#these little things are snippets but like

[junebugsarchive]

snippet:

nobody knew much about these men. fans have furiously scoured each and every website they could find, with nothing coming up with any information about the nugu kpop boy band that had suddenly taken the world by storm.

this didn't mean they failed to notice how the saja boys' cute little manager seemed to have them wrapped around her pinky. nobody could have ignored the way the boys' eyes softened when the manager entered the room, or how their bodies visibly eased as they conversed lightly with her, chuckling and smiling fondly at her with every interaction.

that was why when one of the most well-known kpop channels on social media posted a compilation titled '6 minutes of saja boys being complete simps for their manager', nobody bothered to act shock when the video received a million views in its first twenty-four hours after being uploaded, and thousands of likes and comments flooding the video with love.

hey sexys how are we doing with the new movie out and NO RUJINU KISS

anyways i have a dream and a plan for a youtube compilation of moments kinda thing I've never done it but i wanna try 😛😛

I've actually been sitting my ASS and clenching my BUTT CHEEKS on this idea ever since i saw the movie like almost a week ago..??? but i had no balls to try it bc my writing is so RUSTY.

but yeah wait for me guys I'll start cooking soon i hope..!!!

BTW AM I TOO STINGY W THE SNIPPET DO YALL WANT MORE 💋💋💋

[moonydanny]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged (last week but shhh) by @ambernotember 💜💜

I really, really wanted to write at least one little ficlet for the 911whatisyourpride event, so here's a little snippet of the one I'm cooking for this week.

Buck didn’t notice at first. Actually, it took him a while, but once he did, he couldn’t unnotice it. In fact, it’s all he'd been able to think about, to the point where Tommy had called him out for being unnaturally spacey while they were out at the farmer’s market.

But who could blame him, when what he’d noticed was the fact that Tommy kept rubbing his thumb on Buck’s ring finger whenever they held hands. 

Holding hands had become one of Buck’s favorite things while they were dating before the infamous breakup. Something about the simplicity and casualness of the gesture, how warm and big Tommy’s hands were, how natural it felt, made Buck giddy in a way he had never felt in any of his previous relationships—admittedly, one of many things that had made him giddy about dating Tommy. 

Buck had been racking his brain trying to remember if Tommy ever brushed his ring finger like this before or if it was a new development, but he couldn’t really recall. He was pretty sure he hadn’t noticed it quicker because Tommy did use to rub his thumb on Buck’s hand often—when they walked side by side, arms swinging with their hands clasped in between them, when they were out at a coffee shop or having dinner at a restaurant and their hands met on top of the table. It was another reason why Buck loved holding Tommy’s hand. Such a small gesture, Tommy’s thumb tracing soft patterns on the back of his own hand almost absentmindedly, like a reflex, but one that made Buck feel cherished, that always left him with a warm, soft feeling in his chest. 

Now, the caress seemed just as absentminded, but it wasn’t random patterns anymore. It was almost exclusively his left ring finger. Buck had noticed it a few days ago, as they were cuddling on Tommy’s infuriatingly comfortable couch after dinner, watching something on TV that you couldn’t pay him to remember. Buck had been snuggled right up against Tommy’s side, with Tommy’s arm over his shoulders. At some point, Buck had lifted his hand to lace his fingers with his boyfriend’s by his left shoulder, and he’d felt the familiar soft caress of Tommy’s thumb against his knuckles.

More precisely, one knuckle. 

So he started paying attention, thinking he had to be reading too much into it and was probably just a coincidence. But no, it wasn't.

np tags @qwordavoider @quintessenceofdust88 and @jcneseymour (mostly I just want you guys to see this 'cause look! I'm writing! 🥹😅)

[docrobinavitch]

ok so y'all seem to really be into this little snippet and idk when it'll be done (i have a feeling it's going to be... pretty long? i would guess at least 10k??) and i am still just in the early strokes sort of outlining as i go. but anywho all that to say i wanted to give you guys just another little taste!! as u may know the fic is taking place mostly on the one shift from season one so this is right after javadi passes out. ok enjoy hehehe <3 syd

“Robby,” You called when you saw him at the hub, glasses perched on his nose. He looked up in surprise at the sound of your voice. He couldn’t remember the last time you had sought him out. But then he frowned when he saw Javadi, one of the new med students, walking a few steps ahead of you, “She… fell and hit her head.”

“I’m fine,” Javadi said immediately, “I just tripped.”

You met Robby’s eyes over Javadi’s shoulder and gave a sharp shake of your head that had Robby fighting a smirk, “Okay, why don’t you go hang out in the break room for a bit. Eat a snack, drink some water.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary.” Javadi said.

“Oh, I know,” He took his glasses off, folding them and placing them in his pocket, “Hospital policy, though.”

Javadi stood there for a moment and you could see the battle waging in her body, deciding if she wanted to argue or not, but eventually, she started walking off.

“Other way,” Robby gently corrected when she went in the wrong direction, and you bit down on your lip as she walked by you again.

Then, you realized Robby was smiling at you. It took you aback, that gentle, tired smile on his face. The crinkles by his eyes and rosy cheeks. You hadn’t seen him like this in a long time, and certainly not when he was looking at you.

“What?” You asked, frowning.

He shrugged, “Just, reminds me of you when you were an intern, that’s all.” He said, gesturing in the direction Javadi had walked off to, “Something to prove and a nervous energy that could rival a cheetah. Not to mention taking a header on day one.”

Despite it all, you smirked, “I was not that nervous.”

“Oh, yes you were.” He nodded slowly, grin stretching so much, you could see teeth, “That’s at least half the reason you passed out in the first place.”

And it was really quite jarring, seeing him look at you fondly like that. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest and your traitorous brain started pulling up snapshots of when he used to look at you like this. 

All the time. Several times a day, in fact. 

Like the time you passed out and hit your head on your first day as an intern.

You blinked the memory away and hoped you seemed unaffected, “Fine. Maybe I was,” You swallowed and turned to look towards the direction Javadi went, “I should go check on her.”

When you looked back at him, the smile was gone, replaced with disappointment. He wanted you to play with him, you realized, like you used to. But you couldn’t. Not if you wanted to keep your sanity.

When you began to walk away, he called your name. You swore it sounded hoarse, broken, coming from his lips, but thought you must be imagining things. You turned back.

“It’s… It’s really good to have you back.”

You’re not entirely sure why it irritated you, this whole interaction. Perhaps it just reminded you of everything you’d lost the last few years. Everything that had slipped between your fingers when you thought you had a firm grip on it. On him.

