#My brain’s a bit different and it took me until like two years ago to realize

[siena-sevenwits]

The urge to apologize to everyone who interacted with me in my first six months of tumblr, because I probably accidentally threw them for a loop. I was still figuring out the etiquette and normal behaviour specific to tumblr, and royally put my foot in it a number of times. Not that I was rude, I but did things like assuming it was like a party, where you had to walk up to people to get to know them, and bravely shoved aside my shyness to message them on the strength of their cool, beautiful blogs… before I had interacted with any of their posts. In my defence, I didn’t grow up with social media, and used it very sparingly as an adult, but still.

[papercorgiworld]

Apologies and love confessions

The Slytherins guy’s are jealous because you have a date. When your date flops, they show up: to make up or make out, or both…

General story introduction and then you pick your favourite Slytherin. Or all of them, I won’t judge.

Theo, Blaise, Enzo, Draco and Mattheo.

Warning: a little bit of smut bc of Enzo and Mattheo ofc.

Not proofread, so if a sentence hurts your brain, my apologies. Let me know and safe an innocent reader.

After months of not writing, I present you… whatever this is.

You took one last look in the mirror and turned to your friends, Pansy and Hermione. “Acceptable?” You asked sheepishly. “More than acceptable.” Hermione smiled. “Hot.” Pansy bluntly stated.

It was a late Saturday afternoon as you made your way to the great hall to meet your date. A few days ago, Neal - a Ravenclaw one year older than you - had asked you out. You hadn’t talked much but all of your friends liked him and he wasn’t bad looking. As you almost reached the great hall you ran into the notorious Slytherin boys. When you spotted them you wanted to turn on your heels, but Enzo already called for you. “Y/n, you’re looking fine.” He slurred the last word a bit as he looked you up and down. Your cheeks went red as all the guys stared. “Ah, your date’s today, right?” Blaise asked nonchalantly. You nodded, getting a little nervous. “What was his name again? Dirk… Dean?” Draco asked with his usual voice filled with arrogance and annoyance. His eyebrows went up and down as he leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. “Neal. And I should be going.” You blurted. Theodore was slow to move aside and you passed him, his eyes never leaving you. As you walked away you could hear Mattheo snicker and your heart sank.

Up until recently you had gotten along with them just fine. You were Pansy’s friend and by association also theirs. Just like you were Ron and Harry’s friend because of your friendship with Hermoine. However, there was a difference. You always wanted to be liked by the Slytherin guys, or just by one. Unfortunately, ever since you mentioned you were going on a date they had collectively decided to ridicule your every move. Making you feel terribly insecure.

***

Your date flopped. Neal was a great guy. Accept for the fact that he was obviously still hung up on his ex-girlfriend. When you entered the Three Broomsticks and chose a table near a window, he told you his ex liked to sit by the window too. When you ordered drinks, Neal told you his ex didn’t like your choice of drink. When he mentioned her for a third time, you fell silent and gave him a tight lipped smile. Oh Merlin. This was the worst.

After a little over an hour you said your awkward goodbyes. You started to walk back to Hogwarts, dreading the idea of telling your friends about your date or worse all those other gossiping people finding out.

As you arrived at the courtyard the ones you wanted to avoid most were there. You tried to subtly speed walk past them. This time it was Mattheo who was first to speak. “Y/n! You’re back early.” You simply sighed and Mattheo smirked. “How long were you gone? Didn’t even last two hours.” Mattheo turned to Theodore who let out a short laugh. Pansy who sat next to Enzo shot up and started yelling. “Oi, shut it!” Your friend took your arm to guide you away from them, towards the castle. “Pay up, Blaisy-boy. Not even two hours, so I win.” You heard Riddle say and you shot one last look at them, seeing how Blaise grimaced and reached inside his pockets to pay up. You were nothing more than a joke to them.

Pansy held onto your arm while you walked towards your common room. Hermoine spotted you from afar and pushed Ron and Harry aside to get to you. “So how was i…” Hermoine’s question was cut of my Pansy aggressive signal to shut up. “So, should we hex him?” Hermoine suggested as she saw that your eyes were welling up with tears. “No, it’s not him. I mean it was a bad date. But, so what. No biggie. But those, those, those… twats! They, they are the worst!” You yell, attracting the attention of students nearby. Hermoine looks over to Pansy with a confused look. “Will hex all five of them.” Pansy said and Hermoine caught on, she knew exactly which five morons you were talking about.

You nodded and sighed. “I need a moment alone. I’m going up to the astronomy tower for some quiet time.” Your friends were understanding and you left.

Theodore

“This is my hang-out.” Theodore says, pulling you out of your train of thoughts. “This is the spot people go to when they’re sad. If this is your hang-out, then that says a lot about you.” Theo halts for a moment, feeling a little exposed by your analysis, but joins you nevertheless, his arms resting on the railing. You notice how he plays with a cigarette between his fingers. “I won’t light it. I know you don’t like it when I smoke.” You raise your eyebrows. “I also don’t like it when you ridicule me, but that’s never stopped you or your merrie band of delinquents from mocking me.” Now, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

He’s about to open his mouth and give you some lame excuse for his behavior, but you stare at him with unimpressed eyes. So, he closes his mouth and lets out a nervous laugh. He takes a step back from the railing and throws his hands up in surrender. “I’ll admit, I’ve not been on my best behavior the past week.” Now, he has your full attention. You wanna hear what he has to say. “But neither have you.” He points to you and you scoff, no longer wanting to listen. “Going on a date with… what’s his name again. Of course everyone’s laughing.” You let out a laugh of disbelief. “Unbelievable.” You sigh.

“How about you go out with me? No one will laugh.” When you didn’t immediately respond he tried to sell the idea a little. “I’ll tell Matt and the others to behave. No more mocking.” You tilt your head in amusement to his suggestion. This guy, unbelievable. “You can do that, tell them to behave?” Theo takes a step closer towards you, leaving no space between you two. “Uhu.” He absentmindedly breathes while his hand softly caresses your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And will you behave?” You ask, subtly taunting him. “I’ll be good.” He says softly and licks his lip.

“I’ll think about it.” You say taking a step and putting some distance between you two. But Theo quickly reaches for your arm, pulling you back towards him. “Don’t play with me.” As soon as you look into his eyes, his lips are on yours. The kiss is filled with longing, his thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in. Theo pushes you against the railing, never breaking the kiss. Your hand finds their way to his messy hair. The more you tug on one another and push into each other, the sloppier the kiss gets. He squeezes your ass and as a reflex you gently buck your hips into him. “Fuck.” He growls. You smile at his reaction and seize the moment to push him away.

Walking past him, you never take your eyes off the confused man. “I’m looking forward to that date.”

Blaise

“I lost a bet because of you.” Blaise says with a loud voice while he’s still on the stairs almost at the top, but still out of sight. You turn towards the stairs waiting for him to arrive. “I mean really, not even two hours.” “No.” You cross your arms in annoyance. “I mean you're annoying sometimes, but-“ You shove his shoulder. “I was not annoying! I AM never annoying. I’m a blessing to be around.” He raises his eyebrows, but you ignore him and continue your rant. “You! You on the other hand are frankly unbelievably childish!” You poke his chest, being more than a little shocked at how muscular he is, but you push that thought aside. “Betting on my misery, have you no shame!”

He spreads his arms in defense. “Well, that was Mattheo’s idea. No morals, that guy.” You raise an eyebrow in response. Just Mattheo. Think not. All of you, you’re a bunch of demon children. “You joined in.” You throw at him, like a lawyer making their case. “And lost.” Blaise says sheepishly. “Don’t be mad at me. I lost money, my day is already bad enough.” You turn on your heels, away from him. “Well what about my shitty day.”

“Ah, about that, your shitty day, I can make it better.” In a split second you’re facing him again, eyes shining with curiosity. “This better be good, Zabini.” He simply grinned. “There’s this guy, who’s been into you for months now. Incredibly hot. Sixpack and everything. Really into quidditch, a bit of a jock, but also really likes wizard chess and magic history. And has a soft side, secretly loves to watch muggle-movies. That’s some boyfriend material, uh?” You’ve been nodding along searching for the catch.

“What’s the catch, Zabini, no dude’s that good. Definitely not one that happens to have a thing for me.” He smiles as takes a step closer. “He would like to ask you out. So.. what do y’say?” You drop your head and shake no. “I’m not going out with him until you tell me what the catch is.” “Fineee, the catch is… he’s me.” You frown in confusion. “You, Blaise Zabini, want to go out with me?” A nervous and adorable smile appears on his face. “Yeah, and I would like it to last longer than two hours.” You give his shoulder a little push. “Depends, are you going to talk about your ex the entire time?” “What? That’s how Dirk ruined your date? What a git.” His name was Neal, but whatever. I got a new and better date.

Enzo

Enzo has his back against the railing. His eyes trace your face. “Didn’t go well did it?” Your eyes meet his and he sees your forehead wrinkle at his stupid question. “Well, look on the bright side. You’re back on the market.” You shift yourself so you’re leaning against the railing with your side and facing Enzo. “I was never off the market. I went on one date.” He also shifted so he’s facing you. “Yeah, you’re right. I was overreacting. I shouldn’t have worried so much.” You look confused at him, but he doesn’t immediately explain. “Why were you worried?”

“Well, uhm, you know, maybe you would’ve liked him.” He tried his best to sound casual, but you could tell he was a little nervous. You took a small step towards him. “Why would that be a bad thing?” He huffed like the answer was obvious. “Because it’s wrong to ask out a girl who's dating.” You frown. “You’ve lost me, Enzo, I don’t follow.”

“Wait, wait. This will clear it up.” He closes the space between you two and cups your cheek. What followed was the softest kiss ever. After a moment you both opened your eyes, but didn’t move away from each other. “See, I couldn’t have done that if you were dating Neal.” You nodded. “I follow.” You brushed your lips over his. A cheeky smile covered his face. “You know, if you’re interested… there are a lot of things we can do now that it’s just you and me.” “Care to give an example.”

“My pleasure.” Is all he says before his hands find their way to your hips lifting you up. Your legs tangle around him as he pushes you against a wall. The cold stone makes you arch into him. His mouth nips on the flesh of your neck. “You and I should go on a date.” Enzo breathes in between kisses. “You two need to find a room.” You're both startled by Neville’s sudden appearance. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Enzo says, looking at you with lust. “Mine or yours?” You ask as you lick your bottom lip.

Draco

You sighed, letting the view and silence calm you. Suddenly you hear footsteps and when you look up Draco’s walking towards you with his usual flair. “What a tool, that Neal-guy. Taking you to the Three Broomsticks.” You roll your eyes and look away from him. “You should’ve known, a guy like him is no good.” Before he opens his mouth again you whip your head around towards him, eyes ready to kill. “He’s no good? Neal’s not the problem. You are! You’re no good, with you mocking and ridiculing. You’ve been acting like a total ass the last few days! So get lost, Malfoy!”

Draco remains quiet for a moment. The frown on his face grows as he realizes his jealousy might have taken the upper hand these past few days. Falling back in his normal composure, his hands reach for the cold railing as he comes to stand next to you. “I just didn’t think it was a good idea. You, going out with him. You need someone who buys you a dress and takes you to a fancy place.” When you look up at him in confusion, he continues staring in front of him. “I think you deserve better.” You huff, indulging his lame excuse for his behavior. “Know any guy like that?” You blurt out thinking back to your miserable date.

Draco inspects the rings on his fingers as he searches for the courage to say what he so badly wanted to say these last couple of days. “Me.” He says so quietly you almost didn’t hear, but you did and you look up at him with wide eyes. Where is this going? “I would like to take you somewhere fancy. Spoil you.” You let out a laugh and he immediately snaps at you. “No, need to laugh. A simple ‘no thanks’ would have sufficed.” You press your lips together and take a step towards him. The scowl on his face falls when your hand reaches for his tie, gently playing with it. “I think I’m going to take you up on that offer, Malfoy.” Your face inches towards him and his lips brush yours.

The kiss immediately becomes more passionate and his hand tangles in your hair holding you in place. His other hand snakes to the small of your back pulling you close. You whimper softly at the feeling of your bodies against one another. This gives him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss even more. You break apart to catch your breath, but you stay close. “You were jealous, weren’t you?” Draco scoffs. “Not. It’s simply a matter of principle. Classy women belong with classy men.” You roll your eyes. “Draco, kiss more, talk less.” He huffs in annoyance, but obliges.

Mattheo

“I told you so.” Mattheo’s voice sang as he approached you. You didn’t turn around, instead you just rolled your eyes. “That guy just wasn’t for you. Don’t be so upset about it.” You shook your head. What’s he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be laughing behind your back with friends? When you stayed quiet Mattheo got worried and his tone softened. “He didn’t hurt you or anything? ‘Caus I’ll deal with him. He’ll never bother you again.” Okay that’s it, Riddle. You angrily grab onto the railing you were leaning on before turning around fuming. “He didn’t hurt me. He was just boring. But you on the other hand, you hurt me with your constant mockery. So why don’t you punch yourself in the face and stop bothering me.” Mattheo looked away from you for a moment, making you think he actually felt bad. But when he looked back up, he was back to being his cocky self. “Can’t punch this pretty face.” He said, pointing at himself, grinning.

You turned away from him, hoping that he would leave. You couldn’t see it but his face fell again, really feeling bad about hurting you with his stupid jokes. “I just knew he wasn’t the guy for you.” No reaction from you. “Look, we can split my win from the bet with Blaise.” You let your head fall, looking at him from the corner of your eyes. The audacity. He came to stand next to you and also rested his arms on the railing. “I know, I can be an ass sometimes. So, just tell me, love, how do I make this right.” Your eyes meet his, you’re surprised by his gesture. “I guess it’s alright. I’m a forgiving soul.” He turns away from the view, towards you and lays a hand on the small of your back. “No, don’t be forgiving. I’ll do anything to make this right.”

He uses his body language to make it clear that he’s willing to do anything to make it up to you, shuffling closer, leaning into you and licking his lips suggestively. “Are you really trying to seduce me into forgiving you?” You ask not believing that that’s the best he can come up with. “Well no, love, I’m going to fuck you into forgiving me.” This man. Who does he think he is… well, the dark lord’ son, but still. Unbelievable. Mattheo falls to his knees, his hands moving from your back, sliding over your ass to your legs. He looks up at you with soft eyes before gently pushing your skirt up. This man… should be my future husband. Mattheo places soft kisses on your thight, slowly getting closer to your panties.

You close your eyes and let out a soft moan as he gently tugs down your panties. “If we get caught up here. I’m never going to forgive you.” He places a featherlight kiss between your legs and you instinctively reach for his curls. “Are you sure? Because I think I’m really excelling at apologizing, don’t you think so, love?” Damn you, Riddle. You’re good, and you know it.

