#that does mean that when people take inspiration from me i panic a little because it's like. oh god. thats my thing what are they doing

[metaldevilll]

your vividweller is so hot ily thank you for your design

of course dude i'm glad some people find him zesty

[tryslora]

On Writing Combat and Sex Scenes

Today I want to talk about writing sex and combat (and no, I do not mean combative sex). This post is inspired by a few recent events:

Once, a long time ago, I read a blog post that said “if you can write a combat scene, you can write a sex scene” and that was mind-blowing for me because while I was well-versed in writing erotica, I couldn’t write combat to save my life.

More recently, at Boskone, I participated on a panel about writing combat, and the research involved there-in.

Even more recently, I had someone look at me say, “You’re not a gay guy. How do you write gay sex scenes?”

So. Let’s begin.

I get it—sex and combat aren’t interchangeable. But at their core, they have some strong similarities which can be leveraged while writing. Both are intense, high drama, and can involve a lot of anxiety and quick thought. Both tend to narrow focus down to the moment and the current feeling and action. Both are heightened emotion and physical reaction. Both can involve actions that lie outside the author’s personal experience.

I started writing erotica when I was a freshman in college. I posted it online (does anyone remember rec.arts.erotica?) and was surprised (and pleased) by the compliments I received. Turned out my readers were not expecting the idea of emotion being entangled in their erotica. They were invested emotionally in how the stories went, and how my characters felt. Since I was writing from the point of view that made sense to me at the time, they were het stories from a female perspective, and they were very focused on the emotional connections and how the physical events heightened those emotions.

Male readers were surprised by the intensity of the feelings that these stories gave them (as opposed to pure arousal). It got me thinking about how I wrote, and why I wrote, and I tried to talk about it some at the time. I was eighteen. I was still a new writer. The internet itself was new. I wasn’t entirely certain how to frame it, but I remember getting one comment where a guy was surprised at how struck he’d been by the moment in the scene where everything shuddered to a halt due to an event in the story that interrupted the action, and I replied that that was because I wasn’t writing about the sex. I was writing about the character’s reaction to the sex.

Which has always been how I write. At the time, that was my only tool: put myself in the character’s mind, and write what they feel. If that’s affection and attraction and physical reaction, write that. Tangle it up, and hope the reader feels that entanglement.

Now, fast forward several years, and take a little side trip onto a tangent wherein I learned something very important about writing craft.

I was reading Syne Mitchell’s End in Fire, I think it was, and I kept having panic attacks. Now, I did most of my reading late, often when I woke in the middle of the night due to stress, or just because my brain refused to rest. I was in a rough place in life in general, with a lot of external work stuff going on and very small children. I wasn’t sleeping well. And it took me some time to figure out why I was struggling to read a book which I actually loved (and when I read it later in life, I enjoyed it greatly).

It was the sentence structure.

In order to induce the emotion of the scene, the sentences were short. Sharp. Quick. There was no time for the reader to breathe, much like there was no time for the heroine to do anything but act. The reader was caught up in the rising tension, to the point where my anxious, sleep-deprived brain, caught a panic attack from it.

The technique was brilliant.

Now back to our original timeline, wherein I read a post about how if you can write combat, you can write sex scenes. This post assumed that more people felt comfortable writing violence than sex. I was the reverse. I’d been writing about sex for over a decade when I saw this post, and it made a light bulb go off in my brain.

If writing sex was like writing combat… was the reverse also true? Could I improve my skills at writing battles by analyzing what worked when I wrote erotica?

So I tried doing just that. Back then, I found combat overwhelming. There was so much going on, and I was trying so hard to write good description that I lost all of the intensity. I was focusing on everything that was going on at the same time.

Thinking about how sex scenes were all intense emotion and narrowed focus, I applied that to my combat scenes. I wrote only what the point of view character experienced, and tied everything to their actions and reactions. I thought about how they breathed, how they moved, how they thought. I used those short, sharp sentences as they processed the scene. 

That doesn’t mean I forgot about everything else going on in the scene. That’s impossible. After all, in any story the things the character doesn’t pay attention to might be as important as the things they do focus on. Stuff still happens, and there is still fallout. I needed to know what else was happening so that if the character moved from one place to another, or did something that put them in the path of a different part of the action, I could have them start processing it.

But it also meant that on the page, out of sight was out of mind. Everything narrowed down to the now. The immediacy. Suddenly my combat scenes snapped into focus.

During the panel at Boskone, all of the panelists had experience with different fighting styles (fencing, street combat, and of course, me with taekwondo). I spoke about how for me, that narrow focus is very real when I spar. I know there are some people who naturally see a move or two ahead while fighting; I don’t. I am stuck in act and react mode. Can I kick them now? Can I attempt a head shot? Oh, no, circle back and away or they’re going to hit me… that’s how my brain works during a sparring match.

It’s not like a total blackout—there should be a vague awareness of things around the character. Sounds in particular, or sometimes flashes of movement. Something distracting can catch the attention of the fighter, but the personal fight will always pull the character back.

Combat feels easy when I’m writing like that.

Of course, there’s still the question of writing about something if I’ve never experienced it. As someone did point out to me: I am not a gay man, so how does that affect writing sex scenes? I’ve also never fought with a sword. Brawled. Fought from horseback. I have, however, held a blade, shot a gun, shot an arrow, rode a horse. I have a vague idea of how these things work, much like I have a working knowledge of sex in general.

So yes, research gets involved. Sometimes research is observational, sometimes it’s reading (there’s so much good stuff out there). I highly recommend video for combat scenes—find things that have the feel that you’re going for, then put yourself in the place of the character you want to write about. Practice. Work through the ideas of how things fit together, and what your character will (and will not!) know during the fight.

If you need to, stand up and block the scene by thinking about how you would experience it. What can you see, and what is out of sight? If someone is coming at you with a blade, what are your options? How do height differences affect you? Yes, I have asked friends and husband to help me block scenes. 

“Stand right there and show me what it looks like if you punch me. Okay, so if I do this then…” Yeah. It’s a thing. But it works.

When doing your research, remember that movie fighting (and hell, movie sex scenes) isn’t realistic. It’s meant to look good. For combat, if you can find re-enactments, or sparring videos, I highly recommend taking a look at those. 

Anyway, the point is: I don’t have to have shot someone, and I don’t have to have had gay sex in order to write about them. What I do need to know is how it feels emotionally to do those things, and I can extrapolate that from what I do know. I need to know enough about the details so I can get it right, and that’s where research will help me. Also, use language to create emotion. Because emotions are where we grab the reader, and how we pull them into the scene.

Combat and sex aren’t so different when it comes to writing, and the personal experience. Now, go forth and write!

[javier-pena]

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 5k (so much for short drabble)

Rating: Mature

Summary: You work for the DEA in Colombia. Until one of your missions goes terribly wrong.

Warnings: hurt/comfort | attempted rape (nothing too graphic) | smoking | reader is being held captive | historical inaccuracies | period-appropriate sexism | difficult father-daughter relationship | canon-typical violence (kind of graphic) | panic and distress | brief description of wounds 

Notes: This is the first fic for my 10k follower celebration!!! Thank you, @lokischocolatefountain who requested “I’ll be here when you wake up” with Javier Peña. I hope you like it 🤭 This fic was very much inspired by Gabriel García Márquez' "Noticia de un secuestro" ("News of a Kidnapping") which I highly recommend if you're interested in what Narcos (Season 1) only covers in two episodes, namely the kidnappings of prominent figures in Colombia by the Medellín Cartel in the early 90s. As ever, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who took the time to ask, "What does this mean?" and made me realize that I, in fact, don't know the answer to that question.

***

It’s night again. Or maybe it’s dawn. You don’t know. The blacked-out windows don’t let in any light. Your days are no longer structured according to the laws of nature (morning – midday – afternoon – evening – night), but according to the laws of your captors (wake up – bathroom – food – nothing – food – sleep). Maybe you’re awake all night and sleep all day. Maybe you only sleep for four hours and are awake for twenty. Neither your mind nor your body can tell the difference any longer.

Right now, for example, you’re in the “nothing” part of your day. It’s just you, rolled up on your mattress in your corner, and your thoughts, looping and looping, making you relive how you ended up here, in this room, somewhere in Colombia. And every single day, right at the end of “nothing” and the start of “food”, you come to the same conclusion: It’s all your fault.

It started with your childhood, you think. No, you can’t blame everything that went wrong in your life on your father, but he certainly did his bid – no matter what you did, it was never enough. Not even when you applied for a transfer to the embassy and you got selected, the youngest woman in DEA history who got an assignment like that. All he had to say to you was, “Huh”. So of course, you had to do better than that.

Here, in Colombia, you found yourself surrounded by men just like your father, old men in suits who sneered at you, confusing you with a secretary, asking you to make coffee and take notes. Old men with guns and enough war stories to fill a book, calling you “little lady” and pinching your cheeks. Old men that were just there, leering at you from corners and doorways. And they all had the face of your father.

Still, no one forced you to raise your hand that Thursday afternoon your floor ran out of coffee, the same afternoon Noonan called you all to a meeting and asked for a volunteer. “Dangerous assignment,” she said, “likely to get you killed.” You should have listened to her. But the looks on all those faces when you raised your hand and said, “I’d be happy to do it,” were worth it. Almost. Because, ultimately, it was the beginning of the end.

One of the men on guard duty today swears loudly and another one growls at him to be quiet. Sometimes they forget there’s a life outside those blacked-out windows and they’re not the only people in this city. You forget that too, but then you hear the voices of people living their lives, the sound of a car backfiring, a dog barking somewhere. If one of you makes the wrong noise, surely, you’ll be discovered.

The three men with you today (tonight?) know that, and so do you. They’re playing cards by the light of a dirty kerosene lamp, sitting so closely together their knees are touching. If they stretched out their legs, their feet would be touching your mattress. The room you’re in is barely big enough for one person, let alone for four. It’s the only room you’ve seen in months, apart from the bathroom they take you to once or twice a day. It’s across a small hallway you haven’t seen because they blindfold you. Every time, for every trip.

You can barely remember a time when not everything you needed to survive was dependent on another person. The autonomy you prided yourself on, your ability to achieve everything on your own, to survive everything on your own, those have been taken away from you. Could you even use the bathroom if no one gave you permission first? You doubt it.

You didn’t need anyone’s permission to go on that undercover mission that ultimately landed you in this tiny square room that is now your entire world. You were the fastest to volunteer, you fit the profile they were looking for: fluent in Spanish, low level enough to not be able to spill any secrets should you get arrested, pretty. It was supposed to be so easy. Infiltrate the Medellín cartel, gather intel, report back. There was even a plan in place to extract you should anything go wrong. And go wrong it did, and nothing was there to break your fall.

Before that, before you watched boys play cards all day, before your only window to the outside world was a small TV, there was one person who tried to get you to back down. You thought he didn’t think you capable of anything because you’re young, inexperienced and a woman, but in hindsight you should have listened to him. It doesn’t matter that the others called him an asshole and you thought he was trying to dissuade you because he was jealous. He knew what he was talking about and you should have listened to him.

The man closest to you lights a cigarette, his face briefly doused in a gloomy red light. You think of them as men because it somehow makes it easier, but he looks barely 16. Your room quickly fills with smoke and you try to suppress a cough so they don’t hit you again.

That’s how this all started, with you getting punched in the stomach.

Your undercover mission asked a lot of you, maybe too much. You were aware that it might be necessary for you to sleep with some of the men you were trying to get close to, and when they asked you about this back at the embassy, you wouldn’t have any problem with it... Until it was about to happen. The man touched you, breathed into your face smelling of cheap alcohol and expensive cigars, and in a moment of sheer panic, you fought back and blew your cover.

That’s it. That’s all. You ruined the mission because you couldn’t lie still for five minutes, and now you’re paying for it.

You know there have been attempts to find you and you know you’re not the only hostage. Right at the beginning, you shared a room with a Colombian journalist who, before that, had shared a room with a famous Colombian TV presenter. You know there are negotiations, you sometimes see on TV that a hostage is returned to their family. One time, there were shouts and sirens and gunshots, but they blindfolded you and put you in a truck. That’s how you ended up here, in this room.

At first, you focused on the stories of the people who made it out alive, not on the stories of the people who didn’t. You’re DEA, and even though you fucked up, you know those three letters are like a protective spell woven around you. Yes, they will hold you captive for as long as possible, yes, they will use you to fight everything you stand for, but they won’t kill you. The more time passes though, the more you doubt anyone is still fighting for your safe return. They might not kill you, but you also won’t be getting out of here.

With every day that passes, with every day you grow weaker and more tired, those men stare at you more and more. At first, they didn’t dare to look at you, ignored you when you tried to talk to them, acted like you weren’t there. Now you catch their eyes on you frequently, hungrily taking you in. They still don’t touch you – not like that, anyway – but they hit you when you’re too loud, they press their fingers over your mouth, the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder making you gag, and sometimes their hands wander, to the small of your back, to your side. Even if you make it out of here alive, you won’t make it out of here unharmed.

It's a different day. At least you think it is. You sleep more and more during your period of nothing, but it isn’t a restful sleep. If anything, it makes you more tired, wearier. You dread waking up and you dread falling asleep and you dread being awake. But something is different today, something has changed while you were asleep. There are only two men with you tonight, and they look at you more and more, their faces unreadable. It unnerves you more than their openly lustful gazes. You pretend to ignore them as best as possible, but it’s hard when you don’t want to turn your back on them.

A third man comes into the room, one you haven’t seen before. He’s big, broad, a tight shirt stretching over his belly, lines around his eyes, thinning hair on his head. He doesn’t look at you, just steps over the two boys and switches on the TV that comes to life with a static crackle. On your mattress, you come alive too, your heart starting with a painful lurch. Whatever it is, this can’t be good for you.

