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zialltops · 2 months

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honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

masterlist | ao3 | spotify playlist

“In just—“ His eyes slip closed when his mouth connect with the inside of your wrist. His lips are warm and so tender you fight down a soft whimper at the intoxicating sensation. When they open again, dangerous amber irises peer back at you like you’re their salvation. “-my cowboy hat.”

Oh—fuck.

a/n: this chapter was so fun to write, I accidentally made it 9.5k words lol, but it was such a relief (ish) to write. Some new warning apply to this chapter, so please be advised of those. We get to see a whole new side to Joel this chapter and we’ll get to see some “in the making of” this chapter in the following one. A little bit of context on why Joel changes so abruptly and the reasoning behind his decisions. I hope you all know how much i love love love you guys for being here for me while i struggle to find time to write. I’m working on getting back on my feet every day and this is the one safe place I have to escape and indulge in my favorite coping mechanism. Much love, H 🤍

Chapter 7–You Don’t Want That Smoke

Your birthday falls on Friday this year, (lucky you) but it also means the First Friday dance falls on your birthday this year as well. It’s the first community event after the cold winter months and by that time, most people are itching to get out of their snow-buried homes. The town usually puts on the event to celebrate the coming spring, hosting venders of all sorts and games for the families. Growing up, your parents would take you to the petting zoo and let you ride the ponies, like you didn’t have a horse at home, like there wasn’t a whole ranch to attend to, animals to raise up and sell, like you could just for a moment, be a normal little girl from a quiet street who’d never sat in a saddle in her life.

If only that had been the case, ever. If only you’d had parents who pursued safe, reliable careers, where they had pensions and retirement, insurance and benefits, instead of breaking their backs for a ranch that had been dying long before it was left to your mother by her parents. Was it obligation that kept them here, or was it something else? Was it the same thing that got you through years of college, all in an attempt to keep your parents' dream alive for a little while longer?

It’s Wednesday, which means you have two more days before your birthday and Melly’s plane lands in a few hours from Colorado, but so far your morning has taken you five rounds in the octagon and is currently coming back for more.

“—No! The statements I just got in the mail yesterday said we have ninety days to come up with three months worth of the mortgage before the property faces foreclosure.”

The woman on the other end of the phone sighs at you and you can hear the way her hands hit her keyboard. “I know that, ma’am, but that was a month and a half ago and we still have not received any payments. The bank sent another letter, requesting that the entire six month worth of back payments be received by the end of the ninety days or the property will be foreclosed on.”

The routinely scripted response feels like an open handed slap to the face, white hot pain snapping through your veins like lightning on the Wyoming plains. You sink down into the dining room chair and let it soak in all the way.

“How many days do we have left?” You hear yourself whisper into the phone but it’s not you speaking, not really—its a absent reflex like blinking or breathing.

“That's…51 days, ma’am. We’ll contact you again in thirty days if we have not received the entire amount by that time.”

Your eyes burn and blur, tears for the years of your life wasted on a useless education, until they surge past the dam and plummet to the paper below. When you look down at the document, your tears are stained red by the ink on the foreclosure notice. “How much will it be, again?” Defeated, Inadequate and Doomed.

“Fourteen thousand, three hundred and forty dollars, for six months worth of the Mortgage and late fees accumulated.” She sounds annoyed when she reads off the obscene number, like she isn’t sealing the fate of your family home, the dream your parents have worked their whole lives for to pass down to you—all wasted on a backed mortgage that your parents took out on the farm when you were born.

The full circle indicates that losing your family’s livelihood was your fault, from start to finish. You didn’t make it in time. All your hard work, and you’re still going to lose it.

“Is that everything, ma’am?”

Click

You drop the phone and sob into your arms, your whole body shaking and heaving with every sharp inhale. In your best attempt to keep quiet, you attract the attention of the one person you long to keep this from, your sweet, well meaning mom.

She’s soft spoken when she soothes you, rubs your back while you dry up your tears against her chest and she doesn’t ask why, just kisses your forehead and smiles one of those sweet sweet smiles at you and says, “We’ll get through this, Honey, don’t you worry about that. We’ll figure this out together.”

And you believe her, enough to reel in your hiccups, enough to ease your searing tears. “Why don’t you take a break from work, Melly gets here soon, yeah? You got everything you girls need?”

You smile at her, thankful for her ability to distract you from the things that keep you up at night. She knows you better than anyone, she’s your best friend. “Maybe we can stop at the store after we get her, but we gotta leave soon—“ you check the time, one hour until her plane touches down in Jackson and it takes forty five minutes to get there alone.

“Actually Honey, about that…I can't go with you. I’m not feeling up to it and I thought I would whip up dinner for you girls. But I got someone to go with you,”

You stand up from the chair and put the papers back into the envelope. “Mom, I really can go alone, I drove all the way here—“ she stops you with a quiet scuff. “You got stuck in the snow and Joel had to pull you out.” Joel, that son of a bitch…that big, sexy cowboy son of a bitch who left you in the snow. Who huffs and puffs and walks around like the sweatiest, filthiest, most delicious version of every nasty fantasy you’ve ever had. Of course she would drag him into this, maybe she’s the one who’s after the help.

“Speak of the devil,” she has this knowing look when her gaze travels past you to the doorway of the dining room. You glance over your shoulder to find yourself smack dab in the middle of one of those filthy dreams, dressed in green plaid and his brown Carhartt jacket, his black cowboy hat resting atop his head with curls peeking out of the sides, kissing the tips of his ears. His beard has grown out a tad too, making him look soft all over, scruffy and curly with a dimpled smile. The sight of him comes with a sudden rush of soothing comfort, warm eyes that make you feel safe, hidden in the shadows of his hat.

“Heard I was takin’ you somewhere?” He’s broad and sturdy, with a slight sheen of sweat on the peaks of his collarbones under his shirt. Under his beard, his neck is taught and his muscles are strained, his pulse visible beneath his skin despite his cool composure. If you know Joel, he did a days worth of work this morning to clear his schedule for the rest of the afternoon. He probably smells like sweat and dirt, like horses and leather under all that damn southern charm he possesses.

Actually, you can take me anywhere. On the couch, in my room, hell—in the glow of a fridge light.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to bite off your involuntary groan, shooting your mom a sharp look. She may play coy, might act like she's this innocent and sweet, cookie baking, laundry folding, house making mom who knows no better, but you see what she’s really up to. How she hides behind her little false oblivion, a facade she usually only uses for good. This doesn’t feel like it was for the greater good.

“You—“ you sneer at her quietly and she smiles with a “Not sure what you mean dear, but you better get a move on. I have to get dinner in the oven!” She scurries out of the room and into the next, letting the door swing closed behind her. Joel remains in the same spot, one shoulder pressed against the white wood frame of the old door, his muddy boots on the dark hardwood floors. Your eyes drag up the rest of him, his pants are tight in the middle, hugging his hips and probably just barely restraining what lays below the dark blue denim. There's a soft curve to his belly, made apparent when his arms cross over his chest and pull his shirt tight against his front.

His belly looks so damn soft. So fucking round and bite-able. A few more clicks up, his chest nearly bulging out of the buttons of the flannel. The buttons hang on for dear life, but you’re afraid if he flexes, they will scatter to the floor with your resolve.

He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes. “Doin’ alright there, darlin’?” If his presence wasn’t enough, the bourbony southern drawl and the way he cocks his hip makes your thighs squeeze together involuntarily. “Yeah—Yep, just need to get dressed and I’ll be ready.” You’re still in a big sleep shirt, have been all morning because work for you doesn’t require pants half of the time. When you start to breeze past, his eyes drop to the exposed skin of your thighs.

“Been wonderin’…” he stops you with a big hand, pressed against your sternum when you try to pass by his solid form. He’s still faced the opposite direction than your body, only his head turns to look down at you, gone still beneath his stern fingertips. “If you always walk around naked under these shirts, or if you’re wearin’ somethin’ under there when mom and dad are ‘round?”

His eyes flick back to the door leading into the kitchen, where your mother is currently hiding from your scowl, then back down to the hem of your oversized shirt. The hand on your ribs shifts when you haul in a deep, stuttering breath. It slips a few inches lower, the tips of his thick fingers dipping into the flesh of your stomach, just below your belly button. He’s so close and so fucking firm where he holds you in place.

“Why don’t you have a look for yourself, Cowboy?”

You challenge him back and you swear he stops breathing beside you. He meets your dare with a low growl, reverberating inside his rib cage like a shout in a vast canyon. What the hell is happening right now, did he hit his head or something? Is he finally getting the fucking hint? How desperately you want him to have his way with you? Then again, the last time he saw you dressed like this, you were bent over, knowingly showing off everything you had to offer, the place you wanted him most, while you listened to the guttural sounds leaving the unsuspecting man behind you. You aren’t going to complain about the sudden shift in his attention, hell no—you’ll soak in what you can get from the leery cowboy.

You hardly register the way he moves until he leans forward and warm fingertips graze the skin just under your ass. He’s looking when he lifts the shirt all the way up to your tailbone slowly, covered by smooth black satin, a thong that hugs your hips but leaves your cheeks exposed to his greedy sight. His eyes are everywhere, your thighs and the curve of your bare behind. His fingers dip just under the black satin band on your hip, his expression is just shy of a devoted man as he drinks in the contrasting sensation of your smooth skin and the silky material.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, letting his hand slip from your panties to travel back down, unsure fingers tracing along the crease of your ass, curling under your cheek when he gets to the bottom. It’s the softest touch you’ve ever felt, full of admiration and barely restrained desire. It sets your skin on fire, radiating behind your eyelids. “Those are…damn pretty, sugar…but you better go get yourself ready, before you’re late.” His hands slip away from you completely and he turns in the direction of the door, already on his way out before you even fully process what just happened. What flipped inside of Joel on a random Wednesday afternoon in late February?

He leaves with a satisfied smirk with intentions of starting the truck while you stammer against the doorway and remind yourself to breathe. When the front door closes behind him, you lean against the wood he was just propped against, hoping his heat will still linger there. He instigated something, a secret whisper of want, the thought makes a grin break out from one side of your face to the other, pulling your cheeks tight. He wants you.

You get dressed with that same stupid grin plastered on your face. You shift through your closet a few times, but you keep falling back on the same outfit. A pair of flared jeans, light in color with stitch work on the sides. With a pair of boots, they make your ass look like a dream—just what you are going for, just so you can rile Joel further. You find a tight top and a thick wool flannel to throw over it, before tracking back down the stairs to the front door.

It’s the rush of adrenaline that shocks the agony from your brain, but the moment you bound down the front steps to his waiting truck, the door already propped open, you pause.

You stop at the foot of the stairs and turn, looking up the steps you’ve known your entire life, the screen door you’ve spent numerous summers swinging in and out of. The porch you’ve watched storms roll in from, the porch swing where you had your first kiss. All this and…your heart sinks. When you turn back towards the running chevy, Joel is staring back at you, his once knowing smirk traded in for a furrow of concern on his handsome features.

You climb into the passenger seat and fasten your seatbelt while Joel puts the truck in gear and pulls away from the house.

There’s a long stretch of road that passes in near silence, before it’s you who just can’t take it anymore. Joel, sweet fucking Joel sat beside you, respecting your emotions and your boundaries once again. “Ranch is ‘bout to be foreclosed.” You tell him. Once it’s spoken aloud, you realize just how imminent your family’s demise really is. How quickly you are going to lose everything, watch your parents walk away with no retirement and nothing to show for themselves, for generations of hard work.

You expect something, questions about how you know, how long you have, if there's anything he can do to help you, but the questions never come. Instead, Joel reaches over and presses his fingers into the latch on your buckle, pulling it off of you with one click.

“C’mere, sweet girl.” His tone is low, soft enough to not interrupt your thoughts, but enough to have you drawing across the bench seat and slipping under his sturdy arm while he drives. He keeps you tucked in close beside him, his hand trailing up and down your arm to ease out the pain residing in your veins. He takes one glance down at you and leans forward, his lips connecting with the crown of your head. “We’ll get through it. We ain’t goin’ down without a hell of a fight.”

Because after the years you’ve spent away from this place, Joel has come to think of the Rising Sun ranch as his home just as much as it is yours. He’d raised every one of the cattle on that ranch, he’s worked day and night to ensure its survival, he’s lost sleep and nearly limbs fighting to keep them afloat while you were gone. This is his home, his fight right alongside yours. Finally, the weight seems to ease up, shouldered by Joel's sense of responsibility for your family’s livelihood.

Beside you, he’s solid and warm, he’s alive and overflowing with strength, enough to spare, for something to cling to. You turn your head and bury your face in his shoulder, covering yourself in the shield of protection he has to offer, sturdy, devoted support that makes you feel lightheaded with security. He doesn’t push you further, doesn’t prod you for details. He just hangs on, keeps your body tucked in close to his while he drives into town. At some point, the rattling of the old truck along patchy highway roads lulls you into sleep with your head against his shoulder and one leg across his lap.

Joel, with all the strength he can muster—holds on tight.

“Hey,” your senses come rushing back when the truck comes to a stop and your warm pillow jostles under your head. You lift up off his weight a little and glance at him through a sleepy gaze, a soft smile present on his lips. “As much as I like you droolin’ all over me…” he gestures to wet stain on his flannel. “Think your friends plane lands soon, don’t want you to miss it.”

You get yourself together enough to look out the window. Joel parked right outside of baggage claim at Jacksons little airport and his arm still sits tightly around your shoulders. A deep sigh sets in to your bones and you lean against him for just a moment longer to soak in the warmth. “Hey, look at me, darlin’,” his hand wraps around your chin gently, coaxing your eyes up to his. “Don’t think about the ranch, at least till the week is over. Ain’t nothin’ you can do right now, so don’t let it ruin your birthday. Everythin’s gonna be alright.” His words trail off when a broad thumb swipes across the underside of your bottom lip, his gaze caught in yours so tightly you’re half sure the jaws of life couldn’t draw you apart. He breaks out into a grin and heaves a shallow laugh. “Had a little drool there.”

The little laugh that bubbles up in you breaks the eye contact and Joel shuts off the truck, untucking you from his arm. You check the time for safe measures, there's still a few more minutes before the plane lands and she still has to make it out the gates.

“Joel?” He’s fiddling with his key chain, adjusting a few backwards keys. “Hmm?” He barely makes eye contact—is he embarrassed? From holding you while you slept? “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me—for my family while I’ve been gone. I can't think of a way to…repay you for everything.”

Joel glances over at you and something flashes in his brown eyes, something that looks like discomfort and shame. He takes a sharp breath in and squeezes his knuckles around the keys. “I didn’t do it all selflessly…please don’t take this wrong. I haven’t felt a sense of belonging in years. Me and Tommy have been drifting since I was twenty eight, working on one ranch after another. We’d stick around a town for six months and he’d get antsy, stir up trouble and we’d have to hit the road again.”

He brings his hand up to his mouth and chews on the corner of his thumb. He’s anxious, you can tell by the way his eyes flitter to you then away quickly. “I’ve covered his ass more times than I can count because I don’t know if I’ll be the same if I have to leave here. It feels fuckin—selfish, like I’m usin’ your folks. M’gettin’ old, my bones are tired and all I want is to…stop. Slow down for once in my life. I’ve never been more at peace than I am here, with your parents and the ranch. I was doin’ so good, gettin’ my mind right, hatin’ myself a little less and then—“ he trails off with a distant look in his eyes.

And then…what? What’s caused Joel to lose that sense of peace and stability? “What happened?” You sink back in the bench seat, run your fingers along the stitched pattern of color adorning the warn padding. “S’big snow storm came in…I was comin’ back from town because I took Tommy to pick up flowers. He’d been a real asshole to a sweet lady who didn’t deserve it. Was pissed off he was smokin’ in the truck, pissed he was jeopardizin’ our home again, when we see this little car stuck in the embankment, met this—real pretty girl, and she…” he sneaks a glance over at you, but he’s doing his best to find anywhere, anything else to look at. Cars passing by, the sun reflecting off the bright white paint on the cross walk. The older woman in-front of you, helping what looks like her daughter, load her luggage into the trunk.

“She got under my skin and I was flustered for the first time in a really long time. Kinda freaked me out—and then I left here there—‘cuz I was scared shitless and nothin’s ever been the same since. Sorta think she hates my guts half the time for it.”

There's this unsettling silence in the cab, Joel's nerves and his admission hanging in the air between you. He’s never ever been this vulnerable and honest with you before. You’ve talked to him more times than you can count now, a meaningless little conversation where you found everything you needed to change your mind about him. But he’s never opened himself up like he was right now, in the damn pick up line of the Jackson airport.

“Joel I…I already forgave you for that.” You forgave him for that when he gave you your necklace for Christmas. You forgave him when he carried a newborn calf half a mile through a snowstorm for you. You forgave him when you came down the stairs to him in that damn cowboy hat.

You forgave him when he came back for you and looked at you with those pretty brown eyes.

“What?” He looks over at you and you hold onto the eye contact for as long as you possibly can. “I don’t hate you. Furthest thing from it actually—I do hate how much you avoid me. Like I’m going to bite your head off any second—“ he snorts, cracks a white smile at you and his eyes crinkle at the sides, making your stomach flutter, little blue butterflies soaring through your abdomen. “You do bite my head off—often.”

Okay—maybe he’s a little right, maybe you let it get too far a few times, spent too many afternoons angry at his distaste for you, when all you wanted was a taste of him. “Well, I’m sorry…for all the things I’ve said to you, the things I’ve called you. But I’m not upset about that anymore. I forgave you for that a long time ago. You’ve already made up for it a million times, Joel.”

He’s grinning at you like you just told him he won the fucking lottery, his nervous hands drumming a absent tune against the steering wheel. He’s looking at you like it’s the first time you’ve ever met him, his eyes shining with mirth and admiration. “Think…you could give this ol’ cowboy another shot?” That nervous little shake of his jaw, the tick in his voice and the hopefulness in his eyes is enough to break anyone, but you? You’re so lost on him you never want to find your way back. Throw away the maps, toss the keys somewhere you’ll never find them again—you never want to go anywhere else in the world. Another shot? You’d give him all of them.

“Pretend you’ve never met me before.”

He blinks, cocks an eyebrow and makes a face of confusion at you. “I’ve never met you?” You nod, turn your whole body to face him on the bench seat of his old beat up chevy. “Like it’s the first time we’ve met. I’m Hank's daughter and you’re picking me up from the airport to take me home for the first time in years. We’ve never met. Try again, shoot your shot, cowboy.”

You’d like to imagine that's how it went—your mom and dad were too busy to come get you and you decided to fly because you knew your little car wouldn’t make it. They send Joel, because he’s trustworthy and punctual. They know he’ll treat their daughter with respect, they trust that he’ll use his better judgment, because they know he’s a good man. You know that under that rough, hard exterior is an anxious man searching for belonging, a good man.

Joel takes a deep breath, lets his mind drift out the window before he turns it back to you with a charming smile, one you’ve never been on the receiving end of. It’s smoldering, flirtatious—everything you imagined Joel to be after all those years of pinning after a man you’ve never laid eyes on. A Joel you’ve never met and desperately need to get to know better. “Prodigy daughter finally returns,” his drawl is thick and his eyes rake over you once, twice, before settling on your own. “I’m Joel.”

You giggle—rightfully so, because this Joel? This Joel is all quick wit and chivalry. You fake introduce yourself back, your grin mirroring his own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joel.”

“Pleasure is…all mine, darlin’.”

You could stare at him forever with that damn goofy smile on his face. “Anyone ever tell you—you look good in this?” You tell him, reaching up to flick the brim of his hat, but it stays firmly in place despite your efforts. He snorts and snaps up to catch your wrist, holding onto it tightly in his big hand. “S’funny, I was just thinkin’ about how good you’d look in my hat.” His thumb circles the inside of your wrist slowly,’ pushing down the fabric of your sleeve with the effort. Slowly, he draws your appendage closer, till his mouth hovers just above your skin. His eyes are like witnessing something tragic, so devastating you can't bring yourself to look away.

“In just—“ His eyes slip closed when his lips connect with the inside of your wrist. His lips are warm and so tender you fight down a soft whimper at the intoxicating sensation. When they open again, dangerous amber irises peer back at you like you’re their salvation. “-my cowboy hat.”

Oh—fuck. There’s an image you’ll never get out of your mind—your hands on his sweaty chest, the brim of his hat falling in front of your eyes while you try to keep it in place, despite the way you ride him—

“Joel—Jesus, you can’t just—“

He breaks out into a chest filled laugh, his eyes slip close and his head falls back. His whole body responds to the way he laughs, his legs kick up, his chest heaves and his belly bounces. He’s a menace, a damn trouble starter—he makes you see hearts around his head and a sparkle in his eyes you’re sure you’re imagining. He calms his laugh down with a few deep breaths, a grin still plastered on his handsome face. “What can I say? I’m really bad at first impressions.”

He is, but it doesn’t bother you like it used to. Joel isn’t and never will be the perfect man you’d envisioned. He’ll never be the Joel you’d made up in your head for so long, because that Joel was made solely for you, from your interpretation of a man who’s perfect for you in every way. But that Joel and the one in front of you are two vastly different people—this Joel is gruff at times, opinionated and flawed. He wasn’t made perfect for you, but you find that the things that make him the least like the Joel in your mind—are the things that you like most about him. He’s gruff, but he’s punctual and takes no shit. He’s opinionated, but he’s wise about life, he’s earned the right to voice his beliefs. He’s flawed—he has crows feet by his kind eyes, graying curls and weathered hands—but it’s his flaws that entice you to learn more about him. They make him real in front of you instead of a made up, faceless man in your dreams.

Your phone chimes in your pocket and it sucks you from the void in the cab of this old truck, away from Joel's charming smile and his burning hand on your wrist. He pulls away and the moment dissipates into dust on the dashboard.

Melly: I just got my bag, headed out now!

“Be right back,” you slip out the door with a firm shut and try your hardest not to glance back at the man in the cab of that blue and white truck.

Finding Melly is easy, she sticks out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair and too-blessed chest. What did she do in a past life for tits like that, anyways?

She comes out the double doors and jogs to you with a grin your wearing on your own face. “Oh my gosh!” She squeals, finally getting close enough to throw your arms around each other. It’s been months since you’ve seen each other after spending everyday together for the last two years. You tumble around together in your hug for a few minutes before she pulls back to look you over, in a pair of flared jeans and boots. “Oh man, the country got you.” She jokes, faking a deflated sigh. “Would you fuck off?” She laughs menacingly, slinging her bag over her shoulder for more security. “Let me guess, you’re still trying to drive that cowboy crazy, right?”

With a deep eye roll, you finally look back at the truck. He’s looking right back at you, an easy smile on his lips when your eyes connect. You look back to your best friend and make a face. “He uhm…he actually drove me…to come get you. He’s in the truck, please be nice to him, okay?” She sneers and you know she means trouble when you help her with her things on her way to the truck.

“Please don’t fucking embarrass me, I swear dude—“ Mel gives you a little shove and huffs a laugh when you put her suitcase in the bed of the pickup. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin your shot with the old dude.” She looks around you, eyeing him from outside of the truck without his knowledge. “Holy shit, dude he’s hot. He’s like, stupid hot.”

You look over at him too and like he can feel your eyes on him, he looks over his shoulder, smiles warmly and you know it—

Know you’re fucked.

“Not a word.” Mel throws her hands up innocently and follows your lead when you open the door of the truck and climb in the middle, sliding in right beside Joel, reclaiming the space you’d taken up on your way here.

The whole drive back to the ranch, your body is on fire along the parts that connect to Joel, pressed so close you’re afraid you might melt into him.

Two days pass in a blur.

You spend a lot of time with Mel, catching up on how she's been doing since graduating, how she likes work—she’s a wildlife biologist in Colorado, who’s still learning the ropes of the job but she’s never been more excited to be a part of something. You don’t tell her about the ranch for a good reason, but she still asks and doesn’t say anything if she notices the look on your face when you lie to her.

We’ll get through it

You love spending time with her, but you don’t see a lot of Joel besides meals. He’s pleasant and soft, smiling at you like he’s never worn a frown on that handsome face. He sits too close at dinner, draws your gaze in far too many times for it to be an accident. It’s not anymore but it’s still so damn hard to make yourself believe that this isn’t just a fleeting moment—temptation breathing life into you for the first time in years, teasing you with possibilities.

He makes you burn but he doesn’t push further, doesn’t chase that desire down its narrowing path. It’s so close—you’re so close to finally making him yours.

When your birthday rolls around, he’s nowhere to be seen at breakfast. When you head out to the stables, the horses have already been fed and there's no trace of the man who plagues your every waking moment. The truck is gone and the tire-tracks in the driveway look old, like he’s been gone for hours. It’s not that he’s required to see you on your birthday, but you thought things were going to change. You thought that re-meeting him in the truck at the airport would restart everything, he’d realize you want him around more than the ranch hand who got under your skin and made you desperate for his attention. It feels naive, to watch out the window for his truck for most of the morning, pining after that faded powder blue and rust.

“This is depressing to watch from the outside, you know that right?” Comes Mel’s voice from the other side of your room when you check the window for the first time in the last half hour. She's painting her nails on the chair in your room while you peer through the blinds like he might appear out of thin air without you hearing the rumble of his old chevy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You do your best to defend yourself, stepping away and crossing your arms as you trudge to your bed.

“Don’t play dumb with me, I know you. You’re pacing your room wondering when you’ll see him. You know everyone can see the way you guys look at each other right? When are you guys going to like…kick it up a notch, get in his pants?”

You toss yourself on the fluffy sheets and close your eyes tight, letting your mind wander for a moment. “I don’t know…” what are you going to do, if you cant even see him long enough to get him alone? Tonight is the dance and you were hoping he’d be there, maybe he’d ask you for a dance. You’ve never told a boy in your hometown yes to a dance at this thing, but you’d change that for Joel. If he asked, you’d let him spin you around all night long.

Only problem is, he can’t do that if he’s still avoiding you like you're an illness he can’t afford to catch. “He’s so confusing. One second he acts like…he wants me, the next he’s hiding from me, probably—ugh, I just wish I could get him out of my head if he wants nothing to do with me!”

The room is silent, still for all of five glorious seconds before Mel breaks it. “Does he still run away to jerk off?” You snap your eyes over to her with a sharp glare. “Yes! And he drives me up the fucking wall, dude! All I want is to get my hands on that delicious man and he runs away every time. How am I ever supposed to accomplish anything if I can't even get him alone for five minutes. And every time I do, something happens and ruins it all.”

You can't seem to get a second with him no matter how hard you try. The last two days, he hasn’t been around aside from his work in the morning, a few meals he makes it to in between. If you’re being honest, it's painful to think about the way he’d smiled at you a few days ago and the way he doesn’t have the time of day now.

“If he shows up at that dance tonight, I’m making sure you get your second alone. Now come on, let me help you pick out your dress. He won't know what he’s missing out on.”

By the time you’re headed out the door for town, Joel is still nowhere in sight. You thought you’d heard his truck for a moment earlier, but when you’d peered out the window a few minutes later, there was no blue chevy in the driveway. No cowboy waiting out front for you.

You trudged to the car in your black dress, two slits up the sides where your thighs peak out and a back so low your half afraid your ass is going to fall out of the damn thing. You do your best to hold it up when you walk through the dirt, a pair of knee high red cowgirl boots are the only thing saving you from the mud right now.

Melly isn’t far behind, but she's not dressed in anything nearly as revealing as you. She’s making friends with Tommy who surprisingly hasn’t tried to flirt yet and claims to have no idea where his older brother has disappeared to. He’s endearing, but you know he’s playing for both sides here, hiding something for his brother.

On the drive into town, your parents take your dads truck, leaving you, Mel and Tommy in your car. When you get about half way, you finally break and ask if Tommy has seen Joel, if he knows if he’s coming. Tommy shrugs in the rearview mirror with a smile.

“I’m sure we’ll see ‘em.” Is the only answer you get.

It doesn’t happen for hours.

Hours of forcing a smile through mind numbing conversation with people you haven’t seen in years. The same old how have you been in the big city? and you tell them it was hard work and commitment. They ask no plans for the future? like you’re doomed without a ring on your hand at your age. You keep your head up through every comment, back handed compliment and pick up line that passes you by for a whole fucking hour on the dance floor alone.

“I think I want to go home soon. I’m having the worst fucking time, my feet are killing me and I think my eyelash is falling off.” Your whining and limping, faking distress and discomfort for any shot to get the fuck out of here, go home and maybe you can chance a run in with Joel.