[eucalyptus-lvs]

Good Luck Charm - Carmen Berzatto x Reader

This is the first story I've posted, but I have other ideas if you guys want more. Writing has become a new outlet for me so I appreciate any constructive criticism or any thoughts you may have. Carmy is such a fun character to write for and my own personal brain rot atm. I hope to do more in the future. I also like to listen to music while I write and I feel like Again by Still Woozy goes well with this one.<3

TW: Idk honestly. Mentions of dead brothers, debt, and a heated makeout?

"You think if you scrub any harder you'll put a hole in the floor?" 

He stood quickly. Startled by your presence in the kitchen. "What are you still doing here? Thought you left like an hour ago." 

"Well, I was gonna, but then I feared if I left without you you'd still be here when I come in for my shift tomorrow.” You took a few small steps forward. As if you were worried you'd scare him off. There always seemed to be this air around you two. One that was hard to ignore in the times you had spent alone together. “Then I thought you could use some time to wind down before I attempt to push you out the door so I tried to see if I could make any progress on Mikey's paperwork." 

"Did you?" Tossing the rag into the container and moving his hands to his hips. 

"I think that would depend on your definition of progress"

"Yeah, well I haven't exactly been able to figure that shit out either." 

"We'll figure it out, Carm."

He sighed and looked around the kitchen. "I've just got a couple more-" 

"Nope." You take strides across the kitchen to get to him. "Those couple things will turn into another couple things until you've managed to work yourself into an early grave from exhaustion. I mean you're a head chef and you frequently forget to eat. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke." You laugh, trying to reach for the keys to the restaurant. Only for him to snatch them off the counter and out of arms reach. "Carmy-" 

"Nice try" He moved them out of reach again. 

"Will you just-" You attempt to reach for them again as he manages to move them further from you.

“Oooh, you were so close that time.” Leaning against the counter, he barks out a laugh. Probably a product of the years he had spent smoking. 

“Cut it out. C’mon.” You said shyly ducking your head a bit. 

“Sorry, just enjoyin’ this way too much.'' He covered his mouth with his hand to hide his growing grin. There was something about you that he found so comfortable. He wonders if that's the reason he finds himself being so bold in this moment. 

Leaning to the side, you prop yourself against the counter next to him. Settling in and resigning to the fact that he is not going to make getting him out the door easy for you. “You were one of those guys in high school, weren't you?” Narrowing your eyes a bit. 

“An’ what kinda guy would that be?” He challenged.

“Y'know- The guy. Mr. Fuckin’ Popular. Had the girls lining up for you. Always good for a laugh.” Your teasing tone let him know that you weren't all that upset at him poking fun at you. 

“Think the only laugh I'd be good for is if you knew how wrong you were.” 

“Bullshit.” You shot back, shaking your head. 

“No, really. I uh- pretty much stuck to myself. Just hung around Mikey and Richie. The family mostly. Was too fuckin’ awkward to make my own friends. Had this stutter too. Didn't really bother talkin’ to anyone if I didn't have to.” This time he ducked his head. Scratching the back of it like he was embarrassed to admit it.

“Well, you don't seem to have a problem talking to me.” 

He shrugged. “It's different. Different time too.”

Your eyes met for a moment as you both took a pause. “I think we would have been good friends.” 

“Bullshit. You wouldn't have even noticed me.”

“I would have noticed you.” You affirmed with such conviction he almost believed it.

Looking at you now he imagines that if you had met then his life would look very different. He wouldn't have been a couple hundred grand in the hole with a sandwich shop he only had because his brother killed himself. You would have been there for all of it.

Chicago, Paris, Copenhagen, New York. Every destination and every major moment.

You would have been together. 

If he really indulges himself, he thinks maybe even with a kid on the way. Of all the what-ifs that came to mind, there was only one thing he knew for sure.

You were the real deal.

He allows himself to stay in this bubble with you and before he can think about any consequences he responds. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You whispered. Nodding your head as you both start to lean closer.

Timedly you take your time to meet in the middle. Each gives the other an opportunity to back out, but neither of you takes it. Once your lips touched it felt like a shock to his system. You'd usually been so soft, almost cautious in your dealings with him. 

But this was not that.

You pressed yourself against him. Kissing him fiercely and with so much need he was worried that if he tried to open his eyes it would have all been a dream. Another cruel joke his mind had played on him only to wake up alone. Reminding him of all the things he never felt he could have.

Your hands card up into his hair, tugging at the stands. He lets out a deep groan as he switches positions to place you between himself and the counter.

He realizes now how much of a habit it is for you to look out for him. While everyone took the first chance they got to go home, you stayed behind to make sure he would get rest. Then, you took that extra time to try and figure out the clusterfuck of paperwork sitting on his desk.

You show no signs of discomfort as his hands begin to trail your body. Pushing you further against the counter to get as close to you as physically possible. He almost thought he could feel your heart pounding as your chest pressed against his, but knew it was more likely that it was his own. So caught up in you that every detail of this moment felt fuzzy and distorted.

So caught up he didn't realize you started grinding against each other.

One hand cupped around the back of your neck to keep you in place. The other moved down to your ass to aid your movement as you hooked a leg over his hip. His chest burned and heaved. Breath heavy from being cut off from oxygen for so long, but not wanting to break the moment. He wanted to give you something to remember. Not screaming during lunch rush or getting into a fistfight with a guy in a fuckin’ carrot costume.

Something good.

There weren't many times in his life he felt particularly lucky, but when he moved his head down to mouth at your neck. He'd never felt so lucky in his life.

Your head tipped back, letting out a chocked sigh. Followed by the ‘uh, uh, uh’ perfectly timed with the movement of your hips against his growing length. Gripping a hand on the back of his shirt to keep him in place. He imagines that this is the closest he will get to redemption, to happiness, after having spent years in the hellscape that was the New York kitchen. 

When he tried to lift you on the counter the large metal mixing bowl sitting to the side of you came crashing to the ground. The loud reverberation causes you to break away from each other. Effectively bursting the blissfully passionate bubble. 

Your hand moved to your neck where his mouth had been. Almost certain there would be marks left behind to remind you of this moment for days to come. As you both tried to regulate your breathing Carmy couldn't help staring. Opening his mouth like he had something he wanted to say, but couldn't quite articulate what that thing was. You slide off the counter and attempt to straighten your clothes while keeping your eyes on the floor. You always had a hard time meeting his gaze when he looked at you like that. Like if he looked hard enough he might find something that wasn't there before. 

“It's probably a good thing we got interrupted. Things were getting kinda heated.” You forced a chuckle. 

Shit.

This was it.

You're about to tell him this was all a mistake. A heat of the moment thing that you got caught up in and you now regret. As quickly as he had you, he was gonna lose you. Another goddamn shoe was gonna drop. “No, y-yeah. I don’ want you to think-”

Your gaze returned to him. “I think if we took this any further we'd be violating about a dozen health codes after you were just on your hands and knees scrubbing the floor.”  

“I could get on my hands and knees again.” He let out, slightly dazed. Running a hand through his hair in an attempt to ground himself. 

“Jesus- Carmy.” you laugh, not knowing how else to respond. Sliding your hands down your face as it heats up in a heavy blush. 

“I-I didn't mean it like that.” But now he’s definitely thinking it.

He also thinks, rather darkly, that he's never been happier not to have an HR department. 

Truthfully, he didn't know what he meant by the comment. He just knew he wanted you and you didn't seem opposed to the idea. You haven't run away yet and that alone is enough to quiet the spiral he normally defaults to in moments of uncertainty. He had doubted himself a lot in his life, but he was sure with the way you kissed him that you wanted him the way he wanted you. “We've had a long night. Walk ya’ home?” 

“Maybe you could come up? I know for a fact you haven't eaten. I may not be award-winning, but I'm sure I could manage something edible.” The smile on your face grows slightly at the prospect.

“Yeah, that's uh- that sounds good. Let's grab our stuff and we’ll head out.” Hand grazing your lower back as he moved to guide you to the lockers.

He wonders if, for the first time in a long time, his luck has turned around.

[exhaslo]

Ghostface!Miguel x Reader PT.1

A little drabble until the poll is done~

Warning: Minors DNI, murder, drugs

It had been a long day and you were ready for some R & R. At least, you wanted to. It was Halloween and you would have loved nothing more than to go home, shower, and watch Halloween specials while munching on some candy and popcorn. That would have been your dream night after a long day of work, but those plans had derailed. One of your dear friends had invited you to a Halloween party. And what's better?

Apparently, your long time crush, Miguel O'Hara, was going to be there.

Now, Miguel was your friend. Had been for years since college. He was as fine as fine could be. You went from good friends to touching yourself to wet dreams of him every night. You had wanted to confess to the man, but he had girls all around him. Miguel was smart and stern. It was like he never took a day off to relax. You wanted to be his stress reliever.

"I can't imagine him at a party. Let alone a Halloween one," You mutter under your breathe as you put your costume on, "I hope this isn't too slutty."

You arrived at the location of the party, growing more worried by the second. This place seemed like those frat parties back in college. Miguel avoided those like the plague. You hesitantly grabbed your phone and noticed an unknown number calling you,

"Um, hello?"

"Hello, (Y/N)" The voice on the other line whispers. You tense slightly,

"Sorry, do I know you?"

"You tell me."

"Look, it's really loud and I'm super nervous right now. I can't even remember if I locked my own door, so I can't say who this is." You admitted, still hesitating on entering the party.

"Why are you so nervous?"

You gulped, "I was told the guy I like would be at a party and, well, it isn't somewhere he would be at...normally. That, and I feel so self cautious with my costume," You admitted.

What harm was there to let your heart out? It did make you feel better.

"Then call him and find out." The voice said in a demanding tone. You sighed softly,

"I was going too, but then you called. Anyway, you are you?"

"Someone willing to spare you."

The call dropped. You stared at the number in confusion, trying to think of who would call you like that. As you finally entered the building, you suddenly recalled the recent murders on the news. The only connection that was made was a random phone call from an unknown number. You heart rate spiked as you immediately called Miguel.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel answered. You bit down on your nail,

"H-Heeeey, so, super random. I was told that you were coming to this party uptown and well....I'm like freaking out because I got this strange call and you know how my brain leads from one thing to another and-"

"(Y/N), I need you to breathe. I'll be there soon."

-----------

You felt relieved when Miguel told you that he was coming. That was about twenty minutes ago. Time was going by slowly and your anxiety was rising. You were on your phone, googling everything about the Ghostface murders. He wouldn't attack you in a public place like this. Right? You were so focused on the news articles that you failed to notice some guys spike your drink.

You tried to calm down by drinking the thoughts away. You had a few shots, plus your tainted drink. Another ten minutes had passed and you were starting to feel woozy. You couldn't focus and decided to head to the bathroom in case you needed to throw up. As you stumbled, your phone rang again with the unknown number.

"Miguel?" You slurred, leaning against the wall.

"..." The voice was quiet at first, "You sound different from earlier."

"I don't feel too good. Migueeeeel," You groaned lowly. The voice grunted on their end,

"Don't hang up on me."

"Hey there, miss. Why don't we take you home?"

Your vision was blurred, but you could see two figures hovering over you. You tried to push them away, gripping onto your phone for dear life. The two men took it upon themselves to take you outside through the back alley door. The phone was taken out of your hands and tossed towards the concrete ground. You tried to complain, but they had covered your mouth.

"Don't think we can wait for the car-"

Before they could even finish their sentence, Ghostface appeared and started to stab them repeatedly. You slumped to the floor, unable to register what was happening. All you saw was red. You tried to come to your senses, barely registering that Ghostface was killing the two men before you. He didn't match the reports. Ghostface was supposed to be a calm and silent killer, not a stabbing maniac.

"(Y/N)! Are you alright?"

All you could do was whimper as you faded to black.

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

PT.2 Will be in a bit!

[acheronist]

to the ghost of henry peglar, congrats on writing your poem down 177 years ago!!!

to the actual academic scholars who have studied the pages before me....

so I took the royal museum greenwich's scan of the poem page (which is available online hereeee) and screwed around with its light levels in photoshop until henry's script was darkened enough to see more clearly. then I digitally traced over the darkened letters as best as I could, while also trying to discern his handwriting, and type up how I was reading it & this process took me about a week to get done between like... living my regular day to day life lmao.......

so when it WAS done, the final isabel acheronist peglar papers ["the open C"] transcript seemed a bit different than how I remembered the readily available russell potter transcript going ? (the poem is on the last two pages of that pdf for those of you who don't spend a billion hours a week looking at it btw)

it felt like I was getting more/different information out of it, compared to the potter transcript, which was kind of stressing me out honestly. so THEN I compared mine with barry cornwall's original poem and found more words that matched up? particularly in the second and third stanzas?

so!!!!! almost two hundred years later here's what I've landed on:

April 21 1847 the C the C the open ) ( it grew so fresh the Ever free the Ever free the Ever free without it without it covered it will Run to Earth above Re gions Round I love the C I love the C when I whare & I wish to be with and and silence whare Never go if a sailor should a Come and Make the meek What matter what matter Come Ride Or Sleep there was shores white and of red morn at the noisy hours knew I was ever near I was Born the [...] in felt Unto the Maid the wale the young dolphin ...... yet thes back of gold the Call of gods When I was on Old England Shore I like the young C more and more oftentimes time flew to a sweltering place like a bird thats seeks it mother Case and ware she was bird oft to me for have I loved a young and Hopen C

so then after going thru All Of That, I wanted to have a version of the original poem with parts that Henry did remember clearly highlighted for comparison purposes:

I know it's a popular theory that Henry was writing a dirty parody of the original poem? which if true, is funny as hell. me when i have to write cheeky victorian porn before i die.

But (serious voice) something about that hadn't ever seemed exactly right to me... IN MY HEART it seems more realistic that around 1847 he (and also by extension, the whole surviving expedition crew) were starting to experience confusion / brain fog symptoms from being ummmm quite physically unwell. the lead poisoning/scurvy combo would have severe effects on the brain's ability to function properly, and I started to wonder if Henry was trying to test his memory somehow? So he picked a widely known and popular Victorian era poem about being a sailor to see how much he could recall??? and he then got a little whimsical with it, and wrote in his own words to fill in the portions he couldn't fully recall, because it's his own diary and likely didn't expect anyone else to ever read it, much less have it turn into ONE of TWO surviving sources about the expedition?????

like... idk... this is probably the work of someone in the exact moment as they were starting to realize how bad things were, and then was trying to cope by using poetry. and That hurts my feelings enough as it is, but going through it was also just a very weird and haunting experience....... like, I can recognize all these tiny details in this dead guy's script and handwriting now. and to read his own account of his life in his own words, what stood out to him and what he recalled, what he wanted people in the future to know about him? insane. it literally felt like i was getting haunted by him for no reason. on top of knowing that Someone (#teamarmitage) loved this guy enough to keep his memory protected and safe, even though They Were So Totally Fucked And Going To Die There, unknowing if they'd ever be found again........

SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + CRYING A BIT HONESTLY

anyways thanks for reading this all. I don't think that this is revolutionary franklin expedition news by any means, and idk if there's a better different transcript somewhere that i've not found that already covers all this? but it's consumed a lot of my life lately lol and i wanted to share. because its the anniversary of henry writing it, and it felt...... important....? 💌....????

[triangle-dog]

TW pet death

(Not one of mine, don't worry. You won't miss anything if you skip this post.)

I will always and forever be a collar and tags person (or, look, if you are really concerned about strangulation then a harness & tags person or a breakaway collar or whatever). Microchips are great, all my beasts are microchiped, but if one of them gets out I want to be able to find them and bring them home no matter what has happened to them.

Two years ago, almost exactly I think, friends and I were three miles into a beautiful autumn hike with the dogs. The leaves were turning, the wildlife was active, and there was a crisp breeze. We rounded a corner and immediately saw a body floating out on the lake, a dog, its long black fur drifting back and forth in the small waves. After some deliberation on what to do, and if it was safe, I waded out to the dog while the others in the party held our dogs way back from the lake in case the water was bad. He wasn't that far out really, but it felt like it took forever to get there because I was fervently hoping he'd have tags. I could actually feel the relief wash over me when I got there and saw patches of blue collar peeking out between the drifting fur.

I towed him into the shallows by the collar. I'm the most familiar with bodies, which is why I was the one who went out to him, and I know that they age differently in the water but by my judgment he'd died farily recently - less than a day ago. When he's in close enough to shore that I don't think he'll drift away any time soon, I unclip his collar and return to the group. We sit down and strategize for a few minutes. How do you make a call like that without raising their hopes? (Answer: you can't - just the phone ringing will be enough).

"I'm very sorry," I say, "but I found a dog in the lake and I thought you would want to know." She tells me she was half expecting a call like this, that the gate didn't latch correctly and both dogs got out but only one came home. She tells me that they were so worried he wouldn't be able to find his way home in the storm last night. She tells me he was very old, that his mind had been going for awhile now. She tells me that most of his life, until the last few years as his body became less able to manage the walk, they would come down to a beach near here and that he loved to swim. She tells me she hopes he at least got to relive those memories for a bit before he went.

I give her the coordinates, it's not too far from a road if you bushwhack - certainly less than the 3mi we did, and tell her we'll bring him to shore. I pick him up out of the shallows, he feels frail, yet he's so so heavy from the weight of the water in his fur. He's much smaller than Nova, yet lifting Nova has never felt like that. I lay him gently on the rocky beach in what I hope is a natural looking, less-traumatizing-to-the-kids position. I clip his collar back on, with the fur no longer drifting around in the water obscuring it, you can now see the little tag saying "Poochie" on the front. We head back the way we came. That was walk enough for all of us, it would feel wrong to seek a different ending, and it was an out and back trail anyway.

Ever since then, every dead cat or dog I see reminds me of those lakeside discussions. We are all overly dedicated animal people, we're fully aware of microchips and all of our own pets are microchiped, but carrying a waterlogged body 3mi to the car to drive it to the vet's office was just not feasible - I don't think it would occur to most people that that was even an option. Even if they did think of it, most people would be opposed to putting a dead animal in their vehicle. I'm just gonna make it easy on people and put my phone number on my animals.

(Sorry, that post was so much longer than it needed to be, but my brain must have recorded that experience in a different kind of memory than usual because it is so so clear and comes all as a set like that so that's what you got too)

TLDR: OP found a dead dog once and has big feelings about it. Put collars/etc. on your pets

[maybege]

What If - Part 4

Summary: Mandalore approached and you cannot help but feel like something is about to go terribly wrong.  

Pairing: alpha!Paz Vizsla x omega!fem!Reader

Wordcount: 6.2k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, explicit sexual content, size kink (Paz is big-big), (semi-)public sex, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampies, knotting, cockwarming, dirty talk, praise kink, Angst with a capital A, fluffy fluf

As we say in German “Was lange wärht, wird endlich gut” which is what I am using as my excuse for why this took so long. The truth is: depression is a bitch, real life is a bitch and creativity and time for writing are like the same side of two magnets that do not want to even go near each other. Anyway, we made it!!!

There are a few people I gotta thank for this. First and foremost the iconic, the brilliant @mostly-megan who not only suffers through all the random AU ideas I have (and there are a LOT of them) but also brainstorms with me. The Ragnar Scene and also a very (very!) lovely scene towards the end of this part would not exist without her and for that, I am very grateful. Then, of course, the ever-present, ever-lurking genius that is the Boba Tea Anon who is in the Paz trenches right there with me and encourages me in everything I do (even if it is just a – I promise one day I will do a Lord Huron Paz piece!). Also, a very special shout out to Neyo (@galacticgraffiti) who gave the Mando kids their names, suffers through The Horn Knee with me and is always there to cheer me on. And then, of course, all you Paz girlies (gn) who make me feel like a sane person while I ramble about a faceless man who appeared for a total of 23 minutes (if that) and is – canonically – dead anyway. You make sharing my writing worthwhile in the first place and I will be forever grateful for getting to share my writing with you.

And with that – on to the last part (and the new canon for me lol). Please let me know what you thought in a comment or a reblog!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

There was a certain impatience to him you had not expected at the last meal. When the announcement came that you were approaching Mandalore, Paz – who had spent the dinner between you and Ragnar – had pulled you into his lap, his arms like iron around your body. Ragnar had wandered off to the front with all the other foundlings, expectantly looking up at the clan leaders.

You had turned your face into Paz’s neck, trying to get his scent on you. You could not believe how you had only known this man for a few days – a week, at most! – and yet his scent was the only thing that seemed to calm you down. And it was no different for him.

The alpha’s hand immediately found your scent gland and you shivered as the soft leather brushed over your skin. It did not take long until he pulled his gloves off, settling them into your lap, before resuming his motions.

The nervous energy in the room was palpable but it was practically radiating off him and it inevitably affected you as well. Where you had been excited, if a bit reluctant, a few weeks ago at the prospect of reclaiming Mandalore, now there was only a strange sense of dread in your stomach. One that even the alpha could not dissolve.

“When you wake up tomorrow, some of us will set foot on our homeland for the first time in too many years,” Briggs announced, his serious gaze roaming over the packed hall, “I cannot promise you it will be easy. I cannot promise we will all wake up to the sight of Mandalore. But we will die trying.”

You could see Ragnar looking back at his father who tilted his head. A gesture meant to be reassuring but only resulted in you questioning whether Paz would be one of those dying. You shifted nervously, causing Paz to tighten his hold on your waist.

“Calm down, love,” he rumbled quietly behind you, “It will be alright.”

Forcing yourself to nod, you gripped his large hand tightly, trying to burn into your brain what it was like to touch him,

“Rest well and rest assured that tomorrow will mark the start of a brand new era,” Briggs raised his glass, “And let us toast to our home!”

“To our home!”

Everyone lifted their glasses and the conversations resumed, a constant background roar that reminded you of the countless fates that were tied to the success of this mission. A strange feeling started in your chest, and not the kind that Paz’s presence usually caused.

You shifted again, watching as the crowd dissipated and the foundlings were walked off to bed. Their excited chatter moved down the hall and something cold clenched your heart when you watched Ragnar wave at his father.

Immediately everything quieted down. With everyone returning to their own conversations and the hall being considerably more empty now, Paz did not waste any time. His hands landed on your thighs and you managed a wobbly smile.

 “What is going on in your pretty head?” he asked you, his fingers skimming over your thighs, “You’ve been squirmy all evening.”

“Who says something is on my mind?”, you popped a berry into your mouth, grimacing at the sudden sour taste.

“True,” he laughed, “You might have just spent dinner thinking about when you can finally sit on my cock again.”

“Paz!” you gasped, “you cannot – I mean – what if –“ You glanced around with flushed cheeks, relieved to see that no one had seemed to hear his indecent theory.

He laughed again and the sound made your heart and body melt. “I will never tire of making you flustered,” he murmured, his big hands pulling you closer, “Though I actually would not mind having you cockwarm me tonight, sweet omega,” his fingers brushed the underside of your breasts and you shivered, “I would be lying if I said I could ever get enough of you.”

“I actually had something similar in mind,” you admitted shyly, slipping off his lap and enjoying the way his hands followed you and his body leant into you. As if he wanted to keep touching you, as if he never wanted to let you go. Your heart skipped a beat and you smiled.

“I … would like to try something?”

He leant back, his legs spreading with the movement and your teeth dug into your bottom lip at the sight of the obvious bulge in his pants. “Oh yeah, omega, and what would that be?”

You made a few steps away, making sure that your robe (a dark blue, just like his armour) swished around your form as enticingly as possible. Paz’s head turned to follow your movement from your place in front of him to a chair in a dark alcove, dressed in shadows where you knelt down right in front of it.

The big alapha hummed, rising to his feet, knowing exactly what it was you had in mind. “I think I can get behind that idea.”

From the other sounds that were floating through the cantina, you knew that illicit things were already well underway. Most of them likely more graphic and adventurous than what you had in mind. Still, you felt a little nervous at the prospect of sucking Paz Vizsla’s cock.

But for some reason, this was exactly what you needed. You wanted to bring him pleasure, so much pleasure.

You watched as he pulled off his cape, folding it expertly before motioning for you to stand. He dropped it on the floor, his hand steadying your elbow as you sunk down on the soft fabric. “Don’t want you uncomfortable,” he announced, before sitting down in the chair.

He looked big like this, bigger than usual. And oh so confident it already made your panties wet. His knees spread, the trunks he called thigh caging you in and you watched with bated breath as his fingers undid his codpiece, expertly freeing his cock.

He was already hard and dripping precome, the knot at the base slightly inflated and you squeezed your thighs. It was not like you had never seen his cock before and it certainly was not as if he had not fucked you before. Yet, the sheer size of him and the thought of taking him in your mouth overwhelmed you a little.

Where were you supposed to start?

But when one big rough hand closed around his shaft and Paz started to jerk off right in front of you, you could not help but to simply … dive in.

Opening your mouth as far as it would go, you closed your lips around his tip, one hand struggling to fit around him. The grunt he let out, paired with a twitch of his hips, had you smiling around him.

“Stars above,” he cursed, “Warn a man next time, won’t you, love?”

You looked up at him, teary-eyed, while your tongue licked the underside of him. Or at least the part you could reach. He was heavy in your mouth, heavy and big and he tasted of something that made you want more. Slowly, you moved forward trying to take more of him but soon enough, he bumped something at the back of your throat and you sputtered.

Before you could panic about breathing, Paz had pulled out of you, his large hand cupping your cheek while the other was still wrapped around the base of his cock. “Deep breaths, omega,” he soothed you, his hand leisurely stroking himself, “You are doing so good for, trying to take it all.”

“You’re so big,” you marvelled, wrapping your hands around him, “I want it all, alpha, I – Paz, I really want it all.”

“Want my help?” he asked, “Might have to be a little rougher, though, sweet omega, and I can smell how much that turns you on but I need you to tell me – Are you sure?”

You nodded eagerly, darting your tongue out to lick at him. “I am sure, alpha,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the tip, “I promise.”

“If it is too much, tap my thigh three times, understood?”

You nodded again, shifting on your makeshift pillowed. Your thighs were already drenched at this point and you wondered whether you could come just from sucking him off. It seemed like you would be able to do a lot of things when it came to Paz.

His grip on your face loosened just the tiniest bit. “Open up for me,” he ordered, pulling your face towards him, “There we fucking go. Gorgeous.”

“I will never tire of this sight,” he groaned, “You struggling to take my size, trying to be so good for me,” he shifted, his hips surging forward and you smiled with pride when you did not gag this time, “Can I go deeper, love? Is that okay?”

With your position between his legs, your jaw wide open around him, you could not really nod. But Paz seemed to recognize the excited twinkle in your eye because you could hear the grin in his voice when he muttered a “Stars, you’re perfect.”

You took great care to keep your breathing even and through your nose, experimentally swirling your tongue around him every time he pulled out of your mouth. His thrusts grew heavier, his hold on you tighter and you swore you were this close to coming just from the sheer sight of his shaft covered in the sheen of you.

It was not long before he came in thick spurts on your tongue. You struggled to swallow it all, your throat working overtime as you did your best to swallow around him. “Good girl,” he praised you, “My good fucking girl.”

Your heart jumped in your chest as you licked him clean, not quite ready to let go of this intimacy.

His hand came to your chin, gently scooping up some of the come that had spilt from your lips. “Here you go,” he offered his coated thumb and you sucked the digit into your mouth without hesitation. You could never get enough of his taste.

“Let’s retire for the night, love,” he suggested, “We have a long day ahead of us.”

*

By the time you got settled in your bunk, you knew it was only a few hours before everything would start. Before you had to say goodbye.

Paz had excused himself, leaving you to get ready for bed alone before he appeared by your side, dressed completely in his armour.

“Are you okay?”

“Said goodbye to Ragnar,” he explained, sitting down on the little cot, hunching his shoulders over so he would not hit his head.

“Oh.”

Somewhere behind the curtains, someone snored.

Paz grunted when he laid down, his giant arm reaching out and pulling your back to his front.

“Is this okay?” you asked quietly, “It’s a tight fit.”

“It’ll be okay,” he murmured, grunting when he pulled the curtain closed, “I will not spend my last night without my calmer.”

“Aren't you uncomfortable?” you asked, your voice small, “With – with the armours and me and all the …”

“I will not spend my last night without my calmer,” he repeated, leaving no room for doubt. It took a bit of shuffling to turn you around but when you finally were facing him, you already felt much better. You tucked your face into his neck, breathing in his scent as he wrapped both arms around you.

Your heart was squeezing so hard in your chest that the emotional pain became physical.

What if this was his last night? What if you would never see him again?

And what if you did? Would it ever be like this again? Would he want to keep you as his calmer (or more?) when Mandalore was finally reclaimed?

Paz shifted, his large hands running over your back until one settled at the back of your neck.

“I got you,” he rumbled, “You’ll be safe, omega, I promise.”

You swallowed away the need to tell him that it wasn’t your safety you were worried about.

 *

The next morning was worse. It barely qualified as morning and you were sure you had not found any sleep. You had just been shifting all night from side to side, desperately burying your nose in his neck to soak up every little bit of his scent that he could give you.

