#sorry it took me so long to write such an unhelpful answer

[urfavemcustan]

Simple Favor

Summary: after you accumulate numerous back problems from your pouge adventures, JJ offers some relief 

Warnings: SMUT, oral (fem receiving), overstimulation, fingering, PiV sex, unprotected sex (be careful y’all)

WC:

“Christ, I need to see a chiropractor,” you held your back in agony after joining jj on his bedroom floor to play a card game.

Being a pouge called for lots of adventure. You were quite familiar with sneaking around, jumping fences and running (usually from the police).

All of this activity usually led to sore muscles and back pain. Especially since your continuous losses at Rock Paper Scissors caused you to be the one who had to do the most.

“Y’know I could help with that,” JJ offers.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I found this chiropractor-masseuse guy on YouTube last night. I fell down the rabbit hole, I’m basically an expert now,” he answered with complete confidence.

It’s not like you have money to see a real chiropractor or masseuse, and you couldn’t write off JJ as completely unhelpful. You knew that the application of his strength to your back would help relieve you a little bit.

“Ok,” you agreed to receive his help. 

“Alrighty then,” He clasped his hands together, “hop up on my table,” he gestured to his bed. 

You laid head down and carefully removed your shirt leaving your back bare due to your earlier choice to go braless. JJ sat down on the bed next to you. 

You couldn’t deny that butterflies started to fill your stomach as you prepared for him to touch you. No matter how hard you tried to be, you weren’t immune to the charm of JJ Maybank.

He tried to focus on kneading the knots out of your back since their stiffness was obvious. You winced immediately once he applied pressure.

“Sorry,” he retracted his hands, “it’s just that you have really bad knots. Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head ‘no’ against his bed, urging him to continue. Once he did, you could help but whimper at his touch.

JJ knew he should be focused on the task at hand but he couldn’t help his mind from wandering. He couldn’t help but think about getting these sounds out of you a different way...

And then you let out a “fuck jj that feels so good.”

And the thoughts came flooding in. He thought about how you should be saying that from under him, or on top of him, or anywhere on him really. 

He started caressing your back. You were a little unsure about what this was helping with until he pressed down and a loud CRACK filled the air. Along with that noise, a loud pornographic moan. 

“Damn y/n,” JJ laughed, “All that for your back?” Before he could stop himself, he asked, “when's the last time you came?” 

“JJ!” You gasped, playfully acting offended to the question. 

“Shit, you don’t have to answer that. Sorry,” he shook his head and went back to rubbing your back. 

“No no it’s ok,” you took a second to think, “I think it’s been about a month.” 

“A month!?” JJ couldn’t help his visceral reaction, “how are you still breathing?” 

You chuckled, “honestly, I don’t know. We’ve been so busy with this treasure hunt, I’ve barely had me time.”

“Do you want me to help with that too?” 

“How? You’re hiding a vibrator in here?” You lifted your head and looked around the room jokingly.

“No, but I have a mouth,” JJ answered with a new seriousness, “and hands you seem to enjoy.” 

Of course you weren’t opposed to the idea, you’ve longed to be touched by him that way for as long as you could remember. However, that didn’t minimize the initial shock, “Wouldn’t that be weird?” 

“What’s the difference between that and what I’m doing now? Just a massage in a different place,” His hands trailed down your back.   

“Good point,” you didn’t want to seem too thirsty, but you couldn’t help but surrender to him, “I swear you better not tell anyone,” you rolled over, exposing your chest to him. 

“Of course princess,” he smiled eyes locked on your chest. You’ve caught him staring at them a numerous amount of times, especially when you wore your flimsy bikini tops.

JJ didn’t waste any time. He positioned himself on top of you and put one of your boobs in his mouth while caressing the other. Almost instantly, the feeling of his tongue and calloused fingers on your nipples caused you to moan.

JJ could spend all day like this, at this point he wasn’t doing this for you anymore, he was enjoying himself way too much.

He took one of your nipples between his teeth, lightly pulling it.

“JJ,” you called him back to earth, “please touch me.”

“I am,” he smiled against you.

“You know what I mean,” you rolled your eyes.

JJ tisked against your breast, “you gotta be more specific than that baby.” He planted a wet open mouthed kiss on your boob.

It killed you to say this out loud to him but you need him to do more, “please put your mouth on my pussy.” He felt amazing on your tits, you couldn’t begin to imagine how good he would feel there.

“Whatever you say darlin’,” he removed himself from your chest (which pained him a little) and moved his face down to your pussy.

Once again, he didn’t hesitate to begin and you could’ve sworn you were in heaven.

That boy started eating you like it was his first meal in months. He had no disregard for the loud, lewd sounds he was creating due to your pussy already being soaked. He fucked you with his tongue while his strong hand furiously circled around your clit.

Thankfully no one was around because you were practically screaming for him.

You grabbed a fist full of his hair earning a groan from him and started grinding against him. The two of you set a pace and you were there.

You wrapped your legs around his head as threw your head back as he continued to devour you.

Finally, you felt it. The building knot in your stomach released and you were reduced to a screaming shaky mess. You clenched around nothing, wishing some part of him was inside you.

JJ noticed this immediately and slip two of his fingers inside of you while sucking your clit.

“J!” You yelped, sensitive from the orgasm you just finished.

This didn’t stop him from continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you,“Fuck, y/n,” he groaned against your core, “so fucking tight.”

He was amazing at what he was doing but still, you wanted all of him.

“Yeah? Let’s see if your dick fits,” part of you couldn’t believe you spoke so boldly to him.

JJ couldn’t believe it either. He’s thought about being inside you for as long as he could remember and after feeling how tight you were? He needed this dream to become a reality.

JJ sat back on his haunches in front of you. Slowly, he entered his length into you, “shit,” he hissed as his eyes screwed shut.

You squirmed underneath him as he continued to fill you. Your pussy welcomed every inch of him as he slid in with ease.

He grabbed one of your hips with one hand and the headboard with another. He towered over you with a mischievous excitement in his eyes that you were quite familiar with.

He fucked you with a force you were unfamiliar with. The headboard repeatedly slammed against the wall as he used it to steady himself and he slammed against you.

After a couple of thrusts, he started to connect with your g-spot. You moaned incoherently, barely able to get anything out.

Of course JJ noticed, “is that it baby?”

All you could do was nod in response.

You felt so good around him. He felt his arms would give out any second. He leaned in with his face in the crevasse of your neck, he gripped a firm hand behind your head as he rolled his hips against you.

Your legs wrapped around him, begging for him to be as deep as he could be inside you.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Not with you underneath him.

“M’gonna cum,” JJ brought one hand to your clit, “want you to cum with me.”

“I’m so close,” you whined, about to experience your second orgasm.

He quickened his pace and miraculously felt like he was even deeper. His hips started to buck without rhythm as he felt himself started to release inside of you with a loud groan against your neck.

You followed right behind moaning, digging your nails into him as you came.

After the both of you caught your breath, he rolled to the side of you.

“Y’know, my dick feels sore,” JJ panted, “I think I’m gonna need a special massage from you.”

[vodika-vibes]

would you also write for Jaster Mereel (jangos adoptive dad, at least in legends I think)? There’s not that much information about him so I totally understand if he ist un-writeable but I really like him and thought I would ask 🤭

Matching

Summary: You decide to surprise Jaster. Unfortunately, neither of you are so good at talking.

Pairing: Jaster Mereel x Reader

Word Count: 1220

Warning: Dumbasses don't know how to communicate, and make assumptions.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: Asking me to write for my absolute favorite Mand'alor who has ever mand'alored? Oh, twist my arm why don't you, lol. Also, this story was very easy to write, probably because I've been mentally writing it since I got the ask.

Divider by Saradika

You’ve been in a relationship with Jaster, the actual Mand’alor, for years now. Technically you’re dating, but that doesn’t feel like the right term when you’re raising a kid together.

Technically, Jango is Jaster’s kid, but he calls you buir also, so-

And Jaster’s about as close to perfect as you would ever expect from a romantic partner. He’s kind and considerate. He’s respectful, and he doesn’t make any demands.

Well, no demands that you aren’t willing to give into, at least.

And you love him. Of course you do. Enough to put up with the bullshit that is Mandalorian politics (though you’re personally of the opinion that anyone who’s willing to put up with Mandalorian politics is a few crayons short of a full box). Enough to put up with childish temper tantrums, (from Jango) and threats against your life (also from Jango, though that hasn’t happened in years).

And yet, in spite of all of that, in spite of all the years together, Jaster hasn’t once asked if you’d be willing to say the riduurok with him.

If you were any less confident in your relationship, you’d worry that he was leaving himself a way out. But, well, raising a kid together. And you suppose you could ask him, but he’s the kriffing Mand’alor.

So you think on it. You bounce some ideas off your closest friends (“Dump him.” One said. “Fight him for the title of mand’alor.” Said the other. You really need new friends).

Jango, however, thought about it for a whole day when you mentioned your minor concerns to him, and he said, “Maybe buir is waiting for something showing that you’re interested?”

“What?” You asked at the time, “Is raising you not proof enough?”

And he just grinned at you, before he ran off.

So with that super unhelpful help in the back of your mind. You thought about the situation long and hard. Over the span of weeks. And you know that your distraction has caused more than a little concern in Jaster, but, as ever, he never pushed.

You really do love him more than life itself.

And then an idea came to you. Late one night when you both were getting ready for bed. There, tattooed over Jaster’s heart, is his clan sigil. You teased him about it when you first started dating, asking him if he was afraid that he would forget what clan he belonged to, but now it was giving you an idea.

So, early the next morning you wake with your alarm, drop a kiss to Jaster’s cheek and inform him that you won’t be back until late, and to not wait up.

And though he looks like he wants to ask where you’re going, he holds his tongue, and  you hope it’s because he trusts you and not because he’s afraid to know what your answer is.

Your destination. The one, single, tattoo parlor located in the area.

And, true to your word, you don’t return home until late that night. A new tattoo inked into your skin between your shoulder blades, and covered by a bacta bandage.

Jaster is already asleep when you slip into the room. He doesn’t stir until you slide into bed, laying on your stomach and wrapping your arms around your pillows.

“Mm…cyare?”

“Go back to sleep, love.” You whisper, as you slide over to him and press a feather light kiss against his temple.

He blinks at you, sleep fading from his gaze as he takes you in. “Welcome back.” Jaster murmurs.

“Sorry it took me so long.” You reply, “I did mean to be back before now.”

He opens his mouth to say something, hesitates, and then smiles, “Well, I’m glad you got back safe.”

“Of course.” You sweep your hair off your back, the sensation uncomfortable against the bandage, and you rest your head on your arms, “How was your meeting? With Kryze, right?”

“Uneventful,” Jaster replies, as he rolls onto his side, holding himself up on his elbow, “I’ll give you a full rundown tomorrow, if you wan-” He stops mid-sentence, his gaze snapping to the white bandage on your back, “Are you hurt?”

“In…a manner of speaking.” You admit with a sigh. “It hurts, but it’s…self-inflicted?”

“What?!”

“It’s…” You sigh again, that was the wrong word, “It was supposed to be a surprise,” You grumble, “Go ahead and take the bandage off. You’ll see.”

Jaster sits up completely, and you feel his fingers, light and warm against your bare back, as he carefully removes the bandage.

And then he stops.

Stops moving, stops breathing even.

You turn your head to glance at him, “Jas?”

His fingers glide across your back, and ghost over the new tattoo, “That’s my clan sigil,” He says faintly.

“Well, yes. I suppose I should have asked if it was okay before I did it…” You mumble. 

“That’s…cyare, that’s a rather telling show of loyalty.”

You scoff, “I’ve been sleeping in your bed and raising your son for years, Jaster. I think my loyalty is pretty solidly locked in.” You squeak in surprise when you feel his lips against the middle of your new tattoo.

“You never showed any interest in tattoos before.” He murmurs against your skin.

“Yeah, well…” You shrug, “I was beginning to wonder if you weren’t asking me to say the riduurok with you simply because you wanted a way out, so this is my way of saying you’re stuck with me, I guess.”

“...cyare, I never asked you because you never seemed interested.” Jaster says slowly, as he lightly flips you so you’re looking up at him.

“Why would you assume that?” You ask.

“Because we had a whole conversation about it, and you said that it was an outdated tradition-”

“When did I say-” You stop midsentence, and you stare at him incredulously, “You mean that conversation we had right about you turned 20 and the day after my long term boyfriend broke up with me?”

“Yeah.”

Your head flops back on your pillow and you laugh, “Jaster, cyare, I love you. But you are the dumbest smart man I’ve ever met.” You grin at him, “That was me being bitter, Jas. I was hurt and angry, and you were the only person willing to listen to me. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“What about the part where you said you wanted to push your ex into a star?”

“Oh. That I meant.” You reach up and caress his cheeks, “I already plan to spend the rest of my life with you, whether or not we end up married. But nothing would make me happier than being your spouse.”

Jaster exhales slowly, and he leans in to press his forehead against yours, “Was beginning to worry that you found someone else,” He admits quietly, “You’ve been so quiet these last few weeks.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m surprised. And happy.” He kisses you, slow and deep, “Mostly happy.” He adds in a low murmur, and then he shifts so he’s kneeling between your legs, “Are you in pain, cyare?”

You smile at him, small and sensuous, “Not so much that it’ll detract from what you’re planning.”

He grins and pins your hands to the bed next to your head, “Good.”

[beeanca-writing]

Ah sorry, what I meant would be is how do you craft the setting. Is there any resources like books or any other media where you take inspiration with your writing or like a process to help with writing stories

Ahhhhhh I'm so sorry for forgetting to reply to you!!! I hope you're still there, somewhere.........

To answer your question, I don't really consume any specific media to get inspired; just watching or reading anything will usually make me come up with a new idea (even if I don't want to LOL the idea for my new WIP came after reading the book Plastic Jesus). However, music helps me out a lot. It's how I get most of my story and scene ideas. Always remember to write them down, even if you think you'll remember that idea later — you probably won't.

