#it's been so long since i made a milestone art..........

[mspaint-flower]

1.5k

[otomiyaa]

nice.png

(literally how I named the image, couldn't think of something else)

Hi guys :') To my followers and tumblr friends, I'm really sorry if my sudden disappearance scared or upset you. It wasn't quite... planned. And today was a busy day and I needed some time to consider what I wanted to do.

Short version of the story:

My tumblr account got terminated for copyright infringement. A certain Mr. Green got me in unlucky trouble (ref 1, 2).

I won't get it back, or try to get it back. It's gone.

Needed a moment to consider 2 options: ask Mia to extend my dramatic farewell letter and stay gone, or make a new blog.

Not planning to post new writing here. I won't be using words like 'never' or 'forever' because I'm a known clown with things like this, but the intention is to no longer post fics. I will finish Tickletober on AO3 and then take a break from writing. So yes, I cancel the swiftscribbles event too, sorry!

When I opened my laptop, I could see my old blog in its final hour lmao (I found out about the loss on my phone). So that's what the snap is from on a fitting grave. It was fun while it lasted!

Long version of the story:

Losing my blog(s): My Tumblr account with main blog + sideblogs got terminated overnight, it was quite the surprise! I've either been reported or tracked by bots. The posts are a bunch of numbered URLs I can't open, but the message is clear: for including anime content, genshin impact or media from other sources (whether it's videos, screenshots, official art, gifs or even fanwork) you technically can get a strike. Upon googling the claimer I quickly found this first, and knew it was a lost cause. Although it feels shitty and unlucky, I am in no place to appeal. It's like when I used to make AMVs in the past, you never knew whether a song or even anime footage was going to give your YT account a copyright strike or even a ban, it was a gamble. I have lost YT accounts before, and now I lost the Tumblr one. With 7+ years of tickle trash content and a bunch of sideblogs. But oh well, moving on!

Starting a new blog: It was a serious consideration whether this was my ultimate chance to do what I've always said I wanted to do eventually - quit my blog. My first thought was to ask Mia to share my explanation and literal goodbye with you guys, and stick to my chaos of a Twitter account to indulge in fandom stuff. But then I thought of how happy Tumblr made me, even without the fic writing, but just.. reblogging things, getting random asks, shouting about life and of course, about tickles. I decided to make a new blog after all, but also decided the following:

The 7K+ milestone swiftscribbles event is cancelled, for which I apologize! The follower milestone, together with the motivation to write the fics, and even the asks with the requests I got, all died with my former blog.

I will see how long I can survive without posting a new fic or drabble. A loose headcanon or two might fly around sometime. And if necessary, a link to a new fic on AO3.

Tickletober? Hell yes I'll finish it, I would cringe in bed for 49 days at least if I would stop. I just won't post the fics here, but on AO3.

Reposting/reblogging my old works? Undecided at the moment but I'm tired and lazy. I don't feel too upset since most of my fics are still on AO3 at least and not completely gone.

Anyways, I'll see what happens and how long I can enjoy this nerfed version of blogging.

Surprisingly I'm not upset about losing my other blog, there were a lot of memories but it was also very cringe. I'm gonna be just as cringe here, but at least I feel cleansed.

For those who choose to follow me again, thank you, but please know that there won't be much original content coming from me, for now!:)

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 23 FINAL | S.R

Previous Chapter

A/N - final chapter! This one skips forward a couple of months.

Chapter Summary - Spencer’s friends join him celebrating a milestone in his sobriety and Luke has a special surprise in store for him to commemorate the occasion.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - rehab, swearing, making out, lots of fluff. WC - 3k

Chapter 23 - Long Promised Road

Crescent Oak Rehabilitation Facility was more or less exactly what Spencer imagined a rehab centre to be like. It was almost eerily calming, his first few weeks here he’d almost been on edge by just how serene it was. 

There was always some kind of soft music playing from speakers he often couldn’t even see. Meditation was highly encouraged, as were walks in the zen garden. Patients were required to wear all white linens and white canvas shoes. The only good thing was that he was here voluntarily, so if he wanted to leave he could. And a few times he almost did. 

At first Spencer couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck he’d done. He felt more as though he’d joined a cult than checked into a rehab facility. For at least a week, maybe longer he considered leaving every single day. But he just kept telling himself, give it one more day, it will get better. Just one more day.

Around the middle of his second week Spencer found he woke up one day and didn’t hate it here. He didn’t begrudge getting in his white linens, he hummed along to the soft music playing through mysterious speakers and he actively joined in a meditation session. And ever since then he’d felt oddly at peace at Crescent Oaks. 

He met with a therapist once a day, one on one, no group sessions thank god. He ate his three meals, he showered every day without fuss. He partook in arts and crafts, read in the library and went on nature walks. And not only did he tolerate it, he actually liked it. 

Thankfully he’d gotten over the hardest part of his recovery in comas and catatonic states. He still had the occasional withdrawal and of course there were still days when he wanted to use. But they were few and far between these days. 

He’d initially checked himself in for three months - he wanted to reach his six month milestone before he even considered going it alone. After those three months he had the option to stay for as long as he thought he needed. It was comforting to know he wouldn’t be on his own. 

His old team visited every chance they could. Crescent Oaks allowed visitors every day between the hours of six pm and nine pm and he had a visitor at least four times a week if not more. Usually it was Garcia when the team were on cases and they would take walks together and chat aimlessly amongst themselves. 

His wounds were slowly starting to heal, both the mental and physical ones. Of course his scars remained and always would but Spencer now looked at them like they were badges of honour, proof he survived the worst life had to throw at him. He was proud to wear them for the world to see. 

Luke continued to see Y/N. He hadn’t told Spencer at first but Spencer could just tell. And once he got over his initial jealousy he had actually been pleased that you had someone like Luke in your life. 

He didn’t let himself ask about you, despite the fact he was always thinking about you. Sometimes Luke would say, “I saw Y/N yesterday,” and Spencer would nod and smile and change the subject. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about you, because he did. But talking about you often left Spencer feeling miserable with how much he missed you and right now he only had the brain capacity to focus on one area of his life. And that had to be his recovery this time. 

He still wore your bracelet. Maybe one day he’d take it off, but for now he found comfort in it. It made him feel connected to you in the way he hoped having his one year sober chip felt for you. It was some kind of reminder that the two of you were still entwined, bound to each other in ways even he didn’t truly understand. 

When Luke had told him a few weeks after he checked into Crescent Oaks that you’d been to visit him while he was catatonic, he’d been at a complete loss for words. He must have disassociated by the point as he had absolutely no recollection of you being there. 

He hated that he couldn’t remember something so important but maybe it had been a blessing in disguise. If he’d been conscious of you being there while he was trapped inside the shell of his body that wouldn’t move to his command, he would have hated Luke for bringing you there. 

But knowing you had been there was comforting in a way, it meant you still cared. Maybe one day he’d get the chance to thank you.

***

Spencer was mildly overwhelmed at all the eyes that were on him, shrinking in on himself a little and wrapping his arms around himself. He’d never liked to be the centre of attention, but there was no getting out of this. He’d asked his therapist if they could just make it a lowkey affair but she simply smiled and shook her head.

“Trust me, Spencer, in the months or years to come, you will be glad you marked this milestone with all your closest friends.” 

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, averting his gaze to the floor as his therapist stood and addressed the room. 

“Thank you all for being here, this is a big day in Spencer’s recovery and having all his friends here means the world to him. Even if it doesn’t seem like it.” Jessica laughed slightly as did the others in the room. All except for Spencer. “He’s told me all about his long struggle with drug abuse and his mental health and I for one am so proud of him for getting here. The first six months are the hardest on the road to recovery and so I am overjoyed to be able to present him with his six month chip.”

Jessica cleared her throat when she finished speaking and Spencer tentatively glanced up at her, still chewing frantically on his lip. She was holding out his new golden chip, motioning for him to stand and join her. He swallowed thickly, pushing himself up to his feet and shuffling over to her.

“Uh, thanks.” His cheeks burned as he took the chip from her hand and rolled it between his fingers.

“Speech!” Luke hollered with a chuckle. 

“Come on kid, we didn’t come all the way out here for nothing.” Rossi goaded him. 

“After all we’ve done for you, it's the least you can do.” Tara teased. 

Spencer finally looked up, glancing at the seven faces in the room. The seven people he loved most in the world who had gone to the ends of the earth to help him on every step of his recovery. These seven people were the reason he was still standing, the reason he was able to stand here today and proclaim that he was six months sober.

“I hate being the centre of attention. And I hate public speaking.” he scuffed the toe of his converse on the worn carpet. “But I guess I do owe you, honestly I don’t think I will ever be able to put into words just how much. Without each of you, I know for a fact I wouldn’t be here, I would most likely be dead. I know I’ve been difficult to be around, I know I’ve given you all a hard time but for some reason you’ve stuck by me and I am so grateful for that, you have no idea. 

I don’t know how exactly I got so lucky as to have you all in my life. And I certainly don’t tell you all enough just how much I love and appreciate you all. To be able to stand here and say I am officially six months sober, I wouldn’t have made it here without each and every one of you. Emily, Luke, the two of you probably got the brunt of my frustrations and anger and I am really very sorry for that. But between the two of you, uh, you…” He got choked up and swallowed, closing his eyes as he finished the sentence. “The two of you saved my life. And I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for that.”

When he opened his eyes his tears overflowed and he noticed several of his old team had also gotten teary eyed. JJ and Garcia were holding hands, both crying as they looked at him. Luke’s eyes were glossy with unshed and Emily turned her head to wipe her eyes. 

“I, uh, I guess that’s it.” Spencer sniffed, running his thumb over the chip’s engraving. “I still don’t know what normal feels like but I, uh, feel decent.” 

The seven of them, plus Jessica, started clapping loudly, cheering and Matt even whistled. Spencer smiled, wiping his eyes with his free hand while his cheeks flushed pink. One by one they came over and hugged him tightly, congratulating him on this huge achievement. 

“What are your plans, Reid?” Matt was the one to ask the million dollar question while they all crowded around him. 

“I think I’m gonna stay here, just a little longer. I don’t think I’d relapse if I left now but I just wanna be sure.” He pocketed the chip but kept his hand wrapped around it. 

“I think that’s both smart and brave of you to admit.” Tara smiled at him.

“We are so, so proud of you Spence.” JJ still had tears in her eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah alright.” He rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle. “Can we turn the attention on someone else now?” 

The seven members of his old team looked between each other, slightly guilty looks on their faces that weren’t lost on Spencer. He frowned, looking between them in turn while he tried to figure out what was going on.

“What’s happening?” He asked no one in particular. “I’ve missed something.”

“I mean now you’ve mentioned turning the attention onto someone else, we do kinda have a surprise visitor for you.” Luke spoke, giving him a sheepish smile. 

But Spencer could tell exactly what he wasn’t saying. His brain was so much clearer these days, it was almost working back at its full capacity and he knew what, or rather who Luke was referring to.

“No.” Spencer shook his head, his stomach coiling into knots and more tears flooded his vision. “No way.”

Penelope smiled brightly, tottering over to the door on her too high heels and slowly gripping the handle. Spencer stared at the closed door, tears rolling silently down his cheeks and he inadvertently held his breath. 

Garcia leisurely opened the door, clearing trying to build the suspense, which admittedly worked. Spencer’s heart hammered rapantly against his chest, causing him to feel a little nauseous. His hands were shaking, he worried his knees might buckle beneath him.

When the door was finally all the way open, you stepped into view, teeth digging heavily into your bottom lip and your hands stuffed deep inside of your pockets. As soon as you locked eyes on him, your own tears overflowed but you found yourself frozen to the spot.

When Luke had told you over coffee one afternoon that Spencer was due to celebrate his six months sober and invited you to come, initially you’d quickly declined and shut the conversation down. You were doing well in the outside world, still living at the halfway house and enjoying your job at the diner. 

You were keeping yourself afloat but the idea of seeing Spencer again was too much for you to even contemplate. Not now. Maybe not ever. You were eleven months sober, you couldn’t risk any bump in that road.

You still weren’t sure, as you stood here now, what changed your mind. Luke hadn’t pressured you to come, he’d never mentioned it again after the first time. But the overwhelming need to see him with your own eyes, to confirm he was in fact alive and ok had driven you to be here today. It had only been yesterday when Luke popped by the diner for dinner that you’d told him you would come. 

And now as you stared at Spencer from the doorway, you knew you’d made the right call. Seeing him looking healthy and happy filled you with pride and the last thing you wanted to do was ruin your sobriety. You wanted to be sober alongside him. 

“Y/N.” He croaked out your name, wobbling a little on his feet. 

“Hi Spence.” Your voice cracked. 

“We’ll give you two a minute.” Emily spoke on behalf of her team and the seven of them, and Jessica, left the room as you took a few steps inside. 

The door was closed behind you as you cautiously approached Spencer. He didn’t move, seemingly frozen to the spot. You noticed the frayed end of your purple and gold bracelet poking out the sleeve of his sweater and it filled you with joy to know he still wore it.

“I, uh, I hope you don’t mind me coming. Luke invited me and at first I didn’t think it would be a good idea but…” you trailed off, sniffing back your tears. “But I really wanted to see you.”

“Are you really here?” Spencer choked. “I’m not imagining things?”

You smiled at him, cautiously stepping closer to him. You were steady in your movements as you reached out and took hold of his hand. You brought his hand to your lips and pressed them against his knuckles softly. The action caused Spencer to whimper slightly, even more tears now falling from his eyes.

“Do you believe me? I’m really here, Spence.” You were still holding his hand and he used it to pull you closer to him. 

Your chests crashed together, and he used his free hand to wrap around your waist, his large hand taking purchase on your lower back while he kept hold of your hand in his other. You looked up at him and he was smiling down on you. You could feel his heart beating against you and you were sure he could feel yours. He bowed his head closer to you, resting your foreheads together. 

“I might need a little more convincing.” His lip tugged into a smirk and before you knew what you were doing, you were crushing your lips together.

Spencer hummed into your mouth, holding you firmly in place while parting your lips with his tongue. The kiss was like nothing the two of you had ever shared before. It was a new beginning, a fresh start. It was hope and it was home all in one. 

It didn’t last particularly long, but the passion between the two of you was clear. When he pulled back he kept his arm around you, but let go of your hand in lieu of cupping your cheek.

“I think…I think I’m bound to you.” You whispered shakily. “I probably have been since the moment we met. I think I meant what I said before about us, at least at the time I did. But I can’t imagine my life without you in it, Spence.” 

“You don’t have to.” He stroked your cheek with his fingertips. “I think we were meant to find each other, Y/N. I think in some kind of fucked up way, the two of us are perfect for each other. On paper, two addicts shouldn’t work together, but I think we can be the exception to that. I don’t believe we will pull each other down, I think we’ll only raise the other up. Our sobriety is so important to both of us, I truly believe we can aid each other through recovery.”

“I think so too.” You nodded. “Spence, I love you.” 

He felt his heart swell to double the size and he held you tighter, almost impossibly closer to him.

“I feel like I’ve loved you my whole life.” He confessed, brushing his lips over yours. 

“I may not have loved you for my whole life, but I know for a fact that I will love you for the rest of my life.” You breathed him in, knowing that you only had a limited amount of time together for now. 

“The minute I get out of here I am taking you to dinner. The most incredible dinner you’ve ever had in your life.” He smiled at you, chuckling lightly.

“I will hold you to that.” You laughed too. 

He kissed you again, somehow more passionate than the last which seemed impossible but yet here you were. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers grazing the hair at the base of his neck. He moaned softly into your mouth at the sensation but tried to keep himself from getting too riled up. There would be plenty of time for that once he left Crescent Oaks. For now he had to keep it PG13.

When the kiss broke he looked you deep in the eyes, right through to your soul. It caused your knees to buckle a little and Spencer smiled, helping you remain upright. His other hand joined his first on your face, cupping it lightly and wiping at your tears with his thumbs. 

“For so long all I’ve seen is darkness,” he whispered, staring deep into your eyes. “But you, angel, you are and always have been my guiding light.”

With that he kissed you once more, all his love and adoration for you communicated without the use of words. You’d gotten used to your life being shrouded in darkness, almost grown accustomed to it in a weird way. 

But Spencer had shined a light on you that was so bright it had banished all of your demons to the shadows. It wasn’t to say they would never rear their ugly heads, but as long as Spencer was by your side fighting them with you, it didn’t seem so daunting anymore. 

“The darkness declares the glory of light.” - T.S Eliot

@tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator @elle-28 @academiareid

[junipers-archive]

Are Saturdays for Spencer sill on going? If it is can I please ask for a Spencer x Ballerina!reader? Where they both are old childhood friends and she was Spencer's first kiss but had moved away due to him going to college and her because of dance and met each other again when the BAU were investigating a case at her dance company and they hate it each other because of a misunderstading and could they have lots of sexual tension and make up in the end. I love your works. Keep up the great job 🥰 and congrats to your new milestone 🥳

Wow, ok I'm going to try to fit this all into one blurb but wonderful idea!! Thank you for sending and thank you for reminding me ab this! ( I'm glad to have reached the milestone with all of you!)

You'd moved away once the both of you had finished college, earning a bachelor's in fine arts you'd been offered a job at a prestige dancing studio up state. Spencer hadn't understood, the plan was to move into together, live in the same apartment as you took on separate jobs. You weren't supposed to lose touch.

You'd been childhood best-friends since as long as you could remember, both having crushes on the other at some point and then again during college. You never acted it on it though, both acknowledging you'd rather be friends than break the bond by becoming more than that.

You regretted it in your time apart, always knowing that guys like Spencer only existed in one in a million.

You'd never expected to see him again, at least not when a serial killer was killing dance students/teachers around your age range. That was the reason he'd visited you, albeit he wasn't as enthusiastic as he was years before.

"Y/n you need to quit your job. Or you need to go into protective custody. You're exactly the type of girl this guy is looking for!" He had stormed into your apartment once again after his team had found another body, this time the woman had the same physical attributes as you.

"I can't just uproot my entire life Spence! I've made a name for myself here, I have respect! I can't get that anywhere else!" You'd been through this conversation a hundred times since he'd been assigned the case.

"Look I'm just looking out for you." He'd towering over you know and despite yourself you were this close to leaning into his touch as you look up at his big brown eyes. "You are-were- you were my bestfriend not too long ago."

You frown at that, you are his best-friend, no amount apart would ever change that. "I look out for myself Spence, I'm a woman living alone, you don't think I take precautions?"

"Of course I do, but that only makes you a bigger target. This guy- he's dangerous! You could get hurt- or worst you could-"

"Why do you even care?" It hurt him that you had to ask but he knew you had the right to, the last conversation you'd had before you left for the job had ended in a screaming match. Only for you to end up in the same city as him, yet never once had he tried to contact you.

"I just-" might as well come out in say it, he'd waited his entire life to confess maybe you'd stop being so stubborn if he did.

"I was in love with you before you left. I still love you. Y/n you were my entire life! We'd spent every waking moment with each other, and then you got accepted to the same school as me! God knows I would've gone anywhere you went. I just, I fell in love with you and then you told me you were leaving. You broke my heart."

You were speechless, utterly and stupidly speechless at a time you shouldn't have been. Which gave him the oppurtunity to continue.

"That's why I care. Y/n I still love you, after all these years you are what matters most to me. And this unsub he's not one we've seen before. He's meticulous and god knows what he could do to you if-"

Although words don't come over you, actions do, you pull him in by his tie pressing you lips softly against his and he relaxes into your touch.

When you pull back you find your voice, "You couldn't have said that a few years ago?! Jesus, I was in love with you too idiot!"

He chuckles at your choice of insult, "No one ever calls me an idiot."

Your roll your eyes playfully shoving him slightly, "Yea well you deserve it. But I guess, I could take a leave of absence, but only for a little while! Just until you catch this guy."

He pulls you into him by the waist band of your jeans loops, tugging you until you're so close to him you can feel all of him,

"You know, you live pretty close to me now, we could always resume where we left off, you could move in, like we always planned."

"Wow, my idiot has brains." You really were the only one to ever call him that.

[shadowtriovibes]

bewitched, bothered, and bewildered

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: E

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, fluff and smut

Summary: "I would like to request Sebastian and MC wanting to have their first time and Seb being the bookworm he is doing some ~research in the restricted section on how to make MC feel good and when she discovers it finds it super sweet ❤"

Tonight he has a very specific quest as he wanders the underground stacks, keeping a mindful eye out for any nosy ghosts as he makes his way toward one of the sections he hasn’t ever had the mind to explore. A small piece of parchment is affixed to the end of the row, and in Scribner’s tight, precise scrawl he sees the words, "Sexually Explicit Materials." Sebastian smirks – precisely what he sought.

Throughout his years at Hogwarts, Sebastian has snuck into the Restricted Section of the library more times than he can recall.

