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hunny-bean · 2 years ago

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Too Close For Comfort

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: Frank comforts you after he is forced to kill a man in your shared motel room.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), Gun Violence, Dead Body (Not Frank's. Don't Worry), Explicit Sexual Content, Little Pinch of Angst, Long Ass Flashback, Porn With 3.5k Words of Plot

A/N: This is the first fic I've ever written! I've been wanting to write for the JB fandom for a while and I finally decided to go for it. I'm planning to write for a lot more of his characters in the future, but I figured Frank was a good starting point. Hope you like it! I'm open to feedback if you've got it. XOXO.

Read on AO3

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After almost three months of living in an old stolen pickup truck and a series of shitty motels, you had learned to count your blessings. An important one, you quickly came to realize, was good water pressure. You were in the middle of your forth shower in the three days you and your new travel partner had been in this town, and you were trying your best to savor the moment. Since the closest companion of long showers is long trains of thought, you allowed your mind to wander back to how your adventure first began.

You took a step back in the cereal aisle in your local grocery store to examine the top shelf and ran directly into someone trying to pass behind you. Startled, you dropped the basket you were carrying full of frozen veggies and canned soups, and watched them roll in all directions. You whipped around so quickly you almost joined your soup on the floor, but luckily a strong hand shot out to steady you before you could.

"Whoa. Sorry 'bout that," the stranger said. And that was how you met Frank Castle. Surprisingly, your first impression of him had nothing to do with his gentle giant aura or his warm, gravelly voice. Your first impression happened before you even laid eyes on him, and that was how backing up into him was like hitting a brick wall with your car. He didn't stumble or falter. He didn't even flinch.

"No, sorry, that was my fault," you replied, your cheeks flushed from creating a loud noise in a public place. The stranger removed his hand from your arm and glanced down at the floor where your bags of peas laid, slowly thawing.

"You, uh... You want some help with those?"

"Oh, I got it, don't worry."

The man mumbled an "alright" and you watched him start to walk away, expecting him to leave the aisle, but he only took a few steps before his foot brushed a stray can, and he bent down to help anyway.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that," you said when all the groceries had been collected.

"No problem," he muttered. You weren't sure why, but there was something off-putting about him. Later you realized it was the stark contrast between his gruff outer appearance and his quiet way of speaking. He was so intimidating but he seemed so trustworthy. "You have a nice day, ma'am."

Before he could walk away, you found yourself calling out to him, too curious to let him leave without asking any questions.

"Hey, I don't think I've seen you around here before. Are you. . . new in town?"

He seemed amused by your attempt to start a conversation, but decided to indulge you anyway. "I'm just passin' through. So you, uh, you really know everyone that lives here?"

Although he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, he kept subtly glancing around like he was about to cross the street or something. When he turned his head, you noticed the remnants of a week-old bruise on his jaw.

"Pretty much, yeah," you responded. "So, life on the road, huh? Sounds pretty exhilarating."

He let out a friendly chuckle. "Yeah, I guess it can be. If exhilarating is what you call lukewarm showers and buying all your food from the gas station."

You smiled back, happy the man seemed to be warming up some. He seemed less on edge, and you weren't sure why, but that made you feel accomplished in some way.

"Well, this isn't a gas station," you remarked, playfully contradicting his earlier statement.

"You're right, it's not," he said. "But I had to make an exception because-" You watched as he pulled a round object from his jacket pocket, holding it up and waving it slightly as if to show it off. "-gas stations don't carry mangoes."

You mock gasped, unable to fight back a smile. "Pocket fruit? I hope you were planning to pay for that. Or are you 'just passing through' because you're on the run from the police?"

You expected him to laugh at this, but instead you saw him staring intently over your shoulder at a man who had just entered the aisle. He seemed to identify the new arrival as some sort of threat. You saw that they were looking directly at each other, and you suddenly felt uneasy. Before you could ask what was wrong, several things began happening at once.

The man at the end of the aisle pulled out a gun and pointed it directly at the two of you. No, not at you, just at the kind stranger, who immediately pushed you behind him as the first shot rang out, followed by a second one. Thankfully, they both missed the two of you, but the second bullet grazed the basket you were still holding which was sticking out from behind the stranger's leg. Instantly, you dropped the basket and began sprinting for the nearest exit with the stranger close behind you.

You ran through a door marked 'EMPLOYEES ONLY,' which the stranger quickly barricaded with a tall shelf packed with bulk boxes of paper towel rolls. As the shooter banged at the door, the two of you found an exit at the back of the stock room, which you flung open and rushed through into the building's side alley. The stranger pulled you behind the building to where his vehicle was conveniently parked, almost as if he'd been anticipating an emergency escape. Too terrified to argue, you didn't protest when he ordered you to get in the passenger seat and jammed his keys in the ignition. He tore out of the parking lot and onto the main road, carrying you away from your home and the man who had tried to kill you both.

It took you half an hour to work up the courage to ask questions.

"Who was he?" you asked, softly. You're sure he heard you, although he seemed happy to pretend he didn't.

After a few long moments, when he realized you weren't going to stop staring at him until he answered, he begrudgingly responded.

"A bad man."

"Why did he wanna kill you?"

"I, uh, took something from him," the stranger said, studying his rear view mirror to see if you were being followed.

"Are you a bad man?" you asked, tentatively.

At first he just sighed, and for a moment you thought that's all he was going to give you for an answer, but then he spoke.

"I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're asking."

"Then. . . can you take me home?"

"I can't turn around yet, not 'till I know we're not being followed. Then I might be able to take you back so you can pack a bag or two."

"Pack?! For what?" you exclaimed, dreading the answer. There was another awkward silence while the man planned his answer. "Why do I need to pack? Tell me!"

"That man, the one with the gun? He has a, uh, habit of targeting his enemies' loved ones."

"But we barely know each other, why the hell would he-"

"He doesn't know that."

"Besides," he continued after a while, "I don't really. . . have any loved ones. So he's kinda grasping at straws to find somebody I'd want to protect."

"So, he thinks you would care if I died, and now we're both in danger?" You stared at him in disbelief.

"Pretty much, yeah," he mumbled.

After that, the truck was silent for a long while. The only time you spoke in the next two hours was to give the stranger your address. You watched the trees and road pass by beside you, trying to figure out what you would pack when you finally made it home for possibly the last time. You were lost in thought so long that you were pulled out of your head by the truck's tires bouncing over the dip in your driveway. You didn't even know you had turned around.

"You get ten minutes. We're traveling light, so don't go crazy." You began to hop out of the truck before the stranger's voice stopped you in your tracks. You turned around and saw that he was looking at you for the first time since you escaped the grocery store. "For the record," he began, contemplating what to say next, "I would care if he killed you."

You just stared back at him, not knowing how to respond to that.

"I'm gonna keep you safe, alright?" he promised, and you believed him.

You nodded, and went inside to gather your belongings. There was just something about this man that made you want to trust him. You managed to fit everything you needed into a large duffel bag and a back-pack. Looking around you, you realized something. You lived alone and all your friends lived out of state. This town had nothing to offer you except a shitty restaurant job. Most likely, the only person who would even notice you were gone was your boss. You took a deep breath before returning to the truck, putting your life in the hands of someone you just met.

You hopped back in the passenger seat, and the stranger helped you toss your bags in the backseat after checking that they were of a reasonable size. "You ready?" he asked.

"Fuck, no. Lets go."

The two of you took off down the road in a different direction than before, hoping to throw the bad man off your trail. After about an hour on the road, you looked over at the stranger to find him smirking slightly, lost in thought.

"What?" you asked, happy the mood seemed to be lightening despite your situation. He glanced over at you momentarily, and instead of providing a verbal response, he just reached into his pocket and handed you a slightly dented but still perfectly ripe mango. You took it from him with a smile.

"What's your name?" you asked.

He looked at you for a long moment, before seeming to make a decision. "Frank. What yours?"

You were brought back to the present by a torrent of freezing cold water, telling you you had been in there too long. You were thankful that Frank seemed to prefer morning showers. As you stepped out and dried off, you thought about the man chasing you. Eventually, when Frank opened up to you, he revealed that his name was Jordan Carlisle, and that his father was involved in the murder of Frank's family. You also discovered that the thing Frank had taken from him was his father's life. It had been so long since that day at the grocery store, and you wondered if you'd ever see him again. Maybe by this point, he'd given up on his revenge, and decided to leave Frank in peace. But Frank said Carlisle wasn't the type of man to just give up, and that if you ever wanted to stop running, someone would have to die.

During your few months together, you also learned that Frank wasn't the type to run away or avoid confrontation. The only reason he hadn't met Carlisle half way and taken him down was to keep you safe. That and the fact that he had been forced to leave behind some supplies shortly before you met and was left with nothing but a handgun, two bullets, and a pocket knife. (All things you could use to kill a man, but probably not a trained assassin).

You were both anticipating the end of the chase, however, because Frank had recently acquired various new firearms and a respectable pile of ammunition, and he was getting a little tired of running. Also, there's only so much distance you can put between you and your attacker before he realizes he's moving in the wrong direction. You had just pulled your favorite cotton nightgown over your head when-

*BANG*

You heard the unmistakable sound of the motel door being forced open. You heard a gunshot and something hit the floor. The sounds of a physical struggle just behind the bathroom door simultaneously relieved you and caused your heart to slam against your rib cage. At least you knew Frank was still alive. Unfortunately, so was the person who broke in. You couldn't see him, but you were pretty sure you knew who it was.

Two more gunshots shocked you into motion. You slid under the bathroom sink and tried desperately to remember what Frank told you to do on your first night together in case of a break in. He told you to get outside and find a hiding spot or barricade yourself in a closet or bathroom and wait for him to come get you. His voice in your head was commanding you, "Do. Not. Move." You tried to do as you were told but the urge to make sure Frank was alright was growing stronger. The muffled grunts and thuds were scaring you. You couldn't tell who had the upper hand and you didn't know enough about guns to determine which shots came from which man.

A loud cry of pain from Frank was your final straw. There wasn't a single thought in your head, let alone a plan, but you couldn't keep hiding while someone you cared about was potentially getting himself killed. You ran to the bathroom door, unlocked it, and threw it open with as much force as you could manage. The door slammed into the wall beside it with a loud crash. A distraction.

Just a few feet in front of you, Jordan Carlisle was caught off guard by the sound and he twirled around to find the source. Almost instantly, his gun was trained on you. Suddenly, you felt consumed by fear unlike anything you'd ever felt before. You heard the gunshot and flinched violently backward, as if you could somehow escape the bullet, stumbling back onto the bathroom floor. You screamed and squeezed your eyes shut tight, waiting for the impact, but it never came. You hesitantly opened your eyes just in time to watch Carlisle collapse onto the dirty motel carpet, eyes open and unseeing. He was dead. The chase was over.

Almost immediately you burst into tears, unable to get the image of his lifeless body out of your head. You knew you should be relieved, but there was something about almost dying that made you prone to emotional outbursts. You gazed up at Frank across the room, who still had his gun pointed at the spot where Carlisle had been standing moments before. He slowly lowered it and looked over at you where you were sitting on the floor, sobbing. He seemed angry, like every cell in his body was infused with a furious energy, and he had just shot the thing he was taking it out on.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!" Guess now it was your turn. "I TOLD YOU IF SOMEONE BREAKS IN, YOU FIND A PLACE TO HIDE AND YOU STAY THERE."

"I was j-just wo-horried about you," you hiccuped.

"I HAD IT COVERED."

"I'm sorr-"

"YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN YOURSELF KILLED. THEN ALL OF THIS RUNNING BULLSHIT WOULD HAVE BEEN FOR NOTHING."

You turned your head away from the shouting and found yourself looking directly at Carlisle again. This time, you were unable to turn away. It was like you were completely frozen, tension locking all your muscles in place, rendering you incapable of even the slightest movement. Your tears began falling harder but you were barely making a sound. Your lungs were tight and burning. You couldn't even draw in a full breath. Frank's reprimanding faded into background noise. You found yourself wishing desperately that you were anywhere but in that room.

"Oh, fuck," Frank muttered when he saw you damn near hyperventilating. He calmed down considerably when he realized yelling at you was only making things worse. "Shit, I didn't want you to see this."

He made his way over to your side of the room and knelt down to be at eye level with you. You barely acknowledged his presence.

"Hey, look at me," he asked gently. You didn't move your head. Softly, Frank cupped your cheek, the one farther away from him, and used it to turn you in his direction.

"You're gonna be okay," he promised. "Can you stand, sweetheart?"

Seeing Frank alive and calm helped you come back to yourself. Slowly, you nodded. Frank stood and held out his hand to you, which you used to pull yourself up with a little effort. You managed to get upright, but your legs were shaking so hard you weren't sure if you'd be able to walk. It was pathetic, and you were quite sure Frank would agree, but he didn't say anything about it. He just took one look at you and scooped you up into his arms. You were embarrassed by your incompetence, but you had finally stopped crying, and that was an accomplishment in and of itself.

Frank carried you over to your bed on the far side of the room and laid you down carefully. On your way over, you passed his bed which was closer to the bathroom, and saw two bullet holes in the pillow Frank had been laying on when you left to take a shower. That was when the relief hit you. You felt no more grief or fear or regret, only solaced by the fact that you were both alive and safe at last.

"Stay here, alright? Don't move," Frank murmured. He turned to walk over to the body again but you grabbed onto his arm before he could leave. He looked back at you questioningly.

"I heard you get hurt," you mentioned shyly. "What happened?"

