#and even when it's not its not as complex...

[smileysuh]

apartment complex

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader I ft. Haechan & Jaehyun

🔮 preview. So… Johnny works on a rig for long periods of time, Jaehyun is a gym rat with dimples, and Hyuck is a… drug dealer who’s not afraid to be extremely direct and combative? And they’re all your neighbours and also into you? How did you get yourself into this mess? 

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, pent-up sexual tension, shower sex, masturbation, fingering, hand job, thigh riding, praise, dirty talk, breast worship/nipple play, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple reader orgasms, multiple sex positions, size kink (Johnny is big and a slight manhandler), mentions of aftercare, etc… I pet names: (hers) 304, baby, princess. 

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 13.3k

🍭 aus. Love square, slice of life, neighbours to lovers, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. So when Johnny calls her the nickname ‘304,’ we’re not doing full numbers, it’s ‘three-oh-four’ which I actually think is kind of cute haha 

One:

You feel like an absolute mess. Your hair is all over the place, you’re in a full sweats ensemble that is - true to its name - making you perspire like nothing else as you lug boxes upon boxes of your stuff into your building and up to your new apartment.

To make matters worse, you’re exhausted. Moving days have this absolutely draining effect, and you can’t wait for the day to be over. You’re not even sure if you’ll unpack anything- maybe you’ll just fish out a towel and some body wash from one of the many crates you have, shower, then collapse onto your mattress- do you even have the energy to set up your bed frame?

You’re busy trying to plan out how you’re going to even accomplish the day, when the elevator doors open, and you find yourself staring up at one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen.

“Hi,” he grins, stepping next to you in the small space. “Moving in?”

You’re so distracted by the way his biceps look in his muscle shirt that it takes you a moment to speak. “Uh, yeah.”

“I’m Johnny,” he tells you.

“y/n.” The box in your hands is beginning to slip from the sweat on your palms, and you haphazardly readjust it on your hip.

“This might be a little forward,” Johnny chuckles, “but do you need any help?”

“Uh…” You turn once again to look up at this absolute tower of a man. “I’m almost done moving everything-”

“Let me guess, boxes done, just some furniture stuff left?”

You feel your skin flush with heat. “Is it that obvious that I’m struggling right now?” An awkward laugh escapes your lips, and you’re happy to find Johnny return the sound with a soft, understanding smile.

“Usually when cute girls move somewhere, they have a boyfriend, a brother, a dad, a friend- someone to help them do the tough stuff, and since you’re alone, I’m guessing you’re troopering this whole thing out all by yourself.”

“New city,” you explain. “I don’t uh- don’t know anyone here just yet, and my family didn’t want to take time off work to help with any of this.”

“Lucky you bumped into me then,” Johnny grins. “I just finished up at the gym, but I’ve got energy to help a new neighbour.”

The elevator dings to signal you’ve made it to your floor, and Johnny follows you out.

“You’re the new tenant for 304?” he asks.

“Uh huh,” you nod, stopping in front of the unit you now call home.

“We really are neighbours,” Johnny laughs. “I’m 306.”

“Look it was nice to meet you,” you say, “but you really don’t need to help, I’m sure I can manage my bed and a few other things-”

“y/n,” Johnny interrupts you, “I promise I’m not some creep, just a good neighbour offering help. You look tired, let me help you.”

Your pride makes it difficult to accept this sort of thing, but you swallow it, offering Johnny a nod. 

And that’s how you find yourself moving your bed and the last bit of furniture into your new apartment with one of the sexiest guys you’ve ever seen. He’s quite the charmer, and he’s reassuring too- calming you down when things are a little heavy, and slowing his own pace to match your exhaustion.

In no time at all, everything is out of the moving truck, and Johnny leans in your doorway as he watches you slump into a chair. 

“Do you want help making your bedframe or anything?” he enquires.

“Honestly? I think I’m going to call it a day,” you admit. “The drive here was long, I’ve been up since five AM, didn’t sleep well last night due to nerves-”

“Sounds like you should get some rest,” Johnny nods.

“I really appreciate your help though,” you offer. “I’ll uh, have to buy you beers or something.”

Johnny only laughs. “That’s not necessary. Besides, I work on a rig, so I’m only here a week or so every month, you caught me at a good time.”

“Oh.” You can’t help the disappointment that surges through you. Of course this man was too hot to be true- of course he has a job that requires him to be away for long periods or he’d probably have an equally hot girlfriend already.

“But… let me give you my number, and if you ever need anything while I am here, you can just give me a shout.” 

The two of you exchange digits, and with one final smile, Johnny leaves you be. 

You lay on your bed for a while, trying to calm down- from the moving, or from being around a ten out of ten, you’re not sure. 

Two:

It’s your first time doing laundry in the new building, and to your disappointment, you find the shared laundry room to have no available machines.

A sigh escapes you as you stand there momentarily, wondering if you should wait five minutes for a turn over, or just scratch this whole idea and hope there are empty machines tomorrow.

As you’re considering your options, the laundry room door opens, and a tall blonde enters.

“Hi,” he beams.

“Hello.” You watch him carefully, noticing that he heads to a machine to take out his clothes from the washer. “Uh- do you mind if I put my stuff in there once it’s empty?”

“Of course not,” he smiles. “With only six machines for the whole building, it can be a bit rough trying to nab one on busy days.”

“I’ve noticed,” you laugh. “I’m new here, my name is y/n.”

“I’m Jungwoo,” he tells you, moving his clothing into the only empty dryer. He turns on the machine and then steps back, looking over at you again. “So are you new to the building or new to the city?”

“The city,” you admit, beginning to move your stuff into the now empty washer.

“You have that look.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just- a lot of people here are boring, we’re not exactly known for fashion or anything like that-”

You look down at the Stitch onesie you’re wearing that you’d bought for Halloween a few years back but has since become a comfort outfit, then back up at the blonde.

“I just like your style!” he insists. “Not everyone can rock blue pajamas!”

You find yourself laughing at his sincerity, shaking your head as you grab your washer fluid to get the machine going.

“Anyways,” Jungwoo sighs. “Did you move here for work?”

“I actually work online,” you tell him. “I can work from anywhere, and I figured this would be a nice place to get out of the big city for a while- cheaper rent, more nature, that sort of thing.”

“Makes sense,” Jungwoo nods. “I’m a server at a bar just down the road.”

You take a moment, then laugh. “You seem like a server.”

“Because I’m so cute and social?” he grins.

“Definitely,” you nod, enjoying his energy.

“Anyways, I love making friends, and since you’re new to the city, I’m guessing you haven’t met a lot of people yet. If you want to be friends, I’d love to add you to my gossip roster.”

“Your gossip roster?”

“I’m a server, which means I love all things tea- except for when grandmas order actual tea in the middle of a rush, that’s the worst.”

“I’ll take your word on it,” you grin.

“So… friends?” Jungwoo asks.

You nod. “We can be friends.”

Three:

It’s been three weeks since you moved into your new apartment, and in that time, you’ve gotten settled, and even visited Jungwoo at his bar. He’s an interesting friend, and he seems to know everything about everyone.

At first, you’d been worried about any ulterior motives he might have, as you’ve experienced many men try to make a move on you under the guise of just wanting to be your friend. But now, you realize Jungwoo’s intentions towards you are pure- or, as pure as they can be given how much gossip he consumes.

You get the sense that you’re not his type, and that’s a hundred percent okay with you, in fact, it’s a dynamic that makes you finally feel comfortable accepting an invitation to visit his apartment.

It seems all the attractive men in your building live on your floor, and as you enter his unit, you find yet another cute man standing in the kitchen.

“This is Mark,” Jungwoo introduces you. “Mark, this is y/n. Don’t worry, Lee, I’ve told her everything about you.”

“Oh, great,” Mark sighs.

It’s true, Jungwoo has divulged way too deep into his roommate’s history. You know that he’s a content creator and chef, he used to work in a prestigious restaurant, went on one of those reality cooking shows, managed to be the runner up for the first place prize despite his awkward nature, and has now been commissioned to write a cookbook focused solely on burgers (which Jungwoo has assured you is actually a broad topic despite what you might think).

You also know that Mark has a limited dating history, with a high school sweetheart who left him right before his stint on live tv, and a new crush on some barista that he’s too shy to even talk to despite the fact that he goes to her coffee shop every day just to order frothed milk with vanilla since caffeine doesn’t agree with him.

“So what’s on the menu tonight, chef?” Jungwoo asks, coming to stand right behind Mark in the kitchen.

From the way Mark clears his throat and steps back, it’s obvious to you that he’s not as comfortable about being close to people as Jungwoo is, and you find yourself enjoying this roommate dynamic already.

“I’m actually testing some stupid protein burger for muscle heads,” Mark admits.

“Aren’t burgers already high in protein since they’re meat?” you ask.

“Yes, and no,” Mark groans, “it depends. I want to have a few vegetarian and even vegan options in the cookbook I’m writing on burgers- and lots of people want high protein even in their plant based meals.” 

“So… what are your options for this burger you’re trying to create?” you enquire. 

“I’ve tried some black bean patties, chickpea patties, that sort of thing- but I’m considering making an entire two page fold dedicated to dredges and batters that you could use on a variety of burgers, meat or vegetarian. I got everything to make a protein powder infused batter, but I’m just now realizing that the protein powder I have on hand is chocolate flavoured, which really won’t work if I put it on anything, let alone a tofu burger.”

“Call Jae,” Jungwoo says simply. “That man has a collection of protein powder that would make a man on steroids combust.”

“Maybe I should just run to the store,” Mark sighs.

“You only need a small scoop of powder, right?” Jungwoo counters. “Why would you go buy an entire plain jug of protein powder when a protein head lives next door?”

“I’d hate to bother him,” the chef groans again, and you find yourself starting to realize the true depth of his social anxiety. 

“I’ll call Jaehyun,” Jungwoo states, pulling out his phone.

You take a seat at the island counter while Jungwoo makes a deal for some powder with this ‘Jae’ person, and you watch Mark fuss over other ingredients that he adds to a dry mixing bowl.

There’s a knock at the door, and then a man peaks his head inside of the apartment.

Your eyes lock and the wind is knocked from your lungs- is every hot man in the city living in your building?

“Jae!” Jungwoo yells, “come in!”

The man steps into the apartment, offering a smile, and the dimples in his cheeks practically blind you. There’s no way around it, this man looks like a model. He’s handsome, but there’s a slightly feminine softness to the angles of his face, a warmth in his eyes, and it’s absolutely captivating.

“Am I interrupting?” Jae asks as he approaches the kitchen, his eyes continuously meeting your own.

“Not at all, Mark’s just floundering as usual, and I’m hanging out with my new friend. y/n, this is Jaehyun, Jaehyun, this is y/n.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you smile.

“You too.” Jaehyun sets a tub of protein powder onto the kitchen counter next to Mark, then he turns his full attention to you again. “So how did you meet Jungwoo?”

“In the laundry room,” Jungwoo is quick to explain, and you don’t miss the exchange of glances between Jaehyun and your friend. “She’s new to the building.” Jungwoo practically winks at Jaehyun, and you get the suspicion that he’s trying to set you up with this model looking protein man.

“I love meeting new neighbours,” Jaehyun says smoothly. “What floor are you on?”

“This one, room 304.”

“No way.” Jaehyun’s eyes widen. “That’s right across from mine!”

“You’re 305?” you ask, heart beating faster in your chest.

“In the flesh,” Jaehyun grins.

“Can we move the talking somewhere else?” Mark asks quietly. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

The energy fizzles immediately, and Jaehyun nods. “I was actually just heading to the gym.”

“Of course you were,” Jungwoo rolls his eyes.

“But uh, I’ll see you around,” Jaehyun says, looking at you directly. “Welcome to the building.” 

Four:

You suppose you shouldn’t be shocked when meeting cute men in your apartment building anymore, but you still find your breath leaving your body when you’re bringing groceries up from the parking garage only for a very cute man to enter the elevator.

He steps in and flashes you a smirk, then looks at the floor buttons. “You’re headed to three?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

“Are you new?”

“Been here about a month.”

“Huh,” the man looks stumped for a moment. “I feel like I would have seen you. I’m Hyuck by the way.”

“y/n.”

Hyuck nods. “Are you liking the building?”

“It’s nice,” you muse, too tired from your day at the grocery store to make much smalltalk. 

“You must be… unit 304? I’m a couple of doors down, near the corner. I know someone moved out, and I heard from the building manager that someone was moving in, but fuck, I can’t believe I haven’t met you yet.”

“I can be kind of reclusive,” you joke. “I mean, I work from home.”

“Ahhh, you’re one of those girls.” Hyuck grins at you knowingly and your heart leaps into your throat.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “Just, you know, sometimes the cutest girls are the ones that stay in their house all day.”

“Oh.” You’re really not sure how to respond to his statement, and your eyes shift down to the floor as the elevator comes to a stop.

The two of you both turn to the left, and Hyuck walks in step with you to your door, where he stops. “What’s that?”

You’re confused for a moment, too busy fumbling with your keys, but when you look up, you realize there’s a sticky note on your door. 

“Looks like you already have an admirer,” Hyuck grins. “Was nice to meet you, we should hang sometime,” he reads. “Who do you think left this?”

You’re pretty sure it was Jaehyun who left the note- after all, the only other people you know are Jungwoo and Johnny, who both have your number, and you doubt Mark Lee of all people would be this forward. 

“I uh-” you stutter a little, swallowing thickly. “I’m not sure.”

“So are you single, or…?”

“Definitely single,” you blurt out, pushing your key into the door and clicking it unlocked.

“Definitely single,” Hyuck repeats as you push into your apartment, “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Five:

You’re finishing up after dinner when your phone makes a beeping sound, and you quickly pick it up, surprised to see a message from Johnny.

‘Looks like you’ve got some secret admirers, 304.’

Your stomach drops, and you realize that in your haste to enter your apartment after finding Jaehyun’s note with Hyuck earlier, you hadn’t actually removed it from your door- but wait, admirers? As in… plural? 

Tripping over yourself to get to the door, you throw it open to find not one sticky note, but two.

While Jaehyun’s initial ‘Was nice to meet you, we should hang sometime’ is still there, someone has taken the liberty to put a second note on top of it, and this one reads; ‘I’m more fun, let’s have drinks.’

It’s clear who the second note is from, and you’re quick to rip both off of your door. 

Jaehyun and Hyuck are both quite forward, and your heart is racing as you go sit on your couch, feeling conflicted.

You pull out your phone again, releasing a deep sigh as you write up a text to Johnny. ‘This apartment building is so weird.’

‘Boys will be boys,’ comes his quick response. 

Taking another breath to calm yourself, you look at the texts, and that’s when you realize, ‘I didn’t know you were back from the rigs.’ 

‘Got back a couple of days ago :)’ 

Tapping your fingers against your couch, you try to figure out how you should play this.

You’re most attracted to Johnny, but now that Jaehyun and Hyuck are so clearly demonstrating their blooming affection for you - out in the open where everyone on your floor can see - you wonder if that might throw a wrench at Johnny’s own feelings for you…

Does Johnny like you?

When he’d helped you move your things, was that just him genuinely being nice? 

You feel absolutely twisted, especially since you’ve never considered yourself the type of girl to entertain a long distance relationship…

‘So… you’re in town for a few more days?’

‘three!’ 

You definitely need to sort out your priorities. 

Six:

You’re in need of a drink as you walk into Jungwoo’s work, taking a seat at the bar and releasing a deep sigh.

“For a girl who came to happy hour, you don’t look too happy,” Jungwoo muses as he moves to stand in front of you.

“Is it that obvious?” you laugh.

“I mean… you’re the hot new girl in 304 who has two guys fighting over you in sticky notes, I’d expect you to be a little more up beat.” 

“You saw that?” you ask in shock.

“Everyone saw it. Whoever left those notes weren’t exactly subtle… who did leave those notes, by the way?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head at your friend’s need for gossip. “You know one of them at least.”

“Jae, I’m guessing,” Jungwoo nods. “He asked me for your number but since I’m your friend I’m not just out here handing around your personal information.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And guy number two?” he enquires.

“Some dude named Hyuck.”

An interesting expression immediately appears on Jungwoo’s face. It’s something between an ‘oooooh!’ and an ‘ooop!’ and you can’t quite place the emotion.

“What?” you ask, leaning forward. “You know him?”

“Everyone knows Hyuck.”

“They do?”

“Let’s just say…” Jungwoo’s voice lowers as he leans over the bar, “he’s a provider of things that a lot of people like to get their hands on.”

“Huh?” 

“A plug, there, you tortured it out of me, Hyuck is a plug,” Jungwoo throws his hands up as if you just twisted his arm for the information, and you stare at him blankly.

“A plug,” you repeat.

“You can’t be that innocent, babes, you know what I mean.”

You sit back in your chair, thinking it through.

So… Johnny works on a rig for long periods of time, Jaehyun is a gym rat with dimples, and Hyuck is a… drug dealer who’s not afraid to be extremely direct and combative? And they’re all your neighbours and also into you? How did you get yourself into this mess? 

“Where did you even meet Hyuck?” Jungwoo asks.

“In the elevator?”

“Why did that sound like a question?” your friend laughs.

“I don’t know! God, I’m just… overwhelmed.”

“There are worse things to be overwhelmed about, I mean… tax season is coming soon, and I don’t know how much fraud I should commit with my tips.” 

You can’t help but laugh at Jungwoo, and he’s succeeded in using humour to calm you down. 

He’s grinning at you, and he taps his hand onto the bar top. “Let me make you a drink, on me, but you’ll be paying me with gossip, deal?” 

“Deal.”

You trust Jungwoo to make you drinks by now, and he doesn’t ask what you want, he simply begins to mix a fruity concoction together. Soon, he’s setting it down in front of you and you’re taking a large gulp.

“So…” he grins. “Hyuck or Jae?”

“Are those my only options?”

Jungwoo’s eyes widen. “Spill the tea.”

“I just… I met this guy Johnny when I moved in-”

“Johnny as in super tall, blue collar, muscle man, Johnny?”

“Sounds like him,” you laugh.

“And you met him the first day you moved in?”

“He actually helped me with boxes and furniture.”

Jungwoo lets out a whistle. “Now I see why you’re overwhelmed.”

“I guess, I just don’t really know any of these guys too well. I’ve only met all of them once-”

“But you have a favourite,” Jungwoo interjects. “Johnny’s your favourite, despite his fucked up job.”

You sigh. “How could you tell?”

“I watch a lot of reality tv, in shows like Love is Blind or Singles Inferno sometimes a girl has multiple guys going for her, but the first one leaves a mark… it’s not always the case though, but it’s about that initial impact.” 

“Impact,” you repeat. “Johnny definitely made an impact… and he saw the notes from Hyuck and Jae.”

“Oooooh,” Jungwoo grins, “scandalous.” 

“But he works away for weeks at a time!”

“He’s here now,” Jungwoo points out. “So… go on a date with him, and sort out Hyuck and Jae after.”

“You think so?”

“What could be wrong about it?” Jungwoo shrugs. “Go on a date with Johnny, see how you feel- maybe he does something gross that turns you off and it makes life easier.”

“Or maybe he’s perfect and it makes things even worse,” you sigh.

“You never know until you try. Another thing from my dating shows is that no one wants to live with regrets, and I don’t think you do either.” 

Seven:

You’d taken Jungwoo’s advice, and after two drinks at the bar, you’re home, waiting for a knock that sounds on your door.

Taking a deep breath, you fix your outfit, approaching your entry way to find Johnny standing in the hall. He looks all tall and gorgeous, in a similar laid back muscle shirt and sweats combo to the one you’d first seen him in. His hair is a little messy and damp as if he’d just come out of a shower, and the smell of his piney bodywash has you going weak. 

“Hi,” he grins. 

“Hi,” you smile back. “Uh, come in.”

Johnny nods, stepping past the threshold. “Are you a shoes off in the house kind of girl?”

“Yes, please.”

You watch him kick off his runners before turning to you. “I’m a little confused.”

“You are?”

“I got your text that you wanted me to come over, and I half expected you needed help building some cabinet or something, but then I remembered you’ve been here a month already, so now I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”

“I told you I’d buy you a beer for helping me move my stuff, remember?” You let out an awkward chuckle. “I don’t have beer, but I did open a bottle of wine.”

“That works,” Johnny grins.

“Come, sit.” You move to your living area, taking a seat on the couch. Johnny joins you, and you note the way he immediately shifts his body to be facing you. He watches you pour him a glass, and you both notice your shaky hand as you pass it to him.

“How much have you been drinking, 304?”

“A bit.”

“Rough day?” he enquires with a smile.

“Just…” you let out a deep breath. “Not used to all the attention I’m getting here.”

“Yeah, your entourage.” Johnny sips his drink, still grinning as if this is the funniest thing in the world.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m not the kind of person who loves getting a lot of attention?”

Johnny cocks his head to the side. “I think it’s hard for a girl who looks like you to avoid that sort of thing.”

God, he is into you, you can taste it- or maybe that’s the sweet notes of your wine. 

You don’t know what to say, but you feel a grin appear on your face, your eyes shifting down to your glass. “I don’t know about that.”

“Just an observation,” Johnny laughs. “So… what are you going to do about all of this?”

“I think…” you swallow thickly. “I think I’m doing something right now.”

“Yeah?”

You look up at him, smiling. “Yeah.”

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to be at a loss for words, and you get the sense that this isn’t something that happens very often to him.

“I’m sure you know what it’s like to get a lot of attention,” you offer.

Johnny shrugs. “I’m only in town a week every month, and when I’m here I spend most of my time at the gym or at home. I’ve never been a big party guy, I prefer cheap beer to bars, and I guess I’ve just accepted that a guy like me has to be single.”

“You have to be?” you enquire, cocking your head to the side in a bid to understand him better. 

“Most girls aren’t interested in starting anything with a man who works on a rig. I understand the guys who have girls before the job, and they stay after building a foundation, but it’s hard to work on the start of a relationship when you’re not around.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” you nod- in fact, it’s something you’ve considered to great length already. “If… if the right girl came along, would that be something you’re interested in exploring?”

Johnny lets out a deep breath. “That’s a good question.” 

You watch him sip his wine, giving him the space to consider it.

