#shit I write

[rybonucleic-ket]

this has been sitting in my notes app for a hot sec but I don't have the motivation to do anything with it so yk

have some tylorpe nobody asked for but I brain vomited

-----

The dreams of Xavier Thorpe had been haunted for months. He saw it every single night, that thing. The dreams turned into drawings, the drawings to obsession. With the creature, with who it really was. Xavier knew about Tyler Galpin long before anyone else. He's still not sure why he never told anyone.

After the creature came out of his painting to scratch him, his determination to learn more about it increased exponentially. He knew its cave well, his visions having taken him there multiple times. After that, nightly visitation of the cave became a regular occurrence. He’d seen in several times, but never like he saw it tonight. Never this close.

He was sure he was going to die. He’d watched it rip apart half a dozen people, and he would be no different. His obsession, having grown stronger than Wednesday’s, would be the death of him. He’d accepted his fate, not bothering to run when it charged toward him. He could feel its breath on his face, eyes closed as he waited. He held his breath. Five seconds went by, heavy breathing in his ear. Ten. Thirty. Forty five. He opened his eyes, meeting those of the monster in front of him. Creepy as shit, even though he saw it every night. He let out the breath he was holding, closing his eyes again. Neither moved. What the fuck was happening? Why was Xavier alive? Not to mention entirely uninjured? He couldn’t tell you. All he knew was when he reopened his eyes, Tyler fucking Galpin looked back at him, covered in blood. “What. The fuck.”

-

“So.” “Yeah.” Freshly showered Tyler sat in Xavier’s clothes on the bed that was formerly Rowan’s, because fuck you Galpin, you’re not getting blood all over my dorm. Xavier had never been more confused in his entire life, studying Tyler from across the room, no fear or hatred in his eyes, just confusion and fascination. Tyler stared right back at him like he’d never seen anyone like Xavier before either. After what felt like hours of mutually intrigued staring, Tyler spoke, barely more than a whisper. “Why didn’t you run?” “I’m not scared of you, Tyler.” “Right. But…you didn’t run when I..wasn’t me.” “Not scared of that either.” Xavier paused. “The real question is, why didn’t you kill me?” Tyler’s eyes dropped to his hands in his lap, wet hair dripping. He spoke so softly it was barely audible. “I don’t know.” He laughed humorlessly, looking up at Xavier with wet eyes. “I have no fucking clue.” Xavier studied his face for a while, before looking away. “It’s way too late for any of this shit to make any sense. I’m exhausted, you probably are too.” He pulled out a blanket for Tyler, Rowan’s bed already had sheets and a pillow on it because Xavier didn’t like the bare mattress. Tyler looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read. “Ah, shut up, man, it’s only weird if you make it weird. Not like I’m dying to share a room with you, but uh, it’s the middle of the night, it’s fucking freezing, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think your dad’s gonna appreciate you showing up shivering in someone else’s clothes right now. Take the goddamn blanket.” Xavier threw the blanket at Tyler, hitting him in the face. Tyler grinned, pulling the blanket over himself. His expression softened. “Thank you, Xavier, really. There’s not really any reason you need to do this, actually, there are a lot of reasons why you shouldn’t do this, so I…I really appreciate it.” “Yeah, yeah, I’m the patron saint of hospitality,” Xavier turned off the lights, flopping face first onto his bed. “Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep.” Tyler laughed. “‘Night, Xavier.” Xavier sleepily hummed in response, muffled with his face buried in his pillow.

-

Tyler woke to the sun high in the sky, a moment of panic overtaking him as he tried to remember where he was and why his alarm didn’t go off. Remembering he was in Xavier’s dorm, his panic turned to his shift, to school, to his father. Fuck. Xavier walked into the room in sweatpants and a T-shirt, eyes flicking over Tyler briefly before he grabbed a sketchbook, flopping on his bed to draw. “G’morning. You’re up.” When he saw the panic in Tyler’s eyes, he sighed, exasperated. “God, calm down. It’s a Saturday. No school. And you’re off today, at the coffee shop. Figured you’d need your beauty sleep.” Tyler barely registered the fact that Xavier knew his shift schedule, too busy freaking out about his dad. As if he read his mind, Xavier said, “And, honestly, with the frequency of my dreams, I highly doubt it’s the first time you’ve been out all night, so presumably your dad either: a) doesn’t notice, b) doesn’t care, or c) is used to it.” Tyler groaned. “What time is it?” His voice came out gravelly, having just woken up. Xavier grinned at him. “Two-thirty p.m.”

