#today I'm just going to be happy about finishing the entire first draft

[whatsagirltoblogabout]

FIRST DRAFT DONE. for realsies this time!

Also I graphed the word count by chapter because I'm a nerd like that

[poppadom0912]

Excuses

Warnings: Mentions of fainting, diabetes, canon-typical injuries

Summary: You suffer the consequences just because your teacher thought you were making excuses.

A/N: First fic of 2024!!! I had plans that I was going to post weekly in the new year just like last year but things went downhill. This january and february has had its very good but also really bad moments and even writing this was a struggle. I've found myself in a weird place of wanting to write but struggling and all of a sudden not being able to balance my schoolwork and writing. So I took a lil step back to solely focus on my work but looking at everything now, my fic updates will be much less frequent but hopefully just as or if not, more fun to read.

I feel bad for not saying or posting anything since the new year but I'm here now and hopefully will be more alive. I've got lots planned for you beautiful people, several series and way too many fics in my drafts that I cannot wait for you all to read. This wasn't as long or as juicy as I intended but my brain completely failed me so I hope this is good enough. I initially wanted to post this at the beginning of March but I finished the final editing today so here you go!!

Final note before we start, I have general knowledge about diabetes but that's all from my grandma. I have no idea if it's the same for teenagers so I'm sorry for any mistakes. Happy reading!!

Your biology teacher had been on maternity for three weeks now and you were seriously contemplating life.

Because of the crappy rules surrounding maternity leave, when your teacher refused to return before her three months ended, your school had a supply teacher fill in for her till she came back.

Since day one, you knew you hated her.

It was mid lesson and you knew as soon as you started feeling sluggish that your sugar levels were dropping. Your thoughts were only confirmed when your Dexcom receiver let you know of your decreasing glucose.

This wasn't a usual occurrence. Will and Jay always made sure you had eaten enough and you had the means to maintain the needed glucose levels so that nothing happened.

Alas, you were up late revising and you were stressing about keeping up your good grades. Jay was rushing you out the door because he needed to go to a scene he'd just been called to and Will was out walking Kol and hadn't seen you leave.

In conclusion, it'd been a hot minute since you last ate something.

The school were well aware of your diabetes. It was one of the very important things your brothers stressed them about when you first started.

Most students knew about it actually, having seen your Dexcom and not understanding since a diabetic child apparently wasn't common according to them.

So, when you randomly pulled out a snack from your bag mid class, no one questioned it and instead would make sure you were okay. There'd never been a problem before in school and everyone wanted it to stay that way.

However, this new teacher, Mrs Byrne was apparently completely unaware of your medical condition.

"Y/N. You know the rules about eating in class." She said strictly, pulling away all the attention from the board onto you.

She stopped you in the middle of opening the packet of fruit gummies. You frowned, looking at her confused along with your classmates.

"I have diabetes." You said bluntly, continuing to open the packet. "I don't eat this and I'll pass out."

Mrs Byrne only rolled her eyes, smiling at you condescendingly. "I've heard that excuse hundreds of times, give those to me."

You scoffed at the audacity, refusing to hand over what was yours.

It was when she started walking towards your desk with a pep in her step that the entire class got involved. Their raised voices overlapped, some angrier than others over what was happening.

However, you too were Stubborn alike to your brothers so you kept as firm of a grip of the packet. You turned a blind eye to the anger fuelled cover teacher. You continued to smile as she spewed threats of all sorts.

Due to your frustration and annoyance over the teacher who wanted to take your gummies away, you didn't notice how everything started change; how hard it was to move your eyes and lips, your limbs getting heavier and you thoughts slowly getting muddled up.

Lost in a daze, you were no longer able to fight back when she pulled harder, successfully snatching the small packet out of your hands. It was now that the class got furious, your friends were already up and at your side but now they were verbally attacking the teacher.

Fed up with her petty behaviour, you were going to get up and go to the nurses office who would take care of you but getting out your seat was harder said than done.

With one of your friends help, you weren't too sure who was helping you from your hazy sight that cleared when you blinked too many times.

You were wobbly on your feet, taking slow and hesitant steps towards the front of the classroom but before you could leave, you felt your legs give out and everything went black.

*****

It turned out that supposed crime scene that he was imminently needed at was nothing but a prank by a bunch of college boys resulting in a grumpy Hank putting them in cuffs and having them fined for a very reasonable reason.

That's how the rest of the unit found themselves finishing up paperwork, catching up about life in general as they debated what they were getting for lunch.

Jay was smugly sitting back, eyes flickering between Kevin and Adam who were bickering over something trivial when his phone rung, catching everyone's attention.

They were all so bored and normally when one of their phones went off during work hours, it meant something came up and they were needed.

In interest, everyone turned their heads towards Jay and waited for him to tell them they got a crime scene.

Picking up his phone, Jay's brows furrowed at the number, confused as to why your school was calling him in the middle of the day. They'd only call him if two things happened: You'd gotten in trouble or you got hurt.

"Hello. Is this Y/N Halsteads brother Jay?" A voice he couldn't recognised asked, most likely some lady from the main office.

"Yeah, that's me." Jay confirmed, sitting up in preparation for whatever he was going to be told.

"So sorry to interrupt you sir but Y/N collapsed in class." The lady said with guilt laced in her words. "Your other brother didn't pick up the phone. We called to let you know we had to call the paramedics and they've taken her to Chicago Med."

"Uh yeah." Jay said, collecting his jacket and keys. "Yes, thank you."

Not waiting for a reply, Jay hung up and quickly knocked on Hank's office door frame.

"Sarge, I gotta get Y/N-"

"Go get her. We're done here."

*****

Wanting to pull his hair out, Will rubbed his eyes in frustration, glaring at his patients scans that only confused him further. He was tired and was coming to half way through his twenty four hour shift.

"Dr Halstead- Uh, Dr Rhodes in T4." Maggie stumbled, looking down at her brick and making sure she read it correctly.

"What's wrong?" Will asked, confused as to why Maggie changed her mind which she usually never did.

"It's Y/N."

Now fully awake, Will followed Connor towards the ambulance bay where you were being rolled in. You were groggily sitting up on the stretcher, you hair a mess and a few scratches around your face and hands from when you fell.

"Sylvie, what happened?" Will asked the blonde paramedic while looking you over. He desperately wanted to check you over himself but let Connor do his thing. He really did not need Ms Goodwin on his case today.

"Teachers didn't tell us much but her classmates said she collapsed after not being able to eat." Sylvie relayed the minimal information she knew, shrugging her shoulders when the two doctors looked at her weirdly. "No one would tell us anything more."

"Y/N, it's Connor. Can you hear me kid?" Connor said while pulling out his penlight. He was like another brother to you, his concern just as high. "Can you tell me what happened?"

You groaned, mumbling nonsense with your eyes screwed closed. Your words were mostly unintelligible but Will understood them mere seconds later.

Fixing the problem you complained about, Will turned down the lights and let Connor continue fussing over you.

It didn't take long to find out the cause of your collapse, Will sighing at the news when he read the numbers from your tests.

"I thought she was always on top of her sugar levels." Connor said, closing the room door so you could sleep in peace.

And what he said was completely true but they weren't aware of why you couldn't today specifically of all days.

"She is." Will said, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration. "Maybe her dexcom malfunctioned or something."

Connor hummed, agreeing with his friend.

"Hmm, maybe."

*****

Arriving at Med, Will gave Jay a detailed rundown of everything he new about your medical state but also the events pre your hospital arrival.

Getting a good look at you, holding your hand in his and kissing you on your forehead, Jay was more than happy to leave you in your oldest brothers safe hands while he got to the bottom of this entire ordeal.

He noticed Sylvie was still at Med, Foster mentioning they were running low on a few supplies so they needed some stocking up. Jay took this opportunity to interview the two paramedics and try to get further understanding on this situation that wasn't making much sense to him.

Arriving at your school, Jay had some thoughts in mind but they weren't very concrete and his confidence wasn't as strong as he'd like it to be.

Walking into the school, Jay immediately noticed an entire class sitting and standing around in the corridor waiting in front of the principals office.

One of the girls who had been sitting in a chair had caught sight of Jay, her eyes widening before she smiled, gently nudging the girl next to her and pointing in his direction. The girls reaction was the exact same.

This created a sort of domino effect as the boy next to her noticed Jay and everyone was telling the other of his sudden arrival. The once silent corridor was now beginning to fill with murmurs and whispers, all their eyes glued onto his figure that moved down the corridor, their shocked faces quickly changing into smiles and smirks.

It seems that Jay had a reputation of sorts.

"Why are you making so much noise? What did I just say about talking-"

The principal cut himself off from his scolding when he suddenly noticed Jay's presence, his face blanching as all the pieces clicked into place.

"Detective Halstead! What a surprise, we weren't expecting to see you so soon-"

This time Jay cut him off, not too bothered about his lack manners. "My brothers with Y/N at the hospital so I thought there was no other perfect time."

The principal remained silent.

"Now, why don't you explain to me why my sister fainted under your watch?"

The students behind Jay couldn't help but snicker knowingly.

[adorethedistance]

First I Love You - Jamie Drysdale x Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of anxiety, sexual references.

Words: 1677

Summary: First I Love You - After a day that gets increasingly worse, Jamie plans a date night to indirectly celebrate your two-month anniversary.

A/n: Cherry is back with a fic after a month of radio silence in typical aodre the distance fashion lol. Anyway! This has been in my drafts forever and I hate it, I can't proof it due to writer's block, and I'm honestly just done staring at it so here ya go!

You can read part 1 of the series of firsts here. The next and final first on the list is first time which is of course gonna be a lil smutty. I might write some Trevor pieces in the interim just depending how I'm feeling.

Today is just one of those days. My class ran much longer than usual and I had to stay after to ask my professor questions before the midterm that night, then I didn’t have time to make myself lunch so I grabbed the pizza rolls from my freezer to heat up at work, then I burned the pizza rolls beyond consumption and did not have any back up food, then I was starving and stressed and unable to use my time at work to study for the exam. I was crying in a puddle of stress and tears. And Jamie didn’t miss a beat. 

Upon hearing how horrible my morning and afternoon had been, he ordered my usual meal from In-N-Out and brought it to me at work so I wouldn’t starve. Then, he offered to make me dinner after I finished my midterm and I tearfully and appreciatively accepted. These little actions of consideration are what have made me fall deeper and deeper in love with Jamie. 

We reached our two months anniversary today but I didn’t make a big deal about it. I feel weird about potentially being one of those couples that celebrates every tiny little milestone like it’s the biggest thing in the world. Still neither of us have said “I love you” yet. But if Jamie continues caring for and about me like this, I’m not sure much longer I can hold it in. That’s why I decided I would tell him tonight.

After cooking dinner for the two of us, and pouring a congratulatory glass of wine to celebrate the 95 I got on my midterm, we laid down on the couch together. Happy and fed, I rest my head on the expanse of his broad chest. Jamie presses a kiss into my hair, bringing his left arm to drape over my shoulders.

“God, 2 months already?!” Trevor asks Jamie incredulously, making me roll my eyes at the playful jab.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Zegras.”

“You’re just mad cause you can’t pull.” Jamie’s accusation makes me laugh at the offended look on Trevor’s face. 

“Don’t get it twisted, I can pull.”

“You just can’t get them to stay?” I ask innocently, absentmindedly messing with Jamie’s fingers. Jamie laughs heartily. He interlaces his with mine to give my hand a gentle squeeze. “But to answer your original question, yes, it’s been 2 months already.” 

The scruff of my boyfriend’s 5 o’clock shadow brushes the back of my hand as he kisses the flat part of my knuckle. Trevor, observing the entire action, leans over the kitchen trashcan and pretends to throw up. Jamie merely laughs and I roll my eyes once more, “Shut the fuck up! You are so dramatic.”

“And for what?” Jamie chimes in which makes me smile to see he’s been picking up some of my mannerisms and phrases as well. That’s been my favorite part of dating him so far. The way his music taste slowly infiltrates mine. The way he now keeps a trashbag in his car after realizing how useful the one in mine is. The way he’s wearing the soft blue hoodie he lent me, for the reason that it now smells like me, which is why I had stolen it from him in the first place.