You barely recognize the face on TV. It takes you about a minute to make sense of what you’re seeing, so unfamiliar you’ve become with the ambassador you used to take orders from. She looks the same – it’s you who has changed. Her suit is still perfectly pressed, her hair is still perfectly styled, she still speaks into the cameras in that calm, no-nonsense voice. It’s you who you don’t recognize, you who doesn’t make sense anymore.

It also takes you a while to understand her, to make sense of what she’s saying. You hear the words “hostages” and “negotiation”, and you know she’s talking about you and whoever else there may be, but definitely you. It would explain your captors’ faces. Something has happened, some new development that’s inconveniencing them. Maybe this is it. Maybe you’re being set free. Maybe even tonight. The thought makes you feel light-headed; you have no idea who you are outside of these four walls and that mattress.

“… end of negotiations. We will no longer regard terrorists as equal opposites in this. Any American hostages they might still have, or pretend to have, will, from today onward, be considered missing in action.”

What does that mean? Surely, they wouldn’t just … they wouldn’t just let you die, would they? You’re DEA, you can’t be missing in action, you’re not a soldier. The cartels can’t kill you, they wouldn’t do that. Just how the US wouldn’t abandon you, wouldn’t go on TV to sign your death warrant in front of a live audience. It doesn’t make sense.

You turn to your captors, as if looking for guidance, but they look just as lost as you. Even the big man. He keeps running his fingers through his thin hair, sweat beading on his forehead. One of the boys looks at him too, as if waiting for orders, the other is running the tip of his index finger through the dust on the floor. Why won’t they look at you?

“So we just kill her?” asks the boy who keeps staring at the big man. His name is Andrés Felipe. You know that because another boy let it slip once. You’re not supposed to know their names, and Andrés Felipe made sure that mistake would never happen again, but by then it was too late.

“Not yet,” the man answers. “We have to wait.”

Andrés Felipe groans. “What for? You heard that woman on TV. They’re done negotiating.”

“You don’t know that,” dust boy chimes in. “It could be a ruse.”

Andrés Felipe laughs at him. “As if you know anything about politics. You can’t even read.”

You look at Andrés Felipe then, truly look at him. You need the distraction. You need to pretend it isn’t you they’re talking about, as if your fate doesn’t depend on these three men. And there isn’t much else to do in this room but look. Andrés Felipe is young, younger than you, but older than dust boy. His face is free of wrinkles, free of the tell-tale signs of hunger and a tough upbringing in the favelas. He isn’t here because he needs to be, he’s here because he wants to be. Which also explains why he dares to speak up in front of the big man, whose maturity puts him in charge.

You don’t like Andrés Felipe, never have. Maybe it’s because knowing his name humanizes him and it’s easier to hate a human than some faceless, nameless villain. Maybe it’s because of the cruel glint in his eyes, or the way he beat up that boy who revealed his name. And now there’s his eagerness to kill you. There is no reason for you to feel any sympathy toward him.

“He’s right,” the big man says then. “Maybe they want us to kill all the hostages so they’ll have an excuse to send in the military.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Andrés Felipe responds. “Everyone would know they’re liars.”

“They’re not,” dust boy dares to speak up again. “Missing in action also means they can be found. If you’re missing, you’re not dead. If the missing people die –”

He can’t finish his sentence because Andrés Felipe slaps him. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The big man doesn’t come to dust boy’s aid. He just smirks. “Quit it, you two, we’re sitting tight until we get our orders.”

“I’m fucking done waiting!” Andrés Felipe shouts and you flinch. He’s too loud. Someone will hear him. And they don’t have any reason to keep you alive now. It’s easier to shoot you and then run. “All I’ve been doing is waiting. Do you think I don’t have anything better to do with my time?”

The big man shushes him. You wish he would hit Andrés Felipe, put him in his place, but he just crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I say we wait.”

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply. Andrés Felipe says something else in that sharp, nasally voice of his, but you refuse to listen. Nothing good can come of it. Either they will kill you or they won’t. You’re too weak to think about either of these options. And you’re not going anywhere until those orders arrive, so you might as well …

When you wake up, the room is quiet, and you immediately know something is wrong. Even before you feel the cool, sharp blade against your neck, and before you smell the stale breath of the man holding it, cowering above you.

“Not one sound,” he hisses, and you recognize Andrés Felipe’s voice, uncomfortably loud in the quiet room. It’s so quiet, too quiet with just the two of you. The sounds of him unbuckling his belt are like explosions against your eardrums. You fight the urge to tell him to be quiet, but then your brain catches up with what your body already knows, and you kick your legs and shake your head.

You almost don’t feel the cut of the knife, but you do feel the hot drops of blood on your neck. “I told you to be quiet,” Andrés Felipe hisses. “Just don’t move.”

But you do, you do move, at least your hands that you ball into fists. You don’t want your life to end like this, in some shack somewhere in Colombia with a knife against your throat and a criminal inside of you. This can’t be it. They have to put you in front of a firing squad at least, don’t they? Not like this. Please, not like this.

Andrés Felipe touches your lower belly trying to unbutton your dirty pants, and you flinch, a terrified groan escaping your lips. The knife cuts deeper into the soft skin of your throat. “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” he growls.

Then there’s blood. Everywhere. It’s in your eyes, your mouth, you breathe it in, you taste it on your tongue. Andrés Felipe collapses on top of you, the knife landing on the mattress with a dull sound. You try to get out from under the heavy body, but you can barely lift his shoulders before your arm starts to tremble.

“Hey.” You wipe the blood out of your eyes to find a man kneeling next to you, shoving Andrés Felipe’s heavy body aside so you can sit up. You don’t know who he is, you’ve never seen him before, but he has to be someone higher up if he dared to kill Andrés Felipe. Because that is what just happened, you slowly realize. Andrés Felipe is dead and you’re covered in his blood.

The strange man reaches for you and you flinch away. “Ma’am, my name is Javier Peña,” he says, his voice steady and calm as if he’s been in this exact situation a million times before. “I’m with the DEA. I’m here to get you out.”

“The DEA?” you repeat, the English sounds feeling foreign in your mouth.

He reaches for you again, touches your shoulder, and this time you don’t flinch away. “You’re safe now.” He squeezes your shoulder, then stands up and holds out his hand to you. You take it and push yourself off the mattress.

“What happened?” you ask, trying to ignore the dead body, half its face gone.

“Maybe we should discuss this –,” Javier starts, but you don’t hear the rest of the sentence. Suddenly it feels like there are cotton balls lodged in your ears and the whole world turns dark, darker than it already is.

Someone is carrying you. You think you must be outside because you feel a light breeze on your face. You don’t remember the last time you smelled fresh air, but when you breathe in deeply, you’re enveloped in cigarette smoke and gunpowder. It’s not unpleasant, you realize with a start. It comes from a heavy leather jacket you’re wrapped in, and from the man carrying you. They never would have carried you like this, carefully, as if you might break, so you know you must be safe.

When you next open your eyes, you’re inside again. The room is so big it startles you at first. But the longer you let your eyes wander, the more your brain adjusts to help you realize you’re in a normal sized living room, sitting on a leather couch, a knitted blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You must have just sat up because your head is spinning and your limbs are trembling, but otherwise you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“Feeling better?”

You’re proud of yourself for not jumping at hearing his voice. “Yeah,” you answer, swallowing to wet your dry throat. You feel an unpleasant tug on your skin where Andrés Felipe cut you twice. “Where am I?”

You turn to look at him. He’s sitting on the couch next to you but with enough distance between the two of you so you don’t touch. He’s holding a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, trying to hide the look of concern on his face. It’s something you will see a lot from now on, people looking at you as if you’re about to break.

“You’re in my living room,” he answers.

“Why not,” you have to swallow again, “why not at the embassy?”

He taps his foot nervously so his leg is jumping up and down, takes a drag. “Us coming to rescue you … that wasn’t exactly sanctioned by Noonan.”

“So you really are DEA?” you ask, even though there are a million other things you should ask first. Like if the press conference you saw on TV was really true. If Noonan and the United States were really prepared to let the remaining hostages die. But the longer you look at the man next to you, the more familiar he looks.

Javier nods at the same time as you burst out, “You tried to warn me, didn’t you? Back at the embassy? You told me I was in over my head with this. You’re the asshole!”

The surprise on his face is almost enough to make you laugh for the first time in months. “I’m the what?”

You open your mouth, but instead of an answer coming out of it, you start coughing uncontrollably. Your sides are burning by the time you’re done, but Javier is right there next to you with a glass of water that you accept gratefully.

“Let me take a look at your throat,” he says, watching you swallow down the cool liquid.

If you think about it, you haven’t been touched in months. You know you’ll flinch away before he even touches you, so you stiffen your muscles, determined to remain in place.

He must see it all on your face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” you say through gritted teeth.

His fingers are rough against your skin as he carefully tilts your head to the side. You barely flinch but you whimper because the movement hurts more than you would have thought. He hums quietly before standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

You raise your finger to your neck to find the skin there sticky with blood. Whether it is yours or Andrés Felipe’s you can’t tell. But the unfamiliar feeling makes you tremble again. You wish you could stop that, or at least suppress it. You wish the world would start making sense again. You miss your small room and your mattress and knowing what comes next. You don’t even know if Javier is telling the truth, if he really is who he says he is. Yes, he looks vaguely familiar, but until a few hours ago, you had no idea what time of day it was.

“Hey, hey,” Javier says softly. He is sitting next to you again, closer this time, but he’s still not touching you. “Breathe. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“None of it makes sense,” you mumble. You’re not sure if he’s heard you, but you do feel the pressure on your chest lighten.

“You have two cuts on your throat,” Javier goes on, shaking a small bottle of disinfectant. “They don’t look too bad, but I’d still like to clean them. Is that okay?”

How do you explain to him that you just spent months asking for permission instead of giving it? How do you explain to him that you don’t know how to decide anything for yourself anymore?

Not sure what to make of your silence, Javier goes on. “You can do it yourself if you want to. I can show you –”

You tilt your head to the side. “No, please. I want you to do it.”

Javier stops shaking the bottle of disinfectant, grabs a cotton ball, and pours some liquid over it. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

He does hurt you. The second he touches the cotton ball to the cut, you want to scream. It burns so much you can hardly take it. But you grit your teeth and you don’t complain. Because you don’t want him to stop. You know it’s just the isolation and the confusion of the last hours and the fact that your world doesn’t make sense anymore, but the way he dabs the cotton ball across the cut, brow furrowed in concentration, makes you feel safe. And you can’t remember the last time you felt like this.

“You’re being so brave,” he mumbles, and surely you must have misheard or you must have imagined it, because he continues in a normal voice, “Tomorrow, you should go see a doctor. I don’t have any medical training and it doesn’t look too bad, but it can’t hurt to be safe.”

You raise your fingers to touch your throat and briefly brush his as he draws them back. “Thank you,” you say when you find your skin free of dried blood. The cotton ball in Javier’s hand is now a blotchy red. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Javier says, standing up to dispose of the cotton ball. “I think he cut you with a knife.”

“No, not that.” You sink back against the couch cushions and tightly wrap the blanket around yourself. “With Noonan and the hostages.”

Javier, who is standing in the open kitchen with his back toward you, stiffens. “It was just you,” he answers, pretending to clean some dust off the counter. “You were the only American hostage left. Because it took so fucking long to find you.” He turns to you, cringing. “Sorry. I meant it took us forever to find you.”

“You can swear,” you tell him, your cheeks tingling from the unfamiliar sensation of a smile.

He walks back toward you, and it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time. He’s no longer the jealous man who was trying to get you to back off from a mission he told you you weren’t qualified for. He’s the man who risked his job – and his life – to save you. And you don’t quite know what to do with that.

To your disappointment, he sits down in a chair, not on the couch, and lights another cigarette. “We had your location eventually. But then, two days ago, the cartel released the businessman, the only other American being held. We had to give them three men in exchange, and the exchange almost went wrong. Someone high up in Washington must have decided that’s enough.”

“So it was true, what Noonan said on TV?” You feel hot and cold all over. “It wasn’t a ruse? They were prepared to let me die?”

Javier nods. “Yeah, but I wasn’t.”

Your heart stops for a short while. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You’re one of us.”

“You warned me. You told me not to go on this mission. I thought you were jealous.”

He barks out a short laugh. “No, I thought it was a stupid mission. Too dangerous. Not worth risking the life of one of our agents for. And it was putting all our other informants at risk too.”

You look down at your hands, barely recognizing them underneath the dirt clinging to your skin. “What happens next? Will you get reassigned?”

“I won’t get a medal, that’s for sure.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and his face lights up with a red glow. “Noonan will thank me privately but reprimand me publicly. And then she’ll send you home.”

“Me? Why am I being punished?” Your voice, still hoarse from disuse, rings in your ears.

He laughs again, loudly this time. “Darlin’, Colombia almost killed you. I wouldn’t call it punishment.”

Your heart kickstarts at the use of the diminutive. “I want to stay here. There’s still so much to do.”

He stubs out his cigarette. “What you need to do is take things easy. You just went through a horrible ordeal you haven’t even begun to process. Even if you do stay here, you need a break first.”

You want to protest, but you can’t find the strength. You feel weary, exhausted, like you spent the last month trekking through the jungle without a break. Your body is a heavy lump you hardly have control over.

The next thing you feel is Javier’s arms around you as he holds you tightly. “Hey,” he says again, and you could get used to the softness in his voice. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” you mumble, trying to push him away, suddenly trapped in the memory of closing your eyes and waking up to a man holding a knife cowering above you.