It’s almost too easy to cause a distraction, conceal himself with Disillusionment and slip past Scribner to pick the lock and let himself into Hogwarts’ most valuable collection of rare books, obscure manuscripts, and other magical oddities deemed too advanced (or dangerous) for the average student.

As long as Peeves is otherwise occupied, he usually finds what he’s looking for without incident.

However, it’s been a while since Sebastian has found himself in need of a book from this particular section. Ever since you’d used Isadora’s magic to pull Anne’s curse from her frail body and store it in a goblin-made metal locket, he’d kept his word and avoided practicing any sort of Dark Arts.

He simply doesn’t need to anymore.

(...He still reads about it sometimes. But how else will he know what to avoid?)

Tonight he has a very specific quest as he wanders the underground stacks, keeping a mindful eye out for any nosy ghosts as he makes his way toward one of the sections he hasn’t ever had the mind to explore.

A small piece of parchment is affixed to the end of the row, and in Scribner’s tight, precise scrawl he sees the words, “Sexually Explicit Materials.”

Sebastian smirks – precisely what he sought.

It’s an open secret amongst Hogwarts’ more senior students that somewhere hidden within the Restricted Section was an entire shelf of books all about, well… relations. Witches would whisper to each other about how they could probably find out everything they’d ever wanted to know about the mysterious opposite sex.

The wizards just hoped that could find some illustrations.

At least a few times per year, some ambitious students would attempt to get a teacher’s permission to access such books, but most failed. Sebastian, not willing to risk being turned down, figured it would be better to ask forgiveness if he was caught “borrowing” a few books rather than seek someone like Sharp’s permission.

He peered closely at the spines as he crept down the length of the aisle.

Smethwyk’s Guide to Marital Relations… Magickal Self-Knowledge… Sexual Behaviour in the Contemporary Wizard… Bewitching the Fairer Sexe…

That last one piques his interest.

He slides it off the shelf and gingerly opens the front cover, hoping that the book won’t start to sensually moan (or worse) and alert the librarian of his presence. Mercifully it remains silent, so he eagerly starts to flip through its pages.

Oh, there are illustrations and then some. The magical kind that move, at that.

Sebastian knows that if anyone were to catch him right now, he’d be terminally embarrassed. But he’s determined to read this book from cover to cover – not merely out of curiosity, but because he has a purpose now.

Since the two of you had decided to make the leap from friends to something more, you’ve already shared so many lovely milestones. To Sebastian, they were all meaningful: the first time you’d kissed, the first time you’d felt each other through your clothes, the first time you’d both had to spring apart and catch your breaths because things had gotten very intense very quickly. (That last memory is one of his favorites to relive.)

But earlier that week, you’d sprung on him that you were ready.

“Ready?” he’d asked dumbly.

“Ready,” you breathed, kissing down his jaw to his neck while you squirmed impatiently in his lap. “For you, for more.”

“You want more?” Sebastian sighed contently, tipping his head back so you can suck one of those claiming bruises you love to put on him. “We have all night, love, and I’m certainly in no rush.”

“I mean for sex,” you blurted out.

“Y-you said you’re ready for…?” he stammered. “W-well, I mean–”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” you mumbled, immediately backing off. “You must think me truly wicked for even suggesting it.”

In fact, Sebastian wasn’t thinking much of anything at that moment. But he forced himself to focus and reassure you that he wasn’t upset with you at all.

He’s quite interested, it’s just… he feels hopelessly ignorant.

He knows you lived in the Muggle world until you were fifteen, and that there’s no such compunction about talking about sexual relations at that age within non-magic spaces. Witches and wizards remain staunchly conservative on the matter, however, and generally the topic of “marital intimacy” is firmly taboo in public at Hogwarts.

Students are undoubtedly curious, but many will remain pretty naive until they leave school.

You, however, are not ignorant. He’s fairly confident you’ve never indulged in that sort of behavior with anyone else, but your knowledge of what witches and wizards do together, what the two of you might do together is assuredly more robust than his own.

He simply can’t have that.

Sebastian slips Bewitching the Fairer Sexe into his school bag and sneaks back out of the library. He doesn’t crack it open again until he’s back in the dormitory with the curtains pulled tightly around his bed.

At first he doesn’t bother casting Silencio, because that’s not what this is about. He’s stubbornly focused on learning from this text, not on becoming distracted by all the enchanted illustrations of the erogenous zones of a witch’s body, or where exactly one should touch between her thighs to bring her to her climax, or even how a wizard can use his mouth to pleasure her…

Merlin, who is he kidding? Better do a Silencio just in case.

—

Sebastian clings to that book for nearly a full week before he’s caught.

By you, no less, which is horrifically embarrassing.

He’d even kept it hidden from his dormmates with the exception of Ominis, who can always tell when he’s got a secret. He just assures Sebastian that he couldn’t care less about a smutty book as long as it doesn’t involve any phonic components.

But he’d left it underneath his pillow with a single corner sticking out, and that’s all it took for you to find it when you let yourself into the seventh-year wizards’ room to borrow one of your love’s scarves for your afternoon walk down to Hogsmeade.

When you don’t return quickly, Sebastian goes upstairs to track you down.

He’s horrified to discover you sitting cross-legged on his bed, lazily flipping through the book.

“That’s not mine,” he blurts out in a panic.

“It was on your bed,” you counter, barely looking up from its pages. “Under your pillow, even.”

“You’re snooping through my things?” he demands as he feels himself flush red.

“Obviously,” you scoff. “Like you wouldn’t do the same if you could get into my room.”

“That’s not the point,” he insists. “I – will you quit looking at that?!”

“Why?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “It’s really quite informative, this book of yours. Not a bad resource.”

He anxiously runs a hand through his hair and mutters, “Merlin’s beard.”

“You know what might have been easier, though?” you say, finally closing the book and leaning over to drop it on Sebastian’s side table.

When he doesn’t answer, you get up from the bed and cross the room to him before taking his hands and placing them firmly on your waist.

“You could have just asked me,” you say softly.

He immediately makes a face.

“What?” you protest.

“I just… I wanted to figure out what I’m doing before coming to you,” he admits. “Felt like I was supposed to.”

“Why’s that?” you ask softly, winding your arms around his shoulders.

“I’m a wizard,” Sebastian says as if it’s supposed to be obvious. “I’m not supposed to be so clueless.”

You gently remind him, “But you’ve never had a girlfriend.”

“You’ve never had a boyfriend,” he retorts.

“Sure, but I had Muggle friends,” you explain. “They talk about sex, they’re not as repressed as you wizards.”

“If you think I’m repressed, may I introduce you to Ominis?” Sebastian jokes, and you roll your eyes fondly.

“All I’m saying is, I may know a thing or two,” you murmur as you raise up onto your tiptoes to kiss him. “And we can always talk about what we want.”

As you kiss him, Sebastian stubbornly thinks, I know a thing or two as well now.

His hands drift from your waist down to your hips as he pulls you closer, earning a soft sigh from you that makes him smile against your lips.

“Tell me what you want then,” he asks as his hands continue sliding down to your ass.

“Right now?” you ask softly. “Here?”

“If you want,” he offers. “Everyone else is out for the day, we have all afternoon.”

“Yes,” you gasp, and Sebastian isn’t sure if you’re agreeing with him or reacting to him slipping his hands underneath your skirt to feel your bare skin.

He steals a few more increasingly urgent kisses before breaking away from you to put a quick locking spell on the door.

You return to Sebastian’s bed while he shrugs off his jacket, promptly abandoning it on the floor. His vest and shirt follow while you watch with an expectant look.

Before reaching for his belt, he skeptically looks you up and down. “Why aren’t you taking your clothes off?”

“I was hoping you would do it for me,” you say softly.

Merlin, you are absolutely going to be the death of him one of these days.

Thoughts of his belt abandoned, Sebastian joins you on the bed and cups your face in his hands so he can thoroughly kiss you before getting to work taking off your uniform. By now you’ve both seen a fair bit more of each other than you have of anyone else, but never like this – never fully bare.

Your vest and tie are simple enough as they’re just like his own, but once he starts unbuttoning your shirt, he reveals a whole new layer: a thin chemise that sits just below your shoulders tucked inside a simple white corset that cinches your waist. Its seams drew clear attention to your breasts, and Sebastian wishes he could simply charm the damn thing right off you.

However, he remembers from his reading that you might enjoy being rid of it by his hands instead, slowly building the sort of anticipation that his book had claimed witches crave in the bedroom.

He feels vindicated each time your breath hitches when he slips open another one of the corset’s delicate hooks. Once the garment goes slack and falls open to your sides, he enthusiastically slides his hands beneath your chemise and cups your breasts in his hands.

“Touch me,” you groan, arching your back.

“I am touching you,” he teases.

You whine frustratedly and place your hands over his through your shirt, encouraging him to properly take hold of you.

That won’t do, Sebastian thinks. He wants to reassure you that he is not naive to your pleasure, that he knows exactly where he needs to touch you to drive you mad.

He’s read that you’re sensitive here, especially when you’re wanting for touch. He drags his thumbs over your nipples, both at the same time, and you sigh his name.

If he hasn’t already been growing hard in his trousers, that certainly would have done it.

“Touch you here is what you meant, hmm?” he murmurs as he rubs slow circles over your tender peaks. “Let’s try to be more specific next time, love.”

You don’t even bother telling him to bugger off, which lets him know he’s gotten you worked up already.

You pout endearingly when Sebastian removes his hands from your chest. He assuages you with a quick kiss before coaxing you into arching your back for him again so he can toss the corset to the floor. Then he pulls your chemise up over your head and quickly chucks it away as well. Now he can actually see your chest, already flushed pink from just his hands.

You cry out when he licks one of your stiff nipples and takes it into his mouth. He moans into your skin and sucks at you, remembering having read to be gentle with you here. You reward his efforts by twisting your fingers into his curls to hold him against your breast and stroking your thumb along his hollowed cheek.

Amused, he recalls being a younger student and hearing some of the seventh-year insisting that witches tasted like a wide range of things. Often they insisted the taste was either floral or sweet like sugar candies, but one of them had even claimed he’d pressed his lips to his girlfriend’s chest and tasted elderflower wine.

You don’t taste like any of those things. On his tongue Sebastian notices only the clean taste of warm skin, like when he kisses your neck, and maybe a lingering note of the rosewater perfume you sometimes wear. It’s heady and human and maddeningly perfect.

“Just like that, Seb,” you whine.

Beneath him, your legs fall open wider and your skirt is rucked up to the middle of your thighs. Sebastian thinks it’s a crying shame you’re even still wearing the silly thing, so he pulls away from you with a filthy wet sound and reaches for the clasp at the side of your skirt.

“Lift up,” he murmurs and you tilt your hips so he can tug your skirt down. He easily hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your undergarments as well so that he can get you naked all at once.

You’re a sight straight from one of his daydreams like this – nude and flushed all over with your legs spread in his bed.

He grips his cock through his trousers to give himself some much-needed relief while you observe with a covetous stare.

“I want to see you,” you tell him. “And don’t you dare say ‘you can already see me’ or some nonsense, I want to see your cock.”

“As you wish, love,” he says cheekily.

After undoing his trousers, Sebastian shoves them and his own undergarments down to the middle of his thighs. He can’t resist the urge to stroke himself a few times before letting you take a look.

As far as “wand lengths” go, he never much worried about comparing himself to others; he thought he could safely say that he was at least average. Now though, the seconds feel like minutes underneath your gaze. You’re quite red in the face and your eyes are wider than usual, and he suddenly realizes that it’s the first time anyone else has ever looked at him like this.

He didn’t think it would feel that significant, but it does.

“Well?” Sebastian asks teasingly, desperate for you to say something.

Finally, you stutter, “W-well, you’re definitely bigger than my fingers.”

“Your fingers?” he says. “You mean when you…?”

“Yes,” you squeak. “And now I’m nervous it’s going to hurt.”

He frowns. “Oh.”

“B-but I want to!” you quickly insist. “I just think, um. Maybe we can start with something else?”

“Love,” Sebastian murmurs fondly, leaning down to kiss your jaw. “Of course we’re going to work our way there, I wasn’t ever going to just put it in right away.”

“No?” you sigh distractedly.

“Aren’t you witches supposed to love foreplay?” he teases. “I read all about it in my book.”

“What’s that?” you ask him.

He raises an eyebrow and you continue to stare at him expectantly.

“I thought you were supposed to ‘know a thing or two,’” he says. “Foreplay is everything we do before the actual, er. Penetrative part. Surely you weren’t expecting to just…?”

Everything Sebastian had read had told him that under no circumstances should he press inside you without ensuring you were prepared. He’d poured over the illustrations that instructed him how to use his fingers to stimulate you, how to help acclimate you to feeling full before he filled you with his cock. (He learned he could even use his tongue to do the job, which sounds bloody brilliant.)

“I – I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean, I know you’re going to go inside. And I know how I use my fingers on myself sometimes, but I just…”

You trail off sheepishly. “Maybe I didn’t know as much as I thought.”

Sebastian is quite pleased by this turn of events. “Bet you’re glad I found that book then, aren’t you?”

You scoff and spread your legs a little bit wider. “Let’s see it then, you know-it-all. Show me this ‘foreplay’ of yours.”

He quickly shoves his pants the rest of the way off and kneels between your legs, one hand gently resting on the lowest part of your stomach. He thinks you’re even lovelier between your thighs than the illustrations, with your taut, delicate skin flushed pink and glistening wet at your entrance.

“Just one to start,” he mumbles to himself, pressing the tip of his middle finger against your slit with his palm up just as he’d learned.

Your body opens up for Sebastian so beautifully that if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that this must surely be some kind of ancient magic in itself – perhaps a primordial form as old as wizardkind.

His mouth on you earlier has gotten you plenty wet, and inside you’re soft as silk and feverishly warm. He curses under his breath at the realization that soon enough, he’ll feel this on his cock. (He has no idea how he’ll ever be able to go back to his own hand and some salve after this.)

“Good?” he asks you distractedly.

“Yes,” you sigh.

He glances up to check your expression and finds that your eyes have slipped shut, and there’s a blissful smile on your lips.

Determined to keep you focused, Sebastian murmurs, “Tell me how you use your fingers on yourself.”

“I – I usually use two, maybe three,” you admit shyly. “But my hands are smaller than yours.”

“Do you like to think about anything while you touch yourself?” he asks in a low voice.

You whine like you’re overwhelmed, but your hips cant toward his hand and he can tell what you’re asking for. He pulls out until just the tip of his finger is inside you, and then he presses back in with his index finger tucked alongside it.

“Yes, Seb,” you whimper.

“Go on then, tell me what you think about,” he croons. “I’ll tell you what I think about if you do.”

He starts to fuck his hand into you like that, burying two long fingers in you all the way to the knuckle. Watching you take him inside you like this is a thousand times more captivating than any illustration in any smutty book that’s ever been published, he’s sure of it.

“I can’t,” you protest. “We aren’t supposed to — that’s dirty, talking about that.”

“Dirtier than this?” he asks wryly. “Love, you can tell me anything.”

You stay stubbornly silent until Sebastian presses his thumb to that swollen nub that peeks out just above your entrance, the one that looks like it’s aching to be touched. Just the lightest touch elicits a broken moan out of you.

“Tell me what you think about and I’ll give you a third finger,” he bargains.

“P-please,” you beg. “I just – I just think about you, you on top of me, what your body looks like, it’s always just you.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he taunts as he makes good on his word and starts to press his ring finger in alongside the other two.

This time there’s noticeably more resistance. You were right, you do have smaller hands than him and his three longer, masculine fingers are more of a stretch than you typically give yourself. Sebastian laves more attention onto your clit, pressing his thumb against you a bit harder to distract you. You’re still plenty wet, and he assumes that’s a promising sign.

Your brow is furrowed in concentration as you try to relax for his fingers, but you nevertheless remember to demand that he tell you his fantasies.

“You want to know what I think about?” he asks casually. “It’s been the same thing for a while, really.”

“W-what is it?” you ask, stuttering a little when he succeeds in pressing all three fingers deep inside you.

“It’s you, in my bed, moaning my name, begging for me to fuck you,” he tells you. “Every time I stroke myself off, that’s all I need.”

He punctuates each detail with a thrust of his hand. You’re slick all over by now, and Sebastian has to imagine that a lesser wizard would give up at this point and eagerly replace his fingers with his cock.

But he’s not done with you yet. He’d been quite surprised to learn from that wonderful book that many witches can reach multiple climaxes in a row, provided they’re being seen to by a courteous wizard. He wants to give you your first right now, before he becomes distracted by chasing his own.

“Are you going to come, love?” Sebastian asks. “Just from my fingers?”

“N-no, I want to wait until you’re inside me,” you protest weakly, but your hips are rocking up to meet him with every thrust of his hand.

“Let me make you come like this,” he bargains. “I’m not going to stop at one, darling, I’ll make sure you’re completely satisfied.”

Your thighs are properly trembling now – Merlin, you must be right on the edge. That’s when Sebastian gets the idea of leaning down and replacing his thumb on your clit with his tongue.

Immediately his world goes dark as you clamp your thighs around his head and wail.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you chant as he seals his lips against your skin. “Seb, please!”

He feels you get even tighter around his fingers when you come. He can barely even move them for several long seconds, so he focuses instead on drawing out your pleasure with his mouth. You hold him there with your legs until you can’t take the stimulation anymore, and when he pulls out of you and sits back on his heels, he imagines he must look mad.

Hair mussed, pupils blown, lips wet… you’ve made an utter fiend out of him.

“Suppose I did alright, then,” he observes with a smirk.

“Sebastian,” you sigh weakly. “Come kiss me.”

He bends down so you can wordlessly express your thanks with a lewd kiss – one that tastes like your own body’s release. It’s erotic, and wanton, and it reminds Sebastian of his aching, ignored cock that’s assuredly leaking all over his sheets by now.

“You must be in a dire state by now,” you observe, lips brushing against his.

“That’s an understatement,” he jokes. “I think I might faint if I wait any longer.”

“Then don’t wait,” you coo. “Go on, Seb, you can.”

He clenches his jaw hard when he sits back to guide his cock against your entrance. There’s no way he’s going to last long in this state, not with you spread open and waiting for him like this. Squeezing his hand around the base of his cock helps a bit while he sinks inside you, but he still feels overpowered by the immensity of the feeling of filling you up.

“Merlin, you’re big,” you hiss. “B-but it’s okay, I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?” he manages to ask.

You press your hands to his bare chest and he understands that it’s a wordless plea for him to pause, just for a moment. It’s pure torture, but he remains still inside you while you adjust.

“Merlin,” you whisper. “You’re really… we’re really…”

“I’m begging you, don’t say another word,” Sebastian grits out. “Or this will be over right now.”

You giggle, flattered by his admission, and even the motion of your body laughing threatens to put him over the edge.

“You know I don’t care about that,” you tell him softly. “Forget about your pride. I just want you to feel as good as you made me feel.”

Now Sebastian is the one at a loss for words, merely moaning as you drag your hands down his chest to his hips and encourage him to move.

Once he starts, he can’t stop. He tries to remember everything he’d read in that damn book: maintain a steady rhythm, don’t pull out all the way, keep pleasuring her with your hands…

Most of it he quickly disregards. He thinks to himself, how could he be doing this wrong? This feeling, fucking you, it feels like an instinct he never knew he had. He has to fill you over and over with his cock, he simply must.

And judging by the way you’re arching your back and crying out his name while he slams into you, he’s not leaving you unsatisfied.

In fact, he nearly sees stars when you slip a hand between your bodies and hurriedly rub at your clit until you’re coming again in what has to be some sort of record time. Only this time, when you reach your peak and your walls tighten around his cock, there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from falling right over the edge with you.

Sebastian feels properly spent by the time you both come back to your senses. Still buried inside you, he can feel how he’s filled you up with his release. It satisfies something in his feral hindbrain that much prefers spilling inside of you rather than his own hand.

He sees it start to leak out of you when he pulls out, and he recalls reading that a good wizard should offer his witch a rag to clean up after such a marvelous ending. He attempts to climb off the bed to track one down but you hook your leg behind his knee and whine for him to stay.

“I just want to get you–”

“No, I don’t need anything but you,” you insist, reaching for him to tug him down against your body.

Sebastian bests you when it comes to both height and breadth, but you don’t seem to mind his weight pinning you to the mattress. (Though even if you did, there’s hardly room for the two of you to lie beside each other in one of Hogwarts’ infuriatingly small beds.)

You’re both quiet for a while as you enjoy the simplicity of each other’s company, occasionally sharing a few lazy kisses or a whispered reminder of your love.

Eventually, Sebastian drawls, “I reckon I can return that book now.”

“Hold on,” you counter. “There may be some more tricks in there that we might want to try next time.”

