#i just need all my betas to know that I KNOW my story isn't perfect in its current state and that's exactly why it's out for critiques

[em-dashes]

now that suddence is out to betas i'm oscillating between getting more and more self conscious and overthinking about everything that might be wrong with the story vs. knowing that is literally THE POINT of betas and i can't in good conscience let my story slide out into the world with a bunch of faults i didn't catch simply because i was too close to it

[seokgyuu]

Strawberry Wine - Part 1

Pairing: Lee Jihoon (Woozi) x Fem!Reader

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Strangers to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Fake Dating, Smut (not in this part) MDNI!

Synopsis: After breaking off your engagement to your cheating fiancé, you decide to take the planned trip to Paris anyway. A vacation alone with the honeymoon suite all to yourself seems like the perfect distraction. Just that, due to an internal error at the hotel lost soul Jihoon, who still isn't over his first love's death five years ago, is staying in the same honeymoon suite as you.

Warnings (in this part): mentions of cheating, alcohol consumption, angst, probably a not so good description of paris tbh, the word "cock" is mentioned once, slight sexual tension

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: hi everyone!! this is part one of my story for the world tour collab hostes by @svthub!! check out the masterlist here! this one is a bit of a... beginning, i guess, lol. the real drama and smut and all that will be in part two. but i still think this is a a fun part to get to know our characters! this not beta read and i might edit it later... thanks for reading i hope you enjoy <3 header & divider credit to @okiedokrie!

one; the author

The flash of the camera goes off and you’re almost sure your eyes were closed. The teenage girl next to you smiles brightly and waves at you once more before rushing off to go over to her mother. You lightly smile back and look over to your right where Minghao is giving you a thumbs up. Apparently, so you interpret his gesture, you’re holding up quite well for someone who just caught her fiancée cheating two weeks ago. 

You’re aware that you could have canceled the book signing today. No one would have been mad. But even though your heart is shattered to a million pieces and you don’t think you’ll ever heal from this hurt - you still need to earn money and make those who give you that money happy. Just sucks that the person you build this with is somewhere on the Bahamas with your biggest rival on the romance book market. Or, well, as your publisher says: your bestest friend on the romance book market. Since you’re both making money, of course. You can’t count the times you and her have been sent to events together, not saying a word to each other on the way there and playing happy family the second you are in front of the cameras. 

Her books weren’t even good! Boring and predictable if anyone asked you. Your ex had always agreed with you, even if he was her agent as well as yours. But Jaehyun was slick - he told her the same about your books. 

“Hi, oh my god, I love your books so much! I can’t wait for the next one!” It’s a boy with the brightest and whitest smile you have ever seen and for a second you can forget your sadness.

“Thank you so much. What name do you want me to sign?” 

The book signing ends about half an hour later. You’re in the car with Minghao who’s typing something on his phone as he sits in the backseat with you. 

“You did great, you know.” He says, not looking up. His words make your stomach turn uncomfortably even though you know he means well. 

“Thanks,” is your mumbled response, your head slowly turning to look out of the window. Minghao sets down his phone, realizing his words didn’t come out the way he wanted them to. He sighs.

“Best friend dearest,” he starts, “you know what I meant. Considering you have been in your room with no lights on and Adele on repeat for the last few months - you did exceptionally well socializing with people you don’t know.”

“It’s my job after all, isn’t it?” 

“No, your job is writing brilliant books, Y/N. This is just a bonus. Your books would sell wonderfully even without you doing this.”

Three months ago this would have made your chest fill with pride. You’d be beaming and agreeing with Minghao, content with your life and what you had made it to be. But now, it’s different. 

Now, all you feel is ache in your chest. No sense of pride, no smile in sight. No contentment with how your life is going. Joy has been missing in your palette of feelings for a long time. 

The city lights are what keep you awake. Exhaustion and the feeling of sadness that you have become so used to are close to make you falter, to make you want to go home and put those Adele songs right back on repeat. It’s not fair, you think. Not fair that your life was ruined this way and you can’t get back up. That all you’re able to do is live because you have to, not because you want to. And the closer July 17th comes - the more you feel yourself falling deeper into a hole. 

It’s hard to believe that three months ago you were a completely different person. A person who loved to laugh, who had fun game nights with her friends, cooked every day, went for runs in the morning, planned a wedding. You were a person who loved to love. All of this was accompanied by the person you had been sure you’d spend the rest of your life with: Jaehyun. He was tall, handsome, kind. You had met him through work - he had been assigned your agent when you switched publishers. He was your muse. Helped you with your books, made the sales sky rocket with the way he marketed you. 

For five years he was your everything. In some ways (ways you loathed) he still is. Your whole life revolved around him. Wherever you went - he did too. Whenever you fell - he was there to catch you. Nothing in the world could have ever prepared you for what was going to happen. But then again, when is someone ever prepared to be cheated on by the person they trusted the most in their life? 

To say it was a shock would be an understatement. Accidentally finding the messages he sent to her on his iPad. Confronting him and seeing his face fall, his expressions change into something you had never thought possible. He looked caught. Mainly because he was. Also because he never thought the truth would come to light. You had been the only one left in the dark. Everyone at the publishing house knew what he was doing. He and her. 

It wasn’t fair, you knew that, but in the beginning you couldn’t handle being mad at Jaehyun. Instead you focused all your anger on her, all the hurt you felt. It wasn’t like you had particularly liked her before - she was your rival, the person everyone always compared you to. She was younger than you, didn’t have as much experience - but she was more successful. At least to an extent. Her books regularly went viral on ‘booktok’, mainly because she wrote them like she worked in a factory. Every couple of months there’d be a new one - and people ate it up. You, on the other hand, liked to take your time, liked to write stories with captivating characters, with characters people could relate to - fall in love with. 

Suddenly your biggest rival became the person you hated and wanted to be like the most in the world. To be her would mean to have him. Him, who you still love so much, who still means everything. 

It is a little different now. 100 days later and you feel like you don’t love him as much anymore. Yes, it still hurts like hell and, yes, you want to stay home most of the days. But you don’t miss him as much as you used to. 

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Minghao asks now even though he already knows the answer. Gosh, you wish you could give him a yes. A smile and a yes. Instead, you only present him with the first, stretching out your hand and reaching for his.

“I need to get home, Hao. Today has been a lot.”

Minghao nods slowly, a sad smile on his pretty lips. He understands, he really does. But he also misses his happy best friend. Misses the way your eyes crinkle when you smile wholeheartedly , misses the sound of you honest laugh. No matter how many time will pass, he doesn’t think he could ever forgive Jaehyun for what he’s done to you.

Fighting with a french man on the phone at the crack of dawn surely had not been on your agenda for today. 

“I’m sorry, miss, but the cancellation period ended two weeks ago, there is nothing we can do.” 

It’s too early and you are too tired. He is probably too by now, considering he has been saying this sentence at least five times in the past seven minutes. You pull a hand through your hair and let it drop back onto the mattress after.

“My wedding isn’t happening anymore, and you really won’t let me cancel the honeymoon suite?” Usually, you’d never snap at anyone over the phone - especially custom service personnel, but this is different. What he’s implying means you won’t get any money back from one of the most expensive purchases you’ve made. Worst thing about this: you paid for this yourself. Jaehyun had paid the location - which of course could still be canceled. But the freaking hotel stay in Paris of course was set in stone! 

“I am very sorry, miss. I wish there was more that I could do. Perhaps you can take the trip yourself and enjoy our beautiful honeymoon sui-“

You hang up on him. It’s not polite, you’re aware. But just the thought of being alone in the suite you were supposed to enjoy with your freshly baked husband… no, absolutely not. Then, fine, you’d have to live with having spent thousands of dollars on a hotel suite you wouldn’t be able to use. 

As if life isn’t horrible enough already.

When you sit at brunch later that day with Minghao and your mutual friend Mingyu, they both stare at you like you’ve just told them you decided to get Jaehyun’s face tattooed on your thigh. 

“Are you kidding me? You basically get to have a Paris vacation for free for yourself!” Mingyu says, the glass of mimosa he is holding in his hand is almost spilling with the way he moves his arm. You scoff.

“What do you mean “free”? I literally paid for it months ago!” 

“Okay, and did you already make that money back?” Mingyu continues and raises his brow. You stay silent for a moment. 

The restaurant Minghao chose is filled with people enjoying the vegan food made from scratch. Your own very delicious avocado toast with a side of fresh fruit and soy-yogurt is laying in front of you, waiting to be eaten. The mimosa Minghao had ordered for you remains untouched. 

“She has.” Hao decides to answer for you as he sips from his mug of matcha. You shoot him a glare.

“So what! I’m not going to go to Paris by myself when this was supposed to be my honeymoon!” You try to stay quiet, looking from Minghao to Mingyu and back. Judging by their faces, they don’t seem to understand the big deal. 

You envy them. God, how much you wish you could just do it. Go on that already paid for vacation by yourself, not give a single damn about Jaehyun and his new girlfriend. Your heart sinks. Just thinking these words is making you feel like crawling back into bed. 

Minghao groans and puts his mug back on the table. 

“Y/N,” he starts and his voice sounds more serious than you’ve ever heard him talk before - even Mingyu seems startled, “I get it, okay? I get that he hurt you, that he made you believe in something that was never going to work. He is an asshole, if not the biggest asshole walking freely on this earth. But you’re young! You’re young and you deserve better than this! Keeping to yourself, barely leaving your apartment - your bed, honey, it’s not good for you. I understand that you want to stay away, that the world is a fucking scary place without the person you thought was your person right there next to you,” he grabs your hand over the table, “but do you know what all of this means? That your person is still out there! That you can still find them! And what better place to start than Paris, the literal city of love!”

He means well. Just like the other night after the book signing. He means well and he wants just what’s best for you. No one wants you to feel better as much as he does. Then why does it make you so mad that he is asking this of you? That he is calling you out this way? 

You pull your hand away from his and grab your purse from the free chair next to yours. Both men gawk at you, startled.

“Y/N-,” Mingyu tries, but you raise your hand to interrupt him.

“You get it, Hao? Really? Has your significant other of five years also cheated on you with your biggest rival? Did you also have to cancel a wedding you put hours and hours of work and money into? Because I don’t remember this happening to you! So, I would really appreciate it if you gave me the time I need to grieve this relationship and decide for myself when I am ready to get out again!”

Without giving them another look, you storm out of the restaurant. Everything around you is a blurr and you only notice that you’re crying when you reach your car. Cursing to yourself, you move to open your car, tears dripping from your cheeks down onto your shirt. God, what a pathetic little woman. Crying in your car after yelling at your best friends for what? For caring? For only meaning to help? 

It takes a while before you manage to start the engine and get on the road to drive home. The radio is silent and for a second you wished you could turn off your brain the same way. Just one switch and all thoughts gone. All the self doubts and the hurt, all the thoughts of what-if and the wish to travel back in time and never have you take his iPad. 

You stop at a red light and wipe away some more tears. You don’t dare to look into the mirror and check your make-up. 

Never finding the iPad, you circle back, if you had never found it, you wouldn’t be in this situation. No, you’d most likely still be in a relationship with a man that cheated on you. That didn’t love you half as much as he claimed, that didn’t deserve the time and care you’d given him. 

When the light turns green, you continue your way, your thoughts still roaming around the what if. And while your heart yearns for him back, for what you believed you had - your head knows it’s better this way. Jaehyun isn’t the one for you, as much as you would have loved him to be, Minghao is right. It’s just that the thought of starting over with someone new makes you cringe, makes fear rise within you. Someone new to give your heart to and hope they don’t break it the way Jae had. 

Once you’re on the highway you think back about the time you had decided to travel to Paris for your honeymoon. It had been your idea, your wish. Your first ever book, even if it never made it onto a bestseller list or into the mouths of the best romance critics - it was set in Paris. The city of live, the city you decided would become your favorite even though you had never been. Spending two weeks there with the love of your life after becoming his forever, seriously, nothing had ever sounded as wonderful as that. 

Minghao’s words ring in your ear. Your person is still out there, he said. And that Paris, as the city of love, would be the perfect place to go look for them. Your knuckles turn white around the steering wheel. You never wanted to spend time in Paris with anyone but Jaehyun. 

Or maybe, you think as you take the exit leading to your neighborhood, the only Person you need to spend time with in Paris is yourself. 

two; the lost soul

He never should have listened to Jeonghan. No one should ever listen to Jeonghan. The cab driver is speaking in quick french that Jihoon knows he wouldn’t understand even if he spelled out every word for him. Then again, he isn’t even sure the driver is talking to him or just about him. Jihoon can’t really blame him. After all, he is the stupid American with the stupid big guitar case and a backpack almost bigger than himself. 

The backseat is hot and Jihoon’s sunglasses do little to keep the sun from blinding him. 

Paris in the summer sounded better on paper than it does actually experiencing it. It’s nothing compared to the summer in Arizona, where Jihoon grew up, but having lived in Vermont for a while now, he wasn’t used to the burning hot, scorching sun that threatened to give him the sunburn of his life if he didn’t re-apply his sunscreen every few hours. 

Tara had always laughed at him and his easily burned skin. She never burned, no, she got a tan right away, looking beautiful in the rays of sunshine dazzling on her skin like they belonged there. 

Right now, he misses her more than he has in a while. When he passes the beautiful architecture of his first love’s favorite city, he smiles even with the sun shining directly into his eyes. 

In all seriousness, Jihoon doesn’t know why he is here. It feels wrong to be here without her, but it also felt like he had to take the invitation from his friend. She would have never forgiven him, if he let this opportunity fly. Visit the city of love, the city she had always dreamt about, he knows as wrong as it feels, it’s the right thing to do. 

A few minutes later, the cab stops in front of an old looking building. Without saying anything, the driver takes Jihoon’s Euros and drives off after heaving Jihoon’s suitcase out of his trunk. 

Jihoon looks after the car, his dark hair falling into his forehead. Once the cab takes the next corner, he looks at the building, something stirring in his stomach. This… doesn’t look like the pictures on AirBnb at all. Quickly, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, happy he booked the data package at the airport back home. Opening his app, he feels like he’s about to throw up his airplane food.

It’s not there. The apartment is gone from the app, not newly put in under a different name, not just gone because of a glitch. It’s like it never existed. Jihoon curses, moving his fingers over his screen, calling the customer service only to be met with a french speaking automatic voice that doesn’t help him in the slightest. 

Hanging up again, he stares at his phone for a few seconds. He shouldn’t have come. It feels too much like a sign. Maybe he should try changing his flight to this evening, maybe he should try to run after that cab and-

The phone in his hands rings and he quickly picks up.

“Hello?”

“Jihoonie!” It’s Jeonghan, the only reason he is in Paris in the first place, “did you make it to the city of love?”

“Yeah, and I wish I didn’t,” Jihoon mumbles in response, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Why? What happened?” Jeonghan does sound concerned, which might be a first.

“My Airbnb doesn’t exist.”

Silence. Jihoon just knows his friend is trying his hardest not to laugh. Oh, to be Yoon Jeonghann and always get entertained by his friends’ miseries. 

“Jeonghan, this isn’t funny, okay? I’m about to call another cab and get my ass back home.”

“No! No, you can’t go home! You’re here and I’m going to make sure these will be two of the most amazing weeks of your life, alright? Look, instead of home, get your ass to my hotel. I think I might have a solution for your problem.”

When Jeonghan texts him the address and Jihoon hails another cab, he doesn’t dare to hope that his friend has an actual solution. 

Perhaps Jihoon should have asked Jeonghan more thoroughly what kind of Hotel he works at. Because this looks very different to the building Jihoon just left. This is art, this is a fancy hotel in the middle of Paris’ most elegant streets, people in expensive clothes walking around Jihoon who has only a backpack and a guitar on his back. Jihoon gapes at the building, words he has read a million times suddenly filling his head, suddenly coming to life.

The façade of the hotel stands proudly on the bustling Parisian street, an exquisite testament to classical elegance and modern charm. The building’s cream-colored stonework is adorned with intricate carvings and ornate embellishments, each detail meticulously crafted to perfection. Above the entrance, a grand arch frames a large window, its glass shimmering in the soft light of the early evening.

Striped blue-and-white awnings shade the windows, their cheerful colors contrasting beautifully with the building’s stately architecture. Delicate wrought-iron balconies extend from the upper floors, offering glimpses of lush potted plants and inviting chairs, perfect for an intimate evening under the stars.

The entrance is framed by deep blue columns, and a passageway, warm light spills out from within, hinting at the luxurious interior that awaits guests. A pair of elegant lanterns flank the doorway, casting a gentle glow on the stone steps below.

Above the entrance, a crest adorned with elaborate scrollwork and a regal shield stands as a proud emblem of the hotel’s storied history. The name of the hotel is etched in graceful letters, a promise of the enchanting experience that lies within. 

He doesn’t dare to move from where he is standing. Doesn’t dare to step foot into the hotel that looks exactly the way he had envisioned the one Tara would always read to him. Goosebumps erupt all over his skin and he swears there are tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. This must be a dream, a different reality, because there is no way Jeonghan works here. 

But when Jihoon lets his eyes wander over the façade and into one of the magnificent windows - he spots his friend. Spots him on the phone behind the wooden counter, writing something down. He is here and this is real. 

So, Jihoon slowly moves. One foot before the other, eyes glued to the entrance, nis heart beating in his chest. He feels silly, but he wonders if Tara had seen this as clear as he had back when she had read the book to him over and over again. 

A welcome warmth meets Jihoon inside. It’s just as beautiful as the outside, he finds, his stomach turning over once more. 

The lobby exudes a warm, inviting glow, courtesy of the golden chandeliers that hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft light over the polished marble floors. Rich hues of deep blue and soft gold dominate the color palette, creating a sense of opulence and sophistication. Jeonghan stands behind the mahogany desk, still talking on the phone, still not spotting Jihoon. 

Jihoon, who feels so insanely out of place in his worn out jeans and the old leather jacket, with his hair unkempt and his eyebrow pierced. He moves over to the front desk, trying his hardest not to care about the stares he is getting from the people who clearly know he doesn’t actually belong here.

Jeonghan’s eyes light up when he sees him, a wide smile now on his lips as he holds up a finger as if to tell Jihoon to just be a little more patient. Jihoon carefully puts his hands on the top of the counter, his eyes roaming the lobby again. 

“Of course, we can’t wait to have you back here again so soon, Miss Jones. Have a great day, bye bye!” 

Jihoon’s eyes fly over to Jeonghan again when he hears the phone click. 

“You’re actually here!” Jeonghan’s smile grows and he moves forward to give Jihoon probably the most awkward hug of his life over the counter. Jihoon laughs at that, patting his friend on the back. 

“Well, it’s either this or the streets,” he smiles, “you never told me how… grant all of this is.” He gestures with his hands, as if to make sure Jeonghan knows he means the hotel. His blonde haired friend chuckles.

“Yeah, I thought it would come off like bragging if I did say so. I never would have heard the end of it from the boys.”

Jihoon nods. He knows exactly what Jeonghan means. Still. He can’t shake the feeling that if he had known about this… his stomach drops again.

“It’s beautiful.” Is all he eventually says, ignoring the worried look of his friend. Jihoon doesn’t know (and Jeonghan will never tell him) but there was a reason he had never mentioned this to him. 

“That, it is,” Jeonghan finally responds, wiping the worry off his face and replacing it with a broad smile, “and you will get to live here for the next two weeks!”

“I will what?!” Jihoon’s eyes widen in surprise, “Jeonghan, I can barely pay rent at home, what do you-,”

“Obviously for free, dummy,” Jeonghan chuckles, “we have a free suite that has already been paid for, full price.”

Jihoon raises his brows, his hands feeling damp on top of the fancy counter.

“How come it’s free when it’s fully paid?” He asks.

