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[osamusriceballs]

The Accident - Part XI

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: None

Words: ~ 3,1 k

About: A date with Atsumu Miya~

Part I II -> Next Part

The silence is almost intimidating, and you find yourself looking around in silent awe.

Atsumu looks exceptionally good. The red uniform suits him well, and he looks even better and more professional than in the videos you've seen. "I can't believe we're actually here. I didn't want to ask Hinata for tickets because he's been busy lately, but I can't believe Atsumu-san managed to get two tickets for this- in the front row even!"

You nod and gaze at the court thinking back at the sudden message that you had received a few days ago.

Atsumu: "Are you free this weekend, Mrs. Miya?"

You stare at the message blankly, trying to figure out what to say. You had just started your nightly routine, not really expecting Atsumu to send you a message tonight. But here it is, white and blue. With a nickname that makes your heart skip a beat.

You: "Yes! :)"

Atsumu: "Great. Wanna come and watch me play? We can hang out at Samu's or my place after that, if you're up for it?"

You: "Sounds good!"

Atsumu: "I'll save ya two spots if you want to. You can bring your friend; Shoyo-kun will be there too. I'm sure she's interested too."

You: "I'll ask her. Thank you for being so considerate <;3"

You close your eyes for a few seconds, fearing his reaction to the heart emoji.

When you open them, you see his instant reply.

Atsumu: "Of course <3 I can't meet ya before probably, but we'll keep in touch, 'kay?"

You: "See you then &lt;3"

Atsumu: "See ya <;3"

It's a special event, a pre-match before the Olympics fully start in a few weeks. The stadium is only half-full, but the people watch excitedly how the members of the Japanese Olympic team participate in a promotional match against each other. Apparently, a very exclusive event that has not been opened to the public, yet, here you are. Sitting in the first row next to Yachi with a drink in your hands—one that she got for you, despite your protests.

"Look, he is going to serve. That's why they are all quiet. It probably won't be like that during the Olympics; there will be a different audience. Today is a very special event. Randomized teams and starting positions, but look how well they all adapt. True professionals." Yachi whispers into your ear, her cheeks flushed already from her drink. You're just glad that Tsukishima has offered to pick her up after the game, you would have been worried about her otherwise.

"It's so quiet; it's almost intimidating." You whisper back and watch Atsumu. He seems really focused on his set, his expression cold and blank, unlike you've ever seen him before. He's truly intimidating on the court.

He seems very focused when he's taking a few steps back and concentrates on a point in the opposite field. It just takes a few seconds, and then you see him jump, the ball flying towards the field in the fraction of a moment. The loud impact makes you shiver, while you watch the field in stunned silence. When you glance back at Atsumu, you could have sworn that he looked at you before he high-fives one of his teammates. The crowd yells and cheers, and you find yourself clapping and calling his name too.

"Did you see that? That's what the boys had to endure back in high school. And it was just as scary back then." Yachi groans and rubs her bare arms; the goosebumps visible in the brightly lit hall. "He's amazing." You know that you're probably watching him with hearts in your eyes, but you can't help yourself when your heart skips a beat at the way he got even more attractive to you now that you've seen him actually play. You definitely get the fangirls now.

As he prepares to set again, you hold your breath nervously, and this time the other team manages to receive it. You watch with wide eyes how the ball is suddenly on the other side of the court again, a quick attack from someone you recognize as Bokuto, and then it's Atsumu who sets the ball flawlessly, a dark-haired spiker scoring a point. The crowd goes wild, chanting a name that you don't know yet, and Yachi is quick to lean over to you again while you watch Atsumu and the dark-haired player exchange a wordless fist bump.

"That's Sakusa Kiyoomi; him and Atsumu-san make a deadly combo on the court." You nod, your eyes not moving from Atsumu, who suddenly turns to you and grins widely. You shyly wave back and give him a thumbs up and a smile; he winks, holding up another finger and pointing to you and then to the ball. You're not sure you completely understand what he's trying to tell you, but you still nod and smile, hoping it was an appropriate reaction.

You finally get that he probably meant to tell you that he'll do another service ace for you when he nails the serve effortlessly, and you stare at him with wide eyes when he turns to you and playfully winks with a thumbs up. You cheer loudly for him, and Yachi also cheers alongside you, not noticing the silent exchange that had just happened right next to her.

---

The teams bow when they finish the game and wave to the crowd, probably well-aware that some of their greatest sponsors sit alongside there. "That was amazing!" You smile at Yachi, and you both clink your glasses and drink the rest of the drinks.

"Kei will pick me up at the back entrance; is it okay if I leave you here?" She looks at you with worry etched in her features, and you nod reassuringly. "He'll pick me up right here. Don't worry; I'm sure he'll be here soon."

You hug her, and after you promise to text her, you sit back in your place. You watch all the people leave until the hall is almost empty, and then finally, after you played with your phone for a while, the athletes start to stroll in the hall, now dressed normally and all of them looking fresh. You look for Atsumu and quickly spot his blonde bright hair. He is now sporting a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt that tightly fits on his torso, his blonde hair still slightly wet from the shower—he looks really good. He strides energetically towards you, a delighted expression on his face, and he doesn't even hesitate before he pulls you into a tight hug.

"Hey."

"Hey, Atsumu. You were great; congratulations." You mumble against his shoulder, and he squeezes you a bit tighter before he lets you go. "Thanks. I hope you had fun."

"I did! I loved every second; it was really cool."

He wraps an arm around your shoulders while you speak and gently directs you towards the exit. "Just wait till ya see the Olympics, that will be even better. Let's go to my place, huh?" You nod and follow him to his car.

xxx

Atsumu has a really nice apartment. It's rather high up, but the elevator is so modern and smooth that you barely realize how high you drive up. Everything is clean and cozy, and you find several pictures of Atsumu and his family on the wall and a lot of trophies. The TV on the wall is ridiculously big, but the couch is far away from it, far enough for it not to strain your eyes. Atsumu gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the living room, and you sit down comfortably.

"I felt a bit out of place, though. Everyone was wearing fan shirts. I should probably get one too for the next game." You stare down at your plain shirt while Atsumu takes a seat next to you, still making sure to keep enough distance not to make you uncomfortable.

"You wanna wear a shirt with my number?" He grins at you, his eyes sparkling while he musters you, and you embarrassedly laugh. "I still need to decide about my favorite player. I might favor Sakusa Kiyoomi, he seemed quite impressive too. And Kageyama's sets were amazing as well." He pouts at your words, pressing his hand to his chest as if you just wounded him. You quickly raise your hands and laugh.

"I was just kidding. Of course, I'd only wear your number. I want to support your big dream of becoming a famous volleyball player someday."

He nods approvingly and reaches into his bag. "In that case, I think I have the perfect shirt for you." He offers you a crumpled piece of cloth that you quickly recognize as the shirt he's been wearing during the game. You stare at him blankly, your eyes wandering from the shirt in his hand to his face. "That's your shirt."

"Yes." He nods, still holding the shirt up.

"You will need it for the Olympics."

"Yes."

"Won't you get in trouble for this?"

"It's not like they can fire me at this point." He just shrugs his shoulder, and you finally reach out for it. "Thank you."

"Of course, can't have ya walking around with Omi's number. He is the worst, have ya seen his ugly face and his glare? I dunno why he has so many fans." He fakes a gagging sound, and you giggle while you place the shirt on the couch next to you. You're quite sure that his shirt would sell online for a fortune—especially his worn shirt. Not that you would do that.

"You seemed to get along pretty well with him on the court." You say with a teasing smile, and he rolls his eyes playfully. "He's still an ass sometimes. He's just lucky that he's good at playing. Would have ditched him otherwise. But we normally get along well, I just love complainin' about him."

"He seems... quite intense." You both exchange a glance and nod in silent agreement, and then he clears his throat.

"Uhm.. do ya wanna drink something?"

"Water is good, thanks." You smile, and he is quick to go into the kitchen and return with two glasses and a carafe of water.

"Thanks." you smile and take a sip of the glass he offers you. You both sit there for a few seconds in silence, and you mentally debate if you should suggest for him to turn on a movie or something- or to start a new topic, but he always makes your brain go blank. You wonder if he regrets his choice of inviting you over. He might have been curious about you in the beginning, like you were curious about him, but what does he actually think about you? He's so hard to read, especially since you're having a hard time figuring out if he just has a natural flirty personality or if he just does it with you. You try to stay calm while you keep on overthinking next to him, your hand tightening almost uncomfortably hard around the glass, but then he suddenly interrupts your thoughts.

"Ya wanna play a game? I got this truth or dare on mobile thing. I bought the full lifetime version when I was drunk a few years ago, and I plan to use it to the fullest." His brown eyes are warm when you meet them and you find yourself forgetting about your worries.

"Oh? I think that is a story that I'd love to hear."

"Ya might if ya use a dare for that." He winks, and you feel your cheeks heat up. He fishes for his phone and starts typing your names in the bright and cartoonish-styled app. "Is random mode fine with ya?"

"Sure." You smile and wait for him to set things up, and he places the phone between the both of you an you both look curiously at the screen.

dare for Atsumu:

Show your latest pic in your camera roll.

He pales visibly after reading it and stares at his phone blankly while you eye him curiously. "Can I pass?" Your eyes widen at his sudden static state, and you simply nod. "Uhm... you don't have to do it if you're not comfortable."

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "I just don't want to make ya uncomfortable."

Now he has really piqued your interest. "I won't be. Promise."

He doesn't seem convinced but opens the gallery in front of your eyes and clicks on the last picture—a shirtless picture of him, probably taken right after the game. He's still wearing the red shorts and very seductively grinning into the camera, his bare abs on full display for the camera. You quickly avert your gaze and clear your throat, feeling like a teenager looking at their crush. You now rub your throat to hide how flustered you feel from just seeing a goddamn picture of him. "I didn't expect that, to be honest. It's - uh- a nice picture, though."

"I didn't plan on posting it; I just like the after-game pump." He is quick to explain, and you just nod with warm cheeks. It's definitely getting hotter in here. The game successfully managed to create tension in the room- something that you didn't expect from a game that looks like a dorky party game. You take another sip and clear your throat. "Uhm... next?"

"Yeah." He is quick to open the app and tap on the screen.

truth for Y/N:

Who is the hottest person in the room?

You laugh and point at Atsumu. "That is quite self-explanatory."

"Ya got an easy one here since it's just the two of us." He complains and looks at you accusingly while you just laugh about his cute pout.

"Make it a bit more demanding then?"

"How about you tell me who's the hottest person in the Olympic team? You've seen all of us play today. Who's your favorite?"

"I haven't seen them all close up," you try to be neutral, but he just groans.

"There was a poll once about hot volleyball players worldwide, and someone from the Argentinean team won. He's close to Tobio-kun, apparently."

"You didn't win?" You look at him surprised. Atsumu is definitely on the hotter side of the team members from what you've seen so far- at least in your eyes. You haven't really paid attention to the other players though, your eyes always coming back to Atsumu.

"Ya seem genuinely surprised; I take that as a compliment. Nah, I didn't win, but I was in the Top Ten." He proudly puffs his chest, and you give him a playful thumbs up. "Congrats. I would have put you on number one, though." You try your best to calm your heartbeat when you see how intensely he looks at you at your words.

He grins and nods before he simply turns on his phone again without saying more about it.

dare for Atsumu:

Take a picture with a person in the room and set it as your profile pic.

"I can't set it as my Instagram pic or somethin' like that, but maybe just my screensaver?" He says as he contemplates his options.

You nod and move closer to him on the couch, until your shoulders are touching and your knees almost bumping together. He lifts the phone for a selfie and tilts his head in your direction while you tilt yours in his direction and you both try to smile brightly.

You look awkward.

That's easy to tell, and he seems to notice too because he's not taking a picture. "Uhm- maybe. We should do it like this."

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to his chest, and you hear the click of the camera while you look surprisedly at him- shocked at this bold actin. "Now, look at the camera." His hand comes up to pinch your cheek gently, and you find yourself smiling at his actions. He's probably in a good mood since he won the game today, so you just let him proceed, trying not to think that this had a deeper meaning- because it probably doesn't. He grins too and takes another picture, and you remain in that position for a few more seconds, his pleasant smell invading your senses now that you're so close to him, and you subtly try to inhale deeply again. He feels good against you. Warm and solid, your body almost naturally fitting against his. Even though you'd love to stay, you slowly move back to your place and create some distance between the two of you. His muscles seem even more prominent when you look at his still raised arm and he slowly lets it sink down to his side.

He goes into his gallery again, and you both look at the two pictures. You look like a real couple. With the way you look up at him, pressed against his chest, your expression clearly flustered while he looks down at you with a grin- it's almost too intimate for you to bear. The other one in which you both smile brightly while he pinches your cheek is a rather cute picture, and he hums while he taps the picture.

"I'll take the second one then?" You nod and watch him set it as a background. "It looks nice." You nod again, definitely not trusting your voice. He is perfect boyfriend material.

"Next one then?" He sets up his phone, and you hold your breath for a second when the words show up.

dare for Y/N:

Kiss the hottest person in the room.

You awkwardly laugh and look down at your glass of water, waiting for him to laugh with you. But he doesn't. It's just silent between you now. Atsumu has not shown any reaction, just staying still as he is, still looking at the screen. You look at him with furrowed brows and then again at the screen. Should you-

No. What are you thinking?

You notice that Atsumu's knee has started bouncing, something that you think is his reaction when he's feeling nervous, and you experimentally lean just a bit closer after taking a deep breath and his eyes move from the screen to you.

His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips when you lean forward just a bit more, and then he is slowly leaning into you too, much to your surprise. Your gaze shifts to his lips, parted just the slightest bit, so kissable-

He is waiting for you to make your move, giving up all control of the situation to let you do as you're comfortable with- and then you realize one thing when your breath meets his lips and your eyes fall shut.

You're about to kiss Atsumu Miya.

[nerdie-faerie]

I've got two family events coming up during term time and I'm trying to decide if the trips are worth the cost by asking if my family is actually going to be attending them and my mum's response was 'I might be able to convince your dad if we know you're going :)' girl I'm not spending nearly £60 just to come down for the weekend only to then find out I'm going by myself

[kentoxo]

friction | you x crush!nanami pt. 1

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: first!! ever!! story-driven smut!!! im so excited! literally love this man sm and have yet to make any sort of fic on him. ahhh!! let me know if yall like this idea! i'll be releasing mini parts sporadically as my free time allows me to :)

December | Tokyo, Japan

Nanami relied on you, simply because you made it a point to become ever so reliable to him.

Monday through Friday, you would always arrive just a few minutes before him, feigning an earlier arrival with your coat stowed away, and your computer on with work tabs open on the monitor. This morning, like every morning, went exactly within your expectations. You’d know he arrived by the sea of ‘goodmorning, Mr. Nanami’ flooding the office. The firm steps of his Italian oxfords would always remind you to straighten your back and await him with his cup of coffee in hand. 

“Goodmorning, Nanami,” you hum, your words sliding off your tongue like butter. You don’t look at him, as you were busy basking in the privilege of long-dropped formalities. Although Nanami was very strict with work and coworker relationships, he only accepted you speaking to him informally. At least, in regards to his honorifics. 

“‘Mornin’,” Nanami huffs. He takes a seat beside you, stripping away his black peacoat. It was a heavy winter in Japan, so in the ocean of snow and winds were city workers and dwellers, draped in coats or inappropriate attire. You knew it was rude to stare, but you were always entranced from seeing his body in his usual beige suit. A veiny hand presents itself before you. 

You carefully fill his hand with his hot-brewed coffee, “just the way you like it. Your favorite barista was in today, finally. He was out with a cold, and took a few days off sick.” 

Nanami’s free hand frantically moves his mouse, impatiently waiting for his computer to illuminate on. “It’s unfortunate his counterparts cannot mimic his talent. We may have to poach him into our corporate cafe.” 