Frank's eyes revealed that he was happy you were talking again. He seemed touched that your first concern when the shock wore off was for him.

"Ran into the nightstand," he admitted, rubbing his side. "It's just bruised, nothing to worry about."

You had a feeling he wasn't telling you the full story, but you decided to accept his answer. As far as you could tell, he wasn't bleeding anywhere and he didn't seem to be in much pain. Satisfied, you let go of his arm and turned to face the wall. You had a feeling you wouldn't want to see what was about to happen.

You laid there for a while, listening to Frank working behind you. You heard something being dragged across the floor, several grunts of effort and a sickening thud. You heard the faucet running in the sink and the sound of the bathroom door closing. There were footsteps moving around the room. . . the sound of someone changing clothes. You smelled the air freshener left in the bathroom cabinet masking the scent of blood.

Finally, after God knows how long, you felt the bed dip slightly as Frank sat down on the edge. You sat up and moved next to him, resting your head on his shoulder after a moment of hesitation. He put his arm around your shoulder and held you closer to him. The two of you weren't usually this affectionate, but you had certainly grown closer during your time together, and you figured the situation called for it.

"Do you think the police are on their way down here?" you asked.

Frank shrugged. "Probably not if they haven't shown up by now." Frank tried and failed to fight back a small smile. "Either that guy behind the front desk is a really heavy sleeper, or he did something to piss off the jackass in our bathtub. The only other people in this dump checked out yesterday," he said. You couldn't help but smile at that along with him. You were just so happy to be alive.

The more you let that thought run through your head, the more you wanted to be close to him. You needed more than an arm around your shoulder after you almost got shot in the head. You wanted to be held. 'Oh, sue me,' you thought. 'Who wouldn't?'

But you tried to let it be enough. You weren't sure how Frank would react to more than what you were already doing and you were too nervous to find out. You felt Frank shift next to you and realized that overthinking had caused you to become tense. The silence between you grew slowly thicker and you were worried he was about to pull away from you. In that moment, Frank standing up seemed like the absolute worst thing in the world that could happen to anyone, and you weren't about to let it.

'Fuck it', you thought, and with one quick movement, you were straddling his lap with your arms thrown over his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. He was caught off guard for a brief moment, but a second later his arms were wrapped around your waist, holding you just as tightly. You buried your face in his neck, breathing him in and savoring the feeling of his pulse against your cheek.

"We're okay, Frankie," you breathed. "It's over."

"I told you I was gonna keep you safe, sweetheart. I don't make promises I can't keep."

The two of you stayed like that for a while, content to just hold each other until the sun shone through the curtains. Well, you thought you were content, but it wasn't long before the closeness started to affect you. He was just so warm and solid, and suddenly you felt like he was wearing too many clothes. You wanted to feel him. Feel his heartbeat and the warmth of his skin on yours.

Your stomach was tight with desperation and you felt tears forming behind your eyes. You needed to be closer. Your thighs tightened around Frank's hips and he felt your breathing get heavier against his neck. You shifted your position slightly to ease some of the wanting in your veins but you froze when you heard Frank's breath hitch.

As you settled your weight on his lap again, your new position provided a new sensation. There was something warm pressing against your inner thigh. Even through Frank's impenetrable denim jeans, you could feel it heating up.

Frank was just as aroused by your position as you were. He wanted you, too, but you knew he would never admit it because he cared about you too much to do anything that could potentially hurt you.

The worst part was, you could feel it getting bigger and pulsing softly right next to where you wanted it the most, and he knew you could feel it. He knew, and he knew you wanted it, but he still wasn't saying anything about it because he was too damn stubborn. He probably thought you weren't in your right mind and would regret it in the morning but that was just such bullshit. You could never regret him, and you were going to make sure he knew that.

There was still some part of you that was afraid to make a move, and that part of you really wanted Frank to break first. So, you decided to make him unable to ignore it any longer. Pretending to adjust your position again, you settled down directly on top of his bulge, making sure it was exactly where you wanted it. The feeling of his cock hardening against you sent another wave of desperation through your body, causing you to tighten your limbs around him again. Still feigning innocence, you rolled your hips once for good measure, grinding down on him to see his reaction.

You didn't see it so much as feel it, when his arms tensed up around you and he turned his head away from you in frustration. You could feel your blood pumping hard, and you were sure your face was flushed. You wondered if he could feel your heartbeat the same way you could feel his pressed up against your clit. You felt his cock twitch again, even through three layers of fabric, and you could barely take it any more. You rolled your hips again, purely on instinct, and accidentally let out a soft moan.

Frank exhaled sharply and slid his arm from around your waist to pull your head away from his neck.

"What are you doin', sweetheart?" he asked, looking at you sympathetically when he saw your wrecked face. Suddenly, it was all too much for you, and there was nothing you could do to stop a rogue tear from sliding down your cheek.

"Please," you whispered, and that was all you had to say.

He put a hand on the back of your neck and pulled you toward him before lightly brushing his lips against yours. You pushed forward, wanting more, but Frank pulled away before you could really kiss him. He just sat there for a moment, searching your eyes for any signs of reluctance or any lack of clarity whatsoever. In the end, he found nothing but pure desire and maybe, just maybe, love.

This time, when he leaned in, you met him half way. This time, it was more than just a brush of lips. Frank kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. Gentle, yes, but also tortuously deep. You felt his tongue brush against your lower lip and gently coax your mouth open to kiss you harder, and it was warm and wet and perfect. As your need got worse, you began to grind down on him again, sighing into his mouth from the friction.

The hand he had on your neck moved up to tangle in your hair, tugging gently, while the other one shifted to settle on your lower back as he encouraged harder, slower movements of your hips. As he forced you down against him, the feeling of the rough denim on your clit through your thin panties caused you to whine quietly. Every slight movement sent sparks shooting up your spine.

You shifted your body backwards and reached down between you to tug at his zipper, but it didn't want to come down. Frank let you struggle with it for a moment, but just as you started getting frustrated, he took over for you.

In one swift movement, you were on your back underneath him, your legs still hooked around him. He sat up for a moment to pull off his shirt (revealing his fucking perfect abs that seemed completely unfair and you were about to LOSE YOUR MIND BECAUSE HOLY SHIT) and then he was back on top of you, pressing one last kiss to your lips before pulling away to look you in the eyes.

"You sure you want this, sweetheart?"

"Don't you fucking dare leave me like this, Castle."

Frank snorted, rolling his eyes affectionately. "Yes, ma'am."

With one hand, he reached down to unzip and tug down his pants and underwear, freeing his flushed cock from it's uncomfortable confines. It was bigger than you expected it to be, which is saying something because you already knew he was big from rubbing against it. He was so hard it looked painful, and he gave himself a few tugs to take the edge off. Just watching it drip onto the bed had you feeling dizzy. You were unbearably wet and all you wanted was to feel it inside of you.

Luckily, Frank seemed to tell as much, because he slid his hand up your thigh, kissing your neck gently and pushing the hem of your nightgown up to your stomach. He hooked the fingers of one hand in the waistband of your underwear but he paused there, waiting for some sort of go-ahead. You nodded at him, and he sat back again to tug your panties down your legs and pull them off.

This time, instead of immediately climbing back on top of you, Frank took a moment to admire you from an upright position. He gazed hungrily at your exposed cunt before swiping a finger through your folds and brushing your clit with the pad of his thumb. You jolted at the feeling, whimpering when he did it again just to watch you shudder.

"Frankie, please," you whined.

Frank decided to have mercy on you, and he came up to kiss you as he lined the tip of his cock up with your aching hole. He pushed slowly until the thick head was all the way in, surrounded by your soft, fluttering walls. It was a stretch, and it wasn't even half-way in. You appreciated Frank giving you a moment to adjust, but you didn't want one. You wanted to feel all of him, even if it hurt.

Hooking your legs tighter around him, you tried to push him into you. It didn't work, obviously. You didn't think you could move Frank if you barreled into him full-force, but he got the message.

In one smooth thrust, he buried himself fully inside you, grunting loudly and whispering an "Oh, fuck" into your neck. Your back arched up off the bed and you moaned loudly as his cock hit sweet spots inside you that you didn't even know existed.

Having Frank hovering over you, connected to you in so many ways, was easily the best thing you'd ever experienced. You were both breathing heavily and shaking as you waited for the initial pleasure shock to wear off.

Once you adjusted, you shifted slightly under him, trying to fuck yourself on his cock. Whatever stimulation you managed to get from that was nothing compared to when he actually started moving. Each thrust was slow and deep, sending waves of bliss coursing through you. You couldn't stop the gasps and whimpers that kept escaping, nor did you want to.

Franks arms were on either side of your head, closing you in so all you could see and feel was him. You had never felt so safe in your entire life. Every movement was so complete and perfect. Nothing was rushed or forceful, but it was still all pure pleasure. You were sure you had never been this wet before.

Feeling Frank's back muscles shift under your fingertips as he thrust into you was mesmerizing, and hearing him moan softly and curse against your pulse point was sending shivers through your body. Every time Frank pushed his cock back inside you, you felt yourself ascending further, rapidly approaching your peak. Every time he pulled out slowly so you could feel it dragging against every part of your sensitive walls, you wanted to sob from feeling so good.

It wasn't long before you were crying out from your release, tightening your grip on every part of Frank and leaving long scratches down his back. When your climax finally hit, you swore you were having an out-of-body experience.

"Attagirl, that's it," Frank whispered as he felt you spasm around him. "Oh, fuck, sweetheart. Where-" he began. Reluctantly, you rubbed your hand on your stomach. You hadn't had access to birth control in almost six weeks and shitty motels don't provide condoms. Even the ones with good water pressure.

You rubbed the back of Frank's head gently as his thrusts grew more erratic, grabbing onto and playing with his hair. Suddenly, he pulled out of you and jerked his cock barely three times before he was finishing on your stomach with a quiet groan, painting it with his cum.

Breathing heavily, the two of you collapsed next to each other, coming down from your highs and processing what just happened. Idly, you began playing with the mess on your stomach as you thought about what was next for the two of you. There was no way in hell you were letting Frank drop you off at your house and just take off after that. You know you said "It's over," but it couldn't really be over, right?

"Stay with me," you whispered.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, baby."

"I'm not talking about tonight. When you take me back home, stay with me."

Frank pushed himself up on one elbow, looking at you in disbelief. "Sweetheart, I don't think I can-"

"Then I'll stay with you. My house is a family heirloom, I've only gotta pay for water and electricity. It'll still be waiting for me whenever I need it."

"I can't let you do that. You have no idea how much I want to, but I'd get you killed."

"Then stop moving for a while. No one would find you in that town. Just stay with me. Please. If you hate it, you can leave."

Frank sighed, glancing around the room before settling his gaze back on you. He brought his hand to your face, brushing his fingertips down your cheek like you were a precious artifact. You both knew he wasn't ready to let you go.

"Okay."

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#jon bernthal #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #jon bernthal x reader #jon bernthal smut #frank castle fanfiction

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steddiehyperfixation · 1 year ago

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not so tragic a thing after all (steddie ficlet)

Eddie has an essay due in two days. It’s a big one, the last one of the semester, of the year, the one that will make or break his grade and determine whether or not he finally gets to graduate high school.

And he can't write it.

As in, he's been sitting at his desk and staring at a blank piece of lined notebook paper for hours, bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers and twirling his pencil but not producing a single word. It's not that he doesn't understand the prompt or that he doesn't know what he's going to write about, because he does understand it and he does have ideas, he just can't write it. There's some block in his brain, something that keeps him stuck there and anxious, feeling each unproductive second slipping by like a physical thing brushing past him, but still unable to make himself write.

Eddie's always struggled with essays. Out of all the subjects, he has the lowest grade and the highest number of missing assignments in English Lit. Which is such counterintuitive bullshit because that's his favorite subject, and it's because it's his favorite subject that he's failed it every year.

It's like this: If Eddie doesn't understand a math assignment, he doesn't care, he'll just scribble in some bullshit numbers or turn it in incomplete and take whatever grade he gets with an impassive shrug and zero damage to his self-esteem. He's just not a math guy, and that's fine. Same with science or history. But he is a words guy. Eddie is a storyteller, a writer, a lyricist; words are his weapons, his outlet, his safe space, his identity. He takes pride in his ability to artfully string his words together, and a shitty grade on a shitty essay is something he takes personally. He'd rather not turn in anything at all than turn in a collection of words he's not proud of.

Right now the words aren't coming together just right in his head and so his hand refuses to move to write them. He tries to tell himself that it's okay if it's not quite right, that something written, even badly, is better than nothing written, and that he's only guaranteed to fail if he fails to turn this in. It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be done. He tries to force his hand to move, to write something, anything, but the signal isn't getting from his brain to his hand because his fingers continue to twirl his pencil between them rather than curl around it and press the lead to the paper like he wants them to. He just keeps sitting there and staring and fidgeting and not writing like he's been doing all day, all week, all month.

Eddie berates himself for being so stuck, yells and shouts and curses at himself to get his shit together and just write. But he doesn't, won't, can't. The seconds keep pushing past him and the deadline inches closer and closer and his page remains blank and he's so goddamn frustrated he's on the verge of tears.

There's a knock on the front door that makes Eddie jump and then a knock on his bedroom door that makes him shove his shamefully empty paper under a book and out of sight as Wayne pokes his head into the room to tell him, “Your boy’s at the door.”

“For Christ’s sake, Wayne, he's not my boy.” Eddie rolls his eyes at his uncle. He drops his pencil and stands, grateful for the distraction. “Told you a million times, he's just a friend.”

