The Countess

The strongest pain comes from feeling alone while you are surrounded by people.

There is no amount of words that can express the depth of what you make me feel.

Our story is unfinished, just like that.

We met on the first page of the first book. You were too cool for me.

We became confidants just by the end of the fourth chapter. We had the same secret.

I had a chance to kiss you at the seventh chapter, but chickened out.

You weren't much around at the second book. I loved every minute you were near me.

You left me on the fourth chapter of the third book.

I loved you through the whole story.

You can take someone's time, will or freedom, but you can never take their hability to tell stories. We are the stories we write, hear and read. We are a story waiting to be told.

I want to write about you.

I want the world to know how I fell in love with your eyes, and how the idea of our hands touching makes me giggle like a school girl.

I want to write about the way your laughter finds me in quiet rooms, how it echoes in places I didn’t know were empty until you filled them. I want to capture the way your voice softens when you say my name, like it was always meant to sound that way—gentle, warm, and entirely yours.

I want to write about the quiet moments too—the way we exist side by side in silence, and how even then, I feel heard. About how you look at me like I’m something beautiful, even on the days I feel anything but.

I want to write about the way loving you feels like coming home to a place I never knew I missed.

I just need to meet you first.

If you wanna fall in love with someone listen to what they have to say.

If you wanna know someone's dreams and aspirations read their favourite books, get to know their favourite characters.

But if you wanna understand someone, really get to know them, their fears, mistakes, what makes their blood boil, what makes them human, you need to read what they write.

I write all the things I don't have the courage to say out loud.

I wish I could write as much as I feel.

The fun and sad thing about being a writer is that, if you feel anything, you can just write about it.

Happy? Summer Coming of age

Horny? SMUT

Lonely? A full book with a character's internal monologue trying to find its people.

Working on my novel I realised I created a character so despicable I wanted to punch the fucker in the face.

Shortly noticed that it is based on someone I work with.

The upside is = there is a chance I get to actually punch him.

My process:

1. Starts writing.

2. Finishes 7 chapters.

3. Finds a problem with the story.

4. Changes the fucking timeline and background of the story.

5. Finishes the new outline

6. Can't write chapter 2.

Dear Friend,

I’ve always loved the idea of living—the notion that each day, each week, each year

could bring something new. Something that might coax me out of bed, push me into

the sunlight, and whisper promises of endless possibilities. A chance to meet

someone remarkable, to stumble into the extraordinary, to revel in the sheer

absurdity of existence.

I’ve always loved the idea of living. But I never quite figured out how to actually do

it.

Because it hurts. It hurts to lay my head down at night, weaving dreams so vivid

they feel like memories, only to wake up and realize they’re nothing more than

fragile illusions. The idea of those dreams coming true? It exists, sure. But the

likelihood? It’s slim. And that knowledge—sharp and inescapable—makes me cry.

I’m good at dreaming, you see. Exceptional, even. I can conjure a life so full of color

and meaning it takes my breath away. But when morning comes, I’m left with

nothing but the ache of knowing it might never be real.

It’s not that my life is bad. It’s good—comfortable, even. I have a decent job, a loving

family, friends who care, and a routine that keeps me moving. I can afford little

luxuries: travel, nights at the theater, the occasional splurge on something

frivolous. My waking life is fine.

But the life in my head? It’s exquisite.

I love life. I just never figured out how to live it.

Not until I met Death.

From this side of existence, The Countess

Addicted to You - Chapter 1 - Becks475 - Agatha All Along (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Agatha, a business major battling her past struggles with pill addiction, reluctantly attends a support group after pressure from her friends. Haunted by memories of her high-functioning yet destructive reliance on stimulants, she feels out of place until she meets Rio—a striking and charismatic woman who exudes defiance and magnetism. Despite their vastly different paths, the two connect after the meeting, sharing laughter, late-night burgers, and intimate conversation at a diner.

or

AU - Agatha and Rio meet in a support group. They soon realize they are also addicted to each other. (slow burn - eventual smut)