#i am writing this as it is working on actively not beating myself up on Being Disabled

[realbeefman]

stacy is sooo interesting because she's in love with house but knows that they will never ever be able to have a healthy, stable, sane relationship because they're too similar so. she finds house-lite instead and marries him and. essentially moves on with her life! and is successful in this because she's a moderately well-adjusted person!

wilson, in contrast, never manages to escape the inevitable, in spite of his best efforts to find a house-lite of his very own, because he's an absolute fucking freak and ends up glued to house to the bitter. bitter end

[thealexandriaarchives]

TFW you get a message from a friend you haven't heard from in a few years but your life is insane and you're terrible at keeping up at replying to things while trying to juggle fires, and you look up from a work meeting to see a discord message saying 'i saw your post passive aggressive vaguing about me, I don't have time for people who can't communicate open and honestly', you're already blocked on all channels, and you have to scroll through your Tumblr to figure out what the hell they were possibly referring to until you find this innocuous post you fast reblogged along with 5 others on a caffeine break

Wish there was a better social shorthand for “I’m sure they’re a lovely person in their own way but we are so baseline incompatible that being around them longer than five minutes makes me feel like exploding into smithereens.”

[anxious-witch]

Inspired by this post by @purgatory606 because after seeing that, I wanted to talk about DBDA weapons/fighting styles of characters. Well Charles and partially Edwin here, I might also analyze Crystal and Esther in another post.

I'd like to start from the scene from the first episode where Charles is trying to teach Edwin self defense and he chooses boxing. Which is quite interesting, if a bit odd choice.

He gives Edwin boxing gloves, and then required him to his his palms, albeit protected, but still. Such an odd choice? Without anger or adrenaline from the fight, most people find it quite difficult to hit something-or someone particularly hard. Doubly so when a person holding a target you should be hitting is someone you care for. It's difficult to override your naturally instinct to pull your punch back, which is what I think happens to Edwin. Especially because he generally isn't someone who leans into violence, even in situations where it would be warranted.

I think we can presume Charles was either teaching Edwin how to fight in case he finds himself weaponless, given he doesn't have an infinite backpack, or he was judging by his own instict, not seeing how Edwin wouldn't want to use brutal force. If anything, Edwin would likely do better with a more precise, long range weapon. Like a sword, or a bow.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Let's look at Charles' weapons of choice and how he utilizes them. Throughout the s1, we see him use a cricket bat, a music box(?), a molotov cocktail and a sword.

Cricket bat is his preferred weapon of choice and as the og post said, bats are for pure, raw pain. Traditionally there is not much elegance or finesse with it. You use a bat when you want to inflict the most amount of hurt in the shortest and most brutal way possible. What I find interesting is the way Charles wields it, which he does in a way that is almost elegant.

We see him twirl it on several ocassions and while he does hold it in a way that one would expect would inflict most damage, I am not sure we ever see him use it that way? Esther knocks him down with her cane before he can, he doesn't actually get to use in on the Cat King, he beats up the Night Nurse with a music box, not his bat, he breaks David's mirrors in a way that he actually sends the bat flying, not actively smashing mirrors with brute force like one would expect. And when he faces Esther's snake, his bat breaks.

What does that tell us about Charles? I think his bat actually reflects him quite a bit. Both how he sees himself, and how people who don'tknow him well do. So many people make a mistake of writing his off as just the brawn, of someone only there to deliver lethal sort of damage. Even Charles himself seems to sometimes think of himself that way. Of someone capable of great violence. Because he thinks that's simoly what he is. A bat cannot be used for anything else but direct damage.

Except....Charles finds a way. His attacks may be brutal, but they are very precise as we saw in David scene. And even when we consider other insance when he used different weapons, thr only time his blow didn't land as expected was against Esther in episode one.

The attack against the Night Nurse was brutal amd seemingly uncontrolled, but he got the job done precisely the way he intended? He didn't kick her around mindlessly, he kicked her off the cliff to get rid of her and the sea monster they were trying to lull to sleep. It was violent yes, but he was still very aware of what he was doing.

Throwing the molotov cocktail at the Dollheaded Spider? Also very calculated to allow him and Edwin time to run. Hiss fight against the snake? Once he concluded brutal force of his bat wasn't working, he choose a very precise and deadly weapon instead. And used it perfectly, in quite an elegant move, too!

In conclusion, I think Charles' weapon of choice has more to do with his perception of self rather than his actual realities or abilities. Which I think is why we get a scene of the bat breaking in the last episode and have it replaced with a sword! His perception of self changed from a weapon more used for it's brutal force to a weapon more commonly associated with knights and heroes. I'd be very curious to see if the bat returns to s2 and how it'll be utilized

[fairybin]

hello! i hope that everyone is doing good. if not good, hopefully at least tolerable. since it's been a while since i've posted, i wanted to leave a message for everyone who has enjoyed my works over the last couple of months.

if you've been following me for a long time, then you'd know i made this account during summer of 2020 as a means to interact with other people who were also watching i-land (the show that made enhypen), but i would say that this 2023 year has been my most active year of posting. for me, writing is my way to express my thoughts and feelings that are somewhat trapped inside of my brain without any other means to express them and i truly enjoy it and wouldn’t want any other way to express myself besides it. even posting audios, that i originally kind of hated doing since it overshadowed my writings, i really grew to enjoy posting.

anyway with that being said, sometimes my brain works too fast for me to keep up and those thoughts and feelings become very stagnant and non-existent entirely. whether this is “burnout” or just pure laziness on my part is really unknown to me and honestly i probably won’t ever find out. if you’ve talked to me by messages or dms or even in my ask inbox, you’d know how often i say “i have an idea! i want to write about this and this and this!” and how much i enjoy when people tell me to go for it and usually i do.

maybe it’s the pressure to want to make my writings perfect or maybe the fact that it’s me who wrote it and i have to read it over and over, but honestly recently i have had no inspiration for writing. zero. nada. 없어. and it’s actually extremely difficult to admit. within a year, i have gone from loving writing and pushing out posts like it was nothing to not even wanting to write anything at all.

with this being said, i am by no means saying i’m going to stop writing. i couldn’t even if i wanted to. this is me saying that i’m going to take my time writing. if i get into a mood to write, i will, but also i won’t beat myself up for not being in the mood to write.

i’ll still be logged into this account periodically and i’m going to continue to reblog stories i like on my side blog that's linked in my navigation.

i wish everyone a very happy healthy and successful rest of 2024! bye!

- mari

[eowynstwin]

A note on future chapters of both Neighbors and the upcoming Soap series:

so, uh, with my recent neurodivergence revelation and also becoming familiar with PDA, I've decided to put absolutely no pressure on myself at all and refuse by all means necessary to update consistently. I make zero promises as to when any chapters will happen, or honestly if I will even FINISH any given work.

Behind the scenes I've been beating myself up a lot because I can't seem to get Neighbors chapters out faster than every two months, and I have always wanted more from myself in terms of writing. However with the deluge of realizations I've made in the past 36 hours I've come to understand that wanting more has made more an obligation, and (considering I'm not getting paid for this) my brain literally cannot work with that.

It's more than accepting or emphasizing that fanfiction is primarily for myself and thus is not subject to the whims and wants of others; I am very comfortable disappointing you all in favor of my well-being. Advocating for myself has been a skill I've worked very hard to cultivate. However, tuning my own expectations for myself has been harder to practice. I have always wanted to be more productive, more consistent, and more organized. I have always wanted to feel like I could do exactly what I wanted myself to do.

I've recognized in the end that having these expectations at all has perhaps been detrimental to my creative growth. My brain is not a neurotypical brain. The things that motivate a neurotypical brain--goal-setting, external accountability and satisfaction--do not motivate mine. They cause me stress and shame and anger and disappointment, all directed inward.

I have spent many, many years hating myself for falling short of these expectations. I have believed that the only reason I cannot meet them is because I am actively choosing to be a disappointment, because I do not have the self control to do "better" and change myself. I know now that this is not the case. I am different. My needs are different. This is okay. It is okay for me to be this way.

ALL OF THIS TO SAY LMAO that you'll see me when you see me. I'll have stuff for you when I have it. I still want to write for my series, because I'm very happy about them and it gives me a lot of joy to see other people enjoy my work, but I will no longer bind myself in obligation to them.

There will be no schedule, and I will no longer apologize for gaps between updates. I'm vibing. I'm embracing happiness. And my sincerest wish is that everyone who has been with me since the beginning finds the courage and the freedom to do the same. Thank you all so much for your support, especially through one of the hardest years of my life. It has meant the world.

[its-all-papaya]

hiiii friends followers etc <3

i’ve been promising a lot of stuff lately, but unfortunately i think i’ve come to terms with the fact that i am going to have to take baby steps back from fandom for the immediate future bc i am… not super well.

i recently said im not even sure what burnout feels like because i think ive been in a moderate state of it since i was about 14 years old, but i can tell you now: i know what it feels like. it’s crying in the morning before you get out of bed bc you’re not sure you have another day left in you. it’s 400mg of caffeine every day not because you need it to stay awake, but because you can’t keep your mood above water without it. it’s a million straight work days and a million chores on the to-do list and a million texts to your mom saying “im tired” and “i just want a second to catch my breath.”

i’m not a danger to myself or anything, i’m actually just sort of numb, but i DO think that my activity here has been inadvertently putting more pressure on me to perform and meet the expectations of other people in yet another realm of my life. that’s not on you guys!! that’s on me!! a lot of the time i ask for it and i over-promise and then beat myself up when i can’t deliver. and honestly, how could i expect myself to? i’ve been working at least four hours every day for TWO STRAIGHT MONTHS. i fall asleep with the lights on and wake up already behind on everything and the minute i get home i open my laptop anyway to type in a word doc mostly because i want to, but also because i told you all i would. and i’m already letting you down.

dad lando will get finished. it’s 70k already and i’m going to keep working on it, just slowly. maybe there’ll be a christmas fic, maybe it’ll be out before anything else, maybe dad lando will come in december but maybe it’ll be more like january.

you can keep talking to me, i just respectfully kindly ask that you don’t ask when things are getting published or how writing is going, because i WILL give you timelines it’s not healthy for me to deliver on and then stress myself out trying to keep them.

thank you thank you thank you to everybody who has engaged with my work in any way, everyone who has encouraged me, and everybody who’s ever added tags to a reblog, or dropped anon love in my inbox. i know i’ll probably lose some of you when you get tired of waiting, and that’s alright i guess. i’ve gotta like… stay alive. you know?

gonna try to be on here less so plz send me writing i’ve missed and hit me up for my discord if you wanna chat. love you all, love landoscar, love writing, just gotta manage what can be managed for the time being 🧡

[kopfkino-o]

The Seer's Stone - Chapter 6 (Az POV)

Summary: Azriel is being pushed to his limits, driven half-mad by his increased workload, Koschei’s recent movements, and the unaddressed feelings still hanging between him and Elain. His mind is at war with himself, thoughts and regrets constantly battling with him, but when an old acquaintance comes calling he feels compelled to answer, bound by loyalty and duty he sets off to find what very well might be his own damnation.

