, and you're already struggling to keep up with challenging quizzes. At work, you're feeling undervalued and left out of colleague activities far too often, leaving you feeling overlooked and disheartened. You've attempted to connect with friends, but they've also been caught up in the busyness of life, leaving you feeling somewhat isolated as a result.

Noah has noticed your struggles, and they have been weighing heavily on him. He is feeling helpless about how to offer support. He's made efforts to engage in conversations with you, hoping to provide a listening ear for you to vent, but you've consistently maintained a facade, insisting that you're okay and will manage on your own. He initially brushed off his concerns, assuming you were simply having a slight rough patch. However, as time has gone by and he's witnessed the toll it's taken on you, his worry has deepened. It pains Noah deeply when you withdraw and isolate yourself, especially from him. Seeing you in this state breaks his heart, and he's desperate to find a way to break through the barriers you've put up and offer the support and comfort you need.

Noah, determined as ever, decided to take a different approach. He planned a small get-together with both of your closest friends, hoping that being surrounded by those who love and appreciate you would help you feel valued and cared for. He hoped this would help you relax and open up to him. That evening, Noah drove you to his house. As a playful surprise, he blindfolded you before leading you inside and guiding you to the backyard.

When he finally removed the blindfold, you were greeted with a warm, inviting scene. Twinkling lights were strung up, and your friends were gathered, smiling and cheering your arrival. The atmosphere was filled with laughter and love, instantly lifting your spirits. Noah squeezed your hand reassuringly. "I just wanted you to know we're all here for you," he said softly. "You don't have to go through everything alone." With those words, tears welled up in your eyes. Overcome with emotion, you gave Noah a passionate kiss, eliciting a few playful whistles from the group. You enjoyed the party for a while, mingling and having fun, feeling the warmth of your friends' company.

But soon, that familiar feeling of anxiety started creeping back into your chest, making it hard to breathe. While everyone was occupied, you quietly slipped away and made your way to Noah’s bedroom, seeking a moment alone to regroup yourself. As you sat on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths and trying to calm your racing thoughts, you heard a soft knock on the door. Before you could respond, Noah gently opened the door and stepped inside, his expression filled with concern.

“I noticed you were gone,” he said softly, closing the door behind him. “Are you okay?” You tried to muster a reassuring smile but felt the weight of everything pressing down on you. Noah sat beside you, taking your hand in his. “It’s okay not to be okay,” he reminded you. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” His words were exactly what you needed to hear, and with that, you broke down, letting everything out. The tears that had been dammed up now flowed freely as Noah sat with you, and you clung to him, hiding your face in his chest.

Noah held you tightly, offering silent support as you let out all the pent-up emotions. His presence was steady and comforting, creating a safe space to express your pain and frustration without fear of judgment. Minutes passed, and gradually, the intensity of your sobs began to lessen. You took deep, shaky breaths, feeling lighter with each one. Noah gently stroked your back, murmuring soothing words, letting you know it was okay to feel what you were feeling. When you finally pulled back, Noah gently held your face to look into your eyes. "Thank you for trusting me," he said softly. "You don't have to go through this alone. I'm here for you. We are all here for you. That is my promise for today, tomorrow, and days to come."

After a few minutes of basking in each other’s company with hugs and kisses, you eventually return to the party. Thanks to Noah's unwavering support, you feel a new sense of reassurance and strength within you. As you both return to the gathering, hand in hand, you feel more connected than ever. The night carries on with laughter and warmth, and for the first time in a while, you feel truly understood and supported.

[sammy-is-not-smiley]

Employee of The Year

Steve Harrington x gn!reader

Summary: Home life leads you to having a panic attack right in the middle of your shift with Steve at Scoops Ahoy.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings/Tags: Panic attack depiction, mentions of trouble with parents marriage, hurt/comfort because it's all I have, Robin being cute, pet names? Kinda?, use of (y/n)

A/N: Took a break for a moment from my request box. Ironically, I wrote the 2nd half of this right after having an aggressive panic attack. Whoop whoop. Anyways enjoy!

You had been struggling to keep your heart rate down all day. Home the night before had been a madhouse. Once again your parent’s had been yelling in the kitchen late into the night, leaving you anxious and exhausted for your shift at the mall the next day. You had never handled your anxiety well while exhausted, let alone during a noisy, busy Saturday at Scoops Ahoy. Usually the babbling of the crowds would fade to white noise in the background, but today it relentlessly battered your nerves.

You were just thankful Steve was your partner for that day. Usually, you both found your workflow at the front, you taking the orders while he scooped and served them. Together, you would fly through customers like nobody's business. Today though, despite the familiarity of the job, your personal flow was disrupted.

Unknown to you, you weren't hiding it as well as you had thought. Steve could tell you weren’t entirely on top of your game that day, but he wasn’t sure how to address it, even as the rush began to die down. He just knew he wasn't going to leave you alone at the front, even if he didn't get his break.

After a couple of kids paid you in just quarters, you forced yourself to take a deep breath. Thankfully you had a moment just before the next woman walked up to the register. “Hello,” She chimed and rested her billfold on the counter in front of her. “In the Vanilla Cherry Swirl, is the cherry just a syrup or are there actual cherry bits in it?”

You closed the register and blinked at her. You knew the answer. Of course you did, the ice creams had been easy to memorize. But for some reason, that was it. That question is what seemed to be too much for your brain to handle. The sound of the crowd suddenly seemed to get a lot louder.

Blankly, you stared at the woman, your hands beginning to flick abcentmindedly at your sides. “Um… There’s….”

“It’s just a syrup mixed in it, ma'am,” Steve cut in for you, putting a hand to your back encouragingly. He immediately noticed your nervous fidgeting. Once or twice he had seen you do it at school before an important exam, but this fidgeting seemed more frantic than those past times. In fact, you had seemed to be growing more and more tense as your shift went on.

You nodded, eyes suddenly darting around everywhere except the woman. You became hyper aware of the mass of people swirling behind the woman. The tops of your tense hands began to tingle and your chest tightened. The pounding of your heart growing ruthless, the sounds of people’s nearby conversations flying around like bees in your head.

You knew these signs.

Shit.

“Oh good, I’ll just get a small cup of the Vanilla Cherry then,” The woman responded with a kind smile.

There was silence for a moment as you stared at the counter, completely missing what the woman had said. You chewed painfully at your lip. The only thing bringing you back was the pat of Steve's hand on your shoulder.

“You wanna take a break? I can handle this one.”

You nodded, turning swiftly and breezing past him to the back, not even giving him a passing glance.

Bursting through the door, dread followed you and slowly creeped up your neck. Your breath felt like it had been sucked out of you. Your flicking hands had now turned to violent trembles and you felt the urge to run and hide. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere away from the crowd, away from the customers, away from Steve.

You tore off your uniform hat, a hot flash coming over you so intense that it made you nauseous. Your feet began to move, the break room flying past you in a dizzy blur, and you found yourself in the supply room. Your legs began to tremor under you and you knew you needed to sit down before you somehow toppled over. No chairs in the room, you sat on the cool floor and pushed yourself to the back corner of the room, your windpipe feeling as though it were closing up. Tears began to insist on falling and you death gripped your white hat.

Everything moved in fast and slow motion at the same time, reality warping around you. The stocked shelves looked like they had suddenly tripled in height, making you feel even smaller than you already felt.

A whimper left your lips and you cowered, running your hands into your hair in an effort to feel some sort of protection. Your whole body began convulsing as if you had just sat yourself down in the freezer.

You couldn’t stop it.

Everything was wrong.

All of it was too much.

And you couldn't stop it.

After processing the woman’s order, there finally was nobody else in line. Steve sighed, taking his chance for a break as well. When he walked into the back, he expected to see you sitting at the table. When he didn’t, his brow came together in confusion.

“(y/n)?” He called out, wondering where else you could have gone. The employee bathroom door was still open, so you couldn’t have been there. There weren't really that many places you could hide.

He walked over to the supply room. “(y/n), you in here?” He asked just as he heard a sniffle from behind the shelves. He turned the corner to see you, stuffed in the back corner and curled into a ball, shaking aggressively.

His brow immediately jumped on his forehead in alarm. “Woah, woah, hey,” He ran up and kneeled in front of you, resting his hands on your beat up shoes. His chest almost physically hurt at the sound of your broken cries. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

All you could do in response is shake your head, eyes squeezed shut both in fear and embarrassment. You definitely weren’t used to someone finding you in this state, let alone Steve. Why did he have to look for you?

He leaned back slightly, a bit at a loss of what to do for a moment. It was clear you weren't in the frame of mind to speak. However, even if using words wasn’t an option, he still wanted to help.

Slowly he moved himself to sit next to you, trying not to startle you somehow. Once he was in place, he tilted his head down to yours before speaking. “Do you… want a hug?”

That made you open your eyes. Because yes. You desperately needed a hug. You needed anything that could ground you and somehow Steve felt like the perfect answer.

Sheepishly you nodded, your panic-stricken body continuing to shake as he pulled you in without hesitation. One large hand cupped the back of your head while the other began to rub your back soothingly. “Breath, sweetheart, breath,” He crooned. “Jesus, you’re shaking so hard…” Only then did he connect the dots. You had stressed yourself out so much it drove you to a panic attack. He knew something had been off, but he never thought it could end up like this. He mentally kicked himself for not saying anything.