(hey hey this is on ao3)

[unicornsandgenocide]

uh i wrote a poem idk

hope you like it?

it kinda sucks…

[hotteststar]

hi guys so that's a poem i wrote bout ummmm feelings ig???? i feel like I haven't explained well the um feelings?? so like pls help me idk how to say things idk how to talk idk how to write i just don't know man

FLOWERS

I'm dead.

i'm dead and i'm here,

i'm walking, i'm breathing, i'm looking,

i'm touching, i'm loving and i'm hating.

i'm waiting, i'm fearing and i'm crying.

And i'm dead.

Because i'm just like those flowers

the ones all around me right now

they're all pretty, all cute, all fine.

But it's not the kind of pretty flowers

that you decide to look growing

waiting and observing them until their death.

They are the kind of flowers that you pick

you kill them, hold them in your hands

watch as they slowly pass away.

And you smile,

because they still look pretty

still look cute, still look fine.

So here we are, I'm already dead

i just haven't lose my colors yet

like those flowers when you pick them.

They look alive but it's just fake

they seem fine but that's not true

they keep faking to be okay.

They don't show you their pain

they just silently accept that

they're already dead.

There's nothing they can do

and they must wait until they lose

all the life that dwell inside of them

to see people accpeting that

they are actually dead.

R.A.B.

[miss-celestia13]

Diabolical Desire

Aylin doesn’t play the victim—she’s the predator, leaving a bloody trail in her wake. Hunting her next kill online, she matches with Cole, a dangerously seductive man with his own insidious secret. Together, they deliver brutal justice and outrun the law, fueled by a savage, scorching shared desire.

For two people who see love as nothing more than a weakness, there are only two possible endings: wedding bells or a coffin. Either way, Aylin’s hooked on the dark pleasure Cole gives her—and she’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.

Published on Inkitt, Ao3, and Wattpad 🥰 a snippet can be found below the cut.

Diabolical Desire https://www.inkitt.com/stories/erotica/1349014

I’ve been writing this to help get myself out of the perfectionist, over-editing hell I put myself in with my fanfics this year. I made myself miserable, and this absurdly silly smutty story has been helping loads. It’s just unhinged and so much fun to write. I am hopeful I can return to my fics soon, without falling back into the trap I’d set for myself, but until then, I’ll be here 🥰❤️

That dense forest, eerie and silent, cloaked her as she sauntered under its organic canopy. Part of her wanted to call out for the big bad wolf to come out and play as she dodged smacking branches, and the freshly rained on soil filled her nose with its scent. These hidden gem towns where everyone knew everyone else were her bread and butter. Cities offered anonymity.

She used them when necessary. But the people she went after, the bad and the pure wicked, they thrived in these towns and she did her best work in them. She liked this one now that she was on her way to meet Cole and would think fondly of her time here. She hummed as she walked, content to wander the never-ending woods for now.

Silver ribbons of moonlight streamed through the foliage and fluttered across the dirt path strewn with amber and scarlet leaves ahead of her. The temperature dropped and dropped as she brushed against boughs and skirted around a thick patch of stinging nettles. The wind picked up to toss her hair around.

Fall’s oncoming sigh lifted the fine, pale hair on her nape and legs as she’d forgone tights, and only wore skimpy lace underwear beneath her skirt. She already knew how this night would end and wanted nothing to impede it.

Her filthy thoughts accompanied her as she followed the slowly rising sound of rushing water. It began as a rumbling hiss in the distance, as though some invisible basilisk slithered through the dark brown tree trunks splattered with weaving, moon thrown shadows. Soon, it was a thundering crash of splashing water as she broke through a towering group of bristling pine trees and the waterfall came into view.

Crystalline water poured from a gaping rock maw and into a deep shimmering pool she would have swum in as a child before people who should’ve been better had ripped from her hands her innocence.

Now, she only imagined drowning those people in it. She was alone here. She sensed no one else and knew he wouldn’t show himself until he was ready. Waiting it was then.

Aylin sank back amongst the pines, took her phone from her pocket and sent Cole a message. She played her part well. She was positive he had no clue that she’d figured him out. He wouldn’t see it coming.