Pairing: Elain x Azriel 

Timeline: Post-ACOSF

Wordcount: 1970

Read:

Chapter One | The Crone’s Trade

Chapter Two | The Oracle of Seraphyros 

Chapter Three | Last of Our Kind (Azriel)

Chapter Four | An Empty Seat

Chapter Five | Death and the Lovely Fawn - UPDATED

Author’s Note: Hope you all enjoy! More below 💋

PHEW! After several months of insanity (see: moving to a new city, taking on several new projects at my day job as a graphic designer, getting engaged, traveling to Europe to be in a friend's wedding, hurting my knee again (rip lmao), and the general chaos of being alive) I am so excited to be back writing again. And even more excited to share this latest chapter of the Seer's Stone with the world.

Writing took a back seat within my life last year, due impart to the aforementioned chaos, but also due to some personal anxieties I had about sharing my work. It's irrational, I know, writing is writing, art is art! But still, I found myself lacking confidence and facing a ton of writer's block, but I found some new inspiration through my professional creative work, had a few friends that really helped to cheer me on, and had a lot of downtime after my knee surgery to think about and play around with my craft. All that being said, I'm really really glad to be back at it and revisiting this story, and learning through writing fanfiction.

My plans for the fic haven't changed (too much), but I do think I ought to note that I made some edits to the last update, Chapter Five | Death and the Lovely Fawn, that I feel like I just needed to make to provide clarity/build up for the direction of the story.

Lastly, I just wanted to say thank you to the folks who reached to me about this fic even when I wasn't actively updating it and offered me support/encouragement. This meant so so much to me, more than you all probably know, and I just wanted to say thanks for that.

This one's for you guys.

xoxo, Court

There was a building headache in Azriel's temples.

Every beat of his heart reverberated through his skull like a war drum. Azriel worked his jaw, grinding his teeth. There had always been something about the dank darkness of the Hewn City that pressed down on him like a fist, but the hateful place was particularly grating tonight.

Wrong, his shadows murmured, this place is wrong

"Hush," he snapped back at them, in no mood for their whisperings.

The floor shifted underfoot, and the long, stone passageway changed before his eyes, writhing as if it were a living thing. To anyone else, the illusion might have been nauseating, but these tunnels and their strange enchantments had become second nature to him during the time he served beneath Rhysand's father.

The old High Lord had personally keyed the spells into the oily stone walls to prevent his captives from ever learning the true layout of the tunnel system. And, perhaps, to also remind them they were so far beneath the earth they could only dream of feeling the warmth of the sun on their faces again.

He had been cruel like that.

Azriel rounded a bend in the stone and found himself in another long hallway carved directly into the mountain. Only this hallway was lined with ancient, half-rusted cell doors—cells that housed the worst of the Night Court's filth. Or at least, what was left of them.

Halfway down the corridor, Feyre and Amren were waiting for him outside one of those cells, the High Lady and her second-in-command half-concealed in shadow, their whispered voices echoing queerly off the rock walls.

Both females fell silent when they caught sight of him. Something twisted in Azriel’s gut. For them both to be here, in the dead of the night, with Nyx still so young and Varian here in Velaris on a short respite from Adriata, meant something was wrong. The look on Feyre’s beautiful face only confirmed that. Something was very, very wrong.

“You’re late,” Amren snapped. It was as much a greeting as he’d get from her.

Azriel matched the second’s same cool indifference. “I was in the middle of something when you sent for me. I came as soon as I could.”

“Off again, doing only the Mother knows what? You don’t fool me, boy. I can smell the Continent on you.”

“I come, I go. So is the nature of my work.”

“Is it, now?”

“If you intend to suggest I’m up to something you disapprove of, then by all means, Amren, do so now and let us be done with it. I’m not here to indulge in idle banter.”

The second-in-command bared her teeth, smoke-gray eyes glowing like two torches amidst the gloom, and for half a heartbeat, Azriel thought she might press the matter.

Then Feyre stepped forward and cleared her throat. There were dark smudges of exhaustion beneath the High Lady’s eyes, but she still looked as regal as ever in her Illyrian leathers, her carved ashwood bow and a matching quiver of arrows peeking up over her armored shoulders.

“Enough, you two,” Feyre said, voice laced with nothing but command. She shot both Azriel and Amren a warning look before folding her tattooed hands behind her back, taking up the position of authority fitting of both a war commander and a queen. “We have bigger matters at hand, and I didn’t leave my infant son asleep at home with a nanny just to come here and listen to you bicker.” She nudged Amren with an armored elbow. “So, won't you be a dear and update our lovely Spymaster on the situation at hand?”

Amren shot him one last distrustful look before answering their High Lady's command. "We picked up two...stragglers...trying to make their way to the Prison Isle. From what we've been able to gather, it appears they were attempting to make their way inside the Prison itself."

Azriel's brows rose. Sneak onto the Prison Isle? That was not only impossible, but it was complete and utter madness. A sick, sudden realization shuddered through him, so fierce it cut through the pounding in his head.

Elain.

Elain was trying to get access to the Prison for reasons still unknown to him. Her and the spellspinner she'd tried so diligently to keep hidden in the Library.

Azriel's shadows had brought him word of their machinations weeks ago, initially tipped off by the arrival of the young spellspinner, and catching Elain in his bedroom yesterday had only confirmed his suspicions, but surely she hadn't gone against his warnings. Surely she hadn't...

"Something wrong, boy?" Amren crooned.

He ignored her. "Tell me everything," he said to Feyre.

"One male, one female. Both don't seem to hold any particular court alliance, but they were...dressed strangely. Almost as if they were trying to blend in with the Library's priestesses. Only their robes were gray, not white, and they carried no invoking stones." Feyre scrubbed a hand down her face. "Rhys caught the male on the beaches; I found the female still on the boat they'd used to reach the Isle."

Azriel might have sighed his relief if only Feyre's words weren't too much to stomach. Elain and her friends, and whatever wild plan they'd concocted, might be safe for now, but an unwelcome stranger trying to land on the Prison Isle was nothing to take lightly. And the fact Azriel, nor his shadows, had seen it coming rankled him.

"I tried to talk to her, wanted to know who she was, why she was there," the High Lady continued. "But she pulled a knife before I could get to her. I watched her open her own throat. Tried to heal her, but to no avail, little thanks to the poison on her blade." Feyre shook her head then tossed a thumb towards the cell door. "Rhys is inside with the male. He won't speak, though. He just keeps... singing."

"Singing?" Azriel echoed.

"He means to mock us," Amren murmured.

It was Feyre who ignored the second-in-command now. The High Lady tipped her head towards the cell door. "You'll see." She said. "We'll be waiting at the Riverhouse for your report."

And with that, Feyre reached a hand for Amren and winnowed them both away, leaving Azriel alone with his pounding head, the ancient black stone, and the iron door looming before him.

Azriel drew in a breath. Down, down, down he sank into himself before he strode for the cell door and shoved it open.

The sharp smell of blood and piss and fear arrested his senses as soon as he stepped into the dimly lit cell.

Old memories reared their ugly heads, taking him back to a different time where he came to these very cells to serve a far different lord. Truth-Teller warmed at his side, steadying him. Azriel wrapped a hand around the dagger's familiar hilt and shoved the memories back inside their iron cages to rot.

He made a quick sweep of the room when his eyes finally adjusted. Shadows clung to the corners of the narrow cell, dark enough to conceal his brother's powerful form hidden within them. Rhys was the darkness here. Anyone else might have missed him, but Azriel knew his brother's scent, the sound of his breathing, and marked where he stood in one of the shadowy corners.

In the center of the cell, bound and blindfolded, sat the captive. His gray robes were bloody, his lip split and broken, but he was singing just as Feyre had promised. Singing some horrible old song.

"...blue blood, red blood, blood black as a moonless night," the captive's voice echoed off the cell walls, garbled and made watery by his mouthful of broken teeth. "A pound of flesh, a pound of bone, a gift for a maiden made of light..."

Azriel's shadows swarmed. They flowed across the old stone floors to circle the captive like a pack of hungry dogs, writhing and twisting as they tried to make sense of him and his strange song. Almost as if the song had offended them. As if it scared them.

The darkness melted, and Rhys appeared from within it, arms crossed and brow furrowed, the mask of the High Lord in perfect place. Stars were dancing in his violet eyes, cold and unyielding, burning with a hunger Azriel himself knew all too well.

"He's been at it all night," Rhys said softly. "The same two verses of the same song, over and over again. It's driving me fucking mad."

"You scramble his brains or something?" Azriel asked.

"Would that I could. His mind is impenetrable. Practically walled off with solid obsidian. I've never seen anything like it."

"He's been prepped on how to face a Daemati, then."

"Or spelled to keep one out of his mind."

The words rose a chill within him, and Azriel found himself watching his brother more closely. Rhys worked a tick in his jaw, violet eyes churning as he assessed the battered man babbling his strange song.

"...away, away, at the crown of midnight..."

Azriel had never heard the tune before. Yet, it rankled him somehow. Dragged cold talons through his guts as if it were trying to make a home there.

Pain pricked behind his eyes, blooming like a thousand burning stars.

Azriel rolled his shoulders, fighting the headache, and drew in a deep breath of the rank air, descending deeper into that inside, readying himself for what was to come.

"He'll break," he said softly.

Rhys did not look at him as he replied. "I know."

Eventually, they exchanged the briefest, most fleeting of looks, but the silent words that passed between them meant everything. Rhys's eyes reminded him that Azriel did not have to do this. That he was, in fact, not his father's son. That this Night Court was a court of dreamers, of sons who were forgiven of the sins of their fathers, of daughters free to live as they pleased.

But the weight of duty had been taught to Azriel decades ago. And it was not a lesson so easily forgotten.

Skin slips easier off the smaller bones, blood congeals at the joints, and the mind always, always fractures first.

The old High Lord had taught him those things. Had made sure Azriel knew them, committed them to his memory so he might never forget his purpose. His worth. The thing he'd been made for.

Azriel slid Truth-Teller from its sheath. "Leave us," he said to his brother, voice soft as night. "I'll bring my report to the Riverhouse."

Rhysand put a gentle hand on his shoulder, the gesture made as if it might spare him, as if it might change what he was and the things he was born to do.

It wouldn't.

Azriel had stopped telling himself such follies a long, long time ago.

So he waited until his brother closed the cell door behind him. Waited until his shadows drank the last bit of light from the dank cell. Waited and listened as the prisoner whimpered the last verses of his swan song.

"...a sword for the son, a horn for the Queen, and dagger for their fool..."

