#I don't think I've actually told you all before but!! I started writing a book inspired by one of my fics

[sonder-writes]

I'm fangirling over my own (original) book as I edit it lol

These mentally ill men are my baby girls <333

[wonderlandwalker]

First Impressions | Eddie Munson x Reader

Stranger Things Masterlist / Inbox Summary: Eddie learns that Dustin has a recently reunited sister, and from the moment he meets you he's a goner. (read part 2 here) Content Warnings / Tags: Pure fluff, henderson!reader, tiny mention of a fight but nothing descriptive, not edited, no use of y/n Word Count: 1.4k A/N: Eddie brain rot cause I couldn't keep it in. Don't know if this is my best work but I'm planning to write more chapters on this so it's just a start, hope you like it

“You need a ride home after this?” It was more of a formality than an actual question, he always drove Dustin home after a session.

“Oh that’s okay, my sister is picking me up.” Dustin didn’t even look up from packing his things away, but Eddie’s head shot up.

“Your- you have a sister, since when?” As far as he knew Dustin was an only child, but now he was wrecking his brain trying to think if he had ever mentioned you before.

“I know you’re bad at math Eddie, but I just told you she’s driving so try and put the pieces together.” Dustin was looking up at him now, challenging him.

“Alright smartass, it’s time for you to shut up.” He told him as he ruffled through his hair, leaving behind an agitated Dustin trying frantically to fix it. 

The others had already gone home, but Dustin stayed behind late to help Eddie finish up, a habit that became more and more common as the two grew closer. When they finished packing up Eddie locked the door behind them, and while walking to the parking lot decided he wasn’t quite done interrogating Dustin.

“If you have an older sister, how come I've never seen her around before?”

“I mean she’s been around during holidays before, she lived with dad though but they had a big fight so she’s moved here.” It seemed like a sore topic, so Eddie dropped it for now.

As they got to the entrance of the school and felt the cool air on their skin Eddie indeed noticed another car in the usually empty lot, and you were sitting on the hood of it, a book in your hands as you patiently waited. The last rays of sunshine graced your figure as if the heavens themselves were blessing you, and Eddie had never been so sure he’d seena goddess in his life. It was just like the tales he knew so well, the ones he still devoted his life to, it was as if they were becoming true. You looked up when you heard them approach, smiling at the sight of them and giving Dustin a quick side hug as they reached you.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot of good things.” You held your hand out for Eddie to take, but all he could do was look at it, staring ahead as if hitting pause in a game, he stood still. He wanted to react, to not make the most horrible first impression possible, but the longer he looked at you the worse it got, getting lost in sight of your smile. “Alright, not a fan of handshakes, notes.” You chuckled as you withdrew your hand, and Eddie cursed himself for not having taken the opportunity to feel how soft your skin must’ve been. You looked at him again, your eyes piercing straight through his soul and he wondered if maybe he had found himself in one of his fantasy worlds, he must have. But the next second he shook himself out of it, because you were real, you were real and in front of him and expecting him to say something.

“I’m Eddie.” he said, nodding his head as if to confirm his own statement.

“So I’ve been told.” Another giggle slipped past your lips, and Eddie wasnt sure if it was from nerves or entertainment, but he was dying to hear more of it, even if he had to make a fool of himself to do so.

Dustins head kept going back and forth as if watching a tennis match of idiocracy. He had never seen Eddie so flustered, so used to the man flaunting with every opportunity that presented itself that this seemed quite out of character. In full disclosure, it was kind of freaking him out to see Eddie so beside himself, and it was freaking him out even further that he couldn’t figure out why. It was probably blatantly obvious to anyone else, but maybe it was for the best that Dustin couldn’t place where the tension originated from, either way, his patience had run out

“Can we go home now, I still have to call Mike to discuss our net strategies” You tore your eyes from Eddie, deciding that maybe it was for the best to head home.

“Yeah alright, maybe I’ll see you around Eddie.” You gave him one last smile as you got in the car with Dustin and drove off, but it took him another minute to pick his shambled ego up from the concrete ground as he berated himself for not being able to utter one coherent sentence. As he got in his van and drove home as well he decided he’d have to grill Dustin for more information on you the next time he’d see him. As he got to the trailer he grumbled a hello to Wayne before disappearing to his room, ignoring the backhanded comment he got about his grumpy disposition. 

He wondered if he’d ever be able to convince you he was cool, whether he’d be able to get you to agree to see him again, but after what just transpired he figured the odds were slim. Not that he’d give up so easily, he didn’t have much of a reputation to lose and if he’d be able to get you to laugh again that would be more than enough. But he didn’t get to wonder for long as Wayne knocked on his door, he was ready to tell the man to leave him alone, but the next sentence was one that confused him immensely

“Someone on the phone for you.” Wayne held the phone out to him, expecting him to get up from the bed and take it, but Eddie didn’t move an inch.

“For me, you sure?” He was still not quite sure what to do. “Unless another Eddie is living here I’m pretty sure.” He moved his hand again to accentuate the phone that was still on hold, but once again Eddie just sat there.

“If you want I can tell her to call back-” That’s when he sprung into action, snatching the phoen out of Wayne’s hand 

“No! No, I got it. Thank you.” The old man simply chuckled as he left again, closing the door behind him to give his nephew some privacy.

Eddie cleared his throat once before picking up the line put on hold. 

“Hello?” he asked, still not quite sure what to do.

“Hi, Eddie it’s me, just wanted to see if you were doing alright.” your sweet voice blessed his ears once more. He doesn’t know what he did to get the universe on his side like this, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

“Yeah I’m good, listen-” Eddie figured this time he shouldn’t waste his chance, and he probably had some making up to do. “- I’m sorry if I freaked you out earlier, just never seen anyone that pretty before.” You were giggling again, and it brought the biggest grin onto his face. “You didn’t weird me out at all, it was kinda cute. I had to bribe Dustin to let me use the phone so I don’t have much time but I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out this weekend?” Maybe he should’ve waited a beart before answering, but he was too eager to care.

“Go out, as in a date?” It got him blushing, the red creeping up on his cheeks as he wondered if that’s really what you were asking

“I mean, kinda, if you want to.” He could almost see you blushing on the other side of the line as well, and he decided it was now or never.

“I’d love to.” 

“That’s great, I’m still kind of new around here, do you know any good places?” Your smile was present as you spoke, and he was already looking forward to seeing it again, now knowing he wouldn’t have to wait long.

“How about I come and pick you up, we can go to the mall.” His confidence was growing with the minute now, absolutely elated by the turn of events.

“Im looking forward to it” He wondered what you’d wear, knowing whatever it was it would look beautiful on you, and he knew he’d spend the entire date amazed at your presence. 

“Me too” he said before the both of you hung up the phone, he had already started planning the most amazing evening out, and maybe, he thought, maybe this year really would take a turn for the better.

[part 2 here]

[7seas-of-ryy]

Cozy Days

Author’s Note: I just wanted to write a small fluffy piece to make me happy! I will definitely be writing about more shenanigans soon!! I used a prompt from this list and just changed it slightly!

Summary: You spend the day with the love of your life <3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: making out, let me know if I need to add any others :)

It was a calm, quiet day and you had never felt so relaxed before. You woke up next to the love of your life, Azriel. Then you went for a walk through the city, just enjoying the sights.

Once you returned home, you cuddled up next to each other on the couch and each read your own book. After about an hour, you broke the silence.

"So... Do you actually like me—" You began to ask.

"We have been married for fifty years. Our mating ceremony is next week. What do you think!?" Az responded cutting you off.

"I don''t know! I just thought I should make sure!" You said raising your hands in defense.

"Make sure?!" He laughed out the response.

You had a lazy smile on your face, always happy listening to your mate's laugh. If you were being honest, you knew without a doubt that the male sitting next to you loved you but a little reassurance never hurt anyone.

Azriel pulled you closer into his side, still smiling and kissed your head.

"I've spent my entire life waiting for you. I lived nearly 500 years without you and yet it feels like my life didn't truly start until I met you. Does that answer your question?" He spoke in a gentle tone.

You felt such a deep love for him and you knew words wouldn't do how you felt justice. Instead you moved til you were sitting on his lap and ran your hands through his hair. When you looked at him, his eyes were already on yours.

His strong eye contact suddenly made you nervous. He was so gorgeous, it was hard to believe he was all yours.

You looked down, resting your hands on his shoulders while his were laying on your thighs.

"Are you blushing?" He asked with a teasing tone, "After all these years I still make you blush?"

"Don't make fun of me!" You said, barrying your face in his neck.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. His hands slowly rubbed up and down your back. Both of you enjoying the warmth of the other.

"I love that I still make you blush. I hope I make you blush for the rest of our lives." He said, easing your embarrasment.

You pulled your head from his neck and your gaze softened when you saw the look of love on his face.

"I love you." You told him and leaned closer to him.

Your lips were so close, but not yet touching.

"I love you too." He whispered, lips brushing against yours.

You shared soft kisses, which turned passionate after a few moments. Your hands made their way to his hair once again and lightly tugged.

He groaned into your mouth and you pulled away for some air. You were both panting, leaning your foreheads against each other. He went to kiss you again but you put a finger on his lips. A look of confusion washed over his face.

"Did you forget?? Cassian and Nesta are coming over for dinner and I don't think you want them to walk in on us like this." You spoke.

He tilted his head back and forth a few times as if contemplating his options.

"I think I'll take my chances." He decided and before you could blink he had you on your back on the couch with him on top of you.

He kissed you again, this time with hunger. He loosely pinned your hands above your head as he kissed down your neck. You wrapped your legs around his waist while he continued to mark your skin.

"Hey guys, we brought a new—" Cassian spoke as he entered but stopped speaking and let out a hearty laugh.

The two of you jolted up, standing quickly. You brushed down your clothes trying to smooth them out while he ran his hands through his hair to make it a little more neat.

"Starting with Y/N as an appetizer?" Cass jokingly questioned.

Nesta rolled her eyes at her mate's joke.

"You two knew we were coming and you couldn't keep it in your pants until after dinner?" She spoke with a disgusted look on her face.

"Sorry! She's just so breathtaking, I can't help myself." Azriel defended himself.

You could feel the tips of your ears and your cheeks grow red at his words. It seemed it was too easy for him to fluster you.

Nesta rolled her eyes but a small smile grew on her face. She was happy for you two, knew you both deserved this love and happiness.

Az grabbed your hand and led you to the table. His shadows wrapping around your torso, up your body until nuzzling themselves in your hair.

You sat next to Nesta and gave her a quick apology, which she gave you a smirk in return. Looking across the table, you saw Azriel already looking at you. He gave you a subtle wink that made your heart flutter.

Life hadn't been kind to you before you met Azirel, but having him now sure did make up for it.

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[lilahisntsadanymore]

Blood status seems to become less important when you acknowledge the actual feeling of love. What will Theo do when Y/n comes to the terms with the differences between them being impossible to ignore?

Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!reader

Words count: 1.9k

Author's note: My apologies for keeping you waiting so long, but I finally got some time off at uni!! Wishing you all a good year!!

Kind of a 2nd part of this fic, but you can read it without the previous one

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Keep you safe

One evening, Theo was waiting in the library. Waiting for a person he never expected to talk to. Y/n Granger. He found himself feeling a bit nervous, even though there was no reason.

Thinking about Y/n made him feel something. A feeling he never felt before. Slughorn said it's love, the muggle kind of love, the purest form, not induced by anything supernatural.

Theo decided to read about it. Hoping to find some book about it, he asked the librarian. She gave him a book specifically about love potions and spells. One of the first chapters was just what Theo was looking for.

"How to tell the difference between love and infatuation caused by magic." He whispered the first sentence to himself.

He started reading, his mind realizing what he got himself into as his gaze brushed over the text. Well, technically it wasn't his own fault and apparently also not the girl's fault.

But there must've been a reason. If love was a part of biology, brain chemistry, there had to be some logical factor.

"What are you reading?"

When Theo heard Y/n's voice right next to him, he immediately closed the book, causing it to make a loud sound.

"You took such a long time I got bored." He replied.

"Don't be so shy," the girl shifted her eyes to the title of the book, "oh, love potions and spells? But we're doing something completely different."

"Really? I couldn't care less, forgot what we were supposed to do." Surely one thing he'd love to do was making out with her on that table.

Y/n put her homework on the table.

"Read it and tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, I just-"

"What's wrong with my text, Nott. I didn't ask how you were doing."

"Right."

Theo took the papers and started reading. The text was written with the most beautiful handwriting he's ever seen. So elegant, so precise.

"How long did it take you to write?" He asked.

"One evening. It was easier than you'd think."

"I think it's extremely easy." He bragged. "Anyway, is that all? Or do you wanna add something?"

"Well, Slughorn thought it's necessary for you to help me. Is there anything you think should be added?"

"Uh, no, it looks fine," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Fine? Theodore Nott, the perfectionist Slytherin, settles for 'fine'? I expected more from you."

"Look, it's not my homework, it's yours. I don't know why I agreed to help you, but it was pointless."

"You got yourself into this, could've said no."

"What the fuck am I even doing?" Theo asked rather himself than the girl. "I don't need to be helping a mudblood, who cares what grade you'll get." With these words, he stood up.

"Because-" Y/n stuttered. "Because... I've heard your conversation with Slughorn. And you said... that you liked me."

"Me? Liking you?" He snorted with laughter. "What the hell, Granger?"

Tears formed in Y/n's eyes as she watched Theo walk away. Sure, he was mean to her before, this wasn't the first time. But this time was somehow different.

Y/n could swear she heard Theo confessing to Slughorn that he's actually in love with her. It's not possible her brain played tricks on her. Plus Hermione said Theo told her about his feelings for Y/n.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Harry walked onto the astronomy tower. Y/n was supposed to be back a long time ago. Ron and Hermione also wanted to go there, but Harry asked to let him go alone.

Harry knew where Y/n was thanks to the Map. He felt such relief not seeing Nott's name next to hers. She was standing alone, leaning on the banister. There was something in her hand, Harry couldn't see well in the dark, but from the smell he realized it was a cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoke." He spoke.

Y/n expected this to happen, she was aware of Harry's feelings towards her. She took one last drag from her cigarette then dropped it on the ground, put it out with her shoe and kicked off the tower.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Y/n asked, smoke leaving through her mouth. "I knew you're gonna look at your silly little map to see where I am."

