#thinking about whether or not to put the story snippets in my head to paper and connecting them to a full story

[whomerlockwood]

Oh no, there is a Rytlogan story itching beneath my nails for a few days now... throwing a few snippets at ya: AU - no Dragons (but Sylvari still exist - how? - because I said so); human race enslaved not just by Centaurs and Krait, but by Charr as well; Asura did not stop experimenting on Sylvari side-plot; Destiny's Edge era (except they all meet under different circumstances)

main plot, but without trying to tell you too much: Ascalon.

[bidisasterevankinard]

tease tidbit tuesday! 🎸🎙️

Tagged by @heartbeatdiaz thank you love 💙💙💙

rule: share whatever scene or snippet from your fic that has you excited, ig???

I shared part of it for sss but I needed to share part with Bobby cause his my fav here and I actually excited about this scene

more enemies to lovers au

“Let's get started. Buck, you're the first, play that tune that you showed me a few months ago,” Bobby points Buck to the instruments.  Buck goes to the guitar to play a melody that he started six months ago, but the text never came to him and he never finished it. Maybe someday.  He almost reaches the chorus, when the damn brown-eyed begins to sing and his as it was called "a wonderful angelic drawling voice that makes you think sinful things"(Buck literally read it in twitter once) fills the room. And it took you five whole minutes To pack us up and leave me with it Holdin' all this love out here in the hall I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town Now I'm in exile, seein' you out I think I've seen this film before They end the chorus and both are looking at each other shocked. Buck can admit lyrics are good and go with music fantastically. Well, he can admit it for himself, never to anyone else. “I wrote it after Shannon sent the divorce papers,” the only explanation Eddie gives to Bobby, and the old man nods.  Buck feels the urge to be a jerk and doesn’t stop himself. “Couldn't satisfy your wifey?” Eddie turns to him so quickly that Buck is sure his neck will hurt for weeks. Fires of anger and hatred are burning in brown eyes and Buck wants to pour more gasoline. But he doesn’t have a chance to add more. “Well, at least I got into the label not through the bed of one of the producers,” Eddie says with the smirk that Buck hates from the first day he found out about Eddie Diaz, it always makes him want to start a fight.  “I slept with Abby after joining the label. And I didn't know she was a producer,”  “Come on, you're with your story and you haven't whored your way here? How many pussies have you licked and dicks sucked to get there?”  Eddie continues and Buck abruptly gets up and in a few steps overcomes the space between them, standing so close to the brunette jerk, using all his height and size, trying to seem bigger and intimidating. Bobbie’s quiet but rather intimidating voice scares both. “Both shut up and in the corners,” he points to two different chairs in different corners of the studio.  “The lyrics and music are perfect together, so whether you like it or not, we are finishing it. And you better start being a team. Otherwise, both of you will fly out of the label with a scandal that no one will ever want to work with you. Now you both have to stick to each other as if you haven't drank water for days, and the second one is a fountain of pure delicious water. Is that clear?” “Clear,” they both say looking at Bobby like kicked puppies, but then send each other looks that can set someone on fire. “Buck, do you have more for music?”  Bobby looks at him and Buck just shakes his head in denial and slight shame. He had never had to sit for so long with a draft of one song. And moreover, only with a melody. There are no words at all to put his heart in them as much as music does it. “Eddie, more lyrics?”  The old man changes his attention to brown-eyed but Buck prefers to look at the guitar or he might say something again, and maybe Bobby is a good man, and with the patience of the saint, but he has his limits too, and Buck pushed them enough in the past that almost lost his place in the label. “Only three more lines in the start,” the voice of a jerk playing an angel says and Buck can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Well, looks like they are going to work long together. “Ok, Eddie, give your lyrics to Buck to read. Buck, give Eddie notes to look and Eddie, try to play it. Maybe while you look at the project of the other one it will inspire something. Learn from each other a little. I will go and work in my office, only try to start another fight. I’m serious about ending your careers,” on that Bobby leaves them alone in the studio.

Tagging if they want to share : @honestlydarkprincess @911onabc @alyxmastershipper @transbuck @cowboy-buddie @heartshapedvows @bekkachaos @panbuckley @rogerzsteven @the-likesofus @shortsighted-owl @buddierights @housewifebuck @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @wikiangela @hippolotamus @transboybuckley @devirnis @spotsandsocks @monsterrae1 @spaceprincessem @userdisaster @caroandcats @mandzuking17 @useramor @paranoidbean @sibylsleaves @jobairdxx @translasso @bigfootsmom and anyone who wants to share

[zilabee]

Snippets from Brian Wilson's autobiography from 2016, that are kind of about Paul McCartney without necessarily being about Paul McCartney at all:

I wrote a song for [Frank Sinatra] once called "Still I Dream of It". He didn't say yes to the song, and that bothered me. It was a beautiful song about loneliness and hope.

I love that both Brian and Paul wrote weirdly sad songs for Frank Sinatra and Frank noped out on them both.

We went on our honeymoon at the beginning of 1965. I was sitting around, looking at the water or closing my eyes out on the beach, and a whole song came to me. It was "Girl Don't Tell Me." I didn't have any way to get it down. I didn't have a pen. I didn't have a guitar. I didn't have a piano. But I just heard the whole thing up there, from start to finish and I remembered it well enough to go later and write down the lyrics on a piece of paper. It was a real trip to write a song that way. I thought it would keep happening like that. It never did again.

He laid an egg! Like Paul with Yesterday. There's also another bit of the book where he says that he wrote Girl Don't Tell Me for John Lennon, and considered giving it to the Beatles, and that's why they didn't put backing on it or anything. Maybe you only lay eggs if you're thinking about John Lennon, that's all I'm saying.

Melinda and I got married at a chapel in Palos Verdas. I picked as the date February 6, because it was Marilyn's birthday. That way I figured, I would never forget the date. Melinda agreed.

Marilyn is his ex-wife. He got married on the date of his first wife's birthday. Apparently this is just something that makes sense and isn't weird at all.

Some answers are in my own songs, some answers are in other people's songs. One of the songs that never fails is "Let It Be". I sing it to myself all the time. Whenever it comes on the radio, it lifts me. Whenever I have mental problems, it saves me, big time. It's like a Valium to me.

There are other bits where he mentions Paul and Paul's music explicitly. Times they've met and sung harmony together. He calls him Pablo. He talks about hearing the Beatles and wanting to do something better and so on. He says that he'd still quite like to write a song with Paul but he's not sure that Paul would want to.

I could say that I really worked forever on it, that I spent a year imagining how the melody would work and another year on the lyrics. But the facts are that Tony and I sat down at a piano and wrote it in forty five minutes. […] If you look at the studio logs, it shows almost two dozen takes, but it didn't feel that way at all. "God Only Knows" felt easy. It came out like melted butter.

Writing emotional support songs for one another across the atlantic ocean.

I have heard those voices for a long time, maybe fifty years now. they first came to me when I was twenty-two, after I took LSD. LSD was something that people told me made your mind larger, and that sounded interesting to me. I was interested in exploring ways of getting expanded. The first time I took it, I had to go hide in a bedroom, and I thought mostly about my parents and whether I should be afraid of them. I also started to play what became 'California Girls' on the piano, that sound of the cowboy riding into town. I played it and played it until I heard other things inside of it. But about a week after that, the first voices started to pop up. They'd sound like a real person's voice, a person different from me who I couldn't control, but inside my own head. I didn't know what to do with them. [...] Doctors have told me that the voices didn't come from the acid, that they would have happened anyway, but I'm not sure. I didn't have them before.

