#but it's also really cool to see how my writing style has changed over the course of the year

[corroded-hellfire]

Love Comes Walking In - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie didn’t want to go to prom, until he wanted to go with Chrissy. You wanted to go to prom, but not if Eddie is going to go with Chrissy. But above everything, you want Eddie to be happy.

Note: this whole thing mostly came about because I wanted to write the one scene with Dustin. You’ll know the one.

Words: 6k

Eddie teasing you was nothing new. His lighthearted jabs about your skirt making you look preppy or having sleepy eye boogers first thing in the morning roll off your back, occasionally even making you laugh along. But when he teases you about wanting to go to prom, that gets under your skin. 

Wanting one special night to wear a pretty gown with glowing makeup and neatly styled hair didn’t sound stupid to you. To your best friend, it seemed like torture. The whole school year Eddie would rag on you about buying into the whole conformist commercialism that you thought of as a rite of passage. That makes it even worse when he suddenly changes his tune just a week before the dance. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jeff complains. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Just because I changed my mind doesn’t mean I’m ridiculous,” he argues.

“You changed your mind because of a girl!” Gareth shouts. 

Jabbing your green beans with your plastic fork, you stay silent as the boys bicker back and forth. Part of you was also afraid to open your mouth, unsure of what would come out.

“You say that like I’d go to prom with any girl,” Eddie snaps. “I’m not saying I’m going, I’m saying I would go with Chrissy.”

The fork is clutched so hard in your hand that you think it’s going to snap in half. 

“What’s wrong with wanting to go with anyone?” Jeff asks.

Eddie waves a dismissive hand at him and wrinkles his face up in distaste, not bothering to give a verbal response. 

“Hypocrite,” you mumble under your breath.

“I am not.” Eddie stares at you and your head jerks up in surprise that he heard you. 

“Yes, you are,” you say. “You’ve made fun of me all year for wanting to go and now because you have a crush, it’s different? Bullshit.”

“I changed my mind,” Eddie reiterates. 

“Fine,” you say with a huff. It’s not worth arguing with him over. 

“Maybe you should apologize,” Dustin suggests softly.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Come on, you have been on her ass about it all year,” Dustin says. 

“Thanks, Dustin,” you say. “But it’s fine.”

Eddie opens his mouth, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. Chair legs scraping against the floor, you push your seat back and stand up from the table. The guys all watch as you leave, dumping your tray in the trash before stalking out of the cafeteria. 

Arguments with Eddie rarely happened. They’re so rare that neither of you know how to react when you next see each other. Are you still fighting? Has it been long enough where you both can pretend like nothing ever happened? There’s no chance to talk to one another in your shared algebra class the next day, so it wasn’t until lunch that you really came face to face. Eddie’s at the table before you, and you plop down in your usual seat next to him. 

“We cool?” Eddie asks as you’re in the middle of lifting a forkful of mac and cheese to your open mouth. 

“Uh, yeah,” you say, eyeing him over your full fork. “I guess.” 

“Good.” He slouches down in his seat, as if he can relax now that he knows you’re on good terms. “Oh shit, here I got you something.” Eddie reaches into his metal lunchbox and pulls out a Three Musketeers bar. “Band kids are selling candy, so I bought your favorite for you. Hide it before Henderson gets here or he’ll steal it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a grin. This was exactly the reason why your feelings for Eddie would never go away. Just when he pisses you off to the point where you swear you’re never going to sit with him at lunch again, he turns around and does something sweet and thoughtful without expecting anything in return. 

“Breaking news, losers,” Gareth says as he drops his tray on the table. “I have a prom date.”

“Well shit, I guess hell has frozen over,” Mike says as he and Dustin join the rest of you. 

“You’re not a senior,” Jeff points out.

“No, but my date is.” Gareth’s smirk is enough to earn an eye roll from both you and Eddie. 

“Who’s that desperate?” 

Gareth throws a French fry at you - which you dodge - before he answers. 

“Calling Kel desperate?” 

“What?” you almost screech. “How are you going with one of the sweetest girls at school?”

“I’m super cool,” he says, making the rest of you bust out in laughter. 

“But seriously,” Jeff says.

“You’re all assholes,” Gareth says before digging into his food. “At least I have a date.” 

Eddie goes to reply, but you’re afraid of what he’s going to say, so you scoop up your backpack and excuse yourself to the bathroom. Once you step out of the cafeteria, you roll out your neck and shoulders, trying not to think of Eddie back in there talking about prom with the guys. You push the girl’s bathroom door open and breathe a sigh of relief when you’re the only one in there. Dropping your bag on the floor between your feet, you lean forward on one of the sinks and look at yourself in the mirror. A few deep breaths later, you feel your body relax. It’s short lived, however, when the door squeaks open on old hinges and two cheerleaders step in. 

You feel bad for the guttural reaction you have to seeing Chrissy’s blonde ponytail swinging behind you in the mirror. She is a complete sweetheart who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but the jealous green-eyed monster rears its ugly head and your fingers dig into the cool porcelain. 

“It really sucks,” the other cheerleader says to Chrissy. You know you’ve seen her around, but you don’t know her name. Both cheerleaders park at the sinks next to you to touch up their makeup. Chrissy throws you a bright smile and a friendly wave before taking her lip gloss out and turning back towards her friend. 

“I know,” Chrissy says. “I knew we were going to break up, but I was hoping for it to be after prom. How am I supposed to find a new date in a week?”

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem with that,” her friend assures her.

“I don’t know,” Chrissy says with a sigh. “Everyone probably has their dates by now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your pulse is raging in your ears and sweat is starting to make your hands slip against the sink. The internal debate rages inside of you. Do you let your jealousy get in the way of something that will make Eddie happy? It would throw away any shot you had of going to prom with Eddie yourself - but you know that was a long shot anyway. 

Still undecided, you take a step back from the sink, and your backpack falls over. You bend down to pick it up and the Three Musketeer bar falls out. It feels like your gaze should melt the chocolate that’s laying before you. Damn Eddie and his thoughtfulness at buying you the stupid candy. You toss it back in your bag, wincing as you prepare self-destruction. 

“Hey, Chrissy,” you say.

She turns to you with a smile, putting the top back on her lip gloss.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“I, uh, didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” you say as you slide your backpack on. You can’t manage to look her in the eyes as you speak. “But I know someone who doesn’t have a date yet.”

“You do?” She perks up in interest and the souring of your stomach almost keeps you from going further. 

“Yeah.” It sounds painful coming out of your mouth and you hope neither cheerleader notices. “Um, Eddie? Eddie Munson.”

“Really?” her friend asks. She crosses her arms over her chest and juts a hip out. You’re two seconds away from smacking the snotty look off her face when Chrissy speaks up.

“Eddie is great,” Chrissy says, looking over her shoulder at her friend before looking back at you. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Think he’ll say yes if I ask him?”

“I do.” Those two words were almost the hardest to get out. It was killing you how much of an understatement it was. 

“Okay!” The eagerness in her voice makes you want to cry. There’s no way you’ll be able to face Eddie back in there. 

“You can, um, ask him now if you want,” you say with a shrug. With a deep breath, you head towards the bathroom door. You stop halfway out the door and turn back around. “Oh, if Eddie asks,” you say, doubting he would because he’d be too consumed by the fact that his dreams were coming true, “can you just tell him I wasn’t feeling well and left?”

“No problem.” Her brow furrows in concern and she takes a step towards you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” It’s the biggest lie you’ve told in a while. “Cramps.” You put your hand to your lower abdomen and Chrissy gives you a sympathetic nod.

“Feel better!”

Without answering her, you walk out of the bathroom and down the hall, to the school exit. As soon as you slide into your car, the tears start. They start pouring so heavily and your hands shake so badly that you can’t put your key in the ignition. Momentarily giving up, you drop the keys in your lap and drop your head down to the steering wheel. 

Giving yourself enough time to get the worst of it out, you pull back and use your sleeves to wipe down your face. With a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to center yourself. After a few breaths in and out, in and out, you’re able to get the keys in the ignition on the first try. You pull your car out of the parking lot and head towards your house. The conversation you had with Chrissy keeps going through your head and you can’t keep from picturing the euphoric look that will be on Eddie’s face when she asks him. The saving grace you’re holding on to is the fact that Chrissy immediately defended Eddie to her friend. There aren’t many people in the school who would do that. 

Luckily, no one is home when you get to your house and you’re able to go inside and sulk in peace in your bed. More tears leak out as you hug your pillow to your chest. You must end up falling asleep because the persistent ringing of your doorbell jolts you awake sometime later. Heart racing from the adrenaline, you pull yourself out of bed and drag yourself to the front door. 

Eddie’s standing on the other side and it’s the first time his smile has ever broken your heart. 

“You are the best!” He swoops into your house and wraps you up in his arms. “Oh shit, sorry. I forgot, Chrissy said you’re having some girl pains.”

Right. 

“They’re better now that I’ve rested,” you say. “And you don’t have to thank me. Just doing what a good friend would do, right?”

“The best friend in the world!” He takes your head in his hands and presses a loud smacking kiss to your forehead. His happiness is infectious and despite your foul mood, a small smile curls on your mouth. 

“Now,” he says, taking both of his hands in yours. “We have to find a date for you.”

“Oh.” Your face drops and you shake your head. “I’m not going to go.”

It hadn’t occurred to you that Eddie would still be thinking about how you wanted to attend prom. The idea of his own perfect date should’ve been occupying his whole brain, but damn Eddie and his thoughtfulness. 

“What?” Eddie immediately frowns and it tugs at your heart. It tempts you to tell him you’ll go, but the mental image of Eddie dressed up and dancing with a flawless-as-usual Chrissy makes you bite your tongue. 

“You were right before,” you tell him. “It’s dumb and there’s shitty music. Plus, the dresses are way too expensive.” The dress you planned on wearing was already in your closet, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. 

“Are you sure?” Eddie dips his head down to meet your eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you questioningly. 

“Yeah,” you tell him. 

“I’m going to miss you there,” he says, and you almost slip up and laugh out loud at his statement. 

“Oh please, you’ll be having way too much fun to notice I’m not there.” 

“Like that could happen,” Eddie says with a skeptical look. 

You don’t bother arguing with him, even though you know he’s wrong. 

On your way to the cafeteria the next day, you can’t bring yourself to walk in. You know if you do then you’re just going to be hearing about plans for prom and you don’t trust yourself not to break down in tears in front of everyone. There was no way you could avoid the guys entirely until prom, but you couldn’t face them today. Eddie doesn’t want to be with you. He wants to be with Chrissy. And you have to make yourself seem okay with that somehow. Just not today. 

There’s a vending machine on the way to the gym, so you pick up a bag of crackers and a bottle of coke. The gymnasium is empty, so you take a seat on the bottom row of bleachers and start to eat your sad little lunch. It’s easy to let your mind wander, so you try to redirect it away from where it wants to go. Usual calming fantasies revolve around Eddie in some way, but that’s out of the question right now. 

Your mind can’t stray far from Eddie though, so you let your mind divulge in a little dark fantasy as you eat. What would happen if you just ran away? What would happen if you just threw some clothes in a bag and bolted? You would never actually do it, but imagining Eddie being sad over you leaving brings you a sick sort of comfort. Because he would miss you. You know he loves you, it’s just not in the same way that you wish. 

As you crumble up your wrapper in your hand, the gym door opens and a familiar hat over tousled curls walks in. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, as he walks your way with his hands in his pockets. Sneakers squeak across the shiny floor and come to a sudden halt as he stops in front of you. 

Dustin dips his chin down and raises his eyes to look at you. He takes one hand out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

“Yes?” you ask, looking between his eyes and his hand. 

“I know what you did for Eddie,” he says. “We all know. Except for him, he’s an idiot. But it really was a nice thing to do. I never could’ve done it.”

“Thanks,” you say skeptically, unsure of where he was going with this. 

“He told us you said you don’t want to go to prom. I know that’s bullshit. So,” he says, bringing his hand back and extending it to you again, “I am asking you if I may take you to the prom.”

Your eyes immediately well with tears as you look up at the boy in front of you. Dustin was always one of the sweetest people you knew, but this was taking it to a whole other level. 

“Oh, Dustin,” you say. You take his hand and tug his arm until he’s sitting on the bleacher next to you. “That is the sweetest offer I’ve gotten in my entire life. But I can’t go to prom.”

Dustin sighs and nods his head.

“Can’t see them together?” he asks.

“Correct.”

He wraps his arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“So, everyone knows, huh?” you ask. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you stare at Eddie a lot.”

The laughter that bubbles out of you is so unexpected that you bring your hand up to cover your mouth. 

“I know,” you admit. “I do.”

“And you look at him differently than you look at anyone else,” he says. 

“Like he’s an idiot?” you ask and Dustin chuckles. 

“No, I think we all look at him that way.”

You sigh and pick your head up from Dustin’s shoulder. You pat his arm and give him a grateful smile.

“Dustin Henderson, you are the best. And if I were going to go to the prom with anybody at all, it would be you.” 

“Well, when I go to my senior prom, I hope I go with someone half as awesome as you.”

That makes the tears spill over and you hastily wipe them off your cheeks. 

“God, I love you.” You throw your arms around his neck and give him the tightest hug you’ve given anyone in a while. He chuckles as he hugs you back.

“Who doesn’t?”

The night of prom comes, and you stand in your kitchen, alone in the house and in your comfiest sweats, making cookie dough. Screw warnings of not eating raw eggs, you were making this dough to eat, not cook. The last few days at school you went back to eat lunch with the guys but used a fake sore throat as an excuse for staying quiet and distant. You really only needed to fool Eddie though, since the other guys knew what was really going on with you. 

You take the bowl of cookie dough into the living room and set it down as you flip through the VHS tapes you’d rented earlier in the day. Steve had known about you not going to prom because, of course he did, Dustin tells him everything. You assured him it wasn’t a big deal, just wanting to get out with your movies. 

Settling on The Outsiders because you could stare at Rob Lowe all day, you pop the tape in and settle on the couch with your favorite blankets and your bowl of cookie dough. You can only eat about a quarter of the dough before your stomach has had enough. It sits on the table in front of you as you watch the rest of the movie. It’s not even eleven by the time the movie’s over but you don’t feel up to sitting through another one. You take the bowl of cookie dough back into the kitchen and stick it in the refrigerator. Thoughts of what’s happening at the prom have been trying to jam their way into your brain all night, but without the movie to distract you, those thoughts finally break in. Is there a slow song playing right now? Are Eddie’s hands on her hips or is one wrapped around her back while the other holds her hand? Is he having a good time? Are they playing any music that he likes? What did he end up wearing? You know you’ll end up seeing pictures but you’re not looking forward to seeing how pristine Chrissy is all dolled up when she’s naturally so beautiful on her own. Right now, you can imagine she’s wearing a garbage bag and her hair is all rolled up in curlers and her makeup looks like a clown’s. But once you see pictures, that illusion you’ve clung to will burst like a bubble in your heart. 

You press the heels of your palms to your eyes to try and stop the impending tears from falling. A few deep breaths and you get it under control. This heartbreak shit sucks. 

Before heading up to your room, you grab a water bottle from the fridge and your blanket off the couch. On your nightstand is a small radio and you click it on so you won’t be alone in silence with just your thoughts for company. The sheets feel cold and crisp as you slide into them. Putting your blanket back on top of you, you curl up on your side and nuzzle your face into your pillow. The light’s still on in your room, but you didn’t feel like getting up to turn it off.

The dial on your radio must’ve gotten knocked at some point - which happened often as you fumbled with things on your nightstand constantly - because smooth jazz starts playing and you huff a laugh into your pillow. You weren’t moving to fix that, either. When your parents come home, if you’ve already fallen asleep, your mom will turn both the radio and light off for you. 

But the jazz is actually more soothing the longer it plays. It calms your frayed nerves and helps you start to doze off, body finally giving in to the exhaustion you’ve been feeling from all the stress lately. 