“Uh huh,” Wayne says, which isn't an argument but very much sounds like one, the way he drags out those syllables with a sort of deadpan disbelief.

Eddie valiantly ignores him and pushes past him to open the front door for Steve. “Hey, Harrington. What're you doing here?”

“Uh-” Steve shrugs, looking almost like he doesn't quite know what he's doing here himself. “Missed you, I guess? It's been a minute.”

Eddie's been isolating himself the past couple weeks, canceling on Hellfire and band practices and hangouts, insisting he needs to focus on his essay. He didn't realize any of his friends had taken notice.

“Oh, and I brought snacks!” Steve adds brightly, holding up the bag of chips in his hands like he just remembered it was there. “Thought you might need a break from your schoolwork.”

“Oh.” Something warm blooms in Eddie's chest and tugs a smile from his lips as he moves aside to let Steve in. “That's sweet, thank you.”

Steve returns the smile, stepping inside. “Anytime. So - how's the essay going?”

“Uh, yeah, it's kind of not,” Eddie admits with a self-deprecating sigh, running frustrated fingers through his hair. He nods for Steve to follow as he heads back to his room and pulls the stupid blank page out from its hiding place to show off his failure. “Been at it for weeks and I still can't seem to get a single goddamn word down.”

“Hm.” Steve frowns a little at the paper for a second, but his attention appears to be far more focused on the book the page had been shoved under: a well-worn copy of Romeo and Juliet. He smirks as he picks it up and reads the title aloud, teasing, “Didn't take you for a romantic, Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It's what the essay's on.” He snatches the book back before Steve can start to flip through it and read anything he's written in the margins. “And it's not a romance, it's a tragedy - which is exactly what I was going to write about, actually, if I could just write it.” Eddie sits down heavily in his desk chair, glaring at the blank paper. “Was gonna argue that people tend to focus too much on the romance of it all, but they're missing the point entirely, and this tendency to over-romanticize the story completely overshadows and trivializes the actual themes of the play. It’s not about love, not really, or at least not in the ways people think. It’s-”

His tangent stops short as he notices Steve beginning to rifle about his room - setting the bag of chips down on the nightstand, grabbing a pencil off the desk, scooping a random spiral notebook (his math notebook, as it happens) off the floor. Eddie turns sideways in his chair and looks at him strangely. “What are you doing?”

Steve turns the notebook to a blank page and sits down on the edge of Eddie's bed, already starting to scribble words across the paper. “I'm taking notes,” he says, like it's obvious. “Don't let me interrupt you.”

Eddie's eyes narrow. “Are you patronizing me?”

“No, no, of course not.” Steve's reassurance is quick and comes with a rapid shake of his head. He looks over at Eddie, expression earnest and genuine as he says, “I’m just interested in what you have to say. I wanna know what you think Romeo and Juliet is about. If it's not romance, what is it?”

Eddie regards him skeptically at first, answers in a measured tone and glances warily at the pencil continuously scratching ‘notes’ onto Steve's paper. But the more he speaks and the more Steve engages with such honest reactions of interest and encouragement, the more Eddie gives into the tide of thoughts in his head and lets them spill from his mouth with increasing enthusiasm: He describes the inherent tragedy of a life cut short which could've been prevented, rambles about the reality of being young and stupid and consumed by emotion, rants about the mortality rate of blind bigotry and prejudice, and waxes poetic about love itself being something tragic and dooming, occasionally grabbing the book and reading out lines of the actual poetry to illustrate his points.

When Eddie's well of words on the subject eventually runs dry, Steve continues writing for just a few seconds longer before he glances up with a grin and stands to toss the notebook and pencil onto the desk next to Eddie. “There's your essay,” he announces. “Well, kind of. You might want to rearrange it a little-”

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off, staring at the open notebook covered in the scrawl of Steve's handwriting with wide-eyed disbelief. He looks back up at him. “You wrote my essay for me?”

Steve shakes his head. “You wrote it. I mean, it's all your words exactly as you said them, all I did was transcribe it.” He shrugs. His tone and expression are still casual and light, but the hunch of his shoulders and the way he shoves his hands in his pockets now speaks to a sudden shyness as well. “You said you just couldn't get the words down, I know what that's like. I get that way too sometimes - just…stuck - where the thoughts and the intention are there but the action is just frozen. It helps to talk it through, but it also helps to kinda separate yourself from the task a little too. I thought if I could do that first step of getting the words on paper for you, it might make it easier for you to copy some of it down and then start to write it and reorganize it on your own, might get you past that block…”

Eddie kind of really wants to kiss him right now, feeling young and stupid and consumed by emotion. He leaps to his feet and hugs Steve fiercely instead. “Thank you.”

Steve nearly stumbles from the force of the hug and lets out a startled laugh before returning the embrace. “Don’t even know if it worked yet. Thank me after you finish your essay.”

Eddie shakes his head against Steve's shoulder. “Thank you just for trying - just for being here, even. I’m sure there are much better ways you could've spent your Saturday than listening to me ramble about Shakespeare, but you stayed here anyways and made an effort to help me when you didn't have to. I appreciate it.”

“Nothing else I’d rather do. I like listening to you talk; I like how passionate you are about your opinions, even if they are a bit cynical.” Steve pulls back with a smile, squeezing Eddie's shoulders for a second before dropping his hands. “It's gonna be a killer essay.”

Eddie beams at him, the warmth in his expression a reflection of the glow that's unfurling in his chest again. He plops back down at his desk and picks up his pencil, hovering it over his own blank paper as he looks over the words - his words - that Steve had written. He takes an anticipatory breath…and starts to write.

Steve was right, restating the words once they've already been written down by someone else does depersonalize it enough to make Eddie finally able to write it and it does get him past that initial block. Soon he's able to move on from simply copying down the words and begins to add new ones and make edits. A laugh escapes him like a cheer, a short burst of something giddy with satisfaction and relief. He's writing, and writing and writing and writing, the words flowing from brain to pencil to paper perfectly and with ease, the way it should've been from the start.

Steve hangs off to the side at first like he's trying to give Eddie space to work, but ends up slowly drifting closer. When Eddie cheers, Steve's hand goes to his shoulder again, giving it another squeeze, encouraging and proud. His hand then stays there, thumb idly rubbing across Eddie's shoulder blade as he watches the other write. Eddie feels like he's got electricity running through his veins.

Somewhere within the next hour or so, three pages and two sheets of paper later, Eddie slams his pencil down and sighs with finality, “Done!” This earns him another shoulder-squeeze from Steve and a bright smile when Eddie looks up at him. “You are a fucking lifesaver, Harrington, I don't know what I would've done without you.”

“Glad I could help,” Steve says, his smile turning sheepish and his hand finally dropping from Eddie's shoulder as he gives a modest shrug and adds, “I’m sure you would've managed on your own, though.”

“I wouldn't have. I would've failed,” Eddie says seriously. “I was fighting an epic battle against my brain and I would've lost, would've doomed myself to yet another year of pointless high school existence, if you hadn't swooped in and saved me like a goddamn knight in shining armor.” He cracks a grin and stands to dip into a melodramatic bow. “I am forever indebted to you, my liege.”

Steve laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. “You're being dramatic.”

“I’m allowed to be.” Eddie straightens and grabs his essay off the desk, holding it up and shaking the papers. “This is my golden ticket out of high school, man, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Well then, we should celebrate.”

“We can finally eat those chips you brought.” Eddie moves around him and reaches to grab the bag of chips on the nightstand, but Steve catches his hand.

“Screw the chips,” Steve says. “This calls for a proper celebration. How about we go get dinner somewhere? My treat.”

Eddie glances down at his hand in Steve's. “Are you asking me out, Romeo?” he asks as he looks back up, a teasing edge to his grin so he can play it off as a joke if he needs to.

“Depends.” Steve rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie's hand, eyes flicking across the other's face almost nervously. “What would you say if I was?”

Eddie’s smile softens and he finally curls his fingers around Steve's hand. “I'd say yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yes,” Steve says, his face breaking into a bright and beautiful grin, “I am absolutely asking you out.”

Another cheer of laughter bursts out of him, giddy now for an entirely different reason. “What are you waiting for then, big boy?” Eddie holds Steve’s hand tight, already starting to drag him from the room. “Where are you taking me?”

Steve laughs as well and lets himself be pulled along for a second before taking the lead as they head for the front door. “You’ll see.”

To Wayne sitting on the couch watching some game on the TV, Eddie shouts over his shoulder in passing, “Finished my essay, we’re going out to eat!”

Wayne nods in acknowledgement. His eyes flick to the boys’ joined hands, a knowing smugness in his expression as he mouths subtly to Eddie, ‘Your boy.’

Eddie just grins in response, and then he’s out the door.

Steve takes him to a diner, Eddie’s favorite one, and it makes his chest warm again that Steve knows that. They grab a booth in the corner, hidden from prying eyes. Steve makes fun of Eddie for dipping his fries in his milkshake, Eddie makes fun of Steve for covering his directly in ketchup. It’s all talking and laughing and easy banter, same as it’s always been since they’ve been friends, except now Steve holds his hand and hooks their ankles together under the table and peppers smooth compliments into the conversation that have Eddie grinning and blushing like crazy. The famed Harrington charm is in full effect, moves and lines he’s sure Steve’s used hundreds of times on hundreds of girls, but now they’re just for him, woven so easily into the dynamic that already exists between them, and Eddie basks in it.

It’s the best first date he could’ve asked for.

Perfect gentleman that he is, Steve even insists on walking Eddie to the door when he takes him home. Steve kisses him on the porch then, soft and sweet and promising, and Eddie’s starting to think that maybe love isn’t so tragic a thing after all…

Maybe he needs to rewrite his essay.

(also on ao3)

#in which i project my own academic struggles onto 3x highschool senior eddie munson #the first 500 words of this is literally just me venting lmao #wrote this instead of an essay if you couldn't tell #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #ficlet #mine #(now also on ao3 under the user brokenfandoms)

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constantly0lost · 9 months ago

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Okay I haven't written in literal months, but i was inspired by the little blurb about otter harvey at the bottom of @sashiavi 's goat Harvey post, so enjoy a ramble. Alot of my sleep tired brain escaped into this, sorry for how sloppy this is, i just wanted to vocalize my thoughts or my head would have exploded. I would carry 19 of Harvey's children if asked, peace.

CW: bit of a breeding kink, i reimagined/softened the mannerisms of otters during sex cause MAN, male otters SUCK, other otter things (harveys hydrophobic hair), lactation kink, me being a simp for this man, UHHh, shitty writing :)

Otter Harvey who gives you special things that made him think of you. From rocks to acorns to mushrooms to flowers to leave and so on, and being so blushy when he gives them to you, because its just acorns but it means so much to him. And he swoons when he finds out you kept them all.

Otter Harvey who holds your hand while y'all sleep, even though you're as close as two people can physically be without fusing together. He knows logically that you can't go anywhere, and even if you did, you'd be right back in his arms, but it feels so nice to have his hand on yours.

Otter harvey who eats sea urchins in secret, not because of someone finding out he eats them, but because he has to yank one out of Vincents mouth after he saw Harvey eating them, and he didn't want to cause anyone any extra undue stress.

Otter Harvey who has to take showers with slightly more intense temperatures so that he can actually wash his hair, otherwise it rolls right off of his hair. The only time he won't is when you take a shower with him, because he doesn't want you to be uncomfortable because of him, and even then, after you get out he'll change the temperature so he can actually get clean.

Otter Harvey who, if you end up having kids, is the best fucking dad. He teaches them literally anything and everything, and sits at the table responding to their toddler gibberish with full blown sentences. He takes them to school, plays anything they want, and is a total pushover sap for them, no matter what happens. (He is also 110% a girl dad)

Otter Harvey who bites higher up on you than he probably should, but he can't help it when you make him feel such mind numbing pleasure. So now you have hickeys on your cheeks, lovebites around your nose and mouth, along with all the marks he leaves along your body.

Otter Harvey who has such a rampant breeding kink that on "bad" days, he'd fuck you over and over until he's so drained he's lightheaded and overwhelmed, and he feels guilty for fucking you like that, even though he's still inside of your puffy cunt.

Otter Harvey who can't help but moan and whimper as he fucks into you, digging his nails into your hips as your pussy seems to suck him deeper, your walls clenching around him in a downright mean way as he bites and sucks anywhere he can get his mouth to.

Otter Harvey who often and loudly verbalizes how he wants to stuff you full right as he's about to cum, drilling the head of his cock harder into your spongy walls.

Otter Harvey who, when he gets jealous, will hold you down by your neck, or might even just hold you down by your hair, as he drills into you, harder than he normally would dare. His mouth turns downright filthy, spewing the nastiest words you'll ever hear in your life, as he hefts your leg over his shoulder.

Otter Harvey who can, will, and has spent hours buried with his face between your legs, looking up at you with those pretty eyes in search of your approval. He wants you to pull on his hair to guide him, wants you to pull until his scalp burns.

Otter Harvey who whines so damn pretty when you ride him, his cock kicking on your hand as he eyes roll back, his nails digging into your thighs. He mumbles whispered gibberish, which could almost be pleas, but are too garbled to fully make out.

Otter Harvey who will suck on your tits until you produce a few beads of milk, which he gratefully laps up and swallows like it's heaven on earth. Of course afterwards he gets anxious, wanting to make sure it's not galactorrhea, and wanting to make sure you're healthy.

Otter Harvey who would bend over backwards to make sure your happy, who would wait on your hand and foot so that you feel properly appreciated. He loves you, and knowing you love him back is all he needs.