“I’m happy for you guys, really,” Trevor grabs his car keys from off the granite kitchen counter, “Thank you for rubbing salt into the open wound.”

“Oh my god-” Jamie starts.

“Get out of here!” I finish for him, urging Trevor to leave. 

“I’m gone!” He obliges. Then, Jamie kisses my head again, prompting me to sit up. 

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Mmm… no, actually. If I had to guess, he’s probably going golfing with the guys.”

“No way, he was dressed way too nice for golf…” I trail off, racking my brain for where he could have possibly been headed. Shrugging off the idea, I straddle Jamie’s hips, and look down at him. I smile. Overcome with the warm sensation of staring at my boyfriend. Jamie nudges me with his hips, indicating he would like me to lay back down. Before I comply, I pull my hair back tying it out of the way so I’m free to kiss Jamie as much as I please. He watches my every move, eyes flooded with adoration.

“At practice this morning, McT said he…” Jamie trails off mid sentence. As he was talking, I finished tying my hair back and then leaned down as he had wanted me to. He’s looking at me with eyes slightly widened and lips parted in surprise. 

“What?” I ask, concerned as to why Jamie stopped talking. He simply says,

“You’re really pretty.” The seemingly arbitrary declaration makes me laugh but does nothing to aid my confusion.

“Okay?”

“You’re just so pretty I think I short-circuited.” The earnest confession makes me smile and giggle, so I press a soft kiss to Jamie’s lips.

“You’re cute. So what did Mason say?”

“Oh yeah, he said that he wants to meet you.”

“Really?” I ask, rubbing my thumb over Jamie’s cheekbone. He kisses my palm before responding,

“Despite how much you and Trevor bully each other, he’s told everyone on the team about how cool you are. He kinda took the liberty to do it himself since I do gush about you, but I get shy about it.” Jamie is uncharacteristically speaking out loud his stream of consciousness, and I take a back seat to admire how talkative he can be when he’s with me. A stark contrast to the shy, almost silent boy I’d had my first date with. Noticing how much he’s talking, Jamie ends his rambling but I smile softly, encouragingly,

“It’s unfortunate that the ‘cool girl’ is seemingly the only archetype that consistently receives approval from men, but it is true nonetheless.”

“Yeah, like, it’s not that I need his approval, but it is nice when your boys like your girlfriend… Well, it’s what you said, you just said it better. I’m mansplaining aren’t I?” He asks, bashfully. I roll my eyes and appreciatively kiss his lips once more.

“Get out of your head, Drysdale. Do you have anxiety?” 

“Shut up. I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met who can always tell when I’m overthinking.”

“Maybe I’m just the only one with the audacity to comment on it,” I playfully propose, smiling when I succeed in making Jamie laugh. 

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll agree to disagree. It’s unlikely, but not impossible.” Dropping the bit, Jamie and I smile at each other, melting into a comfortable silence. He looks at me with soft eyes, pink blush creeping across his cheeks the longer I continue to stare. I rest my left hand on the side of his face once more. I brush my thumb over his cheekbone again, and rub the top of my fingers repeatedly against the stubble adorning his jaw. Jamie lifts his eye brows before saying,

“What, do I need to shave?”

“No. I just like the way it feels.”

“Oh, hey, you said you’re done with school by mid december, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“My mom asked if you were coming to Christmas this year.”

“Did she really?” Jamie hesitates a moment before his brows furrow in sincere disapproval.

“You’ve been my girlfriend for two months now. She will not shut up about meeting you.”

“What? Why?” He then blushes fiercely and cowers his head into the large hoodie he’s slouched on. Jamie doesn’t meet my gaze as he talks,

“I told her all about you the other day.” I bite back the giant smile that prods at my features before replying,

“What did you tell her?”

“Just stuff about you!”

“What stuff about me?!”

“I told her you’re a student and what you’re studying. I told her where you’re from and what your family is like. And I told her about how I stare at you between red lights when we’re going somewhere.” The last piece of information makes me laugh and I tilt my head in confusion.

“How did that last part come up?” It was a simple question, really. One that I hadn’t even bothered to put a lot of thought into; one that came from my basic stream of consciousness. And certainly not one that I imagined would ellicit such a reaction from Jamie. His eyes widened and softened all at once, his blush glowing brighter across his cheeks, and his lips parting to allow the irregular pace of breathing he had now adopted.

“I guess… I called her because I was unsure of what I was feeling…? I was kinda freaking out about it. As I told her about our first date, she said that just talking about you made me visibly happier. She noticed that, even though I wasn’t aware of how happy I’d gotten. Then she demanded to meet you as soon as possible…” Jamie sheepishly looks up at me after finishing his mini monologue. The traces of endeared happiness immediately vanish and Jamie looks at me horrified. In describing how happy I make this boy, I felt tears welling up on my lashes, relieved to be experiencing something so thoroughly mutual.

“Oh my god, please don’t cry I’m sorry!” I laugh through the tears and playfully smack his chest.

“Jamie…”

“You make me really happy, Y/n. Like, really really happy-”

“I love you,” I blurt out. I’m a bit stunned and honestly scared of how quickly this confession escaped me. But I know it’s true. And isn’t that the scariest part?

“I love you too.”

“Really?” I ask through unrelenting tears.

“Yes,” Jamie rests his hands on the tops of my hip bones, “I kind of lied by saying my mom said I looked happy… She said I looked very in love, but I didn’t want to be too forward and say that if you maybe didn’t feel the same way.”

“Bro, you worry so much, are you sure you don’t have anxiety?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

***

a/n: copy pasting tags is the best thing that has ever happened to fic writers I think.

[thechibilitwick]

more ramblings that sit in my drafts for an unspecified amount of time before i eventually decide to finish and post them!!! (also sorry if someone has already done an analysis like this i just thought it was an interesting detail)

today I shall go over what I believe the woman that Kazui is seen with in Half is supposed to represent. (+ some general analysis)

This lady is basically the reason why the entire cheating theory existed in the first place, and understandably so. But after his T2 voice drama, Kazui confirms that he never actually cheated (also his wedding ring is. right there. on his finger. man.) If that's the case, then who is this woman? If he didn't cheat, why would a random woman be in his MV? I actually think the answer might not be that complex:

The woman simply represents women.

For one, there are two other side character in the MV besides this lady: Hinako and the bartender. Moreover, both of those characters have a significant difference from the woman: they don't have a full set of facial features.

I personally believe that Kazui views them without eyes because they are people he finds painful to remember. Therefore, the woman still having her eyes visible would mean that she isn’t as significant as Hinako or the bartender.

Moreover, the way the woman is framed has a lot of implications.

The first scene establishes a correlation with the lady and Hinako. Both scenes are framed similarly, and both have Kazui staring at them. (with the same "i'm such an old man. yaoi." look on his face idk how else to describe it) The only difference is that there are two different versions, or sides, of Kazui.

Kazui in the bar, suit and all, has been heavily implied to represent his “true desires”. He's the one that notices Kazui watching from the audience and makes him notice the apple, and the one who appears in the champagne glass in Cat.

Kazui in the house, less dressed-up than bar Kazui, likely represents how he believes he should act. He looks upset over the distance between him and Hinako and he’s the one who's shocked upon realizing his actual feelings.

With this in mind, the transition between both women has implications on the way Kazui views them and in turn how he views women (in terms of his desires vs. what's expected of him.)

The second scenes then implies what it specifically is that both sides of Kazui feels about women.

The first scene starts off with Kazui in the house, staring down at his wedding ring with a sizable distance between him and Hinako.

Then the scene shifts to Kazui in the bar, where the woman is probably drunk, and leaning onto him with possible hints of intimacy. Yet he ends up putting the woman aside.

This is where what the lady possibly represents becomes a bit more clear. Similar to Magritte's art (which Kazui's MVs regularly reference), the woman is not a literal woman, but the representation of a woman. Kazui pushing away the woman as his desired 'true self' could mean he doesn’t feel the need to comply to the expectation of being attracted to or in a relationship with a woman.

Both scenes also contrast each other. The distance between Kazui and either woman as well as the way he reacts to said distance are the opposite. Kazui and Hinako have a considerable gap between them, and he feels guilty for this because of the expectation of being in a (heterosexual) marriage. Despite believing that this is what's 'correct' and what'll lead to happiness, he's still somehow failing.

Kazui and the bar lady have practically no space between them, yet Kazui is able to put her aside because he doesn't feel the need to conform. Even if she's conventionally attractive and is being intimate with Kazui, he quite literally does not give a shit.

Ok this is kinda getting wordy so I shall close off here. tl;dr I personally think the bar lady serves the purpose of symbolizing women, marriage, and maybe even heteronormativity, in order to express Kazui's conflicting views. Maybe I'm actually wrong and she really is an existing person, but uhh hey the themes still hold up in regards to Kazui soooo

(also it's possible that the woman is purposely between him and the bartender in both scenes, because societal norms still get in his way of his actual feelings or smth idk i can't word anymore)

anyways that's all i hope this makes sense 🥹

[weemssapphic]

Hi lovely! Got so excited when I saw your requests was open again, your writing is so addicting 😍

I’ve had this idea since I saw a post with a gif of Larissa holding a teaching pen and I can’t stop thinking about it.

What if Larissa was actually teaching anatomy one day at the school you being the assistant teacher for that specific class and at the same time you being secretly in a relationship with her. So as she teaches the class you become more and more turned on, while she talks about the body not being able to control yourself. Ending up having to take Larissa to her private rooms, saying “teach me anatomy” and Larissa be like “didn’t you pay any attention to me earlier” while getting you to “learn anatomy” on her body. Larissa receiving/reader giving, real smutty and hot! Kinks are more than welcome too, hope it makes sense! x if you won’t, it’s totally okay ❤️

Hello ❤️ thank you so much for the compliment and for the request - I'm so sorry that it took me so long to write this (I wasn't very happy with my first draft and I'm super against posting something I hate). But I hope you enjoy it 🫶🏼

Teach Me

Larissa Weems x f!reader

Words: ~3.3k

Content/warnings: nsfw (smut) - choking, authority kink, praise kink, hair pulling, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, strap-on use

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Good morning, class! I’ll be taking over this week’s lessons until Ms. Hanson is back from her sick leave. Today we’ll be going over last week’s exam, and then if we have time we’ll start chapter 8. Any questions?” Met with a brief silence, Larissa continued. “Excellent. Let’s start, shall we?”

Larissa nodded over at you, a small sign for you as the assistant teacher to make your way down the rows of desks and hand the students back their graded tests. Some of them groaned, some squealed in delight - once you’d finished your task, you made your way back to the front of the room, making eye contact with Larissa as you did so. You found her watching you with a faint smirk and a quirked eyebrow.

God, she was so hot when she did that. The smirk painted on those luscious red lips started a small flame in your abdomen - the blue eyes that bore into your own held just a smidge of teasing amusement as you visibly shivered. Larissa knew just what she was doing to you, she always did - her eyes briefly flicked down your body, drinking in your form, and you felt yourself flush.

The two of you had been in a relationship for several months now, choosing to keep it a secret from your students and most of your coworkers for the sake of professionalism. It was normally an easy secret to keep as, apart from staff meetings, your professional interactions were limited to none - especially in front of the students. Today, however, Larissa was taking over the class you normally assisted for, which was equally delightful and a little nerve-wracking.

Larissa was a force to be reckoned with. You’d seen her address the entire school plenty of times as principal, but there was something about seeing her take control of a classroom that was unbelievably arousing. She spoke with such passion, making sure to involve the students and encourage them - somehow, she managed to create a collaborative environment where even the shyest of students felt comfortable enough to speak up.

You couldn’t help but think that, if you’d had a teacher like her when you were younger, maybe you’d have learned a thing or two in anatomy class - perhaps even enjoyed the subject.

