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senditcolton · 4 months ago

Note

Request: Mean Marty smut. Because “we’re a bad idea” is completed (loved the character progression in that last chapter, by the way), there’s a good chance Lamoriello isn’t re-signing him and Clutter, and this entire off-season has hurt my heart. Dealer’s choice on the content.

- 💛

I'm Not Sentimental, but...

a/n: considering the way I managed to write all of this in a single night I feels just proves how much I kind of missed writing smut. why is it always this man to pull me back to smut writing? the world may never know. inspired by this moodboard by @smileysvech, this ask from a previous thirst night, and this proposal from @comphy-and-cozy, (not sure if you'll get the full epic, but here's a little taste)

Song Inspo: "Billie Bossa Nova" by Billie Eilish Word Count: 5k Warnings: smut. sugar daddy/baby dynamics, bondage, sensory deprivation, oral (m receiving), sex toys, overstimulation, dirty talk, and just general depravity... I'm going to hell, it's fine.

Aman. Premiere Suite. Ten o’clock. Sharp.

That was the four sentence text message Matt Martin had sent you earlier today. A text message that you had been repeating in your head almost religiously, as if being able to recite it from memory would make him forgive you for the fact that it was now 10:15 and you were still a block away.

Hell, being able to recite the message would most likely get you into even more trouble.

Instead of memorizing the now irrelevant text, you should’ve been practicing a rehearsed speech of excuses to tell him when you finally did arrive: your boss kept you at work for longer than expected, you had to stop at your house to get ready, dressing to the parameters that Matt had set in the text massage prior to the one rattling in your brain. Anything that would transfer the blame from you onto someone else. But you knew it would be pointless.

Matt loved reminding you that you were capable of anything. A reminder that was uplifting when brought up in conversations about the education he was helping pay for. A reminder that was shameful when he said it in that degrading tone that made you weak in the knees.

When the two of you had agreed to this dynamic all those months ago, you knew what you were signing up for. Being a sugar baby wasn’t for the meek. That statement was only amplified when you added Matt Martin to the equation.

After all, no sane person would willingly agree to trudge down New York City streets in a set of highly risqué lingerie, the only protection between you and indecent exposure being a long tan trench coat.

Yet… here you were.

A sigh of relief whooshes out of you when you see the neon sign of the hotel ahead, your pace quickening as if that would make up for lost time. You try to keep an air of confidence about you as you walk into the lobby, your heels clicking on the tile floor. The song-and-dance at the front desk is blissfully short – only the words ‘premiere suite’ needed to fall from your mouth before someone is escorting you to the private elevator. You step inside, the doors closing and you watch the LED numbers increase, your heartrate rising with it.

You were so late. You were in so much trouble. But, instead of the dread you should’ve felt at the thought of facing Matt’s disappointment, there was a thrum of excitement running through you.

It wasn’t anything to lie about. In fact, Matt often liked to tease you, asking if you broke the rules on purpose because you liked the punishment. Whenever he asked, both you and he knew that there was no denying the truth.

It was a deliciously predictable game of cat-and-mouse. You knew exactly how far you could push and he knew exactly how much you could take. It was a transaction, like every other part of your arrangement. And while some might think that knowledge would dampen the mood, it actually just made it even more intoxicating.

The elevator finally stops, the doors opening directly into the suite – an elegantly decorated room decked in the blacks and beiges that screamed bougie. You step forward, out of the elevator, your heels sinking into the carpet as your eyes dart around the room, looking for Matt. You eventually spy the outline of his tall frame in front of the opened bay doors, the cool air streaming in from the balcony, fluttering the curtains. He has his back to you, his arms crossed and you see an empty whiskey glass dangling from his fingers.

He knew you were there. He had to have known that you were there, the elevator ding when you arrived being anything but subtle. Yet, he didn’t acknowledge you – just kept staring out at 5th Avenue.

Perhaps against your better judgement, you decide to break the silence with a gentle whisper of his name but before you could add another word to the single syllable sentence, his voice cuts you off.

“What time is it?”

It’s a somewhat rhetorical question but one that demands an answer nonetheless. He knew the time but more importantly, he knew that you knew the time. But he wanted you to acknowledge it – admit your failings – and that delectable shame causes the heat to rise in your cheeks.

“10:28,” you whisper out and your quiet admission has Matt turning to face you. He looks good, like always. The white button-down shirt is cut perfectly to his body, the black of his slacks and his tan tie making it seem like he belonged in this room. Everything about him screamed power and luxury, from the Windsor knot still snug below his throat, to the Rolex on his wrist, to his cufflinks glinting in the low lamplight.

“10:28,” he repeats. He moves forward, quickly abandoning his glass on a nearby table, his now empty hands coming to grip your chin and tilt your head back to lock your eyes with his. “It’s like you don’t want to see me,” he muses, the dangerous sparkle in his irises only hinting at what was to come.

“Of course, I do,” you rebut, the pleading edge to your voice sounding almost too sickly sweet to even your ears. “But –”

Whatever words you had poised to fall from your lips are silenced by Matt pulling your face towards him to crash his lips against yours. You should hate how much you melt under his touch, how willingly you open your mouth to allow his tongue to have access. But you don’t. It was nearly impossible to hate Matt Martin, even when his lips disappear from yours.

“No excuses, sweetheart. We both know any excuse you have could be resolved if you just let me take care of you entirely,” he whispers, his thumb brushing along your jawline.

The proposal isn’t new; it’s one that he had casually suggested almost every night since your arrangement started. It was also pointless to argue with him because he was telling the truth. He had enough money to make it so you could exist to only be on his arm and at his beck and call. But that wasn’t the life you had envisioned. He knew that. He respected that.

This was your boundary for him; one that he liked to toy at but you knew he would never cross.

“I know,” you whisper, having no other answer to give him. It seems to be enough, that lazy smug smile appearing on his face; the one that had Islander fans cheer and opponents sneer when he was playing. One that occasionally appeared in press conferences he attended as Assistant General Manager. It signals an end to the conversation and acts as a segue into the inevitable.

His hands fall from your face, moving to your coat as he deftly unties the long belt from its cinched position around your waist. The material slips from your frame with a surprising ease, leaving you clad in the lingerie he requested – the set he bought you a week ago. The undergarments are more for decoration than actual function, considering the only coverage on your chest was a pair of satin ribbons and the fabric around your hips disappeared when it came time to cover your core.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, his hands delicately tracing the lines of your body, toying with but not undoing the bows on your chest and hips. The sharp breath that he sucks in between his teeth at the sight of you makes the heat pool in your lower stomach.

“Wanted to make sure I looked perfect for you.”

“Think that will excuse you for being late?” he asks, that smirk reappearing as his head cocks to the side. You quickly shake your head in a negative (even though you hoped that flattery would get you out of whatever torture was to come), an action to which his only response is a deep chuckle.

He walks away from you for a moment, the space between Matt’s heat and your newly exposed body allowing the coolness of the night air to hit your skin. You watch him pick up the pale pink leather cuffs that you only now realized had been waiting for you on the table next to the whiskey glass he abandoned a few short minutes ago.

“Wrists.”

The single word is all it takes for you to present your hands to him, watching with baited breath as he wraps the material around your joints, buckling the hardware securely against your skin. You let him guide your arms behind your back, the click of the restraints locking together seemingly reverberating around your ribcage.

“Knees.”

It is somewhat ridiculous how single syllable words are all Matt needs to utter to have you obeying him perfectly. The descent to your knees is easy, the plush carpet forgiving, and your eyes glance up, tracking Matt’s movement as he walks back in front of you, towering over your body more than he usually did. His hands come to his neck, elegant fingers undoing his tie, allowing the material to now drape down either side of his collar. He continues to deconstruct the professional façade he was wearing like a mask, unbuttoning the top buttons of his dress shirt and removing the cufflinks to roll up his sleeves. His hands return to the silken material of his tie, pulling one side until it falls from his frame. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize his intentions with said material, a pout forming on your lips as he takes the fabric in both hands.

“Don’t give me that look, darling,” he coos as he moves the material towards your face, the stretch of fabric between his fists the perfect length to wrap around your head, the high-quality silk covering your eyes and plunging the room into darkness. You feel his adept fingers loop the material, careful not to get it tangled in your hair as he tugs a secure knot against the back of your skull.

“Felt like you didn’t want to see me tonight anyway,” he muses, his voice now becoming your only guide as he continues, “since you were almost a half-hour late.”

“I’m sorry,” you whine, knowing that the plea, no matter how pathetic, would fall onto deaf ears.

“I know, sweetheart.”

His reply is pitying but firm – a staple in the dynamic established between the two of you. Rules had been laid out and it was only befitting that when one was broken, a punishment followed.

Although, the sound of his belt buckle coming undone combined with the snap of the leather as it slipped from his belt loops didn’t sound like the beginnings of a punishment to you.

Your mouth opens with practiced ease, outstretching your tongue and submitting yourself to him in what you were sure looked like the most perfect bow-tied present. He chuckles and you feel his fingers grip your chin again before his thumb is pressing against the pink muscle of your tongue.

“That eager for me, aren’t you?”

You only response is to wrap your lips around the digit, gently suckling – just enough to tempt him into giving you the real thing. He laughs, his thumb slipping out of the wet cavern of your mouth before the sound of him unzipping of his dress pants causes your mouth to open again.

It is slight torture, waiting for him, not being able to see him and not being able to know what was coming and when it was coming. But that only heightened the excitement you felt when the delectable weight of his shaft came to rest on your outstretched tongue. You feel the appendage slide against you, the tip of it disappearing into your mouth – shallowly at first but slowly increasing its depth. You press your tongue against the bottom of his length, a silent indication that you were willing and ready to take all of him, one that Matt reads and responds to by holding the side of your head as his hips begin to move, thrusting into your mouth. You relax your throat, allowing him to slip deeper as he takes what he needs from your body, the filthy praise rolling from his lips while yours are otherwise occupied.

“Never get tired of this,” he groans from above you. “Never get tied of seeing your mouth wrapped around my cock. Of feeling your throat constrict around me. Such a good girl – such a pretty perfect slut for me.”

You can hear his words become stuttered, feel the steady rhythm of his thrusts turn staccato and it isn’t long until his climax comes, the feeling of his release filling your mouth almost as intoxicating as the taste of him. You suck, cleaning him with an eager deftness that has him groaning, a trill running through you. You wish you could see him – see the post-orgasm glow that alit his skin, see the way he pushes back the strands of hair that always fell over his forehead. For the first time since he took your sight away, it felt like a punishment.

He finally pushes back, the silky smoothness of his length removing itself from your mouth until a single string of silverly saliva is all that connects you. A laugh emanates from his chest as he takes you in, surely looking like a mess with the sheen of sweat on your skin, the spit on you lips, the track of tears escaping from underneath the makeshift blindfold.

“Y’look so beautiful. Gonna take a picture,” he mutters and you gently nod your head in consent.

You hear the click of a phone camera before Matt’s hands are back on your body, this time lifting you up off the ground before trailing down your arms to unclasp the restraints. He doesn’t remove the material from your eyes, leaving you still blind as he guides you further into the room. You allow him to manipulate your body, letting him push and turn you until he is gently pressing you back against the mattress of the king-sized bed, the sheets gliding against your skin. He guides your arms up over your head and your once again hear the click of the restraints although this time when you tug, the resistance you are met with is not your own wrists but a wooden bedframe.

Another whine escapes from you, the previous act of having him in your mouth only succeeding in making you even more desperate; something that Matt most likely knew, hence why he still prevented you from touching him or even seeing him. You are simply forced to wait in deprived silence, listening intently to every noise that hits your eardrums for indication on what was to come.

You hear the rustle of fabric, the zip of a zipper, and what you think is a small chuckle from Matt before you can feel his weight sink onto the mattress. Your thighs fall open of their own volition but Matt doesn’t tease you about it, instead happy to drink in the sight of your soaked core.

“Oh, that wet already, aren’t you sweetheart?” he asks and judging by the dampness you can feel on your skin, you can only imagine how lewd the display must appear. “Got this desperate from me fucking your face? Such a perfect slut, always ready for me.”

Another whimper falls from your lips, the rolling of your hips acting as both a confirmation that you wanted him and a silent plea for him to give you more than just his words. The sigh that escapes you when you feel him trace down your thigh is blissful, until you realize that it is not Matt’s rough calloused fingers slowly trailing towards your core, but instead a soft silicone.

“No, please,” you whimper out as Matt moves the toy closer to the apex of your thighs, the rounded head coming to glide against your slick folds. “Want you Matt. Want your cock.”

“You already got it tonight,” he whispers, the toy trailing up until the tip of it presses against your clit.

“Want your cock inside me.”

“You want me to fuck your perfect cunt? Want to feel me stretching that tight little pussy open?”

Your only response is a desperate whine as your hips buck, the action forcing the toy to bump against your bundle of nerves, causing your breathing to stutter. Matt holds the wand in place and you can feel him hovering over you, his breath fanning across your cheekbones.

“Then you should’ve been on time,” he whispers, his sentence punctuated by the click of the power button, the sudden vibrations forcing a downright pornographic moan to fall from your lips. He keeps the vibrator pressed firmly against you, the buzz of it filling the room.

Your already desperate state accompanied by the low and steady hum of the vibrator means that your climax hits you faster than expected, the warmth of it washing over your body as you whine and writhe against the sheets. Matt waits until your body is no longer trembling to remove the toy from your core before turning it off, returning the room to its former silence.

That should have been the end of it, the deprivation of touch, of sight, and of him, seeming to you like punishment enough. But when the head of the vibrator is pressed against your sensitive core again, your mind is left reeling.

Your confusion allows Matt to roughly grab your leg, pulling it closer until the firm length of the wand is pressed against the supple flesh of your inner thigh. The sensation is quickly followed by another, the feeling of a different material wrapping around the toy and your leg. It takes a minute to recognize the light scratch of the fabric as the belt that used to be looped around your trench coat.

“Wh- ” you begin to ask, the simple question not even being completed before Matt shushes you, his hands still working to wrap the belt around your skin.

His hand tugs at your other thigh until you can feel them press together, the sensation of your skin fully sticking to each other impeded only by the wand firmly held into place by your limbs. But the intention behind those registered touches doesn’t fully hit you until you feel the cinch of the belt tightening around both of your legs.

“Matt, please, don’t,” you beg, the understanding of what he was about to do hitting you like a freight train. Your wrists tug at your restraints, a mantra repeating in your brain that says he couldn’t possibly be this mean.

“What are you whining about, darling? I’m about to give you more pleasure than you probably deserve.”

You whimper, knowing that he had a point. He could’ve switched the entire script, going with the torture of edging you but never allowing you a release instead of the painful bliss of overstimulation. But you needed him. Not a toy, not an orgasm – him.

“I know you can take it, like the perfect whore you are,” he mutters, his fingers tracing over the ridges of your face, that depredating praise making another zing of desire flow through you, the arousal gushing from your core even more noticeable to you because of the bindings on your legs. “But if you don’t think you can, all you have to do is tell me.”

He is giving you a choice to end it here, to have him untie you and let him take care of you. But as much as you wanted him to coddle you, you wanted to earn it. Matt knew that – you were always looking to prove yourself to anyone – hence his phrasing. Another trick in his arsenal.

So, instead of the safe-word, another plea escapes your lips, your begging consent for him to continue. You can’t see it, but that grin pulls across Matt’s features once again, a smirk of both power and admiration aimed directly at you. His hand falls from your face, trailing a torturous path down your body before dancing across your bound thighs.

The vibrations that hit you are expected and yet somehow manage catch you entirely off-guard, your core still sensitive from your previous orgasm. A high-pitched moan crawls its way up your throat as your muscles clench, your back arching.

“There she is. There’s my good girl,” Matt whispers, his praise the only thing strong enough to cut through the haze that you felt slowly enveloping you. “Feels good, yeah?”

A pathetic whimper is the only response that you can give, the sensations assaulting your body rendering you essentially speechless. Usually, that was sufficient but Matt’s mean streak seems to be never-ending, the click of his tongue sounding throughout the room.

“No, sweetheart, I need your words.”

There is a proper answer – one that you learned quickly after you once said yes and that agreement led to even more discipline. Now, the words were caught in your throat, not because you didn’t know what to say but because it was difficult to even form a string of syllables that was in any way coherent.

“Not as good as you,” you manage to choke out, your sentence rendered choppy by the hiccups of gasps that you couldn’t hold back.

You feel the mattress shift, Matt’s weight disappearing and you have no shame in letting your protest be heard, a pitiful mewl ripping its way out of your throat. You can barely hear Matt’s chuckle before you register the mattress dipping again, this time on either side of your head. It’s the press of Matt’s lips against yours that has your second orgasm crashing over you, unabashed moans falling from your mouth into his, all of which Matt greedily swallows. The orgasm fades only briefly before your body writhes again, the restraints around your wrists and your legs holding you and the vibrator tight.

Matt’s lips disappear from yours, another strangled groan falling from your lips, the sound now only hindered by your dwindling sense of self-control.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you hear Matt explain. His voice is cruelly casual; it was as if he was discussing the weather, as if he wasn’t leaving you bound with the wand still humming between your thighs, abusing your oversensitive core. “I can see you trying to quiet all those pretty little noises you want to make. Let them out, sweetheart. I want to hear you – want all of New York to hear what a good little slut you are.”