FUCKING OTTER HARVEY IM GONNA RIDE HIM IN MY DREAMS TONIGHT AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

#stardew valley smut #stardew valley #harvey stardew valley #harvey sdv #sdv harvey #stardew valley harvey #stardew valley harvey x reader #harvey sdv x reader #sdv harvey x reader #hybrid #i lobe hin #i wanna squeeze #he #he just #i just #i want him #so much #my writing

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mydarlingclaudia · 5 months ago

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there’s always a piece of you

note : divider is from @/cafekitsune. uhhh idrk how to feel about this one I just kinda wanted to write angst so this probably sucks and I know it's ooc whoopsies

wc : 1.3k

desc : you've been dead for a few months now, Leon still can't get over it. established relationship, angst, hurt no comfort (I think? correct me if I'm wrong), not proofread, Leon contemplates suicide and is also reliant on alcohol, gn!reader, I kind of flip-floped between vendetta!Leon and re6!Leon so idrk you pick

There were plenty of things that happened to Leon that made his life miserable, one of them was losing you. It was no one's fault, you got sick, you had an expiration date, and Leon did everything he could to try and help you get better, but it didn't work. Leon didn't regret spending a bunch of his money trying to make your sickness go away, he just wished it would've worked, that you'd still be here with him.

Maybe not right this second, though. Maybe he doesn't want you in the car with him while he's speeding down the road, half-past one in the morning and half-past drunk.

He thinks too much, drinking doesn't help him stop thinking, like, at all, he doesn't know why he expects the outcome to be different whenever he pours himself some whiskey, but if he crashes his car then he has something to blame it on. He'd already gotten too many lectures from Claire and Chris about how he should take better care of himself, that things weren't going to stay as bad as they are right now, but things had been shitty for Leon for so long that this just added to the list of reasons on why he should drink himself to death.

You and Leon had your ups and down, everyone did, but he still doesn't believe you ever really knew how much you helped him. Knowing he had someone at home waiting for him made his job a bit easier, and knowing you were his and that he was the one who put that ring on your finger made him feel like there was something more to his life than being a weapon for the government. Leon was your husband, had been your husband, still is. He wished more than anything that he had spent more time with you, that his job didn't have to be the center of his life while you were forced to be secondary, he couldn't quit, not while he was still able-bodied, but he promised you that one day he'd have his final day in the DSO and that he'd take you on vacation without having it interrupted.

Leon was able to take you on vacation for a week to Greece, but even when the two of you came back home, he wanted to keep taking you beautiful places while he was still able to. There was still paperwork he had to do, a few less missions but he still had to do his job, you understood. He hated it, though. He wanted you to yell at him about how he should be at home with you, spending as much time as he possibly could with you. But you never yelled at him about it even though he knew it upset you, you said there was no use in arguing, he’d be there when you needed him.

He shouldn’t keep dwelling on this, you’ve been dead for five months now, but he can't get himself to focus on anything else. Leon didn't know why ghosts weren't real. If there could be zombies wandering the streets as well as dozens of other creatures that only Hell could spit out, why weren't there ghosts? Leon would take you being alive over you being a ghost any day, but if a ghost was the best he could settle for, then that's what he would accept. But he was yet to get any messages on the wall written in blood or find your belongings in places where they weren't before, not that you had to be a ghost to haunt him.

All the windows in his car are rolled all the way down, Leon's not listening to the radio or any music, he's been on all these roads before, but he still doesn't really know where he's going. He left D.C. around eight p.m. to go to a bar in Maryland, he had left the bar maybe half an hour ago and was driving through the woods, he didn’t have any plans on going back into D.C. just yet. Leon wasn’t the best driver to begin with, being drunk definitely didn’t make him any better, be he’d rather drive himself home or to the middle of nowhere than call someone to take him home.

He liked calling you, though.

Of course, you never picked up, he just liked calling so he could hear your voice on the recorded message for your missed calls. Sometimes he’d actually talk, others he’d just keep driving down the road while the silence on your end of the line dragged on.

Leon sighs softly and bites the inside of his cheek as he takes one hand off the wheel to dig in his back pocket for his phone. He steals glances between the road and his phone as he unlocks it and opens your contact, waiting patiently as it begins ringing. Leon clears his throat slightly and takes his other hand off the wheel to run his hand through his sweaty hair as he waits for your voice recording to switch on before grabbing hold of the wheel again.

He opens his mouth to talk once the ringing stops, but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything before he hears someone else on the other end.

“Hello? Who is this?” The tired voice of a woman makes his breath catch in his throat, he takes his foot off the gas and slams down on the brake, the tires of his car make a horrible screeching noise as he swerves to the side. Leon thinks he must've finally gone crazy, there couldn't have been another voice on the end of the line that was supposed to belong to you.

The woman speaks up again as Leon's car finally comes to a stop, he hadn't hit anything, but there are swervey skid marks that go down the road for a couple dozen feet. Leon breathes shakily into his phone, his foot still pressed down on the brake as he puts his car in park and leans back against his seat.

"I- fuck, I'm sorry." Leon began, his throat feeling even dryer than it already was. "Go back to bed, o-or whatever you were doing before I called. Just- goddammit." He quickly hangs up the phone and tosses it down onto the passenger seat. Leon runs his hands down his face, he can feel his chest tightening up like his lungs are about to pop inside his ribs, the stinging sensation in his eyes and throat only worsens.

When had they put your number back into use? That poor girl would probably block his number and he'd lose that little bit of your voice forever. Leon could go through his phone to find videos of you or just anything where he could hear your voice, but he figured he should wait until he remembered to work his phone more than trying to call you.

Day by day, it feels like he's losing you even more. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to get rid of your things, your clothes are still in his closet, your shampoo was still in the shower, God, even your medication was still in the medicine cabinet. But no matter how many of your things remained in his home, you're still gone.

Leon was supposed to die before you, he'd imagined it hundreds of times in his head, you knew it, too. All of this could have been avoided if he just killed himself after Raccoon City or had died on one of his missions before meeting you, maybe it would have been better for him if he had never sat next to you on that train and started talking too much.

There's nothing he can do about it now except weep and get so drunk that he could still hear you talking to him, not that he didn't imagine you laying back down in bed or lounging on the couch when he was sober. Maybe he'll see you again sooner rather than later, there wasn't really anyone who was around enough to stop him. All he knew was that his life was never really his after 1998, and without you in it, maybe it was time for it to come to an end.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader

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countryclubkook · 2 years ago

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Him or Me

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!Thornton!Reader

Warnings: language, topper being a slight asshole, small mention of parent death and absent parent, not proof read so potential grammatical errors, slightly ooc/fanon Rafe I think that’s all but please let me know if there’s anymore I should add

Summary: when Topper finds out his best friend Rafe is secretly dating his sister behind his back, all hell breaks loose. Will they be able fix their relationship? Or will the betrayal be too much to recover from?

A/N: This is the first story i’ve written in months so i’m still a little rusty. I wanted to get something out though to get back into the groove of things. Italicized means flashback, this also is meant to take place in season 1 after Sarah and John B are together so I hope you all enjoy🤍 I left the ending of this slightly open for a potential part two if people want it/I decide to write one (Topper is 19 and reader is 18 for the sake of this story, Rafe is his canon age in the show)

“You know I’ll take care of you right?” he spoke with such certainty. How could you not believe him?

It was never supposed to be this way, you and your brother's best friend being together, but when he gave you those bedroom eyes and whispered those sweet nothings in your ear how could you resist? The both of you kept it a secret from Topper as long as you could knowing his overprotective nature when it came to you. He had found out when he saw the two of you kissing at the country club, that was a bad night for the three of you.

“My fucking sister dude? Are you kidding me? You could have any girl on this island but you go after my sister?” the vein on his neck popping out as he screamed at Rafe. Neither of you had expected him to be home, let alone for him to be waiting in the living room for you two to come back. As soon as Rafe stepped into the door he was thrown against the wall by his neck, a very angry Topper staring at him with pure hatred.

“Topper stop, let him go. Please.” you pleaded with him but it was no use, his grip stayed the same and he acted as if you weren't there. They were in their own world at that moment.

“Fucking relax man, I chose her for a reason. I love her, and you're not going to stop me from seeing her. So if you're going to hit me and tell me to stay away from her, do it so we can get this over with.” he was visibly annoyed by this as his tone confirmed it. Sure they were friends, but you meant more to Rafe than anyone else so your big brother trying to prevent your relationship was simply just an inconvenience that had no real effect at all.

The two men stared at each other for a moment, nostrils flaring and veins so visible you were getting concerned about their health. It wasn't until Topper let go of Rafe with a small scoff that you felt you could breathe again. You've never felt more shitty in your whole life than you did when Topper looked at you with such betrayal and hurt. He just shook his head and stormed out of the house, the front door slamming behind him.

“Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I didn't know he would be here” you say as you rush over to him and examine his neck that was now red (and would inevitably bruise) from the grip Topper had on it. He watched as you examined him with such worry and such a gentle touch that it reminded him yet again why he was with you, that you were worth whatever argument ensued because you showed him love nobody else would.

“Baby, I'll be fine. I'm more worried about you being okay than my neck.” grabbing the sides of your face and forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were glossy with tears and your breathing slightly uneven. Your relationship with Topper was different than the one Rafe had with his sisters, it had always just been the two of you since you were growing up. Your dad had died when you were babies and your mom was a piece of shit who was never around so that left the two of you to protect and raise each other. Hurting him felt like the biggest stab in the chest and you felt terrible.

“I-” your sobs overpowered your voice before you could finish as you broke down in your lover's arms. His shushed comfort helped bring you some peace but not nearly enough to stop the feeling in your chest from growing. He had moved you over to the couch and held you in his lap until your cries eventually stopped and your breathing remained calm.

“Baby?” he asked quietly in case you had fallen asleep. When he got no response, he gently laid you on the couch and covered you with a blanket before kissing your cheek and heading out to find your brother. Rafe was probably the last person he wanted to see but he would try to talk to him for you.

That “talk” didn't go very well. You didn't know what was said, all you know is that Topper came home bloodied and bruised and didn't say a word to you. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together when you saw Rafes bruised knuckles the next day and his excuse was that he “wanted to try boxing without his gloves”. But a few weeks had passed since then and you thought it would be fine, you and Top would go back to normal and eventually he and Rafe would reconcile like nothing ever happened. If only it was that easy.

Topper had grown increasingly hostile toward you when he decided to acknowledge your existence. His responses were always short and snappy like you were the most horrible person to be speaking with. You knew the only way of fixing this was breaking up with Rafe but there was no way in hell you were doing that so you instead just tried to give him space when you could. But one day he decided that ignoring each other wasn't enough, he needed you to know your options.

‘We need to talk’ one text that always has the ability to make your heart race. You stare at it for 10 minutes trying to figure out the right response before you type back a simple ‘Okay��, his next text telling you he’d meet you at the house in ten minutes. You felt like throwing up and your anxiety was through the roof. You knew what he wanted to talk about, that's what made you nervous. It felt like hours had passed when you finally heard the front door open and heavy footsteps approach the kitchen. Your heartbeat had become very quick when he came into your peripheral vision.

“Hi” a simple word used to greet people now had a more hostile meaning behind it. You finally looked up to see him but he was already looking at you. He still had that same look in his eyes he had that day. Betrayal, disgust, anger, every emotion you had hoped you'd never see him have towards you.

“Hi” your voice much smaller as you tried to avoid his hard gaze. An awkward silence passed for a few moments before he finally spoke again. There was clearly no small talk to be made so it was now or never.

“I'm giving you two options, and I never thought I'd have to say this to you of all people but I guess you really can't trust everyone. I understand you think you love Rafe and that he loves you, but you don't know him like me. Rafe Cameron doesn't ever love someone, he uses them to his advantage until he no longer needs them around and then he leaves them in the dirt. I'm not staying around to watch that happen to you so it's him or me.” his voice was stern, there was no hesitation in his words. He meant every last thing he had just told you.

You stared at him for a moment trying to process what you just heard, did he really just give you an ultimatum? You half expected him to laugh and tell you he was just fucking with you, that he was still upset you hadn't told him but as long as you were happy so was he, but that moment never came. Instead, he continued to stare at you with a pierced gaze waiting for your response.

“Are you serious right now Top?” you chuckled in disbelief. There was no way this was happening right now.

“As serious as a heart attack” no hint of amusement in his voice. Your emotion quickly changed from guilt to anger as his words finally registered.

“You have no right to do that. None. Rafe and I do love each other, we don't think that. You don't know our relationship and this was exactly why we didn't want you finding out. I'm not a baby anymore Topper. I'm a big girl and I can make my own decisions about things, including who I date. If that backfires that's on me and I learn from it. You don't get to decide that for me.” your face had turned red and you felt hot. How dare he make you choose between them.

“Y/N you don't understand okay? I know how he works, I've seen it happen. He's only going to hurt you when-” he tried to argue but you cut him off.

“No. You don't understand. He treats me better than anyone else ever has, he makes me feel loved. You don't know anything about love, that's why your girlfriend cheated on you with a fucking pogue.” his face fell at the comment. You knew it was harsh and uncalled for but you were too upset to care.

“Fuck you Y/N. I'm giving you one last chance to make the right choice” you knew he meant that.

“Fine. You want me to choose so badly? I choose him, I'll always choose him.” your breathing was heavy as you yelled at him. There was no taking it back now so you could only hope it didn't end badly for you.

