#also for inspiration for fic ideas sometimes it's a line from a show or a song and then i put the idea in my drafts until I'm ready to writ

[todorkihoe]

Hi Lovely! Hope you're having a great day and I just wanted to ask if you'd share a little bit of your writing process. Love your work!

awww thank you sm ily babes !! you actually caught me with this ask while i was writing lol

my writing process is a bit of an all over the place mess type thing. when i'm writing anything, from fanfiction to a research paper, i always do a rough outline like bullet points and such of all the plot points and dialogue, and then from there i elaborate on each part until I've got a coherent work. basically, i never write chronologically, most of the time i start with a beginning and ending and then just fill in everything in between as it comes to me. it always helps me to listen to music + look at old things I've written for some inspiration

[evans23]

The first and last one

Pairing : Lionel Shabandar x Reader OC

Summary : For the first time, Lionel wants to really settle in with a woman. Yet, you always shy away when he wants to make love with you. You eventually find the courage to admit to him you're a virgin and Lionel is quite aroused with the information.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Smut, loss of virginity, blood.

A/N : Hello dear 😁 I imagined this fic after having watched a show in which the main female character was a thirty years old virgin ashamed to admit it to her partner. I had three characters in mind for this story : Sinclair, David and Lionel. I wrote for the three of them but Lionel won my preference at the end. Hope you will enjoy it.

*** Thank you to @muiitoloko who has inspired I these lines.

Sinclair's version is here - David's version is here - Also read on AO3

Your meeting with Lionel has been fortunate but totally hazardous.

Indeed, six months ago, a colleague of yours had invited you to an exhibition. The crowd was overwhelming, and you had to find a secluded place to give your mind some respite. You were sitting down in front of a painting from an Italian painter, Titian, when you heard someone walking behind you.

You pretended to not have heard the intruder who came to perturb your need of privacy but the newcomer sat down next to you oblivious of your need to be alone.

“I’m glad you like this painting. It is my favorite,” he said with a baritone voice which had send shivers through your whole body.

You had turned to meet the most beautiful hazel eyes you had ever seen. Speechless in front of the alluring man, albeit older than you were, you just nodded coyly. Yet, the true was that little did you know you were talking to Lionel Shabandar. Of course you know the man by name, but you weren’t interested at all about his business. You didn’t even know he was the lender of most of the painting displayed at the exhibition. Lionel didn’t realise how oblivious you were of who he was, thinking that everybody present at the party knew it was organised, patronised and hosted by no one else than the incredibly generous Lionel Shabandar who will serve up in preview the new ideas to extend a little bit more his company and in the same way his power overall the Brits’ media.

“Of course, nothing is better to the eyes than the real beauty of a real woman.”

You had blushed hearing his compliment but not totally gullible about his motive, you kept some distance from the man. He transpired sex and he definitely wanted to shag you. However, you had to recognise he had for him some subtlety.

He talked a bit about arts with you and, even though you weren’t really knowledgeable in that field, your mind was sharp and bright enough to give a perceptive, interesting and lightening opinion about what you were looking at. Never ever would you admit to Lionel that at the time you weren’t interested at all about his arts. You fueled the conversation because his company was quite enjoyable even if he wanted something you wouldn’t let him get so easily, even less to an unknown man, but arts wasn’t your cup of tea. You grew to appreciate it thanks to Lionel's company and your desire to take an interest in his passion when you became more than acquaintances.

Little were you conscious that Lionel knew. You couldn’t fool a real passionate and your answers to his questions were sometimes to hesitant if not off the bean, but he never mocked you or did any mean remarks because he really appreciated the fact that he meant so much to you that you took up an interest into his. Besides, you were such a smart person to talk with that it didn’t matter if you were from a less background than his.

Indeed, you were just a mere saleswoman in a well-known bakery, even though since you were official, Lionel was insisting for you letting down your job. He was even ready to hire you in his company if the idea of just being his girlfriend was so infuriating for you.

What had captured the interest of Lionel was the fact that you had resisted him. That night, at the exhibition, not only were you utterly unaware of who he was but you refused his advances, two things which had aroused him more than anything else in his life.

He was definitely engrossed with you and he thought it would only be a matter of time before putting you in his bed, but he was so wrong. You revealed yourself as a stubborn, independent and thoughtful woman who wasn’t one to open her legs for everybody.

Therefore, he tries the good old method, which means he courted you and eventually fell into his own trap by falling truly, madly, deeply in love with you. In the beginning, he was awfully terrified of these new feelings.

Of course, he had already been in love, but he was so much younger. Another problem which wasn’t a problem at all as it didn’t bother any of you was the age gap. He was from 20 years your oldest but it made no difference for you as his mind and his body were much younger than some of your acquaintances. No, the worst part was to have fallen in love so easily, yet again you were such a clever and pretty girl and his relentless pursuits couldn’t have ended up in any other ways.

After one month being undettered by the desire to conquer you, he became your friend, your confident and after another month, your companion. The fifth months he asked, almost ordered, you to move in with him in his awfully huge mansion and you had accepted. Anyway, Lionel wouldn’t have it in any other way, he wanted you by his side.

He thought he would be the beginning of something else. Something more serious. To put in a nutshell, he thought you will let you make love to you as he had dreamed to since your first meeting. He had thought that your shyness from being more intimate came from the fact that your relationship wasn’t official enough. After all, he was quite aware of his reputation, but now, you were living under the same roof, sharing the same bed and he was in the desperate need of touching you. No, he could touch you actually, but past the forlorn, you inevitably back down, shutting yourself off.

The first week of your common life, you came with the excuse you had your period. He told you it didn’t bother him at all, but the disgusted look on your face had spoken louder than yourself about your stance on it. The second weeks you had a cold, which was true, and therefore you were too tired. Then, the two others weeks, you find any possible excuse to escape what should be a sheer pleasure between two lovers.

Lionel was seriously annoyed with your avoidance and his mind had him think you were maybe with him only for his money before shaking his head from left to right, not convince at all by this assertion. After all, you didn’t know who it was during your first meeting and even during the second. Indeed, during the exhibition, when he had understood you didn’t know who he was, he had introduced himself with his second name, William, and when, between the second course and the desert of your second meeting, he was sure you were utterly oblivious of his identity, he had revealed to you the true. A smile grew on his face at the memory of your shocked look. He would never forget how you had grabbed your phone to check on the internet if he was saying the truth and how much he had laughed when you had gawked at him, totally speechless.

If you asked him, he would tell you this moment was the moment he had understood you were different and that maybe you could be just something else than another woman in his bed. You were smart, shy but with a sharp mind and more than agreeable for the eyes, even though your appearance was more normal than some of the bimbos he had hung out with in the past. But more than anything else, you never talked about his money or even his company except if he was the one starting the conversation towards those topics. No, you were genuinely interested by the man. The real man. By him, Lionel. Yet again, he thought with a frown, why after so much time to spend together were you so distant at the idea to make love with him ?!

You were sleeping together every night since you had move in, he had already seen you naked in the shower and multiple times in your underwear as you weren’t the kind modest around him, you were really touchy, always brushing your fingers through his hair, landing your hand on his back or hugging him now and then, so why when you were obviously arouse with his attention in bed did you perpetually refuse him the pleasure to make you his ?

Tonight, he thought firmly, tonight you will have to explain yourself or it will put an end to your relationship. If the idea to receiving his cock was so repulsive for you, then your motives to be his girlfriend were standing somewhere else and he didn’t like that at all.

When he arrived home this night, a severe expression on his features, well decided to go through your shenanigans to the bottom of it and discover what you were up to.

Bracing himself to be subtle and not distressing you by calling you out for maybe no reason, he entered the living room where, as usual, you were waiting to have dinner with him. His expression soften immediately at the sight of your sleepy form and his heart swelled with affection. No ! He scolded himself, you have to stay firm, don’t less this pretty face of her prevent you from digging out the true.

He brushed the tips of his fingers along your cheek and smiled when you stirred without waking up. How a man like him could have fallen so hard for a woman when he had sworn to himself after his costly divorce that never would he be trapped in a serious relationship. And here he was, with you in his mansion, head over heels for you, but also frustrated as he had never been before with a woman. Why, when he thought to have finding the real happiness again, should it be so convoluted ?!

He was definitely infuriated, frustrated and in an immense need. He wanted to ruin you in all the way possible into his bed, in his office in the Shabandar Tower, on the counter in the kitchen and on his personal gallery floor. All of it the same day. If possible right know !

But sometimes you were like a little bird, shy and ready to fly away, so his cunning man had a plan to make you admit if you were really into him or if you had wronged him and you were just one of these insipid girl who only see the £ symbol in replacement of his pupils. If it was the case, and he hoped it was not, he would be far more than disappointed. He would be devastated. And even his first wife didn’t have the honour to say she had destroy the most powerful of the UK, so it will truly be a prowess you could gloat about with your relatives.

The mere idea you could not be the one he thought you were terrified him more than anything, because Lionel wasn’t easy to mislead. He was a thoughtful, educated, intuitive and clever businessman. No one, even his worst enemy in the cruel game of the stock exchange and the media business had ever succeeded in deceiving him.

He tried chasing away those thought. If tonight was your last night together, he wanted it to start in the less painful way possible. Therefore, he leant down to plant a kiss on your temple. You opened your eyes in a light startle, but when you recognised Lionel, your heart began to beat faster and your eyes became brighter.

“Oh, I felt asleep,” you said, rubbing slightly your eyes to eliminate the remains of weariness.

“Indeed,” answered Lionel with this voice of his which was like the roar of his beloved lion and never missed sending shiver all along your spinal column.

You got up, giving him a welcome kiss before asking him about his day.

“Too much meetings, follow-up meetings, then in the afternoon more meetings. Did I talk to you about my meetings ?” He said jokingly.

“I think so,” you said with a smile.

“And you bunny ? How was your day at the bakery ?”, he asked with a frown.

He couldn’t fathom why a woman as intelligent as you was losing her time selling cupcakes in a cliché little store, all in pink and unicorn. You had told him once that not everybody could pay the fees of an expensive university and because you were from a really modest class, you had no other choice than to forget your university dreams and find a job. But you were at peace with that now and you were rather happy with your job. People were regular customers, all pleasant and smiling and your boss wasn’t really demanding as long as you did correctly your job.

“Tiring,” you answered, kissing the top of his hooked nose.

He smiles at you and you immediately recognised the predatory look on his face. You swallowed down your saliva, inwardly conscious you must tell him the true. You have been refusing him for too long and you were now afraid he could think you weren’t really interested in him which was far from the truth. In fact, you weren’t interested in Lionel. No, you were in love and yet again it was a litote. You couldn’t quantify your love because it was so humongous that sometimes it was overwhelming.

Neither your parents nor your friends approved of your relationship with Lionel. Your parents thought he was too old for you and your friends, your so-called friend, were saying behind your back you were with him for his money. Therefore, you didn’t have any friends anymore and your parents being your parents loved you anyway… but not Lionel, who they thought was taking advantage of your gullibility for his own pleasure. Nothing could have been less true but you knew the worth of your love for him.

The problem was that you were afraid to take the plunge and losing your virginity. Actually, you weren’t afraid about the action itself, but about admitting to Lionel that you were still a virgin. An almost 35 years old virgin. How the hell could you still be cursed with it, seriously.

“Bunny, are you listening to me ?” asked Lionel with a grin.

You came back to your sense, forgetting your little problem, at least for the moment.

“I was asking you if you wanted to eat pasta tonight ?” he asked again, squeezing your ass.

“Yours ?”

“Of course dear. No one can match up my Carbonara Pasta.”

You nodded happily and Lionel leaded the both of you towards the kitchen, a pride look on his face. Any other day, you would have joked, telling him it was quite a stance for a man who could only cook pasta, but not tonight. Lionel could see you had something on your mind, but he didn’t say anything. He was imagining everything, the most likely being a breakup. He was so far from the reality. You were thinking about your damn virginity and how to explain that to him. Tonight, you thought. Tonight I tell him everything. Yes, you had made up your mind.

You helped him to cook the diner, the both of you chatting happily. You listened to him talking earnestly about his company and you couldn’t prevent yourself from feeling an urge of proudness at such a hard-worker and accomplished man.

While he was having a shower, you were pacing back and forth in your sharing room, trying to figure out how to tell him your little secret. You were afraid of his reaction. Would he laugh at you ? Would he be angry ? Would he have the desire to be your first one ? After all, Lionel was such an experienced man. What would he do with such a useless girl ?

No university degrees, no money and not even a man to fuck her. You felt the tears filling your tears. You tried to conceal them when Lionel came back in the room, but it was too late.

“Bunny, what’s the matter ?”’ he asked, genuinely concerned.

“No… nothing,” you stuttered, not missing the fact he was only wearing a towel around his hips, his skins still glowing with a rest of dampness from his shower.

“Then your’re crying for nothing ? And I am the king of England,” he said sarcastically.

Your soft laugh died in your throat while he cradled your face with his large hand.

“It’s just… my insecurities… you know…”

Lionel sighed heavily, a bit tired to have to constantly reassure you. Yet, if he needed to do so every day, he would.

“Bunny, no matter what is in this pretty head of yours, nothing is true. I am happy with you and I don’t care about anything else.”

So, right now, it wasn't totally true. He desperately wanted to fuck her, make her his by ruining her. And this little demoness has too many times refused him that pleasure which she would have been obsessed with as much as he was. Tonight, he thought again. If tonight she refused again to succumb to the pleasure of the flesh, it would be the end.

Unknowingly of Lionel thought, you too were deep into the recesses of your mind, thinking tonight.

"Let me show you," growled Lionel, caressing your arms with his hands.

He leaned on to kiss you, one of his hand finding its way to your ass, squeezing it while kissing your neck with hunger. He made you back into the bed, where he pushed you softly. You felt flat on your back, your heart bumping quicker and quicker. You knew what was coming. And this time you couldn't be a coward. Either you told him, either you remained silent and did the whole thing while keeping him in the dark. After all, how could he know ?

Lionel's hand yanked down your pyjama pants, kissing your legs in the process while you shivered under his attention. He was on his way to taking off your underwear when you stopped him in spite of yourself.

Lionel sighed heavily. It was enough.

"Bunny, I need to know," he began, pulling away from you to sit in the chair in front of the bed. "Are you with me for my money ?"

"What ? No ! Lionel ! No," you panicked.

"Then why are you refusing me the pleasure of having you in my arms ? And what I really mean is why can't I fuck my girl as it please me ?" he asked bluntly.

You blushed, looking down. It was the moment you were fearing. You understood immediately by the way his eyes looked at you that you had to tell him the true.

"I thought you were in love with me. But I'm not that sure anymore and it terrifies me," admitted Lionel.

You looked up at him, surprised to hear such a confession from the so confident Lionel Shabandar. For the first time, you sax a mixture of vulnerability, sadness and anger on his beautiful face.

"I love you," you whispered, crossing your arms in front of you in a vain attempt to protect yourself from all the strong feelings which were radiating off Lionel.

"Then what is your dirty little secret ? Was it a wager ? Luring an affluent man to prove to someone you could do it with your sinful charms ? Or are you such a good actress that you had always known who I am and all you wanted was deceiving me to get my money ?"

“No, Lionel !” you said with a sob.

“Then what are your motives, woman ?” he almost shouted.

You were now crying, your heart pounding heavily. You scolded yourself, telling you it was the decisive moment, either you told him the true or you will lost him and it would break your heart, losing the only man you had ever loved just because you were ashamed of your condition as a virgin.

You muttered the truth indistinctly, yet the redness on your cheeks was a good indicator for Lionel that you were trying to confess to him your little secret.

“Bunny, I need the truth. You know you can trust me,” he said in a softer tone.

He sat down next to you on the bed, taking both of your hands in his large one. You leaned up your head and your eyes dived into his hazel one. You could read his sincere devotion towards you, a far cry from his womanizer reputation.

“Bunny, you can’t let me imagine things about you,” he insisted, letting his vulnerability showing on the surface, “I can’t stand it anymore but I don’t want our relationship to bog down.”

It was the straw that breaks the camel's back as you started to cry harder.

“I’m a virgin,” you said, hiding your face with your hands.

The silence following your revelation was deafening. You finally found the courage to look at him and saw Lionel looking at you with a mix of curiosity, softness and hunger.

“Are you angry ?” you asked coyly.

“Angry ?” repeated Lionel, shaking his head, his fingers lingering on the top of your left tigh, “angry because you are such a pure marvel ? It’s that so ? You were afraid not to tell me the true and suffering for your first time or you were afraid of me discovering it while taking you with sheer passion ?”

“Both,” you admitted, blushing even more.

“Don’t be ashamed, bunny ! Do you… do you want me to be your first ?” he asked, gulping his saliva, his other hand grazing your arm.

“I want you to be my first and last one,” you whispered, rubbing your eyes reddened by your tears.

“Bunny, what a treasure you are offering me.”***

You surveyed his face, looking for mockeries, but all you could see was his sincerity and maybe more love than before. Also, a predatory glint that promised you a night nothing short of unforgettable.

“You’re not disgusted ?”

“Disgusted about what ? Tell me ? I just don’t understand how such a beauty like you is still a virgin. Don’t tell me never a man had tried anything. I wouldn’t believe you.”

You admitted having had some flirt but nothing serious enough to raise your sexual appetite while you could satisfy yourself with your own fingers. You explained to him it was nothing to do with religion or anything of that kind. You just wanted to do it for the right reason and not because someone, one day, had declared you should get rid of it before a certain age. You had seen your friends losing their virginity with random guys, sometimes at a very young age, just to feel more “woman” and you didn’t want your first time to be a better memory just to join the club of “now I’m an experienced girl”.

“Well, [Y/N], I’m honoured. I couldn’t fathom why you were always shying away from me when I wanted to lavish you with my skills, but now that I know… Don’t worry darling,” he said with a cheeky smile, “I’ve always enjoyed a challenge and tonight you will be my more beautiful masterpiece.”***

His hungry look send shivers down your spine while his hands ran around your thigh, pulling you towards him.

“You want it ?” he asked, genuinely concern at not forcing you to do something if you weren’t ready for it.

You nodded once, catching his lips with yours. You moshed when he pulled back, looking at him with uncertainty.

“I want to hear you say the word. I won’t do anything if I don’t have your full consent.

“Yes Lionel, I want to do it with you. I told you I want to be the first and last one and I want I know.”

His features soften, hearing how much you wanted him to be the only one to treasure you as you deserved.

“Oh believe me, after that night, you will wish to have known me sooner,” he said with a smug before adding, “and I will never let you go. From today on your'e mine and only mine to love and cherish.”

With those words said, he fell on you, kissing savagely your neck where he will definitely let his marks in the form of small bruises, but you didn’t care. You wanted to wear his love marks all over you.

“Be gentle,” you bashfully asked, “I’m a bit afraid.”

Lionel promised you he will be tender. He will definitely make this night memorable for both of you. Yet, he had to be careful. It’s been a long time since he had a virgin in his bed and you weren’t just any virgin, you were you and he was decided to keep you by his side for the long run.

He trailed kisses along both of your legs until he arrived at your entrance. Slipping his fingers inside your panties, he pulled it down in a deliberate slowness, not missing one inch of your reaction, looking for any sign of discomfort. Once he discarded your underwear, he grabbed the hem of your shirt and tucked it off too, throwing it down with the rest of your clothes. To your surprise, he got up, looking at you with a mixture of desire and joy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, more for himself.

Feeling too exposed, you tried to cover your breasts, but he stopped you with a growl, eyebrows frowned.

“Don’t hide from me ever. Enough of that now. You're mine and I want to admire what’s mine whenever I want.”

If your cheeks reddened more, you will soon look like a tomato, but it only makes Lionel chuckle with affection.

”Do you want to touch me ?” he asked, for the first time unsure of what he was doing.

Of course, you had already touched him. His torso, his legs… everything except the beast under his towel. Your hands wander from his cheek to the grey hair on his torso. You descended a bit more until your hand reached the towel around his hips. You looked at him uncertainly but he nodded to encourage you to tear it off and that’s what you did.

It wasn’t the first time you saw a penis, after all you had read really peculiar books through your life and you had traveled far enough to not be that innocent, yet you couldn’t prevent yourself to gasp when you saw the said beast.

Lionel was big. Not that you have a lot to compare with, but his member, already ready for you, was clearly above the average. Lionel observed you, attentive to your reaction, repressing a laugh when he saw you gawking at his cock.

“Don’t worry, bunny, I will take it easy on you. First, we need to prepare you, I want you to enjoy it as much as possible, but I can’t promise it won’t hurt because it will certainly.”

You nodded, shyer than before and also with a feeling of stupidity to have had so much apprehension about the reason for your distance when it came to sex. Indeed, Lionel’s reaction was far above your expectations and you felt guilty about having thought he could reject you for such a thing. A completely trivial thing as it appeared Lionel was everything, but disgusted by the revelation. Actually, he felt more aroused than ever knowing he would be your first and you could believe him, he won’t let you slip through his fingers after that.

“Did you ever touch yourself ?” he asked while caressing one of your breast, his other fingers playing with the earlobe.

“Obviously,” you answered before adding you were a virgin, not a nun, which makes him laugh genuinely.

“Oh, after this night you would not be either a virgin or a prude.” he gloated.

He began to bit your nipple, making you moaned softly.

“Don’t keep these pretty sounds, bunny. They are the proof of my talent,” he said, licking your breasts down to your navel.

“Lionel,” you moaned, eager for more.

“Patience my love, it’s your first time, I can fuck you without any foreplay. You can trust me, you’re going to have more than one orgasm tonight.”

You closed your eyes, feeling his hands moved down to your entrance. He grazed softly across the hairy area, his lips kissing your thigh. Then you felt his thumb rubbing your wet slit with a grin.

“You’re already so wet, bunny,” he said, more for himself.

You couldn’t say anything, your focus on his finger playing with your clit. Your hands reached out to grab his shoulders when he touched your sensitive clit with two others deftly fingers hidden beneath your folds.

“It’s here, isn’t it ?” he asked, continuing his slow rubbing against your flesh. Lionel continued until he felt her muscles contractions against his hand. He insisted a bit more until she moaned loudly.

“And here it’s the first,” he said proudly. “And I didn’t even put my finger inside you,” he added, intrigued to know how much pleasure he could give you just with his fingers before taking your purity forever with his cock.

He finally inserted one finger inside her, making her legs tensed to the feeling of his finger inside her fold.

"Lionel," you said with a moan.

"How does it feel ?" he asked, even though he could see just by looking at your expression how good it felt.

You were so overwhelmed by him, his love, his touch, everything that you couldn't find your words.

When Lionel put another finger, scissoring you slightly, you felt your legs tremble as well as your back while he continued his slow dance with his fingers within you while his tongue was playing wis your nipples, increasing your pleasure.

"You're so beautiful," said Lionel with his baritone voice that makes your body bristling.

"And you so handsome," you managed to say between two moans.

"Of course I am," he answered with a smirk.

He continued to pleasure you with his fingers stretching you, bringing you to the edge of your second orgasm. You eventually came when he pressed another finger against your clit, circling it at a slow pace. You threw a glance at his hard cock, not sure if you would be able to fit around it but you didn't have the time to think about it for too long as he made you come when he found your sensitive spot, making you squirmed under him while a scream of pleasure died in your throat.

You were still a bit hazy, in the midst of all the lavish pleasure Lionel was giving to you, when you felt his nose between your legs, then his tongue licking your wetness and playing with your clit. You weren't sure if you could bear another orgasm so close to the two others, but Lionel was sure you could and he certainly had his way with women. You were so wet and aroused, you couldn't prevent your hand from gently scratching the roots of Lionel's hair, who worked harder with his nose around your clit.

The sounds you were making were like a song to his ears, he knew he was pleasuring you and he took great pride in it. He knew he had a flair for make a woman cum but the feeling to make you his, make you wet and cum for him was almost overwhelming as his heart was swollen with love and joy to have find such a treasure like you.

Flicking your nipple with his callous hands, you involuntarily thrust your hips against his.

"Careful here, we don't want to rush anything, do we ?"

You let out a frustrating sound, which made Lionel laugh.