"We were starting to get worried. Theo is... you know, dangerous. We got scared he would hurt you."

And he did. Theo did hurt Y/n, just not physically.

"Hermione should be here instead. But, let me guess, you told her you'll check up on me."

"Maybe," Harry admitted finally, "do you know why? Because I actually care about you. I've had feelings for you for years. I deserve you, not Nott. I deserve you, because-"

"Because you're the chosen one?" She mocked and paused. "Look, Harry, I like you as a friend. I've never felt anything more than this. I can't change how I see you and I won't pretend otherwise."

He nodded, acceptance settling in. "I get it. I just... I thought if I cared enough, it would make a difference."

"Caring is important, Harry, but it doesn't always lead to the feelings we hope for."

"Whoever you date, just don't date Nott, please."

"I promise I won't. Not after today, I'm over him."

"Care to share what happened?"

"I'll tell you, Hermione and Ron in the common room. Let's go, I've been here too long."

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Y/n didn't even know how wrong she was that night on the astronomy tower, but she forgot about it. Weeks went by, Christmas had passed, everyone were back from the break. Classes started again and Y/n found herself hoping to catch a glimpse of Theo.

They kept exchanging glances on the corridors, accidentally bumping into each other in the crowds. Y/n wanted to believe Theo liked her, but even if he did, they could never work.

"Y/n, listen to me," he said, catching her when she was alone in the library one time. "I know how things have been between us, but during the break I... I realized I don't wanna keep being enemies."

"Theo, you know it could never work. You said what you said and maybe it's better to leave it this way."

"I contemplated a lot," it was true, he spent the break mostly in his room, drowning in thoughts. About her, about them, coming to terms with what he was feeling. "I decided to accept my feelings."

"That's great for you, but we could never work. I've always 'fancied' you, I guess, despite what you were doing, ironically, but the time we worked on my project together, I accepted we could never work."

"And why's that?"

Y/n took a deep breath, wondering if he was stupid or just pretending. Maybe it was a bet he had with someone. Maybe Draco dared him to do this.

"You don't see how different we are? What do you expect is gonna happen? Would you introduce me to your father? Wouldn't you care that I'd get you disowned?"

Theo looked at her, Y/n could see sadness in his eyes. She realized her words made him realize the differences between them, because he walked away. Theo walked away without a word.

Y/n pierced her own heart with an invisible knife. She was really hoping they could work, but it just wasn't possible in this universe. Maybe there was a universe where none of this purity bullshit didn't exist. Y/n wished she would've been born there.

Y/n couldn't predict what Theo was going to do. She thought her words made him give up on her. It was for the best, of course, she should've focused on her studies firstly, and then on a realistic relationship.

It was a Friday. Y/n was sitting next to Ginny by the Gryffindor table. It was dinner time, all the students gathered in the Great Hall. All the students besides one Slytherin, the one that Y/n hoped to see. Maybe it was weird, but she enjoyed the sad looks they'd pass to each other.

"Hey, Y/n, are you listening?" Hermione asked from across the table.

"Sure," Y/n quickly shifted her eyes to her sister. "You were talking about Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"You've got divided attention. Stop looking at the Slytherin table."

"Ugh," Ginny groaned, "were you doing this again? Merlin, you stare at this Slytherin git 90% of the time."

"Well, he isn't here today. I wonder where he could be. Everyone else is here."

"There he is," Ron pointed out, rolling his eyes.

The golden trio and two younger Gryffindors looked at the doors' direction. Theo had just walked into the Great Hall, but surprisingly he didn't walk towards his table. He walked towards Y/n.

"Y/n," he spoke, catching everyone's attention. People were reading to witness another argument. "I can't help this, I love you."

Shocked noises came from all the tables, but Slytherins kept whispering between each other also when Theo continued talking.

"I don't care what anyone says, anyone thinks. Love is not meant to be controlled, it kills me to fight it."

Y/n stood up from the table, ready to leave the room.

"Theo, stop," she begged, "you're embarrassing us both. Your friends will-"

"I don't care what they do. If they don't accept it, they're not my friends. If anyone wants to fight me for having feelings for a muggleborn, I can fight, I've never lost a duel."

The whole Great Hall fell silent, even the teachers didn't try to intervene, when they saw Theo pulling out a small, black velvet box.

"I want you to wear this ring," he opened the box, "as my promise to always protect you from whoever tries to harm you or our relationship."

"It's beautiful, but..." Y/n was speechless by the sight of the ring. It was silver with two gemstones forming a subtle heart - half emerald and half ruby.

"It was custom made and if you accept it, I'll once get you a matching engagement ring. Also, there are thorns which will hurt you when you try taking it off. I want you forever, Y/n Granger."

The ring in the black velvet box sparkled under the enchanted ceiling. The Great Hall remained in silence as Theo poured his heart out, confessing his love. The unexpected turn of events had everyone on edge.

Slytherins exchanged intrigued glances, Gryffindors shared confused looks and even the teachers seemed to not know how to react. Y/n could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, and for a moment, she considered the potential consequences of accepting Theo's proposal.

"Theo," she began, her voice breaking, "it's not that simple."

"I know it is. But I can't keep hiding my feelings, Y/n. I've tried, and it's tearing me apart. I'll protect you from whatever comes our way."

Y/n looked at the ring, then back at him. "I believe in second chances. And I appreciate your sincerity. I accept the ring, Theo."

Theo carefully took the ring from the box and gently slid it onto Y/n's finger. The Great Hall burst with cheering and applause, only the Slytherin table didn't seem so enthusiastic about this.

Theo placed his hands on Y/n's waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She didn't hesitate to kiss him back, her hands sinking in his dense her yet the ring on her finger still visible, reflecting the light from the ceiling.

[andillneverbethesame]

CASUAL

❥ draco malfoy x reader

❥ warnings; oral sex, implied vaginal sex, not reread — may contain gramatical mistakes

❥ word count; 2,3k

❥ a/n; ik i should be prob writing your ts requests but i've been listening to casual by chappel roan sm lately and got idea for this fic sorry for the second smut not being written. i realized how much i don't like writing it.

you and your dear friend daphne greengrass were seated in the slytherin's common room sofa, doing your potion's homework on the last minute.

"ugh, does snape hate us? this is an awful homework!" daphne complained with her head in her hands.

"i agree," you spoke. "this is taking forever. and i gotta meet draco in-" you checked your watch "-fifteen minutes."

daphne sighed, making you glance at her with a raised eyebrow.

"got a problem, greengrass?"

she stared at you, contemplaining on what she should say. "i think you're a loser that you're still hanging around and let him treat you like that."

daphne didn't like draco before this thing between you two even started, none of your friends did. but they hate him even more, knowing he's wiping the floor with you.

"you don't know how sweet he actually is," you tried to convince her. and a bit yourself, too.

"it's a facade."

in that moment, you could see from the corner of your eye two girls walking past you and eyeing you up and down.

"do you think it's serious between her and malfoy?" asked one the other.

"nah. nott said malfoy told him she's just a girl he bangs on his couch." answered the other.

you froze. this was so humiliating. you could only hope that those were just rumours and draco never said anything like that to theodore. you could ask nott, but you doubt he would tell you if he really heard him say that. him and draco were the best of friends.

you met daphne's look that clearly said, "i told you so."

"oh, fuck off!" you packed your things and left the common room.

draco said to meet him in the library, so that's where you were heading. on your way there, you tried your best to ignore the looks and the whispers of other people. it was a date night, after all. you were determined not to let your mood be ruind by silly things like that.

the library was quiet as always. you always thought draco asked to meet you there because it's such a calm, romantic place. plus, both you and draco loved reading so you'd spent your date time like that. however, daphne suggested a few weeks ago that the reason draco wanted to meet in the library, was the fact that there weren't much people in the evening hours, so no one would see you there. you could only hope that that wasn't the case.

you found him at his usual spot in the right back corner of the library.

but he was not alone.

he was seated at the table while pansy parkinson was sitting on the table with her legs crossed. you could see her fingers slightly lifting up her skirt, revealing her underwear. and the worst thing was: draco was looking. and by the way he smirked and licked his lips, he liked it.

rage filled your entire body but you decided to play it cool. you put on a smile and made your way over to them.

"hey, pansy," you said, still smiling brightly. "didn't expect to see you here. haven't you got a better thing to do than flirting with other girl's man?"

she rolled her eyes and got off the table. she send draco a wink and blew him a kiss before leaving.

you huffed and took a seat opposite to draco. he continued on reading his book, but as if he could feel the daggers you've been sending through his head, he lifted his gaze.

"what?" he asked, acting clueless.

"care to explain why it looked like if i didn't walk in you two would be shagging each other's brains out?"

"we wouldn't." you swore you could see his eyes crinkling. what a fucking liar. "why do you care anyway? are you jealous?"

"yeah, i am!" you admitted. "we are together. you have me. so why do you still cave other's girl attention so badly?"

he snorted. "we're not together."

you froze, feeling humiliated once again. this was so embarassing you wished you had the ability to melt into the ground. but you didn't. all you could do was stare at him for a few seconds before letting a faint "oh" leave your lips. you couldn't help it. tears started to form in the corners of your eyes.

draco saw that. "i'm sorry, baby. i told you no attachment." his arm reached over the table and placed it over yours.

"i know. you're right. i'm sorry," you apologized although you had nothing to apologize for.

draco stood up from his seat and kneeled in front of you. "it's okay, i forgive you. you're someone i couldn't lose." and then, his hands went to the sides of your face and his lips to yours. although, you were deep down still feeling angry. the feeling of his kiss made it vanish.

------------------------------------------------

"oh merlin!"

you were in draco's limousine, your legs were over the boy's shoulders and his head was between your thighs. you gripped his blonde hair. he was truly a master at this. his tongue worked perfectly on you, eating you out as if he was starved and as if he never tasted anything better.

you were sure his fingers would leave a mark from the tight hold on your outer thighs. but you didn't mind. it would be there to remind you of the best head of your life.

his tongue flicked over your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body each time he touched that one spot that caused you to see heaven. your eyes were rolled to the back of your head as your nails dugged into the skin of his shoulders. you were close to the edge despite it being only five minutes.

your glassy eyes watched him. it was truly a wonderful sight that could alone make you come. and then, his icy blue eyes met yours. and that was all you needed to fall apart under his touch.

when you finally collected yourself and draco wiped his mouth with a napkin he pulled from the back pocket of his pants, you two sat in silence with your head on his shoulder and his arm around your body. this was one of the moments you refused to believe that draco believed it was casual. him kissing the top of your head, his fingers intertwined with yours, him smiling when you drew a heart on the limousine's foggy window-

"would you like to meet my mother?"

-him asking you to meet his mother-

wait. what?

your eyes went wide as you pulled away from his embrace. "what?"

he shrugged. "my mum wants to meet you."

you raised an eyebrow and smiled. "you told your mum about me?" that was surprising. i mean, sure, you told your mum about him too, but that was different. this meant everything to you while it meant very little to nothing to draco.

"no," he shook his head and your smile dropped. "i'd bet all my money it was zabini or nott."

"oh, right. well, if you'd like me to, i'd like to meet your mum."

"great," he nodded. "i think you'd like her. i'm not so sure about my dad but. . ." he didn't finish his sentence and you didn't ask kim, knbowing how the relationship between him and lucius was.

you were about to meet his parents. was it still casual?

---------------------------------------------

you gasped at the sight of the malfoy manor. it was twice bigger than you expected. the gate opened and you two walked in to the property.

"how rich are you?" you asked him, still gaping.

"enough to never have to work for the rest of my life," he replied with a smirk.

"hm, i'd like that."

and then, your mind began on creating fantasies again. you were dumb. but you loved it. you dreamt of you and draco in a year, after you two graduate. you dreamt of living together and it didn't have to be in a manor large like this one. it could be in a room at three broomsticks. it didn't matter as long as you two were together. and then, maybe you two would be something. and he'd show you off to everyone.

you blushed at the thought. these fantasies are fatal.

draco opened the large door to the manor and you two walked in. for some reason, it was a bit colder than the outside air but you could imagine yourself spending time there.

"mother?" draco called out but there was no response. but then, an elf walked into the hallway and the boy asked him, "dobby, where are mother and father?"

"t-they are out, mr malfoy. they are taking care of some business," he replied, his voice shaking.

draco nodded, looking as if he knew what business the elf was talking about. he turned to you and said, "let's go. we'll wait in my room."

he took a hold of your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, making fireworks explode inside of you.

his room was quite small compared to the other rooms in the manor, but it was very cozy anyway. he had the dark walls covered with posters of his favourite quidditch team and also with pictures. you took your time walking around and exploring. there were countless of photographs with him and his friends, two or three with his mother (zero with his father) and one with. . .

you.

it was a photo of you two on one of slytherin's party, before you started hooking up, you were sitting on the common's room sofa with your arm around him and his hand on your knee. you already fancied him at this point. the look in your eyes as you gazed at him couldn't be missed.

you really did love him.

you turned around, still smiling. you found him sitting on his bed so you took the advantage and began to straddle him. his head hit the matress as his hands gripped your hips. your fingers found its way to his colar, untying his tie.

"what do you say to a little fun before dinner?"

-----

"draco!" female voice echoes through the manor. "we're home! you can come downstairs!"

you two spent the last fifteen minutes in his bed, in silence.

"well, we definitely can't come down looking like this." you both were still naked, not bothering to put on your clothes just yet. your hair were a mess and your lipstick was smudged from the endless making out.

you got up to find your clothes since they were scattered everywhere across the floor.

"have you seen my bra?" you asked draco after you found your panties. you saw him holding it, expecting to give it to you. but instead of that, he send you a wink, turned around and put it in one of his drawer.

a light laugh slip passed your lips. "you dick. that's my favourite one!"

"well," he shrugge, "it's mine now, sorry."

you rolled your eyes and slipped on your maroon dress. this one was a gift from draco for your birthday.

right after that, you grabbed your clutch and walked into the bathroom to fix your appearance.

"a question," you called out to draco.

"yeah?"

"what did you say to your mum?"

"what do you mean?"

"well," you paused to put on your lipstick. "what did you tell her about us and our relationship status?"

he leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms on his chest. "what would i tell her? i didn't tell her anything."