That was 1964. I've never been able to work out how well known this was at the time, but Paul talks about not wanting to take lsd to begin with because he was worried he wouldn't be himself afterwards. He must have known stories like this, even if not Brian's particular experience. But if he did know about Brian, it would be even scarier, I think, because even then they must have seen a parallel in how they heard music, how their brains worked in some ways.

Because [Do You Wanna Dance] is a dance song, people don't think of it as a spiritual thing, but it is, because it's harmony.

Only including that because I love how he just believes that harmony is the most important thing in the world. It's a truly religious thing for him, it's one of the loveliest things about the book. His trying to explain how he writes music, is different from Paul, because he thinks it differently, but there's the same sense of 'you just sit there and then you write a song...' There's a great bit where he talks about being in the studio and sitting in front of the mixer, but not touching it, just needing to be near it so he could work out the song. And he's like 'after about fifteen minutes… I mean they said it was an hour or two, but about fifteen minutes… I went over to the piano… I didn't play the piano, but it meant I could explain the harmony'.

There was some big study at a university and the doctors who did the study said that anxiety and creativity are sort of the same thing: both of them are about dealing less with what's in front of you and more with what's in your head. Listening to what's in your head, especially when you're a person with anxiety, leads to negative emotions. But they're also a form of imagination. If you can worry about problems when there aren't problems around, then you can also think of stories or songs when there aren't stories or songs around. You can make things go from not existing to existing.

I'm sure there's another bit that I can't find now, where he talked about realising that if you can make songs, then you sort of have a duty to. Because if you don't make them exist they don't exist.

all quotes from I Am Brian Wilson by Brian Wilson and Ben Greenman

[faccal]

Ooo yeah, ask game time! >:)

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

💖 What made you start writing?

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Perhaps I'll send more later....

👀👀👀 oh no

I fricken knew this would happen but I was like "nahhh, he wouldn't do that." Yes, yes you would. 😂 Thank you so much for these asks, I'm excited to answer them!

These are all from this list.

🥺 It took me a while to really think this through because I'm a pro at overthinking and also, I wasn't sure if my thoughts were the right answer. So, I'd say that a common interaction that always gets me in the feels (Happy/fluffy) is when I have characters touch foreheads or tenderly caress a thumb against a cheek.

A more angsty interaction that would get me in the feels would be character A holding character B, whether they be partners or family/friends, as character B dies in their arms. Super feely!

✨ (You did this on purpose, you who often hear me insult and complain about my writing. Fiend. If I must, I shall.) I am incredibly creative when it comes to my worlds. As for my writing, I really like how far I've come and how much my writing has improved.

💖 My fifth grade teacher, who loved giving us prompts either from a published book full of art prompts, or prompts he wrote for us. He helped me find my love for writing, and fifth grade was when I wrote my first ever fanfiction which was a Percy Jackson fanfic with a self-insert oc who was helping him and the gang fight monsters. Didn't know it was fanfiction at the time. I also dabbled in my own stories, and as a child who had only ever used toys to create worlds, to sit there and see worlds in my head while putting them on paper was an awesome experience and it's stuck with me since. I've continually improved my style, and I am forever grateful to Mr. Jackins for giving me my love for writing. You have no idea the monster you created XD

🤲 A snippet? Goodness, that's too much man! You're asking too-

"You're allowed to have friends outside of the task force, Hesh. Soap seems like a nice guy." Keegan sips his coffee; coffee Soap had brought him because Keegan wouldn't stop bitching at the weak shit in the lounge area.

"Merrick makes me feel like I can't." He says, leaning against the wall opposite Keegan.

"He's a mother hen, he worries." Keegan defends, eyes full of a teasing light.

"Ha, I don't know how I feel-" His words catch in his throat, a voice from a room down the hall echoing against the walls. He knows this voice. He turns, ignoring Keegan's confusion to march down the hall and barge into the room.

"You have something that belongs to me, Captain." That devilish voice, full of hatred and conniving rattles Hesh's skull and has him falling back against the door before his eyes settle on the face before him.

Captain Price stands just ahead, arms crossed, his eyes locked on the man before him.

"Rorke!" Hesh snarls, launching forward only to be held back.

"Hey there junior!" Rorke calls, cackling like the piece of shit he is.

Hesh snarls, his teeth bared like a wild animal desperate for a kill.

"You look good, it's been a while." His eyes flick to whoever is holding him. "Still can't keep your pups in line Merrick? Damn shame." He leans back, standing to his full height on the screen. "I'll be in touch Price, I don't let shit go easily." The screen goes black, and the hard eyes of Captain Price fall on Hesh.

"We need to talk." He says, and while he holds no anger in his voice, his eyes share how displeased he is.

Thank you so much for these asks!!!! I appreciate it so much, and I'm sorry it's a bit late. I did have fun answering them, and specifically sharing some of the writing!

[freeuselandonorris]

hiiii i love your stuff SO so sososo much, sorry for just now accidentally unfollowing and refollowing instead of clicking the "ask" button I?? don't know?? what happened?? anyway!! 33, 39, and 43 if you want!! or any combination thereof :D

ahaha no worries, it happens!! and thank you 😘

33. Do you want to be published some day?

i already have! i’ve had some short stories published and a couple of poems. outside of fic i mostly write literary/contemporary fiction and cyberpunk/speculative fiction.

i would dearly love to have a novel published one day. i’ve been writing a cyberpunk novel about a tech start-up turned sex cult for a couple of years now which has been an exhausting but very fun process that has taught me a lot. whether it’ll ever see the light of day, who knows, but i’d like to hope so.

39. Share a snippet from a WIP

here’s the opening paragraphs of an appalling daniel/lando/oscar threesome i started after the daniel.jpg photos, which i am chipping away at slowly but greatly enjoying:

Vegas, baby. It’s a cesspit. A monument to money: spending it, losing it, making it back, and all the terrible and fun things you can buy with it. Sex, drugs, cocktails strong enough to strip the top layer of skin off your tongue. It’s tacky as all get-out, fake as hell. A pink plastic dildo compared to an honest-to-god flesh and blood fuck. Basically all of humanity’s worst impulses dialled up to 11 and squeezed into 350 square kay-ems. Daniel fucking loves it.

He finishes explaining all this to Lando with a bit of a flourish, and then zips up and goes to wash his hands.

and here’s a little snippet from the next chapter of that one from work can come over on monday night, a scene i wrote almost entirely because i was desperately entertained by the idea of george taking the register with a clipboard at GPDA meetings:

“Alright, Piastri,” he says when he sees Oscar, smiling and standing up to shake his hand. “Good work today. Those upgrades are looking sharp.”

“Yeah, cheers,” Oscar says, sliding into one of the chairs next to Albon, who’s nursing a hot drink in a paper cup and already looks bored. “Perfect way to celebrate, this is.”

Alex gives him a sidelong smile, while George frowns very slightly, eyebrows pinching together like he can’t figure out if Oscar’s joking or having a go.

