#i know i don’t use tumblr hardly ever i just needed to say this

[katlanacross]

wherever nicholas matthews is out there i hope he’s thriving and living his best life

[sugutiva]

❝ THAT P ★ SSY GOT POWER ! ❞ — G. SATORU

ᥫ᭡. synopsis : for some reason . . . the strongest sorcerer in the world ( purposely ) got struck by a lust curse.

tags : smut, p in v, oral sex ( f! receiving ), enemies to lovers (?), reader folds quickly LMAO, gojo eats us out against the wall . . . again, hair pulling, pussy spanking, overstimulation, teasing, cowgirl, switch!gojo, slight orgasm denial, creampie, cursing, dirty talk, all lowercase intended, not proofread !

a/n : if this flops again tumblr is RACIST.

“ we need you to go talk to gojo satoru, and convince him to come back to jujutsu high.”

oh. so he’s the reason why you’re attending a meeting even though it’s your off day.

your face twists into an expression of displeasure, not only from the burdensome demand of gakuganji and possibly the other higher ups, but from the sound of his gravelly voice ringing throughout the spacious room. nonetheless, you bite your tongue. “ seriously, me? why would i ever do something like that?”

it’s extremely rare as a sorcerer to catch a simple day off, and the fact that you were called in to fetch a man-child to come back to his responsibilities was . . . aggravating. to say the least.

gakuganji continues, “ his disappearance has already gone on further than we’d like,” he takes a pause to lift his head slightly, looking you dead in the eyes. “ so seeing how you’re the only free adult, we chose you to go fetch for him.”

you cross your arms and legs before leaning back in the couch. as he explains in more detail on how there’s an increase of curses, and how no one's teaching the second and first years, ( not like they’d mind ) you start to feel a twinge of sympathy.

sure, you and gojo don’t see eye to eye sometimes, but it was unusual for him to go missing all of a sudden and leave everything behind. ( although he’d eerily fantasize about killing the higher ups whenever he was provoked enough ) you uncross your body before standing up from the couch swiftly.

“ i’ll check on him. but i wouldn’t guarantee a return from him,”

“ great choice, [last name].”

- -

all for jujutsu high and humanity.

giving three loud knocks to his door, you wait, and get no answer in response. “ gojo satoru, can you open up already?” you yell, surely loud enough for him to at least crack the door open. still, you get no answer from the other side.

just as you were casually mapping the outside of his house for an easy way to get inside, the door swiftly opens. there stood the man in question in all of his glory; he wore grey baggy sweats— and it seemed like no boxers underneath because of how his white happy trail seductively peeked out from underneath while the print of his cock was hardly concealed. the upper half of his toned body shined in a coat of sweat while he leaned his upper body against the door frame.

was he exercising. . . or maybe doing something else?

“ you just gonna stare at me after almost breaking my door off it’s hinges?”

shit. he caught you practically gawking at him.

“ i— um. we need to talk,” you gulp, feeling more nervous compared to any other time you’ve talked to him before. “ you‘ve been playing hooky for quite too long now and the higher ups are on my ass about it.”

he stares at you unfazed, you stare back.

but to your surprise, instead of slamming the door in your face and hiding away for longer, he shifts his body over, enough for you to come inside.

“ geez. those hags don’t ever know when to fall back.” he dramatically groans as you hesitantly step in to take your shoes off before walking in further.

vaguely, you swear you felt the weight of his eyes tracing your figure as you walk into his apartment, heading to his living room. you choose to brush it off.

inside it’s modern and creepily bare, like there’s no one actually existing in here— including this alluring scent. it’s not bad but it is heavy, as if a burdensome weight is on your shoulders. definitely musk but the strong scent of cinnamon is also within the mix. again, you brush it off while sinking down into the couch cushions, too late to turn back now.

gojo walks in later than you, and instead of sitting across from you— he plops right next to you, sluggishly resting his long arms on the back of the couch while manspreading, his freakishly lengthy legs invades the little space you have. your face contorts into an expression of outwardly discomfort. “ why’re you sitting right next to me, gojo?”

“ you rudely wake me up by pounding on my door, and now i can’t sit where i want in my living room?” he blows out a breath of air while rolling his eyes with a level of sass that makes you cringe slightly. “ girl. you really don’t have any manners at all. not like that’s a surprise tho—“

” please, let’s just focus on the reason why i came here.” you curtly cut him off, barely refraining yourself from slapping him in the head now that his infinity was off.

you knew he wouldn’t listen in the first place, so the sight of his head hanging off the couch while his leg rocked up and down rhythmically like this was the most boring lecture he had to sit through shouldn’t really piss you off— but it does. you let out an exhausted groan while rubbing your temples to soothe your growing headache. you really wish you hadn’t picked up the phone today. “ do you even care about the effect your disappearance has caused right now? you really are a careless manchi—“

“ i need to fuck you.” he bluntly states.

what? you couldn’t had possibly heard that right.

“ i-i’m sorry?”

he shifts, his body is now upright, contrasting his previous lazy posture. “ you want to know why i’ve been gone?” he waits for you to nod, which you do. “ i got struck by some sort of lust curse, so in order for it to go away, we need to fuck.” you don’t get a chance to fully register his words before his lips are on yours.

you feel him sigh into your mouth, as if you two making out on his couch relieved him from all his frustrations. you can’t deny that you’re into it like how he is, especially when he rolls his raging bulge into the inside of your thigh so desperately— but this isn’t the reason why you came here. obviously gojo thinks otherwise.

“ g-gojo! we can’t,” your voice trembles, and so does your body as you push the white haired man away from you. when he looks back in your eyes, you immediately notice that there’s truly something wrong. his pupils are wildly dilated— to the point where you can barely see his signature blue.

the intensity of his gaze freezes you in place. but you can’t shake off the feeling of being lured in.

almost like he’s hypnotizing you.

“ says who, baby?” his hand creeps down to the waist band of your pants, he tugs on your panties, only letting them go so they can soundly snap back against your skin, making your hips jolt in his grasp. “ don’t deny it now. i bet ya’ she’s gonna be leaking f’me.” the palm of his hand grinds down on your clothed mound.

this time, you’re the one to pull him into a heated kiss, and he matches your energy fully. your nails scratches at his undercut, forcing a needy moan to leave his chest and wander into your awaiting mouth. the kiss is so intense that you don’t realize that he’s taken off your pants along with your underwear until your bare skin touches around his while he carries you into his bedroom.

he presses your back to the wall only to hike you up further on the wall— the way how you’re positioned is that you’re currently using him as your own chair.

“ you do the most. are you really going to eat me out against a wall?” you tut, knowing that you’re not actually against the idea. your question isn’t answered with words, but when he presses moist kisses leading from your thigh to your soaked cunt, you think you have a inkling of the answer.

he blows on your erect clit before focusing his attention on your flustered face. “ for someone who was pushing me away . . . you sure are soaked.” your mouth opens, most likely with a bratty response. although it’s quickly forgotten when he presses a spit filled peck on your clit. there’s a line of spit that connects him to your cunt as he pulls away. “ ‘m not tryna embarrass you. just find it quite adorable.”

“ w-will you ever just shut up, and eat me out? i’m sick of hearin’ your mouth, gojo.” you murmur, watching as his grin grows impossibly wider— the bastard is riling you up on purpose just for his twisted entertainment. there will be a time later on tonight where you’ll get him back for that.

but for now, you need to feel his tongue mapping out every inch of your pussy.

he huskily chuckles, you want to ignore the effect that the sound does to you. “ heh. i got you baby,” with that, he rolls his tongue out on your heat, licking a fat stripe of spit in the direction to your pulsing clit. your body shudders as you finally get what you desire; your sworn enemy eating you out while your figure is trapped between him and a wall.

and oh is he nasty with it.

“ s-shit— you’re doing s’gooood, satoru!” you lewdly whine out, the knuckles of your hands turn a shade brighter than your skin as you tug on his pristine hair. moving away from your clit, he focuses on sloppily flicking your opening with his tongue. “ satooooru!”

for this being your first time hooking up together, gojo is uncannily skilled at fucking you dumb with only his tongue. it makes you yearn for what else he can do to you next.

gojo pulls back from your cunt, the lower half of chin is alluringly coated with your juices and his saliva. “ damn. she tastes too fuckin’ good. and why have you been keeping this away from me for so long?” he mutters to himself rather than you. his hand comes down on your cunt as a harsh smack, he delivers another and another before waiting for your reaction. when more slick dribbles out your hole, sliding down to your ass, it makes him want to go beyond feral.

“ looks like i’ve got myself a masochistic slut, heh.” no more is said as his mouth resumes back on your pussy, throwing you back into that wave of euphoria. the muscles in your thighs twitch, drawing him closer to your syrupy madness.

satoru moans, his hips bucks up on the wall as if to find some friction while splitting you down with that wonderful tongue. your toes are curled, back lifting from off the wall and every strangled moan you yell makes him thrust his tongue faster, along with his hips— the distant pleasure coming from fucking the wall is not near enough to make him cum, not that he’s worried about that, as your hypnotic taste is making him shamefully pussydrunk.

“ oh. ooooh, ‘m so close, you’re gonna make me cum!” you pant out while instinctively clamping your walls around his tongue shoving itself in. he’s more determined than ever, messily tongue fucking you while kneading your ass in his big hands. how he manages to hold you up by your ass only, it’s still a wonder.

your hips have a mind of their own as they grind down for your sweet release, and at this rate you don’t know if your pulling him away or closer to you. but when he hollowly sucks at your empty hole, that triggers your powerful orgasm.

“ d-don’t stooop! i’m cumming!” your eyes clamp shut as you throw your head back before bursting out into trembles. satoru continues to listen to your earlier words. he delivers kitten licks onto your clit just begging for his attention. “ satoru— i’m too sensitive,”

he doesn’t care to listen.

finally, he comes up from the spot between your thighs as your recovering from yet another messy orgasm. “ okay messy girl, as much as i love eating you out— i think you should show me some attention too.”

wordlessly, he carries your limp body over to his bed— in the traditional bridal carry this time. you think it’s somewhat romantic, but of course gojo has to ruin it by chucking you on piece of furniture, making you meet his incredibly soft duvets face first. “ the fuck?” you gain composure by lifting yourself on your hands and knees, looking back to throw him the nastiest glare you could muster. “ i swear at this point you’re getting no pussy, gojo.”

he pays your words no mind. as he pulls his pants down, his cock uncontrolledly springs free from it’s restraint. fuck, it was so big and pretty. the sheer length will no doubtfully have you feeling over cockdrunk, his tip flushes an angry red that makes your mouth water.

“ what about not getting any pussy?” he cheekily mocks you, stroking the head of his cock to smear the pearly pre-cum down his length.

“ shut the fuck up and get on the bed.” you whine, struggling by the second to keep up your bratty facade. the sound of the bed dipping under his body weight makes you flip over on your elbows and spread your legs wide for his gaze.

complying, he still rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. “ geez. okay daddy,” his hands grabs you by the thighs and yanks you on your back completely. he presses the slit of his head against your clit, watching with delight as your folds compliments each side of his cock like a lewd hotdog. “ yer’ so mouthy but that’s expected, gonna have to fix that little problem though.”

“ i’m the mouthy one? that’s real fuckin’ funny coming from the one who cannot shut up for one second to save his life.” you bitterly cackle, although your voice comes out shaken from the audible clicks of your pussy getting played with. when he slightly dips into the warmth of your opening before trailing upwards to your clit again, you resist the urge to strangle him. “ — if you’re teasing me, i’m going to hurt you.”

he rolls his eyes unenthusiastically at the cold stare you give him from underneath your full eyelashes. “ tsk. you’re no fun, baby.” with one swift movement, he’s sinking into your gummy walls with a relieved groan.

maybe, because of the high side effects of the lust curse running it’s course is the reason why satoru finds himself cumming too early with not even a full pump.

and it’s a lot.

“ s-shiiiit— that was t-too early, can’t s-stop!” his body bursts into violent trembles— mimicking your own previously. hot ropes of cum taints your walls with the sensation of his cum while his hands grab at your thighs with a death grip that will for sure leave bruises later, having you sore for days. you think it’s rather endearing how vulnerable he looks.

gojo was just— if not more, surprised than you were.

it feels like forever when he finally comes down from his high, and you feel out of breath just watching him. “ that . . . that was not supposed to h-happen.” he weakly mutters, his head hanging down from embarrassment. somwhat, you’re prideful knowing that only you had him feeling like this.

“ ‘nd all that big talk just for you to be a one pump champ,” now, it’s his turn to weakly glare at you, “ think you can still fuck me? or do i have to ride you?” you grab a fistful of his hair before tugging his face close, to the point where your breath fans over his open, panting mouth. the pain from your dominant actions shoots through his veins and to his sensitive cock, resulting in it twitching greedily in your tense walls. “ am i talking to myself, satoru?”

“ fuck— n-no.”

you smirk, and to satoru you look exceedingly sexy and evil; a deadly combo. “ my good boy,” you peck his lips, letting the grip you have of his hair go so he can pull out of you. when he does, copious amounts of cum immediately pours from your quivering hole in a thick, flowing motions with a loud popping sound to accompany. with just one load he’s managed to stuff you full.

he flips over while hugging your body close to his. relaxing his figure, he watches as you aligned yourself against him, your shirt long gone by now, and your body is beautifully presented to him with the marks he inflicted upon the free reign of skin.

you could tell he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

“ don’t— don’t think about teasing me now, not when i need you this m-much.” he briefly forgets how to breath as your sticky folds rubs against the head of his cock, drowning in more cum until it reaches his base.

“ oh, you don’t like your own game being played on you?” you grunt, rolling your hips sensually down. his adam’s apple bobs as swallows his growing anticipation he can barely contain. but after a few dragged out moments of teasing, resulting in you feeling torturously edged as well— you finally sink down on him. “ fuuuck . . .” you whisper to yourself.

you lips tremor as you pause, allowing yourself to being properly stretched out as your pussy invites in as much as possible. this isn’t the first time you’ve had sex with someone, but the hefty length of satoru makes you pause before going on. when the dull stinging pain shifts to that familiar mouth watering pleasure, you find your pace. satoru hands fly out to grip the sheets with faux serenity as your pussy continues to clamp around him like a vice grip.

“ haaah, you just couldn’t w-wait to fuck yourself silly on my cock, huh?” his voice is eerily clear, as if he wasn’t a overstimulated mess from his previous release. you make fiery eye contact with him, the way how his eyes are hazed but still feel so heavy on your body makes you almost go numb. “ this is everything i needed baby, shit!”

“ that mouth never knows when to s-shut up.” you mutter out, before the action of you bouncing up and down on his lap increases viciously. the sinful sounds of your skin clashing down against his, every inch of him knocking on your sweet spot, and both of your sweet moans combined together sounded like an erotic song that gojo would never get tired of hearing. “ sa— mmph, satoruu!” gojo has the most cockiest but pathetic expression right now; his brows are furrowed while he shamelessly watched you recoil your body against his.

“ i . . . i think ‘m close, keep on rocking your hips like that— fuck, you’re so sexy!” his tip spasms in your tight space as a warning as of what’s about to come.

but suddenly, you stop moving. edging him on with a cheeky smirk.

you cut him off before he can talk, “ we can’t have you cumming just yet ‘toru.” he’s surprised he didn’t bust right then and there when you said his nickname in that sultry tone. you give him a vigorous show by rubbing two fingers on your pearl for his view.

“ such’a needy slut playing with her pussy f’me.” he bites his lip as he watches your clit swirl under your ministrations, his orgasm is on the back burner of his mind while he watches you. “ roll it just like that— there ya fuckin’ go, babe.”

once you feel your pleasure heighten inevitably, you resume back to bouncing on gojo. this time, with your hand advancing rapidly on your clit, and his calloused hands squeezing your ass heart fully. he effortlessly looks attractive underneath you, his chest and neck are flushed a sweaty mess as strands of his white hair sticks to his damp skin around his forehead.