"oh. . . then what. . . are we?"

you heard him sigh. "y/n, why do you expect another answer? we're casual. i told you that at least a hundred times."

casual.

a perfect evening ruined by one fucking word.

you were so done with this.

"casual?" you repeated, turning around to face him. "i'm about to meet your fucking parents, draco. what the fuck do you mean that we're casual? do i mean nothing more to you than an occasional shag? why, draco, why?"

"i told you, i'm not ready for a relationship," he tried to reason.

"not ready for a relationship? you like ten girlfriends before me, how can you be not ready? at least tell the truth and say you don't want to be with me."

"oh merlin." he exhaled. "you know that's not true. why are you so bitter about it?"

"i'm meeting your parents," you repeated for the second time. "you take me out on dates, you buy me an expensive dress, you even talked about a future with me in it once but then you say it's casual and you wonder why i'm bitter?"

"but i told you countless times we're not together-"

"draco!" his mother's voice called again.

"we'll be there in a minute!" he yelled. his voice sounded a bit harsher than he intented it to be. "i tell you we're not together all the time and you always say it's fine. but i can tell it's obviously not. so why are you still hanging around?"

you nodded. "you know what? you're right. i tried hard to be the calm girl that holds her tongue and gives you space, but honestly? i'm not. and i'm exhausted of pretending to be in case you change your mind one day and tell me you wanna be with me." you began to pack your things.

"wait. don't." you stopped, hoping he'll say the right things. but the next words were a dissapointment. "what do i tell my parents?"

you shrugged. "say what you tell to your friends. it's casual. so there's really no point in meeting them." you walked past him with a sweet fake smile and before he could say anything, you were out of sight.

[nrdmssgs]

Hello id like to humbly request a scenario with König where y/n previously went MIA, and is assumed dead. König is sent on a hostage rescue mission and when he gets there finds out not only is she alive, but she’s one of the hostages he’s there to rescue 🩷 i ADORE your writing!

Masterlist

Angst, hurt/comfort

Pairing: König x afab reader

TW: Mention of alcohol, several mentions of grief and depression, mentions of injuries, mention of human trafficking, swearing.

Authors note: I've tried to keep all the disturbing stuff very mild, but I can't help but see, as the readers` alleged death would absolutely crush König. Sorry for taking so long. I love this request so much, I can't stop thanking you, dear anon. Love you! This is actually kinda songfic, so if anybody needs music for this one: here you are.

Scarlet shell

“König, listen to me! Please! There is no body! There is nothing, we could possibly miss here!” His squad mate is trying to catch up with König, but it's impossible: he moves forward, maneuvering, between cargo transports at incredible speed.

How many times did he search for you past days? More precisely, how many dozens of times? 

He searched every centimeter of the perimeter where you worked, checked literally everywhere.

He did not take breaks for food or sleep. His team gradually lost strength, but he did not give up: he continued to circle around the place where the explosion thundered on that fateful night.

Koenig could not bring himself to stop and admit the obvious: if you were at the epicenter at the time of the explosion, only a damp shadow on the ground and a couple of scraps of clothing could remain from your body.

You don't need to talk if you don't feel like it, my love. Please never feel sorry for staying silent around me. Never beat up yourself. We all are born different, we walk different paths: your journey has made you waste most of the words we could have shared very early. It sometimes happens so, I know. The truth is that you don't have to put into words what you feel when you are next to me: I see it all in your eyes. You have reached such perfection in these silent speeches that I am ready to sit and listen to you endlessly. Even if "listening" means just looking into your eyes.

At first, he can't make himself come into your room. He comes to the door, holds out his hand and, after standing there for a while, turns around.

He needs to collect your belongings, make room for a new resident. But König can't gather enough strength.

When he finally forces himself into your room, a deafening silence engulfs him: your voice no longer here, your laughter, even your breathing is no longer heard.

König starts to collect your things, putting them carefully in a cardboard box: clothes, equipment, books, small utensils. All this absorbed your smell, your warmth. Every single item seems to burn his fingers.

He doesn't know how long it takes before he gives up: it hurts so much, he feels the pain on a physical level. 

Your shirt falls on the edge of the box. He brushes his fingers against your blanket and pillow. König kneels, then curls up right on the floor, ignoring the dust.

“Meine… meine…*” He can't even say your name - it gets stuck right in his throat, choking him. He never had enough words, when you were around, and he hates himself for that. But now, he loses even your name.

Sometimes I just think about words. Yesterday I looked at you and thought of the beautiful word you taught me: “die Hingabe” or "devotion". What is it in essence? Persistence and immutability in ones feelings, right? I was bored, so I googled this word. The search engine told me that it has approximately 195 million pages in its database that mention this word. Things were better with the word "honor" - almost 2 billion pages. With "love" - 11 billion pages. So love is 56 times more popular than devotion... Although it is clear that only a deeply devoted person can truly love, right?

Sometimes he hates it: his devotion to you does not weaken with time. A few years pass, and he learns to live in constant pain. Learns to wake up every morning, knowing well, he won't see your face. Grows accustomed to all-consuming silence and cold around him.

But what drives him to the limit is a constant urge to finish yet another mission, just to come back to the base, bury his face in your shirt and disappear completely in a slumber without thoughts.

Nothing helps: alcohol tastes like water, training doesn't leave him breathless and too weak to even think of you, no matter how hard he tries.

At some point, he even finds himself talking to another woman. She even takes his number, and sometimes they exchange warm and kind messages. He answers her automatically. 

Returning from their third meeting (he cant even call it a date), he realizes with horror that he does not remember her face.

There are no faces left in his life, except for one - that which he can neither see nor touch anymore. Your face.

My love, I see the scars, your traumas left on your body and in your mind. I know, it hurts. Every time, I ask you about them - I mean no further harm. You don't have to tell unless you are not ready. But I want you to see, that all those things didn't break you: you have not become the monster, you are scared of. There is still so much love, so much light in your hands. I want you to know, that the only reason, I'm asking you about your past traumas is that I want to fight them for you, to help you to heal. I'll fight for that love and light, you bear. Not to get them from you, never. But only for you to feel it all inside your heart.

König doesn't notice anything different. He just needed a new veil and didn't have any old black tshirts on hands.

So first he puts on a dark scarlet veil. It is still convenient. Then his old gloves are torn and he orders new ones... To match the color of the top.

It's just some gear, it doesn't affect anything. But rumors are spreading around the base.

"He's off the chain." 

"Did you see what he did to the hostiles on the last mission?" 

"That animal is unleashed." 

"We no longer have König - there is only the bloody beast under that veil" 

"I'm terrified by those red clothes whenever they flash somewhere on the battlefield. Fucking omen."

König ignores the whispers. He doesn't care. Is he more productive now? Well, maybe it's for better.

I keep writing you these silly letters, but I will never send them. I don't want to embarrass you with my chatter. I'll stack them in my drawer:  letter after letter, confession after confession. I told you the most important words a long time ago, but all this ... I don't want to think about the circumstances under which you could find these letters and read them. But if something does happen, remember: I am yours, from head to toe, completely yours. Even if I'm not next to you now - my body, my mind and my heart - yours. Love you.

His commanders tend not to send him on missions where he would have to interact with civilians. His approach to combat really becomes so brutal that bystanders and hostages run the risk of getting too severe moral trauma.

But when it comes to cleaning up an entire village, where people from all over the world are brought for human trafficking, they simply have no choice. They need the best of the best soldiers, and König tops the list.

And he justifies the title of the best: he sweeps through the village like a tornado, cleaning one room after another.

König is somehow merciful enough to rip the padlocks off the doors where the hostages were being held, make sure there are only civilians in the room, and move on to the next door and the next building.

He unleashes a wave of fury on his enemies, alternating quick kills with slow and painful ones. None of his team dares to speak to him.

When they report to him that the last building is cleared, and they can move back, he turns around with a predatory look.

The building where he stopped is immersed in silence. One of his people says something, but König only raises his finger to his lips and gestures that he is going to check the second floor.

He doesn't hear anything suspicious, doesn't see anything... But some inhuman instinct tells him that he's not alone here.

König tries to step quietly, but the old withered boards crackle treacherously under his feet.

He walks up to the back room on the second floor and pushes the door open. He remembers very well how he himself knocked out the lock some 15 minutes ago, but there was no one in the room ...

This time he comes in and takes a closer look. His eyes linger on the pile of dusty rags, carpets and gutted cushions on the floor.

It appears suspicious. He slowly approaches, pulls out a knife, and throws back several pillows at once.

What he sees makes him freeze in horror. Your face... He saw your face - emaciated, covered with cuts and bruises of all colors. You covered your mouth in horror with your hand, the faded skin tight around every bone, every joint. It seemed that even your eyes had lost almost all color: two dark gray abysses stared back at Koenig in fear of death.

You looked more like your own ghost, but that didn't matter. He very carefully lowered the knife to the ground.

"It's me." König unbuttoned his helmet and removed it and his veil. "It's me..."

You didn't answer. Only large tears glistened in the corners of your eyes.

“Meine Liebe*, it`s me.” He kept whispering, hoping to calm you down, while removing layer after layer of rags and pillows, covering your body.

He throws away tactical gloves and carefully inspects you to understand, if youre injured. His body trembles, his voice fails him and König proceeds to the only way, he can convince you, that you are safe at last: he takes you in his hands, carefully cradles your fragile body and presses kisses against tear stains on your cheeks. 

When his team finds him slowly rocking you in his hands, they step back, giving you two some privacy.

But they notice the bloody-red veil and gloves, laying on the floor as a cracked, broken and finally not needed shell.

*Meine - my *Meine Liebe - my love

[dduane]

Hope this isn't an ask you get all the time, but how do you track your progress when you're doing editing?

Everyone talks about word goals, and that seems fine for a first draft, but doesn't make sense to me when it comes to revisions. Do you have any kind of system for setting daily goals for your revisions?

Actually, I don't think anyone's ever asked me about this. :) So no sweat.

Briefly: I think you're wise in not attempting wordcounting in this phase of dealing with an MS—or trying to push yourself into a structure so rigid. ...There's this, too: there's a whole lot too much emphasis out there at the moment on trying to force yourself into other people's writing and editing paradigms—so many of them riddled with bar graphs and "demonstrable" daily progress. You need to find what works for you. More words dealt with in a day, sure, that's encouraging in its way. But are they the right words?

Today’s Writer Take that will probably strike some as Hot (and ask me if I care): Some kinds of writing progress are just neither graphically nor numerically quantifiable. And damned to the least TripAdvisorally-acceptable regions of [insert your preferred underworld here] be those who’ve tried to sell people the idea that they are.

(sigh)

Now, for what it's worth: here's how I do it. Which may be useful to other people, or not so much so. And that's fine, because I'm not editing their novels. :)

(Adding a break here. Under the cut: advice + advice = advice, and some images of text I shouldn't be letting y'all see just yet... but WTF.)

Revision for me is a fairly relaxed business—unless my editor has told me WE NEED THIS ON TUESDAY, which thank sweet Thoth on his e-bike is very rare.

It also helps that I like revising. (When I was a kid, I liked liver, too. And spinach. Just call me Miss Outlier and let's move on.) I really enjoy the feeling of the work’s rough edges being filed down and the sparse places being filled out.

And also: second draft/first revision draft is nowhere near as tense for me as first draft. Because, thank God, at least there's a book.

First draft is where I sweat blood and otherwise suffer. While I can see the story just fine in my head, it's not really real for me until the first draft, whole in narrative and action, is complete on paper/in the machine. And till it's achieved at least that level of reality, I can't relax.

But by the time I hit my second/revision draft, I can be confident that any really serious problems in the novel have already been solved—because I'm an outliner. In the outline stage, potential thematic or structural troubles will routinely have revealed themselves way long ago: before drafting even got started, as I first wired the story's bones together. The successfully-executed first draft acts as proof-of-concept for that structural wiring. By the time that draft’s done, it’s immediately apparent whether the skeleton can successfully stand up by itself. And gods is that a relief when it does! You’re tempted to jump around yelling “It's aliiiiiive!" as the lightning strikes around you.*

However, if after submitting that draft my editor's found something structurally or thematically troublesome in it that I've completely missed until this point, my first order of business becomes to fix whatever their notes involve and submit the fixes. Nothing further happens until the editor sees what I've done about those problems, and until I get agreement that whatever intervention I've enacted has now sorted the problems out.

After that, everything happens in bed.

(...casually noting that for a line to use somewhere else...) :)

But seriously: I do my best revision and editing before getting up in the morning.

Some of this is because, for me, the mind's nice and quiet and (theoretically) at least moderately well rested, right after sleep. I might take the briefest glance at my email first to make sure nothing urgent needs attention... but once that’s done, I refuse to let myself go any further down that hole. That early-morning calm is a mental state I'm glad to exploit, and one I jealously guard. On days when I'm forced to do without the working lie-in**, I use a different approach: when there's a pause, sit down and do nothing—no reading, no video, no music, no phone, nothing—for half an hour: then start editing. Routinely, the quiet I need will once more have fallen.

The in-bed-editing approach also works for me because (since I'm working in Scrivener) it's absolutely no big deal to finish a day's editing on a file by exporting a version of the file containing the day's edits to ebook format, and into my Dropbox. From there, in the morning, without ever getting out from under the covers, I can pull that .epub file into my tablet and read it as an ebook, making corrections and notes there.

This is what it looks like (on a page without too many corrections) if the app you're using is "Books" in an iPad. The second image is what you get when you touch on the marginal yellow square of the note to examine it.

Then, when I'm finished looking over the previous day's/evening's writing and adding notes to it, I go downstairs, get some caffeine in me, and make the changes in the main Scrivener file. (If I was running the project in question on the iPad version of Scrivener, I'd just make the change right there. But who knows when I'd actually get up, then? Better to do it this way.) :)

In the normal flow of things I'll attempt to deal with a chapter or two a day in this mode. (Always bearing in mind that my chapters in early drafts typically run long—often 10K or so—and I'm likely enough to rebreak them later.) This first level of revision is the easy one: catching typos and bad or clumsy phrasings, reworking character interactions that need smoothing out; adding better descriptive passages (with particular emphasis on staying in the visual, audio and tactile senses), etc., etc.