Or maybe not, you reasoned, as your eyes fell to Larissa’s backside, perfectly displayed in her form-fitting dress, when she leaned over her desk to rifle through a stack of papers. Maybe you wouldn’t have been able to focus on a single damned word.

And as anticipated, as the lesson progressed, you found it harder and harder to concentrate. You tried, you really did - keeping your eyes mostly on the students or on your notes, rather than on Larissa, trying to soak up every word that was being said in case your assistance was needed. This proved more difficult than you thought it would, as even Larissa’s voice, authoritative yet soft, served to get you worked up. But you were almost successful - until Larissa found that she had just enough time left in the lesson to start chapter 8 and reached into the drawer of her desk to pull out a pointer.

You watched, mesmerized, as she extended it and walked up to the blackboard. If anyone were to ask you what was drawn up there, you wouldn’t have been able to say, even though you’d prepared the lesson yourself due to Ms. Hanson’s absence - your mind went blank as your eyes were glued to Larissa’s hands. Long, red-tipped fingers gripped the pointer firmly, flexing around the little stick. Her other hand waved around animatedly as she spoke.

You squeezed your thighs together, growing more uncomfortable by the second as the dampness between your legs grew. You’d always loved how she spoke with her hands - right now, you couldn’t help but ponder what else she could be doing with them. How those long fingers could reach deep inside of you, curling against your-

The shrill sound of the bell ripped you from your trance, signaling the end of the lesson. Students began to rise, gathering at the door to shuffle out of the classroom and to the cafeteria for lunch. You swallowed hard, your eyes finding Larissa at her desk as she packed away her laptop and some papers.

You were on your feet the second the last student had closed the door behind themselves, taking long strides towards Larissa’s desk. She raised her head and smiled at you.

“Darling, I-”

Your lips met hers in a desperate, sloppy kiss, a needy moan clawing its way out of your throat. Larissa let out a chuckle as you deepened the kiss, her hands coming up to cup your cheeks as she pulled back.

“What was that for?” she asked playfully, humor dancing in her eyes. “Not that I’m complaining…” Her lips curled up into a smirk.

“That was for how hot you look teaching.” Your breaths came out in ragged puffs as you captured her lips once again. This time, Larissa let out a soft moan, fisting the front of your shirt and pulling you closer.

“We have a few hours until the next class… Everyone else is at lunch,” you mumbled against her lips.

“And what would you like to do with all that free time?” Larissa’s voice was low and raspy - it only served to turn you on further.

“You could teach me anatomy?”

“Were you not paying attention earlier?” Larissa teased.

“Nope,” you murmured. “I think I need a private tutor.”

“And you’re certain I’m not too distracting?” she purred.

“Rissa…” It came out whinier than you intended, but that didn’t appear to matter much: Larissa grinned against your lips, pressing one final kiss to them before allowing you to drag her through empty corridors all the way to her private quarters.

Larissa had you pinned against the door the second it closed behind you. Her hips pushed into yours as she clicked the lock, and then her hands were on either side of your head, trapping you against the oak as her lips found your neck. She sucked at your pulse point, her teeth grazing over the sensitive skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Tell me, darling,” she purred, her voice dropping an octave, her warm breath washing over your ear. “What do you remember from today’s lesson?”

Your breathing stuttered in your chest - if it had been hard to think before, well, now it was simply impossible. All you could focus on was how Larissa loomed over you, her body pressed against yours, her lips on your ear. The heat at the apex of your thighs was becoming unbearable.

“I-I don’t know… just- your hands,” you stuttered out sheepishly - that really was all you remembered, Larissa’s fingers flexing as she spoke, how they-

“Funny,” she whispered into your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. You felt your knees begin to give out - if Larissa hadn’t been pressing you to the door, you might’ve collapsed on the spot. “I don’t remember that being a topic in today’s lesson. Perhaps it’s better we start with the basics then, hmm?”

Before you could come up with a suitable reply, you felt Larissa’s hand close around your throat, her fingers applying gentle but firm pressure, flexing against your sensitive skin. You met her gaze to see blown pupils gazing hungrily down at you, painted lips pulled into a seductive smirk.

“Think you can be a good girl for me?” Larissa’s eyes were hooded as she looked down at you, applying just a little more pressure to the sides of your neck. You nodded fervently, not trusting yourself to speak, and Larissa grinned.

She let go of your throat, ignoring your whimper of disappointment, and turned to stroll nonchalantly towards the bedroom. “Give me 2 minutes, then you can come,” she called airily as she disappeared into the hallway.

They felt like the longest two minutes of your life. When they were over, you headed after her, your spine tingling with excitement. You walked into the room to find her sitting on the edge of the bed in her bra and panties, legs parted - her heels had been kicked off, her dress discarded.

“Larissa…”

“Now, is that how you think you should address a teacher?” Larissa raised an eyebrow, lips turned into a disapproving frown.

“Uh… Principal Weems?” Your face felt hot with embarrassment, but then Larissa grinned and let out a pleased hum and you found yourself growing hot for an entirely different reason.

She spread her legs and your eyes fell to the damp spot at the center of her panties. You felt your mouth go dry and you took a few steps forward, until you were standing between her legs. She made no move to touch you - she simply watched you with an amused grin plastered on her face.

“Why don’t you show me what you know, darling? My body is at your disposal…”

You didn’t need to be told twice - you lunged forward, planting a sloppy kiss to Larissa’s lips as your hands began to trail down her body, finding the clasp of her bra and quickly undoing it. You slid the straps down her arms and dropped the garment onto the floor, focusing your attention on her now exposed chest. Your lips trailed down her skin until they found one of her breasts, and you began to litter the soft mound of flesh in little kisses and bites.

“Take my nipple into your mouth and suck,” Larissa instructed, her voice slightly breathy but still firm and commanding. You did as you were told, sucking on the small, rosy bud and feeling it harden under your tongue. “You may bite - gently.” You grazed your teeth over her nipple before biting down, feeling Larissa arch into you and hearing her sharp intake of breath.

“Good girl, now the other one.” The heat between your legs grew as Larissa commanded you, and you mirrored your actions on her other breast.

You left a trail of kisses down Larissa’s stomach - the soft swell of which was so tantalizing that, with a cautious glance up at the blonde, you sunk your teeth into her flesh, biting down gently. A strangled gasp escaped Larissa’s throat and she looked down at you in amusement.

“Getting a bit bolder now, are we?” she teased, clearly enjoying the way your cheeks went pink. “I’m not stopping you, darling.” With her permission, you spent a few more minutes loving on her stomach and hips, biting and sucking, then soothing the little marks you left with a gentle lick of your tongue.

Soon, Larissa began to squirm beneath you, giving your head a gentle push. You settled between her plush thighs then, taking a moment to give them the same reverent treatment as Larissa let out quiet sounds of pleasure.

You pressed a soft kiss to Larissa’s cunt through her underwear, before pulling the garment down her legs to reveal her dripping sex.

The scent of Larissa’s arousal hung heavy in the air, she was already so wet for you - you licked your way up her slit, taking a second to worship her folds before finally circling your tongue around her swollen clit. 

“Fuck, Riss, you taste amazing,” you groaned. You felt Larissa’s hand on the back of your head, then a sharp tug at your hair. Larissa looked down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I-I’m sorry, Principal Weems,” you breathed out. 

“Good girl,” Larissa purred. The hand holding your hair loosened its grip and you resumed your ministrations against her clit, flicking your tongue over it in little kitten licks.

Larissa arched her back off the bed and rolled her hips against your face. Ironically, considering the lesson, you knew her body well by now - you knew she wanted you inside of her. Happy to comply, you began to tease her entrance with your fingertip, earning yourself a breathy whine from the blonde.

“Enough teasing,” she murmured, and you slipped one digit into her hole, slowly pumping it in and out, before adding a second. Her walls stretched around your fingers and she let out a soft hum. 

“Such a good student,” she teased, her voice breathy. “Quick learner.” You could almost hear the smirk in her voice, and it only served to turn you on further - you were certain your underwear was ruined.

Your fingers found a steady rhythm inside of her, curling into the soft, spongy spot that had her writhing beneath you. Using your other hand to hold Larissa’s thigh and steady yourself, you wrapped your lips around her clit and sucked, letting out a wanton groan as you felt her begin to tremble.

Larissa came undone beneath you, letting out a drawn-out moan as her hips bucked erratically against your face. You continued to fuck her through her orgasm, until she stilled beneath you and allowed herself to sink into the mattress. 

You crawled up Larissa’s body, settling on top of her and pressing a bruising kiss to her lips which she immediately deepend with a low groan as she licked her arousal off your tongue. 

“Principal Weems?” you mumbled against her lips. She hummed in response. “You said I could do anything, right?”

Larissa grabbed a fistful of your hair and gave it a sharp yank, the pain sending a shiver all the way down to your toes. Her painted lips were pulled into a devilish smirk and her eyes sparkled with curiosity. 

“And what exactly are you proposing, darling?”

You bit your lower lip, blushing as you reached for the drawer of Larissa’s beside table - her smirk widened and she rested her head back against the pillow, watching you intently. 

You pulled out the harness and dildo that rested in the drawer, your blush deepening as Larissa hummed her approval. She never took your eyes off you as you tugged the harness over your hips, tightening the straps and securing the fake cock in place.

Larissa squirmed impatiently on the bed, already spreading her legs for you. You could see how wet she was and your own clit ached at the sight. Larissa reached out for your hips and you caught her wrists, pushing forward and pinning her arms over her head.

Larissa’s pupils widened at the action, a gasp escaping her lips, her hips squirming.

You reached back into the drawer with the hand that wasn’t holding Larissa’s arms in place and pulled out a burgundy silk tie, dangling it in front of her face. She grinned up at you, giving you her best, innocent doe eyes.

“Go ahead, darling, I’m waiting,” she teased. You tied Larissa’s wrists to the headboard, making sure it was tight enough to hold her but loose enough so it wouldn’t hurt.

“That okay?”

After giving her wrists an experimental tug, Larissa nodded in confirmation. You pressed a searing kiss to her lips, before trailing kisses down her body, caressing her bare hips with your hands. You stopped at her inner thighs, taking a few moments to worship them with kitten licks and litter them in little bruises until you felt Larissa squirm desperately beneath you. The low whine that she let out was so delicious that you groaned into her pussy, and she bucked her hips up impatiently.

You placed a hand on either one of her thighs, spreading her legs open for you. She bent them at the knee and titled her hips up eagerly.

“So pretty,” you groaned as you zeroed in on her dripping cunt, taking the fake cock in your hand and teasing her hole before sliding easily inside of her. Larissa’s lips parted to let out a gasp and she squeezed her eyes shut as she got used to the sensation of being stretched out. 

When she opened her eyes again, she gave you a nod and gently bucked her hips. You began to thrust the cock in and out of her, finding a slow and steady pace at which to fuck her.

Leaning over her, you continued your rhythmic thrusting as you wrapped your mouth around her nipple, flicking your tongue over it as your other hand began to fondle the soft swell of her breast.

Each flick of your tongue and thrust of your hips drew an even filthier moan from Larissa’s lips as she rolled her hips against you. Looking up at her through your lashes as you sucked on her breast, you could see her wiggling her arms against the restraints. She gazed hungrily down at you, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted sensually. 

“Kiss me,” Larissa demanded, and though you didn’t think she was in a position to be making demands, you couldn’t resist - you wanted to kiss her so bad, so you did. Your mouth left her nipple in favor of pressing a bruising kiss to her mouth, which she immediately deepened with a breathy sigh. 

Your tongues danced around each other, Larissa’s breathing hot and heavy. You swallowed her soft moans and low grunts as you reached deeper and deeper inside of her, tilting your hips in the way you knew would bring her the most pleasure.

Her thighs began to tremble against your hips and she arched her back off the bed, her front pressing insistently into you - her skin was warm and slick with sweat.

One orgasm turned into two, turned into three, until Larissa wrapped her legs around your hips to pull you flush against her.

“I-I c-can’t…” she murmured breathlessly. “P-please…”

“Shh, it’s okay.” You caressed her cheek lovingly before pushing yourself up and carefully sliding the dildo out of her. Before removing the harness and tossing it to the ground, you undid the tie around Larissa’s wrists, placing a gentle kiss to each wrist before allowing her to drop her hands to her sides.