You aren’t sure whether it is his encouragement or your own desire that erases any lingering shame you have in your body, your moans now falling freely. The only praise that Matt gives you is a quiet ‘there she is’ before you can sense his presence disappearing from the room, the confirmation coming in the sound of the showerhead turning on.

When your third orgasm thrums through your body, you realize that your current predicament was more of a challenge than anything else. Not just to have Matt hear you over the crash of the water but to even stay coherent enough to do so, a test you were starting to fail as you feel the weight of your sub-space prick at the corner of your eyes. You try to ground yourself by listing every sensation: the way the sheets dampen with sweat underneath you, the way the supple leather digs into your wrists, the cool breeze coming from the window dancing over your skin. But everything is slowly drowned out by the incessant buzz of the vibrator between your legs, still pressed against your clit, that constant stimulation forcing your body to writhe, your thighs to slicken, your chest to heave.

The noises that do manage to fall from you are a jumble compilation of sighs, moans, and curses, each less coherent with every orgasm that passes through you. It is the most delicious torture, the relief of a climax followed swiftly by the borderline pain of the vibrations still going. There is no quantifying anything: how long you’ve been here, how many orgasms had been ripped from your body, how tears you’ve shed from the overstimulation. You’ve lost all sense of anything else but the hum between your legs and the torturous pleasure it brings.

Finally – finally – after yet another orgasm has crashed into you, the vibrations stop and you can’t help the absolute half-sob, half-sigh of relief that huffs from your chest. That sub-space that you had been fighting off, you now give into with a sigh, allowing the haze to sink into your body. It encompasses you, making you feel as if you were floating in the vastness of space, as if you were being smothered in velvet. The only thing that keeps you somewhat tied to earth is Matt’s gentle voice, the quiet praise falling from his lips. It takes Matt lifting you off the mattress and cradling you in his arms for you to fully come back to the present moment. Only then do you realize all the fabric that was previously tied along your body was gone, leaving you naked. You don’t care, choosing instead to nuzzle deeper into Matt’s chest as he whisks you away, your eyelids fluttering open and readjusting to the low candlelight of the bathroom.

Matt gently places you down into the tub already filled with warm water, the temperature feeling heavenly as it penetrates your muscles. A soft kiss on your temple is what Matt leaves you with before he exits the room, closing the door firmly behind him. You swear you hear hushed voices emanating from underneath the door but you are still too dazed to even bother worrying yourself over it. Eventually, Matt returns, this time with a small cart carrying a bottle of champagne and a plate of chocolate covered strawberries.

“Drink this first,” he quietly demands, handing you an ice-cold water bottle. “All of it.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, the chilled liquid never feeling more refreshing against your tongue, coating your sore throat. You give the empty bottle back to him, the plastic being replaced by smooth glass as he hands you a champagne flute, before leaning against the side of the tub with his own glass. You take in his appearance, hair still damp from his shower, only a pair of sweatpants on his frame. His own blue eyes appraise you similarly, the quiet concern mixing with a pure devotion in his irises. You finally decide to break the silence, your voice sounding terribly hoarse as you whisper.

“’M hungry.”

Matt just smiles before grabbing the plate of strawberries, setting them down on the small stool next to the bathtub, making it easy for you to reach them. You happily munch on the fruit, feeling a modicum of energy return to you as you lean back and let Matt take care of you. His hands move beneath the water, massaging your tight muscles before grabbing the soft cotton washcloth, dampening the material in order to wipe away the sweat still clinging to your skin. You only protest once with a small hiss when he brushes against your oversensitive core, the sound quieted with a hush. The praise that fell from his mouth might have just been repeated from earlier but this time you could register it and every word made your body warm.

Sounded so pretty for me. I knew you could handle it, my perfect girl. You did so well.

He eventually lets the bath drain, helping you out of the porcelain tub and drying off the water from your body. The plush complimentary robe is thrown over your frame and Matt takes your arm, gently guiding you back to the bedroom. You can’t stop the breathy laugh that falls from your lips when you spy the shopping bags, designer labels on all of them, now piled up by one side of the bed – a bed that had been stripped and remade with fresh sheets.

“For you,” Matt whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss against your temple. You reply by turning your head towards him to press your lips onto his. It is gentler than any other kiss you shared tonight and you melt into his embrace. He helps you slip underneath the sheets, his broad body not far behind as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your back into his chest.

“I could make it so that you would never have to work again,” he whispers to you, reiterating the proposal that he postulated almost every time he saw you. You are about to retort, a sigh of his name falling from your lips before he silences your protest by continuing. “I know, you like to feel independent. And I admire that about you. I just like having you by my side.”

You rotate your body in the bed, turning to face him, the sharp angles of his face highlighted by the lights of the city that never sleeps.

“I like being by your side,” you whisper, your heart soaring at the sight of his smile.

“I don’t want you to give up your life – become some sort of trophy or anything. I respect you too much to ask you to do that. Just… promise me you’ll think about it.”

He doesn’t fully elaborate what it is: whether he meant allowing your dynamic to expand to every aspect of your life so you could do what you wanted without the pressure of making money or whether he meant becoming his completely, without any monetary value placed on the relationship you shared.

But, the silence of the hotel room, you come to realize that there is little difference between those two possibilities.

Matt wouldn’t just stop taking care of you if he wasn’t bound by a contract. He was more than that. What you shared was more than that; more than a number in your bank account, more than the amount of designer product in your closet, more than a simple transaction.

It was something real.

#nicole writes #💛 anon #fic request #matt martin fic #matt martin imagine #matt martin smut #new york islanders fic #new york islanders imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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nameless-ken · 2 years ago

Text

Masterlist

hi loves <3

PLEASE DNI WITH SMUT UNLESS 18+

* smut

^ fluff

- angst

(Please read the WARNING mark beside each work so you know what you're about to read!!)

Bucky Barnes

Series

Friday Afternoons

The reader is an elementary school teacher in Brooklyn, where they teach Steve Rogers’ young daughter, Elizabeth. Every Friday, without fail, Bucky Barnes comes to pick up his niece after school. He’s quiet, a little rough around the edges, and keeps mostly to himself, but he’s always punctual and incredibly protective of Elizabeth. This is just the beginning of the reader and Bucky's bond together.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Unexpected

Our mutual friend dropped out of this trip at the last minute, so hi I guess we’re spending the next two weeks together.

Part 1 ^

Part 2 ^

Part 3 ^,-

Part 4 ~

Part 5 */^

Part 6 */^

Part 7 ^/-

Bring Me to Life

Bucky is a struggling single father trying to take care of his daughter when a stranger welcomes them into her home and brings a gentle love back into their life.

playlist

Part One - The Kindness of a Stranger ^/-

Part Two - Luck or Fate? ^/-

Part Three - A Home for Three ^/-

Part Four - Happy Days are Coming ^/-

Part Five - Nothing Else Matters ^/-

Part Six - No Longer Afraid ^/-

Part Seven - Breathe Easy Now ^/-

Part Eight - This is What Home Feels Like ^/-

Part Nine - Our Future is Bright ^/*

Part Ten - Your Love is All I Need

Part Eleven - More Than Anything ^/*

Part Twelve - Patience is the Greatest Virtue ^/*

Imagines/Requests

Hold Me While You Wait

Bucky gets enlisted into the war

Part 1 ^/-

Part 2 ^/-

A Second Home

Bucky finds out that Alpine has been treating your apartment like a second home

drabble ^

Promise?

It’s the morning of a huge mission that Bucky has to go on and you worry too much.

part 1 ^/-

Let the Games Begin

One-shot ^/-

I carry your heart with me

One-shot ^/-

Frank Castle

Imagines/Requests

Before You Go *

“You need a place to stay for the night?” ^/-

Dean Winchester

Imagines/Requests

making a pie with Dean ^

Instagram Stories/pictures

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Daryl Dixon

Moodboards

the more you love, the more you suffer

take my heart, daryl dixon

a beautiful disaster

our demons

Imagines/Requests

“Spend the night with me?” ^

“Of course I came for you, it’d take more than that to stop me.” ^/-

“I’ll be here, loving you even in the silence.” ^/-

“Most of my nightmares are about losing you.” ^/-

Eddie Munson

Series

Fearless

Chapter One: What Dreams Are Made Of ^/-

Chapter Two: Where You’re Meant to Be ^/-

Chapter Three: Moving Too Fast ^/-

Chapter Four: Home Sweet Home ^/-

Unforgettable

you end up as third wheel at the fair when Eddie comes to your rescue & helps makes your summer unforgettable.

Part 1 ^/-

Part 2 ^

Part 3

Imagines/Requests

“How do I know I have a crush on someone?” “Well you can’t stop thinking about them, you feel strange when they’re around and then you want to--why are you looking at me like this?” ^/-

“they would be so mad if they found out.” “fuck ‘em”. "If I ask you to kiss me in front of all these people, will you do it?". "When we get home I'm cuffing you to the bed and going down on you all night until my jaw is sore." ^/-

Steve Harrington

Imagines/Requests

“When I’m with you, I’m not just existing, I’m living.” ^/-

Billy Hargrove

Silent Confessions, Loud Masks

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Requests

Ribbon of Affection

Weathering The Storm

Embracing The Mirror

Roadside Assistance

Between Us and the Dark

Part One

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bonesbuckleup · 9 months ago

Note

Hi, random q. I saw in your tags that you swear by Scrivener for original fic. I’m still plugging away in ye olde Word and now I’m intrigued to know what about Scrivener you like so much. I’ve def heard about it but never used it, so I’m curious :)

YES I would love to tell you about my lord and savior software Scrivener. I hope you don't mind I published this long, long answer publicly.

So. The main issue I have with Word and Google Docs is that you hit a certain length/word count, and it starts to lag and load kind of jerkily. You know? Also, navigating chapter to chapter or scene to scene is awkward for me--you either have to have a whole bunch of individual documents and multiple windows open, or you have to use headers and the table of contents...which is fine for quickly finding chapters but less so for scenes within those chapters.

Messy, basically. Does not spark joy for me.

Enter Scrivener.

Now, before I evangelize a bit, I will say that Windows Scrivener and Mac Scrivener are not 100% created equal. They are both better, I think, than Word or Google docs, but the Mac version is a bit slicker and a little nicer to look at. I only say that for if you're using Windows, because if so my screencaps below won't exactly match what you see if/when you download the program.

ONWARD.

So, the #1 thing that Scrivener has over Word is that it's a one time fee, not a subscription. So while it is a little pricey (Just went and looked, $59.99 USD), it's only the one payment. All updates and such are covered and available as free downloads. I will also say that Scrivener gives you a 30 day free trial. That's not 30 consecutive days, but 30 days of use--if you only use it every other day, you'll have the trial for 60 days. They make it really easy to figure out if it's for you or not.

This is also going to feel like a lot, but there are built in tutorials and it's actually pretty intuitive, depending on how your brain works. Anyway! The basic gist of Scrivener is that it's a digital binder. You can keep all your book stuff in one place:

As you can see, there's the manuscript (aka my book), notes, research, more. Tbh, I mostly just use notes and Manuscript, but if it floats your boat, you can store maps, place names, worldbuilding, playlist links, moodboards, a whole ton of stuff, all in one menu that's easy to access and in a single window. You can organize it however itches your brain the best way.

But like I said, for me, the best is that Manuscript part, which I'm going to go into now. I use a three act structure for books (but break the big ol' middle act into two pieces because it makes my brain happy), so each act gets a folder.

When I click and expand that act, each chapter has it's own folder. However, it also shows quick-reference index cards, so I can have an at-a-glance at what's going down in each chapter. (I'm using a outline system called Save the Cat for this book, which is why all my chapters have titles like 'Catalyst', feel free to ignore those...I also have a very compact timeline, so to help me stay organized, I labeled each chapter with when it happens.)

You can do the same with each individual chapter and the scenes, where when you click on the chapter folder, each scene gets a card. If you don't type in a summary, it'll just auto-populate the start of whatever content you were writing. You can see this in the 'Copper's Candids NEW' card.

And, of course, it is writing software. When you click on the individual scene, it opens the blank document, and you can get cracking.

So. This system is nice for a few reasons. My favorite is that it makes navigating, reorganizing, and/or rewriting scenes extremely easy. It's just point and click, drag and drop. You can also open two docs in the same window at once, like this:

Which is a nice feature for several reasons--you can work on a new version of a scene with the old one pulled up next to it, or if there's something you wrote earlier or that comes later that's important to what you're working on now, you can have them both up for quick referencing.

Another slick thing is each doc has a notes section off to the right side of the screen--which is optional! I use it for future revision notes/descriptions of how I want the scene to go:

My other favorite part of Scrivener is that it makes it very easy to hoard your deleted scenes like a deranged dragon in case you want them later. My garbage looks like this:

There are SO MANY FILES hanging out in my trash, and you know what? I so rarely actually need them, but my god am I glad they're there on the rare occasion that I do. Word, again, can make it more difficult. I always had a massive 'cut' document that was longer than the actual project and again, awful to navigate. This just makes it easier.

Scrivener also makes it easy to compile the manuscript into other doc types--pdf, doc, docx, etc--for easy printing and sharing.

ANYWAY. I'm sure there are approximately 1 million other things I'm missing, but basically Scrivener takes all your book/long project bits, puts them in one centralized file, and makes it super easy to navigate. I've also found that outlining is easier, because I can just make the folders and scenes and drag them around while I noodle through the plot.

10/10, would recommend to any long-form writer. If you have any other questions, please let me know! If anyone has read this far and has a thing about Scrivener to add, please do! I love Scrivener, and a lot of my writing buddies love Scrivener, and it really kinda has revolutionized the way I write original fiction. I'm always happy to yell about how great it is.

#mail #story-monger #long post #Scrivener #free yourselves from the shackles of Word and Google Docs my long-form-writing friends #there is a Better Way #writing

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aurumalatus · 2 months ago

Note

how do i get good at writing like you 🥺👉👈

being "good at writing" is def a process, and since "good writing" is subjective it can kind of be all over the place. i don't really consider myself a good writer, and i was never an english major or anything when i was in college, so i'm probably not the *best* person to be giving writing advice, but i've been writing fanfic for a long time so this is my genuine advice in that regard! (below the cut)

serina's totally legit (maybe not) writing advice

start with an idea this one seems obvious. like, serina, no fucking duh. but starting with an idea that YOU like and are passionate about can make all the difference. for me, this is the difference between words naturally flowing on the page, and me writing shit like "he laughed laughily while laughing". if you can really get into an idea, it makes the process a LOT easier.

flesh it out if you're not an outline person, that's okay. i'm not really either, unless it's for multi-chapter fics. i just kind of skip around writing scenes that i think of as it goes, but warning this can get VERY disorganized very quickly, which is why i ALSO have a habit of restarting like 8 diff drafts of one piece LOL. everyone works differently so find your vibe. if your idea is something like "kinich and reader kissing", figure out WHY kinich and reader are kissing. where are they kissing? is it awkward? what's the vibe?

set the tone for me, every piece has a bit of a different style. pixelprincess has a lighter style, which means more basic descriptions that essentially serve to lead into the funny dialogue and other things. "brighella, the hellraiser" is one that i wanted to have a more evocative tone and a frigid vibe, which means it has more flowery-esque prose and metaphors, rather than straightforward description. turnfire is somewhere in between. for me, setting the tone can be helped by a lot of things, like making moodboards or playlists. for me personally, the music i'm listening to while writing matters SO MUCH.

don't be afraid to start over/change as i said before, i have a habit of starting over my drafts a LOT. i think the last chapter of turnfire had something like 6 drafts. but i always think "if this is dragging for me to write, it's probably dragging for them to read too". and sure, maybe that's not always true, but why would i keep writing something that even i don't like? i'm really not afraid to start over or put things in a different direction than i originally intended if i feel it's more interesting. if you're someone who likes to stick to your outlines though, do that! like i said, i don't really outline, so that's up to your individual preference.

write things down as they come i find ideas everywhere. you guys might have noticed that i like to write a lot of aus, and it's because i truly get ideas in every single media i consume. games i play, music i listen to, etc. if i think of an interesting wording or metaphor, i'll write it down. seeing these things really helps when i'm writing, and it often helps me branch out my writing.

don't be afraid to put it down. you might have also noticed that i have TONS of wips going on at any one time. THIS DOES NOT WORK FOR EVERYONE. some people find this very overwhelming which is understandable! for me, it gives me other things to work on when i'm feeling stuck in one piece. by switching between them, i can keep my ideas fresh and stay in better form without burning out for longer. again, this is a personal preference! if you want more specific advice regarding ACTUAL writing, like sentence flow, descriptions, etc, let me know! again, i'm REALLY not the best LOL but i also want to encourage everyone to get started on writing however they can if they feel the urge! the fandom can always use more writers :)

#golden wings #i hope this made sense lol #serina's writing advice

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breyito · 4 months ago

Text

Fear your sins, not your monsters: Part Three: Paths Converging

Continuation of Day 1 and 2 of @painlandweek

Part 1 Part 2 Chapters: 3/5 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Charles Rowland, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Crystal Palace Characters: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland (DCU) Additional Tags: Protective Edwin Paine | Edwin PayneUnhinged Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Violence, Torture, Hurt Charles Rowland (DCU), Sickfic, love language: acts of service, painlandweek, BAMF Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Angst with a Happy Ending

Here on AO3

A/N: Hello! I'm so, so sorry about the delay! My ADHD has been kicking my ass for the last couple of weeks and istg i feel like i can't do anything. Anyways. I had to split this chapter in half, cause it was getting ridiculously long again, and I wasnt going to finish the rest of it today. (I have this new app on my phone that is voice-to-text and it changed my life! All the dialogues i keep forgetting bc of lack of energy to write i can just *dictate* and it feels so good lol. It also lenghtened this quite a bit, tho.) No moodboard for this one either, not yet. I'll try to make one tomorrow (or in a few hours, as it is, once again, 5am). No beta and English is not my native language, so any mistakes please point them out. I hope you enjoy this one! I'm very curious about what you'll think of this one ;P Oh, WARNING:This contains violence, threats of rape towards Charles and other children's souls, etc.