At any rate, you didn’t trust yourself to say anything you wouldn’t regret later, so you clenched your jaw and mock saluted him before turning on your heel and heading to the break room.

[ttdamian]

I apologize for erm not updating for like 2 weeks... i've been very unmotivated to write and even thought of quitting (´∀｀；) but hello hi i wont do that... as apology please take this little snippet of the next chapter i just started working on. Thank you so much for all the support as well, it has really been the reason why i keep writing.

It had been two weeks.

Fourteen days of waking up in sheets that didn’t feel like yours.

Fourteen nights of lying awake in a bed too big, too stiff, too quiet.

The silence here wasn’t peace. It was something else. Something heavier.

The kind that pressed on your chest when the lights went out.

The kind that made you flinch at every creak in the floorboards—because even the house itself seemed to sigh in disappointment when you moved.

Wayne Manor wasn’t a home. It was a museum of people who used to matter. Every hallway whispered someone else’s name. Every photo on the wall looked like it had been taken just to be seen by the world, not remembered by a family.

You weren’t part of the curation. You were something left in the margins. A misprint in an otherwise perfect collection.

And nothing had changed.

Bruce still hadn’t looked at you.

Not directly.

Not once.

You’d memorized the angles of his avoidance.

The way his eyes would land just past your shoulder.

The way his footsteps would speed up when he heard yours down the hall.

The way he spoke only when he had to, and never in words meant for you.

He was the kind of absent that didn’t need distance.

And Alfred… Alfred tried.

You saw it in the soft way he said your name. In the tea left outside your door that was always still warm. In the way he didn’t flinch when you asked the question you already knew the answer to.

“Why won’t he talk to me?”

Alfred’s pause was long. Weighted. Then, in a voice full of gentle regret:

“He’s grieving, Miss. He sees… her. When he sees you.”

Her.

Your mother.

The ghost you wore on your face.

In your laugh. Your smile. The slope of your nose.

Maybe that was why Bruce couldn’t bear to look at you. Because you weren’t just a reminder of what he lost. You were living proof that she’d been here, once—and that she was never coming back.

So, you tried. You really, truly tried.

Tried to stay quiet.

Tried to make yourself small enough not to bother him.

Tried to be good—whatever that meant in a house that didn’t know what to do with you.

But the thought still came, uninvited, gnawing at the edge of your mind.

‘He could still grieve… and love me.’

It repeated like a heartbeat. Soft. Steady. Inevitable.

You hated yourself for thinking it.

Hated the way it made you feel—needy, demanding, like a child too greedy for affection.

Selfish.

You were being selfish.

That’s what you told yourself.

That’s what your mother would’ve said, wouldn’t she?

She raised you to be reasonable. To be patient. To understand that people were made of hurts you couldn’t always see.

She raised you to make room for other people’s pain.

But still…

Still you wondered why no one seemed willing to make room for yours.

Some nights you cried into the pillow just to feel something warm. Some mornings you looked in the mirror and tried to smile, just to see if you still could. The reflection didn’t feel like you anymore. You didn’t recognize the girl with the tired eyes and the hope she kept crushing down like it was dangerous.

The girl who had stopped expecting good things a long time ago.

The girl who was trying so hard not to ask for anything, just in case the answer was silence.

At first, it hurt—like ripping out something soft and fragile from your own chest.

But then came the numbness.

The slow settling of silence in your bones.

The quiet understanding that maybe some things just weren’t meant for you.

You started telling yourself it was fine. That you didn’t need him to say your name.

Didn’t need him to see you.

Didn’t need to be loved by someone who’d already chosen to forget you existed.

And maybe—if you said it enough times—you’d start to believe it.

Because what other choice did you have? The longer the silence lasted, the more it started to feel like a kind of answer. Like absence was just another way of saying no.

No, he wouldn’t come around.

No, you weren’t part of this family.

No, he didn’t want you.

Not here.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

So, you stopped waiting.

And instead, you began to move through the house like a ghost. Quiet. Careful. Always out of the way. You learned which floorboards to avoid. Which rooms were safest to cry in. Which corners let you disappear just enough.

The walls never stopped groaning when you passed. Like even they were tired of your footsteps.

Like even they knew:

You didn’t belong here.

And maybe—just maybe—you were starting to believe it too.

taglist : @cssammyyarts @wendee-go @sadeem575 @c4xcocoa @time-shardz @whaaaaaaaaat111 @noone1233nobody @justanerd1 @bbmgirll @bakuraloverr @myjumper @cupid73 @lordbugs @cheappremingerfromdelululand @lovebug-apple @justafank @chemicalwindexbottle @welpthisisboring @totallynotacat13 @nininehaaa @yuyuzi-ling @yarn-mony @eyeless-kun 

[the-modern-typewriter]

I absolutely love your writing. Any advice on how to get as good as you?

Practice! (I've been writing pretty regularly for at least 15 years, not to discourage you, just to highlight that it's a learned and very much practiced skill). It doesn't matter what format this practice takes - fanfiction, tumblr snippets, boldly jumping into your first novel, trying to write out a short story idea. Just sit down and actually write. That's the single most important thing in my opinion.

Figure out what you like writing about. This doesn't have to be one thing. But you're going to be spending a lot of time with your writing projects, so while you will inevitably go through periods of not feeling it, it's important that it excited you once. Be a little bit obsessed by your niche, or your love of enemies to lovers, or whatever. Be self-indulgent.

Remember that 80% of great writing is actually good editing skills. Your ability to come up with ideas and a good story or lovable characters is a different skill to beautiful prose and execution. It's okay to get the story/idea down and then work on perfecting it with study/second opinions whatever. If you are editing, leave at least a 2 week period or something so you can see the piece with fresh eyes.

Read books and learn about writing. Figure out what you like in the books you like and why. Or, what you don't like. Equally important. You will find, as you drill down to different stories, that they often have a similar structure that you can draw from in your own work, etc. However, don't necessarily feel tied to this. It's useful as a jumping point to know craft, but it's ultimately a creative medium. If you're doing what you're doing for a reason and it feels right for your story, then it's probably valid.

I hope this helps!