You begin to draft an email, the lingering warmth from his coffee resting in your hands. “I can draft an email for you if you’d like. You have a meeting with Mr. Takada at 2, so it could be opportune to mention it.” 

His eyes casually flicker over to the calendar pinned on the dividing cubicle wall, between both of your computers. It was organized in neat font thanks to you and your handwriting. Hazel eyes begin to scan the calendar, with Nanami lightly cupping his mouth. “And were you able to postpone the team meeting for today?” 

You nod, never missing a beat, “I’ve long sent the email, and made my rounds earlier today to remind them that we will not be gathering today. I’ve set up an alternative forum that works for everyone's schedule, including ours.” You reach over for a folder you had neatly sitting in your ‘complete’ basket. “I’ve already printed copies for the documents we’ll be going over, and booked conference room 3.” 

“My favorite,” Nanami breathed out between swigs of his bitter coffee. “Did you double check everything?” 

“All documents were revised 3 times for mathematical errors, grammar, and consumability. I’ve also prepared catering to be brought tomorrow, as the meeting would take place at the beginning of everybody's shift.” 

The blonde man stripped off his blazer, revealing his alluring, navy blue shirt. He neatly drapes it over the back of his seat and leans back once again. He crosses his arms over his chest, the bulge of his bicep evident under the fabric of his dress shirt. “Any new updates from Mr. Takada or the team?” You could hear the office quiet down, the sudden silence of keyboard tapping and casual conversation. 

“Mr. Takada has yet to send anything, so that is still pending. The team, however, has made quite the advance in their work. They’ve already predicted our numbers for the end of the year, with our solidified, confirmed numbers already calculated and organized in a shared Excel.” 

Nanami smirks mischievously, “I don’t believe it. How’d you manage to get that out of these loafers?” A few of the staff playfully complain, receiving a small chuckle from Nanami. You felt your cheeks warm up from his hidden dimple coming to the spotlight of his lips. 

They all go back to their work after exchanging light words and laughter. You lean over slightly towards Nanami, not giving him any sort of eye contact. “I let them choose the breakfast we will be catering for the meeting,” you whispered playfully. 

He leans as well, “you truly are a woman of trade, Y/N.” He quickly opens up a few documents on the screen while finishing the final drop of his coffee. His bottom lip glistened with coffee, having him casually drag his tongue to wipe it off. “How about our lunch for today? You and I, that is,” he made sure to clarify. 

You opened your drawer and fished out a menu. It was a menu from a seafood restaurant that opened close to the office. You slid it to him, opening it up to reveal his annotations when he initially looked through it. “I scheduled an order for both of the dishes that you had circled. Both options look delicious, so I figured we could sample from one another's plate.” 

Nanami turns to you, his lips hinting at a smile. He lightly tugs the bottom of his lip with his teeth, sending shots directly at your heart. “What are we drinking?” 

“I couldn’t find your favorite iced tea, but they have this pomegranate drink that I think you’d enjoy greatly,” you hum confidently, “it has yuzu in it.” 

Nanami’s lips finally curve into that saccharine sweet smile. “Why do I even clock in anymore?” Nanami jokes, “I can be on autopilot so long as I have you Y/N. Thank you for being so diligent.” He begins to rise from his chair, causing a few of your fellow coworkers to look over. “I’m off to the kitchen to grab some snacks. Would you like anything from the cafe?” 

You nod, “tell any of the baristas my name, they’ll know. They also have those apple pies you like today, so definitely grab one while they’re still available.” 

With an excited hum, Nanami walks away from you, your eyes glued to how good that blue skirt hugged his torso. Broad shoulders, sharper blades, and muscular. His scent wafted you when he left his seat, the notes of sandalwood and frankincense taking you over. But your thirsting thoughts simply had to be bursted by Yū Haibara. He temporarily took a seat in Nanami’s seat, and turned your chair over to face him. 

“Keep staring and maybe you might actually start drooling,” Haibara humors. Before you, Haibara was Nanami’s only right hand man. He is not as diligent as you are, but he keeps up with Nanami the way others can’t. “I thought you wanted to keep your crush a secret?” 

Before you could respond, your hand immediately cups around Haibara’s mouth. “I’ll punch the drool out of your mouth so we can twin– can you please not say that out loud, in the office?” You grit your teeth after your words, letting your hand fall to reveal a cheeky smile from the obsidian-haired man. 

“That is the most aggressive thing you’ve ever whispered to me,” Haibara whispered back, finally using his head voice. He was lucky his voice wasn’t too loud or else you would’ve mauled him. “That’s no way to speak to your manager.”

“If you were my manager, nothing would get done,” you teased, looking back at your computer to analyze some of the numbers Nanami sent you. “Did you need something, or are you just here to mess with me?” 

“Both!” Haibara hums. “I’m not messin with ya, rather I just want to keep my eye out for you. I’ve already told you about how Kento feels about dating. I would hate to see you–” 

“I know, I know,” you quickly shut down, waving your hand in his face. “I’m not trying to act delusional or anything. I already like him, so there’s nothing I can do.” Haibara stays quiet, not wanting to bother you. 

Haibara knows when to draw the line when he teases you. He reveals a paper from who knows where and offers it to you. It was a thank you letter from the Sales Department. “I visited them as soon as I came in today. They thanked you for helping them with a small project and asked to transfer you back.” 

You picked up the letter, your cheeks going warm again. You pucker out your bottom lip and hold the letter to your chest. “I miss my team so much! Ah, it felt so good to work with them again!” Your eyes then flicker at Nanami’s small name tag beside your desk. 

It wasn’t that Nanami was this amazing man, but he was wonderful. When you were transferred from the Sales Department to the Finance Department, you weren’t sure you were going to do well. Especially considering you were transferred specifically to be Nanami’s assistant. But on your first day, you noticed that Nanami joined you in the empty desk beside your own. His office was not big enough to host you and your needs, so he has refused to use his office since then. He told you it was necessary to work with one another, and that sacrifices on his end must be seen in order for work to get done. 

Since then, you have never let him down. 

“But I’d never leave this,” you say, the sentiment in your words striking Haibara. “Their words are kind, but Nanami’s words are heavy. I feel… appreciated by him.” 

Haibara scoffs enviously, crossing his arms over his chest, “wish that was me. Nanami never made me feel appreciated. He didn’t even congratulate me when I was promoted to Head Manager!” 

“And I still won’t,” a deep voice sounded from behind you. Turning around, a smile tickled your lips as Nanami came back. One hand occupied your drink, while the other held a steaming hot apple pie. He delicately places your drink on the corner of your desk before going to Haibara, lightly spinning the chair with a push from his knee. “Off.” 

“Am I nothing to you?” Haibara moans theatrically. “You’re commanding me like a dog on your couch.” 

Nanami assumes his seat after ripping Haibara off of it, “I’d still let a dog sit on my couch. Anyways, what did you need Ms. Y/L/N for?” 

Haibara quickly rushes to your side while playfully sticking his tongue out towards Nanami. “I was passing her a letter from the Sales team. They want to steal her back from us.” 

You quickly elbow his stomach from him not saying the whole truth. 

But it was too late. “Is that right?” Nanami murmurs. He moves his mouse to wake up the computer, immediately getting back to his workflow. “They can try, but it’ll never happen,” Nanami said simply, “I’d never approve it.” 

It was… a compliment? Well, that’s how it felt like to you. It felt like Nanami wanted you all to himself, but only in a work capacity. Despite this being platonic and strictly work related, it still sent waves of emotion to your heart. 

Haibara chuckles, “who knows? Maybe Y/N will go on her own accord.” You look back at Haibara, practically seething at his unthinkable words. Haibara quickly puts his arms over his stomach, protecting himself from another potential blow. 

Nanami quickly removes his hands from his keyboard and looks over at Haibara. His face was distasteful. “Move away from my assistant before you rub your stupid on her. While you’re at it…” Nanami reaches over to his rack of documents and pulls out a very thick folder with a label that reads ‘To Do.’ He eagerly holds it out to Haibara, who reluctantly takes it from him. “These are all the clients we need to look through. Pick out at least 20 that you think would be an asset to the company if we worked with them.” 

Haibara, without another word, drags his feet back to his office. You try to hide your smile as you excitedly pick up your iced drink. Taking a sip, you let out a satisfied sigh. “Thank you for getting me this, Nanami. I hope there wasn’t a line or anything.” 

“None at all,” Nanami hums. “I didn’t realize that you liked your drinks so sweet, Y/N. I could swear you usually get a different drink.” 

Your shoulders hang a bit from his words, but you were still quite upbeat, “it’s been the same since I was transferred to your department.” You made sure not to imbue your words with disappointment as you would hate to make him feel guilty. “It’ll be a year soon since I’ve joined the Finance Department.” You pointed to the day on the calendar, which was marked clearly with an X. 

Nanami looks over at you with a warm smile, “you have been a wonderful addition to the team. I’m glad that Mr. Takada knew what I needed, and recommended you.” 

Unable to contain your happiness from his flattery, you quickly glue yourself to your monitor. You tap away at your keyboard like a maniac, attempting to calm the quick beating of your heart. Your drink, in a way, was tasting a little sweeter than usual after his words. 

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter three -

This has got to be the longest crush ever

Robin’s bad date, and a late night that changes everything.

warnings: 18+ A little bit of queer and mid twenties crisis angst for Robin, with comfort obvi. Tension, but are we surprised at this point?, and a secret third thing, wonder what it could be? 😚

wc: 6.3k

authors note: Hi babies! I am taking just a week off from my posting schedule for this week long work trip I’m taking on Monday. There’s lots of conferences and I won’t have much down time. We will resume our normal posting schedule for chapter four starting 3/20 🌻🧡

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

Would you believe me if I said I’m in love? 

                            Baby, I want you to want me.

You can’t believe you landed yourself in detention.

All your late night study sessions for the SAT’s that led to oversleeping and missed alarms finally catching up to you just like Robin warned you it would. Miss O’Donnell is the one who makes your best friend's predictions come true, handing you that notorious pink slip for walking into her class ten minutes late for the third time this week. 

When you arrive at exactly 3:15, the classroom is mostly empty. Your eyes scan the bored faces of the few students joining you, hoping to at least see Eddie’s familiar head of curls. But of course, today of all days, he’s managed to be on his best behavior or just didn’t get caught. 

Sighing defeated, you give Mr. Clark a tight lipped smile, ignoring the shocked look on his face seeing you in here. Picking an empty desk in the middle away from anyone, you decide to busy yourself with the Algebra homework you’ve been avoiding for the better half of a week. It’s when you lean over to unzip your backpack that you catch the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the ceramic floors.

”Ahh, Mr. Harrington. Even fashionably late to detention, I see. Your hair looks good enough to sit in silence for an hour and a half to me.” Mr. Clark announces the king of Hawkins's grand entrance with the kind of sarcasm that makes you smirk as you start arranging your things on your desk.

“That’s good to know 'cause I was doing it for you Mr. C.”

Steve Harrington always thinks he’s so charming

Snorting as you click your pen, you dare to look up only to catch ‘the hair’ looking right back at you with that golden smile that you’ve seen take even the strongest soldiers out. 

Oh no. 

Eyes going big, you quickly bring your attention back down to your homework, silently hoping he doesn’t take the seat next to you and land you in here next week too. 

“So thoughtful of you. Now why don’t you take a seat and do some studying for that test on Monday. And maybe this semester you won’t have to worry about relying on extra credit to keep playing basketball.” Mr. Clark dismisses him, earning a low whistle from the boy who holds his hands up in surrender, Nike covered feet coming down your row.

No, no, no, NO.

You still don’t look up, rereading the same question over and over again because no matter how many times you try, you’re too distracted by the cedar and clove that invades your senses kicking them into overdrive. The whites of his sneakers catch in your peripherals when he does the unimaginable and sits next to you.

Staring at the equation with the kind of concentration that’ll be sure to give you a migraine later, it takes him a good thirty seconds before he temporarily gives up trying to get your attention to grab something that gives the illusion of studying out of his backpack. 

Trying to play it cool, your stomach twists in nervous knots worse than the ones you get when Robin forces you on the janky rides at the summer fair every year. Sure, you’ve been hit on by a guy here and there, but no one can prepare you for what it’s like to catch Steve Harrington’s attention—especially for someone in your Hawkins hierarchy who would never be on the receiving end of it.

He flips through the pages of his textbook loudly, earning his first warning glare from Mr. Clark, and you decide to write your name on the top of the page so at least it looks like you’re doing something. After a couple bounces of your knee, you can feel the heat of his gaze back on you.

”Psst, hey.” 

The last letter of your name comes out illegible, and you jump at the hushed sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to meet his flirtatious smirk and golden brown eyes. The sun leaking through the windows gives you a glimpse of the green that hides inside them from this close. You hate to admit that he’s just as pretty as everyone says he is.

”Hi,” you smile a little shy, offering a small wave of your pen and it lights up his whole face, making your body buzz.

”You have a highlighter I can use or something?” He keeps up his ruse, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin.

You arch an eyebrow at him, something sarcastic reminiscent of Mr. Clark flashing behind your eyes. 

“What? You don’t think I’m actually going to study?” He acts shocked, slapping his giant hand across his chest and it earns the kind of giggle from you that pushes him full steam ahead.

”It’s blue, is that okay?” Giving into the bait, you try and hide the way your face warms, ducking down to dig in the bottom of your backpack.

”Are you kidding? I love blue. Favorite color actually.” Laying it on thick, you can see the way he scoots to the edge of his seat, the spice of his cologne making you bite at your bottom lip as your fingers wrap around what you’re looking for.

Sitting up in your seat, you aren’t expecting him to be so close and it threatens to steal the air right out of your lungs.

”H-here,” you manage, holding the blue writing utensil in the small space that's left between you.

Steve's eyes roam your face freely, pink tongue coming out to wet his full bottom lip before they settle back on your gaze, lids a little heavy, voice low and somehow sticky sweet.

”Thanks, honey.” He leans forward more, purposely brushing his fingers with yours when he takes it out of your grasp, “but now, I’m afraid the only way you’re gonna get it back is to let me drive you home after this.”

“I’ve got plenty, you can keep that one,” you try to stay strong, but when that second giggle slips out, you seal your fate.

”I can’t do that, this is your favorite one.” He tisks like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, with a crooked grin that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.

”Is it?”

”Absolutely.”

“Are you two done? Or should we schedule a second date for next week?” Mr. Clark interrupts.

”That would actually be date number three. We’re going on two after this is over.” Steve smirks, throwing you a wink ignoring the harsh way you whisper of his name. 

Yeah… you were fucked.

“I’ve got a date tonight!” 

Robin sings excitedly, bursting through the front door in a wild ball of energy, successfully waking you up from your nap on the couch. Blinking slowly, as you start to recognize your surroundings, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you force yourself to sit up, wincing at your stiff neck and the fact that you dreamed about Steve Harrington again. 

“A date with who?” You grumble, still a little grouchy, yawning with a stretch that pops in your back.

”This girl that I met at the record store this morning, we talked about Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos for what felt like hours. She’s just, wow, she’s so cool. Almost too cool for me, you know? She’s a senior in college-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Cutting her off before she can ramble any longer, you wave your hands for her to stop: “First of all, no one is too cool for you, okay? If anything, it’s always going to be the other way around.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve.”

It takes a minute for her words to sink in about the man you haven’t seen in almost a week and a half, but when they do, the glare that settles on your face makes her laugh. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan with a tight-lipped smirk, before clearing your throat, “Well where are you guys going? Do you want me to go undercover in case you need saving? I’m fully prepared for a stakeout.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile, which spreads wide enough to see all her teeth, gives away her love for your dramatics. 