Part Three: Paths Converging

They headed back to the office. On the way, Crystal with her phone in her ear, Edwin had explained the general gist of things to her. Mainly that the other ghost hadn’t known the location of the lair of the witch, but had visited a few times. To allow him to travel there via mirror, she had given him a token attuned to him and his energy. They could use the token, but not to travel with it more than once; and definitely not to escape the place. (Not to mention that Crystal would have never let Edwin go on his own alone, without even the possibility of helping him. She was glad, still, that the ghost boy had not even suggested that.)

“So how can we use it?” she asked, looking right at him, as she plopped down on the couch. They were inside the office now and nosy taxi drivers couldn’t watch her suspiciously anymore. Also, she was exhausted and couldn’t bother with more acting for a couple of hours.

Edwin had gone straight to the massive pile of books on top of every single flat surface, including boxes full of files. He had looked at the books covering the desk for a full thirty seconds and then sent a wave of the black smoke at them, and they actually began moving on their own towards the floor. Crystal was…ignoring that for now, for the sake of her sanity. (How many things was she already ignoring?)

“I think I can combine a couple of rituals to create a sort of…tether, between Charles and myself.” he replied to her, as he removed his outer layers. “This would, basically, allow us to communicate with him and follow his energy to the place where the witch has absconded him.”

“Don’t tethers usually need something more physical to work?” she questioned, curious. At least that’s what the book she had been reading before their last case went wildly off course had said. Maybe the black smoke allowed him to tweak the limits?

“I have something more physical of his.” Edwin said, touching Charles’ necklace still around his neck. ”And for me, well, some blood or the ghost equivalent should work.” His eyes showed his mind went far, far away for a couple of moments. She said nothing, remembering the sudden rush of cold, dark, wet she had felt the last time she touched it. Edwin eventually shook off the melancholy and straightened his posture.

“I will need to compile the different arrays and rites I need to build this ritual. It will take me at least a few hours, so I suggest you rest up.”

“Are you sure I can’t help you…?” she asked, despite knowing he probably wouldn’t let her. Building rituals from scratch was a whole new area and she had exactly zero experience with that.

“Crystal.” He sighed, already spreading an alarming amount of books on the now clean desk. “I don’t mean to be rude, but unless you have a working knowledge of any of the Celtic languages, Aramaic, Latin or Fuþorc Runes I’ll ask you to keep out of it.”

“Okay, okay.” she rolled her eyes. Kicking her shoes off, she got comfortable on the couch and covered herself with the blanket. “But wake me up if you need to leave, alright?” she mumbled, half asleep already. “I don’t wanna panic if you’re not there when I wake up…”

Several hours later, Edwin shook her awake. Still woozy from sleep, she understood he needed a specific kind of knife he didn’t have but knew where to get. And that he had to travel by mirror to the place. She mumbled her understanding to him, and he left.

It was only when she was about to drop back into a deep sleep that her brain actually zoned in to the important part. She sat up on the couch so suddenly she felt dizzy.

“ Esther Finch’s fucking house!?” she yelled at the flat mirror, frustrated beyond belief. “Are you shitting me , Edwin!?” she cursed at the empty office. She creamed into the pillow a bit more, then got up. At least this should give her time to shower.

—-- —-- —--

Edwin really doesn’t want to go back to Port Townsend. The place was bleak, damp and filled with memories of suffering. Whether it is mental, emotional or physical; he’d experienced more pain in that little town in a single month than in the rest of the world in the last fifteen years.

But Charles was missing. Taken by another witch with a penchant for sick, twisted games and children’s pain. The ritual he came up with was novel and needed every single element to work. The dagger was fundamental. Edwin could not risk wasting more time looking for another knife with the same qualities when he already knew the location of one.

So he travelled to Port Townsend via mirror. He landed in Crystal’s old room above Jenny’s shop, and walked up to the house in a disguise. It was better than trying to travel directly inside Finch’s house, which surely had enchantments against ghosts using her mirrors that way.

As soon as his feet landed inside a ten metre radius, he could feel the repellent wards telling him to go away. This magic felt different than Finch’s. Probably the Cat King, then. Or maybe Tragic Mick? He ignored the compulsion, and kept walking up the path into the porch.

He took off his glasses before reaching the stairs, and became his true self again. A loud caw immediately greeted him. He paused and looked back, and saw Monty in his true form on a tree branch. The pause allowed the crow to land in the handrail of the porch, exuding an air of disapproval. Edwin sighed.

“I need to get something from inside this house.” he said, focusing on one of the crows’ eyes. “I’m not going to-” he paused before he promised something he couldn’t keep. Because he couldn’t promise not to hurt someone with what he took from inside. “I’m going to get something from inside this house.” He said instead. “And you are not going to stop me.”

Monty lifted into the air, agitated, cowing. His wings produced so much wind that Edwin took a step back, but then straightened up and pulled his notebook and held it open with one hand.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Monty.” he stated. “But I will if you try to stop me.” His other hand opened and a bright orange flame erupted, tinged with wisps of black. An alarmed cry made Edwin feel like garbage, but he held the flame on his palm. In control, but ready to attack.

The crow flew off then, shrill caws on his way. Edwin took a deep breath and extinguished the fire, wiping his hand on his coat. He pocketed his notebook and climbed the stairs. Fortunately, he went in as easily as he had done for Becky.

By the time Edwin had found the dagger, and snatched a book that looked like it had been involved in the creation of the ghastly machine that so much pain it had caused him; it was already too late. He felt a pulse of energy from outside, and cursed under his breath. He could try to undo the spells on the mirrors of the house, but that would take too long. So he sighed and marched outside.

“Edwin, Edwin, Edwin. You don't write, you don't call…” the Cat King said with a fake moue. Edwin looked up and saw Monty flying in circles above their heads. Little snitch , he thought, resentful.

“Cat King.” he said, nodding in respect, trying to walk around him. “I'm just leaving.” But diplomacy never worked on him.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” The other man clicked his tongue, stepping in Edwin’s path. The ghost boy stopped where he was, not willing to get closer.

“What do you think you are doing, entering the house of the Wicked Witch of the West?” The shapeshifter asked, sauntering around him. He was wearing heeled boots, and it added a little height difference that irked Edwin.

“I already have what I came here looking for. Now, if you please, I'm in a hurry.” Edwin tried to give another step, but the Cat King walked closer again, forcing him to step back. He was not putting himself in reach again. Monty cowed, flying faster, agitated.

“No. I don't think I please.” he tilted his head. “Knowledge like Esther's is dangerous. And I just can't let you leave with something dangerous.” The trickster’s tone was still playful, and it was grating on Edwin’s nerves.

“Knowledge is just knowledge.” the detective said, exasperated. “And I'm not asking you for permission.” he countered, snappish, head held high. “You're wasting my time .” The Cat King’s eyes shone.

“You should always have time for me, dear.” he said, smile cutting. “I can always just trap you here again, Edwin.” He offered, the smile still on.

“...And I can always start killing your subjects until you let me leave. But we are not doing that, are we, Thomas? ” he smirked back, biting. There was something cold in those green eyes that made the shifter want to shiver. The faint wisps of black coming up from the ground were certainly unnerving. Monty screeched in alarm and abruptly landed on a branch several metres down.

“You know my name.” the Cat King realised, stepping back.

“I do. I know a lot of things about you now.” the ghost added, taking a step forward. “You like to play games . But I already knew that, from last time.” Edwin took another step closer. “The difference is, Charles is not with me right now. And I don't have a lot of patience for games when he is in danger.” he snarled.

“So that is why you're doing this? For him? You came all the way to America, to the house where you were tortured in, just for him ?” Thomas asked, indignant.

“I would do many more things for him.” Edwin stated, staring right into those yellow eyes, daring. The shifter scoffed, leaning closer, looking down at the ghost.

“Like threatening me?” The man asked, incredulous.

“I'm not threatening you. I'm warning you.” Edwin said, looking up, teeth bared. It looked more like a show of aggression from a cornered animal than a smile. “You're either on my side, or standing in my fucking way. And I'll get through anything standing in my way to get to him.” Their faces were only a few centimetres apart now, noses almost touching.

Thomas knew, in that moment, that Edwin was being completely honest. He seemed not to care a single bit what could happen to him as long as he could leave to go help his little friend. Nor what enemies he could leave behind. The Cat King felt a bit peeved about it, quite hot under the collar, and a lot jealous. That kind of loyalty to another person, to the point of detriment to yourself? He’d never felt it nor had he had it. It was alluring , damn it.

“Deathly little thing, aren’t you?” he whispered to this mysterious boy, unwillingly feeling more attracted to him still. The tension between them finally broke when Edwin’s lips formed a teasing smile and his eyes softened a little.

“Only when I have to.” he whispered back, before breaking his gaze and pressing the faintest of kisses on Thomas’ jaw, surprising him. He then sidestepped him and walked out of the yard.

By the time the Cat King turned around, Edwin was already jumping into a puddle, travelling to where he needed to be. Monty cowed twice and Thomas felt the hidden amusement.

“Oh, shut it, bird-boy. Like you didn’t defy your witch for him, even after he rejected you.” he snapped.

—-- —-- —--

Charles woke up all at once, gasping. He was sopping wet and chained to the ceiling. The metal of the chains was iron, and they were burning every part of his body that touched them. He was still only wearing his trousers, felt his extremities numb with cold and some of his curls had crusted over with ice.

When his eyes got used to the dim room, he could see it was the same basement he had been trapped in since the beginning. The only real difference was that he wasn’t alone this time. There was a woman on the corner, deep in the shadows. For what he could see, she was pretty fit. Charles might have looked twice if he had seen her on the street. But with her wild blonde hair, tight red dress and tall boots; she looked like she was wearing a halloween costume that couldn’t decide if it was vampire or witch. A large white spider, with its eyes closed, peacefully placed inside her hair didn’t help matters. He had almost missed it.

“You’re finally awake!” she cheered, getting closer. “Now we can finally get started .” her grin was dangerous and the boy felt a shiver go down his spine.

Taking advantage of the fact that his feet barely touch the ground, she spun him around, making him lose balance. His knee buckled under him and his whole weight was left suspended from his shoulders until he managed to find his footing again. He was trembling even worse after that, and tears of frustration began leaking from his eyes.

“Are you crying? How cute .” she cooed, grabbing his face and licking the trail the drop had left on his cheek. ”I’d give you a comfort kiss, but I don’t snog anyone that’s not my man.”

“You. Are. Crazy.” Charles said, leaning away from her. The spider opened its eyes and winked with half of them, waving two of its legs. The shivers got worse.

“Don’t be like that, poppet. Everything I’m doing is for love.”

“ Love ?” he repeated, sceptical.

“Yes! I’m gonna get the love of my life back, and you’re gonna help me.”

“I don’t know anything about love potions or spells; we don’t mess with that shite.” Charles explained, weary. The witch snorted, the spider wiggled, like it was laughing too. (Was this her familiar? Did it share the same amount of sentience as Monty? Somehow, that thought was terrifying).

“Pffff, I don’t mean like that . My boo and I were tragically separated when he was killed by the police and then he got dragged to Hell! ” she huffed. “Like, what even? I just want him back .”

Usually, Charles was willing to give everyone a chance to explain themselves. It’s not like the system was flawless. Good souls could be sent to Hell, like it had happened with Edwin.

However, since he was still shivering from the literal torture this woman had put him through (torture she implied her ‘boo’ would enjoy); he would go out on a limb an bet the bloke completely deserved his tenure in Hell.

“And why was he killed by the police?” he asked anyway, already tired of dealing with this. The chat was a step up from the freezing water, but the talk itself so far was three steps down from the earlier solitude.

“Because his stupid best friend and he decided to rob a bank!” she exclaimed, clearly miffed. This time, when she grabbed him to spin him around, her nails left deep scratches, burning and bleeding. This bitch had iron in her nail polish, apparently. “They were caught doing that. I mean, you have to give it to the pigs. They really messed up on that one.”she laughed. “They were caught and got done in as fucking robbers. They didn't even search their flat! They just killed them and left them at the morgue. They never found out that we were the ones dropping the mangled bodies everywhere.”

“You're sick.” Charles said, swallowing, as he found his rooting again.

“Oh, baby, of course I am. Didn't I tell you already? I love making people break, playing with them.” She licked her lips, seductive. The ghost boy just felt nauseous. “What I love even more is watching my man do it for me. And that's why you're going to help me bring him back.”

“From Hell ?” He asked, incredulous. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn't help you. Edwin is the one with the knowledge of Hell and its paths, not me. You chose the wrong one of us to kidnap.”

“I don’t think I did. Word is, you are the one that I saved him from hell this time.” she smiled. She put her extended arm on his shoulder and placed her weight on the claw-like nails sinking in the muscle there. He felt blood dripping down his back. The spider began walking down her shoulder and onto her arm. Leaning in until their faces almost touched, she looked him dead in the eyes, despite his efforts to keep the blasted thing in his line of sight.

“I did, yeah.” He admitted. “But I had help. I had someone else, much more powerful than I or you ever could be. They opened a portal down to Hell and they kept it open until we got back. You can't do that.” He swallowed. “Can you?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking, now looking at the spider.

Cursing, she pushed him back and started roaming the room, hands wildly gesturing. The spider had quickly climbed up to her head again. Charles had lost his balance and was spinning again, but at least that beast was not near him. He took her cursing as a negative to his question. Charles wanted to believe this was good news (he dreaded the thought of that man anywhere but Hell), but you never knew how others were going to react when you didn’t give them the information they wanted. This woman? Completely bonkers. Hopefully she would just let him in here, until Edwin rescued him. Suddenly, she stopped in the middle of the basement.

“Hmm, maybe I can't open up a portal. But I can make a deal with a demon so that I can get into hell.” She was smiling again. “And you will help me find my way out.”

“A deal with a demon is a terrible idea. Besides, lady, even if I tell you all I know about hell, which I won’t do. The level Edwin was at? It was terrible, but it wasn't that deep. The level your boo must be in… it has to be one of the deepest and darkest ones, just based on what you describe me you two did, to people.”

“I can think of a few things I can offer the demon so that he helps me.” she countered, now pensive instead of agitated.

“Like what?”

“Like you, your soul. Essence, whatever. Or one of the others’.” Charles was almost afraid to ask.

“Others?”

“Oh, yeah. I've been collecting little souls as gifts for my boyfriend when he comes back. Since, you know, he won't be able to interact with the living now he is dead and will become a ghost.”

“... Little souls?” he asked again, disgusted. He tried leaning away, but she plunged her nails into his face to keep his eyes on her.

“Yeah, the souls of little ones!” she smiled, and it was a terrible smile. A wild hunger seemed to seep from her feverish eyes. “He's not that much into kids. He prefers young people, teenagers, you know.” she winked at him, suggestive.

“So he's a paedophile, but not that much of a paedophile?” Charles mocked, deciding to ignore the implications.

She let go of his face only to slap him hard, hard enough to leave deep gouges from the iron on the nails she wore.

“He hates that word!” she screamed, offended. “He just… really loves young people.” The sheer incredulity must have shown on his face, because she just continued. “Anyways, I was collecting these souls so he could play with them when he comes back, you know? I bet he will be in a foul mood, and I just thought 'well what better way to cheer him up than letting him blow off some steam on a couple souls he will find pleasing?’ ' I took great care in ensuring they were innocent, as well. The responses to all the pain and the bit of little pleasure here and there that we can teach them are always the best .” she sighed, dreamy. “And ghosts are so much more resilient! We can play with you and play with you and play with you until you break.” She said, eyes evaluating him up and down. “And then we can start all over again!” she laughed.

Charles puked all over the floor.

"You truly are," he said in disgusted awe " the most despicable person I've ever met. And a few months ago I was at the mercy of a witch that cannibalised little girls. "

“Oh, cannibalism.” she hummed. “That sounds fun, doesn’t it, Ari?” she cooed at her familiar, reaching for the thing. “You have to get me her number.” she said to him.

Charles spat at her. It barely touched her face before she shrieked and sent him crashing to the back of the room. The chains had fallen from the ceiling and onto his torso, burning him terribly.

“And you need to learn some manners." She said as he screamed from the sudden agony. Then she turned her back on him and walked towards the door. "I guess I will just leave you to repeat the cycle until you have had enough."

Charles’ last coherent thought before he was dropped under the thick frozen layer of water of the lake instead of through the ice as always, was that Edwin and he would absolutely need to save those poor spirits.

—-- —-- —--

“That took longer than you said it would.” Crystal said as soon as he stepped through the mirror into the office. “Did the house not let you in?” she asked, remembering how they had just phased through the walls last time.

“The house gave me no problem at all.” Edwin answered, placing the knife on the desk. “It was Monty, actually.” he explained, with a grimace. “I had an encounter with the Cat king,” Crystal’s eyebrow went up “but not much came out of it. He was very insistent about not letting any kind of knowledge leave that witch's house.” He took off his coat and his gloves and, uncharacteristically, threw them onto the couch. It was the only free surface, she supposed. “Which would normally be a good thing, but in these circumstances, I could not abide by it.”