“ wan’a cum with you, toru.” you lean over to nip his throat, your pussy contracts when you feel his breath hitch. “ want to feel you s-stuff me full, pleaseee fuck!”

it’s unintentional, but your whiny voice alone drags him into a powerful orgasm.

it’s not long before you follow suit.

“ my nasty good girl,” his voice comes out as an harsh whisper before he grabs your hair to tug you closer to his face. the kiss you share together is no short of animalistic; it’s all teeth with tongue, and when you pull away your lip is bleeding, tainting his own an alluring deep shade of red.

you force your hips to continue rocking against him due to the frenzy. increased squelches resonates through the fuzzy room along with your combined moans. you feel sparks of electricity shoot through your limbs, your cunt squeezes more slick out, creating a translucent ring around the hefty base of his cock.

there must be something in the air, seeing how many orgasms you pull out of each other.

for some reason . . . the strongest sorcerer in the world got struck by a lust curse.

and you’re able to bring him back a day later, with just your pussy alone.

[guesswhojusttt]

someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little? (love me a little?)

Ren Hana x suicidal!reader

Summary:

You work at a suicide hotline, and get a call from a boy who watches too much anime. It's all downhill from there.

Full story on AO3

Chapter 1: she's my mother, I tell him, but she has never been a mother

Summary:

“Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath

(Note: the text messages are formatted weird on tumblr but are coded into looking like phone texts on AO3)

You sit at your desk- a quick turn in your black spinny chair- and push on a pressure point at the meat of your thumb in a little attempt to calm down. Pull on your headset, adjust the mic, and speak as kindly as you can. “Hey, I’m right here to support you- this is a judgment-free, safe space, and everything you share is entirely confidential and anonymous. You don’t even have to share your name unless you feel comfortable. What’s on your mind?”

“Are you busy right now?” The boy- young man?- is anxious, skittish.

“No, I’m available to talk as long as you need.” 

“Okay, but when you do get busy, you’ll tell me, right? If there’s- if there's someone else waiting on the line, and all the phones are occupied so no one picks up- I’d never forgive myself for taking help away from someone who actually deserves it. So if- if someone calls in, let me know and I’ll hang up, okay?”

“Okay.” You say. You will not, of course, hang up on a suicidal caller, but the guilt of using a resource they don’t ‘deserve’ wasn’t entirely uncommon. So many had started the call with I’m not suicidal so I don't even know why I’m calling, but… or I know I’m hogging something people actually need…

“Because, you know. There’s so many poor people and I’m- not. All these horrible stories about- about a spouse who hits you or having to work two jobs just to make ends meet- but I’m not- I’m privileged. Lucky. So I don’t… I really don’t know why I feel… I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.” You imagine him pulling the hem of his sleeves over his hands, wringing them, white-knuckled.

“Well, you don’t need to compare yourself to others.” You speak slowly, calmly, doing your best to soothe him. “Death by one bullet or death by a dozen is still death, yeah? Your problem is just as important as anyone else’s.”

“But it’s… silly. There’s this guy I met and- he’s like the only one who listens to me, but I’m not sure- he’s older, you know, and I don’t- it’s not like I like him like that, but my family doesn’t care about- and it's not like I have any friends- he seems nice. I think. I’m not sure.” It's like he's typing up a message, erased the whole thing, wrote a new one, backspaced, scrapped it and started from scratch again.

“I can’t give you any advice-”

“But what would you do?”

“I’m not permitted to tell you what to do-”

“I just need a second opinion. An unbiased, third party. It’s… something feels off, but he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known.” He huffs, sheepish. “Mostly because he’s the only person who’s bothered knowing me.”

You want to point out that it sounds codependent, that the other person is taking advantage of his desperation, that isn’t this grooming, but you inject as much understanding, as much sympathy, as you can into your voice. Judgment-free, as you’d promised. “And why does something feel off?”

“It just does. But, like… who cares about being safe, you know? Isn’t it better to be loved? Not that I love him, I hardly know him. But… he listens. No one ever listens. Um- no offense. You don’t count since it’s your job.”

“I understand,” you assure gently, “I know how important it is to have a friend. It’s normal to want to connect to anyone, even if that person doesn’t feel safe, or reliable.”

He babbles without breathing, as if scared he’ll be interrupted, or shut down, if he doesn’t let it all out at once. “Exactly- see, exactly, you get it. And it’s like- if I don't do this, I don’t know what else I’ll do. I was about to kill myself, you know? Because my date didn’t show, and this was like- this was my last shot, my one chance at having someone who loves and supports me, to have a relationship and- I've been waiting three hours here, how pathetic is that? But he came and saw I’d been stood up and let me whine about my problems and- part of me wants to just keep talking to him, go with him, but the other part… but if I don’t, that’s it. He’s my last chance, and I’ll just kill myself. So I’m in the bathroom of the restaurant now and he’s out there at my table and I’m huddled in a stall like a loser and I’m still- still not sure if he’s someone I’m- so I called here instead.”

“And I’m so proud of you for doing that.” You pour your sincerity in, and you mean it. You lean forward a little, fingers idly working at your palm’s pressure point to keep yourself, and your voice, calm. “It can be incredibly hard to reach out for help, to open up to a stranger, and you’ve done such a wonderful job for me so far. This man- he’s making you uncomfortable?”

“No, no- I mean, yes, I’m uncomfortable, but it’s not his fault. He’s really kind, actually, I mean I know it sounds weird but I swear he’s a nice guy. And like, if it’s a choice between going home alone, again-" and there's so much weight in that again, the heaviness of years of frustration and isolation and raw misery, "and how many nights and months and years can one person spend alone before they just- they just need someone? So if it’s a choice between a- a sweet guy and just- just offing myself-”

“May I ask if you still intend to end your life tonight?” You wince. You're generally not supposed to interrupt, supposed to give them the space to say everything they need to, but this guy is barreling on like his words are pus, are vomit, that he just needs to hurl up.

“No. Yes. Maybe. I… it depends. On the guy I mentioned. Some part of me thinks I should cut contact, but mostly want so badly to talk to him again. I don't know how to describe it. It's not like having a crush. It’s like… I just want him to make me feel important again.”

“Your importance is unchangeable regardless of who recognizes it or not, and no one can make you important, but naturally, all humans require external love and affection to feel it.” Your finger twitches over your mouse, considering flagging your supervisor that the caller was in danger, at-risk of some- what? Attack? Criminal? An ill-thought-out one-night stand? “Of course you want him to make you feel important- but do you feel like you’re risking your safety?”

“A little. Well. A lot. But what’s life without a little risk, right?" He chuckles self-deprecatingly, dry and bitter. "I’m just- a shut-in, watching stupid anime and reading manga all day and collecting dumb figurines and- the riskiest thing I’ve done is drinking too many energy drinks so I could stay up for a Kamisama Kiss marathon. I think… isn’t it about time I step out of my comfort zone?”

You're patient, you're kind, you're not enough. “Like I mentioned, I’m in no position to provide advice. However, we can come up with a safety plan, if you'd like? If you stay alive tonight, you can sleep on it and have a clear head to decide in the morning.”

Here’s what you should’ve done.

You should’ve flagged your supervisor. Should’ve messaged her: I think the caller might be in danger of harm from others. He has repeatedly mentioned an unsafe, unreliable man. While he hasn’t provided details, he has reported feelings of unease and uncertainty. The caller is young and has stated the man is older, and I want to ensure his safety and well-being. Your supervisor would have told you what to say- maybe to steer the caller away from the strange man- and he would’ve been okay. He would’ve been fine, and you would’ve been fine, and none of this would happen.

But all you’d done is established the next steps, a “what are your physical needs? Do you feel up for food, drinking something, or taking a shower?”

“I… don’t feel like getting water. I do have some ramune I ordered though, at my table.”

“That’s great!” You encourage. Little steps should always be rewarded, you think. “Being hydrated is good; doesn’t have to be water. Is there anything you usually do to soothe yourself?”

“Well, I… watching anime is great, but if I really wanna take my mind off things, I like to..." he trails off, a little shyly. Embarrassed, even.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me, but as long as your hobby is fun for you, that's what matters." From collecting and naming rocks to editing and monitoring all the Wikipedia pages about the Odyssey, every caller- every person- had their own way of self-soothing. 

"I know it's... a moronic waste of time, but I... sketch some self-insert OCs.”

“Drawing is very creative, and I know it can take a lot of time and effort, too. Give yourself some credit. Do you feel up for that tonight?”

“Yeah. I guess. Thanks. I think it’s best to go home, now, I’ve been at the restaurant an embarrassing amount of time anyway. Um- thanks for- being cool about all this. Bye.”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He would end up talking to the man again after all, going home with him, and wreck his life- and yours- in the process.

You jam your index finger deeper into the pressure point at the base of your thumb:

Lonely since you were a child, you filled it with what many do: video games. A hopeless romantic, you filled the need for a relationship with otome games specifically. One of them, bad boys do it better, had this scene: the strong-but-silent love interest finds the main character, the only girl at an all-boys’ school, sleepy and yawning in the classroom. He takes her hand, presses a pressure point on her palm, and she feels all invigorated and awake.

Considering you, yourself, were constantly sleep-deprived, you decided to look it up for yourself: it wasn't a fluke. Give yourself an acupressure wake-up, one article reads, 6 pressure points for falling asleep, Medical News Today lists. It becomes a hyperfixation: pressure points for period cramps, for headaches, for high blood pressure. When you’re motion sick in a car, you massage a point in your inner arm to soothe it, when the Tylenol and Advil don’t make your migraines go away, you try a pressure point between your eyes, or at the side of your brow.

Honestly, it doesn’t always work- maybe half the time?- but it’s a cool party trick. Or, would be, if you got invited to parties.

As you type up the basic information of the call (reason for calling, next steps established, suicidal risk from 1-5), you think about how everyone is suicidal, actually. There’s so many YouTube playlists- for when you want to disappear, alone… again, one more night feeling like the loneliest person in the world, when loneliness no longer a pain but a comfort, suicide at 3AM, it’s getting worse again and it’s all your fault, slowly dying- where the comment section of vent playlists and lo-fi hours are flooded with paragraphs of people either pouring out their life’s trauma or comforting words to gently encourage the reader to live another day. There’s suicide hotlines and textlines and 7 cups of tea and a steep increase in people seeking therapy this past decade, because everyone is depressed, because there’s a housing crisis and all-time highs both for poverty rates and billionaire’s incomes and and and

There isn’t really a reason to live, anymore. No dream house to look forward to, no shiny career as a writer or actor or artist or teacher when they’re so severely underpaid, no true love soulmate when there’s no third place to meet people anymore, except a bar or a club which is really just a chance to be drugged and date-raped.

So, no. You don’t think you’re depressed, you don’t think most people are depressed; rather, you think the world itself is in a very depressing state, which naturally leads to its inhabitants mirroring its circumstances.  

Well. You might be a tiny bit suicidal, but not depressed. Not really. From fantasizing about running away from home since you were eight to constantly imagining grabbing a bag and getting out of here through every single middle and high school year to the crushing disappointment of not affording a dorm and having to live with her throughout university and then, in some twisted, cruel fate, having to stay even while you work because she has chronic pain and can't work, won't work, and wouldn't you be ableist for leaving someone on so many medications to fend for themselves? 

So you work and you pay the rent and the groceries and the bills and it all goes to her bank account. Oh, sure, the account is under your name (and somehow that's worse, it's your credit score it's affecting), but it's her email and her phone number and she won't tell you the password and she's taken out some loan and your account is 4000 in debt and there's some 15% APR platinum whatever and and and 

It's not your money. You don't get to spend it, and yet you wake up and drag yourself to work even when exhausted and sit through eight grueling hours and then there’s no reward, no payoff, nothing but heading home to the same arguments and abuse and fighting and yelling and you decide, realize, in an awful epiphany, that you're not getting out. You're never getting out. 

Because it’ll only get worse. She'll grow older, and even if there's no Alzheimer's or dementia, aging will hit her- maybe she'll need a walking stick (she already uses one sometimes), or a wheelchair, or you'll need to be the one feeding her, and you'll only have to do more, more, more-

You're never going to be free. You'll be shackled to your abuser from womb to tomb.

You’re never getting out. The only solution- the quickest, easiest solution- is to kill yourself. Except that’s a sin, so you can’t. It doesn’t stop you from wishing for it, romanticizing it- all of which is so deeply, wickedly ironic, as your job is to keep others from fulfilling your greatest desire. Callers blur together- my dad is an alcoholic and I’ve never heard a kind word from him, my little sister’s dead and I can’t get over it, I’ll never get over it- and every day, you soothe them, help them establish a safety plan, connect them to resources for mental health- peer support groups and affordable, sliding-scale therapists and a million other ways to help them, to keep them alive, even while you so deeply ache to die, yourself.

Some never call again, and you hope that means things are better, now. That they found a reason to live. Some are regular callers- maybe you don’t speak to them every time, but it shows up on your screen- that they’ve called four times this year, that the last time they were calling it was about academic stress and this time it’s about the loneliness of summer vacation, and it- kills you, that you can’t help everyone. Can’t save everyone. Once, halfway through a conversation where the caller had been pouring her heart out- about how she’d thrown away her life, how she’d studied and worked so hard to be a doctor but then got married to a man who insisted she stay home to raise their first kid, then their third, then their fifth, and now her degree is twenty years old and she’s got this huge gap in her resume and no one wants to hire her and there’s a new baby, again, and she wishes she could just- oh, what’s the point? (And you hear a pill bottle rattling). It’s never going to get better, and there’s nothing you can tell me that’ll change anything. Sorry for wasting your time.

And she hung up, and never called again, and you can only hope, but never know, that she hadn’t taken the pills.

And though you felt like a hypocrite, the truth is, you really do believe the things you say. When you assure a caller that he’s not too demented to deserve to live, when you encourage his love for plants and say "staying alive just because no one else will love and take care of your plants the way you do isn't ridiculous, Lawrence. Tending to and watering your plants is a perfectly valid reason to live", you mean it. You do.

Somehow, none of the words you tell others seem to apply to you.

You don’t how many months or years pass like this, this blurry awful misery. The call with the anxious boy at the restaurant blends with the thousands you’ve gotten since then. You fought about- something, this morning, with your mother. Some biting remarks about you being an idiot or ungrateful, some mumbled apologies on your end, but when she calls you spoiled you remind her “you’re not doing me a favor by driving me to work- it’s not like driving me to a sleepover where I’m doing it for fun. This is our only source of income, and you can’t just not drive me, because who else is going to pay for a roof and a meal?”

Her face contorts, as it always does, to that indignant snarl. “You think I have to drive you? I don’t have to do anything. I don’t owe you anything. I’m your mother, it's your job to look after me. You can’t neglect me: that’s abuse.”

You sigh. Not mad. Not even irritated. Just... just whatever. “You do have to drop me off here, or else I miss a whole day’s pay and how am I going to cover your medical bills?” 

“Are you threatening me? How dare you?” She hisses, slamming on the pedal- to prove a point, driving past your workplace. 

“Slow down. I'm getting out.” At this point, at this age, you get fed up quickly, skipping right from fear to anger to just being done. You click open the door, scan the grey sidewalk blurring, passing by- slipping through your fingers, you think vaguely, like your life.

“Close the door, you moron, I’m not paying for your surgery if you split your skull open.”

“You couldn’t if you wanted to, but glad to know!” You gauge the ground, stick one leg out, the other one too, and-

Walk the distance left to work.

Sometimes, you can’t believe this is your life. You’d worked hard, damn it, and you’re a good person, so why isn’t the world good back to you? Why are you still stuck here, with her?

