#this has way too much backstory in my head for such a short fic

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 ╳ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Two: Chivalry, Secrets & Hot Tubs (Week One)

[strangers to friends to lovers, age gap (56/mid 20s), forced proximity, no outbreak]

(Series) Content Warning: a very, very lonely joel miller. copious amounts of lusting, tension, joel is an excellent cook (food, alcohol, ect), hot tubs, impromptu snowball fights, awkward situations, deep talks and tragic backstories (specified within chapter warnings, deeply depraved smut/sexcapades and the inappropriate use of a dining table (also specified within chapter warnings), nicknames of endearment (no use of y/n)

quick note: i love all the reblogs/feedback and that you're all enjoying this as much as i am <3 and a huge thank you to @swiftispunk for being the best and looking over the first chapter for me, i am completely scatter-brained and forgot to mention this when i posted last monday, so tysm han and pls go check her out if you haven't! & follow my fic update blog (@pedgitos) and turn on post notifications so you don't miss any updates/posted fics!

Chapter Summary: Settling in is easier than you expect, but it does come with a fair share of challenges. A week filled with getting to know one another and some moments shared, your week doesn't end on the best note, leaving you with a choice.

Chapter Warnings: (8k) no outbreak, grumpy!Joel, domestic shenanigans, Joel being naturally assertive, cooking dinner together, reading is good at encouraging Joel, one hot tub & two stubborn individuals, also...one bed trope incoming

You wake up refreshed, like you’ve been born with a new reverence for life—alright, it might be a bit of an overstatement but it’s a wonder what a decent night of sleep could do and you’re feeling that this idea, playing house with a stranger—though it wasn’t much like that anymore—wasn’t the worst choice. And it reminds you of Joel, having left him in the chair last night, not wanting to burden him but you can only imagine the ache in his bones, his back, the discomfort of sleeping in a chair all night. 

You lay for a moment, bleary eyes adjusting to the early morning light. The morning sunshine wasn’t strong here, blanketed out by a stark white snow that covered the ground, it muted out most colors and left a cool, but bright blue that shined through the window above your bed. 

It was peaceful. No cars, no buzz of strong electricity outside your window, people and their idle conversation a few floors down from your apartment window. Not even a bird, really. But, there’s a distinct clearing of a throat from the living room that has you stirring in bed, rising lazily as you move with the same enthusiasm. 

It was a fresh week. The first official week of your vacation and you were going to start it off on a good note, clambering out of the bed and slipping on a pair of fluffy slippers to keep your toes from freezing off, not bothering to glance in a mirror on the way out—not that you needed to, it didn’t matter. It was early, you were still trying to shed the sleep from your body and you could care less. Plus, it wasn’t like an old t-shirt and sleep shorts was some foreign concept. 

When you peek around the corner, arms crossed tightly over your chest, you can spot Joel’s head tilting to one side, hand kneading at the taut muscle in the center of his back where his neck starts to begin and then you’re stuck watching as he stretches his arms out wide, working out all of those muscles. Every single one. And you’ve been silent for far too long.

Yeah.

Clearing your throat softly, you approach from behind and keep your distance, announcing your presence like you hadn’t been lingering for a minute or two already. 

“Morning,” You greet politely, resting your weight against the edge of the island, taking in full view of a freshly awoken Joel, eyes still puffy from sleep.

He looks very…gentle. Surprisingly, so. It softens his rigid demeanor significantly and you have to silently talk yourself out of glaring at him for too long, “I didn’t want to wake you—I’m so sorry.”

Jeez—you two are getting good at that. Apologizing, afraid to step on each other’s toes. 

“Not your fault,” Joel massages his bicep with the heavy pressure of his thumb, looking slightly pained as he rolls his shoulders, “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“Yeah, but I forced you to stay up, so—”

“You didn’t,” Joel quickly shuts you down, “I’m a grown man,” there’s a laugh hidden somewhere in there, but Joel continues, “don’t blame yourself for my own irresponsibility.”

It’s too early for this. You force on a fake smile, void of any real emotion at this hour, running on fumes and the smell of coffee. Speaking of—you sniff, eyes searching for the smell like a dog would track a scent, and Joel is already pointing in the direction you should be looking for when your eyes land on him.

“I already finished it off on my own,” Joel admits, pointedly taking another long sip before resting the mug back on the counter, “I can get another pot goin’ if you need it.”

There’s an inclination to let him, seeing him assert himself so easily and offer, but you shake your head, “I think I can handle a coffee maker,” You assure him, meandering around the kitchen in search of the coffee grounds, ignoring Joel’s tracking of your movements, waiting for a moment to interject and point you in the right direction. You spot them a moment before the urge comes with a soft aha!

“I needed to make a drive into town,” Joel tells you after you’ve gone through the steps of starting your own batch of coffee, “pick up some more food, figured you might wanna tag along.”

He’s not asking, only assuming. But to be fair, his assumption is right. 

“Sure,” You reply cooly, pouring yourself a hefty cup of coffee to sip on, letting your body take hold of the caffeine, “...how far away is the closest town?”

“Hour and a half.” Joel answers and you almost have the nerve to go wide-eyed on him, but then you remember just how deep into the woods you both were and that it was necessary.

Truthfully, there was a more concerning matter at hand.

“How’s your music taste?” 

Joel has the gall to look offended by the question.

“I’m leavin’ in thirty,” Joel ignores you, “don’t think I won’t hesitate to leave you here.”

Okay, noted: Joel wasn’t much the morning person you assumed he was.

-

Joel immediately realizes how little disregard you have for touching things that aren’t yours when you reach for the makeshift box of cassettes tapes placed in the backseat of his truck—the thing was old, riding on it’s last leg, but it was something Joel would cherish until it was unsalvageable, torn seats, dents, and all.

“Ain’t gonna find anything you like in there,” Joel assures you, “None of that pop stuff they’re always playin’ on the radio these days.”

The tables turn on him suddenly, seeing your face contort into a similar emotion that he gave you earlier. Bewilderment, shock, annoyance. You scoff at the comment.

“Says you,” You retort back, sifting through the different cassettes until you find Joel trading glances between you and the road in front of him, almost worried you might chuck his collection out of the passenger side window, “Joel, eyes on the road.”

Joel enjoys a lot of country, which isn’t a total disbelief. But, it wasn’t something you shared the sentiment on, flicking away a handful of country artists you’ve never listened to and reaching some of the good stuff—older rock music, some classic 80s, and late 90s.

You pluck one out carefully, prying open the cassette case with gentle hands before sliding the tape in, allowing the low hum of the music to fill the car. There’s a brief moment of respite before Joel smirks to himself, thumb tapping against the steering wheel.

“What were you saying?” You look at him pointedly, shifting slightly in your seat.

Joel looks away briefly, biting back a chuckle, “Fine—I’ll give you some credit. Foo Fighters aren’t terrible, but you skipped right over Bruce Springsteen, so…”

You scoff in disbelief, “You don’t get to criticize me with that atrocious collection of country music,” You stare down at the box in thought, eyes brimming with a mischievous that Joel knows of immediately, he’s seen it before. Not with you, but he knows, “you know, maybe I should just do you a favor and—”

You can barely get a hand on the window roller before Joel’s hand is gripped tight over the box, trapping your other hand in his grip as he warns, “I’m not above leavin’ you stranded in the cold.”

Your grin is nothing but evil and Joel finds that there’s something about you that infuriates him in a way that is hard to describe, not in anger or rage, but a level that he thinks he could match. A game of back and forth that he could play into—but you’re quickly relenting regardless of the threat and placing the box on the floorboard.

“Already tried that,” You retort, “didn’t work too well for you, did it?”

Fair is fair. Joel doesn’t poke the beast.

Instead, he takes the chance to ask a question.

“So, what exactly was your plan?” Joel asks curiously. “You comin’ out here with no car and all?”

You shrug nonchalantly, “Didn’t really have one, but I would have figured it out.”

Joel shakes his head dismissively, subtly resembling a face of disapproval.

“Hey, you don’t get to judge me, okay?” You don’t wait for a response, “You can have whatever assumptions you want about me, but don’t try and act like you know anything about me.”

It was another reminder. Joel didn’t know you, but you didn’t know him either. You reign your frustration in slightly, quick to defend yourself but aware that not everyone handles confrontation in the same way—if Joel was quick to anger, you didn’t want to stoke the fire. 

“I’m not,” Joel argues, his voice calmer than you expect, thinking back to the saddled rage his voice held the night you arrived, the threat that lingered with every word, “I’m not, alright?”

“Then stop that.” You comment, waving your hand in a vague motion toward his face, “Stop looking at me like—”

“Like what?” Joel interjects, eyes more pensive as he looks over at you.

“Like—like I need a fucking lecture on life or my choices,” You tell him, a hint of pleading in your voice, “I’m not some kid who doesn’t understand how life works.”

“You’re not a kid—” 

“Good, great that we established that,” You lean back in the seat more comfortably, arms crossed over your chest as you keep your eyes on the snow covered road, “now shut up so I can enjoy the music.”

Thankfully, Joel does just that.

-

Conversation falls flat until you arrive at the store in town a while later, Joel fetching a cart and pushing it your way before he stops you suddenly, hand over your own again—a touch that normally you would flinch away from, but he’s already done it once before and the thought doesn’t even cross your mind.

“I’ll catch up,” Joel tells you, “I forgot somethin’ in the car.”

You glance back briefly, knowing that the walk isn’t that far. 

“Oh, I can wait. It’s fine.”

Joel doesn’t say so much, but the look in his eyes goes a long way. A silent plea for you to go with it and don’t ask questions—again, you didn’t have any right to. You nod quickly and wander off toward the store as Joel trails away.

It’s then when your phone starts to vibrate away in your pocket, the sudden availability of service sending a barrage of notifications your way—you’re terrified to take a glimpse, but you do anyway. It should be no surprise to bear witness to the many, many texts from your mother wondering where you’d run off to, but there’s a tinge of guilt settling in your stomach.

You send her a quick, dismissive text to explain that you were fine and enjoying your time, but no elaboration on the things she wanted to know, because really, there was nothing to tell. And if you did decide to expel the details of your trip, mentioning that there was no boyfriend and it was just a stranger you met in the middle of the woods, well…that wouldn’t go over smoothly.

You also find a quick, heated moment of frustration to send an unpleasant text to the owners of the cabin, still polite enough that it wouldn’t warrant your ability to work things out—and you decide that calling would reach them faster, that somehow they’d magically find a way to appear and fix things, but there’s no answer. Only a voicemail that gave vague details about being away on their own vacation.

Just your luck.

Great. You sigh deeply, shoving the phone away into your pocket and returning to the land of obliviousness as you step inside the small market.

You fend for yourself for a while, throwing several random necessities in the cart as you go, enough sustenance to spread over four weeks and manage meals the entire trip, also a few more bottles of alcohol don’t hurt, looking for a few hard liquors that catch your eye and adding them to the growing supply of items. 

You’re lost in concentration of the ingredients on the back of a box dinner when Joel’s voice startles you back to the real world, eyes jumping up to look at him and he spots the panic immediately.

He nods slightly when you recognize him, “Sorry, keep forgettin’ how jumpy you are.”

“You’re just ridiculously fucking quiet,” You tell him, breathing out a long sigh as you toss the box into the cart, “everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Joel assures, doesn’t elaborate. Okay, cool. You weren’t going to pry, no matter how much your instincts told you to. He scans the cart casually, “Mind tradin’ off?”

You lend him the lead and follow, watching as he pointedly finds things, like he’s reading off a list in his head and moves around the store with a purpose. It’s only slightly annoying that you have to keep pace with him, but he’s suddenly speaking out to you as he’s glancing over something on the bottom shelf, “Are you allergic to anything?”

“No,” You responded, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “Why?”

“Grab some of that fresh rosemary,” Joel says, pointing out somewhere behind you and you whip around, eyes searching furiously and coming up empty, “—find it?”

You’re a little dumbfounded as you search the shelf of fresh herbs, Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching behind you as he reaches over your shoulder and plucks the exact thing he’s looking for with ease, “Hey, I had the right idea.” You defend, noticing how amused he looked at your befuddlement, “And you didn’t answer my question, either.”

“Well,” He tosses the small, plastic package in the cart, still tucked up at your side and you can feel his body heat, the solid wall of his chest against your shoulder, “don’t like the idea of accidentally killin’ you if I cook something you’re allergic to.”

“Well, what if I’m lying?” You challenge and Joel shoves you aside gently to grab the cart, hands on your shoulder as he shifts you away—and when had things gotten so…touchy?

Truthfully, Joel finds it easier than telling you, noting how quickly you quiet down when he asserts himself and does rather than asks. He knows if it made you uncomfortable you wouldn’t have had a problem speaking up immediately. 

“Look at me,” And there’s a deep timbre to his voice that has your chest sparking like a fire, eyes connecting with Joel’s for longer than you’ve ever allowed and it’s like he sees right through you, but he’s searching for something, “—you’re not lyin’.”

“But, if I was?”

Joel nearly leaves you in the dust, but turns to look at you with a subtle grin.

“Well, now I know you’re not.”

–

The ride back is easier, much easier—and Joel doesn’t fault you when you fall asleep halfway through, the heat of the car and the low hum of the music like a perfect mix as you curl in on yourself. Joel wakes you with a gentle hand on your shoulder when you finally make it back, allowing you a moment to shake the grogginess away with a word over his shoulder as he opens his door.

“Careful over that patch of ice on your side,” Joel instructs, “gettin’ colder so it’s slicker than it was a couple days ago.”

Careful. You roll your eyes carelessly, nudging the door open with your shoulder and hopping out, boots hitting the hard ground—your first mistake was underestimating the slickness and Joel’s warning, because the moment you take your first step it’s all downhill. Literally.

Luckily though, like a moment of divine faith as you pray that you don’t hit the ground, Joel is right at your back, arms slipping under your own as he plants his feet firmly and catches you. One arm crossing somewhere over your midsection and the other wrapping around your shoulder, a large palm holding you steady as he helps you back to your feet. You can feel him on the brink of making a comment, eyes looking down tenderly into your own—

“Don’t ask.” You warn him bitterly, face scrunched up like a kicked puppy, shrugging him off lazily. Joel doesn’t argue, making sure you’re steady before he allows you himself to fully let go.

Joel shakes his head subtly, a nuisance of his, and rounds the back of the truck to reach for the bagged groceries, “Fine, I’ll just say I told you so then. How’s that?”

Worse. 

-

Joel never asks for help, doesn’t even seem bothered when you stand there aimlessly, watching him stow away the groceries like he already had a game plan and you feel slightly useless, but it does give you a good opportunity to watch without any explicit reason or excuse. 

There’s an obvious purpose to Joel’s movement, clear that he’s used to doing a lot of heavy lifting and keeping up, probably prefers organization over clutter, and has a certain inclination to do things himself, always. And you can’t help the way your gaze clings to his face, noticing something a little off—not good or bad, just slightly different. You hadn’t noticed it this morning, but with the extended amount of time your eyes lingered on him, you realize he’s cleaned up a bit, shaved his beard down to near stubble, a subtle difference…but you notice.

You’re not sure how long you’re stuck in this state, arms resting against the counter as you stood there, practically useless, thinking about what Joel looks like on a regular basis, when he isn’t cooped up in a cabin in the dead of winter. You want to see that side of him, crave it. It’s an insane thought that doesn’t make sense, eyes widening suddenly at the realization of the thought you’re having—

“You still with me?” Joel’s voice calls out in the haze, muffled slightly as you come back into focus, eyes landing on him. “Think I lost you there for a minute.”

“Oh—no. I mean, yeah. I’m still a little tired, I guess.” It’s a bold face lie, but Joel seems to believe you. “Why?”

“I was sayin’ I need to go chop up some wood for the fireplace,” He explains again, “then you went all wide eyed…”

“Oh, okay,” You nod jerkily, “...do you need help?”

Joel immediately declines. No surprise there.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Joel suggests, “I can manage just fine on my own.”

Sleep sounds great, but it doesn’t happen. 

You try—you do, but the splitting of wood, the strong crack of the axe catching the wood outside of your bedroom window, it isn’t exactly soothing to the ears. So, you find yourself wandering into the kitchen, peeking between the curtains with a wild curiosity that reminds you of when you were younger and trying to catch a peek of the cute boy next door, a bashfulness replaced with a deep, insatiable hunger that you didn’t know existed until this moment. 

Joel was attractive, you could easily admit that. But, seeing him now, it’s a done deal. There was a deep pit of despair in your mind and you were stuck at the bottom with no way out.