“And did he give you any trouble?” she questioned, sceptical.

“He tried to threaten me, so I just…threatened him back.” Edwin said, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, trying to play it off as unimpressive. Yeah, Crystal was not gonna let that one slide.

“ You threatened the Cat King?” she said, incredulous. “He left you trapped in Port Townsend for weeks!”

“Ah, but I didn't know anything about him back then.” He countered. “And I wasn't dabbling in anything more dangerous than usual. And perhaps the most important thing of all…” Edwin started, leafing through his notes.

“...It was you in danger, not Charles.” Crystal interrupted, finishing the idea.

“Exactly.” He said, pleased that she understood this about him by now.

As they began prepping the materials for this massive ritual, she managed to corroborate that it was far beyond anything they had shown her so far. The ritual seemed so complicated. Beyond the dagger that he had to pick up from the other side of the world, it required them to move every single piece of furniture against the walls, then grabbing the bathroom mirror for a later use.

After that, they placed a bedsheet on the floor, drawing a big circle on it with black chalk, and drew a set of runes inside it, near the centre. Then Edwin grabbed Charles' backpack, and took out a bottle full of a viscous dark liquid. He then lit a dozen candles inside the marked circle, each one in its specific place. A wave of different smells assaulted Crystal’s nose. She supposed that ghosts weren’t bothered by it since they couldn't smell much. She tried very hard not to sneeze.

Edwin retrieved two different cups from a cupboard, one made from silver and one from crystal, and poured the liquid from the bottle inside the silver one. For the other, he took out Esther’s knife from his pocket and sliced his forearm with it. Blood tinted with ectoplasm began to pour inside the empty cup, and once it was three quarters full he removed the wound from it to avoid overspilling. He slid two fingers over the wound and the black smoke that was becoming familiar to Crystal ate up the blood and sealed the wound. Then, he reached for Charles' chain around his neck and took it off. Gently, he let it fall inside the cup that had his blood. He took a big piece of parchment paper, those old ones that you see only in movies, yellowed with age, thick, and coarse to the touch.

With a grimace, he sank his fingers into the first cup. A low hum came from his throat, sounding almost like words but not really. He began writing symbols with the blood onto the parchment. With the other hand, he began tracing the same symbols again, on another blank sheet of parchment, on top of the first one. These symbols were mirrored, and written with his own blood from the second cup. Once he was done, a string of Latin came out of his lips, and the second set of symbols lifted up in the air, glowing golden light, and fused into the first set, on the first sheet of parchment. The other parchment disintegrated as soon as the last trace of blood left the paper.

Edwin let out a breath Crystal hadn't noticed he was holding. Done, he took the parchment, and began ripping it in pieces, keeping each symbol inside its own square of paper, and placed the symbols inside the circle according to the instructions written down by his own hand. The bloody symbols then sank through the paper and sealed themselves to the linen fabric. Edwin waved his hand and all the blank pieces of paper flew from the array. Then he took the necklace from inside the second cup and put it into the first cup.

He took the bathroom mirror, and placed it in the middle of the circle array spell, then took the necklace out of the cup and flicked it in the air where it remained still, frozen in place at about two metres high. The symbols on the bedsheet and the blood on the necklace pulsed with golden energy every couple of heartbeats.

“I need you,” he started to say, very clearly, “to not, for any reason, enter the circle.”

“All right” she said, heart beating like crazy.

“Whatever I ask you to bring me, you will put it inside the circle without touching inside it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Edwin repeated, breathing deep. He knelt beside the foggy mirror on the floor and began writing on it with his finger. At the same time, he spoke up, to keep her in the loop. “Charles? Are you there?”

Charles

are you there?

#fear your sins not your monsters #payneland #painland week #edwin payne #charles rowland #edwin x charles #dead boy detectives #dbda

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writtenbyaris · 1 year ago

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my creative writing process as a planner 🌟

the idea:

story ideas come to me at the most random and inconvenient of times. right before i fall asleep, when i'm in the shower, during my classes, etcetera. my main rule is to always write them down, whether it's in my notes app or a slip of paper or a journal... i'll forget it if i don't.

i try keeping it simple at this stage and not thinking too deeply about it, otherwise it becomes quite overwhelming. sometimes ¡'ll make a pinterest board depending on what the idea is. if it's more of an aesthetic, then i can make a moodboard out of it to help inspire me more. however, if the idea is a plot of some sort, that can be a bit more difficult.

character and world building:

this is my favorite part. once i have an idea set in stone and i'm ready to work on it, i begin building the characters and the world around it. i figure out the mechanics of the idea and how it can relate to characters and the world they're in.

at this point, i'm definitely making pinterest boards, playlists, and picrews to feel more immersed in the skeleton of the story.

i still keep it as simple as possible, and try to enjoy it. when i try juggling too many things at once, i end up wanting to abandon the project. slow and steady is the key for me :)

creating the story:

now we get down to what being a writer actually is.. transforming the idea into a story. i have to at least come up with one major plotline to start. i usually write in my journal during this stage, but sometimes i'll use notion to organize everything and keep track of it all.

oftentimes, the main plot will come to me when i'm working on character and world building. sometimes it's even the idea that first popped into my head. the story is usually influenced by dreams i've had, my own every day experiences, and other media i consume.

arcs, subplots, themes, etc:

this stage is for the smaller details that are vital for the story to flow and actually work. it's like a puzzle that's finally coming together.

for me, a story isn't a good one without arcs and themes, so those are of utmost importance. subplots are necessary to make the world more immersive, give readers insight on the characters, and keep the story naturally flowing. everything has to be woven back in to the main plot or idea, though.

i will say, this is the stage that tends to give me the biggest headache :P

zero draft:

jumping into a first draft as a heavy planner is too scary for me. so i came up with the idea of a zero draft. basically- zero expectations.

this is the backbone of my story. in this stage, i'm basically just taking myself through the steps of the story. i organize the plot and subplots into chapters, and with each chapter i go through all the beats of each scene. literally every. single. thing. that happens.

i don't usually include dialogue in this phase, but i do mention when a character will be in a conversation. all the focus should be on putting a needle and thread through the story and tying it all together.

first draft:

the first draft is somewhat easier for me because i do a zero draft. so, i know everything that will happen in a chapter and just have to utilize my writing abilities to make it rhythmic.

this is the first stage where i write dialogue, so it tends to be corny. a lot of my writing can be cliche and basic as well. that's what editing is for though!

i usually stress the most when writing my first draft, because it's the first time the story is actually being written in the format of a novel. by the end, it's not always very good either. but i do not look back at all, which means absolutely no editing until the first draft is finished.

and so on…

once the first draft is finished, then comes draft two. it's enjoyable to be able to read your own work all over again, though it's sometimes embarrassing as writing does improve with practice.

i focus on one chapter at a time-reading slowly, editing, filling in plot holes, fixing anything that changed later in the story. i try to catch as many details as i can.

usually, after as many rounds of editing one likes, the draft would be sent to an editor and beta readers. then i'd look into publishing companies (can you tell i haven't gotten to that point yet? lol)

are you a planner or a pantser?

#writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr #writers and poets #literature #writerscommunity #storytelling #planner #pantser #writing process #my writing process #zero draft #first draft #writing tips #writing advice #author

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

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i am chronically ghosted . . . except by you all! All 100 of you! 🤍

the little things are so important to me so i wanted to say thank you to you all for getting me to this mini-milestone of 100 followers! i started this blog exactly ten (yes 10!!) days ago as a way to write more freely about my Ped-rangement and reblog every single gifset of Dieter Bravo at least twenty times. Never in the world would i have expected such a positive response!

i've met some truly incredible people because of this blog and I honestly can say my life is better with you in it.

Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's ever reblogged, liked, or left a comment on one of my fics. I really do read every single one and when i'm done, i fold them up and put them near my heart 🤍🤍🤍

to say thank you, i'm doing a little celebration for anyone who wants to participate:

psychography: writing while haunted! pick a pedro boy of your choosing and a prompt from this list and i'll write a little drabble! (please specify if you'd like smut to be present or not!)

[i'll be accepting prompts between now and sept. 4]

séance: hold hands and speak into the beyond! send me an ask from one of these questions, or anything else you'd like to know!

ectoplasm: exercise the manifestation of spirits! send me a pedro boy and i'll share of my favorite fics of them - love love love gushing about other authors!

ouji board: the spirit moves the board - not you! i'll make a moodboard or icon of any pedro boy of your choosing!

this week i post the FINAL chapter of recovery road! i can't believe we're almost done! 😭 i'm so excited for you all to see how natalie and dieter's story ends!

after the last chapter goes live, i'm going to take a break from series for a bit and focus on smaller works, including oneshots or requests!

and if you're seeing this and you're very confused, i write fanfiction for pedro pascal characters! Here's my masterlist and if you like what you see, feel free to sign up for my taglist so you know when i post things!

part of what i love the most about fandom is the community, so as part of this i wanna call out some blogs who kick a large amount of ass 🤍

@suzdin @butchmandalorian @kteague (this blog is like 90% the cause of my pedr-ovtion) @gracie7209 @trulybetty @northernwindd @dilf-din @gnpwdrnwhiskey @sp00kymulderr @daddy-dins-girl @theywhowriteandknowthings

#100 followers #i CANNOT believe its been 10 days!!#WOWOW #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal #dieter bravo #max phillips #javier peña #100 followers event #tumblr milestone

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coco-bean-1218 · 9 months ago

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Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Chapter One: Something In The Way

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire leaves her home and starts her journey to Camp Toccoa.

A/N: Hello, everyone!! Welcome to Chapter One of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History! I am very excited to finally start this story and share it with all of you! I hope you enjoy and feel free to like, comment, and reblog!

Warnings: Swearing, period-typical behavior

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

Credits: Moodboard 1 made by @xxluckystrike Moodboard 2 made by @footprintsinthesxnd Thank you both so much!!!

June, 1942 Detroit, Michigan 10 a.m. Eastern Time ---

Detroit's Union Station was a bustling hub of wartime activity, its vast halls echoing with the hurried footsteps of soldiers and civilians alike. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the faces of families clustered around their loved ones. Amidst them stood Claire O'Connor, surrounded by an imposing fortress of luggage, her dark brown hair pulled back into victory rolls, dark red lipstick painted on her lips, her stoic expression betraying none of the apprehension swirling inside her.

"Damn, Claire, are you planning to open a boutique down there?" Emma, her older sister, teased, one hand affectionately resting on her sister's shoulder while her eyes danced with mirth at the sight of the luggage.

Claire offered a wry smile, pushing up her glasses with a finger. "Hey, you know me, I'm always prepared," she quipped, the edge of her humor tinged with nerves. "You can never have too many pairs of underwear."

Their father, Mr. O'Connor, chuckled, adjusting his glasses with a patient smile. "War or no war, I don't think the enemy will care much for your matching luggage set."

"Ha-ha, very funny, Dad," Claire retorted, a tight smile betraying her simmering nerves. Peyton stood beside Claire, a single duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her posture composed—a sharp contrast to Claire's cluttered state.

Mrs. O'Connor, Claire and Emma's mother, clucked her tongue as she adjusted one of the smaller bags atop a mountainous suitcase. "You've got enough to last through the war and back, honey bee," she said, her voice equal parts exasperation and concern. "Remember, you're going to be a medic, not a debutante."

"I know, Mom. It's just—" Claire hesitated, biting her lip. "It feels like I'm packing up my entire world."

"Because you are," Peyton interjected softly, coming to stand beside Claire. Her own belongings were neatly consolidated into her single bag, the stark contrast between the friends' preparations mirroring their differing paths. Peyton's mom stood a few feet away, her pride battling the sorrow in her eyes.

"First time for everything, right?" Claire continued, her attempt at levity falling flat in her own ears. Her gaze shifted between the faces of her family and Peyton, trying to memorize them before the journey ahead.

"Exactly. It's an adventure, Claire," Peyton replied, reaching out to give Claire's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just think of the stories we'll have to share."

"Right," Claire forced a chuckle. "Yours will probably be publishable. Mine will be too bloody to print."

"Your sense of humor is as dark as ever," Peyton replied.

The arrival of Peyton's train sliced through the air, the shrill whistle echoing off the station walls. The machine billowed steam like a specter of change, heralding the imminent departure. Everyone's attention turned to the locomotive, its metallic body gleaming beneath the Michigan sun.

"Train for Des Moines now boarding!" the announcement cut through their conversation with the sharpness of a knife.

"Guess that's my cue," Peyton said, her usual grace faltering just a bit.

"Promise me you'll write?" Claire's voice was steady, but her brown eyes betrayed her anxiety.

"Every chance I get," Peyton promised, pulling Claire into a fierce hug. "And don't go falling for any charming soldiers without telling me first."

"Who, me?" Claire managed a smirk. "Charm isn't exactly my Achilles' heel, you know that."

"I know, but stranger things have happened," Peyton said with a knowing look. "Just promise me you won't shut yourself off from the possibility of love."

"Oh, I'll keep an eye out for any dashing heroes trying to sweep me off my feet," Claire replied dryly. "But don't hold your breath."

With a final squeeze, Peyton released her friend and turned to her mother, enveloping her in a long hug before stepping back with a brave nod.

"Go get 'em, journalist!" Claire called after her, her teasing tone belying the tightness in her chest.

Peyton turned at the steps of the train, grinning broadly. "Wait for my bylines, Claire! They'll be front page before you know it!"

As Peyton disappeared into the train, Claire watched the doors slide shut, her heart sinking with the finality of the moment. A lump formed in her throat as she waved goodbye to Peyton, her best friend whom she had known since childhood. The train let out a low rumble, lurching into motion, gradually picking up speed and pulling away from the platform.

"Godspeed, Peyton Nelson," Claire whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Nearly an hour later, the shrill whistle of Claire's train tore through the lingering silence, signaling the impending departure and severing the last tenuous threads tethering her to home. Her family clustered around her like a protective shroud, their faces etched with pride and worry.

"Here it is," her father said, his voice thick with unspoken emotions.

"Looks like it," Claire agreed, hoisting her suitcase with a grunt. Her hands trembled slightly, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders along with the overstuffed leather.

"Train for Atlanta now boarding," the conductor called out, his voice a steady beacon amidst the clamor.

"Remember to keep your head down and help others do the same," her father said, "And look out for yourself."

"Can't make any promises," Claire quipped, "But I'll do what I can."

"Let's just hope the Army's ready for you," Mrs. O'Connor added, a twinkle in her eye that mirrored Claire's own spark of defiance. "They won't know what hit 'em!" Her embrace was tight, a desperate attempt to imprint the feeling of her daughter onto her very soul.

"I'll write every single day until you're sick of me!" Claire promised, offering a watery smile. "And when I come back, maybe I'll have a dashing paratrooper to introduce to you. Wouldn't that be something?"

Mrs. O'Connor winked at her daughter, “A fiery girl like you rarely returns with just tales of heroism and bravery. You're bound to turn a few heads, I'm sure of it!"

Laughter bubbled up from Emma, cutting through the tension like a lifeline thrown across turbulent waters. "Oh, brother, that poor man!" her sister said, hugging her tightly.

Her dad chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening. "Just make sure he knows how to handle a fearless woman."

"And don't let those men step all over you," her mother added in a firm tone, "You know what I say, 'Men ain't shit,' except for your father, of course."

"You know me, I don't like toxic masculinity," Claire replied with a smirk.

As the conductor's voice reverberated through the station once more, signaling the imminent departure of Claire's train, she picked up her mountain of baggage and stepped onto the platform. Claire climbed the steps of the train but paused at the top to cast a final glance at her loved ones. "Bye! Wish me luck!" she called out.

With a deep breath that did little to steady her heart, she entered the train. Claire made her way down the narrow aisle, finding a seat by the window in the last car, where the world could unfurl before her like a map of possibilities. As the vehicle jerked forward, she pressed her palm against the glass, maintaining eye contact with her parents and Peyton's mother until the station was nothing but a speck in the distance.

She settled into the rhythm of the rails, the clack-clack of wheels turning over tracks like a metronome counting down to her new reality. The heat was oppressive air thickening in the cramped space, sticking her blouse to her back and making her glasses slide down her nose.

As the landscape outside blurred into a collage of greens and browns, Claire pulled out "The Great Gatsby" from her bag. She immersed herself in the opulent tragedy of Gatsby's world, finding a strange comfort in the characters' doomed pursuits. "I always thought of myself as Gatsby and Noah as Daisy." she thought to herself, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Hours melded together, marked only by the rhythmic sway of the train and the occasional jostle of fellow passengers. When the heat became too oppressive, she switched to Freud, his theories a stark contrast to Gatsby's opulence and glittering disillusionment. "Id, ego, and superego," she mused aloud, her voice lost in the clatter of the train. "Which one got me into this mess? Freud would have a field day with me."

As dusk began to paint the sky with strokes of burnt orange and dusky violet, Claire pulled out a sheet of paper and began a letter to her mom. Her pen hovered above the page before it skated across, detailing the mundane aspects of her journey—never hinting at the undercurrent of fear that gnawed at her insides. "Dear Mom," she wrote, "the scenery is beautiful, although it's hard to appreciate fully when you're being slowly roasted."