“You dirty minx,” he laughs. “I suppose I’ve ‘bewitched’ you, have I?”

“Sebastian Sallow, I was bewitched by you quite long ago,” you tell him. “But we’ll have to wait and see whether that dirty book of yours gives you any more brilliant ideas for what to do with me.”

He thinks he quite likes the sound of that.

[crescencestudio]

๋࣭⭑ Devlog #39 | 3.27.24 ๋࣭⭑

Happy March!!

This devlog is going to be a bit shorter, but...... it's for Exciting Reasons that I will share later in the post. heh.....heh.....HEH.....

Let's jump in ^^

This month, writing was mostly dedicated to Etza's route! We have officially entered the Developmental Editing part of Etza's route, which is super exciting!!!

There were parts of Etza's route I wasn't completely satisfied with, so I spent a lot of this month tinkering, adding, fleshing out, editing, etc. for their route. I'm happier with it now compared to where it was when we entered this month, and especially with Wudgey's help, I'm excited for Etza to get the love they deserve!

I had a small, optional goal for myself to start Kuna'a's route, but honestly, I felt like between work with the Enhanced Demo, Etza's edits, and just generally feeling a bit tired after being Super Productive in January and February, I decided to give myself a break. That being said, I'm relatively confident I'll be getting started with Kuna'a's route next month, and I'm excited to dive into their route (and the Fae routes in general, teehee!).

Vui is on the very last of the BGs I need from him..... So I am in mourning.......

Kidding but not kidding. Vui has done an amazing job of putting the backgrounds for Alaris together! They're absolutely stunning, and by the time we get to the next devlog, he will have finished ALL of the BGs for Alaris! It's been about a year and a half in the making, which is kinda crazy to think we have been together for this long (and working on the full game for this long), but it's definitely A Moment.

In celebration of him reaching this milestone, I wanted to highlight some of the BGs he's made for the game! The theme is early morning; some of these BGs are in the demo, and some are in the full game hehe. You'll have to guess the context of the mysterious full game BGs :')

Sneak Peek: BG Showcase, morning strolls around the world of Alaris

I also thought it's been a while since I showcased a CG here. While I don't play on showcasing many of the full game CGs on public devlogs (I do show them on my Patreon!), I wanted to show a little snippet of this specific CG.

Why, you ask? Well, for the OGs, you might remember I showed a sketch of the CG during the Alaris Kickstarter---whenever the hell THAT THING happened.

I finished rendering it now that I got the BG for it, so I wanted to show a peek of that sketch that I showed oh-so-many-years ago.

Sneak Peek: Kayn Full Route CG I want to lick him

Generally for art progress, I've been working on CGs as well as some promotional materials, which I'll be getting to in the next section \o/

Now for the Exciting News!!!!

I have two bits of exciting news. The first is...

Sneak Peek: Selection Screen for Alpha/Beta Access (OUUUUGGGGGHHHHH)

I STARTED CODING KAYN'S ROUTE!!!! The first act is already "done" and ready for beta access. And I'm hoping to finish the other two acts within the next couple of weeks. It is crazy to finally be able to code some of the full game routes. Even if they're not at the "final version" or early access stage, it is Extremely Rewarding to finally experience the scripts I've been writing in the game!!! With the CGs.... Extended Screens..... Just seeing the script with visual assets and not just a Google Doc is SOOOOO FSEIKLFJSEILE

Sneak Peek: Chapter Character Cards (AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

The second piece of Exciting News is that I have a release date for the Enhanced Demo. YEEEEAAAAAA. It's finally happening!!! Please stay tuned over the next couple of days...... An Exciting Announcement is on its way...................................

I didn't do much market research this month. If I'm being honest, I actually struggled a little bit this month with like...... burnout and workaholism guilt. I wanted to take a break after getting the demo ready for public release, but I just couldn't bring myself to fully rest. It felt like there was so much to do (not just with Alaris, but also with real world/work obligations) and all these looming deadlines was starting to get to me.

I'm hoping next month because I'll actually be Releasing the demo (oops, sneak peek of general release date teehee!), I'll be able to feel like I can take a break. But it also sucks a bit that I feel like I have to Earn It. I think with Alaris being a Kickstarter project, I want to get the game in your hands as soon as possible, but of course it's not to anyone's benefit if I burn myself out in the process and end up with either a worser project or taking even longer to finish it.

I did...... start Stardew Valley again since it is the ultimate dissociation/break game for me. So far it's been working! But we'll see how it continues <3

LOOK AT MY FARM!!!

Should I marry Sebastian or Elliot.

Anyways, hope you all have a great rest of your month, and I'll talk to you Very Soon with an Exciting Announcement! <3

[ravenstargames]

✦ Lost in Limbo Devlog #4 | 07.31.23

Ahá! What is this?! Ravenstar Games' fourth devlog?! More likely than you think!

Before we start, we want to apologize once again for the inactivity and thank you for your patience. Our master degree has ended as of today, but September 15th is the day on which we must hand in everything we have done during the year. That means that technically, we still have to work until then—BUT we are back on track with Lost in Limbo and our plans for the game, and we are beyond excited!

Without further ado, let's jump right into it! 💜

So of course our most important milestone has been finishing our first key art! Yaaay! 🎉

We'll use this piece as a header for our socials, as well as an overall banner for steam, itch.io, etc. Raquel did an amazing job as always with this piece, and I had the pleasure to assist her with a few details and post-editing! We are so so happy to finally have this in our hands, it has made us feel like FINALLY we can work on our game again! :')

There's also of course the Barbie artwork, which was in the making for a long, long time. It was a silly little thing we wanted to do since Barbie was announced, and Kayden worked super hard to finish it right on time!

<<The Midnight Tower. It was there before our kind took its first breath, and it will be there after the last one is long gone.>>

Not really a background, but not a CG either—let's say this is a small sneak-peak of the demo! This is one of the first things you'll see while playing, and a core part of LiL's adventure; the Midnight Tower, a mysterious entity that seems to be somehow connected to you.

I'm already working on animating this piece; the inky fragments will float around, the fog will move, and you'll be able to join this little raven on his journey to the top! Special thanks to Kayden who was in charge of this one!

You can also see the tower in our key art, if you haven't noticed. It's great to see how LiL's lore and story is evolving and seeing the light slowly but surely! 💜

This month we are happy to show you the provisional main title screen for Lost in Limbo!! 💜 As per usual, I will animate the stained glass wheel to make it spin (like the logo in our webpage, hehe), and the fog will dance around with some nice particles!

All the screens for the game are done and we are waiting for our UI artist to send the files over so we can start programming and do some screenshots. We would have liked to do this during May, June and July (the months we knew would be packed with school work) but this has not been possible as the files have not been sent over to us yet. We hope we can get them soon enough!

These past months have been a rollercoaster thanks to our master degree, but we can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Things have been mentally draining for us all because we wanted to work on our game, and there was always the fear of people "forgetting" about our project, (or worse, thinking we had suddenly vanished to never come back), but we had to focus on our grades.

When we started two years ago, we knew this would be difficult, but I think none of us expected the hardships to be this way. To avoid writing a wall of text, let's just say that when you create something, you want to protect it; you want people to see it bathed in the sunlight you see it under, and the fear of it being disappointing or not enough is something that has hit us hard recently because of our inability to work on it. BUT THAT'S OVER!

To end this on a happy note, we have to give our endless thanks not only to you all, for still being here ready to welcome us back, but specially to @crescencestudio (and I, Seyl, am incredibly grateful to them) for being one of our biggest supports during the past few months! We have been struggling besties and talking to them has been one of the few things keeping us sane. SO THANK YOU!!! 💜

[deadboyfriendd]

ＨＥＡＤＬＩＮＥＲＳ.

Summary: Eddie Munson was famous. And an asshole. You were also famous. And a Bitch. You had both been reading each other's lives through headlines for the last five years, so then what happens when you both start to miss out on life milestones?

Hurt/Comfort, Exes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers, Angst

Warnings: Lots of reading time- this guy is long. Fem!Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader, mention of Eddie's horrible parents, rehab, alcohol abuse and addiction, brief mention of a car accident, fighting, language, angst, Eddie publicly humiliates reader, hurt/comfort, joking about serial killers. Not proof read. Don't come for me.

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 13.8k

Author's Note: Please read this. I've been working on it for weeks. I also hate it. Thanks.

Your face had hardened since then, your jaw had become angular, lost that beautiful late teenage fluff that pushed your sad, innocent eyes into a perfect almond. Your eyes, that you batted like weapons that won wars against men, carried a type of sadness that only came with age and experience. You were meaner now than you were then. You liked it that way. 

Your face had hardened since then, your jaw had become angular, lost that beautiful late teenage fluff that pushed your sad, innocent eyes into a perfect almond. Your eyes, that you batted like weapons that won wars against men, carried a type of sadness that only came with age and experience. You were meaner now than you were then. You liked it that way. 

The summer of 1988 was the eve of your own disdain. The summer that household names like Tom Zutaut and Elektra Records became bitter when they rolled off of your tongue. Gradually, and all at once. When Eddie, your lifeline for the last five years, had been approached by Tom at their first night playing The Troubadour, and asked to sign on to Elektra Records, you were ecstatic. Tom felt like your hero. You held Eddie, you cried happy tears, you waved him off to shows, and you held down the fort. And then it felt like you only kept waving goodbye. 

The design school was rigorous, but you held on to that piece of yourself like tinder just barely aflame. As the lonely nights grew darker, you blew and tended to it, igniting that part of yourself further. With Eddie on his first full-length tour, you found the late night, drunk phone calls more of a chore than an occasion, and you found yourself leaning further and further back on your art. As Corroded Coffin caught traction, so did your career. Before you knew it, David, your own Zutaut, was pleading for you to work under him, at his office in Carlsbad, for Transworld Skateboarding. 

And so, alone, you packed your apartment and moved halfway across the country. You made your fizzling relationship work from California for a few months, now being closer to the recording studio. But it felt like he couldn’t be located further from you. He took your convenience and availability for granted, skipping date nights and weekend plans for ritzy rockstar parties and opening concerts. And even though your shared apartment was only an hour commute, you now saw him less than you did when you lived back in Indiana. The argument came well past midnight. You came quietly through the front door, already angry that you had attended your press party alone- a commitment that he had also bailed on last-minute. Removing your heels well up the hallways to not disturb him from his drunken slumber, you found him sitting there, slovenly as ever, without a doubt drunk. 

“Where were you?” He asked, accusingly, wiping his nose with his sleeve. 

“I was at the press party that you were supposed to come to.” You said to him, rolling your eyes. You knew your words would pass through his ears like a breeze anyways. 

“We were supposed to go out tonight.” He said, getting angrier with you.

“No, Edward, that was last night.” You explained, back to him as you set your heels back on the rack and pulled up your hair. You were sure he wasn’t going to remember this in the morning, anyways. 

He cringed a little bit, even in this state, he knew you were mad when you used his government name. But tonight instead of resulting in his apologetic nature, he turned defensive. 

“Okay, fine then, what about me?” he asked, crossing his arms. You froze and turned around.

“What do you mean, ‘what about me?’” You asked, face twisting up into a grimace. You were seething now. 

“I mean, you basically begged to spend time with me this weekend, and then blow me off for some stupid work party.” He raised his voice, throwing his hands up in the air- room-temperature foam from the bottle splashing up and back against the wall behind him. 

“Edward-” 

“Edward what? You’ve just been blowing me off for work all of the time now. Y’know what? Fine! Just think all about your little tabloids and forget all about our relationship!” He finally blew, standing up and pacing around. 

You went quiet, voice sharp like a razor. 

“Well, it feels like you already have.” 

+

It didn’t take long for you to find yourself again, since you had been searching for her in Eddie’s absence for almost a year before your relationship ended. You had a commonly expelled name in the design industry, and you had connections. You giggled at the term, frequently. And, even though you found security in yourself, you felt a pang in your stomach every time you saw his name on the cover of some magazine or another. The tabloids sold him out the quickest, new girlfriend here, a Mötley Crüe-level shenanigan there, and their second full-length U.S. tour. 

The summer of 1991, David split from Transworld Skating, pulling you, his prized possession with him. Together, you now served as the creative backing and dream-team for an up-and-coming publication called RayGun. This publication was supposed to be the new competitor for Rolling Stone, it was abstract, it was modern, and it was what the people of the new decade wanted to read. 

You were new to being in the field, not typically having to conduct the interviews for your own spreads, but there was an alarming lack of young-and-hungry journalism interns three weeks before the school year started, and David had asked so nicely. He told you to take it as an opportunity to get out, get a feel for what the audience is like. Consider it a learning opportunity. It was so last-minute, that you didn’t even see who you were supposed to be taking a field trip to go see. 

You dragged your photographer with you, gripping on to his arm. You barely knew his name. He was a newer kid from the university that showed enough potential to be considered for a permanent position. He was nice enough, though, nice didn’t get you anywhere in this industry. He would harden with time, but for now, you gripped his bicep and dragged him past the line and bouncer, flashing your ID at them without a second glance, through the waiting crowd, and back into the green room. 

The second you locked eyes, you froze, followed by the entire rest of the band- containing every original member. You had all known each other in high school- been close friends, actually. You snapped out of it as Gareth attempted to break the tension, clapping you on the back and pulling you into a warm embrace with an ‘Oh my God, you look great!’. While it was kind of refreshing to be cordial to the rest of the band, Eddie sat, staring up at you from the couch and chewing on his thumb nail, skin replacing words that he couldn’t think of. 

“So, you’re still chasing a dream, huh?” Eddie asked you, only half condescending. The other half was genuinely curious about where your life had been for the last three years. Your intern choked, not daring to limit you to that. 

“Dude, she’s my boss.” Eddie shot him a look, and he cowered slightly. 

“He’s right, I’m living it.” you defended, “Creative director of RayGun.” 

You showed him your ID, for good measure.

“Then what are you doing in a greenroom, like an intern?” He spit back, other band members going rigid. 

“Consider it a field trip. Learning my audience.” You spun around, hating that you pulled those words straight out of David’s mouth. You grabbed your intern’s arm, dragging him back out into the crowd to calm down. 

“Who was that?” he asked, leaning down so you could hear him against the roar of an excited crowd. 

The stage lights flicked on, blinding, and the crowd roared- devoted fans back for an entirely exclusive kick-off show. 

“Are you fuckers ready?” Eddie screeched from his microphone, running his fingers down a different guitar, creating the most awful pinch-harmonics that made the crowd go wild. 

“That’s Eddie. Eddie Munson. Lead guitarist for Corroded Coffin.” You explained to him, purposefully attempting to be vague. 

Eddie locked eyes with you from the stage, shit-eating grin stretching across his face. Except, there was nothing but malice behind it. 

“No, I know that” Connor stated, clicking a few pictures in between, “I mean- who is he to you? He obviously had some stuff to say to you.” 

Before you could open your mouth to even half-assedly explain, Eddie pulled the mic back up to his lips. 

“I want to dedicate this show to Corroded Coffin’s number one girl, my bitch ex-girlfriend.” He pointed at you, waving. You could see Gareth go absolutely rigid and people in the crowd started to turn to look at you. Connor at least had it in the right mind to snap a couple of pictures. 

“Without her, I wouldn’t have been able to write all of this awesome music for you guys.” 

Connor put his camera down slowly, looking at you with wide eyes. You wanted to cry, but instead, you allowed yourself to be filled with a steaming rage. You grabbed your intern by the bicep and dragged him out of the show, flipping Eddie and the rest of the now nearly-silent crowd the finger. 

Once you were outside of the venue, you looked at Connor. Your brain went into full overdrive thinking about how the press would probably have this spit out for public speculation by tomorrow and you knew you’d be screwed if you didn’t leave with some sort of publishable material. 

“Connor, I need you to snap some pictures of me. Now.” You told him, leaning back against the brick wall. 

“Wh-why?” He asked, in between the shudder sounds on his camera. 

“We’ve got a fucking story to write.” 

+

You ignored the throbbing behind your eyes that radiated from your sinuses, mostly because you were trying to ignore the fact that you did, in fact, cry last night. Actually, you cried on the shoulder of your poor, gangly photographer in the back of a cab as he gently and uncomfortably patted your shoulder. You would be surprised if he came back to work in the morning, but he actually never left. 

You spent the night in your work studio, Connor bringing back chinese takeout while you finished your spread- which was also set to headline this month’s publication. The media had already been in a frenzy, tabloids left and right mass-rolling your name and your RayGun title as Hollywood’s hottest new rockstar’s Bitch Ex-Girlfriend. 

You hated how well it rolled off the tongue. Why was it that bitch had such a ring to it? Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. You kept repeating, sometimes out loud. It lost its pang every time you repeated it- turning it into a crown that you wore with pride. And you wore that crown high on your head as you sauntered into David’s office that morning, slamming your test-print down on his desk. 

“Publish it.” You told him, and he looked at you like you were crazy. He didn’t question your artistic integrity in the slightest, and you knew that, but he worried that you hadn’t fully thought out the repercussions of your name being out there in that light.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? Is this really what you wanna be known for?” He asked you, eyebrows raised. 

“Listen, David, they’re gonna give me that title whether I like it or not. So the way I see it, we have two options.” You told him, leaning over his desk to pluck one of his cigarettes off of his desk and lighting it right there in his fancy client chairs. 

“Have you even slep- Jesus!” David exclaimed, watching you. You could tell he thought you had reached your breaking point. You had gone full Basquiat, but he knew better than to ask. You disregarded his concern, continuing through the smoke rolling from your nostrils. 

“Listen to me, I can take cover and lay low, wait for all of this media shit to roll over….or…. We can publish this shit, and milk this thing for all it’s worth.” You said to him, taking another long drag off of the cigarette. 

“Sweetheart, this is going to be a lot of bad publicity for you-” He tried to reason. 

“There’s no such thing as bad publicity, David, it’s all just attention. And attention is what we need. Make it a women’s issue. We have that editorial with Bikini Kill coming up next month, I can get in with Bratmobile, and you get in touch with L7’s publicist. That gives us a headliner, some up-and-comings, and something to run with.” You said, and he sighed, knowing he couldn’t argue this with you. 

“Bu-” 

“Publish. It.” 

+ 

And so David gave it the green light. Within days, the August 1991 edition of RayGun magazine was mass-published and released with the cover reading, “Bitch Ex-Girlfriend: An Inside Scoop to Hollywood’s Hottest New Frontman.” 

It was the highest grossing magazine in the company’s history, to date. 

Your name was gaining traction, tabloid after tabloid begging on their knees for any sort of words from you, but you kept your lips sealed tight. All of the information that was worth sharing was out there for the world to see, but only through the eyes of RayGun. You relished in this new found fame- even printing the original pictures and cover large for your studio. 

A little more money came rolling in, and now, you felt untouchable. 

As a punishment- sort of- David sent you back out into the field to talk with some of the bands for the next RiotGrrrl editorial. He said he was making it a women’s problem, like you had said earlier. He expected you to clean up your act a little bit- not become some sort of third-wave feminist icon. 

But you wore the name bitch like a crown, and these girls loved it. 

So much so, that when Kathleen Hanna opened their show that night, she took Eddie’s moment of power from him, and she gifted it back to you. And when she grabbed your hand and pulled you back up onto the little soapbox stage, you could have sworn you were back at The Troubadour. 

But when she screeched,

“That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood,

I’ve got news for you, she is

They say, she’s a bitch, but I know

She is, my best friend” 

It solidified you, etched you into stone. 

You had a new sense of power, now- a new sense of security within yourself. For the second month, you landed yourself on the cover of RayGun- a magazine that you worked for. You stood hand-and-hand with Bikini Kill’s front and your newfound hero, screeching your heart out about your shitty ex boyfriend and taking your goddamned self back. The September 1991 edition read, “Bitch: How RiotGrrrl is Reclaiming the Name.”

You knew no subtlety, but considering how many men didn’t either you didn’t know if you would ever collect enough sense to learn some. 

And even though it was the exact opposite of what you should have been thinking, you hoped to God Eddie saw it. 

+ 

A while later, after you had stabilized and come down from the initial, embossed shock of fame, you saw a magazine article that made you stop completely in your tracks. You had to go into the store to buy it. You never wasted your money on these. You stared at it the whole walk to the office, up the stairs, and even at your desk. Your brain couldn’t even begin to process the words in the article itself- so you called in Connor, shoving it at him and making him read it aloud to you, your head buried in your hands as you groaned loudly. 

“Corroded Coffin’s lead guitarist, Eddie Musnon, was seen earlier this week checking himself into an undisclosed inpatient rehabilitation center in southern California earlier this week. The decision came after a non-fatal head-on collision in Los Angeles earlier this month, in which we know that alcohol was a factor. Other members of the band have chosen not to comment on the band’s, or Munson’s, condition at this time.” Connor read aloud, lowering the magazine from his face to look at you with wide eyes. 

