#making this edit was cathartic really

[saltpepperbeard]

listening to rhys talk about ofmd's cancellation on that podcast has me like

[tawnysoup]

Their POV

[jojea]

WHAT IF I CRY—

[fwoopersongs]

Reminds me of this particular cover of the song 想着你的感觉 (how it feels to miss you): 

每一次我走近 Every time I approach, 总是那么悄悄地 it's always so secretly, 不敢使你讶异 not daring to surprise you 让你发觉自己是幻影 lest you discover that you are a figment.

每一次我唤你 Every time I call out to you. 总是那么细细地 it's always so delicately, 不让寂寞听到 not allowing Loneliness to overhear, 嘲笑我用温柔的声音 and mock me for my voice's gentleness.

一个一个想你的日子 Each and every one of the days I've thought of you 砌成一栋孤单的房子 has been laid into a house that stands alone. 我在上楼下楼开门关门 I go upstairs and down, close and open doors, 翻著抽屉寻着你名字 scour through drawers in search of your name.

一个一个想你的日子 Each and every day I've thought of you 从你回眸而去那天开始 beginning from that day you looked back and left; 我的日记写成诗 the records of my days are poems, 诗的背后寻着你名字 between the lines of poetry, a search for your name.

想着你的感觉 Thinking of you feels like 有如雨的缠绵 the lingering of rain, 淋湿我的岁月 its dampness has seeped into my days, 而我却依然不知不觉 yet I still do not notice that it is there.

想着你的感觉 Thinking of you feels like 有如风的缱绻 the breeze, unabating, 吹乱我的日夜 blowing my nights and days into disarray, 吹也吹不走你的容颜 it blows, it blows, but your face - it cannot blow away.

一个一个想你的日子 Each and every one of the days I've thought of you 砌成一栋孤单的房子 has been laid into a house that stands alone. 我在上楼下楼开门关门 I go upstairs and down, close and open doors, 翻著抽屉寻着你名字 scour through drawers in search of your name.

一个一个想你的日子 Each and every day I've thought of you 从你回眸而去那天开始 beginning from that day you looked back and left; 我的日记写成诗 the records of my days are poems, 诗的背后寻着你名字 between the lines of poetry, a search for your name.

想着你的感觉 Thinking of you feels like 有如雨的缠绵 the lingering of rain, 淋湿我的岁月 its dampness has seeped into my days, 而我却依然不知不觉 yet I still do not notice that it is there.

想着你的感觉 Thinking of you feels like 有如风的缱绻 the breeze, unabating, 吹乱我的日夜 blowing my nights and days into disarray, 吹也吹不走你的容颜 it blows, it blows, but your face - it cannot blow away.

想着你的感觉 Thinking of you feels like 有如雨的缠绵 the lingering of rain, 淋湿我的岁月 its dampness has seeped into my days, 而我却依然不知不觉 yet I still do not notice that it is there.

想着你的感觉 Thinking of you feels like 有如风的缱绻 the breeze, unabating, 吹乱我的日夜 blowing my nights and days into disarray, 吹也吹不走你的容颜 it blows, it blows, but your face - it cannot blow away.

[looks for you in everything] [finds you there]

[planete777]

BAD INFLUENCE 2・⁠｡♪ LN4 [+ OP81]

( lando norris x fem!reader ft. oscar piastri)

READ PART 1!

IN WHICH. oscar never knew getting high with lando and y/n entailed... this. but he's not complaining.

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, threesome, oral sex (m & f rec.), referenced tit job, face sitting and anal (m rec.), a bit of sub!oscar because it's my roman empire, high hotness pt. 3574144, unprotected in v sex, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, squirting, realisations (they love each other, your honour), they're just nasty omg what have i written 😭

NOTE. PART 2 HAS ARRIVED!!! many of you asked and so i have to deliver amirite?!?!? credit to @mariahcarreyyy for the main smut scene idea!! i hope it's good enough for ya <3 enjoy luvss.

has now been edited.

‧₊˚✩彡 taglist @laciijane @ferrarrigirl @norrizzandpia @mimi-luvzyu @multifandomwhore-003 (use askbox if you'd like to be added!)

"gonna suck you off so good, osc," lando moans in his ear, breath warm and words dirty, "you like that?"

and as oscar begs him to, he thinks that maybe getting high with lando and y/n isn't so bad afterall.

-.-.-.-.-

oscar feels fucking spent.

his cock lays limp, yet tingles with the undercurrent of arousal, and honest to God, if he fucked once more, he may never cum again.

thing is, he had thought the same 2 orgasms ago, and roughly an hour prior, but, as if the weed trickled a steady flow of dopamine into his bloodstream, the more they fucked, the more he hungered for another orgasm.

had his cock sucked completely dry by his teammate (how the fuck is lando this good at giving head?) as y/n sat on his face and he had all his prayers answered, before another climax was scooped out of him when y/n gave him a good tit job. never had he thought seeing his cum drizzled upon a girl's boobs like icing would be that cathartic, but it only gets worse when lando, the fucking nerve of that man, licks every drop like it were the remnants of a melting popsicle.

"your mouth, lando," oscar had whined out in absolute despair because, one day, it's gonna wipe him out like he never existed.

his teammate only smirked, lips oiled with spit and cum, before dragging his tongue up his girlfriend's neck, eyes hooked to oscar's, and shoving his tongue down y/n's throat. the noises were downright pornographic, pumping more blood to oscar's dick, and they ended up fucking, reverse cowgirl, as the girl wanked oscar off. he swore his dick would fall right right there and then, everything felt too good that there had to be a compromise, but he was yet to figure what that was. if there even was one.

wished he could say they were done, sated to the point where alarms for their flight tomorrow would be like whispers in a rainstorm. however, no matter how many breaks in between they took (consisting mostly of getting more high and sharing one spliff, which made it all hotter), a seemingly innocent make out would lead to one's mouth on another's crotch, or one's cock deep inside another (oscar had never, you know... bottomed, but fucking hell, lando's got some cock on him).

with a throbbing hole, and an equally throbbing dick, inert just minutes before, oscar has the dire need to squeeze one more orgasm before he allows himself to lay at fate's mercy.

a clammy body, flush against his own pink skin, wrings themselves out of his gentle hold and sits up, "you're hard again, baby?"

it's not really phrased as a question, but rather an interesting observation, and y/n trails a hand to grab his dick. it hurts, a dull pulse of ache bouncing through the skin, but it feel so so good and oscar's head is thrown back, mouth open as a heavy moan breaks through.

lando, from y/n's other side, watches intensely as she slowly jerks oscar off. his sternum elevates and sinks in a rapid succession, legs open wide to fully accomodate the hand working between them, and lando is fully mesmerised by it all.

shy, quiet oscar, who could have a man compelled by his hole alone, and besotted by the wonders of his mouth. lando wouldn't mind a throuple, not at all.

a sloppy kiss is left on the skin of y/n's jugular, "you want him?"

he can see the curve of his girlfriend's smile, pushing against her smooth cheek, and she knows what he means.

you want him for us?

"yeah," her hand slows, and oscar whines, lando giggles at that. so desperate. "not letting him go now."

then she's taking her hand off oscar completely, pushing her body into his to whisper, "wanna fuck me while i suck your mate off?"

and oscar's eyes glitter as they snap open and his head nods so fast, it nearly tumbles off his neck, lando's sure.

he's moving, sitting up and looking at the both of them with red, lidded eyes, and they hold so much, that lando wonders how one could retain it all.

y/n is smiling and wiggling onto her front, and it galvanises lando to bare his legs wide, cock hard and weeping precum. she gives it a small teasing lick and sparks zap through his dick, causing a hand to fly to her hair. he pulls ever so slightly, just as a warning, and she's smirking, giving the head a kiss.

"how do you want it?" oscar asks from behind her, calculative. she opens her legs more, pussy glistening, "any way you want to, baby."

he hums, kneading the flesh of her ass softly in confirmation, and grabs his dick to prod at her hole. it's tentative, almost adoring, before he slides in fully, soft and slow. he's so sweet, so gentle, as if it's his first time doing such a thing, and y/n can't withold the moan that pushes past her lips.

"oh fuck, oscar."

he's whining, hands tight around her waist.

lando pushes her down on his dick, saliva lathering his skin beautifully, y/n's nose deep in the tamed bush of hair. she allows herself to breathe, eyes shut tight, but then oscar's moving, so slow and slow deep that she choking on her moans, and lando's cock.

he pulls her off just slightly, but she slides him back in, dick thick and hot in her throat, and lando's moans are whorish.

"yes, baby," he's whining, "just like that."

oscar feels his orgasm creep on him too quickly, tries to think of anything that would slow it down, but the sight before him is so nasty, he loves it. lando is completely gone, fucking into y/n's throat like it's his last ever head, two hands in her hair. he's redder than oscar's ever seen him, curls stuck to his forehead like glue and muscles straining as he pulls his girlfriend on and off his cock.

"fuckkk— shit, i'm gonna cum," he groans out, hand moving to rub into y/n's clit. she's writhing, legs shaking as she slobbers all over the dick in her mouth and lando's face turns pained with pleasure, unmoving, as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

oscar can't stop his orgasm anymore, and it tumbles over him like a tsunami, hips snapping as he fills y/n deep. the sound of high pitched moans cry from lando's mouth, body trembling with the intensity of his climax and just as oscar slowly dwindles from his high, y/n is clenching around him so tightly and a gush of wetness splashes against his thigh.

his head whips down to see his legs drenched and oscar— he's mesmerised.

"shit, y/n," it's an awed whisper, "you're squirting?"

his voice sounds fucked out, and lando's eyes are sliding open, curious. the sound of liquid falling onto the bedding is so damning, and oscar pulls out to watch as her pussy clenches and pushes more out.

it's beautiful, what he's seeing.

"oh my God."

lando gently pushes her mouth off his dick and y/n's sobbing, back arching as she convulses.

"let it all out, baby," lando caresses her cheeks, "look at you being so good for oscar."

and at that, oscar figures he could get used to this, for as long as times wills.

[1d1195]

Invitation

~3.5k words

From me: I mentioned I had a kinda rough weekend. This just sort of wrote itself. Def a stand alone. Second chance at love. I wrote it mostly in the drafts page and didn't do a whole lot of editing for continuity so it's probs not very realistic nor will it make a ton of sense. But anyway.

Warnings: MC parent death; funeral, angst, angst angst. But I'm hoping if you read it you'll see some cathartic, comforting fluff.

Summary: She and Harry broke up years ago and it was completely fine. But seeing her again, even under sad circumstances has his heart pulling him closer to her.

It had been eight years since he had last laid eyes on her. But when he read the piece on her mum off a mutual friend’s Facebook page he was transported back to one of those moments he spent so totally in love with her.

The idea that her best friend was gone made him terrified for her well being. It was the reason he was in a hotel room, straightening his tie in the mirror. Double checking he didn't miss any spots while shaving. He looked simultaneously presentable yet solemn. Her mum was special, beautiful. She made Harry feel at home the entire time they dated. Bought him thoughtful gifts for his birthday and Christmas. Made sure she bought his favorite snacks and always inquired about school, work, or his favorite show. She joked with her that Harry was too good for her and she didn’t treat him well enough (which was inherently false). She was the perfect girlfriend and had the perfect mum.

He couldn’t imagine how she was feeling.

Harry didn’t want to make his appearance about his arrival at the funeral home at all. He stepped in line silently, tried not to make eye contact with anyone and slowly made his way through toward the front, pretending he was invisible. He looked at the picture boards as he walked along his favorite girl and her mother in so many of them. Both were beautiful and Harry thought she was going to look just like her mother when she was older and so he was really lucky that he would know she was beautiful for the rest of his life. But he would have predicted that anyway.

Their relationship ended amicably enough. They were changing, time moving on, and quite frankly it felt like they couldn't spend enough time together so it didn't seem fair. "Shouldn't we want t'spend time with each other, beautiful? Shouldn't we feel feel bad we're not spending time together? It shouldn't be forced. You're m'favorite person in the world, kitten. S'not fair."

