#I seriously hope you enjoy the writing!

[limerlove]

nsfw themes, eighteen+

gymrat!vi who frequents the gym every day except for sundays. giving into his wishes to be present for their weekly dinner. any other day? she’s getting her pump in. an absolute given in her world. pink-hued strands stick to her scalp as she pushes for a new personal record on the bench, especially when vi’s bulking. whenever she’s training, she’s so zoned in, nothing can distract — well — it used to be nothing. 

gymrat!vi who secretly enjoys nothing more than working out with jayce. accountability between two best friends turns into a friendly competition. nothing at stake except their egos. seeing who can outdo the other set after set. something to keep them both in line, fit, and violet enjoys the hit to jayce’s ego whenever she can push weight heavier than jayce.

gymrat!vi who isn’t oblivious to the attention thrown her way. with the heatwave of summertime, her muscles are on full display, defined biceps, toned thighs, and god her tattoos are basically a honey-trap. she would be a fucking liar if she acted disgusted by it, part of her likes it a little too much. but hey, everyone likes to be appreciated from time to time and vi is no exception. and she never really saw a problem with it until a one night stand who then not not so subtly stalked her every time she was in the gym, learning her schedule until she had no choice but to leave her favorite gym. silently, she made a vow to not fuck with girls she met at the gym. 

….well, until you. 

gymrat!vi who is a known regular. she knows all the girls at the front desk, flirts with many of them, but to her it’s as platonic as chatting up the barista who brews her dose of caffeine in the morning. it’s ingrained into her morning routine, simply just a part of who she is. so, when she sees you at the front desk she nearly has to do a double take. there’s not a hot chance in hell she’s seen you before — vi would have definitely remembered you.

gymrat!vi who becomes shy for the first time in her life, bringing her membership card up to the scanner and offering a small smile but when looks back you seem to take a second look, eyes locked into her powder-blue eyes. even if just for a moment, you’re veering into her thumping soul. vi can’t help but smile. she reminds herself, you’re just another pretty girl. you’re new, probably won’t even last long. yeah, that’s what vi’s going to let herself believe. it’s not like she’s thinking about your gorgeous lips when she bench presses, or thinking about your gorgeous  eyes taking her breath away — or when vi’s powerlifting she’s so not thinking about lifting you on top of her. 

“if you talk to her, she might actually know your name.”

“w-what, i-i’m not, sh—”

jayce raises his eyebrows at vi, shaking his head as his very questionable friend spots her as she moves the weight the fluidity, her movements only struggling to push through when she reaches the final set.

“she’s the gym owner’s daughter, he’s wanting her to take over the reins, old age and all.” jayce responds as violet places the bar on the rack, her set complete until she moves onto the next one. “your little theory of her not being around for long is kinda crushed. unless you want to find another gym….”

“that’s the whole point of me not talking to her, m’not finding a new gym again. that’s a promise. i can control myself.” 

jayce just laughs. fucking laughs.

“what’s so funny, bro?” vi pouts.

“that you genuinely believe you’re gonna be able to stop yourself and that you think you have a type….and she fits the bill.” 

“oh, fuck off.” vi grunts.  

dropping the fifty pound dumbbells by the bench, lifting up her shirt to wipe some of the sweat off her face only to find you on the other side of the gym, staring directly at her abs like her glistening sweaty skin like it’s a golden ticket to heaven.

“well…fuck.” 

gymrat!vi who notices your presence more and more in the coming weeks. this time not just behind the front counter. you’re with the personal trainers, helping new customers fill out paperwork, and this morning you go wherever vi goes, her eyes can’t seem to stop searching for your figure. especially with those tight leggings you always seem to wear, vi couldn’t stop looking at the fat of your ass if her life depended on it. she managed to squeak out more than a hi to you yesterday, but it’s as far as her pleasantries extend.

gymrat!vi who has her headphones placed on her head, her all black workout set; this time something more modest at her disposable. the black and cotton hoodie covers her head, flares of bright pink wisps shadow from the hood but her shorts reach mid thigh, the overworked muscles in her legs flexing as she lifts the weight. jayce isn’t with her today, which means she basically had to physically restrain herself from talking to you today. even if she can see you sneaking glances at her through her workout, eyeing her legs each time she’s on the leg press. greedy, hot, goddess — vi is so fucked. 

when she walked the following day, you said her name, violet. 

you know her name. 

it’s just the database, it’s the only reason. 

pull yourself together, idiot. 

gymrat!viwho is at the end of her workout, taking her final rest before she does her last set, but here you go again, gawking as you pretend to be readjusting the weight on the racks but you finally stop looking at her, trying to put the last weight, the one-hundred pound bell but you just can’t. even then, vi is trying not to smile with how adorable you look as you struggle. 

before making her way over to you, she slides the black pair of headphones on her tattooed neck, popping the hoodie, seeing if anyone else was going to help you — just her luck — there wasn’t a soul in her at midnight besides her….shocker. 

“stupid, piece of shit, would you just—” 

“need some help there, princess?” vi looks over at you from the workout beach she’s perched on, legs spread wide as her jaw juts out, eyes naturally gleaming with curiosity. 

“i should be able to. i can do this, right? yeah? i definitely can do this.” 

but it only sounds as if you’re trying to convince yourself. the weight of responsibility crushing your spirit by a singular dumbbell. you’re huffing and puffing. life and death here, and all because of a stupid, petty, weight. 

vi stands up, her height towering over your hunched finger. “pick it up with your legs. next time, make it’ll easier.” 

violet doesn’t really use her legs though. the beautifully strong woman kneels on the ground with you, her gloved hand picks the weight up with ease and places it back on the rack. 

“obviously, i know that.” 

violet hums before she offers a hand, helping you stand tall. “of course you do.” 

the sensation bubbling on her fingertips from touching your skin almost seems downright electric — and now vi feels like running ten miles in the other direction for the sole purpose of settling her heartbeat for just a moment. 

“anyways, yeah, sorry to disturb you.” 

“not a problem, princess. never going to say no to a pretty girl in distress.” 

the smile violet offers is adorable, the one she flashes the girls when she comes in for her late work out, from wherever she comes from. but the way she scratches the nape of her neck? that’s just for you. 

gymrat!vi who can’t stop thinking of you, despite her best efforts. constantly, she wonders if you’re seeing someone, but the way you watch her, vi suspects your single as can be. it isn’t until one friday night, just as she’s trying to leave, one of the front girls, rich and pompous, is trying to coax her into meeting her and some friends at the bar tonight. when she’s about to say no for a finale time, growing more uncomfortable by the second, you’ve come up to where she is and, well fuck, violet’s even more embarrassed that one of your employees is hitting on her right in front of you. 

“c’mon! jayce says you haven’t been out in ages. you deserve it, you’re always working out so much. if anyone deserves a treat, it’s you.” 

cursing out the little shit in her mind, she rolls her eyes, trying to contain herself from having an aneurysm. “little shit, divulging all my secrets.” 

sabrina laughs more than she should, tossing her purple hair over her shoulder. carefully, you hover, absentmindedly scrolling on your phone and violet wonders if you stay there for a reason. 

if she’s the reason you’re eavesdropping. 

“so….is that a yes?” 

violet sighs, she hates this. “maybe another time.” 

gymrat!vi who wonders what you thought of the entire time. quiet as a mouse, you hadn’t said a single word to her since you were there to witness the rejection of her employee they still couldn’t seem to just stop. this is what she wants. silence…..right? it’s what she keeps telling herself but now vi can’t stop trying to catch your attention, just an ounce of it is all she craves. today, you only spared her a glance before you talked to jayce. pathetically, she decides to do something to catch your attention, hip thrusts. 

gymrat!vi who looks up as you watch her pelvis lift the weight placed on her abdomen, pushing sturdy hips through the set as you keep sparing glances gawking at her porcelain skin exposed. she can tell you’re at least trying to pay attention to whatever jayce is saying but you’re interest loses focus when she grunts with one final thrust, the bar rolling away from her legs. 

“did you hear that?” vi rolls her eyes at the sound of his chipper voice. 

“what?” violet slips her headphones off, trying to even her labored breaths. not just jayce, but the both of you stand above vi as she tries to catch her breath. 

“i invited her to our brunch with mel on saturday.” 

“oh, is that this saturday?” 

oh, he really is playing fucking dirty. 

“is there a problem, vi?” 

little chicken shit is grinning, goddamn it. she takes another swing from her water bottle, hoping to god you’ll think it’s too forward, too weird, and you’ll just instantly decline. 

“not a problem.” vi grits her teeth as she speaks, jaw clenching as she knows this is surely to be a hole there will be no digging out from. 

or one she so desperately wants to fill.

rayray rants — UM IDK HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS???? it's kinda different than what i normally post but i might turn it into a little hc series. anyways! hope you like and i have a very special vi post coming soon that i'm really excited about. but yeah! hopefully, i can continue this because vi working out is literally all i can think about. alright, um, see you next time ♡

[zuiz41]

IwaOi/Oiiwa Manga Valentine Special!

Happy Valentines Day, Everyone!! 💖💝💞 🎉���

[spaghettito3]

It's always been Curly (Pre-crash Curly x Reader)

Captain Curly, the dependable captain of The Tulpar. That's who he was and will ever be.  ... Until you joined The Tulpar.

---

Or; a small look into Curly and his relationship with his name and title, with sprinklings of fluff.

ao3

It's always been Curly. Cur–ly; two syllables, a trip up and down the steps, the natural progression of things, finishing off a dance with a bow. It's Curly from the hiring manager of that fast food place when he'd made it just in time for his interview when he was 18, dressed in a suit; It's Grant from that awkward girl in middle school who decided she liked him after seeing him score a goal, then Curly once she knew him a bit more; It's Captain from his crew, and back to Curly again when they want to get on his good side. He was Curly.

He doesn't know how it all began, but eventually people started to favour his last name. It made sense, though; a name like Curly fits the bill for a dude with golden curls. He didn't mind that shift, either—two syllables always sounded better, together, than one, alone. He was Curly.

Grant is that one person sitting on the seat closest to the pick-up area of a coffee shop that you'd see for half a second when you go to get your drink. Curly is that dependable captain of The Tulpar with a crew that relies on him. Grant is that flower pot bought at a market years ago, left sitting at the back of the closet. Curly is a bundle of flowers packed perfectly in paper from that same market, just a few, more-populated stalls away. He was Curly.

So if that's the case, why do you insist on holding onto Grant so tightly?

When you introduced yourself to him and the crew last minute—courtesy of the Pony Express—you referred to him as Grant. Grant; one syllable, an unceremonious fall down the stairs, an abrupt stop, finishing off a dance with a trip. He'd been so used to everyone referring to him as Captain or Curly that a single word alone felt similar to when the wind back on Earth would sometimes suddenly pick up and make a mess of his perfectly styled hair. And despite seeing the mess you've made, you'd continue as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Grant this, Grant that. No mention of that blond curly-haired captain, save for the one you were choosing to call Grant at the moment.

It didn't bother him; he didn't let it bother him, not when he had a job to do and bills to pay and a freighter to man. Hell, it wasn't even about your usage of the name as well; just the reasoning behind why when everyone else called him Curly. Though it was starting to become less like a small gust of wind and more like a rocky, thorny, bordering-on-uncomfortable bump in the road, and his brain soon added that train of thought to the things he'd think about when he'd try to sleep.

He eventually cracked one sleepless night down by the kitchenette with you.

There wasn't anything special that triggered it; no mocking tone he'd sooner expect someone like Jimmy to use back at home, just a simple:

“Hey, Grant. Couldn't sleep as well?”

“Why do you call me that?”

He remembers the slight falter in your smile when he’d lost himself. Curly wouldn't start the conversation with that if he decided it was even a good idea to have that conversation at all. Your act wasn't hurting anyone; it was just a name. There was no need to confront you.

Though as much as he hated ever asking and wanted to take it back, to his dismay, you took it on the chin and chuckled. “It's your name.” Your eyes remained on his, your mug clink-clink-clinking as you stirred on it.

“Everyone calls me Curly.”

“Everyone calls you Curly,” you repeated. That's when you dropped your gaze, and he hated how his eyes immediately followed the line of sight down onto your mug, as if desperate to chase it. You continued stirring on your coffee—surely it's at a drinkable temperature by now—and he debated on getting his own cup. It'd be a waste of time to try to sleep now; no way that he wouldn't overthink and repeat this conversation ad infinitum in his mind.

Eventually, you looked up and he met your eyes at an embarrassing speed. His gaze flickered onto your lips when they quirked into a smile, as if you remembered something funny. You then, with a gentle hand, slid your mug over to him.

“What if Grant gets lonely?”

That was the stupidest thing you could've said.

After all, weren't Grant and Curly the same person? Why the need for that distinction? That's when he realised your eyes were still meeting his; unwavering, curious. You weren't looking at the curly blond hair, the Pony Express uniform, or the body he'd worked so hard to get—just his eyes.

Grant wanted to laugh—actually, he did laugh, it seemed, when a chuckle bubbled out of him.

“That makes no sense.”

He reached for the mug you offered and took a sip. Then, he lowered his cup to speak, his voice softer this time:

“...But I'm sure Grant appreciates the company.”

That was the stupidest thing he could've said. You told him as such with your own chuckle.

“I'll keep on sticking by Grant, then.”