In your half-asleep state, you hear your parents come home. They’re not exactly quiet walking around downstairs, but they also probably didn’t expect you to be sleeping this early. The thudding of your mom’s heels coming up the stairs echoes in the quiet hallway, drifting into you even over the radio. The footsteps keep coming towards your room and you’re looking forward to the sweet darkness you’ve craved when your mom gets to your room. But the lights don’t turn off. Instead, the bed dips next to you and you feel someone lay down beside you. 

She means well, you know, because she knew that you were bummed to miss prom, even if she didn’t know why. But the last thing you wanted right now was to have her try and talk to you about how you’re feeling. You know you’ll lose it and end up crying yet again. She stays quiet beside you though and you’re thankful for it. 

“I know you’re not asleep.”

The deep voice startles you and your eyes snap open. Eddie’s laying down on his side, facing you, head propped up on his arm. He’s smiling at you. It’s the first thing you notice before your eyes travel down, taking in the suit he’s wearing. Partially a suit, anyway. He’s wearing nice black slacks, which you didn’t even know he owned, with a maroon button up shirt. No jacket, but you’re not sure if he had one on earlier or not. He’s still your Eddie though, because he has his pick necklace on and his many rings adorning his fingers. 

“Look at you.” Your voice sounds a bit froggy between almost being asleep and all the crying you’ve done. “Not a stitch of denim in sight.”

Eddie chuckles. It sounds so nice. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask.

“Came by to see my best girl,” he says. Maybe he still says it out of habit, but you’re pretty sure you’ll be losing that title shortly. 

“But prom,” you say, whinier than you intended to. 

“It’s over,” he says.

You frown and crane your neck to see the clock on your dresser. The neon green tells you that it’s just after one in the morning. You must’ve dozed longer than you thought.

“How was it?” you ask, bracing yourself for the answer. 

“Pretty much how I expected it to be.”

“Oh yeah?” The fake smile on your face is starting to feel second nature, and you hate it. “Everything you’d hoped?”

“No,” he says with a laugh. He shakes his head and twirls the ring on one of his middle fingers with his thumb. “I was right the first time. Shitty music. Horrible punch - which Principal Higgins was guarding like he was trying to keep the Huns from invading China. People at our school can’t dance for shit, myself included. And to top it all off, my favorite person wasn’t there.”

Your brow scrunches together and you sit up in bed.

“She stood you up?” 

“What?” Eddie asks. When he realizes what you mean, he closes his eyes and smiles. “No, you dork. I meant you. You weren’t there.”

“Me?” you ask. The skepticism in your voice cuts right to Eddie’s heart. He frowns and scoots forward on the bed so he can rest his hand on your hip. 

“Yes, you. You’re doubting that you’re my favorite person?”

“Well, kind of,” you say quietly. 

“Why?” he asks, and his frown makes your heart plummet into your stomach. 

“It’s just, you were so excited to go with Chrissy.”

“I was,” he admits. “But just because I had a crush on a girl doesn’t mean that you’re not still my number one.”

Had. The one word sticks in your mind and you know there are other things you should say, better things, but the question is burning your tongue so it has to come out.

“Had a crush?” you ask. 

Eddie nods and rubs his thumb over your hip bone.

“Turns out a lot of crushes can go away quickly if you actually spend time with the person.”

“Did she say something? Do something?” you ask.

“No,” he says simply. “She’s great. There was just nothing to talk about after the first twenty minutes or so. She knows nothing about my interests, and I know nothing about hers.”

“Just didn’t click?” you ask.

“Yeah, exactly,” he says. He’s silent for a moment, mouth pursed in thought. “This is a horrible analogy, but it’s what came to mind. It’s like when a present is sitting there in front of you, and it’s wrapped beautifully. Ribbons and bows and all that jazz. You just stare at it and want it, imagining what kind of fun thing could be inside. Then, you finally get it, you can hold it in your hands. You open it and it’s a new shirt. It’s nice, but not what you were expecting. You don’t dislike the shirt, it’s just not the present you wanted.” 

“Look at you with the metaphors,” you say with a smirk. “Senior English three times and you’re a full-on scholar now.”

He rolls his eyes at you and playfully squeezes the skin at your hip.

“I was being serious,” he says.

“I know. And I get it. You kissed a frog who didn’t turn into a princess.”

“And you thought I had an odd way of putting it,” Eddie says with a laugh. “But I didn’t even kiss her before I knew there was nothing there. Once the excitement wore off it was pretty boring, actually.” 

“I’m sorry it wasn’t what you wanted,” you tell him honestly. 

“I’ve always known the prom itself would suck. Just thought it might be fun with the right date. And it might’ve been, but I didn’t have that.” He takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes. “I should’ve brought you.”

The tears are coming but you force them to hold their position. It’s hard not to yell at him that that’s what you’ve wanted all along. But there’s no point. Any begging or pleading before the prom wouldn’t have gotten him to agree to take you. So, instead of living in the ‘if you realized this sooner I could have gotten to go to my prom’, you let it go by and just appreciate the fact that he wishes he had gone with you instead of Chrissy. 

“But I’ve had an idea,” Eddie says as he pushes himself off your bed. 

“And what’s that?”

“Well,” he says as he walks over to your closet. “First things first, I’ve got to see what we’re working with here.” 

“Why?” You scoot down to the foot of the bed to see what he’s doing more clearly. He’s going through your clothes, inspecting every piece, and deeming them unfit for whatever scheme he’s cooked up in his brain. 

“You’ll see. Wait. Are you kidding me?” He reaches into the back of your closet and pulls out the gold dress that you had bought for prom. “You told me you didn’t get a dress!”

“How do you know I haven’t had that dress for a while?” But your blush won’t let you get away with the lie.

“Well for starters, the tag is still on it.” He brandishes it to you and you huff.

“Okay, yeah, yeah, I had a dress. But I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t think you’d end up riling through my closet anyway.” 

“Put it on,” he says, tossing its hanger into your lap.

“I’m sorry, what?” The dress tries to slide from your lap to the floor, so you pull it up and lay it down on the bed next to you.”

“Put it on,” he says slower this time, as if that should clear up everything. 

“Why?” 

“Because I want to dance with you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I’d dance with you in your sweats, but I thought you might want to get all dolled up like me.” He smirks and runs his hands down the buttons of his maroon shirt. 

“You want to dance with me?” Maybe you’re still asleep and this is all a dream. 

“Yeah.” Again, he says it as if it’s something you do every day. His casual tone is making you think you’re the one who’s not making sense. 

“Okay,” you say as you stand. “I guess I’ll go change.”

“This is your room,” Eddie says, heading to the door. “Change here, I’ll wait out here.” He walks into the hallway, closing your bedroom door behind him. 

You slip the sweatpants down your legs and tug the sweatshirt off over your head. The single strapless bra you own is at the bottom of the drawer and you have to dig your way down to find it. The gold dress has a halter neckline so there’s no way you could wear a regular bra underneath. You squeeze the bra on, and even change your panties from blue ones with butterflies on it, to one of the few lace ones you own. 

The dress unzips easily and glides down your body as you get situated. You can’t zip it yourself, but Eddie can do that for you. Most of the makeup you own is in the bathroom, but you can make do with the little bit sitting over on your dresser. Looking in the mirror, you do a soft layer of makeup and then inspect your hair. It strikes you as funny when you see yourself in a golden dress with makeup on, but total bedhead up on top. You yank the scrunchie out of your hair and shake your head to toss your hair around. It looks better but not great. Your eyes land on a silver hair clip dotted with pearls and you reach up to tuck some of your hair back and secure it with the pin. There. The look is done. 

When you open your bedroom door you expect Eddie to be waiting there but you don’t see him. You stick your head into the hall and look both ways but see no metal head. 

“Eddie?” you call.

“Coming!”

He jogs out of your dad’s office a few doors down, carrying a few sheets of paper. Eddie comes to a halt as he takes in your appearance. Heat blooms in your face as you watch Eddie scan every last detail of this ensemble. 

“You look gorgeous,” he says. It’s enough to make you pass out, but you somehow stay standing firm.

“Thank you,” you say. “You look very handsome. Did I tell you that when you first got here?”

“No,” he says with a chuckle. “Just a remark about me not wearing any denim.”

“Which is truly a miracle. But you do look handsome. Very handsome.”

He smiles and takes steps towards you, paper still in his hands.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“I’m not very good at origami, but I did my best to turn this sheet of paper into a corsage.”

Your heart leaps at his words and it’s another battle of wills with your tears when Eddie slips his improvised flower on your wrist. Some tears win the battle, and they trail down your face. Luckily, you were smart enough to apply waterproof makeup. 

“Eddie, this is…” you trail off, not having the words to express how you’re feeling. 

“You wanted prom, so I’m giving you prom.” He takes both of your hands in his and guides you back into your bedroom. He closes the door behind him with his foot, his eyes never leaving your face. 

“Can you zip me up?” you ask. He nods and you turn around. His hands against your back sends a shiver up your spine and goosebumps break out over your arms. You hear him chuckle and he trails the tips of his fingers over your shoulders as you turn back around.

“What’s with the smooth jazz?” Eddie can’t help but laugh at the saxophone solo coming in over the speakers. 

“I hit the dial again.”

“Well, let’s fix that.” He bends down and turns the dial to find a good station. The static goes in and out, some songs coming through in pieces, or sounding like they’re underwater. It finally lands on a clear station and Eddie grins in triumph. “Perfect. Love Comes Walking In.”

“You know I love Van Halen.”

Eddie stands up straight and takes the few steps over to you. He bows in classic dramatic Eddie fashion, and he comes back up with a frown on his face.

“You’re not wearing heels. Or shoes at all.”

“Eddie, I would’ve kicked them off the moment I got there anyway,” you tell him with a laugh. “Barefoot is fine.”

“Just checking. Want this to be an authentic impromptu prom for you.”

You giggle and Eddie reaches his hand out to you. You take it and he instantly pulls you in and holds you against his body. It would be a miracle if he couldn’t feel or hear your heart beating so fast it’s like someone is dribbling a basketball beneath your ribs. His right hand takes your left and he twines your fingers together. His other hand snakes around your waist until it settles warmly on your back. You place your other hand on his shoulder and smile up at him.

“This is already better than actual prom,” he says. “Good music. Perfect date.”

Red rises to your cheeks and you duck your head shyly. 

The pair of you sway to the beat of the song, bodies moving along with the rhythm. Eddie spins you and it makes you let out a giddy peal of laughter. He pulls you back into him and you wrap both arms around his neck. He places his hands firmly on your waist as you start to sway again. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“You brought all the best parts of prom to me. I didn’t have to suffer through the shitty parts. I’ve got my dress, my music, my favorite person. It’s perfect, Eddie.” 

“I’ll dance like this with you anytime,” he says. “All you have to do is ask.”

The way he’s looking at you stirs some butterflies up that have been dormant until this point. He’s never looked at you this way and you’re not sure what it is. You know every Eddie facial expression and what they mean, but this one is new. His face is soft, and his eyes are wide, as usual. The brown irises are twinkling and there’s the barest smile on the left side of his mouth. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask. 

“You,” he says. No further explanation, which leads your mind to grasping for answers as usual. 

“What about me?”

“Just…you.”

“Okay, I take back what I said about being a scholar now. You’ve lost the ability to words,” you say and wrinkle up your nose playfully at him. He catches you by surprise, though, when he leans forward and presses a kiss to the very tip of your nose. 

The blush you had before was nothing to the one now gracing your features. Eddie chuckles when he sees it and leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. 

“Do you want to have another prom tomorrow?” he asks.

“What’s that entail? Dancing with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good music?”

“Of course.”

“Can I wear comfy clothes?”

“I’ll be wearing mine.”

“Hmm,” you hum, pretending to consider it. “Can we get food too?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I like the sound of that,” you say with a smirk.

“Is that a yes?” Eddie asks.

“Eddie, I’d have this kind of prom with you every single day.”

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Hello! I just finished reading all your writing.. i feel like your characterisation of coop is just so good!

Lately i’ve been fixated on how Cooper would feel about a plus sized partner.. (definitely not just because I’m plus sized myself)

Part of me feels his postwar ghoul self would be feral (pardon the pun) for a woman with a soft squishy body, especially a soft tummy and ass he can sink his fingers into, because someone like that would be so rare in the wastelands, and because it would be so different to his own physique

(Anon, I have a secret to share with you before we even get into headcanon territory; I'm a size 14-16ish, myself, so I definitely relate. I try to keep my reader-insert characters as nondescript as is reasonable in order to keep them accessible, but honestly? Every single character I've ever written is fat, or at least midsized. I feel like my use of words like "soft" and "plush" to describe them, plus references to tummies and bellies, might expose me a bit on that front. Thanks for reading and thanks for the ask!)

Prewar!Cooper Howard just loves women in general, all shapes and sizes. Big fan. He appreciates the female form in every one of its many variations. Back home, he knew plenty of bigger girls, curvier girls, and dated several before he met and fell head over heels for Barb. Once the two of them move to California, there's a noticeable decline in the variation of body types around him, and while he finds the women around him beautiful as well, he also finds himself sort of missing the higher concentration of softer ladies.

After she gives birth to Janey, Barb is pretty self-conscious about her body, but Cooper is quick to reassure her that she is just as beautiful as she was before (even moreso to him since she's grown softer in such nice places, frankly, but he doesn't think that's a proper thing to say out loud). She experiences a lot of pressure to be conventionally thin in her role as an executive, and while he supports her ambitions and what she wants to do with herself, it makes him feel terrible to see her so down on her body sometimes when he loves her (and it) so much.

Post-divorce, I think that a bigger partner, especially someone comfortable in their looks, their personal style, would be a welcome change to him. Like I said in my response to the question about him with a partner with body hair, I think he'd enjoy being with someone who wasn't so "L.A. perfect"; more authentic, at least to him.

He really loves a soft belly on a woman, and it's a treat that's been denied to him for so long. Of course, his favorite place to cum is inside you in whatever form he can get it, but he also likes to spurt all over your breasts and tummy, the sight of the mess cooling on your skin enough to get him going again more often than not. It drives him doubly crazy if you play in it a bit.

Also likes a good tit fuck. Likes it even more if you've got big enough breasts to do it while you sit on the floor in front of him. Getting to smoke a cigarette and sit back and watch you jerk him off with your tits is high up on his list of favorite ways to relax after a stressful day, especially if you tease the head of his cock with your lips and tongue.

Finds big nipples/big areolas very sexy; if you've got either (and definitely if you've got both), you might end up having to fend him off of your chest every once in a while with as often as he'll like to suck and lick and nip the poor things until they're all puffy and sore.

Enjoys using his ability to still pick you up and toss you around as a way to show off to you. It makes him feel virile and strong, so I hope you don't mind a little manhandling from time to time...

The Ghoul is always very pleasantly surprised to see anyone with some substance to them, physically; it's not necessarily that fat or midsize people don't exist, but the incidence of folks who are malnourished, stunted, and emaciated has certainly increased as the centuries have crept by.

He has always been a fairly lean and wiry guy, and life has given him more and more hard edges, so he adores a plush partner; round face, full lips, soft overall features. Big, soft hair, even. It's such a fascinating contrast to himself, to everything around him. The Wasteland is so harsh and strips every last bit of life it can out of every last thing that inhabits it, so to see someone so vivacious and supple...you are spellbinding to him before he even gets to touch you, to say the least.

When he does get to touch you, he wants to be respectful, trying his hardest to control his urge to rip your clothes away and grip your supple skin in his bare hands. He's trying so hard to reconnect with the more tender, gentlemanly part of himself, if it even still exists. But you seemingly have no idea how wild you drive him, how badly he wants to pin you down and feel your warm, pliable form beneath his, kind and sweetly flirty as ever despite how thin his self control is wearing. It's not long before the feeling he's trying to ignore consumes you both and he becomes intimately familiar with just how soft your body really is.

The man already had a breeding kink long ago, but it comes back with a vengeance if he meets the right person. He already finds himself drawn to your wide hips and thick thighs, but once he's fallen for you, once he's decided that you're his and he wants you to be his forever, they take on a whole new light. All he can think about his how good those wide hips would feel in his hands as he pumps you full, how beautiful your little tummy would look adorned with a baby bump.

