#I wanted to post this roughly four hours ago. ]

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 1

I catch a glimpse of the pilot as she is wheeled towards the med bay. Her eyes have that telltale glaze of just having been wrenched out of herself.

I've never spoken a single word to her, but for a moment as the gurney slides by, those eyes briefly clear, ice blue pinning me to the spot. She raises an emaciated arm and her hand almost seems to beckon to me before something in the gurney clicks and whirs and she slips back into catatonia.

That brief moment of clarity, that piercing gaze, unsettles me. She recognized me.

It's neural bleed. I know it has to be. She doesn't know me, but Morrigan does.

Good god. In the pilot's present state of post combat haze, she probably doesn't even know where she ends and the machine begins.

Does neural bleed work both ways? Is it her head that I'm about to climb into?

My wrist strap buzzes. I have a job to do and I am late.

The pilot is a problem for the med team and the psychs.

The machine is my problem.

I hurry down the corridor, keeping my head down, avoiding the eyes of every passerby.

I don't like people.

I don't like how their eyes follow me. I don't like the whispered gossip that follows me.

One of the techs is waiting for me at the vestibule.

I don't know his name.

All clear, he says to me. Time to work your magic.

He says it without sarcasm. Others have been less kind.

Even so, he can't quite hide the leer as I strip down to the skinsuit. I don't have the physique of a pilot. My body hasn't been subjected to the stresses that ravage their bodies. Unlike them, I have fat and muscle and the skinsuit clings to every curve of my body.

I force a cursory smile and try to forget him as I walk barefoot to my destination.

The vestibule is small, windowless. It's impossible to assess the scale of the machine from here. The only part visible to me is roughly four square meters of pitted and scarred metal plating framing the access hatch and the pilot's cradle beyond.

B0-987T the stenciled lettering reads. And below, in flowing script, is “The Morrigan”.

She's a Javellin class, medium weapons fire support unit. She isn't meant to be on the front lines in a skirmish, but one-on-one, she can hold her own against a Wraith. Which is exactly what happened only a few hours ago.

I place a bare palm on the bulkhead. She thrums with some distant vibration. Her reactor is still online, still in the early stages of drawdown as she transitions to dock power.

“Hey beautiful,” I say to her.

I think of the pilot. I think of piercing blue eyes and I think of neural bleed.

I flinch my hand away.

The tech looks at me, asks if I'm alright. I'm fine, I tell him.

I climb through the hatch and into the cradle.

I feel like an interloper here. The cradle isn't calibrated for my body. Everything still smells like the pilot. Mingled with the smell of the machine is her sweat and her adrenaline and the particular scented soap that she prefers.

There is a faint whirring as her cameras track my movements from a dozen angles. The access ports open to receive me.

Against my better judgment, I imagine eagerness for this exchange.

This is immediately followed by an all too familiar sense of inadequacy. The engineers’ rig is not nearly as all encompassing as a pilots’. It's only the most basic neural interface. No haptics. No neurotransmitter feedback. No access to the suite of sensors studded throughout her hull.

I can't interface with her the way her pilot can.

My rig is a remnant from basic training. The pilot corps wanted me for my exceptional ratings in synchrony and neuro-elasticity, but after serval training exercises, they determined that I didn't have the temperament for the battlefield. I froze up too easily.

A neural rig is a massive investment and removing one will fuck a person up a hell of a lot more than installing one. The selection process is designed to weed out washouts before we even get to installation, but some of us still slip through the cracks. Most end up reassigned to logistics, operating loader mechs or piloting long haul supply frigates. But my aptitudes made me ideal for the engineering corps, so here I am.

Morrigan senses my mood and the cradle shifts slightly, aligning itself to my dimensions. Her eagerness to connect morphs into a sort of tender reassurance. It's a slippery slope, ascribing human emotions to these machines, but she does seem genuinely happy to see me.

I can never be part of what she and her pilot have, but I can be part of something in my own way.

The pilot knows about me, she would even without neural bleed. Does she envy the relationship I have with her mech? Does she envy that I can exist both together and apart with the machine?

Is she jealous of us?

Morrigan slips her jacks into my rig and my mind enters hers and I feel tension leave my body. Some dull ache that I wasn't even consciously aware of ebbs within me.

My senses dull and my visual cortex is fed a series of diagnostic logs and telemetry streams. The techs have access to the exact same data, but Morrigan highlights particular data points that she and the pilot flagged. I log them in the engineering report.

A wireframe schematic of the battlefield spreads out in my awareness. Green markers for our battlegroup. Red markers for the pack of Wraith interlopers.

I hear the ghost of music, strange and ambient, like whale song. The first time I heard it, I asked the techs about it. They had no idea what I was talking about. One even suggested I get an eval for some psych leave.

Later I realized Morrigan was singing to me. Or rather she was interpreting tightbeam comm links as something my brain could process. A human mind can't possibly interpret the full datastream, but with Morrigans's rendition, I can suss out the basic meanings. The battlegroup is a choir and Morrigan is playing me their song.

I caused quite a stir when I first made that connection and started flagging battle events the analysts had missed.

I survey the battlefield before me, reconstructed from feeds from TacCom and all the individual mechs.

Morrigan and I have done this enough times that she knows my preferred display layout, but she holds back, allowing me to pull off the virtual displays on my peripheral vision. There's an odd sort of intimacy to it, her letting me take charge like this.

God-knows how many tons of metal and ceramic and miles and miles of wire and optic fiber and see waits eagerly for me to start the playback sim. She wants to show off. She wants me to assess the actions of her and her pilot and tell them they did well.

Other engineers, few as we are, have mentioned similar experiences with their assigned machines.

“Alright,” I whisper so that only she can hear. “Show me the dance. Sing me the song.”

(Next)

[elleaitch22]

Love on Fire

Chapter 6: Small Bump

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANON!!!! I’m so sorry I hurt so many of you last night. It gets worse today. I cried four times writing this chapter. This is the storm before the rainbow, so stick it out with our girls! I hope that even in the grief, you love this! xx Elle

Warnings: Pregnancy loss, grief, medical trauma, medical procedure, dissociation, depression

Word Count: 4.1k words

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

Paige didn’t know what to do.

She was filming a TikTok with Cam and Rickea when a message from Azzi came through.

“She’s in your phone as ‘Princess?’ Oh, you are horrendously down bad.” Rickea teased.

She ignored the woman with a small smile, picked up her phone, and swiped down to see the message.

Princess 💗👸🏽👩🏽‍🍳: I’m bleeding. A lot

The smile fell from her face instantly.

She didn’t say anything, just ran to find a supervisor. Stewie. DT. Somebody.

She physically ran into the tall, pale brunette.

“Woah, Bueckers. Where’s the fire?” She joked.

Paige couldn’t say anything. She looked at the words again.

I’m bleeding. A lot

“I think Azzi’s having a miscarriage,” She whispered, not even able to believe it herself.

Stewie nudged her towards the front. “Take as much time as you need. Keep me posted.”

The blonde nodded and raced to her car, not answering any of the calls of her name as she blew by everyone.

She replied to Azzi and threw her car in gear.

Fuck.

Not Peanut.

Azzi had been so close to that twelve-week mark.

The point when the risk for miscarriage practically disappeared.

Three days ago, they were laughing about how big Peanut’s head was.

And now?

“Hey, Siri. Call Olivia Nelson-Ododa.”

Her friend picked up on the third ring. “Everything good, Paige?”

“No,” She started. Her eyes blurred with tears and her throat tightened. “Azzi’s having a miscarriage.”

A low gasp sounded over the phone, “I’m so sorry, Paige. Do you want to bring her in? I can be at the hospital in 30.”

“I – ”  Her voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do, Liv. Tell me what to do.” Tears falling.

“Well, first, you have to stop crying. Her body is flooding her system with hormones, and someone needs to have some control.” She started.

Paige nodded, even though the doctor couldn’t see her. She roughly wiped the tears off her face and cleared her throat. “Okay.”

“Have her take a shower. Nothing crazy or too long. She may not know it now, but she’ll appreciate being clean. And make sure she has something really comfortable to wear. Nothing that has sentimentality though, you don’t want her tying this moment to a comfort item.” Liv continued.

She needed to go to the store then. She would get different soap, shampoo, and conditioner so none of her favorites would be tainted by the loss of Peanut. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Then you’re going to bring her to the hospital. I’ll be there, and I’ll do the rest. You just have to be there with her. Be there for her. That’s all you can do.” Olivia finished. “I’m so, so sorry, Paige.”

“Yeah, me too.” She whispered. “Thanks, Liv. I’ll see you in an hour.”

She disconnected the call the same time she pulled into parking spot. She rushed into the store. She chose a mango scented body wash, jasmine scented shampoo and conditioner, and a soft, red sweatsuit.

She was back in her car within five minutes.

Azzi still hadn’t called, and Paige didn’t know if she should have been worried.

When she got to the house, she didn’t call out. She didn’t make any real noise.

Azzi was sitting on the toilet, shorts around her ankles.

“Azzi?” Paige called, moving towards her quietly.

Azzi heard her name like it was underwater. She couldn’t move her legs. Couldn’t lift her arms. She wasn’t cold, but she shivered anyway.

She didn’t answer or even look like she’d heard Paige.

Paige squatted in front of her. Those perfect brown eyes, usually so expressive, were vacant. She cupped her cheek gently, and her eyes came back to life.

“Hi, Az.”

She blinked at Paige, returning her eyes to the wall behind her best friend.

Paige thought. She needed to do what Liv had told her. She reached over and turned the shower on. Hot. Like Azzi had always liked.

She grabbed the bag from the store and set the body wash in the shower. She tossed the clothes on the shower before remembering. She grabbed a pair of Azzi’s underwear and an overnight pad.

When she went back into the bathroom, she spoke again. “We’re going to take a shower, then we’re gonna go to the hospital, okay?”

Azzi still didn’t reply, but she didn’t fight when Paige pulled her clothes off or when she led them into the shower.

The lively brunette was practically catatonic, and that terrified Paige.

Water slid over Azzi’s skin, but she felt… nothing. Like her body was a story someone else had written and left behind. She didn’t know where she’d gone. Her hands worked, her legs moved, but her mind… it had folded up and left the room. It was easier not to be there. She wanted to ask Paige to lie to her. To say it was all a mistake. But she was afraid she’d believe it.

Paige washed, dried, and dressed her quickly and with no fuss before starting their journey to the hospital.

Olivia was waiting for them, just like she’d promised. The wheelchair she’d brought out didn’t even bother the normally independent Azzi.

After Paige gently placed her on the seat, she moved to push it when there was a grip on her wrist.

Azzi still wasn’t looking at her, but she was holding on, refusing to let go. Paige adjusted the hold, flipping her hand to lace their fingers together.

They are taken to an exam room; one stocked with an ultrasound machine.

“Azzi,” Liv called softly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I have to do an ultrasound, so we can all know what’s going on. Can you get on the table?”

She didn’t say anything, just squeezed Paige’s hand tightly.

“Can I put you on the table, Az?” Paige questioned.

At the next squeeze, softer this time, Paige lifted her from the wheelchair and deposited her on the table. She pulled the chair up to the side. Paige held her hand again, free one coming up the brush through her hair gently.

“I’m right here Azzi. I’m always here with you. You’re not alone, I promise. I won’t ever leave you alone.” She muttered the words on repeat until Liv interjected.

“Azzi? There’s no heartbeat. I’m so sorry.”

No one said anything.

Azzi knew already.

Paige knew.

But the confirmation.

Peanut was gone.

Azzi turned to Paige, eyes shining, chin quivering.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Paige brought her forehead to Azzi’s.

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

Azzi hadn’t cried. At all. At the first gush of blood, she’d gone completely silent.

Until now. Until Paige touched her forehead to Azzi’s and wrapped around her like she could shield her from this.

A sob bubbled up, and Azzi couldn’t keep it in. She tried to breathe. Deep inhales to calm herself down, but she couldn’t. Just these big, heavy, heart wrenching sobs poured from her lips. Her hand cradled her stomach. Clenched the skin that would stretch with the fullness of a baby.

Azzi had always been a quiet crier. She always thought those loud crying on tv was fake. But now, now she knew how real those sobs were.

She could hear Liv asking her a question, she just couldn’t bring herself to answer.

She just kept her head where it was. With Paige.

Paige would handle it all. She would handle it all and help Azzi put the pieces of her heart back together.

And she did. Azzi could hear her asking Liv the questions.

“When did the heartbeat stop?” Paige asked.

“Most likely the day after her last appointment a couple of days ago.”

She had just missed it. Maybe if it happened while she was at the doctor, they could’ve done something. Azzi thought to herself.

“Was there anything that could have been done?” Paige paused. “I don’t want her to blame herself.”

“No. Most miscarriages before 13 weeks don’t have a specific cause. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent this.”

“I don’t want her to have to do this alone at home. Is there anything you can do?”

“We’re squeezing her in as an emergency tonight,” Liv said quietly. “The OR’s already been cleared.”

Yes. That’s what Azzi wanted. She just wanted it all to be over.

“I don’t want her to be alone, Liv.”

“I’m sorry Paige. It’s a sterile field. I can let you be there until she’s put under, then I’ll take you to her right after.”

“What if she wants to try again?”

“Remember what I told you?” Liv asked. “If there’s a miscarriage, wait a month or two and switch to IVF.

“My last question is what should we expect after we get back home.”

“Well, in two weeks she needs to be back for her follow up. She should get her cycle five or six times. Then four to six weeks later, she’ll be able to try IVF if she wants.”

Paige pulled away from Azzi a bit.

“Azzi, do you want to do it tonight or tomorrow?” She asked quietly.

The woman just nodded, head hidden in Paige’s neck. “Just want it to be over.” She said between sobs.

