#I could completely be misinterpreting everything though so don’t mind me

[pegging-satan]

Hmmmm I think people often forget that Mori is terrified of Dazai

[createserenity]

Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship dynamic fascinates me and what fascinates me even more is how people perceive them, partly because I seem to have a much more optimistic view of their dynamic than a lot of what I read suggests they do.

With that in mind I started trying to unpick how I see their dynamic and why and what I ended up with was a series of rambles on various aspects, including confidence, trust, silliness and what they ask of each other. This one is about what they ask of each other and why their relationship isn't some weird one-sided thing where Crowley gives Aziraphale everything he could possibly want or ask for.

I see a lot of posts and things suggesting Crowley always rolls over and does anything Aziraphale asks of him. I don’t know to what extent most people really believe this or if it’s just a fun joke (and I’m not saying that’s bad, I think it’s a fun joke too, I love reading all that stuff and it makes me laugh). The point I wanted to make here though is that I don’t think it’s true and also why I don’t think it’s true.

Everything from here on out is my opinion, but I won’t keep stating that in order to make it more easily readable, just take it as a given. If your opinion is different that’s absolutely fine, I love that we can all see this stuff in different ways depending on our experiences and personalities, it’s why the fandom is so fun. (It’s also why my opinion on so many things in season two ricochets wildly from one theory to another).

So back to Crowley and Aziraphale – I don’t think Aziraphale walks all over Crowley, or certainly not to the extent that people sometimes think he does. Also Crowley doesn’t and wouldn’t allow himself to be walked all over anyway. Why is this even relevant? Because I’ve seen people say that in the final 15 minutes Aziraphale finally asked Crowley to do something that pushed him over the edge and that Aziraphale was shocked when Crowley didn’t roll over and do it because Crowley always does what Aziraphale asks. This isn’t at all true for a start, but also this view tends to include a second assumption, which is that their relationship is one-sided and Aziraphale never does anything for Crowley, that he dismisses him and takes him for granted, which also is not true in a lot of ways. I think it’s a fundamental misinterpretation of their relationship dynamic.  

First of all why can Crowley’s actions be interpreted as just rolling over and doing whatever Aziraphale wants? Well, the answer to that is three-fold – firstly Crowley is a genuinely unselfish in many ways, he does things for people because that’s the way he is, it doesn’t make him a pushover, it just makes him nice. Secondly he loves Aziraphale deeply. Whether he knows it or not doesn’t matter, he cares for Aziraphale and wants him to be happy. This isn’t the same as being a complete doormat, it’s simply compromising with the person you are in a relationship with and occasionally prioritising them over yourself. Both these things come together in the third thing, which is that Crowley’s love language is acts of service – he enjoys doing nice things for Aziraphale, he enjoys rescuing him, or going along with him and letting him have his own way, so why not do it? The point is he’s never railroaded into it by Aziraphale, it’s always a deliberate choice. He is literally saying, I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you.

How does Aziraphale see this behaviour?

Well that’s a tricky one, because in many ways Aziraphale is the more complex character, not least because he changes the most over the course of their history together. Is there a slight element of him taking Crowley for granted in some of their interactions, especially in season two? Possibly, but mostly I don’t think that’s it at all. When someone gives you things because their love language is acts of service you develop a (mostly sub-conscious) confidence in that relationship dynamic and if you also have confidence in yourself (which Aziraphale absolutely does – I’ll write more on this another time) then when you want something you ask for things. You ask not because you learn to expect, but because you think you’re worthy of asking and you think that your relationship is strong enough to stand up to the ask. I ask my husband for things all the time, sometimes they’re things I know he’ll give me – these are easy asks (I don’t just mean physical objects, I also mean acts of service such as helping me with something), sometimes though I’ll ask for things knowing he probably won’t give me that thing or without having a clue what his answer will be – these are harder asks, the sort you don’t do early on in relationships because they might break it either in one go or over time. Sometimes a hard ask results in me getting what I want, sometimes it results in a bit of back and forth before I get what I want, sometimes I get a no and I’m temporarily annoyed or upset, sometimes I get a no and I accept it because I knew it was the most likely outcome.

The point is that I ask, and so does Aziraphale. You ask because you have confidence that you are worthy of the ask and also that your relationship is strong enough to bear the request, even if the answer is no. Can a no still be annoying or upsetting? Yes absolutely. Can a no still be wrong on the part of the other person? Also yes. The point is that sometimes the no isn’t wrong and it doesn’t necessarily break the relationship. By the time season two comes along Aziraphale is confident enough in his relationship with Crowley to feel it can bear the weight of him asking.

So what happens when he asks? Does Crowley roll over?

Well no, he doesn’t. One big example of this is right at the beginning of the series, in episode one. Here Aziraphale makes a massive ask of Crowley and he knows it’s a big ask. Even before he tells Crowley what the problem is he’s aware of the possibility of a no. “Is it something I can help you with?” Crowley sayss, and Aziraphale merely shrugs. It’s not because Nina is there, she’s gone by that point. It’s also not because he doesn’t have faith in Crowley’s ability to help him, he always has faith in Crowley’s abilities (this is a whole other thing on trust). What he’s doubting is whether Crowley will help him. It’s why they’re meeting in the café, not the bookshop. He wants to break this one to Crowley a bit at a time – there’s a problem and I need help. I want your help, it’s why I called you, but you aren’t going to like it and I’m not even sure whether you will help so I’m establishing that I need help first, rather than showing you Gabriel immediately, so that you aren’t completely surprised when I present the whole problem to you.

Once they go to the bookshop and Crowley is confronted with Gabriel he offers the help he feels able to give by saying that he’ll drive Gabriel somewhere and dump him. He’s stating his willingness to help (which is important later), but for now he’ll only help in one specific way. What he isn’t willing to do is any more than that, not even for Aziraphale.

Help me take care of Gabriel. Help me sort this mess out, Aziraphale says, and what does Crowley say? No. Absolutely not. You’re on your own with this one. Even after Aziraphale practically begs him for help, complete with puppy dog eyes and the magic word, “I’d love you to help me,” Crowley still says no. That is not the reply of someone who lets themselves be walked all over or who rolls over every time the angel they’re in love with flutters their eyelashes.

Okay so what about the fact that he returns? Well, the stakes have been raised: for a start Aziraphale is now directly in danger, which alters the balance in favour of helping him, and remember he was already willing to help, he said as much, but he was previously only willing to help in one way. Now that’s changed. Doing things you wouldn’t normally do for someone you love when the stakes are raised is a perfectly normal rection in a relationship and does not indicate an unhealthy dynamic. Crowley has now realised that getting rid of Gabriel is no longer an option - his preferred plan (dumping Gabriel somewhere) will no longer work, so the only choice is now Aziraphale’s plan of keeping him in the bookshop and taking care of him.

This is why he returns.

A quick note on the call

Just backtracking a bit here – when Aziraphale calls Crowley to ask him for help Crowley agrees to be over in two minutes. It’s instant, no questions asked and at first glance looks like Aziraphale calls and Crowley comes running just because. But nope. Later we are very clearly told that Crowley knows something is wrong the moment he picks up the phone and Aziraphale starts speaking, “This was your ‘Something’s Wrong’ voice.” Crowley already knows there’s a problem and what do you do when your closest friend calls you and tells you about a problem? You try to help. Whether that’s advice, comfort, physically going around to help out or whatever the situation calls for. Of course Crowley says he’ll be there in two minutes, he doesn’t exactly have anything else on and his friend has just indirectly told him something is wrong. He’d be a pretty shitty person/entity if he didn’t agree to drop round and try to help.

So what about the 'I was wrong' dance?

This whole interaction, that many people say indicates how under the thumb he is actually shows us the exact opposite. What’s the first thing Crowley says when Aziraphale asks him to do the dance? “I don’t do the dance.” This tells us a hell of a lot about their relationship dynamic up to this point – for a start Aziraphale has clearly done the dance before, at Crowley’s request, and he lists off the occasions. The dance is silly and slightly demeaning and Aziraphale has done it several times for Crowley, whilst Crowley has never done it, yet somehow we read this whole scene as Crowley being the whipped one? Um. No. Also heavily implied in Crowley’s, “I don’t do the dance” statement is, You’ve asked me to do this before, I’ve always said no because I don’t want to. You’ve always accepted my no before and I want (expect!) you to accept it this time.

But this time Aziraphale doesn’t accept the no. Just like Crowley wouldn’t go along with his plan earlier, Aziraphale now won’t go along with Crowley’s no. Clearly he has done so in the past, but this time their dynamics are different. They’ve been much more open about their friendship for the past four years, they’ve both accepted that they are at least close friends, if not more. They’ve saved the world together and saved each other. They both acknowledge they “carved (this existence) out for ourselves” and that brings strength to their relationship. Now that Aziraphale has more confidence in what they are to each other, he takes that confidence and tests the limits of what Crowley will do for him, to push them more towards equality. Why should he always be the one to do the dance? Crowley responds by acquiescing not because he would just roll over and do anything for Aziraphale but because he recognises three things. Firstly that Aziraphale is pushing and that this is new and that this means something to him in the context of their relationship, secondly because he reluctantly accepts Aziraphale’s point that it isn’t really fair that he never does it, and finally because the request for him to do the dance isn’t about him refusing to help (Aziraphale was never certain he would), it’s about the fact that he’s broken Aziraphale’s trust by refusing to help (which is a slightly and very subtly different thing). To illustrate this, right before Crowley does the dance, just after he says “fine,” he gets this very brief, soft look on his face – this is him acknowledging to himself that Aziraphale deserves this dance, that he loves the angel and that he’s doing this because of both those things – he could have continued to insist on a no, he clearly has before, but this time he chooses not to.

I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you.

All right, what about the car thing?

What about it? Lending your car to the person you love is very normal. Ok so the car means more to Crowley than a normal car does to us, but the point still stands. Aziraphale is making a reasonable request here. Does he expect a yes? Absolutely, because he also knows it’s a reasonable request given where their relationship is. Does he flirt to get his own way? Hell, yes. Does Crowley know exactly what Aziraphale is playing at? Also a hell yes. And Crowley totally plays up to it, he’s not as opposed to it as he claims. He’s playing up his “no” and his grumpiness for effect, to encourage Aziraphale’s silly flirtiness. Look at the difference between this no and the no he gave Aziraphale earlier. There’s no anger here, there’s no real sense that he thinks Aziraphale is asking too much, he’s playing a role in their relationship and they’ve both played this game before. Look at that little slap of the hand, which Aziraphale responds to equally playfully. The game even continues after Muriel turns up at the shop, when it’s already quite clear that Crowley is going to let Aziraphale use the car (he’s already taking the plants out). Even in the back-room Crowley still teasingly grumbles about trains whilst Aziraphale smiles flirtily, and Crowley playfully withholds the car keys when Muriel interrupts them. They both know Aziraphale is going to end up with them, there’s no point to him not directly handing them over in spite of the interruption, it’s just an excuse to tease Aziraphale back. I mean, look at him – he spends the rest of the conversation wiggling his hips, grinning smugly and confidently handling the Muriel problem by talking about love. Aziraphale’s very overt reaction tells you all you need to know about the dynamic of this one.

Two can play at this flirting game, angel.

But he follows him around like a little puppy!

Well, yes and no. Sure he follows him around whilst he goes around asking all the shopkeepers to the meeting, but he does that because it’s fun for him. He’s curious, Aziraphale is acting oddly, doing something he’s never done before and Crowley wants to know what it is. He’s always found him fascinating – what silly and ridiculous thing is the angel up to now?

Also wanting to hang out with the person you are in love with isn’t at all strange or a sign you are in some sort of weird relationship where only one of you calls the shots. It’s normal. Crowley knows Aziraphale has a tendency to be silly or do unexpected things and he wants to watch him do them and also flirt with him whilst he’s doing them. Looking grumpy and reacting to Aziraphale’s silliness with disbelief is how Crowley flirts-without-flirting. Both of them know, understand and like that dynamic, and he has that role not because he’s unhealthy levels enthralled with everything Aziraphale does but because of the levels of trust they have spent millennia establishing.

What Crowley doesn’t do is wait around for Aziraphale. Look at the scene where Aziraphale daydreams about Job. In that scene he’s aware Aziraphale has something else to show him (the record clue), but he doesn’t stick around whilst Aziraphale ignores him. He could have sat down somewhere in the shop and waited – he’s got an eternity, waiting an hour or so is no big deal, but waiting around like that would suggest he really is a doormat, just waiting for the next time Aziraphale shows him any attention. He doesn’t do that, instead he goes off and does… well, something. There’s a lot of speculation over what it is, but whether he goes off to read Pride and Prejudice or just wanders off to find something more interesting to look at than the back of Aziraphale’s head, he’s clearly saying here that he has a life outside of whatever Aziraphale wants to do.

Also side note - you know what else he doesn’t do for Aziraphale? Adjust his driving style. Aziraphale clearly hates it, it makes him nervous and he even asks Crowley to change several times whilst they’re in the car together, but Crowley never does. This is how I am angel, accept it or don’t, but this is the line and I’m not changing this for you. Related to this is his refusal to accept Aziraphale altering the Bentley. Aziraphale tries to persuade him, “But it’s pretty,” and Crowley really isn’t having it. It’s another hard line and he’s not going to let Aziraphale cross it.

Anything else?

There’s a few other examples that I’ve seen listed in the, “Crowley does whatever Aziraphale says/wants” evidence piles. Things like Aziraphale assuming he’s going to get the drinks in the pub. Well, someone has to get them, and it makes perfect sense that they both assume it’s Crowley here because he’s the one more comfortable with pubs. Having a role that you take on within certain situations in a relationship is healthy and normal, imagine how exhausting it would be to debate who is going to do every little thing all of the time.

In the first series the coat cleaning is another example often cited, but this is something Crowley is perfectly happy to do. Aziraphale is flirting, which is delightful, and he’s not being asked to do anything difficult or dangerous. I will do this thing for you because I love you and I enjoy making you happy and this is something I feel I can give to you, which is totally different from, you always ask, I always give, and you always take.

What about Aziraphale. When does he give?

All the damn time. We just don’t notice it as much because Crowley asks different things of him. His love language is acts of service towards others, but he doesn’t really ask or require them in return. Sometimes he gets them from Aziraphale anyway (Holy water anyone?) Also notably in the Globe Theatre when he’s clearly the one pushing the Arrangement, and Aziraphale more or less agrees to do his work for him (“That doesn’t sound like hard work”) even before he’s asked, before they’ve gone through their little dance of Crowley pushing and Aziraphale supposedly-reluctantly agreeing.

The other things Aziraphale gives Crowley are much more nuanced, and much less measurable to us as the audience, but he gives them constantly, or more or less constantly, throughout their relationship. He gives him acceptance (although he occasionally partially withdraws it, such as in the bandstand scene), his silliness (which is more important than it first appears), a safe space (not just the bookshop, but also a safe space for Crowley to air his real views without fear of consequence, which is important irrespective of whether or not he persuades Aziraphale to agree with him), his physicality (by 1826 he’s really in Crowley’s space so much of the time) and most importantly he gives Crowley himself. Crowley constantly pushes Aziraphale to grow as a person, it’s one of the original reasons he entertains developing a friendship with him. What he asks of Aziraphale is for Aziraphale to think – really think – about what he believes. And Aziraphale does so, but only for Crowley. Humans have constantly questioned religious beliefs throughout history, they’ve written books, made speeches and even had wars over religious doctrine and the problems, inconsistencies and absurdities within it. Crowley is saying nothing to Aziraphale that he won’t already have indirectly heard from humans and dismissed or ignored. But when Crowley says it, he thinks and he changes. That’s what Crowley asks of Aziraphale and it’s what Aziraphale gives him.

What was the point of all this waffle?

Well, honestly there isn’t much of one. Only that their relationship is much more balanced than some suggest and I think I just wanted to spell that out. It also has an implication for the final 15 minutes. There’s no way Aziraphale goes into that with some sort of fake confidence that he can persuade Crowley to follow him to heaven simply because Crowley always follows him – Crowley doesn’t, he has very clear limits that he enforces with Aziraphale and Aziraphale knows this. He might feel confident for other reasons (such as thinking Crowley will be happy to be an angel again) or something else entirely different might be happening (so many theories!) but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing to do with thinking Crowley always does what he asks, because he very clearly doesn’t.

It's also why Crowley waits around afterwards to watch Aziraphale leave. It’s a way indirectly of saying one final time, I love you and I enjoy making you happy… but this is something I cannot give to you.

[heartstringsduet]

It's a not-happy Wednesday but I thought not sharing art of any kind wouldn't be a solution to this. Instead have an extra long snippet of A Few Moons Ago. Open tag today though because I can't gage whether some people would mind. But I would love to be tagged back if you shared something you've created of any kind. 💓

The man huffs. “I won’t tell you what to do, but I know you’re a lot more lucid now, so unless there’s a reason, it would be a little easier if you shifted too so we could communicate properly.” They did communicate. Last night, as wolves, everything had seemed so easy. Nothing to misinterpret. He knew the gray wolf liked his scent, his company. Knew he liked to play and nudge his head against Carlos’. Even with a hazy memory, he feels like they spent the last night talking endlessly, despite no words exchanged.