His eyes flickered onto your lips again, and it became abundantly clear that you’d grin every time you said the name Grant; first, an ‘o’ shape with your mouth for the ‘gr’, then you'd widen the shape for ‘an’—before finally grinning to enunciate the ‘t’. Grant; one syllable, a hop down the stairs, a period in a sentence, finishing off a dance with the last step. He teared his eyes away and brought the mug to his lips again, a faint heat rising to his cheeks, but it was too late; now he wouldn't be able to stop noticing your smile every time you said his name or the way you said it.

Ever since then, every time he'd hear a “Grant!” he'd turn his head that way—no longer out of a sense of obligation, but because he wanted to. Because maybe if he turned fast enough he'd catch a glimpse of your smile mid-Grant… But then he'd probably turn his head right back, eyes wide in a panic, because oh god he's not supposed to be anticipating his crewmate’s smile like this.

He’ll think about the implications of his feelings as the captain of The Tulpar later, but for now… It's not so bad being Grant.

[beefcakekinard]

hey tomorrow

Buck/Tommy; Buck & Maddie; Maddie/Chimney | Rated T | 2327 words

[read on ao3]

Summary:

Two scenes continued, from Maddie's perspective: her conversation with Buck, and Tommy's arrival at the wedding.

Preview:

“So, tell me about the hot pilot?” Buck smiles and ducks his head. He looks bashful. It suits him. “Well, he’s-” Buck pauses, grins down at his coffee, fiddles with the lid. “He’s…?” Maddie prods. Buck laughs and looks back up at her. “He’s, uh, he’s kinda hunky.” She can’t help it – she jumps a little in delight. “Oh my god, Evan,” she says, then rounds the counter. Coffee in one hand, her brother’s arm in the other, she drags him over to the couch and pulls him down with her as she sits. “Okay, start from the beginning, and tell me everything.”

[sloasis]

Okay I'm SO sorry ( not really ) for spamming and rambling about this one goddamn episode . I keep pausing it to post about it cause I just Have to LMFAO BUT LIKE OMG . These motherfuckers STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND THAT THIS NOT PLATONIC AND IS ENTIRELY ROMANTIC AND FULLY LOVE ??? Bro put him in HIS WILLLLLLLLL HIS LIVING WRITTEN LEGAL WILL . Also he looks BEAUTIFUL telling him this ... Eddie almost drowned and died in the well , literally saw flashbacks and heard Buck IN HIS HEAD ( and his wife but that's kinda a given ) !! And he kept going and swam to the surface because of that . Because of the FIGHT Buck has for his son fueled him to keep going .. Eddie FIGHTS for Christopher AND Buck . He asked Buck if he was HURT while he was THE ONE WHO GOT SHOT and actively bleeding out . I also said this before but the fact that Eddie's shirt is open and you can fully see the Saint Christopher pendant represents how he's giving his HEART and his SON to Buck ..... just think about that for a moment . Insane . Buck you are not expendable , if you were shot , Eddie would've been saying the same thing , doing the same thing , putting himself in danger FOR YOU . Crying to Christopher , telling him that YOU got shot , wearing himself ragged worrying .. Maddie would've lost her mind even more , she's already been struggling but this probably would've set her over the ledge .. uh metaphorically , I swear . Bobby would've ALSO been deliberately making himself a target . You have these people who will do fucking anything for you but you don't think they will so YOU are the one who does it for them . Because you fucking love them so deeply and you think you're replaceable and you think you can be left behind and abandoned , yes that has happened and probably will again but it's NOT because of you ... You make a fucking impact on EVERYONE you meet . You fucking SAVE people . You've saved EDDIE . Eddie's SAVED you . You're made for each other . You are now legally BOUND to him and his son , congratulations !

[rosesofenvy]

Remember that Holy Ghosts edit I made almost a month ago based on this post for @potato-lord-but-not Holy Ghost AU? Well I finally finished that oneshot I meant to finish a month ago!

[pardonmydelays]

RENT ESSAY PLEASE

VIVA LA VIE BOHEME!

oh, rent is literally one of my favourite musicals ever and i already saw four versions of it if i'm correct - the movie, broadway production with renee elise goldsberry, stage production with jordan fisher (because you all know i love this guy) and this one, our polish production. and honestly, this one was my absolute favourite, even if it wasn't the best one.

here's what i mean: the thing about musical theatre is that even if you love the original version with all your heart experiencing it live is just... on another level. it's different, it's better, because you're there in person. i think it's worth noting that i also saw tick tick boom last year, so two musicals composed by one and only jonathan larson in 2024 (and he is one of my favourite composers and his art means so much to me if you can't tell). it's crazy when you think about it. also, the fact that i could do this with my bestest friend in the world means absolutely everything to me.

i know i am always repeating myself, but damn, our polish cast was literally incredible (especially the actors who played mimi, angel and maureen - so vocally maureen was the best, but those three were my favourites). the entire cast was amazing tho, and the thing i already discussed with bel - i am usually not the biggest fan of mark, but damn, our polish mark was just great (i also loved his outfit).

the thing about outfits! i remember some kids who were sitting behind us were discussing the... bad and confusing choice of their clothes? but...? personally i think they did a great job here because i could recognize every single character as soon as i saw them for the first time on this stage and that says a lot, so where's the lie? (they had a lot of incorrect opinions tho and i just wanted them to shut tf up)

the choreography... ahh. i honestly have shivers when i think about it now. like i said, the entire cast was absolutely incredible, not only vocally, but DAMN THEY KNOW HOW TO DANCE. AND ACT. and this is the magic of live theatre - it's something you can only feel when you're there, seeing it on the screen is just a totally different experience. suddenly you start noticing things you have not seen before, and this is also what i want to talk about.

those of you who decided to read this essay probably know that musical theatre is a serious thing to me and i DO NOT engage with it because i want to be entertained - i do it because i'm looking for the truth, the message, for something that will change my life. and very often seeing it live changes my perspective completely - i suddenly find a whole different meaning, different things speak to me. so here's what happened: during another day (probably my favourite song from this production) i realized that this is literally the message i've been searching for. there is no future, there is no past, i live this moment as my last. this quote has been haunting me ever since. cause rent is not just about community, finding family in complete strangers, it's also about living your life like there's no tomorrow. much to think about.

i think rent hits the most when you're familiar with tick tick boom and jonathan larson's story. the funniest thing is that at the very end of it they literally showed a picture of jon and bel and i were the only people there who started screaming. what the hell. why are you even there if not for jonathan, people.

i seriously had the time of my life and i know for sure that i'll be back one day. amazing, beautiful, a little chaotic (just like this essay), but overall absolutely life changing. can't wait to see it again.

[makingshortstorieslong]

Merry Christmas!

Have a very silly Christmas-y short story!

Last year, I was inspired by this post to write a story for @milk-lover. This year I finally went back and edited out some typos, and I wanted to share it with everyone for the holidays.

Heads up that due to it being written as a gift there will be some references in here that aren't going to be meaningful or make sense to a general audience, but I don't think they detract from the overall story (which isn't honestly intended to make much sense even without the references.) (Also if you know me you very possibly also know @milk-lover and will get the references!)

And so without further ado, I present to you, in a little over 3,000 words:

The Daring Adventures of Milk-Lover in

The Dairy Dystopia

Three days out from Christmas, Leslie ran out of milk.

“For fuck’s sake.” They half-slammed the empty carton on the counter, beside the mug it had failed to fill.

Any other day of the year, if they went to pour from the half-gallon carton in the fridge and discovered it yielded less than a quarter cup – not enough for cereal, not enough for hot chocolate, not even enough to charge their phone – they would have simply shrugged and added ‘milk’ to the grocery list, and done without until the next shopping trip.

But it was almost Christmas, and Santa Claus was on its way.

They had to have enough milk.

They groaned at themself. They should have been more careful. They’d set up the cookies yesterday. But when it came to the milk, they had just glanced into the fridge and seen that there was still a carton in there, and one not due to expire until the 27th. They hadn’t touched it in days – of course they didn’t remember how much was in it.

They downed the minimal layer of liquid in the mug in one gulp. It was pointless to save it. That amount didn’t even come halfway to meeting Santa’s requirement.

They’d have to go back out for milk.

Leslie bundled up in both their coats, a hat, and a face mask. The sun had gone down in the time between their return from work and their disappointing dairy-free discovery, so they needed to dress to face the cold and snow.

Of course, snow didn’t really fall here anymore. After New Year’s Day, the weather would get back to the regularly scheduled 60 degree Fahrenheit winter. But the town had splashed out for a couple weeks of WinterWonderland™ climate control system. It was kind of nice by light of day - the snow in the sunlight made everything look bright and clean. But to maintain it, they had to turn on the snow-makers and turn down the temp every night.

Leslie walked with their head bent against the manufactured wind, unsure if they more-so regretted that they didn’t possess gloves or that they did possess fingers as the chill stole all feeling from their extremities in the hour-long walk. They passed a dozen other corner stores and supermarkets in that time, all of which certainly sold milk, but none of which met Leslie’s needs. There was only one place for Leslie to buy dairy products. They considered themselves highly fortunate it wasn’t even more difficult to get to.

At last, with their hands jammed up under their arms for warmth, they came to the last turn in their journey. They imagined the moment they would step gratefully into the heated interior of the store. Maybe they’d even buy a hot chocolate along with the milk, and take a minute to savor the warmth before once again facing the artificial outdoor cold.

They turned the corner, and their dreams evaporated.

It couldn’t be… the corner store… the little semi-independent corner store, that still employed a human cashier out of some sense of retro charm… where you could still buy a half gallon of milk and a dozen eggs and whatever horrible new flavor the sick fucks at Oreo had dreamed up last without once consenting to share your biometric data with the corporations that had produced them all. The shop that had even taken cash up until two years ago. The only shop in town that would sell Leslie open-source dairy…

It was gone.

It had been there the last time they bought milk. But now, in its place, stood a Walmart Mini™.

Too cold to do otherwise, Leslie moved through their frustration and dismay down the street and into the store.

If nothing else, at least it was warm in there. They unzipped their jackets, and took stock of the situation.

They were alone. No other shoppers stood in the aisles. The cashier was gone, replaced by motion-sensitive cameras that followed Leslie through the store, and a self-scan checkout.

The bones of the shop were still there. The store had had the same layout as long as Leslie had known it. It wouldn’t last much longer now; WalMinis™ were contractually obligated to rearrange every so often, in a bid to confront consumers with new goods and perhaps coax them into buying something new, something extra, more than what they came in for.

But for now, Leslie walked straight-forwardly to the refrigerator at the back, the place they had come routinely the past three years for every milk run.

Maybe it would be okay. Maybe they still had to sell out of the old shop’s stock before switching fully to WalProducts™. Sure, Leslie would have to find a new source for accessible dairy moving forward, but at least they’d be able to get their Christmas deliveries tonight.

The refrigerator itself looked the same as ever. The products within it, however, had changed.

It was here.

Two-factor authentication enabled milk.

Leslie pulled a face at the words on the label. “Enabled”. Yeah, right. Two-factor authentication mandated milk was more like it. There was no way to opt-out.

Since dairy had become so valuable with the invention of lactose-based electricity, it only made sense to the people selling it that the people buying it should prove they had paid for what they used. It wouldn’t do to let people run around wildly, stealing each other’s milk. So two-factor authentication was the simple solution. You buy the milk; then, any time you want to open it to use it, you simply use your smartphone to prove that you’re the one who bought it.

For most people, it wasn’t a problem. Everyone had the Google Account they’d made in kindergarten. It was easy as pie to follow the link on the milk carton, log in to your Google Account with ID, password, thumbprint, and retina scan, click the button to send the One Time Password, miss the text notification with the One Time Password because your phone’s messages were muted, send a new One Time Password, check your messages and see the first one, enter the first one, be confronted by a blaring alert accusing you of stealing your own identity for entering the wrong number, do the CAPTCHA in which you identified which pictures showed men who’d never in their lives stopped to look at the moon, re-log in, get a new One Time Password, and finally, verify your identity with the milk’s receipt-of-purchase to send a wireless signal from your phone to the Bluetooth enabled milk carton cap so that it would open up.1

(1 If this sounds more complicated than implied by ‘easy as pie’, it’s possible you’re interpreting that analogy in terms of eating pie. There are a lot of steps in most pie recipes!)

The point is, as long as your phone was charged so you could use it, it was easy to access the TFA required to open your carton of milk to charge your phone. People around the world used TFA every day, usually several times.

Leslie, however, was locked out of Google two-factor authentication.

The thing was, they had liked their little old iPhone 34. It fit in their hand and in their pocket. The camera was good enough for what they needed. Sure, the holographics looked more like something out of Star Wars than modern technology, but it was a vibe.

So when the iPhone 35 came out, they hadn’t upgraded. Nor had they upgraded for the iPhones 36, 37, 38, or 38Ultra.

After the release of the iPhone 39, they’d received a warning. The software on their iPhone 34 would soon cease to be supported, and they would be unable to update it. They had expected that. They had done some research. Once new hardware was in wide circulation, it was only natural for software support for older models to fizzle out. It was something like having a technological disability – not always easy to live with, but manageable with the proper considerations. They were willing to take on that challenge. They would update one day, but not yet.