Javier doesn’t take no for an answer. “You’ll sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You’re still not sure this is such a good idea, but there is no alternative you can think of, and your body is begging you to lie down on cool, clean sheets and forget the world for a while. You let Javier pull you up, and you manage to stumble not more than once as he leads you into a dark bedroom. He doesn’t switch on the light.

“I’m going to let you sleep in,” he tells you, sitting you down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to leave the door open in case you need me?”

“No, that’s fine,” you answer, weakly kicking off your dirty shoes. You just want him to leave so you can close your eyes.

He runs his hand from the top of your head down to your neck in a well-practiced, automatic motion. “I’m a light sleeper – just shout if there’s anything you need.”

You nod, and he finally steps back with a smile on his face. “Good night, Javi,” you say, your head hitting the pillow before you can stop it. He’s already at the door when you add, “And thank you.”

You can’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes when the sound of gunfire wakes you. It’s not close by, but the echo of it still reaches you, and before your brain has time to process, your body is already responding with a sob that shakes you from head to toe.

“I’ve got you,” Javier says, wrapping you up in his arms. You bury your face against his naked shoulder, trying to steady your breath, but you’re crying uncontrollably now.

“I’m sorry,” you sob.

All he does is run his hand up and down your back. “Shhhh, I’m here. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

His warm breath against the top of your head makes your heartbeat slow down, and you finally manage to swallow your tears. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, feeling like you’re about to die.

“Come on, lie down,” he urges you gently, trying to lower you toward the mattress.

“No!” You cling to him desperately, but he pries your arms off him without much effort.

“I’ll be here, okay?” he soothes you. “Right in that chair over there.”

You don’t know what chair he’s talking about; you didn’t notice one when he led you into the bedroom, but you stopped noticing things a while ago. “Don’t leave me,” you beg.

He brushes your hair out of your face and places a soft kiss against your temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

When you next open your eyes, there he is, asleep in an armchair in the corner of the bedroom, the early morning sun dancing across his skin.

[rentumblsstuff]

Random Hatchetfield Headcanons

The first time Alice Woodward ever smoked weed was when (after much inner turmoil) she asked Deb to shotgun it with her.

Max has two snaggletoothed incisors which is why people swear to god he has fangs.

Deb also has a snaggletooth which is what inspired the vampire part of Alice’s vampiric sapphic play. Alice also thinks it’s ironic she made a vampire character when Deb is a vegan.

Ruth as a Sophmore hit on Senior Alice a lot. Alice thought it was funny and she and Deb “adopted” her. Max and Steph also put the PANIC in bi panic for Ruth.

Max would find it weirdly hot that Grace wears bathing suits under her clothes because of the idea that he gets to see what her body looks like before even she does.

The hospital is downtown, so Becky Barnes definitely got infected in TGWDLM. Despite never wanting to do it again, Becky climbs the tree as someone calls the HFPD to save Kathy’s cat because she’s still infinitely compassionate even under Pokey’s control. Plus, Pokey knows she wants to get over the trauma associated with climbing trees, so he makes her do it to give her a big number about finally overcoming her past. She accidentally flings the cat as soon as the song starts, which is why in Show Me Your Hands, the cat dies so quickly even though it JUST got called in.

Peter infected Steph who infected Deb who infected Alice in TGWDLM. Pete and Steph would have been Sophomores and Deb and Alice were Seniors, but I always imagine Steph and Deb knowing eachother because MRFC said Steph is in the Smoke Club on Twitter at some point. Assuming Steph’s been a little punk for a while, she’s been in the smoke club since at least Sophomore year, and probably a new inductee the same year as TGWDLM (2018).

Alice and one of her parents (maybe Bill) were also raised in purity culture because we know the Woodwards and the Chastitys go to the same church. The Woodwards probably take it with a grain of salt though (Alice has expressed dislike over Grace’s prudishness)- either that or one of her parents (probably her mom) wasn’t originally from said church and also raised Alice with “this is what you’re learning here, but here’s also what I learned at my church at your age.” Bill was likely the one raised in purity culture because he does NOT LIKE DEB and thinks that if she HAS TO date a girl, she should date someone like Grace Chastity, implying she’s an exemplary teen girl. Ms. Woodward lets Deb sleep over and probably knows she smokes and likes her anyways; three points for Alice’s mom not being the puritanical one.

Ted reads romance novels. He’s a former geek turned sleazeball- you know he reads the smuttiest novels ever and calls them “his research”. He refuses to read any book with the friends to lovers trope because it’s too upsetting to think about. (Side note Time Bastard gave us a definite date that timelines don’t branch/reset before depending on whichever theory you believe because the homeless man is in every timeline, meaning that Jenny’s death is fixed in time and never changes: October 7th 2004, so the timelines change anywhere between October 8th 2004 and 2018.)

In whatever timeline Emma finally gets to have her weed farm, she meets Paul when he tells her he was prescribed that marajamij for his anxiety and he was too scared to try Xanax. She thinks he’s kind of cute for a wet cat of a corporate slave. “Fuck the patriarchy? Yes please.” (Side note Paul seems so uptight and unfuckable like bro gotta be blank down there like a Ken doll and has no discernible kinks from what I remember while Emma is laid back and chill asf and like… normal in comparison so yeah sure Paulkins canonically fucks but does Emma enjoy it?? Like dude even Pete’s more fuckable than him come on.)

Pete and Steph don’t kiss when they admit their feelings for eachother even though one of them would die before ever getting to kiss each other because they both think it’ll only make it that much harder to go through with sacrificing the other. One of the reasons Pete also chooses to be the one to take the bullet because he doesn’t think he even COULD pull the trigger on her. Like it’d be physically impossible for him, in his mind.

TGWDLM was originally meant to be an allegory for the institution brainwashing us. Show Me Your Hands and America’s Great Again: examples of people in power working for and fulfilling the evil wishes of some almighty, otherworldly, inhuman THING (be it aliens, be it those in power). It’s clearly meant to satirize the way that power corrupts and tries to convince you its way is better. Even Hidgens, THE FUCKING TEACHER, tries to teach his student that it will be better for everyone to join in that corruption and give in to the hive mind. This reminds me of how the school system in America tries to paint our history as something glamorous; manifest destiny instead of genocide of the indigenous populations. The people in power convincing those under them that the deaths of countless lives is a good thing and it will pave the way to a better future. Cool motive, still murder. Which is why Emma “Fuck the Patriarchy” Perkins is the last one to be infected. She was incapable of being brainwashed , and even when she was the last one left, she saw that the people watching didn’t care, and the all-consuming threat of corrupted power closes in on her until the very last moment.

The Lords in Black were going to try to convince whoever sacrificed their most treasured something to do more work for them, but Grace required very little convincing. Like Wiggly spoke into her mind like “Gracy-Wace! You forgot my booky-wook! Look in it, see any thing you like? Wanna kill all the pervy-wervys?” And she’s like “holy cow I can kill all the pervy-wervys with this book?” Pete would have needed the most convincing because he’s just lost the only girl who will ever love him (in his mind) and so he’d think these things took away his one chance at true love and NEVER want to deal with them again. Even if they offered him a way to get her back, he’s too smart to know that won’t come without an even bigger price AND too paranoid to think she won’t come back wrong like Max did.

If the Green-Foster family ever did get to move to California and Lex got to be an actress, her interview attitude would be a lot like Reneé Rapp and if she ever got asked about why she’ll openly shit talk people in an interview, she’s like “I used to work retail I learned pretty fast that nothing gets done if you keep your mouth shut.”

[xxacademy]

So I have this thing in my head - if maybe you can do headcannon or drabble. If you want/ ( whichever you want - your good at it all!) Where Leon's SO is at the hospital after being pretty much banged up on a mission ( with BOWS / both are working the same department) and I mean - near death experience lol. But a /between Re6 and Vendetta Leon/ and they have been dating for a long time now. I know very specific, but I have this in my noggin. If you're not into it, no matter - keep up all your work. I love it !

thank you for the kind words 🫶 i’m actually writing a full length fic for this because i LOVE this prompt. buuuuuut, for now a little drabble/hc because it’s gonna take me a lil while to finish that fic- i’ve already got like 2k words down for it though hahaha <33 consider this a companion piece for what’s to come.

hurt/comfort & fluff

leon kennedy x gender neutral reader

leon is calm under pressure, extraordinarily so. so when he gets the call that you were in the ICU, being rushed into emergency surgery he didn’t panic.

he thinks first and deals with the emotions later.

he details in his mind how to get to you- what hospital are you in, does he need to bring anything for you?

you’re out of the state- so he has to fly to you. because of his connections working for the united state’s government- he’s able to get an emergency plane ticket right away.

he has a few hours to kill, so he impatiently circles your shared home, thinking what could he bring for you.

he doesn’t allow his mind to think if your gonna make it out alive. only when you make it out.

he can only assume your clothing is tattered and bloodied, probably cut off of you.

he packs you some clothes, and some of your favorite things. like the little stuffed bear he bought you for your birthday.

on the plane he sits restlessly- checking the time over and over. you’re the only thing on his mind, he wishes he could hold your hand and tell you everything is going to be all right. he wonders if you’re scared. he hates that you’re alone.

upon landing he takes a cab to the hospital, he hands the driver a $100 bill and tells him to make it quick.

leon waits in the lobby of the emergency room, the blast of anxiety finally hitting him. the stifled cries of pain from other people waiting to be seen are overwhelming to him.

it’s when leon gets to see you that his emotions catch up to him. his sense of calm finally cracking the moment he sees you hooked up to machines in a hospital bed.

his blue eyes glassy from the tears welling up.

he kneels by your bedside- stroking your arm down to your hand. resting his head on the bed, watching you sleep.

he tucks the stuffed animal under your other arm- hoping to comfort you when you awake.

he talks to you even though you’re asleep, “i love you, you’re so strong- you got this, dear.”

please, please, please make it for me. i won’t let you leave me this way.

he attentively watches everything they do to you, every test that is ran and every medication that is administered.

leon gives you his unwavering support. wishing he can take the pain away. protect you from all harm. make life easier for you.

he knows your a fighter. hell, you wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for your determined nature. but that in no way helps his urge to protect you.

when you wake up, you smile. a smile of warmth, full of surprise.

“leon? you’re here? how?”

“shhshh take it easy honey, im here- you’re here. that’s all that matters.” ♡

…

i wrote a fic inspired by this little blurb- check it out if you enjoyed this one!! -> tender

[captcoups]

[🐰] mr. too-nice-guy (j.h)

✤ joshua hong x reader / idol!svt / non.idol!you / inspired by this prompt! / 1,111 words / fluff 🌸 ✤ a/n: i came back to this blog just to start writing more svt stuff >:) if anyone does read, enjoy! ✨

joshua makes himself known when he gives the door a knock on his way in. when you turn the cheek, prying your eyes from the television screen in front of you. on instinct, you lower the volume to reciprocate his greeting. a kiss to the cheek before he joins you on the sofa. you’re about to snuggle into him but when he gently peels the remote from your hands, you’re left agape with a couple of blinks to him in confusion.

“could we...” he pauses your show–a rerun of your favourite which he’ll definitely join with you later but–”...talk?”

he sees how you’re a little flustered but you’re always open to talk to whatever he has in mind. knowing that communication was something joshua prioritised in the relationship, you shift your position on the sofa to face him, feet folded up with one of your kneecaps over his thigh. you don’t answer verbally but based on how you’re sitting makes joshua smile at your willingness.

joshua puts the remote aside, holding his hands up on his lap. at the gesture, you eye him for a second before slotting your hands in his for him to hold.

“so... boo told me something today...” joshua tries not to laugh when you throw your head back in a groan, rolling your eyes, “what did that big mouth say to you now?”

“it’s nothing! just that...” he waits until you face him, despite blinking from his eyes to his neck, to his sweater-clad chest and all over again, “...he mentioned you saying that you think i’m too nice to other people?”

he feels your hands tensing in his but he refuses to let go.

“w-well... when you put it like that, it sounds like i’m an asshole.”

joshua scoffs a laugh, none with ill-intention, only adoration in his eyes.

“then how would you phrase it? i wanna hear it from you.”

you lick your lips but remain quiet, trying to find the right words to say in a way that doesn’t nudge joshua in the wrong way. everyone knows joshua as mr. nice guy. almost too nice guy. but it’s in his nature; it’s who he is. he goes out of his way to help people because it’s in his being to be nice. the way he was raised, the way he’s adored and trained. you can’t take that away from him but... you’d be a liar to say it didn’t bother you or bug you once in a long time when sleeping is hard to do and the thoughts run through your mind.

it seems like even joshua knows how hard it’s like for you to get the words out that he gently squeezes your hands to remind you that–”take your time, i’m here to listen.”

with a deep breath, and partially closing your eyes to avoid his gaze (that would’ve made you crumble if you stared back at him), you quietly mumble: “i... feel a little insecure whenever people talk about how nice you are to all of them.”

“insecure in... what?” joshua tilts his head; genuinely confused. his eyes widen slightly, “m-me?”

you shake your head in a panic, “no! i–just–i mean–”you take another breath of air and joshua tries to keep his mouth shut from trying to guess things that could steer you away from what you intended to say. he carefully rubs circles along the back of your hands, somehow calming you down a little.

“i... whenever people find out that we’re dating, they go off on this ramble of what a nice guy you are and how you’d go to the end of the world to help them,” you swallow, lowering your head, voice getting softer but joshua catches all your syllables (he always does), ”and the other day, i guess, someone joked about how if you’re so nice to everyone, where do i draw the line of being your partner when you could be treating everyone like how you treat me?”

one, two, three intakes of inhale and exhales later is when you get a response from him. then a deep sigh that makes you muster up a soft: “i’m... sorry,”

he peeks up to meet your gaze, now noticing how guilty you looked but that’s not why he wanted to talk to you about this. it’s the way you seem to believe what people were saying that made him feel a pinch to the chest.