How immature, you think. How childish do you have to be to drive past your daughter's work- which you need, for money, for survial- just to spite her. And you know the moment she picks you up from work she'll be yelling through the car ride home, and then when you enter the apartment, and all through the night. Your coworkers often found working at a suicide hotline emotionally taxing, and looked forward to weekends and holidays as a break from the stress, but- for you, work was your safe haven.

As you talk down someone who's maybe ten minutes away from throwing themselves off a roof, your phone vibrates. Again. And again.

000-000-0000 Yesterday 10:15 PM if you go to sleep and die tonight, you're going to Hell Today 9:05 AM Why? Why are you doing this to me? Don't worry, I won't touch your money and I won't take anything from you. I won't even eat from the food we have anymore since it's all been bought with your money like you said Idk why you have been doing this You want me to stay miserable and under our control and do exactly what you want. Why are you doing this to me? Why? Why?

You don't have her saved as a contact, so you only see her phone number. It feels wrong to title her 'mom', when that word carries all these connotations of unconditional love and gently braiding your hair and a warm bowl of soup on a sick school day. She has nothing to do all day, is the thing, just rewatching Friends for the 60th time or knitting- so she texts you, and can get all worked up and have a full fight and conversation all by herself, without you needing to lift a finger. Simply existing, you think, is enough to warrant the torrent of abuse.

You get a call and shut off your phone, slipping right into your sweet, soothing voice as you greet a young girl with a razor in hand. You reassure her, hear her out (no, there's nothing wrong with wanting to leave, I understand you want to help him but if he's abusing you, you need to help yourself first), and transfer her to the employment assistance department, where they can help her set up her resume and cover letter and get out of living with him. Your break is spent in the bathroom doing breathing exercises to calm down, your lunch is spent mindlessly scrolling through Dead Dove: Do Not Eat recommendations, and you almost know what you're about to read before you turn on your phone.

000-000-0000 Today 4:18 PM Don't act like you are this innocent, sweet, little wonderful person You always do horrible thing so don't play this victim role again I'm exhausted of those games you keep playing Like when you were a baby, you'd cry in your room just to manipulate me into picking you up. I didn't fall for it obviously but you're still playing the same mind games Acting so pure and innocent Stop being so cruel and get back to your senses Once you are ready to apologize, maybe I'll pick you up from work. Otherwise have fun sleeping there

It's as good a chance as any, you decide. You had a bag under your desk for precisely this chance, but always chickened out at the last minute. But this is an opportunity to not be at home without her questioning it...

So you'd done it. You'd finally done it. The good thing about not having control over your own money- not even knowing the credit card number or the password for your account- is that you don't have very many things. Oh, you have clothes and little knick-knacks, but they're easy to pack. To zip up, to stuff snacks and-

You need your IDs. Your passport, your social security. She had them just a few weeks ago, but eventually, when she was in a good mood, you'd mustered up the courage to ask for them. Why do you need them? Just need to take a picture for this one job I'm applying to. It'll pay more than this one.

You'd tucked them into your bag too, and while most people would find it safer to store their things at home than at work, the space under your desk was guaranteed to remain untouched, while your bedroom didn't have a lock.

You don't know how to drive- she never taught you, and driver's lessons cost money you don't get to control- and public transport is spotty at best. You've never been fit, getting winded after five minutes of walking and legs aching after 10, and you realize quickly that this is inefficient and you've gotta find a way to at least be out of the city so you don't risk her finding you, somehow.

Where do the homeless, the elderly, the disabled, the lost go to for resources, go to be pointed in the right direction?

Actually, it would be the masjid, but you know your mother would go there.

You go to the library, sit down in a big, drooping bean bag chair, and breathe.

It was exhilarating. Scary and risky and dumb, yes, but what a relief! Finally, what you've been dreaming every single day for two decades, finally, you're no longer collared and leashed, finally, you get to start some flimsy attempt at being an independent adult, finally-

You need to open your own bank account. You click on one of the library monitors, leaning in to the computer and Googling banks. Chase. Schwab. Wells Fargo. Credit unions. Everyone has bad experiences with every bank, based on Reddit, but then one comment points out that all banks are the same. Just a place to keep your money, as long as you don't rack up overdraft fees or debt.

You'd actually tried opening your own bank account before, back in February, because this isn't the first time you've been hard-hit with the need to run away. You'd tried to sign up for Chime, which, ironically, while supposed to be for people who need money when in a tight position, had rejected your application- possibly for not having a credit score (?). Someone online too had posted that it's ironic the very site for people in a bind still wouldn't accept those who were, you know, actually in a bind.

You'd researched on banks without interests, found someone on Reddit asking it, and someone who worked at Schwab had detailed how to call someone and ask for a certain tier and walk them through giving a no-interest account.

It had been great. You signed up. You never verified it (or did you? You don't think you did), and now, when calling, they said they had closed your account because your social security number didn't match the other information, that you would have to take a W9 to a physical location so they can confirm your social and go from there.

You try to sign up for Chase, except it needs a driver's license or state ID, and you have neither. You try to sign up for Wells Fargo, but it needs a valid phone number, and you don't have a phone plan, only e-numbers, so it doesn't accept it.

You're almost tempted to ask a librarian. You'd seen posts about librarians helping someone who's drunk or unstable or homeless, but- they're not social workers. This isn't their job, you don't want to inconvenience them and it's- embarrassing. This is all so embarrassing. You're a grown adult, why don't you have everything together by now?

Ok. No bank account. Maybe you can use PayPal? Just for now? You'll need to afford public transportation, and a deposit for a new apartment- better to be with roommate, so you don't have to pay the $300 non-refundable application fee, to have to provide a reference from your previous landlord, so a roommate is necessary, non-negotiable, because your previous apartment...

It had been under your name, of course, since it's your income. But your mother was furious at them for charging one (or five?) thousand dollars, either for moving out before the lease was over or for the security deposit or whatever, but she insisted you stop taking out the trash. When she saw you trying to take a bag, she- well, she yelled as she always does. The bathroom and kitchen and everything were trashed, and you did your best to sweep up your room, your bathroom to hallway, to clean up-

But the kitchen was a mess, and the dining area (which was just the cats' area), had an overflowing litter box and a giant pile of dozens for overflowing, near-bursting trash bags. The smell was awful, fruit flies and all sorts hovering and buzzing and oozing everywhere, but your mother in her spite insisted to leave it untouched. That they should clean it up themselves.

So. No recommendation from that landlord, which means find a roommate who already has a lease, and then that new landlord can give you a recommendation when you get your own apartment.

How to find a roommate who'd take someone with not a single dollar- unemployed, now, since you were leaving the city with your job in it- nothing to offer, except maybe cooking and cleaning, which you hated as you find chores menial and redundant- why bother making your bed or folding your clothes when they'd be unfolded, your bed unmade, just some hours later? It doesn't make sense. It's a waste of time.

Cooking, too, feels tedious and unrewarding. An hour of cooking for ten minutes of eating? No thank you.

Your best bet is to get a job, and use that to get a roof over your head. Till then, all sorts of food banks and shelter can give you enough food in your stomach to keep your back upright enough, mind alive enough, to start the job-hunting agony.

But this job requires a driver's license and a personal vehicle, and this job requires you to be physically there in person, you'd apply to jobs all over so couldn't possibly be in all places at once. You sit in the library till your leg falls asleep, foot staticky, neck hunched over, finger cramping, mindlessly applying for 100 jobs, 200 jobs. Something has to give. Just statistically speaking, one of them has to respond.

Right? Right?

But the library closes too early, and cafes and restaurants close down too, and you can't exactly take refuge in a 24-7 convenience or grocery store.

You could try a fast food place, then? A bar?

Not a bar. Never a bar. Way too many stories about what happens to dumb, defenseless girls in a bar too late at night.

It's your first night out alone and you need a place to sleep, but the nearest shelter is an hour and a half of walking and you're just- you need to rest your eyes and wrists from hours of staring at the computer screen, need to sit down and eat and you're entering the first fast food restaurant you find. Electric blue and neon orange lights dazzle the windows and invite you in, a cracked black leather bench in the corner your beloved refuge. It's a little maddening, a little torturous, to sit and smell the grease and that fat and hear the sizzles and hisses but be unable to do a thing about the saliva pooling your mouth, coating your tongue. Your stomach grumbles, a dying whale, the aroma of cheap burgers and oily fries flooding your nostrils.

You're this close to burying your head in your hands and sobbing. Yes, you have snacks in your bag, but you'd grazed on them absently while running your job application marathon.

You've never been very good with hunger. While others around you can have just breakfast, lunch, and dinner- while they can sit at their 8-and-a-half-hour shift at work and eat only during the 30 minute lunch break, you were always eating at your desk. Answering emails, in between phone calls, you're always, constantly hungry. Nothing you eat ever seems to be enough- maybe because you don't actually eat sufficiently, don't eat enough in a day adequate enough to fulfill your needs- so your stomach always feels empty.

But now, it actually is empty, and the void makes it impossible to focus on anything but the hunger. To think rationally. To consider maybe shoplifting, and at least if they arrest you there'll be food in prison, right?

Right?

Your stomach groans again, as frustrated with your situation as you are, and you think you really will cry. The smell of the cheese, the meat, the cheap beer-

You didn't know this place sold beer.

It doesn't. You've seen the menu a million times. You lift your hand, eyes darting to catch the culprit-

The only other customer this late at night is a man seated at the bench before yours. You see him hunched over a gloriously loaded double-burger- the colors of pale green lettuce and bright red tomatoes enchant you, and a dollop of thick mayo dribbles down the flaky sesame-seed bun, splatting onto the crinkly paper wrapper on the shiny black table.

A slash of envy sears through you. You need that burger more than he does, need that large Styrofoam cup of soda with the cold condensation along its sides infinitely more than him, and you're hit with a desire to snatch it. You know, logically, you can't take him in a fight, but like. What do you have to lose?

He catches you staring.

If you weren't so hungry, you'd be embarrassed, even apologize, but as it is your eyes linger on the grease shining on his thick fingers, on the smear of too-orange cheese dashed along the corner of his lip.

He raises a slightly bushy, brown eyebrow. It's the same cheap beer brown of his eyes, which are a little wide, a little giddy. 

You squirm, uncomfortable, pinned by his gaze like a butterfly- a moth- to a corkboard. "You wan' some?" His mouth is a little full, but even so you catch the lilt of a German accent just beneath his voice.

"Oh, no, I-" heat smarts your face, but he interrupts you, jovial and inviting,

"Your stomach, I'm sure, begs to differ. Come on, I can order you whatever you like, bud."

Bud was... less harassing, less off-putting, than sweetheart or baby or the assorted nicknames drunken men hollered at anything with a rack and two legs. if you ignore his too-cheerful grin, the little manic glint and gleam of his eyes, the use of bud would put you at ease.

But you can't ignore it, and it doesn't, and you get to your feet to leave. "Thanks, but I'm okay. I'll just make some dinner at home."

"No need to be shy! It's okay to rely on the kindness of strangers," he stands up too, already ambling to the counter to order for you, "large fries, a vanilla shake, and a hearty double bacon cheeseburger for my new friend."

"Oh, um, I prefer chocolate, actually." You felt half-guilty for being picky, and half-incensed that he ordered for you without consulting. You don't even eat bacon. 

The cashier- her dreads tied back in a loose ponytail, her red shirt uniform with a crooked name tag- clicks her tongue. "So is it vanilla or chocolate?"

"Vanilla. Right, buddy?'' His grin is big and cheerful and encouraging, nudging, nagging. Almost instinctively, you find your shoulders rounding tighter, find your body curling to make yourself smaller. 

"Right."

He's- satisfied? Almost proud with the way he pats your shoulder, like you passed some unspoken test by deferring to his choice, rather than holding your ground. 

(Maybe it would've been better to fail it).

She rings up your (his, really) order, nails click-clacking as she types, Strade ripping the small slip of receipt and- it really is tiny, in his large palm, all thick fingers and brown hair curling over the back of his hand. When he crumples the paper, his veins sort of- do a kind of pulsing thing you think you like.

But you still don't like how he ordered for you, how he insisted on a flavor you don't prefer. You know it was intentional.

You just can't figure out why.

He picks up the navy tray for you, and that irks you, too: why don't you get to carry your own food? What, is he going to hand-feed you too?

You sit across from him, and when you unwrap the yellow-and-white checkered paper, scrunching it up- the combined scent of the fat and oil and meat is enough to haze over any apprehension, any irritation you might have had, quelled by knowing this sandwich- large enough you pick it up with both hands- is for you. 

You pluck out a strip of crispy bacon and offer it to him, a sort of olive branch. He takes it- thumb and forefinger pinching it, and smiles lazily.

"I haven't seen you here before."

"Yeah." You bite into the sandwich, not elaborating. No need to. If you could, you'd maybe nick his credit card- it wouldn't be nice considering he just fed you for the night, but you could stick it in an ATM, get the cash out before he calls the bank to close the card, and- he'd be fine. He'll be fine. You need the money more than he does. But how to pickpocket without him noticing-?

"Something bothering you?" He asks, dipping a long, limp fry into a shallow well of thick ranch. "It's easier to talk about it to a stranger, you know? That way you don't have to worry about it changing your relationship with them, or their judgment, because you won't see them again."

"Hm." It was a good point. But if you've never told anyone else about it, were you really about to trauma dump to some eccentric stranger? 

"I don't mind, really, and I can tell you need it."

"Oh, yeah? How?"

"Something about it in the eyes."

"You really wanna know?"

"Of course, buddy, I'm all ears. I love helping people!"

"Fine." You smack your hands flat on the table, get up, and sit next to him. Up close, the musk of cheap beer mixes with sweat and grease in the world's strangest cologne.

You glare at your phone, click it on, and let him read over your shoulder.

000-000-0000 Today 2:04 AM It's all about you and if something doesn't go like how your majesty wants or likes then it's all bad I'm not a fan of drama and I can't tolerate entitled brats like you who thinks the world owes them something just for breathing Guess what? You are the abusive one and always have been. From this point on I will not take orders from you You have no idea how hard it is to be your mother. I sacrificed my LIFE for you. Do you know how painful it is to give birth? Every day I was pregnant with you was torture, and it as even worse when you were born. I had to stay up all day feeding you and all night putting you to sleep. You were a NIGHTMARE. I thought you'd grow out of it but I guess you're still a baby I have done so much for you and I have been through so much and you have no idea

He reads quietly- thinking, analyzing- and breaks into a positively delighted smile. You can't tell if it's the grin a groom dons on his wedding day or the grin a dog bares before cornering its prey. "Oh, mein schätzelein. You're perfect."

You eat in amicable company, and it's- nice. It is lovely, actually, to have dinner with someone you're not scared of, someone you don't have to worry about setting off or angering or harming you. Strade is- a little weird, sure, but a nice guy. You give him your bacon, he gives you a ketchup packet to squeeze onto your fries, and you let him scroll through days and weeks of your mother's texts and felt a twinge of validation every time he said something like "can't blame you for running away", a rush of satisfaction, of vindication, of it's not just me, I'm not crazy, she really is abusive, it wasn't just me being entitled after all. You find yourself inching a little closer to him every time he makes a remark like, "isn't she aware it's her job to take care of you, not the other way around?"

Something incredible blooms between your rib cage and behind it, making your cheeks flush and your fingertips tingle and your eyes sting just a bit. No one had ever bothered to hear you out, to just sit there and make biting, almost cruel comments about your mother with every text he read, to make you feel so important. You half-wish you could work up the courage, could be bold enough to tell him that you didn't have a place to put your head down tonight, just so he could offer, just so you could have an excuse to spend more time with him.

You sweep up the trash and crumpled straw wrappers while he returns his tray and yours and it's wonderful. Even if you can't go home with him, you almost want to make this a routine, make it so you can meet up every week, on a melancholy evening like this, and exchange bad food while he listens and provides a (strong, broad) shoulder.