Big fan of thigh-fucking, especially if you're not particularly rad-resistant; its a nice way for him to put you on your back, your legs on his shoulders the way he likes, pumping away at you in a way that feels natural without having to worry about making you incredibly sick or hurting you if he can't pull out in time. Or if he produces a lot of precum, which he is prone to. You both love and hate it, the head of him bumping and teasing against your clit depending on the angle, but never stimulating you enough to make you cum yourself. Fortunately, he's quite faithful about planting his head between your thighs and finishing you off once he's done.

If you are rad resistant, he still loves it; in fact, he loves it even more because he can fuck your thighs until he's about to finish, and instead of coating your stomach and mound, he can shove his weeping cock inside you at the last second and breed you, the sudden, wet heat around him making him cum even harder. Best of both worlds.

[koboldfactory]

You're one of my favorite artists and all the art and characters you draw are so pretty and inspiring! It's also really cool to see how much your style has grown and changed over a couple years! Your character designs are always consistently amazing and your writing and world building is also really interesting too! I always love hearing about all the lore! It motivates me to want to do that kinda stuff too with my characters like Patch and Bixbi.. but anyhow! Sorry if things have been stressful or difficult lately, but I really hope you get some comfortable peace soon! Hang in there scaly critter!

Thank you so much!! Your characters are awesome so that's cool to hear! I'm hanging in there!

[dduane]

Ok so

1. I’ve only ever read one book you wrote (So You Want To Be a Wizard) but it was very good and I love it. Big fan.

2. Both out of curiosity and on behalf of my sister, as a writer of Barbie Fairytopia, did you invent Bibble. Because my sister has Bibble as her Home Screen and my whole family had a conversation about Bibble yesterday.

Thank you. Ur books are cool.

Thank you! Glad you liked SYW... . 😊

Now, about Bibble (and a nod here to @the-best-of-the-geeks, who also inquired about this):

The answer is... maybe. At this end of time, it's hard to tell.

I took a few moments off from today's* graphic arts work to go digging in my archived project files. What I can see from a quick glance at them is that Bibble (or the character who'd eventually be Bibble: there were a lot of name changes throughout the writing process) doesn't appear in any of the drafts of the worldbuilding bible I wrote, or in other associated background material. If it had, that would've been—not absolute, but at least fairly strong circumstantial evidence—that I was the character's creator.

The problem is that when you're working on a big-IP project like this, there are so many people involved in the creative process that it can become really difficult to accurately trace any one character's or story element's "lineage". It's possible Bibble originated in a note to me from one of the creative team, which would have been one of hundreds of archived emails. Or it might have been something suggested to me in a phone conversation... of which there were many. Without sifting through all those emails (and please forgive me, that's not something I've got time for at the moment) it's tough to say.

What I am sure of is that Bibble definitely turned up on my watch. I have a premise file dated 30 December 2003 which does not contain the character, and then a second-draft premise dated 10 January 2004... in which, with a slightly different name, Bibble first appears. Bibble (as Bobble) is also in my first draft screenplay, which was turned in in early February 2004.

So that much, at least, we can be sure of. Bibble's personality and speech style is clearly spelled out in the script (as is the suggestion that Bibble be voiced by Frank Welker. It's a shame that didn't happen: I'm a huge fan of his).

But this still doesn't constitute proof that I invented the character. Bibble could very well have been suggested to me by someone else—and suggestions and notes are so free-flowing in a project like this that it's possible we'll just never know. (sigh) Such is life.

What I do want to emphasize here was how extremely pleasant this whole project was, from beginning to end. There are screenwriting projects that will make you shudder decades after the fact just on hearing their name. But there are others that unfailingly make you smile when someone mentions them... and this, for me, was one of those.

The giveaway of how much fun I was having lies in some stuff that happens in the script and would, to those unfamiliar with tropes in animation writing, look like nothing in particular. But a recurring joke among animation writers back then (and maybe still) was designating a character's speech as a walla. In this case, it means not just a description of some kind of crowd noise—the usual definition—but of that particular character making speechlike noises. It's the kind of thing you don't bother doing if you're not feeling playful. (Or at least I don't.)

...Anyway: hope this has helped, at least a little. :)

*This post was written at the very beginning of May 2023, around the time the WGA strike was starting. During the strike period I haven’t been comfortable with doing long posts about my screen work… but the strike’s over now. 😄 Thanks to @violet-yimlat and @the-best-of-the-geeks for being so patient.

[tossawary]

I think SVSSS as a 2D cartoon would be the best moving medium for it imo.

I mean, personally, yeah, that's how I'd enjoy seeing it as well! My ideal slightly pretentiously artsy SVSSS screen adaptation would probably look only a little more detailed than linograph prints (2D or shaded 3D?) (someone hit me up in like two weeks to draw an example of what I mean, if I don't remember on my own, I don't have access to art stuff right now), very stylized and vibrantly colorful, because that's one of the art styles that I particularly enjoy.

I'm not a personally a fan of the 3D SVSSS show because I find the characters a little too doll-like and same-facey for my tastes? It's fine! It works! It's serviceable! It's just all, backgrounds included, a little... safe? I tend to like over-the-top bright colors and intricate details and impractically weird shapes and yet also coherent world production design in my fantasy, which is a lot to demand of any production, perhaps especially with animation productions, which are always squeezed for time and money.

(EDIT: I know the SVSSS show was under heavy constraints and the results are impressive considering their resources; it doesn't change the fact that I just don't like the art style and nevertheless find the results underwhelming. I don't like a lot of "realistic" modeling / rendering styles, not just "anime" ones, even if they are extremely technically impressive. Believe me when I say that I know the vast majority of the entertainment industry is overworked and underpaid and creatively restrained.)

Slightly tangential general note: I don't think 2D is inherently superior to 3D (EDIT: NOT trying to imply asker is saying this, just having some general thoughts), especially because, with the realities of production, each have their advantages. 2D has a lot of stylistic advantages still, but 3D shaders are catching up and doing some incredible things these days! More advanced puppet controls and particle effects and such are doing some beautiful things for 2D shows as well these days. A lot of stuff has been subtly mixed media as soon as 3D became possible. It is potentially possible (note: not saying any studio would actually greenlight this) to do an equally slightly weird and artistically stunning 3D SVSSS show, given the freedom to work. (Good boarding and writing is also sooooo important in both mediums, obviously, it's not just about the art design. You can get away with incredibly limited animation with good boarding, writing, and art design.)

Another slightly tangential ramble: both 2D and 3D have the potential for stiff animation and poor character acting, which also comes down to production limits and animator skills? (I often think of character animators as a type of actor!) There are a lot of 2D shows that I don't really like because I find the animation incredibly stiff, both puppet and handdrawn (there's great 2D puppet stuff out there these days), which pretty much always comes down to production limits (deadlines and budget and software, saving up their animation for the coolest scenes). One of my favorite things about Studio Ghibli films (which as features get a lot more space to focus on art compared to the demands and restraint of television) has always been the squash and stretch in otherwise relatively realistic action, making things like hugs look SO nice for example. But 3D stuff is getting better at that these days! The ways characters slumped into each other in "Nimona" for example was great. And it's just fascinating to look at the elasticity / stylized sculpt of expressions in "Puss in Boots: The Last Wish" compared to the technical limits of the models / rigs in "Shrek" or "Shrek 2".

Adding these side notes because I want to be clear about my respect for both 2D and 3D artistically! A lot of video games are doing cool stuff in 3D that looks very close to 2D with stylized shaders, which you can sometimes spot by the large or small rotations in character action / acting, which is difficult (and therefore often expensive) to do in 2D with all of those extra drawings / angle poses. Also, I think the current push towards funky shaders in 3D is so cool and it's hard not to gush about them!!!

[curlycarrion]

if you’re up for it, here’s a request! fem!reader can’t stop staring at her boyfie sanji after styling his hair (his film red hair to be exact) & he teases her for it, which leads them to flirt back & forth with each other 💗 i swear he just looks extra good with that hair style 😮‍💨

Fluffy hair

Reader: fem reader, use of the word beautiful

Warnings: None really, a little suggestive near the end but nothing bad at all

Wc: 969 (nice but wasn't planned)

A/n: Sorry this took so long! Real life me is a very awkward and shy person who has never flirted before so I was tryin to figure out how to write this 😅 My back was also hurtin crazy bad so I got distracted for a bit. Either way if it's written a little awkwardly or rushed that's why but I still hope you like it. Thank you for bein my first request! I really appreciate it 💛💛💛

The kitchen was quiet save for the sound of a knife as it meets the cutting board with each well practiced precise cut. The tea sat in front of you that had been lovingly made by the man before you cooling as it sits, forgotten. You eyes instead following the movement of your lover, contentedly watching as sets about his work. It was a sight you had seen many times and will, hopefully, see for many more. The movement of his fingers as they curl on the vegetables in front of him, the flex of his shoulders and the muscles in his back beneath his shirt with each diligent slice, the shifting of the fabric when he slides the freshly chopped and diced items into a nearby bowl. It really was a sight that you'd grown accustomed to and fond of. Though your usual act of watching the cook had been amplified by the change he had made that morning, his hair.

You had always loved his hair, how could you not? But the way he had decided to arrange the blond locks today had made it look even more appealing. It suited him. The more fluffy and slightly messy look to it was different from the usual more put together nature of it. It looked soft and welcoming, like you could run your fingers through it and rustle the strands without worry of messing it up too much.

A small knowing smile graced Sanji's face as he had his back turned to you. He was well aware that your eyes were on him. He always could feel when you had grace him with your gaze, even before the two of you had gotten together. While before the thought of you looking at him just as much as he did you sent his heart into a tizzy and the butterflies to swarm in his stomach now it just filled him with a soft sense of comfort that you were there with him.. though the fluttering in his heart never did fully cease no matter how much time has passed. It was just easier to manage knowing that you felt the same. Something he still couldn't fully wrap his mind around.

"See something you like beautiful? If you stare any longer your tea is going to go cold." He asks after letting the quiet of the room settle for long enough. Tilting his head to look at you sat on the table behind him with a smile. You blink out of your thoughts when the sound of his voice meets you. A sliver of embarrassment making itself known in your mind to be caught staring.

"I see plenty I like," you respond smoothly while shaking off the feeling "and if it gets too cold I can just have you warm it up for me." He smiles as he hears your response, cleaning his hands off on a rag and making his way over to you as you're sat.

"Why is it that I've seem to caught your attention so readily mon cœur?" He asks as he sets his gaze on you. Leaning a hand on the table next to the ceramic that sits in front of you.

"Isn't my attention already always on you?" The returned question causes a warm fluttering to fill his chest. A small chuckle leaving him while leaning a little closer.

"That isn't what I meant love."

"I know," You begin with a grin "it's your hair. The way you did it today looks nice." The answer makes him smile a little wider. He's always glad to know that you pay attention to whatever change he makes, that fact that you pay close attention to the little changes always filling him with a little more fondness with each word.

"My hair? What is it you like so much about it?" Taking advantage of the closer proximity you find yourself leaning forward a touch. One hand coming to his tie to pull him down a little as the other moves to his hair, teasing the strands between your fingers. Pleased with the way it feels against your skin.

"The way you've styled it today makes it look so soft and fluffy." The words are said in a softer tone, sweet in how the come to his ears. He can already feel himself falling into you when you'd lead him down so gently only to be met with a similar gentleness in your tone. Forming only a simple response after you'd spoken.

"Oh?" Seeing you were starting to affect him your smile grows a little more mischievous, leaning in closer, an inch away from him. So close yet not close enough.

"Mhm.. it looks so inviting, like it's begging for me to run my fingers through it." You start quietly while inching your fingers further up through his hair. Watching with delight as his breath hitches a little at the touch and you looks down to you with slightly wider eyes as you lean in closer to his ear. Purring out your next words.

"It'd be perfect to hold onto and tug when you taste your next meal." Sufficiently satisfied with the flustered state you'd brought out of him you press a quick kiss to his cheek. Standing up and giving an innocent look as you head to the door.

"Well I've got things to do, thanks for keeping me company darling~!" You practically skip out of the door as you call out to him over your shoulder in that candied honey tone. Seemingly not caring to have left him hunched dizzily over the table with steam coming out of his ears and a hand clutched to his nose. It seems it'll still be a while until he'll fully be over how much you affect him after all.

[staraxiaa]

porcelain, the afterword:

author's corner/first thoughts.

first and foremost: upon rereading, a scene in this fic holds a lot of similarities to one from dust, diamonds on ao3 by maokitty. (the jealousy scene w the husband where the wall crumbles) especially with the dialogue. i was definitely taking inspiration from that fic while writing the scene, and wanted to make a note of it here. go read it even if ur not into aot pls bc it’s actually life-changing !! i beat my sunflower record btw this was 25k ish words written in less than 20 total writing hours. spread over 1.5 days total. also i think i fucked up the pacing a lot from what id originally planed buuut at least its over. dobby is finally free!!! anyways. the original intent for this fic was a discussion on body imagery, to anyone who has ever struggled with the unrealistic standards of social media and/or felt lesser than themselves because they were not beautiful in a 'typical' manner. but then it ballooned into a monster of its own bc i was like how can i make this hurt. i took my inspiration from porcelain + kintsugi vases... like how can i break this reader before i put her back together. i think that i'd like to touch upon similar topics again one day. as a natural extension of my style and the way i write that 'fits' the childhood theme of this collection, i don't believe i handled these topics the best i could've: a lot of them are simplified to a point that, looking back, makes me go 'eugh' a bit because there's so much depth there that i had to like, tamp down upon as a result of my own inexperience. parts of it were likely believable, and parts of it likely weren't - whether because of my youth, or because i was afraid of approaching these topics from the 'wrong' angle. either way, i hope to be able to grow as a writer to the point that i can tackle these themes again to a point where i myself can be sufficiently pleased with the depth i've put into it. that is all. if you've read up to here, thank you. i'm not really expecting this one to do nearly as well as sunflowers - the content is heavier, it's not nearly as light, and shouto is just less of a popular character overall. but this is very likely my magnum opus so far in terms of how much thought has been put into the work, so it means a lot to me even if you do not interact, and simply read up til this point. thank you. your support truly means a lot. will also update again as i think of things

unwritten scenes, headcanons, thought process

another angst scene. at the todoroki forgiveness dinner table, katsuki and izuku are probably there. i havent watched this scene i just know it exists. (was gonna go find it just for research). enji hits shouto with the 'you can marry whoever you'd like' thing majig. shouto's like, cool i didnt give a shit anyways i was gonna marry her. with or without your permission. and THEN i hit you with the akshually... she's engaged... to be honest, a lot more scenes where it was just mother and daughter. i really wanted the point to hit home that, the mother is always intending to do good in the only ways she knows how - it's not discussed thoroughly, and she's obviously a negative influence when it matters most, which is why reader cuts her off at the end. i am a firm believer that not all parenting is good parenting, even when it comes from a good place, and to me it's like when you hurt someone - it doesn't matter your intention, because that should always come secondary to the fact that you hurt them in some way. sorry. i'm not sure if cutting completely out of the life like that was necessary, but i think that in real life, sometimes it is. something to think abt / regret abt this piece ig lots more on the brother. he was not seen a lot, and i cba to include more about him cuz tbh he's only really relevant for like... 2 scenes but basically the tl;dr is that. he also feels the same pressure. it's just offscreen. (he's a man, he's his father's heir, but he sees the impact this family has upon you). i honestly think he's pookie and hold him dear to my heart but he was really just there to get the plot moving... so.... sorry guys. i didnt even bother to give him a name. BUT hes definitely a very complex character i just didnt write it..... i just needed to add a little happiness to the dysfunctional family ok the husband. okay. so. i originally wrote him in with the intention of being someone to hate, entirely and utterly, with the whole of my heart. but i absolutely hate writing in characters that don't have at least some depth/some complexity, so here goes: he was definitely in love, i think, though i'm not sure i would call it that. there was a grooming aspect to it, an age gap difference (he attended all your recitals/performances when you were underage, had his eye on you), was twice your age. i think i wrote it in a way where it could definitely be interpreted as a form of love, as twisted and fucked up as it was⏤ in the way you think of ownership, that a pretty woman is nothing more than a flower to give the sun to, to water when you'd like. but you're not. you're more than that, you need more than food and water and a roof over your head, more than pretty jewels. you just couldn't love him, and i think that's the part that fucked with him the most. the husband was always supposed to die. i toyed with different versions of this⏤ if you should be the one to kill him, a final 'hurrah' when you finally find your courage. but i thought this wasn't very in line with the reader characterization, so i didn't include this. it's ok though u guys are always #1 bosses in my heart. i hope its clear though that the reader didnt love him at any point bc i dont like him enough as a character to give him that. sorry. he was also supposed to be a mafia man... did i make that clear... but both him and the father were like. i hate these characters. the father especially (he has 0 characterization he's only plot relevant bc he has to be). wipe them both from ur minds pls xx in terms of the baby: i actually know nothing about motherhood. this is only what i've done from the best of my imagination. if it isn't accurate at all i apologize.