You didn’t care anymore if you were still shaking. All that mattered was for the first time during an attack… you weren’t alone. It felt foreign but in the best possible way. Everything around you hurt. Everything but him.

Steve's chest was warm and his work shirt gladly soaked up your fallen tears. The hand behind your head began stroking at your scalp and working out the tension built up in your neck, causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin. But, god, it felt good.

You shimmied further into him, turning your head slightly to listen to his own breathing and heartbeat. Gradually your brain began to slow down, the thump of his heart becoming the only thing you wanted to exist in your world. Naturally, you also began to follow his own breathing pattern and, although your body tremors didn’t cease, you were able to stop the tears from flowing.

The sound of a bell rang through the air from the front counter, making you jolt upward into his chin. “Shit, customer,” You spoke hoarsely, attempting to push your weak body off of Steve’s.

You immediately felt resistance as he easily pulled your weak body back into him. “It’s not important right now, they can wait.”

“We’re still on the clock,” You snivelled, nuzzling into his shirt as embarrassment began to fill your chest again.

He sighed, thinking. “What time do you get off?”

“3:30.”

You felt him remove his arm from your back as he checked his wrist watch. It left a cold patch where the warmth had been. “It’s 3:15-ish, Rob will be here at 3:20 and can grab it, it’s fine.” He wrapped his arm back around you and squeezed. “I’m not gonna leave you.”

You felt more tears brim your eyes at the statement and didn’t argue any further. This was the quickest you had ever seemed to come down from a panic attack. You didn’t want to let him go. He felt like home… he felt better than home.

“Hey losers, there’s someone at the counter!” You heard Robin’s voice call out not long after as she walked into the back. “Uh, hello?” Her footsteps led up until she turned the same corner Steve had in the supply room. When her eyes met your intertwined figures, she froze, initially thinking she had walked in on a make out session. However, when Steve looked up at her with sorrow in his eyes, she rushed forward, kneeling to your level.

The conversation between them was quiet and serious, spoken as if you weren't there, but it didn't matter. Your mind was slowly coming down from the high and focusing on anything was getting harder. Your eyes closed against Steve's chest and only then did you realize you had gripped tightly to his shirt. You manually forced yourself to loosen your grip on it, fingers aching as you did so.

"Hey babe," Robin got your attention softly by patting your shoulder. "Is there anything I can do? Do you need water?"

You raised your head slightly and opened your puffy eyes at her. "The person at the front." You said in a small voice, pointing.

"Oh, shit, right," Robin stood, stumbling slightly as she walked to the door. "I'm coming back to check on you though!!"

As she left, you felt Steve chuckle under you and squeezed you again. You let your head fall back down onto him. "Hm?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "Nothing… it's just-" He laughed again and let his cheek fall down on top of your head. "You're literally shaking in my arms and all you can think about is the stupid goddamn customers."

You smiled against him. "I should get employee of the month."

"More like employee of the year."

[softsoule]

The Wolf and The Rabbit P1.

Warning: This is my first story I'm not a writer never wrote or published anything before but I thought I would make this story so please don't criticize me too much. I hope you all enjoy that do read this!

*Pairing: Cha Hyun-Su x Reader Part Two Part Three

Where is he? I can’t lose him. Not Again. The thoughts chant over and over in your mind.

Fear. The all-too-familiar feeling is coursing through you. The fear of losing Cha Hyun-Su again. 

Your throat is dry and hoarse from constantly screaming his name, and your stomach turns from the anxiety of potentially losing him forever. You struggle to keep your breakfast down. Swallowing whatever comes up. Your throat burns from the acid.

Your bare feet ache as you continue to run across the asphalt. The rocks scrape and cut into your feet, but you can bear it for just one more glimpse of him. 

Dead End. Hospital. Could that have been where he went?

You quickly rush inside, disregarding the chance of monsters creeping around. 

No. That didn’t matter; you didn’t care about monsters, humans, or the world in any way. You just wanted him, and you’ll die trying to see him. 

As you continue through the hallways, a creek on the floor catches your attention. It’s coming from the operation room. 

This is it. Death or glory? The decision that determines your fate. Behind the door can be the monster who will put an end to your miserable suffering or the angel of a man you so desperately crave to be around.

You pray for the latter. 

You slowly enter the room. “Cha Hyun-Su,” you call out.

No response. Is he hiding? Is this the right place? I can't fail to find him again.

You search the building while hoarsely shouting his name again and again, almost like a chant. If he doesn't hear your calls, you will surely summon at least the nearby monsters.

Upon entering the last room, a decrepit, empty old patient room, the feeling of disappointment starts to settle in. Taking a seat on a dirty hospital bed, you loudly sign hopelessly, but then you hear it.

A laugh. maniacal laugh. From a voice that sounds so sweet like an angel, but from the mouth of the devil. 

You jump to your feet, shocked by the sudden outburst but relieved. There he is, in all his glory, standing at the entrance. Hair is rugged, clothes are torn, and skin is stained with blood and dirt. Your heart flutters at the sight of him, your sweet, innocent boy, the man who would rather run away from you than put you in harm's way.

You rush towards him, ready to embrace him with a loving hold. But then you notice it—the sly smirk, the blue eyes, those intense blue eyes. You stop midway; this isn't Cha Hyun-Su; this is his monster, the one he tries to protect you from. The reason he lurks in the shadows and steers clear of you.

As the severity of the situation starts to set in, you feel tremors of fear course through your body. Cha Hyun-Su would never hurt you, but his monster would, and he would for the fun of it.

The smell of fear is in the air, and it sends the monster into a frenzy. He loves to play games, and you just introduced the game of wolf and rabbit to him.

Your heart begins to pound, and the noise is so deafening that you clutch your chest. He chuckles, and from his demeanor, you know he hears it too.

Run. Escape. Flee. The words that are constantly replaying in your head. But there's nowhere to run; your only escape is blocked by his huge figure.

The atmosphere is too intense; it's as if you're suffocating, and you feel lightheaded. Clutching your chest, you fall to your knees with a loud thud. He hums in delight.

He breaks the silence. "Thinking of leaving, little rabbit?" he asks.

He stalks towards you eerily, slowly like a wolf closing in on its prey. He crouches in front of you; his blue eyes bore into yours. The ferocity of his gaze causes your breath to hitch up. His gaze was enchanting, like a forbidden fruit—dangerous but alluring.

"Not until the wolf has its snack" he sinisterly says.

[devine-star]

Major self indulgence fic-

Eddie Munson x Male!reader.

Warnings: Anxiety attack + Autistic meltdown. Mentions of/taking of pills. Self inflicted wounds (NOT SELF HARM!). Blood. Sefl doubt talk. Lmk if I missed any!

Note: I wrote this because ahaha the future is scary! I, myself, and autistic and this is just how I, myself, have my meltdowns. It is in now way supposed to represent how ALL Autistic people have meltdowns! :)

The room is silent besides the soft hum of the lamp beside you. Everything has either been too loud or too silent and it was driving you insane.

The feeling of the sheets under your body was making your skin itch.

The collar of your shirt seeming to choke you.

Laying on your back, arms and legs sprawled out on your bed;mind racing.

'What does the future hold?'

That one simple thought starts your downward spiral.

'I don't see anything for my future...' you thought a frown coming onto your face as an uneasy heaviness settles itself between your rib cage, claiming it as it's new home.

'I'll never amount to anything,' Tears come to your eyes.

'I'll never be able to get my dream job, move out if this shitty town or even get married...' The tears slide down your cheeks as your breath quickens.

From the other side of the room, your bottle of anti-Anxiety medication stares at you; almost as if to mock you.

'I can't even be normal without some stupid pills!' Anger mixes in with the anxiety as more tears rush from your reddening eyes.

The room begins to spin around you, sitting up quickly to press your back against the wall.

"Stop..." You mutter.

Praying the thoughts will listen to you if only for a moment. But they don't.

"STOP IT!" You scream.

One of your hands coming to slap against the side of your head, trying your best to physically knock the thoughts from your brain.

"I DON'T WANT TO FEEL THIS WAY!!!" The scream rips from your throat as More open handed blows are landed; bruises sure to be formed by morning.

Shakey hands are now gripping your hair as you roughly start pulling, unconsciously rocking yourself back and forth.

Little to your knowledge, your best friend Eddie Munson just pulled into your driveway.

His hands shaking slightly as he pep talked himself.

"You got this Eds, just tell him how you feel and everything will be fine," he mumbles grabbing the bag of your favorite take out before hopping from his van.

Eddie has finally pumped up his nuts enough to confess how he truly felt for you. He's been in love with you for the past year.

He didn't even know he loved you until one day he was listening to you rant off about your favorite book.

Something about the way you were smiling and doing an intense voice during the plot twist reveal made his heart flutter and then sink when he realized what this meant.

But now? Ge was ready!

Rapping his knuckles against the door, Eddie waits.

Glancing around for a while when you don't open the door.

'Is he here?' He jogs down the steps to your front door checking around the side of the house to see your car parked.