“Okay,” Paige nodded, pulling her closer. “Okay, we’ll do it tonight. And then we can go home.”

Liv moved towards the door quietly, “I already had a room set up for her, so she can be a little more comfortable while she’s waiting to be taken back.”

Paige sighed, “Thank you, Liv. Seriously.” She coaxed Azzi’s face out of her neck, heart breaking a bit at the grief written all over her face. “We’re going to get you to a room, okay, Az?”

The brunette nodded, eyes puffy and a little distant.

Olivia got them to a room. “I’ll be around to check in with you guys. The procedure is scheduled for 10 tonight.”

Paige moved around where Azzi laying on the bed until a hand shot out.

“What’s up, Azzi?” Blue eyes were wide with sadness and anxiety.

She tugged the blonde down to the hospital bed. Paige smiled sadly before stretching out and pulling the younger woman closer.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Azzi. I promise.”

Azzi just hummed absently.

“Do you want me to call anyone?” Paige hesitated. “I can call your mom and dad?” The head on her chest shook. “What about Katie and my dad?” A nod. A tiny nod, but a nod nonetheless.

Support Staff (Unpaid)

Paige 💜: at the hospital. azzi had a miscarriage

She exhaled roughly. Typing that made it a little more real, and it hurt a lot more than it should have.

It wasn’t common for Azzi to be feeling something that Paige couldn’t pull her out of, but this? Paige had no idea how to help her.

Her phone lit up with messages.

Katie 🌻🥧: I’m on the way.

Pops 🛠️🏡: We’ll be in the waiting room. Will wait until she wants to see us.

Katie 🌻🥧: Do you guys need anything?

Paige 💜: nah. she can’t eat or anything. they're gonna do a procedure

Katie 🌻🥧: Ok. Let me know if anything changes.

Paige locked her phone, wanting to launch it to the wall.

It wasn’t fair. Azzi didn’t deserve this. Peanut didn’t deserve this. She just pulled Azzi closer, hugged her tighter.

Three days ago, they were excited. Azzi’s smile was so bright as she talked about Peanut. She walked around the house, content to tell the baby everything she was doing.

It seemed like everything was going to be perfect.

And then the world came crashing down.

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

A few hours later, not much had changed.

She still hadn’t spoken to anyone else, only Paige. Even when Katie came in earlier, Azzi had looked at her with broken eyes and cried. Katie held Azzi’s hand with a firm grip.

“This doesn’t have to be the end, Azzi. You are strong and resilient.” Katie said.

She and Bob left after sitting with them for an hour, promising they’d come back tonight when Azzi was having the procedure.

 Katie 🌻🥧: We’ll talk when we come back.

Katie 🌻🥧: You’re being so strong for her. I’m proud of you Paige.

The blonde just liked both messages, dropping her phone to the bed when a nurse came in.

“Hello, Ms. Fudd.” She began gently. “I’m sorry for your loss. I just came by to ask a few questions before your D&C.”

Paige didn’t understand how the woman could ask the questions so calmly, like their entire world wasn’t falling to pieces. She wasn’t being cold or unkind; she was warm, but she moved through everything like this happened every day.

“Have you been under general anesthesia before?” She questioned.

When Azzi buried her face deeper in Paige’s chest, she answered for her. “Yes. She has. We know the drill, how she reacts, and what to expect when she’s coming out of it.”

The nurse nodded, gratefully. “Does she have any allergies?” Paige shook her head.  “Okay, thank you. I’m sorry to ask this last question, but you have the option to have tests run on the fetus if you would like to know what caused the loss.”

Azzi whimpered quietly and Paige’s head shot up. “What?” Her voice cracked.

The nurse rushed to explain herself. “Sometimes it helps the mother. Helps her know, get confirmation, that it wasn’t her fault.”

Paige thought. She knew Azzi would blame herself for this, but maybe it could help if there was some reason about why this happened to Peanut. She cleared her throat, “Yes. We would appreciate that. Thank you.”

She nodded, her smile small, but warm. She set a gown, a pair of socks, and a hair net in a stack on the counter. “Please help her change into this. They will be coming to get her in the next thirty minutes.”

After the nurse left, they rested on the bed, not moving. When Paige scooted bad a little, Azzi’s grip on her hoodie tightened.

“I don’t want to do this.” She mumbled. “If I put the gown on, it’s all gonna be real.”

Paige’s breath hitched, “Oh, Azzi.” She whispered, running her hand over her hair.

“I know what’s happening, but I want it to be a dream. I want to go to sleep and wake up and try again.” Azzi rambled.

Tears were falling again, but slower this time, like she was resigning herself to reality.

“I just wanted to have a baby. I don’t understand.” Her voice cracked at the end.

Paige couldn’t say anything. She had no words of encouragement. She was afraid that anything she said would either minimize the loss or brush over the fact that Peanut ever existed.

So, she just inhaled deeply and spoke from the heart. “I know, Azzi. And I’m so sorry. You and Peanut didn’t deserve this. I know it may not feel like it, but you’re already a mommy, Az. I know you won’t get to hold your baby, but you loved Peanut for their entire life. I wish I could take this pain from you. I’m so so sorry. But I promise you. You will have another baby. You will hold your baby one day. In your arms. Against your chest. I don’t care what I have to do to make it happen..”

This time, Azzi let her pull away. “You won’t leave?” She whispered quietly.

“Never going anywhere, Az.”

Paige pulled off her slides and socks. She tugged the soft hospital socks over Azzi’s feet with care, smoothing the heel until it fit just right. She didn’t say anything — just stayed kneeling in front of her, forehead to shin, wishing she could carry Azzi’s grief for her.

The sweatpants went next; she covered her best friend so she wouldn’t feel exposed. She unzipped the sweatshirt before pulling the gown around her body, tying the ties quickly. She gathered the soft, dark coils and pulled them into a ponytail. The blue hair cap looked silly on the woman, but Paige knew she’d never seen anyone as beautiful as Azzi.

Liv came with a few other people, and they began to wheel Azzi to the operating room. Azzi didn’t let go of Paige’s hand once.

They moved Azzi onto the operating table. She winced as they inserted a needle into her arm. They pushed a medication in, and Azzi felt herself getting drowsy.

Her big brown eyes stayed on Paige. “You won’t leave?” She asked again.

“I’m not going anywhere. When you wake up, I’ll be right here. I promise.”

And she really did stay. She stayed until the mask covered Azzi’s nose and mouth. She stayed next to the love of her life until someone escorted her out.

As she padded to the waiting room, Paige prayed.

She prayed that the operation would go perfectly.

She prayed that Peanut was having fun up there.

She prayed that Azzi would be able to get pregnant again.

She prayed that Azzi would have a healthy, full-term pregnancy.

She prayed that Azzi would have a healthy, happy baby.

She prayed that Azzi could still have a good birthday.

She prayed that Azzi would let her help her.

She prayed that Azzi would be okay, that she would be happy.

“Paige,” She stopped praying and looked to her left.

“Katie,” She said, her voice wavering.

Paige had gone the entire day without letting herself break down the way she needed to. She needed to be strong for Azzi; one of them needed to be in control.

Her dad and step mom pulled her into a tight hug, letting her cry into their small huddle.

“Do you want me to get you anything, kiddo? Water? Dinner?” Bob asked.

Paige shook her head. “If I eat anything, I’m going to throw up.”

“That’s okay, sweet girl. We’re just here.” Katie said, softly.

“She was going to tell you guys this weekend. Got a onesie that said Mimi and Papa. She was so excited.” She let out a small laugh. “We called the baby Peanut.” She paused. “I didn’t know something so tiny, so knew could make me feel like this.”

Katie smiled gently, “There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s love, Paige. You love Azzi, and you love Peanut.”

“It’s almost her birthday.” Paige whispered. “There’s only eight days until her birthday.”

It was quiet before her dad spoke, “You don’t think she’s going to be in the mood to celebrate.” It wasn’t even a question.

“I want to do something meaningful for her.” Paige spoke, pacing across the tile.

“Okay, we can think of some things. I’ll send you any ideas I think of.” Bob said.

“Maybe we can make peanut butter cookies? Since you all called the baby Peanut, maybe that will make her feel a little closer, a little more whole.” Katie wondered aloud.

The blonde nodded; that idea may have worked. She needed to pick Azzi’s brain first. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin her birthday with something sad.

Katie sat down, pulling out her crochet hooks and yarn.

Paige smiled, “I thought you only did that when you were mad at Dad.” She plopped down next to the woman.

“Anger or anxiety. That’s when I crochet.” Her smile fell, “I don’t know how to help you girls.”

Paige sighed, leaning back and stretching her legs out. “Azzi’s still not talking. She may have said fifty works since it started.”

Bob cupped her shoulder, grounding her.

“She was just gone, Dad.” She looked up at him, eyes glossy. “When Liv said it, she just…the lights were on, but nobody was home.”

“I think she was just in shock, sweetheart. Her brain was protecting her, but she’ll come back. Just give it some time.” He said, gently.

Paige was quiet for a while. “I still don’t know what to do. How to help her.”

“You just keep showing up. She’s gonna need you after this. Probably for a while. You’re going to be tired but just keep being there for you. She’ll come back to you.” Katie said, rubbing her back.

Paige pulled out her phone, googling things to buy a mom who just had a miscarriage. She cringed at most of the suggestions. They were corny, inauthentic, and nothing that Azzi would appreciate or like.

“Paige,” A familiar voice called.

She was in front of Liv in a heartbeat. “Is she okay?”

“Yes, it went well. She’s in recovery now.” Liv said, gesturing down the hallway.

Paige turned back to her parents.

“We’re gonna head out. Let us know if you need anything.” Bob said, giving Paige a tight hug.

“Bring her home, P.” Katie wrapped her arms around the tall blonde. “I love you both.”

Paige smiled, “Love you too, Katie.” She turned back to Liv. “Can I go see her?” She questioned.

“Follow me.”

Paige and Liv walked side by side in silence. “So, what now?” She murmured.

“She’ll be bleeding for the next week. It shouldn’t be anything too heavy. Same thing with cramps. If either of those are intense, bring her back in. She may want to see a counselor or therapist.”

She couldn’t bring herself to save any of this information on her phone. The note with all the rules, dates, and information about Peanut was still pinned to the top, and Paige couldn’t see that right now.

“I want her to come to my practice, or the hospital if she wants, in two weeks for a follow up. Need to make sure no tissues were retained or anything. She should have her first period in about a month. It’ll be heavier and more painful than normal, but that’s good. It’s the body’s final cleansing before she’d be cleared to try again.” Liv turned to look at Paige. “I know that was a lot of information, but you have my number is you have any questions.”

They stopped outside of Room 251. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The lights were dim – the window shade was almost pulled down completely. There was a constant beeping, showing Azzi’s calm heart rate. She was pale beneath the blanket, blue surgical cap still on her curls.

Paige pulled the chair to the edge of the bead and gently held onto one hand. Her head rested on the edge of the mattress, just watching the beautiful girl.

She knew the moment Azzi was back. Her eyelids fluttered a bit before her eyes opened.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Paige whispered.

A frown tugged at Azzi’s lips. “You stayed?” Paige nodded, bringing her free hand to cup her cheek. “Did it work? Is it over?” She whimpered.

“It’s done,” Paige squeezed her hand tightly. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay.”

The women were quiet before another question. “Do you think Peanut knows I love them?” Azzi’s voice wobbled.

Paige answered without hesitation, “Of course. You gave everything you could to Peanut.”

“I miss my baby,” Her voice was soft and broken. “I feel empty.”

“I know, love. I miss Peanut too.” She brushed a kiss on her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

Azzi didn’t say anything for a while. “I know you are going to tell me that I’m wrong, but I feel like it’s my fault. Like maybe I could’ve done something different.” Her eyes were misty with tears.

“They are going to run some tests, see what happened. But they said it wasn’t your fault. And I know that won’t help until you have the results, but I’ll keep telling you until you believe me.” Her voice was soft, but firm.

Azzi just tightened her grip on the pale hand. “I just don’t know what to do now.”

Paige paused, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “Well, for now, you’re going to rest. You’re going to let me handle everything because your body needs you to rest, Azzi. And if you want – maybe if you want, we can try again later.”

When Azzi didn’t reply, Paige didn’t know if she said the wrong thing.

“You don’t have to talk. You can just rest. Sleep. I’m gonna be right here. You don’t need to be brave anymore. It’s just me and you.” Paige rambled quietly.

What would have been annoying to some people was comforting and soothing to Azzi.

“Will you get in with me?” She asked drowsily.

Paige gave her a soft smile, the one that was just for Azzi. “Of course, princess.”

Azzi doesn’t move over. Refuses to create space. She wanted the no space between her and the love of her life.

As they cuddled closely, Paige relaxed. They may not have been okay in this moment, but they would be.

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about��mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

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[mouwriter]

Hi again! Thank you very much for writing my request, I absolutely loved it!!! <3 I hope you post again soon, your writing is very good. Is it ok to ask for a part 2? It can go however you want, if you need any ideas I imagine they would probably show their interest in subtle ways, like cleaning/fixing reader's equipment, leaving anonymous gifts, etc, or maybe something regarding reader taking care of their wounds? It's really up to you. If you don't want to write this I understand and feel free to ignore, I appreciate you taking your time to read this, take as much time as you need, thanks again! <3

I LOVE THIS CONCEPT IM SO HAPPY TO WRITE MORE OF THIS <3

i gotta be honest though (short tangent here), i have been writing a LOT but just not posting it.... specifically mandalorian reader x tbb....

alr so the real truth is that it's a self ship type thing?? but like. i've been thinking about posting it as an x reader thing, just changing the name to y/n and stuff (cause idk about you guys but i don't like reading x reader fics where the reader is named lol)

so uhh lmk if you guys would be interested in that!! anyways tangent over <3

wc: 1.5k

bad batch x medic!reader (part II)

characters: echo, crosshair, wrecker, hunter, tech

It was a short mission—or, it was supposed to be a short mission. So, they’d told you to wait on the ship.