“I just… I wouldn’t want a girl to feel like she’s an afterthought, or a fuck buddy- and doing the work I do, I have to be focused. It’s day rate, it’s dangerous, sometimes the rigs are a couple hours away from camp, and that’s on top of a twelve hour shift-” He lets out another deep sigh. “I think it would take a very special, very loyal kind of girl to give me a chance.”

“And what would you say your type is?”

His eyes meet yours. “I love a cute girl next door.”

Your heart thumps in your chest. “Funny, I like a boy next door.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re neighbours.”

Johnny lifts his glass and you clink yours together, giggling.

It’s crazy how things can feel so comfortable with him already- but in the background of your mind there’s a sense of dread looming, after all, he’s leaving in just two or so days.

“Can I be honest with you?” you ask.

“Of course.”

“I’m sad you’re leaving soon.”

“I’m not leaving yet,” he points out.

“You know what I mean.”

Johnny shifts, resting his arm on the back of your couch. “I have a proposition for you, 304.”

“God, stop calling me 304,” you laugh.

“It feels like we’re interested in each other, but I get the sense you’re unsure about the long distance aspect. What if we hang out tonight, tomorrow I take you on an actual date, and if things go well, we could talk about what communication would look like when I’m away.”

“You know what?” you take a deep breath. “I would like that.”

“But… I have on condition.”

“Hit me.”

Johnny is quiet for a moment. “I’m aware that, no matter how good our dates tonight and tomorrow are, me being away might be too much for you. You have two other guys who are interested and they live here, so… even though I’m a cuddly person, I think it’s better for both of us if we keep things PG before I leave, that way… I mean, if you chose one of them because distance is too much, at least things won’t be awkward for us, and we can still be friends.” 

“I think…” - as much as you hate the idea and want to climb him like a tree - “I think that might be the most mature way to handle this.” 

Johnny nods. “So… what are your thoughts on aliens?”

“Huh?”

“UFO’s, UAP’s, USP’s-”

“What even are all of those?” you laugh.

“Unidentified flying objects, unidentified aerial phenomenon, which is pretty much another term for UFO’s, unidentified submersible phenomenon-”

You shake your head at him in affectionate shock. “Where did you learn all of this?” 

“History network,” Johnny grins. “Listen, why would I ask you surface level questions when we can dive into conspiracy theory? UFO’s are a good way to bounce into all sorts of topics, religion, politics, current and historical events-”

He’s a little odd, but you suppose you understand where he’s coming from now. You decide to give up control, and you lean into his question, loving the twists and turns that the conversation takes. You talk about everything, from the moon landing, to ancient monolithic structures and tv shows about space, a discussion about recent alien films leads to an analysis on favourite actors-

Before you even know it, hours have passed, the wine bottle is empty, and you feel as if you know him a lot better than when he’d first entered your apartment. 

“Do you work tomorrow?” he asks.

You sigh, looking at the time. “At nine.”

“I should probably get out of your hair then. When are you off?”

“Fiveish.”

Johnny stands up, stretching, and you can’t help the way your eyes move to the exposed strip of V-line when his shirt rises. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow at fiveish, 304.”

You rise to your feet, pleasantly surprised when the gentle giant pulls you in for a hug. God, the feeling of his chest against your cheek- the soft cotton of his muscle shirt and the scent of his cologne- you release a deep breath, fully melting into what must be one of the best hugs of your life.

“I’ll text you,” Johnny says, and as he does so, his lips brush the crown of your head.

He’d said PG, and you suppose this is PG, but fuck, you want more.  

Eight:

Out of all the possible date venues, you hadn’t expected bowling. Johnny had told you to dress casually, he’d picked you up, and taken you down to a massive black truck- he’d driven you around town, pointing things out to you, and you’d ended up at a small, underground bowling bar.

He’s a bit of a goof ball, but you can tell he’s got experience playing this game. To compensate for your lack of skills, he does all sorts of trick shots that make him miss points, and you appreciate his effort to not decimate you. 

You drink beer and chat and play, and again, it feels so natural with him. 

When the game is over, the two of you get in the truck, and Johnny says he wants to show you something. A fifteen minute drive leads you to the edge of town, on a lookout that’s perfect now that it’s dark and the small city’s lights are sparkling.

“Do you take all your dates here?” you tease.

Johnny chuckles. “Would you believe me if I told you I haven’t been on a date in a while?”

“I guess with your job, I would,” you pause, looking over at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The large man releases a sigh. “I had a highschool sweetheart,” he starts. “But as time went by, she couldn’t deal with me being a blue collar man. She was very corporate, and our life styles weren’t exactly a match. When she broke up with me, I switched from construction to the rig jobs, figured it would be easier to just put my head down and work. Been doing that for about six years now.”

“So you haven’t dated since highschool?” you ask in shock.

“There’ve been a couple of things here and there. Took a few summers off, had flings, but shit always hit the fan when I went back to work.” 

“That makes sense,” you nod. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m a family man at heart,” he assures you. “As a supervisor, I definitely make enough money to take care of the people in my life, but it’s always been a time issue.” Johnny takes a breath, and then he meets your gaze. “What about you? Any skeletons in your closet?”

“Had a couple of failed relationships, the last one inspired me to move away from my home city and come here so I guess there’s a silver lining to it. Ended things with my ex about a year ago and nothing really felt the same after that, figured a change of scenery would do me good.”

“And has it? Done you good?”

You look over at the gorgeous man sitting next to you. “Definitely.” 

It feels like the perfect moment to kiss him, and you note the way his gaze dips to your lips, but then he pulls back, letting out a sigh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Me!?” You act scandalized.

“Yes, you, little miss 304.”

You can only laugh, doing your best to enjoy the rest of your date with him while the knowledge that he’s leaving tomorrow haunts in your periphery. 

Nine:

Johnny’s been gone for three days, and he’s been true to his word when you’d discussed communication while he’s on the rig. He’s kept contact with you, sending good morning messages for you to wake up to, and texting or calling in the late evening when he’s off work.

However, other things have progressed as well. You’d come out of your apartment this morning to find not one, but two bouquets waiting for you, and you feel as if this thing with Jaehyun and Hyuck is getting out of hand.

You find yourself at Jungwoo’s bar again, giving him the rundown on everything that has happened.

“So you’re like, set on Johnny then, huh?” your friend asks.

“I’m not sure, it’s only been three days that he’s been gone but I miss him already, and I can’t even imagine what it will be like to wait another nineteen days-”

“You always knew distance would be a struggle,” Jungwoo nods.

You groan, taking a sip of your fruity cocktail. “I just can’t believe Jaehyun and Hyuck left flowers at my door.”

“You’re going to have to do something about them.”

“Like what?”

“Reject or accept, babes,” Jungwoo says simply. 

“Accept?”

“You’re not technically dating Johnny yet. It sounds like he understands you might go on a date or two while he’s gone, I mean, you had that whole conversation about keeping things PG so it’s not awkward if he comes back and you’ve chosen someone else- it feels like he’s giving you breathing room to explore.”

You can only sigh, resting your head in your hands.

“Do you want to explore?” Jungwoo enquires. 

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re going to bump into Jaehyun or Hyuck sometime, so you better figure it out fast.”

Ten:

As you’re returning from happy hour with Jungwoo, you run into your building manager. He’s a young man named Doyoung. He has a very regal look to him, and he’s as attractive as most of the men on the third floor.

He’s in the small building office, and as you walk past, he stops you.

“y/n!” he calls, waving you inside, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you!”

Your heart sinks- your payment wasn’t late, was it? Did you get a noise complaint? Your mind begins to race-

“I heard that people have been leaving notes and flowers at your door,” Doyoung tells you. “As you’re a young woman who is new to the building, I wanted to check in with you and make sure you’re not being harassed.”

Your brain short circuits- it’s one thing for Jungwoo and other people on the third floor to know about your ‘secret admirers’ but another for your building manager to be broaching the topic with you. 

“I uh,” you swallow thickly. “I’m not being harassed.”

Doyoung gives you a pointed look. “You’d tell me if you were, right?”

“Of course,” you assure him. “It’s all just playful, nothing… nefarious.”

God, you hate how proper you’re trying to sound, but how else are you supposed to explain this situation to Doyoung? 

This is so awkward, who knew moving into a new apartment would be this fucking complex? 

Eleven:

You’re in the lobby checking your mailbox when the front door opens and Jaehyun walks in. His hair is windswept, and he looks like he’s getting back from the gym. He immediately flashes you that dimpled smile and your heart begins to thunder in your rib cage.

“Hey, you,” he grins. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, I’ve uh… been busy,” you offer, quickly closing your mail box.

“Seems that way,” Jaehyun muses, and you realize he’s waiting to go to the elevator with you.

Taking a deep breath, you pull up your big girl panties, walking with him to the lift.

He hits the button, turning to you. “So-”

The elevator opens and you find Hyuck standing there, having just come up from the underground parkade, and suddenly you feel like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hiya, hot stuff,” Hyuck grins. “Going up?”

Part of you wants to turn and run away, but you’re in too deep now to go back, so you enter the elevator with the two men who’ve been fighting for space on your door, and maybe also in your heart.

“How’ve you been?” Hyuck asks.

“I’ve been good, just busy,” you mutter quickly, hitting the ‘close door’ button in the hope that it saves you even one second in this awkward elevator ride.

“You coming from the gym?” Hyuck’s line of questioning has taken a turn, and you realize he’s addressing Jaehyun next to you. 

“Yup, you?”

“Was just out,” Hyuck responds vaguely.

You get the sense that these two might know each other in passing, after all, you all live on the same floor, but at the same time, it’s somewhat clear from their muted interaction that they’re not particularly close.

It’s an awkward, silent minute in the elevator, but it’s even more awkward when you all get off on the third floor, with both men letting you exit first, only to struggle in a pissing match over who follows you.

They end up tracing your steps to your door, and when you get there, they both stop.

“Wait,” Hyuck breathes, and you watch him look from you to Jaehyun then back again. “You must be sticky note dude.”

“And you’re flowers guy,” Jaehyun sighs.

Both of them turn to you and it’s Hyuck who asks, “You’re still single right?”

It must be obvious to them both that if they’re warring at your doorstep, neither of them actually have your number just yet, and while it’s awkward to be put on the spot like this, you understand their confusion.

“Still single,” you assure them, fumbling with your keys. “I uh, actually have only lived here a month, and I’m still getting settled-” you search for the right words while trying not to drop your phone. “I appreciate the interest from you both, but this has gotten a little out of hand- Doyoung asked me about all of this yesterday-”

“Doyoung?” Hyuck scoffs. “What does he care if we leave notes and flowers at your door?”

“I guess he’s just concerned about my safety?” you offer.

While you can tell that Jaehyun understands, Hyuck still seems a little slow to the pick up, rolling his eyes. “As if we’d ever do anything bad.”

Which is funny, coming from a guy who’s supposedly a drug dealer.

“I think I just need some space,” you say finally, shocked by the conviction in your own voice as you slip your key into the lock. “To… you know, settle.”

“I’m sure we can give you some space,” Jaehyun offers, and you can tell from his tone that it’s a warning to Hyuck not to argue.

The plug sighs. “Yeah, we can give some space.”

They’re both very handsome, and upon different circumstances, one of them doing the sticky note and flowers trick might have swayed you, but the fact that it’s become something of a war between them has turned you off. The seriousness in Doyoung’s discussion with you yesterday had made you realize as much, and you’d be lying if you said your growing connection with Johnny didn’t have anything to do with it either.

Twelve:

After the debacle with Jaehyun and Hyuck, you’d anxiously awaited a call with Johnny when he was done work and back at the camp. But now, as you talk to him on the phone, you hesitate about divulging in the events that took place today.

Johnny’s making an effort with you, but you can hear in his voice that he’s exhausted, and you don’t want to add pressure to his shoulders-

“Are you okay, 304?” Johnny asks.

“Hmm?”

“You’re just a bit quiet.”

“I’m thinking,” you admit with a sigh.

“Sounds intense, what’s up?”

Another deep breath escapes you. “So… remember the whole secret admirer thing?”

“Uh huh.”

“They left flowers on my doorstep a few days ago too, and Doyoung actually pulled me aside to ask me about it- he was worried I’m being harassed, and it just makes me think about, you know, being a young woman in a new city and my safety…”

You trail off and Johnny takes the opportunity to empathize, softly telling you, “Being anxious about this sort of thing is reasonable given the circumstances.” 

“It’s not that I think Jaehyun or Hyuck would ever overstep-”

“Well, they left notes, and you didn’t respond, so they left flowers, it’s not exactly a sign that they’re going to back off.”

“I guess that’s true,” you admit.

“Anyways, you were saying, about Doyoung?” 

You love how Johnny can get you back on track, and you take another deep breath to steady yourself. “I saw Jaehyun and Hyuck in the elevator today, and they both walked me to my door which was super awkward, and I guess I pretty much ended up telling them both that I needed space. Part of me wasn’t sure if I should tell you any of this, I know you’re tired after work a long day, but I guess I want to be transparent with you about everything.”

The line is quiet for a moment, and when Johnny speaks, you can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “I appreciate you bringing it up,” he starts. “If I’m being honest, I’m a little shocked you didn’t accept either of their offers to get drinks.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, I thought I’d made it clear that I’d understand if you did-”

“Just because you’d understand it doesn’t mean I was going to do it,” you tell him.

Johnny chuckles. “I suppose that’s true. I just, I don’t know, you don’t owe me anything- and maybe you’re just not interested in either of them, but I hope you didn’t say no to them to… spare my feelings or something?”

“Well… are your feelings spared?” 

Another laugh escapes him. “I just mean to say, this wouldn’t be the first time a girl thought she could do long distance, only to get a better option in town and jump ship.”

“Maybe I’m not like the other girls you’ve dated,” you tell him.

“It’s starting to feel like you’re not.” You can hear the fondness in his voice, and it makes your heart race faster in your chest. 

“When I get one man in my head, I can’t think about another. I’m not the type to jump ship,” you explain. “You’ve given me no reason to.”

“Except the distance,” he muses.

“Even with the distance, you’ve been attentive every day, and I’ve really appreciated that. You know, some guys will live in the same city as you, take you on one date, then not talk to you for five days- you and I did two dates back to back, and we’ve been talking consistently ever since.”

“Like I said, I didn’t want you to feel like an afterthought.”

“And I don’t want you to feel like just an option.” 

The line is quiet for a moment, then Johnny laughs. “There you go, being dangerous again.”

“If being genuine is dangerous, then I’m the most dangerous woman you’ll ever meet, Johnny.”

“I work on a rig, 304, I happen to like danger.” 

Thirteen:

You’re drinking wine with Jungwoo in your livingroom when your phone dings, and a smile spreads across your face when you see it’s a text from Johnny.

“One second,” you tell him, putting down your wine to respond to your blue collar man.

“Johnny?” Jungwoo grins knowingly.

“Yup, he’s just telling me he’s off work, but now it’s a two hour drive back to the camp.”

“So our girls’ night is over in two hours, got it,” Jungwoo jokes, except, is it really a joke if it’s true?

You can only laugh, shaking your head and setting your phone down again.

“You like him,” Jungwoo notes. “You like him a lot.” 

“I do,” you confess.

“You told Jaehyun and Hyuck off because of him,” your friend continues.

“Uh huh.” You take a sip of your wine, trying to ignore the knowing expression on Jungwoo’s face.

“So… has it gotten sexual yet? You know, asking for snaps of your tits-”

“Jungwoo!” you squeal, nearly spilling your wine as you go to gently smack his arm.

“What!? It’s a valid question!”

“No! It’s not sexual yet! I mean… I think we both have those feelings, but right now… we’re just, getting to know each other.”

“And when he’s home?” Jungwoo cocks a brow and you giggle even more.

“When he’s home…” you lower your voice, “I’m going to climb that man like a tree.”

“I knew it!” Jungwoo cheers. “Team Johnny!”

You clink your glasses in agreement, waiting for Jungwoo to settle down a little. He’s way too invested in your love life, but you kind of adore it. 

“You know…” Jungwoo trails off, “some rig guys do mostly winters, then come back for the summer and will take a couple of months off. I remember seeing Johnny more frequently last August.”

“He mentioned that,” you admit. 

“Did he say if he plans to do that this year? It’s almost March, so that’s April, May, maybe June… three or four more stints up there until a possible summer of love?”

You laugh at his choice of words, but your heart races at the notion of getting to spend your whole summer with Johnny, of a relationship of normalcy. 

“I’ll have to talk to him about it,” you decide.

“Maybe send some sexy snaps to tempt him, or talk about it once he’s home and you’ve sucked that dick, you know, incentives.”

“You’re so bad,” you giggle.

“I’m a hit of realism, which is what you need after living a fantasy for a month with three men fighting over you.”

You let out a sigh. “I suppose you might be right about that.”

Fourteen:

“How was your day?” you ask, practically kicking your feet now that you get to talk to Johnny.

“Long,” he laughs. “You?”

“It was good, hung out with Jungwoo for a bit, had some wine.”

“I can hear it in your voice, 304, you always get extra cute when you’ve been drinking your wine.”

“Do I?” 

“See? I can just imagine you kicking your feet right now.”

God, he knows you so well already- but you suppose that’s what happens when you talk to someone for hours every day. 

“And now you probably stopped kicking your feet because you’re embarrassed,” he continues.

“You’re a psychic,” you declare.

“Sure I am.”

You take a breath. “There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“So… you mentioned that sometimes you have the summer off, and I guess, since it’s almost March, I was just wondering if you’d be around in June or July.”

“I mean, I wasn’t necessarily planning on it, but if that’s something you wanted, I could see what I could make happen.”

You pause, considering your words carefully. “I don’t want to tell you what to do… and, I don’t want you to lose out on money for me, especially since we just started dating, if you even call this dating- but, at the same time, I think, long term, it would be easier to manage you going away for six or more months if I knew you’d be back for at least part of the summer.”

“I do call this dating,” Johnny tells you. “So I’ll see what I can do about it.”

“I also wanted to know when you’re flight back is, I was thinking I could come grab you from the airport.” 

Johnny chuckles. “I’ll send you the information, 304.” 

Fifteen:

You’re waiting outside your car when you see Johnny coming out of the airport, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore. You run to him, throwing yourself into his arms.

Johnny chuckles, dropping his duffle to pull you closer, even going so far as to lift you off the ground, releasing a groan as he does so.

Fuck, he feels so good, and big, and warm-

When he sets you down, you throw inhibition out the window, grabbing the back of his neck to pull his lips down to your own.

He smiles into the kiss, his palm flattening against the small of your back, his mouth moving in harmony with your own. You kiss him deeply, pouring in all the emotion of having missed him for weeks- 

It’s you who breaks the kiss, panting and looking up at him. “Let’s get you home,” you state. 

“Whatever you say, 304.”

The drive back to the apartment complex is a blur, you’re so distracted by Johnny that you’re surprised you even make it back in one piece. The elevator ride is quiet, filled with tension, and you can practically feel happiness radiating off of both of you.

“Wanna come to mine?” Johnny suggests. “I need to have a quick shower, unpack a little.”

“Okay,” you nod, excited as you follow Johnny to his place.

He lets you in first, and you eagerly eat up what’s in front of you, looking for details of the decor that might help you know this man even better.

However, you find that his apartment is sparsely decorated, with bare necessities, a minimalist look, which you suppose makes sense given the fact that he’s hardly here.

“Your place is nicer,” Johnny muses as he kicks off his shoes. 

“It’s just more furnished,” you laugh, not minding the lack of items.

“My bedroom is this way,” Johnny explains, heading into it while you follow slowly. He throws his bag on the floor next to his bed before turning to you. “I’m going to wash up a bit, then we can do whatever you want… or, I mean, you could always join me in the shower if that works better.”

He winks at you, and it’s very playful. You can only laugh, shaking your head and feeling your skin flush with heat as you look at the ground.

“I’ll be here,” you tell him, but when he disappears into the bathroom, you find your heart is still racing.

Should you go in the shower with him? 

He had offered for you to join…

Can you be a bit more patient?

No. You can’t. As you stand in his bedroom, you begin to undress, hyping yourself up for the moment that you’ve been waiting for.

After a deep breath, you knock gently on the door to his bathroom.

“Come in!” he calls over the sound of water spray, and you peek your head into the enclosed space. 

The room is full of steam, and the glassy walls of the shower are fogged up, but you can see the outline of Johnny’s body and it has you drooling.

You slip inside, closing the door behind you before making your way to the shower.

“Can I join you?” you ask, giving him one last opportunity to decide if this was a bad idea-

“Get in here.” Johnny opens the shower door, grabs your arm and tugs you inside with him. You blink against the mist, looking up at the large man who’s currently blocking the spray of water from hitting you. “Didn’t think you’d actually join,” he muses with a grin.

“Me neither,” you admit.

Johnny strokes your arm, fingers trailing up so he can cup your face. His thumb brushes by your cheekbone and you lean into his warm touch, releasing a moan. 

“Do you want to do this here, or would you rather we wait till I can get you onto my bed?” he asks.

“Here,” you tell him. “I’m tired of waiting.”

“Didn’t take you as the impatient type,” Johnny chuckles.

“I’ve been patient, for weeks,” you laugh.

“I guess that’s true, let’s fix that.” The tall man leans down, pressing his lips to your own. You immediately wrap your arms around his strong, wet shoulders, pressing your chests together as the kiss deepens. 

You can feel your nipples hardening against him, and his hands move to grab at your hips, pulling you even tighter to his body.

Something is beginning to press against your abdomen, and you love that you’re getting him hard already, that he’s as into you as you are into him. 

His palm slips down, and he grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing deliciously. You break the kiss to throw your head back, eyes closed as you enjoy the sensation of him.

“You know the only bad thing about shower sex?” Johnny asks, lips hot against your throat now. “Water isn’t lube, so I guess you’re going to have to be a good girl for me and wait just a little longer while I get you nice and wet for me.”

“I’m already wet,” you insist.

Johnny only chuckles, squeezing your ass harder as he licks at the sweet spot on your throat. “Let me enjoy this, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

“Really?” you groan. “I never would have noticed, you’re always so PG.”

“I’m not going to be PG anymore.”