You were not sure if Paz had slept either but when the alarms sounded in the room at the same time, it took him a minute to get up. Everyone was shuffling around the packed room silently, most of them already dressed and armoured. Ready to descend to the surface of Mandalore.

Despair was clawing at your insides. You felt like you were watching something from the outside that you knew would fail. That you knew would destroy everything you held close to your heart.

And yet, you watched helplessly as they lined up, preparing to board the ship that would take them into the atmosphere.

It was silent – eerie – as if everyone knew something big was about to happen. And you couldn’t move from his side. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. You needed to be here with him.

You watched as Paz double-checked his weapons and your mouth quirked up as you remembered how the man had seemed like a weapon on his own the very first time you had seen him. And how true it was, now that you saw guns and rifles packed to every piece of his armour that could carry it.

Your smile fell just as quickly as it had appeared. Would this be the last time you got to see him?

You had been scared a lot of times in your life. Like when your parents had taught you how to swim and you had been convinced you would sink to the bottom of the sea. Or when you had taken a bad fall in one of the hiding places and scuffed your knee. But that childish fear of creatures and heights was nothing compared to the existential dread that settled in your stomach.

It wasn’t fear that something could go wrong it was fear that you knew something was going to go wrong.

And could you really risk this?

“You, uh, you will come back, right?” you whispered, already hating how needy you sounded. But you needed to hear him say it. You needed Paz Vizsla’s words to be the ones to tie you to the hope of a future together.

“Someone already scared for me?” Paz tilted his head and while you knew this was supposed to be a joke, his voice did not sound very light. Like he knew it too. That feeling.

“Well, I mean you have Ragnar,” you shrugged, pulling the cloak closer around you, “And I mean your tribe needs you, you are a great warrior and –“

“Exactly,” he interrupted you gently. You watched as he approached you, his steps heavy and measured and you swallowed. “I am a great warrior,” he repeated with his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him, “Which is why I will come back to you.”

“But –“

“Listen to me,” he whispered, his hand cupping the side of your neck, scenting you so gently your eyes fluttered close, “I vow to the stars, I will come back to you, love.”

That was the last thing he said to you before he boarded the ship.

*

If somebody asked you what happened during the time you were waiting, you would not be able to tell them. As soon as Paz embarked on the with the scouting group, it felt like time stood still. You barely knew what you were doing. You were pacing the entire length of the ship it seemed, Ragnar keeping you company for a few of those pacing trips before he distracted himself by playing with the other foundlings.

You tried to approach your feelings rationally. You had spent a lot of your time these past few days in close proximity with Paz. He was an alpha, you were an omega, obviously there were some biological components that could have contributed to your feelings for him.

But that was exactly it. Your feelings …

At the thought of Paz not coming back, it felt like your heart ripped into two. You could not fathom a world without him in it and, more importantly perhaps, you could not fathom your life without him in it. You wanted him to come back and when all the tribes settled in their parts of Mandalore, you wanted to be as close to him as now. You wanted to spend your evening with him and Ragnar and you wanted to know what his days were like, what his role was in his clan.

Whether he wanted to keep you in his life as well.

Waiting was pure torture. Communications were cut and all that remained was the cold silence of the ship. You avoided the cockpit and strategy meetings, Briggs (thankfully) seemed to understand your reluctance and did not press you on the matter. Until Axe Woves came to warn the ship of the Imperial that had settled on the planet and the fight that had broken loose.

That was the meeting you had insisted on attending, hoping that – in whatever capacity – the stoic alpha might drop some comments about the people on the surface.

“Is,” you swallowed, “Is he well?”

The beskar-clad man, much to your frustration, said nothing at all.

Which was not very helpful.

The fight continued and troops were dispatched and you stayed, keeping the foundlings safe and quiet. In fitful dreams, you heard yourself confessing your love to him just before he disappeared never to return again. You woke up with cold sweats until you crawled into his bunk, pressing your nose into his pillow and willing yourself to think of a future in which he came back to you unharmed.

Sometimes, you could hear Sluice and Chants converse about what to do if it all failed. Whether to settle back in Nevarro was another possibility or if the tribes should stick together to find a new home.

All you could think was that you would not leave Paz on this planet.

You could not leave him.

It was morning when the announcement came. You had buried yourself in his cot, his sheets pressed to your nose as you took trembling breaths when the PA system stuttered to life, the mechanical voice echoing through the empty hallways.

You had retaken Mandalore. The air was breathable and you could safely land on the surface to meet the victorious troops.

The joy and excitement that spread through your entire body could not be described. Nothing could happen to wipe the smile off your face as you frantically searched for the one good dress you wanted to wear when you saw Paz again. You wanted to please him and kiss him and tell him you loved him. And maybe, if you were very lucky, he loved you too.

Stars, how you hoped he would.

But that elation stopped short when you set foot onto Mandalore. You could not even look at the surrounding landscapes, the fallen home of your ancestors – when you spotted the group but no Paz. A quick glance around did not reveal him either and suddenly the feeling of dread was back again.

Briggs was standing there too, and you knew the man long enough that when you saw his eyes getting glassy at your sight, he did not need to say anything anymore for the tears to fall.

This was it then.

You always wondered what it would feel like to live with a broken heart. Now you knew.

The pain in your heart was unbearable and you suddenly wished that you had never left the bunk this morning. That you were still curled up in his scent and his blankets without the knowledge that the alpha you wanted to spend your life with was dead.

“Where is my buir?” Ragnar asked somewhere behind you and you could hear it in his voice. How he tried to sound strong but he was just a child. A child without his father.

He made his way to the front and stopped by your side. You put your hands on his shoulder.

“I am sure he will be fine,” you assured him, not believing your own words, “He – he must have … another mission somewhere, right?” you looked to Axe Woves who avoided your gaze, “Right?”

Ragnar grabbed your hand. “Bu said if he is late, I need to distract you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we're family,” he said it so effortlessly, “and because I know he will come back but you might worry and you shouldn’t worry.”

You were not sure what happened first: the stopping of your heart or the break in your breath. Paz told him you were his family? Ragnar considered you … his family?

“Do you wanna play a board game?” the boy asked and the breath rushed back into your lungs, “Bu taught me a few games for when I wait for him to come back.”

“He did?” you asked, your voice faint as you followed him back to where someone had set up a small open-air cantina at the ramp of the ship. You ignored the looks Briggs and Chants gave you. Ignored the way that Bo Katan bowed her head as if to pay respect to you as if you had something to mourn.

Not now, you told yourself as your heart cracked in your chest. Maybe tomorrow you could bury yourself in Paz’s bunk, breathing in his scent until there was nothing left but your own grief.

Tomorrow, you promised yourself, Tomorrow I will know he is dead.

*

The sun was setting over the mountains and Ragnar made no sign of stopping the game anytime soon. He had patiently explained the elaborate card game to you before dealing the cards. And then he had continued to play with you the entire day. Sometimes, people joined you for a round or two. The first had been Din Djarin – the man with the green baby. He had not said anything but you could feel the sadness coming off him in waves.

Then there had been The Armourer who had stayed for only one round, occasionally speaking to Ragnar about his helmet ceremony (the first having been interrupted only a few weeks prior). She was followed by Sluice, Bo Katan and finally, Briggs.

“Mind if I join?” the older man had asked, only sitting down when you nodded.

“Not at all,” Ragnar spoke up, relieving you of the to find the energy, “Do you know the rules?”

Briggs had left after two rounds, his warm hand on your shoulder the only indication of what he had come here to say. My condolences for your loss.

The tears had burned hot in your eyes but you forced yourself to keep playing. Ragnar won most rounds and the one he did not, you were fairly sure he lost on purpose. “No worries,” he assured you with childish wisdom, “Sometimes it takes a little longer to get the rules.”

“That is okay,” you forced yourself to smile, “How about we take a break for some food?”

“Good idea!” the boy jumped up, “I will get some of the berries and you stay here and watch the cards!”

Before you could protest, he had raced to the small buffet table.

You both welcomed and feared the moment of solitude this afforded you. It allowed you to take a deep breath, to let your shoulders and your guard fall. Maybe even a few tears if you were quick about it. You did not want Ragner to see you like this. He seemed to be determined that his father was alive and well – that he would return – that you could not bear to be the one to break his heart.

“Bu!” Ragnar shouted and you whipped around immediately. It took you a moment to find Ragnar but when you did, he had his arms wrapped around the legs of a large man. A man dressed in dark blue armour.

 “Paz,” you sighed, feeling tons lighter. Ragnar threw himself at his father who caught him though you did not fail to notice the way his legs almost buckled.

Stars he was hurt.

A new wave of panic washed over you and you did not realise you had stood up until the stoll toppled behind you. Several pairs of eyes were on you but you only cared about one.

Paz set Ragnar down and whispered something to him. You watched as the boy nodded, skipping off to Din and the Armourer. And then Paz walked towards you. Though walk seemed too weak a word for the way his heavy steps came closer and closer, his looming figure soon right in front of you.

Paz was right in front of you.

“You,” he growled, taking your hand without slowing his stride, “Come with me.”

“Paz, what happened?” you asked, trying to look him over, “Are you hurt? Did – Were those Imperials we spotted on the radar? Axe Woves and Briggs and – oh stars, we need to get you checked out and wait – are you bleeding? Where does it hurt maybe I can –“

A door swished open and you glanced around in confusion. This was not the infirmary. This was not even a proper room if the cleaning supplies on the shelves were anything to go by.

“Paz, you need – oh!” your hands gripped his shoulders tightly when he lifted you onto a surface. Was it a table? A counter? Stars, you could not bring yourself to care. Not when he was standing in front of you, panting like he had the fight of his life behind him.

Which he probably did.

Your heart clenched again, from fear or joy you could not tell.

His large hand fiddled with your dress and with a rip, your entire front piece was hanging off you in tatters.

“Alpha,” you cried, moving your hands from his shoulders to his chest, “Alpha, are you all right? I was so worried.”

The big man stepped between your open legs and you took a deep breath. The smell of adrenaline burned your nose but you could not help but notice the arousal that was in the air as well. He was angry and determined and the way he did not even look at his hands when he tugged on his belt made you glad you were already sitting down.

“Keep calling me that and I will be,” he grunted, opening the snaps of his armour and finally his fly.

Your eyes were fixated on his hand around his cock. “Pull down your dress,” he instructed instead, “I want to see your tits.”

You hurried to do so, almost ripping the fabric entirely in the process but you could not care less. Not when you had your dream of an alpha standing between your open legs, getting ready to fuck you. The ruined fabric pooled around your hips and the cool air made your nipple pebble. But then Paz was right there, the bulk of his body between yours and you could feel his cock against the inside of your thigh.

He pushed the tip of his cock against your folds, slowly circling your clit and you whimpered. Why did everything he did feel so good? “Ready?” he asked, spreading your wetness around and you found yourself wishing that you could see. That you could see how big he was against you, how his hand gripped himself, how his brows might furrow in determination and the set of his lips as he pushed inside you.

But you could not have everything in life. And for this moment, the feeling of his cock stretching your walls was enough. He was here, he was alive and he made you feel so stars forsaken good.

“Fuck,” you sighed, “Paz …”

“That’s good, huh?” he grumbled, slowly pulling out before pushing back in. You could feel your walls ease around him, your juices covering his shaft and the gland on your neck pulsed with the need to have him scent you.

He remained still for a few moments and you took a deep breath, breathing him in again and trying to get yourself to realize that he was alive. Your alpha was alive.

Paz started to move, then, and slowly pushed inside you again before building up a steady rhythm that had him deep, deep inside you. And all you could think, between bouts of pleasure, was that he was alive. Paz was alive.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your hand shaking as you gripped the edge of the table, overcome with emotion, “A-alpha, I was so scared. “

A particularly hard thrust had your hands fly around his neck. “I was protecting you,” he replied, his voice shaking, “You were never in any danger, omega, I would not allow it.”

“I wasn’t scared for me, you di’kut,” you cursed as you hastily wiped away the tears streaming down your face, “I was scared for you!”

Paz grunted at your admission, pushing inside you again and pulling you as close as he could with the armour in the way. “And I was scared of never seeing you again,” he confessed into the darkness between your faces, “That I was breaking my promise to you.”

“Wh-What,” you gasped, feeling his cock grow inside you, “Alpha, what is happening?”

“Oh fuck,” he grunted, “Sorry, ‘mega, sorry, I didn't mean to – oh shit, love, you gotta stop squeezing me.”

Easier said than done. In fact, it seemed impossible. Because as soon as you realized that it was his knot swelling inside of you, all you could think about was what it would be like to be knotted by him. Which turned you on beyond belief.

The mental image of him filling you up to the brim, the giant size of him staying inside you, made your walls flutter and your high approach so much faster. Paz’s movements did not stop and you could feel the ring at his base growing and growing, catching on your entrance with every thrust and making you yearn to keep him inside.

“Alpha, will you – Can you – oh!” he hit that spot inside you again that made your blood sing and you fell back against the wall, completely at his mercy.

And then the light went out.

Your body tensed with fright and you squeaked, thinking something had gone horribly wrong. But Paz did not seem deterred and you faintly remembered that the light switch was somewhere on his side of the room.

There was a sound you could not pinpoint, followed by a loud clatter and then his hand was at the back of your neck, pulling you to him and you squirmed at how he folded you in half, his cock still nestled deep inside you and then he was … kissing you.

You gasped, the feeling of his lips familiar against yours and everything you had dreamed of.

“Fuck it feels good to fill you up,” he murmured, the praise making your cheeks warm.

Your legs were still trembling around his hips and you tightened your hold around his neck. Your nose bumped against his scent gland. Add that to the feeling of his smile against your shoulder and even retaking Mandalore could never rival the feeling of being scented by him.

“That good, huh?” he teased you, his lips moving against your skin.

He had some stubble that tickled your sensitive skin and you gasped, the sensation opening you up even more.

And then he pushed inside you one last time as you came around him. The knot at his base swelled with no signs of stopping, locking you together as he filled you up. You shivered at the feeling of him twitching inside you, spurts of come filling you up in a way you had never experienced before, increasing the pressure inside you that made your walls clench. He continued to rut against you, causing your clit to rub against his pelvis again and again, prolonging your peak.

After what felt like an eternity, you came down from your high, relishing in the feeling of him still pulsing inside of you. It was strange, something you had never experienced before, but the closeness made you sigh contentedly against his lips.

Paz was quiet save for a few grunts, his hands grabbing your hips, keeping you as close as possible.

“I’ve never been knotted before,” you admitted between kisses.

“Really?” Paz asked, his mouth pausing on yours, “How does it feel?”

“It feels kinda nice, alpha,” you whispered, pulling his face closer to yours again.