But an hour passed, then two, and you started to get worried. Of course there was Echo, constantly updating you over his comm device, but it wasn’t much to go off of.

A few minutes the thing would crackle to life in your ear:

“We’ve just reached the facility; we’ll be in and out. You doing okay back at the ship?”

“Some… complications have come up. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to resolve. Wrecker says hi. I say hi, too.”

You thought you heard him smack himself before the comm cut out, and you giggled to yourself. Still, you were worried. The last update you’d gotten was approximately fifteen minutes ago.

“Our objective is complete—we’ll be seeing you soon. Stay safe until we get there.”

He also told you to keep the doors to the ship shut, but at this point you were keeping them open just to watch for them.

You sat in the threshold, bouncing your knee while your fingernails tapped the durasteel floor. 

You reached for the comm device, about to ask for an update, but you heard blaster fire. 

Leaping to your feet, you spotted the force at once. They exploded from the tree line, and you counted four forms barreling towards you. Concerned, you hopped out of the ship and started jogging towards them, squinting to see who was who.

Tech was up front, gesturing wildly to the ship. You realized he was probably shouting something into his comm, but you’d left the device back in the threshold of the ship. Echo followed him, pointing to his comm. You shook your head, coming to a stop. You still had to make sure they were all there.

Wrecker and Hunter brought up the rear. Wrecker was carrying something—someone, you realized with relief. Crosshair was tossed over his shoulder like a sack of vegetables, and you saw a blaster in his hand.

A few seconds later you saw who he was shooting at. Probably the local militia, by your reckoning. 

“Separatists!” Echo’s voice found your ears at last. You realized that if they were close enough to be heard, you should probably start running, too.

You turned heel, bolting back to the ship. But they were all faster than you, and you found yourself beside Hunter as you all booked it.

“What happened to ‘a short mission’?” you panted, side-eying him.

You heard him sigh before he suddenly fell behind you, just in time to get shot square in the back by a blaster.

“Hunter!” 

He shoved you roughly into the ship behind everyone else before leaping in after you, slamming the switch to close the door.

“Tech!” he rasped, out of breath.

“Already on it,” Tech’s even voice came from the cockpit. In seconds the ship was off the ground, and in a few seconds more you were in space. You all hardly had time to find something to ground yourselves with.

“What happened?!” you fretted, pacing between them all to glance them over.

Wrecker ripped off his helmet, ruddy-cheeked and gasping for air. “We had to run all the way back.”

“Well, yeah, but—” you shook your head. “Who else is injured?” 

You reached for Hunter. You could practically hear the grin in his voice when he chuckled tiredly, sliding his pack from his shoulders to reveal that the blaster had only hit the pack.

“You clever thing,” you huffed, fake-punching him on the arm.

“Didn’t wanna give you any more work than you were already gonna have,” he said, gesturing.

You turned around and immediately looked at Crosshair; he was the one being carried. He had pulled off his helmet and was examining the thing in his lap.

He straightened as you approached, and you put your hands up in surrender. “Can I look you over?”

He rolled his eyes, scooting away. But you took that as an invitation to sit next to him. 

“I’m fine. Wrecker was only carrying me because—”

“Because you were being slow!” Wrecker jumped in, scowling at Crosshair. 

“I was firing back at the troops who were actively shooting at us.” The fire in his gaze dimmed before he glanced at you again. He leaned in ever so slightly, murmuring: “I’m fine. Trust me.”

He planted his hand on your shoulder, pushing himself up and heading to the cockpit. But you noticed the way his hand subtly dragged down your arm as he walked away. You blinked at him, a chill running down your back. But he didn’t turn around to look at you as he disappeared into the cockpit.

“Uh, how about you, Wrecker?”

He visibly lit up at the sound of his name. “Oh, you know me. I’m practically indestructible!”

You tilted your head, only partly returning his massive grin. The grin didn’t last long—it quickly turned into a pout as he looked at his left arm, rotating his shoulder.

“Except… I think I got nicked on the arm…”

You got to your feet, crouching down next to him on the ground. You could see that his blacks were torn on the inner part of his left arm, which he held out for you to examine.

“Not too bad. Let me get some dressings.”

You stood up to get your pack, visualizing what you needed. Probably just a square of gauze and—

The gauze pocket was completely empty. You knew you were running low, but not this low!

Then again, I did patch up that kid on Ryloth… 

You bit your lip. What else could you use? Maybe if you cut a bit of your clean clothes, or—

“You’ll probably need a five by five,” Tech’s voice came from behind you.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t have any gauze,” you huffed, turning to face him. 

Your eyes immediately landed on the piece of gauze he was holding out to you. In his other hand was a small box; you recognized the packaging. It was all gauze.

“I noticed you ran out on our last mission. I figured you’d restock it yourself, but I got some just in case.”

“It’s a good thing you did!” You beamed, throwing your arms around him.

The gauze box fell to the floor, and you pulled away. “Sorry,” you chuckled, picking it up. “But thank you, Tech. Seriously.”

Tech fixed his goggles, avoiding your gaze. It was dark in the ship, but you perceived a faint hint of redness on his cheeks. “Well… I’m just making sure you can do your job.” He cleared his throat. “And here’s some bacta; I got this, too. Just in case.”

You nodded. It really was a superficial wound; you would’ve gotten away with some gauze and wrappings on anyone else, but you both knew Wrecker.

You tied the wrapping on his arm, gently tucking your finger under the fabric to check the tightness.

“Does that feel too tight?”

Wrecker bent his arm and straightened it again, examining your work. “Feels great! You always take care of me.” He grinned, clapping you on the shoulder with his other hand. 

You smiled, standing up and handing him his top. Your finger found the tear in one arm, and you held up the garment contemplatively. “I don’t think you’re gonna want to wear this.”

Wrecker planted himself on a seat, reclining with a sigh as he placed his hands behind his head. “Nah, I’m good.” He flashed a grin at you.

You couldn’t help but side-eye him, folding the top over your arm. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

There was a blanket laying somewhere around the bridge; you just couldn’t remember where. 

As you rummaged through one of the supply crates, you noticed Hunter approaching. He crouched down to rummage through another crate next to you.

“You sure you’re okay?” you asked, glancing at him.

“Just a bruise; I already had Echo look at it.”

You nodded. “How about Echo?”

“He’s fine. His job was just to keep checking on you,” Hunter joked. 

“So I noticed.” You smiled.

Hunter lifted a blanket from the crate, shuffling so he was crouched at the other end of your crate.

“Oh, thanks.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” he retorted. “You do a good job.”

You tilted your head, taking the blanket from him. For a moment you both just held the fabric, looking at each other, lost in thought. 

“Thanks,” you said again, more slowly this time. “You do a good job, too.”

“Even though I can’t keep ‘a short mission’ short?”

You snorted, jumping up. “Water under the bridge, sergeant. I’m just glad you’re all alive.”

He grinned at you as you walked away, reclining against the wall.

No matter how bad a mission went, they could always look forward to one thing: you.

yaaay ty for reading!! and tysm for this request, hopefully i can put out more of this soon... <3

[everettswritings]

i saw the post about closing requests, but i just wanted to leave this here- dont feel pressured to do this one, you can finish whatever you have left first! i can wait :] anyway, for the request itself:

I NEEEEED MORE LEE SHADOW MILK PLEASEEE WHETHER ITS READER OR JUST CANON CHARACTERS WHATEVER JUST GIVE ME MORE 🙏🙏🙏🙏 AAAAA

This was definitely a while ago, so you definitely get a cookie after the wait 🍪. And YES! WE NEED MORE LEE!SHADOW MILK! I want this twink completely WRECKED by 4:00. (NSFW/Kink accounts DNI) Also, this is pre-imprisonment

The Five Heroes, now known as the Five Beasts. It feels like just moments ago they were reigning in an era of peace that would last for eons to come, but now their powers were being used to crumble the freshly-baked world around them. However, did this corruption completely strip them of who they once were? Maybe not…

They were all gathered at the Ivory Pagoda, discussing who would do what with their respective pieces of land. As per usual after his corruption, Shadow Milk Cookie was figuratively and literally bouncing off the walls, acting like a butterfly hopped up on sugar. He was cracking jokes, finding it impossible to keep still, and everyone was starting to grow annoyed. Even Mystic Flour Cookie’s apathetic persona was faltering, her expression souring as if she ate a lemon.

Eternal Sugar Cookie sighed “Always active, like usual… Why not let the comfort of sloth envelop you? Why not let it all go and-“ Shadow Milk Cookie interrupted her “WHY’D THE SLOTH CROSS THE ROAD?!” He didn’t await a reply “HE DIDN’T! HE WAS TOO SLOW TO CROSS!” He started laughing at his own joke, meanwhile the others didn’t even crack a smile. The Beasts shot each other knowing glances, like they were forming a plan without even speaking; they always had a bond like that, even in madness. Without a word, Silent Salt Cookie snuck up behind the jester without making so much as a single sound and grabbed him. Shadow Milk Cookie gasped at the sudden grip on his arms “O-Oh! Hello, Silent Salt Cookie! S-Still giving us all the silent treatment?” They chuckled nervously, subconsciously knowing what was about to come.

The other three gathered around as Shadow Milk Cookie had his arms lifted above his head, “Shadow Milk Cookie,” Mystic Flour Cookie addressed him “Your antics may be welcomed elsewhere, but not in my sacred temple. We are all fed up with you acting so childishly; now you get to pay a price you know all too well.” The Beasts readied their hands and the jester squirmed wildly, though he was unable to break free of Silent Salt Cookie’s grasp. “W-Wait! Guys!” Their voice cracked with panic, but as the others approached, they knew their fate was sealed “Uh oh.” Was all they could say. Seconds afterwards, the jester started to howl with crazed laughter; but not laughter at his own jokes.

Burning Spice Cookie was roughly scribbling all over his stomach, Eternal Sugar Cookie was lazily scratching at his armpits, Mytic Flour Cookie was running her fingers across his sides and ribs, and even Silent Salt Cookie joined in by rubbing against the jester’s palms.

“AHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA! HEHAHAHA! HEHEHEHEHEEE!! STOHOHOP! NO!” Shadow Milk Cookie squealed, instantly overwhelmed by the other Beasts attacking his spots this way. Their methods were so different, but equally vicious! “MERCHEHEHEHEY! HAHAHAHAHAHA! AHA! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! NO MOREEE!!” They pleaded onto deaf ears, but it was ultimately useless, the others wouldn’t stop for a good while.

After what felt like hours, but what was most likely a couple minutes, the others let the jester go. Shadow Milk Cookie flopped to the floor, unable to speak or breathe without wheezing. The other four sat beside him, tiny smiles on their faces. To answer that question from earlier: maybe they didn’t lose who they were, even in this state of madness. If only that sense of camaraderie had been enough to save them…

I can’t wait for the other Beast cookies to come out, this was all headcanons because there’s literally NOTHING about them besides Shadow Milk and Mystic Flour! I NEED MY SILLY LITTLE AGENTS OF CHAOS! Anyways, hope you enjoyed. That’s all, have a good one 🫶

[sunnybunnyy2]

Father Knows Best

Daryl Dixon x platonic!reader

Negan Smith x daughter!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.2k

TIME: season 7

Warnings: imprisonment, swearing, mentions of Daryl’s abuse, mentions of savours, transpires in season seven, spoilers for season seven of the walking dead, possible typos and bad writing

CHAPTER 3 to the Dark Cell Series

Not much Daryl in this one, sadly, but he will be in it much more next chapter!

Series Masterlist Official Masterlist

This one came out way quicker than the second and I’m sorry for that, but I am beginning to get into a regular posting times! So here it is!!

Your eyes were forced open when you heard the loud pounding of a fist consistently colliding against your door.  

You let out a groan as your senses began to kick in, the once blackness that you were seeing behind your eyelids was replaced with the bright light that shined through the window that was meant to be covered by your curtain but you had been growing even more tired since your visits with Daryl. 

It had made sense. Normally you would be asleep before the second night shift, so around 11 pm, but now you couldn't fall asleep until around 3 am, sometimes even 4.

That paired with the times that you had to wake up each morning had given you a maximum of four hours a night. Then you had to work all day and repeat the cycle again and again. 

You couldn't risk falling asleep before you met Daryl, knowing that he would starve that night, and that thought alone kept your mind racing all day. 

You constantly wondered how he was doing at the hands of your father. You wondered if he was being beaten, even if the old bruises on his face had started to fade you knew it wasn't long until they would reappear again. 

You wondered what else Dwight was forcing him to do. You couldn't really put anything past him. 

You used to admire how kind he was to others and how kindly he would treat his wife, Sherry, and her sister, Tina. But ever since Tina had been killed when they had escaped the sanctuary over a month ago and he had faced the wrath of her father, he hadn't been the same.

You knew it was because of his wife. Sherry had offered to become your father's wife to spare Dwight's life. 

You didn't agree with your father having multiple wives especially so soon after your mother's death. It had been just over two years and he was pretending she didn't exist. He was coercing women into being his wife, in hopes of filling the dark that was left after your mother had taken her own life. 

You could see how their presence in his life wasn't providing in the way he had hoped it would. You could see it in his eyes. 

He was miserable. So he was bringing pain onto other people to make himself feel better. You didn't agree with his ways of coping but it's not like you could change his mind. He was a grown man and could certainly make his own choices.

He knew where you stood and what he chose to do with that was up to him, you supposed. He knew you weren't a fan of his 'marital' status so he kept it as far away from you as possible. Making sure that he never showed affection to them around you, making sure they stayed out of your way. But that wasn't the issue. You did like his wives, they were kind to you. Always making sure you were okay. Never talking about your father around you. 