“i didn’t know how to bring this up and–”

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” joshua cuts you off. you slowly seal your lips shut and he shakes his head, scooting closer to you as he looks down to your hands in his, “i just wish you told me so it didn’t seem like you were hiding it from me,” he looks up again, now catching the way your eyes soften, “and i could’ve been reassuring you anytime you had these thoughts that sure, i’m a nice guy, and i do try my best to help people but i don’t just feel the things i feel for you with everyone else.”

he removes one of his hands in yours to pillow it against your cheek, gently lining the under of your eye with his thumb, “with you, it’s just you. no one else makes me feel the way you do.”

you watch as he presses his lips to a thin line, as if he’s muffling a laugh and–”what’s so funny?”

“i just–”he lets out a chuckle–”i had a thought i wanted to say but i didn’t know if it’s appropriate.”

“...go on and say it, beats you trying to hold that laugh in.”

“...i was gonna say that i might help anyone around me but i’m not just going to give a kidney out to anyone, y’know?”

it was your turn to laugh.

“and you’d give me a kidney?”

he shrugs.

“if you’d ever need it.”

you shift back with narrowed eyes, “my kidneys are healthy, thank you very much.”

he lures you back in with the hold he has on your cheek, “very good then because i intend to be with you for a very long time.”

the both of you pause for a second, in silence; before the laughs kick in and it feels... it feels lighter; warmer. lovelier with the look that joshua gives you, eyes filled with love and adoration of being hopelessly devoted to you. maybe it was a silly thought to begin with; something you shouldn’t have let bother you but maybe, just maybe, this was just a reminder to you that no one else makes joshua feel the way you do with just being you.

[redhairedwolfwitch]

Painted Fires Burn Brightly (3) - Andy Herrera x DeLuca!Sister!Reader - Station 19/Grey's Anatomy

A/n: wow a fic that doesn't involve women's football? i am shocked... but also I want to work on like five football fics at once so it's chaos here in my little corner.

Summary: You have inspiration for the first time since Amelia Shepherd broke your heart and threw you into a wall of artist's block. But who knows if the fire between you and Andy will burn out or become an eternal flame?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Request: hey 💓 could you write a deluca!sister x amelia fic where r is a cheeky italian which puts amelia in gay panic mode x

A/n: this diverts from canon like a curly wurly chocolate bar, also mentions a one night stand, there's no smut but it's alluded to, so, read at your own risk, and don't ask me where this happens in canon, because that will give me another headache:)

A/n: to whoever reads this, you matter.

Previously...

Opening the door, your eyes widened slightly before you smiled a little, "ciao, fiamma."

Andy Herrera stammered for a moment before smiling, "hi, are you free?"

---

"Lunch with my baby brother and angioletta of a baby sister was okay, by the way, I know you haven't met them yet."

"What does angioletta mean?" Maya enquired, leaving Andy to pause as she listened for the meaning of the Italian word.

"Little angel." Carina smiled, resting her hands on Maya's hips as she leaned in for a kiss.

---

"I'd call you some Italian name in response, but I only know fiamma, and angioletta..." Andy admitted as you let her inside, taking a sip of your drink as Andy spoke.

All it took was hearing angioletta for you to spit your drink, covering your face as Andy's eyes widened.

"Whoah, you okay?"

"Sorry, sorry! It's just, my sister calls me angioletta, fiamma." You explained, wiping your face with a piece of kitchen towel before drying where you had spat your drink.

Andy frowned as she processed what you just said, her jaw clenched as she stared at you, eyes glancing over your features.

///

"Wait, wait, your sister, your sister wouldn't happen to be Doctor Carina DeLuca, who is dating Maya Bishop, a fellow firefighter at Station 19?" Andy asked, her hands on her hips as she quirked a brow, waiting for a response.

"Well, I haven't met Maya yet, but Carina is my older sister. I'm sorry we didn't discuss it, we were a bit busy after leaving the bar, and it's not exactly pillowtalk." You admitted, pulling into yourself as Andy's eyes softened, her fire qwelling as she realised how insecure you were after everything.

"You're the youngest?" Andy toed the line onto another topic, gently stepping forwards to pry your fingers from where they were clawed into your arms.

"Yeah, after what our father did, our mother left with Andrea and myself to America, Carina stayed in Italy with him. I was little, so I barely remembered Italy. I begged and begged my mama to take me when she would go visit papa and Carina, and she did. I stayed and completed my undergrad there, got dual citizenship and came back to America for my master's degree." You explained, staring at your shoes as you spoke, tensing slightly as Andy stepped closer, her hand under your chin to coax you into looking at her.

"What your father did?" Andy gently prodded, feeling you lean into her hand as it cupped your cheek.

"Bipolar disorder. Our father was a renowned surgeon, but he operated during a manic state on seven people, four died. Our father got away with it because of his connections, but mama left him, and took me and Andrea with her, Carina stayed." You explained, glancing away as you took a breath.

"They worry about me. They thought I was developing it at one point, but I'm fine. I saw a doctor and a psychiatrist in case, because they scared me, but I don't have it. Carina worries for my brother now, but she checks up on us both." You brushed away a tear before it could parade down your cheek, mumbling apologies and swear words in Italian before Andy intervened.

"It's okay, they said you're okay, so it's okay. I'm sorry I asked so many questions, I just, I panicked, can you imagine how your sister would react to this? And Maya? She already had this shit-eating grin after I told her I had earth-shattering sex with an Italian girl, what happens when she finds out it was her girlfriend's baby sister?"

The smirk on your face was intolerable as Andy covered your mouth with her hand.

"Please tell me you didn't actually use the word 'earth-shattering' because... now I feel dirty, what if my sister found out you said that?" You grimaced, watching as Andy gently removed her hand from your mouth so you could speak.

"God, I have no idea if Maya... she overheard, your sister knows I found an Italian lover who called me fiamma." Andy realised as your eyes widened.

"Yeah, I'm not going to hear the end of this from her, especially after..." You trailed off, looking over at the canvas on the coffee table with sorrow in your eyes.

"Your last heartbreak?"

"Yeah, when Carina told me what was going on, I begged her to get rid of everything, every little piece of inspiration. I found that one behind a bedside table, and called her to get rid of it, like the others. I can't even go have lunch with my siblings at Grey Sloan because she tries to come over and talk to me. It's... ugh, I want to paint my emotions away." You replied, heading towards your studio/the spare room when Andy caught your hand, smiling as you tilted your head in question.

///

Carina didn't expect to see a voicemail from you after checking her phone. She helped a mother deliver her baby a while ago and was now going to get the resident to update the chart when her phone buzzed.

"Carina, hey, what's going on?"

"Y/n found another of the canvases that remind them of Amelia. I'm going to go see if she is okay, and remove the canvas." Carina explained as Andrew hurried over, spotting Carina grabbing her bag.

"Wait, Y/n dropped one of their paint tubes when she ran at lunch. Here. Uh, I think the cap was a bit loose." Andrew replied, flicking his fingers as the luminous green paint coated his fingertips.

Carina murmured a mix of a thank you and a swear word in Italian under her breath as Andrew passed her the metal tube of paint, holding it daintly until she could wrap it in some tissue, green paint in her bag wasn't something she wanted to clean up.

///

"This is what you've been working on?" Andy turned her head from where the two of you had been leaning in, closing the distance between the two of you.

"Uh, yeah, since you left this morning. I take my travel bundle with me when I go out too. I have some older stuff if you want to see, before she who we don't talk about by name entered my life?" You offered, heading over to the wardrobe, Andy's eyes following your figure as you began to rummage through the bottom of the wardrobe.

Holding the chosen sketchbook up with pride, your eyes widened and your cheeks heated up as you noticed how Andy was looking at you, that small smirk on her face making your stomach dance with butterflies.

///

"Before we met, I think maybe, before Maya even met Carina, my best friend from my childhood, he died. He jumped in front of a bullet for me, this kid, Milo, he didn't know the gun was real, he just wanted to play cops and roobers. I threw myself into work." Andy divulged part of her past to you one night, her fingers drawing patterns over your collarbone as your chin rested on the crown of her head, holding each other in the darkness.

///

Time had passed since you met Andy Herrera in that bar, starting a relationship. Neither of you regretted it, but the two of you were hiding from Maya and Carina.

Your brother knew. He could tell that the light in your eyes had returned, but the light was more like a fire, and your art was beginning a surplus that had you developing more than a portfolio.

When Andy found out her dad's cancer was back, she ran to you. Allowing you to gently hold her in your arms, running your fingers over her skin and listening to her recall story after story about her father, who had maybe six months to live.

"I met him, I think I met him before I met Maya actually. I was looking for Carina at your firehouse, you were all out on a call. He let me take some photos for my artwork. He was kind. Some people don't think art is a worthwhile thing... your father is amazing, fiamma."

///

"Shall I call in sick?" Andy enquired, leaning into you as your arms wrapped around her waist, pulling you closer.

"You and Sullivan still tense?" you hummed, feeling Andy bury a groan in your shoulder.

"Plus everything else? You are my saving grace, my angioletta." Andy smirked as you made a grumbling noise.

"Do you have to use my family's nickname for me when we're naked in bed together?"

///

"I talked about you in therapy today." Andy admitted when she got home from shift one day, finding you with charcoal all over your hands and slightly on your face, working on a piece of paper stretched over a board.

"Did it help?"

"You're my saving grace. Even the therapist could tell." Andy replied, pressing a kiss to your cheek before spotting the charcoal smeared on your face.

"We also talked about salsa dancing."

"I would like to see this salsa dancing of yours, y'know. I don't know how to dance but... I'm scared I'll stand on your toes." You confessed, pausing as Andy started to wipe at your face.

"How about, I show you a little after we get this charcoal off your face?"

///

"Don't you have that hike with Jack Gibson today?" You enquired, gesturing to Andy's phone as she drove you to where she wanted to meet her father for breakfast. With you. She was taking you to meet her father.

"I'll text him, if you still want to go?"

"You sure your dad will even like me?" You paused, hesitant but Andy reached over to stroke your cheek after parking the car.

"I adore you, and it's not like he can tell me not to crap where I eat this time, you only wait outside the firehouse to see me or if Carina's not answering her phone."

"Yeah I've walked in on Maya and Carina enough times to say that if Carina's not answering her phone, she's involved in someone's vagina... Maya's, or a pregnant patient..." You grimaced at what you were saying, but Andy wasn't able to hold back her laughter as the two of you walked into the cafe, not seeing how Pruitt was watching, seeing how you two were holding hands and grinning.

He didn't mention it at the time, but admitted later, the two of you looked at each other like there were stars in your eyes. Like you each hung the moon. He didn't mention though, how you two were a better match in his eyes, than Andy and Sullivan could ever be.

///

"Wait, so you're related to Carina?" Jack enquired, turning his head to acknowledge you as you hiked behind him and Andy.

"She's my big sister."

"Have you met Maya yet?" Jack asked his next question, glancing between you and Andy in thought.

"Yeah, I walked in on them, then Carina invited me and Andrew, my big brother, over for dinner with her and Maya. She's very competitive, only time my brother and I won any games was when we played an Italian one."

///

"Andy's never home. She's seeing someone, she wouldn't tell me before but I went on a hike with her and Carina's little sister earlier. Pretty sure it's her."

"I guess both Maya and Andy like Italians?" Miller replied, before his phone buzzed in sync with Jack and Vic's.

A four alarm fire turning into a five alarm.

///

"Fiamma... it's a beautiful day to save lives." You paused as Andy dropped you off on the street to walk home, away from the five alarm fire she had to attend to. Andy didn't know the reference but she nodded, love in her eyes as she headed away.

Andy didn't know the reference because you knew it from the surgical videos you watched with your brother when he was studying for his residency. He may be going into general surgery, but Derek Shepherd was almost a god in neurosurgery.

///

You didn't know what had happened at the storage unit fire until Andy was stood on your doorstep, tears running down her face.

Twenty bells were being rang that night, for a fallen firefighter. Andy's father, Pruitt Herrera had died venting a roof to save his team, to save his daughter.

///

Andy's gasp roused you from your sleep, sitting up immediately to check on her.

"Fiamma?"

"Whatever Warren gave me, it gives me crazy dreams." Andy wiped at her eyes, before shuffling into your arms, resting her head on your chest as you gently ran your fingers through her hair.

"The only thing that's okay about any of this, is that he went out his way. Dixon doesn't get to make that a bad thing." Andy whispered, closing her eyes whilst yours lingered on a box sat across the room.

The cremated remains of Pruitt Herrera.

///

"Um... Vic wants to talk to you?" Andy passed you the phone, having found you standing over a large board of stretched paper, sketching out something.

"Sure? I've met her once- hi, Vic... yes I have that skill, when do you want me? As soon as possible? Right, okay, give me half an hour." Your eyebrows were nearly in your hairline as Andy managed to muster up enough energy to raise an eyebrow at you.

"Vic needs some help with some stuff, will you be okay if I go out for a bit? There's lunch in the fridge if you're up to eating, fiamma." Kissing Andy's forehead as she nodded. You would be back as soon as you could be.

///

"What did I just walk in on?" You raised an eyebrow, walking into Station 19 to spot Travis topless, in USA flag shorts, a USA flag top hat and his firefighter boots.

"He's July. For the calendar." Vic explained, holding back a laugh as you blinked several times.

"Isn't that rather objectifying?"

"See! I told you!" Travis gestured to you, reminding him of his comment earlier about feeling like a piece of meat.