“Well, there was supposed to be a wedding and…. now there isn’t one. They didn’t meet the requirements for the full or the partial refund. So, it’s free for the next two weeks since we can’t legally double book. You want it?”

It feels a little bit too good to be true, but Jihoon is in no place to turn down Jeonghan’s offer. The little voice in his head is trying to get to him, trying to make him speak the words to himself. It tries to get him to admit that this feels a lot like fate. Like a sign from above, from Tara. He doesn’t let it get to him. He’s not ready for that, and he’s certainly not melancholic enough for thoughts like this - even as a songwriter. 

“I do, thank you, Han, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”

“Oh, most certainly sleep on the streets. Find a rat for a friend, or maybe a pigeon. They are crazy over here,” Jeonghan sings as he types something in the computer, scanning one of the key cards he takes from the drawer beneath him. Jihoon watches him with his heartbeat in his ears. 

“Yeah, never been a big fan of rats. Or pigeons.” Jihoon dares to look around the lobby again, seeing all those people living their life, probably never worried about any of the things he worries about. He wasn’t lying when he said he has trouble paying his rent. Work hasn’t been easy these days. 

“Aaaaand, here we go!” Jeonghan grins brightly, “your key, Mr. Lee.” He holds it mid air, pulling it back slightly as Jihoon is trying to grab it. The latter gives him a funny look. Jeonghan pouts as he thinks.

“That rhymes. “Your key, Mr. Lee”.” Jihoon closes his eyes for a second. Jeonghan chuckles happily.

“Watch out, I’m coming for your job.”

“Well, stop it and do yours instead,” Jihoon replies, allowing himself to grin back at his friend and take the card from his hands, “where is this suite you promised me?”

-

Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned what kind of suite this is. There is nothing Jihoon can do but stare at his surroundings with his mouth and backpack dropped, his guitar slowly sliding down his arm. 

He is in the honeymoon suite. In retrospect, it makes sense. Jeonghan did say a wedding had been canceled. 

There are three rooms. Right now, Jihoon is standing in the enormous entrance way. Golden and blue like downstairs, with wood accents, a big round table in the center of the room that connected all the different rooms, a centerpiece of flowers as beautiful as a summer day adjoining it. The walls are high and plastered with fine drawing, ornating through all of the hallway and over to the other rooms. Flowers and patterns so elegant Jihoon doesn’t know how to even describe them. 

He feels out of place as much as he feels content. Letting his luggage rest on the floor, he moves into the first room. It’s a large sitting room, probably as big as his whole apartment back at home. Two couches of rich dark blue; cushions in different colors, some of them reminding Jihoon of the ocean, some of the sky, rich blues and light blues, and then there is the color of dawn, orange and yellow. 

A majestic cremé colored carpet lays beneath the sofas, a glass table standing between them. On top of it magazine stacks and a glass tray holding what looks like whiskey and two glasses. High windows let the sun shine through and Jihoon spots a balcony leading around the living- and bedroom, holding his breath as he imagines himself out there softly strumming his guitar with a glass of whiskey or wine. His heart warms at the thought of finally having peace. Peace in the city his former lover had loved so much. 

Next up he walks into the bedroom, a king sized bed greets him with white linen covers and pillows almost as big as his torso. It looks incredibly comfortable and he couldn’t wait to lay down and relax after the day he’s had. Golden curtains sway in the wind let in by an opened window, and the view is so poetic he almost feels himself tear up. Quickly, he looks away and instead finds his way into the master bathroom. It’s all held in gold as well, gold and white for a change, an enormous tub next to a high rain shower behind a glass wall. He sighs.

This is perfect. And he most definitely needs a shower right now. 

So, he retraces his steps and grabs his luggage, setting everything down next to the bed and letting his guitar rest in the corner of the room. He decides to actually unpack his backpack that probably doesn’t even hold as much clothes as he probably needs for this trip (he did think he had a washer, though) and places everything in the large closet opposite the bed. 

Finding himself humming, Jihoon allows a little bit more of that earlier peace to find place in his head and heart. Perhaps there is no reason for him to be worried - to look for something to go terribly wrong on this trip. Jeonghan is off work by now, and they’ll go catch dinner together, then he’ll come back here and maybe watch a movie, fall asleep to the sound of Paris outside his window. He doesn’t know what it sounds like just yet, but he’s already excited to find out. 

Ridding himself of his clothes and feeling another threat of tears when he touches the towels hanging in the bathroom, Jihoon finally lets himself step into the shower and wash all of his worries away. 

three; the mix-up

You don’t think your heart has ever beaten as fast as it does when you walk out the Charles de Gaulle airport and right into the arms of the driver Minghao has arranged for you. It’s not about the driver or the airport - but where you are. 

Paris, the city of love, the city you feared to visit after what had happened with Jae. Yet, here you stand. Handing the driver your luggage and fishing for your phone in your purse, texting Minghao you already found your driver and are now on the way to the hotel. It all feels surreal and like you’re going to wake up any second.

Minghao forgave you without hesitation. Hugged you close to his chest and cried with you as you told him you were sorry and that he was right. You needed to do this - needed to face your demons. Together, the two of you had finalized the plans, popping open a bottle of expensive champagne and gossiping about Jaehyun and who he left you for. Little by little, you knew, you would find yourself again. And perhaps Paris was the perfect way to start. 

The drive from the airport to the hotel was spent staring out the window. First you saw the highway leading from the airport to the city - greenery with trees on each side, all passing by you in a blurr. And then the beautiful streets of Paris. The fine architecture, the elegant bridges over the Seine. Heart warming at the sight of the city you dreamt about so much. Your first ever book had taken place right here, you had let your main characters kiss for the first time right there on that bridge leading from one side of Paris to the other, so close to the Louvre, to the glass pyramid you made them fight and make up all the same, just months apart. The sun is dazzling onto the dark water of the river, light dancing on the surface. 

The driver comes to a stop in front of the hotel about 45 minutes after your departure from Charles de Gaulle. He holds open the door for you and helps you out of the car, smiling at you warmly and finally getting your bags out of the trunk. You thank him in some broken French and he nods at you before finding his way back to the driver’s seat. 

One of the bell-boys spot you right when you walk in, their English sounding a bit like your French just now. You thank them and hand over your luggage, letting them help you carry it to the mahogany reception.

It is exactly like you remember it. You had never seen it in person, no. But you’ve found this hotel during your research, falling in love with it right away. It was a no-brainer that your honeymoon was to be held here. 

You felt overwhelmed at the sight of the colors you had tried so hard to bring to paper, at the sound of soft music in the background, at the knowledge this was real and you were gonna stay here for two whole weeks. 

Finally, you reach the counter where a small man stands and smiles up at you, his hair styled back.

“Welcome, how can I help you?” He says in perfect English and you place your hands on top of the counter.

“Hi,” you tell him your name, “I have a reservation.”

The man nods, looking up the reservation and finding it right away. Not marked as checked in, he notes and gives you another big smile.

“It is wonderful to have you, Miss. Will your husband be joining you?” 

You expected as much. While it does hurt a little, having to say these next words, you know it’s a step in the right direction.

“I will be staying here alone, thank you.”

It is more beautiful than you could have imagined and it takes you a whole lot not to start crying. Your luggage gets brought up by the nice bell-boys and you thank them by tipping them each 50 Euros. Their smiles make the loss of the money worthwhile. 

Once the door closes behind them, you dare to look around. See the beautiful entrance way in all its glory. See the living room in all it’s elegance, the high ceiling and windows, the smaller bedroom with a queen sized bed and a little reading nook, two ceiling high bookshelves standing around a comfortable looking loveseat. This must be what heaven looks like. 

There is nothing that can wipe that smile off your face. Everything inside you tingles with happy excitement, moving to go look at the master bedroom with the on-suite bathroom you remembered staring at for at least five minutes when you booked the room. Imagining yourself in the enormous bathtub with a glass of champagne and classical music playing, letting all the stress and hurt from the past months fade away with the notes. 

You don’t notice the closet and how there are clothes hanging inside it. Neither do you see the guitar case in the corner of the room. It fascinates you - how your mind tricks you into thinking you already hear the sound of water running, accompanied by humming along to a tune. Magnificent, what the mind can do. 

When you finally reach for the doorknob to push it down, yanking the door open in one swift move, you realize perhaps your mind isn’t as magnificent as you thought.

Jihoon doesn’t notice you until you scream. He swirls around, which is inherently a foolish thing to do inside a wet, slippery shower, his eyes widening whe spots you, reacting to your scream by screaming himself. He realizes he’s naked and tries to find something to cover him, taking a step forward to reach for the towel and forgetting there is literally a glass wall separating you two. 

Watching the man walk face-first into the glass and stumbling back, slipping on the wet floors and falling onto his ass would have made you laugh if it wasn’t inside your shower. 

“What the hell!” You yell, turning around so you don’t look at the naked man any longer.

“Who are you?!” He yells back and you almost gasp.

“I should ask you that!”

The two of you need to yell because Jihoon has not yet managed to turn the shower off. Only now does he (while rubbing his hurting back) get up, struggling in the process, his hand finding the lever to turn off the water. His nose hurts and his ass and his back. 

He moves out of the shower without running into glass this time, and wraps one of the soft towels around his waist. 

“I’m Jihoon,” he finally says. You think you’re suddenly stuck in a really bad movie.

“That- you’re telling me your name?!” You turn around again, staring at the stranger with disbelief in your eyes. 

“You did ask who I was, didn’t you?”

For a few moments the two of you continue to stare at each other. With every passing second you notice just how naked he is. Yes, there is a towel around him now, but you certainly did not… miss what was under there when you first walked in. As much as you don’t want to, your eyes scan the stranger, or well, Jihoon as he told you, stopping at his wet torso, the defined abs and the broad chest. He might be small in height but the rest of him seems… big. 

You swallow.

“If you’re done checking me out, would you mind telling me why you’re in my room?”

Heat spreads through your body and right into your face, your eyes jumping from his torso to his face.

“Your room? I’m sorry, this is my room!”

While Jihoon did hit his head, he isn’t hurt enough not to understand that you’re most likely telling the truth. But Jeonghan had said the wedding was off… that you wouldn’t come here. So, why on earth, where you here?

“I- I can explain,” he begins, taking a step forward only for you to take a step backward. He holds out his hand as if to signal he wasn’t going to do anything.

“Go right ahead,” you hate that your voice is shaking, but it’s not like it is an everyday occurrence you find a beautiful stranger in your hotel room. If this wasn’t your actual life but a book this might have been sexy, might have led to the bed behind you finding the two strangers entangled, giving in to the sexual tension between them. Not that there was any of that in this situation.

“My friend, Jeonghan, he- he works here. He told me this suite wouldn’t be used and so I- well he asked me if I wanted to stay here for my trip after I told him my airbnb didn’t actually exist and I needed a, uh, a place to stay.”

You blink at him.

“He just- he gave you my honeymoon suite for free?

Jihoon swallows.

“Well…,” he thinks a little longer on his answer, “yes. Yes, he did.”

Telling the truth is probably his best bet. 

You take a deep breath, turning away from him, clenching and unclenching your hands.

“As you can see, I am here. So, please, find somewhere else to stay.”

Jihoon saw it coming, obviously. It was all too good to be true. Without saying anything else, he walks over to the closet, ready to dress himself. Just that he didn’t quite calculate the new luggage now laying in front of the bed. 

It all seems to happen in slow motion.

Jihoon tripping over your suitcase, his hands desperate trying to find something to hold on to before he falls. As if on reflex, you grab his arm, yanking him up so he doesn’t fall flatly on his face, just that you somehow manage to yank him so hard, you fall off balance. With a high pitched squeak, you fall onto the bed, Jihoon landing on top of you, his towel falling off in the process of the fall and save. 

A naked man is on top of you, brown eyes wide with shock staring into yours. His hands somehow moved right to the sides of your head as if to catch himself from falling even further on top of you. 

You can feel him. Feel his breath on your face, his skin on yours, his friend against your thigh. More heat rises, your face, your neck, your chest, your core. It’s bad. This shouldn’t be happening right now. 

The two of you are so engulfed in the moment, you don’t even realize when the door opens yet again. When voices you would normally recognize without trouble seem to fail your ears this time. Jihoon’s face so close to yours - way too distracting.

“What the fuck?!” 

Realization hits you at the same time as recognition and you gasp, your knee coming up, right into Jihoon’s lower parts, a yelp escaping him as he slides off the bed, hands now covering his private area and his face in a grimace of sheer pain. 

You don’t even notice it. Not really, at least. Now it’s not his face that’s distracting you but the one you used to love for so many years.

“Jaehyun?” You whisper. And for a second you think he came here to make amends, to win you back, to get on his knees and apologize - then you spot her walking in, her eyes scanning the room with distaste. 

“Who is that?” Jaehyun asks and you feel your blood boil. 

“What are you doing here?” You ignore his question. He isn’t looking at you, but at Jihoon still on the floor. 

“Oh, well, you know. We thought that it would be such a waste to let this suite go to waste,” it is her who answers you now, her deep red manicured hands now curling around Jaehyun’s biceps. 

This bitch. Your blood starts boiling. Anger makes you see red. 

“You brought her here?” You hiss at Jaehyun who has the decency to look guilty at least. You snort. Then, your eyes find Jihoon who’s still on the ground, Jihoon who is still naked. Jihoon, who desperately needs a place to stay. 

God knows what makes you do what you do next. Desperation? Foolery? Who knows. But you move to help Jihoon up, grabbing the towel and holding it in front of his lower half. 

“Y/N,” Jaehyun starts but you interrupt him.

“I see that we both had the idea to bring our new partners, or in your case old partner, to the suite we booked together, Jae. But since I was the one who paid for it, I would kindly ask you to leave.”

New partner. Jihoon needs a few seconds before he grasps what you just said. 

“New- new what?” He mumbles, but you clear your throat to drown out his voice. Jaehyun’s face is priceless and you don’t want the bluff to be uncovered so quickly.

“That is your new boyfriend?” She asks, her brows raised. You can see that she’s checking him out - his abs, his cest, his pretty face. It makes your insides turn with hatred and disgust. 

“Got a problem, Sierra?” You reply, your jaw tense. Her eyes only briefly meet yours.

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m glad to see you finally got out of that moping phase, honey. It really didn’t suit you.” 

Your grip around the towel tightens. 

Slowly, Jihoon begins to understand what is going on. Who these people are. There was supposed to be a wedding and a honeymoon, but neither of these happened. You are the bride, or well, were supposed to be the bride. And he, the man you called Jaehyun and who had caused all the color to fade from your face, surely seems to be the groom who… never got to be the groom. And judging by the way you reacted to him and her, he guesses the reason the wedding didn’t happen was… the woman you’d called Sierra. 

Blinking a few times, Jihoon realized that you were trying to convince him that he was your new boyfriend. That you had brought him here, to this hotel. It was ridiculous and straight out of a bad movie, but somehow… even if he didn’t know you, he felt like he should help you. And so, he let his arm wrap around your waist, catching you by surprise. 

“I would kindly ask you to leave us be. You have done enough.”

Your head swirled to look at the man next to you. His stern face and his wet hair. Drops of water sliding down the side of his neck. 

“How long has this been going on?” Jaehyun asks, ignoring Jihoon’s request. You turn to look at him again.

“That’s none of your business. You heard him, Jae. Leave. This isn’t your room anymore.”

Another beat of silence falls between the four of you. You try your best to ignore Sierra and cling onto Jihoon’s hand like it was the only saving grace. Perhaps that was true. Holding Jae’s gaze and trying to calm down your hurting heart, your wishes to throw something at him. 

“Fine. I heard the honeymoon suite in the Hilton is much nicer than this one, baby.”

It is then that you see it. The rings on her finger. Your stomach drops. He married her. Oh, you’re about to throw up. Jihoon seems to notice your change of emotions, quickly clearing his throat.

“Great. Have fun in Paris then.” 

He carefully takes the towel from your hand, wrapping it around him fully again. Then, he looks at you. The overwhelming urge to give you a hug is almost unbearable.

“Maybe,” Jaehyun said, “since we are both seeing other people and have moved on - we could grab dinner sometime this week. All of us.”

Jihoon sees the way your eyes shake at the suggestion. And he is just about to say no, that that’s not a good idea, when you push your shoulder back and hold your head high.

“What a lovely idea. We’d love to, isn’t that right, baby?” You interlock your fingers with Jihoon’s and he stares at you for just a second, before nodding.

“Sure,” he breathes out, looking at Jaehyun and Sierra. 

It most certainly isn’t a lovely idea, he is well aware of that. This whole thing isn’t a good idea. But here he is. Holding the hand of a woman he barely met twenty minutes ago. A woman who has seen him naked, a woman who had his half hard cock against the inside of her thigh. A woman he had been closer to than any other in the last five years. 

No, this wasn’t a good idea. This was an awful, horrible idea that could only go so, so wrong. 

[sweetiebarnes]

Twisted Pairing: Step Dad!Lloyd Hansen x Step Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 600+

Warnings: stepcest, voyeurism, female masturbation, nudity, implied future anal, minor daddy kink, dubcon/noncon if you squint, reader is early twenties, age gap.

Request: Lloyd Hansen, Step Dad, “What’s the matter? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked man before.”, and anal. Requested by: anonymous

A/N: I'm sorry I've been so slow with writing these. January has proven to be much more difficult than I had anticipated. I promise the stories are coming, and I am looking forward to doing your requests. This isn't my best work, but I still had fun writing it. It has not been beta read, so any mistakes are my own. As always my work is intended for adult audiences so 18+ only! Minors DNI. Pay attention to all tags and warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Writing Event Masterlist (still in the works)

From the first time Lloyd saw you he knew he needed to have you. That’s the thing about Lloyd Hansen, he always gets what he wants. He’d only married your mother because of the connections she provided. With her he’d be able to spread his business out throughout the country. What he hadn’t expected was the delicious present she had been hiding. 

Tonight your mother was out with friends from college. Lloyd knew this was the perfect opportunity to get what he’d been craving. You. He could picture you up in your bedroom reading one of your countless books. It was cute how you always seemed to find ways to avoid him. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he knew you felt something too. There was a magnetic pull between the two of you, and tonight would be the night he finally gets what he’s needed.

Lloyd makes his way up the stairs and stops outside your bedroom door. He’d expected to hear nothing, but instead he could hear what sounded like quiet whimpers. His eyes flutter shut as he leans in closer hoping to be able to hear you better. “Oh… Oh fuck, Lloyd.” There was no denying what he heard that time. You were in there touching what belonged to him. Without giving it a second thought, Lloyd quickly began to undress himself. This hadn’t been how he planned to do this, but when the opportunity presents itself how could he say no?

Once undressed, Lloyd opens your door. It takes you a moment to realize he’s standing there, and boy was he thankful for that. For that meant he was able to get a full spread eagle view of your soaked cunt. He watched as your finger meticulously rubbed your clit. The little moans that left your mouth were like music to his ears. It was when he let out a small grunt of approval that your eyes finally opened. 

The look of embarrassment washed over your face. But that look quickly turned into confusion and horror when you spotted that he was naked. Your eyes traveled down to his hard cock which was now between his large hand. Lloyd’s smirk grew when he saw that your eyes appeared to be glued on him. “What’s the matter? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a naked man before.” His eyes never once leave yours as he slowly strides across your bedroom. “Oh come on, sunshine. We both know what you were just doing — who you were thinking about. Come on, be a good girl, show me.” 

The more he talked, the more your body seemed to tremble from nerves. “I - I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lloyd.” He rolls his eyes at your attempt to play dumb. He wasn’t going to allow you to continue your charade of being so called innocent. “You really want to play that game? Fine, show me. Prove to me that you’re not soaked right now. Because you and I both know that your little pussy is dripping for me. Dripping for your step-daddy.” His words cause a small to leave your lips.

