#just.. because this is exactly the reason why I wanted to delete that fic

[myname-isnia]

*wakes up*

*grabs phone*

*email notification*

*new comment on SotRL*

*throws phone to the far side of adjacent couch*

*goes back to sleep*

[islesnucks]

𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓵 - Mathew Barzal x Reader

Summary: what started as an accidentall voicemial to your ex boyfriend ended up becoming routine and maybe even more TW: none that i can think of

Word count: 3.9k A/N: completely made up game schedule btw

Masterlist Add yoruself to the taglist if you wanna be notified when i post the fic!

-

“Hey, it’s Mat.” His voice echoed through the phone, so familiar yet strangely distant now. You’d heard him speak in interviews, but this was different. He was addressing you, or at least the voicemail version of you. “I can’t answer right now, so you know what to do.”

You didn’t know what to do. Calling your ex-boyfriend, the one you had broken up with months ago, wasn’t something you had exactly planned. Yet, when the acceptance email for the program you had worked tirelessly for arrived, the one he had witnessed you pour your heart into, he was the person you wanted to share it with. So that’s what you were doing, trying no to overthink it before nerves got the best of you.

“Mat, hi. This is so random—H-how are you?” Thank God he didn’t answer, you were a stuttering mess leaving a voicemail imagine if it had been him on the other end instead. “I got in! Into the program I mean. I don’t know why, but I wanted to tell you. You helped me so much before—” you cut yourself again. It didn’t feel right to mention the break up like that, but what could you say? Before I broke up with you? Before I stumbled out of your apartment leaving you behind without an explanation?

“Fuck it. I can’t do this.” You pulled your phone away from your ear and touched the red dot.

That’s it. He didn’t need to know, he probably wouldn’t even care. Who would want their ex to call to tell them they were doing great? That maybe after all the breakup was worth it because they had gotten into the program they had neglected their relationship for? Too long, right?

A second later, realization struck like lightning – you had ended the call before deleting the voicemail. It had been sent.

“Oh no, no, no!” you exclaimed, eyes widening in horror. There was no turning back. Mat would undoubtedly hear you stumbling over your words. Why couldn’t you have just left well enough alone? The last thing he needed was you barging back into his life with a pathetic voicemail about something he likely moved on from. ‘He probably already despises me after how everything unfolded, and now this’ you thought.

You were wrong, because no longer than 5 minutes after everything had gone down your phone was buzzing in your hand, Mat’s contact bright in the center as he now waited for you to pick up for a change.

“Mat.” you picked up.

“Hey. You called me?” He sounded confused, for very obvious reasons. Nevertheless it was nice to hear his voice now directed at you.

“Yeah, right. I left you a voicemail.” You rolled your eyes. At least you sounded less nervous than earlier on the voicemail, but it was not less embarrassing.

Mat’s voice came through, cool and collected. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t check. I just saw the missed call and, you know.”

“Sure, sure.” you replied, trying to sound half as calm as he seemed to be with the whole situation.

“Do you want me to hear it or …” his offer hovered in the air.

“No! I mean, I can tell you.” You cringed at the thought of him hearing your rambling voicemail. “So, I called because I just got the mail. I got into the program!”

“Shut up! That’s great! Congratulations!” Mat’s excitement burst through the line. Your heart melted a little. After everything that had happened he sounded genuinely happy for you.

“Thank you, Maty.”

Mat’s tone softened. “You deserve it, after all the hard work you put into it. I knew you’d get it.”

You chuckled, the tension easing. “I know, I know. You told me like a million times. I was just insecure.”

For a second you let yourself imagine this was under other circumstances. You were still together and he was calling you right after practice or from another city in one of his roadies. He’d come back home eventually and hug you so tight you wouldn’t be able to breath, probably lift you up and spin you around a little. You wouldn’t be able to stop laughing and-

“I know …” Mat’s response brought you back to reality. The reality in which he wouldn’t knock on your door with his arms wide open.

His tone carried an easy understanding. He definitely knew about your insecurities. They played a huge role on why your relationship was the way it was right now: nonexistent.

“So that’s what the voicemail said?” He broke the silence.

“Yeah, basically. But you know, all giddy and stuff. Really embarrassing.”

Mat’s laughter grew louder, and you could practically see him shaking his head. “Oh, really? Well, now I have to hear it.”

“No, no, no.” you protested, your embarrassment deepening. “Seriously, don’t Barzal. I know where you live.”

But Mat insisted, his curiosity piqued. “Come on! Embrace the cringe. It can’t be that bad.”

He ended the call before you could object anymore, only to call you back a minute later. Mat’s laughter erupted again as soon as you picked up, and you couldn’t help but join in, the shared humor dissipating the lingering awkwardness. If you closed your eyes you could almost picture him with that scrunched up nose as he laughed.

“The ‘fuck it, i can’t do this’ was the best part by far.”

-

The familiar buzz of the MSG postgame show filled the cozy confines of your living room as Mat’s name flashed brightly on your phone, catching you off guard. Shannon and Hickey were in full praise mode, replaying Mat’s epic goal on loop, and there he was, the main attraction, waiting on the other end of the line for you to pick up.

You fumbled for your phone, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips as you swiped to answer. “Hey, I didn’t expect your call.” you remarked, the commentator’s voices still ringing in your ears.

“Bad timing?” Mat’s voice crackled through the phone, a hint of breathlessness underscoring his words – probably still riding the adrenaline high from the ice.

“No, no. It’s just that a second ago you were on my screen falling all over the ice.” you teased, imagining his less-than-graceful moments on the rink.

“I don’t fall that much!” he argued, sounding mildly offended.

“You do, but you also score, so it’s forgiven. Congrats on your almost hatty, by the way.” You chuckled, knowing how much he loathed falling a goal short. Always so hard on himself. 

Mat scoffed, clearly annoyed at missing the mark. “So, you watched tonight?”

“Obviously, I watch every game I can catch.” you replied, the excitement of the game still coursing through your veins. The thrill of watching Mat succeed, even from a distance, even after all that happened, was undeniable.

“You should come, you know. I’m sure the girls would love to see you.” Mat suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of longing.

“I don’t know, Mat. It’s not my place anymore.” you hesitated, letting the uncertainty hang in the air. You had to change the subject before your mind started spiraling.  “Anyway, why did you call?”

“Oh, right. I listened to your voicemail again!”

“So you called to tell me you haven’t actually deleted it like you promised?”

“I heard it right before the game and got 2 goals and 2 assists. I think it’ll become my new pregame ritual, honestly.” Mat admitted, his voice softer now, laced with a hint of nostalgia. Why had he chosen to hear it? That’s something he would save for himself for now. The shared memories of your past flitted between you, unspoken but palpable.

“Really? Want me to send embarrassing voicemails before every game?”

“I’d love it. Yes, please.” Mat replied with a laugh, the warmth of his laughter washing over you like a comforting embrace. The playful banter held a certain intimacy, a bridge between past flames and the uncharted territory of what lay ahead.

The banter flowed seamlessly, a blend of shared history and the current moment. The familiarity was comforting, but the unspoken complexities of your past lingered in the air, a delicate tension.

-

NYI vs. TBL - November 5th

“Hey, Barzy. I don’t know if you were joking or not but here’s your pregame embarrassing voicemail as solicited. You weren’t serious, right? Well fuck it, enjoy it or ignore me whatever.”

NYI vs. CGY - November 7th

“Just walked past that coffee shop where we had our third or fourth date I think. Remember how you choked over your latte when I lied and said I loved the Rangers?”

NYI vs. SEA - November 9th

“Hey, you won’t believe who I just saw. That guy that lives in the building across the street, the one that has your face tattooed on his left arm. He asked about you, told me to wish you good luck. So good luck from him … and from me. Good luck tonight.”

NYI vs. VAN - November 11th

“Hi! Your sister told me your family is going tonight, so send them a kiss from me, ok? … I-I keep in touch with her, I don’t know if you knew that or like maybe I should’ve told you? Are you ok with that? I’m sorry I just assumed you would be. Anyway, good luck! Say hi from me! Or don’t if you don’t want to-”

NYI vs. NYR - November 16th

“Dude. Rangers tonight. Don’t mess it up. May have bet on you guys with a guy from work, I don’t wanna have to pay for his lunch tomorrow. Please. Good luck, 13.”

NYI vs. PIT - November 18th

“Shit, shit, shit. Hope you can hear this before the game. I’m still getting used to the program’s schedule and all of that, I’m kind of a mess right now. Anyway, good luck!”

NYI vs. DET - November 20th

“Maty, hi! I know this is kind of dumb because I saw you like 10 minutes ago and I’m in the building but still thought I should leave the voicemail just in case. (Come on!) Ok I have to go, Sydney has a tone of gossip to catch me up on. Good luck!”

NYI vs. DAL - November 23th

“Hello Mr Barzal, I won’t be able to watch tonight, but still good luck! Even if you don’t win, I hope you score a goal, make an assist. That 8 game point streak you have going on is insane. I think I’ll start charging you for this if they are working so well.Good luck Barzy!”

NYI vs. STL - November 26th

“Hey! First of all, good luck! Second, I left my scarf at the Lee’s last night. It’s red, I was wearing it when you picked me up. Grace said Anders would give it to you tonight. Maybe we can meet for coffee tomorrow so you can give it back? Anyway, good luck!”

NYI vs. CHI - November 28th

“13, hello! I don’t have anything funny to tell you today so just good luck! Love you- shit, sorry. Habit I guess. Bye.”

NYI vs. NYR - November 30th

“You have zero new voicemails. To record a new personal greeting press one-”

-

You tried everything to get your mind off it, but it wasn’t working. The cup of tea was now cold in your hand and you couldn’t even pretend to care what was going on in the movie you had playing on your tv. The game had ended an hour ago but it was on replay in your mind.

It was silly to think it was your fault. You couldn’t influence the score of the match, the 5-1 loss against the Rangers wasn’t on you. However the outcome would’ve been different if their starplayer hadn’t been taking stupid penalties, losing the puck, causing turnovers. That could be on you partially.

The bell ringing caught you by surprise, almost dropping the cold tea. You got up to answer, even though you had a feeling you knew who was waiting by your building’s door.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.” The familiar voice needed no introduction.

“Mat? What are you doing here?” 

“Buzz me in.” he requests, and you could practically hear the determination in his tone. With a resigned sigh, you pressed the buzzer, knowing full well he wouldn’t leave until he got what he came for.

A few moments later, a knock sounded at the door, and you found yourself face to face with him. Determination was bright in his eyes, your heart started racing.

“What’s going on?” He rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed by your attempt at pretending not to know why he’s there.

“You didn’t leave a voicemail.” Mat strided in without waiting for an invitation, and the unspoken tension was palpable.

“Right, that. I guess I forgot. Sorry.” you lied, trying to sound convincing but knowing there’s no use, he’d know. You closed the door behind him almost instinctively, as if shutting out the forthcoming emotional storm that’s about to break in your apartment.

“You’ve been sending me a voicemail before every single game for the past month.” he remarked, his gaze keenly picking up on your avoidance. Frustration started to take over. He already had been in this position before, begging you for explanations and all you did was look away. “Please, don’t shut me out. Not again.”

“I got confused, okay? Why are we doing this? I’m your ex-girlfriend, I broke up with you, Mat. And now I’m going to your games and sending you voicemails every game? What even is this?”

At some point you started walking all over the living room, the distress was clear. Mat was better at hiding it, he stood still by the door like he had been since he walked in, but you could see his hands fidgeting. Neither of you had a clear head to take on what was about to come, chaos was inevitable.

“I don’t know, but I thought you liked this. I thought it was like an inside joke, our own thing.”

“It was that. But you’re not supposed to have that with your ex.” you said, trying to emphasize the last word for him, as if a reminder of your status would help the situation in any way. 

“We’re friends?” He furrowed his brows, and, had it not been for the situation you were in, you would’ve laughed at the way even he sounded so unsure of what he was saying.

“Mat, come on. It’s confusing, I know I was getting confused. It started with the voicemails, which was already something, but then we’re talking every day, I’m going to your games again and team’s gatherings, we’re hanging out again. I said ‘I love you’ on my last one!” You finally looked at him, baring it all. There was only one solution in your mind and it had to be taken no matter the pain it would undoubtedly cost you. “I think it’s better if we stop.”

There was a moment of silence, he looked at you as if trying to read through the wall you were hiding behind. Trying to decipher if it was you speaking or your insecurities had taken over again. Most importantly, trying to figure out if this time he had what it took to get to you before he lost you.

“I don’t want it to stop.” he said, determination clear in his voice. In a second he closed the gap between you. The proximity caught you off guard, you couldn’t remember the last time you were this close. “Tell me you don’t feel anything.” It sounded almost like a beg, but he didn’t care.

“We broke up.” you insisted, trying to sound all resolute.

“You broke up with me.” he corrected you, his gaze holding steady, slicing through your defenses.

“We weren’t working, Mat! We could barely see each other, and when we did, we were too tired or stressed. We fought a lot. We broke up.” It sounded almost childish the way you stubbornly persisted on it, like you needed to reassure yourself more than him how things had played out last time.

“Couples fight sometimes; it’s normal. I was stressed about the playoffs, and you were stressed about getting into the program. It was a bad moment, yes, but that’s over.”

“Other problems are gonna come up.”

“We can face them together, we fight and make up. That’s it, that’s how couples work.”

You paused for a second, it made no sense to keep on repeating yourself. It seemed like he had a solution for every obstacle you presented. He had come here for answers, it was time to give them to him even if you were answering older already forgotten questions.