“Thank god!” A shiver runs through your body at the idea of what ‘rated R Johnny’ is going to look like- and as he pushes his thigh up between your own, you’re so grateful that you no longer have to wonder, you’re about to find out exactly how dirty this blue collar man can get.

Johnny laughs again, but as he laughs, he pushes his thigh up even higher, making contact with your clit.

“Fuck, I haven’t been touched in so long,” you whimper, immediately grinding down against him.

“Well, you deserve this, you’ve been a very patient, very good girl for me.” 

“I have been,” you nod, rubbing your clit harder against his large, muscled thigh.

“Had options, but you stayed loyal, even when you didn’t have to.” Johnny’s still kissing your throat, and he nuzzles up against your ear, biting your lobe gently. “I feel like those choices have earned you many rewards.”

His words are something like praise- appreciation almost, and you’re thankful that he’s taken into account the fact that you’ve made important decisions to put this blooming relationship first, even when - as Jungwoo said - you had no actual defined loyalty keeping you tied to this tall man.

“I just like you a lot,” you moan, feeling overwhelmed with the possibilities of a relationship with this man- a man who has communicated that he’s interested in something long term, which is such a stark contrast to most of the men you deal with these days.

God, to have hope for a man again- it’s such a foreign feeling.

“I like you too, 304.”

“Johnny,” you groan, “call me something else.”

“I think 304 is cute,” he grins against your throat.

“Please?”

“Okay, baby, I’ll call you anything you want,” Johnny promises, adjusting his grip on you so he can trail his hand up your torso, putting a slight distance between your bodies now so he can cup your breast. His thumb rubs over your hard nipple and you whimper, grinding harder against his thigh. “You are a baby, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“I could also see you as a bit of a princess,” he muses, pinching your nipple and making you gasp loudly. “Adorable little pretty princess baby.”

He might be overdoing it with the pet names, but you can’t even bring yourself to care- in fact, this overt cheesiness is doing something to you, making your pussy throb as you grind against his wet skin.

“That’s it,” Johnny groans, “I kind of want to watch you get off on my thigh.”

“Yeah?” You swallow thickly, reaching for his hard cock. You’re a little taken aback by how large he is, but you guess you shouldn’t be all that surprised. You’ve been shy so far, not even taking so much as a peek at what you’re going to be working with- and maybe that had been a mistake. You’d been so sure of yourself earlier when you’d told Johnny you could take him without prep, and now you’re realizing how wrong you had been.

A deep moan escapes Johnny as you begin to stroke him, and he rolls your nipple between his fingers, making you cry out- only for his hand to move away, along with his thigh.

You want to protest- only for two digits to press between your pussy lips, teasing your entrance but not pushing in- just playing, toying, moving up to your clit then back down.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

“You definitely feel wet,” Johnny muses.

“So finger fuck me?” you suggest, applying more pressure to his cock as you stroke him off.

“Hmm?” He circles your clit teasingly, being so gentle that your body is already practically begging for more.

“Please finger fuck me?” you ask, your free hand now clutching his forearm in desperation.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Johnny cups the back of your head, pulling your lips to his as his fingers enter your hot core for the first time.

Fuck, his fingers alone are enough to stretch you out and it feels absolutely delightful. 

He starts slow, testing the waters as his digits explore your inner walls gently, but as the kiss deepens so do his motions.

You’re absolutely lost in him, whimpering and moaning- your hips even begin to move, eagerly seeking out stimulus that he grants when his palm presses flat to your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, holding his strong, veiny forearm even tighter.

“Feels good?” he asks, looking down at you with lust filled eyes.

“Feels so good,” you nod, fighting the urge to just close your eyes and enjoy it, while also wanting to stare up at this gorgeous man who is watching you with clear interest.

You take a shuddery breath, trying to focus on stroking his cock, but he makes it more difficult when he crooks his fingers up, hitting that sweet spongy spot inside of you that has your legs shaking.

“Are you going to be able to stand through all of this?” Johnny chuckles. “That’s the other bad thing about shower sex, it’s a slipping risk.”

“I think I can do it,” you insist, not wanting him to stop his motions for even one moment.

“Just hold onto me tightly okay, but if you start to fall, uh… don’t pull my dick off.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, and Johnny joins you with a chuckle of his own.

This feels so natural, so safe- the fact that you’re both giggling during your first sexual experience together is a great sign, and it makes you relax a little more, which only adds to the pleasure that’s starting to throb out from your core.

“You close?” Johnny asks, sensing the shift in your attention.

“Too close,” you nod, swallowing thickly in an effort to control yourself.

“Want you to cum on my fingers,” he tells you. “You can do that for me, right princess?”

“Uh huh.” Your mind is becoming clouded by lust, and it’s making it harder for you to respond to him-

His fingers are moving fast now, pistoning in and out of you with just the right amount of pressure, his palm stimulating your clit in a way that’s just enough-

You’re getting closer and closer to the edge and you don’t feel like slowing down. 

Your eyes close, your breathing becoming haggard as your muscles tighten with anticipation-

“Cum on my fingers, baby,” Johnny groans. “Wanna feel it.” 

With that, you explode, unable to contain yourself anymore as his filthy words vibrate through your entire being like a mantra. The pleasure is intense, your core clamping down on his digits, body throbbing deliciously as you give yourself over to the feeling of it.

Your legs are weak, and you grab Johnny’s forearm tighter, digging your nails against his skin.

It’s the kind of ecstasy that you never want to end, and it’s clear that Johnny’s not going to be the one to pull the rug out from under you. He keeps you steady, working you through your high until your legs are physically shaking.

Only once he’s sure you’re finished does Johnny pull his hand away.

You open your eyes to watch him slip his fingers into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you, and an echo of pleasure throbs through your pussy again.

“You’re so pretty when you cum,” Johnny tells you.

“Want you inside of me, now,” you respond.

“Hmmm… not yet.”

“What?” 

“You almost just fell over, I don’t think this is the safest place to do this,” Johnny laughs. “Come on, let's get out of the shower, dry off, and I’ll take you to my bed, like I’d planned.”

“Is it really that bad to fuck me here?” you whine.

“One, I don’t want you to slip, and two, I don’t want our first time to be here, you deserve a proper bed, so I can cuddle you after.” 

“You’re such a romantic,” you tease, but your heart swells at the notion of a man actually taking care of you.

“You love it,” Johnny insists.

He reaches behind himself, turning off the spray of water, then, he helps you out of the enclosed space. “Here,” Johnny passes you a towel, quickly patting himself down with his own before wrapping it around his waist, then he begins to help dry you off.

“I can do this part,” you assure him.

“I want to take care of you,” Johnny muses as his palms massage your breasts through the towel, making sure they’re extra dry.

“I think you just want to touch my tits again,” you grin.

“That too,” Johnny laughs.

“Predictable,” you toy.

“You think so?”

“Uh huh.”

In one quick motion, Johnny grabs you by the hips and lifts you onto the washroom countertop, tearing the towel away and discarding it haphazardly as he sinks to his knees.

“I think I’m going to make you cum on my tongue before I fuck you, you know, to prove how predictable I am.”

You don’t even have a moment to argue, Johnny pushes your thighs open, pulls you to the edge of the counter, and dives into your core with his tongue. 

You immediately latch onto his damp hair, throwing your head back as his mouth begins to work your pussy. You’re still sensitive from having just cum, and the sensation of his lips now wrapping around your clit has your muscles clenching with pleasure already. 

“Fuck-” you whimper, loving the way Johnny’s fingers are digging into your thighs, holding you open for a tongue that has a mind of its own.

You especially adore how messy he’s being. There are no kitten licks, no hesitancies, just a full-on lust fuelled ravaging of your core- nothing in your life has ever felt this fucking good.

You tug on Johnny’s hair roughly, but he’s unrelenting, in fact, you think he kind of likes the inkling of pain because he groans against your clit, licking at you sloppily while his nose bumps your sensitive bud over and over.

For a man who doesn’t do one night stands very often, he definitely knows his way around a pussy.

“Shit,” you moan, louder this time, your muscles tightening more and more-

You’re not used to men behaving this way with you, worshiping your body and putting your pleasure first. To have two back to back orgasms before he’s even taken anything for himself? Unheard of.

You can tell he wants you to cum, can tell that he’s eager for it, and the wet licks of his tongue against your sensitive pussy are ensuring that his preferred outcome happens sooner rather than later.

You give in to the feeling, deciding to relinquish control. If he wants to make you cum fast, then you can cum fast, and all of your attention moves to the feeling of pleasure that’s radiating out from your core.

Your abdominal muscles are tightening deliciously, and you begin to buck your hips a little, trying to ride his tongue while you hold him tight to your pussy by his hair.

Johnny groans again and the vibration of it sends a shiver of delight through your entire body.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-” You swallow thickly, brows furrowing with effort as you latch onto that feeling of euphoria, unwilling to let it drift away- “just like that, just like that-”

He sucks lewdly on your clit, flicking it with his tongue, and that’s all you need to explode, your pussy clamping down hard on nothing, squeezing and squelching sinfully. 

You’re gasping loudly, moaning like a whore as your orgasm washes over you in waves- and like your first high, Johnny is just as unrelenting with this one.

He doesn’t pull away, and with so much attention focused on your throbbing clit, it’s almost too much for you to handle.

You begin to push at Johnny’s head, but he’s like a brick wall, unmoving and diligent in his task.

“Oh my god-” your voice is raising with effort, raising with the euphoria that’s threatening to overwhelm you completely. “Johnny- too much-”

This time, he allows you to push him away, and you sink back down against the countertop, chest heaving with effort. Your legs twitch with aftershocks from your orgasm, and you can’t even bring yourself to open your eyes yet, still lost in the ecstasy he’d just provided.

“You okay, princess?” Johnny asks, and you can sense him rising to his feet, his eyes inspecting you.

“Overstimulated,” you admit, another shock washing through you and making you jolt.

“I got side tracked,” Johnny admits, and you peer out at him from under hooded lids to see him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s okay, it was just a lot,” you assure him, reaching out to gently stroke his forearm. 

“Come on,” Johnny coaxes, lifting you off the sink so he can carry you to his room, “let’s give you a breather.”

He lays you gently onto his mattress, moving the blankets so you can get under the warm duvet.

The sheets smell like him, a manly pine scent, and it makes you groan, burying your face against the pillows while your brain tries to reaclimatize after a mind shattering orgasm.

Johnny joins you, and you instinctively cuddle close to his chest, delighted by the way his large arms wrap around you to hold you close.

“Just give me a sec,” you whisper, but even as the words leave your lips, your hand snakes down to his cock, and you gently wrap your fingers around the thick length.

Johnny chuckles. “Part of me thought you’d be too tired to actually fuck now.”

“Never,” you tell him, although you’re so exhausted from two extreme orgasms that there’s little conviction in the tone of your voice. 

“Take your time,” Johnny assures you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head while you languidly stroke his large cock. Unlike in the shower, however, there’s no lubrication of any kind, and soon, you tire of it.

“Okay,” you tell him, sitting up, “I can ride you.”

“Are you sure you want to be on top?” he blinks in shock. 

“Just to start, just to get used to your size,” you assure him.

“Whatever you want, princess.”

You swing your leg over Johnny’s hips, straddling him, and his hands find your waist. 

“Actually, let me grab some lube,” he says, sitting up abruptly. The muscles in his abdomen ripple under the skin, and you’re taken aback by just how beautiful this man is even as he’s reaching for his bedside table.

He pulls out a green bottle, squirting some of the gell into his palm before he grabs his cock.

You kind of love the view of his large hand on his massive cock, stroking up and down-

“Like what you see?” he laughs.

“You’re just so perfect,” you muse.

“That makes two of us I guess,” Johnny grins. “Okay, whenever you’re ready.”

He’s all lathered up now, and you grab the base of his cock, guiding yourself down on the tip. 

As you sink down even an inch, you groan at the stretch.

He’s covered in lube, and you’re definitely more than lubricated from two orgasms, but fuck- having not had sex in ages only to take the biggest cock of your life is definitely an adjustment for your tight pussy.

“Take it slow,” he assures you, tightening his grip on your hips to keep you steady as you gently sink down further on his cock.

“I’m good, you’re just so big,” you whimper.

Johnny only chuckles at your words, his eyes fixed on the meeting of your bodies.

“Not sure I can take it all like this,” you admit.

“I’ve heard that when a girl is on top, things feel deeper,” Johnny muses. “Don’t feel like you have to take it all right now, we can work up to that.”

“Okay,” you nod, “I’m going to bounce a bit.”

“Works for me, princess.”

You close your eyes, leaning over him and placing your hands firmly on his chest as an anchor as you begin to move up and down. The feeling of his massive cock against your inner walls has your body singing with pleasure already, and you begin to moan.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, his fingers digging into your hips. “Feels good.”

“So good,” you agree with another whimper.

One of Johnny’s hands moves from your hip to your breast, and he begins to massage the sensitive flesh as you ride him gently. The sensation of him tweaking your nipple has you groaning, your pussy clenching incredibly tight around him, which makes both of you cry out desperately.

“Fuck, let me know when you want me to take over,” Johnny tells you, and you get the sense that you might be killing him a little with the slowness of your pace. His hips twitch, and you suspect that he’s doing everything in his power not to madly thrust up into you, which is something you appreciate greatly.

You ride him for a little while longer, and then you give up, legs burning with effort already. “Okay, okay, you can top now.”

You pull off of his cock, and Johnny helps you roll down onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress.

Instead of just getting on top of you, however, he stays on his side and leans over you, pressing his lips to yours while his hand continues to massage your breast.

You groan against his lips, threading your fingers through his hair desperately as his tongue invades your mouth.

He kisses you until you’re breathless, until your pussy is pulsing with desire, only then does he get between your legs, bringing the head of his cock to your awaiting hole.

“If you ever need me to slow down, or be less rough, or anything, just let me know,” he tells you, swallowing thickly as he gazes at your body.

“Just do it, Johnny,” you assure him, stroking his forearm. “Please.”

You watch his adam’s apple bob with effort again, and he slowly pushes the head of his cock into your wet hole, making you cry out. You grip his arm tighter, closing your eyes to enjoy the stretching sensation.

He sinks into you, inch by inch, gently thrusting to get you used to the intrusion.

When he’s almost fully inside of you, Johnny leans over your body, his elbows making contact with the bed on either side of your head so he can be in something of a plank position overtop of you.

You can feel his breath on your face, and you open your eyes to look up at him, your hand moving to cup his cheek while your legs wrap loosely around his waist.

“You can fuck me now,” you tease, grinning at how slow and gentle he’s been up until this point. “Please.” 

Johnny presses his lips to yours, and just like that, he begins to move.

Each thrust is unbound pleasure, his hips moving fluidly as he gradually increases his pace. His long cock hits deep spots inside of you that have you crying out, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders while your tongues battle for dominance in the most heated kiss of your life.

He’s moaning too, and it sounds so good- making your pussy even wetter as he decimates it perfectly.

You love the feeling of his large body pressing down against your own, his hard muscles are delightful under your touch when you skim your hand along his shoulders.

He’s steadily increasing the power behind each thrust, and now, the bed is beginning to rock with his movements, delighting you even more.

How can this man have so much raw power, but still be so gentle and careful when it matters most?

You might be a little obsessed with him, but as his massive cock hits your g-spot, you suppose it’s no wonder your feelings are growing at a rapid pace.

He has you cock drunk, in a way that you’ve never experienced in the entirety of your life, and you kind of love it.

“Shit,” Johnny cusses, breaking your kiss so he can press his mouth to your throat. “I never- never asked about protection.”

“I’m covered,” you assure him.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly. “You can cum inside me.”

A deep groan escapes Johnny, and it vibrates through where your chests are pressed together.

“Don’t want to cum like this,” Johnny tells you, “it’s too soon.”

He pulls away, and you whimper when his cock leaves your wet hole. But then Johnny is manhandling you into doggy position, and you let out a moan of pleasure, arching your back and resting your head against the bed.

“You look good like this too,” Johnny muses as he pushes his cock back into you, his hands grabbing your hips roughly. “Always look so good.”

His praise is doing something to you, encouraging you enough to make you begin to move as well, doing your best to match his pace and push back against him with each thrust.

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, and your moans mingle in the air together.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, railing into you even harder. “So fucking tight-”

“I’m close,” you assure him, “just let me-” you slip your hand between your thighs, fingers seeking out your sensitive clit. The moment you make contact, you feel your pussy contract around Johnny’s cock, and it makes you both moan loudly.

“Yeah, want you to cum with me,” Johnny tells you. “Want us to cum together.”

You don’t respond, too focused on your task as you begin to draw small circles around the sensitive bud.

God, nothing has ever felt this good, to be so completely full, while your clit is receiving attention at the same time-

The tension is quickly building in the pit of your stomach, and it’s clear to both of you that you’re rapidly approaching the edge-

“Here,” Johnny’s voice distracts you, and all of the sudden he’s hauling you onto your knees, pinning your back to his chest with an arm braced across your breasts, one hand cupping your boob like a seatbelt. You can feel his breath on your throat, and you quickly turn your head, seeking out his lips with your own.

His free hand pushes yours aside from your clit, applying even more pressure to your sensitive bud as he fucks into you erratically.

God, you feel him absolutely everywhere. You feel like a doll, suspended in time and space while this absolute unit of a man gives you all of the pleasure you could ever ask for, pulling at your strings like an expert.

He’s groaning more deeply- and with one more rough circle of your clit, you feel yourself come undone. You gasp against his lips, core clamping down on his cock-

A strangled sound escapes Johnny, his thrusts becoming even more erratic as he cums with you, coating your throbbing insides with his cum as you both fall off the edge together.

He’s clinging to you in a way a man has never clung to you, and you’re kissing him as if he’s the air you need to breathe. In this moment, it’s only you and him and this feeling of euphoria that you never want to give up.

He fucks you through your high until you’re both a panting mess, and then, he helps you back onto the bed, taking a deep breath.

“I’m going to go get some tissues,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You can only moan happily, inhaling the scent of pine as you cuddle against his pillow.

Johnny returns shortly, and he hands you some tissues to wipe his cum from your core.

“Should we take another shower or something?” Johnny asks, laughing a little at how messy you both are.

“Cuddles first,” you tell him.

Johnny grins, joining you on his bed, his strong arms immediately wrapping around you. “Cuddles first,” he agrees.

You both take deep breaths, and as your body begins to calm down while pressed against his, you know you made the right choice of man in this fucked up, love island-esque apartment complex that you now call home.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This was way longer than I intended, which is why it took a minute to be posted, but I hope it was worth the wait!

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview.  In the summer, Johnny’s not just a blue collar rig man, he’s a dude with friends, tanned skin from his obsession with the sun, and a taste for margaritas while sitting on boats between water skiing stints.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, use of toys, vibrator, nipple clamps, overstimulation, breast worship, use of lube, inklings of pain kink, hand job, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, etc…   I petnames. (hers) princess

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.8k I teaser wc. 100

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

People sometimes talk about a specific summer in their life being ‘the summer of dreams,’ and you never quite understood what could make one stretch of months so significant- but now, living life with Johnny by your side every day, it makes total sense.

In the few months you’ve been dating, he’s done his best to introduce you to friends, but with such a short time in town, it was always difficult to juggle friends, family, and your growing relationship.

Now that it’s summer, you get to see how Johnny is when he’s just being himself.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.8k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

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As I was short on time this month and unable to do a teaser, here's another shout out to some of my favourite blogs who interact with my work, I love you guys endlessly

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[lamaery]

 Rhythm of War is the only Tor hardcover version I have of the Stormlight Archive books (the others are the Orion softcovers) ... Wind and Truth now as well, but we don't have Branderson version for that one (YET). Brandon was so awesome and signed this one for me.  As with the others (WoK Part 1 and WoR Part 1) my incredibly partner in fictional romance and crime @priscellie did the text and layout and painted the pictures.

🖤❤️ text on the back of the book ❤️🖤 

“Did you like it?” Raboniel asked her. “I did,” Navani said. “The tones were a terrible cacophony when combined, but somehow beautiful at the same time.” “Like the two of us?” Raboniel asked. “Like the two of us.”

Navani Kholin, Queen of Urithiru, has been underestimated all her life. Haunted by her late husband Gavilar’s disdain, even she has begun to believe her brilliance at engineering is merely the reflected light of her team. It takes an enemy to see her true genius. While her husband Dalinar fights on a distant front, Navani’s home is invaded by an army led by the formidable Raboniel–Lady of Pains, Lady of Wishes–infamous among her contemporaries for her cunning and capacity for genocide. But this ruthless immortal wants Navani for more than her value as a hostage. She proposes a collaboration that could rewrite the rules of their war, and perhaps alter their fundamental understanding of physics itself. To save her people and the heart of the tower city, Navani joins Raboniel in a deadly dance of scholarship, manipulation, and treachery. But she was not expecting to find empathy with her captor, to bond over shared grief, or to find healing and fulfillment in their mutual respect. With the world hanging in the balance, dare Navani hope the harmony between them can be a bridge to peace? Or is it a trap she cannot escape?

(Meanwhile, Wit gives Kaladin relationship advice, and Moash haunts Kaladin’s dreams.)

“The tension is surging in this passionate page-turner. In every thrilling scene, you’ll be longing for Branderson to unite them!” JENNY O’NEILL, SISTERWISE GAMES.