///

"Okay, hold there, then whip your hat off like you're celebrating!" You instructed Travis as you and Vic worked on photographing him hanging onto the fire pole that was located in the station.

///

You were home before Andy woke up, promising Vic you would come back later when Dixon wasn't roaming around being an asshole.

///

"What is that arm doing? Where is Baby DeLuca? She's way better at instructing poses than you are!" Travis grumbled as he and Vic tried to photograph Maya for the calendar.

///

"I'm an orphan... I'm an orphan." Andy muttered to herself, her head lulling side to side before she met your eyes, "I'm an orphan."

"You've got me." You whispered back, offering Andy your hand to take.

"Do you talk to your dad?" Andy enquired, but you hid a grimace at the idea of talking to your father.

"Only Carina does. Andrew did, but he used him to try speed-run a medical experiment thing, so our father went back to Italy angry. I don't really know him, and what I do know... your father will always be a better father than mine."

///

Your phone buzzed with a message from Vic, asking how you would describe each pose for the remaining months of the calendar. Andy's head rested on your shoulder as she slept, leaving you to type out your message with your free hand, sending Vic enough details so she could formulate a decent fundraising calendar for Pruitt.

///

"What is that? Oh my god, did you all do one?" Andy raised an eyebrow, looking at the fundraising calendar photo of Maya.

"It was all Hughes' idea!" Travis blurted out, before blurting out the rest, "Vic got Baby DeLuca to help too!"

"Baby DeLuca?" Maya raised an eyebrow, unaware of how well the firehouse knew you, whilst Andy smiled at the calendar, flicking through the pages.

///

"Where were you going stir crazy? You haven't been home lately..." Jack began, leaving Andy to sigh.

"It's complicated."

"It's usually just an address." Jack chuckled, but Andy sighed again, biting her lip.

"You've met her. We just haven't told Maya... or my girlfriend's older sister, who Maya happens to be dating, that we're dating. I've been staying at her's, she's my saving grace." Andy confessed, not meeting Jack's eyes but he was smiling, glad it was you, and not the other choice he had heard whispers about. Andy had not married her battalion chief after dating him for about a month.

///

"Hey, cariño. Can you- can i get your opinion on this? I think there's something weird here, with my family after my mum died." Andy asked, finding you in the kitchen trying to sort out the homemade pasta that Carina had made for you and brought over whilst Andy was in the shower.

"I don't know what I'm looking at... fiamma, why does your mama look so sad in this picture?" You watched what you were saying, before passing the photo you found to Andy, who frowned at how miserable her mother looked, in a family photo.

"Where are you going?" You enquired, but Andy hurriedly kissed your cheek and ran out, grabbing her keys as she shouted, "I need to check something at the firehouse!"

///

Andy updated you with texts after that, you could tell she was mad, but then your older siblings turned up at your door. Andrew was struggling with his bipolar disorder and adjusting to his meds, and Carina didn't admit it at first, but Maya had cheated on her with Jack.

Andy's texts to you went unread as you left your phone on the coffee table, sitting in the middle of the couch with your older siblings leaning into you, taking the comfort that you gave. You didn't realise the parallels this hug gave at the time, but an old photo of a little you being hugged by a young Andrew and a young Carina became your favourite photo of you and your siblings as time went on.

"What do you want to watch?" You enquired as your brother laid on your couch, but you received no answer as he was fast asleep.

"Wow, okay... movie with headphones it is." You murmured to yourself, picking up your phone as it lit up with a message from Andy.

Fiamma: my mami is alive

///

[thewolvesof1998]

Last Line Tag/Inspiration Saturday

Tagged by the lovely @jesuisici33 @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @fortheloveofbuddie @rainbow-nerdss @spotsandsocks @wikiangela @forthewolves @giddyupbuck

Okay so I did say yesterday that this WIP was going to stay as notes but I couldn't help myself so here's the inspiration:

and the Last Line...paragraph...s:

“And why do I have the displeasure of you darkening my doorstep, Buckley?” The man in question gives him a roguish smile and leans against the bar in a move that is purposely meant to highlight his bulging biceps, Eddie does not look at them, “Well the boss is here to see the old lady and I thought you could use some company.” Eddie could spy Athena and Nash held up in one of the inn’s darker corners and sure enough there seemed to be more than business going on between them. He looks away, he wasn’t being paid to be nosey, he’s paid to man the bar and be some muscle if any of the patrons get a little too rowdy.  And if Athena wanted to be in bed with as well as in business with the kind of man Bobby Nash is, it wasn’t any of his business. Expect for the six-foot-two problem in front of him, who just couldn’t seem to take a hint. Buckley is trouble, Eddie can see it from a mile away and trouble is the last thing he needs right now.  “Dad!” A high-pitched voice calls and Eddie turns to look at his son as he pokes his head out the back room. Panic fills him, he does not want any of the patrons to know that his son is here, while he’s incredibly grateful to Athena for allowing Chris to be here while he works, the people who frequent this place are questionable at best and at worst Mr Nash and his crew and their less than legally sourced goods. He might not be his business but it doesn’t mean he isn’t aware of the goings-on. One might leave the Navy but its teachings never truly leave you and Eddie can tell a pirate from a mile away. But it’s not his business and he really needs this job so he keeps his head down and Chris as separate from it as he possibly can.  Eddie crouches down in front of him, blocking him from view as much as possible, “Chris, what did I say? Stay out-” “-Back, I know, but I’m hungry,” The young boy whines and Eddie can’t be angry when those coco-coloured eyes gaze up at him.  “Here,” Bucklet leans over the bar, holding out a big orange to Chris.  Chris’s eyes are almost as big as the orange as he stares at it, his hands reactively reach for it before he turns to Eddie, “Can I Dad?” He asks, obviously remembering the rule about not accepting things from strangers.  Eddie looks at Buck, trying to read the man's intentions, all of the possible reasoning racing through his head must show on his face because Buckley raises his other hand, “No strings,” He says. Eddie nods and Chris stretches the last few inches as takes the orange, it looks comically big in his son's tiny hands, “Thanks, mister.” “Buck, it’s what my friends call me.” “Thanks, Buck!” Chris says Eddie ruffles Chris’s hair, “Okay buddy, head out back, I’ll be in there shortly.” Chris nods before turning around, one hand gripping on doorframe as he slowly and carefully retreats.  Eddie watches him go, the underlying worry he always feels about his son and the illness that affects his movements making him briefly forget the audience he has.  “He’s super adorable,” Buckley says, Eddie whips his head around to look at him, “I, uh, I love kids,” He rambles, one hand scratching at his neck, a flush on his cheeks as pink as the mark on above his eyebrow and corner of his eye.  As far as Eddie can tell, Buckley is being sincere, “I love this one,” He says standing, “I’m all he’s got. His mother’s…not in the picture.” He doesn’t know why he says it, why he’s being the most honest he’s been in a while with a man he has every reason not to trust. “Buck, we’re going,” Nash calls from the door.  “Be right there Cap,” Buck nods farewell to Eddie, “Until next time Diaz.” He walks over to his captain, shooting a wink over his shoulder at Eddie before he steps out the door and into the night. Eddie sighs, definitely nothing but trouble. 

tagging: @wildlife4life ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @try-set-me-on-fire @bekkachaos @buddierights @911-on-abc @shitouttabuck @911onabc @eddiediaztho @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @sammy-souffle @smilingbuckley

[hobiebrownismygod]

So on one of my recent posts about Hobie, I got this comment from @unnecessary-account and I thought it was really interesting.

Miles has a connection with the Prowler

That's already been established (Prowler Miles)

We know that Uncle Aaron was the Prowler and he was a 'bad guy' and all that. We know that the Prowler in ITSV was supposed to be a bad guy, with his scary theme, the fact that he worked for Kingpin, and the fact that he was trying to kill Miles until he found out who was under the mask.

But the Hobie Brown Prowler is different.

Hobie Brown was a really smart kid who grew up in a really crappy family. His father left when he was a baby and his mom was an alcoholic. He had 9 siblings and all of them were basically forced to raise themselves.

In order to support himself, he became a window-cleaner who used his intellect to build gadgets to make his job easier. When he was eventually fired, he turned to a life of crime, where he would steal money from the Daily Bugle.

But after a confrontation with Spider-man, he realizes this life of crime sucks and he actually becomes an anti-hero. Spider-man even comes to him for help every once in a while and Hobie joins the Silver Sable group, a group of anti-hero mercenaries that includes Sandman.

"The Prowler gives me control over my own life-- and power. Power I can use to protect the helpless."

The Prowler Issue #1

The Prowler gives Hobie power over himself and his identity

It gives him control over his own life and his own future

Now lets connect this to Spiderman Hobie

Hobie advocates for freedom and free speech. He would want people to have control over themselves and their future. He actively fights against a fascist dictatorship in order to provide human rights for all the citizens of London

Being Spider-man means having the freedom to do these things

Having that mask on means being the voice of the people

That's what being Spider-man is to Spiderman Hobie

Now lets connect this to Miles

The first thought Miles has when he sees Hobie is "Damn. He's way cooler than me."

He's jealous of Hobie, not just cuz he's close with Gwen, but because he's an older boy who knows what he wants, does what he wants, and doesn't have to worry about other people's perceptions of him.

He's the definition of cool

Miles in the meanwhile is struggling to balance his classes, struggling to keep his identity a secret and feeling completely alone in his world

He's struggling with anxiety, panic attacks, maybe even a little bit of depression from what we saw in The Spider Within

He's struggling with the meaning of Spider-man

He's working so hard to protect his city, help the helpless, to fill those shoes that the original Peter Parker left behind. Hobie Brown's Prowler does the same thing, where he takes inspiration from Spider-man to fuel himself and his goals

Miles doesn't have control over his own life. At the end of ATSV, he doesn't even have control over his own future or his own fate.

Hobie Brown wanted control and power. Hobie Brown became the Prowler to have control and power.

Miles Morales wants control and power. Miles is fighting against his canon event because he needs that control over his future and he needs that power in his life.

Because both Spider-man and the Prowler are good people that have been put in tough situations.

And both of them want control over their own lives

Miles and the Hobie Brown Prowler share that connection. Spider-man in general shares that connection with the Prowler. I think that's pretty cool.

This analysis was kinda all over the place, mb 😭

if something doesn't make sense I'm happy to explain it though

Sources under the cut:

[elekinetic]

user elekinetic do you have any tips to spare for outlining fics 😭 i feel like I word vomit any of the concept that I have in my head, and dialogue ,and build off that adding paragraphs as I go and I go so slow bc of it. But ive been trying hard lately to write a list of “scenes” and bullet point the story but yeah.

do you know anything that could help me have an idea of where to go start to finish instead of starting at the random spot I’ve come up with first? I waste so much writing time because I haven’t built a backstory for characters and things like that so i don’t always know how they start the story off, only the situation they’re in. Is that something that could help? Making a list for each character or something? Would love to hear your thoughts thank you! <3

hi! first of all i’m so flattered you asked! to be clear, i am a very slow writer too lmao and i’m relatively new to prose writing, and though in very confident in my understanding of what makes a good story (W screenwriting), i am still figuring out my outlining process. but hey! let’s learn together.

sorry in advance for how long this is. i love talking.

so i basically figure everything out in the outline and write after i feel very good about it. if you have a strong foundation, everything gets a hell of a lot easier. t kind of sounds like your process might be similar to mine, so i’m just gonna explain what i'm doing for my current project.

my key document is my “bible.” i split it up into a couple different sections using page breaks (page breaks my best friend ily page breaks):

pitch/word vomit summary

scene ideas

outline

notes

ok so wtf does that mean.

1. pitch/word vomit summary — explain your concept. bc i've got a film/tv background, im starting off with my logline. (e.g. "after robin learns will is gay, they have a heart to heart in an abandoned video store about insecurity and feeling alone. they learn they're not." sometimes i'll follow that up with a note to myself like, "this fic isn't robin finding out, this is what happens after. starts with her already knowing. will pov, focus on his perception of robin changing. subtly reference toward feelings about mike, dont come out (haha) and say it") then, i write as MUCH of the concept down as i can, like i'm explaining it to a friend. (sometimes i copy and paste rants from dms directly into the document). it can be totally out of order, non-sensical, contradictory. just get as many of your ideas down as possible. you want to be able to come back to this and be like, oh i totally forgot about that. vague chapter summaries, personal notes about themes, whatever you want. i have a list of beats that you find in romantic dramas for inspiration and a paragraph abt ways i want to parallel/subvert s3 of st. just. go ham. 2. scene ideas — this is pretty self explanatory. i take some of the stuff i have in the p/s and flesh it out, or put down new ideas. this is where i'm writing out dialogue in bullet points, or what i want them to be Really Saying. (e.g. "mike: [panics bc he feels seen, tries to flip it back on (redacted) and fails] ") this is for when i can see stuff more clearly or i get out of the shower with a whole exchange in my head. gonna be out of order, a little all over the place. 3. outline — so. this is where you start piecing it together. put the bullet points in order. figure out objective of each scene and what needs to happen to accomplish that goal. figure out pacing, what needs to happen when. this step is where im looking at dialogue and thinking "why does mike say that? why does he feel that way? what needs to happen to get him to this point emotionally?" or looking at scenes and thinking "these are two scenes with people arguing back to back. lets make sure they feel different and give the characters different tactics to get what they want (byler argument where mike is avoiding will vs max argument where max is avoiding lucas. i could use this to highlight similarities and differences in the relationships, but having two scenes with the same tactics back to back might feel repetitive. maybe i move the scenes farther apart or change circumstances. maybe mike and will are having a veiled argument while theyre with a group of friends in a public space and max and lucas' argument is outside max's house.) also asking if conflicts are resolved too quickly, if the miscommunications feel too convenient, if characters disappear or are only around as plot devices. write. troubleshoot. repeat. 4. random notes — everything else that doesnt fit. for me this is literally just taylor swift lyrics (writing the fic vaguely off of a Specific Song that SHOULD BE STREAMED MORE WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE anyway) and links to posts i use as character reference to make sure im staying true to the characters. (remembering will said "i was being a total jerk to el, i deserved it," AND "you're ruining everything, and for what!"/"i wasn't moping!")

i want it to be clear im doing all of this at the same time. im jumping around and pulling new ideas and rearranging as stuff changes. i think the thing that's really hard is that i want to be able to sit down, write the outline, and then move on. but for us scatterbrained writers, you're gonna have to re-outline and readjust like. a thousand times. and that's okay. that's good! it feels tedious as hell but the story is so much better for it.

take your time. let yourself be slow. keep finding holes in your story and fill the world in as you fix them.

here are some more questions i ask myself to make the story better:

What are you trying to accomplish over the course of the story? What is it about? (for the will&robin fic, it was something about feeling seen for the first time.) When you get lost in your story or aren't sure why a scene feels stale, come back to this. is the scene furthering that goal?