Maybe just this once you can give into your desires. Maybe just this once you can be bad. 

Lloyd could hear a semblance of a plea when he watched you lay back on your bed. Your legs spread wide, inviting him to come give you both what you need. But Lloyd lets out a small tut and shakes his head. “Sorry, sunshine. That pussy isn’t what I’m interested in right now. I’d rather fuck your untouched hole. Turn around now.”

[thewinchestah]

"Chega de Saudade" - Alastor X Reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader.

Summary: When Alastor breaks into the V's building seven years later he expects to find a lot of things, lot of obnoxious, enraging, tacky things. He did not expect to find you. The Radio Demon does not take betrayl lightly and you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to his worst enemy. Better yet, you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to Vox and Alastor finding out. The soul you sold because Alastor left you for 7 years. Safe to say, it's a mess. A pretty, angsty, dark and delicious mess.

Warnings: Alastor is in Hell for a reason,general hellish violence,general hellish creepiness,eventual smut, i carioca coded valentino bc i can and bc he is very carioca sorry everyone,blackmail, Soul Selling, author is really invested in politics and decided to micromanage hazbin hotel canon, Corruption, Extortion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, but nothing too explicit,mature themes in general, canon divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, Alastor gets insane in this one you've been warned, fear play, Possessive Behavior, posessive sex, big bad radio demon is gonna fuck up the guy who stole his girl and will make it everyone's problem, Reader-Insert,no y/n,no beta we die like men here, i feel bad for tagging vox in this fic cause i think it's a disservice i really hate him and i make it clear so vox stans be warned, it's hell i hope y'all remeber ethics are fluid, posessive!Alastor, unhinged!Alastor, Isane!Alastor

Taglist: honestly only my queen @jyoongim i have no credibility to tag anyone anymore after being away for so long. If you wanna be tagged on future updates just let me know!

A/N:HI HEY BUNNY ANON IF YOU ARE STILL HERE THIS ONE FOR YOU!! Hiii everyone guess who's back. I had this fic cooking for a while now, actually i had a lot of writing cooking but in a very Ao3 author fashion a lot happened. You see i was on this writing streak and then my 15yo dog died while i was out of state. I had to go back on anti depressants and take a sabbatical. I got a new puppy and she's the light of my life. Got super sick, won a horse show. My first plan for this fic was having the first 3 chapters done and ready for debuting together because i always feel i'm lacking when i show up with only one chapter lol. After a while i realised i needed to get this first chapter out too see the light of day if i wanted to write again so here it is. This fic is a bit different from my other Alastor fics and i have a rough outline of 5 chapters so i think this beast will be more than 20k words long for sure. I decided to get a little deeper into Hell's politics and all the "no one ever thought of using heavenly weapons against hell even tough Hell's ancient and the best worst of humanity and demonkind is here". I call that bullshit sorry i'm brazilian i'm well versed in shady politicians and shady politics and unfortunatly, dear reader, you are in for this ride too. This fic kicks off right after "Stayed Gone". Also did i mention i'm brazilian and that my works are heavily inspired by brazilian media. This entire fic was inspired by one of my favourite songs of all time "Chega de saudade". And let's be real, Alastor and bossa nova are the perfect match. So yeah, english is not my first language and this isn't beta'd so sorry for any confusion or mistakes. Thank you so so much for reading my fics and always leaving the most kind beautiful and heartwarming feedback. I hope i can still deliver a nice story to my darling readers.

Click here for my other fics.

CHAPTER ONE: chega de saudade a realidade é que sem ela não pode ser.

In the first year you were calm and collected. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to why he is gone. Is he even gone, gone? He’s coming home soon, you can feel it. 

In the second year you convinced yourself there were signs everyone explaining why he was gone and when he was coming back, you were just too oblivious to them before. But everything can be a sign when you are delusional.

In the third year you cried so much you felt you were constantly drowning. You barely left home and some thought you were gone too. Gone to him.

In the fourth year you finally gave in and took the deal. Lack of self-preservation and machiavellian schemes working together to create a trap for him. He would come home out of anger, ire. But you can't outfox the fox.

In the fifth year you decided to scour hell and beyond after him. You went to places just to taunt him. Paranoia became your best friend, blood sweat and tears as you repeat “This time it will work, I'm sure of it”. Can a lie be said so many times it becomes the truth?

In the sixth year you accept defeat. You buried him deep and went about like he never existed in the first place. Isn’t it mystifying how this city screams his name?

It’s the seventh year now. The alarm on your phone rings and rings and you feel like scratching your face off. It’s time to meet your damned executioner.

Rolling out of bed you open the curtains to let some light in. The penthouse from the V’s building has a great view of Pentagram City, looking down you get the feeling of dystopian sci-fi that is so characteristic of the technology district. Limelights, digital outdoors, and big opulent, oppressing screens greet you like a constellation of dead stars, long distorted from their original purpose and form. 

You follow processional routine as you get ready. Choose a beautiful dress, put on make-up, and do your hair. It all feels like preparation for a sacrifice. One thing you learned from Alastor is that appearances are the best strategy and you intend to greet your handmade battlefield like a roman legion. 

Alastor. Even thinking of his name hurts, especially today when you need to face the consequences of your actions, the consequences of his actions. He is gone, he left you. And now Vox owns your soul. You blame your fall from grace entirely on him, he forced your hand, he made you do it. Out of desperation, out of defiance, you sold your soul to Vox so he would come back and save you, so he would come back out of hatred, anger and ire to tell how foolish you were, how betrayed he felt.

Betrayal. Selling your soul to his sworn arch enemy should be treason worthy of him dropping anything he was doing to come and punish you, to address you. You just wanted to get a reaction out of him, proof that he still cared. That he didn’t just get bored of the empire of terror he fought so hard to build in Hell. That he didn’t, deep down, just disregard you like a shiny novelty, to be left when it got old. 

You dry the persistent tears that insist on falling with clinical coldness. You are past feeling sad now, you don’t even feel angry anymore. You are past any emotion really, you just want to get this over with and get back home.

You went about your deal with Vox in many different ways, sometimes you felt like it was a good alliance, a slap on Alastor’s face. A side quest to gather as much information from the V’s inner circle, a social experiment. The truth is, during these past almost four years you were a mental gymnastics pro to justify your new arrangements. The cognitive dissonance required to live with the decision of being forever tied to Vox was an herculean task and boy he didn’t make it any easier on you. He would never be as refined as Alastor when it came to torture but there’s something about the coldness and calculated reality of the television business that was it’s own type of Dante’s inferno.

As soon as he got word of Alastor’s disappearance the TV overlord was on your scent, and he wasn’t shy about it either. You dodged him and led him on for almost four full years before finally giving in, everything was more or less under control during the early years of Alastor’s disappearance. 

Until you saw the angel army leaving.

  Death and gore were all around you. The sky rained blood. You couldn’t breathe. You tried to take a step forward only to realize you were knee-deep in demon blood. Adam was particularly ruthless this time, he seemed to have realized the unbalance in Hell’s power structure with one of the most prolific demon overlord’s absence and took full advantage of it. You choked on the sulfur filled air while the portal closed and Adam threw a last middle finger at the Pride Ring. A clawed hand offered you support as you were about to fall, your heart skipped a beat, for a split second you felt elation. In that split second a thousand thoughts, four years of misery and confusion passed through your mind like a movie. You were sure this was Alastor, showing up after the unprecedented carnage of today’s reaping. With the next heartbeat came the delivery of the most cruel reminder: the hand reaching for you was Vox’s. Alastor doesn’t care about anything anymore, not even losing territory. 

The TV overlord was covered in thick, red blood and looked vindicated, a wide chesire’s cat grin on his face. Baptized in carnage, Vox had finally triumphed for the V’s.The V’s were now a force to be reckoned with in Hell, there’s no argument to be made.  A good chunk of Alastor’s territory was now under their control, and everything that came with it too. Including you. 

“My darling doe, be careful, we can’t have you hurt after the battle is won can we?” 

Darling doe.

You threw up at the casual cruelty of the name Alastor called you with such affection being desecrated by Vox. He still supported you as you spilled your guts, you’d blame it on the nerves, the adrenaline, the reeking smell of death. Not on the fact that you knew he finally won, that the thing that broke you was to hear your name like that, on your lover archenemy’s lips. After that it happened. You sold your soul to vox. Of course he coerced you into it, and you were so mad with grief and betrayal that you felt like betraying Alastor back was the just thing to do. Pettiness and paradoxical hope dripping from your lips as the whole thing was done. 

Every year this same flashback assaulted your mind as you got ready to meet Vox on the anniversary of your deal. It never went past the look you gave those pixelated eyes as he held you on that barren land, stopping right there when you made the decision that finalized your ruin. You still wouldn’t, couldn't face what really went down when you formalized your deal with Vox. Those memories were suppressed and tucked in under layers and layers of regret and self-hatred. 

You gave yourself a final look in the mirror. No makeup smudging this time, you were getting good at numbing your feelings. Just a few tears, no more sobbing.

The yearly meeting with the V’s after the extermination was the perfect cover actually, everything was done in a way that it seemed like you were all cooperating. After all, you did hold a very good knowledge of the inner workings of Alastor’s deals, subordinates and territory. You knew who the V’s could “call in favours” and how to keep the peace. Or as close to peace as peace came when an abrupt power transition happened in Hell. You were a valuable asset to anyone really. Articulated in politics, masterful at the art of persuasion, kind, soft, charismatic, assertive, all in perfect balance, and frankly, breathtakingly beautiful. It wasn’t without reason that Alastor fell for you and that you became his most trusted advisor. You and Rosie were able to conceal his absence and manage his affairs for good two years and the better part of the third without raising any suspicion. Of course, the bigger they are the harder they fall and now you were walking down the corridor of the V’s building carrying a bulk of important intel that would dictate the fate of the Overlord power structure for the next year, at least. 

The hallways of the building changed a lot since you first walked them. As the V’s grew in power, the building grew in grandeur. It was now an imposing beast, looming over Pentagram City. Modern corporate architecture that incorporated the savage capitalism of Vox Tech. Savage, cold, sterile, overbearing that’s how being inside the lair of Hell’s most up and coming trio felt. The tall ceilings and big glass windows were exactly what you would expect of a broadcasting network and silicon valley Big Tech company combined. As an esteemed guest, you got the privilege of staying in the coveted penthouses, with someone to attend to your every wish and demand. You also got an idea that Vox went a little extra with your treatment as a form of flirtation, he has been trying to convince you into moving in for a while, every time you stayed in, your usual penthouse had some shiny new thing that was  made just for you, as he repeatedly emphasized. 

This year’s token of affection was a makeup mirror-gadget-thingy, that looked out of a Totally Spies episode. You had to admit to yourself that this was way more thoughtful and useful than the gifts from the previous years. The thing was cute, practical and would come in handy, which was a big improvement. Vox had tried to sway you with all types of guns and high tech devices in vain. Well, there was also that embarrassing stance with the wire flowers with a hidden recording device. Needless to say that after that entire debacle Vox learned that he may own your soul but you weren’t a damsel in distress and you would reinforce your side of the bargain if he went too far. 

You reached the elevator and went in, pushing the button for your destination. 

The earlier you start this the earlier it is over, you remind yourself.

The panoramic elevator descended to the well guarded conference room, the guards didn’t bat an eye to you entering. You realized you were becoming a familiar face around here, that made you dread what’s ahead of you even more.

“There she is! Hello princesa, I missed that pretty face!” Valentino greets you. He’s the only one inside, sitting on the edge of the table.  Well, that’s unusual… you think. Vox was always the first to get to the post-extermination meetings, plus he always gave you a slightly early timetable so he could have some alone time with you. Something must be going on.

“Hey Valentino, it’s nice to see you too! What gossip do you have for me today?” you give your best chirpy tone to the love moth. Look, you know how bad Valentino is, he is despicable really, even to your standards. But ethics are fluid, to say the  least, in Hell. The acclaimed porn king was surprisingly engaging to talk to. He was fun and actually treated you like a person, which was paradoxical in itself, considering how infamous he is for exploiting and commodifying souls. You drove yourself mad with theories of possible agendas behind Valentino’s kindness towards you, but it was the simplest of answers really, for some reason Valentino liked you and he never denied himself of what he liked.

“You have no idea! We have a lot to catch up on, did I tell you about that bitch who was trying to spy on us?” a set arms gestures to you to sit down next to him. The next 10 minutes are spent talking frivolities with the moth. You’re not complaining, it's nice to get your mind off this dreadful day and you don’t get many. 

Valentino, as always, has a lot to say, little goes on in Hell without him knowing who, what, where and why. Information, gossip, rumors, facts, if a single out of context word can be weaponized  you better be aware that he knows. Pentagram city can be divided into districts and ruled by lots of different overlords, still, Valentino’s intricate web of influence and coercion stretches across all territories. Another poor soul manifests here and goes somewhere they should not be, talk to someone they should not talk to, discover something they should never know. All cases of “wrong place at the wrong time” are happily solved by a large sum of money from the moth and suddenly another thread is weaved into his web of knowledge, another secret  made his. Valentino doesn’t operate like most Overlords and that’s where his power  lies. He bribed and fucked his way into every major circle, every  overlord’s inner circle, Hell’s best kept secret. If you were anyone in the hellish afterlife Valentino either fucked you or fucked someone very close to you. 

Knowledge is power, and Hell’s gossip girl was proof of it.

You swallowed a lump you didn’t know existed, hearing the moth talk about how things changed in a matter of hours during the early post-war made you even more aware of the severity of the intel you were carrying. It was earth shattering (no pun intended) information. 

Angels can be hurt. Angels can be killed. That meant a completely different way of existing in the afterlife, if this information goes public, the consequences are unpredictable and dire.

You don’t feel excitement knowing you technically can fight back, you feel pure dread.

To be completely honest, you feel like these “news” are not really news. You were pretty acquainted with politics back on Earth and this whole “omg no one knew about this! even though this was staring us right on your faces! is total bullshit. Hell is ancient, the exterminations are not a new thing, and there are some pretty smart people down here. To think that millenia after millenia masters of torture and skilled killers never thought of using heaven’s own firepower against them is wishful thinking at best. Sure, maybe after a few generations most sinners, even those who have power, may have been kept out of the loop about the chick in the holy army’s armor… but not knowing this at all just feels like a pretty convenient case of collective amnesia. 

Convenient, that’s exactly what this is. It’s brutal, but that’s Hell. A scheduled massacre is a blessing to those who rule to maintain, reinforce and extend their power. And if you get lucky enough, empires will fall and you will make your move. 

Vini Vidi Vici, that’s all you need to know about how Hell's politics work. 

It’s true that with every massacre the Angel Army gets more and more brutal and unhinged. What was once justified as righteous mercy killings to stabilize the ever growing hellish population now is just a display of cruelty, these angels kill for sport. There have been rumors floating around of how the disproportional annihilation tactics are preparation for something bigger for a while now , and with the demonic royal families either operating totally off Pride Ring or being completely MIA, it is no wonder those influential enough are starting to get restless. 

And that ties back to your first point, the thing that got you picking the skin around your nails while Valentino gossips. There’s a reason why this is being revealed now, you know how creating a narrative works, a few smart words and ideas become beasts of its own. A beast of its own that will tear anything on its way with the right fuel. The V’s have fuel to spare. Whose interest is that this information stayed hidden? Whose interest is that this information was allowed to be shared now? 

Hell is constructed by layers and layers of complicated militias and parallel governance, each one a locked room of secrecy that is impossible to enter without a huge amount of connections and power. 

“In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And, honey, you should see me in a crown” Valentino wisely said to you once. He’s a man of many many keys, and right now you are holding the fucking master key under your arm. 

Speaking of Valentino, he notices that you dozed off and snaps his fingers, grounding you back to reality. 

“My, my. You must have extremely sensitive information today to keep you from hearing the nastiest, hottest gossip of the moment babe” He takes a hit from his cigarette, an elegant and sensual move straight from an Old Hollywood film. The heart shaped smoke rings caress your face and for an instant you feel hypnotized, nodding your head profusely. 

“But I already knew that” behind the rose coloured shades, you see a playful wink from his infamous red hot eyes. 

The porn overlord quickly snaps his head towards the huge automatic doors, that open and reveal Vox and Velvette walking side by side exchanging looks between them that scream conspiracy.

“Sorry about the wait, my darling” Vox purrs on your way, stopping behind your chair and placing his hands on top of it, fingers dangerously close to your neck and shoulder. He pushes your hair to the side and lingers there, on your neck. “but as they say ain’t no rest for the wicked, am I right?” Velvette takes her seat beside Vox’s empty chair, meticulously placed in front of you, polite pleasantries leaving her mouth. She’s still a mystery, you never know her true stance on you, she keeps you on your toes. Does she like you? Does she hate you? Does she even care? 

“If you say so, boss!” you give him your best pageant smile. “So, who’s climbing up the ladder of the food chain today?” You bat your eyelashes at him. Your performance begins.

“Aw baby, you know I love when you call me boss! keep talking dirty to me” Vox lands a wet kiss on your cheek and makes his way to his chair.

 Right in front of you, so he’s always staring at you, drinking in your every move. You cannot fail, you cannot falter. 

As much as you’ve gotten used to pretending, pretending you like the V’s, pretending you don’t feel disgusting inside for being here, pretending you don’t hate Alastor for putting you in this situation with a burning passion but still missing him so much you feel someday your heart will stop beating in protest to him absence, it’s still hard. Especially when Vox touches you. Your eyes focus on cybersharks swimming behind Vox’s seat and concentrate on keeping your awarding winning poker face. 

“This year looks really promising I will tell you that! The orders for both your weapons and tragedy porn cameras doubled since the last extermination! I will give credit where credit is due, that fuckboy Adam knows how to put on a show!” he snaps his fingers graphs, stats and footage appears on the various screens. But it’s all irrelevant, it won’t matter when you spill your secret. 

“Lot’s of veeeery interesting happenings but I thought this year we might… start differently. Let’s forget the profit talk for now, change things a little. Did you guys see anything out of the ordinary? Did something stand out?!” he spins around his Big Boss ™ chair and stops with his hand under his chin, leaning in to you like a schoolgirl with the hottest new gossip. 

“Oh! I heard things -” Val also leans in getting closer to the TV overlord face. 

Vox’s grin shrinks, lifting a finger in protest 

“We know, we know, you always hear things Val” he replies in a monotone tone

Velvette, who spent this entire time typing away on her phone, interjects 

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way girlypop” finally looking at you she asks, or rather, states the million dollar question “ but what Vox means is that we know you have something  big cooking inside those files, so let’s drop the bullshit and go straight to it” 

The doll puts her phone down, she knows how important this is, how this secret will probably dictate how things will go from now on. You can call Velvette many things, but she is clever and under all that attitude and posh accent lies a brilliant strategist. 

“Plus, we all know you are contractually obligated to tell anyway, so spill, and can make this quick and painless to everyone involved” 

Right, your cartesian, empirical proof that angels can be killed.  Caught on the scene of the crime with the gun in your hands. 

You don’t waste anymore time, the words leave your lips like you’re choking with the threat they present. You tell them everything: where the exorcist was killed, how he was killed, the golden ichor blood that oozed from the wound, where the body was hidden. Everyone is silent while you speak, even the mechanical sharks seem to have stopped swimming to listen. 

After that you don’t remember much more of the meeting, it felt like you took the backseat of your own mind, the overwhelming feeling of dread making you so out of breath. Something is coming, something fucking coming and you can’t breathe. Anxiety sets under your skin like a second skeleton begging to crawl its way out and you find yourself sitting in one of the lavish anterooms of the V’s building. 