“No, I don’t need you to go undercover or anything. I mean, it is going to be nice knowing you’ll be here waiting for me to tell you all about it instead of having to call you and hope the city girl answers.” She teases, earning the scoff from you that she was looking for.

“I’m choosing to ignore that, and if at any point you change your mind, you know your own number.”

Earning a genuine laugh from Robin always makes your soul feel lighter, so when your joke lands and you get one, the heaviness of Steve that’s been weighing down on your shoulders eases up just a little bit.

”I’ve just never been approached in public before like that, you know? It’s not just the other girl you know is gay on campus. I don’t know, it feels good.” Your best friend’s confession makes you want to wrap her up in a hug, keeping the urge to remind her of your offer to move to the city with you to yourself for right now, letting her bask in the moment.

”Well, you're hot. Can you blame her? If you weren’t basically like a sister to me, I’d be all over it.” Wiggling your eyebrows, she flips you off, but you still catch the tinge of pink that paints her cheeks rosy.

”Please, Steve would have my head on a stake.” She snorts, purposely trying to get under your skin now.

”Robin.”

”What? I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his eye when I mentioned your little ‘adventure’ last week” She giggles, heading towards her bedroom.

If only she knew just how much those words were true. Your thighs meet like in the memory you can’t stop playing on a loop, palms turning sweaty, remembering the velvet of his lips so close to your neck.

”Wait! Did you ask that on purpose?!” You gasp, jumping to your feet to follow her.

”Maybe.”

”Maybe?!”

”You know what I do need help with?” She ignores you, spinning on her heel to meet your narrowed eyes.

”What?”

”Help me pick any outfit?” Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives you the kind of puppy dog eyes that no one in their right mind could say no to.

Sighing heavily, your feet drag on the carpet before flopping yourself onto her bed huffing out a “Fine” as the box springs squeak.

The rest of the day is spent going through what feels like every outfit in Robin’s possession, even getting desperate enough to try on some of your clothes despite your clashing styles. Settling on a pair of boot cut jeans, a black half crop top with a flannel shirt that you’re pretty sure she stole from Steve and the Dr. Martin’s you got her for her birthday last year, she was ready to break hearts. Blue eyes roll in the back of her head when you make her say ‘I’m the prize’ until you feel like she halfway believes it before handing over her I.D. that you’d found stuffed between the cushions of the couch in a frenzied panic to search for it only ten minutes prior.

The sun starts to set on Robin’s small apartment after she finally heads out the door, and the shadows that bounce off the white walls bring back the thoughts of Steve you’d successfully gotten rid of for a few fleeting hours. 

Huffing to yourself with crossed arms, you watch the flat bag of popcorn spin around in the microwave. You can still hear the beginning Moonstruck playing on the TV in the living room, over the loud hum of the machine. Comfortable in an oversized shirt that lands just at the bottoms of your cotton sleep shorts, goosebump dot across your legs from the cool of the A/C. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched and the week of radio silence feels worse the second time around. 

The shrill sound of Robin’s phone and the first kernel of popcorn exploding in the bag overpower your ears all at once, making you jump. Mumbling cuss words under the now constant sound of popping, you try to calm your heart rate down, wandering to the living room. Your hand hovers over the phone, the realization about who might be on the other line making your stomach drop. He hadn’t called Robin yet. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you take a deep breath, letting the air expand in your lungs, silently counting to three before you grab the phone off its hook.

”Buckley residen-“

”I need you to come get me, I- I’ve made a huge mistake and I’m just so fuck - “ Robin cuts you off, the rasp in her voice cracking like she’s trying not to cry, “I’m just really embarrassed, please come get me.”

“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming, just - just tell me where you are.” Running to her bedroom to grab your sneakers with the phone pressed to your ear, you can hear her sniffle.

”Benningans, it’s the next town over. I’ll be outside -“

”Are you safe?” You panic, slipping your foot into your shoe as quickly as you can.

”I’m safe, I’m just, I’m embar- I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m safe, I’ll be outside.” She mutters.

”I’ll get there as fast as I can, okay?” Feeling a little helpless, you try to ease the hurt that’s evident in her tone with soft reassurance. 

”I’m just, I’m really glad you're here. I’ll see you soon.” She manages to get out before the line clicks dead.

Slipping your second shoe on, the realization that you don’t actually have a car to save her with, hits you like a ton of bricks. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Stomping back to the living room, your eyes find the mustard yellow address book next to the phone’s dock. Your fingers fumble through its pages, eyes squinting as you try to read Robin’s messy writing, searching for a familiar name. You find two:

Eddie and Steve.

You stare at the page, your moral compass going haywire. Despite the way he’s rented a space in your mind, the thought of seeing him alone again makes your stomach twist. Eddie would be simple. Eddie would be easy. Your thumb hovers over the first number in the one she has scribbled down for him, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to press it. She needs Steve.

You groan loudly, stomping your foot for good measure, before letting out a long breath through your nose, dialing his number that you knew you should have all along. 

It only rings twice.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Steve deadpans.

”Is that really how you answer your phone?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the butterflies you’ve managed to stifle as they start to come alive at the sound of his voice.

“I thought this was - shit, I thought this was Henderson - erm I mean Dustin, you remember Dustin?” He stammers and you know that hand of his is running through his hair right now.

“Yeah, the middle schooler.”

“Well, he’s like nineteen now -“

“I didn’t call you to talk about Dustin, Steve,” You sigh heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Robin called me really upset from Bennigans, and I don’t have a car or any way to go get her-” 

“I’m on my way.” He cuts you off without any hesitation,“Be outside in five minutes for me?”

”My shoes are already on.”  

After a click, you’re left with the sound of the dial tone in your ear. You hang up the phone as warmth floods your body, easing some of your temporary worries. 

Steve Harrington is making it hard to hate him.

The short walk to Steve’s BMW from Robin’s front door feels like stepping through a time machine.

One that takes you back to late nights sneaking out your bedroom window, always being extra careful not to wake your parents up so you could go make out with your secret kind of boyfriend under the stars. Those were always your favorite nights with him. The nights he’d put away the king Steve armor, those nights he’d just be Steve. A boy who just wanted to make his father proud, thinking maybe he’d stay home more if he was.

You can feel the way his eyes roam your body, the heat of his stare lingering on your exposed legs, setting your skin on fire. Suddenly more than aware of your lack of pants, only part of you regrets not changing into some leggings, but you try not to think about that too hard right now.

He clears his throat when you open the passenger door, the smell of leather and the dark woody sweet scent of oil surrounding you as you slide into your seat. The spice of his cologne tickles your nose when you close yourself in, clicking your seatbelt in place before daring to meet his eyes. The golden brown inside them shimmers with something you’d missed in the orange glow of the street light and the nerves still feel the same way they did five years ago. The only thing that hasn’t changed.

”Thanks for doing this,” you offer with a weak smile.

When he realizes you’ve put your weapons down for the night, his face softens with a crooked grin, subtle pink dusting the apples of his cheeks.

”I meant it when I said I can’t say no to you,” he starts, selfishly letting his eyes roam the smooth lines of your face that are finally not twisted up into a glare before realizing his slip up, “and Robin, my best friend obviously.”

”Our best friend, Steve.” You tease trying to ignore the tension that crackles in the empty space between you even worse than before.

”Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he winks, forearm flexing as he puts the car in drive.

Scoffing a ‘whatever’ with a playful roll of your eyes, you let your muscles relax into the familiar seat. The Police’s Every Breath You Take spills through the speakers just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of the engine, and you become hyper aware of his hand resting on the stick shift, the tips of his fingers just close enough to brush against your thigh every time you hit a bump. 

There’s a silence that falls between you once the street lights run out and his full focus shifts to the pitch black road ahead. The quiet is filled with what almost happened in his room, unspoken words that don’t dare to roll off of sober tongues. You wait until he’s too distracted looking for surprises that might run out from the woods on either side of you to let your eyes wander over and really take him in.

A white drawstring hangs low on his heather gray sweatpants that fit tight over his thighs spread wide. Your throat goes dry at the white tank top that hugs his broad chest, the gold chain that wraps around his neck getting lost in the thick patch of curls on display. You’re finally able to really make out more of his tattoo for the first time, thin, precise lines that look like feathers attached to a set of sparrow wings.

”Did she tell you what happened? I mean, is she safe?” He interrupts your greedy stare, eyes lighting up when he catches you, tucking it away for another time.

”Uhh, yeah,” you answer with a shake of your head, teeth biting down on your bottom lip with hot cheeks, “she’s safe, she kept saying she’s embarrassed but wouldn’t tell me why, just kept begging me to come get her.”

He just hums, lost deep in thought of all the things it could be, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens with worry. 

“We’re only ten minutes away, so it won’t be too much longer now.” 

He reassures you, but it feels like he needs it too, especially when his hand leaves the stick shift to run through his hair that looks more tousled than usual, making you wonder if he was lying in bed before this. A worried breath exhales through his nose, with a tight jaw, and you hate the way your stomach drops when both his hands find the steering wheel after he tugs on his roots a little bit. 

Nervous fingers play with the bottoms of your sleep shorts, trying your best not to stare while you keep your gaze out the passenger window. Stolen glances are followed by tight lipped smiles when you’d always find him staring back. Honey and chestnut make your stomach flutter, and you think maybe some things never change. 

It takes less than the ten minutes that Steve promised for the back roads to turn busy, and bright with the kind of lights a small town on a Saturday night has. A slouched frame sitting on the side of the road catches in his headlights, getting closer you see that Robin’s waves have lost all the bounce she left the house with, along with the rosy tint in her cheeks. The flashing Bennigans sign spins a block behind her, and the orange bulbs match the burning ember on the end of her cigarette that dangles from her full lips. 

“Shit, it’s bad if she’s smoking,” Steve mutters, turning on his hazards as he pulls up next to her, the wheels of his car coming to a stop. 

She hollows her cheeks out, taking one last drag, waving at you to stop unbuckling your seat belt as she gets to her feet. Blowing the smoke from her lungs into the wind, she flicks the half smoked butt into the street before opening the back door, sliding into the leather seats with an exasperated huff.

“Just, don’t – I’m okay,” she starts, closing the door and shutting out the whir of the traffic outside. “Turns out her boyfriend’s best friend really likes Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos too. She really thought me and him might hit it off after our talk at the record store today. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to go home with my two favorite people and feel sorry for myself.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Turning around in his seat, he flashes her his million-dollar Harrington smile. “I’m the king of feeling sorry for myself.”

Her lips twitch, but when she sees the natural roll of your eyes at the boy next to you, it turns into a full blown smile. A little shimmer came through in the dulled-out color of her eyes.

Got me up all night

            all I’m singing is love songs.

“Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, this girl sounds like a scammer, Rob. I mean, come on.” Steve snorts, rifling through her cupboards in the kitchen. Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos, what kind of game was she playing at anyway?”

Robin giggles from her place next to you on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder, the green apple of her shampoo still lingering on her curls that tickle your cheek. 

“Plenty of people like those artists, Steve.” She sighs, but you can still hear her smile, “It’s fine, I’ll just stay the lonely Hawkins lesbian for the rest of my life, no big deal.”

”Shut up!”

”Will you stop?!”

You and Steve chide her at the same time, hard eyes meeting from across the living room and softening. He doesn’t even try to stop the lopsided grin that pushes up your favorite cheek and you hope Robin doesn’t feel the way it makes your skin warm. 

“Whatever, I already warned you I’m going to be miserable. Gimmie a break, and you’re actually taking forever in there, by the way.” Whining, she sits up, sending a rush of fruit and leftover tobacco to your nose.

“Yeah, well, I can’t find your peanut butter,” he mutters, opening up the cabinet above the sink, the bottom of his tank top rising enough to see a sliver of sun kissed skin and a few more freckles. Why does it feel like there's always more?

”What are you even making anyway?” you ask, ignoring the way Robin’s head whips around. A smirk spreads wide across her face because you’re actually trying to make conversation with Steve.

“Just a little something that’s going to cure my best friend’s heartbreak,” he winks, the jar of JIF extra crunchy looking extra small in his grasp, twisting the cap off. “We came up with it together, actually.o biggie.”

Your gaze narrows, but he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch, something sparkling inside the dark gold in his eyes.

”Interesting, considering I ran to the store earlier to grab my best friend’s favorite ice cream, just in case.” You counter, something mischievous twisting up your lips. “You didn’t even think to stop and get it on our way home. Some friend.”

Robin’s smile lights up the room, very obviously enjoying the show, maybe even a little too much. Clapping her hands together, she lets out a content sigh before leaning back into the couch cushions.

”I really could get used to this,” she beams, “maybe we should have a contest, see which one of you can do the nicest things for me.”

You can’t stop the snort or the roll of your eyes that has Steve throwing his head back in a fully-bellied laugh, giving you the perfect view of his neck, and only Robin clocks the way your giggles are cut short and the secret way your eyes glaze over.

”I’m not gonna lie as much as I love crunchy peanut butter banana s’mores, I have to say Steve, the fact that she actually called you makes her the winner for the night.” She smirks, chuckling harder when you shove her with a hushed ‘Robin!’

His smile doesn’t fade as he starts to cut banana slices. Big eyes meet yours with the kind of look that threatens to melt you into the couch.

”That’s alright, I’ll be a gracious loser tonight, but just know, honey, I’m very competitive.” He warns, long fingers spreading the fruit evenly throughout the peanut butter that messily coats graham crackers.  

“I don’t like to lose, so it’s fine.” Your quick reply deepens the smile lines in his cheeks, putting the finishing touches on your snacks.

“Yeah, this is definitely the life I was meant to live,” Robin gloats, nudging you, “I’m the prize, right?”

It’s your turn to throw your head back in the kind of laugh that rattles in your rib cage, too distracted to see the lovesick way Steve bites his bottom lip watching you from across the room.

But Robin does.

With a heart so full it might burst, tears threaten to spill from the ocean in her eyes, daydreaming about moments like this, only ever thinking they would be something that stayed trapped in the confines of her mind. The warming feeling of happiness wraps around Robin like a blanket when she gets to sit between you both on the couch. A distant friend she hasn’t seen in a long time, a secret she’s kept mostly to herself. 

With a messy plate of half eaten treats and sticky fingers, she’s content watching Cher and Nicholas Cage fight over how much they love each other. Fully knowing that Steve is sneaking looks at you from over her head, smiling to herself at the nervous way you fiddle with your hands in your lap because of it.

Robin doesn’t fight the exhaustion that starts to make her eyelids heavy just a little halfway through the movie. It’s easy to give in when your body weight relaxes deeper into her side, and how Steve drapes his arm over the back of the couch, tucking you both into his chest with evening breaths.

You’re warm, cozier than normal, and it surrounds every part of you.

Cheek pressed against something that’s not firm enough to be the couch, you nuzzle yourself deeper, chasing the heat and the sleep that’s threatening to evade you. Your cushion starts to move, making eyes shift behind lids that aren’t ready to open yet. Lashes flutter, feeling the way your leg is slotted between someone else’s, and the warmth of a palm finds the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A deep sigh rumbles in your ear before fingertips lazily trace up and down the dip of your spine. Stubble tickles your forehead, and as coherency starts to come back to you, a softer patch of hair rubs against your cheek. The kind of spice and lingering sunshine that could only come from one person hits your senses, and the white cotton of Steve’s tank top finally becomes visible. 

The shift in your breathing brings his soft touches to a halt, the muscles you’re pressed on your side against stiffening. Realizing your hands are sprawled across his chest, just under your chin, you can feel the way his heart races under your palm. He’s everywhere, and despite the way you’ve told yourself you hate him, your fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt because it feels like home. Toes pressing into his calf, you wind your leg around his tighter, and it turns timid fingertips sure of themselves, tracing patterns between your shoulder blades. You don’t dare look up at him yet, or it would make the way your own hand starts to explore his abs that twitch under your red nails real. 