You had felt like his wives were a majority of your closest friends. When you pushed back the fact that they were sleeping with your father.

You tugged the sheets off of your body roughly as you jumped to your feet after realizing that the knocking wasn't getting any quieter.

You pulled your shirt down from where it had been yanked up in your sleep from your turning as you walked towards the door before jerking it open, causing the knocker to stumble slightly as they fell forward, making it clear that they were leaning against the door as they waited for a response. 

"Jesus," she spoke your name as she caught herself from falling to the hard ground. "Your dad wants you. Said you had something you wanted to talk to him about." Laura informed you as she looked at you with a blank face but you knew her facial features well enough from the two years you had known her to tell that she was confused about what you had to talk to your father about. You had always confided in her about the way you felt about your father. 

The disappointment and frustration but also about how you missed the old times between your family. About how you missed your old father and how you missed the comfort your mother had brought you before she died.

She had also spoken about how she missed her parents as well and even though her situation wasn't remotely the same, she still understood what it felt like to be a younger girl who just wanted her parent's love and affection. 

"Yeah, yeah...um where is he?" You asked as you ran a hand through your hair in an attempt to smooth out some of the tangles. 

"In his room. You better get ready, he ain't got all day." Laura sent a nod your way before sending you a half smile, clearly as tired as you as she was sent to do more work around the sanctuary. She never seemed to have time to rest. She was constantly either at Negan's aid or on watch somewhere around the sanctuary. 

"Sir, yes sir." You saluted.

"You wish I was a sir?" She asked with raised eyebrows.

"Nah, you're just fine to look at now." You smiled slyly.

"Jesus, you're just like your father." She shook her head with a smirk. 

"Damn, Laura. You wound me. Seriously that was so hurtful." You half-joked as you wiped away imaginary tears as you turned your head away from her. 

"I take that back, you're way better." She shrugged as she spoke the truth that everyone at the sanctuary thought. Though you had always assumed some of the saviours had befriended you because of Negan wasn't entirely true. Sure some did in hopes of earning extra points for themselves and their families, but most just genuinely thought that you were one of the good ones. That you could possibly be able to persuade your father to change his ways. 

"Alright. I forgive you, Laur. Even if you started my day off with a fucking headache." You spoke as you rubbed your temple, your words earning a very 'unladylike' snort from Laura as she started to back away from your room and down the hallway. 

"My pleasure, Miss. Smith." She saluted before she turned around and quickened her pace to her shift which she was surely late from, leaving you to stare at the hallway wall as you mentally prepared yourself for the conversation you were about to have with your father, knowing it could go two ways. Well, which was the unlikely scenario or, Awful which you were leaning towards. 

And that's how you ended up here. Sat at the table with your father as he settled in his seat after having poured himself a small glass of bourbon. 

You watched as Potter, a worker in the sanctuary, placed two plates of eggs, home fries and some ham on top of the table for you two. You sent a smile his way as he nodded at you and your father before turning to make his exit, but your father's voice stopped him. 

"Oh, Mr. Potter..." Your father spoke in a sing-song voice as tapped his fork on the table. 

"Yes, Negan?" He asked as he turned back to the pair of you. A trail of sweat hastily coming down his brow, as his anxious eyes flicked between you and your father in hopes of getting a read on your body language.

"I think you forgot something." He pointed to his empty cup of water before snapping his fingers as if the second after he spoke lasted an hour. "Today." He rolled his eyes as the man rushed over to pick up the pitcher of water and pour it into his cup.

"Would you like some as well, ?" He spoke your name as he turned to look at you. Your father's glass now filled with ice water. 

"Of course, she wants some. What do you think, she wants to eat your dry ass food without having something to wash it down with." Your father let out a laugh as if it was the funniest thing in the world all while glaring the poor man down, who was practically shaking in his boots.

"No thank you, Potter." You managed to smile softly at him as if to calm him. Your body lowered down slightly as your body inadvertent shrank into yourself in embarrassment at how your father was treating the kind man.

Your demeanour didn't seem to put the man at ease as he still looked as though he was about to stroke out, which apparently was hilarious to your father as he let out a booming chuckle from deep in his throat, his rough and deep voice spoke from behind his pearly white teeth. 

"Jesus, man. I'm just joking. It's just a jokey, joke. Holy fuck," he spoke your name, "did you see his fucking face? He looked like he was going to piss his pants." He laughed before looking at the floor as though he was looking to see if the older man had done just that. 

"That will be all, Potter. Thank you." You looked away from your father to face the middle-aged man before nodding to the door, not quite able to hide your anger well, causing him to look to Negan for permission.

Your father watched you with amusement glimmering in his big brown eyes, clearly finding your annoyance entertaining, before he nodded, still looking at you as he spoke. "Do you need her to tell you again? Leave. Now." Without wasting a second he scurried out of the room, probably to go cry in the corner somewhere. Your father seemed to always have that effect on people. 

"Did you really have to scare him away? I was gonna get him to cut up my meat." He laughed.

"You're a grown-ass man. I think you can do it yourself just fine." You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as his eyes widened slightly before they were amused again, a small laugh leaving his lips.

"You really are my kid, ain't ya."

You guys sat in silence for a minute. You glaring at him and him trying to hide the merriment in his eyes.

"If you've got something to say, baby, just spit it out." He said as he crossed his arms while leaning back in his seat, eyes studying your face. 

"What is wrong with you?" You asked with anger clear in your voice as you shook your head.

"Well, sweetheart, I have a lot of things wrong with me so you're gonna have to be more specific." 

"You know what I'm talking about, Dad. That. How you treat people." You scoffed at his attempt at humour, normally you would laugh at his stupid attempts at making you laugh but now, when he humiliated people for a good laugh, your blood would quite literally boil in your skin. 

"I was just having a little fun. He doesn't mind." He dismissed as he laughed, shaking his head before he began using the fork he was still gripping to take a substantial bite of his over-easy eggs.

"It's not a 'little fun', Dad. You scared him half to death. Does it not make you feel bad when you treat people like shit?" You shook your head in disbelief.

"No, it doesn't. I'm in charge. Im not treating anyone like shit here. Do you see all that I do for these people? What I provide for them." His face grew annoyed at your words.

"Yeah, Dad. I do. But you can help keep these people safe without treating them like shit. You don't need to make them fear you to keep them sa-" He cut you off before you could finish your sentence but you could tell by his tone that you got your point across.

"They need to fear me to stay in line. That's what I do. I keep them in line. How else do you think we're still standing? If I become buddy, buddy with them they'll think they can get away with shit they just can't get away with."

"You can be a decent person and still have loyal followers. I mean, shit, how do you think half the groups still alive are operating?" You tried to mile your tone down as you began cutting up your ham. 

"You mean the groups we're gonna take over? They won't be operating like that for long." He shook his head in dismissal before wiping away the yellow egg yolk that had dropped into his pink lips.

"But why can't you form alliances with other groups? Instead of controlling them?" You tried to reason.

"Look, hunny. I love you, okay? But I don't tell you how to lead your little posey so don't fucking tell me how to lead mine." He said angrily before taking hold of his glass of bourbon and gulping down all of its contents. 

"You do realize you just called you and your people pretentious, right? I do think it fits, though." You snorted as you took a small bite of your scrambled eggs. 

"What did you want to talk to me about? I have things I need to get done." He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance.

"Oh sorry, I didn't know having a conversation with your daughter was such a burden." You shook your head as you began to stand up but we're stopped when your father grabbed your arm.

You looked over expecting to see a look of anger on your father's face but sat back down when all you saw was remorse for his words that were obviously taken out of context but they had hurt you nonetheless, as that was what he hated the most. Hurting you.

"You know what I meant. I love talking to you, you know that, don't act like you don't. Tell me what you want to talk about, baby. Please." He pulled his and away and picked up his fork, signalling for you to speak. 

"What is that community called?" You asked as you picked up the pitcher of water, not missing the look your father sent you that practically said, 'You should have just gotten Potter to do that' but you just brushed it off, knowing you were more than capable of pouring your own cup of water.

"Who am I? Fucking Professor X? You're going to have to be more-"

"That new community. The one you took a prisoner from." You specified, know that was his next word.

"How the hell do you know about that?" He asked with slight anger. He had tried to keep you as far away from his duties as much as he possibly could. 

He had constantly restricted you from leaving the sanctuary in hopes of keeping you alive and blissfully unaware of his actions, knowing that he had shaped his men well enough that they knew they needed to die for you. 

"Everyone knows about it. You don't exactly keep it under wraps. I can hear you boost about it from my room. Your voice travels." You studied him, wanting to make sure he wasn't going to try and keep something from you.

"Huh, so I've been told." He shrugged as he then began to study you, checking to see if he could notice any alternative motives. You could only hope he didn't.

"So?"

"Why do you wanna know anyway?" He questioned.

"I'm just curious. Sick of the gossip and rumours, just want to know what's going on. That's all." You attempted to play it off, hoping he didn't notice the slight quiver in your voice.

"I hate gossipers too. They seem to be everywhere, don't they." He replied as he squirted some ketchup onto his cooling grilled potatoes.

"Yeah, they do... so...?" You pressed, hoping he would stop beating around the bush and just reveal what you were wanting to know.

"Alexandria. It's a nice place but the people make it a fucking shit hole, their leader, Rick, is a joke. A fucking pussy if I've ever known one. Hell, I bet Potter could take him in a fight. Truly it's embarrassing." He ranted as he rolled his eyes, his fork scraping against his plate as if the sheer thought of Daryl's leader, Rick, had brought him so much rage that he had to take it out on the plate.

"So is there a lot of people there?" You asked, trying to sound casual.

"Two-hundred and thirty-four." He revealed causing her to tense.

"So we have more." It was a statement rather than a question.

"By a landslide, baby. We have five hundred and four through all of our outposts. In any way, we outrank them. You know what's hilarious? Their leader is so hellbent on killing me even though he knows my people could wipe his people out in a blink of an eye. Everything with that guy is a dick-measuring contest. But he should know by now that he's not gonna win in that department." He laughed once again forgetting that his daughter was sitting across from him. 

Your eyes rolled as he once again found a way to boost about himself.

"Jesus, your daughter is right here!" You exclaimed as you rolled your eyes. Sometimes he was such a child, you thought. If your mother was here she would beat him with her shoe.

"Sorry, sorry. But hey, I want to show you something." He said as he wiped his mouth with a cotton napkin, before placing it on top of his now empty plate, the streaks of ketchup and yellow remained.

Your food on the other hand was still half full, but you knew your father would have somebody wrap it up for you to eat tomorrow as he knew that it took you at least an hour after waking up to be able to eat. 

As you guys walked you caught sight of a man with long dark hair and a broad frame hunched over a mop. You didn't clue in until you saw Dwight roughly grab the man to make him continue his moping a little way ahead. 

It was Daryl.

You didn't have much time to react before your father was speaking again, drawing their attention.

"Dwighty boy, what do we have here?" Your father said as he stopped beside Dwight, smirking down at Daryl as he watched him silently continue his task, his head angled downward.

"Just Daryl, doing what he's told," Dwight spoke with a slight smile while watching Daryl.

Your father let out a booming laugh and you could see Daryl pause his movements for a moment having to mentally restrain himself from physically pouncing on him. 

You knew if he were to break loose you couldn't really blame him. Your father had put him through hell, but that's what he was. Your father. You couldn't let anything thing happen to him, no matter how much you understood how he was feeling.

"You missed a spot." Your father said as he watched the slightly shorter man conceal his anger with delight, clearly enjoying the inner battle that was going on inside of him. Your father kept his eyes on Daryl as he tipped his bourbon bottle on the floor, the dark liquor mashed with the newly clean floor. The half-drunken bottle now sized down a noticeable amount, he laughed again before he shoved the bottle into Dwight's chest. "Here, buddy. You deserve it." Your father tore his eyes away from Daryl before looking up at you, noticing the beyond-dirty look you were sending his way. 

"Thanks, boss." Dwight nodded as he clutched the bottle.

"Get back to work, you mutt." Your father smiled at Daryl but you could tell it was forced as he roughly patted his shoulder in a condescending way before making his way back over to you, sensing your unease about what he was doing.

He nodded at you to follow him before he began to stroll back down the hallway. You followed but your eyes were still trained on Daryl.

Your heart pounded in your chest when he turned his head slightly, watching Negan go before his eyes found you. 

They narrowed once he caught sight of you. You couldn't quite read the look that took over his emotionless face but you knew he didn't feel joy in seeing you with Negan. 

You saw flashes of rage, confusion and a flash of fear? 

Your eyes were locked on each other before Dwight harshly shoved Daryl back to his task which he complied with but at a slower pace, as if his mind was processing the fact that he had seen you outside of his cell with Negan of all people. 

You waited a moment before you turned back around, and in that moment you saw Dwight studying the two of you in confusion.

You hurriedly turned forward to look at your father's back as you turned the corner finally making your way into the kitchen. The one you had found yourself in more often than ever.

"Ta-da," your father said in an overdramatic voice, a wide smile on his face as he waved a hand towards a big a machine that was shaking as it operated, the small, shiny window was wet with condensation. 

"Holy-shit! Is that what I think it is?" You exclaimed in an excited tone as you practically hopped over to the machine in pure astonishment.

"Well, I sure as shit hope I didn't have seven of my men working themselves into the ground carrying this piece of shit back here all for it not to be the fucking ice cream machine that I've been askin' for, for a fuckin' year?" He spoke as you leaned back slightly as if to amplify his words. 

You let out a yell of excitement as you ran into your father's arms, his arms wrapping around your upper back as you tucked your head into his chest. You could feel his smile as he rested his forehead on top of your scalp.

