❀

𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾. #1 ethan landry fan.

[j4landry]

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✮ MASTERLIST

✮ i write for ethan landry (/jack champion characters)!

✮ mlm

✮ requests closed (until i finish my series)

✮ ^^ but still feel free to use the ask box! i love answering questions or just chatting ☻

headers from @strangergraphics

[j4landry]

the way i loved you - chapter 2

warnings: angst, cussing/explicit language, reader has family issues, non-ghostface!ethan landry x male reader, eventual fluff, mentions of drinking

author’s note: i am soooo sorry for how long this chapter took me. i've had such bad writer's block and so much work to do. but i hope this longer chapter makes up for it!!! gonna try to update at least once a week from now on. ❦

p.s. i'm on AO3 now!! user is the same as here (j4landry), and i'll be posting all chapters there as well.

61.

61%

Sixty-one-fucking-percent. 

It’s written in bold, red pen at the top of your 3-page-thick essay that you just got back, which you glance over as you make your way out of the human anatomy building on campus. Part of you blames your grade on your less-than-stellar academic ability, but your run in with the dumbass at the corner store last week didn’t help much either.

You’d gotten back to your place, pissed, just before 1 AM, and without your slurpee, had no reason to stay up anymore. But as if things couldn’t get shittier, you’d laid down in bed and found that your insomniac ass was out of melatonin. 

And as it turns out, finally falling asleep at sunrise and attempting to get up at 8 AM just doesn’t work. So you found yourself on the couch at 2 PM the next day, fingers flying across your laptop’s keyboard as you attempted to meet the 4 PM deadline for your fuck ass human anatomy class. 

Every part of that shitstorm’s led you here; ripping your essay in half as you get into your car with angry tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

Unlike anger, school’s never came easily to you. Your best was never good enough for your parents, and most of the time, trying at all yielded results like the one that’s currently ripped up on the floor of the passenger side. 

So you don’t try. Ever. 

Maybe college has made you make more half-assed attempts, mostly to meet deadlines, but truly trying? You’re more likely to light the whole damn thing on fire than prove, once again, that you’re never enough.

——————— 

You shouldn’t go to the party. You really shouldn’t. 

The pain behind your eyes is persistent, beating in sync with the pounding in your head from a lack of sleep. You have a shitload of coursework to do, and after your human-anatomy grade this morning, blowing off studying isn’t in your best interest. And the thought of being around so many people, with flashing lights and shitty house music, makes you want to hurl.

But there’ll be alcohol, which means a drunken excuse for the bitchiness that seems to be sewn into the person you are. 

So that’s how you find yourself here tonight, at a random frat house at 11 PM, already buzzing with other college teens high off the energy of the city’s night life. 

The air is hot when you enter through the wide-open front door, humid with sweat and reeking of alcohol. Your eyes squint under the flashing party lights, and you think you’re seeing things wrong when they begin to bounce off cardboard, slutty fishnet legs, and the chests of shirtless frat guys. 

This a Halloween party. 

It nearly gets a laugh out of your tight chest, because goodness-fuck, it barely just turned September. These fuckers wasted no time.

You start weaving your way through people dancing in what seems to be the living room, trying to find the kitchen for a drink. You couldn’t give less of a fuck about what these people think about you, and ignore their questioning glances at your costumeless body as you walk by. 

You finally find the kitchen, dodging a girl who resembles a pirate, and a shirtless guy in a cowboy hat. Plastic cups clink. A guy is already trying to crowd a girl into a conversation she clearly doesn’t want, and the sound of someone throwing up echos from the bathroom over the music. You grab a red Solo cup, fill it halfway with whatever passes for punch, and lean forward against the counter, letting the music pulse through your chest before looking to the side. 

That’s when you see him.

He’s at the other side of the kitchen, brown curls falling into his eyes, and you can make out the pink of his cheeks even under the party lights as he clumsily pours a drink.

It’s the clueless dumbass from the corner store, and—for fuck’s sake, he sees you.

It’s ridiculous, really. You’re practically camouflaged in a black hoodie and sweats, not wearing a costume, barely managing to not glare at anyone for simply walking by. And yet… he’s caught your eye, and it’s just your luck that he starts walking over.

You try it all. You really do. Averting your eyes, turning your body towards the couple making out in the corner, hoping he gets the hint. 

He doesn’t.  

“Hi.” 