Her hand hesitated, hovering above the paper as memories of Noah surfaced unbidden. Claire reached into her handbag and retrieved a photograph. It showed her and Noah, side by side, innocent smiles frozen in time under the banner of their high school graduation. Their graduation gowns billowed like hopeful sails, caps thrown mid-air, smiles wide and oblivious to the future. "Oh, Noah," she whispered, tracing the outline of his face. "Always fixing things, but never saw what was broken."

Her fingers traced the lines of his face, the awkward angle of his glasses—a mirror image of her own. She wondered where he was at this exact moment, if the sea was kind to him, or if the churn of the engine lulled him to sleep each night. "Be safe," she whispered into the fading light, her lips brushing against the cool surface of the picture. The train carried her onward, through the dusk and into a future as uncertain as the war itself.

The night stretched before her, each mile a note in a song of departure and anticipation. Claire leaned her head against the window, watching towns and fields blur by, while inside, her heart beat a staccato rhythm of longing and fear—an intricate dance of the times.

As the morning sun pierced through the curtains, bathing the train compartment in a soft golden glow, Claire stirred awake, her cheek imprinted with the pattern of the window's glass. She blinked groggily as she stood up and reached for her luggage to retrieve a fresh outfit from her suitcase.

Stepping into the narrow hallway of the train car, Claire made her way towards the washroom at the end. The rocking motion of the train beneath her feet quickened her pace, her hand steadying on the metal railing that lined the corridor.

She reached the washroom door and gave it a gentle push, stepping inside and locking it behind her. The tiny room was a welcome refuge from the constant movement of the train. Claire changed into her fresh clothes — a burnt orange and white striped blouse and matching orange skirt that billowed softly around her knees — and stuffed yesterday’s clothing into a laundry bag.

As she adjusted the collar of her blouse, the train lurched unexpectedly, causing her to stumble mid-button. Catching herself on the sink, she cursed under her breath and quickly finished dressing.

With her heart still hammering in her chest from the sudden movement, Claire took a moment to collect herself before unlocking the door and stepping back into the hallway.

Upon reaching her seat, the conductor’s voice echoed through the car, announcing their arrival in Atlanta. Claire collected her books and the letter to her mother, tucking them into her bag next to Noah's photograph. With a hefty sigh, she hoisted her bags—one, two, three—onto her shoulders and hips, a cumbersome dance that drew snickers from a couple of soldiers nearby. Atlanta, the city humming with the war effort and Southern charm, sprawled out before her, daunting in its vastness.

The stifling heat of Georgia smothered Claire the moment she stepped off the train, a harsh welcome to the South. She maneuvered through the bustling station, dragging her excessive luggage behind her, the clicking of her heels lost in the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of countless conversations.

The bus was already rumbling when Claire approached it, and as she climbed aboard, she felt every eye bore into her. She was a curiosity— a woman unaccompanied by a man among rows of young soldiers whose lives were set on a wartime metronome.

"Camp Toccoa," she said firmly to the bus driver, who raised an eyebrow but handed her the ticket without comment.

"Hey, doll, you boarding with all that?" one of the soldiers called out, nodding towards her luggage pile.

"Unless you see it sprouting legs and walking itself on, yes," Claire retorted, her voice edged with the wit she wielded like armor.

Another soldier piped up, "What's your story? Headed to entertain the troops?"

"Medic training," she clipped, pushing her glasses up her nose with a stubborn tilt of her chin. "I'll be patching up your sorry asses on the battlefield. Consider yourselves lucky."

Murmurs rippled through the bus as she maneuvered to an empty seat at the back, her bags wedged between her and the aisle. The curious glances didn't cease, though they became more surreptitious. Claire could feel the weight of their stares, the silent question marks punctuating the air around her.

"Never seen a dame wanting to be in the thick of it," a soldier across the aisle muttered to his neighbor. "She's got guts, I'll give her that."

"Or she's crazy," the other replied, not unkindly.

"Both," Claire interjected before she could stop herself, eliciting a few chuckles. It was an odd sensation, this camaraderie laced with isolation. She hunkered down in her seat, pulling out her unfinished letter to her mom, and tried to resume writing, but the words seemed frivolous now, floating aimlessly on the page. Instead, she tucked the letter away, leaning her forehead against the cool window glass, allowing her thoughts to drift.

"Hey, combat medic," the same soldier ventured again after a few moments, "You got a fella waiting for you back home?"

Claire answered, staring blankly at the seat in front of her, "Nope."

The soldier whistled low. "Well, that's a damn shame. A pretty gal like you, brave enough to sign up for this mess," he said, gesturing to the bus full of soldiers. "There must be plenty of fellas fighting over you back there."

Claire chuckled bitterly. "Fighting over me? More like running in the opposite direction," she replied, a self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips.

The soldier's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Nah, I can't believe that. A dame like you? Trust me, there ain't a fella worth his salt who wouldn't be lining up for a chance with you."

Claire sighed, her eyes fixed on the soldier's earnest expression. "Well, I guess they must have missed the memo," she retorted with a forced chuckle.

"I'm Danny, by the way," the soldier said, extending his hand towards Claire.

"Claire," she replied, shaking his hand.

Danny had thick, dark hair and eyebrows, deep brown eyes, and a slight stubble showing he had recently shaved. He was handsome, no doubt about it.

"You said you're gonna be a combat medic, right?" Danny asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes. "At Camp Toccoa, if I heard you correctly. Ain't that where the paratroopers train?"

Claire nodded, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. "Yeah, that's right. We'll be jumping out of perfectly good planes."

Danny whistled, impressed. "Well, I'll be damned. I could never. I'd crash land, splattering my guts everywhere like a burst tomato."

Claire laughed, "Thanks for the visual. I'll think of that as I plummet to my death."

When the bus finally came to a halt, the driver's voice announced, "Camp Toccoa, final stop!"

Claire stood and wrestled with her suitcases once more. Danny offered to help, but she politely declined. With a determined stride, she walked down the narrow aisleway towards the steps.

"Good luck, Miss Medic!" Danny called out.

"Yeah, you too, Dollface," she teased with a wink. With a final heave, she managed to walk down the steps of the bus into the sweltering heat.

"Watcha thinkin', Danny?" his companion next to him asked.

Danny grinned, shaking his head, “Nothin’ much," he replied, his gaze set on Claire as she stood outside the entrance to the camp.

The camp sprawled before Claire, a collection of low-lying buildings nestled amidst the dense Georgia forest. Stepping onto the dirt road, she was greeted by the stark white letters on the wooden sign: 'Camp Toccoa.'

She stood there, alone now, the dust settling around her feet. Before her lay a path lined with uncertainty, with courage demanded and comfort stripped away. To enter meant embracing her choice fully, to become part of something far greater than herself.

---

#yes I did use Stephen Sanchez as a face claim #and what about it?#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #my first oc story #my oc #easy company #hbo war #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

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rosebury-archives · 1 year ago

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CalmWriMo 2023 Wrap Up!

It is done! It has been done for like four days! IT IS DONE!

I have taken part in @winterandwords' CalmWriMo, here's my goals and how I did!

At the start of November, I sat on 81450 Words for my project To Put On An Act. My current word count is 111793 Words!!!!! WHAAAAT!!!!!! It's safe to say that I reached my writing goal! But what else did I do?

Get to Chapter 16 OR write 30k words - safe to say that I reached both of these goals! I'm currently working on Chapter 18, and I've written 30343 words. Yippie!

Plan later chapters post breakup - eh. I collected some ideas and have a rough plan but there's still some proper outlining missing. I do have a little bit of a better picture now though!

Post progess more frequently - This worked semi well? I would've loved to post more logs to be honest but. Oh well. I did post a couple logs though, and I want to try to make this a habit, maybe to at least yell on here once a week (if I do happen to write that week of course).

Make some Moodboards - I did that! I've not posted them here yet but I did make some little moodboards for a bunch of the characters :)

Make an intro post for this account - did that as well! Yippiee!

Plan for another mysterious project - heheheheheheeheheheh >;)

Now the other, just as important part of CalmWriMo, the Calm. I was not as calm as I should've been. Let's see. What's the goals.

Get more sleep - ahahah. uuh. ahhahehheah. hm. well. let's move on.

Be less anxious/worried about What The World Thinks Of Me - hm. Well. Well? I mean I guess. I think it's fine. I still think every single person in the world is better than me but it's okayyyy I'm alive what more do I want.

KILLING THE CRINGE - happy to report that the cringe dies again every day

Read More - OOOOHHHH LOOK SOMETHING I DID!!! Listened to my audiobook in the beginning of November, however, I did not finish it. Oh well! Instead I did some reading of fellow writers on Wattpad. Some of these really are the most written stories of all time, but there are some real gems hidden in there that I can learn from. Also great for networking [wink]

Less Stress about posting - no stress at all I Am So Calm. I actually caught up to my posting schedule! I took it slow and posted every two weeks to give myself some time, and now I can go back to my regular weekly schedule! I think it's fine. i think I'm fine. I can post when I want and do what I want.

ALL IN ALL! THIS WAS GREAT!!! THIS WAS GENUINELY SO GREAT!!!! I'm really proud of myself and what I did this past month, I got a lot done, I feel motivated, I feel excited! I can't believe I've already hit over 100k words, and at this point I have no idea when this will end, but I'm just really excited to see what the future will hold for TPOAA.

Having a goal for the month really did help me to get a gentle kick in the ass and to sit down and write. I was writing an average of 2k words a day and I hope to kind of keep that even if I don't have a goal set for the month.

If it wasn't for my incredibly draining job, I probably would've been able to hit an even higher word goal, but I genuinely think this was the best I could do and I'm so genuinely proud of myself. Maybe next year I'll aim even higher? Who knows!

Great job to everyone else who took part in CalmWriMo/NaNoWriMo, no matter if you hit your goal, you did great and I'm so proud of you and I kiss you btw. Also thank you winter tumblr dot com for coming up with this idea and making my first steps into the world of November writing challenges a little easier!

remember that Alex and Youngbin love u all <3

#nanowrimo 2023 #nanowrimo #calmwrimo 2023 #calmwrimo #writeblr

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stayxlix · 1 year ago

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helloooooo!!!🩵🩵 moving was pretty difficult, but thankfully, some of my friends helped and etc and now I'm ready to start anew!!

AKWKEHEG i'm just so so so glad that you've actually decided to endulge me with this trope😭 😭 I can't even explain just how excited I am to THOROUGHLY read the next chapter (and ALLLLL the other ones to come) and haha yes I'm pretty much also living for any media that include romance, buuut like I said, angry love confessions and angry passion just really do it for me🤭 and you're so right! Having a happy ending really makes me feel like crying all those times and screaming into my pillow was really worth it😭

I'm really glad you're happy that I said otde is my fav way to get rid of excessive stress, bc it really is!! I honestly want to find every single thing that could make you happy and just give it to you bc you're just so nice and ahaiwiowowjw

AND DID YOU JUST YOU VALUE MY OPINION THAT MUCH?!?!??! I ACTUALLY CANT DI THIS WTF ALEX WJY ARE U SO NICE HELP ME I'm so unbelievably glad that I can talk to you like this and try to make you feel the love for you and your story and blog, even if it's just through asks (for now!! I'm trying to build up my courage to finally text you and not do it like this by being anonymous) and I honestly wish I could give you a real life hug, I just wanna squish you and qjqjwhegejqo1 😭😭💗

I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKE THE MOODBOARD!!!!!!*×*×[×[2[2> And YES I PUT A LOOOT OF THOUGHT INTO IT BUUUT I REALLY REALLY ENJOYED MAKING IT AND I'M JUST SO FREAKING GLAD YOU LIKE IT HELPBMEKAJQ i really tried to put in what i feel when i readd otde, so i'm just really glad that you can see what I meant and it makes me even happier taht you actually like it and even SAY THAT IT'S THE PERFECT VISUAL JOURNEY FOR OTDE AND THAT IT'S THE EXACT VIBE YOU ASSOCIATE WITH OTDE??? OMFG I CANT DO THIS I AM ABOUT CRY

and yes, I will gladly talk to you about every single pic that I've decided to add, and hopefully it'll be very VERYYY soon bc I am pretty close to dming you😭🩵 and I'm in the middle of the red version already, so I'm even MORE excited to share it with you soon!! (Possibly through normal dms🤭🤭) I AGREE!! i would like to announce, that now it is canon that mc wears red Vans bc it reminds of Felix (she probably wouldn't admit it at the beginning but we KNOW) (and, why do I feel like otde Felix is the type to get something related to mc tattooed?? Maybe just a small thing like her fav flower and on his wrist somewhere so that he knows she's always somehow with him😭 or if she gave him a bracelet, he'd literally NEVER take it off like no matter what... and I feel like he'd also be the type that wears EVERYTHING related to her proudly [and probably gets a bit too turned on when he sees that she does the same] okay I may be ranting a bit too much now... i need to stop)

I'm extremely glad that the new chapter is coming along nicely!! I'm soooo anticipating it and I'll definitely have so much motivation to make something that I don't even know with what new creation of mine we'll end up with☠️😭 aaaand i'll so let you in on a little secret, I love LOVE LOVE LIKE WITH MY WHOLE SOUL LOOOONG STORIES like give me 35k words and I'm eating ALL OF IT UP. especially from you?!?!?!? But i wish you so so much good luck with the finishing up/ just writing in general!🩵🩵 don't feel any pressure to finishing it! I'll honestly wait however long is needed without any problems if it's otde🩵

And thank YOU for being so wonderful!🩵 I'm so happy to be writing another ask again💗 your answers also mean the world to me, and I love sharing the excitement and happiness I hold for not only otde, but also you🩵 Hearing that what I make for you/otde is a source of motivation truly makes me so happy that I can't even put it into words, thank you for existing, honestly!🩵

I now find myself thinking about you when I'm writing and wondering if you'll like where the story is going or certain parts etc. etc.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDUNG ME?!??!?!?! I LITERALLY XANT DO THIS IM SO CLOSW TO CFYING LIKE ARE U SERIOUS RIGHT NOW THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME ITS ACTUALLY UNREAL PLEASE

Our interactions also mean so so much to me and YOU make all of the time spent reading, and creating thinks for you/the story so so worth it that I wouldn't even imagine it being unworthy, really, I know I've said this before but finding this story/ you and your blong has genuinely made my lately life better and happier💗🩵 I am also so thankful to have you as a friend and to see what you create with your beautiful writing🩵

And yes!! Honestly, though, who wouldn't have a crush on otde Felix?! I also sometimes need to take a break and make myself that, unfortunately, otde Felix is not real anywhere else than our minds and hearts😭 (ps. I am now extremely excited for next week and am omw to add some songs to the playlist, and work on the red version of the moodboard bc I'm so glad that you are excited to see it😭😭)

This was also VEEERY long so hopefully you've survived through this (and yet I still have so much more to say help me) i'm sending another hug right back to you! Stay safe and take care, have the best rest of your day and good luck with everything!!🩵🩵 i love you just as much!!

hi hi hiiiiiiii🩵🩵🩵 im so sorry i wasn’t able to respond until now, i had the most hectic weekend!! i went on a roller coaster for the first time and i don’t think i’ve ever been so happy and terrified all at once before😂😂 (although i do love a good scary movie lol). but im so glad you had good friends to help you move, i know from experience that it makes all the difference :) starting anew is one of my favorite things about life!! even if it can be scary sometimes, it sounds like you’ve got a wonderful support system there with you<333

are you kidding me?!? i LOVE talking about tropes like the one you sent, it resonated so much with me (as does everything you say lol) angry love confessions? YES. angry passion? YES. and a happy ending to wrap it all up?? SIGN ME UP. (btw i like how you mentioned screaming into your pillow because this has also become a regular occurrence for me while writing this story😂) but the fact that you said you’re excited for the new chapter makes me that much more excited to share it (although i am a bit nervous, but what else is new lol) it also makes me want to take even more care with every single word that i include (much like answering your asks lol) im a bit particular about it and it makes me feel really good to know that you want to read it thoroughly because it makes the time spent writing all worth it🥹🥹 (even if it does end up being 35k words lmao) at least i know you’ll still be willing to read it all🥹because ill let you in on another secret, a little over halfway through i checked and it was at like 12k words????? help🙃 and the middle is still a bit of a mess but im really really stuck on my goal of putting it out some time this weekend, so we’ll see.🤭 ive considered splitting it up, and i honestly still might (but i don’t really like the idea of the first half being it’s own part so i even thought about doing like 5.1 and 5.2????? is that even a thing to split a chapter into two?????) lol idk all i know is im just hoping i have plenty of time this week to figure it out😂 thank you so so much for the good luck, kind words, and your amazing support🩵🩵 i need it more than you realize😂

you saying otde is your favorite way to relieve stress is like its own kind of stress relief for me🥹🥹 seriously!! and you are so unbelievably sweet to say that you want to give me every single thing that makes me happy😭 but 🩵, i promise you your asks already make me happier than you could ever imagine!! i only hope that my responses do the same for you because you are so incredible and important to me💕💕which means that OF COURSE I VALUE YOUR OPINION!! readers are the heart and soul of any story, and feedback like yours is the backbone that keeps me going. it keeps the story alive, you know???? and i would be a fool not to recognize that. you have done more than enough to make me feel the love for my little story and blog, even if it is through asks!! don’t ever discount that or feel pressured to do anything further. of course my dms are always open for you🩵 but take all the time you need love, no pressure :)