He was right of course. She agreed. So they went their separate ways. Since they were still in university at the time, they saw each other frequently. Their friend groups overlapped a bit so they weren't rid of each other all that much until after graduation. There was even a picture of the pair of them together on that day--her mum's suggestion. It was apparent more so then, that they were changing and moving on but Harry was grateful for that picture. When he saw the notice of her mum's passing, he looked at it fondly and felt something in the pit of his stomach. Wanting and wishing he had made more time for her. That she wasn't so busy and their time apart hadn't lasted as long.

But that was eight years ago. Harry was thirty now. He had a few girlfriends during that time and maybe it wasn't a surprise they didn't work out. When he inquired of his friends if he should go to support her, they said it was up to him. Louis and Eleanor were out of the country so they would send flowers. Mitch and Sarah were waiting for Sarah to give birth at any moment so they too, would send flowers.

"I'll be at the funeral," Niall assured him. "I can't make the visiting hours, sorry, Harry," Harry could hear his frown as they spoke on the phone.

"S'okay, s'nice y'can make it t'any of it. She'll appreciate it."

"I hope," a frown in his voice, a sigh in his tone.

"No, she will," Harry was confident. She would never make Niall feel bad--anyone feel bad. It was just the way she was.

Harry was in front of the urn containing the ashes of her mother and he knelt and said a short prayer for her and her sweet daughter. He tried not to think about his own mother at such a sad time and how he would feel if this was her. He shook his head, blessed himself automatically, and stood to greet the receiving line. It was filled with aunts and uncles who were surprised to see him. He didn't fully understand their surprise (of course he would be there for her--even if things were different now) but moved to each one, quietly apologizing for the loss of their sister and only answering how work, life, and everything was with as few words as possible. It was just her and her mom. Dad was out of the picture before she was even born. It wasn't a bad thing because she was her mum's whole life and she never made her want for anything. "Where is she?" Harry asked quietly. Usually the children were first in the line but she wasn't there.

"Another spat with the boyfriend," her aunt rolled her eyes. "You are by far our favorite," she smiled at him encouragingly. "Don't leave till she gets back, if you can. She deserves to see someone who will make her happy right now," she winked.

Harry felt his eyebrows crawl up his forehead in surprise. He nodded. Pride bloomed inside him for being the favorite. It wasn't the time but he couldn't help it. His heart felt heavy, worried she was with someone horrible. "Yeah, sure. Of course."

So Harry stayed in the little seating area, watching people walk through the receiving line, looking at the slideshow of pictures that somehow managed to boil down to one person's life. There was even a picture or two of him. It made sense, he was in her life for nearly four years and they were inseparable until they weren't.

Harry smiled fondly at the memories within the pictures and wondered where she could be right now. He had seen the full slideshow twice.

"Harry, you're still here?"

He cleared his throat, stood, and shook one of her uncle's hands again. "Yeah... um... haven't seen her yet."

"She went outside with the boyfriend ages ago. I'm assuming they're still arguing or she's trying to calm herself down enough to come in and fake that everything's fine."

Harry frowned. "Maybe I'll go check then," he suggested and headed for the door.

Why was she dating someone if it was clear no one in her family liked him?

The men at the door, let Harry through and he quietly walked to the side of the building wondering where she could be having a private conversation at a funeral home. The side was dark except for a flood light that perfectly illuminated the couple. Harry stepped out of sight but strained to listen.

"What do you mean, 'you have to go'? You're seriously joking right?"

Harry didn't know her voice could take on a tone that sounded so angry like that. They never fought that way. No more than who's pizza topping was better or if they had to pick which dinner place to go to on a busy Saturday night.

"Babe, you know with my work--"

"This is my mother," she croaked. It felt like a bullet through Harry's chest to hear her choked up like that. All that grief wrapping in her throat and pulling on her vocal cords.

"I know, but don't you think she would want me to continue living my life and doing what I need to do so--"

"She's my best friend," her voice cracked because she was crying so hard. Harry wanted to run over, unceremoniously knock him to the ground, and comfort her. "You're supposed to be here to support me!"

"Well you know death kind of freaks me out, babe. I'm trying to support our future. I've been here all day."

Her tone was so biting, he truly couldn't believe it. "You've been here for an hour."

Harry winced and shook his head. No one liked death. Everyone was freaked out by it to some degree. But he was supposed to love her; be there for her.

"If you leave, we're done," Harry felt intrusive for listening in but he couldn't move.

"You don't mean that."

"I do, mean that. I really, really, really, really mean that," she sniffed. Good girl. Harry thought. "I have put up with your bullshit like this for way too long and you're unsupportive and if you leave this is it," she assured him. "Work cannot be more important than me."

"It's important for us, babe. So when we get married--"

"And when will that be?" She shouted.

"For the love of God, we're going to do this now?"

"It's been three years. I'm thirty and wanted kids and you are just..." she trailed off. "Fine. Go. We're done anyway."

"Babe, you don't mean that--"

"I will pack my stuff up when I get home."

"And where are you going to go? You don't have a job right now--"

"BECAUSE I WAS TAKING CARE OF MY DYING MOTHER."

Why was she even with this guy? Harry couldn't fathom it. It was so unlike her to date someone so crass and careless. Or maybe Harry was just filled with rage and envy of a man that couldn't help her the way she deserved.

"Well..." he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I have a plane to catch. Maybe after you've calmed down and aren't grieving we can have a more pleasant conversation."

A silent moment passed between them. Surely he heard it as he said it. It couldn't have been just her and Harry that heard what he implied. "Do... do you... do you think I'm supposed to be done grieving?" She hissed.

He sighed, mumbled something about calling her when he landed, and walked away. He didn't even notice Harry pressed to the building.

Harry watched him get in his car and pull away as if this wasn't the worst day of her life. Harry took several deep breaths to calm himself. This wasn't about him or how he wanted to strangle him. This was about her, her grief.

She was leaning against the wall. She was heaving, sobbing into one hand. For what, at that point, Harry didn't know. He could only see her from behind, the same figure he could have picked out in a lineup and if he was blind. But she seemed smaller. Withdrawn of course. Her free arm wrapped around her stomach like she was trying to hold herself together.

"Hey beautiful," he murmured softly. She sniveled, spun around. Harry was met with her face grief stricken, heartbroken, and tear soaked. But yeah, she was still as beautiful as he remembered. "Aw, kitten," he cooed gently. "C'mon s'cold outside. Let's get you--"

She threw herself against him as he approached. Her arms around his neck and she continued her sobbing against his shoulder. Sighing, he wrapped his arms wrapped around her waist and back, she fit effortlessly into his embrace even after eight or so years since he last saw her. It felt natural to hold her like this. "I know," he murmured comfortingly. "I know, kitten," he kissed the side of her head, soothingly rubbing his hand up and down her spine.

"Please don't let go of me," she cried. "I can't--"

"Shh," he hushed. "M'here. M'not letting go until you do," he promised softly. He hoped she wouldn't pull away because he wanted to take care of her the way that asshole couldn't. It didn't matter what the past was it only mattered that her sweet self could find some sort of contentment.

"Please don't leave me," she begged. "I can't do this alone."

It felt like a switch changed in him. Or maybe it was the anger he felt for her ex-boyfriend. Or perhaps a combination of missing her when he didn't really know he had been missing her and all the frustration he felt for the reasons she was so distraught. He would do anything for her. "No way, beautiful. M'not going anywhere," he assured her pressing his lips instinctively to the top of her hair. Patiently he listened to her cries, held her tightly, and lightly brought a hand to the side of her neck. He carefully pressed his fingertips against her skin, hoping that if she was aching (which he assumed every part of her was) it relieved the smallest bit of tension.

"How much did you hear?" She sniveled pulling away enough to glance into his eyes. Her face was blotchy and red, she was sure. Harry looked like he just left his modeling job for ties and cologne. She wanted to look more beautiful--so it would have at least made sense that Harry had ever decided to date her--even if it was years ago. But she was so overwhelmed with sadness, she couldn't feel anything but that and not even her horrendous look could deter her long enough to utter more than a quick apology for snotting all over him. "M'sorry. I look--"

"Shh," he hushed immediately. Harry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket--Mum was always insistent he have one when he wore a suit. Someone is always crying when you need to wear a suit and it's not to work. Carefully, he dabbed under her eyes, and swiped the fabric across her delicate cheeks. "You look beautiful," he assured her a kind, small smile made his lips curl up just enough to get the dimple in his cheek to appear. The one she had told him she was going to stick her tongue in back when they laid on a mattress that was too small for two people and resulted in a giggling tickle fight between two people who were much too old for tickle fights.

What he would have given to make her laugh now.

Harry kept one arm around her waist taking over her own job to hold herself together. "How much did you hear?" She repeated.

He shrugged, nonchalantly. "Too much, probably."

She frowned; if she could muster an emotion other than sadness and grief, she probably would have been embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry. I was waiting inside, but then your uncle said y'were out here and I wanted t'see you and--"

"Do you need to leave?" She asked quickly. "I'm sorry I'm holding--"

"Kitten," he said gently pinching her chin between his fingers so she had no choice but to look in his eyes and process what he was saying. "M'staying here until y'tell me t'leave."

She sighed. For the first time in what felt like months she felt relief. "Okay."

*

She dragged him alongside her to the front of the receiving line. Harry felt slightly embarrassed and out of place but the rest of her family paid no attention to it. Like he was supposed to be there. She hugged and cried a lot over the next two hours. Harry handed her tissues and water.

“What if I don’t tell you to leave?” She whispered. Harry was standing so close to her that no one else could hear. Like it was just the two of them. She was sipping from a water bottle and Harry was stroking her hair back with his fingers while wiping below her eyes with a tissue.

“Then I’ll never go," his voice was quiet, like hers. He kissed her forehead softly.

"You don't have to obviously, you have no obligation... but is there any chance you were planning to be here tomorrow?" She asked.

He nodded hurriedly. "Course, kitten," he smiled gently, almost sad that she thought he wouldn't. "Niall's going t'come too. He's really sorry he couldn't make it tonight," he explained. "I have a hotel room right nearby so I can stay s'long as y'need me. Do anything y'need, too. And Niall m'sure would be happy t'help if y'need anything requiring two people, as well."

"Really?" A fresh well of tears filled her eyes and Harry's grin grew even if it was sad she was so surprised.

"Of course, beautiful. We... we want t'be here for you," he assured her.

She pressed her face against his shoulder again and sniveled against him. "I owe you a new suit," she mumbled into the fabric.

"Shh..." he hushed. "M'here," he promised. "Don't worry 'bout anything else."

*

His hotel room was dark when they entered. Harry didn’t want anything to happen that could be misconstrued due to her grief but she seemed adamant and sure that she wanted to spend the night. Harry was planning to sleep on the floor but instead they chatted way too much. Much later than a girl who had her mum’s funeral the following morning should have chatted. She giggled the way Harry loved and smiled despite how sad she was. Harry told her all about the last eight years, his job, his mum, their old friends and everything in between.

When he looked at the clock, his phone said it was well past one in the morning and she needed to be up early. “Think y’need t’sleep, kitten,” he was lying beside her, fully clothed except he lost the tie. He was brushing her hair away from her face watching her eyes droop.

“Mom didn’t like him,” she whispered. “She didn’t like anyone that wasn’t you,” she told him.

Harry swallowed nervously. Not because he was worried about her sentiment but because her grief was fresh and the tire tracks of where her stupid ex peeled out of the parking lot were still warm. Her mind had to be jumbled and as much as he wanted to kiss her and make promises, it wasn’t the time. Harry was older and more mature now. The way he wasn’t but wished he had been when they broke up. “After that performance, beautiful,” he sighed with a shake of his head. “M’surprised she didn’t poison him.”

“He didn’t even like her oatmeal raisin and white chocolate chip cookies,” she grumbled bitterly.

“Kitten,” he tutted. “How could you let that continue?” He joked, nudging her playfully.

She turned on her side, their faces inches apart on the same pillow. “Thank you for being here for me,” she whispered.

“There’s no where else I want t’be, beautiful,” he promised.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed you. It’s sad this is what it took.”

He leaned forward, pressed his lips to her forehead and let the kiss linger there. “Do y’want me t’sleep on the floor?”