“Definitely my ideal way to spend a Saturday night,” Alex agrees, taking another sip of whatever’s in his cup and wrinkling his nose. “Christ, can nobody in this place make a decent cup of tea?”

The room is slowly filling up, and George cranes his head to count off the numbers, ticking off names against a register on his clipboard. Oscar stifles a smile.

43. Do you take a sadistic joy in whumping your characters, or are you more the "If you hurt them I would kill everyone and then myself" kind of person?

it depends on your definition of hurt! i definitely take a sadistic joy in hurting them in a kinky way sometimes, but i’m no good at writing full-on angst or even really hurt/comfort. i do tend to put some struggles into my fics, especially the longer ones, because otherwise the plot can drag, but i don’t especially look forward to doing it other than in the sense that it’s a good writing exercise to imagine how the blorbos would react to emotionally tricky situations. this is especially fun with F1 drivers are they are generally emotionally stunted.

it also depends a lot on the character, because some of them (charles, george, jev) are very emotionally intense and prone to self-flagellation which means it’s both canon and satisfying to make them struggle, as in beautiful one day, perfect the next for instance. others, like daniel or oscar or max, are various flavours of repressed and/or not emotionally demonstrative and so it’s interesting for me to think about how they would react — both outwardly and inwardly — to difficult situations, like daniel’s veering between denialism and the odd flash of reluctant maturity in you know how sticky it gets, or oscar’s tendency to compartmentalise and make lando think he’s uninterested in ‘this one from work…’

thank you for askinggg ❤️

get to know your fic writer!

[star-going-supernova]

Ghosts in my Head light fluff

Gosh Star! That last sibling chapter really brought the angst. Well Done! Have a little fluff to counterbalance it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gregory looked down at the box of Mystery Mix. He could use this. He could use it and get rid of one of the animatronics that had been chasing him all night. Permanently. Put her in the trash compactor and hit go. But… He looked over at his…friend? Ally? Mentor? Companion? Eugh, no, that last one was way too Doctor Who for his tastes. Potential friend. Yeah, that was closest. He looked over at his potential friend and thought about what he’d said. How long he’d been trying to erase the legacy left behind by that Afton creep. How it had made him so happy to see animatronics that were coded and designed to be protectors. To be friendly and helpful and had been, until now, untainted by Afton and murder. It was just Gregory’s luck that he’d been here when it all went wrong. He frowned and gripped the package tightly. So what if they were good mostly? They’d been chasing him all night! He’d had to dodge and duck and weave and climb in Freddy and all kinds of things and… He looked back at his potential friend/mentor again. Sighed. This would have been so much less morally complicated if he was alone. But…he supposed it would be worth it, in the end. “Hey. Mr. Emily? Could we use this to trap Chica long enough for you to do that decoding thing you mentioned?” The electric blue eyes flickered back to green then back to blue, the indicator all night that Mr. Emily was looking through code and programs before speaking. “I think…yes. I think we very well could. There’s messages and notes here that whatever has changed her code from the base I can access has left her obsessed with food, this one in particular. Yes, I think we very well can.” “And you’re /sure/ that it’s a problem with her coding? Not that she’s…possessed, like Michael mentioned, or just programmed to be like this the way Elizabeth said Circus Baby was?” Gregory shuddered, remembering the horror stories Elizabeth had shared when Mr. Emily had first mentioned trying to save the animatronics here instead of destroy them. Mr. Emily smiled. “I’m sure Gregory. After all, Freddy isn’t like that, is he?” Gregory huffed. “Freddy is different. Vanessa said he was always different.” “Yes, because Michael was able to stop the changes to his code. But trust me. They’re all innocent in this. Just more victims of William’s malice. And we beat him by making sure no one else suffers. Whether they are flesh and blood or wire and code.” Gregory sighed. “Alright. Alright, I get it. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming you when the others ask.” “And I’ll do the same. Come on son. Let’s find the others and set ourselves a trap.”

• • •

submitted by ghosts in my head anon

Lol, I guess I know it's angsty when you, who sent someone's face through a paper cutter in your last snippet, say it brought the angst.

Hello!! Hi, yes, this is very good, I like this a lot! Good combo of characters, I love seeing everyone being thrown together like this! I would say your fluff has successfully countered my angst!

[perpetual-stories]

How To Fight Writers Block

hello, hello. hope everyone is doing well. as you can all tell, this post will be about how to fight writers block.

it’s really annoying to me when I hear people say “oh you don’t have writers block, you’re just lazy.”

first of all, yes, I am naturally lazy. second of all, how dare you. writing isn’t as easy as many think. granted, all you have to do is write down words on paper, but it’s not always easy to find the right words to express what you are feeling, or what you wish to say.

I have had terrible writer’s block for the last few days and it’s horrible! as a business owner or a small writing store, I have to be ready to write and fulfill my clients’ ideas and orders.

it’s not easy. It takes a heavy toll on my imagination, and digs me a deep pit of blockage, drowning in the lack of originality because of the constant writing and repetition or certain phrases and sentences in different projects.

i am making this post in the hopes to remind myself about over coming the dreaded and sometimes skeptically believed writer’s block.

What is writer’s block?

Yeah, I know. We all know what that is, but let me define it.

is the state of being unable to proceed with writing, and/or the inability to start writing something new

some people believe it to be a real problem, others believe it's “all in your head”

What Causes Writer’s Block?

in the 1970s, clinical psychologists Jerome Singer and Michael Barrios decided to find out

they concluded that there are four broad causes of writer's block:

Excessively harsh self-criticism

Fear of comparison to other writers

Lack of external motivation, like attention and praise

Lack of internal motivation, like the desire to tell one's story

How to overcome writer's block: 20 tips

1. Develop a writing routine:

Author and artist Twyla Tharp once wrote: “Creativity is a habit, and the best creativity is a result of good work habits.”

it might seem counterintuitive

if you only write when you “feel creative,” you're bound to get stuck in a tar pit of writer's block

The only way to push through is by disciplining yourself to write on a regular schedule. It might be every day, every other day, or just on weekends — but whatever it is, stick to it!

2. Use "imperfect" words:

A writer can spend hours looking for the perfect word or phrase to illustrate a concept

You can avoid this fruitless endeavor by putting, “In other words…” and simply writing what you’re thinking, whether it’s eloquent or not

You can then come back and refine it later by doing a CTRL+F search for “in other words.”

3. Do non-writing activities:

one of the best ways to climb out of a writing funk is to take yourself out of your own work and into someone else’s

Go to an exhibition, to the cinema, to a play, a gig, eat a delicious meal

immerse yourself in great STUFF and get your synapses crackling in a different way

Snippets of conversations, sounds, colors, sensations will creep into the space that once felt empty

4. Freewrite through it:

free-writing involves writing for a pre-set amount of time without pause — and without regard for grammar, spelling, or topic. You just write.

The goal of freewriting is to write without second-guessing yourself — free from doubt, apathy, or self-consciousness, all of which contribute to writer's block. Here’s how:

Find the right surroundings. Go somewhere you won't be disturbed.

Pick your writing utensils. Will you type at your computer, or write with pen and paper? (Tip: if you're prone to hitting the backspace button, you should freewrite the old-fashioned way!)