LIKE THE MOODBOARD???!?!?!? NO NO I L O V E IT. I CAN TELL HOW MUCH THOUGHT YOU PUT INTO IT AND I AM SO PROUD OF IT THAT I WANT TO SHOW IT OFF TO EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN MY LIFE (and i totally would, if any of them knew that this blog existed lol) BUT THAT IS HOW MUCH IL OVE IT. I LVOE IT WITH MY ENTIRE HEART AND SOUL.😭 (and i think mc would too) because i could literally feel the emotions you portrayed, and i cannot even put into words how that makes me feel. your love for this story is something i will never ever forget. even years down the road. you are so special to me, and the offer to go through and discuss all of the pictures (and the songs on your playlist) stands forever. my door will always be open<3 you don’t even have to knock lol just come on in and we can pick right back up wherever we left off. AND WHEN I TELL YOU I AM SO EXCITED FOR THE RED VERSION I MEAN LIKE SHAKING WITH EXCITEMENT ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT BITING MY NAILS ANXIOUSLY AWAITING THE MOMENT IT DROPS🤭🤭(take your time though of course, because i know these things can’t be rushed🩵)

and if i’m being honest i have been thinking about this whole vans thing ever since you brought it up…like my mind has been spiraling with ideas about how our main couple would be in a world like ours, like if they were real college students or something idk. and we have definitely confirmed that its canon that mc would wear red vans because of felix and IT IS EVEN MOre CANON that felix would have something related to her tattooed?!?(I SQUEALED WHEN I READ THIS NO YOU DONT EVEN UNDERSTAND) “Maybe just a small thing like her fav flower and on his wrist somewhere so that he knows she's always somehow with him” THIS.😭 but wait what if the flower was something SHE drew, like maybe just something small that she casually sketched while they were together and he kept it without her even knowing, or if she drew it on a little note to him?????? i am WEAK.😭😭😭😭

“or if she gave him a bracelet, he'd literally NEVER take it off like no matter what” no this is SO good too because even though he would rather die than admit it, he is so fucking obsessed with that little bracelet. because it was from her. OR MAYBE ITS JUST A LITTLE HAIR TIE THAT SHE TOOK OF AND WRAPPED AROUND HIS WRIST CASUALLY oNE daY AND HE HASNT TAKEN IT OFF SINCE BC IT REMINDS HIM OF HER AND - I CANT.😭 pls. we need to discuss this further. and don’t even get me started on how turned on he would be if he catches her wearing something of HIS. nah you’re insane for this and i’m cutting myself off before i get too invested and start making this into its own separate little fic. (mc and lix in a parallel universe or something lol, maybe a past life even??) idk send help😂

thank YOU for existing 🩵, my adoration for you grows even more every single time i see you pop up in my askbox, if that’s even possible :) i mean every word i put into in my responses and i cannot WAIT to see what new creations we’ll end up with from you💕 (starting with the red moodboard of course) you are wonderful, and you have no idea how much you have touched me with your words and interactions. for all we know, we might be halfway across the world from each other, but whenever i read your asks i always feel so close to you.🥹 they give me life, and its probably a good thing we don’t know each other in person, because I would be absolutely SHOWERING you with love 24/7, i would never leave you alone and you’d probably get sick of me lol.😂😂 you make my life better too🩵🩵thank you so much for saying that you think my writing is beautiful, how am i not supposed to think of you when i write when you say such kind things like this???🥹🥹🥹

“I also sometimes need to take a break and make myself that, unfortunately, otde Felix is not real” the struggle is REAL😭 and omg i saw that you added the eve by exo to the playlist and i HAVE to ask if it was because of the hyunlix dance cover from the fanmeet??? bc i also considered adding that song to mine after i saw their dance (don’t even get me started on that and how RUDE it was lmao)

okay okay, if you have made it to the end of this then i sincerely thank you for taking the time out of your day to read it, i could go on forever (you’d never believe how quiet i am in real life😂) but i just have SO much to say when it comes to you. so have an absolutely amazing start to your week 🩵🩵🩵 i hope its full of all of your favorite things and plenty of moments that make you smile<3333 sending SO much love and the biggest warmest hug back your way🤗 talk soon💕💕

#otde.feedback #alex answers asks♡#🩵

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thrill-seeker-vn · 2 years ago

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I posted 1,090 times in 2022

775 posts created (71%)

315 posts reblogged (29%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thrill-seeker-if

@manonamora-if

@king-of-autumn

@hauntthebodies

@narrativefoiltrope

I tagged 919 of my posts in 2022

Only 16% of my posts had no tags

#not if related - 424 posts

#thrill seeker if - 133 posts

#ro asks - 101 posts

#ch: n - 96 posts

#ch: oli - 90 posts

#anon - 84 posts

#ch: hannie - 83 posts

#ask aalaa - 74 posts

#lovely anon <3 - 45 posts

#<3 - 42 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#we were like reviewing our tor as we go into another work year and she had been showing our plan for the next year and as we're talking she

My Top Posts in 2022:

Please don't write another IF. You're already lazy enough writing this one.

I don't really know what to say to this one. But, then again, I don't really owe you any sort of explanation. You have no idea who I am or what I've been through these last few months, so I really don't know where you get off of that you can speak to me so harshly.

I have very little time to myself, and I am making this IF for free. Between this, I've been helping my Ukranian family seek refuge here. I am paying for their stay. I'm working and studying, too. I get very little free time for this IF. I understand if you don't want to read it, or any of my other WIPs, but I don't think you have the right to talk to anyone this way regardless. I do not owe my time to you. I am not your personal content machine.

If you think you can do better, I truly encourage you to try. Maybe you can take this stick out of your ass while you're at it.

71 notes - Posted April 18, 2022

I’ve collaborated with the incredible @aikhako again for N’s birthday celebration! They've, of course, blown it out of the water yet again!

One thing I'm excited to announce for this celebration as well... I have finally moved the demo from inkle to twine! I have edited chapter 1, so it should hopefully flow better now!

You can play the game from this link. Hope you guys are having a great day!

Also, make sure to check out Aikhako on insta, they post more often there!

75 notes - Posted April 12, 2022

this is so funny to me.... i love blade so much but he really went out and spoke about their trauma and was like 'and i.... yeah me too i guess!'

91 notes - Posted November 10, 2022

5000 views and 2500 plays celebration!

Hello everyone! I actually can't believe it, but today, we passed 5000 views and 2500 browser plays for Thrill Seeker!!

First of all: thank you guys so much. I literally wouldn't be here without you guys. The support I've gotten from you amazing folks is staggering. I really want to thank ALL of you for supporting Thrill Seeker, you guys are so lovely and to be honest, the love I've gotten here has gotten me through some really tough times. The friends I've made here are absolutely wonderful.

I love talking to you guys, seeing your art and hearing your theories, and I love hearing what you look forward to. Thank you for listening to my ramblings and being so lovely!! I'm so happy to have people like you engaging with Thrill Seeker and I appreciate every single one of you.

So, to thank you all, we're going to have a little celebration!!

Until then I’d just like to do something fun for you all! Ther are three There will be three prizes for everyone who wishes to participate

1st prize: Portrait of your MC and preferred RO & Longer Drabble created with your preferred RO

2nd prize: Medium length drabble written with your character & smaller portrait of your preferred RO

3rd prize: Option to create your own character who, although small, will play a role giving information to the MC & moodboard of preferred character

To win, all you have to do is reblog or comment on this post (not like!!) and you'll be in!!! This will be open to anyone until about mid September, so you all have plenty of time!

I hope you guys enjoy!! Thank you guys so, so much for sticking with me and giving so much love to Thrill Seeker!

See the full post

93 notes - Posted July 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Your favorite IFs? I don't remember if you have already answered something like this and I'm looking for something to get addicted to.

I've actually been looking for the post I made about this exactly, but here's a bunch more!

@reincarnation-if - A RESURRECTION STORY, BABY!!! I love the author AND the story, I'm totally obsessed with it!! The demo isn't out yet, but I literally can't wait!!

@manonamora-if - I cannot recommend this author enough. Check out her IFs here. I don't even know how to begin describing how amazing she is-- it seems like she can literally do any genre!

@attollogame - I'm sure everyone knows this incredible if but, if you don't, definitely check them out RIGHT NOW! They're going to celebrate their two year anniversary soon, so this is the perfect chance to read the work and find out more about this awesome game!!

@jaunefleurwrites - another one I mention a lot. But she has so many amazing WIPS and IFs and I'm not sure if all my audience knows about it!! You can check Jaune's masterpost for all their amazing IFs (my favorite is definitely A World Without You!! There's just a certain warmth in Jaune's writing that I absolutely love!)

@magiciansvoyage - Yet again someone who shows up on the blog a lot-- I'm getting my favoritism out of the way, don't worry. Arlo is such a lovely writer and person, and Magician's Voyage is easily one of my favorite ifs. Arlo's writing is so immersive and I love fantasy, so easy rec from me!

@parkerlyn - The Nameless is literally one of the best IFs out there and you are missing out if you're not reading it. They are also celebrating their second anniversary soon so send them some love!!

@anathemafiction - If you're looking to buy an amazing, immersive game, this is the one to get! It's fully released, incredible quality, and you can download it on mobile or desktop. I would definitely recommend checking them out!

@thefallendivine - I love betrayal stories. You play as the heir to heaven and hell, but your family has been killed by your peers. You're in a situation where you're not sure who to trust anymore. I absolutely love these kinds of stories!! I think if you like Thrill Seeker, you'll enjoy this is!

@sevensdeadly-if - You get to interact and romance the seven deadly sins. How much better can it get, man??? Is there anything more I need to say to sell it?? Chapter one was released recently, so an excellent time to read it.

@nextinline-if - Are you looking for an if with DRAMA?? ROYALTY?? A STORY THAT MAKES YOU LOOK WITHIN YOURSELF, THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO BE A GOOD RULER??? then look no further than this amazing game!! Constantine has my heart and I will love him till the end of time, so if you do play, pick someone else, because he is MINE!

@lifesupreme-if - There are defiitely not enough sci-fi if's out there, and this story is based in the world of Cyberpunk 2077, so it was an automatic win in my eyes.

@when-life-gives-you-lemonssss - This is nothing like Thrill Seeker, and I love it. It's a cute slice of life with a bunch of awesome ROs. I love domestic games, and this covers all the boxes in the cute game checklist!

@whenbodiescollide - when i saw the synopsis, it immediately caught my attention. the entire aesthetic of the blog plays in so well with the story that i can't recommend it enough!!

@vendetta-if - another awesome synopsis bro. I love revenge stories, and this is probably the best IF you're gonna find of it, baby!

@lacewing-if - Their if doesn't have a demo yet, but I already love the premise. Keith has my entire heart and I can't wait until I can get to romance him properly LIUHDFSSDFHUI

@thehunt-if - Another concept I love a lot-- you play as a hunter for supernatural beings!! But then!!! YOU GET POSSESSED BY SOMETHING YOU HUNTED, AND NOW YOU HAVE TO WALK A MILE IN THEIR SHOES!! i cannot stress how much I love this hehe

@hummingbird-games - Moreso a VN, but still such a cute game and I just love it sm!!! The art is so gorgeous and it's just so nicely done!!

@if-whenthesunrises & @if-mirrormine - both are excellent stories!! The lovely author is on a hiatus right now, but I would still recommend checking out their work!!

@unwilling-souls-if - The premise is just so insanely good I can't even explain it. Check it out and you'll get it, LMAIUHDSFUHDFIU. Xander-- watch out. I'm coming for you.

There are way too many talented authors to mention in the word limit, so let me know if you want a part three!! Thank you for the ask Eva <3

339 notes - Posted August 23, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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eddiebillysteve · 2 years ago

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cat and mouse

(( harringroveson prison au )) chapter eleven | find the rest here

a/n | a forever shoutout to @leticheecopae and @a-redharlequin for always helping me with this fic!! stay tuned for leti's companion fic when it drops because omfg it's SO GOOD. we're also gonna be writing a post-prison fic to continue this world too heh. I LIVE FOR COMMENTS PLS TALK TO ME (i try my best to keep up with commenting back but i am a mess irl rn so i'm struggling with it buT EVERY SINGLE ONE MEANS SO MUCH TO ME)!! Find it on ao3 here !!

warnings | daddy kink, mention of suicide/child murder, billy is recovering in the infirmary, creel is still lurking around so tbh that's its own warning, dom/sub themes, possessiveness, steve being a gay panicked confused mess (this is a permanent tag), general prison talk, stuff like that !!

tag list | @whoringrove @darkandstormyslash @devotionsofmaryoliver @nowhereinthedenn @cherixsays - let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future updates or removed from the list !!

moodboard by @a-redharlequin !!

“He’s complaining there’s something wrong with his chest. Won’t shut up about it. Call for us when you’ve fixed him.”

The officer snorted before slamming the door of the infirmary shut behind him. He knew Eddie was full of shit, but he didn’t care enough to fight him on it. If Eddie wanted to go to the infirmary, he could go. It wasn’t like he could break Hargrove out – and even if they did, they’d only wind up back in their cells or isolation. Whatever game Eddie wanted to play wouldn’t work.

There were two nurses on the night shift in the infirmary, which was fairly small for such a large prison. A doctor came in every day but for anything really serious the prisoners were transferred out to the closest hospital. Beds lined one wall, only one occupied by an inmate who was dead asleep, and a little further down the hall were the private rooms. He knew Jonathan was in one on watch, and Billy must have been in another. He just had to make it to his room.

“What’s the matter? You’re having chest pains?” The nurse asked, glancing him up and down before looking at her clipboard. “Are you feeling anxious?”

“Well, yes,” Eddie swallowed, glancing over his shoulder at the door. The guards were outside, listening in case there were any troubling patients, but nothing ever happened in the infirmary. The food was always better and the beds were way more comfortable; no one wanted to fuck it up and be kicked out. “But, listen,” His voice dropped a little. “I need to see Hargrove. He’s in here, isn’t he? Please. I just need to know he’s okay. I know you know what Creel’s like. Everyone knows what he’s like.”

It was dangerous, what he was doing, but he’d been to the infirmary plenty of times before and he knew most of the nurses that worked on the ward. They were all kind and soft aside from one or two that treated the inmates like garbage, but they luckily never worked the night shifts.

“I can’t do that,” She murmured, but Eddie was quickly shaking his head.

“I know. I know you can’t. But what if you just… go to the bathroom for a few minutes? I’ll be in and out before you’re back. All you know is that I’ve been waiting here. Please. Please,” He didn’t care that he was begging. “I’ll be so quick. I just have to make sure he’s alright. No one will even know. How can I convince you? You want money? Weed? I’ll give you whatever. Billy will too.”

The woman sighed, reaching up to adjust her ponytail. Her coworker, sitting at one of the desks with her back to them, wasn’t paying any attention. “Fine. Go. First door on the left. You’ve got five minutes. I’ll get you when it’s clear.”

“You’re an angel. I owe you,” Eddie whispered, and then he was rushing to the first room on the left as instructed.

Inside, Billy had sat up in bed. He looked clammy, exhausted, but he was scribbling onto a sheet of paper. He had to let Chrissy – and Max – know he was okay and he wasn’t sure how long it’d take for it to go through. If Creel got a hold of the letter it may have taken weeks, but he chose his words carefully so it wouldn’t be tossed out.

He paused when the door opened, though, and he wound up doing a double take upon seeing Eddie in the doorway. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Jesus Christ. Thank God you’re alright,” Eddie let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, immediately moving forward to wrap himself around Billy’s body. It tensed underneath him, in pain from the touch, but he did wrap his arms around Eds in return after a second. “Fuck, Bills. I thought you were a fucking goner.”

“Yeah, right. Like I’d ever give that prick the satisfaction of killing me,” He murmured, nuzzling against Eddie’s hair. There was no time to ask how the hell he’d managed to get in, but it didn’t matter. None of it did. “You alright? And Steve? Creel hasn’t fucked with you, has he?”

“No, we’re fine. Don’t worry. I’m looking after Steve,” Eddie pulled back to look him over. “You look like shit. What the fuck did he do to you?”

Billy was silent, jaw tightening slightly. “Doesn’t matter. But I’m going to be stuck here for a little bit. Got a pretty bad infection.”

“An infection? Where?” He glanced downwards to Billy’s covered lap. His assumption was that his hole had been torn; his brain never would have ever considered anywhere else.

“Eds. Stop asking questions,” Billy’s voice shifted into a warning, but it wasn’t cruel or overly harsh. Just enough to get him to back off and quit prodding at things Billy didn’t want to talk about. “Do you have a new cellie?”

For a moment, Eddie was taken aback. “I… yes. How did you know?”

“He told me,” Billy’s face curled into a snarl and he shifted Eddie a little closer in his arms again. It hurt, but he didn’t care. Someone had been touching his property. “Who is he?”

“His name is Jason Carver. Fucking Jesus junkie with a temper. Argyle said he’s in for DV. No idea where he was transferred from. I tried to tell him that you–”

“I know you did,” Billy cut him off. Eddie always made it very clear to anyone who came around that he was very much taken. He was trained well. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re not in trouble. You’re a good boy. I’m proud of you for looking after Steve like I asked,” His hand moved to Eddie’s hair, stroking it gently, but after a second it curled into it for him to pull Eddie’s ear to his lips. “Listen. You tell Argyle to tell Tommy to deal with him. If it’s not sorted by the time I’m out of here, you let Hagan know he’s in big fucking trouble. I don’t care what he has to do. Just get rid of him.” And then his hand was loosening, back to the soft petting that Eddie was practically purring from. “Has he fucked you? Carver?”