Once, when he was just a boy, the shadows had taught him there was a place he could go, somewhere he could hide from his father's wrath, from his brothers' hate. Somewhere deep within himself. A place where he felt nothing, saw nothing.

Was nothing.

Azriel went to that place now, hiding somewhere deep within himself. He thought of roses as he raised Truth-Teller to the pale flesh of the prisoner's chest and began to cut.

Blood bloomed and the ache in Azriel's head erupted like a thunderclap.

And a dagger for the fool.

[renata-has-thoughts]

W/c: 1.4k Pairing: Female Reader x Tyler Durden Includes: NSFW, Service dom Tyler, incredibly horny/needy Tyler (couldn’t help myself haha), dubcon b/c drunk Tyler, fingering (reader receiving), dirty talk, Tyler begging, dubcon b/c Tyler begs (but reader is into it), insinuations of oral sex.

A/n: Something short for today. She was yowling while I was writing this I stg. Either ‘version’ of Tyler can be imagined, as I didn’t use physical descriptors for him. Please check the tags, as this is sort of dubious in nature, but both are into it. Irl, don’t do this. Pls. Per usual, no minors (obviously). Enjoy.

You didn’t participate in Fight Club. But dating the founder and leader of it meant you had the general idea of what went down. The rules were easy. Don’t talk about it, two men to a fight, so on and so forth. Another thing you knew: Tyler had gotten into the recent habit of taking a shot for every time he fought during a night of Fight Club prior to coming home for the evening. By that logic, tonight he must’ve been really pent up.

This occurred to you the very second Tyler walked through the door of your shared home. You knew him well, but you didn’t have to have any context to his behavior to know he was more than tipsy. Anyone with eyesight could tell you that.

It must’ve been about eleven or twelve, and you were pouring yourself a glass of water in the kitchen before calling it a night. You heard the clattering of keys from the door, and a muffled curse from a familiar voice. Typical Tyler.

A beat passed, and the blundering idiot finally figured out how to work the keys and get into the house, emerging with a groggy, “Honey, I’m h-home!”

You glanced over your shoulder to see him stumble into the kitchen, and promptly catch himself on the wall.

“Uhm, hi, Tyler,” you said, trying to fight the urge to smile.

“Good…eveni…hi,” he coughed, arching his back against his slumped position on the wall, moaning without shame when he cracked it just right.

From this motion, you could see something obvious. The poor bastard had a raging hard-on.

“Did Fight Club go well?” You asked, forgoing your prior activities to turn and face him, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed.

He didn’t answer for a moment, nodded drearily, then suddenly,

“I’m so fuckin’…hnghh…horny f-for you,” he growled, grimacing as he bucked his hips against nothing.

You raised your eyebrows, giving him an incredulous look, sparing your eyes to dart obviously from his own, to his erection, and back.

“You don’t say.”

“Oh, you’re such a teasee…fuck-you look,” he swallowed harshly, walking unevenly to the scratched-up table a few feet before you which acted as a mock counter island.

“I look…?” You prompted, biting your lip in an effort to not burst out laughing.

“I-fetching,” he managed to get out.

“Fetching?” You clarified. At this point it was getting difficult to not succumb to a fit of giggles. That was a new word for him. And to use it when you’re just in a pair of cotton shorts and some t-shirt?

“I dunno, fuckable, so…hah, so hot,” he sniffed, snatching up a loose pen from the table and proceeding to dance it across his knuckles.

It was a common stim for him-drunk or not-to fiddle with a pen. He was actually rather impressive with it, too. With the way he focused so intently on it at that moment, you felt like he was an exotic bird trying to coax in a mate. A futile display to try and get you to find him more enticing.

“Do you like how my…my fingers work, hmm?” He muttered, sparing a quick look up to your steady gaze on his hands. “Do you like how quick I am with ‘em? You…you wann’em up y-your pussy? Curling and pushing in and out, up ‘n down…in and…fuck.” He dropped the pen and frowned.

You unintentionally got a bit turned on from his murmurs of fingering you, to be honest. He was so desperate for you-his only focus-even subconsciously. The attention made you avert your eyes. Despite his clear desires, he was probably worn out from fighting and shouldn’t worry about fucking you. But you couldn’t help crossing one leg over another.

He took notice of this move, and stepped closer, cornering you against the counter.

“Do you want me? Want me t-to fuck you?” His hips were dangerously close to yours.

“You’re drunk, Tyler,”

“I’m not…’n even if I was, I always wanna fuck you when ‘m so-ngh-…not drunk, too.” He wasn’t wrong in saying that. The man was always horny. He closed the distance and pushed his groin against yours.

Oh, whatever. Damn it all. You threw your head back and moaned. Who wouldn’t?

“Tyler, you-“ you fought one last time, trying to retain some dignity. Deep down, though-in fact, not really deep down at all-you wanted him so bad.

“Please, say yes, ple-pleaasee…” He choked out, dipping his head in proximity to your neck.

“Okay, yeah, but-but just hand stuff-“ you managed before he crashed his lips onto your jawline, kissing and biting with the need of a starved man. He was practically growling with lust.

“We should…go to the bedroom, Ty,”

“N-ngh-noo, lemme take you on the c-counter…” he whined, grumbled against your skin as he continued to mouth all over you.

“Mmm…fine,” you sighed, a small grin on your face as you smoothed out his hair.

With that, he hooked his arms under your knees and hoisted you up onto the counter. You instinctually propped yourself up with your elbows.

Quickly, but clumsily, he slid off your shorts, exposing how wet you already were.

“Y’want my fingers? In you?”

“I said ‘hand stuff’, didn’t I?”

His hands curved up your thighs, pulling them apart so he could have better access to you.

“This ‘s what I’ve wanted all night…” he moaned, fingering along your slit.

“Christ, Tyler..shit!…” you moaned with him, clenching your eyes closed as a result of the stimulation.

“Wan’ my fingers to rub all over your cli-?”

“Yes, Tyler, just, fucking fuck me already!”

“Ahh, that’s what I like…” he growled, pumping two fingers in, easily due to your wetness, letting his thumb rest on your clit.

You mumbled a slurry of ‘yes’s incoherently when he began to thrust his fingers in and out of you, just as he had promised. His thumb inadvertently moved up and down on your clit as a wonderful consequence of his ministrations.

“Mmm, I knew you’d like this..,” Tyler groaned, quickly kissing the inside of one of your thighs as he picked up the pace.

“You’re too damn good, Ty, h-how could I not..?” You stuttered amidst broken noises.

“You think this ‘s good? Just you…heh, just you wait…” he groaned before curling up his fingers with each pump, grazing perfectly over your g-spot every time.

“Oh, Tyler, oh fuck! Yes!” You winced, fighting to keep your eyes from closing shut so you could look down at him.

For a quick beat, he made eye contact with you, and shot you a devious, drunken grin. It was both adorable and also very, very hot.

You barely noticed his erection against one of your legs as he got himself off on it, his small whimpers mixing with yours in harmony.

Somehow, impossibly, he got faster. By nature, you clenched around his fingers, especially as he added a third one with a slight chuckle at your reaction.

“Oh, fuck you, Tyler, you jackass, fuck that-feels-“ you couldn’t finish your sentence when his thumb, already rubbing on your clit, started circling it, too.

“Feels good?”

You nodded with desperate feverence.

By some fantastic talent, he didn’t let up, enjoying your moans and their ever-increasing pitch as he worked at what he was lusting over for so long.

“You gonna cum? Pleaseee tell me your gonna cum, I wanna with you-I wanna cum with you,” he droned, whining.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll cum with you, Tyler, don’t let up,”

“I wasn’t, fuck, I wasn’t planning on it,”

You both moaned loudly, and one of your hands reached over and grabbed his shoulder, digging your nails into it as you came on his fingers. He wasn’t long behind you.

Your orgasm lasted a good amount of time, with Tyler expertly keeping the pace, only slowing down as your orgasm did. You didn’t even notice how he slid his groin off of your leg until it was off.

The first thing you said was with a laugh. “Did you cum in your pants, Tyler?”

“Could you’ve expected m-me not to…?”

His arms hooked under yours and he helped you back up onto your feet, still tingling from the climax.

“Do you wanna take this ‘nto the bedroom?” Tyler asked, still a bit tipsy and trying not to stumble over his words.

“What?”

“Whaddya mean ‘what’? ‘m not done with you,”

You placed your hand in his and bit your lip from a smile, letting him lead you.

“I know you said, l-like, hand stuff ‘n whatever, but…can I use my mouth on you? Please? I’ll be good, ‘n-“

“Yes, Tyler, you can,”

“Thanks.”

You forgot all about the water you originally went in to get.

-

End

-

Reposts and comments are more than appreciated

[elizaditton]

Too Small To Be Afraid (Chapter 16)

Cover / Master Post / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N & T/W: Hey guys, just as a heads up I wanted to let you know that this chapter contains an intrusive daydream of Kaylin's that may be uncomfortable or traumatic for some of my readers. It deals with food and the idea of humans and pertheans eating together. I wanted to convey how this makes Kaylin uncomfortable without making my readers uncomfortable. I've thought a lot about what I've written and I don't believe I've crossed any lines, but for those like me who like G/t but struggle with the idea of food or sharing a meal in that context (and of course, the fears associated with that), the content may be uncomfortable to read. I just want to make it clear that my content does not and never will contain fetish material. My writing will always be safe for work content as I strive to please God in all I do. With that being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

- - - - - - - - - -

It was only about a month ago that Dad and I packed our bags and moved half way across Koronia, and now it's already Rosan. At first, I wasn't expecting much from my dad's hometown, but I've been blown away with how much has happened since we arrived in Chancelor. I wasn't expecting to be forced into attending a deskmate school, and I certainly wasn't thinking I'd ever become friends with a perthean. I always worried about what would happen if a perthean found out about my fear, but never in a million years would I have ever predicted that one would actually want to help me overcome it!

Derrick and I have met up after school a few times now, and although these meetups have been helping me a little, I'm still not sure what my deskmate has in mind for us in the long run. Surely there's more to this than practicing eye contact and learning how to step onto a perthean's palm without falling over.

I think through what could possibly be next as Brittney and I make the trek from the cafeteria back to the pickup area.

"I really wish we could all just have our lunch together, you know?" Brittney says with a huff, interrupting my thoughts.

"What?! What makes you say that?" I ask, my heart skipping a beat at her suggestion as I desperately try to keep my mind from forming any pictures of sharing a lunch table with pertheans.

"It's just... we'd have so much more time to hang out as a group if we had our lunch together! Since this school is so focused on getting humans and pertheans to get along, you'd think they'd want us to have meals together, right?"

I hadn't thought about it before, but I guess what Brittney's saying makes sense. I was surprised when I first found out I wouldn't be sharing Physical Education or lunch periods with my deskmate, but in my relief, I decided not to question it. I suppose separating for P.E. makes sense since it's not a good idea to mix humans and pertheans for strenuous activities like exercise, but what about lunch period?