You crawled up the bed next to Larissa and snuggled against her, your own breathing almost as labored as hers. 

“Was that okay, love?” you asked, pressing a kiss to her flushed cheek. You could feel her nod against you, a small smile playing upon her lips.

“Mmmh, thank you, darling,” she murmured.

You reached over her to check your phone - you still had an hour before your next class.

“Close your eyes and rest,” you whispered. “I’ll be right back.” Larissa hummed in response and you went to fetch a warm, damp washcloth and a glass of water, which Larissa drank as you cleaned up traces of her arousal from between her legs. Then you snuggled up next to her and allowed yourself to fall into a light sleep, her arm slung loosely around your waist.

The sound of your phone’s alarm 40 minutes later had you groaning and burrowing your head deeper into the crook of Larissa’s neck.

“Do we have to teach today? Can’t we just cancel the classes and stay here?” You gave Larissa your best puppy-dog eyes and biggest pout, but you knew as soon as she chuckled and kissed your forehead that your pleading wouldn’t work.

“After how much work you put in to prepare everything?” Larissa teased, and you rolled your eyes and huffed. “Tell you what.” Her voice dropped an octave and she moved her mouth to your ear - you had to clench your thighs together in response. “If you’re a good girl this afternoon, then I’ll show you what I know tonight.” You had to bite your lip to keep from moaning as Larissa’s breath washed over the shell of your ear, raising goosebumps on your neck. With that motivation, you allowed yourself to be ushered out of bed and dressed yourself for your afternoon classes - only now, the ache between your thighs was even worse than it had been that morning. How you were going to survive the rest of your classes and be a good girl, you had no idea.

x

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[screamingoverfiction]

Quiet Girl

Just an angsty/fluffy one-shot. Pairing: Fred Weasley x !f-reader, no mentioned house, some use of Y/n.

Not requested, but I've wanted to finish this draft for a while.

Non-Cannon. Everyone is 17+

First Person and a little Third

Word count: 2.7k

Y/n-

Fred Weasley. Why was he so perfect? How could he sit there, without a care in the world, with that cheeky smirk, and simply exist?

It's unfair. I'm so perfectly average, while he's just- perfect. His eyes are such a rich pretty brown, and his hair is fiery, just like his personality. His funny, witty, and so fucking annoying, but for some reason, I don't care.

But he doesn't notice me. I'm just the quiet girl he sits next to in DADA. He copies off me sometimes, engages in small talk, and cracks jokes about the professor. But after class is over, I don't exist to him anymore.

It's difficult to like him, not because he's unlikable, that's the problem, he's too likable, so I'm basically every other girl. We all want him. He knows he's attractive, always flirting and sticking his tongue down a different girl's throat each week. George is also heavily fought after. The twins are the hottest guys in our year.

I wish he wanted more than my DADA answers. Hell, I study for the class just so we have something to converse about. I couldn't have cared less about that class until this year.

I'm currently in DADA, sitting alone since Fred is probably skipping, much to my dismay. This is the only time I can take to him. In the other classes we have together, he doesn't sit near me.

I frown down at my work, scribbling away at the warm-up Lupin has assigned. He's a great teacher, but I've just never been interested in DADA.

Suddenly, the door to the class opens, all heads turn, and two redheads stumble inside, laughing their asses off.

Internally, I shout with joy, but externally I just roll my eyes when Fred sits in the seat next to me.

"Psst, L/n, think you could spare the answers to the warm-up?" Fred asks hopefully, sending me his infamous cheeky smirk.

I roll my eyes with a sigh and slide the paper across the desk, watching him copy my answers and biting back my small smile.

Fred finished writing and slid the paper back, giving me a grateful nod and a smile. He clapped his hand on my shoulder, making my eyes go wide and my head reel back.

"Thanks, mate," He said with a smile.

He let go of my shoulder, and I slumped back in my seat, face in a grimace, cringing inwardly. He called me mate. Holy shit, I'm so far in the friend zone.

I blew air through my nose, and my face stayed in a frown the entire class. I didn't even snicker at any of his jokes. I was too grumpy. It's not like he'd like me anyway, but it still stung.

After we were dismissed, I picked up my bag and left without another word or glance at Fred. Even when he said bye to me, I just sent him a silent nod.

When I reached my dorm, I collapsed onto my bed, smashing my face into my pillow and screaming. I turned around, staring at my ceiling with a frown.

I'm his mate and not the good kind. Ugh, at least I'm better off than the other girls.

Fucking hell, I need to get over him. I know there's no point in that. He'll just loop you back in with his smile. He radiates happiness.

I hate it.

I sigh and stand up, pacing around my dorm with my arms crossed. I sit back on the edge of my bed and decide to start my homework, but not before the door bursts open.

My three roommates rush in, a blonde, and two brunettes, all giggling about something. I have friends, but I could never seem to click with my roommates.

"Oh hey, Y/n. You look deep in thought," A brunette says, glancing beside her at her friends and giggling like it was some inside joke I didn't get. Her name is Maya.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I am," I say back, feeling my face heat up. I clear my throat and shift my gaze away from them.

They continued chatting for a while. I ignored their conversation, sticking to my homework.

"Did you see Fred today? Merlin what I would do to get him in bed,"

My ears perk up at the mention of his name, and I look over at them, accidentally making eye contact with one of the girls- Amy, the blonde one, but I quickly look away.

"Y/n, do you fancy anyone?" Amy asks, authentic curiosity in her voice. Amy was always the nicest, and I knew she was being genuinely friendly, but Veronica and Maya? Not as much.

I lift my eyes, swallowing thickly before silently shaking my head, hoping they would drop the subject.

I hear a chorus of giggles, and I shift uncomfortably, suddenly insecure about myself in every way.

"I don't really believe you, L/n. Who is it? Diggory? Flint? Come on, we're your friends. You can trust us," Veronica- the second brunette reassures me, but I don't believe her.

"Uh, I'm good," I say, trying to move away from them, but Maya grabbed my arm, forcing me to stay seated.

"Is it Fred?"

My face visibly flushes, and their eyes go wide, identical grins breaking across each of their faces.

"W-What? No, I don't know what you're talking about," I stammered nervously, face still red with embarrassment. I glanced between them, my face desperate, but they didn't care.

Veronica smirked, looking at Maya and Amy. Amy's expression was confused. She cocked her head sideways.

"See you at dinner, L/n," Maya said sweetly, tugging on Amy's arm and pulling her toward the door, whispering something into her ear.

I watched them leave the room, frozen in my spot. I didn't know what they were planning, but it couldn't be good.

I shook it off, convincing myself they wouldn't do anything wrong to me. It's not like I've done anything to them. Why would they try and mess with me?

I sighed, picking up my bag and walking to the door. I hummed quietly to myself while walking to the great hall, staring at my feet and keeping my head low.

I entered the great hall, finally picking my head up and heading towards my house table, but I never made it there.

My eyes found Veronica, Maya, and Amy, but they were standing by Fred.

I froze in my tracks, my eyes widening as their conversation came into my earshot.

"Well, Y/n fancies you told us herself. She's practically obsessed," Maya said with a snarky laugh.

"Merlin, she wouldn't stop talking about how much she wants to-" I tuned out the rest of Veronica's words-lies.

My chest tightened, and my heart felt like it was about to explode. My eyes were wide with hurt, and I could feel tears stinging.

Suddenly, Amy's eyes found mine, her face paled, and her mouth hung slightly agape. She quickly grabbed Veronica's arm, nodding toward me.

Veronica, Maya, Amy, and Fred all stared at me. Fred's eyes held an unreadable emotion. I felt nauseous. Bile rose in my stomach, and I quickly took a step back, knocking into someone, but I didn't care. I needed to get away from them.

I turned on my heels and ran, no, sprinted out of the great hall, tears blurring my vision. I wanted nothing more, than for someone to shoot me between the eyes.

- About a half hour earlier.

Fred-

"You called her your mate?" George asked, bursting into laughter and falling back on his bed.

"I didn't know what else to say!" Fred fired back defensively, his cheeks tinting red.

"You don't call the girl you fancy, mate, you muppet," George stated, shaking his head with an eye roll.

"Well, it's not like she fancies me. She's completely disinterested in me and shows no sign of even tolerating me," Fred sighed, sitting on his bed and running a hand through his hair.

"It can be like that with some girls," George assures his twin. Fred shook his head, biting his cheek and crossing his arms.

"She doesn't laugh at my jokes, won't look at me, rolls her eyes at everything I do. I think she's smiled at me maybe once," Fred muttered, shaking his head again.

"L/n doesn't smile, ever. And I've seen her smile at you, so extra points for Freddie," George snickers, earning a pillow launched at him by Fred.

"Why don't you just grow a pair and ask her out?"

"I'm nervous, Georgie. I've never felt this way about a girl before. I don't want to lose her, and if she rejects me, I'll never even get to talk to her again," Fred says with an exasperated sigh, his face falling into his hands.

"Man, you're whipped," George spoke with a breathy laugh, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

"Fucking hell," Fred mumbled, continuing to vent and ask George for advice the whole way down to dinner.

Once the twins reached the great hall and started toward the Gryffindor table, Fred was corraled by three girls.

He vaguely recognized them, Veronica, Maya, and Amy. Maya and Veronica had tried to sleep with him many times.

"Hey, Freddie," Veronica said with a sweet smile, placing her hand on his arm.

Fred remained unphased, but he carefully removed his arm from her grasp.

"Do you know who Y/n L/n is?" Maya asked, smiling at him and totaling her head sideways.

Fred's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name, he quickly cleared his throat, shifting on his feet and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I sit next to her in Lupin's," Fred said, looking between the girls wearily. He'd never seen Y/n talking with them.

Amy tugged on Maya's sleeve, whispering something in her ear and trying to pull her away from Fred.

"Shove off, Amy!" Veronica hissed, making Amy stop, hanging her head low.

Fred furrowed his brows, about to defend Amy when Maya's words completely derailed him.

"Well, Y/n fancies you told us herself. She's practically obsessed," Maya said, laughing snarkily and glancing at Veronica, who had an equally sardonic expression.

"Merlin, she wouldn't stop talking about how much she wants to fuck you," Veronica added, making Fred's eyes go wide. His blood boiled in his veins. He angrily clenched his fists. He knew her words were lies made up to put Y/n down, and he hated it.

"Veronica!" Amy quietly hissed, nodding toward someone. Fred looked over, and his heart dropped.

There she was, standing with her bag over her shoulder, her eyes wide, a pained expression on her face. She looked as though she was about to be sick.

Fred didn't know what to say, his mouth was dry, and his head spun with anger.

He watched her back away, then spin on her heel and run.

"Y/n!" He called starting to go after her when someone caught his arm again.

"What are you doing? She's a weirdo! A loser-" Veronica started to say, but Fred harshly cut her off.

"Shut your fucking mouth before I rip out your tongue!" He almost shouted, ripping himself away from her and running out of the great hall, ignoring the whispers.

Fred ran as fast as he could, looking left and right down the hallway, trying to spot her. He cursed when he couldn't spot her. He was starting to panic.

"She's probably at the lake,"

Fred whipped around, scowling down at Amy, narrowing his eyes, and opening his mouth to start going off on her.

"I tried to stop them, I really did, but they're my only friends. I know that doesn't excuse anything. I'm sorry I couldn't do more to stop them, but Y/n goes there to read. I've seen it," Amy says, toying with her fingers and avoiding Fred's eyes.

Fred's expression softened slightly, and he sighed, rubbing his jaw. He didn't know why, but he believed her. Amy was just a lonely girl who made friends with the wrong people.

"Find new friends," Was all he said before he walked past Amy picking up his pace.

Amy sighed, rubbing up and down her arms. She looked at the floor and swallowed, starting to walk back inside when she bumped into George.

-

Y/n-

I couldn't breathe. The tears wouldn't stop. I heaved, gasping between broken sobs, my head in my hands as I cried my heart out.