“Carlitos, you can’t stay like this forever,” his mother used to say when he kid, small enough shifted into a cub to curl up in the lowest shelf of her cupboard. It smelled so much of her there, so comforting, that he whined whenever she pulled him out by the scruff on his neck. “Don’t you want to be a kid too? Play out with your human friends?”

Carlos would be back in her cupboard as soon as she turned her head.

Most days, this was easier. Being an alpha, transforming into a wolf whenever he wanted made talking less relevant. When life was complicated, fur was warm, gestures more forgiving with words lost to him. Right now, he finds himself wanting nothing more than to connect with this man on all levels though. Carlos extracts himself from the makeshift nest, feeling colder outside the cocooning scent of it, until he sits back in the corner of the truck bed.

“Wait!” The man says, but Carlos is already shifting before the word is finished.

Even if the sun had washed some of the moon lure away from Carlos’ brain, there is an extra set of clarity to his thoughts as he blinks his human eyes open. The world explodes back in color -- the one thing more vivid when other senses are dulled -- and the first thing Carlos eyes focus on instantly is the man in front of him.

He has the eyes of the forest - no, a forest creek - the hair the color of oak bark. Seashell pink lips, a hint of a stubble a lot of werewolves grow much quicker after a transformation. Sitting up, he covers his lap with the edge of the sleeping bag, before throwing a pillow at Carlos.

Carlos, who sits frog-legged from the position he was in as a wolf, is completely bared to him. Despite the much subtler scent after shifting, their arousal spills out between them, mingling in the air as its own scent. Carlos knows the man smells it too by the way his pupils widen and his tongue darts out.

He covers himself with a pillow anyway, because as much as nudity is more accepted in their culture, it’s not exactly normal to sit spread naked in a truck bed with a stranger. 

“Hi,” Carlos says, rolling back his shoulders to fold them out strong behind him. He likes the way the guys’ eyes flick down to look at the way his chest pops out for it. 

“Hey,” the man returns, his voice making Carlos’ heartbeat spike.

Silence falls between them, leaving the nightingales to greet this morning. Carlos decides to be the one to take the first step, see if the man follows.

“I’m Carlos.”

“TK.”

TK. Two letters that feel oddly too short to be filled with the grandeur he feels wafting off of him. He may be an omega, but he carries himself like an alpha. It’s the reason he stopped Carlos in his tracks last night.

“Nice to meet you,” says Carlos. “Hope you’re not too disappointed I’m not…who was it? I can’t really remember words too clearly, but I remember you asking me if I was someone famous?”

TK visibly swallows. “Brad Pitt.”

“Yeah, well…sorry?” Again: OPEN TAG. But please if you have something you created, of any kind, tag me and share some creativity and color with this world 💓 Thanks for tagging me @ironheartwriter

[kira-the-whump-enthusiast]

hey, I'm like... really new to the Whump idea but I have an idea I kinda like and wanna hear someone who clearly knows more about whump and what it is and the appeal blah blah blah's opinion on it

Whumper who legitimately believes Whumpee enjoys the various tortures they put them through, to the point that when the rescue happens and the Whumper learns that the Whumpee wasn't willing nor enjoying anything at all they crumble and break, perhaps (this one is a stretch) becoming a Whumpee as well due to the people/person who rescued OG Whumpee from Whumper trying to do justice??

definitely not me projecting a little bit too much on my mind's idea of a legitimately well meant though extremely delusional Whumper

Hey!! Thank you for the ask!!! I’m flattered that you would share this with me.

This is such a fun idea!! I always love a whumper who is thoroughly convinced that what they’re doing it okay, and I can just imagine the whumpee screaming at the whumper about how they’ve got it all wrong and the whumper just smiling and pressing a finger to the whumpee’s lip. Yes I’m very normal.

Also man you got me at whumper turned whumpee I could make a whole prompt list for this >:)

The whumper is having so much fun hurting the whumpee and can’t possibly contemplate that the whumpee might not be having fun either

The whumpee has a nervous habit of laughing when they’re very emotionally overwhelmed or smiling when they’re scared, and the whumper completely misinterprets it as enjoyment

The whumpee was known to be overdramatic and have a tendency to embellish things, and the whumper assumes it applies here too

When the rescuers come, seeing them believe in the whumpee’s suffering makes the whumper start to realize that maybe they’d been wrong the whole time

The whumper expects the whumpee to defend them, but instead the whumpee breaks down and screams at whumper about how much they hate them and how hurt they were

The whumper falls to their knees and doesn’t resist when the rescuers haul them off too

The caretaker, enraged by what the whumper did, pretty much kidnaps them to partake in the dark joy of kicking the whumper while they’re down

Maybe the whumpee finds out and they’re horrified

Or maybe they put the whumper through everything they went through, in the desperate hopes that it will finally make the whumper understand

The whumper never realized how much it actually hurt, and they scream and cry and beg for it to stop

The whumper does a full 180 and can no longer trust themself they don’t trust their own interpretations of people and they automatically assume that they’re lying to themself about anything

Their new whumper uses this to their advantage to manipulate the whumper horribly

Maybe the whumper truly does find the fun in being whumped though. Maybe they frustrate their new whumper thoroughly because nothing seems to break them

Maybe it’s all a facade and they’re slowly crumbling inside :)

[merlinficprompts]

I have a Merlin prompt I would like to submit!! Sorry for the formatting I’m writing this on my phone it’s 1 am and I’m feeling feral

Merlin magic is revealed to Gwaine when he has to heal a fatal wound. Gwaine and Lancelot are having a private conversation about it, using a code word for Merlin’s magic. An eavesdropping Arthur misinterprets the whole thing.

(conversation goes roughly like this)

“To be honest I’m kind of broken hearted. I thought I was the first one to experience uh.. Merlin’s ’talent’.”

“Sorry friend, me and Merlin’s first meeting was when he was.. sharing his ‘talent’ with me..”

“I won’t lie to you, when he first started doing it I was.. I was mortified.. but then it felt so..”

“Good?”

“Yes! Gods, I know I’ll be condemned if others find out but.. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’m not exaggerating Lancelot, I truly feel as if a whole new world has opened in front of my eyes. I want him to do it again, I want him to do and show me more. I’m greedy for it!”

“I understand you, sometimes despite the years I’ve known of his.. ‘talent’, I find myself yearning to experience it again. I could never ask him to do anything that put him in harms way though, should anyone find out..”

“I know. It’s such a shame he has to go to such lengths to hide his true nature. During it his eyes were so bright and at peace, it made me want to never let him go. It pains me knowing he suffers so much, hiding his true self in fear. I asked him if he ever planned to tell Arthur and he.. he looked so pain. He’s terrified of what Arthur would think if he found out..”

“I don’t blame him. While Arthur’s a much better man and leader than Uther, there’s still no telling how he’d react finding out about.. Merlin’s ‘talent’”

“Well I for one think there’s nothing wrong with it. Especially since I’ve experienced the benefits first hand. I’m telling you Lance, I’m a new man. I haven’t felt this at ease in a long time.”

“Oh yes, i suppose we just must be grateful that we can consider ourselves among the lucky few who get to experience his ‘talent’, and work to assure his safety in the future.”

Now utterly convinced that Merlin is a slag who prefers men, Arthur struggles with multiple emotions; ranging from embarrassment to having overheard Merlin’s private business, to despair that his best friend was too afraid to admit his preference, to outrage over the (assumed) knowledge that his knights are apparently mounting his ‘talented’ servant. He’s scandalized to think Merlin was so wanton, he should be indignant and offended that he shares such camaraderie with an unrepentant harlot. Yet, for some reason he can’t put his finger on.. he mostly just feels hurt and betrayed. He’s mortified over what that means, and finds himself in a panic over what to do now that he’s learned his best friend (who he doesn’t realize he’s in love with) is apparently a huge slut who fucks his knights (and he’s utterly incensed on Gwen’s behalf since Lance is courting her at this time)

Unsure of what to do, he finds himself at a loss and confides in Morgana about how he should act, and whether he should intervene in any way or mind his own business. Morgana, somewhat impressed, finds this hilarious, but becomes angry when she hears about Lancelot. Her judgement of Merlin sours and she finds herself stuck between telling Gwen or fighting Lancelot. From there everything just kind of snowballs. The knights try to correct the rumor but obviously since they can’t say they were talking about his magic, all other excuses seem poorly constructed and they’re unable to fix the problem.

Meanwhile around the same time, the son of a good friend/ally to Uther, who’s infamous for his carnal and shameless desires, catches wind of this rumor upon his visit to Camelot. His interest peaked, he seeks out to proposition Merlin, regardless of Merlin’s willingness.. (arthur saves him in time tho)

Merlin, on the other hand, has somehow managed to remain completely oblivious to everyone’s newfound attention on him, paranoid he’s detecting some snickers and nasty remarks thrown his away, but mostly unsure and too tired to think too hard over it. He’s too busy prioritizing protecting Arthur and finding new ways to perfect his magic that the thought of being with someone amounted to that of another meaningless chore he’d tack onto his plate. He’s come to the conclusion that he’s not destined to have a partner and settle down, the closest he supposes he’ll ever get is being by Arthur’s side as he gets his fairy tale ending, wife and kids.. Merlin is perfectly fine remaining on the side as always. He doesn’t know why his chest aches everytime he thinks about it.

Everyone’s misunderstanding everyone else, Gaius forces Merlin to listen to him explain safe sex between men and assures him that he loves him regardless of whether or not he approves of Merlin’s constant changing conquest amount. Merlin gets sexually harassed, Arthur is emotionally constipated so he rescues Merlin from bullying but also yells at him bc he’s mad Merlin’s being a hoe with everyone but him apparently. Uther hears one too many random out of context dialogues pertaining to Merlin’s sexual abilities, and Kilgarrah spends his entire interaction with Merlin cackling his scales off bc he saw what happens and he’s so excited for it to play out.

TLDR Merlin wakes up one day and suddenly everyone is convinced he’s a huuuuuge slut. Chaos ensues.

While the premise is crack-ish, I do want the story to be written fairly seriously/realistically. If anyone’s interested in turning this prompt into a full fledged fanfic, I’d love for it to be a very very lengthy one. So excited to see if this gets written!!

I love this idea!!! I probably wouldn’t write it myself, but it’s so funny, beyond the embarrassment factor. I would love to see it though! If you or anyone else writes this idea, message me so I can post about it!

[beanghostprincess]

Same anon about buggy hate here

Yeah I do think it’s especially funny when I see hate from die hard OP fans who definitely are up to date. They just misinterpreted 1082 because they want to hate this character. And for no actual reason whatsoever, other than they want their cool hot characters to be always on top (not that I don’t find buggy hot, please buggy simps spare my life)

I think of buggy more like an absent minded character though. Like I don’t think he’s just dumb dumb, but definitely he has this great comedy moments, coming from his hotheadedness and completely not paying attention. I genuinely think he’s one of the funniest OP characters. And I do think 1082 was big change of that in a way. He didn’t lose those characteristic, he just got more.

Tbh I didn’t even mean it in shippy way? I don’t really engage that much with shipping other than zolu tbh. I guess it could be interpreted in shippy way though so yeah… I meant just dynamics that people choose to portray between those two. Definitely just see a lot of zolu/shanks/buggy mix there which is… kinda iffy to me. People already have this type of relationship there but something stopping them from engaging

And yeah shanks and buggy literally have insane bond just on the fact of their shared experiences growing up. Just that fact is enough to make shanks like buggy, or see him as brother, or whatever you want to portray them as. (I’m more on brotherly bond but hey, it’s just marine’s interpretation, so nothing canon! Not hating on any shippers here). And I truly do think shanks just genuinely likes that guy. As in his character. The way he acts. He loves being playful with him, like me and my siblings. For me it’s like someone saying to me “why you love your sisters, she’s annoying”. That’s my sister and I don’t care how others see her. She’s just mine and always will be. You know? So definitely I agree with your point (in twisted way, agree bond exist, just different interpretation)

I’m sure buggy will have nice arc with cool finish. Probably do have some kind of moment about shanks too. It’s just makes sense from writing point and I think deep inside many people hate that fact.

Thanks for taking your time with answering me!

[Context]

As somebody who reads chapter 1082 every day (a normal amount of times, thank you very much) people misinterpreting it makes my blood boil.

And I wish I could expand on what you've already said but I think we've talked about everything I've had in mind? Like, yes, Buggy is still himself even after 1082. In fact, it just added depth to his character and made him even better. The ships thing is pretty real too, and people often are afraid to engage with new dynamics and stick to what's safe. And it doesn't even need to be romantic, if you see them in a platonic way that's cool too, the point is that Shanks still cares for him and has his reasons to love Buggy.

I'm not even worried about Buggy's arc because I trust Oda with this, so we'll just have to wait and see how it goes.

[carlyraejepsans]

this is just because i need to rant ab this BUT all those edgy sans aus are so hard for me to get into because they completely misinterpreted sans’ character and motivations. like! this man only fights us when he thinks we’re going to not only destroy the world, but annihilate the entire timeline so that there’s literally nothing left. sans doesn’t fight us because we killed his brother, or all those other monsters in genocide (strictly speaking, you could kill the same amount of monsters in a non-genocide way and NOT fight sans). sans kills us because the literal fate of the world is at stake.

i’m not saying that there’s no world where sans would kill us (ik you just made the post ab that and how it’s his promise to toriel, etc etc), but the problem with so many aus is that sans is portrayed as proactive when he’s really not, unless the world is gonna be destroyed. they often completely warp his character for the sake of angst, and ignoring the fact that there’s SO much to work with for angst that’s rooted in canon, it makes the characters feel unrealistic. i can’t get into a story where i’m constantly being like “no, he wouldn’t do that” or “that’s not something he would say.” (this can be applied to other characters as well, but let’s be honest we know sans is at the helm of most of these popular aus).

when i say i mean no disrespect to these aus and the people who enjoy them, though, i mean it. it’s just not my cup of tea. people enjoy different things and that’s awesome! i’m glad so many people have been so involved in the fandom to make their own worlds and stories- it really has helped keep undertale alive! just bc i can’t personally get into it, doesn’t mean it’s bad or unenjoyable (obviously. they’re popular for a reason).

but idk this is just something that always sticks in my mind when people ask what you don’t like about many aus. and like, you don’t need to respond to this or anything but i just needed to rant lmao

nothing more to say pal. i agree with everything you said. my real issue with stuff in the utmv fandom stuff isn't the characterization. sure it annoys me, but at the end of the day i can't control how people engage with the text. or uuhhh don't. you'll just go nuts

the actual problem here is that... they do it in a way that drowns out the majority of the new canon-adjacent content being shared at the same time by using the same tags and fandom spaces. even when (by many au authors' own admissions) they're stories and characters made specifically in the context of the mv and thus have next to nothing to do with canon save for like, the character design. sometimes. THAT'S the real issue here.

[sylverstorms]

Daniela x Maiden ---- Hunted Ch.8 (NSFW)

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7

They say if you can master yourself, you can master everything. 

You have years of hunting and self-taught combat to aid you in that department. Sharp senses, rapid reactions, great hand-eye coordination to work alongside your sturdy body. All of these traits have preserved your wellbeing on multiple occasions and are undeniably your greatest strengths. 

So it is ironic that, in a mere moment, they can also become your greatest weakness. 

One minute you are lounging in your bed, reading an old Romanian folklore book that piqued your interest from the main library. You are absorbed in the light stories and drawings there, of wish-granting fairies and trees with wills of their own, so much that your eyes begin to droop. 

And then a strong gust of wind comes from outside. Whatever miniscule gap exists in the locking mechanism of your window allows the air to move the flimsy curtain covering it ever-so-slightly. At the same time, the very corner of your eye registers movement. A shadow; a bat, a monster, a trick of the light –it doesn’t matter. 

It sets you off like a fire alarm. 

Suddenly, you are leaping high into the air, eyes wide, frantic, you are bursting out of your room and you cannot breathe. That’s all it takes. Literally all it takes for you to fall apart; one stray little stimulus caught by your hunter senses and misinterpreted by your mind.

You’d smack straight into the opposite side of the corridor, if it wasn’t for the warm body you crash into, instead. The person unfortunate enough to be tackled into the wall manages to conceal the collision with a soft grunt. Their knees do not hit the ground when yours do. You’d apologize, if only you could find your voice. If your brain wasn’t closing in on you with thoughts of impending doom. If the roof wasn’t coming down to crush you– 

“Hey, hey. Seren, take it easy.” A familiar, smoky voice calls your name. Firm digits press at your shoulder. 

That… breaks you out of your panic mode a little. At least your body stops shaking. Surely, it’s a start. You suck deep breaths into your lungs, until you can finally look up to confirm who it is. Fine dark hair. Hazel eyes. Attractive jawline. Alexia crouches beside you so you don’t have to crane your neck up to meet her gaze. 

“Are you alright? What happened?” she asks and her calmness is infectious. 