The part they hadn’t anticipated was that they would lose the ability to update the Google software on their phone as well. Eventually, they couldn’t use it at all. And when Google was disabled on their phone, and they went more than a month without using their Google Account, they found that they were locked out of it, no matter what device they attempted to access it from. Reactivating the account would take more time, effort, and money to fully prove their identity to reclaim their data than they had to spare.

So Leslie lived the life of the technologically disabled, with an outdated iPhone and no Google Account. Some things, they did the old-fashioned way, forgoing whatever apps would make it slightly more convenient. Other things, though alarmingly few, offered their own proprietary takes on TFA as an option in addition to the usual Google Account based one. Leslie had a whole folder on that same iPhone 34 devoted to TFA apps for various services.

But dairy TFA all went through Google.

They sighed.

If they couldn’t leave milk and cookies out for Amazon Santa Claus™, none of the gifts they had ordered would be delivered. As a condition of the premium delivery service, users had to provide cookies on the local server with the information the automated delivery drone needed to complete its delivery, and milk to recharge it enough to move on to the next delivery. Without them, it would quickly skip over Leslie’s house, holding the presents they’d already paid for hostage.

Maybe they could just… break the milk open. Sure, they’d get fined, and maybe get banned from the WalMini™, but it was a distant branch on the mega-corporation family tree that connected it to Amazon Santa Claus Delivers. Even if breaking the milk open eventually had repercussions for their Amazon usage, it would take some time for those consequences to come into effect.

Still. There would be consequences, sooner or later. It was impossible for Leslie, unversed in corporate rule-dodging as they were, to predict what they would be exactly.

Physically breaking open the milk would have to be the last resort. There had to be another option.

They weren’t the tech savviest guy on the planet. Sure, they used Firefox with a host of extensions to browse the web, and had installed a DreamCatcher by their bed to block most of the D wave ads and avoid subscribing to Microsoft Sleep Premium™, but they’d followed directions online for both of those. And both of those were legal, for now, and technically freely available even if the corporations did their best to bury the info online deep in a mess of AI-genned search results.

But by-passing two-factor authentication…

They imagined they’d need to go to the DarkNet to even get an idea of who to ask to help with that.

Well. Desperate times.

Leslie bought a gallon of TFA-enabled milk. Usually they went for a half-gallon, but they figured they may as well make it worth their effort. After they got it open once, they could pour it into analog water bottles and dispose of the milk jug.

The walk home was even colder and more desperate. Leslie managed it in forty-five minutes, hugging the milk to their chest, their mind racing even faster than their legs.

Alone in their apartment, they hurled the milk into the fridge and slammed the door.

Then they slammed themself down into their chair, turned on their computer, and opened a private window.

An hour into their search, they found a forum: Posts that Say Milk dot com. A banner across the top of the web page read: We Are All Citizens of Milk.

There was an array of different pages available with posts about different topics: recipes involving milk, debates about different kinds of milk, milk memes… At the end of the list was a tab labeled ‘milk help’. It sounded promising.

Leslie clicked it.

A long list of posts appeared, each with a title in large letters, saying attention grabbing things like: Help! Drank One Month Expired Milk! and Brother Keeps Drinking All the Milk Before I Can Charge My Headphones, How to Stop Him?

None of the problems sounded like theirs.

Then they noticed the sidebar. The site hosted a few voice-only chatrooms, where nothing was recorded and voices were automatically disguised for privacy. The text on the sidebar suggested, “If you have any problems that are too *much* to put in writing, bring them here to talk to one of our dedicated mods!”

They put on their headphones and entered the Milk Tech Help chatroom.

It was quiet when Leslie arrived. There were two mods present, but that was the only information the screen showed. There was nothing else to see or hear.

“Hello?”

A picture appeared – an avatar of a black and white rat. “Hello. What brings you here?”

“I have a bit of a milk problem.”

“You want the addictions chatroom,” said the other mod, represented as they spoke by the avatar of a purple dog.

“No, not that kind of problem. It’s – I bought milk tonight. But I don’t have access to my Google Account anymore. So I can’t open it.”

The purple dog avatar made a knowing sound. “You want unauthenticated milk access.”

Leslie hesitated. It sounded so blunt put that way. But it was the truth. “Yes.”

“You know of course that that violates Google’s terms of service.”

“I know.”

“Well. If you know the risk you’re running, I do know someone who might be able to help.”

“You do?” asked the rat avatar.

“Well. Not personally. But I know someone who knows someone.” There was the faint sound of typing on a keyboard. “Just wait a moment.”

They waited.

Then there was a soft chime as a fourth person entered the voice-chat. “So you have a problem for my contact, hmm?” asked a low, grizzled voice.

“I guess so,” Leslie said.

“Who is your contact, anyway?” asked the rat avatar.

“They call her The Milk Lover,” the enigmatic newcomer said.

“No way,” breathed the rat avatar.

“Yes way,” said the purple dog. “I thought you might have heard of her.”

“I sure have. I heard she used to be –“ the rat avatar’s voice dropped so low that Leslie had to strain to hear – “a streamer.”

Leslie shuddered. Streaming had been outlawed for twenty years. “Can I ask – I mean, um… do you know what she streamed?”

“Old video games,” said the purple dog. “You know Minecraft?”

“No?”

“No, you’re probably too young. It was a classic. Anyway. Yes, she was a streamer. She used to blog, too. She’s seen things on the internet you and I can only imagine.”

The latecomer laughed. “She and I both. I’d say if anyone can crack open your corporate-controlled carton, it’ll be her. But I should warn you – you may find her a little… odd.”

“O- odd?”

The purple dog sighed. “You’re scaring the kid, Chad.”

Leslie found their voice. “I’m not a kid,” they said. “I’m – well. I’m a milk lover, too. How can I talk to her?”

Chad chuckled. “You’ve heard of Tumblr?”

“The old microblogging platform?” the rat avatar asked. “It’s dead.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Leslie said.

“Yes, you have. You might not know it, but you have. Traces of its meme culture are laced through the entire structure of the internet. And I wouldn’t call it dead, exactly. I’d call it undead.”

“This is why I had to contact Chad,” the purple dog avatar said. “I can’t get in touch with the Milk Lover directly because I don’t go on that site, and its the only site she uses.”

The rat avatar asked exactly the question on Leslie’s mind. “How can a website be undead?”

“Simple. When staff finally called it quits on the sinking ship their site had become, some of the users stepped in. Not many of them, and not uniformly. It’s a loose network of a website, riddled with potholes, individually configured to each user’s specifications on their own little domain. But the connection is still there. The community for those determined souls who remained is still alive. It’ll die one day, when we do. There’s no way to find the site through any search engine. No new blood starting new blogs. But we persist.”

“Then how am I supposed to get on this tumblr to talk to the Milk Lover?”

“It’s simple,” Chad said. “All you need - “ there was the sound of typing - “is this invite link.”

Leslie watched the screen, waiting for a notification that something had been sent in the Posts About Milk website’s chat.

Instead, their phone chimed.

They picked it up, shaking slightly.

They had a message from an unidentifiable number. It was just a blue hyperlink that read milk here.

When Leslie looked back up to the screen, Chad was gone, and the purple dog avatar had gone off-line.

“Man,” the rat avatar breathed. “This is actually exactly what I signed up for when I started modding, but I still didn’t think it would really be like this. You good?”

“I think so? I guess – I’m gonna go talk to the Milk Lover.”

“Best of luck. Stay safe. Use up your milk before it goes bad.”

“You, too.” Leslie disconnected from the voice-chat and closed out of Posts That Say Milk.

They moved the hyperlink over from their phone to their monitor and opened it.

The screen filled instantly with a blur of black fur and sharp white teeth and red mouth. On edge as they already were, the sight of it set Leslie’s heart pounding. It took a few cycles of the images to realize it was a rotating set of photos of a black cat, always in motion, always mid-bite.

Scrolling down from that header image revealed a series of white rectangles covered in black text. It appeared to be encrypted somehow, scrambled to the sight of anyone who wasn’t a logged-in Tumblr user. Tumlrite? Tumblerina? Leslie didn’t know what word the denizens of this impossible undead website would use to describe themselves. Or possibly the text wasn’t encrypted digitally, but rather written in a particular code or dialect intelligible only to the die-hard Tumblroo.

There was no indication that any other user was viewing the page, or that there was any kind of communication ability on this page at all, but suddenly, the voice of the Milk Lover was in Leslie’s headphones, cutting right to the chase. “So you want to bypass two-factor authentication.”

“Yes.”

“Right. Send me a scan of your milk.”

Leslie fetched the jug from the fridge. Using the 3D scanner on their phone, they captured the milk jug’s image from all angles. Then they moved the files over to their computer and sent them.

“Hmm.” On the screen, the milk jug spun around as the Milk Lover clicked it and observed it. “Send me the receipt.”

Leslie did so.

“Hmm,” she said again. “Not the easiest nut to crack. You’ll have to give me a minute.”

Leslie waited. Minutes passed. The only sounds were from the Milk Lover’s end of the line, and they were all mysteries to Leslie. The clacking sound was certainly a keyboard, but the squishing, squeaking, and, once, quiet shrieking, were all unidentifiable. They thought they heard, at a distance, as though the headset with the microphone had been removed from the wearer’s mouth “Marcy! Stop that!” but they had no idea what that meant or how it related to opening up their milk.

There was a shuffling kind of noise, and then a sigh into the mic. Leslie guessed the Milk Lover had put her headphones back on.

They cleared their throat. “You, uh.” They didn’t know exactly where this sentence was going, but in the silence, they felt they had to say something. They could only hope it would be a good idea. “You really like milk, huh?”

A hush fell over the line.

Leslie was seized with the sudden soul-shattering conviction that they’d blown it.

“Read my url out to me.”

“Uh. It says ‘milk lover’.”

“Right. I think that answers your question.” The typing sounds resumed.

Leslie resumed their silent, anxious waiting.

Their phoned chimed.

It was a message from Santa Claus. Their delivery was now scheduled for 3:28 am.

The milk had to be out and ready by that time. They twisted their hands nervously in their lap, wishing there was anything more they could do.

At last, the Milk Lover made a satisfied noise, making Leslie sit up right.

“Hold your phone up to the milk cap,” she ordered.

Leslie did so.

With a twist and a hiss, the milk jug unsealed.

Leslie smiled, the kind of pure, unintentional smile of relief that you can’t stop if you want to. “It’s open,” they breathed. “It worked!”

The voice on the other end remained calm and business-like, but Leslie thought it maybe sounded a little proud, too. “Glad to hear it.”

“Thank you,” Leslie said, sincere gratitude evident in their voice. “This means so much to me.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Can I ask one question?”

“You just did. You can ask one more, though, if you want.”

“Why did you do this? Why help me?”

The answer came immediately and unreservedly: “Because everyone deserves milk.”

Without another word, the connection dropped.

Leslie was alone again, with their now opened jug of milk.

They checked the time. 3:25 am.

They jolted to their feet, and flew to the counter, where the Amazon Deliveries glass sat waiting. Hands shaking faintly with adrenaline, they hastily poured the milk, bringing it level with the pre-measured line. They gripped the glass in both hands and, leaving the milk jug open on the counter behind them, carried it out to their apartment building’s doorstep, where they’d designated the landing zone.

As they set the milk down, they thought they heard a quiet noise. Their breath caught. They leapt for the door, and slammed it behind them. They sank to the floor and listened.

Yes – it was the unmistakable sound of sleigh-bells and drone rotors.

Santa Claus had arrived.

Leslie waited with bated breath. They heard faintly the ‘ding!’ of the drone connecting to the local network and downloading the cookies they had left out for it. Then more whirring, more jingling as it flew as directed to the landing zone. The thump of the package settling on the floor was followed by the sipping sounds of milk through the drone’s straw and into the charger. It sucked until it drew air. Then the rotors’ whirring resumed, and Santa jingled off to the next delivery.

When all was quiet, Leslie slipped outside. There on the doorstep was a bag, containing all the gifts they had chosen for their family and friends this year.

Beside it was the empty glass of milk.

Leslie breathed a sigh of relief. Christmas was saved, thanks to the Milk Lover.

- The End -

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone! Thanks for reading <3 Go drink some milk

[infamous-if]

Does it ever feel overwhelming or scary how fast/early you blew up? I’ve always wanted to write if but i already get anxious with like 200 likes on an intro post or like 200 followers so I can’t imagine waking up one day so “famous” (as famous as you can be as an if author).

I don't like to think about it because my writing would suffer, but there are IFs author that are much bigger than me and handle this whole social media aspect with much more grace. I am just a small fish in a big pond, and definitely the last person to come to for advice haha

My anxiety only spikes whenever I release something, mostly because I convince myself that the inevitable "everyone realizes it's terrible and points and laughs at me" has come (that's just my brain talking).

I think my best advice for you to let go of that anxiety and to set your expectations early. First and foremost, write for yourself, and try to embrace the fact that no one can write your story better than you. As creatives, we all have something to offer that no one else can, and that's just our personal touch that comes from who we are as people.

Yeah, someone could take my plot and characters and probably write something that would put Shakespeare to shame, but they can never write it the way I can. Nor can I ever write your story the way you can, or anyone else.

Even the infamous fanfics that I see are something I can't write, because I'm not them. I don't have their unique perspective that enhances their skill and writing. They write their stories better than anyone, even if they are using characters I created.