[housemdork]

so. i know that fighting on the wilson defense squad is a little taboo around here...but i still want to share the germ of a thought that i've had, which i'll definitely expand on in the future.

does anyone hear me when i say that so much of wilson's work is silent and unseen?

i mean this, first, quite literally regarding his practice. it's a rarity, seeing wilson interact directly with his cancer patients without being called in for a consult. we hear about his patients all the time, just not often by name. but whether because we're in house's POV, or because the show aligns with house's belief that "cancer is boring," we don't see wilson practicing oncology that much in the grand scheme of things, even compared to the snippets of ER and surgery life that cameron and chase move on to, respectively.

house pokes fun at wilson's oncology all the time, and pretty definitively in 2x04 when he makes fun of medical specialists. to house, things are simpler for them; house views them as existing in a box, much smaller than his grand purview over things. wilson's work is relegated away from the main text of the show; he operates in isolation, which hurts in the long run.

wilson's own cancer experience is profoundly impacted by the pain of loss he's endured over the years, watching his patients die. he rattles off their names, their cancers, their ages, and the dates they died to house from memory. we never saw these patients. house probably never did, either, so we can only learn of this pain afterwards. we re-contextualize wilson's emotions and behavior after the fact.

finally, the work wilson puts into his friendship with house is often invisible. i won't ever paint wilson as the ideal friend - that would completely ruin any interpretation of his character - but i find it disingenuous to ignore the strain house puts on him, however self-inflicted. what starts out as trickles of jokes and subtle hints (the loans), evolves into the season 3 medical license debacle, which evolves into wilson's repeated responsibility for house's mental health (which isn't even mandated by house, but by those around wilson and house), which finally evolves into house attempting to control wilson's last wishes. repeatedly, wilson is nominated, especially by dr. nolan in season 6 and foreman in season 8, to be house's steward, and who else would do it, but him?

big example: we never see the decision for house to move into wilson's place, but all the energy in the world is put into wilson asking house to leave. it's first presented as a natural assumption, then a mortal sin.

unlike the other characters surrounding house, the origins of wilson and house are usually only hinted at. their history unfolds across the entire show, and that includes the good and the bad parts that are only heard about in passing and in retrospect. at the start of season 5, wilson, at his most honest, breaks the hardest news to house yet - that he's leaving PPTH because of him.

"i've enabled it for years. the games, the binges, the middle-of-the-night phone calls...if i've learned anything from amber, it's that i need to take care of myself."

again, we learn of this long-term pain afterwards, once house takes a beat to digest it. we re-contextualize wilson's emotions and behavior after the fact.

say what you like about what wilson asked house to do in 4x16 (it kills me, personally). i cannot completely fault wilson for telling house this ^. as much as house needs to change, wilson does, too. amber was right about that. we can gauge the strain that house has in his relationships based on how many work out long-term: one.

and later, funny as it is in the moment, wilson is the one to go to physically check in on house in 7x01 when it was VERY apparent that he should not have gone home alone (not to dismiss foreman's attempt in 6x22 to be there for him, though). house's fake voicemail message attests to this: "if this is wilson, i'm fine, not suicidal, not on drugs, coping very well with the loss of my last patient, so feel free to go about your day without worry."

i understand why he crawled through that window! after six seasons of this, i would have done the same!

i argue the same about house that i do about wilson - these 2, despite how messed up they are when it comes to human goodness and love - could not do what they do if they did not have the capacity to love. they're both rewarded in their own, twisted ways; house is gratified that, if nothing else, his brain sets him apart and preserves his sense of self, while wilson gets to feel loved in the way he can never quite fulfill elsewhere. does that cancel out the lives they save and soothe along the way?

all of this is to say that it's easy to brand wilson with a red "morally corrupt guy who pretends otherwise" stamp across his forehead because i think that's what house md tempts us to do by mandating how, when, and what we see of wilson's life. trust me - i'm trudging through season 2 right now and fast approaching his rendezvous with grace. but over time, i think the show invites us to treat him with sympathy and nuance in the same way it does house. if we penalize wilson too much for returning to house, and for needing his neediness, that may just imply that house doesn't deserve that sort of love. and we know that isn't the case.

isn't there more poetic irony than the oncologist getting cancer at hand? what about cancer as the silent-killer? what about cancer eating at every part of the body, slowly, over time? unseen and unheard?

[regency-monster-love]

Part of the pack

Regency Orphan who gets taken in by a rich werewolf family as their ward when she's a girl, so instead of growing up alone and poor, she grows up with an entire pack that loves and protects her, even though she's just a human. They don't care. She's part of the pack now.

She's especially close to one of the werewolf boys who is near her in age. They're thick as thieves—literally. Werewolf Friend steals her favorite sweets for her from the kitchen, getting caught and scolded by the cook almost every time, but he doesn't care, because the gifts make his dearest friend happy.

As they grow up, the nature of their love shifts from friendship and familial affection to something deeper and less innocent. Neither will admit it, though. For her, social norms dictate that the woman can't openly declare her feelings. For him, he doesn't want her to feel obligated to say yes to him because his family took her in all those years ago, like she'd be paying back a debt that she never owed.

So they keep spending time together, separated by mere inches of air and a huge chasm of silence, both of them looking and longing but nothing more.

But Regency Orphan wasn't raised by the pack to be meek and demure; she's wants to be bold, a hunter, chasing and catching what she desires. She's tired of waiting.

One day when they're alone, she pounces: "Why do you not propose?"

Werewolf Friend blinks his big golden eyes rapidly. "To whom?"

"Me, of course. Unless there's someone else you're in love with?"

"No! You are—I'm—I thought—"

She smiles to see a big, fierce werewolf be made so discomposed by an insignificant little human like her.

"You don't think of me as a brother?" he pulls himself together to ask.

She stares intently into his eyes. "The things I feel for you are not at all sisterly in nature."

His pupils dilate and ears prick up at her tone and look. "Then...will you be my wife and mate?"

She'd wag her tail if she had one. "Yes, most happily!"

When they kiss, he wags his tail hard enough for the both of them.

~ 🐺🎩 ~

Loosely inspired by this post by @roguemonsterfucker

Read all of my Regency monster ficlets and snippets at the tag #my writing or my master list.

[lyonnerileyauthor]

So I Married an Alien paperbacks have arrived, and I'm going to start shipping out preorders next week!

The book bundle comes with a signed paperback, two spicy prints, and this adorable sticker. You can grab one now on my website!

Here's a little snippet from the book:

“Ah, there it is,” Roth'kar says, and I wonder what he’s talking about for only a split second before he touches my clit. It’s a burst of sensation, wonderful and welcome. Roth’kar tilts his head. “The Fact Sheet was not incorrect about the clitoris, it seems.” He touches me a few more times experimentally.

Fact Sheet? I wish I’d gotten one of those.

“Try rubbing it,” I tell him, already growing desperate for more. So he does, keeping the pressure light, his eyes on my face as I gasp and shiver. It’s one thing to touch yourself, as I have been doing for the last few years, and another thing when it’s someone else.