He couldn’t tell what you were feeling, or what you wanted from him. Honestly, you didn’t know, either. 

Most of you would never wish this on anyone, not even him. Part of you just wanted to run back and hug him and tell him that everything was going to be okay- just like you did almost every night for five whole years of your life. Part of you wanted to be soft again, to lace your fingers in between his curls and hold his face to your neck. You wanted to be back in high school, where you could run rampant through the city and wreak havoc with your clean face and pretty eyes and youthful disposition. You were supposed to destroy the world together, hand-in-hand. But instead, it felt like the world just kept kicking you while you were down. What happened to that youthful optimism? You wondered. When did living stop being so fun? 

But there was also a little part of you that screamed in horrible, awful, relinquishing rage. It was so much smaller than the soft part of you, but so, so much louder. It screamed at the top of its lungs that he deserved this for what he did to you, and what he had probably done to other girls, and- oh God, Wayne- you hadn’t thought about him in so long. A part of you loved the fact that you were doing better than him, and a part of you, the part that also hoped to God that he saw your publications, liked to think that he went over the edge thinking about you. It was a terrible awful. You choked that mean part of you down for no one else to see, never ever letting these thoughts come to fruition. 

You sat with your head in your hands for a long time, for most of your work day, actually. Connor was the best intern you had ever had, bringing up your coffee and your lunch delivery and checking on you periodically. You made a mental note to hassle David about giving him a permanent position. You had already put the poor kid through so much. 

After Connor had clocked out for the end of his work day, he stopped by your office again, shutting the large french doors and making sure the interior blinds had stayed drawn in the event that you were mid-meltdown. You were laid dramatically sprawled out on your office couch, cigarette in hand and forearm thrown over your eyes. You were sulking, processing your emotions, you had called it, but Connor understood. 

“I brought you your mail.” He said, like he was walking across a freshly-frozen lake, “Your box was getting a little full.” 

“Read them to me.” You groaned, comfortable in him knowing that you weren’t above this. 

He read off several outreaches from publicists, startup bands, the odd bout of junk mail or magazine subscription offer, before he settled on the final letter. It was hand-written, and he didn’t recognize the name. 

“Hawkins, Indiana.” He said to you, and you sat up, snuffing out your cigarette on the ashtray at the end table. 

“Who the hell is still trying to get a hold of me from there?” You scoffed at him, and he squinted a little bit to read the name on the side. 

“Dustin Henderson.” He said to you, giving you a questioning look. 

“Open it.” You said, and he tore it open. 

“You are cordially invited to celebrate the union of Dustin Henderson and Suzanne Bingham in marriage on the fifth of May, 1992. Ceremony to be held at Miller’s Wedding Venue, reception to follow. Please RSVP by February first, 1992.” He read aloud, and you couldn’t help the warmth that filled your heart, partially because he still thought of you, despite how long it had been, but also because the sweet little boy you remember from Hawkins had grown up and was getting married. 

You didn’t hesitate to RSVP.

+

The months leading up to the wedding had you biting at your nails- which you also desperately needed to get done before you left. You slapped some sense into yourself, finally, knowing it was stupid to worry so much about the current events in Eddie’s life when you were sure he hasn’t given a rat’s ass about you after your nice little public scandal. 

What you had remained senseless about, however, was the absolute terror you felt of going back to Hawkins. You had met up with big-whig producers, rock stars, artists, and the like. You attended yacht parties with large-scale celebrities on the regular- most of them greeting you on a first-name basis every time. You attended high-profile events, you took exotic vacations, and you had a net-worth (though, you didn’t really know how much it was or what it really even met), but, for whatever reason, you so desperately wanted to impress the patrons of your home town. 

You decided to stay for a week to visit with your parents, who were more than thrilled to see you since your personal hiatus of three years. Though, the bags that you dragged through the little airport in Indianapolis said you were coming home to live. You cursed Indiana when you left, and you cursed it now. Even with Indianapolis being the biggest city you had ever seen up until you turned twenty, the airport’s concierge service was lacking. Your heels clicked loudly against the commercial-grade tile- something that you would have been much more impressed by a few years ago. Now, it just drew more attention towards you. Other airport patrons turned their heads to look at the spectacle before them- like they knew you weren’t from around here. 

You hailed yourself a cab, grumbling something about loading your own bags yourself- that you didn’t even receive this kind of treatment in Vegas. 

Before you knew it, you were stepping on that cracked sidewalk panel in front of your parents’ walkway. You could still feel the way the worn grain of the concrete felt against your bare feet as it transitioned to grass. You could still feel the way your sneakers ground against a rock when you leaned up to kiss Eddie goodnight. It was a thought that you quickly shook from your head as your mother- the brightest and bubbliest woman you had ever had the pleasure of knowing- was running down the drive, barefoot herself, and tackling you with the force of a D1 offensive lineman. Your father chuckled, following her from the door. 

+

You skipped the ceremony, in part because you couldn’t decide on a single thing to wear, the other part felt like you had no place there. You hadn’t spoken to Dustin in over a year, you didn’t call or ask or wonder- and for that you felt guilty. You felt like the ceremony should have been for the people that had been there consistently and just… not you. 

Your mom drove you to the reception- held in the outside hydrangea gardens of the historic building. The wedding was beautiful- you knew that much. It was quaint, thought-out, and was simplistic. It felt home-y, and your young mind had strayed so far from home-y that you had forgotten what this kind of warmth felt like. 

Your heels clicked against the flagstone pathing, this time, you didn’t curse it. You welcomed it- it made you feel less alone in the silence of the entrance. You could hear the music and laughter in the large courtyard just beyond the breezeway that cut through the building. You wondered how pathetic you would look walking inside alone. You had only RSVPed for one. You wondered how many of your acquaintances were married by now, or, even worse, had children of their own. You hadn’t had time to date again, and you just now realized that you really had no friends- not that you weren’t well-liked. You could probably count David and Connor, but you couldn’t ever recall a time where you had spoken to either of them outside of work. You were alone. Just you and your clicking heels. Footsteps for one. 

You put your bitch crown on, hardening your face. It was a defense mechanism, now. Look mean so no one asks you any questions. Not about Eddie, not about your brush with fame, and now, not about your lack of human interaction. 

You walked in, being met with a semi-formal seating arrangement, thank God. You kept your purse around you, not bothering to mingle or sit down before you headed to the bar, ordering yourself whatever sauvignon blanc people usually get at weddings. There were tables scattered about, and a plethora of party guests- most you recognized. You shrunk yourself into one of the few high-top tables by the bar, trying not to be seen. By now you had realized that you had overdressed for the occasion, sporting an oversized palazzo pant and a matching blazer, slung over your shoulders. You cursed yourself slightly, forgetting about the down-home attire for weddings. Guests stared as inconspicuously as possible, yet you felt it. You felt like you were being forced down a catwalk at gunpoint. At least you knew you looked good albeit out of place. 

You clicked your rings against your glass, distracting yourself with the noise it made. Your large sunglasses stayed on, so you could people-watch while you settled into the new environment. Immediately, you looked for Dustin, spotting him almost immediately. He still looked like Dustin- you couldn’t help but smile at that- but, he had this more grown-up charm to him. He was taller, and filled out more. He lost the baby weight and gained it in muscle. His hair was still a tight, coily mess, but had been wrangled in and tamed with an adult haircut. You still saw fourteen-year-old Dustin in his face when he smiled at you, crows feet wrinkling around his eyes as the corners of his mouth almost touched his ears. He was talking to an older couple, alongside his bride. Suzie was different than you imagined her- maybe even more so now that she was an adult. She was a beautiful girl, with thick, dark hair that flowed down her back and moved as a unit. She had kind, dark eyes. You knew in your heart that she would do well in the industry, but her place was here, with Dustin. He waved, quickly, rushing towards your compound. 

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you could make it.” Dustin said, encasing you in a hug. It felt different, having him be so much larger than you now. 

“I’m so glad I could come.” You replied back, heart overtaken by the boy that had always had your soft spot. 

“Y’know, there’s a spot for you reserved at the Hellfire table.” He said, pressing a firm hand to your back and pulling you towards the exact table you had been avoiding. You couldn’t bear for anyone to ask you about all of your, very public, dirty laundry. 

“Oh my God, Dustin, seriously? That’s too sweet.”

“Yeah, we got all of the original members to show up!” He chanted, and you could feat your brain turning to mush. 

You watched Eddie round the corner, buttoning that god-awful blazer up again. Never in your life would you have ever guessed he would be buying, much less wearing, something so gaudy and expensive. But never in your life would you have guessed any event in the last five years would have happened. 

But Dustin was so excited, and you couldn’t bear to break his heart at his own wedding. You realized then that this was Hawkins, and that no one read tabloids here- except for the off teenage girl or overly-involved mother. You realized that no one here thought much about you and Eddie, and that, even if they had seen it, it was over a year ago. You took a deep breath, repeating this mantra over and over again in your head. 

Dustin walked with you over to the table, where you were promptly greeted by the other members of Corroded Coffin- yes- but also the other, younger boys that were involved in Eddie’s pride-and-joy club in your younger years. Mike and Lucas were both still tall and gangly- though much more bordering the heir of lean instead of scrawny. That boyish scrawniness was replaced with something much, much different. 

There were a few words exchanged, a hesitant you look great, and a few vague how are you’s. Eddie sat two seats to your left. You could feel his eyes scan you from your peripheral. He chewed on the skin of his thumb, quite clearly wanting to say something. It almost felt neurotic, the way he would quickly spit a few words out to contribute, flick his eyes back and forth a few times, and then snap back out of it. You tried to act like he wasn't even there. 

You sat at the table in silence, sunglasses still on like a shield against Eddie’s wandering eyes. You couldn’t let him see this vulnerability from you. You had to seem unbothered. Other than the odd smile or two-word greeting reserved for one of the boys, you were stone cold- only being brought out of your trance when Gareth rested a warm hand firmly on your shoulder, leaning down to quietly whisper,

“May I have this dance?” He asked, you, already starting to pull you up

“Of Course.” You replied, probably a little too quickly. 

Gareth dragged you to the dance floor, where a plethora of couples were dancing to a slow song. He pulled you into the crowd on the opposite side of the dance floor, away from the prying eyes of everyone else. You could feel Eddie’s eyes boring a hole through your back like a laser beam. 

“You looked like you needed rescuing.” He said to you, fastening his hands high on your waist. High enough to still be considered platonic, but still comforting. 

“I was holding my own just fine, Gareth the Great.” You giggled a little at the old nickname, remembering the freckle-faced kid that you had attended school with for all twelve years you were there.

Up close, his face seemed hardened, too. He still had a smattering of freckles across his nose, but they were shrouded by the bags under his eyes that matched yours. You could see the beginnings of crows' feet forming. You took comfort in knowing you weren’t the only one who had lost some of their glow. 

“No. You weren’t.” He said, knowingly. 

“No. I wasn’t.” You agreed. 

You let yourselves fall into a comfortable silence, swaying back and forth. You toyed absent-mindedly at the tuft of hair on the nape of his neck. Gareth had always been a close friend- since elementary school. He was always so nice to you, and it was just as gratifying seeing his claim to fame happen alongside Eddie’s. He was always genuine, and you never, ever wished harm on him, despite being  the one to introduce you and Eddie. No, he didn’t deserve that. In fact, you thought he deserved the world. 

“He was talking about you, earlier.” Gareth said to you, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“Oh really. And what did he say?” You kind of didn’t want to know, yet that part of you that seethed and hoped that he saw your articles absolutely begged to know.

“He was saying he hoped you would show. It kind of crushed him when he didn’t see you at the ceremony.” Gareth replied with a sigh, knowing how out-of-bounds his friend could be. Even now. You scoffed, feeling too many emotions at once.

“I don’t know why. The last time I spoke to him he called me a-”

“A bitch. I know. I was there. And I saw the articles.” Gareth said, looking at you intensely now. You were a bit taken aback. 

“Oh. You read my stuff?” You asked, with wide eyes. You knew people read your articles, hell, you got the reports for how many people were reading RayGun every month. You still didn’t think anyone you knew or anyone worthwhile paid attention to these things.

“Yeah. He does too.” Gareth admitted.

“Oh.” You replied, not knowing what exactly to say next. 

Before the two of you fell back into an awkward silence, Gareth spoke up again, this time, to heed a warning. 

“Just a heads up. He wants to talk to you.” He said to you, and you could feel his grip on your waist tighten, just a bit. 

“Oh good God, what could there possibly be to talk about?” You rolled your eyes, your mixed emotions sorting out into annoyance. 

“He wants to apologize.” Gareth told you, with sad eyes. Probably halfway because he wants to cheer Eddie on, but also in part because he doesn’t want to see you hurt. He was caught in the crossfire between his two friends. 

“There’s nothing left to apologize for.” You said, stark and cold. You meant it. 

“I think he means everything. For the last five years.” Gareth continued to explain to you. 

“I’m a different person than I was then. She’s not even there for him to apologize too.” You finally blurted, pulling every stop out in an attempt to deflect. 

“I think she is. Under all of… this.” He gestured over your body, taking his hands off your back for a second. He pushed your sunglasses off of your eyes and let them rest on the top of your head. He continued, 

“She’s still in there, and she’s still hurt.” He stared into your eyes intensely, in a knowing way. It felt familiar. It was the same way he stared at you when you cried to him about how Eddie would never love you. You were wrong then, and he knew you were wrong now. Yet you were stubborn and persistent. Some things never change. 

“She’s really not, Gareth.” You explained, to him, averting your eyes in discomfort. 

“Then why did you come?” He accused

“To watch Dustin get married.” You said, truthfully. As soon as you had gotten the invitation, you RSVPed. Though, a part of you thought otherwise. 

“You weren’t even at the ceremony. At this point you should have just sent a card.” He scoffed at you, calling you out. 

“My plane was late.” You lied straight through your teeth, still trying to play it cool. He knew it. 

“No it wasn’t. Your mom’s been talking to my mom all month about you coming home. You came for him.” Gareth finally said, piecing it all together. 

You could have argued further. You wanted to argue further, but Jeff came up behind you, pushing through the crowd of other couples dancing much happier dances. He held up his wrist, tapping on where a watch would be and pointing at Gareth, who sighed. 

“Thank you for the dance, we’re going on in a few.” He said to you, pulling apart. 

“You guys are playing?” You asked, not knowing that they were going to be performing tonight. 

“As per Dustin’s request.” He chuckled, knowing very well that Eddie could never have said no to him. 

Within minutes, you had shuffled back to a hidden place in the very back of the outdoor venue. You settled back in, nursing your glass of wine. Your body was leaned casually against the historic column holding up the awning to the breezeway. You didn’t want to watch them play, but you had no choice. Hearing them and being seen was way worse that hearing them and not. 

The amps kicked to life with a buzz, as Gareth sat down and sought you out with his eyes. He raised a drumstick in lieu of a wave, and you slowly wiggled a few fingers at him from the back. It was reminiscent, you had done this a thousand times before at The Hideout just a few miles away. 

“Well, I know I didn’t get to make a speech yet, that’s probably for the better.” Eddie started into the mic, throwing his guitar strap over himself. Tonight, he used the same guitar he used all those years ago. You hadn’t seen him with it since their first night at The Troubadour. 

 “But uh, I’m really glad I got to come back home to see my sweet Dusty-bun get married. Suzie, you’d better take good care of our boy.” A laugh settled over the crowd as he pointed at Suzie, who sat snugly under the arm of Dustin. 

“I don’t want to get too sappy here, but uh, I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. It took me two tries to graduate high school. I was angry at the universe for no reason, hell, I ruined the best relationship I’ve ever had with the love of my goddamned life because I couldn’t pull my head out of my own ass.” He sought you out in the crowd, the same eyes that bore holes through your back a mere twenty minutes ago staring straight through you now. You cursed yourself for leaving your sunglasses off. Dustin and Suzie turned, Dustin’s brows furrowing. All of the rest of the old club, along with a few guests turned to look at you, seeing who he could possibly be talking about. It was such a small mention, but all the most unnecessary. But suddenly, you were back at The Troubadour, except, this time, you didn’t have Connor next to you. You didn’t have a camera, or the malice of Hollywood, or the thrill of the press behind you. Here, you were absolutely vulnerable. You were the girl who snuck out on Tuesday nights to see a shitty local band play. You the girl who stole kisses under bleachers and in the back of vans, on pretty tip toes. You were the girl who giggled and ran down the drive barefoot for one last hug. 

This was worse than being called a bitch. This title, you couldn’t wear as a crown, because you tried so desperately to rid yourself of it. 

“But Dustin, adopting you and the boys was one of the few things I never regretted for a second-” 

You didn’t bother to hear the rest of the speech, or the song that preceded, instead, you grasped on to your composure like a child with a blanket, and walked off. Your heels clicked in a slow tempo, keeping you grounded to the concrete. 

You reached the other side of the building, sitting down on the wrought-iron bench settled in between hydrangea bushes and took a few deep breaths. You heard the last of the song fizzle out a few minutes ago, and hoped that everyone had forgotten you by now. You settled your glasses back down over your eyes, and pulled one of two emergency super-slim cigarettes from your clutch. You exhaled with a billow of smoke, as a voice pulled you from your trance. You knew exactly who it was. 

“Hey.”

“No.” 

You were quick to sharp words this time, not wanting to play the same.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Eddie said to you, inching closer to the beach. He stayed standing. You didn’t look towards him, instead opting to stay staring forward and act like he wasn’t there. 

You continued your well-placed silence, recalling from five years prior when your silent treatment would make him squirm with anticipation. It still did. 

“Will you please just listen to me?” He pleaded, crossing his arms in front of him in defense. 

“I feel like you’re gonna talk anyways.” You said. He swore the smoke that rolled past your lips was frost. 

He paused, thinking of what he could say that wasn’t going to send you over the edge into a screaming rage- though that would have been preferable to the blank expression you carried now. He couldn’t read you. 

“I saw you stopped saying you were from Hawkins.” He spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.You took another long drag off of your cigarette. 

“Nothing good ever came out of this town anyways” You said to him, still staring forward. Smoke billowed from your mouth as you spoke. 

“What about us?” He said, quickly, like the question has been stirring in his brain for a while. 

“We never made it out.” 

“What about California?” He pleaded, at this point still trying to get any sort of interaction out of you. 

“What about it?” You questioned, meanly. 

“I woke up one morning and you were just… gone.”

“You seriously don’t remember?” You raised your voice slightly, finally cracking. 

“I-I was drunk, I don’t really remember the last five years.” He said, taken by surprise at your sudden anger. You scoffed, remembering the night.

“You skipped out on my press party and then told me I was putting my career before you. I couldn’t fuckign stand it, being canceled on time after time even when you were home and then being the antichrist the second my career starts taking off. I wasn’t going to make you choose, you didn’t deserve to choose. So I picked me.” You let yourself ramble for a second, standing up and pacing back and forth from the bench. You stopped your eyes from glossing over with the tears you wouldn’t spare yourself. 

“What happened to our dreams? Us against the world? What happened to the promise you made me?” He asked. It was soft… hurt. You didn’t let yourself dwell on it. 

“The promise I made Eddie.” You corrected him, leaning back hard and folding your arms, cigarette still smoldering between your fingers. 

“I am Eddie?” He asked, confusedly. 

“You’re not him. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” The malice rolled off of your tongue like venom. You wore angry well now. You wore bitch well now. 

“You don’t know who I am? You saunter in here with all of this shit on and act like you don’t know anyone and act like you don’t know me. You don’t even know who you are. That shit hurts.” He snapped, finally getting angry. He waved his arms around, gesturing to you and your outfit. It was never something you would have considered wearing five years ago, but now it was an armor. 

“You know what really hurts, Edward?” You shot back, more quietly this time. 

“What, what could possibly hurt you, Miss Congeni-fucking-ality?” he said, mirroring your stance as he looked you up and down. 

“My life’s work being known as your bitch ex-girlfriend.” You spat, and you saw his eyes soften. You knew he remembered that night because he immediately turned defensive. 

“Well, it seems like you’ve done pretty fucking well for yourself.” He said to you, sarcastically. His eyes moved up and down your body in judgment. 

“You haven’t.” You said, not bothering to filter it out. You both knew what you were referring to, and, if you were in a different headspace, you would have immediately regretted the cheap shot. 

He paused, and you saw something break behind his eyes. His defensive stance faltered, and he brought himself down to the bench to bury his face in his hands, taking a breath. 

“Yeah, I know I haven’t okay?” He started, lifting his head to shake his hands, dramatically, 

“I had to go to fucking rehab because I got so blasted out of my mind after I saw your shit with Bikini Kill that I almost killed someone and myself. I have literally fucked Every. Single. Thing. In my life up to this point, okay?” He rambled, hiss mentioned at your publication shaking you to your core. He had seen it. The thoughts that you never allowed fruition came flooding back into your mind, and you immediately felt the guilt from even thinking them. 