"Come to think of it," I start, a part of me curious to know and another part of me fearing the answer, "why do we separate for lunch period, anyway?"

Brittney's eyes narrow as she looks away, her lips pouting.

"It's all that Steven's fault!" she says.

I blink. "Steven? Who's Steven?"

"Soaring Steven, back in the twenties. Lunch period was shared here until he had his deskmate throw him across the cafeteria to see if one of their friends could catch him. Landed in a girl's soup and even broke some bones in the process," Brittney says.

I shudder at the realization that humans are light enough to pertheans to be thrown across a room by them. Not only that, but we're small enough to swim in their soup, too! I'm relieved that I don't have to suffer through a shared lunch period with my deskmate, but I can't stop myself from shaking at the idea.

I turn from side to side only to realize that I'm surrounded by mountains of colossal foods stacked much taller than I am with no way of escape. I spin around to face a wall of green fabric that I trace up, up, and up to my deskmate's enormous face. He ravenously gorges himself on nearly half of the sandwich in his hand—tearing off a hunk bigger than me—and thoughtfully chews his meal, his eyes locked with mine. My legs tremble beneath me as I stumble backwards, my eyes darting anywhere but the sight in front of me. This isn't happening.

As I continue to inch away from the perthean in front of me one of my feet makes contact with a thick metal prong, causing me to let out a yelp as I fall flat on my back. Lightheaded and out of breath, I sit up and discover the object was one of the tines on a huge fork.

A massive digit rests under my chin and leads my gaze back to the tall perthean boy in front of me. He gulps down the rest of his sandwich while his big blue eyes scrutinize my fallen form.

"Kaylin," he chuckles. "You're so... tiny, you know that?"

I stare into those massive blue orbs of his as blood rushes to my cheeks, making my ears hot. Anxiety floods my nervous system leaving me incapable of doing anything but quiver where I sit.

Tiny...?

"Anyway," Brittney says, interrupting my thoughts again, "after that incident... the school decided it would be best for deskmates to have 'less time for shenanigans' or something like that. If you ask me, they shouldn't have punished the whole school for a couple of students' idiocy!"

I stare down at my quaking hands. Tears prick the edges of my glazed eyes, and one or two trail down my face. I try to steady my breathing, but my lungs begin to take in more and more air at an increasing rate.

"Hey," Brittney says, turning to me. "Kaylin, are you—"

WHAM!

Something crashes into Brittney and I, interrupting our conversation and sending us both to the floor along with the contents of our open bookbags.

"Hey! What's the big idea?!" Brittney says, dusting herself off as she sits up.

"I-I'm sorry, I couldn't—" utters a boy on the floor in front of us. He coughs, lowering the tone of his voice. "I mean, it was an accident."

Brittney sighs. "That's okay. Here, let me help you with your books."

"Th-that won't be necessary." The boy says, brushing his black hair away from his green eyes before scrambling to pick up his books.

I rub my head, which throbs from the impact with the boy. I blink a few times, staring at him. He's familiar to me, but I'm not sure why.

"Hey, wait a minute," I start, remembering my encounter with that boy from my apartment last week. "Aren't you—"

The boy looks to me, eyes wide, and shakes his head vigorously. He grabs the rest of his books from the floor and stands, running off to the balcony without another word.

"Ugh! Rude! And hasn't he ever heard of a bookbag?" Brittney grumbles. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I say, picking up Brittney's Algebra textbook and passing it to her.

"The nerve of that guy! 'That won't be necessary...' just who does he think he is bumping into people and then running off like that?"

As Brittney passes me my Koronian and Biology textbooks, I can't help but wonder why Sam was in such a hurry to get away from us. He's run away from me twice now, which I find a little odd. And why wasn't he wearing his glasses? He probably could have avoided bumping into us if he had worn them.

"Hey, what's this?" Brittney says, picking up my sketchbook and flipping through the pages.

My heart sinks heavily in my chest. I've never let anyone look through my sketchbook before! Most of the drawings in there are unfinished sketches, many of which I never ended up being happy with, and none of which I feel too excited about sharing. But as Brittney flips through the pages, her eyes widen in awe with every new piece of artwork she lays eyes on.

"You made these? They're incredible!" Brittney exclaims.

"They're not that great, really." I say, reaching for the sketchbook.

Just as I'm about to take the book away from Brittney, she lets out a big gasp and turns the interior toward me. On the pages are two nearly completed sketches of Captain Tristen and Merlot from Stranded, respectively. They're old drawings, and not ones I'm particularly proud of. My insides convulse and cringe as I'm met with the sight of improper foreshortening and all sorts of rushed, sloppy details.

"You draw Stranded?! You know this is my favorite show ever, right?!"

Brittney babbles on elatedly and at a rate I find myself straining to keep up with. I can hardly make out what she's saying, but from what I can tell she's gushing about some recent revelations about Merlot and how she was able to predict them in her fanfic.

"Anyway, here! See? This is my cover!" Brittney says, pulling out her phone and swiping to Splosion. She shoves her phone into my hands to reveal the cover for 'Jack And Merlot: A Frame Of Mind,' which consists of a crude doodle of the titular duo holding hands.

"Oh, um... cute!" I respond, my mind still struggling to process what she's going on about.

"Do you think you could draw me a new cover?" Brittney blurts out, her hands clenched excitedly.

"I-I don't know... wouldn't it be put online for anyone to see?" I ask, the idea of strangers seeing my art making my insides flip.

"Well, yeah, but they don't have to know who drew it unless you want them to!" Brittney responds, folding her hands together and pleading with her big brown eyes. "Come on! Pleaaase? Your art is so good!"

I think for a moment as I look into Brittney's unrelenting puppy eyes. I guess it wouldn't hurt to draw her a picture for her story, especially if no one has to know I'm the artist.

"Sure," I finally answer.

"Yippee!" Brittney exclaims, jumping up and down like a little kid.

"Come on," I say, handing Brittney's phone back to her and taking back my sketchbook. "We're going to be late for sixth period!"

"Oh! Right!"

Brittney turns and hurries down the hall to the balcony. Before following after her, I quickly flip through my sketchbook and land on a page with a finished sketch of a perthean boy and a human girl laughing together under a cherry tree. My cheeks redden when I lay eyes on it and my insides flip around again. I let out a sigh, relieved that Brittney didn't get this far into the book.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"So!" Brittney exclaims from the balcony, her hands secured on the railing as she beams up at my deskmate. "Your birthday! What do you have planned?!"

Derrick rubs the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. "I didn't exactly plan anything."

"Come on," Brittney says, "there has to be something you'd like to do on your special day! Can't you think of anything?"

Derrick places a hand under his chin and closes his eyes, thinking for a moment. "Well, I won't be home until around five, since I have... an appointment."

Kevin looks up from his phone. "You made an appointment on your birthday? What for?"

"I— well, yeah. It's a... doctor's appointment. I forgot to reschedule," my deskmate says, glancing in my direction. "But if you guys want to come over to my house at 5:30 or so, we could hang out? Maybe play some games?"

"I'm in!" Brittney hollers, pumping her fist in the air.

"Sure," Kevin answers, his eyes once again glued to his phone. "Need us to bring anything?"

"You could bring some games if you have any, but other than that nothing comes to mind," Derrick says.

Brittney turns to me, her eyes wide with excitement. "You're coming too, right Kaylin?!"

The world begins to spin as the others' eyes all turn to me. Me? Go to a perthean's house? No way! The enormous classrooms at school are hard enough for me to deal with as it is, but an entire house? I don't think I could handle it! The sheer scale of everyday items would overwhelm me for sure!

"I... don't know," I say. "I think my dad needs me home for... something." I mentally kick myself for not being able to think of any kind of real excuse.

"I'm sure your dad won't mind!" Brittney reasons. "After all, birthdays only come once a year!"

I look around at the group. Brittney's grinning with her hands pressed together, gazing at me expectantly. Derrick gives me a knowing smile, his brows upturned. And then my eyes fall on Kevin. His narrowed brown eyes look void of any life as he stares me down from above. My gut twists and turns as the weight of his stare presses down on me.

I can't go to this party. No way. Not if he's coming. How did Derrick manage to become friends with this guy, anyway? Was it just because of Brittney? And why is Brittney even with this guy? They're complete opposites! My fear may include all pertheans, but it's pertheans like Kevin that really terrify me!

"Kaylin?" Brittney says, pulling me from my thoughts. "What do you say?"

"I-I'll talk to my dad," I stutter. "But I really think he needs me for... that thing."

"Great! See you all there!" Brittney spins around with her arms stretched wide and heads for the door. I don't think she registered what it was I said at all.

"Hang on there, princess," Kevin says, causing Brittney to come to a halt and turn back around.

Princess? I never expected a guy like Kevin to call his girlfriend something so sappy!

"Yes, my prince?" Brittney answers, clasping her hands together as she flutters her eyelashes.

"If you're going to Derrick's place, you might as well come with me. You can't get there by train, you know," Kevin says.

"I guess you're right," Brittney giggles.

Kevin looks over his shoulder, presumably to see if any teachers are nearby, and then offers his open palm to Brittney who runs and leaps into it with a loud 'wheee!' The way she flew into his hand without a second thought makes me think about how I can barely even walk onto Derrick's open palm without struggling and stumbling. How does she make it look so easy?

"Shh!" Kevin hushes his girlfriend. "I'm not supposed to pick you up this way in here!"

"Sorry," Brittney says, her lip protruding in a pout.

"See you later," Kevin says to Derrick before walking off, mumbling something to Brittney about how he doesn't want to get in trouble 'again.' I guess I'll have to ask Brittney what that means later.

Derrick looks at me and laughs.

"What?" I ask.

"I'd like to see you jump into my hand like that," he says.

My face reddens, and I immediately avert my gaze. "D-don't be ridiculous! What those two did was dangerous!"

"I know, I know," Derrick says. "It's just that..."

His unfinished phrase hangs in the air for a moment, causing me to wonder what it is he means to say. I look back at my deskmate, his gaze fixed on me. What emotion is filling his eyes I can't say, but what I do know is that something has to be weighing on his mind.

"It's just that what?" I finally ask.

"Nothing," Derrick says, shaking his head. "I'll see you out back."

With that, he turns away, leaving the balcony behind him as he heads down the hall. My heart sinks in my chest. What isn't he saying?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I heave a sigh as I close the door behind me. I feel bad we didn't cancel our meetup for today, considering it's Derrick's birthday and all.

"Hey," he says with a smile, approaching the balcony and placing his hand on top of it. It's sort of become routine for me to walk onto his hand at the start of our meet ups, not that I've gotten any better at it.

"Hey," I answer as I approach his open palm.