"You have been waiting until now," he said, looking up at you, "you can wait a bit longer before having me inside you no ?" he teased, pleased with himself.

He didn't wait for your answer, diving down his head between your legs, his tongue working around your entrance, kissing you there while his hooked nose was stroking your bundle of nerves aptly.

"Lionel," you said in one breath.

He smiled, licking your sex again and again, his own arousal becoming unbearable. He felt the need to be in you as his member became harder and harder. But not yet. Before, he wanted you to have another orgasm, to be as wet as possible to make you suffer the least possible.

You didn't last very long and Lionel stood up to cover you entirely with his body.

"You taste so good, bunny," he said with a smirk.

You blushed under his piercing eyes, yet he told you not to be embarrassed.

"Bunny, you're beautiful and there is no shame in doing what we are doing. You honored me by offering me your virginity and I want to lavish you as you deserve for trusting me in such a way that you abandon yourself in my favor."

You grabbed his shoulders to bring him closer. Understanding your intention, Lionel leaned towards you so that you could touch his back and his chest more easily while your lips captured his in a tender kiss.

"I love you," you said coyly.

It was not the first time you told him that, but it was the first time you said it orally. Ordinarily, you wrote it on a sheet of paper that you strewed on the kitchen counter or inside his briefcase to give him something to think of during his work.

"And I love you," answered back Lionel with a genuine expression.

He didn't say the word before and you were taken aback. You didn't think he will say it back, but you were more than happy to hear him confess his feelings for you, though you never doubt it.

"You still want to do it ?" he asked sincerely.

You nodded vigorously.

"I want to hear you say it, [Y/N]," he said firmly.

"Yes Lionel, I want you. I want you to make love with me, please," you almost begged.

With a satisfied smile, he placed his hard member in front of your entrance. You push a little bit your nails into the skin of his back, your eyes full of apprehension but also desire.

He pushed himself as slowly as he could, careful to be gentle, assessing the slightest sign of discomfort. He kissed your neck, your cheeks, your forehead and your lips while he continued to stretch your insides. When he filled you up entirely, he stopped, waiting to see your features relax. He felt a warm liquid enveloping his cock. He glimpsed down to see a small amount of blood tainted the Egyptian silk sheets and he felt a strange sort of vanity, knowing he was the one you had chosen to offer yourself to.

“Are you alright ?” he murmured in your ear.

“It’s hurt a little bit,” you admitted.

“It’s normal, bunny,” he said with a soft tone, “It will be better in a moment, I promise.”

Of course, you trusted him and he was doing his really best to be gentle when all he wanted to do was thrusting hard and fast your tight insides.

He kissed you again and again before asking you if you were ready. You weren’t able to verbally answer any of his question, but a mere glimpse at your eyes full of desire was enough to him starting to move inside you. The initial pain ebbed away while you felt a fire invading your whole body.

“You feel so good,” growled Lionel while sucking one of your nipple.

“Lionel, oh Lionel... oooh,” you moaned while your insides were throbbing with pleasure.

Soon he thrusted faster and you let out a strangled cry when he accidentally stroked your G-spot. You grabbed his shoulders, pulling him closer to kiss his neck, totally lost in your building pleasure.

“Please Lionel, faster,” you pleaded, the stretch of your walls making you feel sensations your fingers had never let you experienced before.

“Bunny, you’re so tight... aaah... so tight and only mine,” he stuttered, licking your breasts.

You felt your muscles tensed and you knew you were close.

“Lionel... I… I will…” you couldn’t think clearly, even less talking while your back was arching to let your cunt receive more of Lionel’s cock.

He tried his best to hold back, wanting to let you come first.

"Don't close your eyes, bunny, I want to see you when you will come," he ordered.

You didn't last very long. He stroked your sensitive clit with his thumb, which had for effect to make you finish. You clung to him, letting out a cry which was a mixture of his name and other nonsense, as you were totally hazy with pleasure.

Lionel thrusted into you three more times before releasing himself with a loud groan inside your clenched cunt.

Out of breath, Lionel slipped out of you cautiously. You were panting and sweaty as well as was Lionel. He looked at you with adoration, his eyes twinkling with love.

"How do you feel ?" he asked while you cuddled up, your head on his chest, trying to find solace into his arms, still basking in the afterglow of your encounter.

"I'm happy," you whispered.

"Are you sore ?" he asked with trepidation.

"A bit," you answered honestly.

"Do you want me to run you a bath ?"

"No. I just want us to snuggle in bed."

"As you wish, my love."

He planted a lingering kiss on your forehead, a fond smile on his lips while you fell asleep. He felt a surge of love for you, one he never felt before for anyone and certainly not for his first wife.

You were certainly something else, a strange pretty little thing who had miraculously fallen into his life by the chance of your stars which were made to be crossed at some point in your life.

He took a glimpse at the blood in the bed and inwardly, he felt a wave of happiness at the mere thought of you who had been waiting for such a long time to be sure to give your virginity to the right man and knowing that he was the one for you made his heart swelled with pride.

"I will never let you leave, bunny. You're mine forever," he whispered in your ear.

You stirred a bit in your sleep but didn't get awake. Lionel let out a chuckle while his hand grabbed possessively your hips. Maybe you had waited for a major party of your life to find the right one, but so did he and now, with you in his arms, he felt the relief of the certainty. The certainty that he will have someone to share the rest of his life with.

[jaythes1mp]

hii jay, i just came home and ive read your reply ! im honestly so shocked at seeing how many ppl i have inspired to write (especially since im never once satisfied with my writing) but im glad me and klemen-tine are your inspirations bec your writing is very good and (also) underrated !!

and really, the inspired fic i wanted to write based off of your "here, kitty" one is about yan! batfam x angel! reader where it mostly focuses on their obsession on both the human and non human parts of the mc. i imagine a wingspan of over 7 to 10 ft with the family's favorite activity being... preening their angel's wings since it's so oddly intimate and induces both pleasure and satisfaction on both the reader's part and theirs but in different ways because it's also a reminder of how much the family has monopolized their time. and i want the relationship to thread between romantic lines but im unsure, so before i go off track with rambling— it just reminds me so much of your fanfic and i love it when other writers do non-human portrayals of the mc because theres so much potential for obsessive nature and just what truly is your identity; a human? a monster? or a pet for them to cherish?

anyways, i have so many ideas for your here, kitty fic and altho i haven't read the second part yet, ive been thinking about something similar to the idea i pitched above wherein one of their means of inducing you to a... relaxed state is through the means of your more animal-like features. it's sometimes even so effective that even you aren't aware of just how much they truly know about you; they don't even need to drug you at all, silly!

imagine, despite being in your human form, you retain your animal instincts. threatening dick with sharp fangs and a bite to his shoulder the moment he tries to tackle you with a cuddle leads to him finding that one very pleasure-inducing itch in your head that you couldn't quite scratch no matter what form you don. his hands meticulously run through your scalp, up and down motions, fingers exerting enough effort to repeatedly scratch that spot.

"that's a good kitty..." he mutters above your head, a wobbly smile forming on his face at just how... adorable you are. even your tail rhythmically thumps at how good you feel. see? why even try to fight him when you could settle for something way better...?

it just shows how you really are meant to be cooped up and pampered by them.

you don't know how he knows where, how, why he decided to do just that— but it works... despite your previous ministrations, you melt like jelly against his muscled body and allow his left arm to lock on your waist, the right one refusing to budge from stroking the locks of your hair. soon enough, you're purring, shivering against his body and ignoring the hastened beats of dick's heart against your ear, head conveniently laid on top of his chest and your body now on top of dick's seated form on the couch.

how he managed to effortlessly distract you from his travel from standing to sitting, you don't know. how he knows all the right spots to touch you, you don't also know.

and actually, you don't care. not when he continues to pleasure you with his love-filled patting. his left hand even started to stroke against the skin of your back— and all of a sudden, you feel that buzz of your goosebumps. the only sound left that echoes throughout the room are your purring and dick's heartbeats.

you close your eyes and bite your lips to prevent any of your whimpers from spilling out of your mouth.

for now, you tell yourself, you'll let him win this time.

deep down, you know it's a lie.

not when they've already won.

from me to you: happy bday again! hope you enjoy this short scenario i pulled out of my ass. it's been some time since i have written something but i hope this suffices! ^^

BWHAVAHSHSBANOKANANSJSJAKKASHSVS AHSJAKAKNAVSHAHAJA

WOAHHHHHH DUDE!!!!

I really really love it, thank you💚

Can I write something based off of this in one of my future chapters??

Also, the Angel reader idea is epic. If you ever write anything further on it please definitely @ me🙏 or if you don’t want to I’d for sure write it.

I apologise for the late reply, I wanted to wait till my birthday to read it💚💚

You can’t even tell that you went on break, man. It’s so epic💚💚💚💚

[juniperdugong]

Couple Costumes Maknae Line ver.

What you guys would wear as a couple on Halloween and how they react!! || 95s || 96s || 97s || Maknae line || A/N: I tried to make these examples as inclusive as possible, if you don't like that THEN GET OUT! Also, the characters or costumes I mention DO NOT correlate to the boys' personalities and this is all just for some silly Halloween fun! I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE ART, all credit goes to their respective artists!

Seungkwan Sun & Moon/Doraemon

He's another one who thinks it's silly at first but puts up with it because it's you! Really, for such an extrovert who loves being a comedian, he tends to get embarrassed a bunch. But as it goes, he is willing to do anything for love—of course with his own "professional input."

He runs the show in terms of what y'all are picking. He needs it to be a good mix of funny but cute ALWAYS. I see a small argument as you guys go back and forth on what to wear and how it should look. But ultimately, if you really pushed for it... he would go with what you want because he's above fighting over costumes (sometimes)

He could settle for a simple sun and moon costume, he is after all the brightest sunshine boy to exist. But it's fairer to say that y'all would end up going with a childhood favorite comedic character and who better than Doraemon! He would adore this idea up and down and out! Of course, he's gonna be Doraemon and you're going to be Mii-chan or Noramyako... let's be real he wouldn't let you get the chance to steal the Doraemon spotlight from under him.

Vernon Sarah & Wirt/Adventure Time

Go with the flow all the way~ Which is to say he'd love to dress up with you and go with whatever ideas you have for him in terms of costume. He doesn't play into it as enthusiastically as others would but definitely is supportive through and through, constantly pushing you to challenge your ideas of what the costume should be. Very much the type to be like "What were you originally thinking?" if he notices you trying to tone it down - because despite what people may think he is very expressive, especially through fashion (as we know)

If he did give any sort of input or inspiration forward I definitely think he would be going for some sort of cartoon or comics, he's mentioned Hellboy before so I feel like that's a good route, I can also see X-men being a thing. But I'm a cartoon nerd at heart and OG carats know he used to rave about Adventure Time so I can definitely see him bring Simon & Betty to the table, maybe Marshal & Gary, perhaps a Fin & Flame Princess, or Jake & Lady. I'm a sucker for the idea of y'all as Wirt and Sarah from Over the Garden Wall though, like would die to see him in the vicinity of that show.

Dino Morticia & Gomez/Scream

He is 100% the type to vehemently refuse, but as soon as you give him even an ounce of that sulky attitude, he changes his tune and is in for whatever you want. Such a lover boy, honestly. It's getting on my nerves how fast I see him change his mind for you tbh. If you actually get mad I feel like he would go off the rails and in a frenzy get a bunch of costumes as revenge/malicious compliance? In short, he gets mad at you for being mad but does what you want anyway... Yeah.

He's so Gomez Addams coded, I'm sick! Also you guys as the power couple of the Addams family? Yes, puhhhlease!! It's insane how much y'all would rock that shit. Down and out winning the costume contest, for sure! But I also see him turning down the idea if he doesn't know the movie... In that case, I feel like even if he hasn't seen Scream he would be down to do Ghostface. Not only would you guys look hot but he doesn't have to wear different makeup and I feel like that's a win for him in his book.

A/N: A day late but it's better than nothing! The jjk fiends will have to wait till tmrw for the official end to the Halloween event with a Gojo fic lmao

Please Reblog and Comment if you enjoyed ! (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @bemybabiibish @bath1lda @porridgesblog

[celestie0]

ellie's writing tips

hellooo this is just a lil masterpost for the writing tips i have collected over my time writing since it's a question i get often!! this way it's all in one place <3 this is also for my own reference to look back on when i forget them lol

tips for specifically writing long fics

on coming up with a main storyline.

planning out a general idea & premise at the beginning of the fic that helps two characters get closer to one another, such as a forced proximity, some sort of mutual agreement, a mission to complete, etc. is a great way to get the ball rolling on a fic and can create environments between characters that feels connected and necessary rather than forced

on coming up with secondary storylines.

after laying down the main groundwork, building some side storylines adjacent to the main one that will give you options down the line to play with narratively (you don't need to figure out exactly what you want to do with secondary plotlines up front, but having them in place can create flexibility in your story to pivot towards some ideas if you'd like to later in the story)

on planning chapters & scenes.

it's wise to have a general idea for your series, but it's also okay to scrap those ideas if ultimately they don't work. there will be scenes that do not make sense or fit in the way you thought they would've, and making last minute decisions is okay and totally normal. sometimes better answers will find you along the way, and it's only a testament to how well you're getting to know your own story and also your own characters. it's also okay to plan multiple path ideas for your story, and choose whichever one fits best once you get to that point. it's not necessary to have a scene-by-scene in order to start writing! planning is useful, but writing is more important

on finding motivation to continue long fics.

having certain "key" scenes planned out in the very early stages of writing that you know you will look forward to writing can help with finding motivation. it will also help you find momentum to write during points where you might have some writer's block. also, one of the best tips i have seen for writing chaptered fics, is to end your chapters when you still have a little bit left planned. so cutting it like 10% short so that you have an immediate jumping off of point that you can start with for the next chapter

my general writing tips

inspiration. starting off w a concept or idea that you already know you like from a tv show or book works really well for fanfiction! for example if you like spiderman, then you can write a canon-adjacent spiderman au w your fave character from an anime or something. and then maybe once you start writing, your own original ideas start to come into play and you go off of those. i think in the fanfic community, people adore spin-offs & mainstream concept ideas

dialogue. my biggest tip for dialogue would be to just write all of your dialogue for a scene completely stripped down. none of the “he says” & “she says” or action verbs in between, just write it all out like it was a simple text convo w quotation marks. that way the words will sound realistic because you’re only picturing a convo in your head, rather than also trying to juggle all the descriptive prose. then, you can go back in to fluff things up. if it’s meant to be comedic or a fast-paced argument, keeping it relatively stripped down is the way to go, but if it’s something intense or suspenseful then fluffing it up may be the better choice. also, i find dialogue becomes easier the more you write for a specific character, so if it’s not flowing right away, don’t worry!! their words will find you eventually once you get to know the character better :)

on choosing conflicts. characters won’t always act perfect, but i think a great way to make conflict seem realistic is for them to act in character but with flaws, rather than out of character with flaws. maybe make a list of what that character’s good qualities and how those qualities could also work against them, and use the latter to brainstorm realistic conflict that those qualities could put them in (ex: a character is self-sufficient, but that causes them to rely on ppl less when they need it -> they fail to reach out for help in timely manners and leads to mistakes/regrets)

pacing. when starting off a story, don’t be afraid to just jump straight into it! or jump straight into the dialogue and then build the scene gradually as it progresses, rather than [big block of text in beginning of scene that reader must drag their eyes through] and then get to the dialogue. make sure the pacing fits the scene (romantic -> longer paragraphs more focused on subtle details, comical -> short paragraphs n dialogue heavy w simple n relatable diction, etc)

for tone and mood. to get words flowing for different scenes, it can be really useful to get into the environment of those scenes while you’re writing, such as listening to a song that fits the vibe of the scene prior to/during writing, or if its a scene at night, write it w the lights off, or watch a youtube vid w scenery that matches. may sound silly, but it could help!

read more. this is sort of a miscellaneous one but a good way to subconsciously get better at writing is to just read more! your brain kinda learns how to write on its own when you read. also, when i’m reading, if i see words i really like i jot them down in my notes app so i have my own lil vocabulary of words that i know i would like to use in my writing

on writing insecurities. be proud of your writing!! your first draft does NOT have to be perfect. some days the words will flow, but on some they won’t, and that’s okay. don’t get too into your head about “i wonder what readers will think of this plot point or this character action” etc, i think having faith in your own process but also in your readers will bring you a lot of peace as you write :) create what you want to create and the rest will follow!! at the end of the day it’s just a hobby and you should be writing what YOU want to write!! and just get started! ☺️ that’s the easiest way to write—is to just write 🫶🏼💕

use chatgpt. looool ai can be useful in writing too! i usually only use it after i'm completed with a draft, and i just plug select paragraphs into it to see if it can come up with some better words for me to use. it's also useful to come up with logistical details for aspects of your stories for world-building etc

[warabidakihime]

Rules and Roses Chapter 6

★ characters: kibutsuji muzan x reader x akaza

★ plot summary: Kibutsuji Muzan has finally decided to expand his empire, and the way he intends to do so is by running for the highest political position. With you, his darling wife, at his side, he believes he can achieve and have everything the world has to offer. He is, after all, the Phoenix of Phario.

★ fic playlist: sometimes, same day, as time stops, wolf’s song (this is also the vision board for the fic). 

★ content warnings : implied violence, self-harm and abuse, profanities, toxic relationships, smut.

★ Previous Chapter

a/n: heya! things are finally picking up and it will only go up from here and then BAM! i wasn't able to update last weekend because i wasn't doing great mentally and i was also pretty tired because of work, and so i just focused on resting last weekend. but voila! a new chapter for y'all! i've not proofread this yet, so apologies if there are any typos or parts that confuses you. will fix those tomorrow morning.

i sincerely hope you've been enjoying this fic and i really would like to hear your thoughts so don't be shy and leave a comment or two! you have no idea how much your comments inspire me to write.

anyway! enjoy reading!

--

Year 2016

A vast, icy expanse stretches before the camera. The crowd's excited murmurs gradually build into a roaring applause as a spotlight illuminates the center of the ice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are on the edge of our seats as we welcome back the phenomenal Y/N! The reigning champion, the undisputed queen of the ice, is about to grace us with her artistry once more,” the commentator exclaimed to the mic.

You glide onto the ice; your every movement, fluid and effortless, as if you're dancing on air. Your breath, visible in the cold, adds a touch of ethereal beauty to your performance.

“There she is! The moment we've all been waiting for! The crowd is on their feet, their eyes glued to every twist and turn. Her posture is impeccable, and her lines are clean and sharp. This is what true elegance looks like!”

The commentator continued, his voice filled with excitement and passion.

As you progress through your routine, the music swells, mirroring the intensity of your performance. You execute a series of complex jumps with astonishing ease, landing each one with precision and grace.

“And there it is! A triple axel, executed to perfection! The crowd is in awe. This woman is on a different level. Her speed, her power, her control—it's simply breathtaking. Watch as she transitions into a spin; look at that speed and the way she controls her body. It's like she's defying gravity itself!"

You transition into a series of spins, giving your body a blur of color and movement. The commentator’s voice becomes more animated.

“Unbelievable! She's a ballerina on ice! The way she blends strength and delicacy is simply mesmerizing. And did you catch that change of direction? From a Biellmann spin to a layback spin in mere seconds? It's like she's speaking a different language on the ice. A language only the greatest can understand.” 

As you approach the end of your routine, the music crescendos, and you unleash a final burst of energy. Your emotions are raw, and your movements are filled with passion.

“She's pouring her heart and soul into this performance! The crowd is on its feet, cheering and applauding. This is a moment that will be remembered for years to come. And can we talk about the flexibility? Those splits, those extensions! She's not just an ice skater; she's a gymnast on ice! A complete show stopper!”

The commentator exclaimed, his voice filled with awe.

A tear escapes your eye as you finish your routine, and you drop to the ice in a deep bow.

The crowd erupts in a standing ovation.

“A performance that transcends the boundaries of sport. Ice Queen Y/N has once again proven why she is the greatest ice skater of her generation. And speaking of greatness, this woman has it all. Talent, beauty, grace, and, let's not forget, a heart of gold. They say behind every successful woman is a great man, and this woman's boyfriend is definitely one to watch. Though we can't confirm anything, rumors have it that he's a rising star in the business world,” the commentator said, adding a touch of intrigue to his commentary.

You skate slowly towards the edge of the ice, your breath coming in short gasps. The crowd’s cheers and applause gradually subside as you approach your coach.

“And there she goes, skating towards her coach. A moment of pure relief and exhaustion. The pressure is off, and she can finally let go. This is a moment of truth, a moment of waiting. The scores will determine her fate. Let’s hope she’s brought her A-game today, but this is Y/N we're talking about; she's always on her A-game!” 

The camera cuts to the judges’ table as they begin their deliberation. The crowd holds their breath, their eyes glued to the screen.

After what feels like an eternity, the announcer steps up to the microphone.

“And the gold medal goes to... Y/N with a final score of 250.34 , a whopping 12.78 points ahead of her closest competitor! This not only secures her gold medal but also breaks her own world record, a record she has held for years! This is a historic moment, ladies and gentlemen!”

The announcer proclaimed, as the crowd erupts into a frenzy of cheers and applause.

The camera returns to you as you cover your face with your hands, tears of joy streaming down your cheeks. Your coach gave you a fatherly hug, obviously proud of the feat you have achieved. Your family and friends were screaming at the top of their lungs, trying their best to convey their support for you. Meanwhile, the crowd continues to cheer as confetti falls from the ceiling.

You raise your arms in victory, a radiant smile on your face.

The physical therapy room was a familiar purgatory. The sterile white walls and the metallic gleam of the equipment were a constant reminder of your limitations. Once a sanctuary of grace and athleticism, it had become a battleground for recovery.

You moved through the routine with mechanical precision, your movements devoid of the once-fluid grace. Your breath came in short, labored gasps as you pushed your body to its limits. The pain was a constant companion, a dull ache that pulsed through your leg. Yet you persevered, driven by a stubborn determination.

Akaza watched from the corner, his eyes following your every move. His expression was a mask of indifference, but his posture spoke a different story. Tension rippled through his muscles as he observed your struggle.

Finally, exhausted but determined, you collapsed onto the mat, sweat beading on your forehead. Your body ached, but there was a sense of satisfaction in pushing through the pain.

The doctor entered, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. He carried a clipboard, and his expression was serious.

"How are you feeling today, Y/N?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You managed a weak smile. "Tired, but okay."

The doctor nodded, his eyes scanning your form. "The progress is steady. Your strength is improving, and the range of motion in your leg is expanding."

A flicker of hope ignited in your chest. "Does that mean I can start... doing more?"

The doctor hesitated, his expression turning somber.

"There is good news and bad news."

Your heart sank. "Tell me the bad news first."

"The bad news is, the full range of motion you once had is unlikely to return. The scar tissue and the nature of your injury have created limitations. While you can walk and perform daily activities without significant discomfort, activities that require sudden bursts of speed, agility, or excessive weight-bearing are still risky."

A wave of disappointment washed over you. You had never entertained the thought of returning to competitive skating. That chapter of your life was firmly closed. But the idea of never being able to skate again, even for leisure, was definitely a bitter pill to swallow.

"I understand," you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper.

"But," the doctor continued, his voice softening, "the good news is that you've exceeded expectations in your recovery. You're stronger than most people in your situation. With continued therapy and careful management, you can lead a normal, active life."

A normal life.

The word echoed in your mind.

A far cry from the extraordinary life you once lived.

"But remember, and I mean this in all seriousness, there are certain activities you should avoid," the doctor warned. "High-impact sports, for instance, are out of the question, and you need to be cautious about putting too much pressure on your leg."

You nodded, trying to absorb the information. The weight of disappointment was heavy on your shoulders.

"But I also want you to remember," the doctor added, "every day is a step forward, and you've come such a long way, Y/N. So you should be proud of your progress."

You forced a smile. "I am."

As the doctor left the room, you turned to Akaza. His eyes met yours, and in that brief moment, you saw a flicker of something in his gaze—a mixture of pity and something else, something you can quite pinpoint. You decided to dismiss it, attributing it to your overactive imagination.

