#but its a good format for a fic

[hedghost]

maya le tissier | love languages

maya tells you she loves you in just about every way she can, all day, every day. she just doesn't say it in so many words. it takes you a while to catch on.

not enough maya appreciation on this app - enough is enough

word count: 8.7k

quality time

the empty bottle of wine stands sentry on the coffee table. you watch as the low glow of the tv reflects in the dregs left in your finished glasses. the volume is too low to hear what's being said, the show you were previously watching reduced to a steady background hum, but neither of you mind; you'd both stopped paying attention long ago.

you glance up from your book momentarily, your eyes flickering over the figure at the other end of the sofa. maya is similarly occupied; one hand softly tracing the words as she reads, the other absentmindedly tangling back and forth in mocha’s fur as he stretches across her feet. her hair hangs loose around her face, the lamp beside her casting her half in shadow and half in warm, orange light. mocha looks up at you, but maya doesn’t.

your attention shifts back to your book, and you settle back into familiarity. this nightly routine is one you love; the shared moment of respite from your busy schedules. it’s getting late though, and the words are starting to blur together on the page. you don’t want to disturb the peace just yet.

it’s only when you find your eyes running over the same sentence for the third time that you shift. the old sofa creaks a little as you stretch, and you let out an exaggerated groan to match it as you stand. maya laughs a little, but she doesn’t lift her gaze from the page. if she had she would have caught the way you poked your tongue out at her, and probably would have responded in kind.

maya cooked tonight, and so you begin to dutifully gather the empty dishes. it’s only when you’re arms deep in soapy water that you hear maya stand too. her book thuds against the coffee table, and mocha lets out a low bark.

“just taking the dog out,” maya calls, and you hum in response. the latch clicks. you reach a soapy hand out of the water to flick the kettle on. it’s all part of the routine.

they aren’t gone long, and their return is soon heralded by the gentle patter of mocha’s claws against the hardwood. maya pads into the kitchen, pulls two mugs and two teabags out of the cupboard, pours the water, now boiled, then hauls herself onto the worktop beside you.

“i was thinking of going on a dog walk in the woods tomorrow, you wanna come?”

“yeah sure, are the others coming?”

it’s a running joke that the 'unoffical manchester united dog walker's club' is the apex of the team’s social ladder. forget the coffee mornings, the brunches, the team nights out - if you wanted a way in for true bonding, you had to own a dog. it was common on days off for a group of the girls to get together to walk their dogs, with the intensity ranging from leisurely stroll to outright hike, depending on who had planned it. you’d learnt the hard way to politely decline when leah chose the route.

sure you didn’t technically own a dog, but having been roommates with maya for the best part of a year, and best friends for far longer, mocha was basically in shared custody. you regularly tagged along, as an honourary member of a tight-knit group.

it’s why you weren’t expecting maya to shrug and shake her head.

“i haven’t asked - i figured we could just go together. we haven’t hung out just us in a while.”

you chose not to mention that the two of you spent almost every night together in your flat, or that you’d gotten lunch together just two days ago. instead you grinned and nodded, drying your hands and taking the cup of tea that maya held out to you.

“sounds good,” you sip gently at your tea - before spitting it out with a yelp, “fuck, that’s hot!”

maya laughs brightly at you, even though you do this pretty much every day, “yeah no shit, i just made it - be patient for once!” you stick your tongue out at her, and this time she does see it, and she does return the gesture. it’s childish, sure, but your friendship had started in the youth age groups, and, although you were responsible adults now, some things never change.

you lean back against the counter as you wait for the tea to cool, and the two of you begin chatting a little while longer about not much at all. eventually maya jumps down, rinsing her mug and heading to her room, mocha in tow. you follow her, your own cup only half-drunk, flicking off the lights as you do so.

“night y/n,” maya says softly as she pushes her door open, lingering slightly in the doorway. she watches you clumsily shoulder open your own door, opposite hers, waiting for you to reply.

“goodnight maya.”

—-

maya was already up when you emerged the next morning, early mornings always coming to her more easily than they did to you. she always looked so put together when she woke up, a stark contrast to your disheveled appearance. not that either of you cared - those boundaries of self-consciousness had long been washed away between the two of you. it was only maya after all.

“there’s coffee in the pot,” she mumbled, chewing her words around her cereal.

“thanks, you’re an angel.”

“you ready to head out in a bit?” maya asked, having now swallowed her mouthful. you groaned a little in jest, but maya’s bright eyes shone with humour, and you nodded.

“sure, sure - although you know it’s called a day off for a reason?”

“you agreed to it, plus you’ve had like a two hour lie-in.”

“i know, i’m actually feeling very well-rested.” you placed your cereal down, seating yourself across from maya with a grin, “it’s just more fun to moan at you.”

“glad to hear it,” maya smirked, taking another spoonful. she knew you well enough to know that your moaning was only ever lighthearted, and she was perfectly happy to indulge you. you liked that about her, liked how easy it was to settle into that playful teasing whenever you were around each other, which in fairness, was most of the time.

---

you walked barely a half-step behind maya, eyes focused on the imprints her shoes left in the rain-softened ground, but ears firmly locked onto her latest anecdote. she turned slightly to look at you as she talked, and when you laughed, she did too. she looked so comfortable when she laughed, the way her eyes crinkled and her head tilted back. walking alongside her, you felt equally light. she paused to fall in step with you, still smiling. the two of you made eye contact, and you couldn't help the way your smile grew. maya looked away, fiddling with the dog lead she held in her hands.

"by the way, the girls were talking about having dinner tonight at millie's, do you wanna go?" maya asked, eyes flickering over the trees that surrounded you, before eventually landing back on you. you shrugged, giving maya a guilty smirk.

"is it bad that i can't really be bothered?" you scrunched your nose up, but maya smirked back again, shaking her head. maybe you were imagining it, but her posture almost seemed to loosen, as if she were relieved. you didn't ponder it long though, because the splitsecond thought faded as soon as maya spoke, and your attention diverted back to solely her.

"no, me too!" she grinned conspiratorially, "i'm glad it's not just me - i love them and everything, but we see them literally all the time, i kind of just want a quiet night in."

"well, you see me all the time - better not be getting sick of me now le tissier?" you raised an eyebrow playfully. with anyone else, maya's words might have worried you, might have played on your insecurites of being too much, too overbearing. with anyone else, your reply might've been edging on serious, might've taken every inch of your body not to let your worries seep into your voice, but this was maya. you didn't have to worry about that with her, and so your tone was light, purely joking. maya's reply confirmed as much.

"oh god, like you wouldn't believe," maya countered back with a grin, before she cupped her hands around her mouth and called out to the empty woods around you, "somebody help! this fucking stalker won't leave me alone!"

the sound echoed through the trees, and you nudged her with your shoulder, hard enough to send her stumbling, feet slipping off the path and into the muddy ditch. you laughed, before wrapping a hand around her bicep and pulling her back to walk beside you. all this time, maya's grin never wavered, and she looked up at you, eyes shining.

"you’re such a dickhead, these trainers were clean earlier."

"that's on you for wearing white shoes to the woods to be honest."

maya rolled her eyes, before calling for mocha to come out of the same mud she'd just stepped into. you loved days like this, so familiar, so comfortable, where you and maya just slipped into playful teasing. it was this easy banter, the kind that comes with years of friendship, that made hanging out with maya so, well, easy.

"seriously, though," maya's voice was softer as she looked over at you, a little shyer. "i could never get sick of you - you're different." this side of her you loved too, the warm, gentle soul, always willing to extend a hand of comfort, or an olive branch.

"i could never get sick of you either maya."

she smiled back at you, and it was like the sun got a little brighter.

---

the rest of your day off had passed similarly, with shared smiles, inside jokes, and teasing banter, until you and maya found yourself collapsed next to each other on your shared sofa. the same positions as always - you curled up against one arm, maya reclined comfortably against the other, legs outstretched.

maya picked up her book, immediately immersed, but yours remained closed on your lap. you snuck a look at her, chewing your lip in thought, replaying the day in your mind.

it had been nice - as it always was with maya. you appreciated it, the quiet time with her, where you never had to do much except exist. maya gave you that - the freedom to just be.

your musing was interrupted by the harsh buzz of maya's phone against the coffee table.

"pass me that?" maya murmured, too engrossed in her book to even look up. you reached over, not without an exaggerated groan to hint at your displeasure at being made to move. maya kicked you as you held out the phone to her.

"shut up - can you just read it to me?"

you groaned again at being given the laborious task of unlocking her phone. opening her messages though, your attention piqued a little. the text from mary was innocuous at best, but it was maya's earlier messages that caught your eye.

"well," maya looked up at you expectantly, cutting you off from your thoughts, "who was it?"

"oh uh," you internally shook yourself a little, still a little confused at the messages, "just mary, she said, uh, she'll see you tomorrow."

"oh cool, thanks y/n," maya turned back to her book with a smile, a preoccupied air clouding her words. silently, you clicked maya's phone shut and placed it down, thoughts firing. you were a little perplexed - maya was never one to turn down plans, and especially not with made up excuses. she loved getting coffee with mary; they did it all the time. or at least, you realised, they used to.

you tried to think back to the last time maya had met mary for coffee. now you thought about, it must have been a while. your schedules were jam packed, and you and maya had spent pretty much every day off recently together. first you wondered if they'd had a falling out, but from the way they were texting you dismissed it quickly.

then it occurred to you, just briefly, that maybe maya was one to turn to down plans, and maybe you just hadn't noticed it, because she never did it with you. you shook your head. that wouldn't have made any sense. the dog walk earlier had probably just been one of the errands maya had mentioned, and she'd just asked you along for company.

yeah, you thought, slowly picking up your book, that was probably it.

words of affirmation

the thoughts flickered in your head the next morning, as maya picked up an extra coffee on your way to training. they stirred a little more as you watched maya interact with mary, searching for any irregularites, but finding none. they resurfaced again over the course of several days, as you noticed maya turn down coffee, then lunch, then dinner with various teammates. all in favour of just hanging out at home.

but this was maya, you thought, so she was a homebody, so what? who were you to judge, given that usually you'd also gladly take a calm night in at your flat over a hectic night out with the girls. the thoughts faded pretty quickly after that, and by the time sunday rolled around, they were pretty much nonexistent.

your attention focused instead on the game ahead of you. as with every week, the nerves seemed to roll inside you like waves cresting over one another, instead of neatly against the shore. it was something you'd never quite managed to shake, the overwhelming feeling of stress before a match, leaving you feeling disjointed, all jagged around the edges. it was fine usually, something you'd come to deal with. you'd learnt to take those feelings and channel them into fire.

nobody's perfect though. sometimes, you needed a helping hand. and true to form, maya could always tell when. no man is an island, as they say, and there was maya, always ready to leap into those stormy waters, paddle in hand, lifejacket on.

"hey you."

"hey," you sighed, looking over at maya as she sat down heavily next to you. you could tell maya didn't need a second look to understand how you were feeling. you gave a half-heartened smile.

"sorry," you murmured, trying to shake yourself out of it, "i'm all-"

"jittery?" maya filled in, soft smile gracing her features, "yeah, i know."

you nodded begrudgingly, taking a deep breath in. you wanted to speak, to explain more, but it was as though maya sensed you couldn't quite do it. she stepped in.

"hey, you got this okay? you always do."

you opened your mouth, but maya's gaze found yours, and you found yourself believing her. you were never really one for eye contact, but something about maya made it easy. maybe it was how kind her eyes looked, how knowing; like every thought or worry you'd ever had was reflected back in them - broken down, understood, seen. maybe it was just because they were pretty.

"nerves are good, remember? they mean you want to do well," maya echoed your mantra back to you, and you listened. words always sounded better coming from her.