He's just such a good listener.

~~~~

Author's notes:

Mein Schätzelein = My little treasure The parallel of the chapter starting with Ren thinking and feeling the exact same way MC does at the end of the chapter,,, buckle in folks Look, basically I want 1) to torture strade and 2) to save ren. However there's pretty much zero (0) fics about it so that means rolling up my sleeves, learning how to do the work skin that lets me insert phone-texting into the chapter, and doing it myself. Comment whatever thoughts you have and thanks for reading <33 ~~~ Also, while we're all little freaks that might enjoy a bit of horror, a quick reminder that in real life there's actual horrors going in the world- specifically, the genocide Palestine. Please take a moment to email and/or call your representatives , click-to-donate (free, donation revenue via ads), check out the boycott list, do what little things you can to help.

[valyrfia]

I get your concern but ignoring it is the best solution, there's no need to panic at the second your ears hear the word lestappen coming from them. First of all lestappen is not gonna have a "fallout" because they're not friends to begin with so what fallout exactly can they have lol, they already knew the existence of the word lestappen because it's been there for years, and the RBR account for sure makes use of it. And also, didn't Max received an MTV couple award with Checo a few months ago and the sky remained the same? Cant get weirder than that. Or it can idk, I feel like an scenario where any ship name remains in only one single space it's not only impossible, but it's never going to happen, in an ideal word sure, it would be just a dirty secret that no one knows about but stressing out about it it's gonna only be bad for y'all.. But also, if his friend made that comment and pisses Max off very much, or makes him feel weird I'm sure he's gonna be like "don't ever do that again" or something. For what I've seen everyone had your reaction in the chat so I'm sure they got the message that it's a forbidden word

These two back to back in my inbox are first of all. A LITTLE funny.

Secondly, to the first anon, it’s hardly Max and Charles I really worry about, it’s how people can forget themselves when they think that rpf is suddenly ��mainstream”. It’s usually a tiny tiny majority who ruin it for the rest of us but do forgive those of us who were around for great rpf fallouts for being a little paranoid. Second anon, you and I are of the same opinion. RPF is fun when it’s contained but when people start to bring explicit RPF content to more public platforms (and ironically, it’s usually content that’s the original author has published on a closed platform, ie. tumblr or ao3). Class A disaster is the jumpy paranoid side of both of us talking but I unfortunately agree.

Also I think it’s good to remind everyone generally. RPF is a weird thing, it’s inherently weird. These are not fictional characters, we’re superimposing our narratives on top of real people’s lives while they’re still around to see it. We all love it and partake in it, but it’s not something that would constitute casual conversation or would be talked about walking down the street. RPF is super fun but be aware it cannot function like a normal fictional ship because these are not fictional characters.

Chestappen vs. Lestappen is a weird one because Chestappen can be waved off as a joke a lot easier (teammates = marriage) and also I get the feeling that it is generally a lot more of a joke. Unfortunately when I see Lestappen stuff not on here or ao3 it seems a lot less jokey. People also seem comfier discussing fic (?!) on tiktok and twitter with Lestappen, which to me IS a cardinal sin. I think a lot of people misunderstand me when I say don’t talk about RPF outside of designated spaces, I’m not saying the shipname is a dirty word that must NEVER be used, or that those who make fun edits on tiktok are evil and should die. I simply mean, people need to not be letting on that there’s anything deeper to the ship aside from a joke. I’ve seen a lot of people scoffing at me and people who have adopted a similar hard stance as me and all I have to say is: humour us because we’ve probably got very good reasons to be wary.

[boba-beom]

a real update — semi hiatus announcement and life update.

as you all know–and have seen–that I’ve been on here just posting random things here and there, I’ve not been in the best mentality to write, and I hardly interact because I already feel so distant to my moots and everyone in general.

tw! personal issues, thoughts of 💀 myself, mental health in general

the past year has been rough on me in terms of family situations and although I have been using tumblr as an outlet for me to distract myself through the past few months, I have been trying to communicate better with my family members and resolve issues that’s preventing us from being a somewhat functional family. because everything has been so unhealthy and I fear it’s affecting me to the point I genuinely need help. I’ve had more occasions, recently than ever, where I’ve thought of what would happen if I disappeared for a day? maybe more? would people be happier that way? would they even realise? and when I felt like almost acting upon those thoughts I’d sob and think rationally about everything. I care about everyone too much to do anything to harm myself, and I want to find help.

just recently I’ve found out that I’ve been too honest and comfortable with people I thought were doing the same, only to figure out that it’s not like that at all. that people I deemed trusted me, would actually stab me in the back. and yet I still decide to be open and honest with them because I thought eventually they would do the same. I guess I’m just too hopeful for my own good.

for the longest time I’ve been looking for a job, and for the longest time I’ve been wanting to see a doctor or go to therapy. but again, that requires money— anyway, I’m sharing this because I feel like I need to be honest. I’m not purposely ignoring anyone when I’m tagged in works, or when I receive asks, but also because things irl have been problematic that I just don’t have time to sit and write.

and as much as I have been trying to write when I can, it’s just slower than I anticipated. like I’m incredibly excited to share what I’ve been working on, but I feel like the time is never right. I will not be active or hardly on tumblr for the unforeseeable future. I am on discord if anyone really wants to talk to me, but I’ve deactivated my socials to give myself some time to focus on myself. I fear that if I continue with this mentality I am not as genuine as I want to be.

now, I didn’t write up this for a sob story, or for pity or attention, but just I hope anyone reading this takes care of themselves always. your mental health is important and finding help the best way you can is the best choice. I need to find like alternatives to therapy where it’s affordable too, even online or something. but yeah, that’s all I’ve wanted to say.

tl;dr : I will be taking a break for the unforeseeable future while I work on personal matters

Take care and please don’t forget me!

- Smiles ᡣ𐭩

[justagalwhowrites]

Lavender - Ch. 26

A trip outside the QZ turns dangerous. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-25 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Injuries from canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 5.2k

Tuesday, June 6, 2023 - Two Years Later

“I’m not doing this with you again, Joel,” Tess snapped, staring him down from across the table. “I’m not letting your obsession…” 

“It’s not fucking safe, Tess,” he cut her off. “When was the last time we went out and didn’t run into raiders? Last two months have been especially bad…” 

“You think it’s safe for you and me but not safe for her?” She demanded.

“No, it’s not safe for anyone,” he snapped back. “But you I trust to actually kill someone, you can take care of yourself. Who knows what the fuck she would do if she gets picked up by fuckin’ raiders…” 

“Who knows what you would do if she gets picked up by fucking raiders, that’s what you mean,” she knocked back the rest of her drink. “I’m done with this shit, I’m done with your paranoia around Doc dictating our goddamn operation…” 

“When have I ever dictated a damn thing about our operation?” His jaw clenched. 

“How about when you told your brother, our partner, to leave town without consulting me because she got hurt?” She said. “Or when you killed not one but fucking two FEDRA guards in the QZ because you saw them as a threat…” 

“They were a fucking threat!” 

“Not to mention the time you made the call to leave me in the QZ when you took her outside the first time,” she snapped. “Even though you knew you’re a goddamn liability where she’s concerned! You need to get over this woman who you’ve had nothing to do with in damn near 15 years, Joel! She’s done with you, you need to be done with her. Fucking leave it.”

She went to leave but he followed her. 

“You take her out there and I’m not goin’,” he said. “End of story.” 

“Tell me what the fuck it is you want, Joel!” She yelled. “Because it sure seems like you don’t want to be anything to anyone. You didn’t want anything with me! It sure seemed like you could have had whatever you wanted with her and you didn’t take it and now you’re doing this and I don’t fucking understand you! Do you really think she’s just going to accept us not bringing her out anymore? That she’ll just listen to whatever the hell it is you tell her? Because you’ve got a funny taste in women if that’s what you’re after…” 

“She isn’t one of us, she doesn’t have to know when we go out!” He yelled. “No one says we have to involve her in shit, Tess…” 

“And when she asks?” She demanded. “When we need more medical gear?” 

“We bring Andrew out,” he said. Tess stood there for a moment, just blinking at him. “He talked to me few weeks back. Wanted me to consider bringing him instead of her, he’s worried too. He’s heard shit from other smugglers and guards about what it’s like out there. He’ll go, she’ll still get what she’s after and he will actually fucking look out for himself. Besides, the chances of raiders trying to grab him are a whole hell of a lot lower than with her.” 

“His wife know about this plan?” Tess asked, a bit calmer now. 

Joel shrugged. 

“Not my business.” 

She looked at him, shaking her head. 

“You better pray nothing happens to him,” she said. “Because if it does and she finds out it was your doing…” 

Joel shrugged again. 

“Long as she’s alive to hate me?” He said. “I don’t give a shit.” 

Tess sighed. 

“Fine,” she said, resigned. “Talk to Andrew. Tell Doc, don’t tell Doc, whatever. I’m done trying to make sense of your shit with her.” 

She stalked toward the door. 

“Going to the Speakeasy,” she said. “Appreciate it if you didn’t join.” 

Joel sighed. He could hardly blame Tess, not when she was right. He poured himself more whiskey. He’d never been able to find a balance he felt like he could survive with you. There was so close that it felt like he was on the edge of a cliff and gravity was winning. The feeling that he was inches from destruction. But then there was so far that felt like he was stretching and reaching, part of him always trying to get to you. It didn’t matter what else it strained, what else it hurt, there was the constant pull toward you. There was no middle ground. There was either too close or not close enough. 

He went to the clinic when he knew you’d be at school but Andrew still greeted him with a “She’s not here.” 

“That’s the point,” Joel said. “Here for you. Rather she not know. Have a minute?” 

Andrew flagged down a woman to watch the desk and led Joel outside the clinic. 

“Next run, I’m not takin’ her,” he said. “Still interested?” 

“Why the change?” Andrew frowned. “You weren’t going for that before.” 

“Raiders are getting bad,” he replied. “You and me they’d just kill. Her…” 

Andrew nodded. 

“Can’t tell her,” Joel said. “Not until we’re back, she’ll try to stop you going.” 

“Trust me, I know,” Andrew said. “Luckily, Doc is Doc and she keeps a thorough log of what meds she’s after and what’s she’s used. I won’t need to ask her for shit.” 

“We’re heading out this weekend,” Joel said. “It’ll be a few days. Make sure your wife’s on board.” 

He just nodded and Joel was thankful, once again, that you had a friend like Andrew. 

***

“Doc,” Ellie sighed dramatically, drawing the word out as she trudged into your classroom and flopped into a desk, putting her head down. “I’m so freakin’ bored.” 

“Hi, Ellie, I’m doing well, thank you for asking,” you smiled. “How are you?” 

She raised her head enough to glare at you before putting it back down. 

“If all I’m going to do is go shoot infected for FEDRA why do I have to know about verbs?” She asked. 

“Because everyone needs to know about verbs,” you replied. “Can’t read or speak without them.” 

“Can they make them less boring at least?” She lifted her head again. “Because right now they feel stupid as fu… something stupid.” 

“Want something not boring?” You asked. Her head shot up. You smiled conspiratorially. “I got you stuff.” 

“Oh fuck yes!” She winced. “Sorry. Heck yes?” 

You just laughed and went into your school bag, pulling out photo copies of books that were in libraries of other schools that Derek got you into when he’d go teach his photography course. Ellie came and stood in front of your desk, leaning over to see what you were grabbing. 

“Got this whole thing on black holes,” you said, handing her a packet. “This one on a probe that is still probably flying through space and should be past Pluto by now.” You gave her another packet. “And then this on roller coasters.” You gave her a magazine. 

“Hell yeah!” 

You gave her a look.

“What? I said hell,” she said. “That one doesn’t even count.” 

“Go sit in your corner you gremlin,” you rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. 

“Gladly,” she smiled, chin tilted up, and took her bundle of pages over to the beanbags. She started with the roller coasters as you put on a tape and started grading tests. 

“Hey Doc?” She said after a few minutes. 

“Hm?” 

“Did you ride roller coasters?” She asked. “Was that like… a thing everyone did or was it kind of special?” 

“Well,” you shrugged. “It kind of depended. Most people did at least once but it was still kind of special. There weren’t roller coasters near where I lived as a kid and my grandma didn’t have much money but I went to a theme park with a friend once when I was about your age. And a few times with a friend and his daughter when I was in college. I rode some roller coasters then. They were pretty fun but most of the time when you went to theme parks, you spent a lot of time waiting in line.” 

“Ew,” she crinkled her nose and went back to reading. 

“Hey Doc,” Riley trudged in. 

“Hi Riley,” you said, holding out the book she’d been reading when she came to sit with Ellie. She took it and went and plopped on the other beanbag chair. “Rough day?” 

She just grunted. 

“I’m here if you want to talk,” you said, going back to grading. 

You weren’t surprised when she didn’t take you up on it. Ellie was far more likely to talk to you than her older counterpart. She’d come to your classroom almost every weekday for the past two years. For a while, she was pretty quiet. She’d bring in her reading or take from the shelf and go sit in the corner. You didn’t press her. A few months in, she’d do more than ask you questions about her reading. She talked about her classmates, the issues with FEDRA teachers and administration, about the comic books she liked. You’d started looking for the series she mentioned when you went to the underground markets or were outside the QZ as well as books about space. She’d quickly become a bright spot in your day. 

Riley, on the other hand, had become more withdrawn the last few months. She’d never opened up to you the way Ellie had, but she seemed to like you better than her other teachers and she always put in an effort in class. But lately, she’d been tired, preoccupied. You’d tried talking to her but hadn’t gotten very far - something made all the more frustrating by the fact that you were pretty sure there was no one else at the school checking in with her. She was at risk of falling through the cracks of the system and you weren’t sure you were enough of a net to catch her. 

Derek was always trying to tell you that you couldn’t save everyone and, consciously, you knew he was right. But that didn’t stop you from trying. 

It’s part of why you’d pressed so hard working on your cordyceps treatment theory. It took years - literal years - of working with samples and trying different formulations but, earlier in the year you’d found something that actually seemed to work. The right chemical combination delivered in the right way and the samples didn’t grow. They stayed in the tissue where they’d been implanted, not stretching beyond it. 

“Do you know what this means?” You asked Elias, all but shoving your notes into his hands. “We could make it so a bite isn’t a death sentence. It’s not going to cure anybody but it can make it so people can leave the QZ, go near infected to wipe them out without needing to worry as much… I mean it still needs trials but…” 

“It’s a great idea,” he said, sounding exhausted. “But do you really think we’ll be able to get the powers that be to divert manufacturing to synthesize it? Let alone the process it will take to make the factories to produce the stuff?” 

“Elias, we’re talking about something that can start getting the world back,” you looked at him, baffled. 

“I know,” he clapped a hand on your shoulder. “And I’m telling you that I don’t know that there is a world to get back.” 

You just stared at him for a moment in disbelief. 

“I’ll run it up the chain,” he said. “But… I’m not optimistic.” 

He walked away, leaving you alone with your notes in your hands. 

So you did the next best thing you could think of. You found Marlene. 

“This is…” she looked through your pages. “I mean, I don’t know shit about the science of it but your tests…” 

“They’re not tests on living subjects,” you hedged. “I mean, in the before times we’d be years out from human trials but give that the bitten are pretty much dead men walking, if we can equip people going outside the walls with this stuff we can always just see if it works when the inevitable happens… It’s not a cure and it’s by no means a sure thing but it’s a start.” 

“I’ll take a start.” 

You weren’t able to get anything more out of Riley before the weekend and Andrew was out at work on Saturday, which made you oddly nervous. Marta said Jess said he was sick but something felt off. He’d been fine on Friday… 

Derek was convinced you were being paranoid but you still woke up feeling uneasy on Monday. 

Riley missed class entirely that day. Ellie looked particularly downtrodden at lunch but didn’t say much. When you asked if something was wrong, she just shrugged, looking distracted. 