He feels different than you remember, there's more of him now, harder in spots that used to be soft. Your fingers get greedy, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along the outline of his happy trail, earning a low groan from him that vibrates deep in your core. Those butterflies that have made a permanent home out of you start to stretch their wings, and when they feel the soft velvet of his lips against your forehead, they tickle at your ribcage and kick up your heart rate. You wonder if he can feel it.

It’s the faintest kiss, one that you’re not sure you would’ve even felt if you were asleep, but it makes you lean in closer. Inhaling deeply, tears sting at the corner of your eyes when the familiar scent only makes you crave him more. After years spent denying the existence of his touch from your memory, it’s almost overwhelming to feel it again. 

The muscles in his arm underneath your neck twitch, and the fingers that have been drawing lazy circles on your back move slowly up your shoulder. The backs of them run down your arm before they finally connect with your skin, goosebumps exploding underneath his touch in a ball of electricity that you can feel on the pads of them that start a new path up the loose sleeve of your shirt.

You fiddle with the bottom hem of his tank top, the heat of his body radiating against already flushed skin. Brave fingers dare to dip underneath only to get stopped by a large palm wrapping around your wrist 

“Baby,” there's a hint of a smile and a little bit of grogginess in his voice that gives away that he hasn’t been awake that much longer than you, “I think you should at least look at me before I let you get under my shirt.”

Biting at your bottom lip, you push yourself deeper into his chest, embarrassed, feeling the gentle shake of his body when he laughs. 

“Come on pretty, let me see your face.”

His affection makes your heart swell, and you know what it means if you look him in the eyes. Your nails dig into the cotton, tugging at the fabric a little while you pull yourself together, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, shaking the rest of the sleep. Lifting your head up from its hiding place, you cross the line you promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when you meet the green that shimmers in the darkness of his eyes, and the crooked grin that twists up his full pink lips, it feels good to give in.

Releasing the hold on your wrist, he’s gentle, almost hesitant, when his warm palm cups your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone feather light, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. No more armor, fleeting glances, or stolen looks, not when he’s this close and even more handsome in the glow of the moonlight. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, and your legs somehow wrap around his tighter.

”Yeah?” you whisper, your fingers coming up to the play with the gold chain dangling from his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

”What?”

”Last week,” 

”That wasn’t the right time,” he sighs, eyes tracing every line of your face like he’s committing it to memory, “It would have ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” You press, twisting the metal between your fingertips, heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“My chance at trying to do this the right way, the way you deserve.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it, like it’s something he’s thought about for years, and it makes your head spin.

“What about now?” 

“That depends,” he hums, the pad of his thumb dragging across the slight pout of your bottom lip, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

”On?” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. Tilting your chin up, you can still smell the peanut butter on his breath.

”If you want me to.”  He breathes, the tip of his nose running along the length of yours. 

Your hold on his gold chain tightens, pulling him even closer. His eyebrows pinch together when he feels the slightest brush of your lips against his, and he can still taste the sweetness of the banana.

”Please tell me you want me to.” 

The desperation in his voice is enough for you to tug him down, closing what’s left of the small gap, your top lip catching against his full bottom one. Just enough to feel the familiar silk that could leave a wildfire in their wake before you finally speak.

“Kiss me, Steve.”

A groan rattles deep in his chest, and he doesn’t hesitate to do what he’s wanted to since he saw you. Applying just enough pressure to wake up every last butterfly, the tip of his nose pushes into your cheek when he slots his lips with yours. It’s soft at first like he’s testing the waters, taking it slow so he can savor it, just in case you never let him do it again.

He pulls away enough to look at you, chestnut eyes blown out wide, and you hate that you already miss his kiss. Giving into everything you’ve fought for so long, it’s your turn to capture his lips. It stuns him at first, but when you open your mouth, his body melts easily into yours, and that big hand of his moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck. Tongue swiping boldly across your lower lip, he begs you to let him in.

Moans get hidden, muffled inside each other's mouths after you grant him access, your fingers tangle themselves inside the thick forest of his hair that’s still just as soft as you remember. Nipping at his bottom lip, the grip on the back of your neck tightens and you can feel the way he kicks up in his sweats because of it. Your own thighs threatening close when you’re reminded of what’s between his legs.

“Baby,” he warns in between kisses, feeling the roll of your hips, but you don’t miss the subtle way he tries to meet them with his own.

It’s too easy to get lost in him, and the years it took to move past him make even more sense when your tongue finds his again. Fighting for dominance, you try not to think about the irreversible damage tonight might do to you as you tug at his roots, teeth scraping together, the kiss turns more heated by the second. Years of anger and longing come out in desperate touches. His hand finds its way to your hip, the pads of his fingers brushing against the skin under your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine, letting you roll them one, two, three times before tightening his hold.

He pulls you closer, letting you win before his nose nudges against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Catching his breath, he trails them along your jaw before making his way down your neck. Your chest heaves, fingers turning soft and slowly running through his hair. He hums against your skin, his hand staying under your shirt, the warmth of his palm covering the small of your back, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear.

”Let me take you on a date,” he whispers, leaving one more under his jaw before pulling back to look at you.

”Steve -“

”Just one,” he begs, bumping his nose with yours, smirking when it makes you smile.

”Let me sleep on it,” you sigh, ducking your head under his chin to hide. Too many thoughts trying to occupy space in your mind with a head still dizzy from his lips.

”I’ll take what I can get,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers starting up the familiar patterns that started all of this, quickly make your eyelids heavy, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You weren’t ready to think about tomorrow yet.

🌻 chapter four

[cntloup]

You ask Simon for another favor :)

Simon bumps into you, a troubled woman whose boyfriend kicked her out after he found out she's pregnant

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

You call him again. You have to. To apologize. And it goes straight to voicemail. 

“Hey, Simon. Just wanted to say I'm so sorry. That was the last favor. I won’t be a nuisance anymore. At least I'll try... sorry.” you say and hang up, promising yourself not to dial this number ever again. 

Now you have to find a job. “Ugh...” you put your head in your hands and groan. 

“Hey, Simon. So sorry. Last favor. I promise. Could you...umm... if there are any jobs available... that you know of... could you please inform me? I used to be a receptionist at a hospital... if... if that’s useful information. Thanks. Sorry... again” 

‘Fucking shit...’ you think, ‘I can’t keep asking him for favors.’ 

But he’s the only person who’s shown you any kindness in your time of need. 

And he’s the only person you know right now whom you can rely on. 

He's the only one you have. 

A few days later, he calls you back, but you’re too busy emptying your stomach in the toilet, so he leaves a message saying that he knows of an available job and asks you to meet him in the cafe you went to the night you bumped into each other. 

He feels like he will regret this decision, and struggles with himself to let you in or not. But he seems unable to stay away. He has come this far in protecting you. He can't let you down. But the thoughts won't stop prancing around his mind.

What if he’s endangered your safety by his recklessness? While you’re oblivious to the dangers of being with him? And his past... you know nothing of his past. And it’s not fair to you. You have to know the whole picture to make this decision for yourself. But can he trust you? 

You meet at the time and place which he chose. He gives you only the information you need to know in order to apply for the job, refraining from spilling too much about himself... for now. And he gives you the number of his captain, John Price whom you should call. 

What you don’t know is that they know every little thing about you. Of course they would run a background check on you before giving you any information. 

About a week later, one week of pure anxiety and agony due to your pregnancy, also the job application and not hearing even one word from them, Simon calls to let you know that you will be working as his assistant, starting this Monday.

[nekoatsume2]

it mo 🦭 miss me? sadly i still need help. as some of you might know- me + my abusers were evicted recently & had to move in to an apartment complex. because of being rushed & just not having time to pack outside of my job, we/i left so much behind. im mostly trying to build up from scratch bc we need so much and im only working part-time ($14/hr).

🥗 has been so shitty as of late, he keeps (stealing) eating my food/snacks when hes over in front of me, making SANDWICHES ON TOP OF WHERE MY PC SITS NO PLATE NO NOTHING and then verbally abusing for buying anything for myself. so now i have to hide anything he'll grill me over, again. he also is just critical of anything i do- sleeping, eating, walking / commuting, buying stuff, etc. 🎮 & 📚 have been a bit mellower but still treating me like they always have. ive been under so much stress being the only one w a job in this apartment (🎮📚 live here, 🥗 just comes over often).

for the apartment...: the fridge here was not working properly until monday and i couldn't really buy groceries & had to rely on fast food bc what i bought kept going bad haha! the wifi here is free but practically just unusable 24/7. if anything goes wrong in the apt, we have to wait awhile bc they decided to only have 1 maintenance worker for hundreds of apartments. we're on the top floor and the stairs are KILLING my legs. its okay other than that and im still overall glad i still have somewhere to rest my head (for less than $400 a week, has hot water & built in laundromat).

me, specifically? i cant eat in the mornings of the days i work anymore. the anxiety is immense and my throat just wont open. i still wake up nauseous. i can barely eat before 12pm most days. my arfid has gotten even worse, i cant even swallow regular sandwich bread anymore. my workplace also has issues with water leaks & being able to have water on so its a coin toss if i can ever use the bathroom there if need be. lyft rides are more expensive now (can get as bad as $50). i need time to learn/get used to the buses here. chronic pain is kicking my ass & i have no weed to help. at least i seem to be ok work performance wise. i just have a lot on my shoulders.

so i need any money help i can get. please :'). also i still have comms open, just dm me here on tumblr <3 if thats more up ur alley.

heres a list of what i need 🦸 feel free to ask about why i might need something here/help but only if you have the $ to back it up lol:

k0fi link 🪶

c4shapp link 💲

g0fundme link 💸

buymeacoffee link ☕

dm for: p4ypal z3lle stripe chime wisely, etc!

rbs turned off = outdated/goal met/out of time

[petalruesimblr]

Hello and welcome back to my blog! This is another part-time career or internship for teens, which will offer a promotion into the Political career as they transition to young adulthood. This internship is inspired by a real program, specifically the NY Office of the Mayor Internship Program and as the The Sims 3 features a "Leader of the Free World" as the final level of the Political career, I named this internship the Office of the Leader Internship.

For those seeking a full-time career, I am currently working on a second one that will be released soon, so stay tuned!🌺

In the meantime, if you are interested in this one, click on ‘Keep Reading’ below for more information and pictures of the Office of the Leader Internship career.

Office of the Leader Internship

Sim File Share

Do you have a passion for bureaucracy, a knack for turning chaos into order and an unyielding enthusiasm for office coffee? We’re seeking bright, ambitious teens to join the Office of the Leader Internship Program! Dive into the heart of local government, where every day brings fresh adventures in learning bureaucracy. You’ll work alongside the best, gain invaluable experience and maybe even catch the eye of some influential Sims. With fixed hours, free office supplies and the occasional donut day, you’ll enjoy a unique mix of fun and professional growth. Apply now and step into the action!

Career Type: Part-Time Available for: Teens Available Languages: English Levels: 3 Rabbit Hole: City Hall Work Days: M, W, Th Work Hours: 4PM - 7PM Does it have Carpool? Yes Does it have Uniforms? Yes (refer to picture above) File Type: Package Min. Required Game Version: 1.42 Packs Needed: The Sims 3 📣All descriptions for the levels, tones and metrics as well as skills required, salary, uniforms and other details are provided on the pictures above.

NRAAS Careers Mod

I initially considered including logic as one of the metrics but decided to remove it. The Political career in the game relies solely on charisma as its primary skill and mostly depends on funding for promotions. It didn’t make sense to include logic, as it isn’t used in the long run for this career path. The work days for this internship are scheduled for Mondays, Wednesday and Thursdays. If you have the Seasons expansion pack then it will only be two days due to Thursday is considered as a holiday and Drama Club meetings are on Tuesday and Friday if you have the Generations expansion pack (which is useful if you want your teens to increase their charisma faster). 📣 Upon reaching level three in their internship, teens will be eligible for promotion to the Political career upon applying once they become young adults. Instructions are provided in the picture above; right-click on it and select ’Open image in new tab’ for a clearer view. As stated above, you will need NRAAS Careers Mod for this career to show up in the game and as long as you have the latest version of it, it should work for higher patches. You can also read my #psa regarding these careers, click here. I’m not fluent in any other languages to translate so if anyone is interested in translating this career, please don’t hesitate to send me a message here, comment on this post or let me know in my Ask/Contact form (if you don't have a Tumblr account) and will let you know the details. I have tested this career in my game, so far it is working and all scripts are showing up. All feedback is very welcome to help me learn and improve my skills so please let me know if you experience any problems on your end and I’ll do my best to sort it as soon as possible.

MissyHissy step-by-step tutorial Twallan for the Career Mod S3pe

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Bed hair for the soft prompts if it inspires :3

@zahlibeth also asked for this one! On ao3 here!

It's easy to rely on habit in times of crisis. It’s been a long while since Athena has been put on security detail but her body still sinks into it, easy. Think of a grocery list, or a mediocre book you read, or try to remember all the rules of Risk — something to keep you from inattentive boredom, but not something so engaging you’ll be distracted. Feet a little apart, legs stiff but not locked, settle into your own bones because you’ll be here awhile.

It’s wrong, though, because if she were actually working she’d be in uniform, and she’d be by the door facing out instead of across the hall looking in, and she’d never be assigned to this room. She isn’t a doctor, there aren’t any hard and fast rules about family members, but any captain worth a damn would bench her for being too close to the situation to keep a clear head.

In the room, Eddie Diaz sets a plastic grocery store bag down on Evan Buckley’s bed. Buck shifts his thigh just a little to make room for it, gazing up at his friend with a smile that Athena can’t quite manage to look at without hurting. Every smile on that boy’s face since he woke up has hurt, for reasons Athena can’t quite explain to herself. Bobby has been shaking with relief, giddy with it, grinning down at the kid in awe whenever he’s in the room. Maybe that’s it; while Buck was unconscious she was needed as a rock, she had to be the solid foundation everyone could build themselves around. It’s okay now. Buck is awake — alive — and still sore, still not well, but he’s going to be okay. They can all relax. But here she is, standing guard, because everyone is alright and she can take her turn giving into paranoia and catastrophe.

She doesn’t think that’s quite it, though. It’s… she’s having trouble with the timeline. The facts of the case don’t feel like they’re adding up right, though she knows they’re true. Sunday afternoon: Evan Buckley was at the home of Robert Nash and Athena Grant. He was there for lunch. He sat at the kitchen table and he laughed, and he smiled. Monday night: Evan Buckley, in the regular course of his job, climbed a ladder to aid in putting out a fire in an apartment building. He was struck by lightning, and he died. Bobby, the one time she convinced him to come home and sleep in a bed, wept that he had again held the body of his son. Thursday morning: After four days in a coma fighting organ failure and other yet unknown effects of being hit by 300 million volts of electricity, Evan Buckley woke up. He woke up. He laughed with his father, with the rest of his family. He smiled, bright as he always has.

He smiled, he died, he’s smiling again. That’s what happened, indisputable, but each part of it feels wrong, feels tainted by the central event. How could he have smiled so happily on Sunday, when that was going to happen the next day? How can he smile so happily now that it has? He was in her house. She shouldn’t have let him leave.

“Alright,” Eddie says, pulling wet wipes, a spray bottle, various other things out of the bag. “I’m not gonna lie to you; after a few days of this your hair is going to feel as disgusting as it does now just in new and exciting ways, but hopefully by then you’ll be home. Or- at least they’ll let you take a real shower.”

Buck laughs, running a finger over the spines of a hair brush. “Dude, anything will be better than this. I feel like I’m made of grease.” He reaches a hand up — to run it through his limp hair, maybe — but winces and lowers it carefully again. Athena holds her breath yards away as Eddie freezes, minutely, just a tiny second of stillness before he’s smiling and opening the wipes.

“Well,” Eddie says, voice just as cheerful as before, “Luckily for you I am a master of the unsatisfying hospital hair cleaning routine.”