This is unhelpful advice, I know, but I recently took a creative writing class, and they gave us some prompts to get inspiration flowing. It definitely helped me get over my laziness, write, and come up with something (not saying you're lazy! I am, though!), so hopefully they'll do the same to you. They gave us 5–10 minutes to do each exercise, so you're not supposed to spend too long on them:

Remember a conversation you overheard or had today. Think about its subject, content, and the feelings it evoked. Then, transform this dialogue in a short text, no more than 3 sentences long.

Try "translating" some words and/or sentences. What this means is trying to explain what that word means, or what imagery it evokes to you, without actually saying its name (e.g. one of mine was "bug-eyed animal" for "fish"). Here are some of the words and sentences they gave us: cement, fish, flame, pillow, light, capybara, mouth, mountain, swear word, the girls saw a dictionary, the cheese's taste was different, the boy looked at the world through the door.

Listen to some music and try writing whatever comes to mind when you hear it. Here's the song they gave us (which I hated, by the way LOL)

Lastly, look at a photo and try to write whatever feeling it evokes, or story it might tell. Here's a photo they showed us:

I hope this was of any use!

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Meeting you Ch 6.

(Not my gif, credits go to its owner/creator)

Author's note: Sorry this took so long, creativity was dead for a while.

Words: 2533

Warning: Description of depressive mood (feelings only). Description of graphic emotions. Jasper. Bad accent writing.

Masterlist OGW Masterlist

Serie Masterlist

Part one Part two, Part three, Part four, part five, part six.

Spotify link

Meeting you

Can't help falling in love- Beck

↺͏͏ ◁◁͏͏ ll ▷▷ ⋮≡

1948

Dear Esther and Thade,

Philadelphia is the most unhelpful town for vegetarian vampires. There is no free space for wild animals big enough to stratify one's thirst. Alice says that we are here for a good reason, that we will meet him -Jasper- soon, but I digress. If you were planning on coming to Philadelphia, I recommend against it. You will only find suffering and despair as the closest (animal-filled) forest is kilometers away. Yet, even if we only need to feed a few times a month, the sent of human blood is too much. The vapes from the city do not make things any better, and people are always saluting you.

I never thought that one day I would chastise people for being polite. Breathing is hard, even for me, I dare not imagine how difficult it is for Alice. 

Forever yours,

(Y/N) E.

All morning, Alice insisted on stopping at a small coffee shop on their way back to the small apartment they shared, and (Y/N) found it weird because they, like vampires, didn't need to eat. They still could, of course, but everything would taste like dirt in their mouth, and the process of getting rid of the food afterward was not the most pleasant.

''Don't worry about it!'' Had said the small brunette while skipping on the sidewalk happily. It earned them weird looks from the human passerby, and (Y/N) only offered them a small smile for her friend's action.

The two girls had been shopping all day, renewing their wardrobes for the next three years or so to go, when Alice's eyes got lost in the chaos of her visions. She was getting better at not falling over when the visions hit her by surprise. Sometimes the red-eyed vampire still tumbled a little, but (Y/N) couldn't help her with a small pressure of her hand under her arm, or on her back. After her vision, Alice was adamant about going to a specific coffee shop.

And all (Y/N) could do was follow.

When Alice was set on something, it was nearly impossible to bring her out of it. (Y/N) did try often. Like that one-time Alice wanted to do a lap to New York City for an outside fashion show on one of the sunniest days there was. (Y/N) did everything in her power trying to convince Alice not to go, yet, she only managed to make them attend in the shadows.

''What did you see, Alice.'' Whispered (Y/N) in her friend's ears as they walked closer and closer to the coffee's door. The buzzing she was feeling in the bottom of her stomach, mixing with the butterflies frolicking near her heart, was making her nauseous. (Y/N) had never thought before that Vampire could feel like that.

''You'll see soon enough!'' She answered, a knowing smile playing on her lips. ''You'll love it!''

Throughout the burning excitement, she was feeling, (Y/N) was skeptical. It had to be something about that Jasper man again. Alice was anything but secretive about her visions, just when it came to him. She said she preferred not to tell her because of what would occur if she did. (Y/N) was now stuck to following the small girl around town to a specific coffee shop to meet someone -or find something- whichever Alice had stuck her mind on at the moment. (Y/N) only sighed but let her friend pull her through the city without contesting it any longer.

Alice quickly found the coffee shop she searched for because she stopped in front of a fashionably cute-ish building. She didn't wait for the other vampire to take a good look at it before entering thought. The pixie-sized girl let out a giggle as (Y/N) tried to make her slow down.

''He's here!'' She whispered frantically, happy to the taller girl, making her practically freeze.

Jasper.

The realization hit (Y/N) like a train as she was pulled deeper inside the coffee shop by the arm. There were things she still had to learn from Alice, the woman found. Even after all this time, she'd spent with Alice, (Y/N) didn't know what he was supposed to do with both of them. Taking a look around her, being filed by Alice's buzzing and bubbling happy anxiety, (Y/N) took in the place's particular stylish look. It looks like it came right out of a movie. Flowers were filling it, and the signs disclaiming the different drinks and food choices were written in careful and elegant penmanship. There weren't many people inside, maybe two young couples and a lone man, sitting near the window. He only had a glass of water, untouched, in front of him. Yet, it seemed like he had been sitting there for a while. (Y/N) could tell because of all the water there was beside the drink from the condensation.

The small vampire pulled her in the direction of the lone blond man.

''Alice...'' (Y/N) tried to protest in a low voice.

It did nothing to stop her.

''Hi!' She said in a high-pitched voice to the man. ''I'm Alice. Do you mind if we sit here?''

She had taken the blond man by surprise. (Y/N) could feel it inside, with the awkwardness Alice had created around them and the girl's buzzing happiness, she could feel the sudden drop of heart her voice brought when she surprised you. An uncomfortable warmth just under her sternum overtook the sparkling bubbles she knew of Alice, the nausea of nervousness and fear holding her hostage. 

The man, Jasper, raised to them his blood-red eyes, eyebrows raised, nearly touching the first of his hair. He looked around himself as if he was wondering if the brunette was really talking to him. But before he could answer, Alice sat by his side, leaving the booth in front of them free for (Y/N) to use. The woman sighed and smiled toward the tuned head, looking at the trio.

''F'course, ma'am...'' finally said Jasper, eyeing both girls. (Y/N) took place before the two, shaking her head at her friend.

''My apologies.'' She said to him in a small voice. His eyes met hers for a second, but that was enough. (Y/N) could see everything in brighter colours; the odours were richer, and the emotions she felt clearer, in a way. Something was tugging at her chest to get her closer to something. (Y/N) wasn't sure what. She wasn't even sure she was the one feeling the pull.

On top of that, the golden -eyed vampire felt weird. Like something was bothering her. She felt her throat ache and the desperate need to hunt. She took a deep breath. There were also the emotions she felt. The young woman took another look at the people present in the coffee shop. Nobody was looking at them anymore, preferring their own lives to theirs. (Y/N) counted the heads she could see. Four, six humans inside the shop, two in the back, eight, if she excluded herself, being with emotions inside those walls. Then why did she feel like there were at least double the number of people present?

She looked at Alice and Jasper. The smaller vampire started a conversation with the man a little earlier, as the other girl was engrossed in her surroundings. She concentrated on what they were saying, swallowing the venom that was in her mouth. When the dry feeling didn't leave her, (Y/N) cleared her throat.

''Jasper's an empath too.'' Said Alice in a whisper, cutting through the small conversation the table was installed in. The man's eyebrows shot up again as he looked at the small girl sitting next to him. His mouth opened, and his anxiety augmented. He felt trapped. The lump in (Y/N)'s throat that lingered there since she came inside seemed to grow bigger. She took another calming breath through her nostrils. She felt the pressure in her head diminish. Only to feel the warmth in her sternum grow bigger. 

''How d'yer know that, Miss Alice?'' He asked in an equally low tone, still nervous.

Alice giggled and looked at (Y/N), then back at Jasper.

''I've seen you. In my visions.'' She answered, still whispering.

A couple walked close to their table as they left, giving Alice and Jasper a weird look as they did. (Y/N) shot them a gentle smile. She felt their fright as they saw her eyes. She turned her attention back to the two other vampires before her.

''Is this really the right moment to discuss such matters?'' She asked finally, trying to get Alice's attention. One of her hands tried to subtly hide part of her face from the rest of the coffee shop without making it seem like she was. (Y/N) couldn't care less about Jasper at the moment. He was feeling thirsty, and it was making her feel it too. There were also too many ears in the coffee shop for (Y/N) to feel at ease. No, because only four humans could be the reason her true death could find her. 

She wasn’t willing to take that chance.

''Oh, I completely forgot you two didn't know each other!'' Alice clapped her hands together. The butterflies came back into (Y/N)'s stomach, and her eyes grew big. The two humans sitting farther away from their group turned their heads in their direction again. (Y/N) dropped her eyes so as not to meet theirs.

You don't know him either. (Y/N) wanted to say. Instead, she cleared her throat once more. It was as if Alice's motto was: Aut viam inveniam aut faciam... (I shall either find a way or make one).

''That's not... Alice, listen to m-'' Alice stopped her before she could continue, waving her frantic hands away from her. (Y/N) buried her face into her gloved hands with a sigh. She really needed to get them out of the coffee shop before the thirst she felt became too much to tolerate.

''This is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Jasper Whitlock.'' She was feeling proud of herself now.

'''Nored to meet'cheh, ma'am,'' said the man.

More to appease her concern about following principles than to be polite, (Y/N) removed her hands from obstructing her face to meet his eyes again. She felt her heart clench when her golden eyes met his blood-red ones once more. It was as if she ached to be closer to him. His eyes were the same colour as Alice's yet, they held something else, something more. A spark in her lower abdomen suddenly made her realize what was happening, and she lowered her gaze.

''The honour is mine, sir.'' She answered. ''I suggest we take this take in a more... private setting, do you mind, Alice?'' (Y/N) asked Alice in a colder tone.

The smaller vampire smiled in her direction, nodding. She wasn't taken aback by (Y/N)'s lack of politeness. Alice knew that the other girl didn't speak openly about their condition, so it was no surprise at all that she wasn't over the moon with their current predicament.

''You'll come with us; we have tons of things to talk about.'' Alice directed to Jasper.

The man smiled, and, looking at (Y/N), he nodded.

⁂

''But what do I have to do with anythin'?'' Jasper's drawled question was directed to Alice.

They'd managed to come back to the small apartment Alice and (Y/N) shared. He was standing in the middle of the living room as both girls shared the couch. Legs crossed, one elbow resting on the pillow on her knees, (Y/N) turned her head to stare at the pixie-like girl.

''Both of you have something to do with my future, I'm sure of it.'' Started Alice, her red gaze alternated from the blond man to her friend. ''I just don't see how just yet.''

(Y/N) raised a brow. She was tied to Alice's future? More like Alice had attached herself to her life on her very own first. She said nothing to discredit her friend's words though she wasn't agreeing nor understanding her words. Alice never really spoke about her visions with her. All (Y/N) could understand of it at the moment was that they showed flashes of images and were directly tied to someone's decision. However, she couldn't see both sides of the decisions of a vision happening to two people.

The three of them had stopped before coming to the apartment building to feed Alice and Jasper. (Y/N) had declined his invitation to take half the blood of his human. The other vampire girl had then told Jasper that (Y/N) was one of the few vegetarian vampires. Plus, they were already planning to leave in the following days. She would hunt then. After all, she wasn't that thirsty now that they'd left the coffee shop.

''Also,'' continued Alice, ''I couldn't not take care of the two of you.'' This time she looked at (Y/N). ''We would have met Jasper much sooner had we stayed with the Carrolls to meet their friends.''

The burning of disapproval the small vampire felt was burning down (Y/N)'s throat to her chest like lava as her words slowly started to make sense in the woman's head. She straightened her shoulder in a fast -too fast to be human- movement.

''He's Peter and Charlotte's friend Thade was talking about in his letters?''

Alice looked at her with a smirk. (Y/N)'s face darkened as a frown distorted her sculpture-like face. She could feel the pinch of proud satisfaction swelling in her. Jasper's frowning face lightened as hers contorted.

''Don't thank me for matching you up with your mate. I do that for fun!'' Teased Alice, getting up from the couch to leave both of them alone.

Silence met the closing sound of the door. Neither of the remaining vampires talked for a moment. (Y/N) was cursing herself. Mate? He was her mate, what next? Would Alice find them a family? This was utterly ridiculous. She didn't need a mate; she was doing fine on her own. Even if having someone for herself too would be nice, she did not need a matchmaker. So, what if she'd escaped their meeting the first time? Her mate. How could Alice know for sure? Her vision changed more often than she shopped. 

''It's nice to meet'cheh, ma'am.'' Said Jasper after clearing his throat.

''(Y/N), please.'' She said bitterly. The man nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. (Y/N) felt the tingling under the skin of the shoulder that brought amusement. Was he laughing at her?

The woman patted the free seat next to her, inviting the blond man to sit. He obliged, walking with his hands behind his back like a soldier, his back straight, a smile dancing on his mouth.

''Let's talk.'' Said the golden-eyed vampire in her habitual soft tone.

[caterpillarinacave]

Hi! I'm the same Henry anon from yesterday, thank you for your answer!

If you actually want to elaborate more on your headcanons and you have time to do so, I'd love to read more! I was especially curious to know if there is a specific explanation for the headcanon about the way his sleeping habits changed? (And in the tags you mentioned angst?) And in general if you ever want to write an hour long rant I'll happily read it!

Anyway, if you've read until here, bye, and thanks for taking the time to read all of this!

Anon, I am SO sorry, this took so long to answer!!! I do try to be timely, apperances aside.

You know how you have to invite vampires inside for them to come into your house? Yeah, when it comes to talking I'm like one of those vampires. I, of course, would like to talk for hours and am ready to talk for hours,, however I will not start talking until someone invites me to. I like to wait until I have a specific request from someone, then I begin my speech.

Anyway, all that aside, someone has now asked me, so buckle up buttercups, because i am about to TALK

Just a warning, these headcannons get a little more angsty, and therefore a little more dark

Regarding your first question, dear anon, basically, disabilities are exhausting. Physically and emotionally, even if you've got it under control, most every disabled people are constantly tired. 