It’s almost abysmal how easy he makes it look, the axe he’d brandish as his weapon of choice against you swung over his shoulders, the unfortunate lack of skin stretching over taut muscles as he went through the motions, covered up by thick layers. But, you get the idea. 

There’s a slight pout forming on your face before you catch yourself.

He slices full power through the wood like it was eager to give way to him. You also find that his face tugs up in a scowl after every swing of the axe, a soft sigh of exerted energy as he tosses the logs to the side and starts up again. You could watch for hours. But, you settle for the few more minutes he spends collecting the wood before you’re scrambling back into your bedroom like you had been there the entire time.

Unfortunately, Joel isn’t oblivious. Still, he spares you the embarrassment. 

There was no reason for him to entertain whatever he thought might be going on. He couldn’t.

-

The next few days are uneventful, though that was to be expected. It allows you time to really settle in, usually curled up on the couch watching the fire crackle away until you thought your eyes might melt away, or reading a book that Joel always seemed to be trying to catch a peek at. There was an innocent curiosity there that you could appreciate.

You also learned that Joel only took his coffee one way, offering up your services to refill his cup while you refilled your own, sugar lingering over the rim and he’s quickly pushing away the small container of crystalized goodness. 

“Joel, come on–” You grimace but relent, placing the cylinder of sugar on the counter.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” Is all he offers, almost challenging you to take a sip.

You accept, obviously. But, it isn’t without consequence.

The moment the bitterness hits your tongue you’re scrambling away, forcing the mug into Joel’s waiting hands and spitting out whatever putrid liquid remained in your mouth in the sink.

It’s the first time Joel actually laughs, a full on chuckle that isn’t very receptive on your end.

Joel apologizes with dinner that night, a gesture that wasn’t expected or needed, still you’re thankful nonetheless. But, it offers you the realization of just how good a cook Joel can be.

Steaks grilled to a perfection that only came with repetitive practice and learned techniques, vegetables sautéed and seasoned to an enjoyable level, and a side of pasta that if Joel told you he made from scratch, you would’ve believed wholeheartedly if you hadn’t seen him dump the entire box of pre-made pasta into a pot of boiling water.

You’re halfway through dinner, chewing thoughtfully on a bite when you finally break the long, but comfortable silence that had blanketed over you both.

“So, Joel,” There’s a tone to his name that catches his attention, eyes flicking up to meet yours mid-bite, “what do you do for work?”

At this point, your nosey tendencies take hold.

There’s a scrunch to Joel’s nose before he speaks, almost as if he considered feeding you a lie alongside the beautiful meal he’d made. He settles for a simple answer.

“Uh, carpentry.” Joel tells you after a long pause, “I—build stuff for people, businesses sometimes.”

That explains some of his sturdiness, his practiced strength that came from, probably, years of hard constructive work and building. It also explains why he’s also working away at his hands, rubbing out the stiff joints and knuckles.

“I know what carpentry is, Joel.” You deadpan, but there’s a playfulness lingering in your voice. 

You assume he’s used to explaining himself often, which is why he forces it on you so easily.

“And you?” Joel asks suddenly, “College? You’re about that age, right?”

You snort softly at the tone he offers, slightly patronizing, but all in good fun.

“I’m taking a semester off,” You answer indifferently, remembering how disappointed your parents had been about the ordeal, but you were suffocating, “I’m not sure what I want to do anymore.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Joel assures, “can’t fault you either. Never went to college so I don’t have an opinion on it.”

There’s no judgment on your end, but for the sake of conversation, you bite.

“Any reason?” You ask curiously, wondering if you'd receive the similar sentiment that it’s all just bullshit.

“Didn’t have the money,” Joel answers simply, “didn’t have the grades, either. I thought I could start my own business out of carpentry, but…”

But…you lean into the table slightly, hanging on his words.

“You need a lot of money for that,” Joel finishes, “and, I mean, I’m livin’ comfortable now, but that idea took a lot of money that I didn’t and still don’t have.”

“So, you waste it on month long vacations in the middle of the woods,” You surmise humorously, nodding in approval, “can’t say I blame you, either.”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, chewing around a bite as he speaks, “Your turn.”

Right. An eye for eye. A question for a question. He's watching you expectantly, waiting for you to give a response to the same question you asked him. 

“Oh—I work out of this bookstore in downtown Austin.” You admit, finishing up the last few bites of your food, scraping the plate nearly clean. “It pays the bills and then some. I like it.”

There’s no compliment needed for the food, all the evidence of it gone. But, you feel the need to appreciate it anyways.

“Thanks for this, Joel.” You speak again, softer this time. 

“It’s no big deal, darlin’.” Joel assures you, holding up his hands in a feeble defense at the compliment, clearly something he doesn’t welcome easily. “Just food.”

“It’s been...months,” You tell him, “since I’ve had any type of home-cooked meal. Take the damn thank you, Joel.” 

He smirks at that, seeing the threatening fork raise before you utter those final words.

“You’re welcome.”

And he means it.

–

You force Joel to stay seated while you clean, knowing it was the least you could do after he spent so much time preparing and cooking dinner. There’s a solid few minutes of arguing before you have to physically shove Joel back into his chair despite his protests, hands pressed into his shoulders as you threateningly speak down to him.

 “If you move, I’m locking your ass out in the cold.”

Joel wouldn’t mind, but you’re silently hoping that he’ll just listen.

After all is done, tossing the damp washcloth to the side, you sigh with a newfound relaxation.

There’s only one thing that might top off this night, making it almost the first perfect day here.

“That’s it, I’m getting in the hot tub,” You decide, squeezing tenderly at the tense muscles of your neck, thankful that the owners had a small alcove connected to the cabin that allowed for you to enjoy the hot tub from the safety of the cold, “join me?”

You’re not sure what inclines you to ask so openly, but you don’t second guess it.

“While I appreciate the offer,” Joel starts, “I don’t think I brought the proper…attire.”

He’s still seated where you had him planted and it makes you laugh softly at the idea that he was taking it seriously, which—yeah, you did threaten the possibility of hypothermia on him. 

“Fine,” You relent, rounding the corner of the island closest to him as you quickly call out over your shoulder, “but, there’s still a couple of chairs in there if you need the company.”

He didn’t need just anyone’s either and didn’t need, so much as wanted.

He wanted your company.

A while later, you’re already waist deep in the hot tub, figure hugging white bikini tied back securely, arms resting against the side furthest from the door as you press your chin against your forearms and staring out the wall of vast windows that line the room, allowing a view of the snow storm outside, coming down in a flurry that seemed to only be gaining in strength—and Joel, well, he’s still sitting in that stupid chair.

He’s allowed himself too much time in his own head, thinking over the events of the past few days. His call to Sarah was pleasant, a much needed moment of peace when he hears his daughter’s bright, hyper voice on the other end. When he doesn’t have her for the holidays, it’s hard. The calls are sparse, the communication is clipped, and it feels like he’s being forced away from her, knowing that she’s growing older every day. That he is growing older.

He’s allowed a lot of his life to slip away, when he wasn’t working to pay bills and put food on the table he was usually drinking, bar-hopping with Tommy at his old age to hide the pain he felt everyday, mentally and physically. There’s a problem brewing under his skin, using the company of his brother and alcohol to cope with loss he feels so viscerally everyday. The life he could’ve had.

He feels pitiful, miserable—only took this damn trip to get out of town by the suggestion of Tommy, away from all distractions, hoping for a refresh to clear his head. But instead, he met you.

He had no clue what the fuck to do anymore.

Joel’s never processed emotions well, feelings or anything thereof. 

But, here he was, lusting after you. 

He knows it’s the excitement, the taboo idea around sharing something special with a stranger. Someone who knows nothing about you, someone who doesn’t have the leverage to judge. Someone who doesn’t have to know about all the wrongs he’s committed and bad choices he’s made. 

You’re not privy to the fucked up version of Joel that belongs in his hometown, cooped up in his childhood home that he inherited from his parents, filled with too many now painful memories that he’d made with Sarah when she was younger—when he still had her.

He can’t help the way his mind races every single second of the day, constantly worrying, always trying to busy himself with something, anything to keep that lingering cloud of anxiety away. But, when he thinks about you, even something so mundane as the way you squint to get a closer look at a paragraph of the book you’ve probably read a thousand times, his mind goes quiet. 

Because, frankly, he’s fascinated by the idea of you. That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t actually real. He’s halfway leaning toward the idea that he’s had a full mental break and this is all an illusion he’s cooked up in his head, but then he reminds himself that you are just as full a human as himself. There is a reason for this, even if there had to be some other force at play. 

Maybe you needed this as badly as he did.

A fresh start, no judgment.

And that’s why he decides to follow you, the moment he catches a glimpse of you as you turn the corner to take the steps down into the room that connected to the kitchen, a full glimpse of skin and body that he’s tried to keep his mind off of, despite how openly you stare at him.

There has to be something there. He can’t have imagined all of this.

You feel his presence when the creak of wood gives him away, one hand shoved into his front pocket and his other arm helping him stay upright as he leaned against the doorframe. The steam billows and settles like a cloud over the bubbling hot tub but does nothing to hide how see-through your bathing top is and the slick slope of your breasts, his eyes trailing down toward the small bow that was sewn to the midpoint of your top and know he’s staring at your chest, very openly—Joel’s immediately regretting his choice.

Your eyes follow his but you dare not speak, afraid to startle him.

Now who was the jumpy one?

“Change your mind?” You ask curiously, shimming the expanse of the hot tub as you grab onto the opposite ledge, resuming your previous position, closer to Joel now. If you reached out you could touch the edge of his flannel and soak the trim, maybe even pull him closer, but you resist the urge. “It feels amazing. I’m serious.”

It wasn’t a ploy to get him in, but it wouldn’t hurt. He doesn’t respond, eyes staring at the soft wave of the water as it hits your side, his posture rigid. 

Maybe you’d broken him.

“Joel,” You call out with a soft nudge to his thigh, as far as you could reach with your fingertips, cutting into his line of sight, offering a friendly smile, “just strip down to your underwear and get in.”

“I don’t think—”

Oh, for christ sake. 

“You wouldn’t have come over here if you weren’t at least thinking about enjoying the benefits of the hot tub,” You argue, “so stop being grumpy and strip. I won’t even look.”

It shouldn’t sound as gritty as it does, a playful venom in your tone as you sink back slightly.

It makes Joel feel like he’s back in high school, flirting with who would eventually be his ex-wife and mother of his daughter, but there’s an assertiveness that intrigues Joel, your willingness to put yourself out there without fear. Take a leap, a jump, and hope that someone will catch you. 

Joel caught you, he just needed someone to catch him.

You spot his fidgeting, the wheels and cogs in his mind turning and he just needs that shove.

Just enough.

You rise over the edge, palms pressed flat to bear your weight and squeeze your breasts together, belly button nearly level with the water as you’re close enough to see the fine details of his face, giving him a look that Joel couldn’t deny.

“Get. In.” You stress the words, making direct eye contact. “You can thank me later.”

Finally, he moves. 

You sink back slightly into the pool and wade the water until you hit a corner, watching briefly as Joel works away at the buttons on his flannel, quiet air filling with an unspoken tension. You try to busy yourself with the view outside, something that didn’t require you to look in the vicinity of Joel for a second, knowing that the moment felt more intimate than it needed to. But, it doesn’t stop that sparse glances over your shoulder to check on him, now barefoot and pulling his shirt over his shoulders, the fabric pulling and obscuring your view of his face and his view of you, staring so starkly at him in that moment.

It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. The freckles that speckle his shoulders, nearly invisible from this distance because of his tanned shoulders and the unevenness of the tan as it continues down his arm, varying in shades of intensity, undoubtedly from hours of working in the sun. There’s also a smaller patch of hair on his chest that with his short cropped beard, seems to be trimmed down too. His strong build doesn’t throw you off, though—solid muscle that flexed across his stomach as he yanked his shirt a little harder to get it over his head fully, not built in a way that rippled down his abdomen, but showed a sturdiness to his figure that had your body humming to a tune that reached down to your core, thighs squeezing together under the water. 

Joel passes the shirt off into a waiting arm chair, clothes slowly piling on the cushion alongside your towel and he pops the button on his jeans, still unaware of your…innocent observation. But, the moment the jeans stretch over his thighs you swallow a little too hard and you’re immediately averting your eyes when he looks up briefly. 

Like you’d been caught. 

Joel clears his throat like a warning, as if he hadn’t felt your eyes on him the entire time, and swings a leg over carefully, a view of the black briefs that molded to his skin perfectly and hugged his backside in a way that feels criminally illegal…and you’re staring again.

He hisses at the sudden change in temperate, but inch by inch he lowers and adjusts, eventually huffing out a low groan, eyes closed, when he finally settles on the seat inside of the tub.

Suddenly, this felt like a terrible idea.

“See?” You break the revered silence for him, “Worth it?”

“Almost forgot how you just bullied me in here.” He jokes—full on fuckin’ jokes before cracking an eye open to catch your reaction, a subtle look of disbelief on your face. “I’m kidding, darlin'.”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the seat under the water and you smile, a half-hearted roll of your eyes thrown his way before you relax too, for a moment.

“This is so weird,” You speak softly, after a while, and Joel looks slightly puzzled as he opens his eyes fully now, perking up slightly as he adjusts himself, chest rising over the water slightly, his arms hanging over the ledge with his fingers gripping the ceramic—and you’re gaze is drifting again, mostly to his hands, but you mask it as you look away briefly, down the hall or out the window. Literally anywhere but Joel, “it’s just—not how I expected things to go.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Joel replies with an underlying amusement.

As the quiet settles, slowly drifting closer to one side, where you originally were when Joel came searching for you—voluntarily, he lingered and waited, waited for the push you gave him—Joel joined alongside you, burrowing himself in the closet corner nook and enjoying the view in silence.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Joel comments, “everything alright?”

Everything was fine and you couldn’t make complete sense out of it. The ability to be so inherently comfortable with someone you’ve only known for a little under a week, the attraction you felt despite your own rational thinking telling you otherwise, the urge to connect openly and without fear of judgment. It terrifies you.

“Can I ask you a question?” You ask quietly, “Like…a real question, not those superficial ones that we’ve thrown at each other.”

Joel doesn’t like the sound of it, but there’s also the inclination that he could feed you a total lie and you wouldn’t have any idea otherwise.

He nods, fist resting against his cheek as he turns to look at you and suddenly the pressure is on, your heart racing in your chest at his sudden, full attention.

“Earlier…you said you forgot somethin’ in the car,” Joel’s fist clenches unknowingly under the water, an instinct to bury his reaction, “I know it isn’t my business, but I was just curious what is was.”

Joel, against every fiber in his being that tells him to deflect, gives you a straight answer. It’s almost startling how easily it comes out, like he’s lifting a weight off his chest that he’s carried for years.

“I had to make a call,” Joel admits, “to uh—my daughter, she’s back home with her mom.”

Your brow pulls together in confusion, “Wait, are you married?”

Joel somehow amidst the heaviness of admitting his truth still laughs, quick to defend himself from your next question.

“Oh, not at all. Never, actually.” Joel responds, “We…I never married her mom, it was obvious pretty quickly we weren’t going to work well together.”

The answer is simpler than you expect, different too. Part of you wondered if he was pleading his own case to the owners and was just as unsuccessful as you, but this is much more vulnerable.

And despite your ability to lie, and his own, neither of you can force it.

You don’t pry further, feeling like it may push things too far. Too personal.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Do I scare you?” Joel asks suddenly, almost like he’s been anticipating the moment too.

You’re almost sure the expression you return makes you look insane, feeling the implication that he might, that he thinks—it’s so far left field that it throws you off.

“No—no,” You quickly reject any lingering doubt he has, “I mean…the first night, maybe. But, now…no.”

“Oh.” It’s all Joel can muster, unsure of why he was expecting a different answer. That you would say yes and whatever shroud of thought he had about this moment you were sharing was only out of fear, that you were just trying to be polite. 

“Look, I get jumpy because you sneak up on me,” You answer, “and you have this…presence about you,” Okay, not the best wording, “not scary or anything, just…strong.” Big, like a wall. Like, if anyone were to ever approach you wrongly, Joel would attack without question. And maybe the fact that he would do that should scare you, but instead, it entices you.

Joel sits with the implication, burdened by his own mind. 

You can see him lost in thought, speaking with a comforting surety, “Thank you…for telling me.”

The truth. Thank you for telling me the truth.