“I was scared, Mat. I was scared and insecure, and it felt like I was ruining it all.” Tears start rolling down your face and there’s nothing he wants more than to hug you, keep you close to his chest, push the pain away; but he knows he shouldn’t. You’re finally letting down your guard, telling him what he’s been dying to hear for months; he has to give you space to be vulnerable. “I thought it was better to break things up before they got really nasty.” your voice wobbled.

“I get it, I really do. But you could’ve told me and I should’ve been more present, not left you alone to deal with our problems. We could’ve tried to make it work. ” He looked deep into your eyes, his own reflecting a mix of understanding and unwavering love. “I know I loved you more than enough to work through it.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about how I ended things, and I’m sorry about the voicemail and all the mess I’ve caused.” You tried to walk away from him, the proximity being too much, but he caught your arm making you face him once again.

Tears started streaming down his face as you tried to grapple with the weight of your own decisions. He looked you in the eyes, the determination from earlier is still there, even behind the tears those glossy eyes told you he wasn’t gonna leave in silence like last time. This time he had to leave it all out, even if he ended up hurt in the process.

“When you first called me I was too nervous to answer so I let it go to voicemail. I think even then I knew it wasn’t over for me, I knew hearing your voice would bring it all back.” You winced, acutely aware of the emotional turmoil you’ve caused. What you didn’t know was he wasn’t worried about pain coming back; what worried him was all the love he had for you and had pushed away after the break up coming back and once again not having where to put it.

“But then I wanted to hear you, the real you, not the voicemail, so I called you. I cannot tell you how happy it made me to hear you, like my heart was beating again after months of numbness. And you were telling me this great news, when you got that acceptance letter you wanted to tell me.” he continued, and you released a heavy breath, a half-smile forming on your face. He was right, the first person you wanted to share your triumph with was him, you hadn’t thought much about it back then but no it was so clear.

“I replayed your voicemail before the game that first time because I wanted to hear your voice. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I heard you over the phone earlier that day, and all I wanted was to hear you again talking to me.” he confessed, a mixture of vulnerability and longing in his words. “At first I thought maybe I was making it up, you know? Maybe it was just my unresolved feelings, maybe there was nothing going on. But you called me first and then you kept on sending the voicemails. Things were going back to the way they were before. It felt like I was me again, like we were us again.”

Mat smiled thinking how everyone could notice; his friends, his teammates, his family, everyone could see the old Mat was back. He told them off, too afraid to consider you were all he was missing because he knew he didn’t have you back, not yet.

His hand gently cupped your face, sending a shiver down your spine. Closing your eyes, you leaned into his touch. You missed it, there was no denying it anymore. You missed it all too much—his touch, his voice, his energy, his very presence. Him.

“You said ‘I love you’ on the last voicemail. I replayed it like 20 times at least, just to hear those three words. From you, to me.” The weight of those three words hung in the air between the two of you after so long, it was electrifying. Your heart raced; he was about to say it, and you yearned to hear it.

“I love you.” he declared, and there was no ambiguity this time. It wasn’t a recall of your words; this time, it was his confession to you.

“Maty…” was all you managed to say; his nickname laden with tenderness and echoes of old fears that still lingered.

“I want this. I want you even if I can only see you two times a week and even if half that time you are studying or working or stressing over both. I want to be there with you. I want to fight and make up. I want all of it, the messy and ugly included.”

“I love you.” you finally whispered.

It was over. He loved you, you loved him, and there was nothing left to say.

In that breath-holding moment, he leaned down, his lips finally touching yours. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a wild ride through forgiveness, longing, and the silent agreement to dive back into the messy and the beautiful, hand in hand. He was smiling into the kiss, so were you. The taste of salt from their tears lingered, mingling with the sweetness of the moment. The kiss spoke of second chances and the magic of beginnings, a promise to rewrite the story that had once unraveled.

You pulled away, breathless and teary-eyed, yet a radiant joy painted across your faces. You laughed, a melody of relief and newfound hope. One of his hands was on your back as the other traveled from your face to the back of your head, pulling you against his chest. Your arms hugged his torso tight.

“I love you.” he mumbled against your head before placing a kiss on top.

-

NYI vs. MTL - December 1st

“Hey! Good luck tonight babe-”

“I don’t think it counts if I’m literally next to you when you record it.”

“Shush. Who’s the voicemail expert here? Me. Anyway, as I was saying before you interrupted me: good luck tonight, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

-

soooooo it’s here! hope you like it! like and reblogs are always appreciated!

it felt so good to write again and to share it too, hope i have more time this year to write more stuff

taglist:

@glassdanse @2manytabsopen @barbienoturbby @sweetlittlegingy @mcsteamylove98 @ttylfedora @chieflawyerpastatoad @iwantahockeyhimbo @fallinallincurls @jordiee95 @heatherawoowoo @barzysreputation @farabeezers @4ambagelbites @matwith1t @audryaho @maximoff-xmen @astrydis @joelsfarabees @bitchforbarzy @deloughrey @brias1201 @besthockeyfics @ya-pucking-nerd @hoiyheadharpies @mckenna4 @rosesvioletshardy @hockeyunits @siriusly-parker @ilyasorokinn @lam-ila @boqvistsbabe @theycallmecassie @ephemeral371 @hal3ynicol3 @angelblooddevil @besthockeyfics @beauvertime @picked-off-by-barzal @1316 @cherrygirl1229 @lunabean @random-readers-world @poufsouffle21 @barzysbaby @matbarzal13 @alwaysclassyeagle @wanbach23 @evaggreendaily

[behidethetrees]

THE RIGHT SIDE OF MY NECK, STILL SMELLS LIKE YOU.

IN WHICH… having a job while dating a clingy rafe doesn’t exactly go hand in hand.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem! Pogue!Reader

Contents: NON-CANON!Rafe, Reader fixes cars, clingy and possessive! Rafe, brief Pope mention, Your friends are the pogues, This is set in the 2000s!!

THIS IS A REUPLOAD!!! my old blog was deleted so i have to reupload all my fics :( Anways enjoy!

Prequel Part 1

Rafe hates that you work. 

You weren't meant to clean cars, You were meant to stay inside your Tannyhill house with Rafe, Always next to him, never out of his sight. 

He hated the assholes you complained about for being rude to you. Rafe always argued or sometimes fought people who even looked at you wrong. Once he heard some old dude yell at you to hurry up, Later that night Rafe smashed his car with his golf club. He was big on respect especially when it came to you. 

But there was nothing more that Rafe hated than the fact you worked with Guys alongside two other girls. It's not that he didn't trust you or thought you might cheat on him with them, He didn't trust them. You were beautiful, heaven sent in Rafe's eyes. Your guy friends were lucky to even be in your presence, Or they were even luckier Rafe didn't bash their heads open for being around you. 

Sometimes Rafe would show up to your job for a bit when he wasn't playing golf or he missed you extra. You knew Rafe was very, very clingy, always touching you in some way, But today was extreme. 

JULY, 2008. 

“Rafe I'm gonna be late!” You tried to get Rafe off your back but he kept hugging you tighter. 

“Do you have to have to go, why can't I come, why can't you just quit already?” Rafe whines. He'd never admit it out loud but he dreaded the times you went to work.

You start to waddle towards the front door. “If I let you come with me will you get off of me?” You question him.

Almost instantly Rafe steps away, looking at you surprised as you already walk outside, opening your car door. “Really? I can go?” He asks shocked.

“If you dont get in the car in 10 seconds I'm leaving you.” You stated, Not that you were going to leave him but you wanted him to hurry up. Rafe almost trips because of how fast he darted to your car. Rafe insisted he’d drive you, that wasnt up for discussion.

Rafe opens the car door for you when you two arrive at the Pogue bodyshop. He slips his arms around your waist as you walk, keeping you close to him, This was going to be a long day. 

When you popped open the hood of your client's car, Rafe hugged you from behind, Kissing your neck gently as you worked. At first you didn't mind but it started becoming a lot. Anywhere you walked, Rafe followed. When you went to talk to anybody Rafe slung his arm around your neck while giving whoever the death stare, making sure they know you're his. 

When you went on lunch break Rafe sat you in his lap, keeping you away from your friends. As you eat your sandwich, Occasionally letting Rafe have a bite, Your friend Pope comes up to you.

“Hey Y/N do you want my chips?” Pope offered, He always gave you his chips because he felt too guilty to tell his mom she wasnt getting the right kind. 

“Yeah sure thanks Pope” You smiled at him, as you extended your arm to grab them, You felt Rafe's strong arm pull yours back down. 

“Fuck off.” Rafe grits through his teeth, Staring at him tensely. Pope's expression fell and he quickly turned around to start speed walking to the other pogues.

“What the hell was that?” You flicked Rafe on the forehead. 

“I dont like him, He's no good like the rest of those pogues.” Rafe states as he rubs the part of his forehead you flicked him on. Rafe didn't like your friends for many reasons, stupid reasons. Mostly because they're pogues, like you, which confused you. 

“Im a pogue too Rafe.” You remind him as you cross your arms, You didn't understand the whole ‘Kooks vs. Pogues’ rivalry. You recall the first time you met JJ he went on a rant on how you should stay away from kooks and how they're the real trash. 

“Not like them, you're different baby.” Rafe tried to clarify but he had already messed up. You stood up in front of him, still crossing your arms. 

“Apologize to him or leave.” You tell him. “ You can't come to my work just to be mean to my friends and clients, And I can't work with you all up on me Rafe!” Rafe quickly stood up, He heard your tone and your voice slightly getting louder indicating you were getting annoyed with him. But luckily for Rafe, he knew how to get you to calm down. 

“Hey, hey I'm sorry okay? Really I am, dont make me leave.” Rafe grabbed your hands to take them into his own. All it took was Rafe's sweet words and his dazzling eyes for you to give in to him. Your face softens as you look at him. 

You sigh. “Please stop clinging to me when I'm working okay? I promise we can cuddle when we get home but I need to get this car done.” You tell him, He quickly nods. 

“And I'm serious Rafe, apologize to Pope!” You playfully push his shoulder.

“Whatever you want baby.” 

A/N: someone on my old blog wanted a prequel of how they met so i will do that soon <3.

Requests

Taglist: @nowitsmissing

[stop-talking]

Breakdown of the @joshsbimbo controversy.

@mike-schmidtten already made a detailed list of every reason why people are upset with you, "lamb", but I'm going to quickly go over it all anyways because you obviously didn't get the memo.

Extreme trigger warning for this entire post, I'm going to be talking about rape, SA, assault, violence, abuse, incest, stepcest, pedophilia, substance abuse, and probably a lot more.

First of all, you tagged this fic where Mike literally rapes the reader as "cnc". That is not correct.

I mean, if we look at the definition of CNC, it says "this type of scene does not encourage ACTUAL rape. All proper scenes are done after much negotiation between of-age, consenting adults."

But I don't need to explain that to you, do I? You know what CNC is. You said yourself MONTHS ago that you tagged your fic incorrectly and NEVER went back and fixed it.

Mike's next point was that you make it impossible for people to "steer away" from their triggers when you don't tag your posts properly.

And as an example he used this post of straight up incest porn between Mike and his little sister. All completely out in the open, tagged under "#mike schmidt" and "#mike schmidt x reader" for all to see.

He followed it up this this. A plea for you to, at the bare minimum, tag the major triggers in your posts and hide it under a "read more" section.

Let's take a look at how you responded to that very reasonable request.

Oh. You DM'd him the word poop and blocked him.

Instead of reblogging to respond, you actually deleted your origional post so your followers couldn't see the criticism of you as easily. I wonder why? You made your stance clear, though. "I should have put more warnings on my work, but it doesn't matter anyways because it's all fictional." But then, immediately after, you started relogging an account that makes photoshopped foot fetish content of male celebrities for some reason...?

(I censored the feet myself because its just weird) Oh, and weird AI pictures of him, too.

There were worse ones, but I didn't screenshot everything, and you deleted these posts just a few hours after reblogging.

You followed it all up with this now-deleted post about how you wish you could make your notes private. Again, I wonder why? If it really is OKAY to sexualize incest, rape, and abuse just because it's fictional, why would people be scared to support you? Why is no one willing to publicly like your posts, or speak out in your favor? Even some of your biggest supporters (@leah-hutcherson @teenagedreamsss @cuteskunkz @renaissancebewbies) who continue to like (some) of your posts, still haven't come to your defense. If writing about fictional rape, abuse, and incest really and truly wasn't harmful, why would you need to hide?

Once other people started catching wind of what was going on, you responded in some... interesting ways. Like here, in response to this ask (from a person who is a minor BTW). You switched up your story from "I should have tagged my work better" to "everyone hates me now because I forgot to put warnings on ONE story" (which was just blatantly false, as you had been posting other triggering things at the time with no warnings whatsoever.)

It was absolutely ridiculous of you to claim you put warnings on your work when I could scroll down two posts (back before you deleted this) and see a post about Mike beating his kid.

Like... please show me where exactly the warning is?

Then, when this person, (another MINOR, btw!!) posted after reading Mike's breakdown of your behavior, your responded by DMing them a slur.

I don't even know what to say to that. A minor. A slur.

But as much as you like to INSIST your work isn't for minors, you sure seem to interact with them a lot.

This person who reblogged your masterlist? They're a minor.

^^ You can't say you don't want minors to read your work without actually taking all precautions possible to prevent them from seeing it. (Tagging your content, blocking ageless accounts, NOT REBLOGGING MINORS!!!)

Yes. This person is also a minor. Which makes, what, the 4th minor you've interacted with in the past few days? At least from what I can tell.

They also hate you btw so I don't even know why you reblogged them.

FINALLY, this user commented under one of your posts in an attempt to get you to AT LEAST tag your posts correctly if you're going to write triggering shit. (Which was the same think Mike asked you to do, if you remember, but he got "poop" and reblogs of foot fetish posts as a response.)

But then it looked like you either blocked them or removed their comment, so they tried again.