“No,” she shook her head. “This is the first night I’ve felt tired in months. You have to stay here if you want me to sleep through the night.”

“If you’re sure,” he reached for the bedside lamp and turned it off. He didn’t want to change into different clothes or anything. He just wanted to be there for her.

“This is also your hotel room that I invited myself into," she reminded him.

He grinned at her in the dark. “You’ve always had an open invitation, t’me, kitten,” he brought her closer toward him, kissing the top of her head.

There would be about a thousand and one things to discuss after the funeral. But right then it was late, and they needed to sleep because the day was going to bring more exhaustion and sadness that was inevitable. “Did you mean it?” She whispered quietly after Harry thought she had fallen asleep.

“Mean what, beautiful?” He murmured.

“You’ll never go?”

He nodded. “Mmm,” he hummed inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “I meant it,” his words were slurred with sleep and she knew it because she had heard it in his voice hundreds of times in their time together. He was on the brink of dreaming and her mind was reeling.

“Mom wanted us to get back together,” she whispered. “For ages. She had our graduation picture on the fridge,” she explained. “When I was taking care of her these last few months and he was useless, she kept mentioning you. Told me it wasn’t too late to start over. I guess... I guess this was one way she thought she could bring us back together.”

There was no response because Harry had fallen asleep, and she was close behind. She brought the hand that held his to her lips and kissed his fingers inhaling the comforting smell of him as she finally felt like sleep.

“Your mum was the best,” he mumbled. “She brought you into this world, just for me t’find you.”

The words were lost in her mind, her throat, and her aching heart. But she liked to believe that Harry knew already because he was there, and he wasn’t planning on leaving again.

“We can start over, beautiful. M’not going anywhere,” he whispered one more time as sleep overtook her tired mind.

--

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@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

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@angeldavis777

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[bamsara]

If given the motivation I would ramble more about Trod, specifically Tyren and how he's my little dude but also a character who's behavior I've based on being a victim of obsession and idolization myself and how it's very cathartic to write a character exhibiting all the traits, both good and bad I've experienced in the Lamb's position and then knowing exactly how his story ends

That and some Narinder rambles and how Lamb is more comfortable with him than a sweet dog that surely shows more respect for them (idolization that does not see them as a person)

edit: nevermind I did end up rambling. Some TROD spoilers

its great I love this stupid dog and his scheming ways and writing just *why* he's doing what he's doing with genuine belief it's to better protect what and who he loves without actaully taking into account the subject of his affection's feelings on the whole matter. He would never hurt the lamb physically but clearly that three eyed cat is nothing but stress for them (and is he wrong? is Narinder not a source of stress? We are not light in the 'enemies' part of the friends to enemies to friends to lovers part of the trope)

Though the difference between Narinder and Tyren, the rehabilitation and the corruption, although all entitlement, is agency.

Narinder often touts himself as uncaring and hostile to the Lamb and is still angry from the betrayal, as they are, but their agency is still considered even in anger.

In the Fox chapter where Narinder wishes to sacrifice Grekimar and Tyren, Lamb refuses. They argue about it and Lamb stands their ground, Narinder is unhappy about it but does not go behind their back and sacrifice cultists anyway when he very well could.

After reuniting after the fight when Leshy is revived, Narinder and Lamb argues heavily over the subject of whether or not Narinder is allowed to kill Leshy, someone who harmed both him AND the Lamb severely, and even though he's bitter about it, Narinder acknowledges the Lamb was not given a choice prior and will sacrifice his own revenge and comfort so the Lamb can have their agency returned, at least a little bit.

^^^ This one is a complicated one because between both characters, neither killing the bishops nor keeping them alive would result in both characters getting what they want, with reasonable desires for it (wanting to have choice again, wanting revenge on their tormentors, ect)

so Narinder essentially sacrifices his comfort for the Lamb, someone who is constantly sacrificing pieces of themselves and sanity to keep everything in peace

It works the otherway around as well: Narinder demanding talismans and God Tears and Relics from the Lamb and they agree, not because they're required to do what he says but because that's their friend, and they trust him enough to help him with whatever he's doing

(and back to the argument where the refusal to sacrifice two followers was in exchange for some of their heart, Narinder refuses and breaks the deal off immediatly even though the Lamb was willing. The Lamb is obviously more important than whatever goal he had in mind, essentially scrapping his partnership with the Fox and method to gain power because he didn't want his usurper to be weakened. and other things.)

I won't talk about EVERY instance of this because this is already a long post, but overtime the two are forming communication, compromise, and even in anger, there is a respect there that puts them on the same level as equals.

Tyren does not really fall into that.

Tyren would never, and I mean NEVER hurt the Lamb physically. He would never yell at them, never be angry with them, never be upset with them, because he does not see them enough as a person to feel those things around them. And if the Lamb does disagree with him or make him upset, he will simply....disregard their current feelings on the situation and do what he thinks is best for him and them, even if it goes directly against their wishes.

And unlike Narinder, he would do it behind their back to stay in their good graces.

Tyren does care for the Lamb. Genuinely. He did long before that necklace was around his neck. He was already a little obsessed before the loyalty necklace was on him, it just gave him a slight edge.

He respects them but also doesn't. He takes their rejection at the party in stride and is completely unphased by it, completely understanding, but also plots to kill someone the Lamb called a 'friend' because the three-eyed hermit is clearly stressing them out and it makes no sense as to why they're crusading with him, or spending time with him when he's been nothing but a murderer and a blight.

I think a good summary of all this ramble is that when the Lamb tells Narinder to leave Tyren alone, Narinder goes 'whatever i fucking hate you and this stupid cult anyways. die forever' but does what they ask, while Lamb tells Tyren to please leave Narinder alone, and Tyren goes 'sure! :) anything for you my lamb' and digs up a corpse and drops it's mashed remains outside of the cat's hut with a fake letter from the Lamb saying it's 'breakfast'.

Narinder and Tyren are both very selfish, but in different ways

None of this probably makes sense

It is also 6AM

[writingwithcolor]

Author with cultural disconnect: How do I write without making it seem as if I hate my own heritage?

Anonymous asked:

I’m a white-passing Asian author, and I’ve never felt all that connected with my heritage. My current story centers on a fairy (re: fantasy-world POC) child and ends with her realizing that her parents are toxic af and her human best friend’s family takes her in. This is the perfect opportunity to sort through my own issues with my heritage and finally convince my monkey-brain that it’s okay to not know how to cook Vietnamese food or celebrate tet or speak Vietnamese… But I also realize that if I’m not careful, this could easily slip into “Hey, I hate my heritage and so should you!” So how can I stop that from happening?

Writing for yourself first, not an audience

I ask you a simple question: why put pressure on yourself to have any sort of non-offensive messaging for a story that hasn’t been drafted yet and is to convince your monkey brain it’s okay to exist as yourself?

That seems like the fastest way to stop the story from being actually cathartic and instead a performance art piece when you already feel hung up on performing as “properly” part of your culture.

As I said in Working Through Identity Issues and Other Pitfalls of Representation, not all stories you write need to be for public consumption. Especially stories you’re using for your own self-processing and therapy, because you’re trying to get a cathartic moment that is rewriting your own story.

At what point does the public need to be involved in that?

I do understand the compulsion to want to post—I have definitely posted some Questionable™ material in my drive to get validation for feeling the way I do, wanting people to witness me and say “same.” It’s a powerful urge. Sometimes it’s worked, but most of the time it’s just made me feel horrifically exposed.

But you really do not have to post in public to get any sort of validation. Set up a groupchat with friends if you want the cheerleading and witnessing—people who will know your story and give you good-faith interpretations and won’t accuse you of anything. Honestly I’d suggest setting up this groupchat anyway; as someone who just got one again after quite a few years without it, my productivity has skyrocketed from being around supportive people.

Let the monkey brain have its monkey brain moment and shut off the concept the story is for the public. Shut off the concept of performing for an unknown audience. It’s for you. Be authentic, no matter how bad it would look to outsiders. They’re not reading it. Part of getting catharsis, sometimes, is being the worst version of yourself, somewhere nobody else can see it.

Deciding to publish the work

If, after you do write it, you find that you actually do want to polish it up and put it somewhere… edit it. Rewrite it entirely if that’s what it takes. Take the story through the same drafting process every story needs to go through, ripping out the unfortunate implications as you go.

Editing can be its own form of healing, as you try to figure out what this character would need to not be hateful. As you realize, once this longform journal entry is out of your head, what was bothering you now that you can see it pinned down on a page. But you absolutely do not need to write with the intention of editing in that healing. When I’ve tried, it’s fallen flat.

The healing will come from being yourself, no public involved, and writing about your feelings in their rawest form. Anything else is extra.

There’s no point in trying to put guard rails on the drafting process, not for a deeply personal piece. And by the time that drafting process is done, you’ll likely have specific scenarios and contexts that you can ask about, and you might even have ideas on how to fix it yourself once the story has a shape to it.

This is 100% a situation where there’s no real sense in idea workshopping something in the plotting stage. You’re doing something for you. Decide if it’s for public consumption later (while acknowledging “no” is a perfectly valid answer), and only figure out how to make the story not overtly harmful if you decide to put it out into the public.

~ Leigh

[celestie0]

hi friends, i won’t be posting or updating any of my works for an indefinite period n will be on hiatus from this blog as well.

i’ve unlisted kickoff & ihm on ao3 (haven’t deleted, they’ve just been made private) and i’ve unpinned my masterlist here on tumblr (again nothing’s been deleted so you could probably find the chapters if you searched my tags)

but the reason i did that is because i don’t want any new readers finding my works during my hiatus because i don’t want to potentially upset more people in the event that, during this hiatus, i decide that i would no longer like to write my fics

that would be an insanely sad decision to make. i put so much thought into my stories not because i am trying to make them entertaining, but it’s because they genuinely mean so much to me and are cathartic in ways i can’t describe. i have spent a great majority of my life self negating for the sake of others, and so writing was just a form of expression where i could talk about all the things i’ve suppressed over the years - anxiety, career stress, financial stress, avoidance, depression, loss, coming of age, navigating love, etc

but lately, and i do think it’s been a build up of just some careless words from a handful of people over the months, i find myself steering towards a practice of writing that is no longer asking the question “how can i put as much of myself in this piece as possible?” but rather “how can i make sure people won’t criticize this…i feel awful that it doesn’t have what they want it to have…other creators are doing xyz, should i be doing that too?…i’m just scared to share this”

not exactly sure when that shift in headspace began, but as of right now, it’s as strong as ever. and i understand that those questions may seem irrational, and i just have to try to not focus on the feeling, n i wish i was someone that could compartmentalize those thoughts better, but here’s the thing — the whole reason i started expressing myself through writing in the first place was because i’ve spent my whole life compartmentalizing. it would feel so ironic & untrue to the lessons i’ve learned in this journey if i just chose to “suck this up” and continue pushing forward until i reach a point of burnout simply because i don’t want to upset anyone

i’m really sorry i couldn’t focus on the positive. especially with all the insane n incredible amount of love n support i’ve received for my works. i’ve said this time n time again but when i started posting kickoff to ao3 back in january of this year, i had NO idea it would be this loved by so many people…i was like ok can’t wait to interact w these four readers for the rest of the year…and then BAM, i find myself fully sobbing after each chapter update because i was so touched by all the sweet n kind words. i don’t want this decision to come off in a way that makes it seems like i don’t love u guys sm or that i’m ungrateful — i’ve always taken pride in respecting my audience. even for a simple hobby, i try to put effort into my works. i proofread, i plan out, i edit in length, all because i am, well, for one, i’m a bit of a perfectionist LOL but also i think there’s a great deal of honor in respecting an audience that gives you their time n attention

but i already am struggling in my life to focus on the positive. medicine has been such an incredibly daunting career to pursue, i’m honestly only doing slightly better now because i’m just filled with relief that i got into med school to begin with lol it’s still surreal to me, so the stress has been kinda manageable so far on that sense of optimism, but dear god the shit i went through to get here…and the shit i know i still face ahead of me. i spend all of my serotonin on trying to stay positive in the face of my responsibilities. so all of this time i’ve spent trying to stay positive for the sake of my stories too has just left me with so much exhaustion — i just don’t see why posting my works should be anything less than fun and endlessly exciting when it’s a hobby that’s supposed to help me thru the actual brunt of life.

anyways, i’m getting a little carried away here. all this to say, i just need to take time away from posting my works so i can see writing as something for myself n not for others again. i don’t want the thoughts swimming in my head to be thoughts of anxiety over people potentially criticizing me n my creative decisions. i want the thoughts in my head to once again be positive, excited, and nurturing towards my stories. i don’t see how i can accomplish that at this point unless i start writing for myself once more, and not for others

i still have a great deal of passion to write, which is why i haven’t formally taken down my works. i anticipate that i may be able to come back in the future to share my writing again. but as of right now, i just want to heal the relationship that i have with this hobby, and i feel like that’s gotta happen in private (lmfao it sounds like im tryna freak my writing)

i’m sorry that i turned off my asks n my replies, i know so many of u care about me n want to support me n i just am beyond thankful. i don’t anticipate this is a forever goodbye, but i do just need some time rn away from all of this.

hope u all have a happy time!! and take care of yourselves :) much love

- ellie

[imaginespazzi]

Golden Hour is so so good! I love the way you’re taking the story, I’m obsessed with the way they just need each other like you write it so perfectly. And honestly it’s how they seem in real life, just so entwined.