The next stretch of time, what feels like an hour, is spent in a comforting silence. You think Joel is nearly falling asleep but then he moves, make a comment about how the snow won’t let up and eventually you’re forcing yourself out of the hot tub, reaching over the side to snatch your towel and sending all of Joel’s clothes descending to the floor in the process and as if you had a death wish on Joel, your ass pops up at an angle that is physically impossible to look away from.

Joel is a gentleman, he swears. He was raised to respect and care and always put women first, but there’s a split second where he can’t pull his eyes away, feels like he’s just caught a glimpse of something he shouldn’t have, but then you’re turning your head over your shoulder and you definitely catch him—you could ruin the moment and say something or you could ignore it.

Fortunately, you save Joel some embarrassment, covering it with a sly smile as you apologize for dropping his clothes and take the final step out and wrap the towel around your body.

“Shit,” You quickly realize that in the midst of your pushing Joel to join you that he didn’t have a towel, “stay here—I’ll go grab you a towel.”

Joel wasn’t eager to move anyways, admittedly. Sporting half a hard-on under the water, he wouldn’t subject himself to the scrutiny of your gaze or what implications it would make, thinking every horrible possible thought to will it away—luckily your timing is perfect. 

You quickly gather his dropped clothes and pile them in the chair as you toss the towel his way, ignoring any and all chances to glimpse at his wet body, back turned as you quickly excuse yourself away in fear of the idea that you might say something unforgettably stupid.

-

The walk to your separate bedroom is quick, swift, like a desperately needed escape. 

But, as fate would have it, the moment you open the door and wretch the towel away from your body there’s a loud pop! to your left and a spark on the outside that has you halfway on the floor and slamming into the wall out of both shock and an attempt to shield yourself from whatever unseen force was at play, yelping out loud in the process.

From an outside perspective, you can understand why Joel doesn’t hesitate to come running.

He runs straight into your back, bare chest pressed against your know bare shoulders and leaving you half-dressed in front of him, scared out of your wits and willing to grab onto whatever was nearby to keep you upright—fortunately, Joel’s arm is the perfect anchor as your hand wraps around his wrist and squeezes.

“What the hell?” Joel inquires, slightly out of breath as he searches your face for any signs of injury, “What happened?”

You both look at the culprit—the heated window unit that was no longer expelling heat, and while the cabin was still heated, it didn’t reach the bedrooms well enough that you weren’t shivering without some type of additional help. You sigh in frustration, eyes turning up towards the ceiling as you feel no shame, too frustrated to care as you lean into Joel’s chest.

“Shit.” It’s all Joel offers as a solution, not that you were expecting one. But, still, it would be nice.

“Yeah, shit.” You echo, pushing away from him suddenly to gather your damp towel and a change of clothes, padding your bare feet toward the living room, but Joel is grabbing your wrist before you get too far from him.

“Hey, woah,” He starts in a calmer tone, “you can take my room—I’ll drive into town tomorrow and see if I can get ahold of the owners, we’ll figure something out.”

“I already tried calling them,” You admit, “Earlier. Straight to voicemail and something tells me they won’t be answering their phones until after the holidays.”

Pulling away again, you continue your way toward the living room and gather a few pillows and blankets, tossing them on the larger couch beside the fireplace. Joel doesn’t seem to entertain the idea, following on your heels as he gathers each item you throw in that direction and you finally reach a point of full, unrestrained frustration. 

“Joel, cut the shit.”

“Take the room,” He offers as a counter, “I can sleep on the couch.”

With his back? Not a chance. But, he offers anyway.

“Fuck off,” You chuckle bitterly, “I’m not forcing you out of the bedroom.”

“Then it looks like we’re sharin’ the living room.”

You close your eyes, toss the blanket aside and breathe, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to not completely lose it on the man standing opposite of you.

Chivalry be damned, Joel wasn’t giving in.

Fine, two could play at that game.

“I’ll take the bed.” You quickly agree, but there’s a lingering ultimatum.

Joel waits, sees the thought brewing behind your pensive eyes.

“But, so will you.”

“Now—”

“No,” You interject, putting your figurative foot down, suddenly vividly reminded of your vulnerability as you stood there, still slightly damp and in a swimsuit that did nothing to cover your body—it was the reason Joel’s eyes were so pointedly stuck on your face, never lingering elsewhere, “either we both sleep in here on the couch or we share the bed.”

Joel’s hands shift to his hips, towel tight around his waist and you’re too annoyed to admire the way his muscles tense and flex with the movement, the underlying thickening desire settling beneath the surface.

You match his stance, daring him to challenge you.

A small part of you wants him too.

—

“Anyone ever told you you’re damn stubborn?” Joel asks, trailing behind you as you enter his bedroom, a clone of your own but with a small bathroom attached.

“All the time.” You answer truthfully. “I’m going to shower and sleep—no funny business.”

Meaning if Joel did sneak away into the living room to offer up the full amenities of his own room, he would feel your wrath tenfold.

Joel resigns to the idea and gathers his own pair of fresh clothes before disappearing into the bathroom down the hall, leaving you both to a moment of levity.

There’s no anticipation to the arrangement—but the idea is there, burrowing into the back of your mind. 

You’re sleeping with a stranger…someone you knew little to nothing about, but it was your choice. And you trusted your gut. 

Joel was safe, he was good. 

You relax under the spray of hot water, a different heat to the one you enjoyed just a while ago, the type that allowed your thoughts to roam, and you laugh softly at the sight of Joel’s shower supplies, knowing he was stuck with whatever you brought—it wasn’t something you thought about in the moment, but there’s a brief realization that he was sharing a moment similar to your own, scowling at the sight of your fruity scented body wash that you left on the shelf there. It wasn’t a huge deal, Joel wouldn’t fuss over it. 

But, it also lends your mind to roam more.

As if his bare chest wasn’t already at the forefront, and his eyes as they had stared at you so unabashed until the moment he was caught, all innocent looks with deeper intentions that invaded your mind like a plague.

You were so fucking frustrated—annoyed with him, the state of your life, this stupid vacation. With the suds gone and the water drowning out the silence you allow yourself one—just one moment of selfishness...

And as if the house was the biggest tattletale of them all, the floor creaks on the other side of the door.

“Joel?” You call out curiously, as if an intruder in the middle of nowhere was even likely.

There’s several seconds of silence before Joel finally answers.

“Yeah?”

“Your body wash sucks.” You goad lightly, hoping to ease the earlier frustration that had grown between you both, and while you can’t see him, you can hear his laughter on the other side of the door.

“Can’t say yours is any better.”

You smile to yourself, the way he responds with fondness that he tries to hide.

When you finish up and dress, peeking your head out before you move to open the door fully, Joel is already on his side, turned away. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be bothered. The small blanket of division rolled and wedged in the center of the bed like a barrier, a warning. 

Keep your distance and you both may manage to survive the rest of this vacation.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, i love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedrostories #MMITW #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x fem!reader #my writing #let's just pretend ellie isn't in that gif lmao

[cacoetheswriting]

for reasons unknown

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 5.3k warnings: 18+ [mature themes & adult language, minors dni !]: enemies? to lovers, kinda angsty, borderline emotional cheating (reader has a bf for like the first half), jealousy, mutual pining, emotional hurt / comfort, talk of self-doubt / insecurities, use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, pretty girl), masturbation (male, nothing graphic), allusions to sex (again, nothing graphic), a little physical violence (reader slaps someone), mentions of food & drink consumption - unedited - pls let me know if i missed anything! summary: secrets — and feelings — come to light when you're paired up with a certain metalhead for a history projects.

a/n: so this was supposed to be a full blown smut fic but when i started writing, i was like 4k in of just backstory so i might do a short part 2 that's just smut idk, lemme know if you'd like that!

edit: part two

-

If someone asked him a few weeks ago whether he would consider you a friend, he would have laughed in their face.

A friend? What a joke. Being your friend, even thinking of you as such, was so far removed from the realm of reality. It was possibly Eddie Munson’s worst nightmare.

You made his blood boil.

In Eddie’s eyes, you never experienced hardships. How could you? In your perfect house, with your perfect family, surrounded by your perfect friends, a perfect boyfriend attached to you at the hip. 

Everything was fucking perfect.

In Eddie’s eyes, what you represented, and what you thought of life, couldn’t have been further from the truth. In Eddie’s eyes, you were delusional, always seeing the positives in things. Nothing was ever wrong and everyone always deserved a second chance, or whatever. 

People like you were simply not made to be friends with people like him.

“You’re staring again,” Gareth muttered.

“She annoys me,” Eddie replied, not averting his gaze.

“Right… okay.”

That was a few weeks ago. Hate, or at least what he believed to be hate. 

Today however, well, today, at this moment in time, you were parading around his bedroom wearing nothing but one of his raggedy t-shirts.

(Everything was fucking perfect).

“Eddie—”, Jesus Christ, the way his name falls off your lips is intoxicating, “— where did you put my skirt? I can’t find it anywhere.”

The metalhead chuckles. He slides off the bed and extends one arm above your head to reach for the garment in question.

“I guess I was a little too eager earlier,” he teases handing the item back to you, “I promise to take it off with more care next time.”

“Trust me,” you begin, fingers brushing against his as you take the skirt from his grasp, “I like you eager.”

Eddie’s eyes go dark, although on the inside he’s grinning like an idiot at your little admission. His hands find your waist and he holds you in place as you incline towards him, pressing your lips against his.

There was something about Eddie Munson that always drove you crazy. 

It crept up on you, this weird feeling you only ever experienced when you were around the doe-eyed teen. Even before being whatever it was the two of you currently were, Eddie stirred something inside of you that you couldn’t explain no matter how hard you tried.  

Obviously, it was no secret that — until recently — Eddie didn’t like you very much. The entire school knew how Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson held some odd unspoken grudge against you. 

Which is why when a few weeks ago he was assigned as your partner for a history project, you were excited for the opportunity to find out why, and that was something you simply couldn’t pass up.

The first time you met up alone with the metalhead to work on the presentation, you decided to do so on mutual ground and the local diner was always quiet on a Monday evening.

Eddie was sitting across from you at one of the booths near the far end of the locale. Here the two of you were hidden from the rest of Hawkins, allowing for focus on the project as well as some privacy. 

You ordered a strawberry milkshake and a portion of fries. Eddie ordered a burger and a large Coca-Cola.

“I guess we should decide on our presentation topic,” you eventually break the ten minute silence and place a notebook on the table between you.

He nods but doesn’t say anything, so you continue. “Did you find any of the areas we covered in class interesting? ‘Cause we can focus on that, I guess.”

He stays silent. 

Instead of replying, he reaches for the inside pocket of his leather jacket and takes out a crumpled piece of paper. You arch a brow but any of the questions that begin formulating in your mind are answered when he flattens the item on top of your notebook. 

It’s a drawing of Hades.

At first you’re slightly confused as to the point of him showing you this. Then you’re intrigued because you never knew Eddie could draw and quickly you find yourself wondering if he’s hiding any more talents from the world.

“I know we didn’t cover Greek mythology,” he finally says, “but the assignment doesn’t really specify we need to focus our presentation on what we did in class.”

When you don’t immediately reply, gaze still focused on the drawing in front of you, Eddie thinks he shouldn’t have said anything. Truthfully, at that moment, he couldn’t explain why he brought it up or even showed you the picture in the first place.

He’s about to snatch it back, tell you to forget about the whole thing, but within a split second your hand is on his and he freezes.

“Eddie, this is like really fucking good,” you state and look up at him.

The metalhead smirks because he thinks you’re kidding, and also because he realises he’s never heard you swear before.

“I’m serious, the detailing is out of this world. I can’t believe you drew this.”

Wait, you’re not kidding?

Eddie clears his throat. “It’s nothing special, just a little something I doodled earlier during maths.”

“You did this in one sitting?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit, that’s amazing.”

The pure awe detectable in the sound of your voice causes an odd sensation to rush through him. Oh, fuck.

He tries to remember where he is. He tries to remember the situation, the reason why he’s here. He tries to remember this isn’t a conversation with a friend. He tries to remember that he hates you.

He hates you.

And so Eddie grabs the drawing and puts it back where he took it from.

“Are we decided on a concept then?”

You’re slightly taken aback by the sudden change in his tone but don’t question it, after all, you weren’t here to befriend the guy. Not really.

“We’re decided,” you state and scribble a loose topic down before showing it to him. ‘Misconceptions Surrounding the Greek God of the Dead.’

Eddie reads what you wrote aloud and a modest smile circles his lips. “I like it.”

(He hates you.)

By the time a waiter brings over your order, the two of you have the bones of your presentations outlined and Eddie finds himself thinking how surprisingly easy it is to work with you. You’re not as ditsy as he always thought.

“What if we did a little segway to Cerberus here?”, you propose and reach for your milkshake.

He nods and is about to add his own five cents but as he lifts his gaze from the notebook, his brain is suddenly only focused on one thing.

Your lips are wrapped perfectly around the straw, your cheeks are slightly hollowed as you sip on the drink slowly.

Jesus Christ, he thinks and straightens in his spot, this feeling was certainly new.

Once again, he tries to remember how he’s not your biggest fan but this time repeating the phrase in his head doesn’t help. If anything, it makes the whole situation a tad… harder, (because the concept of a hate-fuck is realistly not too far out of reach).

When the image pops up in his head, he hates you and then he hates himself. 

There is no way you would ever go that far with him. This was just a stupid project partnership, plus you had a boyfriend. He was Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson and you, next to Chrissy Cunningham, were Hawkins royalty.

But his mind is racing with thoughts he’s never had towards you and there is a small part of him wanting — hoping. 

You pretend you don’t feel him staring at you. You pretend you can’t see from the corner of your eye how his hand travels to his lap. Mostly though, you pretend you don’t feel the butterflies in your stomach as his gaze burns into your skin.

And you go on pretending the rest of the evening, pretending nothing is out of the ordinary even though that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

The second, third, and fourth time you meet up with Eddie it’s still at the diner.

Mutual ground helps you both focus on the presentation, albeit with every meeting it gets tougher to do so and by day four, only the first twenty minutes are spent on the project. For the remainder of your time with the metalhead, you’re playing ‘20 Questions’ — surprisingly, Eddie’s idea.

You’re learning a lot about him and he’s running out of reasons to hate you.

He’s actually having a good time, something he wasn’t ready to admit out loud just yet, until one of the excuses he always uses against you struts into the diner.

“I’ve come to save you,” the jock states while plopping down next to you.

You shoot Eddie an apologetic glance before turning to address your boyfriend. “I don’t need you to save me, baby.”

(The moniker makes Eddie grimace).

“I’m doing just fine,” you reassure and place a hand on your boyfriend's chest.

He ignores you and leans in to whisper, “I wish you had let me take your place. Don’t like you spending so much time alone with Munson.”

(As if Eddie couldn’t hear every single word.)

“Why? Eddie is great.”

The jock rolls his eyes at your statement and persists with his own agenda. “Come home with me.”

“Baby, we still have a lot—.”

“Tomorrow is another day,” your boyfriend interrupts and shifts in his spot to look at Eddie, “You don’t mind if we leave now, right?”

The metalhead clenches his jaw momentarily. He’s back to hating you because cutting your time together short to leave with your boyfriend shouldn’t be bothering him this much.

“Right,” Eddie sputters before taking a peek at you. He bites down on the inside of his cheek because the disappointed look gracing your features is unmissable.

The next day, Eddie catches you in between class periods and suggests meeting up in the woods at the back of school as opposed to the diner.

He had a whole list of arguments ‘why’ planned out, none of them specifically mentioning that you wouldn’t be bothered there but realistically that was his priority. 

Although, you don’t seem to care. You agree straight away.

There was a picnic table not too deep in where Eddie usually conducted business. By the time you arrive he’s already there, scribbling something on the inside of his history book. When he hears you approach, he shuts the item and focuses his attention on you.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” you declare faintly while making yourself comfortable across from him.

Eddie waves his hand in front of his face as if it didn’t matter. “Don’t worry about it. If I had a girlfriend as pretty as you, I too would be concerned if she hung out with some creepy guy every afternoon.”

Did he just…? Oh, fuck. He did. He called you pretty.

It wasn’t intentional. It was true, yeah, but he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Shit. All he can do now is hope that you didn’t pick up on it.

“Eddie Munson,” you begin and he’s holding his breath, “Hawkins is full of creepy guys but you are definitely not one of them.”

He smiles at your words, relieved, and you return the expression.

“Way to boost my ego,” he retorts.

You shrug. “I gotta keep you sweet if I want you to do most of the project,” you tease and Eddie smirks.

Time flies and before either of you know it, evening turns to night. 