Akaza approached you, his hand reaching out to offer support. "You're stronger than you think," he said, his voice low and comforting.

You took his hand, grateful for his presence. "I know," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

Akaza studied your face; his eyes were filled with a strange intensity. "I've seen stronger people break," he said, his voice barely audible. "But you... you're different."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his rather cryptic statement. "Oh?"

Akaza hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "Some people," he began, his voice low, "are defined by limitations. Others... they find a way to transcend them."

You didn't know what to make of his cryptic statement.

You simply nodded, grateful for his support.

Akaza chuckled, breaking the tension. “You’re too serious,” he teased. “Come on, let’s get you out of here. You look like you could use a break.”

You smiled, and the weight of the world momentarily lifted.

“Alright, let’s go.”

As he helped you up, he studied your face, his expression turning serious again. “You’re doing well,” he said softly. “Like what the doctor told you, you’re way stronger than you think.”

You nodded, grateful for his support. As you walked out of the physical therapy room, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. The road to recovery was indeed long, but you persevered and made incredible progress.

And as long as you have your friends and family, Muzan, and, believe it or not, people like Akaza by your side, you knew you would eventually find your way back.

Several Years Ago at the Winter Olympics 2018

The ice was your stage, a crystalline expanse where you could lose yourself. Muzan, your fiancé, watched from the stands, his eyes filled with adoration. The crowd roared as you took your final bow, the applause a symphony of admiration. You were in your element, a whirlwind of grace and power.

But then disaster struck.

It happened in an instant—a cruel twist of fate.

As you landed a triple lutz, your skate blade, despite multiple quality checks, betrayed you. It snapped, sending you into an uncontrolled spin. Your body, once so graceful, became a helpless projectile. You felt the ice scrape against your skin as you tumbled, the world a blur of pain and fear.

Muzan watched in horror as you fell. Time seemed to freeze as your body crashed into the ice. A sharp intake of breath escaped his lips. His world narrowed down to you, a blur of white on the unforgiving ice.

Fear, cold and sharp, clawed at his insides.

He leaped over the barrier, his movements a blur. Kneeling beside you, he assessed the damage. Your face was pale, and your eyes closed. A deep gash marred your leg, with blood seeping through the fabric of your costume. His hands trembled as he cradled your head. His voice, usually so calm and commanding, was now a frantic whisper.

"Darling, please wake up," he begged, his voice filled with terror.

"Open your eyes, please, Y/N!"

Panic surged through him as he realized the severity of your injury. The once pristine white of his suit was now marred by the crimson stain of your blood, a stark contrast to the pristine white of the ice.

His voice rose, filled with a desperate urgency.

"Someone help! Get an ambulance! Fucking do something, now!" he shouted, his eyes wide with fear and seething anger.

He frantically searched for a button or a lever—anything to call for help. The crowd's noise seemed to muffle, as if he were underwater.

He scooped you up into his arms, your weight heavy in his arms. The crowd's gasps and cries were a distant echo as he carried you off the ice. His mind raced, a whirlwind of fear and desperation. He had to get you help, and he had to get you help now.

In the ambulance, Muzan held you close, his touch a desperate attempt to reassure you and to reassure himself that this too shall pass, but the metallic smell of your blood, your pale skin, and the way your body trembled in his arms filled him with a cold dread, as did the horrific way you would slip in and out of consciousness. 

*

The days that followed were a blur of pain, surgeries, and endless nights in the hospital. You woke up to find yourself encased in a plaster cast, the once lithe body you knew confined to a hospital bed. The news of your injury sent shockwaves through the world, leaving your fans devastated by the abrupt end to your glittering career.

The doctors were blunt in their assessment. Your career as an ice skater was over. The extent of your injuries, combined with the long recovery process, meant that you would never be able to return to the ice. The news was a devastating blow, and it took a long time to come to terms with it.

Muzan was by your side through it all; his unrelenting and passionate support was a constant in your life. He held your hand through the painful procedures, his presence a comforting anchor.

But the emotional turmoil was immense. The loss of your identity as a skater was a profound shock. The physical pain was a constant reminder of what you had lost, but the emotional pain was even more debilitating. You questioned your worth and your identity.

There were even moments when the darkness consumed you, when the thought of ending it all seemed like the only escape.

But despite everything, you managed to hold on and cling to the hope that things would get better.

And frankly speaking, Muzan didn't let you succumb to despair. He did his very best to show his support for you and his faith in you, and with the help of dedicated therapists, you slowly began to rebuild your life.

It was a long and arduous journey, filled with SO many setbacks and triumphs, but you were able to emerge from the shadows stronger and more resilient than ever before.

*

The car ride home was heavy with silence. You stared out the window, lost in thought. The physical therapy session had been grueling, but it was also a stark reminder of what you had lost. A sudden impulse surged through you.

"Akaza, make a detour," you ordered, your voice firm.

Akaza was startled by your sudden demand. “Where to?” he asked, his voice laced with caution.

“The ice rink,” you replied, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Akaza hesitated, his mind racing. He knew better than anyone the risks involved. The doctor's warnings echoed in his mind. Yet, he couldn't ignore the determination in your eyes. 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. "The doctor said..."

You cut him off. 

"I know, Akaza. And I don't care, so please."

He sighed. He knew arguing with you was futile. With a heavy heart, he turned the steering wheel.

The ice rink was eerily quiet.

The once-vibrant atmosphere was replaced by an eerie stillness. You slipped into your skates, a familiar weight returning to your feet. As you stepped onto the ice, a wave of nostalgia washed over you.

It was here that you had spent countless hours honing your craft, dreaming of standing on the Olympic podium.

Akaza watched from the sidelines, his heart pounding in his chest. He was a mixture of worry and admiration. You were a force of nature, but he couldn’t shake the fear that lurked in the back of his mind.

You began to glide, your movements tentative at first. But as you gained confidence, your body seemed to remember the familiar motions. You started to hum the melody of your short program, your movements following the rhythm. It was as if you were reliving a distant memory—a ghost of your former self.

Akaza watched in awe as you executed a series of spins and jumps with surprising ease. It was as if the years of physical therapy had erased the trauma of the accident. But as you attempted a particularly challenging move, your body betrayed you. Fear crept in, and your balance faltered.

You landed with a painful thud, your knees buckling.

Tears streamed down your face as the pain shot through your leg. The physical agony was a stark reminder of your limitations, but it was the emotional pain that truly consumed you. The floodgates of memories opened, overwhelming you. The taste of victory, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of competition—all of it came rushing back, only to be replaced by the bitter reality of your present situation.

You curled up into a ball, your body trembling.

Struggling to tune out the pounding of his heart, Akaza hesitated to rush to your side, and when he was about to, Muzan's voice echoed across the empty ice rink, firm yet still laced with concern.

"What do you think you're doing?"

You looked up; pain and confusion were painted on your face. Muzan knelt beside you, his eyes filled with worry.

"I thought I could do it," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Muzan’s expression hardened. "You could've seriously gotten hurt! And you!" Your husband shot Akaza a glare, his temper flaring uncontrollably.

"What were you thinking, letting this happen? Your job is to keep her safe, and you failed miserably! Do you have any idea how irresponsible this was?!"

Akaza bowed in apology, his face pale. "I'm sorry, sir. I did everything I could—"

Before Akaza could finish, Muzan took a step forward, his fist clenched. "Everything you could? Everything you could?! You're supposed to be her bodyguard, not some useless bystander! Do you even care about her safety? Or are you just pretending to do your job?!"

Akaza flinched, taking a step back. "Sir, please, I—"

Muzan raised his hand as if to strike, his face contorted with rage. "Don't you 'sir' me! If anything happens to her, it's on you! Do you understand that? It's on your head, you worthless—"

"Muzan, stop!" you interjected, your voice firm despite the pain.

"Don't blame Akaza. He did the best he could. I was the one who was stubborn."

Muzan paused, his raised hand trembling, before he slowly lowered it, his eyes still burning with anger. He turned back to you, his frustration now mixed with deep concern.

"All those months of therapy, Y/N. All the pain you’ve endured, thrown out the window just like that? What were you thinking?"

You lowered your gaze, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. Muzan’s words cut deep, but you knew he was right.

Upon seeing you shrink when he raised his voice at you, Muzan’s expression softened immediately.

He sighed heavily.

"You do understand where I am coming from right?" he said as gently as he could. "I completely empathize with you, Y/N; and just like you, I also miss you performing on ice, but you can’t ignore the doctor’s orders. You know how fragile your recovery is. What if you got seriously hurt again?"

You looked away, your heart aching.

"I just miss it," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "I thought I should give it a try, then maybe... I could get a feel of it again. Maybe a miracle would happen." You trailed off, unsure of where the thought was leading you.

Muzan’s eyes softened as he watched your tears fall. He reached out, gently lifting your chin so your eyes met his. "Love, I understand the longing; I really do. But we can't rush these things. Your body still needs time to heal."

And then Muzan’s grip tightened around your hand. His voice, stained with pain and frustration.

"Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I saw you lying there on the ice? How many sleepless nights I've endured, haunted by the image of your lifeless body? You risked everything just now—your life, your future, and for what? For a fleeting moment of glory? For old times sake? For a stupid, careless stunt? Do you understand the gravity of your actions?"

Your heart pounded in your chest.

Guilt eating at you by the second.

Muzan rarely raised his voice at you, but when he did, it sent shivers down your spine. At this very moment, you knew he was angry, but you also knew he was speaking from a place of deep love and concern.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Muzan’s expression shifted from frustration to sorrow, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You don't need to apologize, love. I'm just... I can't bear the thought of losing you."

Suddenly, the memory of that dreadful day started playing in his head like a slideshow—the sight of you lying motionless on the ice, the panic in the ambulance, the sleepless nights by your hospital bed. He groaned, his grip on your hand tightening involuntarily as the trauma washed over him again. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the haunting images.

"Seeing you in pain, feeling helpless... it tore me apart," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "I remember every second of that day, and it still feels like a nightmare I can't wake up from."

Drowning in shame and guilt, all you could ever say at that moment was, "I'm sorry."

He opened his eyes and looked at you, his expression softening as he saw the concern in your eyes. "I know, love. But please, let's not do this again." He paused, his gaze unrelenting.

"I know how much skating means to you, and I promise we'll find a way to bring back the joy of skating into your life. But for now, let's focus on healing."

Akaza nodded in agreement. You looked at them both, feeling a mix of disappointment and understanding. "But the doctor said..."

Muzan interrupted gently, "I know what the doctor said, my love. And I respect his opinion. But I won't let that be the final word. We'll explore every option, every specialist, every clinic. We won't stop until we find a way for you to skate again."

Hope flickered in your eyes. "You mean it?"

Muzan nodded resolutely.

"I mean it with all my heart, love. You've dedicated so many years to this already, and I know how much it means to you. But for now, let's focus on healing your body and your spirit. We'll find a way to bring back the joy of skating into your life, I promise. But let's not rush it, okay? Your well-being is my top priority. It should be your priority too."

Eventually, you yielded, but before you could get a word out in response to what your husband just said, tears came falling down your face profusely, and the sight pained both Muzan and Akaza so much.

It was so hard seeing you like this.

Muzan gently pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and protective. He whispered soothing words into your ear, his voice a calming balm to your frayed nerves. "Shhh, it's okay, my love. Let it all out. I'm here for you."

Akaza, who was standing nearby, looked away, giving you and Muzan a moment of privacy. He clenched his fists, his own emotions—a tumultuous mix of anger at the situation and a deep, abiding concern for you.

Muzan brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender.

"You've been so strong, Y/N. It's okay to feel what you're feeling. It's okay to grieve and to be angry. Feel free to use me as a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen to, or even your personal punching bag when you need to let off steam. I'm here for you, always."

You clung to him, the weight of your emotions finally finding an outlet. The tears seemed endless—a torrent of grief and frustration. Your husband held you tighter, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"We will get through this," he murmured. "One step at a time."

After what felt like an eternity, the tears began to subside, leaving you feeling drained but slightly lighter. Muzan pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. "Feeling better?"

You nodded, unable to find the words to express your gratitude and love for him. Muzan kissed your forehead gently, his lips lingering as if to impart some of his strength to you.

Muzan then took a deep breath and turned to Akaza, his anger still simmering but under control. "Akaza," he began, his voice tight, "I apologize for lashing out at you earlier. My temper got the best of me, and that was uncalled for."

Akaza bowed slightly, his expression unreadable. "No, sir. It's alright. I deserved to be called out like that."

Muzan clenched his jaw, feeling the lingering frustration. He took a moment to calm himself further before continuing. "However, let me be clear. If something like this happens again, there will be consequences. Your primary duty is to ensure her safety. Don't you ever forget that."

Akaza nodded solemnly. "I understand, sir. It won't happen again."

Muzan's gaze softened slightly as he regarded Akaza. "Thank you," then he turned to you again and helped you to your feet. 

"Let's get you home," he said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

*

In the car, the quiet hum of the engine filled the space between you and Muzan. After a few moments of contemplation, you turned to him and broke the silence.

“How did you know I was at the ice rink?”

Akaza cleared his throat, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “I called him,” he confessed, his eyes avoiding yours.

You turned your gaze to Akaza, surprised by his uncharacteristic admission. "You did?"

He nodded, his expression serious. "Yes, madam. I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. Apologies for taking action without consulting you first."

Understanding the weight of his actions and the potential danger Muzan might have faced because of you, guilt washed over you. You turned back to Muzan, remorse clear in your eyes. “Muzan, I’m so sorry. You must have been very busy today, and I even put you in potential danger by rushing to my aid without Kokushibo with you.”

Muzan shook his head, his expression softening as he reached out to take your hand. “Nothing and no one is more important or more special to me in this world than you, Y/N. I would leave everything behind to ensure you’re safe and well, so don’t ever feel guilty for needing me. Besides, I can’t call myself the president of a nation if I can't protect or be there for the people who are closest to me.”

You felt tears welling up again, but this time, they were tears of gratitude. “Muzan…”

Muzan gently wiped away your tears with his thumb, then pulled you into a warm embrace, his touch tender and reassuring.

The car settled into a comfortable silence once again, and after a few seconds, you glanced at Akaza, who was focused intently on the road.

“Hakuji, thanks again for today.”

“Hakuji?” Muzan asked, confusion lacing his voice. “Who’s Hakuji?”

In the driver’s seat, Akaza froze, his heart skipping a beat. The sudden use of his real name caught him off guard, and he quickly regained his composure, masking his panic with a carefully controlled expression.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, a hint of unease creeping into his voice.

How did you...?

Wait.

Have you perhaps, by any chance, finally–

“That’s me, sir. Hakuji is my real name; Akaza is just a nickname a relative gave me when I was a kid.”

“I see,” Muzan said, his tone shifting to a more measured curiosity. “You refer to yourself as Akaza to everyone? I don’t recall this being disclosed during your application.”

Akaza flashed a sheepish smile, though it did little to hide the tension in his eyes. “Yes, sir. I’ve used Akaza for most of my life, but I’m fine with Hakuji as well.”

Muzan studied Akaza with a penetrating gaze, sensing the subtle shift in the atmosphere.

“Very well,” he said finally, his voice a mix of intrigue and skepticism. 

The drive continued in relative silence, the weight of the recent events settling around the car like a tangible fog. You leaned against Muzan, comforted by his presence, while Akaza focused on the road, his mind racing with the implications of his slip.

When the car finally arrived at your home, Muzan helped you out with a gentle hand, his concern still evident in his eyes. While you were still traveling back, you asked your husband how he got to the ice rink, and apparently he drove there by himself, and because he accompanied you in your car with Akaza, his car was left at the ice rink parking lot. Muzan assured you that he would have Gyokko retrieve it first thing in the morning.

As you walked towards the entrance, you glanced back at Akaza, who had a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You can rest now, Hakuji. Thank you, and I'm sorry too."

Akaza shook his head and smiled gently before bowing. "Don't worry about me, madam. Please rest well."

Muzan took the liberty to officially dismiss Akaza for the night and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his gaze softening. “Let’s get you settled. We’ve had a long day.”

*

Akaza slammed his bedroom door shut, his mind racing. He had been waiting for this moment—a sign, a confirmation. He leaned against the door, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins was intoxicating.

This was it.

The opportunity he had been waiting for.

A chance to rewrite his destiny and prove his worth.

But he had to be careful and meticulous. One wrong move could jeopardize everything. He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart.

It was time to put his plan into action.

He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a small, leather-bound notebook. It was a relic from his past, a journal filled with cryptic codes and half-formed plans. He opened it to a blank page and began to write. The pen moved swiftly across the paper, his thoughts flowing onto the page.

A plan was forming—a dangerous and intricate one, but it was a plan nonetheless.

-

taglist: @bffrrufr @unadulteratedhandsbanditdreamer @unlikelybananawerewolf

[rocknrolldecadence]

Yesterday i was listening to tv by billie and it gave me a random idea about a fic, like izzy going on tour and you kinda wait for him to contact (call/send letters) and you keep sending him letters since it's a long tour, you just dont get anything, and he comes back to find out none of his letters got delivered to you 😮‍💨 i love angst omg

That's really random to associate with tv but the original idea is that you send him almost at the end of the tour a video tape or idk what singing this song (but like ignoring the internet and etc since is the 80's lmao) if that helps as an inspiration, you're free to use this idea too idk sorry thank you bye ��😭😭😭

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮-------------------✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

sinking in the sofa

izzy’s gone on tour and you try to reach out to him.

warnings: angsty

a/n: i didn’t follow the second bit of your request exactly so i hope it’s still ok 😣 (also if u ever want to req for billie please do!! i write for her as well!!)

7 days. a whole week since izzy had left for the use your illusion tour. you missed him like crazy. he told you he’d write you, but you hadn’t got any letters yet. you brushed it off as him just being busy. not to worry. you’d get a letter soon.

7 days soon became 10. 10 days and izzy hasn’t even called you. he was starting to worry you - had something happened? you picked up and dialled the number of the hotel he told you he’d be staying at that night. izzy has been kind enough to lay that all out for you: which hotel he’d be at, which venue he’d be playing, etc.

“hello,” you spoke into the receiver, “can you out me through izzy stradlin’s room please?”

whoever was on the other end of the line coughed a little. “i’m afraid i can’t do that. sorry.”

“well… what about jeff isabell?” you questioned. maybe he had checked in under his real name?

“i can’t do that. it’s policy. sorry for any inconvenience caused.” the receptionist droned.

“but-” you started, before being hung up on.

that conversation quickly became a regular routine as every night you called each hotel and were met with more or less the same answer. sometimes they’d say “let me check with my manager!”, and you’d get hopeful, but it never worked out.

you’d been writing izzy letters, but now you started to doubt if he was even seeing them. or getting them. you wrote him at least 3 times a week normally, but as the weeks went on with no word from him, that number diminished until it was one maybe every 2 weeks.

of course, you still wanted to write him. he was your boyfriend - why wouldn’t you? but he wasn’t writing to you at all. not making any contact. you watched mtv religiously, looking out for clips of concerts. you did the same with magazines too, scouring the racks in every store for a feature on guns n roses.

weeks became months and you got fed up. every day you waited for at least one letter or call, and every day you got none. you waited every day, until you turned on the tv and saw what had happened in st louis the night before. a riot. at one of guns n roses’ shows. you were furious. not at the fact that that had happened, but that izzy hadn’t given you a call. he couldn’t even call you when a RIOT happened!

that was the last straw for you. you just started sobbing as the tv kept playing, detailing everything that had happened that night. why couldn’t izzy call you? write you? get in contact at all? had you done something? had he done something?

that was how you spent your evening - crying on the sofa with the news on. you cried til you couldn’t anymore. but as your tears dried, your guitar caught your eye. it had been sitting in the corner, untouched, since izzy had played you a song on it the night before he left. jumping off the sofa, you had an idea. you could write a song. get everything off your chest. so you did.

a few hours later, and ‘tv’ was done. every chord was perfect, and every lyric was straight from your heart. over the next month, you played it every day and you had it memorised.

late at night you were playing the song again when the door of your apartment opened. you didn’t hear it; you were too in the zone to realise it was izzy coming in with his spare key. the use your illusion tour had landed in LA, so izzy decided to come home to visit you.

“baby! i’ve missed you!” he exclaimed, coming into the living room. you snapped your head around and looked at izzy, spooked by his unannounced entrance.

“what the fuck?“ was all you could say.

“what? baby- the tour’s in LA. i wanted to come see you since i haven’t been able-”

“don’t fucking play with me, izzy. you don’t reply to my letters, don’t pick up my calls, and then you just fucking waltz into my apartment saying how much you’ve missed me? are you insane?”

your boyfriend stared at you dumbfounded. “what do you mean?”

“what do i mean? you know rightly what i mean!” you laughed out of shock and anger.

“i’ve been writing you letters. nearly every day. i thought you weren’t writing back ‘cause i was constantly moving from city to city.”

you felt like crying. was he serious? he had been writing you? this whole time? “oh my god. i never got any. did you not get mine?”

izzy shook his head.

“i’ve been phoning you too. every day. every hotel you stayed at. they never put me through to you.” you added as tears started to well in your eyes.

izzy joined you on the sofa and pulled you into a tight hug. it felt refreshing and warm, and you cried into his neck.

you stayed like that for a while. it was sad, but it felt natural. you two talked for hours, explaining everything you’d said in your letters to eachother. finally, he was home. for a while, at least.

[philtstone]

24. Showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house: for shawn? :)

[emerges from writing this fic bloody and beaten and on the verge of collapse] ill explore karen vicks character in an overly complicated post-episode missing scene fic or die trying! set immediately post "right turn or left for dead". i genuinely dont know if im happy with this but i also cant figure out how to fix it. actually, it would have probably been easier to write if i was willing to rewatch the episodes its based on. which i am not, because i am a sensitive little soul. so i winged it. i think there are like 10 different ideas that crop up and theyre all equally fascinating as character threads but i have no idea if i tied them together in an even remotely coherent way. also, WOULD she say that??? i had to call my brother twice to ask. this is what yall get for sending me actually interesting prompts, huh

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Henry’s voice said on the phone. “I’ll send Shawn over with them on his way out. He's going in your direction, anyway.”

In her short tenure as the junior detective to Henry Spencer’s lieutenant, Karen Vick observed two things:

First, that he was a far more clever strategist than most people gave him credit for. Despite the ongoing wreckage of his impending divorce and a kid who was slipping through his fingers as everyone looked on, Karen didn’t agree with the other junior detectives’ impression of him as a smash-the-door-down old school hard ass with thinning hair and a worst attitude. The man played four dimensional chess right out of a bonafide Star Trek episode. When he really wanted something done, Henry Spencer could bullshit and bluff and battle plan with the pros, and half the time you’d get too caught up in the blustering misdirect to realize his game was intricately thought out three steps in advance.

It was how they caught the Shorttown Killer, and also how they got that idiot Trembley at the mayor’s office to finally replace their coffee maker. Karen went home to her then-boyfriend, now-husband, and, right before bed, pulled out an old school workbook and took notes.

The second thing was that Henry Spencer loved his son. 

Not a lot has changed since then, Karen thinks, staring down the weirdness that she now faces through her open front door.

“… Oh — Mr. Spencer,” Karen says, because it’s rude not to greet your employees when they show up at your home outside of work hours, and are also your old friend-slash-colleague’s kid. “Hello. Thanks for — bringing these over.”

“Dad said it was urgent,” Shawn says.

Urgent isn’t quite how Karen would describe it, but hearing through the grapevine that your department might be facing an audit sometime in the next quarter does light a fire under the proverbial ass. Karen would rather bend a few rules and make sure the last year’s i’s and t’s are dotted and crossed right than leave her detectives vulnerable to the whims of a mayoral stooge. 

In general, Karen prides herself on caring about the people under her command just enough that it inspires genuine friendship and loyalty. The just is important. Care needs tempering – it’s important to pull back, press pause, keep certain lines uncrossed. It’s especially important if you want to be successful as a woman in an authority position where lives are often on the line. 