'Yeah..' Confirming that you were home, Eddie knocks again.

But the sound of something crashing inside and your pain filled screams knocks the wind from him for a moment before He's barging into the house.

"Y/n!!"

Rushing upstairs he finds you sitting on your bedroom floor, half naked with your nose and fists bloody.

His eyes move from you to the broken full length mirror on the floor.

"Oh shit..." He mutters dropping the food and rushing to your side.

"Sshh...Y/n, it's okay" A yelp slips from Eddie's lips as you slap him; smearing blood from your hands on his face.

"Y/n! Hey!" Eddie was angry. He was worried. He knows anxiety and overstimulation can set in easy at the late hours when you're alone.

He quickly grips both of your arms pulling you into his lap, gently squeezing over your arms and shoulders.

Pressure therapy is what you called it.

Eddie did his own research in his free time, it's a form of release that can help autistic people calm down.

Your struggling soon subsides as you turn yourself around in his lap hiding your face in his chest.

"Too much..." You mumbled.

For a moment, Eddie panicked thinking his touch was too much but hearing your cry of protest when he goes to move you from his lap calms his nerves.

"What is N/n?" He asks calmly gently running a hand through your hair.

"The thoughts...the future...I-I can't..." Eddie can feel your body shake and breath start to speed up again.

"Woah woah, hey no, it's okay!" Beginning to rock the both of you back and forth, Eddie began humming.

Humming a song he's heard you listen to a thousand times over whenever you felt this way.

You two stayed on the floor like this for maybe an hour. Eddie whispering confirmations that the future will be bright snd that he'll make sure it will be or the universe will have hell to pay.

Sniffling softly you pull your head away from him to look at him shyly "I-Im sorry Eds, I-" Eddie shook his not.

"No, Nope. Uh-huh, not gonna let you apologize for something you can't help," He slowly, and awkwardly, stands. Keeping you in his arms to carry you over to your bed.

"Let's get you cleaned up and some rest okay?" You gently nod watching him disappear for a moment.

When Eddie returns, he's holding the first aid kit from your bathroom and a glass of water.

Sitting next to you and leaving the water on your nightstand, Eddie gently picks up your bloodied knuckles.

"Shit N/n, you really did a number on yourself," He mumbles bringing a wet rag you hadn't noticed he grabbed to your knuckles.

Hissing at the pain you whine about how it hurts "I know bubs, just a little more."

Once the blood was washed away, Eddie bandages your hand with gauze and an ace wrap before bringing your bandages hand to his lips; gently kissing it.

Smiling softly at him Eddie moves to grip your face in his hands and started his work of cleaning your bloodied nose and lips.

Eddie wouldn't admit this outloud but he LOVES taking care of you. He would do it a thousand times over, no questions asked.

All be it, he'll tease you about lightly. But he loves watching the way you admire his face as he's being gentle with you.

"There, all better." Standing to dispose of the rag and empty bandage wrappers, Eddie snags the bottle of pills from your dresser.

"Did you take these today?" He signed as you shook your head no.

"Well, we can take them now yeah?" Popping the bottle open, he pours the two pills into his hand before holding them out to you.

"Thanks,"

Satisfied after seeing your take your medicine Eddie shuts the lights off and climbs into bed with you; pulling you close.

He had this whole plan of coming over to confess his feelings, eating his weight in take out, and maybe even getting high with you but that would have to wait.

But that's okay, Eddie would wait a thousand years in order to tell you how he felt. He just wanted to make sure you're okay first.

"Thank you Eddie, I don't know what I would do without you..." You mumble slipping off into the land of dreams.

Pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, Eddie relaxes and allows himself to enjoy this moment before he too slips into sleep.

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this for a lovely anon, I hope you like it!

It is a part two to this Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x female!reader imagine.

Thank you @footprintsinthesxnd for proofreading!

Warnings: cursing

Life with Maverick was quite honestly heaven on earth.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this good in anyone else’s company, but if it was up to you you would have only ever stayed by Maverick’s side.

He was charming, funny, daring, loving and so intensely into every moment you shared it was like coming off from a high whenever he had to leave your side.

Nevertheless, the two of you had decided to keep your relationship a secret because your dad would freak out and because Maverick wanted to keep being able to love you, just being the two of you.

You liked it the way it was, it was something beautiful you kept just for yourself, and you felt like you deserved that beauty.

At functions you found the right times to sneak away and Maverick had found the perfect way to sneak into your window at night so none of your family members would notice.

Studying from home had both ups and downs, but you liked sneaking your boyfriend in through your window despite the anxiety.

Maverick was funny and easy to talk to and he was so good in bed, the way he touched you spoke of a lot of practice and experience, but you managed not to let that bother you.

You were always so happy in his embrace after your initial gentle greeting and love making that it was the only time you relaxed completely, your head on his chest and your naked legs intertwined lazily.

It was usually time for casual and quiet conversation, you’d tell each other about your day and what you had experienced when your bedroom door opened and you heard your sister’s voice in the doorway.

“Hey, I know it’s late and I don’t want to bother you but have you seen my…,” Penny peeked her head into your room sheepishly but she fell silent the second she found the man in your bed, her eyes widening.

You were absolutely shocked but you were glad it had been your sister walking in and not your parents, because you knew your father would have killed you.

You sat up quickly, pulling the sheets along with you to cover your naked chest and Pete followed your lead, struggling to pull on his boxers as his eyes were locked on Penny’s.

“Pen, I’m so sorry, but this is exactly what it looks like,” you tried to explain yourself, but your sister didn’t even bat an eye at you.

“Pete?” She asked instead, and confusion began to flood your face.

You knew that they could have met at any Naval function but you also knew Penny and Maverick, and you and Mav had met the exact same way and had ended up in bed as well.

With Maverick’s track record it wasn’t far-fetched that he could have slept with your sister, which shocked and angered you immensely.

You pulled something over your head and up your legs to cover yourself as you heard Maverick exclaim a simple ‘hi, Penny’ that sounded like he was grinning.

You found that stupid smile on his face and your eyelids fluttered with hurt as you sat back down on your bed in a wave of dizziness.

Penny’s face showed nothing but regret as she looked from Maverick to you, and it was painfully obvious that she wasn’t happy about the developments.

“You know each other?” You asked no one in particular, but Penny chose the easy way out.

“I’ll let you two talk,” she whispered before slipping outside and closing the door, leaving the two of you in a rather awkward silence.

“Did you sleep with my sister too?” You asked in a very low voice, your eyes barely daring to look up from the hands you had placed in your lap, but you managed to look at him after a while.

Maverick nodded as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but the hint of reluctance on his face showed that he knew you weren’t feeling well.

“I didn’t think it was important,” he answered, as if that would have solved anything.

“You didn’t think it was important? You didn’t think it was worth mentioning?” You questioned him, but he just shook his head.

“You slept with my fucking sister!” You exclaimed rather loudly, and Maverick reacted by trying to silence you, his eyes darting to the door to make sure your parents hadn’t heard.

The fact that that was more important to him than your emotional well-being made anger bubble up inside you.

You took a few seconds to think as a thousand thoughts ran through your head.

All you could focus on was that he had a lot of experience that you didn’t, and that just let a wall of doubts build up that was about to be broken down by your anger.

“Pete, she called you Pete,” she whispered, and his face fell slowly.

“That’s my name. Baby, you know that’s my name, I’ve told you that,” he answered quickly, but your brain pulled a blank for a few seconds, not even listening to what he was saying.

“No one calls you Pete,” you whispered, and he nodded.

Goose had previously called him Pete and Penny also knew him from when he was still in flight school, but the fact that him and Penny went way back would have not sat well with you in that moment so he decided against telling you.

“I prefer Maverick,” he answered swiftly, avoiding that bullet for another time.

There was another moment of silence and Maverick tried to approach you, but you vehemently shook your head and he stopped.

“Do you touch me the same way you touched her?” You asked, your eyes finding his and anger boiling inside you, making your breath hitch.

“Is that why you’re so good in bed, because we’re so similar?” You continued asking, but Maverick simply furrowed his brows in a way of denial.

He didn’t say anything, which left you to form another thought that seemed to scream at you inside your head.

“Am I only your replacement because you couldn’t have her?” You finally voiced your fear, but Maverick continued his approach to you.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed next to you only clad in his boxers while you wore his shirt, both your hair in disarray and both of you seeming extremely agitated.

“No, baby, no, definitely not,” he tried to assure you, one hand skimming over your cheek before he let it fall behind you, resting his other hand on your thigh.

“I wouldn’t be with you if I didn’t want to be, I really care for you, baby,” he tried to apologize, and it worked in a way.

You definitely felt reassured but that only made your feelings of anger reappear, which meant that rage began to pool into your heart and it seemed like your field of vision grew smaller and a tint of red too.

“Are you fucking serious, Pete?” You asked, stressing your use of his first name, and he quickly pulled his hand away from the place on your thigh it had been sitting on.

“We’ve been going out for months and you haven’t found the time to tell me that you fucked my sister before getting to know me?” You continued, and he winced at the words you chose.

You were usually much kinder and definitely not as angry, which made Maverick fear for getting a visit from your dad.