Andrew was still missing when you got to work. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Derek said when he came to meet you that evening. “He probably just has the flu or something. I’m sure Jess would have gotten you if it were anything serious…” 

“You’re right,” you sighed. “I know you’re right. I just… something doesn’t feel right.” 

It set your teeth on edge. You couldn’t sit still, tapping your pen on charts when you had a patient, the front desk when you didn’t. 

“Can you not hover?” Marta asked. “I’m not Andrew, for me it’s just weird.” 

“Sorry,” you sighed when the front door of the clinic flew open and Tess and Joel came running in, all but dragging Andrew between them. 

Your eyes went wide. Andrew was covered in blood, his head hanging limp. You screamed for help as you ran for him. 

“What happened?” You frantically pulled at his clothes, trying to get to his skin. His face was pale and his eyes were closed. You looked back over your shoulder. No one else was coming yet. “Help me!” 

“We were almost back,” Tess said quickly. “Raiders came out of fucking nowhere, Andrew was in back…” 

You got the bloody shirt raised enough to see the bullet holes. You scrambled to stem the bleeding as Kristen and Lee came up from the back. You kept your hands on Andrew’s stomach, your skin turning red with his blood, trying desperately to hold him together. They started trying to move him and you moved with them, hands still on him, until someone held you back. 

“You can’t help him,” Marta’s voice was thick, wet. “You can’t do it, it has to be someone else…” 

“I can…” you reached for the doors but she held you in place. 

“You can’t,” she said. “You’re too close, you can’t.” 

You weren’t sure when you’d started sobbing but your face was wet and your vision was blurry and you were too covered in blood to do anything about it. You turned to Joel and Tess. 

“Why was he out there?” You asked. Tess looked at Joel. You raised your voice. “Why was he out there!” 

Tess looked at Joel again. He just stared at the ground. 

It was like something in you snapped. Everything you’d tied up in him for decades, everything you’d felt, everything you’d longed for, everything you’d imagined existed for yourself in another time and place and world with Joel at core of it. It broke open, spilling out of you in a rush. 

You shoved him. He didn’t move to stop you. 

“It’s you, it’s always fucking you!” You pushed him again. “Decided you were done seeing me so you dragged him into it!” You threw your entire body weight at him. He caught you and held onto you until you forced him back. “I can count on one FUCKING HAND the number of people on this planet who are happy I exist and you had to take him? You hate me that fucking much?” 

Joel’s eyes finally left the ground and met yours. He was was in so much pain you could almost feel it. You stopped pushing him. His shirt was covered in your bloody handprints. 

“He has a wife! He has kids! He fucking matters to people and you dragged him into this?” You were panting for breath, still crying. You didn’t think you could stop crying if you tried. “I’ve spent half my life in love with you, Joel, half my fucking life begging to matter to you and instead you just…” A sob choked you for a moment. “I wish I’d never fucking met you. I wish you never touched me. I wish you never called me that night I wish you never came to fucking Boston I wish you just got the fuck out of my life and left me alone!” 

You went to shove him again but arms appeared behind you and Derek pulled you back into his chest, holding you in place. 

“I hate you!” You snarled it at him. “I wish it had been you, it should have been fucking you!” 

He just stood there, staring at you for a moment as Derek held you tightly to him, before Joel turned and left. After a moment, Derek’s grip on you loosened. Your head spun. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tess was staring at you. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about…” 

“Fuck off, Tess,” you snapped. “You could have put a stop to it, you could have just not let him come…” 

“Not Andrew,” she shook her head, stepping close to you. “Joel. How dare you. The shit he’s done for you, the shit he’s gone through for you…” 

“For me?” You snapped. “No, it had nothing to do with me! It’s always been about him, Tess, and you’re a fucking idiot if you don’t see that.” 

“You could have walked away at anytime,” she all but snarled at you. “You could have actually stayed away from him, told him no when he fucking caved and you never did, you never fucking did…” 

“You think it’s my fault?” You snapped. “All his shit…” 

“You could have left him with me!” She yelled. She took a second to calm down. “You could have left him with me and you fucking didn’t. You just hung on…” 

“Of course I did,” you said, quieter now, too. “I didn’t have a choice.” 

She looked at you, the side of her shirt wet with Andrew’s blood. 

“I’ll go tell his wife,” she said. “I hope he makes it.” 

You felt unsteady on your feet and Derek’s arms went around you guiding you to a seat in the empty waiting room. You looked down at your hands, splotched with drying blood. Andrew’s blood. You stared at the wall. 

Jess came in. You weren’t sure how much time had passed but she was frantic. You stood up and she grabbed you, choking on her tears. You held her loosely, still in a daze, and she sat beside you, holding your bloody hand. Derek’s hand was on your back. You stared at the wall. You weren’t sure if you were really blinking. You weren’t sure time was passing. You weren’t sure how long you sat there. The blood on your shirt hardened as it dried. Jess’ hand stayed firmly in your own. 

Lee came out from the back and you and Jess jumped to your feet, hands still clasped tight. 

“It was close,” he said. “But he pulled through.” 

You didn’t really hear anything else Lee said after that. He let you back to see him and he was just coming around when you did, his eyes heavy and voice groggy. 

“What happened?” He managed after Jess had fawned over him for a minute.

“You were a dumbass who went outside the QZ,” you tried to sound upset about it but you were too happy to see him alive. “What were you thinking?” 

“Wanted to be the cool one for a change,” he smiled a little at you. You just rolled your eyes. 

“I’ll give you two a minute,” you leaned over and kissed his forehead. “But I swear to God Andrew you pull that shit on me again…” 

“I know, I know,” he said. “You’re the cool one and you’ll kill me to keep the title.” 

You went back to the waiting room. The clinic was closed but it was shortly before curfew and Derek was standing near the door. 

“Hey,” you sighed, coming over and pressing your forehead into his chest, expecting his arms to go around you. They didn’t. 

“He looking OK?” He asked. His voice was distant. You frowned. 

“Yeah,” you pulled back from him. “Everything OK?” 

He laughed darkly. 

“No, no I can’t say everything’s OK,” he shook his head. Your frown deepened. “Is Joel the reason you wouldn’t move in with me?” 

You froze. You had been so mad at Joel you’d forgotten that Derek was even there. Derek, who you’d never told about Joel. 

He pressed on. 

“Is Joel the reason that, when I asked if you thought about children, you said no?” He asked. “Jesus Christ, we’ve been together for almost seven years and you never thought to tell me you were in love with another man? A man you were regularly leaving the QZ with?” 

“Derek…” 

“Did you ever love me at all?” He looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Fuck, I tried to build a life with you!” 

“Of course I love you…” You were crying again. You weren’t quite sure when you started. “I just… It’s different and… Nothing happened with him, it’s been years, it’s been so long and…” 

“But you still loved him,” he said. “Right? You were still in love with him the whole time you were with me, right?” 

You didn’t say anything. You just tried to keep from sobbing. 

“That’s what I thought,” he ran a hand through his hair, turning away from you. “Fuck!” 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you I just…” 

“You just what?” He asked turning back to you. “You just thought you’d lie to me forever?” 

“I just thought I could love you,” you said. “I do love you, it’s just not the same as him but I thought… I thought it could be. That if I ever could with anyone it would be with you because I do love you, I want to love you that way, I want a life with you…” 

“Wanting it just isn’t enough,” he shook his head, a look of sad disbelief still on his face. “Especially not after you lied to me for half a goddamn decade. It’s just not enough.” 

“Derek…” 

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “I can’t do this, not with you. I hope you get what you want someday, I really do. But I can’t do this.” 

He left and you stared out the front door, into the darkness, for a while. You weren’t sure how long. Eventually, you walked in a daze to Andrew’s room. Jessica had her head down on one side of his bed, his hand on her head. You pulled up a chair to the other side of him. 

“Hey,” he whispered. 

“Hey,” you managed a smile. 

“20 years later and we’re still the codependency crew,” he smiled back. 

“Yeah,” you sat down and put your head down beside him. “We are.” 

Tuesday, August 15, 2023 

“You know you don’t need to keep coming over, right?” Andrew asked, smiling down at you from the couch, his head propped on his fist. “Don’t need as much help now…” 

“Who said I was coming over for your benefit?” You scoffed. You were lying on your back, baby Jonah - named for Andrew’s father - on your chest. He was big enough that he was just starting to run and it seemed like he wanted to do that and nothing else. You swooped the toddler toward your face and blew a raspberry on both cheeks before lifting him straight up overhead, making whooshing sounds. He giggled and clapped his chubby little hands. “I’m clearly just hanging out with my best friends.” 

Elizabeth came over and hung her head over your own, her curls bobbing as she cocked her head at you. 

“Auntie Doc,” she said, her voice very serious. “Did you know your teeth are bones?” “Are they really?” You said. “Thank you so much for telling me, that is very big news…” 

“We’re reading a book about the body,” Jess flopped on the couch beside her husband. “We learned about the skeleton today.” 

“OK sweetie, Auntie Doc’s arms are getting tired so you have to move so I can bring your brother in for a landing,” you said. Elizabeth scrunched her nose but obeyed, stepping to the side so you could bring Jonah back down to your chest. 

“Who needs the gym when you have tiny humans to lift, hm?” You kept a hand on Jonah while reaching out to tickle Elizabeth, who shrieked and giddily fled toward the other side of the coffee table. 

“Alright tiny ones,” Andrew clapped his hands on his legs. “Bed time, let’s go.” 

He got up - slowly - off the couch and you lifted Jonah so he wouldn’t need to bend all the way down to reach him. Elizabeth whined all the way down the hall. You smiled. 

“I know a lot of it didn’t work out but damn,” Jess sighed. “You’d be such an amazing mom.” 

Your heart clenched at that. 

“Thanks,” you said quietly. 

“Are you planning to stay here again?” She asked. You lifted your head to look at her. 

“I feel like you’re asking me not to,” you smiled a little. 

“Not exactly,” she crinkled her nose. “But Andrew had his follow up today with Lee and…” she glanced down the hallway before lowering her voice. “I really want to f-u-c-k my husband now that he’s cleared for it which is a little tricky with you there.” You laughed. 

“I mean I guess if you want to have THAT kind of relationship with the guy,” you said dryly. 

She laughed, too. 

“Look, I’m definitely not kicking you out,” she said. “Lord knows he probably cock blocked you enough through the years when I was outside the QZ for work. If you won’t be OK at home, stay here with us…” 

“No,” you sighed. “I need to get used to it.” 

You’d hardly been to your apartment since Andrew got hurt. You’d only slept there twice since outside a few naps here and there. Otherwise, you’d been at Andrew and Jess’ place. At first, it was to help with the kids. Or that was the excuse you told yourself, anyway. Andrew had barely even made it into the apartment after being released. He needed help doing everything for weeks and you wrangling the kids gave Jess the space she needed to take care of him. The clinic had all but removed you from the schedule while Andrew recovered, you coming by for a while on Saturday and Sunday but otherwise just teaching and helping them. You’d started going back for a few hours most days but you were still at Andrew and Jess’ place all the time otherwise. 

You knew your apartment was going to feel lonely. Not just because Derek was gone but because you’d smothered the loss with Elizabeth and Jonah and the feeling of being needed. It was time to get back to real life. 

“You’re sure?” She said. “Because I mean it, you can just move in if you want…” 

You laughed at that. 

“No,” you shook your head. “I’ll go home. It’ll be good for me, I need to start adjusting.” 

“Hey,” she said, making you look at her. “You know we love you right? Me, him, the kids? Because we do.” 

You smiled. 

“Love you too.” 

You were right, your apartment was lonely. The air was stale and everything had a fine layer of dust. You made a mental note to try to set aside time to clean the place the next day, it desperately needed some TLC. As you went to bed you sighed and opened the bedside table drawer. Below a few notebooks was the picture of you, Joel and Sarah. 

It hadn’t sat by your bedside in years now. You took it out sometimes to look at when you were home alone but it always went back in the drawer when you were done, tucked away. Your fingers traced the contours of their faces. You wondered what Sarah would look like now. She’d have been the same age Joel was when you first got together - a little older, actually. That was difficult to picture. 

It was hard to think of her in that way. She’d gotten stuck in time, forever nothing but potential. She hadn’t figured out what she wanted to be yet, so you had a hard time picturing her having a career - just images of her looking happy and successful. But you could picture her in a wedding dress, Joel walking her down the aisle with a proud smile on his face. Her cradling a tiny baby with his mother’s springy curls and his grandfather’s nose. Her giving advice to her little sister - now a teenager with long dark hair and her dad’s warm brown eyes - about how to survive college. 

It didn’t seem to matter how much Joel seemed to hate you, how much you desperately wished you could hate him, he’d been built into you somehow. You couldn’t shake him, no matter how hard you tried. 

You put the picture back in its spot beside your bed and tried to sleep, feeling more alone than you had since Joel left you before the outbreak. 

It wasn’t a deep sleep. When there was a quick, quiet knock at your door, you woke with a start. You frowned, glancing at the time. It was well after curfew. You got up and looked through the peephole and saw Ellie, huddled against your door. 

You fumbled with the locks, rushing to get the door open. She hadn’t been in class in a week, you’d asked several administrators where she was and no one would give you a straight answer. You’d gone by her room to check on her and she was nowhere to be found but she hadn’t taken much with her if she’d left. You were about to go to Elias and try to leverage what little FEDRA connections you had to see what records they had about where she’d gone, see if you could get to her. Riley had vanished, too, and you just prayed Ellie hadn't gone after her.

Instead, she’d shown up at your door. You’d given her your address and schedule months ago when she showed up in class with a black eye. 

“You ever feel unsafe,” you said. “Come to me. I will help you, I will drop whatever I’m doing and I will handle it, OK?” 

“OK,” she said. 

She hadn’t shown up with a black eye since. You hadn’t pressed. 

“Ellie,” you pulled her into your chest the second the door was open. Her eyes were teary. She looked exhausted. “Where have you been, what’s been going on? I’ve been asking administration where they sent you but…” 

“Doc,” she sniffed as she pulled back from you and held out her right arm. You gasped, your hand going to your mouth. There was a vicious bite there, the teethmarks deep in her flesh. “I’m in trouble.” 

A/N: AND WE'VE REACHED THE SHOW TIMELINE BUCKLE UP FOLKS!

Yes, everyone got super blown apart this chapter. That's the goal, they're at their most emotionally vulnerable just at the start of this big trip, it's going to be great and angsty and they're going to be forced to reckon with their shit because it's right at the surface heading into these extreme situations GET READY!

I have a taglist that I do my best to keep current, so if you'd like to be added please comment below!

Thank you so much for reading and interacting and getting into this story I decided to write one day. It means so much to me that you're invested in it and I love you all!

Taglist: @paleidiot @ayamenimthiriel @ginger-swag-rapunzel @drewharrisonwriter @flugazi @pedropascalsbbg @taoyuji @starstruckmusiciansartghost @splendsay @bigboiseason123 @jpbplvr @ashleyandring @mrsyixingunicorn10 @sloanexx @ninaminaromina @lady-bellyn @hufflepuffriver @sarap-77 @storyarcscribe @mellymbee @jasminedragoon @lemonmeli @reds-ramblings @arizonadaydreamer @mumma-moonchild @blackroseguzzi @candypeaches16 @kittenlittle24 @wrappedinfiction @oatmeaiboy

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

What gets me with Vel is that we see she has a good rapport with her coworkers/friends. She may sometimes roll her eyes at the other two and their antics and of course when her direct business gets interrupted she gets frustrated, but we mostly see her on good grounds with the rest of the Vees. They respect her when it comes to serious business and in that last scene of the season they all look to be very much on the same page and in it together, smiling about their future... yet fanon (if it isn't infantalizing her as you've pointed out) is constantly projecting "angry black woman" stereotypes onto her.

It's gross and in my opinion clearly racially motivated that they see her as nothing more than a "bitchy" woman of color. While the fanon I've seen also has separate gross issues with Vox and Val they are at least allowed some nuance on occasion, but I just don't ever see that with Vel, she's just an angry woman rendered to the background in their eyes stripped completely of her professionalism, intellect, and cunning. She's one of my faves and it sucks so bad to see.

Hi. :) I wrote 5 paragraphs in response to this question and Tumblr so graciously decided to delete fucking all of it. :)