Or at least, that's how I approach storytelling and writing. We all have something unique to offer because we are all unique people, so you just have to think: you will find your audience. And you will find people who will like your stories and the numbers won't matter because you'll be proud of what you're putting out.

I know the numbers are scary, because you are no longer in your own bubble and everything you say and do and write will be perceived differently by people, so establishing your goals and your story and what you want to do in the beginning is always the best. It's very easy to succumb to the pressure of people asking for things and asking for changes, especially in the beginning since we want to please our first official audience but it's not worth it if you're not writing what you want. This first and foremost should be fun for you :) or then it'll feel like a chore.

If you do, I would love to read and play your IF! <3

[neverchecking]

I come to you with not just a request but a challenge koridai x reader nsfw with a side of breeding kink please, I dare you.

(Honestly just do what you can I want to see if someone can make nsfw with koridai, like in general and I believe in your skills) (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

nhhh you guys understand that I can't back down from a challenge , >:( /J

Smut so MDNI! 18+

Everyone go thank @angry-trashcan for making this 10x more painful. Enjoy :D

Smut CW: Breeding Kink, Ko*idai, I kept it G/N but there is talk of trapping reader with a baby. I never confirm if it is possible with Ko*idai's partner though.

"Golly."

There weren't enough words in the Hyrulean language to describe the pure, unfiltered bliss he was feeling. From the buzz deep down in his toes to the mindless feeling of mindless lust clouding any and all rational thought in his soupy brain right now.

All he knew was that you were such a sight to behold. The sheen of your skin as sweat dripped down in salty pearls down every curve of your flesh glowed in the limited last, casting your form in a heavenly glow so perfectly suited for you. Anything painting you as the divine deity he knew you to be suited you.

Golden Goddess above, even the shine of your eyes, watching him as you sunk down his shaft only to raise yourself up once more has him shaking in want. His arms were already locked around your back, feeling the heat pulsate off of your flushed skin, as your own hands laid on his shoulders, pushing down with every move you made or letting up to let you sink back down. It was a continuous rhythm you picked up for yourself. Something that kept him yearning for more but placated enough he wouldn't dare disobey your command.

Who was he to do so anyway?

He was nothing more than a servant to your demand. Your glorious decree.

"I really, really need you to stop talking." You panted, raising one of your hands to comb through his bands, pushing them back before using them to pull his head back. Your eyes were half-lidded as you stared down at him, daring him to speak back to your demand. Why would he ever dream of such a thing? "You sometimes ruin the mood."

He understood that his language was a bit more...primitive when considered against the other males traveling in your caravan, but who had you, bouncing on his lap, spreading a fiery trail down his back with your every touch? Not them. Who had the privilege of feeling your lips on his ear, gently sucking on the shell of it before taking it between your teeth?

Him.

"Golly, Y/N," He stuttered, squeezing you closer. "You do feel so good."

You groaned around his ear, hips stuttering for a second before picking up your pace once more. That only had to mean good things, right? You had to have enjoyed his talking more than you let on. That had to be the only reason.

"Makes me wanna give you some babies." He purred, trailing his hands up your sides. You burrowed your face further into his neck, shifting from steady bounces to grinding with him still buried deep inside you. "Would you like that? Me filling you up, making you such a perfect parent?"

His grip around your hips tightened, rocking you back and forth before shifting you to move up and down once again. What a beautiful idea that was. Filling you with his kids. You would make such a pretty house spouse!

He had spent far too long getting his heart broken by undesirable scum he foolishly thought could fill a hole in his heart. Too long listening to them spit out some pathetic excuse of "Their dog just suddenly died" or "I forgot to fold some dishes" only for them to disappear out of his life.

Phewee with that! He had no care for them these days anyway. Not when he had you! Effervescent you. Who he would never let go.

You were never leaving him now. He wouldn't let you! And you wouldn't be able to pull away from him. No. He was far stronger than you with the power glove, so he could easily out-do you physically. Any magic you could think to throw at him, he could easily turn right back around on you! And, while he portrayed a dimmer persona, he could see far beyond any silly plan you could come up with.

Might as well cut it all out before it has the chance to lay roots!

His hands moved your own hips faster, up and down, over and over again, all but dropping you back onto his lap before picking you up once more to repeat the process.

It was such a euphoric feeling, making his gut tighten as your clung onto him for dear life, pushing him to lay back on the bed as his hips took over the movements for him. "Golly- Gee, Y/N!"

Your groan barely resonated in his ears before he was stilling, cock buried as deep as he could go, and holding you in place.

"GOLLY-"

You shouldn't have been surprised when the arms around your back went slack, Koridai quickly falling asleep under you before he could even pull out.

Should've slept with Legend instead.

(Y'all are lucky I left out the "Koridai moans out his own name" bit Bailey and I came up with >:()

[haaam-guuuurl]

Little Women Amy x Laurie Fake Dating Modern AU

Theodore Laurence and Amy March run into each other in France, after years of not speaking.

The not speaking thing wasn’t their fault, though, not really. But Laurie and Amy’s sister Jo, who’d been his best friend, had a big falling out a couple of years before, after he told her he loved her and she told him she didn’t. Consequently, Laurie took upon himself a March embargo, determined to completely forget about Jo and anything that could remind him of her, which included her family.

Which is a shame, since he’d been quite close with the March sisters, and came to regret not keeping in touch with Meg and her husband, his good friend John, and their new babies, as well as not being there as Beth got sick, and no longer seeing Amy, whom he’d started to be real friends with as well.

So, the contrast of denying himself their presence and suddenly being completely surrounded by Amy almost overwhelms Laurie, but as it turns out, he’s nothing but happy upon seeing her, as well as relieved.

Amy March is as bubbly as he remembers, even though she’s older, and accordingly more mature. She’s not as dramatic, he thinks, and seems to be more careful of what she says and how she moves. For a second, he reflects on how the innocence and freedom of childhood is truly gone, if Amy, the youngest among them, is now a grown woman, but mostly he marvels at the adult she’s become.

Amy, for one, is ecstatic at seeing Laurie again – he’d been severely missed in the March household, and while Jo had been annoyingly vague about what had happened between them, they got the gist of it, and gave them the room they needed to process it all.

Amy always thought it was unfair, though. That just because he and Jo had a fight, that no one else could be in contact with him either. Sure, they’d been best friends (which they’d never missed a chance to remind the others of, always going off on their own lone adventures), but Laurie had at least been friends with them, too. But they weren’t allowed to say anything, and Laurie became a ghost, vaguely somewhere across Europe, but as good as dead for Jo March, and so as well for the rest of them.

Finding him in France, though, leaves no room for Amy’s grievances, or her insecurities. They were friends, it’s clear now. They are friends. They can have their own relationship, independent of Jo, and she’s so happy to have her friend back, to have back a piece of home that’d been missing for long.

They become almost lifelines for each other in the foreign country. Laurie has his contacts, and Amy has made friends in the art course she’s taking there, but the two quickly become inseparable, almost as if making up for all the time they lost not talking - she fills him in in all things March; he regales her with tales of his gap year misadventures. And a misplaced piece of the universe rights itself a little bit.

So, when Amy needs an reason to refuse a date with Fred Vaugh – an old acquaintance, here on business, whom yes, she’s admittedly been flirting with for the past few weeks, but whom she can’t, in good conscience, actually go out with, because while he’s perfectly nice and respectable, he doesn’t actually do anything for her romantically, and wouldn’t that be leading him on? – Laurie’s is the first name to pop into her head, and is, she thinks, a perfectly valid excuse. Well, valid, with a few tweaks. Namely, saying that he’s her boyfriend, as opposed to the far truer, yet less usable, boy friend.

When she explains the situation, Laurie finds it weird. Then funny. Then, given the opportunity to act out the role at a party she knows Fred will be at, downright hilarious. Amy would be furious at him for making fun of her situation, if he didn’t manage to, at the same time, make a convincing enough showing that Fred leaves her alone. And, she has to admit, it is pretty funny.

It hadn’t been anything more than that, really. Shortly after, Fred went back to London, and the whole thing was simply a lark between the two friends, notable only because Laurie starts referring to Amy as a heartbreaker.

It only becomes a thing a couple of months later.

Amy has since returned home, her summer course over, and spends the first weeks of Autumn in Massachusetts, prepping for her final school year, looking after Beth as she waits for test results about her remission, babysitting the twins for Meg, and avoiding telling Jo about her summer, since she’s not quite sure how her stance on Laurie has shifted (or not) in the past few years.

This becomes apparent when Laurie calls her, a few weeks into the semester, to cash in.

Apparently, Amy has inspired him, and Laurie is returning to the US as well. Seeing her has made him realize he misses home, and, admittedly, his grandfather has been on him about what is an acceptable amount of time for a gap year. This decision prompted him to reach out to Jo. They talked, for a bit, and mostly everything was fine. Great even, and signs pointed to them being able to return to their friendship after all! Until Laurie had the brilliant idea to tell her he’s dating her sister.

Amy, which she feels he deserves, promptly laughs in his face when he tells her.

He says he’s completely and totally over Jo, he is! (Amy maintains a healthy skepticism about this, but lets him go on) It seems that Jo had been looking forward to seeing him again, but adamant that her feelings hadn’t changed, and hoped he’d finally moved on. He’d made assurance after assurance, but the only way he could think of to truly prove it was to tell her he was seeing someone – which isn’t completely a lie, as he had dated other people in the meantime – only to then pop out Amy’s name when Jo asked about it – which is completely a lie.

Here is where Amy questions his reasoning, since he could have said literally any other name beyond Jo’s baby sister’s, and how could he think she’d take that well, and Jo was going to think she’d kept it from her, Laurie, did he have any idea how furious she will be when she sees her at Christmas??

But Laurie maintains that Amy owes him for Fred Vaughn – which has her rolling her eyes every time he mentions it, because c’mon, that was nothing like this – and that she’d been the first person he’d thought of – which does warm her heart a little – and who else could he rope into a fake relationship who could understand the whole thing with Jo?

“Fake relationship” stops Amy in her tracks.

Apparently, Laurie has a plan. A whole plan.

Amy tries to explain that all her lie had demanded of him was going to cool party. Laurie doesn’t see the relevance. Amy wants to yell at him through the phone.

Laurie will be arriving in Massachusetts shortly before Amy’s winter break, giving him only a while to face Jo on his own (and hopefully mend some bridges), at which point Amy will return home, spend her break cuddling with him by the fire – “Is that really so bad, Ames?” – convincingly enough that Jo sees he has completely moved on. Come the New Year, Amy will return to school, and eventually they’ll break the news of their uncoupling, stating how they’re better as friends, and everything will go back to normal.

It’s so easy!

Sure.

It starts off not easy at all, when the very next call Amy receives is from Jo, demanding to know every single detail of her relationship with Laurie.

For all intents and purposes, Amy is pretty proud of her performance, actually, given how little time she had to prepare. She thinks she manages to sound convincing yet apologetic, explaining how they’d gotten close in Paris and had been keeping it low-key because they weren’t sure where it was going yet, plus the long-distance while Amy went back to the States and Laurie stayed in Europe, not to mention his previously chilly relationship with the rest of the family (a not-intentional, but also not-untrue dig at Jo, there, which Amy isn’t sure she gets or not). She talks about how she totally intended on telling her when they knew it was serious, but Laurie totally blindsided her by telling Jo so soon. The best lies, Amy finds, have a little bit of the truth.

“So it’s serious?” Jo asks, and Amy hesitates for a second. A serious relationship. With Laurie. Faking a serious relationship with Laurie.

Her heart does a weird little twist she isn’t sure comes from lying to her sister, the anticipation of the scale of the performance she’ll have to give when they’re all together, or something else entirely.

“I guess.” she settles on, and promptly puts it out of her mind. There’s no point in spiraling for the intervening weeks, she tells herself, even if she does get progressively more stressed out as the semester ends.

When she does get home, though, it’s all so familiar, her anxiety just vanishes.

She’s missed her family. As close as they’ve always been, it’s always been tough being away from them all for months at a time. As soon as she walks through the door, it’s all hugs and smiles, and she feels nothing but welcomed.

And, admittedly, despite everything else, she’s missed Laurie, too. He’s already there when she arrives, like he’d told her he’d be, and Amy doesn’t even think about it before hugging him tightly when she sees him. It’s been ages since they’ve been together in person, after all, and this after months of spending every day together. No matter what else is going on, she just missed him.

It’s only when Jo chides at them to “break it off, lovebirds” that Amy remembers, and hopes her resulting awkward smile/grimace is seen as embarrassment for being with her “boyfriend” in front of her family, instead of regret over her every decision of the past few months.

Other than that, though, it ends up being not too bad. As much as Amy is loath to admit it, Laurie wasn’t too far off in his plan. They don’t have to act that lovey-dovey, just sit together at gatherings, hold hands once in a while, talk amongst themselves for a bit. It’s actually remarkably similar to how they’d behaved nearly every day in Paris. Amy hadn’t even thought of it as romantic, though, not until now, when the contrast of how they used to be, in their childhoods, is so apparent.

Her family’s reactions aren’t so bad either. Dad makes a joke about Laurie having to watch himself from now on, but since it’s been well established how much he loves him and the Laurences, it’s never meant as nor taken seriously. Marmee attempts to have a talk with her about their relationship, but Amy manages to abort that pretty quickly. Meg looks at them like she wants to say something, but doesn’t ever actually do it. Beth, bless her, just tells her she’s happy for them. And Jo makes a few comments here and there, which almost get to Amy, until she reminds herself that the whole purpose of this thing was for Jo and Laurie to get their friendship back.