Settle on a time-limit. Your first time around, set your timer for just 10 minutes to get the feel for it. You can gradually increase this interval as you grow more comfortable with freewriting.

5. Relax on your first draft:

Many writers suffer form perfectionism, which is especially debilitating during a first draft

“Blocks often occur because writers put a lot of pressure on themselves to sound ‘right’ the first time. A good way to loosen up and have fun again in a draft is to give yourself permission to write imperfectly.” — editor Lauren Hughes

perfect is the enemy of good,” so don't agonize about getting it exactly right! You can always go back and edit, maybe even get a second pair of eyes on the manuscript

6. Don’t start at the beginning:

the most intimidating part of writing is the start, when you have a whole empty book to fill with coherent words

instead of starting with the chronological beginning of whatever it is you’re trying to write, dive into middle, or wherever you feel confident

7. Take a shower:

Have you ever noticed that the best ideas tend to arrive while in the shower, or while doing other “mindless” tasks?

research shows that when you’re doing something monotonous (such as showering, walking, or cleaning), your brain goes on autopilot, leaving your unconscious free to wander without logic-driven restrictions

showering is my favourite thing to do if I may add

8. Balance your inner critic:

successful writers have in common is the ability to hear their inner critic, respectfully acknowledge its points, and move forward

You don't need to completely ignore that critical voice, nor should you cower before it

you must establish a respectful, balanced relationship, so you can address what's necessary and skip over what's insecure and irrelevant

9. Switch up your tool:

a change of scenery can really help with writer's block. However, that scenery doesn't have to be your physical location — changing up your writing tool can be just as big a help!

if you’ve been typing on your word processor of choice, try switching to pen and paper. Or if you're just sick of Google Docs, consider using specialized novel writing software.

10. Change your POV:

great advice from editor Lauren Hughes: “When blocked, try to see your story from another perspective ‘in the room’ to help yourself move beyond the block. How might a minor character narrate the scene if they were witnessing it? A ‘fly on the wall’ or another inanimate object?

11. Exercise your creative muscles:

Any skill requires practice if you want to improve, and writing is no different! So if you’re feeling stuck, perhaps it’s time for a strengthening scribble-session to bolster your abilities

12. Map out your story:

If your story has stopped chugging along, help it pick up steam by taking a more structured approach — specifically, by writing an outline

13. Write something else:

Though it's important to try and push through writer's block with what you're actually working on, sometimes it's simply impossible

feel free to push your current piece to the side for now and write something new

14. Work on your characters:

It follows that if your characters are not clearly defined, you’re more likely to run into writer’s block

15. Stop writing for readers:

write for yourself, not your potential readers

this will help you reclaim the joy of being creative and get you back in touch with what matters: the story.

this is something I really need to do. because of my etsy business i don't write for fun anymore, but instead as a business and a deadline. i'm going to have to pull out my old crappy wattled fanfics or write some new ones.

16. Try a more visual process:

when words fail you, forget them and get visual. Create mind maps, drawings, Lego structures — ideally related to your story, but whatever unblocks your mind!

17. Look for the root of it:

writer’s block often comes from a problem deeper than simple “lack of inspiration.” So let's dig deep: why are you really blocked? Ask yourself the following questions:

Do I feel pressure to succeed and/or competition with other writers?

Have I lost sight of what my story is about, or interest in where it's going?

Do I lack confidence in my own abilities, even if I've written plenty before?

Have I not written for so long that I feel intimidated by the mere act?

Am I simply feeling tired and run-down?

once you identify what's wrong, it'll be so much easier to fix.

18. Quit the Internet:

If willpower isn’t your strong suit and your biggest challenge is staying focused, try a site blocker like Freedom or an app like Cold Turkey

19. Let the words find you:

meditate, go for a walk, take that shower

Word Palette is a great app that features a keyboard of random words, allowing you to simply click your way to your next masterpiece.

You can also try AI auto-completers like Talk to Transformer, where you can enter a phrase and let the app “guess what comes next.”

even though they often produce nonsense, it's a great way to help that writer's block.

20. Write like Hemingway:

And if your biggest block is your own self-doubt about your prose, Hemingway offers suggestions to improve your writing as you go

it's a pretty cool app if you ask me.

it highlights your sentences (if need be) and makes suggestions on how to improve them!

well, there you have it! a lengthy post on how to fight writer's block. now i just hope i can combat my own soon.

like, comment and reblog if you find this useful! feel free to reblog in instagram and tag me perpetualstories

Follow me on instagram and tumblr for more writing and grammar tips and more!

[let-them-read-fics]

Yours Truly (Pt. 1)

Requested By: Some of you!

Pairing: Jisoo x Fem!Reader

AU: College

Word Count: ~ Part 1 -> 9,786 // Part 2 -> 7,433

Warnings / Misc. -- Pining, Angst, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! I finally have a few days off, so we're back to our (semi) regularly scheduled programming with this fic! I really hope you enjoy it; lmk what you think :)

PS ~ Once again, I had to split it into two parts to appease the Tumblr Overlords.

♡ Happy Reading ♡

Part 2 -- Click Here

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

1.) A Day In Class

Where does true beauty come from?

Is it strictly based in someone's DNA, rooted entirely in the attractiveness of their features? Or is deeper than that; does it extend from their soul? The very essence of stardust and personality that makes them them? Is it in how they interact with others? How they carry themselves? 

You, being the wannabe philosopher that you are, love hearing people's answers to those questions. Every response is unique in its own way, altered depending on the person asked, and you find that to be one of humanity's most wonderful qualities. Like snowflakes, we're all different; as such is our definition of beauty. It lies in the eye of the beholder, subjective in its nature, and you find that comforting. Just think: if 99% of the world's population found you unattractive, 78,000,000 would beg to differ. 

Though, for one person, you're sure those rules don't apply. She's objectively beautiful, and no one even attempts to pretend otherwise. 

Who, you may ask? Kim Jisoo, of course -- head of your school's student council, resident girl next door, and keeper of your heart. She's poised in every way, and refined to the point that you question if you're even deserving of knowing her. Humor and kindness radiate from her no matter where she goes, so it's really no surprise that so many people love her. 

A tap on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to look at your best friend. "Yo, Y/N. What did you get for number 32?" Jeong asks from his seat in the row directly behind you, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Your history professor likely wouldn't take kindly to being interrupted during his lecture, so you choose to show him your answer instead of responding out loud. 

Jeong thanks you and continues to work on the activity you finished nearly 15 minutes ago, leaving you to half-heartedly listen to your professor. You're a good student, but even you have a limit to how much monotonous speaking you can handle in one sitting. As his words drone on, you roll your neck -- intending for the action to relieve some of the tension in your aching muscles; you're in for a surprise, however, when you lock eyes with none other than Jisoo herself. She offers a warm smile and wave, and the innocent actions send swarms of butterflies to take flight in your stomach. After sitting there for a moment, dumbstruck by her beauty, you snap to and return the gesture, making her giggle quietly. 

Huh. So that's what angels sound like, then.

She turns back to her work after a minute, flipping the page every so often as she follows along with the lesson. You take note of how her eyes dart across the materials laid out on her desk, how her fingers mindlessly flirt with the edge of her sleeve in contemplation when she gets to a question that stumps her.