“So, the cat’s out of the bag then” you recall hearing Vox saying when, as if on cue, a few moments before the meeting was being declared over, the emergency broadcast about the reduction of the extermination date from a year to six months was issued. You four watch the transmission and you wonder if that’s what it feels like to get the news of the end of the Cold War, the doomsday clock finally hits midnight and we are nuking each other out. 

Mutual destruction assured. 

Your mind wanders back to your life on earth, if life up there is better or worse these days. You died so young, everybody told you, your Untimely Demise a big topic of conversation that you yourself didn’t know much about. But nothing, nothing in all of your living years and your years from Hell to eternity could prepare you for what comes next.

“So the Radio Demon is back in town! Why is he hanging around? What does it mean for your family?” 

The news hit your ears like a tsunami and you feel dizzy. It’s easy to find a big screen here and you are running to the closest one before your brain can even compute the words. 

Alastor is back, Alastor is back, and he didn’t come find you.

The next sound wave is even worse, dragging you ashore to your feelings without any reprieve. 

“Salutations!

Good to be back on the air! Yes, I know it's been a while, since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast

Sinners, rejoice!”

This isn’t a prank, there are no cameras and a sadistic tv host waiting for your humiliating reaction, instead all pairs of eyes in Hell are glued to the screen watching as the two Overlords fight it out. 

Thus, no one notices how your entire body shakes and your vision goes black. It’s too much, and you grip the rails from the stairs that lead to the foyer for dear life. Your heart is beating out of your chest. No one notices how you cry, how you whimper Alastor’s name like a prayer, how the tears run down your face and you feel paralyzed. You want to run, a million thoughts per heartbeat making your head swim. The best you can do is collapse on the floor. So you do, you collapse trying to catch your breath as you plan your sweet escape, how you are going to Houdini yourself out of this situation right to his arms.

“Tune on in

 when I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run”

You want to kiss him, you want to slap him, you want to tell him how much you missed him, you much your fucking hate him. You want him to drag you to his rooms and make you pay for cursing him out. You want him, you want your Alastor back. You cannot breathe.

“Oh, this will be fun.”

and then all the lights go out.

There’s a beginning of an uproar happening, the electric building dies a quick and unforgiving death, demons run around and Vox is flying down the stairs trying to do damage control. But even he is failing to keep his composure, because he knows. Oh how you know too. 

Alastor is like a natural disaster, a shattering force that bends everything on its way with the sheer force of will. The inevitable reckoning that comes to your town, that judges and executes everyone that you love. 

And now he is here. 

You see the burning red hot pair of eyes first, their predatory gaze hold the entire room hostage, looking for his prey and then they land on you. 

The piercing intensity of Alastor’s eyes, the flickering reds of damnation itself, regard you with surprise, elation and something more. So overbearing those eyes are, they make you shiver, bearing the weight of his gaze that penetrates deep into your soul. Your soul that is not yours anymore, it belongs to the man he hates, the man he despises. 

The Radio Demon’s towering frame closes the distance between you two in five long strides, you do your best to keep yourself upright and not cower at the sight of him. He looks like Rapture and righteous torture, coming to deliver your setance. Vox knows his sentence is being delivered here and now too, so he runs, runs to you.  You feel static and an electrifying pull, metal clinking. A chain. A glowing blue chain on your neck and Vox’s pulling it tight.

“What? what the fuck is going on? what’s this?” snapping your neck quickly towards Vox you whimper, you beg. The few seconds you stopped looking into Alastor’s eyes causing seething rage inside the deer demon, ire that makes the room tremble. 

‘“Talk over the radio, that way everyone can hear, baby” Vox says straight at Alastor, like it is a shooting gun. The look on the TV Overlord is maniac, a sideway cocky smile that drips pettiness. Just because Vox clearly lost this battle, with all tvs and electricity on petagram city going dark, it doesn’t mean he can’t still forever tarnish this victory. 

Alastor’s demonform covers the already dark building in opaque, thick shadows, radio static picks up around the room like a tornado chocking the majority of the unfortunate demons that are still inside, in a desperate attempt to seek shelter. 

No words leave the radio host’s lips as he grows even taller, breaking the posh entrance of the building, debris flying down causing even more damage, the tall glass windows shatter in a million pieces courtesy of his tentacles tearing down everything on their way. The sounds of destruction and despair are loud but you haven’t been listening to the world outside you and your returned lover’s radio dial eye’s for a while. A doe caught in the headlight of his eyes the best you can do in brace for the inevitable impact that is coming your way.

In a flash of his scarlet eyes a fire ignites, the flames born from it are unnatural, behaving like a hive mind to kill and destroy.

 You always knew that facing Alastor after these 7 years would not be easy, but you never imagine your reunion like this, in the midst  of pomppeian fire, a wild raw power, the oncoming storm that is Alastor when he attacks. 

Vox knows this fight is over, his ego hurt and today’s accounts always written as a victorious comeback from the Radio Demon, nevertheless, between the three of you Vox will always know who really won, who drew the last card, had the last laugh. He did, holding Alastor’s girl on a leash because he owns her. The soul of the woman the Radio Demon dared to love is his, the man Alastor despises with a burning passion, and that’s enough for now. 

The raging flames circle the three of you and without much more flair Vox drops his act, your chain disappearing from your neck. You drop to the floor, branching yourself on all fours. You consider crawling your way to Alastor, so you can explain, so you can cry, so you can beg. You don’t know for what exactly you will be begging for: your life? his forgiveness? his punishment? you just know a lot of begging and pleading will be involved. 

But the decision is made for you.

“Run, run my little darling doe” Vox commands “Run and do whatever you need to do” 

You get up on your feet in a completely ungracious move and Alastor’s out of the room instantly. The flames never touch you on the way out, the outside world greets you: a cacophony of screams, sirens, burning sounds, the infernal orchestra that becomes the soundtrack of your life.  

“Oh, and by the way” Vox screams from the threshold of the decaying building “we just got news that your place on Cannibal Town got trashed by some wayward sinners during extermination. But don’t worry you can always come home here, come home to me!”

You do your best to ignore his taunting, and you pray to whoever is listening that Alastor didn’t hear it. But it’s futile, the pavement where he is stepping cracks a dark cloud of static and shadows trail after him. He definitely heard and felt the implications of these words. 

“Al.. Al!” you scream running after your lover. 

Fuck, you’re still in heels, and those aren’t your running heels.

Kicking the damned shoes off you run faster, you cry harder and plead faster.

When you lived, your life always felt a bit surreal, weird stuff happened to you that you couldn’t really explain. People always joked that screenwriters of your life were the most creative people alive, the thing that happened to you never happened to anyone else. You died young, with a big, full life ahead of you, but you took this as gospel to your afterlife, after all everything related to your death was a mystery to you. But the things that happened to you living or dead were a raw reality impossible to make up.

 The uncertainty of your death only fuels your resolve to fight for the life you found in the afterworld. 

“Al, wait!” you are starting to get truly desperate, you need to get to him otherwise you are pretty certain you will drop dead here and now.

 “Alastor please, please listen to me” your voice failing, you finally choking from the smoke, from the suppressed tears. If Alastor doesn’t hear you now you are not sure you can carry on after him, you’re too tired too scared. You him to save you like the damsel in distress you are right now so bad.

Alastor dramatically comes to a halt. 

“I. am. Not. Having. This. Conversation. Here.”  his voice is staggered, still. Filled with static and a murderous edge to it. His long arms catch your wrist and pull you close, flush against his chest, you almost stumble but a powerful arm around your waist locks you tight to him. 

It’s the first touch in seven years, your legs shake at the realization that he’s real, he’s here. You lock your arms around his neck, the familiar fabric of his overcoat, the soft strands of his hair, they all feel like coming home.  

Something inside Alastor snaps when he remembers, when he feels how small you are in comparison to him, only one arm securing you safely to him. Some paradoxical fight starts inside him, wild wild want, wild wild rage against tameness, the docile calm you bring whenever you are at his side. 

The world disappears for a few seconds as darkness engulfs both of you,  inside the black moving vacuum only the two of you exist, greeting each other in bloody homecoming. 

Alastor takes you back to the Hotel, landing with a low thump inside his room. For a second his hand supports the small of your back, preventing you from falling forward. After all it’s been 7 years since you shadowtravelled with him, he knows you are terribly out of practice. 

His consideration towards you only lasts this precious second thought, because he makes his way across the room, creating as much distance as he can between the two of you. Your touch disarms him, he is aware of that since the first time your hand brushed against his, the first time his lips ghosted on top of your knuckles. If Alastor is touching you he is extremely likely to get soft, to remember how much you mean to him, what you do to him, so he will be merciful. And right now the last thing the deer demon wants is to be disarmed, to show you mercy. He can feel your betrayal burning inside his veins, clouding his judgment with ire and jealousy.

Alastor doesn’t fight those feelings, on the contrary, he lets them take him by storm adding fuel to his already bad temper. That’s the only way he can face you now, that’s the only way he can make you understand. 

You don’t get any time to gather your bearings, from the corner of your eye you notice a forest. His room is bigger on the inside and has a fucking conservation area but that’s hardly the most pressing matter at the moment. The pressing matter at the moment is that you are getting whiplash from touching your demon lover for the first time in seven years and his subsequent refusal to touch you, stationing himself across the room to you.

Why isn’t he with you? by your side as you ride the shockwaves of today together? You are scared, but above all you feel overwhelming sadness. 

“How did it happen?” he finally snaps, breaking the deafening silence. It’s the first time Alastor regards you, directly, in 7 years and the weight his words bare is so heavy you wish for more of the silence. “Tell me, how did it happen?” his eyes are wild, dangerously close to radio dials. 

“How did it happen? You tell me Alastor! You left me, you fucking left me!” you wish you could be your usually articulated self, you rehearsed this conversation so many times in your mind and in none of them you started with such venom on your lips. But it has been too long, and maybe the poison from all those years alone and afraid beside Vox drips through. 

The Radio Demon sees the tears that fall profusely from your big doe eyes, and they sting more than an acclaimed torturer like him could have anticipated. Alastor finds himself still disarmed, because with every single glistening tear that falls he can see how hurt, how scared you are. He is the only one allowed to make you scared, he owns your fear.

But that’s the problem isn’t it? He owns nothing. Vox does. And that realization turns him back to feeling seething rage. 

“So my mere absence is enough to change your devotion? Is me being here the only thing that stopped you from falling into his arms?” more poison. By the end of the night you both will choke on it. 

“Al.. Al” you are sobbing now, your throat tightens and it’s hard to breath it’s hard to speak. “ I had to do it. You don’t get it, you don’t get it.” your voice breaks “hemademedoit, hemademedoit!!”. You swallow half the words, whimpering, as if you say it fast enough the action will quickly become the past, as if the memories won’t haunt you. And yet the memories flood your mind

A dim-lit room, the smell of blood and something burning.

“He is gone baby, and he isn’t coming back”

Electricity makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

A stranger’s hand pushes the hair to the side of your face, dread creeps up inside of you.

“This is the only way my dear, the best decision you can make” 

The same stranger’s hand grab you by the waist 

“I’m the only one who can protect you now, you know that right?”

eyes that make you freeze, it’s hard to think. eyes that make it hard to say no.

“If this is hard for you, you can pretend that I’m him” 

a wrong type of static pricks your lips 

“This won’t hurt” 

a shockwave hits your body and it feels like you are being split open

You have to steady yourself on the closest piece of furniture. You cower as the repressed memories from the night you finally gave in to Vox assault your mind, trying to make yourself as small as possible, like he is coming back to do it all again. Cries and incoherent words leave your lips and you don’t know if you actually said what happened or if this entire time you have just been crying. You entire body hurts as you hyperventilate “Al, I’m so sorry” you whisper 

That’s what undoes Alastor, you curling yourself in a ball, defeated and scared at the ghost of the man he hates. You looking away from him like you are undeserving of him, of his punishment, of his love. Like you are tainted. Alastor can’t make the exact words of your confession about how it happened, but he heard enough. Vox would never make you come to him willingly, Alastor knows that. Whatever Vox did - and Alastor has a lot of ideas of what he did - he will pay double for it. 

 Alastor’s blackened heart shatters when he calls your name and you don’t look up to meet his eyes, like you always do. He was always your lantern for when you were drowning. He meant to break you, hurt you like that. He just wanted to make you come to him, beg for his forgiveness, beg him to soothe the pain. 

“Mon coeur, my sweet darling doe you are safe” Alastor voice goes so soft it hurts “Don’t fret, it’s in the past, it’s over, you are safe with me now as you are meant to be” he coos.

Still, you can’t read your lover’s mind. So you don’t know his heart is shattered, you don’t know how much he loathes himself for letting this get this far. You are so caught up on your own feelings, reeling the rage and the memories that you miss the softness of his voice and his outstretched hard and you inevitably choke on the poison. 

“No. No!” you snap “You don’t get to say that. You have no right to say that!” you scream as you get up “I’m not safe, I will never be safe because you weren’t there to protect me, you promised Alastor, you fucking promised” the poison is now inside you, heartstopping waves of hurt consume your body and sprit. Right now the same burning passion that makes you heart beat for Alastor makes you hate him too. You were never good with ugly feelings, you always pride yourself for being soft to be strong. Your kindness and act of rebellion during the hellish reality you lived. You were never good with bad feelings, so you do something you never thought you’d do.

You shove the Radio Demon, that man you love so much it drives you to insanity. You shove him because the shame is too much, all the ugly feelings ball up inside, convincing you that you don’t deserve him, that you already lost him. And you won’t survive his dismissal. 

You never talked back to him, you never raised your voice. Not because you were afraid to, but because you never had to, hence the reason why Alastor is so taken aback that your pitiful attempt of violence actually moves him from where he was standing. 

Alastor shoves you back, pushing you up against the wall with a searing kiss. He kisses you like you are his last chance at salvation, like he wants to be redeemed. He licks your lips as you struggle to catch your breath, pushing his hips hard against your core, making you straddle him. Alastor doesn’t grant you a moment of reprieve, his lips come crashing down on yours again, his tongue inside your mouth dancing to a madman’s tune. He does what he does best, he takes and takes and takes. He takes your breath away, he takes all the callous words that threaten to leave your lips, aimed at him. 

You succumb to your demon lover, your nails dig into his skin and he moans inside your mouth, he bites your lips enough to draw blood. In the end Alastor is still Alastor, and of course he gets all hot and bothered when fighting. You feel delirious with the taste of his lips, your blood and your salty tears mixing together, an unholy ambrosia. His hardness press just the right way to make you sing creating a current of desire after a seven year long drought. 

His hands are quick, ridding up your shirt making he grab your ass and then your hips, strong enough to bruise. His clawed finger is already tweaking your nipple that way he knows you love. Your bravado melts, in perfect synchrony to when he sinks his teeth deep into your neck, drinking everything: that wretched poison that tarnished your words, the sacred warmth of your blood. You moan his name like a prayer that he promptly answers, he’s kissing you like a drowning man again, your blood on his lips painting your lips red like you both just drank from the holy grail, his hand cups your other breast and you vow to never speak to him like that again, only if it’s gonna get you up against the wall like that with him. 

And then he stops. 

“I hope this kiss haunts you” he says, voice still drunk with desire, low and threatening. He swiftly moves you off him, walking away and creating the same distance from when this all started “haunts your every breath, finds its way inside your every waking moment until you are mad with regret” 

You are bewildered, eyes widening in disbelief. What is he doing? How can he go from 0 to a 100 so fast? 

“I hope this kiss haunts you, so you never forget that you were the only woman who ever had me at the palm of her hand and you decided to throw it all away with that calamitous cynicism of yours.” 

So that’s what’s happening. You can never expect to beat a master at his own game, Alastor is still cruel when he is merciful. When push comes to shove he will always win. There’s only so far you can get with taunting his repentance,  playing with his heart laid bare at your feet, filled with sorrow and begging for forgiveness. He was ready to apologize, to dry your tears and soothe your fears, worshiping your delicious body and the ground you walked on. He was ready to admit that this was half his fault until your venom stung him beyond the realm of spoken word. 

“I understand it now, it must be hard for you to cope with your own decisions, your own failings, so you take it all on me. I hope you remember this when you come back to beg, on your knees for my forgiveness. And trust me, you will.” Of course Alastor would torture you with the knowlodge of his guilt and despair, the loss of his benevolence, the promise of desire and carnality. He will always be a torturer at heart, and you forgot that’s the first rule you need to always remember when dealing with him. 

“You’ve got your demons darling” never was your precious pet name said with such disdain. Static starts to gather around you, and in a flash his hand is on your neck

“and they all, Look. Like. Me” his voice is distorted when he finishes cursing you, there’s a tempest behind his eyes that entraps you, the burning red of his irises condemn you. 

The Radio demon is a raging fire, an oncoming storm. But he is also meticulous, cruel and calculating, if you dared to question him, to step on the grace he gladly gave you, you clearly were aware of everything he did to lull his absence. All the plans and contingencies he made to hush your worrying thoughts about him and bathe your threshing heart on tranquiline waters.

And you decided to mock it. To mock him and his love for you. 

You are crying again, but this time Alastor is fucking glad he was the one to hurt you, to reduce you to a mess of regret and tears. 

Tonight in Hell, power shifts from one Overlord to another. Sinners plan and freak out accordingly.

 But their machinations are all meaningless. 

The 7 years you spent away from Alastor made you sad, the three years spent on Vox’s side made you bitter. The V’s operate on poison, it’s their fuel. And maybe the poison drips through.

Tonight you drank the poison and it broke you.

Tonight, for the first time, the poison broke Alastor too.

[elumish]

I think one of the most important unspoken skills of being a writer is knowing how to take critique and criticism of your work.

This is not about comments once work is published--this is about how to actually deal with and adjudicate feedback from beta readers, sensitivitiy readers, editors, etc. Because at some point, if you plan to go through any sort of publishing process, you will need to deal with feedback.

Especially for content/structure comments (as opposed to grammar/typos/etc.), most people have an instinct to get defensive. It's normal! I get it! I also get defensive. These stories are usually the product of many hours worth of work, of time and energy and emotion dedication. Having someone tell us there's a problem can feel like they're telling us that we did something wrong.

So first, recognize the defensiveness. You're allowed to start with defensiveness (if you're not a jerk about it). But recognize that you're being defensive, let yourself sit with it as long as you need to, and then figure out how to move past it.

The next step is to make sure you understand the feedback. Sometimes feedback can be confusing or unclear (the people giving feedback are human too) or it can be talking about a problem that doesn't really exist. You want to make sure that you know what they're actually saying and how it fits in the story.

Along with understanding the feedback, recognize when feedback represents a fundamental misunderstanding of your story. Sometimes people misread your story or aren't careful or just have a vastly different interpretation of your story than the words on the page, and they will give feedback that reflects that. You are allowed to say, basically, "this isn't actually commenting on my story but the reader's interpretation of my story" and move on. But sometimes a fundamental misunderstanding means that your story is confusing or unclear, and it may signal that you need to make changes, even if they aren't the changes the commener suggested.

When you're working your way through feedback, trust identifications of problems more than you trust recommended solutions. This is not to say that you should never follow people's recommendations (and what recommendations you follow may/should depend on who they are), but it is your story, and ultimately you know it better than they do. If someone gives the comment that the pacing doesn't work in x section and that you should think about adding y scene, you may realize that what would actually solve the problem better for the story is updating an earlier or later section instead.

Trust your understanding of your story but allow it to evolve. You know your story best and shouldn't change it just because someone had an idea--but you should also be flexible about your story and not stick to your original story just because it was the first idea you had.

Finally, learn how to be okay with having been wrong. Sometimes your idea wasn't the best. Sometimes what you wrote didn't work. Sometimes it was racist or sexist or homophobic or transphobic or ableist. Sometimes it was confusing or unclear. Sometimes it was a stupid idea. And when commenters tell you that, the only way to fix it is to learn how to look at something you love and say, yeah, okay, this was bad and needs to be fixed.