It was moments like these that you missed. The pure moments of a father and daughter showing care for one another. Sure you were still angry with him for what he did to Daryl just minutes ago and for all the bad he was doing, but you couldn't spoil this moment.

The moment that your inner child craved to have.

The moment you were robbed of one too many times. 

You wondered if the sadness could be shown in your eyes. The longing for the love of your parents. 

You knew that Laura could see it. Just as you could see your sadness as well. It was like an understanding for the two of you. You both didn't get to experience much love from your parents, her from way before the outbreak and you, after.

You knew that your mother wasn't at fault for not being there for you. You knew that if she could be here, she would. That's just who she was. She would never miss any of your important achievements and even your minor ones, she always made sure to show up, no matter how much shit she would get at work. She would take all the yelling from her boss just to see your smile when you noticed she was there. 

Your father tried his hardest to be there but most of the time something else was always more important. You were always left having to deal with his half-ass excuses as to why he couldn't show up; only to find out that he was too busy fucking your godmother aka your mother's best friend.

You weren't sure how your mother could forgive him after all the stress he had caused her in the early stages of her cancer, but you knew it was most likely because of how much she loved him.

You had never quite seen someone treat their significant other as well as your father did when he found out about your mother's diagnosis.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You chanted pulling away from your father to look at the grey and blue machine again causing your father to laugh at you, even though he was feeling elated at the fact that you had enjoyed his little present. 

"So, you want to take it for a spin?" Negan asked with a grin, knowing that he was gonna get a taste of the treat that he had also been craving.

"Do Andie and Ben end up together in 'How to lose a guy in 10 days?' " You asked with a raised eyebrow, a smile on your face. 

"Uh, I don't know, do they?" He asked in confusion, not quite realizing the reference.

"Yes!" You exclaimed before rushing to the ice cream machine, your father hot on your tail.

TAG LIST: @cult-of-norman @book-place @ilovespiderpeople @kazunish @mysouleaten @murdadixon

Message me or comment if you would like to be added to the tag list!!

[discotenny]

WAIT! You can't love me! - Day 1 Demo

I've spoken about it long ago in my tags- but here it finally is! For Otome Jam 2024- I bring you WAIT! You can't love me!

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩ Synopsis⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

For all of your academic career, you were always second best to Satoshi Fujihara. And while you seemed to care too much about it, he never seemed to care at all. In your final semester of community college together- he suddenly says he's going to confess to you in four days!

Do you choose to accept his feelings, or is this going to be the one time you can get the upper hand on him? 

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩Demo Features⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

A completed Day 1 of 7 days of events

13k+ words of playable script - roughly an hour to experience everything

A nameable MC with the ability to pick from she/he/they pronouns

1 cute romanceable sleepyhead 

A variable cast of eccentric side characters

4 "routes" for the Day 1 date

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩Characters⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Obnoxiously smart, aloof, hopelessly in love, hella sleepy

Ever since high school he’s had a crush on you, but didn't want to deal with any awkwardness. With the horizon of your transfer looming, Satoshi decides to go out of his way for once and ask you out. Not wanting you to be nervous, he lets you know beforehand that he will be confessing.  

Unfortunately that’s not really how it should go but he doesn’t know that.

Incredibly stubborn, incredibly dense

Throughout high school, you were always labeled as “second best” compared to Satoshi. You have a lot of pent up resentment towards him because he never seemed to care about his successes despite you wanting him to so badly. 

You think his carefree attitude towards his studies is some level of spite towards you. 

Elias Bolkiah - 5'8" - Same age as MC - June 7th - 491/524

Your childhood best friend with an unreasonable amount of hatred towards Satoshi.

Lilit Alighieri - 5'10" - One year older than MC - November 27th - 10/210

Considers themselves in a best friend trio with you and Elias. Questionable whether you feel the same.

Paden Canmore - 5'5" - One year younger than MC - June 1st - 45/120

Couldn’t care less about your love life but feels dragged into it because he likes that Lilit includes him in their gossip.

Yamato Suzuki - 5'9" - 49 - January 17th

Your statistics professor and advisor for the art club. Cares for his students like they're his own children.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩Credits⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Iotenny - Director, programmer, lead writer

kezukaity - Sprite artist

Autumn - CG artist, co-writer

mellonaes - CG artist

itspsyklone - Main theme composer

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩Final⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Thanks for reading, and thank you so much more if you choose to play :3 ! I'll be posting some writings revolving around the characters to celebrate the release, thanks once again <3 !

[alpha-hydra]

Tag Game - Fic Edition!

Share the first lines of ten of your latest fanfic (Or up to if you have fewer) and tag ten people.

>>OR!!!

Anyone who sees this and wants to play too!!! Consider yourself tagged!

ty for tagging @detta-pica [here] and @hollow-lime-green [here]!!!

I will take any opportunity to talk about writing, especially first lines! I'm desperately in love with opening scenes even if most of mine I'm not super happy with my own </3 I chalk it up to being too impatient to post hahahaha

I've been writing for roughly a million billion years so at least I know what works for me to keep me interested in writing; i hope they've worked for the people who read my fics, too.

I'll start at the most recent and go backwards. It's funny bc I wrote #1 literally four days ago, but before that, I'm pretty sure my last ten works have been all jjk-related.

1. Welcome Home (Naruto Fandom, kkgai)

Kakashi slips back into Konoha an hour before sunrise, the full moon painting the walls around the village bone-white.

Unfortunately this one I should have spent a bit more time on except to get the full points for the challenge I needed it complete and posted in three hours so. Maybe one day I'll get back to it.

The rest are below the cut, since this got a touch out of hand 😅😅

2. Parable of the Violent

NiJedha falls to the Imperial Army when Suguru turns ten. He wakes with a wretched sob when the slaughter begins, nauseous from the force of his tears. There is no moonlight to offer Suguru comfort that night, and darkness squeezes into the edges of the Force from the slaughter, thousands of lights in the Holy City snuffed out in an instant. The Kyber echoes in Suguru’s skull, shrieking in dismay as swirling grey clouds of fear roll through the city like miasma. So loud, the Kyber wails. It hurts.

Parable of the Violent, my beloved. The rhythm, the vibes, the star-wars-adjacentness of it all. God, I really need to finish that fic.

This opening works for me bc the mystery is a little bit in the premise: we know kind of how a Star Wars AU would properly map onto stsg, so subverting our expectation is a fun way to begin, I think :)

3. Everything Carries Me to You

“I think I was a god in my past life. A demon, maybe.” Beside him, Suguru snorts. Satoru doesn’t bother sitting up; tilting his head on the grass instead. In his periphery, he can only just see the dark shape of Suguru’s head mirroring the movement. Under the shade of a giant oak tree, Satoru frowns. “Sure, Satoru.” “I’m serious!” But how else could Satoru describe it? The power in his veins; the destruction, the blood? Suguru dead by his hand? Who else but a horrible, vengeful god would do that?

A bit long, but I don't think it works as well without a smidge of context. I'm not super happy with this beginning, but it gets the job done ig.

4. & Trouble Deaf Heaven

Suguru wakes with a gasp, hanging upside down in the escape pod, every part of his body throbbing in pain. The silver of his console swims in and out of focus, and everything feels underwater for a long moment, until the pounding and screaming from the other side of his pod-bay door forces him to focus. Three shapes appear along the dirtied viewing port, vaguely familiar.

Action, action, action. @hollow-lime-green, i'm sorry! I have read name of the wind i promise! Sometimes fics start out with a strong character and sometimes they start with the action, is all and sadly i am more of an action writer these days UwU

But in all honesty with this i couldn't be bothered with the setup because it's all baked into the rest of the fic, so we get the character stuff later!

5. Unbearable to be Parted

Once in a millennia, a curse rises with the power to upend the entire natural world. Once in a millennia of millennia, two of these curses are born, an omen to the universe when they exist together. Bringers of the end of times, two of these special grade curses.

The fucking. THe WoRM FIC. I'm never living this guy down. The fucking melodrama. The atmosphere! Ugh i hate that i love this fic so much.

6. We'll be Home

“So, how did your meeting with your long-lost-twin-brother go?” Nobara asks him as they make their way across the quad.

7. And All the Dead Lie Down

Gojo Satoru doesn't sleep these days. He tells people he doesn't need to do it much anymore, and it's even mostly true. Reversed Curse Technique can keep his brains from frying while running Infinity non-stop, and it also keeps his brain from frying when he goes without sleep for four or five or six, or even nine days. It's not particularly pleasant; he's more addled, paranoid, and scatterbrained the longer he deprives himself of it, but no one knows nor cares about that. For one, he's not been in the business of divulging his weaknesses since Suguru left. For another, no one cares about the state of his mental health so long as The Strongest Sorcerer can still do his job. So. Satoru doesn't sleep, and no one asks him about it or calls him out on it. And no one needs to know the why of it; that Satoru hates sleeping these days because all he does is dream of Suguru.

This opening is so hard for me. i need it to set the premise, but it's not very interesting to me. It's a character-driven opening, which may be why I struggle with it, but it's not even fun about that. I tried to make it subtly about how burnt-out Satoru is, but I'm not sure it comes across on a re-read. idk. IDK!

8. Liminal Space (One Piece!!!)

The sun has slowly started setting on the fourth day of Wano's freedom. Out in the streets of the Flower Capital, the civilians haven't stopped crying and cheering, as if they were praising the coming of a messiah. Kid supposes that the idea isn't completely untrue, the more that he thinks about it. The coming of their long-dead Shogun's heir, the toppling of a regime, and even Straw Hat Luffy— It's annoying to think about, more annoying to admit even in the safety of his own mind, but Straw Hat Luffy? That is someone who might wear a title like Messiah, who might wear a name like God on his shoulders with ease. The dumb bastard would probably even laugh about it. 

A rare one piece fic!!! Love this one! It was for a zine so i was particularly careful with my words, and even then I couldn't help but drop my love of my rubber boy into the fic, despite it not even being about him.

please please please read one piece please please please watch one piece please i know it's too long i know the art style is weird please please haha what i'm so normal anyways

9. believe him.

You don't know how you got here, but you remember that you're in danger. You don't know why you remember that, but it feels important. You're in danger. There's a single flickering bulb on the concrete ceiling. Enough light to streak across the opposite wall, where you read Believe Him written in what you hope is crumbling, cracking spray paint.

ohohoho we're getting to the weird experimental shit. This fic was written for a Halloween prompt. It's so fun! It's deeply fucked in the head :) IDK if it's a great first line but the 2nd person does a lot of heavy lifting here

10. Letter, Central Jujutsu Museum of History

OBJECT DETAILS A letter written by Fushiguro Megumi, the Ten Shadows-User, ca. 2018 Credit Donation by the Zenn'in Estate in 2038 Record ID IMG_FM-GS_2016

Image description: A letter originally left on a grave, with some wear and tear already present when the document was donated to the museum. The grave has been identified as belonging to Gojo Satoru and Getou Suguru, two Special Grade Sorcerers from the Second Age of Jujutsu. Significant as the first mention of Clan Leader Zenn'in Maki, who with the help of her only surviving relative, Fushiguro Megumi, bearer of the Ten Shadows Technique, helped bring society into the Renaissance Era of Jujutsu. Penned by Fushiguro, the letter reads as follows:

This one I think is best served by it's summary, but I've put it and the opening bc. Ok mostly bc I'm super biased for this fic; it's hands down my favorite fic I've written. Possibly ever? Epistolary fanfictions, my beloveds!!!

Lastly, do i even know ten people???

@molten-rainbows @revenantghost @werewolves-and-winchesters @mangobubletea @starrysunrises @kbstories @kittywritesfic @hjemne @tenshinokorin

[inexplicifics]

Hi Inex! I've so been enjoying all of your stories (yes, I'm rereading everything again), and I was trying to find the snippet you posted ages ago of an AU where Milena's father tells her he'll marry her to the next man who walks in the door, but I've had no success. Do you happen to know where it can be found? I loved it so much.

I don't remember where the snippet got to - Tumblr's search, as you know, is very bad - but I do know what fic you mean.

It went and got Complicated on me, but I do want to finish it. I know roughly what I want to do with it, if it will just cooperate.

And since you asked, here's the first few paragraphs, featuring the Duke de Roggeven being comprehensively terrible:

“You dare to disobey your father’s orders, you useless slut?” someone bellows. Lambert rolls his eyes. Ugh, one of that type. Probably worships the Eternal Fire, too. Jackass. He stomps on down the corridor, noting idly that the shouting is getting closer. “You dare to refuse a marriage to a lord of such stature, you insolent baggage? Very well. Very well! Then by all the gods I swear, be he whoremonger or witcher, you shall marry the next man who steps through that door!” Lambert, who has just swung the door in question open and stepped through, stops dead, staring in blank horror at the lord of the manor and the girl cringing in front of him. The lord whirls to stare at Lambert, and his face twists, going through three or four contortions of rage and vicious satisfaction, before he spits, “I said whoremonger or witcher, did I not? Very well.” He raises his voice. “Get me a priest, you useless dogs! My daughter shall be married this very day and hour!”

[beardedmrbean]

The Market of Sweethearts has nothing on Brooklyn’s seedy Penn Track.

East New York’s notorious open-air sex market has seen an explosion of scantily clad prostitutes in the area near Pennsylvania Avenue, prompting a local pol to plead for cops to crack down as parents are forced to shield their children’s eyes and residents wake up to used condoms scattered across their condo parking lots.

“We need the same attention the police department is paying to Roosevelt Avenue, to bring it out to East New York … to help address the issue,” City Councilman Chris Banks told The Post.

