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Wilmon romantic sexual OTP part of larger Wilmon Felice platonic OT3 my beloved
Still one of my favourite dynamics I've ever written. And I feel like a bit of a fraud. Because it just WORKED. I've had a couple my fics just... fall out of me. And that was one of them.
[Worth the Wait]
Anonymously - or not - tell me what passage, fic, line of narration, or anything you remember me by as a writer.
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Essay idea: gender is an inherently flawed concept due to the fluidity of self perception and the inaccuracy of two mutually exclusive categories defining a persons identity and having said categories control any given persons child development.
I am not a writer, let alone a good writer
Donât go in there, the haunted 7/11, with itâs flickering lights that go zippity zap. Beware of the dark that lies in wait behind crinkling cheeto packets. Yes, you can feel it, seeping into cigarettes and cursing lotto tickets. It lurks and lingers, stuck like gum underneath gallon milk jugs. It lingers.
The convenience store basked in itâs own neon radiance, a sign advertising Marlboros and Coors light flickering in the mud speckled window. The highway was empty, with the exception of her car and this singular way station. She sat in her red Subaru Impreza for a moment, marveling at how she had reached this point her life. A series of seemingly unrelated events all stacked up, culminating into her current wanderlust. She always came back to one specific winter morning, however. This particular morning felt like yesterday to her, despite the thick air of summer currently clinging to her perspiring skin. Snowfall had erased the sky, leaving an off-white nothingness in itâs place. Itâs calming to see the sky become so intangible, sometimes. She liked to imagine, on these kinds of days, that she could replace the white backdrop with anything, like keying the largest green screen. That day, the sky was filled with almost microscopic static, moving at the pace of plaque under a dentistâs microscope. The slightest outline of the sun became in her minds eye a rich black with no conceivable depth. It became a hole in the upper left corner of the sky; the sky she saw through the gossamer curtains of her bedroom window. Snow fell from above, layering thick on the ground below. The sound of a facebook notification filled the silence, a friend of a friend was trying to reach her. His name was Daniel. He was sweet, tall, and enjoyed cooking more than anything, despite choosing to major in cellular biology. At one point, she had helped him out with a research proposal through facebook, and he had gifted her with six stout loaves of rosemary sourdough. They had met a mere month ago and had never spoken outside of the company of mutual friends or the confines of facebook. She started laughing in incredulity when she read the message. âWhaaaaat,â she whispered under her breath, dragging her computer onto her lap. âHow do I evenâŠ?â
December 27, 2014 2:36 pm [2:36pm] Want to go on a road trip? Woah, uh. [2:39pm] Maybe????? [2:40pm] [2:40pm] Where to? I have no idea, tbh. [2:40pm] [2:42pm] I was thinking art museum tour. [2:42pm] When can you leave? Hahaha holy shit, I donât know! [2:43pm] Iâll probably have to think about it. [2:43pm] [2:43pm] Tomorrow? Monday? As the leather of the drivers seat fused onto her skin, she wished she wasnât so alone. Her eyes felt red. Sighing, she turned the key in the ignition, silencing the idle purr of the engine. As she pocketed her keys, they collided with a small rubber band ball, gifted from an old friend with the curious ability to find office supplies wherever she went. They followed her like flies clinging to rotten meat. The bells on the door jingled hollowly as she entered. Most of the overhead lights were busted, so the frozen food isle mainly illuminated the store. Hagen Daz and Yoplait Frozen Yoghurt packages were lined up like cemetery stones. The dented and expired were shoved unceremoniously in the back. A radio on the counter mumbled out 80s power ballads. She recognized the guitar solo, but little else. Her fingers grazed against a Twinkies stand as she searched for something salty and drenched in chocolate. The crinkle of plastic wrapping tickled her ear as she dug into the small container of snickers bars, her arm sinking deeper and deeper, reaching up to the curve of her shoulder. When she pulled away, her arm felt wet with thick ooze, like she had unwittingly dipped into a vat of lube. Her skin felt dry when she placed her hand over it, making her shiver. Shaking her arm to get rid of the residual sensation, she moved deeper into the rows of snack food. She ripped the glossy packaging in thick, even strands down its length. It suddenly hit her that she was probably asleep. When thinking back, she had no recollection of coming here, just suddenly being in her idling car. With a shrug, she continued. If she was dreaming, then she wanted to enjoy the respite from the tumultuous nature of life. She wanted to explore. Sticky caramel and nougat filling coated the inside of her mouth as she explored, the entrance of the 7/11 nothing but a barely illuminated spec in the distance by the time she had reached the spaces inner limits. Something unidentifiable and sickly sweet had spilt on the white tiled floor well before she arrived, fusing with her rubber soles when she stood too long and letting out a ridiculous sucking sound when she moved. The thrum of fluorescent tubes became background radiation over time, but she could never get used to the sound of bugs trying to kill themselves, as if leading an insignificant life was worse than death. She saw them bounce off the overhead lights, hoping to burn to death. For a moment she wished she had more control of her dreams, and that she could replace the incessant clink of tiny sentient bodies slamming against glass with maybe a BeyoncĂ© album, or ambient noise. With a couple shlops of her shoes, she moved