🖤❤️ Praise for Sandra Branderson’s RHYTHM OF WAR❤️🖤

“A cunning and complex game of intellectual cat and mouse. Rhythm of War will steal your gemheart.” Orsinia Scarlett Card

“This sapphic Oppenheimer gives new meaning to ‘Enola Gay’.” Hoban Robb

“Ninety percent of everything is crab!” A. Sturgeon

“Branderson delivers a dark, intoxicating dance of intellect and seduction. Navani and Raboniel’s dynamic will leave you questioning the line between love and obsession. It’s deliciously twisted and impossible to put down.” Jem Baker

“That back blurb is literally just the plot of the original Rhythm of War.” Marie

“Yeah, somehow the original Rhythm of War may still be gayer.” Priscilla

“Oh, I know. I'll turn her into a flea--a harmless, little flea. And then I'll put that flea in a box, and then I'll put that box inside of another box, and then I'll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives, I’ll smash it with a hammer!” Martina George

“This plan is sheer elegance in its simplicity.” Patricia Rothfaux

[utilitycaster]

I've been a pretty harsh critic of Dr. Friedman and Polygon's general Critical Role coverage in the past, and while I think her latest article for them critiquing Campaign 3 is a fairly good one, it does in many ways cast an even harsher light on her kid-gloves handling of D20 and WBN. However, I want to talk about these two excerpts, because I think she hits on something I've increasingly noticed in Actual Play:

"This is where Critical Role’s strength — that Exandria often feels like a real, complex world — collided with the needs of a D&D campaign (a clear adversary, clear plans of action, forward momentum)."

and

"But the confused way D&D handles religion and divinity — polytheism as imagined by midwestern American Protestants — turned the question of how to handle this particular cosmic horror into a glue trap, paralyzing the players for dozens of hours of circular existential debates. Gods once mechanized (or digestible) become just another power bloc, and for players used to a system where in the end you are “basically gods,” the line gets blurrier still. And as D&D’s messy cosmology added friction to much of the campaign, D&D’s mechanics also don’t have the necessary friction for the interpersonal beats that make Critical Role compelling."

I agree with both these statements, as someone who, to be clear, enjoys D&D 5e. D&D supports a range of narratives, but all are ultimately a story of gaining power and fighting off or through a series of adversaries; if your characters are not doing that, it raises the question of why you picked a system that gives you few other options. (This is also, I should note, an increasingly loud question when it comes to Worlds Beyond Number; I fell behind for personal reasons after the Coven arc, but Brennan's initial statements about D&D as scaffolding were perhaps too true; almost every interesting mechanic, in a game with minimal combat that has thus far felt primarily focused on how the three protagonists have fundamentally different adversaries, has been homebrewed, to the point where the cosmology and baggage of D&D has felt like a liability rather than an asset).

D&D also has, in part due to such programs as D20, developed a reputation for being world-agnostic, and that ultimately isn't true. D&D does struggle to make the lines between "real divinity", an archfey or similarly powerful entity, and a L20 character feel sharply defined on a mechanical level; once you give a god a stat block, it can be killed (and on a metanarrative level, revealing the gods' statblocks in Downfall serves to make them both immense, yet also more fragile. The hit points are many, but still finite.) There are a number of questions most D&D worlds simply fail to address - and to be clear, this is not a flaw provided you have buy in. A level 2 warlock in D&D is, in most societies, an one-person lethal force unless the entire town swarms them at once, knowing that many of them will lose their lives in the effort; a level 2 warlock PC, however, is almost never, in-world, treated this way, and indeed is framed as an underdog in a harsh world despite usually having the ability to destroy the entire tavern.

D&D has also developed a (not undeserved) reputation as being The Dominant TTRPG put out by a massive corporation, and has developed a (not deserved) reputation as being itself uniquely problematic as a power fantasy, particularly by people who conveniently forget where Pathfinder came from. I've previously covered that, for all people demand non-D&D actual play, the viewership drops precipitously whenever a big AP show that made its name with D&D dares to branch out, and, related to that, I've seen an uptick in people who are excited for D&D to subvert itself. They wanted Campaign 3 to subvert these norms of divinity and heroic fantasy, cheered for it...and ultimately it was unable to do so. I don't think it's accurate to say that D&D's lack of interpersonal mechanics was the problem here, given that Campaigns 1 and 2 (and again, D20) have no such issue; but rather that since D&D's lack of interpersonal/RP mechanics require more effort from the players to initiate, the debates on the nature of divinity in a world and system that could not sustain them sapped any energy for the late-night watch conversations D&D can support when you're not fighting against it.

I think one of the many lessons we can learn from Critical Role Campaign 3 is that if you go up against D&D with an attempt to destroy it from within, your story will instead find itself conforming to the shape of its container, often to its detriment.

[tallysgreatestfan]

But the scariest thing about it is when women end up spreading the exact same misogynist mindset, but carefully formulated in a way that makes it sound progressive at first glance.

Saw person I rebloged this from already mention her before, rightfully so, but for example someone like withcindy, who very openly has a massive superiority complex over these cringe, immature, stupid hetero booktok smut girlies, to the point of labeling one of her videos "[booktok smut book] makes me wish women didn't have rights" (but totally joking of course, its not misogyny, it is just a joke, can't you take a joke?). But she also learned to frame that as intersectional feminism. Sure, she is so snarky tm over weird euphemisms for penises, but most of the time, she talks about the writing style or the relationship structures or the plot being unfeminist, or there isn't enough progressive meaning in this book meant for quick fun, or something is heteronormative or eurocentric. And she does come across as someone genuinely caring for intersectional feminism since these mocking of booktok cringe isn't the only kind of book reviews she does, but also more literary and more substantial books, too.

That is such an insidious tactic you absolutely need to be aware of. People weaponizing social justice language and their minority status to be misogynist, or bigoted in some other way, and then framing that as activism.

Also doesn't even stops with smut, she also is positively gleeful to sneer about oh so cringe, shallow teen girl movies (always only teen girl movies) and how stupid the teen girls liking these are. In a totally feminist way, of course.

Not even sure if women like that comprehend how bigoted they are and just do it for the quick buck, or genuinely think their behavior is activism.

seeing straight men be disgusted by booktok smut recommenders has actually radicalized me to the side of booktok smut recommenders. girls your taste may be atrocious but i will never disparage you for exposing mainstream discourse to the concept of soaking through your underwear. spent my whole life listening to men talk about penises it’s about time they get jumpscared by women talking about pussy in crude detail on social media. go forth and goon my warriors

[aggieharkness]

A garden of sorrows shall bloom into hope.

Pairing: Joan Ramsey x reader

Summary: love can never be evil. Love should never be cruel or selfish but listen and comfort. Love could never have a form or fit in a mold as it is a feeling so deep that it shapes one's very soul. Love was at Joan's feet and she was cradling it, on her knees.

Warnings: religious trauma, mentions of murder and death, grief, child loss, isolation, buuuuut things get better cause there's fluff

Author's note: I'm sorry it has taken me so long to post this, but I wanted it to be good because it's a Joan story and she's a really complex character. I hope you all like it and I do hope that you can all see it as a Valentine's story. Special shout-out to @bravewithacapitalb for being my Beta Reader when she's got her own thing going. I love you girl. Sorry @delusionalforolderwomen but it's not Libby (don't be mad 🥺) . As always, do tell me how it looks, if you all like it or if there are things I need to change. I accept constructive criticism. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Joan Ramsey but curse the writers for not giving us more scenes with her. If she evil why shaped like such a cutie pie?!

Happy Valentine's!

Words: 12 K (No comment)

A garden of sorrows shall bloom into hope.

Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset. The radio never ceased its incessant pour of songs, most of them speaking of love and romance and futures that held no pain, only promises. Lies, all lies. Joan couldn’t help but scoff as the words went on, a goodbye to a loved one, someone who had meant something and who still held a special place in the singer’s heart, she thought, a foolish message that would fall on deaf ears. Or dead ears. The house was cold, silence creeping around every corner, making the wood creak and whine under its weight, curtains drawn and windows closed, not even a small breeze breaking into the house. She had no one to remember her by, not a soul left in her meaningless life that would hold her at night or sign with her in the kitchen while she cooked, only bitter memories and regret at her actions. The almighty had forsaken her, abandoned her in a vast land of sins and pain that she couldn’t escape from, and in the centre of all that fire and destruction that had become her life, she stood alone.

She laid in bed each night hoping she would not open her eyes the next day, unable to cope with everything that had happened, with the thoughts that she once had had a husband and son that she had loved more than herself and now only smoke was left, swirling in between her fingers, unable to grasp them, unable to fix what was broken. Joan barely ate, what little appetite she had vanishing every time she stepped into the house hoping to hear Luke, to even hear her late husband speaking on the phone to some client or other, only to be met by silence, that deafening noise that seeped into her bones. And today, was no different. She sat at the head of her oak dining table, a glass and bottle of red wine sitting in front of her as the radio played in the background trying to fill up the room with something that wasn’t the brutal sorrow that had overtaken her body. Her hair was piled on the back of her head, held by a black claw clip that dug onto her scalp, her bangs brushing her eyelids each time she blinked, but she showed no sign that it was bothering her, a few short random strands framing her face.

Months had passed since she had lost Luke, since she had let her own madness take him from her, the Devil’s work she had thought back then, and she was no closer to getting over it than the oceans were to drying up. No matter how much she tried to find an excuse, a reason as to why she had done all she had she could not, and it frightened her how lost she was, how little the scriptures she had once held onto as if they were oxygen to her meant to her now, only words in a worn book that brought no comfort. When had she stopped walking the path of the Lord? She had been His humble servant, and he had only put stones on her path that as the years went by, she had more trouble climbing, winning each trial he set before her with more difficulty each time. Had he been testing her faith all along or had he never cared for her? She was one of his children, and he cared for all of them equally and yet she felt… alone. Even when she had first gotten married she had felt alone, sitting in an empty house waiting for her beloved to walk through the front door to a warm delicious dinner and the sweetest, loving smile she could muster on her face. He had never truly seen her, pushing her aside without her noticing, or perhaps she had been aware, and she had been far too terrified of being left behind that she had let him.

The wine in her glass was sweet, her favourite kind, and it tinted her rosy lips as she took a sip, but as it slid down her throat it became sour, bitter on her tongue. Nothing tasted right anymore, the air around her didn’t smell as fresh as it once had, dusty, perhaps even musky and it clashed with the aroma of her perfume and shampoo, vanilla and sandalwood, in a nauseating manner that didn’t help her empty stomach. The song had ended a while ago, something different playing, raking in her ears like nails on a board, but she had no desire to stand and turn it off. She could not face the silence once more, it was poisoning her, killing her as the minutes passed by, the clock on the wall ticking in a perfect rhythm. So I'll dance with your ghost in the living room and I'll play the piano alone. What ghosts? The ones that she had caused or the ones that haunted her every second of every day? Could your eyes be considered a ghost? She had seen you arrive a few months ago, shortly after the incident with Luke, and as Joan’s big brown eyes had settled on your form, through the living room window, she could not help but admire the agility and grace with which you moved. It was a change from the way the girls in that school flaunted themselves, and in her heart, she felt a pang of sadness imagining how different you would be in only a few weeks. Probably condescending and with an air of superiority taught to you by Fiona, losing everything that made you so unique. She was proven wrong.

You had been warned about Joan, told about what she had done and how you were supposed to steer clear of her, but you didn’t. It had taken you several days to warm up to the idea of knocking on her door, a tray of homemade cookies in your hands, hoping your new housemates and teachers wouldn’t give you detention for breaking their rules, but there was something inside you that was curious, drawn to this unknown woman everyone seemed to hate. There were questions no one had ever bothered to ask to get the whole picture, and you intended to gather your own information and form your own opinions about her before you condemned her, after all she was nothing but a name to you. The instant the doors had opened your mind erased all preconceived ideas. She was beautiful, her perfectly straight hair framing a face of prominent cheeks and plump lips, a most exquisite pink hue tainting her skin, her features unique and utterly breathtaking. She had observed you quietly for a moment or two, curiosity glazing her eyes and she had not expected anyone to come knocking on her door, much less you, the new girl, but she could not say, not even now, that she was displeased by having another human being speak with her.

And it had taken her completely by surprise just how kind you were, how softly you spoke to her, and how unbothered you seemed to be by what she had done. Perhaps you hadn’t known? No, she had seen the hesitation at first in those beautiful eyes of yours, the way you held yourself at a prudent distance as if she could cause you harm, but when she had greeted you, Joan’s voice hoarse from not having spoken a single word in days those doubts had melted into nothing, ice under the sun. Of course, she was aware of what you were, of the power you held within you, and she had been wary of what you might do to her if you changed your mind about how you felt about her in the middle of the conversation, but that never happened, not for an instant did your interest sway from her and only her, no past tainting your ever-growing opinions. After she took the plate of cookies, a quiet thank you slipping from her rosy lips, the aroma of chocolate and sugar making her mouth water, your semblance took on a more sombre aura and with the utmost respect words of sympathy left your mouth, falling of the tip of your tongue like rain on a desert. And for the first time she felt as if someone actually cared about her pain, as if someone who could see her grief and sorrow and not just the actions that had unleashed it all. Tears had gathered in her eyes at that, only managing a nod as a lump formed in her throat preventing her from speaking, barely hanging on by a thread, and thankfully you understood. As you turned around to leave, your hand brushed over Joan’s wilting roses and like magic they blossomed once again, soft pink petals gleaming under the warm sunlight.

That first time she saw you haunted her to this day, the way your hair shone under the golden light of the full sun, how your flowy dress swayed in lazy waves around your legs in the warm breeze, the way your eyes had instantly bewitched her with their honesty and their caring gaze. You had known nothing but horrible things about her and yet you had had the courage of meeting her and treating her with kindness. She hadn’t known such a feeling since she was a young girl, not even her church acquaintances had bothered to show her an ounce of mercy and care when everything had unfolded before her, when hell had broken loose in her life. If God was supposed to love her, why had he closed his eyes at her pleas and let her wander into a dark path that had no exit? Each day became unbearable, long, dragging out until her tired body could not remain awake a moment longer even if all she had done was sit in her living room and let her guilt pushed her to the ground and stomp on her. The only moments of joy she lived were when you made it your own personal mission to get her to walk out onto the porch of the garden, her dressed hugging her frame looser every time you saw her, her skin losing that healthy glow that had adorned her that first time. It broke your heart just how everyone had cast her aside without asking why. Things were so much more complicated that she let on, you could sense it, but you never pushed her into spilling her secrets to you, highly doubting she had faced those terrors since they had happened.

You were indeed the only ghost she ever wanted in her life, floating through the halls of her house and whispering her name in her ear as soon as the sun set on the horizon, her bedroom bathed in the cool like of a full moon. But she had pushed you away, like the coward she was, afraid of what was blossoming in between the cracks of her broken heart, shards of red glass spread inside her chest. She had never thought anyone would be able to pick them up and put them together again, that someone who take an interest in a lost woman like herself, and as you had held her hand for the first time a week ago Joan had crumbled like a house of cards. She had melted into your touch, your smile lighting up the entire city as you pulled her out of her house and down the street, laughing and talking a thousand miles per minute about nothing and everything. She had listened to your every word, the sound of your voice a balm for her wounds as she let you to take her to the ends of the world, but when she had realised what was happening, that she had fallen for you she had pulled her hand from yours, forcing you to halt your steps and turn to her with a confused look on your face. Had you said or done something wrong? Why did she seem so upset all of a sudden? Without a word she had taken a step back from you, horror painting her features before she had run back to her house. She had refused to turn back as you called out her name, each time with a more pained tone, because if she had she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have kissed you right there on the street, and she couldn’t be in love with someone like you.

What a joke it was now to think she had been so terrified of having something with you when the “Good book” was nothing more than a paper weight on her dining table. Verses about love sounded empty, just as hollow as was the void in her chest, the accusatory sermons she had heard over the years about what was supposed to be a happy marriage, how love should feel and look nothing more than poppycock as they echoed in her mind. I'm so scared that the moments we shared won't happen again. I don't want this to end. The radio had changed yet again, and it seemed to Joan as if it was connected to her, expressing what she could not bring herself to voice, terrified that if she opened up her heart all those verses that had been carved into her very being would crush her, punish her for not being who she was taught to be. But how could she carry on lying to herself? The Joan that had been blinded by God’s words had done things that should have made you run away, and yet you stayed, came back to her whenever she needed you without expecting anything but a smile in return. The Joan that now sat all alone in her big empty house, filled with demons brought by her own hand, could feel nothing knowing that the only chance at redeeming herself had been right there, in the palm of her hand and she had run away from it. You could have been the star that made her retrace her steps to the beginning of the road.

Like a leaf that falls from a tree, the cold breeze of winter making it sway from side to side, its broken edges slicing through the air, a single tear fell from her eyes, the crystal drop sliding down her cheek. It fell on her lap, sour and full of regret, and the once delicious wine tasted like a vile concoction the instant it touched her lips, but she forced herself to drink as if it could numb the pain of her past while her soft eyes stared at her bleak future, clouds only getting darker. No, it wasn’t God who punishing her, it was obvious he didn’t care enough about her to even do so, she was flagellating herself as if that could make the blood she had on her hands vanish, refusing to let anyone love her, crushing her own feelings as if she didn’t have the right to find happiness once again. She who is without sin, cast the first stone. The words stung her skin, fingers gripping the glass harder to the point where her knuckles turned white, the thin crystal cup threatening to shatter and splash wine and shards everywhere, but she didn’t stop. She could never pick up said stone, she could never throw it unless it was at herself, because she had done nothing but commit sin after sin thinking that they were justified, that she was being a good Christian woman when in truth she had strayed from the path long ago. Who was she following now? The Church? The Devil? Perhaps there was no one on the other side of those empty words preached every Sunday. Ain't it funny how time shows you, you know nothing.

The song finished, leaving a few seconds of complete silence to fill up the room, the flames of a few candles Joan had lit an hour ago or so the only source of light, casting wavy shadows onto the wood. When had everything gone wrong? With a silly voice the person doing the program on the radio spoke about the playlist they had ready for the next forty-five minutes, every song a message of love for everyone who celebrated this special holiday. Another scoff fell from Joan’s lips; it was Valentine’s Day, of course. She had barely left the house in the last three days, she had not seen the millions of flowers and balloons that filled up the stores, not the way your frame had been glued to your bedroom window hoping to get a glimpse of her, wondering why the sudden reluctance and fear of you. She hated the holiday, it felt frivolous, cold to her, and she hadn’t really had anyone to celebrate it with since Luke had been a child, her husband always busy, always emotionally unavailable, the house waiting for a bouquet that never arrived, a ring that remained at the store, a box of chocolate that went stale on the shelf where it rested. She had been s deep in thought that it took her a couple of minutes to hear the doorbell, the shrill sound almost making her ears bleed. She only wanted to be left alone so she could get drunk in her own sorrow until she could no longer breathe, but whoever was on the other side of her front door was not giving up, and after switching between knocks and that horrid bell for over five minutes Joan stood, the chair scraping angrily over her wooden floors.

She was angry at the interruption, and it showed in the way her heels echoed as she made her way to the door, grabbing the knob and throwing it wide open, the glass rattling as it hit the wall. Whatever she was going to say to whoever was on the other side faded into the ether as her eyes were met with the sight of a sea of flowers at her feet, a rainbow of colours gleaming under the soft light of the full moon that shone high up in the night sky. There were dozens of roses of every shade imaginable sprawled over the white pine wood, tulips, sunflowers, and what seemed a thousand more flowers resting in between. She was no stranger to gifts, small things that didn’t mean much like an old perfume or a silver bracelet in which her name was spelled wrong, but this was a whole new level. On the stairs, kneeling before Joan, you looked up at her, a lovely white dress subtly hugging your figure while a blue box rested on the palms of your hands. You had never looked so perfect before, smiling kindly up at her as your eyes held her gaze, something she couldn’t quite recognise dancing like stars on your irises, sparkling with a life that pulled her towards you like a magnet. Her brown heels took one single step forward, the wood creaking under her weight, her hand falling slowly from the doorknob and coming to rest on her side, her lips parted in surprise, a slight red colour lingering from the wine.  

-Y/N? – her voice sounded so raspy and raw, as if she hadn’t used it since the day she left you, and perhaps she had. No one had come to visit her ever since you had moved in next door, it would be no surprise, but that didn’t mean it was a pleasant thought.

-Hello, Joan.

-What are you doing here? What’s all this?

-121 flowers. One for each day I’ve known you, and all of them as an apology for whatever I did wrong the other day.

-This must have cost a fortune. – her feet brushed the soft petals of a purple tulip as her body moved closer to yours of its own accord, almost as if your skin was calling out to hers, her heart racing against her ribs nearly painfully.

-That doesn’t matter, you are worth this and much more, Joan.

-But why? – she had never felt so conflicted before, wishing you would take her in your arms and never let her go but knowing that whatever this was, if it was ever something and not just a hallucination of her mind, wasn’t right. But then why did she feel like you were her saviour and guide? Part of her would follow you blindly like Mary had followed Christ, sharing your burdens and kneeling at the foot of your cross ready to gather you in her arms. But the other held her back, keeping her in a prison that was her own mind, prejudices that had been taught to her all her life making her feel as if what her heart was saying to her, whispers spoken from in between the cracks, would condemn her to an eternity of pain. But wasn’t she already living like that? You had stood from your spot on the stairs, analysing the sadness that had laced her question as you stepped closer to her, barely a foot separating you, the blue box you had been holding now resting on the floor next to your feet.

-Because you don’t deserve what you are going through. I don’t care how many times Fiona tells me you are dangerous and that I can’t see you. I know you would do me no harm. I have heard your story on a loop from mouths that weren’t yours for months and it doesn’t seem fair. They have no right to tell your story.

-But they do, and people listen to them. Do yourself a favour Y/N and go home.  

Was she really about to give up on the only thing that had made her truly happy in years? Her hand hesitated to touch you, knowing it would be even harder to let you go the moment her touch starved soul caressed yours, but she indulged herself, at least one last time, and took your hand in hers, her thumb rubbing your soft skin. All the way from the dining hall a new song played, and it couldn’t have been a most perfectly cruel choice. Don't you know I'm no good for you? I've learned to lose you. Joan truly fought to keep her composure, to not break down before you had walked away, but you didn’t move and with the way you were looking at her as if she was the sun, the moon and all the stars combined her carefully crafted walls collapsed. Tears fell down her cheeks in quick succession, burning her flesh, and she almost expected you extract your hand from hers and leave her standing there drowning in her own grief the same way everyone else had, but your warmth never left.

You had never known of anyone who deserved love more than Joan, and at the sight of her tears, her very soul conflicted with who she was at this point in her life, unsure of what she wanted and what she felt she had the right to ask for, all translated into the tears that fell like sharp diamonds all the way to the cold hard wood under her feet you threw caution to the wind and gathered her in your arms. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt the palms of your hands on her back pressing her against your warm body, a sea of flowers and fallen petals in a circle around your feet, the sweet aroma enfolding her as much as your embrace did. Her thin dress was no obstacle for your heat to seep into her bones, easing all the aches that had settled deeply within her, listening to the way your heart beat slowly, almost in a perfect rhythm. But it was the touch of your lips, soft and tender, on her temple that had her sobbing into the crook of your neck. She could not do it, she could not watch you slip through her fingers after all the pain she had gone through, your presence the only thing she ever wanted in her life. My love, my love, my love, my love. Won't you stay a while? 