Maybe he’s coming in from the north pasture where he’s probably been hiding all day. He’d be covered in muck and sweat, dirt clinging to the creases in his face. He’d be tired and worn out, vulnerable to the way you’d take advantage of his weakened restraint. “You sure you don’t want to stay a few minutes longer?” Melly muses beside you sipping on a tall glass of tequila on ice, watching the small town’s people converse and dance, laugh and gather together under the low string lighting.

You take a long drag of the drink in your own hand, your third of the night that's finally starting to warm your insides. It’s not enough to ease the ache of wishing Joel would appear. You know he won't, there's only a few hours left and people are starting to get tipsy. “I think you might want to rethink that…the devil himself just walked in, twelve o’clock.”

You look up at her, in a pretty green dress with curly hair framing her face. She’s smirking over your shoulder at something—or someone behind you. You turn the rest of the way around and swear you’re in the middle of one of those movie scenes.

The ones where the love interest walks in and sexy rock plays while they walk in slow motion. With wind blowing this hair back even though they are inside. Joel fucking Miller was doing exactly that at this very minute, striding through the hall in his cowboy hat and a black button down, dark wash jeans and his boots. He looks like a wet dream standing there, looking a little bit lost and so damn handsome. Under his hat, you can see that his hair is slicked back and he looks clean like he’d gone home and gotten ready.

He’s here.

“Oh he looks…if you don’t ask him to dance, I will. He’s hot.” You wish you could explain to her that Joel is more than that, that he’s funny and endearing, that he’s honorable and loyal to a fault. He’s so many more things than just hot. You swivel around as he makes his way through the crowd, he’s bound to find you and you don’t want him to spot you gawking at him. “Do I look okay? Fuck he looks so good—is my hair alright?” You try to do a quick pat down but Melly grabs your hand with a smile. “You look fine. He’s not going to know what hit him, I promise—but he’s coming this way so whatever you do, chill out.”

She sets her drink on the tall table, the ones that adorn the outside of the dance floor for people who want to mingle. You take a long drink of yours and move to set it down when someone clears their throat behind you. The drink hits the table and you turn slowly, till you rotate around to face him completely. He’s even more devastating up close with pearl snap buttons on his shirt, his arms nearly bulging out of the damn thing. His facial hair looks shorter, his eyes shimmering with reflected light.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’, standin’ here all by herself on her birthday?” He grins at you and takes another step forward. “Guess I’m just waiting for the right cowboy to ask me for a dance.” You tease back, reaching out for him once he’s close enough for you to touch. You start at his stomach, soft under his dress shirt. When your hands make contact, a visible shiver runs through Joel.

There’s suddenly two more hands to join the party, one high up on your waist while the other curves around low on your hip, his digits digging into the top of your ass. “I’ll be real’ honest with you here, doll—askin’ you for a dance is the only reason I came tonight.” He smells good for once, usually you catch a hint of his shower under the smell of dirt and manure, a faintness of his once clean skin. Now, it’s all you can focus on—how he’d taste like his soap, smooth and clean, every part of him reachable by your watering mouth. “Well, Cowboy…go on.” Your hands slip up his chest and over his broad shoulders, like you’ve imagined yourself doing a thousand times. He’s responsive, lowers his shoulders so you fit along him perfectly.

“Would ya make this old man's day, let me have a dance?” His hand drops lower, along the side of your thigh until he can dig them into the curve under your ass. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to hoist you up, drag you into that vice-like grip you want to be at the mercy of every day of your life. “Can’t get me any closer, Joel.” You giggle, hiding your face against his neck. He smells like after shave and a little like whiskey. “I thought you were giving up drinking?” You nip at his jaw lightly, just to listen to the way he rumbles against you.

“I’m—tryin’ to keep my cool here, but you look fucking incredible tonight. Needed a little courage to walk up to you, s’all.” He leans back slightly, looking down at the way your dress squeezes your tits together, nearly pouring out of the black satin. “Fucking…gorgeous in this thing, you know that? You knew how sexy this little thing was, didn’t you?” He pulls at the slit that exposes your thighs, raking it up a little higher, until he can get a handful of bare skin. He’s not wrong—you’d put the dress on and thought about all the ways it would drive Joel crazy if he saw you in it.

“You better take me dancing before you take this off of me.” The dance around you has started to fade away. Melly took her cue to go and has started to make conversation elsewhere. “With pleasure, darlin’.”

Joel all but carries you to the middle of the dance floor before you notice his obvious nervous ticks, the shake of his hands and the way he’s fighting the urge to gnaw on his thumb. He’s anxious despite his obvious attempt at faking composure. When you wrap your arms around his shoulders again, he stammers. “Need to tell you somethin’.” His voice is a little shaky on the inhale when his hands find your waist again. “I went into town last week, there’s this dance studio on sixth street and I thought, maybe I could trade work for someone to…teach me how to use my damn feet.” For added flair, he reels away from you and spins you once before drawing you back into his chest as he moves. “So, I take it someone taught you?”

The song changes, something slow, romantic and sweet that couples join in around you, swaying together around the dance floor. “Lady said she’d been lookin’ for someone to replace the dance floor. Told her I just wanted to learn to dance, so I’d stand a chance against the other schmucks askin’ you.” He dances you around for a few more moments, pulling out all the stops—every new move he learned. Was that why he was gone so much, disappearing every time you turned around? He was replacing a damn floor and learning how to dance, all for you?

“Joel—“ you start, trying to grab ahold of him for long enough to make him still. “There's somethin’ else,” he dips you back and your insides flutter, looking up at him with those big brown hopeful eyes. He stands you up right again and the dancing slows to a stop, right there in the middle of the dance hall. You’re sure the towns eyes are on you, your mom and dad, friends from high school, older people you’ve been around your entire life. “She wouldn’t let me leave without payin’ me for it, said dancin’ lessons don’t cost that much after all.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a envelope, sealed tight with a number written on the front.

“Ranch needs it a whole hell of a lot more than I do. S’just two grand, but I’ve found a few other odd jobs, so there will be more comin’, but it’s a start—“ your hand clasps over his clutching the envelope. You push his hand down, stepping forward until you're nearly standing on his own feet. “Joel Miller…are you going to stand there all night running your mouth, or are you going to kiss me?” This endearing man, this big, expressive cowboy who can’t seem to get anything right in his own eyes, but everything right in yours.

He chuckles, the hand not holding the envelope finds the side of your face, sliding his thumb along the apple of your cheek. He’s not the one to make the first move after all—after all the leading him towards it, the teasing and the showmanship. It’s you that stands up high on your tiptoes and drags him the rest of the way in, until his mouth finds yours in the lull of the dance hall, surrounded by swaying bodies and sweet music.

He sucks in a breath through his nose and his mouth opens, slots your lips between his when he finally, fucking finally gives all the way in. It’s sweet, chaste while you stand there, smack dab in the middle of the floor. Joel stuffs the envelope back into his pocket and his other hand finds your body again, yanking until you're flushed against him, digging your hands into his shoulders when his tongue licks along the seam of your mouth, begging to be let into the slick heat. What was slow and steady, soon becomes frantic, hot and needy. Your fingers tug at the buttons of his shirt and someone shoots off a whistle from across the room, enough to have you reeling apart. Joel's mouth is red, his lips swollen and shiny from your spit.

“You want to get out of here?”

Yes. Fucking hell yes you wanted to, you’ve wanted to all damn night, but with Joel standing in front of you, a strained tent in his dark jeans, it’s all you can think about. Instead of a response, you grab him by his hand and all but drag him out the back doors towards the parking lot. It's quiet, dark—the dance isn’t even close to being over so there’s next to no one in the parking lot.

You never stood a chance, looking back on this moment right here. You never would have stood a chance, with Joel’s ragged breathing behind you when he closes the door tight behind him.

One look at his wild eyes and parted lips, you should have known how this night was going to end.

Joel was desperate. He needed you, needed to touch you every second of his day. He thought about you every second he spent awake and he dreamt of you all night long. When he’d heard about the dance, he wanted to kick himself for not learning sooner. Finding the dance studio was a fluke, learning to dance was a damn nightmare and the floor wasn’t much better, but he’d do it all again for another opportunity to press you up against the brick wall with your thighs pressed apart and his hips slotted between them while he all but devoured your mouth.

He’s ruthless, relentless as he drags your bottom lip between his teeth. You—you can't keep your sounds to yourself, hiking your legs up higher around his waist when he presses in closer. He can feel himself straining through his jeans, can feel the heat of your core against his painfully hard cock. He’d take you right fucking here if you let him. “Joel—Joel,” your hips roll down to meet his uncontrollable press forward. “I know—fuck, baby, I know.” His movements are hurried and frantic, like this might be the only shot he has to get his hands on you. His mouth finds your jaw and he bites down on your flesh, relishing in the salty taste of sweat from dancing, the tang of your perfume and the sweet taste of your skin. It’s your sharp whine that gets him in motion again, his stilled teeth still hanging on to your delicate jaw. “Touch me, please—please, touch me.”

In a scurry, he drops his hand between your bodies, pushing the fabric of your dress to the side so his fingertips can work under the elastic of your panties, past the soaked material to the place he’s always longed to touch, always wondered what it would feel like.

And you are fucking drenched under his exploring digits. He slips them through your lips, your slick already dripping down his knuckles when he finds your clit and presses the pad of his thumb to it, swirling it around in a swift motion. Your head falls back and your mouth hangs open, a silent scream on your parted lips.

“There it is, huh? S’what finally gets you quiet? Just needed me to touch your pussy, didn’t you?” He groans when your thighs tremble against him, trying to tighten up around his waist where he has you pinned to the cold wall. His thumb keeps its rhythm while his fingers dip lower, making him breathless at how easily your body draws those fingers in. You come apart like you were meant to do just that, your body rapidly chasing him towards the brink. If he hadn’t gotten himself off twice today, he’s sure he’d already have cum in his pants from just this. “Yes-Yes, Joel—make me cum, please!” Your voice is wrecked.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, your chest heaving in that pretty little dress—your tits are about to bust out of the damn thing. He picks up the pace, slams his fingers into your heat and curls them while his thumb makes quick work of your clit. It’s been so long since he touched a woman, but he’ll never forget the signs.

You are dangerously, furiously close in mere minutes alone. “That’s it, pretty girl—cum on these fingers, let me feel her squeeze me.” You cry out sharply and he nearly covers your mouth with his other hand, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he revels in the pulse of your pussy on his fingers, the way you grind down against him while your body grasps for release. It comes to you with a whole body shake, a ragged gasp of his name and his tongue on your jugular.

When he pulls his hand free, it’s with a wet sound that makes his gut tighten and his knees weak. He has to get you somewhere more secluded, away from the prying eyes of the town folks. “Wunna taste you,” he growls lowly, dragging you away from the building despite the way you stumble, the lightheadedness from cuming on his fingers.

His truck is parked in the back for lack of a better spot, due to his tardiness. He’ll thank his lucky stars for it later, if he can remind himself of it. Now, he slings the door open and nearly throws you down on the bench seat. “C’mere, girl.” He’s running out of will power and common sense, the only thing driving his mind right now is sheer want, carnal desire to get his mouth all over what he’s already ruined. He’s lucky for the part of his brain that slips off his hat and sets it on the dashboard. “Lemme see that fuckin’ pussy.”

His hands find the backs of your knees and he yanks you to the edge of the seat. At this angle, he can spread you out and kneel beside the truck, let you use the door jam to rest your foot on. When your eyes find him, he thinks you’re just as far gone as he is, blinded to the world unfolding around you, to rubber hitting asphalt nearby.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, babygirl. Only word you’ll know is my name when I’m finished with you.” He pushes your dress up with your hurried help, both of you desperately trying to rid you of your clothes as quickly as possible. The second he has your panties dangling between his finger tips, he pushes his head between your spread legs and buries himself under your dress.

The thing about Joel is, he’s always been too good at this. Half the time, it's the only reason women stick around. It must have been the only reason he got his ex wife to marry him.

He’s abandoned his shame and better judgment. He’s starved, famished for a taste of you. This man, this unhinged version of Joel eats pussy like he’s going to die without it. From the very second his mouth finds your center, he’s lost to your immodest cries, your mindless begging for him to keep going, never stop, never stop, Joel—please. He opens his mouth wide, slops his tongue through your folds like he’s trying to lick every drop from your sensitive skin. He pulls away for a breath and his eyes bounce up to meet yours, transfixed on his relentless attack. “Wunna split this little pussy open on me,” he says, muffled against your soft mound. He takes another long lap and moans at the heady taste of you on his greedy tongue.

“I’ve been practicing—I got, oh, fuck Joel, like that,” your head tips back and he pulls his mouth away completely. “You got what, baby, use your words.”

Your body clenches on nothing and his eyes track the movement with a low rumble. “Got a toy that’s as big as you so I could practice. So I'd be able to take you.”

You’d thought about this, about him. You’d thought about him while fucking yourself on a toy you’d bought to train yourself.

He doesn’t have the words to express the way it makes his chest tighten, so he presses his face between your thighs again and gets back to work, drawing out every secret you can no longer hold onto, how good he makes you feel, how hot and devastating his tongue is—how the sound of a car pulling up doesn’t even register until—

“Jackson Police department, step away from the vehicle!”

You should have known.

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kivino · 7 months

Text

TAKE US BACK || ZOMBIE AU || KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK X GN!READER

Word Counter – 6.4k words

Summary – The new world was rotten, and you rotted away with it.

Tags/Warnings – Zombie AU (heavily twd coded, don’t expect some l4d type of stuff /lh. Death and turning after the bite ARE slower, however. For the sake of drama. obviously), gore, blood, gn!Reader, established relationship, heavy angst, major character death.

A/n – So, this fic is my contribution to the spooky season! Special thanks to @mockerycrow for helping me with the pictures for the header, you're the best, pookie!!! I have a playlist for this fic too, so in case you want to read this with complete immersion I’ll link it here. Enjoy <333

also available on my ao3

upd. if you saw that unfinished paragraph you didn’t see anything, move along 👁️👁️

“Kyle, I think…I think I’m bitten.” was all it took to shatter him into millions of tiny pieces. Just like that. Nothing mattered anymore, even that you promised each other to stay alive, no matter what. In the back of his mind, he knew all those promises muttered into his lips while he feverishly kissed you were empty, shallow attempts to silence his mind, to make him sleep in peace, thinking you’ll be there no matter what. And of course, he didn’t doubt your words even for a split second.

Kyle knew he was a fool to believe that. To think the two of you were inseparable. In a world like this, how could one even think of something staying forever untouched by decay that spread far beyond the horizon? Rot overtook everything, and if something was still untouched by it, soon enough that wither would find a way to slither inside, spoiling it forever. It would even find its way into people’s minds, ruining humanity in a manner no physical disease could ever hope to damage them. Kyle and you have seen it happen far too many times, and his only wish was for you to meet your end together, peacefully. But now…he only wished he had the strength to go on, he truly did.

Because you needed him. Now more than ever.

And so, he kept trying. If he didn’t then both of you would be done for. You didn’t deserve that, not when all he wanted was for you to be safe and well, not caring much about himself. You were the one who saved him when all the shit went down, now it was time to return the favor. So, he pushed himself through every agonizingly slow day. But he was starting to feel the already feeble remains of his strength slipping away from him. He wouldn’t give up, however. Never. Not when your life depended on it.

That’s why while you were bedridden, weakness setting in your body as a permanent, bitter resident, Kyle was scouring the old town for fever and cold medicine, trying to be as quiet as possible, not to attract any undead. He had a gun, but he did not use it – too loud and bullets were a luxury, not a commodity. Kyle only had one bullet, following the advice of a nice older man with mutton chops he remembered meeting in one of the survivor camps a long time ago.

“Always save the last bullet for yourself or your loved ones. You never know who’ll need it more”

Methods aside, recent days were spent wandering abandoned houses in attempts to find at least some food for the two of you. Only when the darkness started to settle, Kyle would head back, throwing his backpack over the fence and barely managing to climb it, sore muscles and empty stomach sending jolts of pain all through his body. Even then, he was restless, sitting by your side, wiping your forehead of sweat, and taking your temperature. Your breathing was strained, chest rising and falling under thin blankets that barely kept you warm. And each time he looked at you for more than a minute at a time he felt his insides twisting in pain, eyes getting white-hot with tears, and throat closing, barely letting him take a short breath just so he doesn’t suffocate in his misery.

And then the sun rises, warm rays painting the room in a variety of colors, falling over your face, morning birds wake up Kyle from his nightmare-filled sleep. He jolts awake from the dreams, filled with the image of you, dying in agony over and over, crying out for help, begging him to do something. You get torn apart, your intestines spilling out on the damp floor, pulled out by a crowd of the undead who devour you with vigorous hunger, biting into your flesh until he can’t recognize your face from the bloody and mangled pulp that rotting hands and jagged teeth turn you into. Your raw, pained screams haunt him even when he’s awake, observing you lose your life all over again. Much slower and in a much more painful way.

The sun rises. And so does Kyle. Your desperate pleas that drag from the dream are muffled as soon as he sees you sleeping. Forgetting, that you were getting weaker with each day that passed. Choosing to bask in your tranquil glow, in the way your eyelashes fluttered while you slept, choosing to neglect the worry clawing on the back of his mind just to stay like this with you for a little longer. Kyle knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable, but he still decided to make the best out of the short amount of time he had left with you. Hoping that some miracle would happen and you wouldn’t succumb to the decay. That the bite would turn out to be a bad dream you both had on the same night, waking up from it in cold sweat, searching for the comfort of each other’s embrace, while letting out relieved sighs, realizing that you’re safe.

That would be great, wouldn’t it?

Instead, he shakes you awake with a gentle hand, almost not wanting to wake you up from your slumber. You blink up at him, looking even more tired than before you went to sleep. Circles under your eyes are even darker than the previous night. And Kyle is in pain once again. He wants to help you up, throwing your arm over his shoulder, to lead you through the long, silent halls of the school where you were staying, full of dust and damp, moldy smell, to have breakfast together. Like good old times. But he sees that in your eyes, you’re too weak to pull your weight up and stand up. So, he brings the heated-up cans of beans here, putting one on a stool in front of you, helping you to sit up before he even thinks of touching his food.

“Kyle, that’s twice what I usually eat.” You mutter, watery eyes rising to him, sitting on the mattress in front of you with his legs crossed. He raises his eyebrow and his head shifts to the side in a questioning motion.

“Well, you have to eat plenty to recover.” He said, matter-of-factly. You stay silent, unwilling to have that debate right now. You barely managed to stay awake as it is. Let him think that you’ll get better, despite everything you saw together. Despite every rule that you’ve discovered. Let him live in the illusion, in the waking dream that all will be well if he tries hard enough. “Well, what are you waiting for? It’s growing cold”

You didn’t realize that you’d been drilling the can of steaming beans in front of you with your glassy gaze for the past several minutes, submerged in your thoughts deep enough to suffocate. You pick up the spoon with a weak, shaky motion. Then your eyes fall on the can. Somehow, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to pick it up. Failing at something so simple…you knew it’d hurt your pride even more. So, you opted to push the tin closer to the edge of the stool.

Kyle glanced over at you, beads of sweat glistening on your forehead. He sensed the fatigue from you, lacing the air that surrounded you and leaving dark, oily traces over anything your fingers lingered on. You breathed sickness. Your hands, which were able to easily bash an undead’s head on the wall just several days ago, now could barely hold a spoon steady without it trembling and threatening to fall, spilling all the contents over the moth-eaten blanket. He felt his heart squeeze in pain, and he swore that something shattered inside of him once again.

“Let me help you.” Although it sounded like an offer, Kyle didn’t look like he was going to let you debate it, shuffling closer to you, taking the spoon from your hand in a swift motion. You purse your lips, knowing that protesting that would be stupid. If it wasn’t for how weak and sick you were, and for a lot of other circumstances, it would be a cutesy moment. Your dear spoon-feeding you something? Please, one’s teeth would rot from how sweet it is. But now it was just another deep, bleeding gash on your pride. Kyle blows on the food, cooling it off and promptly moving it towards your mouth with his hand cupped just under the spoon. You obediently clamp your lips around the spoon. “There we go.” He gives you a small smile, but you see the melancholy in his eyes when Kyle wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He means well, yet you can’t help but feel like you’re a burden to him.

You loathed being like this. Being this weak. Fragile. You were able to fend for yourself, you had resilience and strength, but now you were just rendered useless, only dragging Kyle down, depriving him of the freedom to go on.

He’ll die if he continues like this.

You knew it. He was exhausted, and you’ve been like this for a little over a week. Survival wasn’t about skill anymore, it was about luck. You lost yours already, the moment rotten, jagged teeth sunk into the flesh of your forearm like it was butter, drawing the first blood. But Kyle, he…sooner or later he will lose his luck too. And it was apparent that it was coming sooner than you anticipated. A bullet he won’t be able to dodge. An infected scratch. An undead that he simply didn’t notice because of how tired he is. A bear trap in the vicinity of someone’s camp. Something will get to Kyle. Or someone. And thankfully, you won’t be here to witness it. Hopefully.

“What are you doing? Where are we going?” You barely managed to mutter out, clinging to him with all the strength you had, which, to be fair, wasn’t a lot. He could feel the cold of your hands clasped around his neck even through several layers of his clothes. Kyle’s hands carefully held you under your thighs as he went up the stairs, not showing any signs of exertion except for beads of sweat on his temples.

“Just thought we might watch the sunrise together, like good old days” You could hear the soft smile that tugged on his mouth when he said that. Another reminder for you that he probably loathed the way you lived right now and would prefer to go back to the way things were. With you not being his…burden.

You didn’t need to be reminded of this. Of the “good old days”. Finding that abandoned farm, deep in the buttcrack of the countryside was what saved the both of you when the world started going to shit. You and Kyle met each other years prior, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when everything as you knew it was gone.

Hiding there gave you a sense of normalcy you missed so much, after having to live for months, years like an animal. You didn’t feel like the world as you knew it was falling apart beyond that fence with cracked white paint. Deserted fields full of dead crops, empty house with a bunch of stuff forgotten or thrown around messily - it was obvious the owners wouldn’t come back any time soon. Snooping around gave you too much information - you couldn’t help but feel a bitter burn on the back of your throat when you picked up a framed family photo from the fireplace, five tan faces staring back at you with perpetual smiles etched into the glossy paper.

You didn’t have the gall to throw away or burn everything personal the previous family left behind. Photo albums, children's clothes and toys, diplomas, drawings, letters, posters, and even something as small as shopping lists on the fridge, five life stories were packed into several boxes, taped and put in the attic. Kyle didn’t understand your wish to preserve something that wasn’t even yours, but he didn’t interfere, choosing to give you a hand instead. If it helped you to sleep in someone else’s bed calmer, replacing the presumably dead strangers, he was willing to indulge you.

Despite how far away from the civilization this farm was, seeing an undead roaming around wasn’t a very rare occurrence, but at least you could handle the occasional walking corpses. You wake up, you go on patrol. You finish patrol, and you meet the sunrise with Kyle by your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, with a blanket thrown over the both of you, sitting on the front porch, right on the creaking stairs. These fleeting moments felt so right. Like home.

Eventually, you had to continue moving. Started to run short on supplies ever since then. Running into all sorts of different people, relying on strangers, leading a nomad way of life. It wasn’t unfulfilling, since you only needed the company of each other to keep it together. In a variety of groups that you’ve been through it was always a known fact that you’ll stick by each other before someone else.

All he needed was your loving hug when you came back from a supply run. A soft kiss that you would put on that scar right on his cheek. Or to hold your hand under the table when you sat down to eat with whatever group you were with this week, like your love for each other was a secret meant only for the two of you. All you needed was his warmth, his comfort, his mere presence, that would light up your shitty day like a damn light beam. He managed to take your breath away each time he looked at you with such gentleness and softness that sometimes you didn’t think you deserved it. You’ve found the world in each other. A purpose.

So what is Kyle going to do when you’re gone?

The morbid thought suddenly crosses your mind, while the man carefully sits you down on a worn lawn chair with a soft grunt, plopping down on the ground by your side, warm palm reassuringly resting on your thigh. Bringing you down to earth. Gusts of frosty wind brush through your hair, nipping at your cheeks, nose, and ears. You missed the outside, despite it being quite cold and unwelcoming this time of the year.

“I think the herd's close. See that dust?” Kyle taps you lightly on your leg and points towards the horizon. And true to his words, there is a fine dark line separating the sky, burning up in a mix of reds and yellows, from the earth. “They’re moving weird.”

“What does that mean?” you croak at Kyle, not able to peel your eyes from that sheet of gray, bunched-up dust that sat on the edge of the horizon like a shadow.

“Means if we’re lucky they’ll pass the school.” Kyle mutters, trying to reassure you, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

And then it clicks.

When he came back from the supply run you were nowhere to be found in the wind-torn building. There were no traces of you in the old cafeteria on the first floor where the two of you would heat up the canned food that your taste buds got used to over the long months the end of the world stretched over. Before you got bit.

He felt his heart sink to his stomach, so nauseous from the mere thought of something happening to you. Kyle fought himself not to double over, press his forehead against the wall and throw up everything you two had for breakfast until he feels the acidic burn on his tongue and cries his damn eyes out from the pain. You knew that the herd was getting closer, why did you have to disappear right now? You two were supposed to wait it out together, by each other’s side. What were you doing, and more importantly, what were you thinking? Nothing made sense. Nothing at all.

Kyle felt the wall with an awkward, stiff motion of his hand, before putting his weight on it and sliding down, he felt like his legs could not hold him anymore. You barely had the strength to sit upright, where would you go in your condition?

The only place he could think of that was close enough for you to get to was the motor inn down the street. Of course.

The herd was already here. Kyle had no time to spare, he needed to act now, to get you and run away as fast as possible. He remembered there was a car in that old motor inn, so that could be your getaway plan, sure thing he could figure something out…and to get there…He can use that old trick that another group of survivors taught you two. “If you smell like them, they won’t notice you, simple as that. Just make sure not to bump into anyone, or they’ll get real friendly with you.” Of course. It was that easy. You never resorted to that trick, preferring to avoid or dispose of the undead on sight. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kyle cringed at that sinking feeling in his stomach, but not at the thought of having to walk through the herd and probably be eaten alive, no. The possibility of you not being in that motor inn was what made that hollow pit inside of him grow. The fact that he might never see you again. Or that he would find you already gone.

He moves with calculated precision. Catch the undead’s attention, yellowish whites are dull under the daylight. Let it get close enough, it groans with each movement, joints snapping and clicking. Make the undead lose its balance, kick it in the knee, and the rotting leg almost falls off under the force that Kyle unintentionally applies. Destroy the brain, put a hunting knife right to the forehead, and let it thud to the ground, finally at rest. He’s thoughtlessly going through the motions, every step ingrained into his consciousness, almost like second nature to him. Rips through the stomach of the undead, black, resinous blood oozing out. Sinks his hands in the intestines, they smell so strong Kyle tears up and gags, hands shuffling around clothes caked with dirt and grime, swiping putrid, nasty mass all over himself. But it’s nothing. It’s alright. It will be worth it when he finds you.

After that, everything he remembers is under a thick blanket of haze, accompanied by the smell. You never get used to it. He feels nauseous, his insides twisting in worry, gnawing and biting at his heart like a terrified, desperate dog. His eyes grasp onto anything, but all Kyle sees is the sea of rotting flesh all around him, groans and moans of the undead so echoing in his ears loud all he wants is to tumble to the ground and end it all. He barely breathes with how tight his chest is squeezing his heart, it feels like in a split moment his insides will collapse onto themselves, capturing him in this meat cage. He has to remind himself that he’s not doing it for himself, he’s doing it for you, only for you. Kyle has to let his thoughts travel to your voice, to the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, to the frown between your brows when you slept in his arms just so he doesn’t go mad. Stares from decomposing, milky white eyes with yellows, blues, and reds here and there felt like stabs right through him, each could be the last if he gave himself away.

He could be grabbed by any of the half-rotten hands with sickly yellowish bones sticking out like spears of the cavemen, bitten, dragged away, or devoured. But he pressed on through the seemingly endless crowd of the undead. He would be lying if he said it didn’t affect him. That abandoned motor inn was like a beacon right now, but his imagination still ran wild, his hope growing more and more dim with each minute spent away from you. He didn’t feel like any hero. Kyle was scared. Mostly for you, but he could feel the tremble in his knees at the mere thought of any undead in the crowd recognizing him as an impostor. If that happens, he won’t be able to mutter even a single word. Rotten fingers will dig into his flesh, tearing it apart and Kyle will meet his end like this, on the damp ground, abandoned and scared out of his damn mind.