“I–I almost fell asleep and then… I thought something outside my window moved.” God, you hate how breathless you sound. “I fucking –lost it.” 

She doesn’t say anything at first, merely lets you count inhales and exhales while her eyes scan your room. “Can’t be a Samce; they don’t normally fly this low or approach the warmer parts of the castle.” she muses, more to herself than you. “Probably just a bat.”

You nod when your heartbeat stops pounding raw pain across your chest. “Yeah. This a thing that… happens.” Not often, but it does. Not that you could ever get used to this kind of impact.

“Sorry to hear that.” Alexia's lips press together. You take her offered hand to stand on your feet again. “Do you want to join me for a while?” 

“Ah… wouldn’t want to keep you up.” you hesitate. 

“Don’t worry about that. I think I’ll wait for Cassandra to return from her hunt, anyway.” she shrugs. 

The two of you take slow, unhurried steps towards the human staff’s common room. You make sure to keep your voices down, not to disturb any of the other women sleeping as you pass by the locked doors of their chambers. Nobody wants to deal with complaining and death-glares come morning. 

At your destination, Alexia pours you both some whiskey, hands you your glass and takes a seat beside you on the couch. Unlike most people, she doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with smalltalk. You appreciate the time she gives you to completely cool down. 

“It’s not like you, to freak out like that.” comes the comment, eventually. 

“It is, though.” It's a bitter reply, complete by taking a healthy gulp of alcohol that leaves a much-needed burn down your throat. “I’m not fearless like you.”

“I’m… what, now?” A thin eyebrow raises. “I think you’ve got the wrong person there.”

“No.” You shake your head. “The other maids talk of what you did. You were the first ever to escape. As well as the spark that improved living conditions here for the staff.” What guts that takes is beyond your comprehension. 

“I improved living conditions for myself.” Alexia corrects. “Rhiannon advocated for the rest, not me. I’m not that selfless or that good.” So she says, but you are inclined to disagree. 

“Well, anyway. You’re dating Cassandra.” There. Point made. If that doesn’t scream ‘fearless’, nothing does.  

The edge of Alexia’s mouth quirks up. “Not for lack of fear.” 

That answer, you were not expecting. It makes you shift your body towards her, the question evident in your expression. “...Really?”

“Of course. Do you know how long it took for my blood not to turn to ice, at that feral look she got in her eyes when hungry?” You never could have imagined she felt the same as you. Cassandra and she always look so comfortable together. “Before I ever spoke to her, she was the Dimitrescu I feared the most.”

“And how did you overcome that?” you animatedly ask. 

“Everything you want is on the other side of fear.” The words come out perfectly even. “Once I realized that, I could set it aside more and more. At first, it was for benefit. Then, it was for love. Until it disappeared entirely.” 

Well, that is… enlightening. 

“Everyone has phobias and traumas, Seren, whether they are aware of them or not. Trust me, the Dimitrescus are no different than us in that regard.” Indeed, you’re starting to see that. “And maybe that’s the root of the problem. Healthy relationships are hard to build between wounded people.”

Wounded...

“Whatever is haunting you, you should talk about it. In time.” And with that, she finishes her drink. “Rhiannon is best suited to these kinds of things but… you also know where to find me.”

You smile. Raise your glass to that. 

–

–

The daughters return in the ungodly hours of the morning. You hear the exact moment the heavy gates groan open from the top of the staircase, the hushed giggles that follow. Three dark, buzzing blurs make a beeline for the lit fireplace, where their figures solidify. 

Cassandra is the first to push back her hood, head turning towards her girlfriend in the same swift motion. The dim firelight brings out the inhuman gold in her eyes that much more, gleaming like a cat’s. Rich blood coats the lower half of her lips and neck, glistens like a morbid jewel on her too-pale skin. Her smile is that of a wolf’s. 

Your blood pressure rises from it, but Alexia regards her coolly, almost fondly. She’s prepared for the predator flashing in front of her face, as opposed to you, pushing backwards in pure, unrestrained reflex. But the wolf seems more and more domesticated the longer she stays there, locked in a staring competition with a human. 

What surprises you is the fact she’s not looking down on a lesser, weaker species than herself. She sees her equal. 

“Don’t you dare–” Alexia begins, but Cassandra has already pressed a bloody glove to her chin and made a point of dragging it down her neck. 

“Now you need a bath, too.” A wink. “Don’t worry if it doesn’t come right off. I’ll just have to lick hard–”

“Too much information.” Bela knocks her shoulder into her sister’s on her way up the final step in a way that's no accident. 

The low, answering growl would send most people running for the hills. Instead, the blonde ignores it, brings her hand up in a bored little wave as she passes you by. And then… the third shadow joins you, the smears on her lower face as red as her hair.  

“Hey. I thought you’d be sleeping at this hour.” Daniela says, the quiet softness of her voice dizzyingly out of place against her bloodied image. “Miss me that much?” Subtly heterochrome eyes crinkle underneath her hood.

“Let’s go with that.” You reply. 

“Well, since you’re up…” she drags the word out. “Mind drawing me a bath?” Puppy eyes. You get puppy eyes from the baby wolf of the family. 

And of course… you’re not immune to them. 

Which is why, five minutes down the line, you find yourself standing in the bathroom connected to her bedchambers, pointedly staring at the door as Daniela undresses –surely, she could do it faster?– and slips into the water behind you. You keep your mind on the decor, your back to her despite how it unnerves you, until the water has drained twice and she assures you you can look. 

Slowly, you peek with one eye over your shoulder. True to her word, the steaming bathtub is now filled with salts and bubbles, the metallic scent and hue of blood gone. Daniela is laying back amidst the foam like a princess waiting to be painted, long crimson hair sticking to the marble surface that is almost as pale as her skin. 

If you didn’t know what kind of monster she is, seeing her all relaxed here and looking up at you underneath those long lashes of hers, you’d think her a siren. Maybe she is one after all, because you approach, as if under a spell, the moment she motions you closer with a slight tilt of her chin. 

No wonder she smells so good, if this is what she bathes in every day. You wave the stray thought as soon as it forms in your head. You also make a point to keep your eyes above her collar.  

“I thought you don’t like having others around when you bathe.” you speak up, needing to steer your mind in a less intimate direction. This is the first thing you come up with, one of the first key pieces of information the older maids gave you about her. 

“Normally… no.” she admits as if also saying ‘you, I don’t mind’. “But then again I usually keep my head submerged.”

“Oh. I do that, too. The calming effect only works with cold water, though.” You’d know. You have sought out its icy embrace to numb your racing heart, your pain, your fears. Everything.

“Does it.” There’s doubt in her voice. A distant look in her eyes that makes her appear… older, for a moment. The kind that hints she’s tried this for the same reasons you have. Perhaps in a different life. 

You grimace. “The isolation part works, at least.” This is a road down loaded subjects you’re taking and it is too early –too draining– for that. You decide to steer your path in a lighter angle; “Anyway. Here I thought it was a modesty thing.” 

Daniela’s gaze shifts to yours, turning more mischievous by the millisecond and it feels oddly good that she’s back to being the little shit you know. “Modesty is not a thing~” She pushes herself forward as she says it, chest puffed out, bubbles pulled along rosy, pebbled nipples–

Until your hand shoots out and presses her back down by the shoulder. “I can see that, I believe you!” The water is scorching, but you don’t care. Your face burns more. 

Daniela giggles. 

–

–

You wait in her room while she dresses and dries her hair. Busy yourself by looking around, taking in details you missed the first time you were here. Like the blood-red rose preserved in crystalline resin she has at the corner of her desk, the scented candle on the opposite, an array of lipsticks and glosses and other girly things laid out before the vanity that bears her family crest. 

The click and soft hiss of the bathroom door make you pivot. It’s a good thing you did not take the rose into your hands to examine like you wanted, because you surely would have dropped it. 

When you brought her that black, folded nightgown, you never pictured it would hug her frame so sensually. Or that its design would purposely draw attention to her chest, or that she wouldn’t be bothered to tie it properly around her waist. 

The worst part is, none of it seems intentional, this time. Daniela is just lazily running a hand through her long hair, more focused on the pillows stacked at the head of her bed than you. She’s not even trying to be seductive and your stomach has been reduced to bits. 

Bad, bad, need to get out of here–

“Seren.” There goes your escape. “Come lay with me for a while?” Sitting up against the pillows with the covers at her middle, she pats the ample space next to her. “The bed is cold.” She’s not lying; her back is rigid, hands pressed to her biceps.

“You know, it’s really late and I do need to sleep…” you try.

“Kniiiiiight…” 

“Okay, okay, but only ten minutes!” As if the finger you hold up sets some kind of boundary in stone. 

Her bed didn’t seem so intimidatingly large last time. You pull back the covers on your corner as if they’ll bite you, then kick off your shoes and settle –with all the unbreathing fluidity of a log– half-reclining on your side, your temple resting against your fist. Daniela removes her two monster teddies from getting squished between you, sets them on her bedside table with a pat on each of their heads. 

And then… you feel her icy hands creep up your elbows. A slow sigh escapes her lips; her eyes flutter shut, head rolling closer to your shoulder.

You’re a heater for eight more minutes, that’s all you’re here for, you remind yourself over and over. But time begins to blur the closer she slides her body. Quarter… then half on top of you. 

It’s –almost– fine for as long as she’s cold. It keeps you on your toes, doesn’t allow you to sink into the royal comfort of her bed or into her. Yet… she doesn’t stay cold for long. 

Then her fingers roam up your deltoid, curl at your shoulder and her lips turn to find yours. Soft, too soft and plush, more parts lingering than kissing. Your mistake is getting greedy with what you’re given. 

You of all people know not to play with fire, but you do not stop your hand from caressing the bare skin of her stomach where her gown has pulled open. Not even when you feel the hitch in her breathing. Instead, you let your tongue take the invitation of her open mouth to tangle with hers. You miss the first alarm bell when she shifts her weight fully on the leg between hers, presses into you a bit harder, effectively pinning you down.

You don’t miss the second, when her mouth trails from the corner of yours to latch onto your pulse and too-sharp teeth graze your skin. Once. Only once. Once is enough to startle you out of your heady dream and into the danger of reality. You push at her, but she doesn’t register the force. 

“Daniela!” 

The sound of her name makes her snap back, lift herself off of you on her hands and knees. At least she does it immediately, which doesn’t necessarily set you at ease, but…

But you see how her chest is heaving and her arms are straining on either side of your head. She’s reigning her instincts back as promised, expression torn between guilty and painfully turned on. Scared that you’ll push her and run off. Scared you’ll be scared to come close again. 

And you should be. 

“I–I’m sorry.” she huffs. “I wasn’t going to bite. Just– a little mark?” she explains. “It’s the first time I feel so–” Whatever she was about to say, she doesn’t. Then she whispers, softly, “Please don’t leave me like this.”

The thing is... you don’t want to leave her like this, either.

Your own feelings shock you, yet you want to finish what you started, despite how the idea of that ‘little mark’ causes your chest to tighten. 

“Can you be good?” you whisper. 

Her eyes darken further in response. She nods. 

When you press at her shoulder and roll you both around, she puts up no resistance. And there is a startling appeal to be the one to pin her down like this, for her to allow it. To further reinforce your control, her hand carefully takes yours and guides it to her throat. 

She is being good. And she must be rewarded for it. Which is why your fingers slowly trail down her smooth skin, from her chest to her navel, then hooking into the waistband of her lacy underwear. It sticks so mesmerizingly to her legs as you slowly pull it down… 

A whimper escapes her lips the moment you touch her there. You swallow the next with your own when you press a bit further into velvet heat, establishing a rhythm between push, pull and the roll of your thumb. Daniela’s hands fly to the pillow beneath her head, gripping hard.

It’s less than two minutes later you feel how tense she is, her gasps and moans no longer muted. “Seren, Seren, I’m–”

You know she is. Her body breaks into a quaking shiver, her back arches and neck cranes. She’s beautiful and if all that is torn for you to witness this sight is a mere pillow, there won’t be enough reasons to stop you from seeking it out again in the future. 

You slowly guide her down her high, until the predatory golden glow in her eyes gives way to much gentler yellowish blue. She smiles like you’ve just discovered a new star and named it after her. Then she releases the death grip she has on whatever is left of her pillow and trails her hand down your middle. Asking for permission. For direction, too. 

After everything you’ve done, it takes only seconds for you to come apart on her fingers.

And then you get unbearably embarrassed, refusing to lift your head off her ruined pillow. She doesn’t seem bothered either way, sleepily playing with the spiky ends of your hair. Rolling, tugging. 

Way to turn a mess into an already bigger mess, you think. It’s kind of like your superpower, at this point. As if this whole situation –your whole situation– wasn’t bad enough before feelings made it to the mix. 

You are her first… and you’re about to become her first heartbreak.

Your mind begins to stress and race, until you hear her voice by your ear; “Oh, no. No, no.”

“Um…?” you lift your head cautiously. It will be easier if she regrets this. You brace yourself for it. Your heart. You can take pain and it is for the best, for everyone involved.

But Daniela is not looking at you. She’s looking at her stuffed monstrosities. 

“Babiesssss.” she tells them, then carefully slides a hand out of the covers to turn them around, so they’re facing the door. “I’m so sorry, I scarred you for life. Ugh, I’m terrible…”

You squint. Stare. 

“Seren.” She pats your nape. “You have to remind me to shield their eyes and ears next time.”

Wait.

Next time…?

[cto10121]

Choose violence ask game: 1, 9, 10, and 22 for "Romeo and Juliet"

1. the character everyone gets wrong

Hmm, good question. My first impulse is to say R&J themselves, Romeo in particular, as their (actually complicated) personalities and characters get frequently misinterpreted. But as I’ve already discussed this frequently in my blog, I’ll opt for an unconventional answer: Mercutio himself.

Not in terms of getting his personality wrong (although I’ve seen plenty of angrymacho!Mercutio, childish!Mercutio, and even woobie!Mercutio, curiously enough), but in terms of adaptations taking Mercutio’s POV and opinions and attitude as gospel. Mercutio is portrayed as a guy who not only talks shit but makes up shit as he goes along (re: Tybalt being a poseur duelist and Benvolio having a ~secret hotheaded side). You’re not supposed to take him seriously but enjoy his trash talk for what it is—premier trolling.

Instead adaptations and fanfics accept his POV unquestionably and even accept it as canon (Baz Lurhmann movie introducing him as the Prince of Cats, Benvolio getting portrayed as a macho asshole, etc.). And of course, that’s where most of the Romeo-is-effeminate clownery comes from, even though Mercutio himself doesn’t think this (only that he has gotten pussified by ~love) and canon blatantly contradicts this.

9. worst part of canon

Tough one. Shakespeare’s canon is almost flawless. I guess making Rosaline a Capulet could be considered a plot hole. He did it so that Romeo has the push he needs to go to the party…but technically he could have made Rosaline just a random invitee rather than a Capulet. And Capulet turned out to be very chill with non-Capulet invitees anyway. So yeah, I don’t mind adaptations that make Rosaline into a Montague or a non-related Capulet. This does show Shakespeare’s lack of fucks about the feud beautifully, though.

10. worst part of fanon

I don’t think that this counts as fanon, per se, but I once peeked at some (hopefully non-school mandated) fanfics in AO3 and got a strong whiff of not one, not two, but several Juliet-is-cool-BFFs-with-Bencutio-while-latter-constantly-makes-fun-of-whiny-woobie-Romeo. Oh, God, you guys are killing me. Also, the Macho Action Hero/Strong Female Character(tm) Juliet, but that is part-and-parcel with the overall clownery.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

…People are still sleeping on Juliet’s likening Romeo to a little bird she’d like to tie in a silken thread to pluck around as she pleases and Romeo 110% replying with “I would I were your bird,” huh? You guys really do like your innocently chaste kawaii R&Js. Admit it, these kids are freaks!!!

Nah, just kidding. Well, this is not something everyone ignores as much as miss entirely…but there’s Romeo’s “Let’s talk” when he decides to stay with Juliet after all after their wedding night. The antis always whine about how R&J are just lustful fiends and they are not ~really in love, and this small, almost throwaway line completely disproves it. Romeo decides to stay and his first suggestion about what he and Juliet should do…is to talk. Because he likes talking to Juliet and most likely they did speak through some of the night. Because he clearly wants to know everything about Juliet. Because their love so far has been just that—words—so of course their default is to talk.

[digital-corruption]

Unrecognisable Part 57

“Maybe you got the wrong building,” Dan commented.

“No, this was definitely the place! I know it because we had come here before!” I exclaimed.

We were standing in the middle of the abandoned warehouse, the one that sat across from Cyan’s old hideout, the one that we watched the police raid from, the one I had followed Jake to the night before. Everything was the same as I remembered, except for the fact it was completely devoid of any crime. I spun around in circles looking for any evidence that either Jake or Richy had been there, but it was seemingly untouched.

“I don’t understand! I definitely followed Jake here last night and Richy was over there tied to a chair!” I pointed in the general direction where Richy had once sat.