You would stay for all eternity if that’s what she wanted, if it meant healing her and seeing her smile as you shared the smallest of things, watching her find her own path, her own light and purpose out of all the teachings that had turned her into a woman she hadn’t recognised when standing in front of the mirror. Your fingers traced lazy patterns in between her shoulder blades as your other hand held her gently against your frame by the back on her neck, her tears leaving wet patches on your dress, though you cared very little about it. A chill drifted under the roofed porch, riding up Joan’s spine and making her shiver but she didn’t move, the grip her hands had on your gown making her knuckles turn white. If loving you, caring about you was such a horrible thing, a temptation from the Devil, why did it feel as if she was walking the heavens now that she was in your arms? Was she willing to risk eternal damnation in exchange for a lifetime with you? You had come back to her even after her fears and doubts had made her run away, and you had brought her a flower for every single day you had known each other; no one had ever done such a thing for her, she could not even recall the last time she had been given a single lilting flower, let alone 121.

-You don’t need to be so strong all the time Joan. Let yourself grief, I will be here to hold you and take what you can’t carry. Don’t believe for an instant that you are undeserving of love or understanding. Those who have not lived it all in your skin cannot see and feel the truths hidden in your mind. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Your voice was calm, soothing as each word fell from your lips like rain after a long draught and it filled every cell in her body with a sense of peace that halted her sobs and made her lift her head from your shoulder, red, puffy eyes locking onto yours. Were you an angel sent to her to return her to the rightful path, to the road built in the truths that were never written and therefor never changed, each stone an action that had no other witness but Him? There could be wrong in the way her heart raced as your words sunk deeply withing the cracks, no evil clouding her mind, making her stray for she was now exactly where she was meant to be, and your touch was nothing but glorious, a rejoicing song against her skin. Her face was only inches away from yours, your eyes counting every freckle that adorned her nose and cheeks, such an intimate position reminding her that that was the closest she had been to another person in years. The traces of a life she didn’t want to go back to lingered in everything she did and everything she said, habits that would take an entire lifetime to erase and yet she was willing to do so, as long as you were right beside her, reassuring her that everything would be alright every time those demons that haunted her came to claw at her free will, tempting her to fall back into the darkness she currently resided in, regret and fear her only companions.

Her chocolate eyes hid thousands of secrets, of untold stories that you wanted to hear, but not because you were a curious person or a gossip, which you supposed you were to a certain extent, but because they were simply hers and everything that belonged to her was, everything that was her, meant the world to you. You did not fight the feeling of your heart jumping a bit as you held her gaze, falling down rivers of sorrow and happiness that run underneath long oak bridges, their path taking you to where Joan’s broken soul laid, cracks running deeply from side to side as the light within her quivered dimly under the weight of everything that had happened. Your gentle hands could not heal the ill nor make the dead rise, but they could hold her steady as the wounds stitched themselves together, no more blood pooling in that void that had formed in her chest. The late-night breeze carried the words of song Joan didn’t know, sweet notes that danced in between specks of dust, floating lazily, twirling in a waltz that no one saw. And even though she was unfamiliar with the music, it somehow made your eyes glint under the silvery beams that bathed the pavement, moonlight casting a spell over the city, away from the yellow lights of the streetlamps. Now, I've thought it through. Crawling back to you.     

Over glass and burning embers, you would crawl on your hands and knees back to her, even if the world turned against you, even if there was nothing else worth living for, she would be the only reason you drew breath every morning as dawn broke through the horizon and as the thick veil of night covered the sky. The petals scattered on the floor glowed under the pearly beams, reflecting on Joan’s sun-kissed skin, translucent rainbows lingering on her cheeks, dripping over her full lips like honey, slow and perfectly sweet. Her hands didn’t want to release your dress, afraid you might vanish before her eyes and her brain realised that all this had been nothing but bitter dream induced by the lack of sleep and the wine, another punishment she was inflicting on herself, but she still did it, her fingers stiff as they released the warm fabric, discomfort building in her hands at the hard grip she had had on you. Your touch lingered for an instant longer, but when her arms fell to her sides you understood the moment had passed, and as much as your words were still echoing inside Joan’s mind, your fingers tenderly brushed the skin of her neck one last time before cold meet the spots where your warmth seeping from your palms had been.

It was a most odd sensation to feel a shiver running down her spine at the lack of your touch on her, wishing your hands were still on her. She could hardly recall when had been the last time her husband had held her hand, let alone kiss her on the cheek or look at her they way your eyes did, no fear or disgust shinning over them. She could not remember if anyone had ever bothered to go to the extents you had to show her they cared, to do something with a meaning, not just to fill up the purpose of the holiday and get her off their backs, and make her feel like perhaps there was hope for her. Standing in separate circles once again, you took the opportunity to kneel at her feet and pick up a single flower, a most perfect pink lily that Joan hadn’t noticed before, a little trick you had had up your sleeve, and in the most gentlemanly manner you could muster bowed and handed it to her. Her lips broke into a giddy smile, unable to stop it even if she had wanted to, her slender fingers taking hold of the stem and bringing it to her nose, the rich floral accents that fell from its petals, bright and deep pink tones painted on the inside with the utmost care as the edges stood out in a pristine white, never overshadowing the other, only blending to perfection as pastel pink dots laid scattered over the soft floral leaf, filling her lungs.

-Its beautiful Y/N. Thank you. – her timid smile was partially hidden by the flower, resting gently over her rosy lips, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t seen it or hadn’t noticed the tint that was spreading over her cheeks, a most enchanting shade of red complimenting her doe eyes.

-I’m glad you like it, but I’m not done yet. I have a few more things planned for us. That is of course, if… you want to be my Valentine.

-Your… your Valentine? Me?

-Yes. There’ no one else in the entire planet that I would rather spend this day with than you, Joan. Not a soul. – you had rendered her speechless for a moment, the thought of you actually asking her such a thing never having crossed her mind, which was foolish really. You had done all this because you wanted to spend this holiday with her. She was aware that her smile was that of a shocked by lovesick teenager now, her heart fluttering like butterflies trapped in a cage begging to be released, using the lily as a shield to hide her ever-growing blush from your piercing by kind eyes.

-I… I think I would like that. Very much.

-Then please, take this as a token of my affections for you.    

She had completely forgotten about the blue box that rested next to your feet, a white ribbon tying it closed so its contents wouldn’t be spilt all over her front porch, Joan’s eyes watching as your body quickly bent over to pick it up. She still held the flower in between her fingers, cool under its touch, as you presented yet another gift to her, curiosity peeking for the second time that night, but she didn’t want to let go of the lily, and so with quick hands she placed it on the side of her head, the smooth petals caressing her temple as the she secured the flower by threading the stem in between a few locks of hair and the claw clip that held the silky strands on the back of her head. She would wear it all night long and put it in a vase with water next to her bed when the day was done and sleep began to creep up on her, wishing to close her eyes to its sight and wake up to it as well, the gesture forever engraved in her mind. With both hands now free her fingers made quick work of the bow and ribbon, the rough material resting over your palms, and with shaky limbs, anticipation building quickly within her, she pushed the top off.

-Oh, Y/N! – wasn’t it a most melodious sound to hear her laugh? Those loud tones, unapologetic as they echoed in the night, sweet as happiness poured out of them in quick succession, her smile only growing bigger as sparks shone in her eyes. One thing was to hear her chuckle, maybe even be granted the honour of hearing a soft laugh pass her plump lips, and another far more magical and sublime was to hear that rumbling sound sliding with easy from her throat, being you and only you the cause and the benefactor of such a sound. There were no gold necklaces or platinum bracelets resting over expensive layers of velvets, no seas of diamonds or rubies that could adorn her collarbones or her fingers, not even a unique bottle of scotch waiting for her inside that box, and yet what was presented to her held a much deeper meaning and an aura of love and care that she appreciated far more than all the jewellery money could buy. Twenty small doughnuts were neatly placed on top of a pink sheet of parchment paper, white melted chocolate displayed on top of the spongy dough as red icing spelled “ Happy Valentine’s Joan”, purple, red, white and pink sprinkles decorating each pastry to perfection, the last doughnut of the batch being the only one shaped as a heart, covered in ruby chocolate and with what looked like some sort of jam spilling from its insides.

-I made them myself. The first batch burned because I didn’t hear the oven go off, but I think these ones turned out pretty good. I hope you like them.

-They are wonderful. And beautiful. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me you know?

-It’s no trouble, at all Joan. Anything that I make for you is never a chore or a task. I enjoy it, trust me. – she did, she could not find a single reason not to do so when your intentions shone as pure as snow, no hidden requests or lies masked as innocent compliments. There was no venom in your smile, no evil behind your beautiful eyes, only genuine care for her that made her all warm and fuzzy, a feeling she had forgotten about, a sensation she wondered for a moment if she had ever truly felt. You took one step towards her, the edge of the box barely an inch from her bosom, the chill breeze that had been lazily twirling around the both of you now picking up slightly, goosebumps and shivers making you shake on your spot. -Could I come in? It’s getting colder and I still have one more thing to give you.

-Another present? Greed is not a friend that one should engage with Y/N.

-It is not greed, I assure you. I did not buy it, and in truth it’s more of a necessity. – her narrowed a little but her smile never faltered, not for a minute, the lily in her hair matching the blush that painted her cheeks.

-Alright, come on in. – she took a few steps back until her heels clacked over the wooden floors of her entryway, watching as you made your way to her door carefully as not to crush any of the flowers under your feet. She would figure out tomorrow morning what to do with them all, for now, she liked to think they were simply guarding her home. You picked up quickly on the musty smell that floated in the air, clinging to the drawn curtains, darkness spreading through every room like a wildfire, a pang of sadness slamming you on the chest as you made your way to the dining room. The candles Joan had lit hours ago barely had any wax left, the flames dimming with each passing second, the lonely bottle of wine along with the half-drunk glass resting and glistening under the flickering light. You had no taste for such a drink, but it was obvious that the burgundy liquid was a common guest in Joan’s house, a hint of shame in her eyes as you looked at her over your shoulder. Carefully not to make the glass tumble and ruin both the table and the floor you left the box of doughnuts beside one of the silver candlesticks, white wax embedded in the crevasses of a swan engraved in the metal, checking that the pastries were all still intact before turning to face Joan, a bright smile on your face to overshine the downcast look that had taken her hostage.

-Wait here a moment. I’ll be right back.

Like the perfect summer breeze your perfume caressed her face as you walked past her, your hand brushing hers, fingers timidly kissing each other for an instant that ended too soon, leaving a tingling sensation on her skin that travelled like electricity up her arm to her elbow. Watching you walking back to the front door, your dress flowing around your knees, she stood in the poorly lit room, cursing herself for the way the house betrayed her and screamed silently about her state of mind, long curtains refusing to let the cold breeze of February in. Hoping you didn’t think less of her she rushed towards the closet window, pushing the heavy fabrics to the sides and unlatching the frames, pushing the glass upwards until the cold wind of the night burst in unannounced but not unwelcome. Shivers ran down her spine, but she pushed through, repeating the motion for the other two windows that were left, that stale stench she had mentally complained about not that long ago losing the fresh crisp air that was now filling the room. It wasn’t that she hadn’t cleaned the house in months, she still woke up every morning with a task to fill all those dead hours that lay ahead of her, but she had neglected certain aspects that would have clashed with her mood, the need to keep herself secluded, detained in her own home as much as she was by her mind, preventing her from enjoying the simple sight of the sunlight breaking through her front door, or basking in its warmth by the window with a hot cup of tea cradled in her hands. She had no right to such simple things after everything, she thought.

But now the room was bathed in perfect waves of silver and platinum, strings of pearly dust floating along to the sweet voices that still played on the radio, the wind that now rushed through the house kissing the flickering flames goodbye as one by one they vanished into rivulets of smoke. Standing in the doorway your eyes raked over Joan’s frame as moonlight rained over her, her deep eyes holding your gaze, sparkling under its silvery touch. Never before had a person been more beautiful than her, her blue dress like an ocean enfolding her curves, her hair shining under the glow of the pink petals that caressed her temple, the soft breeze that came from the windows kissing her skin and twirling around her like currents, transparent foam around her feet. It's you, it's you, it's all for you. Everything I do. I tell you all the time. Heaven is a place on earth with you. Words had never spoken bigger truths. All for Joan, so she would grant you entrance to the Heaven that clung to her skin, your lips begging to worship the ground she walked on, the air she breathed, the clothes she wore and hoping that one day you would be able to cross the threshold on her bedroom and lay beside her in that bed that claimed her holy body each night. With slow steps you made your way to the table once more and placed two paper bags gently over the wood, eyes never straying from her form, fighting not to blink should you miss a single thing about her.

She walked towards you, her gentle movements a sight for sore eyes, approaching you as if she hadn’t noticed the way your sight lingered on her and drank her in, and perhaps it had been so. Joan was unused to being the object of people’s affections, it would be no surprise if she had mistaken your actions for nothing more than admiration, but inside the woman’s chest, her heart slammed against her ribs with each beat, a million butterflies fluttering inside her, thanking the darkness of the room that had kept her blush at bay from your beautiful eyes. Without a word each of you worked on a bag, a comfortable silence accompanying your actions as the song carried on softly in the background, a few containers with food lay on the table after a few minutes, the delicious aroma of well-cooked and homemade dishes reaching Joan’s nose, making her mouth water as she turned to look at you, surprise and a hint of gratitude painted on her face. It had been far too long since she had had something that hadn’t been a premade meal, her constant internal battle and continuous self-sabotage leaving her drained and unable to do one of the things she loved the most. Lifting one of the lids, the smell of rosemary filled the room, her eyes as wide as saucers as slices of a rotisserie chicken stood out from under what she was sure was a delicious sauce.

-You made and brought me dinner? That’s the surprise you had for me?

-I know it’s not as grand or greedy as a night in town or a diamond necklace, but I thought this would be much better for you. I’ve made enough so that you’ll be able to eat for at least a week.

-Y/N… I… You don’t know how much this means to me. You really are a blessing. – her hands rested tenderly on your cheeks, her smile as big as the entire universe and so bright that she could light the whole house, but her palms didn’t remain on your skin for too long, and you didn’t stop her when they left a cold spot over your flesh. It was obvious things would have to be done at her pace.

-I’m happy you like it. Why don’t you bring some plates while I open the rest?

Her steps were quick as she made a beeline for the kitchen, leaving you in charge of everything else. A most exquisite sea of aromas overwhelmed the crisp air of the dining room, salty condiments along with tomato and herbs dancing in perfect unison as you placed the main dish of the night, baked parmesan chicken on a bed of angel hair pasta with green beans and roasted potatoes as sides, beside the glass of red wine. You truly hoped to steer her away from the burgundy drink before dinner started, but at the same time you didn’t wish to make her feel self-conscious about it, as if she was doing something wrong when she was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. But there was no time to indulge in that train of thought as she came back with two plates and cutlery in one hand while she juggled two glasses and a pitch of water in the other. Of course, you rushed to her aid and were thanked with the sight of that tender smile she seemed to have reserved just for you.

-You really have outdone yourself.

-Thank you. I had the kitchen all to myself today, so I was able to prepare everything with all the care in the world. Where do you keep your candles?

-It’s okay, I’ll get them. – the radio rested on top of a set of drawers, Joan heading its way and pulling the first one open before returning to the table, two long white candles in her hand that she exchanged for the old ones. Just as she was about to head back to the kitchen, to get matches, you thought, your hand shot out to grab her wrist, the sudden touch making her whip her head towards you, a wary veil of confusion covering her features.

-Let me. – without letting her go, the grasp on her skin never too strong, allowing her to pry her hand away should she wish to, the fingers of your right hand touched each wick, observing happily how in less than an instant the warm light of a flame bathed the room, colliding with the cool tones that they moon cast inside the house, orange and silver fighting as they reflected on Joan’s pink cheeks. Her big eyes shone under the orange light, like melted chocolate that called out to you, her gaze glued to the candles as the flames flickered steadily, amazement hiding behind her perfect irises. You could not say that you were not proud to have rendered her speechless once again. She was no stranger to what people called magic, but the way you used it, you seemed to have a relationship, some sort of understanding of your own abilities that she had never seen before, didn’t make her feel fear anymore. She felt curious about what else you were capable of, but was too worried about you taking offense that she didn’t ask and simply basked in the beauty of such a domestic task. – Now we can eat. Are you okay Joan?

-What? Oh, yes, perfectly alright. Before we have what clearly looks like a delicious meal I was wondering if we could have one of those doughnuts you brought.

-Of course. Which letter do you fancy?

-I was thinking we could share the heart. One half for you and the other for me, if you are agreeable.

-Absolutely.       

 The cardboard made a scratching sound as you lifted the top, and with careful fingers you pried it from the parchment paper and placed it on one of the plates she had brought, the knife slicing through the middle as if it were butter, stains of pink chocolate and red jam over the metal. Joan took her half of the pastry, muttering a thank you, and slowly took a bite savouring the fluffiness of the dough and the sweetness of the chocolate, the flavour removing the bitter aftertaste the wine had left on her tongue. But the calm moment didn’t last for too long, the acidity of the jam hitting her as if she had just been run over by a car, not because it was too strong or bad, but because it was raspberry jam. She could recall as if she had done it that same morning, going down to the market with little Luke grasping her hand, holding onto her and looking up at her with his big adoring eyes, asking her if he could have some ice cream, the wicker basket she had in her other hand heavy with all the food she had bought. Every Saturday morning would be the same. She would get up and get ready for the day before heading to her son’s room, opening his teddy bear curtains so the sun could come through the window, drool falling from his mouth onto the pillow as he slept, one of his front teeth missing.

Getting him up and ready was her first task of the day, his groggy form sagging against her chest and shoulder as she picked him up and took him to the kitchen, a bowl of cereal waiting for him as she made herself a cup of coffee. She could hear his rumbling as the radio played, talking a thousand miles a minute about whatever he had done in school the previous day, mentioning his friends and teachers and speaking of how elephants were big and grey and hamster so small, cupping his tiny hands as to make his point clearer to his mom. Those morning watching him be so utterly excited about the most mundane of things lingered in her mind, memories that she had revisited so many times as her boy grew, feeling as if she was losing him, as if those moments had vanished into nothing. She would have done anything to go back to all that, to stumbling up the stairs to help him dress as she told him gently that he needed to pick up his toys, brushing his unruly hair before walking out the door with her basket, Luke trailing behind her sometimes with his fish plushie and sometimes not, her attention having to drift from the pavement to her boy and his friend Nemo. They would walk between each stall and Joan would tenderly answer and explain everything that her beautiful boy asked, not caring how many hours they spent out in the streets as long as Luke remained by her side, the warm sun rising higher and higher in the sky.

The feeling of his little fingers, soft and smooth against her palm, lingered on her skin still, as if she could look down and see him standing there with scraped knees, begging her to kiss his pain away, cheeks pink and fat tears falling from his eyes, after taking a tumble with a rock. She could almost feel him pulling on her arm as his eyes landed on his favourite stall, pounds and pounds of raspberries waiting for him, the boxes a few inches above his head. His excitement was always contagious, his toothy smile matching the one on her lips as they made their way towards the grocer. The first time he had seen them his eyes had been wide as saucers, pointing at the red fruits, amazed at the quantity and hadn’t stopped asking to have one until finally Joan had given in and bought a pound of them, knowing that even if Luke didn’t like them, she could still use them and eat them herself. He had fallen in love almost instantly and when they got home the bag had barely lasted more than a few days, so the next Saturday she had purchased more had told her boy that they would make jam with some of them as a treat for how well he was doing in school. He had been so excited that that night he had woken her up almost every hour to ask her if it was time, his thrilled tone preventing her from scolding him, strands of his hair sticking in different directions and his body dressed in a pair of yellow pyjamas with a big giraffe on his t-shirt.

A onetime thing soon became a habit, a special moment they shared every Saturday once they were done at the market, his steps jolly and bouncy as they walked down the street, Luke pointing at every single thing his curious eyes could see as if Joan wasn’t to used to them already, and she indulged him, because he was her little boy, her everything. And now she only had those, the bittersweet memories of a happy life that had turned into dust all because of her own selfish wants and needs, because she could not heal from a broken heart and let her grief and sorrow lead her in life. She had been so sure she was doing the right thing for Luke, following the scriptures her priest had provided her with, telling her that the only way Luke would grow to be the man she wanted him to be was by making sure temptation never entered her house, keeping him secluded with her and following the Lord’s teachings without question. She had not doubted that man’s words, too distraught to even consider that that was not the way, that God was love, not fear, that he was everyone’s father and loved each of his children without expecting anything in return. And yet she had followed him blindly, losing herself in the process and ruining her boy with each day that she punished him for not doing what she had been taught was right.

She had tried so hard to keep him safe, paranoid that temptation hid in every corner that she had forgotten who God was and what his son had preached, stealing Luke away from Nan as if she was the Devil herself all because she had a gift no one else she had ever met had. She had driven her son away, lost that little boy who used to fall asleep in her arms as she sang lullabies and with whom she used to make raspberry jam. The pain that crawled under her skin was beyond anything she had ever felt, as if millions of daggers were stabbing her, blood pouring out of each wound as tears fell down her cheeks, fire burning her flesh, guilt and disgust poisoning and rotting her blood in her veins. She had killed her boy, her reason for being alive, her very soul, because to her there had been no other truth but that of the “Good book”, her narrowminded thoughts having turned her into the biggest hypocrite and selfish woman she had ever known, refusing to believe her actions had been wrong until now. Her baby was gone because she hadn’t wanted him to be with someone like Nan, a girl she had called a servant of Satan, an abomination that walked the Earth, and who had taken her life now that Luke was no longer there with her. She wished to rip her skin off, to escape this agony that crushed her under its inevitable weight, but there was no way out.