When Kyle pressed himself against the closed door of the motor inn, he finally could breathe in again. It wasn’t the time for a break, however. He still needed to find you. He wanders through the dusty, ransacked rooms in a daze, fixated on finding any traces you left, noticing the old rusty car in passing. The getaway plan. If the two of you are lucky enough. Footprints in the dust. They look new, and similar to the ones on the soles of your old boots. He follows. Your thin blanket lies forgotten on the stairs. Kyle practically flies up to the second floor, picking up the blanket, while he’s at it. More footprints in the dust, door to some old office is left ajar.

First, you felt the smell. Then you heard him cry out your name in surprise. And then you finally saw Kyle. He’s a blur of red, black, and brown. Covered head to toe with blood, guts, rotting flesh, and dirt, you presume. A sad, heartbreaking sight. Kyle, however, doesn’t mind it and immediately runs towards you, falling on the floor with a loud thud, and you’re sure he might’ve scraped his knees with how hard he landed. His arms cage you in a tight hug and you hear him let out a shaky exhale. Tears start to sting your eyes when you feel him pressing your head into his shoulder, stroking you with a gentle motion. You weren’t sure if he was trying to comfort you or reassure himself that you’re real, and not a fragment of his imagination. Regardless, you manage to reciprocate the hug, raising one of your arms and wrapping it around his back.

All of these days you saved up your energy for the last push. You needed to get away from him. You couldn’t trust yourself to remain near Kyle anymore. Any moment you could turn. You felt it in the way your bones ached with every gust of wind, how your blood boiled under your veins and your vision turned even more blurry. And in that case, you’d be a threat to Kyle, possibly getting him at his most vulnerable. It didn’t matter that you’d be long gone by then, you would still never forgive yourself if there was any possibility of it happening. Because, deep down you knew. No matter how skilled and ruthless Kyle was with handling the undead…he didn’t have it in him to bash your head in. So, you only had one choice to ensure his safety.

Yet he finds you. Here. You could feel your cheeks burn from being so angry at him, for his lack of acceptance that you were on the brink, and all it would take for you right now to fall into the abyss would be a light gust of wind or a slight shove. But you couldn’t blame him. You thought a lot about what you would do if the roles were reversed. The scenario brewed in your mind, haunting those short hours you were awake and trapping you in restless dreams.

You would want to live in illusion too.

“There you are.” You could practically feel something inside of you crack when you catch his smile beaming at you. Kyle just went to hell and back to get to you. And he still finds it in himself to smile at you, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders with hurried, but soothing movements. You were so weakened by the bite that you couldn’t even find any strength to go down the stairs and get the blanket when you dropped it. Humiliating. “Come on, we have to go, now, we can’t stay here.” He tries to scoop you up in a warm hug again, but you dig your heels into the ground. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he looks at you again, trying to catch what is wrong,

“No.” Kyle looks you over, eyes open wide, expression of confusion and sadness on his face. Of course, he doesn’t understand.

“You don’t…have anything on you. Then how, how did you even…” You didn’t have any grime on you at all, looking like you just walked through the herd of the undead without any preparation. But then his eyes trail lower and he sees it. Your left hand, cuffed to the rusty radiator. Suddenly the wave of terror cuts through him, like a fine, thin string through a block of fresh clay.

You came here to die.

“They stop paying attention to you once you’re far along enough. So…I guess that’s it.” He hated you for saying that. God, he hated you so much, he wanted to cling onto your body and suffocate you, arms wrapped around you in weak, pathetic attempts to shield you from any harm. “I…I don’t have any time left.” Kyle felt like he got punched in the gut. Air squeezed out of his lungs, wheezing in pain that he felt for you, because of you, chest aching, tearing apart, and baring his heart under the cage made of bones.

“No. No, no, no, no, you can’t say that! Why are you saying that?” And for the first time, since Kyle saw the bloodied, ragged teeth marks on your flesh, he broke down into minuscule, fragile pieces right in front of you. His voice trembled, frantic and exerted, refusing to believe you even dared to make peace with the inevitable. He grabs your shoulders firmly and his fingers dig into you so hard he can feel how cold you are through your clothes.

Key. He has to release you from the handcuffs. The herd was here, the way the floor vibrated under his feet, and the way gargled moans and sighs echoed outside made Kyle even more agitated. Where did you get those handcuffs anyway? It only takes a moment for him to remember. One of the supply runs that feels like a lifetime ago. Police station. Searching the bodies, or rather, what was left of them, for anything useful. You take out the handcuffs and show them to Kyle, telling him some kind of joke. He can’t remember what it was or the way you smiled, only that you made him laugh.

He wished instead of quiet rasping he could hear your laugh again.

“Where is the key from the handcuffs, where did you put it?” Kyle jumped to his feet and started looking over the room in a hurry, suffocated by the fear of losing you. He was wishing, hoping that you would show him where you hid the key, somewhere, anywhere, Kyle needed to throw you on his back and run right this moment.

“Fuck, listen to me, listen. To me.” you tried to snap him out of his delirium, with your harsh tone, freezing palms digging the bloodstains Kyle left on your blanket “You know what you have to do.” He shook his head wildly, looking at you like were mad for even suggesting something like this. “I don’t want to become one of them! You have to make sure I won’t come back.”

“Have you lost your damn mind?! I-” Kyle didn’t understand you. How can you say, make a request like this? Something was fundamentally wrong and the bite, the illness were to blame.

“Have you?” you interrupted, pouring all of your strength into this yelling match. You didn’t care anymore. You felt your fingers going numb, black, inky spots dancing on the edges of your vision, taunting you in their vicious dance macabre. You did not have time for his lame excuses and whatever it was he was trying to be right now. “I’m asking you one thing, and you can’t even do that! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You couldn’t feel the way tears burned your cheeks.

“Listen to me, please! I’m not putting a bullet in your head; do I look like a fucking murderer to you?” Kyle pinches his brow in frustration, not even able to look at you right now. Every single suggestion and comment from you stings, fucking hurts and tears him open once again. Because you’re talking nonsense. Absolute bullshit. And you don’t even realize it, he thinks, blinded by your sudden chase after death.

“I’m fucking dying and you’re worried about not being a murderer? Are you being fucking serious right now?” You couldn’t believe your ears, quite frankly. It was the only thing that you had asked of him. The only thing that you wanted. To be finally released. You couldn’t bear it anymore. Your body working against you, living with the constant threat of turning any second, massacring and desecrating Kyle’s corpse as a bloodthirsty, disgusting creature, that will have your face, your body, your hands, and your voice, but not anything that makes you – you. No memories. No love. No inner strength and compassion. Just hunger and urge to slaughter, destroy, and ravage everything in your sight.

“You know that’s not what I meant! Why are you doing this right now?” Kyle felt like he was about to collapse into himself from despair. He couldn’t just do what you were suggesting. And you knew it, yet you chose to ignore it and refuse any acceptance? You always listened to him, even if you didn’t quite agree. You always were patient with him. What’s gotten into you now, what happened?

You don’t have any more time. That’s what happened.

“Oh, so I run away, trying to keep you safe so you live another day and see another one of these stupid sunrises, cuff myself here just so I don’t harm anyone and you can’t even do what I’m asking you to?!” Your voice rises to a volume you didn’t even know you had in you right now, after dragging yourself through the imitation of your former life for a little less than a week. To think your suffering so far lasted less than a week, yet you were ready to end it all right this moment.

Because you could feel it in your bones. You were close.

“Well, tell me, what’s the point of me living if you’re dead?!” You can hear the way his voice breaks in the end. Desperate. Pleading.

The silence rings in your ears with how loud it is.

“I’m sorry.” You croak at him after a short while, eyes trained on the dirty floor. Kyle chuckles, the sound that you love so much, but then it’s followed by a muffled sob. He kneels in front of you once again and your eyes rise to meet his. You can’t help but think that he looks even more beautiful covered in rotting guts, with his eyes full of light and love for a doomed failure like you.

It’s almost impossible to breathe from how hard your heart aches. God, you love him so much. You want to take all the pain from him with you, into the vile, putrid abyss. Kyle takes your hands in his. You’re terrifyingly cold. And he’s too warm. You feel tears rising to your eyes, prickling at them, as you fail at your attempts not to break down right now.

“I can’t stay mad at you when you make that face.” Kyle says with a small laugh that breaks into dry sobs, as his shoulders shudder violently with every single one, before he clings onto you, seeking comfort and reassurance, that you’ll be here. With him.

His embrace feels suffocating. It’s so tight you think any more pressure from him will break your bones into yellowish sharp daggers and fine dust. And you’d forgive Kyle if that happened. You’d forgive him for anything, quite frankly. Funny, how now you have the answer to what you would do if he was the one turning. You’d let him devour you wholly, in the ultimate show of love. You’d let him bite into you, whatever he wanted – neck, arm, a leg, he could have. You’d lay in the pool of your blood, muffling your pained cries by stuffing that worn blanket into your mouth. You’d slowly slip away into oblivion, letting your undead beloved gnaw on your bones and taste the love that would seep out of your flesh. You would probably turn a lot faster if that happened too. And then you’d be together for eternity. You knew Kyle always wanted you two to be together. Both in life and in death.

“I’ll wait for you. I promise.” You barely manage to squeeze a smile out of yourself to comfort Kyle, feeling your strength leaving you. Succumbing to the weakness that spread a dull ache over your body, to that festering rot inside of you, that was finally overtaking. You felt cold, thin digits of terror sink right through your chest, sweat prickling once again on your forehead and temples. There was no use clinging unto something that was unsalvageable. Your body and your mind were beyond repair. You knew it. Only he kept you here.

“Please…don’t leave me.” Kyle couldn’t feel anything besides the pain and hot needles jabbing his eyes. Your touch almost felt unreal, how weak, subtle it was. He tore away from you only for a moment, bloody palms cupping your face. His lips pressed against yours in a quick, feverish kiss, and even more pecks like this followed – to your forehead, eyelids, corners of your mouth, and nose. As if this would save you from inevitably losing the remains of your strength. As if you weren’t clinging to your last seconds with him as it is. “Please…please.” He whispered against your skin. His tears glittered like gemstones in the dim glow of the sunset. Kyle looked so beautiful like this. Yours.

He missed the moment when he stopped feeling short, warm breaths on his neck and your body started to get cooler to the touch. But he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet. A little more time, that’s all he needed. So, he lays your head across his lap, carefully, gently. Like he’s trying not to wake you up from a peaceful dream about places far better than this world. Kyle desperately tries to find that strength to make sure you won’t come back, to grant your last wish, but he just…he can’t. Now when you were right here, beside him, getting your well-deserved rest.

But you started stirring back to life unexpectedly, and just when Kyle wanted to say something, he realized, that it wasn’t quite you. The glazed-over eyes with a milky white cloud over them looked right through him, the blood that was dripping down from your nose, ears, eyes, and mouth after your brain finally shut off from the illness. The strained rasp, full of pain and hands that started grabbing and clawing at Kyle with crooked fingers, contorted into bizarre figures.

Kyle’s heart leaped down to his feet again in fear and he forced himself to push away your undead form, reaching out to him, pleading for something he no longer understood, as he crawled away, still facing whatever you turned into. If his heart wasn’t pumping blood through his body as fast he would’ve felt the small cuts from scraping his hands on the dirty floor. But his eyes were on what was left of you.

There were no traces of what he was searching for in this hollow shell, stolen from his love, stolen from you. Crimson trickling down from the mouth, the creature in your shape bares its bloody teeth and lets out a gargled moan, stretching the trembling hand towards him, demanding flesh, demanding sacrifice. And in Kyle’s mind, this isn’t you. This just can’t be. Absolutely not.

Kyle thought about the way you held him in your arms, while he gripped his shoulders in a tight hug. He thought of the way your thumb brushed over his knuckles. His thoughts traveled to the distant past, when you met him years ago in that summer camp, even before the world started rotting, only to be reborn a sick copy of itself. He remembered your smile when you sat near countless bonfires. The way fire played in your eyes. Your old leather jacket, the tent in your old survivor camp, the older man with mutton chops.

It wasn’t long before a bullet was between his fingers, being drilled by his sharp eyes. Kyle sat there, silent, eyes trained on the gun in his hand, unable to even look at your cuffed undead. Contemplating. Letting his mind stir around, thoughts sticking to the inside of his skull, brewing and bubbling there, like heavy resin. Kyle’s heart sent waves of dull, ringing ache all over his body. His eyes were on fire, burning and raw from tears.

Nothing made sense anymore. Kyle’s endless search through his mind landed on another memory again. Survivor camp in the forest. Ring of mountains to the west. A woman with dark, brown eyes and a shaved head.

“Turning is not the end. They still harbor the memories of their former selves. They’re just prisoners in their own bodies. I know that it’s not the end for them, it can’t be.”

Right now, Kyle would’ve clung to any lie that would explain to him your state. He would’ve believed any tale. You can’t just be gone in an instant, just shedding all that made you yourself like a snake sheds its skin, or a bird picks out the old feathers. How could he ever accept that you were gone, like a puff of smoke on the wind, leaving no visible trace, only the gaping, bloody hole in his heart and years’ worth of memories in his head?

All he ever wanted was to be with you. In life and death.

A minute passes. Another one follows.

A single gunshot echoes through the valley, drowned out by the rumble of the herd.

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likeadevils · 3 months

Text

Reputation Timeline

This is a very long post that puts all the songs on Reputation in order of Taylor creating them. I’ve also included a few other songs she worked on while writing rep and quotes from Taylor and her collaborators talking about her process.

If you don't want to read all that, check out this playlist of the album in order or this playlist of her entire discography.

I’ve also added this color coded scale of how sure I am of the date:

Confirmed: There is some type of official source for the date

Inferring: Nobody has officially said “This is when we wrote it,” but all available evidence points to that date

Speculation: This date is based off pure vibes and guesswork and is highly likely to change.

Unknown: All that is known is the year (from the US Copyright Offices

February 13, 2015: Taylor's interview with Vogue is published (likely conducted on January 14/15).

"I don’t worry that I haven’t started the next record yet. I don’t worry that I don’t know what it’s going to be. I’m not worried that I have absolutely no timetable as to when it needs to be done. It could be two years from now; it could be three, it could be four. Or it could be one. You get these bursts of inspiration right at the moment you’re not expecting to. You just have to live your life, and hopefully you’ll take the right risks."

March 2, 2015: Taylor is photographed leaving a studio. (Note: I can not find a place that specifies if this is a recording studio, dance, photography, radio, or television studio).

May 20, 2015: Taylor's interview with Marie Claire is published (likely conducted two months beforehand).

Taylor is not even sure she'll have made another album by the time 2020 rolls around. "I'm not going to put out an album until I've made one that's better than this one and that's going to be really hard," she says. And how might her music evolve if she does find love? "If that does happen, I think I could find complexity in happiness," she says. "I don't think anything's ever simple. Just because you're happy in a relationship doesn't mean there aren't moments of confusion or frustration or loneliness or sadness. Hopefully, if I ever find some sort of meaningful relationship, I'll be able to still find inspiration, just through everyday ups and downs."

October 7, 2015: Taylor is photographed leaving a recording studio in New York.

November 13, 2015: Taylor's interview with Vogue Australia is published (likely conducted two months beforehand).

Every two years since 2006 she has released an album, followed by a tour, then moved onto the next one. But her latest album, 1989, might change plans a bit. “This album has produced more number ones than any album in the past, so we’re just going to go with it,” she says, going on to explain how the usual album cycle could be extended. “Then I’ll feel like I’ll need to give people a breather from me because at a certain point they’re going to get a little sick of hearing about me, so I’ll need to go away for a while then, depending on my gauge on how sick of me they are, I’ll decide when to put out the next album.” [...] “I’ve been learning every single day what the right amount of sharing [of her personal life] is, and lately it’s been not natural because this album is such a snapshot of my life – it was so vivid, direct and honest.”

April 20, 2016: Taylor interview with Vogue is published (conducted in February).

So what the hell are you going to do with the rest of your life, Taylor Swift? “I have no idea,” she says, with a sigh that’s more blissful than anxious. “This is the first time in ten years that I haven’t known. I just decided that after the past year, with all of the unbelievable things that happened . . . I decided I was going to live my life a little bit without the pressure on myself to create something.” Do not freak: Swift is not abandoning making music. Those who know her know this is chemically impossible. (“Her not being creative is one of the last things I’d ever worry about,” the musician and producer Jack Antonoff tells me later.) “I’m always going to be writing songs,” Swift says. “The thing is, with me, I could very well come up with three things in the next two weeks and then jump back into the studio, and all of a sudden the next record is started. That’s an option, too.” But probably not for the moment.

August 29, 2016: Taylor writes in her diary "This summer is the apocalypse."

Gorgeous: Sep. 1-5, 16, 17, 19 (Confirmed)

In the Making of a Song video, Taylor is seen wearing this outfit in her Nashville apartment, which dates the song to September 17. From there, the rest of the dates are just math.

King of My Heart: Sep. 6, 19, 20, 21 (Confirmed)

In the Making of a Song video, Taylor is seen wearing the same outfit in the Gorgeous video and the KOMH video. It's also the same outfit as a video she later posted to The Swift Life (RIP) where she talked about how excited she was to be working after a long break.

September 9, 2016: Gigi Hadid says "You know, [Taylor] is starting to go back to work in the studio again."

I Don't Wanna Live Forever: Early Oct. (Speculation)

In a teaser for the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen in an unfamiliar outfit (black mesh top) with bleached hair and a thin gold choker that she was fond of in October 2016. She is not wearing her silver J pendant, which she got as a 27th birthday present (Dec 13, 2016). IDWLF is the only song with no video footage that was written in 2016. I don't recognize the studio in the clip, but she recorded IDWLF with Jack Antonoff, who is based in New York. Taylor was on the east coast until October 22nd, and was seen in New York between October 11-13.

Delicate: Oct. 24-26 (Speculation)

Taylor is seen wearing the aforementioned thin gold choker, with her post Sep. 24 haircut (straight across bangs instead of a side part). Since she normally goes into the studio with Max Martin and Shellback with a few ideas, and creates multiple songs during their sessions, I'm inclined to group this song with IDSB and place it in late October.

I Did Something Bad: Oct. 14, 27 (Confirmed)

In the Making of a Song video, at 4:18 you can spot a gold temporary tattoo on the inside of her wrist, similar to ones she was wore at Drake’s Birthday Party on October 23. Since she is seen working until sundown (She leaves LA on October 28) and had to be in Nashville 13 days priar (She was seen in New York City until the 13), October 14 and 27th are the only dates that make sense.

January 3, 2017: Taylor writes in her diary "I get all scared about the future because so much has changed in the last year of my life. I mean this time last year I was living in LA, getting ready for Grammys and now, I’m essentially based in London, hiding out trying to protect us from the nasty world that just wants to ruin things. We have been together and no one has found out for 3 months now. I want it to stay that way because I don’t want anything about this to change or become too complicated or intruded upon. But it’s senseless to worry about someday not being happy when I am happy now. Ok. Breathe."

Don't Blame Me: Jan. 10, 11, 12 (Inferring)

Taylor is seen wearing a similar jacket as she was papped wearing on the 11th in the Making of a Song video. (This is pure speculation on my part, but the mood also seems to be a bit lower than on other days). We know she was in LA around this time “for work.”

Dancing With Our Hands Tied: Jan. 11 (Confirmed)

This post explains the situation pretty well. There are multiple accounts of what seems to be a similar story. January 11th one of two times she is seen leaving the gym after a long paparazzi dry spell, the other being in July. Seeing as the song is produced by Max Martin, who is located in LA, and the July pictures are in New York, I’m inclined to agree with the original source.

Dress: Late January/Early February 2017 (Speculation)

Jack Antonoff: “Dress is my second favorite [from Reputation]. It's the first one we made for it." Taylor was mostly based in London in early 2017, but there’s two times we know she was in the states. The first is in early January, when Taylor was in California working with Max Martin and Shellback. The second time is in late January/early February, when she was in Nashville preparing for Super Saturday Night. My guess is this was written in Late January, mostly because she was on the east coast, but theoretically she could've done it earlier in the month, or even later in the year.

Look What You Made Me Do: Late January/Early February 2017 (Speculation)

In promos for the Making of a Song Video, as well as in Miss Americana, Taylor is seen with straight hair and her J initial necklace (dating the song to post-Dec 13, 2016). Her hairstyle (the deep side part) is very Mid-2016. For most of 2017, she seems to favor the straight across braids with strands on the side. Long story short (ha), the hair makes me what to put this as early in the timeline as possible. We know Taylor was on the east coast (specifically Nashville) in early February, preparing for Super Saturday Night.

New Years Day: 2017 (Unknown)

There isn’t any footage of this, but Jack Antonoff has said that it came together fairly quickly and unexpectedly while they were hanging out at his house.

...Ready For It?: May 2017 (Speculation)

In promos for the Making of a Song series, as well as Miss Americana, Taylor is seen with curly hair, her J necklace, and not her Sapphire Evil Eye Ring, which starts showing up on June 27th (We don’t know exactly when or why she got the sapphire ring). . Since the song partially focuses on whether or not her lover is ready for the media frenzy that surrounds dating her, I’m inclined to place this song in May, when her and Joe’s relationship leaked to the press. The song was recorded in Sweden, and we can assume she was in Europe between May 15 and June 1, 2017. (That being said, we can assume she is in Europe for most of the first half of 2017).

Call It What You Want: June 2017 (Speculation)

In the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen with straight hair, her J necklace, and not her sapphire evil eye ring. Once again, I am tempted to put this after her relationship leaked to the press, probably in early June (She is in the states on the 1st and 3rd, and probably leaves sometime in mid-June).

End Game: Mid July (Confirmed)

Ed Sheeran has said that the song was written around July 14th, while he was playing in Connecticut and Taylor was in Rhode island. Ed: End Game was written - I was playing Mohegan Sun in Connecticut, and she has a place in Rhode Island, which isn't too far. So she hits me up like, 'I know you're in Connecticut, come around.' I go around, she plays me some of what turned out to be reputation, and plays me this End Game, and I was like 'Man, I really like this. Can I do a verse? Can I do a rap verse?' And she was like, 'Yeah, for sure!' So the next day, I remember, I was in bed, and woke up and got my laptop out, put the song, just looped it, wrote this verse, and I went in with Max Martin, who she did the song with, and recorded it. Then Future did a verse, and then Taylor wrote a verse and we did the video.

Getaway Car: July 2017 (Speculation)

In the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen with curly hair, her J necklace, and her sapphire evil eye ring, placing the song sometime shortly before/after June 27th. We know she was in the states for most of July, and in New York City on the 17th and 24th.

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things: July 2017 (Speculation)

In the Making of a Song series, Taylor is seen with straight hair, her J necklace, and her sapphire evil eye ring. For all the same reasons as Getaway Car, this song was probably recorded in July. The exact order of Getaway Car and TIWWCHNT is probably impossible for anyone not involved in the making of the song to know. I could see arguments for either order, but Taylor has said that reputation is in fairly chronological order, I’m putting it in order of tracklist.

So It Goes: September 2017 (Inferring)

Oscar Görres, a cowritter on the song, said he got a call from Max Martin, Shellback, and Taylor asking to use his track after he’d just had a child. According to social media, he had a daughter in 2015 and a son in September of 2017. The interview is a bit confusing, timeline-wise. On one had, Görres says “I’d just become a father,” but then he implies that Max and Shellback had already completed most of the album. (For context, English isn’t his first language). Personally, I believe the believe the September 2017 date. Multiple sessioners have said Taylor said all songs on the album were about her relationship with Joe, and the tracklists in the reputation magazines are out of order, suggesting a late change. Taylor has has also been known to add a song to the album incredibly last minute— most notably Forever & Always on Fearless, but also with Death By A Thousand Cuts on Lover, which had to have been written post April 20, 2019 (but that's for another album).

And that's all for this timeline! Check out my others:

TIMELINES: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights PLAYLISTS: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights • entire discography GENERAL: tag

#txt*#timeline*#taylor swift #sure let’s do it tonight why not

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

Text

Part 2

This time around, Dustin let Will handle the camera. Not only because he was super busy on this day, but Will had also proven himself a talented director. He was currently capturing grade A gold of Steve deciding which hair products to pack away for the day.

He had packed and unpacked the bag at least three times while Dustin was making final arrangements in the kitchen by phone.

“Steve, I swear to god!”

“Hey! No yelling. You promised this would be the one day, no yelling”, Steve snapped.

Dustin huffed, then returned to his phone call.

“I think you’ll look fine”, Will said from behind the camera. “Eddie’s gonna love how you look no matter what.”

Steve smiled fondly at him for that. “Remind me why I didn’t make you my best man again?”

“Because Dustin would have skinned you alive?”

“Yeah, that’s why”, Steve nodded. He figured out his perfect products and closed up the bag. “Alright. I’m ready to get married.”

More like he was ready to begin preparing for the process to start getting ready to be married. But he was ready all the same.

Dustin was his best man. For the record, he had asked Robin first. But then she spent about an hour rambling about how horrible of a job she’d do with the planning and her anxiety and ruining his perfect day while being incredibly flattered and Steve decided to take her out of her misery.

“Just be where I need you”, he had said.

“Can do.”

--------------------

While Steve went into a small room to get started on his hair, Dustin talked to Will, camera off.

“Okay, we’ve got a small window here. You ready for this?”

“You really think they’ll like it?”, Will asked.

“Those saps? They’ll be showin’ it to their grandkids”, Dustin said.

Will beamed. They could do this. And hopefully Steve and Eddie would appreciate the thought behind it.

-----------------

Eddie had proposed on January 2nd, 1990. He definitely planned to do a whole New Year’s thing, but had both chickened out and gotten distracted (another story for another time). But when he finally nutted up, he had told Steve he didn’t want another decade to go by without Steve being his husband.

“I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you in a mosh pit, babe.”

“Eddie, that was three years ago.”

“Three years of torture.” Of not really knowing what the future held for them. Of knowing that even if they belonged to each other in every other way, it wouldn’t be recognized in many people’s eyes. But Eddie finally decided that he officially didn’t care if it wasn’t official. It was real to him and the man he loved. That made it more real than anything else.

And now he was staring at him, with El standing as officiator. She had been the flower girl at her first wedding (Joyce and Jim’s) and had been very fascinated with the person who got to actually marry the couple. She cleared her throat and began to speak, welcoming all the guests in a voice that was strong and full of adoration for the idea of two people professing their love in front of an audience of family and friends.

Then it came time for vows and Eddie typically didn’t shy away from his feelings but he had planned wear even more of his heart on his sleeve. Not only had Steve’s parents responded to the invite, they had attended. And he was gonna let them know just how special their son was.

When it was Steve’s turn, he was definitely already tearing up, but he got out everything he wanted to say. He wondered briefly if Robin saw a similar future for herself or Will.

But then El was practically bouncing on her heels to say her favorite part of all this and anything pertaining to non-Eddie thoughts left his mind.

“I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.”

It really was the sweetest kiss Steve had ever received.

--------------------

The musical selection at the reception was probably the oddest playlist possible but both grooms had wanted everyone to have a chance on the dance floor. Once it into full swing, everyone was getting a little of the grooms’ attention. And if it wasn’t the guests, they had their eyes on each other. So they could be forgiven for not noticing when a few of their friends disappeared.

Will, Jonathan, Nancy, and Dustin had left the hall to prepare their gift for the couple. When it was ready, Dustin walked out onto the stage to get everyone’s attention.

“A few of us have made something special for the men of the hour. Steve, Eddie, with all due respect: I told you so. And without further ado, solid proof that I am always right.”

A video began playing on a projector. One with Eddie and Steve as the focus, with Dustin obviously narrating from behind the camera. It was a little shakey, but something in Steve’s heart cracked at hearing Dustin’s still cracky voice from years ago, putting his own little spin on his and Eddie’s courtship.

“That little shit”, Steve whispered when the scene of him in the bathroom came up. But it had none of the bite it normally did when he was tearing up. Eddie brought his hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. He was feeling a little vindication seeing their romance from the outside. In some of the scenes, Steve looked just as nervous as he had been. He had just been too blinded by love at the time to notice.

But then it changed from clips of their budding romance to the current events of today.

As Dustin had been busy with best man business, Will was handling the camera and Lucas was voicing over for Steve’s actions from outside a window.

“On this, the most important day of his life, Steve is attended by the most trusted members of his pack.”