Alan walked over and examined the ground for any evidence. “There’s no blood,” he shrugged. “Wait a second…” Alan crouched down and ran his fingers over the concrete surface. “Something was recently bolted here. There are fresh holes in the concrete.”

Like a flash, I suddenly remembered, “Richy’s feet!”

“His feet?” Dan looked at me confused.

“Jake had bolted his feet to the ground to keep him from escaping,” admitting that out loud was more difficult that I could have ever imagined.

“MC,” Alan frowned, obviously still struggling to accept not arresting him.

“We don’t know if that’s true,” Dr. Cumming interrupted.

“What, are you his lawyer or his doctor?” Dan glared at the doctor.

“I am just saying if Jake used heavy drugs on MC we don’t know for sure whether what she saw was real or a hallucination or a misinterpretation based on a series of suggestions,” the doctor explained. “No offense, MC.”

“None taken,” I shook my head.

“But that’s not really the sort of thing people just hallucinate, right?” Dan raised his eyebrow. “It had to come from something.”

“Oh sure, but she could have misinterpreted something someone said or how Richy behaved as if he actually had his feet bolted to the floor,” the doctor continued. “And truth be told, any lawyer assigned to Jake would tear MC’s testimony apart, should she appear in court that is.”

“He’s right,” Alan sighed. “Especially since MC was intended to be under the effects of a drug in the first place, a lawyer could argue that MC had been struggling to sleep at night so Jake gave her a sleeping aid that didn’t agree with her. Everything after that point could be considered nothing more than a very convincing dream. Especially with the lack of evidence in this building.”

“Yeah, but maybe he just cleaned it. Can’t you call in a team that do that sciencey stuff with the light to find blood,” Dan suggested.

“This isn’t my jurisdiction, Dan. I would need sufficient reason to convince my friend at the Colville PD to bring such an expensive resource out here and I’m not sure MC’s testimony will suffice when there’s no visible evidence and no… victim,” Alan rubbed his head.

“But we do have a victim,” I pointed out.

Alan winced, “He hasn’t been found yet. I can give it a try though. Who knows, maybe it’s a slow crime day in the city.” Alan pulled out his phone and walked to the side to make his phone call.

Suddenly my phone started ringing. Confused I pulled it out and saw <<???>> on my lock screen. My blood ran cold.

“It’s him,” my voice shook.

“MC, you don’t have to answer if you are not comfortable taking the call,” Dr. Cumming assured me.

“No, I’m good,” I nodded and pressed the accept button on my phone. Dan looked at me like he expected me to put it on speakerphone. I instead lifted the phone to my ear. “Hi.”

“Did you sleep well?” Jake asked with his voice modulator turned on.

“You know, my mind’s been foggy all day, but it’s becoming clearer as the day goes on,” I admitted, trying to contain the anger. “Where is he?”

“Last I saw him was this morning. He could be anywhere by now,” Jake said vaguely. “Let’s not waste time with that. Tell me what it is you want of me.”

“You know what that is. It’s time to accept the doctor’s offer,” I glanced over at Dr. Cumming, who nodded at me.

Jake laughed, “I have to admit I started to doubt whether you would still give me that option.”

“And if I didn’t?” I questioned.

“Let’s just say I’m not going to prison,” Jake answered ambigiously.

“You’ll come willingly then?” I asked.

“I will give you my current location. Know that any attempt at arresting me will likely lead to casualties. I surrender myself to you and to you only,” Jake dictated. “Tell Dan if he so much as touches me, I will break all of his fingers.”

“I will tell him,” I had to smile at the last request. “To be honest, I expected more of a fight out of you.”

“Losing you has hurt more than I care to admit,” he said solemnly. “To fight now would be pointless. It is either this or going into hiding again.”

“Well I am glad you’re putting a priority on your mental health rather than taking the coward’s way out,” I commented honestly. “I just wish you had thought of that before you drugged me and kidnapped Richy.”

“I had gifted you the luxury of ignorance. I knew your naïve sense of righteous would interfere with the justice I was going to deliver,” he explained.

“Maybe because it was wrong,” I narrowed my eyes. “And you knew it.”

“I don’t expect an angel to understand the work of a devil. It had to be done,” he insisted.

“Then why are you surrendering?” I questioned. “If you feel that you had to.”

“I do not deny that I wronged you. I cannot evade you. If I run, you will haunt my waking dreams,” he spoke quietly. “I surrender to you and accept your judgement.”

I closed my eyes and could see him kneeling before me in my mind, begging for forgiveness while still not acknowledging everything he had done wrong.

“We both know I am a monster,” he admitted.

“You sound like you would accept death,” I frowned.

“If that’s what you decide is best,” he said grimly.

“Death is too easy. No, you need to wake up to your wrongs and see them for what they are,” I gritted my teeth. “Psychiatric care is the only way you can get that clarity.”

“You think I can still be healed?” he asked.

“Now is not the time to be asking me that,” I bit my lip as I opened my eyes again.

“Understood. See you soon, angel,” Jake hung up before I could respond.

The others looked at me in an awkward silence as I considered what to say. “Well?” Dan pushed impatiently.

“He’s sending me his current location soon so we can pick him up,” I announced.

“You’re not serious,” Dan frowned. “That is most definitely, positively, one-hundred percent a trap!”

“I don’t think so,” Dr. Cumming interrupted. “During my few sessions with Jake I found he is quite remorseful. What’s more, his utmost concern is of MC’s wellbeing. He recognises that he is a danger to her, but he considers his pursuers to be a greater threat of which he feels he’s the only one that can protect her from them. If he says he’s willing to surrender, then I believe him. He would not make that decision lightly.”

“Really? He revealed that much to you?” I asked surprised.

“Oh, there is a fair amount of reading between the lines when it comes to Jake, or I suppose in this case, listening between the phrases? In any case, he is highly defensive of what he considers are his weaknesses, which makes them easier to spot. You just need to look for distractions and deflections,” Dr. Cumming explained.

“Huh?” Dan looked at him confused.

“Jake doesn’t like talking about his past killings,” Dr. Cumming responded plainly for Dan.

“Wait, why are we not arresting him?” Dan frowned.

“Because all of those killings were done during a heightened state of fear for self-preservation. In his eyes it was always kill or be killed. It’s really no different to my patients with combat PTSD,” Dr. Cumming continued. “However, unlike our soldiers returning home from combat, Jake is still at war.”

“You did not just compare him to our nation’s heroes,” Dan glared.

“Isn’t he though? Does he not fight for the individual’s freedoms and rights?” the doctor questioned.

“He does so with bombs and guns!” Dan objected.

“So do our soldiers,” the doctor pointed out. “I am not saying each killing was justified or within reasonable grounds for self-defence. Just that Jake perceived no other option available for survival, his or MC’s. Not a single killing was made for malicious reasons.”

“He told me he enjoyed killing,” I commented.

“He loves the thrill of the battle and the feeling of victory, which he confuses for a love of killing. If a person poses no threat to him, he feels no joy in taking their life and is unlikely to waste the time or energy to kill them. He is quite capable of rendering a person unconscious,” Dr. Cumming detailed.

“Or he just didn’t tell you about the ones he killed for pleasure,” Dan proposed.

“How does Richy fit in?” I ignored Dan.

“In his eyes Richy had escaped his just punishment. Jake had a hard time coping with his parole. He honestly felt a deranged monster was being let loose on the streets,” Dr. Cumming replied.

“He’s not alone in that,” Dan interjected.

“I suspect he felt he was both protecting MC and delivering a more adequate punishment,” Dr. Cumming continued. “It is certainly a line I would have rather not seen crossed. This means he is jumping from being reactive to becoming proactive in his perceived sense of self-defence.”

“Does that change our agreement?” I asked.

“No, not at the moment,” Dr. Cumming shook his head. “Richy was a bit of an exception given their past. No matter the breadth of Richy’s remorse for what occurred, Jake sees him as an aggressor who may still try to complete his failed objectives.”

My phone beeped in my hand. I looked down and saw that Jake had sent me his location. It was only a few blocks away, “Ok, I received his location.”

“What location?” Alan questioned as he finally rejoined the group.

“Jake is surrendering to MC. I’ll have my staff ready to pick him up,” Dr. Cumming filled Alan in roughly.

“Tell them to bring your best straight jacket,” Dan joked.

“I rather hope it doesn’t come to that. Still we must be cautious and approach him overtly. Any attempt at subterfuge may result in drastic defensive action,” Dr. Cumming warned.

“I’ll take the lead,” I confirmed.

“No, you won’t,” Dan glared.

“For once, I am actually with Dan on this one,” Alan sighed. “Sorry, doctor, but I’ve seen far too many people suffering psychotic breaks decide to take themselves and their loved ones out in a final act of defiance.”

“Yeah and I actually know Jake and what he’s capable of. There will most definitely be traps set for anyone other than me,” I folded my arms, unimpressed by the men’s attempt of chivalry.

“How did he sound on the phone?” Dr. Cumming asked.

“I don’t know. He wasn’t angry or anything. More like he expected it. Surprised even that your offer was still on the table,” I replied honestly.

“He’s accepted whatever fate you’ve chosen for him,” Dr. Cumming nodded. “I recommend MC takes the lead. She is the only one he genuinely trusts. She is the only one he’ll surrender to.”

“By all means, doctor, I don’t know if I trust your judgement given his breakdown began curiously after he started seeing you,” Alan frowned.

“Is that what you think? No, I was trying to calm an already developing breakdown. If my advice had been followed, he would already be in my facility,” Dr. Cumming defended.

“Dr. Cumming is right,” I sighed.

“Just because someone yells fire doesn’t mean they didn’t start it,” Alan commented.

“Do you know how often we in the medical profession are blamed for causing underlying conditions simply for diagnosing them?” Dr. Cumming said unamused.

“Is it just me or is it getting tense in here?” Dan whispered to me.

“I wouldn’t know, doctor. I only hear of the times people in the medical profession get a diagnosis so incredibly wrong and it’s cost an innocent their life,” Alan folded his arms.

“Well let me put it this way. I have the location. You all don’t have the location. Either I take the lead or you don’t get the location,” I said decisively.

Alan shrugged, “You know how to drive a hard bargain, MC, but know I could have you followed.”

“Yes, but my threat sounded… threatening, didn’t it?” I mused.

“You had me convinced,” Dan smirked. “But I’m going to be right behind you.”

“No, Dan, you’re going to stay out of my line of fire,” Alan frowned.

“Wait what? Don’t sideline me, coach!” Dan objected.

“Jake did warn me that if you touched him he would break all your fingers,” I giggled.

“I still need my rematch with that cockroach!” Dan exclaimed.

“Dan, you will help cover any back exits,” Alan commanded.

“Look at that! Sidelined!” Dan said dramatically.

“Alright, Alan, Dr. Cumming, I’m forwarding the location to you now,” I announced. “Let’s bring in Jake.”

[imagineandimagine]

Satisfy You Taste Chapter 2

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Reader

The next day you had a meeting at Tommy’s office.

Tommy was angry beyond belief, “Have you completely lost you mind!? Is this your way of getting back at me for teasing you yesterday?”

You had this nasty habit of sharing everything that happened at the club with Tommy, so you told him what happened with Alfie the day before. You regretted it immediately, “It’s not like I invited him over! He showed up on his own accord! You said it yourself, that we have to keep our business partners happy!” you knew that that last sentence would come back to bite you in the ass but there was no taking it back now.

Tommy got in your face,“What you did was so reckless and inappropriate!“

You knew he was right but you were far too angry to listen to reason, “You’re making a big deal out of NOTHING! You think I don’t know that you’ve fucked girls in every part of our club!?”

“YES, but I haven’t fucked my BUSINESS PARTNER! There is a big fucking line between business and your private life!”

You sneer at the audacity of those words, “Are you kidding me! You LIAR! What about the time- !” a memory flashed before your eyes but you decided to talk about that at a different time, “I haven’t fucked anyone! Plus! That’s rich coming from you! ”

Tommy knew that he was being a hypocrite but he wasn’t about to admit that now, “So… What!? I wonder what else you intend to do to keep him happy. Are you planning on sneaking around and fucking him behind my back?!”

You slapped him across the face.

The slap somehow seemed to bring him back to his senses, he breathed in deeply, “Sorry. I deserved that.” He lit a cigarette and rubbed his temples “Listen… I appreciate all you do. It’s just that… I worry about you. Be careful. A man may misinterpret certain things if you bait him too much. His instincts may takeover...”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “You talk about him like he’s an animal.” You spat angrily.

Tommy chuckled “He kind of is. You taking his side already? Have I offended your beau?”

You have had enough. You turned on your heel and you marched outside in a huff and slammed the door behind you.

Tommy followed you outside, “For fuck’s sake! I was only joking! Where are you going!?”

You started to speed walk “None of your business!!” you screeched, not caring that the people around you were laughing at your exchange.

“It is MY business!!!” he screamed back.

You continued to speed walk through the city even though you knew how silly you probably looked.

A car started driving slowly next to you, Tommy rolled his window down, “Get in the car.” Tommy said calmly.

But you were having none of it, “NO!”you screamed with your fists clenched at your sides.

The car behind him honked but Tommy continued to drive next to you, “You’re a grown woman. You can do what you want but please promise me something… Don’t fuck him.” His tone was calm but desperate at the same time, “Please…PLEASE don’t fuck him. It will only complicate things.” He said with pleading eyes before he drove off.

You felt bad about the fight but you didn’t feel like making any promises to Tommy.

-

It was cold, you stormed out without taking your coat in the middle of February, that wasn’t a smart decision. You went to the nearest restaurant. You sat down at a table by the window. The waitress tossed the menu onto your table.

You looked through the menu, searching for something that would warm you up quick. You saw the waitress approaching you and that’s when you realized that you left your purse in your damned coat.

“Can I take your order?” the waitress asked with a sneer.

“I still need a moment.” you answered sheepishly.

The waitress was already suspicious of you when she noticed that you came in without a coat and handbag, but she went back behind the bar. You saw her call someone on the phone, and the moment she hung up, you could feel the waitress eyeing you. You hoped that she didn’t call the police on you.

A few minutes later the waitress came back, “Can I take your order??” the waitress sounded really irritated.

“Um… “ you weren’t sure what to do at that point. Maybe you could come back and pay later? You didn’t know what the restaurant’s policy was for customers who didn’t pay, there was no telling if they would make you do the dishes, beat you up or if they’d do something far worse.

The waitress started tapping her pencil against her notepad “Ma’am, if you don’t order something. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Unexpectedly you heard a familiar voice, “Now, now. No need to be so hostile. Maybe she needs another minute.” Alfie Solomons tipped his hat in your direction “May I sit with you?”

“Please,” you gestured to the seat in front of you.

“Thank you.” He sat down across from you, “In the meantime get me a whisky.”

The woman immediately changed her tone. “Right away, Mr Solomons.”

Solomons took off his coat before he made himself comfortable in his seat “I saw you in the window and thought that maybe you’d like some company.”

“Yes, um… the thing is…” you hated how tongue tied you always got around him, “It’s embarrassing to admit…”

He clasped his hands together and rubbed them “Oh, ho! You’d like to admit something embarrassing, eh? I’m all ears.”

You fidgeted in your seat, “I seemed to have forgotten my purse…”

He stared at you with anticipation in his eyes, “I was kind of hoping that your embarrassing little secret would involve something else…”

“I also forgot my coat…” you went on.

The amusement was gone from his face and Alfie’s expression seemed to darken as he sat back “Tell me… are you actually that forgetful or did something happen that made you leave your belongings behind?”

You bit your lip. “I had a fight with Tommy. I told him about what happened yesterday and he wasn’t very pleased.” you knew that you should have kept your mouth shut about that but you didn’t know how else to excuse the situation you found yourself in.

Alfie’s tone became serious and almost threatening, “Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head, “No! Tommy would never hurt me! Not physically at least. Actually…I’m the one that slapped him…” you almost whispered the last few words, betraying how guilty you felt about it.

Alfie’s good humor came back, something mischievous seemed to twinkle behind his eyes as he smiled at you.

The waitress brought the whiskey.

He grabbed the glass in a congratulatory gesture, “Another glass of whiskey for the lady! We’re celebrating!”

“What are we celebrating?” you said with a questioning look.

“That you had the balls to slap the great Thomas Shelby! This is a good day indeed!” He laughed. “It’s so refreshing to see someone who isn’t another one of Shelby’s puppets.”

The waitress brought you the glass of whiskey.

You felt better about your interaction with Tommy, you smiled and clicked your glass against Alfie’s.

-

Alfie paid for the both of you and when it was time to leave he draped his coat over your shoulders.

You were engulfed by his coat, the smell of leather and smoke made you feel faint, but you had to keep your wits about you, “Are you sure you won’t be cold?”

“Nah, I’m hot blooded,” he joked and winked at you.

You chatted as you made your way through the city. After a few minutes you arrived at your house.

You fiddled with your keys, thank god you had them in your dress pocket, “Thank you for escorting me back and thank you for lunch…”

“It was my pleasure! As I recall, you didn’t like the whisky you sampled yesterday, so perhaps you’d like to visit me in my distillery for a whiskey tasting? Here is the address.” He gave you his card. “Well then, good-day. Visit any time you like.” He tipped his hat before he walked off.