“I need lubrication,” Roth’kar mutters. He looks down at his own groin, then whisks the tip of his finger through the pre-cum he’s been dripping for some time now. When he rubs me again, it’s wetter, and he glides back and forth like a dream.

Wow. That was exceedingly hot.

One of his lower hands drops to his culans, wrapping around them while he teases me. That’s really hot, too—that he can hold my ass in place, touch my clit, and touch himself at the same time.

Fuck, and he’s so good at it. He varies his patterns and pressure, winding me up and then dragging it out, until I’m jerking against his hand and craving something inside me.

“Tell me what to do,” Roth’kar says in a quiet voice, leaning over me. “Tell me how best to please you. Can I give you the blowjob? As you did for me?”

Oh, he wants to eat me out? Fuck yes.

“Please,” I manage while he continues his circuit. “Yes, do that. But first…” I take his hand in mine, and he stops his attack on my clit, allowing me to guide him lower. I watch his face as his finger slips between my folds, reaching the wetness inside.

Roth’kar nods in understanding, and carefully explores, sifting through the layers until he reaches my entrance. There, he pushes his finger in, and it slides gloriously into me.

“Yes, like that,” I praise him, and his antennae perk up.

“Shall I blowjob you and do this at the same time?”

I nod feverishly. I like the soft, shy smile that crosses his face as he crouches down between my legs, his sculpted ass in the air, and brushes his tongue over my clit.

“Oh, damn,” I moan. He slides that finger in deeper, and his mouth absolutely goes to town. He licks, sucks, kisses, caresses—all the words in the dictionary for whatever his tongue and lips are doing. Once his hand is buried in me as far as it can go, he withdraws, still keeping his touch gentle, and then pushes it in again.

And fuck, it’s so good that I’m shaking, and my pleasure is a living thing snaking up my spine.

“Use two of them,” I manage to whimper. I need more, so much more.

Immediately, there’s a second finger there, and I’m so wet that it slides in easily. Now that he’s using both of them, his rhythm speeds up as my moans rise in volume. God, he’s so good at this I might just blow up into a million pieces.

“Amara,” Roth’kar says, and I glance down to see him observing me over my pubic hair, his mouth wet. “You are delicious.”

[withluvvenus]

　　　　

　　　　　　𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝓝𝐄𝐖 𝐒𝐀𝐌 & 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐁𝐘 !! 　　　　　　Slushy Noobz 　　　　　　　　　　1.1M Views

　

　　　a snippet into the video posted by the Slushy Noobz 　　　　　 , featuring me and mandy

[ timestamp - 1 : 32 ]

starts off with martin and hamzah showing us the entrance of the abandoned school . we go in and sit by the lockers , we all bought backpacks so we do a what's in our bag haul !! in the middle of the hallway . . . i go last .

me : soo i have this cute little backpack ! i bought my trusty stuffed animal that mandy bought me ! thanks mandy !

mandy : i did NOT buy that ugly thing for you

me : bro shut up i'm trying to make you look generous . anyway , i was supposed to bring the ouija board but i got too scared so i bought monopoly instead !

hamzah : oh this guy stinks !

martin : yeah dude , can you believe her ?

they're both doing that thing where they close into each other and pretend like they're making fun of someone , but it's even more funnier to watch them . mandy and i side eye each other like , " can you believe them ? " .

me : girl WHATEVER . anyWAYS i also bought sonny angels to unbox -

and then we hear the LOUDEST thud ever . mandy , martin , and i all scream and i'm ready to run right out the door from where we entered . guess what ? it was just hamzah dropping his god damn phone .

[ timestamp - 23 : 42 ]

after walking around the abandoned school and doing absolutely nothing whatsoever , finding nothing , and getting scared only when one of them jumpscares mandy and i , mandy and i sit down in the cafeteria and unbox the sonny angels !!!

mandy : okay guys we're unboxing some sonny angels at this abandoned school ! i really hope i get the lopsided ear bunny to be honest . . . what 'bout you ?

me : ummm i really want this doggie !!

we unbox and i get what i want but mandy doesn't . . . cue mandy's crashout .

　　overall 　 this video consists of screams , jokes , and a lot of laughter in the middle of the hallways of an abandoned school . martin keeps trying to convince us that the school is actually haunted , hamzah believes him , but mandy and i lowkey can tell they're joking .

　

﹫luckygirlsyndrome 　♫ ghostbusters・ray parker jr.

liked by hamzahthefantastic , thatmartinkid , mattsturniolo , and 8.5K others

luckygirlsyndrome　　go watch the new video on slushy noobz if u r cool

mandys_iphone　　sam n colby should be scared

clairedrakee　　yooo monopoly game night

mattslefttoe　　OMG MATT STURNIOLO LIKED THIS POST ⤷　　thatmartinkid　　omg no way!1!!1!!! eeee ⤷　　hamzahthefantastic　　i can hear the wedding bells ⤷　　luckygirlsyndrome　　OMG SYBAUUU

　　　　　　　　　　　　　 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗹𝘂𝘃 ✶ 𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘂𝘀

[trickstersaint]

do you have any beginners advice for poetry? Also, what style of poem do you use?

TRICKSTERSAINT'S BEGINNER'S GUIDE TO POETRY:

read! find poems that you like, poems that you don't like, and take the time to notice the things that you like or dislike about them. maybe take some time to annotate a few. spend some time with the work that you'd like to emulate. we learn to write by reading, and that's as true of poetry as it is of fiction or scientific papers or children's books.

write! i am constantly saying this, but writing is not a talent handed down by god: it is a skill that you learn, and hone, and improve. write things that are silly, or trite, or derivative, or straight up bad: every piece of practice that you get is practice, and it's going to help you improve in the future. it's alright to not be writing masterpieces every time. you're only going to be able to make things you're happy with if you let yourself create things that you aren't happy with, as well.

use pen and paper! there's something scientific about the way that your brain processes things when you're writing them by hand (the longer physical task gives your brain more time to process things as you write/hand writing makes different connections in your brain) but i am not going to claim to be an expert on those things. what i can tell you is that i generally have an easier time with poetry when i'm writing on paper. plus it's more romantic... grounding... you get to sit around looking hot and mysterious writing in a notebook...

write down literally everything. my notes app is full of poetry snippets, and most of it never gets used, but every so often i get to revisit an idea and work a full poem out of it. save yourself the struggle of finding something to write about later by creating a little collection of your inspirations.