Everything is automatically more physically strenuous.

I, for example, slept really lightly for a really long time. In a lot of ways I still do, but once my more physical disabilities (even though I have them very well under control) showed up the actual want to sleep shoots way up. 

You can totally stay up all night working on something and be just fine, but once you lay down and your brain gets the little “yep, we get to sleep now” message, it JUMPS on it. You might've had iffy sleep schedules, but once the physical aspect is added to the mix, it’s really hard to convince your brain to get up when everything is so tired if you stir in the middle of the night. After a while your brain doesn't work anywhere near as hard to try and wake you up, and suddenly you're totally down to fall asleep on the carpet and sleep there for six and a half hours. 

Same applies for Henry. 

It's exhausting to get around as a disabled person and he's just… tired.

The weeks following the battle of idris were NOT a fun time lol. Didn't seem awful from an outside POV, but physically speaking Henry was having an awful, awful time, and emotionally Charlotte was having the go of it. 

He’s in charge of all his mobility aids. Made a lot of them, with less input from the silent brothers then youd think he would need.I mean, shadowhunters are ridiculously unhelpful (seriously, how was he the first one to come up with a wheelchair. how.) Logistically speaking, he has multiple chairs, but a favorite. 

He has just got to eat more. He’s so awful at keeping track of time, forgets to eat constantly. and is pretty much 0% body fat. He usually gets away with it, but he’s got nothing to fall back on if he’s sick or injured, which was kind of a problem after the battle of idris. 

He used to be a decent piano player, but most of what he enjoyed playing relayed on a peddle, and while he probably could, it wasn't ever worth finding a way to make the pedal work for him, so he just kinda moved on. 

This one's more canon but he had absolutely no friends. Like, at all growing up. He was lucky if they ignored him instead of actively harassing him but like??? He doesn't really care??? He’s just like, “kay yeah, whatever”, then grows up and continues to not have any shadowhunter friends but it seems like warlocks think he’s really fucking cool, so is that a win? 

You know how there's the persistent theme of Charlotte feeling guilty for the events of TID? Henry’s kind of in the same boat. Any one as pedantic as me remembers the line at the end of CA;

Going off the book, he was the one who told Mortmain about the Pyxis,  he was the one technically protecting Jessamine when she died, left the woman he loved to suffer in silence because he can't figure the most obvious things, his list of failures miles long, his presence causing so much annoyance to everyone around him.  

How could he be so stupid, so blind? How many problems had he caused just by being who he was?

Who would be alive, who would have suffered so much less if he had just been a little smarter, a little quicker, a little less like himself?

He’s spent his whole life being told that he’s stupid, makes everything worse, everything is his fault, and he’s a burden on everyone around him, and there’s these things that might be his fault (no, nothing was his fault, Henry forgive yourself please-) you can not tell me they arent weighing on him a little bit. 

To pull from a discarded WIP of mine, “...in her head, Charlotte’s hands were stained red, and in his, Henry could bathe in the blood of the shadowhunters he’d killed.”

Genuinely hates staying in bed. It just drives him insane to sit in one room doing nothing. It’s bearable to go sit in your pajamas in the living room, but doing the same thing in a bedroom? 

Insufferable. Unmanageable. Impossible. Horrific. How could you possibly stay in such a boring place that long. What do you mean I could die. I’ll die in a different room thank you very much.

He’s really good at chess, but doesnt really get the big deal about winning the game. As in, he doesn't even remotely get why someone would get upset about losing, or why it’s if you want someone to like you you shouldn't beat them in five minutes. Charlotte eventually told him that some people just hate losing. “Great, got it” he said, then proceeded to just ask people if they wanted to win or not. This is not good for political relations. 

Cue the Clave conversations; 

“Do you play? I’d be honored to play a round with you, Mr. Fairchild.”

“I’d be delighted to. How would you like to play?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Would you like me to try and beat you, pretend to try and beat you but purposefully lose, or blatantly lose?”

“...”

“:)”

====

“Henry, darling, let’s go over this in a different way.”

“Literally what did I do???”

It’s canon that he had a lot of self esteem issues when he was younger, but it's one of the things I wish CC had looked more into. (I’ve got a fic about this exact thing, but don't know if i'll ever post it lol)

 There have been a few times when he’d had a particularly bad day and finds himself a little closer to the edge of a bridge than he should be, and shaking off how easy it would be to die right then. In a couple seconds, he could never bother anyone again. 

It's really an intrusive thought, but he just can't help but think how much better it might be for everyone if he wasn't here. The shadowhunters really genuinely don't like him, and canonically treat him horribly, and for him it seems like all he does for Charlotte, who he loved more than anything else in the world, is make her life harder.

 When he’s coming back from an assignment it would be so easy to drop everyone else off at the institute, take a horse out (Balios can find his way back), and just not come back. At least not breathing, that is. 

 He doesn’t act, of course. After all, the Institute is a busy place, and he often is needed for errands or assignments. It would be cruel to leave them to navigate with one less pair of hands. Will and Jessamine really are a handful, and Jem is… well, it wouldn't be fair to make a scene when the focus should be on them. Besides, if Charlotte is at all fond of him, his death would be more upsetting than his blunders. 

Right?

[gellavonhamster]

Hi! I know almost nothing about Arthuriana, except some few stories that we read ten years ago in Middle School in English class. I would want to know a little more about the historical context, the origins, the meanings and the orders of all those legends, but I don’t know where to begin. Do you study them in school/uni or do you research about them on your own? Thank you!

Hi! No, I've never really studied Arthuriana, though we touched upon it a little at university during some of our English Literature classes, but in very broad strokes. Plus our professor made us read the book she wrote on the similarities between Arthuriana and the Latvian epic Lāčplēsis (don't know about my classmates, but I read it - it was pretty interesting, but I still found it funny that she was essentially forcing people to read her book). Frankly speaking, I wouldn't say I do research about it now either - I just read whatever works I find available online, choosing them based on what I've heard about them and what links I find floating around on tumblr. Regarding the historical context and origins, some years ago I read a pretty comprehensive book that was like a summary of previous research on the historical origins of Arthuriana, but it was in Russian - "Меч короля Артура. Так рождалась легенда" (The Sword of King Arthur. So the Legend Was Born) by Vadim Erlikhman, so I don't think it will be of much use because it is hardly translated into English. It has a long bibliography which includes a lot of books and research works in English, but I don't know which of them are the most useful.

As to where to begin... it’s a difficult question, especially since a lot of these legends contradict each other more or less because they belong to different traditions. I think it helps if you already have an idea which characters or events in particular you would like to read about, because then you can start with the texts focused on them and then move to other characters or events if you decide that you enjoy these legends in general. @fuckyeaharthuriana has a lot of useful rec lists (links in blog description), including those sorted by character. I can also suggest some works that I enjoyed the most, but please bear in mind that I am far from being an expert - I read several texts last year in the wake of watching BBC Merlin and The Green Knight, and this year started devouring basically all texts I could find after reading Le Morte d'Arthur, but I haven't read the Vulgate, for example, and some other things that, I believe, are considered basics, while having read some more obscure texts that caught my attention but are not as fundamental. Anyway...

Yvain: Knight of the Lion by Chrétien de Troyes - this one has everything: adventures, love, friendship, active female characters (Lunete my best friend Lunete), an Animal Sidekick, and a happy ending after a lot of tribulations. The main character is Sir Yvain, son of King Uriens and Morgan Le Fay, and the story is about him falling in love with a widow of a knight he killed, managing to win her affection but then losing her trust and having to win it back while doing a bunch of heroic deeds on the way. Quite long but I found it a lot of fun.

The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnell for Helping of King Arthur - I’m linking the translation I read, but there are many of them available online. It’s a short and fun romance in which a knight captures King Arthur and challenges him to find out what women desire the most or lose his head. His nephew Gawain decides to help him and ends up having to marry an ugly lady who helped him find the answer, but then it turns out that her ugliness is actually a curse, which the answer he discovered helps him undo. 

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight - I read it in translation by Bernard O’Donoghue, for the simple reason that it was the one I stumbled upon in a bookstore, but I can’t find it online. There are several other available, however; the one I’m linking is by Jessie Weston. With a movie recently being out, you probably know the gist of the plot: a green stranger arrives at king’s court and challenges Arthur’s knights to give him a blow of an axe and then, a year later, receive the same blow in return. So Gawain accepts the challenge and chops the Green Knight’s head off, but he puts the head back on, and now Gawain is due to lose his head in a year. As he rides off to meet his fate, he stays at a castle belonging to a married couple, where his honour is tested (and things get pretty gay). 

The “Arthurian” Portion of the Roman de Brut by Wace - this one is not one of my favourites, to be honest, even though the language is really beautiful in some parts, but I think it’s important. It tells about Arthur’s ancestors, Uther’s rise to power, Merlin’s origins (which I found the most interesting part), Arthur’s rise to power, various conquests and death. Mostly conquests, which is why I wasn’t too engrossed. 

Le Morte d’Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory (Volume 1, Volume 2) - this is one of those foundational works, a XV century attempt to put all the main Arthurian legends together. Arthur’s birth and the start of his reign, Lancelot and Guinevere, Tristan and Isolde, the quest for the Holy Grail, the fall of Camelot - it’s all here. There are various editions, but I don’t know which to suggest, because I made a questionable decision to read the original (the one I’m linking) which is not very easy to read because of the old language. 

Prose Tristan and Povest ‘o Trystchane - I love the Tristan and Isolde stories not so much because I like the main couple but because they’re usually a lot of fun. Shenanigans, wild adventures, horniness, the “everyone’s a little in love with everyone” vibes... My preferred version of all I’ve read is Tristan’s part of Le Morte d’Arthur, but these two are also cool. They’re pretty similar until the second one (the XVI Belarusian version) starts diverging greatly (there’s a whole subplot where Tristan, Isolde, and Guinevere travel to save Arthur from captivity, it’s wild).

Morien - a Dutch romance about a young Moorish knight who goes on a quest to find his biological father and ends up having some adventures with Gawain and Lancelot. I like it because searching for one’s father is such a... normal reason for a quest, something perfectly understandable to a modern person, unlike many of the more outlandish ideas that appear in some other romances. 

[hangovercurse]

Thesis

After a bad day, Colson comes over to take care of you, only to find out about a secret you’ve been keeping from him.

Request: “I was wondering if you could do a Kells fic where he's dating the reader and finds out she is c*tting, and helps her. Its total ok if you aren't comfortable writing this though 🖤”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: discussion and depictions of self-harm, cursing, angst

A/N: Gonna get really serious with this one: If you are struggling with self-harm (in all forms, not just those discussed in this text) or issues with your mental health, please reach out to someone! Family, friends, anyone. I know it’s hard and you may feel like no one cares, but I promise someone does. If you don’t feel comfortable telling someone you know, message me. My page is a safe space and I will never judge you. I promise you, the world is a much better place with you in it and you deserve to take up space, you deserve to be happy.  

On that note, do not read this if you feel it may be triggering to you, please.

Word Count: 2457

 You sighed as you read the email subject Re: Y/L/N Final Thesis Revised 2. Every time your doctoral advisor sent you an email in response to any work on your thesis, it wasn’t good.

Ms. Y/L/N,

I regret to inform you that the corrections that you have made are still not adequate enough for submission to the board. Please read my notes attached for further work to be done.

You didn’t even bother reading the rest of the email, instead choosing to slam your head down against your wooden desk. “Fuck!” You yelled to your empty house.

You had rewritten your doctoral thesis 4 times already and submitted for approval twice, both of which were rejected. Your advisor was trying to be patient with you, but you could tell his tolerance was running low. “What am I doing wrong?” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes as you let your head rest against the wood.

Maybe you’re just not smart enough. That unhelpful voice in your mind chimed in, making you groan. Seriously though, if you were smarter, then you would have been approved already.

Your chest started tightening and you felt nauseous, tears coming to your eyes. You reached around for your phone, hearing Colson’s voice in your mind. “If you have a bad day, text me. You can always talk to me.”

Hey

You texted him, hoping he would respond soon. Your breathing was getting heavier and you just wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t the voice in your head.

Hey, I’m in the studio rn, everything ok?

My thesis got rejected

Again :(

I’m sorry babe

Wanna see you

Colson didn’t answer for a few moments, and you had a feeling he was letting out a frustrated sigh. You hated bothering him at work, it always made you feel like a nuisance to him.

I can’t leave right now

:(

You’ll be okay

It’s just a paper

Now it was your turn to let out a sigh. Colson didn’t exactly understand why this was so important to you. Every time you got upset after it didn’t turn out well, he told you the same thing, “It’s just a paper, you can just rewrite it.”

But it’s not just a paper. It’s currently the only thing standing between you and a doctorate degree. And you’ve rewritten it four times before.

He’s just sick of you whining about it.

You annoy him

He doesn’t care about you

You got up from your desk and made your way to the bathroom, not sure if you were going to throw up or do something worse. The voice kept speaking, her incessant words running through your head.

You know what’ll make you feel better.

And you did. You had been trying to stop, and you were doing pretty good until a few weeks ago. Up until that point it was rare, a few times a month. Now it was 4 times a week; more days than not.

You reached under your bathroom counter, pulling out the small, inconspicuous makeup bag. You brought it over and set it on the edge of the bathtub, sitting on the floor next to it.

The zipper felt familiar under your fingers as you pulled it, the metal coming into view. Your secret stash of hellish paradise.

You pulled one of the razers out, feeling the coolness on your skin. Pulling up the sleeve of your sweater, you placed the sharp edge against the fragile skin on your wrist. You took a deep breath as you slid it across the skin, not even wincing at the pain. The blood rolling out of the wound was beautiful to you, a therapy in itself. You laid the arm over the bathtub, taking another slice at your wrist.

You had to be careful not to go too close to the hand or else the sweaters you wore could ride up and expose you, and you couldn’t make too many cuts or someone would be bound to notice.

Once you had made 4 slits in your skin, you stopped. The razor fell to the edge of the bathtub as you watched the blood drip down your arm, gravity pulling it towards your hand to pool in your palm. As fucked up as it was, you liked the view. The pain barely registered to you anymore.