Paz did not say anything for a moment, his laboured breath loud in the small room. Then his hands cupped your face and you could feel his eyes on you and you wondered if he was able to see you despite the darkness. Probably not, after all, it was his visor that usually enabled him to do so. But he made you feel seen with how his thumbs brushed over the apples of your cheeks, still wet with tear tracks or how his lips softly landed on yours.

“I don’t think I told you yet,” he said against your mouth, “But you are beautiful. To me, you are the – the most stunning omega I have ever seen. When I was down there – when I … I dreamt of what it would be like to see you with my own eyes.”

A flutter started in your chest. An awful flutter of hope that had you thinking of futures beyond the next few days. He could not mean what you thought he meant, right?

“But you helmet –“ you started, trying to rationalize away the hope in your voice.

But Paz had other plans. “I want to court you,” he said, sounding as determined as ever, “Stars, I want to properly court you, love, whatever that entails for your clan but I asked Briggs and –“

“What?”

“I wanted to make sure that I did everything right,” he explained, his hand warm on your back, “So I asked him about any customs I might have to know, that last night before we left and – and for a second there it looked like I would never get to ask you. But I can, love, I can ask you now. Will you let me court you, ‘mega? Will you let me spend the rest of my life with you and Ragnar and all the other foundlings the stars let us have?”

“You – you want children, too?” you asked, feeling like the breath was stolen out of your lungs, “M-more than Rganar, I mean?”

You could feel his smile against your neck, the tip of his nose buried in the valley beneath your ear. “Course I do,” he confirmed, “Ragnar is the biggest gift of my life, I won't say no to that joy again.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest and you could feel your walls clench around him. Paz moaned, his cock twitching inside you. “Is that a yes, then?” he asked carefully, his hand wandering up to cup the back of your neck. He moved away from you,

“Yes,” you breathed out with the biggest smile on your face, “Yes, Paz.”

The scent that surrounded you made you euphoric and you realized that it had been Paz all along. That sweet scent that made your heart beat faster and a smile appear on your lips? Paz fucking Vizsla.

“Open your eyes, mesh’la,” he asked you quietly, his breath warm on your face, “Look at me, sweetheart.”

And you did. Your eyes blinked open and it took you both an eternity and a second to get your eyes used to the seemingly blinding light of the storage room. But then your eyes met his and you saw Paz Vizsla for the first time.

He had dark eyes, just like you had daydreamed, and his hair looked just as soft as it had always felt. It was matted to his forehead in places and he looked … exhausted, like he had not slept in days. There were bruises on his cheekbones and you could see some dried blood and dirt on his jaw. But all of that was overshadowed by the brightest, biggest grin on his face.

It made the corners of his eyes crinkle and you could not help but smile back, absolutely in awe of the man in front of you. What were you supposed to say the first time you saw the face of the man you had fallen hopelessly in love with?

“You are handsome,” is what you settled on finally, carefully brushing your fingertip over his crooked nose.

He huffed out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Thank you, my love,” he rumbled and your heart skipped a beat at him calling you his. Because you were, truly, whether you had realised it before or not, his.

“I love you,” you blurted out, feeling oddly shy.

“I love you too,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, “There is no version of this life in which I do not love you.”

“You will have to tell me about your scars,” you whispered, your eyes roaming over his face, catching on one that cut through his eyebrow, “Every single one.”

“I will,” he promised, kissing you again, “We have a lifetime for it.”

[fernsnailz]

HI . GET ON THE DISSECTION TABLE. taking your brain RIGHT NOW OH MY GODDDDD. OH MY god ,,, everything in the zine,,,,,

obviously the quality of your work, the art itself is so good ,,,, but OUGHHGGGGHGH i need to bang my head into a wall until im unconscious . like the title itself, starting off . woe mama we are in for a fucked up roboty treat . your comps . your writing . in the most respectful and awestuck tone possible . i need to kill you

my favorite i think is how you draw gemerl ,, all the robots you nail their expressiveness but oughh ,, him in particular makes me kick my feet . 'you are everything i fear becoming' makes me actually tear the fucking floorboards up the themes of autonomy ,,,,,, ,,, and how you storytell through your comic panels,,, the 'what a fool you are to think the doctor is gone' panel set makes me drink 2 Monsters and eat glass

THE . THE IMPOSSIBLE GOAL COMIC RAGHHHHHH. FAV FAV FAV . geninely shaking and trembling looking at it like jesus thats so fucked up ,,, your mind . your writing is so everything !! i would love to get any insight for how you workshop it because it is consistently breathtaking it sticks with me so heavily,,, one time i accidentally stole a line of dialogue word for word from your Never turn back zine comic and had to change it dfhjd,,,,, (wow this line is so cool ! ...a little toooo cool. squint.) but yeah god the last comic wow,, your panel compositions are banger after banger you are so good at consistently writing evocative stuff,,, tragic, rlly funny, hopeful, its so inspirational

thank u so much for putting together such a cool zine, would love to have it physically one day !

GOD. THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS EDIT IS KILLING ME. this is such a rewarding ask to get, i'm so glad you picked up on these things!!

my writing work shopping style is. hm. a bit all over the place. i have a lot of thoughts about it i'll put under a cut if you're interested. there's a lot of little things i've picked up that help me out so so much that i would really love to share!

ok FIRST i should note that it took me so goddamn long to write this thing. like i had the very very VERY first concepts for metal sonic good future like. a year ago. the first scrawlings are literally in a notebook right after some thumbnails i was using for dance in fire and i was editing dialogue up until two days ago. i'm ill

BUT!!! there are a few things i like to keep in mind when i write/edit that have really helped me!

GET OTHER PEOPLE TO READ YOUR STUFF. ESSENTIAL STEP. i get stuck in holes with my work a lot and having beta readers and other eyes on this thing made it like a million times better

sometimes you have to kill your baby. there will be certain lines or moments that you ADORE that simply don't fit into the larger piece, and you gotta just cut it out to make it better sometimes. but usually this gives birth to an even cooler and more epic baby. or sometimes your killed baby is also resurrected later to be used in a different scene. does this make any sense

figuring out what emotion you want a scene to make people feel is very important - with this in mind, i also pay really close attention to how my writing or scene concepts make me feel physically. i think this is the thing that has helped me most with work shopping anything i want to be evocative. does a line make me tense my jaw? make my teeth vibrate? make my chest tight? do i suddenly feel the blood in my hands? if it makes me feel something within my body, i try to draw on that physical sensation when forming the rest of the scene.

ok this last one is. stupid. as i was wrapping up this thing i went through a final edit phase i'd call "Garten of Banban Vision." Garten of Banban is an indie horror game that has uhhh kinda mid dialogue. a lot of it focuses on exposition, and any emotion in it feels a bit hollow. with this in mind, i read through everything one last time and imagined like all of the lines were from a Garten of Banban game and spoken in the character's monotone voices. if the line felt like it could fit a little too well in the Garten of Banban world, i considered editing it. but if i started thinking "oh shit this is pretty good for a Garten of Banban game" i knew it was fine. do you understand what i was alluding to when i said my writing process is a bit all over the place

in conclusion. writing hard

[entertwinedsewntogether]

Long, long time | L.H

luke hemmings x reader

summary: you don't know how much longer you can cope with luke being on tour

warnings: panic attack, anxiety, angst with comfort, hurt/comfort, fem reader, reader is really going through it, very brief mention of lack of appetite, bit of poor self hygiene, not proofread

a/n: first time posting on tumblr despite being on here for years. literally terrified, also how god damn good is the feeling of falling upwards live album. i started levitating, don't get me started on os/co i could write a whole essay. also the ending is so rushed it's not funny but i couldn't think of an ending.

plus, the ending was my grandparents wedding song and i think it's so romantic so i put it in.

~~

It was early. The night had kept you awake, closing your eyes meant seeing every mistake you had ever made play in your mind. The curtains on your window were left open, the empty street and faint stars mocking your every move. The dim streetlight was your only source of light, and something about it was wrong.

It had been two weeks of this, of constantly shaking hands and always looking over your shoulder. Showering took more effort than it should, you had a never ending stomach ache, it felt like you didn't need to eat or drink. Your brain had been on constant overdrive for so long that it didn't know how to switch off, and it felt like there were rubber bands, squeezing around your chest and your brain, getting tighter and tighter by the minute.

For two weeks, you had done the same thing each night. Sitting up in bed, crossing your legs under your thick blanket and rocking, back and forth and back and forth. Your hands found your hair. It was greasier than you realised. How long had it been since you washed it? Stretching out your fingers, they felt wrong. They look different then you remembered. How long had it been since you had looked at yourself? Your hands find your knees, gripping onto them as you continue to rock.

You really don't want to. But you know you should. Where is he today? What even is the date today? When did you last talk to him?

Oh, his voice. His sweet, sweet voice. What would he say if he saw you like this? And this bed. This bed is far too big without him in it.

Luke is worried as well. You last spoke three days ago, and it was only texting. Usually you facetime every night, but he hasn't seen your face in just over a week. He wonders if you are busy, are you seeing your friends, are you working more?

If you squeeze your eyes shut, you can see him. He is sitting on the bed in front of you, he is holding you, he is smiling that gorgeous soft smile that he sends your way whenever you feel down. You can feel his hands rubbing up your arms in a soothing manner, his lips pressing against your forehead as the sweetest act of comfort.

You raise a hand to his side of the bed, dragging your hand along his pillow. No. No. The corner of your eyes prick.

Standing up on shaky legs, you stumble through the dark until you find your phone, face down on your floor, next to some discarded clothes. When did you let your bedroom get this filthy? The hands digging at your chest begin to dig their nails in. You kneel down, sitting on your heels and click your phone on. It's far too bright, it stings your eyes, but nonetheless you gaze lovingly at your lockscreen. At Him.

His beautiful blue eyes, warm and loving, and his gorgeous eyelashes, god he is blessed. His beautiful smile, halfway to a laugh, bringing a sad smile to your lips. Your eyes blur as you touch his cheek through your phone screen, a ragged breath coming from your chest.

You unlock your phone, blurry eyes and shaky hands pressing his contact, and the big green call button. It rings once, twice, three times, four times.

"Hey honey! You ok? Isn't it early at home?"

You don't respond. Your mouth hangs open in shock. He's alive. He's breathing. He's real, and you haven't imagined him. His voice is coming through your phone, he is on the other end and you can almost feel him.

A deep breath.

"Luke," You sob, "Luke."

"Oh, my girl."

You can hear voices becoming louder, and some clattering, a door closing and finally, just him.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"It hurts, Luke. It really hurts."

"What hurts?"

"My chest. It's too tight and I can't breathe properly, and my brain is so sore, every time I move it stings and burns. And my skin is too tight on me, but it's too loose in some places, and I don't recognise myself and I'm so scared. I'm so tired, and I'm so scared, and I can't sleep, and the bed is too big and the house is too silent, and I need you."

You say it all in one breath, trying hard to regulate your breathing as you hold onto the phone for dear life.

"Ok, can we take some breaths together? Nice and slow. You're ok. You're safe."

You try to breathe, and eventually your chest opens up a bit. You open up your mouth to talk, but suddenly it's all mush. You sit together in silence for a bit. Speaking is too difficult. You click the phone onto speaker, and try to make your way back to bed.

"I'm right here baby, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

You manage to groan out a response, pulling your blanket over your shaking body. Another sob escapes your lips, and you wrap your arms around your middle, pretending that you are anywhere else, that you are anybody else, that you have your boy with you.

"I'm so proud of you, you're so brave, can we keep taking some deep breaths? Just copy me."

You listen to his breathing through the phone and try to copy it, the pressure in your throat easing slightly.

"I love you so much. And I'm home so soon. So soon."

"Yeah. Not soon enough." A shaky inhale, a shaky exhale.

"Do you want me to sit with you for a bit? I can be quiet, or I can talk, whatever you need honey."

He is so patient. He is so kind. The first time he saw you have one of these, he sat in the dark in complete silence with you for threehours.

"Talk to me. I need to hear your voice."

And so he does. He talks about what you will do when he gets back. He talks about hearing you in all of his songs, and how he can't wait to hold you.

"I need you to come home soon, Lu. I think I'm fading again. I can't sleep. I need you."

He hears the tremor in your voice, your desolate tone, your sniffles, your slight stutter. He feels his heart break in two, knowing that he isn't there to hold you, to put you back together and smooth your skin.

"I know baby. Not long now, and I'm all yours for as long as you need, okay?"

"Okay. I'm really tired. Can you sing to me?"

And he doesn't hesitate. You swear you can hear the slight smile in his voice,

"Always."

"Never thought that you would be, standing here so close to me ,there's so much I feel that I should say, but words can wait until some other day"

His voice is sweet. His words linger in your head and your eyes drift closed.

"Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again. It's been a long, long time. Haven't felt like this, my dear since I can't remember when. It's been a long, long time"

Your heart feels warm. You know that it will not be easy. You know that the next two weeks will be hard. But you know that you will see him soon. And you know that you can live when you're with him.

"You'll never know how many dreams I've dreamed about you. Or just how empty they all seemed without you. So kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again It's been a long, long time"

[fagckity]

quackity x ftm reader

Stress Relief

you and alex have been dating for almost 2 years, and you finally managed to move together.

alex isn’t a very social guy, he likes having time alone for himself, so even tho you two sleep together, your offices were separated so you could have time alone during the day.

Alex was usually the one who got stressed out the most, different projects, either done by him or his friends, or some hateful comments. When he was stressed you were the most loving boyfriend in world and you made sure he felt good. Sometimes you would blow him so that all the stress would go away at that moment, or maybe ride him.. anything to make him feel good.

But these days there were a lot of things that were stressing you out, uploading videos and college, and it was all overwhelming you. Alex notice that you weren’t being that excited about anything anymore, you used to yap about your day at night before you two went to sleep, but this last days, he just found you sleeping before your usual bedtime.

After realizing this, Alex had an idea. He decided to finish work earlier that day so he could at least awake at night.

he went to your shared room and he find you laying the bed looking at your phone.

You had dark circles under your eyes and visually you were overwhelmed by stress, Alex let out a giggle and hugged you from behind letting out a chuckle. He started kissing your neck and making you drop your cell phone. You were tired so you blurted out a rather cold reply, "What do you want...?" - you growled, Alex started to bite and suck your neck a little harder, until you couldn't be upset anymore, you just let yourself go.... 

And from one moment to the next he was on top of you completely naked as he pulled down your pajama shorts and put your legs over his shoulders. Before you could say anything he said a sweet “shhh príncipe stay still I will be gentle okay?” — and you nodded, giving him consent to keep going.