Lilith: Ready when you are. I want what you promised me.

She grinned, broad and relaxed as Cole’s chat bubble instantly appeared and she drank in his words like a nicotine addict sucking their brown stained fingernails for a weak fix when the tobacco ran out.

Cole: You’ll get whatever I give you.

Lilith: What should I do while I wait?

A minute passed. Anticipation and irritation built inside her and she was gritting her teeth by the time he responded.

Cole: Nothing. Do as you’re told and wait. You’re pissing me off.

She smothered a pleased smile. A flash of heat in her chest that trickled down, down, down to settle in her core banished the night’s creeping cold. Aylin couldn’t resist needling him, knew it would make the pain burn all the sweeter once he fucked her.

Lilith: Are you even worth waiting for?

[hitlikehammers]

For @embersonfiredeux, who wanted a little coffee shop AU.

Steddie 🦇 Modern Coffee Shop!AU ☕️

✨🦇✨☕️✨

It was actually almost the reason he lost a shot at the job in the first place.

(‘We almost lost a shot at the job, Dingus,’ as Robin never fails to remind him, and while he appreciates the fact of it—they’re a package deal, ride or die, hell or high water—he still believes he’s in the right.)

Know why he’s in the right?

Because he fucking counted, took over Robin’s not-so-secret mini whiteboard swiped when they left the ice cream place years ago, that last summer of high school, and made fucking notes, and he can say with absolute certainty: 9 out of 10 customers, whether grabbing a seat or hitting the drive-thru, get their coffee orders in to-go cups. Disposable, reusable: doesn’t matter. Either way, they’ve got a goddamn lid on them.

So: you know what’s entirely superfluous?

Latte art.

Because you can’t fucking see latte art under a goddamn lid. Flat out idiocy. And hell, since they’re cogs in the capitalist monstrosity: it’s also inefficient, which is probably the greater sin.

Also, if they’re driving? Not contributing to a distraction which requires dismantling a hot beverage and operating a motor vehicle at the same time is a goddamn public service and Steve should honestly be commended, gold star, at least employee of the month for like three consecutive months on that account.

Definitely should not have almost been told to hang up his apron in the first week when he refused to learn how to make the foam just right, to dribble it onto the espresso in the shape of a wobbly looking leaf.

They’re desperate though, and short staffed with the start of a new semester at the university he and Robin are both slogging through grad programs at, so where Robs makes flawless hearts for all the pretty girls, Steve gets the stink eye from his manager for three whole weeks before it’s largely forgotten.

And honestly, that’s the only thing he sees anyone use the fucking skillset for. Showing off—with varied levels of success—in the interest of flirting.

Steve doesn’t need milk drawings to help him fucking flirt Jesus.

And he still does not need little lactose doodles on his side to let someone know he’s interested, thanks very much; he just…starts to consider the benefits of it, when the hot fucking mess of chains and ink with the wild curls and dimples starts showing up.

First, Steve thinks the guys might be the bane of his existence. He comes in every morning—mid-morning, doesn’t seem like a morning person and orders something different every day, and does it in the most annoying fucking way: a flat black with milk foam; a flat white with extra milk and ‘superfluous levels of foam on top, if you’d be so kind’; a latte, ‘please, but if the amounts of milk and foam and foam could be, like, measured totally equal that’d be swell’.

Steve’s tempted to fuck up his latest request on purpose—‘just a macchiato but can you add some chocolate, maybe, and like a little extra foam?’—when Robin elbows him in the ribs and almost makes him spill what was gonna be a plain fucking americano, not ‘hey, would it be possible to make an americano but like almost no extra water and whipped cream on top?’, no matter how big this douchecanoe stretches his eyes all wide and pleading and shit, but then Robin’s hissing at him:

‘He’s trying to flirt with your dumb ass, open your eyes to the doe ones staring at your every goddamn move!’

Steve stills. Chances a glance out the corner of his eye and: oh.

Oh, douchecanoe is staring. Like, staring staring.

And Steve…feels. A way. About it.

Because douchecanoe is…watching—staring—like he’s trying a little bit, but not too hard, to be surreptitious about the whole affair and it’s overcast, probably like mid-60s outside; no reason for the little flush under the fluorescents save for…what he’s not being particularly surreptitious about.

So Steve changes tactics.