I don’t want to ask but if you have the time and it won’t delay golden hour updates... Can you write a chaotic family Drabble of the girls teasing Azzi and Paige for essentially soft launching the last few weeks. You just write them so perfectly! Hope you’re planning to be a writer one day!

Thank you lovie <3

Do I have time? In theory no but I found about 40 minutes to cook this up (this is my way of justifying the lack of editing) and it's probably more sappy than chaotic but I hope you enjoy it anyways my love. Let me know if it lived up to what you wanted :)

Paige lets out a soft sigh as she turns the ignition off, parking her car in the team apartments parking lot. It's almost one in the morning and the tired is practically vibrating from her body but she'd been determined to get them back to school tonight in time for classes tomorrow morning. She can't help the soft smile that flitters across her face as she looks over at the passenger seat. Azzi's head is leaned against the window, mouth slightly open as she hugs Paige's sweater closer to her body like a blanket. The younger girl had managed to keep her eyes awake for about an hour, tiredly responding to her girlfriend's chatter with one-word inputs until Paige had looked over after asking a question and found Azzi completely knockd out

She had heavily debated waking her up but ultimately decided against it, knowing that it was well past the shooting guard's bedtime and as cute as she found Azzi's cranky grumbling when she was woken up, she thinks the girl probably deserved her sleep after the weekend they'd had.

The weekend.

Truthfully Paige is a little sad for the weekend to come to an end. She's going to miss the privacy of their hotel suite and she's really going to miss seeing her girlfriend all dressed up every day (even if she's not going to miss the way other people had, had the audacity to ogle at what's hers). God it had been perfect; everything Paige had wanted to be. The experience itself had been wonderful but the best part of it was that she'd gotten to live it out with her girlfriend, her person, her Azzi. Whether it was sitting next to her at the fashion shows or sitting across from her at the Liberty game, they'd been together and that's all that had mattered.

Paige knows that there's people who will look at their weekend and still use the just friends moniker; knows that until she and Azzi publicly label themselves, there'll always be people who'll be willfully ignorant of what they are. But still, this weekend -this summer really- had felt different. And maybe it's because they're a little different now but something about it had felt cathartically freeing. It makes her hopeful for what's come in the future, when they can shed this barrier of being teammates and just be who they really are to each other. She can't wait.

"Baby," Paige whispers, slightly shaking Azzi, "we're here."

The other girl let's out a groan, slinking further into herself without opening her eyes, "shhh Paige, I'm tryna sleep."

Laughing to herself, Paige lets herself out of the car before walking around to open the door to the passenger side, leaning down towards Azzi, "c'mon big head, you gotta get up so we can go to bed."

"I'm already in bed," Azzi says petulantly, eyes still closed.

"Azzi..."

"Paige.'

The blonde lets out a fond sigh, "you leave me no other choice Fudd."

"Wha-" Azzi squeals when Paige lifts her out of the car, using her waist to push the door in behind them, "oh my god Paige let me down. You're gonna drop me."

Adjusting the weight in her arms slightly, Paige smirks as she starts walking towards the apartment door, "I am way too strong to drop you."

"Oh my god the edits have gone to you head," Azzi groans dramatically, tightening her arms around the blonde's neck, "you're going to drop me and I'm going to die. I'm too young to die Paige."

"You have no faith in me," Paige guffaws, even if she's slightly struggling to get up the three steps that lead up to the door.

"Paige let me down," Azzi whines again.

"You sure about that princess?" Paige asks, a slightly devious plan forming in her mind as she finally makes into the soft fluffy mat right outside the door.

"Yes."

"Okay," Paige says with a shrug as she lets Azzi go, the younger girl falling on the rug with a slight thud.

"OW WHAT THE FUCK?"

"You asked me to let you go."

"Not like that," Azzi growls, rubbing her hips slightly as she gets up and shoves at Paige, "enjoy sleeping by yourself."

Paige's eyes widen as she watches Azzi open the apartment door and saunter towards the elevator.

"Oh hey wait, wait, wait, I'm sorry," Paige has to run to catch up to the younger girl, engulfing her from behind as she presses slobbery open mouthed kisses over every inch of her that she can touch, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't make me sleep alone."

"Ew stop," Azzi crinkles her nose, half-heartedly pushing Paige away.

"I'm sorry. Pleeeeeease," Paige begs as the two of them wait for the elevator, "besides I'm sure you can't fall asleep without me either."

"Oh you're sure are you?" Azzi teases, yawning slightly as the doors ding and open and the two of them step inside.

"I know you can't," Paige grins, nuzzling her face in the younger girl's neck as she presses the button for Paige's floor, making no attempt to press the one for hers as well, "see?"

"Shut up," Azzi blushes slightly, "it's only because I don't wanna deal with Ice in the morning."

"Sure it is," Paige sing-songs before her face morphs into something more serious and she presses her forehead against her girlfriends, "I had a really good time this weekend."

Azzi's eyes soften, "it was pretty great huh?"

"The greatest," Paige confirms, brushing their lips together, "I love you."

"I love you too."

***

Much to Azzi's chagrin -and to Paige's slight amusement though she won't dare say it- she does have to deal with Ice the next morning. And worse than that, she has to deal with KK.

"GOOD MOOOOOORNING LOVEBIRDS," a loud voice echoes way to early in the morning.

Azzi cranks one eye open about cuss somebody out when KK jumps onto their bed, tiny body creating such an impact that it has both her and Paige practically jolting up.

"Morning sunshines," KK grins happily as Ice snickers from where she's leaning against the wall, "y'all done with your world tour?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Paige asks groggily.

"What's wrong with us? US?" KK's voice is as loud as always, "y'all abandon your kids-"

"Again," Azzi says exasperatedly, "y'all aren't actually our ki-"

"EXCUSE ME?" KK recoils before turning dramatically to Ice, "did you hear that Icey? She said we're not her kids."

"That's so mean of you Azzi," Ice pouts, "you practically abandons us for a decade-"

"It was one week-"

"A DECADE! And now-" Ice fake whimpers, "and now you're saying we're not even your kids? What kind of parents even are you?"

"The kind who aren't parents?" Paige says coyly only tfor KK to throw a pillow at her face, "seriously?"

"I cannot believe this," the Wisconsinite shakes her head, "first you abandon us," she glares at the two of them in a warning to not interrupt her, "and now, when we come in here to finally spend some time with y'all, do you welcome your children with open arms? OH NO. No you don't. Instead you make us feel like you don't even love us. Y'all are SICK."

"So SICK," Ice choruses and Azzi narrows her eyes at them.

"Y'all came in here to spend time us?" she asks slowly, "really?"

"Are you accusing us of having other intentions?"

"Well-"

"Oh my god," KK jumps of the bed, fixing them with an offended stare, "can't two children just want to see their parents?"

"Not when it's the two of you."

"I CANNOT BELIEVE-"

"KK," Jana's voice interrupts from outside the door, "is it time for us to come in yet?"

Paige looks between the door and KK and Ice's caught-out face as Azzi buries her head into her hands, "what are y'all up to?"

"Fucking El-Alfy ruining the plan," KK grumbles under her breath as she steps outside and the noise of bickering echoes through Paige's door.

"When we have actual children, we're never letting these idiots babysit," Azzi says softly as she leans her head back against Paige's shoulder.

Something beautiful blooms in Paige's chest as she kisses a smile into Azzi's shoulder. It's the way Azzi says it, the way she talks about them having their own children, like it's an inevitability, like forever means each other.

"Whatever you say baby," she whispers.

"Can you guys stop being gross for one second," Ice chides from the corner, "a whole fucking weekend together and still being this sappy has got to be a crime or something."

"A crime of passion," Paige says airily, relishing the way it elicits a giggle from Azzi.

"What the fuck?" there's a look of disgust on Ice's face as she studies the two of them, "that wasn't even that funny Azzi."

"I thought it was," Azzi shrugs, smiling as she turns her head to press her lips to Paige's cheek.

"Oh my god y'all get the fuck in here," Ice calls out, "they're being sickeningly cute in here again and I feel like I'm suffocating."

Unable to help their curiosity at what shenanigans their teammates come children are up to, Paige and Azzi can't help but look towards the door. Their mouths fall open as KK and Jana wheel in one of the whiteboards from the lobby, Sarah diligently following in from behind them. On the whiteboard is a series of cutout photos of the two of them taken from the weekend. A large hand-drawn paper sign hangs right above the photos: THE PAZZI SOFT LAUNCH tm.

"Ta-da," KK and Jana flail their hands as they present the board to the two gaping girls on the bed, bowing dramatically, "we made you guys this. Isn't it amazing?"

"It was my idea," Sarah juts out her chest proudly.

"It was not. I was the one who said wouldn't it be cool if we could show them how disgustingly stupid in love they looked all weekend," Jana glares at the freshman.

"Right but it was my idea to make the poster board," Sarah defends.

"Girl boo. I'm the one who came up with the title so it was really my idea," KK chirps in.

"All three of you needa take several steps back," Ice warns, "because who was the one who actually made this whole thing?"

"Me," all 6 of them turn to the doorway to see Caroline standing there with an exasperated look on her face, "I did all the cutting and glue-"

"You were in on this?" Azzi asks, "what happened to being the sensible one?"

"I am sensible," Caroline defends herself sheepishly, "but you know I love a good arts and crafts project and you didn't see them Az. They were failing miserably-"

"WE WERE NOT!"

"YOU WERE GLUING THE PICTURES UPSIDE DOWN-"

"ONLY SARAH WAS DOING THAT."

"DON'T THROW ME UNDER THE BUS LIKE THAT."

"ALL OF Y'ALL SHUT UP," Paige bellows and Azzi immediately flinches away from her.

"Ow Paige," she whines, rubbing deftly at her hear, "that hurt my ears."

"Sorry baby," Paige coos, pulling the younger girl back in to her arms and apologetically kissing her cheek as suddenly forgets why she'd needed to yell in the first place.

"SEE," Ice cuts, "this is why we needed to make the board. Y'all are so atrociously down bad and if we have to see how sickening it is, so do you."

"I think it's kinda sweet these dumbasses have finally figured it out," Caroline says with a smile.

"Nobody asked for your opinion-" KK grumbles as Paige sulks.

"We are not dumbasses," she says indignantly,unable to help herself from smiling when Azzi kisses the pout off of her face.

"Oh my god," Sarah gags as she looks at the rest of their teammates, "do they ever stop being disgusting?"

She's met with a chorus of "no"s from the rest of the girls in the room who've had to put up with Paige and Azzi for longer than she has.

"Y'all have a lot of nerve coming into our room and then calling us out for what we do in it," Azzi scolds.

"This is NOT your room," Jana corrects.

Paige glares at her as she tightens her grip around Azzi, "don't listen to them baby. My room is your room."