“How many times did you sleep with her?” You asked, your voice ice cold and void of emotion.

Maverick felt his heart beat faster at the question because he couldn’t lie to you, but he also knew that you wouldn’t like the answer.

But he actually liked you, he didn’t want to mess it up.

“I… more times than I’d like to admit,” he answered in defeat, and his honest answer surprised you.

Nevertheless it also angered you further.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” you told him, getting up from your seat only to collect his pants, socks and shoes from the mess on the ground and throw it at him.

He caught all of it more or less effortlessly, which only convinced you that he had experience with that as well.

His face was blank and not understanding but you didn’t want him to see you cry, so you forced him towards your window without even giving him a chance to dress.

“Out, get the fuck out,” you repeated angrily, but Maverick stood his ground.

He turned to face you, whispering your name as if he wanted to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“Out,” you repeated rather loudly, and he winced at that.

Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell climbed out of your window and jumped down onto the ground, hurrying to put on everything but the shirt you were still wearing.

You turned around to rush to your bed and break down onto it, your anger and sadness jolting your body in sobs that were accompanied by the biggest tears you had cried in a long time.

You were absolutely devastated in the moment because you knew you had to tell him that that behavior was unacceptable.

Maverick was inexperienced when it came to being in a relationship.

That meant you had to show him the ropes, and despite your need to be held by him you knew you had to stay strong in the moment, because you needed to make a point.

Your relationship with Maverick wasn’t over, but you didn’t let him treat you lightly.

You were serious, and he had known what that felt like too.

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[royaltyspeaking]

It's jarring how bad Kate is in talking anything professional. And it's not at all about public speeches, I understand anxiety on that account and I give her a pass for it. But she isn't good in even one-to-one conversations - on any topic. Even when it comes to children's mental health or sports in general - two areas of interest that Kate is supposed to be good at - she's never able to hold a professional conversation. It's all how's the weather, congratulations on winning, my children like this and that, or other silly anecdotes. She's literally never able to say anything meaningful or impactful, it's just silly chatter where her audience smiles politely and she giggles or laughs to give a good picture, and that's it. And again, I'm not at all talking about public speeches, I'm talking about one-on-one meetings or when she holds audiences with anyone or when she's talking to high profile people standing in a line to greet the royals. She's utterly uninspirational. BUT, she's still considered a good member of British royal family coz that is exactly what their criteria is - someone silent, with no professional goals, someone who can simply be curated perfectly according to their PR. I bet Kate would've never fit into any other royal family coz pretty much all of them seem to be doing heavy duty work. But fortunately/unfortunately she fits the requirement of where she's employed - British royal family. Can you ever imagine Kate having a sensible, driven conversation on serious topics like ones covered by Sophie or Camilla or even Eugenie? It's bizzare when her fans say royals aren't supposed to comment on controversial topics, just look at the work other royals are doing around her. She has had such a privileged life I wonder sometimes when she'll have her share of struggle? Her position is so awfully wasted.

Yup. We're always being told how she works so hard yet she never has anything important to say. The intense pr push to make such an unremarkable person appear important is really something. The problem is that the pr is all talk. And while Kate is lazy, the people she has working for her don't help matters. We've been told that Kate is this early years expert but we've never seen that in action. She never says anything intelligent on the topic, all of her comments are very basic. To me that indicates that her briefing notes must be completely basic too. We know that Kate is hardly an intellectual but it's at the point where I wonder if her staff is even trying. That was especially obvious with that ridiculous letter that "she wrote" (lets get real, it was written for her and she signed her name to it), apparently designed to highlight the importance of the early years. The whole thing was nothing but a word salad, merely repeating the same statements in every paragraph with no additional information or solutions. That letter shouldn't have made it past the editing process yet it was released by KP with a shiny bow attached for the public to eat up. When it comes to conversation, look at kates sit down with Jill Biden. It was a mess from start to finish. Her brother in law just welcomed a new baby and Kate wasn't the least bit prepared to answer the inevitable questions about the new baby. Then at a round table about a topic she is supposed to be so well versed in, she couldn't even come up with a coherent response to a basic question. The only thing that Kate can talk about is herself. Her default is telling people how the topic of conversation affects her. Oh you're a (insert profession)? My kids love said thing.

[merge-conflict]

year in review

2023 is on its way out, and it's been... a year. First full year that I've actually been active on social media (i.e. not just lurking), and first time in fandom.

My first fic of the year? when her edges soften – the longer I wrote for Valentine and the more her relationship with Johnny got weird and intimate and full of casual innuendo the more I needed to write something where they were reunited. Also my first ever experience writing smut and self-indulgently adding a whole fencing scene. Goddamn that was fun! Feels like it's older than a year.

My favorite fic of the year? thread-safe – I became engrossed with cyberpunk because of Jackie but I imprinted hard on Takemura after that traumatic heist mission and perhaps the rest is history. Valentine's story has had a lot of tinkering and reworking and it was the thing that got me back into writing, but the original story in my head was something bittersweet and angry and grieving, one night only no encores, parting badly– and I finally was able to capture that in thread-safe and it feels so good.

Most fun experiments?? There are several of these. When I got stuck and discouraged and tired of working on the longfic and plotting things out I ended up working out a "shenanigans au" (fleeting fits of reason) where I could put Johnny and Kerry and V (and Alt and Rogue it turns out) together and just have them interact without plot. Well the plot crept in, but writing some loosely connected 1-1.5k pieces focused on a single scene or idea with minimal polish was incredibly freeing. Then I recorded some of my own podfic! I wrote a chapter of thread-safe in second-person! I wrote imago and decided to incorporate pieces of it into my longfic. Playing around like this has really kept writing fun for me when I don't have the concentration to play the long game.

Additional musings and personal reflections under the cut:

2023 the year sucked ass. It has been god awful. Just the fucking worst! Cyberhanami was in February? March? I remember finishing up some of my prompts that week while I was in another state with friends who were out and about while I was in bed too nauseated and weak to move. Writing was the only thing keeping me from going insane. My health has been shoddy, I had to cancel a much anticipated two weeks of international travel, spent at least two week long periods this year with anxiety so intense it made me almost physically incapable of eating. I had an incredibly expensive panic attack, and the world... things have been better!

I find it difficult to be honest about that sort of thing– my primary instinct is Not To Talk About any of that shit, because well... it's personal! And I handle reassurance about as well as I handle compliments (awkwardly. half in panic. friendly self-deprecation). But it feels disingenuous to celebrate accomplishments without acknowledging the yawning abyss we all struggle with from time to time. I remain cynically optimistic, as always, and I'm seriously grateful for all the connections and shared art and braincells and excitable messages, especially from folks tolerating my tendency to ramble onto tangents and use an oddly formal tone. I don't know what I'm doing, but who does? It comes easier with practice. It has to, right?

See you cool cats in 2024. :3 😼

[alizeh-tu-badi-mushkil-hai]

When someone asks me what scares me the most when I love someone, it makes me delve into a spiral of thoughts.

I have often wondered why, after every fight or misunderstanding, my mother would refuse to eat while my father would consume whatever he was served and even ask for dessert. Isn't that strange? I never contemplated whether my parents, who seemed deeply in love, truly were. It's a nightmare. Now I understand how caring and warm my mother was towards my father, eagerly waiting for their evening cup of tea and dinner until 4 o'clock in the morning. Yet my father never seemed to grasp the love she felt for him, or perhaps they never reciprocated their feelings for each other.

Now, as a 20-year-old adult, what scares me the most when I love someone is whether they will reciprocate my feelings. Will I ever be enough for them? Is my love so intense and genuine that they will truly understand it? After every fight with friends, family, or my significant other, I would go days without eating. It's difficult to express this feeling, but it's a hate that grips my throat, leaving me bawling my eyes out on the floor. I have developed a peculiar relationship with food. I eat not because I enjoy it, but because I know if I don't, I will fall ill and there will be no one to care for me in this house full of skeletons and acquaintances. Sometimes, I still go days without eating, forgetting to nourish myself, and it causes immense pain in my stomach. In those moments, even a sandwich from my college canteen can provide some solace.

Whenever someone asks me about my favorite food or what I enjoy eating, my mind goes blank. It reminds me of the days I endured brutal scolding and humiliation at the dinner table, when my weight caused hormonal and health issues that never seemed to find peace. I was diagnosed with B12 deficiency, thyroid problems, PCOD, and an anxiety disorder. I recall how my parents struggled to afford rice and water bills. I remember being 17 years old when I wrote in my diary that I wanted to eat pizza and drink cold coffee at a coffee shop. Sometimes, I read those words and wish I could tell that version of myself that I now have a little bit of money, enough to take myself on a solo date. However, I still find myself eating alone at home, in college, and at school. Sitting with others and sharing a meal feels foreign to me.