Turns out the inventive ways of ordering that had been driving Steve nuts for weeks were attempts he was too oblivious to notice at creating extra moments for chit-chat. And now that Steve’s paying attention? When they’re slammed and the guy comes in, he orders like a normal person. Quick, painless, sits in the same corner by the window and scribbles for a couple hours.

Huh.

But when it’s dead in the store, the guy makes small talk, and Steve learns he’s in the band who plays Fridays at the bar Steve likes just off-campus, too far for most undergrads and enough of a vibe that Steve’s willing to branch out in his musical repertoire as a trade off—he wishes he’d been paying attention to the metal gig he and Robin always talked over to decompress their weeks, to see if the guitarist’s dimples were visible from the shitty little stage set up every week.

Steve’s definitely going to look this Friday. Start paying attention.

But by day, when he comes here to caffeinate, and before and after too, the guy’s doing his own grad work in composition—Steve sometimes forgets their school has a conservatory—but for all the guy looks a little too into wearing a lot of metal and black everything to fit the mold? He talks about mastering the ‘totality of his field so he can shatter the rules with both expertise and total glee’.

Steve grins and makes an intentional note of the actual name on the order: Eddie.

Eddie’s…endearing. Whip-smart, in weird little ways. Funny. Cute as fuck. More than cute, really. Kinda…like…

Okay, when he comes in early enough, which is rare but: when he comes in when the sun’s behind him? Guy goddamn glows.

Sue Steve for being kinda blindsided now that he’s paying fucking attention.

And also, screw Robin for choke-laughing at him when she catches him taking longer on all his orders the next morning, and comes over to investigate.

‘What are you trying to make?’ she points at the latte he’s trying to draw a little shape on top of.

‘Clouds,’ which isn’t what he was trying for but it’s the closest thing he can think of on the fly that looks like he didn’t fuck it up.

‘They’ll look like better clouds by accident, like, without you trying to help,’ Robin deadpans but doesn’t push; doesn’t have to. She see through the lie, just doesn’t know the specific truth.

Fucking…latte art.

But Steve…Steve likes Eddie. He really likes Eddie, from his smile to his snide humor to the way he talks about the real rock opera he’s writing, gonna send everywhere and anywhere when he’s got his degree in hand as clout, the concentration on his face when he bites his tongue and scribbles notes from his booth by the window.

But then, when he asks about Steve. How he slept, how he’s doing like he cares to hear the answer Steve gives because he always follows up. Compliments Steve’s shirt, or almost seems like he tries to make Steve laugh for how he lights up when he succeeds and…

‘You could just write your number on his cup,’ Robin points out, but Steve scoffs immediately.

‘That’s skeevy as shit.’

‘It absolutely is not.’

‘Trite. Unimaginative.’

‘Ah,’ Robin smirks, a little smug; ‘you really like him.’

Steve feels himself flush and glances at the door; too early for the root cause of her words actually having any effect.

Small mercies.

Because Steve’s…making progress.

But they still get hidden under the lids of the cups.

So what if he writes a little neater, with a little bit of flourish when he labels Eddie’s cup, in the meantime. So what.

Eddie’s the only person who even looks, like he’s enjoys seeing Steve’s handwriting just because, and if Steve’s just projecting on that point?

Fuck you.

It’s end of October, which means he’s only just shy of losing the shred of thematic excuse for the whole thing but honestly? It’s a paper thin excuse.

Much like ‘Oh shit, out of lids, just a second’ when he goes to cap Eddie’s order—when Steve specifically moved them an hour ago—so that the drink is left open-topped while he grabs the strategically-displaced stack of lids and when he returns he’s not sure Eddie will even have thought about looking at the—

‘Is this a bat?’

Eddie’s bent down level to the counter, head tipped and breath held, studying the…shit, probably a total mess of an attempt at a shape that was maybe a bat, probably more like a vaguely grinning fanged blob, definitely wanted to be a bat though, and Steve can feel his cheeks heating up before Eddie’s eyes flick away from the coffee cup for first time—

To lock onto Steve’s.

‘It tried to be,’ Steve sighs, accepting failure at both the art—which is neither all that important or at all surprising, he’s shit at art; it’s the failure at trying to, who knows, maybe woo, the pretty nerdy boy who makes his pulse tick up just walking through the door? That part’s the failure he’s gonna mourn.