It felt like all the fears were draining from your body with the blood. You knew it would all come back eventually, but in this moment, you felt peace. Your stomach stopped turning and your chest loosened. And for just a little while, the voices in your head were gone.

You laid there for probably 30 minutes, the peaceful silence engulfing you. Eventually you came back to your senses, realizing the mess you had made. You sighed, standing up and turning the faucet on. You watched the blood that sat in the tub wash away before running your arm under the water. It stung a bit, but the blood disappeared from your arm, leaving you with the visual of 4 dark red cuts.

Once the tub was clean, you moved to the cabinets under the sink again, this time grabbing a package of band-aids and covering the marks that were bleeding slightly after the water pressure opened them up again. You ran the blade under water from the sink to clean it before throwing it back in the bag and hiding it. Satisfied that all evidence of your sins was gone, you pulled down the sleeves of your sweater and made your way to your couch to watch a true crime documentary.

A little over a half hour later Colson texted you.

Picking up your favorite food :)

Be over in 10

You smiled at your phone for a second before guilt crept into your mind. How could you think that he doesn’t care about you? He’s never done anything but love you.

You are the world’s worst girlfriend.

You bit your lip, trying to make the thoughts go away. You didn’t want to be upset when Colson got there, it would spoil his whole night.

It didn’t quite work, but you were able to put on a fake smile when he got to your door. He set the bags of food on your coffee table before flopping on top of you on the couch. His face buried into your neck, pressing soft kisses onto the skin all over. He did this whenever he knew you were sad, it made you laugh.

He sat up, looking down on you, “how’s my girl doing?” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Better now that you’re here.” You mumbled, throwing your clothed arms around his middle and pulling him back against you. He chuckled and flipped you around so his back was against the couch and you were resting on his chest.

You smiled at him, you don’t deserve him, the voice screamed. You ignored it, burying your head into his shirt, the smell of him filling your nose. “What’re we watching?”

Your voice was muffled by the fabric, “The Vanishing of Elisa Lam.”

He looked up, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “of course we are.”

“We can watch something else.” You mumbled. Colson chuckled and sat up, pulling you with him to rest in his lap, your back against his chest.

His long arm reached to grab the food off the table, setting one box in your hands. “Your weird true crime show is fine, babe. You choose tonight.” He kissed your cheek, making you smile and sink further into his chest.

A little while passed and you had both finished your food, placing the empty boxes on the table. Colson’s arms were around your waist and you moved to hold his hands. You had tried wrapped your palm over the back of his hand, but he flipped his hand so his palm encased yours. As the documentary played, he began to rub circles into your skin subconsciously, moving down your wrist slowly.

In his arms you momentarily forgot about your session in the bathroom from earlier, but when his thumb brushed against the bandage on your arm you were shocked back into reality. “What’s that?” He mumbled, chin resting on your shoulder and looking down to the shirt sleeve.

“Nothing, I cut myself doing dishes earlier.” You lied, it being second nature at this point.

Colson’s hand moved to the edge of your sleeve, moving to roll it up. “You’re so clumsy sometimes.”

You yanked your arm out of his hand as you felt the fabric moving up, “what are you doing?” You asked, holding your arm closer to yourself subconsciously.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I was gonna kiss it better.” He mumbled.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to.” You sighed, turning your attention back to the TV. He didn’t like that answer and based off of your reaction, he could tell something was up.

He reached to hold your arm again, and you relaxed into his touch, thinking he would just hold your hand. Instead, he dragged your sleeve up your arm, exposing four band-aids on your wrist and older, exposed scars.

“Colson!” You yelled, standing up and wiggling out of his grasp.

He had a shocked expression on his face that slowly turned into a mixture of concern and hurt. He tried to form words but was struggling. Finally, he got out a whispered “why?”

You bit your tongue, arms wrapped around your body as you faced away from him. Your breathing got heavy and you could feel tears coming to your eyes. He’s definitely gonna leave you now.

When you didn’t respond he stood up slowly, walking towards you and wrapping his arms around you. His lips met the top of your head briefly before replacing them with his chin.

The feeling of his embrace was enough to send your walls crashing down, tears finally falling down your face. You shook in his arms, your knees buckling under you. He whispered as he held you up, “hey hey hey hey, I’m here, baby. I’m right here. You can talk to me.” He led you back to the couch, pulling you back into his lap. You turned towards him and buried your face into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had before.

Your sniffles filled the room, followed by your quiet “I’m sorry.”

Colson shook his head, taking your face in his hand and moving it away from his skin so you were forced to look at him. “You don’t have to be sorry.” You nodded and he slowly wiped the tears from under your eyes. The soft motion made you calm down ever so slightly. After a few minutes of being held, your sobs stopped, tears not falling as hard. “Can we talk about this.”

You sniffled but nodded your head, your eyes not meeting his. “I’m not gonna be upset with you, or angry. I just need you to be honest with me, okay?” He asked, his blue eyes searching your face. You simply nodded again, turning your head all the way down so your nose was parallel to the floor. The top of your head pressed against Colson’s chest.

“How long?” His voice was a whisper, but it held an infinity of emotion.

You mumbled out a response, “a while.” You could feel how fast his heart was beating, “Before I met you. It’s just gotten a lot worse lately.”

He nodded, sucking his lips in. “Why didn’t you talk to me? You know you can always talk to me, darling.”

New tears fell from your eyes. “I tried to.” You whispered, feeling guilty. His hand moved to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

He took a few moments to remember what you were talking about before he sighed. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were so upset. I didn’t know.” He whispered, “But I know now, so from now on you gotta tell me if you feel like doing this to yourself.”

You nodded against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. Don’t be sorry, why are you sorry?” He asked

You shrugged, “sorry you have to deal with me.”

He grabbed your face again, this time forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t ever say that again. Okay? I fucking love you. You’re going through some shit right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop loving you. I don’t want you to ever think that.” As he spoke his harsh tone got softer, quieter.

“I just don’t feel like I’m good enough, for anything.” You slumped into him, your head laying on his shoulder.

His arms pulled you further into him, “Y/N, you are the smartest, most amazing, most beautiful person I’ve ever met. You’re literally about to become a doctor! That’s fucking incredible. I am so proud of you.”

“’m not really gonna be a doctor.” You mumbled, “I can’t get this fucking thesis approved.”

He sighed into your hair, “You are going to get through this. You have worked your ass off to get here, I know you’re not gonna let a stupid paper get in your way.” He pressed a kiss into your hair and you looked up to him, a pout still on your face. “Baby you aren’t just good enough, you’re better. I know it feels shitty right now but you’re gonna get through this. And I’m gonna be right here with you.”

He leaned down and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. It took a second, but you kissed him back. “Thank you.” You whispered when you pulled away, reaching up to wipe your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“I love you.” He whispered, “do you think we could throw your blades away?” He asked softly.

“I might need your help.” You whispered. He nodded, lifting you off his lap and standing up. He grabbed your hand and you led him to your bathroom. You found the bag and handed it to him. “I can’t…” You whispered, trying to stop the tears you felt behind your eyes.

Colson nodded, taking it from you and opening it, frowning at the metal inside. “I don’t want to throw them away here, because you could get them out of the trash later. So, I’m gonna take them back to my house tomorrow and I’ll throw them out there.”

You nodded, hand squeezing his. You moved closer to him, resting your free hand on his shoulder, and pressing your cheek against his chest. “I love you.”

He smiled down at you, wrapping his arm around you, “I love you too.”

[greyeyedmonster-18]

Hi! Can I ask about your writing process? Do you prefer to finish your multi chapter fics (especially the really long ao3 ones) first before publishing or do you write as you go? Do you create an outline or prefer to wing it? How do you go about worldbuilding?

(Sorry for so many questions, I’m really curious)

neverrrr apologize for questions! Also brave of you to ask me about this (as there are so many talented writers on here who have it together much more but im happy to help!!

Answers below the cut

1. I finish my fics before they go up on AO3. I won't publish anything unless ive got it written (usually badly, were about shitty first drafts here) from start to finish. Im AMAZED at writers who can write and publish and write and publish bit by bit. I wouldnt be able to do that. Like...what do you mean you havent written the ending yet???? ((Ive talked about not reading WIPs before because anxiety. But like it applies to my own work too. I need to know how it ends, i need to know EVERYTHING. So i feel bad sometimes breaking hearts when i know it ends happily and i just have to...watch the heartache)

2. When i start a fic, it starts with an idea and then i DUMP. Every single scenario i have, bits of dialogue, etc etc, gets dumped. And from the dumpage, i give myself an arbitrary chapter count (like literally ill say "13 chapters") and then make an outline number 1-13 and chronologue my dumping bits.

And then i wing it. So like with ten reasons, the idea was remus crying in car. And then i wrote bits around that...and then it kept going.

3. To me its about the characters and their relationships!! I actually dont think i world build particularly well ((you know who does? @theonlywolfpants)) and i really rely on the relationships and feelings to do it for me.

So like...for ten reasons it was in the U.P. i used memories that remus had to describe it? Or like his grumpy complaints? "Pumpkin patches in the fall, summer barbeques down by the lake" "took 40 minutes to get somewhere for decent coffee" "neighbors houses were too close together or too far apart" etc etc.

same with sirius in that fic. Im outing myself but you can go back and read but i never ever described what his house looked like or the "world" really. Or even what the coffee shop looked like (it was just done through remus's memories of studying there and cherry lattes)

SO I AM UNHELPFUL for this one. I think my answer is...the other part of making an imaginary world is thinking about how your people move in it?

Xoxo

[imagining-in-the-margins]

WIP Challenge Snippets!

Big thank you to everyone who requested something. I love hearing what ideas you all are excited for! I'll put each of the snippets below in alphabetical order. All but one are just dialogue - I'm currently at a point where that's all I have done for most of my WIPs.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, only smut fics were requested, so minors please DNI!

Hope you enjoy!

Centerfold*

I'm still unsure if this will be a mini-series or a oneshot. I have no freaking clue. Here's a snippet of dialogue, though! Starts with Derek.

“Alright kid, spill the beans.” “Did you know that phrase could stem from numerous possible practices? It could just be a reference to vomiting, but there’s an alternate explanation involving an ancient voting practice of dropping colored beans into a jar and—“ “Not gonna work on me, Reid.” “Fine.” (whispers) “That girl in that magazine? The ‘Vegas Vixen?’ I lost my virginity to her.” “You’re messing with me.” “No! I’m not! I swear that I am not messing with you.” “There’s no way.” “Would I make that up?!” “To mess with me? Yeah, maybe.”

Coquette*

This is a long work that has been heavily inquired about and a very long time coming, so here is a long snippet of dialogue to continue the trend. Starts with Spencer.

“Don’t sound so scared. I’m not going to tell anyone.” “I-I know.” “Do you?” “No. I just hoped not…” “What were you planning if I said I was going to?” “Where are we going? I never told you my address.” “I need to drive around in case someone is following us.” “Oh. That makes sense.” “Answer my question.” “I… hadn’t considered it.” “That’s a lie.” “Fine. I would make a deal with you.” “Tell me the deal. Maybe I’ve changed my mind.” “I won’t tell everyone how hard you got for me when I danced on your lap if you don’t tell them I’m a stripper.” “A tempting offer, although I’m not very ashamed of being turned on by a woman who’s made a career out of being tantalizing, Coquette.” “What’s your idea of a good deal, then?” “Hmmm… My silence in exchange for whatever you were willing to offer me before you found out who I was.” “What are you implying?” “I know a lot about that club… And that it was your first night in the backroom. But your nerves tell me you knew what you were there for.” “Are you seriously propositioning me right now? Through blackmail?” “You asked me what a good deal was, not what I would ask for.” “So what would you ask for?” “Your address. So I can take you home.”

H2M Epilogue*

This whole part makes me want to melt, but here is a funny dialogue snippet.

Derek: “Alright, I know you love to break rules, but Penelope made me doorman for a reason.” Reader: “You really want to pick a fight with me? On my wedding day? I know you know me, Derek Morgan. I know you know better than to stand between me and my husband.” Derek: “He’s not your husband yet, Princess.” Spencer: “Actually, we had a courthouse ceremony a few weeks ago, just in case something happened and we had to miss this ceremony.” (Reader tackles him as he walks up to the door) Derek: “Hopeless. And selfish. Penelope is going to kill me, you know.”

Lane Courtesy* (Franklin)

This fic is purely for my beta @sunlight-moonrise, but y'all can read it if you want. Starts with Franklin.

“Maybe it’d be easier if you bought clothes that fit.” “I think I look pretty good in what I’m wearing. And I think you think so, too. Besides... it’s all in the wrist, anyway. You wanna see?” (She grabs his ball, he grabs her arm) “Don’t worry, babe. I’m good at handling men’s balls.” “Oh, I bet you are.” “Plus, I promise I’ll give them back to you after.”

Practice Makes Perfect* (backburner)

This is a very old original idea I had. I'm not sure if/when I'll ever get around to it - if anyone wants it, I'd love to hand over the dialogue I have so far. Here is a snippet regardless! Starts with Spencer.

“Hey (y/n), what—" “Spencer! Can I come in?” “C-come in? Into my room?” “Uh... yeah.” “But you... you’re... you’re dressed like a...” “A stripper, yeah. Are you going to make me stand out here like this longer?” (He lets her in) “Is there something I can do?” “Can I dance on you?” “What?” “I want to give you a lap dance. Please.” “A lap— why?" “Who else am I going to ask? Hotch? Please, Spencer. You’re the only person I trust.” “Trust?” “Please stop rephrasing everything I say as a question.”

Shortbread (Chip)

Love me some Sub!Chip. This is honestly probably on the backburner. I've been in a very Spencer mood lately. Starts with Chip.

“Can I ask you something?” “What’s up, sweetheart?” “Why are you so nice to me all the time?” “What do you mean?” “You don’t really know me. But ever since I met you, you’ve always just been nice to me. I mean, I know you’re nice to everyone, but it feels…” “Different? It should.”