So again: no way I'd ever bother worrying about word counts, with these. What seems to count for more is giving yourself time to recognize, gradually, at a reader's pace, what's working in the prose and what isn't. Rush—or try to force the pace to a given number of words per day—and you run the risk of missing something vital. To me, at the tracking level, it seems sufficient to note which chapters have been dealt with, and which are still hanging fire. (I can change the chapters' color labels in Scrivener to make this status visible at a glance, if I need to.)

When everything's dealt with on this pass—which if I'm lucky will take no more than a couple/few weeks—I try to take a couple weeks off before dealing with the MS again. Sometimes that's possible: sometimes not. The longer you can leave the book alone to let your perceptions of it rest and reset themselves, the better. Distance—mental or temporal—seems to lend clarity.

In any case, for me, next comes another pass, tougher to describe. Casually, I refer to it as the "Missed Opportunities/Complications" pass. This is a thing that one of the very best writers I know, John M. Ford, used to do. One of his editors (I think it was) came across him working on an MS one time, and asked him what he was doing. "Complications," Mike muttered. "Removing them?" said his editor. Mike shook his head. "Adding them," he said.

In this pass you look for in-novel connections you've previously missed making. Some dramatic moments have their impact significantly increased if you've found a way to connect them, even casually, with previous events, situations, character thoughts, or dialogue. (The cheap and easy mnemonic for this kind of thing: "Say a thing twice, and it echoes. Say it three times, and it resonates.")

Equally, events (and people) may turn out to require more complex backstory than you've given them in your first draft; so this is where you take care of that. And of course there are almost certainly character and emotional interactions that can use attention; fewer words, more depth, more complexity. What things do these people, in this situation, need to say to one another that they haven't? And also, what drama got scamped or passed up on because you were just too damn tired in the last draft? —Because you too, poor baby, are human; and that state can, entirely logically, make you want not to deal with any more damn drama just now. Even though drama is the lifeblood of your narrative, usually, and tying a tourniquet around it really doesn't help. You are the conduit of power into your narrative, and your varying ability to conduct it is always an issue… so you need to keep an eye open for places where the flow may have temporarily failed.

This pass, ideally, might take no more than another few weeks or a month. And again, I'm not sure any attempt at wordcount tracking would do this work any good. Because, again... are they the right words? And to make the narrative more effective, you may wind up removing as many words as you added in previous passes.

Finally, with all things taken together, I usually reach a point where (by myself, anyway) I can't think of anything to do that'll make this book any better. That's where there then comes—and again, impossible to assign a word count to it—a time when you know you're as Done As You Can Be. If you've been doing this long enough, you may even hear a strange kind of sigh in the back of your head, as the book gives up and lets go...

...into the next stage of production. But even then you keep an eye on it… because in my experience it’s rare that any book's ever that easily just finished. Even in page proofs, something may happen to surprise you.

Anyway, that's when I throw the book the hell out of the house—because no matter how much I've loved it previously, by that time I'm usually seriously tired of it—and wait to see whether the editor feels it needs one more draft. (Disclosure: this has never happened. There might be a few notes that need to be handled. But another full draft? Never yet.)

Anyway: hope this is of help to you.

But the heart of it all? Find your own way, and screw the bar graphs.

*That line, too, is an indicator of trouble to come. "It's?" Not "he's"? Tsk tsk.

**Usually sort of 7-9 AM. Sometimes way earlier, depending on the time of year. Dawn comes real early in the summertime in Ireland…

[fairyhaos]

. ˚ you're everything to me

requested by @cinnamoroxie : could u write some angst ending in fluff and comfort (heavy of f + c please) with minghao and reader is just having an awful day and snaps at hao? then kinda realizes and starts crying and apologizing and honestly just end it w comfort pls <33

pairing: minghao x gn!reader

genre: mild angst, brief fight, crying, comfort, fluff

word count: 2702

warnings: curse words, hao + reader touch ceramic shards with bare hands

notes: it's funny, because i've actually had this idea half-written before a request was even sent in! so this is half a request, and half self-indulgent deluluisms from me haha

summary: minghao may not be a mind reader, and he may not be able to know everything about you in the blink of an eye, but he knows how to make things better again. and really, he thinks that that's all that truly matters.

Honestly, Minghao is actually quite proud that he's able to tell your mood just from the way you open the front door. 

Before you even unlock it, he can hear the aggressive key shaking, and you slam the door shut behind you with such force that the whole apartment feels like it's shuddering. He looks up from his book, setting it down on the bedside table and walking out into the hallway when there's a loud crash, and a string of curses whips him across the face. 

You're crouched down on the floor, next to the broken pieces of what used to be the ceramic key bowl that was kept by the door. Neither of you used it, really, but it seemed that it had fallen over when you'd knocked your arm against it in your anger, and now your hands are shaking, frame hunched over the broken pieces, and he can tell that you are upset.

"What happened? Are you okay?" he asks, instantly, and then regrets it as your entire frame stiffens with annoyance. 

You're in a bad mood—a horrible one, actually, and any sort of mild confrontation from anyone will make you blow up in ways that he knows you'll regret afterwards. 

"What do you think, Xu Minghao?" you hiss out, not looking up, trying to collect the broken pieces of the bowl. 

Minghao doesn't reply, simply looking down at you before sighing, walking towards where you're crouched on the floor. 

"Here, let me do it," he says, calmly, gently. His hands replace yours on the floor, gathering up the ceramic pieces. You won't let him take the pieces already in your hands, though, stubborn, but he just lets you, walking into the living room to deposit the pieces into the nearest bin. 

Neither of you say anything about how you really shouldn't be picking up ceramic shards with bare hands, nor about the fact that it probably means there's still some left on the floor. Because that's not important at the moment. 

Minghao turns to face you, but you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, brow furrowed tightly. 

"Y/N? Love?" He tries to get you to meet his eyes, but you're steadfastly looking somewhere else, anywhere else, refusing to look at him. That's a sure sign that you're trying not to cry, and he's told you to release your emotions when it gets too much, but it's hard for you, and even though he gets frustrated by that, he still wants to try and help. 

"Minghao, I've had the shittiest day. Just… leave me alone."

He shakes his head, trying to step closer to you. "I can't do that. You know I can't do that."

"Yes you can," you bite back, almost instantly, and he blinks. "God, there's no need to be so worried over me, okay? I don't need you hovering over me like I'm going to fucking break. All I did was break that bowl, it's not a big deal."

Well. Minghao knows that this is your anger talking, but it's just so hard to continue talking to you gently when you're biting at his outstretched hand. "Then why are you so upset?”

“Why do you need to know?” you say, and sidestep him, walking out of the room.

“Why do you not want me to know?” he counters, following you. He can hear your eye roll, and he knows he’s getting on your nerves, but he wants to know. He wants to help. “Is it because of the bowl?”

You yank open the fridge, staring at it, before slamming the door shut. “Yeah. I’m in a shitty mood because of the bowl. Because I broke that fucking bowl.” You stare at him, blankly, irritatedly. “Happy now?”

No, he’s not happy, not in the slightest. Minghao crosses his arms, staring at you from across the kitchen. “Tell me the real reason, Y/N. What happened today? Did someone say something to you?”

You roll your eyes, hard, turning away and busying yourself with opening drawers and looking inside them for no reason at all. You can’t tell Minghao the real reason you’re acting like this. Because it’s stupid, to just say that it’s because you woke up feeling ‘wrong’ and then your entire day had just been tiringly normal.

“No. I just told you, it’s because I broke that stupid bowl.”

There’s a part of you that’s screaming at yourself for constantly being so curt and snappish with Minghao when you know he’s only trying to help, but your pride and the bigger, more hurt, more prickly part of you can’t bear to stop digging into this hole of irritation and anger that you’ve been making.

And so you keep going, shovel clanging hopelessly against the ground even as every bone is crying in protest.

“We can always buy a new bowl,” Minghao is saying, gently, understandingly, and it’s so logical and well-intentioned that the ugly urge to shoot it down rises up in you. 

"Yeah, of course you'd fucking say that," you spit, and it sounds so horrible and you want to take it back, but you're just so upset and embarrassed that you can't. 

And so what do you do?

You keep going.

“You’re always thinking so logically, like everything can be solved just like that, aren’t you? Well some things… some things just aren’t like that, Minghao.” You gesture wildly at yourself. “Like me. You think that by coming up to me, asking so softly ‘are you okay’ that I’m going to be fine? That—that all my pain is just going to fucking disappear? I asked you to leave me alone. I don’t need you on my back all the time. It’s annoying.”

Minghao’s face has fallen, his expression stony and still. His ears are red, and he crosses his arms, looking you up and down. “I’m sorry I’m not a fucking mind reader. I don’t know what you’re thinking if you don’t tell me, okay? I need to be on your back so I can help you. So I can do what you need.”

“And I told you I need you to shove off,” you spit, knuckles white against the countertop, shaking. Every horrible, disgusting feeling is rising inside of you, uncontrollable, higher and higher with incredible speed and now it’s crashing down, over you and over Minghao. “I don’t need you.”

“Yes, you do,” Minghao says, but you’re already shaking your head.

“I just said I don’t, didn’t I? You said you’re not a mind reader, so here’s me telling my mind to you.” Your fingers have gone numb. So has your chest. But you carry on. “Leave me. The fuck. Alone.”

The words are harsh, spat out like whistling bullets, and Minghao physically takes a step back, surprised. You hadn’t yelled, hadn’t raised your voice, but the malice and fury in your voice had shocked the both of you, and suddenly the waves have soaked you, leaving you shivering and cold and looking at him with a sense of clarity. Like coming out of a red-hot haze.

Minghao’s eyes are wide, and the hurt in them is so visible it’s like it’s tangible, that earlier irritation gone and simply replaced with shock. Shock that you said something like that to him.

“Oh,” you whisper, and it’s like the blood is running frozen in your veins, a sudden dowsing of reality, showing you what you’ve just done. Your vision is going blurry, heart having abruptly unthawed and begun pounding, startled, in your chest. “Hao…”

Minghao doesn't reply, and that makes you feel even worse, the worries now overtaking your earlier anger and making you fear that you're losing him, losing your wonderful, wonderful Minghao all because of words you didn't mean. 

You sniff, eyes welling up faster, and you feel a little pathetic over how you're crying because of what you'd said, but you're just so exhausted and everything hurts. "I'm sorry… Hao, I'm so sorry."

The tears spill over, now, and you keep on wiping at your cheeks but they continue to fall, endless, incessant. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you know I— I don't mean that," you whisper, shaky. Every time you try to clear your gaze, everything ends up blurred again, and Minghao is just a watery outline in front of you. "I'm just so… so—" you bite your lips, stifling a sob. "I'm just so tired."

You can't speak anymore, too overcome, a hand over your mouth in an attempt to hide your pathetic, selfish sobs, the other hand clutching your stomach. Your entire body feels like it's lurching, sick with fatigue and fear. 

But then, one moment you're standing there, trembling in the corner of the kitchen, and next there are arms wrapping around you and a chin resting on your head with a shoulder pressed into your cheeks. 

"I know, love, I know," Minghao murmurs, and he's still being so gentle and it makes you feel even worse. "It's okay. Shh, it's okay."

One of the reasons you love hugging and being hugged by Minghao is because he hugs in such an all-encompassing way. His arms engulf you, his scent is everywhere, and his shoulder is in your mouth and his neck in your eyes and there's just so much Minghao surrounding you that you kind of feel like crying even more. 

"I'm sorry," you're whispering, again and again, into his shoulder, and even through the tears he can understand you loud and clear. 

"It's okay," he says, softly, one hand rubbing circles into your back and the other wrapped firmly around your waist, keeping you pressed as close as possible to him. "Don't apologise, I understand, it's alright."

The softness in his voice makes you whimper, feeling undeserving of such understanding. "Minghao…"

He makes soft soothing sounds, keeping his arms tight around you, his hand firm and warm at your waist, grounding you with the touch, reminding you of his presence. You're clinging to his shoulders as if he's going to disappear any moment, and in response he only holds you impossibly tighter. 

"I know, I know, it's okay, don’t worry," he says, tilting his head slightly to kiss your temple. "Minghao is here for you, okay? You can cry as much as you want."

Minghao is someone who's very sturdy. He's firm, he's always very there, and it makes him so perfect to hug. He's not the biggest fan of physical touch, and it isn't often that you have such meltingly intertwined hugs like this, but there are times when both of you crave that touchiness. Like now, you suppose. And when you do, he's always, always willing to give it to you. And vice versa. 

"My Y/N had a hard day today, hm?" he asks, letting you cry quietly into his shoulder. You nod, just slightly, and he sighs softly. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry, my love. I'm sorry that happened to you."

"I'm sorry," you try to say, again, but he shushes you before you can finish. 

"No, there's no need to be sorry, I understand completely," Minghao murmurs. "You're tired, and I pushed you too far. I'm sorry."

Minghao is so warm, so comforting, and after a moment your legs buckle and you fall. He falls partway with you, helping you to your feet again, and he keeps you pressed against his chest as he slowly backs out of the kitchen and into the living room, falling onto the sofa, you still in his arms. 

This way, you're curled up in his lap, safely cocooned in his arms, in his presence. He looks down at you, soft, wiping the wetness that's staining your jawline. 

"Shh, don't worry, my love," he says soothingly, thumb still rubbing gently up and down your jaw, holding you as you cry. His other arm is still around you, your head against his chest, and it just feels so safe. "Cry as much as you need. I'm here."

And so you do. Several minutes pass, or perhaps hours, but Minghao holds you through it all, whispering words of praise and reassurance, repeating over and over that it’s okay, that you’re doing okay, that he’s here and he loves you. And eventually, when the tears die down and you’re taking in big, shaky breaths, he dabs at your eyes with his fingers, and it doesn’t clear up the tears all that much but now you can see him properly, see him smile down at you so, so lovingly.

His hand is tracing nonsensical patterns across your side, the other swiping a thumb delicately across the under of your eyes. His eyes are soft as he looks at you, and there’s no hurt or irritation in them, as you’d feared. Only pure understanding.

"Feeling better?" Minghao asks, a rumbling whisper, and you duck your head, leaning against his chest once more.

 “Don’t know,” you whisper, sounding all clogged up due to the tears. After a moment, you add, “Head hurts.”

That makes him chuckle softly. “I can imagine. You cried a lot, love.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry,” Minghao says, clicking his tongue. Just a simple sound. No malice, no annoyance. “It’s good to release your emotions, rather than bottling them all up until you can’t handle them anymore.”