i did not know tumblr had a max characters per block. i yap a lot huh. anyways on to cute shouto moments <3 i really considered the idea of like. sex scenes. nothing graphic, but tl;dr with shouto when you cry, he stops immediately. this would be near the end, when you're learning to live again, but it's like, you're so moved because no one has ever done it like this for you before, and he's just worried that he's done something wrong, and it's sad but it's like. you don't know if you can ever handle touch again, but bc you're married, you think it's your duty, and you also love him, so you want to try. you guys love each other so much i could sob. i didnt add this just bc i didnt think this was the fic i wanted to start nsfw with, and bc i dont think i could do the intimacy i wanted justice. also tbh i debated on including more thoughts of shouto during the relationship with the husband but i think, while the mc would definitely think of him, she would try her best to be a good wife. i think this is textbook of abusive relationships (i tried to portray that in the way that the husband speaks and turns the fault onto mc when he hits her) where naturally, they abuse you despite you already doing the best you can, and make you feel lesser for it. i.e. she hasn't thought about shouto the whole while, hasn't done anything, doesn't intend on it, and he still blames her for the way she feels. DID I EMPHASIZE THAT HE PICKS UP EVERY CALL EVEN THO U DONT TEXT HIM ANYMORE JUST IN CASE bc shouto todoroki the man that you are... the man i wrote you as... im never marrying idgaf i write my own standards too high i also jus wanna say guys... the way u pull him out of his shell... and then its his turn to pull him out of urs.... i am a SUCKER for stories that come full circle watch me write it into mermaid au anyways im so excited!!!!! in another world, shouto is the one to catch you. somehow he's in your penthouse apartment. the man's holding a knife to your throat (??) or it's your husband trying to save his own skin. in some variations you walk off the edge yourself, in some variations your husband pushes you, in some variations it's the man. i thought this fit better. either way in all of them he was supposed to dive off the fucking building after u but i also thought: he can't be there himself but he makes sure ur taken care of anyways. sort of fitting the characterization i had for him, i think. i rlly considered a kiss scene too but it'd be sort of natural. like stepping into someone's warmth and feeling entirely comfortable in it, knowing it's what you want and knowing it's also what he wants. at the end. but i didn't add it. wouldve been sweet but unnecessary bc i think this would be further down the line and would require a separate scene. once again i scoot free of my kiss-writing responsibilities ! ! ! more on this, though, i think i really like writing about how simple intimacy can be. i do not believe you need to be physically affectionate with someone to love them, though you certainly can be, and i hope this was reflected in the way i portrayed both shouto and reader. in my dreams we are shouto's sugar babies and just vibe for the rest of our lives. and that is all. the smallest things the reader does make him so happy like. slowly. you guys are already holding hands, so a kiss on the cheek would make him the happiest man on earth. oh here's a bonus scene: at some point he takes you out to see the fireworks. the two of you are sitting, you're tucked snugly into his side, you're watching the fireworks, but when you turn, he's watching you. it's so stupidly romantic. you probably ask him what he's looking at and hes just like 'you'. you flush a little. he kisses the top of your head, grinning like the little shit he is.

i also think it'd take a length of time to get married, so you guys probably do kiss sometime before then. no clue about the scene. but canonically (aka in my head) you guys are just having a normal conversation. like Normal Normal. nothing fancy. and all of a sudden you just lean in and kiss him on the corner of his lips. he touches it, and you can see the shock on his face. dunno if you lie and say 'something there i was just getting it for you' bc im a sucker for that but he only leans a little closer and asks you to do it again. i'd like to think man is patient even tho he desperately wants to (like to the point it's painful to watch) so you have to tell him straight up it's okay to do anything, when you're ready: i.e. initiate kisses and anything else later down the line. once he gets the green light though there's no stopping (he will immediately if u ever tell him) like in my head this man has been basically touch starved all his life and he YEARNS. everyone say thank you to the anon who prompted these scenes btw notes on reader: i think what i wanted to explore with this piece was the way that your parents, the environment you grow up in, the role models you have can shape how you grow a lot. but that does not mean you need to stay that way forever. and that even if you do, you are not necessarily 'weak' or any lesser. reader never actually stood up for herself until the very end, but she was strong in her own way. she tried her best to be a good wife, even when she practically hated her husband. she persevered, she tried her best to love her child. things were bleak, but she pulled through; she kept on living, she kept on breathing. and that was enough. she was enough! <33 i also don't know if this reader was a very believable one. a lot of what i explored here was an extension of some of my own experiences, but like. i simply have not experienced a lot of it personally, unlike with my other pieces, and not at all to the same depth. i hope that there are people out there that can resonate with her and her experiences, but like not in a fucked up way. i simply hope that this story can make someone out there feel seen/heard, even if it's just a little. also putting this here to say, i tried to write reader in a way where it made her thoughts read off as like. ingrained into her? but that the way she thinks is not supposed to be normalized. please love yourselves. just wanted to make that clear djsklsfjd

[grapejuicestyless]

i have had this idea for so long, but i really think you could do this justice. sort of like the film the holiday!!! but not really set in Christmas and more so through the seasons. harry moves out of the city (doesn’t need to be a singer and could just be a CEO) into a small village in a lovely cottage where all of the furniture is mismatched and there’s sash windows which are always open. He’s there for a few months before he starts to feel lonely so decides to bring in a lodger! He hand makes posters and puts them on the village hall board and … he finally gets a taker! It’s a quirky girl who is totally all over the place and she moves in .. the seasons change and so does their relationship.. friends to lovers OR ACTUALLY maybe it could be so interesting for it to be enemies to lovers! That could be fun to write. But idk I’ve been thinking about it for so long !!! They could organise a dinner party for friends one night or maybe Harry goes away to the city for a meeting and that’s where y/n realises how much she misses him / likes him. Definitely has to be fluffy but also needs to have some drama. I haven’t figured that out yet 😭😭😭 I’m so sorry for this really long rambly post but I wanted to give u as much of my brain as possible lol. I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to see what you would do with this / if it’s something you’re even interested in. Have a gorgeous evening / day / morning xxx love you!!💖💖💖💖💖

Bad People

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: Harry and Y/n met by pure luck. Sharing secrets and laughing like little kids, ribs and cheeks hurting. Y/n is sure Harry is destined to be in her life forever. She’s just not sure when that became a bad thing.

FLANGST/FRIENDS TO ENEMIES TO LOVERS

The pale blue sky looked gray from certain windows. The glass was cracked and the stove stained with boiled over soup broth and old sprinklings of spices.

The birds sang solemnly, humming the tune to what I believed sounded like something you’d hear at a funeral. Here, the pavement was cracked and the stars were consistently covered with clouds. Snow, more often than not, fell heavily. From October to April. The nearby ocean nearly always too cold to swim in. The backyard pool cold and clean, still with nobody to inhabit it.

All the beauty ripped from the earth, and replaced with another kind of it. I wouldn’t mind it half as much, if I had someone to enjoy the snow with. To enjoy the polar plunges, the visible breath and numb fingers.

Like old times sake, snowmen and snowball fights. Sledding or fort making. Rosy cheeks and icy hair a memory of the past. Cheeks hurting from smiles, not the winter chill.

The laughter of my mother was long gone, and my brother outgrew his desire for a sibling as soon as he turned sixteen. Few friends, not any at least, that would enjoy the activities the white powder offered.

So now, I look out the window, nursing a glass of wine propped up on the windowsill. I don’t see the snow day ahead or pray for a white Christmas. I pray that one day, I’ll find someone to enjoy it with me. To soothe the pain little eight year old me suffered with the absence of her father, her distant mother and her selfish brother.

“Looking at it won’t make it fall any faster, Y/n.” The puff of air coming from my nose fogs up to cool glass, and my fingers leave prints along the center.

He’s not looking at me, he rarely does when we aren’t fighting. It’s like I disgust him. I feel like a fool every god damn time.

“Have you always naturally been an asshole or did you grow into it?” I don’t look at him, but I feel his gaze settle on my reflection in the glass. His voice alone urges me to take a large drink from the wine glass. The ruby red staining my top lip. I spread it around and taste the bitterness of it on my tongue.

He begins to leave, almost succeeding without a passing glance, but biting his tongue is something Harry nor I have ever been able to do. So it’s natural how he goes for the last word.

“Theres only so much wine, Y/n.” He teases. I down the rest while he walks away. The sigh that leaves my mouth after I feel the ghost of him leaving me isn’t only for air, but because suddenly the room feels lighter.

It’s funny, how someone so special can leave such a disgusting taste in your mouth. Hatred doesn’t just happen. It creeps, seeps, saturates. It’s a pesky little thing that starts small until finally you can’t ignore how bothered you are. It’s vile and cruel. A poisonous little thing that no one is immune to. It’s a sad yet funny thing. To remember that it wasn’t always like this. I didn’t always hate my old friend, bounded to me through the home we share. I once enjoyed the company of Harry styles.

It was nearly a year since I’d moved in. A year since the snow turned to thick ice and roads became bare with people too afraid to try and navigate through the harsh winter.

Nearly a year since I first saw the house at the end of the road, with a neat front lawn and a tree with hanging branches ready to snap.

A red scarf and red mittens is what I wore. With a faded brown coat and worn blue jeans. A hat on top of my head and a journal tucked underneath my arm. He had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. The stars in the night sky didn’t quite shine as bright as his eyes, I swore it to myself.

He had an english accent, one that I wasn’t familiar with. Peach fuzz and dark chocolate curls a mess on his head. When I told him my job, he laughed, but something about his shocked expression after told me he didn’t mean it cruelly. Rather, that he was shocked, or just piecing the puzzle together.

“I’m my mother’s daughter.” I told him, “She always had a thing for poetry. The sappy ones with the tragic endings. I got it from her and I’m damn good at it.” I smiled at him then, and he smiled back bigger.

“It’s just funny. Moving somewhere so quiet for a job all about fantasy and adventure.” He explained, already guiding the two of us through the wide doorway. I set my boots in the old entryway which it seemed he had turned into a mud room. I admired the shade of green on the wall and nodded along. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

That night, while settling into my new space, I shared with him my life. My goals and dreams. With his toothy smile and boyish eyes, he made it so easy to trust him. I sat on my newly made bed and he sat in my spinning chair by my desk. Moving it back and forth, swaying slowly. A cigarette started dangling from his pocket, I still remember the way he took it between his thumb and his index finger. Rolling it around, debating whether or not to light it. It was like he didn’t know he had it.

“I didn’t take you for a smoker.” I laughed at him, he laughed back. Shy almost, only looking at me for a moment.

“M’not. A few here and there. Helps to wind down.” When he ran his hand through his hair, I remember seeing all his rings. A rose and two with his initials. One looked like a lion. That one was my favorite.

Other than his charming smile and infectious laughter, I knew nothing of him, I had come to realize. Here he was, knowing about my family and friends. My job and my hobbies. All I had asked him was his name.

When I asked him, he was just as talkative as I was. A sparkle in his eyes when he talked about his job. I remember specifically, how they lit up extra bright when he mentioned his mother, Anne, and his older sister, Gemma. I learned about his job too. Harry had everything he could ever truly want. The money, the power, the glory. His office at the top floor overlooking the bustling city that never sleeps. Families dancing around the square and traffic backed up into the city line.

The sad thing was, that even with all this pride he got to carry with his reputation, the city was no home to him. The summer held no comfort. Not the same now that he was long out of school. The heat was simply uncomfortable. His lavish suit sticking to his skin. Even the air conditioner couldn’t soothe the pounding of his head against the strong New York heat.

His nose stung in the summer. The warmer it got, the worse it smelled. Garbage littering the streets no longer covered by thick snow. Tourists and their children filling up all his favorite places of relaxation. Each carrying their own scent from home. The calming pine from the North or the tangy citrus of the west coast.

Harry felt no true love for his home anymore. No real attachment. There was no smell of home, and there certainly wasn’t any old faces with their gravelly voices and thick accents. If it weren’t for the business there, he would’ve fled somewhere else long ago. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere that felt like home. If he could, he would have tucked himself back into the small home his mother raised him and his sister in. He would’ve curled up happily in his twin bed and looked out the same crooked window each night and feel happy with only that.

He tells me that when he got in the car waiting for him at the airport, he was tempted to tell the driver to take him home, to see if it would make him smile. He’d seen the gag used in all the old rom-coms he and his mother used to watch. The short blonde running from the love of her life only to be led back into his arms. But Harry know’s better. He tells me so. So when the driver asks him where to, he tells him the address.

He told me about his work life. How there was a branch out in the UK. The one that started it all. And as his success grew, so did his aspirations and his needs. London no longer provided him with the luxury and opportunity that New York could. So he swapped out his office for a penthouse and acted like the smell of burning garbage and mysterious wet spots on the sidewalks didn’t bother him.

It’s a vicious cycle. To outgrow, to long for, to move, to hate all over again. Thats how he decided that London has just what he needed. His business within reach and smaller towns surrounding its borders.

“And what about now? Are you happy?” Harry crinkled his eyes then, smiling a nodding along. He didn’t even mind it then, when I would interrupt. In fact, he welcomed it. Claimed he loved hearing me talk.

I agreed with him when he said that the grass is greener down here. The stars are just that much brighter and theres not a single car honking their horn past nine. All things that left him feeling a whole lot calmer than the chaos of the city.

Here, Harry told me he didn’t mind not living in a lavish penthouse just a few blocks away from his work. Here, he was hours away from the city. He stays in a medium sized cape cod styled house, pre-decorated from the past owners who didn’t care to take their things when they left for something bigger. It sticks out from the rest of the homes nearby. He wonders how something so different ended up within the same area. And he smiled and sat on the floor when I laughed and told him he’d already lived quite the life for a nearly-thirty year old man.

When silence took over after over an hour long conversation, I bit at my nails and looked at the floor. Suddenly, it came to me.

“Harry?” I had asked. He hummed, looking at me. Even if I hadn’t looked back, I could still feel his eyes on mine. “What made you want a roommate?” When my eyes flickered up to his, I saw no hate, or disgust, or shame. Nothing that I am familiar with now in Harry’s eyes. I saw curiosity, warmth and happiness.

“I like the quiet. I like being able to sleep without someone yelling down the hallway. I like how green it is over here.” I nodded, waiting for him to continue. “But the quiet get’s lonely. And while I like the quiet, I hate being alone.” And it made me smile back then. Maybe it still does thinking about it know. He had been helping me in finding a home, some place warm to stay. Meanwhile, I had been able to give back. Give him what he wanted. At the time, my heart warmed.

For a long time after that, Harry made my heart beat fiercely. He brought me flowers and made us pancakes. Freshly picked blueberries from the local market. He cracked jokes and I repeated them back between our broken laughter, imitating his english accent.

He was a charming man, with an energy that invited and kept you drawn to him. Everyone wanted to be around Harry. The men and the women. Always wanting a piece of the pie. I felt rich in life, that while others had to work for a lifelong friendship with him, naturally, we fit together. We worked.