Steve sat in front of a mirror while Robin did his hair, slapping his hands away every time he tried to interfere. Dustin was using a lint roller on his suit. Steve’s face was a storm of emotion as he tried to fidget with his hair. But Robin was on top of her game today.

“In less than an hour, Steve will officially enter a pair bond for life. Now let’s check in with Eddie.”

The shot changed to Eddie’s preparation. And while Steve anxious feelings were palpable, yet under control, Eddie was letting them all gush forth in the adrenaline thick atmosphere among his groomsmen.

“I’m gonna marry him!”, he shouted.

“You’re gonna marry him!”, Gareth and Jeff shouted back.

Eddie was pacing wildly around the room, sometimes pausing to hop on his feet. “I’m getting married today. I’m marrying Steve. Let’s go! Let’s do this! Nancy! Hit me!”

Nancy obliged him with a slap on the face and that got him even more hype, lifting the energy of the room even more. The handler of the camera turned it towards themselves, revealing Mike was the one recording. And he was definitely wondering how he got here. Then he turned it back towards Eddie.

“Okay, I just gotta ask one last time...”

Nancy gave him a warning look. “Mike...”

“Why Steve?”

Eddie’s smile got even bigger if that was possibly. “He’s belongs in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Mini Wheels. It’s like I’m in little league and I hit a home run against a pro. You shouldn’t be asking me ‘why Steve?’ You should be asking me how.”

Steve turned to Eddie and was trying to convey just how with only his eyes. As they had just described in vivid detail in words. Eddie got the message and kissed him again.

The video went on to show the actual wedding, Will and Jonathan handling two cameras and then a third, floating at an impossible angle. Leave it to El to work double time for such an occasion.

Seeing it all again from the outside...It had really happened, hadn’t it?

“We’re married, baby”, Eddie beamed.

When the video ended, they were kissing each other again. And again and again and for once, Dustin’s self righteous attitude didn’t rain on their parade. If anything they were actually proud of him for seeing what they hadn’t. You’ll never get them to admit it though.

END

Tag Team

@henderdads

@lightwoodbanethings

@mightbeasleep

@beautifully-useless

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #dustin henderson #i do wanna actually chronicle a whole steddie wedding day #but another time #tell me el officiating a wedding bc she's in love with love isn't precious

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shimmerwindow · 5 months

Text

I Never Really

Part Three

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2k

Playlist | Masterlist

Friday crawled by at a snail’s pace. You normally hated Fridays. The campus was always buzzing with so much activity on the weekends, and it made it hard for you to focus on your studies. Saturday and Sunday were the days you would reserve for working on big projects, but it was difficult sometimes when every other dorm room in a 100-foot radius was blasting music. Part of you felt like a grumpy old man, wanting to go bang on doors and shout turn it down! A smaller, quieter part of you was envious of those who had the time, and friends, to party.

You dragged yourself over to the dining hall after class, your mind filled with thoughts of the party you’d be going to tomorrow. It gave you butterflies to think about it. Meeting new people wasn’t something you were great at, nor enjoyed, and big parties were far from your favorite thing. You stared at the sky, the clouds brushed a gentle pink as the sun set, and wondered if it was too late to cancel.

The dining hall was something you typically avoided if you could help it, preferring your microwaved noodles over any of the slop they served there, but you’d been a bit burnt out on the styrofoam-y taste of chicken-flavored cup noodles lately. You managed to find a quiet corner, and sat down with a tray of the few things in the place that looked edible.

Across the room, you watched a group of jock-type guys make their way in, shoving each other and laughing. One of them locked eyes with you, and you quickly turned your head away and pulled out your phone, opening whatever app came up first, trying to look busy. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone making their way directly to where you were sitting. You’d been hit on at this god-forsaken place more than once, and it appeared it was about to happen again. You sighed, and turned your eyes up to the potential suitor.

You blinked a few times. Of course it was Sam. Why did it always have to be Sam?

“Hey!” He called.

You gave him a wave and a small smile, not really in the mood for this right now. You just wanted to eat in peace, but that would have to wait, as he pulled out the chair across from you, dropping his tray onto the table and sitting down.

“I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I don’t usually partake in the unholy abominations they serve here.”

He laughed, holding up a slice of utterly unappetizing pizza he had on his plate. “What, this doesn’t make you hungry?”

“Not exactly.” You picked at what was on your plate, wishing you’d simply settled for noodles tonight.

“You excited for tomorrow?” He asked between bites.

You put on a brave smile, lying through your teeth. “Totally.” You wouldn’t describe your feelings as excited, necessarily. Terrified was more of the word you were looking for.

“It starts at, like, 8. I think. I dunno. I’ll let you know.”

You nodded. That was somewhat good news – you could use the I’m tired excuse after only an hour or two.

“What should I wear?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Oh, I got this, like…vintage sweater thing I wanna wear.” His eyes lit up, clearly excited about it. “It’s blue and brown and it's got all these cool designs on it, and it’s so comfy. I love it.”

You couldn't help but soften up a bit, seeing how excited he got over something as simple as a sweater. He was so enthusiastic when you asked him where he got it, going on a tirade about all of the thrift stores in town while you ate and listened, and he told you all about how they had so many hidden gems if you knew when to look.

“I should go to some of them some time.”

“Absolutely! I’ll take you there!”

He was so sweet sometimes it was almost annoying. “That sounds fun.”

“Yeah! Like, a little thrift store date.”

Cold silence froze the air between you two, his smile fading, your face prickling with a rising blush. Date.

“I mean, not like that. I meant like, friend date. Not date. Just going to thrift stores together. Like friends. Are we friends?”

There it was once again, that rushed, frantic tone he got when he was flustered.

“Yeah, we’re friends.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say back, looking out the window and back to you a few times, silent. You needed a cigarette.

“Well,” you sighed, standing up from the table. “I’m gonna go smoke.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I’ll text you.”

You’d half-expected him to ask to join you, a little surprised he didn’t. Maybe even a bit disappointed. “See you then.”

It was starting to feel like you couldn’t have a normal interaction with him. Every time, it was something. Though, seeing him tonight seemed to wash some of your worries away. He was kind, and from what you knew about him, he seemed like a good companion to have at a party of strangers.

Sleep came easily that night, thankfully. You drifted off peacefully, finally exhausted from the week before. And in your dreams, you found yourself in a familiar place. If it was possible to get deja vu in dreams, you were feeling it.

You were at the top of a skyscraper in some city you didn't recognize, the wind blowing hard enough to throw you off the edge, but you didn't move. The sky was clear and full of stars, galaxies streaking across the blackness and lighting everything in a delicate purple.

Sam was next to you, pointing at the sky, saying words that were carried away on the wind, but somehow you knew he was explaining the stars to you. He would point at a section of sky and it would glow, as if he held dominion over the stars. Like he told them when to shine.

And then, you were in a dorm room, similar to yours but not quite right, the layout was all wrong. You laid on a bed that was too big for a dorm, and just above you, Sam was there. His face hovered just above yours, his hair hanging down to brush the sides of your face. You knew he was going to kiss you, and you welcomed it gladly, your body melting into his. He was made of warmth and light, and love, so much love.

* * *

Your eyes opened to daylight, the dream ending abruptly, leaving you disoriented when you finally came to your senses. These dreams were starting to get ridiculous. He wouldn’t leave your head, even when he wasn't around. You put your mind to work immediately to push any thoughts of him aside, getting out your laptop and starting up your to-do list for the day.

The minutes ticked by slowly, your eyes always watching the clock, waiting for a text from him, dreading the night ahead. I’ll show up to be kind, have one drink, and disappear. Nobody will even notice when I leave, you thought. Though, nothing seemed to be that level of straightforward around Sam.

You successfully kept yourself preoccupied, until you decided to work on your joint project. He’d written quite a bit since the last time you looked at the document. It was endearing, like you were getting a glimpse into a part of him very few people knew. His style was brutish, getting his point across in as few words as possible, with the most blunt language he could muster. It was cute, in a way.

Time seemed to speed up while you occupied yourself, and before you were anywhere near ready to do so, it was finally time to get yourself ready for the party. You did so in silence, working the party over in your mind. It wasn’t too late to cancel. But you couldn’t do that to him. You imagined how his face would fall when you would tell him you couldn’t go anymore, and it broke your heart a bit. You wouldn’t do that to him. Not after that dream you'd had.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, knocking you out of your thoughts. Sam’s name was on the screen.

leaving soon, you ready? he’d sent.

ready when you are

You took one last glance at yourself in the mirror, memories of your dream from the night before washing over you once again. Staring into your own eyes, you willed it away, pushing the memory down to the deepest recesses of your consciousness until it was lost with all the other thoughts that wandered around in there. You could not possibly face him with such a dream still knocking against the forefront of your mind.

When you finally met Sam on the first floor, you were a bit taken aback at just how…nice he looked. He was wearing the sweater he’d told you about, the patterns and colors complimenting his features perfectly. He had on a faded pair of jeans with a few square patches of fabric sewn into them – one with an elephant on it, another with a detailed drawing of a star. His hair was down, flawless and glossy as always. He gave you a toothy grin when he saw you, his eyes briefly running up and down the length of your body.

“You look nice,” he said, the words catching in his throat a bit.

“Same to you,” you replied, trying to keep a level head with his words repeating over and over in your mind.

“Thanks!” He looked down at himself. “I made these myself,” he motioned at the jeans. “Well, I didn't, like, make them, but I found these cool patches and put ‘em on.”

“You can sew?” You asked, a bit surprised.

“Of course I can. My mom taught me when I was a youngin.”

The thought of him sitting in his dorm, delicately sewing patches onto his jeans, was almost too much for you to bear. “Wanna get going?” The daylight had already long faded from the sky, the few stars obscured by a blanket of clouds.

“Absolutely, miss eclipse.”

“Don’t call me that, cornball.”

“Missus eclipse? Ma’am?” He cocked his head to the side.

You rolled your eyes, biting your lip against a smile. The things he said, coming from any other person, wouldn't even solicit a grin from you half the time. But something about him…you couldn’t help but laugh at every one of his jokes. “Let’s go already.”

The two of you made your way out of the hall and out into the night. There was a surprising number of people out tonight – though, that was only your perception. You didn’t leave the dorms much on Saturday nights if you could help it. Too much commotion, too many drunk men. Walking with Sam felt safe, though.

You made light small talk as you walked, discussing things like the coming winter, how you’d heard it was going to be a pretty bad one this year. You’d expected to feel more nervous at this point, but your body and mind both felt rather calm; as calm as they could be in Sam’s presence. There was something about him that radiated calm, like a lit fireplace or the smoke from incense. Walking with him, even in silence, felt right in a way you couldn't place. And between words, you imagined how it would feel to hold his hand as you walked.

#gvf fan fiction #gvf fanfiction #gvf fanfic #gvf fic #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka x y/n #sam kiszka x reader #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fic #i never really

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corpsepng · 9 months

Note

Pls make a list of books you recommend to aspiring writers<3

Ok. Aspiring/burgeoning writer starter kit:

In writing anything you officially become a writer so that’s step one haha, no need to aspire too much. BUT. I’m going to soapbox for a bit using this ask as an excuse love u kissing u etc. So. This will barely be about books, but sort of the recipe of what I (personally and subjectively) think will help anyone who wants to grow their craft. (I know because I've been writing seriously for 14 years)

The act of writing is the best practice you can get but having a well from which to draw on creatively and skill wise in order to DO that practice is the trickier part. And sometimes we can be found lacking because we’re either NOT refilling that well enough, consciously enough, or only with the same sorts of things so it gets stagnant. This is a long one so I’ll shove it under the cut haha.

The recipe:

Study craft

Broaden horizons

Diversify consumption

Consume with intention

Apply with reference

1) Study craft: this is the easiest to make sense of, right? I want to get good at writing so I read books about writing yada yada. Whatever you’re writing, it’s made up of a lot of moving parts, and you can dedicate time studying EACH PART, but figure out what you have the least experience with, or the most difficulty with, and start there. Also, before I go on to preach about why you shouldn’t solely stake your growth on some dusty old books, here’s some dusty old books I recommend:

The Elements of Style (strunk/white/kalman) (really quick and abbreviated advice, read every bit of this but remember: rules are important to know so you can decide which are worth following and which are in need of breaking for the pursuit of your goals. And nobodies perfect, or editors wouldn’t have a job)

Bird by Bird (Anne Lamott) (excellent work about fostering a process, important for everyone who finds themselves a little lost on how to just. Start)

Wonderbook (Jeff Vandermeer) (I haven’t read this one but knowing Vandermeers work this is on my TBR and I KNOW it’s going to be enlightening)

How to Read Literature like a Professor (Thomas C. Foster) (perfect for those who can see others stories working but unsure how to make their own work, I personally didn’t read much of this one but this will help people to more critically engage with what they’re consuming)

Save the Cat Writes a Novel/Joseph Campbells Hero’s Journey/On Writing and Worldbuilding/etc (all of these are on structure and craft in a concrete sense), I would recommend either choose one OR getting the abbreviated/digestible versions through YouTube because a lot of these can repeat themselves. I’m working on a playlist of writing craft/structure videos that I found helpful, so keep an eye out for that)

So. Studying craft should be a multidisciplinary process. Articles online, videos on niche media, books on craft or copying things from your favorites, looking for yourself in the movies you watch or fiction you read. Punctuation, prose, structure, rhetoric, character, world building, pacing, etc. Unfortunately, no matter how seasoned you become as a writer, you will always be learning new things about the craft itself.

It should be fun and I honestly feel like an enlightened little scientist when I see something that really cracks the open the magic for me (ex: scenes that serve more than one purpose are OF COURSE going to be more engaging that scenes with only one purpose- duh) (of COURSE magic systems should have a cost) (of COURSE the characters cant always win OR always lose)

2) Broaden horizons: consuming fiction and studying it is key to knowing how to reproduce it. We start with the training wheels of imitation before we ride away full speed into truly unique original storytelling. But the most impactful and thought-provoking stories are more than just fiction, so you need to know more than stories. Science, history, art, craft, math, music, cooking, psychology, religion, whatever!

Everyone always parrots “write what you know”, but what you KNOW can expand to influence what you write- so keep learning new things all the time and for fun, because you never know what could help your story. Your knowledge is not limited to experience alone, and research is your best friend. ASOIAF was so loved because George RR Martin loved not only fantasy, but British history. The Folk of the Air series is so loved because Holly Blacks special interest is faeries.

Note: this does not mean the study of OTHER PEOPLES trauma and experiences in an appropriative way, rather, become worldly. Because sure, knowing what a gunshot feels like adds realism, but I don’t care about realism if I don’t care about your characters or world. Science fiction is the best example of this: so many of those stories stick with us generationally because they’re pointing a lens back at humanity, asking big philosophical questions with science, which is something that touches us all.

But it doesn’t even need to be Big and Thematic like that. My dear friend @chaylattes has a project where she’s applied her love of plants to the world building AND plot, and has INVENTED whole plant species that enriched their work with something so exclusively Chay. No one else could write Andromeda Rogue because Chay, with specific interests and knowledge, put that specificity into the story.

3) Diversify consumption: surrounding yourself with more of the same means you’re going to regurgitate the same, derivatively. To be a hater for a moment: I can tell within the first chapter if someone only reads/watches one kind of media (m*rvel, fairy smut, grim dark nonsense, etc), and it’s distracting. When I read that derivative work, I’m not thinking about THEIR story. All I can think of is the people who did it first, and better.

Alternatively, the best work draws on the unexpected. Fantasy work taking notes from horror, science fiction including humanistic romance, romance with elements of mystery. RF Kuangs work feels so smart because she’s literally a PHD candidate who’s reading of academic writing. Cassandra Clares work is so interpersonally messy and hard to look away from because she watches a lot of reality television.

Genre is less a set of cages to lock yourself inside of and more so the sections of a great big fictional playground- and you need to start playing. Rules, again, are guidelines that can be bent for the sake of your stories. I predominantly write scifi/fantasy/horror but some of my favorite stuff is literary fiction, historical nonfiction, thrillers, and poetry.

And if you can’t bring yourself to read different genres, it takes significantly less effort to WATCH different genres. Television and film are stories too, and can absolutely be learned from.

4) Consume with intention: this is easier said than done. I, embarrassingly, admit that I did not have any reading comprehension skills until I was at least 19. I was consuming, but I wasn’t thinking a damn critical thought, just spitting it back out in a way that sounded smart.

Critical thinking skills (I say, on the website that historically lacks such a thing) are a muscle that needs to be exercised just as often as your writing muscle. Reading new work, studying craft, learning new shit- none of it matters if you can’t APPLY it all to a story. One can take a clock apart to learn how exactly it ticks, but it won't tell time like a watch until you put it back together.

The key is asking questions, all of the time about everything. That whole “why the curtains were blue” nonsense comes to mind, but if you want to be a good writer, (edit: a writer that cares about whether or not their work is vapid imitation of better work) learning to ask WHY the curtains are blue really does matters.

Ask why in ALL stories you consume, including your own. Why do Ghibli films make me feel calm? (Motifs of undisturbed nature, low stakes plots and quiet scenes of reprieve between action, characters that care about one another and aren’t afraid to show it) Why do I fly through a Gillian Flynn novel but take 8,000 years to read other books? (Concise descriptions, realistic but evocative premise, witty voice, contained and fast paced plot, an abundance of questions driving the mystery leading up to a satisfying crash of answers at the end) Why were the curtains blue, the coffee cup chipped, and the lipstick stain on the rim red instead of purple or pink? And why did the colors matter at all when the scene is about a father at a kitchen table? (You tell me!) Answers may vary.

You can put the work into learning the answer at the source (ie: listening to authors talk about their own work), or through the external interpretations of a critic (proceed with caution here), sure. These are even good when learning HOW to think critically if you don’t even know where to start. But your growth as a writer depends on your ability to answer your OWN questions.

(Why do I feel tense in this scene? Is it because the character says they’re sweating and struggling to breathe? Is it because I’ve been told the monsters close? Is it because the sentences are getting shorter and the author keeps repeating descriptions of that monsters massive bloody teeth coming closer? Or is it because I know the gun in her hands has no bullets because another character already tried what she’s about to try?)

(Why do I feel sad in this scene? Is it because the characters mom just died? Is it because the character can’t even verbalize that sadness to others? Is it because none of the other characters seem to care enough to ask? Is it because of the wilted flowers in the corner? Or is it because there are daisies in the bouquet, and those were the moms favorite?)

I can nod and smile at 1000 opinions about “why X did Y and the end of Z” or “why X is Y and not Z” but how I felt when I consume something, how I was affected and how it made ME PERSONALLY answer my critical questions, that’s what’s important. That’s how we manufacture gay subtext in everything, because sometimes gay is a feeling as opposed to a fact.

Also, if those subjective answers are inconsistent among readers/viewers, the writer likely had their own intentions a little muddled. So, and I know I’m getting tangential but stay with me: romance. You know how you’re supposed to feel happy or convinced that the people falling in love are like, in love? And want to put yourself in that position or whatever? I CANNOT consume most romance media because it all comes off as categorically terrifying to me. I ask myself why the characters are doing what they do, reacting the way they react, saying way they say, and none of it feels romantic. I want to file a restraining order, and that’s the failing of the author, who did not make enough conscious choices in their work and accidentally created horror while writing their color by numbers trope slop of a “romance” novel.

5) Apply with reference: is like taking all your ingredients and finally cooking. You want people to notice and respect when you add certain literary devices, descriptions, character choices, but not to the detriment of your work. Shows like stranger things are popular but divisive because their intertextuality and reliance on nostalgia bolster an otherwise unoriginal idea. They weren’t trying to reinvent the wheel, they were writing a love letter to Stephen Spielberg, and are riding that wave into the ground. But the fairy dick renaissance doesn’t feel nearly as palatable as season one of stranger things did because a lot of times they aren’t using the ingredients in their own way, rather, following the recipe to a T and selling it as new. Food really is the perfect metaphor and sorry in advance because I’m really going to run with it here lol.

When I eat a meal, first of all I know I'm eating food, so don't try and trick me into thinking otherwise or I'll only get annoyed. I want to be able to taste all of what’s in front of me, spice, salt, sweet, bitter, etc and know what what you said you've fed me is really actually truly what I've eaten. One ingredient, or writing choice, shouldn’t overpower another, or surprise me so much I can’t take another bite. I shouldn’t try something you call “sauced and baked yeast patty garnished with fermented milk and smoked meat” and think “this shits pizza” because you didn’t even try to jazz it up more than what the instructions on the digiorno box said. I also shouldn’t bite into something you call a pizza and only taste bread because you really like bread and forgot that a pizza is more than just bread.

But inversely, avoiding all ingredients gets you weird, nary inedible shit like charred milk reduction with lamb mist or whatever. Show me you have knowledge in your genre by referencing it AND remixing it, show me that you studied craft by foreshadowing properly or pacing well, show me you’re more than an AI writerbot by deepening your work with your unique and human influence, show me you read broadly by adding surprising ingredients, and show me that you mean every word you write because you made the curtains blue instead of yellow, and topped your pizza with pepperoni instead of pineapple.

Congrats on making it all the way through my rambling, hope I made sense and that this helped!

#mail.txt #writeblr #writerblr #writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing help #anon

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clevelcnds · 1 year

Text

I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE - JOE BURROW

(NOT MY GIF)

warnings: none really, full of angst. joe’s a complete asshole in this. sad ending.

authors note: excuse the grammar errors, i’m not the best at writing lol. lower case is intended!

they all warned you. not to fall for an nfl player. that they weren't good, they were bad news. but did you listen? no.

so here you were, heartbroken over the same man they warned you about, joe burrow. the guy who everyone liked. the man who was arguably the best quarterback in the game.

every woman fell for him, including you. how could you be so stupid? so naive to believe the lies he told you? not listening to those people around you?

you knew he was trouble, deep down you knew that. and still, you fell for his games anyway. the games that every female fell for.

you were sitting on your bed with tears streaming down your face. and the phone in your lap. as you found out joe had been seeing other women.

it wasn't just one though. it was many others. many others who fell for the same damn shit that he said. joe promised you, he'd always be loyal. it didn't seem like that now.

what were you gonna do? he was away for a game. coming home today. you knew he was trouble, yet fell for him anyway.

your mind went back to when the both of you met. that night. joe had found you, standing on a balcony alone at an NFL party.

————

"all alone?"

you looked over at the voice, immediately recognizing it was joe burrow. you didn't understand why he was talking to you? of all people.

"yeah." you laughed "i hate parties. my dad dragged me here." that's right, your dad. he was an ex nfl player and now a senior reporter.

"well wanna go somewhere else?"

what? joe burrow wanted you to go with him. your mind was spinning. part of you told you not to go. that he was trouble. but you ignored it. it was joe burrow after all.

"but you're supposed to be here."

joe shrugged "i'm already done with my interviews and speech. they can handle things without me.. so what do you say?"

"alright burrow."

joe's lips curved into a smile and put out his hand for you to take. which you did, as he led you out of the party and into his car.

"i didn't get your name." joe mentioned starting his car and driving out of the parking lot.

“y/n”

joe nodded "beautiful name." he said looking over at you. his eyes connecting to yours. the comment made you blush.

the music was playing lightly from his playlist on his phone. it became quiet. you could feel his glances on you, especially on your body.

"we are here."

it was a festival, there weren't many people. joe got out and opened your door. taking your hand in his and walking to it.

"so tell me more about yourself."

"well, i'm twenty-three. i work for a local news channel in cincinnati. i have two cats and i love football and baseball."

"you single?"

you stopped in your tracks did joe burrow just ask if you were single?

"yeah, i am."

"great, that means this is our first date right?"

you laughed "yeah i guess it is huh?"

that night you had the most fun in awhile. with joe winning you a stuffed animal and riding on the ferris wheel. where he pulled you into a kiss. your first kiss that you had with him.

it was magical. so magical. he was so sweet that night. making sure you got home safe. you thought all those rumors were fake. you wanted to believe those rumors were fake. joe treated you like a queen that night.

————

you went back when the first time joe had asked you to be his girlfriend. kissing you with all the passion he had. it was like a dream. how the both of you devoted that night to each other. your first time with him. everything.

but maybe a part of you wished you would've said no. or wished you never met him. because you wouldn't be here right now, crying over joe. a man who didn't deserve how great you were.

flashback

it was thursday night. joe was hosting a party and of course, invited you. joe had found you in the crowd and dragged you to be alone.

his arms were wrapped around you. it was just the two of you in silence. until joe spoke up, the words he spoke next made you smile. he finally asked the big question after a month and a half of talking.

"y/n."

"yeah?" you asked looking up at him

"i want you to be my girlfriend. i really like you. and i think you're really special."

you smiled at him "i'd love too."

joe pulled you into a kiss. before the both of you walked upstairs to his room. where the both of you had an amazing night. joe said nothing but loving things to you.

———-

it didn't take long for you to notice red flags though. sometimes he'd like other woman's pictures. sometimes he'd go out to parties and bars and never reply to your texts.

other times? joe would flirt with other women. sometimes in front of you. there were rumors he had another girlfriend. but you shrugged it off, saying the media was lying. they always lie anyway, for clickbait.

and when he flirted with other women? you confronted joe about it. only for him to say you were overreacting and that he was just being friendly. that it happens when your are famous. that he only had eyes for you, and only you.

but of course, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. believing him when you shouldn't of. people say you will do crazy things for love. that you would believe anything for love. they were right.

how could you ignore the signs? after all this time now? after every lie?

a knock at your door broke your thoughts. you wiped your tears and got up, it was joe. of course it was, you told him he could come over as soon as he got back.

you unlocked the door looking up at him. maybe it wasn't evident that you were crying, but something was up. joe didn't ask though, instead pulling you into a kiss.

it turned into a make out session but you stopped joe before he tried to take your shirt off. you lightly pushed him off. joe was annoyed.

"what's wrong with you?"

a laugh escapes your lips "what's wrong with me? i don't know joe. maybe it was the fact that you were caught with a different woman?"

it didn't faze him, not at all. the news you found out. he said nothing. you thought he'd deny it or apologize. but he didn't, which made you hurt more.

"so you're not going to say anything?"

"come on y/n you really thought you were special?" joe laughed looking down at you with a smirk on his face. did those words just come out of his mouth?

"what..."

"you really are dumb huh? you're so naive it's crazy. you really thought you were special? or that i loved you? well sorry to let you down but i don't."

"you're an asshole!" you yell with tears streaming down your cheeks.

joe rolled his eyes "your crying? over the truth?"

"gosh, you woman could be so sensitive today. i'm leaving. let me know if you ever want me back, they always do."

"get the hell out of my house."

joe left. leaving you all alone. all the things he said? it was torture. the man who you fell for was a complete asshole.

but again, they warned you. part of you knew he was trouble. yet you still fell.

and now you were blaming yourself. blaming yourself for being in this position.

that was the last time you saw joe. blocking him on everything. hating to see him succeed. going to the playoffs and all the women who were drooling over him. if only they knew who he truly was.

if only.

#nfl imagines #joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagines #joe burrow x reader #music imagines #football #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #Spotify

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ro-written · 11 months

Text

Don't Wanna Fall In Love pt. 1 - C.Y

Tags/Warnings: gn!reader, player!Yeonjun, college!AU, bestie!Wooyoung, cursing, mentions of sex (no smut though!), partying, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 2.3k

Playlist:

“No Role Modelz” by J. Cole “Don’t Wanna Fall In Love” by Kyle

Part 2

Choi Yeonjun was known around campus for a variety of reasons. He was attractive, had decent grades, and was in a well-known friend group everyone wanted to join.

And he was a player.

Everyone knew this. And yet everyone seemed to think they could change him. Lock him down in a relationship and claim him as a trophy—an easy ride into popularity at school.

Yeonjun knew this every time he brought someone new into his apartment. But the thing was, that’s what made it so fun to him. Seeing what new tricks they would try to get him to ask them out on a proper date. The best attempt so far was cooking him a full breakfast in the morning rather than leaving altogether. That morning he sat there, ate breakfast in silence, and then gave them his signature “sympathetic” smile, followed by his usual spiel:

“I’m not really the best boyfriend type. Honestly, I’m kind of shitty at relationships. We can be friends though! I do hope you understand.”

It was well rehearsed after giving it to an assortment of people. Tweaked and polished to perfection. Started by giving a reason that explained his response, put the blame on him and his “shittiness” at relationships, gave them an alternative answer, and played at their sympathy. And they would eat it up every time. Admit their defeat as they walked out the door of his flat.

It was a cycle that repeated every time. And somehow, he never got tired of it.