‘But y’know. Like your,’ and Steve gestures at Eddie’s ink peeking from his shirt sleeves, because that was what initially sparked the idea, then he clocks his betrayer-mouth and tries to save the confession, knowing it’s useless: ‘and then it’s October so—‘ he starts to shrug, to hide his hands in his apron pocket and stare meaningfully at the tile floor, probably needs mopping, but then—

‘It’s amazing,’ Eddie says, a little breathless, and Steve looks up immediately to catch the awe in his tiny grin, the kind Steve’s never seen on him before, so soft it makes Steve’s pulse jump a little into the hug of his collar

‘I didn’t know you could do that. Have you been putting them under,’ Eddie’s face turns mildly horrified as he gestures to the cup, and the lid in Steve’s hand—which is honestly kinda adorable; ‘all this time and I missed it?’

‘God no,’ Steve snorts, reassures; ‘I actually almost lost my job because I thought it was dumb to put all the work in just to cover it up.’

And Eddie’s grin comes back, with an added bite of his top teeth against his bottom lip, and a length of his curls dragged to try—and fail—to hide it.

‘I’m really glad you didn’t lose your job,’ he says quietly, and Steve’s chest feels warmer than a fresh fucking shot of espresso.

Which reminds him:

‘It’s gonna get cold,’ Steve holds out the lid and nods at the slowly-melting bat-blob, and Eddie takes it but doesn’t put it on, still chewing at his bottom lip before he raises those big dark eyes Steve’s way again and confesses, sounding a little lost, maybe just shy of heartbroken:

‘I don’t wanna ruin it.’

And Steve’s heart doesn’t break for any of it; fucking swells and soars and hopes because this man is…he’s…

Steve grabs the lid back, lets his fingers brush with intent against Eddie’s and tells himself he knows he reads the almost inaudible—but only almost—gasp from Eddie at the contact right before he gets to work on the same drink with a normal, boring non-flourish on the top, though he does add the caramel sprinkles he knows Eddie likes even if they don’t match the standard recipe, before popping the lid on this cup and sliding it next to the now-unrecognizable bat.

‘On the house,’ Steve says softly, and he thinks it might be too much to wink but Eddie lights up like a Christmas tree and so he gives it a shot, and then Eddie’s just looks giddy as he tries to balance the two cups on his way to his normal seat.

Steve’s gonna fucking write his number on the cup tomorrow.

(In the end, though: he doesn’t get a chance.

He walks in, second shift, and he’s barely apron’d up before Robin, who opened hours ago, slides him a large to-go cup with a pointed ‘Might want to open the lid, it got too hot’ before slipping away.

And Steve’s not a moron, so he opens the lid.

It’s a pile of foam and maybe whipped cream with a cocoa-and-possibly-chocolate-sprinkle heart drawn on top, and Steve’s almost too charmed by it to notice what else is waiting under the lid.

But like, under the lid, in the tiniest possible letters:

‘I had to make a stencil out of a postcard to try and do this at home so I’m sorry if this is the actual worst. But I’d really like to take you out for something you don’t make for yourself all day. I have some ideas, but I’d meet you wherever. Text me, or even call—I swear I’d make a point to answer if it’s you.’

And the biggest thing written, and traced over to be BOLD, is a phone number.

But then, more teeny tiny words:

‘Also: please DO NOT drink this—I just wanted it to look decent, not taste good. Plus the main flavor profile might be sharpie by now, anyway.’

And Steve snorts to himself, sniffs the drink and oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s an aroma of permanent-marker, for sure.

‘Though the lid is clean, I didn’t reuse an old one,’ the note goes on: ‘though maybe, if you text (or call!), we’ll end the evening where swapping spit’s kind of the point ~’

There’s a little heart that barely fits but is as recognizable as the one on the undrinkable-drink and Steve barely feel Robin’s hand push his shoulder toward the back corner by the window where a certain curly-haired composer’s leg is bouncing fast enough to hear against the floor on approach, Reeboks squeaking against the tile; where a man’s sitting who Steve would really like to close the week out—or even the day, if he’s real lucky—as being able to just call ‘boyfriend’, instead of anything else.

✨🦇✨☕️✨

Originally from Twitter, where you can totally ask for a fic-me-up when you’re having A DAY, too;

Also on Ao3.