The Hazbin Hotel fandom has a serious racism problem and not enough people are talking about it. Aside from the infantilization of Velvette, other BIPOC characters are put into stupid stereotypes or treated like children because either Vivzie can’t handle writing competently or the fandom doesn’t know how to behave themselves. This is especially apparent for the women, but—and this is probably the only time I will talk about him in this way—Valentino is also suffering from this shitass issue.

Firstly about Velvette, just like how this said, Velvette used to be treated like a child in canon (now fanon) and is being portrayed as only a sassy angry black woman by the fandom. This is disgusting! I don’t think I need to say that! For some reason (misogyny) the Hazbin fandom just has this thing where they take a POC person or a woman—usually both—and decide to treat them like a child. Best examples being Niffty and Velvette being portrayed as Angel & Husk’s and Vox & Valentino’s children. Niffty is 22 and Velvette is in her 30’s. And of course they are both POC. I know there’s going to be someone accusing me of just whining about racism or being like “not everything is about race” but shut the fuck up because I’m busy talking.

I think the best scene to depict Velvette’s character—even though she hardly has any scenes. It shows that she will and can respect her colleagues but for other people, you either need to give her something she wants or her respect needs to be earned. She literally sings a whole song about it.

For other characters like Niffty I have a post for her in the works so I won’t spill it all here, but I can’t in good faith talk about the racism problem without mentioning Valentino. The fact Vivzie has made her worst character into the basic tall hot hispanic/latino man with the hot spanish accent stereotype. Honestly this sort of stereotype doesn’t bother me much, there’s a few villain characters I like with it like Alejandro from TDI, but Vivzie making this a big aggressive and dangerous POC person abusing a sad little white guy just grosses me out. It’s not like the situation would be any better if Angel wasn’t white, but it really does just leave that extra sour taste in my mouth.

Also I don’t need to explain why 90% of the POC cast being fucking grey or purple or blue is bad right.

[moonlightspencie]

Speak Now

Description: You’re not usually the type of girl (gn) to barge in on a white-veil occasion… but the officiant did say ‘speak now’.

Pairing: Ted Lasso x gn!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

(originally posted on tumblr. then posted on ao3 on 6/13/22. now posted back on tumblr because taylor swift personally attacked me with the speak now tv announcement)

You walked into the pub to get out of the cold, and to drown away any lingering hurt about the event hanging over your head.

It was tomorrow already.

You hadn’t expected all of the planning to be finished so soon, and certainly didn’t expect such a fast engagement. Part of you wondered if he even meant it when he proposed.

It all seemed… Wrong. That was what you told Beard as you sat at the table with him that night.

“If he meant it?” He asked incredulously.

You nodded. “I mean, think about it, in the whole time you’ve known him when has he ever done anything like this? With the exception of dragging us to England, that is.”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, taking a drink. “Maybe he just fell quick.”

You sat back, drinking silently for a few moments while you mulled everything over. Ted could be crazy, but going to marry someone he hardly knew was on a different level. You knew it, you knew that deep down Beard had to know it.

“Maybe I’m just being pessimistic because I wasn’t invited, but it all seems wrong to me,” you finally said with a shrug.

Beard furrowed his brow. “Not invited?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Ted invited you.”

“No, he didn’t.”

He raised a brow. “He told me he did. Why do you think he’s been talking about it around you?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, I just assumed it was only going to be a couple close friends.”

He dropped his shoulders, glaring at you.

“You know you’re one of his closest friends.”

“Then why am I not invited?” You challenged. “See, this is what I’m talking about. I don’t get why he’s doing this at all.”

“And you’re sure this isn’t a deeper issue for you?”

“Like what?”

“Maybe the fact that you’re just about in love with the man,” Mae cut in, picking up your empty mugs. You looked at her with wide eyes. “You’re not hard to read, love.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at her demeanor, even if you wanted to reject that statement with everything in you.

“You’re a real treat Mae, but in this case you need to mind yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes at you. “I’ll let that one slide for now.”

“You’re an angel, friend.”

She hummed, walking away and leaving you to the skeptical gaze of coach Beard. You looked back at him, giving him a shrug.

“Nothing will make this make sense to me.”

“Uh huh.”

He got up to leave several minutes later, leaving you to wander to a barstool to engage in some more conversation with Mae.

“You know, if it bugs you all that much, you could just sneak in and break it up,” she said with a wink.

“I am not the type of person to go barging into a wedding uninvited,” you replied with a laugh, “But, I do appreciate the suggestion.”

“They always ask for objections, and you seem to have quite a few,” she sang.

You laughed again. “I don’t know if that’d be the most appropriate response.”

She sighed. “Can I tell you something I think might help all of this?”

“Of course,” you said, leaning against the bar-top as you finished your drink.

“As obvious as it is that you’ve got some feelings hidden away for our Ted, I’ve gotta say it surprises me you haven’t seen the way he looks at you.”

“Alright, are we sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

You chuckled, shaking your head at her. She smiled.

“Only one, but don’t tell anyone.”

���You’re my best friend here, Mae, who am I gonna tell?”

She laughed. “That’s my girl. But seriously, I meant what I said. Give it a thought, yeah?”

“I think it’s time for me to head out,” you said after a beat. “It’s been a pleasure as always.”

“You too, love,” she said with a smile as she waved you off.

You went home, laying in your bed and trying and failing not to think about what she’d said. There was really no point in trying to hide your feelings with how easily she’d already read you, but you couldn’t help the thought of Ted that lingered in your head.

There was no way he’d ever had a second thought about you as anything more than a friend. Right?

Ted laid awake that night, trying to think about the fact that he was supposed to be married the next day, but instead had a head filled with you.

Beard had called him a few hours prior to ask about why you hadn’t been invited. Much to Ted’s confusion, as he had certainly put your name on the invite list. Everything had moved very quickly, but that shouldn’t have effected whether or not your invite got to you.

But now, hearing you’d never gotten one, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional.

You never seemed to notice, but others had pointed out in the past that he could never keep his eyes off of you if you were in the same room. If it was that easy for some folks to pick up, realization dawned on him that it might have been a tell to his soon-to-be wife. But would she have really barred such a good friend of his from their wedding?

She had her whole family coming, surely she wouldn’t object to Ted having more than a couple of his own. He wondered if anyone else had been uninvited, or if it was just you. If all else failed, Henry and his mother would be there, but he wanted his friends to be there to celebrate.

He tossed and turned the rest of the night, waking only after a few hours of sleep.

You got up the next morning, dreading the day. You wondered what Ted was doing as he prepared for his big day, and wondered who else was going to be there without you.

Against your better judgement, you sent him a text.

- ‘hey, just wanted to congratulate you on your big day. i hope you have a great time :)’

You hit send, setting your phone on your nightstand. You looked up at the ceiling, trying to get your mind onto any other subject. Though, it wasn’t long before you heard your phone vibrate with the indication of a message.

- ‘Thank you! You’re coming, right?’

You read the message, and read it again. Was this some weird power play?

- ‘gosh, i’m sorry, i’m not. i never got an invite, i didn’t want to intrude’

It was only a second before a few new messages popped up.

- ‘Intrude?! It wouldn’t be the same without ya!’

- ‘I promise I put you on the list. Seems it didn’t get to you’

Bitterness crept in, a message coming from your brain and to his phone before you could check in with your logical side.

- ‘seems more like i was uninvited by your lovely bride-to-be lol. that’s okay, i’m alright cheering you on from home’

He received your message with wide eyes, his suspicions and yours matching up.

- ‘I’d still really like to see you there, don’t think I can get through without you. I’ll send you a link to the address’

He sent the message along with the map link to the location of the ceremony. You didn’t send another message, mulling over the fact that someone certainly didn’t want you there. You texted Rebecca, asking if you could tag along with her that day if she was going.

You got ready quickly, hands shaking as you pulled on your shoes and grabbed your bag. Rebecca showed up later that day, and you took a car to the ceremony together.

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet, love,” she said as you arrived at the destination.

“I’m thinking.”

“Uh oh,” she said, though amusement shone in her eyes. “Does that mean we get any entertainment today?”

You turned the situation over and over again in your head, losing yourself in the fantasy of standing up and interrupting the ceremony. After all, even if he thought you were insane, objecting would put off the wedding for the day. At minimum, they wouldn’t be able to marry legally that day.

You knew that was a petty thought, but after a certain point you didn’t care.

Katherine had never seemed to like you no matter how kind you were to her. You’d gone out of your way to provide her a certain level of comfort any time you’d interacted, and she always brushed it off. She had made her way to Keeley’s bad side within an hour because of it all, and that was certainly a feat to accomplish.

Though, as you attempted to converse with certain members of her family, you understood why she was the way she was: they all acted the same way. Stuck up.

You let out a hard sigh as you sat with Rebecca to wait for the ceremony to begin. She watched you, trying to decipher what was going on in your head.

“You know, you being all quiet like this worries me a little,” she sang quietly.

You chuckled. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Partially,” you said with a smile.

She laughed, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze.

“I wish Keeley and Roy could have made it. I think they might’ve liked seeing you do what you’re about to.”

“And what am I about to do?” You asked, eyes wide and a smile on your face.

“I can’t say for sure, but it looks like you don’t want this to happen as much as half the people here,” she whispered.

“Half is an overstatement.”

“There’s enough, I think. We’re all just too afraid to say anything.”

You paused, considering what she said. Did that many people really have concern about everything? If so, you certainly felt a stronger surge of confidence. Though, you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not quite yet.

You waited for the ceremony to start with palms that were becoming increasingly clammy and a heart that beat faster and faster. Especially as Ted came out with the officiant. He smiled at a few guests as he came out, though he didn’t seem to notice you.

Something was on his mind.

As he walked down, he wanted so badly to search for you, but he knew he might have trouble saying ‘I do’ if he knew you were there watching him.

He knew he was probably better off pretending like they were all alone up there rather than in front of a crowd of people.

He also knew he was becoming less and less sure about what he was doing as the day went on.

Music started, the bridesmaids and groomsmen coming down. You only recognized Beard, the rest supplemented by Katherine’s family.

As each person came down, you watched Ted. Part of you hurt to see him there, but part of you found an unfortunate excitement with the fact that he didn’t look overly excited. Maybe you could do this.

You could do this.

She came down next, though you kept your eyes on Ted through it all.

He watched her float down the aisle, and much to his dismay, he didn’t feel the joy he thought he might.

The ceremony officially began, and you watched and waited with baited breath. All of the formalities began, and time seemed to slow. Your heart beat harder and harder, knowing it was coming soon.

Then, the officiant said it.

Silence fell over the room, and you waited for what felt like forever.

But then, you knew it was your last chance and time was winding down.

You stood, hands shaking, as you stared at Ted. He looked back at you, as did everyone else in the room, all of them wearing looks of pure horror on their faces.

You opened your mouth to speak, tongue going dry for a moment. Rebecca reached up, giving your hand one last squeeze of reassurance that gave you the final surge of confidence that you needed.

“I’m not the kind of person who does this. Crashing a wedding, and all,” you said with a light laugh, only Beard joining in on the laughter quietly. At least he covered his with a cough. “But, Ted, I really don’t think you’re the type of guy to marry the wrong person.”

“Excuse me?” Katherine cut in, looking between the two of you.

When Ted kept his eyes on you, she scoffed, arms crossing. You didn’t pay any mind, keeping your gaze on him.

“I— Don’t say yes. Don’t do this, Ted,” you said, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation. “Just hear me out, think about it, you know?”

“What are you even doing?” Katherine asked again, and this time you glanced at her.

You gestured at the officiant.

“He said ‘Speak now’.”

A few laughs spread throughout the room at that, mostly from teammates from Richmond, but laughs nonetheless.

Ted still kept his eyes on you. “I— I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll come with me,” you offered.

He watched with wide eyes for another moment, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“Meet you at the back door when I change?”

A wave of relief and adrenaline ran through you at that, a wide smile on your face suddenly. You nodded quickly.

He ran down the aisle, and you grabbed your bag, giving a quick kiss on the cheek to Rebecca.

“Work things out with his family for us, yeah?”

She nodded. “Of course. I’ll make sure I have a fun day planned for them tomorrow.”

“You’re my favorite, you know that?”

“I know,” she said with a smile. “Go get him, love.”

You hustled out of the building, going to find the back door. Ted came through as you reached it, smiling when he saw you there, standing in just his button up and dress pants.

He wrapped you in a tight hug when you met, letting out a breath.

“I’m so glad you were around to stop all that.”

“Really?”

He pulled back, looking at you. “Of course. I’m running away from a wedding with you, do you really think my heart was in all that, Ben Platt?”

“I’m so glad I could pull you away from it all for you to make that horrible joke,” you said with a laugh.

He laughed back, then quieted, looking at you in the eyes.

“How did you know?” He asked quietly.

“Mae is very observant,” you whispered with a smirk.

“Bless that woman.”

You giggled, though got cut short when he pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back, butterflies erupting in your stomach after waiting forever for that moment. You separated a minute later, and he took your hand in his.

“What do you say we run away together now?”

“That sounds perfect.”

[jarpadswalker]

you are actually a very rude person, I doubt you actually have friends in real life based on how you say to people and insult them on here and I guess on SM as well I don’t know but you and your tumblr friends are very rude people and don’t deny it and you can be respectful to or about the people you don’t like and the fact that you can’t even be respectful shows you have a horrible personality and stop writing rude comments about posts that has nothing to do with Jared. Just because Rob and Rich are closer to Jensen then to Jared doesn’t give you the right to hate on them or say something rude about them but I guess you are too entitled and vulgar to know when to be nice to people.

"YOU ARE ACTUALLY A VERY RUDE PERSON," Well, Anon, I don't care if you think I am a very rude person.

I don't care for what a random no face idiot thinks of me online. Unlike you, I don't live for some fake validation from online idiots. I ain't that desperate, I got life outside social media.

So think all what you want because that is all you can do...

Also, anon, if you had used your pea brain, you would have realised that I hardly ever talk about Rob and Rich... They are totally insignificant to me, and I don't care for those leeches. They might own oscar or emmy(far-fetched, I know), and I still won't care, just like I don't care for hundreds other actors in Hollywood.

PS: I think you need to step out of your mums basement and meet the real world. It's is extremely unhealthy if you spent your entire time thinking about how a random person on social media is?

A suggestion go to school or go have some hobby, and make good use of your time. Then you won't have to think about my rude self

[writerscafehub]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀: 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱

@thecutestlittlebunbunfairy

From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

I give myself a solid 3 stars. I think I can churn out some good stories and smut, but I know I make grammatical errors and sometimes my stories have an awkward flow, but I'm always working to get better. 

What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

I’ve been told a few times that I have a good story telling ability; so I think that’s where I shine/stand out/ Being able to take a prompt, a song, or just a few quotes and turn it into a full story.

Are there any writers that inspire you?

Unfortunately, a lot of the writers who inspired me have left tumblr and are lost to time. Some of the ones that are still here are angryschnauzer, tsuntsunfangirl, and caffiened-queen. Some new favourites are Navy, hansensgirl, harryspet, tumblin-theworldaway, and of course all my friends in the server <3