You ignored this message, then apparently posted this?

So they tried again (being much nicer that I would have)

And you finally responded (and still got blocked anyways because your posts are DISTURBING and GROSS)

I doubted you'd actually fix your page, because again, you ignored the same request when Mike asked, and in the past admitted you tagged your fics wrong but just never bothered to change it.

But surprise surprise, you actually went through with it and added trigger warnings to your content.

Though, I'm still not sure "non-serious" is an appropriate tag for a post where mike beats you to death...??

Look. I appreciate that you're at least TRYING now, but it was a fucking FIGHT to get you to do the bare minimum. What I, and apparently 84% of people actually want you to do is delete your account.

(This is from @mike-schmidtten's breakdown post from a couple days ago)

I know you want to PRETEND that just because something is a work of fiction, it doesn't have negative real-world effects, but that's just not the truth.

A lot of people were hurt when you posted things without trigger warnings.

And even now, as you continue to post fetish content for rape, incest, and abuse, people are still being hurt. MINORS are still being hurt.

Yes, obviously, if you post something on the internet, you can't completely 100% control who sees it. But you don't even seem to TRY.

(Dming minors slurs, letting minors reblog your masterlist, letting ageless accounts interact with you, reblogging minors, answering asks from minors, etc)

People, minors, CHILDREN, are raped and abused by those closest to them every day. It's disgusting and horrifying to think about, but it's the world we live in.

You aren't "helping people cope" by writing these stories. You're normalizing abuse. And allowing the most vulnerable people to read it.

You're taking actual things that have happened to real people, and sexualizing it for others to get off to. It's immoral, disturbing, and disgusting.

To my followers, if any of you support this kind of content, you are NOT welcome on my page. Please unfollow or block me and go seek help.

And to you, lamb, I hope you come to your senses and either delete all of your rape & incest fetish content or delete your account entirely.

At the end of the day, you KNOW you're in the wrong. Or at least some small part of you does, or you wouldn't have been afraid to reblog Mike's post and respond defending yourself directly. And you wouldn't be afraid to reblog mine either, which you undoubtedly will.

I know you used to follow me, so maybe you'll take this all to heart. But probably not.

I won't block you. (for the next few days, at least). I'll be here if you want to try and have a civil discussion. But just know I will NEVER agree with the sexualization & glorification of violence and abuse.

[flemingsfreckles]

Be a Good Teammate pt. 2

Jessie Fleming x USWNT!Reader (also Seattle!Reader)

Read Part 1

Warnings: none, this is a pretty relaxed chapter

WC: 2.8k

A/N: thank you so much for the support on what is now Part 1. Due to how many people requested a continuation of this fic, I figured I’d go for it! This is more of a filler/plot mover part of the story. There will be at least one more part that will be a lot more interesting but if there’s enough interest and I have the ideas, maybe it’ll be many more parts.

It had been a couple weeks since you had talked with Jessie on the field in San Diego. You haven't heard anything from her, not that you were expecting to after she had told you she had a lot on her plate. Not hearing from her had bothered you a bit in the beginning, thoughts of her constantly popping up in your mind. She was a minor distraction. As time went on and you didn’t hear from her you went back to the way you had been before you had seen her. You were able to brush off the thoughts of her easily, getting back into your routine as if you hadn’t even seen her.

Something deep down hoped you’d wake up to a text from her. That hope diminished as the days passed. It wasn't until the week before your team was supposed to take the trip to Portland to play that you heard from her.

Unknown: Hey, this is well overdue but I just wanted to apologize, I was rude to you after the gold cup game. Not an excuse but I was in a pretty rough state. Thanks for what you said too.

Unknown: by the way this is Jessie, I had to get a new number to use in the US. Feel free to delete my UK number. Keep the Canada one, I still use that.

Unknown: I got your number from Coffey.

Unknown: Hope that’s okay. You can just delete this number if you’d rather.

Reading her texts made you smile and let out a small laugh, she texted exactly how she would talk. You can practically hear her voice while reading through the texts, how she probably sat there overthinking each text only to then feel guilty for not just double or triple but quadruple texting you. You clicked on her number, changing her name in your phone to Jessie (USA).

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard as you thought about responding. Deciding against replying at the moment, you lock your phone again and climb out of bed. You throw on your clothes for training then head to your kitchen to make a quick breakfast and coffee.

Training was rough. It was less that the physical workout was hard, it had actually been a lighter day being only 2 days away from game day. It was rough because you couldn't focus.

Your mind kept drifting to the few texts you had received from Jessie. Had she been thinking about you all these weeks? Why did she wait so long? Maybe she was only thinking about you since you would be seeing her this weekend. But maybe she was thinking of you for other reasons. Maybe she was ready to start being friends? Maybe you could end up as more? All the thoughts related to her were swarming around your head, leading you to be in a fog at practice.

It was embarrassing to say the least, missing touches, overpowering or underpowering your passes, even tripping over your own feet a couple times. After you had fallen to your knees while doing individual dribbling drills, for the third time that day at practice Quinn stepped over to you extending their hand.

“Are you good?” Concern in their eyes as they pulled you up.

“Yeah, just in my own head today.” trying to give a convincing smile shaking your head at your own behavior. You had managed to push Jessie so far back in your mind for years, why was she messing with you now.

“Alright, if you need to talk let me know, or go see the psychologist. The team has them for a reason. We need you to stay on your feet Saturday.” They pat you on the back and go back to finish their dribbling drill.

“Thanks.” You gave Quinn a smile, knowing damn well you wouldn't bring yourself to talk with them. They were one of the best listeners on the team and had heard out your other issues, anxieties and just general venting. There was no way you were going to talk to Quinn about their own national team teammate. You didn’t need it coming back to Jessie that she was on your mind.

You were so thankful when you were called to huddle up and end practice. Heading back to the locker room you peeled your sweaty jersey off, throwing a sweatshirt on instead, grabbing your phone and heading to the trainer’s room. You greeted the staff, walking over to the ice bath and hopping in. The icy water causes goosebumps to appear across your skin. It felt good, you knew it would, you often would use a cold shower to clear your mind, but this counted as your recovery as well so it was a bonus. You stripped off your sweatshirt leaving you standing shivering in your sports bra. You took a deep breath and let your knees give, sinking your whole body under the water.

Under the water was peaceful, quiet, the freezing water causing your brain to go blank, no thoughts of the bad training, no thoughts of Jessie, no thoughts of what to make for dinner tonight, nothing. So you waited, sitting on the bottom of the tub prolonging your peace. Running out of air, you resurfaced to find a few teammates and members of the training staff to be looking at you. Feeling suddenly self conscious you grabbed your sweatshirt throwing it back on. “What?” you harshly asked in the general direction of your teammates. None of them responding, shaking their heads or just looking away.

Before you could make it out of the locker room you heard your name called and saw your coach standing behind you.

“Can you come to my office before you head out?” She asked.

“Yeah no problem, just give me a second to change my shorts, I’ll be right up.” You tried to appear calm on the outside. On the inside you were stressing. Why did she need to talk to you, maybe you were being traded and you'd be able to dodge Jessie longer. Maybe she was taking you off the travel roster, maybe she was going to yell at you for your performance today. You quickly changed into some dry pants and walked over and into the coaching office.

“Go ahead and shut the door.” She pointed behind you when you walked in. Her words make your stomach sink. You sat down, not saying anything, just looking at her across the desk. She finishes up something on the computer, hitting the power button and turning back to face you. She taps her hands on the desk and starts talking. “Look, I’m going to tread lightly here, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Your best attempt at a smile comes across your face.

“You realize why I have to ask, right?” you just nod at her question. “I don't mean to be crass but that was the worst practice you've had since you started here. I get it, everyone has an off day, but that to me looked like a lot more than just an off day.”

“I’m good, I just had a bit on my mind.” She wasn't telling you anything you didn't know but hearing her criticism of your performance hurt, you didn't want to disappoint her.

“Do I need to take you off of our roster for this weekend's game?”

“No!” You're quick to protest her offer. “I promise, I’ll have it sorted by then.” Not sure if you're trying to convince yourself or your coach at this point you keep talking. “You can count on me.”

“I want to believe that, I do. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt on this one, I’ll leave you on the roster, we really need you for this game, but I’d rather not put you out there if your performance is going to look like it did today.”

“Yes Coach, I understand. I’ll be good.”

She turns back to a stack of papers, grabbing off a small slip from the top. She hands it to you, you look at it recognizing the name and contact information of the team’s sports psychologist and the team’s standard psychologist. “Take this, I’m not saying you need to talk to anyone, but it's good information to always have.”

You look up from the paper, thinking it's silly how now two people had recommended that you needed professional help, all over the fact that you had a silly little crush on an old teammate.

“Thanks Coach, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You stood up pushing in the chair behind you, leaving her office. You walked down the hallway back toward the locker room to grab your bag. Before you head out you quickly pack your travel back, throwing in your boots, shin pads, extra socks, tape before dropping the bag at the front of the room where your teammates had placed theirs. You moved back

Part of you cursed Jessie for reaching out, you had been able to push your thoughts of her back in your mind after you had talked but now that she had reached out she was back in the forefront. Opening your phone as you walked out of the training facility, you opened your messages and clicked on Jessie’s name. You opened her contact, frustrated from your performance at practice and causing your coach to consider benching you, you wanted to blame it on her. You hover your finger over the delete button. You then moved your thumb to where it read Block This Number. Before you could think twice you pressed it, the messages from her disappearing, no trace of her new number on your phone. While you were at it you proceeded to delete her number from the UK. You left her Canadian number, she never used that one to talk to you, no harm in it staying. You were hoping blocking her new number would also block the thoughts of her.

You learned very quickly though the night that if anything, blocking her number made Jessie more prominent in your mind. She was in your mind while you drove home. You thought about her while you stood under the cold water of your shower, she was in your mind while you cooked. Trying to distract yourself you grabbed a book and the book worked. It kept Jessie out of your mind until you realized how much you liked the book, one of the best ones you had read in a while. You decided to open GoodReads, immediately closing it when the first thing you saw upon opening the app was Jessie’s name, she had recently rated a book. You had forgotten that you were even friends on the app, you hadn't read or rated a book in a long time. Deciding you’ve had enough, you pull yourself off the couch and into the bedroom to try and get some sleep.

Setting your alarm for the next morning, you climbed into bed, deciding to count sheep to prevent your mind from wandering. It took many minutes of tossing and turning before you were able to fall asleep. Despite the long day you had mentally and physically, sleep did not come easy. Unfortunately, once you were asleep, you didn’t stay asleep long, feeling restless when you woke up for the fourth time that night, the sky was still dark outside. You roll over checking the time 3:18am. Still half asleep you reach for your phone, sliding it open. Squinting at the bright light you find your settings, opening your list of blocked numbers, finding Jessie’s you click unblock. You open your messages, type in her name and then a message.

You: No problem, see you Saturday.

You're not sure what you're saying no problem to, if it's because she apologized, if it's because she thanked you for talking to her or if it's to the fact that she had asked Sam for your number. Sleep is still fogging your brain. You hit send, shut off your phone and roll over hoping you can get some more sleep before your alarm wakes you.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm. You gave yourself an extra hour in the morning to pack before you had to meet at the stadium to travel. You threw on your travel sweats and shirt before throwing an assortment of sweatpants, t-shirts, and shorts into a bag, not caring what you packed for the 3 day trip. Moving into the bathroom you packed your toiletries, before heading back to your bedroom to grab your phone and the charger.

Jessie (USA): See you Saturday.

You do a double take at the message, last remembering that you had blocked her number. You open it, seeing that you, in fact, had not blocked her but instead you had texted her at 3 in the morning. “Oh you idiot,” you insulted yourself. You threw your phone in your pocket while packing your charger in your bag.

It wasn't long until you were sitting on the bus, stretching your body across two seats, trying to get comfortable. The buses had to be one of the most uncomfortable parts of playing, unfortunately Portland was considered too close to justify a plane ride. You were reading over the itinerary that had been handed out. You were scheduled for a light practice this evening followed by designated stretching and recovery time, then it was dinner and lights out. Looking to Saturday you saw the early arrival time, the game starting at Noon, pitch walk just before that, and time to warm up. After the game you had recovery for an hour followed by the words “Free Time” It wasn't uncommon for you to get freetime after game days when you were traveling, it was nice to explore where you were playing or just getting to hang out, unregulated, with your teammates. Sunday consisted of a practice in the morning, then more free time, followed by the bus ride back in the evening. The large amount of free time on this trip caught your eye, giving you an idea as you dig your phone out from your pocket. You open it to Jessie’s messages again and start typing.

You: If you're up for it, dinner Saturday night?

You realize that feels a bit forward, adding a second message.

You: You can bring a teammate too if you want, it doesn't just have to be us.

Seconds after you send it you see the bubble indicating Jessie is typing pop up, you lock your phone and toss it as if it's on fire into the seat that your legs are resting on. You feel it vibrate against your calf, indicating she had responded. Instead of reaching for your phone you remain still, staring at it. It’s only once the phone vibrates again reminding you that you had a text that you reach and pick it up. Involuntarily you hold your breath and turn on the screen.

Jessie (USA): That would be nice.

The gray bubble appears again.

Jessie (USA): just us

You let the air out of your chest, feeling relieved at her response. She wanted to see you. She wanted to see you, just the two of you. A smile grows on your face as you read over her messages again and again.

You: sounds good, may need some recommendations on dinner locations

This time when you see her typing you hold onto your phone. Watching as the bubble appears for a few seconds before disappearing and reappearing

Jessie (USA): I’ll figure something out and let you know

You begin to type out “sounds like a date” before deciding that it’s a little too forward, against it, deleting it and changing it.

You: perfect!