“Still, ‘m sorry,” you mumble, ashamed, guilt pricking your insides, but less intense than before. Soothed by Minghao’s warm hand on your cheek. “Sorry for saying that. Sorry for making you sad. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“Don’t say sorry,” is all Minghao says, again. “And while it’s true that I can’t read your mind, I should have been able to read your body language. I’ll be more aware next time, and give you the space you need.”

You shake your head. “No, no. I think… I think I did want you with me. I was just so angry that I said the opposite, out of spite.”

“Okay,” Minghao says. “That’s okay.”

And the way he says it makes you begin to believe that it really is.

"Want to talk about it?" he asks quietly after a moment, watching you play with your hands.

"No," you whisper back.

He clicks his tongue again disapprovingly, playfully. "You know it's not a good thing to keep this in. It's better to talk it out."

"Don't want to."

Minghao watches as you take his hands into your own, bending his fingers and circling his knuckles with fingertips before interlacing your hands together, secure. He squeezes your hand, once, and something warm blooms in his chest at the quiet, happy noise you let out.

"Don't need to talk about it," you say. "I'm feeling better now."

"You do?"

You nod, and he smiles, squeezing your hand again. 

"I'm glad."

Your hand is warm in his, warmed by the contact, and perhaps a little sticky with sweat and remnants of tears but he doesn't care. Having you breathe steadily against him, having you on him, calm and relaxed once again has the same effect as if he had been the one to go through a relaxation routine. 

It makes him relieved, to know that he’s been able to relax you, to get you out of whatever frustrated headspace you’d been in before. You dig your nails into the soft skin on the back of his hand, just lightly, and the playful move makes him smile.

"Y/N?"

You hum in acknowledgement. 

"I'm always going to be here for you," he says, and he says it simply, like it's just a fact, and maybe. Maybe it really is. 

"Thank you," you say back, and you feel light, like your worries from earlier truly have been lifted.

Huh. Perhaps there really was truth to the idea of how sharing a problem can lessen the load.

“Hao?” you say after a moment.

He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, cheek pressed against the top of your head. “Hm?”

“You’re everything to me,” you say, soft, shy. “Please stay with me.”

That makes him smile, and he lifts himself away to press a kiss to your forehead, feather-light, before resting against your head once more. 

“Of course,” he murmurs. “Of course.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @minhui896 ,, @bunnyiix ,, @slytherinshua ,, @haowrld ,, @belladaises ,, @moonlitskiiies ,, @cinnamoroxie ,, @butiluvu ,, @zozojella ,, @kawennote09 ,, @thedensworld ,, @a-wandering-stay ,, @abibliolife ,, @doublasting ,, @wonranghaeee ,, @icyminghao ,, @sweet-like-caramel ,, @your-yxnnie ,, @evasaysstuff

[captainsophiestark]

Vigilante Book Club Part 2

Jason Todd x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist! - Part 1

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: DC

Summary: After having an all-around terrible day, the only person who might be able to make it better is a certain book-loving vigilante.

Word Count: 1,562

Category: Fluff

A/N: This is the closest I've come all year to missing a Friday lol, but we got it done! Woohoo!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

****************

I hummed to myself as I moved around the kitchen, dancing to the music I had on in the background while making sure everything cooked just right. I had a reputation to fix, after all, and I was determined to get it right.

After the Red Hood had broken into my apartment to return my favorite book last week, I'd convinced him to come back for a thank-you dinner and to talk about the book, which he'd been planning to read in the meantime. He'd also vaguely insulted my cooking, although I'd mostly forgiven him for that in light of him returning my book.

Tonight was the date we'd set for dinner and book-talk, and I'd spent the week preparing the perfect recipe. Even better, the kitchen currently smelled amazing, which had to be a good sign of success.

Right on cue, about the same time he'd shown up last week, I heard a knock on my door. I smiled, trying to ignore the way my heart sped up a little as I quickly wiped my hands on the kitchen towel and headed for the door.

I paused just long enough to look through the peep hole and, as expected, the Red Hood stood towering in my doorway. This time, instead of the whole-head helmet, he only had a red domino mask on. Thank goodness, since the dinner part of this whole evening would be ruined if he couldn't actually eat without revealing his secret identity. I swung open the door with a grin.

"Hi! I'm glad you came! Honestly, I was half expecting you to be at the window again."

He just grunted and shrugged.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually be home, or still up for this. Figured I'd come to the door and give you a chance to pretend not to be home."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said, waving off his concerns as I opened the door wide. "I've been looking forward to this all week. Unless, of course, you're here to hate on my favorite book. If that's the case, I think I'm going to have to throw you out."

He laughed. "Don't worry, I'd never do that. I know what a true favorite book means to a reader."

I gave him a little smile and a nod as I closed the front door, then headed past him into the kitchen. I gestured to the bar stools at my counter as I checked that everything still looked good.

"Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"A water would be great."

"Sure thing! Coming right up." I filled up a glass for Red Hood and myself, then fixed him with a smile as I set his glass down in front of him. "So... notice anything different from the last time you were here? Anything in the kitchen, maybe?"

He hummed, pausing and pretending to think. I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow, and after a moment, he broke and grinned.

"I'll admit, the kitchen's looking much more promising than the last time you said you were making dinner in here."

"Thank you," I said, smiling as I turned around to start plating everything. "I told you, last time you were here was just a record-breaking bad day. A cooking fluke."

I could hear him hum behind me, at least pretending not to sound totally convinced.

"Next time, I'll make something. Everything you've got going right now looks amazing, but I'm a pretty good cook myself. I wouldn't want you thinking I'm acting like a critic out of nowhere."

I hesitated a second before turning around, trying to get my ridiculous smile and racing heart under control. I technically didn't know him very well yet, but so far, I'd started to really like Red Hood. I loved the idea of making this a regular thing, and I loved even more that he'd suggested it. I took a deep breath, then finally turned around, my smile still massive but at least a little more reasonable.

"Deal. Next time, you cook."

****************

I laughed, closing my book and shaking my head as I looked up at Hoodie. He looked back over the top of his own book, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" he asked, leaning slightly towards me. I shook my head, smiling all the same.

"Nothing. I just know why you wanted me to read this book so badly now."

"Oh yeah? And why's that?"

I cleared my throat dramatically and lifted Hoodie's copy of Northanger Abbey, which he'd temporarily loaned me, before starting to read:

"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid."

Hoodie grinned. "I'll admit, I may have levelled that quote at a family member or two. Although, I might widen the original to include stories in general."

I snorted. "And if one of those family members said they loved podcasts or movies or something, but not books?"

"No, they're the exception. They're idiots whether or not they enjoy a good story."

I laughed, and after a moment, Hoodie joined me. Since that first reading date, we'd made our unofficial vigilante book club into a weekly occurance. He always came over to my place, and we spent the evening talking about books, or reading together and then talking about books. We alternated who cooked, and this time, it was his responsibility. He had food cooking in the crock-pot, and the delicious smells had been temping me for the better part of the past few hours.

"So I take it you're enjoying the book?" he asked, laying his down in his lap. I nodded, mirroring his gesture and sitting up a little straighter.

"I am. I can't believe it took me so long to get around to reading it! I've loved all the other Austen I've read."

"Which is why we get along," he said with a grin. I nodded.

"I could never spend time like this with a man who didn't at least appreciate Pride and Prejudice."

"Of course not."

"But what about you? Are you liking your book of the week?"

He nodded, scooting a little closer to me on the couch.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, you have good taste in books. I don't think you've picked one yet that I haven't liked."

"...Now I sort of want to take that as a challenge."

Hoodie just rolled his eyes.

"Be careful. I've read some shit I wouldn't wish on anyone, but I can and will use it as payback if I have to."

I laughed. "I don't know, I've read some pretty unbeatably bad ones..."

"Oh yeah? Well how about-"

He stopped short at the sound of a ringtone. I raised an eyebrow as he grimaced. Not once, in all the weeks we'd been doing this, had either of us let a phone interrupt the night.

"Sorry. Vigilante phone," he grunted. "Just a second."

I waved him off to let him know it was no problem, and he shot me a quick smile before answering. To my surprise, he held it out in front of him and put it on speaker.

"What do you want?" he barked without a hello. "I'm busy."

"Yeah, so busy that nobody's been able to get a hold of you all night!" came an exasperated voice that sounded much too young for that level of exhaustion. "We started prepping for Alfred's birthday-"

BOOM! A loud noise that sounded too close to an explosion for comfort cut off the rest of the sentence. My jaw dropped open at the same time that the kid on the other end of the phone shouted out at the top of his lungs.

"JASON! What happened? Are you- oh shit, I think that was on my end." A brief pause, some scuffling, and the sound of an alarm in the background as Hoodie—as Jason—and I sat frozen in place on the couch. "Just get back here as soon as you can to help!"

The kid on the other end hung up, leaving Jason and I in the ringing silence of my apartment. After a moment, the man on the couch next to me sighed heavily, and I decided to beat him to the punch on further breaking the silence.

"I am... so sorry," I said. "I know you probably didn't want that, like, getting out, and-"

"Stop," he said gently, reaching out to take my hands in his. I did, opting instead to chew on the inside of my lip as I looked at him with wide eyes. "Look, it's not exactly how I wanted this to go, and I wasn't expecting Timbo to use the vigilante phone to say my civilian name, but... I've been thinking about telling you for a while. I'm not upset that you know, and I've know you long enough now that I trust you to keep my secret."

My mouth dropped open a little as a thousand butterflies exploded in my chest. This was a major leap of faith and trust in the relationship we'd been building in our little book club. I squeezed Jason's hands, smiling as I leaned into him a little. He grinned back at me, then sighed.

"Now, if you hated Austen, maybe I'd have to be a little more worried about all this..."

I gasped. "I could never."

"Exactly. You're not somebody I'm worried about here."

We shared another, softer smile, and then I reluctantly dropped Jason's hands.

"Speaking of people you should be worried about... whoever made that call sounded like they could use your help."

Jason's eyes rolled back so far I couldn't see the pupils anymore.

"They're idiots who should never be allowed anywhere near a kitchen, but they'll survive without me for a little longer. At least long enough to do this."

For a split second, I expected him to lean in for a kiss, and my heart did a backflip in my chest. Instead, he reached up for the domino mask still sitting comfortably on his face, which somehow seemed more intimate.

Slowly, he pulled away the fabric, revealing the bright blue eyes it had been hiding. When he smiled, this time I could see the corners of his eyes turning up along with his mouth, and even from a few feet away I could see his gorgeous eyelashes. It took some actual effort not to swoon, even though his face didn't change significantly from when he'd been wearing the mask.

"Like what you see?" he asked, tone soft but joking. I huffed a laugh and let a smile make its way back onto my face.

"Yeah. I do."

"Good. Then... what do you think about going out? On a real date, with me, not Red Hood? No pressure if you're not interested, but-"

"I would love that," I said, my smile morphing to take up my entire face. "Jason."

He beamed back at me the second his name left my lips, the two of us gravitating towards each other until his vigilante phone started blaring again and Jason rolled his eyes.

"I better go. But I'll see you... this Friday? Pick you up at six?"

I nodded. "It's a date."

Jason grinned, his eyes darting back to me every few seconds as he collected his things. We agreed to just keep each other's books until Friday since we wouldn't get to finish reading them together tonight, making Jason the first person I'd ever trusted with my only copy of a book. Our goodbye took longer than it should've since he had explosions to deal with and we were seeing each other again in a few days, but neither of us could bear to part any faster. And when the front door finally shut, it was hours before I actually wiped the smile off my face.

Who could've guessed something positive would come out of one of my most obnoxious bad days to date, let alone someone as wonderful as Jason?

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin @v1ckycheesue

[echobx]

soulmates 3 - jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: y/n makes a new friend and meets JJ's friends for the first time, but things don't go quite as she thought

warnings: hurt with little comfort, screaming, fluff, making out

word count: 2k

author's note: it was actually pretty painful writing this but I persevered

masterlist part 2

Walking through the halls of the Kook Academy felt different now. You felt like you didn't belong anymore, like everyone hated you. Kelce avoided looking at you and so did everyone who you had called your friend just a day before.  You didn't know what he had told them, and it didn't matter anymore. The only one who didn't seem fond of how you were treated was Topper, but he didn't make a move to help you either.  Lunch break had never been worse, and you were inclined to fill your mind with JJ, but you didn't want to bother him either. 

“Is that seat taken?” A sweet voice came to you as you sat in your geometry class. You looked up and were greeted by a gentle smile from none other than Sarah Cameron.  “Uh, no, it's yours if you want it,” you replied with a raspy voice, your throat was dry because you hadn't said a single word all day. She sat down in the seat that had usually held Kelce, but now you were on your own.  “Kelce is an asshole. He never deserved you anyway,” she whispered to you, and you looked a bit baffled.  “What?” you gasped quietly.  “You broke up with him, right? I mean, he's telling everyone that he did it, but let's be honest,” she chuckled, and you felt a bit better. She spent the whole lesson chit-chatting with you without the teacher noticing. 

As soon as the lesson was over you walked to your locker, and she followed you.  ‘Thank you,’ you thought and hoped that JJ would reply.  ‘For what?’ he asked.  ‘Sarah,’ you told him while smiling at her as she kept talking about something that had to do with a surf date later that day.  ‘I didn't talk to her,’ he said, and it confused you a bit, a bit too much actually because she stopped talking and just took your hand.  “Topper told me, he thought you needed a friend,” she admitted, and you felt so stupid for thinking that JJ would have talked to her about it.  “Oh,” you exclaimed quietly and clawed at your books.  “He didn't tell me who though, I think that would have been too personal anyway.” She smiled and you nodded.  ‘She doesn't know it's you,’ you let your mind slip back to him, but he didn't answer. “He scared me last night, Kelce. I've never been scared of him before,” you admitted and she just hugged you.  “I'm sorry you had to go through that,” she mumbled into your hair.  “Me too,” you hushed and held onto her. 