"i know you'll play well, because you always do. you're a great player, you're tough, you're smart, you're good. there's no one else i'd rather have next to me on the pitch. the team trusts you. i trust you."

you nodded, pulling maya in for a hug. you closed your eyes, breathing her in. her breath tickled your neck as she whispered, "and if it goes wrong, i've got your back. always."

"thanks," you smiled, though she couldn't see it, "love you."

maya nodded, pulling back with a smile. her hand lingered on your thigh as you met her eyes once again. "let's smash it."

---

you did, in fact, smash it. the game went well, a perfect result - clean sheet and a win - and right at the heart of it, was you and maya. maya and you, ever solid, ever present. she was right, as she always was.

your defensive partnership had seeded itself from the early ages, when the two of you were young, shy kids in the england youth groups. it had blossomed and strengthened through your brazen teens, and now, finally together at club level, it was a force to be reckoned with.

you were both good players individually, but your closeness off the pitch was what cemented it as brilliant. you read each other so well, it was honestly sometimes scary. sometimes it felt like maya knew what you were going to do before you did. you often didn't even have to speak, but you did anyway, because it was maya, and you liked speaking to her. any excuse for a chat.

"see? told you you'd be fine," said maya as she sidled up next to you when you left the pitch. you elbowed her side and laughed.

"just fine? did you see that sick tackle i did?"

"hmm, mine was better," maya winked, and you rolled your eyes, pushing her into the changing rooms with a loud laugh.

---

the day ended as it always did: you and maya (and mocha) on the sofa, too worn out to do much else. today though, the tv was blaring, its sounds interspersed with your laughter and commentary of the godawful show maya had turned on.

"can you believe this shit?" you laughed, turning to look at maya, "why are we watching it?" she rolled her eyes.

"because its funny, shut up."

"and because you fancy the main character." you gave maya a sly smirk, which she returned with an eyeroll.

"maybe..." then she grinned widely, "can you blame me?"

"nah, i get it."

you laughed, reclining back into the sofa. mocha gave you a disgruntled look as you pulled your feet up to rest in maya's lap, nudging him from where he lay. you turned back to the show. okay so maybe you were a little invested now. feeling eyes on you though, you looked back to realise maya hadn't done the same.

"what?" you smiled.

"nothing," if you didn't know better, you'd say maya looked a little sheepish. you weren't sure why. you gave her a questioning look, complete with raised eyebrow, "just zoned out a little."

you shrugged and nodded, half turning back to the tv. maya, however, seemed to want to say more.

"your, uh, your hair looks nice like that," she said. you tried to meet her eyes, but her gaze was back fixed on the tv.

"oh, thanks," you murmured, a little surprised. not at the compliment - maya gave you them all the time - but more at her tone. it was soft, borderline shy. you weren't sure why she was being weird.

"you should wear it down more often," maya looked back at you, and just like that her usual easy smile back, her brief awkwardness now dissipated.

"i mean i would if i could - having it up for training all the time kills my head."

"god same," maya gave an exaggerated whine, and the laughter was back, "i'm not going to have a hairline by the time i'm 25."

---

by the next morning, you barely remembered the compliment, having gone on to spend the rest of the night fixated on that stupid tv show, admittedly only to loudly debate the attractiveness of each character with maya.

it was only when you reflexively went to put your hair up that it crossed your mind again. you made pensive eye contact with yourself in the mirror, before gently placing the hairband down. no particular reason.

it seemed mary had finally managed to corral maya into getting coffee, and so she was nearly out the door by the time you headed into the kitchen for breakfast. digging around in her bag for her car keys, she looked up at you briefly, smiling in small greeting.

"you doing anything today?" she asked, and you shook your head, fully intent on just relaxing on your day off, "i'll be back in a couple hours, shall i pick up a few bits for lunch?"

"sounds good," you nodded, although your attention was very much focused on finding yourself some breakfast first.

"cool," maya shrugged on her jacket hurriedly, only pausing at the door to call back over her shoulder, "that outfit looks really good on you by the way!"

you barely even had time to look up before she was gone.

---

you'd be lying if you said the compliment didn't put a little spring in your step for the rest of the morning. you told yourself it was just the same as any old compliment, but there was a niggling feeling that it was made that much sweeter just because it came from maya. two compliments in two days - you were being spoiled.

although now you thought about it, maybe it wasn't that out of the ordinary. you'd intended to spend your free morning slothing out on the sofa, maybe catching up on the shows you'd missed, or finishing the book you'd been neglecting of late. instead, you found yourself thinking back on your many interactions with maya.

the more you thought, the more you realised just how often maya said nice things to you. for all the two of you teased and joked, you could pick out a dozen examples just this week of maya complimenting you - superficial things like your hair, your clothes, your make-up, but not just that.

on the pitch, you realised, she would frequently offer words of appreciation, calling out that you'd done well in a drill as she ran past you, patting you on the back as she congratulated you on a tackle, a block, a pass. even beyond that, just yesterday in an interview she'd said you were her favourite person to play with. the day before that she'd mentioned how much she loved being around you.

the moments, all seemingly inocuous at the time, now seemed to pile up before your eyes. linking them all together was the warm feeling you felt whenever she'd say something, and the soft smile she'd offer in return. you sipped your coffee slowly, a startling thought dawning on you - were you a compliment whore?

with this newfound information about yourself, you tried to think of compliments you'd been given by others, but surprisingly came up short. with a jolt, you realised you didn't remember because in all honesty, you didn't really care. it was only maya's opinion that mattered.

this realisation was somewhat startling, and you didn't quite know what to do with it. you knew from past experience that you often had a tendency to come up with wild fantasies, to see things that weren't quite there when it came to romance. you shut down the thoughts, refused to think about what it might mean. maya was your best friend, of course you wanted her to think highly of you. it didn't mean anything.

you pushed the thoughts away, locking them up for a rainy day. this is why you shouldn't be left alone - you started thinking. as maya had joked to you many times before; that was dangerous.

the door opened, and maya appeared, laden with bags.

"this doesn't look like just 'a few bits', maya," you grinned, watching her struggle for a second before standing to help.

"shut up," she said, watching as you took the, admittedly heavy, bags and placed them on the counter. she walked past you, squeezing your upper arm in the process, "nice biceps."

you made a playful show of flexing them, and tried not to think about the warm feeling that swelled up inside you. the realisation that you'd do pretty much anything to get her to compliment you again hit you like a slap to the face.

physical touch

thoughts and feelings continued to rattle around inside you for the next few days. now that you'd opened the floodgates, it was getting harder and harder to deny the brewing thoughts that accompanied every single thing maya did. you tried endlessly to push them back down, adamant that you just saw her as a friend. and it worked, if only for a little while.

the thing is, the harder you tried, the more you denied it, maya had this uncanny way of worming her way back into your heart. you supposed it was a side effect of her being just so, well, perfect.

you told yourself it was only because she was your best friend, your, strictly platonic, soulmate. these past few weeks however, try as you might, you couldn't deny that, just maybe, you were developing a crush.

maybe you had been for a while.

you tried to ignore it, but every day you registered a new thing that dragged you down a little deeper. maya could make you smile by just being around you. maya could say exactly what you needed to hear. every word was like a breath of fresh air, every look was warm sunlight, and every touch was a spark of electricity.

and, as you'd recently realised, there was a lot of touching. you and maya were touchy friends, the kind who had no qualms about casual embraces or friendly physicality. you'd never noticed it before, probably because it had never meant anything before, but lately you noticed just how frequently maya sought out your touch.

the first time you'd really registered it, you'd been out at a bar with the girls, celebrating the latest win. you hadn't quite realised the extent of your feelings, still in the early phases of filtering through what they all meant, and steadfastly denying most of them.

the air was warm and stuffy, contributing to that heady feeling of the alcohol catching up with you. you leant against the bar, watching the girls gathered together in a booth, their raucous laughter audible even from where you stood. you tried to ignore how your eyes unconsciously shifted back over to maya, or how her laughter seemed to stand out as louder than the rest.

your thoughts were cut off by a rough hand grazing your waist. you shifted out of the stranger's grasp, but there wasn't much leeway at the packed bar.

"you here alone, sweetheart?" you took another small step back as the man turned to you. his heavy scent of beer and sweat clung in the air, almost suffocating.

"no, i'm with friends, thanks," you muttered, trying to make eye contact with the bartender so you could get your drinks and go.

"i'm sure they wouldn't mind if you found some other company..." his rough hand reached out to touch your hand, and you grimaced, pulling away.

"i'm okay thanks."

"at least let a guy buy a pretty girl a drink."

you were just considering leaving the bar altogether when you felt another arm slink around your waist. this one, however, was soft and slight, and welcome. you sank backwards, letting the familiar smell of vanilla shampoo envelope you.

"she's already got one, thank you." maya's voice was firm, and you let her drag you away, back to the table. she passed you a drink, her arm still comfortably tight around your waist.

"you okay?" she asked, voice low and concerned, as you both sank into your seats. you nodded, trying to regain a bit of clarity.

"yeah thanks, fucking creep," you shot a quick glance over to the bar, where the guy still remained, before looking back into maya's concerned eyes and nodding again, "thanks for the drink."

"no problem - just, stay with me for the rest of the night, yeah?" you nodded, having no intention of doing any different. maya's expression flickered protectively, making her eyes look several shades darker.

it was only a little later, when you were halfway through your drink and had all but forgotten your vile encounter, that you registered that maya still hadn't moved her arm. you were unaware if she even knew herself, the both of you now comfortably drunk. the two of you were pressed up against one another in the booth, her fingers stroking absentmindedly at where your shirt had ridden up. an unbidden shiver ran through you, your sudden awareness making each touch feel like a static shock.

"you okay?" maya must have noticed the way you tensed up, because she turned to you, lazy smile clouded with inebriety. you could only nod. shaking yourself internally, you resolved yourself to dealing with your feelings tomorrow, and sank back into her. you leant heavily into her, missing the way her soft smile grew as you did. maya didn't move her hand all night.

when you woke the next morning, it was to a headache and hazy memories of the early hours. you dragged yourself to lie on the sofa, only after downing some water and painkillers.

maya joined you some time later, looking equally worse for wear. she sluggishly filled her water bottle, before trudging over to the sofa.

"i knew those jagers were a bad move," she groaned.

"i distinctly remember you saying the complete opposite last night," you laughed, opening your arms for her. you didn't think much of it as you did, but when maya collapsed on top of you for a hug, the memories of last night flooded back. you couldn't argue with the warmth that flooded your body as maya nestled on top of you. it was time to accept that you felt more for her than any friend should.

"you should've stopped me," she groaned into your chest, her arms wriggling their way around your back. you swallowed, before deciding, perhaps stupidly, to just give into it. you'd deal with the consequences of falling for her later.

"i tried! you called me boring then bought another round," you laughed, your hand coming up to rest on her back.

"oops," you felt maya grin into your chest, "what are you watching?"

"just shitty tv," you replied, "wanna change it?"

"nah, i'm okay," her reply was muffled, and you nodded, stroking her back softly. as you felt maya's breathing even out, you had a sinking feeling that there was no going back now.