The size of his hand still manages to freak me out, but at least I'm not as averse to it as I was when he first started helping me with my fear. After a bit of wobbling and struggling, I manage to position myself in the center of my deskmate's palm and sit down.

"Sorry for making you come out here on your birthday," I say with my head down as I nervously twiddle my thumbs. "I know there's other things you'd rather be doing right now."

"Aw, come on, you know that's not true!" Derrick beams at me from above. "There's nothing I'd rather be doing right now than helping out a friend."

I smile back at him, though his words don't reassure me completely.

"Now," he starts as he moves beside the balcony and gently sits down, "since you've been improving so much this week with both eye contact and with walking onto my hand, I thought we'd try something new. If you're up for it, that is."

"Something new?" I ask, my gut immediately beginning to twist. "Like what?"

"Would you be up for trying shoulder etiquette?"

"Shoulder etiquette?"

"Yeah! I'd place you on my shoulder, and you'd stand there," Derrick explains. "It's a formal form of etiquette that even the teachers use, so we can practice it during school as well."

My mind flashes back to orientation day, when I saw most of the school staff going around in pairs like that. I remember Derrick had asked me that day if I wanted to try standing on his shoulder, and I coldly turned him down. A weight fills my chest as I think about all the ways I was unkind to Derrick before we became friends.

"Okay," I say, "we can try it."

Derrick nods and lifts the hand I'm in up to his shoulder. My core tightens and my heart thrashes about within me as the distance between us gets smaller and smaller. As I find myself nearing the crook of his neck, I begin to feel heat radiating from his body like a space heater. He's so warm! My insides do a somersault, and my cheeks redden as I release a shuddering breath. I don't think I've ever been this close to anyone before, let alone a perthean!

I slowly rise from my place in Derrick's palm, carefully maneuvering past his fingers and onto his shoulder. I nearly slip once or twice as I struggle to maintain my balance, but manage to secure myself by grabbing onto the collar of the white button up he's wearing under his blazer.

"How are you doing?" He asks, removing his hand and leaving me stranded on his shoulder.

My eyes can't help but wander downward until I'm gazing helplessly at the hard concrete below us. Even though my deskmate is sitting down, I'm still so high above the ground! A fall from this height would certainly kill me! I let out a yelp and slam my eyes shut, gripping the collar of Derrick's shirt more tightly lest I slip and fall to my death!

"Hm, not good?" Derrick asks. "I suppose it takes some getting used to. Just hold onto me, you'll be fine."

"Mhm," I hum as I try to keep myself from trembling. If my legs continue to quake like this, I'll slip for sure! I have no idea how the teachers or the other students at school manage to go around like this!

"So, while you're getting adjusted..." Derrick begins, "is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"Um..." I think for a moment. "You're turning eighteen, right?"

"Right. Just two more years and I'll be an adult."

"How has preadulthood treated you so far? Do you feel prepared for adulthood?" I ask.

Derrick hums, thinking through my question. "Well, I guess it beats being a teenager. I still can't drive, but I'd say I can cook, clean, and budget decently enough to live on my own if I wanted to. I'll probably wait until university to move out, though. What about you?"

"I've learned a lot from my dad. He's a good teacher. He taught me nearly everything I know about being a preadult. Cooking, cleaning, budgeting... although he's not very good at home repair..."

"Did your mom teach you anything?"

My heart plummets to the ground, and my guts twist and turn tightly within me.

"I... well, my mom died when I was only six. It's just my dad and me."

"Oh... I'm sorry," Derrick apologizes.

"No, it's okay. I'm over it. It was a long time ago," I sigh.

I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure of whether I'm being honest or not. It's been years since my mom passed, but I've always longed for her to be a part of my life. I wonder all the time what might have been if only she hadn't...

"You know, I guess my mom did teach me something," I say, letting my mind go to the past. "I remember when I was a little girl, I'd watch her make different pieces of artwork. I was so fascinated with how she was able to draw such fine details and pick such beautiful colors to paint with. I have a memory of her sitting down with me and teaching me how to draw different flowers. Pansies, bluebells, rotizelles... and although I'm still not very good with flowers, she did instill in me a love for art."

"I remember you said you liked to draw when we first met, and I've seen a few of the doodles in your notes," Derrick chuckles. "I have yet to see a finished piece from you, though. Especially since you're always hiding your drawings."

My face gets really hot really quickly as my mind turns back to the sketchbook I brought with me to school. "A-actually," I stutter, "there's... something I wanted to show you."

"Something you want to show me? Really?" Derrick asks, surprised. "Am I finally going to see one of your drawings?"

"I-I— well," I stammer, embarrassed, not really knowing what to say. Is what I'm about to do really a good idea?

I reach into my bookbag and feel around for my sketchbook. Pulling it out, I turn to the page with my finished sketch of the two of us laughing under a cherry tree and look it over for a moment.

'It's hideous!' I can already hear my deskmate say. 'Is that supposed to be us? What an ugly art style!'

"Kaylin?" Derrick asks after a long silence.

"I— um...! H-here, I... made this for you," I sputter. "For your birthday!"

I grip the collar of Derrick's shirt with one hand, and with the other I stretch out as far as I'm able and present my sketchbook to him.

"For... me?" Derrick asks, taking the sketchbook in between his thumb and forefinger.

Silence fills the air as my deskmate stares down the human-sized book in between his fingers. My heart pounds and pounds while my insides swarm with butterflies! What will he think? What will he say?! I almost wish I never brought this up! I'm sure he'll think it's a pathetic gift! I knew my art wasn't good enough to be shown to anyone, so why did I ever think it would be a good idea to make this dumb drawing for his birthday?

Derrick gasps. "Wow, I don't know what to say."

I try my hardest to slow down my breathing, but it's no use. My whole body shakes as I brace for the impact of whatever criticism is about to come my way. He hates it, doesn't he?

"Kaylin, you drew this? This is amazing!" my deskmate exclaims.

"I'm sorry! I knew it wouldn't be good enough!" I say, only to blink a few times in confusion. Do my ears deceive me? "Wait, what did you say?"

"This is amazing! Is this what I think it is?" Derrick asks.

"I-it's... you and me," I answer, "under that cherry tree we saw the other day."

Derrick continues looking the drawing over. "Wow," he says again.

"I-I can send you a photo of it, if you want," I suggest.

"That would be great!" he says, handing the sketchbook back to me. "After all, I'm sure you wanted to keep your book."

I put my sketchbook away and quickly open up my phone to send a picture I took of the drawing to Derrick. Once I send it, his phone buzzes almost instantly, and he unlocks it to view what I sent.

"Thank you, Kaylin," he says, gazing at the drawing once more. "Really. It's a wonderful gift."

A warmth fills my heart, soothing any remaining anxieties I had about the drawing and leaving me with a grin that stretches from ear to ear.

Time continues on in the blink of an eye, and before we know it, we've already reached our usual time of departure.

"Well," Derrick says, carefully standing up from his spot beside the balcony, "I guess we better get going."

My heart races and my eyes widen as he stands to his full height. I look beneath me at the ground below and watch as it gets farther and farther away. If the distance to the ground when he was sitting wasn't enough to kill me, this distance will surely do the job! My vision doubles as the scenery around me spins and my insides churn and convulse! I grab onto the collar of Derrick's shirt with a death grip, lest I topple down toward the unforgiving concrete below!

"Sorry," Derrick says. "I tried to be more careful, since you're on my shoulder."

"N-no, you're fine, it's just that... I feel like I..." I trail off, unsure of how to describe what's going on inside of me.

"You feel like you're going to fall?"

"Y-yeah," I murmur, trembling where I stand on my deskmate's shoulder.

"Don't worry," Derrick says, pressing a hand against my little frame and gently pinning me against the side of his neck. "I'll keep you safe."

Is this... a hug?!

I blush. Hard. My trembling increases as I'm wedged between Derrick's hand and his neck. What do I do?! I can't move! I can't escape! I begin to breathe in and out at a rapid pace, shuddering more and more with each exhalation.

After a few seconds, Derrick removes his hand, releasing me from what had to be the most frightening embrace I've ever been on the receiving end of!

"Hey, listen," he says. "About earlier... you really don't have to come over if you don't feel like you're ready. I understand that the idea of visiting a house twenty times bigger than what you're used to is likely overwhelming to you, especially if other pertheans are involved. But, in case you do want to come, I thought I'd ask anyway—would you like to come over?"

"Um, yeah! Sure," I say, Derrick's words going in one ear and out the other as I try to calm myself down.

"Wait, really?" He asks. "You'll come over?"

"Sure," I say. "I just... need a moment." I try to steady my breathing again using the techniques I learned in therapy as a kid, still not registering what it was Derrick just asked me.

"Alright, well, we should get going then," my deskmate says, walking away from our spot behind the school and heading toward the sidewalk beyond the school grounds.

I'll have every opportunity to think through what just happened when I get home.

[yuurivoice]

The question about how you write characters reminded me of a question I'd been meaning to ask you for a minute!!! I've noticed almost all the boys have veryyyy distinct diction, which I thought was really cool. It's not just a difference in voice or accent. This was first super obvious to me with the Auron penthouse tour audio when I knew just a moment before he said it, that he'd describe something as "preposterous."

SO my question is how do you do it + maintain it? And is there ever a point where it comes subconscious as your writing a character's script?

That's something I've become more and more conscious of as I've added characters and sometimes it's not the easiest thing! Sometimes I actually think it's a weak point of mine I need to focus on getting better at and am actively conscious of as I'm writing nowadays.

We run into the "creative vs. worker" situation I'm in where as much as I want to be really good about that sort of thing, sometimes I just need to get the fucking work done if I wanna eat so I better stow my ego and perfectionism and trust that it's fine and I'll get another crack at doing a better job of it next time around. There are times where I'll be deep into a recording session, second guess myself, and want to re-write or do another take of the WHOLE THING and it's like...no dude we gotta go. lol

Familiarity with characters matters a ton. I think I did a great job with the most recent Faust stuff, where he felt really unique among the roster of boys. His speech, mannerisms, and character in general gets me further away from what I'm familiar with. I knew it was something I wanted to nail with him, and I think just being aware helped a ton as I worked through it.

Alphonse and Charlie suffer from my unbearable enjoyment of having that accent say big words. It's just fuckin funny to me and will never not get me to giggle, even if it shouldn't really be in their everyday vernacular. Charlie has the added lore excuse of being lowkey smart (Jessie mentions he should have stayed in school) and being Auron's beta reader. Alphonse isn't necessarily well read, but he knows words. Perhaps too many at times, but it's something I'm aware of.

Auron is right in the sweet spot, him being a bit arrogant + desperately romantic allows me to go directions that don't necessarily fit with the rest of the roster.

Seth is similar in that the southern sweetheart approach opens up its own language opportunities.