The last lesson of the day went by in a heartbeat, and you were walking out of the building, Sarah holding onto your arm and both of you laughing over something your French teacher had said.  ‘I guess that's called a hard launch,’ JJ chuckled, and you scanned the yard in front of the school until your eyes got stuck on him, leaning against his motorcycle. Your heart started racing, and you had a hard time not running over to him instantly.  “JJ? What are you doing here?” Sarah asked him as you walked over to him and you bit your lip. His blue eyes jumped in between the two of you and his mind was truly empty.  ‘Say something,’ you urged him and his eyes got stuck on you.  “I only have one seat left,” he mumbled.  “I see,” Sarah chuckled and let go of you. “You two have fun, but not too much,” she said and walked away.  “I've never ridden on a motorcycle,” you hushed, and a smile came to his lips.  “There's a first time for everything,” he replied just as quietly. 

JJ helped you put on the helmet and explained to you how to sit before you got on behind him, and he started driving.  Your arms were wrapped around him as he raced towards the Southside.  ‘Where are you taking me?’ you asked as he kept driving.  ‘Hard launching seems to work better than I expected,’ he answered and turned left down a path and stopped in front of a house, the yard to which was the same as the one you had seen in his memory.  “Welcome to the Château,” JJ told you after helping you take off the helmet. You weren't sure if all the nervousness you felt was your own but a mix of the both of yours.  JJ walked you around, showed you the house and every little nook, telling stories and letting his memories slip until you felt like you had spent your whole life at the small house. Your fingers intertwined the entire time as if you had always done it and not just started. 

The sound of a car approaching made you jump and JJ chuckled.  ‘It’s gonna be okay,’ he promised you as you walked outside, to meet his friends, the people who felt like family to him, for the first time.  You were incredibly scared of what they would think but then the curly haired boy, John B, came walking straight up to you and embraced you in a hug.  “Welcome to the family, y/n.” He smiled at you and you were relieved.  Sarah winked at you and the other boy greeted you with a smile. A girl you had never seen before, not even in JJ's memories, was standing by his side and smiled at you. The only one who wasn't happy about it was Kiara.  You felt her eyes piercing you and what was even worse was how nervous JJ got, worse than before. 

She looked at him and back down at you before turning around and walking away.  “Kie,” JJ called after her and you could feel how much it hurt him to see her walk away.  “I'll talk to her,” Sarah said and followed the girl. You didn't know what had happened between JJ and Kiara, but it didn't feel nice, in a way it felt worse than what you had to deal with when it had come to Kelce.  “She'll have to live with it,” John B sighed. JJ shot him an angry glare before he let go of your hand and walked after Kiara and Sarah.  ‘I didn't mean for this, I'm sorry,’ he apologized without turning around, and you tried to smile at John B who put his arm around you and guided you back inside. 

“Tell me, y/n, how exactly did it happen?” JB asked, but your mind was completely occupied by the turmoil in JJ's head and heart. You hadn't even stopped to think if he had someone who could get hurt. You had only focused on your own pain, and he had stood by you instead of focusing on his own problems with it.  “She's gonna be okay,” Pope assured you, and you looked at him a bit confused. Were you that easy to read?  “I was out for lunch with my- I mean, with Kelce,” you corrected yourself and gave them the shortest recap of all of it.  “Sounds a bit too familiar,” John B laughed.  “Were they together?” You looked at him in the hopes he would give you the answers that JJ was denying you at that moment.  “On-off kinda thing,” Cleo answered, and you fell down on the couch.  “I see,” you sighed and felt like crying.  “It's not your fault,” John B took your hand after sitting down by your side.  ‘Not our fault.’ You kept repeating in your mind and hoped he would listen. 

“Why did you even bring her here!” You could hear Kiara scream outside.  “I don't have a choice, Kie,” JJ pleaded with her, and it felt like his heart was breaking. You clawed at the pain in your chest and got up.  “I should go home,” you mumbled and walked outside, trying to leave but the two of them were blocking the porch door, and you didn't know where the main door of the house was located.  Her eyes fell on you and she scoffed. “Did you even tell her? Of course, you didn't.”  “Kie, please,” JJ was nearly begging.  “Two days ago you told me you didn't care, you said you wouldn't fall for it even if it did happen. You said you loved me!” she screamed at him and I didn't know how he was still standing upright with the amount of pain that flooded through him. “I'm sorry,” you apologized quietly before pushing past her and walking away, away from the house, from JJ, from what you had hoped would be your future. 

You didn't blame him for not running after you, he had to deal with a mess that you had started because you had thought of him in the first place.  “It's not your fault.” John B's words echoed through your mind as you tried to blend out the pain. You took out your phone and called an Uber to drive you home, not wanting to inconvenience anyone else.  When you got home you fell into your bed and cried through the pain until you fell asleep. Your dreams showed you how much more it would've hurt if he had done what he had promised Kiara. 

You were woken up by a light knock on your door. “Dinner is ready, y/n,” your dad called and you groaned.  The pain was gone, but instead you felt empty, as if someone had cut your heart out. Having to get up and drag yourself to the table to eat just a tiny bit was harder than you had expected.  Your parents seemed concerned, but they didn't say anything, so you just sat in silence while trying to get at least a quarter of your dinner down. It was too silent in your mind, way too silent, but no matter how much you tried to reach out, he wouldn't respond. As a last effort of getting his attention you told him your address, but yet again, no reply. 

You went back to bed and slept until midday; not caring about school or what anyone might think of you for rather curling up in yourself than going out and parading around how lucky you could be to have found your soulmate like other people did.  It took you two days to leave your bed another time and a third until you could feel him again, still broken but less so than before. On the fourth day your parents got concerned. Yet they still didn't want to get involved, but at least you started to move again.  Five days, that's how long it took for him to find the words to speak to you. 

‘Can I come by?’ he asked gently and ten minutes after you had agreed to it, he knocked on your door, falling into your arms as soon as the door was opened.  “I'm sorry,” he mumbled while holding onto you.  It overwhelmed you to suddenly be allowed back into his head, you hadn't understood how he had even managed to lock you out of it. “Not your fault,” you mumbled.  “It is. I should've told her the moment I found you, but I was too occupied with figuring this out, with helping you,” he said, and you felt guilty because of it.  “My fault,” you mumbled and pulled yourself away.  “No,” he shook his head and took your face into his hands. “None of this is your fault, especially not this.”  You looked up at him and took a deep breath before closing your eyes and focusing only on how happy you had been that first day with him.  ‘Please don't lock me out again,’ you begged silently, and then his forehead met yours.  ‘Never again,’ he promised before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. It felt like the only kiss ever, like your entire life depended on it.  And then, with every kiss that followed he let more and more of his guard down, until there was nothing left, no more hiding.  There was no question if you loved each other because it was a simple fact. You didn't have to think about it in the same way you didn't have to remind your body to pump blood through it.

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

part 4

[starberry-cupcake]

I've been reading, but didn't have time to sit down and do this, so you're getting a bit of a mess in this one, sorry about that!

I want to clarify, before starting, that if I ask questions to the void in these posts, or if I wonder very loudly about something, I'm not really looking for answers immediately nor am I doubting that things will be explained later, I promise I trust the process. If something's going to be explained, somewhere in the books, I'll get there eventually, I promise I will. You have probably noticed by now but, if you give me a hint, I'm gonna grab onto it for dear life, so better not give me anything at all. Just leave me here to die, I beg you.

previously, in harrowberry the ninth:

this happened

currently, chapters 17-19:

I'm gonna start by the end, actually

which maybe is fitting for this book

but I'll start by the end because I have a new theory and I feel this one in my bones

(pun intended)

I might be totally off but I'm gonna say it anyway because I'm excited about this one

so much so that you'll get no memes while I explain it

it's about G and P

yes, I know, I'm fixated with that, but hear me out

I think Lyctortus isn't actually called Ortus

I think his name is Gideon

let me explain

at the end of chapter 19 (I'll get there, but I need this off my chest, I really do) harrow asks mercygirl why ortus the first wants her dead

to which mercygirl distractedly answers "who?"

that's the last thing I read so far, but it got my wheels turning so fast I came running to write it down

I thought "wait, what if, just like ortus is replacing gideon in the gideon-less re-telling, the name is also a replacement?"

so I went to the character list and lyctortus's cavalier was called pyrrha

so what if they're G and P

Gideon and Pyrrha the Second

and what if the Gideon in the paper was this guy

so this is not a case of Ortus 1 and 2 but of Gideon 1 and 2

not!dulcinea told our gideon "you're very brave—a bit like another Gideon I used to know. But you're prettier in the eyes"

which is, all things considered, actually funny, because it's a reversal of what mercygirl was saying, that yandere twin and harrow aren't as pretty as their predecessors

I'm gonna risk looking like a fool later and calling this now because I really feel this one

again, let me clarify, I'm not asking you to tell me whether I'm right or wrong or anything at all, I'm just placing my bets with myself

and I know starting by the end isn't really the best way to go about a recap, but I think I'm on to something

MOVING BACK, to chapter 17

harrow starts looking into mercygirl for her new and probably not improved diary, because she knows less things now

augustine the saint of annoyance tells harrow that mercygirl and him are the oldest lyctors in the band and that it took generations for these space planet destroyers to assemble

emperor john silver tells harrow that his stupid nicknames that don't fit were meant to represent the cavaliers and not the necros

of course augustine's brother was patient, he had to put up with augustine

mercygirl is also a body expert

an anatomist, if you will

which will come in handy later/earlier (later in the reading order, earlier in the timeline order)

augustine says that he didn't bother learning that because the only use for it would be to kill lyctors

tbh it'd come in handy right now that I want to kill him, but I digress

here, harrow again mentions that ortus the first (also known as lyctortus, also known as allegedly gideon the first, also known as I'm super super sure of this you guys) wants her dead

CHAPTER 18

we're back on canaan house in the gideon-less version

these are the chapters I'm having the most fun with, which wasn't what I expected

I don't know why, I really like this whole re-written mystery thing

the slasher film vibes have doubled this time

I keep drawing parallels and enjoying my time with these old and new friends

and, talking about old and new friends, judith is dead

remember judith? remember how she died?

it wasn't like this

in this gideon-less version, instead of becoming besties with the sixth, harrow and ortus have become besties with the fifth

because 1) the fifth didn't die and 2) the fifth is in a polycule with ortus

with gideon there, they befriended the sixth because gideon saw camilla fight 5 seconds and was like "she's friend shaped :)"

so, the fifth and the ninth are taking care of judith's corpse

she was shot repeatedly with a carbine rifle

harrow says "it would have been like being set upon by a ghost out of time"

gonna put that in the 3d model

martita is outside and she's the only pseudo witness to this situation

the gideon-less version of the deaths so far is being handled like this

martita says to harrowbean "why am I here?"

she explains that they were doing the two door test thingy and, while she was in the other room, judith was shot

now, here's the thing

I thought the Sleeper that had been mentioned was the construct thing but no, it's not

it's a new thing

I'm picturing sorta this

it very well could be a person though

it's person shaped

huh

it's in a coffin where it sleeps unless it's woken up, but they don't know how it wakes up, because martita went to town kicking and punching the coffin after judith was obliterated and nothing happened

and what keeps it contained, snow white style, isn't plex glass, plex or glass

ortus proceeds to say a eulogy

martita says "Is this really how it happens?" like we've been hearing all this time

harrowbean tries to make her feel better by telling her that, at least judith died quickly

mmm...about that

martita says "No. That's not...Don't know why I thought...No."

martita doesn't know judith died slowly and painfully and wrong about everything btw, she died first, it memory serves

but still, savage

harrow regrets not telling ortus to take the pledge of silence and says "but only a very obedient idiot of a cavalier would have stuck to that"

she's your obedient idiot, though, harrow

so, the rundown is this:

the sleeper can move

the sleeper can pass necromantic wards

the sleeper shouldn't be waken

people don't know what wakes it

it has a rifle

the sleeper is lying on top of sword that's a two-hander

me, having breakfast while reading this

I didn't mention this but

harrow and abby say that judith was killed by a deadly shot and then was subsequently used for target practice and left like a colander without any reason for it

judith disrespected camilla, so

that's what you get, bitch

CHAPTER 19

we travel in time, but in the timeline of the emperor's bolthole

because WHY NOT, AT THIS POINT

we're keeping track anyway *picks back up the timeline I keep discarding and re-using*

this one is 10 months before the emperor johnny boy is ended, so this is before what we've been reading

we are told the following essential info:

harrow has written a letter for yandere twin in case of harrow's death that says: "Get what joy you can from my corpse, you devious bitch"

filed under potential resignation letter drafts

apparently a lyctor can live without food but not without water

so harrowcita is getting herself a sopita

and then lyctortus also known as I'm sure he's gideon the first stabs her

this tiny baby kitten with her sopita

man has no heart

no decency

no decorum

not his real name, according to me

mercygirl helps harrow with a lot of skill (those anatomy skills we talked about) but not much empathy

she tells alleged gideon who goes by ortus, when he says "I do things face-to-face" that "that is what got you into trouble nineteen years ago"

HELLO TIMELINE

nineteen years ago takes us back to the whole leader of the BOE going missing and gideon's mom drifting into space and the person sent with the eggs and all that

well, the eggs thing isn't directly related yet but I'm relating it

especially since there were lies involved and somebody sent to placate another somebody

DUDE CAN YOU IMAGINE

IF HE WAS INVOLVED WITH GIDEON'S MOM IN SOME WAY

AND OUR GIDEON IS NAMED AFTER THIS GIDEON????

LIKE ON PURPOSE????

HELLO?????????

AGAIN, NOBODY TELL ME, I'M ASKING AT THE VOID

YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE IMPULSE OF TELLING ME BUT DON'T DO IT

I'm making up telenovela theories about how this gideon could be involved into our gideon's mom business and our gideon being named after him

and gideon's superpowers of being hercules having something to do with all this

I need to stop before I say too much and then feel embarrassed at my theories

ALSO

gideon ortus wants harrow's sword

harrowbean doesn't want to give it to him

it is at this point when mercygirl says "who?" at harrow's question about "ortus", so we end how we begun, because today it's that kind of day

also, another day without her coming home

I may be late but boy do I have theories. And yeah, nobody tell me any spoilers, please. Let me make a fool of myself.

[meetingthestarcatchers]

Crimson Lace (Part 3)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x fem!reader

Summary: You have trouble placing a finger on where you know him from, until he invites you in

Warnings: nothing except pure fluff! (saving the dirty stuff for later)

A/n: We are most definitely calling Danny a brother in this so istg if there are any Danny antis, back the fuck off. Please and thank you. Also I'm sorry that this one is shorter than the previous parts but I've struggled writing this one.