I sobbed heavily, lifting my eyes momentarily to look out over the lake, sniffling before more sobs escaped my lips.

He'd never look at me the same. He thinks I'm some weird stalker and that I'm obsessed with him. Why would they tell him? What have I done to them?

I'll never show my face again. I'll dig myself a grave and fling myself off the astronomy tower. Hopefully, I'll land inside it.

I tucked my knees to my chest, resting my chin atop them, tears still pouring from my eyes.

"Y/n?"

I quickly turned, my eyes widened momentarily, but I just closed them, resting my head back on my knees.

-

Third Person-

"Go on, tell me how much of a fucking loser I am, that I'm weird, and you'd never fancy someone like me," She said through sobs, her voice cracking.

Fred's eyes went wide. He completely crumbled when he saw her cry. He wished he could take away her pain. Absorb it all just so he could see one of her rare smiles.

"No, no, Y/n, fuck Veronica and Maya are idiots, mongrels. They don't amount to even half of the person you are," Fred said, sitting next to Y/n, his hand going to her chin, tilting her face toward him.

Y/n's eyes went wide, and her head reeled back out of instinct and surprise. Fred swallowed, pulling his hand away.

Y/n blinked at him, reaching up to wipe her eyes. She cleared her throat, looking at the ground and sniffling.

"They were lying," She spoke quietly, running her hands over her arms comfortingly.

There was a pang in Fred's heart. He assumed they were lying, but it still hurt to know the truth. That she didn't fancy him as he did her.

"I thought so," He said, rubbing his neck anxiously.

"I'm not a weirdo. I didn't talk about how much I wanted to fuck you. I swear! I'm not-" Y/n started, but Fred cut her off.

"You shouldn't be defensive. They're the fuckers who should be apologizingly. It's fine that you don't fancy me," Fred said with a small pained smile, trying to hide his disappointment.

-

Y/n-

I turned my head to look at him, furrowing my brows and tilting my head. Was he this dense? It didn't matter anyway. He doesn't like me.

"Fred, they didn't lie about that part," I said quietly, clearing my throat and keeping my eyes on the ground. From the corner of my eye, I swear I saw his head shoot up and his eyes widen.

"I'm gonna go-" I started to say, wiping my eyes again and standing up, but Fred grabbed my wrist as I stood, keeping me from walking away.

Fred stood up, looking at me intensely, his mouth was open, but he said nothing.

"Fuck it," He finally muttered, leaning forward and pressing his lips against mine, briefly kissing me.

He pulled back, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He stepped away from me, probably because of the shocked expression on my face.

"Sorry, I-"

I didn't let him finish his sentence. I grabbed his tie, pulling him down and crashing our lips together. He didn't hesitate, kissing me back with equal, if not more passion.

He cupped my cheek, deepening the kiss. He tasted better than I'd dreamed, and his lips were so soft.

When we finally broke apart. I scoffed sarcastically, crossing my arms over my chest. Fred furrowed his brows.

"Why the hell would you call me your mate?"

Fred closed his eyes, sighing in what I think is relief.

"I thought you were about to slap me," He said with a laugh, smiling that cheeky smirk.

"I'm thinking about it,"

"Can I kiss you again?" He asks, eyes flickering to my lips. I smiled, stepping closer to him, keeping our eyes connected.

"Be my guest,"

[bloodinwine]

Warning sappy AF post I couldn't believe getting this today. Thank you @bikilotta so much - and also to everyone who'd reached out or sent me their good vibes.

It's only been a few days but since my whiny AF post I've taken a small step back to kind of re-evaluate things. Turns out me having some kind of emotional crisis after a chapter release has been a bit of a behavioral pattern of mine for a couple of months now. Maybe longer.

But this one was the worst and I felt my happiness to create and write completely gone when I sat down to draft Chapter 18.

Why? Why? Why? I think I was scared for a moment that this might be the end of the good streak I had of just wanting to give it my all. But no, I needed to get to the bottom of why I was feeling this way.

Some readers already know this but I'm writing UY pretty much with no outline at all lol. I have a roadmap in my mind of where I want to go and the things I want to see. Overall, I started writing UY purely off of my own whimsy. Whatever I wanted to see my barbies do, that's what I would write about! I nearly lost sight of that tbh. I think at some point in the journey as UY picked up a little, I felt this massive worry/self-inflicted pressure about the pacing and plot structure. After Chapter 17 dropped, I suddenly was asking myself if I should skip scenes I'd planned, skip entire chapters (which would have made it entirely different story from how I want it to be). I started writing Chapter 18 with this in my head, and I didn't like what I wrote at all.

And frankly, that's what got me so down. It should've been obvious, but it wasn't really.

I just need to keep writing what I want to write. It's that simple.

So then that is what I did and now the first draft of Chapter 18 is finished <3

Of course, I read all the (very patient) kind responses from so many of you here and it played such a part in me really finally starting to understand.

I know there will still be road bumps ahead of me, but I feel better equipped now.

Thank you everyone for your patience with me. It really helped me so much.

Thank you @bikilotta again for this badge. I'll wear it with pride <3

[adamruz]

Do You Love Him?

Summary: Torres helps Kim realize her feelings for Adam.

[This was inspired by the behind the scenes photo of Marina and Benjamin partnering up last fall and I just now finished that draft.]

Words: 759

AO3 link

The unit had been taking turns partnering up with Torres in his first official week as a member of Intelligence and today was Kim’s turn. She didn’t know too much about him yet, but she figured it would be a quiet uneventful day in the car with him. She usually has to deal with Adam singing along to every song on the radio or Kevin rambling on about all of his tenants’ issues, so she was perfectly okay with quiet today. Especially after the morning she had when her and Adam got into a minor argument that escalated after a disagreement about what new refrigerator they wanted to buy.

"Hey, I know it's none of my business, but is that your daughter in the picture on your desk?" Dante asked shyly.

"Yeah, her name's Makayla. She's eight."

“She looks well loved and happy in that picture.”

“She is, thanks.” Kim loved talking about her daughter, but didn’t envision where this conversation would go next.

"You and Ruzek…right?" Dante asked, unaware of their entire situation and backstory.

Kim paused a little before answering, wondering how he placed her and Adam together. He probably noticed them arriving and leaving work with each other or maybe Kevin filled him in or so she thought. "Yeah, we both found her wandering on the street and then Intelligence investigated the murders of her mother, grandmother, and uncle. I fostered her for a bit and then earlier this year, I fully adopted her. But Adam's been there every step of the way and we moved into his dad's old house together a few weeks ago."

"How long have you two been together?"

This really was turning into a not so quiet car ride as Kim expected. "We actually aren’t anything right now, but it's complicated…off and on for almost ten years."

"Do you love him?"

Kim was completely caught off guard and yet didn’t hesitate with her answer, "Yeah, but we..."

"Then it's not complicated at all,” he responded point-blank after cutting her off.

Kim couldn’t muster a response as she was wondering how this guy, practically a kid, that she just met pretty much solved her relationship with Adam in five minutes.

He followed up with another hard hitting question. “Does Ruzek know that you love him?”

Kim drove in silence pondering everything Dante had said to her until a call came over their radios.

“5021 Ida, suspect fleeing down the fire escape.”

“That's Adam!” Kim sped up a bit and drove to where Adam and Kevin were on surveillance. As they pull up, she sees Adam walking with blood seeping through his jeans on his left leg. She barely puts the car in park before she jumps out and runs over to him. “Adam oh my gosh, are you okay? Where are you hurt?”

He puts up his hand to attempt to calm her down. “Kim, I'm fine. I just scraped up my knee chasing this son of a bitch because my damn shoe came untied.” Kevin was chuckling over under the tree where he had the man in handcuffs.

“Oh thank goodness, I was so worried when I saw the blood.”

“I’m okay, I'm perfectly fine.” Adam was still not understanding the sudden freak out as there was very minimal blood. “What's going on with you? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me today after the ride into work this morning.”

“I’m sorry about that. I just…I love you.” She didn’t envision telling him that today when she woke up and after their argument, but Torres gave her some clarity in the car.

Adam smiled, still confused and reached for her hand, not wanting to cause a scene since they were still on duty. "I love you too, but where's this coming from?"

“I was talking to Torres earlier and he said something that really struck me and I had to not put it off anymore and just say it.” Adam and Kim both flashed a smile in Dante’s direction.

"Well he's a very smart guy if I do say so myself," Adam answered.

Torres and Atwater were standing off to the side by their cars, watching this exchange. "Man, what did you say to Burgess? I've been trying to get those two crazy kids back together for years and you’re here for what? A week?"

Dante laughed, "I just told her if she really loved him, there was nothing complicated about it."

Kevin held out his hand for a fist bump, “you did good, Rookie."

[goldenholi]

Hello! I finished my first draft of the nai project. I'm starting the second draft and want to share it. I'm feeling pretty good about it. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter one: A Great Start.

Naivara was starting to suspect Atlas was a liar.

It began with small things. He told her she looked lovely without sparing her a glance. He told her she was doing great work but rarely looked happy, or proud, or excited about her progress. He was different now. Once upon a time, he paused expectantly between thoughts, granting her an opportunity to contribute, even if it was just an “I agree” or “I don’t know.” He would nod, accept what she said, then continue. That tiny consideration alone left her glowing.

Whatever had blossomed between them was rotting. She felt it in the space between them, in his tone, in the way he didn’t face her in bed. Something was going wrong. The sweet, thoughtful Atlas she had chosen to work with, chosen to marry was disappearing. The man who had taken her in, saw her potential, gave her a book he couldn’t read and trusted her to be his partner… He told her that she could change the town for the better. Had he meant it?

She hoped so. But Atlas was making it harder and harder to believe that.

“Are you upset with me?” She asked. He didn’t answer.

“Don’t do this here, of all places,” he muttered. “Do you like that one?” He touched a long, grey finger against the glass. There, a delicate chain sculpted like a vine gleamed under the light. “It’s a beautiful piece,” the jeweler said. Naivara tucked her hair behind her ears, then tapped at the tapered ends of her ears pointedly. The jeweler paused. He sighed.

“I was not aware the bride was of the elven persuasion. Allow me a minute to re-organize my wares.”

“Why?” Atlas asked.

“Does she not get blisters?”

“No.”

“I do get blisters,” Naivara said. “Iron and fae heritage don’t mix.”

“I thought you outgrew that.”

“You can’t outgrow fae heritage,” she said, her tone harsh. “I’ve been living off fruit and vegetables because someone doesn’t want to replace our cutlery-”

“If you want to re-furnish the entire kitchen, I welcome you to do so. With your own fucking money.”

The jeweler stepped away with haste.

“You,” she said. “Are mad at me. Why are you mad at me? What did I do?”

“I wasn’t mad at you until you decided to be snippy,” he said, his golden eyes starting to slant. This was typically where she would back off. Where she would relent to her tall, tiefling fiancé and recognize that maybe this wasn’t worth fighting over. Today wasn’t feeling very typical. No it was not.

“Before that you were mad. Have I done something?”

He shook his head.

“You are exhausting,” he said. “I try to do something nice and you tear it up from the roots. This is your opportunity to get yourself something nice and you’re ruining it.”

“I want pots and pans,” she said. “Not some chain around my neck.”

“Forgive me for wanting my fiancéto look presentable.”

Naivara clenched her firsts, balling up the fabric of her coat. The coat that she loved so dearly, that Atlas insisted was too big for her. The coat her mother had trudged through an endless forest in, the coat she had lovingly tucked away in a suitcase for years, the coat that had kept Naivara warm when she had nothing. The coat from far, far away. Sometimes she looked at it and imagined going to where her mother hailed from, and finding an exact match sitting in a big window.

“You,” Atlas said. “Are becoming impossible. You know what-” He turned then and called out, “We’ll do this another day. Pack it up.”

The jeweler shut his case of goods the way Atlas slammed doors.

“I don’t want to deal with you tonight,” he continued. “I need space.”.