And as a postscript to it all--remember that critical feedback isn't a reflection on you or your writing. Every author in existence has gotten critical feedback at some point (or, if they haven't, it's because they have a terrible editor). Nobody is perfect on their first true, and nobody is perfect in a vacuum. Critical feedback is one of the ways that you and your stories get better.

[take-everything-you-can]

Put Your Head On My Shoulder

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

A/N: This Fandom has given me the most inspiration I've had in years and this is a thank you to every single one of you. This idea spurred from one too many drinks and unhinged DMs and I'm so excited to share it with you guys. So here goes nothing lol. A special thanks to my lady loves @lesservillain , @ghost-proofbaby , @bettyfrommars , and @bimbobaggins69 for beta reading and letting me fill your inboxes with all my little thots for our little gremlin man !

P.S : BEFORE I GET INTO ANYTHING THIS STORY IS 18+ MINORS NEED TO GTFO PLEASE AND THANK YOU !!!!! Also please remember to like and reblog from your creators It keeps the fandom alive !!! ( honestly don't know what I would do without ya'll )

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader ( Pumpkin )

Summary: A 1950's daydream of malt shop kisses and doo wop singles far behind closed doors. Dreamboat Eddie Munson picks up more than just an extra route. A love that makes you weak in the knees... but how long can you go on loving a man that isn't the one your married to.

TW: Angst- mentions of an affair (adultery), verbal abuse mentions, mentions of weight ( mentions of food within the story throughout), disordered eating, feeling unloved, self deprecation slightly, staying with toxic partner Fluff- pet names, domestic bliss, mutual pining Smut- fingering, soft touches, overstimulation slightly very slight, unprotected PIV, cream pie, spanking,..... tbh i can't think of anymore but if you see any please let me know ... Thank you all so much. ( every chapter will get updated tw)

WC: 4.1K

Flour covers the countertop in your kitchen, and a rolling pin is set to the side while you knead the soft pastry ingredients together. Apples sit freshly peeled in a separate dish. Sliced and added to sugar and cinnamon. Picking up the rolling pin, you do your best to flatten the dough to a thin sheet and mold it to the glass dish before you. 

“Well, this dough is much better than the first,” you say aloud to yourself. Your husband once told you that speaking out loud to yourself was a sign of a weak mind, you never put much stock in that. But here you were doing exactly that as your days consist of waiting for your husband to return home from work. 

You splash a bit of vanilla into the apple mixture to complete your pie filling. Once it is all tucked neatly beneath the fluffy dough, you take a knife and leave four little holes within the surface and crimp the edges together, sealing the flavors within. A touch of sugar is added to the top along with an egg wash before placing the pie on a rack in the oven. A timer is set for twenty minutes, a reminder to lower the temperature and to add your special ingredient.

Soft music plays throughout the house, Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald keep you company on these long lonely days. Lonely but only for such a short time. Your husband works for the state doing something he thinks you're too dumb to understand so why talk about it? If anyone ever asks you simply say ‘Oh please you think a woman wants to know such things’. That usually earns you a laugh at cocktail parties and a warm smile from your man. If you could even call him that. 

Yes, he is your man in the sense that your last names are the same and you had shared the same bed. Where is the love though? It isn’t tangible and hasn’t been for quite some time now. Your day begins and ends with a few words apart from an I love you. You served him still, acted to the prying eyes, as a doting Wife. Four years and Everyone still thought you had a perfect life. 

That dream of white picket fences and shared milkshakes. That love of never-ending kisses and satisfying sex. Everyone around you wanted all that you had. Would they still want your life if they could see past those closed doors and shut curtains? 

Would they want to spend their mornings hiding the bags under their eyes from nights of restless sleep? Would they want to have a constant monologue of the flaws seen in the mirror? Ones that your oh-so-loving husband pointed out to you time and time again. Would they want to cook and clean knowing they would never receive a thank you? No, you knew they wouldn’t. All the small things that build and grow until it becomes a monotonous routine. Walking through days as if the next would be the exact same and then doing it all again and again, Until one day something changed. 

Two months prior A knock on the door, one that started to come once a week. The company of CC & Drums Dairy was paid to bring you a gallon of milk, A necessity your husband called it. A man with long dark locks that flowed over his shoulder and curls that dipped across his forehead under his cap. Deep Brown eyes that sparkled with flecks of amber as the sun hit him just right. Dressed in white overalls to comply with his company uniform and sleek black shoes that shine just as brightly as his smile. His name tag reads Eddie in a sweet embroidered cursive. Eddie, a name that would soon become something you would never forget. 

Your timer goes off as you check the pie, squeezing a lemon over the crust for that citrus tang. Slipping the dessert back into the oven, for another half hour or so, a knock sounds through the house, sending the butterflies in your stomach in a tizzy. Eddie had arrived.

A quick task of undoing the strings to your apron and a fast fix of hair in the mirror you had hung in the hall. A hand to your abdomen as you intake a breath and let it stagger out between your lips, hesitating to open the door. The second you see him you can feel the way the tops of your cheeks heat and plump with a smile. One that matches his.

 You take a second and wonder if he knows how handsome he is. The way the small lines beside his eyes crinkle with years of use. You wonder if he knows that the instant you see him, your heart stops beating. But most of all you wonder if you're the only one those soft eyes and long lashes catch in his gaze. 

“Afternoon darling, I must say this heat wave has got to be breaking records. Ought not keep these out here too long.” as he lifts the small crate of glass bottles holding the product out.

 You knew better than to take it from him, even if every bone in your body screamed too. The last time you tried you nearly flipped the whole crate, underestimating the weight. From that day on you always stood to the side as you let Eddie into your home to set the dairy in your kitchen. It was another thing you wondered about him. Did he do this for everyone else too?

“ Well let's not keep them then sir.” standing to the side he slides past you brushing a hand across the elbow you held to the door. His way of saying hello. Small touches here and there as he could never keep his hands to himself for too long in your presence.

“ Something smells awful delicious in her ma’am.”

“An Apple pie is in the oven, maybe you’ll stay and have a slice. For your troubles of course.” 

“Mhmm, my troubles.” Eddie sat the crate on the counter next to the ice box and turned his body towards you and enveloped you in his stronghold. An intoxicating embrace as he pulled you flush to his body. 

“ I missed you, you know that pretty girl?” soft tone, almost a whisper. A small smile he couldn't see but could feel made its way to your face. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls on your route.” he lets out a small chuckle.

“Only the breathtaking ones.” a falter to your features as your mind reeled with all the possibilities.

 Does he miss Mrs.Cunningham the way he misses you? Does he miss Ms.Buckley the same? That sick green monster finds its way under your skin as you think of all the girls he must have at his beck and call. But today that monster wasn’t going to ruin the few fleeting moments you could spend with him. You needed Eddie in the most carnal of ways.

“Do you want to know what I missed? “ Your fingers trail their way from the small of his back and up over his shoulder, landing on his neck just below his ear. Cupping his face you bring it down and catch his lips as they meet yours. 

“Oh yeah? you missed me too Pumpkin?” a second crash of your lips to his, makes him hum from the back of his throat. His nose nudges yours to the left so his teeth can catch your bottom lip, pulling back slightly to hear the small whine you emit.

“I always miss you, Eddie.”  His hands travel down over your figure as he starts to ruffle the hem of your dress up. Thankful for its length to hide how wet you had become just from him being in the home you share with your spouse. A topic you and Eddie tried to steer clear of, but the wrongness of the act just felt so right. 

Over a year your husband hadn’t touched you, barely talked to you and some days you were even sure he hadn't even looked in your direction. Eddie though, In the last two months, Eddie had made you feel seen. He made you feel heard, and most of all he made you feel desired.  

As his hand finds the thin cotton that covers your cunt he glides his digits over the wet patch that had grown by just the thought of him. A deep hum and a small huff of breath from Eddie against your neck as he kissed his way to your shoulder. 

“So wet for me and I've barely even touched you. Are you that starved for affection?” The words forming in that sweet small surrender to him were all but cut off as he slid a finger through your folds and teased your entrance. A gasp was the response he got, one he loved to hear in protest every time he had you. 

“C’mon honey tell me what you want.” how could you respond to him with words if you couldn't even think of them? The man before you had spent the last few months discovering just how to make you melt in his arms.

 He knew that the spot behind your knee was his best friend for when he had you on your back. He knew the way your hips stutter when you're close to your peak, and he knew that if your eyes found that they couldn't stay open that you were in utter bliss.

 His favorite thing he had learned throughout your time together though was that even when he knew you had your doubts, you still trusted him in every sense of the word. 

After only two months Eddie knew you better than you know yourself. Better than your husband had ever cared to know you.

“ Please, Eddie.” He smiled down at you 

“ Please What Honey?” 

“ Dip in Eddie, Fuck me please.”  He could feel the slackening of your legs as his assault on your clit had made you a bit sensitive, in his focus on making you feel as good as he possibly could, in what little time he had with you. He slid two of his thick fingers into your dripping heat as his thumb stayed in a rhythm that matched his wrist as he curled in and let the sounds of his efforts echo off the small kitchen walls. 

Moaning into Eddie's ear as his finger worked in and out of you making that heat inside of you grow higher and higher. Clutching the strap of his overalls, a small pull leaning back, as the pleasure he was giving you kept climbing. 

“ Come on now baby, let go.” A final intake of air, hold on to the breath that led you to your walls squeezing eddies fingers tight. That coil snapped as you let your body fall slack against him a loud moan from the farthest depths within you found its way out of your lungs. 

When your eyes land on Eddie after your come down all you can see is that smile. The dimple-creasing smile that kept haunting your dreams at night. 

“I need more.” You didn’t know how but his smile grew even wider and more sinister as his tone began to deepen. A kiss is pressed to your lips, not urgent, understanding. 

“ You need more? Well, it's a damn good thing that what you're asking for is in stock then Pumpkin.” He turned you around to face the small table that sat in your kitchen, knowing what he wanted from you. He wasn’t the only one taking notes from your time together. 

You braced yourself against the worn wood and clutched the sides of it as you heard the familiar clinks of metal as his rings fumbled with the buckle of his belt.  

The wait, though it is small, is brutal. Anticipation makes your stomach flip and cunt flutter. A shuffle out of his overalls gives Eddie a moment to just admire the way you listen so well. These small moments have him thanking every bad decision that got him here. To this small town, with this small job, on this small route. A route he picked up as a last resort. Yeah, he doesn't know who he's praying to but whoever is listening, he's singing grace. 

A grip in the slight pudge of your hips to keep himself steady, Eddie is gentle as he slips his cock through your folds gathering your slick over his length and breaching your desire. A deep moan and a few choice words fall from Eddie as he fills you and meets the small wavering gasp you let out, a breath you didn't know you had been holding.  A whine of impatience, his sign to move. 

A soft speed turns ravenous as his dick uses your walls to curve his hooks into you deeper and deeper. A sigh of his name and you can feel the stutter in his thrust. He slows his pace if only to keep himself from having to leave your presence all too soon.  

"Fuck darling, so good to me, taking me so well like this pussy was made for me."  You mewl from beneath him, dropping your forehead to the wood that is holding you up. You fear that if it had not been here your legs would have given up the second he started talking. "Isn't that right pumpkin? Made just for me? " A sharp thrust and you know he wants an answer in the way his grip turns bruising. A trip through your mind as you try and collect the words from thin air. 

"YES! God yes, I was made just for you." 

"Such a good girl for me baby. That's right, isn't it? You're all mine aren't you?"  Another squeeze to your hip and a smack that lands hard on your ass. Eddie's palm kneads the sting as you answer him. 

" All yours, all yours, no one else, just you baby." A grunt hum from the back of his throat as he grips your shoulder and leans so his body is flush with yours. His breath is on your neck as he leans to your ear. 

"Not even your husband, just you and me baby?" 

"Just you and me Ed's" Your eyes tunnel and you see white as your orgasm rushes through you, Eddie's own a thrust away as he moans deep against your skin. His body weight and yours against the kitchen table as you both find your way down from the clouds. 

Small kisses he leaves to your spine and the back of your neck. You turn your head and he places another small one to the upturned corner of your mouth. A bell chimes and you sit for a few seconds letting Eddie gather his own bearings. A small pat to the curve of your pussy as Eddie pulls the cotton back in place. A shock to your sensitivity.

"Keep that in there baby, that way you have a part of me while I'm gone." A heat to your cheeks as the thought of Eddie's cum dripping out of you while your husband sat across from you and read the paper over dinner. A sly smirk from the man you just let defile the small space, one you would let do ungodly things to you. 

You put on oven mitts as Eddie finds a few glasses in the cabinet. You slice into the flakey crust and slip through the filling as you place the large piece on a plate for you to share. Eddie pours milk as you find some silverware, he places the bottles in your fridge so they keep.

Turning with a smile, he is the definition of adoration. In your eyes he is everything. 

Why is it that when his time with you is coming to an end you almost wish it would end as soon as possible? Almost as if you would wish he would part with some harsh words to make you not want him in the most beautiful ways. You have to make yourself believe these things before he leaves because if you don’t, it would just shatter you. So you take a different route, you don’t shatter yourself, instead, you splinter and crack all the things that hold you until you see him again. The times where he glues those little shards back in place if only for you to break them off again and again. A scared thought and a small shake of your head trying to rid yourself of it. A married woman. What would he possibly want from you other than a good lay? 

He sees that doubt within your mind as if reading it. He takes your hand in his as he laces your fingers together. 

“ Penny for your thoughts Pumpkin?” You glance finally meeting his eyes as you clear your throat. 

“ Nothing important hun.” You slide a fork to his side of the table as your eyes dart to the clock.  He squeezes your hand once more, lowering his eyes in search of yours again. 

“It is important if it bothers you.” Your heart stops. The breath you were going to take gets caught in your throat and you turn on that winning smile you had trained yourself to hold in uncomfortable circumstances. One you wish he couldn't see through.

“ It’s nothing Eds, really.” 

“Do you promise?” you take a hand and cup his cheek.

 How do you tell him that he is your first thought in the morning and the last thought before falling asleep? How instead of counting sheep you try and count the freckles on his face by sheer memory?  How could you tell him you wish you were his one and only? That you have never felt about another human soul the way you feel about his. Instead, you stuff it down, apple pie soon to follow. 

“I Promise.”  

You know he doesn’t believe you but he would rather set out to sea and die of starvation as the sharks feed from him than to make the last moments he has with you tainted with fights and tears. God when you cry it absolutely destroys him. 

The first time you had ever let him take you in his arms you had just gotten off the phone with your husband. He had heard hushed words while he waited for you to grab the weekly tip your husband left for him. Your husband had informed you that he would not be coming home, as the fight from the night before had lingered into the morning and would now follow you well into the night. The first time you had opened the door Eddie studied the angelic features of your face, and they had plagued his dreams for such a long time at this point.

When you rounded the corner with a smudge of mascara beneath your eyes, he instantly without thinking took you in, pushing your face to his chest as his hand rested on the back of your head. Slight comfort made the tears begin again as he wiped the remainder of the smudge and irritation from your face. No man had ever done something as small as comforting you before.  In the two months since he had started this route, he knew he had instantly fallen head over heels in love with you.

You had taken two bites from the plate that sat in front of you and Eddie had finished the slice. He even went as far as to slide a finger in the crumbs on the plate and lick them off in an attempt to show you how much he had enjoyed it. His time with you. 

A gathering of glasses you brought to the sink as he brought the other dishes and sat them in the deep well while wrapping his arms around your waist and you stood eyes closed relishing in the last little bit of affection he could offer to you. 

A kiss to your shoulder as you turn your head resting it on his.

“I’ll be by in a week Pumpkin.” A nod to the fact you already knew. “ Seven days.” Another nod, not risking the crumble in your voice. “ Not long at all.”  Another small kiss to your cheek as you turned into his chest and rested your forehead on his. 

“Seven days?” 

“ Seven days Pumpkin. Do you think you can wait for me? Just seven days? “

“I think I could wait a lifetime for you Eddie.” 

“I’ll see you in a week, Mrs.Carver.”

“ A week Mr.Munson.” 

A kiss to your lips and a parting gift of his very own pie before he snuck out through the back door, so as to not raise suspicion. A slow walk from the kitchen to the door and to turn a lock, on your mind. On your hope. You could do this. You could wait seven days.

Your husband comes through the door late as he had been doing for the last year or so. You had expected it from him at this point. You had started to make his dinner later and later knowing that if you had made it too early he would tell you all the ways he couldn't eat it. If it had gone too cold he would refuse and the hard work would go directly into the trash. 

He walked in as you took his dinner off the stove and placed it on a dish for him.

“Right on time doll.”

“ I don’t know how on time it is, It’s Nearly eight in the evening, Jason!”     

“ I’m not doing this with you tonight.”  

He always did this. He would come home and you would ask him where he had been, and he’d always end the conversation before it could even begin. You sat his plate in front of him as you sat across the table from him. Times where you could really take him in and see that the feelings you had once long ago were snuffed out like a flame to a candle.

“ Are you not eating dear?” 

“ I ate a bit earlier in the day.”

“Thanks for waiting .”  He rolled his eyes and you returned the gesture. 

“ I wouldn’t have had to wait if you had just picked up the phone and told me when you were going to be on your way home. I’m not waiting until we hit a new day to eat Jason I’m not going hungry just so you-”

“ Wouldn’t harm you any though would it.” 

You left the table. Your weight had started to become a key focus as he knew it bothered you more than anything else. You had gained some weight and your mother and friends had commented on it from time to time. For your husband to tho, it made you furious. You ate when you were unhappy, it was something you had done since you were a child. The only person who thought you could stand to eat a little more had been Eddie. 

It happened slowly, you would make him food now and then, and the majority of the time He would offer you a bit. It started with a bite and progressed into cutting his sandwiches in half just so you could have something to eat. Unlike your husband, Eddie had a suspicion that you weren’t eating enough. Like you weren’t giving your body what it needed to survive so he would constantly ask for you to eat with him. At least then he would know you had something of substance within your day.  

You had gone to your bedroom and gotten out of your daily’s slowly separating them into their hampers waiting to hear the stomping footsteps of Jason as he made his way to the spare bedroom. He had taken residency there about a month before Eddie came into your life and you were thankful for the times that Eddie left you yearning for more. To call out another man's name while with your significant other no matter how insignificant they were would still bring you shame like no other.

Slipping into your nightgown as Jason shuts the door to his room you wait a few minutes to take the walk back down the stairs to stand in front of the sink. Looking up at the sky through the window above the stars seem to shine brightly. You attempt to find the little dipper and look for its companion not far from where it lays, the version of a larger size. Constellations begin to blur as you let the silent tears fall. Hoping that somewhere out there in this little old town, Eddie too is looking up at the moon and wishing you were by his side as you wished upon all the stars in the sky. What a long time seven days would be.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Haven

I am back with my BS AGAIN :D @spotaus You know the drill friend come over :D I can not be stopped. I have grown too powerful!! (just played dnd. Checked the chapter to upload tomorrow for my main au and i wrote a bit on a new story. I AM POWERFUL!) <- says the woman who will probably crash in under an hour lmao.

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

We got no beta and no editing as we just go! maybe that is why these drabbles for going so well. me just kinda going and not worrying too much about the in between bits or mistakes or grammar. I just write and say that is done.. huh... writing lesson i guess. ANYWAY! back to the family :3

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Cross hums as he finishes cutting another wood board in the right size. He puts it with the others on the pile before checking the list he made before hand.

Cross nods as he looks towards the house "Got them all ready for the downstairs!" Cross grins as he takes a moment to just look at the house. Their house!