write the same poem over and over! there's only so many things to write about, and sometimes you hit a topic that you want to explore in a multitude of ways (or one that you can't decide on an approach to). it's okay to write five different versions of the same poem. again, practice is practice, and reworking the same poem is a great way to identify some of the techniques that you're using in your own work.

try different styles! experiment with line length, rhyme structures, enjambment. try a prose poem. get rid of all the punctuation. give concrete poetry a go. there's tons of things to explore, and you never know what you might end up loving. (i think the form i write in is best described as free verse!)

rhyming poetry is, most times, harder. i know it seems like the default because of the poems that most of us have to read in school, but what they don't tell you about shakespeare and the romantic poets and all those guys is that they were REALLY skilled at wordplay and it takes a lot of skill to find the right words and structures to make a rhyme work without making it sound trite. your poems don't have to rhyme if you don't want them to <3

poetry, in my experience, works better on implication. when you overexplain things, it prevents the audience from drawing connections for themselves. same principle as explaining a joke; it loses its punch if you don't let someone think about it for themself. practice leaving spaces in your work, rather than trying to fill in any possible confusion.

find a method of editing that works for you! another bonus of using pen and paper to me is that it's MUCH easier visually to edit things when they're in a notebook. crossing things out, drawing arrows to put lines in different places, scribbling a certain line at the top of the page so i don't lose it later, all of that works better for me because i have a more visual grasp on the situation. if you find it easier to do it some other way, though, find what works for you!

be gentle with yourself. non-negotiable. beating yourself up isn't helpful. treat yourself with the same grace as you would someone else; remember the difference between constructive and non-constructive criticism. you gotta be nice to yourself about things or you're going to kill the love and hope that you have for this new skill that you're tending to before it grows big enough to defend itself.

share! or don't! put yourself out there according to your comfort level, especially at the beginning. people who care about you will be gentle with you if you're not feeling confident. and if you're really looking to improve, comments from other people are going to be really valuable!

FINAL ADVICE. do whatever the fuck you want. poetry is a space of endless possibility and the best way to create things that you are going to love is by doing it YOUR way. you don't have to do anything you don't want to. you don't have to use any specific style, have to follow any specific forms, have to go with any specific topic. you don't have to cultivate a particular style. write seventeen sonnets about a speculative technological future and then a two-line poem about a bird you saw the other day. follow whatever sparks joy for you. it's your poetry and you get to make what you want of it <3 being a beginner just means that you have room and room and room to explore and learn and grow <3

[thatblackstarinleo]

wip fic game!

This is such a FUN idea so thank you to @alltimecharlo, who sent it to me days ago, and apologies for taking such a long time to actually do it. BUT. I finally have enough time to sit down, stretch my fingers, and write it all out. So here we go. My WIP folder(s), categorized, and in writing order (per pairing):

✨WillMack✨

just like heaven Basically, rivals (are they ever really rivals?) to lovers. A/B/O world. True mates, bonding, giving each other hickeys, while being so dumb about each other. Hiding it. Failing. Absolutely fluffy and saturated in feelings. I think we all know about this one at this point.

where the water turns gold New England girl!Will & still-BU-player Mack. Will's a golfer at BC, wears knit sweaters and subtle gold jewelry. Mack thinks she's too cool for him and... he's kind of right. But she likes that he sucks at golf and follows her around the driving range like a kicked puppy. Slow-burn summer romance with an agnsty twist.

JLH snippets (1, 2, 3... ?) - Mack in heat? - Their first NHL season together? - Will, like, just holding Mack's hand during a five hour flight? - Listen. I don't know. They show up and I write them. No promises. No structures. Only chaos.

still-unnamed pianist!Mack / hockey!Will AU BC college AU. Will's a jock, Mack's a music major. They meet in Music Theory, Will can't read sheet music for shit, but plays like a dream. Mack is furious about it. Will falls head over heels, very quietly, like a slow song you don't notice until it's all you can hear. Dual POV??

in the white sunshine Dom/Sub universe. Will is a dom, Mack is a sub - except, no one's supposed to know that, because Rick Celebrini exists. It's painful. It's tough. It's about shame and power and wanting things that feel dangerous. I wrote two chapters. Then I cried and started writing just like heaven. Will revisit this when my emotional capacity is higher. You've been warned.

Mpreg sequel to JLH Yeah. It's gonna happen. Not yet, but definitely eventually. I'll probably write a few snippets while writing my other WIPs to ease myself in, emotionally. I'm not strong enough now. But later? Oh, we're DOING IT.

Scientist WillMack AU Look. This might not happen until I'm done with my PhD, but. Will and Mack in the same Harvard research institute. Competing for machine time. Mack's like "why are you always hoarding the fucking thermocycler??!!" and Will's like "maybe if you knew how to book it properly—" and they get feral in lab meetings. Coworkers think they hate each other. They do not (even if they don't know it yet).

✨NicoJack✨

endless summer hues UMich AU. Girl!Jack is a figure skater. Nico plays hockey. Quinn is there, being the protective older brother that he is. Jack is beautiful and talented and Nico immediately loses his mind. Jesper, Nate & Dawson witness it all. Basically the "don't date your teammate's little sister" in which the main character ends up doing exactly that.

golden like daylight Sequel to only the young. Summer after they Nico and Jack mate. It's domestic. It's fluffy. It's hot. It's a bit angsty. 30k+ written. A bit chaotic.

unnamed outsider POV (Luke) Luke seeing everything. Realizing something's off. Putting it together. Asking one question and watching his brother and his captain absolutely flounder. Dragging Dawson in, somehow. Yeah...

✨JamieTrevor✨

Same A/B/O universe as just like heaven and only the young What if they were true mates? What if they were roommates? What if they were insufferable about it? Got into this while writing a scene in golden like daylight and then Jamie's trade hit and I got sad. But now... they're back. So expect chaos, fluff, and Trevor getting bit.

[verstappentime]

first divorce verse snippet in a very long time, as a treat for me & you guys! yes, i’m still writing it. (most of these scenes are much longer which parts being held close to the chest :-))

anyway, here’s daniel in the aftermath of max’s crash, before it ends his career and eventually their relationship.

⇢ They roll Daniel into the garage, and he gets out inside. He's pulling off his helmet and gloves when he's met with a hand on the elbow.

It's Blake. He’s flanked by someone else – it takes Daniel a second to register it's GP, because it makes so little sense. Blake has Daniel's backpack. He shoves it into his arms. "We have to go," he says.

Daniel blinks at him. He holds the backpack in front of him awkwardly. "Uh." He looks past Blake, to GP. When Daniel scrutinizes him, he realizes GP looks exhausted, pale. "What the fuck?"