Buck almost giggles, shoulders wiggling like the way a child laughs. “Oh, please, show me your ways.”

Eddie holds up the wipe first. “Sorry this smells so flowery, but it’s the wettest brand of wipes I‘ve found.” He starts to hand the damp square to Buck, but hesitates. “Uh- I was going to let you- but it’ll be uncomfortable for- do you want me to just…”

“Sure,” Buck smiles. “I trust you.”

Eddie only made it in the room once while Buck was out, as far as Athena is aware. He’d haunted the hall like a ghost or a watchdog, though she supposes she’s not really one to talk while she’s posted out here. She watches as he directs Buck to scoot closer and stands as far to the back of the bed as he can get so he’s sort of behind Buck. She wonders if he’ll hesitate to touch him. She did. Since he woke up nearly 24 hours ago she has put a hand on his shoulder, once. It had been warm. He’d been moving, a little, half dead and even then unable to keep still. Eddie squeezes the wipe above Buck’s head, dripping faintly floral dampness, and then starts moving the cloth around his curls, and he doesn’t hesitate at all. Athena breathes in and out. Not half dead, she reminds herself. Mostly living.

Buck isn’t moving much now. He looks utterly relaxed as Eddie cleans away days of hospital grime. The man is so gentle about it, movements incredibly soft and slow, a hand supporting Buck’s head any time he needs to reposition to get at a new spot. She’d assumed this is a trick he’d learned after getting shot, but wonders now if this is an older skill, perfected on his child’s curls after any of Christopher’s hospital stays.

“Alright,” Eddie says, several discarded wipes later. He sets the last one on the mattress with a little flourish. “Step one complete.”

Buck opens eyes that drifted shut at some point, laughing quietly. “God, I feel better already.”

“Well, now it’s time for detangling, so don’t be too happy with me yet.”

Buck snorts, gingerly passing back the hair brush. “I’ll be brave, do your worst.”

Buck can’t see Eddie’s face with the way he’s standing, but Athena has a clear view. Sort of sad, kind of frightened. Athena is suddenly sure that he’s only ever going to do his absolute best for the man in the bed before him. “Okay,” he says, a warning before he starts, and she’s surprised that his voice doesn’t shake.

He begins with his fingers, pulling them so very carefully through the knotted strands, and it’s so intimate that Athena looks away on instinct. She counts all the chairs she can see in the waiting room, she reads all the signs on the walls. She doesn’t look in the room again until Buck speaks.

“Thank you.” He’s looking up at Eddie, neck craned as he tilts his head back, and she knows all the jokes about our Buckaroo, resident golden retriever, but it makes her think of a cat she had when she was younger. The tiny thing would plaster herself to your side and lean her head back up against you, so much love in her gaze you couldn’t help but smile back. Eddie smiles back, now.

“It’s no problem, Buck.”

“I can still thank you,” Buck says as Eddie leans over him to grab the spray bottle. Dry shampoo. He mists Buck’s head with it, ruffling his hair to get it evenly coated. “It’s polite.”

Eddie laughs, and Athena hadn’t realized his laughter before had been a little muted. “You don’t have to be polite to me.”

Buck grins. “Fine. Gel me up, peon.”

Eddie laughs again, loud and cackly, as he grabs the last tub from the bag. “Yes, sir. I got a pomade, it’s a little lighter than your normal stuff so hopefully the build up won’t feel so bad.”

“Okay.”

Eddie moves so he can see Buck’s face again, working the product into his hair and doing some light styling. The pomade doesn’t have much hold, his curls remain more prominent than they usually are, but he looks cleaner, a little neater, and definitely happier once Eddie is finished.

“There you are.” Eddie says, sitting back down in the chair pulled up to Buck’s bedside. He raises a pointed eyebrow, lips curved into a smirk. “Remember to leave a five star yelp review.”

Buck throws his head back in laughter, and Eddie sways forward into the orbit of it. The look on his face is- he’s lovestruck. She’d wondered about that — with more and more frequency lately, every story from Buck starting and ending with the other man — but she doesn’t know Eddie as well as some of the others on Bobby’s team and hadn’t wanted to assume. There is no doubt, though, looking at him now. Strangely, it makes Athena feel a little better. She definitely hadn’t known Eddie when his wife had passed but she knows it happened. She remembers Emmet, thinks of Marcy. Michael, and then Bobby. Buck and Eddie. The timeline — smiles, death, smiling again — is one she knows, after all, just in a different context, on a longer timeline.

When Buck leans forward again after his guffaw Eddie hasn’t moved back, so they end up very close to each other, matching grins reflecting between them. Eddie spots a bit of product near Buck’s temple and reaches up with a thumb to wipe it away, and it’s such a casual gesture until, suddenly, Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. When he falls apart he does it with a swift efficiency that something in Athena admires. His face shatters, his whole body slumps forward like a puppet with cut strings, a sob rattles up out of him with no preamble.

Buck’s eyes are wide, but he doesn’t necessarily look surprised. “Oh, Eddie…” he breathes, leaning even closer on his pillow.

“S-sorry,” Eddie gasps, scrubbing at his face like the touch of his palm will put him back together, sucking in air to try and stop the weeping. “Sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Buck’s tone is so gentle, so patient. Athena realizes she still thinks of him as a kid — a fool kid much of the time — but he doesn’t seem so young as he rests a calm hand on Eddie’s arm.

“For- I- I shouldn’t fall apart like this.”

“Why not?” Buck asks, laughing just a little. “You know I was a mess when you- it’s fine, Eds.”

“But-“

“You want me to forgive you?” Buck asks, eyebrows raised, a look on his face like he’d wanted the same, once. “I will. You’re forgiven.”

“I couldn’t- I couldn’t-“ Eddie takes a few more shuddering breaths and Buck just waits him out. “I couldn’t come in here. You were in here and I couldn’t- I left you alone.”

“I forgive you,” Buck says, easy as anything. Eddie’s face pinches up again, and he shakes his head sort of desperately even as Buck’s hand soothes up and down between wrist and elbow.

“I broke your ribs,” he says, voice cracking like the bones must have under his frantic compressions.

Buck’s free hand travels to his chest, and his fingers tap a little heartbeat rhythm there. “I forgive you, Eddie.”

“I love you,” Eddie says, in a voice Athena has heard in interrogation rooms and the priest’s box after Sunday mass. Buck’s inhale can’t be very loud, but she hears it all the way from the hall.

“I’m not forgiving you for that,” he says, a little winded but very firm. He sits up in his bed, ignoring Eddie’s worried hands hovering around him as he puts his own on either side of Eddie’s face. “I’m not- please, don’t apologize for that.”

“Sorry- I- I mean-“ Eddie smiles like he can’t help it as Buck’s gentle amused huff hits his face, even as tears still stream across his skin. “I won’t. I just wish I’d told you sooner.”

“You can tell me now,” Buck says, sliding a thumb over Eddie’s wet cheek. “Again. You can tell me again, and- and tomorrow, and the next day- I’m right here. It’s not too late, Eddie. I’m right here.”

Eddie nods, breathing unevenly again, and then they sort of fall into each other, holding and being held, so carefully but tight enough that Athena isn’t sure of the force it would take to pull them apart again. She inhales long and exhales slow. She can sort of see Buck’s face, smiling into Eddie’s shoulder, and it still hurts but she can maybe see how it might not, eventually. Right here, and tomorrow and the next day. He’ll still be in the hospital for a little while but- maybe, when he’s settled back at home, he’d like to come over for lunch.

Athena stands up straight, takes one last long look, and leaves Buck in safe hands.

[applejuicefruit]

hey, could you do a, trigger warning by the way, where the reader was harassed in the street/ and or in the workplace and she comes home sad, but doesn't tell kylian anything, he tries to talk to her about what it happened, and in the end she ends up telling him and he comforts her and in the end you decide, if you can and feel comfortable, thank you. <3

thank you for requesting this one!

also tw : violence, harassment , verbal abuse , non consensual touching, don’t read if it makes you uncomfortable!!!

kylian mbappe x reader

Fairytale

You loved your work.

You really did.

You worked for a big photography company based in Paris. Always working with famous photographers coming from all over the world. Your company worked for important museums and events all over the country and that’s how you met Kylian. You and your colleagues were sponsoring the company during some football event and when he was asked to take some pictures for it he couldn’t help but be mesmerised by you. Your beauty and kindness made him fall in love with you.

You started dating a couple of weeks after your first meeting and now, two years into the relationship things were going wonderfully amazing, both for him and you.

A few things were changed inside the company, as it began to expand internationally your boss decided to hire more people so they could help with the amount of work you all had to do.

One of this people was Luis. He was kind and shy at first. He was a little bit older than you but not that much. You’ve been his mentor when he first started, he knew he could rely on you especially when there were so many things do to and he had no idea of where to start. You were always welcoming with anyone who asked for help so you didn’t mind spending more time at the office helping him out.

He tried to ask you out once but you stopped him right away, telling him you actually have a boyfriend.

He got the memo and never made any kind of requests to you, instead he asked you to forget about his failed attempt so you could be just friends - of course you agreed, in the end he was your colleague and you wanted to work with good energy.

One friday night you and Luis were staying over finishing some project that you didn’t want to finish the next day. You already texted Kylian telling him you were getting home late because of work and, even if he sounded sad he knew how much you loved your work so he couldn’t really complain, not after all the nights you spent awake waiting for him to come back from training.

“I think we’re almost done” Luis said writing something on his computer.

“Yup. I’m all done with these pictures…” you showed him and closed the computer waiting for him to be done.

“Give me a minute and I promise you that you won’t see me again until next Monday” he joked and you laughed a bit.

Once he was all done you stood up from your chair and went to grab your jacket but Luis hands stopped you.

He took your wrist and turned you to him.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, concern evident in your voice since he was acting a bit strange.

“Why don’t we stay here for a bit longer? No one’s here…” he whispered and something told you that you had to turn around and run as far as you could but his hands still on your wrist stopped you from doing so.

“Luis I think we should go home…and rest, we’re clearly very tired…” you tried to calm him down, panic surging in you.

“Perhaps…you should come home with me? What do you think?” he said taking a few steps over and putting his hands on your hips “I could show you some things that your football boyfriend doesn’t know…he doesn’t deserve you. He’s probably fucking a new girl every night when you’re not home…I could really show you some things” he said while one of his hands grabbed your butt and squeezed it a little.

“Please Luis stop…just let me go and I won’t say anything about it…” you said, tears falling from your eyes.

“Why? Why should I let you go? You know what I’m saying is the truth…in these past years he has probably cheated on you every single time you weren’t there…” he said and you tried to not let those words into you. You’ve always been insecure about your relationship, mostly because you didn’t look like any kind of models Kylian dated, and you didn’t look like any other football player’s girlfriends. You were just you with a normal job and a normal life, no one special or famous. Even now that you and Kylian were dating you wanted your life to remain private, not looking for money or fame.

But Luis knew your weak spot and he was trying to get into your head.

“It’s not true…I love Kylian…he would never do something like that” you said back and he laughed.

“Maybe…or maybe he’s fucking a model while you’re here all alone with me…” he said, his lips ghosting over your ear and it made you shiver. You were completely terrified. And alone.

“We could have some fun now…” he squeezed your ass again trying to get into your panties.

You were scared and you had no idea of what to do, but adrenaline was rushing through you so, with your knee you reached his lower parts a kicked as strong as you could. You saw him leaving his grip on you and clenching down from the pain and in that moment you ran outside the building, not even caring about your jacket or laptop. You only got your bag and your car keys and you reached for your car. Your hands were shaking and you couldn’t focus on the road but your main goal was to reach home and kylian’s comforting arms.

You were driving too fast but you didn’t care.

Once you reached home you didn’t even bother to park your car, you just left it there once the gate was opened.

Kylian was currently laid on the couch scrolling through his phone when he heard your engine stop, sign that you were arrived.

You opened the front door and Kylian swore he almost died when he saw the state you were in. Your eyes red and puffy and your face wet with tears, your body was shaking and you couldn’t breathe.

“Y/n? Babe? What happened?” he ran to you when he saw you couldn’t even stand by yourself.

You tried to speak but no word came out of your mouth.

“Princess talk to me…are you hurt? What happened…baby? Please talk to me…” he said reaching for your hands “can I touch you baby?” he asked softly and you nodded. He wrapped his arms around your body and you let your tears fall while he softly stroke your back.

“Shh…it’s okay baby” he whispered trying to soothe you “can you tell me what happened baby?”

“He…he touched me and I just-I didn’t do anything, I was paralyzed” you explained and he was fuming, someone touched you without your consent.

“Who baby?” he asked even if he knew who did it.

“Luis…he-he tried to…” you couldn’t even finish your sentence that you began crying again. Kylian got what you meant and he was so mad at Luis that he was sure he wouldn’t have his job the next day.

“It’s okay baby, it’s over now…you’re here and he can’t hurt you, you’re safe baby” he comforted you and that’s all you needed.

“Why don’t we sit on the couch for a bit? I can prepare you a cup of tea if you want to…” he suggested but you shook your head.

“No please, I just want you…” you said hugging him, holding him for dear life.

“I’m not leaving baby, I promise you” he helped you sitting on the couch while he sat next to you.

You were still pretty shocked, still trembling but your cries stopped.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked you but you said no.

“Did he…” he didn’t even want to ask you that but he had to know if anything bad happened.

“No he didn’t. I stopped him before he could do anything…he just, his hands were all over me and I felt my body completely numb, I wasn’t even reacting…” you said feeling guilty about what happened. Kylian sensed it too but he comforted you.

“Baby, it wasn’t your fault okay? None of this…he’s just a dick who can’t accept a no, it wasn’t your fault…you’re just a victim but I’m glad you’re okay…you’re safe” he kissed your forehead and held you in his arms.

“Why can’t people be nice? Sometimes I wished I was fucking Cinderella and I lived in a fairytale, why can’t that be the real world?” you asked and Kylian soften a bit.

“You’re too good for this world baby…we don’t deserve you” he said kissing your cheek, making you smile a bit.

“He’s dead…his career’s over, I promise you he will never hurt you or anyone ever again” Kylian said with a poisonous voice. You knew Kylian was pretty famous, especially in France, he was seen as a God, capable of incredible things and you also knew he had his contacts. Plus your boss was a huge PSG fan so he only needed to call him to have Luis fired.

Kylian didn’t care if he was going to ruin a man’s life. He couldn’t care less, not when that man harassed you, tried to get his way to you, touched you without your consent and scared you. Kylian was so mad he could have killed him but you needed him and his comfort and he was going to take care of you as long as you needed him.

[abugsjournal]

A Cowboy's Cup of Coffee ☕

Arthur Morgan x male reader

Summary: This first chapter is mostly just introductions and getting to know our main character! Also hinting at mutual attraction. The real plot starts soon 👀

Content Warning: internalized homophobia (sort of?)

Chapter 1: The Handsome Stranger

Y/N's POV

     You wake up before the roosters sleeping in the local farms can wake up the rest of the town. You used to rely on them to wake you up but after a couple of months rising before the sun, it became routine. As the owner of the only café in Valentine, part of your job is waking up before everyone else and having coffee ready for them by the time they roll out of bed and make their way to you, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they order. Coffee is 5 cents per cup, and for an extra 3 cents you add a fresh baked pastry to go with the drink. You bake a different pastry for each day of the week. On Saturdays you make mini strawberry shortcakes, on Mondays you make blueberry muffins, and on Tuesdays you make peach turnovers (your absolute favorite). Your little café is closed on Sundays, you won't get any business while everyone is at church anyways.

     Today is Saturday and you're feeling particularly nostalgic. You remember how you were surprised by the news of your beloved uncle's passing, and even more surprised by the amount of money he left you in his will. He never had children of his own so you were the closest thing he had to a son. As a child you spent your free afternoons helping him run his butchers shop. You only helped at the register since all the meat and blood made you squeamish.