—

You were never quite one for parties. At the risk of sounding like the “not like every other girl” trope, you just didn’t find too much enjoyment in them. Wasn’t your crowd, wasn’t your scene, but you never held it against others who did enjoy them. Your best friend, for example, was very into parties.

“Woo, I don’t know–”

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease,” he pleaded as he gave you his best puppy dog eyes.

Yes, Wooyoung was very into parties, and tonight would be one of the bigger ones that Yeonjun and his crew were throwing at Choi Beomgyu’s house. A celebration for the end of the first semester and surviving through finals. And your best friend was dead set on getting you to go to one party before you both left out for winter break.

“You know how I feel about those things…why can’t we just stay in and drink! I’ll even make your favorite ramen.” You tacked the last part of the sentence as a way to sweeten the deal, knowing he had a hard time saying no to your ramen. His eyebrows went up as he thought deeply about it.

“That’s a very tempting offer, I must admit,” he scratched his jaw. “But I really, really, really wanna go to this party. It’s being hosted by the Fabulous Five."

“Very stupid name.”

“Shut it.”

“I mean who calls themselves ‘the Fabulous Fi’–”

“Okay, I don’t think they call themselves that, everyone else just does,” he rolled his eyes and put his hands in the air. You laughed at his exasperated state, knowing that you could give just as much attitude as he could throw your way.

“But that’s not the point. The point is that this party means a lot to me,” he looked you in the eye, fully serious. “And I would really like it if my best friend was there beside me.” His words struck a deep cord in you. There was turmoil going on between your head and heart. Your heart was telling you to go with and be there for your best friend, just as he is there for you in everything. Your head told you to stay back, that you would absolutely hate it there. It would all be too much for you, and you knew that.

But goddammit, Wooyoung was looking at you like a hopeful little kid right now.

“You make it sound like you’re getting married, Jung.”

“If I find the right person tonight, maybe I will,” he laughed, grabbing your hand. “Pretty please? I will do the dishes all of next week.”

With a sigh, you looked down at your hand in his and gave it a squeeze. You really did hate doing the dishes.

“Fine.”

—

It was all…quite loud.

As soon as you stepped into the house the heat from all the bodies hit you. Smoke made the air so thick you could almost chew it. The volume of the music really did a number on your ears.

You had found a stair step that wasn’t being used to sit and scroll on your phone. Wooyoung had gone off somewhere with some dark-haired boy - saying something about “I’ll be back in a bit” - and left you to your own device.

For a while you people watched. There was a beer pong game going you found to be interesting, and afterward, a round of stack cup. You recognized a few of the players from your classes but weren’t super close to any of them. A few people went past you on the stairs up to god-knows-where, which you would shift out of the way a bit to avoid being stepped on. Some people you knew by name swung by to say hey, but that was the extent of your conversations in the midst of the chaos.

Eventually, nothing seemed all too interesting anymore, and you found yourself turning to your phone to do literally anything. You watched some videos, looked through the news a bit, texted back a friend or two, and before you knew, it only thirty minutes had gone by. You closed off your phone and hung your head, social battery depleting fast.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

A voice came from in front of you, and you looked up to find the source.

Choi Yeonjun stood right in front of you, holding out a cup of some transparent drink with an orange tint to it. Your eyes flickered from the drink up to his face, a gentle smile gracing it.

“No offense, but I don’t typically take drinks from strangers.” You gave him a light smile in order to politely decline him. He could have done anything to that drink, I don’t know him.

You knew of Yeonjun’s reputation around your school. You weren’t one to judge anyone for what they chose to do with their bodies. You’ve had a few one-night stands here and there but never made it a frequent thing. You did, however, try to go out of your way to steer clear of him and his friends out of not wanting to be caught up in any attention. Many of his escapades were pretty vocal about their time with him, and it brought them a bit of notice from your peers. You preferred to not be a similar case.

He smiled and nodded his head at your rejection, before putting the same cup to his mouth and downing the liquid. Your eyes widened a bit at how fast he took it down, before giving him another smile and looking awkwardly around at the other party-goers.

“Perhaps,” he started after a moment of silence. “I could accompany you to the kitchen. You could make your own drink, and I can properly introduce myself so we aren’t strangers anymore.” He offered a hand out to you, which you looked at for a second, wrestling your options.

Either A: Stay here and wait till Wooyoung comes back after who knows how long…

Or B: Go grab a little drink to help make it through this night.

Grabbing his hand, you stood up from the stairs. You immediately dropped it, which caused Yeonjun to furrow his eyebrows a bit before collecting himself.

“Follow me.”

—

Your curtains brought direct sunlight into your eyes, causing you to stir a bit to shift away from the assault. You groaned as your arm came up to cover your face.

And suddenly, an arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close to a warm body next to you.

Now I’m awake.

Your head whipped to the side to see Yeonjun still asleep next to you, his pouty lips were slightly open, cheek smushed against your pillow. His black hair was splayed across the pillow, giving him a bit of bedhead.

Eventually, your eyes trailed down his neck to his bare chest, and lower to where the blanket covered his waist down. You brought your eyes down and found you were wearing his shirt from last night, some band tee that had been oversized on him.

Your heart was racing as you tried to place all the spotty memories in order.

Kitchen for drinks.

We were talking on a couch at some point.

More drinks, I think.

Wooyoung left out, said he wasn’t going back to the apartment tonight.

You told Yeonjun you were headed out, he wanted to walk back with you.

“Gotta make sure you’re safe.”

You invited him into your apartment to sober up a bit before he left.

So how did he get into your bed?

“Um,” his voice drew you out of the mental puzzle. You turned your head to find him looking directly at you, eyes still a bit groggy. “Hey.”

“...Hi.” You looked at him with wide eyes, certain you looked crazy. This was not how anything was supposed to go, and he needed to leave before Wooyoung got back to the apartment. If he hasn’t been back already…

“Uh, so I’m really–”

“I’m sorry Yeonjun, last night was a mistake.” You offered him a sympathetic smile, cutting him off. His mouth stayed open, lost for words, eyes widened in confusion. He was taken aback, not knowing quite how to respond. You lifted the covers, ignoring his lower half, and stood up quickly, trying to find a pair of shorts, pants, anything to cover your legs.

“W-...It was?” He sat up and tilted his head to the side, looking vaguely like a lost puppy. You nodded your head with a tight-lipped smile.

“Yea, it’s just…I’m really not looking for anything right now. Mainly just focused on studies, you know?” You pulled out some sweatpants from a pile of clothes you had been meaning to fold. Gotta look for a shirt now.

“Right, right, me too.” His eyebrows creased as looked at you, shuffling around the room in search of something. You went to a drawer to pull out a plain black tee shirt and walked to your closet to change in.

“After I change I can go sit in the living room while you get dressed!” You said in a rushed manner from behind the door.

Yeonjun’s head was spinning.

No one has ever kicked him out.

Mainly cause they were almost always at his place and he would gently push them out. But this time they were in your apartment, and you were pushing him out. It completely took him by surprise, especially calling last night a “mistake.”

You stepped out of the closet and walked over to the bed to hand him his shirt back. Nodding, you left the room and gently closed the door behind you, not bothering to look back for a second.

A bit down the hallway you could see Wooyoung’s door open, and you tip-toed over to it just in case he had come back and fallen asleep. Peeking your head through, your entire body felt a wave of relief from seeing his bed empty, his keys and wallet that he would usually have on his bedside table gone.

You padded your way to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water, letting your thoughts fly through your head while you sipped at it.

How could you have let that happen? Everyone is going to be talking about you now, and you’ll only be known as one of Yeonjun’s conquests. All eyes on you for the next week now, you’ll have to go to class, keep your head down, and immediately come back home. Maybe he won’t talk about it? He never usually talks about his rendezvous’...Unless he mentions it to his friends! Beomgyu and Kai talk quite a bit, what if–

The sound of your door opening lifted your head up to stare at the hallway that led into your kitchen and living room. You watched as Yeonjun trudged out in the clothes he had worn last night. His hair was a bit more tamed than the bedhead he had earlier. You set the glass down and took a few steps toward him, not completely knowing what to say.

“So…I have somewhere I have to be…in a few minutes…” You trailed off, hoping he’d pick up what you were implying. You still hadn’t quite figured out how to politely tell one-night stands to leave.

“Right yeah, I have to get going too, I was meeting Soobin for lunch.” He smiled, finally having somewhat composed himself while getting dressed. You nodded as your heart hammered in your chest, wanting to force him out the door before Woo did arrive and started telling everyone who was in his apartment last night. With your luck, he may be walking up to the door now.

You moved to unlock and open the door for him, peering your head outside to check for your roommate. Still gone. You didn’t bother to offer Yeonjun anything else, needing him to get out of the building. He stepped around you and out the door, and just before you closed it, he turned back around to you.

“I’ll see you later?” Something glimmered in his eyes as he said it. A warm, hopeful feeling in his chest emerged, something he hadn’t experienced in a while. Your eyes met him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yeah, Yeonjun…I’ll definitely see you around.”

—

Do not repost or translate any of my work anywhere else.

All comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome!

#txt #tomorrow by together #tubatu #txt x reader #tomorrow x together #choi yeonjun #choi yeonjun x reader #choi yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun txt

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harry-on-broadway · 10 months

Text

The Last Line: Part Five

Part Five

Word Count: 5.2K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M

***

“It’s perfect.”

“Really?” Penny blinked. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Skylar said with a light laugh. “There are a couple of things we might want to move around, but this will be a very light edit. Great work, Penny.”

“Thanks,” Penny said, still in a state of shock. “I didn’t think it would be that good. I mean, I didn’t even think about it while I was writing. It was…” she searched for the right descriptor. “Word vomit, as gross as that sounds.”

“We often produce our greatest works when we give ourselves the space to say what we want to say without self-censoring. I wanted the articles in this series to come from the heart and that’s clearly where you pulled this from, Penny. I should have edits to you later this afternoon and we’re well on track to publish it tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good. I have a couple of calls but I can make time to review it this afternoon.” Penny paused on her way out of the room. “Thank you again. For giving me this opportunity. And for helping me. With everything.” She inhaled sharply, feeling tears prick in her eyes.

“I’m lucky to work with an incredible person like yourself, Penny,” Skylar said. “Helping you, guiding you, it’s my pleasure.”

Penny could feel the eyes of her newsroom on her during the brief walk back to her desk. In the weeks since her meltdown in the conference room, Penny’s coworkers had begun to treat with a newfound sense of respect. Darren had been asked to seek other work in its aftermath of the incident and Penny’s subsequent relationship with Skylar had the others viewing her as some sort of deity.

“Well?” Chloe asked as Penny slid into her desk chair.

“She loved it.”

“As I knew she would.”

“She said she thinks it’s going to run tomorrow morning.”

“So soon! Amazing!”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think he’ll…?” Chloe didn’t need to finish her question.

“I don’t know.” Penny swirled her straw in her cup, trying to get a sip of the vanilla syrup that had gotten trapped underneath the layers of ice and coffee.

“Has he still been creeping?”

“Yes.” They hadn’t spoken since that night at her apartment and Harry continued to ignore every text and voicemail she left for him, but he was still lurking in her instagram stories. She’d started testing him, posting random and mundane shit like her morning coffee and the song she was currently listening to on Spotify. Regardless of whatever her story was, he was the first one to view it.

“And do you think he’ll take the bait?”

“I hope so! Otherwise I don’t know what I’ll do. I just –”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Chloe said, attempting to soothe Penny’s distress. “This is going to work. I promise you that.”

Hours later, Penny’s Slack app chimed with a note from Skylar saying that edits were ready for her to review. As promised, her suggestions were minimal and Penny cleared them all within a half hour. She knew legal and design and all of the other departments involved would need to sign off on their end before it could be official, but by 8am tomorrow, her words would be out in the world.

She didn’t know why she felt so nervous. She’s been through this hundreds of times before, but never had she shared something so personal with the hundreds (Or was it thousands?) of people who read the site everyday. It felt like she was giving a piece of her soul for public consumption. All in the hopes of winning back a man who never wanted to see her again.

She sighed and closed her laptop. “I’m going to head out,” she said to no one in particular, earning a handful of half-hearted acknowledgements from those who were scattered around her. In her car, she opened one of the playlists Harry had shared with her and pressed play. Feeling the music wash over her, she pulled out of the garage and drove home preparing for the most nerve-wracking night of her life.

***

August 17, 2019

The Start of Something New

By Penny Sanders

This coming November will mark one year since I joined the staff at The Moment and four years since I accepted my first, official, grown-up journalism job. Ahead of these personal milestones, I’ve been reflecting a lot on what it means to be a journalist, specifically one that covers the arts.

One of the main tenets of being a good journalist is objectivity. You’re there to present the facts in an unbiased way, calling out injustices and holding truth to power. Everyone learns that in their freshman mass comm class. But what they don’t tell you is how that rule isn’t always so cut and dry.

While I do a bit of everything when it comes to music coverage here at The Moment, my primary role has been that of a critic, reviewing concerts and albums and giving you my honest take on them. It’s a dream job for many, but it’s also one that has caused me a great deal of stress and anxiety over the years.

I’ve struggled to be harsh (even when a well-pointed criticism is deserved). I’ve struggled to hone a voice, oscillating between gushing fan girl and hardened veteran to appear as if I know what I’m talking about. And I’ve been a victim of intense (at times almost debilitating) imposter syndrome, second guessing that my opinions and ideas are even worth sharing.

But all that has changed in recent months as I’ve started to venture down a new professional path, chatting with and profiling newsmakers in this industry we all love. Sitting down for these interviews, I’ve always expected the cold formality that has long been associated with an industry presser – say your question and get your answer as quickly as possible, foregoing any sort of human interaction. Instead, what I found was a connection I never knew I had been looking for.

Recently, I had a chat with an artist who shall go unnamed. I’d reviewed their work before, and while I might have been fair in my assessment of their music, I wasn’t necessarily kind, something that I didn’t realize the impact of until we had a chance to speak face-to-face in an informal setting. As we spoke about our respective writing processes, I had a realization. We were one in the same. We found our way to an industry where everyone speaks the same language, found a pack to call home, and were creating the art we always wanted to, even if it was on opposite sides of the line. That conversation, along with subsequent others, really put into perspective the fact that you can’t separate the personal and professional when it comes to art, as a piece of you will always live inside your creation.

So, why am I rambling about this and forcing you to read it at 8am as you have your morning coffee? Because I’m making some changes starting today.

You’ll still see me around town and on the website reviewing concerts and albums (like I’d ever give that up!), but I’ll be expanding my coverage area as well. I’ll be chatting with some of the biggest names in the industry, cutting through the scripted BS and having real, human conversations about the thing we love most: music. I’ll also be sharing more personal essays about my own thoughts and feelings on the business of the day in an effort to start a conversation with you, our readers.

So, if you’re reading this (and hopefully you still are), what are you waiting for? Let’s chat. My schedule’s wide open.

***

Penny jolted awake at 6am the next morning. She had a couple of hours before she’d be able to share her article and put her plan into motion, so she took her time getting ready, blasting an early 2000s pop punk playlist while she did her makeup and drank her coffee. At precisely eight, she opened up The Moment’s website on her phone, grabbing the link to her article before navigating to Instagram.

She’d already preselected a photo – a throwback shot of her in one of her dad’s old concert tees, cheesing hard in front of a record store. She posted it to her story with a quick caption (Tried something new and got a little personal this morning) and a link to the piece. She watched the progress wheel fill as the story uploaded and when it was finished, she opened it again, instantly spotting Harry’s profile picture in the bottom left corner.

Distraction was essential to the next phase of the plan, so she tossed her phone in her bag, grabbed a thermos of coffee, and started the drive into the office. She could feel her phone burning a hole in her canvas tote, but she ignored it until she was seated at her desk. Her mom and one of her college roommates had replied encouragingly, but there was nothing from Harry.

Doug, the SEO coordinator, greeted her brightly as he made his way to his cubicle. “Already getting a lot of traffic on it. Great work!”

“Thanks.” She checked her phone again. Nothing.

There was an editorial meeting that morning, and then Skylar took her for a celebratory pastry from the bakery across the commons before Penny’s afternoon interview with a photographer. When she finally got to check her phone over lunch, there were tons of notifications, but as she scanned through them all there were none from Harry. In the middle of the afternoon slump, she saw an email come in from Jeff – it was a simple “Nice job!” Not the most encouraging thing, but if Jeff had read it, it was probably safe to assume Harry had as well.

Tom messaged her a little while later, a long and meandering note professing how proud he was of her and how great it was. The most interesting tidbit came at the end though. I think you’ll be surprised by the impact this has.

“What does that mean?” she asked, passing her phone to Chloe.

“I don’t know, that you’re the voice that will define our generation?”

“Be serious.”

“I honestly don’t know! On the surface, it seems like a general ‘this is going to resonate with a wide audience’ comment, but maybe on a deeper level he’s talking about…you know.”

“But that’s not your first instinct.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Damn it.”

“Pen, it’s OK. We know he saw your post and that’s a start. Maybe he hasn’t had time to sit and read it but will later today or something.”

“Maybe…”

That night as Penny left the office, her head was somewhere else, deep in a daydream of what it would have been like if her plan had worked. Harry would have been outside her door with a cup of coffee and a bouquet of flowers. There would have been a kiss and maybe a little something else, but most importantly she’d have her friend back. Her eyes were on the ground, so it was the loafers and socks that she saw first.

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me?” she yelped, her heart racing.

“I didn’t know how else to find you.” Harry stood sheepishly slouching against her car door, wide-leg trousers slung low on his hips, bowling shirt unbuttoned just a little too far.

“You could have come inside the building for starters? Or texted me? I know your phone is still working Mr. Instagram lurker.”

“You knew that was me?”

“It was pretty fucking obvious to anyone that knows you. And we had a bunch of mutuals including Tom, Jeff, and Mitch.”

“Fuck, I thought I was being a little more low key.”

“Sorry.” Penny shifted uncomfortably. “So-” She was interrupted by boisterous laughter from a group making their way to a group of cars one lot over.

“Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private to talk?” Harry asked. “If you’re comfortable with that?”

“Um, yeah that would be great. Do you want me to drive?”

Harry nodded affirmatively. “I bummed a ride off of Jeff so I am currently without transport.”

“Jeff’s a good friend. I would have made you hitchhike.”

Harry snickered as he opened the passenger door and slid in.

“Do you mind if we make a stop?” Penny asked as she pulled out onto the main road.

“Not at all.”

“Good. I have a tradition after I publish an article.”

“What’s that?”

“An In-and-Out milkshake. Do you want one?”

“Chocolate, please.”

Penny cruised through the drive-thru, grabbing the milkshakes as Harry tried to go unnoticed beside her. Ice cream in hand, she continued driving until they made it back to her apartment.

“This is about as private as it gets,” she said, stirring the thick liquid with her straw. “We can stay in the car if you’d prefer.”

“No, let’s go in.”

Harry stayed two steps behind Penny as she climbed out of the car and unlocked her front door. He followed her lead, taking his shoes off and sitting down on the couch. He took a sip of his milkshake and Penny mirrored his action. Neither was sure who should be the first to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Penny said, thawing the awkward chill that had settled between them. “I know that’s an empty word, especially between us, but I just need you to know that I regret how everything blew up. I have an explanation for it all but none of that matters when you were hurt by my actions.” She paused. “I really hope you forgive me, but I won’t ask you to, as what I did crossed a line.”

“I forgive you.” Harry said without hesitation. “And I would like to hear your explanation for what it’s worth.”

“Oh-kay.” Penny shifted, tucking her legs under her and turning to look at Harry more directly. “So you know how I’ve been trying to mix things up at work, write some more serious pieces? Well, it just so happened that Tom gave me one on a silver platter when he mentioned you were working on a new album. My intent was just to break some news, get a scoop that could show my editors that I could do it. But then I got to know you and you were telling me things that would have made for an amazing story and I just got carried away. I made the wrong choice to keep taking notes and working on this hypothetical story. Then Darren –”

“The asshole.”

“Yes, the asshole. He got involved and it spiraled out of control and things got complicated because of….” Penny trailed off, searching for the right word. “Us.” Penny looked up at Harry. “It’s important to me that you know I would have never published anything you told me after all of that. I value you as a person more than any sort of splashy article.”

Harry nodded slowly. His face was serene but his fingers were working overtime, twisting the ring on his finger at warp speed. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me like that but just seeing those notes you had…” He chewed on his lip and his eyes grew damp. “It used to be so hard to figure out when someone was using me and when someone just wanted me for me. But thankfully, I’ve become a pretty good judge of that. I thought you were one of the good ones so seeing that just made me really second guess not only what we had and how I felt about us but it made me question my judgment. Do any of my friends actually care about me? It was a rough time. I’m still working through some of that if I’m being honest.”

“I hate that I was the cause of that.”

“It was bound to happen eventually so don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said with a wry laugh.

“Well either way…I’m glad my selfish actions helped you grow? That feels weird to say.” Penny laughed. “Anyways, I’m happy we were able to clear the air. I much prefer talking to you face to face instead of watching you lurk on my Instagram stories.”

Harry laughed before placing his cup on the coffee table. “Speaking of talking…I actually did want to discuss something with you.” He cleared his throat.” “That night…the last time we saw each other…what you said? About why you couldn’t do that profile?”

“Mhmm.”

“What did you mean that you love me?”

Penny took a long sip from her drink, buying herself some time to think. “I hated you the first time we met and I don’t know why because I feel like you’re the only person to ever truly understand me. You know what I’m thinking before I say it, you see things in the same way as me, and you make me feel invincible. That day that you read that article that Darren killed…I felt so supported in a way that I haven’t really before, which is like weird to say because I have friends and family who care about me, but standing in that coffee shop with you holding my hand and telling me I was good at my job was something I never knew I needed. But once I had a taste of it, I knew I had to have it forever.” She finished speaking and looked at Harry, who had an indiscernible expression on his face. “That was a lot, I know but you–”

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was low, his question was tentative, and Penny couldn’t even be sure that was what he actually said, but she nodded anyway. At this point, she would have given him permission to do anything.

He approached her carefully, as if any sudden move would scare her away, cupping the back of her head with his hand and drawing her closer to him.

Their first kiss was nothing like Penny had imagined. In her dreams, she’d envisioned everything from a quick peck on the cheek after he walked her home, to a feverish, tongue laden precursor to fucking. In actuality, it was gentle, yet firm, and despite the simplicity of it, the gesture was charged with more emotion than any kiss she’d had before. She didn’t even realize how lightheaded she was until they broke apart and she found herself gasping for breath.

She met Harry’s eyes and exhaled. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that.”

It was like the kiss had unleashed something lurking deep inside them both and Harry lunged towards her, pressing his lips against hers again and again and again, pushing her flat on the couch, the remnants of their milkshakes long forgotten. Penny tried to memorize every detail: the weight of his body against hers, the softness of his lips on hers, the silkiness of his hair as she ran her fingers through it. She tried to stay in the moment, but the sensation of his body rubbing against hers made it hard to not think about what would happen next.

“Ow!” Her head bumped uncomfortably against the arm of the couch as she slid down further.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, pulling back and checking her for any harm. His lips were swollen and his curls were disheveled. “What’s wrong?”

“I just bumped my head.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Just a little cramped here.” Penny swallowed. “My bed might be more comfortable. If you’d like to move there.”

There was a heavy pause and Penny prayed she hadn’t misread the moment. Harry’s eyes glazed over as he processed what she said. “Um, yeah, that’s great. Lead the way.”

Penny breathed a sigh of relief as he climbed off of her and helped her stand, keeping his hand entwined with hers as they made the brief journey to Penny’s bedroom. She backed him up into the room, and Harry fell back on the bed. Penny climbed astride him, kissing him again and again and again, and she ground her center against his growing erection.

They’d waited for what felt like forever, but when they had nothing but time in front of them, there was no need to rush, even as Penny felt herself grow wetter with touch and caress. As Harry sucked kiss after kiss from her lips, she realized she’d never really thought about how hot kissing could be. Maybe it was just that she’d never been properly kissed, something Harry was working hard to rectify.

Harry wound his fingers in her hair gently pulling her head back to expose the column of her throat. He nipped at the sensitive skin, sucking a kiss from it before soothing the spot with his tongue. He repeated the process up and down her neck until his fingers fell to the hem of her shirt.

“Is it OK if I take this off?” he asked.

“Yes,” Penny said, guiding his hands as they pulled her t-shirt up and over her head. She unhooked her bra as he tossed the shirt aside. Her bra followed leaving her naked from the waist up.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, absentmindedly rubbing his fingers up and down her side as his eyes took in every piece of her. “Come here.” He pulled her close and started kissing every inch of skin he could see. “So fucking beautiful.”

Penny shifted so one of Harry’s legs was nestled between hers, giving her the pressure she craved as Harry continued kissing her neck. After a few minutes she stopped him. “I’m going to take these off if that works?” she asked, gesturing to her jeans.

Harry nodded. “I should probably do the same.” He pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion and pulled his pants and briefs down next. Penny couldn’t help but stare.

“Stop it, I’m shy.”.

“You’ve got nothing to be shy about,” Penny said, trying not to let on exactly how impressed she was with what she saw in front of her.

Harry cleared his throat, and Penny couldn’t tell if the flush in his cheeks was a result of their activities or embarrassment. “Do you have a condom?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah. There’s probably one around here somewhere.” Penny opened the drawer of her bedside table and dug through the mess. “That one is expired,” she said, tossing it to the waste basket. “And this one is….” she squinted to read the date. “Still good! We’re in the clear.” Harry laughed and it was her turn to blush. “What can I say, it’s been awhile since I needed one.”

“No judgment as I’ve also been in a bit of a dry spell.” Harry took the condom from her and adjusted himself and Penny watched. She was still in shock that this was actually happening and was half convinced that she’d wake up from this dream any minute.

“Penny?”

“Oh, sorry! Did you say something?”

“I just asked how you want to do this?” Harry asked. “What’s usually best for you?”

“Oh…” Penny wasn’t sure if she’d ever had a partner ask her about her preference so directly, especially on the first hook up. She scoured her brain trying to think of what she actually liked and what wouldn’t be too intense for what could just be a casual hook up. “Um, usually just missionary is fine. But I also like to be on my knees occasionally.” She cleared her throat. “What about you?”

“I’m going to be honest with you, Penny, I think anything with you would get me across the finish line.” One look at his cock and she knew he wasn’t lying. She hopped up on the bed and got on her knees without a second thought.

Penny could feel Harry lining himself up with her as she braced her hands against the headboard. It had been a minute since her bed had seen this much activity and she prayed the IKEA frame would hold up. Harry dragged his tip over her and she squirmed with the anticipation of what would happen next. The first thrust caught her off guard and she pitched forward.

“Careful,” Harry said. His voice was soft, but its usual gentleness had been replaced by something harder. “Do you need me to stop?”

“Please, no,” Penny panted. He’d reached a spot deep inside on just one thrust and she just needed a minute to adjust to him. The burn of him inside her was unmatched, the perfect combination of pain and pleasure. Harry had wrapped one arm around her waist holding her steady as she adjusted, lightly tracing abstract patterns over her skin. “OK, you can go,” she half whispered, half moaned.

Harry anchored his hands on her hips as he thrust in and out in a painstakingly slow rhythm. It was torture – for the both of them – Penny presumed, and she felt the beginnings of an orgasm building inside of her. She could feel the pressure of his hand against her hip, knowing it would leave a bruise tomorrow, a thought that turned her on even more. Harry moved his hand up her body, settling on her breast and rolling her nipple as he increased the pace of his thrusts. It was all consuming, but Penny still needed more. She reached down to stroke her clit, the bud already tender and slippery with arousal. She was close, she could feel it. Just one more stroke and –.

“Can we –?” Harry asked breathlessly as he attempted to flip Penny onto her back. “I want to see you. I need to see you.” Penny complied, her body pliant in his arms as he placed her gently on her back before ducking down for a deep kiss as he locked his fingers with hers.

He pulled away and gently pushed inside of her, eyes not leaving hers. Even if she wanted to, Penny wasn’t sure she could look away. She was transfixed by what she saw in front of her. Harry’s skin and hair were damp from exertion, and the curls she’d been playing with earlier were pressed against his forehead. She could feel the tremble of his muscles and when she buried her nose in his neck, she got a whiff of the scent that could only be described as Harry.

“Are y-you close?” Harry asked as his hips stuttered.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Can you come for me, baby? I need you to.”

It could have been Harry calling her baby or it could have been the feeling of him rubbing against her clit or it could have just been the intense passion she felt between them, but Penny pitched over the edge, moaning Harry’s name as she fell.