[maihonhassan]

Ask a brown girl about her past relationship and she will say;

“Pagal thi main”

[enygma0710]

Once in a Lifetime

By Enygma0710

I'm alive!!!!! Yes it's been another year since I updated, My only excuse is my life got busy. This chapter didn't exist in the original outline. It was originally just a quick scene at Missy and Grey's wedding and was heavily expanded after s8 when they did Missandei and Grey dirty. This chapter is a direct result of that. This is for Missandei and Grey and the happy ending they were denied in S8 and yes I am still salty and will forever be salty about it. lol

Chapter 13:

Dany chanced a glance towards Jon’s table. He was laughing at one of Mossa’s jokes when their eyes locked. He smiled, giving her one of his uncoordinated winking attempts. It was proving challenging for them to be discreet. Dany was almost certain they were exposed during the wedding photos.

The photographer had gather all of the friends for a photo; Jon positioning himself right behind her, his hands resting on her hips. Dany interlaced her hand with his, leaning back into his embrace. Jon leaned forward, resting his head against hers while the photographer took multiple shots. Quickly brushing a kiss against the nape of her neck, she was almost sure they were caught just from the blush alone but the others around them enjoying the celebratory mood were none the wiser.

It was like a clandestine game of cat and mouse, the secret looks, the hand on her lower back that guided her during the cocktail hour. Dany bumping his hip while Theon talked about his latest trip to Dorne. The light, lingering touches of their hands when they brought the other drinks. The tension between them was palpable and had Dany eagerly anticipating what would happen once they were alone.

Read rest HERE

[starliteradio]

66.

The shuttered neon dreamscape, the bones of the optimistic vision of a greater tomorrow - the famed glittering highway that stretched as a beacon to that future now crumbling, with few that pass besides ghosts on the wind. Down the line - the electric cowboys and angels long gone dark, faded shrines to an era of dubious glory, now long tarnished and shrouded itself. Far in the distance, the weak scarlet light of one stubborn survivor flickers, reading Starlite below glittering jewel-encrusted desert sky. A water tower light flares red in the distance. A coyote crosses the lonely road, faintly illuminated in dim motel light, then vanishes. 

[captain-grammar]

I trace my finger lightly across his skin, drawing constellations using the freckles on his arms as anchor points; dark stars on a pale canvas that’s just as beautiful as anything in the heavens.

[unknownoro]

This’ll most likely be the last time, if I deactivate again i’m hopefully never back

[caffiend-queen]

Will you be publishing any paper cover books in the near future? I hope you are well 💋

Hi my dear Maggie! Hellion - An Arranged Marriage Bratva Romance is the latest, but Deceptive - An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance - the one I'm writing and posting now - will be next.

Thank you, thank you thank you for your support! I can't count how many carloads of goodies I've been able to bring to the crisis nurseries, thanks to you and my Tumblr besties.

[lex-confessions]

I didn’t know I was selfish until my mother told me so. I didn’t know I was ungrateful until my mother told me so. I didn’t know I was a bitch until my mother told me so. I didn’t know I was aimless until my mother told me so. I didn’t know I was weak until my mother told me so. There used to be a time where I told me so.

- ls

[rybonucleic-ket]

*writes in all lowercase and skips apostrophes so you know im chill* *uses big fancy intellectual words so you know i fuck with books*

*entirely accurate, grade a lit major grammar, capitalization, spelling and punctuation when I actually care about writing* *absolute gibberish kindergarten writing no punctuation intentional mispelling capitals dont exist bc im just a silly little guy*

duality of man.

[hitlikehammers]

If you’re in the mood for a snippet of PLATONIC STOBIN FEELS in a Steddie fic that’s a follow up to THIS, since my big bang documents aren’t loading right to post THOSE promos right now?