He entered my life by some kind of coincidence. I needed a place to stay and he was offering a room up.

When he brushed his thumb over my knuckles and kissed the skin, I believed we would be like this forever. Just the two of us.

When he whispered to me that he loved me that same night, I thought it was something he would never take back. Something that would never change. His warm breath and glistening eyes. He was red and shiny. A bottle of the cheap champagne sat on the table and an empty glass beside him. I let his lips trail around my hand and laugh at his antics.

“Harry.” I mumbled into the darkness, he doesn’t move. I silently giggle again after he puffs air out of his own nose onto my hand playfully. His shoulders shake with his own fits of laughter, “Harry.” I call out again, and my eyes are met with his dazzling emerald ones. I almost got lost, forgot how to talk looking at him.

My palms were sweaty with nervousness then. My heart beating out of my chest. I wanted more than anything to tell him everything. As a poet, it should have been easy to put my thoughts out in the open air. But they hadn’t sat within me for long enough to curate a straight forward answer.

How would I even manage to start on how beautiful I thought his brown hair was? Perfectly colored like milk chocolate treats that curled over his forehead. Or his toothy grin which pulled butterflies from the pit of my stomach and made me feel lighter? I couldn’t find just one thing to focus on. And the words that came out of my mouth tumbled out quickly.

“You’re my best friend.” I hoped that he would’ve been able to see how much love I held for him in my face. How even in the dim lighting of only the fireplace and the fading lamp in the corner, he could see how they sparkled just for him.

He pulled his hand away after that, clearing his throat and nodding. But he smiled so softly after that I didn’t see how his eyes welled up with tears. I only saw his perfectly pink lips and his rosy cheeks. For once, I wasn’t focused on his eyes, and I paid the price.

He never made pancakes for us after that night. Nor did he ever pick flowers from the fields or crack jokes until our stomachs hurt. My hand was never slotted between his and my head didn’t rest on top of his shoulders. He was colder, more distant. Quiet.

But the quiet grew old for us both. And the slipping away hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced. I was everyone else in his life. Fighting for a spot in the light so he would see me, smile at me, acknowledge me.

Part of me wondered why he never asked me to leave. To pack my bags and find another innocent man to love because he wouldn’t tolerate it anymore. But he never did. Harry hated being alone and I knew better than anyone else. I knew it because I was his best friend at some point. We shared the same breaths and drank from the same glasses. I wore his shirts and he used my hair clips. He kept me around not because he still wanted me, but because he still needed me. And the realization of it all hurts worse than the silence because it’s then I know that I’ve really lost him. It leaves me with the question, ‘What have I done to deserve this?’

I think back on that night when our world shifted on its axis and I go over every word that was said. I check for any signs of discomfort or anger and I find nothing. It plagues me with a new insecurity.

Maybe it wasn’t something I’d said, maybe it wasn’t something I’d done. Maybe the warmth from the champagne grew cold in his blood and the false euphoria from it all cleared from his peripheral vision and he realized that I was no longer enough. I was not what he wanted. The idea of his roommate becoming his only friend too pathetic for a man with such power.

Soon after, I stop putting up a fight. I stop fighting for a spot in his life and I stop trying to win back a man that was never mine. I figured at least if he could never be mine and I would never be his, at least I still got to see his pretty face everyday. And I could imagine that we never drifted.

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost. The tears running down my cheeks are hot, burning my skin until my throat dully aches and my chest is red with flakes of nail polish and the dragging of my nails clawing at my chest.

I am sobbing, broken and tired. I dream of a life that is not as miserable. I dream of a life where I no longer doubt the things I love. Where I don’t have to question my friend’s loyalty.

He knocks on my door, leaning against it in only his flannel pants. He has tattoos that compliment his skin so well. He looks like a painting. I’m relieved to see him again. Even if it’s under these circumstances.

I wait for him to speak, even if it’s merely a mumble. Even if I cannot understand.

“Can you stop crying? I can’t sleep.” He requests. My lips part and I swear my lungs collapse within my chest. I can’t breathe and somehow I remain composed.

“Okay.” I say quietly, nodding along and trying to find his eyes. They look at the floor, and his face is contorted like it pained him to say that to me. Like it was against his will. But he doesn’t even look at me.

When he leaves, I collapse, shoulder shaking with rage, sadness, confusion instead of the contagious laughter that once rang out through the halls.

I decide then, July moon shining through the sash windows of my room that I couldn’t continue holding onto Harry. My heart still beats for him and my eyes still sparkled when his own lingered for just a moment longer on me, but I couldn’t like him.

Hatred doesn’t just happen. It creeps, seeps, saturates. It’s a pesky little thing that starts small until finally you can’t ignore how bothered you are. It’s vile and cruel. A poisonous little thing that no one is immune to. It’s a sad yet funny thing.

After that night, his selfish wishes turn to bitter comments which turn to vicious attacks at my confidence. And my resilience and devotion to silence, to ignore the cruelty of it all is worn thin. My bitten tongue is freed and I am betrayed by my own words. My own comments targeted at his deepest hurts. It’s a mutual hate between us, a mutual dislike.

We live within the same four walls, the same windows and creaky roof over our heads. We cook in the same kitchen and we sit on the same couch, but we cannot stand each other anymore. The house is no longer filled with love, and the warm heat turns to bitter cold. And yet, neither of us have the guts to leave.

We sit here, in a life thats so mean to us just because we are afraid of the loneliness that is surely to come with the other’s absence.

We are here, but we aren’t present. It makes me laugh, it makes me wonder.

Who could ever leave me? But who could stay?

The candles burned down to the floor, wax melting over the wood as the lights set a warm, homely mood for the night. The late December rush throughout the town turned to the few and far between searching for last minute supplies to ring in the new year. It’s peacefully still outside, and the dining room looks so nice I forget why the candles burn and our nicest plates are set out.

Harry insisted on having a small gathering with some of our friends to celebrate the new year before he went away for sometime for work. Being roommates, despite our lack of interest in establishing our own friendship, his friends become my friends and mine become his. It’s a fairly large group that was once two. But have now become so closely intertwined that it seems hard to differentiate who was friends with who first.

There was wine, pastas and breads. Hams and potatoes. Drinks and endless desserts. It felt nice, to have all those people we cared so deeply about chip in and help to create such a lovely meal for the few of us.

Hearing that first doorbell ring to see all of our friends stood proudly on our crooked doorstep made my heart flutter. Sarah, Mitch, Pauli, Elin, Charlotte, Nyoh. All holding various foods to add to the never ending supply on the multiple tables set in a row.

“Harry! Y/n!” The enthusiasm from our friends seemed to lighten the mood, letting the heavy feeling of heated arguments and constant anger slip down my back and into the farthest part of my brain.

It was times like these where I’d forget how to hate. How to spread anger and disgust to someone who clearly showed none of it in return in these times. Here, Harry was talkative. Always plastering on a fake smile and wave.

He was good at pretending. And while the walls of the house had seen a different story, those around us were innocent, forever unknowing of how Harry constantly belittled me, bothered me. Of how I was no better. How my tongue was sharp and my words shot to kill.

Nobody minded the difference in height of the dinning room table against the kitchen table. How one was round and the other a rectangle. Both covered by one long table cloth. Nobody minded the soft music in the background or how the light wasn’t the brightest. The soft flickers never mentioned.

We let the candles burn until they had nothing left to give, and we ate until it was bare and our stomachs hurt. Here, I never felt like I was trapped. Here, I remembered why I came to live with Harry in the first place. And I was thankful. It was times like these I couldn’t help smiling like an idiot. Cheeks sore and eyes crinkling. I would laugh at just about anything, trust anyone and agree with everything.

“When are you going to tell him?” An elbow to the ribs pulled my gaze from the end of the table, my smile dropping for only a moment at the sudden shock.

“Sorry?” I mumbled softly into Sarah’s ear. Her eyes glimmered with something mischievous, like she knew something that I didn’t. She licked her pink lips and looked briefly back to the end of the table. All the way over by the dining table, sat a few feet away and a couple inches higher, was Harry. Laughing and talking with Pauli and Elin about anything and everything. I couldn’t quite make it out over the soft chatter of Mitch and Charlotte and the clinking of forks on plates.

“Harry!” She called softly. When my eyebrows furrowed she rolled her eyes, sighing heavily.

“I don’t get it.” Forking another bite of vegetables into my mouth, I watched her fight for the right words to say. Her lips finally settling on the soft smile I knew very well.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/n. I know that look. Better than anyone. Thats how I look at Mitch.” She playfully nudged my shoulder. Did she believe that I held any romantic feelings for Harry? I couldn’t, it was impossible. Right?

His rude remarks and his mean demeanor. Sure, at one point my heart beat for the brunette with an infectious smile and shiny green eyes, but now it was a memory of the past. Another pretty face who had thrown away all of his charm and care and exchanged with unwavering cruelty.

“Oh, no. Sarah, I don’t think about him that way.” I tried to wave her off, trying to sound the least amount disgusted by her assumption. I couldn’t help but wonder why she thought that.

“I don’t believe you.” She sounded smug, crossing her hands on my thigh and giggling. “You don’t have to. I believe myself.” Brushing her off, I take another bite of any remaining scraps on my plate. Trying to avoid conversation.

“Come on, you seriously don’t see it?” She sounded exasperated now, even more so when I nodded carelessly. She was getting tired of my avoidance to the conversation, my disinterest in her false discovery. Still, the longer she pushed, the more I felt the heat rush to my face. The more my cheeks burned and my skin tingled.

“I’m serious, Sarah. I don’t look at him in anyway. He’s just my roommate. Nothing more, nothing less.” I lean back, volume brought down to a mere whisper with the dying laugher at the other end of the table.

“Well, he’s your friend at least, right?” The lump in my throat was unswallowable. With the growing tightness in my throat and the clamminess of my palms. I wanted nothing more than to slip away and pretend this never happened. So, I bite my tongue and nod, eyes flickering to Sarah while I do so. I pray that she doesn’t see the tears welling in the corners and how glossy they’ve gotten in such a short period of time.

“Yeah, he’s my best friend.” The lie stings, burning as it comes out. Partially because I hate lying to my dear Sarah, but mainly because at some point it was the truth.

Harry was my everything at one point in my life. He might as well have hung the damn moon and stars. I thought the world of him, wanted nothing more than to feel his arms wrapped around mine all the damn time. And it killed me that we’d gotten so far away from that idea that I had to lie about even being acquainted with him.

“Word of advice.” She started, eyeing Harry carefully. My eyes remained glued to the table, fork wobbling between my pointer finger and my thumb. “Best friends don’t look at each other that way.” And when she finished what she wanted to say, I swear my heart just about stopped. All color draining from my face and my eyes rapidly blinking away the tears by now.

Setting my fork down, I ignore her playful smile and the nudge of her shoulder into mine. I look for another face to converse with, to make me begin to forget everything I was trying so desperately to escape. When I search the table, it seems like each person has found themselves in deep conversation with the other. All but one.

And his green eyes capture mine in a way I haven’t known in so long. I’d forgotten what it was like to be the center of his gaze. How thrilling it was. With my eyes, glossed over and heart beating through my chest, it seemed impossible for me to ever consider looking away. His chocolate brown curls and sweet pink lips in a gentle smile. It was consuming and alluring. Irresistible even.

A face that once disgusted me, shattered my heart, angered me and knocked me down with no air left to breathe seemed not all that frightening anymore. And the warmth that spread in my chest scared me more than anything.

I begin to realize, maybe Sarah was right. Maybe that was why I hated him so much. I didn’t hate Harry Styles. And thats why it hurt just that much more. I didn’t hate him at all, in fact. No, rather my poor heart couldn’t handle the heartbreak and deflected in the most malicious way possible. I missed my best friend.

“Y/n.” Sarahs voice pulls me from my haze, and my eyes are flickering over to hers quickly. Lips still parted and eyes still wide.

“You’re crying.” I hadn’t felt the salty heat dripping down my cheeks until she announced it. My skin too numb from embarrassment to even understand what was happening.

My tongue is tied, and my throat is killing me. I feel like I might vomit if I stay here any longer. I can’t be here any longer, I can’t do it. Not when I’ve just realized what I did. I feel what I felt all those months ago when Harry told me to stop crying. When he shut me out for good and became bitter. I feel all air leave my lungs and my knees wobbling. I am going to collapse.

“I just need air.” I say all too loudly, pushing out the chair clumsily and stepping back. The loud scratch of the wooden legs of the wooden floors turns heads and my heavy breathing tells me to get the hell out.

I pardon myself after that, waving off any concern from Sarah, and making sure nobody else saw my escape. Everyone’s still deep into conversation when I turn the corner. All but Sarah and Harry. But neither of them make a move to reach me. I let myself collapse on my bed, mascara running down my white sheets and back aching from how stiff I became at that table. I silently pray that I’ll sleep through the rest of winter.

When the dinner got cold and we’d all run out of things to say, we all look around and silently agree to part ways. It was nice to have some company, I enjoyed being around these people so much. My heart should have been full, yet it felt heavy and empty all at the same time. Littered with a guilt I wasn’t even sure was mine.

I’d seen the way she looked at me. Really looked at me. Glossed over eyes and a quivering lip. She was red with the rush of adrenaline in her blood. Anyone could see how quickly she began to breathe. It was like she was stuck, consumed by something so strong that it left her powerless, weak, crumbling quickly under an undetermined pressure. She started to cry, biting back a sob by biting harshly into her bottom lip, eyes shaking while she searched my face. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. Who had said what, and how I could help her.

I wanted to yell at whoever hurt her this bad. And the feeling of that in itself was unsettling. How my heart still longed to comfort, protect the heart of the girl who once shattered my own with her own words. More than that, I wanted to scream when nobody followed her when she ran. How nobody cared nearly enough about why she was so upset.

I couldn’t understand why I was so invested in her. Someone I was sworn to hate. Someone I had teased and fought for months and let hurt me constantly in retaliation.

But then again, we were no better than one another. We never were. Always saying too little and not opening up quite enough. Creating issues instead of solving problems. We were explosive, nobody could hurt me quite like she could and yet, I felt horrible that she was so upset.

Like the day I’d found her pacing restlessly across the floor. Skin blotchy and eyes puffy with tears. Throat sore with the violent sobs ripping through them. I’d wanted to hold her then too, but I was too bitter to do anything but tell her to quiet down. I felt the same guilt in my bones. And I make the same mistakes I made the first time. I watch her break down and sit with the uneasiness of it all.

Mitch lays a hand over my shoulder, his other arm wrapped around Sarah as he leads her through the door. His eyes look sad and tired. But his smile is genuine and filled with concern.

“Check on Y/n for us okay? Sarah thought it would be best to leave her be for now.” His hand left my shoulder and the door shut quickly after. Leaving me with the unbearable silence and loneliness I felt so frequently nowadays. It breaks down my walls and scares the shit out of me.

Maybe thats why I make my way to the kitchen, shuffling slowly along the floors and leaning slowly over the makeshift tables. A bottle of rouge in one hand, a pack of cigarettes in the other. I stuff them in my pocket and hold the bottle close to my side.

I’m slow, delaying the inevitable question. When I knock on the door, it’s quiet. Almost like I’m hoping that if it’s soft enough, she won’t hear and I can pretend she was ignoring me. But, she does hear me, and she calls out a raspy, muffled welcome, signaling for whoever was hidden behind the door to come through and take in her puffy eyes and wet cheeks.

My throat tightens when I smell her perfume. Something that I would have drowned in not so long ago. She has clothes thrown on a chair in the corner, the same one I sat in so many months ago. I’m tempted to push them off and just sit in the silence with her like we once enjoyed doing.

Her head is in her pillow and her arms are underneath her. She is unaware of who she has let in, but her silence and unmoving body tells me she’s lost all ability to care. I want to leave. I want to turn around and convince myself it was all a mistake. I’d checked on her and she was still alive and well. I’d done my part and I could go on guilt free and forget about how crushed she’d looked just hours before.