What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

It’s so hard to pick just one so i’ll give two! I’m incredibly proud of my Spooptober 2023 collection. It was a tribute and inspired by Hozier’s newest album, and it was the first time I completed a monthly collection! Easter Bunny is definitely a favourite as well; not only a Lee fic (I love our Sheriff so much) but it was a chance to write some real escapist fluff. 

Which character(s) do you find easiest to write and which do you find most difficult to write?

Loki, Bucky, and Cap are definitely my easiest characters. They’re my ol’ reliables and I love all three of them.

Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

The obvious answer is: BUCKY lol. But a lot of my fifcs tgend  to be escapism style stories. Bucky coming in to “rescue” the reader in one form or another, even if it’s a dark “rescue”

Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about!

I have 3 long term multi chapter fics planned that I can’t wait to share with everyone (eventually). Two of them are Kylo Ren fics, with one having Kylo Ren as a Director of an art museum, hiring an intern whom Kylo assumes is a guy, but is actually a v cute girl and the other being a Mafia!Kylo with an arranged marriage. The last is a Loki fic with Loki as the CEO of a company who needs a bride to appear good for business purposes. 

First fandom you ever wrote for?

Technically the MCU. The first ever fic I wrote was a Tom Hiddleston fic.

Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

I admit I don’t really believe in “guilty” pleasures; pleasures should be enjoyed! But man am I a sucker for my dub/non-con, kidnapping, and yandere stories!

A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

I try to not to say “never” because i’m always open to inspiration, but i don’t see myself ever writing anything with pregnancy/babies

Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

I wrote this INSANE fic called “When Magic Meets Insanity” which is a threesome between Loki, Reader, and Jerome Valeska from Gotham. It’s crack to hell and is still available to read on my AO3. 

Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

Stucky. Always. They are my OTP and I love how fun it is to explore their relationship. Especially throwing Sam into the mix. 

Do you listen to anything while you write?

It mostly depends on what/who i’m writing, but yes! For example, I’ll listen to oldies stuff when I'm writing for Lee, and I have this GREAT Asgardian library ambience for writing Loki. 

One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

One-shots. 

Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

Not really, I sometimes imagine what happens after, but once a fic is done, I tend to just put it on a shelf and leave it. It’s why I hardly write sequels

Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

I long to write some really good multi-chaptered works, but I struggle with writing long term conflict and i’m worried they’ll be awkward and won’t read well. 

What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

The best comment I’ve ever gotten was on my fic Sunlight (Sun God!Steve) from tumblin-theworldaway. She wrote a big huge comment on the fic and it was like the first thing I saw on a monday morning and I needed a good comment. 

Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

I won’t say “comfort zone” but I wrote my first ever Monster Fucker fic not too long ago, “By Land or By Sea” about Sea Monster!Loki and it was defintely new and interesting to write! 

Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

Fluff, always. I’m always a sucker for happy endings (even dark happy endings lol)

Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

Sort of. I have a beauty and the beast style novel planned. The beast is a rich lobbyist for oil industries. And the beauty is an indigenous woman who meets the beast at a cabin in the woods. It’s still heavily in development and i’m not sure when it’ll come to fruition. 

If you could enter the universe of any one of your fics, which would it be and why?

“Teddy Bears” for sure. With slightly dark Bucky and Steve kidnapping me (is it kidnapping if i’m willing?? lol) and telling me I don’t have to work and they’ll take care of me? I’d be there in a heartbeat. 

Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

I always write stoned lol. I get a ton of creativity and inspiration from weed and it helps make the ideas flow. It just can take a while to interpret all my stoned ramblings sometimes. 

Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

This is from my most recently published fic, the last fic in my Spooptober Collection, “To Someone from a Warmer Climate. The fic is about a witch!reader who is visited by a humble sheriff, Lee Bodecker. But he is more than meets the eye.

“Mmmmm…damn…That’s the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had. And I just love the taste of the forgetfulness potion you added.”  Your heart dropped into your stomach.                 “What did you say?” He didn’t answer, only leaning back in his chair. He blinked and where crystal blue eyes had seemed to make him handsome and rakish; now were two inky black pits. He blinked again and his eyes were human again, but now his irises were crimson red. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You’d dealt with a few lower-level demons in your travels, but never someone who you could walk through your house’s defenses so easily. Usually, any malevolent force was neutralized before it even touched your house. But he…he was something darker. “I’d heard about a pretty witch living out here in the woods.” Lee continued. “Thought it was just another one of them dippy mortals wearing peace signs. But then that little old lady came in, bringing some brownies she said you’d made. And when I tasted them, I knew for sure. There was a real little witch somewhere in town. “Though it took me a while to find ya, darling. All them wards and runes…you’ve kept yourself pretty well hidden. But when that same sweet little old lady called in, worried about her friend in the woods, I knew I’d found you and here you are. Hidden away from the world, cooking up spells your nose buried in a mountain of books. All that defensive magic and you opened the front door for me and invited me in. Silly girl.” His eyes raked over your body, studying you.

Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

Fanfiction writing has been some of the most fun writing I've ever had. I’ve loved writing for my whole life but sometimes it’s a struggle to write and create an entire cast/world. Fanfiction gives a helping hand to an entire gallery of characters with infinite possibilities. Not to mention the fact that based on “What if” logic, there is a multiverse out there where these fics really happen lol. I look forward to even more writing in the future, both fanfic and original. 

[the-heart-of-a-monster]

Before I begin, I wanna say that I already sent an ask that was an unfinished version of this. I had to painstakingly go into Google Docs and copy/paste all my writing/theorizing on here because for some reason when I write a slightly long ask my tumblr just has a meltdown. I meant to delete that first ask and send this one instead, but I couldn’t see anything because of said meltdown and accidentally sent it. Hope you see this finished version instead! Would be really embarrassing if you didn’t…

So yeah. Everything after this is copy-pasted and then continued from the unfinished version. Thanks for your patience!

———

Yes yes, I’m back! I disappeared again for a while but I have returned once more to offer my theories and thoughts! And oh boy do I have thoughts…

Okay so first off I wanna disregard what I said last time about Sonic asking for Shadow to come inside earlier because uhh… Idk what I was thinking. Wow. Hot take from me lol. Guess I was losing the hype from rereading the page a buncha times in a row or something, because I don’t know what I was implying with that. So uh yeah sorry about that I guess.

Anywhizzle with that thankfully out of the way, I can continue on to the meat of these new pages! Sonic himself.

Bro needs himself a snickers-

I’m kidding, (No I’m not) but with jokes aside, this page just gave us something huge! Not only can Sonic transform in the daytime now with limited shade, but he can also transform if he feels just the slightest bit of negativity/anger, and he also doesn’t even turn into a Werehog anymore! He’s gone full Gaia mode now! He honestly looks like a coyote mixed with a wolf if you squint. Pretty cool! But this honestly just opens up so many more doors for so many more questions! What does this mean for Dark Gaia? Will it affect Chip? Can Sonic turn back into his hedgehog self? If so, is it based on a time limit, his emotions, or can he turn back whenever he wants to? Does he even know that he’s transformed yet? Does he know it’s him? AAAAAUUUUGHHGHHH SO MANY QUESTIONSSSSSSS!!!!! 😫

I do also wanna say that Sonic is so definitely right. I don’t really remember what Shadow said, but I do know it wasn’t this. Instead of Sonic ignoring his problems, now it’s Shadow, and that’s the exact opposite of what this whole entire comic has been about. Throughout this series, Shadow has always been the more level-headed of the three, (Sonic Chip and Shadow) and he was always the one to help Sonic get through the night when he transformed into the Werehog. I think he even wanted to spill the beans to someone once or twice, but refrained because he just couldn’t do that to Sonic. Pretty sure I’m remembering things wrong on that front though so. But you get the idea. Shadow ignoring his behavior and ignoring Sonic after everything they went through together… It isn’t like him. Yes, he’s a loner. Yes, he’s pretty edgy. Yes, he’s an idiot. But he isn’t stupid. He isn’t ignorant. Shadow is not like this.

Now Shadow trying to explain away his anger and behavior towards Sonic and his distance by saying “Oh, well, I just got really pissed and I lost control.” But then Sonic hits him with the Uno Reverse and transforms into his new Gaia form right in front of his face, snarling at him and getting all angry in front of the ebony hedgehog, hardly saying anything but a few clipped words. Sonic sees the hypocrisy in Shadow’s words and is not about to let him live it down. He sees the guilt, sees the negativity, and knows.

Which is why, when he turns into probably the scariest version of himself so far for the first time ever, he doesn’t scream or howl in pain or act irrational about it. Sonic, despite everything that’s been going on, remains in control of himself and his actions. He stares down at Shadow and says “And…?” As if he’s making a point. Like he’s calling someone out for their crimes or whatever. And he is. To Sonic, Shadow’s ignorance is like a slight on himself, a quick jab at Sonic’s character. And after everything they’ve been through and after what just happened in the cave, the blue blur ain’t gonna take such an insult very well. But again, despite his anger and despite himself and despite his brand new transformation, Sonic doesn’t really lash out at Shadow, instead showing him that “Losing control” is not a good excuse. Shadow may have lost control of his body, but to Sonic, that’s just an everynight thing now. He doesn’t care about that, doesn’t care about what Shadow looked like or how he felt, and instead cared about his actions.

I’ve been going on and on for a long while now with my “Sonic still is going to hide his emotions and feels like crap and still feels bad about himself” mantra, but this scene in particular is making me reconsider that. I feel like before all this happened, Sonic wouldn’t do what he just did now. I don’t think he would be so blunt/careless. I mean he isn’t being careless, there just isn’t really a better way to explain it. Beforehand, Sonic would’ve believed such an excuse and would’ve been like “Oh yeah I guess that makes sense.” But now he seems a lot more controlled, a lot more in his element. He seems more like himself. 

Despite everything, it’s still him.

So maybe Sonic is learning. Maybe Sonic is growing. Maybe he’s finally understanding that he’s still himself and that he doesn’t have to hide. Or maybe I’m being too hopeful and sleep-deprived to really get the true message. I don’t know. 🤷‍♀️ 

All in all, this took me half an hour to get through due to technical difficulties and because I had to put my sleep-deprived brain to work for this one so I am gonna leave it here and brush my teeth. Thank you so much for reading this hunk of junk, means a lot to me! Have a great day/night!

(I’m also so excited for the next page lol)

by chaos, despite everything, it’s still him.

[taissaswifelowkey]

Yellowjackets watching horror films with you

1996 timeline, all characters aged up!

a/n: im getting along my way on tumblr, unc status is no longer in my list of achievements 😍

warnings: none, but light mentions of blood and lighttt spoilers of the show if you can recognise them. gayyy, yellowjackets propaganda, proofread but there might be lingering mistakes!!

📚 taissa would use her logic and reason upon watching the horror film you set up. she just needs to convince her brain that what her eyes are seeing are nothing but pure, overly exaggerated fiction. but that doesn’t mean she won’t rest her head on your shoulders and hold your hands in a tight grip. and no it’s not because she’s scared, she’s just cold 🙄 you don’t say anything at all, knowing how she’ll get in conselour taissa turner mode. so yeah, you’ll pull her closer and comfort her, all while ignoring the slight pride you feel at being able to hold her in your arms.

🛹 there are no real chances of you and van completely focusing on the movie. every time you’d either hide in the covers, clinging onto each other, blocking each other’s eyes when a scene is too intense or bloody. once you got so scared from a scene that you stayed up to watch some kids' show afterwards 💀💀💀 but your most favourite part is when she would hold you in her firm arms. she’s silly but she knows how to be chivalrous. listen listen, you two would wait for each other in the bathrooms. too scared that some malevolent entity or human is out there waiting to strike after the flush. is it ridiculous? yes but still plausible!!

🕷️ nat isn’t really fased tbh. that doesn’t mean she would not hide her face in your neck though. i know some people perceive her as this stoic person who can handle about anything, but she also has emotions and is just a girl :( you’re just her extra comfort to the movie that’s on. and both of her comforts? she’s in heavennnn. but trust she will pull some sneaky prank in the dark. like drag her fingertips on your arms or outrightly scream at a jumpscare. that little prick :( you definitely tried to payback though.

🪵 shauna will analyse the whole entire film, so you won’t be very affected by the jumpscares. she’s a true letterboxd girlie, will try to come go with a literary device to develop her point. she would apologise for rambling but you would just press kisses all over her face, telling her to continue. mostly because whenever she’d turn everything into an essay you’re soooo weak. you hardly even register the screams in screen, your attention focused on her. you focus on her every word, loving how much of a nerd she is.

🦉 we’ve seen misty’s reactions to the rat drowning in the pool…that girl can handle anything gory. from half a detached leg to…full detached legs. it might not look like it but she comforts you whenever there’s an unsettling scene. she would just look at it in awe, before sliding her arms around your shoulders, all “don’t worry it’s just fiction 🥰🥰🥰” a guy losing all his blood? please. that’s barely anything. after this she’ll definitely read christmas carol or something to you afterwards, as if she did not practically compliment the antagonist’s “surgery skills”.

🎀 lottie is too busy feeding you snacks to pay attention the movie. whenever you would talk about it or turn to hide your face from the splatter of gore, she’d be like :( how are you so pretty while you nearly choked on lemonade through your nose. unflattering. not your proudest moment. in fact you apologised while she just shushed your concerns, peppering kisses all over your face and whispering that nothing will ever happen to you as long as she’s there with you. before she’s back to paying attention to the film. that does not mean she didn’t get queasy though. she’s just better at facing these things with you.

🧸 horror movies with jackie? she’s ALLLL over you. like her body is practically slumped on you, refusing to look at the screen. why couldn’t you just…not watch something like a musical? or a sitcom? literally anything but that???? do you want your girlfriend to have a heart attack? so you, being the chivalrous knight in shining armour, hold her. even offer your sweatshirt before leaving, like that “she’ll always have a piece of you”. (you had to convince her to let you go before her parents came back, not wanting to overstay your welcome. it was already four in the afternoon 😭😭)

[alexanderlightweight]

I would love to see you write Alec courting Magnus warlock style vs Magnus courting Alec nephilim style

I think Magnus exploring those eldritch angel instincts and how that would translate over to gifts would be funny

Whereas Alec doing demonology research and warlock traditions bc Magnus is both a prince of hell and a high warlock needs to be taken into account

Honestly Alec being an heir and commander is important but being a leader is more important to him than being a lightwood, he'd become Alec bane in a heartbeat if given the choice!

tumblr ate this twice but i found it again and here we are! i hope you enjoy. this is in the hoarfrost kiss on lips aflame verse which is the cold!eldritch angel alec au

<3

-

“I won’t be taking the Lightwood name.” Magnus remarks casually, because it’s something his boy needs to know, “or that awful ring you keep bringing by.”

Alexander freezes and sends him a pitiful pout, but from the gleam in his eye, Magnus doubts he’s actually surprised that Magnus doesn’t want the ring.

“That makes sense.” Alexander says slowly, nodding as he considers what Magnus said. “You hate my parents. They hate you, so I’ll take Bane.”

“Without the Lightwood?” Magnus asks, curious because he would have been fine if they’d kept their own names — even if the thought of Alexander belonging solely to him fills him with vicious glee.

“Magnus, I want to bond with you because I want the shadowworld to be forced to acknowledge how much I love you, what you mean to me. I’m hardly getting my point across if my name stays the same.” Alexander rolls his eyes, “if the clave wants to argue that I can’t be a commander because of my name, then that’s a fight I’m willing to have. I’m a leader, first Magnus. My parents may have intended me to be the perfect heir, but they pushed the responsibilities of an entire Institute on me from a young age. The Lightwood name will survive my departure and my Institute won’t care what name they serve as long as it’s still me giving the orders.”