You waited, seeing if she would respond, not that there was much to respond to but part of you hoped she’d say something else. When she doesn't you shut off your phone. You lean your head back so it rests against the window and you're looking at the ceiling of the bus. You let out a sigh of relief. It feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest for the first time in two days. You now knew she didn't completely hate you, you knew she was willing to let you talk with her again.

Feeling last night's lack of sleep catches up with you, your eyes close and you’re able to drift peacefully asleep, your brain no longer filled with anxieties or concerns about Jessie, you remain asleep until the bus stops and you hear your teammates gathering their belongings to get off the bus. You were finally in Portland.

[wish-i-were-heather]

A FOOL FOR YOU PT 2 ⤵ GRAYSON HAWTHORNE X READER

ABOUT: 1778 words, no use of y/n (part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5)

STORY: you try to get hungover grayson to talk about the events of last night

WARNINGS: none!!

A/N: THIS IS A REPOST OF MY OWN FIC!!! I'm posting it again because my account got deleted, but I still want to keep all my fics on my blog. Thanks to everyone for helping me get this all back.

Nine in the morning is a reasonable wake up time to most people. Especially on a weekend when you want to rest. In fact, depending on who you asked, nine was still pretty early to be awake on a Saturday. 

But for Grayson Hawthorne, nine in the morning was ridiculous. The man always woke up around five- you had no idea what he could be doing at such an ungodly hour. But the fact that you hadn’t seen him yet would’ve been concerning, but you knew what was keeping him upstairs.

Since he wasn’t a big drinker, you really had no idea how much he’d had to drink for him to get like that. But it wasn’t a reach to assume he had a low alcohol tolerance. And for someone like him, you could also assume the hangover would be hell.

You didn’t mind waiting, either. It gave you time to think.

The whole night before, you’d barely been able to sleep. Your mind kept returning to the image of drunk Grayson with his arms wrapped around you, pinning you to the wall, cupping your face and whispering that he’d never hurt you, never. 

But had he really meant them? As much as you wanted to believe he did, there were also some… less poetic things. Like when he asked for your face. Not exactly something you could just give him. 

Grayson Hawthorne wasn’t one to talk like that, so part of you just wanted to dismiss it. He was drunk and stupid and saying things he didn’t mean. It was nothing more than that. He would wake up and be back to normal and it would be like none of that ever happened. He probably wouldn’t remember it either. But what if he did? That was for him to be embarrassed about, not you.

~~

After you finished breakfast, you stayed seated at the kitchen island. The only other place you really wanted to go was Grayson’s room, but you knew that was a bad idea. 

Your phone vibrated and you picked it up to see a message from Xander. But before you could check what it was, a pair of footsteps made their way towards where you were sitting.

Grayson.

He was back to himself. Clad in his usual suit, his hair done nicely, Grayson Hawthorne looked normal. Not like the man who’d hugged your neck and called you cozy just the night before, not hungover, but like himself. It was actually somewhat impressive. He was adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as he entered the kitchen. 

“Oh!” you began, hoping he felt as well as he looked. “Good morning, Grayson.”

You were met with a stiff “morning,” in response, and he just went to the fridge.

He didn’t even spare you a glance.

Only a little confused, you tried to continue the conversation. “What are you doing?”

“Getting breakfast.”

Grayson opened the refrigerator and stared blankly at the inside for a few moments until he finally reached in and pulled out… cherries?

“That’s not breakfast.”

He didn’t give you a response as he closed the fridge and carried the box on the opposite counter. Then his response was quick and sharp. “Can a man not enjoy fruit in the morning?”

You were about to give a snarky response but decided against it; he was hungover, be patient with him. You watched as he picked up one of the cherries- rainier cherries, you realized, so he’d have to eat around the seed. He took a bite out of it like an apple.

“Why are you eating it like-”

“I would like to think,” Grayson snapped, raising his voice and turning to you. “That I am impressively put together for someone with a stabbing headache and a miserable hangover. So forgive me if I’m not perfect.”

Drunk Grayson was an idiot, and hungover Grayson was irritable.

Good to know. 

You stared at him, surprised. Grayson was far from the most laid back of his brothers, but he was also not one to yell or get angry. At least over something so simple like this. Sure, your comments may have been a little nagging and annoying, but it was just for fun. He could take a joke. Usually.

You decided to change the subject. “Have you taken anything for the hangover?”

Grayson exhaled, calming down and turning back to the fruit, or his breakfast, apparently. “No, not yet. I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” You raised an eyebrow. “Doing what, sleeping?”

He looked at you again and motioned vaguely to himself. “Showering, getting dressed, looking presentable.”

“Why? You didn’t seem to care last night.”

That was apparently not the best thing for you to say. Grayson took in a sharp breath and finished eating the cherry. He didn’t respond as he moved to dispose of the seed and stem.

You watched him move silently. His movements were fluid and sure again; he wouldn’t be knocking over any vases this time, which was a relief. 

Suddenly, someone came from behind and took the seat next to you. You turned and realized it was Xander, who received a nasty look from his brother. “C’mon, Gray, that was uncalled for. I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“I don’t remember much from last night,” Grayson said, picking up another cherry. “But I do remember you humiliating me. I really hope you did not get that on camera.”

Xander grinned. “Humiliating you? Nah, I only got a video of you singing twinkle twinkle little star. And sent it to the group chat.”

“I don’t remember receiving this video.” “Yeah,” he explained. “Because I sent it to the one we have without you.” 

Ignoring the pointed look from Grayson, Xander reached for his phone and began to pull up the video. “You should’ve gotten the video, I think,” he told you. 

“Show her the video and you’re dead,” Grayson tried. 

“Eh, I’ll still be your favorite brother.”

“I don’t have a fav-”

“Everyone shut up.” The new voice joining the conversion turned all your heads around. It was Jameson.

He, like Grayson, was also in a suit. But, unlike Grayson, it was a complete disheveled mess. The tie was halfway undone and his shirt was untucked. His hair was all over the place and he was barefoot. But he had no shame walking into the room, grabbing his head and telling you to stop talking.

You watched as he made his way over to Grayson with only a little stumbling, then snatching the cherry from his brother’s hand and popping it into his mouth. “Avery told me to come downstairs and get water,” he said with the fruit in his mouth. “I didn’t know you guys were having a party without me.”

Grayson just stared at him as Jameson grabbed a cup from a cabinet and began to fill it with tap water. 

“So you’re drunk too?” Xander asked. Jameson shook his head. He finished eating the cherry, spit the seed at Grayson, and took a sip of his water. “No, I’m just as hungover as Gray. He’s just better at hiding it.”

With a look of disgust, Grayson removed the cherry seed from his shirt and flicked it into the sink.

You and Xander exchanged amused glances and Jameson stumbled his way to Grayson again, apparently not done annoying his brother. Grayson raised an eyebrow at him. “Are your clothes still wet?”

“I didn’t change out of them,” he explained lazily. “Just slept in them after we-” Grayson placed his hand over Jameson’s mouth. “Don’t mention that.”

He then retracted his hand after a few seconds. “Don’t lick my hand either.”