“Atlas-”

“No,” he said. “You aren’t in the right state of mind to appreciate everything I do for you. You have a full stomach, a roof over your head-”

“I’m leaving!” She proclaimed. Atlas glowered down at her, his golden eyes slanted in something close to hate. She felt the heat rolling off him in waves.

“Leave,” he said. “See if I care. Hell, I’ll see you out yourself.” He set his hand against the slope of her back, shoving her through the parlor. A few patrons glanced at her pitifully, then looked away as Atlas shoved her out the door and into the street. The earth was thick and wet, her steps squelching with every shift of her weight. “Have fun out there,” he said, turning his back on her.

He left and the heat remained. A great big fire roaring in her neck, crawling up her face, slurrying her vision. She wrenched herself away from the parlor and circled around the building, fumbling to unlock the gate. She slipped into the backyard, kicked the gate shut, and forced open a basement door. Then she climbed down into the dark, where things made sense.

Naivara considered the basement to be her room. Sure, she split a room with Atlas, but there wasn’t much of herself in it. She slept on the right side of the bed. He dominated the closet. She got the desk. At times she felt less like a fiancé and more like an accessory.

The room she controlled, the room she organized, the room where she could breathe, that was the basement. Even if it served as more of a workspace than a home, it was hers.

She felt her way down the stairs, bumped into her desk and pat the surface delicately, searching for a match. Shortly thereafter a tiny drop of light bloomed into existence, illuminating the barest indication of a workspace: a humble table lovingly regarded as a desk, teeming with candles and journals. One journal consisted of ‘records’ that Atlas insisted she toil over, when she was listless and he was antsy. He would prattle and she would mark down who was being paid what, and he would scan the numbers, barely paying any attention to her notes. It’s not like he could appreciate them. It’s not like anyone could, except her father, who always frowned at her work.

She opened up her journal, glowering down at all the notes she had taken on his behalf. All neat, and organized and under-appreciated.

Perimeter Maintenance Expense 100

To be paid 100

Note: Gerard, Laurel, Elias, Antony due before festival for repairing Eastgate runway collapse.

Gold 140

Expected Dues 140

Note: Dues collected from Eastgate, courtesy of Killian

Perimeter Security Expense 70

Gold 70

Note: Paid to Skipper, disbursed at 5 gold per guardsmen. Night shift.

Wages 50

Food 30

Gold 80

Note: Wages paid to staff, Food paid to Juniper

Bones 10

Gold 10

Note: Paid to Malachy

She frowned, unsure if Atlas had paid for repairs or not. She hung her coat upon her chair. She supposed if the entry didn’t exist, he hadn’t paid them. He was playing with fire. She had to remind him to pay. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe he deserved to deal with an issue or two. Besides, he was the one always saying he didn’t need her reminders. Fine then. She would put her faith in him. That was his realm of control.

She shut her journal and turned to face the brewery, scanning her work for any signs of maintenance.

It was a morbid sight to the uninitiated. Pacci was a peculiar avenue of work, relying on a uniquely tricky set of ingredients. The first was soil, which was plentiful and accessible. The second was darkness, in which the basement was sufficed. The third? Bones.

And there were pacci sprouts, of course. How these were acquired, Naivara didn’t know. Atlas had brought her down to the brewery and there they were, small sprouts tinged red, bursting with vitality. The journal Atlas had given her detailed that pacci saplings grew in decay, typically sprouting in the rot of a kill. Cases of pacci growth in the forest were usually credited to dire-wolves, who slaughtered their prey and abandoned the remnants. How pacci was transported anywhere else? She didn’t know.

The one thing she did know was that they didn’t grow on decay, they grew on bones. She was thankful for this, because the thought of having to inhale rot made her shudder. She was acquainted with the smell, courtesy of Killian, who she had lived near throughout her youth. On a hot summer day, she considered him downright reprehensible.

With smell out of the way, there were more pressing concerns. Moving large quantities of bone is strange if the stars align. On a good day, under good circumstances, it induces concern. And on a bad day? On a bad day word spreads about the Grey’s having a basement full of bones and the Sutero are tipped off, and the whole ‘divorce the town from relying on Sutero traders for medicine’ plan falls to pieces. Thus the butcher was paid a tidy sum for quietly filling a barrel with clean bones on Atlas’ behalf, and every month Someone (Huxley) was charged with delivering it the basement. Naivara didn’t know what Atlas told Malachy to assure him that this wasn’t a freaky, nonsensical obsession, but as far as she knew, things were under wraps. That’s all that mattered.

And the pacci was growing well. The journal said it pulled nutrients and something called ‘essence’ from deep within the bone. Once it developed a thick, rubbery outer-coating it could be snipped, then slit, then left to ferment in a jar of taf. Gradually, the jar would shift in color and turn a deep purple tinged with red.

That was not occurring. Scanning the shelves, Naivara’s frustration subsided, replaced with a very real concern about the quality of her work. Only a handful of jars were of the proper hue. She could imagine Atlas’ disappointment. He would be infuriated. He’d tell that they’ve wasted all this time and money, all these resources, and for what? Her father had word for Atlas’ kind of whining. Queja.

She asked about it once and he told her it’s complaining without bothering to hide the misery, and passing it onto everyone who hears. Then she asked him “Porqué quejas sobre mi boda?” To which he replied “I’m allowed to be miserable. I see the truth.”

He was most unhappy with her union-to-be. He was honest about it. From the beginning he thought Atlas’ kindnesses were alarming. When she told him that she had moved in with Atlas and his family, he had stared at her as though she had slit her neck. He disapproved of many things: Atlas' age, her age, the “imbalance.” They had many arguments about the truth. He didn’t know her truth. He didn’t know the Atlas that she knew. That’s what she told herself.

She frowned at the thought, then took a jar and examined it in the light of a candle. The truth was changing. What was it now? That her relationship was a farce? That her work wasn’t yielding the result she wanted, that everything was quietly falling to pieces and beyond gritting her teeth, there was nothing to be done? Her father was mad at her, her fiancé was losing his charm. She wasn’t even making pacci correctly, given the pinkish hue of the liquid.

What a way to begin spring. With botched pacci and relatives who barely believed in you.

Maybe it would work. Maybe it didn’t matter that it wasn’t a deep purple-red. Maybe that was ideal, but pink could do the trick just as well. Only one way to find out.

She popped the lid off and took a swig, immediately spitting the concoction out. It sprayed against the ledger, against her journals, barely missed her coat. She slammed the cap back on the jar and coughed into her arm, her vision spotty. Her mouth was firey, like the flesh was curdling and stretching. It hurt to let her tongue rest agains the base of her mouth. Her skin tingled. Her vision became a slurry of brick and bulbous light.

She heard knocking at the door. She stumbled up the stairs, pushing up the door to find her staring down a man with the head of a white fox. She screamed and it made a motion to touch her, she jolted back-

And fell. Hard. Except it wasn’t brick or dirt beneath her, it was endless void, and she lost control of her faculties. She forgot she could tilt up her chin, forgot where she was, forgot that there was earth beneath her feet and she was falling. Screaming, kicking and wailing into the void-

Then she was in someones arms. The white fox had pulled her into a hug. He held her tightly. She cried and screamed, tears dribbling down her face before floating off, like tiny gems filling the void. She was gaping for breath, timing her shaky, tiny inhales with the fox’s deep breathing.

And then there was darkness, and she slumped against a stranger.

There was grit in her eyes. She blinked dumbly up at a ceiling. She could tell it was noon, or later. The light was crisp and clean. She coughed, droplets bursting against the light before falling against her own face. Propping herself up on her elbows, she scanned the room and recognized it: Room 4. The room Atlas had given her, before he asked her to move in. Someone had brought her here. Who?

She stood, her foot knocking against a bucket. She glanced down and saw half-digested fruit and vegetables, and a whole lot of discolored pink liquid. She pushed it into a corner and made a beeline for the door.

She twisted the doorknob and it didn’t budge. She stood on her toes and peered through the peephole. The hall was empty. She took off her shoe and began to knock the heel against the door incessantly.

After enough knocking to know she was being ignored, Naivara dropped her shoe and retreated to the window, peering out to view the outside. In the distance she spotted several guards upon the perimeter walkway, drinks in hand. Atlas was with them. Mallory was there too, frowning pointedly.

She had a feeling that even if she could catch their attention, neither of them would bother. She could hear it in her mind: Today is a good day. For them. For everyone except her, because her throat was sore from the screaming and at this point, surely everyone knew Something happened. This town was too small for anyone to ignore a scene like the one she caused.

Mallory leaned up against the walkway and spared a glance in her direction. He nudged Atlas. For a moment Atlas stared out in no particular direction. Then she saw a sigh roll through his figure. He looked at her and his exhaustion was so palpable that she stepped out of view, burning with shame.

Not long after, the door opened, the lock clicking in one clean chnk. There stood Killian.

Killian was a thin, bony man. He was a perpetually exhausted man. He usually looked a bit deprived of sleep or food or both. Today he grinned at her, looking as close to healthy as he ever had.

“Atlas sent me,” Killian said, his hands pressing up against each other. “He thought it would be better if I talked to you.”

“Why isn’t hehere?” Naivara asked.

“Because you have disappointed him, Naivara,” Killian said. “You have been harming his peace. He’s at his wits end.” Then Killian sat himself down on her bed, hands folded neatly in his lap. “He’s getting tired, Naivara. It’s one thing to be disobedient at home, another to cause a scene like you did.”

“I drank bad pacci,” Naivara said. “I wasn’t myself. I didn’t do it to spite him.”

“Here is what everyone saw,” Killian said. “They saw Atlas escort you out of the Grove. They saw you finagle your way back inside, through the backyard. Then you started screaming and wailing like you were being murdered. It looks terrible, Naivara. You threw a massive tantrum to spite him.”

“I was scared,” Naivara said. “I was having visions. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Well what is done,” he said. “Is done. You have infuriated him, Naivara. After everything he’s done for you… after he gave you work, opened up his home to you, put you to work...and you repay him by being riddled withinsultingimpulses. It’s wrong.”

Naivara swiped at her eyes. Her fury and hurt was tempered by a bone deep confusion. Exhaustion nibbled at the edges of her mind. Something wasn’t right. She couldn’t put her finger on it, couldn’t put it into words. She wanted to defend herself but she didn’t know how. Was it truly her own fault?

“Now now,” Killian said. “This isn’t your nature. I sense there is something else at play. Why don’t we sit and talk, Naivara?”

“No,” she said. “No. No thank you. Please go.” She felt that Killian was dishonest. She had no evidence for this, but people around him always wound up in rough patches. When Atlas kept his distance, he was happier. Less agitated. Naivara felt certain that if she told Killian her truth, things would worsen.

“That’s a very suspicious decision, Naivara. You’re very easily agitated.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“Too much,” Killian said. “Pray tell, what?”

“Killian,” Naivara said. “Please go. I want to be alone.”

For a short while he sat on her bed, looking at her. She never liked the way Killian looked at people. She always felt like he was seeing something she couldn’t.

“I will go,” he said. “What should I tell Atlas?”

“I don’t care what you tell him.”

Killian sighed.

When he left Naivara found herself staring out the window. Somewhere out there, beyond the perimeter, well into the forest was her father. The man who warned her about getting close to Atlas. The man who had predicted this spiral. He had told her in no uncertain terms, “It’s temporary. Give it time and that ‘bond’ will wither.” And he was right. She despised that he was right. Was it so awful to want to believe that she was wanted? That maybe, someone loved her?

No. It wasn’t awful. But she was starting to suspect it was plain stupid. Because in what world did a rail thin, weak, nervous girl marry a man like Atlas? In what world did a strong, influential man look at a mouse of a girl and decide, Yes. That’s the one! The weak one that I have to prop up in every regard, that is the woman of my dreams. The one without a spine, who irritates me day in and day out.

What a silly idea. Perhaps her father had been right from the start.

The door opened sharply.

“No apology?” Atlas asked, slamming the door. “Nothing?”

“I haven’t had the chance to explain-”

“I don’t want an excuse,” Atlas said. “You embarrassed me. The whole town is talking about you and your screaming fit. What was that, huh?” He shoved her and she backed away, incrementally adjusting where she stood.