“Yes,” Eddie’s voice was small, but he wasn’t going to lie. He couldn’t lie. He’d been trained to never tell a lie – Billy would always know when he wasn’t being truthful and there were always consequences.

“Then he’s fucking dead. Tell Freckles to make it look like an overdose or I’ll make it a whole lot messier when I get out of here,” Billy was back to struggling to control his temper, but Eddie brought his hands to his cheeks, cradling his hot face, and he slowly calmed down.

“I’m sorry. I’m real fucking sorry for what I said,” Eddie blurted out. “I don’t hate you. Obviously. I was just jealous. You were right.”

“I know,” Billy nodded his head a little. “I don’t hate you either.”

Eddie knew it was probably the closest thing he was ever going to get to an I love you, and he didn’t mind. It felt good, made his heart feel warm, full. Put butterflies into his belly.

“Harrington’s not that bad. We had a picnic tonight. Used your radio.”

“Oh yeah?” Billy’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “I’ll let it slide just this once. What’d you talk about?”

“Told him a bit about Creel,” He started, but he shook his head when he felt Billy stiffen. “Not you. I mean, what he did to Jonathan and his brother. I told him how you try to protect Jonathan to spare him anymore trauma. You should have seen the look on his face. He couldn’t believe it.”

“Couldn’t believe that I don’t want Creel fucking with people that can’t handle it? I’m not a total fucking monster,” He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t want Creel fucking with anyone, but definitely not Jonathan. That’s a whole new level of fucked up. He gets off on talking about what he did to that innocent kid and it just…” Eddie felt hands tighten into his skin.

“He’s sick. He’s really fucking sick. When you get out we need to come up with a way to get him out of here,” Eddie whispered.

Billy nodded his head and pulled one hand from around Eddie to show him the letter. “Cunningham tried to warn me. No fucking idea how long ago she sent it but it was on the table when I woke up. Creel read it and kept it until after he was finished with me.” He didn’t know if Creel knew the code or not, but the most he could do was hold the letters for a while. He couldn’t toss them without raising suspicion.

“Damn,” Eddie murmured, grabbing the letter to read over. The nurse would be in any second to get him out, he was sure, but he was going to stay as long as he physically could. He liked hearing about Chrissy, the memories Billy shared with her and the stories she relayed from her prison. It was almost like a weekly television show; they got updates on what the girls had been up to each week and they both looked forward to it. “You done with your reply? I can take it. Mail it off tomorrow. Creel might not get his hands on it that way.”

“Worth a shot,” Billy nodded, quickly looking over his sheet of writing. He quickly finished it, signing it off, before handing it over.

Max,

Jesus, sis, don’t worry, I’m fine. Got some one-on-one time with a few other guards in here. Got caught with some shit I shouldn’t have had (yeah yeah, don’t get fucking pissy) and the creeps put me in isolation for it. Ended up getting sick after getting a cut from the damn bed frame, a really bad One, but I’ll live. Gonna take more than that to kill me, shitbird. Though sounds like Jonathan got sick too. Really hope someOne isn’t spreading something around.

The fact that someone was psycho enough to try and bring in a dog with hookworms is pretty fucked. Bet you guys got it moved fast; faster than even that psycho bitch expected. I know how much you care about those animals. And maybe you should clip Hissy’s claws, sis. If she doesn’t have a way to fight back then maybe she’ll stop bothering Red, though from what you’ve told me, I doubt it. Cat sounds like a real bitch.

I got a new bitch myself, actually. His name is Steve and he’s got even worse Bambi eyes than Eddie. Seriously, fucker looks like he was made by those artists that make those movies you like. You know the ones. They always put me to sleep, but they were like crack to you.

Still, I’m a little worried about any of the fucking creepers in here getting their hands on him. He’s about as innocent as they come, and it would take only One bad fucker to do some damage to him. Got Eddie playing babysitter with him while I heal up.

And Neil better be staying away from you two. He doesn’t, you make sure to call tweedle-dumb and dumber out there immediately. Least those small-town hicks are good for is keeping him out of your shit.

Question for ya, sis. How do you get rid of hookworms? Sounds like a pain in the ass, but it sounds like if there’s even One around then the issue gets worse. Sound like psycho little bugs, just burying in where they can. Bet you’ve found a way to wipe ‘em out over there though.

And for the bad surprise thing, I mean, who the fuck knows? A surlose? I mean, no prize is won, so what about that? That a weird enough word for ya, Maxipad?

Anyway, I’m about to get some of the good shit and go to sleep for a bit. Stay out of trouble.

Don’t be like your idiot big brother.

- Billy

Eddie didn’t read it over, instead just folding it and quickly shoving it into his pocket. They were running out of time together.

“Have you told Steve about visitation? How to write letters and make phone calls?” Billy asked then.

“No. He said he doesn’t have a good relationship with his parents. Daddy issues, I think,” He grinned a little and Billy’s mouth curled into a smirk. “But he’s very adamant he’s not gay. I tried to tell him he doesn’t need a label. Just needs to enjoy what feels good.”

“Oh yeah?” Billy rested his head back on the pillow, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit. “You wanna make him feel good, baby? Play daddy while I’m away?”

Eddie’s cheeks turned red and he started to stutter. “No! Not like that. I was just trying to be supportive. Make him feel better. I think he’s a little less scared of you now, he was the one that told me to say I wasn’t feeling well to sneak in and see you. I would have never thought of it.”

“Did he now?” For the first time in days, Billy felt pleasantly surprised. He would have expected Steve to have absolutely no sympathy for him and to be glad he was away. “Well, that was quite nice of him, wasn’t it, sweetheart? You think he deserves a reward for getting you here?” If he wasn’t still so fucked up from what had happened to him, he would have been getting hard at the thought, but the bad memories were still too dominant in his mind. “I think he does. Why don’t you give him a blow tomorrow after work, huh? Give it to him all soft like you know he likes. Really milk a few rounds out of him.” He pulled Eddie down close to him again, lips going to his ear. “Kiss him after. Make sure he can taste himself on your tongue.”

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat and he nearly jumped when the door burst open. “Time’s up. Out you go.”

“Yeah, alright,” He sucked in a breath, desperately hoping his hard on wasn’t going to be visible when he turned around, and gave Billy a tight smile. “Feel better, Hargrove. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Now, Mr. Munson.”

***

Eddie couldn’t get the idea out of his mind the entire night. When he blew Jason, just to get him to shut up and stop praying, he thought of Steve and how amazing he was going to make the boy feel. He wanted to show him how good it could be, and it was the perfect opportunity with Billy away. There wouldn’t be any fear involved, no intimidating Hargrove watching them. It distracted him the entire day; during meal times, work duty, when he stopped off to send out the letter and grab some more snacks at the commissary. He didn’t even remember he was supposed to tell Argyle about Hagan’s job until dinner time because he was so distracted.

“Oh, sweet. What’d you get?” Steve asked when Eddie once again arrived at his cell with arms full of snacks. It was after dinner, though; they’d already been to the cafeteria and Eddie had been acting weird the entire day.

“One of everything. Billy gives me an allowance every week, I’ve been saving a lot of it,” Eddie brought the snacks over, dumping them on the bunk for Steve to look through. He grabbed the bag of lollipops and gummies he’d gotten, though. “But not these. These are for when you’re a good boy. You can snack on anything else, but not the candies.”

Steve’s cheeks turned bright red and he was suddenly hyper focused on one of the labels like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever read in his life.

“Do you like that?” Eddie’s voice was small, soft, barely there. “Being called a good boy? You can tell me, you know. I’m good at keeping secrets. I won’t tell Billy.”

“I…” Steve swallowed hard, fingers fiddling with the wrapper. “I don’t know.”

“Well, does it make you feel good? The same feeling as when someone calls you handsome or smart?” Eddie’s hands silently started to open the bag of candies. If Steve spoke up, admitted it, he’d get another one. Every time he did something good, he’d get one.

“I think so. But it shouldn’t.”

“Yes, it should,” Eddie smiled, fingers offering out a sweet. “Here. Because you’re being honest. Honest boys are good boys. Billy taught me that.” Steve smiled a little shyly, gladly accepting the candy to pop into his mouth. “I told him that you were the one that encouraged me to sneak in and go and see him in the infirmary. He was very pleased.”

“Really?” Steve finally glanced up at Eddie’s eyes.

“Really. You two got off on the wrong foot. I think he’s really looking forward to getting to spend some time with you. Just… normal time. Not the kinda time where he’s trying to assert his dominance or whatever the hell it is he does.” Eddie had to try not to laugh. “We like playing cards together, listening to music. He does a fair bit of reading, too.”

“I don’t read. Something I struggled with in school, all the reading and writing shit,” Steve muttered, reaching out for the box of poptarts. “My ex-girlfriend, her name was Nancy, she would always try to help me out, like with applications for college and stuff. I remember one morning we were sitting in my car in the school parking lot, and she read over the essay I wrote for one of the applications, and she just thought it was horrible even though I’d spent hours on it. Gave me the whole, you know, it’s not that bad, we just have to change a few things, rearrange it a bit, bullshit.” He let out a sigh, opening up a package.

“I bet Bills would read to you,” But then he paused. “I really shouldn’t be calling him that. Should be Hargrove or Daddy. That’s what you should call him when he gets back. I know it’s awkward at first, but it’ll make him melt and be really soft with you. Makes him a lot more bearable to live with,” Eddie encouraged, accepting the piece of poptart that Steve offered out to him. “Thank you for sharing. You get another sweet for that.” He pulled another one out of the bag to give him before shoving the bite of poptart into his mouth.

“I don’t know if I can,” Steve’s cheeks were filling with colour as he flushed at the thought.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to in the beginning, either, but now look at me,” Eddie gave him a grin. “It’s hard at first but I swear after a few days of it it just feels… normal. Just like any nickname. You just have to fake it until it feels fine.”

“But it’s humiliating,” Steve mumbled around the food in his mouth. “I don’t want to. I just want to call him Hargrove.”

“And you can. He accepts that. But I’m just saying, he’s much nicer when you butter him up a bit. Your time here will be much more enjoyable when he spoils you instead of berates you. You’re the only one that thinks it’s embarrassing, by the way. It’s really normal to us. Jonathan calls Argyle daddy all the time, even out in the lunchroom and shit. I only do it in private or just around the two of them.”

“I didn’t even call my own father it, dude,” Steve shook his head a bit. “It’s just a weird fucking word.”

“Who’s it weird to? Your father? All the more reason to use it, then. Reclaim it. Make it your own. Fuck the sperm donor who doesn’t deserve the title, use it for someone else, instead.” Steve laughed the tiniest bit at the words and it made Eddie grin so wide. It was a beautiful sound, he wanted to pull more laughter out of him. “Use it as a great big ‘fuck you’ to him and enjoy it. Totally different meaning when you use it on a partner, anyway. Do you want to practice before he gets out? Get used to it a bit more? You can use it on me to try it out, I don’t mind.”

“Are you telling me to?” Suddenly, Steve’s eyes were quite wide as he looked at Eddie sitting across from him. The look in his eyes, the beginnings of fear and panic, made Eds’ heart hurt.

“No! No. I’m not telling you to do anything,” Eddie blurted, an attempt to wash the fear away before it really set in. “I’m just trying to help. That’s all I ever want to do, Stevie. Seriously. I would never make you do anything.”

Stevie.

The blood rushed to Steve’s cheeks all over again, spreading to his ears, his neck, his chest. Billy had called him the nickname a dozen times, but he didn’t think he’d ever heard it fall from Eddie’s lips. If he had, it was in a moment he was too frazzled or zoned out to pick up on it and register how it sounded – which was really good. He wanted to hear it again.

Eddie shifted a little closer, reaching out to touch one of Steve’s arms. “I just… I’ll keep it real with you, okay? Billy will be out soon. Probably the end of the week, maybe the beginning of next week. And he takes what he wants no matter what anyone says. It’s not going to matter if you say no to him. But I don’t work like that. So if I can help to, you know, ease you in while he’s away, make it a little easier for you when he gets back, I want to do that. Because I wish someone would have done it for me. So you don’t have to, but as someone who was you, I think you should.”

A silence settled between them, but it wasn’t tense. There was a nervous air around Steve, it was obvious he was a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but the fear had dissipated.

“So I just…” Steve sucked in a breath. “Say it?”

“Well, why don’t we try it with a question?” Eddie encouraged. After another second, he reached out to take the package of poptarts from Steve’s hands.

“Hey–”

“Ask Daddy if you can have them back,” He encouraged, eyes staring intently at the man beside him. “You can do it. You’ll get the poptarts and a candy if you do. I’ll even let you choose if you want a gummy or a lollipop.”

Steve chewed on his lips for a moment, glancing between Eddie and the snack in his hands. “Can I have it back?” He asked, and only after Eddie raised his eyebrows – a silent, encouraging reminder – did he add the title on. “Daddy?”

The second it came out of his mouth, he was so mortified that he wanted the ground to swallow him up.

Eddie’s face grew into the biggest grin Steve had seen on him yet. He could almost feel the pride bursting from his chest. “Good boy!” He immediately handed Steve back the treat, his other hand going to his hair. He couldn’t help it, he stroked over his locks in the same gentle way he loved receiving from Billy. “Well done. I’m so proud of you. The first time is the hardest, it only gets easier from there.”

“Do I get a candy now?” Steve quickly asked, eyes dropping to the pile to search for the open bag. They couldn’t help but glance over Eddie’s lap, noticing the slightest bulge there, but he didn’t linger – even though a part of him, the part that he refused to acknowledge and accept, the part that liked pretty boys, really wanted to.

It was a surprise to Eddie that he hadn’t spilled into his pants the second Steve said it. It wasn’t something he’d ever been called before, but he loved it. Maybe too much. He wanted to hear it again, wanted to hear Steve moan it out from underneath him. He suddenly understood why Billy loved hearing it so much – it gave a high like no other, having someone so vulnerable and naive using a title that came with control.

He wondered what Billy was going to have to say about it when he found out.

“Absolutely you do. Which one?” He asked, holding up the two bags.

“Gummy bear. One is never enough.”

“Then you’ll just have to be an extra good boy to earn more, won’t you?” Eddie was only half joking. He’d gotten the tiniest little taste of what he could have had and he wanted more. “Billy said something else to me today when I saw him. He said he wanted you to be rewarded for your good idea,” He spoke cautiously, handing over the candy.

“So… more candy?”

“Not quite,” he laughed through his nose. “He told me to reward you in a different way. But I won’t, obviously. Not unless you want to give it a try. It’s all up to you. Ball is in your court.”

But Eddie could be very convincing if he wanted to be.

“What did he say?” The words came out despite how nervous Steve was to ask them.

“Well,” Eddie licked his lips for a second, debating how to phrase it. “He said I should make you feel good.”

“Feel good how?”

“He suggested a blowjob. But not like… You remember when we were in the showers that morning? Not like that. Not rough. And you’d be the one receiving it,” he spoke quickly, trying to make it sound the least bit horrible as possible. “Have you ever had a girl go down on you? It feels good, right? Well, I can do better than that. I’m trained to know what to do. I’ve spent so many hours sucking people off. There was a time when I had to use my mouth on Billy three times a day. I can show you how good I am.”

Steve’s cheeks burned blood red. He didn’t know what to say, how to react. There was some part of him that was afraid to say no after feeling Billy’s wrath, but then another part of him that didn’t even want to say no.

The part of him that liked pretty boys wanted to beg for it.

“How about we try it?” Eddie broke the silence. “And if you don’t like it, we’ll stop right away. Alright? It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked.” He gave Steve a reassuring smile, hands working to clear off the bed of the stuff he’d brought. “Just… breathe, baby. It’s good. You’re good. Don’t panic.”

Baby.

The butterflies in Steve’s belly started to work overtime and he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to speak if he tried.

“Here. Let’s get this off, to start,” Eddie murmured, shifting in close to Steve to reach out to pull the sweater and shirt over his head. He let his eyes glide over every inch of skin as it was revealed, admiring every muscle, every hair, every move he made when he breathed in and out. His skin was perfect, spotted with moles and a little pale from the lack of sun since entering prison, but it was clear and smooth and Eddie couldn’t resist rubbing his hands down Steve’s arms once they were bare. “What was your first time like? Tell me about it.”

“I was, uh,” Steve tried to focus on the story, but Eddie’s hands were on him, his arms, his sides, his chest, and it was so distracting. “Thirteen. With this girl I knew from camp. She was older. Sixteen. I didn’t know how to put the condom on. Snapped the first two and she got pissy because I was wasting them.”

Eddie laughed through his nose, his hands going to Steve’s bottoms. He made a little gesture with his head, almost a nod, for Steve to lift his bum up so he could pull the pants off. “Then what?”

“Then I came two seconds after slipping inside,” He muttered.

The laugh Eddie gave was bigger that time, but it wasn’t filled with mockery. He wasn’t laughing at him, just at the teenager-ish scenario that they’d all been in.

“She wasn’t a virgin, though. She liked teaching the–” Steve cut himself off when there was a hand slipping into his briefs.

“Good boy,” Eddie gave him a grin, watching Steve’s face as Harrington looked down at the bulge of hand working against him. Eds was able to visibly see the blush creeping onto Steve’s cheeks. “And she liked teaching the eager teen boys. That’s what you were going to say. What about your most recent time? On the outside?”