"It was a big crash," Blake says. Someone comes and hands him a Red Bull blue sweatshirt. "Thank you," he says absently, offering it to Daniel.

Daniel adds it to his pile of awkward things. He doesn't get it.

"Max," Blake says.

Daniel had been on the complete other end of the track when the red flag came out. He hadn't seen anything. They said Max was on the radio. That he was going to medical but he was walking and out of the car.

"I saw him," GP says quickly. "I was with him in medical. But they airlifted him out."

"What." He doesn't realize his knees are buckling until Blake says shit and grabs a mechanic's chair, taking him by both arms and pushing him into it.

"You're his next of kin, so they need– he needs you to go with him to the hospital, okay?" Blake says, slowly, carefully.

It's like Daniel gets sucked through a straw and back into his body. He can't fucking breathe. He's shaking. No one gets hurt that bad driving anymore. These cars are safe. They're supposed to be safe. "Wouldn't they only need me if he's like. Dead."

"He's not dead, Daniel, I was just with him," GP says. He squeezes Daniel's shoulder. "He hit his head, yeah? He started getting a lot worse, so they needed to take him quickly.”

"Pierre said he was on the radio," Daniel says, stupidly, hopefully.

"He was, yeah. He was just– going downhill. Head injuries can be like that." GP doesn't look well. "I really think you should go now, mate. He was asking for you."

Daniel's read that Michael Schumacher actually had the same reaction time as a regular person. That drivers aren't really all that different from anyone else. It's never been more true. He needs to do something, it's an emergency, and he can't– he can't. Max needs him, and he's going to fucking throw up.

Blake sets a hand on his back. "Come on. Stand up. I got you," he says. Daniel does. He puts his backpack on.

"Here," GP says, and he holds out a phone. Max's phone. Daniel fucking hates the idea that he can't call. He pockets it anyway. "Just– Let me know when you know anything."

[slowd1ving]

[LA MENTIRA] SNIPPET •. *࿐ SUNDAY

exploded immediately just something about sunday acting like this lmao clean up on aisle my pants

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

There’s…no papers. Suspicious, you surveil the desk and behind the curtain—no Sunday means a bit of leeway to snoop, after all—but there’s nothing that hasn’t already been neatly marked and processed. You’re in the middle of riffling through the stack of your translations on his desk that you just know he spent hours lining up exactly, when a voice breaks you out of your confusion. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

You’re only partially sluggish after having part of your soul sucked into the sixth circle of hell, so you only drop, what, one-sixth of the papers he probably used a ruler and set square to align. 

His glare intensifies. 

“Exploring our joint office, Your Holiness,” you answer briskly. Lying scattered around you, they look rather like little angels who have joined you in falling to the sixth circle. The moment of cold silence stretches as you pick up the forsaken sheets and haphazardly pop them back on their precarious Babel. 

You’re not quite sure, but you think the temperature of the office drops by at least a few kelvin. 

“So,” you begin, and you notice that he’s not crucifying you for the informal language. “I assume there’s some secret wing in the library, which is why you remembered I exist.”

He takes his time walking over, slowly enough that the timid fragrance of soap and tea leaves and linen has time to coalesce into a filigree cage that imprisons you where you are. You stand, frozen, in front of the heavy desk as he sits: crossing his legs and resting a pristine glove against his leg. 

His shoes are an understated black leather. 

“Don’t push it,” he says, stone-cold. His eyes rake over you caustically: the dampened-turned-sheer fabric, the practical glow the sun has coaxed out of you through a faint smattering of sweat, and the tiredness that forces your lids to push down slightly. “And I expect my bodyguard to adhere to a stricter presentation. Don’t let anyone see you like this.”

He utters the words with such finality that you can’t even bring yourself to argue for your innocence. 

“Yes, Your Holiness,” you murmur. 

Gloved fingers languidly push a folded piece of paper your way. 

“So… there is a paper involved in this?” You raise a brow. “A list of books to translate? My termination letter?”

The room becomes even more frigid. 

“Open it,” he says quietly, and somehow, it’s more chilling than if he’d snapped it. 

You do, skimming the words perfunctorily, then thoughtfully. You read it again, absorbing each piece of script. 

“Day of Auspicion,” you contemplate. “I’m assigned to guard the King at this illustrious event.”

There’s one thing you don’t quite get. Maybe you’re just stupid, maybe there’s some higher plan you’re not exactly part of. 

“That’s correct,” Sunday affirms, almost looking surprised that he agrees with you. 

No, you still don’t get it. Fuck, do you really have to ask?

“Why?” you ask, flipping the ceremony schedule. It looks at you blankly, as though mocking you. 

“Enlighten me on what you don’t understand,” he answers just as blankly, as though he, too, is mocking you. You glance disbelievingly at the clock on the wall as if it could tell you, before you turn back, bracing your palms against the desk as you lean over the polished mahogany. 

“I’m under your command right now,” you utter, low and slow just so he understands. For once, His Holiness isn’t sure where to look—into the resolute set of your eyes, on the way the tunic unpeels itself from your body, or the droplet of sweat that’s decided to make an appearance before hiding itself behind fabric once more. 

He settles for looking at the communication crystal that hangs from your neck, its matching pair sitting hotly in his pocket like a pulsing heart.

He’s not one to stay in shock. By the time one period of the pendulum passes, he’s recovered his composure, gazing at the paper crumpled in your fist. 

“You’re not the only one under my command,” he counters easily, folding his hands neatly on the table. 

“But while my contract stands, you’re mine to guard,” you argue, and his eyes flicker back up to yours. “The Knights that reside here aren’t equipped properly to deal with demons, not like I can.”

He scoffs, and in a flash, one of those hands that had been folded so neatly have reached up to yank the crystal around your neck, pulling you to be eye-level with him. You clam up, feeling that familiar scent of him. 

“You said it yourself,” he hisses, and his grasp twists around the thin chain, biting into your nape. It hurts. Yet, all your nerves are honed into the look in his yellow eyes: the strange intensity you’ve never quite observed in them before. “You’re mine to command. So obey my command, and get a grip.”

•. *࿐

aaaand scene erm guys how about same time tomorrow

[extraspicynoodles-blog]

CROSSING LINES (SATORU GOJO X READER)

Hiii all <3 i’m going to be posting snippets of my gojo x reader fanfic as one shots. it’s really long, but if you decide to read the whole thing, find it on my wattpad @gojosmommy222 & lmk what u think xo

ch69: the whole plan

His fingers were tangled in my hair. My cheek rested on his chest, slick with sweat and still rising fast with every breath. The scent of sex lingered heavy in the air - him, me, us.