What she’s saying is that she tries to make it none of her business what her employees get up to in their spare time. She really genuinely does. She’s shut O’Hara down gently midway through the twelfth sweetly-frazzled attempt to overshare about her dating life (or her efforts to befriend her next-door neighbor, or the endearing personality quirks of her last cat – rest in peace, Triscuit, you will be missed –) enough times to be well-versed in the art of I Won’t Ask, You Won’t Tell, But You’ll Probably Know I Care Anyway.

An invaluable rapport to maintain. In any situation, Karen thinks, but especially when you’re a person who regularly hires and works alongside Shawn Spencer.

She’s not sure whether what she’s looking at right now makes her want to second guess or double down on her usual policy. 

“Special delivery,” Shawn adds, like everything is super normal.

Karen narrows her eyes. She glances behind them into the quiet residential street.

“Shawn,” she says.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Ha,” he says, half rolling his eyes to accompany a weird aborted grin. “No. Even I don’t think riding a motorcycle with a concussion is a good idea. What if someone who wasn’t me got hurt? That’s — that would be no good, then you’d have to arrest me. Wouldn’t that be a huge bummer for the whole team, Chief? Gus would cry. And my dad wouldn’t let me take his truck.”

Karen stares at him. Shawn stares at the ground.

“I got a cab,” he says.

“And you are … taking another cab – home?”

Shawn looks quite suddenly like he’s going to be sick.

“Sure,” he says. 

Shawn looks terrible. Bruised face, bags under his eyes, and a weird frenetic energy twitching in his limbs that doesn’t pair well with his general air of exhaustion. He’s holding his shoulders stiffly and can barely meet her eye. His t-shirt and sweatpants are rumpled, like he slept in them, even though it’s too early in the evening for Henry to have woken him up to send him here, and when he thrusts the promised files out into the air toward her, abrupt and, admittedly, Shawn-like, he only just hides the awkward wince that immediately overtakes his left side.

The last couple days have been a bit of a whirlwind, so Karen can’t say she necessarily blames herself for not looking more closely. 

Even so.

Slowly, Karen reaches forward and divests him of the case files. They slip a little bit, because Karen can’t seem to stop peering shrewdly at Shawn’s face while she does it, and on instinct he reaches forward to stop the stack from toppling. 

It does help, but the autopilot he moves on makes it harder to mask what is to Karen’s eyes a very obvious flinch. 

“Alright,” is all he says. “Well, good to see you. Time to head back to the old hay stack.”

Like a needle in a haystack and time to hit the hay, Karen supplies needlessly in her own head. Aloud, she says, in many ways against her better judgment, 

“Mr. Spencer, are you okay?”

Shawn sways on the spot for a second, one fist clenched, mouth half open. For a strange moment, Karen gets the impression that he’s trying really hard not to say the wrong thing.

“... As rain,” he finally manages, then nods to himself like he achieved some great feat. “Okay. Well –”

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” 

“What? No!” Shawn’s eyes flutter closed and he shakes his head, “I’m – fine, Chief. It’s not – I mean, I’m – normal, fine. Fine in a normal way.”

“That’s not something an individual who’s fine in a normal way would say,” Karen says. 

“Uh, is it not! It is. I would know, because I am that individual. It’s – I was – there’s just mild – pfft … stab wound – or something, who would even …”

Is Shawn broken? is the unhelpful thought that pops into Karen’s head. She’s never heard an attempt to bullshit collapse so quickly into pathetic nothingness before – certainly not from Shawn.

Perhaps even more than his father, the kid’s a pro.

And then the rest of the sentence catches up with her.

“A mild stab wound?”

Oh boy. She watches Shawn’s eyes widen with the panic that proceeds an unquestionable blunder.

“Chief –” 

“In.”

“Chief, I really, really don’t think –”

“Inside my house. Now.”

He’s certainly uncoordinated enough that he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Karen herds him  through the door as firmly as possible and leads them in a beeline past Richard’s office toward the bathroom, ignoring the reedy stream of consciousness that spills out of Shawn’s mouth as they go.

“Oh, hey, woah, it’s been like forever since I was in here. Did you redecorate? I swear that lamp wasn’t there the last time we visited. It could be the tacos I had earlier, but I’m sensing a distinct neo-modern Chinese aesthetic going on here, Chief, which calls to mind the merits of cultural appreciation in suburban home decor – hey, is that your husband’s office? Can I meet him? Is he home? That man is a true enigma to us, Chief, and it’s leading me to believe that he must possess all the facial and personality qualities of the pop superstar Mr. Pitbull Worldwide –”

Richard is home, actually, and Karen needs to alert him to the fact that they have an unexpected house guest, so, ignoring Shawn completely, she calls out,

“Honey? Shawn Spencer’s here for a couple minutes about a work thing! I’ll go up to put Iris to bed in a second!” in the finely-honed There Are Many Layers Of Complicated To This secret married tone that Richard should probably be able to catch through the closed office door. 

“Alright,” floats out her husband’s pleasant voice. “Tell him hi from me.”

Perfect. There’s about a ninety-three percent chance he understood.

They make it to the bathroom, only stumbling slightly. Shawn says,

“-- or The Rock. Does your husband look like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson? I really think that would make so many things about the Chief Vick family make sense –”

Karen closes the bathroom door with a snap and crosses her arms.

“Sit,” she says, in a voice that even he knows brooks no argument.

Shawn does. He looks – well, beyond uncomfortable, and more than a little bit miserable, and probably closer to completely dissociating than either of them are prepared for. Karen wonders belatedly if he's gotten any sleep at all in the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m assuming you have not been to the hospital.”

He gives her a baleful look, like he really expected better of her. She only just stops herself from rolling her eyes in response. And there’s that huge goose egg on his forehead, too. What, exactly, he got up to in between Carlton’s wedding reception and oh-eight-hundred hours this morning Karen has no idea, but he looks like someone’s run him through the world’s most aggressive industrial tumble dry cycle and spat him mercilessly back out. 

Or maybe over with a truck.

Sending a silent prayer to the universe that Iris never hit puberty and remains a sweet-tempered six-year-old forever, Karen gets to business.

“Well, I had to at least ask. Shawn. Does it need stitches?” He mumbles the answer the first time, and then looks beyond startled when she grabs him under the chin so he’ll look her in the eye. “Listen. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But you’re going to tell me the truth. Got it?”

Shawn grimaces so hard at her words it’s almost a flinch. 

“No,” he says finally, clearly enough that she hears him. Karen raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think it needs stitches,” he articulates, but doesn’t meet her eye.

“Hm. Alright. I have gauze and tape in the medicine cabinet. Can I … is it alright if I pull up the sleeve of your t-shirt?”

Released from her hold, he groans and presses his face into one palm. “Chief –”

“I don’t really know what you expected, coming here! It’s not like I’m any less of a hardass than your father.”

“Yeah, but I can bitch back at my dad,” Shawn says, sounding like he’s finally realizing the magnitude of his mistake. Karen smiles grimly.

“Tough. Now pull your shirt up while I get the first aid kit.”

While Shawn proceeds to wrestle awkwardly with his t-shirt in a muted shuffle against the toilet seat, Karen rummages efficiently through the cabinet and eyes him through the bathroom mirror. He seems oddly reluctant to expose himself. In fact, in a stark contrast to his usual insistence on making his presence and contributions as obtrusively obvious as possible, Shawn seems intent on shrinking into the aforementioned Asian-flavored floral wallpaper (which does need an update, unfortunately) with all the equanimity of an anxious chameleon. Karen feels her eyebrows crease. Taking the first aid kit in hand, she brings it over and deposits it into his arms, ignoring his small startle.

“How about you hold that,” Karen says. Shawn does, against his chest, like a pillow. She walks around him and surveys the damage, antiseptic gauze in hand.

He wasn’t lying about the severity, at least. It’s a shallow thing, already mostly congealed, and has only stained his shirt in a small smattering spot of crusty brown blood.

Karen swabs at it with the alcohol using light careful fingers.

“Ow, ow ow ah –”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s hardly a life-threatening injury.”

“Super insightful, Chief,” Shawn snaps, as genuinely sarcastic as he’s probably ever been with her, “never thought of that myself. Totally the reason why I just had to go to the hospital.”

He doesn’t pull away, but she can feel the tension radiating through his back. She blinks, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead. 

Alright then. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

“I’m assuming your father doesn’t know about this,” she says.

Shawn grunts, noncommittal. Huh. Maybe he does know, then, and has just been disallowed from doing anything about it right now.

She tosses the first used antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Goddamn four dimensional chess.

She supposes she’s never been bad at the game. She may as well work her way backwards through the moves: Guster, the most obvious node in Shawn’s turn-to-in-a-crisis-system, would never voluntarily abandon his friend in a time of need, so Karen assumes that whatever this is has either already included his support or not been made known to Gus at all yet. Henry’s likely exhausted his own usefulness in the situation, and Detective O’Hara is …

Karen has to work very hard for her hands not to pause in a way that gives away her hard-earned mental sleuthing. A bad feeling wholly unrelated to her ill-advised hangover of the day before begins to bloom at the back of her gut.

“You have really small hands, Chief.”

Shawn’s voice is notably more subdued than before.

“Do I?” 

“They’re like … little kangaroo hands. Like the mom kangaroo from Whinnie the Pooh.”

“Didn’t you know?” Karen says, not unkindly. “They’re given out at the hospital when all first-time moms leave with their baby.”

He lets out a tired little laugh, more boyish than he probably means it to be, and in spite of herself Karen feels her heart clench. She isn’t blind. In all her last seven years as the leader of their chaotic little precinct, she has never seen Juliet O’Hara look as ill as she did yesterday morning. The usually sweet-faced young woman had all the pallor of a Victorian ghost, and stood so far away from Shawn in any given room that to an unassuming observer he might have had the plague.

There are only a handful of things, Karen thinks, that could have invited that particular evolution in their dynamic. She rips the surgical tape from its canister a little bit more harshly than is strictly necessary and fights the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“So,” she says conversationally, laying the tape down in neat, gentle little strips, trying not to pinch the wound too tightly. “Any fun plans for the evening?”

Shawn sniffs. She can see him gripping his hands together over his knee from where she stands above him.

“Um, yeah, uh –” he clears his throat, “you know me, Chief. We’re working our way through a Robert Guillame marathon, which means some good old fashioned Benson, running commentary on the quality of that child acting, naturally.”

“Naturally.” 

“Then Gus and I were gonna hit up the new, the new chili cheese joint up by Hermosa, you know – they’re doing sliders –”

“Chili cheese sliders?” Karen hums, contemplative.

“Buy ‘em by the pound,” Shawn agrees. “Then I was thinking of getting a tattoo, maybe a belly button piercing, I’ve been really – really needing a change – would you let Iris get one, if she asked?”

“A tattoo?” Karen clarifies, cutting off the next piece of tape. The skin around the cut is warm to her touch but Shawn’s arms have goosepimpled. The hair at the back of his head sticks up unstyled, like he slept weirdly and couldn’t be bothered to fix it come morning.

“Of a marmoset. That’s what I’m thinking. With distinctly effeminate vibes.”

“Well, Dick hates marmosets. So I’d probably encourage her toward something else. Perhaps a sea lion.”

“Like Shabby.” The nervous note has bled into his legs again, and his earlier subdued tone has gone back to sounding strained. “Yeah, that’ll – that could be it.”

“All in one night, huh?” Karen says.

“I –” Shawn doesn’t even hiss when she presses down with a cotton gauze to cover the last of the thickened blood. His legs are properly jittering again. “I was – yeah, y-you know me, Chief, total night owl.”

“Shawn?”

“Yeah?”

“What about going home?”

Silence. Shawn doesn’t answer for a moment long and pregnant enough that Karen wonders if her question will be ignored entirely. 

Then,

“Chief,” he says finally, in an awful, tiny little voice, “I really, really fucked up.”

Finally, her hands do falter in their ministrations; as emotionally exuberant as Shawn often is, she doesn’t think she’s ever actually heard him close to tears. For a horrible moment she wonders if Shawn Spencer will suddenly start crying atop her toilet seat for reasons neither of them are capable of discussing honestly. Then she wonders if her horror makes her a terrible boss.

Boss – mother – person.

Oh, dear.

She sets down the surgical tape and lays a ginger palm over the newly-bandaged gouge in his shoulder. It’ll probably scar, but not at all badly. She doesn’t like to think about the far more obvious one just below, puckering in a violent yet unassuming divot. Another narrow miss for Henry’s boy. 

At this point there are so many of them to count, Karen has to question the statistical likelihood of the whole thing. Becoming a mathematical anomaly is, Karen can attest with confidence, not exactly the future the Lieutenant Spencer she knew dreamed of for his increasingly unmanageable teenager. 

Doing what he loved, on the other hand – absolutely. Being with a person he loved, even more so. Karen grits her teeth at the irritating web she’s spent the last six years constructing around herself and wonders if this evening right here is some kind of cosmic karma for leaving Iris in the care of nannies for the first three years of her life.

That sounds like the kind of thing those horrible parenting magazines and Karen’s mother-in-law would claim, anyway.

“Shawn,” she says slowly, because she has to at least knock this possibility off the list before risking her career in an attempt to mediate her detectives’ love lives, “did you … you weren’t – unfaithful, were you?”

“What?!” 

Shawn yanks his shoulder away and whirls around to face her with such a look of horrified betrayal on his face that it’s almost comical. 

“No!” 

Thank fucking God, Karen thinks. Aloud, she says,

“Well, I’m sorry, I had to at least ask!”

“No! No! What the hell, Chief!”

“Oh would you be quiet! I’m gathering my evidence here!”

“How could I – I would never – you’d even think that I could –”

“I know! Shawn, for God’s sake –” He’s scrambled to his feet in the cramped bathroom space, glaring, and has probably messed up all that surgical tape in the process. The half open first aid kit and his crumpled shirt press lopsided against his front and her garbage can is now full of oxidizing bits of cotton. Karen officially gives in to the urge to press her palms against her forehead. “I had to ask!” she repeats finally. “You and I both know you’re not gonna give me much else to work with, and you sounded so – so sad!” 

Shawn barks out a hysterical little laugh. Karen almost growls in frustration. 

“I am not going to risk all the very hard-earned rules I have in place without knowing for sure that my instincts aren’t wrong. Is that so hard to appreciate?”

Does it count as sound police work when the framework for your investigation is an unacknowledged lie? Karen doesn’t really know. Probably there’s another math metaphor to be made in there (you screwed your proof from the very beginning, maybe, Richard the professor would definitely have thoughts), or just a straight up joke. How to solve a case that’s cold before it ever has the chance to go live; a cover-up if she ever saw one. Unlikely that O’Hara will peep a word, and things will be a true mess for a few weeks, if she can’t make an educated guess about it. And no one will be explaining anything to Carlton, either …

Right before their goddamn audit, Karen thinks, aggrieved. She wonders if Henry considered this in his calculus. Send Shawn over, have her deal with him. Offer a huge unspoken you’re gonna be walking into a shitstorm tomorrow canary for her perennially chaotic mess of a coal mine. 

She can’t help but feel begrudgingly grateful, but that doesn’t mean she and he won’t be having words about this later.   

“Jesus, Karen,” Shawn mutters, pressing his face back into his free hand. Karen shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

“Well then! Back to the issue. You fucked up.”

“You know what? I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Spencer, I assure you I am more than well aware.”

Shawn blinks at her between his fingers, looking genuinely confused for the first time since he showed up at her door. 

Karen does not bother to clear up his confusion; it’s better this way, anyhow.

“Will you be sleeping at Gus’s place or your father’s?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I’m – I don’t –” Shawn doesn’t meet her eye. The earlier thread of anxiety is back. “I wasn’t …”

So, neither. 

“Put your shirt back on,” she says. “We’re relocating to the living room.”

“Chief –”

“That was an order, Mr. Spencer.”

The living room is as quiet and mundane as it was an hour ago. It’s past Iris’s bedtime – she’ll have to go up, and soon at that. Karen seats her guest, retrieves a mug and a bag of chamomile from the kitchen, and removes the fluffy throw blanket from the basket behind the couch on her way back in. He’s deflated completely by the time the tea and blanket are set in front of him. Small and exhausted. Caught. It’s a horrible way to think about it. But she can’t avoid the hundred yard stare – Karen has seen it one too many times in people only just realizing they’re about to go away for life.

“Shawn,” she says, firm as she can make it. “Drink the tea. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m … what?”

“Your lips are dry. You shouldn’t be dehydrated with a concussion.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Karen suddenly wonders if he’s going to get up and leave. She has experience with these things – she knows a runner when she sees one.

“I might as well have,” Shawn finally whispers.

She doesn’t catch it the first time. “What?”

“I – I might as well ha – Chief, I …” Deep shuddering breaths. He’s finally shutting down, she realizes. She can’t send him back out like this; Henry would give her the stink eye for a month.

Goddamn Spencers and their goddamn irritating overcomplicated lives.

Karen pushes the tea directly into his hands and tilts her chin so she can meet Shawn’s eye. He’s still lucid enough that she doesn’t think he’ll start hyperventilating, but now that the outrage and adrenaline has worn off, the symptoms of shock are pretty hard to miss. “Shawn,” she says again, and wills for him to understand.

“What if she – what if I never –” He can’t get the full sentence out. He looks at her, eyes wide and terrified.

Life sentence, Karen thinks again. The messy stack of files Shawn brought over sits almost unimportantly on the coffee table between them and a memory comes to her, unbidden, of words penned carefully in the corner of a modified police report that she pulled the minute the door closed on the McCallum case seven years ago. 

Date: May 4th, 1995. Reporting Officer, Spencer, Lt. H. Perpetrator a caucasian male, brown hair, five foot nine, insists on wearing those stupid earrings just to spite me. What the hell do you want me to write here, Chief? Spent two hours in the fucking principal’s office convincing them not to expel him one month off from graduation. All that effort, and I still booked the kid. It’s gonna follow him for life, and it’s gonna be me that did it to him. For life. You think he’ll ever forgive me? He’s the greatest thing in my pathetic little world and he keeps breaking my heart, and I can’t even properly accept that it’s my fault. 

How’s that for a fucking crime.

She needs to go put her daughter to bed. It’s the thought that keeps running through her head, oddly enough, like a strange antidote to the impotent anger and heartbreak and frustration she’s feeling for the people under her care.

With all the notes she took in that little workbook, she still let herself become complicit in the painstaking, convoluted resolution of Henry’s mistakes without accounting for all the variables.  

Richard’s footsteps sound muffled in the next room; he’s made his way upstairs in Karen’s absence. She needs to go. She wants to hear the soft and sleepy love you Mama that with her unpredictable hours and regular long nights isn’t nearly routine enough.

“Shawn,” she says evenly. “Do you love her?”

It’s hard to reconcile the smarmy kid who tried to barter with her for twelve hundred a day with the devastated young man sitting on the couch in front of her.

“Chief …” he starts, barely above a whisper.

“Good. Then she’ll see that. Detective O’Hara is a smart and observant woman. What she chooses to do next is her decision, but … you might be – well, comforted by the fact that she’ll know that – truth.”

Shawn stares at her. The tea steams in front of him, cooling in increments. She takes a deep breath and gets to her feet, patting his uninjured shoulder brusquely. 

“I have to go check on Iris. When I come back down, I can drive you to the Psych office.”

Iris is fast asleep when she gets there. A library book lays open face down over her stomach, and her soft brown hair fans out against the pillow, silhouetted by the soft glow of the unicorn nightlight in the wall above her. Karen turns off the bedside lamp, tucks her daughter in, and kisses her forehead. Just before she leaves, she hears it: murmured, half-awake.

“Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Karen goes back to her living room, car keys in hand. She’s planned her next move in the driver’s seat enough times throughout her career that it shouldn’t be too hard. 

[kykyonthemoon]

Xavier doing a light show for you short story please? Thank you. 😊

Fireflies

Lost in a dark place after a mission, you find comfort and support from the little friends sent by him.

ಇ. Xavier x Reader/MC

ಇ. Tags: soft fluff, no established relationship yet, guiding lights

ಇ. Word count: ~1k1

ಇ. Masterlist

ಇ. Notes: This fic was inspired by the two songs: Fireflies by Owl City and Daylight by Taylor Swift.

Thank you for the request <3

The lights above your head flickered and then turned off completely, plunging you into darkness in the heart of a cold abandoned tunnel. You quickly turned on the watch on your wrist, but its flickering light was little compared to this pitch-dark place.

Trying to remain cool, you used the watch to scan the surroundings once. There was no longer any threat as your mission was completed. What remained was to find a way out of here. Since this location was relatively distant from Linkon, the tunnel had been abandoned, and the map had not been updated, you could no longer rely on the Hunter's Watch to discover the way out. So you fumbled in the dark and returned the same way you had entered.

But the battle just now with the Wandering Monsters had collapsed a section of the tunnel, making it impossible for you to return, so you must go on. The further you went, the darker it became. The cold and all the unpleasant smells in the tunnel made you dizzy. You truly wanted to escape this place.

Because it evoked unsettling memories.

You had no idea what those memories were or when they had happened to you. You felt a faint sense of being imprisoned, abandoned in the dark and cold. There was no life—only oblivion. All of a sudden, you were paralyzed with fear. You were not a weak Hunter and were completely able to finish the mission on your own. But, at that very moment, you needed a companion more than ever.

At that point, you noticed a tiny bit of light ahead. Perhaps the exit was right there. You rushed towards it, only to find that the light was also racing at you.

You paused. The light moved. It resembled a firefly, but with a brighter golden hue than usual. It danced around you, as if it was delighted to have discovered you in a place like this. You extended a hand to receive it. Its warmth seeped into the palm of your hand, calming and reassuring you.

Then, from where it came, hundreds more fireflies just like the first one appeared. They flew close together, filling in to wake up the tunnel that had recently lost power as if they were hosting a light party. They followed one another, whirling over your head and buzzing around you. Then they fanned out on both sides of the path, carefully lined up to illuminate the route ahead for you.

Why were there fireflies? You were startled, yet grateful to these lights for coming by your side, accompanying you and supporting you when you didn't want to be alone in this situation. You thanked them with a nod before taking a step forward.

You followed the guiding light. Every turn and obstacle on the route was clearly marked by their lights. Sometimes they even formed an arrow to indicate the direction. And occasionally they made you giggle by forming adorable plushies that were so similar to the ones you had piled up in your bedroom. Such a pleasant and familiar warmth had you wondering, were these guiding fireflies sent from an angel you might know?

Feeling the chilly wind and the rustle of leaves over your head, you knew you had exited the tunnel. However, the landscape ahead was still somewhat gloomy. The moonlight was unable to penetrate through the foliage, and the woodland in front of you was dense with mist. But you were no longer terrified. The fireflies that had always been at your side suddenly flew forward, guiding you through the forest.

"Hey, where are you taking me?" You couldn't help but be fascinated. "Are you taking me home, or somewhere else?"

A small cloud of fireflies gathered in front of you, creating the shape of a charming rabbit. He gave you an adoring gaze for a brief moment. His warm, luminous nose caressed your fingertips, beckoning you to follow him. The entire woodland blazed with firefly light as the rabbit galloped onward, dashing into the mist.

You hurriedly followed. The rabbit led you along the path up the mountain. The woods thinned out as you ascended higher, revealing a pure sky with the moon and stars lazily staring down. All the rays of light raced past you, converging on that very golden rabbit. Then the entire thing flew into the sky, exploding like magnificent fireworks.

Your eyes were wide open, in such amazement that you were speechless with the light show above your head. You climbed to the top of the mountain and recognized that silhouette from afar.

"Isn't it pretty?"

A familiar voice rang out. Xavier stood there, surrounded by tens of thousands of glowing fireflies. He turned slightly to look at you. He raised one hand to chest level, and the dots of light gathered into a swirl, as if he were holding the entire galaxy in the palm of his hand.

“It's you.” You shouted in joy. You had already guessed it. Who could possess such a warm, beautiful Evol light other than him? Who could find you no matter any darkness you were, but him?

The light from him gradually flowed towards you, touching your body, your hair, gently leaving a tickle on your nose, and making you laugh. You gazed at him, who was gently striding towards you. You used to think that love had all kinds of brilliant colors, but it turned out to be just a simple yet wonderfully warm golden. His golden color.