But on that day when my heart shattered because my love was not reciprocated, I despised myself for loving someone who didn't deserve even a fraction of me. I decided not to have dinner because I was drowning in an ocean of loneliness and self-hatred. My mom asked, "Do you want to have dinner? You didn't eat your breakfast and lunch today." After a 30-second pause, I replied, "Yes." I told her to give me whatever was available; I couldn't wait any longer. Eventually, my mother served me my favorite dishes: aam ras, puran poli, aamti, rice, and papad. I sat alone in the dark balcony with only a small study lamp. I broke a piece of puran poli, dipped it in aam ras, and stuffed it into my mouth. In that moment, a wave of intense emotions hit me, and I broke down in tears. I continued breaking pieces of puran poli and stuffing them into my mouth while weeping. I realized that I was stuffing food into my mouth but not truly eating as tears streamed down my face. I had convinced myself, just as my mother used to convince me to eat while I was engrossed in playing a jigsaw puzzle. I think she is still playing and searching for the missing pieces of her jigsaw puzzle, while her mother has given up, along with her appetite. But despite everything, I managed to finish my food and wiped away my tears, even though being kind to myself felt nearly impossible. I placed my plate in the basin, washed my hands, splashed some water on my face, and began contemplating.

Why do I love someone to such an extent that it consumes me, making it hard to breathe? Why do I allow people to consume my soul? Why do I deprive myself of food when I am sad? Why?

[awhorrerstory]

Return

Brooke Thompson x f! Reader

After Redwood, Brooke went to jail. I went to see her as much as I wanted to but I knew I couldn’t all the time. We called the days I couldn’t visit and I wrote to her. When they told us she was getting executed I felt my heart shatter and ran over to my girlfriend immediately.

“Y/n, I promise I didn’t Do it, please…”

She sobs against my shirt holding me tight,

“I know Brooke, I’ve never doubted you.”

I tell her kissing her temple as fear built inside me, I couldn’t lose her, she’s my world.

“Hands off.” The guard says to Brooke grabbing her hands and putting them behind her back. I grab her face and kiss her passionately and she kisses me back, “I love you y/n, I love you so much…” she says between sobs as we’re pulled away from each other,

“Brooke, I love you too, I’ll wait for you.” I say as my hand is pulled away from her face and she’s pulled away from me completely. When they take her away I completely break down and curse myself for letting her go to that camp or not going with her. Brooke asked me to be in that room, she wanted to be as close to me as possible and wanted to be close to me in the end. I sat in the front next to the real killer and her husband and after Brooke was talking to her she looked to my side; “y/n, I think you’re there, if you are I just want you to know that you’re everything to me and that you’re always going to be the love of my life. I wish we had time for more but you know…just…goodbye baby…” She says softly placing her hand on the glass. I place mine over hers a few moments before she pulls hers away and I watch as she gets pulled to the chair,

“n-no Brooke…” I begin to sob as I see my girlfriend being injected;

“Brooke! Brooke!“ I start yelling and banging against the glass. The guards grab me and i struggle in their grasp. Of course they escorted me home where I cried over my dead girlfriend. I look at the promise ring She gave me before she left saying she’d stay loyal. I hugged her and told her I loved her before we went to bed that night, knowing I’d miss her and she’d be gone for a while. My anxieties of her leaving me were intense but she promised me it would be okay. I wish we could’ve gotten married or have made love but maybe it would’ve made this so much more painful.

I’ve called out of work for a few weeks so I could mourn and I cuddled one of Brooke’s sweaters for comfort. I thought of everything we could’ve been and what we could’ve had but then thought of how it was all taken away from me.

-a month later-

I hear the doorbell ring and get out of bed. It was midnight and raining I don’t know who it could be. I look through the peep hole and couldn’t believe my eyes. Standing there was the woman I’ve been in love with for 2 years now, who was supposed to be dead.

I open the door, my eyes wide as I look at Brooke. She was soaked wearing a red jacket and black top and black jeans, blood on her forehead but otherwise okay. I stood there frozen in shock when Brooke let herself in and closed the door;

“it’s raining.” She says, her hand not leaving the doorknob.

“B-Brooke…” I whisper as my hand cups her cheek. She was soft and warm like I remember and I felt a tear slip down my face. She wipes my tear away and kisses me gently proving to me this was my girlfriend. I hold her face in my hands and move my hands to her hair causing her to jump slightly,

“I’m sorry baby are you okay?” I ask worriedly. She nods and I pull my hand away slowly seeing blood, “Brooke…” “it’s nothing don’t worry, just a scratch compared to last time.” She says with a soft smile. I bring her to our bathroom upstairs and take off her wet clothes causing her to shiver slightly. I grabbed a towel on the shower rod and put it around her bare shoulders. She held it close as I get some stuff to clean her up. I clean up her cut and we go to our room. “Listen y/n, I’m not the same as before…” I nod, “it’s okay Brooke, I just missed you so much, I’ll always love you.” I say stroking her cheek. She nods and stands up, “good.” She states as she pulls away her towel. “I need help with this.” She says pointing to a bandage with blood on it;

“shit Brooke,” “don’t worry, we just need to change the bandage.” She says pulling me towards our room. She hands my the supplies and lays down, “okay just peel it up,” I obey her and peel the bandage up, “take the old one out,” I do, “put the new one in.” I finish and look at the wound, “what happened baby?” I asked her gently as I cover it back up.

She told me everything that happened as we cuddled. She was tense talking about it (obviously) but told me everything. I held her through whatever she told me. After she finished talking I held her and cried, all of my emotions finally releasing. I feel her stroking my hair and kissing my temple every few minutes causing me to relax after a few moments, “are you really here Brooke?” I ask her softly squeezing her slightly. “I am, I promise.” She says moving my face away from the crook of my neck. “Brooke,” I stare into her green eyes and feel my heart melt looking into her soul. I feel Brooke’s hand cupping my cheek, stroking it gently with her thumb, “I’m not going anywhere okay?”

She says softly before biting her lip nervously and going towards me for a kiss. I reciprocate immediately and she pulls me closer. I feel one of her hands on my waist the other still against my cheek moving to the back of my neck to guide the kiss. I hear Brooke moan slightly as our tongues meet. I’ve never heard her like that. I feel Brooke tug at my sweatshirt and I gasp against her lips honestly surprised at her action; “Brooke…” I mumble out, “I-I know this isn’t like me but…god you’re all I’ve wanted for 3 years and I want you. So so bad…”

she kisses me again and I feel her begin to kiss down my jaw and to my neck, “I thought you wanted-ah-“ I gasp as she reaches a spot on my neck, causing Brooke to smirk and suck at it slightly, “oh Brooke…” I moan gripping her hair, “I’ve tried that, first time didn’t go so well and I almost died twice now. I don’t want to waste anymore time.” She says softly, “marry me.”

She says looking up at me her eyes looking at me seriously, “yes.” I say beginning to tear up and pull her into a kiss again. She starts to press wet, warm kisses down my neck, the odd but enticing sensation sparks a wave of heat that settles down in my core. “You’re so gorgeous you know?” Brooke says smiling softly at me causing me to blush harder somehow. I help her pull the sweatshirt off and she bites her lip as she looks at my full breasts. I throw my head back letting out a loud moan once her amazing mouth meets my breasts. Her mouth encases one of my nipples, the wet warm sensation sending a surge of pleasure to spread throughout my body, the way her tongue flicks and sucks my pink nub makes me start to loose all my hesitations about this and finally figure out that this is what Brooke wants. “Brooke yes, that feels so good…” I whimper my fingers gently grasping at her dark brown locks.

“Good, Montana told me about this but I sure wasn’t sure, I was hoping it would be good-“ “it’s amazing, keep going.” She nods then swaps her attention to my other nipple, using her fingers to tweak the nipple that she had just sucked. “Sorry.” She mumbles with a blush causing me to giggle at the small flare of old shy rambling Brooke. She releases my nipple with a pop, she then starts to kiss down my stomach while she uses her hands to remove my sleeping shorts, staring at my green panties,

“my favorite, that’s convenient.” I giggle at my fiancé as her head dips farther down spreading open mouthed kisses along my stomach and down my legs. I can start to feel my arousal start to drip out of my core, as I can feel her hot breath getting closer to the place I needed her the most. “Fuck Brooke please…” I feel her pull down my panties and she looks at me, “shit…” she mumbles, “you’re drenched baby.” I whimper at her words as she dives into my pussy, making me scream out in pleasure as I finally get to feel the touch of Brooke’s tongue. “Fuck! Just like that Brookie” I cry out as I clamp my legs around her head, keeping her face buried into my weeping cunt. She lets out a low moan at the feeling of my legs around her neck, the vibrations sending a pleasurable jolt right through me. I feel something start to press into my entrance and slowly push into me, I let out a small hiss at the odd feeling but after a few moments of getting adjusted to it I start to thrust my hips back and forth, fucking myself desperately against Brooke’s fingers,

“oh my god Brooke.” I groan letting myself get overwhelmed by my need to be fucked so I meet each thrust of her fingers with a thrust of my hips, while making sure her mouth doesn’t stray from sucking my clit. Moans of her name and the grip in Brooke’s hair is all I can think about as the built up pressure on my stomach intensifies, “Brooke, I’m fucking cumming! Brooke oh-“ I feel myself riding her tongue as I orgasm, Brooke letting out sounds of pleasure as she continues to lap up her meal. I begin to stroke her hair as she continues to lap up my juices. “B-Brooke…”

I whimper as she smiles softly at me. “Shit that was hot…” she mumbles laying on my stomach, “fuck…Brooke, I love you.” I say stroking her cheek. “Love you too.” She says, “is it okay if I touch myself?” Brooke asks looking at me, “I’m just…I’m so wet and I need, fuck…” she blushes intensely and shakes her head, “I need to be fucked baby…” Brooke says shyly. I feel myself blush hard hearing my girlfriend’s words, “wait Brooke, I have something…” I say shyly. She nods and lays next to me as I lean to the bedside table and take out my green vibrator, “can I use this on you?“ I ask her nervously. “Y-yeah…” she says causing me to smile and kiss her perfect lips. I take off her belt then pull down her pants seeing her soaked black underwear, “sorry I didn’t know about today-“ “it’s okay baby.” I say smiling softly at Brooke. I place the vibrator against the wet spot where her clit was causing her to jolt when I turned it on, “oh-mm-“ She begins to squeeze her thighs together as she’s pleasured causing me to giggle as I move between them and begin to kiss Brooke as I rub the vibrator against her clit. “Ahhh Fuck y/n, shit oh my god!”