You consider ignoring him, maybe pretending you didn’t hear him over the bass thudding through the walls. But then you’re turning, blue eyes meeting his brown ones. His curls are still in his face, and you don’t even let yourself fully register the cardboard taped to his body, because then you’ll laugh in his face—and that’s cruel. Even for you.

You don’t answer, which is answer enough. He shifts, clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck.

“I, uh,” he starts, meeting your eyes again, his cheeks flushed. “Sorry. The corner store? Last week? That was me.” 

“Go figure,” you deadpan, and he laughs—laughs—softly, scratching an invisible itch on the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just wanted to say sorry again. I—I know you left before I could get you another one, but seriously, I can give you the cash for it right now. If you want, I mean.”

“Pretty sure I already told you it’s fine. Like, twice,” you mutter, coming out harsher than you meant it to, and it’s written in the way that his eyes drop once more. 

“Oh,” he breathes, and it’s like his eyes are searching the floor for an exit. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry. Again. For—“ You glare at him then, his rambling adding to your growing overstimulation. It’s hot as fuck in this house. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles again, and you expect him to walk away. He doesn’t move, though. Just lingers next to you, fidgeting, until he blurts out: “You didn’t… uh, wear a costume?”

“It just turned September,” you deadpan. 

The twitch at his lips returns, and his cheeks somehow tint pink even more. “Yeah, but you’re at a Halloween party. Well—pre-Halloween party. That’s a thing.”

You open your mouth to ask what the hell that even means, when finally—finally—you let yourself clock the costume he’s in. Cardboard. Strapped to his chest and arms, duct tape glinting in the light. He’s got a shirt and jeans underneath it all—not half naked like the other guys in this house. 

“Well that explains the get-up,” you snort before you can stop yourself. 

His smile tilts. “Was that a compliment?” 

“You look like a recycling bin threw up on you.”

Instead of being insulted, he laughs—soft and unbothered. “C’mon, it’s creative. Nobody else came as a knight.”

You roll your eyes but don’t look away, mostly because you’ve tolerated this stranger’s chatter far longer than usual—and that alone feels like a small miracle.

“This party’s shit,” you mutter, half into your cup. “And the drinks are ass.”

His smile tilts, sheepish, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to laugh. Then he peers into your cup. “Uh… I don’t think that one even has alcohol in it.”

Heat creeps up your neck. You snap your head toward him. “The fuck do you mean?”

He scratches at the back of his neck again, curls bouncing with the motion. “That’s, um… just punch. No booze. The spiked stuff’s over there.” He gestures awkwardly toward the other counter, still with that nervous smile, like he expects to get in trouble for knowing shit.

You stare at your cup like it betrayed you. Then, with a sharp sigh, you set it down harder than necessary.

“Want me to grab you one?” he blurts. “Like—the right kind, I mean. Still punch. Just… punch with, uh, actual alcohol.”

His face is pinker now, eyes darting everywhere but you, and for some reason that only irritates you more. Or maybe less. Hard to tell.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “For fuck’s sake. Fine. Whatever.”

That wins him a tiny grin, fidgety but real. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that.” He takes a step, then hesitates, glancing back like he’s unsure whether to go or wait a moment longer. “I’m Ethan, by the way.”

The lights flash across his face, catching in his eyes, and against your better judgment, you mutter out your name. 

“Jake.”

“Right. Jake.” His grin flickers again, softer this time. “Be right back.”

And before you can talk yourself into regretting it, he disappears into the crowd, back towards the other side of the kitchen.

And you? You’re out the front door before he even makes it to the punch.

© j4landry. all work by me, and me only. plagiarism, and posting my work on other platforms, is prohibited.

[j4landry]

uhhh... hi!!

okay so first off long time no see. i've had literally the worst writer's block so that's why i haven't updated the way i loved you in so long. thank you guys for all the notes and love, it means the world to me. i CAN'TTTT believe it's been almost a month since the first chapter. here are some updates:

✮ chapter 2 of the way i loved you is done... and will be out tonight!!! (around 8 PM EST)

✮ i'm on ao3 now!!! my account is under the same user as this (j4landry) and i've already posted the first chapter of the fic on there. the second chapter will be posted there tonight as well.

✮ i've had so much work to do which is also why i haven't updated in a while. but from now on, i'm gonna try to update AT LEAST once a week.

thank you guys so much for your patience. see you tonight ;)

- j4landry

[j4landry]

the way i loved you - chapter 1

warnings: fluff, angst, cussing/explicit language, reader has family issues, non-ghostface!ethan landry x male reader

author’s note: had so much fun with the first chapter ! it's been so long since i've written so i hope the writing isn't too bad. can't wait to continue this story. it's only the beginninggggggg ❦

p.s. cross posting on AO3 coming soon ! just waiting for my account to get approved.