Xavier released the lights up high, allowing them to blossom into a new series of fireworks. Then you both sat down on the grass and watched.

“How did Xavier find me? I recall you have no missions today."

Xavier smiled. He did not rush to answer right away, simply gazed at you like that. Perhaps you had also guessed something. Was it not a coincidence that every time you went on a mission alone or got into a dangerous situation, he would always appear in time to help?

"Thank you." You said. Despite the fact that you had only known him for a short time, you felt at ease with him, almost dependent on him somehow.

“In the future, if you get lost, just follow the light from my little firefly friends.”

You nodded. The breeze wafted the aroma of wildflowers about. Shoulder to shoulder, you and Xavier seemed to be drawing a little closer together.

No matter how frightening the darkness I fall into, I will always find my way home, thanks to you.

[zarla-s]

Man it's been a long time since I've done an ask cluster! Let's see if I can get some down...

He's an extremely fun character to write for and play with! So in that sense I'm fond of him, haha. He's such a huge disaster of a person, there's always something fun to do with him. Well "fun" in a relative sense.

I don't have anything to forgive him for, he didn't hurt me. |D He hurt the brothers!

I do have an idea for a cute feature inspired by Six-Eared Macaque! I should really sit down and do that already... and finish the one I half started but never finished...

I don't think my opinion on any of them changed! I love them all, haha. Which ones I drew comics about just depends on which ones I get ideas for really. Sometimes I get Alphys ideas and sometimes I get Goatparents ideas! Inspiration is fickle!

I don't have any solid plans or anything. :B Just gonna keep chugging along with silly comics and art! Work on Defrag and such. I'd like to finish a Ladyverse comic I've had lying around forever, and I had vague plans for doing a doujin for them too I could work on... and also seeing if I could format Handplates into a book format... I've always got a bunch of projects, haha.

It works on that level! It wasn't intentional though. |D

I do enjoy speculation! I don't really have much of my own though, I didn't predict anything in chapter 2 so now I'm assuming I can't predict anything in the future chapters either, haha.

Emesis Blue is great! Some really beautiful visuals in there, very striking! Love the mood of it too and a lot of the surreal imagery. I think it helped spur me back into TF2 again, haha. Medic and Scout's relationship was so cute.

I have thought about this! It has its share of challenges though... I outlined them more in this post. A pdf would be more doable though... could even include some extra stuff as well! Hmm...

I can see that! He'd probably spend as much time out in the rain as he could just doing whatever to stay outside.

It was pretty much always going to end like that. I always wanted it to end on a hopeful note! Which might seem weird with how dark it is at the beginning. I DID for a brief period at the very beginning of Handplates think about stopping with the Pacifist run, but that was only because I thought going where I wanted to go would take too long and already the project seemed so dauntingly huge at the time, haha. But it was always going to end in a positive way!

Gaster talks about what he originally intended to create here, and he explains a bit about the physical experiments he runs on the brothers here. They aren't really a solution in and of themselves so much as tools to try and find a way to break the barrier. Really though, Gaster got stuck in the sunk-cost fallacy lol.

I don't really have opinions about what canon Gaster would be like. |D Handplates Gaster is his own thing really. Canon Gaster, who knows! Deltarune Gaster, who knows! I will say I hope Gaster stays a mystery in Deltarune and never actually shows up but I think the odds of that are really low at this point.

I thought about doing a script along those lines! I did a few rough drafts of one, but it never really went anywhere... it'd end up dead-ending or kind of meandering off. I might see if I can get an actual script down for a side-comic or something in the future... it might be better suited for a fic.

I was just thinking about this lately! I was picturing Gaster totally forgetting about that until he sees Papyrus squinting and is like OH GOD YOUR EYES THAT'S RIGHT D: and goes to get him looked at lol.

I couldn't come up with a good idea for Flowey which is a shame, I do like him, haha. If one comes to me though I might make a little side comic about it!

Gaster's LV is complicated... his stats in-game are ludicrous if I recall correctly. Did he carry the damage from his murders into the void, even if those murders weren't his in the new timeline? Deep thoughts.

He fed them anything he could find, haha. Which is why sometimes they just ended up with chocolate bars (which he intended as dinner for himself). He probably fed them more often than he fed himself lol. He did feed them fairly regularly though.

Not about skeletons, probably. |D

Man I know I had an explanation for this but it was so long ago... it's hard for me to remember. It could be that the Riverperson is just weird and has weird insight into elements of things, had a prophetic dream... I don't know! It bugs me now that I can't remember this, haha.

[prydon]

heyy idk if this is an odd request but i love your fics so much, you write nureyev angst so so good and im trying to find other fics with similar nureyev themed angst and hurt/comfort. do you have any recs? thanks!!

Unfortunately even though I've read like every Nureyev-focused fic that's ever been written, my dumb ass stopped bookmarking my favorites back in like 2021. So most of the recs I can find easily are old which is annoying because I want to give kudos to writers still active in the fandom.

But nonetheless, here's my rec list from 2021, and I'll also add some more recent fics to the end as well:

Juno Steel and the Company Man by MrBurner. M. 55k.

A wonderful longfic that’s Juno POV, but centers around the idea of Nureyev having had his mind wiped by Dark Matters. It’s a really cool concept and executed in a very heart-wrenching, exciting way!

can only tread water for so long by AVMabs. T. 15k.

A fic about a heist gone wrong, that turns into my personal favorite kind of fic (aka Nureyev debt reveal/speculation). A+, love all the crying.

if not for love by howlikeagod. M. 5k.

A reunion fic from back before season 3 aired. I love seeing older fandom’s ideas for how Juno and Nureyev might meet again, and this is a great one.

Be Right Back by argentumauream. T. 2k.

A very well written little fic about Nureyev having separation anxiety/fears of waking up alone as a result of FRP, which is one of my favorite headcanons.

All These Shorthand Forms of Love by Dooiney_Oie. T. 5k.

Nureyev hasn’t cried in a long, long time, but with Juno’s encouragement he finally does and it’s so sweet and messy and well-written.

Aching Inside by easiIyamused. M. 3k.

This is a fic about Nureyev having and recovering from an eating disorder, so mind that if it is a trigger warning for you- but it’s also one of my favorite Nureyev character studies and packs so much heart and wit into only 3k words. I’ve seriously read this fic like twenty times.

The State as Criminal by brionypoisoned. T. 4k.

Nureyev runs into and confronts a young person from New Kinshasa during a mission. Really like the moral dilemmas here and the idea that Nureyev sometimes wonders whether he should have let the city fall after all.  

reliance by wastrelwoods. M. 2k.

Nureyev gets hurt, and Juno has to stitch his wound. A lot of great lines about Nureyev’s desire to take care of himself/hide his pain and Juno’s fears about not deserving the trust Nureyev puts in him.

oh how you love my pain away and to hurt quietly and fiercely by honey_butter. T. 5k.

A series of two fic about Nureyev dealing with chronic pain. It’s another one of my favorite headcanons and they’re very well and thoughtfully written.

get up, shake the rust by nex_et_nox. T. 4k.

A fic about Nureyev having card games as a trigger because of Miasma’s torture. Love the concept and always love seeing Juno comfort Nureyev and reassure him it’s okay to admit when he can’t handle something. (Also... imagine this concept updated to considered the whole, you know, Slip thing....)

Vapor by consider_the_nexus. M. 18k.

An absolutely brutal depiction of the torture that Juno and Nureyev suffered by Miasma’s hand, that is both incredibly painful and very sweet, and basically how I now imagine that might have gone.

keep your heart close to the ground by wastrelwoods. M. 5k.

Another fic about Juno and Nureyev’s time being tortured by Miasma, beautifully written for such an incredibly sad story.

Opals and Rubies by Illuminahsti. E. 25k.

A fic where Nureyev is still working with Mag as an adult, and meets Juno when Juno’s a part of the Carte Blanche crew. The smut is great too, but my favorite part about it is probably the way it portrays what Nureyev’s relationship with Mag might have been like if it had continued, and shows what a manipulative asshole Mag is in a way that feels very realistic. This one was actually a big inspiration for my own fic Father of Mine.

Relics of the Outer Rim by spacecitytraffic. T. 7k.

Vespa and Nureyev are one of my favorite match ups, and I love fic that plays on the idea that they’re both from the Outer Rim and that Vespa might have heard of the Angel of Brahma as a figure. The characterization here is on point and both Vespa and Nureyev’s reactions to Vespa finding out who Nureyev is feel so accurate.

getting good at getting by by wastrelwoods. M. 10k.

Buddy POV; Nureyev gets badly injured while on a heist with Buddy and they have to hole up together as he recovers. He becomes delirious from fever and starts addressing her as Mag, among other things. It’s a very touching character piece where they learn a lot about each other.

only fools follow golden rules by brunchandtedium. T. 5k.

I’m a huge sucker for fics that have to do with Nureyev’s debt, and this is a really wonderfully written, moving story about him confessing everything he’s dealing with to Buddy and being shocked when she reacts with kindness and offers help.

An Introduction to the Outer Child by Dooiney_Oie. T. 15k.

A fic where Nureyev and Juno are reverted to their childhood selves by mysterious means, and Vespa ends up trapped in an escape pod with baby!Nureyev. It’s SO good and such a genius brain way to have Vespa learn more about Nureyev and realize just how wrong her original assumptions about him were. Also baby!Nureyev is so cute and I want to hug him, even though I’d probably end up stabbed with a scalpel if I did.

butterfly in my stomach, wasp in my gut by qynntessence. T. 5.4k

A story about Nureyev struggling with having a sensitive stomach/nausea. Yes I'm very biased because this story was written for me about one of my favorite headcanons by my own girlfriend, but also it's a great fic and you should all read it.

someday I'll be perfect and I'll make up for it all by dahliasolisrose. T. 2.2k

Wonderful coda fic to Juno Steel and the Sixteen Tons, with tension, angst and hurt/comfort in abundance.

where do you run? by alwaysyourqueen. T. 2.6k

Nureyev and Juno deal with the aftermath of Nureyev having a miscarriage. Painful and lovely and very in-character.

Where My Marbles Went by dabbingskeletons. T. 8.8k

Nureyev gets a bad concussion that gives him temporary amnesia. Technically unfinished but there's still almost 9k of some wonderful hurt/comfort Contente.

a word i cannot define by nocturnalex. G. 8.8k

Nureyev hurts his hand and Vespa helps patch him up. Boy do I love explorations of Vespa and Nureyev's dynamic SO MUCH.

Lay Me Down, Let Me Rest by scarlettrust. E. 3.4k

Nureyev has bad anxiety and insomnia, Juno helps him in a very intimate way. Love when hurt/comfort and smut are combined! Great read, as are many of Sara's fics. They've been writing for this fandom as long as I have!

Okay, that's all I can find/think of right now (though there are LOTS more I have read and loved) but hope that answered your question and that you enjoy reading through these <3

[mlbigbang2024]

Big Bang Etiquette: Tips for Writers & Artists Working Together

Sometimes it feels daunting to start talking to someone you don’t know on the other side of the world, particularly if you’re a little shy. Here are some tips to make your Big Bang experience fun and productive!

After all, it’s in everyone’s best interest to finish the fic and artwork. So we have tried to come with a handy guide. Hope this helps you!

For Writers:

1. Be Clear with Your Vision: Share your story ideas early. Let your artist know about key scenes or vibes that inspire your work.

REFERENCES, REFERENCES, REFERENCES: These are key to make sure that the artist understands what you are envisioning.

Pinterest boards can also be your friend.

Share your outline and your chapters as soon as possible so that the artist can start planning!

2. Respect Artistic Freedom: Trust your artist’s interpretation. Their unique perspective adds depth to your story.

Be Open to Surprises: Your artist may come up with ideas or visual elements you hadn't considered. Embrace their creativity as it often leads to a richer final product.

Constructive Criticism: If you’re unsatisfied with a piece, don’t be scared to speak up, but do so respectfully. Frame your feedback in a way that’s encouraging and helpful, like suggesting adjustments instead of outright rejections. 

3. Deadlines Matter: Stick to agreed timelines. Your artist is working around them too!

Plan Ahead: Keep track of all deadlines and set internal checkpoints to ensure progress is on track. If you anticipate delays, communicate early to find a solution together.

Be Reliable: Consistent and timely updates build trust and show your commitment to the partnership. If you meet your deadlines, your artist is more likely to do the same.

For Artists:

1. Ask Questions: Don’t hesitate to seek clarification on characters, settings, or moods. A little detail can spark the perfect illustration.

Dig Deep: Ask about character motivations, the tone of scenes, or any specific visual details the writer envisions. Even small things like the color of a character’s eyes or the style of clothing can make a big difference.

2. Share Progress: Show sketches or drafts early on. Feedback from the writer can steer your work in the right direction.

Step-by-Step Updates: Share your progress in stages—initial sketches, line art, color blocking, etc. This allows the writer to give feedback at each step, preventing major overhauls later on.

Encourage Input: Invite the writer to share their thoughts openly. Remind them that it’s easier to make changes during the sketch phase than in the final stages.

3. Be Flexible: Sometimes the story evolves. Adapt if needed and stay open to adjustments.

Offer Solutions: If a requested change seems challenging, suggest alternatives that stay true to the writer’s vision but might be easier or more effective artistically.

4. Respect the Story: Your art enhances the writing. Keep the narrative in mind and aim to complement the writer’s vision.

Stay True: Your art should reflect the mood and style of the story. Whether it’s lighthearted, dark, whimsical, or intense, align your artistic choices with the writer’s narrative goals.

For Both:

Communicate Regularly: Check in often, even if it’s just to say everything's on track.

Be Considerate: Life happens. If something’s going off course, let your partner know ASAP.

Celebrate Each Other: Acknowledge each other’s efforts. This project is a team effort—cheers to collaboration!

Ways To Get Conversation Flowing:

1. Artist

Ask the writer what inspired the story or how they come up with ideas

Tell the author your favourite scenes. The creation process takes a long time, and some writers miss getting the in-flow of kudos and comments from Ao3 for motivation. During this phase, you are their source of motivation!

2. Writers:

Ask why the artist why they liked your idea.

Tell them about yourself, anything from the Timezone you are in to help with communication or to what inspires you.

If you have something big coming up, like a holiday or an exam, let your artist know. Who knows you might find out you have similar interests!

3. Both: 

Talk about anything and everything! Compare head canons, your favorite episodes, maybe even your favorite fics!

Provide regular updates! Ask for feedback. It doesn’t have to be a complete work. You’re just providing each other reassurances that there’s progress!

Remember this is more than an event, this is FANDOM! And we are here to have fun and make new friends! 

[emkaii]

in a random thought (more like this plot bunny has been living in my head rent free since this "what if" fic started and now i cant stop myself from sharing it after so many months? years? idek)

thank you to @feynites for the wonderful fic above that i continue to go back re-reading again and again

(also tagging @wangxianficrecs even though im not sure they share scum villain fics *sobs*)

! tw: death !

WHAT IF SCENARIO

og!sj dies the night of yqy & lqg wedding because of heartbreak? (because real heartbreak can literally kill in this fanfic universe) just, like, he dies. that's it. no shen yuan to transmigrate in his body as replacement.

so, og!sj was in seclusion punishment during that night right? and he was only allowed outside to attend the wedding itself. (am i right? or if not, meh)

so shen jiu dies in his bedroom, alone. lbh tries to enter his room to help him prepare for the wedding but doesn't get an answer (bc og!sj is ded), so lbh leaves bc he's obviously afraid of entering the room without og!sj's permission in fear of punishment.

the wedding is completed without sj arriving and everyone just assumes that he's bitter about the whole thing and doesn't attend as a show of rebellion.

also, since he's in secluded punishment and the servants doesn't like him, no one approaches or even tries to enter his room. lbh tries to tell the upper servants that it has been almost a full night & day that og!sj hasn't responded to anything outside his room, but of course, they don't listen to him.

so, he tries to directly report to yqy. who at this point is feeling disappointed? relieved? (even he himself doesn't know) that sj did not cause any problems to his new wedding. so, he goes to check on sj.

he tries to ask permission to enter the room, no answer.

tries to lengthen sj's punishment if he continues to be stubborn, no answer.

tries to threaten that he will break the door, no answer.

yqy gets nervous. something doesn't feel right.

sj is not the type to stay quiet.

he forcefully opens the door.

and he finds sj looking peacefully asleep.

but there's something wrong in the picture. sj was too quiet. too still.

yqy realizes that he can't hear sj breathing. he can't see any movement. at all.

he flies to sj's bedside.

tries to take his wrist to check his condition, and whole body-flinches at the cold skin. sj's body was stiff. and as a highly accomplished cultivator, yqy knows the state of a dead body more than a few hours after death.

he whispers, "a-jiu?"

sj' body would look peaceful in death, if not for the dried tear tracks in his face.

(I don't know how to describe/write it but i want yqy's reaction to be utter devastation, something similar or worse than his reaction in this fanfic's og novel when sj died in the original timeline)

minutes or hours later (yqy doesn't know, doesn't know or aware of his surroundings anymore), after mqf arrives and checks the situation after a frantic lbh tells lqg about sj and lqg flies to have mqf at their estate, mqf states:

"his body showed signs of grief sickness. in this case, his lungs decided to stop taking in air, his mind decided to stop all functions of his body, and his heart just decided to stop beating. i can say that it occurred around 24 hours ago."

24 hours ago.

24 hours ago was when sj tried to convince yqy not to proceed with the wedding for his new husband.

24 hours ago was when sj tried to tell yqy that he'd rather die than let yqy have a second husband.

yqy ignored him.

and now a-jiu is dead.

"A-Jiu couldn’t survive his husband marrying another man. That person died the day Yue Qingyuan married Liu Qingge"

AND THIS IS THE LINE FROM THE ORIGINAL FIC THAT INSPIRED THIS PLOT BUNNY.

i really do sometimes love making myself cry with my thoughts and ideas. now im sharing these to the world. and now i want to re-read, for the 8th? 9th? time, this whole wonderful series.

[oktopiasscarletqueen]

Neurotic Erotic (Bloodweave Fic) playlist

Alright, so, heres the playlist I made for the fic and unreasonable analysis I made relating the songs to Gale and Astarion.

I know writing all this is a touch cringe, but I’m at peace with that; BG3 is a special interest of mine, and so is musical/literary analysis. That being said, I’m not trying to write any kind of groundbreaking, profound interpretations here. Moreso, I’m yelling my funny words at you because I like to yap. And, sometimes this is what me and my little sister do for fun; J and I put on music and go, “ [insert character would like this sound in a Modern AU” or, “this song is incredibly [insert character]-core because…”

Before you jump in, I’m gonna warn you, the transition between ‘Francis Forever’ and ‘Cancer’ (track 6 & 7 respectively) is a touch jarring, as is the inclusion of ‘Cancer’ in the middle of the playlist  in general, lol. Second, I’ll warn you this list is bound to get updated here and there eventually. Also, I may update/add to these in future.

I have put the songs “in order”, or as best “order” as my brain can think of right now.

Oh, and of course, spoilers ahead for essentially the whole game.

Fic Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56262295/chapters/142934368

Youtube Link: https://www.youtube.com/@Oktopiasscarletqueen/playlists

Spotify Link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3BIufG9W5783HUh3OvDboD?si=675313ddfbbe4664

Song list, and correlation (with my interpretation and justification, if that interest you at all, lol):

INTRODUCTION:

¡Aikido! (Neurotic/Erotic) – Everything is a Lot by Will Wood & The Tapeworms

This song is about being obsessed with death, or the idea of dying; Theres something very Gale & Astarion about it (one being asked to die and the other literally being dead). Astarion being dead is a sort of representation (within this fic) of Gale’s later focus and near idolisation of dying, which really reminds me of the song. It’s title and the general idea behind it inspired me to write this fic. Mostly the title, its catchy and interpretive whether you know the song or not.

2. Maya the Psychic – Hesitant Alien by Gerard Way

So, y’know the tadpoles, right?

3. Starman – The Rise & Fall of Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders from Mars (2012 Remaster) by David Bowie

So, y’know the “Dream Guardian”, right?

GALE:

4. Cover This Song (A Little Bit Mine) – Everything is a Lot by Will Wood & The Tapeworms

Early game, Gale’s caught up on Mystra, and that’s an objective fact.  That’s what this song is in relation to him. Wishing to have her back, or at least her grace and favour. Like, imagine being cast aside by a god. A god who was your previous lover and kinda decides your fate.

5. First Love/Late Spring – Bury Me at Makeout Creek by Mitski

More Gale “pining” songs (you’re gonna see a lot of this). In the case of this one, the song is a sort of ‘love, life and duty is painful’. After the Mystra heartbreak, I can imagine Gale’s not exactly keen on letting anyone in else they abandon him again (Gale has a big ego, but he feels he’s not enough—he’s scared he’s not enough). Also, a few lines stick out for interpretation in regards to Gale. ‘One word from you and I would jump of this cliff I’m on, baby’ is very fitting for Mystra being like “lmao, kys” and how Gale is fully ready to do that as a show of faith. Another line that I wanna note, ‘And I was so young when I behaved 25…’ reminds me of not only Gale’s early magical prowess, but the fact  Gale being only 8 when he met Mystra for the first time; Gale had big shoes to fill, extremely high expectations to live up to and also an omnipotent, ever-present god leaning over his shoulder. This is where I’m gonna put a link to this Tumblr post because the OP does a fantastic job at dissecting all that (TW: mentions of grooming): https://www.tumblr.com/kirain/739521230081851392/i-want-to-take-a-moment-to-talk-about-gales

6. Francis Forever - Bury Me at Makeout Creek by Mitski

Kinda similar to above, but more “romantic” in a really twisted way. Gale really did love Mystra, I think; In the case of this song, it’s less about him as a character but more his past feelings and the grief there (obviously this isn’t what the songs exactly about, but we’re running on interpreting them into fictional characters, so… lol.

7. Cancer – The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

So, y’know the Nether Brain fight and Gale’s Orb, right?

8. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (Remastered) by Elton John

Acceptance and a return to the “average”. If you don’t let him ascend, Gale has the option to just live life at his own pace, and for me that’s his canon ending. My boy deserves a rest, and this song just remind me of that.

BLOODWEAVE (songs that just scream them)

9. Cannibal Queen – Tell It to the Volcano by Miniature Tigers

I just feel like the lyrics suit Gale’s feeling for Astarion in a really  fun way, idk man. It’s just weirdly them-core.

10. Baby You’re a Haunted House – Single (no album) by Gerard Way

Another ‘Gale to Astarion’ song. ‘…you’re a haunted house’ as a lyric reads as someone who has a lot of metaphorical ghosts in them (closet full of skeletons). Shout-out to the versus: ‘In the dark, we dance together…’  ‘In the dark we laugh together, because the misery’s funny to you’ ‘Sometimes you scare me, but I’ll come around to you… And I’ll find a way to scare you too’.

That’s just them (you’ll hear this from this section a lot).

11.  Red Moon – Everything is a Lot by Will Wood & The Tapeworms

First and foremost, this song is SO underappreciated (as is the album). It’s one of my favourites. This so in particular just sounds like the embodiment of Bloodweave. I take a lot of inspiration from this song when it comes to Neurotic Erotic (the fic). This song analysis would be paragraphs upon paragraphs long, so I’ll sum this up as simply as I can:

- Astarion is kinda ethereal looking (moon-elf-core) - Gales heart go doki-doki later in fic (referring to the 5th verse: 'Waxing to the rhythm writhing my chest’) - Gale and Astarion are drawn together by circumstance - They remain in each others orbit regardless of circumstance - Night is their time

Theres so much more, but I’ll leave some of the linking to you, lol

12. The Rhumba of Death – Camp Here & There: Campfire Songs Edition by Will Wood

*see to every other comment in this section*

13. We’ll Never have Sex - Single (no album) by Leith Ross

I think it’s not necessarily an argument that Astarion has issues around intimacy, particularly sexual intimacy. That’s what this is; this is why the song is here.