When I begin to turn on my heels and pray for this day to be over, I see something unforgettable. A small Polaroid from last year. Just weeks after she’d moved in and charmed me with her beauty and whit. She’s sat with her legs over my lap and my arms around her body. We couldn’t be any happier, and the memory makes my chest sting.

She still cared enough to keep up the old memories of us, even after all the fights and mean glares. Why did she have to keep the damn photo up?

Guilt consumes me once again, and I am faced with the sad woman in front of me, still in the same place as before and just as sad as before. My feet betray my mind, and soon I am stood beside her bedside table with a bottle of wine dangling between my pointer finger and my middle finger.

The glass knocks against her shoulder in a silent invitation. My eyes wordlessly asking her to follow. Her eyes are red, and her lips still shake. She looks completely torn apart, desperate and distraught. Disheveled even. But for some reason in my blurry head, all I can think about is how absolutely beautiful she is in the pale moonlight.

“Come on.” I ask her softly, offering her my hand. When she takes it, she’s nodding already. Trusting a man who deserves no second chances, no trust whatsoever for his cruelty and his inability to communicate. But she follows regardless.

I can’t help but realize how having her so close feels good.

He lights the cigarette for me and watches as I let it burn. My lips twitch as they wrap around the end, tasting the bitterness of its contents and the dry paper.

“How did we end up here?” I ask him, looking over the horizon. The waves are calming over here. They almost silence the ringing in my ears, despite the distance between where we sit, feet dangling over the empty pool edge and the large grass behind it.

He shrugs, snagging the cigarette from my hand delicately and taking a long drag from its end. We swap, my hands wrap around the neck of the wine bottle. It’s tinted green and nearly full.

“Unlucky people, I guess.” He looks at his feet. They dangle in the pool beside mine. You can see just how close we are in the turquoise tint. How the lights make us look less vibrant.

“I wouldn’t consider us unlucky.” I look at the sky, and I can feel his eyes on my face. It makes me swallow, how intense his gaze is. It almost makes it feel that much more real.

“Why’s that?” He asks, twisting the bud out on the cement. It stains the freshly cleaned grey stone an ashy black, but I bite my tongue.

“We had each other. Maybe we aren’t the best people, maybe we’re cruel, but I’d rather argue than live in solitude, right? Company can’t be bought. Even the most painful of it. That’s something real. Something without a price. And we’ve got it.” And it’s true. We fight and we throw shit. We stain the walls and rip the curtains. We start fires and try to blame the other. We make a mess and make amends. But a house isn’t a home without someone to share it with. And at least if we had to suffer to get there, we got it.

“Thats some of your poet shit.” He laughs sadly into the silence, looking at his feet. I laugh along, though I can tell he was only half joking. Then, I let the silence wash back over us. Forgetting how we almost had a full conversation.

“I’m not a bad person. I don’t know why I’m so mean.” He says sincerely. It’s sudden too. I can tell from the rawness in his voice. How his eyes tear up and his lips quiver. His voice cracks. Our feet hang off the edge of the backyard. It’s a quiet life. Even now. With our fights and all the fraud. But it’s never a lonely life, and we only have each other to thank for it.

I want to tell him I know, and I’m so sure of it. I’ve seen the real him, we might just not mesh together. But we once had, and that fact alone holds me back. He takes the lack of response and an opportunity to excuse himself. Pulling his body up by the arms and grunting through the sliding back door. I sit alone in the backyard for hours, body curling up into itself and layers of clothing becoming less than enough after some more time.

“I know.” I whisper into the silence. I know he’s not a bad person, I know it so well and I am so certain of it. I knew Harry once. He’s loyal and kind and the smartest man I’d ever met. And I miss knowing him like that so much.

I thought for a second tonight, I’d gotten part of him back. And maybe I had, but he left so soon I couldn’t really tell all that well. He’s left me back in the silence, wondering what happened to us, and what will happen to us. Why he came to get me, and why he even bothered to open up to me. But he never gives me the time to properly ask, even if I planned to.

I ring in the New Year alone.

The next morning he’s gone. Back to New York for his business in the big city and I am left to sit and think about what was said. A half empty bottle of wine stained with my red lipstick and glitter on the floor from old party poppers Charlotte and Elin had made sure to use before making their exit. I repeat his words.

He’s not a bad person, so why is he so mean? It’s best left unknown. Because if theres one thing I fear more than anything, it’s the realization of rejection.

Even from a man I hate so entirely, it consumes me. That I could not stand to be faced with the fact that Harry and I do not get along simply because we do not work and not because of some other underlying reason.

After all, we had it all. Gave each other everything the other had wanted. Food, shelter, company. There was really so explanation for the bitterness between us.

After all, all this time, despite his anger and hatred, he never left me to the wolves. And despite my heartbreak and sadness, I never left him with an empty home.

A wise man once said to never bite the hand that feeds it. Yet, here we are. Ripping skin from bone until we are left with nothing. We are the ungrateful, the selfish, the cruel. And we both believe that we are in the right.

I am so scared of rejection from this man who I claim to hate because he is the hand that feeds me and I am the hand to him.

We aren’t bad people, so why are we so mean? We recognize all we have to be grateful for, so why do we bite the hand that feeds us?

I guess the vulnerability of it all must have scared us. And while facing the storm, we did what all people do. We let fear consume us and we bite.

Somehow, through all of this. The realizations and the tears and wine and dusty ashes, I love him. Even with my teeth sinking into his skin and his own in mine, drawing blood, I love him. I love Harry Styles. He is my best friend and I am his. That is why I am scared and that is why it hurts so bad. Not because I simply missed him, but rather because my heart was devoted to a man who did not want it.

My fingers fumble over the pad on the phone. I type up his phone number by heart and let it ring. He answers quickly, still waiting for his plane at the airport.

“Y/n?” I can hear the bustling crowds around him and the loud engines taking off from other terminals. I imagine he is plugging one of his ears and mentally cursing the noise for making it so hard to hear.

“Come home.” My breathing is unstable, and my hands run through my hair so much I create new tangles by my neck.

“What? No, Y/n, I have to go. People are expecting me.” He starts to explain how important this is for his business. How it would be so much simpler to be there rather than over a computer screen.

“Fuck them, who cares! Harry, I need you, and I want you, please just listen to me for once. Don’t scoff, or…or roll your eyes or leave! Listen to me this once and if it’s not worth it to you, I promise you’ll never have to listen to me again. Please, it’s important.” I ramble all in one breath, endless pleas met with silence. I can feel the rejection coming, I can hear the way he chokes on a breath, debating what I said.

“Okay.” The phone goes dead with his promise to come home. With the continuous beeps, I slowly come to terms with what I’d just done. But I do not feel panicked, or scared. I feel lighter with the fact that I am about to tell the moody boy something I wished I told him a long time ago.

The door opens with a creak, keys jingling in his large palms. I’d spent the morning pacing the kitchen. Leaving a trail of confetti behind in my wake. I hadn’t cared enough to clean with my endless thoughts and extreme amounts of adrenaline.

“Y/n?” His voice was unsure when it rang out. As if he didn’t know what to expect. The door shut behind him not long before I came rushing around the corner, fingernails bitten to the skin and hangnails bleeding profusely.

“God, Y/n what the hell…” Taking my hands into his, he examined the redness of my irritated skin stained further with dry blood.

“I know.” I looked at him, and he looked back at me like I was crazy.

“What?” His thumbs bent over the backs of my palms, holding me in front of him.

“I know.” I breathed out again, looking at him with such sincerity, praying for him to understand. “You’re not a bad person, and I know it because I know you. Because we fight and we tease and we scream and cry. But I know you because once we didn’t do all of that. And I needed you to know that because it wasn’t fair of me to make you believe that to be true after everything you’ve done for me.” My voice shook with how vulnerable I felt myself becoming. Harry’s hands only tightened the further I explained.

“But what about all I’ve done to you. Y/n, I’ve been awful to you and I never even told you why.” He tried to argue. I shook my head, biting my lips.

“I haven’t been much better.” I smiled sadly. He shook his head back.

“No.”

“Yes.” I blinked hard, pushing back the tears that formed watching his own gather by his waterline.

“No, Y/n, I’ve been horrible. I’ve been mean.” He tried to push away everything I was trying to ignore.

“And so have I.” I tried harder to make him understand.

“But you only did it because I had. And for what?” He finally spoke, voice raised with so much desperation behind it, I froze under his touch.

“Because I loved you so much it drove me fucking insane? Because I still love you and I’m afraid if I can’t get you to hate me I’ll never be able to stop.” He was crying now, pleading with me to make me see his side of things. All I could do was shake my head.

“Harry I could never hate you.”

“But you could never love me.” He argued.

“Thats not true, Harry tell me you know that it couldn’t be true.” I rip my hands from his grip to rest them on his cheeks. I try to wipe away his tears, but his hands cover my wrists and pull them back down.

“How could I? You said it yourself. All those months ago, I told you. I held you close and I told you I loved you. You told me I was your best friend. You couldn’t even pretend!” Neither of us could tell if he was angry or just sad. Maybe both, but no amount of denial would calm him down.

“I didn’t have to, I still don’t have to pretend! Harry, I only said that because I was so fucking scared. Scared of us, of me, of you. Of losing you if it didn’t work. And I lost you anyways, I would’ve just said it if I knew I’d lose you like this.” Our chests bumped and his fingers slipped between mine.

“Y/n.” He whispered into the silence, over our heavy breathing and salty tears.

“I love you, and I miss you.” He didn’t say anything. I could feel him slipping away as soon as his response never came. Not a single word left to say between us. Not a single amount of energy left to fight.

And then he was kissing me. Hard and sweet. Like I was everything he’d ever wanted and more. Like he was hungry, needing more and more of something he had always wanted but could never have. And at the same time, it was soft and tender. Like he never wanted it to end. My back arched within the grip of his wandering hands and my fingers tangling in his curls. I swore I would never let him go.

But it was a swear I couldn’t keep, because air dwindled quickly and spit strung between our lips. Something I would usually gag at, but didn’t mind at the moment. His forehead against mine and arms gripping the fabric by my hips so tight if I moved he could have ripped it.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized in between his heaving breaths.

“Me too.” Looking at him, I could see the red staining his lips from the makeup I’d slept in. It made me laugh, which in result made him smile.

“What? What!” He laughed along cluelessly, letting me back away for a moment.

“You have something-“ I pointed again his mouth and smiled.

“Oh do I? Do I?” He kissed my cheek, smearing the remnants of our kiss across my cheek. “Still there?” He asked with a sly grin. Like he knew he was winning.

So I kissed him hard again, smearing red around his skin and his pink lips with so much love, there was no denying my feelings anymore. There was no hate left to give.

“Yeah, you do.” It was yet another fight, but not one I minded.

After all, thats what we did for so long, it was what we were good at. The teasing and the fighting. Only now it wasn’t bitter, it was playful. And we didn’t coexist with the sole purpose of it.

Because now I was his and he was mine. And this knowledge answered all my questions, all my doubts I’d had before about our relationship and our shared insecurities that led us down this scaring path.

Harry was my best friend, and I was his. And there was no love greater than that.

[littledollll]

Can be requested NSFW Brienne of Tarth x fem Lannister virgin reader (19-20 y.o)

The reader is the daughter of Cersei and Jaime. When Jaime and Brienne arrive in the Kings Landing, Jaime introduces Brienne to her daughter. And it's love at first sight. But Cersei thinks Brienne is in love with Jaime. One night, Cersei was walking through Brienne's chambers and heard moans and thought Brienne was having sex with Jaime, but when she breaks out into Brienne's chambers, she sees her daughter under Brienne. And then the next day, they have a conversation with Cersei and Jaime.

Happy Ending

This is my request

Oh no big deal, you can write this in your own style and change the characters, I don't mind that. I trust you completely! And if you write, I'll be glad to read! Honestly, I give you my word.

And I want to add that you are an incredible writer, and I really like your work! 🖤🖤

Love (and lust) at first sight

Brienne of Tarth x Lannister!reader

Warning: smut but it’s not that long, caught in the act, cool dad Jamie, disappointed mom Cersei, big warning over the fact I know nothing about these characters

A/n: this was one hell of a brainstorm and i dont like this that much but I rly hate rejecting requests so here it is!

You were called down to the entrance by your mother, announcing your father was finally home, only he wasn’t alone, there was a woman with him, Tall, blond hair, beautiful blue eyes, you couldn’t focus on anything they were saying as you looked at her, only snapping back to reality when you heard her voice as she introduced herself. How did your father have the absolute honor to journey with her- you hurried to greet her and introduce yourself.

You could’ve sworn you keep meeting her gaze through the conversation you were paying no attention to, you weren’t making this up, Brienne was also staring at you. However your mother was convinced it was Jamie she was looking at, deciding not to make a fuss out of it, she simply observed Brienne.

——————

Over the next few days you continued looking for excuses to be around her, most of the time Brienne simply allowed you to accompany her, though you noticed she wasn’t one to talk much, though she was a damn good listener and occasionally contributed to your usually one sided conversations.

“Why do you insist on following me around?” It was the first time Brienne initiated the conversation. You weren’t really prepared for her to question that, or talk at all really. “Well- I mean I don’t know-“ She cut you off when you seemed to be stalling to answer. “it seems I’ve caught you off guard, I apologize my lady.” “No no! I just think you’re beyond beautiful- and I’ve heard so much about you I’d like to get to know you myself and not just what everyone says of you.”

Brienne seemed shocked for a moment then furrowed her brows. “And what is it you’ve head about me?” A lot. Like a lot. People love talking shit about anyone and anything. “Well for starters, rumor has it you’re very cold. But I have a feeling that’s wrong- and that you’re a strong, one of the strongest swordsmen was it? Apparently despite that coldness you are protective and loyal.”

She only hummed and you chuckled. “What? you’re gonna leave me guessing?” A small smile reached her face as she looked away from you to keep walking. “I thought you said you wanted to get to know me yourself, my lady.” She said, making you blush. “Challenge accepted, ser.”

——————

Both you and your mother hated how much time she spent with Jamie, for wildly different reasons of course, but neither of you were of aware of the other. For you it meant you couldn’t continue your endless playful flirting that had started after you confessed your interest in Brienne, in your fathers presence, to Cersei it was because she swore Brienne was pinning after him.

“So, what do you think of her?” Your mother nodded Brienne’s way as she and your father were talking about God knows what, you were busy looking at her. “I think she’s lovely, why do you ask?” You said with a smile on your lips. Cersei looked at you questioningly. “No particular reason, thought I’d ask since she’s living here, I’d hate it if you didn’t like her presence.” You didn’t question her reasoning, only nodded. “Well you’re in luck, I quite like her, happens to make great company too.”

——————

“Are you going to continue staring daggers into my back or do you plan on talking?” Brienne asked. After a day of little to no interaction between the two off you, you decided to join her back to her room. “I quite like your back, so I’ll take you up on that offer” she froze for a second before a smirk grazed her face. “oh do you now? Tell me, what plays on your mind while you’re busy staring, my lady?”

“Why do you insist on calling me that” changing the subject while she crawled over you, making you whimper. “Because I like seeing the look on your face whenever I do.” Her eyes trailed down to your lips before snapping back to your own. “Please-“ you didn’t even have time to ask property before her lips were on yours. It was intoxicating, needy, messy. You were both waiting for this since the moment you met.

When you parted you looked drunk off the kiss, you giggled when Brienne laid kisses down your jaw and neck. “Brienne-“ voice was barely above a whisper, afraid to ruin the moment. “Are you alright, my lady?” you felt hot all over and you were sure your face was red. “I’ve never really done this before-“ “would you like to stop?” You shook your head. “Just thought you should know.” Brienne kissed your temple and moved back down. “Thank you my lady, just say the word and we can stop or slow down, okay?” She made you feel so safe then. You breathed out an “okay”.

Brienne undressed you carefully, kissing every inch of skin she revealed until you were completely naked. Two of her fingers trailed down to your entrance, gathering your wetness and moving up to rub your clit. You were so sensitive and responsive, loud, though Brienne adored it she couldn’t risk you being caught. “Darling, you need to be quiet.” Hips bucking against her hand and hole clenching around nothing, you whined.