He started thrusting slowly in and out of your sloppy and wet cunt, alex noticed how it was squeezing him in and oh god it felt amazing for both you. — “oh my god..- I forgot how wet you can be chiquito.. puta madre..” — both of you were feeling amazing, Alex started going quicker than before and also started rubbing your clit trying to make you cum.. which was weird cause he always wanted the moment to last.. but you didn’t complain.

after a few minutes you couldn’t hold it any longer and let out a pathetic moan “Alex.. I.. I am close.. fuck..” — he nodded, he was also a moaning mess, as if he was the one getting fucked. — “me too baby.. oh my god..” — you came first, and quickly after that, Alex came inside you.

He pulled out, and thought it was over, you were panting and trying to take deep breaths until you felt him thrust inside again.. this time with no time to adjust, he just started thrusting at the same quick pace he had literally one minute ago. It was too much for you. — “Ale.. I can’t..” — you whimpered, he laughed between breaths and said — “shh don’t worry, I know you can. I just need to make sure to fuck every little stressing thought out of that pretty little brain okay?” — you could just moan and nod as a response, the feeling was amazing but it was a bit overwhelming. — “Good boy.” — he said.

this continued for hours, or at least you felt like it. You have lost the count of how many times he made you cum, you weren’t even thinking anymore, you were dumbfounded by his cock to the point you could only mumble non sense. Alex was definitely good in what he is doing, and it felt amazing.

You two finally couldn’t do anything more, both of you were tired, Alex gently pulled out and kissed your head. Carrying you to the bathroom and cleaning you up, at that moment you were just saying incoherent things and Alex was laughing at it as he took good care of you, like the amazing boyfriend he is. ———————-

This is my first post omg, I have this thing written since probably last week but I was embarrassed to create an account to share my delusional latenight thoughts.

it’s 8pm in London and it’s really cold aaa

[itsevanffs]

My five favourite fics

Thanks for the tag @moontearpensfic :3

"Self-rec time! What are your favorite five fics that you've written and why? After replying to this ask, feel free to pass on to five other writers to spread the love. 💗"

Ok this is a little difficult. In no particular order:

slowly [E, 14/?, Spider-Verse, Miguel O'Hara/Miles Morales]

Slowly is currently my favourite fic! This might change but I'm 1/3rds through it and it's still going really strong, which is super fun. For those who don't follow my spiderverse stunts, here's a plot summary:

Miguel, a 37 year old divorcee, gets invited to Miles' 14th birthday party through happenstance, where they befriend each other. Over the next six months, that friendship deepens into something Miles isn't quite prepared to handle, and which Miguel isn't ready to give up.

It tackles a lot of (in my eyes) pretty complex subjects, like the nuances of parental neglect, grooming, trans experiences, sibling dynamics, teen sexuality and more :D Aside from that, it's also a PWP, which tend to be my favourites overall. It's a good brain squeeze for me to navigate all the intertwined realistic aspects while still making it believable, and from the response I've gotten, that seems to be something I do pretty well!

Anabiosis [E, 3/3, Harry Potter, Tom Riddle/Harry Potter (implied)]

Anabiosis was a big ol chonker of a fic, and took a lot of research to get right, particularly in the last chapter. I cried as I wrote the ending of the first chapter---I think I sobbed for about 20 minutes straight, a sentiment a lot of commenters have echoed---and it's very close and dear to my heart. It's a big character study about grief; grief for something you never got to have, grief for something you didn't know was there until it was gone, and grief for something you always took for granted. I think it turned out the best it could be, and I'm glad I wrote it.

At the expense of the world [E, 5/?, Harry Potter, Tom Riddle/Harry Potter]

At the expense of the world (or expense, for short) is one of the oldest ideas for a fic I've ever had. I've always been sort of fascinated by ancient Roman culture, and the second I learned about the honestly massive amounts of slavery they did, I wanted to write a fic about it. That's over a decade ago, now, although this fic itself is a lot younger; it's just turned 2 and a bit :D It's also got a lot of research behind it, and while it's more fantasy and PWP than anything else, I'm still really grateful to the very warm response it's gotten!

Sugar [E, 3/8, Spider-Verse, Miguel O'Hara/Miles Morales]

Sugar is a big excuse for me to play around with a bajillion iterations of the omegaverse at once, and it's really fun! I also really like how organic the dialogue has turned out; watching ATSV 30+ times has really helped me nail down their voices :D It's got some heavy topics in it, like sexism (fantasy sexism I guess) and cultural differences among universes regarding treatment of different dynamics. It's cool! I love exploring stuff like that, so Sugar is a tasty treat to me! (pardon the pun)

the bad man [E, 1/1 Spider-Verse, Miguel O'Hara/Miles Morales]

This is my first ever pornshot with complete nonconsent, which was a pretty notable milestone for me! I had a lot of fun writing it---I think I wrote it in like... a week or something. I'd check but that takes the fun out of it :P It has two iterations; a teacher/student version, and a brother/brother version. The brother version is a separate fic, you can find it in the series if you want. I'm not sure which one I like better, tbh

Okay, uhh, tag... @cindle-writes, @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger, doubling the tag for @mosiva, and @aldergroves and @muchymozzarella. no pressure obv :)

[yevmarie]

Light My Fire | Chapter 4

Masterlist

< Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 >

Plot: having lost everything you are drowned in depression, which had happened to you a year ago. Now you need to struggle with the apocalypse as well with no sparkle in your heart. But there is one man who can light your fire to live.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Pronouns: you, she/her

Warnings:

angst;

mentions of depression;

swearing;

differences from the main plot may occur;

bad English (not my first language).

Honestly, not a big fan of this chapter, but I hope you'll enjoy it. Or at least find it fine.

Taglist: @your-shifting-gurl @bae-live-0

You started feeling worse both mentally and physically as several days had been passed. Not accepting Rick’s death did a bad thing to you leading to crying most of the time, losing proper sleep, and isolating from all the group. Carl was not an exception as Shane started stealing his attention and behaving like a father. The child in turn couldn’t resist it which was natural; you couldn’t blame him.

The only thing that cheered you up a bit was Daryl’s trophy after one of the runs he took part in. He brought you a jezve and a coffee package, asking if he could join you in the mornings. You found it cute and caring. The ritual involved sitting together in silence, sometimes pointless talking. If you both were in a mood you joked causing different looks from the group but Daryl and you didn’t care at all.

To distract you started helping in the camp kitchen because you liked cooking. You also used to spend lots of money on culinary classes to dig into the hobby. Both for pleasure and getting this damn serotonin your brains craved while the therapy.

But the magnificence didn’t last long until Daryl suddenly stopped joining you in the mornings probably for three days in a row. He didn't talk to you during the days and tried his best to avoid you. You didn’t blame him but found it ridiculous. And damn it disappointed you as Daryl was the closest person in the group although you knew nothing about each other. But you didn't push on him, just coped that you would do it on your own. This was definitely you didn’t have to get used to.

One day you joined Carol in the kitchen, helping her cut ingredients for the meal. You struggled to do this, the knives were dull and it irritated you. You missed your ideal kitchen with expensive knives you sharpened masterly. Thanks to the course you knew how to do it right. Not without spoiling the two at the beginning, but no one learns from the first attempt.

“Carol,” you groaned, “I’ll go and sharpen the knives. It’s just torture to cook with them”.

Carol hummed in surprise “Okay. What about gathering the group’s knives as well? I think everyone would be grateful to you for this,” she smiled.

“Why not?” you shrugged your shoulders and headed to your tent. You took a grindstone you grabbed when you were packing your things on the first day of the outbreak and your machete as it was dull too after your several runs in the forest. You decided to sharpen the kitchen knives and the machete first to then offer your help to the group, so anyone could be sure you wouldn’t waste the weapon. After some time you returned to the kitchen.

“Carol, are they fine now?” you asked the woman offering her to try cutting vegetables.

“That’s perfect!” she exclaimed smiling after the first try.

Your face blushed. “Thanks, I’ll go ask the group then,” Carol nodded in agreement.

You turned around and saw Daryl sitting near the kitchen all this time wiping the bows from the blood. Anxiety started to hit you as you decided to come up to him and offer your help.

“Hey, I’m going to sharpen the group’s knives. Do you need..?” you asked cautiously not knowing what to expect from him. As he showed his ignorance you decided to head back to other people.

“Ya ‘re so cliche,” he murmured when you turned your back on him.

“Excuse me?” you asked surprised.

“Jus’ like a manic pixie dream girl,” he almost spitted the words becoming angrier every second.

“Dixon,” you started, “Don’t let me fall for you. You seem much more clever than you pretend. Haven’t ever noticed you being interested in art,” you replied sarcastically already regretting the tone as he stood up in front of you making just several inches of distance so you could feel his body warmth. “What’s your problem?” you crossed your arms as a defense gesture seeing him clenching his jaws and breathing heavily.

“Tha’ coffee on the highway,” he started talking in his low raspy voice, almost whisper, “Tha’ first dialogue on tha’ hill, mornings, knife sharpening, running through the camp pretending to be an ideal bro for everyone,” he made a step towards you as if there was any space for it and it made you step back not to collide with his wide frame, “Swimming naked…” he silenced for a moment to make sure no one heard and returned his gaze now deeply into your eyes. “Your recklessness ‘ll kill ya one day,” he almost growled in your face thankfully not too loud so that no one still couldn’t hear him.

“Haven’t heard you complaining about this before. So it’s your ‘No’?” you just answered as if you were unbothered at all.

“Jus’ fuck off me,” he rasped and stomped back to the log and sat continuing wiping the arrows.

“Ain’ no bloomin' in a heavenly garden?” you heard flirting Merle’s voice as he was approaching you.

“Seems like that,” you replied trying to distract from his younger brother. “Do you need your knife sharpened?”

He took your arm pecking your hand. “I don’t believe these arms are made for it, but something else,” he smiled with the gaze undressing you.

You chuckled in response. “Has it even worked on any woman?”

“Not so often,” Merle replied after several seconds of silence changing his facial expression from seductive to a desperate one.

“I guess I know why. So?” you were waiting for the answer.

“Ya know how to do it properly?” his face and voice are serious now. The Merle you haven’t ever seen before.

“Yeah”

“How?”

“Used to attend culinary classes; was a big part on tools and their service. Wanna check?” you offered him your machete. Merle took it sliding his thumb over the blade making sure it’s straight and sharp. He then went to a nearby bush to do several cuts.

“Ya reassured me. I’ll bring you some,” he answered with appreciation making Daryl uncomfortable to stay longer with you both, so he grumbled something and walked away.

“Someone's jealous,” Merle whispered to you smiling giving your machete back, and walking away to his tent.

---

The white and blue room was filled with the warm sunlight. You were sitting on the chair. Palms crossed and fingers tapping because of the disturbing silence around. A fair-haired woman put on glasses and started examining your answers on the Beck’s test. After some minutes, she put them down and talked.

“Ms. Y/LN, unfortunately, I have to diagnose you with depressive disorder.” the psychiatrist’s voice sounded concerned yet calming. “This is tough as you may know, but CBT therapy in cooperation with antidepressants makes a good team to relieve symptoms and then conquer the disease. But we need your input as well. Nothing will help you without your right attitude and strict followings to guidelines.”

“Okay,” you replied silently.

“So, you need at least eight sessions of CBT and medication for at least a year to avoid probable recurrence.” the doctor said while prescribing a recipe.

“Are there any drawbacks?” you asked anxiously.

“Yes, as many other usual medicines. But if you take it regularly and correctly, nothing similar will happen. As for drawbacks, you may have headaches, nausea, probably vomiting, and anxiety attacks. But this all happens when you quit the therapy incorrectly. I mean when you drop the course without gradual minimization of the dose. Don’t be afraid, I’ll write the detailed plan, and we’ll have regular sessions so I can track your condition. Here it is.” the doctor gave you the recipe sheet.

“Thanks, Dr. Cloyd,” you smiled feeling your eyes become watery.

“Get better, Ms Y/LN.”

---

Another several days passed, perhaps a week, you couldn't remember. Everything you cared about was the permanent headache and nausea as you dropped the treatment course right after the outbreak. Just because you forgot the pills at home and there was no meaning in getting new ones as this could do worse. And you were not satisfied with the idea of someone dying just to get you antidepressants. Also, you got more anxious than before and you isolated yourself again to feel more relaxed.

This time you decided to have a run alone in the woods to find some berries and nuts for children who were ‘suffering’ from the lack of sweets. You grabbed a bag and machete and headed down the forest disobeying Shane’s guidance to walk in pairs. Although he knew you were often out alone, he seemed not to care about you. To be honest, you were happy with this as you didn't like to have any conversation with him.

You were going through the forest trying not to make much noise as the cases of walkers appearing near the camp became often. Having found a bush with berries and started to gather them in the bag, you heard someone’s moan afraid that someone in the group could be injured. You grabbed the machete and followed the noise sneaking between bushes. The moans started to be louder and repetitive which made you confused. Surely, not an injured person was whimpering. You made several steps until you found the picture opened to you and made everything clear in your mind from now on. You saw Shane fucking Lori just on the ground. The two noticed you.

“Y/N,” Shane exclaimed and froze while Lori was panicky trying to hide her bare body.

Your body was flustered with the full spectrum of emotions you couldn’t recognize separately and made two steps back.

Shane couldn't say anything but the stupidest thing that could be ever said in such a situation. “It’s not what you think.”

Your eyes sting with tears blurring the sight of your beloved one and your friend’s wife.

“No way,” you whispered and ran away in another direction. The affective state fogged your mind injecting adrenaline in your blood so you couldn't remember how you ended up at the hill, your personal space once shared with Daryl and Carl. You thanked your instincts they brought you there and didn’t let you get lost in the forest instead. You dropped to the ground and took out a cigarette almost dropping it as your hands were in tremor. Then you found a zippo in your pocket to lit a cigarette but the body wasn’t listening to you. It was too weak to roll the flint wheel. After several attempts, you finally did it and made the first drag when suddenly you felt your warm tears covering your face and sobbing left your mouth.

It was the late evening when Daryl came back to the camp from the hunt. He was too exhausted he decided to have dinner and go sleeping right after it. The man approached Carol who served food as usual.

“Daryl, I know you were on the hunt all day, but maybe you’ve seen Y/N today?”

“Nah,” he replied emotionless and headed to the campfire having got his portion.

“I’m very concerned about her,” the woman continued, her head down. Daryl was still ignoring. His basic need was a priority. “I asked her to help me today…” Carol’s voice was trembling. “I told her not to go away alone in the forest, but…” the woman wiped her tears.

Daryl’s heart flipped and he stepped back to Carol.

“What if she..?” she glanced at the man with watery eyes. “That’s my fault,” Carol covered her face with her palms sobbing.

Daryl returned the meal. “Do you remember the direction she went?” he started biting his lower lip nervously.

“There,” she pointed in the direction, “But I don’t know where exactly…”

“That’s enough for the start,” Daryl answered then went to his tent to take a crossbow.