---

from then, it was like a switch had been flicked. whereas before, you'd barely noticed all maya's hugs and touches, now, each one seared itself permanently into your brain - and your skin.

some of the touches were accidental, you assumed, maya brushing up against you as she walked past, or her thigh pressed up against yours as you sat together in the changing room.

others were obviously intentional - maya playing with your hair as you lay on the sofa, or placing a casual arm around your shoulder during training, maya leaning her head on your shoulder during team talks, or taking your hand to drag you around behind her. and of course, the most frequent of all, the hugs that punctuated pretty much every single interaction you had.

it would be a lie to say you didn't enjoy it, but now that you'd had to accept why each touch meant a little more, sometimes it bordered on some kind of glorious torture.

there were also other instances, where you were unsure if maya even meant the touches or not, her actions hanging precariously in the balance between conscious and absentminded. as her hand grazed the small of your back for the countless time that morning though, you were starting to suspect it wasn't all entirely accidental.

this gave way to another problem though, in that it was getting harder and harder for you to deal with, without melting each time she so much as touched you, or breathed in your direction.

it didn't help that you were starting to notice how naturally flirtatious maya could be. if you weren't certain that maya didn't have an evil bone in her body, you'd almost believe she was doing it on purpose. luckily, you knew maya was absolutely unaware of her nature, and this was just something she did with everyone. sucks for you.

the unfortunate thing about having a crush on your best friend is that you find yourself accidentally staring at them far too often. it was no surprise, then, that a lot of your free time was allocated to observing maya. any time you weren't sneaking glances at her you spent thinking of ways to make it not obvious that you were sneaking glances at her.

okay, so yes, you definitely needed to get over her, but you could allow yourself some indugences, right?

the thing was, you were starting to observe new things about maya. firstly, the way she always threw her head back when she laughed, properly laughed. secondly, the way she'd play with her ring whenever she was either nervous, or bored. and thirdly, that maya was not actually a naturally flirtatious person.

contrary to what you'd been firmly telling yourself, maya was not like this with everyone. sure she was still touchy, but the longer you watched, the more you noticed the differences in how she acted with the others, and how she acted with you.

---

the uncharacteristic spring heat clung in the afternoon air around you, disturbed only by the occasional breeze. you paused your run down the field, sensing that maya had the play under control, and had gone herself. you dropped back slightly to cover her, watching her recieve the ball and expertly pass it on to lucia, who was straight through on goal. you didn't need to hear the way the crowd exploded to know she'd scored.

you pumped your fist and watched as the girls further upfield swarmed one another, but even from where you stood you could pick out maya amongst them. you took note of the way she hugged lucia, the way she clapped the other girls on the back, filed the images away in your mind.

maya jogged back towards you, so you grinned and held out a hand to congratulate her on the assist. you noted the way her smooth palm clasped yours, and the firmness of her grasp as she pulled you into her. you'd seen how she'd hugged the others, firm and fast, clapping them twice on the back before pulling away.

the way she hugged you, the way your body slid into hers, just seemed different. this was steady, grounding. her arms seemed to envelope you, slotting you gently into place, and when she pulled away her hands lingered, fingers smoothing out your shirt collar, her touch feather-soft. it seemed like more.

you tried to ignore it, really you did, but when the final whistle blew and her hand found yours, you couldn't help but wonder. you compared the way she congratulated the others on the win, all friendly grins and joking pushes. sure, she did that with you too, but with you it always seemed a little softer, a little longer. you started to wonder if all those casual touches you'd labelled as accidental were anything but. maya didn't seem to do that with anyone else.

you must've been reading too much into it, you eventually decided. maya was probably just more relaxed around you since you were best friends. you were just getting ahead of yourself, thoughts clouded by your unhelpful crush, seeing things you wanted to see. surely.

that's what you told yourself as maya sat next to you in the changing room, her fingers brushing your thigh.

gift giving

you sighed, running your hand down your face. your thoughts had been running hard and fast since the game yesterday, and you were desperate to think of anything else. you'd spent the day trying to busy yourself, but it was a difficult feat given that you and maya had still spent the day joined at the hip.

it had been hard to not think about it when you walked the dog together and her arm kept bumping up against yours. it had been hard when you'd gone out for lunch and she'd loaded you with covert compliments. it had been even harder when she'd bought you a coffee, completely unprompted, your order memorised to a tee.

as much as you loved spending time with maya, you were somewhat grateful that she'd since headed to the shops alone, giving you a slight reprieve. it couldn't be healthy, reading far too much into situations that were clearly just based off years of friendship.

"i'm home!" the shout echoed around the flat, and you swivelled in your seat with a smile that you just couldn't help. maya dumped the bags then padded towards you. "close your eyes, i got you a present."

"should i be worried?" knowing maya she was probably about to put something absolutely ridiculous in your hands, but you dutifully did as she asked anyway.

you felt the crinkle of packaging as your hands closed around the mystery item. you opened your eyes cautiously, but your heart melted a little as you saw a packet of your favourite sweets.

"for me?" you asked, slightly confused. maya nodded, eyes sparkling, "aw thanks," your voice was genuine, if a little perplexed, "uh, why?"

maya shrugged, flopping down onto the sofa next to you, "why not?"

you smiled, glad maya couldn't see you blush. pulling the packet open, you held it out to maya, who popped one into her mouth, then leant her head against your shoulder.

---

it was a few days later that you realised the sweets weren't an isolated incident. in the past week alone she'd brought home coffee for you (three times), some chocolate you liked (twice), a new waterbottle (yours was always leaking and it was apparently 'doing her head in'), a mug that she thought you'd like, and a small stuffed crab that she said reminded her of you (that one had definitely been a dig, but you chose to ignore it). for a second you had a worry that you'd forgotten your own birthday.

it seemed like every time maya left the house, she came back with some little snack that she knew you liked, or some trinket that 'made her think of you'. she was like a fucking magpie.

you said as much to mary at lunch, maya having just deposited her protein bar that she 'didn't want' in your lap. it just so happened to be your favourite flavour.

"sorry, am i hearing things, or are you complaining about getting free food?"

"i'm not complaining! i'm just... confused," in fairness, you weren't even sure what you were confused about. mostly you just wanted to vent about your crush - without actually having to own up to the whole crush thing. "and it's not just food! yesterday we walked the dog on the beach and she kept collecting pretty stones for me,"

"well, you know, it's maya, she's not much of a talker."

"what? maya talks all the time," you looked at mary incredulously. maya had literally just been chatting her ear off.

"no, i mean she's not much of a talker," she gave you a knowing look, and you just stared back, even more confused now. mary rolled her eyes, "about her feelings, idiot."

"what's that got to do with anything?"

"god, the pair of you are as thick as each other." mary slapped your shoulder and then rose from her seat, leaving you staring after her, more lost than ever.

---

it was only when maya tried to pay for your dinner the next day, that you wondered if mary was suggesting that maya had feelings for you. you tried not to even entertain the thought, because regardless of how much you wanted it to be true, you knew it couldn't, wouldn't end well.

the smallest part of you, the sensible part, the part not yet utterly consumed by all things maya, knew that you'd only be getting your hopes up. as much as it hurt to pine after maya like this, any sort of rejection would hurt far, far more. and so, you ignored and dismissed it. there was no way that someone like maya could ever fall for someone like you.

maya's actions were purely platonic, you decided. she was a good friend, and that was the end of it. that was what you convinced yourself, that was what you repeated as a mantra every time you looked at the little crab toy that maya had placed beside your bed, 'to keep you company'.

that was what you tried your best to believe when maya came into the kitchen the next day, hands behind her back. you looked up from cooking with a soft smile and a raised eyebrow. she looked back at you, almost shyly.

"i, uh, i thought you might like these," maya didn't make eye contact with you as she thrust a modest, yet beautiful, bunch of daffodils towards you. your heart melted, and you tried desperately to not let your mind run away with itself. still though, you couldn't help it. maybe, just maybe, maya felt something for you too.

your mind lit up with possibilities, with fantasies, with dreams. maybe this was the moment you'd dreamed of. maybe she was about to confess, to ask you on a date, maybe-

"you know, for the flat," maya said hurriedly. maybe not, "the shop was uh, they were going to bin them so they were on clearance, they might be a bit manky," maya trailed off, still avoiding eye contact.

you tried not to let yourself get disappointed. this was exactly why you shouldn't get head of yourself. reaching out to take them, you smiled and inspected them. there didn't seem anything wrong with them at all.

"no, they're lovely," the emotion crept into your voice despite yourself, and you had to clear your throat, "uh, for the flat - they'll look lovely in the flat."

maya smiled and met your eyes, properly this time. for a split second the shyness was gone, just pure, honest maya. then she swallowed, turned, and hurried out the room.

acts of service

the thing about trying to get over maya, was that she made it so fucking difficult. how were you meant to forget about someone who treated you so perfectly, who could do no wrong, who regularly went out of their way to do things for you? how were you supposed to do anything other than fall in love?

so you stopped denying it, and instead you justified it. you let the full delusion of falling for your best friend overtake you, and let maya's endless perfection drag you deeper and deeper each day.

now that you'd accepted maya didn't see you like that, every day felt like a constant bombardment of kind gestures. the worst part was, you could never ever hate it. that was the thing with maya - she didn't even realise how good she was.

and so, you did the only thing you knew how to. you started to withdraw from maya. not majorly, not enough that she would notice, of course, just enough distance to give yourself a little time to get your head straight.

distance had never really factored into your close friendship before though, and maya was unwavering in her presence. it was like she had a sixth sense for when there was something weighing on you, and she made it her mission to help ease that load.

"hey, i made you a cuppa," maya knocked lightly on your open door and poked her head around. you couldn't help but smile genuinely at the gesture, "i'm doing some washing, you want me to do yours too?"

"oh, thank you, is that okay?" you asked hesitantly, and maya nodded. you slid off your bed and began to gather the dirty washing that lay strewn across your floor. you were never too great at keeping your room tidy on the best of days, but whenever your mind ran away from you, it was always the first thing to deteriorate. of course, maya knew this.

"yeah course," maya placed the tea down on your bedside table, then perched in her usual position on your bed to watch you. "you okay?"

there was a slight waver in her voice, and you could read her so well that you immediately recognised it as concern, laced with a tiny bit of anxiety. you knew maya, knew her mind would worry. you didn't want her to blame herself, and instantly you felt bad.

arms now laden with clothes, you straightened and nodded, "yeah sorry, just tired." then, seeing the soft smile on maya's face, you couldn't keep it up much longer, "i'm coming in now anyway, you want to watch something?"

maya smiled, taking the clothes from you, "sounds good, give me five minutes!"

sighing, you watched her leave. well, your plan didn't last long. picking up the tea, you followed her into the living room. distance clearly wasn't going to work.

---

"hey, maya?" you called hurriedly, rummaging through your cupboard. she hummed in response, "have you seen my-"

"your boots?" maya appeared in the doorway, holding out your shoes with a smirk, "they were dirty as hell so i cleaned them for you."

"oh," you blushed, "thank you," you took them from her, almost reverently. she was just too good for you.

"now let's go - we're gonna be late!"

you followed her out the door, taking a deep breath in. you were already stressed, you had so much to do, and if maya was going to be this sweet to you all day, you were worried you might just keel over and die.

---

"i'll make dinner tonight, okay?"

you nodded, peeling off your soaked through socks with a wince. maya sat next to you in the changing room, already showered and dressed, her hand placed comfortingly on your thigh. training, as expected, had been awful, it was cold, wet, and your mind had been occupied. you knew you'd played crap, but coach had so kindly reminded you multiple times, leaving you to run an extra few laps once training was done.

you only had yourself to blame. things with maya were just piling up, everything else seemed to be going wrong, and it was taking all your effort to keep yourself sane without upsetting her. distance might've been the easy way out, but there wasn't a chance in hell that you'd do anything to make maya feel guilty, or worried.

all you wanted was to have a warm shower, go home and collapse on the sofa, preferably next to maya. unfortunately, your agent had other plans, and you were required at some media thing before you could relax. you sighed at the thought. you had so much to do this weekend too, plus your room needed cleaning, the mess having steadily piled up from the stress of it all.

and now here was maya, ever thoughtful, offering to cook dinner, even though it was your turn tonight. she was so sweet, you could almost cry. you took a deep breath, turning to look at her.

"you're the best maya." she smiled in response, and squeezed your thigh, before standing.