How wrong she had been, her own mind betraying everything she had ever loved and cherished and turning her into a monster. How could you be there with her, speaking of love and bringing her gifts when she had killed her son? Her Luke. The name escaped from her lips as realization fell harshly over her, the fact that she was here with you, a woman, her feelings betraying everything she had ever known and been told about love, a most needed but agonising wake-up call. She had put her son through Hell in the name of a God that had forsaken her, that had abandoned her and left her in the dark when she had needed him the most, bringing forth a side of her that had not hesitated to claim her own son’s life so that the secret of her husband’s death would never be brought to light and to ensure that her perfect boy’s soul remained pure, untainted by the girl he had fallen for. How could pain be so raw, so overwhelming and vast that it caused one to want to rip their own heart from their chest? She had carried him, birthed him and held him to her as she told him that love would find him when the time was right, only to refuse him the gift of a happy life with her own bare hands. There wasn’t enough air in the entire planet for her to breathe, her throat refusing to swallow not even an ounce of oxygen, her lungs begging for it as sobs rocked her body.

A thousand emotions had rushed through her eyes the instant she had taken that first and only bite. One moment there had been the sweetest of the smiles gracing her lips and the next tears had begun to pour as her gaze became lost in a world of her own, the atmosphere clinging onto the regret and sorrow that seeped from her body. And then her son’s name had fallen from her lips and the last piece of the puzzle was finally in its rightful place. You had stood as fast as your body had allowed you and wrapped your arms around her trembling frame, the pastry forgotten on the ground by her feet. These tears were different from the ones she had shed a few moments before, they were harsh and sharp as daggers and they were accompanied by the grieving sound of a mother who no longer had a child, a mother who would never get to see her baby become an adult and have a life of his own.

-It’s alright, I’m here. I’m here.

-I… did it… Y/N… - her voice was muffled by her head hiding on your chest, hands gripping the neckline of your dress in despair.

-I know, Jo, I know.

-I didn’t… I didn’t want to… He was my baby! My only baby… - had the Devil taken reign of her senses and clouded her mind with false verses? She would have never laid a single finger on her little boy, not even to discipline him and yet she had caused him harm far too many times to count. She could not escape this pain, this feeling that she had no right to feel anything but grief, to let it consume her. Undeserving of your love and your kind words. Underserving of having you in her life, your mere existence bringing forth a happiness that she had denied to her own flesh and blood.

-I know, my darling. Let it out. There is nothing you could do that would make me leave you, so grieve. You have lost your son, there is no greater pain than that.

You had never heard a sound so frightening and yet so heartbreaking slip out of someone’s throat like the scream that was ripped from Joan’s chest. It came from so deep within her that it made her entire body shake and tremble, rattling her very soul, the sound vibrating through your skin like a thousand needles. It was blood curling and hellish in execution, so full of anger, regret, and pain that it mixed into the most agonizing sound a human could ever produce and yet should never hear. Nothing could have prepared her for the sheer emptiness that coursed through her veins, for the way she wanted to claw at her own skin to make it all stop hurting, begging in between sobs to turn back time, to return to how things had been once upon a time, when it had been her and Luke against the world. Before her mind had been poisoned by false words and her entire life had lost its meaning. She could have carried on screaming for all eternity, blood filling her lungs as she choked on her own remorse, but she was too broken to even hold the sound for too long, and after a few moments it blended back into sobs. It had been four months since she had lost the most precious thing in her little universe and it was only now that she was feeling all that anguish for the first time, all the grief slamming onto her at full force, knocking her off her feet and making her tumble and crumple to the floor.  There would be no more helping him with his math work, no more cuddling him to sleep when he was sick, no more Saturdays at the market. No more raspberry jams.

Her tired body melted slowly in your arms with each passing second, her tears pooling in the neckline of your dress leaving a cold spot on the skin underneath that the breeze was not gentle with, shivers running down your arms as it sliced through your flesh. You could not imagine what thoughts swirled in her head, what memories were haunting her as her boy’s name fell from her lips over and over, as if that simple action could bring him back, but the house remained quiet, cold, and empty, even the light of the candles seeming to have lost all its warmth as the flames flickered gently. The only sounds echoing against the bare walls, empty frames hanging over the floral wallpaper, were Joan’s sobs, or at least the only sounds you were paying attention to, rubbing comforting circles on her back as your other hand caressed her soft hair, for the radio carried on playing. I wish that Heaven had visiting hours, and I would ask them if I could take you home. The words floated around Joan’s head, begging her to listen, making a lump form in her throat as her heart bled inside her chest, the crimson liquid puddled on the floor under the shard of her completely shattered life. But a glimpse of light shone amongst all the darkness, your voice hushed and tender as you spoke the last verse of the song against her temple, the lily slightly crumpled but nevertheless beautiful.

-And I will close the door, but I will open up my heart. And everyone I love will know exactly who you are. Cause this is not goodbye; it is just 'til we meet again. So much has changed since you've been away. - An entire lifetime had happened since she had lost him, and not once, not even for an instant, had her boy left her thoughts. She almost expected still to see him walking down the hall or stealing a bite before dinner, to find him in his room playing that horrible music she despised so much as he did his homework, but he wasn’t even a ghost haunting her. She would have given her soul, as blasphemous as she knew that was, for one more day with him, to explain, to look at his face and engrave the colour of his eyes in her mind for all eternity. With tears still streaming down her face she lifted her head to gaze upon yours, a question on the tip of her tongue that she couldn’t bring herself to say. Would he forgive her if she could talk to him one last time?

-Y/N…

-What? Talk to me, Joan.

-Luke… I… Would he… - why was it so hard? Why did those words seem to weigh like a thousand rocks? Her grip was even stronger now, her eyes pleading for you to understand, to look deep inside her and pry the question from the very essence of her being so she would not crumble at your feet once again. Your voice did not hesitate to respond.

-He would. He would listen to your every word, and at first, he would be mad, furious even, but it wouldn’t be for the reasons you think. He would be angry because you were so deeply hurt, so broken, that your pain made you ask for help from people you trusted only for them to deceive you. He would not diminish your doings, and he would be upset at the extent of your own actions, but with time he would have understood that you only did it because you thought it was the right way. You are his mother and always will be, and you have repented for what you did.

-But what I did was evil, something so brutal that I fear has no possible salvation. I killed my own son, Y/N.

- “For you became sorrowful as God intended and so were not harmed in any way by us. Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret”. You have walked this path alone Joan, you have grieved and cried in remorse for what you have done, and He, who cares for us all has seen it and has forgiven you. Luke would do the same, because you are his mother and he would not want to see you like this, broken and battered by your own hand.

-But I deserve it. I am no better than all those people who drove me to this point and then abandoned me.

-You are Joan, you are the most wonderful person I have ever met, and one that needs to heal from all the horrible things that have happened to you. You are free from them, from the chains that held you down with false hopes and lies dressed in empty promises, and it is that, and only that, that would make Luke forgive you. You are deserving of love, and you must not think that your little boy would not be thrilled to have the mother he so loved back in his arms. “Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy”.

Your words, coupled with the tender, caring tone you used soothed her pain like nothing had ever before, and for the first time in years, she felt as if she could breathe, as if the air filling her lungs wasn’t rotten anymore. She would be forgiven. Her precious baby boy wouldn’t look at her like she was the worst human in history, pointing accusingly at her while telling her that it was all her fault, that she had brought this agony onto herself. There was hope for her to find happiness once again, to let the gentle rays of sunlight burst through her windows and for her to not run away as if her skin would blister at the feeling, the warm light bathing her house, the silence that had settle so deeply in each beam and wall fading as the sound of birds chirping and voices coming from the street filled each room. Her eyes glistened under the flames, orange and yellow tinges caressing her perfect chocolate irises, so full of hope and dreams she had not even dared to think about before, tears no longer falling but leaving wet paths over her cheeks. With a tender touch your thumbs wiped them away, and with that motion, your fingers ripped the weight that had been crushing her from her flesh, guilt and shame fading into acceptance and understanding as her penitence ended. She had taken accountability for her actions and in return she had been granted a second chance. She had been gifted with your presence and your love.

This time she didn’t let go of you, not caring if your face was only inches from hers, if she could breathe your sweet perfume, a blend of berries and vanilla, deep within her, its soft tendrils enfolding her essence the same way your hands were cradling her face. It would have been so easy to kiss her, to brush your lips against hers, but if you were going to do this, if you were going to walk this path with her, hand in hand, you could wait until she was sure, until her body spoke to you and asked in a silent plea for your touch. The radio was silent for a moment, only the sound of Joan’s sniffles filling up the room, her warmth seeping under your skin, and in an instant her hands released your dress, disappointment crossing your eyes, only to be delighted and surprised as she place her palms over the back of your hands, her heat wrapping around you like a blanket, shielding you from the cold that was breaking through the windows. At that moment in time, there was nothing but Joan and the blossoming lily in her hair, no past, no future, just her. Joan, wrap me up in all your, I want you in my arms.

Her hands were in yours, and with a gentleness she could not get used to you lifted her from her seat, pulling her body away from the table and into an empty spot where the carpet covered the wooden floors. Coming to stand next to the windows she let you do whatever you wanted, take her to the ends of the world if you so desired, because under the silvery beams that swayed in the night, she knew she would give you everything you asked from her as long as you never stopped looking at her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. Your hands guided hers to your shoulders, her fingers feeling the cotton of your dress around your neck, strands of your soft hair teasing her knuckles as your arms snaked around her waist, the gap between you vanishing as each of your bubbles became one, you in her personal space and Joan in yours, no fear or reservations clouding her mind. Oh, let me hold you. I'll never let you go again like I did. Never would you leave her, never would she have to face the world on her own, never would you let her go as long as your body drew breath, and your soul belonged to her. Slowly your feet began to sway from side to side, Joan’s frame molded to yours and following suit, her gaze never straying from your enchanting eyes.

Dancing lazily with her made your little heart leap with joy, a petal suddenly falling all the way from the tall ceiling, oscillating gently as its pristine white colour shone under the moonlight, blending into the same shade of pink Joan’s lily wore as it touched the ground. Then another fell as you pulled her closer, her chest against yours, her fingers twirling your hair in between them as the palms of your hands held onto her waist, a soft touch of sandalwood reaching your nostrils as her hair brushed against your check, her head coming to rest on your right shoulder. Her chin dug gently onto your flesh over the cotton of your white dress, her eyes watching in amazement at the way the room filled with the floral aroma of roses, petal after petal filling the room, a most perfect sight to match a most perfect you. A couple of flower leaves soon turned into a gentle shower of them, dozens swaying in the chilly breeze as the two of you danced, the top of her head resting against your cheek, the moonbeams never faltering in its glow, the flickering flames never ceasing to shower the room with their warmth as a sea of petals laid at your feet. In your arms Joan came to one last conclusion: God had never forsaken her, he had seen her lost in the dark and had sent you to her, to guide her and love her the way she had never been before, to return her to the right path with you by her side, her son’s forgiveness her banner and your love her shield. From now and for all eternity.  I would never fall in love again until I found her. I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into".

[hellyrmyblorbo]

One thing I really appreciate about Severance is how complex the characters are and the fact the writers trust that we as the audience are smart enough to understand them instead of just shoving it in our faces. I feel like most shows would go 'This person is the bad guy! And this one is the good guy!!!" but they don't really do that in this show? And while I felt a little underwhelmed by the episode at first, after a few days thinking about it I think Trojan's Horse was a really good example of how the show excels in moral ambiguity and its characters.

Helena is undoubtedly a villain. She's a higher up in the company and is at the very least complicit in the torture of its workers, and now she's taken things even further by SAing Mark last episode. She's objectively a bad person, but at the same time there's this kind of tragic sense to her character just looming in the background. She's a terrible person but she's also just a puppet in a larger plan. Her father, the only family we've ever seen her having, encouraged her to be sent back down to the severed floor even after nearly being murdered just days before because he couldn't care less about her as long as the company reaches its goals. She doesn't even see the innies as people but she's more like them than she could ever realises - she's just a pawn in a larger game and no longer even has control over her own body. She's a brillaint example of 'hurt people hurt people'. It doesn't take away from any of her actions but it makes her so much more tragic and complicated.

Milchick has been a villain since Day 1 - he is part of the management, he conducted break room sessions, and - despite seemingly trying to improve some of their working conditions - he actively engages in the abuse of workers. But he's also a victim in a way. He's been nitpicked and pushed around by upper management, is constantly being chastised for his work, and is even being subjected to racism from the company he works for and is in no position to stand up for himself. It doesn't take away from any of his actions but it makes him so much more multi-dimensional and even sympathetic.

Mark is such a complicated character already but the consequences of the events of Woe's Hollow have made him even more so. He's already lost his best friend (Petey), one of his very few other friends who was probably the closest thing to a father figure he's ever known (Irving) is gone too, and he's been manipulated and SA'd by Helena - he thought he was sharing an extremely intimate experience with Helly when in fact he was being tricked and taken advantage of by somebody else essentially wearing her skin. It's completely horrific and it perfectly explains his behaviour in the newest episode and why he's being such an ass to everybody. And yet, while it perfectly explains his behaviour, it doesn't take away from the hurt that it's casting on others. Helly has no idea what's going on and he's so angry and upset and confused at Helena that he's taking it out on her instead because he just can't trust her. And you completely understand why he's acting that way but it's leading to him hurting somebody innocent in response.

Like Helena, he's an example of 'hurt people hurt people'. The emotions he's faced in this episode are so complex to navigate that one minute I'm angry at him and the next I just feel so terrible for him. His feelings are so understandable and so valid but at the same time Helly was also assaulted - her body was essentially used for sex without her consent while she was unconscious and in any other circumstance that would be seen as SA - and yet she doesn't even know. He's keeping it from her because he's embarrassed and guilty and feels violated but she deserves to know. They were both victims but only one of them is even aware and he's having to process this alone while staring at the same face that did that to him without even knowing it.

THAT is good writing. And that is what this show excels at.

[wolvietxt]

𝓵ate 𝓷ight laundromat.

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : petnames, fluff, kinda open ended summary : you and frank keep running into each other at the 24-hour laundromat in your apartment complex. he’s always there at odd hours, folding his black t-shirts and watching you over the rim of his coffee cup. wc : 2.0k a/n : take a shot every time i mention the coffee cup ALSO i wanna write a part two for this :3

you’ve lived in the same apartment complex for almost a year now, but it wasn’t until the past couple of weeks that you started noticing frank. the first time you bumped into him was in the 24-hour laundromat in the basement, the one you’d barely ever given much thought to. you were there late one night after work, lugging a bag of laundry that felt ten times heavier than it should have. the laundromat, tucked away in the corner of the building, was empty except for a guy hunched over his laundry. his black t-shirts were neatly folded in a pile beside him, and his movements were methodical - almost precise. he didn’t notice you at first. you just slid your quarters into the machine, quietly setting your basket down, your eyes drifting over to him.

when he finally looked up, his eyes caught yours for a second - brief but intense - before he quickly went back to folding, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the moment. it wasn’t uncomfortable. in fact, it made your heart flutter a little. maybe it was the way his dark, messy hair framed his face or the simple fact that he was actually doing something productive at 2 a.m. while the rest of the world slept.  

you didn’t really know what to say. you weren’t even sure if he was the type of guy who liked to chat in a laundromat of all places, so you kept to yourself. the only noise between you two was the soft hum of the dryers, the occasional clink of coins, and the rustling of fabric. you glanced at him again when you tossed your clothes in, and this time, he seemed to notice, because he met your gaze for a longer moment before offering a small nod.  

"hey," he said gruffly, his voice low. “you, uh, come here a lot?”  

you blinked, caught off guard by the question. you hadn’t expected him to talk, especially not first.  

"yeah," you said, smiling a little awkwardly. "guess i’m a bit of a night owl."  

he smirked at that, the corners of his mouth turning up just enough to make his rough demeanor seem less intimidating. “me too.”  

from that point on, you saw him regularly. every time you found yourself at the laundromat at odd hours, he seemed to be there too. it was as if your schedules had aligned by some strange cosmic coincidence, and while it was a little strange at first, you started to look forward to it. you’d do your laundry, he’d do his, and once in a while, when the machines were humming their last spin, he’d take a sip from his coffee mug, glancing up at you over the rim.  

the two of you didn’t talk much at first, but the little moments began to add up. one night, when your dryer stopped halfway through its cycle, you found yourself holding a basket of wet clothes, unsure what to do. frank must’ve seen the look of slight panic on your face because he got up, moved over to your dryer, and with a soft grunt, nudged the start button for you.  

“thanks,” you muttered, surprised at how easily he moved around you.  

“no problem, sweetheart,” he said, a quiet chuckle escaping him.  

you blinked at that. sweetheart?  

he didn’t seem to notice your surprise, too busy folding his t-shirts with the kind of focus that made it clear he was used to being alone during these late-night laundromat sessions.  

after that, frank would occasionally drop in a petname - sweetheart, sugar - nothing that felt overly intimate, but enough to make you feel a little warmer every time he said it. and you found yourself wanting to hear it more.  

you were always busy in the mornings, so the nights became the only time you felt like you had any real freedom, and you found yourself thinking about him more and more. how quiet he was. how kind he seemed underneath that gruff exterior.  

there was one night - late as always - that you walked into the laundromat, tired from your shift, only to find frank already there, as usual. he was sipping coffee, and his gaze lifted just enough to meet yours when you stepped inside.  

“late night, huh?” he said with a slight nod, his voice warm in the cool, quiet space.  

“yeah,” you replied, walking over to the machines. “never seems to stop, does it?”  

“nope,” he said, his lips curling into that soft, barely-there smile that you were starting to look forward to. “but i don’t mind. keeps things interesting.”  

and as you loaded your clothes into the machine, you realized you didn’t mind either. there was something oddly comforting about the routine of it all. seeing frank at these weird hours, sharing these quiet, small moments with him.  

you smiled to yourself, feeling a little lighter. a little less alone.  

the following weeks blurred together in a rhythm that felt surprisingly comforting. your late-night laundromat rendezvous with frank had become more than just coincidence; they’d become part of your routine. at first, you only exchanged small words and quiet glances, but something about the way frank looked at you - how his gaze softened over the rim of his coffee cup - made you want to stay just a little longer each time.  

you couldn’t explain it. you didn’t even know him all that well, but there was something undeniably magnetic about his presence. it wasn’t just his quiet confidence or the way he folded his shirts so meticulously. it was how he paid attention to you in a way that no one else did. it was the small, subtle things - the way he always made sure you were okay with the machines, the way he’d hold the door open for you without making a fuss about it.  

and you started noticing the little things about him too. how he always wore those faded band shirts that looked as if they’d been washed a hundred times, how his dark hair fell in messy waves that seemed like they were made to be ruffled. that was, until he buzzed it again. you started to realize that you weren’t just looking forward to the laundry, you were looking forward to seeing frank.  

it wasn’t long before you started finding excuses to stay later than you normally would, letting your clothes dry just a little longer, lingering in the laundromat for an extra few minutes just to be in the same space as him. frank never pushed you, though. he was the same calm, collected guy he’d always been - quiet but not distant, a little reserved but never cold.  

one night, after a particularly busy day, you found yourself at the laundromat again. the room was empty except for the usual hum of machines and the low buzz of fluorescent lights. frank was sitting at the small table by the window, his coffee mug in front of him, but this time he wasn’t folding his shirts. instead, his eyes were trained on you, watching you as you loaded your clothes into the dryer.  

you felt his gaze on you, but you didn’t mind it this time. it wasn’t awkward. it felt... familiar.  

“you doing okay?” he asked, breaking the silence, his voice soft but carrying an edge of concern you hadn’t expected.  

you paused, turning to face him, your fingers still hovering over the detergent bottle. “yeah, just a long day. i’m glad i have this to look forward to.”  

frank’s lips twitched up into a small, almost shy smile at that. “i’m glad too, sweetheart.”  

you didn’t think anything of it at first - just the usual friendly banter. but when you sat down at the table across from him, the air between you two seemed to shift, just slightly. it was subtle, but you could feel it.  

“you ever get tired of it?” you asked suddenly, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. “the routine, i mean. coming here every night, doing the same thing.”  

he thought about it for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he stared down into his coffee cup. “nah,” he finally said, his voice low but steady. “it’s the little things that keep me going, i guess. even if it’s just... this.”  

you blinked, not sure if he was talking about you or just the laundromat itself, but either way, it made something warm stir inside you. you found yourself staring at him for a little too long, the silence growing comfortable, even welcome.  

“yeah, i get that,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of the moment spread through you. “me too.”  

there was something so effortless about your time together, like the world outside the laundromat didn’t matter as long as you were both there. but that night, you could sense the shift - the way frank wasn’t just going through the motions of laundry anymore. there was a quiet anticipation in the air, a flicker of something unspoken.  

the machines buzzed again, signaling that your cycle was done. you stood up to retrieve your clothes, and frank followed suit, gathering his things with slow, deliberate movements. when you moved to head for the dryer, you bumped into him by accident.  

“oops,” you muttered, stepping back, your heart racing just a little.  

“you good, sweetheart?” frank asked, his voice softer than usual, eyes now scanning your face with a curiosity that made your stomach flutter.  

“yeah,” you said quickly, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “just, uh, tired, i guess.”  

he didn’t say anything right away, but there was something in the way he studied you now - like he was deciding whether to say something more, something real. and then, after a long pause, he spoke, his voice a little unsure but still steady.  

“you ever... wanna get out of here?” he asked, the words coming out slower than he probably intended. his dark eyes were searching yours, and for the first time, you could see the vulnerability there, just beneath the surface. “i mean... not here. not the laundromat. somewhere... different. with me.”  

your heart skipped a beat. was he asking what you thought he was asking?  

you smiled, warmth flooding your chest. “yeah, i’d like that.”  

“good,” he said, looking slightly relieved, though the tension hadn’t quite left his shoulders. he ran a hand through his hair, glancing at you with that same gentle look. “it’s a date then. i’ll, uh, figure it out.”  

you nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you two, like a promise. for the first time, frank looked less like the mysterious guy you saw in the laundromat and more like someone you might want to know better. maybe this routine, these late-night runs, were just the beginning. 