What is changing internally for each of your main characters? (yes theyre dating by the end but like. what do they learn.)

Are the side characters people or props? (will pov scene of a party-wide picnic where everyone's talking but will is focused on mike's hands.... where is max's head at in the scene? you don't have to have a super long backstory and she doesn't have to be a big part of the plot, but if she's saying something, figure out why she's saying it. if will is having a heart to heart with el, understand why el is responding the way she is. the scene's goal may be to get will through a breakthrough, but el's circumstances will change in the scene too. figure out how this conversation lands with her. oh, and remember the adults are people too!)

Why is this character saying this/why are they responding this way? (this should answer your "where do i start?" question. start in that random spot and figure out A) why they are there and B) why they are reacting the way they do (see last bullet point).

side note: some of the best advice i ever got was "enter the scene late, exit early." skip the prologue. try starting from that random spot. if it feels like something's missing, figure out exactly what that something is, and go from there

Do the stakes feel high enough?

What do i need to set up to make sure this scene/beat is satisfying as possible? (are will and mike going to have a big argument? oh, so we have to show tension before.... BAM you have another scene to write and your outline is fuller)

i could go on a lot longer but. basically.

i edit while i write. i'm someone who needs a very fucking strong outline and a very fucking clear idea of the story before i can start writing it. i'm putting probably 70-80% of the leg work in at the start so i can focus on making the prose (or script, most of the time) the best it can be.

THAT BEING SAID, this is just the way i do it and i have like. a fic and a half published. im taking my sweet time bc im creatively burned out and this is for fun first and foremost. like i said. i am a Very Slow Writer.

i highly, highly recommend hitting up the ask boxes of writers like @/strangeswift, @/wiseatom, @/astrobei, or @/andiwriteordie. no guarantees on responses bc they are busy ppl with busy lives but i really do think theyre some of the best writers out here right now, and im not just saying that bc they're my friends. abby (strangeswift) and i have been each other's sounding board through a lot of projects and she's almost done with one of her first Big Fics, so its worth asking her about that.

i hope this helps! ah!!

[this-is-moony-lovegood]

Wip Wednesday

So, I’ve been working on Eddie’s POV of my previous fic: Cool. Here’s a little snippet for you. Maybe it’ll be finished sometime this weekend? Although another wip has taken a hold of my brain today (Celebrity!Buddie fake dating AU). So I’ll be shuffling through them both when inspiration strikes.

...

“I still can’t believe that really happened to you. It’s so freaking cool.” He’d frozen immediately, dropping his fork and letting it crash on his nearly empty dinner plate. Now, he swears all of their eyes are focused on him, as the silence in the room rings in his ears. He can’t really tell though because his gaze is locked on Natalia, trying to process if he heard her right.

“Did you just... did you just call Buck’s death... cool?” He says, but he thinks it comes out more like a whisper than anything. He feels buzzing underneath is skin, tiny jolts crawling up his arms. If he listens close he can almost hear the electricity crackling in the air… the signs that a lightning storm is brewing. It’s all too familiar… and yet, even though he’s in Buck’s kitchen, with late afternoon light shining through his nearly floor to ceiling windows, he can’t swallow the notion that it’s about to rain.

When Natalia goes to speak again, the buzzing intensifies, as does his heart rate. With each word - each dismissal of a horrific life event - the room starts to darken, and he’s finding it harder to breathe. Each breathe shallower than the last. “It’s just… the experience. It’s like no other. How many people get to say they’ve died and live to tell the tale? It’s fascinating-”

Eddie raises his hand, effectively cutting off her explanation. He chokes out, “Excuse me, I… I just need a minute.” He rises to get out of his chair, and Chris instantly grabs his dad’s hand, squeezing it quickly. “I’m fine, buddy.” He lies. He knows that if Chris grabbed a little higher on his wrist, he’d be able to feel Eddie’s blood rushing in his veins. But even amongst the growing panic - yes, Eddie know this time that’s what it is - he tells his son, “I’ll be back.”

He forces a smile as he pushes his chair in, and quickly makes his exit to the balcony. He just needs a minute - maybe a few - to let the panic start to settle. But his knees are weak, and he practically falls onto the railing of the balcony before he adjusts to lean on his elbows. The only thing separating him and the kitchen right now is a wall of windows, meaning he can feel their eyes on him from inside the loft.

He hangs his head and squeezes his eyes shut. But when he does all he sees is that dark night - the bolt of lightning sparking up the sky. He forces his eyes open, trying to ground himself in the present. He’s not back there. He’s on Buck’s balcony. The suns out, not drop of rain, not a cloud in the sky. But, god, his heart races like there is. 

Frank’s voice echoes in his ears telling him to breathe, so he tries. He makes himself take deep breaths. Breathe in for five seconds. Hold for five seconds. Breathe out for five seconds. Repeat. His mind is still scrambling. Even with his eyes open this time, he’s getting flashes all around him. A road he’s breaking every driving law on, the fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room, the carpet of Chris’s bedroom that he’s sitting on as he fights himself to just get the words out and let Chris know what happened, Buck’s chest beneath his hands while he uses all the strength he has left to try and restart his heart…

You’re not back there, Eddie. Buck is here with you. Buck is alive. Everything is going to be okay. He tells himself over and over again, trying to drown out his own voice ringing in his ears as he screams Buck’s name over and over again. He places two fingers over the pulse point on his left wrist feeling the intense rush of his heart beat reflected there. He breathes deeply again, repeating Frank’s exercise, trying to get the rhythm to match his breathing. Buck is alive. Buck is alive. Buck is alive.

He’s quickly reminded of that when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Instead of turning him, the hand just shifts to start rubbing soothing circles on his back. He doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. He’d felt that same hand on his back the last time Buck had caught him in the middle of panic attack - on the floor of his bedroom, clutching a baseball bat. Is it bad that this is what starts to calm him? The moment Buck is in the room - well, the balcony - is when the clouds start to clear, the rain lets up, and the buzzing begins to fade.

[sdvbraindump]

Soooo... before I started Meteorite, I had another fanfic called Head Over Heels that I was working on. It was more canon to the Stardew Valley game with minor changes (I actually made Clint likable and less creepy haha). I call this fic more suitable for Wattpad because of how fluffy it gets.

Meteorite started as an idea off of Head Over Heels when I thought of it as what if the farmer and Shane knew each other but it didn't make sense to the story. So here we are!

Inspired by @maylilithreign tag earlier I want to share some of that story. Below is an excerpt from that fic (1285 words). Head Over Heels is set in a different AU than Meteorite with completely different characters.

This scene takes place after Shane visits the farmer Laney after his 6-heart event when he says he's going to see a therapist. Laney invites Shane for coffee and they talk.

I'll come back to this one day. It's also a long fic but Meteorite is really fun for me now. Once that's complete I'll probably go back and finish this. And yes there's also angst and smut in it too.

CW: panic attacks, anxiety, discussion of mental health

The two sat together on Laney’s porch, looking out over the farm, as they spoke. Shane did his best to make small talk as he asked her how the farm was. In reality, he was feeling anxious. He listened as she spoke while the feeling of dread was taken over his mind. But at the same time, he was also enjoying her company. He smiled a little as he listened to Laney’s progress with her coop and chickens.

“They seem to be happy,” she said, looking into her mug. “I was able to pick up one yesterday. They used to run from me.”

“It sounds like you’re doing well with the chickens,” Shane said before taking a sip. “If you keep this up they should be able to give you large eggs soon.”

“Well thank you for the tips. I know I can look it up online or read from a book. But think it’s better to get this info directly from an expert.”

“I’m not an expert. I learned from trial and error as well as research.”

“Yes, but you still need to be able to do everything right. Marnie says you’re the Chicken Whisperer.”

“Buh,” he said. “It’s easier to deal with chickens than people at times.” He stared out into the farm. “They don’t judge or make things difficult.” Shane looked down on the ground. “You must think I’m weird to think like that.”

“No, I get it. It’s like crops in a way.”

Shane continued to look at the ground. “You must think I’m pathetic after you found me in the woods.” He quietly said. “I’m nothing compared to you and what you got here.”

Laney shook her head in his direction, even though he didn’t see. “I don’t think anything like that at all.”

He ignored her comment. “You know, the name 'Shane' means 'Gift from Yoba.’ What a joke.” He snorted and finished the rest of his coffee in one gulp. “Sorry for dumping on you. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Laney slowly placed her mug on the step below her and stared out into the field. She took a deep breath before she spoke. “A month before I moved here, I had a severe panic attack at work. It was so bad that I had to go to the ER. I’ve had minor anxiety attacks in the past but this was my first full-blown panic attack. It was like I couldn’t breathe and my heart wouldn’t stop racing.”

Shane looked over at Laney when she said panic attack. She didn’t turn to him as she continued.

“And to be honest with you, I don’t even know what brought it on. Maybe I was overthinking something for work or stressing about my life. I don’t remember what happened. It’s like I blacked out.” She sighed to herself. “How pathetic does that sound?”

“That’s not pathetic at all,” he insisted.

She put her head to the ground as she continued. “I’ve had anxiety since I was in middle school, and it’s increased as I got older. Luckily I had my older brother to help me deal with it when we were in school, but I can’t continue to rely on him to be there for me as an adult. He has his own life to deal with. A little after my panic attack, my dad got an offer from Joja to buy this land but he refused since my grandfather left the property to me and my brother. So we decided that I should move here for a year to see if we should keep this farm. Kind of like I ran away from my problems in the city.”

Laney kept her attention on the ground. “I don’t know exactly the pain you’re dealing with Shane, and to be honest I don’t think I ever will. I bet you think I’m some overly confident person who has everything figured out. It’s all an act. I know what it feels like to be in a hole so deep and dark that you feel you’ll never get out of it. You feel that the darkness surrounding you is so much that even if you take one step forward to get yourself out you’d fall 5 steps behind. You feel like no matter what happens it’s going to end up bad so you don’t want to try.”

Shane looked at her, taken back at her statement. “You remember our talk that night?”

Laney nodded before continuing. “But since I came here I’ve seen a little bit of light coming through that darkness. And I like to think that every day I’m here the light gets bigger and stronger. Still have a long way to go but know I will get there someday. And maybe one day I won’t need to fake it.”

She turned her attention to him. “I know it is easier said than done, but I know you can pull yourself out of that abyss.”

He snorted. “Nice to see you have such high hopes for me.”

“And why shouldn’t I?”

He hesitated. “Do you really think I can do it?”

Laney stared right at him, her violet eyes sparkling. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t have asked me to take you to the hospital. You would have told me to leave you.”

Shane’s eyes grew big. “Maybe I was just too drunk.”

She shook her head. “You need to give yourself more credit.” She leaned closer. “Shane, I know you have the strength to do it. Marnie and Jas do as well. And I know you don’t think of me as a friend, but I believe in you.”

Shane felt something inside him as she said that. He didn’t know if it was surprise or relief, but it was the first time in a while that he felt that someone wasn’t judging him. She sounded like she was genuinely understanding. The look in her eyes wasn’t pity or disgust but encouragement.  He leaned over, not taking his eyes off her.

Laney felt herself getting nervous as she was close enough to get a good look at him. She saw that his eyes were actually green instead of the dark brown she always assumed. He looked calm as he stared at her. He’s actually kind of cute despite everything, she thought as she studied his face.

The two didn’t say anything as they stared at each other. Shane leaned closer to her until they were interrupted by a ringtone.

“Oh!” Laney leaned back and immediately stood up. She turned away from him to hide her blushing face. “I forgot, I have a call this morning!”

Shane also turned away from her and covered his face with his fist to hide he was also blushing. “You should take it. I need to head out anyway.” He quickly stood up and put his mug on the porch step, still covering his face. 

“Are you sure? You can stay! It shouldn’t take that long.”

“No it’s fine!” Shane started walking away from the house. “I’ll see you around.” He didn’t turn around as he waved goodbye, still covering his face.

Laney watched him walk away, feeling guilty all of a sudden. Her thoughts were interrupted again by her ringtone and she reluctantly pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She answered the call while she did her best to calm down.

Shane rushed to the bus stop once he was off the farm. He tried to calm himself down but Laney’s words kept replaying in his head. He put his hands to face as he tried to compose himself. 

“Did I really just try to kiss her?” Shane asked out loud to no one. 