Throughout the whole night, messages between you and Jake seemed to never stop. You had learnt that he was born in Michigan, has four siblings, one of which is his twin.

It had reached 4am when you felt your body start to protest against the lack of sleep. You could feel your eyes burning slightly and you reluctantly started your goodnight message.

You: i hate to stop our conversation but i can feel myself about to fall asleep Jake: getting bored of me that quickly, huh?

You smiled at the message and rolled your eyes before responding.

You: we have lectures tomorrow and i'm not up for letting u copy my notes Jake: i would never! but in all seriousness, i'm starting to feel the burn as well You: i'll see u in the morning jake Jake: sleep tight, angel

You plugged your phone on to charge and allowed your mind to switch off and slip into a state of unconsciousness.

The next morning, you were actually happy to get up and go to classes for once . The thought of seeing Jake filled your heart with joy and slight nervousness. Jumping out of bed, you shivered at the slight chill in your room and you decided to get in the shower before heading to your first lecture.

You got into the lecture with enough time to spare , setting up all of your things and smiling to yourself. Suddenly, while you're lost in thought, Jake jumps at you, causing you to let a a small yelp and nearly fall off the seat. He laughs loudly and quickly apologises when he sees your glare.

"I couldn't help it" he says shrugging and sits down next to you. He hands you a takeaway cup, sealed with a lid. You frown at him as you take it and put it down on your desk to take the lid off and look at it.

"I thought you'd appreciate it" he said and you nod and look around before quickly kissing his cheek.

"Thank you" you replied quietly, and you spot a red tint on his cheeks. You use the cup to warm up your cold hands while you watch Jake fondly, as he unpacks his bag as well.

"You may not be proud to know that I forgot my charger again and I didn't charge my laptop last night" he said cautiously but with a smile on his face and you rolled your eyes and reached into your bag. Pulling out your charger, you held it out to him but swiped it back quickly before he could take it.

"Don't forget to give it back..." You told him and he snatched it out of your hand.

"I won't, don't worry" he gave you a boyish grin before plugging the charger into his own laptop. The door slammed open and in a fraction of a second the professor had already set up the lesson and had started rambling on about the next book that was going to be studied.

It was halfway through the lecture that Jake started to get comfortable and rested his hand on your thigh and you willed yourself to avoid looking at his face or down at where his hand was placed. Out of your peripheral, you saw a blush paint its way across Jake's face almost like watercolor paint on a canvas.

As soon as the lecture was over Jake abruptly stood up and you nearly jumped at the sudden movement.

"Do you wanna come over? To work on the project of course..." He asked and you giggled and nodded. He paused for a second before speaking again.

"Actually maybe not...I think my brother is home..." he said and you frowned and shrugged.

"I don't mind, we're just working on the project. Right?" I said smirking at him and his cheeks became flushed and he nodded in agreement.

"Yeah of course..." he mumbled before starting to walk out of the lecture hall with you closely following him.

The short walk was filled with small talk and playful comments, and before you knew it, the pair of you had arrived at the dorm door. Jake opened it, and the scene that met your eyes surprised you. Two tall men were frozen in place, looking towards you and Jake. They dropped their arms, clearly playfighting around, and you caught the curly headed one give Jake a look.

Jake let out a small playful groan. "I didn't know you were both going to be here," He said, moving into the kitchen to place his bag on the table, and you copied his actions.

"Don't act too happy to see both of us here" the curly-haired boy said sarcastically.

Jake turned to look at you with an apologetic look on his face and you just smiled at him awkwardly.

"That one there..." he said pointing at the boy that had just spoken, "is Danny." Danny smiled and gave a small wave, dropping the pillow that he was holding in order to look less threatening. You smiled and waved back in return.

"The other dickhead is Sammy," Jake said and Sammy looked at Jake with a shocked look and chucked the pillow he was previously using at him but Jake managed to duck in time. You laughed a little and Jake rolled his eyes. He grabbed both of your bags in one hand before grabbing your hand and walking towards his room.

"We're gonna work in my room instead" he mumbled. You heard the two boys in the living room gasp loudly.

"Keep the door open and keep two feet apart at all times" Sam shouted and you giggled as you followed Jake into his bedroom, the door being shut behind you by Jake.

You settled on sitting in a beanbag on the floor and opened up your laptop to start working. You bent your knees slightly to act as a desk and started to get comfy.

"Shit I forgot to ask, do you want a drink or anything?" Jake asked softly and you thought for a second and asked for some water. He nodded his head and walked back out of the room and into the kitchen. You heard some rustling around and quiet murmurs from the boys but decided to ignore them and start working.

A few minutes later, Jake walked back into the room and shut the door carefully while keeping an eye on both drinks. He didn't take his eyes off your drink until you had taken it out of his care and put it on the floor next to you as he placed his on a coaster on his desk.

"I'm sorry about them, I only thought Danny would be home...he's the more peaceful one out of the two" he said, muttering the last part under his breath and you laughed quietly and shrugged.

"It's okay, they won't interrupt us right?" you asked and he shook his head.

"They know not to come into my room in case y'know..." he trailed off at the end as he referred to his online activities and you smiled and nodded.

"Were those your brothers?" Jake nodded.

"Yeah. Neither of them are my twin though. " He said and you watched as a small smile appeared on his face while he was thinking about the final brother. He soon snapped out of his thoughts and logged into his computer and within 10 minutes, you were both focused on the project and had divided up the work equally.

An hour later, you looked at the time in the corner of your screen and stretched out a little and looked up at Jake, his eyes not leaving his screen. You allowed yourself to admire how his face lit up from the light and you could feel a warm sensation take over your body. A thought popped into your head and you smirked at the idea.

You stood up and nearly groaned as your muscles stretched but walked over to where Jake was sitting in his chair at his desk. You went behind him and bent down and slid your hands over his shoulders and rested them on his chest. He took one of his hands off of the keyboard and placed it on top of yours.

He lifted his head to look at you and smiled. You moved to stand next to him, still holding his hand.

"I was thinking..." you started and he looked at you with raised eyebrows.

"Oh that's never a good thing" he said and you hit his chest and let go of his hand. He picked up his mug and lifted it to his lips to take a sip.

"I wanna watch you do your livestream later" you rushed.

"You...what?" Jake said, almost choking on his tea and you cocked your head and smiled innocently at him.

"I want to watch, is that okay?" you answered and he nodded quickly in response, his cheeks turning a deep red.

"That's more than okay, angel" he muttered before continuing to drink his tea. "You just make sure you stay silent, don't want others online knowing" he said and you agreed and sat back down in the beanbag smirking knowingly to yourself.

-------------------------

taglist: @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @takenbythemadness @godly-sinsx @ignite-my-fire @gretasfallingsky @sanguinebats @livkiszka @literal-dead-leaf @jakeygvf21 @freefallthoughts @threadofstars @samssymmetricalstache @mackalah @carlyfleet @gvfpal @klarxtr @welllauragvf @jaketsguitar @violet-hayes @stardustjake @i-love-gvf @spark-my-nature @hellowgoodbye @dannys-dream @gvfmarge @dannywagnerschoppedhair @edgingthedarkness

Here's the taglist if you wanna join!

[jesncin]

Hi there!! I was wondering if you could talk a little bit about what the process of being published was like for Lunar Boy? Were there any struggles you faced trying to get it seen? Any tips for others trying to get their work published? Thank you in advance and I love your work! :)

Hullo there! Sure! Unfortunately things have changed a lot since I pitched years ago so I don't know how replicable my publishing journey is nowadays. But I'm willing to share!

So! I always knew I wanted to write for kids, but in art school we were trained to be cape comic artists. Back then (if you can believe it), making middle grade comics was considered something that would sink your career. At that point in history, American comics was trying so hard to prove "we're not for kids!" that they left a chasm in the market for children's comics. Then Raina Telgemeier's bestselling books proved there was a hungry readership of kids and suddenly the trad pub industry is excitedly picking up middle grade graphic novel pitches (ironically, including cape comics).

I was studying my Masters in the US as this was all happening, and decided to use my time in the program to generate as many middle grade pitches as possible! The first one I made was Lunar Boy, but the story was so well received that it ended up being the one we pushed forward as a pitch and develop the most across classes. On Twitter there was this event: #DVPit, which is a pitching event for marginalized authors looking to seek editor interest on their pitches but also! To get agented. In its heyday (before Melon Husk ruined everything. This event is no longer on twidder sadly. Many pitching events have ceased to happen or are on hiatus from how unusable that platform is now) it was a fantastic event. I got agented on my 2nd try of the event, and it got the industry an early look at Lunar Boy and made them excited to see it out on submission.

My agent, Britt Siess, was extremely helpful with giving us feedback on how to refine our pitch. Not only did she give us story feedback, but I was surprised also by her comics feedback- that was more nuanced than I expected (little did I know that she's a huge comics nerd). She had connections to all the editors I was interested in pitching Lunar Boy to, and we were out on submissions right as we graduated with our Masters degree (during the start of the pandemic lmao).

I already had early editor interest in Lunar Boy which I think helped a lot with getting it picked up. I've been told that it helps to meet editors in person and get chummy with them before pitching to heighten your chances, but that wasn't really the case for me. I've never met my editor (Carolina Ortiz, I love her she's amazing) in person, but she did actually reach out to me long before we went out to pitch- on a Simu Liu tweet trend of all things lmao.

(I didn't end up looking like evil boy band members in pastel clothes in the final book, I went for cultural clothes instead which I think is the more bespoke choice haha) Carolina reached out to me from this tweet and we actually talked back and forth about Lunar Boy, refining the pitch. I felt like she understood the story despite asking for big changes. I don't think she'd do something like this anymore, but I really appreciated it at the time (I wasn't even agented yet). All the editors I met in person for events like Editor's Day at school liked my art (and would even hire me for colorist work and the like) but they weren't interested in Lunar Boy. This was reflected when we finally went on submissions too.

We got a lot of rejections, vague language like "we don't know how to edit this" or "we already have a book like this" (??? press X to doubt). Compounded with all my interactions with editors in person, I felt like I was "marketable" as an artist but not as a storyteller because our stories were so unapologetically QPOC- with culturally specific queer identities to an already underrepresented identity. The editors that were interested in Lunar Boy had personal connection to the story (they were either also from blended families or QPOC themselves). But hey, you only need one yes to get a book deal. We ended up with Carolina as our editor and she's been our rock and champion for this book since the beginning. We were out of submissions in just a week (which is really fast in the industry).

My big tip for getting into the trad pub graphic novel industry is to study the market. A lot of people mistaken publishing as a vessel or platform for their untold story, when really it's a business we compromise with. Pay attention to trends, book deals, shifts in the industry, read your peers' books, everything. Research is key with getting your foot in. Lunar Boy may look like an out-there book, but at its heart it's a story about culture shock, trying to fit in, along with family and friendship problems. In trad pub especially, locking in to sellable tropes and trends is key. Find clever ways to innovate and work within those limitations at the same time. Be open to feedback and changes. I know so many people are held back from getting book deals because they're too attached to their story. It helps not to be phased by rejection and or take things personally. I've been very desensitized to talking about books like a business, since that's what it took for someone like me to make it out there.

I hope that was helpful!

[hannigramislife]

for my own gratification bc i just ran into nie mingjue hate in the wild, would you mind making a post that defends my poor good boy? he worked so hard and got gaslit to shit before getting murdered terribly ;; literally everyone sat there telling him "youre being too harsh" and he's just responding appropriately. like yeah, if you witness a murder, ya kinda got to do something about that as a clan leader. its kinda your responsibility, even when you care about the person who did the murdering. he was also a really young when he took on the role of clan leader and idk, it just made me rlly sad to see people dunk on him cuz wtf he's literally just trying his best in an impossible situation WHILE being perpetually fucked over by his clan's own traditional cultivation cuz now the stronger he is as a leader, the closer he is to going literally insane and dying bc of it. (mingjue did nothing wrong i will die on this hill) ((sorry for going on a tirade, im just sad and defensive of my good boy rn))

Oh no! I'm so sorry you had to go through Nie Mingjue hate! Truly tragic. I went through that once when in the beginning of me reading the books, when I still had no proper opinions, and never again.

I'm more than willing to make a post about Nie Mingjue! I'm always down to talk about Nie Mingjue tbh, he's my heart and love and if I were to have been given the opportunity to be his right hand person, I would have simply never betrayed his trust and married him. Rip Jin Guangyao but I'm different.

Anyways, I, huhhh, actually think you?? Covered it all??? Pretty much?? Yet I will talk about it. This will be long and non-coherent, because I don't have the books rn to find quotes in them and honestly, I could write essays on Nie Mingjue either way.

Nie Mingjue is a central piece of the narrative, despite the limited amount of appearances he made, and the fact that he wasn't close to the main characters at all. The entire second part of the plot revolves around him- it happened because of him. His murder is a tragedy; literally, by greek standards, man has Cassandra Curse all over him, so I don't get how people can tell me, confidently, that his death was warranted. I've been told the man had asked for it, and this has mostly been by Jin Guangyao apologists.

So let me make something real fucking clear.

Nie Mingjue did not deserve to die. Let's get that out of the way, anyone can fight me on that. Nie Mingjue had more good qualities than half the people in this fucking story, despite his flaws. After his father was brutally murdered when Mingjue was only in his teens, Nie Mingjue stepped up as clan leader. We can only speculate the hardships that await someone leading a clan at such an early age. Yet, political challenges weren't the only thing he had to battle; Nie Mingjue knew about his clan's harmful cultivation, and he knew he was going to die young. So what did he do? His best. Literally his best, always. He was always giving 100% of his abilities, because that's who he was.

Let's talk about who Nie Mingjue was, shall we?

When Jin Guangyao, still Meng Yao then, describes Nie Mingjue, he finds himself perplexed, because Nie Mingjue isn't like other men. He is not frivolous, and he has no vices; Meng Yao describes how Nie Mingjue never showed an interest in arts, or alcohol, or women. All he did was train, and fight the Wens during the war. It shows that he had a one-track mind from the start, and has got a strict discipline; yet this strictly disciplined man, leader of a clan that prizes strength, continuously indulges his lazy and undisciplined half-brother, his one and only heir, despite not understanding his interests. We gather, pretty quickly, that Nie Mingjue is a bleeding heart for his brother, and for the ones he loves in general. We see the same softer side displayed in the presence of Lan Xichen, and of course, for some time, Meng Yao.