TRANSITION (A heads up to Astarion Territory, lol. Plus, I just like the song :P)

14. Interlude – Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge by My Chemical Romance

Every playlist needs a good intermission, and this one has an Astarion-vibe to it. Serves as a good heads-up for whats to come and as a cool down from the previous song instead of just jumping right into a different tone. Plus, I’ve not gotten over my emo days, so…

ASTARION

15. The End – The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

The end. The end of Astarions mortal life, the end of being under Cazador’s thumb while tadpoled.

16. Dead! – The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

You can’t put ‘The End.’ without ‘Dead!’ and vice-versa. But, the lyrics do speak to me in encapsulating some surface-level Astarion plot, especially when it comes to his mortal, Magistrate days. Did Astarion get what he deserved? (referring to the versus: ‘I’ll be here waiting, babe; Did you get what you deserve?’). The BG3 artbook tells us Astarion was a corrupt magistrate, so this feel fitting. It’s speculative, but I think Astarion wasn’t too popular when he was alive, lol.

17. The Sharpest Lives – The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

‘I’ve really been on a bender and it shows’Astarion doesn’t have the best coping mechanisms and skills, and this song is that. Plus, it’s another vampire-related song so it fits in well. And the lines below feel like they were written for him (y’know what I mean?): ‘You can take off your skin in the cannibal glow, Juilet loves the beat, and the lust it commands, Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo’

18. Brand New City - Lush by Mitski

I feel like Astarion has a lot of issues around control, like specifically in regard to needing to be in control in some small way. He’s emotionally withering away with his destructive ways, but it’s the only way he knows how to grasp onto some semblance of control over his life. ‘I think my ways are wearing me down, But if I gave up on being pretty, I wouldn’t know how to be alive,’

19.  The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You – Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge by My Chemical Romance

This song is about Gerard Ways substance abuse and struggles with it, his addiction personified as a woman. In a similar vein, I’m using this song as a representation of Astarion’s own addiction (or obsession) to power and revenge. Its fuelling him, but its also slowly him a dark, toxic (and even dangerous) path.

20. Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In! – SELF-iSH by Will Wood & The Tapeworms

Another case of a song about self-destructive behaviours that just really fits Astarions own trauma and his response to it. Will Wood is a genius lyricist, don’t @ me, and this is a prime example of his work capturing addiction and other self-destructive behaviours, feeling powerless in stopping/not being able to stop, even though you could (with a lot of effort of therapy, mind you).

21. Kill All Your Friends – Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance

The opening lines capture more Astarion plot:  ‘Well, you can hide a lot about yourself, But honey, what’re you gonna do?’ Mainly, this song just feels like it fits him, especially with ‘I was killing before killing was cool,’.

22. Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!) – The Normal Album by Will Wood

Another vampire song, so naturally its here. A number of the lines in this song feel like inner turmoil within Astarion, but I can’t just copy paste the whole thing here, lol. Side note, this song has been in my private Astarion playlist for the past 2-ish years and I’ve always been like, ‘man, I wish I had the time to make an animatic to this (or Hand Me My Shovel) for Astarion’, and recently I stumbled upon an Astarion animatic someone made to this song and was SO SHOOK. So, I’m going to link it, because its fantastic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWKObQgHaGg

23. Your Body, My Temple - Camp Here & There: Campfire Songs Edition by Will Wood

POV: Astarion’s manipulating you.

24. Vampire Reference in a Minor Key – “In case I make it,” by Will Wood

Very Astarion-core song, but specifically in regards to his softer side (in the case of this fic, his feelings down the line for Gale). Obviously the vampire song is gonna remind me of the twink vampire.

25. The Chain (2004 Remaster) – Rumours by Fleetwood Mac

So, y’know Cazador and Astarions “siblings”, right?

26. Against the Kitchen Floor – “In case I make it,” by Will Wood

So, yknow the confession Astarion has in act 2, right? My canon ending for Astarion is him healing, finally. He’s a spawn, yes, but he’s making the most of that his immortal life as he can. I’ll say it again, Will Wood is a GENUIS and (most definitely because it comes from his own experiences) he captures the process of healing but not being fully there in this song. In relation to Astarion, this is him trying—genuinely trying to be better and work out what he’s going through. He’s not there, he won’t be for a long time, but he’s willing to try. Trying is the first step.

[happysparklingshadows]

A Certain Hunger (1/?)

Chapter 1 ✿ Chapter 2

Summary: The people-pleasing Valedictorian, a part of too many clubs, becomes closer to her school's soccer team at the end of her senior year. (Y/n) was always seen as the fat mousy girl in school that was always too kind, and with a mother at home needing to be taken care of, didn't go out much and never had the time to do normal kid things like parties. Her pursuit of having some fun before graduation starts with a party fight. It ends with her in a crashing plane, surrounded only by the girls that seem to always worry about her.

Warnings: 90s setting with the views of the time, homophobia and internal homophobia, Alcohol/drug use at a party, Femme WLW! Reader, Plus sized! Reader, Body-shaming (I promise it will not be done often) and perspective of an overweight girl, Depiction of a terminal illness and death of a mother,  General yellowjackets warnings, Possessive/Obsessive behaviors, Dark! Au (however, will be down the line when things get worse for the yellowjackets), All characters are 18 years of age, 18+ story. Um, also some teenage girls and peer-pressuring someone to go to a party if you wanna count that. 

Pairing: Surviving! Yellowjackets x reader (slow burn)

Taglist: @star-girl69​ @g1rlsriot @zhivaxo

Word count: 14.5k (Get a snack, drink, and settle in; you're in for a long night.)

Note: Hello! I have been such a massive fan of this show for almost two years, and I have been thinking about this concept for a long time. My idea was if someone was overweight before the crash, how would they be fair in this fight for survival, and what would happen if all the girls started falling for them over time. I have always had a guilty pleasure for Dark! Au or yandereish stories. I was inspired by @oh-so-vulgar’s "No Return" story. I can't recommend more for people to read! Hopefully, this will be a long fic, and I will be writing this as well as an Ellie Williams x reader story. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to comment and give me your thoughts! If you are interested, I added some visual ideas for the story and the looks for some outfits at the end! 

Sometimes, things have been seen and heard without being lived. Most of the time, people think or talk about different ways they would be in a crisis. Ideas of surviving are separate from surviving.

You know that. You were one of the unlucky few to really understand what it meant to survive at all costs. 

Things that should have been hidden behind the trees, in the valley of mountains, with voices silenced long before man's first breath came to them to set it free. 

Surviving was the easy part for you; the living was the hard part. 

Blood to be split, fat to be rendered, and meat to be cut. The smell of metal and tears were familiar and comforting to you. Sometimes, walking down the aisle of the butcher, trying not to see the meat on display, the smell crept into your nose, and you felt at home. 

A home made up of girls and the wilderness's protection, with care and tenderness for them but bitterness and fear when near them. It was your home for so long, pings of the tragic circumstances consume and convets like witches dancing around a fire. 

You remember what happened to you. You remember how you ended up in the Canadian forest and stayed prisoner on those grounds for 19 months… 19 months without a choice. The only option was survival. To adopt and accept, even fawn, the wild.  

The memories plague the team, and you know that. You know that they still remember and know you as you approach your 43rd birthday. They think about you. And sometimes, you see them around Wiskayok and always find them watching you first. Sometimes you see them as they are, adult women with their own lives, or as teens before the darkness set in for all of you. But sometimes, when you catch their eyes, their darkness stares right back into yours… 

And you feel at home. 

April 1996

The Yellowjackets passed the ball to defense by the teams’ midfield attacker, Allie Jacobs #11, before it was sent to the central midfielder, getting caught by the opposing team. Taissa Turner #8 then passed and kicked the ball…

Your hands write quickly on the pocket notebook on your lap in the crowd of screaming parents and students. Feverishly trying to remember the series of events, trying to remember if Allie dodged 2 or 3 players and if she passed the ball to Taissa before coming to center field of in the defenses field. 

"WHOO!! GO, YELLOWJACKETS!" Your eyes pop up when everyone screams louder, only to find that you missed the last goal from your writing, seeing the team hugging and happily cheering, "We're going to nationals!" 

"Holy shit!" You whisper to yourself as you stand up, clap frantically, and yell your celebrations for your friends. They are going to Nationals! 

A smile crept on your face as you looked at the team; you quickly grabbed the camera next to you and snapped photos of the team celebrating, feeling excitement for them and happiness. As the camera flash wears out, solidifying the moment of pride and unknown tragedy about to fall upon the team, you quickly leave the bleachers and go into the shower room to do the well-loved routine post-game interviews with the girls. 

"Fuck yeah, you guys!" You yell into the locker room as the door slams behind you, walking into the room with the heavy camera hanging from your neck and notes tightly held in your hand. The girls turn from their laughter and celebration together to beam at me. "You guys fucking did it!" 

Van laughed loudly as her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to the group. Lottie and Taissa were talking and stopped, letting you join it. Shauna and Jackie whisper at the end of the lockers, but Shauna waves at you, and you send her one back with a grin. It’s a little odd not being in their huddle and whispering with them, but things changed a lot in the last few years.

"How did we do?" Tai immediately asked you, her smile evident as she opened her locker. Lottie scoffed and rolled her eyes at Taissa. Van's arm was still resting on the curve of your back; her arm seemed to tighten around you for a second before letting go. 

"We fucking did amazing; that is how we did, Tai!" Lottie said as she looked at you, her green eyes scanning yours face quickly before looking into your eyes. You felt a pressure around Lottie, like she had seen right through you and knew all of your dirty secrets; you looked at your shoes before looking back. 

"I completely missed the ending. I was too distracted writing about Allie passing the ball to you." You say to Taissa, her eye shine when you two make eye contact, but a flinch in her lower lip shows her disappointment that you missed the game's ending. 

"Oh, well, Allie lost the ball. I caught it, then I passed it to Jackie. I hit it too hard, so it went high. I thought I lost the game, but Jackie hit the ball with her head into the Goalie." Taissa explained as she grabbed her clothes in her hands; she looked at you as the other two did the same, waiting for you to tell them how they did. 

You smile brightly and fake how impressed you are, playing it up for the girls, as you say with excitement. "Holy shit, I can't wait to write it! It was such a fucking epic game. I guess you guys are going to Seattle! I am so fucking excited for you guys!" 

"Well, aren't you coming?" Lottie cut through. She looked at you with a furrowed brow of confusion. Her arms cross her chest as she looks to the ground, away from me. An annoyance in the air of her tone. "I thought you were coming to take the photos or whatever?"

You feel a wave of fear of disappointing them as you look at your hands; they nervously touch the black camera. "I-i don't know yet. Everything with my parents is so hard to do because they're so old, you know." You say, trying to keep it lighthearted. 

"You never do anything fun!" Van complained as she moved away to her locker now; feeling her absence and lack of heat to your side made you feel even more like you were disappointing the girls. "All you do is work! You do homework, your pictures, and work at Handies. When do you have fun?" 

"Yeah, I haven't seen you at any parties?" Jackie butts in as she and Shauna finally come to their lockers after conspiring in the corner. "Why? Do you not want to be seen with us?" She asks with a dry snort, reminding you of your place in the team's hierarchy. A welcomed outsider. 

You quickly, nervously chuckle, and look at your shoes, not daring to look up. "No, it's not that, Jackie. You guys are my friends, and I would love to party with you all, but-" 

"But what?" Taissa snipped shortly at me as she closed her locker. It seemed almost too aggressive for the matter at hand. Your eyes widened as she looked at you intensely like you were doing them all wrong for not hanging out with them more. You feel yourself folding under pressure. You think you are making your friends mad and can't help it. You wanted to have fun, and they should believe you, but you knew you were never to be seen outside of school and your job at the hardware store.

"It's my mom. You know, the cancer and everything has made it harder for me to get out, but she is doing better." You said as a tight smile came to your lips to try to stop yourself from speaking but failing. "We've-" You stopped yourself from saying the words that always brought tears to your eyes. Luckily, Lottie sees this and knows a little more than the others about everything, from her own prying and questioning, so she saves me by saying. 

"It's okay. We understand that." She says with a kind voice, the tone she always used to reassure everyone, and looks each girl in the eye. Telling them to back off from you. 

You need to fix the awkward tension, not yet realizing that you don't need to always make them happy. You feel the deep urge to be accepted by them. You wanted them to want to be friends with you more and keep being your friend as school ended, you already knew it was a fool's errand, but you couldn't stop the words coming out of your mouth. 

"I think I will go to Randy's party next week. I don't work, and my dad is home; it's perfect!" You smiled at the other girls, hiding the reluctance. 

It was not perfect. You planned on studying for your honors English test that night and rereading the novel for the exam in May. But you didn't want to let the team down again by not going out. 

You come off nervous, and you know that. You know they see the weakness in your words, but they smile all the same understanding they got you to finally say yes. Their eyes soften, and they start to smile again at me. 

"What are you wearing? You need to find yourself a boyfriend." Jackie asked as she looked over to Shauna, who was quietly standing in the group without talking, Shauna's warm brown eyes already looking at you as if she hadn’t moved her eyes in a while. You feel your face warm at the question, a shot of disgust and shame running through you at the thought of picking up a guy, but you smile shyly anyways.

"I don't really know yet. I don't go to parties-" 

"How about we all help you get dressed up? You come to my house with your clothes, and we all can help (Y/n) dress for the party; how do we feel, Yellowjackets?" Jackie asks, cutting me off and looking at the other girls for confirmation. You feel your hands start to get sweaty at the thought of it. You are already insecure at the idea. In childhood, you were talking to the Yellowjackets. You couldn't say no.  

"O-oh!" You say as you feel your body shield yourself, faking a smile smoothly to hide your fear. "Thank you, I would love that. Shauna, could you pick me up? My dad will not drive me to a party." 

Shauna smiled sweetly at me, nodding, "Yeah, but you need to get your license." 

You let out a soft chuckle again as you grab your backpack. You keep trying to flee before you say something else. You give your best smile to the girls and Shauna. "Thanks. I'm trying, but It's the only test I have failed!" You joke, walking out of the locker room. "I'll see you guys at practice Monday!" 

You get a series of goodbyes from the senior girls and walk past the underclassmen with a wave and smile. Marissa and Krystal wave back at you. Allie doesn't notice you as she is talking in the ear of the quiet Junior Akilah. They seemed friendly but so young when you spoke to them, even if you were a few years older. 

You look to your feet as you walk out of the locker room and into the dark hallway of the sports building towards the double doors on the other end; the spring light and sunsetting beams light into the hallway. You keep walking away from the loud muffled sounds of the team laughing in the locker room.

BANG! 

You're head snaps behind you quickly at the loud sound of a broom falling to the ground; you look down the darkened hallway to find the short figure of a person. You knew who it was, and you felt a shiver go down your spine as brown eyes set on your form.

Misty Quigley stood behind a wall and accidentally pushed the broom resting on the wall down. The blonde stood with her hand clenching the wall with her chin resting on her hand; she was looking down the hall you were going down. She jumped back at the sound and nervously looked back at you. She looked like she was peeking down. 

"Misty! Jesus, girl, you almost gave me a heart attack!" You proclaim down the hall to the blonde. You kept your voice as friendly as it could be. Your hand comes to your chest to hold your rapidly beating heart. 

Misty readjusted her wide glasses on her nose with her hand, a little quirk you noticed over time, and she blinked her eyes rapidly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you! I-I was just coming over to-" 

"Misty, It's all good! Don't worry so much!" You said with a smile, deciding to leave this place as soon as possible. The air was tense in a way that you couldn't put down, not really believing Misty but not wanting her to know that. "I'm heading out. My dad is waiting for me in the truck. Sorry, I squealed." You joked to her as you started to walk back to the doors. 

She was always kind to you; out of principle, you were kind back. It didn't matter that she would talk your ear off about the teams jerseys or different cat breeds. You always gave her an ear when you were near her, and the opportunity opened by you. It always felt awkward around Misty without saying hi and being kind. You knew how people saw her and understood why they sometimes acted the way they did with her. You felt the weight of her unsettling gaze and overbearing nature when she never took your nos to her requests of hanging out without trying to pressure you into it. However, she didn't have the pull like the other girls did with you. You pitied her and felt the need to be nice to her because of how mean people have been to her unjustified. Even when it was hard to ignore her ways sometimes. 

"O-oh, don't worry, you made a pretty squeal!" Misty recovered with a voice you could tell she put honey on, and you felt your skin itch at that. Why did she say it like that? 

"See you Monday, Misty!" You say as you quickly open the doors to the building and rush out of there as soon as possible. Seeing your dad's car and you run over, knowing your shift at Handies, the hardware store, would start quickly. 

You walk down the street with the lights guiding you home. You held your purse strap while holding your house keys in hand, not caring about the nighttime setting as you have walked home from work every night. You smoke the short cigarette before coming to the house, knowing your mother can't smell anymore, as you throw the butt to the ground. Stepping on it in your stride. You quickly come to your house, open your door, and walk inside. 

Across the street, the shallow pants of a girl rustle behind the pine tree from the house right across the way. Fingers grip the tree with the knuckles turning white with pressure; intense, sharp eyes look at you. A small happy giggle emerges as your body vanishes into the suburban home. You still do not notice them after they follow you through the town and park, trailing behind and changing paths to see you get home safely. "Goodnight, (Y/n), goodnight." the voice says under their breath as she saunters from the tree back to their home. Like they did every night you worked. 

The warm light of your childhood home surrounds you as you close the door behind you. You take off your shoes and coat, saying, "I'm home!"

"Good, Good. (Y/n), I've missed you today." Your mother says from the living room. You walk in and see the tv playing the new episode of Frasier, the colorful glow from the tv light consumed the living room with life. "Turns out Frasier has a lot of stations around America, and he is making the radio show national. It's ridiculous." She said with a dry chuckle at the end, her voice rasping as she looked at you. You push the hair behind your ear as you walk closer to her. 

Your mother and father were in their 40s when they had you. They were convinced they would never have children, but you came as a welcomed and loved surprise to the couple. Although they weren't young to play with or chase after you, they always found ways to connect with you. Your mother was a hippie at Woodstock, always claiming she met Janis Joplin backstage, and wanted you to feel loved by her. However, like most mothers, she did have her moments of bitterness. Your father is not so much a hippie. He was a challenging and rigid man who took you out to national parks and fished with you in the summer on the ocean with the small boat he saved up for. Your father was more a man set in his ways; in how his father raised him, he was more distant and worked a lot. Although it was clear that they both loved you, it doesn't stop the fact that they hurt you intentionally or unintentionally, and you feel distant from them. It wasn't fair, and it eats at you. Your parents were good people, but life isn't fair. 

In your junior year of high school, your mother was diagnosed with stage 4 cervical cancer, and it felt like your world flipped upside down. Your father wasn't home much anymore, scared to see his wife slowly disappearing from the therapies and medicine, working every night out of "Bills need to be paid, (Y/n), what do you want from me?". You sat in the living room as your mother whispered to your father at the table, them talking about how they would tell you, not knowing you silenced the tv to hear them. As you silently cry, your heart is torn, ripping in the middle with small muscles connecting the two. 

Your mother was given 8 months to live. You didn't choose to become your mother's caretaker, but you didn't feel like there was any other way to be anymore. You couldn't let your mother feel alone as she died. You knew that she must be more scared than you were. So, there you were for her as you did your homework and ran back home to make sure she took her medicine before going in for a closing shift. You didn't want her to be alone in her last few months. It felt wrong. You blamed yourself somehow. Angry and bitter at the world, you decided to hide behind a mask of being strong. You knew your parents were old, constantly reminded of the fact with their groans and cracks, and you knew it was more than average for women in their 60s with infertility issues to get cancer. You helped your mother move, dress, eat, and sleep. Nothing you could do to shake her in your mind. You comforted your mother as her hair fell out and when she said she was now ugly, you gave her a straw with her drinks even when her throat was strong enough to sip, and you never forgot to tell her you love her with every goodbye. Times of medicine burned in your mind, and the fear of her being in pain pushed you through the months. Believing she would die any day as she lost all her weight, color, and life. She lay on the hospital bed in the living room with her hands weakly lying on the pillows you placed under them. Her breaths never seemed to calm as they raddled when she slept. 

As of tonight, it has been a year and three months since her diagnosis, and your mother's face has gained more color every day in the last few months. We knew she wouldn't live long, but at least it was longer. 

You sat down in your father's recliner next to the hospital bed she lay in, her bed table over her fragile body with an embroidery circle in her hand. A smile comes over your face as you grab the pill organizer, pull out her nighttime pills, handing them to her as your eyes keep looking back to the tv. "I'd rather watch Friends." 

"Well, that is because you are young. You don't understand the comedy yet." She said with a smirk, shaking her bold head to you. She puts the pills on the small table, her thin fingers working a red string through the white fabric. She looks down at her work with her reading glasses at the bottom of her nose, "I'm making a robin." 

I look over her shoulder at the half-finished red bird. You smile. You subtly grab her glass of water on the coffee table and put the metal straw inside, handing it to her. 

Your mother sighs as she puts the 9 pills in her mouth and the glass from you, sipping on the straw dramatically. She opens her mouth to you in an annoyed act. "Happy?" 

"Very. How was your night?" You asked her as you got up and walked down the hallway to the kitchen, your dinner on the island. 

"Alright, your father is working late. I made some fish tonight." She says loudly back to you. You already walking back to the living room. You sit back down on the recliner and set the dinner on your lap. "How was school?" 

"It was good. The Yellowjackets won the game, and John was nice to me tonight, which is weird, but happy he was anyways." You say as you start cutting into your meal with your fork, eating politely in the chair. 

"That's good that he was nice for once. I don't like that guy."

"You just don't like him because he yelled at me like one time." 

"That's enough to not like someone." Your mother bluntly said with a chuckle. You chuckle back as both of your attention come back to the tv. 

The following week of school, work, and clubs blended the days together. You came to school on Thursday, the night of the rush party at Randy's parents' summer house, and it was all you could think about. You dreaded it slowly because of the unfamiliar setting of a party, but you decided to have fun. "Just have fun, (Y/n)!" you repeatedly tell yourself when you want to cancel. 

You were walking into the school's center, crossing to get your camera to go to practice. You were surprised to see the seniors together, you smile as you walk into the conversation, but it drops as soon as you come to the circle. 

"This is what we've worked for all season." Taissa hissed, defensiveness and ambition speaking through her at Lottie and Natalie. "You really wanna take that chance?"

"Yeah," Natalie responded curtly. "'cause I'm not a fucking asshole."

"Why are you guys talking about?" Shauna asked. I look over at her, and she looks over at me; she asks me with my eyes as she walks into this conversation. I shrugged at her in our small exchange of information.

There was a pause and moment of silence that fell upon the group. No one is willing to answer the question.

Finally, Lottie spoke, her hand behind her neck. "Allie." She says awkwardly as she seems unsure what to say after confessing. Shauna looked over to her as I looked at Tai, who refused to look me in the eye. 

"What about her?" Shauna asks.

"Did you black out at states?" Tai scoffs. "She totally choked-"

"She's a freshman, Tai," Natalie cuts in.

"She's a liability," Tai snapped. Her eyes scan all of you, trying to find support for her decision. "She can't screw up if she doesn't get the ball."

"You wanna freeze her out?" Shauna asks.

"At least we'd know what we're working with," Tai says.

"She kind of sucks, but…." Lottie trails off with her eyes looking over to Allie across the way, unaware of the plans for her. "I don't know."

"That's because it's bullshit," Natalie says, her voice filled with disbelief, her hands raised up.

"Oh, yeah? What's your plan, then?" Tai asks in mock interest.

Natalie drops her hands. "I don't know. Play like a fucking team and win?"

Now, both are entirely silent as they stare the other down. You feel your hands grow clammy as you think the confrontation getting to you, you hated being in the middle of these things, but you handled yourself raising a voice. 

"It's worked so far."

"Everything works until it doesn't."

She looks Natalie up and down.

"And for the record, you smell… like a wino. Get your shit together."

You feel yourself grow a face of disgust for Taissa when she says that to Natalie. To you, it seemed utterly disrespectful. 

"You know what? Fuck this."

"Wow. Okay," Tai says. You turn your body to Tai as you finally look her in the eye. 