The sheets were ruined. My thighs ached. My heart pounded.

And he still hadn't shut up.

"You're lucky I didn't black out halfway through," he muttered, staring at the ceiling with a dazed little smile. "You almost killed me."

I snorted into his chest. "You say some wild shit when you're in it, you know that?"

He glanced down at me with a smug little grin. "Yeah? Which part?"

I lifted my head to look at him. "'You're my religion now.'"

He didn't even blink. "I meant it."

I stared.

"You'd really burn the world down for me?"

"Without a second thought."

"You really won't let anyone else breathe near me?"

"Not unless they have a death wish."

"You meant it all?"

"Duh."

His voice was casual, like he wasn't actively deranged in love with me. Like he hadn't said the most feral, romantic, delirious things while inside me ten minutes ago.

My cheeks flushed. "You're insane."

He reached over, dragged his knuckles down my bare arm. "Only for you."

"You're such a softie."

"Call it what you want. You're the only person who gets this version of me. The only person who's ever going to."

He meant it. Every word. I could feel it under his skin - buzzing, alive.

His voice dropped lower, gentler.

"Do you regret it? Us?"

I shook my head before he even finished the question. "Never, dumbass."

He breathed out, like he needed to hear that.

"Good."

His fingers trailed down to my waist, resting over my bare hipbone. "You know what's crazy?"

I hummed. "This conversation?"

He smirked. "No. That I didn't even know I could be this happy. That you make me feel... human. Not just the strongest. Not just a weapon."

I blinked up at him, heart squeezed tight.

"You're not just the strongest to me," I whispered. "You're Satoru. Mine."

He pulled me closer until there wasn't a single inch between us.

And in that tiny silence, he kissed the top of my head and murmured,

"You always say that like it's not the biggest honor of my life."

His arms tightened around me like I might slip away.

Like he still didn't trust the world to let us have this moment.

"Your heartbeat calms me down," he said softly. "Isn't that pathetic?"

"Maybe a little," I teased.

He paused.

"I would lie in the prison realm with my hand over my chest, trying to remember what it felt like when you'd fall asleep on me. Your breath. The weight of you. Your heartbeat. Mine."

I blinked, lips parting.

He wasn't done.

"I'd think about your laugh. Not the quiet one. The ugly, snorty one you try to cover up. The one that only I get to hear."

He was smiling now, eyes glassy. "I missed your bad jokes. Your moods. Your bedhead. The way you boss me around. The way you act like I'm this big, dumb idiot-"

"You are a big, dumb idiot."

He huffed a quiet laugh and kissed my hair.

"I missed everything. And I kept thinking, please let me hold her again. Just once. Let me tell her I love her. Let me kiss her. Let me wake up next to her."

My throat closed. He looked like he wanted to cry again.

"You're allowed to be soft, you know," I whispered.

He looked at me like I'd handed him the universe.

Then he reached out and gently, reverently, brushed his thumb across my cheek.

"You're it for me. You know that, right?"

"I know," I breathed.

"No, like, you're it. I'm not doing this again. There's no backup plan. You're the endgame. You're the whole plan."

My chest shattered open. I curled against him, wrapping myself around the sound of his voice.

"Say it again?" I whispered.

"What?"

"That I'm your whole plan."

He exhaled, kissing my forehead.

"You're my whole fucking plan."

He suddenly pulled me up, gently, like I was made of something breakable.

Still completely naked, I blinked at him. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer.

Just grabbed the oversized t-shirt, the one that still smelled like him, like warm cotton and his shampoo and something indescribably home, and tugged it over my head with reverence, like dressing something fragile.

Then he slid on a pair of sweats. No shirt. Hair messy. Skin still glowing with sweat and heat and everything we'd just poured into each other.

He looked at me like he was seconds away from combusting.

I crossed my arms. "What the fuck are you doing?"

He only smirked. Eyes hazy. High off love or lust or me - probably all three. "You'll see."

He padded over to the nightstand, thumb tapping his phone. And then,

That haunting hum. That velvety, aching intro that always made my chest tighten.

Arctic Monkeys.

Wanna Be Yours.

My breath caught. "Satoru..."

He turned toward me like the sun rises for him. And held out his hand.

"I know we were gonna wait for the wedding," he said. "First dance and all that."

A pause. His throat bobbed.

"But I couldn't."

I stared. "You couldn't... wait?"

"We're not conventional, right?" he said, voice light but cracking. "So maybe this is it. Maybe this is us. First dance, bedroom floor, no shoes, no audience, just you and me and this stupid song that made me fall in love with you."

"You are so fucking cheesy," I muttered. "Like, absurdly cheesy. You're a Hallmark movie with abs."

"And you're still dancing with me."

"You're-"

"-Ridiculous," he finished for me. "I know."

He stepped closer, hand still outstretched. "But I'm ridiculous about you."

Before I could tell him to shut up, his fingers laced through mine. Gentle. Intentional.

He pulled me into him, slowly, like he was afraid the moment might vanish if he rushed it.

His bare chest pressed to mine - warm, steady, real, and somehow this felt more intimate than everything we'd done earlier. Sex was one thing. But this?

This was surrender.

He took my other hand and placed it over his heart.

"Come here," he whispered. "I need to dance with my fiancée."

My breath hitched - not from the words, but from the way he said them.

Like a promise. Like he already saw our future etched in stone. Like he'd walked through hell and back and still came out with only me on his mind.

His chin rested atop my head, arms winding around me like roots. Like he was trying to bury himself in me, in this.

We swayed.

Slow.

Messy.

Off beat.

But perfect.

Because his heartbeat became the rhythm. His arms, the song.

I could feel it, the way he held me like something already grieving. Like he knew what was coming. Like he was memorizing this moment in case the world went dark again.

"I couldn't wait," he murmured against my temple. "I thought I could, but then I looked at you tonight and I just... I couldn't."

His voice shook.

"This is the part that matters, right?" he said. "The dumb little dances in the middle of the night. In bedrooms. Kitchens. Hallways. Not just the first one at the wedding."

I pressed closer, nose tucked under his jaw.

"I want all of them," I whispered. "Every dance. Every room."

He laughed, just a little. "God, marry me right now. I'll call Shoko. I'll bribe a priest. Hell, I'll officiate it myself."

"You would," I said.

"Of course I would. You think I'm not dead serious? I've never lied. Especially not with you."

I smiled. But my eyes were burning.

Because we both knew.