You entered your house feeling giddy. This sure was a pleasant turn of events. You put the card in your key box so you wouldn’t lose it, maybe you’d visit him tomorrow. You smiled at the thought. Then a realization hit you. There was a reason that you did not overindulge in alcohol, and that reason was that, to put it nicely… you were a ‘flirty’ drunk. Who were you kidding… you were completely feral when you were drunk. The last time you got drunk was the first and only time that you made out with Tommy, thank god Charlie came in crying with a scraped knee. After the two of you took care of Charlie, Tommy was eager to continue your make out session upstairs but thankfully you had sobered up enough to deny him his request. You were mortified when you remembered what happened the next day.

That’s when you had another realization… Alfie could have gotten you a cab but he insisted on walking you home just so he could find out where you live. That sneaky bastard. You hung the coat up and you cursed at your own naiveté and stupidity… you still had his coat.

Author’s note: Whiskey is for “business”.

[c4rdsharp]

GRAHAM SPECTER. ( @closedcoffins )

“What? Hey, what? You’re telling me I don’t have the market cornered if I own the corners? What kind of sick and messed-up world is this?!” 

That part of the equation is naturally what he focuses on first, because Graham obviously knows dogs and cats can’t just stand up and talk. He’d been talking out of a frenzy of speech—not everything someone says has to make sense, or at least that’s the philosophy Graham sometimes employs. When he’s not bemoaning his own inability to make sense, that is.

“Hey, seriously, why would you let me carry on about cornering the market like that if I haven’t even cornered it? I only have those four businesses. Except, actually, I don’t even have those four businesses! That’s right; what I told you just now was a conjecture based on a thought I had, but… You’re telling me my thought was totally wrong? Does that mean I was leading you astray? What kind of friend AM I that I would just lead a friend of mine astray like that?!?”

Switching gears completely on his lament, Graham lets his head sink down until it rests against the wood, arms splayed carelessly over the surface as well.

“Since you already knew, I guess there’s no harm done… But in that case, you really hurt me by telling me I was wrong, there, because now I’ll carry this guilt with me for the rest of my life. Maybe ignorance really is bliss. I’ve heard people say that before, but I think it’s true. Ignorance is bliss. You knew I was wrong, and I didn’t know I was wrong; now that I know I was wrong, I feel bad. It’s all beginning to make sense to me. Yeah… Yeah, I’d rather live in ignorance. Knowing too much is a miserable thing…” 

Suddenly and without warning, Graham’s head shoots up.

“Only, what if I’d told my little story to someone who didn’t know? Hang on, did you really save me from the fate of ACTUALLY lying to a friend?!”

“ . . . you may interpret my actions as such, yes. “

Much like anything else with Graham, there was a lot to unpack within his semi - long, deranged monologues. He constantly bounced back and forth between topics, often with various errors or misinterpretations, and Luck was never sure where to start. It was a whirlwind of speech, a hurricane going 150 miles per hour. If you weren’t careful, the wind could knock you over and push you around. Now that he thought about it, listening to Graham speak was not too dissimilar from the sensation of being trampled . . . if he could extrapolate what that sort of feeling might entail, anyway.

Of course, the best course of action to move this conversation along was to answer the last thing he said first, then redirect to where Luck wanted to aim. He had to be careful, though, or else he might set off another tangent.

i don’t think it particularly matters, he considered, watching his comrade pick himself up from the countertop, he’ll go off on another tangent anyway. what’s the point of evading a landmine when the entire ground is packed with dynamite?

Luck didn’t really mind Graham’s inane ramblings ; compared to most people who have walked into the Coraggioso, he was . . . rather tame. So long as no one was itching to start a fight, but Graham knew better than to get into scuffles with any of the Gandor men on the property and had been at the other end of Luck’s visceral ire once before. Hopefully, he’d have learned his lesson . . . all the same, he wasn’t that volatile & it never went beyond that of a fight. Between this and attempted murders, Luck preferred the former. At the very least, Luck could correct the errors made, not the injury on his men or pedestrians.

“ however, if truth be told, even if this were not the case and you had quote - unquote 'lied' to me . . . well, it wouldn’t really be a lie. yes, it would be a factual error, incorrect, even false, but not a lie. lying implies an intent to mislead – your actions, or rather your words, indicate to me that you had no real desire to lead me astray. you had thought your knowledge was sound, and went along on a hypothetical. your words, as incorrect as they may have been, were borne from authentic sentiment. as such, i would not personally accuse you of falsehood. “

There was no real comfort in what Luck had to say ; he wasn’t trying to be comforting, although Graham may perceive it that way. Rather, he thought Graham’s emotional harangue grew too far from the point of objectivity. Not that Graham has ever really tried to be objective when he went on tangents, but it didn’t really sit right with Luck to call this some sort of lie. Ignorance, yes, but a lie? That was different. Regardless of Graham’s own views, words did have meaning.

“ and, there is nothing to be ashamed of having been corrected. this is how one learns, after all ; if you were completely free of error, you would truly gain nothing from experience. rather than thinking yourself foolish for having been ignorant, consider yourself to have gotten smarter from this exchange. after all, you did learn something, didn’t you? “

. . . well, perhaps he wasn’t so cold as to not give Graham something.

[avatar-anna]

Hello Anna, how are you? I'm new here, so I'm sorry if you're not accepting requests.☺ So, you could do one where the reader is Harry's new neighbor, and when he sees her, he's completely in love and obsessed with your beauty and in love with you? But lol, we have a problem!! Harry already has a girlfriend

i do take requests! it just takes me a little time to get to everyone's. enjoy, it's a long one!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Knock Three Times

“I don’t understand what the big deal is!”

“Are you kidding me? Harry, these are my parents!”

“You’re acting as if I’ve never met them before. They invited us to lunch. Which I never said yes to, by the way.”

“They’re going to be so disappointed, Harry!”

“We saw them last week for lunch! Same time, same place and everything!”

Reaching across your bed for a stray pillow, you covered your face with it and groaned.

You’d only been in your new apartment for about a month, but you realized that not only were the walls thin, but the floor/ceiling that separated you from your neighbors upstairs were practically paper. They were always fighting. And if they weren’t fighting, they were fucking. The girlfriend had a loud and whiny voice that came off as trying too hard in your opinion, and the guy was just as obnoxious. You weren’t sure which of the two disturbances you preferred, but they’d already had this argument three times today, and you’d had enough.

Getting up from your bed, you grabbed a couple flyers from your nightstand, grabbed your keys, and left your apartment. Taking the stairs two at a time, you followed the sounds of the screaming match all the way to your neighbors’ door and knocked.

The screaming didn’t stop right away, in fact, it only increased. Something about the guy never hanging out with the girl and her family, and the guy defending himself saying he only missed two family gatherings.

Not that you cared about any of that. You knocked harder than before, and this time the shouting ceased. There was some mumbling and shuffling, and then the door swung open.

You were met with wide green eyes. Long hair tied up in a bun with a headband pushing back the stray hairs. He looked like he was on his way to or had just come back from the gym with his hoodie and athletic shorts, but all you could really think about was his face. It was angular and sharp, but soft at the same time.

“Can I—Can I help you?” he asked, breaking you from your reverie.

“Yeah, um,” you handed your flyer to the guy. “My band and I are performing next weekend. You and your girlfriend should come.”

The guy took the flyer and scanned it quickly. “Your band?”

“Yeah me and my friend started it in high school and we’re pretty decent and now we play where we can. It’s not just us, though. We’re, like, a proper band.”

Both you and your friend's parents weren't exactly supportive of your decision to pursue careers in music, but both of you believed in your dreams so much that you had to see them to fruition. You had a small following, but the gigs you played were always packed and you had enough original songs to make up an album, and that made for a good life to you. You had to keep a day job to pay the bills, but you didn't really mind.

"That's cool," the guy said. "What do you play?"

"Drums, mostly," you said, tightening your ponytail. Your friend often joked that the only time you knew what to do with your hands was when you had drumsticks in them. "I play bass and a little keys, but mostly drums."

"That's great, really, but I meant, um, like what kind of music...does your band play?"

"Oh right, of course," you said, feeling silly for misinterpreting his question. "Um, I don't like using the term, but I guess we'd be classified as indie? With a little alternative and pop thrown in there. I don't know, Luke just says we make what we like."

You shrugged. Playing music came easy, trying to explain it was the hard part.

"That sounds great," he said. His eyes flicked down to the flyer again. "And a Halloween show too. That should be fun."

"Yeah, we were really lucky to get the slot."

There was silence after that, and you weren't sure how to fill it. You were conflicted, though. Should you stay and keep him from going back to arguing with his girlfriend, or go and hope that you'd interrupted them enough for them to stop for a little while?

"Are you new to the building? I haven't seen you before," the guy said, making the decision you'd been debating for you.

"Yeah, I live on the floor below you." You didn't tell him that you lived in the apartment right below him. Your goal was to stop the fighting, not embarrass him by revealing that you knew more about him and his rocky relationship than he probably wanted you to.

Despite your best efforts, he seemed to understand. "I'm sorry if you've heard...anything. We'll try to keep it down in the future."

"Thank you," you said. "You're more than welcome to—"

"Baby, who is it?"

A woman appeared beside Harry, and she immediately looked you up and down, like you were there for much more than handing her boyfriend a flyer. Still, you didn't want to start anything, even if all your interactions would be brief and take place in elevators or the lobby. You smiled and took a small step back.

"I'm Y/n. I live just downstairs. I thought I would be neighborly and invite you guys to my band's show on Halloween."

"Did you invite everyone on this floor? Or just him?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at you.

The guy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Babe, can you please be civil for once—"

"What? You think she just came up here by chance? She's obviously seen you around before and thought she'd try to flirt with you or something. I bet this whole Halloween thing is bogus—"

"It's real, I promise," you reassured. You were going to take the path of least resistance, but to be accused of trying to hit on someone who was clearly taken? You weren't going to let that stand. "But I'll be honest, I came up because I couldn't stand the constant screaming that could be heard from upstairs. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try and sleep before you two start back up again."

You left without another word, hoping that your little speech made them both realize that they needed to learn a little thing called common courtesy. You thought the guy seemed decent, but anyone who put up with that woman had to be kind of a dick, right?

When you got back to your apartment, you flopped on your bed, happy to not hear anything from your upstairs neighbors.

----------------------------------------

Harry was in trouble.

Since you'd shown up on his doorstep, he couldn't get you out of his head. He'd spoken to you for less than five minutes, but that was all it took to mesmerize him. He wanted to know more, to talk to you longer, to sit and talk to you about music.

In short, he was a dick.

He and Courtney had been together five years. He loved her. How could he even think about anyone else?

Courtney was driving insane, that's how.

Leaving her for someone else? What the hell was he thinking? Harry had been unhappy, sure, and there were moments where he considered ending things with Courtney, but he wasn't about to jump into another relationship, no matter how much you intrigued him. His mind was just frayed from their last argument, that's all.

He didn't know what happened to them in the last few months, but things just weren't the same. They were constantly fighting, they couldn't agree on anything, and the only thing they seemed to be in sync on was the sex, and while that had been enough for Harry at the start of all their problems, he was starting to realize it wasn't enough anymore. He knew he couldn't let this go on, that the longer they stayed together, the harder it would be to break up with her, but he needed to choose the right moment. Courtney was crazy possessive, and he couldn't break up with her if he thought he was leaving her for someone else.

So why was he walking into a club on Halloween instead of going to his girlfriend's family's party? He wasn't really sure. He'd gone the last five years, and it wasn't what a Halloween celebration should be. Not by his standards at least. He was going to go anyway, but Courtney was so pissed at him that she told him not to bother. She didn't actually mean it, of course, but she needed to know he couldn't boss her around. He wasn't some doll she could drag from place to place. Not once did she ever ask what he wanted to do for date night, or how he wanted to redecorate the apartment's living room, or what he thought looked good on him.

Harry loved Courtney, but things needed to change, he needed to start living his own life again. Sometimes he worried that he didn't have an identity outside of his relationship, and that thought terrified him.

So he was here at your show.

The club was packed, bodies lined up at the bar and moving together on the dance floor, all in varying states of costume. Harry didn't feel like wearing the couple's costume Courtney picked out, so he just went in his own clothes, though the printed button down and black skinny jeans were things he hadn't worn in ages because Courtney thought it looked tacky and juvenile. So in a way, he was dressed in a costume: a version of himself that he'd hidden away to please his girlfriend.

Finding a place at the bar, Harry ordered his first drink and wandered over to the stage. If the flyer you handed him last week was to be believed, the show would be starting in fifteen minutes. In that time, Harry sipped on his drink, awkwardly smiled and waved at people who made eye contact with him on the dance floor, and got another drink. By the time he shuffled back to his spot, the lights on the stage were dimming, alerting everyone that the show was about to begin.

Silence fell over the crowd as bright flashing lights illuminated four figures, each taking their place with their respective instruments. Harry's eyes went straight to the back where you were sitting down behind your drumkit. When the lights stopped flashing and revealed each of your flashing faces, Harry gulped.

You were dressed in a black fitted bodysuit with a bowtie around your neck and a big blonde wig covering your hair. You looked marvelous, and not at all the kind of person who should've been in the back of a band. He thought you should've been front and center.

When he was shook out of his haze, Harry was able to listen to your band's set properly. You were right in your stilted description of the band's sound, and he found that he liked the music. It was calm, but still high enough in tempo to get the crowd moving, the lyrics meaningful but catchy enough to sing along to.

And all the while he kept his eyes on you. He knew he shouldn't have, but he just couldn't help himself. You looked so...alive. Like each time your drumsticks pounded against the drums you were filled with energy. You smiled as you pressed your lips against your mic and sang backing vocals for the lead singer, a tall skinny blond guy who was also very talented. The whole band was.

As he watched, he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Harry played guitar most of his life, and had hopped from band to band while he was in college. He wanted to keep it up as a hobby, but Courtney said he was too old to be playing just for fun. "You're an adult now, Harry," she'd said. And he'd listened. He'd been too busy with his new job to really play on weekends and week nights, anyway, but seeing you and your band have the time of your lives made him want to get his old guitar out of storage and start playing again.

When the set was over, club music started back up again, and everyone went from swaying and jumping around to dancing as close as people could get. Harry wanted to listen to your band more, but he was pretty sure that was it for the night.

He waited at the bar for you and the rest of the band to finish packing up your things. After about twenty minutes, Harry ordered a water and walked over to where you and the lead singer were standing and talking. Unsure of how to interrupt, Harry weakly cleared his throat and hoped that was enough.

It was, and you turned, eyes widening with recognition. "You came!"

He was only slightly hurt by your surprise. "Yeah, I thought I'd come check you out."

The blond mumbled something to you and you nodded, patting him on the shoulder before he walked off with only a small nod in Harry's direction.

"Sorry, he's kind of shy," you said.

"He didn't seem like it just a little bit ago," Harry replied, though he wasn't really offended. He wanted to talk to you anyway.

"Luke saves all of his extroversion for the stage," you said with a shrug, and Harry's eyes suddenly fell on your tattoo sleeve. Flowers and clouds and other things he couldn't make out in the minimal club lighting.

"You look great by the way," he said, admiring the costume up close. "The bunny tail was a nice touch."

Smiling a little, you turned around and moved your hips back and forth. "Thank you! I wasn't sure about it, but I love Dolly, so it felt like a no brainer."

"Dolly? As in Dolly Parton?"

You nodded. "Yeah. It's her Playboy cover outfit. The perfect mix of classy and sexy, a classic Dolly move if there ever was one."

After thinking about it more, Harry thought that the sparkly pink cuffs and white bow tie did have an air of Dolly Parton about it. "Creative. Did you make it yourself?"

Harry listened as you talked about the process of putting together your Halloween costume. You spoke so passionately, even about the most mundane of things like staying up late to glue rhinestones on a bow tie and finding black bunny ears. To him, it just seemed like you were so fulfilled, and he realized he wanted to be like that too.

After a few more minutes of talking, he finally remembered the glass in his hand. "I got this for you. Thought you might be thirsty."

He handed you the drink, and you took it, but didn't drink it. Grimacing a little, you told him, "Sorry, I just have a thing against taking drinks from strangers. I know we technically know each other, but I've only met you once, and—"

"No explanation needed, I understand," Harry said. He would never do something as evil as spiking someone's drink, but he understood your precaution.

Your shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you. Sometimes guys blow up at me about it, or ask if something's happened to make me so cautious, but I don't think you need a reason to be vigilant."

"I agree," Harry said. "Maybe I can escort you to the bar and let you get your own drink? I'll pay, of course."

A smile flickered on your lips, but it winked out. "Where's your girlfriend?"

He'd been having fun until he was reminded of her. If that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was. Harry was honest with you, telling you about the fight he and Courtney had gotten into before he left, how she told him not to come, so he didn't.

"I don't want to be rude and ask the obvious question, but I will. Why are you with her?"