Brooke begins to hump my hand and grabs at her own tits through her bra causing her to moan loudly, “I’m cumming! Oh my god!” Brooke moans as her underwear turns a darker black, “shit…sorry…” mumbles softly, “it’s okay Brookie.” I say rubbing her sides my hands sliding up to her breasts and pushing up her bra rubbing her already erect nipples of her small breasts, “oh-“ she whimpers immediately. I begin to kiss her harder as I take the vibrator with my free hand once again and circle her nipples causing her to whimper. I smirk against Brooke causing her to grip my shoulder, I trace the toy slowly down her chest and stomach before slowly going to her thigh and then her drenched core.

“Please take them off y/n, please baby.” Brooke begged causing a heat to burn once again in my core. I pull her underwear down and she flings them off somewhere among the room. I spread her lower wet lips and press the toy directly on her sensitive bubble of nerves. She jolts and whimpers immediately, “y/n, oh my god…it-it agh-“ she whimpers and lets out a strangled cry as I begin to tease her throbbing entrance with one of my fingers, “have you ever masturbated Brooke?” I ask her moving the vibrator slowly against her clit as I began to finger her slowly. “Y-yes, when I was in prison I used to a lot, even when we were together you’d do stuff to t-turn me on and-and I couldn’t help myself-ah.” She throws her head back in pleasure as I rub her clit with the vibe and finger her slowly. I bite my lip and add another finger, watching her reactions closely. “What did you think about Brookie?”

I ask her innocently causing her to moan, “I-um I- thought of you humping my sweatshirt or my thigh and choking from my hand wrapped around your neck as you ride me.“ I slip in one of my fingers into her again, “oh please-“ she stops as I pound into her, sliding in one finger, then another. Moving them easily inside her wet pussy, “Brooke…” I moan softly panting against her ear. She curses and moves my hips against her thigh causing me to whimper at my overstimulated clit, “I want you to cum too.”

She says breathlessly and I whimper as I begin to bounce on Brooke’s thigh. She makes me hump her faster and I moan louder and louder as my wetness drips onto her thigh, “oh my god oh my god Brooke…” I whimper before I move her leg and position myself so our cores are against each other and the vibrator touching both of us, our moans in sync as we hump into each other. “Brooke!” I moan leaning my forehead against hers and kissing her as I ride out my orgasm. Brooke moans and whimpers as she follows me right after, her hands pulling me against her chest, our bodies twitching because of the still active vibrator. I reach between us and Brooke trembles as I remove the toy, “I-shit that was…”

she mumbles her fingers playing with my hair, “it was amazing.” I say to her softly. We both just lay with each other, her arms around me and her head resting on mine, “I love you Brooke.” I mumble panting. “Love you too y/n.” She says back turning us on our sides and closing her eyes as she held me.

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

fic ask game: 7, 23, 27? (dunno if you’ve already answered some of those Sorry)

longest completed fic you wrote this year

There’s a modern AU that I finished the first chapter of and promptly lost motivation for 😭 But the first chapter is probably 4k or 5k words!!

fics you wanted to write but didn’t

:( a lot…

I shall list them for you!

Ghostbur has a panic attack/night terror while staying at Techno’s cabin, and Techno has to calm him down. Tommy watches the whole thing and is really very scared

More chapters for that modern AU!! Very short story is that Wilbur is a foster kid (17-ish years old) along with Tommy, Niki, Tubbo, and perhaps Ranboo! Wilbur decides to run off with Tommy but ends up crashing the car he was driving, which injures Tommy greatly. The rest of the fic is extremely serious and emotional, and focuses on Wilbur’s journey :’)

I really wanted to finish the Crime Boys Modern AU, man. Been working on it for over a year and it’s NOT DONE!!! IT IS A ONE-SHOT!!! IT IS HALFWAY DONE!!! IT IS 25K WORDS!!!

Tntduo both go to this fancy event in Las Nevadas and… stuff happens 👀 Somehow this is a platonic fic but it’s borderline.

Techno and Phil give Revivebur a haircut :)

Me and a close friend came up with a little AU where Ghostbur is Christian :) We came up with lots of ideas!! I’m really wanting to write this someday :D

Modern AU, Wilbur-centric. He was raised in a religious home but recently he’s been struggling with doubts—extreme doubts. They give him intense anxiety. It’s… a heavy fic

A collection of moments involving Wilbur and his glasses. It starts when he’s a kid, then moves onto L’manburg and Pogtopia and Limbo and revival!

I have far more ideas, but these are some :)

favorite fanfic author of the year

:0

I don’t keep up with authors so much as I keep up with fics, but perhaps I’d say… monsterloot? I haven’t read all their works, but the ones I have read are astoundingly good :D

[lostfracturess]

HIYA!!THIS CHAPTER WAS INCREDIBLE!!!

When we saw that Sukuna was on the committee, my heart DROPPED! why is he so hellbent on tearing apart Satoru's life😭 was giving this man a drug addiction not enough?!? I need to lie down 😭

Did Suguru know that Satoru was going to make this decision at the second hearing? Since they probably talked for a while that night, and the morning of the hearing, those two exchanged a glance that made y/n feel uneasy.... oh man 😭

The fact that both Satoru and y/n would do and sacrifice anything for each other without a second thought, is just a recipe for tragedy. I cant even fully blame Satoru's decision at the end there cuz with swapped places I'd do the same for someone I'm in love with, even if it totally wrecked my life. Not to say his decision wasn't stupid because it definitely was 💀

The way you wrote the committee scenes was so well done cuz I was feeling so damn anxious and I KNOW that it was only a fraction of the anxiety y/n was feeling sitting there 💀

Also 4 ROUNDS HELLO?! 🫣 and asking for y/n to move in *during* that omfg, I really shouldn't find that romantic but here we are LOL

okay sorry for my rambling I had a lot more to say than I thought 😅 this chapter was so great omg, goodluck on your assignment !!! 🩷🩷🩷

so glad you enjoyed the latest chapter!!

was giving this man a drug addiction not enough?!?

i LAUGHED at that. so true lol. but just wait, it gets worse. sukuna enjoys making gojo and yn suffer, and he's far from done.

Did Suguru know that Satoru was going to make this decision at the second hearing?

they talked yes! but i'll leave it at that to avoid spoilers, but you're definitely on the right track. we'll get to read more about it in the next chapter.

the way gojo and yn would sacrifice everything for each other is absolutely a recipe for disaster. their love is so intense it will probably destroy both in the process and i can't wait to write it muhahah.

also thank you for appreciating the committee scenes! wanted to make the readers truly feel that crushing anxiety!!

i loved writing that smut scene with him asking her to move in during omg. that's so him. always dropping the bombs at the most hideous times.

your ramblings are my favorite part!! honestly, reading through insights like yours is one of the best parts of writing. it's so exciting to see how deeply the characters and their struggles resonate.

thank you for sharing your thoughts, and thanks for the encouragement too! ♡♡

[tutuntuntuinen]

Close eyes, breathe in, breathe out

I wrote this today and I'll just leave it here. It's Good Omens fan fiction. It takes place 6 months after S2.

Aziraphale longs for Earth and fears seeing Crowley. Most of the time, he deals with it by closing his eyes and breathing in and out. If you're looking for good dialogue between these two idiots, you're in the wrong place. However, here is a chance for a better future.

I think I'm projecting my own anxiety into this too much. Sorry about that. Also, Englis is not my native language.

Aziraphale had returned to Heaven and was now diligently working as the supreme archangel to make Heaven a better place, all while keeping an eye on Metatron's plans regarding the Second Coming. The beginning had been tough. Aziraphale missed Earth and everything it had offered him for the past 6000 years. Books, pastries, music... and, of course, a certain demon.

During the first week, Aziraphale struggled every second not to rush into the elevator and return to Earth. Soon, avoiding thoughts of returning to Earth became easier as he focused on the tasks assigned to him. None of these tasks concerned the Second Coming; they were mundane, dull, and insignificant. It suited Aziraphale at that moment more than anything. He immersed himself so deeply in them that there was simply no time for thoughts. If Aziraphale lifted his gaze from his papers and looked into the bright emptiness of Heaven, his thoughts immediately returned to Earth, causing him physical pain in his chest and tears welling up in his eyes. So, he immersed himself in his tasks, and when they finished, he begged for more. Anything to avoid thinking. And so, six months passed.