"That was completely uncalled for, Tai." You say with your tone coming out for meek than you were hoping. "Natalie has a right to not agree with you, and you just offend her when she doesn't back down. Seriously uncool, dude." 

Taissa's eyes look hurt from your words like she had been yelled at. It's clear that your comments got her, but Lottie says to us before following after Natalie, "Doesn't feel right." 

"Jackie's not gonna like it," Shauna says.

"Then we probably shouldn't tell her," Tai responded quickly as her eyes were fixed on you, scanning and watching every micro-expression on your face. You look to your feet; you didn't like the energy of all this, and Tai excluding Jackie, gave you a bad taste in your mouth.  

Tai walks off suddenly, leaving you and Shauna to turn and look at each other after walking into that chaos. 

As the two walked away, Shauna smiled as she walked with you to the yearbook room. She was asking once again if her college entrance letter was okay. You almost completely forget about the discussion about Allie when Shauna nervously questions if she sounded smart enough in her paper. 

"Shauna, your paper was amazing. It was heartfelt but formal and mature. We went over that thing three times; we even got that movie from Blockbuster that the tutors have. You. Are. Fine." You stated with a playful tone, slightly annoyed at her nervousness but just playing it off like always. 

"I know, but it is Brown!"

"Shauna, you are second to Valedictorian and got a 34 on the ACTs! You will get in. Trust the universe on this one." You reassure and smile. Putting the camera around your neck, you lock the door behind you.

"Okay, okay, I'll try." 

"Good. You will get in, and if you don't, you will go to Ken State with Jackie." You say and put an arm around her shoulder as you walk to the field. 

You only remember a little from that last practice day. You sat down on the benches like you always do, said hello to Misty and the Coach, and started to write a few words into your notebook for your graduation speech. 

You have had difficulty putting down the words about how you felt about leaving high school. Like, what would happen to you? To your friends? It scared you, but you didn't know how to say that, and you didn't have enough nerve, to be honest with how you wanted to stay there longer somehow. Not high school, but the comfortable and carefree life that you had in high school. 

You bit your lip as you tried to focus, but soon a blood-curdling scream came to the field. You look up and see Misty sprinting across the area to Allie on the ground, holding her leg. She wails loudly as she cradles the bleeding wound on her leg. You look closer and see a sharp broken bone poking out of her skin, blood sliding down the curve of her leg, landing on the grass. 

Your hand comes to your mouth, and you feel yourself feel disguised. Disguised by the blood, wounded cries, and disgusted by Taissa. You know deep down that she would never intentionally hurt the freshmen girl, but she had bad intentions. You just didn't think she would go this far. 

You grab your things quickly from around you as you look away from the girl. Away from the yellowjackets swarmed around Allie. You felt sick as you run away from the field and from the responsibility of this accident.

"Peanut, can you come in here?" You hear your mother call from her hospital bed in the living room. You come down the stairs with a bag full of clothes for Jackie to dress you later. 

"Yes? What's up, Mom?" You say softly as you come down the stairs. You come to the living room doorway. 

Your mom sat in the hospital bed with the tv turned off, her reading glasses perched low on her skinny nose. She had a paper and pen on the bedtable and a couple bills. Your eyes widen at the amount you see. It's the price of groceries. "Come in here with me for a moment. I have been meaning to talk to you." 

You quiet and move to sit in the chair next to her. You felt nervous as you sat down. You didn't know why you would be in trouble, and you hadn't done anything in so long that you did understand why she would sit you down. You couldn't stop the nerves with your eyes.

Your mom chuckles as she takes her glasses off. She then looks at her hands with a long pause. "(Y/N), I have taken a lot from you. I am really sorry."

"You don't have to-" 

"No, I am sorry. Truly am because this is supposed to be the time of your life, and you have been caring for me. And I can't thank you enough, baby, for caring for me." Your mother choked up in the moment of genuine reflection. She cupped her mouth as she tried to hide the quivers and how her cheek grew hot from her emotions. "I wanted to say that I signed the slip for you to go to Seattle with the bumblebees or whatever. Your dad gave me $65 to give you. I want you to get yourself-

"Mom, I can't. Who is going to take care of you?" You interrupt her, and you feel yourself get emotional. You shouldn't go, the money should be used for bills, and you should be home with your mom. 

"No, you are going. I want you to have fun. You have been taking care of me nonstop since the beginning. Okay, let me take care of you, just this last time." She reassured. She pushed a baby hair off your forehead, tears in both eyes, "You have worked so hard and have been such a grown-up. I don't like it. I just want you to do something fun for once. If I was 18, I would have begged my mom to let me go to Seattle with all my little friends. It's all settled. All you have to do is give this to that coach and pack a bag."

She slides the folded paper and the money on top. She smiles as she wipes a tear that rolls down her thin cheek. "Peanut, I really want you to go on this field trip. Please, let me do this for you. Dad will take care of me. We already figured it out. It's only 4 days. Just do it for me." Your mom says again, trying to pressure you into accepting her words and killing your worries.

You nod your head with tears in your eyes. You were so happy to be given a break and to be allowed to spend so much on yourself. You feel so excited and light, but there is dread building in your stomach. 

"Okay. I will. I really wanted to go."

"I know. It will be so much fun, but please stay away from those spring break guys, okay. All they are is body oil and semen." She said as she pushed another hair behind your ear this time. She doesn't know you wouldn't be talking to any man. She didn't know that her daughter wasn't right. 

You chuckle and wipe a tear. You push her hand away and stand up. "Okay, I will stay clear of spring breakers." You say you feel your pager buzz in your pocket. You pull it out to see your pager flash dully with "Shauna Shipmen, 473-299-0876." 

"Shit, my ride is over. I am sleeping over at Shauna's tonight-"

"Baby, have a good time at the party." Your mom said as she turned the Tv back on with the remote. She looks at you with a mischievous glance. "You think I never had a change of clothes before a party? Honey, you don't have to sleep over anywhere. Just come home when you are done. You should better get out of here before your father comes back. He will smell you out within a minute."

You laugh nervously at her. You rush to get your shoes on before she doesn't act so cool; you tie your boots quickly as you leave the house to Shauna's car. "I love you; see you later, Mom." 

"See you later, Peanut." 

You nervously hold the red solo cup as you hover around Van at the rush party. You couldn't hear much over the noise and music; you didn't mind as you let yourself melt into the party. You danced slightly with the girls as you sipped on the beer in the cup. You were trying to be fun. 

You came to this party with Shauna and Jackie because Jackie’s constantly insisted that she needed to help you dress, and you had to admit you looked lovely. You were planning on wearing just some jeans and a top, but Jackie made you wear a thin turtle neck with a pink dress, flowers faded in the design, with tights and boots. You let Shauna do you're makeup because Jackie got to dress you. Shauna's big brown eyes stared at your face, softly brushing powders and rubbing eyeliner. You felt her breath hit your lips as she focused on your mascara, her eyes noticed your stare, and it made her pause. Jackie quickly broke the forming heating with our eyes from her, pulling out an ugly cat sweater you had hidden in your wardrobe. You hid your shaking breath by laughing and saying your dad found it for you. You only wear it to bed. "I would look like misty or something?" You joked and immediately felt bad as you all laughed, you felt terrible for bringing Misty up to laugh about her, but you wanted to hide. 

When you got to the party, Jackie and Shauna left you to go into their worlds with Jeff's friends. You wandered around until You found Lottie and Van. You came to hover around your friends. They smiled at you and handed you a new solo cup of beer. You sip on it and smile at them. Lottie and Van giggle and look over at you, Van pulling you into their space with a firm hand on my shoulder. 

"We're going to go to the woods, come!" Van says to you in your ear, her nose slightly nudging your skin from the closeness. You feel nervous in your stomach as your hands clam up around the plastic cup, and your face gets hot from her breath, hitting your neck softly. You follow Van with a nervous giggle, unaware of how the girls are feeling and looking at you. Lottie follows behind you, her eyes locked at the back of your head as she studies how you styled your hair. She wondered if she got closer to what the strands felt under her fingers and what it would smell like. Soap, sweat, or was it just you and your own scent. 

Van stops you, and Lottie comes to your left with a huge smirk. Van pulls a joint out of her pocket as she presents it to you. Your eyes widen with a beam. "Oh?"

"Oh indeed!" Van said back with a smile; she put it in her mouth as she looked over to Lottie for a lighter. Lottie shook her head as she looked at you. 

As soon as the papery filter lands on your lips, you see the figure come behind Van with an arm wrapping around her shoulder. You look up to see Taissa and feel your lips pursed without you doing anything. Taissa was so wrong for the whole Allie situation, and you felt conflicted. 

"Not going to say Hi to me?" Tai asked mockingly, but you knew under it all she was insecure. 

You pass the joint to Lottie as you blow the smoke. "Hi." You flatly say to Tai. 

"Come on, not you too-" Tai scoffed as she stood more straight. Tai seemed insecure, and you could see how she was getting defensive. 

"Tai, I am not judging you. I understand why you did it; you explained yourself well the other day. I know you didn't mean to hurt her like you did." You say as you feel the group has tension between them. Van and Lottie awkwardly look at each other to communicate their uncomfortable energy. Tai keeps her eyes trained on you as you speak your mind. "Tai, I, and We know that you would never hurt her intentionally to have her bone pop out. But it happened, and you planned to get her out of the Nationals. You need to apologize to her when we return from nationals." 

"(Y/n), maybe we don't need to talk about this right now? Maybe we just party tonight and worry tomorrow?" Lottie cuts in, and you feel yourself get annoyed at that. You quiet down as the joint comes back to you. 

"I said my mind." You said, sounding more confident than you were. You nervously look at Tai, who is quiet and looking to the ground. "Tai, We're friends, and I don't think I would be a good one for letting you off the hook for that. I care too much to let that go. You might have destroyed Allie's ability to play ever again because you got too ambitious." 

"I know. It was an accident." Tai said, still looking at the ground. You felt her shame in herself at that moment as her lip slightly quivered as she spoke. 

You take a puff of the joint and hand it to Lottie. You then step into Taissa's space and hug her quickly. "Hey! I know that. I am just saying it was just bad vibes all around. I know it was an accident." You reassure, now feeling horrible for talking about it all together. 

Van takes a deep puff of the weed and makes a face as she tries to keep the smoke in her lungs. As she nods her head, you're eyes lock into her as Tai's arms wrap around your waist. Van's red eyebrow furrows briefly before Tai's hair blinds you. "Okay. I just feel like shit, you know." 

"I know. I don't mean to make it worse." You say to Tai's ear. As you squeeze your friend, you know you will be the nicest to her when the others confront her. You let your eyes go to Lottie, who knew about all this; you knew that Van was probably thinking I was being hard on Tai for no reason. 

You take the joint passed to you as she smokes it; Tai sniffed, putting back the tough act as she touched her nose with a finger. You felt like you couldn't look away from her now. “(Y/n) (L/n) smokes weed?” Tai asked in a snarky tone. 

"Yeah, and crack, but no one has presented it yet, so." You joke with a goofy smile coming to your face against your control. The weed coming over you as you start to giggle, Van and Lottie following suit. "Oh, my god!" You gasped as you looked at the other high girls.

"What?" Lottie asked with big eyes, paranoid. Van laughs again at Lottie's face, leaning onto Taissa's shoulder. 

"You guys are doing drugs before nationals!" You laugh out loud. 

"Oh shit!" Van says as if she just realized it as Lottie cackles. 

You felt yourself space out a bit; you looked into the woods further as Taissa started to tell the girls off for getting distracted. You let the noise muffle as you stare into the darkness of the trees, not seeing beyond 20 feet ahead of you; although the sight was unsettling, it seemed to lull you as well. Grounded you. The memories of childhood with your parents in national parks and your dad forcing you to face the darkness were a comfort. One of your favorite memories was so simple; Two years before your mother had cancer, you all went out to the Rocky Mountain Trail on vacation, You and your dad were fishing, and your mother was sitting beside you both with her feet in the water, your dad was just spitting out the worse jokes and puns he could think of, and you both tried not to laugh. You all broke when your dad when silent and simply won by farting. 

You feel your lips curl to smile at the memory of your family as Lottie's hand curls into your elbow; you turn to her. 

"(Y/n), I want a cigarette. You want a cigarette?" Lottie says with an airy tone, her eyes wider than average. You knew she was very high as you giggled. 

"You know what?" You said as you opened your purse, pulling out the pack. 

"Holy shit, you smoke cigarettes, too? What else does our Doris Day do behind closed doors." Van jokes dryly. You couldn't help but smirk as you light your cigarette. 

"You're a dick, you know what," you say as you hand the cigarette to Lottie; she says a soft thank you as you pull another to your lips. "What do you think I do while I write?" 

"I don't know, maybe write?" Tai says as she drinks from her solo cup. 

You roll your eyes, looking at Lottie, "What do you say we lose these losers?" You joke to her with a smile. 

She smokes the cigarette as her eyes scan over your face quickly. Her eyes look to your lips and sharply look up as she says, "I thought you'd never ask." 

"Hey, what the fuck!" Van asks, mocking offended as the two of you walk away from them. You and Lottie hold hands and laugh. You loved the playful way Lottie walked away with you like you were running away together. Your hands are linked together as you get closer to the music and back to the party's life. 

You pursed your lips as you started dancing when you felt the music. "Fuck, I love this song!" You say to Lottie as you bring the cigarette to your lips. 

Lottie puts the cigarette in her mouth as she takes your hands with hers to dance together, which you do without question. It felt like the music was dancing through you, and you weren't really dancing, not caring how your body moved or how other's see you. It was fucking liberating to dance with your friend in the spring breeze, weed in your lungs, and a cigarette in your mouth.

Van and Tai come out of the woods a moment later, smiling together and their hands touching, but quickly moving away as they come to where you were. You caught them, and they didn't notice; you're happy they did. You felt something close to bitterness when you thought about how much you wanted that. You have kissed a few girls, but not one wanted to be with you; they claimed they weren't "that type of girl. I am normal." they soon pushed you away to never see the girl that made them feel something more. You just became a memory for them, and you were replaceable. You were well kept a secret. 

You wanted someone. But you also wanted to be accepted. You would never admit it, but you sometimes thought about maybe just finding some nice guy and giving it a try at being "normal." Kissing boys felt flat, sexless, and odd when you spun the bottle at parties, but in those dark corners where you were pressed against a wall by a woman, it felt like fire. It was warm and bright, making you see clearly and freely, but it burned. It burns like wax, something shocking and hot, something warm and sensual, but it soaks in and scolds after a while. So, in your junior year, you decided to stay single until college because you couldn't imagine the people in your hometown finding out you were gay. You felt a hot wave of dread when you thought about it, not that you were ashamed or accepting because you knew how everyone saw gay girls. You wouldn't be able to go into the locker room anymore with your friends, you wouldn't be able to go to sleepovers, and you wouldn't be able to touch even your friends. 

You feel sober quickly at the moment of overthinking. You look around and realize you forgot your solo cup of beer, so you just say to Lottie, "I'm getting a drink." 

"Okay!" Lottie said with a chuckle; she took a deep drink from her solo cup. 

You stumble away as you feel a sadness come over you; insecure thoughts and memories of scorned love affairs go to you now. You come to the keg in the middle of the party, and you lean over the keg to the plastic cups. 

A hand lands on your hip, rubbing the skin as it gently moves to your lower back. You look to see Taissa and feel your breath get stuck in your mouth. You look up at the tall girl with a softness; you know she would never really do something so cruel, like meaning to hurt Allie like that. At least, that is what you told yourself.  

"I admire your resilience, Tai. It can't be easy, knowing fucking crippled someone today," Shauna says to Taissa when she walks to the keg. You snap your head to Shauna, hoping she didn't notice how your eyes looked at Taissa's face. Shauna did notice; it was the reason for her coming up to the two of you in the first place.

"Cool. Good talk." Tai says back to her, and she moves away with an arm around your shoulders. 

"Just admit it. You did it on purpose!" Shauna yelled at Taissa, pointing her finger at Tai. You looked at Shauna with wide eyes as you felt Taissa's arm hold you tighter. 

"Excuse me!" 

"You heard me. "

"You're wasted," Tai says to Shauna with a judgmental narrowing of her eye. 

"And you're a fucking sociopath!" Shauna hissed back; you pulled away from Taissa and looked at both girls. 

"Woah!" Van cut in. "Calm down." 

"Yeah, let's just take a breath, Shauna; why don't we-" you try to say and keep the peace but are interrupted. 

"No! Listen, you guys, we don't have to worry about the Allie problem anymore because Taissa fixed it for us." Shauna mocked, her hands up in fake surrender as she narrowed her eyes at Taissa. The two were going to fight. 

"What?" You heard Laura Lee say behind you. "What is she talking about?" 

"She's talking about Taissa's little plan." Natalie chimed in from the back; you lock eyes with her as you look to her to explain why Shauna is aggressive toward Taissa. She doesn't know. 

"Oh, please. Since when do you give a shit anyways? Don't you have a bong to hit or a dick to suck-" 

"Holy shit, Tai, Why would you say that to her!" You yell at Tai as Shauna says at the same time, "Don't talk to her that way!" 

"Oh, fuck off, Shauna, I don't need you to defend me; last time I checked, you were fine with the whole "freeze her out" strategy." Natalie spat back, she held a cup, and her eyes looked more dilated than more in flames. 

"Okay, seriously, what are you talking about?" Laura Lee asked the group; you felt annoyed at her prying, but you didn't say anything before the others growled, "Shut the fuck up, Laura Lee!" 

"No, no, no; stop it!" Van panics when she sees the tears in Laura's eyes. You move over to the sweet girl, and you wrap an arm around her, "Hey, they didn't mean it." You say to her tearful self as you hear the fight continue. 

"Someone needs to take her wasted ass home!" Tai yells to Shauna. 

"You wanna say that again bitch. Say that again." Shauna growled back; you moved away from Laura Lee and got into the middle of the two girls, now trying to claw at the other, with Van. 

"That's it! That is enough!" Jackie runs in; she yells at all of us, starting to fight each other. We all pause. "Yellowjackets, with me!" 

Shauna and Taissa were the first to rush to Jackie, and you felt yourself being left behind with a few others that didn't get into the fight. 

You put a cigarette into your mouth quickly, and lighting it, you look at Natalie, who wore a similar face of frustration. You nudge your pack to her, and she takes one with a grin. 

"Thank you, pretty lady," Natalie says as she follows Jackie like everyone else, you follow behind her. 

"Anytime, sexy thing." You say to her with a smirk; you bump her with your hip as you get to Jackie first. 

Jackie looked confused and annoyed as she looked at all of you together in the woods again. "I don't know what the fuck that was, but I do know that it is over. We're about to go to nationals. And based on what I'm looking at right now, we might as well not even bother getting on that plane. Alright. Everybody line up."

No one moves. 

"No, I am fucking serious lineup. Here is what we are going to do. I want each and every one of you to say one nice, true thing about every girl on this team."

"What is this, the fucking Girl Scout camp?" Tai whispers, and you chuckle with Van. You felt a smile come to your high face as you stand up before Laura Lee. 

"I will go first." You say happily. 

"Go ahead, (Y/n), take the floor. Thank you" Jackie smiled as she moved for you to stand beside her. 

You stand there and smile; you take a puff of your new cigarette as you take a stand in front of the group. 

"Okay, Jackie Taylor, I admire your sense of style and how much you do as the team leader you are. Although I am not on the team, I can see you work so hard at it every day." 

Jackie smiles with a blush; she didn't expect you to say anything to her. She nodded her head, and she said, "(Y/n) (L/n), you seriously are the nicest girl I have ever met before. I have never met someone with so much compassion for others; I admire that. Also, you look fucking great in that dress, doesn't (Y/n) look fucking amazing?" Jackie says to you and points out the outfit. You smirk as the others come to admire your dress and done-up hair; you spin for them to see with a laugh escaping your mouth. They whistle at you jokingly and little cheers about your cute outfit. 

You smile and say thank you to Jackie before she can say more. You move to Shauna, and you smile widely at her. "Shauna Shipmen, you know I love you bitch. You are crazy in a fun way, and you make things so much better by being around." 

"(Y/n) (L/n), you are wicked smart. I have never met someone who could get a 100 in trigonometry with Mrs. Goldmen!" She says to you, and you giggle at her words, shaking your head. You then move down the line of awaiting girls. 

"Taissa Turner, you are so smart and very assertive. I wish I could be as confident as you when you know you are right; you would be an amazing lawyer." 

"I admire your fairness and how you don't judge when you do disagree. You always do what is right even when it's annoying." Tai says to you and playfully pushes your shoulder; you smirk and shake your head at her. You laugh at her call you annoying when she is supposed to be kind to you, but you didn't expect Taissa to drop the tough girl act.  

"Laura Lee, there is not a single person I know that is as Faithful and kind as you. I haven't ever really heard you say anything hateful or mean, which is hard to find. You are truly so fucking Christian, and I love that for you because you have never hated anyone for their differences."

"(Y/n), you have excellent writing skills and are the only part of the newspaper I read. Your photos are outstanding like they always bring my eyes to them. 

"You only say that because you know I am the one that took them." You laugh at her as she does too. She shook her head and said, "No, they are excellent!" 

You shake your head and move to Van; she is already doing that cheesy smile you always seem to gravitate towards. You smile back and come a little closer to Van; no one notices how you feel the heat of her body in that innocent way you stand to her. 

"Vanessa Palmer, I wish I was as funny as you. Sometimes I don't think anything I say sounds funny, and every word out of your mouth is fucking funny. You are the one person I come to to get me smiling again when I am sad." 

Van's cheesy face falls to a softer one that melts her heart. She nodded and said, "(Y/n), there is no other person I know that is funnier than you. Don't you remember when you told us about catching Scott Lulson jacking it with ketchup in the yearbook room? I snorted out my milk!" She remained as she laughed. You follow her before being pushed away by Jackie to talk to Van. You move to Natalie, she is already smirking at you, and you do the same. 

Natalie was one of those friends you flirted with and touched sometimes; however, it was never pushed more than just the daring "drunk" kiss at Spin the Bottle once last year. 

"Natalie Scatorccio, I love how authentic you are and how you don't give a fuck about what anyone thinks. You're a fucking badass, and you know it. Nobody can fuck with you." You say as you puff the end of the cigarette, throwing it to the floor and stepping on it. Natalie smirked at you with her eyes seemingly blown out. 

"(Y/n)," Natalie whispered to you and stepped closer, "you know how beautiful you are to me." 

"I do." 

"You do?" She asked in a condescending reassuring voice; she was teasing me. I laugh and put my hand on her upper arm; I look at her face and say, "You are so wasted, Nat! How do I know what you're saying is true, huh?" 

"You saying my love for you isn't pure?" Natalie laughed; she looked at your face with a raised eyebrow. But before you can speak, she cuts you off by saying, "Cuz it's not pure. Never been pure with you." she whispers at the end, with a bit to her lower lip.  

You burst out laughing as you feel your face get hot. You push her for shoulder playfully, feel like she is flirting with you a little too well, and feel the energy coming off of you and her at that moment. You move away to Lottie when Taissa moves to talk to Natalie; you send her a kiss as you move away. You and Natalie laugh at each other I that moment. 

"Lottie Matthews, you are so kind and understanding. I know you always have my back when I need to cry and have always been so supportive." You say to Lottie and lean on her shoulder, tired from the party. She sighs and looks down at you with a smile. 

"(Y/n), You are really responsible. I think you work hard at everything and take so much responsibility for so much in your life. You kick ass." Lottie giggled at you as she hugged you back. She whispers into your ear, "You wanna ditch this place and go home after we're done with this Kumbaya bullshit? I'll give you a ride." 

"I would suck your dick if you had one." You reply quickly to her in a whisper, and you both giggle intoxicatedly together. 

You sat in the passager seat of your father's truck. Your father was a quiet, kind, funny man but never one to start a conversation, and his knuckles were worn from years of work. 

You don't even try to notice how his veins pop from his skin or how his hands look his age more than his face, and you really try not to see how his hair has gotten more grey. But, you do notice the dreading annoyance of being in the car with him. 