“Okay” he scoffed “just don't come crying to me when he breaks your heart. You mean nothing to me anymore” he spoke with such disgust that it took everything in you not to cry.

“I won't. He's never going to do that to me” you spoke to him with the same voice he had spoken to you. The two of you staring at each other with anger and a look of disbelief that this had happened to you. Topper gave one last shake of his head before going up the stairs to what you thought was his room. It wasn't until you heard a loud thud a few minutes later that you realized he was in yours.

One by one, bags and boxes of your things came flying down the stairs. Topper was standing at the top with his arms crossed and a satisfied look on his face.

“You want to be with him so bad you can go stay with him. I don't want a lying whore living with me.” his words hurt you more than would ever admit but you swallowed your tears and began packing your car with your things, getting in and starting the car to drive to Rafes once the last thing was thrown in.

He hadn't expected to see your text but all he could do was worry when you’d told him you were on your way to him. The only thing comforting him was pacing around the room and thinking of all the ways he could try and help you. He heard your call pull up and almost broke the door getting to you and his heart shattered when he saw you. Tears streamed down your face, eyes red and puffy, you looked destroyed.

As soon as you were in his arms you broke down, the both of you falling to the ground as your sobs echoed in the warm air. The familiar smell of Rafe's cologne made you feel safe, a feeling you hadn't fully felt since Rafe and Topper's fight. It felt like you were finally home and could relax, the war was over and you could just live again.

“Shh baby it's okay, you're safe now. I've got you” he said as he rested his head on top of yours and wrapped his arms around you tightly. There wasn't much that could be said to help you feel better about the situation but knowing you weren't alone did help to make you feel good. Topper was just jealous he didn't have this type of love with Sarah.

You'd finally calmed down enough to unload your things into Rafe's room. Ward adored you so letting you stay with them was absolutely no issue which you were so thankful for.

Hours had passed and your tears had long stopped. You had taken a nice long shower and now you were in bed with Rafe, it felt natural to you. He gave you a small nudge to get your attention and your eyes met his. He had a slight smirk on his face.

“What? Do I have something on my face” your eyes widening slightly worried you had forgotten to wipe some makeup off your face.

“No no it's not that, it's just… I could get used to this you know? It feels right” his voice was much softer now.

“It does, doesn't it? Maybe this whole situation isn't so bad after all” it was very bad, but maybe you could convince yourself otherwise if you said it enough.

Rafe could see you thinking about the situation again despite what you'd just said so he grabbed your face to hold it in place. His eyes never leaving yours for a second.

“You know I'll take care of you right?” and you had no doubt he would, fuck Topper. You just needed Rafe. He would never betray you like Topper, he would never hurt you the way your brother did. He loved you.

“I know” you smiled sweetly at him before giving him a soft kiss, both of you enjoying the moment of peace before pulling away to turn the lights off. Sleep slowly engulfing you as you relaxed into the others touch. This is how it was meant to be.

If only you knew exactly what getting involved with Rafe Cameron would turn into.

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #rafe cameron x thornton!reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #obx angst #obx imagine

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boobo13cambridge · 2 years ago

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Drifting Apart I | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x f.Reader

Warnings: Angst, physical violence (Y/N slaps him)

Summary: Y/N and Kylian’s relationship is crumbling as they navigate the most difficult moments of their lives. Will they stay or fall apart due to the pressure?

A/N: Hello, everyone! This is the first time I’ve ever written angst, so I really hope you guys give it much love. As always don’t forget to like, comment, and repost! Enjoy, lovelies ❣️

Tired.

Exhausted.

Drained.

Three words that fully encompassed her emotions as she finally put the triplets to sleep after a long day of cleaning up dirty diapers and writing a thesis. Y/N felt close to tears as she felt overwhelming guilt for being worn out at taking care of her babies when she loved them with all her heart. To make matters worse, she and Kylian had been getting into a lot of arguments lately. She knew how important and stressful this year was for him, and in the back of her mind, she wished that they had waited a bit more before having kids.

After getting married in the summer of 2021, the young couple wanted to enjoy a few years together before starting a family. Getting married so young, at the ripe age of 20 and 22, came as quite a shock to some (which in her eyes didn't make sense because a lot of footballers had kids even younger), but they were in love, and despite their parents' skepticism, they tied the knot on July 12, 2021.

Fast forward a year, and Y/N found herself staring at the two dark lines indicating that she's pregnant. Getting pregnant a few months before the 2022 World Cup was definitely not part of the plan, but with the support of their families, they made it through somehow. Throughout her whole pregnancy, Kylian was the best husband any woman could ever ask for, always so attentive and understanding of her every need. When they found out they were having triplets, and all boys at that, Y/N almost had a mental breakdown because she could never in a million years understand how she could ever be a mom to one kid, let alone three. It took Kylian, her mom, and two nurses and a doctor to calm her down.

And needless to say, the triplets, or as Kylian loves to call them 'his perfect hat-trick,' were born on December 4, 2022, right when Kylian had scored two goals to qualify France for the quarter-finals. In all honesty, she really wished she could have just given birth in Doha, but she was under strict surveillance and wasn't allowed to travel. Needless to say, in the moment, she was quite happy that she was having a c-section instead of a normal birth but regretted that soon after as it took way longer to recover. Kylian was definitely devastated to have missed his sons' birth and was this close to booking a flight back to Paris. It took Marcus and Ousmane to calm him down and talk him out of it.

A couple of days after that, France lost the World Cup, which absolutely broke her heart, but she was happy that her husband would be by her side. Post-World Cup, Kylian Mbappé was a very attentive father and husband, but she knew how much the loss had affected him and tried her best to cheer him up. She was secretly glad he had injured himself because he would finally get a break from playing with such a shitty team. Now, back to the present, May 28th, 2024, Post-Transfer Kylian Mbappé was moody and had a frown permanently etched on his forehead.

Once again, she tried to understand, knowing he had so much pressure on his shoulders from transferring to Real Madrid. He was Kylian Mbappé, the current greatest footballer, and people never gave him a break, always demanding perfection every match. He had a huge burden to carry, with the fans pointing out every little mistake he made on the pitch. The Madridistas had long anticipated his transfer, and they were out for blood. If the fans were demanding, then Kylian was even more demanding of himself. It was like living with the shadow of her husband. Gone was the sweet man who would make her breakfast in bed and massage her feet. In his place was someone who only had one thing on his mind: winning everything.

La Liga, Copa del Rey, Supercopa de España, UEFA Champions League, Euros, Summer Olympic Games.

She was going crazy just thinking about it. Lately, it was as if the only thing on his mind was trophies, and she couldn't stand it. The day before the La Liga final, which was held at the Bernabeu just two days ago, Kylian had once again started an argument just because she told him that she was tired of putting his dirty clothes in the laundry and that he should do it himself. The argument was so bad that she didn't even want to be there at the last match of the La Liga season, but on the day of the match, Kylian had profusely apologized and begged, so she forgave him and came to see him lift the trophy. This morning, Kylian had woken up in a foul mood and just seemed to want to be an absolute dickhead. He nitpicked at everything she did before leaving for practice, loudly complaining that she had put too much protein powder in his shake.

The whole day, she tried to text him and call him, but he was ignoring her calls. She had had enough; she couldn't deal with it anymore. Time and time again, she had tried to be understanding, swallowing and smiling through every single complaint and whine he let out. So what if he had his first Champions League final with his new club in three days? She didn't deserve to be treated like such a nuisance.

As she went to the kitchen to grab something to drink, she broke down into sobs. It was too much. She hated feeling like she wasn't enough. Kylian hadn't kissed her, much less said, "I love you," before storming out. For months, all he did was complain, complain, and complain.

The young woman heard the door open and close, instantly recognizing her lover's footsteps. She tried to muffle her sobs so he wouldn't hear, but she forgot that the kitchen lights were on.

Kylian walked right through the archway leading to the kitchen and stopped in his tracks when he saw her teary face, instantly feeling guilty. He knew he had been treating her horribly these past few months and that he should stop, but he had been so stressed with everything that he took it all out on the love of his life and the mother of his children.

"Bébé, are you okay?" he asked slowly, approaching her and trying to wipe her tears, but she moved back. Her action pained him because he realized how much of a jerk he had been.

"What do you think? Do I look like I'm okay?" she snapped at him, wiping the tears with the back of her hand, her voice filled with frustration.

"I'm sorry, my love. I've been such an ass-" he said apologetically.

"Yes, you have! You have no idea what I've been going through because of you!" she replied angrily, her tone laced with resentment.

"Bébé, you have no idea how sor-" he tried to explain, but she cut him off.

"Save your fucking apologies, Kylian! I don't fucking care anymore. You've made me feel like the biggest piece of shit these past few months," she spat out, her words filled with bitterness.

"You know how stressed I've been with the transfer and-" he started to defend himself, but she interrupted him.

"AND SO YOU DECIDED TO TAKE IT OUT ON ME WHEN I-" she yelled, her tone conveying a mixture of anger and hurt.

"STOP INTERRUPTING ME! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'VE BEEN GOING THROUGH WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE PUSHING THEIR EXPECTATIONS ON ME WHILE YOU SIT AT HOME-" he retorted, his voice tinged with frustration.

"SIT AT HOME? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN DO THE WHOLE DAY EXCEPT KICK A FUCKING BALL AROUND WHILE I TAKE CARE OF THE KIDS, CLEAN THE HOUSE, COOK FOOD, WRITE MY FUCKING THESIS, WHICH YOU NEVER EVEN BOTHER ASKING ABOUT BECAUSE OF COURSE THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD TURNS AROUND MR. HOTSHOT HIMSELF!"

"KICK A BALL AROUND ALL DAY? ME DOING THAT IS THE ONLY REASON WHY YOU SPEND THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS BUYING USELESS SHIT-"

"I USE MY OWN MONEY TO BUY SHIT, YOU DICKHEAD! AND THE ONLY USELESS SHIT I BUY WITH YOUR MONEY IS CLOTHES AND FOOD FOR THE CHILDREN YOU KNOCKED ME UP RIGHT AFTER I GRADUATED! I'VE SACRIFICED SO MUCH FOR YOU-"

"SACRIFICED?! WHAT HAVE YOU SACRIFICED FOR ME, HUH? STOP ACTING LIKE I KNOCKED YOU UP WHEN YOU WERE MORE THAN WILLING TO SPREAD YOUR LEGS FOR ME!"

SLAP.

The sound reverberated through the kitchen, accompanied by a sharp sting on Kylian's cheek. Pain radiated through his face, mingling with the shock that coursed through his veins. His hand instinctively reached up to cradle his burning cheek, his eyes widening in disbelief. The room seemed to spin as he struggled to comprehend what had just transpired.

Y/N's expression mirrored his own disbelief, her eyes wide with horror at the consequences of her actions. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the remorse that consumed her. She trembled, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what she had done. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, where the line between love and anger blurred into a haze of anguish.

"Kylian, I'm so sorry," she choked out, her voice quivering with remorse. Each word dripped with the weight of her regret, desperate to erase the irreversible damage she had caused.

His throat tightened, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling within him. The pain on his cheek competed with the anger that burned in his chest. He fought to find his voice, to process the torrent of thoughts that assailed his mind. The apology hung in the air, suspended between them, as he grappled with conflicting impulses.

Gulping down the lump in his throat, Kylian felt the anger surge within him, fueled by his own frustrations and insecurities. The relentless stress, anxiety, and guilt that had plagued him clawed their way to the surface, intertwining with the raw ache on his cheek. It was a toxic concoction that threatened to consume him, driving him to respond with his own fury.

But beneath the anger, a part of him acknowledged his own culpability. He was not blameless in this dance of discord. The weight of his actions pressed upon his conscience, intertwining with the pain on his cheek. The realization of his own flaws clashed with the indignation that simmered in his veins.

In that moment, Kylian made a choice. A choice to channel the anger, the hurt, and the guilt into something different. Instead of lashing out, he took a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of self-control. The anger flickered in his eyes, but he suppressed it, focusing on the vulnerability before him.

He approached Y/N slowly, his steps cautious and deliberate. His hand reached out, hesitantly, aiming to wipe away her tears, but she flinched, pulling back as if his touch were a reminder of her own transgressions. The ache in his heart matched the pain on his cheek, the longing to bridge the chasm that had formed between them.

Words hung unspoken, heavy with unexpressed emotions. They both knew that apologies alone were not enough to heal the wounds they had inflicted upon each other. The room remained steeped in anguished silence, punctuated only by the echoes of their shattered love.

As the weight of the moment settled upon them, Kylian and Y/N stood at a crossroads. A crossroads where anger and remorse converged, where past mistakes collided with uncertain futures. The path forward was shrouded in shadows, their once-solid foundation crumbling beneath the weight of their anguished hearts.

Time seemed to stand still in the wake of their confrontation, the air heavy with unspoken words and shattered expectations. The kitchen, once a sanctuary of shared laughter and intimate conversations, now felt like a battlefield, scarred by the aftermath of their verbal warfare.

Kylian's gaze never wavered from Y/N, his eyes tracing the contours of her tear-streaked face. He longed to bridge the distance between them, to mend the rift that had widened with each bitter exchange. The ache in his heart intensified, a poignant reminder of the love that had once bound them together.

Y/N's body trembled with a mix of regret, fear, and a longing for reconciliation. The weight of her actions bore down on her, leaving her feeling small and vulnerable. She yearned for solace, for the reassurance that their love could withstand the tempestuous storm that raged within them.