And it even seems to be working. Since she’s been home, Amy’s watched Jo and Laurie joke around, argue and play off each other almost exactly like they did when they were kids. She can’t bring herself to talk about it with Laurie, but he hasn’t said anything to indicate otherwise, either, not that it was going poorly between them, nor that it was going in any other direction at all.

She’ll admit she was skeptical, when Laurie explained his plan to her, and that a large part of it was because she wasn’t ever truly sure if Laurie was really over her sister, as he claimed. He’d seemed so in love with her, before. And he’d been so heartbroken, when she’d rejected him. A small part of Amy wondered if he wasn’t just saying all of this for show, and if, once he saw Jo again, his feelings wouldn’t come rushing back. Amy does hope not. Even if she had her doubts, she wants for Laurie to be over Jo, really. She never did think they be very good together, is all. And she doesn’t want them to go through that heartbreak again.

If she watches them closely, just to try and see if there’s anything in Laurie’s eyes beyond friendly affection… Well, she’s just looking out for him, isn’t she? For both of them, really, or even for all of them, because everyone’s been excited to have the March and Laurence families together again, and another big emotional fight is the last thing they need.

And if she’s a little relieved every time Laurie notices her there and comes over, slinging his arm over her shoulders, or giving her a peck on the cheek… Well, that’s not really anyone’s business, is it?

It all goes fine, though. Jo and Laurie are perfectly friendly, not a hint of romantic drama nor icy coolness between them, and everyone’s happy through the holidays, and no one’s seemed suspicious of Amy and Laurie at all.

Amy’s all but forgotten about the plan and her anxieties over it, until it becomes all too real right on top of her.

Literally.

On Christmas morning, after they’ve opened their presents, and once Laurie and his grandfather have joined them for breakfast, Amy’s just greeting him, like she’s done every day, when Beth pipes up.

Amy hadn’t realized. She hadn’t been there when they decorated the house this year, even though their decorations haven’t changed in years.

As it always has been, right in the middle of the archway that separates the kitchen from the dining room, and right on top of where Amy and Laurie are standing, is a sprig of mistletoe.

It’s not even a big deal. Beth is the only one who noticed, and then Jo, who turned to look at them when she said it, but everyone else is busy, no one is really paying attention to them.

Yet, in Amy’s mind, this is maybe the worst thing that could’ve happen.

Mistletoe. Of course there’s mistletoe. How could she not have remembered the mistletoe?

Laurie seems as dumbstruck as she is, but he recovers quickly. They’re supposed to be a couple, after all. Couples aren’t supposed to be completely terrified by the mere notion that they kiss.

Amy only has time to register that it’s happening before it happens. Laurie inches his face closer to hers, and Amy doesn’t move away, doesn’t say anything. She meets him when he reaches her, and they kiss.

Laurie only intended it to be a chaste kiss, anyways. Something tangible enough for the others to not get suspicious, but light enough as to not make things uncomfortable, threading the needle to slip under the guise of them not wanting to kiss in front of their families.

It was supposed to be a chaste kiss.

It’s not that.

It’s something else entirely.

Before he knows it, not only has Laurie stepped closer into Amy’s space, but his hands have come up to her cheeks, and Amy has responded by placing hers on his waist. His eyes are closed, yes, he can’t see the room surrounding them, but all of a sudden he isn’t even aware of it. The only thing he’s aware of is Amy.

It’s so familiar. She’s Amy. He’s known her almost all their lives. They’ve been close for most of that time, have seen each other in all sorts of ways, have touched each other numerous times, they’ve shared friendly kisses and teasing ones, they’ve even kissed under the mistletoe before, a simple kiss on the cheek, when they were very little, after which Amy had blushed furiously, and Jo mercilessly made fun of them for the rest of the day.

But it’s also so new. He’s never been this close to Amy. Has never touched her like this, has never known what her lips tasted like before now. Peach chapstick. It should all be so simple and familiar, and Laurie should just let go and pretend it was nothing, but it isn’t and he can’t.

He has no idea how long they’ve been kissing, when Meg and John’s twins barge into the kitchen, crashing into Amy and Laurie and sending them almost flying apart. Jo “oooh”s at them teasingly, but it’s quickly forgotten about, in the bustle of the twins’ arrival, and the adults trying to get everyone to sit down and have breakfast.

Except that Laurie can’t forget about it. He can’t stop thinking about it, in fact. He can’t even make sense of it. He tries to catch Amy’s eye, to try and see how she’s feeling, but she won’t meet his. Is she being glib? Did it really mean nothing to her at all, just a fake kiss for their fake courtship? Or is she totally weirded out, unable to meet his eye? Could she be just as lost as he is?

The rest of the day passes by quickly, almost in a blur, and before he knows it, goodbyes are being exchanged, everyone headed back home for the night.

Amy’s barely looked at him since the kiss, but he tries one more time to talk to her before they leave.

And though she does look at him, this time, and smiles, gives him a quick hug goodbye, even, she’s gone before he can barely say anything.

She clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, then, so Laurie decides to try his best at putting it out of his mind. It was a kiss. So what? A great kiss, yes, but that was that. It was part of a plan. His plan. A plan that went great, even. Him and Jo are friends again, the Marches don’t hate him, and all they have left to do is explain they decided to break it off, in a few weeks. That they tried, but determined they were better of as friends. Him and Amy. Friends. Because that’s what they are.

Except that friends don’t think about each other for as long as Laurie starts finding himself thinking about Amy that week. Friends don’t wonder what it would have been like if they’d kissed any other time in the past couple of days, or if they’d been alone when they had, or wondering about any scenario where Laurie could have kissed Amy again, or for longer. And friends probably take each other’s calls, too. Which Amy hasn’t done since Christmas Day.

While Laurie understands she could perfectly well be busy, which would be a logic assumption from her curt text responses saying just that, Laurie also knows how it feels like to be brushed off, and it quickly becomes obvious she’s just avoiding him.

He wants nothing more than to talk to her, be near her again, something in the back of his mind desperate to be with her. It’s like seeing her in Paris after all those years set something off in him that can’t be satisfied, and it was only made stronger by that goddamn kiss.

But he won’t push her. He hopes she isn’t mad at him for the whole scheme, it is possible it was more taxing than he’d anticipated, after all. She’s probably weirded out by the kiss and needs some space. Okay. Space. He can do that. He won’t push.

He does count down the days until he sees her again, though.

Namely, at the Laurence’s New Year’s party, a week later.

Though Amy hasn’t explicitly stated she’ll come, the Marches have all been attending for years, and while there have been exceptions granted for illness, or work, Laurie sees (hopes for) no reason for Amy not to attend.

He’s already planned out what he wants to say, how he’s sorry for the whole thing, how he understands if she feels put off by him, how he just wants the two of them to be okay, and they never have to mention anything about the whole mess ever again.

Of course, though, as soon as he sees her, walking through the door after her sisters, the first thought that comes into his mind is how he wants to kiss her again.

Instead, he turns right back around and gets a drink.

He spends the next hour telling himself to get it together, that it’s just Amy, and he’s being ridiculous, and only then goes to talk to her.

Amy is reticent about being alone with Laurie, but also knows she’s avoided it for as long as she can, and they really should talk.

It’s not like anything will happen, right? Just because they’re alone, and Amy’s been thinking about the kiss, as well as basically everything that happened over Christmas ever since then, it doesn’t mean anything will happen when she actually talks to Laurie, other than just that. Talking.

Aware she’s trying way too hard to convince herself of this, Amy follows Laurie, becoming determined to push all of her internal doubts and bubbling feelings to the side and just have a talk with her friend. They’ll clear the air, he’ll tell her how the kiss meant nothing and will never happen again, and they’ll be back to normal. Friends. As it should be. And anything Amy might be feeling that’s clearly been brought on by the nostalgia of being home and not having been in a relationship in a while and not at all by this new-found closeness with Laurie and inability to pay attention to anything else when he’s near, it will all just fade away.

When they’re alone, he does apologize for his scheme and how maybe it went too far. He thanks her for going along with it, but that he never meant to make her uncomfortable, and he probably didn’t think it through as he should have, and if she wants, they can just come clean to their families right now.

Something in Amy melts a little. She’s not mad at him, not really. The fake relationship thing was weird, sure, but in the end, she gets it, and if things can be good between all of them in the end, then it was worth it. It was all maybe a bit more than she’d bargained for, but that doesn’t really matter does it? It’ll all just go away.

She also predicts that telling everyone they were lying now will just make things worse and more confusing, so Amy tells him she appreciates it, but there’s no need, they’ll just lay low and stick to the original timeline.

They both leave the room feeling better for having hashed it out, but still a little disappointed. It’s been agreed. They’ll just let the next few weeks go by, and that’ll be that. Back to normal, and no possibility for anything else. Great.

The rest of the party goes well, as light and fun as it can be. And if Amy and Laurie barely leave the other’s side during it, well, to anyone else, they’re supposed to be in a relationship, right? That’s normal. Beyond even that, they’re friends, it’s totally okay! Just like before, Amy squashes any feelings, even part of her is telling herself to enjoy it while it lasts.

Either way, when Mr. Laurence announces to the party that it’s only a couple of minutes till midnight, of course Amy and Laurie find themselves next to each other.

The panic from their first kiss is gone, and a certain inevitability remains over them. Well, of course this would happen. Of course, as a couple they’ll be expected to kiss at the stroke of midnight. When they turn to each other, Amy’s prepared to shrug it off like just something else they’ll have to do – she does not want to be caught off guard again – but finds Laurie already looking at her, a slight smile on his lips, and she can’t help but mirror him.

When the clock strikes midnight, cheers go up around them, but Amy and Laurie are oblivious. This one doesn’t even start as a peck. For all her distancing herself from it, Amy leans into the kiss fully intending to savor it this time. And for all his denial over it, Laurie does the same.

Before long, Amy’s hands are reaching up into Laurie’s hair, and his arms are circling her waist. One kiss turns into two, then three, as they slowly disentangle themselves to get some air.

Amy feels lightheaded, her body against Laurie’s, their foreheads pressed together and her eyes still closed. She can’t push it away this time. She wants to do that again. She wants to kiss Laurie forever, if that’s even possible. She just wants Laurie.

She doesn’t feel able to say anything right now, but Laurie beats her to it.

He says he’s been wanting to do that again since the last time, and Amy can’t help but agree.

She opens her eyes, sees Laurie, looking at her like he’s just had some revelation of his own, and Amy wonders just how long they’ve been headed here without realizing it. Before Christmas? Since Paris? Maybe even before that? Either way, standing here now, it feels inevitable. Her and Laurie, it’s just… It’s fitting. She doesn’t want to let go.

Amy drops the pretense.

“What are we doing, Laurie?” she asks, softly,

“I don’t know” he answers. “Do you want to stop?”

She shakes her head no, and he smiles.

“Can you just…” Amy adds. She needs to make sure. “This isn’t… It’s not the plan, right? It feels, different, at least for me, so just tell me, Laurie, is this still about that? Is it still about Jo, about getting things back to how they were?”

Laurie shakes his head, already interjecting as soon as Amy finishes speaking “No! No, it’s different for me too. It’s not… It’s certainly not about Jo. Amy, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you in days. Actually, probably years. I don’t want things to go back to how they were. Not if they can be better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Amy can’t help but smile brightly. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either. This feels… I don’t know what it is, but… Better, yeah. Better’s good.”

Laurie’s grinning right along with her, and he has, frankly, waited long enough, and dips his head to kiss her again.

When they finally separate, Amy asks “So, you still think we should go tell our families we’ve broken up?”

Laurie laughs, the whole plan he’d concocted feeling like a lifetime ago. “Well, maybe not right now. Or in the next few weeks. Or years. I don’t know, how about we just see where this goes?”

Amy grins. “That sounds good, yes.”

The two kiss one more time, blissfully unaware of the party going on around them, the Marches and Laurences and other guests toasting, and celebrating, and awaiting the New Year unfolding in front of them all.

[saysflora]

Even the great Jack Kelly isn't immune to sickness every once in a while, no matter what he likes to say. This time around, though, he'd made the rookie mistake of fainting in front of David, and is suffering the consequences by being held captive in the Jacobs' apartment until they deem him better.

Actually, it might not be all that bad.

OR: Jack gets sick and recovers in the Jacobs' apartment, with no small amount of tomfoolery.

[tonberry-yoda]

Comfort - Portgas D. Ace

notes - AHHH IM HERE!! Sorry this took so long, I was really busy this week going to concerts, going to work, stuff at home, and setting up my new room, so chaos has been more than normal for me this week lol. But I am so glad I got to write such a relaxing Ace fic, this was really nice for me to just spill out of my soul! This was also for that poll I did earlier this week! I hope my Ace lovers enjoy this one and have a lovely evening! I love you all, stay super hydrated!

word count - 966

"What are you doing?" Ace laughed, watching you dig in the sand like a dog for the fifteenth time.

"I'm telling you, Ace," you tried to explain. "There's gotta be treasure in this sand. The map says so!" You pointed to a map that was sitting next to you; old and covered in sand.