The corner store cashier is a pervert.

It’s just past midnight, and you’re watching the old man behind the counter flirt poorly with two—clearly drunk—college girls while your Big Gulp cup slowly fills with bright-blue slurpee. 

For the last two weeks, you’ve ended up here—at this rundown corner store behind your apartment complex, in front of the same humming machine. It’s a terrible habit for a broke college student (eight fucking dollars for frozen sugar water), but the alternative is another night alone in your dorm, and that feels worse.

Since arriving on campus early at the beginning of August, you’ve made exactly zero friends. In the small, desolate part of your brain that’s somehow remained hopeful after all these years, you’d thought that moving to the Big Apple for freshman year of college would offer a new start. 

How hopelessly-fucking-wrong you were.

New York City has proved to be the same in every way, and maybe even worse, considering the lack of sunshine that at least made Florida tolerable for so many years of your life.

Memories of the Sunshine State flash behind your bright blue eyes, and it’s almost like you’re back on the beach with your sisters, whose laughs you’re reminded of by the girls giggling drunkenly at the counter. You’re snapped back to the present then, your Big Gulp cup now filled with what’s left of the cash in your wallet. Maybe you’d be more pissed about the price if the reward wasn’t so good: a reason to have come out of your apartment on campus, something to snack on during whatever random movie you’ll watch alone tonight, and sugar to help the never-ending headache that seems to constantly throb behind your eyes. 

But maybe the powers that be hate you, or are doing you a favor and trying to tell you that the sugar is in fact the problem, but your moment of happiness is over as quickly as it started. 

You’re turning around when it happens, walking towards the counter to pay. Your eyes are on your slurpee and both hands are occupied—one with the straw that you’re trying to remove the paper from, and the other holding the cold plastic cup—leaving you with no way to brace yourself. 

The cup’s in your hands one second, and splattered across the old tile in a messy blue death the next. 

“Fucking fuck me,” you mutter, your short temper already unraveling. You’ve never been good at managing your feelings, especially anger, and it’s only gotten worse since landing in this godforsaken city. 

“Sh-shit, I’m so sorry.” You look up then, your blue eyes meeting the brown ones of a boy your age standing in front of you, blue flecks of what was supposed to be the highlight of your night staining his white shirt. His hair’s a messy mop of brown curls, and his eyes are kind and sorry, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

He’s on his knees before you have a chance to say anything, having grabbed a random roll of paper towels off the counter next to the soft-drink machine. You’d bumped him as you were going to pay, or maybe he’d bumped into you, and now he’s cleaning up the mess at your feet. 

“I was totally on my phone, not looking,” he says without looking up, cleaning the blue splatter as best he can. “That’s my bad. I’m really sorry. I’ll pay for your new one.” 

You breathe out through your nose as you look down at him, his brown hair flopping into his eyes. He looks up for just a second, his cheeks still pink, and looks away immediately when he sees that you’re looking down at him. 

“It’s fine,” you huff out, trying not to flip your shit on a stranger over a cup of frozen sugar water. But gosh damnit. Can you ever get anything you want? “I didn’t pay for it yet.” 

The brown-haired boy stands now, tossing wet, blue-stained paper towels into the hole in the counter, along with your ruined Big Gulp cup. 

“Are you sure? ‘Cause really, I’m—“ 

“I said it’s fine, damn,” you mutter, too agitated to keep speaking to the guy who ruined your night, and too over everything to care enough and accept his offer of a new slurpee. But even as the words leave your mouth, you register the look on his face—earnest, almost guilty, like he really is sorry. But to you, it’s the kind of look that’s never been anything but insincere—the kind your mother wore more than makeup. "I'm sorry, honey. I love you, Jake" has never meant much to you. Never will. Not from anyone.

Recovering, the subtle hesitation’s there for half a second before you shove it down, irritation winning out, because who cares if he’s nice? Your night’s still fucked. 

You brush past him, heading for the corner store’s doors as you pull out your phone. R&B fills your Airpods, blocking out the jingle of the bell as you open the door, walking out into the warm August night. 