When Horror had returned with the news their new acquaintances had secured them a house they had all been sceptic at best, Dust had been downright suspicious.

But it was the truth! aparently they had managed to build up a good enough reputation that they had been trying to figure out a solution. An empty and abandoned farm and ground? That was too small for most to do anything with? hidden mostly by a forest?

Perfect for them!

They had gone to check it out and it is amazing! It is secure and easily to defend! Sure it is an old building but Cross and Horror can fix up the house easily enough! Dust had handed Nightmare over to Killer and had started looking around the house to inspect it.

long story short? He thinks he can fix most things.

With a hopeful plan they spend the inspection day also cleaning. That had been yesterday.

today? They took most of the old construction wood Crop and Straw had stored away and they got to work. Dust is cleaning and fixing what he can while Horror and Cross himself did contruction work.

Killer is on Nightmare watching duty. Mostly because Killer doesn't have nay skills in construction. Neither of them mind as they had been exploring their new area and territory together. Hoenstly it was adorable to see Killer walk by with Nightmare on his shoulders.

Horror walks out of the house as he takes the planks "Thanks. Walls?"

Cross grins proudly "All of them. Including the walls and the new banisters for the roof."

Horror blinks before grinning "great. thanks Oreo." nad he chuckles as Cross sputters.

May be because horror isn't wearing a shirt. Which kinda makes sense! Becuase horror is pulling a lot of old wood away and rebuilding stuff. the chances of him ripping his few good shirts is rather high. Still Cross is trying very hard to just focus on his face and skull. it is fine! No one notices!

Cross turns back to the pile he still has. it has been reduced quickly which sucks. He looks through it with a frown.

Crop stops by him with a knowing smile "Hey Cross!" he grins wider "Getting heated?"

Cross glares at him "Well the late autumn sun is rather warm!" and he goes back to shifting through his pile.

Crop nods "It is it is..." then the grin falls and he frowns "You guys already that low?"

Cross shifts through it more "Yeah but it is okay! I can probably use this to make the cabinets for the kitchen still..." still they will need to get more materials for everything else.

Crop frowns and must have made the same conclusion "Hopefully Straw gets back soon with more stuff."

Cross rubs his neck "You guys really didn't need to help this much... we already own you big time..."

Crop shrugs "That is how a community works Cross. We all help each other. We will eventually pay it back with helping them back." he smiles "We are only a tiny town and only have ourselves to count on. You heard how the deal with the repair service from the big city went. People are quick to think off us as dumb or naive. We gotta stuck together."

Cross shoots him a grin "We will try to ffigure something out... eventually." he groans "we don't even know what type of farm to make yet!"

Crop shrugs "You guys will have to test some stuff. See what works for you and your land..." he grins again "I don't think a diary farm fits you guys though."

Cross glares at him "Not funny. I swear Betty knew she freaked me uot."

Crop nods "Oh absolutely! Cows are really smart."

Just makes them more terrifying in Cross's opinion and he has no doubt that thought is clear on his face.

Crop laughs but a honk of a car pulls them out of their conversation. and. That is a giant truck. much bigger than Straw and Crop's truck.

Crop blinks "Dani and Ellie?" he raises to his feet and waves.

The truck stops and Ellie leans out "Hello! Your lovely neighborhood lesbians have brought you." she puts ahand under her chin and wiggles her eye brows "the wood."

Dani chuckles as she jumps out "Straw told everyone around town. Most people are grabbing their stuff but this was all stuff we were planning on giving to the community anyway." she shrugs "tree farmers after all."

Ellie grins as she waves them over "Come! lets see what you need! We have all types of trunks with us. They will still need some work and treatment but Dani is amazing with her magic!"

Dani grins as she gives a thumbs up "figure out how to treat wood with magic instead of the slow treatment. Most still want the traditional work but i figured you guys would be okay with this help."

Cross is unsure how to react. People don't just help them. People hate them and what they do. Tehy hadn't expected this much help and it is overwhelming "I... I... I don't know how to... We don't have money?" he is lost.

Dani shrugs again as Ellie smiles "Hey. We have been where you guys have been... well not exactly but people werent'exactly welcoming of us either... as soon as we graduated we grbabed my old car and just left. we foudn thsi place and people were nice enough to take a chance on us." she grins "We now pay that forwards. We are doing this!" she grins and winks "Will just have to invite us over for a prime tour of the farm once you guys are all done!"

Dani nods as she starts untying the many trunks "What Ellie said. the Danielle's are at your service. Now what do you need?"

Cross is still lost when Horror joins them curiously. no doubt hearing all the noise. He pauses as he takes in the sight before tilting his skull "What?"

Cross just kidna waves at the two "We... euh.. got help? And thinks? Do you know what we need?" his mind is in shambles at the moment.

Hroror sees it and smiles as he walks past. patting his shoulder before going over to the dog and bunny and having a short conversation. Horror hears their whole speech and smiles. he thanks them and explains what they need for what. The two woman listen closely before nodding and starting to organise the brought materials with practised ease.

Horror joins his side again and grabs Cross's lists. He takes a pencil and writes some tree names by a few of the items before handing them back "They will help prepare the materials. They are nice." and he disappears back inside.

Welp!! If Horror says that that means they are nice and most likely trustworthy! They get over to him and Cross explains the system he had and what they had calculated to need for each area. The two monsters nod and ask if they should start on the porch while cross continues preparing stuff for horror. Which Cross thanks them and agrees wiht.

They are hard at work when Killer nad Nightmare return. Killer laughs "Criss Cross! you are not going to believe this! The like east area just has a tiny field at the edge of the forest and part of that forest is still in our little area! better yet that means some of the forest animals are like right there!" then he notices the guests and grows quiet "oh... hello." His hold on Nightmare's leg tightens.

Ngihtmare tilts his tiny skull at the two monsters "Dani and Ellie... right?"

Ellie coos as Dani grins "Good memory. I can't imagine remembering all the new faces you meet only once is easy." and she finishes her spell on a piece of wood which Ellie pulls over to cut.

Nightmare shrugs as he hugs Killer's skull "good memory..."

KIller nods as he glances at Cross "Sooooo... Hello Lovely ladies!" he grins "What brings you here?"

Dani raises a piece of wood "Neighborhoodly friendliness." and she continues with her task.

Killer stares at him and Cross grins "They brough over some wood" he ignores the eye brow wigglign "after they heard from STraw that we are getting the house fixed up. aparently it is a community thing that everyone helps everyone." he shrugs at the doubting look "Don't look at me. it is new for me too. Horror said it is fine though."

Killer blinks "I mean... if Horror said it is fine..." he looks at Nightmare "What do you think tiny boss?"

Nightamre shrugs and hugs his skull.

Killer nods "notion accepted. Got it." he grins at them "We are going to look at some of the other stuff Straw and Crop brought along. See what is in there."

Cross nods "Good idea!" and he watches Killer walk off with Nightmare.

Dani chuckles and looks over "Not good at construction?"

Cross groans loudly "Killer is good at a lot of things... not construction." he shrugs "It is fine. We don't want Nightmare near this stuff anyway." he is too small to lift everything and could too easily get hurt. it doesn't matter he is technically a god he is not going to have to work. They don't agree with child labor.

Dani nods "I get that. best to have a child safe corner for them to sit in." she turns back to the next trunk and gets to work as Ellie cuts pieces.

They work for a long time and the sun is well past midday when more people come by. They deliver some older looking furniture and more tools and items for them to use.

Most don't stay for long aside from dropping things off or asking if they needed anything specific. Some brought over some premade food for them and other snacks because aparently 'breaks are important!'.

Crop and Straw, when he returned, work on clearing the road betweent eh main road and the farm and getting some clear markers on where to go.

Dani and Ellie leave later in the afternoon and by the end of the day their group of skeletons looks back at their progress. They aren't done yet but it starts to look more like a house than an actual falling apart piece of junk.

Dust is covered in ashes and when they look at him he just says 'fireplace' which probably means he found a challenge of somekind. Then again Cross thinks he spotted Dust on the roof once or twice but each time he had looked back to check he hadn't been there.

They are packing up when Killer and Nightmare return. Killer looking very proud and Ngihtmare looking a bit more nervous as he fidgets.

Horror and him share alook as Horror looks at them, now once again fully dressed "yes?"

Killer grins "Remember how we were told most farms have a name?"

Cross give shim a look "We are aware. we also agreed we would take time to think about it."

Killer grins "True. But! Nightmare thought of one and I figured it was perfect and fine!" Ngihtmare shoots him a glare and crosses his tiny arms.

Dust tils his skull "fact. Waht is the name?"

Cross wants to disagree but also if nightamre wants to clal it something specific he is fine with it. Nightmare never complains about them deciding stuff so why would they complain about this.

Nightmare mutters something but when he sees everyone looking and waiting he speaks louder "It was just an idea... Killer got excited..." still staring and he rubs his arm looking embarresed "It is silly... I thought... I figured Haven would fit. Haven Farm."

Cross stares at Nightmare and feels a bit of tears try to form as the meaning sinks in and what it implies and means. He can't stop it as he picks nightmar eup and hugs him close. Purring much too loud as he speaks "I agree it is perfect!" their home. their safe place. their hide out. their haven.

Killer grins wider and nods "Which i agreed with. So!" he pulls out a board from behind his back.

It is a name plate. It spells Haven but the letters are a bit croaked and nailed to the backboard. it are all different sizes and different colours nad Cross fucking loves it!

Killer grins "We made it together." he rolls his eye lights "don't worry i did the cutting and nailed it all together. Ngihtmare was my supervisor."

Dust looks appeased as he nods "Seems good."

Horror nods as he takes the plate and puts it by the door, too hang later "Will need a bigger one for the gate at the enterance."

Cross grins as he feels ngihtamre relax at the approval and start to purr himself. Cros sjust nuzzles the babybones.

They still have a lot of work ahead of them but that is fine. It will be all so very much worth it once it is done and they have their house to finally just be them.

*--------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[hollyhomburg]

(mafia hoseok, slice of life, fluff, stockholm syndrome, meta stuff, this is a little self-indulgent and very self-referential, a tiny bit smutty at moments but i wouldn't call this nsfw, blood, violence, guns)

i wanna write a story with mafia boss hoseok who adopts his sisters children after they die cuz of mafia reasons along with his fiance. hoseok of course, decimates the rival group who took them away from him, but after the fire and revenge has settled, there is just hoseok, just hoseok and two kids who need him.

it's not that bad, the little boy one is mainly taken care of by his men. hoseok does his best to keep them safe and separated from his criminal empire. gives them everything they could want, trusts only his inner circle of 6 to look after them.

the older one- a plucky 13 year old girl is a little bit more of a handful mostly because she asks too many questions about things hoseok cannot answer without being culpable "why do you have blood on your shoes? what kind of handgun do you carry and can i see it? why do you always talk really softly at home but yell loudly when you're in the basement?"

hoseok- knowing that the basement is a literal torture chamber, sweating, "don't you just want money for shopping or something?"

"no, i wanna become your partner, the way that mom was"

"you are literally 13"

"didn't you start when you where my age?"

"can't i just? get you a new handbag or something?" idk i just love the idea of hoseok- whose tired of his job and pissed off by it on a good day vs. a 13 year old who just wants to be a crime princess so bad.

They but heads near constantly, when she's caught sneaking out from her all girls school to smoke cigarettes, when she buys a moped with the card hoseok got her, when she tries to leave the country to go to fashion week like her mom used too (of course hoseok goes with her- but still- she's not very good at asking for permission vs forgiveness)

Obviously he's like- barely adjusting to being a parent, and grieving the loss of fiance and sister too. he's lonely and struggling with the things in his life that aren't the crime bits, he's not against admitting that, but allowing anyone, woman or man, into his life barely 5 years after they've passed feels like a betrayal.

it goes like that, slice of life, mafia man hoseok and dad hoseok chased togeather. he tries his best to show up for dance recitals (the young beta boy really really likes balet and god forbid hoseok stop anything, even convention, from getting in the way of his pups dreams,) regularly scolds the alpha girl for trying to bring her boyfriends around, "you're too young to have boyfriends" "they're just my friends boyfriends" "still, wait until you're 16- or better yet- 18"

There just isn't a shortage of problems concerning the kids, it's one thing after another. Until one night in his study, hoseok's ledgers spread out in front of him while he reclines on a tufted sette, one of his men comes to the door, an ipad in his hands and a guilty look on his face. Hoseok snaps his fingers without looking up. "we- ugh- caught her reading fanfiction again, not the appropriate sort boss."

Hoseok groans because holy fuck he was no prepared to deal with a teenage girl in his mid 30's. let alone puberty again. But then again, he's a little curious, reads a few lines of the fanfic....

Only to find out it's an exact copy of his and his ex's life, down to the things that they've said on their first date. Their first time, even her untimely death down to her last words, words that he hasn't told anyone ever. Hoseok doesn't sleep as he reads through it. The only thing that's different is their names. here, here are memories even hoseok has forgotten. It's impossible, how could someone know all this?

oh, someone knows, and he's going to tear them apart.

Of course he finds the author. using the resources of his criminal empire to track them down. he has his men abduct her. the perfect crime, executed down to the moment she's snatched. he knows the autorities will never find her or even a hint of his orginization. he brings her down into that torture room and decides....not to kill her after talking to her.

hoseok is like something out of a romance novel, the kind of one she publishes irl and not the kind that she writes and posts on the internet. intimidating and beautiful with his crossed legs, red hair, strong jaw and piercing eyes. Of course, she only publishes things as fanfiction when she feels she needs too. other stories that she feels are more polished and less an extension of her own emotions, get the published book treatment. She's already absorbing details of this, the bite of the ropes against her wrists, the damp feeling of a cloth pressed over her mouth, it's a little bit fucked up but she's only thinking "this is gonna make for some good fanfic" and not about her safety.

hoseok has only met two types of peopke, the ones that are smart and scared of him, and the ones that are stupid and unafraid.

so what if she's got a bit of a deathwish, hoseok is a little impressed, having made grown men cry and piss themselves in that very chair, she's not afraid of him whatsoever. that alone, is what keeps him from killing her. maybe it reminds him a little bit of his exfiance, the way she looks at him without fear, like he's not the boss or dad, he's just hobi.

"So you mean i'm going to stay with you, your prisoner, until you figure out how i know what i know?"

"Yes that's the jist of it. Until you confess."

"there's nothing to confess, i just- thought of it on my own, i don't know what to tell you." hoseok looks for any connection, any of the fanfic authors family, if they were connected to his fiance in any way, but truly- there is nothing in her past that connects her to him, she wasn't even living in his city before now.

it's simply a trick perhaps, or just a coincidence. Hoseok doesn't believe in coincidences.

Only, Hoseok isn't cruel enough to keep her downstairs after the first few days when his interrogations turn more...conversations. Maybe he pours over the fanfic's and asks her about specific lines the one, "nothing's broken you yet, so you have no reason to belive this will too" thats been his personal mantra for year. how could she know things that he's never told anyone is beyond him.

The house has plenty of rooms and hoseok has plenty of men to keep an eye on her, he probably puts a tracking anklet on her just incase. and of course he finds her writing on bits of paper because he won't give her a laptop.

and then Hoseok's nice gets her fingers in everything. fucking shit up as she has a talent of doing. maybe hoseok intends it to be casual "this is my friend, she's going to be staying here for the time being, be nice to her and stay out of her hair" why does hoseok feel the need to suggest the kids be nice to her? she's literally a prisoner.

but of course, hoseok's nice looks at her, turns to hoseok and says "🥺 you got me my favorite fanfic author for my birthday uncle hobi?" immediatlly- the jig is up, they talk, the mc is really kinda nice to the kid because she's not an asshole.

Of course hoseok begs her to go along with it because...he really doesn't want his nice to know that everything she read actually happened, and he's got a sweet spot a mile wide for her underneath their bickering. of course also doesn't want to let her know that he did infact almost kidnap and torture this woman. and she agrees to befriend her...in exchange for a laptop.

Things go like that for a while, and for a month, he gets used to someone being there when he wakes up, he gets used to hearing laughter when he walks in, maybe she starts to get close to the kids a little bit- the nice especially, maybe one time hoseok gets a panicked text from the mc, "Minji's boyfriend broke up with her. sos bring ice cream."

The four of them of course leave the compound, go shopping, which then turns into going to the pet store, getting a dog (that his right hand man jungkook eventually takes in because none of them are prepared to actually take care of a dog). The works, maybe they go to one of those destruction rooms and smash some stuff, or go paintballing, the m/c hitting hobi in the chest and grinning "got you." it turns out mafia bosses are generally good shots, but mafia princesses are also really good too." And on the way home, the kids tired and asleep in the back, the m/c also nearing sleep in the passengers side, hoseok looks over at her and realizes that being the kids parents, being here for minji and hanyu has gotten alot easier since she's been around.

It's not that she does any of the child rearing at all, but- adult company is nice. Hoseok's not sure he can call her a friend. when he pulls in home he looks over, and finds that she's staring back at him.

"Are you really like the man i wrote into that story."

"Yes." he admits, they haven't talked about why he's here, in a while. she looks contemplatively at him for a second, then yawns. looking back and minji and hanyu in the backseat, "i'll get him if you get her right?" and they do, they bring the both of them inside and hoseok stays awake all night with a lump in his throat.

life continues like that, blood and domestic bliss in equal measure. a few times has he come home in the middle of the day to her writing in the main recreation room with Hanyu playing with his leggos around her, "i like her, she lets me be quiet without asking me to talk lots" or spinning with him to loud loud music. hanyu really only likes balet for the spinning and twirling.

of course hoseok is curious what she's writing after a while. and is more than a little curious why she doesn't try and leave. she still has to wear the ankle monitor, but hoseok would take it off if she asked.

"honestly i'm getting so much good material from this experience and you have good taste in decor and food gets made for me every morning by seokjin- and he's a fantastic cook and an even better beta reader." Seokjin is also a really good shot, and was in the black berets before i hired him is definitely not what hoseok says. "Why wouldn't i want to stay, i don't have to worry about anything here."

"accept for your bodily autonomy????" she waves her hand flippantly, "yeah, that never mattered to me so much as long as i can write. of course he gets curious of what she's writing, hoping to find more hints of how she can know what she knows. she finds bits and peices of his men in them and writes them off as just fanfic fodder. tells minji not to bother her too much.

he doesn't really like her next project about a heist with 3 lovers who get through it after years of sexual tension only to finally confess after one member gets shot- only, why are they like jimin? tae? and jungkook all close over taehyung's hospital bed. she's gotten close to all of them, but not closer than hoseok is to them and even he didn't realize they were all in love. how have some of his longest gang members, and appart of his inner circle who have been adversaries for the better part of the last 5 years finally getting over their enemies to lovers stick? how did he not notice?

he chalks it up to a coincidence until the next time it happens, because Namjoon and yoongi have been at each other's throats for years. Who would have thought an isolated job in the mountains that lead to them being snowed in with only one bed would...lead to their eventual coupling.

after that, hoseok starts to pay attention to what she writes. he's just in the middle of a deal gone bad when he remembers what she's written the year before, something about a car bomb- he avoids getting into the car until it explodes (a la bily) and comes home a little singed and scarred.

she's in the living room, the kids are asleep upstairs, and when she stands up, hoseok feels that feeling again in his heart, that peircing ache, the same one he gets when he thinks of his dead fiance.

i'm imagining him kneeling before her, taking off her anklet, fingers lingering over her skin a little too long. looking up at her, hoseok has not knealed for many people.