With measured steps, Kylian closed the physical gap between them, his heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and determination. He reached out once again, his hand hovering in the space between them, a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, caught in the crosscurrents of conflicting emotions. Her gaze met Kylian's, searching for a glimmer of the man she had fallen in love with—the man who had once cherished her and their family above all else. Slowly, tentatively, she extended her trembling hand, allowing their fingers to intertwine, a fragile connection in the face of their shattered trust.

In that delicate touch, an unspoken promise lingered. It whispered of their shared history, the moments of tenderness and joy that had been eclipsed by their recent turbulence. It spoke of a willingness to rebuild, to confront their flaws and the demons that haunted them.

The silence, once heavy with resentment, now became a sacred space for introspection and reflection. The unspoken words hung in the air, their weight acknowledged by both parties. It was a moment of surrender, a recognition that love could not thrive in the absence of vulnerability and forgiveness.

However, despite their fragile moment of reconciliation, the scars of their previous altercation still festered beneath the surface. The guilt and anger that plagued them now resided like smoldering embers, waiting for the slightest breeze to ignite their fury once more.

The following morning, the house was shrouded in an uneasy silence. Kylian moved cautiously, as if walking on eggshells, acutely aware of the tension that lingered in the air. Y/N, her face etched with traces of weariness and apprehension, busied herself in the kitchen, desperately trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass pierced the fragile peace. Kylian's hand trembled as he gazed at the broken fragments scattered across the floor, his breath catching in his throat. The weight of his mistake crashed down upon him, triggering a surge of self-loathing.

Before Kylian could even react, Y/N's voice lashed out, sharp and cutting. "Kylian, how many times have I told you to be careful? You never pay attention to anything!" Her words dripped with frustration, a reflection of her own mounting resentment.

His heart sank, a mixture of shame and frustration swirling within him. The bitterness that had consumed him since their previous argument threatened to overflow. He could no longer bear the weight of his guilt and his bruised pride.

The room seemed to close in on them as Kylian's retort hung heavily in the air, each word a dagger aimed at Y/N's wounded heart. "Oh, what now? Are you going to slap me again, Y/N?"

The accusation cut through the air, leaving a palpable silence in its wake. Y/N's eyes widened in disbelief and hurt, her body trembling with a mixture of shock and anger. The triplets, sensing the rising tension, began to cry, their innocent wails intermingling with the growing storm of emotions.

Y/N's voice quivered as she fought back tears, her voice heavy with a mixture of sorrow and indignation. "How dare you say that, Kylian? I never wanted to hurt you, and you know it!"

The room trembled with their voices, each word a dagger aimed to wound, tearing at the fabric of their fragile bond. Kylian's face contorted with anger, his voice laced with a bitterness he could no longer contain. "Of course you never wanted to hurt me, right? You've done such a fantastic job so far!" Kylian spat, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Complaining and nagging every fucking day like I don’t already have enough of that every time I open social media"

Y/N's eyes filled with tears, a mixture of pain and disbelief etched on her face. She struggled to find her voice, to make sense of the torrent of emotions crashing over her. "I'm trying, Kylian. I'm trying so hard to hold us together, to be there for you and the kids. But it feels like nothing I do is ever enough!"

He scoffed, the bitterness in his voice turning his words into venom. "You? Trying hard? Don't make me laugh! All you do is complain and criticize. You're so quick to point out my faults, but what about your own? Or do you think you're perfect?"

Y/N's voice trembled with a mix of anger and hurt. "I never claimed to be perfect, Kylian. But I've given up so much for you, for our family. I've sacrificed my dreams and aspirations to support you, only to be constantly belittled and dismissed!"

Kylian's eyes blazed with fury, his fists clenched at his sides. "Oh, so now it's all about your sacrifices, is it? What about mine? What about the pressure I face every single day, the weight of expectations on my shoulders?"

Their words collided in the air, their voices filled with resentment and unspoken pain. The triplets' cries grew louder, their innocence caught in the crossfire of their parents' anguish.

Unable to bear the suffocating atmosphere any longer, Kylian turned on his heels, his voice dripping with disdain. "I don't have time for this. I have a plane to catch, a team to lead. Maybe being away from you for a while will do us both some good."

As he stormed out of the house, the door slammed shut behind him, leaving Y/N standing in a sea of shattered hopes and shattered glass. The anguished cries of their children echoed through the empty rooms, a haunting reminder of the fractures in their once-unbreakable bond.

In that moment, as the gravity of their fight settled upon them, both Kylian and Y/N were left with a hollow ache in their hearts, each tormented by their own regrets and the uncertain path that lay before them.

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godfrey-the-chaos-duck · 2 months ago

Text

this is without a doubt the weirdest thing I have ever done

SALUTATIONS, HELLAVERSE FANDOM!

You probably don't know me, but my name is Godfrey. (Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!)

To be quite honest, I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing here. As I type this, I'm unspeakably nervous.

"Why are you nervous, Godfrey?" I hear you ask.

Well...

I have a dream

I'm here to tell

About a fanfic I wrote for Hazbin Hotel

(sorry)

Okay okay serious director voice from now.

Look, this is gonna sound absolutely unhinged, but hear me out. (insane rambles under the cut, this bitch is LONG)

In April, a friend and I had a conversation about a song I wrote and how it was. Well, kinda coded to Vox and Valentino.

Then one thing led to another, and two-and-a-bit months and twelve thousand words later, I had written an absolutely sprawling shitshow of a fic (details later in the post)

Even as I was writing it, I knew the written word didn't do it justice.

Hence, this post.

(golly, this sounds really demanding, I am so sorry)

Fuck it, my mom always says "if you don't ask you don't get", and for once I want her to be right.

This is, I suppose, a sort of... call to action, for lack of a better term.

Artists, animators and voice actors, I'd like your help to turn this fic into an animatic, or if we can manage it, an actual animation.

ONLY if we can manage it, not if it's gonna stress anyone out.

IMPORTANT NOTE

Just to get this out of the way, not that I should even need to say this but it's unfortunately 2024. If anyone even SUGGESTS using A.I. your ass is getting blocked. I don't fuck with that artificial bullshit.

On to my next point: I am unequivocally in support of artists and actors being paid for their work.

However, I am a Broke Bitch. Unless we could somehow do crowdfunding or something, I physically would not be able to pay people. This makes me feel like a very shitty person, but unfortunately it's the truth, and I want to be upfront and honest about that.

This is why I hope to get as many people on board as possible for this project, so nobody has to do a shit-ton of work.

I understand that most of you are busy, with work, school/college, or life generally life-ing. Join the club, my life is hectic too.

This is why I really have no set deadline for this. Whether it takes a few months or a few years, as long as it's done well with a minimal amount of stress.

Well, now that that's out of the way, time to go into details a bit.

Characters in order of appearance (this is mainly for VAs)

Vox

Valentino

Velvette

Angel Dust

Charlie

Husk

Alastor

Vaggie

Lucifer

Niffty

Sir Pentious

Asmodeus (yeah this is slightly a Helluva Boss crossover)

Frank (the egg boi)

Fizzarolli

Katie Killjoy

Tom Trench

And lastly, depending on what everyone else thinks, I have an idea for how Verosika and Zestial can be involved.

Will there be musical numbers?

The short answer is YEAH, cause Hazbin is a musical. I cannot stress enough how much the music is My Problem. Literally, apart from people singing, I will take care of that.

My Idea Of The Process

(please bear in mind I have little to no idea of how the animation process works so this is almost definitely wrong, please feel free to correct me about it)

Step 1. Storyboard

Step 2. Voice lines and songs get recorded

Step 3. Animatic (this could very well end up being as far as it gets and that is absolutely cool beans)

Possible Step 4. Animation

Finally, I'd be more than happy to be the one to edit all the clips together. Editing is its own kind of hell, and I'm totally willing to take one for the team.

The Vision

This is. (fffffff) this is the part that's gonna make me sound like a Draconian jerk but I promise I don't mean to come across this way.

I'm hoping to have something that's as close to the style of the show as possible. (this video kinda has the right vibes) This is so the final project will look cohesive and somewhat professional. (god that probably sounded so bad but I genuinely have no idea how else to say it)

TO BE ABSOLUTELY CLEAR. I have nothing against artists with other distinctive art styles, in fact I've come across several that I absolutely love.

Regarding The Writing

I've never directed anything before, so forgive me if this is crossing a line, but like.

I have my vision for how I want this to go and I'm kind of. not overly flexible on that. Obviously ideas that people have to get this to work good are more than welcome, but they might not end up happening.

Not to be a dick, but I am sorta the director so I do kinda get to make the call on that stuff. (ew god that felt odd)

If this gets off the ground, I'd have to turn this 12,000 word fic into a script to make it easier for people to read it and not get bogged down by my weird old-fashioned poetic style. This would be sent out to people who express interest at some point.

Just a heads-up: If you're expecting an AO3 link I am so sorry but it's Google Docs, mainly because this thing is wildly self-indulgent and I, for one, do not fancy attracting potential haters. Most people are nice, some are very vocally not. Besides, what would be the fun if everyone knew the story in advance?

BASICALLY

If you're interested shoot me an ask and I'll answer privately (OFF anon pls, I wanna know who I'm workin' with here!) or DM me and I'll get back to you.

If you see this and know someone who'd be interested, feel free to tag them or send this post to them.

I am gonna tag @achilleanauthor (my right hand man over here) @emeraldcity1900 and @onesidedradiostatic as they're kind of the only blogs I know who are I guess. Active in the Hellaverse fandom.

If this gains enough traction and I get people on board, I'll be setting up a Discord server (another first for me).

Watch this space, and as Alastor would say, "Stay tuned..."

#the chaos duck has spoken #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #i felt like. such an asshole even writing this post #but yeah.#halp meh #hazbin fan project

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ginsengkitten · 8 months ago

Text

༺ Beautiful Dangerous ༻

༺☆༻

Chapter Eleven

Written in Plain Sight

A/N:

Tysm for your patience with this one. May is a difficult month for me for personal reasons. I’m still writing and I’m so excited for you guys see where this heads. I hope you guys enjoy <3

Dear Slash,

Im sorry I didn't write you sooner. Things have been a little crazy since I got home. Well, not home actually. My parents have turned me in to this special all girls Christian school that specializes in "troubled young women". Apparently they can legally do that even though I've just turned 18! I never agreed to it, they just left me here. In the middle of nowhere- with these weird nuns. They haven't told me how often mail is sent out so I'm not sure how often I'll write, but I promise I will.

I'm sorry how I left things. I didn't know they were coming to take me home. I tried to say goodbye but they gave me no chance. Please forgive me. This summer was the best time of my whole life. Because I met you.

I know letters are a little prehistoric these days, but I've no access to a phone here. Again, I promise to write often. I'll call you as soon as I'm out.

Love, Foxey.

Dear Slash,

I'm not sure if you are receiving my letters. If you are and just don't want to speak to me, I understand that. I know mail can take a while... anyways. I figured writing to you helps me pass the time here. This place is awful. It's been 2 weeks of hell. I was forced to detox from everything. It's been so hard. I hardly sleep at night. But when I do, I am so happy because I dream of you. I also daydream a lot. It helps me get through the day. The days are long and boring. There's not really a curriculum here. Even though they call it a school. The nuns are mean. They took away all my clothing and I have to wear a white dress everyday and every night. It's cold and uncomfortable. Each day consists of the same thing. They wake you up at 6 am every fucking morning. It's barely light out. Then you have to clean your room. If you can only eat breakfast if you pass morning room inspection. I've failed 5 times so far...

Anyways. Sorry. I don't mean to complain to you. I don't have anything exciting to write about. I hope you have having very exciting experiences in LA still. Please write me when you can... I want to know how you are!

Love, Foxey

Slash,

Today was horrible. Just horrible. I'm sorry to write you only my miseries, but it feels like that's all I have left lately. Turns out, if you don't comply with every single whim and precision- even making the wrong face, or the tone of your voice, the nuns will be violent with you. They carry rulers, books and at times, even their bare hands- are weapons. I can't exactly remember what I did first to step out of line, all I remember was sister Agatha (she's a total bitch) slapping me so hard across the face, the stinging lasted for hours. I cried a little but only in private. I don't think I want to let them see me cry. I don't want them to know they have that power!

I still wait for your reply. I hope you are well.

Love, Foxey.

Hi There,

It's been a while. Sorry for that. I don't have much different to say to you. Or much at all. I think I get your message from your silence. If it all meant nothing to you after all, then so be it. I think maybe I belong here anyways. It's best for everyone. I want to let you know it really hurts me to accept that you are done with me. With us. Just like that. But I respect your decision- even if it's shitty. Maybe that's all rockstars are is shitty. So there. You're shitty and I wish we never met. I hope you're happy.

Best of luck with everything. I love you.

Y/N.

And just like that. It was over. The silence from Slash over the past two months was only an added pain to the hell you already endured. For your own sanity, hope was crushing you and you had to give it up. Your parents had called once, but the nuns ensured you weren’t telling them the truth of what it was like there. As quickly as it all unraveled, you sank into your new reality. Pushing out thoughts of escape as the former attempts were futile and had only ended in harsher and harsher punishment .

It was colder now into early November. Other girls had come and gone periodically, none staying long enough for it to be worth harboring any sort of relationship. You spent your days in the day room, a dim, sulky living room type space in the center of the building. Empty tables with broken chess pieces and puzzles with missing pieces scattered. You took throne to an old green chair by the large window.