"Fucking hell. Y'all are hopeless," the Egyptian groans, "I give up. Congratulations on the soft launch or whatever. We're all very happy for you."

Azzi splutters, a series of indiscernible noises waterfalling from her lips, "we did NOT soft launch."

"Really?" Ice cocks her forehead, "so this," she gestures to the whiteboard filled with incriminating pictures, "this just looks like a completely normal best-friends kinda weekend to you?"

"Yes," Azzi replies stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Jana points to a series of pictures taken of the two of them practically pressed into each other at two of the fashions shows; there's a noticeable difference in how much space there is between them and the people on their other sides in comparison to the lack of air between the two of them, "y'all sit this close to all of y'alls friends like this?"

"Of course-"

"Hey," Paige wails, "who else do you sit that close to?"

"Not the time," Azzi hisses to her girlfriend, "I'm trying to prove something."

"Prove what? That y'all look at everybody like this?" KK smirks as she points to a set of images of them basically cheesing at each other like lovesick fools.

"That doesn't count as a soft launch-"

"Baby it does look a little bit like one-"

"Shut up Paige," Azzi scowls, digging her elbow into her girlfriend's stomach, "it doesn't count because it's not like we meant to do it-"

"So what you're saying is you accidentally soft launched then?" Sarah raises an eyebrow.

"That's not- I mean-" Azzi struggles to form a coherent sentences as Paige laughs into her shoulder, "your a freshman. Shouldn't you be nicer to your upperclassmen or something?"

"AHA!" KK cheers as she high-fives Sarah "deflecting because you can't deny it. Good job freshie!"

"I AM NOT-"

"Baby," Paige says softly, barely concealing her smile captures Azzi's chin between her fingers to turn her face towards her, "let it go. They're right."

"They're not-" Azzi huffs.

"Yes they are-"

"Well they don't need to know," Azzi says petulantly as she glowers at the other occupants of the room.

Jana regards her with an amused expression, "you know we can hear you right?"

Paige sighs, annoyed at having to look away from her girlfriend as she rounds on the rest of her teammates, "alright y'all made your point. Now will you get the fuck out?"

"That is no way to talk to you children," KK says as she crosses her arms across her chest.

"Ooooh," Sarah grins, "wait does this mean I'm one of your children too?"

"For the nth time-" Azzi begins but Paige covers her mouth with her hands, not wanting to start another bickering session that would inevitable prolong her not getting alone time in bed with her girlfriend.

"We'll think about it," she tells the freshman, a little touched when it seems to make Sarah gleam with happiness, "now please," she gestures to the door.

"Kicking us out so y'all can be all mush-gushy in peach eugh," Ice scrunches her face with disgust, "at least tell us y'all got us gifts or something."

"Even if we did you're definitely not getting them now," Azzi snarls at them.

"So what you're telling me is that there's definitely gifts," Jana says excitedly, "ugh I knew y'all would come through."

"Here," Paige points to both of their suitcases parked against the wall, "how about y'all take those and go to the living room and take whatever y'all want-"

"Wait no-"

"Will you be quiet for one second," Paige pinches Azzi's arms before smiling at the younger girls in the room, "all yours guys!"

KK narrows her eyes at the blonde, "this feels like a bribe-"

"Who cares Kamorea. She's giving us expensive free shit, don't argue," Jana chides as she starts to pull KK out of the room, Sarah following excitedly behind them.

"That's kinda low of you," Ice says with a disappointed look towards both of them, "but hey," she shrugs as she begins to follows the others, "if it belongs to my parents, technically it belongs to me."

"Well played Bueckers," Caroline, the last person remaining, smile as she moves to wheel the whiteboard out with her.

"WAIT," both Paige and Azzi yell in sync before shyly looking at each other.

"You can um-" Paige licks her lips, "you can leave that. It's kinda cute."

"I lied," Caroline shakes her head but does as she's told, "you guys aren't sweet because this," she points between the two of them and the whiteboard as she begins to move backwards, "this is just sickening behavior."

"Y'all are just jealous of our love," Paige calls out, ignoring the chorus of protests that she gets in return, happy to finally have the room back to just her and Azzi.

"So," the younger girl says carefully, as she turns herself around to straddle Paige's hips.

"So," Paige whispers back, hands resting on Azzi's waist as the other girl brushes a strand of blond hair out of her face.

"I think we might have accidentally soft-launched a little bit," Azzi says shyly, nibbling at her bottom lip.

"Accidentally," Paige grins as she nuzzles their noses together.

And as the sunlight peeks in through the window and the cacophony of their teammates excitedly unpacking their presents drifts in from the living room, Paige holds Azzi closer to her chest, and she lets herself think of what it'll be like when they hard launch. On purpose, this time.

[bonebabbles]

Ivypool's Heart: Finished

Just completed reading the new super edition! I'm pleasantly surprised by this one. Overall, this was a very good book, MUCH better than the past 3 which were some of the most boring and unnecessary entries to the entire franchise.

If you were on the fence about this one, I'd recommend it. Just take this warning; it does the Warrior Cats thing where it harps pretty strong on parenthood and nuclear families being a borderline essential part of life, including a ton of bashing on how uniquely horrible this makes the Sisters.

If you can get past that, it's a pretty solid story about grief that makes some really fun additions to the WC lore, including the wildcats, StormClan, and a broad expansion to the afterlife system.

Meandering thoughts below the cut;

One of IPH's biggest flaws is pacing, but it's not nearly as bad as the past 3 SEs.

Not to mention, this is a pretty small SE. If you're ever bored, it won't last long.

Before the book introduces the Wildcats, it REALLY meanders. It'll pick up, but you will have to wade through relatively uninteresting scenes of the cats traveling and talking about their feelings unprompted.

A lot of "quicktime events" happen out of nowhere to fill pages with cats running away from random bullshit.

There's a horse carriage, an apple picker, dogs, weasels, foxes, a storm, traffic, humans, boats, sandwhiches. It's endless. My eyes glazed over during most of these scenes.

I know a lot of people were dreading Ivypool being nasty and unreasonable during this book, but honestly? I was hoping for it and didn't really receive it.

I find her most compelling when she's holding a grudge, acting on her anger, and generally working through messy issues. But aside from her just thinking about being annoyed or angry, she's really not snappy at all.

I feel like there could have been a lot more interesting and organic conflict between Icewing, Dovewing, and Ivypool's personalities instead of boring Quicktime Events. In fact, I felt like Icewing and Dovewing were kind of underutilized.

The conversations often feel quite stiff, especially in the first half. Everyone is very understanding of each other, respect boundaries and knows not to push too far, resolve their personal issues very easily, etc. It's kinda... unnatural.

Personally, I found that disappointing because I WANTED to see the cats actually process their grief over the course of the book. Watch them act out, maybe get in an fight or two and resolve it for the sake of the mission, have them come to a greater understanding of each other, etc.

Because Icewing and Dovewing are both so motherly and gentle and we're in Ivypool's POV, we don't really get to see them process their grief because of that.

They're not TOTALLY neglected though! I just... wanted more from this group.

However. I wanted LESS Rootspring.

I understand he's there to process the loss of Bristlefrost with Ivypool but god, every time he was on screen I wanted to push him aside and talk to Icewing lmao.

Stop trying to sell me "cool, mellowed from grief" Rootspring. He's a silly little hyperactive man and you will never be able to convince me otherwise.

As a silly little hyperactive semi-manthing myself, it would have been a lot more cathartic to see a clown like me going through grief. Not to mention just generally make for better chemistry with the group.

Between Ice and Dove who are already quite chill as characters, Whistle could have used someone more goofy to bounce off of.

I REALLY didn't like the whole implication that Rootspring is going to move on from Bristlefrost and "find a mother" for the kittens he wants so badly, though.

Erins PLEASE remember that adoption exists. He does not need a wife to be a dad. I'm beaming myself directly into your brains and telepathy-ing directions to the nearest cat adoption agency

aaaaaand on that note.... yeah. I did not like the way that this book leaned so hard on the whole "nuclear family" dynamic. Ivypool has had like two major interactions with her husband and one JUST happened in this book.

It especially bugged me that they leaned into Ivypool having been a very active mother, when we saw very little of that in the ACTUAL book. It wasn't even mentioned that Fernsong was allegedly the primary parent of the kittens when they were young.

But... I was able to look past it and just accept the book in a vacuum. There's a lot of good here.

Like the wildcats.

While I'm still wary of these being Scottish Wildcats and reserve my misgivings about the misuse of species that are very unlike domestic cats... I LOOOOVEEE the culture they've set up for them

I LOVEE the way that individual spirits reach out to the kits, guiding them through life

I LOVE the connection to StormClan

I LOVE their idea of the elements and general spirituality

And I LOVED the fact that a big part of Ivypool coming to terms with her grief was the expansion of her worldview. The way that she realized the religion she was raised with is quite small, and that there is an immense beauty in coming to understand other cultures, accept their advice, and see the world as they do.

I just wish the book had been able to tie that to a flaw that Ivypool has expressed since her very introduction back in OotS-- that she's smallminded.

It would have been a FANTASTIC way to really tackle and address that flaw, and pay off literal decades of set up. I really wish she had been messier in this book because of that!

But, digressing.

I'm over the moon that the team's actually playing with the series' spirituality! After such a long time of them outright avoiding some of the weirder elements in the series, like Rock and Midnight, it's exciting that they're finding some freedom in making new magic lore for themselves.

Hopefully, in the next few super editions, we'll be able to get some more insight to StormClan and the Wildcats.

The book really hits its stride in the second half because of this, and the ending chapters are actually fantastic. Some of the best stuff that's come out of the series (on purpose) in a loooong time.

[johnbleepingzoidberg]

WELL.

evil weegee.

idea where luigi becomes evil one way or another (i’m into the idea of it being a wish-turned-curse-situation) and mario and bowser have to team up to figure out wtf happened and to stop luigi from causing mass destruction.

bowuigi bonus: relationship is pre-established meaning luigi is ruling koopa kingdom alongside bowser. perhaps luigi is self-conscious and feels like he isn’t seen as a leader, leading luigi to make a well-intentioned wish to be taken more seriously. the wish is warped and turns into a curse, turning him into a wicked ruler that takes over koopa kingdom, and his subordinates follow him out of fear rather than respect, when deep down respect is really all he wanted. it starts internally by luigi kinda turning against bowser (confusing the hell out of the poor guy) and just gets worse from there. bowser’s dismayed because both his husband and his kingdom have been yoinked away from him, so he begrudgingly has to team up with mario and peach and whoever else to get everything back.🤠

i kinda wanna write a whole fic now but i honestly am not as well-versed in mario lore as i used to be and haven’t played any of the games in years 😭😭 but ngl drawing evil luigi was fun. low key been in love with luigi since i was 8 years old so it was quite cathartic for me

EDIT: guys i know Mr L exists 😩 i knew of him when i drew this but not exactly who he was/what he did. but i still wanna try to make my own thing here/try to differentiate them LOL. there can be multiple flavors of evil right

flats under the cut because i’m not entirely happy with how the lighting turned out 😩

[blu3haw4]

Hi, hello, remember when i posted a little fic two years ago called 'loved your parting gift (dead people are my favorite)' and then last year i talked about how that world lives in my mind rent free and how I've imagine that very cathartic scene of Lexa bleeding at Clarke's place and her calling Anya to watch Lexa while she feeds from countless people because the sent of Lexa's blood makes her incredibly thirsty? Do you remember?

Well i didn't write that scene (actually i did but it's not edited and I'm not sure i want it to be precisely like that so) instead I wrote a little night months after, a little look into their abettor-ship.

I feel like in the first installment it looks a little like these two are pretty serious, but in my head this fic is a little cracky. Like sure Lexa is Commander of the 12 clans full of werewolf packs (this isn't abo btw) sure she's the most powerful alpha of her people, sure she can control other alphas as though they were her beta's. But also she's just a girl. She's practically 21yo (210 in reality (215 actually, which makes Clarke want to celebrate her sweet (2)16's) but she's a wolf so its the same) and she just really likes this very pretty girl, mysterious and possibly incredibly dangerous but also just a girl who with all her power (and years on earth) is actually just chilling.