“You read my stuff?” You asked, the shred of that girl you were before coming through. You fell back onto the bench next to him, snuffing out your cigarette beneath the toe of your shoe. 

“It’s kind of hard not to. It's everywhere.” He said back to you, more civilly this time. This felt more like a conversation. 

“Only because it was about you.” You said, and he chuckled a bit. It was breathy and quiet, but it was there. 

“Did you really have to write all of that?” He asked you.

“Did you really have to call me a bitch?” You asked back.

There was a long pause while he thought about his next word.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I am a bitch. Kinda in the title.” You laughed at that, slightly. He didn’t. 

“No. I mean… like, everything. For The Troubadour that night, for neglecting you even though you stuck around way longer than you should have.” 

He paused for a second, looking back up at you. 

“For everything.” 

+

You spent the next dew days in hiding, trying to process the events of the wedding and ultimately, catching up with your parents. Once you had convinced yourself that it was safe to go outside, you decided a quick stroll around town was in order. You stopped to sit at the bar at the local diner, wanting to have a coffee and breakfast for the first time in over three years. You hated to admit it, especially with all of your food options in California, but these shitty diner scrambled eggs and bacon were the best you ever had. 

You recognized Wayne’s voice immediately over the jingling of the door bell. The man had been your second father for five years of your life, and you always looked back on memories with him fondly. 

He spotted you almost immediately. You knew it was because you were an eyesore in this town now. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He said, taking off his hat and walking towards you with arms extended. 

He locked you in a firm embrace. He still smelled like cigarette smoke and it was so endearing that you had to stop yourself from tearing up. His rough hands clapped against your shoulder, very much mimicking the way men pet dogs. 

“Wayne.. Oh my god. Come, sit. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.” You said to him, pulling your purse off of the stool next to you. He obliged, letting the waitress pour him a cup of coffee. 

“You look… different.” He said to you, looking you up and down. You did. You knew it. 

“So I’ve heard.” You said back, with a nod of your head. 

“I saw that magazine you wrote. I’ve got it up on the fridge.” He said to you, and, for some reason, for the first time in a while, you felt proud of your work. You would take Wayne’s fridge approval over a solid gold trophy any day. 

“You read my stuff?” You asked him, still surprised that people here cared. 

“I think everyone here does. Someone’s gotta keep tabs on the two of you.” He laughed, and you tried not to think about Eddie. You worried about Wayne after you left. 

“My boss would be so glad to hear that.” You both laughed at that.

“I saw that you were just out and about with those Pearl Jam guys.” He said, referencing back to the band you did a spread about just before you left.

“Yeah, I was! It seems like everyone knows more about my life than I do.” You laughed, only half humoring yourself. 

“Only what the tabloids say, sweetheart.” Wayne reassured, and it did make you feel better- despite the fact that he probably knew about your and Eddie’s public disputes. 

“It feels like I live in one, if we’re being honest.” You said, your laugh carrying little to no humor this time. Your face fell, and you pushed your eggs around with your fork, suddenly lacking your previous hunger. 

“How was the wedding? Crazy to think that boy found someone to love him.” Wayne changed the subject, not wanting to make you upset. 

“It was beautiful. Eddie played with the band.” You said, hoping you sounded unaffected by the mention of his name. 

“That boy’s put me through a lot these last few years. I think I've aged fifty of ‘em… trying to keep him straight- and I thought the teen years were gonna kill me.” Wayne said to you, his own face falling now. You could tell he blamed himself for Eddie’s shortcomings. You remembered how worried he had been when the band signed on with Elektra. 

“It’s not your fault, Wayne. It’s a shitty industry.” You tried to reassure him, placing a hand on his arm. 

He put his elbows up on the counter, smoothing his hands over his thinning hair. 

“He still hasn't come to see me.” Wayne said, disappointedly. It made you want to cry and beat Eddie’s ass and give Wayne a hug all in one. 

“That's shitty.” Was all you could muster in your own disbelief. You wondered why Eddie avoided Wayne. If there was anyone that you knew he would never stop defending to the end of the Earth and back, it was his uncle. 

“He’s different too.” Wayne spoke, sadly. 

“I think we all are.” You squeaked, feeling guilt growing in your own heart. Is this how your mother felt when you canceled Chrismtas for the last three years? 

“You’ve got that right. Him especially.” Wayne chuckled, mirroring your own lack of humor. 

“Sometimes I wish we weren’t.” You spoke back, and you meant it. 

“He never stopped missing you, y’know. Wrote all of these letters in rehab about how he wouldn’t be there if he still had you.” He said to you, taking you by surprise. The suddenness of seeing you and mentioning Eddie paired with the pain of not seeing him probably brought up a lot of emotions from him- emotions that you would understand. 

“It’s been five years, Wayne.” You said to him, trying to pull him out of the dark what-if place. 

“It don't feel much like it.” He said, resting his hand over the one you had placed on his arm. 

“I know.” 

“Did he talk to you? Last night, I mean.” Wayne asked, at least wanting to hear that his nephew was coherent.

“Yeah, he did.” You said, not wanting to elaborate but knowing you would have to. 

“And?”

“He apologized for everything. The Troubadour that night, the breakup, the neglect. Everything.” You said with a sigh, pulling your hand off of Wayne’s arm and burying your face in your hands with a groan. You didn’t want to look at him. You didn’t want to look at the sad eyes that mirrored Eddie’s almost exactly. 

You both sat in silence for a moment. 

“I remember the morning he realized you weren’t coming back. He called me.” He started, putting a firm hand on your back, between your shoulder blades. 

“Oh?” You asked, bringing your head up again to look at him. 

“He told me he didn’t want to be famous anymore… if it meant he had to be famous without you.” You were right, he gave you those sad, sad eyes. You felt your eyes well up with tears, but you quickly blinked them back. 

“He didn’t have to choose.” You said to Wayne, barely above a whisper. 

“Because you made that choice for him.” Wayne finished for you. 

“I made that choice for me.” You tried to reason, and, really, you did. But it was so sudden. You had ripped off the band-aid to avoid keeping yourself hurt all of the time. 

“And I don't blame you for that. But, sweetheart, if I know one thing about my boy, is that he’s stupid. He doesn’t know how to talk to girls, you made him so nervous- even after you were dating. I don’t think he knew how to talk to you then, or really, why you left so suddenly, for that matter.” Wayne said, turning and gripping your shoulders. 

“Give him a chance. He went through hell and back trying to find you again. At least for my sanity, let him have this win.” 

You couldn’t help the sad eyes, you were never able to resist Eddie’s. You still had so much endearment for Wayne that you sighed, 

“I’ll think about it, Wayne.” You agreed. 

He sat there and stared at you for a second, gripping your shoulders still- like he contemplated putting you into a hug. And he did- but not before saying,

“If there’s one thing he was right about, it’s that you’re still as pretty as ever.” This made you giggle. 

“Thank you, Wayne.” You said when you finally separated from the hug, still holding on to his elbows. He paused and looked you over again, reaching up and touching the large sunglasses perched on top of your head. 

“These really don’t look like you, y’know.”

+

Your return to California brought a work load hurdling at you with full force. You honestly don’t know how David and Connor ran the place in your absence (you say this in the most endearing way possible). Within a few weeks, you were scuttling your way down Santa Monica Boulevard, in the heart of West Hollywood. David had scheduled a last minute Headliner so you could get the next edition of RayGun out by the deadline. You stopped complaining when he sent out out to the field, especially since he asked so nicely and you were so good at it. 

You were meeting up with a long-time acquaintance, someone who you had worked closely for a while now- but never really spoke with. Doc Mcghee, management for Hollywood’s greatest of the last decade. Skid Row, Kiss, Mötley Crüe, and now, Corroded Coffin- but you chose purposefully to ignore that last one. 

You listened to your heels click and reverberate off of the large corridor of his office, his secretary offering you a smile as she buzzed you in. 

You kept your bitch crown in your back pocket, in case any unwelcome conversation were to arise. 

Doc knew about you. He also knew about Eddie. He also knew about your pretty famous publications- but who could blame you? Honestly, it was probably the most tame public scandal he had ever had to deal with. He was quite friendly to you in other settings, so you didn’t worry. 

You stepped into his office, and he greeted you with a hug. Professionalism in the rock industry had a different, much less formal flavor- yet, it was still comforting to know that he didn’t see you as a nuisance. 

You sat yourself down in one of his office chairs, folding your legs and shuffling through some of the paperwork you had brought while he got comfortable. 

“You ready, Doc?” You asked him, though, he kept eyeing his pager- which was going off every few seconds. You figured he was a busy guy, and that thing was constantly going off. 

“Uh.. Yeah, go ahead, sweetheart.” Doc said to you, rolling his eyes and shoving the pager into his top drawer.

“I’ll try to make it quick.” you chuckled. 

You didn’t even get through the first question before his office phone was ringing. He didn’t pick up. You started again after a quick apology, and the phone cut you off once more. 

“Just give me a minute, sweetheart.” Doc said to you, apologetically before throwing the phone off the receiver, cord flying violently behind it. 

“What is it? What could you possibly want at this exact moment?” Doc yelled into the phone, swiveling in his office chair to have his back facing you. 

You laughed, thinking fondly at the way Steve Harrington talked to the boys back home. You had been thinking of home a lot more lately. You had been thinking about Eddie a lot more lately. 

“I’m in an interview.” Doc roared back, through gritted teeth. 

A few seconds passed. 

“RayGun. You knew about this. And you knew not to bug me.” He said again, after a few seconds. Whoever was on the other line must have been persistent. 

A few more seconds. 

“No one that you need to be concerned with.” He said before slamming the phone back down on the receiver- only for it to ring again immediately after. He groaned, getting up and pulling the cord straight out of the wall, killing access to the phone. 

“I swear, if I knew I was going to be babysitting grown men, I wouldn’t have taken the job.” He said to you, with a laugh. You giggled back and the absolute circus of it all. 

It was moments like this that made your job enjoyable- and you had forgotten about this. 

He settled back into his chair, urging you to continue. Finally, you found your list of pre-written questions and asked, 

“So Doc, you’ve dealt with some pretty crazy stuff since you’ve been in the industry. You once said that most of these bands usually were up to some tomfoolery once they sign because they were supposed to, but Crüe did it because they were Crüe… Do you care to elaborate on that more?” You asked him, and he laughed, leaning back. 

“I swear, these last couple years I’ve managed some of these kids and they’re just getting worse and worse. And I’ll tell ‘ya, they’re really starting to lose their sense of boundaries. Now, I swear they just burst in through my do-” 

At that exact moment, his glass french doors were thrown open. Gangly, tall, out-of-breath, and unfortunately familiar before you. 

“Doc.” He said, rocking back and forth on his feet in greeting. 

“Eddie.” He said in the same tone, much angrier. 

Doc looked at you, smiling. 

“They don’t pay me enough for this.” He said to you, rubbing his face in stress. 

“They don’t pay her enough for it, either.” Eddie teased, smiling at you. 

“I know they don’t. Now stop bothering her, Eddie.” Doc said to him, scolding him like a child. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had an interview with RayGun?” He asked, smirking at the both of you. Pulling a strand of hair in front of his mouth, leaving the other hand crossed across his chest. 

“I did. And, I specifically told you to stay away from here.” Doc said, crossing his arms adn leaning back in his chair. 

“I do not recall.” 

“I swear to God, you are worse than all of Crüe combined.” He rubbed his face, stopping at his temples and pulling the skin back there. 

“Don’t you think that we could use a little publicity?” Eddie asked him. 

“No, Edward, I don’t. I think RayGun has had enough of your publicity.” Doc chuckled, humorlessly. 

“Oh you mean that little thing? We’ve already straightened that out, haven’t we?” He said, looking towards you with an absolutely shit-eating grin. 

“Edward, I told you to stop bothering her.” Doc said, more firmly this time. Eddie chose to ignore him. 

“I wanna start back over. Go out with me. Tonight.” 

This made your eyes go wide. You looked between him and Doc- who also looked between you and Eddie. The both of you were terrified. He had overstepped a boundary, and Doc looked like he either wanted to vomit, throw Eddie through the glass from his top-floor office, or both. 

“Uh-” You started, but Doc attempted to jump in and save you.

“Edward, no.” 

“Puh-lease? For old time’s sake?” He pleaded, getting down on his knees. 

It felt all too familiar. It smelled like Hawkins High’s cafeteria, reeked like highly processed, barely-recognizable food and all-too-heavy cheap perfume. It felt like Eddie on his knees in front of the entire cafeteria, delivering a nearly-Shakespearean monologue. He confessed his love you you, splayed right there out on the commercial tile to be mopped up later by the janitor. You remember the way he gripped your knees, and then your hands ever-so tenderly. You remembered the way his voice reverberated out of his chest and echoed off the walls in the room. It was horrible, and you loved it. So much so, that, even after all of this, it still made you giggle. 

“I’m working late.” You said, attempting not to let the smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth life. 

“Then I’ll go to your office.” He pleaded, knowing exactly what he was doing. 

“No.” You said, firmly, choking back a giggle. 

“Please let me prove myself? Can I at least do that?” He said, grabbing your hands ever so gently. It was too familiar, yet not unpleasant. 

“If I say yes to you, will you get out of my interview?” 

You had said this same thing all those years ago, in an entirely different situation. Yet you couldn’t help but feel the same pang in your stomach as he looked into your eyes. You couldn’t tell if it was love or embarrassment- yet, you couldn’t tell if it was last time either. 

He had a funny habit of making you feel everything all at once. 

“Yes.” 

“Then fine.” 

+

You half expected him to not show up- to regret his decision entirely and recluse back into wherever the hell he was residing currently. You purposefully stayed at the office late, and you half expected him to now show up. You wanted to be mad at him still, you needed something to be mad about. Sso when you shuffled out of your office, hair thrown up into a mess, jewelry thrown haphazardly into your bag, and blazer thrown over top of your purse, and saw him- you couldn’t help but to roll your eyes. 

He was leaned up against the hood of his car- no longer sporting the 70’s era GMC van. Instead, he was now leaning across the side of an all-black stingray- the newest one that year. It felt foreign, it wasn’t him. He kept his arms crossed, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and the glow of the Hollywood lights casting a glow across his face. 

He smiled at you, even in your state, and followed you silently around the car. He pulled the passenger side open for you, letting you climb into the low vehicle before circling back around the front. 

“So… What are you listening to these days?” He asked, shifting the car and rolling from the sidewalk to the street. He was trying desperately to make conversation- you remembered that much. He couldn’t handle awkward silence. 

“Um… Not much, really.” You said, honestly, allowing him to put on whatever he had previously been listening to on. 

“Really?” He scoffed, in disbelief, “Mrs. Glenn Danzig doesn’t like music anymore?”

“I try really really hard to not bring work home with me.” You explained, digging haphazardly at your own fingernails. 

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of that.” Eddie chuckled at you. 

“Of what?” You asked, confusedly, brows knitting together on your forehead. 

“Taking work home with you.” He gestured to himself, leaving one hand on the wheel. 

“But we’re not going home.” You quipped back, and he looked at you briefly with his eyebrows raised. 

“That we are not.” He said, mouth turned upwards in a half-grin. You knew that look. He was scheming something. 

“But… Where are we going?” You asked, finally, not really even thinking about it until then. You hoped it wasn’t somewhere nice. You only were sporting your casual-friday jeans and white top. 

“That is for me to know, and for you to find out.” He said, giving you that same crooked smile. 

“That sounds like you’re gonna kill me.” 

“Would it make you feel better if I promised I’m not?”

“No.”

+

The drive was a longer one, and you took the time to look out the window. You never realized how nice it was to look out at Hollywood sometimes. You were either usually in bed or at a venue by now and forgot how magical this city was when you first moved. You felt a little twinge in your heart, and you remembered the way Eddie’s eyes sparkled the first time you came with him out here. It had been his first time out of Hawkins that he could remember. Eddie indulged in this comfortable silence, smoothing his way over the sharp, round turns and steep roads of Mount Lee Drive. He stole a few glances at you, and the way you rested your head on your folded arms out the window. He saw the way the wisps of your stray hairs floated around your face with the wind from the outside. It was like he could see your body deflate- and he realized then how tense you had been all this time. He hadn’t seen you this relaxed in years- even in passing.

He made it to the end of the street as far up as he could go, and pulled off to where his car wouldn’t create a disturbance for the residents that lived on that street. You opened the door and stepped out- and he wished he would have been a little faster to open it for you. 

“So… we’re robbing a house?” You said, raising an eyebrow at him. It was silly, but it was the only conclusion you could make for being in a wealthier neighborhood in the middle of the night. 

“No, we’re gonna have to walk a little bit, but you’re gonna have to keep your eyes closed.”He chuckled.

He opened his trunk and pulled out a bag, slinging it over his shoulder. 

“This really looks like you’re gonna kill me.” You said, eyeing the bag. 

“Well I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.” He winked, starting off walking. 

The walk was slightly longer than it should have been, seeing as he was trying to guide you by your waist, uphill, in overgrown grass. It felt like you were tripping over your keds every other step. It smelled slightly mildewy- reminiscent of those quiet Hawkins nights all of those years ago. The soil was soft and spongy with dampness beneath your feet. You were slightly out of breath from the uphill incline, but when Eddie commanded you to remove you hands from your eyes, you gasped. 

It felt like a movie scene, the giant letters of the Hollywood sign glowed so bright from the lights that were set on them that they were almost incomprehensible. You thought you could see all of Los Angeles from here- the lights speckling as far as the eye could see like glitter. Eddie chuckled at the dumbstruck look you gave him. 

“All this time in Hollywood, and you never figured out how to get up here?” He asked you, pulling a blanket from the bag. You recognized it as the one from the floorboard of his van. 

He spread it out on the ground, urging you to come sit.

“I guess I’ve just been busy.” You offered as an excuse, walking over and folding your legs beneath yourself.

“You need to learn how to live a little, sweetheart.” He said to you, plopping down on the blanket next to you and reclining back on his arms. 

You sat in silence for a little- taking it all in. You kept your ankles crossed, knees pulled up to your chest as you slid off your shoes. While you were talking in the glitter of the city before you, he was taking in the details of your face. He looked for the softness in your face that lingered in the way your eyelashes kissed or the way the corners of your mouth curled upwards when you were thinking. You looked different, hardened by age and the struggles of adulthood. He wondered if the few unruly strands of gray hairs were from him- in the same way Wayne swore up and down that he would have still had a full head of hair if it hadn't been for Eddie. 

“I hate it here.” He spoke finally. His volume scared himself, snapping both him and you back to reality in an instant. You furrowed your brow at him, pulling your attention away from the lights and aiming it at him. 

“Why? This city did you good.” You said back. He felt your eyes on him, and the way he thought they looked directly into him instead of just over his physical being. 

“I miss Hawkins.” He admitted, sheepishly, running a hand up and down his arm for comfort. 

“Why?” You scoffed, remembering the many late nights talking about running from there and never looking back. He shrugged, then ran a hand up over his face and through his hair. 

“It was simpler then. We just played and we didn't care if we sounded like shit and five people was a lot and we didn't have to worry about putting up the numbers.” He rambled, huffing exhaustedly at the end. You shrugged back, nonchalantly. 

“It really was. Simpler, I mean. I miss it too.” You admitted, his sudden onslaught of heavy eye contact making you slightly uncomfortable. You turned your eyes back out towards the city, but your ears were dialed on to him. 

“So why did you stop saying you were from there?” He asked, reiterating a question from the last time you were back home. 

It stung a little bit- remembering how excited your family and friends were to see you after so long. You realized they probably felt the same abandonment that you felt when Corroded Coffin caught traction. Since then, you had made  a point to call your mother a little more. 

“I couldn’t be associated with you anymore.” You finally breathed, and, though the hurt didn’t register in his voice, you could feel it radiating off of him with a vigor. 

“Why?” He asked, probably a little too quickly.

You thought about it for a second, assessing your next few words carefully. You thought he deserved at least this answer- since the only thing he really knew about your life was from you publications for the last five years. 

“Because…” You trailed off, burning your face in your knees as you thought, “-after the whole Troubadour thing, I was only known as your bitch ex… And before that, people only knew me as your girlfriend. No one was gonna take me or my art seriously unless I was someone that didn’t have a tie to you.” You sighed finally, knowing there was no way you could say it that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. 

“Was I that bad? That you couldn't even say you dated me?” He said in a near-whimper. For someone who was so famous and so well-speculated, you were almost surprised to hear that he was as hurt as he was. 

“Being with you?” You started, thinking about it, “No. It was the idea of being forgotten that I couldn't handle.” You explained to him, honestly. 

“I’m sorry.” He said after a drawn-out silence. He couldn't think of anything else that would be appropriate to say then. You hated the vulnerability, and rushed to change the subject. 