Harry sighed and gave you the answer he'd been giving himself lately. "We've been together for five years. It's hard to just throw it all away on what could just be a rough patch. There was a time where we were happy," he said. He felt like he had to say it. As much as he had his issues with Courtney, he didn't want you to think that she was some kind of she-devil. She was just a little high strung and liked things a particular way, something that had been helpful to Harry when he was just starting universtiy. You balanced each other out, but now Harry was afraid the scales were tipped heavily to one side.

"Well, I hope it works out, then," you said, itching underneath your large wig. "But perhaps in a counselor's office or not so late at night?"

You sounded like you were joking, but Harry knew how he and Courtney could be. "Again, I'm really sorry about that. We'll try to be more conscious of our surroundings."

"Much appreciated."

Harry wanted to say more, to sit and talk to you a little bit longer, but he was also attracted to you. Not necessarily a bad thing, but it was enough to make him feel like he should steer clear until he figured things out with Courtney.

-------------------------------------

Harry didn't see you again for another month.

Not that he went out of his way to see you, but he never saw you at the mailboxes or going in or out of the building's front doors. You weren't in the elevators or at his door telling him he was being too loud. It was like you were a ghost, haunting him for a little over a week and then disappearing.

He sometimes wondered what you were doing. If you had a day job or if you dedicated all your time to music. He knew he shouldn't have, but he did. He thought about you, more than he cared to admit.

And the more he thought about you, the more he realized how unhappy he was. Harry was suddenly aware of Courtney's nitpicking. From the way she chose where he got his hair cut, to the movies they watched in his apartment, even the shoes he wore with his belt. She'd somehow taken over his life, and he hadn't even noticed, or cared to notice.

But now he did, and he found himself constantly irritated by his girlfriend, pushing back whenever she tried to monopolize something that he should've had control over.

And she noticed too. It only resulted in more fighting, but subconsciously that was what Harry wanted. Perhaps he was a coward and an asshole for it, but he was hoping Courtney would break up with him if he rebelled enough, but she never did, and he knew he would have to be the one to do it.

But when? The holiday season didn't seem like the right time, and then Valentine's Day was right around the corner after that, but by then it would be too late and he would probably chicken out. Harry had to do it soon, he just had to grow a pair and rip off the bandaid.

The bandaid ripping day came sooner than he thought. They were on their way home early from a date, arguing the minute they got in the car and all the way to the entrance of Harry's building.

"You always do this! I've never cheated on you, and I never will," he said. It was true, and in this instance the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

"You were clearly flirting with her! Right in front of me, Harry! How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I was being polite! She was our server! What did you want me to do, ignore her all night? That's ridiculous!"

"Oh, so now I'm ridiculous?"

Harry thought that the rolling of one's eyes wasn't necessary, but in this case he thought it was warranted. "That's not what I said."

"That's what it sounded like," Courtney fired back.

Harry knew that it was his turn. He was supposed to say something to defend himself, then she would respond by putting words in his mouth, and they would go back and forth until they were in his bed or she stormed off. He knew he was supposed to say something, but the words never came. All he was able to mutter was, "I can't do this anymore."

"What?" Courtney sounded more shocked than irritated, like she wasn't expecting him to go off script, either.

"I said, I can't do this anymore," Harry repeated. "I'm so tired, Court. Aren't you tired of all this fighting? It's all we ever do."

She seemed at a loss for words, her mouth opening and closing. "I—It's not all we do. Is it?"

"Baby, I love you. I think a part of me will always love you," he said, taking her hand in his. "But we've drifted apart. We're not the same people we were when we met."

He was trying to be gentle, knowing that listing all the things she did that caused all that drifting would not be helpful at all. And he was to blame too. This relationship was a two way street. It just wasn't working anymore.

"I don't know what to say," she whispered, hugging herself in disbelief.

"I think you need someone—No, I think you deserve someone better than me. Someone who likes the things you like and isn't fighting with you 24/7."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't you deserve that too? Or are you just being nice? Softening the blow to clear your conscience."

Was he doing that? He didn't think he was, but perhaps that's how it came off. When he took too long to answer, Courtney scoffed. "You're an asshole, Harry. But you're right. I do deserve a lot better than you."

She turned and walked off after that, not once looking back at him.

A wave of emotions washed over Harry. He was relieved that it was over, but sad too. He'd grown apart from Courtney, but she was still someone that mattered to him for five whole years. You don't just get over a relationship that long just like that.

He was still outside the apartment building, the streets empty because of how cold it was. Harry hesitated to go inside, though. He wasn't ready to walk into a home that was chock full of reminders of the relationship that just ended—picture frames, furniture they bought together, the lasagna they cooked the other night that was now in the fridge, Courtney's things. It was too raw, so he walked down the street, opposite of where Courtney had gone.

Harry wandered for a while, thinking about all the things that led him to this point. He didn't know when it happened, when it all came crashing down. It was like one day he was happy, and the next he was less so, and on and on until he finally had to let Courtney go.

One thing he didn't feel was regret. It was hard, and the next few weeks and months would certainly be difficult, but he didn't regret breaking up. Amongst the grief and mourning of such a long relationship, Harry also felt lighter, freer.

He ambled until he found a dive bar, one Courtney would never be caught dead in. There was a neon sign, but only half the words were lit up, making it hard for Harry to decipher the name. He didn't care much about the name of the establishment, though. When his eyes caught on the lit up "Open" sign, we pushed his way inside, finding a seat at the near empty bar.

"You look like you could use this."

Looking up from where his hands had been folded on top of the bar, Harry found himself looking at you. You were in all black, a rag thrown over your shoulder as you slid a shot glass with something clear in it.

"Thanks," he said, tossing it back without hesitation.

You took the glass back and filled it again, and Harry drank it swiftly, wiping his mouth with his coat sleeve. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," Harry said around the strong taste of vodka still coating his throat. "But thank you."

You shrugged and slid him a glass of water, which he also chugged. "I occasionally lean into the stereotype of bartender/psychiatrist."

Harry laughed, but he wasn't feeling much joy. The longer he sat there without Courtney by his side, the more he realized he didn't really know how to be alone. She was a lot of things, but his girlfriend was always there for him. Getting over that would probably Harry's biggest hurdle.

"It's occurred to me that I haven't got any friends," Harry said absentmindedly.

You'd left him to his own devices, refilling other patrons' glasses and collecting checks, but you heard him. "How so?"

"I was friends with all of my girlfriend's friends, but now she's not my girlfriend anymore, so," he shrugged, not really sure how to complete his sentence.

"Ah. I see."

Harry didn't think you sounded surprised, but you weren't judgemental either, which he appreciated. "I know I had to, but that doesn't make breaking up with someone any easier, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," you said. "I know it's totally not the same, but we just had to say goodbye to our guitarist. He got a pretty sweet job opportunity outside of the band that's going to take up more of his time, and since he's got a wife with a baby on the way, he couldn't really turn it down. Like I said, not the same thing, but I empathize with you."

Harry appreciated that you seemed to understand his particular brand of melancholy. "Thank you."

He had a drink in silence after that, watching you occasionally, but mostly staring down at his drink. When he decided he'd had enough drowning in his own sorrows, he paid his tab and stood up to leave.

"If you know anyone that plays guitar, please let me know. We've got a show next week and we're desperate," you said, sliding him his card and receipt.

His ears perked up at that. You still fascinated him, perhaps even represented a part of his life he wanted back. Harry knew he wouldn't be ready to be in a relationship for a while, but as he'd said earlier, he was in need of some friends, and you'd just offered some up on a silver platter.

"I, um, I play actually," he said tentatively. He didn't think he sounded confident, but maybe you were more desperate than you let on.

"Really? Would you be willing to help us out for a night? It won't pay much, but it's a ton of fun, and Luke's mom is coming, and she always brings brownies."

Harry already knew he was going to say yes, but he thought it was cute that you were trying to sell him on what was practically his idea. "Can't say no to brownies, can I?"

----------------------------------------

eight months later

Harry knocked on your door, then one more time, then another. He'd come to know that even though you said you were ready to go, you never actually were. When he asked you about it, though, you told him you didn't know what he was talking about.

When you finally opened the door, his heart skipped a beat. You were in a Janis Joplin t-shirt and cheetah-print pants, a staple in your wardrobe, Harry quickly realized.

"Ready?" you asked.

Harry nodded, taking your hand in his and leading you towards the elevator.

Your relationship was a slow developing thing. You introduced him to the rest of the band, and you all gelled instantly, like he'd always been a member. Seeing him get along so well with some of your closest friends made butterflies erupt in your stomach, but since you knew he was fresh out of a relationship, you kept any inklings of a crush at bay.

You and Harry built a friendship first. You showed him all your favorite spots in the city and invited him to poker night with all the old ladies who lived on your floor. They seemed to like him too, not so subtly hinting at you that he was a keeper the more he came around. And the more you spent time with him, the more you seemed to realize it too, but he didn't seem interested.

Harry was very interested, but he wasn't sure what was a respectful amount of time before he started dating someone again. Every day that he knew you, that he learned more about you, he realized that you were rather perfect. He thought your passion would be reserved for music, but it was in everything you did, and he wanted you to be passionate about him too.

For months, you two danced around each other, pretending that you didn't notice each other staring longingly or hugging each other just a little bit longer than normal friends would.

It wasn't until about seven months into Harry being a part of the band that you finally became more. The whole band was in the studio working on a couple songs when the two of you were ushered into the recording booth under the guise of doing some backing vocals for a song. But then the doors were locked and Luke just shrugged. "The tension was fun to watch for about two months. This has gone on long enough."

And that was that. So close together in the small booth, you couldn't ignore this...thing palpitating between the two of you. Harry had tried to speak, tried to voice his feelings, but you didn't want to talk. Leaning up, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close, threading your fingers through his hair when he kissed you back.

And now you'd been together about a month. You were taking things slow as per Harry's request, but you didn't really mind. He held your hand and brought you coffee in the morning and made you tea at night. He gave you space when you needed it and you did the same for him. It felt like you were still friends, the only thing that changed being the fact that you now held hands and kissed. A very welcome change, you both thought.

You and Harry were meeting the rest of the band at rehearsal. You were playing one of the biggest venues you'd yet to play, and everyone was super excited. You'd been up all night talking to Harry on the phone last night, even though he was literally a floor above you. You liked those conversations, though. Sometimes you waved from your balconies, sometimes you knocked on his ceiling with a broom if you couldn't be bothered to unplug your phone. Sometimes you worried Harry would grow tired of your semi-childlike behavior, but he never did.

"I'm thinking pizza after the show tonight."

You were practically skipping down the sidewalk next to Harry, but you slowed to look at him. "How can you think about anything after the show right now? All I can think about is being onstage."

Harry chuckled and pulled you to his side to kiss your temple. "I am, but we can never decide on where to go once the set is over, so I'm voicing my opinion now."

You rolled your eyes, but didn't pull away from him. Harry seemed to be the only one who could quell your energy, at least for a little while. You liked that, though. Sometimes you needed a reminder to take it easy, to relax, and Harry was very good at that.

Harry walked beside you, listening to you talk about the show and all the things you were excited for. He learned that he was more of a listener than he was a talker, something that Courtney didn't necessarily understand, always wanting him to participate in conversation. She would accuse him of not paying attention, but that wasn't the case, he just didn't have a lot to say. He chose his words wisely, not wanting to waste a single one.

You, on the other hand, could talk for hours, but Harry didn't mind. You never pushed him to participate more than he was comfortable with, and you always seemed to know that he was listening, taking in every word you spoke. It was like the two of you had a language all your own.

"Have I ever told you how happy I am to have met you?" he asked out of the blue.

"Mm...No, I think I would remember a compliment like that," you said, your cheeks reddening at the incoming compliment. He loved giving them, and you loved receiving them, but that didn't make you any less flustered.

"Well, I am. You've made me very, very happy, Miss Y/l/n."

"And you make me very happy, Mr. Styles."

Grinning, he kissed you, smiling against your lips. The road he'd taken to get to this point was a little rocky, but he would do it all again if it meant he could share this exact moment with you.

[magnoliabutters]

• RETURN OF THE GIRL •

pairing: eddie munson x (she/her) reader

summary: you wish you could turn back time, live without regret. but why go back when you can leave him wanting more this time?

warnings: 18+ content, minors dni, adult language; mental health discussed (anxiety), mention of dwugs (the weed), fluffiness, heavy petting, hickeys, teasing, vivid imagination, pitching of a tent in one’s pants, etc.

word count: ~2.7k

• stories of eddie munson series •

note: welcome to part two of our journey with eddie. if you haven’t read it yet, please take a look at part one! more fluff than smut here, but part three will get us back on track! as always, please feel free to reach out with any feedback so I can improve on my writing. i may update my writing depending on feedback. i'm looking forward to hearing what you think :3 

Any minute, any second where you let your mind wander, you’re brought back to that table in the woods. To the feel of his hands around your waist. To the unforgettable moans you made together. To the feel of his pick lightly dragging across your sternum with each of his thrusts. If you let yourself think too much longer, you begin to ponder about everything you weren’t able to do. You weren’t able to lean over his body and kiss him until you both were lightheaded. You weren’t able to kiss his jawline, something that you desperately want to do. You weren’t able to see him, in all his glory. However, this is around the time where your thoughts take a turn for the worst. You remember how you left him that day...

As soon as you lifted your pants to your waist, your eyes were on him. “Don’t worry, you’ll see me next week,” Eddie says with a smile. You let out a nervous laugh. You look towards Eddie to guide you out of this encounter, but he seems to be just as unsure. However, he holds that beautiful smile so effortlessly. “I guess, I’ll get going now,” you say as you straighten out your shirt. You give him an awkward, quick smile before you begin to walk towards the field.

You get a few steps in and turn around for your usual wave and show of gratitude. “Thank ... you,” you slowly say, realizing that he may misinterpret that thank you. Did you just thank him for eating you out?! Your eyes widen and your face expressing disgust. Eddie chuckles to himself, completely enamored with you. Somehow his smile got wider. “You’re welcome, beautiful,” he says with a bow. You try to laugh at yourself, but it is incredibly forced. You walk away, at a healthy speed, hell bent in getting the fuck out of there.

It always leaves you wondering: where was the girl that bent over on that table for Eddie? It was almost as though she disappeared right as he stopped you from going further. As if that sudden halt popped you right back into reality. It’s been six excruciatingly long days since you felt his body. Since you were able to be the girl you wished you could be. The girl who deserves someone as undoubtedly beautiful as Eddie Munson.

Getting yourself to school is becoming more of a chore than ever before. Now, you get to watch Eddie from afar. Knowing how great he can make you feel. How he somehow knew exactly where to touch you to make you moan and cum for him in ways you didn’t know possible. In those six days, you have only been able to make eye contact with him twice.

The first time your eyes connected after the “picnic table” experience was during history class. Eddie always sat by the windows. His eyes scanning what’s going on outside. You assume he enjoys the escape from the boring lectures and repeated warnings about submitting assignments late. Luckily for you, you managed to get the seat diagonally behind him, a few rows down. The perfect spot for you to enjoy your escape from those same troubles. The ultimate view of his long hair resting messily against his patched jean jacket. His shirt rising, exposing his low back and thick black belt. His legs bouncing. His hand twisting the pick around his chain. There is a certain calming energy that you receive from him. You feel joy, excitement, hope; above all, you feel safe.

“Y/n, are you done day dreaming or can you go ahead and read paragraph two, page seventy-one?” the teacher yelled across the room in a condescending tone. Your vision darts to the teacher with annoyance. You slightly roll your eyes and direct yourself to the reading. You hate reading aloud to the class. You take in a deep breath and follow the teacher’s bullshit instructions. When you’re done, you look towards the asshole teaching for the class’ next steps.

As the teacher picks on another student, you find your eyes wandering towards Eddie again. You lock eyes. He’s been the one watching you this time. He gives you a quick smile as his eyes scan over you slowly. You attempt to make an effort to smile, but find that you were already smiling. He slowly pulls his eyes away from you and back toward the window. You could still see the side of his smile. You could hear you heart beat through your ears. It was hard to get a steady breath.

The second time you made eye contact with him, you were both eating in the cafeteria. Eddie was loud as ever with his friends. You watch, curious as to what they could possibly be talking about. What would invoke such loud reactions within them? You found yourself smiling any time you heard his laughter. It was such a sweet, melodic, yet childish, laugh. You saw the way he made sure that every one was included within his Hellfire crew. It really seemed as though grades, seniority, age, all that high school bullshit did not matter. You always wished you could find a group of friends that valued each individual, as opposed to focusing on that social crap. You felt comfort knowing that Eddie was able to have that connection with others, even if you never will.

A boy, seeming to be a freshman, suddenly dropped his tray near you. A girl sitting behind you screamed. The once bustling cafeteria now abundantly quiet. With a crescendo, the cafeteria began to laugh at the boy who was quickly picking his food off the floor. The girl’s surprising scream pierced right through your heart. Your breathing increased, adrenaline beginning to pump. You began to feel lightheaded. You looked out to the crowd, seeing others pointing and laughing.