Seatbelt Safety* (Chip)

Gosh, this fic is so short, I really need to just write it. Uber Driver Chip. Starts with Reader.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. I kind of needed to act a bit crazy.” “Why?” “I was trying to get out a super awkward date.” “By running into the street?” “Trust me. It was a bad date.” “Oh. Well, I’m sorry you had a bad date.” “It’s fine. You know how it goes.” “Not really. Haven’t had a date in a long time.” “Why is that?” “Idunno.” “Hm.” “What?” “You wanna go on a date with me?” “What?” “Let’s go on a date.” “... What?” “Most people say yes or no. ‘What’ isn’t very helpful. Is this why you can’t get a date?” “I can get a date! I just... haven’t been asked by anyone in awhile. And definitely not like that. That was weird.”

Study Session* (requested three times!):

I have a lot of this done already, so you get an actual sneak peek here!

“Listen closely, young lady,” he said like I had any other option. Like I wasn’t enraptured and enchanted by the feel of his warm breath once again hitting my ear. He could feel the way breath stuttered and my body stumbled straight into him with eager hands. I could almost feel his smirk against my ear when he concluded, “I would never... ever sleep with you.” And just like that, he was gone. He didn’t just drop me; he tossed me to his side like the very notion of being that close to me disgusted him. The desire that had been burning inside of my chest quickly shifted to rage. He could pretend like he didn’t want me, but there was no other justification for bringing me out to the back in the first place. There was no reason to allow me to confront him, nor for him to discuss my sex life in any manner at all. Seconds after we were both inside again, I grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back to me. Surprisingly, there was very little resistance. It was almost like he was waiting for me to do it. I tugged him into the small, dimly lit bathroom without a care in the world for who might have seen us or what whispers might follow. Spencer was already laughing, apparently amused by anger rolling off of me. “Say it again,” I ordered through heavy breaths, “Say it to my face.” I’d prepared myself for a number of responses — most of which were varying levels of humiliating. What I hadn’t prepared for, however, were the words that actually came out of his mouth. Casually, and without question, Spencer ordered, “Get on your knees.” He was so calm that I felt like it must have been a trick. It took everything in me not to fall to my knees, and instead I managed to ask, “Why?” His answer was equally unhelpful and alluring. “Because I said so.”

The Agent Assigned to My Webcam*

This is a beast of a fic, so it'll also be a while. There were so many parts I could show you, but I thought this one was the most thought provoking.

Reader: “Wait! Sorry, I-I... uh... Can I see your ring?” Spencer: “... Sure.” Reader: “Thanks. What did you say your name was?” Spencer: “I didn’t.” (He leaves, she follows him into the empty hallway) Reader: “Do I know you, Doctor Reid?” Spencer: “No.” Reader: “Are you sure?” Spencer: “I could ask you the same thing.” Reader: “Drop your pants and I’ll tell you exactly how sure I am.” Luke: (walks in) “Sorry. Am I... interrupting something?”

That's all for now, folks!

Thanks for reading. If you feel so inclined, let me know what you thought about any of the above here!

[lettheladylead]

Not Your Aunt

Chapter 7: Huey [ao3 link]

It’d been two days since her chat with Dewey and Goldie found herself still in Scrooge’s home. Normally she would’ve left the morning after her little visit, but he’d been so busy with all of his family’s craziness that they hadn’t really had a chance to talk yet. Donald had apparently just left on a trip with his girlfriend and some clone children and everyone was adjusting to all the news and everything they’d been through.

So Goldie figured she would just...wait around. She’d informed the necessary people that she was alive, shockingly, after being missing for a few weeks, so she could take a few more days to herself. And it wasn’t like Scrooge didn’t know she was there; she’d still spent both nights in his bed, but he’d been falling asleep pretty quickly and getting up early and this whole situation they were in felt disturbingly domestic. She’d probably need to leave sooner or later, before anyone started to think she was moving in.

At that particular moment, Goldie was situated on the living room couch, wearing a tank top and sweatpants and flipping through the channels on the TV without much thought. Scrooge was at another meeting at the Money Bin and if she didn’t know any better she’d almost think he was avoiding her with all of his late night meetings. Actually, she didn’t really know better, since this was kind of a new situation for them, but...well...what was she supposed to do about it? Go with him? That sounded terribly boring.

A home redecorating show she liked came on and Goldie decided to forget everything else and just sit back and try to enjoy it. Overthinking things with Scrooge never worked out well for her. It was one of many reasons why after over a hundred years, she felt out of place just sitting in his home without him.

The pitter patter of tiny feet coming her way didn’t ease that feeling at all, either.

She glanced to the right as the other triplet - Huey, she was confident she had that right - picked himself up and plopped himself on the couch next to her. She’d never had a single conversation with this child, but she’d stolen from him and knew he kept a ridiculous number of things hidden under his tiny little hat. It was fascinating. But otherwise she didn’t know much about him or why he would be attempting to interact with her.

“I’d like to go over some scheduling issues,” he said suddenly, pulling a notebook and a pen out from under his hat.

Goldie glanced around the room briefly and then back at him. “...with me?”

“Yes,” Huey responded matter-of-factly. “If you’re going to be staying here for a while or living here or whatever’s happening with you, ideally I’d love to add you to the shared family calendar.”

“...what?”

“...but assuming you’re just here for a few days and then coming and going at your leisure, just knowing ahead of time when you and Uncle Scrooge are having your date nights would be perfect.” He took notes while he was talking, as if Goldie had given him even a single answer. “I like to know where he is in case we need him for anything. I’m sure you understand.”

“I, uh…” Goldie took a moment to go over everything he said and quickly shook her head. “Your uncle and I do not have ‘date nights’.”

“Well maybe not this time around since he’s been so busy, but isn’t that the plan?” Huey asked genuinely, still taking notes on who-knew-what. “Once he’s free I assume you’ll get dinner and have a talk about your relationship and our family. And other adult date stuff.”

Goldie responded to that with the most neutral, unemotional stare that Huey had ever received. She took the remote and muted the television before turning her whole body towards the nosy child next to her, lifting her feet up onto the couch. “And why exactly do you assume that?”

Huey tilted his head at her. “Oh...sorry, isn’t that right? Dewey said you’d been wandering around waiting to talk to Uncle Scrooge so that’s just the conclusion I drew. Plus you’re...y’know, still here even though he’s not. And you’re not stealing anything.”

“I have other hobbies.”

He pointed to the TV with his pen. “Like the Property Brothers?”

Goldie glanced at the screen and then back at the kid. “Even if, hypothetically, you were right about all of that, I am absolutely not ever joining your family calendar.”

Huey shook his head. “I don’t know why you’d say that like it’s a bad thing. Don’t you want to be organized?”

“I’m plenty organized by myself.”

“But if you were synced with us, then you’d know when Uncle Scrooge or Louie is available to spend time with.”

Goldie paused for a moment and stared at him. She’d barely spoken to her favorite of Della’s kids since arriving at the house and having him brought up felt like some kind of dig. She wasn’t sure how to respond to it without getting defensive and she wasn’t even sure what she’d be getting defensive about. “...I prefer the element of surprise. Keeps the boys on their toes.”

Huey shook his head and shrugged. “So how long are you staying here? Can I at least know that?”

“I’m not really sure,” Goldie answered, leaning fully against the back of the couch. It was pretty comfy. “Not too long. I’ve got other places to be.”

“...extremely vague and unhelpful,” Huey mumbled, jotting something down in his notebook. “You and Uncle Scrooge are quite the pair.”

Goldie only responded to that with a short hum, grabbing the remote to get back to her show.

“Can I ask you something else?”

She sighed and put the remote back down. “It’s not like I can stop you.”

Huey turned his body fully towards her, one leg up on the couch and one still dangling. “Well...if I’m making you really uncomfortable or anything, I can stop.”

Goldie raised an eyebrow at him, surprised by the suggestion, but quickly waved it off. “What’s your question?”

“Are you planning on marrying Uncle Scrooge?”

If she’d been drinking anything, she would’ve spit it out at that moment. Goldie could say with absolute certainty that she did not see that question coming. “What could I have possibly said to make you think that?”

“Not you,” Huey said earnestly. “I just noticed that everyone seems to call you Aunt Goldie and I remember in one of Uncle Scrooge’s journals he wrote about marriage when he wrote about you so I assumed you two have had a conversation about it at least once or twice. Right?”

Goldie’s eyes widened and she felt heat rising in her chest that she couldn’t explain away as simple heartburn. She hoped her face wasn’t red to match, because this kid was clearly observant and blunt and she didn’t need the whole family thinking she wanted to get married and move in. “I, uh…” Goldie cleared her throat awkwardly. “...no, it’s not something we’ve really talked about.”

Huey looked at her in confusion. “Not really or not at all?”

She grimaced and sighed and moved her hands around her face as she tried to put her thoughts together. “It’s not...I mean, it’s not never come up, it’s just...it’s complicated. It’d be hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

Goldie frowned and barely stopped herself from glaring at him. “...y’know what, if your uncle is the one writing Goldie McDuck in little hearts all over his workbooks, maybe you should talk to him about it, hm?”

Huey blinked up at her. “I guess I can do that. He’s just always very secretive when it comes to you.”

That got her attention a little more than it should’ve. Goldie sighed internally and didn’t bother trying to stop herself. “...what do you mean by that?”

“Well, like…” Huey moved so both of his legs were dangling again and he could swing them around. “I love romance a lot. I love to read about it and watch romantic movies...my friend Fenton and his girlfriend Gandra are so sweet together and Uncle Donald and his girlfriend are also really sweet together and I really love that for both of them. But then you and Uncle Scrooge seem like you’re happy sometimes but then when I ask him about you he gets all grumbly and doesn’t answer my questions, so that’s not a good sign. But I’m really curious about it because I know there’s all different types of romance out there and I don’t even know how the two of you met.”

Goldie hummed quietly and stared at the wall over the TV, considering her response. She definitely wouldn’t describe her and Scrooge’s relationship as ‘sweet,’ but she’d never tried to sum it up into one word before. “...the way we met is also very...complicated.”

“It seems like everything about you two is complicated.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” she said with a short, quiet laugh. “I do love your uncle, but it’s just-...!”

Huey gasped, and Goldie froze at the realization of what she’d just said. She stared directly at Huey who looked more excited than he’d been for any of the rest of their conversation. He was suddenly fully engaged thanks to her accidental use of the l-word. She glanced away from him and hoped she could stumble over that, but she’d paused for too long for them to simply move past it.

It wasn’t like she’d never said it before, but absolutely never to someone in his family. That would be...too much.

“You do?!” Huey asked - his notepad down and leaning towards her and putting his hands on his cheeks. “Does Uncle Scrooge know? Has he said it too? That’s so romantic!”

Goldie groaned and looked back at the TV, only to see the couple fixing up their house snuggling on the camera. “I mean, look. We’ve been...well, it’s been over a hundred years, so yeah these things are bound to be said at some point-”

Huey let out a tiny, adorable little squeal that Goldie refused to find endearing.

“Alright, I’ve changed my mind!” Huey announced, grabbing his pen and notepad again. “I’m completely fine to call you Aunt Goldie!”

“Wait, what?” Goldie stared at him, feeling very confused like she’d missed a whole big part of their conversation. “You know we’re still not getting married, right?”

“Well, Aunt Goldie,” Huey said with a smirk. “I now know that you’re mutually in love and probably have been for a very long time, so whether you want to be or not, that means you’re part of the family!”

She sighed and lightly scratched her neck.

“Do you have any other family?”

Goldie looked surprised at the sudden question, not expecting this child to suddenly change conversation topics like his brother. “...no, I don’t.”

“Oh,” Huey responded, looking a little sad. “Did they...I mean, you’re as old as Uncle Scrooge, right? So they’re...uh…”

“Dead, yeah,” Goldie said with a shrug.

“I’m sorry!” Huey looked down at his hands. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

She watched him look like he was about to go into some shame spiral and Goldie quickly reached out a hand and plopped it on his head. “Don’t worry about it, it was a long time ago. And we were never close to begin with,” she added with another shrug.

Huey glanced back up at her, blushing a bit from the unexpected physical affection. “Does that mean you never introduced them to Uncle Scrooge?”

Goldie couldn’t stop herself and let out a short laugh, moving her hand from Huey’s head to cover her beak. “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled as she collected herself. “No, God no, absolutely not.”

He moved his hat back to the position he preferred it in. “Have you met Uncle Scrooge’s parents?”

“Ah...sort of-” Goldie started, but suddenly she froze. She thought about his line of questioning for a second before turning to glare at Huey completely. “What are you writing?”

Huey looked up from his notebook and let out a small chirp as he noticed Goldie’s expression. “Um...I’m just taking notes…”

“Taking notes about what?” Goldie asked as she reached out and grabbed the notebook away from him. Huey struggled to grab it back but Goldie held him down with her other hand.

She scanned over the open page and saw that he’d written notes on all the information she’d given him (about herself, about her and Scrooge’s relationship) and her tone of voice and expression when talking about them. She flipped to another page to see similar notes and rolled her eyes before throwing the notepad back at Huey.

Huey caught it and did his best to avoid her gaze.

“Should I even ask?”

He shoved the notepad and pen under his hat again and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Goldie pinched the bridge of her beak. “I’m not upset, I’m just confused. Did Scrooge tell you to come talk to me?”

“Huh?” Huey mirrored her confusion. “No, of course not! It was nothing like that!”

“Then…?”

He sighed awkwardly. “Dewey said he got an interview with you and I didn’t believe him and then we got into an argument about it and he said he had the best interviewing skills in the family, but I’m the one with the Interviewing Badge which I’ve had for several years so I wanted to...prove him wrong, I guess.” Huey covered his eyes with his hands and sighed. “Ugh, this is so stupid. I’m really sorry.”

Goldie raised an eyebrow and reached over to tug his hands away from his eyes. “Kid, it’s fine. I can always understand the urge to prove you’re better than someone else,” she said with a smirk.

Huey looked at her for a few moments before smiling. “So it’s okay if I show this to Dewey?”

She glanced at his hat and then back down at his eyes, which were sparkling and genuine and he was just a very cute kid and Goldie hated how that seemed to be something that affected her these days. She held back a sigh and let go of his arms. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s not like I said anything that’s a secret.”