He wasn't there like he used to be. He wasn't this superhero you thought he was. He was just a man, an old man whose wife was dying slowly, and he didn't have enough money to stop working until he was 70. He didn't deserve that. But he didn't need to always be working and never be at the house anymore; he didn't need to not be there for you when your mother was dying. He wasn't as strong as you thought. And it crushed you a long time ago. 

"You all packed?" He asked you as you entered the airport's parking lot. 

"Yeah." You say quietly. You play with the buttons on your flannel. "Mom made me check a few times." 

"You have an extra pack-"

"Of underwear, just in case." You finish his sentence, a well-known saying in your house for when you go camping. You always pack three pairs. One to wear, one as a spare, and another for reserve. 

He chuckled as he got into the drop-off line and looked over to you with a stoic face, but you knew he was having a deep emotion come over him. "You going to Seattle?" 

"Yes, I'm going to Seattle, Dad." You said to him, a little confused with him. 

He was quiet as he looked back to the steering wheel of the '78 Chevy. He picked at his nails, his hands calloused and his nails rounded from years of anxiously biting them, "You got that Swiss with you?" 

"Yes, Dad. I always have it in my pocket; why?" 

"You just don't have anyone to protect you-" 

"Dad, I have my friends; I will be fine. It's just for four days; I'll be okay." 

"I just don't trust them to protect you." He said with his head shaking a little as he crawled the car closer to the entrance of the building. "I don't really like you not being home." 

You roll your eyes to yourself softly as you look at the truck's floor. You look at your tied shoes deeply as you say to reassure, "Dad. I will be fine. Guys like the coaches and their kids are coming with us to protect us."

"There is a boy going with you?" He said with a raised eyebrow. Your father's fatal flaw was his fear of you becoming a teen mother. He was dead serious and mean about boys with you, trying to scare you away from them, and it just became more annoying to listen to. "I don't know it. I want you to go now that a boy is going too." 

"Dad, I'm pretty sure he is in 7th grade. I would sigh and push a 7th grader away. Don't go there." You say softly, already grabbing the bags from the back. Your dad rolled his eyes at the slang and at the fact you were right. You were a big girl and weren't easily overpowered, but you were still a little girl to him. 

He lets the car fall to silence again, and you don't stop him. You wanted to run out of the car with the ticket but waited to say goodbye. This is the first time you will be so far away from home and your parents. You were so excited and nervous to get on the plane. 

As you come closer in the line to the section of the drop-off, your dad looks over at you. He is emotional, his face is blank, but his eyebrows are furrowed subtly, his eyes watery,  and he clears his throat as he scans the airport entrance. 

“(Y/n).” 

“Yes, Dad?” 

"Make good decisions." He says stiffly. He looks over at you, and his rough comforting hand comes to the side of your face to touch your face. You didn't know what to do but look at your father in the face. "Can you call us when you land? I'll pay for the payphone." He says to you softly. 

"Yeah, of course, Dad." You smile at him and move away to get out of the car. Too excited to stay in that quiet car, seeing your friends coming into the building from a few cars out. Before you close the door, you stop and look at your dad again, him clearly not okay with you leaving; you say, "I love you. I will see you in a few days; take care of Mom for me." 

"I love you too, peanut." He says before you close the door on him. You race over to Shauna, who is walking in; you pump into her from behind, making you two laugh. You didn’t think twice to look back to your dad as he drove away, you always regretted not looking back to your father. 

You listen to music as you put your duffle, carry-on, and little box luggage into the overhead compartment. Your eyes are wide, and you scan the expensive first-class seating of the plane. You feel Van push you lightly to the seats to annoy you as she walks past you; you huff and go her back, which makes her laugh. 

You laugh too. You feel giddy to be on the plane and see what it is like for rich people to live. You giggle when you make eye contact with Shauna and Jackie across the way; you jump into the window seat. You up it to see the men attaching a giant hose to the wing.

Van, Lottie, and Laura Lee come into the private plane with awe in their eyes. Van jokes and admires the expensive velvet seated chairs, and the three just giggle together as they come over to you. 

“This is his form of parenting, I’ll take it.” Lottie sighed as she comes closer to you in your seat. 

All three giggle and say, “Thank you, Mr. Matthews.” and giggle at in their own little world. 

"Mind if I sit here?" Lottie requested to your with her big brown eyes looking down to you. 

"Of course! Sit with me, girl!" You chimed to Lottie with a bright smile coming to your cheeks. You then ask as you look at her cute outfit. "Lottie, how the fuck did your parents afford this?" 

"(Y/n), you need to stop cursing so much. A valedictorian shouldn't speak like that! What if you slip an f-bomb in your graduation speech?" Laura Lee cuts in from the seat in front of us; she puts her bags away just like Lottie as she scolds you.

"I won't f-bomb at graduation!" You tell her with a shake of your head, moving your jacket off the seat next to you for Lottie. You pat the pocket notebook in the breast pocket of your flannel, "I'm writing it, so I will make sure to give credit to the helpful editor Laura Lee for making sure I keep it clean!" You joke as you smile at her, snarky and sarcastic.

Laura Lee rolled her eyes with a smile, "Whatever, you better say something about us in your speech." 

"Yeah, add "The fucking cool Yellowjackets went to nationals, and the guy's team didn't even make it to states; never give up on your dreams!"" Lottie added; she slouched into the chair next to you as she looked out the open window to see outside. Everyone is so happy and excited; you just giggle with the girls as you pull out the notebook and pull the table over your lap. You felt gratitude that the seat and table still fit and didn't rest on your body like other seats would have done to you. 

You look over to Lottie, who is now talking with Laura Lee about strategy for Nationals, and you feel your hand move your headphones from your Walkman over your ears. You let the music distract you as the plane goes off, and your handwriting shakes when the plane enters the air. 

"Sorry passengers, due to an unexpected storm over the Midwest, we’ll be making a detour north through Canada. You’ll catch the amazing view of the Canadian Alms." You hear the pilot speak over the intercom, and your lips pull to an excited grin. 

Lottie laughs as she sees the face and asks, "What got you so smiley?"

"We're going to see the Canadian Rockies! I went to the smoky mountains a few summers back, and it was so beautiful. I will get you to see them!" You say as you touch Lottie's hand; you smile more and move away to get started on writing the speech. You didn't know how to make yourself confident or sound that way like you earned the title. 

Lottie felt her breath hitch in her throat as she felt your soft hand touch her arm. She looks over your face quickly, looking over how your cheek curves to your smile and how your eyes seem to shine when you talk. She goes quiet as she looks over your face, lost to something; she is pulled away by Laura Lee, continuing her past thought about how she should strike the ball. 

The ride became calm for you; everyone settled and got into their own little worlds, some read, and others talked to their partners next to them. You look over when you finish the first draft of your speech, seeing Lottie sleeping peacefully in the seat. 

"Passengers, we are about to experience turbulence. Sit tight, and talk to a flight assistant for help.” The piolet voice cuts through the air like a red hot knife and it severed something inside of you. 

Your ears perked at the intercom as you felt your stomach drop slightly. You felt the tumbling of the turbulence. You see the water on your table shake, and water splashes out; Lottie wakes up with a wide eye as she looks around everywhere; you hold onto the hand rests with white knuckles. You look out the window and see the peaking out. 

In the silence, try to build some courage and lose the dread building in your stomach. Suddenly, as you stare at the peaks of the mountains and the green tops of trees, you notice them growing. There was no sound when the plane started to crash down; there you were, stuck calming, looking down to the sea of green, making the sudden realization that it wasn't just turbulence. You were crashing and fast. 

"Oh my fucking god!" You panic to yourself as you see the lights in the plane flashing around you; you see the movement of the masks deploying around you from the corner of your teary eye. All your friends and the other people on the plane start to scream, scared and hopeless. 

Down. Down. Down. 

And you were going to die. You were going down, and you had no control over what happened. You just watched the peaks of the trees come closer to the belly of the plane, you couldn’t help but start to shake in your seat.  The image of your family camping comes to your mind in rapid succession of the memories of your mother singing to you as a toddler and memories of your father teaching you how to cast a line into the water. You were never going home again. You would never see your parents, friends, neighbors, co-workers, or anybody in your life again. 

You felt a hand cling to yours, and it was the thing that pulled you away from the scene of your own death. You snap to your side and see Lottie also panicking with tearful eyes; she is now screaming like the other girls. But her deep brown eyes locked into yours, her hand clawing onto the back of your hand. Begging for the company in the bleak frantic moments. 

You're hand moves quickly to hold her back, lacing fingers together; you stare back with your lip quivering. You were so scared you couldn't open your mouth; you couldn't say anything. You move to put your mask on quickly, but your eyes don't break from those beautiful brown eyes. A sense of calm comes over you amid the nightmare, and you know that you are going to die, but you will die around the people you did love and know who loved you. 

You felt lightheaded as you two stared at each other, something deeper being told to each other with your eyes. And in your soul, you felt what she said with her as yours said to hers in that moribund realization as the plane drops your heart to your stomach. 

"I am not going to die alone. Don't leave me." 

"I won't leave you. We will not die alone."   

The fat tears roll down your cheeks as you keep your eyes on Lottie. And Lottie does the same, her mouth open with a scream of terror, her eyes looking behind you to the reality charging towards us with trees hitting the wings. 

Within a millisecond, the world went black with a disgusting crack. 

25 years later…  

You sit on the porch of your childhood home infront of your table covered with everything you might need to get inspired. It's been 2 years since your last novel came out; it was successful and made you money but nothing crazy. You're publisher has been hounding you for the third book in your trilogy of romance novels, but you have been dry of inspiration for a long time. Your books weren't something you were incredibly proud of. It was just a smutty and fluffy romance with dark undertones throughout. Your trilogy was about a lesbian couple composed of an adventurer looking for a lost artifact and a genie lost in the artifact. The adventurer's first wish was to be loved, and the story wrote itself after that idea. 

After the rescue, you never wanted to leave your house again. It took you until Shauna's wedding to leave your home and your father's side. You were in a dark place when you came back home. You lived a life out in the wilderness that would be judged and parts that would cause people to look at you with fear. You took a few years to find the motivation to do anything with your life. Your father was loving and patient with you, and you eventually went to college in new york. You build connections and experiences you long thought were not for you and that you would never experience. You remembered being in a horse-drawn carriage in central park and crying because you finally did something, and the forest didn't stop you. It couldn't stop you anymore. You became a writer under a pen name and moved back in with your father as soon as possible; you lived mostly at home and didn't leave unless you wanted to. Now, your father living in a nursing home because he needs more medical attention than you could give him, leaving you in the big house alone. And you were happy. 

You rub your eyes as you stare at the computer screen; you turn to face your cold breakfast. You bite into the sausage, feeling the texture and savoring the vestiges and juices as you eat the meat, reminding yourself to eat the meat first. The wind chimes sing softly at the wind as you look around your backyard, seeing your outside cat resting on the gate across the way. A sense of peace in the world as at this little house. You dreamed about it, and it became a paradise in your young mind; you were content with your humble home. 

As you are chewing on your food, you see a woman walk through the wooden gate and look around the back of your house. You shallow quickly as you look at the unfamiliar woman, your eyes sharp as you take another bite of food before calling out to her. A tan woman with black curls and a strong nose. You have never seen this woman in your life.

"Hey, what are you doing over there?" 

"Oh, I'm looking for (Y/n) (L/n). Does she still live here?" The woman asked, looking at you with a smile. 

"Yeah, I'm she." 

"I am Jessica Roberts, Star-Ledger, and I'd like to ask you a few questions. 

You feel your mask work for you, a smile on your lips as you wave her over to you. "Come on over; I just made some coffee." 

"Thank you," Jessica said as she came into your yard. You stand up, not caring if she would steal your computer, and go through the back door to get her a cup of coffee. 

You walk back out to her, sitting across from you at the table and her looking over the spread of items on the table. It had your breakfast, half-empty coffee, an ashtray, a computer, writing notebooks, and flowers. You always had a vase of flowers on your tables. "You like flowers, I see?" Jessica commented as she saw the cases of your phone and computer, flowers, and the big bouquet of wildflowers. 

"Yeah, I think it gives more color to my workspace." You say with a kind tone to it. You smile as you sit on the floor pillow and push your work aside to see her more clearly. "What do you need to ask me? Is it about the Ancient Desires series?"

"Oh, no," Jessica said with a confused look like she never heard of them. You felt your heart drop to your stomach as the air was thicker. "I wasn't going to ask you about that." 

Your ear perks up, and you feel the air still. The palms of your hands clam up as you continue your Façade. You perfected hiding your feeling under a smile, having to calm and temper the hunger of others for so long kept with you. Smiling and nodding, simply listening and being seen, was a tool you learned and used daily. No one needed to know the hurt or the anger, knowing if they caught a glimpse of the rage boiling inside, you would scare them. "It should scare them," you thought to yourself in times of reflection that both made you scared of yourself but empowered with knowledge of the depth of your rage.

"Well, what is it that you want to ask?" You ask her, but already knowing what she is going to say.

"I wanted to ask you about what really happened 25 years ago?" Jessica asked with a curtness that you didn't appropriate about the topic. She is that type of reporter. She is not asking about the new book's release, and she was not here for some literary journal. She is here to pry like so many before. Like the others, they have no taste as they try to pry and ask questions about the scars on your face or how you became so skinny upon your return that would be followed up by a question if you were pleased with your new body or when they try and ask what happened to the other girls in the woods.

You pause and grab a cigarette. You think to yourself, "Jesus fucking Christ." 

"Okay. We have. I remember we had a press conference a month after our rescue, and we told the story." You said quickly as you blew the smoke out of your mouth, hiding your nervousness. You remember the flashing lights of cameras and the distasteful questions, the feeling of the eyes of the girls on you, and feeling your tongue move as you lie through your teeth that day. You lean your head on your fist as you smoke your cigarette. 

"No, but how did you all survive 19 months in those woods? How did you survive, (Y/N)?" 

You look at her with your face unchanging, skillfully, as you make your face look softly confused. A soft smile as you nod your head, smoking the stick. "Okay. We have already said what happened when we got back 25 years ago. We starved, scavenged, and prayed a lot, and then we were found."

"I know you have been letting other people tell your story-" 

You dryly chuckle, cutting her off, blowing your smoke shakily as you say, "I am a bestseller author. I have published 4 books if you did any research before coming here. I would have written about it, but there is not much to tell that wouldn't be tragedy porn for sick fucks  to read. Just like the sick fucks paying you to dig up this old story. I've moved on." 

"All I am saying is that some of them are getting money off your story. Don't let them tell your story."

You lean back on your comfortable pillow as you gently let the wind hit your face. Feeling calm over you as you smoke again, looking into her eyes as you soften your face. In your heart, you know she is bluffing, but your hands shake with nervousness; you slowly space out as you let something come over you that spoke in the reassuring voice you mastered. 

"Whatever you think happened out there is probably much worse than what happened. I know we all don't want to relive our pasts because of how tragic it was…." As you look at your table, you feel space out as the world becomes quieter. "Honestly, we just starved and hunted whatever we could find to keep the ones to survive the crash alive. And some died along the way from exposure and starvation. It was hard to live through, and it is something I will always take with me, the time I lost and the kid I was, but we have told you the whole story. We just survived. I don't understand what you are looking for me to say." You said, as you basically rephrased the press statement you said 25 years ago. You remember holding the queue cards tightly as you stare down at them, not daring to face the families and people demanding answers. But how could you answer those questions? How could you tell them that what they think is true, you ate your friends, but how do you confess how you ate them, the reason they died. You remembered as you told the microphone of the deaths of the people as starvations, looking up to find Akilah's sister with a 3-year-old boy on her lap, you felt yourself choke under the guilt. You ran away from the press conference as soon as it was finished; you remember the sobs you wailed into your father's chest when you got home. And how you couldn't face the world for a few years after that. Lies always seemed to stab you more profoundly than any other bad intention, but you couldn't see how telling the truth would do anyone good. 

"Have you spoken to the other girls to know they don't want to relive it?" 

You chuckle again as you sip your coffee. You shake your head and say, "No, I haven't spoken to them in years. I think the last time I saw one of the girls was back in… '07? I hope they are doing good. I don't know how they feel, but I am just assuming." You lie smoothly. You take a deep puff out of the cigarette. "I am done talking about this now; I hope you can respect my decision." 

"Alright, but if you change your mind, please contact me," she says, putting a business card with the very clearly fake business name on it and her number. You smile as she gets up and leaves, not touching the coffee and leaving without a goodbye. 

You kiss your teeth as you think, "Wasteful bitch." You sigh as you smoke the end of the short cigarette, pouring the untouched coffee into your mug. You sit in your spaced-out state as your thoughts run. You feel yourself kiss your teeth again, knowing what you should do, as you stand up with a new cigarette in your teeth, walking into your home. 

You race to the bedroom, and you find the purple burner phone. The one that Tai bought you a week before she married Simone, she begged you to keep contact and that she couldn't imagine a world without you as she proposed to Simone. You took the phone without saying anything to the crying woman, and you pointedly never used it after putting all the yellowjackets information into it if you needed it. You still felt a sting when you thought about Tai and how things ended up for you. You felt that way about all the girls. 

You sigh and light the cigarette as you look up to the ceiling; you roll your eyes as you call the number that you know would know the most and would give you anything you need at the drop of a hat. 

You hear the rings as you anxiously pace the floor, smoking the cigarette deep into your lungs, feeling the tickle and your nerves widen in your legs and hands. 

"Hello, this is Misty Quigley. Who is this?" 

"Hey, Misty, it's me-"

"Hi," Misty said breathlessly on the other end. I can already tell she is smiling and pressing her phone closer to her cheek, trying to get close to you somehow. She knew it was you before you could finish your sentence. 

"I wanted to call and tell you that someone came to my house and asked about it." You said softly to her, holding the burning stick. Looking at it as you lose yourself in the disassociating daydream. "You told me once, if anything happened, to call you." 

"Who was it? Another reporter? Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?" 

"Yeah, she said her name was Jessica Roberts from the Star-Ledger. I-I know you are better at these things than me, but I don't think that if that is really her name or Star-Ledger is real. I wanted you to know before she or any of the girls come to you." You said as you felt yourself start crying. You didn't know why. 

"Thank you. You're still so kind; how are you doing? Are you still in New York?" Misty asked quickly, and you felt your skin crawl as you knew she was already trying to get her claws into you again. Too much hurt lingers inside you with what happened in the woods. 

"I-I… Thank you, Misty. I have to go now-"

"Wait-"

"Bye. I'm sorry." You sobbed as you hung up on her. You felt a piece of your heart pull at the pain. You chose yourself long ago; you can't let them come back in. They would never leave. You don't really know if you want them to.

You know that you would let them creep back into your life if you let them. They saved you. They protected you. How could you stay away from them again?

DINGDONG! DINGDONG! 

You feel yourself flinch at the sound of your doorbell ring in your house. It stabbed the air violently. You rush to the door now, feeling lost in the moment. The memories rush and consume your reality. As you race down the stairs, you feel the air push your hair like the wild wind did in those hunts; the feeling of your skin touching the carpeted floors turn to wet grass, as the hair follows out not out of simple bounce of stairs but out of savagery. 

"Jessica, I already told you that I don't-" You say as you open the door, only to find nobody there. You pause as you look around the road with the other houses on the drive and the forest surrounding your home. You feel the wilderness look at you when you scan the trees, knowing it is breathing you in as you breathe it in. You were alone in your isolated country home, 

You look down at the mat to find a bouquet of Baby breaths wrapped in brown paper. You shakily pick it up and look at the card. You felt the lone lost role come back from all those years ago, the Doe, the innocent creature watched over by the wolves and tormented with pleasure and insanity. Your eyes manically look around the house again as you lose your breath, panic over you as you back into your door, slamming and locking the door. 

“I don’t know how to describe it, but I’ve never met anyone who is equally beautiful inside and out as you. I hope you like the flowers even though I know you prefer color. 

Eternally yours ♡” 

Unbeknownst to you, across the way, a woman watched the house when you cowered back into the safety of the house. Her hand clutched the tree with their fingers digging into the now smoothed bark from the years of her touch. Her face snarls as she sees you hide back into your house, the lip quacking into a smirk, taking you drawing back as an invitation to chase you again. They remembered the years they yearned for you, afraid of you rejecting them because they didn't know if you liked girls too, not knowing how you would love them. You were precious; you were kind and genuine, ferocious and passionate, but so lost like always. They saw how you were lonely before the crash, and they see it now. They knew deep down that you were ruled by your fear and love of others, making you hide. They knew if they got you again, you couldn't leave them like you did once. You were their wife out there. And they are going to get you back. 

Note: I really hope you liked this story! Please ask me if you want to be on the Taglist or any thoughts on my story. Also, if you don’t like the outfits you don’t have to take them as the image you get in your head while reading, they were just what I used to inspire the story and enrich the character setting that you are in for this story!  (BTW I am so annoyed that I couldn’t find any plus sized clothes on the site I used to make the outfits)

[paradoxbeta]

12 and 19

Your art style is fire, I need to know the secrets of your "meschanicesh/blockish/shape-ish" (idk how to describe it???) artstyle

thank you very much, thats nice to hear! im going to do these questions out of order though because the first one will take a bit longer to talk through

19. where do you find inspiration?

many places! sometimes i take pictures of cars with face-like headlight designs or normal objects that look like they could be creatures if i worked at them. if anything in the open catches my eye ill snap a picture of it. traveling and seeing new kinds of architecture is usually really good for my creative juices too so i like to look around a lot whenever i go somewhere out of the ordinary. a lot of the pictures that inspire me can be found in my #alien insp tag as well, even though thats to help me worldbuild my stellaris-fic-turned-spec-bio(?) thing its also usually filled with arrangements of shapes and colors that tickled my brain and that i hope to replicate the feeling of. i also take a lot of inspiration from how music makes me feel. more often than not though its just a random lightning bolt idea or a recycling of an old concept

12. describe your process while drawing

if i wanted to go in full depth this would be a very long response that would go all through how i color and do lighting and decide certain things and what i hope to achieve in character designs as a whole but to give you the answer in short, ill just talk about my sketches and how i use shapes, because i consider those two things the most important parts of my process. first of all my sketches are terrible. oftentimes theyre so vague that if i never make progress on them and then return a week later, i wont understand whats happening.

i mention this because i feel like i see people get wrapped up in making their sketch look good too often, and to that i say NO! an adequate sketch to me is something you could wipe your ass with! besides it helps me get the idea on paper while focusing on what i know i want to be the important part(s) of the piece.

for shapes:

yes, part of the reason why this ask took a little while to get to is because i was whipping up this and glass arena (the spikey one) was not cooperating with me and its sort of haphazard i know i know

but the gist of it is that generally what i will do is pick one or a select few dramatic shapes to dominate their design and then focus on accentuating that particular shape. sometimes as im creating a character, what that central shape is will change midway. i will also usually design the head of a character before the body, A, because its more fun, and B, since the head is small and also usually heavily reflective of the central shape, understanding exactly what shape i want makes it easier to make a body that works with/mirrors it (and then possibly make some tweaks to an already established head) instead of trying to figure out the head and body at the same time. i get that is not the ideal way to do it but i am also not a professional and sort of just winging it through everything ive ever done

im also at least somewhat attentive about the curves of lines which is what all of those red lines are for, the blue circles on glass arena and zmeu are to show where the lines concentrate. interestingly enough this sort of focal point usually isnt on the face but instead the neck because what happens most of the time for humanoids is that the (stylized) slopes of the eyebrows to the sides of the nose (or at least the form of a shape that represents this) creates a downwards arrow, which usually works well with an "upwards arrow" on the chest to sort of "pinch" the lines together at the point in between the head and chest. this is exactly what happened for them both, though for zmeu his downwards arrow is just his entire head. i dont usually draw the "focal point" but i see it in my head and try to make adjacent lines feed into it. some characters like am (semi-circle head) dont have one though, but there is still a general trend in the lines, you can see in her headshot i tried to make the lines be "parallel" or to flip/mirror the curvature of her headdress.

again i could go more into depth about my art process if anyone'd be interested in a fuller detailing, but it'd have to be a separate post. thank you for asking though, i like talking about my process!