People seem to think Nie Mingjue took Meng Yao's betrayal too harshly. As if somehow seeing a man he thought to have been just and honest commit premeditated murder, then cover it up, was something he was just supposed to get over. To this day, I can't believe how Lan Xichen was so understanding of it. But not only did Nie Mingjue catch him in a cowardly act - Meng Yao proceeds to manipulate him, using the fact that Nie Mingjue cared about him, to stab him in the back. Or front, however it happened. I get that Meng Yao was in a difficult position, that he suffered at the Jins, that he felt backed in a corner; but Nie Mingjue was a man that had extended his help to Meng Yao before, and even then, he went to find Meng Yao in righteous fury, ready to help him again. To Nie Mingjue, the idea that Meng Yao "had no other choice" but to kill - to kill in the manner he did - it could have been nothing but a betrayal.

One thing that I personally highly respected Nie Mingjue for was the fact that he did not judge Meng Yao for his background. This is not up for debate; Nie Mingjue stood up for him, quite publicly, quite vocally, when Meng Yao was being insulted over it. And not only that, but he promoted Meng Yao to be his right hand man, just like that. Because he's impulsive, and to prove a point, but it was still huge of him to do. Not even Lan Xichen would have done that - In a society built on power dynamics between social classes, Nie Mingjue was one of the few characters who did not let that define his actions. It wasn't because he was born privileged (though he was) but because he he didn't let anything other than his judgment direct his actions. Nie Mingjue also never shied away from anything; if it had to be done, he did it, no matter the cost.

Nie Mingjue was decisive, and had an iron will. When Meng Yao killed the Nie disciples in Qishan, he wanted to kill Meng Yao. Meng Yao told him, paraphrasing, that "don't you understand that if I hadn't done that, it would have been your corpse up there?" and Wei Wuxian takes it to mean "Translation: I saved you so you can't kill me, because that would mean you're in the wrong." So Nie Mingjue hesitated for a second, then said: "Fine! I'll kill you, and then take my own life!" And the only reason he didn't, was because Lan Xichen was there. Otherwise, Nie Mingjue would have killed his former friend, then followed him to whatever afterlife awaited.

Nie Mingjue is often portrayed like he doesn't understand stuff, like he's stupid, simply because of his black and white sense of morality. That's not correct: Nie Mingjue understands motive, but he doesn't accept the ends justifying the means. Scratch that, he doesn't accept or justify either, if they're unjust. The murder of the Jin commander, the murder of the Nie disciples, not executing Xue Yang - how can Nie Mingjue possibly understand Meng Yao's decisions, when Nie Mingjue would rather die, any day, than live thanks to vile actions?

And then, Nie Mingjue starts falling into qi-deviation. We know that it affected his temper the most, and his judgement. I don't understand how it works, really, so I don't know by the end how much was Nie Mingjue and how much was the mess that the spirit made of him - maybe a combination of the two. But what is certain, is that the rapid qi deviation changed him.

But I could write a hundred more pages on him, meticulously going over every single scene he has ever appeared in, because I find him that interesting. I find him the most interesting, and the most appealing character, because in a story where the navigation of the cultivation world's complex politics and hierarchies with tact and diplomacy is crucial, Nie Mingjue stands uncompromising in his principles, choosing duty and honor over anything else, even when it's hard.

[topazadine]

Let's do another spicy writing take, one that is going to get a lot of people very mad. However, please note that I am saying this out of love and concern. This is not an attack on you personally or on your writing process.

Take a deep breath, prepare to listen with an open mind. Alright. Here goes:

Stop starting a million WIPs.

I am serious. Please. Do not do that. Do not start a million WIPs.

Why? Because then you won't get any of them done. And why is that? Because you'll lose motivation, get distracted, and hop on to the next thing, leaving a trail of heartbreak in your wake.

I have 131 stories on Archive of Our Own and have written over 2 million words of fiction. Two. Million. Words.

Don't believe me? Look.

And then there's more that is not accounted for here: a 110k novel, another 109k novel, and a 20k novelette, along with my current WIP which is currently around 10k. All told, I have written approximately 2,084,000 words.

Are they all perfect? No, of course not, especially the older stuff. But is it done? Yep.

And I did that by doing each project one at a time.

If I get another story idea while I'm in the middle of another story, I write a note in my WIP list, but I don't start it. Only when I'm letting a story "rest" before editing do I start outlining another book, but I still don't start. I wait until I've finished one entire project before I do another one.

Your brain does not actually multitask. Our brains aren't wired to do that. This article from Forbes explains:

You are highly unlikely to be part of that 2.5% even if you think you are. I'm not, and you're probably not either.

What you are really doing is task switching. Take it from the software management program Asana:

That article from Forbes elaborates:

And it is even worse when you are hopping from one WIP to another, essentially changing contexts.

Pleexy, another task automation company, continues by discussing 'context switching':

Every time you stop working on one WIP, you are switching contexts and pulling yourself out of the world you have created, jumping into another. Now your brain is struggling to reorient itself, and it's not going to do its best work.

"But I love writing different WIPs and I get some of them done!"

I am sure you do, but is it your best effort? Would you have been able to write faster, more coherently, better, if you had only worked on one? Probably. And don't you want to do your best?

"But I have ideas and if I don't do them right now I'll forget them!!!"

Then write them down. I have a whole WIP list of things I am intending to write later. Make a notepad document, a spreadsheet, whatever, for your different WIPs.

When you think of something interesting for that project, put down a small note underneath it, but don't start writing! Your brain will let it marinate and when you're done with your current project, you'll have a better idea of what to do with it.

I like to visualize things before bed, so a lot of the time, I will use that visualization for a different project as my way to calm down, but I'm not devoting too much attention to it before I'm ready to work. I've got some scenes and images that I have daydreamed about, but I haven't drawn attention away from my current WIP by actually beginning to write.

This way, I can devote all of my brainpower to my current project while reserving a little bit of attention and aspiration for the next one. I also avoid writer's block because I have my next WIP lined up, waiting for me, and I can transition to it almost immediately.

Generally, I don't go more than a few days without starting a new project (after completing one!!!!!) because I am prepared for it: I can give it my full attention. There's no sitting around and waiting for inspiration.

"But I have so much inspiration for this project and want to start right away!"

Something I am learning as a writer is delayed gratification. I am an impulsive person and I want to jump into things right away, but then I get disappointed with the results. For example, I released 9 Years Yearning before commissioning a really good cover. I regret that and I'm going to learn from that mistake with the next book in The Eirenic Verses.

By waiting, you get a better payoff.

I've got four different projects waiting to be released and one waiting for serious revisions. They are all finished, but they're not polished. It would be very easy for me to spend a few hours formatting them and then just throw them up, but I won't get the best payoff then.

Instead, I'll wait for a break between projects before turning back to them and fixing them up, giving them all my attention. Yes, it means I don't release a billion books a year, but it also means I release my best work.

Writing is not a sprint; it's a marathon. It's okay to give your projects a break.

By letting my stories rest, sometimes for entire months, I can come back to them with fresh eyes and make sure they're perfect. The same is true of your WIPs. Let them sit and marinate for a while.

How to avoid having a billion WIPs:

Make a list of future WIPs. Put it in one document. Add things as you think about them.

Put this list of WIPs away and ignore it.

Allow yourself to get some writer's block if you're struggling with your current project. Writer's block is okay sometimes. Don't use writer's block as permission to start something else.

Put reminders up that tell you not to start things. I like the phrase "bird by bird" which I got from the eponymous book by Anne Lamott (which is really good writing advice).

Read up on task switching and the myth of multitasking to show why having a million WIPs doesn't work.

Interrogate yourself. When you have a bunch of WIPs, do you actually get any of them done? Be realistic and ruthless with yourself.

Look back at how many WIPs you have in storage. Identify your WIP completion rate. It's probably lower than you think.

Read about the writing habits of other writers. You'll find most successful writers do not have a ton of different projects at once. They also go one at a time.

"No I'm going to write a million WIPs anyway! You don't know me!"

Okay, then go for it. You're not obligated to take my advice. I can only tell you that the science - and my personal experience - says that's not a good idea.

Ultimately, it doesn't really matter to me if you continue to stop and start a gazillion different projects and get none of them done. That's your problem, not mine.

But I'd rather you be able to finish something you're proud of, because then you're growing as a writer, and I always encourage personal growth.

It honestly makes me sad when people go "teehee I have soooo many WIPs and I just started another one hehehe!" because I know, without a doubt, that almost none of them will see the light of day.

You deserve better than a bunch of unfinished projects. You can achieve more than that. Put down the WIP list, focus on your current story, and go for it.

[familyvideostevie]

with the fortunate only

this is the "sirius is the new bartender at your local bar" option from this poll! After an awful day, a new face turns things around. | pre-relationship, flirting, cursing, 1.2k

You don't normally come here this early. In fact, you don't normally come here during the week. You've been going to The Shrieking Shack with your friends ever since you moved to the neighborhood, but only on Fridays and Saturdays and sometimes for Wednesday night trivia. But on a Tuesday at 4? You're the only person in here, considering they opened only a half hour ago, and your friends would probably laugh at you if they knew you were here alone. But today was unquestionably shitty and all you want is a cold pint and some peace and quiet.

Well, this is maybe too much peace and quiet. There is no one at the bar to take your order, which is kind of defeating the reason you came in.

"Excuse me," you yell. "Can one of you assholes get out here and give me a beer?" You flop onto a stool and plant your face in your arms on the bar. It smells like cleaning spray. You don't actually know who works Tuesdays, now that you think of it, but you figure you know everyone who works here by now. "Remus? Potter? C'mon, are you asleep in the back room, or something?"

There's a thud and the slam of a door and a curse and then you hear someone walk up behind the bar. It sounds like they're wearing heavy boots, which is a bit strange, since the boys are prone to gross sneakers and sometimes loafers, if James is late for work. You don't hear the thud of a pint glass on the bar top, like you expect, so you rise from your pathetic position and find yourself face to face with a guy you've never seen before. "Sorry, I was changing the keg --"

"Who the fuck are you?" you say. Okay, not your best introduction. But you're tired and mad and you just want a drink.

He raises one dark eyebrow. An eyebrow that has a piercing in it. In fact, he's got a few. A gold hoop through his nose and each earlobe as well as what is most certainly smudged eyeliner on his lower lash line. He's wearing the bar t-shirt but the sleeves are cut off to show inked arms, intricate patterns from his shoulder to his wrist. He looks like the kind of bad boy people write books about.

"I think I could ask you the same thing," he says. His voice is gravely. He flicks a curl that didn't make it into his top knot from his face and frowns. "Coming on a bit strong for half past four in the afternoon...on a Tuesday."

You groan. So he -- whoever he is -- is hot and a bit of a dick. Just want you needed today. "Look, I thought Remus or James or one of the people I know would be working here. I've never seen you before."

He shrugs and picks up a pint glass. "Your lucky day. What do you want?" You tell him your usual and he pulls it, whistling as he does so. You really wish someone would walk in right now.

No one does. "Aren't you supposed to wear a name tag, or something?" He sets down your pint and looks at his chest and curses. He holds up a finger and saunters -- no, seriously, he saunters -- to the back before returning with a square pinned to his chest that reads SIRIUS. Oh, fuck. You know who this is.

"You're Sirius?" you say. "The mystery third part to the trio of idiots?" You've heard about him from James and Remus. Though you're acquaintances at most, they've come out with you and your friends a few times and you chat when you see them at the supermarket. You were starting to think he wasn't real.

He smirks. "Sure am, sweetheart," he says. Is he making fun of you? Maybe, but why does the name sound good coming from him? He starts to unload some glasses from the dishwasher. "They've told you all about me, it seems?"

"Except for the fact that you work here," you say. You sip your beer and look at him as he puts the glasses away. Black jeans, ripped and just as you thought -- motorcycle boots. You wonder if he's got a bike parked out back. He's quite different from his friends -- Remus, all buttoned up and cheeky, and James, a whirlwind of jokes and charm.

"I've just started a few weeknights, nosy."

"What, did you get kicked out of a biker gang, or something?"

Sirius scowls at you. "Not very nice, are you?"

Is this flirting? "I'm perfectly nice," you say, primly. "Just ask your friends. I'll bet I'm their favorite regular." He crosses his arms and leans back on the counter.

"Well, I don't have favorites yet," he says. "And they aren't here. So you're just another customer."

"I had a bad day," you admit, though you don't apologize. Truthfully, you hardly feel the bad day anymore. It's as if the intrigue of Sirius and his slightly flirty banter -- unless you're being delusional -- have brushed it all away. Not what you had in mind when you came in here, but not a bad thing by any means.

He nods and clicks his tongue. "Been there," he says. "Tough shit." He fishes a toothpick from his picket and sticks it in his mouth. Your face feels hot. What the fuck?

"Tough shit," you echo. "I don't usually come in this early. Or during the week, actually." You don't know why you're justifying yourself. He works at a bar. Even if he didn't look like he's gotten into trouble himself, he's probably not phased by you.

Sirius flicks his toothpick end over end with his tongue. You have to look away and take a large gulp of your beer. "So when do you usually come in?"

You swallow. "My friends and I like to come at the weekend. Trivia, sometimes."

He nods, nostrils flaring. He smirks. "Are your friends hot, too?"

You almost spit out the sip you're taking. "Excuse me?" you say between coughs. He chuckles and starts to fill a glass of water.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding very sorry at all. "Too much?"

He hands you the water and waits patiently for you to take a sip. Okay, so he's for sure flirting with you. "No," you reply. "Not too much." But you think it's best to quit while you're ahead. You down the rest of your beer and start to dig through your bag for some cash. "I'll be off, though," you say. "Work night and all that."

A glance at the clock shows you've hardly been here a half hour, but you think if you have to sit under Sirius's gaze much longer you'll spontaneously combust. "Shame," he says, picking up your glass. "On me this time."

You look up. He's looking at you with those deep eyes and they feel a little less teasing than they did moments ago. "Thanks," you say. You gather your things and head for the door.

"Hey," he calls after you. You turn. "What's your name?" He's leaning on the bar and he does that thing with the toothpick again and you're sure his eyes run up and down your figure.

"Ask me next time," you tell him. The bells on top of the door ring in time with his laugh as you leave.

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