The darkness brought with it a sense of comfort. Or perhaps the comfort was from Eddie who was now sitting next to you, his jacket draped over your shoulders. 

He was resting one arm on the picnic table and holding a lighter, the small flame being the only source of gleam in your current surroundings.

Going home at this hour was definitely the responsible option, but you were both reluctant to bring it up. Instead, Eddie is back to doodling in his history book while you scribble random talking points for your presentation.

“Here,” Eddie breaks what was an amicable silence by ripping out the page he was working on and handing it to you, “For you.”

You drop your pen and reach for the piece of paper in his hand. Eddie scoots a tiny bit closer to you, his shoulder brushing against yours in the process, and carefully brings the lighter towards his creation.

“Holy shit,” your voice is a mere whisper as you scan the page, “Eddie, this is—”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it? I fucking love it,” you exclaim and tilt your head in his direction, a big grin plastered across your face. “I can’t believe you drew me.”

His gaze locks with yours and his heart sours. Jesus Christ, this feeling was so far beyond hate.

“I gotta keep you sweet if I want you to do most of the project,” he mimics your earlier remark and you giggle.

“Well, it’s working.”

Eddie smirks, sucking in his bottom lip between his teeth. His gaze searches yours, though for what exactly, he wasn’t sure.

And perhaps it’s the way you were looking at him right now, causing his stomach to jump inside of his body, but he finds himself putting the lighter down and slowly leaning in.

(Even in the total darkness, he can make out a certain soft glimmer in your eyes).

The pull he feels is almost magnetic. To say this is wrong on so many levels would be a colossal understatement, but it’s like the world fell away — for both of you. 

Heart hammering inside your chest, and a little too lost in the heat of the moment, you match the pace. 

His face now inches away from yours, his hands holding onto your sides. As his hot breath hits against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine, you swallow your breath. Fuck, fuck, fuck, where you really going to kiss Eddie Munson?

The answer… no.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter against his mouth and pull away from his embrace, “I am so sorry, Eddie. That uh—”, your voice cuts off. 

Nervously, the metalhead runs both his hands through his brown locks, almost as if he’s unclear of where else to put them now that he’s not holding you.

“I have a boyfriend,” you chime in a soft whisper. The statement acts more as a self-reminder than anything else.

“You have a boyfriend,” Eddie repeats, a familiar sadness detectable in his tone.

There is a brief moment of silence in which he reaches blindly for the lighter, flickering it on once again.

“We shouldn’t probably get going, huh?”

You nod, unsure of what else to say.

Later that night, unable to sleep because all he can think of is the smell of your perfume and the feeling of his hands on your waist, Eddie jerks off to a picture of you he found in last year's yearbook.

He should feel guilty, he does feel guilty. 

Especially when he’s back in bed, after he’s done cleaning himself up, and he shuts his eyes, the sound of your voice saying “I’m sorry.” replaying in his head on loop. He hates himself.

The following morning, Eddie hates himself even more because you don’t show up to the library as previously planned and he thinks it’s all his fault, (he really shouldn’t have tried to kiss you).

He hangs around for an hour, pretending to work on his part of the presentation but in reality he can’t focus on anything. Eventually he decides to leave and after a long day of self-deprecating behaviour, he’s sitting on the steps outside of the trailer with an unlit cigarette between his teeth.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls, “Suppose you don’t need me to tell you that smoking kills?”

The doe-eyed teen looks up from his lap to see you approach. He hastily straightens his posture and places the single smoke behind his ear as you stop at the foot of the steps.

“Hey,” you say again, only more delicately.

“Hey, yourself.”

Sliding your hands inside the pockets of your cheer jacket, you exhale. “I tried to call you about missing this morning.”

“Shit, sorry. I’ve been kinda preoccupied, only just got home.”

“Right.”

There is a split second of silence. You’re wondering if coming here was a bad idea, while Eddie tries to get his head straight because — and he had to be honest here — did you always look so fucking hot in your cheer uniform?

“Well, I felt bad anyway so I finished the whole thing. I even wrote out your talking points which you can obviously amend as you see fit.”

The corners of his lips tug upwards. “Thanks, y/n.”

He pats the spot beside him and watches you abide without question or reluctance.

“Everything else okay though? You look a little sad.” Eddie asks, nudging your arm.

You swallow and without really thinking, place your head on his shoulder. “That depends if you think my relationship burning down like Starcourt Mall is a good thing or not.”

He doesn’t immediately reply, the revelation settling in. Was this because of what almost happened yesterday? Surely not.

“That sucks,” is all Eddie manages to blurt out because he’d be lying if he said he was sorry to hear.

You shrug against him. “It’s honestly whatever. He wasn’t the nicest of guys anyway. Fell more into the ‘creepy’ category.”

“Then why were you ever with him?,” the question slips off his tongue and he almost expects you not to answer, but you do.

“He showed me attention, I liked that, so the rest kinda took a backburner,” you’re candid, “Guess I just didn’t know any better.”

There is another moment of silence in which Eddie snakes an arm around you and without really thinking, places a kiss to the top of your head. A feeling of comfort once again settles in the air.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?”, the question catches him off guard but before he can interject, you continue, “Like, because, because earlier while I was being broken up with, all I could think was how I wished it happened yesterday or the day before,” you pause briefly, “So I-I didn’t have to pull away when you wanted to kiss me.”

Hesitantly, you lift your head and tilt it to look up at him. He catches your gaze instantly and you can tell he’s a tad shocked at your words.

“Does that make me a bad person, Eddie?”

In the space of a heartbeat, his hands are cupping your face and he’s gently pulling you in closer. He’s done hating you. So much so, he can’t even bear to hear the possibility of you hating yourself. 

“No, no, no,” he echoes over and over again, until the words fade into nothingness. “I think you’re by far the best person I’ve ever met.” — and it’s true.

Monday morning, Eddie is waiting for you at your locker. When you arrive, he hands you a daisy from behind his ear, one he picked on his way into school.

Your heart skips a beat.

And even though the two of you are on the receiving end of some weird glances from your fellow schoolmates as you lean in to peck his cheek, you don’t care. He may be Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson but he brought you a flower.

The history presentation goes well, better than expected actually. The metalhead thanks you about ten times while you retake your seats, and then an eleventh time with a note containing a quick scribble of Hades with a speech bubble: ‘Couldn't have done it without you’.

By lunchtime, you’re riding such a high, you don’t really think when you pull up a chair next to Eddie. The curly haired teen also doesn’t think anything of it and swings one arm casually around your shoulders, his fellow Hellfire members exchanging confused glances.

It’s not until your clearly bitter ex-boyfriend creates a scene in the middle of the cafeteria, that you think perhaps being around Eddie in this new capacity, so soon after your breakup at that, was a bad idea.

“Wow! Ladies and gentlemen, y/n y/l/n!”

You avert your gaze to the source of the commotion and the jock is glaring at you, a pathetic smirk plastered across his face.

“I would say congratulations, but is it really?”, he taunts, “Can someone truly congratulate a downgrade such as this?”

The whole cafeteria is whispering, snickering, and pointing at you and Eddie.

The metalhead is tense against you. Usually, remarks from the school’s most popular wouldn’t bother him, but this time they’re not only directed at him.

“Hey, asshole! How about you quit showing the entire school how jealous you are? It’s pathetic,” Eddie yells and the entire Hellfire follows with a, “Yeah!”

“Me? Jealous? Munson, I give it a week before she’s back in my arms,” the jock bellows in response and Eddie’s hands form into fists.

He was never one for fighting, but someone needed to shut this jerk up and Eddie’s glad to be the one — anything to protect your honour. 

He’s about to stand, teach the guy a lesson or whatever, but you’re faster and before anyone can react, the whole school is a witness to you slapping the Homecoming King of Hawkins High.

“Fuck you,” is all you say before turning around to look at Eddie, who, as if on queue, is on his feet and hurrying in your direction. He’s definitely shocked at what just transpired, but he’d be lying if he didn’t also admit he was quite turned on.

Before Eddie can reach you however, one of the teachers present in the cafeteria, gains your attention and escorts you out, presumably to the principal's office.

The surrounding crowd of people parts like the Red Sea, allowing you to pass through with ease. Noone speaks (too stunned to do so), and it’s not until the door closes behind you, a roar of cheer erupts.

You’ve never been suspended before.

A sense of shame stretches through you. What are you supposed to tell your parents? How do you explain why you are sitting at home the remainder of the week? They’re gonna be so fucking mad.

Shit.

But as you make your way towards your locker to retrieve anything you may need, the feeling slowly dissipates when a certain leather clad metalhead appears in front of you.

“Shit, sweetheart, are you okay?” Eddie takes your hand and brings it to his lips, placing a delicate kiss to your palm.

“Better now,” you breathe out and skew closer so that your faces are inches away from each other.

“Wanna play hookie the rest of the afternoon?” Eddie’s eyes are glistening mischievously and you giggle. 

“Well, they can’t suspend me twice but you can still get in trouble, so I’m going to pass,” you say and free yourself from his embrace.

The curly-haired teen groans. “Come on, sweetheart.” 

“No, no,” you protest as you open your locker, “I’ll wait for you at your truck while you get the education you rightfully deserve.”

He laughs beside you and is about to say something — probably something witty or sarcastic — when the bell rings. Instead, Eddie gives your arm a pinch and runs in the direction of his next class, only turning around once to blow you a kiss.

When the day concludes, Eddie finds you exactly where you said you would be. He greets you with a swift hug. The glances from fellow Hawkins High students were no longer invasive following the slap earlier that afternoon.

“Controversial, but earlier was so fucking fierce,” Eddie states while starting the car, “I’m like, you got me all excited, shit.”

You giggle and carefully place your hand at the back of his neck, knotting your fingers in between his thick hair. “Well, I’m just glad you don’t think of me any less.” 

“Less? Are you shitting me? Sweetheart, I-I think that just made me like you more,” he exclaims, the grin on his face spreading wider, “Man, it makes me wish you slapped the fucker earlier and maybe I wouldn’t have hated you for so long.”

You chew down on your bottom lip, mood changing. “Yeah, about that,” you let out a sigh, “I’ve actually been meaning to ask why you’ve been always acting so weird around me, or towards me.”

He’s taken aback, although he should’ve expected the topic to come up sooner than later. Especially now that you’ve pretty much shown the whole school who you would rather be around.

Yes, he had a whole list of reasons why but they all seem so irrelevant now. They all seem like excuses more than anything, excuses he used against getting to know you because truthfully, he simply thought you were out of his league.

“I guess it was easier to dislike you,” he finally admits.

“Easier than what?”

Eddie swallows before stopping the car on the side of the road and glancing at you. Jesus Christ, he swears he will do anything in his power to ensure you always look at him with that softness in your eyes.

But that was only going to happen if he was finally honest, with you and with himself.

“God, I guess,” he pauses, “The year I was supposed to graduate, I bumped into you one night after a Hellfire meet—”

“I remember that,” you interrupt and his gaze widens. “Yeah, yeah, I remember uhm, I was supposed to catch a ride home with Chrissy after cheer practice but she fell or something so her mom picked her up earlier.”

You string your brows together, focusing on the memory. “It didn’t really stick that I had no way of getting home until I was the last one out and—”

“And the only car in the parking lot was mine,” Eddie finishes your sentence and you nod.

Realisation hits.

A minute goes by, neither of you speaks.

Eventually, the doe-eyed teen restarts the car and for the remainder of the journey to Eddie’s trailer, the air feels heavy. It’s a weird sensation, reminiscent of everything good and bad combined, and it makes you want to scream.

There’s no way a silly call back to something that happened years ago can ruin what’s just beginning. There’s no way, right?

The metalhead is quiet as he hops out of the truck. He struts around the front and opens your door, patiently waiting for you to exit. But he avoids your gaze. He simply shuts the door behind you and turns on his heel in the direction of the trailer.

“Eddie,” your voice causes him to halt.

He takes a deep breath before spinning in his spot to face you one more time.

“Are you really trying to tell me the reason you’ve been openly hating me all this time is because I kissed you that night you dropped me home?”

It made no sense.

“No, I—” Eddie runs a hand through his hair, “— I uh, I hated you because girls like you never actually fall for guys like me,” he exclaims.

“But I kissed you, dumbass!”

“Yeah, and I kissed you back! But by the time I got home, all I could think was ‘She’ll regret it tomorrow.’,” Eddie asserts and you roll your eyes.

“So my feelings about the whole situation were invalid, is that what you’re telling me?”, your voice trembles.

He’s back to standing in front of you. Almost apprehensively, he lifts a hand and gently holds you by the jaw, his thumb caressing along your cheek in the process.

“Like I said earlier, it was easier that way.”

“For you maybe,” you mutter and close your eyes, trying to compose yourself. “That was really selfish, Eddie. What you done, what you been doing since that night, fucking selfish and I-I…”

“I would understand if you wanted to leave right now and never interact with me again.”

You scoff at his words, opening your eyes. “Because girls like me don’t fall for guys like you?”

“Sweetheart—”

“No,” you free yourself from his grasp and take a step back, “You don’t get to sweetheart me as if any of this is okay. You pushed me away then and now you’re trying to do it again. It’s like… It’s like you don’t want to let yourself be happy, Eddie.”

The metalhead exhales, kicking a random pebble underneath his feet. 

“I’ve learned a long time ago that happiness is a concept just not available to people like me.”

Your heart sinks. Any anger you were feeling in that moment dissipates and you’re pulling him in by the sleeve of his jacket, wrapping your arms around his necks as he squeezes your frame lightly.

“If you prefer to suffer, I will gladly do so with you,” you murmur into his hair and he can’t help but crack a smile.

Pulling back, he glances down to your lips. His expression slowly changes to a desperate plea, and this time there is really nothing holding you back, so you answer by closing the gap between you. 

As your mouth slants over his, a desirable sensation ignites every single cell in your body causing you to close your eyes and push into him further, urging for closenses. 

Jesus Christ, he thinks, you taste better than what he remembers. 

Eddie’s hands are holding onto your waist, applying enough pressure to make known that they’re there and that he’s not planning on letting go anytime soon. Your fingers tangle themselves in his dark locks, tugging at the curls. 

Eager and hungry for more, he bites down on your bottom lip and a delicate moan escapes you. The sound is music to his ears and he hopes he'll get a chance to hear it again.

All of the pent up emotions rise to the surface and explode at once. When you pull away breathless, he smirks with confidence that makes you weak in the knees.

“I like it when you moan against my mouth,” he admits in a whisper.

You can feel the heat rush to your face and your first instinct is to bury yourself in your hands but the doe-eyed teen grabs you by your wrists.

“Don’t go shy on me, sweetheart.” Eddie licks his lips before placing a gentle kiss to your fingers. “I’m trying to tell you I think that was super hot. I think you’re fucking hot.”

“That’s quite the compliment,” you murmur before kissing his knuckles, “Although, if I had to choose, I think I prefer when you call me ‘pretty’.”

It’s his turn to blush. Busted. “You heard that, huh?”

You nod and smile, not feeling so sheepish anymore. “But it’s okay, I can be your pretty girl if you’d like me to be. I mean, I’ve wanted that for like two years.”

Eddie groans and you can feel his dick twitching against you. The glimmer in your eyes is almost wicked and he’s cursing himself for pretending to hate you in the first place. 

You were fucking perfect.

“God, sweetheart, if my uncle wasn’t home right now—”

Placing a finger to his lips, you force him to end his sentence prematurely.

“Well, I do have a pretty free calendar this week,” you reveal and intertwine your fingers together, “If you think you can make time for me, we can celebrate finishing the project together, amongst other things.”

He clicks his tongue together. “I don’t know, sweetheart, it could be hard.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics before teasing, “Something’s already hard.”

-

main masterlist | add yourself to a taglist

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things fic

[iluvfr3aks]

it's a public bathhouse, isn't it?

a fic in which you and michael kaiser share the same bathing space.

together.

alone.

what might happen?

reader x michael kaiser bluelock ; sex, gender, alignment, and pronouns unspecified but they're in an open bath together ; reader has backstory with kaiser and doesn't like him (or at least thats what they believe) ; not as sensual as you might think ; dw bout it

it was far into the evening as you stepped foot into the building. you'd heard there was an open bath nearby, and it had good reviews and ratings online, so you decided to check it out.

after paying the lady in the front a fee, she gave you your locker key, and you were directed to take a long walk down the hall to the locker room.

thankfully, it was quite a straightforward business, and these interactions took not much time. you didn't plan on spending much of the day here. not today at least.

as you made it to the lockers, you found your locker, and started to undress and place your things inside of it. sounds of water splashing around could be heard from the next door, that was probably where the baths were, and probably where another person already was.

there weren't many people you knew around here, so it was probably a random.

at least, that was what you assumed until you opened the door and recognized immediately the unusual hairstyle of the man, whose body was half submerged in the water.