One person you had managed to form any sort of connection with was the oldest nun in the practice, Sister Graham. She seemed worn down and tired of it all, due to her age, and lack of violence and stern, she’d been demoted down to a secretarial duty. She’d find reasons to come and talk to you when she could. Small but meaningful conversations. The two of you formed a secret bond of hatred for this place. A mutual understanding that this was all that was left for both of you. She’d share bits of her life before she became a nun. She had been sent away at the age of 16 after running away from an arranged marriage to a man 20 years her senior at the time. You felt sad for her, sorry for her, confused as to why she remained here. You told her about your past, how you ended up there. You even opened up to her about Slash and the magical summer you had. She seemed to appreciate the glimmer that became of you when you spoke of it all. Like she understood what it meant to feel young and in love. What it felt like to feel misunderstood and suffocated by the normalcy of the world. She made you feel special amidst it all. And then, one day, she was gone. You waited all week for her to show.

You prodded at nuns all morning as to where she was, “did she die?” “Did she retire?” “Is she sick?” You skipped around. Each question was met with harsh and rude snaps of silence and threatening looks. The confusion and hurt flatlined you again. Back to nothingness. You shifted in bed, staring at the ceiling, images of Slash, summer, everything, bleeding through your mind like a movie. The anger of his silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it stung within you so badly. Allowing it to get to you, you angrily chuck your pillow to the other side of the room with a frustrated sob. Feathers bust out of the pillow, completely ruining it. You came to your senses quickly with regret and knelt over the pillow to pick up the discarded feathers. You hadn’t changed your pillow case this week, and now you’ve broken the pillow altogether. Great. It was sure you’d get punished for this in the morning. Your hand brushes against a piece of paper as you sift through the feathers. That’s odd- where did this come from? You pick it up and it appears to be a small folded note. You take a precautious look at your door before unfolding it.

“R. 308

Nov. 21. 8pm to west wing parking lot.”

What the hell? You don’t recall writing this down. This was clearly stuffed in your pillow case. When? Why? What does it mean? Did someone put this here? Your heart beat with confusion, apprehensive to feel any sort of excitement at fear of being disappointed again. It was late, and there was seldom to do with this new information except to sleep on it. So you did.

Surely enough, as you had predicted, the nuns took notice of your destroyed pillow and sentenced you to janitorial duties for the entire day. You scrubbed away at the hallway at the end of the wing. Dragging your bucket of dirty water like a gross companion. You grumbled to yourself as you mopped. Suddenly a sister enters the hallway from out of a room and almost slips on the fresh wet floor. She gives a stabbing glare.

“Well hurry it up and get it finished so you’re not such a hazard girl.” She snarks as she walks away. You want to bark back but you know better. The room she had left was left cracked. You stared at the door with curiosity before noticing the room number plaque before you .

“Room 308”.

Wait a minute. R308? Like the note? You take yet another precautious glance behind you to the empty hall to ensure no one would see you now sneak yourself into the room.

Surely there’s something of importance in here? It appeared to be some sort of administrative office. Piles of papers decorated the entire room. You strolled around carefully eying everything. This is a mail room, this is all mail? This is all patient mail, no? It is. How interesting? Why’s there so much in here? Your eyes scan and roll over a large stack prominently sticking out of a box on the desk. You recognize the stationary and realize it to be some of your own letters to slash. What the hell? You start shuffling through the box in a greater panic and confusion. These were all supposed to be sent out, sent to Slash! Were none of them ever mailed?! Your heart dropped to your stomach and your chest tightened.

You wanted to stay longer, to further examine and investigate this, but the reality was clear. No letters written had been sent to anyone. They lied. You hurriedly skimmed through the pile to see if any had come in from Slash but you only saw the ones you wrote. All of them opened too. They’ve just been reading them and keeping them….

Before you could sulk, you quietly exited the room to ensure no one saw you sneaking in there. Clearly you were not supposed to know this. Rage, Hurt, Confusion, coiled inside you once more. All this time? Out of all the emotions rushing through you at that moment, the scariest one was now hope. Hope again filtered into you. Maybe Slash had never ignored you. Maybe he just didn’t know where to write!

After returning to your room that evening, you re read the obscure note once more.

“Nov 21”

That’s tomorrow. Nov 21st is tomorrow. Someone wants me to go to the west parking lot at 8pm tomorrow. But who? And why?

#gnr #slash #slash gnr #saul hudson #slash fanfiction #slash x reader #gnr smut #gnr x reader #saul hudson x reader #slash smut

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tigers1o1 · 1 year ago

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Sit with me for a moment while I talk about writing, and growth. (And if you're a beginner to any creative hobby, I urge you to listen)

A few years ago, at the start of my fanfiction writing journey, I joined a discord server that was for fans of a specific fairly popular fanfiction. There were many writers in the server, not just the one that created the server. I didn't really write fanfiction upon joining this server, but it only took a month and a half for them to encourage and convince me to start writing. This was almost 4 years ago and I've been writing fic ever since (I've been writing for much longer, though)

One of the things I most vividly remember from my time on this server was when I was talking to the creator about how she was writing this absolutely massive fic (i believe its currently at 500k words, but at the time of this conversation it was still around 80k). And I remember asking her, "How do you write such long fics? No matter how hard I try, I can only barely manage to pass 10k." and she said,

"I don't know. One day I just did it, and now I can't stop writing long fics."

For 2 and a half years, I never really understood. I didn't get how a switch could just flip and suddenly you can do it. That is until November of last year, when I started writing a silly little modern au that suddenly surpassed 10k. And I was 2/5 chapters done. And then the third chapter alone was 12k. And the 4th? 16k on its own. The fic ended up being 47k words total. I have no idea how I did it, and I'm not here to brag, but it's also one of my proudest works.

What I am here to talk about is how it happened just like how my old friend described it. One day, the fucking spirit of little gay boys possessed me and I wrote way more than I ever had previously. And now? I'm currently writing my 4th planned longfic. It just surpassed 10k, but I'm expecting it to be 60k. And after this, I'm going to finish another long fic that's already my favorite thing I've ever written (it's about half finished at the moment). I haven't written anything under 10k in a while.

And something very similar happened with my art. I've been drawing for nearly 10 years. And one day, I drew something that suddenly, after years of what I thought was shit, I was proud of. And sure, I've made shitty drawings since then and my skill has regressed at times, but I woke up one day with the ability to make something I was proud of.

I'm not trying to give you the impression that one day you'll just magically have the ability to do what you're dreaming of. However, if you work at something and you don't stop, even when it sucks and you can only write a few hundred words, one day, you'll be able to look at your work and see something you're proud of. And you'll think, "Now how did that happen?" because at some point you stopped trying to get to your goal, and you just started enjoying the process.

That 47k fic was born of a pairing I loved, and it was written for someone I loved. And I started enjoying the process of creation, rather than thinking about how good I wished I was.

If I leave you with nothing else, I hope that one day you'll wake up and find that you are capable of the things you want to achieve.

#i dont know what her blog is now otherwise id tag her but #i think about that conversation a lot #tigers rambles aimlessly #writing #fanfiction #advice #artist #writer #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #artists on tumblr #fanfic writing #fanfic #ao3 author #ao3

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animalinvestigator · 6 months ago

Note

any manga recommendations?

yessss oh my gosh always, gladly. so honored you would ask little ol me about such a thing... i haven't been reading much lately so here's just a little list of things ive picked up in the past few months or things i've liked for a long time..... all of them are on mangadex so just look em up... Im editing this to put them under the cut sorry i didn't do it before ive been on the clock for like 4 hours and im tired Lights cigarette

fool night yasuda kasumi !!! it's currently ongoing and i recently got caught up... if i had to describe it in two words.. "post-chainsawman." it's very similar in a lot of ways, but has very different priorities.. what i really like about it is that it has kind of a tighter focus on the "poverty and capitalism" angle that chainsawman definitely covers but doesn't really devote its full attention to. in a world where the sun no longer shines, plants can't grow, so humans are constantly at a deficit of oxygen... to combat this, government facilities offer a payout to desperate people who can't afford to live if they allow themselves to be "transflorated" -- basically fed on by a magical spiritual plant that will eventually kill them and release oxygen in their stead. one such desperate person undergoes the procedure only to find he has the special ability to communicate with transflorated bodies after theyve passed... and then he becomes a Plants Detective and shenanigans ensue. Super good it made me cry... art is beautiful..... definitely worth a read if youre looking to pick up something ongoing

babel no toshokan by tsubana - stumbled upon this after reading the artist's other work "wakusei closet" on a whim... this shorter story is much preferred and has engraved itself deeply on my heart. a girl with a strange set of beliefs about reality enters a strange relationship with a boy who can read everything that's ever been written just by touching an identical sheath of paper..... seriously so good. give it a go if you want something short and sweet

planet laika & scorched earth of love by mayuri yoshida, this is a short manga and one shot bundled with it that has been one of my favorites for like FOUR YEARS NOW!!! mayuri yoshida's sickly cute animal people + loving intricate lineart combine to create a really unique visual aesthetic. its about the titular laika , as in, the dog launched into space, who has since become the ruler of a planet of dogs, and her plot to take revenge on humanity. also she has a lesbian wife. the one shot is so good too SO DONT MISS IT!!!

anyone who has heard me talk about comics for the past year or so probably knows i've been trying to get Just yknow everybody on earth to read dead dead demon's dedededestruction by inio asano. nothing i could ever possibly say about it could do it justice it's seriously my favorite manga of all time. it's about being in love with your best friend and the end of the world and aliens and politics and the internet and stuff. asano's art is truly breathtaking and unlike anything else on earth, the characters are all infectiously lovable, and it's just like... endlessly life affirming and heals my heart in a way i have a hard time articulating.

and last one... not strictly manga but i have really enjoyed keeping up with wanan's webcomic no home recently... its a long one, but i read about 275 chapters of it in like 3 days, because it's that hard to put down, LOL... extremely inspiring character writing and also just insanely fun, eunyung became an all time favorite character of mine on impact and it has one of those casts where you can't help but have fun watching them be together in literally any situation. it's about a bunch of kids with shitty family situations trying to figure out to learn to live with eachother. its an extremely good example of mundane character drama being written so compellingly that it will make you start slamming your head on walls at work. Speaking from experience.

miscellany... everyone tells you to read witch hat atelier, do it its good... everyone tells you to read dungeon meshi do that its good... Chainsaw man part 2 is getting crazy right now ...... uhhh... i have a billion more so if none of those interest you let me know and i'll share more. thank yew so much for your interest in my opinions and i hope there's something here you can appreciate!!!~~

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mactiir · 7 months ago

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something strange happens when you do a thing every day just because you believe it matters. Cuz on day -900 an election result comes back that makes you realize you can't live another day without giving back to the world and you start looking for a career change.

Day 0: is teacher school orientation and it's terrifying. The people around you seem blisteringly competent, too smart to keep up with. You don't know half the words coming out of their mouths. Eventually you can fake the classes and wonder if the whole career will be like this, a fake it till you make it kinda deal. Think maybe you can at least pretend to be good at it.

Day 1: you walk onto the job and u realize that the people who made it look easy made it look that way not because it WAS easy, but because they were very very good. Not pretending to be good. Legitimately VERY good. And for you, who is not good, the job is very very very hard.

Day 100 you walk out crying because you're not cut out for this.

Day 314 too. And days 585, 586, 587 (that was a hard week). You never quite identify with being "a teacher". Teaching is just a thing you do for a paycheck.

Somewhere around day 660 you start talking at a staff meeting and realize that, somehow, you now sound exactly like the people who intimidated you so much at the start. Like an actual bonafide teacher.

Day 800: a kid who screamed at you fifteen days before shakes your hand and thanks you for a great year -- the same one who pulled you aside to quietly discuss gender identity a few months back, because he wasn't sure who else to talk to. You get notes sincerely thanking you for teaching them how to be better at something they hated. A kid who didn't talk for 90 straight days because they were so shy causally tells you about a picture they drew you. A boy who can't use his chosen name with his parents and had never written a story before your class shows you the outline for the novel he's writing about a group of trans vampires.

There was a shitty ex, once, who loved to turn her cruelties around. Tell you that you were the bad one, the abuser, the manipulator. She doesn't live in your head anymore, or so you thought, but on the last day of school, day 800, when a student asks why you're crying, all you can think is i did a good thing. I did a good thing. I don't know if I'm good at this but I think I did a good thing. I made a kid smile. I gave a kid a safe place to be themself. I was, for a shining instant, the person i needed when I was their age.

What you say, though, is, "I'm just gonna miss you guys, is all."

#Teaching #poems #poetry #Writing #Personal #Long post #last day of school

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noxioustoxin · 11 months ago

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I'll Be Here, Always

Mentions: Implied Abuse (Warning), Suicide (Warning), fluff, tender love and care.

Small Authors Note: "I'm just looking to do some major self-care, but I do hope you all enjoy my short story." ^^

——————————

It had been about a month, almost two now, that Dazai even bothered to check his notifications. His phone lights up throughout the night with halfhearted check-ins. He didn't have to look to know who the messages were from, the soft chime told him exactly who it was. "Bastard, the hell are you ignoring me for?" "You better not be dead, or I swear shitty Dazai."

It was the same thing every few days or so that it started making his head spin. Normally Dazai would've written a snarky comeback, teasing the redhead about how much he seems to care. In reality, Dazai cared. But even his little dog couldn't pull him out of this one. Dazai could vividly recall the moment when things began to spiral, which wasn't uncommon for him. He was known to be suicidal and depressed, but this time, he took the liberty of writing a note. His fingers ached as he scribbled out his goodbye, which was only to one person, but he wouldn't dare let that letter be seen. Not by his slug. He wasn't that cruel though many would argue with that statement.