“I drank pink pacci and it gave me visions,” Naivara said. “I-I thought I was falling!” And it sounded so stupid that she had to turn away, unable to look at him, her cheeks burning. “I was scared!”

“I am sick of this,” Atlas said. “You’re lucky that despite you being ungrateful,” he said. “Despite your fits, despite your shortcomings, despite all the little things that piss me off, I love you.” He said it but he wasn’t looking at her. He was glaring at her. It wasn’t a hunch anymore. Atlas was a liar. He lied to her, but mostly to himself.

She made the decision that when her father returned, she would discuss her options with him. She liked the idea of going far, far away.

[threegoblinart]

Your art is amazing!!! The style is sooo pretty. How long does it usually take to finish one piece? And what are some tips for a beginner artist?

Hi friend! Thank you so much, you're just lovely. ❤️

At the moment I'd say a real finished painting can be 8-12 hours of work easily when you factor in sketch thumbnails, practicing tricky things and doing more than one draft.

My Willow at the Window was probably 12 hours because I had to reteach myself so perspective stuff I haven't done for 15+ years since set design class in college.

The drawing I posted today is already 5-6 sketches in my notebook and one previous first attempt with watercolor.

All this time is often over weeks - I work full time, have kids and we have a stupid number of hobbies, lessons, so I draw and paint in little snatches of time here and there.... Frequently at around 11 o'clock at night.

Advice... Oh, settle in and let the Art Mom tell you a tale... No, just kidding. I could regurgitate the usual junk (okay it's not junk and very valid, good advice like - yes you have to practice, use references, invest in quality materials whenever you can, explore different mediums until you find your thing, etc.). But instead I'm going to say this...

Remember two things:

1) art should be something you do because it makes you happy

and

2) remember you're an artist no matter what and be fucking proud of that

About point one, at the end of the day making art should make you happy... So that will mean different things to different people some people can find joy being considered a professional in their field, having art be their source of income and some will not. And that's okay.

I learned this the hard way. I tried to be a professional in my field (theatre) and for a while it was great, but I burned out quickly and realized that tying my livelihood to my art did not make me happy. I did not fail, I learned where my boundaries are to be happy, healthy and creative. So now I draw just for fun, sometimes do small commissions for friends, etc. Maybe one day I'll try to do more (I do have goals, I'd love to do more commissions, have my art in a book, have a small print store), but right now drawing my DND characters and fanart and silly little mushroom houses makes me happy and that's enough. Our worth as artists is not determined by sales or contracts or likes or followers, that's a bunch of consumerist, capitalist bullshit and your art and you are inherently worth more than that.

About point two... You're amazing, yep you, and you're an artist. Art is simply the expression of creativity and imagination and inspiration. It doesn't matter if your art is something on chapel ceilings or the back of your maths notebook - it doesn't matter if it's entirely original (I ❤️ fanart and guess what that stuff on the chapel ceiling is just religious fanart). Are you doing something creative, imaginative or inspired - congrats you're an artist (que Newsies "We're a union just by saying soooo!!!") And there are no other qualifiers based on skill or ability.

Whatever you create is something only you can do.

While it's absolutely fine to work on improvement and goals - it is good to study others work and take classes and learn and seek to improve - be proud of what you're making no matter what because you made it and that alone is amazing!

I learned this the hard way... I stopped drawing for 10 years, and only started again 3 years ago (I'm, ahem, not super young) and I'm still learning to take this to heart. I struggle with comparison and self worth as an artist still, it's not a light switch I can turn off but something I work at (and take medication for - stupid insufficient brain chemistry).

Comparison does nothing but rob you of joy. Be proud of what you can do right now. Be proud of what you could make last week or last year or when you were 6. Be inspired by others, but only compare you to you - that way you only see your improvement and surround yourself with people who will hype you up no matter where you are in skill and ability.

... but also, like, practice ... a lot.

P.S. as bonus these pictures are one of the first things I drew three years ago when I finally said "fuck it I'm going to draw again" and my most recent quick sketch. They both are different in skill and ability, but I'm proud of both.

[typezerostudios]

Finished, first draft anyways. Not entirely happy with the rhythm, and might want to add a stanza or two, but overall I think it turned out well!

@knitmeapainting hope you like it!

i love the whole world violently. and I don't want to go to work

It's a beautiful autumn morning But I'm feeling just a bit irked I love the whole world violently, but I'm supposed to go to work

I ignore the papers all over These bills drive me berserk There are so many things I would rather do and I really don't want to work

I call up my job with a cough My boss is kind of a jerk But I earned every one of those sick days So I am not going to work

My love rolls their eyes and they laugh Saying that I'm a real berk But I don't care, I'm relaxing Because I can stay home from work

I look at the leaves in the yard My dog gives a knowing smirk We rush out to build a pile This is so much better than work

No clicking of keyboards, no meetings Or duties that I cannot shirk But I need a break, so sue me I can't always be busy with work

It's fun to spend the day dreaming Just wielding my fantasy dirk There are dragons out there that need fighting I'm so happy I'm not at work

The two of us chase off the ogres Through the shadows where they love to lurk It's silly and goofy and fun, It's much less boring than work

I go to the store for some food I get a strange look from the clerk It might be the 42 pizzas To celebrate not being at work

I throw them all in the oven Wishing I had grabbed a Turk It's been so long since I cooked something, But today I didn't have work

My partner says that I'm silly, I say it's an endearing quirk They smile and hug me and whisper; I'm glad you skipped out on work

We watch a movie and cuddle They awkwardly try to flirt I squeeze them tighter and smile This is so much better than work

I sit on the couch, quite content Wishing I had time for a Cirque But the day is over, not wasted Tomorrow, there's probably work

I snuggle up to them, so tired But happy about my day I should think of a rhyme here, but it's my day off And I really don't want to work

I'm exhausted but somehow not sleepy I watch the stars in the deepening murk I love the whole world violently Maybe tomorrow, I'll go back to work

Maybe.

i love the whole world violently. and i dont want to go to work

[unsubscribbly]

Oc Loredump #4

This is Kherita / Kerrita. Throughout her development, I've drawn her in many different ways and have changed her name a plethora of times.

I think I might have officially started developing her back in August - September of 2021, making her design around 2 years old. This makes her one of my more recent characters.

She was initially made for a project that I never finished, called "Beyond Her Garden: The Animated Series." Well, at least I think that was the project's name. It was based off of the WoodenToaster song by the same name.

In late September of 2021 I began to design Kerrita's siblings and family members. One of the only that stuck was "Cherrion Taup," who is another instance of me using silly genius names.

The drawing in the image is from last year, and I'm getting back into the phase where I want to draw Kerrita again.

I realize that this post really doesn't include much lore so far. Oops!

I couldn't really stick to one story with Kerrita until late spring of 2022. In a different post, I could go over the previous drafts of both Kerrita's design and her story.

The current story goes something like this:

Kerrita and her family come from an incredibly impoverished town maybe 400 miles from where one of my other OCs, Glitches, resides. She does a lot of work for farms and often delivers products to other nearby towns.

This cycle continues until she meets a really cheerful horse who convinces her to travel to another town with them. While in her hometown, Kerrita has much more drab and darker colors, but still not entirely grey. The other characters living in the area are completely grey, however.

The happy horse did turn slightly grey while walking into the drab town but was still colorful enough to gain rude and suspect glances.

Anyway, Kerrita and the horse travel around some small, cheerful villages full of color and excitement. Kerrita didn't quite know how to feel-- she'd never seen something so bright and wistful. It really hurt her eyes.

It hurt her heart too. To see for the first time exactly how dull and depressing her hometown was.

Her colors became brighter, along with her attitude.

Kerrita knew what she had to do.

She and a few friends she'd made on the way traveled back to the drab little town and attempted to show them that there was another way to live. Upon entering the town, however, they were greeted by Kerrita's angry mother and a mob of disgusted, grey citizens. They were armed. Kerrita and her small friend group were not.

As the fighting escalated, the ground below the two groups began to crack. Eventually, the ground shattered completely, leaving a small canyon stretching for around 20 meters downward. Not... a really clean fall.

Quick thinking Kerrita decided to jump, and all color began to leave her body as she fell, infiltrating the land around her.

All of the citizens gasped as their previously drab hometown slowly transitioned into a luscious farmland.

Kerrita didn't explode when she hit the ground, instead she became a wispy porcelain horsey with rainbows outlining her body.

Around 300 years later, and she still lives in the canyon. Her hometown became the capital for the area's farmland and agriculture.

Legends of the area note that she takes the form of an unsuspecting foal today. In reality, she doesn't come about that often. If she does wander up to the surface, she's in the form of a completely transparent cloud-like entity.

That's just an outline of the story.

Bye for now!

[ren-c-leyn]

Happy STS Ren! Today I would like to ask about your editing process. You rewrite drafts for one thing, but what else do you do? What does usually change between drafts? Do you need distance to be able to see what needs to be changed? How do you evaluate the quality of your writing? Any editing tools/helps/rules that help you either to write or to edit later?

+ a writing update ^^

@writingonesdreams

Happy STS to you too, Dreams ^^

So, editing. It's not my favorite part but it's actually the most organized part of my entire chaotic process.

So, first, I have a confession to make - I do edit as I write. Sometimes line edits, if the typo/missing word/janky sentence are really, really bugging me. Mostly, though, it's me going back and making rough blocks of foreshadowing/events that needed to happen in earlier chapters to make my surprise plot twists make sense in later chapters.

The fact that I cannot do this part of my editing process with The Shackles of Time due to posting it as I'm going makes me very, very nervous as it is a key part of my writing. The problem with my chaotic style is not even I see some of the things that happen later on coming, therefor I could not foreshadow ahead of time. So, yeah. I reread Shackles of Time frequently to try to minimize this particular aspect of my writing/editing process. (I'm scared for when it gets long enough that I can't knock out a reread in a weekend. That's going to make future chapters a touch stressful XD)

When I finish a draft, I let it sit for a minimum of two weeks. Usually longer, but mostly because I'm juggling half a dozen projects all at different stages so things get dropped for a hot minute.

Sometimes I'll come back from letting it sit and do some minor to moderate edits, lines, some consistency tweaks, but no major overhauls of the plot. It honestly depends on how intensive the fixes to the story are needed if I do this or not. Usually this step happens when there's something about it that's bugging me that I can't quite pin down. If I do this extra step, I let it sit again for a minimum of 2 weeks.

Then I break out the physical notebook. Now, when I sit down with physical paper, that's it for the draft. No more edits, no more tweaks, it lives like that now. I read. Anything edits I need to make, particularly to character arcs, the plot, and other major overhauls get jotted down alone with things I really like about the draft that I want to keep.

Then I rewrite the entire draft using my notes and the previous drafts as a guide.

This process gets repeated over and over until I get a draft I want to keep. The requirements for a keeper draft is 1. No major overhauls needed, moderate and lower issues are easily dealt with without rewriting, plot holes have been resolved or can be resolved with a few added/deleted paragraphs, and the entire draft flows decently while I'm reading it.

Then I go through multiple editing passes to clean up the prose, add some detailing, scrap some filler words, and what have you until I'm happy with it.

That's not to say the finished product ends up flawless. I've reread chapter 1 of The Shackles of Time at least 6 times now and I still randomly find typos in it XD

~

As for your update, I finished up another celebration post. I just need to schedule it. I've been working on another one while doing other things today. Once I finish this one, I just have one left and then I'm done with the anniversary posts.

However, I have decided that I will be redoing The Shackles of Time's banner to celebrate it's second year. So all chapters scheduled after it's official birthday will have the new banner. I may decide to do a new banner every year as a sort of mini-celebration.

Other than that, I have nothing else to report. I've been making a mad dash to finish these up since October is just around the corner.

Thanks for stopping by, I hope you have a lovely day/evening.

[aohendo]

Hallo there and happy STS, my friend!

Today I'm asking a question about editing: Once you're done with a first draft, what's your editing process (timeline, software, other writer/reader feedback, etc.)?