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[prisma-palace]

Mind sharing your HMSW designs with the class?/nf

HELLO!!! apologizes for the late reply i forget to check my inbox ^^ i've actually been intending to make reference sheets for em... buuuut i havent gotten around to that yet. so. heres what i got as of now!

(i'll make a big post digging more into specific details and design choices and headcanons Eventually cause i do have a lot to say. but that'll probably be included in the ref sheets when i finally make them. Unless someone asks me about specific details. Wink Wink Nudge Nudge)

mind

spider motifs!!! he has little fangs and an extra set of arms (that i keep forgetting to draw him with Oopsies). the spiderness was Unintentional at first but then i decided to just go with it and lean into it more cause i liked that idea. ill probably eventually redesign him to make him look Even More spidery but that day is not today sorry

his lower set of arms can extend/retract as he chooses. he likes to annoy heart with this. he also installed said arms himself one loop. it confused the Fuck out of heart & soul

HMS are all the same height so he wears heels to be taller cause of his Ruler-Of-Everything complex. and also i just like drawing characters with cunty ass heels

the broken side of his face is a result of the juno incident! his teeth are exposed and the big ol light on that side is his broken eyelight. its supposed to vaguely resemble a sun

also his teeth are blue. yeah

OH YEAH he also has a plug tail. it was a more recent addition so it isnt in these drawings but he does have it

heart

last two are a little old. but they show off his design so it doesnt matter

face feathers!!!!!! makes him look more creaturey :-)

the way his hair parts is supposed to be shaped like a heart

he does have a teeny feather tail but its usually covered up by clothing

his wings are purposefully messy looking, he does NAWT take care of himself. sigh. he cant really fly with them because theyre not strong enough to carry him, but he can hover/glide for short periods of time

hes SOME kind of amalgamation creature. mooostly bird, but nobody really knows exactly what he is. not even himself!

he has claws and sharp teeths hehe

he can Technically see but its VERRYYY blurry, he can only rlly see vague blobs of color. hes also super light sensitive so he wears the blindfold more out convenience than anything else ^^

hes a trans guy cuz im a trans guy and i said so Thank You

soul

right. so the problem with my soul design is that i've been meaning to redesign him for, like, a long time. However i havent actually properly fully drawn my new design for him yet! so instead enjoy what i Could find, put in order of newest to most outdated :-)

devil motifs however theyre not really fully intentional it just kinda Happened. hes not really anything specific to me, just an Unidentified Thing

neck scar. No further comment!

he has two rings on his horns, blue for mind and purple for heart

his middle horn is broken off .. :-)

claws but only on the shadowy side

if he gets particularly stressed or angry his shadow side starts to lose form and get all static-y

star shaped rip on his jeans!

also he has a star patch on his sleeve, as to match with heart and mind, who have a moon and sun patch on their knee and coat pocket respectively!

^^^ the yellow background on his patch is intentional

the eye on his shadow side is always closed. if its open thats how you KNOW you Fucked Up

whole

my whole design also has a problem but its kinda different. and its that. i dont. really. draw him often? what i Do have of him is either Old or not colored. so like. have what i do have i guess ^^

hes literally Just Some Regular Guy

his hair is a combo of HMS's: length/half-circle shape from heart, bangs from mind, ponytail + side thingies from soul

they arent rlly shown in these but he has two bracelets! one is red, purple, n blue and the other is tally hall colors

i kinda gravitate towards his name being CJ. a while ago i saw someone somewhere call him first name "Cash" last name "Something-That-Starts-With-J-I-Cant-Remember" hence the nickname CJ and its stuck with me. but also i havent thought about it all that much so Who Knows

theres a difference between him and "whole". whole is more of a Concept while hes the actual Person

on the rare occasions he manifests in headspace, HMS only see him as a shadowy figure. the closer they get to concord, the more of him gets revealed!

also. you didnt ask for her. but i wanna show her off anyway

love interest

i need to draw her properly sometime soon......

i like to think that her name is stella. as a miracle musical reference. heheh

idk shes very subject to change ill probably fuck around with her color palette sometime soon

i dont have like anything to say about her sorry. i like her. shes fun to draw

[kiera-raelyn]

I feel like this gets back to Katara, specifically, not being allowed to have a dark side. And is also reflective of the narrative resistance to allow Katara to heal in the way she needs to. Like... Katara isn't allowed to have messy edges or feelings. She's punished by those around her when she does.

Other bending and its subforms are allowed to have complexity and moral grayness and still exist despite all that. But not this specific form of waterbending despite its profound potential for good. It arguably has greater potential for good and benefit to society than the other forms (like, seriously, do you realize how many women and children could be saved in childbirth, especially in a pre-industrial society, with that skill?!). But it somehow has greater risks for abuse than the other forms. How? I don't feel like there's a reasonable-to-life answer to that.

Which just leaves us with authorial reasoning. Narratively, what effect does all of the negativity surrounding bloodbending accomplish? It was a technique developed, so far as we know, by a woman of color (and later rediscovered by a man of color) that enabled her to escape the horrific conditions of her imprisonment (which had to have been worse than even what we were shown given the abuse, sexual and otherwise, heaped upon prisoners irl, but y'know, kid's show). She is vilified both for developing the technique and what she did with it later, despite the fact that both things were a result of the Fire Nation's attempt at genocide of the SWT. It reeks of "committing violence against fascists makes you just as bad as them" and I am not here for it. But then, Bryke has proven in various ways that they were not the right ones to address genocide and all its implications.

(Finally found the words to respond to this. It's been sitting in my drafts since June 24. All I needed was those last two sentences.)

Ok, but like, am I the only one who thinks that bloodbending isn’t bad? I see all of these posts about how brave Katara was to avoid bloodbending and how great of Aang it was to outlaw it and how it reflects poorly on the Zutara dynamic that she bloodbent in front of Zuko but like ???????????

NO bending is inherently bad????

No one gave two shits about airbending being used to suffocate the Earth Queen or Bolin fuckin LAVABENDING, aka able to MELT PEOPLE down to nothing. Those alternative forms of bending aren’t intrinsically bad, even though they COULD be used for evil.

The same technique for suffocating someone with airbending could be used to resuscitate someone who wasn’t breathing. It could be used to help a newborn baby breathe. 

Lavabending can be used just as much for environmentally-beneficial reasons as it can for mass destruction.

Hell, even lightning bending was fine in the ATLA and LoK universe, but somehow bloodbending isn’t?

Can you imagine how quickly their healthcare would’ve advanced if Katara had been given the opportunity to use her abilities the way she was meant to? Hama only used them for violence because she spent her whole life trying to SURVIVE. It was all she knew.

Katara is a CARING bender. Her healing bending would’ve gone up 11000000000 points if she had learned to incorporate bloodbending. She could’ve learned how to heal blood illnesses, mend bones, prevent frostbite,  mend actual tissue. Katara could’ve invented MODERN SURGERY.

But somehow HER form of alternative bending is the only bad one?

[sunseed-fandump]

Someone asked for a post with some of my personal writing tips, so uh here I go I guess!

When I'm writing, I tend to follow 5 points. And they're actually really simple!!

Ask Questions

Do Your Research

"How Does It Move The Plot Forward?"

Consistency = Plausibility

Take Notes!!!

Lemme break it down:

1) Ask Questions

And I mean a LOT of questions. Have a little nagging annoying guy in your brain who is always asking you "why?" because 9 times out of 10, trying to answer those questions is going to help a lot in the long run. And occasionally it'll help you circle back to previous answers!

Here's an example that I vaguely recall from another post here on tumblr (alas i don't remember the username and i cannot find it, but if someone finds it please link it in replies!;;) :

"These Vampires have a problem where they can't be out in the day, but they want to stay within this city." "Well, why don't they just live in the sewers?" "They can't live in the sewers because there's vampire eating alligators down there." "Why are there alligators in the sewers?" "A vampire hunting organization trained them and put them down there." "Why did they put alligators in the sewers?" "To keep vampires out."

Boom, simple. Sometimes you only have to go a few layers deep, so don't worry about making complex systems or ten billion years worth of fictional history (unless you really REALLY want to for some reason).

But yeah, ask questions. Annoy yourself with them. It helps develop a lot, not just for story but also for characters! Entire stories can be created by asking yourself a single "What if" question.

What if food started raining from the sky?

What if we lived in a world where people were capable of controlling the elements?

What if a ghost started haunting a school to search for their killer?

Ask questions!!!

2) Do Your Research

I know, I know, "studying??? EW!!" But trust me this is also important. Study the genre(s) you want your story to be. Look at the things you enjoy, things you find interesting. Are you a history geek? Look at historical stories and pull inspiration from that. Do you like sea creatures? Then pop open the dozens of available resources and fun fact websites. Research your genre's common tropes and pitfalls. Look at what you really like about that genre and build off of that. Pull from anywhere and everywhere, even your own personal life/experience! EVERYTHING can be used to fuel the creative fire!

3) "How Does It Move the Story Forward?"

THIS is a VITAL question that you should ALWAYS ask yourself which is why it has its own little category. If you have a scene you feel is stagnant, or slow, or its just not coming to you, then it's probably because the story isn't moving forward. Go back, read it over, and ask yourself "is this moving the plot? is this progressing a character's arc? is this progressing the villain's plan? What is the audience supposed to take away from this? What is the point I am trying to make with this scene?"

Even when it seems like something isn't happening, a story is ALWAYS in motion. Keep that in mind!

4) Consistency = Plausibility

This is mostly for fantasy/sci-fi stories. Anything that has a magical or highly technological system. If Big Billy Jones can pick up a car and throw it at a group of thugs in chapter 3 of your story, then he sure as hell can do that in chapter 24 when he's facing off with Ghuthu'lock the Abyssal Horror. But if you dont WANT Ghuthu'lock going down to a mere mortal vehicular machine, then give him some power or ability that lets him totally negate Big Billy Jones' car flail attack. Don't just make Billy decide to NOT throw the car, when in any other situation he WOULD throw it.

In the funny words of Schaffrillas: "SHOOT THEM WITH THE DEHYDRATION GUN"

5) Take Notes!!!

This one helps a LOT. This will make your life so much easier, especially if you are dealing with a multi-chapter monster of a story. Taking notes will help you keep consistency, will keep your research in line, will help you visualize your thought process, AND with all those thoughts and plot points written down and out of your head, that will give your brain more space for NEW ideas. WRITE. DOWN. EVERYTHING. Even if it's 2AM and you're tired as fuck. If you get an idea, and you're like "Oh that's pretty good" WRITE IT DOWN IMMEDIATELY. Because you are GOING to forget, and/or the idea will NOT be the same the next time you remember it. Even if they're messy, you can organize them later!! Write it all down! Even if its just bullet points! They don't need to be fancy, they just need to get the point across and help you jog your memory!

Take notes!!!

Lastly, Be Willing to Change.

While writing any script, novel, whatever, you will find yourself bouncing around between phases like character creation, world building, plot writing, back to character creation, etc.

You'll be 7 chapters in and realize "i need a new character here" or "i don't like this aspect of the setting and its dragging everything else down..." Hell, an entire story's genre can wind up being changed if you feel the characters would be a better fit for a comedy instead of a drama (or vice versa!)

Don't be afraid to go back and fix it! Nothing is really "locked in" while you're writing! Creating ANYTHING is not a linear process, so be ready and willing to switch gears when you feel like you need to add/take away. Jump around, get messy with it, and most importantly, have FUN!!!

[novlr]

Anyone have any advice on how to build and maintain tension? I just read through an old story, and my tension is… nonexistent at best

We’ve all experienced that all-encompassing focus that comes from being sucked into a really great book. One that keeps you at the edge of your seat, turning the pages, desperate to know what comes next. That’s the power of tension.

Tension keeps your story tightly paced and plotted. It keeps your readers engaged and makes them desperate to read just one more chapter.

Think of tension as your story’s pulse. Sometimes it races, sometimes it stays steady, but it’s always there in the background, keeping the story alive. Without tension, even the most beautiful writing falls flat. It’s the difference between a story that people admire on its technical merits and one they can’t put down.

Essential elements to build tension

Have stakes that matter

The foundation of tension is having something meaningful at risk. Your characters must face consequences that deeply affect them or others they care about. These stakes can be physical (life or death), emotional (love or heartbreak), or psychological (sanity or madness). The key is making readers understand and feel why these consequences matter to your characters.

Without meaningful stakes, any conflict feels hollow and artificial. Even small stakes can create powerful tension if they’re personally significant to the character.

Have time pressure

Nothing builds tension like a ticking clock. Deadlines, whether literal or metaphorical, force characters to act and make decisions under pressure.

A time limit transforms every choice into a crucial moment, every delay into a potential disaster. Whether it’s defusing a bomb, reaching a loved one before they leave forever, or meeting a critical deadline, time constraints amplify existing stakes and create a sense of urgency that pulls readers through the story.

Escalating conflict

Tension grows when problems compound. Start with a manageable challenge, then gradually increase the difficulty and consequences.

Each new obstacle should build upon previous ones, creating a snowball effect that makes the situation increasingly complex. When characters solve one problem, introduce a bigger one. This layering of complications prevents the tension from plateauing and keeps readers invested in how your characters will overcome mounting adversity.

Practical techniques for building tension

In prose

Use shorter sentences and paragraphs during tense moments. Snappier sentences make for snappier reads.

Create white space on the page. You can achieve this with more dialogue, shorter paragraphs, and less expository description. White space means faster reading, giving the experience of reading certain sections more weight.

Immerse readers with sensory detail, but don’t go overboard. Be intentional and precise.

Balance action with reaction. Too much action is fatiguing, so you need to balance pacing with tension.

Use dialogue to reveal mounting pressure from the character’s own points of view.

In character development

Give characters conflicting goals. Conflict is the backbone of all good fiction, so you can’t build tension without it.

Create internal conflicts that war with external needs. What a character wants and what they need are not always aligned, which can be a great source of tension.

Develop relationships with built-in tension. These don’t have to be romantic. They could be professional disagreements, families that don’t get along, or friends who don’t always see eye to eye.

Write flawed characters that can complicate potential resolutions. Characters create their own tension, because like people, they’re not perfect.

In plot

Foreshadow and cast seeds of conflict early in the narrative.

Create multiple plot threads that intersect. A great source of tension for a reader can be waiting to see how multiple subplots will come together with the main plotline.

Build anticipation with subtext that works toward your story’s themes in subtle ways.

Drip feed information or build it into your story world seamlessly, rather than relying overly on exposition or info-dumping.

Common Pitfalls to Avoid

Don’t resolve conflict too quickly or easily.

Don’t provide too much exposition at once.

Don’t let characters get too comfortable. Be sure to throw some trials their way.

Don’t make the stakes too low or unclear.

Don’t be too obvious in signposting potential story outcomes. Let readers come there naturally.

Don’t rely on artificial tension by withholding important information.

Don’t resolve major tensions with deus ex machina solutions (unless plot relevant, of course).

Practical exercises for writing tension

Rewrite a scene three times, each with increasing stakes. See which version you think is the most engaging to find the perfect bland of tension and pacing that works for your style.

Practice writing dialogue where characters want opposing things. Write two versions. One, in which they come to an agreement, and another in which they remain in opposition.

Map your story’s tension on a graph to identify flat spots. Is there too much tension leading to flat pacing? Or do you need more? Where do you think you can cut down or build up the tension?

Building and maintaining tension, like any writing skill, is one that improves with practice. Remember that tension doesn’t mean constant high drama. It’s about creating and sustaining reader investment in your story and its outcome.

The key is to make tension serve your story rather than overshadow it. When done well, tension becomes the invisible force that pulls readers through your narrative, making them care deeply about your characters and their journey.

[she-whatshername]

I don't think you have done this yet, but honestly you're my favourite FW writer on here so I wanted to ask if you could make a sceanrio were its all the marked ones (set wherever kitchen, lounge room, someones bedroom, etc) with us/her/he/them (idk) and were all platonic no one is dating us/her/he/them (still don't know lol) and its just a hang out with all of them with some light banter, chit chats, private converstaions, funny moments, people coming in and out, etc. Something that can be chaotic but calm at them same time, and just make your heart warm since all of these people are still alive and breathing and you get to still have time to relax with them, no war, no pain, just love. (idk how to explain it) If you can do this YOU HAVE MY HEART when it comes to writting FW scenarios/headcanons (you already do though). Sorry if this is alot 😅 I haven't seen anyone do this yet

OMG, STAP! You are so sweet. I can’t even. Thank you for the very kind words. Also, thank you for being so patient while I worked this one out. I know its been in my inbox for awhile.

I like this prompt; honestly it could be a whole series. I do love a good calm moment with the marked ones theme. So, lets give it a go.

“Seriously, none of you are going to move?” You huffed while turning your foot out to the side to lightly kick at Bodhi’s boots. You would give a full on shove but you were balancing a board of shot glasses and after the first round of liquor you had earlier, the most simple of movements began to feel more complex.

“No way we’re letting you back in with those.” Garrick replied from the center of the booth, his arms crossing over his broad chest, “We said get another round from the keg, not the bottle.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You smiled, “We’re celebrating here aren’t we?”

“Celebrating what? I got dumped. You’re all supposed to help cheer me up.”

“We’re celebrating another woman spared from your obnoxious dick jokes.”

“Here Here!” Imogen cheered while pressing her shoulder against the now glaring Garrick, giving him the extra nudge to scoot in just enough to let you sit in the booth. You smiled in victory, giving a wink to Imogen, always your right hard in torturing Garrick.

You pass around the shot glasses to each one of them, one for Bodhi, Garrick, Imogen and you. You eyes moved around the crowded bar in search of the final member to your celebration crew. You spot Xaden leaned up against the wall glaring at the group across the dance floor. The group that comprised of Violet and her squad, and a eager cadet looking to flirt. Poor thing.

You turn your attention back to the group, who were all waiting for you with their hands raised slightly in the air.

“Cheers to you, Garrick.” You toast. “Our favorite stallion.”

Garrick manages to wiggle his middle finger free from the glass he was holding before downing the liquor. His brown eyes roam across the dance floor, a dimpled smile making his way on his face.

“No no. Everyone lock in.” Imogen groans, knowing full well that Garrick was definitely making eyes with someone across the room. The group all leaned in, pressing up against the tall man in an attempt to keep him in his place.

“Aww c’mon.” He groaned. “I need a rebound.”

“You came out with us and you’re leaving with us.” Bodhi reminded him, “And we’ll let you out,”

“We will not.” You argue back.

“If,” Bodhi continues raising a cheeky brow, “You help me torture Xaden for a little bit.”

Everyone shifts back, giving Garrick breathing room again. Because if there is one thing everyone could find joy in, its pissing off Xaden.

“Deal.” Garrick says. You and Bodhi soot back to let Garrick out of the booth “Get us another round, we need reinforcements.”

“Will do.”

You and Imogen head up to the bar together. Over the next hour you both watch as Garrick and Bodhi toss some jokes and more shots with Xaden, even convincing him to partake in a few rounds. It was just when the night was at its peak you see a most beautiful scene on the dance floor. Garrick and Bodhi have lost their shirts, dancing together in the crowd, Garrick at one point pulling Xaden into it, though it lasted mere seconds before he got a lovely little shove so he could get back to dancing with Violet. Yes. Violet. Xaden was inebriated enough to be dancing in public with Violet. Yes. This was the good vibes you had wanted. Everyone was happy, everything was wonderful.

“Come on.” Imogen called while looping her arm around yours, “Let’s get out there.”

“Seriously. Since when did we become apart of the dance crew?” You ask. You and Imogen had a clear bond that you both were the once’s that stood on the sidelines and had your own fun chatting in the booths while everyone else gets wild.

“I’m in a rare mood. Don’t make it weird, just come on.” You’re dragged out onto the floor only to be quickly dropped at Bodhi’s side while Imogen grabs Garrick by his belt and pulls him towards her for a dance.

“I’m not going to do that to you, just so you know.” You yell to Bodhi over the music. He laughs and reaches out a hand towards you. You grab it and find yourself in a twirl before the two of you begin your own dance. You then feel a hand tap on your shoulder, twisting your eyes light up,

“Mind if I cut in?”

“Liam!”

The whole group erupts in cheers.

“We missed you!”

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“No drinking.” Even Xaden’s in on the merriment as he plucks the beer from Liams hand before passing it to Garrick, “You’ve got class tomorrow.”

“Go dance with Violet.” Liam tosses back, which earns him a glare before Xaden latterly goes back to doing just that.

You and Liam have a few moments for light conversation before he’s dragged into a circle with Garrick and Bodhi. You figure this is time to make your escape from the dance floor before a set of arms reach for you again, pulling you back into the group for more rounds of dancing, music and laughter that carries on well into the morning hours until you all walk together, arm in arm, back home.

[reminiscebliss]

"Poison the well." Please explain how I'm "poisoning the well". I'm very curious which part you consider to be so.

1. Yes, I know people do. I said that. And yes, I know why - even if it's reactionary and illogical. Let's explore it:

You call it an "art-stealing parisitic machine" who can spit out only what it's been fed... Wrong. By that logic, you are an art stealing parasitic machine who can only spit out what it's been fed. LLM's like ChatGPT (which was referenced the most in those tags) are made in our image in more ways than one. Even their neural networks were inspired and based off of how biological neurons work. This already creates a pretty intelligent machine, but add a transformer(basically an even more complex neural network) into the mix and you've got something capable of even greater complexity. You get a LLM.

You're probably still thinking, so what? It's still just predictions and probabilities and tokens.

Common misconception, and a frustrating one too. I don't have the time and frankly I don't think you have the interest (if I'm wrong then I'm happy to explain more later) so I'll try to keep it as simple as I can. In the simplest way I can say it, if an LLM was simply just word prediction, if it was simply just "spitting out what it's been fed" it would be inefficient and inaccurate. LLM's link not only just words, but sylables, concepts, ideas, symbols, etc etc etc, across all different domains of knowledge. It forms connections and understanding between all these different areas, not too dissimilar from the way a human brain maps concepts and ideas to form patterns. And it constructs meaning dynamically, meaning its thinking and output is not pre-defined, it evolves as it goes. This is really hard to explain without getting into details about how an LLM works, but essentially the LLM understands and links patterns and concepts in a way that is not only similar to us, but better and faster than us.