"michael kaiser?" you called out in a surprise, and he turned to look at you with discerning eyes. you could never forget the man whom you once were so close to. if it were someone even like kaiser, you don't think anyone would forget them.

"who do we have here? name?" he spoke with a light tone, calling out your name casually, as if you were still good friends. as if, you sneered and didn't waste time just standing and gawking at him, turning to walk to the showering station.

"ignoring me? well, that's okay too!" kaiser laughed, fully turning around and resting his arms on the cold tiles he was in-front of. "how have you been? missed me any bit? i know i missed you."

you nearly couldn't control your temper when he spoke in such a tone, saying such sickly sweet words, it made your stomach twist, and not in a good way.

"stop talking to me like we're close." you managed to hold back every curse that might've slipped its way into your sentence, grabbing the shower head and pouring freezing cold water over yourself.

but, maybe it was for the better, as it clearly pulled your mind from hating on kaiser to the chilling water that suddenly ran down your body.

kaiser looked at your back and rested his chin on his hand, "are we not close? did you forget all about us in the short time we've been separated already?" he spoke with a hint of ridicule in his voice, clearly not taking it seriously. taking you seriously.

in the end, you thought it was better to just not respond to him, as you put the shower head back on it's stand. you stood up and walked to a part of the bath that was a good distance away from kaiser, dipping in.

the water burned a bit at first, your body's response to the sudden change in temperature, but soon, the feeling quelled and you got into the bath without a problem. it was nice to be in a hot bath once in a while.

well, this wouldn't be the nicest experience you could have in a hot bath though.

from the corner of your eye, you saw kaiser push himself out of the water and start walking your way. you closed your eyes and didn't even hope on the chance that he would simply pass by. you knew he was making his way over to you.

the sound of water rustling right beside you incited your cold reaction, "fuck off." and kaiser's ignorant bliss, "i know you missed me." you opened your eyes and turned your head, facing kaiser's own beautiful face.

"who are you again?" you played dumb and didn't exactly flash the nicest smile at him. "are we acting like this now? i see! my name is michael kaiser, and your-beautiful-self's name is?" kaiser extended an arm to you.

even if you didn't admit it openly, you couldn't deny his pure allure.

"name." you chose to ignore his hand, and turned your face away, closing your eyes again. kaiser frowned and hummed, "you're not gonna confess to me how much you missed me? i can't believe it!" he said without a hint of shame.

how could he say stuff like that without a second thought? you thought viciously, especially after what happened between you both, it was baffling.

"who would miss you?" you responded sourly, still not looking at him, or at anything in general.

"well, if you ask me! i do know my alexis would die of heartache if he was separated from me for even a day."

you open your eyes and fake a gag, spiting out a single word, "gross."

"to you. i find it quite endearing!" he chooses to ignore your action, still speaking like it was a laughing and giggling mood.

"you're sick." you almost want to go back to the lockers and go home, kaiser pauses in his retorts and thinks. quite unlike him, you notice the silence.

"i think i'm still sick for you, doll." he says while leaning a bit closer to you.

you scoot away from him, perhaps the bath was making your face a bit redder, you've been in here for a while now, "get out of here." or you just wouldn't admit that you were blushing at kaiser's behavior and words.

he laughs at your attempt to make distance, swimming over and wrapping his arm around you before asking.

"it's a public bathhouse, isn't it?"

#michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #bluelock x reader #blue lock #x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk #kaiseraddict

[missuswalker]

DUDE I requested the volleyball reader one and oh my god I’m so fed it’s so good got me kicking my feet giggling cackling sweating bro (thank u cat emoji anon for requesting a part 2 ily) idk how u have such good brain thoughts to write allat

Would u be opposed to a fic of mysterion x f!reader who’s kinda like spiderman 🤔🤔🤔 omg what if it was similar to miraculous ladybug where they’re friends irl and Kenny’s all flirty then but when they’re in their superhero roles it flips n the reader is the flirty one instead?? And maybe they fight against Leslie or something sending a robot army man idk u can literally write whatever and I’ll eat it up fr fr THANK UUUUU

MEOWWW MEOW MEOW NEVER OPPOSED TO MYSTERION (and ikr, cat emoji anon is so scrumptious 😻) (i love frequent anons, they're like my best pookies) (also i love all of your ideas 🤭🤭)

don't know her // mysterion x fem reader

✮ summary: being the walmart spidergirl of south park has it's perks, especially when you get to hang around mysterion all night (pt two here) ✮ warnings: mentions of blood, kind of short (read a/n)

"Hey, I'll call you back later, sweetheart, I've got some shit to do," Kenny interrupts, giving me a 'bye'. I knew exactly what that shit was too. I've known Kenny for years and I had kind of caught on to the fact that he was Mysterion.

I take this as my opportunity to slip into my suit, pulling my mask over my head as I slide my window open, climbing onto my roof. This was just about my nightly routine at this point. Talking with Kenny on the phone until midnight, then meeting up with him as Seven.

The backstory of the name name originally came from Kenny himself. Well, came from Mysterion. Kenny had no idea that I was Seven. Basically, Mysterion asked for my superhero name, though I didn't exactly have one. After telling him that, he named me after the building we were behind which happened to be a 7-Eleven, and it kind of just stuck.

Walking down the alley Mysterion and I usually met in, I see that he's already there. "Seven, you've gotta stop coming out here, I've told you too many times that it's way too dangerous for a rookie to be out at night."

I put my hands on my hips, looking around. "You say that and then still wait for me at the same spot every night. You'd miss me too much if I stopped showing up," I tease. "Don't flatter yourself. I come here because I know you'll show up and get yourself into trouble. Don't start thinking I have a crush on you or something."

"Then who do you have a crush on? Must be a real treat, huh?" I snort, taking a seat on an empty crate. "I don't see how that's any of your business. It's just a girl from my school anyways, you don't know her," he sighs, kicking at the dirt. "I'm just curious," I defend, throwing my hands up in mock surrender.

I felt a little upset, though, that the girl has a good chance of not being me. "If I tell you about her, will you stop coming out here at night so I don't have to babysit you anymore?" I think for a moment, trying to figure out if I even really wanted to know.

"Sure," I answer, deciding I might as well. He sighs, obviously not thinking I was actually going to agree to it. "Okay, well, uhh... her name is Y/n. I've been friends with her for a really long time, and she's hot. That good enough for you?"

Well, damn.

"Nah, I'm still gonna come out here." Mysterion groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, nothing is happening tonight, just go home." I shrug, beginning to walk away. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

"No you won't. You're gonna stay home."

"Keep telling yourself that."

a/n: GUYS IT'S SHORT BECAUSE THERE'S GOING TO BE A PART 2 🤯🤯

you have to remind me, though, bc i'll forget 😻

next one will have the fight scene and seven's mask gets pulled off + romance idk

not proofread (ill do it later i swear)

#kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick x reader #mysterion #mysterion x reader #south park #x reader #south park fanfiction #south park imagines #south park x reader #remind me im so serious

[sorryimananti-romantic]

hi! i just wanted to come on here to firstly ask a question, then praise your work!

first, my question is what’s your writing process? whenever i try to write, i always end up getting distracted because i worry so much about how i start the story. should i begin with a line of dialogue? should i start with a rhetorical question/vague backstory that leads into a character’s current situation? should i just start with action straight off the bat? i literally never know. there are some days where i get the inspiration to write all day, but i never end writing anything because i get stuck on the intro or research.

i even have a document with the first few paragraphs of multiple works that i like just to see how these wonderful pieces start. one document of mine is like one page long and it’s only filled with possible intros. LITERALLY NOTHING ELSE!! and they’re all so different from each other! yours always lead into the story so well and they’re never the same, so i applaud you!

anyways, onto your well deserved praise! you are literally the only writer on this site that i genuinely look forward to. when you released guerilla, i literally squealed and i don’t do that. maybe a giggle here and there, but never a squeal. not only do you write long stories (which i personally prefer. 20k - 50k words? AND it’s good writing?? you deserve a kiss on the head from God himself!), but quality writing, good punctuation, no overused dialogue tags, badass reader characters, and always a happy ending. you’re truly a godsend! especially because of your happy endings (and badass reader character— emphasis on badass). there’s this one seonghwa piece that’s like over 50k words, but it doesn’t have a happy ending so i haven’t read it. for me, fiction should end with the reader being happy so if i won’t be happy at the end, i don’t want to read it. but that never happens with you. i’m sure i’ve read all your pieces at least once and i can positively say that i’m always smiling like an idiot after i finish.

overall, you’re a writer that i learn from and you’re writing is absolutely awesome. keep up the good work and make sure to take care of yourself! i may not know you personally, but that doesn’t mean i can’t think you deserve all the good things in the world for creating a universe that readers can get immersed in and forget about reality for some time. all for free at that too. you deserve the world and more. so does everyone else reading this though! can’t wait for your next release! you’re awesome!!

omygod. this has to be the best message i have ever received and i'm smiling so hard. i read this like three times before i came up with a few words to respond (if you know me, you also know i struggle with this ahaha 😭)

first of all, thank you so much for the praise, i can't tell you how much this means to me and this came at the right time- perhaps, you're godsend for me! (struggling with this one fic and i refuse to write anything else until i finish this one bc it's collected dust for far too long now). you squealed when you saw guerrilla? 😭 you prefer long stories? 😭 and you like happy endings? 😭😭 that's me yes ahaha

thank you so much, glad to have another person here who likes the length of my fics (bc of you all i have been physically unable to keep my oneshots short). i'm glad my writing style appeals to you! i know my english isn't perfect but thank you for appreciating it! one thing i refuse to write is a basic reader character (not that we don't like a basic reader character once in a while-- i just always gotta add a little sth 😭) (might write a basic reader soon tho ahaha) as for the happy endings, i do have a few tragedies planned for the year but you're absolutely right-- we love our happy endings. if i have to make sth tragic, it will be ending on a bittersweet, it-had-to-be-this-way note and i hope i can write it well and i hope you read that whenever i post it too! i'd love to hear what you think of it (it's far in the future but one day i will)

to answer your question, my writing process for a long time was literally just sit and write whatever's coming to me. most of my fics have been spontaneous like that-- sudden impulse, unplanned everything, just a general idea of the roles of the main characters and a basic idea of the plot-- not even the ending. i don't like to plan the ending, actually. i like to simply plan how it begins, what the key points are, and the ending comes naturally from there.

one thing i've started doing recently is just write my thoughts in a paragraph or bulletpoints (bc i have the memory of a goldfish) but it helps if you want to prefer planning and then writing. the most important advice i can give to anyone here is to not be afraid to write. literally write whatever you want, and do not be afraid to edit. or even rewrite. cannot stress this enough. i'll give an example:

with guerrilla, i had the trope: serial killer/doctor/biker yunho and crime fiction writer reader. no background of the characters. no ending in mind. simply that they were housemates, there will be dark humour involved and yunho will gradually warm up to the reader. that was literally all i had! when i opened the doc to write, i thought about how i would want it to start-- i think with intros, you gotta write sth that gives the readers a basic idea of where they are, why they are there, who they are, etc. and then you can continue the story, so you gotta shape the intro to attract their attention with a general idea, right? now i just went with the flow, wrote whatever i wanted to, and whenever i would add some detail, i would go back and edit it in- either in the form of dialogue or some foreshadowing (we love foreshadowing). when i thought of their tragic past? went back again to edit that in. so basically just a series of writing, editing what's written, cutting what looks unnecessary now, and voila.

so how should you start your story? depends on the story. sometimes, it needs to start with action when it's an action heavy plot, right? we would like to find ourselves in a middle of a fight or sth like that to set the tone immediately. so whatever the theme of your story is, you gotta set the tone in the first part! also, don't be afraid to start from wherever you want- you can always add parts later! like my series take me home-- i literally started from the middle and when i came up with a plot twist that supported what i wrote, i went back and wrote the first half LOL and then i planned the ending from there. i think readers also prefer if you don't add unnecessary details/scenes in the beginning, yeah? fillers are for inside the story, not in the beginning or the ending.

also, don't be afraid to experiment! write what you're the most comfortable writing, don't be too hung up on research and facts-- you can literally make anything up because it's fiction. it's your world and your rules. i literally make up whole new universes to save myself from the hassle of real-life technicalities (you may have noticed how i never use real places or setting lmao). if you have an idea that you really want to write, start with there, and simply, write. let the words flow, let it go wherever your mind takes you. you'll find your hands typing by themselves! you can worry about if it's good or not later, just write! (you won't believe me but as i'm finishing writing a fic, i begin to kind of hate it. no amount of reassurances convince me that it's good enough bc i am the writer. i still post and when i receive feedback, that's when i realise it might be good! and when some time has passed and i reread it, i'm sometimes amazed- i wrote that? how will i top that? and the cycle continues 😔✌️)

also, thank you for that sweet little msg at the end 🥹 literally sending my best to you. you deserve all the good things too! i'm glad you're able to get yourself lost in the universe i create for my fics, that means i'm doing a good job 🥹 thank you again! <33 i hope you won't be afraid to write and simply wing it LOL that's how i do it and you know what?

the most unplanned and spontaneous fics have been the most loved here.

#just write is literally the best advice i can give LOL #it sounds like a joke but literally #the fics that i just wrote without planning driven by pure impulse #are ppl's favourite here (and mine too) #this was such a lovely ask #thank you again! #yumi.asks

[bookworm-center]

Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender: Chapter I- The Girl In His Suit

Author's Note: I started this before season 2 came out, so don't include that plotline into this at all. Season 1 sort of happens, at least the aspects that don't mess with the book events, and what is currently happening in this fic is a short little arc before the SoC storyline. Yes, I will include the ever present flashbacks and different POVs (but mostly Kaz and Y/n) and yes, Y/n has her own backstory. I may have traumatized her too much, but we're rolling with it.

Previous part below:

Dirtyhands and the Bloodbender

Kaz Brekker: The Girl In His Suit

I have begun to let my guard down. Too often, in my opinion. Perhaps that is how one of Rollins' Dime Lions had cornered me and Jesper in an alleyway.

Jesper had his hands resting on his guns but I wanted to know what Rollins wanted.

"What business?" I ask. It was a common response in the Barrel, not as a greeting but straight to the point.

"Rollins wants you to back off of his turf." The Dime Lion was walking forward, and nearly had our backs on the wall. I started to panic, internally, of course. I didn't have a plan to get out of this, but I couldn't let Jesper know that.

"I have never set foot in Rollins turf." I attempt to buy my time, although all three of us know that is a lie.

Two gunshots go off, one bullet hitting the man in the head and the other planted in his chest. He drops to the ground, unmoving, eyes still widened.

I glance at Jesper. His guns weren't smoking. "Wasn't me, boss." He raises his hands in surrender.

Someone jumps from the roof, their footsteps echoing softly on the ground, standing in shadow. I almost assume it's Inej when I remember that she was off doing a job.

"Do you always have to get yourselves in trouble when I'm not around?" The person asks.

Jesper grins and I thought he was about to sweep them off their feet. "Y/n/n!"

"Hey Jes." They step out of the shadows. It's my second in command, Y/n L/n. Her h/c hair was swirled into a hat and her eyes were shining the way they always did after a job. She wore a black suit, nearly the same as my own. Wait. That is one of my suits.

I raise an eyebrow, hoping it doesn't reveal whatever I feel when I look at her, "You took one of my suits? Again?"

She glances down at her outfit, as if she could forget what she wore and shrugged, evidently not regretting it. "Nina had to tailor me to look like you. For a job." She didn't look very different, though Nina may have already tailored her back.

What? No one had told me of that. "Were they fooled?"

Before Y/n can answer, Jesper does it for her. "Of course they were fooled, Y/n/n's the best actress in the Slat. Except for myself and Nina, I suppose."

"Speaking of acting, Pekka Rollins stopped by the Crow Club earlier. He was acting all nice and wanted to speak to you. I told him to talk to me instead. That asshole was looking at me like I'm eye candy in front of the whole Crow Club. But he did tell me what he wanted." Y/n adjusted the suit cuff, barely glancing at me while she spoke. She said it casually, like it happened everyday, but I could tell she knew that this must be important.

"Really? What did he want?" I didn't want my tone to change, but it had, all the niceties gone. He was looking at her like what?

Y/n looks around. "Not here." She sets off back to the Slat.