So here's that little night

For Clextober 2024, Idea 16 (already on ao3)

The Halloween Party

“A Halloween party? Seriously?” Lexa deadpanned.

“A custom party” Clarke clarified, covered excitement in her voice.

“Yeah, I got that part”

“Don’t sound so excited” She rolled her eyes.

“Of course I’m not excited Clarke, I’ve seen enough terrible representation of my kind? Don’t you hate those of yours?”

“Why would I?” Clarke laughed “few are exaggerated versions the fictional character created about us, and most are pretty simple and very accurate representation of how we really look like... humans with fangs and blood dripping down our mouths. And, by the way, I think the latest tv shows have done a pretty good job at representing your kind”

“When was the last time you saw a werewolf?” Lexa narrowed her eyes, she can’t remember the last time she saw a werewolf custom or tv show, but they were never flattering, and the few movies she knew about weren’t great either.

“I’m standing right in front of one!”

“Before that” Lexa rolled her eyes.

“Irrelevant, trirku, I’ve seen you fully and partially wolfed out as well as human size, you’ve got to admit they’re getting it right -finally”

“Trikru is not-“

“Your last name, I know, but you don’t have one, so suck it up” Clarke interrupts, with that sweet, little flirty tone she used to mock her -and to calm the bad guys she dried to feed- “You’re the one who rejected Woods”

“Because that’s just stupid-” before Clarke could jump with some retort again, she railed the conversation back “Why is it necessary? To go to this party?”

“Because!” Clarke rolled her eyes sighing, it had been an intense few months since they met, what started as just tense avoidance quickly turned into a series of unfortunate events that landed them on a weird abettor-ship. The vampire had to get used to sharing a city with a huge clan of werewolves’ packs, all the while making sure they weren’t sniffing around where they shouldn’t, whatever that’d be other super-natural creatures’ business or outright hunter houses. She hadn’t done the best job at it from afar, hence their fragile alliance.

“You said you wanted in on the majority of non-humans around here, this is your way of mingling”

“But why a Halloween party?”

“Because it’s fun! Because we hide every day, most have a lot more covering up to do than you and I. Halloween is the perfect opportunity to hide in plain sight, is the one occasion they get to be themselves around those they call friends without any judgment”

‘Do you have friends?’ Was the question in Lexa’s mind, but she kept it there, the line between professionalism and friendship or whatever with Clarke were blurry enough already. She’s made enough mistakes the past six months that led her down dangerous paths, she owed it to her clan to stay focused, to mend those mistakes, no matter how much she just wanted to get to know Clarke.

“You sure it’s a good idea?”

“Yes! For one you’ll get to do something fun, and two, how else will you know who’s pissed that you and your clan are here and who doesn’t give a shit?”

“Isn’t that the point of our agreement?”

“I agreed to help you, not do you binding” Clarke deadpanned “Look as far as I’m aware there hasn't been a pack around for about fifty years, most witches I know don’t care about you, but there’s plenty of vampires around who love to feed into our animosity. This party is your chance to check the field, some ghouls hide perfectly and won’t care that you pissed off hunters, there’s fairies though I’m sure would love to help them, there’s a variety of chimeras that-”

“Okay. I get it. Plenty of creature, perfect night, perfect chance”

“Exactly. Efficiency” Clarke winked at her.

With a sigh Lexa stood up “Fine, I’ll be here at seven”

“You better be in a nice custom!” Clarke called after her “You don’t want people to think you’re a boring ass human!” Lexa rolled her eyes yet started to plan her outfit for the following night.

She showed up at seven sharp, in simple black jeans and a white shirt, cut and styled to look worn, her hair braided and held by a bandanna at the top of her head, her make-up was exaggerated, all meat to portray a pirate. She thought she complied to Clarke’s petition, yet her hopes for a compliment fell when the Vampire opened the door.

“You didn’t come as a were?!”

“No! I am one!” She huffed.

“That’s the point!” Clarke chuckles turning around, in her plain fitting black dress, black high heels and… a cape. Because of course she was a vampire. “Such a wasted opportunity” she rolled her eyes, cheeky grin fangs out and all, clearly pleased with her own ‘custom’. Lexa felt a little silly, knowing she spent all day crafting hers.

“I mean don’t get me wrong-” Clarke cut her train of thought, looking her up and down, still grinning, licking her left fang -it was always the left one, same side where that beauty mark sat atop her lip- not that Lexa paid attention or anything. “This fit is… damn, hot as fuck, Trikru, you really leaned into it” And okay, Lexa wasn’t expecting that, so who could blame her if she blushed a little.

“Well, you… said to make it nice”

“It is nice… very nice” Clarke nodded, looking her up and down again as she kept licking that damn fang, how was Lexa supposed to focus on the mission. And okay, it wasn’t really a mission, but she was still supposed to focus on making connections not on… well. Clarke.

They left shortly after, and Lexa was informed on the way that this Halloween party was, actually, several parties. A few different parties they would go to through the night.

And so, they spend about an hour -and a half sometimes- at each party, Lexa meets all of Clarke’s contacts -all witches- and learns to recognize the faces of few vampires who don’t seem to like her. She asks how come they don’t approach them and seem to back away from Clarke, but she deflects, says she’s not sure and bets they’re just smart enough to not mess with Lexa. But she knows it can’t be just that, she doesn’t push it though, just hopes Clarke will trust her enough one day to tell her, after all their relationship at the moment pretty much consisted of exchanging information.

By midnight Lexa had a pretty clear idea of how most creatures felt about her and her clan, she met a few chimeras that lived with packs and seemed to hope that they’d protect them from the hunters, while lone ones kept their distance from her. Ghouls and fairies alike seem all over the place, some wanted to meet her, some seem scared of her, others just outright grossed by her presence. It gave her a good feeling of what she would be dealing with for the next few years of their stay.

So, with her mission accomplished, she finally listened to Clarke and agreed to have fun. With the elixirs provided by Clarke’s witches friends, the pair was able to enjoy the nice numbing of their drinks -not that Clarke wasn’t already a little drunk and high from the few humans she fed from.

Lexa learned over the course of the first two months after her arrival that Clarke had a method of feeding that didn’t involve drinking them dry, and didn’t even leave a mark. The watching had begun with Lexa following her after their first face-to-face encounter, feeling the need to check that Clarke’s victims were in fact the predators she claimed them to be.

That’s how she found her flirting with people at bars and promising a good time, offering them a vape and saying it had weed to cover up the later dizziness, taking them a out to a more private corner and making out with them, Clarke would kiss their necks, nibbling and licking to activate the sedative from her saliva and then biting them to drink from them, they would think she was leaving a hickey when in reality she was only drinking a little of their blood -the equivalent of two exam doses, she would later learn- before licking the wound to heal it close. She’d take them back inside and leave after a while.

Lexa had memorized the pattern, Clarke would drink from four different people per night, and she would skip three nights if she drank someone dry. She wasn’t sure if Clarke was aware of it, she had an idea that Clarke could scent her every time, but she had stopped following her after the first time they spoke. Falling to the conclusion -and promptly ignoring it- that her obsession with the habit had come from wanting to be a part of the rotation of… donors.

-It meant she didn’t realize when the pattern changed, after the night she bled at Clarke’s place, the vampire started to feed every night even if she dried someone, the number of doses per night increased and even some were taken during the day. Clarke didn’t tell her, afraid to accept the reason of her newfound insatiable thirst-

And so, she found herself at the last party mildly drunk, doing everything in her power to keep Clarke’s focus on her, because her inhibition was low and her instincts her directing her more than her conscious, and Clarke kept looking for humans to woo and drink from, not because she need it -or so Lexa thought- just because she wanted to, because she was having fun and she wasn’t -technically- hurting anybody. And Lexa didn’t really want to stop her, she just… wanted her to not kiss other people.

And Clarke kept telling her that she was no fun, that she should let loose and enjoy the night, and Lexa was really trying, but she didn’t know how to without completely exposing herself. Because even her wolf wanted Clarke to bite her, her big bad alpha soul wanted to be bitten, and how was Lexa really supposed to deny that.

So, she showed her she could be fun, she drank and danced with Clarke, and she did her best at flirting, and she noticed when Clarke noticed. She noticed when Clarke stopped looking around for humans, she noticed her flirting turning up from her natural, and she noticed how she danced differently with her. She noticed the way she wouldn’t stop licking her fangs and biting her lips.

She noticed she was breathing heavily “Why are you breathing?” Lexa asked.

Clarke giggled, tilting her head to rest their foreheads together “What?” she sighed with a drunken laugh.

“You don’t need to breath” Lexa hushed, giggling a little too as they stumbled more than danced “Why are you doing it?”

“Oh… well-” and again with the fang-licking, Lexa was sure that a few more time and she wouldn’t be able to hold back the need to capture that tongue “The feeding, y’know how I get drunk because they’re drunk?” she asks, motioning vaguely with her hands and chuckling when Lexa pulls her back to her after she stumbled back.

“It happens because… I kinda… absorb a little of their life. Not like… take from… their time, just-” She tasked, and Lexa couldn’t decide if she should fixate of her mouth or her eyes, bluer than she’d ever seen them “like the blood makes me… alive, for however long it takes my body to… fully…” another giggle, another misstep “absorb it”

“Oh yeah?” Lexa nodded, unable to contain the smile on her face, she bumped her nose with Clarke “Sounds fun” she hushes, because if they stop talking, she might end up kissing her.

And okay, it was what she wanted, but she knew it was a bad idea, and she didn’t want to initiate it anyways.

“It is” Clarke nods, grinning widely “It’s why my eyes are lighter… or bluer… I guess”

“Really?” Lexa leans back, wanting to get a better look, and Clarke unconsciously leans forward, almost chasing her.

“Yep” she sighs this time when their foreheads press together again, there a slumber looks in her eyes now “You know how they’re… black, before I feed?” Lexa only hums her agreement “That’s the… monster”

“Hey, no, don’t call it that. That’s the hunger” Lexa says, and she’s had both arms around Clarke’s waits this whole time, so she lifts one up to cares the side of her neck. “You’re not -We’re not monsters” Clarke eyes her, not buying it.

And Lexa knows, she knows that this is not a worry Clarke carries every day, she knows the vampire is self-aware and has probably lived longer than Lexa is capable of wrapping her head around. She knows these are drunk insecurities that won’t be there in the morning- or in a few hours- but she needs to calm them, because she also knows that is a worry that comes from deep, deep down in her core.

“You are cable of feeding without killing. And even if you had to kill to do it, you wouldn’t be different than an animal. You wouldn’t be different than a werewolf. We’re not that much different than humans”

Clarke’s hands have moved from Lexa’s shoulder to her arms, up her neck and into her hair in a sequence since they started dancing. In the breath after Lexa finishes speaking, one hand moves back into her hair and the other stays holding her arm, a subtle tilt of her head it’s all that’s needed for the lips to connect as she pulls Lexa closer in every way.

Lexa’s breath catches in her throat as her arms instinctively wrap around Clarke and she answers the kiss eagerly. It’s slow for a second, they adjust to the press of Clarke’s fangs in a tight press of lips. Then it intensifies, there’s a brief separation before they both lean in again, stronger, deeper. They pull each other close and sigh into each other’s mouth, Lexa gasps and Clarke smirks every time her fang nibs Lexa’s tongue or lips, and they absently move out of the makeshift dance floor.

They don’t bump into anyone, their super senses kick in and helping them navigate the crowded room without even looking. Clarke sucks on Lexa’s lower lip with a softness that makes Lexa forget there’s sharp fangs behind those lips. She licks into Clarke’s mouth anyways, learning each time where to go and how to enjoy it, Clarke’s tongue guides her too, she absolutely enjoys that part the most.

Lexa is leaned against the hallway wall, the window beside them is open and the breeze is a nice contrast to the warm of their bodies pressed against each other, hands pulling and wandering as they exchange heated kisses.

Lexa gaps and turns her head away from the kiss suddenly, her reflexes kick in when Clarke leans for -a kiss to- her neck and her arm goes up to grab Clarke by the throat. She pauses, confused, still holding Lexa close, and then she hears it too, the faith distinguished howl of a wolf; Clarke can tell is a werewolf, Lexa understands the entire message.