“Inside. please, I need you.” Sure you’ve touched yourself before, but her hand felt so much better. Brienne didn’t say anything, only complied with your request, two fingers slipping into your soaked entrance while keeping her thumb on your clit. “Oh fuck!-“ you practically screamed when she started thrusting into you.

Outside, your mother was walking past Brienne’s room when she heard this, she assumed it was Brienne with Jamie. She turned and walked back to the door, putting her ear against the door to confirm what she heard.

Brienne slapped her free hand over your mouth, big mistake. Your moans, however muffled, were louder. “By gods, you need to control yourself.” Brienne scolded you quietly, although amusement was clear in her voice. To be honest, you really didn’t care, not in the moment anyways.

Just as you were about to tip over the edge the door slammed open making you jump and attempt to hide yourself, thankfully your body was mostly covered by Brienne on top of you. It was so quiet you could almost hear the cogs turning in your mothers head. Brienne just hid herself in your neck, thankful she didn’t decide to undress.

Apparently, she did not have the energy to explode in anger right now, only sighing and muttering out “I will be talking to the both of you in the morning. Your father will be told about this.” Before she slammed the door and walked off.

Brienne could barely contain her laugh. “Fuck. Breakfast is going to be interesting.” you slapped her shoulder. “It is not the time to joke about this! they are going to kill you. And me. And you again!”

——————

Breakfast was quiet, you arrived late since you had to run back to you room in the morning to get ready and come down. Your father and Brienne seemed to be talking a lot softer than they usually did while your mother was practically seething in quiet anger.

As you went to sit on the table you greeted your father and Brienne with a kiss on the cheek which made her stop functioning for a few seconds. Then walked to your mother and kissed her head, when you turned to walk away she gripped your wrist. “You stay right there.” You nodded.

“You come into my home, with my husband after he has been missing for months. To add to that, get caught fucking my daughter. And you have the audacity to act like it’s a completely normal morning.”

“I apologize but- would you rather I shrink and turn into a pathetic apologizing mess like a coward or we talk like adults and make things clear.” Brienne stated plainly, like she didn’t really care for an argument. “What’s done is done, after all.”

“Personally I think Brienne is a great fit for our girl, and you know very well she’s going to be protected and cared for.” Your father said, more at your mother than anyone else. “I don’t care for what the girl decides. She’s an adult, the problem here is that this happened behind my back. If you’d at least have the decency to come to me this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“In that case, I apologize, truly nothing was meant to happen last night, if it was in my plans for everything to go down as it did you would’ve been made aware. I was under the impression Jamie talked to you about us though.” Your mother breathe in and looked at your father, seething with anger. “So you were aware and chose not to tell me?”

You stepped in. “Hi, me again, you know the whole cause of this conversation. You’ve been talking like I’m not right here, fight with father later. I’d like to continue seeing Brienne. Will that be an issue?” You really just wanted to go to sleep.

“No, my dear, it won’t. Now both of you get out of here I have to have a serious discussion with Jamie.”

[kimbap-r0ll]

Whoever you choose for twist wonderland with a so/reader that's nerdy and shy, loves wearing baggy, comfy clothes, and always wears there hair messy or in a braid(if your hair is short than a small ponytail). Then one day, reader decides to wear form-fitting dress(or if it's a guy or don't wear dresses than a suit) and they comb their hair, which makes them look beatiful and like a super-model. However, now all the students are drooling over them. How'd they react?

Hi, thank you for the ask! Idk why but I got instantly reminded of those early 2000s teen movies where the main girl character goes through a mall haul and like does a 180 in aesthetics. However, this was pretty fun to write, I made y/n gender neutral in this one ^^

Sebek, Ruggie, Idia, Ace with an s/o who decides to try out a different (more tight-fitting) style

Sebek

He liked that you weren't afraid to try different fashion styles, even if it mainly consisted of baggy clothing or something that didn't make you stand out. To him, whatever you wore that day was cute (he would never say this to you though)

One day, however, he was busy reading a book when suddenly his entire class just went "WWWOAAAAHHH" and like crowded around the door. Sighing, he stood up and asked what was going on, only to see you in probably the world's most beautiful attire...that also happened to fit you quite well

Sebek turns red in the face, doesn't know where to look since he's so flustered, but yells at everyone to give you some space so you can breathe. "They're just trying to get to their seat, stop bothering y/n!" He then takes you by the hand and races down to the front of the classroom where he's sitting

You notice he doesn't say much but he is stuttering a lot that day. You explained that you had to do a fashion shoot for Vil (he thought you would be perfect) and got permission to wear this to class so you could run to the shoot right after. Sebek gives a nod but still doesn't look at you

After class, he finally has the courage to tell you that you look beautiful, handsome, honestly just every adjective ever to describe how cool you looked. He might ask you to wear that again, though he says this while taking flustered glances at you. Does he think you look great? Of course! Is he scared to voice this? Yes! Will Lilia tease him about this for the next few days? Hell yeah

Ruggie

He joked about you wearing something more form-fitting, saying it would make you look really cute. Did he expect you do wear it to the Fairy Fashion Show? No

He was helping out Leona and Jamil when suddenly out of nowhere he hears Crewel go "See? Be more like y/n" and when the hyena whips around his head he sees you in your full glory. Omg he almost dropped the expensive accessories in his hands because of how stunning you were.

All the students that were helping out were also shocked, but then students started to crowd around you and just exclaim at how awesome you looked. Ruggie, perhaps because he's a bit overprotective sometimes, dashes over and pushes through the crowd of fangirling students

"'Scuse me, my y/n will be helping out with the fairy runway right now, c'mon let's go!" he takes your hand and pulls you out of the crowd. He might use his unique magic to make things a bit easier too. Soon after, you two are able to catch a breath and actually get back on track. He seems pretty chill about your outfit change, saying that you looked like a totally different person

However, under all of the laughing and snickering he does, he was probably fangirling or at least feeling really flustered. He thinks you look great, perhaps too good for someone like him. By the end of the mission, he tells you in a very gentle way that you were beautiful and that perhaps you two should do a date night somewhere classy so you can wear that again. He'll be dreaming about you in that outfit for the next few days

Idia

You two became best buddies and soon partners when you two discovered your love for gaming and anime. He joked about doing a couple cosplay together, saying it would be cute. However, he had no confidence in this ever happening, hell he can't even cosplay himself (or so he thinks). You decided to challenge this though

Idia showed up in some regular clothing, something that the character in his Isekai anime wore. He wasn't sure if you were actually going to show up as the mythical character or so, but then he heard a crowd hollering and clapping around someone. They were chanting the name of the character that you were cosplaying, which meant one thing: it was you.

"Y-y/n?" he pushes around in the crowd, trying to not freak out at how close everyone is. However, when he sees you, his hair almost completely blazes the building. You look exactly like the character, even the clothing was the complete opposite of your aesthetic but you nailed it! He just stood there, wide eyed and completely awed

You have to snap him out of it and take him back to a more open area because he's so surprised. He has a hard time talking to you, fumbling over words and expressing how cool you look in the cosplay. He smiles awkwardly, asking if you wanted to go see the merch booths in another hall. Taking his hand, you two walk around the convention

Idia is blushing hard during the entire convention. If you tease him about it he'll be super embarrassed. He's really proud and grateful to have a partner like you who can not only look amazing but also be the kindest person he's ever met. At the end, he'll shyly tell you he would love to see you in a cosplay again soon

Ace

He was fully joking when he said you would look cooler in flashier clothes. Putting a bet that you would never change your clothes, he said he would buy you dinner at a nice restaurant if you did manage to wear something flashy.

Ace didn't expect the school to be turned upside down when you showed up on a school event in what Cater described was "a slay outfit." He ran over and saw a crowd of first years pointing and whispering excitedly around the corner. Ace thought there was no way it would be you, he knew you weren't going to want to step out of your comfort zone

He was wrong. He was soooo wrong. His jaw dropped when you came into his view; your hair was shining, your clothes were slightly fitting but looked beautiful on you, and your accessories complimented the whole outfit. You could've challenged Vil with your beauty

"O-Oh hey! Y/n! Damn you look great!" he said, trying to hide that he was blushing and being overjoyed at seeing you in the coolest look ever. He asks if you were also attending the event as a fashion show contestant, and he was right. Not only that, you ended up fully winning the competition after the entire school of boys went crazy over your looks haha

Ace ends up agreeing to the deal, but he still teases you along the way. "You should wear like this more often, it's super cute" he'll whisper while you two are walking downtown, pulling you closer. He wants you to be flustered because he was totally red in the face when he first saw you. He'll be fanboying over that one look for a long time haha

[christiansorrell]

TTRPG Read-Through: Patchwork World

Here is a read-through I did last year (originally posted on Twitter) of one of the most unique PbtA games I've ever read: Patchwork World by Aaron King! - Christian

Credits up first. I know a lot of these folks and they are really cool! Excited to dig into this. I've heard good things, and it's been a while since I've read or played any Powered by the Apocalypse.

This is a cool, strong set up for me. I really like settings that ask characters to face a changing world and either take up change themselves or work to restore the old way of things. It's a headspace I find myself in a lot IRL these days so it's fun to explore.

I'm interested to see how the no stats, no playbooks angle of this game works, considering playbooks are typically such a staple of PbtA games.

Standard three-tired success, mixed success, fail forward resolution for rolls here and questions on the moves determine your bonus to the roll. Easy peasy. +2 is the max bonus.

Other types of rolls are described here. Interested to see how they come into play. I also love clocks and use them in pretty much every game I run so it's nice to see those laid out here too.

We just love a lil guy, don't we folks?

A good chunk of the opening here is spent on laying out a lot of solid foundations of roleplaying generally. It feels like a book (so far) that would work for entirely new players. It doesn't feel essential for me, but I never mind a game that supports varied experience levels.

Character creation is wide open, especially since there aren't playbooks and the text stresses that character creation is very much worldbuilding because of this. Fate-like concepts and tags are in here too which are things I generally enjoy. I like the Drawback mechanic.

Moves are in the playback I set in the other room so I'm gonna go grab those. You get two chosen moves and everyone has access to a number of default moves. You've got three other life/XP things to keep track of too. I'm especially interested in Hex.

There are a lot of moves! They seem quite varied and often very weird, fitting well with the titular patchwork world. You can have a duck's slick soul to dodge more easily or a magical space suit or speak to birds or be good at cartography. Overwhelming, but in an exciting way.

You also choose a community as a party. While PCs all have their original homelands (before the end of the old worlds), you know have a community that gets its own little sheet. This is a cool reshaping of the Gangs from Blades. I also like how the community can change over time.

Coming back to a PbtA game after months of more OSR-minded stuff, I think a lot of what these games contain are things that experienced players would say you could just do in any game at any time that it makes sense in the story, but I do find value in stating what's possible.

Esp since many players come to games with artificial limits on their options (whether that's from video games, more traditional RPGs, etc.). I just think good GMing here requires making sure that the players don't limit themselves just to the bevy of explicit options either.

GM moves (mostly to guide the response to failed rolls). I really think the community aspect of this set up is one of the biggest appeals to me so far. That and the wild list of moves, which I'm sure makes for amazing parties of characters.

I always feel like it's never something I should be in my own writing (for some probably unnecessary reason), but I enjoy the first-person, casual writing style throughout the book. Makes for a very chill read.

Good to see this game employs the Branson Reese style of NPC naming.

Stress acts as a single catch-all health and challenge rating for NPCs. Ideally, I'd hope this would help lead to the PCs approaching encounters with more than just violence.

Sections like this are what I'm referring to when I say this book feels very friendly to new players. It's got little anecdotes and thoughts like this throughout.

Look, it's been a while since I've seen A Christmas Story but... it didn't have ghosts in it right?

There's a sample adventure in the back (which I'll skip for this read-through) plus loads of random tables. Some wonderfully bizarre stuff in the characters and faction tables. Really gives you a good idea for how gonzo you can go with the setting.

Love these two in particular

Optional rules include hard mode (which I just think is kind of funny to see in PbtA, but could be cool if you lean heavy into the post-apoc setting) and some optional moves. I like that some moves focus on romance, something I enjoy IRL but never think to focus on in games.

I was wondering why this was the sixth edition!

That's all for the book itself. Going back to the packet to dig into the things I missed. Some expected bits in here but always one or two unique options I really enjoy. Leaking hex is cool (and could have some troubling cascade effects in certain situations).

I definitely wish, at least in sitting down to read like this, that the contents of the player packet was also in the book itself. I think PbtA has this tendency of leading to loads of pages on the table, but it can make them very easy to pick up and play or to learn as you play.

That element is definitely here, but I think the vast number of wide-ranging moves and the excitement that would drum up in my player group would more than makeup for that initial overwhelming feel of "whoa, that's a lot of papers out on the table".

Overall, it's the most I've wanted to play a game in this style in a while. I like that the base setup for the world is very much up to the players to determine via the characters they make. I like that PCs here will probably feel unlike any other folks have played before.

The community aspect feels like where I'd want to center my story around, as a player. Seeing that shift and change over time feels like it would be very rewarding and would help lean into the "the old world is dead, what do we want the new world to look like?" theme I enjoy.

Because Aaron King is cool and recently hit a lot of Twitter followers, Patchwork Worlds is now Pay-what-you-want over on Itch.

I'm not sure if physical copies are readily available. For full disclosure (guess I should have said this up front), I got this copy for free from Aaron! Not for the purposes of this thread or anything, just for fun a while back.

Thanks for reading more ramblings from me! If you like to do that sort of thing, check out my newsletter - Missives from the MeatCastle. It's got writings on my work, cool stuff I've run across the web in the last month, and exclusive rpg stuff! https://meatcastle.substack.com

[milgram-tournament]

MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 2, Match 3 MAGIC vs. MEME

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for MAGIC:

MAGIC MY BELOVED MAGIC!!! Its one of the best MVs in the entire series, even including T2. Magic is visually stunning and has some fantastic art direction but also is very clever in how it conveys its themes and ideas. Magic doesn't really hide anything from you, not really. It's all symbolic but it Tells You Things. It shows you the abuse, it shows you the cat. There's a fun little relationship going on here where, In Magic. Amane's pain and suffering isn't taken seriously by the people around her and the Audience we are discouraged to take it at face value due to the fictionalized nature of Magic. It's so cool. I'm so fond of the song as well, it's one of the best in the series purely cause of the Layers in it. The implications of this Inability to be good is seeped into Magic. Amane knows this isn't reality, Magic knows it's a show, she watches it at the end. And it's so Sad to me that even in her fictionalized happy world she Cannot be a good girl. It's a standard completely out of reach for her and that idea is just conveyed so well visually.

Im not even talking about the goddamn cat yet- the cat symbolism goes Deep. That cat is HER it has the same wounds Amane has in Purge March. I- I cant talk about the intertextuality of Purge March and Magic here this is Magic propaganda only- I- there's so much good stuff to Magic. I Re watched it over and over again. It has some the Best Writing and Visual Communication in Milgram and I will Die on this Hill.