"i know, now go shower, you look like shit."

only maya could pull a laugh out of you at times like this. you nodded, and dragged yourself dutifully to the shower, wishing you could fast forward the next two hours so you could just go home.

---

the media stuff, as expected, had been shit. sure, some people enjoyed that kind of thing, but to you it felt like being paraded around like a dancing bear, just being poked and prodded with sticks. okay, maybe you were exagerrating, but today had just been really, really shitty, and you wanted to go home.

you fumbled with your keys, fingers numb from the rain, before finally, thankfully, managing to push the door open. you stepped inside, soaking in the warmth, and the smell of maya's cooking. your eyes adjusted to the low, orange light, and you felt yourself relax almost immediately.

there was low music coming from the kitchen, and you could hear maya humming gently along. hoisting your heavy bag a little further up your shoulder, you elbowed open your bedroom door, before stopping in your tracks.

your eyes widened as you took in your room - what had earlier resembled a bomb site now looked cleaner than you'd ever seen it. there were even candles lit on the desk, filling the room with flickering shadow and the comforting smell of vanilla. maya's vanilla.

you heard hurried footsteps behind you, before you felt maya come to a stop behind you. you couldn't quite bring yourself to turn around, for fear of her seeing the emotion threatening to spill out of your eyes at such a small, but meaningful, gesture.

"i, um, i tidied your room for you," maya sounded tentative, nervous even. she rushed to continue. "i just knew you'd had a rough day and i know your room gets messy when you're stressed so i just wanted to help, i hope you don't mind," you didn't know what to say, it was so small, but it felt like the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for you.

when you didn't reply maya spoke again, quieter this time, "i'm sorry, did i do the wrong thing?"

at maya's apology, you spun to face her, rapidly shaking your head.

"no, maya, i- thank you," you rushed to placate her, not wanting her to worry. your voice was choked, full of feeling. you pulled her into a hug, and she breathed an audible sigh of relief, as though she had been expecting you to be angry.

you held on tighter than you should've. you couldn't think of any other way to convey your thanks. it was such a tiny gesture, but to you, it meant everything. after such an awful day, maya had gone out of her way just to make things a little lighter. something she knew you struggled with when you were stressed, and she'd just helped you like it was nothing. you couldn't put it into words.

you'd never felt so loved.

you paused, pulling out of the hug, deep in thought, because that was exactly it. you thought back to why you were so desperate to get over maya, driven by fear of repeating the past, full of failed relationships and heartbreak.

before, in relationships, you'd always been filled with doubt. they'd said the words, sure, but how were you ever meant to be certain that they meant them? you'd keep yourself awake at night, worrying if they were serious, until either they proved you right, or your insecurites drove them away.

but here, with maya, it felt different. all that doubt, all that insecurity, you realised you've never felt like that with maya. all of a sudden, and with some certainty, you realised you've known for quite some time.

you think back to all the gifts, all the touches, all the time and the looks, the actions and the words, and you realise there's never been any lingering doubt. maya has shown you time and time again that she loves you. now you had some catching up to do.

"hey maya?" she hums, already moving to leave your room. ordinarily, you would never have been this bold, this confident. ordinarily, you would've been twisting your fingers in anxiety, stuttering out the words. right now, however, you had never been so sure.

"i love you too."

you've said those words countless times to her, but you know it's different now. you can tell maya can tell from the tone of your voice too, because when she looks up at you there's no confusion, only eyes swimming with hope, and pure, deep, boundless affection.

you reach out and pull her towards you, so your faces are barely inches apart. her eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes.

"i um, i didn't say-" her voice is low and hoarse, and she cuts herself off, because you both know its not true. tension ripples around you, until you can't stand it. when her eyes flicker down a second time, you close the gap. her lips are soft, and she lets out a pleased little gasp as you kiss her softly.

"yeah, you did," you smile, and maya returns it, "you say it everyday."

this is actually so shit i'm sorry, the idea's been in my drafts for literal months, i wanted to do it justice bc mlt deserves all the love but i hate like at least half of this lmao it got so repetitive i'm sorry

all love, soph xx

[eddith]

What nobody tells you about One Piece is that yes, it's a long story, more than 1000 episodes and chapters (and is still ongoing).

And yes, this has been going on for over 27 years, but my dear friend, the focus of this long fantasy is found family!!

So imagine my shock when I discovered, after watching the opla first and then the anime, that this is just a manga/anime version of the million words of fanfic I've been consuming????

But with SO much originality and world building and let me say again, FOUND FAMILY!!!!!!!

Like, I don't think people understand how much One Piece was made for me, but I never knew about this wonderful story because all people talk about is how long it is and the fights. 😭😭😭😭

like!!! like!!!!!!!!!

[milolovesbmc]

I've pretty much never written anything like this before, but it was actually really fun and here's to hoping it's good because I can't really tell........ Anyways here's some art for it, fic under the cut!! :)

Twenty-eight: Storm

The kids are 28

Sometimes Doug has to sit on the roof.

He sits hunched over with his knees tucked tight between his arms. He covers his eyes with his hands and pressures until there's black spots blocking his vision. He presses on both of them, even though he doesn't have two eyes to feel the pressure on. Pressing his left one, the eye socket, feels especially nice, it makes him feel dizzy.

It's not like when he was eight and fantasized about climbing on the roof. He used to picture himself standing on the very edge, putting his faith in the hands of the statues, hoping the angels would push him off.

It doesn't give him a rush. Sometimes he just needs to breathe and the roof of his house is the only place where he actually can.

Mainly because it's not his house.

He's dating this girl, Elaine.

She moved in two (or was it three?) years ago. He remembers the day she did, it was Monday. Doug took the day off from whatever shitty job he had back then to help her move.

He kind of wishes he hadn't. She barged into his house, with the trunk of her car full of boxes and her hair tied up, claiming as much territory as she liked. He could only step back and watch. He had this feeling, deep in his gut, like something was wrong. Or missing. He wonders if that's how Corey felt.

It wasn't her assertiveness he minded. He liked that she knew what she wanted. He needed to be pushed around and roughed up. But watching her spread her belongings around his place just felt intrusive.

He feels a drop of water fall on his face, and then another. It's starting to rain.

In retrospect, he should've known, the sky had been grey all day. He's wearing a shirt and some sweatpants that will definitely get soaked in a matter of seconds. He still doesn't move from his spot on the roof.

It's times like these Doug wishes he had something to do with his hands, instead of just letting his mind wander. Maybe, Corey was onto something with the whole smoking thing. He used to say it calmed him down. Doug just liked the smell, the way it would cling into his clothes and stay there for what felt like forever.

It's not like he had been enabling Corey's smoking. Doug would go quiet and stare whenever he'd take a cigarette between his fingers. Corey never seemed to care. Somehow it would always end with both of them sitting closer than they were before and Doug blowing smoke out of his mouth.

At some point he had started lighting his best friend's cigarettes for him. Their weird kind of ritual stayed mostly the same, except this time around he was needed. Corey would look at him, holding a cigarette, practically boring his eyes into him, waiting for him to notice. Doug would wait until he got impatient and subtly rolled his eyes before scurrying to give him what he wanted.

Right now he misses the warmth and the weak flame that would light up part of Corey's face. He felt warm to Doug.

His hands were always freshly scrubbed clean, to the point of the skin looking raw. He remembers when Corey first touched him and poked at his wound. The momentary sharp pain when he picked the gravel out of his palms. His hands pressing into Doug's, cold spreading from one's hands to the other's. It was the kind of freezing cold that when stuck to your skin for a while, it almost felt warm.

Every time Corey would touch him, touch his scars and wounds and cuts, it felt ice cold for a minute, and then it was warm. A warmth that would get into his veins and make him feel like everything inside him had been shaken up.

It's raining even more now, it doesn't seem like it's going to stop anytime soon. He's soaked and the water's dripping down his face.

He wipes it off with the back of his hand.

The last time Doug saw him, Corey said he was dating some guy. Some asshole that wrecked his car and didn't even attend his father's funeral. Worst of all, he was living with the guy.

Who's freaked out by a dead body anyways? What a pussy.

It freaks him out, knowing he has settled down, left Doug behind. Corey used to need him. All those years ago.

This guy doesn't care about Corey like he does.

He would do anything he asked him to. He'd light his cigarettes even if it meant breathing the smoke in and feeling it scratch down his throat. He needs it.

Did Corey ever actually need him? Doug's not the only guy with a lighter in his pocket and the willingness to breath in.

He spins the shiny new ring on his finger until it's loose. Then he puts it back on again.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Doug is getting married, to his girlfriend. He has settled down. He has settled down even more than Corey had. Who cares about what's-his-name and his stupid fear of funerals. He's getting married.

He sent Corey an invitation. A neat white card with both their and Elaine's name on it. Sent the night before, at three in the morning, not before he had emptied two cans of beer and almost half a bottle of pain meds.

It was stupid, Doug doesn't want him to come. He was just bleary from the pills. The last time he saw him, Corey made it clear he didn't care. He didn't care that Doug was in pain and he didn't care to mend his wounds.

He wouldn't have needed to take the pills back then if only he would've helped. He wouldn't need them now. It's like he wants him to be in pain. Wants to watch him suffer and whine and beg, trying to make his way into his hands, or arms, or anything.

The sky rumbles, the rain is pouring down even harder now, and the clouds are a dark grey.

He wants Corey to come to his wedding. Maybe his mere presence will make the pain go away. Maybe if he could have him again, just once. Maybe if he could just feel the warmth reaching out to him. Softening the sharp edges of his aching.

It'd be nothing like the funeral. He'd be good. He just needed one more chance. He could fix everything so that Corey could fix him. If the pain went away he could think clearly for once. Choose the right words to make him stay this time.

Corey came back, he always did. Maybe it was divine intervention, or just plain pity, but he came when Doug called his name. Reluctantly that is, but he came.

Every time he got injured, Corey was just where he needed him to be. Like a guardian angel.

Five years ago Doug walked in to the hospital. He vaguely recalls a nurse rushing to him. Being wrapped around in bandages so tight he felt nice and clean again. Getting pushed into a room.

He knows he sat on the bed staring at nothing for a while, he doesn't know how long it was, for a while he felt nothing. As if he had been watching himself sit from outside his own body. He might've been muttering something.

Until Corey arrived. Suddenly he was pushed back into consciousness and he saw a light, a way out. It didn't matter that said light reeked of alcohol and the mud on his shoes reached up to his knees.

He's abruptly made aware of his surroundings. The roof underneath him and the rain falling aggressively from above him. For a moment he thinks he can hear the sky rumble.

The clouds and the sky are a matching shade of pitch black and he can't make anything out.

For a fraction of a second, staring ahead into the dark, he sees a light. A tiny little flicker in the distance.

This was his way out. Of course. It was obvious now. He just needed to sit in that hospital once more. Corey would come. Corey would find him. Just like he found him five years ago. Someone would call him. Maybe he would just know to look for Doug. It all made sense.

He takes a step towards the edge.

The tiles under his feet are wet and slippery from the rain.

He takes a second one.

There's no angels to push him off this time. They want him to do it. He has to do it. He watches a tree get struck by lightning.

He takes a third step.

Everything around him glows a strange shade of blue.

Another one.

His skin buzzes painfully. He wants to scratch the buzzing off. He doesn't. Both his hands stay on his sides

And he takes another step.

Sweat drips down from his palms. He wipes them off on his shirt to no avail.

And a last one.

Sometimes Doug has to sit on the roof. This time he stands on the very edge.

[kananjarus]

for all the haunts and homes of men // buddie // apocalypse au

chapter sixteen

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Are you in the habit of seeing ghosts?” It was a nicer way of asking if he was more or less insane. 