"Isn't that thing like a billion years old?" He picked up the map and turned it over in his hands a bunch, still not understanding how to read it.

"Maybe it is, but who knows, that treasure could still be here!"

Ace just playfully rolled his eyes and grabbed your arm, pulling you out of the sand. "Come on, babe. Let's just get a hotel for the night and wash up. You got sand in your fingernails."

"Yeah, but it's rich Alabasta sand, so it's fine." you joked, following Ace and taking back your map.

"Still gross though." he teased, running his hand to your lower back and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

The two of you walked for a while to the nearest town, not even realizing how late it had been. When you walked into town, it was pitch black and freezing cold.

Ace shivered and held open the hotel door for you. "Man, it's cold."

"Maybe cuz you always have your nips out, Ace." you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and thanking him for holding the door.

"You leave my nips alone!" he defended, dramatically pressing his hand to his chest.

You turned to him, shocked that would say such a stupid thing in a lobby with people in it, but just rolled your eyes.

He smirked at you and grabbed your hand, getting the two of you a nice room.

Once there, it was like heaven. You slipped off your shoes and threw yourself onto the bed with pure joy painted onto your face.

"Scoot over, y/n," Ace said, clapping his hands together. "Or I'm gonna land on you."

He didn't even give you time to move and instead landed straight on top of you, making you lose your breath for a second before busting into laughter.

"Ace, what the hell?" you said between deep breaths and a little bit of laughter.

"Oh, damn, you were just so cozy looking, I thought you were the bed." He winked at you and hugged around your waist, burying his face in your chest.

"Wait!" You jumped off of the bed, making Ace pout. "Before you go burying your face anywhere, I'm taking a shower. I smell like," you took a whiff of yourself and dramatically fake gagged. "Yeah, I smell like I should probably take a shower."

"Let's save water then," Ace smiled, taking off his hat and already slipping off his shorts to just a pair of boxers. "Lemme take one with you."

You couldn't say no to someone who you loved with all your heart and so happened to be pressing kisses down your neck.

"Fine," you said, pushing his face away. "But you're washing your own hair."

"What?!" Ace exclaimed, pouting. "But I haven't had head scratchies in ages! Not fair."

You turned on the shower, stripped down, and waited for the water to heat up as Ace sat behind you, whistling and reminding you how pretty you were. You blushed, of course, and turned to Ace, smacking him on the bare arm.

"Owie! What was that for? I was calling you pretty!"

"For making me blush." you said, turning away, your face as bright as a tomato at this point.

Ace grabbed your hand and pulled you into the shower, sighing at the warm water. He rubbed your shoulders while you washed your hair and would occasionally whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you washed your body, washing his own self in the process.

You two hadn't had self care like this in forever and it felt nice to just enjoy yourselves for a while. Being on his little boat was stuffy and the last time you had stayed in a hotel as nice as this was when you first joined his crew, which feels like ages at this point.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as you wrapped your towel around you and saw Ace behind you with stupid goo goo eyes. You turned towards him and gave him a peck on the lips before turning back and drying yourself off.

"I'm gonna ask for about six more of those kisses, cutie, so you best be prepared for that." he whispered in your ear before placing a kiss onto it and drying his own self off.

You took one of Ace's shirts that he took and didn't even bother to put on any pants over your underwear as you walked over to the bed, yawning. When you slammed yourself onto the soft mattress, Ace laid right next to you and smiled.

"Can I get another one of those kisses?" he asked nicely.

You obliged and gave him another quick peck.

He pouted and then asked, "Yeah, but longer. Can I give you a kiss this time?"

You thought about it and then smiled with a little nod.

Ace apparently took that as his opportunity to be his hottest self and tilted your chin up and bringing your face as close as possible before pressing a long kiss to your lips that made you hungry for more.

When he pulled away, he smiled at you and you hugged around the back of his neck. Ace rubbed little circles into your back and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too, Ace."