Finn is one that I'm still playing with. I like when he gets poetic and thoughtful. I think the sweet spot with him was in the hiking/bug audio. Shoutout to that commissioner btw, because I really tucked some lore in that thing years ago. He gets the most "dreamy" of the lot, I think? He romanticizes the mundane the most, and I don't think that was even a conscious choice at first.

As I tackle Echoes and other projects that involve more characters and variety I'm definitely becoming more and more aware of my habits. I actually think that aside from "cook with this mf narrative", ensuring that my individual character voices are distinct and strong is priority number one in the writing room for me right now.

Saying ALL OF THAT to say thank you for thinking that, I'm a tough critic when it comes to myself, but if I've managed to make someone think I'm decent at what I've identified as a weakness, I can at least know that I don't have to beat myself up over it lmfao.

[whizzochocolate]

hi hello, long time no see - or text i suppose.

it's been quite a while & i'd like to apologise for my sudden disappearance.

i isolate myself whenever i'm stressed. it's a terrible habit & even worse coping mechanism. 0/10 do not recommend.

there has been some good stuff happening in my life... such as visiting a friend & attending a show. the first big event i've been to since 2019. i did it completely on my own. from planning to attending to organising meet-ups with a group chat we had for it. it was so much fun & i'm really proud of myself. i came home the most exhausted i'd ever been lol.

but not everything has been lovely. i've been struggling with a lot of overstimulation recently. due to the event i ended up downloading different social media apps again to get in touch with people & it worked! we were a strong group of 36 but now that everything's over i feel like i've fallen back into a literal pit of doom.

twitter is like a live ticker for terrible events. you get 20 tweets on your timeline that you don't care about, mostly people complaining or reminders on how sick & twisted the world is. yet you're stuck reading through all of it.

tiktok is tiktok. what more do you want me to say? and instagram has turned out to have a terrible algorithm & is more of a newspaper to my friends' lives now than it is anything else.

i've spent so much time on these apps recently. i'm afraid it's finally been enough to affect my health again. not to mention how much i've been disliking the lack of sincerity & the overwhelming amount of unseriousness on the internet.

tumblr – specifically this account – was my safe haven when i was active back in july. it feels like the only social media app that still works for me because i'm allowed to be silly while simultaneously having the platform to write long texts such as this one & indulging in my favourite things without judgement.

i want to come back but i'm still too on edge to do so. i like to say i'm not addicted to my phone but addicted to curing my own boredom. just this last week i had almost 20 hours of youtube screen time & 10 on twitter. over a day. it's absolutely ridiculous & needs fixing.

i am someone who has spent & continues to spent most of their time alone. back when i was active on here i had successfully fought a lot of my thoughts & was pretty tuned into keeping my screen time low (still too high but 6 hours is better than 12).

i spiralled back & it happens. it's okay. it has happened in the past & i'll beat it again.

i'm planning on reading more books. my current read is a very good self-help book. right now i'm sitting across the lot of python books on my shelf that deserve a read. i've been writing, scripting, filming recently. things i haven't done properly in years. i go for walks. i want to get back into my video games & back to movies. i need to watch more spooky stuff before halloween (my favourite season even if it isn't all that celebrated where i'm from).

as you can tell: i'm working on it.

i'm on a mission to delete a bunch of stuff off my phone. tonight & tomorrow. keeping tumblr this time.

i've seen all of your sweet ask share games i've been getting & i appreciate every single one. just the way i appreciate everything on this app. i'm so sorry to everyone i've grown closer to on here & have abandoned in this spiral (special mention here: @memorial-sewer & @knoxoverstreet16 ). i'll get back to everyone very soon!!!

enough of the yap. thanks for reading :)

see you by the end of the week.

- gray ☻

[pollydoodles]

At the moment I'm actively writing/updating/finishing on:

These Endless Days (currently working on chapters 13 & 14) The Only Logical Solution (currently working on the final chapter) When We Collide (currently working on chapter 10)

Broadly am trying to 'finish' 50 Ways to Meet Your Lover, although that is a long work in progress so I'm not beating myself up too much about that! (3 of 50 is a long way to go, but that's the end goal).

For Christmas I'm also looking to update and finish Advent, plus I've got some new Pizzaverse on the go and at least two brand-new Christmas fics I'm hoping to get written for the season, which will be posted under Christmas Time (Mistletoe & Wine).

Aaaaaand at some point I will loop back to You & Me, but I lost alllll my notes on that and need to get back to the storyboard and figure out where I was going with it (and if that still makes sense).

I do have a couple of ideas for continuations, the next part of Hocus Pocus (tentatively titled Black Magic) is one, a second part to A Twist in the Tale, two sequels to Justice is Blonde (National Treasure and one tentatively titled Jury Duty), plus I'd really like to return to The Boys in Blue as I've got a fair chunk of a sequel to that.

[bommyknocker]

Writing advice for myself (after finishing my first long fic)

A few months ago, back on May 24th, I saw Furiosa for the first time and lost my fucking mind. It had been a while since I had spent much time in fandom creative spaces, but when I saw Praetorian Jack swing across the door of the War Rig in front of Furiosa and say the words "You can speak to me," my first thought was "I need to read some fanfic about these two immediately."

Of course, because the film had literally just come out, there wasn't very much on offer yet. I was sure that many talented fanfic writers were frantically typing away, but I could not wait. "Fuck it," I thought. "I'll write my own."

I hadn't written any fanfic since I was a tween, but a week later, I had published a 5,000-word one-shot. And because I had so much fun writing that, I immediately started another fic. It was going to be shorter, just one scene of Furiosa and Jack having a conversation. So I wrote that, and then I thought about some other conversations they might have, and then I wrote a few more scenes, and then things got out of hand and I ended up with 74,000 words.

So that one scene turned into Night Watch, which is currently updating twice a week:

I definitely did not set out to write anything this long, and I am both shocked that I managed it and also pretty proud of myself! But I also learned a lot during this process. I've had a few cracks at writing non-fanfic novels in the past and they always fell apart pretty quickly. But now I am pretty much addicted to writing. It consumes my life. It is a problem.

As soon as I finished writing Night Watch, I immediately moved on to starting another fic. So before I get too far into that, I thought I'd write up some of the things I learned about writing, and then hopefully I can continue to apply them. If nothing else, the navel-gazing will be useful to me (and maybe to other people too?)

All this advice is probably pretty basic. I stand on the shoulders of giants (some of whom have very active AO3 accounts).

Plot structure

I did not start out by doing any planning at all, but when I was about 15,000 words in, the fic started to get unruly. I had a bunch of individual scenes that I liked, and I wanted to connect them together, but I had no idea how to do that in a way that felt satisfying.

At this point I took a step back and did some light reading about narrative structure. Some of these frameworks are more popular than others, like the famous Joseph Campbell monomyth or the Save the Cat beat sheet. Because romance was a central focus, I also looked at some structures specific to romance novels. While the events of a heroic adventure are pretty different to an emotional romance, they do still have certain things in common: rising and falling tensions, increasing stakes, moments of defeat and triumph (whether that's punching an enemy in the face or kissing the hot War Rig driver).

My attitude towards these frameworks was to treat them more as rough guidelines than specific metrics to aim for. While I'm not trying to write to fit a formula, having a broader idea of the pacing was extremely helpful for mapping out the overall structure of the work. I could see where my scenes might fit into the rhythms of the story, and also what gaps I'd need to fill. This is what led me to introduce some recurring external antagonists so the conflict wasn't confined to the characters' heads (although there is plenty of that too).

Narrative arcs

At this point, I had a rough plot mapped out. I had some protagonists, I had some antagonists, and I knew where they were starting and where I wanted them to finish. While I might not have worked out every single plot point, I did know what story beats I wanted to hit and where – wanting to introduce new conflicts at certain points in the story, for example. Then I worked out what events could hit those beats when I got to them.

This approach got me through the first draft. I had written over 60,000 words! I was done! Hooray!

Then I sat back and re-read the whole thing from start to finish and noticed all the places where the narrative was unsatisfying. The individual scenes might have been good, but something was off about the way they fit together.

At this point I took a step back and did some more thinking about the individual story arcs – the smaller stories within the broader narrative that make it satisfying. Plot on its own is just stuff happening. Narrative arcs are what give that stuff an emotional punch.

I ended up definining a few different kinds of arc:

Protagonist development – How do the main characters change and grow over the course of the story? What actions and emotional steps do they need to take to get there? While characters develop in complex ways, I picked one or two core themes per protagonist, like "trust" and "hope", and centered the progression around that.

Romance – How does the relationship between the characters develop? When do they catch feelings? What challenges do they have to overcome before they can act on their connection? (Probably ones related to their internal arcs, it turns out.)

Side characters – I ended up picking three side characters who I wanted to develop throughout the story. How do they change? How does their relationship with the protagonists change?

Antagonists – What do the bad guys want? How do they mess things up for our protagonists? How do they raise the stakes of the conflict?

Once I'd defined the arcs I wanted to have, I wrote out the different beats each arc would need. Some of these arcs were very shallow (Side Character A learns to do X) and others were a lot more detailed. Then I looked at the draft I'd written and identified which beats I was hitting and which ones I was missing.

Being able to map these arcs onto the overall narrative was a huge lightbulb moment for me. I went through the fic section by section and labelled which arcs the section applied to. This helped me to check the pacing of the individual arcs and see where I might need to add an extra paragraph or scene to beef them up.

Also, if a completed section wasn't contributing to any of these arcs... I rewrote it or got rid of it. In some cases, this was painful, but I think it made the resulting work a lot tighter. Everything should have a purpose.

Going through this process also helped me to see the intersections between the different arcs. It's really satisfying when two different plot threads come together, or when a character's internal development enables them to take on an external conflict. Some of my favourite moments in the story ended up coming from creating these connections, and they wouldn't have happened if I hadn't thought about the individual arcs.

When to post

Once I realised that Night Watch was well into multi-chapter territory, I had to decide whether or not to publish as I went along, or wait until I'd finished the whole thing.

Publishing chapter-by-chapter was pretty tempting – I was hungry for those sweet kudos and comments. But ultimately, I decided to wait to publish until I had finished writing.

This turned out to be a better fit for my own writing process. Empty pages are the hardest thing for me, so I try to just get stuff on the page as quickly as possible and then come back to tidy up later. I did end up making pretty substantial changes to the structure of the plot in my second draft, and doing that might have been more awkward if I'd already been posting.

Also, I figured that I wouldn't have to stress out about updating regularly if I already had all my chapters lined up and ready to go.

Other random stuff that helped

After finishing my first draft, I went back and wrote a summary of each chapter. This was really useful for checking the pacing of the story and seeing if there were any bits left out.

Scrivener is an incredibly useful app for writing and well worth the money if you can afford it.

I had a hard time working out how to write my antagonists until I wrote up a bunch of lore and biographies, purely as a reference. Even though most of it never came up, it did inform my choices about what they should do and how they would react to the events.