The Post encountered nearly a dozen skimpily dressed hookers Wednesday night, standing beside parked city Sanitation Department and semi-trailer trucks along Georgia and Malta avenues, bringing sleazy drivers to a stop and even jamming up traffic as they chatted up potential johns.

“You’d like to hang out?” one prostitute, who wore black platform boots and a tiny skirt exposing most of her derriere, asked a Post reporter.

After offering sex for $120 or oral for $85, she advised, “I know a spot we can go,” before being turned down.

Another woman on the block promised a good time in the backseat of the scribe’s Chevy Malibu for $140. 

“You don’t have tinted windows? We’re going to have to fishbowl it,” cooed the sex worker, who wore thigh-high boots along with a red and black leather jacket.  

Longtime locals bemoaned brazen prostitutes hawking sex in broad daylight, less than four blocks from PS 306.

“Had there been an early response to this, it would’ve brought the activity down, [but] it’s been allowed to fester over the last couple years,” said a frustrated Banks, who supported the recently passed hotel licensing bill aimed at cracking down on “bad actors” profiting off the illicit sex trade.  

Through Oct. 27, police have made 18 prostitution-related arrests along the Penn Track, including 12 for patronizing prostitutes, compared to 19 during the same period in 2023, with 16 johns being busted. During this period in 2022, just four arrests were made in the area, all for prostitution. 

Migrant women staying in nearby shelters are believed to be fueling the prostitution surge at Penn Track, historically the domain of young black sex workers, Banks and a women’s advocate said.

The prostitutes are being extorted by pimps, the advocate explained — some of whom have been busted for allegedly forcing girls as young as 16 to work the streets and gunning down rivals in flesh-peddling turf wars. 

“It’s all pimp-controlled,” said the advocate, who requested anonymity. “You can’t work independently there.”

City Hall and the NYPD have made “a lot of verbal commitments” to provide additional resources for tackling the prostitution in his district, but “we haven’t seen the boots on the ground,” Banks said.

An NYPD spokesperson said police have focused their patrol efforts in the Penn Track area and will continue to address the issue.

City Hall spokeswoman Kayla Mama said Mayor Eric Adams “has made it clear that lawlessness, particularly the exploitation of women, will not be tolerated or ignored.”

While roughly 50-plus cops were seen patrolling Roosevelt Avenue on a Wednesday night two weeks ago, The Post observed only a pair of cops in an NYPD cruiser and in an unmarked car around the prostitution hub over the course of four hours Wednesday.

“Be careful,” two officers in the unmarked sedan warned a reporter they initially believed to be a john. “You don’t want to be in The Post.” 

[circusgoth-dotcom]

I Came For a Book / Instead I Found You

Ship: Rowen Beilar x Elphaba Thropp

Word Count: 749

Summary: OUGH I'M GOING BONKERS here's a Elphwen meet cute fic roughly twenty-four hours after officially f/oing her. Also I misspelt his name on another post but it's fine. Rowen hides away in Shiz's library to study long into the night. Elphaba can't sleep and slips away to the library, despite the school's curfew, only to be sidetracked by Rowen's presence.

Tag List: @soulnottainted

Pale moonlight streamed through the strikingly clear windows of Shiz University’s vast library. It was late. Very late. Rowen should’ve gone to bed hours ago, in fact, the school’s curfew demanded it, but he had managed to remain hidden here, in this sanctuary of books, far beyond the allotted time. He was desperate not to drop out this year, not from Shiz, knowing how much it had cost his family to send him so far away.

He half-lay, half-sat, curled over the spines of ancient books in a section of the library that turned like a large clock, bouncing a small rubber ball off the opposite side of the cylinder. A book on the history of bards lay open in his lap, but he was far from reading it.

He would’ve stayed like that until the wee hours of the morning if it wasn’t for the unexpected. His head twitched up at the unmistakable sound of a door opening and closing, however soft it might’ve been. This made him realise how stiff he was, and with a light groan, he pulled himself out of his strange position. A gasp made him turn his head again. There was a girl, staring at him, from the shadows. He vaguely recognised her, but had never been properly introduced. He placed a grateful hand over his chest.

“Oh, thank Oz, I thought you were the librarian,” he quipped, subtly trying to stretch out his aching muscles.

“As did I,” she admitted. They stood awkwardly apart from each other for a moment. Rowen leaned down to pick up his book and ball, clearing his throat.

“So… do you read by moonlight often??”

She hesitated. “No… I couldn’t sleep. You?”

He stretched out his back. “I’d much rather be sleeping… but, yes, unfortunately, it’s become a bit of a habit.” He grunted as his spine popped. “I’m Rowen.” He wasn’t sure why he introduced himself. Anything to break the floundering between them.

“Elphaba,” she responded. “What are you reading?” Slowly, she stepped out of the shadows, knowing they would likely go unnoticed for the time being. The first thing Rowen noticed was her striking gaze. These stone-green eyes full of mystery, intelligence, and sadness, framed by unique, circular glasses. While he normally avoided eye contact, she had him spellbound.

“I… what??”

He saw the guard go up in her expression and internally winced. What had he done to offend her?? She sighed heavily, clearly preparing to say something she had said numerous times before.

“I am not seasick. I did not eat grass as a child. I have always been green.”

“Green??” Rowen blinked and realised a few more things about Elphaba’s appearance. Her long, black hair, done in two braids down the front of her shoulders, and her vibrant green skin. “It’s not that. It’s not that at all.” He gripped his book, finding it hard to express himself.

Elphaba now regarded him quizzically, unsure of what to think. Suddenly, Rowen blurt out, “A Bard’s History by Ionmi Bhones.” She glanced down at the cover of the book and slowly nodded.

“You’re studying to become a bard.”

Rowen nodded, paused, then shook his head. “I want to be a bard. But that’s my problem… studying.” They found themselves wandering over to one of the tables, soon sitting opposite each other. “Let me tell you, Elphaba, I’m a two-time dropout. If I can’t graduate from Shiz, I don’t know what I’ll do. So that’s why I’m up.”

With the conversation shifting away from appearances, Elphaba seemed to relax somewhat. “You look exhausted.”

Rowen softly groaned, folding his arms on the table and resting his forehead on the backs of them. “I’m exhausted and I haven’t even done anything.” He briefly looked up. “What about you, how’s your studying going?”

She glanced away. “Some people say I do too much.”

“Must be nice to have a mind that works.” He shrugged, returning to his self-made cave.

There was a pause. “Maybe I could help you. I don’t know much about bards, but I’m a fast learner.”

He looked up again. “Why??”

“There’s something… different about you.”

He softly chuckled. “Like I haven’t heard that one before. I still don’t understand… but… thank you.”

Elphaba nodded. “I think you should start by getting some rest. You’ll never be able to study properly if you’re staying up all night.”

“Okay.” Rowen sat up straight and suddenly felt the way he appeared, heavy with exhaustion. “Goodnight, Elphaba.”

“Goodnight, Rowen.”

[goodeapple]

👉👈 will you ever do another modern aemond similar to the one you wrote earlier this year? if not modern, another oneshot of the couple 🥹 your works are amazing and i miss them a lot but i completely get it if you're busy. just wondering if you're open to the idea of releasing one within the year

friend, you asked this in such a lovely way, i appreciate you. life is lifeing rn... BUT YES!! i want to post a full modern fic soon but for now, enjoy a little sweet treat <33

“such a charmer, my brother.” aemond rolls his eye, taking a healthy swig from his glass. ysilla stares at her drink, watching the currents of carbonation wizz up through the deep amber ale.

he smells good, his cologne distinguishable even under the reek of fried food and spilt spirits. the notes of oud and tobacco float through the stuffy air, a splash of citrus and a hint of rosewood following behind. the smell was always soaked into his sheets and ysilla had loved catching the linger of it in her hair when she was away from him.

she jingles her keys, spinning them around one finger and tapping her nails on the bar as she waits for her cousin. aemond wonders if she’s as nervous as he is. he doesn’t know what that would mean if she is. 

“when did you get home?” his voice is small and unsteady and he fucking hates it. hates that talking to ysilla, about something as immaterial as her fucking traveling, feels rocky and unfamiliar. she nibbles at her lip, eyes darting to him and then immediately dropping back down to her half empty pint. her lips look plump, glossy and juicy and aemond digs his nails into his thigh. 

“like four hours ago,” aemond leans forward a bit, because she’s damn near whispering and the band is testing out their sound and he wants to hear what she has to say. she eyes him warily, blinking a bit wide, and he rocks back in his trainers. his cheeks heat up and the hard crystal of the whiskey glass bites painfully into the groove of his hand.

“saw mama and joff before jace and baela threatened me with bodily harm if i didn’t come out and join them for a drink.” ysilla grins that soft little smile she does whenever she talks about her family. 

aemond goes for it. if she's talking to him, speaking to him, then she's real and she's not just a memory in his head. “did you fly? i assume so, since that’s how you lef-” 

“are we really going to do this?” ysilla cuts him off, laughing in a way that has no mirth. 

“speak like civil friends?” he swallows roughly.

"is that we are?” she cocks her head to the side, whip ready for his answer. her eyes flicker, magenta bulbs drawing him like a moth to a flame. “is that what i am to you?”

[skylermadness]

Volatili-Tea (Junkrat TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: January 29, 2023)

Original Description:

My half of a trade with A-C-Crowley on DeviantArt! His half for me was a Reinhardt TF that also functions as a companion piece to this story, which can be found here: DeviantArt I actually had this written roughly three or four months ago, back in October, but I didn't want to post it until both our halves were complete. Although funnily enough plans for this trade were being set up as early as summer of last year. Damn how time went by, huh. Writing this story was actually quite fun! So much so that I actually wrote it and edited it in its entirety in roughly an entire day. I don't know what struck me with that much inspiration to write something that fast, but it sure as hell was a fun one! Especially since I feel like this story explores a couple new concepts in my writing. Prosthetics in TFs, more complex bodily descriptions, and especially transformations in a public space. Makes me want to do more public setting TFs these days, honestly. Anyway, a very fun story to write, especially for a great friend of mine!~ ...I honestly kind of hate the pun in this story's title though...

   "And the winner of our third raffle of the day is… Matt, numerical designation 478! Please head to Big Bang Beverages in the northwestern catering sector to claim your prize."

   Despite being surrounded by crowds of convention-goers, Matt could hear the announcement loud and clear. It took him a moment to cross-check the number on his raffle card and the numbers played aloud on the intercom, but it was proven correct in an instant. Pocketing the card, his head moves up and takes a cursory glance around the area he was in.

   He stood within the middle of a boulevard of a convention center, not necessarily directly near any retailers or exhibitions. He was mainly roaming around taking in the sights and trying to understand the layout of this year's convention. Where he stood there were walking around left and right, individuals and groups of friends. Among the people in standard attire were various cosplayers ranging from video game characters to anime ones. As for Matt, he was just one of those individuals in casual clothing. A black long sleeved shirt, gray pants, and dark grey shoes.

   He begins to tread casually through the middle of the boulevard, relieved at the fact that he shouldn't be too far away from the catering area of the convention. His thoughts wander to the announcement, curious about what the raffle he won would fetch him. Admittedly he wasn't exactly excited, but more so intrigued.

   As the announcement entailed, this was the third in a line of raffles. It was also the third in about an hour and a half since the convention presumably began. The locations that each winner was deemed to head to seemed different with each announcement. Unfortunately, the only other one he could really recall correctly was one to someplace called the HoloDrome. But it leads him to wonder how different the prizes were amongst the winners.

   The lighting begins to brighten slightly as Matt closes in on the catering area. Smells of various foods begin to permeate through the air the closer he gets, and soon it's really all that can be smelt once he properly enters the region. The source of the smells range from the various concession stands lining the area, the rows bisected by tables sprinkled about the area. As he starts to walk through the area he adjusts his glasses for a moment. His eyes slowly scan for the place he was looking for.

   Matt whispers under his breath the name as he does so. Big Bang Beverages. A peculiar name, he thinks. Also not one he's familiar with. But then again he never goes around memorizing the concessions at these places.

   He's lucky that it doesn't take long to locate what he was looking for. A stand nestled between two other ones in the left row. It stood out particularly well because of how… average it seemed. As Matt started to step closer, he took note of the weird air that seemed to emanate from it. The front casing of the stand was completely black with no additional design flare. The stand's logo used the most generic font. It felt almost manufactured in a way. He tries to ignore that though as he finally walks up to the stand itself. 

   The internal portions of the stand were a silvery white and contained various tools for beverage creation, a few stacks of cups beside those tools. The only person within it was a man of average build and looks wearing what looked to be a standard button-up uniform. Matt took notice of a logo on the right side of the uniform of a company he can't quite pin down, but his eyes then drew to the man's name tag: Louis.

   "Hello!" the stand worker greeted with a smile.

   "Uhh, hey," Matt shoved a hand in his pocket and took hold of his raffle card. "I'm uh, Matt. Won the third raffle." He then holds out the card for the man to take.

   Louis takes the card. "478, wonderful!"

   Matt raised a brow. "Could've just called me by my name but alright…" he says in a whisper.

   Louis seems not to hear (or just practically ignore) Matt as the man bends down and trifles with something under the stand's table. Matt grew a little curious as the noises that accompanied the worker was metal clanking as something was inserted and unlocked followed by the hiss of depressurizing air. Louis then stands back up with a smile, a medium-sized metallic object in his hand. "Here!" He places the object onto the table and slides it closer to Matt. Matt looks down at it to inspect it.

   It seemed to be a flask of some kind. Circular with a cylindrical protrusion. Metallic silver with a light coating of… rust? Dirt? Something. Curious, he picks it up and is greeted with the noise of something liquid inside. Unscrewing the cap, his nostrils are filled with the familiar scent of tea. He peers into the container to inspect the liquid, eye widening as he notices small spherical objects floating within the fluid. Strangely, the objects within looked stylized. Black with protrustions on them, almost reminiscent to a stereotypical look of a bomb.