The corner store’s nearly out of view before you’re aware of the white-knuckle grip you have on your phone, case digging into your palm. You slide it back into your hoodie pocket, trying to breathe like an old therapist once taught you. Box… box breathing—or some shit like that? 

But the truth settles in heavy: now you’ve got to walk back pissed, empty-handed, and alone in the dark.

Only upside? You’ve still got eight whole dollars to your name. 

But still. 

Fuck this fucking city. 

© j4landry. all work by me, and me only. plagiarism, and posting my work on other platforms, is prohibited.

[j4landry]

✮ the way i loved you (SERIES MASTERLIST)

- here you'll find easy navigation to each chapter of my fic, the way i loved you !

chapter 1

chapter 2

[j4landry]

the way i loved you - chapter 1

warnings: fluff, angst, cussing/explicit language, reader has family issues, non-ghostface!ethan landry x male reader

author’s note: had so much fun with the first chapter ! it's been so long since i've written so i hope the writing isn't too bad. can't wait to continue this story. it's only the beginninggggggg ❦

p.s. cross posting on AO3 coming soon ! just waiting for my account to get approved.

The corner store cashier is a pervert.

It’s just past midnight, and you’re watching the old man behind the counter flirt poorly with two—clearly drunk—college girls while your Big Gulp cup slowly fills with bright-blue slurpee. 

For the last two weeks, you’ve ended up here—at this rundown corner store behind your apartment complex, in front of the same humming machine. It’s a terrible habit for a broke college student (eight fucking dollars for frozen sugar water), but the alternative is another night alone in your dorm, and that feels worse.

Since arriving on campus early at the beginning of August, you’ve made exactly zero friends. In the small, desolate part of your brain that’s somehow remained hopeful after all these years, you’d thought that moving to the Big Apple for freshman year of college would offer a new start. 

How hopelessly-fucking-wrong you were.

New York City has proved to be the same in every way, and maybe even worse, considering the lack of sunshine that at least made Florida tolerable for so many years of your life.

Memories of the Sunshine State flash behind your bright blue eyes, and it’s almost like you’re back on the beach with your sisters, whose laughs you’re reminded of by the girls giggling drunkenly at the counter. You’re snapped back to the present then, your Big Gulp cup now filled with what’s left of the cash in your wallet. Maybe you’d be more pissed about the price if the reward wasn’t so good: a reason to have come out of your apartment on campus, something to snack on during whatever random movie you’ll watch alone tonight, and sugar to help the never-ending headache that seems to constantly throb behind your eyes. 

But maybe the powers that be hate you, or are doing you a favor and trying to tell you that the sugar is in fact the problem, but your moment of happiness is over as quickly as it started. 

You’re turning around when it happens, walking towards the counter to pay. Your eyes are on your slurpee and both hands are occupied—one with the straw that you’re trying to remove the paper from, and the other holding the cold plastic cup—leaving you with no way to brace yourself. 

The cup’s in your hands one second, and splattered across the old tile in a messy blue death the next. 

“Fucking fuck me,” you mutter, your short temper already unraveling. You’ve never been good at managing your feelings, especially anger, and it’s only gotten worse since landing in this godforsaken city. 

“Sh-shit, I’m so sorry.” You look up then, your blue eyes meeting the brown ones of a boy your age standing in front of you, blue flecks of what was supposed to be the highlight of your night staining his white shirt. His hair’s a messy mop of brown curls, and his eyes are kind and sorry, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

He’s on his knees before you have a chance to say anything, having grabbed a random roll of paper towels off the counter next to the soft-drink machine. You’d bumped him as you were going to pay, or maybe he’d bumped into you, and now he’s cleaning up the mess at your feet. 

“I was totally on my phone, not looking,” he says without looking up, cleaning the blue splatter as best he can. “That’s my bad. I’m really sorry. I’ll pay for your new one.” 

You breathe out through your nose as you look down at him, his brown hair flopping into his eyes. He looks up for just a second, his cheeks still pink, and looks away immediately when he sees that you’re looking down at him. 

“It’s fine,” you huff out, trying not to flip your shit on a stranger over a cup of frozen sugar water. But gosh damnit. Can you ever get anything you want? “I didn’t pay for it yet.” 

The brown-haired boy stands now, tossing wet, blue-stained paper towels into the hole in the counter, along with your ruined Big Gulp cup. 