“Why didn't you see Wayne? During Dustin's wedding?” You asked, already getting defensive. You winced at yourself, not meaning for it to sound as mean as it did. 

“How did you know that?” He asked, not matching your defensive nature in the way you had expected him to. In fact, he sounded like a kicked puppy. 

“I saw him. He was really hurt. Thought you forgot about him too.” You said, sounding just as mean again, though you couldn’t tell how much you meant it this time.

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face and taking another long silence before giving you an answer.

“...I couldn’t look at him and let him know what a fuck up I’ve been. He tried so hard with me after Dad… I couldn’t look him in the eye knowing how much I’m turning into my father.” 

You softened, immediately, remembering what the tabloids had said about him just a few months prior. You didn’t think about what he was feeling, or what Wayne would have been feeling. In fact, you worried about how much of it had to do with you. 

“He's worried about you. You should call him.” You said, much more softly. You didn’t want to say anything else- you didn’t know what to say. You had no right to talk about his dad despite knowing the brunt of it. 

“Thanks for looking out for him.” Eddie said to you, and it was genuine. 

“He misses you, you know.” You blurt, hoping to make him feel better. Eddie chuckled, sadness still lingering behind it. 

“But I think he misses you more.” He said to you, genuinely.  

There’s no way you would have ever possibly known, but any time within the last five years, Wayne filled him in on you like he wasn’t seeing it anyways. He filled him in about your family, how he talked to your mom at the grocery store. You and Wayne had always had a soft spot for each other during the time of yours and Eddie’s relationship- he offered advice that rolled through cigarette smoke and you offered the warmth only a woman could possess. Wayne had been alone since. 

“I missed him, too.” You said with a soft smile, thinking back about your cherished trailer-park memories. 

There was another pause and you both sighed. This time, it was tense- like Eddie was thinking really hard about the next thing he was gonna say. 

“What about me?” He asked you, finally turning back towards you. It caught you by surprise, and you couldn’t help the look that registered on your face when you turned back to him. 

“What?”

“Do you miss me, too?” He asked again, louder and more annunciated. 

You thought about it for a second, the way you felt a deep, guttural ache in your heart when you saw the headlines about him, the way you felt warmth spread through your chest when you hugged Wayne, or the way you felt relaxed amongst the familiarity of it all. Maybe it was stupid. So, so stupid. But maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you swore you did. 

“Yeah… I guess I do.” You said, finally, wide eyes locking on his much wider. 

“I missed you too…It's, uh, kinda lonely out here,” He started quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean… I have the guys but even then, they all have lives and girlfriends and families outside of the band.” He explained to you, sheepishly. 

“No, I get it. Dustin's wedding kinda just made me see that I skipped over a whole section of my life.” You replied, and it was true. 

It was strange seeing all of the kids you were old enough to babysit surpassing your life milestones. You put domesticity on the back burner when you put your career in the driver's seat and had yet to even begin searching for it again. There was a secret want in your heart to not be so damn lonely all the time. You considered even a cat, but you weren’t home enough to give it a fair life. So instead, you lived your life between exhausting social outings with people you were considered acquaintances with, but stayed far enough away to remain mysterious. 

“Maybe we can start over.” Eddie suggested, blindsiding you out of your own train of thought. 

“Like how?” You asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Like our lives.” He said, reaching for your hand. You didn’t stop him, “Let me take you on the nice date I couldn't give you when we were kids.” He suggested, almost pleading once again. 

“I go to plenty of nice restaurants now, Eddie.” You laughed, gripping his fingers back. 

“Then let me take you somewhere else. Anywhere. Money isn't an issue.” He continued to plead with you. 

“Eddie, when I said I missed you, I meant that kid from the sticks who got down on his knees in a cafeteria and begged me for a date. The one who took me to lovers lake in a shitty van and told funny stories and read me Tolkien every night.” You said behind a laugh. It was so genuine, he swore it was like the last five years had never happened. 

“I remember that night. I was scared shitless. You were so pretty and I had never been on an actual date like that before.” He laughed back at his own memory, giving his thumb leeway to pass over your own. 

“I'm sure you see lots of pretty women now.” You said, a little more sheepish this time. You remembered the title, you remembered every title about him. 

“Pretty women, sure, none like you though.” He encouraged, switching the hand that he was holding yours with and dragging the other up your forearm, comfortingly. 

“What do you mean?” You questioned, eyeing this traveling hand as it sent a shiver up your spine. 

“I remember every night you would run out the door barefoot to give me one last kiss before I left. I started waiting for it when you dropped me off. And I remember you hanging out the window of my van screaming hybrid moments out the window. You scared me half to death. I had to hold on to your ankle so you wouldn't fall.” He chuckled, fondly, bringing his hand back down to massage the back of yours with his thumbs. 

“I wasn’t gonna fall.” You said, sassily, half rolling your eyes at him. The version of you that currently existed definitely would have, though. 

“I guess I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” He scoffed, “Ain’t that a bitch?”

“Well, maybe you don’t have to lose me.” You said back to him, turning your hand around to grip his. 

“What are you saying?” He questioned, locking eyes with you. You could see his smile lift the corners of them gently. 

“I’m saying let's try again. We’re different people than we were five years ago.” You leaned a little closer to him, grabbing both of his hands and shaking his limp arms a bit. 

He could have sworn he was looking at you for the first time. 

“I don't think we are.” He smirked.

“Why do you say that?”

“You're barefoot now.” 

You giggled as you looked down at your bare feet in the grass. Some things never change. 

“You know, you look a lot different without all of… that.” He changed the subject, pulling his hands out of yours and twiddling his fingers up and down your frame. 

“What?” You asked him, looking down at your clothes with a furrowed brow. 

“The clothes, the shoes, the glasses. You look like you.” He explained, reaching up towards your face and pushing your hair out of your face. 

“You’ve always looked like you. I think that’s kinda what hurt the most.” You admitted, sheepishly, reclusing slightly. 

“What happened to us?” He asked, tenderly, leaning forward to close the space you had created. 

“We got old. We got mean. We let a bunch of other people tell us who we were.”

“So then who are you?” 

“I’m me?” 

“No, like reintroduce yourself. You don’t know me.” He prompted, leaning back to look you over. You sighed as you started, 

“I am the creative director and self-appointed journalist for RayGun magazine. I live between the office, The Troubadour, and my apartment. I am from Carlsbad, California. And I am Eddie Munson’s bitch ex-girlfriend.” You sneered slightly, plucking the first few things off of the top of your brain like one of those stupid conference icebreakers. 

“No,” He said, shaking his head. He leaned forward and placed his hands on your shoulders, “I mean… really? Behind the headlines, who are you?”

You sighed, racking your brain for a few long seconds before trying again. 

“Uhm…I am a painter. I hate shoes and I read tabloids in passing recreationally. I am from Hawkins, Indiana and I love music, so much, in fact, that I consider it my second love.” 

“What was your first?”

“You.” 

“Oh.”

“Okay, now you.” 

“What?”

“Who are you, Edward Munson?”

“I am Edward Munson,” He mimicked your voice, sneering at the name, “-lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin. I live between a tour bus and between shows. I have a normal respect for shoes… Outside of work, I am a kid from a trailer park in the sticks. I read RayGun magazine in passing recreationally. I also happen to really really love this girl I hurt a long time ago.”

“You loved me?” You asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. He swore he saw his entire future flash in front of him- and none of it had to do with that stupid tour bus or stupid guitar or even Doc. He saw your eyes, and how small you sounded in front of him. He saw a house that he could finally afford and a white picket fence (if that's what you wanted, of course.) He saw Wayne clapping him on the back at a wedding and stupid ties and a white dress. He saw Dustin and Suzie and all the bearable parts of his youth. 

“I don’t think I ever stopped.” He whispered to you, his hand snaking around to hold your cheek in a cradle, taking the plunge and pressing his lips to yours. 

He tasted the same as he did during the years leading up to the summer of your own discontent, saccharine sweet and down-soft. You swore you saw the best parts of your life flash before your eyes. You saw summers at Lover’s Lake, windblown hair framing his face like a halo in the van that left your clothes smelling like cigarettes and burning oil. You saw hopeful promises that hadn’t yet been broken and Eddie filling all of your senses. 

“Fuck I missed you. So goddamn much.” He groaned softly, breaking the kiss for oxygen. 

“Please promise me you’re never gonna leave again.” You whimpered, pushing your mouth back against his, feverishly. 

“God fuck please just promise me that.” You started again, between kisses. 

“Never, honey, never again.”

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Stars Align: Part 3

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol Misuse, Drinking, Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff and a lot of it, Mentions of Abuse, Sexual References, Violence, Anger, Pining, I think that's it?

-- Part 2 Here --

_____________________________

18+ Only

_____________________________

Present:

You went back inside to let Gabby know you were going to grab a drink with Bradley, and to ask if she wanted you to walk her to a cab.

Bradley followed you to the dance floor.

“Rooster!” A voice rang out from the crowd, and a tall blond man emerged.

“Hangman.” Bradley responded, “I’m gonna shoot off, can you let Mickey know?”

The blond man raised his eyebrow, “Find yourself a little lady?” He looked over Bradley’s shoulder at you as you waited patiently.

“She’s my old best friend, haven’t seen her in years so we’re going somewhere quiet to catch up.” Bradley explained.

“Right, sure.” The blond winked. “Don’t be late tomorrow, Mickey will kill you.” And he turned around to leave.

Bradley faced you with a grimace, “Sorry about him, Jake’s a piece of work.”

“I’m more interested in the part where he called you Rooster. You kept the nickname?” You chuckled.

“Call sign.” Bradley corrected you with a grin.

“Wait… do you mean-“ you were cut off by Gabby barging into you.

“Whoops! Sorry. Are we leaving? I think I’ve had enough for one night.” She breathed, bunching her hair up off of her sweaty neck.

“Actually, yeah Bradley and I are gonna grab a drink and catch up. Can we walk you to a cab?” You asked, wrapping your arm around her waist to steer her towards the exit.

“Much obliged.” She saluted you and you chuckled.

Once Gabby was safely in a cab and on her way home, you turned to smile at Bradley.

“Where to?” You asked.

“I know a place.” He held out his hand and you took it, walking next to him as he gently steered you through the crowds. His hand felt remarkably strong yet so gentle at the same time, like he was gently cupping something he was terrified to break.

“So… call sign huh? That mean you got into the Navy?”

“Yes ma’am. I couldn’t wait to tell you about it… but you changed your number.” He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at you cautiously.

“Oh… I didn’t.” You looked to the ground awkwardly.

Bradley glanced at you, confused, your number had been disconnected when he’d tried to call you years ago and had been ever since.

You bit your lip, “But that’s a long story, not sure we’ll have time for it tonight. I am sorry I wasn’t there for you when you got to experience that, though.” You felt horrible for missing such a milestone in his life.

Bradley smiled down at you, “I get to share it with you now, don’t I?” He nudged you until you grinned, and then let go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulder instead.

“Can’t believe I bumped into you, here of all places.” He mumbled absentmindedly as he walked.

“Yeah that’s fate I guess, Rooster.” You joked, referencing something from your past you always used to tease him about. He’s shot you a playful glare and you chuckled.

He suddenly stopped, “Here we are. I passed this place earlier and weirdly enough, it made me think of you.”

You looked up at the sign and scrunched up your nose, “A Cat Cafe?”

“No.” Bradley laughed, and moved you over to the left slightly, pointing at the sign next to it.

“Oh! An art bar, that’s better Bradshaw, for a moment there I thought you forgot that I’m a dog person.” You chuckled as you walked inside.

Bradley sat you down at a cozy corner booth, and squeezed in next to you as you scanned the menu for their cocktail list and some nibbles.

Your heart began to race as you felt his strong arm rest behind you on the seat as he read the menu over your shoulder. His breath was minty as it wafted over you.

“You think they’ll be serving any food still? It is 2am.” You said looking over at the other tables to distract yourself from your sudden emotional overtake, some of which had food on them, and your stomach growled.

“I’ll go ask, what drink do you want?” Bradley asked as he stood up, his hands propping himself up over you on the table, and you had to fight with all your might not to ogle at the size of his arms and the veins that protruded from his thick neck.

You gulped, “Sex on the beach, please.”

Bradley winked at you, “Whatever you want, Birdy.” And with a cheeky grin, he left to the bar to order.

He left you flushed and breathless, your rapid heartbeat doing little to distract from the sudden growing tension in between your thighs. You gasped to yourself as you realised your feelings were somehow still there.

Sure it didn’t help that Bradley was now a man, like really a man, or that his confidence was bordering on cockiness, but the real Bradley, or the old Bradley you should say, was still there underneath, and glimpses of him kept trickling through, reminding you of why you fell for him in the first place.

You were lost in thought when Bradley got back, jumping as he placed a plate of fries and your drinks on the table. He pulled a small canvas and a mini easel out from under his arm and positioned it on the table, with small tubs of primary colour paints. He pulled out two tiny paintbrushes from his pocket and handed you one as he eyed you up.

“Sorry.” He chuckled, “Care to tell me where you just travelled to… up there.” He gestured to your head and you rolled your eyes.

“Trust me you don’t want to know what goes on up there.”

“Probably for the best, bet it’s all lady stuff.” he said sitting down next to you.

“Ew, only you could make those two words sound gross, Brad.” You flinched.

Bradley chuckled, and you spent the rest of the evening catching up on all the things missed while you were apart, while picking at the fries and painting random squiggles on your canvas every now and then. You purposely left out the section of your life involving Jacob, as that was a story for another time, far too dark for a catch up date.

You learnt that Carole had passed away, and you were suddenly on the verge of tears. You felt so guilty that you never got to say goodbye, and that you weren’t there for Bradley when he needed you most.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been there for you.” You whispered, biting your cheek to stop the tears from falling.

“Hey, it’s okay. How were you supposed to know? She knew you loved her, I told her so many times towards the end.” He reassured you, but even as he did, his voice broke and you could see him swallowing down the lump in his own throat.

You were both sufficiently drunk at this point, Bradley more so, and your conversation had turned deep and emotional. You sat with your legs draped over Bradley’s thighs, while he played absentmindedly with your knees, a habit he’d picked up years ago, a coping mechanism of sorts to distract him from any issues at hand.

The first time he’d done this, you’d been at home watching a scary movie in the living room, and about halfway through Bradley had picked up your legs and put them on his lap. “You have really wobbly knee caps.” He’d commented, distracting himself from the gory scene ahead.

You’d looked at him, confused at the time, but it had come to be a comforting position for the both of you.

“What did you mean, earlier, when you said you didn’t change your number?” Bradley asked suddenly, clearing his throat of the lump.

You drew in a sharp breath, looking down at your hands. “It’s a long story Brad, another time?” You asked.

Bradley nodded, squeezing your calf.

“Should we make a move? Think the suns about to come up and you’ve got a wedding to attend.” You grinned.

“Yup, probably a good idea.” Bradley slurred, and you swung your legs off of him. He stood and immediately swayed, shooting a hand out to steady himself on the table.

“Woah, one too many whiskey sours, me thinks.” He chuckled. You got up and slotted yourself under his arm to steady him.

“Guess so. Let’s get you back to your hotel. Where are you staying?”

Bradley thought for a moment, and then looked down at you confused, “I can’t remember.” He snatched up the canvas and wedged it underneath his other arm.

You groaned. “Can you text that guy you were with earlier? Or do you have a keycard?”

Bradley pouted and shook his head, “Hangman and I are sharing a room, he has the keycard and he’ll be asleep right now. Can I crash at yours? Like old times?” He grinned his boyish grin and fluttered his pretty eyelashes, until you sighed and steered him towards the street.

“Yeah, okay, but a fair warning, I’m living out of boxes right now.”

“I thought you said you lived in an apartment, not in a box?” He slurred again, swaying on the spot as you stood and waited for a cab.

You laughed at his poor attempt at a joke, and patted him on the back. “You’re gonna feel awful tomorrow.”

“I know.” He grinned down at you, but his eyes were so sincere and gentle it made you want to kiss him.

A cab pulled up and you shuffled inside after Bradley. You told the driver your address and sat back.

Bradley was asleep on your shoulder within 2 minutes, and not long after you pulled up outside your building. You paid and thanked the cab driver and shook Bradley awake.

“Hmm?” He mumbled as he came to.

“We’re here.” You said gently, stroking his face to rouse him.

Bradley moaned at the touch and you found yourself having to clench your thighs, the sound vibrated through your entire body.

You managed to get Bradley to follow you, although wobbly, up the 5 flights of stairs, but you cursed the elevator being broken as it was like trying to coax a stubborn child.

Eventually you stumbled through the door and kicked your heels off.

“Home sweet home!” You sighed, eyeing up the mountain of boxes.

“It’s nice, bit crowded but it’ll get there.” Bradley slurred, walking into the kitchen and looking through your fridge. He pulled out a bottle of beer and was about to open it when you charged at him.

“What are you- ouch, what the fuck, Birdy?“

You collided with Bradley and wrangled the beer from his hand.

“Absolutely not!” You held the beer out of reach.

Bradley grinned and tried to swipe for it.

“No! It’s… 5:23am!” You groaned, checking the time on your phone. “You need to sleep or you’ll never make the wedding.”

“I’ll be fine! I don’t wanna sleep yet, we’ve got way too much catching up to do still.” He reached for the beer but you turned your back to him and held it as far out in front of you as you could.

Suddenly two strong arms were wrapping around your midriff and lifting you into the air. You squealed and tried to struggle, but a fit of laughter overtook you, zapping away any strength you held. Bradley smiled at you over your shoulder as he watched you lose yourself like you had when you were teenagers, and a wave of emotion and nostalgia overtook him. He put you down suddenly and turned you around.

Your laughing slowed and you looked up at Bradley, who’s eyes were brimming now.

''Brad are you okay?'' You were suddenly concerned at the sudden change in atmosphere.

Bradley pulled you in for a bear hug, and this time he just held you for a long time.

You rubbed his back soothingly, his fingers now thread in your hair as he held your head in place against his broad chest, his heart racing.

“I’ve really missed you, kid.” He said through a shaky voice.

“I’ve missed you too, Rooster.”

———————————————

Past:

You walked home with your heels in one hand and the other shielding your eyes as the rain poured down onto you. You were sure it rained so heavily that night because of how heartbroken you felt, and that Mother Nature just wanted to mask your tears with her own.

You burst through your front door and went straight upstairs, dumping your soggy shoes and purse by the door. Your parents turned from the movie they were watching in the living room in surprise.

“Jeez, when I said be home by 11, I meant more like 11:30, not 8:40.” You dad commented.

You slammed your bedroom door.

He looked at your mom who just shrugged. Your dad followed you upstairs, your mom hot on his tail.

“Honey, what happened?” He asked, pushing your door open gently.

“Nothing. I just want to go to bed.” You sniffed, undoing your braid to allow your wet hair to dry.

“Where’s Bradley?” Your mom asked.

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

You tried to hard sleep that night, but sleep didn’t find you easily. You kept going over the night in your head, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

Eventually you stopped crying and your sadness turned to anger. You hadn’t even wanted to go in the first place, Bradley had begged you to go, and now you were furious he had.

It was close to midnight when your door creaked open and a sliver of light filtered in.

“Birdy.” Bradley whispered.

Your head shot up off of your tear stained pillow, and you glared at him for a second. “Who let you in?” You demanded.

“Your dad. But not before he gave me a talking to.” He admitted sheepishly. You slammed your head back down on the pillow.

“Birdy I’m so sorry.” He walked in and gently closed the door. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, I’m not really sure what came over me.”

You said nothing, smushing your face further into your pillow to avoid even seeing your best friends face. You were so mad.

You felt the bed dip behind you as Bradley lay down.

“Lil bird, please look at me.”

“I can’t right now.” You huffed.

“Okay, I get that. But at least let me apologise.”

“Don’t bother. You left me there Bradley, after you begged me to go with you, I don’t think apologising is gonna fix this one.” You said as you propped yourself up on your elbows and glared at him.

Bradley suddenly felt the immense guilt of what he had done when he saw how puffy your eyes were from crying.

“I know, I shouldn’t have. I came right back, once I’d calmed down and realised I was being a total idiot, but you were gone already. Sophie’s friend Kate said she overheard Michelle talking to her friends. I know you didn’t do or say anything, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“You’ve known me for years, Bradley. The fact that it took someone else telling you I wasn’t lying to believe me is a real gut punch.”

“I know, I’m a dick. It’ll never happen again. From now on if you say something, I’ll take your word. I swear.” He stuck out his pinky.

You stared at it and then at him for a moment. He seemed genuinely sorry, and you had missed him in the few hours since you’d last seen him, so you nodded and hooked your pinky in his.

“Fine. But I’m still mad at you.”

Bradley grinned, ruffling your already frizzy hair. You groaned and lay back down.