Buck squeezed his eyes shut, trying to overcome the vertiginous feeling that was threatening to sweep him up and carry him away. If only Eddie knew. “Not a for a while now.”

“Oh, well that’s reassuring.”

Buck lifted his face, and when their eyes locked together, they seemed to get lost in each other. Eddie no doubt trying to diagnose him, or to see if Buck was the kind of person he could trust. Buck, hoping to see past the deep-gut feeling of familiarity of the man he’d just met and realizing that with every second that he looked, his feelings only became more complicated. 

[the-crooked-library]

"it reads like fanfic" doesn't mean "self-indulgent plot" or "self-insert character" or "dialogue heavy." those things have always existed and so has transformative fiction

"it reads like fanfic" describes specific stylistic choices and it is very difficult to describe which ones until you go from writing fic to writing original fiction. it's not necessarily an insult or a compliment, it's an observable writing style that is broadly popular in fanfiction as a genre, rather than original fiction, and it fully depends on the author if they want to lean into this characteristic or distance their work from it, the same way that writing a sci-fi story in the voice of an Austen novel would be a stylistic choice

[turnipoddity]

THE CHAINSHIPPING ART IS SO GOOD OH EM GEE.

(Is there perhaps any nsfw or suggestive art in the near future?)

YEAOOWW THANK YOU!!!! I’ve been thinking a specific scenario in mind… perhaps it could be a 2-3 page comic… based on a trope often met in fanfics (i could name you 5 or more fics that has this exact same scenario and all of them are amazing everytime)

but yknow… still in my mind… let us all hope i have enough free time to pull that one off LMAO

[prttynrgnl]

moot's fic ended today im gonna miss their 70s research posts related to that fic on dash :(

[planet4546b]

been realizing as ive been writing lately that i truly love nothing more than writing useless arguments between characters that go nowhere its my passion in life. what this means is i need to add more of this in signosie and i have the perfect place to do it so the address' plotline is gonna get all the horrible interpersonal arguments. yay <3

[ragnars-tooth]

HII HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

As promised, here are seven wips from the last uhh 3 years I've been writing dragons book fanfic on my silly gay computer. They're a mix of unfinished/abandoned/in-progress-but-not-that-important-rn

There are summaries in square brackets between each separate fic with a quick description of what the fuck is going on, when it's going on (e.g. book number, where appropriate) and main players/relationships. (plus a fun little word-count and look at the last time i touched the file… yeah, fun�� whoops). These have been bolded to hopefully make them a bit easier to see while scrolling at high velocity.

All under the cut because it's too long for me to do that to your dashboards 🫡

[Lucy & David, chatting about author photos post-book 4. 475 words. (Oct 2022 💀)]

“Hang on…”

David paused, finger still wedging the spine of the book open. He was staring at the flap of the dust cover, frowning slightly to himself.

“Did you use my student ID for my author photo?”

Lucy leant in closer. College David was a little younger than David Rain – same dark blue eyes, but with a rounder face and hair that hadn’t been bleached white by his time elsewhere. The dusty brown still crept in at the ends of his hair, where it was now stuck to the inside of his collar.

Lucy couldn’t remember how many times she had taken down her copy of The Nutbeast and stared at the little card. It was odd to compare the man who’d lived only in her head for so many years to the one sitting on the edge of her bed.

He looked tired now. In-her-head-David had never been tired.

“It was the only one mum had.” She said.

It was the truth; Liz had run through his entire film collection and hadn’t found a single photo of David’s face. He’d been more of a landscape photographer – lots of buses and bridges that hadn’t consoled her as a child. Well, a younger child.

David cocked his head to one side, looking decidedly distraught. “But it’s awful – that’s not an excuse!”

She glanced back down, as though the image might have twisted into something else in the time she’d released her focus from it.

Nope. Still David, if a little pixelly.

“It looks fine.”

His hair was staticky and spidering out in a mess of flyaways, and David had a slight manic glint to his eyes, grinning in an angular, uncomfortable way. There might have been a stain on his shirt – it was hard to tell.

“It does not.”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow. “And where did you want us to get another? Your return address isn’t even real.”

He flailed the book wildly, “I don’t even have parents! That makes it double your fault for not having a photo of me.” The cover was still propped open an inch or so, the paper caught on his ring. “There has got to be a better one in this house.”

“Can’t fix your face, David. They’re all going to look like that.”

“This is inhumane!” he sputtered.

Despite it all, Lucy found herself smiling.

“We used it at your… not-funeral too.”

“I’m sorry.” David scoffed, eyes very wide. “You used my student identification photo at my funeral?”

“And where were we meant to get another one? You were gone remember? Can’t exactly call ghostbusters and ask them to snap a photo of you.”

David frowned, nose wrinkling at the bridge.

“I don’t think they do that – they bust the ghosts, remember?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “You’re a very annoying ghost. Maybe I should give them a ring regardless.”

-----

[Lucy & David, the audacity that some people have to move on and remodel the kitchen while you’re gone, really. 535 words. (March 2023)]

Irrevocably and stupidly, the only words he can get out of his mouth are:

“You moved the fridge.”

It’s not incorrect – it used to push up against the backdoor, and no amount of goodwill could stop you from nearly decapitating Bonny when he pattered through the cat-flap on short notice.

Now, it’s on the opposite wall – plastered in the same old stickers and fridge magnets reminiscent of days gone by. It’s the same fridge where he used to drink straight from the milk carton and look out over the rockery and crooked garden fence, but it doesn’t face the window anymore. David would have to turn fully around, which rather defeats the purpose.

It’s nothing intelligent, nothing profound – so much, so fucking much, has happened in five years and the only thing he can think about is the fridge, Lucy filling her water in the moonlight, barely tall enough to reach the faucet, and the rattling of the entire house in the winter months, post it notes and postcards and crayon drawings of a clan of squirrels.

There are new drawings now – Alexa’s, he thinks vaguely – but it’s not the same. She holds her markers much tighter.

It shouldn’t be a shock. It’s been so, so long since he was last here, but in the same breath it’s as though David had only closed his eyes for a second to rest, and the house has grown and shifted around him.

He knows that this is how things work, he hadn’t expected or wanted them to dig in their heels and sink into the snow with him. It’s a good thing, he tells himself, that things have changed, but he chokes on the inhale anyway.

He’s been left behind.

Lucy leans into the counter, dragging the cuff of her jumper between her thumb and forefinger. She bites the inside of her cheek the same way she did five years ago, but that’s wrong too.

It’s something in her eyes, something heavy and dark that’s never going away – she’s tired, much more tired than a child has any right being, and it seizes something in his chest.

He did this.

She sighs, moving to play with the collar of the jumper instead.

“Bonny likes to be big now and household fridges aren’t really made to withstand the force of a hundred-pound tiger… it got old real quick.”

David wants to say something, to lapse back into the way things used to be, but his mouth betrays him. He nods instead, and Lucy keeps tugging at the green fabric at her neck. It’s his old geography society jumper, he notices absently. It looks older than he feels, silver lettering faded black and brown, eroded away entirely in places. He hadn’t been to many of the meetings, not after truly being inducted into the Pennykettle’s nonsense, but the dusty smell of the common room and their pilfered coffee machine fills his nose.

It makes him want to gag. Where exactly are those members now? The idea of what will become of them if he fails has the prickle of ice rising just under his skin.

How can things be so much the same and so different all at once?

-----

[Henry & David: excerpt from the wider ‘wouldn’t you be mad as hell if you were a normal guy and found out your birth dad is your landlady’s new boyfriend?’ au, post family dinner explosion/revelation. 703 words. (September 2023)]

“Exiled from my own house.” He muttered darkly.

Henry arched a massive eyebrow. “You don’t pay the rent, boy.”

“I do – that is literally the one thing I do.”

“That’s rough, man.” Tam mumbled, hands weighed down by the tall coffee mug he had pilfered. It tipped dangerously as he raised it to his mouth, threatening to douse them all in yet more sludge. Henry frowned and steadied it with one hand. Tam blinked slowly and reset his angle.

“There’re camping beds under the stairs. You can set yourself up in the living room.” Henry narrowed his eyes at the two of them, “You will not be rumpling my upholstery by sleeping on my sofa.”

Tam hummed, setting his mug down owlishly before slogging out of the kitchen. He looked much more jelly than human, and David had half a mind to go and help him before he gave up on assembling the bed and curled up in a heap on the floor. He wasn’t sure if that had been on Henry Bacon’s extensive list of house rules or not.

“Did you know for long?” Henry asked quietly.

The tone took David off guard, breaking him out of his considerations of how comfortable Henry’s plush carpet was and how likely it was Tam was going to get a good night’s sleep in the inevitability that he collapsed from exhaustion.

“Know what?”

“Don’t be stupid boy.” Henry huffed, his eyes softening more than David had ever seen. It was an odd expression for the hard lines of his face. “How long did you know Arthur was your father?”

He laughed.

Turning his wrist to check the face of his watch he answered,

“Oh, about seven hours.”

“Mm, so ruining dinner was a crime of passion then.”

“Or you could say Arthur ruined dinner twenty-three years ago. Ultra-pre-meditated.”

Henry sighed.

“Don’t start writing crime novels, boy. You’re dreadful.” “It must have been a shock to the system then, you’re not one to get angry.”

David shrugged. It sounded almost like a compliment. Two years ago he would have told you with full certainty that dragons were a fantasy. Now they warmed his tea in the mornings. A lot of things had changed in his life since then.

He shifted his mug between his hands and took another sip. The dregs were starting to cool.

“It would have been better if it had been literally anyone else. Arthur’s been so… kind to me since we met and all this… it’s just-” his nose scrunched, “highly contradictory to everything I thought I knew.”

David’s family had come up in conversation before – once Henry Bacon had hold of a thread he yanked and yanked until it came loose, no matter how many loose teeth he took with it. Perhaps that was why he and Tam got along so well.

It was no secret how David felt about the concept of his father. Henry Bacon had shared enough choice words about the man himself that David had to wonder what calculations were running in the back of his mind. Was he unravelling all of his interactions with Arthur, sliding the threads under a microscope? Was he a good man? Honourable?

David didn’t have the answers to that himself.

He shook his head to clear it.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s barely a father – he wasn’t there to raise me and he certainly wasn’t there when I needed him.” He rolled his mug around to observe the escaped leaves. “I think you did a better job at that.” 

“Arthur’s… a complicated man. I’m sure you two will be able to have a civil conversation once this is all said and done.”

When exactly does this get to be done? He wasn’t sure anyone could tell him that. Not for all Arthur’s understanding of the universe and all its components therein was there an equation he could use to fix this. Replace x and y and find how he had missed this. To be so impossibly close and so far away at the same time. No doubt, he would have invented time travel before he would have noticed what sat right in front of him.   

David hummed into his empty mug.

“Sure.”

-----

[Tam/David, General Pennykettle Clan. David is weird after being resurrected, and everyone has questions about Co:pern:ica. There is another family dinner because those are all I write apparently. Tam and David go for a smoke break. 3067 words. (November 2022)]

“’Not like it can kill me anyway.” He says. “I didn’t eat for four years, it’s not like a bit of smoke will do me in now.”

The silence is suddenly oppressive, and when David looks up the entire damn table is staring at him, slack-jawed. He has missed something.

He quirks an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Four years?” Liz is still holding the plate of roasters, stuck in the motion of sliding more onto her plate with the flat of her knife. There is something akin to real horror in her eyes. 

“I was dead for one, yes.”

She extends the plate to him jerkily. “Then you’d better make up for it now.”

Ah! Yes, the human concept of starvation, he’d forgotten that one. Generally pretty upsetting to the average person – makes sense.

David pushes the plate back her way, gentle not to disturb the roasters as he laughs. They’re the herb covered kind and it would be a dire shame to spill them all over the floor, no matter if Bonny might thank him.