Never have you ever found yourself in such inner turmoil before. The sight before you begs to be seen -- to be admired -- but class continues on. As much as you try to fight it, your resolve eventually crumbles; foreign concepts now falling on fully deaf ears, you allow yourself to be entranced. 

2.) Out In The Square

A Few Hours Later

Throngs of people stretch out before you, everyone making their way to various parts of campus as the blazingly hot sun beats down on them. Some run like their lives depend on it -- likely having overslept or missed campus transit -- while others take their time, catching up with friends and gossiping all the while. The soft pfft of sprinklers set up across the sections of lawn around you can be heard, going off every so often, and occasionally they're followed by the shouts of some unfortunate people getting soaked. 

"You're so lucky, Y/N," Jeong groans from behind you. A grimace sits on his face as he flips through the pages of his Trigonometry book, looking for the reference graphs again. "No more classes for the rest of the week and you don't have any more assignments to finish? Remind me again how to become a teacher's pet, please." You roll your eyes with an amused smile, leaning back on your elbows to talk to him. 

"I'm not a teacher's pet, Jeong. I just do my work on time instead of partying every night." He picks up a leftover piece of bread from the picnic basket that sits to his right and tosses it at you in retaliation to your little remark. 

"I don't care what you say, those parties are always epic. One of these days I'll convince you to come along." 

You shake your head, knowing there's no way you'd willingly attend one of them. From his stories, all those "epic" nights consist of is ridiculously drunken beer pong, sweaty people doing jello shots, and regrets.

"Not in a million years, loser." You say adamantly, not letting him trick himself into believing he's capable of swaying you. 

With one last muttered phrase of, "we'll see about that," he returns to his studies, and you turn your attention elsewhere.

Scattered light filters in through the leaves of the tree you're sitting under, wrapping you in a blanket of warmth as your eyes scan across the crowd again. The sight brings to mind an idea that always fascinates you: everyone you meet is busy creating their own stories, writing and rewriting new possibilities and endings for themselves with each new choice they make. You can hear snippets of their conversations -- see instances of some having their best days while others are living through their worst -- and it really puts things into perspective. Although we may appear as side characters in those books of life that others are writing for themselves, we have no idea what they're going through at any given moment. So, you believe, that makes it all the more important to leave a positive impact on them; whether it be a kind smile, holding the door, or even a simple compliment, you're determined to have your legacy be one rooted in kindness. 

Speaking of kindness in human form…

There she is, you think to yourself, feeling that all too familiar pitter patter of your heart pick up. Jisoo exits Building C, where her latest lecture just ended, and rushes down the stairs with her books in her arms. She's studying to become an actress, as far as you know, and you can't help but smile at the thought; she'll make an amazing star someday. 

You watch as she meets up with 3 other girls, whom you immediately recognize as Lisa, Rosé, and Jennie, and they eagerly bounce their way over to the refreshment truck that one of your school's clubs had been so considerate to hire. It's the perfect day for a cold treat, after all. 

Jisoo's dark hair flows in the gentle breeze that rolls in, looking like silk as it rides the currents. She's gorgeous in every way, and you can't help but be smitten; besides, it's not like you're not alone in your pining. She practically has the entire student body wrapped around her finger. 

"Y/N, don't forget to blink. You're staring pretty hard," Yuqi says, raising up onto her elbow beside Jeong. He laughs with her, but his eyes remain glued to the notebook paper he's scribbling his work onto.

Your eyes dart away following her statement, and you know you've been caught. "I thought you were asleep," you bite back, attempting to hide the blush of embarrassment that's quickly flooding to your cheeks. 

"I was, but I guess my intuition as your best friend woke me up. It's my mission in life to tease you." 

"So I've gathered," you sarcastically smile at each other, making stupid faces like always. 

"You love me," she flips her hair over her shoulder, appearing self-assured with the smirk that tugs at her lips. 

"Do I though? I don't know sometimes..." she socks you in the arm, making you chuckle. 

"All jokes, babe. Don't pout," you pinch her cheek until she grins, and then she begins telling you all about the dream she just had. 

----

Jisoo leads her gang over to one of the nearby tables, making sure to choose her seat strategically. A special someone caught her attention earlier, as they have from the moment she first laid eyes on them months ago, and she hasn't been able to fight the urge to admire them. She watches as they laugh along with something their friend said, tilting their head back as the cheerful noise rings out. She finds herself smiling along, imagining what it would be like to make them laugh like that; it's a uniquely wonderful sound, and she can't help but adore it. 

They lean across the blanket they're sitting on and dig through a picnic basket, retrieving what seems to be a sandwich packaged up in plastic wrap. One of their friends exaggeratedly thanks them, tackling them to the ground in a messy hug with a shout of gratitude that even Jisoo can hear from across the square. 

"Earth to Jisoo!" Jennie says, raising her voice slightly as she snaps her fingers in front of the unnie. The former jolts back to attention with a little jump, clearing her throat to gather her thoughts. 

"You know, you could always go talk to him. I've heard he's sweet." She tells the other girl, noticing the look of longing that's befallen her features. 

"Yeah, Joy has Art with him on Thursdays. I think his name's Jeong or something like that." Lisa butts in before taking another lick of her ice cream. 

Despite being so smart, the girls are really oblivious sometimes; Jisoo wasn't looking at him at all. She was looking at you. 

She doesn't know if now is the right time to tell them that, though. She hasn't officially come out to them, but she isn't afraid that they won't accept her -- she just wants that moment to be special, and sweating in the middle of the campus square doesn't seem like the golden opportunity that she's been hoping for.

"Just eat your treats, knuckleheads." She concludes, taking a spoonful of the shaved ice she opted for instead of ice cream. The truck had multiple types of treats, with all kinds of different toppings and flavorings lining the walls.

"Okay…" Rosé trails off before adding, "but don't say we didn't try to help when you start wishing you had said something later." Jisoo uses her spoon to lower the one that Rosie had raised accusingly at her, reassuring the girl that she'd be fine. 

She knows it's a lie, though; as the 4 of them later toss their trash in the bins and make their way to the student council room, Jisoo sneaks a last wistful glance at you, wishing she would've had the courage to start a conversation.

3.) One Step Closer

Friday, 1:34 PM -- A Few Days Later

"Hey, Minji. How many do we have today?" You wave at what kids have already been dropped off, your presence making their little faces light up with joy. 

Your coworker responds from across the room, tossing a couple stray toys into their labeled baskets to keep the space tidy. "10 or so, I think. The last ones should be arriving soon." You nod and take off your coat, setting your things in one of the small cubbies against the wall just beyond the entrance. 

"Y/N!" A small voice shouts from behind the counter, hidden from view. You smile deeply when you realize who it is, and you quickly dart around the corner to say hello. His chubby hands cover his mouth, but they do little in hiding his adorable grin. "Seungbum! How's my little munchkin?!" He squeals and runs into your arms, giggling loudly when you pick him up and spin him around. His dark hair sways from side to side with the movement, the slight waves sticking out in random places. A few seconds later, he wraps his arms around your neck and pulls back to look at you, settling into your secure hold. 

"Can we play when Jia gets here? I promised her I'd show her the new trick I learned, but I wanna show you, too." 