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned, as he spilled into the condom. “That’s it. So fucking good.”

He fell forward, resting his full weight on her as they lay there. He pressed kisses against every bit of skin his mouth could reach and she raked her fingers up and down his back and through his hair. Penny didn’t know how long they lay there like that but even when she felt their sweaty skin start to stick together she made no effort to move.

She wasn’t letting Harry go ever again.

***

When Penny woke up, Harry’s arm was heavy around her waist and she could feel his breath on her back. He radiated heat and despite the uncomfortable stickiness of the sweat that covered her, she made no effort to move. She had no idea how to define what had happened last night – and again in the early hours of the morning – but she knew she didn’t want this to be the end.

She could feel Harry stir behind her and she carefully twisted around in his arms to sneak another look at him. He was so peaceful when he slept, his hair a tangled mess on the pillow. He snored lightly, almost like a whistle, and he was most definitely a cuddler. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly, lulled back to sleep by the gentle rhythm of Harry’s breathing, only to be jolted awake by the sound of her alarm.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the faint light that was trickling in through the curtains. He looked around, getting his bearings before smiling at Penny as she silenced the alarm.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I usually don’t have to worry about waking anyone else up.”

“It’s not a problem,” he slurred, his voice still thick with sleep. “Should probably be getting up now anyways.”

“You could stay for breakfast,” Penny offered, hoping she wasn’t misreading the situation. “I make a mean egg and cheese and have beans from the coffee shop down the block.”

“I’d love nothing more than that.” Harry leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips, before rolling over to grab his phone. The gesture felt so normal, as if he’d done it every morning.

“Shit,” he laughed. “I’m going to have a lot to explain today.”

“What’s wrong?”

He angled his phone so that Penny could read the screen. It was filled with messages from Tom, Tommy, and Jeff. “I told them I was planning to see you and they were very supportive of that decision. I think they’ll be thrilled with this development.”

“Which is…?” Penny asked, testing the waters.

“Us being together.” Harry’s eyes widened at Penny’s noticeable silence. “Unless I’ve completely misread this.”

“No, no, no.” Penny leaned over to kiss him. “I want that. Us, I mean. I just didn’t think you’d want me after everything.”

“You’re absolutely insane for thinking that, Penny. I’ve been waiting my entire life for you and I’m not letting you get away again.” Penny reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly, knowing that there were no words she could say to accurately convey how she felt in that moment. “Now come on,” Harry said. “You mentioned something about a breakfast sandwich?”

Harry looked perfectly at home in her kitchen as she directed him on where to find the ingredients for their breakfast. They moved through the small space as if executing a perfectly coordinated dance routine neither of them had been taught, before sitting down at Penny’s table to eat together.

“What do you have planned for today?” Harry asked.

“Well, I’m going to go to work and then I’m going to head home.”

“No shows?”

“Not tonight.”

“Well,” Harry said, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I would like to take you out. On a proper date. Could I pick you up at the office? Say around six?”

“It’s a date,” Penny said, smiling from ear to ear.

When the breakfast dishes had been washed and dried and Harry had donned his clothes from the night before, they lingered by the front door, not wanting to say goodbye.

“A kiss for the road?” Harry asked. Penny stood on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you later then,” he said, unlocking the door.

“Harry?” she asked, suddenly bashful. “You don’t have to answer, but what made you give me another chance?” He was so quiet, she wasn’t sure he had heard her.

“It was your article,” he finally said, turning back to look at her. “You got me with the last line.”

***

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this far and has stuck with this story despite its infrequent updates. This one was really personal for me to write so I greatly appreciate all of the ten people who have read this. 🫶🏻 Would love to hear what you think of the end!

talk to me! || story inspo

taglist: @harrysfolklore @platinumbarbie143 @majasophieanna @lukesaprince @styles217 @andwhenshesays @be-with-me-so-happily @hslllot @b-reads-things @awesomenavy @sweetwanderlust05 @permanentllyharry @reveriehs @very-berry-harry @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @jerseygirlinca @st-ev-ie @kahluamystery97 @indierockgirrl @copiastricycle @autumnleaves1991-reads

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles series #harry styles ff #harry styles x ofc #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry fic #harry fanfic #harry fluff #harry smut

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n7punk · 2 months

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“Make Me a Monster” Fic Notes

MMaM was pretty short and this will be too but this fic has some Backstory and I wanna talk about it lmao.

Playlist:

Warriors (AJ Michalka version)

heavy. — Au/Ra

The Creeps — Garbage

LIFE AFTER SALEM — Lil Nas X

The Heartless (original rock version) — PVRIS (kind of hard to get. Was only available on their PARIS EP which isn’t available for streaming last I checked)

Waking Up (Acoustic) — PVRIS (from the acoustic version of the PARIS EP, which is available on youtube)

chaotic — Tate McRae

Hate myself — Tate McRae

R.E.M. — Mothica

Shatter — Against The Current

Frankenstein — Rina Sawayama

My Limb — Hayley Williams

Epilogue Life:

It takes awhile and I could never write this fic in a timespan where it’s complete, but Adora does come to accept her new prosthetics. After the revelations about She-ra and the Heart, she comes to realize this version of them is the most ideal she could get purely because they don’t need maintenance, removal, cleaning etc and she can care for them the exact way she can the rest of her body, which makes them feel a lot more like her body. Her sense of touch isn’t 100%, still losing some texture differentiation and the ability to really feel light touches (she wouldn’t feel a bug walking on her arm for example), but as shown in the epilogue she learns to adapt, and eventually she stops covering up so much either. When she starts to wear her jacket less is when Catra knows she has made real progress. Her prosthetics are magic and never need intervention, which helps.

On Catra’s part, her guilt also takes a lot to process, as does her trauma from her time chipped, which only feeds into her guilt because she feels like she inflicted that same dehumanization on Adora. She comes to focus her energy on “fixing” things instead though, which does lead to some unhealthy burnout, but the worry her friends show for her then does a lot to help her internalize that no, they really don’t hate her.

It’s one of those cases where they take longer to get to a healthy place than in canon, but they do eventually reach it. They get through the worst of it early on, but those effects echo for a long time.

Chapter 1:

⦁ I was pretty worried going into this how people would feel about this, mostly because it’s an incredibly complex situation. Prosthetics are often helpful, but they tend to not be as effective as people hope and even when they are, that still doesn’t mean people don’t look at them and see what they lost sometimes. This situation in particular, where the prosthetics were largely unnecessary and completely forced on her, was painful. Adora is struggling not just with that, but with the very familiar process of trying to get back where she was before an injury/disability, but sometimes that’s just not possible. She’s seeking every piece of functionality and feeling she gets with her prosthetics, but that doesn’t mean she is less for having lost something either. I was worried about people thinking that attitude she has is ableist, when it’s really just a part of the disabled experience. Some people never have it, but I’m definitely someone who has struggled with trying to get things back while knowing I’ll never get it all. It… really sucks, and even when things seem good, there can be a bittersweetness to them. That’s the kind of attitude I was approaching this fic with. There was also the medical abuse angle with her prosthetics. Despite her impossibly advanced prosthetics, this is a very real thing I actually saw conversations about when TotK came out, which is what gave me of the exact phrase for that trigger because I was having trouble naming/describing it in the content warning before that.

⦁ Hordak was working on prosthetic limbs in the event that his deteriorating state made it impossible for him to keep working, using Adora as his guinea pig to test their effectiveness. Shadow Weaver kind of thought there was a chance She-ra could regrow them entirely even if that wasn’t what she was banking on. She actually thought the second accident was a mercy, because Hordak already wanted to test out the set on Adora at that point, so making it “necessary” was supposed to be easier on Adora. Her empathy meter is broken.

Chapter 2:

⦁ Catra just can’t “get” why Adora stayed, but it was kind of impossible for her to leave before that. Part of her already knew Shadow Weaver would be back for more, but she couldn’t let herself do it because it was the “wrong” thing to leave Etheria to the princesses. When she realized the Rebellion wasn’t actually monsters, it was all so much worse because she realized everything — her arms, Catra’s punishments, the horrible way they grew up that she didn’t even really have perspective for — had been for nothing. Catra was right all along. They should have runaway. So she did

⦁ I didn’t intend to title the chapters of this fic since it was so short, but then the “You promise?” line came up and I wanted to make that the chapter title for clarification purposes if nothing else, so I added them in.

Chapter 3:

⦁ I know I’m kind of the “let’s talk about traumatized Catra” person but tbh I still don’t think we give enough weight to having your body literally puppeted while you watch and undergo nightmare hallucinations. Like how the fuck was she functioning after that. So yeah on top of Adora being extra traumatized in this (and Catra additionally having extra trauma from watching that happen), I wanted to go a bit into the echoes of having been under Horde Prime’s control for Catra too. (Other members of the Princess Alliance who were chipped definitely deal with nightmares from this too, but I have a feeling the nightmare scenarios were mostly unique to Catra, especially considering the green pool wasn’t used on the others and by the time Prime had the others under his control he was dealing with a lot of chips and conjuring up nightmare scenarios for them all doesn’t make sense.)

⦁ In this AU there was a lot more immediately obvious awfulness from Shadow Weaver, so even after the portal Glimmer did keep her confined to her room, not that it helped Adora’s mental state much. She was a lot more hated and shunned in Bright Moon and when they were on the run. Catra and Adora still cried watching her die, but after the fact their general attitude is a mixture of “good riddance” and “how could she do all that to us and then just die without ever acknowledging it?” They take her sacrifice as the closest thing they’ll ever guilt to an admission of feeling guilt.

⦁ The thing about Adora never being able to tell if her sensation is back to “normal” is a very real thing when it comes to disability. I remember at one point telling a friend that I couldn’t tell if I wasn’t in pain or was just shouldering it because I didn’t remember what not being in pain felt like anymore.

⦁ If you know my poll, this was “in the engine room.”

Chapter 4:

⦁ In this AU, they have no idea the First Ones Virus could infect She-ra with just the sword since it seemed “obvious” it spread from the robots, to the sword, to her prosthetics, which somehow caused everything to go haywire. Because she was working with her original set that was less advanced, the virus was legitimately latched onto She-ra itself, which also explains why it went away with she reverted the transformation. They just thought changing “bodies” let her purge the virus when she transformed back. The corruption from the First Ones… worm, thing, corrupted Adora’s limbs similarly to how the virus took over her, only with green instead of red, completely changing the colors of her arms and legs and then slowly creeping up her veins. It was gnarly.

⦁ Entrapta just has a better connection with Catra and was looking to her for an answer, but a small incline of the head was their signal back in the Horde that she should really just agree with whoever she’s talking with. She almost never paused to notice it, but Catra was trying her best (and failing) to keep her out of trouble.

Original Outline:

Originally this AU was supposed to be longer, starting when Adora first lost her limbs, then skimming through scenes throughout the series, until finally landing on Darla. That was just an extra 2-3 chapters probably, but 1) god that’s too much angst. It kept me from writing it for like 9 months because I didn’t want to do it, 2) the balance just wasn’t there? Everything got “minute-to-minute” once they were on Darla, with entire chapters dedicated to it, where as the previous chapters were scattered moments taking place over literal years. This did mean I lost some ideas that were supposed to take place in the war and such (the princess prom scene, for example), but it’s still better for it.

I started to write that longer version of it back in 2022(!) but only worked on it for two days to about 2k before I was like this is not vibing and dropped it. When I picked it back up with the shorter timeline in mind, I wrote 70% of this fic in one sitting back in September, but then I got kind of stuck on their reconciling conversation and I think it was just a little too much angst for me then so I didn’t come back to it the next day. I’ve opened it occasionally since then to glance over but it just wasn’t clicking until this week. I edited what I had and wrote the rest of the fic in two days once I was there, though. I am proud of this fic but it’s definitely a very emotional one so it kind of has to happen in bursts like that. I’m glad to have finally gotten it out now, as rocky as getting from idea to completion was. I had the idea November 14th 2022, wrote most of it September 4th 2023, and finally finished it March 9th 2024.

Upcoming:

Start Your Engine ;)

#MMaM #fic notes #ficmeta

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smoooothoperator · 1 year

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What A Shame

04: Human

Driver! Charles Leclerc x Singer! OC (Juliette Morelli)

Exes to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Childhood Sweathearts

Summary: memories and small confessions, what can go wrong?

Words: 2.2k

warnings: Sebastian Stan x OC, charles' dad, still angsty, flashbacks are on italics

Official Playlist

Masterlist

previous part | next part

a/n: hello beautiful people! i know this chapter is short but don't worry, tomorrow you'll have a new one!

🎤

"Juliette, can I ask you something?" he said smiling, playing with my hair.

Sebastian Stan. We flirted for a long time, working together on Marvel and now on our own new movie was something that made us be close. I knew he was older, fifteen years older, but that never stopped me. Age doesn't matter, right?

I knew he had feelings for me, but he never told me. We liked each other, even acted like a couple, but we never were one, we never talked about it. I went to his house to sleep and he came to mine to do the same. We slept together and tried to be careful so no one noticed our relationship.

"I'm not the guy of your songs, right?" he sighed, smiling weakly.

"W-what?" I frown looking at him, sitting on the bed and covering my naked chest with the blanket.

"I noticed that every year you drop a love song the same day" he smiled weakly, holding my hand and squeezing it. "I'm not him, right? Those love songs are not for me"

"Seb…" I mumble, swallowing thickly.

“Something inside of me knew that those songs were for someone else, but I just wanted to believe that you wrote them for me” he mumbled, never erasing the smile of his lips.

I looked at him, feeling my heart beating faster after hearing his confession.

"The last four years I noticed that you always stare at your red clothes" he said, brushing his thumb on my knuckles. "That you write a lot in your notebook and sometimes I hear you cry when you think I'm asleep"

I looked at him, surprised. He noticed all those things?

"Who hurt you, Juliette?" he whispered, pushing my body to his, wrapping his arms around me.

"Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc" I whisper, saying all his names, feeling how they burned my throat. "The guy of the songs is him"

"Oh…" he nodded and I could hear his heart beating under my ear. "You want to tell me? I'm here for you, you know that"

"You are too good for me, Sebastian" I whisper, feeling tears in my eyes. "You are too good for me and I don't deserve it"

"Why not? Hey, come here" he whispered, rubbing my arm and peppering soft kisses on my forehead.

"Because I won't love you" I whisper. "I won't love you because he still owes my heart and he always will. Because he's just my soulmate and even if he broke my heart I'll never stop loving him"

"That's… That's beautiful, doll" he whispered and I could hear his heart breaking. “I’m sure you two will fix things”

I have to be strong. I need to be strong. Strong heart, even if the other half of it is no longer with me, but with him.

"Leave me alone, Charles" I said, tightening the grip of the microphone in my hand. "You did it once, it is not that hard. Just walk away and don't look back"

"I won't" he said frowning. "What the hell happened to you?"

"What happened to me?" I scoffed, trying to not let the tears show up. "You. That's what happened. And if you don't want me to raise my voice and make Valerie angry because I can't sing after screaming at you, leave me the fuck alone"

"So you can't scream at me but you can scream when Lando fucked you like a whore, hm?" he said and I saw the vein in his forehead showing up. He's pissed.

But that didn't stop me from slapping his cheek. That didn't stop me from making his head turn to the side with the strength of the slap making his cheek get red.

"Don't you dare to call me that way ever again" I said angry, pointing at him with a finger.

He would never call me that. He would never call a woman that way.

I saw the shock in his face, the way his jaw clenched hard and how his chest moved anxious. Even after all these years I know how he feels by only looking at him.

"Leave" I said, trying to sound hard.

Leave before I regret everything I did.

Before he could say something else I turned around, my hand in my chest holding all the pain, and left the microphone on its stand, walking inside the building and going as fast as I could to my room, with memories running around my mind and making the tears go down my cheeks.

Why can't I forget Charles and be happy for once? Why does he hurt so bad?

All those years I played with men, using them and throwing them away like they were toys, just because I wanted to forget someone that hurt me.

Why does he has that control over me? Why do I still love him after what he did to me?

I searched my notebook, grabbing it and going through the pages and reading everything. All the pain written down on it, all the anger and fear. He's my life, I can't live without him.

I saw his eyes. The pain in them mixed with anger and desperation. The way he clenched his jaw meant that he was anxious, scared. I saw it many times.

"I can't believe I lied to him" he mumbled looking at himself in the mirror, dark circles under his eyes while trying to button his shirt.

"Love, it was for the best" I whispered as I walked towards him, the black dress moving as I walked towards his panicking figure. "You know that it made him happy, he left happy"

"He's disappointed" he mumbled, his eyes getting red slowly. "I just… God, how could I do something as stupid as that! Lying to my father while he was dying right in front of my eyes"

His breathing was quick, his nostrils moving with his breathing. The vein on his temple was visible and the naw was tense. All his body language was screaming panic and anxiety.

"Charles, love, listen to me" I whisper cupping his cheeks, wiping away the angry tears. "Your dad was, is and will always be proud of you. You are following your dreams and he's so happy for that. If you don't get the Ferrari seat this year you'll have it next! It will come in the right time"

"But…" he mumbled, slowly leaning on my touch. "I'm losing everything… Jules and now my father"

"You are not losing me" I whisper, pecking his lips. "You'll never lose me"

I stopped on that page. I wrote a song for him after he lost his father. I needed to be calm for him, he needed someone to lean on while he was breaking down. Turns out that I never released it, I never put a melody to it. I only wrote down my feelings to let all that sadness get out of my heart.

But right now, even if that song was for him after his father passed away, that song talks about me.

I hugged the notebook close to my chest, letting the words get close to my heart.

All those love songs, even if they were heartbreaking songs, were only for him.

"Juliette?"

I looked up to the wooden door, three knocks followed my name. He's out there, on the other side of the door.

"Leave" I said out loud, making sure he heard me.

"I just want to talk" he said. "Can you let me in, please?"

"The door is open" I mumbled, noticing the moment he opened the door that I said that.

I saw him walk in, closing the door behind him and standing in front of it. I could read him like an open book, still. I could see that he was nervous, that his mind was trying to find words in whatever language that comes first to his mind. I could see his eyes were asking me for permission to sit next to me on the bed. He's the same after all those years away from me.

"I tried to hate you" I said, looking down at my lap. "I tried so hard, so so hard… But it never worked"

I heard his feet moving on the floor and walking closer to the bed. But still, he didn't sit down.

"I had a lover" I said laughing sadly. "A man that worshiped the floor I walked on. That, no matter what, loved me. But I couldn't love him back"

"Juls…" he sighed, calling me by the nickname he gave me. It just made my heart break because I missed hearing him say it.

"Sebastian was amazing" I whisper, holding the notebook closer to my chest. "But I couldn't love him back. God, not when…"

"I never had a lover all this time" he said, making me feel worse than I already was feeling. "I couldn't find a woman that made me feel how you did… It was impossible to find someone that made me feel as complete as you did"

I looked at him, how he sat at the edge of the bed, close yet away from me.

"I'm sorry I called you a whore" he frowned looking at me. "You are not a whore, I just… I was mad, Juls. You just slept with one of my friends and it really made me sad"

I took a deep breath and nodded. I saw him reaching my notebook to read it. I don't care if he does, after all, everything that is inside is all about him.

"Those songs… I never heard them" he said, reading the lyrics. "This one…"

But I'm only human

And I bleed when I fall down

I'm only human

And I crash and I break down

Your words in my head, knives in my heart

You build me up and then I fall apart

'Cause I'm only human

"Is the one I wrote for you when your dad passed away" I whisper tired. "I witnessed everything from outside, I saw how broken you were and…"

"And I kept going on" he whispered, his fingers caressing the black handwritten words. "I kept fighting for a seat that made my life a hell"

"Charles I didn't want to say that…" I frown looking at him, how he smiled weakly.

"But you were right" he nodded. "You are always right. You always told me that red is the meaning of danger. Yet I never listened to you… If I did none of this would have happened and we could be already married like I promised you"

I looked at him surprised. He remembers. He remembers the promise.

"I was so blind, so selfish" he frowned, focussing his eyes on his hands. "I wanted to win, to fight and be the best out there. I wanted to be the first driver, be someone important for Ferrari. I wanted to be a legend… I wanted to be what they called me, il predestinato…"

"You brought them wins, Charles…" I sighed reaching for my notebook.

"And they brought me misery, insecurities, anxiety…" he said looking back at me. "You know, I had a season where I thought I could be a champion. It was in 2022. I thought I could fight, that I could be a world champion"

"I read it, yeah" I nodded, making him raise his eyebrows surprised.

"That season started amazing, I started winning the first race with Carlos next to me" he smiled weakly, sitting on the end of the bed comfortably, smiling like remembering a dream. "I fought, I had podiums… but then I started to fuck up everything. Ferrari started to destroy every chance I had to be on top of the podium. They fucked up my races, making me doubt myself…"

I look at him and swallow thickly. Maybe if I begged him to stay he would be better. Maybe it really was my fault for not fighting for us. I could have made him a better man, he could have someone next to him to support him.

No. He decided himself that he didn't want me by his side. He pushed me away and made the decision alone.

I took a deep breath and closed the notebook that open on the bed, holding it on my chest.

"But still, you've got what you wanted" I said, my voice coming stronger. "You've got two championships, as I heard"

"Yeah, but…"

"Will you please leave? I have to get ready for lunch" I said, getting up off the bed and opening the door for him to leave.

"Juls" he frowned looking at me.

"Don't call me like that ever again" I said, biting my lip, holding the door handle tighter. "I'm not yours anymore. You lost every right to call me like that"

I saw his eyes getting wet, red. I can read him like a book and I hate that. Because I know how he feels right now and it makes me want to hold him.

He got up and walked out of the room, and I just closed the door before I saw him turning around to look at me. I can't let him win this time, I can't let him have whatever he wants. He was the one that wanted me out of his life.

taglist

@lestappenloverr @racinggirl @roni-midnights @livster @kakorrhaphiphobia @starkeyellow

#f1 #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 drabble #f1 serie #formula 1 fic #formula 1 drabble #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

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bellswlw · 11 months

Text

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ all the lights (in new york city aren’t as bright as her) pt 1 ⇨ e. williams au

ellie williams x fem!love interest

wc: 9.2k

playlist | masterlist

summary: ellie is known for being non-committed, having a scruffy laugh, her favorite coffee shop, and a reputation when it came to her tattooing abilities and her passion for it. she wasn’t known for love. and she certainly wasn’t the first person you’d think of when it came to finding someone that put all of those things above all else. even herself. but… she was just that.

cw: these are overall themes for the series as a whole. grief, depression, angst, alcoholism, small age gap, -underage- drinking (wine) and drug use (weed), neighbor!ellie, complicated family dynamics, tattoo artist!ellie, written in third POV and love interest is given a name.

a/n: this is for all the hopeless romantics and loser lesbians. the big city lovers and small town fanatics, the ones who look at the midnight sky, the ones who can’t sleep, and the ones who don’t talk about the things that hurt. i see you, and the moon and the butterflies love you.<3

Ellie had never been big on romance; movies, TV shows, and especially dating. She never saw the need for it, and she never really saw the appeal.

She could never picture herself meeting someone just by chance, or some unconventional and hyper-specific reason just for them to end up being the love of her life for a few months and end with an inevitable heartbreak… yeah, no. That wasn’t worth it to her.

Although her friends seemed to have found people in the big apple, Ellie was still the same as she was. Herself.

And that meant being by herself. If not working or hooking up in someone’s apartment or loft or even up in the bathroom of some party, she’s preferably at home lounging about or drawing up sketches on her iPad.

She got around, yes, but she wasn’t a dick about it. She didn’t count on her fingers or keep a list of names somewhere. She just grew an understanding for when someone was giving her flirty eyes from across the room… and had looked up into the same ones that were rolling back while her tongue was grazing that sweet spot of a girl she didn’t even know the same of.

Or in an empty apartment with a roommate ‘out of town’, holding onto the hips of another girl, grinding her against Ellie’s jean-covered thigh.

These encounters were simple. Do-able. Relaxed. Ellie liked that, she’d admit it. Shit, she has.

“So… when can I meet her?” Dina beams from across the table, leaning forward to grab her glass and hold it in her hand, waiting to take a sip until she replies.

Ellie took a swig of her coffee and glared at Dina. “No— Dina, no. You do this every time. You get more attached than I do, and then you bitch at me when I tell you… you can’t meet her. ‘Cuz I’m not seeing her anymore… by the way.”

Her glass meets the table with a low thud, turning the heads of a few other people who were sitting in the outside section of the coffee shop along side the two of them. “What? Why.” the way she said it had an insult attached. Almost to say, are you fucking nuts?

“B’cus. She’s… because I said so. And she wants more than I can give her anyway so…” and she leans forward to lift her cup off the table again just as she feels Dina’s glare marinate in the corner of her eyes, making her flare up with a silent embarrassment.

“I’m not doing this with you. Stop asking to meet my one night stands. ‘Kay?” and Ellie takes a sip of her coffee, the dark rich flavor burning into her tongue like a hot knife.

Dina leans back in her chair, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “I just think it’s weird. They all like you. Why can’t you just try?” and she sounded a little more genuine this time, her brows knitted together as she tried to find the soft spot in Ellie’s eyes.

But of course it wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t. They’d been hard for years, a rock coating over the emerald green like there had never been an ounce of fondness at all.

“Why try ‘n fix somethin’ if it’s not broken?” And she let the smirk find its way into the divots of her face and soon started relaxing in her chair, fanning her legs like Dina’s words hadn’t nipped a part of her that she wish they didn’t.

“Whatever.” Dina sighed as she rolled her eyes before her phone lit up with a notification, from Alex.

You guys still out?

“It’s Alex.” she says, lifting her phone from its place on the metal table top.

“Figures. Can’t go two seconds without him on your ass.”

That deserved the scoff she gave you. Ellie was being a dick. Her feelings were hurt. But of course, she’d never admit that.

“He wants to know if we’re still out.” she says into her phone, her fingers flying across the keyboard in response.

Yeah, what’s up? We’re at 787.

“Tell him we’re shopping or… I dunno, fucking.” and she laughed, amused with herself of course. She took another sip of her coffee before saying, “Bet he’d get a kick outta that.”

“Dick.” she murmured, and didn’t even look up from her phone.

Ellie just chuckled to herself. She knew it embarrassed Dina, becoming friends with the girl she had a crush on for months and after hooking up at a party… decided she liked her better as a friend. And Ellie liked Dina, and the mouth she had on her.

Muttering under her breath a thousand little “fuck”s while she helped Ellie move her couch up four flights of stairs… or after the job interview she had been stressing over for weeks and had cussed herself home six long blocks… or the time she had gotten so drunk that she accidentally slammed her hand in the door and was screaming strings of curse words while Ellie made her run it under cold water for what felt like 2 hours.

And the whole time… “Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck…”

Just wondering. You wanna come by later tho? Maybe we can talk??

“He said he wants to talk, again. Look.”

Dina is handing her phone over to Ellie as she reads the message, her face forming an unforgiving sneer.

“Tell him to fuck off.” Ellie glances up at her before her brows fly upward with inspiration. “No, actually— I’ll do it.” and her fingers begin to type the message out moments before Dina stands from the her chair to snatch her phone back from her.

“You’re pissing me off,” she admits, typing a reply while reading it back to Ellie.

Can’t. We’re shopping. Soon tho, promise;)

“Winky face?” she said, the look on her face a punch to the gut to Dina’s continuing embarrassment.

“Hey… don’t judge. You should be lucky we’re not actually going shopping.” Dina said with a finger pointing towards Ellie’s chest.

“Awe, we’re not? I thought you were gonna buy me that pink little thong? With the lace?”

“You’re delusional.”

“I’m funny.”

“How about… crazy.”

“Witty?”

“Try on my last fucking nerve.”

Dina pushed herself up off the chair across from her, grabbing her things and expecting Ellie to follow suit… but she stayed put.

“C’mon.” she said and jerked her head back just enough to motion for Ellie to stand up along side her.

“I’m good here.” she said casually, resting her arms on the chair, even leaning on the back two legs with a smirk plastered on her face.

God, did she love to fuck with her. It was so easy.

“You’re infuriating, y’know that?” Dina stood there for a moment longer, betting how long she was willing to keep this up before she scoffed and threw up a hand. “Motherfuckin’ asshole,” and walked off with the sound of Ellie lowly snickering to herself ringing in her ears.

She texted her a few hours later, and for a second time that day, Ellie’s face had immediately scrunched at the sight of her and Alex’s messages.