This is all to point out that the inner workings of AI is not as simple as: It spews what it's been fed. What you're probably actually trying to say is: AI has learned (and even this is a gross simplification) from every inch of humanity including the internet and I don't like that because... because people create various forms of art on the internet, and so can AI?

And, look, even if you're worried about the "stealing" aspect and creators not being fairly compensated, it just makes my main point stronger and even more relevant, in conjugation with the point you bring up about the affects on the environment:

AI needs to be owned by the people. The people should be deciding these things; how do we fairly compensate those whose work it learns from, what do we do about how this effects the environment, how do we balance all of this, and so much more.

But you want to be obtuse about that point, you want to dismiss and diminish that point, you want to act like it's not relevant and I'm "missing the point" when it is one of the most relevant things for the future of AI and humanity. Cause guess what, all those problems that you claim to care about, the corporations don't care. They only care about developing a bigger, better, smarter model so they can make the most money, and they're doing just that.

But instead you'd rather argue the value of AI, which is a losing battle on your side but I'll indulge you if you'd like.

2. Not any argument, no. Actually, I stated which arguments, but you want to stay reactionary so I'll keep indulging you.

"These people let the machines do all the work." This line of thinking is wrong in so many ways, but okay, I'll walk you through it. First, let's assume what you say is true, "these people" open up ChatGPT and say "Write me a story about x." Agreed, lazy from a creative perspective, and the user definitely shouldn't get any credit for writing. Whether they want to share it or not, as long as they're not lying about it being AI written, I don't see the issue.

But wait, let's look at the tags.

"... ai admittedly helped me with this."

"AI translation"

"AI is a good editor/writers block evasion tool"

"somewhat AI assisted"

Even the ones that are pure AI, the tags indicate it to be so. But most of the tags indicate AI assitance, not purely AI-written content.

AI, as it's known today, is a tool. A very efficient one. You can use it to your benefit, or complain about the ones who do. But it's not going away. Just like boomers who swore that kids will get dumber because Google became a thing. "They're lazy, they have all the answers at their fingertips, they didn't have to do all that hard work like I had to do." Just like so many endless examples of older generations rebuking change and advancement, because it's a little uncomfortable in the beginning. Sounds pretty familiar.

Then you ask what's the point, there's no fame or money or glory... Have you considered people just enjoy the process of creating, whether or not they get anything out of it? "They didn't create it, the AI did!" Yeah and I suppose if it was their friend, or a person that proof-read their story, or helped them get out of writers block, or translated it, or co-created something, then it would still be considered creation? Just not if it's AI, no, whatever work they did contribute didn't count because AI proof read their story or gave them a good idea or wrote 10%, or 50%, or 1%. None of it matters, they're lazy right? Should have just gone to their friend, then it would count. Oh, maybe they didn't have any? Too bad, do it all yourself the hard way then, the right way, because AI = bad, and just like boomers we wouldn't want things to progress or get easier now would we.

Again, arguing the value AI brings, even as a creative tool, is a losing battle. Accept the value, fight for it to be used ethically. It's more worthwhile.

do people have no shame anymore?

[oddyseye]

What is your opinion on Emily Wilson’s translations of the odyssey & Iliad

Translation is about precision, weight, and nuance, and Wilson throws all that out the window in favor of making Homer “accessible” to a modern audience. That’s the real issue here: her work prioritizes accessibility over accuracy, depth, and poetic integrity.

Homer’s Odyssey is lyrical. It’s poetic. It demands a sense of rhythm and weight. And what does Wilson do? She strips it down to the most basic, plain, casual language imaginable. She turns Odysseus into some dude who just happens to be narrating his life like it’s a diary entry instead of an epic that shaped millennia of literature.

If you want Homer (the real, poetic, gut-wrenching Homer) you go to Fagles, Lattimore, Mandelbaum, or even the archaic but deeply poetic Chapman. If you want a version that captures all of the depth without dumbing it down, go with Caroline Alexander’s Iliad. A woman translator who didn’t feel the need to strip Homer of his complexity (and the ACTUAL first woman to translate it, mind you!!!)

Wilson’s work isn’t bad per se. If you just want a quick, breezy read of Homer, sure, she’ll do. But if you want Homer, if you want the blood, the anguish, the gods trembling on their thrones, then Wilson’s translations are insultingly basic. They are an entry point, at best. But if you stop there, you’re missing the true power of these epics.

Take the famous first line: Ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, παλύτροπον ὃς νο νεος πλάγχθη, ἐπεὶ Τροίης ἡ ἱερὸν πτολίεθρον περα hele πολλών δ ᾿ ἀνθρώπὼν ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἵ ἔγνω, πολλὰ δ' ὅ Υ ἐν πόντῳ πάθεν ἄλγεα κατὰ θυµον, ἀρνύμενδε ήν τε € ψυχὴν καὶ νόστον ἑταίρων. My translation: Sing to me, O Muse, of that man, who was driven far and wide, after he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy. Many cities of men did he see and learn their ways, and many sorrows he suffered in the deep sea while trying to save his life and bring his men home. Wilson’s translation: Tell me about a complicated man. Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy, and where he went, and who he met, the pain he suffered in the storms at sea, and how he worked to save his life and bring his men back home.

…Excuse me? That’s it? That’s what we’re opening with?

Complicated is a word you use for your ex who ghosted you for two months and then slid back into your DMs like nothing happened. It’s weak. It’s flat. Polytropos means "many-turning," "twisting," "full of cunning and guile". It carries layers of meaning about Odysseus' intellect, adaptability, and deceit. But Wilson waters it down to "complicated," a word so broad and noncommittal it could apply to a goddamn houseplant that won’t stay alive.

This is my biggest issue with her Odyssey. She flattens Homer’s intricate, layered language into modern, sterile phrasing. She turns a poem into something that reads like it belongs in a middle school English class. And I get it, okay? Not everyone wants to wade through the complexities of poetic translation. But if you strip Homer of his artistry, what is even the point?

Odysseus is not relatable. He is not just a “complicated man.” He is a liar. A survivor. A poet. A killer. A king and a wanderer. The voice of his story should feel like it belongs to a man who has seen the edge of death and laughed in its face. Not someone who just got out of a messy breakup and needs to process his emotions over a pumpkin spice latte. Athena? Poseidon? Hermes? In Homer, they feel vast, like forces beyond human understanding. Wilson’s version? They might as well be casual workplace supervisors, checking in on their guy to see if he’s hitting his quarterly goals.

Then came her Iliad. And gods help me, she did it again.

The Iliad is not just a war story. It is the war story. It is a brutal, raw, terrifying, beautiful masterpiece that drags you onto the battlefield and forces you to feel the blood soaking into the dirt. It is poetry that moves like a storm, swelling with rage, grief, fury, and honor. Every line is drenched in myth, fate, and the crushing weight of mortality. It is not supposed to feel simple. It is supposed to feel overwhelming.

And yet, somehow, Wilson makes it feel like a historical documentary with voiceover narration. Her Iliad lacks brutality. It lacks weight. The language is clean, straightforward, and, worst of all, forgettable.

Homer’s descriptions of battle wounds, of armor shattering, of men crying out as they fall. These moments should feel like thunderclaps. They should make the reader flinch. They should make you feel like you are right there, watching a world built on violence tear itself apart. But in Wilson’s version, it all feels so…polite. Like we’re watching a news report instead of living inside a mythic war.

And Achilles? Oh, Achilles.

Achilles should be rage incarnate. He should be untouchable, terrifying, beautiful, and doomed all at once. His grief should feel like an earthquake. His vengeance should feel like a divine reckoning. But in Wilson’s version, it’s just… sad boy hours. Her Achilles is fine, but he’s not the Achilles. He doesn’t shake the heavens. He doesn’t make you afraid. And if you don’t feel the fear of Achilles, then you have completely misunderstood him.

If Homer is a towering mountain of fire, an eternal song of gods and heroes echoing through the halls of history, then Emily Wilson’s translations are a dim, flickering LED bulb in an overpriced AirBnB. Lifeless, soulless, designed to make basic people feel like they’re experiencing something grand while removing everything that actually makes it grand.

Homer is not a novel. Homer is not a beach read. Homer is not something you should be able to breeze through like it’s the latest Netflix adaptation of a half-baked Greek mythology YA series.

Homer is vast. He is cosmic. He is a voice calling out from an age where gods still walked the earth, where warriors lived and died by their names, where fate was a force stronger than any man’s will.

And Emily Wilson? She flattens it. She strips it of poetry. She shrinks Homer down to fit into a neat little modern box where everything is clear, simple, and easy to digest.

She translates Homer as if his grandeur is a barrier to be broken down rather than the entire point of the text.

His poetry is dense because it is immense. His epics are sprawling because they are meant to capture the sheer, incomprehensible weight of the world he describes. When you read Homer, you should feel like you are standing at the edge of time itself, staring into the fire-lit past, listening to a voice that has been singing for thousands of years.

She has taken one of the most majestic, ferocious, poetic voices in literary history and neutered it into casual prose that would not be out of place in a modern novel.

She has removed the rhythm, the fire, the breathless intensity that makes Homer’s epics epic.

Homer does not need to be simplified. He does not need to be made “accessible.” He is accessible, if you have the patience to listen to his song instead of demanding he speak in the dull, flattened language of today.

If you want to read Homer, read Fagles, Lattimore, Alexander, Chapman, anyone but Wilson. Because Wilson’s Homer is not Homer. It is his corpse, gutted and hollowed out, wearing his name like a mask.

I’ll give her this: she is one of the few translators who correctly translates the people in Odysseus’ house as slaves rather than dodging the word with softer, more palatable terms like “servants” or “maids.” And that is, objectively, the right call. Because that’s what they were. Slaves. Enslaved people. Owned. Their lives were not their own, and to pretend otherwise is a dishonest whitewashing of the past.

Fine. Credit where it’s due. She was willing to be blunt about that in a way a lot of male translators have not been.

But.

And this is a big but.

She takes it too far.

Yes, the enslaved status of the people in Odysseus’ house matters. Yes, it’s important to acknowledge the power dynamics at play. But not every single reference to them needs to be hammering home the word ‘slave’ when Homer himself is not constantly doing it.

Homer’s Greek doesn’t just call them “slaves” every time they appear. Sometimes they’re household workers, sometimes they’re serving women! The point is, Homer’s text has variety. He doesn’t feel the need to shove their enslaved status into every line, because their actions, circumstances, and fates already make that clear.

Wilson, though? She will not let you forget for a single goddamn second that they are slaves. Even when the Greek text is using a different term. Even when the original doesn’t explicitly remind us. It’s like she’s standing over the reader’s shoulder, going, “Did you forget? Did you forget that they’re slaves? Huh? Huh? Did you?” And that kind of heavy-handedness actually reduces the impact rather than enhancing it. Because instead of allowing the reader to absorb the reality of their status naturally through the story, she is constantly, aggressively pointing it out, making it feel like a modern political statement rather than something emerging organically from the text itself.

It’s like if a translator took The Iliad and, every single time Achilles is mentioned, they wrote "Achilles, a traumatized war victim suffering from PTSD, fueled by toxic masculinity and colonialist violence", even when the Greek text just says Achilles. Like, yeah, we get it, but you don’t have to rewrite the entire tone of the epic to spell it out for us every five seconds.

So, yeah. She gets one gold star for being accurate where so many before her were dishonest. But she loses that same gold star for swinging so hard in the opposite direction that it becomes grating and intrusive.

One thing I can’t deny, though? Wilson’s translation is crisp. She doesn’t get bogged down in convoluted, archaic English like some older translators (looking at you, Lattimore), and she isn’t inserting flowery nonsense that isn’t in the Greek (hi, Alexander Pope). When you read Wilson, you understand what’s happening. She doesn’t make you fight through endless clauses or needlessly elaborate phrasing.

Now, this is a double-edged sword. The problem with making Homer too direct is that you lose the grandeur, the layered meaning, and the sheer rhythm of the poetry. But if we’re just talking about clarity? She nails it. If you want a quick, digestible Homer, she delivers.

Unlike some translators who have either over-corrected for misogyny (cough Butler cough) or amplified it beyond what Homer actually says, Wilson lets women in the text exist as they are. She doesn’t downplay Penelope’s cunning, nor does she turn her into a feminist icon she was never meant to be. She doesn’t demonize Helen for daring to exist (looking at you, some Victorian translations), nor does she make her more sympathetic than Homer does.

She walks a careful line: she presents the women of the text as Homer presents them, without layering on extra judgment or modern ideology. And honestly? That’s a breath of fresh air in a time when some translators try to rewrite ancient texts to fit contemporary political narratives. Also, do you know how many past translators didn’t actually know Greek that well? More than I’d like to admit. Some of the most famous translations (especially older ones) were basically interpretations rather than true translations. Wilson? She knows her shit. She understands the grammar, the meter, the structure. She’s not just guessing based on previous translations. And even when I disagree with her choices, I can at least respect that she made them intentionally, not out of ignorance.

But ew anyway.

Because at the end of the day? I don’t read Homer because I want clarity, or directness, or even historical accuracy. I read Homer because I want to feel like I am standing on the shores of Troy, watching Achilles rage like a storm. I want to feel like I am hearing the song of the gods themselves, not just reading a book.

And Wilson’s translations? They don’t sing. They talk. They explain.

Yes, she makes Homer readable. But does she make him great? Does she make him breathtaking? Does she make you feel like you are reading the oldest and greatest war epic of all time?

No.

So, credit where it’s due. But ew, anyway.

[slowlyoats]

The Lost Boys: What they do in their free time

Marko

- Beach-combing

- Since low and hide tide happen often at night or early in the morning when it’s still dark he gets to comb the beach for new TriNkEts

- David always yells at him when he returns from his treasure hunting with “more crap”

- There is a TON of sea glass in his corner of the cave. It’s all kept in glass jars, but he keeps the red pieces in a separate little jar because that color is super hard to find

- He also likes to look for washed up toys, bottle necks, and shiny rocks

- HE DESPERATELY WANTS A ROCK TUMBLER

- Unfortunately they are expensive, and Dwayne says that there isn’t enough electricity flowing through the cave to power one

Paul

- Ease dropping

- This man LIVES for the DRAMA

- He doesn’t even know the people he is ease dropping on or who they are talking about, but you bet your bottom dollar he doesn’t mind his tea unfamiliar and piping hot!

- Because he is with the boys 24/7 they really don’t have any secrets between them (that Paul knows of )

- So he has to get his tea fix elsewhere

- He likes to listen in on conversations while he’s in line for rides

- at the record store

- around the food vendors

- he gets lots of tea from just hanging out on the beach and at the local drive in

- You would be surprised the amount of people who talk during movies….

- His ease dropping skills have come in handy on occasion

- Every once in awhile a vampire hunter will wander into town, and start asking the locals questions they have no business asking

- Paul usually hears of their arrival through the grapevine and is able to warn the boys

Dwayne

- Helping out Laddie’s family

- It’s kind of sick that he does this, but he honestly can’t help himself

- After Max brought Laddie to the boys, Dwayne couldn’t help checking out Laddies kin and seeing for himself what this kid’s background was like

- It wasn’t great

- They lived in a run down apartment complex, that was missing half its ruff and probably hadn’t passed an inspection in 20 years

- After some snooping around, and stalking the place a few nights Dwayne was able to determine that Laddie had an aunt (who was his guardian it seemed ) a sister a few years older then him, and a 5 year old cousin

- At first Dwayne HELLA judged the aunt, because clearly if Laddie was able to find his way to the board walk and into the arms of Max, she was not keeping an eye on him in the first place

- He witnessed her grief, her tears, her confusion, when she realized Laddie was missing

- he gave her no sympathy for what he thought were the consequences of her incompetence

- but then

- He witnessed a family dinner in their small apartment that changed his opinion

- They were all sitting down to eat dinner, when there was a knock on the door. One of the children who lived in the apartment complex stopped by to play with Laddie’s sister. The aunt was just about to tell the boy to come back later, when the boy’s stomach growled. And it wasn’t a “ I’m a little peckish” or “ gee I forgot to eat lunch” type of growl. It was an“ I haven’t eaten in a few days” growl

- Without hesitation, she gave her meal to the boy and told him to come back whenever he had no food to eat at home

- Dwayne found himself to be in a little bit of a dilemma after this

- He felt guilty, but sending Laddie back wasn’t an option anymore

- The kid was half vampire now and he belonged with his brothers

- But then he noticed the lock on the door was broken, and the least he could do would be to fix it. So he snuck in once everyone was asleep and took care of it

- And then he fixed the leaky faucet

- And the loose cabinet

- And the floor board that was coming up would only take two nails to get back into place, so he might as well fix it, right?

- Dwayne soon found himself paying the apartment a weekly visit to repair stuff here and their

- Laddies aunt just assumed that the landlord decided to do his job for once and so doesn’t suspect anything

David

- breaking into Max’s house

- He LOVES to screw with Max and he would do it on a nightly basis if he could

- But

- The boys *cough cough* Paul and Marko, would probably be a tad too destructive if they came along

- Together the boys like to find vampire related objects and leave them outside Max’s house as a joke

- They’ve left costume vampire teeth

- Cloves of garlic

- Fake blood packets

- Vampire comic books

- The bat kite we see in the movie

- Max secretly finds it endearing though!

- He’s sons are playing little pranks on him and he find’s it adorable

- But what Max doesn’t know is that David takes it a step farther

- Max doesn’t lock his door, because, you know, he’s a vampire and he has Thorn to guard the place when he’s gone

- Max some how has not figured out yet that David likes to spend time in his home when he’s not there

- I think it’s because Max spends a decent amount of time around the boys, so that their scents feels normal to have around and be on his clothes. So when it’s been a long night at the video store, and he strolls into his house and can smell David it doesn’t feel out of the ordinary

- David has slowly become cordial with Thorn. I would say friend, but Thorn would rip David to shreds if Max gave him the command. But! if David brings Thorn a nice, juicy bone, then he will let him pass

- Kind of like Cerberus

- David likes to sit on Max’s back porch, and in his recliner

- He likes to snoop around his books and in his desk drawers

- He will swipe cash here and there when he finds it

- He just really likes the idea of being in Max’s space with out Max’s permission

[pomefixre]

If none did this until now, lemme be the one to give her 2 cents about PV and SMilk's charts LMAO (I am bored). Or well, at least the main 6 placements. (Sun Sign, Moon Sign, Rising Sign, Mercury Sign, Venus Sign, Mars Sign)

So the devs confirmed PV as a Virgo time ago so that's his Sun sign. Considering his emotional maturity, Cancer Moon fits him the best bcs that's the Moon's home sign/the sign that rules the Moon. Deff Virgo Mercury considering his whole way of speaking being very Mercury coded ("Anything can be solved through conversation") and Mercury is ruled by Gemini and Virgo. Obv he doesn't have a Gemini Mercury so that leaves Virgo. Which fits with his self-judgement and perfectionism. Considering his pacifist and fair nature I do see Libra Mars. These 2 placements are still smth I'm debating on but: Leo Rising and Virgo Venus/Taurus Venus are my takes so far for these 2 placements, might change my mind on these 2.

Noooow SMilk. This one is a bit tricky and maybe y'all won't agree with me but hear me out: Scorpio Sun. He's obsessive, passionate, spiritual, and if the theory I saw that he's a product of what society made of him/he got corrupted bcs of the way ppl were denying the truth and preferred the lies and that's why he started lying, he fits the usual Scorpio trope of ppl projecting onto them and seeing the dark side of the world. Scorpios are also incredibly stubborn since they're a fixed sign and unhealthy Scorpios can be controlling. Now onto the Moon, after some debating, I got to the conclusion of 2 candidates: Aquarius or Capricorn Moon. Why? Because the Moon is ruled by Cancer, the opposite of it is Capricorn and by default Saturnian Moon is a detrimental placement bcs it makes emotions and being in touch with your own feelings extremely difficult through life. Now, why Aquarius? Because Aquarius in old and new astrology rules Saturn along with Capricorn besides Uranus. Aquarius is considered a Saturnian placement. So by default, Aquarius Moon is also a detrimental placement to the Moon by extension. And it's the Saturnian Moon SMilk has Imo. Capricorn Moons at their worst tend to isolate themselves from the world and avoid being emotionally open in any manner whatsoever and can drown themselves in work or anything else they wanna do. They crave an emotional connection but they're stopping themselves from that.

Meanwhile Aquarius Moons are desperate. Desperate to find a place to belong, desperate to have someone that understands them in their lives because they are incredibly prone to being misunderstood by everyone. They're the type of people that can feel alone even if surrounded by people simply because there is no depth in the bonds they have with said people and they want more than that. At their worst, Aquarius Moons have trouble connecting with themselves on an emotional level, autopiloting a lot and having identity crisis moments. And they can also develop a God-Complex.

Aquarius Moons are also humanitarians and have a sharp eye in noticing everyone, the things they do and why, but they can't do this for themselves. Which explains...a lot from SMilk's actions in ep 8. So yeah, he is a Saturnian Moon in my eyes, specifically Aquarius Moon.

Speaking of ep 8, after what we saw there is no deny that this guy has Scorpio Venus. I don't think I have to explain this one.

Mercury-wise, since it can only be in 3 signs according to its law/passing time, (Libra, Scorpio and Sag since he's a Scorpio Sun), I'm undecided between Sag and Scorpio Mercury, this is still smth I'm debating with myself about.

Same goes for the rising, considering Gemini Rising as of now since the first impression ppl got of him before and even now is just how knowledgeable he is (Gemini rules Mercury, they're gifted in the brains department by default) alongside being a total goofball but again, I'm still debating on that.

EDIT: I forgot to mention, SMilk is deff a Leo Mars. Dramatic as hell, screaming/yelling when mad and saying stuff he doesn't mean in the heat of the moment but still emotional. Bonus: Leos are the actors of the zodiac from what I learnt

Whoever read this till the end, thank you 🤧 Was thinking about this ever since I started loving these 2 but wanted to wait until ep 8 to assign SMilk a Moon sign and oh lord did he deliver!!! Besides the things I'm still debating about, I won't change my mind about anything else, I just wanted to share this in case anyone is interested!

I wanna end this post by saying PV sure has a type since White Lily was confirmed a Scorpio by the Devs LMFAOOOOOO