Jameson shrugged and left, leaving Grayson to wash his hands.

~~~

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he insisted. 

You weren’t deterred. “Grayson please. I won’t watch the damn video Xander sent. I just want to know why you were drinking. It’s not like you.”

Xander had left a few minutes ago and left you and Grayson alone. Grayson was now done eating his supposed breakfast, and you’d forced him to take some medicine to make him feel at least a little better. 

“What is there to talk about, hm?” He asked. “I was stressed and decided to give in when Jameson offered to go out. But after making a fool of myself, I’ve now been reminded why I don’t drink.”

The silence that followed was palpable.

That only raised more questions for you. That wasn’t the first time he mentioned embarrassing himself; did he remember the overexaggerated displays of affection he’d given you last night? The things he did, the words he said? Whether he meant it or not, it’d happened.

You decided to stick with an easier question.

“What did you guys do to get Jameson’s suit wet?”

Grayson visibly eased when you asked. You both knew you could’ve asked something much more awkward. “I can't remember completely, but I’m pretty sure we went swimming in our regular clothes. Not swimsuits. That’s why I was…”

Oh.

You could see the realization in his eyes. Did he remember how you found him, shirtless and half naked in sweatpants? Did he now remember everything? “Shit.”

Despite his surprise, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “What?”

“Did I really-” “Make a fool of yourself? Yeah, you did,” you grinned. “You said it yourself, you’re a fool for me.”

Grayson looked absolutely mortified. 

You shook your head. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. You were drunk, it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t get any pictures or videos. Your image is upheld, Grayson Hawthorne.” 

Now that he remembered, you now felt a lot more awkward about the whole situation. Not wanting to deal with that, you got up and began to leave. 

“Wait.”

That surprised you.

“I don’t know exactly what I said or what I did last night,” Grayson began. “But I have somewhat of an idea. I was an idiot. So… thank you for helping me.”

Grayson Hawthorne thanking you? For helping him? That was certainly something new. You could tell he’d forced it out of himself; he didn’t like to ask for help, let alone acknowledge that he needed it. 

“You’re welcome,” you said, pleasantly surprised. “One thing though.” “Yes?” “You told me I had a nice face. Did you-”

“I don’t dislike your face, that wasn’t a lie.” He grinned. He actually grinned. “It’s unfortunate though. Maybe one day you’ll find a way to give it to me. In the most respectful way possible, I’d quite like it to be mine.”

Before you could manage a response, he walked away.

Just walked away.

Who knew a man like him could be so forward?

the writing above belongs to me. please do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own. © 2024 wish-i-were-heather

[vinnsley]

omg.. so ummm i was thinking.. have u seen norton in the new story? :3 and yk how he kinda like.. didn’t say a word to Alice.. I was wondering if u can write a fic.. where norton has a s/o.. :3 in the game and only talks to them.. and everyone is just like “wtf”.. :3

ORIGINAL: chuckles evilly. LOOK NO FURTHER DEAR ANON!!! (i deleted idv awhile ago. Youtube, my friend... :3)

UPDATED: Yes. I redownloaded IDV a while ago and finished the new story quests and unfortunatly by the time i am writing this, i don't remember everything clearly, so if this has any information wrong, i apologize 😭 (lately i haven't been playing either (by lately i mean months))

Edit 2: i realized that the most popular thing ive written is exactly abt norton.. and its smut. ermmmm😓

[----------]

-At first, you had 0 idea what to expect. Your boyfriend got sent a letter inviting them to a mysterious manor and he had to go alone. You were worried for him, considering the events of his past, but you let him on his way.

-It only took a few weeks for you to recieve a letter similar to what Norton recieved — from the same manor. It mostly contained that you are invited to the manor for reasons the writer rather not disclose trough a letter.

-Considering this was the same letter that made Norton leave, you immedieatly grabbed your suitcase and started to pack a few clothing items you deemed fit.

-The ride towards the manner was long —making you nervous by every second that passed. Would you see Norton again? Did something happen to him? What is it that this mysterious person wanted to talk with you about? Aswell as with a few others who would be present?

-When you finally arrived infront of the manor, you took a deep breath. Not too sure if you were ready to hear or see what was going on inside said manor. You walked up to the door and knocked, waiting for a few seconds (Which felt like hours in your point of view) and the door opened.

-A butler opened the door. Not saying anything aside your name as a question. Wanting to confirm it was actually you.

-You nod and give the old-looking man your invite, to which he nodded and let you inside. A maid bowing infront of you slightly as a greeting, before saying that she'll be your guide, and that you were free to ask questions whenever you wanted.

-You felt like you wanted to burst into words, you had so many questions. But anxiety has sewn your mouth shut, unable to mutter a single word besides an affirmation to the maid and following her to your temporary residence.

-The tour tooj atleast 1,5 hours in your opinion. The whole manor was... giant, in your words. You asked questions here and there to the maid, to which she either responded... or not. Which made your gut feel weird, but you shrugged it off.

-You already met a few people already. Like Mr. Kreiburg...But you wouldn't actually call it a meeting. As you reached out your hand and tried to introduce yourself, he only picked up his cane and moved your hand away from him before walking past you, his face only being... sour. Quite the asshole, you thought.

-Ms. Plinius, the entomologist you saw outside the small garden of the manor. For being such a big house, the garden was for sure small to your standards. But Ms. Plinius atleast didn't... shrug you off first chance she got. She simply introduced her and went back to examining... or atleast that's what you thought she was doing with the bees.

-You also met Orpheus. He was nice. He actually conversed with you for a bit. You found out that he was a writer of some kind, and that he's mostly at the manor because of this.

-You also met Ms. DeRoss. Or how she preferred — Alice. She was also nice. She conversed with you for a bit aswell. She was a journalist, that's what you found out about her.

-As you continued to walk around the manor, trying to see if there was anyone else, you had no luck. When you peeked inside the last room and you didn’t see anyone, you sighed.

-Wasn't Norton invited here? Why isn't he here then? You were confused. And mostly scared for your lover.

-You decided to shrug it off. You were already tired from all that travelling you did during the day, the meetings —Good or bad—, the tour.

-You ate dinner with the invited people who... participated in the dinner, because Mr. Kreiburg... was missing. As it seemed like it was a common occurance for him to not attend, he usually asked his food to be brough to his room appearently.

-After you were done, you said your good night's to everyone and went to your room. Your luggage being next to the small space next to the bed, as you picked it up and placed it on the table, rummaging trough it for your nightly wear.

-When you found it, you tried to change as quickly as possible to be able to get more rest that your body and consciousness craved at this point.

-Tomorrow morning, you were woken up by a sharp knock on your door. The person on the other side for sure knew how to wake someone up... You called out a 'come in' in a sleepy tone stretching as your body popped here and there from the movement.

-The butler from before came in. He informed you that breakfast would be starting soon, and that you should probably gather yourself together for the day. You yawned and nodded in response. The butler soon walked out when he saw your nod — giving you your privacy.

-You stood up, going to the bathroom to wash your face. After that, you went to your luggage still on the table, opened, and picked out your next outfit for the day.

-You opened the door and walked out, closing it behind you as you saw someone with black hair and a... hat of some kind walk down the stairs? It was... a green or grey. You couldn't really tell from how fast they rushed down the stairs.

-You shrugged it off, walking downstairs in your own pace and walking to the dining table.

-When you arrived, you looked around. Alice, Ms. Plinius, Orpheus... and Norton?

-So he was actually here! Your heart felt like it could burst open from happiness any second now. You wanted to scream in happiness, but no. You couldn't. You were with people who were technically still strangers.

-Norton did notice and recognize you too. His reaction simply being his eyes widening than narrowing to his usual look. He always had a better poker face than you — that you both knew.

-But for some reason, there was no space set in the table next to Norton... So you simply put your fingers on the satin that was under the plate, and pulled it infront of the chair next to Norton, sitting down beside him.

-You took your food and while you did, everyone besides Norton stared at you weirdly for a bit. Why did you... sit next to Norton? They barely managed to get his name out of him (which was actually given by the butler) but you sit next to him? The most anti-social person besides Kreiburg?

-They were confused to say the least. But... hey. You do you. They guess.

-While everyone was eating, talking, Alice noticed that Norton was... actually talking to you? Sure, she couldn't hear what you two were conversing about, but Norton was definitely going on and on about something.

-Did you two know eachother? Probably. No. Most definitely. Norton hasn't spoken a single word to anyone, yet he is actively talking to you. You two definitely knew eachother from somewhere.

-Alice looked over to Orpheus as he was talking to Ms. Plinius, slightly nudging him with her elbow and she signalled to the pair of you with her eyes.

-Orpheus kept talking to Ms. Plinius, making an act of as if they weren't watching the two of you, while he glanced at the both of you from time to time. Nobody could tell, but Ms. Plinius took the hint aswell and noticed the same thing as Orpheus and Alice.

-It was as if the two of you were friendly with eachother. Maybe even more.

-But they couldn't do much at the moment... they might ask you two... or more specifically you of your relationship with him later.

[----------]

ACK. im sorry if i messed up anything... and im so uncertain if melly was actually referred to as Ms. Or Mrs. google didnt give me any solid answers either so... excuse that if its wrong pls🤕🙏

[flowerandblood]

The Prince and The Fox (6)

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: threats, angst, mention a toxic relationship ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned.

Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood!

Story Music Playlist

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before in her life had she missed a class for any reason other than illness, bad form or some important trip. As it turned out, so had he. They went into a shop to buy something to drink and sat on a bench in a nearby park, watching people walking around.

She felt that he wanted to tell her something, felt that all this was not without reason.

He grunted after a long moment, opening his can of Coke with a loud pssst, he didn't look at her.

"She doesn't want to give me a break. She keeps texting me and calling me even though I don't answer. She's totally fucking out of her mind." He grinned, taking a deep sip of his drink, she heard the hiss of bubbles inside the can. He wasn't looking at her, just ahead.

She wondered what he wanted to hear.

Friendly advice?

"Why did you two break up?" She asked straight out, deciding there was no point in wrapping her mind around it.

He was silent for a long moment.

"Because she was praising me to the skies one time and humiliating me the next. She made fucking shit out of my brain. If it wasn't for Helaena I'd probably still be in it." He muttered, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching the passers-by.

She blinked, pressing her lips together, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he was trying to open up to her, trying to let her understand.

To be honest with her.

"Do you want to see?" He asked suddenly, pulling his phone from the pocket of his black sweatshirt, taking another loud sip from his can in the meantime. She looked at him surprised, unable to believe that he really wanted to show her their private messages.

"I've got some interesting screenshots from a few months back." He muttered, leaning back and moving towards her so that their shoulders touched, showing her his display, scrolling slowly through the next messages with his finger so that she had time to read them.

"She had a habit of deleting messages like that afterwards, so I started saving them to remind myself when I missed her what she really thought of me." He chuckled, locking his phone again, tucking it into his pocket.

She felt her heart pounding hard, felt some kind of discomfort and pain.

"How long did it last?" She asked uncertainly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He pressed his lips together, taking another deep sip from his can.

She remembered she had her juice and opened the wrapper to take out her straw, then stuck it in the carton and began to drink with a loud slurping sound.

He shrugged his shoulders as if he couldn't believe it himself.

"Two years. I've broken up with her a couple of times, but in all seriousness it was only a month ago. A fresh case." He muttered lowly, sipping the rest of the Coke he had in the can and crumpled it up, tossing it into the dumpster standing next to his bench.

A month ago.

When Aegon organised a house party.

She lowered her gaze, tightening her lips, hesitating to ask him the question that was pressing on her lips.

She decided she had to know.

"Why did you want me to stay in the room with you then?" She asked in a trembling voice and felt him cast her a quick, surprised glance. He grunted loudly, clearly embarrassed by this memory and scratched his cheek, licking his lips.

"I don't know. I…it just felt good with you, you know. So…tenderly." She muttered, tracing his fingers across his forehead, his head tilted, he was unable to look at her.

Tenderly.

"Do you regret it?" She asked in a tired voice, and he gave her a quick glance.

"What? I… fuck. No. It was one of the more pleasant things that's happened to me in recent times. So… innocent. The kind that when I think back on it, it makes my heart warmer." He confessed with shame, and she lowered her gaze, looking down at her blue orange juice carton, fiddling with it in her hands.

"I don't regret it either."

They said nothing more.

They went back to school for the last few hours and pretended nothing had happened. Driving home from school they listened to music together again on her earphones, sitting with their eyes closed. She saw his display light up from time to time, that his ex-girlfriend kept sending him new messages, desperate. He didn't even read them.

She asked him why he didn't just block her number, but he said he had done that before and then she simply buys a new card. According to her, he was just upset with her and was teasing her, pretending to be interested in someone else to make her jealous because she couldn't imagine that it was possible to stop loving her.

She thought with regret that she had found herself an easy target, a high school student, quiet and closed off, with complexes, who would never share with anyone else what harm she was doing to him and how she was slowly destroying his self-esteem, manipulating him and making him dependent on her.

They said their goodbyes and parted ways to their homes, however, she felt that something had snapped between them and even though she continued to feel uncomfortable and sad, she thought that this time he really took it seriously, that he really wanted to try.

Whatever that meant.

She recognised that they both needed a lot of space and that what they had now suited her.

She didn't hide her surprise when he called her in the evening when she was already lying in bed, preparing for a maths test. She answered with her heart beating hard, wondering what it could have been about, whether he wanted to wish her goodnight.

"She was recording us." He said as soon as she picked up, not even giving her a chance to say hello, despair in his voice, she felt like he was almost crying. She swallowed loudly, feeling a tightness in her throat.

"What do you mean?" She asked, lifting herself up on the bed to sit down, concerned.

"How do we…how do we…I…you know. God." He mumbled in a breaking voice and drew in the air loudly, breathing unevenly. "She's threatening to send this to the school principal if I don't come back to her. To our friends. She sent me one video to show me she's not bluffing. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

She pressed her lips together feeling the cold sweat on the back of her neck, her heart pounding like crazy, the seriousness and awfulness of this situation hitting her so hard that she didn't know what to say, what to do.

Of course he couldn't tell his parents or siblings about it.

"I… God, do you want to meet? M-maybe, maybe we can work something out." She mumbled with difficulty, not knowing what else to suggest, how to help him.

"Yes… yes, if you can, please, I can't stand being at home now."

She quickly dressed a warm sweatshirt over her pyjamas and told her parents that she would go out to talk to Helaena for a while.

She left her house and ran across the street with her trainers on her feet, he was standing far from his house, she saw to her shock that he was smoking a cigarette, his one leg moving in a nervous tic.

He was terrified.

She approached him and he threw her a quick, heartbroken look. He chuckled under his breath, rubbing the tip of his nose with the back of his hand.

"I know what you're thinking. I got what I deserved." He muttered in a trembling, low voice, and she shook her head in disbelief.

"What are you babbling about? Don't you have something on her? I don't know, can't you send her the screenshots you have, the ones where she humiliates you and say you'll send them to her friends too? Don't you have any naked pictures of her that you can scare her with?" She asked, speaking quickly, thinking intensely about what solutions he had. He shook his head.