     Along with his life savings you also inherited his mismatched collection of coffee mugs and tea cups. That's what inspired the name for your business; The Collector's Café. You scavenged every estate sale you came across for cups, silverware, plates, chairs, and tables. No two pieces of furniture or dishes were the same. You found a vacant building in a small growing town named Valentine. Full of cattle ranchers and folks with big dreams. You hoped to fuel those dreams with coffee. You spent the remainder of your inheritance on the deed to the building, an oven, a few French presses, and your first order of coffee beans and baking ingredients.

     Two years later, here you are, unlocking your doors at five a.m. Within minutes you're greeting your regulars, as tired as they are loyal, and getting started on their usual orders. It's the busiest day of the week but it passes by without incident. You close up shop at two in the afternoon and finish up with your cleaning and other closing tasks by four. During your walk home you take a short detour through the nearby woods to unwind. It's the middle of spring and the native wildflowers are in full bloom. However, it's not the flowers that catch your eye. Peering into the center of a bright orange flower, you find a ladybug.

     Growing up you were always the shortest boy in your class and more often than not you were teased for it, so you developed a soft spot for the small creatures that were overlooked (or squished) by others. You pull out your sketchbook from your worn leather satchel and begin to draw what you see. You usually save drawing for your day off, but the little creature in front of you is just too precious to leave undocumented.

     After you finish walking home you eat dinner and quickly fall into a comfortable sleep, knowing tomorrow is you day off.

     You spend your Sunday morning tending to the house chores you neglected throughout the week. In the afternoon you stock up on groceries and supplies for the café. You spend the rest of your free time out in the woods drawing every little insect you can find. Before you know it the sun begins to set and you know it's time to turn in for the night.

     The roosters begin to caw as you pull your first batch of blueberry muffins out of the oven and set them on a rack to cool. As you unlock your doors and flip your sign to "OPEN" you can hear hooves and boots squelching through the muddy path through town. As the sun rises high enough to send warm beams of light through the windows, your usual group of regulars walk in, each greeting you with  a sleepy grunt or a gravely "Mornin',". Trailing at the end of the usual morning rush you see a new face. He walks in confidently but when you look into his eyes you can see something else, he looks lost. Maybe he's new in town?

     As he approaches the counter you try to make him feel welcome, "Good morning friend, welcome to The Collector's Café! It's not often I see a new face, especially this early, what's your name?"

     Shocked by your level of energy at such an early hour, the stranger takes a second to answer, "Arthur Morgan."

     "That's a fine name Mr. Morgan. I'm Y/N, nice to meet ya!" You smile as you take in the man's features. He's nearly six inches taller than you. Brown hair curls around the rim of his hat and back of his neck and matching stubble covers his jaw and chin. He has a strong nose that looks like it's been broken more than once, suntanned  skin, and the most piercing blue eyes you've ever seen. In the light coming in from the windows you can see they aren't just blue, they have a ring of green around the pupil that bleeds into the blue irises and for a split second you are drowning in them. You blink and remember you're supposed to be running a business. Clearing your throat, you ground yourself, "Now how can I help you?"

     Arthur's eyes wander from your face to the hand written menu propped up on the counter. "I'll have a coffee. Black."

     "Lovely choice, anything else?" You watch him narrow his eyes, still reading over the menu.

      After mulling it over in his mind, he replies, "Add one of them blueberry muffins too." He begins fishing out change from his pocket and drops eight cents into your hand.

     "Thank you Mr. Morgan! Go pick out a seat and I'll bring everything to your table in a moment."

     Arthur nods and begins looking around the eclectic café he finds himself in. He finds a seat in the back corner, a comfortable red chair next to a round oak table.

     You pull a still steaming muffin off the cooling rack and place it on a dainty plate decorated with ivy leaves around the rim. You fill a yellow mug from the freshest brewed batch of coffee and make your way over to Arthur, gently placing his order on the table in front of him. "There you are, holler at me if you need a refill!"

     "Thank you mister." He replies, looking up at you from under the brim of his hat.

     You think he might be a man of few words, or maybe just shy. You're already busy clearing tables as Arthur takes his first sip. You glance in his direction between each table, watching to see if he enjoys what you've made. New customers always make you feel a little nervous, the same nervousness you felt the day you opened your café. Thankfully, you see his eyes go wide as he takes a bite of the muffin, a slight smile forming at the corners of his mouth. You let out a small sigh of relief and return to your work, feeling a swell of pride in your chest.

     You're washing cups behind the counter when Arthur gets up to leave. "Have a nice day!" You call as he heads out the door. He silently tips his hat towards you and then he's gone. When you go to clear the table he was sitting at you notice that not a drop of coffee is left in the mug, and there's hardly any crumbs on the plate. It always warms your heart knowing your customers enjoyed their treat.

     The rest of the day flies by you. As you drift off you find yourself wondering if you'll see the handsome stranger again.

Arthur's POV

     You wake up to the sounds of the rest of the gang starting their days. You groan as you sit up, not looking forward to the tasks that will be given to you as soon as you exit your tent. Hopefully it won't be too bad, you're still worn out from setting up camp. You only just settled in this spot outside of Valentine and Dutch said we should lay low for a while. You get dressed and get your hair semi-decent before stepping outside.

     Javier and Hosea are sitting by the fire drinking coffee. "Bout time you woke up," Hosea greets you as you sit down to join them, "Dutch has been looking for you."

     "Won't kill him to wait one more minute." You pour yourself a cup of coffee and take a large swig. Your face involuntarily contorts in disgust as you swallow and you promptly dump out the rest, thinking about how much better the coffee tasted at the café you discovered while exploring the town yesterday. You make a mental note to go back after finishing up with whatever Dutch has planned for you.

     Walking over to his tent you see Dutch open his arms, the day's first cigar between his teeth, "Arthur! There you are," He throws an arm around your shoulders, "Would you mind escorting our lovely ladies into town today? They will not quit pestering me about it and I think it's about time we started gathering some intel."

     "Sure, I'm up for babysitting." You smirk at your own remark, entertaining yourself as you often do with your sarcasm.

     Dutch laughs and pats you on the back, "That's my boy! Hear that ladies?" You hear a chorus of excited giggles and turn to see Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth practically skipping towards the wagon. You can't help but smile at their giddiness as they chat and sing the entire ride into town.

     After hitching the horses you all split up. Luckily you weren't given anything specific to do in town other than making sure the girls stay out of trouble and making sure they get home safe, so you head right to the café, eager to get your caffeine fix for the day.

     Pushing open the door you hear a small bell ring above your head. "Hey Mr. Morgan!" Y/N smiles at you as the smell of coffee and peaches washes over you, "Back for more already?"

     You chuckle at how formally he addresses you, "Hey Y/N, you can drop all the 'Mr. Morgan' nonsense, Arthur is just fine."

     "Oh, okay! Well what can I do for you, Arthur?" As you look down at the barista you notice his eyes are the same deep brown color as the coffee he serves, perfectly matching his hair. His skin, despite being freckled, is almost as pale as cream.

     "I'll have a black coffee please, and do you have any more of those muffins?" You peek into the display case but you don't see any.

     "I'm all out of muffins, but I do have peach turnovers!" You must have looked as disappointed as you felt, the barista quickly adds, "I promise these are just as good! They're actually my favorite."

     Since your mouth has been watering since you walked in, you cave in and decide to try one, "Alright alright I'm convinced," You slide eight cents across the counter but Y/N slides three cents back towards you. You raise an eyebrow at him, suddenly doubting your ability to count without coffee in your system.

     "Go sit down, breakfast is on me today." He winks at you and starts preparing your order.

     Shocked by his kindness, it takes you a moment to remember your manners, "Thanks Y/N." You make your way to the same corner table you sat at yesterday. The café is full of customers, all happily chatting with Y/N as he weaves between tables clearing dishes and refilling mugs. You're surprised at how quickly he has your order ready. The cup of coffee is steaming and it warms your face as you bring the mug to your lips. After drinking the dirt water the rest of the gang calls coffee for so many years, you forgot what good coffee tastes like. You take a bite of the peach turnover, it's somehow better than the muffin you had yesterday! As the flaky crust softly crunches between your teeth and you bite into the juicy sliced peaches inside, you can see why these are Y/N's favorite.

     You continue watching him as he works. Everyone that walks in gets greeted with the same warm smile and he seems to know exactly how everyone likes their coffee without having to ask. After the majority of folks finish their drinks and file out, Y/N picks up the cups and plates and returns to wipe each table off with a rag.  He places his left hand down on a particularly long table and bends forward slightly to wipe down the edge against the wall. Your eyes travel from his shoulders and down his back. You can't help but stare at his slender waist and how his jeans hug his hips.

     Suddenly, as if he can feel your eyes on him, Y/N stands up and snaps his head in your direction. You feel your cheeks flush warm with shame, you lower your eyes and quickly finish the last of your coffee. Y/N glides over to you, "Need a refill?" Despite being taller than him, you suddenly feel very small with how he's looking down at you in your chair. Is the smile on his face playful? You're too wrapped up in your own embarrassment to know for sure.

      "Ah, no thanks," You can't stand his stare any longer and abruptly stand up, "I think it's about time I head out." Avoiding meeting his eyes you quickly walk past him and towards he door.

     "Oh, alright. See you round Arthur." You feel Y/N's gaze follow you as you go. You walk back towards the wagon, trying to shake the image of the barista's blue jeans from your mind. The girls are already there waiting for you. You silently ready the horses and climb into the wagon.

     "What have you been up to, Arthur?" Tilly asks as she climbs into the back seat.

     "Not much, just had some actually decent coffee," Not wanting to think about how the rest of your morning went, you quickly change the subject, "Did y'all hear anything useful?"

     "Oh yes," Karen interjects, "We'll tell you all about it when we get back to camp."

     The ride back is quiet, the afternoon sun through the trees dappling your path in shade. Upon arriving, you quickly look for something to do and settle on chopping wood for tonight's fire, hoping no one bothers you during the meditative task.

     After dinner you retreat to your tent, tossing and turning restlessly in your cot, unable to take your mind off of how Y/N was looking at you earlier after he caught you staring. You thought he would have gotten upset with you, but you were met with a smile. You think you saw a hint of mischief in his eyes but you quickly convince yourself you imagined it.

     You fall asleep cursing yourself for eyeing him the same way you would eye a woman.

//

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first time writing a fic and I can already tell I have a lot to learn. I'm open to constructive criticism, all I ask is that you're nice about it lol let me know what you think about it so far!

Chapter 2

Taglist: @photo1030

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday, WIP Wednesday & WIP Ask Game

Tagged by @aceghosts

Tagging @noodlecupcakes @direwombat @socially-awkward-skeleton @voidika @imogenkol @la-grosse-patate @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @adelaidedrubman @shellibisshe @josephseedismyfather @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @florbelles @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries + anyone who'd like to join.

Two songs for The UnTitledverse on a Transformers Prime WIP called Trust In Us, the sequel to Honour Thy Father, a snippet WIP for A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore, which has a Trigger Warning because the Raiders have evil intentions (but are unable to follow through with them) and also for graphically detailed bloody violence (because Alph is a champ and Ress believes the punishment should fit the wrongs), which is the main reason why this post is labelled mature. And lastly, a list of WIPs from The Silver Chronicles that you can ask about. You can listen and read these below the cut:

There's around two plot points to Trust In Us; the first is simply the Autobots finding a possible Energon Lab that Arcee took the decipherable coordinates of in Honour Thy Father, pushing back against the Decepticons and have them go on a wild goose chase so they can find the lab, and then getting ambushed by the Decepticons at the location. Second plot point is Arcee and Soundwave finding themselves in that lab and finding The Horrors(TM), with faulty equipment and weapons, wounded (from each other LOL) and being hunted by deranged A.Is. Sneaking around and outwitting their foes is a key part of this fic... considering the "deranged A.Is" are smarter than they act. Which is why I chose "You Can't Hide" as a song for this fic:

"I knew I was right to think I would find you over here Well, isn't it intriguing that you seem to be just A little bit weary enough to run off on me* Well, there's no need We know you want to deactivate us But we just can't let that happen Every night, always, it never changes But we can make accidents happen."

"We can make accidents happen We can make accidents happen We can make accidents happen We can make accidents happen."

[*Bon-Bon doesn't exist in this universe so had to change it up here to better fit the context]

During the second half of the plot, Arcee and Soundwave meet a Cybertronian who claims to have had "deserted the Decepticon cause" and found himself trapped down in the lab. They come to know him as Flatline, and while he is inherently suspicious, they must rely on his medical expertise and mapping knowledge to get out of the laboratory alive. Tumult arises when Arcee begins to trust one of the less deranged A.I's who only pokes holes in Flatline's story, which leads to a conflict on who to trust. Soundwave, while displeased with Flatline's desertion of Lord Megatron, does put more trust in him than the Autobot he's stuck with and the A.I she's been listening to. Shame that both options lead them to the same conclusion.

"Feel the grove Feel the grove Feel the grove Feel the grove Keep moving Keep moving Keep moving Keep moving

I feel like, you are not trusting me enough And I know what's right, I will guide you safely through this night And though it's true I kidnapped you, please know it was for your own good I've kept you hidden, now phase* four can begin, begin Now phase four can- Now phase four can- Know- I- can begin Know- it's true, I- can begin I kidnapped you

Safely, safely Please know Safely hidden, safely

You are not trusting me enough Trusting me enough You are not trusting me enough."

[*Night four doesn't make sense as a lyric in this context. Phase four better fits Flatline's plans]

Here's a snippet for my Fallout 3 WIP The Waters Of Life Flow. Alph and Amata are held captive by raiders in their first ten minutes of being on the surface. Fortunately (not for the raiders), a bigger fish shows up to steal from the small fry. [TW: While physically "Mohawk" only manhandles Amata, his and the other raiders words indicate more depraved intentions with her and Alph. Nothing graphic ever occurs though. However, TW for graphically bloody and detailed violence, courtesy of Alph's resistance and Ress' mercilessness in a Fallout world. Also strong language]. Read below:

Alph struggled against two of his captors as Mohawk howled with laughter at Amata's frenzied defiance. He had her restrained against the ruin's wall, a grin unnaturally wide filled with a wicked glee.

Sideburn and Iron Nose cackled and guffawed respectively at the display, manic grins all around on most of the thugs. The two that kept Alph pinned to his knees didn't wear smiles, though more from apathy corrupting their hearts than any moral discontent with the situation.

Mohawk chuckles died into a mockery of Amata's terror, mouth gaped wide into an open frown as he sputtered out an exaggerated cry. He soon replaced it with a tainted smile, hungry eyes roaming over Amata's figure.

He glanced over to Sideburn and Iron Nose, cocking his head to Alph, "I reckon we should all treat ourselves to a bit of early desert for lunch... and dinner if the meat lasts long enough."

The other woman, shorter than Sideburn, tittered cheerfully on the locker she kicked her feet on, the attention of her wide soulless eyes locking onto Alph, caressing the flamer beside her.

Alarmed, Alph pushed himself against the weight holding him down, but all for naught as he exerted his limits. He breathed rapidly, panic surged into his heart at how Mohawk gripped Amata's arms above her. Once more powerless to help. And it's all my fault.

Amata shook her head rapidly, a begging no, a choked plea going unsaid. Mohawk was undeterred, "What does everyone think? Nothing like a good fuck to release some steam, eh?"

His gang of monsters cheered in unison, amoral to the evil they were going to inflict. Mohawk bared his dark yellow teeth, "Alright then! Trix, you have a turn of the red-head first. This one's mine."

Trix cackled as she leapt off the locker, skipping her way over to Alph. The vault dweller in question shook his head in pure shock of the immorality the demons in flesh were willing to partake. His eyes became glassy as Mohawk pushed himself further into Amata's space, her desperate attempts to shake out of his hold futile.