   "Boba tea…?" he asks no one in particular.

   "Yup! It's our unique Frag Bomb Tea, only sold for a limited time here! However, you also get the flask as well!"

   "Uhuh…" Matt presses the flask against his lips and takes a small sip. Tasted kind of milky and sweet, accompanied with a weird bubbly feeling to it akin to carbonation. It didn't interfere much with the taste though.

   "We thought with the grand event coming up later today we'd produce something for the occasion."

   Matt swallows the swig of tea and moves the flask away. "You mean that Overwatch IRL event or whatever?"

   "Yup! A lot of the stands here have been hammering the Overwatch-theming. That beverage in particular is meant to be reminiscent of Junkrat!"

   Matt nods. "I can definitely see it…"

   He lifts the flask back up and takes another drink, mind starting to wander. He was well aware of the Overwatch IRL event going on, although he barely had any real information on it. It was hyped up as some grand event for this convention, however the specifics behind it were all under wraps. Theories roamed around online about it being a complex costume contest or some form of roleplayish question panel. These were even a few outlandish ones like it being some kind of musical or something-

   His thoughts are interrupted for a second as he realizes a few boba cascades through his mouth. There was a flavor to them he couldn't quite pin down. It wasn't fruity, but it had a sweetness to it.

   Matt hums as he pulls the flask away again, a shiver running down his body for a moment. "That was weird…" he whispers before starting up another conversation with Louis. "Hey, what ingredients did you use in this boba? It tastes good but I can't exactly pin down what's in it…"

   Louis just smiles. It was getting eerie at this point. "Company secrets I can't divulge."

   "Well, alright…"

   "You should go enjoy the convention now! I hope you like your prize~"

   Matt tilts his head in confusion, a little confused at that last statement. It had a tone that felt like a 'go away'. But considering he had nothing else to really say, he might as well. He turns his back and walks away, taking another quick sip of his tea as he goes, unaware of the fate that lies ahead of him.

   Matt exits from where he came, heading out from the catering area and returning to the boulevard. All the while he occasionally takes small drinks from his new flask. He's never really had something like this before, but the taste of this tea was rather nice. He still kind of wishes he knew what was in the boba though.

   Strangely, with each consumption of boba, he also finds his body taking weird shivers. There was no noticeable temperature shift, he didn't feel cold, but for some reason he'd have a sudden shiver run down his spine. He tried to ignore it though. 

   Ultimately Matt decides to walk into the opposing region to the catering district. An area composed of various bits and pieces that didn't truly fit a singular theming. He found himself walking past a small tattooing booth on one side, and on the other side some random booth that seemed empty.

   Taking another sip from his tea, a few beads of sweat start to form on his forehead as now he begins to feel a warmth start to rack his body. "Ough, did the heat get turnt up…"

   The cause of this wasn't heat related, mostly. Rather it was because something was starting to change in his body. It was subtle at first, though. Arms and legs getting a little more defined, his torso and abdominals pronouncing a little more. Small amounts of muscle slowly expanding throughout his form. It was just enough to cause his shirt to start rubbing up more against his skin, body steadily filling it out.

   His leg feels numb for a moment, causing him to stumble a little. He quickly manages to stop himself before he falls though. "Ugh, startin' ta…" he stops to clear his throat. "Starting to feel kinda weird." Did his voice sound a little strange for a second? No, that can't be right.

   He tries to shake everything off as he continues his walk. He tries to roll his shoulders, his delts continuing to expand. Previously nonexistent muscle spirals around his arms. His biceps and triceps grow a little thicker, the muscles in his forearms doing the same as well. It isn't very long until his sleeves properly fill out. His musculature isn't the most impressive, but it is definitely noticeable beneath his clothing.

   A pressure enters his bones for a moment shortly after as they are forced slightly longer. The ends of each sleeve run further upward and away from his wrist. His left arm then starts numbing, a stronger numbness than what was in his leg. One that felt oddly permanent. He took note of this and, with what little strength he had left in that arm, transferred his flask to be held by his right hand.

   He stares at his hand and proceeds to grip and ungrip it. It was responding to his actions, but he didn't really feel it. A pang of worry entered him, but a part of him was attempting to rationalize this. As if to say that this was fine.

   He also noticed the new musculature in his arms. "Were my arms always this thick…?" he asks himself, a brow raised. They… must've been, right? 

   He shakes his head. He's worrying too much about this. It's fine, it's fine. He lifts the flask to his mouth again and takes a drink of it. With an exhale, his worries fade. It's fine!

   With a couple more steps Matt walks out from in between the two booths and into a smaller boulevard. He curiously looked around, finding a few more assorted booths. In the distance was a photo-op area, and he could just make out what seemed like a few autograph booths beside it. His head then turns a few degrees rightward, turning upwards as something else piques his interest.

   It was the only part of the wall that seemed to roundly curve outward. It also stood out as it was the only wall that wasn't colored beige, being a deep blue instead. At the bottom of it was a doorway that was blocked off by a few velvet ropes (as if that'd stop anyone), but as he looks further up he finds a massive screen with the Overwatch logo displayed on it. Beneath that logo was a number that was counting down. 

   "Ninety minutes…" he says, entranced momentarily. There's a fraction of him that kind of wants to break in there and roam around, perhaps cause some… mmph, he shakes his head and casts the thought away. Strange, he's never had that kind of thought before.

   He presumed that place to be the famed HoloDrome where the convention's key event was going to take place and decided to ignore it for the time being, taking a left instead. If he remembered properly, this would be the way to the exhib…

   Matt's leg numbs a second time and does so for a few seconds longer. He stops walking in order to prevent himself from risking falling, but still finds himself wobbling for a few moments until his leg regains feeling. He takes another sip from his flask and sighs. "My body's actin'-" he clears his throat again. "Everything's acting really weird today. Heck, I swear my voice sounds weird every so often…" It sounded like for a moment there was an odd shift in tone and accent in his voice. Such a notion felt absurd to Matt, though. 

   He starts walking again, and with each step his body changes more. His sleeves stretch a little bit more as a final bout of muscle growth is incurred in his arms. His hands were also catching up with all the changes, growing and stretching to become slightly larger than they were before. Changes in them weren't as impressive as other changes in his body as the only shifts that occurred were them getting a little meatier. At least, that's what was happening in his right one…

   The numbness in his left hand and arm seemed to be a result of a much greater change. Beneath the elbow the forearm rippled, skin and muscle seeming to squelch and tighten as the material upon it hardened. Pale skin deepened, orange fading in as his flesh was morphed into metal. The bottom end of that sleeve tore against the transforming limb, fabric shredding as metal continued to extend from the area.

   The associated hand's changes mirrored that of the arm, albeit it seemed a little more intricate. Fingers bulking, cell structure twisting into something inorganic. Mechanical joints rippling forth from his own joints, each finger splitting into a more mechanical and functional version of themselves. Rivets and screws bubbling and popping into place, everything reformulating as his entire hand was transformed into something mechanical.

   While feeling wasn't restored in that hand, Matt had a sensory perception of his nervous system having been connected to it. All he gave it was a cursory glance as he heard his shirt sleeve tear against it, a few bits of fabric slipping off the slightly weathered metal. 

   "Huh…" was Matt's only acknowledgement, his voice slightly lower and raspier at the time. For a second he thinks something is off, but shakes his head and looks upwards, continuing his walk.

   "Nice mech arm, man!" a random stranger says towards Matt as he walks. He stops for a moment and turns towards them, his mind trying to register the compliment. He finds it odd for a split second, but loses that feeling an instant later.

   "Th…thank ya!" he responds. Matt's eyes widen and he shakes his head again. "Jeez, my voice keeps gettin' weird…" He takes another swig of his boba tea and resumes his trek.

   He was roughly two thirds of the way to the exhibitors area now. The mechanics in his arm whir as he opens and closes it, a sense of newness settled in his mind despite himself having a conflicting sense of familiarity with it. Come to think of it, a lot of Matt's mind was conflicted, but every drink he takes from his flask seems to suppress it more and more.

   He raises his mechanical hand and pulls at the neck of his shirt. The body part was now starting to properly feel a little tight as well. Ridges formed in the black fabric as his torso began to push out slightly, pectorals properly emerging from that region. His abdominal region was also slowly growing out, although it was not as prominent as his pecs were. That area remained a little flat, although the ridges of a budding six pack were steadily etching their way across his form.

   The hem of his shirt began to rise further up his belly as a pressure settled in his back. Matt felt a little disoriented as the world around him started to adjust in some way. Looking down he saw that the ground was getting further from him, and his shirt was riding up his body. "Why did I wear such… small clothin'... Come ta think of it why am I… wearin'... Mphm…" he shakes his head again. Why did going shirtless sound… appealing just now? And his voice kept changing… why did it sound like it was bordering on an Aussie accent?

   He tries to ignore it and takes another drink. He starts to wonder how he hasn't gotten to the bottom of this, or how he hasn't even run out of boba. Everything about this is weird, but it's fine!

   As his shirt tightens a little more, Matt also starts to feel something stimulate his skin. A weird feeling of something leathery snake around his body, circling the sides of his torso and extending around his pecs. The chill of something metallic settles on the upper half of his back as something begins to materialize there. All it does is make his shirt tighten more.

   Stumbling slightly, Matt finally enters the exhibitors district. Various booths focused on the latest information regarding different medias lined this region. Much like everywhere else, people and cosplayers alike were doing their own things.

   Matt could sense eyes on his as he stumbled slightly into the area, him feeling his leg numb again. Walking started to shift more into hobbling as moving that leg had finally become hard to do. "God, I hope no one thinks I'm drunk…" he mutters to himself. Although this haze in his mind might as well make him drunk but like… there didn't seem to be any alcohol in this tea.

   With another drink he shakes his head. "Agh, who the hell cares about what others think!" he says a little too loudly, his voice growing deeper with each new word. A noticeable Australian accent was even settling into it. He garnered the attention of a few more conventiongoers, but many of them decided to look away.

   Matt shifts his flask to his left hand again, the metal of the flask clinking against the metal of his hand as he does so. A smile starts to plaster on his face as his eyelids start to move downwards a little. He places a hand in his hair and scratches his scalp a little, the man starting to feel a warmth etch into that region as well. "Damn, the heat's gettin' annoyin'..."

   Not as bad as Aus, though, he thinks to himself. He blinks at the thought though. "Urgh, what's with my… my mind today…"

   He stumbles again. Fuckin' 'ell-

   He tries to regain himself quickly, his pants becoming the next to tighten as similar changes swath that region. While his legs had already become a little more toned over the course of the past ten minutes, their changes were kicked into overdrive. More muscle loaded into them, albeit a similar size as that in his arms. Thighs thickening, the crus of his legs bulging as his calves grew larger. His legs also grew longer, his height increasing even more and the legs of his pants rising.

   He resolves to just stop moving, Matt feeling even more eyes on him. He looks around, a slight look of aggression in his face. "Oi, who y'all lookin' at?! Mind yer own business!"

   His outburst seemed to get most people to divert gazes away, although there were still one or two who seemed to watch. Matt didn't care too much at that point though, his own attention drawing to his legs. Shaking his head and blinking, his eyelids flitter a little. "Fuck, something is… nngh…" he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his right hand into his scalp. "N-no, 's fine-"

   Despite its numbness he could feel a heavy pressure compressing his left leg and foot, although it seemed more focused in his foot. Within a shoe, the foot was squishing and compacting, flesh, bone, and muscle twisting and squeezing. The associated lower leg was thinning at the same time, atrophying at a rapid pace and going beyond what would be considered human. 

   His flesh and bone hardened to a cold metal. It wasn't long until his left foot was warped into nothingness, structure fading into a thin and flat tip. At the same time, a yellow spiral coiled around the upper end of the newly created metallic peg leg. The end that connected to his knee bulged out, skin and muscle dislodged and reshaping. His kneecap practically split in half and became a metallic casing as his knee itself became a metallic joint, two massive screw-like connections emerging from it. A silver ring then bulged around the flesh above his knee region, becoming a clean connection to his knee prosthetic leg.

   He lifted the new leg out of his shoe and sighed before lifting his head back up. A few eyes were still drawn on him. "Ain't never seen anyone with a… a metal leg before??"

   He blinked again. His voice kept fluctuating but to a bystander it was clear it was being overtaken by something decidedly Australian. A few people continued to stay, looking worried, but Matt just lost the ability to care at this point. His new leg clicking against the floor, Matt continues his walk through the convention center, all while drinking some more from his flask.

   The toes of his remaining foot curled as he could feel his shoe get smaller. That foot was easily growing in size, steadily getting larger and thicker and pressing up against the cloth of his shoes even more.

   His eyes zip around the area of the convention center he was in, Matt's back arching as he was settling into a slouched position. Every so often he'd take a sip from his flask, but his mind kept jumping to weird thoughts he couldn't bat away.

   A more chaotic state of mind was seeping into the man's brain. He had already experienced such thoughts earlier but something about this felt overpowering. There was a desire to cause mayhem, to cause some form of destruction- But even then, some part of him still tried to keep such thoughts away, to retain some rationale.

   The almost manic smile creeping onto his face was a clear sign rationality wasn't winning.

   He runs another hand through his hair, rolling his eyes as his mind continues to descend into a state of chaos. Multiple ripple throughout his face as he walks, the structure and vibe of it shifting into something far from what it used to be.

   His broad structure steadily narrows out; lower jaw lengthening and chin sharpening as his skull shape is compressed thinner. Facial features shift and restructure; mouth widening, ears noticeably pushing out, his round nose sharpening to a dull point while a mole formed on the left side of it. The feeling of his face squeezing and shifting felt almost euphoric to him for some reason. 