You smile at the sweet sentiment. "Of course, buddy. As long as you eat well at snack time, we can play however much you want." You raise an eyebrow at him, showing your authority, before saying, "I saw you put your veggies in your pocket last time and skip to dessert, so it'd better not happen again." He lowers his head after realizing he had been caught, and a hint of redness flushes his cheeks in embarrassment. 

"Okay Y/N-yah." 

You tickle him to make sure he knows you aren't mad at him, and soon he's laughing again. "Now, go wash your hands and get settled at the table, please." 

"Yes ma'am." His tiny sneakers squeak against the floor as he races off towards one of the lowered sinks that borders the kitchen wall, and you shake your head with a smile. 

Not even a second later, you feel a soft tug at your pant leg, and you turn around to find the source. 

A head of brilliantly auburn hair is the first thing you see, and its shade compliments the child's outfit perfectly. "Hi sweetheart. Are you new?" You squat down to the young girl's level, noting how she shyly toys with her fingers as they rest in front of her. She nods, the movement so subtle that you almost don't notice it. 

"My name's Y/N, and that awesome lady over there," you lean closer to her and point towards your coworker, "...is Minji. You can stay with us today, or you can play with the others, okay?" She nods again, her mannerisms letting you know just how shy she really is. Gently taking one of her hands, you hold it and look at her with a reassuring smile, asking, "Will you tell me your name?" 

"I'm Aera." She meekly says, only maintaining eye contact for a second or two. 

"That's a beautiful name," you compliment, seeing progress as she lightly smiles at your words. "And I love your bow," you add, touching the delicate material that rests near her ear, nestled into her straight locks. It has cherry blossoms and butterflies on it, all vibrant and neatly colored. 

"Thank you, I picked it out myself." She perks up a bit now, raising her head to look at you with a proud smile. "Wow, really?" You put on an impressed expression, wanting to boost her confidence even more. "You'll have to help me choose one the next time I go shopping, then. You're great at it." The praise makes her chuckle, and her eyes squint into soft crescents in the process. 

After stealing a glance at the table where everyone else has already gathered, you realize that they're waiting on you to start. "Alright, Aera, it's time to grab a bite to eat. Do you want to sit with me, or are you ready to be with the others?" You tilt your head to the side, asking the question softly so she doesn't feel overwhelmed. Having had this job for a while, you've gotten the hang of adjusting your behavior to put them at ease. 

"With you," she says, growing a little timid again at the idea of mingling with them yet. "That's perfectly fine." You reassure her, smiling one more time before standing and leading her to the room. Her hand remains clutched in yours, wiggling around slightly from the height difference as she looks around. 

"Who's ready for some snacks?" Minji asks the group, laughing when they all raise their hands and get excited. Their high pitched voices carry around the room as they discuss what foods they want to trade with each other, and soon everyone is happily munching away. You rub Aera's back sweetly as she eats some cucumber sticks, swinging her feet through the air beneath the short chair you retrieved from the table for her. She looks up into your eyes with a smile, melting your heart with the cuteness of her full cheeks. You squish them before turning away, feeling your 6th sense kick in as you scan your eyes across the rest of the group. 

"Seungbum…" you warn, catching the way he's mischievously eyeing the carrots laid out before him on the table. He pokes at one of them and sighs, eventually giving in as he takes a hesitant bite of it. With some more convincing, he finishes the rest of the pack and gets started on his dessert. 

----

Honestly, you feel sorry for the birds outside.

They must have had hundreds of mini heart attacks upon hearing the somehow earth-shattering roar of the 10 young kids, all blasting out the side door towards the playground. Some of them automatically race towards the swings or slides, while others approach the basket of toys and sports equipment. Aera, however, hangs back, her entire hand wrapped around just a few of your fingers. "What do you wanna do?" She shrugs, looking around at the different activities that the others are already starting. 

"I can push you on the swings, or we could race. There're some monkey bars and a merry-go-round, too, that nobody's using right now." You suggest, hoping to catch her interest with one of them. Her attention snaps up to you at that last option, and she dramatically drops her jaw. "Did you say merry-go-round?" You nod with an amused grin, laughing when she lets out a cute noise of joy. After pointing her in the direction of it, she dashes off ahead of you and makes her way to it, only stopping to make sure you're still coming with her once she gets there.

"Hold on tight, little one." You advise, cheering when she giggles in anticipation. Her chuckles fill the airwaves as you spin the bar around, making sure not to pull too hard and make her too dizzy. You were once a kid, too, though, so you make it a point to add some serious speed every now and then to keep her entertained and happy. You remember playing on these all day when you were her age.

---

"Auntie!" Aera shrieks, excitedly thundering towards the fence that borders the playground. You finish cheering Seungbum on after watching his trick, grinning as he tries to flirt with Jia; she looks impressed. You turn around at Aera's commotion, feeling your eyes practically pop out of your head at who you see standing on the other side. 

"How was your day, my love?" Jisoo asks sweetly, leaning over the metal divider to run a hand through her niece's hair lovingly. She still hasn't noticed your presence, and for that you don't know if you're relieved or saddened. Watching her interact with the young girl is quite adorable, though, and you're distracted from your personal gay panic for the time being. 

"I've had so much fun. And Y/N-yah said she likes my hair clip! I told you this one was prettier than the one with just trees on it!" Aera says smugly, happy to have her decision pay off and prove her aunt wrong. Jisoo tenses up, not expecting to hear your name right now. Seeing that this is her first time picking Aera up, she had no idea you work at the daycare; though she'd be lying to say that it comes as a surprise -- you're a very warm person, so it's no wonder that you're good with kids. 

As per Aera's request, you walk across the playground and join her in front of Jisoo. Now it's your turn to be shy; you sneak a glance at the student council president and immediately feel your cheeks heat up, so you busy yourself by patting Aera on the head. She hugs your leg and settles against your side, causing Jisoo to raise her eyebrows. "I'm impressed, Y/N. She usually doesn't open up to new people very easily." 

"Ah, I'm surprised that such a cool girl like her wanted to hang out with me." You tease, tickling her side lightly when she hides behind the material of your shirt. "Do you want to come in and see what she drew today? She's definitely skilled." You suggest, trying not to sound too hopeful as you muster up the courage to look at Jisoo again. She's already smiling at you, a soft sort of adoration shining in her eyes as they rake over your features. She accepts your offer, and you walk over to the gate to let her in. Aera demands that you carry her, so you scoop her up into your arms as you make your way back into the daycare center. Her head sits on your shoulder, and you can feel her playfully making faces at Jisoo the entire way; her tiny frame jolts with each loud giggle she lets out, and the sound makes you smile. 

---

"Yeah, she was my sidekick for the day." You respond to Jisoo, continuing your conversation as you watch Aera remove her drawing from the cork board that she taped it to earlier. Displaying the kids' artwork is something that you advocated for when you first began working here, and you're so glad you did; they always get excited to share their works. 

"She's a lucky girl, then." She says, doing her best to ignore the feeling of your eyes on her. Focusing on anything other than you is already hard enough for her, but she knows there'd be no hope left if she gives in now. 