Why can’t you just come over for like a few, just to talk

I’m really busy rn, we can soon tho

When is soon???

Hello?

Dina??

Yeah, I’m here. Idk. My schedule is a lot rn with work. we’ll talk. I’ll text you, okay?

Ellie read the message that Dina sent after the screenshot, firing back instantly.

Idk what to do

Tell him to FUCK. OFF.

But he’s really nice

bro

You literally went on like one date w him and he called you his girlfriend… and made you meet his parents at 7am on a Friday.. HE IS WEIRDDD

Idk

I should talk to him

Dina. U know he doesn’t just wanna talk. c’mon

Ellie’s phone goes stagnant for a new minutes, and she continues scrolling on her phone from the privacy of her apartment and the busted up couch she fell asleep on far too often.

Then another string of messages came in.

Seriously

Help

He’s coming ovsr

Over*

ELLIE

FUCK

Dude I can’t help you

You’re a lost cause

Wear protection or something Lol

Fuck u

Yeah I’d want to if he was the other option too

Sick burn

Yeah yeah I’m sure u will, don’t forget to pick up some Monistat LMAO

She chuckles to herself before there’s a slice of complete silence inside the walls of Ellie’s apartment, bring her back to reality when she finally tosses her phone aside next to her on the couch and slugging herself up and toward the kitchen.

Ellie had never been much of a cook. But then again, she’d never been much of anything, other than an artist. She didn’t like calling herself that though. She thought it was a little tacky and cliché. Artíst. Such bullshit.

But it was who she was. And artist, drawer, sketcher, painter… whatever, it’s all the same. Anyone who can see an idea in their mind and let it leave through the work of their hands is an artist by default.

That’s what landed her the job she has now, tattooing at a shop a few blocks over called InK & Sink.

It’s exactly what it sounds like. Kind of. It’s a place where a group of really high tattoo artists decided to open up a place that was the first tattoo and edible shop all in one place.

The edible shop is on the ground floor, mostly covered in neon signs and a cheesy bakery case near the front with a cash register. Tattooing was down a flight of stairs toward the back, in a renovated basement with the main wall painted a burnt-orange and full of a majority of previous tattoo stencils. And it was all run by a man called Drot. He has what’s left of a Romanian accent, ink covering his head to toe and a love for baking. (And a borderline criminal amount of stand mixers.)

Ellie absolutely loved her job. She loved everything about it. And she meant everything. It made her chest puff up with pride anytime someone came in specifically to get tattoo’d by her. Her work. They loved her work. They saw it online and needed to have it.

She loved talking to customers, and seeing the first timers (regardless of age) relax into her chair for sometimes hours at a time while she listened to their life stories. Knowing people. Learning about so many people. It fascinated her. It made her feel less alone, which she hated to think about, but loved to pretend it was normal to feel the way she did.

She sometimes wished she could record their conversations so she could one day playback all of them and keep them all for herself. The small group of people that she had this connection with, forever. But she obviously knew that was creepy. And weird… and a little stalkerish. But the sentiment was nice.

The pay was good too. She also loved that. And the fact that she had most holidays off. Drot didn’t like being open when it was any time the snow was past the welcome mat either, and he certainly didn’t enjoy the 45 minute drive every morning —especially if there was rain— from the shop to his house.

He was protective of his building, and his customers, and his staff. He loved them like his goddamn family. And as far as he was concerned, they were. His accent wasn’t only, but it was his past too. It was something that he didn’t talk about much, but the ink on his arms told that story well enough.

His parents came to the US from Romania, he was six. And he lived in Utah most of his life, up until high school when he went to Texas for college and stayed until his mid twenties. He met Mia here in New York within the first week… and now they have two kids, close to Ellie’s age.

Or so she guesses, he has their names on the back of his ankles with what Ellie can only assume is their birthdays just below them. She’s only ever seen it once, and has never met either of them. They don’t come around much.

She’s brought back into her kitchen now, the cold buzzing of her fridge sending a chill through her fingers as she pursed her lips together and slowly tapped lazily on the door, trying to decide what to eat.

She needed to go grocery shopping, badly. Her fridge was bare excluding some blueberries that rotted away in the corner, a tower full of sauces, old take out, and a pack of pudding she hadn’t opened yet.

She decided this was her dinner. Four chocolate pudding cups.

Ellie sighed, reaching forward into the cold box and pulling them back with an even heavier sigh. They’d expired. How that is? She had no idea. Seeing as they typically lasted over a year without going bad.

“Shit.” she said to herself, for some reason started looking around the room for something to eat… as if there would be a fully prepared dish hiding itself under all of her unopened mail.

Fuck, she did not want to leave right now. She wanted to stay in, to people watch from her window and then shower and go to bed. She did not want to go ou—

She went out. And she hated every minute of it. From her favorite corner store being closed, to some asshole not knowing how to drive and almost reversed into her… she hated all of it.

But it didn’t stop her from popping into the liquor store on the way back for some beer.

The bell rang above her head, the familiar ring to her reddened ears making her sigh. She didn’t want to let something so small bug her, but her patience was limited on an empty stomach. Probably why she was always fighting to urge to put someone in their place at any given time. Nerves running on nerves. Bone on bone.

“Welcome in,” the cashier said from behind the counter, finishing up checking out a group of kids half her age. Candy and soda and a bunch of other things trickled down into five different transactions. Counting pennie’s and dimes until they could cover it all.

Ellie took a breath in before making her way towards the back of the store, pulling the door open with a shaking hungry hand and grabbing the first 6-pack she saw. Her greedy fingers were wrapped around the cardboard carrier, and soon she was scanning the aisles for something to line her stomach for the night.

She landed on a Heath bar, some Pringles and a Cup-O-noodle. She also grabbed a bag of Skittles at checkout.

“You wanna bag?”

Ellie pulled her wallet from her back pocket and nodded, fishing out a twenty dollar bill as the cashier put her snacks and her form of a sleeping aid in the plastic bag.

She was soon rattling off a “Thank you.” as she stuffed her change into her front pocket and grabbed her things before nudging the door open with her elbow.

It didn’t take her long to crack open the shiny new 6-pack. At the next busied corner, she unclipped her carabiner from her belt loop and took her guitar shaped bottle opener and rather forcefully opened up her drink with a familiar and comforting hiss.

Pulling the glass bottle from its home, she put it to her lips and let it simmer down her throat.

Ellie drank beer, yes. She liked what she liked. She liked not only how it made her feel, but look. She thought it made her seem like the coolest person in the room sometimes. (she’d never admit that of course—although the smirk on her face nearly gave her away every time—) Plus, she wouldn’t be caught dead with a glass of wine in her hand if she could help it.

She hasn’t been drinking for very long (legally that is) and even before then, beer was always her go-to. And most available. It was light enough to make her feel buzzed and a little horny, but if she had a few more after that buzz… she nearly became unbearable.

She could still remember the good parts of the night, and block out the parts where she collapses to the ground with tears pooling in her eyes and curses under her breath until she’s crying so hard that the bottle in her hand fuzzes itself out of her grip with a loud, rippling crash as it hits the ground.

Ellie.

Beer.

They mixed; sometimes.

Tonight, it was the buzz of two to three beers. Her mouth was on the bottle until she stopped dead in her tracks to see a giant ass bed frame tilted halfway into the open door of the apartment diagonal from Ellie’s.

She scoffed under her breath, a low “Fuck,” falling from her lips as she stashed her drink in her bag and dragged her feet down the hall.

Who the fuck was moving in at… Jesus, it was only 7. She was a third of the way to a black out at 7pm on a Thursday, great.

“You have to move it, no— fuck! Seriously?” and that’s when Ellie had actually noticed him, coming out from behind the other side of the frame, throwing his arms up and yelling into the door.

“You have to move it! Don’t just stand there… Jesus Christ,” and Ellie pulls her brows together at the sound of his voice, all the alcohol pouring out of her and into the palms of her hands that had suddenly gone clammy.

She hears someone else, a softer voice compared to the scruffy shouts she had to ring out from her head. She seems upset. And rightfully so. This guy was being a dick.

“Can you just— for fucks sake, I’m trying!” and Ellie then see’s the bed frame shake back and forth with the emphasis of her words. It sent a shock of adrenaline through Ellie for some reason, and it made her spiral with a multitude of thoughts.

This must be her boyfriend, asshole. She should break up with him. Wonder if she likes girls. Wonder if she like’s mascs. Is she even gay? Bet she’s hot, her voice sounds kind of familiar, shit hopefully not… that’d be so awkward. What if it’s not? What if she—

“Dorin, can you fucking stop?! You’re gonna break it!” and she hears that same voice, and for some reason she tries to place it, slipping into the frames of faces she knows. She fails, but god, it was so distinct. So… familiar. She could’ve sworn she’d heard it before.

She was soon drawn from her endless daydream when he—Dorin, she could only guess— looked up at her, finally ceasing to take his hands from the metal and notice her standing there.

Ellie stood frozen in the hall, her eyes slightly widening when she realizes that he can see her, too.

“Sorry,” she spurts, remembering that her legs actually worked and used them to take a tentative step forward.

“‘t’s fine.” and he looks back into the door before taking a step back. He’s glaring inside the apartment, almost as if to say that it wasn’t actually fine at all.

But Ellie couldn’t move. She was afraid to take another step. She didn’t want to have to potentially face one of her hook ups… not if she could help it.

She couldn’t really walk anyways, because the frame was jutting out so far that it had blocked her path just enough to cut off access to her door. “Um, my door… it’s ah, the…” and she motioned her hand forward, god she was so fucking flustered.

He sighed, not even trying to hide his ire from her. “She can’t get by. We’re gonna have to fucking take it apart or something.” and he was leaning against it now.

The sight was an odd one, Ellie watching her new neighbor at a stand still with a gray metal bed frame and talk into his apartment. Even if she weren’t a little drunk, she’d be just as confused.

“I don’t have the directions! I thought you said it’d fit!” and Ellie could see the hazy vision of her set up, just getting ready for a tattoo. She remembered pulling apart paper towels, setting them down with the black haze of her gloves…

And she heard the murmur of her voice —or, someone’s— from what felt like a million miles away. She couldn’t fucking zero in on it. She needed to. She needed to know.

Without thinking, Ellie chirped up, walking a few more steps to see into the living room with boxes hoarding its corners. She couldn’t see her. “Might need to ditch it. These doors suck. ‘t’s gonna shred it.” and she looked to Dorin, trying to gage if he believed her.

She didn’t care honestly, she was fucking starving and needed to get inside her apartment and piece together this nightmare of a voice.

He pauses, looks back through the door and then back to Ellie. “…She’s right. Let’s just toss it. I’m too fucking tired for this right now.” and she can tell when he says it that she’s upset, but eventually she agrees.

And that’s how Ellie ended up tossing that stupid fucking bed frame down those same four flights of stairs until it was a sad pile of metal sitting on the curb.

Dorin had nearly demanded she stay upstairs, saying he didn’t need help, but Ellie wasn’t an asshole. He clearly needed help. In all honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t know his left from right.

Okay, maybe she was kind of as asshole. Regardless, she wasn’t the type who just stood by and watched someone struggle to get their footing right when trying to throw a bed frame over the banister of the fourth floor.

Ellie had set down her bag by now, and stepped up to give him a hand. Which ultimately resulted in helping him carry it all the way back down and place what was left of it on the curb for someone to take.

“Thanks,” he said, wiping the palms of his hands on his jeans before reaching out to greet Ellie. “I’m Dorin.”

She glanced down at it before shaking it firmly. He wasn’t expecting, obviously. They never do. “Ellie.” was all she said.

When she climbed the stairs for a third time that day, Ellie had hoped she was standing outside the door or at the least, leaning against it frame before ducking behind a corner like a timid cat.

She wasn’t, of course. The door was closed shut for the night.

Probably for the best. Ellie didn’t want to be up late drawing sketches of her all night, she had work tomorrow. She was opening.

She had actually enjoyed the earlier shifts. Her body was still waking her as soon as the sun had risen, and not to mention… it had helped keep her schedule clear for the afternoons and evenings.

Although, it had been about a week or two since her last… escapade. She hadn’t really known why, but there was a flicker in her sex life that she had a hard time ignoring. Something had threatened to put it out.

She didn’t want to think about that right now. She just wanted to get inside her apartment and let what just happened roll of her shoulders with the help of what was inside her bag.

Ellie eventually trudged down the hall toward her door, unlocking it with a heavy sigh after failing the first two times. “God, dammit.” she swore under her breath before Dorin had come up after her and disappear behind his own door.

She pushed the door open, finally slipping inside. She was so tired all of this sudden. And her body had ached with something so deep that she actually lifted her shirt to feel around her ribs for a mark. There wasn’t one, but she felt it so much that she winced inside every time she took a step around her tiny kitchen.

In the matter of about ten minutes, Ellie was sitting in front of her TV with a styrofoam cup of ramen that had been devoured almost instantly along with an empty candy bar wrapper and an open can of Pringles, leaving her to lay down on her couch with an arm hanging off as she felt herself falling into a light sleep.

A few hours later, after her body had decided to fall deeper into the couch, she jerked herself awake with the sound of her phone pinging her back to the shrilling silence of her apartment. Followed by a starch in the air that was so thick, it had expressed a single dry cough from her.

“Shit,” she murmured, rubbing a hand over the side of her face and the deep marks that had left their presence with a red hue.

She looked down at the screen, reading the time. It was past nine.

I think I just met the love of my life.

He fucking held the door out for me when I was leaving Alex’s building and did that thing you know where they look u up and down

Holy shit fuck oh my god

Ellie blinked before replying, squinting when her fingers flew across the screen to message back.

Oh yeah? Should I order my tux? Do you need a flower girl???

No bc maybe

He didn’t even say anything to me but like in a hot way

Right…

Fuck off

He was hot

I hope he lives in the building maybe i’ll have to see Alex more til i figure out where he lives

Dina that’s fucking insane. How’d that go btw?

I assume he isn’t invited to the wedding??

Jesus, no

I’ll tell u tmrw, what time do you work?

Ellie rattles off her schedule to Dina for rest of the week and the following: four morning shifts and a closing.

She enjoyed working. Probably a little bit too much. But it was a good, stable job for her after all. And plus, it kept her mind busy; which was most important.

Dina replied a minute later with K sounds good before turning her phone on Do not Disturb, the notification popping up at the bottom of Ellie’s screen.

She eventually stands, her jeans suddenly feeling too tight on her legs as she made her way toward the bathroom to lazily peel them from her just before turning the shower on.

Ellie had hated nights like this. The ones that never seemed to end… no matter how hard she tried. Especially when she was fighting remembering. She wanted to forget. She so desperately wanted to forget and let it slip through the cracks of her brain down the shower drain.

But it wouldn’t, of course it wouldn’t. It was far too thick. Like a sludge that has coated the entirety of her before hardening around the biggest parts, cracking and blistering her skin like porcelain.

That’s what she was after all, something so fragile on the inside with a hard shell. And all it would take was some rain to wash it all away, leaving her exposed.

She rattled inside with every step she took, fear seeping through the bottoms of her shoes as if she were walking on eggshells. But can two of the same thing really break each other?

In the dead of night, after her hair had partially dried—or begin to sweat— she was gasping against the still air of her bedroom, shooting up from her position to let in small hiccups that somewhat resembled a single breath. Inout inout inout.

Her eyes were wide open, scanning for her darkened surroundings. Feeling around her bed for the blanket that had once covered her, her books on her nightstand, the sleeping pills she never took. And her journal. She felt for her journal and the old cover that was familiar enough to make her feel as though she was thumbing a baby blanket.

You’re home. You’re safe. You’re safe. 1, 2, 3, 4. 1234. 1234. 1. 2. 3. 4.

Her dreams had begun eating her in her sleep again. Always the same one. And always so fucking real.

The next breathe she takes is deeper. Shaky, but long enough to make her rest her elbows on her spread out thighs and pinch the bridge of her nose with one hand. She lets it out, the shaky rattle nearly making her whistle.

She tries to forget. She wants to forget. To um-burn this memory from her brain and fill it with the memories that she is trying so hard to hold onto. The ones she keeps between the pages of her journal, the ones that are marked in ink as to never be erased or wiped clean.

She wants these memories inside her head. To jam pack with good and rid of the bad. Get rid of this stupid fucking nightmare that makes her cry before she even realizes she’s awake.

Ellie tells herself it’s only that. “It’s only a nightmare.” But it wasn’t. Before, it was a memory. Something that has stamped her red anger and blue with sadness to mend a broken purple that no one ever sees.

Her breathing begins to slow, and the loud drum of her heartbeat floods out when she looks out her window to catch a glimpse of the sky.

It always felt so big— so… targeted. But yet she always found herself in this moment with the moon. Watching over her as she tried to sooth herself back to sleep.

She does, (eventually) and soon enough the ringing in her ears fades, leaving her to only hear the sound her shaky ribs are making, listening just close enough to hear them rattle from deep within her chest.

Ellie’s hand reaches out from underneath her covers one last time, making sure she could feel the familiar cracked up material of her book. She fell back asleep just a few moments later.

As soon as the moon says goodnight and the Sun begins to wake, as does Ellie. The blinding curl of its brightness makes her squint and throw a hang over her face, smudging her hair to cover her eyes too.

Ellie sighs, letting the sound relish for a minute before throwing her legs over the side of her unmade bed and look for some clean clothes. God, did she seriously need to get her shit together.

She should be more prepared honestly. Having the seasons changed had usually helped, but now it… it had felt different.

Like the sludge wasn’t just just coating over her, but eating her. Letting itself inside to soak through the cracks of her skin as if she was already dead, forming roots from her brittle bones as the earth enveloped her in and drained every last ounce of herself that was left to her name.

Soon enough she finds some pants to wear, a ripped pair of black jeans, torn at the knee. Ellie wasn’t much of a shopper, she rarely bought clothes until they shredded themselves from her body. And because she knew that, she kept her closet filled with identical replicas. Mostly black, but there were a few nice shirts she wore and even a pair of dress shoes.

She never wore those though. She never had anywhere nice to go… still, she had them; just in case.

And as she pulled the jeans over her lose boxers, Ellie had heard the low murmurs of that same voice, and she thought maybe she was dreaming.

But no. She had heard it right. The muffled sound becoming less as she opened her bedroom door to hear her through the thin material of her apartment wall, followed by the striking sound of what Ellie could only guess was her banging —or kicking?— at her own door.

“Motherfucker!” she heard her say, and the way it rang in her ears tunneled so deep she got stuck in her tracks.

It was so fucking familiar. Where has she heard it? This was going to drive her absolutely fucking insane. But she tried to ignore it anyway, finding herself actually shake her head out of the daze and squint when she peeped through the hole in her front door.

She could see her standing there with some of her things including a large cup with a handle and her bag. But… no shoes. Or keys, by the looks of it.

Shit, she thought. That must suck. But where was her boyfriend? Bet he’s passed out. Dick.

Ellie stood there for another moment before the growl of her stomach had peeled her away from the peephole. She made an empty promise to find something on the way to work, knowing she wasn’t going to stop. And that she’d eat on her lunch. Knowing she had over a 2 hour session at noon today.

But this is how it always was. This is what the sludge did. Take and take and take. Give, then take some more… and take a little extra. Just giving her enough to keep her alive.

Eventually though, she finished getting ready. And that meant combing through her hair just to pull it back and doing the same with a T-shirt that hung loose on her cracked ribs. She slid her converse on and grabbed her Ipad and the rest of her things before slipping them into her black messenger bag and out the door.

She tried not to notice how her eyes were glued onto her as soon as she finished locking her door and turned to see the backside of her, and how suddenly she had the urge to pretend she left something inside and climb out the fire escape. Or how fucking pretty she was. Her hair was done nicely— nicer than Ellie’s— and had pieces that framed her face.

Jesus she was getting dizzy. She looked away, hoping she hadn’t seen the utter shock on her face.

Holy shit. Oh my god oh my god ohmygodohmygod.

“Morning,” she said, and it was then that Ellie had to pretend she wasn’t shitting bricks while she stared hard enough trying to get the key out of her door that it might melt under her gaze.

She turned. Played it cool, because this was so cool. Totally nonchalant.

“Morning.” she replied, then, because she was totally chill, she tilted her head up toward her and spoke again. “Locked out?”

She looked down then, avoiding Ellie’s eyes before a dry chuckle left her lips. “Yeah, I uh.. guess you could say that. Think it’s jammed or s’mthing.” she looked embarrassed, crossing her feet that displayed her socks.

Ellie took a step toward her down the hall, trying to pluck her words to form a sentence over the raging sound of her heard pounding inside her chest, threatening to burst right then and there.

“Damn, that sucks. You tried uh…?” and Ellie fell short when she looked her in eye, suddenly losing all the air from her lungs and every ounce of blood from her veins.

Jesus, what the fuck.

“If you’re gonna say opening it, then yes. And I tried my key, it won’t work. I also don’t have my phone.” and it was then that somewhere Ellie knew she should offer to help.

There was a slice of herself that was open, ready to help and offer up her phone to call someone, but it shrunk before her voice had found it’s way up her throat to say it, sinking a thousand feet into the depths of her stomach with a gulp.

“Shit. Well I hope you figure it out.” and she didn’t say another word before making her way past her— ignoring the smell of her perfume radiating off of her and staining Ellie’s nostrils with the hint of honey— toward the stairs.

As soon as she was out of ear-shot, she swore under her breath. “Fuck!” leaving her lips as her feet had stomped down all three remaining floors and onto the street where she pulled a hand down her face with a low groan.

“What the fuck,” she said to herself. She had been a fucking asshole, for no reason. No reason at all. She could go back up there, offer up her phone, shit she’d even give her her own shoes. But she knew she wouldn’t. She knew that. Ellie would move out if it meant never having to go through that again.

And jesus, what had gotten into her? She felt… nervous. But not the same kind of nervous she felt before taking a girls shirt off… Something that felt unfamiliar and uncertain. Like she was about to jump off a cliff with nothing but a paper clip to help crash her fall.

As if she really were falling, and the pavement underneath her feet had shattered and begun giving out beneath her converse. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t.

Ellie snapped her eyes shut for a moment, breathing in the air that had already began warming with the rising sun.

You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re in control. 1234,1234.

She only let herself stand there for a moment longer before she curled her toes inside her shoes and managed to begin walking. Jesus, she was losing it.

Soon enough, Ellie makes it inside the door of InK & Sink with a few minutes to spare. She hated being late, but today by some miracle she had actually managed to make it in time. She had an early appointment —just after 9:30– so she had made her way downstairs after saying a quick “Morning.” to Drot in passing.

He waved her off a silent greeting, his phone pressed to his ear listening closely. “And you tried it again? Well… fuck, can’t you just… okay. No. It’s okay, it’s fine.” And he sighed, running a hand over his face just as Ellie had taken her first steps downstairs.

“Hold on a second, hold. Hey! Ellie? C’mere for a minute.” And her lips had tugged in a straight line, just before she wiped it off and let her brows turn ‘casually’ as she made her way back to him, leaning against the archway.

“Would you um, mind working the cash register for a bit? Just a bit… my um.. my daughter locked herself out, she uh… yes I gotta— No, I’m not going to break… yeah, yes, yes. Okay.” And it was then that he looked toward her, waiting for her response that she had failed to form inside her head.

She said something, not realizing until the words echoed through the thunder washing over her ears.

“Uh… I have uh… yeah. Yeah, sure.” and that’s all she said as she watched him say a few more words into his phone before swapping places with Ellie and making it out the door in the matter of about thirty seconds.

His Daughter. His. Daughter. She was his daughter. Oh god she was so screwed.

No. No. That could be anybody, a really weird coincidence. There’s a lot of people in New York, in her building. Not a chance it’s the same person.

But her voice. Her voice. She heard it through the phone. Somebody’s. Someone must’ve given her a phone to use. Fuck. That’d be a nightmare if she’d given her phone to use and her dad’s contact was already there. Jesus.

No, can’t be her. It’s not. Why is this such a big deal? Why can’t you just let it go, roll off your shoulders. C’mon. You’re not gonna get fired for being an asshole to his kid. No way.

This is what the inside of Ellie’s head was thinking the whole fifteen minutes she was working a cash register she had little to no experience working, all while greeting customers and playing Baker in her black head-to-toe outfit.

“$6.24 for ya’.” and she held the small parchment paper bag across the counter, swapping it for cash and pressing for the till drawer.

“Have a good one,” she echoed, just before the door had opened and the soft bell rang in her ears.

“Welc— oh, hey.”

“Hey.” Drot said, dropping his head between his shoulders and chuckling low.

Ellie could see the slow shake of his head with each quiet laugh, and with each second she grew more anxious.

“This mornings’ been interesting, no?” He looked up now, a grin planted on his lips as he patted her on the shoulder that would’ve been hard enough to shatter the bone there if she let it.

“Interesting? Uhh… guess so.”

He leans back against the opposing counter— a little to Ellie’s right, and nods her away from the cash register.

“My daughter. She just moved. Forgot her keys. inside and had no shoes on. No. She had her old keys.” he was smiling at her, inviting Ellie to do so along side him.

She offered up a small chuckle followed by a raise of her eyebrows and a single. “Ah.”

He sighs to himself before standing up straight and making Ellie’s eyes jump up to meet his gaze.

“She’s you’re age. A little younger. You should meet her. She’s… like you.”

“Like me?” and she says it before fully realizing, letting it slip right past her lips.

“Yeah… she uh.. well, you know. Eh, forget it. Go, go.” Drot is ushering her away from his register and toward the small swing king door near the end of the counter.

She grabbed ahold of her bag with a fist, turning to look back at him before she made her way down the stairs.

Like her? What did he mean like her? She couldn’t let herself think on it. She had a job to do. Work to do. She couldn’t let her mind fall out of her head on the clock.

Which is why when she met Dina for coffee after work, she was all Ellie kept thinking about.

“And then— while he was fucking on top of me he tells me he loves me?! Like are you kidding? So then after that I was li— Ellie, are you listening?”

She wasn’t. Her eyes were narrowed in on the small lights that were strung up above both of their heads, counting and watching the bulbs flicker until she was blinking back into reality when she heard her own name.

“Yeah, yeah. I am.” and she clears her throat and shakes the thought of her out of her head.

“What’d I say?”

“He said he loved you… like a fucking weirdo.” and that cracked Dina a little bit. Before she collected herself and took a sip of her drink.

“What? Like I’m wrong? Alex is weird; and I mean that in every extreme way possible. Yeah sure whatever he’s ‘nice’… but Dina. You can do better. You know you can.”

“I— I feel guilty okay?”

“Don’t! You shouldn’t. I’m serious.”

“Ellie…” she tilts her head with a stare.

Ellie does the same, mimicking her time when she says: “Dina. Really though. You know I’m right.”

“Yeah, but I’m not giving you that ego boost.” and she shakes her head as she leans back into her chair.

Ellie smirks. “You already did.”

They sit outside bickering back and forth like this for another hour, cracking jokes and mostly pissing Dina off while Ellie spreads her legs wider to try and fight the shake she feels inside them. She was running on this coffee alone, and it was starting to finally become noticeable.

“You cold or something? You’re shaky.” Dina has her forearms pressed against the table, leaving the pattern against her skin when she reaches across to try and feel for herself.

Ellie pulls back when they make contact, shrugging her off with denial. “No. I’m good.”

“You eat today?” and the pull in her brows is one that Ellie doesn’t like.

But she laughs it off, tries not to notice how shifty and full she’s filling with guilt alone. “Yes, mom. I stopped somewhere this morning.”

“Ellie… it’s after four.” and she looked away from her to reach inside her bag for something— her wallet. “Here, let me—”

“I have money. I’ll just go get something inside. That make you happy?” Ellie was already planting her feet on the ground before Dina could answer, and she was pushing back from her chair to make her way inside to order.

She was pissed at herself. Pissed that her hands we’re shaking so badly at only 4 o’clock, that Dina had noticed, that she hadn’t noticed and can’t make them stop.

She’s also pissed because she wasn’t watching where the fuck she was going, and she bumped right into someone hard enough to spill their coffee on the tile.

She’s reaching out to land a hand on their arm before drawing her feet back away from the forming puddle. “Fuck, I’m-”

Her. It was her. Ellie’s eyes are glued onto hers, noticing the deep hazel and the mascara on her lashes. And her wispied bangs that fell a little too perfect on her face. And her face; she noticed her face. The three freckles that connected around her right eye in a constellation of a tria—

“You’re good…” she said, dipping her eyebrow in recognition. “Oh, hey. It’s you.” and she goes to point a finger, but her arm is still in Ellie’s grasp.