“No, really. I’m fine. Had other things to worry about – slipped my mind if anything.”

Other things, yes… let’s say that, shall we?

Arthur has inclined his head towards him in the way that means he’s grabbed the string of an intriguing theory and intends to tug it until the entire tapestry unravels. He gets that look about him a lot.

David shivers despite the British cold always being abrasively hot to him these days. What an odd image to set him on edge.

“Would you call that typical for the Fain? Not needing to sustain a physical body?”

He rolls the unlit cigarette around between his fingers.

“No,” David hums, “I don’t think it’s a Fain thing, I think it’s a dead thing.”

“But you’re not dead now, are you?” There’s a tension in Zanna’s words that he wasn’t expecting. If he were sentimental he might have called it concern. But he’s not sentimental, he’s Fain – he doesn’t do that anymore.

David shrugs. “Not entirely sure if I count as alive either.”

“You do.” She’s quick – always has been to cut off the things she doesn’t want to hear. Zanna has made it clear enough that she doesn’t like the thought that David Rain was never real, that he was some construct given life. He can’t blame her.  

“Can we not talk about how you’re dead or not dead.” Lucy snaps, her plate clinking a dangerous tone when she slams down her fork. David flinches at the sound. Tam has his eyes on him again. “You’re finally back and I don’t want to think about -” she glares at the fireplace, “-all that. I just want to have dinner again.”

He feels a twinge of the heaviness and lightness of space winking back at him. The same sensation of holding Bergstrom’s pocket watch in his open hand and staring into its face, and all that that entails.

Good, it seems to say to him, you’re not here to be liked.

“’Course. Sorry, Luce.”

She shakes her head, and seems to think better of whatever was on the tip of her tongue. She picks up her fork again and returns her gaze to the plate,

“Whatever, answer Arthur’s physics questions.”

David slides his Yorkshire pudding onto her plate in some semblance of a peace offering. Lucy douses it in gravy and almost smiles at him.

“It’s probably an… Illumination thing, rather than a Fain thing.” He tucks the cigarette into the pocket of his shirt. With the way Arthur has crossed his hands on the tablecloth there is no way David is going to get a smoke break any time soon. “I was in limbo for a long time, but I remember that my parents used to cook.”

Those eyes are all on him again. Even Bonny has plodded back into the living room to stare at him, though he’s probably waiting for one of their entourage to drop a piece of chicken.

The cat glides under the table, and from the sound of pattering paws David can hear him settle in Arthur’s lap. The professor removes a hand from the table to rest in Bonny’s fur. Then his eyes move from the patch of wall over David’s shoulders to his face.

Right. Being stared at. That’s what’s happening.

“Not my parents,” he corrects. “One of me’s parents.” That’s worse.

“The me that does not have this specific earth body, but existed in Co:pern:ica.” Better? “The me that had parents.” Nope, that’s even worse.

No one looks like they know what to say. He can’t blame them. This whole family thing is a mess.

“We do eat.” He settles on, then shoves a piece of parsnip in his mouth for good measure. He is safe for the next five to twelve seconds, if he really pushes it.

They’re curious, but no one wants to touch that mess, so Arthur breaks the quiet of everyone glancing off awkwardly at various décor, grimacing slightly. “You had mentioned that the Fain don’t do many menial tasks unless they’re unavoidable – if you remember it that way, then you’re likely right.”

“Well, I don’t remember it, but based on Co:pern:ica David, I’d say so.“ Good Godith, what was in that fucking wine? “His parents cooked, so they had to eat. Probably...”

The looks return, so he moves on quickly, waving his hands vaguely.

“Multiple timelines,” he says, “There’s several me’s, doing about the same thing now. Several you’s too. I’m just aware of them because of the d- Illumimation thing.”

Why did you say that?? Now they’re going to want to know-

“There’s multiple of us?” Tam looks at him over the rim of his glasses, half-smirking, “What, am I still a journalist?”

“Uhhh…” Well. “Of a sort. It’s hazy, but I think you worked for the media.”

Don’t say he got arrested, don’t say he got arrested, don’t say he got arrested for treason and left for dead, don’t say he used to look at you with admiration in his eyes, and that stupid overgrown haircut, don’t say you were jealous of the way he looked at Rosa, for God’s sake David you can keep your thoughts to yourself you stupid bastard.

“You guys have a media?”

Oh great, you’ve just made him more interested. Good job, jackass!

David tries to make a non-comital sound in the back of his throat. It comes out strangled. Zanna frowns at him as she sips her wine.

“Very… State-operated, if you get my drift.”

Tam, ever the journalist, has just opened his mouth to probe for more answers when Liz cuts him off. She has piled up the empty plates in her quadrant of the table. David hopes it isn’t obvious that he’s floundering, but from the fact that she’s diffusing the situation he has to accept that it probably is.

“Well, don’t leave us hanging – who were the rest of us,” she laughs, “who was I?”

You used to read me to sleep. You painted the walls of my bedroom green when I said the grey made me sad. You were the only person we knew who made things with her hands instead of Imagineering them. You went to the Dead Lands and made life. You were my –

 “You were a potter.”

Tam rolls his eyes,

“God, are we all boring?”

It makes him oddly defensive for some reason.

“Zanna worked at the librarium.”

You know the reason. You knew all of these people in a way they can never know. You’ve loved them every universe you’ve been alive in. You always will. They cannot know that. It would be too hard. It would make you cry, and the Fain don’t cry.

“Librarium?” Arthur asks, Bonny’s round face pouting over the edge of his plate, eyes focused on the sliver of ham across a moat of gravy. It’s safe for now, it’ll take at least another ten minutes for Bonnington to figure out that he can step up onto the table.

“It’s… basically a library, but the books are alive and it’s run by Henry Bacon.”

“Mr Bacon?” Lucy looks frankly appalled at the idea.

“A weird Fain Mr Bacon, yes. I think I – I think the other me was living there.”

“Like when Gwiliana kicked you out.”

David snorts. “Yeah, like the week from hell.”

He shakes his head, re-adjusts course, then looks back to Arthur. “We haven’t had physical books in over a hundred years – the librarium was where they all went, Henry-” he nods to the woman on his right, “-and Zanna kept them in order.”

He sips from his glass.

Probably a bad idea, you’ve been running your mouth all night. Shut up.

“They were bloody tricky bastards.”

Zanna looks at him oddly. Her brows are pinched but she doesn’t seem overtly disgusted with the idea. It’s possibly the first time she has been at least neutral on the discussion of the Fain.

On the discussion of who you are.

“You couldn’t have lived at a library. You would’ve made a pig’s ear of it.” Her voice is not cold – it’s a joke, probably. She thinks it’s funny.

“Oh, I did.” He pauses, tries to recall the details. The librarium is hazy for some reason.

He recalls Rosa and her kicker boots, lying in the grass by the well, firebirds overhead. He remembers being eleven, reading about pianists… then being… twenty? He decides not to poke around too hard in that gap, though its vastness is mildly concerning.

He worries that there is something there that is worse than not knowing.

You felt that way before. When you were first living at the Crescent. You had huge gaps in your childhood. Scattered dates and one or two fixed points. You don’t even know if that was real. You don’t know if you want it to be.

David swallows thickly, “I don’t… actually remember what happened while I was there – while he was there. But he must have been there about ten years – that’s what the memories tell me anyway.”

You wanted me to leave the librarium so I would stop distracting you. You made me daisy chain bracelets and we used to curl up in the hammocks together to read. There wasn’t enough room but I would race you to see who could finish their volume faster. You almost always won, but I paid more attention to the details. I never did understand what was meant to be more or less important – it was in the book, so it had to be relevant, right? Mr Henry said we complimented each other nicely.

David is vaguely aware that he has slipped into a long silence. He watches Tam glance across the table at Zanna. His fingers itch for that cigarette.

“There are two of us left wise guy.” Lucy says, finally pushing her plate away. She hasn’t touched the sprouts. She never does. “What did Arthur and I get up to?”

He pretends to think for a moment, leaning back in his seat. His plate still has a mound of mash and peas. It’ll get cold and start going soggy soon. He hasn’t felt hungry since he died. He’ll still eat it.

David rolls his shoulders.

“Arthur was a physicist – it goes over my head but I think it was something to do with time.” Arthur tips his head not unlike a dog. He would love more details but David isn’t lying when he says he doesn’t get it.

You were my dad. You worked a lot. You did a good enough job when I did see you.

“I think… you had a cool name. It’s on the tip of my tongue”

Lucy snorts. “Boring. Just me left!” She arches a curious eyebrow – the one with the carefully placed slit. “And I better be more interesting.”

This is vague too. She’s young – no, really young – and then she’s… less young? But still a little kid. There’s the same chasm in his memory.

How can I know she’s my sister and have no idea when she was born? How do I have no clue what happened after I left – is it just too close? Do I need to write it down?

At the thought of writing a familiar green snout noses its way into his head. Zookie sits on his desk, looking up at him expectantly. The little dragon taps his pencil on the edge of his pad in a way that betrays some irritation. I can’t believe you’re making me fish through your memories, he’s saying.

Nonetheless, Gadzooks scribbles down his answer, then flips the wire-bound book so David can decipher it.

Angel.

It makes his mouth go dry. What the hell did Lucy have to do with an angel, and why does it make him so uneasy? Zookie shrugs and, as he dissipates like smoke, David takes a long drink.

When he finally has enough sense about him not to melt into the carpet or storm off into the night and never return, he smiles at Lucy.

“You were the most boring child I’d ever met in my life. You liked maths.”

“I still like maths!” Lucy snaps, rolling her eyes. “I’m an engineering student!”

David shrugs, “You literally can’t get more boring, Luce.”

She lobs a pea at him and Liz starts gesturing at the two of them with her ladle. There’s the usual lecture about acting like adults, and how Lucy really should know better by now, but David isn’t listening. His eyes keep drifting to the window, out into the garden. He feels odd, though he can’t place it.

He shakes it off – talking about the Fain, delving into the memories of people who are him but not quite always has him disoriented afterwards – that’s all.

And whatever Gadzooks is on about will either happen or it won’t. He can dwell on it later. For right now, Tam is staring at him over the head of his beer – half empty. That seems a little more pressing than Zookie’s one-word puzzles.

-

“I’m gonna go take that smoke.” David says, already out of his seat by the time Zanna can send him a wayward glance. She still seems uneasy – she sees something in his face that she doesn’t like, her brows furrow further and she returns to her wine.

Liz sighs, but makes no move to stop him. “Just don’t throw the butt in the bushes,” she says, “I don’t want you setting all of Scrubbley on fire.”

“Will do.”

He sends her a mock salute, then dips around the door into the hallway.

Tam is three feet behind him when his hand is on the front door. “Figured you might need a lighter.”

David looks back to him before pushing the door open. “You are a shock Mr Farrell! A poet and a smoker – Liz will never approve.”

He gets a wry smile in response. “You started it – you’re the favourite ‘round here anyway. We can call you a bad influence on me.” He pats his jacket pocket – it’s the one with the tartan print lining that comes through at the hood and the cuffs. “Do you need that light or not?”

David pushes the door the rest of the way open, then stops it open with his weight.

“I think between us we should be able to manage.”

They sit on the brick wall that lines the entire front side of the Crescent. It’s perhaps a little too low even for David, but it beats standing around in the cold air, shifting your weight from foot to foot until the cigarette is biting your fingers.

Tam extracts a beaten-up silver lighter from his pocket, then fiddles with the latch for a moment. The cigarette resting on his lip wobbles as he swears, failing the ignition several times.

“No juice?”

He sighs.

“Not even a spark.”

David shrugs, “’s alright, I do have a back-up for when handsome journalists don’t have a lighter.”