After taking the weapon the man started from the direction Carol pointed at but he thought what if you had come to the hill or quarry? He decided to check the hill first. As if someone just told him you were right there. He slowly went down the narrow track leading to that place passing by bushes and trees, holding his crossbow but hoping he wouldn’t need to use it.

Daryl’s heart skipped a beat regretting all the shit he had told you. What if you were not there? What if you are a walker already? What if something else bad happened to you? He didn’t notice how he started imagining the camp without you and this hurt him so badly. What if he would never have a chance to tell you stupid jokes while drinking coffee in the morning and you laugh sincerely in response?

Daryl’s heart then raced imagining all the worst cases until he reached the point and saw you sitting right on the hill. The man exhaled relaxed until you suddenly got up and ran away towards the trees nearby.

“Y/N!” Daryl yelled chasing you.

< Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 >

[littlebitsmile]

in flames [C.L.] | Chapter III

Welcome back! This took me a bit longer than usual, but it's still Sunday, so I'm glad you decided to join me (: Hope you all had a nice first week of 2024 - only 55 more days until we see our munchkins driving in circles again - hope this makes the wait a bit shorter.

As always, have fun (:

story: in flames driver: Charles Leclerc [C.L.] trope: #haterstolovers summary: Always working three times as hard as everyone else, Emma does not intend to blow her chance of driving among the best of the best in her very first season in Formula 1. Concentrating on first and foremost getting ahead of her brother, she does not even notice that there are some people even in her own team who think she does not deserve this spot and would rather see her fail. And one driver in particular seems to have a need of always reminding her of that.

────ʚ C H A P T E R III ɞ────

Music booms from the headphones in my ear, my feet float over the treadmill, drops of sweat run down the sides of my face. Next to me, all I can hear is Max's heavy breathing and the occasional quiet "f*ck" as another intensive interval approaches. My calves gave up the ghost ten minutes ago and have been cramping ever since, but my pride won't let me stop.

I actually wanted to squeeze in an extra training session this morning before Max woke up and wanted to hang out and do some off-season stuff, but unfortunately, he was already at the coffee machine when I decided to roll out of bed. He then followed me into the fitness room of his apartment without any comment.

He has been kind enough to let me stay with him, Kelly, and Penelope for a few years now so that I can avoid living with our parents and even worse, letting them decide what happens next with my accommodation situation. As the eldest son, he has probably had his experiences and learned his lessons, always being the one to take the blows, and although he always pretends to give me a hard time, I'm sure that deep down he doesn't want me to go through the same hell he did. The fact that I can never come close to his golden boy in our father's eyes anyway is a different story.

I breathe heavily but try to concentrate on the view. Monaco's harbor landscape is one of the most beautiful I have ever experienced. A little too much lifestyle of the rich and famous for my liking, but Max loved it here right from the start, when we first visited a few years ago. Maybe because he can live right next to the racetrack, waking up every morning and sipping his breakfast coffee with his brain already imagining those cars on the streets right in front of him.

"You're quiet," he presses out between his lips at some point. I don't look at him but concentrate on a small yacht that is about to leave the outer jetties. He gets a kick out of seeing me suffer, I’m sure of it. If I don’t let myself get distracted by the pain in my legs, I can do a few more minutes on this torture device.

"I'm dying," I reply, trying not to fall down at the same time. My diaphragm starts to painfully remind me that I'm not my 26-year-old racing brother, who has been doing this for years and years, never losing sight of his goals, exceeding his limits.

He reduces the speed on his treadmill and starts to jog slowly before continuing: "When are you flying to England? For simulator runs and so on?"

I'm still running at the same pace as before. I try to show February 15 with my hands, holding all of my ten fingers up, then five and the peace sign as a two, but I'm not sure if he immediately understands what I mean.

In the time between the end of the season and the first pre-season tests, the world stands still in my head. I enjoy visiting friends for once and not feeling bad when I see photos in our group chats of everyone getting together and me missing. Max, on the other hand, never leaves his zone - his racing set up in his study glows for hours every day. When he's not training, eating, or sleeping, he lives and breathes motorsport, whether it’s on or off track. Maybe that's why he's such an exceptional talent. Or maybe he is just stupid, for not living his life during his prime time and will fall into a pit of self-despair when he’s 40.

"Excited?" he interrupts my thoughts. I can’t remember what we were talking about, and he notices. “For the UK, I mean? Rain and cloudy weather?”

I nod. My lungs are burning, and I don't know who exactly I'm trying to prove something to. I keep running, my thighs are starting to burn like hell. A few of my fingertips go numb, and my head starts to feel dizzy. There are a few black dots here and there, but it isn’t the first time something like this happens and it won’t be the last.

"What number are you going to start with?" Max asks. I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to give too much away about whether I'll keep my number from Formula 2 or change it. Mostly because I haven’t thought about it and I would love to have a number with a deeper meaning.

"You could take 69."

When he says this, I almost stumble on the treadmill. I hold on left and right and hop onto the side edges as the mechanical noise belt continues to run beneath me. Although everything inside me hurts like hell after the last hour and a half of running, I must laugh out loud. Max grins sheepishly at me. Sometimes I am not sure who of us is the older sibling.

"I think that would be more your thing, don't you?" Out of breath, I put my hands on my hips and lean my upper body against the treadmill display. I try to calm my heartbeat, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth.

"I've already got the 1; that's enough for me..."

“You won’t have it forever, though," I interrupt him before he falls into another monologue of self-congratulation. I wiggle my eyebrows and grin mischievously at him. Then I stick my tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes before hitting me on the shoulder with his fist.

"The only one I'm afraid of is you,” he admits openly. I look at him in disbelief. Where has this recognition suddenly come from? I almost choke on the sip of water I’m taking. “But you're in the wrong car anyway, so at least I don't have much to fear this season.”

"I don't need your false assumptions, Max. We've never lied to each other." I look into the distance, back to the harbor. I wonder what my life would be like if I wasn't the person I am.

"I'm not lying, I promise. I'm more afraid that this team will take you down with them."

"Aston Martin won't drag me into the abyss. They're giving me a fair chance."

"You would have had a fair chance with me and Red Bull."

"Fair, Max? Really? As number two? How well did that turn out with the last team partners? Lewis and Nico? Lewis and Valtteri? You and pretty much everyone who came after Sebastian? The only off-track friends who were in the same team and still get on well are Carlos and Lando. I don't want that for us." Now I turn to him. A furrow forms between his eyebrows, and he looks down at the ground. He knows I am right, and I think that causes him greater pain than what I just said about us not being able to be proper teammates.

"If you don't perform at Aston Martin, if you even get the chance to show what you are capable of in that sh*tbox of a car, then no other team will take you. There is only one chance to be part of this grid, and I just can’t believe you would rather not drive at all than have me as your team partner?" He is frustrated, I can feel it in his voice. So I try to soften my voice and understand him from his point of view.

"Max, I love you; I really do. You're the coolest brother in the world, and I'm not saying that because I get to live in your cool penthouse in the middle of Monaco.” There is a chuckle, and I know he wants to reassure me that he loves to have me here with him. But before he can speak another word, I continue. “But I've been compared to you my whole life and I will continue to be. This hasn’t been easy, for any of us. But for a change, I can decide for myself whether to confront it or if I just leave my phone off and not read the news, because no one in my own team will compare me to you." The conversation has taken on a serious tone, but I know he understands what I mean.

"I get it. I still would have liked you to be the wing woman. Pretty sure we’d be great. With you keeping all those madmen away from me." He winks. Then he looks straight ahead towards the panoramic window. It's quiet between us for a while.

I think back to his first victory with Red Bull. How he threw himself into the arms of his team afterward, so proud and so full of emotion, as if someone was finally accepting him for who he is, no ifs, ands, or buts. He doesn't talk much about his relationship with Christian Horner, but I'm 90% sure that Christian is in many ways the father figure for Max that our father could never be for him. How he has grown with this team and gone from a really misunderstood driver to a three-time world champion. He wouldn't leave Red Bull until they cut him out from inside with a digger and chainsaw and shipped him to the other side of the world. He lives, breathes, and burns for this sport and for the people in his immediate surroundings, a quality that I greatly admire in him and that not everyone is able to appreciate.

"If you could be someone else or do something else, what would it be?" The question catches him off guard. He is confused for a moment, then looks thoughtful and shakes his head.

"I don't think I want to be – can be - anywhere else. This is where I belong."

I believe him. But suddenly I'm not so sure if my answer would be the same.

As the plane lands in London, I grab my backpack, put on my cap, and hide my face a little better. I'm almost certain that some paparazzi is waiting for me in the arrivals hall because I seem to be the only one from the F1 paddock not traveling by a private jet. I wonder why.

I quickly get through security and baggage claim, so it feels like no more than 30 minutes before I step through the airport doors and out into rainy UK weather. To my right, an elderly gentleman with a sign saying "Emma V." walks towards me and takes my luggage. I thank him, get in the car, and then we make our way to the Aston Martin headquarters. I fall asleep unplanned and only wake up when we arrive.

I am overwhelmed by the polished floors, the glass structures of the building, how everything looks as if this is not the headquarters of a Formula 1 team but of Iron Man and the Avengers.

Mike Krack, the team principal, comes to meet me, shakes my hand, and welcomes me to the hallowed halls. I'm then given a tour, starting with the departments I'm least interested in, such as budget and logistics. I know these people are as important as anyone else, but I am a driver, so the technical departments will be my home base.

"But you're certainly not here to look at the view. You want to go to the simulators, right?" Mike states correctly at some point. I nod vigorously. "Then that's our next destination."

And no matter what I was expecting, it wasn’t that. As I step into a room with a screen as big as the panoramic view back at Max’s apartment, I immediately want to leap into the seat in front of it. I wait for a nod of approval from Mike before I hop into it and feel the leather beneath my hands and notice the smell of something new. I shriek. If this is a dream, I never want to wake up. And before someone can stop me, I’m already turning the machine on and getting ready to drive my first laps in the simulator.

────ʚ [Masterlist] [Chapter II] [Chapter IV] ɞ────

[robbersofmyheart]

A coffee shop meeting…

Summary: Fate steps in when a teacher in her not-even-quarter-life crisis meets Matty Healy.

A/N: There's a very strong possibility that I'll never post any other writing on here again, but I hope this brings a smile to someone else's face. This was a daydream born of my love both for the 1975 (Matty in particular tbh) and for the found family trope. Hope you enjoy it!

“You don’t happen to have a light, do you?”

“No, I don’t. Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t smoke it.”

“I’ve done a lot worse, believe me.”

“Oh, I know. Doesn’t make that nicotine any better for you though.”

Eleanor looked across at her companion, eyebrows raised in challenge, waiting to see if he had a comeback. The café, which had been heaving when she arrived a couple of hours ago, now had only two customers remaining. In their typical British fashion, they hadn’t spoken until now, despite being alone at their adjacent tables, so Eleanor was surprised to hear him finally breaking the ice over the rattling of coffee cups being tidied away. She watched as he put the cigarette back into the packet, a smirk overtaking his features.

“So you do recognise me then.”

Crap. Of course that’s what he took from that. Matty Healy - 1, Eleanor - 0.

“Yes, I recognised you, Matty,” Eleanor replied with a sigh. She couldn’t believe she’d lost that easily.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You were the only one in here that could see my face.”

“I was working,” she paused. “Or at least trying to. I don’t usually focus well in busy places, too many more interesting things to study.”

“Why are you here then?”

“My cousin lives in Manchester and I’d come to visit him. We managed to have half a day before he got called in for a last-minute shift at work. I missed my train home by literally seconds, then I saw that the next one was cancelled, so I thought I’d get some planning done while I wait for the one after to arrive.”

Matty was listening to her intently now, his chin resting on his hand. Eleanor wondered what he was doing here. Since he arrived, he’d alternated between drinking cups of coffee, scribbling frantically in his Moleskine, and watching the comings and goings of customers out of the corner of his eye. Before she could ask him, however, he dived in with yet another question for her

“And what sort of planning would that be?”

“Factorising quadratics with Year 9, area of a trapezium with Year 7, and recurring decimals revision with Year 11.”

Matty exhaled loudly, leaning back in his chair, the glint in his eye telling her that he was impressed. “You’re a maths teacher then.”

“Bingo.”

“That must be a tough gig.”

“Just a bit.”

“You seem quite young to be a teacher.” It was a statement, but the furrow in his brows betrayed his confusion.

“I’m 22, so I guess I am.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Eleanor hesitated, considering what her reply would be, and Matty waited patiently, almost watching the cogs turning in her brain. “I do, for the most part. I work with an amazing team of people, and I love seeing the difference I make to those kids’ lives. Not everyone has that purpose, so I’m lucky really.”

Matty narrowed his eyes at her, knowing that she wasn’t telling the full story. And that was how Eleanor found herself pouring her heart out to the curly haired singer, the troubles that she had bottled up inside her for months finally breaking free, whether she liked it or not.

She told him about how she lived in a permanent state of exhaustion, tired from the never-ending to do lists and the unbearable repetitiveness of her daily life. She told him about the part of her that regretted throwing herself into such a big career at such a young age, and how she felt that she missed her chance to be young and wild and carefree because she’d always been so focused on her work. She told him about how she’d thought about leaving her current life behind and starting again so many times, but had ultimately been too scared of failing and letting people down when they’d given up so much to help her get to where she was now.

To his surprise, Matty didn’t feel like interrupting her once during her monologue. He simply wanted to let her talk, to let her share her thoughts with him. It was like he could actually see some of the weight lifting off the girl’s shoulders as she unburdened herself of her worries, and it almost made him smile to think that she felt comfortable enough to tell him when he somehow knew that she had never told anyone else. So he just listened, letting her ramble on until she ran out of things to say.

When that time finally came, Eleanor let out a big exhale and looked Matty in the eye as he responded with one word: “Wow.”

Eleanor felt her face start to burn and she buried it into her hands. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. This is probably the last way you wanted to spend your afternoon, being on the receiving end of my word vomit.”

“You know what, it actually made a refreshing change. Didn’t expect to get recruited as a therapist today.” Matty watched her shoulders start to shake under her blanket of blonde waves, and was shocked at the worry he felt that she might be crying. But when she looked up she was giggling, despite the faint sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Oh, so you’re my therapist now?”

“You mean you didn’t purposefully choose me? I’m wounded.” That made her laugh properly this time, and Matty found himself unable to hold a soft smile back any longer before his expression turned more serious. “Look, I’m not going to pretend like I know how to solve your problems, and I’m not even sure if you want me to, but can I say one thing?” She nodded. “I think that if the people that you’re worried about letting down really love you, they’ll be more upset if you carry on doing something that’s making you miserable for their sakes than if you give it up.”