#grishaverse #bookworm center #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #fanfic #my work #dirtyhands and the bloodbender

[apollos-boyfriend]

psst you got any more creepypasta fic recs? 👀

i have quite a few!!

putting them all below the cut to save space, and i cannot stress enough that if you want to read most of these you Need to read all the tags. some of these are very light and sweet, others do not play about with the genre. i’ll be giving overall synopses + warnings (somewhat) but do read the tags for further details!!

in loco parentis by nymm_at_night is. well. you’ve all heard me praise it before. you say “more” so i assume you’ve already read it, but i legally can’t make a fic rec list without it. it centers around jeff, jack, and ben + tim/brian, and is where i’ve taken So much inspiration from. if any of you who like creepypasta have not read it yet please do. tim/brian (in a divorced way), all the chapters have their own disclaimers but the overall biggest overarching ones i can think of are semi-heavy descriptions of death and gore.

visual arts by killer_cat is a very good, short one shot! it centers around helen and jack and i absolutely love the author’s characterizations/interpretations of everyone. gen and mentions of blood/typically creepypasta-typical killings, but overall nothing too major

KISS ME WHEN YOU KILL ME by notaccessible is unfinished with only two chapters, but i really like where they’re going with things! they’ve retold both jeff and jack’s origins in pretty compelling ways. jeff/jack, but there’s no actual ship content as of yet. there are a few heavy scenes, largely dealing with abuse, murder, and suicide, largely in jeff’s chapter.

undone drawings by sleeplywritings (pancakebluess) is a very sweet, cute one-shot about sally and jeff. some of the formatting is wonky at times when it comes to the dialogue, but it’s not too bad, and overall understandable. plus the overall mansion dynamics are fun and silly (AND they’re normal about tim 🔥🔥). gen + no real warnings

water bearer (paint me red) by xfreesomebodyx is a one-shot centered around jeff and jack. it goes into extreme detail about jeff the killing people, so do tread carefully, but i REALLY enjoy their jeff characterization. i like it when authors latch onto his whole being beautiful bit. i’m ambivalent towards their jack at best, but GOD is jeff well-done in this. heads up so you don’t get confused like i did there IS a formatting error in it where a section seems to have been pasted twice (as of writing this). tagged as jeff/jack but there’s nothing explicitly romantic, largely just subtext/undertones.

a house full of serial killers VS the barbie movie starring margot robbie and ryan gosling by salty_sam is a one-shot chatfic but you guys know they’re my guilty pleasure so i can’t not add it. it’s largely just the author messing around with character dynamics and mansion relationships which is what i am here for always. tim and brian are off (brian especially) but everyone else is super fun and consistently entertaining. gen, no real warnings outside of mentioned drug use

handling rejection by sunsh1ne_sweethe4rt has wonky formatting BUT if you can get past it it’s just a cute one-shot, if not a little simplistic in terms of writing. it’s just about tim trying to help nina get over her crush on jeff. i’m a bit biased bc anything with tim written normally makes me instantly herald it like a miracle but i really just think it’s cute and funny :] gen (with the exception of nina’s crush on jeff) and no real warnings i can think of

déjà vu by nightstar1888 is a bit hit or miss for me due to their tim/masky characterization, but i REALLY enjoy the stuff they did with ben. it’s a one-shot about toby helping jeff dye his hair, nothing too special, but i like the parallels they drew between then two. it’s tagged as jeff/toby but nothing romantic really happens outside of a few lines of semi-flirting, no real warnings outside of mentions of toby + jeff’s backstories and all they entail

the collar incident by honeycirrus is. well i’m hesitant to fully recommend it. there are certain parts of it i really enjoy, especially with the dynamics between the mansion cast, but that’s pretty much it, and those are kind of few and far between. i’d recommend the first four chapters ish? they do some fun stuff with BEN that i might honestly steal for myself, but i spent way too long wondering if they actually meant BEN or didn’t get the 2020 lore update. ben/toby, one semi-intense self-mutilation scene.

#muse talk #anon #creepyposting #i have. only recently gotten back into things #which is why all of these are very recent works #usually in fandoms im very picky with formatting but here i am So So desperate and it shows orz

[itscherrylipsforme]

Hi Riley (if it's okay if I call you by your name?), I'd like to request a fic for golden-retriever!cedric x black-cat!gryffindor!reader of how they first met, I'll include a few prompts & a short backstory how I think they first met (if it's okay to you, you can change it or blend it the way you want as well🤗🤗):

The prompt:

Let's get to know each other over dinner. (reader

There was a power outage and now we have to have dinner by candlelight. (Cedric

We always light candles for dinner. In fact, almost every part of the castle lights candles (Reader

It looks the same (Reader

i didn’t mean to say the things i did and i apologise for that (reader

I know, but if you'd be so fine, allow me to be the gentleman and walk back the lady before me (Cedric

...If it pleases you (reader

Thank you. And, I'll see you around I guess (reader

...She quite stunning, isn't she? (Cedric

The background

Reader's 16, Cedric's 17, they're the same year but different houses, and were chosen as the newest perfect of their house

From the original book shown, each houses have 2 perfects, a boy and a girl, and they'll be patrolling together

Here, each house collaborate with each other's perfect, under Professor McGonagall's supervision

Cedric and reader were paired together, they first met each other when Professor McGonagall called both of them in her office, to introduce them to each others

Reader at first questioned why it wouldn't be her housemate just as before the old tradition? While Cedric said nothing as he keeps on smiling but inwardly thinking this is all too troublesome

Cedric's personality is still the same as the book shown, but sometimes, he does not show his true feelings and has a somewhat elusive side, where he finds everyone's expectation on him is too tiring and just wants to give up for once

After Professor McGonagall's explanation and persisting, reader and cedric both went together for dinner

During their time together, they're both silent whole time while cedric tries to find a way to look through reader, but not managed to which makes him frustrated a little

What caught him off is when reader questioned him what he keeps looking at her, and remarked thet he thinks too much and should stop it

Cedric still smiling, and tried to debute it when the lights suddenly all cut off, which makes no way for both of them and cast lumos while light up a few candles too

Cedric remarks how funny the situation while the reader deadpan about it, they both return to silence again before reader apologize for being rude, which cedric smiles as he smirks and teases reader about it, while she does the same to him

They both then began to talk about their schedules, priorities etc... before cedric walk back reader, which she sighs about it and can't help but think cedric's like a puppy that wishing to be adore

They both bid goodbye, before reader grab cedric's hem and say she'll see him around, which he can't help but chuckle out loud when he sees her getting flustered, and pat her head as he let her go

Cedric can't help but keep on thinking as he walls back and muttered out the last prompt when he's back to his own dorm

About the reader, I mentioned that she's a bit like Tori Spring from Heartstopper, but actually she's also a bit like Noah while Cedric's like Yuri from Their Ark, a Korean manga, here's the link: https://vyvymanga.net/manga/their-ark

I recommend reading from chapter 31 to 40, but the entire story is so good that I'd rather you read from chapter 1 first! Reader's a mix of Tori and Noah. And gosh, this is way too long... I'm sorry for getting too detailed but I can't help it😭😭 you can ignore some words you want, if it's too annoying!

Hope you have a good day!

- 🍁

Hi 🍁 Anon! Nice to see you again, hope you have an amazing day 🥰

Ofc it’s more than okay if you call me by my name and I surely will be using most of the prompts and backstory that you gave me for the fic, thank you so much 🫶🏼 The manga seems fun, I will be cheeking it as soon as I can for some inspiration and I will post the fic when it’s ready

#received asks #🍁 Anon #cedric diggory x reader

[whispering-about-loki]

Hello 😊 I saw you reblog the a "get to know your writer" post and wondered if it was ok for me to ask a few questions? If so, I'd ask 1, 7, 16, 25 and 56?

Absolutely! Let's see....

1 . Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Honestly, multi-chapter! I actually find it really, really hard to write a one-shot. I mean, I can do it, and certainly have done it... but my plots usually tend to get away from me and branch out here, there, and everywhere! The only problem is, I also don't tend to finish those multi-chapter monsters...

7 . How do you choose which POV to write from?

It depends on what story I am trying to tell. If I want some details to go unknown to a character for mystery's sake, I will write in their POV; or I will write in the POV of the person who has the most emotional stake. When I am writing a ship fic, I often try to write from both POVs (alternating from chapter to chapter) to compare and contrast how they are coping or what they are thinking. The challenge there is to get the "voices" right, though.

16 . How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

Far, far too many to count! In way too many different fandoms! Of the stories I haven't posted a word on yet (as opposed to current WIPs that I have up at AO3), there's at least one Lokius AU, a couple Bagginshield angst pieces, three gen TMNT fics, and a couple of random ideas that I have yet to fix a fandom to.

25 . What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

Oh, gosh. It's weird, but although I absolutely love getting comments, I don't often push for them because I don't want to seem... needy, I guess? Back in the late 90s and early naughties, it was actually a lot easier to get responses to fics. The fandoms were smaller and everyone knew everyone, so the stories would be passed between friends online... so now living in the age of kudos is actually a bit disorienting. Of course, the fics that don't get responses are usually about pretty obscure people or situations. Like Afterimage (a short Hobbit thing about Nori as a child), The Touch Of Rain (about Cobb Vanth), and When She Loved Me (an imagined backstory about a character that was only in the TMNT Adventures comics... and when I originally wrote and posted that one twenty-some years ago, it got a much better reception). I do notice that gen stories tend to get swept to the side in favor of ship-fics, though, which always seem to get some kind of response.

56 . What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Actually, what I mentioned up in #7 about finding the right voices. I think I do okay with getting into characters' heads and making them each sound individual. Again, like I said... it isn't always easy. I'm currently writing a chapter in a story... and in this chapter a character is in medical distress and we are seeing it from their POV. Problem is, two chapters ago there was a different character in medical distress whose POV I was writing from... and in both instances the characters are waking up from being treated. It's taking a bit of juggling to make sure the second one and the first one are different enough so people don't think, "hey... I've read this already!" It helps, I guess, that one of the characters is more skilled in medical concerns, so they are more calm about the whole thing while the other one was in full panic mode.

Anyway, thank you for this! It was fun!

#fanfic #writing #asks #answered #fanfic ask game

[clovermarigold]

Hi, it's me again (^_^)/

Your HC was so cute *-*

Can I ask for another one? Maybe how the characters react when they get anxious? Do they hide and try to get over it alone or are they searching for help? (Do you write for Beckman too? I rewatch opla and I really start to like him)

Absolutely, I love it when yall request fics. Sorry it took so long to reply, pretty backed up with work rn.

One Piece Character Dealing with Anxiety

Luffy

Luffy is a very carefree person and doesn't get anxious easily. In the few cases he has been anxious it has always been over losing someone he loves. I head cannon that Luffy has slight abandonment issues but has learned to handle them pretty well.

On the off chance that he does have an anxiety triggered episode, Luffy is what would be considered both a fighter. He lashes out to do whatever he can to fix what's causing him anxiety. But his senses become very narrowed and blurred when he's in this state.

The most common examples are shortness of breath, blurry vision, and tunnel vision, shaky hands/ tremors, and loss of hearing. Spoilers; As seen in Ace's death scene.

Sanji

Sanji has a gaggle of mental issues and experiences that spur on anxiety. Some of the main contributors to his anxiety are PTSD, childhood neglect and abuse, OCD, nicotine addiction (don't smoke kids), and an inferiority complex/need to prove his self-worth.

When Sanji's anxiety is triggered, he reacts in a way that would consider him a freezer. Sanji was raised with little actual parenting, and the small bit he did get was tough love from Zeff. As a result, he tends to play the tough guy act.

Most common examples being disassociation, tunnel vision, shortness of breath, and loss of motor functions. Spoilers; as seen in Pudding's deception (I know that was more betrayal, but I see it as attacking his self-worth issues, so to me it counts)

Nami

Nami is very much the stoic type that tries to ignore or deny that she has anxiety and mental issues, spoiler.... she does. I mentioned in my last post that she is the one most struggling and learning to deal with her anxiety (pt.1). The main perpetrator for Nami's anxiety is Arlong and herself. Nami suffers from guilt and self-worth issues (A trend huh)

Nami is without a doubt the very definition of a fighter. While now with the help of her friends she's learning to react in a healthier way, for years under Arlong her default reaction to anxiety has been to lash out and get angry.

The common examples are aggression, unstable heart palpitations (Fast heartbeats), shortness of breath, tremors, blurry vision, and confusion.

Zoro

Zoro is a man who uses humor to distract from his anxiety and problems. While he is a mostly serious guy, in the anime he has a tom of golden moments that make my ribs hurt. His problems all of course stem from the loss of his friend and rival as well as their pact.

So, it's no surprise that Self-worth issues are again at fault for a crew members anxiety. I think that in the rare case that his anxiety does take hold, Zoro would freeze. But not to the point that he becomes a statue. Instead, I think that the reason we don't see a lot of his anxiety is because he pushes past his instincts to freeze and keep fighting.

Main expressions of anxiety I think he has, are loss of motor control, tunnel vision, and tensed muscles.

Usopp

Usopp tends to be made as a thoughtless coward with skin level character depth, but that ignores all of his character growth. Usopp is among the characters with less backstory in the trauma department. But I that doesn't mean he doesn't have any. Abandonment issues, paranoia being the most present. Formed from being without his dad and constantly afraid that his only friend would die at any moment.

Usopp is a runner, there's no doubt about it. When anxiety or panic attacks kick in, he kicks out. He's also what I would consider a hider, running as far from the situation and hiding until he can get his emotions under control.

Common symptoms include, shortness of breath, unstable heart palpitations, tunnel vision, restlessness, paranoia, sensory issues, namely noise and light.

Shanks

Ok, this one broke my heart to write. We don't have a lot to work with connon wise, so most of this are head cannons.

Shanks was extremely carefree and kept a positive mindset despite his upbringing and the death of his mentor. He was sad and it took a while to get over of course, but he did, and he didn't come out with anxiety issues. It wasn't until he lost his arm that his anxiety started to surface. The most common cases of his anxiety are night terrors and the occasional panic attack when in a situation he used to do easily when he had both arms. The main culprits of his anxiety are self-worth issues and phantom limb syndrome.

In my opinion, I believe that Shanks is a fighter. But not in the sense that he will lash out when he's anxious. Shanks is a fighter in the sense that he will force himself awake and out of his night terrors.

The main expressions of anxiety for Shanks are nightmares/terrors, shallow breathing, disassociation, and depression.

Mihawk

Mihawk is a character I have a hard time connecting with anxiety. Not because it's impossible for someone stoic to have anxiety. But because I just can't see him not having addressed it by his age. Shanks is believable because he prides himself on being upbeat, fun, merciful, and forgiving. Mihawk's childhood goal was to be the best, so I feel he would have realized a long time ago that he couldn't be the best without having addressed his problems and learning to handle or get over them.

In his youth however, I think he was a fighter similar to Nami. Getting upset with himself for being anxious and at the world for making him anxious.

Mihawk likely spent a lot of time working to address his main issues which I believe to be a god complex, narcissism, self-worth issues, and patients. he's still struggling with that last one.

Buggy

Buggy is all the issues compiled into a singular red nosed train wreck. I would need a week to list all the mental issues he still hasn't learned to cope with healthily. And NO, for all my Buggy stands reading this, you CANNOT fix him.

Buggy in my opinion is a fighter but is far worse than Nami or Mihawk. Buggy's anxiety tends to spiral to the point it becomes panic. For those who don't know, the difference between panic and anxiety attacks is that anxiety haunts the back of your mind and builds, panic will hit you fast and out of nowhere.

Buggy has probably the worst anxiety and symptoms due to being surrounded by a crew with a less than healthy mindset and power dynamic. Symptoms include, aggression, psychosis, delusions, labored breathing, unstable heart palpitations, and restlessness/tremors.

#one piece usopp #one piece nami #one piece #luffy #monkey d. luffy #red haired shanks #shanks #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #nami #roronoa zoro #zoro #usopp #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk #buggy the clown #buggy one piece

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia. I'm already missing UtB lol but I hope you're enjoying your break or at least getting a little bit of rest.

I have a few questions if you don't mind or if they're not too spoilery. 1. Do you think Ef will have another heat before the end of Utb?

2. Will the penetrative sex be in Ef's pov or Gary's pov?

3. What made Augus want to help omegas / be kind towards them and pursue a career as an alpha companion? Will we learn more about his backstory in Underline the Silver?

4. Will Gwyn be making any more appearances before the end of UtB?

Thank you ❤

Hi anon!