Happy STS, @aschlindartroom!

I love editing. There. I've said it. I love editing. Getting the content down is nice, yeah, but making it work is something special.

Answer's long so it's below the cut. I'm happy to share pics or examples or explain anything in more depth, if anyone would like!

Throughout my first drafts I leave notes for myself in <<triangle brackets>> because they're easy to search. My first task after completing that first draft? Searching for the triangles and sorting out whatever I was complaining about/flagging for later. This normally takes a hot minute.

But yay, let's say I finally got through the triangles! Now it's onto the "to do" list in the project's Onenote. These are things which would have been in-text triangles, but I realized would need to be fairly major changes (as in, outside of that particular page or chapter). Accomplishing these to-dos takes even longer than dealing with the triangles, often requiring rewrites, restructuring, and continuity searches.

Finally I've completed those to-dos! This is where I take a pause to scribble out the plot and put it on some sort of structure. For Attenuate/Reverberate, it was an 8-step hero's journey. For Prince for Hire, it'll probably be Save the Cat. Usually my plots don't exactly hit the main beats, so that's something I flag to work on during draft two.

Okay, we've got out plot scribble out, our notes and to-dos fixed, and we're ready to go. Time to reread and make more triangle notes, and more to-dos. I'll re-read the entire draft in its entirety, pausing occasionally to throw in comments of things to fix, emotions I'm missing, areas to clarify, etc. IE, it's death by triangle note again. This is the moment where if a scene or section is just absolutely not working/accomplishing what I need, I'll open up a new word document and rewrite it. I'll keep the OG version open on one half of my screen (to save the good parts), but then I will make the scene accomplish what it needs. This serves to tighten the pacing and ensures I hit my plots and subplots, as well as my worldbuilding.

Draft two has been thoroughly noted-up and rewritten (as required). Time to go back through and fix those triangle notes. Again, this takes a hot minute, and may result in more rewriting.

Let's say I've finally finished with that. Now comes the fun part! I tend to be very wordy when I write, which jacks up my pacing. This next edit is the "destroy it with a chainsaw" edit. I change the font to something easily readable (like Open Dyslexic or Comic Sans), I set that spacing to 1.5 or 1.75, I pop by the local office supply store and buy a three ring binder, and... I print it. The entire thing. All 600ish pages.

From there it's a classic hack-and-slash edit. I like using pink pens because I think it's funny to use something not red, and green is far too serious. I look for redundancies. I look for sentences which are just too long and winding. I look for unnecessary descriptions (or descriptions which are simply stage directions). I look for overly verbose dialogue. I look for anything confusing. I slash through them.

This is mostly a subtractive edit. That said, it'll happen that I end up hand-writing entire pages to fill random gaps, or to clarify things, or whathaveyou.

Okay, we're finally done this "destroy it" edit. The next bit is fairly logical: I take those handwritten edits and I apply them to the digital manuscript. This is then what I term draft three.

In draft three, my primary focus is clarity. Does the plot work, does it make sense, and are the characters' actions logical? Are there any areas I still have mentally flagged as "not what it should be, and I will be able to fix it on my own"? Draft three is for ensuring I have the manuscript where I want it to be.

If I've got the manuscript to the point where I can't fix it any further without outside input, I set it aside for a week and use that time to search out a critique partner. We'll arrange a manuscript swap (usually via Google Docs), let each other know our harshness tolerances and things specifically we're looking for, and then we'll go for it. Treat their manuscript like your own. It needs care, and it needs love, and it probably needs some help, too. If it didn't, they'd be querying/readying for self-pub rather than working with a critique partner.

In my mind, critique partners are more like an editing buddy than a beta reader. Beta readers read from a reader perspective and share their reactions, while critique partners read from a writer perspective and share their techniques. I've learned so much from previous critique partners, it's absolutely astounding how talented they are.

After draft three's been thoroughly torn apart, and if I agree with what my critique partner suggests, I'll go in and try again. Fix it. This becomes draft four. Usually, there's so many significant changes after editing the digital version of draft four it's worth printing again for another subtractive edit. This print and destroy edit is the same as the original one, and once it's all tapped up again, it becomes draft five.

Draft five is usually where I feel confident in the manuscript, and this is where I'll look for beta readers. Basically, I want it ready to publish before I send it out to sample readers.

Anywho, that was long! Like I said up top, I actually love editing, and would be happy to go more in-depth/share examples/pictures if anyone would like me to :)

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

[starshiningsirius]

Affection (Yandere Floyd x reader)

Turns out @minteasketches birthday is the day before mine and I couldn't decide who I wanted to write for so I asked for a few of her favorite characters and had a draft for Floyd that would have sat. So I'll just post this on her birthday as a gift and have this be my post for my birthday too! Happy Birthday by the way you wonderful writer and artist I love your work!🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

"I really don't like youuu~"

Floyd took a step closer towards the student with a menacing look in his eyes. Anyone who pissed him off had hell to pay for it that was for sure. He would make sure he never layed his disgusting fingers on her again.

His adorable little shrimpy that he adored so much. It was always oh so tempting to hold her close and squeeze her tight, which is what he usually did on the daily basis, but today was different. She had to spend time with another student and denied his affections promptly. After she had left him after apologizing Floyd went into depression again. His shrimpy never failed to brighten his day. Except today of course, when he didn't feel like going to club, specially not with his bad mood.

"Why does she have to spend time with someone else, can't she see I need her more." He released a sigh thinking more and more about the whole situation, her words recalling in his mind.

Then an idea popped up in his head. He could always spend time with her afterwards. She mentioned going to the library to tutor, he'd surprise her there, as soon as she was done!

He arrived there early then the supposed study session. He was actually hiding behind a bookshelf waiting for her to arrive. He noticed one student sitting their waiting impatiently. He assumed that he was the idiot who needed some help. After a little while he finally saw her arrive. It did irritate him to see her with someone else, but he knew the kind of person Y/n was and leaving someone to fail just wasn't her.

Overtime he started to see her become frustrated which wasn't like her in the slightest. She even taught the little sea otter who was beyond hope when it came to teaching him something. She was ever patient and calm the entire time. This guy managed to piss her off so easily, he had to be doing something wrong, at least that's what Floyd deduced. Seeing her so angry made him both curious and annoyed. What could he possibly have said to make her mad?

Floyd at least had a bit more constraint in him today and decided to listen in to gain some understanding.

"Hey, why do you always spend time with that eel?"

"Can you focus please?"

"Why as far as I'm concerned your hanging out with a crazy pyscho merman? He's gotta be forcing you." This student was really getting on his nerves.

He took his time away from his shrimpy, and for what to spread lies and try to pull her away from him. Not only that he placed his hand on her and she looked discomforted by it, never did she feel that way when Floyd would hug her randomly. It really didn't sit well with him, he was agitated and beyond that rage filled his system. That was never a good sign for anyone nearby.

He was about a second from taking the student and squeezing the life out of him literally. Until he saw his little shrimp stand from her seat.

"An arrogant bastard like you could never compare Floyd! He's far more sweet and lovable then you'll ever be! Don't you dare ever say shit about him!" She actually punched him across his face which surprised Floyd greatly cause the impact knocked the student out of his chair.

She immediately picked up her books and went off towards her dorm Floyd assumed, he couldn't keep his eyes off her until she exited the library. His heart was pounding faster in his chest and a smile ecstasy. Shrimpy really thought of him like that huh?

It definitely made him feel happy to learn how she felt. Maybe he should tell her he feels the same too! Ah, but Floyd still doesn't know himself what the feeling is but since Jade's so smart he'll just ask him!

He heard the groans of the student on the ground which brought him out of his thoughts. He saw the student getting back up from the floor murmuring curses and insulting his darling Shrimpy. It definitely reminded him of his rage against him for taking up her time in the first place, but now he insults her it struck a sense of bloodlust in the eel. He shouldn't do this in here though, he's sure Jade could help him get rid of any evidence too.

. . .

"Angelfish where are youuuu~?"

"Floyd-" She couldn't speak for a second cause a pair of long arms wrapped around her neck, covering her mouth, and a head nuzzled in her cheek.

"Yup~" He showed her a sharp toothed smile.

"Floyd you seem overly happy these days, has something happened?"

"Huh~ What do ya mean Shrimpy? I get to spend more time with you that always makes me happy!"

She was relieved on the inside since she tried calling him yesterday after the library incident and he didn't pick up. She called Jade too but he said his brother was doing something important for Azul, for a second there she thought she had put him in one of his bad mood swings by denying him.

Speaking of which,

"Floyd?" He wouldn't stop nuzzling her until he heard her voice calling him.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry about yesterday, I shouldn't have denied your offer, that guy was a total prick. I should have chosen you instead. If you forgive me I'll get you some candy at Sam's Shop?" She tried to offer him.

"Eh? It's fine Shrimpy but since your offering I want to get some and share it with you!" He seemed far more cheerful than the mood you left him in yesterday. Usually his mood swings would last the whole day and bargaining him with something would work even his brother didn't have control over him all the time.

It definitely felt strange in her mind but she had to dismiss it with Floyd pulling her arm in the direction of the school store.

. . .

He had brought a lot of supplies from the store more than usual. As she had asked out of curiosity he said it was a surprise. Later on the next day she found out that the surprise was making takoyaki together.

It really did surprise her, seeing Floyd be this thoughtful took her by surprise. He was more of a PDA type rather than wholesome cooking together. She did tell him once that she wanted to try it once with him,, after learning his favorite food. That was a while ago though and for him to remember such a small detail like that. She shrugged it off as nothing though and went about doing the instructions Floyd gave as they worked together in the Octanivelle kitchen.

Both of them were enjoying themselves and when it came time to heat them up he put in one last ingredient mixing with the cream color mixture. He didn't want to tell her what it was but he said it was extra special.

When it came time that it was all done he told her to open wide.

"Shrimpy come on open up~! I want you to try the first bite of this new batch so you can tell me what you think! " He looked happy and stared at her in anticipation.

The gaze had her face turning red in which she could hear the laugh of the other twin within the empty Monstro Lounge. She didn't want to keep him waiting so she did as he was told and opened her mouth.

Soon as the sphere shaped food had entered and she had chewed the taste was weird, normal savory flavor but with the taste of something she couldn't put her finger on.

It wasn't that many of the food and as soon as she finished she had another pressed to her lips. Until it was all gone did the process repeat. That's when her vision began to get hazy.

"Floyd I don't feel so well. I think I need to go to the infirmary." Her body swayed as tried standing before she could take a step her body fell over tripping on air possibly.

"Eh~ What do you mean, Angelfish? You don't need to rely on anyone else but me." He had pulled her toward his chest the warmth lulling her senses into a gentle slumber.

. . .

When she woke up she found herself in Floyd's room, the messy appearance of it familiar to her. It was strange though since she couldn't remember coming into the room or falling asleep. The taste of takoyaki though remained on her tongue and she recalled a couple of things including the so called 'special ingredient' Floyd put in a few of them that he got from Azul.

It must have put her to sleep, but why would Floyd do something like this?

When she heard the door open she looked up and saw the man in question. He was elated to finally see her awake and ran over to you quickly.

"Angelfish! Your finally up! Great that means we can play now!" One word in particular stood out to her.

"Angelfish? You usually call me Shrimpy. Floyd what's going on?" She was confused and wanted answers but it only made the eel happy.

"Oh your mine now! That little study session of yours with that annoying little crab, you defended me, it was so amazing to see you angry for me Angelfish! It made me so happy so I had to show my affection back some way."

"What do you mean?" She did not like where this was going. She had used violence which was unlike her but with Floyd's seeing it too it's not a good thing for how he would interpret it. She did like the eel of course but she might have put the life of a student in danger.

"He was trying to take my angelfish away from me, so I let him know just how much I love you! Jade said it'd be good to show you how much and you used violence so I should do the same!" He nuzzled his mouth near her neck invoking a shiver to crawl up the girl's spine as he inhaled her scent.

That guy was right about him being dangerous, but he only did want to show you his affection.

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