Enjoy.

~~~

Robin’s face is raw, as in she thinks she’ll split open the skin if she wipes the tears that don’t stop one more time but she can’t even care, she’s already sliced open and spilling out from the heart of her because, because…

Steve’s not waking up.

Steve’s not waking <I>up</I>, and it’s their <i>fault</I>.

Because whether they didn’t convince him he was loved, <I>loved</I>, so goddamn much it was almost unimaginable except there he was, Steve Harrington, real and tangible and kind and bitchy and soft and fierce and the perfect fit to her whole soul, like soul were puzzle pieces and she’d always just figured that was how they were unique but no, nope: sometimes you got to find a soul-piece floating out in the world in the most unexpected places and they snapped right into the odd little gives and grooves of yours and made you something new for it—something better.

When was the last time she told Steve she loved him?

Her breath catches: they’d all decided <I>speaking</I> anything was too much of a risk once Eleven told them Vecna was twisting their words, and in the imposed-but-so-<I>imposing</I> silence everyone else had lost the fight against sleep alongside Eddie’s vigil of constant song because that’s their best play, now: keep him.

They’d been told to keep hold of Steve, keep him safe while El dealt with Henry and Eddie’d scuffed his sneakers on the tile when he ran back in with a beat up acoustic with a couple of little pock-marks visible if you looked really close—<I>hard to keep her pristine when she lives next to a fuckin’ nail bat in the trunk</I> he’d explained breathlessly before rounding his chair and strumming before he even hit the seat—but Robin wasn’t looking really close. All that Robin, in all honesty, really wants to do is curl up so close to Steve that she melts into him, that he puzzle piece ceases to have any little crease, any outline that differentiates her self from all of him, because she wants…she <I>needs</I> to stand and fall and live and die with him; thinks she will regardless, so. Might as well make it as much of a physical truth as it is in every other way.

Is that enough? Will that be <I>enough</I>?

Robin’s breath hitches again and she pushes her cheek harder into the top-thin hospital mattress—how can people even hope to heal, when they’re laid out on these mortar boards?—and she can hear the beeping of the monitor behind her, proof of life in the body, the <I>person</I> next to her, so why did she feel Ike <I>her</I> heart stopped in between every beep, because that heart was <I>her heart too</I>, so much.

<I>So much</I>.

She’s reciting to herself, silent but her lips moving the words against the sheets—<I>if his heart’s beating so is yours, if <u>his heart is still beating so is yours </u></I>—and she smashes her lips closed when thoughts like <I>what if it stops what if it stops what if it <I>stops</u></I>—

No. No, none of that, smother that: no.

<I>No</I>.

She pinches herself hard enough to bruise and focuses on what she can know for sure. Steve’s heartbeat on the screen. Steve’s chest rising and falling, even if it seems kinda faint: there. Real.

And the music. Endless music, as Eddie plucks but never seems to look down, to watch his hands and watches only Steve instead just as endless, and Robin knows a fraction of the songs because he was aiming for the unfamiliar, he said, and words that either couldn’t be skewed by demonic psychopaths in a nether-realm, or just flat out couldn’t be picked out easily at all.

But while he played even the most metal of the metal tracks, he’d played them soft by comparison to what Robin knows they’d originated as? The way he’s playing now is different. Almost…

Almost <I>tender</I>. And the song, she thinks she—

“What are you playing?”

[hitlikehammers]

Just a couple quick adds:

1) Don’t like your fic anymore and thinking of deleting it? But maybe you also don’t want to use the orphan option?

USE THE ANONYMOUS COLLECTION.

You retain full control over it but it never shows up as yours or attached to your account.

2) Don’t purposefully change the dates like a reblog function, but as someone cursed with a semi-early account that’s never sorted out its time zones? My dates flip-flop for about 1-2 days after posting between GMT and wherever I am in the world—no one’s ever been able to figure out why over many years so I learned to largely accept it, but just adding an addendum that not EVERY fic you see pop up again around the first few pages is trying to reel you in for clicks. Sometimes the archive’s just haunted.

AO3 Etiquette

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

Kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished - you kudos.

If you liked it, you should comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it. Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity. Don't ruin that for them.

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLANTONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an implicit rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Avoid deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - orphan it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to you anymore.

This is a creative fanfiction archive. No essays on your insights or theories please. There are other places for that.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[inbabylontheywept]

bad dating stories time: the shoe incident

so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.

at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.

he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?

and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.

but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.

i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?

(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)

and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.

i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.

that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.

i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.

anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.

i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.

we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.

he was okay at it.

eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.

soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.

realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:

"i can't get pregnant"

which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.

still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"

and then i was in my car, and i drove away.

if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.

and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.

WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.

we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.

do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.

and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.

then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.

and then they started making out.

i was close enough to hear it.

i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.

so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.

now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.

so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.

about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.

my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.

my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.

they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?

and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.