More challenging were the situations where he was asked about Earthly matters. Angels were indeed ignorant of all things related to humans. Once, an angel asked him about the Queen. They wanted to know why her death was such a big deal and how it related to music. The question caused a biological short circuit in Aziraphale's brain. The walls he had built in his mind collapsed one by one like dominoes. He had strongly identified as English, and the death of the queen was, of course, a shocking piece of news. What completed Aziraphale's short circuit and made him rush towards the elevators was the mention of music.

Britain, Queen, Bentley, Crowley... "You are my best friend," "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy," "Don’t Stop Me Now"... Inside the elevator, Aziraphale's mind played snippets of Queen's songs he had heard over the years from Bentley's radio. Midway through the elevator ride, he almost pressed the stop button, realizing he was actually in the elevator and not just imagining it. But it was as if Earth was pulling him, and he kept his hand away. Right then, Heaven didn't matter. When the elevator doors opened, his eyes were so full of tears that he could hardly see ahead. The elevator had manifested itself onto a corner in Soho, and he took the necessary steps to step out. It was his first time on Earth in half a year. The smells of the city, the noise of traffic, and the crowds pushed against him strongly, and the angel stood still. He squeezed his eyes shut and wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. When he opened his eyes again, he saw his bookstore, Nina's café, and Maggie's record store in the distance. The pain in the angel's chest grew so intense that he almost turned back to the elevator. However, he clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply of London's air. He breathed out and then in again. He repeated it until his hands relaxed, and he could open his eyes once more.

Aziraphale was now breathing calmly and watching the familiar street's bustle relatively calmly. A part of him hoped to see familiar faces on the street, while another part doubted whether his mind could handle another surge of emotions. His stomach churned at the thought that Crowley might turn the corner at any moment. As if fearing this, the angel closed his eyes again and focused on regulating his intensified breathing. He was afraid to open his eyes. He felt around with his hand, found the wall, and leaned against it. What if he opened his eyes and Crowley was right there? What if he wasn’t? Crowley could be anywhere between London and Alpha Centauri. Aziraphale had last seen Crowley standing next to Bentley, watching as he entered the elevator with Metatron. Crowley hadn’t moved, and Aziraphale didn’t know what the demon had done after the elevator doors closed. It had been six months now.

Reality felt much stronger on Earth than in Heaven, and Aziraphale hadn’t been prepared for that. Memories that Aziraphale had actively tried to suppress started leaking through the protective walls built over months. The encounter with Crowley in the bookstore was one of these memories. He wasn’t ready then, and he wasn’t ready now. When would he be ready? Would he ever be? If he could have the conversation again, would he still know what to say? Aziraphale felt his knees giving way, and he sank down against the wall, knees bent.

Was there a version where he could both save the world and be with Crowley?

If Crowley were standing in front of him now, what would he say?

Aziraphale sighed heavily, opened his eyes, and looked up. Crowley wasn’t standing before him, leaning on his car, or walking down the street. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed, but at least he was calmer. He pushed himself off the wall, stood up. He looked around once more and then stepped back into the elevator and returned to Heaven.

***

The espresso served in a small cup should be enjoyed right away because cooling significantly affects its taste. A small cup of espresso cools down to ice-cold within a minute. The cooling of a mug containing six servings of espresso takes approximately the duration of one angel's mental breakdown.

***

Aziraphale felt better after his visit to Earth, sensing improved self-control. He was relieved that the visit hadn’t caused any repercussions. Apparently, the movements of the supreme archangel weren't closely monitored, and even Gabriel had occasionally visited Earth. Aziraphale sought out the angel who had inquired about the Queen and made it clear to them the distinction between Queen Elizabeth II and the band named Queen. Talking about the subject still stirred a burning sensation in the angel's chest, but it didn't feel as severe as before the visit to Earth. He noticed himself smiling and felt an excited flutter in his stomach as the curious angel posed further questions about music. Aziraphale decided that Heaven needed a record player. And perhaps books as well... he knew where he would retrieve those from.

To keep himself in check, Aziraphale decided to limit his visits to Earth to twice a month. It would be enough to have something to look forward to all the time, yet little enough for him to continue his work and focus on why he had come to Heaven in the first place. Before his next visit to Earth, Aziraphale had made a list of things he intended to acquire. He documented the music and book lists in Heaven's official records as educational material. This time, as Aziraphale stepped into the elevator, he was much calmer than before. He straightened his bowtie and adjusted his waistcoat as the elevator descended, but as Earth approached, the tension became almost unbearable. What if Crowley were waiting behind the elevator doors? Aziraphale shook his head, feeling paranoid. The demon had no reason to wait in front of Heaven and Hell's elevator doors on an ordinary Wednesday morning. Still, the angel held his breath as the doors opened and sighed when they revealed the typical morning rush and crowd of people in Soho.

Aziraphale headed straight for Maggie's record store. He had a list of records he wanted Maggie to procure for him. The angel had spent much time compiling a list of the top hundred records that would serve as the foundation for Heaven's record collection. He had a similar list for books. As Aziraphale reached the entrance of the record store, he took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and stepped inside. He had anticipated Maggie's reaction, but the screaming, almost leaping woman over the counter surprised him nonetheless. Maggie hurried over to Aziraphale, opening and closing her mouth but unable to produce a single word. Eventually, she hugged Aziraphale tightly, wiping tears from her eyes after breaking away.

"You..." Maggie began. "...you've come back?" she continued, her voice uncertain.

"I came to pick up some records," Aziraphale replied, managing to keep his tone steady and business-like. He retrieved a white paper from his pocket. He noticed it was trembling slightly in his hands and focused on breathing in and out again. Emotions were rising again, but he wanted to keep them in check. If he let them take over, he would lose his ability to function and would have to return to Heaven before sorting out all his affairs.

"When... how long... have you...?" Maggie continued to stumble over her words, unable to form a complete sentence. Aziraphale smiled at the woman who hadn't changed much during his absence. The angel's throat burned as he considered asking about Crowley, but he decided it wasn't the right time. Not yet. He looked into Maggie's eyes and shook his head. Maggie gazed back at the angel and understood that it wasn't the time for questions.

"If it's possible for you to gather the records listed here, I'll come to collect them in two weeks," the angel said calmly. "Do you think that's achievable?"

Maggie looked at Aziraphale, visibly calmer now, and then took the paper, examining it. She quickly read through it and then looked back at the angel. "Don't you already have most of these?" she asked, confused.

"They're not precisely for me, they're educational materials," the angel responded. Maggie furrowed her brows but decided not to inquire further. Aziraphale had been away for a long time, and Maggie didn't know what had happened during that time. She only knew what the locals talked about. She also knew that her and Nina's intervention regarding Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship hadn’t resulted in the desired outcome; something unpleasant had happened. Maggie looked into Aziraphale's eyes, took his hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. The angel startled but looked at Maggie, and she noticed sorrow in his gaze. However, Aziraphale smiled, squeezed Maggie's hand, and nodded.

"I'll come to pick up the records in two weeks," he said and left the record store. Maggie watched him go but then began going through the list, searching for the records.

***

Aziraphale was mentally breathless after stepping out of the record shop. He had been preoccupied with the possibility of Crowley suddenly appearing from around the corner, and hadn't considered what he would say to other people he knew. Just before leaving, he had contemplated stopping by Nina's café, but now the thought seemed impossible. Maggie had understood from Aziraphale's expression alone that he wasn't up for answering questions, but Nina surely wouldn't give up until she had received a detailed account of the events of the past six months. The angel briskly walked past the café towards the bookstore, grasped the door handle, and slipped inside. The bookstore felt familiar and quiet. Aziraphale stood in the entrance for a moment, looking around. He had expected the place to stir painful memories and quickly had to shut his eyes to protect himself from them. Leaning against the wall, he focused on breathing again. Soon, however, he heard footsteps coming from the direction of the counter and opened his eyes. Muriel had paused in the middle of the room, staring at the other angel with their mouth agape and eyes wide.

"Are you alright?" the angel asked, concerned, taking a few steps closer. Aziraphale straightened up and smiled. He focused on Muriel and only Muriel, avoiding looking at all those places where he had spent time with Crowley. Or that corner where Crowley had stood when Aziraphale had told him about his departure to Heaven and Crowley's place by his side. He also absolutely did not look at the spot in the middle of the room where Muriel was standing right now... where... Aziraphale felt his bowtie tightening around his neck, and he coughed, trying to loosen it. He took a deep breath.

"Everything's fine," he said. "I came to place an order for books."

"Unfortunately, all the books are currently out of stock," Muriel replied, their face serious. Aziraphale stared at the other angel for a moment and then glanced around. The shelves were filled with books, as if nothing had been touched in half a year.

"Ah, I see... I understand," Aziraphale replied, and he felt a small smile creeping onto his lips. He suddenly felt like hugging the angel but settled for warmly smiling instead. "Good job!"