---

shoutout to magic for having pretty props AND being vague as fuck about the crime! diversity win!

seriously though amane looks SO cute in it! the mv has such a pretty and colorful style and even with that it's able to show the horrors of what amane went through.

adding onto my last point. that scene where the cat is hyperventilating and you see the camera shaking???? that scene where the mascots find amane helping the cat and they're all standing over her? CHILLS. im repeating myself but the fact that they were able to portray the awful things amane went through in a genuinely emotional way while still keeping the cute cartoon look is soo impressive

there are SO many layers to itill the entire cartoony style making it look like a tv show… utilizing the cartoony effects and bright colors to show amane downplaying her own pain… the transformation after she gets punished barely changing anything to show just how manipulated she was from the start… ueueueue

ALSO ALSO ALSO THE SCENE AT THE END WITH AMANE STARING AT THE SCENE? OHHH ITS SO GOOD it adds such a feeling of dread and reminds you on top of this whole thing that all of this is truly horrifying! something is going on here!

this song is so catchy it gets stuck in my head CONSTANTLY

"Dear wise one, Am I worthy? Is it ok to spoil myself?" AMANE... UEUEUUEUE

the little ding sound effects in the instrumental?????

amanes voice is ADORABLE

THE INSTRUMENTAL IN THAT PART WHERE SHES HELPING THE CAT HAS THAT GODLY TYPE SOUND YOUD TYPICALLY ASSOCIATE WITH CHURCHES AND STUFF AND I DONT KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN IT PROPERLY BUT JUST RELISTEN TO IT AND YOU WILL KNOW WHAT I MEAN. ITS SUCH A NEAT DETAIL

i could go on about this mv for days but i am not a theorist unfortunately. just. magic sweep

Propaganda for MEME:

"MeMe is fantastic because it plays off the audience’s assumptions about Mikoto as a character and tells a “double story”. There’s layers to it and it’s deliberately deceptive in the way it presents the events out of order. Even the instrumentals themselves tell a story. The shift from piano in the second chorus climax is so good - and the way they combine in the last chorus, plus the addition of a violin culminates the song perfectly."

---

"For propaganda: I love meme so much because even the music alone tells as whole story. It goes from heavy metal to calm to heavy metal to calm and that happens a few times and then there’s an epic and creepy intermission with an amazing guitar and a scary of sound of Mikoto’s heavy breathing. And then the psychedelic music and BAM the final chorus. The final chorus of meme just gives me the absolute chills. Like it’s the calmer chorus we see earlier but with epic symphonic metal and an amazing build up and climax like it’s perfectly encapsulates a story through music alone I just love it so much. Also it’s literally called meme lmao."

---

"I could go on about the motifs in MeMe - like identity loss, living and dying, dreaming etc. It's a song, more than with any other character, about the inner self and what hides from the surface. Of the fear that comes with one's identity and place in the world being challenged and crumbling. The intricate designs on the tarot cards have so much depth to them"

[sociopathicartist]

heyy!! I was wondering if you could do a fluff (romantic) oneshot in which Sans (UT) has a gothic gf who is actually really sweet, kind and caring towards others despite the way she expresses herself. I'm just really curious as to how that dynamic will play out in their dating life ^_^

LUV LUV LUV UR WRITING BTW

hey! thank you for requesting, i’m gothic in style so i loved getting requested this! i scrambled through a lot of ideas, but thought doing this in a letter format would be the best for showing the full dynamic that sans loves instead of cramming tons of info into a single scenario one shot. hope you enjoy it!

baby,

i’m not too sure why i’m writing to you this time. i guess all the smiles and loving comments you give me whenever i write to you have finally got ‘under my skin’, and i’m writing you another letter right now, probably to be slipped into one of your bags or under your pillow for you to find.

i know a lot of people give you weird looks for the way you dress. i know the barrage of compliments you get when we go anywhere out in public annoys you, but i also know that you accept every compliment anyway despite wanting to be left alone because you don’t want to be mean, and you don’t want to fall under the stereotype that people place on you by just giving a small smile instead of a loud, outgoing thank you.

you’ve never said that to me directly, but i’ve been with you long enough to know how you feel.

i never really understood why people thought you were scary or mean for the way you look, figures they’d think the walking skeleton was scarier, or the seven-foot robot they watch on tv who has a chainsaw that can come out of him at will.

i never thought you looked scary, and i never had the fear that you were going to insult me whenever i asked you for directions down the street where we first met. why would i look at you differently for the way you look whenever everyone looks so different all the time? isn’t it a normal thing to be different?

even though you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen (even if you turned into a worm, which yes, i’d still love you), it wouldn’t matter to me if you woke up tomorrow and decided to change your entire look. your looks aren’t what matters to me, even though i do like the cool eyeliner you wear or the t-shirts you have with bones on them.

i’ve never been loved by someone like the way i am by you.

i can’t get your alluring voice out of my head, and every time i roll over in bed to see the silly letters and doodles you’ve given me that i have pinned to my wall, i can’t help but be reminded of how much i love you. (even though i never forget, baby.)

it makes me so happy to see how much you hang out with papyrus, and how genuinely you treat him. i love seeing you chill out with our friends, and how happy and relaxed you look. i love how you’ve never made me feel dumb for not knowing certain human traditions or cultures, and how you just explain them to me and give me easy reminders when i forget something important.

even when your black lipstick leaves kiss stains on my skull that are hard to rub out, and when you steal my jacket to wear whenever you’re upset or missing me, i’ll never take away from how amazing you are.

maybe i’m gushing a bit too much. it’s a lot easier to write this all out rather than say it directly to your pretty face.

i just want you to know that i’ll never look at you differently for how you dress and that i’ll never be embarrassed and ask you to tone down your makeup or outfit for when we go out. i can’t wait to hang out tomorrow and wrap you in a tight hug, listening to your pretty voice as you tell me about how your day was.

i think i’m going to save the other mushy stuff for a later time. i just wanted you to be able to read this when someone gives you a weird comment or makes a snarky joke. maybe it’ll help you remember that some short skeleton out there thinks you’re the coolest (and hottest) creature to walk on this earth.

i love you, and i’ll be thinking of you always.

- sans.

[the-depths-au]

FAQ

*this post continues heavy totk spoilers

How did it start?

A lot of people started posting some really cool art of a TotK ending where Zelda returns as a hybrid dragon creature thing. I saw a few that called it a “bad” ending and I noticed she was often portrayed with dominantly human-features just like, with horns or a tail, or the purple eyes, etc. I love to play video games(clearly) and I enjoy the challenge of seeing various endings, not just “secret endings” (think Heavy Rain, Until Dawn, The Witcher 3, Drakengard- anyone else play this?) I got to thinking about how her coming back didn’t really like a true “bad ending”. To me, a bad ending, really, would be one in which she didn’t get to magically, miraculously come back in any form. A bad ending to me would be Mineru’s warning held true. And in doing so, it would become The Legend of Zelda because she becomes the stuff of myths. Of true Legend. Fulfilling destiny (botw-era and the series as a whole). My brain sort of took off from there regarding the implications this would have on Hyrule and specially, our boy Link.

How could you! A Bad ending? Is this story at least hurt and eventual comfort??? Does it have a happy ending??

I could tag this hurt and comfort, but usually people who read these types of stories have certain expectations of what “comfort” is (and that’s okay!). Same with a “happy” ending. I don’t need stories to be wrap up in a bow with warmth to enjoy them. Honestly, some of the stories that have touched me the most over the years have had “sad” endings/negative character arcs/tragedy. That being said, I don’t particularly enjoy pure whump, either. What I feel is most important and what I am to do with this story, is to make any suffering meaningful. With purpose. And hopefully- maybe- you’ll see the “comfort” that is possible even in these types of stories.

Wait! So Zelda remains a dragon?

Yes. They defeat the demon dragon. Rauru and Sonia appear in a silent thanks, then they disappear and Link falls from the sky alone into the water. The Light Dragon continues along in her flight above him.

Link is also the only one who can see/has ever seen the Light Dragon.

Are there any other major changes from TotK?

It follows the game pretty closely. It’s just hard to say exactly what is in this story from TotK because there is just so much. In BotW, I headcanon Link took his time. He doesn’t remember anything. He is alone, lost, and the world is a vast, broken place. Therefore, it is plausible/ realistic in my head for all the side questions to be done prior to the ending being reached. In TotK, especially with the headcanon he and Zelda were together in the time between BotW and TotK, I had a hard time imagining Link would waste much time on anything unnecessary to save Zelda. So, with this in mind, I’ve had to justify the side questions to include in the story. Link’s journey is a bit different than my own. Whereas I actually spent 80% of my playthrough exploring the depths, this Link only went down when necessary. Meaning many of the lightroots have not been unlocked and he only has part of the armor of the depths. In the Linktober and the early concept, he has the entire set but this has been changed for the main comic.

How far after the events of TotK does this take place?

Five years.

Is it completely planned out?

Yes. I have a complete rough story outline done. It’s 17 chapters. I am anticipating some editing as I go, but regardless, it’s a big project. A huge shout out to @zeldaelmo and @fioreofthemarch for helping me get the story set. They are both phenomenal writers for the LoZ fandom so be sure to check them out!

What happened to the comic?

I made the decision to tell this story (initially) in writing. I have a very specific style in mind for this story as a full comic and honestly, I just don't feel like my artistic ability and overall proficiency is where I want it to be at this time. I'm still learning! I will be continuing to post art, concept art, and some comic panels here as I go and eventually, I would love to adapt the story into a full comic, but for now, I'll be telling the main story in writing.

How long have you been drawing?

I’ve been drawing all my life. Just for fun, although I took a few classes in school. Digitally, self-taught, since fall 2022. Still very new to this with lots to learn! I have a minor in creative writing and feel much more confident and comfortable with that.

Feel free to send me a DM with questions anytime! I plan to update this periodically.

Last updated 2/26/24

[zzcrypticcoyotezz]

Read your Ian Malcom Nonbinary/genderfluid and now I can't get it out of my head. IT'S SUCH A COOL HEADCANNON THAT I SEE HAPPENING. Can you rant more about it, please? give more scenarios of what your take is LITERALLY ANYTHING GO FERAL. That is all thank you. Also Trans Alan?! yoooooooooo. Love the concept of Ian helping him come out more too. Just GRAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

aaaaaa thank you so much!!! AND YES i would be happy to! you're the first person to ever send me a question, i'm so excited my posts are starting to pick up and people like the dumb things i write haha. i've had this rotating in my brain like a microwave for a while so enjoy! doesn't make much sense with my headcanon being that malcolm messes with his gender after the events of JP, but i've been really wanting to reimagine the first scene of them together in the plane and make it extra fruity.

- - - -

"So... Are you a man, or a woman, then?" Alan asks, his eyes studying the mathematician carefully. He'd heard of Dr. Ian Malcolm and his work on chaos theory, sure. But he had no idea who the man himself (person?) was. He had absolutely no idea what to expect when he and Ellie boarded the plane, and he still doesn't know.

Ellie, gentle but still firmly elbowed Grant, giving him a glare. "Alan, you can't ask somebody you just met that question!" She whispered, sounding like a mother upset with her unruly son interrupting Sunday school.

Ian laughed, his sharp features curling into a smirk. He loved toying with the paleontologists, supposed men and women of science yet they couldn't wrap their head around someone defying societal gender norms. He leaned forward, his voice smooth, his long fingers gently pushing down the rim of his dark sunglasses revealing his big brown eyes, the windows to the soul some might say, and the makeup he had done that morning. Just something simple and easy to miss, just like his nails painted black or shoes secretly bought from the women's section, but undeniably himself, his style, his expression. He responded, his voice smooth with a hint of flirtation.

"I'm whatever you want me to be."

Alan sputtered. "I- uh, wh... What? What do you mean? That doesn't make any sense!" And Ellie couldn't help but laugh at his confusion. His voice grew quieter. "Pardon me if my wording isn't right, this isn't my expertise, but are you gay? One of those... Uh... Queers? I have no problem with any of it, I'm just looking for clarification."

Dr. Malcolm laughed. "Uhh... I, Well, uh, you could- you could say that, I suppose." The two still looked bewildered. "Here, uh, how about we look at it this way. Gender is.... Hmm... Something, uh, humans made up. A social construct. It doesn't truly matter what clothes we wear or what we put on our skin or how we style our hair. Life's too short to worry about that kind of thing. I'm just me. I'm not a man, or-or a woman, I'm a human being. And we're living things, we can't be put in- organized into a box. Life will always find a way to defy expectations."

Ellie's brows rose. "I actually think I understand. I've never really thought about any of this before, but it makes sense to me." She looked over at Alan. His face wrinkled in deep concentration, grappling with some kind of debate going on inside his head. After a moment, he finally responded.

"I'm sorry- but I'm still confused. How can you not be a man or a woman? The clothes thing, sure, okay, I get it." Before Dr. Malcolm had a chance to answer, Ellie spoke up.

"Just look at nature, Alan. There are definitely more than two genders or sexes. For fungi, there can be tens of thousands! And many animals can even change their gender or sex by themselves. Humans, we aren't separate from nature, we're a part of it. If Dr. Malcolm doesn't fit with either box then I don't see why they can't go past the binary."

Alan was starting to understand, but was still wrestling with a lot of concepts in his head. Things in his life he'd never told anyone before, things Ellie has no idea of. Alan Grant was not born as Alan Grant. Alan Grant wasn't born a man. He knew from the beginning that he wasn't a woman and he could never feel comfortable as one, and he was now dead to his family as they couldn't accept that. They'd rather have a "normal daughter" over a "transsexual for a son". He would lose his career if this came to light. He hasn't spoken to his parents since the day he left home at 18. They returned every letter he wrote.

Yet here now, in front of him, was someone who completely defied expectations. Someone who didn't care what others think. Someone who actively broke the rules. And this wasn't just anyone, but a world renowned mathematician! If a man, no, person of science can feel so comfortable with this part of themself... Then maybe he wasn't some freak of nature or mentally ill. That this is actually a normal human experience, that he wasn't alone or some kind of outlier. His expression softened.

"You're right, Ellie. I... I think I understand now. I apologize, Dr. Malcolm." His voice had a slight shake. Memories were flooding to his mind, memories he didn't want to remember, memories of his youth, and after he was kicked out of his parents' life. How much he'd fought to become the man he is today. How alone he felt, throughout so much of his life. He took in a deep breath, rubbed his temples and wiped his eyes, then cleared his throat, he held out his hand in a greeting. "I'd like to start over."

Ian smiled warmly, reciprocating the handshake. He felt like they have more in common than Grant would like to admit, and things were going to be alright.

-

[northwindow]

hey julia !! hope ur doing well... am asking u [instead of messaging!] this bc i imagine u might say some rly cool stuff that other ppl would love to see also lol... but i just wondered if u had any basic tips or resources about like developing a (short-term) writing routine? the context is not fiction writing but like academic but i feel like my academic writing is a creative practice so yeah, hope that makes sense! hope its okay to ask ! have a lovely day <3

hi anna marie! you ask the very question i need answered for myself… i am in a very slow place creatively so i feel silly to be giving advice! but i’ve been thinking about how to get things flowing again. very basic but helpful to me:

getting feedback from other people at a regular interval - i am very shy and this can feel like pulling teeth but it’s so worth it, i am always amazed how much it pushes me to finish things i would have otherwise languished on forever

reading a lot (of course) - it helps me to read a bit directly before starting to write. but also being intentional about it and having a defined list of inspiring works… i recently listened to david naimon interview joanna hedva and he asked them which writers were “squatting over” their latest book which i thought was a good way of putting it! i would like to curate a "squatters shelf" to dip into for inspiration on whatever project i'm working on

distinguishing between writing vs. editing time - this is hard for me because i am a very "edit as you go" type person but sometimes it's stifling! in another interview with tommy pico i heard him talk about his writing routine as very everything-goes, yes-and, accumulation-focused style on monday-thursday and then friday is reserved for finding what was good and refining it. i have always wanted to try this!

incorporating a degree of controlled randomness into the routine - whether it be randomizing where you physically work, what part of the project you work on, or brainstorming new ideas, i really enjoy drawing an option "out of a hat" (i hope that makes sense) at some stage of the writing process. i know i am going to be surprised and challenged by a guiding force even in a small way and want to see what’s going to happen.

something that has helped me a lot with routine in general is “habit stacking” i.e. trying to bundle a new task into something you already do regularly - i have not thought about how to do this with writing, but i have successfully bundled reading into drinking my morning coffee every day and it has changed my life significantly

also: i really like that you specified a short-term routine! i think temporary routines keep things interesting, help mark time, and more fully immerse me in things, so academia might be onto something with semesters etc… i am curious about trying to have a self-imposed writing “season” followed by an “off season” where i chill and eat peaches and watch the sopranos every night or whatever without guilt. (one might say i am chilling right now lol… but it’s definitely guilty chilling!) i also love that you see your academic project as a creative pursuit, i hope you are having a really fruitful time so far! ❤️