I am neither enjoying my break or getting any rest at all, but there's also no way I'd be able to keep up with this job while dealing with multiple illnesses + baby puppy so the break from posting was necessary to keep my head above the water sometimes. :D

Let's get to the questions, although unfortunately I don't know the answers to all of these as I don't plan most of my fics.

1. Do you think Ef will have another heat before the end of Utb?

No I don't. The reason for that is a lot of what's coming happens in a short timeline, and heats only really happen about 3-6 times per year for healthy omegas, and Efnisien's on ardolphogen. One might be hinted at in the final chapter, but I actually don't love writing sex scenes during heat/s in the first place, so I will prefer all of them to happen outside of Efnisien's heat/s.

Which is why I don't see another one happening before the end of Underline the Black!

2. Will the penetrative sex be in Ef's pov or Gary's pov?

I don't know! Realistically it will be more than one chapter long, and chances are high that I will favour - at least sometimes - Efnisien's perspective because I'm more interested in his experience of it given how emotional and crunchy it is for him, rather than Gary's perspective. But I'm also sure I will turn to Gary's perspective when Efnisien's too incoherent to narrate a chapter, lol.

3. What made Augus want to help omegas / be kind towards them and pursue a career as an alpha companion? Will we learn more about his backstory in Underline the Silver?

I don't know! And probably! I don't think about Augus much in this story / at the moment, because it's just too sad for me.

4. Will Gwyn be making any more appearances before the end of UtB?

I don't know. It's possible, it will depend on how those things flow together. I'm fairly certain he might make a re-appearance via text message at the very least, but I don't know what role he has to play just yet. Given he has so little respect for Crielle, he could turn up, but he has his own motives and his life has improved since Efnisien isn't in it, so I'm not sure what would make him come back into the story either. I lean towards - we're more likely to see him than not see him, but I don't want to say either way so I don't disappoint the folks who think it will happen based off what I say here!

#asks and answers #underline the black #but yeah i don't see efnisien having any more heats before the end of the story #it would likely still be traumatic #and i think it will be a few years before his body even understands how to have heats #and what to do with them

[inklingofadream]

Ink's 2023 Fic

It’s the end of another year, and you know what that means! Or you joined me this year and don’t, one of the two. At the end of every year I post a list of everything I wrote to become my blog’s pinned post for the upcoming year. However, this year, it’s a bit different. We’ll get to that in a minute.

According to my AO3 stats, I posted 709,908 words of fic in 2023, across 8 fandoms and spread over 64 individual works. That’s a 765.784% increase in word count from last year! I’m unwell!

Normally, I post everything I wrote, split up by fandom and in chronological order, with basic stats and descriptions that vary between synopsis, liner notes, excerpts, or all of the above. However, 45 of those 64 works were written for Whumptober this year. Since they’re mostly for The Magnus Archives (dominating the list as usual) and many of them are very short, I’m not going to list all the TMA fics. I’ll list my favorites and ones I think got less attention than they deserved, as well as all fics for other fandoms, and since that’s my most popular stuff I’m listing it last/under the cut. Wordcount and relationships (romantic or platonic, healthy or not) are listed, but check the AO3 tags, warnings, and notes, as I won’t be including the content warnings here.

Batman

Mom’s Been On a Parenting Kick Lately- 9k, WIP, Talia/Bruce, Talia & Batkids;This is still getting off the ground (I need to get back to it), but I’m excited about the future of this fic! It’s my take on Jason’s post-resurrection time with the League of Assassins, but with timelines turned into spaghetti to facilitate bonding. Talia is currently in possession of 3 batkids, but she isn’t done stealing Bruce’s kids yet :)

i'd walk a wire, jump through a fire for you- 800, complete; literally just just shy of 1k about Dick have feelings about falling and parents

The Locked Tomb

lyin’ on our backs and countin’ the stars- 900, complete, John&Gideon; I’m actually shocked there aren’t way more John and Gideon “bonding” fics out there. This one also has a backstory for Gideon and Ianthe’s friendship bracelets!

The Adventure Zone- Balance

old worn out suit and shoes- 600, complete, Taako&Lup; Post-finale nightmares for Taako, now that he can remember he has a sister to lose

Malevolent

Please Come Back To Me- 2.9k, complete, Parker&Arthur; Parker lives and goes to hunt down and kill whatever used Arthur to try to kill him.

You’re here. That’s all I need to know.- 300 complete; Arthur finds Faroe in the bath.

Living, Dead, or Undecided?- 1.7k, complete; Arthur is sacrificed to the King in Yellow as punishment for what happened to Faroe.

His head and limbs were heavy with ornaments, much of his flesh left unprotected from the elements. It was far too mild a summer evening for that; he deserved to freeze or burn at the freedom of open air. His thoughts were fuzzy with the overpowering cacophony of scented oils and chanting. He was deposited at the top of the hill, too gentle in slope to burn at his atrophied muscles, on a stone slab. They chained him in place, the seeping stone finally sapping enough warmth from his bones to feel appropriate.

Dracula

i still see your ghost- 200, complete, Jonathan/Mina; Some fill-in angst about Jonathan seeing Dracula on September 22… which I did actually write on September 22.

Hannibal

I can’t remember if I cried- 1.7k, complete, Abigail/Marissa; This is actually a concept I came up with in high school lol. Hopefully, someday I’ll write a fic expanding on the shipping kernel of the concept.

Hench

The Kind of World Where We Belong- 1k, complete, Anna/Quantum; AU where Leviathan dies and femslash ensues.

The Magnus Archives

The Vampire Saga- 68k, 6 works, Jon/Martin; The first of several shared universes with @suttttton on this list. Vampire!Elias snacks on Jon until Vampire!Martin gets hold of him instead, fluff and romance ensue. The new works this year both feature Gerry!

The Vampire Saga Route 2- 38k, 7 works, Jon/Martin, Jon/Elias, Jon/suffering; Shares a few fics with its predecessor, up to Martin entering the picture, this is the darker version. Fic this year mostly focuses on Jon meeting Tim and Sasha, and the gang rescuing Danny from the Circus. And the aftermath thereof. I’m really proud of the Circus stuff I wrote!

Bird-Verse- 37k, 7 works, Jon/Beholding, Jon/Martin;Spin-off of cult au, also with Sutton, featuring a happier resolution to many of Jon’s problems, so he gets to live with all his friends and marry Martin. Except for how this year’s additions are about him dealing with the lingering cult intrusions and trauma :)

Indent AU- 50k, 2 works, Jon/everyone;My first foray into writing smut. I’m very proud of it, and I’d say it deserved more love than it got, but I’m realistic about the content being very much not for everyone.

Cult AU Bad Ending- 9k, 2 works, Jon/Beholding, Jon/Jonah; This is a good time to mention that, as I have 10,000 Cult AU derivatives, they have their own AO3 Collection now. This one is a far future fic where Jon is immortal with Jonah and sad about it. It’s a crier.

Interesting- 3.7k, complete, Jon/Elias, Jon/Martin; This is an old fic of Jon and Elias in the Panopticon that got a new chapter for Whumptober! It took about 2 years to get that draft to publication…

restless soul who always skips town- 900, complete, Jon/Peter; This is the one I most wish got more attention. Peter keeps Jon in the Lonely.

When Peter comes, it's wonderful. Peter is a person in a way the Archivist isn't and, he knows, Peter even sometimes leaves the fog. He knows it because Peter gives him journals that are red and gold and violet, so different from the limited palette of the fog and the Archivist and Peter that they make the Archivist's eyes hurt.

dead if they knew- 6k, complete, Elias/Jon/Tim; I had SO much fun fiddling to differentiate the four POVs from each other!

Familiar AU- 16k, 4 works, complete; Jon is kidnapped by Elias and turned into his familiar; for Sasha, Tim, and Martin, it’s a long, hard road to rescuing him.

no beat, no melody- 600, complete; Canon-compliant fic in between Jon getting the tape of the birthday party from MAG161 and the episode itself, hanging around the safehouse in the Depression Zone.

welcomed you with open doors- 1.6k, complete, Martin/Jon; Spiral!Martin in a role reversal au that swaps him and Michael. Martin is much more proactive as the Distortion (and more liable to fall in love with nearby Archivists)

save some face (you know you’ve only got one)- 1.4k, complete; Sasha is altered by the NotThem instead of killed. Half body horror, half giving her my fibromyalgia, all bad times!

somebody once broke me- 2.7k, complete, Jon&Gerry; Gerry lives! Visibly monstery Avatars! Jon gets kidnapped from a kidnapping! It’s all the hits for my body of work ;)

remember this moment- 3.8k, complete, Jon&Daisy; I initially planned this fic for, I think, Februwhump 2021. It’s been slated for every Februwhump and Whumptober since, and FINALLY finished!

Take Me Through the Darkness- 15k, complete; Superhero AU, ft. epistolary interludes! Several more of my greatest hits! (And also Jon getting kidnapped from another kidnapping.) My personal favorite is Jon thinking Tim is a hallucination and crying.

look upon your greatness (and she’ll send the call out)- 8k, complete; Cult AU AU where Georgie tracks Jon down a few months after his kidnapping.

The chances of Jon being abducted, held somewhere, and still alive are so narrow that they might as well not exist. Checking the resources the charity sent, Georgie realized it's even grimmer than that. She struggles to picture Jon doing anything to appease his captors. It's extremely easy, however, to picture him literally or figuratively daring them to kill him.

Something Wretched About This- 2.9k, complete, Jon&Tim; Jon returns from the Circus without vocal cords, and he and Tim have a moment of peace, if not reconciliation.

just like a real-life thelma and louise- 6.6k, complete, Sasha/Annabelle; Sasha and Annabelle have superpowers and escape from the lab experimenting on them.

Kinky Polychives AU- 70k, 2 works, WIP, Polychives; My second, much fluffier smut verse. I tagged Jon as “horny for predicaments instead of people” and I think it’s the thing that’s been commented on specifically by the most people lol

til the veins run red and blue- 200, complete, Jon/Martin; I really like the Lonely, and I don’t know why I don’t write it more. This one is a little Somewhere Else coda with Jmart

come home (to my heart)- 8.7k, complete, Jon&Gerry; a fusion of Little Archive and cult au where Jon is the specialest boy in the whole Cult of Beholding, and Gerry grew up with Mary. If anything I wrote this year gets a sequel, I think it’s this. The fic is all Gerry POV, but I had a chunk written in Jon POV I cut, ft. Jon convincing Beholding that he can definitely wander London solo and it’s FINE, he won’t disappear in the house of a murderer or anything… ;)

Extras- 18k, Jon/Martin; My fae au is complete, but this is a bunch of little bits that inspired me beyond the bounds of the main story, like meeting Melanie, Martin proposing, and so on.

sitting pretty on the throne, nothing more i want (except to be alone)- 217k, WIP, Jon/Beholding; Cult au wraps up another year! Hopefully, by this time next year, it’ll be complete at LAST!

Beneath the Stains of Time- 98k, WIP; Also a contender for longfic that I hope to finish in 2024! This year, we FINALLY got to the gang figuring out Jon’s identity and now it’s all unraveling…

Little Archive- 85k, WIP; Last but certainly not least! I’ve been so happy to see the warm reception for Cecile and Anika this year 💗

#tma #malevolent #hench #hannibal #batfam #dracula #taz #tlt #wrap-up #ink post #ink writing #ink fic

[actualbird]

hope you have a great Christmas and new year!! what fic/headcanon/ficlet did you enjoy writing the most this year, and are there any fic/headcanon ideas you want to write in 2024? 🎄

hi hi anon, thank you for the well wishes!! i hope you have a wonderful holidays too, and a happy new year :DDD

thank you ALSO for this question cuz uehhhhh i feel pretty emotional over my writing journey this 2023. i didnt write as much as i wanted, but im still proud of myself for what i managed to get out

the fic i enjoyed writing the most this year has got to be, hands down, growing pains

(yes i will shamelessly self promo it HAHA, it's the fic im proudest of writing this year!! to anybody out there hasnt read it, if you do read it, itd mean the world to me)

while this fic didnt do numbers or anything, it's the one fic that i'd been wanting to write basically ever since i learned of marius' family's lore and his backstory. it was an idea that i kept in my head for the longest time, and finally being able to write it was so rewarding. the comments i got on the fic too, both on the fic or from people telling me or from aRT INSPIRED BY THE FIC (CHIKA IF UR OUT THERE, KNOW THIS ART LIVES IN MY HEART!!), it all made me so so so grateful and happy. just goes to show that theres no such thing as too late to write a fic idea ;w; someone out there will always be able to resonate with the story ;w;

as for 2024......i....actually dont wanna be writing very much anymore, if im being honest ;w;

i know i just posted a wip of a christmas fic but after some reflection ive come to the conclusion that! writing isnt making me very happy lately if im being honest HAHA. and life is too short to waste on things that make me feel upset. the only reason im writing right now is because it feels like homework, which....isnt a great way to think about a hobby thats sposed to be bringing me joy.

maybe one day in this upcoming year, the joy to write will come back and i'll ferally work on a wip with passion and gusto again. but until then, take this ask as me taking an informal hiatus from fics and most hcs

anyhoo, thank you for the ask anon!! to a fruitful 2024 for us all :D

#asks #anon #if im being real there isnt much in general making me happy lately <3 but thats how mental illness goes HJVJKSHFS we'll get through

[a-pale-azure-moon]

WIP Wednesday

It's done.

There will be revisions and tweaks to make between now and when I post it in a few days, but I have finished the final chapter of Someday We'll Shine Together. At long last, it is complete.

I'm struggling to distill all of my emotions into words at the moment. This fic has been a part of my life for about three years now. I'm feeling accomplished and proud of myself for really and truly finishing it despite the fact that when I first had the idea, I was convinced this was another of those fleeting inspirational flashes that would never go anywhere and would forever languish in my WIP folder. I got very attached to this story in the process of creating it, and I got even more attached to it when it was one of the things that helped see me through a very difficult time in my personal life. As such, I'm also grieving that it's over and that I now must let it go. Sure, it'll always exist for me to revisit whenever I want, but that feeling is never the same as the one derived from actively working on it.

While I'm still digesting all of these emotions, here's a rough timeline and some background of the fic's development, so you can all see how I finally got to this point. This is pretty personal too, because the two are irrevocably intertwined. (Content warning: death/grief)

Summer 2020: Initial inspiration hits after I rewatched Utena during COVID lockdown.

Fall 2020: Brainworms are on-and-off active, writing short blurbs in a Google doc when they come to me, but there's no true shape to the whole plot yet, it’s just random scenes. It's more or less still strictly a 3H-esque retelling of Utena, and I'm not expecting anything to actually come of these blurbs.

Winter 2020: More blurbs trickle in here and there. The story in my head is starting to divert more drastically from the show.

February 19, 2021: Draft of the pivotal scene at the end of Chapter 15 written. I remember the specific day for this because I wrote it the same day we put down our dog, Clancy. (Writing emotional scenes often helps me process my own emotions.)

April 11, 2021: Creation of my dedicated author's notes file to keep track of the various threads and ideas I'd come up with, especially the backstory about Faerghus and how Dimitri became the Lion Prince. I filled it in like an extended summary or wikipedia entry about the 'verse and the overall plot of the story. I jotted a lot of stuff down between April and June as the brainworms really got to work again.

Summer 2021: I'm starting to entertain the idea of actually seeing this project through. Chapters 1 and 2 are drafted over the summer months, but I hit a block and the self doubt comes roaring right in to deter me.  A LARGE part of my struggle with getting this fic out of development hell was me being unable to get out of my own way.  Every stumbling block I hit (especially early on) was an invitation for my inner critic to resume browbeating me into giving up this “stupid” idea.

September 2021: I finally make up my mind that I'm really going to do this, and I spend the next six weeks ironing out the bumps in the plot and making a chapter-by-chapter outline highlighting the key scenes/plot points/character beats within each one. I organized the various blurbs I had into chronological order and put them under the correct chapter headings. I also started thinking of the best way to get myself to see this project through, as well as what would be a realistic timetable for its completion. I estimated that the final length of the whole thing would be around 350 pages or roughly 150K words. (This is hilarious to me in hindsight.  I severely underestimated the scope of this fic!)

November 2021: I try to do the NaNoWriMo challenge (50K words in a month) to draft as much of the fic as I can. I "only" produce about 35K words in the end, but it was enough to draft Chapters 3 and 4 and write at least one decent-sized blurb within each of all of the remaining chapters.