"Thank you," Muriel replied, smiling, pride in their voice. They rocked back and forth on their heels with their hands behind their back.

"I won't be taking books from this shop; I want to place an order with a certain collaborator. The contact details are in the desk drawer," Aziraphale explained and walked towards the writing desk. Muriel watched him go and made no move to stop him. Apparently, Aziraphale still held the proprietor's rights in this store. He fetched his address book from the drawer and then sat down, writing the address on an envelope. He took out a list of the chosen books from his pocket, put the list into the envelope, and wrote an accompanying letter explaining the details of the order. Throughout the entire writing process, Muriel stood in the middle of the room, observing Aziraphale's activities. When the letter was finished, Aziraphale walked over to Muriel.

"Thank you for taking good care of the shop," he said to Muriel, smiling, and patted them on the shoulder.

"I couldn't do this alone," to Aziraphale's surprise, Muriel replied. Muriel no longer looked towards Aziraphale but out of the window. Aziraphale turned to look, but he didn't see anyone there.

"Who..." Aziraphale started but then shook his head. "No, don't..." he stepped back. "Good job, see you later," he muttered and continued stepping back out of the bookstore. He opened the door, stepped onto the bookstore steps, and saw in front of him the black Bentley. Leaning on the black car was Crowley, who was looking straight at Aziraphale, arms crossed. Sunglasses covered the demon's eyes, and his expression was serious. Aziraphale was close to losing consciousness. His legs felt like they were giving way, and he leaned against the bookstore door. His heart was pounding harder than ever, and the burning sensation in his chest was almost unbearable. It felt like his brain was shutting down block by block, and his only escape was to shut his eyes again.

"Are you secretly visiting Earth again?" Crowley asked in a low voice devoid of any emotion. Again? Aziraphale swallowed, feeling exposed in front of Crowley. He dared not open his eyes, not to face Crowley's condemning gaze. The angel focused on breathing again. If he kept his eyes closed and focused only on breathing, would the outside world cease to exist?

"Come on, let's go inside," Crowley's voice suddenly sounded right next to Aziraphale, and he felt the demon grip his elbow. Aziraphale flinched, straightened up, and opened his eyes. Crowley didn't look towards him but leaned to open the door next to the angel and pushed him inside the bookstore. Muriel made a small startled sound upon noticing the duo at the door.

"Muriel," Crowley said in a tense tone, and before he could continue further, Muriel nodded and hurried out of the bookstore. Every limb of Aziraphale felt like it was made of wood. He couldn't imagine moving, and his head was buzzing. The demon still held onto the angel's elbow, guiding him deeper into the bookstore and onto a sofa. Crowley himself sat in an armchair, crossed his arms, and casually rested one leg over the other. Aziraphale glanced at him; sunglasses covered his eyes, and his expression remained serious. Aziraphale quickly averted his gaze and shut his eyes again. It was silent for a long time. Aziraphale felt himself calming down again. He opened his eyes and looked towards the demon. Crowley stared back at him through his glasses. The sun shone through the bookstore window at an angle that allowed Aziraphale to see the demon's yellow eyes. It was impossible to say how much time passed. They just silently stared at each other. Aziraphale wished more than anything that Crowley would say something, but he knew it wouldn't happen. This time, Aziraphale had to make the first move. The staring continued for a while longer. Then Aziraphale opened his mouth. However, he couldn't say anything. Crowley's expression flickered, and he raised his eyebrows slightly. Aziraphale swallowed, looked deep into the demon's eyes, and asked softly and uncertainly:

"Is there a version where we could be together and still save the world?"

Crowley blinked and looked past Aziraphale out of the window for a moment. The demon sighed, and with the exhalation, all stiffness and tension disappeared as he sank into the soft armchair.

"Perhaps..." he replied, his voice not louder than a whisper.

***

And yes, "Is there a version..." is shamelessly stolen from Staged and I regret nothing.

[screadingchallenge]

Behind the Keyboard Volume 37

Behind the Keyboard is a series of interviews with different Schitt’s Creek fanfic authors. The series will last as long as there is interest (from authors) and capacity (from me). If you are an author from the Schitt’s Creek fandom who would like to participate, send a DM to this account.  

Each author was given ten questions. The first five questions are the same for every author, the last five will vary.

If you'd like to do an interview, let me know!

Let’s meet our next author:

@demora00 / Demora00

How many fics have you written?

I have 16 published fics. A few for SC aren’t published anywhere and many more for other fandoms have died with ancient websites or disappeared the way physical notebooks have a way of during various moves.

When did you publish your first fic on AO3?

January 7th, 2022

Describe your writing process from “Oh, I have an idea” to pushing publish on AO3. 

First thing, if it’s a line, or a quote, or a picture, I’ll open my prompt folder and just stick it in there to marinate and come back to when I know how to use it. 

A few times, I’ve been lucky enough to go “oh wait” and open a brand new doc right away and just start writing. Sometimes I’ll take voice notes or send voice memos to friends if I’m driving and tag them #carthoughts for quick reference. 

I rarely write in order. Most of the time, I'll start a scene, get stuck but know how I want another to go, so I'll swap. More often than not there's some frankensteining. I'll moan and whine about it to @doug-judys-blog or Trickiwoo about it throughout. I know it's finished when I've edited it so much I hate it. Finally one or both of them will beta. @doug-judys-blog is the best cheerleader I could have dreamed of. They always know how to get me out of a "no words just vibes" spiral.

Tell me about your most recent fic? What do you love about it? Is there anything you think you could have done better?

The last fic I wrote that wasn’t a drabble was about selective mutism. [Some things I still can't tel you] It’s a physical manifestation of anxiety that isn’t often spoken about except as a trauma response and I feel like I managed to capture all the other little things that come along with it in a very tangible way.  I love that Patrick, who is still a person used to struggling in private with so many things, can trust David and show vulnerability without it being a stress point for their relationship. There's something really soft about that kind of trust that ultimately very romantic to me.

What advice would you give to someone who’s thinking about publishing their fic for the first time?

Do it. Get a beta. Get a cheerleader. (One can do both!) Hell, ask that compatible weirdo you kinda sorta vibe with in that fandom space to be a sounding board. Our fandom is so welcoming and talented, there's always someone willing to help.

In your mind, what’s the most important element of good writing?

I need writing to make me feel things otherwise what’s the point? I don't mean 'tear out my heart' intensity every time, but if the writing doesn't evoke something for me, I'll be hard pressed to keep reading. 

Tell me about a story that you wish you could write but that you’re not quite ready to tackle.

The last night Ted and Alexis have together and the aftermath of that. Really deep dive into Alexis' feels and sit with it for a while. It's somehow more tragic because we as the audience know that they are incompatible, but the love they have is real. But sometimes love isn't enough, and it's a real sign of growth for both of them, if a tragic way of doing it. 

Weirdest thing you’ve googled as research for a story?

Cowboy and rodeo terms. I don’t know that that’s weird in and of itself, but the reasons for the research were unorthodox.

Outlines - yes or no?

Yes, if not in a classic way. I usually do just point forms and terrible broken sentences, vibes, placeholders with attached comments and that works just fine. Sometimes whole conversations that need to happen but I don’t know quite where to put yet.

Tell me about your current WIP if you have one.

I have a few I’m working on and flip between as my attention span wanes, but I’m most involved in my first long fic. I don't want to give too much away, but it's a cerebral sci-fi mystery with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind vibes. I started working on it a few weeks ago and it's taken over. It's completely different than anything I've done so I'm quite nervous about it, but I've been reassured it could be as amazing as I see it in my head. I’ve already written myself into and out of a corner, so you could say it’s going well lol.

[sc-intothedarknightofthesoul]

An illustration I drew for my newest chapter of Into the Dark Night of the Soul, where Kasta is injured and, out of intense anxiety, reveals to their travel buddies that they're...yeah.

You can read Chapter 4 here, where this picture is also included (more illustrations coming soon):

A bit of rambling, but I'll admit right now that part of the chapter was a really hard part to write for me, as I'm scared that I've done a sloppy job with how I handled the topic and I wanna put it out there that it is and never was my intent to hurt anybody, but I'm also under the understanding that good intentions can't easily lift hurts.

But to spoil a little bit of Kasta's story, I wrote them with the intent of them being queer, specifically genderfluid.

They struggle with getting a tight grasp on their gender as it often switches out on them (not literally, obviously), which is very annoying, and is something that I go through in real life that I decided to give to my canon Conduit character, because Kasta is very personal to me as they were my multifandom internet persona before I eventually shaped them into a Soul Calibur OC, as the games are a major part of my life and I love the series for what it is and how it expresses itself without too much care of judgement.

At the same time, Kasta cares about the feelings of others to a damn fault, oftentimes ignoring their own.

How they come to terms with their struggles, relationships, and how they grow as their own person (on top of needing astral fissures to stave off their nightmares and killer headaches, being also cursed by the Evil Seed with moon-shaped horns, being a highly sensitive and empathetic person (and/or being autistic), finding healing through witchcraft, while also keeping on their toes around cultists, witch-hunters, bandits, and other fighters alike in Soul Calibur's set day and age) is left to be seen as the story progresses.