“Nancy,” He practically whispered, and Eddie pulled his hand out long enough to start pulling the underwear down and off. Steve was completely nude while Eddie was completely clothed and they both found it too hot for their own good.

“And did Nancy know how to take care of you?” Eddie leaned forward once the underwear was discarded, starting to trail kisses down his neck, his chest. Once he got down so far, he started to carefully push Steve back against the pillow.

“Eddie,” He started, but he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. That he didn’t want to go any further? That he didn’t want Nancy to be spoken about? That it felt so wrong but so right all at once?

“I don’t think that’s my name anymore,” Eddie paused his movements, stopping himself from moving down Steve’s body to instead look up at him. “Try again, Stevie.”

Steve was pretty sure his heart was going to hammer out of his chest, it was beating so hard.

He opened his mouth to try, but different words fell out. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Eddie corrected, leaning up on his knees to reach out and hold Steve’s face in his hands. If his hands weren’t so big, Steve could have pretended the gentle touch belonged to his ex that wasn’t front and center in his mind anymore.

For a second he wondered if she knew he’d gotten arrested, and then if she would answer him if he tried to write her a letter. Their breakup had been a little messy, physically on her side and mentally on his side.

Like we’re in love, and we’re partying. Yeah, let’s party, huh? Party. We’re partying. This is bullshit. It’s bullshit.

The memory of Nancy’s drunken words from the previous halloween faded when he felt lips pressing to his. They were soft, but eager, desperate to show who was in charge, and Steve submitted and shrunk down, a silent movement that proved he would obey.

Eddie only parted to catch his breath, looking at the boy beneath him for a good moment before he was moving downwards to settle between Steve’s legs.

“Is this bullshit?”

The words came out of Steve just as Eddie was about to slip his cock into his mouth. They surprised him, confused him, and he looked up at his boy through a too long fringe only to be met with blown, almost sad looking eyes. His brain was somewhere else, thinking of someone else.

Nancy.

“No, baby,” He murmured, shifting away from his cock to kiss whatever other skin he had access to. “Not bullshit. Nothing about this is bullshit. Just gonna take care of you.” His mouth settled on a spot on Steve’s inner thigh, and he sucked hard, wanting to leave dark enough hickies that Billy would still be able to see them when he was released.

Maybe he was marking his territory. Staking his claim. Billy had told him to, afterall.

“Take real good care of you,” He murmured some more, shifting to the other leg.

“You promise, Daddy?”

Eddie had to pause again, had to pull from his thighs in order to look back up at Steve upon hearing how small his voice sounded, how frightened and sad and broken it was.

“Yeah, baby. I promise.”

***

“Is this really necessary? It’s my sister,” Billy grumbled as the straps were tightened around his wrists. His ankles were already bound to the bottom of the bed. “I’m not going to do shit to her.”

“Just protocol, Mr. Hargrove.”

“I can’t even sit up?” Billy huffed. He hadn’t been surprised when they said he had a visitor refusing to leave. He had assumed Max would freak after getting his letter - but that meant she had gotten it and had forwarded it on. It hadn’t been held, he’d only given it to Eddie the day before last.

Creel hadn’t seen it.

“No sitting yet. Have to keep the pressure off your rear,” The woman said, unlocking the wheels the bed was on to start to wheel him out of the room and into a room nearby that would act as the makeshift visitor’s room. There were two guards inside, present and ready to monitor them, and it made Billy roll his eyes.

“What do you think I’m going to do? Attack her? I can’t fucking move,” He snapped, and the nurse relocked the wheels so the bed wouldn’t go anywhere.

As soon as she left, his kid sister was being ushered in. “Fuck, Billy. Are you alright?”

“What have I told you about coming to visit?” He gave her a look, raised his eyebrows.

“Not to, but–”

“Exactly. You shouldn’t be around a place like this, shitbird. You don’t belong around these types of people. It’s dangerous for you.”

“Too bad. I’m here. You can’t stop me,” She glanced him over. What she could see - his bound hands, his neck, his face - looked fine. No bruises. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing. Cut got infected, that’s all,” He glanced in the direction of the guards. He couldn’t trust any of them now. He didn’t know which ones had been inside the room with him, had been inside of him. “I’m fine, Maxine.”

“Max,” She corrected, like always, and he smirked at her anger. “You’re not fine if they wouldn’t even let you get out of bed.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I? That means I’m fine. Stop worrying.” But then Max let out a sigh, running a hand through her hair. “Your hair’s gotten really long. Thought you didn’t like it too long.”

“You haven’t seen me in ages, Billy. Stop thinking I’m thirteen,” Her voice was gentle, though. He’d been locked away for years, hadn’t gotten the chance to watch her grow up. In his brain, she was permanently the bratty kid that he had to drive around Hawkins to appease his father. “It’s different now. I’m an adult. Helping Mom with the bills.”

Billy couldn’t stop staring at her. It had been awhile since she’d been by, sure, but he didn’t think it’d been that long. His annoying kid sister had vanished, replaced by someone much more womanly, someone that boys would want.

His face dropped into a scowl.

“You got a boyfriend then? Since you’re all grown up?”

Max rolled her eyes heavily. “I’m here to see if you’re okay, and you’re going to question if I have a boyfriend? This isn’t about me.”

“Not about me, either, dumbass. Didn’t ask you to come. Answer the question.”

“No, Billy, I don’t have a boyfriend,” She sighed and shook her head. “Don’t have the time for it, anyway.”

“If I find out you’re lying–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Max smiled. “I get it. You don’t have to say it.” But then Max ruffled around in her bag for something. It was a messenger bag rather than a purse, which Billy liked. His tomboy sister was still there, even if it was just a little bit. What she pulled out was a small bear, maybe 9 inches tall and looking a little ratty. It was old and made of patchwork pieces of fabric, and he recognized it instantly. It was his bear, the one his Mom had made for him when he was a little boy. It was a bear that his father had flung around and stomped on during his rages, a bear that held so many of his tears that he’d have to hang on the clothesline to make it dry again.

He hadn’t touched it since they’d moved to Hawkins years ago. It sat in a box, in his closet, with the rest of his things that he had from his mother that he couldn’t look at but couldn’t throw away, either.

“Found it when we were moving,” Max said gently. “Looks pretty worn. Figured maybe you might like it.”

Billy was silent. He’d be eaten alive if they knew big bad Billy Hargrove had a bear, but he knew someone that may have liked it – someone that may have been won over a bit by a soft present.

“Yeah. Alright. Thanks, shitbird. Could you just… under the blanket,” He tried to gesture with his bound hand and Max didn’t hesitate to slip the bear beneath the blanket. He’d keep it under there until Eddie snuck back to see him. The guards had clearly already checked through her bag and approved its contents, he didn’t have to show anyone that it was under there. He didn’t want anything to happen to it, as much as he hated his mother. “Might get you to bring me a few other things. I’ll let you know, send you a–”

“And who is this?”

The panic that hit Billy weighed more than a thousand bricks, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “Nobody. Just a friend.”

Creel stood in the doorway, hands folded in front of him and a thin smile on his face. “Oh? They let just anybody visit patients in the infirmary?”

Billy silently begged Max to leave with his eyes. Creel couldn’t find out about her being his sister. He couldn’t have any more information on him than he already did.

“Apparently. I was just on my way out,” Max glanced at the man, eyes flickering up and down, throwing the strap of her bag over her head before going to the door.

Creel shifted, blocking her from exiting. Billy slowly started to pull at the restraints; Creel could do anything to her and he wouldn’t be able to stop it. Slowly his chest started to heave.

“Do you need something? I’m going to be late for work,” Max asked him.

“Where is it you work, dear?”

The man gave Max the worst vibes she’d ever felt. It was obvious he was a guard– from the uniform he had on– but then it hit her. This was him, the One that was always secretly spoken about in the letters. The person Chrissy had tried to warn Billy about. She glanced back at her brother, who looked paralyzed with fear, and it made her stomach drop.

“Don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Creel’s smile widened a bit and he looked at Billy. “Fiesty one, she is. Almost reminds me of you, 62097. Even more so now that I’ve suddenly remembered only immediate family members can visit inmates in the infirmary.”

Max was thankfully a quick thinker and she came up with a plan the second she decided she didn’t want her brother left alone with the man that had the devil in his eyes. “Excuse me, Nurse?” She called out the open doorway, shoving past Creel to find the woman that was waiting outside to bring Billy back to the infirmary. “He’s not feeling really well. Think you should get him back to the infirmary.”

The eyes she met when she looked back to Creel were angry. She’d ruined his fun before it’d even begun.

#harringroveson #harringrove #steddie #mungrove #harringroveson fic #harringrove fic #steddie fic #mungrove fic #stranger things fic #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #prison au #cat and mouse #my writing

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graygvf · 3 years ago

Text

You’re The One

Part Two

Pairing: Josh x Sage (female OC)

Word Count: 2k words in this chapter

Summary: Sage is trying to adjust to her new life in Frankenmuth by auditioning for the school play. But will her past hinder her from reaching for her dreams? Or will Josh be there to lend a helping hand?

Warnings: Some mentions of mental health

Moodboard created by @parizonefourfour (Thank you for being my bestie <3)

MASTER POST

PLAYLIST

"BZZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZZZZ"

I loudly groan and slap my hand against my ancient alarm clock. I turn to look at the time. 6:00 AM. It's Monday. The first day of auditions for Romeo and Juliet. I flop back over to my back and throw my blanket over my face. The overwhelming feeling of nerves mixed with nausea overtook my emotions.

Auditions have always been stressful to me, but the first one at a brand new school is definitely topping the list as the most terrifying. I know what you're thinking. Community theatre has just as many new faces as the one at your new school does, what makes this worse? I can tell you what makes it worse. The fact that if I mess up, I will have to see everyone who auditions's face every single day for the rest of the year. Never escaping from the embarrassment. At least in community theatre, if I do poorly, I can just go home and never see any of them again.

I lay under my blanket, fearing getting out of bed for what feels like an hour before I jump to the sound of my phone ringing on my bedside table. I reach for the phone, taking notice of the time before answering. 6:15 AM. I guess it hasn't been that long after all. I answer the phone to an overly excited, and very awake, Cora.

"GOODMORNING SUNSHINE! ARE YOU READY FOR TODAY," she yelled through her phone, making me have to pull it away from my face to keep my ears from ringing.

"Far from it," I laugh at her, knowing her face is very disappointed without even seeing her.

"What do you mean? You're not even dressed yet?"I start to pull off my blanket and get up out of bed as she talks.

"No Cora, I am just now getting out of bed. It's six AM, school doesn't start until eight why are you awake? And why does it sound like you're already driving?" I stretch and head towards my closet, straining and rubbing my eyes as I turn the light on in my room.

"It's audition day dummy, I need to be awake for this. I've been up since 4:30 this morning getting ready and now I'm on my way to get you." I hear her car horn blaring in the back of the call, Cora is notorious for having some serious road rage.

"You do realize that I have a car and I can drive myself to school right?" I scoff, flipping through my clothes, trying to find something appropriate for school all day and auditions after school.

"You and I are going to do my pre-audition tradition together today, you have no choice. Besides, I am already at your house." I hear her car park before she even finishes the sentence.

I groan sarcastically as she hangs up our call. I know she will be in the room soon, she lets herself into the house quite frequently. My mother always smiles and lets her do so, seeing as she is the only friend I have made since moving here.

I hear Cora say good morning to my mother as she walks down the hallway to my bedroom. The door swings open quickly and I see Cora's face fall when she sees me still in a tanktop and raggedy sweatpants.

"You really weren't kidding when you said that you just woke up." She hops onto my bed watching me as I shuffle through all of the clothes in my closet.

"No, not at all." I laugh as I decide on wearing a black turtleneck sweater, dark green corduroy skirt, sheer black tights, and my ever favorite black Doc Marten's, vegan of course.

I finish putting on my clothes and turn to Cora, taking her smile as a seal of approval for my outfit. I walk over to my desk, which is used more as a makeup table than it is a desk. Turning on the lamp and pulling out my mirror I begin to apply concealer to my face.

"So, am I allowed to know what this pre-audition routine is, or am I just going to be left in the dark until we arrive?" I laugh at Cora.

"Oh! I forgot. Well, it's really not that extravagant but it's still a fun little treat for me. I go into town and get a hot tea and a pastry. It's just something I do to calm the nerves before I go into the day freaking out." She laughs and starts to wander around my room, looking at the hundreds of posters, tapestries, and pieces of art I have hanging all over the walls.

"Oh how sweet, I love that," I say as I begin to apply a thin wing of eyeliner to the tops of my eyes.

"It's just something my mom has always done for me, and now that I have a friend who enjoys theatre as much as we do, I thought I would share it with you!" Cora walks over to me and gives me small hug as I finish my makeup with some mascara and blush.

"Well, I am glad that I can share this with you, besides I need something to help calm my nerves. I don't know how I will even make it through the day." Cora rolls her eyes at my comment and I look back at the mirror and run my fingers through my permanently messy hair. I decide on pulling it half up and half down. Adding two ponytails at the top of my head to keep my hair out of my face.

"Well.." I say as I stand and turn to Cora, "How do I look?"

"You look amazing, as always!" Cora beams and I blush at her response.

I pack up my backpack, making sure to put my script in the front pocket for the auditions later today. Cora pulls me out of my room and to the front door, obviously trying to leave as fast as she can. I grab my jacket from the coat rack and begin to leave when my mom runs to the front door behind us, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from Cora before we can step out of the door.

"I just wanted to tell you to break a leg today, I know that you will be fantastic." My mom holds my face in her hands and kisses me on the forehead and both cheeks, something she's done ever since I was a little girl. This brings a smile to my face and I give my mom a bear hug.

"I'll text you as soon as we are done, so I can let you know how it goes." She smiles and I run out the front door, hopping into the passenger side of Cora's car.

It was a fast drive to Harvest Coffeehouse, a local favorite in town. We got out of the car and walked into the warm shop, where I was instantly overwhelmed with the amazing smell of hot coffee and freshly baked pastries. Cora walked right up to the front of the line to order, I stood behind, digging in my bag to try and find my wallet.

The next thing I knew, I'm falling to the ground with a hard thud, looking up to see a face that was all too familiar.

"Oh my gosh, I didn't see you there Sage. I am so sorry." He reaches out his hand and pulls me back to my feet before I have even fully processed what has happened. I start to straighten out my clothes before looking up at him. Who is this boy that happened to push me over in the middle of a crowded coffee shop? None other than the drama club's golden boy. Josh Kiszka.

"Are you okay? I really didn't mean to run into you like that, I was distracted by my brother over here." He shoves, who I assume to be, his little brother? Maybe his twin? I'm not sure, they all honestly look the same sometimes. I look up at him, my face becoming beet red, and nod quickly before rushing over to Cora, who didn't even get to finish ordering before the whole ordeal happened. Behind me, Josh looks to his brother with a look of surprise on his face as they walk out of the store a pickup truck parked outside.

"What just happened there? Are you okay?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

I, being too embarrassed to get an entire sentence out, look up at the barista, who seemed a little shaken up from the events that had just taken place as well, and order two large teas and one cinnamon roll. I hand the barista cash and walk to the other end of the coffee shop, not saying anything until Cora meets me to wait on our drinks.

"Hey," She looks down at me, with a motherly look in her eyes, "You don't need to be embarrassed. It was only an accident. You need to calm down." She holds my shoulders and waits to see my breathing slow down.

I look down to the floor, "I'm sorry," I whisper.

Cora lets go of me, walks over to the coffee bar, and grabs our drinks and cinnamon roll. She knows me best when I get like this. I never understand why I get so flustered around people like this. I just never know how to react, and it always ends up with everything going south. We get back into Cora's car and I am finally able to feel like I can start to breathe normally again.

"Wanna talk about it?" Cora says to me, peeling the wrapper off her cinnamon roll and taking a bite.

"Why did it have to be Josh? Of all people today? It had to be him!" I say completely exasperated. I take a huge gulp of my tea, cringing as the heat burns the back of my throat. "I didn't even know he knew who I was, and today has to be the day that this happens?"

Cora giggles before taking a sip of her tea and looking over at me, "I mean you have got to admit, it could have been a worse person to run you down in the middle of Harvest."

I roll my eyes and gulp down more tea, this time it starts to soothe me and help me relax back into the chair, "Okay I get it. He's hot, but that doesn't mean he isn't going to go around telling everyone what happened today. That's just so embarrassing. I'm still trying to make a good impression on everyone and this surely won't help."

"You obviously do not know Josh at all do you?" Cora snorts back at me.

"I feel like I know everything about him just based on how he acts in drama class alone. He's cocky, granted I guess he has the right to be, he's loud, he gets almost every male lead in the school plays, and not once have I seen that boy show up to drama class on time. Of course, he never gets in trouble because he's Mr. Sanderson's favorite." I grumble the last few words and continue to sip my tea as Cora pulls out of the parking lot and starts heading toward the school.

"I'm not saying you're wrong about any of those things, but Sage, he really is a good guy." Cora smiles and glances quickly over at me, "I mean you said it yourself, you didn't think he knew who you were, but I know I heard him calling you by name and apologizing profusely as soon as you hit the floor."

That does make me smile a little bit, "I guess you're right, I shouldn't judge a book by its cover."

"I'm always right" Cora smirks back at me, starting to drive like her usual, slightly reckless, self.

I finish off the last of my tea and turn off the volume on the radio. It's playing one of my favorites, Cherry Wine by Hozier.

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