It was nice to get a bit of comfort in a world where you two were always being chased.

~~~~~

one piece masterlist | pinned post

2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~

[chaotic-orphan]

OMG sorry for not replying back to your response to my febuwhump ask for the past THREE days 😭 

“Febuwhump ask” = 90% rambling, 8% fiending for Heroic Betrayal Supervillain, 2% asking about febuwhump

Because literally when you replied to my Febuwhump question and I saw your response, I wasn’t in the best mood, so I was going to respond the next day and then I ended up binge-watching a show instead, and then before I knew it, it was Monday, and then school absolutely swamped me from the sidelines anddddd now I’m here: late. 

Anywayyyyyyy, this is your girly 💍 Again, sorry for responding late- Because I asked you something, and then you responded, and I didn’t reply back- 

Thoughhhhhh, thank you so so much for your reply to my ask! I really appreciate it, lol- 

Okay, this is what I typed out on Saturday, and was planning on continuing on Sunday (ahem, it is now Wednesday if you haven’t noticed 😅): 

To be honest I’m not in the best mood at the moment- but your reply helped brighten it up- so thank you for that.

It made me really really really happy to see you write such a lengthy response. Like, the thing with me is, I’ll get really riled up while I’m writing my lengthy asks to you and a few hours after I send it I’ll start feeling anxious and insecure thinking I might have overdone it?? And I, like, overthink it- (until you respond and then I’m like: I can finally breathe again!). I guess I just don't wanna come off as annoying- And I’m not just saying that to get, like, sympathy points, it’s honestly just how I feel loll- I have to remind myself that when you answer other people's asks you never seem to mind it and even match their vibe a lot of times. I just feel like I go too far at times, and I’m like: “I don’t wanna overstep, but I also don't know how to articulate what I want to say without writing to this excessive length-” It’s a problem for sure- Because sometimes I’ll send you an ask, and as I’m doing something, like, i sent you an ask in the morning a few days ago, and was doing the dishes, and as I was doing the dishes I came up with like 3 others things I could’ve included in the ask- I just feel like I have to get it all out, ya know? Idkkk, it makes me think I overdo it a lot lolll, and you must have the patience of a saint to put up with it, haha-

Like I said, I was in a sensitive mood when getting your response, so it really gave me my spark back when I read the hashtags first (for some reason I skipped to the bottom?) and saw you say sorry for the length of your reply and I was like: “Oh?” And kinda perked up a little bit and went to read from the top, and you really out did yourself. Because, listen LISTEN, regretfully, and I mean very REGRETFULLY, I almost like didn’t WANT to read your response?? Which is VERY uncharacteristic of me, but I kinda shut down when I’m in a sensitive mood, it’s like totally subconscious, so I was like: “I’m gonna see if the hashtags will tell me if this response is worth it” (I swear I never never never would think that way rationally, I swearrrrrrrrr I love your responses but it’s just those moods sometimes?? I swearrrrrrrrrrr, pleaseeee don’t take this to heart- I become very condescending when I’m sensitive- though I also wanna be honest with you so that’s why I’m confessing that to youu-).

BUT THEN, (YEAH wait just a moment!), it’s like my self-pride came crashing down when I read a few specific hashtags at the bottom of your response: “Sorry for the length of this reply” (Oh?? Is it lengthy-?) and “just the gender thing gets me every time” (I assumed that meant you were gonna talk about female whumpees lol- as I think I read the beginning of your Whumpuary no. 4 before scrolling down? And it talked about female whumpees for the first fav trope). Anyway, what really kinda hooked me was the “sorry for the length” which is just an automatic grab at my attention, cause like my brain was trying hard NOT to care, but a tiny part of it was intrigued also- And so I decided to read it.

And, as I was reading it, I actually calmed down and smiled a little by the end- So, like, if you take anything out of that little ramble of mine, just know you indirectly helped my mood- 

Unfortunately, I didn’t read your response with as much enthusiasm as before… the FIRST time. I wrote this part of the ask on Saturday, so I’m going to try again and reread your response tomorrow (Sunday), when I’m more upbeat- I just wanted to let you know you cheered me up a little- Since, listen, you already give me quality and quantity replies, but you like, REALLY outdid yourself this time- and I really appreciate it. Though, ofc, I always appreciate all your replies. Also, I’ll probably touch on this tomorrow, but of course I’m gonna read the indents/your rambles?????????? BECAUSE how much have I blabbered my mouth off to you this past week???? You’re completely, awesomely, fine????? (#rizz? #get it? #cause I called you fine? #sometimes I embarrass myself, like, is that possible? Self-embarrassing oneself? Because why do I inflict this humiliation on myself and others?) 

Actually! I’m offended 😤 (JK!!! 😅) I would never actively NOT read your beautiful writing, even if it is a ramble! Because, how come even your RAMBLES are beautifully written?? (#sometimes I’m too down bad for your writing)

(To be honest I started feeling motivated to answer you back, but I really think I should wait until tomorrow so I can keep you the best quality 👍)

OKAY, back to present time Wednesday, and right underneath here was supposed to be my response written on Sunday, but that didn’t quite happen- So, now the rest of this response is going to be written from Wednesday, and I’ll, like actually be responding to your response- Cause, I have more questions, if you can believe it. 

Okayyy, now, let’s get rocking and rolling this Wednesday afternoon. 

I just wanna say, I totally understand what you mean with female whumpees. Personally, I’ve always written female characters over male ones. Which is probably because I’m also, like, female myself, and resonate with female characters, and just idk how to write male characters lol- 

Sometimes, I wish female whumpees were boys sometimes though? Because listen, it feels like you can’t DO certain things with females that you can with males? Like, you can’t put your hands on a female's chest, but you can a males (even if it’s meant threateningly, not even sexually, like I don’t write sexual things, so it feels kinda limitative?? In a way?). Like it’d be more weird if a male villain shoved a female hero by her chest, then if that hero was a male, ya know? Or, I don’t feel TOO restricted with this, but sometimes it feels like males are written with more violence involved? Like they are naturally the bearers of violence and the ones who fight it, but I wanna write a female who can also be a bearer of violence and/or the one who is fighting violence too, ya know?? Idkkkk, but I get what you mean- 

Because I know I’m gonna be writing female whumpees, heroes, villains, and, honestly—female whumpers. It’s weird, because over the past two years I’ve transitioned to male whumpers to female whumpers. I think it’s a personal thing for me- But, it’s hard to go back to wanting to write males- like, romance has never been a big thing for me (as omg, there’s two things I can NOT write for the life of me, and that’s: poetry & romance– I just don’t know??? There’s a block in my head? I be like: “And they kissed. And then they pulled apart after a few seconds. And then they extracted each other from each other.” I just can’t 😭) Okay, so, I really do think I’m gonna be writing female whump- I know I should try with males though, because I still feel like they are more inherently roughed up than females, and it’s hard to go past that- for some reason, I don’t know why though?? Though, I DO love your male whumpers, your male whumpees, your female whumpees, your female whumpers, and OMG– I literally went FERAL when I read your Whumpuary 3 post- Omg Captain was 🔥🔥 hello?? my girly Captain slayed, because omg? Poor whumpee though 😞 Since, ya know, she’s, well, a she- And not a he- And is trapped on a male-dominant ship- Like, girly—run at this point. 

Also, I have NOT read the GONE series but guess who is adding it to their reading list 😃 —------------------------👉 ✨ me ✨

And I don’t care that you use the same five superpowers in every story, because you eat them up every time 👏👏👏👏 Because I feel like you always make them unique to their user. Like, Flynn, Karma, and Ambrose (I think I spelled that write??) all have, like, mind control as their power, but despite their powers being similar in their properties, they are still very different from one another? Flynn’s power seems more soothing/calming to me. And Karma commits horrendous acts against mankind with his, and while I’m not updated on IF, I remember Ambrose used his power, more so, to keep Kit inside the house and sorta compliant??? And he, like, messed with the poor boy's mind-? Overall, I just think you make each superpower so very creative, and so very crafted specifically with the user/villain in mind–?? Anyway, love all your villains with my whole heart and soul and being (FYI as I was writing this paragraph my space bar was throwing a tantrum and kept getting stuck every 5 words- so if this paragraph came out choppy it is because of my lack of patience with this broken key-)

(Don’t mind this: PLEASE publish a bookkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!)

I am totally, 100% interested in writing! And I definitely plan on writing this year! I’ve been on the biggest writer’s block ever for a whole year now- And it’s so so so hard for me to remain consistent- Seeing you write Whumpuary kinda inspires me to write though! But at the same time I’m definitely detail-oriented and I have to plan a whole layout before writing something, but I DO plan on participating in Febuwhump. Actually! I have participated in Whumpuary, and that was in January 2024. Let’s just say… I kinda called it quits after the first 2 days- I had day 1 and day 2 combined and had written a VERY (typical of me) lengthy excerpt, and had the next few days planned out to write, but I quit? I don’t remember the reason, I MUST have lost motivation? I deleted my account also- Whumpuary reblogged it though so it’s literally still on Whumpuary’s blog but with a “deactivated account” label. I remember I was really excited to participate too lol- I like had it in the queue to post at exactly 12 AM on January 1- It’s too bad I gave it up, for whatever reason- I have a horrible curse for a lack of motivation, but I’m trying to work around that this year, because it’s really, like, limiting me?? 

I love Karmaaaaaaa, he’s suchhhhhhh a good villain- And omg, I’m sorry to ask this- I know who Karma is and I know who Felix is, but who is Nathan?? I’m sorryyyyy, if I’ve literally read the drabble or series with this character I will face the corner, but, literally, idk who nathan is 😭 And I wanna know who this “proper psycho” is before my mind starts going through your whole Master Post trying to find out-

I could never criticize your work! Actually, I’ve noticed you’ve really improved over the year! Like, you’ve always been good at writing (like, since I’ve found your writing, cause everyone used to start with baby steps lol), but you write so flawlessly now- it’s unreal sometimes how good your writing is, because, like, where’s my book? (I’m being so serious rn). I just wanna say the “...when my ego gets to the size of Russia and China combined…” was really funny to me, because I literally have a map of the world set up in my room— The target audience of that joke was definitely met- 

I will be awaiting your “very angry family members” with my arms open wide if it means I can continue to praise your work and grow your ego into greater masses 🫡 I am forever at your service 🦅

Now, as you can see school is definitely going to be the number one enemy (jk I have no enemies 👼) when it comes to being as active in my fangirling for you- Buttttt, I will not let it dismay me- or you ig?? I do wanna do better this school semester since Math and Science have almost had me starting my villain arc multiple times- Though, I’ll definitely make sure to save some time to write for Febuwhump. And I think I’m actually going to try going for a series rather than individual drabbles for the whump event- I might do some prompts as a part of a series, and some as drabbles- I'm not sure yet, lol- It's still in the planning phase.

Also, I know this is late and doesn't apply anymore! BUT, in your response to my ask, you had said “...And good luck if you try writing, and IF NOT, good luck with school on Monday I’m guessing?” And I want to pretend it’s Sunday rn and say: "OMG yessssss, I have school on Monday 😓- And thank youuuuuu"

Okay, now to my questions:

Do you literally have any tips for writing superpowers? And learning how to write superpowers in general? 

Are you still in school? Because, I THINK this was you (if it wasn’t, just like let me rot in my cage in silence), but I thought I read something of yours and the comments were congratulating you on getting your degree? I think it might’ve been in the IF series comment section? I’m really not sure, like at all. I could be thinking of the wrong thing- Because I can't remember for the life of me if that was you or someone else- Though, if you DID get a degree, what was it in? If you didn't? I'm already in my cage.

Are you doing drabbles (like with Whumpuary) or a series for Febuwhump?

Also, I saw you were looking for song suggestions for your whump-stimuli (the music that gets you going in your whump feels)- and I wish I could help with that! Because, literally, my, like, “whumpiest” songs would be: “forwards beckon rebound” by Adrianne Lenker and “romantic homicide” by d4vd 😭😭 So I can’t really help you with giving you a fresher playlist lol- My playlist is NOT best suited for such endeavors at all- sorryyy

You know, I truly never understand how my “asks” (it’s more me yapping than asking 😅) get to such great lengths. Though, I’m gonna be forced to tone them down because of school lol- 

I'm not gonna lie, I've already noticed that I'm already losing my flow to writing again, and literally just because I'm being drained- Though, I really really plan on not letting that stop me pursue actually writing this year, and to be absolutely honest, I hope to write something that YOU would enjoy reading, so I hope I can get to that place, and improve-

-From your girly 💍

PS. I actually don’t think I have any PS’-? #I must be devolving #it must be the workings of my now school environment #the assassins to my creativity #the vacuum to my energy #the rope to my wrists

ACTUALLY I JUST READ WHUMPUARY NO. 7 AND I’M IN LOVE OMG OMG—

I swear to god I am going to get these asks printed out one day and start scrap booking them ahahahahaha!!! I love the length, and do NOT stress about getting back to me!!!!! This is NOT an obligatory task!!! I am happy you sent one ask at all in the first place!!! So seriously, do not stress about replying to this AT ALL!!! Nevermind quickly enough!!! You are not obligated or expected to do anything other than — I was going to say read this — but not even that!!! If YOU DO read this, and smile a little, then that is enough for me!

I will answer the questions first and put my rambles on the bottom of the message, so that you can read them at your leisure and get your questions answered without having to look for the answers!!!

QUESTIONS -

Tips for writing superpowers

Less is more when it comes to writing superpowers. You want it to be believable, and so - for example with heroes and villains, a hero wouldn't use their fire ability when they are a civilian or at home, so make it realistic like that, but when fighting a villain they go all out.

For tips on learning to write superpowers, I would recommend reading/watching superpower shows, movies, books, and writers on tumblr!!! So I watched a lot of anime when I was younger, and because of that I drew some things from anime into writing superpowers - for example, superpowers matching a person's personality

like Kit for example in IF, he has electricity/lightning abilities, and he was "a bright spark" in the Training academy that caught Mentor's attention Ambrose walks around like he's better than everyone else, like he knows what everyone's thinking, can get whatever he wants - because he literally does, so his arrogance is reflected in his power!

Then on technicalities of writing superpowers - Pinterest quick guides on fighting and action scenes help so much, so does tumblr tips on writing superpowers or action scenes so I would recommend looking at them

{I can write more advice I've learned if you want a more detailed reply to this question, just shoot me an ask and I'll happily do it.}

2. Am I in school?

No ahahahah, I am 25. You're right, I graduated college last year and I studied law for my undergrad XD

3. Drabbles or run on series for febuwhump?

I will be a drabble girly to the day I die. I think it's really cool when people do the same story for whump events, but I could never, I like the freedom of drabbles and not doing character work - because I have too many fucking series already and more in my head I cannot upload because they'll kill me - so it's nice to do nameless characters in whump events XD

BUT I'm glad you're doing a series for Febuwhump!!! I know you said you hadn't planned it out yet, but just have fun with it and I would love to read your writing if you want to tag me or whatever, and if not that is also fine ahahahahha... and don't feel embarrassed about not doing an anonymous ask or tagging me coldly in your writing, I'll read it, I don't mind if it's something you'd like but also NO PRESSURE IF YOU'RE LIKE EW NO hahahahah

RAMBLES BELOW

I try to match the vibe of the ask, especially Nonny’s, though I know who you are💍— because it is very cool that you took the time out of your day (A few of your days in this case), and left me an ask at all. (BTW I ALSO REPLY OVER MULTIPLE DAYS!!! So don’t worry at all!!)

On your stress in regards to replying/responding -

I’m glad I could shift your mood a little, but next time do not stress about anything regarding this!!! Or ELSE!!! And if you have more questions after sending an ask, just send another with the questions!! You don’t need to reply to everything I say in response if you:

1. Don’t have time 2. Don’t feel like it 3. You literally owe me nothing (just to reinforce this XD)

Also Nathan appears in the later stages of IF, hehe, (mini character spoiler) but yeah he’s in IF

On female Whumpees -

I completely understand your POV of writing female whumpees too, because I LOVE male whumpers, and also bare chests for carving and branding and bruising, it would be strange for a male whumper to do that to a female whumpee— if nothing else than just for narrative purposes— like the fact it would take you out of a story because MOST men wouldn’t do that to a woman

But at the same time I really just want to see a woman getting beaten up sometimes, which sounds so fucked up, but it is what I like in whump... even though I know that it's a trigger for some people, which I understand, it is just like - I guess, like a fucked up representation thing? Like yeah I love seeing male whumpees fucked up, but I want a female whumpee to be tortured just as much - like it is fictional, so who cares if it's realistic or not? Heheheh, sorry for the rant again

On self-embarrassment -

Also… I am a big fan of self embarrassment, no one can make you cringe like yourself😎 (which I think is what you need to write poetry and romance, a tolerance for cringe??? Idfk, I write whump, jah!!!!)

On my own delayed reply -

I am sorry for my own delayed reply, I am very slow at responding to asks, but because I am slow, don't take it as you over-stepped or anything! Don't doubt yourself when you send an ask, trust me, any writer loves to see them, as you would too, so don't doubt yourself!! Even if you don't get a response at all!!! The writer is probably just busy, but it probably made them smile reading it anyways, or getting that notification, as you'll know when you start writing

AND DON'T WORRY ABOUT NOT WANTING TO READ LENGTHY REPLIES!!! I understand that, that's why I tried to divide the reply into sections so you could digest it easier XD

To Writing—

On Consistency -

You don’t need to be consistent as a writer!!! You really don’t, especially if it’s just for fun!!! I am trying to commit to whumpuary and Febuwhump this year because i have never completed a calendar challenge ahahahahahaa (new year’s resolution) but I literally failed on the first? Second day? And then just caught up!

On Writer's block -