"you're free to go, but before i do, i'd like to offer you a job." it's hard to describe her value to hoseok, even harder to explain it to people who don't understand, she writes, and hoseok reads them, and about 70% of the time, the events she puts down on paper actually happen. he tries to ignore the other little things that don't, she's....a really good writer. and she knows by now that anything she writes he'll tare through. even the more...smutty sections that she tries to hide. he ignores the way that tales of submission make his blood burn, the way she describes touches and hands, hoseok tries to find pleasure in his own but it remains frightfully our of reach (and maybe 3 doors down).

maybe hoseok takes her to one of his functions, the ones that he usually hates with politicians and celebrities, because he wants to treat her, wanting to give things to people isn't a feeling he's felt in a while, i imagine them dancing underneath the stars, him asking her "if you were writing this right now what would happen." "if i were writing this, you'd have already kissed me."

maybe, someone gets wind of it, maybe theres a mole in hoseoks organization that tells tales of hoseok's secret weapon. his weakness. hoseok is not prepared there is nothing in her writing that says where she is or what happens only....that last one, it's tangentially mentioned, maybe minji is the one that finds it, hoseok explains it to her the situation, why the m/c is here and what lead her to their lives, maybe he's loosing it a little and she's the levelheaded one, hanyu is in the doorway crying, maybe when they came to take her she sacrificed herself for him, told him to hide and he did. that alone, that lone would make hoseok go after her, not the living breathing terrified thing in his chest- because this- this is almost exaclty like what happned with his fiance.

minji is 14 now, 14 and smart, smarter than hoseok, "she wrote something- i know she did- here- it was in an ask- here" hoseok scans it, and the gang mobilizes it. maybe hoseok's gang asks him why, why he's willing to go to these lenghts to save her, "it's not about securing a method of income, this has never been about money."

when he finds her, she's tied up, much the same way that he was tied up, and hoseok is soaked with blood, from his red hair down his back, she always did get unnervingly graphic with her murder scenes and it feels the same way that she wrote it, white hot rage that drips down his back in time with the cooling blood. he wonders if the bruises on her face feel the same for her. he unties her and then cups her cheeks, looking down at her while she grabs his wrists. "you came for me." is all she manages to choke out, "i wasn't sure you would."

he kisses the side of his face, "of course i'd never let you go, do you feel and see the blood i'd shed for you? is this enough?" hoseok is a little fucked up, and she knows this, she knows that deep down, beneath the softness that the people he loves cultivates in him, he does not mind the killing. he'd kill again for her in a heartbeat. he's going to kill again for her and he needs to know that if she stays.

hoseok is not convinced that she should.

he takes her home, washes her off. blood dripping down the drain and the two of them pressing hurried kisses against each others mouths, even if they taste like blood a little bit, they want each other too bad, all of this built up just breaking between the two of them. hoseok spends too long listening to her heartbeat. too long but she just washes his hair while he does, a tender geasture. he's not sure that his ex ever washed his hair.

the kids are glad to see her, a little bit scared to find hoseok more hollow than he was when he left. because he knows the last time something like this happened he was too late. and there are more than a few indications that he almost was too late, in the bruises that ring her body, her own blood that he wipes from his hands.

the next day, hoseok meets with minji, hands her her first gun, "you're to report to me, you don't make tough decisions, you let me make them for you, if you have questions or need help, ask. you don't make stupid decisions, and you don't tell anyone about anything you know." She scoffs, "thats a given."

later he ends up wrapped up with the main character, touching her again and again, verifying that she's alright that she's here, and she's just scribbling away at a piece of paper while he drags his lips up and down her arm. "is this still about getting inspiration for you?"

"maybe, but you're the best inspiration i've ever come across."

yeah i wanna write this, but i probably never will~

[sassydefendorflower]

For some time now I've harbored the suspicion that Ao3 and fandom in general is pretty anti-abortion. Not in a conscious, malicious way - hell no. I think it is an unconscious thing, something that sneaks into a lot of fiction in a way that isn't actively harmful, but has an accumulative effect.

And i get it.

Fanfic and fandom are escapism. They are there to present happy stories and happy endings, big What-ifs and endless coffee-shop AUs. It is easy to imagine these worlds as perfect enough that no one needs to have an abortion because only people who want children only ever get pregnant.

And on an individual level that is absolutely fine. Nobody has to deal with topics that make them personally uncomfortable, or deal with delicate discussions such as this in their free time entertainment. It's just...

A world without abortion isn't a happy one for everyone. Partially because it is a human right that is being threatened all over the world by conservative governments who want to take away the bodily autonomy to have one. And since such is the state of the world, there should be a room in fiction to explore the implications of this. The horror of some government having this kind of control over your body, but also the fantasy of a support system that is there for you should the need for an abortion arise.

Why am I typing all this? Because I just got a lot of hate on one of my fics dealing with abortion. And I think it is a symptom of a larger problem.

[ID: screenshot of an anon Ao3 comment saying: "Why do you worthless,brainless feminists try to tarnish this perfect stor y with your feminist baby murder propoganda? Why do you try to project your brainwashed,indoctrinated whore behaviour on characters as great as Edward and Winry? An abortion is NOT your decision. It is NOT your body and no amount of feminist screaming will change that. It is the fathers child too and your opinion is irrelevant. Abortion is murder, that's a fact. And no, I'm not religious. This entire story and your propoganda is utter TRASH. Rejected."]

[ID: another screenshot, also from anon: "NOT her body,NOT her choice. Different human being altogether. Keep wishing. Men will fully stop this practice of infanticide." Posted: 2023-06-18 05:09:47 UTC]

[ID: a third anon message that reads: Anonymous responded: "NOT her body,NOT her choice. That's a different, innocent human being altogether. And Ed is a strong,free man with a working brain. He's not your idea of "supportive husband" (aka spineless beta) who will support infanticide. This is not Edward and mlst definitely not Winry. She knows the value of life and exactly how hollow abortion arguments are. It is NOT a womans choice ever. NOBODY gets to decide to murder an innocent baby." Posted: 2023-06-18 05:08:24 UTC]

The fact that you should never send someone these kind of messages non-withstanding, this showcases a lack of respect and understanding that is simply baffling. There is so much hate in these comments. So much ire at women and people capable of having children in these words... it's frightening.

And I don't want to lock these stories behind moderated comments and limited access, because let me tell you something... these stories are for the people who need them most, the people who need positive and loving stories about making a hard choice and sticking with it. And often these people will only tell me about their own journey, their own struggle while on Anon themselves. And looking at the kind of response I've garnered... for a good reason.

Because it still isn't safe to openly talk about abortion.

Apparently not even on a website like ao3, which is generally assumed to be pretty liberal considering the general nature of online fandom.

Abortion is still seen as a taboo topic - in fiction and in real life. And this fear of openly discussing abortion makes people who visibly do vulnerable for attack. Be it authors like me who want to explore the bodily autonomy inherit in a fight for abortion, or the women and people who've had an abortion and are still frightened to talk about it.

If writing fiction dealing with abortion has taught me anything--- it's that people need and WANT these stories. Because no one else is writing them, but I really think some of us should.

The perfect world in which no one needs an abortion is useless, if people in the real world get hate mail for contemplating having one.

The next time your character has an unwanted pregnancy or is already surrounded by six kids or is very focused on wanting success and a career... think about why abortion isn't an option in your story.

Is it because it wouldn't make sense in your perfect fantasy? Is it because actually wanting kids is very inherent to this character? Or is it because deep down some part of you still thinks that having an abortion is some sort of sin?

It's no moral judgement I am making here - but you can only deal with an unconscious bias by examining it.

[karasbroken]

Ok, there is zero reason for this story to be 34,000 words. I need a beta! And to outline my fics so I don't wander around for three chapters trying to decide what to do. I actually wrote the ending first, and then had to throw it away because it didn't fit. Probably it would also help to write the whole thing first and then post it.

But will I do any of those sensible things? Odds are low.

Unlike last time, this fic suffers from too much plot. John and Aeryn wrangling over attraction and loneliness mostly gets overridden by asteroids strikes and commerce stations. I wrote action! And lots of unnecessary slice-of-life space stuff. I was trying to explore Aeryn feeling more able to invest in John because she starts to believe he isn't about to leave at any moment. Then half way through she decides to leave instead. I cannot control these people. Lucky Pilot and guilt get me back in the direction of canon.

I don't know, I actually like some of this. So read it if you want. It's ok.

Rating: T    |   Word Count: 34,321 | Chapters: 6/6

Tags: Post-"Rhapsody in Blue", Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violent Thoughts, Loneliness, Angst

“It was hard, Livy, seeing her like that.”

Aeryn heard John's voice in enough time to stop before the sound of her footsteps could carry to him. The name meant he was talking to his magnetic recorder again, not any of the Moyans. O’livy’a was the name of his younger female sibling—sister— Aeryn made herself think the colonial word. There was always a warmth in how John talked about his family that felt incompatible with the precise terms of galactic Sebacean. In English, it sounded inappropriately like a hiss, sisistr. She wondered whether the word for brother was similarly sibilant. The only time they’d talked of brothers, she had been too distracted to pay attention.

”I mean, what a mind frell—” Crichton stopped himself with a bitter laugh, “They’re getting to me. A mind frell,” he emphasized the word, one of the few profanities that had a perfect translation, though his English version was harsher to her ear, more violent.

“I thought I was going crazy, I mean, of course I did! But the worst part— is that it felt so right. So good. The idea of having someone else with me, dealing with this crazed frelled-up situation together— of just… not being alone…” John’s voice dipped and fractured, and he lapsed into silence.

Aeryn heard the click of the recorder being stopped. Was he talking about her? She hadn't thought he was there for any part of her humiliating collapse. To be rendered completely ineffective by mere hallucinations was bad enough when witnessed by Pilot and D'Argo. It was somehow worse to have the habitually incompetent human see it too.

But no, his words didn't seem to match that. They had not been together facing the rogue Delvians; that had been the problem. He'd been on his own.

The button clicked again. “It took me arns to figure out that Alex wasn’t real. Actually, I never figured it out. The priestess just let me go. Until then, I believed it all. That Alex joined Ayahsa with me instead of going to stanferd. That she was on the Farscayp project with me. That she had been my copilot when I got sucked down the wormhole….”

Alex. That wasn't a name she remembered from John’s many many stories. Someone he knew from his past, but didn't talk about. Until now, when he was clearly upset. That made her eavesdropping seem uncomfortably invasive.

Crichton was probably tucked into a niche just around the bend of the corridor. This hall, like many others, had begun to narrow and curve more dramatically in the last few weekens. But it still gave access to a window sheltered by an arching column where John liked to sit and watch space. Aeryn could continue on, greet him, ask him to help with the survey she was starting again, as she’d intended when she first went looking for him. It felt as if she'd just completed a full tier review, but Moya's internal structures seemingly changed every day. The work might be a distraction for him.

Or she could go back the other way, down a tier, or up, to find a new path around the apparently growing hangar that sheltered the ship’s child. She could leave Crichton to talk to his ghosts alone....

[rosecoloredgirls]

WIP // BG3 modern with magic AU. cross posted on AO3.

summary : Professor Gale Dekarios wasn't one to frequent the social circles of fancy parties, especially not in Baldur's Gate. But with an invite in hand and being pulled out of his safe haven to go to a masquerade. He regrets going that is until he meets someone who makes his heart beat once again.

— modern au with magic + bloodweave different first meet + a masquerade wip anyone?

a / n : i saw this art done by @/saltska on here of gale & astarion + i just love reading masquerade stories. and i need to write something. i haven't decided yet if to rewrite my previous fic. again, it's not beta read & i'm sure i might've failed a check somewhere. currently in gale's pov and this is just a wip! unfortunately. i am in no means at all finished yet with a bit of writers block. much love to anna for being my cheerleader. enjoy. :)

He's simply gorgeous. Porcelain skin and silver curls contrast sharply against the ensemble he is wearing. A raven mask covers half his face, with golden lines around the eye holes. The suit, perfect for him, features a black half capelet with red velvet inside, breaking up the black, tans, and golden thread within the outfit. Nobody could wear it like this man, Gale thinks.

He blinks, suddenly paralyzed, as the other walks over. Gale feels like prey towards a predator as they face each other. Noticing the man isn't too much shorter than him. Gale stammers to get words out before getting cut off by the stranger. "Is something on my face darling, or do you stare at pretty things?"

Turning red, Gale awkwardly coughs, "Much apologies. I didn't mean to stare too much, it's just... Well, you do look very pretty like you said. Very interesting choice in the raven mask, did you know they mean intelligence and transformation?"

Gale starts to ramble, feeling the wine loosening his tongue. The professor stops mid-sentence, "Ah! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to talk your ear off. Where are my manners? I'm Gale. Gale Dekarios, professor in the advanced arcane arts at Blackstaff Academy."

Offering his hand, Gale watches as the other man takes it. "It's alright darling, probably the most interesting thing I've heard all night," Astarion responds with a charmed smile. "I'm Astarion Ancunin, and my, impressive," he comments on Gale's job profession.

A silent exhale leaves Gale, relieved he didn't scare away Astarion with his rambling. Can't say that about the others he tried to talk to earlier unfortunately. "I'm glad I could indulge you. This... this isn't really my scene if I'm being truthful to you, Astarion. I may not be the company you want to associate yourself with."

Gale feels like a fish out of water compared to Astarion, even with Jen helping him dress up for tonight. He flinches when Astarion's hand touches his arm.

"You don't think highly of yourself, do you, professor?" Astarion tsks and pulls him to where everyone is dancing. "It's time to change that." He guides Gale's gloved hands onto his waist and mid-back, positioning them so Gale can lead.

"I don't think-"

"Shhhh. Take a step and watch me, darling."

[klausinamarink]

happy birthday to @penny00dreadful!

Now have the Spider-Man Eddie fic you’ve been hungry for!

thanks to @pearynice for the beta read!

Chapter 1: The Bite

The van just barely makes it inside the shop before it collapses, all four wheels popping out like a cartoon, with the heavy coat of dust exploding into the air like a mushroom cloud. A perfect summary of Eddie’s life right now.

His forehead lands directly on the center of the steering wheel. The horn goes off long enough for someone to rapidly knock on the window. Said window immediately shatters into a bazillion pieces, earning a couple swears from the person outside. Eddie says nothing. He pushes the scorching tears behind his eyeballs and whips his head up with a wide smile. “Sorry I’m late, boss,” Eddie greets nonchalantly, like he isn't crying on the inside. 

“Hey to yourself, Munson, but what the fuck happened to your van?” Olive’s eyes are as wide as a bug as they stare at the vehicle in horror. “Scratch that - how did you even drive?”

“It’s a real funny story, actually.” Eddie cracks the door open and swings his legs out. His boots hit the ground gracefully, but despite the urge to immediately fall and curl up into a ball, Eddie remains standing.

“Picture this: you see the morning traffic on the expressway so you decide to go on a shortcut. Said shortcut also turns out to be a disaster for a very different reason. Can you guess what happened?”

Olive doesn’t have a chance to open their mouth before Eddie barrels on, “I swear to god, boss, it was something from those old D&D books. It was a creature from literal Hell! It rammed right into my van and broke my windshield. I thought it was some lost deer or something, but I couldn’t leave to check because then it stood up and its face opened up!”

Eddie brings his hands to his face and rapidly motions them as jaws clamping together. It doesn’t fit the exact description of seeing a spindly thing suddenly reaching out ninety percent of its face as rows of razor-sharp teeth, but it’s close.

“Obviously, I scream and I hide back inside the van. And the next thing I know, that thing was gone and it fucked up my van even more.”

He also leaves out the details of how he hid in the back and cried like a baby, but that wasn’t anybody’s business.

Olive stares at him with utter bewilderment. They rub a hand over their face with an insufferable sigh, “Okay, I don’t believe half of what you just said-”

“It’s not a lie! That shit is probably on the news by now!”

“-but because your van is in that state, I’m giving you some mercy to fix it until the end of the week.” 

The van makes another shuddering sound. Eddie doesn’t dare to turn around yet. But whatever it is, it makes Olive grimace. 

“If you can even repair it.”

Eddie claps his hands together and bows down to the waist, almost weeping in relief. “Thank you, boss.”

Olive is already walking away, “Until Saturday!” 

They disappear into their office. Then Eddie finally drops to the ground.

He’s still shaking from the whole ordeal. But he’s more freaked out about his new transportation plan and car insurance than the flower-faced monster. 

Eddie should count himself lucky that he’s even allowed to repair his van, but it’s only Tuesday and there is no way he can make it look good as new by the weekend. His van is an older model and replacement shipments will take more than a week to arrive, even if he were to call them now. Meaning that Eddie will have to either take the van to another garage (already unlikely, too expensive) or finally give her up to the junkyard (already likely). If he has to take the second option, he will need to find buy another vehicle (fucking impossible) or endure the public transport.

The more he tries to think through, the quicker he spirals. Suddenly, Eddie cannot breathe and he’s pounding on his chest like breaking his ribs will fix it.

A cold sensation taps the back of his neck. Eddie springs up with shock, clamping a hand over the skin. Patrick is standing over him, glass water bottle in hand.

Eddie wordlessly takes the water and gulps half of it in one go. It’s too cold and gives him major brain freeze, but it helps him calm down a bit.

“Thanks, man.”  

“No problem, Munson,” Patrick helps Eddie up to his feet. He jerks his chin at the van, “You seriously going to fix that by yourself?” 

“Already am,” Eddie grunts, tying his hair up into a bun.

“I can get Ronnie for the hose to wash the dirt off.”

Eddie shakes his head, already walking off to the cleaning station, “I got it. No need to help.”

Yeah, I can fix the van like it’s new again by Saturday. Absolutely no problem. 

This is fine. 

-

Eddie is still under the van when his cell phone rings. He ignores it at first, determined to finish the exhausts. It rings again, louder than his drill. Eddie sighs and rolls out, blinking rapidly at the bright ceiling lights burning his retinas. Might as well have a quick break. 

He grabs his phone from where it sits on a nearby box and answers, tired and unkindly.

“Yeah?”

“Eddie, where the hell are you?! You should be picking us up by now!”

Eddie blanks. It takes a few seconds for him to properly absorb Jeff’s words.

“Uh-” He quickly looks around. The whole place is suddenly deserted with the garage doors now closed. Looking through the windows shows him it has gone dark outside. 

“Shit.” 

“Yeah.” He can practically hear Jeff rolling his eyes. “We’re at the gym- Gareth, put that stupid candy down, it’s just meth!” 

“W-Wait, wait, hold on-” Eddie is standing in the middle of the garage like an idiot because his brain is going millions of miles per minute and he is trying to remember what the date is. “What do you mean you’re at the gym?” 

“We’re at Frankie’s gym! Think you can break the ten minute record?” 

Eddie doesn���t answer. He’s staring blankly at the empty sockets of his van’s headlights instead of checking the time.

When Jeff speaks again, it’s in an awfully calm tone that brings Eddie flashbacks to his shitty teachers all the way back in elementary school. 

“Eddie. You’re at your apartment. Right?”

Eddie bites viciously at his thumb, right between the cuticle and skin. 

“Eddie-”

“I was… just leaving…” God, Eddie wishes he can shrink straight up into nonexistence. “You know, uh- the- the garage…”

He holds his cell phone as far as he can, just in case Jeff would scream profanities into his ear. But because he’s the best friend in the world, Jeff doesn’t do that. Instead, Eddie hears him take a long deep breath.

“Okay,” Jeff clicks his tongue, “here’s what we’re going to do. I’m gonna tell Frankie to take our shit and he’ll drive us over to the bar. You meet us there in twenty. Do not forget your guitar.”

His heart rate going up in a spike, Eddie starts biting into the skin of his fingernails. There is no way for him to make it in time without calling for a taxi and even those rides cost money. 

“Jeff, man, listen-” Eddie swallows back the beginnings of a sob, “My van is fucking busted and I literally can’t make it to the Hideout without using the subway. And that’s gonna take me an hour!”