He leans closer into Tam’s space, cupping his hands in a small bowl.

He had done this before – maybe not in this life, but the echoes of the action were strong enough that he could feel the order of operations like a phantom pain.

He felt vaguely that he was cupping his hands more to protect it from the wind than as a necessary motion. It would appear when he closed his eyes and thought it – dreamt it.

He conjured up the image of a small candle flame, the orange hue and white core, flickering slightly but solid enough in shape and colour.

Someone was talking over his shoulder – several someones, whispery and faint on the wind. The main voice was familiar enough – Liz, but not quite. He chooses to ignore the difference.

He feels the bright heat and the wobbling shape, forces it to become real, then David Rain opens his eyes.

It isn’t that impressive for a little light that has completely shattered several laws of physics. It looks more like David is hiding a birthday candle in his palms. A very small, very shit birthday candle. Been there, he thinks.

Tam, however, had clearly not been there. His eyes have gone wide, and the cigarette looks in serious danger of tumbling straight out of his mouth.

“Fuck me.” He mumbles.

“Not right now.” David says, raising his hands to his mouth.

The flame is real enough to catch, and David is soon offering his palms to Tam. He bends his head to accommodate the spark.  

Once the second cigarette is lit, David pulls his hands away from one another, extinguishing the light. Tam takes a drag, still staring wide-eyed over the rims of his glasses.

“Jesus fuck. Have you always been able to do that?”

David laughs. Have I, indeed.

“First time.”

“Christ.”

He takes a drag of the cigarette. Two men puffing smoke on the front door-step of the dragon-potter’s house – it was no wonder that rumours of real, scaly dragons have popped up in the neighbourhood. David imagines there might be more rumours of that calibre soon, but pushes it to the back of his mind.

“You had something to ask me.”

He considers denying it for a moment, then lets it go.

“I did.” Tam says, chewing over the next syllables in his head before he finally lets them loose, “Are you alright?”

-----

[David/Zanna. I hit early series David with the transgenderism beam. Zanna does David’s makeup, she has feelings about it. 1038 words. (31 December 2022… omg happy birthday ‘transes ur gender.docx’)]

It’s a joke.

It’s a joke.

Zanna has joked approximately a thousand times that he has the right face for makeup. That David has nice lashes and deep eyes and a just slightly soft jaw. He is indulging in the joke.

It means absolutely nothing, other than that he has a sense of humour.

In fact, it’s so funny that David is sat stock-still. Committing to the bit and allowing his partner to work her magic is going to make the outcome objectively so much funnier.

It’s a little bit secondary school sleepover – not the type that he’d ever been to, of course, there were a few more dicks and a bit less lip-gloss at those, but the thought remains – David perched on the edge of the bed, Zanna leaning tantalisingly into his space, a look of wicked concentration on her face.

He continues to avoid Zanna’s eyes. If he catches them then he’ll just start laughing, and then Zanna will start laughing, and then they’ll be a mess and the joke won’t get finished. Given the time she’s spent on his eye-shadow, it would be a shame at this point.

Lucy had never really been into makeup, or at least none of the fancy stuff. But she had found the idea of doing him up absolutely hysterical. She’d offered a hundred times but the thought had always struck something deep inside him – annoyance, was it? That she felt like he was a doll to practice on, maybe?

That she would absolutely fuck it up on purpose?

And considering the whole joke is that Zanna’s going to make him look like a girl, what would’ve been the point in fucking it up? They’ve already established that being overly serious is hilarious.

That looking convincingly like a girl when he’s not one is the peak of comedy. 

On the desk over Zanna’s shoulder, Zookie huffs. He twiddles the pencil between his paws, scaley eyebrows drawn together.

He flips the page and looks up at David. Whatever he was hoping to see, he does not, and the dragon shakes his head, tapping the book with some impatience.

Hmph, David thinks, if only you had some way to tell me things that we’ve used a dozen times. Or a language we both speak. What a crying shame.

“Alright?”

“Fine.” His voice is a little rough from disuse and nothing else. They have been sat in silence for quite some time.

“Sure?” a brush flicks around the corners of his eyes, “It’s not getting in your eyes, is it?”

“No.”

She snorts to herself, dropping the brush back into a basket of the bastards.

“You’re being very talkative, darling.”

“Sorry, I forgot I was meant to.”

“Relaxing when other people do your makeup, isn’t it?”

David hummed.

“Becca always falls asleep when I do hers. Nightmare when you’re meant to be going out somewhere.”

“Becca?” He tried to conjure an image of Zanna’s older sister in his mind. The result was a woman who was very much normal. Or at least, not someone who dresses remotely like her sister. “Isn’t your style a little… much for her?”

“Oi! She’s not boring, you know. And anyway, I can tone it down, and I am right now. I wasn’t aware you wanted me to make you a gothic princess, David.”

Oh, that might have been ni- funny, it would have been very funny.

It would have been nice to see himself in so much makeup because it would have enhanced how funny the entire situation was.

Which it is right now – funny.

When he doesn’t answer, Zanna knocks him gently with her elbow.

“I’m joking, you clod. You’ve got a perfectly normal face going on. The old ladies in Sainsbury’s will live.”

The idea of leaving the house like this – whatever this looks like – sends a jolt of ice down his spine. It’s an electric feeling that he doesn’t know how to place. It sits deep in his chest in a way that almost hurts. Somehow he’s not sure that it’s a bad hurt.

He forces himself to laugh, though it comes out a little mechanical. If Zanna notices, she is too busy trying to drag the eyeliner across his face in a straight line to comment.

“What’s the point then? Go big or go home, eh?”

-

“Et, voila! What d’you think?”

He looks himself in the eyes and a jolt of panic runs the entire way through his body.

Oh God.

It’s a thin pane of glass in the Pennykettle’s bathroom, but David is half convinced that if he reaches out, his hand will pass straight through the frame.

That’s not him. It can’t be.  

He watches himself crumple before he feels it happen, and once he cracks, the entire thing goes.

Zanna’s arm wraps around his middle, and she starts to pull him gently away from the mirror. David’s feet are cemented to the tile, they continue to stare over her shoulder at the reflection. They’re not convinced they could look away if they tried, as if some ancient magic has bound them to the spot, encased them in ice.

Their reflection is crying. Zanna brushes a hand through their hair carefully.  

“Hey.” She says softly. “We can take this off, if you want.”

She’s already leaning for the makeup wipes when David’s head shakes.

“It’s not that…” Their voice catches, much smaller than it ever has been before. “It’s not bad.”

Then what is it?

The eyeliner has tracked all the way down to David’s chin now, and Zanna wipes away the offending drop before it can stain their jumper. Only when she blocks the mirror fully from view does David look back to her.

“No?” she asks. She’s whispering, like this moment is something that could be broken by a raised voice. David’s not so sure that’s wrong. They find themself leaning minutely towards Zanna. “Then what is it?”

“That’s me.”

The waves finally crash to shore.

It washes over Zanna quickly, and David watches as the words hit them both full force. Her eyebrows arch, and the whites of her eyes widen around her dark irises. But just as quickly, any surprise is gone.

“Oh.” She whispers. “Oh, love.”

-----

[Tam vs Lucy. After winning at the battle of Isenfier, everyone bickers. Tam suffers. (yoinked from larger wip about the fallout of Isenfier) 576 words (June 2024)]

Tam blinked to clear his head. Right…

“The… cat.”

Lucy frowned in that vicious way that all teen girls seemed inherently skilled at.

“She’s a girl now: keep up, Tam!”

He raised his hands in mock-defence, “Right, sorry. And this girl is… our problem why, exactly?”

Lucy huffed again, as though she thought Tam was being particularly dense. Perhaps he was, but he rather thought he was owed a little more leniency on account of only recently having been un-buried-alive. God forbid he be a little behind on his dragon apocalypse lore.

“She’s one of us. She stays.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and jutted her chin in Tam’s direction indignantly. “There’s room in the car, anyway.” She added, as though that was that.

Tam chose to ignore that this was his car, and that it was rapidly going to become a tight squeeze if they continued to adopt every miscreant they encountered in the West Country. Surely ‘Bella’ had family, somewhere? She hadn’t always been a cat - right? - and therefore didn’t really have to become their problem. Though, undeniably, it was difficult to argue with the rapidly deflating look on her face; if she started to cry Tam wasn’t sure he’d be able to argue. Perhaps someone could lay in the boot if it got too cramped. Maybe Zanna would do him a favour and knock him out before he had to do the tetris-ing himself.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr Tam.” Bella said, as if Tam had anything to do with the offer. Lucy gestured wildly and with finality to indicate that everything had, obviously, been sorted.

Zanna and David were exchanging looks to the side. “We’ll discuss this in the morning,” Zanna eventually settled on, “No one’s going back to Scrubbley tonight anyway.”

Lucy started.

“Why not? We have to tell mum that everything’s okay – she needs to know it worked and that the ix are gone and-”

David clapped her on the shoulder, having to look up a little to counteract Lucy’s lankiness.

“It’s fine, squirrel. We’re all going to have a chill evening to cool down from saving the world, and let Liz know over the phone not to expect us back yet-” He pat his chest, where the inner pocket of his jacket sat, and blanched. “With the phone I don’t have anymore… where the hell has that gone?”

David let go of Lucy’s shoulder and began to check the rest of his numerous pockets. It was a bizarre interpretation of the dance Tam’s father had done every few feet when he walked through an airport. After smacking enough of his clothing and finding them bereft of his beaten up mobile, David eventually gave up, slicking a hand through his hair and sending dust and soil through it in dark streaks.

“Well, that’s somewhere. Never mind, I’ll call her at the lodge.”

Tam patted at his own jeans and was, for a moment, fooled by a particularly hard wad of dirt. He was forced to admit that he too had lost his phone. It was going to be a damn pain to replace.

“There’s not going to be any electricity at the BnB. This entire place is shredded.” Tam said, as he certainly didn’t have a phone of his own to offer.

“I’m sure I can figure something out.” David said.

Zanna rolled her eyes.

“Why do I hate the sound of that?”

-----

[Sophie & Zanna, end/post book 2, reflecting on the whole ‘wait is this cheating??’ situation (no it’s not, it’s Zanna having a big gay crush on Sophie that she will never completely recover from/come to terms with). They should’ve made out 😔. 277 words (November 2024)]

“Sorry, I – I didn’t know. About you and David.” Once she’d said it, Zanna wasn’t strictly sure it was true. She’d known David had a girlfriend; she just hadn’t cared. It didn’t seem that David had either. She felt herself flushing at the thought, well aware that she’d been caught in the act.

“No harm no foul.” Sophie said, an easy smile on her cherry pink lips. Her eyes crinkled at the corners – the irises very blue, like syrup dripped through ice. She didn’t seem to care in the slightest that Zanna had been enabling her boyfriend to cheat on her. “I was on my way to break up with him officially and we were pretty much over in October. You’re not on my territory, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sophie’s territory truly hadn’t concerned her at all – clearly – but Zanna still felt offbeat, an uncomfortable sweat building at her forehead. Sophie was far too calm about the entire affair, her straw blonde hair tied back in a ponytail low at the base of her neck, strands tickling her face. She brushed one away with her knuckles and brought her hand back to rest in her coat pocket. There was a security in the way she stood – relaxed, unbeaten by the breeze.

Zanna tucked a loose braid behind her ear, the beads and charms clinking in uneven tones.

“It wasn’t his idea.” She found herself saying regardless, feeling like a child at confession. “I kissed him first.”

Sophie’s eyebrows quirked curiously. Her smile widened, top lip curling away from her teeth. She inclined her head gently. “I would imagine so. He’s dreadfully slow with anything romantic.”