It happens to us all, and it sucks, but it is capitalism's fault, even creative outlets now need to be PRODUCED and if we don't do it, we feel like we are FAILING, not to mention imposter syndrome and perfectionism holding us back by saying either "That's not good enough" or "You're not good enough" and it is a battle with those in your head all the time, but if you enjoy writing at all, just do it anyways! Who cares if it's good? I am editing my series on this blog to move it to another, and holy fuck, I am reading them like "How did people enjoy this?" but they did??? And I was like "Wow I am proud of that chapter" when I wrote them at that time and I can see how much better I have gotten with writing and it's like a perception shift And of course, the more you write, the better you get at writing, the MORE - unfortunately - the perfectionist and writer's block voices get in your head, but you just need to ignore them and do it anyways, no matter your perceived standard of what is good and what isn't - like with writing on tumblr, we are comparing that writing to published books and authors who are 10, 20, 30 years older than us??? Of course their writing is more polished because they have editors and agents etc. So that is something to bear in mind too!!! I would recommend to look at a Stephen King Interview on writing because he is so like - he breaks it down so well, he says you should try to write X amount of words or pages a day, and it doesn't have to be good words or pages, just write, even if it won't be published whatever, it's like a craft and he masters it and I would recommend looking at his interviews, I do when I get sad and stuck on writer's block, and he says as well that no first draft is good AND WRITING ON TUMBLR YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN TIME!!!!! You can publish whenever you like, if you are more perfectionist, then don't publish until you are ready, if not (like me) just publish and edit later when you feel like it - like there are no rules!!! So for something like Febuwhump, set your goal as "I will do one day, I will complete one prompt" And if you do that on the first day? Bingo bongo, you did it! And then anything extra is extra!!!

On Motivation -

Look motivation is a cruel mistress, and you're still in school which requires a lot more brain power than what I use everyday, and if you have some favourite writers on tumblr, some of them will have their age in their bio and you'll most likely see their 18+ - like the ones I love are usually in their 20s, 18+ - because we're not in school anymore ahahahahah, I wrote a lot in notebooks in school, not online because school was hard enough, and very draining TLDR - if you lose motivation that's okay, just don't beat yourself up about the amount of writing you're able to do by comparing it to people who don't have school to stress them out 24/7 okay?

SCHOOL TAKES UP SO MUCH TIME AND EFFORT LET IT -

do not worry about replying to what I write, or fangirling or anything like that - trust me, focus on real life first you little cinnamon roll

DO NOT FEEL PRESSURE TO REPLY TO ANY OF THIS!!!!!

Thank you for the ask <3

I hope you have a good week and are not too tired yet, one more day to go until Friday and freedom :)

[sophieswundergarten]

I’ve learned that when it comes to you, “heeheehoohoo” means “whump whump whump whump whump”

Well, it's a phrase I picked up from my friends :)

[jon-withnoh]

Danbea prompts, you say?! "There was only one bed" #3 - Person A waking up to Person B curled up and sleeping on top of them. (Tbh any of the "there was only one bed" prompts.)

Okay so this became a whole thing. Here is part one of two I hope you enjoy! (Beware, this is three thousand words long.)

Danny drew her coat around herself, shivering. It was snowing so heavily she could not see more than a few feet in front of her. Clutching her carpet bag in both hands, Danny began to move in the direction of where she suspected the stationmaster’s house to be. She had only gone a few steps when a figure emerged out of the flurry of snow around her, knocking into her with surprising momentum. 

“Oh dear,” said the figure. “I do apologise. I cannot see further than my own feet in this weather.” 

Danny stopped short. “Mrs Lacy?”

Mrs Lacy, bundled up so heavily as to be almost unrecognisable, did a double-take. “Miss Danvers. Now what on earth are you doing here?”

“Mrs de Winter sent me ahead on the train so I could meet her when she arrived.” 

“She’s driving?”

“Yes, Madam. She has an appointment in London today and will set out afterwards.”

“Hm.” Mrs Lacy’s exhale produced a small cloud of steam. “I doubt she will be able to set out in this weather. I spoke to the conductor just before the delay was announced. They have had reports of heavy snowfall all over the country, even in London.” 

Danny gave a non-comittal shrug. 

“What do you recommend we do now?” Mrs Lacy asked. 

“There is no chance of continuing our journey this afternoon?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mrs Lacy said. “There are snow drifts all along the way. They will have to wait to clear them until it stops snowing. It would be a wasted effort otherwise. I suggest we go to the village and beg for a room somewhere. Come, I shall take you under my wing, seeing as you are without your lady and I am without a maid.” 

Danny opened her mouth and closed it again. She could see blurry figures all around them, moving from the train in the direction of the stationhouse. Clearly, Mrs Lacy was not the only one who trusted the train conductor’s assesment of the situation. Danny found herself torn. What if Rebecca did set out from London and Danny was not there to receive her? Should she not try and make her way to Scotland via some other route?

Mrs Lacy had been watching her. “Miss Danvers, we are in the middle of Lancashire. We are entirely reliant on the train and the train will not depart until tomorrow at the very least. If Rebecca does arrive before us and gives you any trouble, I will personally vouch for your dedicated attempts to continue your journey.” 

Danny blushed. “Thank you, Mrs Lacy.” 

“Good girl,” Mrs Lacy said, interpreting her thanks as aquiescence. “Follow me, I have excellent directional instincts.” 

Mrs Lacy led the way through the stationhouse and into the town beyond. It was small, smaller than Kerrith or even Lanyon. Spotting the pub amongst the row of houses along King’s street was no difficult feat, though Danny kept this thought to herself. Mrs Lacy gave her a triumphant smile and pointed at the pub, picking up her stride. Danny hurried after her. The snow on the pavement had not been cleared. It was beginning to melt inside her boots. 

As soon as Mrs Lacy pushed open the worn entrance door to the pub, Danny realised that they were not the only passengers to think of taking shelter here, nor had they been the first. She watched Mrs Lacy’s smile faulter as she took in the mass of people crowded around the fire place, the bar, and the reception desk. Nonetheless, the two of them joined the queue by the desk and waited their turn. 

The woman behind the desk gave them a cheerful smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Good afternoon,” Mrs Lacy said. “We were on the train that is currently stranded at the station and would like to spend the night. What kind of rooms can you offer us?”

“Offer? You don’t suppose you were the only passengers looking for rooms, do you? I have one room available and that is it. It is small, but neat and tidy as all our rooms are. It should have twin beds. Ethel—” The woman turned and called over her shoulder. “It’s twin beds, isn’t it?” There was a call of assent from somewhere at the back of the room. “There you have it. One room, twin beds, will that suit you and your—”

“Lady’s maid,” Mrs Lacy said. “And I suppose we will have to make do.” 

“Very well then,” said the woman. “Here is your key. You’ll want to take a left at the top of the stairs and go to the very end of the corridor.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Lacy said. “Come along, Miss Danvers, I am sure we will be quite comfortable.” 

Mrs Lacy’s easy familiarity made her blush. She was used to it from Rebecca, but that was different. They had grown up together; she had taken care of Rebecca when Rebecca had still been afraid of the dark. Mrs Lacy barely knew her. Still, she followed Mrs Lacy up the stairs and down a narrow corridor with doors on either side. As the woman had said, their room was at the very end. It was much colder here than it had been downstairs, where the logs were piled high in the fireplace and there was a steady stream of hot soup and tea from the kitchens. Danny stood back as Mrs Lacy set down her suitcase and unlocked the door.

“Hm,” Mrs Lacy said. “Hm.”

“Is anything the matter, Mrs Lacy?”

Mrs Lacy thought on this for a moment. “You see, I distinctly recall that woman downstairs speaking about twin beds, and, for that matter, confirming the existence of twin beds with Ethel, whoever she is. Do step inside this room and tell me what you see.” 

Curious, Danny went to stand next to Mrs Lacy and peered into the room. It was very neat, as the woman had said, with chequered curtains and a small peat fire in the fireplace. What did not match her description at all was the bed against the righthand wall. It too was exceedingly neat with a plain coverlet and clean white sheets, but it was decidedly one bed, intended for two sleepers. Danny’s cheeks burned. 

“She must have been mistaken,” Mrs Lacy said. “I shall go downstairs and see what they can do. Maybe they can swap our room with someone else’s. There must be something they can do.”

Danny bowed her head as Mrs Lacy turned down the corridor once more. She waited until the decided clunk clunk clunk of Mrs Lacy’s boots on the stairs had faded, then stepped eagerly into the room to stand beside the fire. However long it took Mrs Lacy to rectify the situation was as good an opportunity as any to warm up. Danny set down her bag and held out her hands. She sighed as the warmth of the fire began to envelop her frozen fingertips. She closed her eyes, feeling herself come back to life. 

“There is nothing to be done.” 

Danny whirled around. Mrs Lacy had returned, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. 

“It is this or finding another place to sleep and at this rate, every establishment will be completely packed by the time we get there. If only I had some acquaintance here who I could persuade to take us in, but of course, we are in Lancashire. We shall have to make ourselves as comfortable as we can.”

That was that. Mrs Lacy set down her suitcase on the stand at the foot of the bed and began to sort through her things. Danny remained standing by the fireplace, her hands folded. She tried to conceal her horror at this development. To share a room with a woman of Mrs Lacy’s standing — would Rebecca expect her to act as lady’s maid to someone who was not Rebecca? 

Danny kept her mouth shut and her eyes fixed on the floor as Mrs Lacy made herself at home. She followed silently as Mrs Lacy suggested they go in quest of dinner and ate her soup with as little conversation as she could muster. Fortunately, Mrs Lacy did not seem to require any long speeches from her. She seemed happy enough to converse without much back and forth, though more than once Danny found herself the recipient of an amused smile. Danny kept her eyes on her soup, unwilling to interrogate why the gentle curve of Mrs Lacy’s mouth flustered her so much. Finally, Mrs Lacy set down her cup of after-dinner tea and stifled a yawn behind her hand. 

“We had better turn in,” she said. “If they do get the train up and running over night we do not want to miss it.” 

Danny made to rise from her chair, but froze midway. She had carefully avoided thinking about the issue of turning in all afternoon. To share a room with Mrs Lacy was bad enough — there would be no way of avoiding each other in such close quarters — but to share a bed? Danny had not shared a bed with anyone since childhood, and never with a stranger. Maybe she could sleep in the chair next to the bed. Surely Mrs Lacy would be relieved at the suggestion. 

“Are you coming?” Mrs Lacy was halfway across the room already, calling over her shoulder. Danny hurried after her. 

Someone had come to turn down the bed and draw the curtains while they had been at dinner. The fire had been stoked and the lamp on the bedside table turned on. It would have been quite comfortable if Danny had not been so full of dread at what was to come. 

“Well,” Mrs Lacy said, “we had better not dawdle. I will brush my teeth and then we shall see about our sleeping arrangement.” She went over to her suitcase and took out a small bag.

Once Mrs Lacy had gone to find the bathroom down the hall, Danny forced herself to move from her spot by the door. She had left her carpet bag on the chair by the bed. She opened it gingerly, knowing already that she would find nothing but a few essentials. Everything else was neatly folded away in her suitcase and that had been sent up to Scotland along with Rebecca’s luggage. 

By the time Mrs Lacy returned, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing the dress she had traveled in. 

“You haven’t changed?”

“I have nothing to change into… Madam,” she added quickly. “My suitcase was sent ahead this morning along with Mrs de Winter’s things.” 

“That is unfortunate. You’ll have to borrow something of mine then.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Danny said decisively.

“Are you sure?”

Danny nodded. 

Mrs Lacy shrugged and turned to her suitcase. Danny averted her eyes as Mrs Lacy took out a nightgown and sat on the edge of the bed to take off her shoes. Remembering that she had brought a toothbrush, Danny stood up from the bed and excused herself to go to the bathroom. Shivering in the draughty room, Danny brushed her teeth. There was no warm water. Her shivers intensified as she washed her face. When she straightened up, her cheeks were bright red. 

Back in the little room, Mrs Lacy had finished changing. She had chosen the left side of the bed and was sitting up with her dressing gown draped around her shoulders. Danny noticed the coverlet, folded carelessly and left on the floor next to Mrs Lacy’s suitcase. 

“I hope you don’t mind my taking this side,” Mrs Lacy said. “I prefer to sleep further away from the door.”

“No, I…” Danny cleared her throat. “I don’t mind at all.” Avoiding Mrs Lacy’s gaze, she went over to the right side of the bed and sat in the chair next to it, folding her hands. 

“You cannot be serious.”

“Madam?”

“Miss Danvers, don’t tell me you mean to sit up all night in that chair?”

Danny opened her mouth, helplessly, but could not think of anything to say. 

“No, that simply will not do,” Mrs Lacy said fiercely. “You will wreck your back and resent me all the way to Scotland. I will not have that.” 

“I wouldn’t resent you.” Danny kept her eyes downcast. “But you must allow that I am doing what is right. You shouldn’t be forced to…”

“Forced? Forced? Miss Danvers, you do not think you are forcing me into anything, do you?”

“No,” Danny conceded, “but the circumstances…”

“My dear girl, if I had truly been outraged by the circumstances, I would have fought much harder to rectify the situation. My pockets might not be as deep as my brothers, but they are most certainly deep enough to find a suitable place to sleep, even in an overcrowded country inn. No, while this is inconvenient, I did not think it worth the effort to turn this whole place on its head merely so I would not have to share a room with my esteemed sister in law’s maid. Now come to bed. You will thank me tomorrow.” 

Unable to form another word of protest, Danny rose from her chair and sat on the edge of the bed. She unhooked her boots and put them closer to the fire to dry. With trembling fingers, she pulled her hair out of its twist and began to comb it with her fingers. There was movement on the other side of the bed. A moment later, Mrs Lacy wordlessly held out her hairbrush. 

“Thank you.” 

Danny wrapped her fingers around the handle of the brush. The dark wood was worn smooth, resting well in her hand. Danny brushed her hair in silence. She could feel Mrs Lacy watching her, it gave her the sensation that her skin was burning all over with a small, but strangely pleasant fire.

Hastily, Danny braided her hair and handed back the brush. 

“Thank you,” she said again. 

“If you wanted to take off your corset for the night,” Mrs Lacy said matter-of-factly, “you would be more than welcome. I won’t look.” 

Would the mortification never end? Moving as quickly as possible, Danny rid herself of the aforementioned undergarment, hastily buttoning up her dress again once it was done. Feeling rather exposed, despite the layers of fabric still covering her, Danny returned to the bed and sat on top of the covers, her back against the wooden headboard. Mrs Lacy raised an eyebrow. 

“Please,” Danny said. “You must allow me at least this. I couldn’t— with someone of your standing, it would be… please, Mrs Lacy, I will be fine.”

“Very well,” Mrs Lacy said patiently. “If you change your mind…”

“Good night, Mrs Lacy.”

“Good night, Miss Danvers.” 

The room sank into silence at once. Mrs Lacy turned onto her side and, with a small huff of exhaustion, was asleep within minutes. Danny sat up in bed, staring now at her hands, now at the fire and more often than not, she was ashamed to admit, at Mrs Lacy. She had often noticed that Mr de Winter’s sister was very handsome. Though his senior by almost a decade, her face had lost none of the youthful mischievousness that smiled down at the visitors of Manderley from pictures painted in Mrs Lacy’s youth. Her eyes were invariably kind, whether she was looking at her brother, Rebecca, or even one of the servants. In sleep, there was something else in her expression, a vulnerability Danny had never seen before. It was difficult to look away. It took an hour for Danny to convince herself that Mrs Lacy would not suddenly wake up and find Danny staring at her. Danny thought she might never look her fill. 

Before going to bed, she had wondered what it would feel like to be trapped in a room like this with Rebecca. Would Rebecca have allowed her to sleep on the bed? Would Rebecca have wanted her to? Danny could not say. Rebecca would not have looked at her the way Mrs Lacy had, though once she was asleep, Danny was certain the situation would have been the same. She would have looked and looked at Rebecca, her face as impenetrable in sleep as it was in waking. She would have warmed Rebecca’s hands during the night, leaning forward in her chair. She would have sat and burned and waited for an invitation that would not come. 

Mrs Lacy rolled over and sighed in her sleep, the covers drawn up almost to her nose. Danny’s back was aching. Moving carefully, so as not to wake Mrs Lacy, she lay down on top of the covers, first on her back and then, relenting, facing the centre of the bed. 

“Good night, Mrs Lacy,” she whispered and, pressing her eyes tight shut, drifted off to sleep. 

Danny awoke shivering. She was curled up on top of the covers, arms wrapped around her chest to trap a warmth that was not there. Her muscles felt sore from the cold. How long had she been shaking in her sleep. Danny did not notice the hand on her shoulder until it gave a gentle squeeze. She gasped in shock and turned around to find Mrs Lacy sitting up in bed with her arm outstretched. 

“Miss Danvers,” Mrs Lacy said groggily. “You’ll catch your death.” 

“Let me j-just—” Her teeth were chattering so intensely she had to break off and start again. “I will rekindle the fire.” 

“There’s nothing here to rekindle it with.”

“That f-feels like an oversight.” 

Mrs Lacy held up the bedcovers. “I would prefer if you did not freeze to death under my supervision. Rebecca would never forgive me.” 

Danny shook her head, weakly. 

“Miss Danvers, what does it matter who I am or why we are here? You can barely speak for shivering. Don’t be a fool and we will never discuss this night again.”

Danny’s eyes darted from Mrs Lacy to the empty grate and back again. It could not have been past three in the morning. It would be hours before she could go down and ask for their fire to be lit. Mrs Lacy tugged at the bedcovers, her face expectant. 

It did not feel like defeat, slipping under the covers next to Mrs Lacy. Danny was much too cold to feel anything but relief. Even under the covers, her muscles would not stop twitching. 

“There now,” Mrs Lacy said gently. She pulled up the covers to cover Danny’s shoulders, then took her dressing gown from the foot of the bed and piled it on top of Danny as well, rubbing her arm through the layers of fabric. “There now,” she said again. “That’s much better, isn’t it?”

Danny could not reply. She was beginning to feel warmer under the covers, too comfortable and exhausted to speak. Mrs Lacy seemed to understand. She lay back down, facing Danny and closed her eyes. Danny expected her to withdraw her hand now, but it stayed where it was, gently brushing along her arm.