Everyone’s eyes were on this boy, except for Eddie. His eyes were fixed on you. You tried to maintain eye contact but it was difficult given the sudden onset of panic. Worry became clear upon his face. He stood up from his seat to keep his eyes on you, while the cafeteria returns to its chaos. The tightness in your chest started to become overwhelming. You had to close your eyes and focus solely on your breathing. Breathe in ... Breathe out, you thought.

By the time your breathing slowed and you opened your eyes, Eddie was sitting across from you. “Fuck,” you said under your breath. “You move quick,” you breathlessly laugh. “I try to,” he replied with a smirk. He quickly shifted his demeanor, eyebrows raised with worry. His eyes looking for something within yours. As if he would be able to know how you were feeling just by staring into your eyes. “Are you alright?” Eddie spoke softly. You smile, putting your hand to your chin, thumb hooked under your jaw. “Yes, I’m alright. Thank you for checking.” You appreciated that he knew something was wrong without you having to say a word. His worried expression, slowly turned to one of joy and pleasure. “Why are you smiling?” Eddie chuckled.

That feeling began to whoosh over you - the confidence of the girl in the woods. “You just make me smile,” you said, lifting your eyes from the table up to his. Eddie reacted as though something cold blew right through him. It was clear that your eyes must do something for him. He quickly began to twist his ring around his finger. He bit his lip and stood up. His quick movements were jarring. “Tomorrow at 1:00, right?” You nodded, unsure of what had just changed. He nodded back and walked right past his Hellfire table. His body tensed. They also looked puzzled as he did not make eye contact with any of them. You watched him, confused as to what had just occurred. Eddie promptly walked towards the restrooms.

You look at yourself in the mirror. You try not to overthink the next 15-minutes. It’s almost time to take your walk through the field. You try to keep breathing. Your eyes locked on. “It’s going to be okay,” you say. “You’re wearing your black, lace panties. You’re groomed. You’re going to see him again.” You see the smile grow on your own face. “You get to touch him again. You’re ready.” You take one last deep breath, and you’re on your way.

You are finally at the clearing. You see him sitting on top of the table, his feet resting on the bench. His elbows rest on his thighs. You see him spinning his rings again, eyes fixed to the ground. “Eddie?” you ask. He looks up at you, a visible change in his face and body language once he meets your eyes. Eddie smiles, “Y/n, long time no see, beautiful.” You giggle, “You’re a dork.” Eddie tilts his head, an eyebrow raised, “No shit.” You join him in sitting on the table, keeping some distance. 

“How was your week?” you ask, in an attempt to fill the silence. Eddie turns towards you, “It’s better now.” You place a hand on his thigh gently and shift your body towards his classic Hellfire shirt. He looks down at your hand and back at you. You muster the courage to say, “I have to admit something.” His eyebrows raising, worried of what you might say next. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since, um, since ... uh, well you know!” Your words fail you and you break your eye contact. A wave of red hot embarrassment rushing through you. Eddie begins to blush and hide behind his hair. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.” 

Eddie smiles and gently places his hand on your cheek, bringing your eyes back towards his. He bites his lip. You watch his eyes shift as he takes pleasure in looking at you. Finally, his eyes meet yours. Eddie whispers, “There’s something here, right?” You try to speak, but your breath is gone. Your mouth gapes open. Your eyes wide. You feel your heart float into your throat. It’s as light as a feather. He must feel it too. Before your breath returns, Eddie scoffs, "Maybe it’s just me.” He slowly attempts to drop his hand. You quickly place your hand on his, keeping it cupped to your cheek. “It is not just you, I promise.” 

A huge smile falls upon Eddie’s face. His eyes begin to squint with how high his cheeks rose from his smile. You can’t help but smile alongside him. Not only do you find him unbelievably sexy, you find him down right adorable. “Let’s meet. Tonight? I can pick you up after I lead us to through the next part of the campaign,” Eddie starts to speak so quickly. He jumps up from the table, so suddenly that it shocks you. He seems excited, you take note. “Please,” he says, grabbing hold of your hands. You scoff, gripping his hands tightly. “Of course, dork. I’ll see you then?” 

Eddie bit his lip, realizing he wasn’t ready for you to go. “Yeah, but first, do you want some goodies?” He nervously laughs and reaches into his jean jacket’s pocket for what you assume would be another gram. His shirt rising to reveal the smallest peak at his happy trail. You laugh, a true laugh. Not worrying if you sounded stupid or goofy. You were finally living in the moment, with him.

“How much you got?” you say. He smirks and says smoothly, “More than you can handle, baby.” You stand up, putting your hands around his waist. His body initially tenses, as if you caught him by surprise. It relaxes as you pull him closer to you. “I think I got it, Eddie,” you say in a loud whisper. Eddie’s smile grows larger. “Now, give me those goodies,” you say as you lean up to his lips. You give him a gentle peck. You pull back, leaving your mouths a few inches away from reach. You look up to him, just to see his eyes watching your every move. 

You press your lips into his. Eddie’s hand is gripping the back of your hair. His soft lips hard against yours. You are no longer phased by the quick of his movements. Your hands travel underneath his shirt. He leads you backwards to the closest tree. Both of your feet shuffling, trying not to trip over the roots. Eddie pins you against the rough bark, moving his lips towards your cheeks, and down to your neck. You grab the back of his hair. You love how curly and soft it wraps around your fingers. You start to feel his teeth, nibbling at your neck. His mouth surrounding this spot and beginning to suck. “Oh, fuck, Eddie,” you whisper. He’s leaving his mark on you. Your arms tighten, bringing him closer to you. Your head laying against the tree. Your eyes opening and closing with each deep breath. You begin to feel that all too familiar bulge in his pants. You reach down and begin to palm his cock. 

Eddie must have been caught off guard because he quickly lifts his head from your neck and lets out a deep moan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers. He tries to breathe deeply, as if he’s attempting to slow his heart beat. His eyes shut tight. You lighten your pressure onto his inner thigh, carefully watching his body language. You press your hand against him with a faster beat. His breathing quickens against your neck. You see his mouth slowly opening, quiet groans escaping his lips. His hand now plastered against the bark. You hear an occasional smack against the tree as he struggles to keep his cool. 

You have him. You’re in control now. You lean up to his ear and whisper, “Louder, Eddie.” He gives an audible sigh, as you deepen your pressure. You begin to kiss his neck, small pecks, leaving cool breaths as you pull away each time. You start to lean in, baring your own teeth onto his skin. Eddie starts to lose his internal battle. His moans louder, more consistent. Each moan leaving your knees weak. You struggle to stay in control. His cock getting harder and harder with each push of your hand. 

Oh, there comes that feeling again. The need to see him, in all his glory. You close your eyes, imagining what that might look like, maintaining your rhythm. A girthy, long cock resting against his stomach. The feel of him inside of you. The sounds he might make once he is inside. Him slowly thrusting, your bodies slapping against each other. The moans you would both make, cumming together. You needed him inside of you ... but not here. 

Eddie notices the slowing of your pulsating rhythm on his pants. His eyes gradually opening. “Y/n?” he says. “You-you okay?” You giggle as you recover from your thoughts, “Yes, why?” Eddie smirks, confused with eyebrows furrowing together. “It feels like you were going to stop doing that thing that you were doing down there,” Eddie says with a raised eyebrow and pointing his finger towards his waist. “Oh, right. Yeah, I figured I would just stop,” you say tauntingly. A loud scoff rang through both of your ears. “You figured you’d stop,” he repeated slowly in disbelief. “Yeah, so you have something to look forward to tonight.”

Eddie laughs, his face slightly shocked but definitely impressed. He presses his tongue to his cheek as he lowers his hands from you. He steps away from the tree, but eyes continuing to watch you. You shine a bright, confident smile his way. “I’ll see you then?” you say softly, grabbing his hand and giving a squeeze. He squeezes your hand back, biting his lip hard with a tent excruciatingly pitched in his pants. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that tonight,” he chuckles. You leave, comforted in knowing that both of you will be walking away with marks on your necks. 

“I’m counting on it.” 

note: oh just you wait for “tonight” y’all. 

next part • run to the hills •

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• nav • no-no plagiarism • series • requests open •

[gavin-plz-call-me]

Trust in Him

TW: Depictions of sexual harassment and sexual assault

You love your job, so when one of your coworkers begins to harass you, you're scared that you'll have to choose between your job and your safety. Luckily, Artem is here to support you.

This is my first time writing about sexual harassment/assault, so I apologize in advance if it's not a perfectly accurate portrayal.

AO3

Word Count: 3.3k

You needed this job, those words alone were all that kept you from doing something rash, but your resolve was growing thinner and thinner by the day. Every day you worked in the office, which, luckily for you, grew less frequent after becoming partners with Artem and joining NXX, one of your co-workers in particular was bound to come speak with you. This wouldn't be an issue if he were speaking to you about work issues, or a case, hell, even the weather but he, Julius, never came over for any productive reasons. The two of you had worked a case together a few months ago, but other than that, you should be complete strangers.

You could see Julius approaching from the corner of your eye, a nasty smirk plastered on his, and you hated to admit this, conventionally attractive face. While others might swoon at his good looks, you had to hold back a gag as he placed his hand firmly on your shoulder, enveloping your senses in his stale scent. He then slowly leaned down, his lips almost touching your ear, and whispered "That shirt makes your tits look great," his disgustingly wet breath sent shivers through your body as he gave your shoulder a squeeze and headed off like nothing happened.

As far as you knew, you were his only victim. The other ladies in the office swooned over him, speaking highly of his good looks and "great" skills as a lawyer. A few who had witnessed his advances towards you and misinterpreted your blush as shy interest complained of how envious they were that such a handsome, successful man was interested in you, and you kept quiet. You had heard enough horror stories of women who had come out about work-place harassment who were fired, never given or even considered for promotions, and even sued for slander, and you couldn't let any of that happen to you, you had to tolerate it. A job at Themis law firm is a dream for many law students, you included, and you wouldn't let that slip away. Even if you had to endure harassment, even if you had to leave your desk to escape to the bathroom some days because you couldn't keep the tears out of your eyes, even if you couldn't fall asleep some nights because images of what he's done to you and what he's capable of doing to you infect your mind, even if you had to start wearing ill-fitting clothes to hide your figure in an attempt to get him to leave you alone, and even if you were terrified to be in a room alone with him, lest he become bolder, you had to persevere. If everything in your life went right, you'd become his boss one day, and when that day came, you could fire his ass.

Of course, though, you weren't the boss, and you had to listen to what yours said. So, when your manager approached you a few days after Julius's latest incident telling you you'd be assisting him in a case, there wasn't much you could do to get out of it. Artem and you weren't working on any urgent cases at the moment, so he gave them permission to steal you away for the case. You were very skilled in working the case type Julius was "stuck on" so your manager said you the obvious choice for the job. There was no way out.

Julius invited you into his office with a sickly-sweet smirk and an almost impermeable wink as a knot settled in your stomach. Something in you screamed at you, don't go in there, it yelled, anywhere else. Just not his office.

"Well, I wouldn't want to intrude in your personal space," You said, trying to keep an aura of professionalism while also trying to protect yourself. There were still others around, if you start to show your discomfort, you'd be found out. You felt like you were lying, in a way, maybe you were? Guilt ran up and down your spine, and you hoped the feeling didn't translate to your expression.

"Oh, MC." His voice was outwardly cheery with an undertone of something, though you couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was, "You could never be an intrusion to me. Let's use my office, I insist."

No, no no, the voice within you screamed again, you felt your breath hitch slightly, but you forced your breaths to be normal, despite how badly your lungs wanted you to gasp for air. "I would prefer it if we worked somewhere else, Julius." His name tasted disgusting on your tongue, "My desk for example," the two of you squeezed together, trying to work at the same small desk, his smell surrounding you, "or an empty conference room," still alone in a room together, his hands reaching out to touch your body, "or-"

"Mc, this would all be much simpler if we just worked in my office, I promise you, I don't mind." There was a hint of aggravation in Julius's voice, but it disappeared the longer he spoke. "There won't be any meeting halls open, now come on, let's go to my office."

You stood still for half a second, debating just running away, job be damned, but you didn't have time to start walking. You hadn't even decided which way to go, towards Julius's office or towards the main exit, when a voice rang out, "Mc, Julius, conference room six is open." You turned around, eyes meeting the bright sapphire eyes belonging to Artem. His brows were slightly furrowed, looking you up and down.

"Great," You said before Julius could say a word, "thank you Artem." You turned back to Julius, his eyes were much less kind than Artem's, and all you wanted to do was turn back to face the man with the beautiful eyes and put Julius in the depths of your memories, but you plaster on a fake smile as you say, "conference room six it is, then!" You quickly passed Julius, feeling two sets of eyes burning into you as you walked away. Julius's office was past conference room six, so as you entered the room Julius walked towards his own office instead, muttering something about needing to grab his case files.

You were glad that you didn't end up in his office, but the conference room wasn't much better, panic began building up in your chest again. There were large windows leading out into the hallway, which you sat right in the middle of giving anyone who walked by a perfect view of you and whatever you were doing. Conference room six was the most open of the conference rooms, but the hallway around here was never too busy. The windows also left a few blind spots, places he could back you into if he really wanted to. With slightly shaky hands you opened your laptop, opening an audio recording app. There weren't any security cameras in this conference room, and even though your gut stopped you from telling anyone about Julius, something within you told you to record.

The door to the conference room quickly opened and shut. You minimized the recording app, the pulsing red dot indicating that it’s recording disappears along with it. Julius throws a few case files onto the conference table before walking around to sit directly next to you. You rolled your chair away from him slightly, trying to escape his revolting stench. You began speaking about the case, reading the case files, and making comments about the stranger details, details you could use to defend your client.

The two of you continued to talk about the case for a while, the anxiety that had grown so high before began to dwindle, maybe you were wrong. Maybe Julius wasn’t going to take this chance to do something horrible to you, maybe he never was going to do anything to you. Had you just imagined his threats? “Mr. Johnson’s embezzlement of the school’s funds could be grounds for-”

"Tease," Julius interrupted you, his voice much darker, almost an inhumane growl, than what it was when you were surrounded by your coworkers. Darker than it was even a few seconds before when you were talking about the case.

"E-excuse me?" you asked, your professional front slipping, anxiety raising in your stomach once again.

Julius inched closer to you, holding the back of your chair to prevent you from rolling further away from him, "I said, you're a fucking tease Mc. Making me go back and forth like that." The undertone you couldn't pinpoint from before was back, but it was much more pronounced now. Anger mixed with desire, his unkempt nails dug into the skin of your thigh as he pushed himself onto you, "but you're not gonna tease me anymore."

Desperately, you pushed your feet against the floor as hard as you could, propelling your chair into the one behind you, allowing you to stand up and try to make it to the door. Julius's hand violently grabbed your wrist, yanking you back towards him. “Come on, Mc,” he growled in your ear, “everyone in the office knows you’re whoring around to get to the top. You can’t refuse me.”

You struggled against his grip, but every movement you made had him tightening his hold around your wrist, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Julius.” you gasped as the pain of his hand on you became too much.

This seemed to enrage Julius, who suddenly stood up from his chair, forcing you against the wall furthest from the door. Your head smacked violently into the wall sending sparks of pain through your vision. “Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Everyone knows you’re putting out for Artem. Why else would he choose some sub-par slut of a lawyer to be his partner?”

“I-I didn’t-” Julius put more pressure on you as you tried to speak, stopping your words completely.

“Let’s put it this way, Mc,” Julius's hands snaked in opposite directions, one reaching your throat, putting suffocating pressure on it, the other gripping your ass, pulling you unwillingly closer to his body, “You put out for Artem to advance your career, and if you’re a good little slut for me, you can keep your career.” He pulled you somehow tighter into him, his mouth ghosting your ear before delivering a harsh bite into its flesh. “If not, you can kiss being a lawyer goodbye.”

The knot in your stomach twisted, the job you were passionate about, the coworkers you loved, Artem, your senior partner who had already taught you so much, could he really take all of that away from you? Was it really worth it to lose all that to him? Maybe you should just let him have you, once to save your job. But, as Julius’s hand moved from your ass forward, threatening to touch you in a much more intimate place, something in you broke. No. You wouldn’t let him take your career away, but you also wouldn’t let him have you. Throughout your career as a lawyer, you fought and fought and fought for your clients, day in and day out so they could find justice, and it was time for you to fight for yourself.

You thrust your knee upwards into Julius’s groin, and in the split second where he was caught off guard, you used all your strength to push him off of you. You ran for your laptop, his angered cries of pain filling the room as he stood motionless in the spot you left him in, grasping at his groin, trying to ease the pain. You took the opportunity to haphazardly grab your laptop and head for the door. Julius’s hand grazed your arm again as he regained some of his movement, but you were too far away from him at this point. He couldn’t reach you.

Escaping the suffocating air of that conference room could have been the happiest moment of your life. You saw Julius staring at you from the corner of your eye, still standing in the conference room, slightly doubled over. He wouldn’t dare chase you through the office, and he was out of sight before you could figure out what his next move would be. Adrenaline pumping through your body, you made your way across the office. You weren’t sure where your legs were taking you until you were already knocking at the door you sought out, Artem’s office.