[grimalkinmessor]

LITERALLY BEGGING AO3 TO SEND UNPOSTED DRAFTS TO YOU IN AN EMAIL WHEN THEY DELETE THEM LIKE THEY DO FOR FULL FICS THIS IS THE FOURTEENTH TIME I'VE LOST A GOOD CHUNK OF WRITING PROGRESS BECAUSE I MISSED THE CUT OFF FOR DELETION 😭😭😭😭

[courtney-deserved-better]

i cant start another tdwt rewrite i cant start another tdwt rewrite i have to finish amicus curiae and the time travel au and do an mkulia rewrite ive already started working on one impulsive competition fic this week I CANT START ANOTHER TDWT REWRITE FIC

[alienaiver]

Summary: Even if the Seven Days of Mourning has passed, your grief will not let you rest. Your father, your kingdom's crown, has untimely left the earth. Now it's your job to go from Crown-in-Waiting to actual Crown of the Karasuno Kingdom. With the kingdom's grief and responsibility on your shoulders, it's your time to rule - all the while figuring out how an assassination on your beloved father succeeded. You're just grateful that you have your advisor - and biggest supporter - Sugawara Koushi, by your side to ground you.

wordcount: 28.7k words

General tags: Royal Advisor AU, Fantasy AU, SFW, mild to medium angst, gender neutral reader, POC!friendly reader, bodytype!friendly reader, slow-burn, romance, no use of y/n, comfort, mutual pining, idiots to lovers, reader is royalty, mentions of loss and grief, minor character death (reader's father), these idiots are so tense and official around each other that it hurts, minor violence, surely it should be illegal to type out 'your majesty' as much as i have, i'm sorry if my little crime solving takes up space - i dont even like the crime and thriller genre 🤡, i cared too much abt world-building here, if anyone wanna know the economic history of this world (including the three recessions and inflation time periods) let me know! im insane!, vaguely described sword fighting and related wounds in the final chaper go to each chapter for more detailed tags and warnings

A/N: i have made a big effort into making this reader as gender neutral as possible so that men, women and nonbinary people can all insert themselves! therefor i refer to the ruler of the kingdom as 'the crown' instead of king/queen etc! clothes are not described in whether or not theyre pants/dresses but instead in fabric and colors. this has been my main goal as a nb person! ✨ i hope i succeeded! otherwise i dont have much else to say, but that i hope u enjoy this baby of mine! 🧡

Chapter 1: miles, 8.7k words

Chapter 2: inches, 7.9k words

Chapter 3: collision, 12k words

ao3 link

[gomzdrawfr]

[balloon deflated sounds]

it's up, everything but you is now on Ao3

[elftwink]

uhm.

[id: a document titled precipice_draft_one_COMPLETE.odt]

[tytonnidaie]

people who are starved of stories that make them feel things to the extent they groan and writhe like a worm HATE being told that they might have to read technically poor writing. like grammar is that important

[devondespresso]

<< Asks temporarily turned off so i can try actually getting through all the fundraiser messages, I'm sorry >>

Hey babes and non-babes alike, I'm Devon (or Dev, or Devi, or whatever fun nickname comes to mind!)

I'm a fanfic writer, beta reader and aspiring writing consultant, and artist (DevonDrawspresso art archive) (Devonias on ao3)

Any anti, personal vent/rant, and nsfw reblogs get tagged accordingly as well as a some specific tags as requested by mutuals. This is mostly a Stranger Things blog but I am definitely dabbling in the CaitVi Arcane fandom >:3 (not fic yet tho, sorry)

have fun and thanks for dropping by!! 💕

Tags

#devon's writings | #devon's steve henderson au | #devon's drabbles | #devon's writing rambles

#devon's art | #full works | #traditional art | #digital art

#devon thinks sometimes | #devon creates sometimes | #shit you can use if you wanna | #devon's random fic recs (Masterlist - coming soon ish??)

Latest Fic:

This Comfort - | Platonic Stobin x Chrissy s4 rewrite | 4.5K words | T | ao3

as always, masterlist is ordered with blatant favoritism 😌

Chaptered Fics

• more than 10k words •

We'll Be Alright (aka The Steve Henderson AU) - | ~90k so far | Mature | ao3 link (to be added once posted)

Light of my life, the peanut butter to my jelly, my favorite project, and yet: no chapters officially posted. BUT you can find all the little snippets and rambles about it under the tag. i have a longer explanation of what it is and why its not posted here but basically i can promise you that there will 100% be content posted no matter what (so that entire word count, updated regularly, exists and will be shared eventually 💕)

Oneshots

• between 500 and 10k words •

My Sunshine - | Steve Harrington & Claudia Henderson | 815 words | G | ao3 link | cw: referenced dysfunctional family and child neglect, mild blood

Steve isn't eight years old. And he definitely isn’t 8 years old. He's nineteen, too close to twenty, sitting in the doorway of a room that isn't his, in a house he didn’t grow up in, stopping himself from getting comfortable leaning back on a door frame despite the current strain in his back, because it would only hurt the wound there more.

Ficlet for the stwg prompt "Sunshine" that turned out better than I could have imagined! Quiet, serious, and emotional, it's definitely my favorite posted work so far!

Just Let Me Come Home - | Stomarol | 2850 words | T | ao3 link | cw: very minor implied child neglect

Steve opens his eyes, glances towards Hopper and finds him looking out into the dark ahead, warily. Steve follows his gaze, and his stomach turns. There’s a powder blue convertible stalling in front of his house—roof uncharacteristically up and hiding the interior—haphazardly parked half off the road. The people in the front seat are arguing, and there’s smoke billowing out the back still like they’re ready to take off at any second. Hop rolls closer, headlights lighting up everything. Steve leans forward to get a better look, and Tommy’s face turns around in the driver’s seat to look back at them.

A very late gift fic for the lovely @/momotonescreaming following the STWG prompt "Home"! Serious hurt/comfort with a sweet and hopeful ending, I ended up spending over three weeks getting this just the way I wanted and now I'm super happy with it!

This Comfort - | Stobissy (Platonic stobin x Chrissy) | 4.5k words | T | ao3 link | cw: referenced eating disorder, implied depression, implied suicidal ideation, referenced drugs

Chrissy gets to keep a few moments to herself before she catches Steve glancing at her again through the corner of her eye. She pretends not to notice, holds her neutrality for a few nauseating seconds before she sighs, closing her eyes and drawing her knees to her chest in a way that turns the subtle glance into full-force attention. “Do you think…” She starts, but finds the words stopping before they can get out of her head. Does he think she’ll die? Obviously he’s not going to tell her if he does. “Eh, sometimes.” Steve answers, shrugging lightly in a way that's playful but not flippant enough to derail the conversation. Chrissy huffs from the tinge of amusement, then tries again. _ Or: Chrissy lives, and now she has to survive hell while still carrying the pain that nearly killed her. Though it can't be fixed overnight, Steve and Robin give it their best shot.

a gift for @/stellarspecter from the STWG holiday gift exchange!! Tess is the one that originally got me falling in love with platonic stobin both dating Chrissy and man if we didn't have a time limit i could've *easily* made a whole season 4 rewrite for this and honestly struggled getting it down to this (a solid 1.5k over the soft max... whoops😅). all that to say, i adore this fic! soft, goofy, and a hopeful ending, if you're not already a stobissy fan I'd love the chance to convert ya 😉

I Can Only Hope Now (Claudia Henderson Drabble) - | Claudia Henderson; Steve & Dustin | 1269 words | G | ao3 link | cw: absent father, brief references to Steve’s absent parents

Claudia Edine Henderson never wanted to get married. Not really. But she wanted kids, so that meant either getting married or seeing if the daycare was hiring. Anthony Laurence Goldman wanted a family. She thought that meant the same thing, so they married. And it was good. They had a beautiful baby boy, Dustin Clarence Goldman, healthy save for a defect with his bones. No collarbones, and the high chance he’d need a little extra medical attention down the line, but he’d still be living long and happy, and she couldn’t ask for more. 

short and sweet ficlet for the stwg prompt "Claudia", because how could I refuse Claudia?? Sweet, relatively light, half-backstory with a cute and hopeful ending, it didn't take as many hours as My Sunshine, but I still love it!

Mr. Crayola Henderson - | Steve & Dustin | 1791 words | T | ao3 link | just swearing and super mild ableism? a side character is a little too pitying but shes also kinda just a general worrier

Steve went over to the media room and dug through the little bin of batteries under the phone, pulling out an opened pack that had just enough left. He took both aids off, changed the batteries, and put them back on to make sure they worked. He heard a strong thud from his bedroom, followed by muttering.

so far my silliest ficlet, using the prompt "Tell a story to stay out of trouble", set in an au where Steve is hoh from canon events and was adopted by the Hendersons! featuring brothers goofing off, cousins getting up to trouble, and the titular Mr. Crayola Henderson!

For You, Love - | Kas!Eddie Steddie | 1k words | M | ao3 | cw: nonconsensual touching (not sexual), body horror, horror themes in general, ambiguous ending, not the darkest thing out there but please do mind the tags

He had taken a moment and then slipped himself out of bed, across the room and down the hall, down the stairs and around the dark silhouettes of walls and doors and furniture on his way to the kitchen. He followed the countertop with a light hand, feeling over towards the sink and cabinets above to tip a glass from the cabinet into his palm. He found the faucet by the faint glimmers of moonlight reflecting off the metal, filled his glass halfway, and drank lukewarm water, soothing his arid throat. Touch ghosted over his sides, the smallest pricks against his shirt, and Steve’s reflexes took over, elbow jabbing back behind him towards the touch, force strong and urgent that spun him around, back hitting the counter as his defense met no resistance. Steve exhaled, inhaled, exhaled. But there was nothing there.

a spooky little something to practice getting into writing with greater success than expected!! Definitely dark, definitely not happy, mind the tags and enjoy some creepy shit!

Since We're Alive Now - | Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson | 5843 words | T | ao3 link (soon) | cw: referenced/implied self-image issues, swearing, brief references to physical injury, strong self criticism, and canon typical tone in some areas but with happy ending

summary and little spiel at the bottom coming eventually soon eventually

Never Again - | Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington (post s1 stancy) | ~3k | Explicit for a little on-screen sexual content | ao3 link | cw: implied past SA

Never Again (Mature) - | ao3 link |

Nancy is trying to have a good time with her boyfriend after their November from hell. It would be a lot easier if the last time they did this wasn't the same night her best friend died, but she needs the break to avoid those thoughts, even just for a night. Apparently, she doesn't get a choice.

My one and only Explicit fic for the foreseeable future because I really wasn't actually ready to write this one anyway. For anyone that doesn't want the sexual themes, the M version replaces the opening sex with barely a makeout, with everything else nearly identical! Also my first fic posted like ever! yay!

Drabblessss

• fics less than 500 words •

cause idk im the kinda guy that doesn't really scroll blog tags, i find masterlists helpful so I'm using both and you can pick your poison.

all drabbles are also under #devon's drabbles. the tag is ordered chronologically and this list is ordered with my blatant favoritism 😉

Chicken Noodle Oops! - | G | Steve & Dustin | 126 words | ao3

Sweet and Spicy | G | Steddie | 384 words | ao3

Restless (Ed, go to fucking sleep) | G | Steddie | 431 words | ao3

Surprise, Bitch Babe! | T | Steddie | 691 words (i know it breaks the "drabble" category im sorry its just got drabble vibes) | ao3 pending

And Everything Else 😅

• did i make a whole new section because i didn't know where to put this one thing? yes. yes i did 😮‍💨 •

Unnamed Fantasty Au - | Steddie | ~2k words | T | Open ending | result of a writing exercise where you improv the story based on songs as they appear in a randomized playlist

(all ao3 posts are archive locked to avoid scraping, sorry for the inconvenience)