“Thank you, Aunt Goldie!” Huey said happily right before he jumped forward and wrapped his arms around her neck.

Goldie let out a surprised OOF! and didn’t hug back, just stared off towards the wall on the other side of the room.

Huey moved back away from her and kept smiling. “Louie’s right, you’re a lot nicer than Uncle Scrooge says you are!” he said as he hopped off the couch. “Thanks for talking to me! I hope you didn’t miss anything important on your show.”

“...nothing important ever happens on this show,” Goldie mumbled as Huey waddled away - probably towards the boys’ shared bedroom. She frowned and tried to will away the blush on her cheeks from the light physical affection. It was disturbing to her how much a little hand-hold or a hug made her feel like she had butterflies in her stomach. It was more than disturbing! She was practically going soft.

She sighed and thought about what Huey said before he left. Maybe she needed to have a chat with Sharpie.

[mrsalwayswrite]

These Hands Were Made For You (Bill Guarnere x Reader)

Based on this post by @problematicfavesareproblematic​ because its amazing!

This is my first time writing Wild Bill. Lemme know what y’all think!

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension, palming (is that a warning?)

Words:2600

Tag List: @happyveday​ @sydney-m​ @saritanotserena​

  As soon as you stepped into the barn-converted-to-mess-hall in Albourne, you knew what was coming. 

 "There she is, fuckin' goddess of war herself! Come to see how the toughest, most handsome sonofabitch in the 506 is doin' this morning?" 

 You just chuckled and shook your head at his exaggerated smug look. "Yeah, Bill. Something like that."

 Guarnere winked at you and you could not figure out how it was possible for such a simple action to be so dirty. The way he tilted his head just slightly, the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smirk followed by a quick wink...you could feel heat pooling in your belly and your breath catch. 

 The cocky grin on his face grew as he saw the hint of pink on your cheeks. He knew what that wink did to you and he LOVED using it against you. 

 Bastard. 

 "Something you need, Y/L/N?" Martin asked from the table closest to the door.  

 "Yeah, any of you seen Lip?"

 Luz answered from the table, cigarette dangling from between his lips. "Think he went back to the house to grab something. Why?"

 You waved Luz off as you could see him start to stand, stepping further into the barn. "Just need to ask him something. Winters is in a meeting otherwise I'd ask him."

 "Why don't you take a seat, he should be back soon."

 "Perfect spot saved right here for the Valkyrie of Easy!" Bill announced, patting the open spot on the bench next to him. 

 You rolled your eyes but relented, moving past the other table to drop next to Guarnere. On his other side sat Heffron, still looking a bit wide-eyed and nervous that he somehow won the coveted spot with the Toccoa men. Toye sat across, giving you a brief nod when you sat down. Perconte, Christianson, Skinny, and Grant also took up residence around the table. Perco seemed to have been in the middle of telling some overly, exaggerated story. 

 Most of Easy relaxed in the barn. The Toccoa men were grateful for the break from the front-line and hot food instead of K rations. All the replacements were eager for the next jump, ready to soil their ODs, not truly understanding that war would only take from them, never give. The division between Toccoa men and replacements was painfully obvious. 

 Heffron leaned around Guarnere to meet your eyes. "Hey, sorry again about the fellas yesterday. They've been like that since training."

 "Not your fault, Babe." You shrugged, running a hand through your hair. 

 "What's he talkin' about?" Guarnere narrowed his eyes at you. Even Toye across the table was staring at you in concern. 

 "Nothing, Bill. It's fine."

 "If you're sayin' its fine then it ain't fuckin' fine." He growled. When he realized you were not going to elaborate, he turned on Babe. "What the fuck happened?"

 The redheaded replacement looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world in that moment than being interrogated by Wild Bill. "Some of the men were...ah, tryin' to...um… proposition her." He finished with a wince. 

 A long beat of silence.

 Then Guarnere exploded. 

 He pounded the table with a tight fist, the table shaking at the impact.  A snarl on his lips, he started to rise from his seat, eyeing the tables further away full of replacements. "Who the fuck was it? Someone from our platoon? Imma fuckin' kill 'em. Who was it?"

 "No," you cut in, grabbing his arm and restraining him, hoping to stop him before he worked himself up into a frenzy, "some replacements from third."

 He growled but let you pull him back down. "Goddamn replacements. They touch you?"

 "No, Bill. I handled it."

 Toye spoke up, eyeing his friend carefully as if to see if he was going to have to prevent a replacement's murder or help hide the body. "What you do?"

 You smirked, squeezing Guarnere's arm for good measure then pulled your hand back into your lap. "Told them if they tried to pull that shit again, I'd rip their cocks off and mail them to their mothers."

 All the men at the table either winced or shifted uncomfortably at the mental image. 

 "Hey, don't you be touchin' no one's cocks." Bill said, fury still on his face but also amusement. 

 You raised an eyebrow, "what would you rather I have done? Swung at them? Give Sink a reason to send me packing?"

 "Nah, you swing at 'em, they might fall in love." He winked at you again, telling you he knew exactly what he was talking about. Underneath the table, hidden from view, his knuckles skimmed the outside of your thigh. You attempted to hide the shiver that caused but knew you failed when Guarnere chuckled quietly.

 "Why would that matter?" Babe asked innocently. 

 "Oh, here we go." Toye sighed. 

 "Shut up Joe, the kid asked alright." Guarnere started his story, pleased to have a new, rapt audience. "So here we are, back in Toccoa, right? Most of us have already arrived and started trainin' with goddamn Sobel. Then one day this beautiful broad shows up and we're told she's joinin' the paratroopers. None of us believe it. Why would a broad be joinin'? Don't make no fuckin' sense. So the next day we're supposed to be startin' to learn self-defense and guess who I get paired up with? Huh? Lovely Y/L/N over here. Right, so I'm fuckin' pissed cause I don't wanna be fightin' no broad but Sobel is watchin' like a hawk. I tell her I'll pretend to swing at her and she should just fall down. Play fightin', ya know? Like when youse a kid. I take a swing at her, thinkin' she knew the plan. She easily dodges my swing and before I can right myself, she lands a punch on me. Knocked me flat on my ass and seein' stars. I look up to see this goddess standin' over me, bloody knuckles and all, and she says 'you better get up and fight me like a man before I knock you on your ass again'."

 "So, what you do?" Heffron asked, surprise clearly written all over his face. 

 Guarnere tapped the table with his finger. "What did I do? Well, I got up and told her that when this war is over, I'm gonna fuckin' marry her, that's what I was gonna do."

 Those who had heard the story before chuckled while Heffron sat there, head tilted and eyes bouncing between you and Guarnere like he was waiting for the punchline still. 

 "Why? No offense, Y/L/N." 

 Guarnere threw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. "Cause she hits harder than any fella I've ever known, includin' me brother Henry. Boxin' champion that one was. Now if that ain't a reason to marry someone, I don't know what is."

 "And she puts up with your bullshit." Toye deadpanned. 

 You rolled your eyes, sliding out from underneath Guarnere's arm. "That's just words unless there's a ring and I don't plan on marrying for a while yet. Still gotta win a war first." You stood up, smoothing down your ODs. "'Sides, maybe by then I'll find someone who doesn't annoy me so much."

 "Nah, you'd miss my handsome face too much."

 "You keep telling yourself that, Bill."

 "One day you'll come around." He winked, making your insides warm. You would never understand how that was possible. The Philadelphian pointed a finger at you. "You lemme know if any of those replacements bother you again. Can't have those bastards propositionin' my future wife."

 "See you later, boys." You said, not even bothering to answer him. You headed towards the door, intent on finding Lipton; but also to get away from the man who gave you such feels without even saying a word. Then when he did speak, complimenting and claiming you in front of the others…. it was becoming harder and harder to keep your hands and your lips to yourself. 

 ***** 

 You leaned against the doorframe, admiring the man who was too caught up in writing a letter home to have noticed you yet. He twirled the pencil between his fingers as he thought about his words. The chair creaked under him as he shifted, leaning forward against the wooden desk to continue writing. The small bedroom only consisted of the desk, chair and bed. Guarnere's duffle bag was thrown in a corner with things haphazardly pulled out. The NCOs had been billeted in a house together, everyone able to have their own rooms unlike the enlisted men who were forced to share a converted barn.

 When you had first met him, and your first real encounter resulted in you punching him, you had thought he was the most unhelpful, condescending, little shit; and you had no problems telling him that for weeks after. When he had bounced back to his feet and proposed...you had laughed so uncontrollably, it had taken a sharp bark from Lipton to get you to focus again. 

 Over the following weeks, the bastard would openly flirt with you and practically pummel anyone else who tried to. Sometime around Fort Benning, your own feelings toward him started to change. No longer was he a man you loathed. You found yourself happy he was in your platoon, that he hovered around you keeping assholes from other companies away, that you enjoyed his flirting and when you two were alone... you reciprocated. 

 Actually, the first time you flirted back, he almost choked on his tongue he was so surprised. After that, things shifted between you two. 

 He continued openly flirting but understood you could not since you were under far more scrutiny and Sobel was looking for ANY reason to get rid of you. 

 For two years Guarnere had been in your life...and you hoped for the rest of it too. 

 "Enjoyin' the view, sweetheart?"

 You smiled at him as he leaned back in the chair, legs still under the desk. "Should I be?"

 He scoffed. "You know you like what you see...I'll tell you though," his eyes raked over you, "you're a fuckin' goddess with a body to drive a man crazy."

 You laughed, covering your mouth with your hand to minimize the sound, as he winked at you before turning back to his letter. 

 "The other NCOs said you were going out tonight for drinks."

 "Yeah, yeah. Told 'em if I didn't finish this letter for my ma, she'd jump on a boat and come find me. Got three letters from her already. Last one she threatened to come find me. So, I told the fellas I'd meet them there."

 The muffled sounds of the other NCOs drifted up the stairs; they were gathered in the common room getting ready to head out. With that in mind, you moved silently across the room to where he sat at the chair. Coming up behind him, you dragged your hands over his broad shoulders then down his firm chest, stilled his motions. 

 "Y/N…"

 You loved touching him, could not get enough of it when you were able to. What you also loved doing was paying him back for teasing you. 

 One of your hands continued to travel downward until you palmed his cock. He froze, pencil hovering just about his letter. Without a word, you slowly, torturously, stroked him over his trousers. 

 "Fuck, sweetheart." He groaned, tipping his head back slightly. 

 "You said earlier I wasn't supposed to be touching anyone's cocks...does that include yours?"

 Turning his head, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye but before he could speak, you took the tip of his earlobe between your teeth. 

 "Hands on the desk, Sergeant." You growled in his ear. 

 Immediately, his hands slammed on the wooden desk, palms down. The pencil fell to the floor. Letter now forgotten on the desk. 

 "Mmm, yes, sir… you keep them there." You continued slowly stroking his cock over his trousers. "You have no idea how bad I wanted to kiss you earlier when we were at the mess hall." You licked up the curve of his ear, feeling him shudder under your touch. Your hand gave him a gentle squeeze as you continued whispering in his ear. "Think I should punish you for teasing me earlier? That wink you gave me...all the dirty images it put in my head. Want me to tell you about them?"

 "Fuck, sweetheart, yes."

 "I thought about you bending me over one of those tables. Notice how they are at the perfect height? How good you would feel inside me. How deep you would be."

 One of his hands started to move off the table, drifting towards where your hand played with him. 

 You nipped his earlobe sharply, making him hiss. "Hands up, Sergeant, or no reward later."

 "You're gonna kill me, darlin'." His hand slammed back on the desk. 

 You licked a line up his neck before pressing your lips against his ear again. The pace of your hand increased, his chest rising and falling to match. "Remember that time in Mackall where we snuck into the parachute packing building and fucked on the silks. You couldn't wait to get inside of me and almost tore my new ODs. So I made you wait and watch as I started touching myself. After someone came in and we almost got caught."

 His hips were now rutting against your hand, the chair shaking with his movements.  His hands were in white-knuckled fists on the desks, trembling with his desire to get them on you. 

 Unable to help yourself, you grabbed his face with your free hand, turning it to press a bruising, messy kiss to his lips. He greedily took ownership of your mouth and deepened the kiss. He plundered your mouth with his tongue, reminding you how his mouth and skillful tongue alone could drive you wild. 

 Finally you broke away, pressing your forehead against his temple as you attempted to refill your lungs with the oxygen he had stolen. "God, I wish I could kiss you out there. Let everyone know I am yours. Maybe share quarters with you instead of sneaking around like teenagers. Fuck whenever we want."

 "I'd be the luckiest, fuckin' bastard in all of Easy. You're mine. My goddess."

 "There is one thing I need right now. I need the toughest, most handsome sonofabitch above me. I need my man inside me." You squeezed your hand, making him tip his head back and loudly groan. "Now the other NCOs are just downstairs. Think you can keep quiet?"

 He pressed a hard and fast kiss to your lips. "Oh darlin', it ain't me whose gonna have to keep from screamin'."

 "Mmm, think you can help me out?"

 "I'd do anythin' for ya…." He turned in his seat, hands now stroking your waist with a completely wicked and sinful smirk on his face. "Go lock the door."

 You stepped back, admiring the disheveled look on Guarnere, how his eyes blazed with passion and desire. For you. Without tearing your gaze from his, you shut the door and locked it behind you. 

 "Jesus Christ, you're a dream."

 "Only for you. Come on, Sergeant, show me how good you are with your...arsenal."

 Before you could move, he leapt out of his chair, making it clatter on the floor as it tipped over in his enthusiasm. He picked you up easily and tossed you on the bed. You laughed only to be immediately silenced by his mouth slamming against yours, a moan drawn from you as his talented fingers rid you of your clothing with an almost inhuman speed. 

 *****

 Later that night Guarnere was quite late for getting to the pub but he did not mind one bit. Especially since his bed now smelled like you…. And he had been able to remind you how much he loved you. 

 Quite vigorously. 