The moment you saw Artem as he opened the door, his face going from stoic as always, then softening at the sight of you, and finally, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as he got a better look at you all in a matter of seconds, the emotions you had kept hidden for months suddenly broke free. Tears threatened to escape your eyes, so you broke your gaze away from Artem, opting to look down at your own shoes instead. You really didn’t want to cry in front of Artem. You so desperately wanted to be a great lawyer like him, famous for winning countless cases. He wouldn’t be so vulnerable as to cry in front of a coworker, and you wanted to follow in his footsteps. You tried to push them back, but they refused.

Artem put a gentle hand on your upper back as he led you into his office, closing the door behind him, and placing his jacket on you. It smelt strongly of him. You could detect hints of vanilla from his cologne which made you want to envelop yourself further into the cloth. He led you to the sofa in his office, Artem himself sitting down on the coffee table in front of you. His kind, gentle movements, so contrasting from Julius’s threats, made the tears stream down your face harder. You began to shake from the loss of adrenaline, and you buried your face in your hands.

Artem was at a loss for what to do. He’d never seen you cry before, he felt helpless as he watched you heave from your tears. One thing was certain in his mind, however: Julius had something to do with this. He could sense your discomfort earlier when he’d suggested the two of you use conference room six to discuss business. He could tell you were trying your hardest to suppress the feelings, but they were prevalent enough on your person for him to detect, but his actions had failed to protect you further. A part of him wanted to leave the office immediately, find Julius, and beat him to a pulp wherever he stood, but a more sensible part of him knew you needed him right now. Julius could be dealt with later.

Slowly, Artem stood up from his place on the coffee table and sat down on the couch, a good few feet away from you in order to give you space. You finally looked up at him when you felt his weight on the couch. Your eyes were red and irritated from the tears, makeup running down your face in light gray streaks. You desperately wiped away at them, but it didn’t make a difference. Artem’s soft voice finally broke the silence between the two of you, “Mc, can I hug you?” The hysterical part of your brain was surprised by his words. In your emotional state, you expected him to reject you, and act disgusted by your emotions. You nodded slightly, desperately wanting his comfort.

Before you knew it, Artem had slid closer to you on the couch, taking you in his arms, and gently pressing you into his chest. This simple action started your tears anew. You began crying harder than before, gasping for breath. Clumsy words spilled out of your mouth as you tried to tell Artem what had happened. You thought he deserved to know why you came to his office crying, but Artem simply gently shushed you, rubbing comforting circles into your back. “You don’t need to say anything yet, Mc,” he whispered

The two of you stayed like that for a long time until your tears eventually slowed to a stop. At that point, you pulled away from Artem, desperately missing his warmth as soon as you did so. Artem slid his hand in yours, giving it a gentle, supportive, squeeze before speaking again, “If you’d like to tell me what happened, I’ll be here for you, okay?” Artem’s comforting words, his warm hand in yours, and his beautiful blue eyes made everything that’s happened with you in relation to Julius spill. You couldn’t look at him as you told him about everything: the case you worked on together, how he’d continue to go to your desk even when the case was over, how that escalated to the harassment you had to endure, what just happened in the conference room, and the audio recording of the incident.

When your gaze finally settled back on Artem, he was wearing an expression you had never seen on him before. It was anger, it was concern, it was... it was something else you couldn’t quite place. Artem pushed himself up from the couch, his eyes on the door to the office. You tightly grasped his arm, stopping him from moving towards the door. The door meant he’d tell, the door meant all your fears would come to fruition, the door meant you’d have to face the world outside Artem’s warm embrace again, and you didn’t want that. “Please don’t,” you whimpered, new tears stinging your eyes, “don’t tell anyone, please.” A sob escaped your throat, making Artem sit back on the couch next to you. “I love my job here, I love working with you and Kiki. I love being your partner and working on NXX cases with you. I don’t want to lose it all.”

Artem was back to rubbing circles into your skin, this time at the base of your shoulder. “You won’t lose your job, I promise.”

“B-But, so many people have b-been fired because they r-report assault, I-I can’t l-let that happen.”

“Mc,” Artem said, his voice slightly stern, but still gentler than you’d ever heard it before, “please look at me.” Your eyes trailed up his body, which was still holding you, and finally met his eyes. “I won’t let that happen, okay?” His hand found your hair, gently combing through it with his fingers, “I promise you that you’ll be okay, that your job will be okay. I’ll put Julias in jail if it’s the last case I ever take, just please, please let me help you.” Before that day, you could never imagine Artem crying, but you knew the sight of his eyes filled with tears was real. He allowed you to see his emotions just as you’d allowed him to see yours. He wasn’t some emotionless lawyer who would allow his coworker to be fired because they told the truth. He was a man who’d openly share your emotions with you, even if that meant sharing your tears. You could trust him, you knew that now.

“Okay,” you let the word with a shaky breath, “I trust you, Artem.”

Artem stood up from his place next to you, not letting your hand go quite yet. He leaned over you, giving your forehead a gentle kiss, before looking into your eyes, determination filling his own sapphire ones. Your body slightly tensed when Artem finally removed his hand from yours, you quickly grew cold at the lack of his warmth, but you let him go. You watched his figure as he reached the door, taking one more glance behind him towards you, and left, shutting the door behind him. Eventually, you knew, everything would be okay again.

[recurring-polynya]

Do I mind if I ask how you approach writing longer fic? I've always struggled to write anything more than maybe two chapters long and I'm curious if you have a particular method to how you approach such stories.

Thank you so much for this ask! I absolutely love it when people ask me for writing advice because it makes me feel like a Smart Person Who Knows Things.

Before we start, here is one grain of salt to take all of this with: I have a naturally long-form brain. It is very hard for me to write something less than 1k. Short fiction is great, and there is nothing wrong with sticking to short things if that's what your brain likes to do.

So. You have decided to write a story. This is going to focus on "stories". Some people write fic that's more freeform or whatever, I am not going to cover that. What I mean by a story is this:

It starts

Some stuff happens

It ends

It is highly probable that your story contains a change of state, which could be that a villain is defeated, or a goal is reached, but it could also be that character falls in love with another, or someone learns to like broccoli.

I like to start out by completing the sentence, "This is a story where _______". This is basically like coming up with a summary for an ao3 post, except that it doesn't need to be catchy. Lots of different kinds of things could go in that blank! It could literally be what happens: This is a story where Ichigo goes back in time and punches young Aizen in the nose. It could be about what you want to explore: This is a story where Hitsugaya gets a better understanding of his zanpakutou. It could be about the vibe you want to achieve: This is an AU where everyone is in a punk rock band and has cool hair and outfits. The idea of this is to clearly define what you, the author, is interested in writing. Make sure it feels right! Maybe you pick the first one, but when you say it out loud, you say, "You know, I really just want Ichigo to go back in time so he can horse around with young Renji and Rukia and punching Aizen in the nose is just an excuse for that." That may sound dumb, but it's fine, actually! Most people don't read stories strictly for the plot, they read stories for the implications of those plots! Will my favorite two characters kiss? Will there be funny interactions between these two groups of characters? Will there be sick fights? Stories are excuses to have scenes. Sometimes, you will have a story where the interesting sequence of events is the draw, but the point is to know what you're about.

Once you feel happy with your "mission statement", you need to decide the bounds of your story: where it starts and where it ends. It may be easier to start with the end. In some cases, it may be obvious from your mission statement: everyone gets home, a villain is defeated, Kenpachi realizes the meaning of friendship. On the other hand, let's look at that punk rock AU. You've picked a vibe, but you don't really have a natural story arc. It has to have a destination, though, otherwise, it's not really a story, it's a recipe for 3 chapters of an abandoned fanfic. So brainstorm a little: Maybe they get a record deal? Maybe they win a Battle of the Bands? Maybe Byakuya accepts that the band is actually good and tells Rukia he is proud of her. Do not settle for a plot just because it works. Pick something that makes you excited! You're the one who is gonna have to write it!

I said that we needed to pick a beginning point, too, but I'm actually going to skip that for now. The next thing I do is think of all the Big Scenes I want to write, the ones you are hype to write, the ones that pop in your head as you think about the premise. Make a bullet list. They don't need to be in order. The descriptions don't need to be super detailed, but write down anything about it that is important to you. If there's a mood or a snippet of dialogue or a joke you want to make, go ahead and jot that down so you don't forget it later. What you're doing now is putting broad blotches of color on a canvas, filling in space and leaving the detail for later.

Once you are pretty happy with what you have down, try to arrange it in chronological order. Put your end at the end (if it wasn't one of your big scenes, add it now). The next task is figuring out how to traverse your scenes. You've already picked out where you want to spend the majority of your energy. The rest, I regret to tell you, is your slog writing. Now, it often happens that you will find joy in some of these scenes and your best writing may occur there, but that's serendipity. These are the scenes that you are gonna have to make yourself sit down and write, so you honestly want to limit them to just the ones you need.

So how do we do this? Look at the first thing on the list. Can you start there? If so, congrats, that's your beginning. If you can't, what needs to happen to get to there? Where can you start so that you can get to your first fun scene as soon as possible? There. That’s it. You’ve picked your beginning, good job! Now, go through the rest of your list, and add in things that must happen, even if you don’t particularly look forward to writing them. The characters need to travel from geographic point A to point B. Shuuhei needs to say something that Izuru hears and misinterprets. The Central 46 makes a new law. If you have a good idea of how these things happen, go ahead and write them down, but it’s okay if you don’t know yet. Fill in all the blanks so that if you think of each bullet list as a scene, you could read it as a story, start to end. Once you get writing, you might add more scenes, or move things around or whatever, but you should have a thing that functions as a story.

If you struggle with this, an alternative is a story with a very strong structure that is going to guide you though what you have to write.Here are two examples from my own stories Hold On, Hold On (which is only one chapter, but the principle is the same) is structured around the 5 stages of grief. Not Broken, Just Bent takes place over roughly a week, and I just decided what happened every day of the week. See You on the Other Side takes place in the middle of a bunch of canon events, which worked at mile markers.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a rough outline!

Special note for avoiding burnout!: I am a slogger. I will drag myself through the broken glass of an interminable plot to get to a single thirsty scene. That's why, at this stage, I try to look at the ratio of what I want to write to what I must write. It's gonna vary for everyone, but this is a hobby, and if looking at this proto-outline makes you feel deeply tired, maybe this isn't a good story to be devoting your time to! Can you carve it down? Can you chuck two scenes you really want to write and get rid of 80% of the slog? Or maybe you can't! In that case, just write that thirsty scene as a standalone drabble! Or just go work on something else! Maybe in the future, this one will come back to you and you’ll have a fresh idea or a renewed enthusiasm for it.

Another thing I sometimes like to do at this point is to write out some notes about my characters and their motivations and moods. Character A is homesick. Character B is so determined to defeat the enemy that they are having a hard time being sympathetic to Character A. Character C cares for both A and B and is trying to support them both. This is sort of background info that you want to keep in your head as you are writing. Depending on the type of story you are writing, this might actually be the main plot, or it might be happening subtly, but adding to the emotional impact of the story. It’s very easy for me to write these sorts of emotional arcs, but if you struggle with that, you may wish to go ahead and made a more detailed outline for that, too.

Now, it’s time to start writing! I am great at beginnings-- it is very often the case for me that the opening scene was one of my Big Tentpole Scenes. (Before you hate me too much, I make up for this by being double horrible at endings; just let me have this) Usually, I will start at the beginning and write linearly for as long as I can until I get stuck. Then, I will look forward on my outline and do the next chronological scene that I feel like writing. In general, if I sit down to write and there is something I have an urge to write, that trumps everything else. Inspiration is a precious commodity, and you should embrace it when it hits! You can slog any day. I will occasionally hold off writing a scene that I really want to, because I am saving it, like a prize for myself for getting that far. This is a very personal process of figuring out what motivates your brain and then giving your brain what it needs to be its most productive.

Eventually, you will run out of things you are excited to write, but the good news is, you’ve got a bunch of story now! Odds are that what’s left is going to be a lot of those connective tissue scenes, and you’re just going to have to do them, except that now, because you’re connecting two concrete points instead of two abstract points, it will be a lot easier. You can continue running jokes you’ve started. Maybe you invented a cafe in an earlier scene where your characters hang out and you can have them return there. Try to think of ways to make these scenes more fun, both for yourself to write and for your reader to read. 

Around this time, I like to start refining that rough strokes outline into what I will call an “as-built” outline. (This is an engineering term where you update your plans or models for something to reflect any changes that had to be made along the way). This is a great activity to do at times when you feel like you have writers block. I write down every scene I have written as a 2-3 word blurb, in order. I break the scenes into what I think makes logical chapters, and I will do a word count on those prospective chapters and write it down. As you do this, you will realize that maybe you can move a scene from here to there, which will make it 1000% easier to write. Things may be happening too much, or you’ve got the characters eating three times in the same chapter. If you have subplots and dangling threads, this is where you make sure they get closure. I know this sounds very headache-y, but you are so far along in the story at this point that it’s really not-- it’s a way to look at the problems you have left. Use some sort of formatting (I like to bold things I haven’t done and sometimes I put them in red) and it gives you a very visual to-do list.

You specifically mentioned multi-chapter fanfics and I admit that I don’t tend to think in chapters, I tend to think of the story as a whole and just break it up where it feels natural. The as-built outlining I described is very helpful in making sure that my chapters feel balanced. They don’t necessarily need to be the same length, but I like them to have the same amount of stuff in them. One chapter may basically contain one long scene, and other may contain many short ones. I don’t tend to, but you can certainly have a fanfic that varies between short and long chapters, that can actually be an interesting effect. But like I said, I always like to know what I am doing, and so having it mapped out, you can say “welp, this is what I’ve done, how do I feel about that?”

Polynya, you may be saying at this point, do you write the whole fanfic before you post any of it? and I regret to inform you, the answer is yes. A lot of people write as they go, and I have made one attempt at this and I didn’t like it. I don’t like locking myself in, I just need to be able write out of order and go back and change things. Here is the story of a little in love: someone gave me an AU prompt and I got mildly obsessed with it, and wrote 5 snapshots drabbles in that universe, ending with a slight cliffhanger ending. I probably should have stopped there, but I decided to keep going. I wrote out an outline of 5 acts where the first act was detailed to the degree of each chapter being specified. The chapters here were much smaller than I usually make chapters: 1-2k. I wrote act i and ii and it was actually great, and then I hit act iii which required a lot of set up for misunderstandings and a mini romance arc. I couldn’t wing it, but nor could I figure it all out with outlining. I write dialogue in almost sort of an improv “Yes, and...?” style, so until I do it, I don’t know what’s going to happen. So, what I did was treat the second half of act iii as a complete story in the process I describe above, wrote the entire rest of it, and then posted it. One might notice that the chapter lengths grew to 3-5k each. I have two more acts to go, and I haven’t decided how I am going to do them yet, but I suspect I will treat each of them as their own mini-stories.

(I will admit that in Heart is a Muscle, I tend toward chapters that are about 10k long, and this is honestly too long, someone should smack me. If you like punchy chapters, 1-2k is good. I think 3-6k is probably an ideal chapter length. Is this how long the chapters are in my latest fanfic? Absolutely not.)

Okay, so there’s one more step, which is quality control. I am habitual re-reader-- I read my fanfics-in-progress over and over and over while I am working on them. I understand that not everyone does this, but I am usually the primary audience for my own writing, and this is the actual fun part for me. Nevertheless, you should re-read your work at least once, to make sure it hangs together.

This is purely optional, but I recommend it: get a writing friend (if you don’t like re-reading your work, I recommend this even more strongly). If you can get a full-service beta reader, that’s great, but if you can’t find someone, or if receiving that level of critique stresses you out, it’s perfectly valid to just find a friend who will read your stuff and a) shower you with compliments, b) reassure you about parts you aren’t sure about (or suggest ways to help) and c) point out any huge problems you missed. When I am writing a long fanfic, it is a huge motivational factor for me to be able to send my beta chapters as I finish them. If you are already an established writer, and you have people who consistently comment on your fic, they might be overjoyed to get a sneak peak at your work.

And that’s it! That’s the way I do it, anyway! Some people are able to sit down and write a very detailed outline and the write it start-to-finish. Good for them, I say! I have tried this and it doesn’t work great for me. I will admit that some of my fics (especially my early ones) I just sat down and banged out whole-cloth like an insane person and they are generally better than the ones I actually plan out, but that’s not a reproducible process.

As one final mechanical note, I usually write in Google Docs, which I can access on multiple devices (I used to write a lot on my phone), has convenient sharing functionality, and I use the ao3 html formatting script add-in. I generally have two documents for a single story-- one is the outline, and any other notes I want to have handy. I’ll usually put a trashcan space at the bottom for scenes that got cut but I don’t want to lose. The other is the fanfic itself.

I hope this is helpful! Please feel free to follow up with other questions and good luck with your writing!