Even with the meticulous work he put in to hide his letter, he still somehow found himself in Mori's office. Dazai's letter was there open against the desk, and he could hear a scoff from his boss. It was obvious to him that Mori had already read the contents of the letter. "When will you give up on this futile endeavor? Aimlessly reaching for an outcome you can't achieve. You can't die until I say you can when I provide the means." His voice swirled around Dazai's mind like filthy venom, reminding Dazai with that choice of words that he was chained to him. Typically, Mori's words were nothing more than that. Words. But that unsettling feeling that stirred within his stomach made his limbs suddenly feel like lead. He felt bolted to the floor. But in his mind, the only thing that mattered was Chuuya. Not Mori, not being chained to him and the organization, not his suffering. Just Chuuya.

Flash forward to the present, Dazai sat uncomfortably atop his small mattress. His eyes were misty and puffy from the tears that refused to fall. The shipping container in which he called home carried an ominous chill, one that didn't feel right. "Mackerel… please talk to me."

His phone lit up the small area. He knew it was Chuuya, but what was he supposed to say? That he once again wanted to leave the world behind because of his pain? No. Not that again. So instead, Dazai curled up into a fettle position and sighed heavily into his knees. After what felt like hours, in reality, it was only about twenty minutes, a knock jolted Dazai away from his misery. He sighed and uttered a soft "go away," but that was quickly met with louder and more forceful knocking. The sound made his heart sink, and he knew he couldn't ignore it anymore, so reluctantly he scrambled off of his bed and made his way to the door. His hand hesitantly reached for the lock and slowly opened the door. "What?" His voice shook as he tried to upkeep his typical cold exterior until he was suddenly wrapped in a tight embrace. That familiar warmth quickly enveloped his body, and his body relaxed for the first time in those two months. Chuuya. Dazai opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't find the words. The words weren't needed at the moment, but instead, Chuuya simply led him over to his bed and pushed him down against it. Those usually piercing blue eyes were softer and gentler as he cupped Dazai's cheek. "You don't have to go silent whenever you hit a low period," Chuuya began softly, "I can handle it. I want you to understand that I know you still struggle and suffer with those thoughts." He paused to press his forehead lightly against Dazai's, the gesture so tender that it caused butterflies to form in their stomachs. With that, Dazai's tears finally fell as he quickly tugged Chuuya onto the bed with him. His taller frame fits rather perfectly with Chuuya's smaller one. A soft chuckle could be heard from the redhead as he reached his hand up to play with those messy brown curls. "Come on, we aren't staying here. I've got canned crab at home, let's get you a nice bath and a hot meal." Dazai only cooed in response as he nuzzled his head into the crook of Chuuya's neck.

"Okay, Chibi… I love you." "I love you too Mackerel, now let's go."

Dazai knew that Chuuya did mean what he said, he meant that he was here for him even through his dark times. Maybe, just maybe, this was what his meaning in life was. No. Not maybe, Chuuya was his reason. And that was all he needed now. "I'll be here, always." And Dazai believed it. Completely.

------------------------------ Again, I truly hope you all enjoy this little, short story!

#bungou stray dogs #dazai x chuuya #bsd chuuya #fanfic #bsd dazai #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #soukoku #short story #fluff #lovers #trigger warnings

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hestzhyen · 4 days ago

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On Writing Fan Fiction and Stuff

Just some thoughts since I've been writing my own and reading other's for a few months now... (I only have one on AO3, yes, but I write a lot of stuff I don't share with the wider world.)

Emotional Validation is a Shitty Reason to Make Stuff

I'll admit I was a little disappointed when my 12.9k HakuHiro fic didn't get a decent kudos/hit count ratio. I figured it would be a slog for a lot of people who just wanted to read some porn but man, only 38 kudos and 5 comments (1 of which is me replying) for 547 hits? Not even 10% of the people who checked it out thought it was worth tapping a button for? Damn I suck. 3-ish months of writing and hardly anyone bothered to get through it.

If I finish someone's fic and didn't hate the experience I hit the "Kudos" button. I read smut, gen, heavy angst, fluff, anything that piques my interest... if you do a good job I give you a thumbs up. I figure it's only polite to acknowledge the effort that went in to making the thing, you know? So seeing a bad ratio on my own work makes me wonder where I went wrong.

Obviously I write because I enjoy it- I spend most of my free time dumping my brain out in text form for one reason or another. But there's a part in all of us that wants a little pat on the back for doing a good job at the things we put effort into. And damn it, I'll still write no matter how badly my stuff is received, but... DAMN IT! I wish I didn't care so much about the things I put pieces of myself into.

When I do a weekly chapter post for Kagurabachi it's just me yeeting my thoughts out into the void. This post is pretty much the same. I'm yapping about boring nonsense and it's a bonus if other people find it useful or entertaining. But I wanted Liminal Night to be different.

I normally keep all my fan fiction and personal writings to myself as drafts like so:

Notepad++ is a valid word processor application, I swear

Liminal Night was the first thing I wrote purely for myself and shared.

It was genuinely a bit scary to put myself out there like that even though it's "just fan fiction". It's still the only thing with a "FINAL" tag instead of "DRAFT" because nothing else I've written is good enough to share if something that took me ~3 months to make was met with mostly silence. I'm agonizing over everything like never before now- would the character say this like that? Is the pacing off? Am I being too descriptive here? Should I try to be more abstract with this imagery? It's pushing me to be better, but I hate the motivation behind it.

I shouldn't care so much about people being disinterested in my work. I shouldn't be wanting validation. But I do. I want at least a tap of a button, god damn it. Show me you finished the thing and didn't hate it! The silence gets to me so bad, man...

I'm working on the sequel but now I'm wondering if it's worth it. The canon scenario is so far removed from the premise of this fic that I'd have to use a "canon divergence"/"non-canon compliant tag" and I wouldn't read something with that kind of scenario- I like things to be canon or canon-adjacent as much as possible. And if the masses want bottom Hakuri more than bottom Chihiro but don't want to read the prequel then they won't check it out... if I shift it closer to canon then it's still divergent because Hakuri and Chihiro are separated right now... and I didn't want to do a hosptial fic anyway... and this... and that... and Liminal Night was so boring that less than 10% of the people who checked it liked it so why bother sharing. I'm shit at this and should just keep it all to myself like I always have. Boo fucking hoo.

The logic is so fucking scuffed! I'm a support player for fuck's sake, I know that Big Number isn't the be-all, end-all metric for quality. I'm sick of feeling like I suck just because people didn't like the thing that I was anxious about sharing. Maybe it doesn't deserve the bad ratio! It also got some very sweet comments full of praise so shouldn't those matter too?

I'll still share the sequel. But maybe I'll turn to abusing Anonymous posting if I post anything else like another writer seems to be. Somehow it's easier to be detached from how a work "performs" if it's shared without a clear identity. I have mixed feelings on if my writing style is easily recognisable or not so I'll just assume it's not distinct enough to attach to my name.

Anyway. On to shorter things.

What's With the Humming and Fluttering?

Why do so many characters "hum" in fan fiction? Humming happily, in concern, out of displeasure, etc. Guessing it's meant to be more of a "hmm" type of noise or just wordless emoting with sound... but to me, "humming" implies at least a smidge of musicality in the tone. I don't really have a complaint about it but it's kind of funny to see a sentence like "Blorbo hummed in disappointment at Bleegle's stupidity but said nothing." Is Blorbo functionally mute but still able to vocalize? Is it a special form of communication between them? Do they converse with vocal training exercises?

There's no one-size-fits-all replacement for this kind of thing I think, and it's not like it's a big enough issue that it needs to be "fixed". Heck maybe it's just a Hest problem and it's simply a popular way to indicate a subdued emotion that the character doesn't need to be elaborated on. It's not even really a problem to begin with. Just a bit of a headscratcher for me I guess.

The fluttering eyelashes get me chuckling every time even if it's supposed to be a serious scene. Stuff like "Blorbo's head fell back as Bingus kissed down his neck. His eyes fluttered shut as a soft sigh escaped his lips." makes me think of those corny romance novels sold in grocery stores. Or a silly over-dramatic shoujo from the 70's/80's. I don't know, maybe I'm just not built for romance and smut... my mom always did say I was "as romantic as a rock". It's just so cheesy and silly to use batting eyelashes as an indicator for arousal or being overwhelmed with romantic feelings. Like "Ooh, Mister Darcy" levels of swooning!

I seriously start giggling like a 12 year old when I see stuff like that. Sorry, fellow fic writers. I am too immature to read your smut despite being a grown-ass man.

Show Me the Feels

When I see lines like "Blorbo saw a lone kitten in a box on the ground. The poor little thing was soaked from the rain and crying, clearly too weak to jump out on it's own. It made him sad to see." I go "Yup. That's sad. Agreed, Blorbo." It's not really a bad way to explain things but it's so impersonal. I'd rather it be shown he's sad instead: "Blorbo saw a lone kitten in a box on the ground and his eyes welled up. The poor little thing was soaked from the rain and crying, clearly too weak to jump out on it's own." Why did Blorbo's eyes well up? He was about to cry, probably. What about a kitten in a box would make him do that? It's alone out in the rain and mewing for help? SAVE THAT KITTEN, BLORBO! I'm way more invested in what Blorbo's going to do when I get invested in why he's feeling the way he does.

I struggle with this one a lot. It's hard to keep this advice in mind when I'm trying to describe what's happening and properly tend to everything else that clutters up the brainspace while writing. But I practice it as often as I remember it, which is about as good as I can do with unmedicated ADHD. I think I've gotten better after writing a few challenge pieces where I limited the amount of characters I could use at once and set a max length limit. But we'll see how my next fic goes over (I learn slowly).

And What's With the Awkward Descriptions?

I lied about shorter things.

I don't read fan fiction for a professional experience. I'm not a professional writer myself either, nowhere close. But there are few things that irk me more than descriptors using hair colour, professions, or other unique traits that are awkward in context. Like "the redhead smirked at his awkward fumble" or "The mage thanked him for the news".

BE CONFIDENT IN YOUR WRITING, CONSARNIT. AND TRUST US TO BE LITERATE.

I mostly see this in slash fiction when the writer isn't confident they can be clear about who's doing what when two people of the same gender are involved. So the fallback seems to be awkward uses of "the other man" and "the blonde" to make sure we don't get lost. Stuff like that is the quickest way to lose me in the fic, though. It yanks me by the ear and says "hey, hey, it's Bingus doing the thing here, just so you know- because he's the one with blonde hair. Don't think it's Bongus, that's the other guy (who's a brunette)." Yeah, I know! I got it! You didn't need to clarify that Bingus was doing the thing because context made it clear!

And if context didn't make it clear, then step up the writing game. That's it. Yeah, the person who started the post with a pity party over their writing being unpalatable shit to most people who tried it is telling people to git gud. It's what I'm always trying to do and it's the only way to really stop this sort of thing from happening.

The only time things like "the black-haired man danced away" don't feel out-of-place are in situations where that's the primary way to tell people apart. Like meeting a bunch of strangers at once or describing someone the PoV character doesn't know very well, if at all. It's super impersonal and only makes a lot of sense when the character doesn't have much else to say about the other person. And for god's sake once you've used a "the hair colour" description once, don't keep relying on it. Save it for when noting the hair colour is important. "Hest grabbed the brunette's jaw" -> if we need to know it's specifically the brunette and not the other colour(s) we met, we don't know their name, and the PoV character either knows nothing else to tell them apart from the others OR they don't see the other person as a human with unique qualities and personality

"Hest grabbed the other man's jaw" -> good when there are two options to choose from and one of them is clearly not going to have their jaw grabbed in context

"Hest grabbed Bob's jaw" -> good, yes, do this to be specific in the simplest way possible

"Hest grabbed his brother's jaw" -> good when you want to add emphasis on the relationship between the people involved, but this is another one that shouldn't be overused

"Hest grabbed the punkish twerp's jaw" -> great for giving insight into how the PoV character feels about the person he's grabbing; also use sparingly

"Hest grabbed his jaw" -> HMM! The scary one. But context should make it obvious who "he" is. Your readers should get it if you're being clear. And honestly, this is the one that should probably be used the most!

All of these are valid to use but the rate of usage and context matter a lot. If I had to rank from "use the most" to "use the least" it'd probably go something like: Pronouns -> Names -> Relationships -> Opinions -> Characteristics -> Other Person

I'm very conscious of keeping things fresh and not boring readers with overusing words, especially when it comes to how I refer to characters. No one wants to read a paragraph full of "She, she, she, she, she" to refer to a character even if we know it's Bobette the whole time. But there's a secret: we can and do from professional writers without even knowing it a lot of the time.

If the writing is good enough, we tend to not notice repetition of little words like "he", "as", and "the". They become white fuzz that fades out as the written word pulls us in and we start picturing the scene in our heads. Varying sentence structures, appropriate pacing, and breaks for dialogue all help with keeping up the immersion. Clunky uses of descriptions that don't have anything to do with what's going on have the opposite effect!

You don't have to be a pro, you just have to write with the confidence of a dudebro who thinks his pickup lines will work on a girl minding her own business in public. Readers will probably get it if you are clear enough in your scene direction. So less hair colours and "other persons" and more "he/she/they"!

I think that's it for this brain dump. If you read this, share your favourite Kagurabachi or Kingdom Hearts fanfic!

#fan fiction #writing #writing meta yap #Bad opinions from a mediocre writer #No kittens were left out in the rain to make this post

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