“Are you sure? ‘Cause really, I’m—“ 

“I said it’s fine, damn,” you mutter, too agitated to keep speaking to the guy who ruined your night, and too over everything to care enough and accept his offer of a new slurpee. But even as the words leave your mouth, you register the look on his face—earnest, almost guilty, like he really is sorry. But to you, it’s the kind of look that’s never been anything but insincere—the kind your mother wore more than makeup. "I'm sorry, honey. I love you, Jake" has never meant much to you. Never will. Not from anyone.

Recovering, the subtle hesitation’s there for half a second before you shove it down, irritation winning out, because who cares if he’s nice? Your night’s still fucked. 

You brush past him, heading for the corner store’s doors as you pull out your phone. R&B fills your Airpods, blocking out the jingle of the bell as you open the door, walking out into the warm August night. 

The corner store’s nearly out of view before you’re aware of the white-knuckle grip you have on your phone, case digging into your palm. You slide it back into your hoodie pocket, trying to breathe like an old therapist once taught you. Box… box breathing—or some shit like that? 

But the truth settles in heavy: now you’ve got to walk back pissed, empty-handed, and alone in the dark.

Only upside? You’ve still got eight whole dollars to your name. 

But still. 

Fuck this fucking city. 

© j4landry. all work by me, and me only. plagiarism, and posting my work on other platforms, is prohibited.

[j4landry]

introducing my first fic/series: the way i loved you ! (an ETHAN LANDRY imagine)

- more details under the cut/after the synopsis !

Synopsis: Jake Izard has been cold his whole life, and no amount of Florida sunshine could change that. When he moves by himself to New York for college, it’s only so long before he meets Ethan Landry. Ethan—shy, awkward, dorky, far too nice for his own good—Landry. 

Jake has only ever known a shrinking world, and has no reason to believe things will ever get better. But what starts as a spilled slushie at midnight turns into late-night study sessions, inside jokes, and the slow realization that maybe life doesn’t have to stay this way.

Jake’s never been good at letting people in. But while at Blackmore, a certain brown-haired boy proves to be sunshine in human form, and has a way of making the city feel a little warmer, and maybe something worth staying for.

✮ this fic contains friends to lovers (duh), slow burn (kinda), as well as black cat x golden retriever.

✮ this actually started as the plot line for one of my ethan bots on character.ai LMFAOOOO (but i’m leaning more into the black cat x golden retriever trope with this.)

✮ reader is MALE, and has a name (jake)! i think the whole “y/n” thing is pointless, seeing as most people just read it as the actual letters rather than their own name. using an actual name helps me visualize and write better as well. 

✮ ethan is NOT ghostface in this.

✮ there most likely won't be any smut for this fic specifically. if any, it'll probably be light/just suggestive.

✮ i'm not sure what POV i'll write it in yet. i used 2nd person ("you" pronouns) on C.AI, but all 3 perspectives are FAIR GAME until i have a final draft.

✮ not sure how many chapters there’ll be yet. but once i finish this fic, i’ll do blurbs and/or mini-series that stem from this plot/the ending of this fic (and maybe some of your guys' requests too!)

✮ there won't be any taylor swift references in the actual writing! i know it can get annoying when lyrics are used as actual lines in the fic—the title just came to me as I was listening to the song.

✮ i MIGHT cross-post on AO3. i've never used it, so i'll have to see what it's like writing on there.

if you've read this far, THANK YOU!! :) i'm so excited to start writing because i already have so many ideas. follows, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated! 🫶

[j4landry]

✮ MASTERLIST

- all fics are for ETHAN LANDRY as of right now !

SERIES

- the way i loved you (fluff + angst)

╰┈➤ the way i loved you (INTRO POST)

BLURBS/ONE SHOTS

nothing to see here yet.

© j4landry. all work by me, and me only. plagiarism, and posting my work on other platforms, is prohibited.

[j4landry]

hi!! i'm j4landry! welcome to my blog :)

about the blog ! right now, i only write for ethan landry, and in the future, i'll probably only ever write for jack champion's characters (assuming that i'll one day write for anyone other than ethan). more info below!!

- not taking requests currently because i'm working on a series (more info on that coming soon).

- i'll probably only ever write ethan as an mlm (gay/bi) character. i'm mlm myself, so that's just what i feel more motivated and comfortable with writing.

- i'll never write for jack (AS A PERSON/ACTOR) himself. everything's fiction so writing for a real person and not a character is weird.

- i'm not against smut, but i'm not the best at writing it. there most likely won't be anything more than light mentions of NSFW material in my upcoming fic/series.

- i'll update this, and my masterlist, as a write more! :)