"I deleted everything a month ago, I didn't want to go back to it, and she herself deleted everything from our chats that might be saved somewhere on the internet. Like she fucking planned it." He grinned under his breath in despair and took a drag on his cigarette looking sideways, his eyebrows arched in anguish, despair and regret, a single tear running down his cheek.

"A cyclops and a pervert. Fuck, that's what I needed. Why did I get involved in this." He uttered in a breaking voice, running his free hand over his face, all red.

She walked over to him and stroked his shoulder, looking at him with distress mixed with understanding.

"Come here." She said softly, and he sank into her arms as if without strength, snuggling his face into her neck, embracing her loosely, and cried aloud, her hands stroking his hair and back with tenderness.

"It's not your fault. You trusted her and she took advantage of you. What she's doing now is monstrous and she has no right to do it. You are not to blame." She said and kissed the side of his head softly, his free hand clamped down on her blouse, she felt that her neck was all wet from his tears.

"I'm so fucking scared. I'm frightened that my parents will see this." He whimpered like a small child with a shuddering breath, and she hugged him tighter, trying to embrace his large figure, to give him the shelter in her arms he so desperately needed.

Her heart was breaking.

"I know, I'm with you. We'll figure something out in a moment." She whispered, stroking his head and back reassuringly and felt his lips place a gentle kiss on the skin of her neck. She felt a warmth in her lower abdomen and a pleasant tickle between her thighs.

They stood like that for a moment until he calmed down, and then they sat on the pavement, their knees and shoulders touching. She slapped her hand on his thigh, getting a sudden idea.

"I know! Write her that if she sends this out, you will report with the same video to the rector of her university that she forced you to have sex before you were of the age of consent. You can go to jail for that!"

He looked at her shocked, tightening his lips, thinking strenuously, hesitant, terrified and uncertain.

"But…it's not true."

"How does it matter? She threatens you, so you threaten her! Clearly there is a big age difference between you, what she was doing was just plain grooming. Knowing that you were in high school when she videotaped it and on top of that you were younger than you are now, the police would certainly have taken an interest. Maybe you would have lost your dignity, but she has a lot more to lose. This will make her loathe sending anything anywhere!" She said with conviction, saw him lick his dry lips with his tongue, that he was increasingly convinced of her idea.

"Okay. Then what should I write her?"

She sat next to him looking at the screen of his phone telling him aloud what she thought he should write to sound as confident as possible, when they finished he swallowed loudly and clicked 'send'. They saw that she had read the message immediately and saw surprised as a wave of messages started to come in from her.

They looked at it in silence breathing loudly. She heard him swallow with difficulty, tense.

"Do you think she'll send it?" He asked in a trembling voice.

"No. She is shitting herself with fear."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[olderthannetfic]

Man it sucks that fandom has become a use and toss kinda deal. You stick around until your interest wanes, and then you just toss all the stuff you created into the trash. I can kinda understand it on a certain level if you really have some things you don't want to be associated with, but man, looking at all the things I've made years and years ago, when I really don't want it tied to me I'd just… leave it? I couldn't imagine just wiping it out of existence, especially knowing that some people might still find enjoyment when they find it. And it just feels like so many people do it on a whim as well, like it's the most logical thing in the world to just perma delete hours, days, weeks wort of work, just because of a new interest. It feels like modern social media has completely ruined the idea of just creating for the sake of creation and bringing some joy to the people who might potential see it. Everything is fast paced, if the old thing isn't special enough anymore you toss it. The algorithm only favors fresh new things, so just make mental space by throwing out all the old stuff. It's also a reason why I've been borderline obsessive with downloading fics in younger fandoms, because a lot of the people there do exactly that all the time. Just burn it all down, and boy does it hurt forgetting to download that one fantastic fic that just got deleted because the author moved on.

I still occasionally visit some old tumblrs by friends, or even abandoned mutuals, and look at art they made in the early 2010's, and it makes me sad to think how much I'd miss it if they all suddenly deleted.

--

[ciahasnolife]

I knoooow, I should post the second part of the loscar fic but... I might've or might not have been working on a lestappen omegaverse fic?

So here's a wip of it

So the problem with being an omega while everyone thinks you're an alpha is that they treat you like an alpha. It's not like Max wanted any special treatment, exactly the opposite of that. That's why he hid his secondary gender from the public who just then assumed he's an alpha. With his board shoulders, his careless reputation towards the media and with his bluntness it was logical. Since the FIA and pretty much everyone in the paddock already knew, he doesn't have to tell the world which he is grateful for.

He would hate being pictured as a fragile, weak person who needs someone to take care of him. He is a lot of things but weak is not one of them. But sometimes - just sometimes - when people boo at him for example on the podium at the Miami GP, he just wants to hide in his nest, curled around his boyfriend, who would then draw circles on his back with his other hand soothingly in his hair.

There are two problems with that. One is that he for obvious reasons can't do that and the other is that he doesn't have a boyfriend. He doesn't want to share with anyone that he's an omega because of the fear of them telling the whole world if something goes wrong between them, his father made sure he developed this fear very soon after he presented as an omega. His father was so angry and ashamed of him because of something he couldn't even change. So now, he doesn't really trust anyone except for the ones who already know, not that he would have the time for dating, he's too busy breaking records.

Besides, he wouldn't want anyone else but a certain man with the most charming style you've ever seen and his hot accent, a dream come true. Of course, with a personality and looks like that, the alpha has omegas after himself 24/7. Max couldn't even stand a chance.

The point is, that when people whistle or boo at him, he just wants to hide away. Under the covers or preferably behind the alpha but of course in those moments he can't do either.

So when he's about to do his interview, which he doesn't want either and if neither the fans are interested, they could all just leave it, but no, the fans have to boo at him and whistle and make him feel bad because neither of the Ferrari drivers could catch him, he couldn't be more grateful for Charles to shush them. And if he's being completely honest, it makes him fall for the monégasque even more.

He shoots a quick smile at the other and does his interview then goes on with his day like he always does on quali days. Team debrief, stay in with GP to find the perfect strategy for tomorrow's race, go back to the hotel, get the scent blockers off and go shower. What he doesn't expect is a message waiting for him as he gets out of the shower from someone who makes his heart flutter.

Hey, just wanted to check on you, if you're okay?

Charles:

I know that the Italian fans can be a bit harsh on everyone who isn't at Ferrari.

I'm sorry they're so mean to you :(

And Max can't believe his eyes. Because one, did Charles really waste even a minute on texting him instead of basking in the love of the Tifosi and two, was that a sad face?

He just shakes his head and replies.

Yeah, everything's alright.

Max:

Thanks for shushing them, means a lot

The last bit gets deleted before he sends it. Not like it doesn't mean a lot, he's just afraid that he's giving away too much and the younger will learn about his embarrassingly huge crush on him.

He doesn't think too much of it though just makes his way over to his suitcase to get a fresh pair of boxers out of it.

But as he goes back to the bed and picks his phone back up with his WhatsApp with the monégasque still open, he sees the three dots pop up and then disappear only to reappear seconds later.

It makes the omega curious because even if they’ve been on good terms, friends even with the other for a while now they don't really talk outside the track on race weekend so the first message was already unexpected just as it was also sweet of the alpha to check on him, Max can't even take a guess on what the other would want from him.

As he was thinking the text finally came in so he checks it with a bit too much enthusiasm. And Max once again can't believe his eyes.

Which hotel you're staying at?

Charles:

Just as he goes to reply, another bubble comes up.

Fuck, no, that sounded weird.

Charles:

I meant if I could come over to keep you company and I could also get away from the fans waiting for my every move under my window.

It is of course okay if you want to be alone I totally understand that too

Just thought we could hang out a for a bit play

With each mesaage his eyes open wider. Surely Charles finally lost his mind. I was only a matter of time anyway with the shitbox he has under him. He, however, doesn't want to be rude so he sends out a message that - hopefully - doesn't give away too much of how excited he is.

Sure, I have my FIFA on me if you're in the mood of losing

Max:

He can only hope that the other gets the joke because Max has been told that he's a dry texter several times. But today, luck decided to be on his side.

Ooh, it's on

Charles:

Send the address, Verstappen

If you dare;)

And with a grin that could blind the Tifosi camping outside the alpha's hotel, Max sends the address.

[novella-november]

Not to harsh your joy regarding your personal project, (which does sound awesome!) the fact that you keep answering the "can I do fanfic?" questions with "technically yes, but have you considered not doing that?" does not actually *feel* very fanfic friendly. (Especially for anyone who enjoys fanfic as a hobby and isn't also an ofic writer. For example, I personally write almost exclusively character studies that are an explicit reaction to canon; there is no real way to write that sort of thing except as fanfic.)

Which is just a long-winded way of requesting that you maybe consider less of a caveat with the FAQ if you make one, please.

oh that was definitely not my intention, thanks for the ask! I think it was mostly just because I got that same question a few times in a row from various anons within the same time span (including some that were not published publicly), it just happened that I was thinking of my own project(s, plural now) in the last day when I answered those two, for those who want an extra creative challenge.

There's a reason my own original thing has been in my head for the last ten years without me actually writing it while I've written and posted tons of fanfiction, and even now some of my original works are going to be based on Arsene Lupin, so they'd technically be considered fanfiction since they're based on and use an established work for the characters and settings --

--writing completely original fic *is* harder, and that's exactly why I'm *suggesting* (not requiring!) that people consider taking 1 out of short story 4 challenges to look at their work in a new light.

90% of what I read and (until I actually start and finish my original works) 100% of what I've written in my life is fanfic. I have nothing against fanfic, otherwise I woudn't even be interested in creative writing.

But its also not a diss to say "Would you consider looking at your [fanfic] writing from a new angle and try to figure out different ways of going about it?"

Honestly, being able to even consider this option *as a fun extra challenge* is meant to help improve your writing and creative skills; it's not meant as a cheap shot at people who choose to write fanfiction because I my self write and read tons of it,

it's me saying "if you want even more practice at creative writing during these monthly challenges, try branching out a little bit from your comfort zone, you may be pleasantly surprised."

People who write and read fanfiction already have tons of creative experience, and if people like me and many other fanfic writers who one day dream of being published authors, want to broaden our horizons and seek new experiences, one of the easiest exercises is to take something we're planning on writing or already wrote, and see what we would change to make it brand new and standalone--

-- something that not only helps you come up with new ideas, but also will help when it comes time to *edit*, which can be, depending on the length and complexity of your story, can be a complicated process:

whether that means having to delete scenes entirely,

changing what a character says,

altering an aspect of the worldbuilding to fix plot holes

, re-writing your character so they're not overpowered because it was ruining the stakes and tension,

changing the POV of chapters because it was ruining the flow of the story,

etc etc etc.

I love fan fiction.

I love reading it and I love writing it, and for many people who take on monthly writing challenges, it is a way to test ourselves and gear ourselves up and prove to ourselves that not only can we write x amount of words, but it proves to ourselves that we are *capable of creating*, and for many creatives, that ultimately leads to crafting our own unique stories;

if you're already taking place in a monthly writing challenge, why not push the bounds a little bit *if you're so inclined* and test the waters? Especially when you're surrounded by a community who is cheering you on, every step of the way?

Every Nanowrimo I ever won was fanfiction. Heck, even not during November I once did 40k words in two weeks for a fic.

I always stalled out when I tried to write original works;

it is much easier to start small with a single short story than it is to try to write an entirely original novel, and my encouraging people to try baby steps by *experimenting* with one short story out of four in a month is not meant to be a diss against fanfiction,

but an *encouragement to those like me* who were so eager to write original works but floundered when I tried to jump into the deep end and felt disheartened.

Many fanfic authors aspire to write original fics, and thats who that challenge is for, for the people who want to write original works but are too afraid to fully commit; I'll still be writing and posting fanfiction even if I become a published author, even If I just have to come up with a few new pen-names to post them under.

There's absolutely no judgement on anyone who wants to write fanfiction for these challenges, my "caveat" as you say, is only there as encouragement to those like me who are afraid to take the first step, or uncertain of how to even *begin* that first step, not any kind of condemnation.

TL;DR:

I did not mean for my responses on the "can I write fanfiction" to come off as rude or looking down on fanfiction, its meant to be an encouragment to all the people like me who love fanfic and started out writing fanfiction, and dream of writing original works to take the first step, with a community of like-minded people all taking the same challenge.

Like every other challenge aspect of these events, taking a fanfic idea and turning it into an original short story is completely optional and meant as inspiration, just like following prompts for events is not mandatory, and even completing the 30k word goal is not mandatory; the goal for this month is to create, get in the habit of creating, and having fun with it!

[baejax-the-great]

Archive-locking the fics that YOU WROTE and are thus 100% yours to decide what to do with 'hurting people' is so silly tbh. Skill issue on their part. Wish those people could be normal about the amazing fics that writers like you put out & be understanding or at the very least respectful of the choices that writers make about how and where they make their fics available. Especially in light of recent ai training theft and nonsense & all that.

I hope this doesn't sour the fic writing & sharing experience for you too much. I love your writing & think you're very talented & skilled!

There seem to be dual attitudes I'm coming up against recently (and obviously these are not held by everyone, I don't even know that they are held by a majority, but they are certainly held by a plurality).

The first is that authors should be grateful that readers deign to read what they put out there. I think this stems from the "content creation" mentality and the idea that everyone who posts things wants as massive as an audience as possible (for monetization purposes which... isn't a thing in fanfic). I think this mindset also leads to readers demanding that people write specific tropes/pairings/whatever, or threatening basically to take their business elsewhere. "Nobody will read unless you do [X]." 1. Not true and 2. Okay, you weren't my audience.

(I also think authors circulating those posts about how badly they want comments/kudos feeds this mentality of readers doing authors a favor by even clicking on the fic. "Wow, if people are so desperate for attention, then mine must be worth an awful lot!")

Fanfic ain't a business, and I write for myself. Readers choosing to read my work isn't a privilege or an honor they are bestowing upon me (nor are comments for that matter), just as me posting my writing where they can see it isn't a privilege or an honor for them. We are both engaging in hobbies and a love of some media, and sometimes we will overlap and connect and sometimes we won't. Readers aren't reading out of altruism for attention-starved authors, and authors aren't writing out of altruism for content-hungry readers.

And there are those who will read these paragraphs above and think to themselves "wow, what an ungrateful author," and that's exactly the attitude I'm talking about. Don't get me wrong, it's delightful and rewarding to receive comments on fics and chat with people about Blorbo and the Situations. But it should be delightful from both sides of the exchange, or why the hell are we doing this? If I'm meant to be grateful for every commenter who jumps into my inbox, then every commenter in my inbox better be grateful for me, and I can tell you right now there is a population who is not. There is a population who sees me as a service provider for their entertainment, and whatever form I take in their brain, it is not shaped like a full person.