When Trix came closer to him, he felt one of the goon's slacken in their hold. He felt a bold and ferocious fire ignite, and with Amata's life hanging in the balance, he delved into a source of fury he's only felt towards Butch and the Overseer.

Once Trix leaned too close, Alph bounced up into a pounce, his forehead colliding with Trix's nose.

A resounding crunch stopped everyone in their tracks, and a blood curdling scream from Trix filled the sparse seconds of silence, crimson splattering her mouth and face.

Alph shook off the pain that pulsed at his forehead. He took advantage of his captor's shock, pulling one arm from the guy on the left before elbowing his mouth, and proceeded to gut punch the other to his right.

Alph didn't spare a second to claim back his baton clumsily strapped to rightie's leg.

Alph made a dash for Mohawk, an action that made the depraved leader shove himself off of Amata for a chance to reach his sawed-off shotgun.

It didn't matter once Iron Nose's fist collided with Alph's jaw.

Alph lost his grip on the baton, and once he fell to the hard ground, he felt the dazed pain of a missing tooth and torn flesh on his lips.

"Alph!" Amata rushed over to Alph's side, hastily turning him over and pulling him up to check on him. She glanced to the approaching Mohawk, and she tried to drag a disoriented Alph to the corner of the ruins to put some distance between them and the thugs.

Mohawk stared at Alph, letting out a bemused chuckle, his eyes narrowing onto the two vault dwellers.

"Motherfucker!" Trix screeched, cradling her broken nose spilling red on the ground, "Fucking cunt broke my nose!"

Sideburn rolled her eyes at Trix, while Mohawk grinned in excitement, "Yeah, these vaulties got some bite in them."

Alph leaned onto Amata for support, spitting out the tooth that had broken off. He attempted to push himself in front of Amata, but his best friend remained firm, eyeing Mohawk with a fury to try and distract them from the tremors of her body.

Mohawk bit his bottom lip in thought, and tsked, "A shame really. We can't have our meat biting us back now can we?"

His hand pulled the sawed-off shotgun from his side, aiming it at Alph, "Let's see how much fight the damsel has when her hero drops dead."

Fear grasped Alph and Amata, the latter of whom hugged Alph closely to her as he weakly tried to push her away, eyes wet from the thought of his failure to protect Amata and find his dad, all the while surrounded by dirty and vile vultures of human beings, who grinned with eager anticipation to reach satisfaction.

"Now is that really necessary?"

Mohawk's gang and their captives turned their attention to the additional voice, spotting a tall woman standing above them on the crest of the slope.

Alph and Amata held onto each other, their eyes scanning the stranger. Her long platinum hair singled her out from the blue sky behind her, dark-tinted shades displaying Mohawk and his gang in the reflection, hiding her eyes from them. Her skin was darker than Amata's, she was cleaner than everyone in the ruins too; including her attire.

She was wearing a black zip-up leather jacket, with a high collar that was broad. She had matching slim black pants and dress boots, a fancy contrast from the blues of the vault dwellers and the faded garbs of the marauders.

"Who the fuck are you?" Mohawk questioned, the vaulties at his mercy forgotten at the appearance of the woman.

"Marissa Bishop," she introduced herself, her head bowing into a tilt, "But my family only have the right to call me that. So how about Ress instead?"

"How'd you even get in here? Jeremy should have splattered your brains against the pavement," Mohawk inquired, aiming his weapon at this 'Ress'.

Ress' lips opened up into a wide grin, showing off teeth too pearly for someone that's living on the surface.

"Well," she said, taking a step down the slope to walk closer to them, "I think I did have a run-in with this 'Jeremy', but our introductions ended with a handshake."

She stopped when she was at even leveling with Mohawk, surveying the group, "But I'd be more worried for yourselves than of him."

Mohawk blinked at her with an incredulous expression, though Trix seemed to have a more visceral reaction at the news.

Alph watched as Trix sauntered up to Ress, mouth and nose stained with her own dried blood, pulling out Amata's 10mm pistol, aiming it at Ress' face.

"What have you done to him you freaky bitch?! What the fuck did you do to my Jeremy?!" Trix shouted at the taller woman, who didn't change her expression.

"Aww, how cute," Ress cooed, replying, "To answer your question; nothing more than trash like him deserved. And the sames going to happen to all of you."

Trix sneered at the taller woman, while Alph and Amata glanced to each other, wondering how the newcomer was even keeping a straight face from being threatened with certain death.

"Oh yeah? Newsflash fucker; I'm the bitch with the gun," Trix cocked the slide back.

Ress hummed, taking a step back before lifting her hand in front of Trix's face; pinkie and ring finger curled into her palm, index and middle finger stacked together and point forwards, with her thumb standing up.

Is... is she for real?

Alph was baffled by the woman mimicking a gun with her hands, and couldn't help but wonder what joke she was trying to pull off, and the sensation of dread at the sinking chances of the likely unwell woman succeeding against Mohawk's gang being as close as Alph and Amata got to actual rescue.

"Mine's bigger," Ress replied, reeking of overconfidence and delusion as Alph began to mutter a prayer.

Mohawk and his cronies burst into laughter, the leader pointing his shotgun downwards as he nearly doubled-over from the embarrassing display.

Trix cackled at Ress' face, shocked and enraged and bemused. The taller woman, with her "gun" still pointed towards the broken nose of Trix, merely shrugged at the reactions. Her "hammer" pressed down onto her index.

Alph could have sworn her saw a small blue light leave from her fingertips until he witnessed Trix's skull caved into the back of her head in an explosion of crimson blood and white cartilage with bits of brain matter spattering onto the concrete ground.

Trix's headless body stumbled back, Amata's pistol falling from its grip as it fell to the floor with a massive thump.

Mohawk and his goons stood shocked, trying to process what they just witnessed, while Alph and Amata began to drag themselves to the corner wall, making distance.

Ress, however, merely wiped away the gunk that got onto her face, taking off her stained sunglasses to reveal captivating ocean blue irises, putting it away in one of her pockets.

She looked from Mohawk, to Sideburn, to Iron Nose, to the two goons who had sullied themselves.

"So," Ress stated, pulling the raiders out of their stupor, "Who's next?"

And lasting the WIP Ask Game for The Silver Chronicles.

Rules: Make a new post (I've broken this rule already) with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPS.

Some of these are NSFW (which in this case only refers to sexual themes, because otherwise I'd have to put an asterisk on everything LOL) so I marked them with an asterisk in case you wanted to ask about something (relatively) SFW.

The Silver Chronicles

Silva's Hope

La Última En Pie

Old Dusk

Call To Arms Duology

Ain't It A Joy?

No One's Safe At Home

An unnamed Bloodborne fic that's straight up depression for the soul like the game but with twin sibling Hunters and a demigod, as well as a mix of the worst unrequited toxic yaoi I've made thus far between the demigod and his ex-buddy.

All Yours*

Faithful

Generosity (or the fic where the sexual tension is strong between Silva and Faith aka Faith tends to Silva's wounds to symbolize the intimacy of trust or something)

Hands On Bare Skin*

No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden

Only One Person Can Frustrate Me (And That's You)*

Strawberries

The Most Wonderful Of Mistakes*

Weaponizing The Obstacle

We're Primal Beasts After All

Where She Belongs

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hi Cas

First off, please don't feel any pressure to answer this. I'm not heavily relying on this and would seriously prefer it if you put yourself and your mental health above mine

Second off, how are you?

Third off, I need advice :(

Little backstory so you understand, I'm a queer indian that shifted to London 12 months ago for my year 8-9, and when I first joined the school I was best friends with four people including the girl im talking about lets call her Saoirse cause she's Irish. 6-7 months later we've all drifted apart except Saoirse and her best friend. During class we talked occasionally and bantered as friends, until one day she insulted and laughed at me with a couple of friends about my Indian three letter name and when I called her out for it by mentioning her own name, she got into a strop and ignored me for 3 months, as well as trying to one up me with my supposed best friend who I ahwv a shaking relationship with. Admittedly, I did grovel a bit until she started talking to me randomly one morning. A month and we're good friends and then she gets caught doing something and when she gets a detention blames it on me. The next day the teacher asks me and I deny it, it becomes a whole thing for three weeks in which I promise myself to not let her into my life. But one day Saoirse just starts speaking to me again and since we're in the same friend group and it just felt so good I let her. For a week she dotes on me, pulling me to sit with her, and just something about the way she acts and speaks makes me wanna compliment her every time I speak to her. The second week, she unnecessarily touches me whenever she can, compliments me, and when a friend asked her if she was straight (a question she continuously replied yes to and she had a bf) she looked at me, smiled, and said her minds been changing lately. Throughout the week she flirts with me and calls me 'pookie', which whatever everyone does but before we had more of a love language: rude relationship. Finally on the last day, she pulls me aside and applies her lip balm on my lips slowly and constantly, leaning into close and then abruptly leaving. On Monday, peek a boo, shes a bitch. She continuously love bombs me, and whenever another girl who liked me looked at me she would put on an act and make me confront that girl because she called Saoirse a dick for everything. On Wednesday she just acts like she subtly hates me, but I can't speak to anyone cause all my friends are her friends. And also, shes so so so addicting so I can't use my remaining self respect and move away

What do I do?

(sorry for the long ask)

Hi hon! I'm good!

Well, it sounds like you already know what to do, it's just a matter of doing it:

You know Saoirse isn't treating you well. You know you deserve better. And you know she's the type of person hat keeps drawing you back in.

And trust me, I know those people. They're - like you said - addicting. But addiction never ends well, does it? So I think you know that the best idea is to take space from her.

I know it's a lot easier said than done, I know. But you deserve to be treated with respect. And it's okay to take space from people who aren't giving you what you deserve.

Think about it. Message me again with updates or if you need encouragement!

Naming you self respect anon <3

[shatterthefragments]

FUCK I AAID ID TRY TO TAKE MY BREAK TOMORROW EARLIER SO I COULD ATTEND A zoom COMMITTEE MEETINH 😭

I could use the extra money (especially with at least one more concert… at least one is potentially local and I can just drive there) but I also semi rely on that mid workday tumblr scrolling to get me through it rn. (Guess we’ll see if I can even leave when I want. It was an hour later than I wanted today)

Like the two girls who work sometimes together there. Like. It’s been at least a month or so now I think. Probably 3 months bc of the training benchmark thing that they had to do today instead of working. Straight up if I didn’t have a second person in I would’ve fully just broken down today. But uh. They still fully need to do a full day to shadow a clerk and then a full day where they’re supervised. I am not trained as a clerk. I am serving as their knowledge to do their jobs. I used to feel ambivalent towards my birth name but I hate it right now. The “xx” before I need to leave everything and go help them. Just fills me with dread.

And I’m okay with a bit of a language barrier -they can still communicate. But they shouldn’t necessarily need to ask me everything still. I am positive they can check a deck for a box labeled “waffles” without me needing to hold their hand through it. And they shouldn’t need me to Leave My Task to come help them ESPECIALLY when I’m with someone else (the customer complained about me :P and the store manager let me know after he left. Anyway if I have to do the “add it to the list of things to do for sure” that I’m writing in OT and that he said I should do it before I leave bc fuck even today I ended up staying late)

ALSO fuck customers who only want stuff fresh from this very day or fresh from the freezer and DONT PUT A SPECIAL ORDER IN and just request it whenever they come in. Every time. (Sometimes. The answer is no. I don’t have it cut up and available)

Would it help if I cried in front of you when I tell you that I don’t have any available right now?

Torn between catharsis and FUCK if I’m going to cry (at least mostly) because of work then I should at least be paid for it.

…I haven’t cried at (this) work since the last time I was yelled at by a coworker. (All previous times crying at this workplace were because she yelled at me) (I was almost crying. I almost went into the Cooler to have a cry)

Not to make light of it all but I’m like. One more bad Monday with those two away from a hospital stay. (I can’t bc the hospitals here are famously bad for mental health) (I have an appt and a meeting after next week’s Monday)

But like. Can’t sully any of my crafting and leather knives. (They’re very nice and I want to collect more - prettier too would be nice) but seeing the knives at work and knowing they’re freshly sharpened. It’s just. WILL YOU HEAR ME NOW?! I am screaming. I admitted OUT LOUD that I am struggling on Mondays right now. Can’t have any more wounds to heal. I have to keep my skin unbroken so I can get more tattoos. It’ll be so much harder to stop if I start. Bc the URGENCY in the urge is so fucking strong. It didn’t help when I did last but maybe it would now hit I can’t I can’t I can’t

And I’ll be really sad if what I suspect are a TON of new moles (…or maybe freckles??) are cancerous 1) I hate checking them I can’t remember and I don’t have the organization to photograph and monitor each one 2) I’d have to get the tattoos I booked somewhere else and I’m not sure if I’d go for my upper left arm or my upper front thigh area. (If you’re actually reading this I am taking input on this in case) 3) I don’t want cancer, and it would break my parents’ hearts 4) I don’t want to die (despite the Desperation telling me I do)

Im splintering. Im fragmented. And I KNOW that a large part of it is how tired and exhausted I’ve been. I AM going to bed relatively soon.

I want to get high and forget

Weed’s legal it’s probably fine

(Im still paranoid it’ll cause a psychotic break and I’m already so frequently disconnected dissociated and in such a state of unreality it’s terrifying to me. Because when they taught us about psychosis I related very heavily to a lot of it and I’m scared to admit it. I think I’m okay. It would’ve been a lot to be 15+ years deep so far and nobody noticing nobody being concerned I think I’m okay I just need to get back on the ocean. It will heal me.)

I want to not be in pain

I want to externalize some of it

I want SOME FUCKING HELP. (If I just ask I could. Allegedly. Get a referral and coverage for some therapy) but I’m okay I always am. I’ve survived 100% of my worst days and all that :P but uh. A clerk to help those two ACTUALLY FUCKING LEARN (as if they’d listen) would be Huge.

(But if I were to do edibles with a friend I trust her. I trust she’d know what to do.)

Fuck I don’t even feel like sadsturbating. I mean (I don’t like to use lube so) I already sorta went too long the other day(s) and bled a little so I shouldn’t anyway.

1000% down for someone to knead my ass until it bruises while we snuggle though.

…I just ran my retainer cleaner without my retainer inside of it… and then forgot to put it in. It’s in now. I flossed while it actually got cleaned. Which is good. But fuuuck.

“Diagnosed with a sinus infection” with Covid symptoms… I don’t want her to come back to work tomorrow (I would rather be down a person),,,

[the-himawari]

A3! Hyodo Kumon - Translation [SSR] Afterschool Time for Two (3/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

Waiter: Here’s your French fries.

Kumon: I’m digging in! *Munch, munch*… mm, that hits the spot! Fresh off the fryer is the best!

Azami: All you need is salt when it’s hot.

Kumon: Ketchup and mayo are still musts though!

Azami: Oi, don’t mix them with the fries.

Kumon: Aurore sauce is tasty though. By the way, Tenma-san was in the drama that aired yesterday.

Azami: Ah. Is that why everyone in Summer troupe all got together last night?

Kumon: Yep! Tenma-san wore a school uniform for his role that looked hella cool! He kinda had an aura about him! But it sounded like he had some mixed feelings… about wearing a school uniform even though he’s in university now.

Azami: But he was just wearing one a short while ago. Is that what it feels like when you become a university student? Is it available to stream?

Kumon: He said it was. I think you can still watch it!

Azami: I’ll check it out.

Kumon: Anyways, the homework I got today killed my braincells. I don’t get anything. Do you understand this, Azami?

Azami: There’s no way I’d get what someone two grades above me is studyin’.

Kumon: Ooh, good point. I guess I have no choice but to rely on Tsumugi-sensei. But I think he’s busy today…

Azami: What’s the subject?

Kumon: English.