"Y/N helped me draw this. She doodled Dalgom in the corner," Aera cheerily says, breaking the slight tension in the air as she approaches the table. Most of the other kids have already been picked up, and Minji's watching the handful that haven't. 

"It's not very good," you cringe, scratching the back of your neck. You've seen him a few times since the beginning of the year, whether it be on walks across campus with Jisoo, or perched on her desk during "bring your pet to class" day. 

"It's adorable; Dalgomie will be honored when I show it to him." Jisoo says with a nod, shutting down your insecurities within a second. You fail to contain the laugh that slips past your lips, disbelief present in your voice as you ask, "You're going to show him?" She looks at you like you have 3 heads. "It would be a disgrace not to."

With a breathy chuckle, you say, "You're so strange. I like it, though." 

Jisoo smiles at that, and the three of you discuss all of the fun things you did that day. Jisoo tells you about the classes she had to sit through, and even how she stepped in gum and had to borrow a pair of Rosé's shoes. 

---

All good things must come to an end, though, and after about half an hour of talking, it was time to say goodbye. 

You lead them out the door and down the sidewalk as per Aera's request, yet again (that child is basically a mini dictator at this point, but she's cute so she gets a free pass). As she rustles around her bag in search of her keys, Jisoo accidentally knocks her earbud case out, sending it tumbling to the ground. "Oh! Here, I'll grab it for you." You kindly offer, stepping past her to retrieve it from the grass. She takes it from you with a word of gratitude uttered in that angelic voice of hers, and you begin your goodbyes upon hearing Minji call your name. 

"I'll see you around, Jisoo. And Aera, I expect to see you next week." You wiggle a finger at the little girl, donning a shocked expression when she pretends to bite it. "Can't you tell we're related?" Jisoo asks with a smile, ruffling her niece's hair. "The resemblance is uncanny," you laugh, watching as both of them join in with you. 

"Y/N, come on!" Minji whines, sounding like a toddler herself. You initially go to brush off her request in order to spend a few more seconds with the two of them, but when she stands in the doorway, entering your line of sight, you see why she's so desperate for your help -- two of the children still waiting on their parents are climbing on her, about to knock her over at any second. Her face is beet red from the effort she's exerting, and her hair is mussed wildly. 

"Oh shhh---" you start, catching yourself when Jisoo widens her eyes at you and goes to cover Aera's ears, "--shiitake mushrooms!" You finish with a nervous smile, gaining a stunned laugh from your crush. "Bye girls; gotta go. I'm on my way, Minji!" You call out like a superhero, running to her aid as fast as your legs will carry you. 

Jisoo watches you wrangle one of the squirmy kids off of her and initiate a tickle fight to distract him and give Minji time to deal with the other one. She smiles like a dork at your actions, realizing she would be content with watching you all day. You're a natural with them, and seeing you in action is something she wishes she had the chance to do more often. With that, she turns around and picks Aera up; the youngster nuzzles into her embrace, lazily slumping onto her after having such a tiring day. As Jisoo goes to take a step forward, she notices something on the ground: a piece of paper. It's been folded neatly many times, and it reminds her of the notes she would always pass to her friends back in elementary school. Her curiosity gets the better of her, and she can't resist the urge to pick it up. 

"To The Girl Who'll Never Know I Love Her"

Her eyes scan across the words and she unfolds the note, making sure to keep a steady grip on Aera with her other arm. An almost unnoticeable signature is scribbled in the bottom corner, and she nearly scares Aera by squealing in pleasant surprise. 

It's your name, curled into the letters that are so uniquely yours; the paper must've fallen out of your pocket when you bent down to get her case earlier. 

After buckling her niece into her car seat and climbing into the driver's seat, Jisoo unfolds the note again and begins reading. She's like a giddy kid all over again, and part of her feels bad for giving into temptation. She reasons with herself by promising to give it back to you the next time she sees you, and that manages to rid her conscience of some of the guilt she feels. For now, though, she's eager to see what it contains. 

The first thing to catch her eye is a poem written neatly underneath a doodle of a rabbit, likely serving as some sort of label. Everyone on campus knows of her nickname and resemblance to rabbits, and she can't help but hope that your drawing wasn't simply a coincidence. 

Poison, is what you are

A bittersweet mix, intoxicatingly beautiful 

For one glance from you

Steals every breath I had so foolishly believed was mine to take

For one smile from you

Sends me reeling, falling all over again

She nearly swoons at the words, rereading them multiple times over and imagining you saying them to her. She wonders how the syllables would fall from your lips, which ones you'd stress to alter the meaning into whatever you imagined when you wrote them. Whether or not they're written for her, she may never know; all she's aware of right now is how they make her feel, and how that feeling is one that she never wants to stop experiencing.

4.) Practice Makes Perfect

2 Weeks, 3 Exams, and 1 Mental Breakdown Later

"Coming!" You call out, using all of your strength to push your rolling chair away from your desk and across the room towards the door. 

"Y/N L/N, at your service," you say, doing a little bow in your seat. Upon looking up to see who's in front of you, your eyes lock with the same girl who's been living in your mind rent free ever since you met her. 

"Jisoo!" You announce a little louder than intended, scrambling up into a standing position before kicking the chair backwards. You wince when it collides with something behind you, filling the room with noise as a few of your knick knacks clatter to the floor. Jisoo has to fight to contain the smile on her lips, pursing them as she looks towards the ground so as to not embarrass you. 

It's too late though -- you've already made a fool of yourself, and right in front of your crush, no less. 

"What can I do for you?" You ask, finally relaxing your face from its previously scrunched up position. 

"Are you busy right now? I have a favor to ask and you might be the only person who can help me out." Her eyebrows raise inquisitively at you, quirking up in that special way they always do when she's focusing in class. 

She could ask you to do just about anything, and you'd be agreeing without hesitation; no questions asked. 

"N-no, just doing a little studying is all. How can I help?" You'd normally curse yourself for sounding so shy, but she looks especially gorgeous tonight and you can't even blame yourself for it. The fluorescent bulbs of the dorm's hallway fail to even put a dent in the glow she's radiating, and that's no small feat -- those horrible little things are usually capable of making anyone look bad, and yet, once again, Jisoo manages to break the mold. 

"Mrs. Choi assigned a rehearsal for me tonight, and I need a peer to score how well I do. I trust you to do it." She says, having no idea how much her words are affecting you. 

Review portions of the semester are crucial to every major's success, but arguably none so much as those studying to be actors. The peer and admin reviews that they receive account for a large chunk of their grade, so you can imagine how nerve-racking it would be to put that kind of power in someone else's hands. You're touched that she trusts you with it. 

"I'd love to help, Jisoo. Just curious, though: why don't you have one of the girls help? They probably know more about it than me, after all." Everyone knows how close JenChuLiChaeng are, so her decision to choose you is genuinely intriguing. 

Shit. For some reason, Jisoo hadn't anticipated that you'd ask that question. The thought had never crossed her mind earlier, when she was preoccupied with convincing herself to come in the first place, so she has to think something up on the fly. 

"They're all busy with work. Couldn't afford to lose any precious cramming time, you know?" She says, a hint of nervousness behind the small laugh she lets out. It's uncharacteristic for her, considering she's usually so confident all the time, but you think it's adorable.