When Jeff doesn’t say anything, Eddie starts to assume the worst. But several seconds pass with more silence, Eddie frowns and checks his phone’s screen.

Even when he rapidly taps on the screen, it remains pitch-black.

Of course his phone chooses that exact moment to die on him. And people call him the dramatic one.

Eddie runs his hands through his hair, almost uncaring about how tangled and greasy it is. Before he can consider yelling or breaking something out of frustration, Eddie starts grabbing his things, throws them into his bag, and books it out of the garage.

Usually, the cool night air would refresh him after a tiring workday surrounded by oils and smoky gears, but Eddie barely cares as he breaks into a sprint.

Twenty minutes should be enough time to catch the train to his place, grab his Sweetheart, and meet up with the guys for their bar performance, right?

He’s almost out of breath by the time he gets to the closest subway station - Creel Station is as filthy as its corporation namesake - but he’s relieved to see that it’s still open. He nearly breaks his neck from running down the stairs but Eddie doesn’t stop until he makes it to the platform.

Collapsing on the nearest bench, Eddie mentally congratulates himself while panting for air. At least he can handle waiting for a few minutes until the train arrives. 

So he waits. 

And waits.

Aaand waits.

Eddie keeps checking his watch every time he thinks the subway is coming. Ten minutes has passed. 

It could be very delayed. His surviving rational brain suggests. Eddie almost believes it.

When twenty minutes pass with no subway in sight, Eddie decides to take advantage of being the only person on the platform and just yell out to the uncaring void.

Now he’s faced with a terrible dilemma: leave and face whatever more miserable luck awaits him or somehow get to the next station.

Naturally, he chooses the wisest decision.

“Why the hell not?” He grumbles to himself as he hops down on the tracks and starts walking. He’s grown up with a carjacking dad and escaped the cops for selling weed and ketamine back in high school. What’s more incriminating than a little tunnel adventure?

It’s only after entering the tunnel that Eddie realizes one thing: it’s too dark. Even with the lights aligning the ceiling, they barely reflect the metal rails. If his phone battery hadn’t run out, then he would have used the flashlight to see properly.

Eddie mutters more curses under his breath, but he’s already too far to turn around. Besides, what’s he supposed to do at this point? Buy a flashlight at the nearest convenience store?

He shuffles to one side of the wall, careful not to trip over the rails or any suspicious puddles. He keeps a hand brushing against the wall, doing his very best to ignore the gross dirt and spiderwebs. 

The first few stations he makes it through are all empty. But unlike Creel Station, the gates to the outside are closed to the public. It makes Eddie a bit claustrophobic but he tries to pretend that it doesn’t bother him. Last thing he needs is a stress-induced heart attack. 

He does wonder why Creel Station hasn’t been closed off if there was apparently no one else there. But Eddie’s starting to see some blurriness in the edges of his vision so he’s desperate to just go home. 

Also because, let’s face it, he can’t make it to the Hideout. He’s going to have to apologize and explain to Jeff and the other guys in the morning. 

But he probably won’t have enough time because now Eddie has to start waking up early and find some way to get to work.

Just as Eddie starts to curse at the world, the toe of his boot hits something. 

Then Eddie is falling forward.

Something very solid hits his face. He barely feels the sharp explosion of pain inside of his mouth before Eddie sees everything going completely black. 

-

The first thing he registers after returning to consciousness is that his nose hurts like hell. 

He’s groggy like he had too many drinks. Drinks. Right, Eddie had gone to the Hideout earlier. 

Wait, didn’t he? 

No, he hadn’t. He was supposed to be on his way there hours ago.

Eddie tries to get up but his head is full of lead and his body is like a rusty car due for a junkyard crushing. 

He tastes the pang of copper in his mouth. He runs a tongue over his teeth, hoping none of them got chipped or broken. They feel fine, but his tongue definitely hurts more at the tip. Must have bitten it. 

When Eddie finally pushes himself up, he cringes at the dirt and a piece of litter sticking to his face. Right. I went into the tunnels like a genius.

It takes a moment before he’s fully on his feet. Even then, Eddie leans against the wall to stop his head from spinning. 

He spits out some of the blood. It lands on the rail, a speckle of red reflecting too brightly on the gray metal. 

“Okay,” Eddie tells himself, “move on and get the fuck out of here.”

Once he feels stable enough and knows his ankles haven’t twisted, Eddie continues on walking. 

As he arrives at the fourth station, his feet are killing him and his eyelids are drooping. He checks his watch but what do you know, the face is cracked and he can’t hear a single tick. 

For all he knows, three days may have passed and his poor uncle is losing his mind. 

Maybe the others had already held a funeral for him. Eddie can see Jeff on the podium and giving the eulogy. Here lies our friend Eddie who died doing what he loved - succumbing to the urge to return to dark holes. Anyway, who wants his guitar?

At this point, Eddie may as well just curl up into a ball and wait for the subway to finally arrive and turn his misery into red mist.

Then there’s a resounding growl from behind.

Eddie whirls around, suddenly much more alert. He stares down at the dark end of the tunnel, expecting it to be the long-lost subway.

But nothing greets him.

All hairs on the back of his neck stand up nonetheless. The morning’s incident flashes before Eddie’s eyes. The flash of teeth in petal-shaped gums. The guttural shrieks and its casual ripping of metal. 

That was under broad daylight. Now he is in a possibly abandoned subway station late at night, very much alone with no contact for help.

But because he’s an idiot, too small and stressed for this massive world, he calls out, “Hello?” 

His mind might be playing tricks on him, a sadistic attempt to get him to fall asleep as soon as possible regardless of the filthy environment. Or maybe it’s just one of the maintenance workers. 

The growl starts again, closer this time.  

Nevermind, fuck that.

Within seconds, Eddie is climbing on the platform and dashing across the station. There’s not a single soul in sight and it accelerates his terror more. Eddie swears he can hear the growling again.

As he gets to the stairs, he prays that the gates aren’t closed and that he can make it aboveground.

When he sees the open path to the night sky, Eddie cries. 

He embraces the night air this time. But Eddie doesn’t stop, his vision blurring. He runs and runs until his legs and lungs give away at once and he collapses against a brick wall in an alleyway.

Eddie pants heavily, his lungs growing tighter with a cold dryness. As his breathing slows to normal, Eddie oh-so carefully peeks out of the alley, opting to stay hidden. 

He just sees regular people and cats on the streets. No shadow demons chasing after him. 

Eddie slides down to the ground, covering his face with his hands. He takes a moment to sob, but it gets stuck in his throat. He almost forces it out but it does make him shed some tears, so it’s a little more cathartic. 

Talk about a fucking day.

Eddie drops his hands and sucks in another breath. Before he can think about his next options to go home, Eddie feels a sudden itch on his arm. 

He scratches it, almost absentmindedly. That is until the itch starts crawling its way down his arm.

Eddie looks down in time to see a spider the size of a coin emerging from under his sleeve.

Now, Eddie is usually arachnophobic, but his reaction to tiny eight-legged demons has a delay of a few seconds. So he spends that time just staring at the spider crawling to a stop at the back of his hand. He even admires it. Unless the lighting has gotten otherworldly, the spider is glowing faintly with a tie-dye mix of red and blue. Its tiny round eyes almost seem to blink up at him.

He thinks, Huh, it looks kind of cute.

And then it bites him. 

To his credit, Eddie doesn’t even scream. 

He just does it after smacking the spider to death. 

-

read more on ao3!

[theitcharchives]

Seeking beta readers

For first five chapters (10k words) of Glint of Silver

queernorm fantasy world with soft magic system

demiace MC

m/m pairing

tw: set in aftermath of epidemic (turns out I'm a product of my times), off-page death of parent

equal focus on romance development and on sociopolitical intrigue

a full play script because it's mentioned and quoted in the story (later chapters)

The agent I thought was the perfect fit rejected me because "the writing didn't pull (them) in as much as (they) hoped" so I'm now extra paranoid.

I'd give you access to the whole Google doc which has the first fifteen chapters, though I'm asking for feedback on the first five (10k words)

If you want to continue you can (full book is 33 chapters, 96k words, first of trilogy) otherwise I'm good

After those chapters there'll be a link to a structured questionnaire (forewarning: many questions. Reassurance: most are optional)

no deadline but please don't ghost me, just tell me if you're not feeling it however far you've gotten, I value that feedback too

______

A pitch:

Ambrose Adenhart walks the line between noble mundanity and wild mystical woods, ever restless, ever poised. He has grown to understand the wind and moonlight better than his peers, with equal love for dancing at a soiree or barefoot in the woods, and is content with his duties: born and raised to be Northern Doyen, set to rule the Clifflands under the guidance of the Golden and Silver Crowns, to heal his home, swept by war and plague that killed his mother, poisoned the waters and shrouded its magic with fear thirteen years before.

But when King Edric arrives at Orchard Haven offering him a crown of silver, the gentler hand of ruling, Ambrose understands his life will be yet more complicated–though a treasure of opportunities has been laid at his bare feet, to expand his hopes to the Realm of Rysde whole, and the excuse to explore his own mystifying feelings and wants against the steadfast interest of the charming King.

Stepping into the heart of a Realm still pulling itself together, Ambrose needs to learn to rule the viper's nest before the attempts to crush him, his ideas and all he holds dear succeed–the number of vipers biting at his heels isn't what matters, but Ambrose's own relationship to the poison. His journey starts with the promise of silver and of the golden heart of a King, and although heavy is the honour they bring, Ambrose is used to balancing on the edge of loss and secrets.

______

Let me know with a DM :) Cheers

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Okay I stumbled upon your blog and took the time to read your responses to those asks about interaction and comments and overall feedback and I get what you mean but also I think as writers we shouldn’t expect much from readers (much as in the comments you say you’d like to get) If you want those kind of comments very detailed about something on your story you could try beta readers (multiple). That way you’ll satisfy that need of comment and detailed feedback from more than just one person.

Fanfiction is not that serious for readers, unless it’s another writer who read your story and knows what it’s like to craft a story. Even then, not many writers read fanfiction (from what I’ve noticed) so you won’t get very detailed comments from someone who’s here for fun and not to study a story.

If you write just for the feedback I fear you’re posting on the wrong platform

"Fanfiction is not that serious for readers"

That is the problem. That is the problem.

Like I totally get if you read fics casually, it's a once and a while thing for you - then don't feel obligated to leave a comment. Cool. If you read fanfiction before you go to sleep and you are sleepy-eyed at 3am - you don't have to leave a comment. Go the fuck to sleep.

But if fanfiction is your main source of entertainment and you read 5 fics a day, 10 fics a day, 20 fics a day (or if you read 100k fics often) - if you go back and re-read fics, if you download fics - that is a serious hobby. Even if you don't write, even if you don't think that take it 'seriously' - that is a serious hobby. And don't you think that you should forge a relationship with the person or people who have provided you with all these amazing stories - find some way to thank them and especially - fuel their creative process?

Like this isn't a fucking trick. If you discuss fics with writers, it will fuel their creative process and make them wanna write more fics. IT'S NOT A TRAP. IT B E N E F I T S YOU AS A FIC READER.

But also, a huge chunk of the problem is that I get very passive-aggressive comments or comments that feel like the person talking to themselves (like they are writing a personal meme blog text post in my comments section) - and people don't realize that writing a comment on a fic means that it comes up in my notifications. And then I am forced to read it with my eyes.

People saying that they are going to hell for reading my fic, or that my fanfiction is 'gross and horrible' (morally), or complaining that it's incomplete when I have a clearly outlined post schedule, people bashing the entire x reader genre right in front of my very eyes, people calling my main character stupid - the list goes on.

The minute you act like fanfiction is a product to be consumed is the minute you let yourself forget that there is a real human being reading all of your comments - it's not a fucking robot that your comments are being sent to, it's not some big account that receives 1000s of comments a day and will never see what you wrote. A person is behind that fic.

Also, just in general, I am not begging for comments or an increase in (quality) comments on fanfiction for me specifically. I am trying to improve the environment for all fanfiction writers because readers don't take it seriously. (I am not asking people to treat this like a fucking courtroom or something, I am just asking people to realize that fanfic writers are human beings. Please.) Readers do not acknowledge that fanfiction is a labor of love that the writer has worked hard on - and more people need to fucking acknowledge that, flat out.

I have made this comparison before, but people act like fanfiction is a mass produced candy like M&Ms - something that is made by the millions in a factory that should be gobbled up quickly because it's so easy to make. When fanfiction is a hand-pulled taffy - an art that takes years to perfect, and should be appreciated - the final product, and the process.

Yeah, I could get what I want or need out of a beta reader (though, imo, beta readers exist to critique fanfiction while it is still in the process of being written, and I am asking for a bit of feedback and interaction on fics that are already finished and polished as a little mental crumb of a treat for all the work I have done) - but that is like saying that if I want comments to change, I should just stop posting my fics and only send them to 3 or 4 people privately in DMs instead. Which is something I could do. But when I do that, it's when I have truly given up on the fanfiction community as a whole.

(And I'm not asking for 'detailed' feedback. I am just asking for one sentence that isn't passive aggressive and is about the plot of the fic. One sentence <3)

[morning-sun-brah]

Okay so I've just GOTTA know... how the hell do you write the way you do?? I haven't been able to get sucked into any written work since high school, trauma brain and all. I used to live in books so it's been hell, but your writing got me back into reading, and makes it so I can get lost into that little world again, which I've craved but been able to have for like... so long. Writing is something I've always been into, but I let my fear of failure and need for perfection stop me. Just... do you have any advice for beginners?? It would mean the world to me, but I understand if it's an annoying ask! Thanks for reading no matter what!

Well I am just a mess reading this (in the best way possible).

First of all, thank you so much omfg. And of COURSE it isn't annoying! This is so flattering I'm about to cry my dude.

As far as tips on writing, I feel like I am not the person to ask because I'm just this little weirdo on the internet who likes turtles lol. But!! In an attempt to try and give real advice here is my response... and it got a little wordy so it's all under the break lmaoooo.

~Gin's rambling attempt to give writing advice~

Practice! Literally the only reason I can string coherent words together is because I've been doing this as a hobby for like two whole decades.

Also!! Read! Consuming other fics and books really helps. Sometimes you find a way of saying something that sticks with you. Sometimes you sit and think "I would have done it this way/said it this way." Sometimes you come out on the other end and go "Wow I am a hack that was amazing." Sometimes you finish something and go "Wow that was fucking terrible I'm amazing." Sometimes you read something and it fires off your brain, and you are left itching to write your own story. But however you feel, it's all GOOD FOR WRITING. It helps you grow! It literally helps you find your voice!

Other little things; When I write, I truly immerse myself. I am playing out in cinema format what is happening in the "scene." How is this person reacting? How do they look- down to facial expressions. How are they feeling? Is this something they would say? (would they fucking say that??? is something I think to myself every time I open a doc) And when I write it all down, I try my very best to convey that "scene" that played out in my head. I try to capture that character's voice, their mannerisms, their habits.

Does this even make sense? I sure hope so.

Also, flow. Make sure we're moving right along. Keep track of where hands, legs, and torsos are. If they were sitting when the scene started, and you need them standing to kiss or fight or do a thumb war, at some point you need to make sure you say they stood up. If a hand was on a cheek, it can't suddenly be on an ankle without telling the reader what happened.

I also just think adding little details helps with immersion. When we talk to people, we don't just stand around. We fidget. We pick our nails or scratch our arms or shuffle our feet. All those little details can add to that immersion (or I think so, I'm no expert). "He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck before saying..." - Wow, what an awkward little shit. "They scrunched their nose and gave a near-violent eye-roll" - Oh ok they are annoyed! "She shifted her feet and replied"- cool she's being a person, I shift my feet too, neato.

Anyway, nothing I wrote 20 years ago is as good as it is now. I'm highly convinced that I'll think the same thing in another 10 years, about anything I've published recently. But it is getting better, and it's because I keep at it. Having friends in the fandom and beta readers really helps. Make sure you find someone who you know will be positive but honest. And remember, YOU are always going to be your own worst critic.

God why did anyone ever let me have access to a computer. Why the FUCK is this so long? Does it even make sense? Jfc, I'm going to post it and eat a fucking cookie.

I believe in you anon. Also, I love you and thank you so much for making my whole week. I'm going to be so obnoxious about this shit, everyone expect to hear from my ass an annoying amount (kidding, but seriously I'm so fucking flattered thank you so much. This kind of shit makes me wonder what the fuck you're all reading because I swear I am just a silly gal with seasonal depression who needs a haircut).

((Also, anon, I wish you nothing but the best. Take care of yourself, be kind to yourself, and know that I am sending you like a million hugs))

[redscullyrevival]

Vid Notes: You Stupid B****

When first planning to make this vid I was hesitant to use girl in red's "You Stupid Bitch" but after test running a few other songs I eventually convinced myself it was the best option for what I wanted to focus on.

To me, Our Flag Means Death is a series that uses it's setting along with it's varied LGBTQ+ characters to explore messy queerness without coming off as "poor representation".

Everyone is already complicit in social, sexual, moral, whatever ambiguity - they're friggin' pirates. They are all, quite literally, in the same boat with no one singled out by the production as being worse than or more righteous than any others under their flag, ya feel me? Like… Come on, you get it right? Yeaaaah, you get it. *finger guns*

I edit fan vids because I can use the images and narratives of shared stories to create my own dialogues of interest. I make things with the intent of being seen and understood as a person, not just for the sake of presenting a show and going, "Remember when that happened? Yeah, that was cool…" I use media and music to re-direct focus on to what I want to say; and this video is a discussion on how raising our own standard together is what defines love and community, not a series of boxes we need to make sure we're checking - or avoiding.

As such, I really enjoyed the notion that even though we can all recognize calling someone you claim to be perfect for and love a stupid bitch isn't exactly a nice thing to do it is still immensely relatable. I wanted the raw and slightly mean sting of the chorus to aid me in playing with the show's emotionality and humor.

Since fan vids typically operate the same way normal music videos do it is always easier to edit to a song as though it is representing a particular character; by either being about them or insinuating through the edit they're in 'possession' of the singing voice.

Desperate to avoid accidentally presenting the show's messy queerness as something one sided I have tried my best to edit in a way that express a mutually held voice between the two main characters.

Quickly establishing and then maintain throughout the vid that Blackbeard and Bonnet are both calling the other a stupid bitch (that both are 'singing' the song to each other) required imagery consistency on a level I have rarely aimed for. I couldn't show Blackbeard more or less than I did Bonnet and most importantly I couldn't arrange footage in a way that would emotionally direct one as being more present than the other within the lyrical rhythm.

Our Flag Means Death is an incredibly tight production which is a blessing in that shots are composed with great consistency and the editing holds an even pace across both seasons, making it a series that is easy to pluck clips from. It is not however a series with a lot of fat and with 18 episodes total I found myself running into footage spacing issues by the time I had finished laying down the first minute of the song.

Blah blah no one gives a shit - all I'm sayin' is that this wasn't easy to make, yeah?

This vid required a lot of footage wrangling and trying out 20 something combos of clips for 7 seconds of song over and over and over. Which, ya know, I suppose that's the hobby at the end of the day but this particular project was wrought with microscopic footage management that got me lost in the sauce. I'm happy to have pulled through with the help of my beta viewer Lee who may not have had any choice in the matter but I would still like to thank all the same.

On top of all that (lmfao) I also REALLY wanted the majority of this vid to fall in line with how I've had to edit for my non-cannon same sex ships in the past, culminating in a sort of switcharoo gotcha for no real reason other than my own amusement.

Boring bits for posterity:

About five days planning

Week and a half of editing

Probably like half a bottle of Dry Eyes

Only spent two days coming to terms with the indifference for which my work will be met (most of my stuff has not cleared this hurtle in recent years)!

Deepest point is five layers