Azami: Then you can also ask Chikage-san, can’t you?

Kumon: Ah, right! So true!

Azami: So even students who are preppin’ for their entrance exams get homework, huh?

Kumon: Well, it’s only for English and Japanese history. I ask nii-chan about my Japanese history homework.

Azami: Right. Juza-san’s only good at history.

Kumon: What do you mean by “only”!

*hits*

Azami: Dude, that hurts, y’know?

Kumon: Oh yeah! Say, Azami. I wanna go to karaoke tomorrow~.

Azami: Karaoke?

Kumon: Yeah. Also, I wanna go to the batting cage the day after tomorrow, and then the arcade next Monday~.

Azami: All you’re doin’ is goofin’ off.

Kumon: It’s fine, isn’t it! There’s not much time left in my high school life, so I wanna do everything I wanna do.

Azami: You can do all those things you said anytime. You can go to karaoke or the battin' cage even if you're not a high school student. Actually, when I see Juza-san and Taichi-san, it looks like it’s even easier for uni students to go since they have the time.

Kumon: That’s not the point, Azami! It’s like what Tenma-san said—the meaning of wearing a school uniform changes when you become a uni student. The homework will be way different, I’ll have to work a part-time job, and the cats I play with at lunch won’t be there. The only time we’re both high school students is right now. And there’s tons of stuff I wanna do with you while we’re in still high school together.

Azami: …

Kumon: Ah, I finished my drink. I’m gonna go to the drink fountain. Do you want anything, Azami? I’ll bring it back with me.

Azami: Oolong tea. Thanks.

Kumon: Okay!

*runs off*

Azami: …

*runs back*

Kumon: Thanks for waiting!

Azami: That was fast.

Kumon: Huh, really?

Azami: …Y’know, Kumon.

Kumon: Yeah?

Azami: I’ll go with you to all those things you mentioned earlier.

Kumon: Eh, REALLY!? YAY!!

*jumps up*

Azami: Shut up, dummy. Don’t stand up.

Kumon: Ahaha. Oopsies, sorry.

Azami: I doubt anythin’ will change between us once next year comes. But, we’re only high school students right now, right?

Kumon: Exactly! Ehehe, I’m so happy.

Azami: I mean, it just feels like we’re hangin’ out afterschool though.

Kumon: That’s fine! Everyone says we should do what we wanna do while we’re in high school.

Azami: Hearin’ that’s like a broken record at this point.

Kumon: Ah, I know! Adding to the list of things to do! I wanna eat a burger from “Burger Royale”!

Azami: What?

Kumon: Also, Kazu-san told me about a store that just opened last month—.

Azami: Can we go to that many places? Well, we’ll do as much as we can.

Kumon: For sure!

---

previous |

[obsessive-fixations]

Head cannon Monday: From the View of Brahms Heelshire

( TW/CW: mentions angst, frustration, guilt, emotional trauma )

Want more? Let me know! I have more to share eventually :3

> Brahms found himself anxiously pressing his nails into his palm again. The feeling of isolation creeps back into his mind once more. It's a feeling that he knows is harder to shake away than the others.

> His grief is really strong and can usually be soothed by some sort of self care in his tiny apartment behind the walls, i.e., shower, food, sleep, etc. His anger can be taken out usually by snapping old planks of wood in half until they're small pieces by his feet or hands. He's definitely cut his hands up from this and it gives him a sense of being alive when he is dysregulated.

> He imagines getting revenge on his parents physically, although the guilt that comes after makes him feel so much worse. He'll usually spend the rest of the afternoon by his mummy, following her around all day while she moves throughout the house as if to apologize. He'll even come out of the walls if she asks him to briefly even if he is stupid shy or embarrassed.

> He hates his emotions and how they change him as a man. He feels so trapped within his 8 year old self, unable to articulate properly about his needs since so many emotions have been forced into the walls with him.

> Brahms knows just by existing alongside his parents that they were never prepared for a person like him, and it frustrates him to no end. He'll find himself experiencing his adrenaline spike, and sweat will soak his back. There's so much more out of his control when he actually has a moment to think about his life.

> Despite being where he is, Brahms hates feeling physically sweaty or too hot. It over-stimulates him and makes him more irritated. (There was one time he was so physically uncomfortable that while in a lesson, he punched a wall and got scolded for it, of course.)

> There are countless times he would talk to himself in his head throughout the day to try and calm down. He parents himself most days, like the adult version of himself is taking care of the trapped boy within. He ironically laughs about that some times, why couldn't they help like he does? Why does he need to rely on himself so much? Shouldn't his parents be responsible? Shouldn't they meet him within his space and experience what it's like behind the walls, too? Oh, what a twist that would be. Brahms shakes his head at that. They wouldn't stand 20 minutes, let alone 20 years like he has had to. That would be hilarious.

☆ Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Honestly, with his angst, it's no wonder why I fixated on him so fast. Also, remember to hydrate today! ☆

[mitigatedchaos]

"Writing? In 2024?"

Monday, April 29, 2024

(~2,400 words, 12 minutes)

@northshorewave Re: this publishing post:

I've read through the post that was linked, and an earlier related post by the same author that preceded it.

Her position is that the traditional publishing industry is essentially buying books as lottery tickets, paying for most of them using the few big winners they can't predict.

NorthShoreWave - The personal qualities of NSW specifically.

LLMs - Is AI a threat right now? Mostly as spam.

How Many Readers? - One famous book had 3,000 readers on an email list before its Amazon e-book debut, and went on to traditional publishing.

Funding Options - Many authors and artists are currently using subscription services. Some reasoning and numbers are provided.

Illustrations - Should you use illustrations? This lengthy section does a bit of fundamentals analysis of posting to suggest that maybe, you should.

Interaction - Reader replies are one method by which a post will spread.

Search - The people who want to read your story can't read it if they don't know about it. Writing a good book is essential, but only half the battle.

Some thoughts for you:

1 - NorthShoreWave

You implicitly asked if we had discussed your story in detail before, but the answer is that we hadn't. I have a sense of what you're trying to accomplish based on what I've observed of your character. While you think of yourself as seething, I think you're actually wise, compassionate, self-aware, and able to view things from multiple perspectives. A significant number of people are much worse at practicing at least one of these virtues. On its own, that's not enough to write a best-seller, but I think it does provide you with an advantage.

2 - LLMs

Based on my experiments (see @mitigatedai for some logs), I wouldn't worry about competition from AI. For you, the chief issue caused by AI will be spam. AI moves sideways (different text) and downwards (less meaning). I may tell LLMs to "combine Inspector Gadget and Death Note," but...

Do I actually use the information provided? No.

3 - How many readers do you need?

From one of those publishing posts, to get a sense of the number of readers you need...

Andy Weir first published The Martian as a serial for his own blog, then as a self-published novel on Amazon, then as a traditionally published novel with Random House. “I had an email list with about 3,000 people on it, so, initially, the audience was roughly that much,” he tells me. “When I first posted it to Amazon, I didn’t do anything to market or publicize it. All I did was tell my readers it was available there.” The book was on Amazon for five months, at a price point of 99 cents, and he sold 35,000 copies before Random House bought the rights in February of 2014.

Note that being a provocative firebrand doesn't necessarily mean you'll sell copies. Some politicians with tremendous name recognition failed to move copies of their books.

4 - Funding Options

I don't recommend using a Kickstarter to publish your book at this time or in the near future. You just don't have the name recognition, but also, Slashdotter Caimlas (who I don't know, so I don't know how trustworthy he is) wrote:

I'm personal friends with a number of authors who publish books in one of several subgenres. Mostly, they rely on Amazon's Kindle Unlimited: some of them are prolific enough that their book sales account for most of their income, simply based on peoples' reading of their works. Mostly, unless people want a piece of history or something they can reference, folks seem to hate having clutter. Fiction that sells isn't usually, primarily sold as a hardcopy book anymore, I don't believe - short of the kinds of books that end up at the end of the grocery store isle or in an airport novelty store.

A lot of publishing is done online these days, often through subscription services such as Substack (for essays) or Patreon. (Kindle Unlimited is also a subscription service, costing $12/mo.) As an example, the webcomic Spinnerette has a Patreon (bringing down $3.3k/mo), and then runs Kickstarter campaigns for print runs (volume 8 raised $27k).

To give you an estimate, Spinnerette's Patreon has only 536 subscribers, and pulls down $3.3k/mo, but you probably haven't heard of it. El Goonish Shive, which I'm confident you have heard of, brings in $3.6k/mo on 2.4k subscribers. The famous Kill Six Billion Demons has ~5.4k subscribers, bringing down ~$8.4k.

In Patreon terms, a good foothold to try for might be 100 subscribers at $3/mo each, with an initial focus on getting to 50.

5 - Illustrations

You've posted some drawings. They have some character, showing that you have the basic aptitude to develop the skill if you applied yourself to regular practice. However, the proportions are too far off to attract much attention (except as a stylistic choice, which, I can tell, it is not).

This blog tends to break things down into their abstract fundamentals for analysis. I promised myself I wasn't going to do that here, but eh, we'll do just a bit.

To quote one of the publishing articles...

“People tend to buy the books that are already really popular,” Deahl says. “They look at the bestseller list to see what they want to buy and that reinforces this tiny amount of books at the top. It’s a very top-heavy system. The tricky thing in publishing is success begets success. But it’s really hard to create that spark.”

Let's stop to think about this.

a. Banter - Fame

There is one layer to this that you can't do much of anything about, which is that people will watch the same shows their friends watch in order to have something to talk about with their friends.

b. Investment - Background

However, there is another layer over which you have more influence. It's very easy to make a quick judgment of a movie based on its visuals, or a short trailer. It's also relatively easy to judge short songs, since they're only a few minutes long (but I don't find myself doing this often).

In order to judge a book, you have to read the text and process it. You can't make a snap judgment off a single picture, because you have to read the text first to produce the mental picture.

This website does have viral text posts, but they're like...

You seem to have fundamentally misunderstood me, Anon.  Go read all 5,640 posts again.

Some of these posts can get a bit long, but it's usually a back-and-forth where each individual post is short. Often, they'll mix in images, or memes.

People supposedly read at 200 words per minute. Based on that estimate, this blog's most viral post of all time can be read in 5 seconds. That's about the same amount of time someone would spend looking at a jpeg.

That doesn't mean people don't enjoy effortposts. They will follow a blog upon encountering a good effortpost! They just don't like or reblog them.

I think you already know this part, but for "acceptable" length for reblogging, it's usually best to keep it under one "Tumblr page," meaning around one screen length on desktop, or around 200-300 words. I've talked about this part before, but if the reader can see the end of the post, it feels like less of an investment to read the post, and reblogging it won't fill up a friend's Tumblr dash.

Obviously that's tough for long-form fiction, because it has to load more context about the characters in order to establish the stakes. (Unless it's fan fiction, where the audience already knows the characters.)

c. Investment - Strategy

As you know, this blog will sometimes post political cartoons and other illustrations as part of its general stream of content.

The obvious strategy is just to have some nice-looking character images or images of scenes from the story. It can be "read" faster, so it's more shareable.

I think that strategy suffers from a weakness in that it's easy to just look at the image and disregard the text. This would reduce your fiction blog to an art blog - and it is not an art blog.

Therefore, I would like to gently suggest - and keep in mind, I do not have any published novels - a different potential approach. This proposal is speculative, and this technique is not widely used.

Do you know that famous Rockwell painting, Breaking Home Ties? Rockwell is a master of telling a story with just a single still-frame painting.

Rockwell has to tell the whole story in one picture, because that's the medium he's got to work with. This limits how much story he can tell. As an author, you don't have to limit yourself to what can be told in just one image, because you have the text.

This strategy would involve a two-step maneuver.

First, the image at the top of the post communicates the essentials that the reader needs to know about the characters through the composition of the scene (so that they don't need to read background material), as well as various subtle details, while raising questions, also through the use of details/etc, to increase the viewer's curiosity.

Fortunately for the viewer, second, the questions raised by the image are answered in the text right below it.

The post would form an entry point into a network of related posts; tags for particular characters could be linked at the bottom, or links to other posts in the sequence.

Secondary characters would be ideal for this, because you can manipulate their scenarios/context/character to fit the short format, while your overall project will focus on the main characters and thus have a greater, long-term narrative investment for appropriately larger payoff.

As I wrote in my post on 'text wall memes,' people will read text in an image, and they'll even reblog it, but it's contextual. So again, this is speculative, but it should be feasible. It's a matter of creating the appropriate context.

d. Investment - AI Art

I don't think you should use AI-generated art. Yes, people will be able to tell, but the even bigger problem...

Compare this AI knockoff to Norman Rockwell's original Girl with Black Eye.

The expression is wrong. The pose is different. This is a completely different story from the one Rockwell was telling! The prompteur 'borrows' the right 25% of the image from Norman's original because he can't reproduce it. And what is that random white cloth on the left side of the image?

There is a significant reduction in the amount of intention in the image. Putting it back in involves working over the image, repeatedly, usually with inpainting, and often working against what's in the AI's training data, forcing it to pull from more and more improbable parts of the distribution (until eventually, there's no matching data in the training at all; you have to get out and draw it yourself).

I'm going to borrow a post of my own here from 2019.

This isn't oriented towards the strategy I've described, and it only got 21 notes, but note the teacup with steam and tea bag tag, the obscured flag in the background, and the Youtube-style video tracker on the bottom. The combination of the special effect, text that looks like a subtitle, and video tracker imply that the image is a screenshot from a streaming anime.

The character is casually (as indicated by the cup of tea) sitting at a computer desk (as indicated by the faintly sketched keyboard and hand position for a mouse). What's that flag in the background? It certainly doesn't belong to any extant country. (In fact, as the artist, I'll tell you - it's based on an O'Neill Cylinder.)

Obviously this art is very much just a sketch in quality terms. An AI rendering usually looks much fancier. However, an AI would not put that detail in.

e. Investment - Technical Skills

However, I will suggest the use of software if you go this route. (Or the hiring of an artist, but that could get expensive.)

Your issue is with proportions. Lots of people have trouble with proportions. (You also have trouble with hands. Lots of people have trouble with hands.)

One way to deal with this is to just train. You'd be surprised at how fast you improve if you draw from realistic sources such as photographs an hour a day for a year, even if it's just a quick sketch. You probably aren't willing to do so. You have other things to worry about, including writing.

However, you could use posing software. You could save the proportions of several characters and position them throughout the scene, as well as having a grid for the ground and potentially other props to help with positioning of items like lamp posts or the edges of buildings. (I've experimented with posing software a bit myself.)

Dan Shive (of El Goonish Shive) does not use posing software as far as I know, but he has used 3D software. Although his style is cartoonish, one thing people like about him is that he does put effort in at improvement, and the quality of his work has improved substantially. (That was actually the inspiration for the second part of the "in 2028, Hollywood runs out of ideas and adapts El Goonish Shive" post.)

6 - Interaction

Though shorter posts tend to go more viral, I find that posts which someone can reblog and share their opinion tend to show up a lot in my top posts (as long as they're only about one tumblr page long). The MOON PRISON poll is a good example of something that's approachable and neutral, but fits heavily with the themes of my blog, but other posts may take a political position that invites disagreement, resulting in discourse, and get reblogged that way. (You may also remember the silly Swift Pill poll.)

I don't recommend courting disagreement on purpose. Not only is this bad for the social environment, but it tends to make people go crazy.

7 - Search

I think you've probably noticed some of this already and are working with it (posting short excerpts, initial art). Most of this is, again, speculative. This is all just information for your consideration.

Writing a good book is the first problem. Getting the readers who would enjoy the book to find it in such a noisy environment is the second problem. I think you can do it, but if your trajectory isn't currently looking as good as you want (e.g. # followers on your story's sideblog), I would recommend expanding your strategy so that you're in a good position when the book itself is ready to launch.