Asking myself "what changes during this scene?" often got me unstuck when I wasn't sure what to write. Whether that's a critical fight scene or a character's perspective on a situation shifting, change is often what gives a scene a reason for being.

If I got really blocked on a particular section, I just wrote out a rough outline of what I wanted to happen and moved on to something else. Often it was easier to come back to later.

Finding a lovely community in the Furiosa's Wasteland Discord server fuelled my brainrot in the best possible ways and made me so much more motivated to keep writing (witness!). Special thanks to the amazing xoruffitup for being my beta reader – I'd never had one before and getting that feedback was super helpful.

Now what?

I finished writing Night Watch about a month ago. Honestly, writing it was an amazing experience. I know it's "only" fanfiction, but discovering that I was able to put this story into words has done wonders for my confidence. I haven't felt this in touch with my creativity for a very long time. I'm now more than 30,000 words into the first draft of a canon-divergent AU which I'm really excited about!

And even if nobody else ends up liking it, at least I had fun writing it. (The same goes for this post too.)

In conclusion: writing is really fun. If you want to write something, you should do it. Also, go watch Furiosa.

[ghostinthegallery]

Hey there!! I really enjoyed your insight the other day about how writing a serial differs from a plotted-out-and-written-in-advance novel! As someone who's just dipping my toes into posting as I write, any chance you could give some advice or tips you've learned about that style of writing specifically? 💚

(from @inquisitor-gayfax)

Why yes! I'd love to (thank you for giving me the excuse XD)

The main thing I have realized is that experience with traditional, "complete on arrival" novels is actually super helpful for serial writing. The principles of character writing, world building, and all that still apply, but even more importantly the beats you want your story to hit are all pretty much the same. You want that into, the inciting incident, the midpoint turn, etc. Those are all vital to keeping your story on track. Especially as serials are prone to meandering. It is so easy to get lost and lose sight of the forest for the trees. For me, always checking with myself that I am hitting or actively working towards those major beats helps to keep me on track.

Also note that one big thing will be different is the length. Serials tend to get much longer and thus the beats are stretched out. The length is because each chapter essentially functions as a short story in and of itself. It has to be a satisfying reading experience on its own as well as in the context of the larger work. This oftentimes means fleshing things out more than you otherwise would and bam, longer work. (not necessarily as long as I often go! but the tendency is there). FWIW, I find editing these chapters as I got to be much easier than editing a whole novel. I do miss being able to move big chunks and scenes around (cut and paste, my beloved), but it is worth the tradeoff to me.

The nature of the chapters functioning as short stories (minus a definitive ending of course) is probably going to be the biggest difference if you are someone who writes the entire thing ahead of time and then posts chapter by chapter, as opposed to posting as you write or posting with a backlog but not a finished novel.

Now, the other biggest difference if you are posting as you go is that you will not have the chance to revise the entire story the way you do with a traditional novel. You cannot go back and change things, add foreshadowing or a character beat or anything. Once you publish that chapter, the events are set in stone.

I actually enjoy this! It is a fun challenge to work with what I have established. But...I also cheat. I have a tendency to drop little things here and there that could be hints at larger plot points or things that are setting up things later on, but they are vague enough that I am not fully locked into anything.

The secret is that your readers are unlikely to remember a small detail in chapter 3 that didn't really go anywhere. But they will remember that detail in chapter 4 that got paid off in chapter 35 and you will look like a super genius (I am 99% sure Eiichiro Oda, possibly the greatest serial fantasy writer/artist of all time has done this writing One Piece, alongside his legit 5-D chess long game reveals)

To call myself out, here is an interaction from chapter 5 of The Silence & the Storm (poster child of fics that got too long)

Before he turned to go, he placed a hand on Anrakyr’s shoulder. Anrakyr tried to shake him off, but his grip was as strong as his bulky build would imply. Through an interstitial message he said, “If you ever wish to hear of Pyrrhia, you need only ask. Perhaps you still have friends there? Perhaps not. But would you not like to know?” “What are you—” Zultanekh broke the connection. He started back down the corridor, and Anrakyr had to choose whether to chase him, or remain with this stranger.

I had no idea what had actually happened on Pyrrhia when I wrote that. I just knew I wanted to address Anrakyr's backstory and why he left his home planet, so I left myself that set up figuring I would pay it off later. And then in chapter 48 we got this:

“Do you remember back when the mot was called,” Anrakyr said. “You told me that if I wished to know about Pyrrhia I need only ask. That I might still have friends there. Was that true?” “Would I lie about such a thing? Never,” Zultanekh replied, surprisingly softly. “Did my own wanderings take me to Pyrrhia? Yes, they did. An unlucky clash with some orks left this ship in need of repairs—although make no mistake the orks were far worse off! Space debris after we were done with them.” Anrakyr flashed a glyph of impatience.  “In any case,” Zultanekh continued. “We landed, declaring our intentions to repair and leave. Had we heard rumors of lost Pyrrhia? We had, however the planet itself was quite…orderly. Calm.”

The conversation goes on as Zultanekh describes more of what he saw because 33 chapters later I, the author, now know what happened and can start giving that pay off. Sometimes I will get really lucky and find something I didn't intend as foreshadowing but that happens to work! Those are good days.

Now this is a risky strategy. You can limit your options when you do this, and you have to make the pay off make sense given whatever you set up. I've definitely wished for the power to go back and edit some of my vague hints in the past. But that is the challenge! True you could actually be good at planning and meticulously plant all your little seeds and reveals. Or you can be me, a creature of vibes and chaos.

Speaking of vibes, I think it is important to talk about the audience. And how they will influence you. When you present a finished story, that is it. It is done. The audience can talk about the story all they want, but it cannot retroactively influence how you wrote the book. With serial writing 99% of the time readers will be able to comment. And I think we writers have to be very careful about how we let that affect our writing.

The Game of Thrones writing team apparently at some point decided that "fooling the audience" and being unpredictable was more important than telling a good story, so they changed plot points when too many audience members predicted certain outcomes. This is bad. However, sometimes audience feedback is good! I personally unlocked a whole subplot because a commenter asked about a character I had included totally at random. It was a filler name! I did not realize this character was in a game, but realizing that gave me incredible stuff to work with. I'm glad I listened to them! Not to mention the incredible kindness and support that has kept me going through some rough patches in my life. By that same token, negative comments can feel awful. I have not found that to be an issue in my corner of the 40k fandom, but it is absolutely a consideration in other spaces (especially outside of fanfic) so just be aware.

I hope that answered your question! Probably too much, but as we have firmly established, I am verbose ☺️

[flamedraco]

Day 2 of Making a Minecraft Diaries AU

So I don't have a day 1 post because I just came up with this concept on my second day of working on a Diaries AU. The fact I'm even going to make this AU in the first place is probably a testament to how old I am since Diaries is a nine year old series at this point, but if you haven't watched Minecraft Diaries you should. It's by Aphmau, there's a playlist on YouTube for seasons 1-3. Go watch it. I'm serious. Go watch it.

Anyways: Day 1 I decided to make a Diaries AU because I got to talking about the series to Em and got struck with inspiration to make a Diaries AU with DSMP characters. Namely with Wilbur as the protagonist with other members of the DSMP ensemble and a couple of OCs as the cast. Because look. Diaries has 200+ episodes and a lot more characters than you think. DSMP does not have enough characters for the amount of people in Diaries. There are like 40 characters on the DSMP. Just one look on the Diaries character Wiki will make you realize the kind of situation I'm in. Just in the Season 1 character list for Phoenix Drop ALONE there are 26 characters. And not everyone that was whitelisted on the DSMP is a viable character I can use for the story! So I opened a doc and got the series open on my phone and I started the process of rewatching and outlining a few chapters. I got four chapters outlined yesterday before realizing shit. I need to figure out how tf the rest of the story is going to change and what I need to cut because I am NOT writing a 100 chapters worth of fic. So I started the process of cutting out things I didn't like or felt were overall unimportant plot beats before I went to bed.

Today: I'm continuing the process of trying to summarize the story and boil down Diaries to its most core elements while still outlining chapters, cutting out a lot of the extra fluff to leave myself room to build my own story because obviously if I'm making an AU I don't want everything to be one to one. Also Wilbur isn't Aphmau and thus will behave differently as a protagonist. Same with a lot of the other characters. I'm not going to leave any major or minor character in Diaries untouched because this is an AU, not a crossover. If the character was named and important? I'm changing them. If you see a name you don't recognize, probably an OC or some character you forgot was part of the lore that I was able to sneak in.

Right now I'm trying to make a simplified plot overview of Season 1. Season 1 is already giving me a headache. Do you know how many kids these people have? How many random characters we see once or twice being actively important to the plot SOMEHOW!?

I'm still doing it because I think a Diaries AU would be fun and any of my readers who read it and don't know shit about Diaries are going to be so surprised by some of the things that happen. Diaries may be an old series but damn was it emotional and compelling.

Anyways obviously some character relationships are going to have to be changed and not everything in this AU and the OG Diaries is going to be the same. For anyone who's curious I'm already cutting out most if not all of the werewolf shit.

Wish me luck, I'm currently working on the outline for chapter 6 before jumping back to sorting out more of the timeline. I've got my phone propped up against my notebook and my computer in my lap :D

[eyes-of-rock]

When Your Walls Come Down

( Eric Carr X OC)

Word count: 2600

Summary: Rae is a shy music journalist who’s never stood out in a crowd and prefers it that way, but a chance meeting with a certain fox might change all of that.

I worked really hard on this am I'm very proud of it so I hope you all like it and read it! ♥︎

I don't consider myself anything special. In fact, in most rooms, I'm the invisible one. The one that no one pays any attention to. That's perfectly fine with me. I prefer to keep to myself because I'm deathly shy.

As much as I love rock and metal, I could never play an instrument or be a groupie. My stage fright and general shyness would prevent me. Instead, I'm okay with being an observer in the crowd. That's why I only write music reviews for the magazine and don't bother fighting to get interviews with actual rock stars. I know I could never handle it. I'm perfectly fine doing my more solitary work.

“Rae, ready to go?” Dana, my roommate and concert buddy, says, popping her blonde head into my room.

“Yup,” I say, grabbing my purse and slinging it over my shoulder.

“Really?” Dana says, giving me a once-over; she's not convinced.

“What?” I ask, looking myself up and down. Am I missing a stain or something?

“You can't wear that to a Kiss concert!” Dana says, pushing me back into my room.

“Why not?” I ask, confused.

Since when can't a girl wear ripped jeans, a kiss t-shirt, leather jacket and cowboy boots to a concert?

It's not her red leather mini skirt and leather top to match with leather-heeled boots, but it's not a bad look. I'm not like her anyway. She's a blonde knockout with a perfect body. I'm a lacklustre redhead.

“We’re front row!” She says appalled. “Don’t you want them to notice you?”