on to the frosty glass of a freezer in search of Dannyâs favorite ice cream flavor. As she reached out to grab the vat of mint chip, she wondered if it was worth it. Wouldnât it become intangible once she woke up? Shrugging, she grabbed the tub anyways, so as to say she at least tried. The thin film of ice melted on contact with her fingers, beading up on her skin. The world seemed dead still, yet she had the constant feeling of someone right behind her. Itâs the same feeling she gets when sheâs at a movie theatre and, despite the velvet darkness, knows thereâs someone occupying the adjacent seat. They say nothing, they do not move, and she cannot feel their skin, yet she knows. It was unsettling, and she found herself placing her back on isle shelves, sweating walls, freezer doors. The few leg hairs that escaped her razorâs glide stood up on end. She wished she could wake up. This wasnât nearly as fun and mysterious as itâs outset was. That was when, in a terrifying flash of light, her arm grazed against a light switch. âWhat?â she whispered, eyebrows knotting as the rest of the lights popped into existence. âYou canât turn lights on in dreams.â âA haunted 7/11?â Daniel asked over his continental breakfast. âThat doesnât really sound like somewhere she would go. Maybe she woke up early and decided to grab some coffee.â He side-eyed the machine on the buffet table. âGod, I hope thatâs where she went.â The receptionist shrugged, arms crossed. âAt the very least, she didnât leave through the lobby since my shift started at around 3 A.M. It wouldnât be the first time someoneâs been shanghaiâd and, honestly, that place has always given me the creeps. Ever since I was a kid.â She shuddered. Daniel took a bite of his eggs, if you could call it that. âWell, thatâs reassuring.â âHey, you seem like a cool guy, Iâm just telling you whatâs up.â Her eyes widened slightly. âOh also, can this stay between us? The company doesnât like my, ah, frankness.â She blushed. He gave her a small chuckle and mimed zippering his lips shut, locking it, and throwing away the key. âIs there anything else I can help you with?â She offered, shifting her weight. âNope, thatâs it for me.â He looked out the window, where a rather unappealing landscape of the hotelâs parking lot awaited him. A red Subaru Impreza occupied the 13th lot.
So I wrote this just now and its unbeta'd and also terrible and also makes no sense but i had the idea of a girl that leaves pancakes with all of her one night stands and thought it would be cute so read under the cut i guess
Her eyes were caked with the remnants of mascara, the clumps sealing her lids closed. Despite the ink holding her eyelashes together, sunlight penetrated through and assaulted her pupils, forcing her into damned consciousness. Groaning, a thumping pain in her head began its drum, the beat shockingly similar to the song that had played repetitiously in the club last night. Not that she remembered much of that particular club. The last thing she can clearly recall is the fleeting thought of âwow, this shot looks about as luminescent as a neon signâ before promptly downing it. The acrid taste of regret on her tongue a mere five seconds later was also relatively vivid, most likely due to the fact that it clung to her for the rest of the remaining night.
The body right next to her own shifted, a slight nasally exhale reaching her ears. Carefully, she sat up and gently pulled her eyelids apart, taking in the scenery before her. As per the usual, clothing was everywhere. The apartment was small and the selections of items contained within it were focused more on comfort rather than aesthetic. A beanbag chair patched lovingly with silver duct tape and worn down to a muted salmon caught her attention first, mostly due to the bra hanging upon it. Tiptoeing forward, she nabbed the item of clothing and slipped it on, her loosely hanging shirt following soon after. Daft Punk was emblazoned across its front as she pulled out her phone from her jeans pocket, flipping to their entire discography.
Bouncing her head to the muffled music, she ambled her way into the kitchen and miraculously found her purse leaning against the dish washer. Plucking it from the ground, she rummaged around for her pancake mix. After her first tentative attempts at one night stands, she learned one thing rather quickly: no one had any pancake mix. She thought thatâd be one of the essentials, right up there with eggs, milk and coffee. Alas, many of those she stayed with were highly lacking when it came to a complete breakfast. It was, to say the least, pretty fucking pitiful.
It was not long before the sizzle of batter on a buttered pan rose to greet her sensitive ears, the smell intoxicating (as usual). Each pancake was cooked to an even golden brown, the same color palette range as a well roasted marshmallow. The edges were crispy with butter and each bite was guaranteed to be fluffier than the last. Smiling, she added the final garnishes of maple syrup and butter. The day anyone she sleeps with asks for less butter is the day that person gets punched in the face, in her opinion. As for the maple syrup, she would bring that along as well. Sure, Aunt Jemima would rear her artificially flavored head every once in a while, staring soullessly from the back of a pantry. But she was a connoisseur when it came to maple syrup, and anything less than grade A congealed heaven would not do.
She shut off her cell phone and laid the decadent plate upon the bedside table. It stood proudly amongst a wide array of ragtag possessions, including a miniature chainsaw sculpture, of all things. She quickly nabbed some aspirin from the strangers bathroom before departing, an alarm clock set to detonate placed snug upon a Spiderman print pillow. As she slid into the anonymous bustle of New York City, a small smile crept upon her face. She silently prayed to anyone listening, God, Zeus, Odin, whomever: âPlease donât make my one night stand gluten free.â
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