[kawaiikichi]

do you have tips for when writing dialogues? i hope you are having a nice day as well

Hi, Anon! I’m so sorry that this took me so long to answer; putting my thoughts into coherent sentences is so hard sometimes. But anyway, I’m doing alright! Thank you for asking ☺️

So, about dialogue: I don’t really have a lot of tips on it? I usually just do what I feel is right 😅

However, there are a couple of things that I can say about it:

1. Grammar (dialogue tags in particular)

-This is actually something that I’ve been improving on in my own writing, especially after finding this post. You can use dialogue tags, but don’t use them way too often. You could also add an action that Character A is doing at the end of the sentence. Other times, you don’t need a dialogue or action tag at all. Honestly, just go with what you feel sounds right. It might sound like it’s unhelpful since you did ask for tips, but I find that if you go with what you think feels right, then you’ll be fine (unless you go through it later and realize “ah shit, this doesn’t work as well as I thought it would”).

2. Keeping The Characters In Character (I guess you could call it that?)

-Essentially, what I’m saying is that when your character is speaking, it should sound like something they would say. As an example, Kokichi (from NDRV3) uses words and says things such as “nishishi,” “Kayayday,” and “That’s a lie!” Small details like that serve to distinguish who is talking (especially when you don’t use a dialogue or action tag at all).

I tried my best to explain everything, but I still feel like this is all over the place 😅

I hope that this is somewhat helpful for you! If these are tips that you already know about, then I truly apologize. If I happen to come up with anything else, then I’ll probably reblog this and add another tip.

Anyway, I hope that you’re having a good day as well, Anon! ☺️

[banrionceallach]

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write? 31. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones? 39. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on? 43. Talk about a positive experience with fanfiction or the fanfiction community that you will always remember.

23

Found family no question

31

Tie. Can’t choose between Crowley and Aziraphale.

39

Took me a while to get back into writing because I kept comparing myself to other people which was . . . unhelpful. So I guess I pride myself on writing my self-indulgent fic and being able to post it?

43

Being absolutely overwhelmed with the amount of lovely comments readers have left on my fic. Love them. 

Sorry this took so long to answer anon.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Hi!!!!!!!!!! I just saw your playlist for the indruck rockstar au so naturally I had to go and reread the whole entire thing in one go this morning and I just wanted to say how much I Love it and the way you write that whole scenario, especially with the way you incorporated the music lyrics??? (Especially since you wrote a bunch of those????) chefs kiss. I was wondering if you had ever written or planned out any of the sternclay that happened before this story took place because the way you described what we got of how they got together sounded so amazing and I would Die to hear their point of view. Hope you have a wonderful weekend!!!!!!!!!

Thank you so much! I’m really proud of that fic, and it seems to have been one a lot of folks really enjoyed. And well, when you asked this, it got me thinking. So here’s a brief history of how Stern and Barclay got together in this universe. Heads up: it is NSFW

That didn’t go as planned. 

Joseph only meant to alert The Cryptids to the fact their manager was clearly skimming off the top and downplaying offers for further connections in the business before turning every ounce of charm he could muster on Barclay. He came to fuck bigfoot, not change careers. 

Now he’s packing up the second of his two suitcases, conversation with his parents still ringing in his ears. They’re not taking the fact that he’s dropping out of college to manage an up and coming, horror rock, very gay band particularly well and have tried twice to talk him out of it. Which is why he’s glad he went through all the bureaucratic steps before calling them. 

He’s never been more terrified or excited in his life. He’s sure he can do this, he’s already booked them four more gigs in a logical tour path, found a better system for making their merch, and is tracking down a promising P.R lead. It’s the close quarters that scare him the most; he’s certain he could charm Barclay for an evening, could get the others to like him enough to hang around back stage once or twice. But for months on end? What if they think he’s prissy, or too perfectionistic, or too normal?

What if Barclay hates him?

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

“I must admit, I’d have thought you would have made a move on Joseph by now.” Indrid says before pulling a sweater on over his head. It gets caught on his glasses, and he flails until Barclay helps it the rest of the way down. They’re somewhere south of Madison, the van cutting a lonely path down the dark road; it’s so late, and they’re on one of those vast, distinctly midwestern stretches where there’s nothing but night sky and fields. Jake drives, tapping the wheel in time with the radio while Joseph sleeps in the passenger seat and Vincent sprawls on the far back one.

“Kinda weird to hit on your manager, right?” Barclay peers warily around the passenger seat to be double sure the manager in question isn’t listening. He isn’t, lips parted slightly and dark hair falling in his face as his sleeping body is tilted this way and that by the motion of the car. 

“Not when the manager looks like that and has already broadcasted his eagerness to fuck you.”

Barclay can’t really argue that first point; Joseph walked into that sorry excuse for a dressing room looking like centerfold come to life. There’s a certain kind of fan of theirs who spends their daily life buttoned up and following the rules, and Joseph struck him as exactly that kind of self-repressing, well groomed gym bunny. They’re always the most fun fans to fuck, in his experience. Couple that with the fact Joseph was (is) hot and willing, Barclay would have happily called dibs on the van for an hour to fuck him senseless that first night. But now…

“I dunno, he hasn’t really flirted with me since we met. And even then he didn’t flirt much.”

“The lecture on Haye’s deficits did start about two seconds after he entered the room.”

“Yeah” Barclay sighs fondly at the memory, “maybe he’s just not interested now that he’s seen me offstage.”

“Or maybe you’re both acting from the same vein of professionalism. Which is not terribly punk rock.”

“I’m being myself” Barclay grumbles “that’s-”

“The most punk rock thing you can be.” Indrid finishes, nodding sagely. Then he smirks, “but that doesn’t change the fact Joseph wants to get into those leather pants of yours. Why do you think he keeps recommending the stage outfits that involve them?”

“Hey, I like that look too. It’s my idea as much as it’s his.”

“Mmmmhmm.” Indrid yawns, rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder.  Then he sings in his ear “Baby you got the clothes, baby he’s got the romance, you’ve got the moves so while you’ve got the chance, you wanna get in his pants, you wanna get in his pants, you wanna-”

Barclay elbows him sideways onto the seat, making them both giggle like they’re ten and wrestling on the trampoline in his backyard. 

“Enough with the prophecies, Mothman.”

“That was hardly a prophecy.” Indrid sticks his legs into Barclays laugh, “but very well. I will leave you to pine for as long as you please.”

Barclay spares another glance towards the front of the car.

“I’m not pining. I just want him to like me.”

A snore in reply, Indrid out with his arms sprawled in different directions. Barclay chuckles softly, roots around for one of their two pillows, and settles his head against the window. He doesn’t shut his eyes right away; instead he watches the lights of distant houses and stars race past, melding into the reflection of Joseph’s sleeping face.

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

“I bought us ten more minutes, I cannot believe they didn’t warn us this was a double appearance. I’ll-” Joseph finishes shutting the van door and promptly grips it so hard it leaves an indent in his palm. 

The band is in various states of rapid undress, trying to get back into their first set of outfits, and smack in the center of the tableau is Barclay, naked from the waist down.

“-I’ll be more thorough going, um, going forward. See you all backstage.” 

He can’t scramble out of the vehicle fast enough, finds one of the two functioning bathrooms in the place and locks himself in without a second thought. Leans against the graffiti coated door and shoves his hand down pants, a little embarrassed at how turned on he is just from one peek at Barclay’s dick. That doesn’t stop him from picturing it as he shoves two fingers into himself and jacks off like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. The smell of two kinds of smoke, the half dead bulb, the din of the crowd gathering in the building all make him harder; he’s so desperately horny for his bassist he’ll make himself cum in a shitty dive bathroom. The thought has him moaning, and he covers his mouth with his free hand as he cums. 

With a much clearer head, he washes his hands and leaves to round up his band. It’s better this way, better for him to get off alone than put Barclay in a weird position by his manager coming onto him. That’d be weird for everyone; this way is much easier.

Ten minutes later, standing in the shadowy steps and watching The Cryptids perform, Barclay growling and sweat-soaked, giving Indrid a messy, open-mouthed kiss when the singer initiates it, he knows it won’t be easy at all.

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

They’ve done it; Joseph helped the others successfully sign with Amnesty Records, securing them a re-release of their first album at higher quality and with wider distribution, a massive U.S tour, and more money up front than any of them have ever seen. Amnesty sees promise in them, and Barclay knows they can deliver. They celebrated for two nights solid, and now reality sets in; Indrid is locked in a hotel room, writing like he’s possessed by the ghost of several rockstars at once, Vincent and Jake are trying to find places to live now that they’re based in Atlanta, and Barclay…

Barclay is standing in a half-furnished apartment that doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to Joseph, currently hopping on and off the phone while Barclay waits for dinner to arrive. In a perfect world he would have just cooked, but given how Joseph’s been the last few weeks, he’s worried that gesture of intimacy might freak him out. The manager was in meetings all day and is still in his suit, a forty dollar one they bought in a strip mall at the edge of town. On him it looks like it cost a thousand dollars just for the slacks. The slacks Barclay is failing very hard at not staring at. Joseph isn’t even twenty-one, but he’s been working deals like a pro, and it is the hottest fucking thing Barclay has ever seen. 

He tries distracting himself from his unhelpful gay thoughts via distressing images. All he comes up with is having to steal Indrid’s phone from him after the singer called his family for the first time in almost three years. Whether that was to deliver a final fuck you or toss a hail Mary of reconciliation their way, Barclay isn’t sure. All he knows is he watched Indrid’s face take a turn, old hurts smothering the spark in his eyes, and he took the phone away while someone yelled on the other end of it. 

“How are your parents taking it?” Joseph looks up from the laptop on the kitchen table where he’s entering dates into a calendar. 

Barclay smiles, “Good. Pretty sure they’ve told everyone in the family the good news. Alice can get a chain email out like nobody’s business. They say they love me and are proud of me and that I have to promise to still come home for Christmas every now and then.”

Joseph smiles back, open for a moment before a guard slips back up. Barclay tucks his hands in his pockets, psyching himself up. He has to do this. He has to know.

“Have I, like, made you angry or something? You’ve just been standoffish lately.” 

“Working out everything for the contract has been so stressful I’m not sure anyone but the execs have seen much of me.” The answer is well-rehearsed. 

“Oh.” Barclay nods, hands still in his pockets and shoulders slouched. 

“And, um, and they haven’t gone away. My feelings for you.” This answer is far quieter, the other man looking up from the screen with fearful eyes. 

“That’s a...bad thing? But I, uh, I, like you too. I like so fucking much.”

A little puff of laughter, “I can tell. Believe me, I can. It’s just that being your manager is different than being a random fan looking for a hook-up; I might  want something you’re not ready to give, or vice versa, and if we rush into things it could fuck up everything you guys worked for. Everything we worked for.”

Barclay cautiously steps forward, “What if we took things slow? Like, really slow.”

Hope sneaks into the corners of Joseph’s eyes, “What would that look like?”

“Like we go step by step, with first dates and like, hand holding and shit. We can take as long as we want; I mean, unless you’re planning on ditching the next big thing in the music world, think we’re gonna have plenty of time to spend together.”

“I like the sound of that.” 

Barclay circles the table as Joseph stands. He cups his cheek, running his thumb up his cheekbone.

“Hey.”

“Hi” Joseph’s eyes have taken on a distinctly Bambi-ish shape. 

“You wanna go get dinner tomorrow?”

The other man loops his arms around his shoulders, “Absolutely.”

Their first kiss comes less than twenty four hours; they may be taking it slow, but there’s only so much two men who’ve been pining in the confines of a van for months can take. It’s soft and popcorn scented and Joseph holds his hand the entire time. 

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

Joseph waits in the dressing room, ears ringing from the sound system and the screaming crowd. It’s the first time The Cryptids have played any sort of true arena, and they sold out the show a week in advance. 

Barclay clomps into the room in his combat boots, grinning as soon as he sees him. He’s dripping with sweat, his eyeliner is a little smudged, and even though he isn’t the lead vocalist, he has enough backing vocals that his voice is a touch raw when he speaks. 

“Fuck that was fun.”

“You all did so well. I, this is going to sound corny, but I’m so proud of you.”

“Should be proud of yourself too, babe. Without you, we’d probably still be playing no-name bars in Des Moines or Fresno.”

“Managing is easy when the talent’s this good.” He runs his hands up Barclays’ fishnet-clad chest. 

“Take the compliment, blue eyes.”

High on pride and the knowledge that at least a third of the crowd would commit a felony to take his place, Joseph pinches Barclay’s left nipple, “No.”

Barclay growls, grabbing his lapels and yanking him into a salty, toothy kiss. He moans in reply, drops his hands down to undo Barclay’s fly so he can grind against him, feel him getting hard through his dress pants. 

“You really wanna do that here, babe? Don’t wanna make our first time all soft sheets and candlelight?” Barclay rubs the top button of Joseph’s shirt between his thumb and finger. 

“Yes, I want you and I want you now” 

Barclay lunges, shoving him back until his ass hits the dressing room table.

“Fine” he grunts, getting his cock out while Joseph kicks one leg free of his pants, “can’t take a compliment, gonna take something else.”

“OHmylord, fuck, fucking finally.” He thunks his head back against the mirror as Barclay sets a ferocious tempo. 

“Shit, you feel even better than I thought you would, and I’ve been, fuck, thinking about it for a long fucking time. Ever since you walked into that shitty dressing room in those tight shorts and shirt with my name on it.”

“Nnhng” He spreads his legs wider at the memory.

“Oh you fucking like that, don’t you babe? That why you wanted to do this here? So I could treat you like the horny fucking fanboy you really are?”

“Yes, ohmylord, yes, yes.” He can’t feel anything but the points where they connect, can’t hear anything beyond Barclay’s growls in his ear and the slap of skin on skin.

“Fuck” Barclay pulls his hair with one hand, shoves his knee further up with the other, “shoulda known, even with that fancy suit all you wanna be is my fucking toy.” It’s a snarl, the hottest sound he’s ever heard and he drags Barclay into another kiss, amazed that he feels close to cumming already. 

Knockknock.

Barclay turns his head towards the door, Joseph muffling his panting breath in his shoulder. 

“Uh, who is it?”