December 2021: I took a short hiatus from working on SWST to finish Beneath the Ethereal Moon. When that's done, I went over my outline yet again to refine it further and then cleaned up my draft of Chapter 1 with an eye on posting it after right after New Year's. I determined that posting (and writing) one chapter per month should be doable, especially since I have a generous buffer to start with.

January 2022: I get a bad case of cold feet/anxiety and don't post Chapter 1. I'm having trouble getting a feel for Chapter 5 and fail to finish it before the end of the month. (This naturally doesn't help alleviate my self-doubt or silence my very loud inner critic.)

February 2022: Cold feet strike again and I fail to post Chapter 1 a second time. I'm still stuck on Chapter 5 (though I've at least made some progress), and while I'm extremely aware that I'm being my own worst enemy, that doesn't make it any easier to beat back old habits.

March 2, 2022: In the wee hours of the night (it was after midnight), I finally posted Chapter 1 and went straight to bed after. I slept terribly of course, haha.

I wish I could say "and you know the rest from here," but that's not true. Posting Chapter 1 was a huge mental hurdle cleared, but there were other things going on behind the scenes that almost derailed this project for good. The timing was such that if I were more prone to hubris, I'd think that the universe itself was testing my resolve. Or possibly mocking me.

On March 3, 2022 (yes, the day after I posted Chapter 1), my father was admitted to the hospital with a debilitating pain in his lower back. Initially, we thought it might be a flare up of his sciatica or maybe something like a kidney stone, but the truth was far worse. What he had was a spinal epidural abscess caused by a bacterial infection in his blood. He was transported to the ICU of a larger (further away) hospital once the severity of his condition was discovered, and he was pumped full of massive doses of antibiotics. Thanks to that, he stabilized, but what followed after was a long period of uncertainty as he would start to make gains only to suffer a setback. Even once the infection and his pain level were under control, he'd been so severely sick that the bacteria had ravaged his various body systems, leading to issues with his kidneys and his heart.

For 91 days, my family and I were stuck on a wretched rollercoaster of getting hopeful (he was transferred to a rehab facility three different times when it looked like he was improving) and then having our hopes dashed when something would happen that would see him sent back to the hospital (falling out of bed, chest pains, difficulty breathing). Hope began to fade in mid May when he was transferred back to the ICU due to diastolic heart failure, which caused his lungs to fill up with fluid. They tapped his lungs thrice, removing at least a liter of fluid each time, but they kept filling up again despite all the diuretics the doctors were giving him. Then his kidneys began to shut down too. We kept hoping right until the end, but he passed away on June 1, 2022, the day before what would've been his and my mother's 49th wedding anniversary.

(Proof that real life can be even crueler than fiction.)

I was only able to continue updating SWST while my father was sick because of that buffer I'd had, and I very nearly deleted the story from AO3 altogether after he died. I remember ruminating about how futile it was to continue with this project; I'd written almost nothing while he was sick, so my buffer was now gone and I questioned whether or not I'd be able to write, let alone write consistently, with the promised months of grief and general upheaval ahead. Even writing a story that I had, to that point, been passionate about felt utterly pointless.

It was strange though. I woke up on June 2nd thinking that maybe I should go ahead and post chapter 4 anyway, since it was already done and it was one of the chapters I particularly liked. So I did. And in the following days, we had my father's funeral and a part of me felt like I could breathe again. I was grieving yes, but the constant daily stress and uncertainty from his illness was gone, and I think that freed my creative drive to start working again. I remember the first day I sat back down at my computer with the intention to write and how much better I felt in general after I got some words onto the screen.

It's hella ironic that I planned SWST with grief and loss as major themes and it turned out I'd be processing such things myself while writing most of it. I know my own grief affected the story, though it's impossible to say to what degree; I get a lot of catharsis in general from writing emotional scenes, so I tend to go hard on them regardless. It didn't change the plot or direction of the story at all, since that was already planned, but it's certainly safe to say that I channeled a lot of my own feelings into some of the most intense moments. The ending of Chapter 9 stands out in particular as something that felt like it was coming straight out of my own heart.

Even on the hard days when I was feeling too overwhelmed and/or the words just weren’t coming, this story gave me a reason to keep going.  Just keeping the goal in mind and reasserting my resolve to be consistent and see this project through to the end helped me cope.  It both kept me grounded and helped me process what I was going through and it gave me something to look forward to when I uploaded each chapter and anxiously waited to see what the readers would think.

I started this fic as a means of testing myself: testing my commitment to writing consistently, to finishing a long-term project, and to getting over at least some of the many, MANY mental hurdles that have held me back from writing for way too long.  I knew that this story would always be near and dear to me if I managed to finish it, but it became even more precious than I ever could’ve imagined back in 2020.  It hurts that I must say goodbye to it, but…it’s forever mine.  I can say with my whole chest that I MADE THIS THING and I’m so very proud of it! <3

#my writing #swst #wip wednesday #personal

[brighteststar707]

Faye!! Congrats on the milestone my sweet 🎂 your event is so precious and thoughtful and I just love it as much as I love you!!! 🩷🌸

Pretty please could I pick a toy for our lovely Zen? I was so tempted to go for dark chocolate you don't even know like I'm just thirsty all the damn time tbh

Lola! I was so excited to do this request, I love any chance i get to unpack some of Zen's backstory (though I must say, it was quite fun to imagine Zen's fantasies for a minute)

I'm so happy you like the event theme! I wanted it to be something special for such a milestone, and I'm really fond of how it turned out.

I'm also really fond of this fic, I love some Zen lore. I hope you enjoy <3

✧ Toy ~ Memories from their past

Hyun at age six is quiet. His mother once told him that good boys don't call attention to themselves, so he tries his best to blend in.

Secretly, he wishes he didn't have to be a good boy. He likes singing (especially where others can hear him), he likes playing like the other kids do. He doesn't like pretending to be invisible. He tries so hard, and it so rarely works. He can duck his head and hold his tongue all he wants, but there is always someone who wants to talk to him or touch him.

The other day, a lady in the supermarket tried to hold his hand and pat his hair. His mother was very upset (with her or him, he's still not sure).

He doesn't like going outside very much anymore. The only place he really likes going is school. Not because of the classes. They're difficult and boring. But his classmates are usually nice. They choose him first when making teams for games - sports is easier than anything they learn at school. He likes how it feels when they all cheer him on. He definitely isn't invisible then.

It's less fun when his classmates make him ask the teachers for things they want (recently it was for a longer breaktime which the teacher did not want to give). They don't care that it gets him into trouble. They believe the teachers like him more than the others. He doesn't think that's true.

Sure, some teachers are nice to him, but most of them are so strict. They get upset with him when he makes mistakes (Hyun does not like maths) and give him harder exercises. A lot of them tell him the same thing:

"Don't expect life to be easy just because of your looks."

He isn't sure what that means. He doesn't think his life is easy.

He likes his brother. He's the smartest person Hyun knows. He has answers to all the questions he asks (even the ones about maths). Even more than that, his brother is kind. He doesn't laugh at Hyun or tell him that he's being bad, even when he draws attention to himself.

He didn't even laugh after their mother gave Hyun a terrible haircut recently, even though all the kids at school did. She had been telling him that he was ugly, that his hair was too long, that it was distracting. Despite how much Hyun had begged her not to cut it too short, she ended up chopping most of it.

He liked his hair. He misses it now that it's all gone.

His brother did not laugh. Instead he ruffled his hair and told him that he looked older. He promised him that he would help Hyun style it as it grew out and maybe even comb it the way he does. They have never looked alike, but perhaps that way there would finally be a similarity.

Maybe Hyun would be able to be a good boy if he was more like his brother.

Hyun at age fifteen is angry. He left home a few months ago, after a particularly nasty fight with his mother. She had found the scripts he had hidden even after she had made him promise to drop performing and work harder at school. It had resulted in a screaming match (another one, they were becoming increasingly common recently). That wasn't the reason he left, though.

He had gotten used to tuning out the yelling. The final straw came a few hours later when his brother came to talk to him. For just a few seconds, Hyun had felt the sense of comfort that he had only ever felt with his brother. He was good at reminding him that her words were just a result of her frustration, that he wasn’t ugly or useless or one of the other things she liked to call him.  

But that feeling didn’t last long. His brother's eyebrows were furrowed, a look that did not suit his face, and Hyun knew something was different. Instead of comforting him, his brother had said something along the lines of why haven’t you given up this hobby yet, you know this isn’t going to get you anywhere. You can’t do this forever.

Something like that. Hyun’s ears were ringing too loudly for him to properly hear everything. To have to hear these things from his brother was a betrayal bigger than he had ever felt.

That night, he packed up his most important belongings and slipped out of the house. He hasn’t looked back since. That doesn’t mean he isn’t still angry, though. In fact, the longer he has been away, the angrier he gets.

He has started to see things more clearly. The way he was treated as a small child, like a nuisance who could only do wrong, whose hobbies were annoying and looks were burdensome. The way he has only ever been discouraged, the way he has always been wrong wrong wrong. All while his brother was praised as the perfect child.

The injustice of it makes him seethe with rage. He doesn’t recognize this version of himself, the one who is always a step away from exploding.

It has helped him survive out on the streets, though. His new friends use his anger to help them pull off robberies. He is taller than most kids his age, and when he squares off his shoulders and clenches his jaw, he can look very intimidating. He doesn’t like how it makes him feel afterwards, but he needs the money. Even when he isn’t trying to be intimidating, store owners are usually to busy admiring his face for them to notice the things he’s stealing.

His hair is growing past his ears. He’s not going to cut it again if he can help it. He pins it back and makes tiny little ponytails to keep it out of the way when he’s training.

And oh, he trains. He’s attending auditions like crazy, whenever he can fit them between the short work gigs he lands. He keeps reminding himself that he’s waiting for just one break, that one good show will kick start his career, and he won’t have to live like this anymore.

If only someone would cast him. Every director he has met so far has complimented his skills (which feels good) and his looks (which feels less good) but tells him that he still needs time, and to come back in a few years.

Hyun doesn’t have a few years, he wants to tell them. He wants to scream it, after a while, in each of these director’s faces. He is crashing at a different house every night, on blow-up mattresses and lumpy sofas. He eats only what he can scrounge up in a day, be it from the little money he earns or whatever he can steal. He has his eye on a cheap apartment listing, but it will be a while before he can afford even one month’s rent.

It's the idea of this mythical home (one with no rules, no arguments, no forced haircuts) that keeps him going when his doubts start to creep up on him. He has to believe that he hasn’t made a big mistake, because he’s in too deep now.   

Little does he know that he's a week away from landing his first role.

Zen at age twenty is unsatisfied. He keeps getting cast in the same archetype over and over again. His lines feel repetitive, his monologues uninspiring. He wants more for his characters, more for himself. At the same time, he cannot afford to branch out and take risks because he needs the money. On top of that, modelling gigs pay more than acting, so he’s spending more time in front of a camera than he’d like.

With a lot of his jobs centring around his appearance, he has been learning how to care for himself in a way he has never done before. He has treated himself to a few hair care products, and enjoys brushing out his hair every night after stressful days. Investing time in himself feels like an escape from everything else in life. He can be playing the fifth romantic interest character in a row, but at least he will be beautiful doing it.

It’s a phrase he has slowly been learning to get used to. He is beautiful. He is handsome. It’s funny, he has heard it countless times throughout his life, but only recently has it stopped feeling wrong.

He feels like he has hit a wall in his career, and his personal life is not looking any better. His girlfriend broke up with him a week ago and it still doesn’t feel real. He should probably be sadder about it than he is. All he feels is lonely.

She was great, really. They had met after a show and hit it off quickly. At first it was nice. He liked the company, craved the affection she gave him. But with his workload as it is, it was impossible to manage a relationship at the same time. He never got more than a few hours off of work (most of which he spent resting), which cut down on the time they could spend together significantly.

They drifted apart; it was inevitable. And despite him knowing this deep down, he didn’t expect her to leave him like that.

Now he’s lonely and anxious. Not a good combination. For all his regrets about his time spent with the gang, at least he was never lonely.

Some of that anger he carried with him as a teenager can sometimes still flare up in him. He sees people his age who have the support and care of their loved ones, when he ends every night by himself in his crappy apartment on the sofa with a beer and a script. He remembers how unfair things are, how he wishes things could have been different.

Oh well, it's no use dwelling on what could have been. He can only face the future head on and keep pushing. He will try his best to remind himself why he chose this path, despite all the difficulties he is facing.

Zen at age twenty-four has butterflies. He’s on the phone talking to a bubbly stranger and something feels different. They call him often (he’d like to think more often than they call any of the others) and ask him about his day in detail. Despite having received so many compliments throughout his life, when they compliment him, it makes him blush. He feels comfortable, more so than he has in a long time.

He wants to follow this feeling, the excitement and anticipation for as far as it will take him. Something tells him something good is waiting at the end of it.

#lolaalee #300 follower event #mystic messenger #mystic messenger zen #mystic messenger hyun ryu #mysme zen #mysme hyun ryu #hyun ryu #my writing

[aziraphalalala]

She stepped closer, understanding in her eyes.

“So, he left you… for a job opportunity?”

“Nngggghhhyyeeaaaah, you could say that.”

“Well, good riddance. If he didn’t choose you, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“He kind of does, you know.”

This snippet comes from my first ever fic, "In the bookshop, after". I promised I'd answer any asks with 500 words from anywhere on any fic I've written here, so, here we are. Author rambling meta, served piping hot, coming up!

Why did I write this fic?

This fic, albeit a short one-shot, was written in the emotional aftershock of *points finger at the last 15 minutes of Good Omens S2E6*.

The second season finally unleashed a burst of creativity and a desire to write in me that had been lying in wait for quite some time. Suddenly, I had so many ideas, and I needed to let it all out somehow. I drew. I sang. I wrote shitty poetry. I returned to tumblr to scream about Good Omens with everyone else.

Once I wrote this fic, it was like opening a Pandora's Box. I can no longer stop, nor do I want to. Writing gives me life. I enjoy it so much I am now writing a multi-chapter human AU fic which will end up being around 30,000 words. In less than 2 months.

It's crazy, and glorious.

Anyway, back to this snippet.

The characters, the dialogue, the context

This unnamed lady, who steps in to the bookshop as Crowley is slowly but steadily consuming quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol, has an uncanny way of picking up things she shouldn't be able to.

Crowley and the lady have a conversation which happens on multiple levels, especially for Crowley. He ends up being painfully honest, secure in his knowledge that most of it goes over the head of this random person.

We, the readers, are not sure whether that's truly the case. She appears rather unusually perceptive.

I have plans for that random person, and a whole backstory for her. I might write it one day. That fic would go a long way explaining her side of this conversation.

But for now, we don't really know her, and we leave it at that.

What was I thinking as I wrote this?

This moment, these lines, draw heavily from my own life. I, too, once imagined that love is an emotion that in itself can be enough for a relationship. Experience, sometimes harshly, has taught me that in the end, our actions and choices are more important than our intentions and emotions.

Does this person choose me? Do they prioritize my needs? Do they make an effort, day in day out, to make our relationship work?

This is the lesson the lady wishes to drill into Crowley. And if it were any other person in the world, a friend of mine for example, I'd tell them to move on. Good riddance. They don't choose you, they don't deserve you.

But. Aziraphale and Crowley have been friends, enemies and co-conspirators for six millennia. How does one even begin to define the complexities of their relationship?

Have they not, consistently, worked to keep each other safe, to find short moments together that they can share in secret?

Their relationship is a relationship that thrives despite being forbidden. Despite the fear that's ever present in their lives.

Some word choice trivia.

"Job opportunity" is a very purposeful choice, because it's a slightly revolting business jargon term. It's jarring, seeing it in the context of Good Omens and our two supernatural beings. It implies, heavily, that it's a bullshit opportunity, meaning it's not what it seems to be. It implies that the lady thinks Aziraphale made the stupidest choice on the planet for something that isn't worth it.

Crowley kinda agrees, but not whole-heartedly, because I believe he knows Aziraphale had very little choice in the end.

And, let's face it. Being an angel of Heaven is basically a shitty corporate job that sucks the life and soul out of you.

"He kind of does, you know." This is where the conversation really happens on a few different levels. Since Crowley understands why Aziraphale did what he did (at least in my head), he still has hope that they can be together, in the end. That they are, in fact, fighting the same fight, on the same side.

Finally.

I'll leave it to all of you to decide whether the lady truly knows what's up when we say "She stepped closer, understanding in her eyes."

Does she understand, think she understands, or do we misinterpret her expression? Again, how is she there? How can she just pick up the conversation, and so many details without being told?

One day I hope we'll find out.

Thanks for the ask, anon! This was fun. 😊

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