Ellie let’s go when she realizes. She didn’t even notice it there at first, but now, the feeling is vast and leaves her bicep with a map of goosebumps. Almost like Ellie had taken the heat right from her and placed it into her cheeks that were the color of a ripening tomato.

When her hand falls, Ellie lets the scene before her unfold for a moment. Taking in the spilled drink on the floor— and noticing she finally a pair of on. Without thinking, she tells her that.

“Finally got shoes on huh?” and she looks down at her own feet, wearing a pair of black Dr Martens that had now made her an inch or two taller than Ellie.

A little confused, she agrees. “Yeah, I do.”

And for some reason —unknown to her— Ellie perks up to specify. “From this morning. No shoes… You were uh, locked out…”

Soon there’s recognition in her voice, making her eyebrows raise and a laugh to stumble from her lips as she speaks. “Oh! Yeah… yeah, I got in. Yeah. Surprised you remembered honestly. You seemed.. in a rush.”

There’s a beat. One serged with electricity that would shock the two of them if they touched.

“Sorry.” Ellie says. She can’t help but wince when she says it.

She looks at her, still lost in the conversation. Ellie doesn’t know why she keeps fucking this up. Even when she’s apologizing.

“About your coffee. And this morning… and last night. I was an asshole. I— I don’t know why I did that. I don’t- I’m not usually… like that.” Liar.

She waves Ellie off. The ring on her middle finger glistens against her hand when she moves into a sunspot. “No worries. Shit happens.”

Shit happens? She thought about it for a second. Yeah. Shit does happen. No worries.

“Still. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I swear I’m not always that… much of an asshole.”

She laughs a little. “Sounds like something an asshole would say.”

Ellie pauses when she says this, a little struck by her words; a little guilty. It doesn’t last long when she breaks and says: “I’m fucking with you. Everyone’s a little bit of an asshole sometimes.”

To this, Ellie actually sighs in relief. She fucking sighs. Just fucking with you.

“Right. Well.. I feel like one. Do you want another drink? On me.” she’s pulling out her wallet from her back pocket before she can even object.

She takes a moment to consider it; furrowing her brows in thought before she begins to actually… grin. “You always buy your neighbors coffee?”

Ellie’s cheek swell with a red hue she is hoping to hide with a snarky remark. “Only the cute ones.” she shoves one of her shaky hands in her back pocket.

She blows a breath from her nose, a half-laugh. “So you do this pretty often then huh?”

“Nah… you’re the first.” and that’s true. She’s never done this before.

Of course she hasn’t. Because if she had— she wouldn’t be so fucking nervous.

“Lucky me then.” and she pauses, looking at Ellie for a beat… almost like she’s hesitating. Almost like she’s waiting for Ellie to make a move.

The moment passes, and she pipes up again.

“Well, what if I wanted to buy you coffee?”

Ellie shifts in her stance. She was getting lightheaded, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was starving… or flirting in the middle of a coffee shop with her brand new neighbor. Who was also her employer daughter. (Possibly.) [Definitely, without a doubt.]

“Why would you wanna buy me coffee?”

“Do I need a reason?”

She’s faultering, cracking and smudging, about to melt into a puddle next to this spilled coffee that was soaking into the grey tile. “…No. Guess not.”

She smiles. And of course it’s incredible. “Alright. Good. So, what do you want?”

“Well what do you want? You gonna let me buy you something?”

By now, she is reaching over to grab a handful of napkins, crouching down to begin wiping away the mess.

“Eh. I’ll think about it.”

Ellie scoffs. She shakes her head. And she can’t fucking believe she’s doing this in broad daylight.

But… what was she doing? She’d flirted in public before, and she’d done even more than that.. so why was she getting so shy? Why was the sludge melting away with the heat of her cheeks and the sweat of her palms when she reaches to grab some tissues and begins to help clean up.

And because Ellie is secretly terrified this feeling will go away.. she fights to make more conversation. “Sorry about your bed. The doors are pretty shit.”

She mops up her drink, wadding up the napkins and tosses them without standing. “It’s alright. I kinda fuckin’ hated that thing to be honest. It was a bitch to put together.”

She’s watching Ellie, her slender fingers and shortened nails were a sight. And this Ellie could pick up on. The sudden feeling of her eyes darting down to watch this very mundane but intimate moment.

Jesus, it just felt like the two of them.

Like the world had fallen away, the music muffled out, chatter quieting to a white noise. The only thing Ellie saw was her. She could feel the scratchy material of the brown napkin and the weight of her hazel eyes on her movements.

It was so… bold. So full and alive. Light. Simple. Delicate.

Ellie had to say something. Shit. Her brain was scattering with her eyes on her. Her neighbors eyes on her. Her neighbor who had a boyfriend. Maybe.

Fuck, it didn’t matter… she had to stand back up and make sure she didn’t pass out from whatever was going on.

Eventually she does, straightening her knee’s from her squat and adjusting her jeans that had rode down to reveal her boxers underneath.

Ellie is standing and looking down her feet when she notices the coffee has stained the laces of her shoes.

Not that she minds, they were already dirtied from wearing them everyday; that was a given. And even if she did mind: Shit happens. No worries.

From the corner of her eye she see’s her stand back up too… and it’s then that she realizes she never asked her name.

So she does.

Her head is shooting up with the thought, rushing to find her eyes that were already looking at Ellie. Her hands go clammy again. God.

“I uh, I never.. Oh my god I can’t even talk. What’s your name?” and Ellie shakes her head with disbelief. Her game is way off.

She laughs. Not mean, Ellie can tell. She cracks a smile when her eyes line with a shine from the sun.

“Poe.”

Poe. Poe. Poe.

It had suited her better than she had even begin to think, slotting it into place and sighing when it clicked there.

“Cool, cool. I’m Ellie, by the way.” she breathed out something pathetic, a sliced up nervous laugh.

But Poe was smiling at her, Poe.

Poe… was smiling at her.

“Nice to meet you, officially.”

“Yeah, you too.”

The thick hum in the air felt like a barbed wire, zapping Ellie’s skin when Poe spoke up again.

“So, Ellie, you gonna buy me some coffee or what?” and the grin on her lips was wide enough to make Ellie slip from the reality back into their banter.

So much so that she’d completely forgotten about Dina, leaving her to text Ellie a string of messages and a pissed tone scorching through the screen.

But Ellie couldn’t be worried. Because Poe was sitting in Dina’s freshly abandoned chair. Smiling.

At her.

She was so fucked.

Later that night— after Poe had made her order some gluten free lemon poppy bread (which Ellie said: “Shit tastes like dirt. Dirt if you pissed in it.”) and then laughed at her when she tried to wash it down with her coffee but ended up with a mouthful of what tasted like burnt shit.

Then offered up her own drink to be told it was “Milk and ice. A shittier version of vanilla ice cream.”— Ellie had made it home and was tucked into her bed with her journal and pen.

Her hand was scribbling across the page, racing her brain for the details before they slipped and tugged through the cracks after sleeping on it.

She fills up another page, talking about all the things that choke up her sobs… and finally sketches a dragon on the back, covering up the nightmare from last night— soaking it into the scales of the monster.. letting it’s fiery breath burn the memories that fuel the rot in her brain.

Ellie sighs before she wipes her face with the back of her hand, pulling the cuff of her sweatshirt over her palm and sniffling.

The routine is coming to a close when she sets her journal back on her nightstand and gets to her feet, trudging to the bathroom to get ready for bed and make sure she is still the same person in the mirror.

It never comforts her when she see’s herself… part of her hopes that maybe, just maybe, that one day she will flip the light switch and won’t recognize herself.

But of course she does. She knows the freckles on her face and their placement on her skin, the scar on her temple, her stoned over green eyes; turned dark and cold over the last few years… she see’s it all, and she wishes she didn’t.

She see’s something else that night… when she’s asleep in her bed after the clock passes 1AM.

She see’s Poe, standing in her doorway, with her hands crossed over her chest and a closed lipped smile across her face. She was the moon, and she was brighter than all the lights in New York City.

#all the lights 1 #ellie williams tlou #ellie x fem reader #bellswlw #the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #tlou 2 ellie #ellie the last of us

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icekweenb · 9 months

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Can we get some nsfw Leon hcs?👀

Abso-damn-loutely! Srry it took 6293863929373 days to answer, I’m a depressed woman w/ a busy life

A for Aphrodisiac

What always turns them on?

Leon has multiple tabs open in his brain and at least 3 of them have constant displays of you. He loves looking at you and taking pictures of you! It doesn’t even have to be explicit to turn him on; just seeing how good your legs look in a skirt or how your outfit accentuates your body will have him ready.

B for Bondage

Who gets tied up and how?

100% a switch; he allows you to tie him up and even gives tips on certain knots. He’s always impressed when you get it right and praises you for listening to his instructions. He’s a little uneasy at first but easily succumbs to your ministrations.

When it’s your turn to be tied he’s focused and careful. Making sure the knots aren’t pinching you or digging into your skin in ways you don’t like while telling you all the things he plans to do to you. When he’s finished he likes to stand back and admire the masterpiece he created and how pretty you look strung up for him.

C for Cuddling

How do they cuddle after sex?

Leon will want to hold you/be close. He doesn’t care how hot it is in the room, how messy the bed is, or how sweaty/sticky you are after! He wants to hold you and pillow talk until you both can’t stay awake anymore.

D for Dirty

How do they dirty talk? What do they say?

With Leon it’s either a smooth start or almost cringey. I imagine it starts as something cringey/jokey and you playfully express your disgust while pushing him away from you. He’ll pull you closer and apologize with a soft kiss and say “I’m sorry baby. It’s just that the idea of *insert cringey thing but in a sexy voice here* with you is really turning me on. If you give me a chance, I think you’ll enjoy it even more than I will” or something along those lines.

E for Exposed

What is the most daring place they've had sex?

In a church. I cannot elaborate further but it’s out there lol

F for Favorite

What do they find sexiest about their partner?

Leon would find your voice the sexiest! He imagines it all the time while he’s away

G for Graceful

What is the weirdest position they've tried?

The Amazon position for sure!

H for Hands

What do they do with their hands during sex?

Leon’s hands are always holding or caressing some part of you; he loves holding your hips when you ride him. Sometimes he’s so wrapped up in the moment he’ll leave bruises behind

I for Imagination

What do they fantasize about?

Depending on the kind of day he’s had, the fantasies are endless. Some times it’s him helping to measure how deep your throat is, other times it’s imagining all the things he’d do to you on your wedding night. Every fantasy is perfect to him as long as it stars you

J for Jazz

What's their go-to sexy song/playlist?

Leon loves a good slowed and reverb track, doesn’t matter what it is as long as it sounds good and fits the mood

K for Kink

What's their secret kink?

It’s a mix of public sex and auralism! He travels to many different places and when he gets a moment alone he often imagines taking you in the nicer ones he’s seen and how your voice would sound as it moaned his name over and over or how he’d have to cover your mouth so the people around you wouldn’t hear too much

L for Lingerie

What kind of underwear do they like to wear or have their partner wear?

Leon wears fashion briefs a.k.a tighty white-ys! When he’s home he prefers boxers. When it comes to what you wear, Leon appreciates attention to detail. It turns him on when you pop out with new style of lingerie in a color he mentioned he loves on you 2.5 weeks ago!

M for Moan

What kind of noises do they make? What sounds do they like to hear from their partner?

We a l l know exactly what sounds he makes thanks to the godsend that is DBD but he’s also a talker. He talks because, while he knows you love hearing, it makes him feel good too! He loves telling you how good you feel, how close he’s getting, asking you to beg, etc. He loves fucking his partner beyond words; watching you go from being able to form full on sentences to whimpers, moans, and single syllable words is a huge accomplishment for him

N for Night

What time of day do they prefer to have sex and why?

Leon’s grown to be fond of morning/daytime dec simply because it’s a rarity for you to wake up together. He loves being able to arouse you awake so he can have you cum while you watch the sunrise

O for Oral

Giving or receiving? Why?

Receiving because that’s Leon’s weak spot. If he’s mad or upset or anything of the sort, seeing you on your knees ready to pleasure him give him a little jolt out of the funk he was in just so he can enjoy your talents undistracted

P for Position

What is their favorite position(s) and why?

Leon loves missionary just so he can take in everything all at once. He loves to watch your face while he rearranges your guts

Q for Quickie

How would they have sex if they're in a hurry?

Quick sloppy kisses and hurried movements but he always makes sure you’re satisfied; he’d curse your underwear for being in his way before slowly pushing inside. He’d hum at the moan you let out and stay still for a few seconds, looking into your eyes. He knows he has to be quick but he loves savoring the feel of you around him and how hot you are both inside and out. Then he’s straight to it, working you both towards a much needed orgasm before he has to go away for work.

R for Role Play

What is their role-playing fantasy?

Leon’s go-to role is the cop who just wants a lil somethin’ for letting you slide without giving you a speeding ticket! He’d be down to try new stuff though

S for Sexy

What would they do/wear to turn on their partner?

Once Leon is invested, there’s nothing that could gross him out(aside from the big no nos most people seem to have). If you told him it turned you on to paint him with honey and fuck in a feather factory you would get a little side eye and occasional teasing but he would absolutely do what you asked

T for Trust

How would they implement rough sex or kinks?

Slowly and based off of the comfort of both parties. If something rough happens spur of the moment he will always check in after to apologize if it caught you off guard or to ask how you liked it/if it’s something you’ll want more of in the future.

U for Under

Who's in charge and how?

Leon is game for anything! He’s willing to take control of everything from start to finish if you ask it of him. He’s also more than ok with handing the reigns over to you, giving himself over to you for your every whim

V for Voyeur

What do they like to watch their partner do?

Leon loves watching his partner while they go self care! It brings him joy to watch you care for the person he holds most dear.

W for Wet

How would they have sex in the shower?

Slowly and sensually; lathering your skin with his hands and worshipping you while he washed you from head to toe. Then he’ll let you touch him and even offered to kneel before you so you can wash his hair. He’d barely last 2 mins before he’s throwing your leg over his shoulder to taste you and then…well, you know the rest

X for X-Rated

What kind of porn do they watch or read?

He can’t get off to visuals unless the likeness between his irl interest and the video/book character is uncanny. But if he finds someone who sounds like you, he’ll close his eyes and imagine you instead

Y for Yummy

How would they involve food/drinks?

He treats his partner like a sundae! Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and a couple cherries placed here and there just for him taste before he devours his real dessert ;)

Z for Zipper

How do they prefer to undress? Both themselves and their partner.

Leon gets home and wants everything off/to be comfortable! He takes pride in what he does so he’ll quickly and put everything in its place. He thoroughly enjoys a show from his partner; he’d enjoy watching as you deliberately remove one piece of clothing at a time. To him it’s like watching a perfect gift unwrap itself 🎁

#ty for reading #love requests #ask response #resident evil leon #leon kennedy #hcs #x reader #resident evil #18+ content #anon <3 #leon x reader #resident evil asks

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noelwho · 8 months

Text

Ultimate Chronological Order Imodna Playlist!!!

Hello! I feel like I have to introduce myself ‘cause I’m barely on Tumblr. I’m still learning how to use it, I posted a couple of fanarts and they went really well, so I want to try and make myself a spot in here. My name is Noel (they/them) and I’m a big fan of Critical Role. I started watching a few months ago, with Exandria Unlimited. Once I was done I went ahead and started Campaign 3. I’m currently on episode 49 (I know, I have a lot ahead yet). I also watched the first season of Candela Obscura and a couple of One-Shots.

Today I’m here to talk about the Lesbian Southern Gothic Witches. Earlier this week I started to obsess over a playlist. An Imodna playlist, to be more specific. It started with me listening to one I found on spotify (I will credit below because it’s been a huge inspiration for this project) and I got the urge to make my own. At the beginning it was something chill, something normal…until it was not. Over the course of the last 3 days I haven’t thought about or listened to anything else. I got the idea of making the playlist in chronological order and I started to take it very seriously. I divided their history in 10 different chapters and assigned each song to the correct time period. At first it was just gonna be into chapters, but then I started to put them in order inside the chapters too, and it became very personal. For real, this playlist has been the one and only thing I wanted to talk about for days. Last night I finally finished it. I’ve played it for run tests several times and I think it’s finally ready to see the light (kinda feels like the project of my life even though I only spent a few days working on it).

After all this brainrot it didn’t feel right to just tweet a link to the playlist, I wanted the world to know everything that went through my head in the process of making this. I also don’t have many people around who care about Critical Role, and I thought it was a good opportunity to connect with the fandom. So all of this took me here, to tumblr. All of a sudden it became very clear that this was the perfect place to set my baby free.

There’s some things I wanna make clear before you start reading, the first being the classic: english is not my first language. Sounds like a joke at this point but for real, it’s very likely that this thing is full of grammatical mistakes and I want to apologize in advance (specially about the in/on/at situation, I’ve been having lots of trouble with those for some reason) This is also the first time I do something like this so it may not be perfect. The second thing is that this will obviously be filled with spoilers. In fact I actually haven’t even got to The Scene, I saw it around on Tumblr and Twitter (impossible to avoid that spoiler, but I don’t really care). I’m aware that there’s a lot of Imodna moments that I haven’t seen yet, but I couldn't wait to start this playlist. I don’t know if the episodes I have left to watch will translate into new chapters or into new songs for the chapters I already have but either way, I will keep this post and the playlist updated.

With that being said, welcome to this ride through an unhinged mind. Fasten your seatbelts and enjoy!

The tether scene is one of my favorite ones. I love that metaphor with a passion. That’s why I chose this name for the playlist. With the photo I wanted to make an allusion to the red thread myth given that Laudna herself carries around a spool of red string. I even edited the picture so the hands on the right are slightly gray like Laudna’s.

There’s not just one specific vibe to this playlist, but I find it to be a very calming one, with the exception of some specific moments that we will talk about later. I tried to avoid strong and distracting beats so I could keep it a little ethereal. Lots of acoustic guitar (which I love). I’m not going to talk about every single song because some of them have pretty obvious meanings. Usually the songs aren't a 100% match, but they do have a part to it that speaks to me and to the story on a certain level.

× Imogen and Laudna’s separate lifes ×

At the beginning of the journey that is this playlist, I wanted to introduce the characters. Intertwining their songs, we get to know Imogen and Laudna’s pasts, before they have each other to face the terrors of being witches in a world that doesn’t quite understand them.

Delilah - Florence + The Machine (Laudna)

I sometimes wonder if Marisha has ever listened to this song, because oh my fucking god. I wanted to start the playlist with Abbey, I didn’t because with the intertwining I couldn’t make it fit, but this one is a very good start as well. This song shows perfectly how it must have been being brought back by Delilah and having that power all of a sudden.

Abbey - Mitski (Imogen)

Matilda - Harry Styles (Laudna)

Imogen - Nick Mulvey (Imogen)

Laudna's lullaby - Ginny Di (Laudna)

Time comes in roses - Bess Atwell (Imogen)

The Tradition - Halsey (Laudna)

Burn it down - Daughter (Imogen)

There’s several songs from this album on this playlist. It couldn’t fit better. It reflects perfectly the moment Imogen started to develop her powers. It even refers directly to the way she parts ways with her town (which doesn’t happen for a few chapters but still I felt this one belonged here). Her fear of being a disappointment, her father becoming absent, the feeling of being cursed. It’s all here.

The hanging tree - The hunger games (Laudna)

Still I wait - Anna Leone (Both)

Even with everything they had to go through, they both still wait and cling to hope.

× Imogen and Laudna meet ×

Finally, their paths cross. They experience the feeling of warmth for the first time in a long time. They both feel the need to keep the other one close and begin to appreciate the little things in life, learning how to be taken care of. Goodbye loneliness.

Season of the Witch - Lana Del Rey

I'd like to walk around in your mind - Vashti Bunyan

How important is this song knowing what Imogen can do…

Comfortable Silence - Bella Porter

Without you without them - Boygenius

A hole in the earth - Daughter

That Moon Song - Gregory Alan Isakov

Love brought weight - Old Sea Brigade

That distant shore - Steven Universe

Sick of losing soulmates - Natalie Dawn

I Hear a Symphony - Cody Fry

Sidelines - Phoebe Bridgers

The bug collector - Haley Heyderickx

Sometimes I feel that it’s always Laudna taking care of Imogen, as if she didn't have anything on her own plate. It can't be easy to live with a voice in your head and paranoia. This song shows how Imogen is there to hold Laudna too when it becomes too much.

Look up - Joy Oladokun

If the last one was an Imogen’s POV, this one is totally a Laudna’s POV. Her and her silly little pep talks. “You’re so capable”.

Daylight - Taylor Swift

I love the idea of them learning that life can be good if you find someone to share it with. This song encapsulates that perfectly.

Spell - Dora Jar

I wanted this one to be the last one of the chapter because it introduces the idea of leaving together.

× Imogen and Laudna run away together ×

“Would you run away with me?” They learn what it’s like to have a home that’s not a place, but something entirely new. The past still follows but they’re no longer crushed by it, because they don’t have to sustain it on their own.

Departure - Daughter

Second child, restless child - The Oh Hellos

Just the two of us - Grover Washington, Jr.

I really like to imagine Imodna slice of life scenes when I listen to this song.

Dandelion Wine - Gregory Alan Isakov

Homesick - Dwara, Khotton Palm

Graceland Too - Phoebe Bridgers

When I realized how much of a Laudna's POV this song is, I almost cried.

Telepath - Manchester Orchestra

I really really like Manchester Orchestra, it's one of my favorite bands. I never let go of the chance of spreading them around, and this one is the best song they have. Laudna's POV for sure.

everything i wanted - Billie Eilish

With songs like this one and Intertwined, I wanted to introduce the idea that even though they're definitely better off now that they left the town, that doesn't instantly solve all of their problems. As I said before, the past follows, but they're no longer alone with it.

Savior Complex - Phoebe Bridgers

Intertwined - Dodie

Nothing else matters - Phoebe Bridgers

As long as they're together, nothing else matters.

× You lied ×

Even though I only have a few songs for this precise moment of the story, I thought that it was very important to include their first fight. The gem is broken and Imogen feels betrayed. Laudna is left abandoned and thinks she deserves to be punished for Delilah’s wrongs. We explore jealousy for the first time.

Witches - Daughter

The silence at the end of this instrumental song represents the loneliness that Laudna felt when Imogen left her alone after her incident with Delilah

Landfill - Daughter

There are two possible ways of reading into this one. This is in my opinion a Laudna's POV. She could either be talking to Imogen, expressing her deep rooted desire for a punishment for what she’s done; or to Delilah, alluding to the attachment she has to her own powers (that at least as far as she knows are there because of Briarwood) opposed to the hatred she feels for her and for herself for wanting those powers (this is a theme that they explore later on future chapters)

Are you okay? - Winnetka Bowling League

Afterglow - Taylor Swift

The archer - Taylor Swift

× Laudna’s death ×

Otohan Thull relentlessly kills three members of Bells Hells. A coin is flipped and Laudna is gone, again. What awaits beyond the afterlife? Perhaps a little girl, a monster and a tree.

DVD menu - Phoebe Bridgers

If death’s not exactly DVD menu by Phoebe Bridgers, then someone tell me what’s like because I can’t imagine otherwise. I freaking love how this song connects with Daffodil.

Daffodil - Florence + The Machine

Death with dignity - Sufjan Stevens

Bells in Santa Fe - Halsey

I like to imagine that Laudna didn't appear in Nightmarish Whitestone immediately. Up until this point, she's in a limbo, accepting her own death. Bells in Santa Fe marks the moment she sets foot in that Upside-down kind of world. The constant repetition of “All of this is temporary” is like a mantra for her, the only hope she has of getting through it with her sanity intact is believing that this will also end and she will finally find peace.

Willow Tree March - The paper kiss

Hard times - Ethel Cain

Tether me - Galleaux

With this song and the next one, I wanted to express desperation. We don't get to know in the series how she feels throughout all of this, but I can only imagine how terrifying it must have been. There's a point where anyone would have started begging for help.

Matilda - alt-J

× Imogen’s grief ×

“Is she your favorite?”. Imogen feels deeply guilty for what happened. The possibility of bringing Laudna back is the only thing that’s keeping her from losing it completely. All the regrets, all the words she wishes she said before, all the times she didn’t approached her when she wanted to, come afloat. Grief, disassociation and sorrow.

Words - Storefront Church, Phoebe Bridgers

This song is meant to represent the exact moment of Imogen floating and losing control, with Otohan in her head pushing her to let go.

Goner - Twenty One Pilots

No other song in existence can express better the moment Imogen realize Laudna's gone for good.

Lanterns lit - Son Lux

True Faith - Ashley Johnson

Hurt for me - SYML

Carry you - Novo Amor

My love - Florence + The Machine

Lucky for you - Novo Amor, Gia Margaret

Killer + the sound - Phoebe Bridgers, Noah Gundersen

Should have known better - Sufjan Stevens

Ya'aburnee - Halsey

Show you a body - Haley Heyderickx

Imogen (even Laura) loses hope for a moment during the ritual they do for bringing Laudna back. The end of this song summarize this repeating a lyric over and over (you can clearly see through this playlist how much I love repetition).

× Back together ×

After Bells Hells confront Delilah at the Upside-down-Whitestone of Laudna’s nightmares, Pike manages to bring her back to life. Imogen and her are back hand by hand, and nothing can ever tear them apart again. Here’s where I think something awakes inside them, but they are far from realizing it.

I am the Antichrist to you - Kishi Bashi

Like an angel “fallen from the sky with grace”, Laudna’s back on Imogen’s arms.

Darling - Halsey

This love (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

Now that you're home - Manchester Orchestra

Lose you again - Manchester Orchestra

Halloween - Phoebe Bridgers

But not kiss - Fayer Webster

Like I said, something changes after this. What they’ve been through is not nothing. This song is here to show that something is born deep inside them, on their subconscious far from their reach yet

× Back to Gelvaan ×

Same as with the “You lied” chapter, I felt that this one was important even though I just have one song for it. It just matches perfectly. Imogen and Laudna visit Imogen’s hometown and the place where they met, searching for answers. Old wounds, some closure and an emotionally absent father.

My tears ricochet - Taylor Swift

× Tethered ×

In this chapter the platonic bond is peaking. It takes place right before The Unraveling, giving in to the “Can I kiss you?” phase and becoming romantic. They’ve been through hell and back just to stay together. This is my personal favorite bit of the playlist, everything is extremely intense but not yet explicit.

Tethered - Sleeping at last

I Will - Mitski

Anchor - Alli X

Don't let them see you cry - Manchester Orchestra

Crosses - José González

Quietly - Manchester Orchestra

Francesca - Hozier

Moon song - Phoebe Bridgers

Capital Karma - Manchester Orchestra

Everywhere, everything - Noah Kahan

In a week - Hozier

Monster - King Princess

j's lullaby (darlin' i'd wait for you) - Delaney Bailey

I will follow you into the dark - Miya Folick

I wouldn't ask you - Clairo

× Can I kiss you? ×

Finally, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The beggining of something new, the next and most logical step of this journey. The platonic becomes romantic and they get to truly explore the feelings they always had, and some novel ones. This is the moment I know less about, but I’ve used my imagination and my own headcanons.

Can I - Genevieve Stokes

I debated a lot whether to put this one at the end of the last chapter or the beginning of this one because I don't know how relevant Laudna's death is up to this point, and there's a huge reference to this in this song. I know for a fact that the Delilah’s plot is not over and things will change, but I couldn't resist the urge to put it in here, given the name of the song and its obvious connection to the chapter.

We'll never have sex - Leith Ross

Wading in Waist-high Water - Fleet Foxes

This is the last time - The National

All my ghosts - Lizzy McAlpine

Prière pour la nuit - Barbara Pravi, November Ultra

Chewing Cotton Wool - The Japanese House

Bandages - Rachel Bobbitt

This is it, this is The Ultimate Chronological Order Imodna Playlist. I don't know if I'm the first one doing this, probably not, I don't know if this has any value to anyone beyond myself, but I had a hell of a lot of fun. If only one person were to read this till the end I would be more than satisfied.

I’ll link here the playlist that started all of this. Massive respect for this person whoever it is, I took lots of the songs from here

Infinite thanks to anyone who gets here or saves my playlist, feel free to respond with any song that you think adds to the story!! Something tells me this isn't the end of my Imodna brainrot so,,,, more things could be on their way (a fanfic, perhaps?).

No idea how to end this so… long live Lesbian Southern Gothic Witches!!!

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