“Can I sleep over?” He asked, propping his head in his hand as he turned on his side to look at you.

“Only if you stop calling it a sleep over. We’re not kids anymore.” You huffed.

“Okay… can I stay the night?” He asked in a deep voice and wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“That’s better. You can wear my princess pyjamas.” You joked, finally cracking a smile.

Bradley rolled his eyes, sitting up and peeling off his dress-shirt. “If we’re not kids anymore, I don’t need pyjamas.” He lay back down in just his pants, and you blushed.

You wondered at times like these if he knew how you felt about him, and just enjoyed teasing you.

———————————

Present:

The sun filtered in through your curtain-less windows and you groaned. Your hangover hit you as soon as you peeled your eyes open, and you pulled your duvet over your head.

You breathed through the rolling nausea, and squeezed your eyes shut to stop the feeling of the world spinning a little too fast. Suddenly you heard a loud thump outside the room followed by a deep voice mumbling “shit”.

You’d forgotten all about Bradley. You shot up suddenly as the night before came into memory.

You could hear Bradley groan in the living room, as he shuffled around trying to get dressed.

You walked to the living room and watched as Bradley searched frantically for his shirt.

His toned body looked unfairly delicious in the morning light. You bit your lip as you watched.

Bradley noticed you finally, and relief washed over his face. “Oh Birdy, thank god. I can’t find my shirt and I’m so late for the wedding.” He walked over to you and grabbed your hands, pulling you into the living room. “I can’t remember the end of last night.”

“Well, that’ll be the last beer you had.” You raised your eyebrow at him. “Okay let me think.” You pressed your fingers into your temples as you walked around the apartment.

“Okay… so we had a little moment in the kitchen-“ you pointed to where you stood hugging Bradley for what felt like forever.

“Oh did we?” Bradley jiggled his eyebrows.

“Shut up, not like that Bradshaw.” You shot back and rolled your eyes.

You kept walking, your eyes scanning the boxes and floor space.

“And theeeen… you gave me a piggy back ride to… the bedroom?” You couldn’t recall why. You walked back to the bedroom with Bradley hot on your tail.

Bradley’s shirt lay on the floor next to your bed, and you picked it up and handed it to him.

“Thanks, Birdy.” Bradley said sincerely. He took a moment to put his shirt back on and then gave you a sad smile. “I guess I better get going. Will I see you again?”

You suddenly felt a lump in the back of your throat, and swallowed it down as best you could before you nodded.

“I hope so, Brad. I really did miss you.”

You showed Bradley out and waved him goodbye as he walked down the stairwell. As soon as he was out of sight you bit back tears and went back into the apartment. You sniffled as you unpacked your kitchen essentials, and laughed wetly as you remembered some of the events of the night before. You suddenly recalled why Bradley was in your room, he’d insisted on waiting until you fell asleep before he went to bed himself, and he sat singing 80’s and 90’s hits softly to you as he drank his beer, and as it had worked so well in the past, it still worked perfectly now.

As Bradley sang Aerosmith, your eyes fluttered shut;

“… Don't wanna close my eyes,

I don't wanna to fall asleep,

'Cause I'd miss you baby…

And I don't wanna miss a thing.”

The last thought that sank through your mind as you drifted off into a comforting slumber, was that you finally felt safe, like really safe, and you hadn’t felt that way in a very long time.

Not since you moved away.

——————————————

-- Part 4 Here --

Taglist now open 💛 Please let me know if you'd like to be added!

@dizzybee03

[blossom-adventures]

Soppy post incoming! 😅😆

Today is my 1 year Writerversary!

I’ve been sharing my writing publicly on AO3 for a whole year! Which is absolutely insane to warp my head around! In the last year I have achieved so much and I honestly don’t think I could have done it without the friends I’ve made because of my writing!

Before I started sharing my writing, I was alone, with only immediate family to socialise with, but since posting my writing on Tumblr and AO3 I have made so many friends! And it’s because of those friendships that I kept writing and kept sharing!

Commissions by SneaksandSweets

I know I haven’t been as active over the last few months with writing, but I plan to change that, my goal is to get back to regularly posting stories, whether it’s part of one of my long fics (Far Horizons & Ancient Stones, The Blood Prophecy, A Tall Glass of Red Wine or Guard and Glaive) or one of my Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompts, a monthly writing event or just a random One Shot story.

Art by TheLavenderElf

It is my hope that I am able to share some sort of writing at least once a week because it is my goal in celebration of this milestone that I will be able to balance my time better in the future, which has always been a personal problem for me!

I am determined and hopeful that I will be getting back to regular writing schedules soon!

Art by thequeenofthewinter

And of course I wouldn’t have been able to get to this milestone without the support of everyone here! You have supported me through the best times and the worst and I couldn’t have done this without you all!

Art by CrysDrawsThings and Matri4rch

I’d like to take this opportunity to tag a few people, who have been there for me! For being someone I could talk to about anything, screaming about our personal Headcanons over a discord conversation, making amazing art of my characters, or introducing me to a whole new fandom, it’s because of you all that I’m here and I’m still sharing my writing, so, thank you! 💙🌸🫂☺️

@thequeenofthewinter @oblivions-dawn @hauntedadagium @seradyn @savage-rhi @crysdrawsthings @matri4rch @thelavenderelf @sneaksandsweets @andywinter16 @data-hex @amarabliss @awlwren @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @bostoniangirl21 @cheeseandstrawberrytartlover @average-crazy-fangirl @sylvienerevarine @wispstalk @ticklemycucumber

Art by Amarabliss

You guys… are the best

☺️💙🌸🫂

[spotty-is-slumberous]

So… this is. A bit of an emotional post for me to make, and I’ve rewritten it a few times and cried over it far more, just because I’ve been feeling very lost and hopeless recently, and I just… really want some advice. Some suggestions. … Some comfort, even.

I turn 20 in April. I spent my last “milestone” birthday, the 18th, half-convinced that I was dying because I had undiagnosed POTS, narcolepsy, and intense chronic pain that genuinely made me feel like I was on death’s door… so, uh, I didn’t really do anything special for that birthday. Or my 19th, as I was also in very poor health… though I’ve now come to the understanding, two years later, that this “poor health” is just. Not ever going to get better.

I haven’t done something “big” for a birthday since I was a lot younger. And with the way things are shaping up for me, this might be the last birthday I’m able to share with my family before I’m inevitably kicked out because I just can’t keep up with college and the deal was I either stay in school or work to stay at home, and I can’t get a physical job for reasons that’ll become clearer later on.

So… This all to say, I’d like to do something “big” for this birthday. But… I have some pretty heavy restrictions. I don’t have a wheelchair (The cheapest one I have my eye on is about $300 out of pocket, and I just. Don’t have that money. Ive been trying to save up for that, though, as it would help me get an actual job + let me get out of my house more with significantly less worry… I’ve been begging my doctors to help me get it covered by insurance, but they claim that it’ll just make me regress, which is… a whole other issue) and can only walk maybe 5-10 minutes with a cane before I need to rest. If I push myself, I’ll be bedbound with blinding pain for the next day or so, or I’ll just straight up pass out — or, usually, both. The weather is turning warmer, and I have a severe case of heat intolerance, so I can’t be outside for long.

I’m not a fan of museums or aquariums or the like… Im not smart enough for escape rooms… Bowling is out. Most arcades are out. I don’t live in a very accessible town… I don’t really want to go and see a movie; that just doesn’t feel like “enough” of a thing to go and do… So, my point here is: Does anyone have any suggestions for what I could possibly go out and do? Just random local town suggestions… I like writing and reading and art and animals haha, if that helps spark anything…

Sorry if this is just… dumb. I probably won’t get a lot of answers anyway, I’m just… I want to do something. And I’d just like some suggestions… maybe some reassurance that it’ll get better someday, and I’ll be able to have a normal birthday again… I dunno’.

Thank you for reading :) and thank you for any suggestions

[benkyoutobentou]

（再）自己紹介 | Langblr Reintroduction!

皆さん　こんにちは！I recently hit a follower milestone and figured that it was time to reintroduce myself, as it's been quite a while, and I don't really have much information about me easily accessible on my blog. Additionally, I'd like to actually write stuff down about how this blog is organized. じゃあ、始めましょう！

Hi, my name is Nobody (they/them), my native language is English, and I like studying languages! Languages have interested me ever since I was a child, but I feel like I never knew how to properly learn a language until I started studying Japanese in 2020. Now, I also study Mandarin Chinese and German! Japanese is my main target language, and I would some day like to make Japanese my primary language. Yes, that means I'm interested in moving to Japan long-term.

Immersion is my favorite way to study, but as of right now, most of my immersion has been done in Japanese. Please tell me what you're reading or watching, or ask me what I'm reading or watching! I especially love talking about books and manga and would be more than willing to share recommendations!

Outside of language learning, my hobbies include horseback riding, gardening, and reading (in English). I also have a degree in music performance, but I don't really consider that to be a hobby since it's something I'm actively pursuing as a career.

As for my blog, I keep it mostly Japanese focused, mainly because I made this blog when I was only studying Japanese, but my other languages do show up once in a while, and much of the content I post/reblog isn't tied to a single language. Here are the tags I frequently use to organize my blog and what they all mean:

#benkyou posting - these are my own posts! These are usually tagged with at least one of the other tags, as this tag just denotes that I was the one who made it, not necessarily the content that it contains.

#languages - these are posts that are typically tied to a specific language or the specific study of languages. Resources for learning languages will also show up here.

#tips - these posts are general studying tips and may not be specifically about language learning, but are applicable to the study of languages.

#study - these posts are aesthetic posts of peoples' notes and study spaces.

#inspo - these posts are inspirational posts, for when you might have a bit of trouble getting into the study mood.

#art - this is just for Japanese art! Usually, it'll be traditional arts and I must admit that I'm a sucker for woodblock prints. If I reblog any sort of Japanese fashion (think more kimonos), it'll also show up here.

#culture - these are posts about the cultural aspects of Japan, such as explanations of festivals and the such.

#aesthetic - these are just beautiful photos of Japan, mostly temples. Again, these are just photos I like, and I really like shrines and castles (once someone called me a "temple weeb" and I'm still laughing about it).

#memes - this tag is for anything fun! Memes aren't the only thing that go in here- things such as polls and silly text posts will also show up here.

Things that I don't post or reblog include vocabulary lists and grammar explanations. I have nothing against them, I just don't particularly use them on tumblr and therefore find no reason to put them on my own blog. I've made a few vocabulary lists in the past, but have found that it's just not for me! Remember that language learning is a deeply personal journey and what works for you might not work for me and vice verse. Just because these things aren't particularly what I look for out of langblr content doesn't mean that they're not important to other people, but I would like to be clear about what shows up (and doesn't!) on my blog.

So welcome to my blog! I hope you choose to stick around a while! And for those who don't know Japanese, my blog name means "studying and lunch boxes."

[amadeusgame]

The World's Longest And Most Sentimental Development Log (Marketing Retrospective)

It's been a month since the demo release, and Amadeus: A Riddle for Thee ~  Episode 1 ~ Waltz has just reached 100 wishlists on Steam. I'm incredibly grateful for the support and interest.

Because this has been the month following a major release, most of my efforts have been focused on communications as opposed to development. I still want to discuss these efforts, both as a retrospective for my own reference, and in case anyone else finds it enlightening. This was meant to be a short and to-the-point marketing discussion, but it accidentally... and inevitably... transformed into something incredibly long and sentimental.

The long and short of it is that I've had an overwhelmingly successful month by my standards. Discussing marketing means I have been analyzing why that is. In doing so, I slowly became aware of just how much of my entire life has been building up to this.

I originally planned to mention other things in this update... discuss the recent demo livestream, announce an upcoming "100 wishlists" celebration... but those no longer really suit the tone of this update. I will post about them another time. I wasn't prepared to celebrate 100 wishlists this quickly, anyway! I had no idea I would get that much in the first month! I'm not ready to make that announcement! I would like to do something appropriate for this milestone, so please give me some more time to put proper thought into it.

You can reference here for the livestream video and other resources: https://linktr.ee/amadeusgame

I don't expect very many people to read the rest of this. But I am writing it anyway because it's important for me to express. And if you got anything out of the Amadeus demo, you probably got the fact that I am a bit of a long-winded and sentimental person. Bearing that in mind...

On Marketing Amadeus

Overall, I tried a lot of different things—many of which flopped—based on the question "what kind of communications would I like to see, as an audience?" Some combination of all of these somehow worked. I don't think it is particularly useful to try and pinpoint what specific individual things made Number Go Up the most, because the real takeaway was that I put enough messages out in enough places that over 100 real actual human beings came across them and were interested in what I am making. That number is probably tiny to people trying to earn a living in games, but as someone just hoping to get my art out there... the number 100 is significant and motivating.

I am happy to share the things that I've tried, and my impressions of how well they worked for my situation and purposes. Before that, though, I must stress that having assets to share in these communications in the first place was an invaluable step, especially since visuals and aesthetics are a very core part of my game.

Creating Marketing Assets

(When uploading a game to Steam, there are approximately 8 million different aspect ratios and dimensions you need to create branding assets for, so I chopped that source poster up into different pieces and spent about a week just making different combinations of them to suit various needs.)

Again: I was not thinking ahead to the Steam page when I drew this in October, not really. I was just drawing something that I wanted to draw, inspired by art that inspired me. If I hadn't indulged that desire and "procrastinated" a bit, I wouldn't have the assets to advertise the game when it came time for launch! This is something that I've experienced again and again throughout the process of development: making things for fun, doing things on impulse, taking breaks and indulging whims... many of these activities somehow end up being essential for the game. If I had refused that self-indulgence to focus on Important Development Stuff, I wouldn't have the cool piece of art I needed to successfully advertise the finished game on launch. Moreover, the final art in the game would not be as good, because I wouldn't have gotten ideas about art direction from making this poster.

(Also... I wouldn't have had as much fun making the game. Since this game's budget is $0 and all of my free time, it REALLY matters that I am having fun while making it.)

Even more important than these visual assets, though, was the trailer. How many games have I checked out just based on the trailer? I recently purchased Raging Loop on Steam, a game I have been considering for months, because I finally watched the trailer and realized "okay, this game is me-core." The trailer is so important. It's not about how pretty the trailer is; it's about whether the trailer shows me a game that I, in particular, want to play. I don't know who my audience is, but considering my goals and inspirations, I think it is something along the lines of "hipsters who love some combination of Umineko, werewolves, and unique aesthetics." So I needed a trailer that would connect with those people. A trailer that, if I watched it, would make me realize hey, this game is me-core.

Making a trailer is its own skillset, though! Completely separate from game development. Communicating something in video form is different than communicating it in another medium.

Fortunately... I have actually done a lot of just-for-fun video editing projects very recently! I edited together a "trilogy" out of roadtrip camcorder footage I took, and also put together the video for an audio-visual collab album. I already have tools and a workflow that I like to use.

I am developing a game, but it has helped me so much to have experience making a stupid trilogy of camcorder footage roadtrip videos.

I worked on those video editing projects because they were fun. I had absolutely no ulterior motive. In doing so, I still gained an important skill that transferred directly to marketing Amadeus. As someone who has always struggled to focus on just One Thing, it's incredibly affirming to realize that having done a lot of random stuff is actually really helping me as a solo game developer. I feel like I've finally found an art form where this is an important skill, and not a hindrance or distraction.

So... well, I suppose this means that I have no useful advice for other developers. I want to be honest about my experiences, and my experiences are that I only was able to prepare good marketing assets for Amadeus because I did a lot of for-fun art projects outside of game development. From my perspective, this is amazing news: it tells me that allowing myself space to be an artist and a person outside of this project has actually helped make the project itself better. It tells me that there are no downsides to being experimental and giving time to other projects too. But to anyone reading this hoping for some advice on putting together marketing assets, I'm sure it's the least helpful or relatable thing in the world. I'm sorry about that.

Getting the Word Out

Once the demo released, it became a matter of presenting the materials I had in the right ways, and in the right places. This is what I have been spending most of my waking hours doing this month. A non-exhaustive list of everything I've tried:

E-mailed all of my professors from grad school whose courses influenced my compositions for the game in some way. (This wasn't so much about the numbers, it was just motivating to get nice comments back. :D)

Joined a few Discord servers for communities dedicated to indie game developent; tried to engage in meaningful conversations there and check out other games while also sharing my own work. (I'm asking others for a favor, to take a look at my work, so I try to check out theirs too in return.)

Posted the trailer on the Visual Novels subreddit. (This flopped.)

Posted weekly* on Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, and a few other places. (This has been the bulk of my ongoing communications; see below!)

Posted on a forum I joined last year to discuss music composition.

Found and followed a lot of other indie game devs making things that interested or excited me.

Shared it in a Discord server I moderate** as a "creative mod." (I host monthly art-focused events, curate spaces for sharing art, etc.; see below.)

Shared it with basically all of my friends! Especially friends who are also artists and creators!

To sum, I used every single available avenue to talk about it. But I really need to expand on the two points bolded and asterisked above. I have something additional to say about them, and I cannot overstate how much it matters.

*Weekly Posts

As indicated, ongoing weekly posts on various platforms are the meat of my marketing. I post regularly, but it's really important to me to not just post the same stuff all the time and annoy everybody. I try to highlight different aspects of the game each time, use different framing, and do a variety of weird and silly stuff. Some things perform unexpectedly well and others are complete flops. But I think it's been key to not be afraid of failure and just try things. That way it's still interesting to the people who already checked out the game, while hopefully reaching new eyes too!

(Full disclosure, however: sometimes I will do something that has 0 chance of doing numbers, just because I think it would be a fun thing to post. Since I am completely self-motivating on this project, I have to do things that are self-indulgent, or I will burn out. So, hypothetically, I might be compelled to, say, post a photo taken on an Instax analog camera of the game hooked up to a CRT TV.)

(Step 1 of marketing is to have fun and be yourself?)

BUT ALSO!

AND THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THIS POST!!

I only have any sort of audience on these platforms because of other, unrelated things I've been doing for years. I met a LOT of people on Twitter and Instagram through cosplay and Tales of Symphonia speedrunning, who stuck around somehow. I met some people on Tumblr from recent Ghost Trick ROMhacking, and others from Homestuck meetups in 2012. I met people on Discord from a forum about video games I joined in 2006. I was already connected with a lot of like-minded people to share my game with! I know—I KNOW—that this is something that is only easy to say in retrospect, but: doing stuff and meeting people over the course of a lifetime has added up. I hope that this will continue to be true, and maybe some people who find me through Amadeus will stick around for whatever comes after, once I've fully completed the 5-episode story I have to tell here. And I will see it through.

So, please bear this in mind when reading about how I promote my self-indulgent game every week on Instagram. I did not attend Anime Expo 2015 in order to build an audience for the visual novel I would make 9 years later. I was just meeting and connecting with other cosplayers, because I thought I would still be doing cosplay indefinitely. But many of those connections have persisted over the years, and some of those people are interested in my game. None of this seemingly-unrelated life experience is wasted. In the words of one of my teachers from grad school, "it's an accumulated life." I have ended up somewhere unexpected, and I did not plan to end up here, but all of those past experiences were still a part of getting me to where I currently am.

**Discord Server Mod

I want to highlight this particular place where I've promoted my game, because it's important in a way that connects with basically all of my rambling above. I want to make it clear that absolutely everything that went well this past month started so much longer ago than that.

In this point, I am not saying "step 1 of indie game promotion: simply have been a creative events moderator on a Discord server for years first!" as this is incredibly useless advice. Hear me out for a moment.

About 2 years ago, there was no "creative events" moderator on this particular Discord server. It was mostly a space to talk about video games with friends. You could also post art there if you wanted, and you might have gleaned a react or two.

Also about 2 years ago, I began to think very deeply about my relationship with art and the internet. When I was a tweenager, there was this video game forum—a forum that migrated to the Discord server in question recently—where you could post your art (usually video game fanart, but could be anything), and the moderator would always engage with it and provide meaningful, thoughtful feedback. That space is one of the biggest reasons I drew so much when I was younger, and worked so hard trying to learn how to draw and shade and color better, because I wanted to have my efforts praised, and I knew they would be.

2 years ago, I desperately needed a space like that again. Lacking one, I decided to pick up the torch left behind by the moderator from my tweenage years, and become the person who would always, always provide thoughtful engaging feedback when people posted their work there. Literally some "be the change you want to see in the world" shit. I knew that someone else doing that for me fundamentally altered the course of my life, so I wanted to try and be that for others if possible. More selfishly, I hoped that this would also create the much-needed space for me to share my work and get feedback and responses, too.

Now, about 2 years later, that channel is pretty active. People regularly share their creative works, and it is one of my favorite places to post my own stuff because people are really good about engaging with each other's stuff there. It's been one of the most important places for me to share progress on Amadeus, because that external motivation helps a lot. And once the demo came out, I have absolutely no doubt that this server was a significant proportion of the initial support and momentum it received on launch.