“I adore how competent you are.” Magnus admits and he gives a wistful sigh as he cups Alexander’s face. “But it would be so much easier if you were just a pretty face I could chain to my bed.”

Alexander laughs, lips kissing Magnus’ thumb as they part for his joy.

“Magnus, you would be bored. You like the idea of how much of a challenge keeping me chained would be.”

“You wouldn’t just let me keep you?” Magnus asks, teasingly but with also a hint of a dare.

“As long as I’m a Commander, then I’ll be what I’m needed to be for the people I lead and protect. Ask me again if that ever changes.” Alexander tells him, a promise that Magnus tucks away, “and in the meantime, I don’t mind playing hard to keep.”

Magnus laughs, because Alexander surrenders himself in his entirety every time Magnus touches him and his boy wouldn’t know how to play hard if he tried.

“I’ll just have to learn to distract you better.” Magnus promises and he slyly uses magic to grip Alexander’s thighs and bind them to the bed as he kisses him. “But first, let me warm you up before you go, Alexander.”

—

Magnus waits until Alexander is gone and then he sits, and he stares blankly at his hand.

Alexander is so nonchalant about how much he wants to bond with Magnus and Magnus didn’t consider how much he wanted that until being faced with it in person. To know that Alexander will take Magnus’ name, that Alexander wants to be Magnus’ and be served under Magnus’ name, that his deeds will be added to Magnus’ name and not his family one.

It’s a deep and heady thrill, especially when Magnus knows how important names are to shadowhunters.

For Alexander to drop the name Lightwood for a non-nephilim name like Bane, when he’s the heir to such a prestigious family, it’s practically self-disownment.

It’s a way of putting Magnus into priority that could have been conveyed by the joining of their names but will ensure everyone knows how much Magnus means to Alexander.

“My darling Alexander,” Magnus murmurs as he runs his fingers over the warm indent left behind by his boy’s body, “whatever am I to do with you?”

He messages Ragnor, intending to find out just how to show a shadowhunter they belong to you, and you aren’t letting them go, and gets back an angry stack of books landing on his feet.

Magnus rolls his eyes; summons the long pipe he sometimes indulges in and lays out on his bed to smoke and peruse just how to stamp his claim all over Alexander.

—

Alec stares at the books and piles of paper and he swallows down the last of a protein bar and activates a series of four runes that will help him maintain and organize the knowledge he’s looking for.

It takes three hours and he’s exhausted and worn by the end of it, but he has a place to start and as he stares at what warlocks consider to be highly valued courting gestures, he resigns himself to another long week. While intellectually, Alec knows that the shadowworld has extremely different cultures, he isn’t expecting the level of secrecy around higher ranked warlocks and their consorts.  It means that the information he specifically needs is harder to find and that he’ll have to ask for help once he’s narrowed down his choices for gifts.

Which means Tessa, since she’s the only one of Magnus’ companions who owes Alec something and will respond to him favorably.

At least this week of research will be worth it; Alec thinks to himself as he slowly gets out his stele and his arrows and several pieces of platinum. 

If Magnus doesn’t like the Lightwood ring, then Alec will just have to make him one, especially now that he’s realized how much warlocks invest into making courtship offers.

Which is fine. Alec’s not a warlock but nephilim have some similar customs, they’re just normally weaponry rather than jewelry.

[mycatsaidwhat]

things i’ve heard english majors say pt. 17

-not capitalizing I’s in poetry was a moment in tumblr history but that moment is gone and we don’t have to do that anymore 

-have you ever killed off a main character in any of your stories?

Like physically?

-I’m almost done with this stupid discussion post and then I’m gonna go for a stupid walk before I make any more stupid decisions about my stupid life

-I read over 55 poems for the lit mag and I read 46 pages of an 18th century diary for my American revolution class and yet the most productive thing I’ve done today is adding “Scarborough” to my list of name for future pets

-what’s my specialty? Prose-poetry nonfiction vignettes about the generation z experience 

What the fuck? 

-go to class, just don’t run into a guy who you ask to be the father of your children on the way there 

-we’re running on poet time, so the event is gonna go late for sure

-killing off a main character is so original that it’s unoriginal. Living people can make you cry too, John Green and Suzzanne Collins and me

-I’m all concept, no practicality

-someone pry the word slay from my cold dead hands

-I don’t know why I like poems that are, like, gross

-not to be a prude but I would have liked the poem more if it was in a more traditional format

-most shitty poetry of this era can be traced back to the grip that milk and honey had on us for a good year there

-this piece looks like it was mauled by a thesaurus

-don’t look at me using slash marks in a poem it’s a stylist choice and it isn’t cliche yet

-I can hardly keep living at all, in any condition

-I’ve been at college for two and a half years, I know how to bullshit for 10 pages

-I changed what I was going to read six or seven times since we started this open mic–

*deafening* MOOD

-ugh, is it really necessary to submit portfolios for job positions with literary magazines? 

Everyone: YES

-yeah, Buzzfeed used to be into deep long-form journalism. And now it’s not. 

-hey, there’s no mirrors in your apartment

Well duh 

-honey, I’m an English major with minors in political science and American studies, critiquing the American Dream is what I do 

-English majors love to read right that’s what we all say even though we don’t 

-I should really go get a green-colored juice so I eat a vegetable 

-the idea of a very hungry spider patrolling our house is terrifying but also like. Kind of on brand for us

-I titled my creative nonfiction collection “The Hauntings and Homelands of One-Cent Treasures” and I need you to be proud of me that I came up with a title at all

That’s literally so sexy 

-if you tell the teacher that it’s my turn to talk, I will kill myself in front of you

Don’t do that, then I’d have to write a poem about you

You’re welcome

-don’t you get free tuition if your roommate kills themselves?

Is that written down somewhere?

-are we all just unstable then?

We’re creative writing majors, there’s some sort of preamble there to not be okay

-an undergrad never asks for permission. We walk into rooms and say we should be here

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (47)

part 47 of ?? | 1051 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Eddie has never . . . done relationships. Before. Or yet. Whatever. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; the opportunity has never presented itself.  But he knows how they work in theory, and despite not quite being there with Steve, he still wants to do things right. So.

This chapter cranks the rating up from Teen to Mature, so... minors, maybe skip your eyes over the second half and just know that Steve really wanted to show his appreciation for the present Eddie got him.

47.

Here’s the thing. 

Eddie has never . . . done relationships. Before. Or yet. Whatever. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; the opportunity has never presented itself. 

But he knows how they work in theory, and despite not quite being there with Steve, he still wants to do things right. So. 

“Here,” he says, tossing the dice bag at Steve’s unsuspecting face as he slides into the Beemer. “Gotcha something.”

Steve catches it, of course, even though he looks bewildered. “Why?”

Eddie shrugs and picks at a loose thread trailing from his ripped jeans. He pretends to stare at the radio dials, but watches out of the corner of one eye as Steve tugs the drawstring top open and peers inside. “It’s, uh. Just a little something for the next time you play.”

He hadn’t gone to that many different game shops looking for them. Three wasn’t that many. It had proved one too many for his van though, which had overheated on the way home and is currently in the shop, thus Steve needing to pick him up—that’s neither here nor there. Steve upends the bag over one palm and Eddie all but holds his breath.

The dice that spill out are all a sunny, translucent yellow with a golden shimmer. Nothing like his black and red-veined set that he’s had since middle school, but. They match Steve’s room. 

He waits for a reaction, but Steve has gone still and it’s making his stomach twist with nerves. Shit. It’s too much, he knew it was going to be too much.

“Hey, if you don’t like them I can take them back—”

Steve cuts him off by kissing him. It’s a minute into melting into it and kissing back before Eddie registers anything else—the hand fisted in his t-shirt to haul him closer, for example. The kiss is quick by their usual standards, long for a moment between two guys in public. . . . But no one’s around to see.

The fact that Steve would risk it is doing something for Eddie, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers after he lets go. 

And Eddie knows, can tell just from the way he says it, that Steve is used to being the giver in these situations. That’s not really a surprise, girls in the movies and shit hardly ever give their boyfriends gifts. But Eddie had done it anyway because. . . . Well. 

Even if D&D isn't really Steve’s thing—because yeah, he had fun, but he was bad at the math parts and Will’s services will still be required if he plays again—Eddie wants him to know that he’s welcome. That there’s a place for him at the table, if he wants, and he doesn’t even have to bum off someone else’s stuff to take it. 

The next thing Steve does is turn the car off, which makes Eddie blink in surprise. “Uh, weren’t we going to see Ferris Bueller's Day Off? We’re gonna miss the previews, Stevie.”

“Screw the previews.” Steve is looking at him, eyes hooded and biting his lip. “Wanna go back inside?”

Stupid question. Eddie scrambles to get back out of the car. 

-

“Wow,” Eddie says to the ceiling, breathless and warm. He feels like he’s floating, can barely feel his face enough to know what it’s doing while his higher functions are temporarily out, and it’s not even because he’s high. 

Steve props his chin on Eddie’s hip and there’s a satisfied grin in his tone when he asks, “So, how’d I do?”

“Woooow,” Eddie repeats dreamily. “I mean . . . damn, I should give you presents more often. You sure that was your first time?”

“I’m a fast learner,” Steve says, and it’s so smug that Eddie has to haul him up for a kiss. Can’t be helped, it’s gotta be done. (He can taste himself on Steve’s tongue.)

When Eddie lets him up for air again, Steve has a stupid grin on his face. It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. 

“My turn,” Eddie announces, and flings himself up into flipping their positions, settling over Steve even as he goes back to kissing him. (God, he could do this all goddamn day.) It’s almost terrifying how complete Steve makes him feel, but it’s . . . it’s getting easier to tell himself that Steve seems willing to stick around, even if it still feels a little bit like he shouldn’t. 

After all, who would go for Eddie Munson? He’s not made for good things. 

And yet, they fit. He trails kisses down Steve’s neck, down his chest and the scars that match his, down the trail of hair that leads further. Kisses him, swallows him down, and that’s it. Experienced ladies man Steve Harrington comes in his mouth, absolute hair-trigger, before Eddie even gets to try any of the things he had in mind. He barely manages to swallow, just shy of choking on it in a way that makes his extremities tingle, and definitely doesn’t get it all. Has to wipe his chin on the nearest unlucky corner of blanket after.

“Holy shit,” Steve gasps. “Holy fuck, Eds, that—I, god, sorry, ‘mso sorry baby. Was that—Are you okay?”

Baby. Jesus, Steve hasn’t called him that before and he hadn’t expected him to now. 

“Gimme a glass of water and ten minutes, and I’ll show you exactly how okay I am,” Eddie promises, grinning fit to bust his face even as he’s still trying to catch his breath. 

Steve’s expression goes happy and soft, as though he’d needed Eddie’s permission to bask in the afterglow, and it has Eddie clambering up to kiss him stupid. They melt together in a tangle of lax and sated limbs.

“Good boy,” Eddie adds, murmuring against Steve’s kiss-bitten lips, and grins into the delicious shudder that runs through his. . . .

“Boyfriend?” Steve suggests. His voice is so small and tentative, an offer nudged carefully across the bargaining table. It bleeds hopefulness the whole way, as though there’s some chance that Eddie might hear Steve Harrington ask him to be his boyfriend and shoot the guy down. 

Not a chance in hell. 

“Holy shit yeah,” Eddie says in a rush, and then he’s kissing Steve eagerly, hands winding through his hair and tugging at the roots exactly how he knows Steve likes. 

They miss the entire movie.

[doggernaut]

INJURY FIC INJURY FIC

Oh hello, you've found the fic most likely to be published sometime soon, if only because when I was looking at it I realized it's really just a short little Jack character study and only needs a little bit of work to make it publishable.

I have posted about this more on my main Tumblr account, but I'm a runner and in the past year and a half have been struggling with what seems like endless post-Covid lung issues and injuries. I went from running a PR marathon in April of 2022 to barely being able to run three miles at a pace five minutes slower than my PR pace. For somebody who has never really had to contend with injuries over almost 30 years of running (I took several months off when I strained my calf in 2016, but got into barre classes during that time), it has been humbling. And frustrating. I spend like an hour a day doing my stupid PT exercises and it feels like I've accomplished nothing. And I figured I could take all my feelings about being an aging athlete and give them to Jack. Because you know who would be pissed off about being forced to slow down due to a minor injury? Jack Zimmermann.

(Projecting all of my feelings onto Jack, by the way, has not really helped. But maybe other readers will see themselves in this fic and feel not-so-alone?)

“Can you explain it to me?” Bitty asks. “Euh … I’ll try.” Jack isn’t sure if he can explain what he’s feeling to Bitty because he’s not sure he understands it himself.  Bitty gives Jack’s shoulder a little squeeze, a nonverbal cue that he’s ready to listen whenever Jack’s ready. It takes Jack a minute to gather his thoughts. “I know I need to rest,” Jack begins. “I know I need to slow down and let things run their course, and I know it’s good for my body. Healing. But my mind just …” Bitty presses a kiss to the back of Jack’s neck. “I know.” “Sometimes my thoughts get a little out of control,” Jack admits. “Not in a bad way. Not like before. But I’ve been wondering if this is it. Maybe this time I won’t heal. Or I’ll fall so far out of shape that I’ll never get back to where I was. And I’ll just keep falling behind until they tell me I’m done. I’m not as young as I used to be. There are new guys who are faster, hungrier. Whenever I face off against some young kid I think about how I was at eighteen, how I thought guys my age had one foot out the door.” “Well, first of all,” Bitty murmurs soothingly, “nobody is gonna tell the Jack Zimmermann that he’s done.” Jack manages a smile in spite of himself. “I know it’s not rational.” Bitty presses another kiss, feather-light, to the back of Jack’s neck. “Honey, I know how you feel about slowing down, but maybe you should try to change the narrative,” he says gently. “What do you mean?” “Well, instead of telling yourself you’re lazy, try thinking of it as recovering. Right now the best thing you can do for yourself is rest a little so you can start the new season healthy and strong. When’s the last time you gave yourself permission to slow down?

Permission? That’s a new concept. Jack can’t recall ever giving himself permission to slow down. His overdose forced him to slow down, but that wasn’t a choice. This doesn’t feel like a choice either, but Bitty is right. Jack’s been in therapy long enough to know that there’s a difference between then and now, that slowing down now is something he has to do if he wants to keep moving forward.  “Just remember,” Bitty adds, “every rest day, every easy PT session, is an investment in a stronger, more resilient you. And it’s all gonna pay off big time next season.” “You’re good at this. You sure you don’t want to get into coaching?” “Oh, it’s hardly me at all! I’ve just been spending a lot of time on the inspirational, body positive side of Instagram.” “You have?” Seven years together, and Bitty’s still surprising Jack. Bitty shrugs. “I know it was a million years ago, but I used to be an athlete, too. Long enough ago that my body definitely isn’t the same.” There’s a hint of resignation in Bitty’s tone. “I know that’s not a bad thing, but it’s still hard to accept sometimes. Especially living with you, looking like you do.”  “Bits, you’ve never said anything,” Jack says, feeling a little guilty for not picking up on the fact that Bitty’s been going through this too. “And I wasn’t gonna,” Bitty says, “because most days I don’t think about it. My life is a lot different now, and that’s a good thing! But I can’t lift as much as I used to at the gym, and you know I can’t always keep up with you on our morning runs. And it’s my choice, I know. I’m happy with my yoga class and running most mornings and doing the Turkey Trot once a year, but sometimes it’s still—” Bitty shrugs. “Honey, you’re a professional athlete. It’s hard not to compare myself to you. Or who I was just a few years ago, for that matter. So I follow a few accounts that help keep things in perspective. There’s this whole community of former athletes, and people who are recovering from illness or injury, and people who are just starting on their fitness journey, and they remind me I’m not alone. Your pace isn’t my pace, and that’s okay.”   Jack laughs in spite of himself. “Okay, now you sound like an influencer.” “And you honey—” Bitty places a gentle hand on Jack’s chest—“your pace today doesn’t have to be your pace yesterday, or last year. We’re all works in progress.”