[the-firebird69]

Panic! At The Disco - High Hopes (Official Video)

This is what my husband grew up on was high hopes. Play Tommy F people like Tommy F live to ruin his hopes and they put him at dead end jobs and they're taking potshots at him the whole time wrecking his day annoying him turns around and he says you did the job like I needed you to what do you want me to do make $1,000,000 a year and be happy not book the system so the next one that too is in what I say is that they're directly challenging us and you people don't think we're anything. You are a lazy ignorant idiot who cannot build anything. Roof is coming out. Highly capable of maintaining buildings to minimum level for minimal use. Disgusting but true. So Tommy F here is thinking about my mama it's mostly about me believe it or not especially about him and his mom who did the best you could for him and inspired him solely because they were losing power and they were to be hunted down and killed she did a great job and was a good mom for him and I might have had a use for it and she was a very strong woman compared to most of you morlock. And was his mother taught him things and someone's acting like her or she might have done out and she's in a video as pink and she's coming out and her knife and stuff and that's what Tommy F says she taught him and it was quick stuff he says and picked it up pretty good and defended myself a lot and she was a good mother and I'm singing about him and me cause I was upset I thought they left me and they were taken from me by these max and he says he thinks the song is about the symbol if I know what it means and he knows what it means. It's only album cover and the album has a specific name and it doesn't mean what he's saying and it does just not the particular location and it wasn't supposed to turn into the symbol and it's not supposed to be a message send back to his that when you install the safety is it begins to work we are not really supposed to do that looks like we go ahead and do it anyways and I have to explain what it means I should never do this kind of thing again there's a massive heartbreak and it says that his mother and father inspired him and sometimes calls her mama it's a joke and I think he's talking about her in the song through me and says things about what was happening in the same at these particular points we've decided to do stuff and they talked about it before he says right before I'm climbing I do say something and right at the point of the other interval it's another item and they're very pertinent it will make you think. They're not giving this guy a chance his legacy wasn't that great until the symbol for some reason people were not signing on until they heard about it so I went out of this being the guy to blame I was talking about on Earth and he says it's not exactly the right shape for Earth so I get that let's start to complain again and I have to reference the album does it mean something else to us

tommy f

Olympus

Hard to get out of aren't they these things that you keep putting my husband in we're not doing it on purpose it's your stupid symbol but isn't it a nuisance with your idiots you and your **** are in around doing it on purpose saying all sorts of stuff looking what catches we don't feel bad for you you're a **** **** I didn't like you he did not like you you're tolerated a little dave too your pigs but boy do you have a stupid attitude for kind of trouble you're in new people are gonna die people are gunning for you for this stupid symbol. And literally you ran around every day like hopeless hopeless addicts and mental patients with your blithering blitter **** it's so damned annoying we don't need it at all who the hell would say we need it you just sit there and quiet instead of listening to your **** **** all day long you and your space cadets and boy you're getting messed up that's for damn sure

Hera 

You have this SOP that kicks in when idiots are tripping and having noises made and having conversations made and at this level there it's different and what you're going through are changes that you don't see and you're attracting enemies and for some reason you feel better and a big setup is occurring and you're going yea the whole time when it should be the other way around and really it's disgusting what you people look like are complete animals and **** and enemies you have no idea that it's getting worse and worse every day and your **** is more rancid than trumps by the way but his is rancid I mean you people act like 5 year old children. What you do is you take the video and I have people that do this and some of you guys do it and you have the video say out loud what you're doing after you interpret the code and it makes it sick I can think extremely fast and I can see your stupid crap and interpret it real quick and you see here seeing you're threatening me with it why I say it's things are happening to you behind the scenes and get your fat **** off me and Tommy F you had plenty of time to say stuff now you can and Tommy F you had plenty of time to say stuff now you can answer questions about your album cover and ****. Good luck you're gonna need it.

Zues Hera

Olymmpuos

[donnerpartyofone]

WHOOPS I may have been spotted wearing my favorite goofy little devil hat around the neighborhood by one of my fellow parishioners from Mary Star of the Sea. It was only a matter of time before someone found out I'm a demon!

But I still think I should get points for coming to church regularly on weekday mornings, researching the things I hear, and independently learning all the steps and lyrics that everybody else was taught in childhood. I mean I don't know what I would say to these people if they hit me with the sodium pentathol, about what I'm doing there. It's hard to describe. I can at least say that I'm not being ironic.

But I'm also definitely not doing what everybody else is doing there. I started going because it's a way to connect with the neighborhood. I started going because Star of the Sea fascinates me and the only way to see the inside was by going to mass. I started going because I saw the procession of the sword-pierced Dolorosa and it blew my mind. I started going because I was plunging down an increasingly freaky rabbit hole regarding the theory that certain types of Marian iconography are coded with ancient vestiges of pre-christian goddesses like Isis and Hecate. I kept going because it's so beautiful inside, and because of the people who I would never meet otherwise who all have such unique energies, and because I always hear something interesting.

I still think about when the monsignor said the commandment against murder is not just about killing, it's about being aware of the conditions that lead to violence, such as material deprivation, family dysfunction, neglected mental illness, and bigotry. I love it when the priests speak out about how scripture is misinterpreted to inspire antisemitism, which is wrong. I love it when they compare the descriptions of God's generative powers to the principles of alchemy. I love the weird little coincidences, like when I saw the shadow of a bird fluttering for several seconds behind the dove in the Annunciation window.

But of course, I believe things I wouldn't want to bother anybody about. I don't believe Jesus has a monopoly on divinity. I believe some forms of Satanism offer great inspiration for extreme personal responsibility for your own circumstances and the consequences of your actions. I believe in total reproductive autonomy for each person. I believe every person should have access to assisted euthanasia if they cannot maintain a reasonable quality of life, physical or mental. I am profoundly suspicious of the Church as an authoritative entity.

But nobody has to know this stuff. I take religion seriously as a general principle. I'm interested in the way people create meaning for themselves. I have been severely anhedonic my whole life and I don't create meaning very naturally. I have to look for it, to train myself to do it. One way to find it is by experimenting with allegorical mirrors and symbols, the languages of abstract or numinous experience. I don't even have to be literally or dogmatically attached to what I'm doing, I just have to participate and observe what comes of it. Maybe it's like coding, or something. I know I am privileged to enjoy these experiments because nobody used religion to abuse me when I was young, at least nobody but society at large. The Satanic Panic remains fresh in my mind.

This morning I stayed after mass with the ladies and said the rosary. I've never done it before but I studied to get ready. Nobody wanted to speak by themselves, surprisingly, so me and this probably 80 year old woman took turns leading the decades. It was fun. I like the ritualized chanting, it has an invigorating effect, and so does participating in something so old that has been imbued with meaning through repeated collective thought and action. Egotistically, it's interesting to hear my own voice echo in the church, repeating these stylized phrases. I'm sure I'll do it again.

[writing-reaper]

Bad Batch Reacts…

To Accidental Nudes (more or less)

Warnings: nudity, 18+, suggestive, embarrassment and insecurity

Just an idea I’ve had floating around inspired by a few stories both within this fandom, outside of this fandom, and personal stories. Enjoy!

Description: You weren’t feeling too confident, so you took a couple nudes. While going to send them to a friend (a ritual the two of you had done since your teens) you accidentally send it to one of the Batch.

Crosshair

Crosshair was never on his datapad often.

He only really used it to read whenever he had a moment to himself. When he wasn’t cleaning his rifle, he was reading.

Then he received a message from you(?), of all people.

He was confused as to why you’d be messaging him when your barracks weren’t too far away.

Perhaps it was an emergency?

“What does she want— …”

“These we’re not for me.”

He smirks, looking over the images.

You were in this tiny little black number that barely covered your nipples and outlined the shape of your ass.

There was a side profile and one completely behind with you looking over your shoulder.

He hears the sound of frantic running, Hunter noticing first looking confused as you suddenly enter the room looking panicked.

“Is everything alright?” Echo asks, taking note of the panic in your eyes.

“Yeah, no I’m alright. I’m just losing my mind today. I was just going to ask you guys something but I can’t remember! Bye!” You answered way to quickly before leaving the room, eyes widening even more when you saw Crosshair had his holopad.

Crosshair gets up only a few seconds later to follow you.

“Where are you going?”

“T’ See if I can help jog her memory.”

He walks for a bit before he sees you coming back his way with your head down.

Crosshair leans against the wall, holding up his datapad as you get closer and shakes it.

“I don’t think these were meant for me.” He states, watching as your face darkens with embarrassment.

“N-no they were not. I’m sorry it was an accident—”

“Who were they for? If this really was an accident that would mean you had to have meant to send them to someone else.”

“Just a friend of mine. It’s a tradition we made to hype each other up when we aren’t feeling to great about ourselves.” You explain, earning a nod from Crosshair.

“You… you look good. You shouldn’t think otherwise.”

“You’re just saying that because now you’ve seen me practically naked.” You answer back, avoiding eye contact with a defensive stance Crosshair had never seen before.

“I think you look beautiful all the time.”

Your defensive stance drops slightly as a small smile takes over your lips.

“And if you ever feel this way again and need a photographer. I’ve been told I’m a good shot.” He says with a wink.

He chuckles as you light up like a life day tree and wack his arm.

“If you need some more praise, cyare, I’d be more than happy to give you some.”

Wrecker

Wrecker doesn’t really use his datapad, his fingers are too big to click the small buttons.

So it’s a surprise when you send him a message.

It takes him a minute to open it, having a hard time clicking on the notifications, clicking others accidentally.

When he does finally get to opening it, he quickly turns it off.

Why were you naked?! Why did you send this to him?! Did you do this on purpose?

He looks over to where you were sitting and saw your eyes widen at the realization that you had sent those to him.

He clears his throat, catching your attention.

You look flustered as you walk over.

“You didn’t open that, did you?” You ask, barely making any eye contact with him.

“I only scrolled down a little and then turned it off when I realized…”

Crosshair looks over at the two of you, whatever this weird conversation was was annoying him.

“What did you do now Wrecker?”

“I didn’t do anything! They sent the pictures!” Wrecker denies fault.

“Wrecker!” You shout in embarrassment.

“What did they send you?”

“Wrecker, don’t you dare.”

“You sent him nudes didn’t you?”

“Wrecker.” You growl before watching his head shake yes. “Wrecker!”

“What! You did!” You snatch the datapad out of his hand. “Hey!”

“You know Tech can see everything you send Wrecker too?” Crosshair asks with a snicker, watching as you dash off and snatch Tech’s datapad too.

“(Y/n)—” Tech begins, before pausing as you interrupt him, practically shaking.

“Tech I am not in the mood! You’ll get this back in a moment!” You announce before storming away and locking yourself in the refresher.

“I don’t know why they’re so upset, they looked nice.”

Tech

When you hit that send button, your heart dropped at the realization you had sent it to Tech.

Flustered and hoping to get there before he opened it, you dash to the cockpit.

“Hey uh Tech?”

“Yes?” He answers, “do not worry, I received your message.”

“Actually, about that. Can I use your datapad real quick, mines not working?” You ask, trying not to stumble over your words.

“Well you sent the image just fine, why would you need—” Tech opened the message and his heartbeat sped up rapidly as his flush went up to the tips of his ears. “This was not meant for me.”

“M-m.” You answers, just as flustered as he was.

“And, uh… what is the purpose of these photos?” He asks, not able to tear his eyes away from your pictures.

“I-I wasn’t feeling myself this morning… my friend usually helps me feel better and we send each other pictures all the time.” You answer. “I-it’s not meant to be sexual just… support for when I feel insecure.”

“Well… you look.” Tech clears his throat, finally looking up at you. “You look lovely, a-as always.”

“Thanks.” You answer with a tight, wide smile.

“I’m going to assume you want me to delete these.” He states.

“You can keep them.” You say before your eyes widen at your own words. “A-as long as you don’t show anyone else.”

“Are you… are you still feeling insecure?”

“A little.”

“Well then. Perhaps I could share with you my own support.”

Hunter

It was late, so he was pretty annoyed when he received a message on his datapad.

His eyes slowly adjust to the brightness of the device enough to see it was a message from you.

He opens the device and covers his eyes before looking at the screen once more.

His eyes take over the image.

These were definitely not the reports he had asked for.

“Sorry wrong photos.”

When they returned to Kamino the next day, the two of you could barely look at each other.

Finally, you approach him and give him a small smile.

“You looked nice.” He says before clearing his throat. “I-I mean you look nice, a-as always.”

“Smooth.” Crosshair scoffs before walking off.

“I am sorry for sending you those. I-I hope this did not ruin anything. I promise it was an accident.”

“I didn’t think they were for me. I’m uh… I’m glad you found someone else.”

“What?” You question, looking confused.

“A boyfriend or girlfriend, they’re lucky, whoever they are.”

“They weren’t for a partner, Hunter. I’m still single.” You correct. “I just take those photos for myself.”

“You what?”

“I-I wasn’t feeling myself that day so I took a few pictures and then you asked me for the report, I-I guess I clicked the wrong images.”

“Oh. Well. I think you’re very lovely.”

“Thanks.”

Echo

He almost didn’t realize you had sent him a message. Until he picked up his datapad after Gonky knocked it onto the ground.

He saw that you sent him a message, so he did what he’d do with any message and opened them.

You were… well, you weren’t completely naked.

The red lingerie was very form fitting and complimented your curves.

It was a good photo to say the least.

He turns off the datapad and went to the other room where you are.

“(Y/n)? Can I speak to you for a second?”

“Huh? Yeah sure.” You get up and enter the cockpit as Tech walks out to check on something.

“Now. I don’t think you meant to send this to me. But you’re welcome to correct me.” He states, opening the tablet and showing you your own nudes.

He watched your eyes widen in embarrassment.

“I-I am so sorry. I guess I clicked the wrong name.”

Echo pauses, a feeling of jealousy fluttering in his chest.