I did not even have so much as a delusion of being a game developer when I made these changes in the Discord server. I was working in IT and considering applying to music school. I just wanted to build a community around art.

So, why am I writing about my 2-year journey as a Discord mod in my development update about marketing? Hopefully it makes a bit more sense now. I'm really trying to emphasize that the marketing I did this past month didn't start last month. It started 2 years ago on this Discord server, it started in 2006 when I joined that video game forum. Really, my marketing efforts have gone as well as they have because—whoops, I am tearing up writing this—I have made a lot of incredible connections in a lot of communities over the years, and now that I have something very important to me that I want to share, they have really helped support it. I've had some friends go so far above and beyond what I would ever ask them to do in sharing my game, and that kind of support just... I can't put a number on it; it's invaluable.

In Conclusion

Go to conventions and meet cosplayers. Speedrun a 6-and-a-half-hour-long JRPG from 2003 on Twitch. Join a forum and when it migrates to Discord, organize art events and comment on other people's work. Draw self-indulgent stuff and make silly roadtrip videos scored with Logic Loops. Make 90% of a ROMhack of a Nintendo DS game. Get completely obsessed with other visual novels on itch.io and write essays in their comments.

My name is Leo, and my marketing advice is You Only Live Once. I hope this helps. Have a wonderful evening and I look forward to presenting you with a more coherent update next month.

[sounwise]

“Inner Beatle Secrets: From Paul” (interview with Alan Freeman in Rave Magazine, April 1966 issue)

[Full transcript beneath the cut:]

-

No doubt, pop-pickers, millions of you would flip at an opportunity to entertain Paul McCartney in your home for a few hours. Well, if you ever do, take my tip . . . move the piano out first. Because Paul makes straight for it the way other people head for a good-looking chick.

“You eat, sleep and dream on it, don’t you?” I said. Paul grinned and rippled out another string of tuneful thoughts, the melody just growing from his fingers. Then he tried it over again, this time adding a jumping bass pattern that suddenly brought the whole thing to life. He stopped halfway through.

“That’s all I’ve got so far,” he said. “I must work on that a bit more.”

It took me half-an-hour to get Paul away from the keyboard and sit down and relax. I could see why the Beatles rarely run short of great new numbers. If someone invented a way of composing in your sleep, McCartney would be on to it like a shot.

It was nearly a year since I’d had a Heart-to-Heart with Paul, here in the same room at my London apartment. We’d met often since then, of course, on shows and in TV studios. But now, with a rare day free just to laze around and sip a long drink and chat about whatever came into his mind, you could see a big change in him.

In the old days Paul, like a lot of genuinely sensitive and creative people, used to cover up a little under a dry, wise-cracking front. Today he’s fizzing like a firework with all sorts of thoughts and theories about music, films, books and art.

People used to ask, “What happens when the time comes that the Beatles break up and go their own ways?” I don’t think we need to worry. I reckon their individual talents are possibly even greater than their achievements as a group. Even if the Beatles had never made a single disc, the Lennon-McCartney songs would have been a glowing milestone in pop anyhow.

So, if you don’t mind, Beatle-diggers, this is Paul the person talking of his ideas, his discoveries as his mind matures and the mad, hurtling pace of the world’s idols steadies down to a saner rhythm.

The phone rang outside, but I wasn’t letting anybody cut in on this revealing session with Paul. “No calls for the next hour, no matter what,” I said to Carolina, my secretary.

And Paul began to talk.

“It’s hard to know whether the Beatles have changed much in the past year as the public sees them,” he said. “But I know we have. I know I have, as a personal, internal change. I don’t mean things like getting the M.B.E. I think after the first couple of weeks we forgot about that.

“I’d say the really big change is in our tastes, in finding out about things we didn’t know before. For instance, George spends all his time now, listening to Indian music. He’s joined the Asian Music Circle. He’s really serious about it, too. It started when he got a cithar [sic]—the Indian instrument we used on ‘Norwegian Wood’.

“It’s the same with all of us. We’ve all got interested in things that just never used to occur to us. I’ve got thousands, millions, of new ideas myself. What I really want to do now is to see whether I could write all the music for a film. Not just to write tunes, but the music of the film itself.

“I want to read a lot more than I do. It annoys me that so many million books came out last year and I only read twenty of them. It’s a drag.

“What I’m reading at the moment is everything I can get on the assassination of President Kennedy . . . all the evidence, all the reports. I’m convinced that the real truth about that hasn’t come out. And I’m reading a French writer—Jarry. He’s great, weird.

“I’m reading plays like mad, too, I don’t know if I’ll ever want to write one. But there are so many things I’d like to have a try at.

“Painting. I’ve done quite a bit and I enjoy it. I’d like to do a lot more, find out if I might have a talent for that.”

Caroline brought in tea and passed the cups. “Paul,” I said, “how would you say all these new interests of yours might affect the Beatles’ music?”

He grinned, stirring his tea. “Well, if you mean are people frightened that we might suddenly go all sober or play stuff like Mantovani, they needn’t worry about that. We’ve got no intention of trying to rehash old things. The whole point is that we’re learning about new things all the time.

“Like doing ‘Yesterday’ with the string quartet instead of the big sweeping orchestra, which was the old way. But it would be a pity if we change the way which we think is better but everybody else doesn’t. It’d be a pity—but that’s the only way we’ve ever worked.

“We’ve only made the records which we think are good, and that’s the only standard we’ve ever gone by. Eventually we may get a bit too way-out. I hope not, but I don’t know.”

I pointed to the stack of newly released discs standing by the record player and said, “But if you go through those, for example, everyone can see that pop music is getting more and more way-out. People are going for it, all the same.”

Paul nodded. “Yes, to some extent it is. But there are still too many groups who are trying just to keep up. That’s no good. That’s what makes the whole pop thing dull in the end. You ought to be able to move on a bit further with every record, like The Who.

“And what’s more, they’ve got every chance. The equipment in most British recording studios is much better than it is in the States. But there’s some extra bit they get to the sound over there that we haven’t quite got. I don’t know what it is yet, but you get the sensation of that little bit more. The Stones always tell us we’d be better if we recorded in the States, but we never have. We probably will eventually.

“You put a record of ours with an American record and don’t alter the volume, and you’ll find the American record is always that fraction louder. And it has a lucid something I can’t explain. Funny, because as I say, I believe we’re technically better in Britain.”

Paul shrugged. But he had the contented look of a young man who has just come up with something else to investigate and find out about.

There must be many a group starting out now who are spurred along by visions of what life at the top must be like when you finally get up there in the Beatles class. But Paul said that although you obviously pick up the luxuries, you also discover that you’re going short of a lot of things that less successful people have more time to enjoy.

“I suddenly realised that because of the Beatles, as far as my own life was concerned, I’d got in a very severe sort of rut. And we all had, because we all just seemed to be working only towards trying to get pop things done. And we saw that obviously we must have missed out on quite a few things.”

He grinned and nodded towards the piano in the corner. “Only the other day I was working out a number and I stopped and thought, ‘What a drag. I’m twenty-three and I’ve never learned to read music.’ And I found I was thinking to myself as if I was finished. So I said, ‘Why don’t I?’ And now I’m doing it.

“Sooner or later it hits you that the average span of the British male is seventy-five years and you’ve had more than twenty of them, so you better make the most of what’s left. Then the brain starts working, and John and I rush out and buy loads of books.

“I’m lazy, but I don’t like myself being lazy. So the only way out is to do something about it. Like I made myself listen to classical records, though nobody in our house ever liked them. When one came on they’d just turn it off. But I thought, ‘I’d better sort this out for myself and see whether I like it or not.’

“And in fact I don’t like a lot of it. It’s too fruity and sentimental. But from that you get on to what the modern composers are doing. And it’s suddenly great, because you discover that there are all these things going on.

“Then I play them to John and he says, ‘What a drag—all these millions of records coming out all the time and we’ve not been getting on to them.’ Then we rush out and buy loads of modern compositions.

“The only thing to do is to listen to everything and then make up your mind about it.”

And that’s the best advice you’ll ever get on this planet, friends. Because it works, not just in the world of music, but in every profession they ever invented. I know people with no special gifts who’ve made fortunes just by listening. Not eavesdropping . . . listening. And when you know, then you can really start moving.

Paul shares with Pete Townshend of The Who a taste for the music of Stockhausen, one of the modern German composers. “His ideas are fantastic. It’s the farthest-out music yet. He uses electronic stuff that nobody else has got round to. And his records are listed under the classical section in the catalogues. So if you’ve got it in your head that you don’t dig classical music, look what you’re shutting out.”

He shook his head. “You can’t go putting music into little categories like serious and Merseybeat and so on. The great thing is that it’s music, whatever label they try to stick on it.”

Paul said with quiet intensity, “You see, you’re going to have trouble getting but unless you have fairly solid opinions on things. You live in a muddle. as soon as I noticed myself saying ‘I don’t know’ I thought, ‘Well, you’ll have to try. Why don’t I know?’ Unless you get at it, by the time you do find out you’ll be ready to die.”

The Beatles have obviously been the single influence on pop for decades. But Paul admitted that this influence would never have come about if he, John, George and Ringo hadn’t been excited and stimulated by other people’s thoughts and ideas.

“The whole thing is about trying to contact people all the time. And with everything . . . plays, books, music. Even cooking. Anything that breaks down any kind of barrier and lets you get through to another human being . . . that’s it, that’s what valuable, that’s what matters.

“I think that’s why the whole being-English explosion has been such a success in America and everywhere else. It’s a genuine effort, and it’s working. Everybody in England has suddenly got just a little bit more interested in everything and everyone else. Britain has just climbed up on to another level, and it’s a wonderful thing.

“You ought to hear the people who come over here, the ones we talk to. They’re knocked out, because the idea they had of England before was just ridiculous. They believe the whole bowler-hat thing, thought the English were very reserved and very cold. When they go to a few parties and see what we’re really like, they’re amazed.

“Oh, sure, there’s been a change in us, all of us. But there’s a lot of people who’re still apathetic, who’ve got one fixed opinion. You know, the kind who say ‘I just like pop music or rhythm-and-blues or Edmundo Ros and don’t ever tell me about anything else because I don’t want to know’. They’re still scared to lay themselves open to any new influence. And they stay in the don’t-know rut for ever.

“As far as the Beatles are concerned, we can’t just stop where we are or there’s nothing left to do. We can go on trying to make popular records and it can get dead dull if we’re not trying to expand at all and move on into other things. Unless you’re careful you can be successful and unsuccessful at the same time.”

The next the Beatles do a television film, Paul said, they want to use many more of their own ideas instead of leaving it to the network’s camera crews. “The one they did while we were in America could have been so much better. It needed just that little extra bit of imagination.

“Instead of getting someone in to do the music and the sounds, we’d like to do it ourselves. Spend a long time on it and really work at it.

“We’re getting something that’ll really give us some experience with mixing up sound and film in that sort of way. It’s a gift Capitol Records gave us in the States, and it’s the greatest little present event.

“It’s a television recorder. You just plug it into your set and you record the programme straight off, just like on to a tape. You can record the BBC while you’re watching ITV and show the film on your telly at one o’clock in the morning if you want to. They said we’ll be the first people in England to have them.

“So what we’re going to do when they come is go out and shoot film, weird shapes and patterns and light, and record special weird music to go with it and then come back and play it at home on the television. And we’ll be able to find out what works and what doesn’t, so that when we do a proper full-scale film we’ll know exactly what to put in it.”

The telephone shrilled in the other room. I looked at my watch. Our quiet hour had ended. “It’s Brian Epstein’s office for Paul,” said Caroline.

If you’re a Beatle, the world doesn’t leave you alone for long. While Paul was on the phone, the chauffeur arrived to pick him up for another business meeting. And for another while at least, all the schemes would have to wait while Paul the person made way for Paul the star.

As we shook hands on his way out, I wondered how far he would have carried his plans, what new excitements would be gripping him, the next time we have the chance of a Heart-to-Heart. More than likely, he would have come in from the bachelor cold by then and followed the other Beatles into marriage.

One thing for sure, I thought. No kid of Paul McCartney’s will turn out to be a don’t-know.

I looked at the piano guiltily as the lift hummed down to the ground floor. After all this time, I should be able to play that machine with the best of them. Why can’t I? I sat down and got a little chord shape going.

“Alan,” said Caroline around the door. “Fred Thing wants to know if you can come over.”

One note out in the bass somewhere—that’s got it.

“Tell him I’d love to,” I said. “But I can’t now. I’m working on an idea.”

Till next month—stay bright!

[crescencestudio]

Devlog #33 | 07.26.23

Hi everyone!

It's only been a month (per usual) since the last devlog. But it feels like so long ago! Very weird that last devlog I hadn't even released Intertwine yet. But here we are, back with another one!

Before we get into things, I want to extend the biggest thank you to everyone who has played and supported intertwine!

if you havent played yet, here it is. this is me on my knees asking because i am quite proud of it and what our team accomplished in two months!

in the almost month it's been out, we stand at almost 15k total plays and 200+ reviews which is so crazy to me. i never would've expected that kind of reception for our little game and when i say it has been so motivating for alaris!!! u dont even know!!!

thank you again for all the kind words---i know you are all Sick of me talking about it but i don't know how else to express my gratitude <3 it means so much to me ;_;

I wanted to make sure I inserted an official section for it in the Devlog just to really thank you all for the support. But with that, I shall get into the updates!

But not before a quick belated happy birthday to Fenir!

Writing

I posted it earlier this week, but I HAVE!!! THE MOST EXCITING NEWS!!! At least for me.

I FINISHED DRUK'S FIRST DRAFT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We all know how long this has been in the making. I've been talking about his route for what feels like an eternity. Evidently, it's Very Normal to experience burnout, struggles with motivation, creative ruts, etc. etc. at this point in development. The initial and final stages of development are easier because your motivation is up. In the beginning, it's like Wow!! This is Fun!! And towards the end, it's like Wow!!! I actually Fckn Made It!!!!

And so the middle part of development, aka the stage I just entered with Druk's route, is the slog.

Now that I've overcome that initial hurdle, while I'm not near the end of development, I do feel like I will have a better handle of progress on the following routes since I have a better set of expectations and tools on how to get through this stage (compared to when I initially started Druk's route, and I was like what are all these Feelings?? Why am I Struggling so much??).

That being said, WE ARE OVER HALFWAY DONE WITH THE SCRIPT! It currently stands at 200k words including the demo, and with how each of the routes have been shaping up, we have about 150k left to go. Wow!!!!! It is crazy to know I've written that much for Alaris, and this feels like such an exciting milestone to know that I'm over halfway there for the script!

We also have just about wrapped up Fenir's developmental edits, so that makes Kayn and Fenir's foundational versions of their routes done (all that would be left at this point is line tweaking and/or revisions based on beta feedback)!! Overall, this was a really exciting month for writing updates, and I'm so happy to feel back on track with Alaris development <3 I also finished my dissertation proposal in case anyone is keeping track of that HEEHOO

Art

Most of my attention for art was (un?)fortunately on Intertwine this month AGAIN. I really had anticipated being able to dive right into Alaris and irl work this month after Otojam ended. But the reception to Intertwine made it so I needed to dedicate some time to "marketing" artwork aka the artwork I like to make when reaching certain milestones of support (e.g., 1k downloads, etc.). Obviously these aren't necessary, but I like to show my thanks and appreciation in some way, and the artwork is what feels best conveys my gratitude.

Because we hit milestones relatively quickly, I ended up having to make those pieces faster than I anticipated prior to release. So I spent the first half of this month mostly on intertwine "promotional/apprecation" artwork. Near the tail end of this month though, I've prioritized Alaris artwork and have made progress on both the Kickstarter physical rewards and some CG sketches!

sneaky peeky of pretty mermay Aisa

Vui continues to hit it out of the park with the backgrounds. Most of them are spoilers at this point. But I do have one that isn't too bad of a spoiler! And because you all have been so supportive and patient with me, I show hehe

vui and his bg mastery: a preview of the dragon springs

The demo mentions dragon springs (I..... think......... LMAO), and here is a preview of what those dragon springs can look like. Wonder what the context will be in which we visit them, teehee! I'm in love with the way Vui brings the fantasy world of Alaris to life. I am so grateful for him ^^

Market Research

My wrist was feeling ~delicate~ this month due to Otojam crunch and then post-release pieces. So I don't have any actual art pieces to showcase this month for market research. I did play Otojam games and started Cupid Parasite (ryuki and allan my beloveds). But crescence's wrist needs to relax LOL. So no art pieces more than necessary for this month!

I will send some love to my besties over at Ravenstar Games though! If you haven't heard, they have a game currently in development called Lost in Limbo. It looks sick as hell, and the team is unbelievable talented and hardworking. This month to celebrate Barbie, they were able to sneak this promotional piece in, even while working on their Master's ((Do you see...... a familiar group of people..... heh))

Alaris x Lost in Limbo x Barbie the collaboration of the century

That's all from me for now. Thank you again for all the support and love on Intertwine! I've truly cherished all the fanwork, reviews, kind messages, etc.

That being said, while it was a bit of a struggle getting back returning to the Alaris world initially (I was literally like what.... was the plot of this again... LMAOsazodujf), it's been so rewarding to return to my OG gang. The intertwine release and return to Alaris work has also been strangely sentimental since it's reminded me how far I've come in the two years I've been in this dev Thang. As always thank you for your continued support (and for supporting Alaris since it's inception when I was a Wee Dev), and I look forward to bringing you more updates in the future <3

See you all next month, and stay safe!

[therentyoupay]

Hi, I was just wondering if technical difficulties is abandoned?

I hope you’re doing well!

*drops in after 5 years and 4 months with a technical difficulties chapter update*

*disappears*

cover art made by @angel-gidget ♡

03/08/23. HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, ALL, LONG LONG LONG TIME, NO SEE. ♡ Can you believe it? When I first published this story (first to tumblr, then to ao3), I had just moved to Japan! When I posted ch. 7, I was still living in Japan, and would stay there for another 7ish months... and in the 5 years and 4 months since posting the last chapter, I have moved to three different cities in the United States and started a Ph.D. program. (I am currently halfway through my PhD program!!!!!) What a wild ride. Also, we lived through the pandemic?! And I bought a house! Over the summer! The market was vicious.

So, then how did I get the inspiration/time/energy/motivation to write Ch. 8, you ask? Marvelous question. I lied down in bed last night to go to sleep "early" and ended up reading an utterly hilarious play-by-play commentary on Bad Books, Good Times of a popular fantasy novel series—and I'm not quite sure what it was about "poorly written books explained by hilariously clever book lovers" but I suddenly had a craving for fanfiction, so I opened up my Books app on my phone, and my eyes fell upon a sudden recommendation for my downloaded copy of technical difficulties. And I thought, "Am I suddenly and weirdly in the mood to jot down some notes to start Ch. 7 right now? By golly, I think I am."

4.5 hours later, I'd written the whole damn thing from scratch on my phone in my Notes app. (Messily! Half-assed! But I wrote all of it down!) I then spent another 6.5 hours today filling in the gaps and "editing." This chapter (and the one that will follow it) has been in my head for more than half a decade, but I just haven't had the space to get it out until now!!

I think one of the most beautiful parts of getting a PhD is how completely it blows your perfectionism tendencies utterly to bits, and one of the really interesting byproducts that has come up in my acdemic writing is just how quickly I can crank out decent-enough writing (skill-building!!). In my case, I think so much of it has to do with just being able to word vomit fairly well while not trying to fix anything until the whole damn thing is basically done. So, I applied that knowledge here! Behold!

This isn't to say that I'll be writing the final chapter anytime soon—I may be on spring break right now and may have had a stroke of Writing Inspiration in the Wild™ last night, but I'm still finishing my last semester of classes and learning advanced Python and working on my milestone paper for my doctoral program and preparing to present at my next conference in June and preparing my proposal for my dissertation next fall. BUT! The important thing is that I will post the last chapter of this story (and all my other stories)! Eventually!! ;)

No BETA for this chapter because I gotta THROW this out onto the internet and get back to coding, so bear with! I may do minor edits for it in the near or distant future. Also, please note that I have not watched any episodes of Miraculous Ladybug after the finale of Season 1, so this fic is very much a ~time capsule~ from the past. If there is any additional lore that might otherwise apply to the plot of this fic, please know that I don't know about it, and I am keeping myself selectively ignorant on all matters of Miraculous Ladybug season 2 and beyond until after I finish this story the way I originally intended. ♡ Woo!

as for, tumblr, sadly, to be honest, I'm never really online anymore! I'll respond to comments here on ao3 ASAP, though. ♡ LOVE YOU ALL, THANK YOU. ♡♡♡