“I need to go” she says, still looking out, eyes red now, fangs out.

“Do you need help?” Clarke sobers up, she doesn’t move though, neither of them do.

“No. You shouldn’t come” and finally Lexa pulls away, Clarke takes a step back with her and their arms drop when Lexa moves to go back into the main room “Clarke. I mean it. Don’t follow” she says, and she tries to ignore the looks on her face, tries not to read too much into the flash of darkening eyes, and leaves without looking back.

[flippinpancakes64]

Hello, I just want to know if I can request the Cullens to have an S/o that is in a band like sick puppies or skillet, please, and thank you

Also, I love your work

The Cullens with a reader who's in a Rock Band

Hello! Thank you for requesting!

I am someone who's into alternative music but I've never heard of these two bands. So I did my best to listen to some of their songs to get a feel for what kind of band you were talking about. They both reminded me a lot of Three Days Grace, Seether, Godsmack, and other bands like that so I based it off of that too.

In short, I basically went the route of a 90s-00s rock band

I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

He's not the biggest fan

Not of you being in the band, but of the music

He's not really into all the screaming

Even though it's not all screaming lol

He is pretty old fashioned

But overall he'd be an enjoyer

He would be at all of your concerts watching from the front row

He will proudly tell anyone that asks that he is your boyfriend and that you two are very much in love

And if you guys ever wanted to write a slower, ballad-type piece he is so down to compose and play the piano part for it

Also you guys don't need to worry about money

If one of your guitar strings breaks he's sending you 1,000 dollars and telling you to keep the change

He's also a good personal bodyguard

No need to worry about rowdy fans when he's there

He supports all of your dreams

He just doesn't listen to the music in his free time

Sorry

Alice:

She is SO into it

I feel like she doesn't care about genres or anything like that

If she likes a song she likes it

And when you tell her about your band and show her one of your songs, she is in love

You don't need to hire a merch designer or a hair/makeup artist ever

She's on it

She loves helping you choose an outfit and doing your hair and makeup before you go on stage

And it does stroke her ego just a little bit when people post on Twitter about your outfits :)

She's also definitely the type to print out like a hundred posters and staple them to all of the telephone poles in like the whole state

Also always at every concert

Except she's backstage

She prefers to be close

Stands to the side the whole time holding a bottle of water for you whenever you need it

She definitely has a shirt with your face on it that says #1 fan

She doesn't wear it but she does have it

Jasper:

He's also a little confused by the music

I don't know why but I literally cannot imagine this man listening to music ever

So he doesn't really have a favorite type

But he loves your voice so obviously he loves your music

He doesn't trust himself to be in the crowd at your concerts

So he's always backstage too

Even though it's loud, if you even whisper under your breath that you're thirsty he is there with a bottle of water

For some reason I get the feeling he would be good at audio design tho

This guy can make fire edits to a song

Your bandmates love him tho because he moves all of the heavy equipment

He likes to be in the studio when you're recording

Quality time

And he can be perfectly silent so he never interferes with the sound equipment

Rosalie:

I feel like she'd shock you with the fact that she LOVES alt music

She's so angsty

It perfectly displays her emotions

The screaming is cathartic to her

So when she hears that you're in a band and you make the exact type of music that she loves, she is so excited

She wants to be involved in everything

She would love designing your outfits

And I feel like she would be a good songwriter

She is in the crowd every time

Directly in the center

Directly in the front

One time, when one of your concerts was coming up, she printed out hundreds of flyers and went around the school telling people to show up

Not asking

Telling

The show was packed

Emmett:

I think he would love it purely for aesthetic reasons

Not to say that he doesn't like that you're happy and doing what you love

But I think he would feel so cool with a badass rockstar S/O

Like when he looks up at you on stage he just gets so much pride

Like hell yeah everybody came here to see MY S/O

Also he is your personal bodyguard

He would have so much fun kicking people out of shows

He puts on the sunglasses, the high vis vest, everything

Obviously he is in the crowd every time

But that's because he's the guard

He would proudly wear a shirt with your face on it btw

And no he won't get rid of it

No matter how many times you ask

Esme:

She's another one who's not really into the music part

I get the feeling she would like jazz/classical music more

She just gives me calm energy

So she wouldn't really like your music sorry

But that doesn't mean she won't support you

She is at every concert

Backstage

And she helps you with anything else you may need

She is shockingly good at filming music videos

She also likes to take action shots while you're performing

And then she makes a scrapbook out of it <3

Carlisle:

This man is older than electricity

He's watched the evolution of all music genres

And he is familiar with all of them

He's sort of like Alice in that he likes songs from all genres

He is completely supportive, though

Gives you all the money you could ask for

And then some

He talks about you to his patients all of the time

"Oh you broke your arm at a music festival? My S/O is in a band, you should check them out sometime."

The nurses get a bit annoyed

The only downside is that, because he works so much at the clinic, he can't help that much

He does his best to be at every one of your concerts

But he can't make all of them

When he does show up though he is front and center

Vampire! Bella:

Stephenie Meyer confirmed that Bella listens to Linkin Park

So yes she totally loves your band

I can imagine her in the mosh pit

She'd love it

She would stay far away from the stage though

Like she does not want to be perceived by the public

She helps doing other stuff though

I feel like Edward probably taught her how to play guitar at some point

So if you're ever stumped on a riff or something she jumps in to help

Obvs she's at every concert too

[thecreelhouse]

I’ll see you in my dreams

Eddie Munson x platonic!reader / Steve Harrington x platonic!reader (this is more Eddie centric though)

WC: 3K+

CW: canon character death, grief, hurt/little comfort, angst, some dark humor, mentions of the afterlife, and the like.

A/N: I started this a while ago to kinda cope with too many losses between last year and this one. I’m not fussing over editing this one, bc it was cathartic to just… get out. Sharing this for the few that were interested, but I get not everyone’s up for a sad fic these days. If you do decide to read this, thank you <3 Tell and show your friends you love them, as much as life allows you.

Title is from I’ll see you in my dreams - Bruce Springsteen (but the live version bc it makes me cry like a baby lmao)

—————

You got the call, while hundreds of miles from home.

It’s not like you knew— not really; this was the one time you weren’t home with whatever latest disaster unfolded in Hawkins. You didn’t know the danger that tried to swallow everyone whole.

You didn’t know someone you loved dearly wouldn’t make it back.

A somber tone weighs heavily on those five words: “Did you hear the news?”

In brighter circumstances, different context in a more pleasant timeline, that question could lead to something good, something worth celebrating.

Instead, those words landed on the opposite end of the emotional spectrum; even with lack of context, your heart dropped as they hit your ears.

Maybe to an outsider, that could’ve seemed like a drastic, overnight change, but deep down you knew that this had been building for much longer than one night.

You knew hearing those words on the other end of a line could send everything spiraling, no matter who broke the news, no matter who it involved, your heart would splinter apart. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Especially not after losing Eddie.

—————

A funeral— a traditional, open casket funeral— wasn’t possible, not when Eddie’s body lay rotting away in the Upside Down. Even if he was brought home, it’s not like Hawkins would welcome a funeral for who they saw to be a murderer; it’d be no celebration of his life, or mourning the good person he was, not with the entirety of Hawkins believing he was practically the devil himself.

Even so, you couldn’t make it home in time for the very hush-hush memorial service, only among close friends, and family, being only Wayne, of course.

Everyone in the party were grieving in their own ways, as people do when losing someone they love, but the loss of Eddie had a twisted spin on it. 

While your friends here saw him shortly before he was killed, before he gave up his life to try helping everyone else, you had no visual closure. That’d be unbearable, probably more-so than how you’re grieving.

Steve, Robin and Nancy saw him before they split ways with Eddie and Dustin; a plan set in motion to take out Vecna required the separation. Dustin might’ve been the one hit hardest, having to watch Eddie run off to do what he believed was right. The kid, who found one of his older brother figures, bleeding out on the ground once the bats were gone.

Dustin, too young to witness such horrors, too young to face such grief over Eddie, too young to lose his life over something no one could wrap their heads around.

Though not a competition in mourning, that kid had to have the worst grief of them all.  

You wondered if the kids on the other side of the country felt such strange, empty “closure” as you did. Though, Mike was the only one out of that group to have any connection with Eddie, being in Hellfire and all.

Then everyone else here, the kids, the older teens— one way or another, little or large, everyone had some kind of connection to Eddie. They all had faced the same living nightmare, even if on different levels, it was all in the same realm of suffering.

Steve, who called you to deliver the bad news, knew very little about Eddie before all of this. Once skeptical of Eddie— and honestly, a little jealous over the way Dustin looked up to him, feeling replaced— towards the end, had hoped if they all made it out alive, maybe the two could be friends. Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

That hope was long gone, now.

And you, what a strange plane of grief you existed on. You left to start life over elsewhere, reluctant to leave your friends, but in need of change. Being away for almost one year, away from your friends, made this loss harder to comprehend.

Eddie would never be home when you’d return. Your mind took that as a “see you soon”, not a “goodbye”; you’ll never see your best friend again, but the distance warped your thoughts into “this is temporary.”

Death is certain, death is final, and you were well aware of that. You often had to remind yourself, though, that he wasn’t just absent because of the miles between you two, but absent forever.

Maybe that’s nowhere near as heavy as the grief everyone else has carried, and will carry until the end of time, but it certainly didn’t make this any easier to cope with.

—————

The quarry seemed like a good, quiet place to cry it out, for some reason.

Lost in your thoughts, daylight slips away; you turn to Steve, who was watching you closely, like you were too fragile to be left alone.

“Hey… you don’t have to stay,” You kick at an empty beer can by your feet, unable to look him in the eye. 

You couldn’t look anyone in the eye since coming home.

“I want to.”

You sigh heavily, “Steve—“

“I mean it. We don’t have to talk, or anything.” His voice is gentle, calm, even through the moments it threatens to break. “I— I’m here for you. We all are. You know that, right?”

You nod, pulling your knees to your chest, staring out at the quarry’s water.

“M’here for you too.”

It comes and goes, fluxes and flows; grief is funny like that. Things you’d expect to weigh so heavily on your heart, don’t; instead, the tiniest details of loss engulf you in what feels like a bottomless lake of dread.

“He did this… really stupid thing, always shoving straw wrappers in my glovebox when we’d grab food somewhere.” You chuckled, already bracing yourself for the inevitable. “On the drive back here, I opened the glovebox for my lighter, and all of these— these fucking straw wrappers, all crumpled up in like… like some damn accordion—“ Laugh wavering by the threat of a sob tightening your throat, you shake your head. “Fucking goofball would say he folded them like that so they’d spring out like confetti. And the fucker was right.”

Steve laughs with you, but it’s somber, and before you realize you’re crumbling again, his arm winds around your shoulders, cradling you into his side. 

“I cried more over that than when you called me with the news.”

He keeps silent, because right now there are no words to bring comfort, not without forcing a positivity neither of you can or want to carry currently. Sometimes having someone to listen is a little more soothing than screaming into the void.

“I keep— I tried calling him. Took a few rings to realize it’d only be his uncle that’d answer. Can’t listen to the mixtapes he’s made me, ‘cause I can’t bring myself to hear his voice on them with his silly intros. But I tried calling him to hear his voice again anyway. My brain feels… broken.”

The sun is fully set now, with a pink-orange hue lingering in the sky, mismatched to your emotions.

“He never got to fucking graduate. This is so wrong. My best friend is—“ A sob slips out as the force of a bleak reality settles in all over again; it gets cozy, makes itself at home in the walls of your shattered heart, when you never invited it in.

Steve’s rubbing your back softly, signaling quietly to continue, if you need. That’s when the shattered debris of your heart crumble further; at this rate, there’ll be nothing left. 

Maybe it’s not so bad being heartless. It’s gotta be easier than feeling … this. 

A double edged sword is the human experience, with it’s cruel lesson of grief, whichever path you take. You could be cold, bitter, but lonely, by not allowing anyone in; it’d save you the heartache of losing anyone you love. But you could also love, and be loved, experience this nightmare of life together, rather than stumbling alone; final goodbyes and a hole in your heart are the price to pay.