We were holding onto something already slipping through our fingers.

EEEEE cliffhanger!! full chapter available hereeee pookies <3

[y0ur-lovrr]

—We meet again, huh?

Pairing; chishiya x reader

A/n; so…I might’ve disappeared for awhile, oopsies!!! I want to start writing more, so give me requests or ideas! I’ll try to not disappear again lol

—it’s surprisingly quiet, atleast to you. You’ve tuned everything out around you into a muffled background noise, the kind that sounds like when you fall asleep with the tv on.

It’s burning. The beach is burning, the flames a sharp contrast to the dark sky, and you can’t bring your eyes to look away. The air nips at your skin, the skin that’s visible because of your swim wear-you didn’t even get a chance to change like you usually would before a game. The ten of hearts appeared out of nowhere.

Your thoughts drift over to chishiya, wondering if he’s okay, along with kuina-the two were last seen together, they managed to slip away from the chaos. But you know he’s better than that, to allow himself to get stuck in the burning building, but you can help but wonder if his luck finally ran out.

You sigh, tilting your head as you continue to stare at the scene, you’re calm about it though. In truth, you were expecting the beaches downfall at some point. You just didn’t expect it to be now-or for it to happen during that last number game. You didn’t even really register that the beach could’ve been a game arena. You’ve been here awhile, and they still know how to surprise you, even a little bit.

Through your haze you manage to hear a small snippet of arisu and usagi talking, they’re starting to back away, probably to go team yo together somewhere else. You turn your head and watch, letting out an audible hum, soft eyes watching as usagi helps him walk, considering he got his face beat in again. The fact they still stuck together is a bit of a relief, you could tell they kind of had a thing for eachother when they first joined. If you even meet them again, you hope they’re still alive and together.

The beach was a prophecy, even though Mira tried to say it wasn’t. But it was. It was a place for people to hook up and party, all because they could die tomorrow if they didn’t try hard enough, and they all had to abide by the one. Hatter. Death to all traitors, he would say-and right now, everyone was a traitor as they watched the beach burn. You included. And maybe Chishiya, wherever he was.

Your eyes drift over to the beach again, your fists slightly clenching at your sides as you take in a breath-it truly was over. You’re on your own. On your again, it isn’t a surprise, but that doesn’t make the information enjoyable to comprehend. Is this really how your life has come to? You can already feel the empty loneliness filling your chest, the one that kuina and chishiya were able to fill.

What to do now? You surely didn’t trust to be allies with any of these hypocrites, they could barely go a day without drugging themselves up with alcohol or some type of special candy. They would get you killed, but they can get themselves killed, it’s not your business.

—you don’t really know how long it’s been since that night, but here you are now, in the middle of shibuya crossing, hands shoved into your pockets as you stare up at the blimp in the sky.

The king of spade’s. Face cards. Interesting.

Just as you are about to move, sounds suddenly echo out-gunshots and screams, causing you to flinch, suddenly hyper aware of everything around you, you certainly weren’t gonna die now.

“Damn it.!” you hiss, hands out of your pockets as you get ready to move-and then you see it. A black thing rolling at your feet, and within seconds your eyes are widening and you’re jumping back and diving behind a car.

BOOM!!! it explodes, the sound echoing out loudly, it almost has your ears ringing. People are screaming, and you don’t know what to do.

“Oh that’s not good…” you hear a familiar voice sigh out, and it has your ears perking up and your body instinctively sitting up a little. Chishiya? You might be mistaken because of all the noises…but are you?

“Go without me!” He follows out saying, before you hear the sound of a car skidding off, the wheels screeching slightly among the road-and then in your peripheral vision he’s diving behind a car and landing on the ground with you and pressing up against the car, and you see his eyebrows raise slightly as he looks at you, instantly recognizing you. A slight smirk curling against his lips.

“Ah…I see you made it out of the beach, hm? Not surprised.” He murmurs in his usual cool and calm tone, but you can hear the small bit of cockiness in it. He’d knew you would survive that place, you said you would.

“Yea..you did too, huh?” You reply with a slight huff, leaning your head back against the car, listening out for the kind of spades, but you assume he went after other people. How the hell were you supposed to clear this game?

“Are you gonna accompany me?” He asks with the same smirk, as if he already knew the answer, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes at him, watching as he begins to get up and start to leave the area-and you begrudgingly follow behind, getting up and huffing out.

“Whatever, chishiya.”

[knightjpg]

I'm frothing at the mouth, i'm messily begging for snippets or just hearing your ideas for:

untitled sylusmc (drabble where sylus chases mc and they bang) or

postmortem (sylusmc after caleb's "death" with a focus on mc's grief) or

werewolf caleb

(or all the them. why choose?)

Primal sylus, grief riddle mc, or werewolf caleb??? i need

sjbjsjs anything for you saraaaa😙 here's a piece of the sylusmc chasing each other around around like lovesick lunatics!!

“Beloved?” 

No answer. He checks the bathroom, kitchen, the living room, the armoury, and the training hall; he even pokes his head in the private movie hall in case you fell asleep while watching something again. 

But you're not there, and no one responds to his call. But your shoes are here. Did you step out? Sylus is just about to check the cameras when his ears perk up; he doesn't catch any footsteps, but there is very faint click that happens when the hallway door doesn't want to close properly. 

He leaves the mini cinema with quick, decisive strides, and throws open the door leading to his study. 

Empty. 

Then, behind him through the walls, a soft laugh. He whirls around and looks—and finds nothing. 

“So we're playing, kitten?” he says, lips starting to curl into a smile. His shoulders relax, steps growing softer and more cautious. His eyes search the area carefully. “Now where could a little thing like you be hiding?” 

Sylus can just imagine the kind of smug grin you must be wearing right now, tucked away in your hiding spot. He retraces what he's heard from you so far; through his study, then back to the hallway, to the left, right down to...  

He opens the door to his bedroom again. This time he's much more thorough; he doesn't satisfy himself with simply looking and calling for you. His eyes bore into the shadows, the corners, even under the king-sized bed; but you're not there. Are you playing tricks on him again? He doesn't think you'd pick the adjacent bathroom since it's a dead end, but if you are here it sure would be a convenient opportunity for you to slip away again. 

He pretends to be at a loss, stroking one hand over his face. “I hope you know that people who play tricks on me will have to pay up once I catch them,” he says, gaze sweeping over the furniture. “It's not too late. You can come out now, and I'll be merciful.” 

He waits, even though he already knows exactly what your answer will be. “Alright,” he says into the silence, smile widening. “Prepare yourself. Here I come.”