“Mothman. The winners of that drawing are back here to meet us.��

“Shit” Joseph hisses, starting to sit up only for strong hands to trap him in place. 

“Cool. Uh, gimme like” Barclay looks down to where his cock is buried into Joseph, “three minutes?”

The smile in Indrid’s voice is unmistakable, “Of course. I still need to find Vincent. See you soon.”

“Three minutes seems optimisticAH, ohgod” He holds on for dear life as Barclay fucks him with sharp, deep thrusts. A calloused hand finds his dick and Joseph bites down on a broad shoulder to keep from alerting everyone in the vicinity to his impending orgasm. 

“That’s it babe, cum for me, cum on my cock in a backroom like the horny, needy thing you are.” Barclay stills his hips, hand working with slick, messy movements until Joseph cums. He doesn’t wait for him to finish all the way before slamming into him for ten of the best seconds of Stern’s life and cumming with a deep moan. 

“Fucking-A that was good.”

“Good is an understatement.”

“I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too.”

A kiss on the head as Barclay helps him onto the ground, a flurry of putting their clothes into a rough approximation of order. Then Barclay kisses him again as Joseph strokes his hair. 

“Offer of soft sheets and candlelight still stands.” 

Joseph holds him tighter, smiling against his neck, “I guess we know what we’re doing tomorrow night.”

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

It’s the last day of recording the tracks for “Blood on the Mirror” and the mood is bittersweet. After this, there’s one more tour and then The Cryptids go their separate ways. It was time, everyone but Indrid and Jake ready to move on to other projects, and Joseph is already on board to manage Indrid’s solo career (“I’d trust it to no one else, Joseph. I mean it”). All the same, when the final track is deemed done, everyone applauds and embraces like they’re going off to war. 

He heads down to his office to finish reading over venue contracts while the band packs up, but he only gets through one before Barclay appears. 

“Hey, blue eyes.”

“Hi, Bigfoot.” Joseph stands and comes to the door to kiss him, “are you already set to go home.”

“More or less” Barclay rubs his arm, his most consistent anxiety tell, “uh, there’s just one thing I gotta ask before we leave.”

Hushed voices down the hall, but no one there when Joseph looks behind him to check. When he turns back, his hands fly up to cover his mouth. Barclay is down on one knee.

“I, uh, I know this might not be the most, uh, traditional spot to do this but it feels right. I’ve just been thinking about how a huge chapter of my life is coming to a close and there’s this whole new, exciting, terrifying blank page where I have to write the next one. And I, I realized that I want you to be in that chapter with me, and the next one, and the one after that. So, uh, what I want to know is: Joseph Stern, will you marry me?”

He nods, not trusting his voice to come out with intelligible words. 

“Oh thank god.” Barclay springs up, cupping his face and spinning him in a kiss. Joseph laughs as whooping cheers echo towards them. Indrid, Jake, and Vincent, are peering around the nearest corner, beaming.

“Indrid is for sure going to say I told you so the second he gets me alone” Barclay chuckles, “I was so afraid you’d say no because things will be kind of up in the air for the next few years.”

Joseph turns his face back towards him, “You’re right, they will. But I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend them with.”

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Do the intellectual elites basically set the direction of how society thinks? Over the centuries, the general public has followed philosophical trends in the academic world so how do these beliefs and academic theories filter down into the mainstream? Is there anything we can do to stop it?

It may seem like in our current turbulent times that the elites do the thinking for the masses. And if one stands back to look at the flash points of intellectual history that indeed feels true. But equally one can stand back and ask critically if this is really so? 

Who are you actually talking about? Who are these intellectual elites? I dislike these generalisations because they are unhelpful. How does one define elite? Is it intellect? Is it cachet of social position? I think our so-called university elites - professors etc - are in their own existential crisis because of how commodified a university education is becoming. They are beholden to students as consumers. It’s a worrying trend.

Of course it didn’t use to be like that because then our intellectual elites had both recognised intellectual prowess and a social cachet. In other words they had power. I think the modern day academic is many ways a powerless and even pitiful figure at the mercy of university managers and money men.

Nor do I think one thinker dominates over others as they might have done in the past.

A case van be made that ideas today are democratised. Power resides wherever their is a vacuum. It doesn’t reside in the class room but on social media.

In our more recent times intellectual trends like post-modernism and now social critical theory have been seeping into the mainstream. Even Donald Trump has brought up critical race theory to the wider watching populace as a beating stick over the left.

But many ordinary people would be hard pressed to name the actual thinkers (outside of just lumping people together as an amorphous mass e.g. cultural marxists or far right conservatives). It’s more true to say that all ideas now fight in the market place of ideas as a product for people to consume blindly.

But why one idea takes off and another doesn’t is something I don’t have answer for. Or where is the point where ideas from top down meet reality from bottom up and create some kind of intellectual and social momentum? I don’t have time to get into that here.

Another thing is that like an MP4 download the compression size of the complexity gets eroded the more it is downloaded and passed around. In other words people start arguing over labels and top line arguments than actually grapple with the deeper and more complex ideas contained.

This isn’t to say there are no problems with such theories - e.g. critical race theory - because there are. For the record, I am hostile to such philosophies as a Tory as I am towards many lefty isms plaguing the modern university campus that find their way into the public square.

Rather than attack the messenger (ie people) one should critically examine the arguments from every side. This is true for any theory and wherever it comes from. We engage ideas not people.

I don’t want to sound like a broken record so let me play devil’s advocate and suggest an alternative if only to muse upon on it.

I was having a stimulating series of conversations with a professor of intellectual history and other academic historians and political scientists from prestigious French institutions at a friend’s dinner party not so long ago. Like any French dinner good conversation is expected along with good food and wine. Arguments are meant to be robust and even heated but never personal. Arguments are won as much by charm and wit as it is by intellect. It’s all very convival and civilised.

Anyway, we touched on many things from the sorry state French politics, Brexit, Trump, and Covid of course. The usual stuff I imagine. But because of who was around the table the discussion enjoyably explored much wider issues.

For me it’s always interesting to hear the premise from where people build their arguments. For the left secularist the Enlightenment becomes the cornerstone from which the lens of history is viewed and interpreted. For the conservative it’s anything before the 1789 Revolution. Both actually looked at change and the ideas therein as from top down. The ground up (or the view from below) was given short thrift.

I suggested an alternative premise more from a playful motivation than absolute empirical evidence - if only to liven things up a little as the conversation was becoming stale and even predictable.

Perhaps the direction of influence could also be seen the other way round? That is to say that philosophical theories formalise and develop ideas that are already in circulation in society and culture.

Did you get that? Let me explain.

Remember Hegel's beautiful and profound observation that 'the owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of the dusk. In the words what Hegel was saying was that philosophical theory comes afterwards, reflectively, when a development of ideas or institutions is complete and (he would add) in decline.

Plato's 'Republic', at least its political portion, was as the late Michael Oakeshott once put it, 'animated by the errors of Athenian democracy'. Any citizen could participate in politics and help determine policies and legislation without any knowledge of the relevant matters. Plato saw democracy as the politics of ignorance. If every other human inquiry or activity recognised expert knowledge - in his famous example, you wouldn't let just anyone, regardless of their lack of specialist skills, navigate a ship - why not politics, too ? Why should politics be special in not requiring knowledge of the proper ends and means of political action as a condition of participation. Think of this what you will, but the 'Republic' was rooted in its contemporary context and was a response to it.

Aristotle's 'Politics' is a theorisation of the Greek polis, which was already passing out of independent existence under the impact of Alexander the Great's conquests. Athens was a city-state, and a democracy (albeit a limited one). Even though Aristotle was not born in Athens his views were accepted until he was shunned after the death of Alexander.

Aquinas' 'Summa' was a response to the recovery of Aristotle's writings and to the ongoing beliefs and practice of the Catholic Church - as well, of course, to movements which he opposed in theology.

Hobbes' 'Leviathan' is clearly a recipe for avoiding the kind of political and social chaos caused by the French Wars of Religion and the English Civil Wars. They were in his rear-view mirror when he wrote his tome.

Hume's 'atomistic' view of the nature of experience as composed of distinct impressions and ideas drew on the model of Newtonian 'corpuscular' physics.

Kant's Critique of Pure Reason asks how knowledge is possible, with the glories of Newtonian physics in the background. His emphasis on the place of reason in ethics is fully in the spirit of the Enlightenment's celebration of reason.

John Stuart Mill's 'On Liberty' was a counter-blast to the pressure toward conformity which he thought he saw in the England of his day.

Logical Positivism was a response to the huge, brilliant developments in science - relativity and quantum theory - and took the form of scientism, the view that scientific knowledge is the only form of deep and accurate knowledge (of all real knowledge).

Marxism was a response to the embryonic birth of the modern capitalist system after the industrial revolution in Britain. Both Hegel and Marx formulated their theories by what they observed was happening with the birthing pains of modern industrial capital society. Cultural Marxism is a different beast entirely.

I could go on.

I am not suggesting, of course, that there was anything crude or mechanical in the way these philosophies emerged from their contexts. They all added independent thought of great subtlety. But their problems and the terms of their solutions were set by their times, at least as they understood them. It’s plausible but may not be completely true. But that’s part of the enjoyment of musing upon whimsical thoughts without the conceit of being certain.

Anyway something to think about.

Thanks for your question.

[youichi-kuramochi]

dearest viv,

how the FUCK do you connect scenes?

i forgot what sign off i was gonna use

started with an r

umm

fuck. whatever

i cant remember if it was regards or respectfully. maybe respectfully?? yeah since i was yelling?? ok

respectfully,

honey ʕ ﹒ ᴥ ﹒ ʔ

ALDFKJGALDFKGDLFJ THIS WAS THE FUNNIEST ASK TO WAKE UP TO THANK YOU FOR THAT OMG

ANYWAY............ do u mean like in general or me personally lmao bc my answer to the second is probably like. totally unhelpful bc I just kinda vibe it most of the time when I’m writing adflkjagdfk at least first drafts. editing is another story (standby. we’ll get there lmao)

[sidebar: OH MY GOD THIS ANSWER GOT SO LONG I’M SO SORRY IF THIS WAS A JOKEY ASK AND I JUST RAMBLED UNNECESSARILY FOR LIKE FOREVER I am just. I am very passionate about writing even though my own process is a Mess aldkfjglkgf anyway I’m putting this under a cut bc uh. this really got away from me]

alright so theoretically??? I think transitions are less important than like. there should be a point each scene is trying to make. it either develops character or plot or relationships or any combination of those, and you need to have enough to make that point and then it can end (though I overelaborate a lot so. idk. I don’t think I follow most of this advice even though I understand it In Theory adlfkgjlkf). similarly, when you string the scenes together, they should to build towards a larger narrative arc. like because character a learned this thing about themself in the previous scene, now they can confront character b about something else. or because of this character establishing moment, we can now have this character do this thing because we, the readers, now have some insight into their motivations/fears/desires/etc. or whatever. I guess this is sort of about transitions lmao but the point is that the larger narrative should connect, not that you need to be super careful always about making the words/physical scenes themselves connect, if that makes sense

imo scenes can start and end abruptly and like as long as the narrative point is made you don’t really miss out on much. I’m terrible at actually doing this which is why my fics all wind up so long but I don’t mind it at all when I’m reading. I think it’s really cool when someone can make a really powerful point with far fewer words than I ever could. idk who told me this maybe a professor or maybe I just read it somewhere but it’s often a good move to drop readers right in the middle of the action like you don’t need that much buildup to it (unless the buildup serves a purpose. maybe your character is hesitating. maybe they’re overthinking.) you might need more buildup/general exposition in the beginning to get us acquainted with the world of the fic, but especially as you go on, exposition only as needed can be a good move. something something kill your darlings, y’know?

actually this last bit I do follow sometimes lmao I often wind up with several pages of just. unused text that I’d written and then decided was extraneous to the point I was trying to make or made a scene drag on or just didn’t click. like for my current ongoing fic, I have entire scenes I’ve cut. I wrote 2k of a high school scene that I ended up only using slivers of for flashbacks. there was a scene when onigiri miya opened at one point. for my bkak big bang fic I literally have over 6k that I took out completely that if I had kept in would’ve given the whole thing a completely different tone that I decided I didn’t like after I’d already written like half the fic. so I scrapped them. I usually save these, not do anything with really but just because deleting text forever is hard lmao so saving the writing somewhere, if not in the fic itself, makes it easier for me to cut

ALL THAT SAID it’s also totally cool to just trust your gut and run with a vague idea. like this kind of writing should be fun and I wouldn’t let worrying about this stuff get in the way of having a good time. and also everyone’s process is different!! everyone’s writing style is different and your writing probably won’t have the same tone or style as writers you admire and that’s okay!! it’s a good thing, even, imo. that’s what’s so cool about writing and honestly a lot of my favorite writers do not write like I do and I love that

and when I said I vibe it w my fics I really honestly do 90% of the time. I usually have a general sense of where I’m going but it’s more enjoyable for me discover things on the way. some people swear by outlines, I fundamentally do not other than like. AT MAX writing a short bullet point list of scenes I want to include as I think of them bc my brain is like a sieve. and usually weeks after starting something, I’ll write a line/paragraph/scene and have an epiphany like oh my god. oh my god I get what this whole piece is trying to say. (this is my favorite part of writing tbh. discovering that moment) and once I have that, it’s much easier to figure out what belongs and what doesn’t when I go back and edit earlier scenes and make sure that everything ties together

and also, finally, (sorry I know I’ve been rambling for a while now I swear this is the last point) I want to note that all of this gets easier and more natural with practice. I’ve been writing for over 10 years, on and off. ao3 says I have 500k+ of published fic, not to mention I probably as much if not more from abandoned wips that will never see the light of day AND a bunch of stuff floating around on livejournal (lol) from the pre-ao3 days, so I have written. a LOT. and over time you sort of hone your intuition about what works for you and what doesn’t and at least for me, now I think a lot less abt the nitty gritty and just go wherever my writing takes me and I’ll usually land in the general vicinity of making sense. I think anyone can get there (or wherever it is you’d like to be if this isn’t your style). the trick is just to keep writing! it’s a skill like everything else ☺️