This attitude also leads to people thinking that things like lorefm are no big deal. Don't I want to get my work in front of more eyeballs (or ears)? Don't I want to broaden my audience? And once I put my work out there for readers to see, should I be shocked (or express any negative emotions at all) when someone plagiarizes/scrapes it for AI/demands updates rudely/reads it on a monetized youtube channel/binds it and sells it for profit?

The other idea I've been coming up against is almost the opposite of this--that because some readers form attachments to fic, deleting that fic (or even archive-locking it!) is actively harming those readers. Sure, they can't be bothered to hit the download button or get an AO3 account, but that's no reason not to think of these strangers first before doing what I want with my creative output.

Yall, life is ephemeral. There are things we will see and enjoy and never find again for one reason or another, and it's not harm being done to us, it's just the nature of existence. Having an emotional reaction to something does not give you any sort of ownership over that thing. Artists are allowed to change their minds about whether they want that art in the wild, particularly given that it's free. Maybe it's because I utilize the library a lot, but reading a book and then losing access to that book is not a crime against you, it's just a normal thing that happens. If you read something and it means that much to you, there are ways to avoid losing it (download it).

Seeing this particular attitude extend out to "not making your fic available for as many people to read as possible is harming them" is beyond bizarre. If I woke up tomorrow and deleted everything I have ever written, there would still be thousands upon thousands upon thousands of beautiful, emotional, meaningful fics out there for people to read. They would lack for nothing. Would some people be upset? Probably. Would I be hurting them? No, not really.

Sometimes people have negative emotions because of our actions, but that doesn't mean we did anything to them. This is one of those times.

Lastly, this AI and everything else bullshit really has taken a toll on my enthusiasm for posting my work. It's one thing for companies to try to pillage every thought, every word, every stroke of a pen or paintbrush to enrich themselves while actively making the planet an unbearable and inhospitable place to live, it's another when fellow fans are telling you that "Whelp that's just life, what did you expect, give us your content anyway or you're a bad person and if you complain, then I'll be taking my business elsewhere, you sensitive, entitled creative, lol."

[ghosttownwherenoonegoes]

Uncle Wayne comforts you after a nightmare (e.m. x gn!reader, Y/N thinks of Uncle Wayne as their dad)

A/N: I had a night of nightmares, the first of which left me sweaty and shaking for about an hour before I felt brave enough to try sleeping again. And then I had another nightmare. And then I had to go to work. I was writing this in my head all day until I finally got to come home and type it up. I should be studying right now but I haven't written in WEEKS and it's slowly rotting me from the inside out, so here we go.

Dedicated this fic to @badgirlforeddiemunson because she left me a note from Uncle Wayne in my inbox which was exactly what I needed, it made me cry and I wanted to leave this little dedication as a thank you to her! 🙏❤️

A massive thank you as well to @fandomohana for helping me with Uncle Wayne's characterisation in this; this fic wouldn't be what it is without you!💗😍🙏

Aaaand a big big thank you to @ilovecupcakesandtea , who stopped me from deleting this fic because I felt like I'd forgotten how to write our beloved and bestest dad Uncle Wayne buuuut it turns out I was just being mean towards myself... There's a surprise😂💀thank you for reading this for me and validating my characterisation choices!💕💕💕

Tw; nightmare (not described so it can fit any nightmare you may have had), crying (reader), reader wakes up afraid, general anxiety (not wanting to wake a sleeping Munson and then feeling guilty for doing it accidentally despite best efforts not to), Uncle Wayne and Eddie are both absolute sweethearts, as aforementioned, Y/N sees Uncle Wayne as being like a parent to them & this is explicit in the narrative (totally not me showing my own feelings👀🥺), brief allusion to marrying Eddie one day throuhg Uncle Wayne's narration.

People who asked to be tagged in this: @pandawithprobs @arianatheangel-girl @ali-r3n @sagaonpandora @digital-charlie @tracymbcm @cherrycolas-things @simping-over-boys-with-trauma @stevesmunsons @esme-viridian @eddiemunsonsgf2 @browneyes8288 @allthefandomstogether @robinsbuckleys

Word count: 4, 197 (this took TWO MONTHS of grabbing ten minutes here and there every day where I could🥺🥺🥺)

(SEEING THEM SIDE BY SIDE LIKE THIS IS KILLING MEEEE ~ OMG PLEASEEEEE😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔)

You awake with a start, your heart pounding in your head, nerves ablaze, body trembling. Sweat drenches your body. You feel cold, sticky. Disgusting.

The remnants of your nightmare cling to you as surely as the twisted sheets beneath you, your body writhing uncontrollably in the face of your terror.

You lay there in the dark, trying desperately to reorient yourself.

You can see Eddie’s beautiful guitar, looking like she was made for another dimension, hanging up on the mirror. You can see Eddie’s handmade Corroded Coffin banner (and you know what the secret is; that Uncle Wayne had stencilled the logo on prior to Eddie painting his band’s name on the old bedsheet - Eddie had been so excited that his hands were shaking too badly for him to do it on his own), you can see the way Eddie’s blinds never close all the way, letting the moonlight spill into the room.

You turn your head, your breathing still erratic, that lump in your throat growing more pronounced as the seconds tick past, and you see the one person in the world who fills your lungs with oxygen, your heart with rainbows, and your soul with reminders of all your reasons why.

Eddie.

Eddie.

You want so very badly to wake up the sleeping man, but you feel guilty at even the thought of doing that. Why should you disturb his sleep just because you had a nightmare? It would have been more than fine if the shoe was on the other foot, you would have wanted Eddie to wake you up so that he didn’t have to calm himself down alone, but for you to wake him up in the same situation, even knowing as you do that Eddie would want to be woken up so he could comfort you? No way, you won’t do that to him.

In the end, this thought is what breaks you: you're suffering but you're not allowing yourself Eddie because you want him to rest.

A sob rips out of your throat and you quickly muffle it with a hand, not wanting to accidentally wake him up either, stumbling out of Eddie's bed. You make your way down the narrow hall to come into the living room, eyes darting around nervously, looking for something to ground you; something to make you finally and fully realise that you're awake, you're safe, it's over. And then your eyes land on something - someone - which makes all the bad stuff not seem so scary anymore.

You see dearest Uncle Wayne asleep on the pullout bed.

And then you cry harder.

On shaky legs do you come to stand beside the bed, looking down at the human sized lump underneath the worn duvet. You bend down at the waist and lightly shake Uncle Wayne. In reality, you don't even shake him, you just half-heartedly wiggle your hand back and forth across the soft expanse of duvet. It is too gentle a movement for Uncle Wayne to be able to feel it, especially through the duvet. You don't want to wake him up, not really, but you also don't want to be alone in your fear, you want someone to comfort you.

But you don't want to wake anyone up just because you had a nightmare. You are a person grown, you can handle a nightmare without waking someone, right?

Wrong.

You wince against the tiny voice in your head, and partially give yourself what you want by sitting down on the floor beside Uncle Wayne's bed, leaning your head against what you figure is his shoulder. Your tears fall easily, your bottom lip starting to become sore with how hard you are biting down on it to keep yourself from making a sound. You are surprised that even walking into the living room hasn't woken Uncle Wayne up; he's a heavy sleeper unless one of his kids need him, unless you or Eddie need him.

"Uncle Wayne," you whisper as quietly as possible, one of your hands creeping under the duvet as you search for one of his; you know how he lays, you know roughly where his hands are basing on how he's laying, and indeed do you find one of his hands. You curl your fingers loosely around his as slowly and as carefully as you can, trying so hard not to wake him up even though you're desperately looking for comfort. "I'm really sorry. I had a nightmare and I - I need you but I don't wanna wake you up because you'll get mad at me." At this thought do you cry harder still, and the secretly awake Uncle Wayne's heart bleeds at all of the pain in your voice, barely audible even in the stillness of the room. "That's why I'm out here, I didn't even wanna wake up our Eddie but you're both all I want right now... but I can't because I'm an adult and I shouldn't be crying here over a nightmare and you're - you don't need me waking you up and - "

The only reason Uncle Wayne can still make your words out is because he knows you, he knows you, but as tears drip sore with audible plinks on the duvet and as you bend over his hand, pressing your forehead against his palm, you're practically incoherent. Uncle Wayne decides that it is time to come clean and 'wake up'.

When you start to repeat yourself, it means that your cycle of anxiety is starting, and he wants to quell it immediately. One of his kids need him, so who the fuck cares that he's just worked a twelve hour shift?

One of his kids needs him.

The hand which is pressing against your forehead twitches as Uncle Wayne splays his fingers, the pads rubbing lightly against your hairline. You start, not expecting the 'sleepy' touch of a man who has actually been awake since the moment you woke up; you had almost screamed. He knows you well enough to know that you don't ever want to bother him, and that's why you haven't woken him up this night, so he had decided to feign sleep so that he could pretend to wake up on his own; hoping to alleviate the guilt if you had woken him up. Uncle Wayne doesn't know if you know about this, but that's a conversation for when you're calmer and he is more 'awake'.

Fingers slide further across your scalp and begin to lightly smooth over your hair, the rustling of bedsheets tells you that your Uncle Wayne is rolling over, bringing himself closer to you as he gives up the game.

"Hey now, sweetpea," Uncle Wayne's voice is deeper than usual with sleep but just as gruff, and it is at perfect odds with the sheer kindness you see in his eyes, all the little night lights and lamps around the trailer creating a warm ambience in an already warm and loving home. "What monsters you been tryna' fight, darlin'?"

All at once, you feel like a small child standing at the foot of your parents’ bed. Distantly, you realise that you are, and tears drip anew down your face, faster and harder than before. You woke him up you woke him up stupid stupid you woke him up - you inhale shakily and two words rip out of your throat like they are terrified they'll be swallowed if they don't jump off the tip of your tongue right now.

Uncle Wayne always manages to make you realise how not okay you are; you fool the world easily and sometimes even Eddie has to squint at you to decide for himself, but Uncle Wayne? No wool fits over his eyes, no matter how well it's knitted.

“Nightmare. Bad.”

The hand on your hair stills at the tremble in your voice and the way your bottom lip wobbles. You bite down on it hard to keep from making a sound, feeling awful about the fact that you have woken Uncle Wayne up. The pullout bed is small but Uncle Wayne shuffles back as far as he can and pats the slim vacant space.

"C'mon, in y'get."

At your blank expression, Uncle Wayne smiles with all the patience of the world. He has been through so much and he carries daily with him a great deal of anger due to how the world has treated him his whole damn life, not to mention what it's doing to his boy, and yet he's still so kind. You never fail to be able to draw strength from the inspiration he gives you. "You really think my boy hasn't crawled into bed with me after a nightmare? He might be twenty, but he's still my baby. You don't have to, darlin', but I know that look on your face. I seen it on my boy's so many times right before he crawls in." A pause, a wry smile as if he knows how to really convince you, then, "he did it just last week, last I can remember."

Uncle Wayne sees the second he manages to coax you into it, and it makes him smile. You're careful as you ease into his bed, not wanting to get in his way or be intrusive, but Uncle Wayne makes no fuss about it and simply lays there until you're comfortable. He lets you wrap an arm around him, he lets you nuzzle into that red and blue flannel you love so well, and then he holds you too, his grip tight, firm, his hands hot on your upper arm. He wonders where his baby is, but he knows that you haven't woken him up. The chainsaw snore coming from just down the hall gives you away and you and Uncle Wayne laugh quietly together. Somewhere in the back of your mind, your brain presses record on the sound, wanting to cherish it forevermore.

"Do you think if we ripped an actual chainsaw next to his window he'd sleep through it?"

Uncle Wayne chuckles, fondness saturating his voice, "Far as I know, he still can. Did it when he was fourteen; had to cut a tree back near his window. Was worried I'd wake him, but he slept right through." A smile soaked Uncle Wayne's next words in sunshine, "My boy's grown into himself but his nature ain't changed back from when he was a kid." My Eddie's forever, he thinks.

The humour, always in the serious if one tilts their head, fades away and you're once again left with the fact that Uncle Wayne has selflessly stepped up for someone yet again. You wonder who steps up for him when the time comes. Between you and Eddie, Uncle Wayne's chances are golden.

"You never answered my question, sweetpea," Uncle Wayne dropped a kiss to your forehead. It was more like the press of facial hair to your skin than anything else, but it warmed you from the inside out all the same. "What monsters you been tryna' fight'?" Despite the way he words it, you hear the underlying message immediately:

Talk to me.

You draw in a shuddering breath but Uncle Wayne, who is secretly more of a parental figure to you than either of your parents put together, doesn't try to soothe you beyond how he already is. He lets you cry, he lets you curl into him like he's your protection from the world (he is, even when everything is okay), he lets you take your time in telling him everything, and the entire time he has you wrapped in his arms, pressed tight into his chest. When the nightmare is relived and you're still crying, he addresses his main concern.

"You wanna go back to Eddie, darlin'?" You freeze, thinking that perhaps this is Uncle Wayne's gentle attempt to get rid of you, but he shakes his head when he feels you tense up. "Easy, sweetpea, I ain't meanin' it like that," He squeezes his arms around you and drops a proper kiss to your forehead. "But my boy is gonna' be missin' you. You know he wakes up at the drop of a hat if either of us ain't there with him."

"No," your bottom lip wobbles and more tears drip down your face. Uncle Wayne's calloused thumb wipes them away gently. "I mean... I want Eddie but... Don't wanna leave you." The last four words are quieter than the rest, broken, your bottom lip and chin trembling. You feel sick at the thought of having to pull away from Uncle Wayne, even though you really want Eddie too. But you want Uncle Wayne. "Please don't make me go, please. Don't wanna leave you." You hold onto Uncle Wayne even tighter, crying harder now than you have done ever since you jolted awake, and Uncle Wayne is quick to soothe you.

"Hey, now," Uncle Wayne hushed, hugging you somehow even more securely to him so that you can feel his heart, slow and steady, thumping deep within his chest. It's in the Munson Doctrine that if Uncle Wayne isn't worrying, then everything is okay. His heart is steady, he is okay, and so shall you be. You take an instinctive deep breath and melt. "I said nothin' about leavin'. But you need Eddie, sweetheart. C'mon, I'll go too."

You shake your head again, "N-no, I woke you up. You need sleep. M'okay." Your cheeks burn as Uncle Wayne gives you The Look™️, which always brings you and Eddie to a grinding halt. This is in the Munson Doctrine too; never tell Uncle Wayne that you're fine if you're not. He knows. He always knows.

"I'm coming with you, darlin'. I ain't sleepin' 'til I know you're okay. It ain't a discussion, Y/N."

He pats your shoulder gently and you very reluctantly untangle yourself from him, the urge to cry still very much with you even as your tears start to slow. Uncle Wayne sees your face begin to crumple, ready are you to cry anew, and he stands up with an exaggerated groan, making you giggle. Only a Munson could make you smile while you're crying. Already can you feel the remnants of the nightmare beginning to dissipate and you lean into Uncle Wayne's side as he slots your hands together, walking with you through the trailer into Eddie's bedroom.

Your home away from home.

Uncle Wayne raises a hand and raps on the door three times with the knuckle of his littlest finger and there's a sleepy groan from within which is so perfectly Eddie that it makes the two of you huff laughter. "Y'decent, boy?"

A louder, slightly more exaggerated groan has Uncle Wayne's shoulders shaking with laughter as he pushes the door open, stepping into Eddie's room and pulling you along behind him. You keep your hand tight in his, eyes roaming over the bed as you try to figure out if three adults could fit comfortably onto one bed.

You do not want to let go of Uncle Wayne.

You don't know why. You don't care why. You just want him to stay.

"E-Eddie?" Your voice is thick with all the tears you have shed thus far, and all the tears you have yet to let go of. He doesn't answer you right away and you whimper, which makes both Munsons freeze.

Eddie sits upright like he's on a spring, arms already reaching for you just as Uncle Wayne walks with you across the room, making a beeline for his son and the love of your life.

"Whoa whoa, hey,"

"Hush now, darlin',"

The Munsons simultaneously speak at a level volume to each other so it's a symphony of empathy and love and it triggers a third crying spell within you.