“Who… who were you going to send them to?”

“Remember Ember? We exchange photos when we are feeling insecure about ourselves to help make each other feel better.”

“Alright. Thank you for the explanation.” He answers, turning off the device.

“You aren’t going to delete them?” You ask, making Echo flush in embarrassment.

“R-right, sorry.”

“I’m just kidding. Keep them.” You say with a wink before leaving.

Echo was flustered, confused, and very turned on.

[twiceinadream]

“Practice Makes Perfect.”

Requested: Nope

Prompt: [High School AU] Jihyo and Y/N are best friends, but Y/N has had a crush on Jihyo ever since they met 6 years ago. Jihyo is going on a date and panics because she’s never kissed anyone before, but Y/N has…😏

a/u: Hey, everyone! I’m back with probably the first truly fluffy thing I’ve written in a long time, I don’t know how to take that information, but do with that as you please. Anyways, I was in a very Fluffy Jihyo mood and got inspired by a random TikTok. I hope you enjoy and stream: POP!, it’s so freaking good! Thank you for all the love and support, I love you guys! (Also if anyone has a Nayeon prompts of any kind, please send them in)

Word Count: 2.8k

Category: Fluff

“Y/N! Hey, Y/N, wait up!” You pulled the earbud out of your ear as the voice of your very loud best friend seemed to penetrate the volume of your music. You stopped in your tracks to turn around and face her.

Park Jihyo: your best friend, the Girl’s Varsity Golf Captain, soloist for the school’s choir, and your secret crush of six years. She came running at you with a wide smile that practically split the girl’s face in two as she made it to your side, “I have news! Y/N you’re not gonna believe it!”

You winced at her lack of volume control when she was excited as you looked around sheepishly at the people staring at the two of you, “Hello to you too, Ji. I want to hear the news, but first volume.”

A slight blush colored her cheeks as she laughed a little at herself, “Right, sorry.” The two of you continued walking as she waited to be out of earshot of anyone else before stopping you with a hand that gripped your forearm, “You’ll never guess who asked me out.” Her small figure was practically vibrating from excitement, “Chou Tzuyu!”

Your best friend squealed as she danced in place, you were happy for her, you really were. You just couldn’t help the stab of pain you felt to your heart every time she told you about her crushes, there were many but none of them were ever you. So you continued to play your role as the supportive best friend as you smiled excitedly for her, “Oh my god, that’s incredible! You’ve been crushing on her ever since she moved here! So does that mean you’ll become First Lady, Park Jihyo, to our Class President?” You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively, teasing her.

Jihyo just rolled her eyes as she pushed you away, “Shut up, that’s stupid!” She shook her head as the two of you continued the short walk to your house where you both congregated after school to study, it was a lot quieter than the Park residence. “She wanted to go out on Saturday, so I have like two days to prepare.”

You nodded as you pulled your house keys out of your pocket, sliding it into the lock before pushing the door open, “What’re you gonna do? Dye your hair a new color? Practice kissing your hand?” You continued teasing her as you both slipped off your shoes - your parents were out of town till next week - and began walking up the stairs to your room.

“Uh! Why do I even tell you things, you’re such a weirdo!” Jihyo threw her backpack onto the floor by your bed before flopping onto it. You laughed as you threw your backpack next to hers before sitting beside her on your bed.

Your smile was still wide as you poked her in the side, “Because you love me and entrust me with every secret.”

She waved her hand at you dismissively before she suddenly shot up into a sitting position, the quickness in her movements shocked the both of you as she suddenly had a look of fear in her eyes, “Y/N, what if she wants to kiss me!? I’ve never kissed anyone before!” Jihyo looked at you in horror, “What if I’m a terrible kisser!?”

You couldn’t help but look at her in humorous confusion, “Jihyo, what? Where is this even coming from?” You smiled, shaking your head, “Kissing isn’t even that big of a deal, you won’t ‘suck’ you’re just gonna be new to it. I’m sure Tzuyu will understand. Hell, maybe you’ll be her first kiss too.”

But it didn’t seem like your words had any effect on her, “Highly doubt that, but of course you’re gonna say ‘kissing isn’t even that big of a deal’, you’ve kissed people before, Y/N. I haven’t!”

You just rolled your eyes good-naturedly as you looked at her, “What? You wanna practice with me or something?”

In an instant you almost saw the lightbulb go off above your best friend’s head, “Y/N, you’re a genius!” You looked at her in confusion again for what felt like the hundredth time in an hour, “Why don’t I practice kissing with you, so I won’t feel like an idiot with Tzuyu.”

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs as your jaw dropped, “What!?”

Jihyo shrugged, “Don’t they do it all the time in movies? You’re my best friend Y/N, just think of it like I’m asking you for advice.”

You shook your head in disbelief, “Hyo, you’re asking me to kiss you. Aren’t you worried this might make things awkward?”

But Jihyo didn’t seem to see the problem with it, “We’ve walked into each other changing before, I think we’ll be okay.” Then a hint of clarity seemed to hit her as she suddenly got shy, “Unless you really don’t want to. If you think it’ll be too awkward I’ll stop pushing it.”

You sighed as you weighed the pros and cons of the next sentence out of your mouth, without really letting the rational part of your brain get a say. You answered her, “Okay, Ji, I’ll help you.”

The nearly blinding grin broke out again on Jihyo’s face as she hugged you, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m gonna go brush my teeth.” Your best friend left your room as you collapsed onto your bed, the weight of what was about to happen finally hitting you as you stared blankly at the ceiling.

Your best friend, no, your crush of six years had asked you to help her practice kissing and you had said, ‘Yes!’ You rubbed your face with your hands as you groaned, “I’m an idiot.” But a small, selfish part of you couldn’t be happier at the turn of events as you could hear Jihyo coming back, ‘Might as well make this better than anything Chou Tzuyu could ever give her.’

—

The rays of the setting sun spilled in through your bedroom window as you and Jihyo sat across from each other on your bed. An awkward silence filled the room as the weight of what the two of you were about to do finally seemed to hit. Jihyo fidgeted under your gaze as you breathed out deeply, “You still sure about this?”

The dark haired girl nodded as she regained some of her usual confidence, “Yeah, it’s like what I tell my teammates all the time, ‘Practice makes perfect’.” She laughed a little to herself as you both felt the tension start to lessen, “Why are we so awkward? This isn’t a big deal, just practice.”

You nodded as you tried to find some part of yourself that would agree that this was no “big deal”. Finally you relented your quelled feelings as you smiled, “You’re right, let’s just get to the lesson. First, I’m gonna show you how to just kiss someone. Second, I’m gonna show you how to kiss someone when it gets a little more serious. Are you okay with that?”

Jihyo’s giddiness seemed to return as she nodded excitedly, “Yes, let’s do this.”

You couldn’t help but find her eagerness adorable as you stood up, before offering your hand to her and pulled her to stand as well. There was barely any distance between the two of you as you put a shaky hand against her waist and reached a hand up to cradle her cheek. You licked your lips to wet them as you spoke, “Okay, lick your lips just a little.” You watched as Jihyo’s tongue darted out ever so slightly before looking at you for more instructions, “I’m gonna start leaning in now, tilt your head a little to the right and meet me halfway. Don’t force it, just let it happen naturally.”

Your best friend nodded as you made sure the very last bits of your feelings for her were locked deep within the deepest reaches of your soul when you suddenly felt her lips meet yours. It was an innocent press of lips against the others before you broke away for the briefest of moments and deepened it. You put the smallest amount of pressure behind your actions as Jihyo quickly adapted and began kissing back harder, your hand against her waist began moving and caressing the exposed skin of her shirt that had ridden up. Before the two of you got carried away with the first lesson, you reluctantly broke the kiss as you stepped a little out of Jihyo’s reach before you dropped your hands back to your sides.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “That was good. You’re a quick learner to change.” You nodded to yourself as Jihyo looked at you expectantly.

“What about the second lesson?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “Right, if or when things start heating up between you and…Tzuyu,” You tried not to show any hint of jealousy at the name, “you’ll want to know how to, I guess, make out.”

The dark haired girl nodded, “And that's different how?”

“You use your tongue.” You stated bluntly as you watched Jihyo cringe a little, “It’s not as gross as you might think,” You chuckled as you stepped back into the bobbed haired girl’s personal space and allowed your hands to naturally gravitate to her hips, “We’re gonna start off like we did last time, but this time I’m gonna open my mouth and I want you to let your tongue come out a bit. Don’t shove it into my mouth, that’s gross, just go with the flow.” She looked at you a bit in apprehension before nodding.

“Okay, I’m ready.” You gave her another smile as you took a second to study her face, you had probably done that a thousand times over but you still couldn’t help but admire how gorgeous she was. But you quickly stopped that train from leaving the station as you closed your eyes and began leaning in again.

The press of Jihyo’s lips against yours felt like two puzzle pieces fitting together, her past apprehensions of the first kiss seemed to disappear as she met your lips with confidence, you didn’t do anything other than kiss for a little before you began opening your mouth ever so slightly. You felt the tentative brush of Jihyo’s tongue against your lips as you took it as a sign to make the first move. Your tongue moved to greet hers as they met in a dance, both of you taking turns leading the kiss in whatever way either of you felt was right. As the kiss continued your hands had wandered from her waist to having a hand on her back and another running up and down her side as she crossed her arms behind your neck to pull you in closer.

You could tell the kiss was beginning to get out of hand, but you figured if she didn’t want to stop neither did you. So you both continued the ever growing passionate kiss when you suddenly pulled Jihyo in closer, the unexpectedly possessive action released an accidental moan from the girl you had been making out with. The noise was loud and as plain as day, you both pulled away, startled. Your faces were flushed as you just stared at each other, awkwardness quickly descended upon the silent room.

You couldn’t handle the tension as you cracked under the pressure, “Well, I hope that helped, I’ll see you tomorrow I guess. At least Tzuyu will be getting the best now.” You awkwardly made finger guns at your equally awkward best friend who quickly picked her backpack up and swung it over her shoulders.

“Uh, yeah, thanks Y/N. I’ll let myself out.” Jihyo gave you a shy smile as she left your room.

You waited till you heard the front door close as you groaned loudly, “What the fuck was that!? Oh my god! She moaned, into my mouth, while I was kissing her! Oh my god!” You fell back into your bed as you rolled around in a confusing blend of emotions, “What the fuck are we gonna do tomorrow!? Pretend it never happened?”

—

Evidently, the next two days consisted of not being able to even look at each other or even stand being within the same vicinity as each other, which definitely strained your shared friend group who had no idea what had happened between the two of you.

But you couldn’t help but find the irony of it all so funny, ‘Not gonna be awkward my ass.’

—

Saturday had finally rolled around and you had not spoken to Jihyo in two days, both of you were too nervous to even try to start a conversation with the other. So you sat home alone, a bowl of instant ramen in front of you, binge watching a show you had been meaning to catch up on when you got free time. A distant part of your brain remembered Jihyo had her date with Tzuyu today, but that little box you had trapped your feelings in had been bleeding out ever so slowly since the day you had kissed her.

You knew it was a selfish thing to think, but you silently hoped that the date wouldn’t go well. You had been in love with Jihyo since you guys were twelve. A frown formed on your lips at the thought of Tzuyu having the one person you had truly wanted your whole life. Then a knock at your door startled you out of your self-loathing as you checked the peephole to see Jihyo standing on the other side.

You instantly opened the door for your best friend as you took in her expression, you couldn’t exactly pinpoint the exact feelings but you could tell she was upset. You swallowed the bubble of anxiety in your throat, “Hyo, what happened? What’s wrong?” Your voice was full of concern as your best friend looked almost angry at you.

“It didn’t feel right.” You quirked an eyebrow in confusion as she ran a frustrated hand through her hair, “I kissed her again and again, but it just didn’t feel right.”

Your mouth was slightly agape, “Are you saying Tzuyu’s a bad kisser?”

Jihyo threw her hands up, exacerbated, “No! I’m saying that when I kissed her, the person of my dreams, all I could picture was how much better I felt when I kissed you.”

You could feel your blood run hot as your heartbeat felt like it was beating out of your chest, “What are you trying to say, Ji?” You couldn’t explain what it felt like to stare into the eyes of your secret crush of almost six years as it seemed your world was either about to crumble around you or you were about to be sent to cloud-nine.

“I..I,” Jihyo inhaled as she gathered up all the courage she could muster, “I think I like you, Y/N.” Your heart immediately jumped into your throat and your stomach did somersaults at the admission, an overwhelming wave of emotions took over your entire being as you just stared at your best friend. At your lack of a response Jihyo could slowly feel her heart crack, she thought she had just thrown away the best friendship she had ever had. “Y/N, I’m..I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anything. That was really stu…”

Before she could finish, you did the one thing that you could think of to stop the racing thoughts of doubt you knew were clouding her mind as you immediately pulled her in by her waist, your guy’s eyes met for a moment before you kissed her. She tensed against you for the briefest of seconds before melting into the kiss as well, her hands going up to cradle your cheek as you poured every ounce of love you had been building up since the day you knew she was the one for you.

When the two of you eventually pulled away for air your eyes remained closed as your foreheads rested against each other’s, your breaths mingling as you both chuckled lightly. You finally opened your eyes to find Jihyo staring back at you, “I like you too, Hyo, I think I’ve been in love with you since the day we met.”

The raven haired girl laughed lightly as she pressed herself closer to you, “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

“Better late than not at all.” You cracked a smile as you squeezed her hip lightly. “Are you still mad at me for a bad first kiss?”

Jihyo rolled her eyes playfully, “You were my first kiss, Y/N, now shut up and kiss me, you idiot.”

You laughed, “Gladly.” Before leaning in to capture her lips again.