   He blinked his eyes, his eyesight seeming to improve drastically. As it does so his irises seem to brighten to a bright greenish-yellow, and his eyes seem to sink into his head slightly. His eyebrows flare out and, starting from the tips and moving down, brighten to a dusty blonde. Brows grow thicker and bushier, the ends styling, spiking, and curling to something almost flame-like.

   Speaking of flames, the heat on his head seems to progress until a dull flare enters it. Brown follicles throughout the peak of his head and down slowly burn away in an oddly symmetrical pattern. It's not the most drastic of changes though as what remains of his hair seems to stay in a perpetual flame, those follicles lengthening and sticking out higher. The style shifts from neatly combed to a cataclysmic style of stuck up hair that in itself was reminiscent of a burning fire. At the same time, the color shifts as blonde overtakes browns at a quick pace, and smoldered black enters in certain points as well. 

   He pulls off his glasses and crushes them in his mechanical hand, letting the fragments and frame clatter to the ground shortly after. "Don't know why I was wearin' those!" He then stopped for a moment as he started to feel his shirt tighten more. "Oohoh what's…" he closes his eyes and moans slightly, smile faltering and voice cracking for a second. "What's going on…"

   Something started to push from his back, pulling his shirt to his front at a steadily increasing pressure. More and more this grew, small tears forming and expanding territory to reveal his chest. What looked to be a harness grew visible with each passing second. The back of his shirt was gaining a noticeable circular indent that only seemed to grow as whatever was forming was getting bigger, bigger and bigger.

   The faltered smile restores to its manic glory, his eyes widening. "Heh… heheheh- this is feelin' goooood…"

   His shirt continues to tear apart over his chest at a constantly increasing rate. Black fabric was easily sloughing away as whatever was pulling at it still got larger. He could feel a weight forming as the size was becoming evident, but the sensation of his constricting clothes being torn away filling him was pure ecstasy. The circular formation in the back of his shirt continues to grow some more before it convulses for a few seconds. A cacophony of tears echoed through the air as one final crescendo, and a loud bwoomph! accompany them from behind him.

   The man twitched slightly as he regained his bearings. His head turns slightly to glance at the newly materialized object. A large circular chunk of rubber with metallic spikes sticking out of it. "Ah! My RipTire~"

   He can feel the eyes of others on him again. They were accompanied by whispers that he felt were almost judgemental (even though in truth they were of worry). A part of him flares up, wanting to show them a thing or two… He shakes his head. Some sense of rationality still stubbornly remained. He sneers as he walks further down. 

   More feelings started to run through his body as various final changes ran through it. He felt something appear around his right wrist, a tire-like band appearing before a substance exploded out the top of it and wrapped around his hand and hardened into a leather glove. On his left arm something inked into the flesh of the upper arm, a concise image forming as a skull and crossbones tattoo forms on the skin. At the same time, the fingernails of his remaining hand darkened to black.

   A new material soon grazed the skin of his legs as what seemed to be a new set of legwear started forming beneath his current set. Slightly scratchy fabric rubbing up against his skin as it threads itself around each leg. Something about this seemed to cause his current pants to begin to rip, revealing the camo pattern of the new pants.

   His current belt buckle then snapped, the button of his pants breaking and zipper descending as a new belt buckle materialized beneath the region and pushed everything out the way. An even greater sight of destruction occurred to the left side of his, a lump forming in that side of his pants before it floomf'd out into a pouch. Slowly, the remains of his old pants start sliding down and making way for his new legwear.

   The feeling of bandages wrapping around his right foot ran through that area, followed by the feeling of something else encasing it. Something akin to the top line of a boot slipped around his ankle and rose from the top of the shoe, hinting at the nature of what formed there. His shoe underwent its own pressure as result, the footwear pushing outward being forced to a new limit. The straps snapping, cloth ripping. The shoe couldn't handle it anymore as shortly after the cloth shattered revealing a new, if not ill fitting, boot; black in color and leather in material. He wiggles his toes at the sense of freedom.

   Shreds of his former legwear sloughing off more, his new pair of pants seem to fully reveal themselves in their glory of frayed legs, camo coloration, and various patchings stitched around them. With one last drink out of his flask Matt clips it to his belt, content. Although really, is he Matt anymore?

   His mind was practically overtaken with an irrational desire to destroy something. The very thought was no longer concerning, but instead rather appealing! It was an intense feeling of mental pandemonium. Of an overpowering desire for causing havoc.

   A voice begins to echo through the massive convention hall. “Can Matt, numerical designation 478, head to the HoloDrome sector. We repeat…”

   He stopped walking and planted a hand on his head. His voice cracks, likely for one last time, as it shifts into a mix of two voices. "I… that’s my… eheh… heheheh~"

   Crazy laughter escaped his throat as his mind finally snapped. His voice settles into a perfect Australian accent, and his mind settles into a perfect manifestation of madness. A truly explosive personality! As a result, a new identity was nestled into his brain.

   “Matt? That ain’t my name! The name’s Junkrat…!”

   A few more glares are thrown his way but at this point they are no longer lingering. With a frenzied smile he looks around the spot he stands in. He had no recollection of where he was or who any of these people were, but… 

   He feels a weight push onto his torso, prompting Junkrat to look down at the source. His grenades… 

   “Heheh, maybe just one…”

   His thought pattern is broken when he’s suddenly acknowledged by a set of strangers.

   “Nice cosplay, man!” One says, prompting Junkrat to turn around. The one who spoke was a slightly burly looking man, dark skinned man with fake-looking blue armor and an orange scarf. Accompanying him is a woman in some kind of blue and gold dress (or at least that’s what Junkrat thought it to be). She also seemed to have a prosthetic arm (which Junkrat wasn’t aware was fake).

   “You’ve got the acting pretty well~” The woman begins to take out her phone. “Mind if we get a picture with you?” 

   Junkrat raises a brow and smiles. A picture? With him? Such a proposition was stroking his ego. “Sure!”

   The duo gather around him, sandwiching him between themselves. The woman holds out her phone and holds up a peace sign and the man smiles. Junkrat smiles as well, although his is more maniacal. After a few seconds a shutter sounds emit from the phone, the picture being taken, and the duo break away.

   “Thanks a lot man!” The man said, smiling and walking away. The woman follows behind him, letting out a “Yeah, thanks!” as she departs.

   With that dealt with, Junkrat proceeds to turn around and eye the convention hall. With that distraction out the way, he can-

   “Can uh… Junkrat? Numerical designation 478, head to the HoloDrome sector.”

   Junkrat’s face falls and he rolls his eyes. “The heck’s a HoloDrome…” he whispers to himself. “Eh, whatever, I’m sure it’s not important!”

   He begins to clasp a hand on a grenade pinned to his harness, eyeing a good (and preferably not crowded) spot to throw it. Unfortunately for him, he’s interrupted a second time…

   A large, thick hand grabs his shoulder, followed by the sound of a deep voice muffled by a mask. No words were spoken, just an elongated guttural grunt.

   It takes a few seconds for Junkrat to register the voice, but once he does he somehow slumps more than he already does. “Roadhog! When’d you get here?”

   The gas mask they wear is emotionless, but Junkrat practically feels displeasure illuminating from the larger man.

   “Uh-huh… well Roadie, I think now’d be a good time to-”

   A third announcement rings through the walls of the convention hall, except this time it’s a more feminine voice in a clearly annoyed tone. “Junkrat, numerical designation 478, head to the HoloDrome sector immediately. Precautionary measures will be taken if you do not heed to this announcement. God, this is so FUCKING annoyi-” the announcement then abruptly cuts off.

   Junkrat can practically feel Roadhog’s gaze pierce his very form. He turns to Roadhog and smiles nervously. “Heheh, guess we should head there then…?”

   Roadhog nods, then lifts an arm and points in the direction forward to him.

   Junkrat turns around, vision centering at the outwardly rounded portion of the wall. A large screen that was even visible from where the two were displays a weird circular logo with a bunch of numbers below it. “I guess we’re going there then!”

   The two begin to walk towards their destination, garnering gazes from the conventiongoers. A silence settles between then for a second, one that was quickly broken by Junkrat.

   “...how do you know that’s where we’re supposed to go?”

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

   Even to Junkrat there was an uneasy feeling of artificiality in the location he now was in.

   Despite it clearly looking like the outside, the lack of proper heating or fresh air was noticeable. Nonetheless, it looked like the perfect replica of some small village that he had no idea was an actual place or not. He was also apparently put in a team of some kind. Said team was prompted to sit around some weird looking truck. That was a long time ago though. Now he’s just alone, leaning on a wall, fingers itching to cause some destruction. Roadhog had left a few minutes prior, presumably to inspect the area a bit more. The larger man was likely assured he could leave the Aussie alone after Junkrat failed to blow up a wall. He was still seething about that incident, by the way.

   He watches the rest of his teammates communicate amongst themselves. There were only six of them including him and Roadhog. He didn’t really get any of their names though. There was some older looking dude in a mask, a dark skinned guy with dreadlocks, an Omnic that was surrounded by gold orbs, and…

   A hulking guy in armor walking right towards him.

   “Ah! I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to introduce myself to you…” The man speaks in a deep and boisterous tone with an unfamiliar accent lacing it. His face is shown to be pretty old; weathered with thick graying hair and a beard. “The name’s Reinhardt!” he says loudly, holding out a hand.

   Junkrat doesn’t hesitate to grasp it and shake. “Junkrat!”

   Reinhardt smiles. “It is nice to meet the both of you! There seems to be quite the colorful cast where we are…”

   “I dun even know where we are, big guy. I just have the itch to blow something up…”

   “I take it you were the cause of the explosion I heard earlier, then?”

   “Yup! Although it didn’ even do any damage! Everythin’ here looks like it’s made of wood and shit, a hole should’ve been blown clean through that wall!”

   Reinhardt nods. “This place has some peculiar properties. It’s an odd reminiscent of a place I have… memories of. It fills me with a feeling of uncertainty.”

   Junkrat’s eyes just slowly drift sideways, unsure how to respond to that.

   “Ough, I apologize. Went a little too personal there. Either way, I’m sure we’ll make a great team here!”

   Junkrat just nods. “Yeah. Do you even know what we’re doin’ ‘ere?”

   “...no. Not really. I actually kind of woke up…”

   Their conversation is abruptly interrupted by an accented, calm, feminine voice ringing through the area. “All participants please move to your stations. We will commence the event in five minutes.”

   Reinhardt looks up. “There’s that voice again…”

   “I don’t know what stations it wants us to go to, but I have a feelin’ I’ll finally be able to set something ablaze!”

   “You’re quite the eccentric one, aren’t you?” Reinhardt says with a deep laugh.

   But Junkrat doesn’t respond. A goofy and manic smile forms on his face, the Aussie filling with excitement as the prospect of causing some chaos enters his brain.

   This is going to be great…

[bonesandthebees]

Spruce, you don't have to worry about missing me at all! I don't think we're that off either? I think we're about three or four hours off, give or take. And even otherwise I do read everyone's asks and posts so if you ever want to talk you can always just ask!

But yeah, I've been working through them. Gonna have to ask for an extension though, it'll take me an all nighter to finish all of this and I have classes tomorrow so I need sleep.

You know it's so funny, a year ago it was just spruce on this anon messenger board. Then spruce called for more, and sunflower and I showed up first and now we're this big bulletin board of anons (and Icy <3) just sharing things with each other! I do agree though, it is a downside that we can't interact with each other directly. I hope you don't mind too much, Bee!!

- ❄️

(haha catching up on older asks 😭)

you two seem to be roughly on at the same time and it's not uncommon for me to see your messages pop into my inbox around the same time so yippee for similar time zones

I hope you got that extension!!! make sure to be getting rest snowflake

I don't mind being the messenger board lol as long as you guys understand I might not be able to answer every messenger board ask I get or i just might not have a lot of my own commentary to add to it

[disdainforbroussonetia]

Hoo boy, 1000 notes, huh?

That, to me, is quite frankly insane. I could never in my wildest dreams imagine any of my posts to reach a hundred notes, let alone a thousand. Thank you to everyone who has been sharing this stupid little joke comic around, you guys have no idea how happy I am right now.

Honestly, if I told younger me, that they're not only gonna get this much better at drawing, but also, that so many people will genuinely enjoy it this much? All of the awesome fellow artists on here I'd become friends with? I don't even think they'd believe me lol. And I wouldn't even blame them for not believing me, when I originally set out on my journey to become good at art (5 years ago), this is how my drawings looked like:

I remember it taking me four whole hours to draw this. When I finished it, I legit cried, because no matter what I did, I just couldn't make him look the way I imagined him in my head.

Roughly two years later though, I decided to redraw him in both outfits, to see how much I've improved:

The anatomy is still off here, but at least the scars look like actual scars. This is also when I first gave him a name: "Y-Y", pronounced like "why-why"

Around this time, I also gained interest in making an actual detailed "lore" for my characters, creating him:

The name I first gave him was "Shu Bill", as in "shoebill", like the bird, as all I wanted to do with him was just to test out how good I'd be at worldbuilding.

But then I grew to like him as much as Araki probably likes Dio

I also gave him the new name "Zhu Min", so that now he can have an actual name

By now, I also got pretty good a painting:

All I want to say with this is

FELLOW ARTISTS, PLEASE NEVER GIVE UP!!!!!!!

even if you don't think your art is that good, even if every day, you see other people's drawings, that make you feel self-conscious of your own abilities, just keep going!! One day you'll suddenly realize, that you just got great at drawing, and let me tell you, that is an amazing feeling!!!

I shouldn't have learned how to draw

the picture she's looking at btw is this rose quartz stimboard, that I came across on my dash a few days ago

There's a GIF version and a blank version under the cut, in case you needed that stuff!

edit: also here's this: