marpotter

i cant believe that ppl actually read about u and comment and vote. Like omg what do u mean u took time out of ur life to read abt the silly little story i came up with in my head thats so cute ily guys

marpotter

Another one cus im greedy
          
          The music downstairs is too loud, too bright—too many people, too much everything.
          
          Up here, it’s quiet.
          
          I’m sitting on the edge of James’s bed, still half-laughing from the way we ran upstairs like we were doing something wrong.
          
          “Your mum is going to notice,” I say.
          
          “She won’t,” he replies, closing the door. “There are too many people. We’re irrelevant.”
          
          “That’s not comforting.”
          
          “It is to me.”
          
          He walks over and stops in front of me, just looking.
          
          “What?” I ask.
          
          “Nothing,” he says. “You look… festive.”
          
          I push his shoulder. “Shut up.”
          
          He laughs, catching my wrist before I can pull away, pulling me a little closer without making a big deal of it.
          
          “You followed me up here,” he says.
          
          “You followed me,” I correct.
          
          “Willingly.”
          
          “Obviously.”
          
          There’s a small pause.
          
          His hand softens around my wrist. I lean in without thinking, resting my forehead against him.
          
          “You’re cold,” he murmurs.
          
          “You’re warm.”
          
          “Tragic.”
          
          I smile into his shirt.
          
          “Too many people,” I mumble.
          
          “They’re awful,” he agrees.
          
          I laugh quietly, pulling back just enough to look at him.
          
          “You’re terrible.”
          
          “And yet…”
          
          He leans in slowly.
          
          I don’t move away.
          
          It’s soft, easy—like it always is, but still somehow new.
          
          When I pull back, I’m still smiling.
          
          “You’re insufferable,” I whisper.
          
          “Festive,” he corrects.
          
          I roll my eyes and fall back onto his bed, tugging him down with me.
          
          He lands beside me, laughing softly.
          
          “Now we’re hiding properly,” I say.
          
          He turns his head toward me, brushing a strand of hair back.
          
          “Yeah,” he says, quieter. “This is better.”

marpotter

A cute lik snippet while i work on the neew chal lovlies 
          
          The kitchens are loud, but she isn’t.
          
          Mia’s at the table, humming softly, completely focused, flour on her cheek like she forgot it was there. She hasn’t noticed me.
          
          I lean in the doorway for a second.
          
          Then I see the tray.
          
          Hot cross chocolate buns.
          
          “Wow,” I say, walking over. “This is either a bribe or a trap.”
          
          She jumps. “James—don’t do that.”
          
          “Do what? Arrive when summoned?”
          
          “I didn’t summon you.”
          
          “Felt serious.”
          
          She rolls her eyes, turning back to the counter. I reach past her—
          
          Her hand smacks mine away. “No.”
          
          “I just want one.”
          
          “No, you don’t. You want five.”
          
          “Unfair accusation.”
          
          “They’re for later.”
          
          “They’re for me,” I correct.
          
          She huffs, but I step closer anyway, resting my chin on her shoulder.
          
          “You’re in the way,” she says.
          
          “I’m supervising.”
          
          “You’re not qualified.”
          
          “I’m the reason these exist.”
          
          That earns a quiet laugh she tries to hide.
          
          I swipe my thumb across her cheek, smearing the flour.
          
          She freezes. “Did you just—”
          
          “Improved it.”
          
          “You made it worse!”
          
          “Debatable.”
          
          She turns to glare, but doesn’t move away.
          
          I take that as permission and slip an arm around her waist.
          
          “James—”
          
          “I’m standing supportively.”
          
          “You’re not—”
          
          I grab a bun.
          
          “James!”
          
          Too late.
          
          I take a bite, watching her.
          
          She crosses her arms. “Well?”
          
          I chew slowly, just to be annoying.
          
          “…Okay. These are really good.”
          
          Her expression softens for a second. “I told you.”
          
          “Don’t get used to it.”
          
          “I will.”
          
          I grin, tightening my arm slightly.
          
          “Make more.”
          
          “Make your own.”
          
          “Mhmm,” I said before kissing her
          
          after pulling away she slaps my shoulder, smiling.
          
          “Shut up.”
          
          I kiss her again.

marpotter

another one lol
          
          you’re losing me — Taylor Swift
          How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'?
          
          Summer presses at the windows with an almost cruel brightness, like the world outside has no patience for what I’ve become. My room is still, heavy with heat and unwashed time, and I am worse than still—I am absent inside my own body. My mother’s voice travels up the stairs in intermittent strikes: my name, my eating, my “lack of effort,” always braided with the same restrained irritation that pretends to be concern. “Mia, you’re still in bed?” she calls again, sharper now, already disappointed before I’ve answered. She only comes to me when there is something wrong to correct—my weight, my silence, my posture of disappearance. Otherwise I am just another closed door she steps past.
          
          I lie there listening, understanding everything and yet unable to convert it into movement. My limbs feel editorialized, like they belong to a version of me that has been heavily revised and then deleted. Getting up is not difficult in the way people mean it—it is impossible in the way drowning is impossible to argue with. I keep waiting for a return, for some internal correction where I become coherent again, where I can be spoken to and respond like someone who has continuity. But it does not arrive. Instead there is only the slow, humiliating realization that I am being interpreted by others as lazy, careless, wasting—when what I am is something quieter and less forgivable to the outside world: gone, without having moved.

marpotter

A snippet of james and mia i might include (or not) ill be posting these snippets a looootttt.
          
          
          I’m on the ground before I understand I’ve fallen.
          
          Cold stone through my robes. My body lagging behind my thoughts, like I’m not fully synced to myself.
          
          James is already holding me.
          
          Too tight. Too urgent. Like if he loosens his arms, I’ll slip out of existence entirely.
          
          “I see you,” he says, voice breaking. “I see you, Mia.”
          
          It doesn’t feel like being seen.
          
          It feels like being held together.
          
          His hands tremble against my shoulders.
          
          “I love you,” he says immediately, like silence would be worse. “I love you, I love you, I love you—please, stay with me.”
          
          My chest tightens at the sound of it.
          
          Not comfort.
          
          Weight.
          
          He pulls me closer like he’s trying to keep me in this moment by force alone.
          
          “You promised,” he says, and it fractures halfway through. “Mia, you promised me.”
          
          That lands somewhere deep and wordless.
          
          Not memory.
          
          A bruise without a cause.
          
          My throat locks.
          
          I don’t know what I promised.
          
          But I know it mattered enough to break him.
          
          “I can’t watch you do this to yourself,” he says quieter now, like he’s running out of strength to say anything at all. “I can’t, love, I can’t do it again.”
          
          Again.
          
          That word shifts everything without explaining itself.
          
          There was before this.
          
          There were other nights I don’t have access to.
          
          His forehead dips closer, like he’s trying to bring me back by proximity alone.
          
          “I see you,” he says again, softer, ruined. “I see you. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’ll never met you go.”
          
          But I can’t find myself anywhere inside his words.
          
          Only the fact that he’s holding on this hard means I must already be slipping.

marpotter

feel like starting a new ff and i wanna try first person pov sorry guys i dont like not finishing stuff i started but maybe when im done working on my new fanfic ill finish about you. Im planning to have majority of my new one written and then ill publish