Maybe, it’s worth living a life rich in love and community, even if the payoff is a grim one.

“I’ll never see him again. None of us will. I kept staring at the door, expecting he’d walk through the door now that I’m home… use the spare key like he always did, waltz right in like everything’s fine. He was the only friend I had that liked going to concerts, or skipping out on a good night’s sleep to take last minute road trips in that janky-ass van of his.

“Now all we have of him are blurry, out of focus pictures, and notes with his goddamned chicken scratch handwriting. Everything in that DnD notebook he kept, all the campaigns and drawings… all his music, his battle vests—“ You glance up at Steve, finally. “The vest he let you wear, you know how many fucking times he stabbed his thumb sewing those patches? I finally got him a thimble so he’d stop jabbing himself with those whip stitches… for what? Now he can’t even fucking use it.”

The tiniest of details of loss really are the culprit of heartbreak.

It pains Steve that this is just one of those things where he can’t protect his friends from the hurt. He can’t shield you or anyone else from the inevitable heartbreak and unpredictable mourning this has and will continue to bring.

“It kills me the two of you didn’t have more time to get to know each other. You’re both Dustin’s favorites, you were so much more alike than either of you realized.” Rubbing your eyes, you murmur, “You’re both my favorite people, too. And I- I should’ve been here, I never should’ve left—“

“No, we all wanted you to be happy, wherever you went. I’m sure Eddie would’ve kept pushing for you to follow your dreams if you tried to stay.” Steve rests his head on yours; the position is a little awkward, with how you hold one another, but it’s a closeness you need, all the same. “I would’ve, too.”

For a few moments, you sit on unspoken words that come to mind; maybe they’re too bold to speak aloud, but your mouth’s always one to be miles ahead from your thoughts.

“You’re not allowed to die before me.”

It’s almost a silly demand, one that makes him snort a little, pulling back with a confused expression.

“What?”

“I mean it. You, everyone, I can’t handle this right now, how the hell would I handle losing anyone else? I could never handle losing you.”

“I’d never be able to handle losing you, either.”

“Well, I said it first, so wait your fucking turn.”

You glare at Steve, bleary-eyed and appearing just as bad as you feel, falling into a stare-off with him. It doesn’t last long; the two of you burst into laughter, real laughter, over how damn ridiculous that exchange was.

“This— this is fucked up to even joke about.”

“Oh, like dark humor’s not up Eddie’s alley? Please.” Your grins, short-lived, fizzle out, leaving the two of you in heavy silence. You don’t mean to break it, especially with such a naive thought, but you do. “He’s really gone… isn’t he?”

Steve nods with a sniffle, not bothering to pull tissues out of his pocket anymore— if there’s any even left to begin with.

“Y’know… back when my parents were around more, my mom told me something kinda comforting when my grandma died.” With a deep breath, his stare falls to the ground beneath the two of you. “I don’t know if it’s true, but she said that people visit you in your dreams after they pass. Kinda like… like, they’re telling you they’re okay on the other side.”

“Did you see your grandma?”

“Yeah, that night, actually. Maybe it’s some weird, psychological thing, ‘cause that’s kinda what dreams are anyway. Just your subconscious trying to tell you shit.”

You lean back, brow quirked in skepticism. “Since when did you become a dream expert?”

He huffs a laugh, “I got desperate trying to cope with the nightmares. Anyway— point is, I think you’ll see Eddie again. Dustin already saw him in his dreams, said he thanked him for trying to help…” Steve hesitates for a second, finishing, “… and for not allowing him to die alone.”

That just feels like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

“What if it’s just a way to cope?” The brain does some fucked up shit when you’re neck deep in pain; you and the others in the group are all too familiar with that. 

“If it is, so what? You have to grieve, or it won’t get easier. And Eddie might’ve beat himself up for running away, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to leave without saying goodbye. Not to his friends, at least.”

—————

There’s a full moon tonight, with only its light guiding you through the woods, but you don’t feel unsafe. There’s no sense of threats, or danger. Just calm, like you’re supposed to be here. The clearing of the trees reveal Lovers’ Lake, with Eddie’s van parked right at the edge of the water.

Hope floods through you, overflows into unshed tears and a pace picking up, closing the distance. You round one of the open doors of the van, finding your best friend. He strums lazily along the strings of his guitar, worn notebook laying open, with his famous chicken-scratch penmanship, chaotically covering the pages.

Eddie glances up, warmly smiling at you.

“Hey, punk.”

It’s a voice your heart’s been both aching to hear again, and not ready for, not yet. The sight is even harder to take in, overwhelming as you race through emotions rapidly.

But it’s like nothing’s changed. Nothing is different, not for now, at least.

You greet him like you always have, “Hey, freak.” Climbing into the back of the van, muscle memory almost leads you to your usual spot, a mountain of pillows in the van; this isn’t a casual hang out, though, so you settle next to him, legs dangling over the bumper. “You’re really here.”

“Harrington was right, y’know. I had to say goodbye the way we’d both want.”

There’s a light mist that dances along the lake’s surface, blanketing the entirety of it, but it’s soothing to see. The stars above, brighter than you’ve ever seen in your entire life, shimmer and glitter above.

“Yeah, guess we’re not getting stoned though, huh?”

Eddie sets his guitar behind him, sighing heavily.

“Maybe later, way later, when you make it to this side someday.” He throws an arm around your shoulders, giving a squeeze. “It’s not so bad here… but it’s not like I wanted to be here so soon.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t really get to see you before— before—“ Even here, it’s far too painful to say aloud. “I should’ve been here with you, with everyone—“

“You can’t plan your life around death, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but it’s— I know it sounds silly, but not seeing you… not being here before you l- left… my mind refuses to believe it. I’m never gonna see you again, and my stubborn brain keeps trying to convince itself you’re still here.”

“That’d be denial, I believe.” He tries coming off lighthearted, but it falls flat. “Y’know I’m always gonna be with you, right? All that corny shit, in your heart and stuff, among the stars— whatever you wanna believe, I’m there.” He pinches his thumb and forefinger together, scrunching his face up as he adds, “I’ll even be in the teeny, tiny, little straw wrappers I hid everywhere in your car.”

“Oh my god, there’s more?!” You laugh through your tears, but it fades out fast. “Well I’m a selfish prick and want you here, with all of us.”  Kicking at a pebble, you watch it break the lake’s glassy surface. “How the hell do I keep going without you?”

“I don’t have an answer, but you just… do. Just know it’s not easy for me, either.” Eddie sniffles, then chuckles, “It’s gonna be boring as hell waiting on this side for you guys.”

That finally tugs a hint of a laugh out of you; he squeezes your shoulders again, hand shaking against you. 

“I am okay, though. There’s no angry mob ready to burn me at the stake, and no injuries, no pain. No Upside-Down bullshit, like, at all. And, as a wandering soul in the afterlife, I get to watch all the concerts I want, for free. So there’s a perk at least.” He rolls his eyes with a reassuring smile. “Aside from that… you’re gonna be okay, too.”

Eddie pulls away, reaching in his vest pocket— out fly old, crumpled receipts, loose change, some safety pins and dice; it’s a soothing sight, to see nothing changes one’s character when they make it to the other side.

“Aha!” He pulls out necklace cord, with a guitar pick dangling at the end, showing signs of wear, tear, and love over time. Sliding it into your hand, he pushes your fingers to roll into a fist. “Want you to have this.”

“Wh— but your uncle—“

“Dustin gave him the good one,” He snorts, “but my best friend gets the one with history.”

“Is this gonna be like winning the lottery in a dream, only to wake up, still broke?”

Eddie only laughs harder, smile fond, glassy gaze, a sight you take in, hoping you never forget it after waking up. He tugs you back into a bear hug, grip trembling as you mirror the hug. 

“See you later, punk.” He whispers, voice wavering. “Live a good life for me, alright?”

“Wait, Eddie, don’t— I’m not ready to say goodbye yet!” The world around you dissipates into the mist floating in, taking Eddie with it. 

You jolt up with a gasp, eyes darting around the room for some sort of sign or proof that Eddie never left, that it was all just a bad dream.

But was it really a bad dream? All things considered, even if it’s just a coping mechanism, it gives some closure.

Closure. For your dead best friend.

Sobbing, you place your hands over your face, already anticipating the pounding headache this will give you. Something pokes into your cheek, interrupting your tears.

Unfurling your hand, Eddie’s guitar pick necklace lays in your palm, just as it did in your dream.

“No fucking way…”

Holding it up against the moonlight, sneaking between the blinds, it’s the well-loved pick, scratches, worn edges and all. The way it gleams against the moon’s glow, seeing it clearly, feeling it in your hands, it’s real. And you have no idea how it could’ve wound up here, in your hand, but here it is.

This necklace won’t ease your grief, nor will recollecting the dream with Eddie, but you have the closure you needed to begin properly grieving.

Flicking on the lamp on your nightstand, you reach in the drawer for your journal, scribbling down as much of the dream as you can recall, before it fades away as consciousness settles in.

Steve was right; as shitty as this entire situation is, Eddie is okay.

He may not be here, but he’s okay. And in time, you will be, too.

[mirror-to-the-past]

Day 1, and I am... immediately not too pleased with the story adaptation in the OMORI manga, unfortunately. Pacing is absolutely BREAKNECK SPEED, with the majority of day 3 being zoomed through.

The most criminal decision is that the prologue beginning in White Space and Headspace was swapped for a flashback to the Christmas Day memory, and then Sunny wakes up and meets Kel at the door. No Headspace centric prologue in which we lose Basil, get introduced to the cast from how they are relevant to Sunny's feelings and memory, and develop our perceptions of the supporting cast alongside Sunny's dated memories of them. Just BOOM, here's real-world Kel, Basil, and Aubrey.

And in the case of Aubrey, this ESPECIALLY hurts her real-world character introduction. A large part of what made her character immediately compelling was really being able to appreciate the contrast between her real-world self and her Headspace self, which leads the player/audience to be like "What? But she was so sweet before!! What on earth made her like this? How can I help her become like how she used to be? CAN she be like how she used to be??" She's got fanfic characterization of being much more of a violent bully rather than a girl with bad communication skills and angst for days, particularly in that she is ACTUALLY HITTING PEOPLE WITH HER NAIL BAT. Uhm, WHAT?! (Also HOW on earth did Basil get completely bodied with Aubrey's bat in the side of the head and proceed to get up, unbloodied, the next panel? What are they feeding my boy to make his epidermis and cranium made of steel??) (Edit: Looking at the scene again, it looks like Aubrey might have kicked Basil to make him fall over, right after swinging her bat around in close proximity to his head. They don't really make the flow of action all that clear, so it's easy to have the misconception that Aubrey is being actually more violent than she really is, rather than just putting up an intimidating front.)

In the manga, the character introduction name cards and descriptions only first appeared in the Headspace portion AFTER all of the Day 3 stuff turbo-sped past us, which really makes you feel like all the jumbled together Day 3 stuff that ACTUALLY introduced the characters in this adaptation was just a strange choice.

Other nitpicks, I LOVE how Sunny is so expressive in this when he is afraid and whatnot, but why is Omori so expressive? The whole point of Sunny's Headspace-sona was that he was meant to be a temperate means of repression and giving Sunny emotional numbness- to the bad AND good. It's partly why Sunny's smile at the Good Ending of the game is so cathartic- he triumphed over Omori, so he's more able to feel the positive emotions that "Omori" caused to be stifled.

Also they're really just... putting all the stuff with Mari right out in the open from the beginning, huh? BOOM, here's violin imagery, BOOM your sister is dead, etc etc. I dunno, man...

Anyway here's gay boys

they be lookin'...

lashes for DAYS, also I love how Basil looks so sopping wet. I approve

Basil voice: "Hello everyone~..."

and honorary Hero because they made him look so 💅💅💅 here

Anywho, the art is absolutely LOVELY, I love the style, and the Hellmari panel was *mwah* MAGNIFIQUE. I will at least enjoy the visuals, I am sure.