"Get up on the bed, sweetpea, that's it," Uncle Wayne guides you through glassy vision to sit beside Eddie on the bed. Eddie is brushing sleep out of his gorgeous chocolate brown eyes with one hand and he reaches for you with the other, trying to physically wake himself up and comfort you at the same time. "You got 'em, Eddie?"

"Always."

He speaks the word like a vow and it makes you smile.

The expression on your face dies as quickly as it is born, for Uncle Wayne slides his fingers out from between yours and pats your shoulder in a parting gesture. Panic seizes your heart and you grab at him, your fingers finding purchase in the sleeve of that flannel you love so much. "No!!!!" Yet again, the noise you make causes both Munsons to freeze. "No, please don't go! Please don't leave me, Uncle Wayne. Please stay, pl - " You're incoherent in your physical exhaustion and in the remnants of your fear, as well as your physical need for Uncle Wayne.

You're wrapped up in Eddie's arms, his lips at your hairline and his hands rubbing up and down wherever he can reach but even here, you are still shaking like a leaf, one hand holding Eddie in a death grip and the other still holding onto Uncle Wayne's sleeve. When he doesn't move away, your fingers spider down to grip onto his fingers, locking your hands together like you did before. Uncle Wayne blinks hard - a gesture Eddie recognises as his trying not to cry - and something slides into place for the younger Munson.

All at once, around his horrified curiosity about what you had been dreaming about to render you into a shaking crying wreck, Eddie knows exactly what you need to get you feeling safe and secure.

"Dad." His voice is quiet, more serious than you've heard him in a long time, "Can't you stay, just for tonight?"

The thought of this makes you smile even as a few more tears slip down your cheeks, and tender blues and chocolate browns zero in on the expression.

"Is that - "

"Did you just - "

" - a smile?"

The Munson men almost speak over each other in exaggerated tones of surprise and it makes you giggle, a wet yet very welcome sound. In turn, this makes Eddie smile, and seeing both of his kids at once expressing happiness? Why, how can Uncle Wayne deny either of you anything, even when he's tired as all hell from his twelve hour shift and interrupted night of sleep? There are many things lacking in the Munson household but the one thing they have always had in abundance is love. And if what you both want right now is for him to stay with you, then who is he to say no? The fact that something as simple as his presence is enough to chase your fears away warms Uncle Wayne's heart right to its centre, and he feels deep within him that you're gonna be an official Munson one day. You're honourary for now, but he knows what's coming, and he's so excited.

"I think it is, son, clear as day after all them tears," Uncle Wayne carefully pulls his hand away from you as Eddie scoots across the bed towards the side closest to the window. "I ain't gonna say no to that."

You push up closer to Eddie as Uncle Wayne sits down and then eases himself down onto the mattress, getting comfortable. You have a playfully wriggly Munson either side of you and you know they're playing up to make you feel better, to keep you smiling, but you also see now where Eddie gets his dramatics from. All of Eddie really has come from Uncle Wayne, hasn't it?

Eddie wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight into him, and Uncle Wayne remains where he is on the side of the bed closest to the door; he doesn't move much in his sleep, his body used to the slim pull-out bed he's been sleeping on since he legally adoped Eddie well over a decade ago.

"Aren't you gonna come closer to us, dad?"

"How close is closer?" Uncle Wayne tilts his head at Eddie, who only grins and looks at you, effectively putting you on the spot as they allow you to decide what kind of cuddle you want.

You pause and listen to yourself, your eyes closing as you try to get that little voice in the back of your head to tell you what you want. One word drifts across the front of your mind and it jumps off the tip of your tongue, as if it's afraid it will be swallowed if it doesn't voice itself now.

"Sandwich." A pause and then, "wait, no. Toastie." Your words are strange but you are understood; hold me so tight that if you are bread and I am cheese, I will melt between you.

Uncle Wayne smiles and scoots closer to you and to Eddie, wrapping an arm around you. His hand rests on Eddie's wrist as the two of them surround you. "Come on, then, butter up."

His chuckle punctuates Eddie's drawn out groan; only a good pun is met with that kind of reaction. "Of all the puns available, you go with butter? Really?"

Uncle Wayne shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. It makes him look younger and you melt; the Munsons have both had such difficult lives, and where Uncle Wayne is full of anger, he is only ever kind... life lessons he has imparted onto Eddie, whom makes his dad proud every single day. You had told Eddie once that he was living up to the Munson name, and before that flash of indignation and confusion turned into hurt, you had listed all the ways you see Uncle Wayne in him, and Eddie had lit up like a Christmas tree. It is one of your most treasured memories.

You take advantage of the rare moment offered to you by the world after such an awful nightmare and cuddle into Uncle Wayne, pressing your face into that red and blue flannel you love so well. He hums and presses his lips to your forehead, not exactly giving you a kiss but the sentiment is the same. Eddie rolls so that he is cuddled into your back, his nose pressed into the nape of your neck. Uncle Wayne's hand spiders across Eddie's wrist more firmly, grasping his boy to him, and Eddie tilts that same hand palm up so that he can hold his Uncle's wrist, too. The Munsons feel each other's heartbeats pounding firmly underneath skin and it soothes the both of them more than anything else in the world ever will.

You smile into the articial darkness afforded to you by Uncle Wayne's chest. "Ask your dad when I'm asleep, Eddie. Don't wanna relive a third time."

"Wh - how did - I didn't even say anything, sweetheart." Eddie's voice was bemused and you grin, somehow managing to cuddle into Uncle Wayne and pull backwards into Eddie at the same time.

"Didn't have to - I can hear you thinking over there."

"Wondered what that burning smell was," Uncle Wayne playfully wrinkles his nose and the three of you share quiet laughter, marvelling at the power of being able to laugh even when one of you is coming down from an experience of visceral terror.

You burrow down once more, nosing into Uncle Wayne's flannel to get as close to him as you physically can, and Eddie follows you across the minute space left between you so that you become the cheese toastie you have mentioned wanting to become this night and, truthfully, every night. The two people you love most of all surround you now, keep you safe from harm even and especially from your own mind, and you fall asleep to the persistent but gentle vibration of Uncle Wayne's voice through his chest as he begins to tell Eddie all about your nightmare, four arms tightly around you. The scruff of Uncle Wayne's facial hair tickles the top of your head and you feel Eddie pressed tightly against your neck, his heart pounding there. You feel Uncle Wayne's slower and steadier one against your front and you emit a sleepy sound which gives both Munsons pause, one look of fondness and one look of nothing but love on their faces as they look down at you.

Uncle Wayne finishes relaying your nightmare to Eddie and the younger Munson winces with a muttered, "jesus christ" as he presses a kiss to the top of your head, "no wonder they couldn't calm down."

"Sure as hell seems like they found peace now, son," Uncle Wayne's tone is gruff, his words, tender heart and eyes kind, "how about we join 'em?"

Eddie nods and squeezes Uncle Wayne's hand; this is not the first night the two Munsons have fallen asleep holding hands and it sure as shit won't be the last. Oceanic blues and chocolate browns blink tiredly at one another and then close as all three Munsons find comfort, safety, security and love with one another.

Just as it's meant to be; the three Munsons against the rest of the world.

POSTING THIS LINE OF TEXT BECAUSE TUMBLR KEEPS EATING ENDINGS???

[astercontrol]

A few thoughts about death in the world of Tron: 1982.

Programs talk about "derezzing" and "deresolution" as if it means dying…

But they also use "dying," "kill" and "dead" in almost the same way:

And various other synonyms and euphemisms for death:

and a few that might be euphemisms or slang, but actually use death-related words:

As well as a few mentions of "living" and "surviving."

But I think part of the reason for this variation is that "deresolution" ("derezzed," "derezzing," etc) means something a little different from "death."

I think the difference is between two meanings: the end of life, and the disintegration of the body.

Theoretically, a program could "derezz" without "dying"-- that is, someone could be seen disintegrating, but still show up alive later, having been restored from a backup.

Maybe this is what Sark thought happened to Flynn here:

And one can also "die" without "derezzing"-- as Sark did at the end, after which his dead body was used as an MCP-zombie for a while before it "derezzed" for real:

And it's also possible to "rezz" and "derezz" without ever being alive at all, like Sark's Carrier:

But even assuming that they do live in a world where derezzing isn't necessarily death-- a world where the dead can be data-recovered or restored from backups-- there would still be a LOT of uncertainty about what happens after you die.

Maybe part of why they often say "derezzed" is to be more specific-- because that's the only thing they can know for certain, if they saw the body disintegrate in front of their eyes.

I'd imagine they are rarely completely sure whether or not a program is "dead" for real-- and might come back later.

Or in what form.

I addressed this a little bit in my first Tron fic "Many-Handed Gods," and @CoupleOfDays also wrote "Tron: Recovery" about the really fascinating concept of a data-recovery program bringing the derezzed-but-not-deleted back to life. There have been other stories too, and it's always interesting to see different layers of it explored.

Death would be a really complex idea, inside the computer.

Because programs would only know whatever information their Users have seen fit to give them... and I imagine that wouldn't often include any knowledge about what awaits them after deresolution. And it would be different for different programs, of course-- even the User might not know what they're gonna do until it happens!

Just offhand, I can think of three different variations on life-after-death for programs, each with its own sub-variations:

Recovery.

When you tell a computer to delete a file, it just makes the file ready to be overwritten if needed. Like in CoupleofDays' story, derezzed programs could still be there as sort of data-ghosts, waiting for new data to overwrite them. If a data-recovery program gets to them before that, they could be restored to life.

Maybe just like they were before.

Or maybe different-- if they'd already been partially overwritten. Lots of potential for horror there.

Restored from backup.

If the User still has a copy, they can replace the derezzed program with that.

Since the copy would have been made a while ago, I'd imagine that the rerezzed program would lack any new memories and changes since the last backup-- essentially reverted to an earlier self.

If the User wants to make any new upgrades before sending the program back out there, then it'll be different in those ways too.

So there are lots of ways your dead loved one might come back so different it'd be hard to think of them as the same program. And hey, in our world we already have enough disagreement about whether you'd count as the same person if you were replaced with a copy whose mind was exactly the same as yours at death. Imagine if there were also countless possible layers of just how different that copy could be.

Also, who's to say the User will even decide to restore the backup to the same computer, or the same partition or "sector" or whatever? You might never see your friend again, and you might never know if he came back somewhere else.

Refactored/rewritten.

Instead of having a backed-up copy, the User might replace the destroyed program with a new one, written from scratch to have functions as similar as possible to the original.

How similar that program would be to your lost love… would depend on how faithful the rewriting was, I guess.

(And how would little rephrasings of code syntax end up manifesting, in the appearance and personality of programs in the system? Could memories of the program's experiences be replicated that way too? And what if the User was a sort of memory savant and managed to recode the program exactly as written before? Would that carry over in the same way as if it was duplicated via copy-paste?)

So anyway… I can certainly understand how even in a world where re-rezzing is possible, the programs still have a healthy fear of death, and grief over the deaths of their fellow programs.

I sure would.

[opinated-user]

Oh for god's sake, Lily' decided that what the world really needed was her wading into Ao3 discourse. If Lily was really interested in why Ao3 has fundraisers, she could look at the budget that is made publicly available. But no! We have to just assume the OTW is asking for all this money for embezzlement or lawsuits for when they're inevitably sued for being evil.

It's so stupid and then she turns around and says that Ao3 is a barely functioning website and that FF.net is superior. FF.net... the site infamous for randomly taking down fics, having extremely contradictory rules for what they'll host (including banning such innocuous things as song fics and character submission fics), putting adds in the middle of fanfics and being barely able to load on mobile anymore, that's the superior fanfiction site we should all be using instead because it, *checks notes*, is funded by selling users data to advertisers rather than by voluntary donations.

(All of this, of course, without mentioning the obvious hypocrisy of Lily using Ao3 for her fanfics because she knows more people use the site, so she'll get more views than if it was put on FF.net)

some while back i mentioned that LO is fully ignorant of fandom history when she talked about how everyone demonizes anne rice unfairly because she "didn't want smut of her character" and stuff like this proves it even further. do you all know why A03 needs the money? in case authors decide to sue them for their fanfics because, in case LO didn't realize this, fanfictions are technically illegal, just like fanart and literally any other fanwork using a IP they don't have the rights to. all those people who sell fan made merch? all the people who accept donations or money for writing commisions about that ship you like? they all walk a very thin line of legality where people have gotten in trouble for in the past. anne rice actually threatened legal actions against people for publishing any kind of fanfic, not just smut. the reason why ffnet also deleted works was exactly because they took that seriously and thus, if your work ever happens to displease an author for whatever reason, they will take you out because that's easier than dealing with someone with actual power to sue them. A03 was made out of this environment as a way to protect authors, so nobody ever have to be scared of their work being taken down like that. you can have all the issues of the world with the content, the moderation, the fandom itself, but if you want to have a problem with it, at least understand what is actually meant to be for and why it is like that. otherwise you simply do not have a leg to stand on. not to mention, as you very well point out, a website that is completely free to use and remains ads free while being used by thousands of users every day is going to be inherently expensive. just having a normal website as a portafolio if you are an artist already cost a good bunch. LO has no idea what she's talking about. more news at 11.

[16woodsequ]

NOT THE CABIN!!!!

your first headcanon is my canon because from agents of shield it sounds like steve lived in the cabin soon after he came out of the ice, and by the time the battle of new york comes around it's already been a year. he must have felt so lost and unwanted and abandoned when they took him to a place like that 😭

steve being stressed out when he meets the avengers because he doesn't want to be forced back to the cabin oh my god. i have to think about this nonstop for the rest of the year i look forward to rejoining society in 2025

the fact that shield/hydra had this cabin as well as that armoured van with supersoldier-sized shackles is so unsettling AAHH

(response to this post)

HEHEHEHE When I tell you I cackled getting this ask, because I love spreading Steve-cabin angst!!

I agree! It does sound like Steve went to the cabin soon after the ice. (Although I headcanon that Avengers was actually very soon after Steve woke up, I know the wake up scene was in a movie released in 2011 and the movies are supposed to happen when they were released, but in some of the deleted scenes for Avengers Steve is confused about wi-fi and he's looking over files of the dead Howling Commandos and his apartment is so bare, and just the way he acts like he hasn't been out for long, I tend to headcanon Avengers is soon after he came out of this ice. But! That doesn't really change the cabin headcanon, besides shoving two traumatic things closer together.)

Either way I think the cabin has a huge impact on Steve in Avengers. I think it's part of why he acts the way he does, and why he's repressing everything so much and playing the role of Captain America Super Soldier. Is it no wonder Steve reactions to Coulson's death the way he does? Tony is visibly upset and lashes out because he thinks Steve is acting like he should brush it off because their soldiers (Is this the first time you've lost a soldier? We're not soldiers) but I think Steve was equally effected, especially since Fury threw the bloody baseball cards in as a further emotional barb. But Steve keeps everything inside. He keeps it all locked down, and I have got to believe it's partially due to his experience with the cabin and whatever kind of twisted mental health screening he got from SHIELD after coming out of the ice.

He's not about to give anyone any more reason to send him back to the cabin to help him adjust to the future. I think that cabin had a profound impact on Steve's willingness to reach out to people and I think it made him reflexively cling to the only other option he was presented with: SHIELD. Which is exactly what SHIELDRA wanted.

Anyway, if you want an in depth look at cabin angst, I just finished a fic about it: Ice and Empty Spaces. Eventually this will lead to a Tony and Steve friendship, but first, angst.