Truthfully? No. I didn't want anyone to notice me. I want to enjoy the show up close. I wouldn't even know how to react or what to say if they did.

“No, I’ll let you get the attention,” I admit to her; I'm fine. I dont need it.

“Fine, but if I get backstage, I'm taking you with me.” She warns me.

Hearing that makes my heart race a bit. God, I wouldn't know what to do. I'd be awkward, ruin the vibe, and look like an idiot.

“Please don't.” I plead with her, “You don't want me making things weird.”

“You need to have some fun, Rae.” Dana sighs, “Come on, you're young and beautiful.”

If only that were true.

“Come on.” I say, opening our door and changing the subject, “I don't want to be late.”

“Fine.” She sighs, rolling her eyes as she follows me out.

———————————————

As the show ends, all four band members stand at the edge of the stage. Naturally, everyone around me is doing everything possible to get their attention. That includes Dana, of course. She's not trying to get anyone in particular. I know this because I know Dana. I've been to many shows with her; she's happy to get attention from anyone.

I, on the other hand, would rather disappear into the crowd. I actively try not to make eye contact despite them being right there. I'm looking at every place but the stage.

I watch as Paul Stanley hands a guitar pick right into Dana’s hand. Dana gives him a flirtatious smile. Please don't take her backstage—the memory of the threat she made earlier coming back. My anxiety is suddenly rising.

I'm not thinking straight because of that, and I make the mistake of looking up onto the stage. As I do so, I lock eyes with Eric Carr, the drummer.

Shit.

Before I can quickly look away, he smiles at me. Of course, once that happens, I know it would not be pleasant to look away. Of course, I can't make myself smile back because my anxiety is preventing me from thinking straight, and I'm slightly panicking.

He’s Eric Carr. The drummer of KISS is looking at me. I’m not used to anyone looking at me, let alone someone like him.

My heart is beating faster now. God, he's going to think of the rudest person ever. This is why you don't look up on stage, Rae.

He squats down and reaches out to me with one of his drumsticks. I've never gotten a drumstick or a pick at a show. Usually, like I said, I blend into the crowd so no one notices me, and when a pick is thrown out, I'm not about to fight over it.

I graciously take it. This time, I managed a shakey to smile at him to say thanks. Then, once it sinks in, I freak out and look away because it's me.

Oh my god. Eric Carr just gave me a drumstick. I know it means nothing; I'm in the front row at this concert. Plus, I weirdly made eye contact with him, and he probably felt he had to.

I look over to where Dana is standing. She's now somehow holding a backstage pass. How did that happen within the minute I wasn't paying attention?

Please, please, please don't have one for me. The drumstick incident was enough excitement for me, and I still haven't fully recovered from it. I'm even more scared to look on stage in case it happens again.

She turns to me with a big grin on her face. She flashes me the passes, and there are two of them.

Shit. The panic rises in my chest. I don't know what to do backstage with a band! What happens if I run into Eric? Oh my god. What do I even say after that? I suddenly regret ever coming to this concert with Dana.

——————————————————

I managed to sneak off before anyone noticed. Ideally, I'd like to leave, but I can't because I’m too nice and can't just leave Dana here. So, Instead, I search for a quiet spot.

I find a quiet corner and sit with my back against the way. I let out a sigh, not realizing I was holding in. I reach into my bag and pull out my notepad and a pen. I need to make some quick notes for my review tomorrow. I always do this right after a concert; it's still fresh, and I don't forget.

Yes, I'm lame. I'm sitting alone in the corner, writing backstage at a KISS show. I'm fully aware. I'd rather it be this way. I feel bad, though; this backstage pass should have been given to someone who’d used it correctly.

I pause as I hear hushed voices coming towards me. Hopefully, whoever it is won’t notice me. At least, that's what I'm praying for.

No such luck. Into view down the hall come Eric Carr and Bruce Kulick. Fuck. Eric is the last person I want to see.

Not that I don't think he's a brilliant drummer. No, I happen to love his drumming. I also happen to think he's cute and seems like a sweet person.

It's just the whole drumstick thing from earlier. I don't know what to say. Well, I do. I don't know if my anxiety will let me say it. I’m shy and hate interacting with people because I freak out. Then, they lose all ability to act normally or form words.

“Bruce, this is-” Eric stops once he spots me.

“Oh, hello.”

“I told you,” Bruce says, giving Eric an I told you so look, clearly referring to an earlier conversation.

You can do this, Rae. I remind myself. They’re just people. Not that I'm good with any people. Stop overthinking. I take a deep breath. Trying and failing to calm the panic I feel rising in my chest.

“Hello.” I manage to reply with a shaky voice. God, I sound like an idiot.

“You should know you might be here awhile,” Eric informs me, “I just saw your blonde friend making out with Paul.”

Ugh. I mean, it's good for Dana but not good for me. Now I'm stuck waiting until Dana remembers me, comes and tells me what's up, and before I can leave. I don't want to leave her behind. It's our policy.

“Oh…guess I have to wait then,” I reply like an idiot as if he couldn't figure that out.

“I can wait with you if you want.” Eric offers with a friendly smile.

“Oh…ah…you don't have to.” I manage to stutter out it's lovely of him to offer, but for one, I'm sure he has better things to do than spend time with me. And I have no idea how I'm managing to make this much conversation, let alone the hours it could take for Dana to find me.

“I have no problem keeping a pretty girl like you

company,” Eric compliments me, shooting me a charming yet sweet smile. Everything this man does is cute.

I swear my heart stops for a second. Did Eric Carr of KISS call me pretty? No. No way he did. I mean, no one has ever really called me pretty. No one even notices me, let alone someone like him.

I’d even think his tone was slightly flirtatious if I didn't know better. There is no way, though. After all, he could have any girl in that audience, hell, any girl in the world. Why would he want me? He's just being nice, Rae; it doesn't mean anything.

“Thank you,” I reply, giving him a small smile. I'm proud of myself for even being able to do that. After all, I'm freaking out inside.

“What are you writing?” Eric asks, peaking around to get a look at the page.

“I’m a journalist; I do music and concert reviews,” I tell him, gently shutting the book.

“Hopefully, you write about how amazing that drum solo was.” He teases, “And how sexy the drummer is.”

I was going to write about the drum solo and how I did think it was great. Of course, I thought he looked good behind the kit, but I was never and will never admit that out loud. I was half expecting him to bring up giving me a stick.

“The drum solo was great.” I compliment him; his solos are some of the best. I can't deny that.

“Also, thanks for the drumstick.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, “I always try to give them to the hottest girls in the crowd.”

There he goes again with the compliments. I can feel my cheeks getting red. Rae, it means nothing. Calm down.

“You don't say much, do you?” He comments, but it's not in a condescending way, like most people mean it when they say it to me. More just made in observation.

“I’m just shy, sorry.” I apologize; I feel embarrassed. I'm sure he's used to women and people talking his ear off. I'm just sitting here like a mute, and it's no fun.

“It’s okay,” Eric says softly, “I think it's cute.”

In all my life, I've never had anyone call me shy and cute; like I mentioned, they are usually not that nice.

“Oh.” I replied, surprised, “Thank you. Most people think it weird.”

I feel my face getting warm again. I'm sure I'm blushing like a complete idiot. He’s being nice, and you’re just sitting here blushing like an idiot. I should probably say something nice back, or do I? I'm not good in social situations.

Before he can reply to that, Dana comes down the hall. Her heels clicked loudly on the tiled floor, catching my attention.

She shoots me a smirk once she notices Eric sitting with me. Oh god. I'm never going to hear the end of this.

“I won’t be coming home tonight.” She tells me, tossing her car keys at me. “Looks like you won't be either.”

“Dana, please,” I say, my face turning bright red in embarrassment. Could you leave it to Dana to embarrass me?

“What?” Dana says, playing innocent, “You’re talking to a man and not running away; this has to mean something.”

“I don't run away.” I lie.

I know exactly what she's referring to with that comment. We became roommates in our first year of college when I moved to Los Angeles. Dana set me up on a blind date with her then-boyfriend's friend.

He came on way too strong, which freaked me out, so I ran away. Like, I ran away. I turned and ran—one of my most embarrassing moments. I would instead say that Eric never knew about it, though.

“Freshmen year,” Dana says, giving me the Oh come on, Rae, don't you play dumb look.

“Fine, but in my defence, he came on to me way too strong,” I say, trying to defend myself and not look like a loser or weirdo in front of Eric.

“You’re hopeless.” Dana rolls her eyes.

“You know it,” I say, shooting a finger gun her way. Completely forgetting for a quick second, I sat next to Eric Carr of KISS, and what I did was majorly dorky.

“Please be gentle with her,” Dana says, looking at Eric. “She’s easily spooked.”

“Dana, please, I'm not your horse!” I say, completely and utterly embarrassed. I feel like hiding.

First, Dana suggests he'd want to sleep with me, which is highly unlikely. Plus, they have a highly embarrassing story of me running away from a date. There is no way Eric will want to talk to me after this encounter.

“I won’t come on too strong, I promise.” Eric jokes, “I don't want you running off on me.”

“I’m more worried you might run off after that embarrassing conversation,” I coyly say, shooting Dana a glare afterward.

“Embarrassing? I found it very informative.” Eric laughs, “Now I know what not to do.”

“Well, that's my queue to leave; see you tomorrow, Rae!” Dana says, giving me a little wave as she disappears down the hall.

I suddenly feel a yawn coming on. I glance at my watch. It's 1 am. I'm never usually up past 10:30 most nights. No wonder I'm tired. I also have work tomorrow, so I really should get going.

“I didn't know I was that boring.” Eric teases.

“It’s not you,” I tell him, laughing a little. I feel much more comfortable with him after he didn't run away after the Dana incident.

“It’s just that I have work tomorrow and never stay up this late,” I tell him, yawning halfway through the sentence.

“Well, before you go, would it be too bold to ask for your phone number?” Eric asks me with a sweet smile.

I'm surprised. No one has ever wanted my phone number before. Does this mean I've been wrong this whole time? Maybe he thinks I'm cute. Why else would he ask for my number?

“Okay,” I reply. I think he's earned it. After all, he's been sweet to me all night. As Dana would say, you only live once, right? And who am I to say no to Eric Carr of KISS having my phone number?

I open my notebook and carefully write it down. Then I write my name below it before ripping the page out of the notebook and folding it over before handing it to Eric.

He unfolded it and read it over, then looked at me.

“Rae.” He says, repeating the name he just read on the paper. I must admit it does sound nice coming out of his mouth- Rae, keep yourself in line.

“It suits you.”

“Thank you.” I smile shyly.

“I’ll give you a call.” He promises.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I tell him, and I wholeheartedly mean that. For the first time, I'm looking forward to talking to someone, and the feeling is new. Yet, for once, I'm not scared. No, I'm excited and it's a good feeling.