Eleanor mulled over the singer’s words and whilst she knew deep down that they were true, it didn’t change the fact that she was absolutely terrified at the idea of giving up teaching. Below the supportive façades, she knew her parents would always berate her for leaving such a stable, well-paid career, and her pride would never let her return to work at her current school with people that she adores if this mysterious plan B failed. She relayed all of this to Matty.

“Well who gives a flying fuck what anyone else thinks anyway! What’s the point in life if you don’t do something you love?”

“But teaching is the only thing I’ve ever even contemplated doing, I’ve got absolutely no idea what else I’d do.”

“Listen, you’re young, intelligent, beautiful, and you’ve literally got the whole world out there with so many possibilities - it doesn’t matter if you don’t get it right first time.”

“Careful, Healy, I might start thinking you like me,”

Now, if you asked Matty Healy of The 1975 why his immediate response was to do a stereotypically girlish impression of that comment before flipping off the young woman sat in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. Nor could he explain why, after only an hour of talking to her, he felt such an incredible fondness for her, an almost brotherly affection, which prompted him to tell her how amazing she seemed to be. But he could describe how his heart soared as she laughed at him, and then sunk as she realised the time and started hurriedly packing her stuff into her bag.

“Shit, shit, shit. Do you think I can make the train in 5 minutes? I can’t miss this one as well. This is all your fault you know!”

“Hang on, how is it my fault? You’re the one who started emptying your brains onto the table.”

“And you were the one who made the mistake of listening.” Eleanor swung her bag onto her shoulder, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

Then she was running out of the coffee shop, a blur of blonde hair and floral perfume.

It was only then that Matty realised he didn’t even know her name.

***

1 year later…

“Lovely to meet you, take care.”

As soon as the interviewee had left the room, the smiles on four of the five faces dropped and they let out a sigh.

“Guys, if you want to actually do this, we do need to hire someone.”

Matty tugged at his hair in frustration. “It’s not that we’re not on board with it, Jamie, it’s just got to be with the right person. I mean, it’s letting someone totally unknown to us into an entire chapter of our lives, not just our careers.”

It was just over a month ago that The 1975 had told Jamie Oborne that they were ready to start working on their next album. In the same meeting, Jamie had proposed an idea that he had been mulling over for a while. The response to ‘A Theatrical Performance of an Intimate Moment’ had been better than anyone had anticipated, and the fans always loved seeing behind the scenes footage. So, Jamie had suggested filming the entire journey of their next album, from concept to creation to tour, and releasing it as a mini-series. Of course, the band could get the footage themselves, but whether they would actually remember to do it was a different story.

That was how they found themselves in a boiling hot room in the London office of Dirty Hit, having collectively decided against all 15 people they had interviewed for the role of documentarian.

“I mean, they all just seem so serious,” Matty continued.

“Boring, you mean,” George muttered.

“This thing does have to look good, though, for it to work, and these were the most qualified of all the candidates,” Jamie countered.

“We don’t fucking care about qualified!”

“I think what Matty’s trying to say, mate,” Ross calmly cut in, “Is that we were thinking of something more low key. More of a collection of home movies than something carefully filmed and edited.”

“Yeah, we don’t know how long this thing is going to go on for, way over a year at least, and we don’t want to feel like we’re putting on a show the whole time. It’s got to be authentic. It’s gonna be fucking weird at the start but after a while we just want it to be like a mate is casually filming what we’re doing.”

Jamie had to admit that George closed their argument well, and he was sold on it. He just wished that they had told him sooner.

“Okay, okay, I get it and I’m happy for us to go ahead with that. There’s one more person for us to speak to today, who was kind of my wildcard, so if she’s more what you’re looking for then we can revisit some of the other applications tomorrow.” With that, Jamie left the room to get the last candidate.

“A wildcard? What is this, mid-2000s X Factor?” Matty huffed, to the amusement of the others.

But any annoyance that Matty felt was washed away in an instant when he saw who his manager was holding the door open for.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Matty’s words might have sounded rude, but it was the smile spreading across his face that shocked everyone the most.

“I’m here in an attempt to annoy you for longer this time,” Eleanor smirked.

“Well, you’re failing miserably at this point. How are you?”

“I’m good. Really good, actually.” A genuine smile crossed her face this time. “Didn’t think you’d remember me to be honest.”

“I often wondered what you decided to do with your life in the end,” Matty shrugged. “It frustrated me knowing everything and then nothing at all. So I guess you have already succeeded in your goal to annoy me.”

Before you had chance to reply, another voice broke through to join the conversation. “Sorry to interrupt this lovely chat, but would someone kindly explain what the hell is going on here?” It was George, and he, like everyone else in the room, was stumped by Matty’s sudden personality transplant.

Now very aware of all of the eyes on her, she looked to Matty for help, who simply sat back in his chair before saying “Well, I think you’re sat in the better seat for a storytime, don’t you? Anyway, I don’t even know your name.”

So Eleanor told the room about how she had met their frontman, briefly mentioning the life crisis that she’d been having at the time, whilst Matty impatiently waited to hear what happened after she left the coffee shop. She told them how she’d stayed in teaching until the end of that school year, before handing in her notice. Her boss had been sad to see her go, but told her that if she ever decided that she wanted to come back then he’d always find a job for her. Eleanor’s family, however, reacted quite differently; she ended up having a massive row with her parents about it and her relationship with them still hadn’t quite mended fully. Ever since her move to London, she had been taking whatever bar jobs she could find and spent her days applying to any jobs that took her fancy.

Matty couldn’t help the pride that was coursing through him for the young woman sat across from him. She had taken all of those ‘What ifs’ that she’d told him about, thrown them in the fire and walked away, when he knew that all of her instincts would have been telling her to do the opposite. He looked around at the others, and was both amused and pleased to find that they all seemed to be as entranced by Eleanor as he had been at their first meeting. In Matty’s eyes, she was the perfect fit, and he could tell that she was quickly winning the others over as well.

Surprisingly, it was Adam who spoke up first. “So, you’re saying that you’re totally unqualified for this job?”

“Never done anything like it before in my life. But it sounded interesting and I’m always up for learning new stuff.”

“Never been behind a camera? Never had anything to do with the music industry?” Ross asked, slightly taken aback by her honesty.

“Not the music industry, but I used to study music at school and I still play the piano from time to time.”

“And I take it you’re on board for annoying Matty as much as humanly possible?” It was George this time.

“Oh 100%.”

Matty rolled his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. She’d done it. Now, there was only one person left to convince. Matty quickly joined the others in looking at Jamie the way they used to look at their parents when the ice cream van pulled up on their road.

Eleanor watched on nervously as some sort of telepathic conversation seemed to transpire between the band and their manager.

Eventually, the silence broke and a new chapter began.

[imzsuzsis-blog]

I saw a blurry picture on the net of Lando and a strange man in his forties talking in front of the hotel, then kissing. It blew my fuse quite a bit. "If I meet him, I'll be sure to follow Lando Norris" I got out of the taxi in a rage. I almost didn't pay the groundhog, my mind was so different that I shouldn't miss the fucking train, I managed again last year, I hope I won't make it this year... "Ohhh fuck it, I'll kill you!!!!" He takes a picture in front of my eyes and lets the guy hug him from behind. "Fuck this is disgusting." I even covered my eyes so that I wouldn't even see this shit... "Baby, how are the Twins?" I was so shocked by the news that I accidentally pressed Siri on my phone and instead of Zac, I called Pato'o, who was shocked by the news because his ex Lando had been together for a good two years.

"Oh, Osc, come on, take it easy, he's here, my friend Loki, we've just met." I gave Osc a friendly handshake but he pulled away terrified, as if I was terrorizing him. Hello, I'm Oscar, Lando's teammate since last year. He's a cute boy if you warm up like that." ,, Osc???? Did you take a homophobic pill again? we go together, he's my boyfriend." "Not only did you shock me again, you know, I called Pato' O instead of Zak, this is the news of the twins." "Did you hear the bass? I'm sorry, it wasn't intentional, I've only known since yesterday, believe me. I that I was shocked at first by the fact that I am not five weeks old, but seven, then that I have twins, double the joy, but double everything and fucking chaos." "When will you tell me at home?" I shook my head, I didn't realize this either, maybe there are Carlos, Daniel and Max among the four godfather signs, my rivals are all bigger names with one exception, Max Fewtrell is no longer a bigger name than me, but he can easily beat me in this.

"Oh calm down Oscar, yes I am Loki and yes Lando also took his name, that's my name, I have nothing to do with the god of mythology, I'm Loki Jonosoh." "How old are you, because in the picture you looked rather young, even though you were washed." "One week ago, I was forty-one, we just celebrated that on the date and it was said that he wanted to build this piece by piece after the previous one." I started stroking Lando's back with my beautiful but already worn black nails, who vomited again, this usual breakfast was bad for him. He can't stand it, he said yesterday when he was about to leave crying, he's out of it, it's like he's settled in well, and then everything would come out, he hates it all in the morning, I comforted him. In the brain, he was lying there crouched down and crying constantly, I am worried about him, in fact, he doesn't eat anything, he is just nauseous or dizzy, even now when we get there, this is not a condition for him. ,,Do you know of another hospital in Suzuka besides the emergency hospital? Oscar is urgent please!!!!” "I'm here Loki, I'm looking at the map, I've already found one, I hope it won't end badly. Come on Lando you need to eat for a little bit.” "No, I can't even look at the food, I feel nauseous and have to throw up again." "We really need a hospital where we can be told what to do, it's not fun to watch." ,,Jesus!!!" "We don't know what's wrong with me either, Charles. We know he can't eat, if he eats everything right away, then his appetite is completely gone, we are worried and he can't handle vomiting in the morning. Loki said that he was curled up crying on the bed and didn't want to leave until he couldn't stop crying." "We are hoping that he will sleep a little on the train."

The thought came to my mind, I'm going to die right here and get the fuck out, "Water, Loki, thanks, I'm not hungry, I'm just fucking thirsty and I'm parched." "Well, at least you're taking your vitamins, aren't you?" ,,Of course, are you fooling around with chocolate milk Charles? For what?” "This or the B12, you decide, Lando." Give me the chocolate milk, is it a joke, is it also B12? Get it!!!! I don't." I watched him while he was throwing a tantrum, it's only natural that he has no appetite and that he's constantly vomiting and gnawing on certain foods like that, what's wrong with him now?" "Paprika, but I could also say radishes and vegetables like this, he can smell it and is starting to feel nauseous, but he is constantly vomiting or has nausea, I can't do anything about him, even now he is sensitive, he saw a dead cat on the street and started to cry and he would have loved it At the cemetery, when I and a couple of passers-by prevented this, he started to get hysterical and threw his shoes, because I wanted to calm him down, he started to cry again because he doesn't understand what he's doing and he's had enough of it, he wanted to fool around with me, and finally he fell down. " "This vitamin shit and this chocolate milk look like they're being drunk by school kids." I went to Loki, who kissed me and ruffled my hair, I leaned on his shoulder, tired as hell, I didn't sleep in the middle of the night, I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the new pussy to come out of my stomach, and I cried, then I vomited, I didn't sleep at all, when I slept, I tossed and turned, it was a nightmare.

[katrinafaire]

In 30+ years of writing, you do improve; here's some things I've learned.

When I first started actively writing stories -- we're talking single digits here, under the age of ten, as some of you may relate -- my initial goal was spelling things right and having a (mostly) cohesive, if simple, storyline.

Then, in some order I'm not sure of, were things like description, consistent character voices, character development, character driven plots, subplots, worldbuilding -- the list goes on, I'm sure we've all worked on some if not all of these things. (The beauty of writeblr, we're all here together despite different levels of experience.)

I feel like I've always written, but I didn't really sit down to write novella and eventually novel sized works until my late teens-early twenties. I had a lot going for me, because I'd been writing consistently over the years prior. But I had some... quirks. Here's a non-exhaustive list you may find of use:

I struggled with maintaining a clear POV -- who's perspective we were in, how to coherently jump between characters, how to balance that to the best benefit of the narrative... yeah, that was an issue. And I still have a bit of trouble with that now and then, though I'm worlds better.

Also, I hugely overused epithets, those descriptive terms instead of pronouns or names. (The tall man, the blonde woman, the sullen teenager -- you get the idea.) You see, I didn't understand how they worked. I used them mostly because I had a lot of big casts and was not fond of he said-he said-he said with three different he's and I felt like I was over using names.

As I began to hone my craft, it became clearer that these had their place -- but only where they were relevant, not as a replacement. For example, if the POV character doesn't know the name of another character, they will use epithets because that's all they have. Or you can use it to emphasize something:

"There's no way we can deliver the message in time!" Aaron said. The fastest man in the world just smiled; his time had come. "Watch me."

Presumably you already know the speedster's name, but even if you don't, the epithet delivers important information to the narrative; that is the perfect (though not only) time to use one.

There was a huge movement when I was just starting more serious writing and you have likely still seen these posts circulating: said is dead. And I took it as gospel. Now, first let me say I am still a huge fan of dialogue tags. Big fan of things like "whispered" and "sneered" -- things you can't easily convey simply with punctuation.

However.

Using them every line, or every other line, or every third line -- in short, frequently -- isn't good. And it's not because these things are inherently bad. The reason, as far as I'm concerned, is twofold. One, when you deviate from "said" then your audience immediately is drawn to this new dialogue tag, taking it as Important Information. Which is good! We want that when we put those in. But if you have too many in too short of time the brain just quits processing them as important, or worse, it keeps taking them out of the story.

Point two is directly related in that in that overuse of dialogue tags not only clogs up your dialogue, it also makes the dialogue tags less valuable. Imagine this if you will, that every dialogue tag is a colored font and "said" is just black. If you constantly use dialogue tags, do any of them stand out? Even if someone screamed in bright red, does it matter if you just had something in bright orange a line ago? Not really.

But if all you have is black on black on black and suddenly there's a bright red streak on the paper, it jars you! It makes you pay attention! And that's what you really want when you use dialogue tags, isn't it? So that's why I've tried to cut down on mine, and have beta readers specifically work with me on it.

There's also several punctuation and formatting things I've struggled with. Overusing italics, misplacing en dashes — and em dashes (look I even copy pasted the right ones instead of typing two en dashes --) — as well as a severe abuse of... ellipsis. I'm working on them to this day. I'm a dramatic wordsmith. Sometimes it helps for me to write it however I want the first time and then make a new draft, stripping the formatting and seeing with fresh eyes where it's needed.

There's other things, too (I have never done enough description, I'm working on it now) but this post is getting long and I've shared some main points that I feel others can benefit from my mistakes. Feel free to reblog with your own mistakes you've learned from or are working on!