"Ryujin's the same way," you tease, turning your head to look at your roommate. She's across the room on her bed, reading through her book as she holds her middle finger up to let you know she heard your comment. "What a sweetie," you coo, blowing a kiss at her that makes her roll her eyes and smile despite herself. She pretends to be hardcore, but after spending the past few months with her you've discovered that she's actually the human embodiment of a cinnamon roll. 

"Well," you say, turning back to Jisoo, "when do you have to start?" 

She pulls her sleeve back to glance at her watch before returning her gaze to you. "Gotta be back at the dorm in 10 minutes." 

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, the inner honor student in you already panicking. "10 minutes?! It's all the way across campus, Jisoo!" 

She laughs at you now, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. "I'm kidding; we still have a couple hours. You should've seen your face, though. Priceless." 

"That's no way to treat someone who practically has your grade resting in their hands." You say smugly, a little smirk playing on your lips when her jaw drops dramatically.

"You wouldn't dare," she narrows her eyes, referencing the notion that you might give her bad marks because of that little prank. 

"Maybe, or maybe not. Perhaps I'll be merciful if you take me to get something to eat first." 

"Food as a peace offering? Alright, I can do that."

You smile, doing a dorky little cheer at that. "Okay, I'll be right out; just give me a second to make myself look presentable." 

Jisoo accepts your words with a curt nod, but she wants to tell you that you already look more than presentable. When you first opened the door earlier and she saw you in your study glasses, she couldn't help but smile like a fool; you're adorable, especially to her, and she wishes you could see that. 

A couple minutes later you exit your dorm and find her leaned up against the hallway wall, her hands fidgeting in front of her. Is she nervous?

"So, where would you like to go?" You ask, pulling the thin material of your jacket over your shoulders. It's lightweight -- seeing as how the weather doesn't call for a large one -- and it feels soft against your skin. 

As the two of you fall into step with each other, she responds, "It's up to you, princess. Since I'm at your mercy and all." Her smirk is visible in your peripheral. 

The nickname causes your heart to flutter in your chest, thudding around even harder than it had before. "U-uh, how about the noodle place?" You suggest, trying not to cringe at the stutter in your voice. You've heard that she likes chicken and ramen, and that shop is known as the best restaurant on campus for it. 

"110%. You know me so well," she says dreamily, batting her eyelashes at you with a silly smile. 

"Called it," you retort, brushing your shoulder off nonchalantly. "Now come on, I'm hungry and ready to spend all of your money." Her hand slips into yours when you reach down for it, almost instinctively, feeling like it was meant to be there all along, and you tug her down the hallway towards the elevator. 

----

"I know! If Mr. Johnson assigns another project like that then I'll politely be jumping out a window." 

Jisoo laughs at how animated you are, even having to stop chewing her mouthful of food momentarily to make sure she doesn't choke. She really loves hanging out with you; you make everything fun, and all of the stress she feels on a daily basis seems to vanish into thin air. 

"I did pretty bad on that last one," Jisoo adds, grimacing as she remembers her score. 

"You literally got a 93 out of 100, shut up." You shake your head with an amused smile, reaching across the table to snatch a piece of gimbap from her plate. 

"Hey--" she goes to yell at you, but her phone vibrates against the table, successfully stopping her. 

"Hello?" She answers, silently starting a chopstick war with you when you reach for another piece. When the person on the other end begins talking, she stops playing in order to concentrate on what they're saying. 

"Did she cancel?" She asks, furrowing her brow as her lips form into a natural pout. She sighs, rubbing her temple gently as the conversation continues. "Okay, I'm out with a friend right now, but you can go ahead and head that way. We'll meet you there. Alright, love you, too. Bye." 

You raise an eyebrow, wordlessly requesting info about what new plan you're being involved in. "That was my brother; the babysitter cancelled on them last minute, so we have to watch Aera for a few hours." Jisoo loves her niece dearly, but she can't deny that she wanted to spend the evening alone with you. She's afraid the little girl will steal all of your attention away, as childish as that may seem. 

"You're such a good person," you compliment, only to frown when she brushes off your words. "I mean it, Jisoo. You always take care of everybody around you; it's admirable. Now take the compliment or I'll team up with Aera later and tease you." 

She rolls her eyes with a smile, saying, "You're gonna do that regardless." 

"That's not the point," you pout, stomping your foot on the ground lightly. 

"Fine; tis I, Jisoo, the greatest person in all of existence. Happy now?" 

"Ecstatic." You beam at her, returning back to your cheery self. "I'll go grab some boxes for us, okay?" She nods, and you scurry off on your mission. 

----

Back At Jisoo's Dorm

Images flash across the large, flatscreen TV mounted to the wall across from you, displaying scenes of whatever cartoon the network decided to air right now. Aera isn't being picky; she's content with sitting in your lap, mindlessly fidgeting with the necklace that loosely dangles from your neck as she remains entranced by the screen. Your arms are around her to make her feel secure, and her small frame racks against you with every sweet giggle she lets out anytime a new joke is told by one of her favorite characters. 

Jisoo observes from the kitchen, leaning back against the countertop to settle in while she waits for Aera's favorite snack to heat up. She watches as you point to various things on the TV, having her name the ones she knows and teaching her others that she doesn't. 

She loves seeing you like this. You're beaming in that special way that sets her heart on fire, and the flames are only fanned when you turn to look at her. Somehow, the sight reminds her of the first time she met you:

It was orientation week -- the beginning of the school year -- and you were taking a tour around campus with some of your friends. You were lucky to have them; you'd only kept in contact with a handful of people from high school, knowing full well that most of those relationships were only rooted in superficiality, never meant to last. But this motley crew was different; they saw you for you, and all of you genuinely enjoyed each other's company. It didn't have the same air of awkward tension as the fake friendships had -- this was real and honest, and you thanked your lucky stars for them on the daily. 

All of you had managed to get into your dream schools, and the reality was bittersweet; you'd all be moving away from each other and beginning your own lives, having less and less time for each other in the process. You were beyond proud of them, and yourself, for that matter, but it still hurt to think that they wouldn't be just a few blocks away anymore. That you couldn't just swing by their house to go on a late night drive through the city like you used to. As exciting as your new experiences were bound to be, part of you was terrified; your life up until now had been fairly safe, creating a little security blanket to protect you from all that life had in store, but now you were on your own and the idea was a bit daunting. The memories you made together comforted you, though, and kept the sadness at bay. 

"Dude, this place is sick. How did you manage to make it in again?"

"Because she's smart, dumbass. We should be asking you that question."

"Ouch, (Friend's Name), that hurt."

"Do you still have those chips from earlier? I'm starving over here."

"Yeah, here, they're in my bag."

Pockets of separate conversations can be heard from behind you, all of your friends chatting away while you walk ahead of them, map and schedule in hand. The campus is fairly large, and with so many buildings and classrooms it's easy to get confused. You continue walking, running a finger along the map to trace the path you intend to take towards the Help Center. 

In your preoccupied state, you don't even realize that you're headed straight for a trash can that sits on the sidewalk, mere seconds away from colliding with it. 

A passerby notices just in the nick of time, reaching an arm out in front of you to prevent the accident with a noise of warning. You tense up, not expecting the sudden interruption, and look up into the eyes of your savior. Her dark orbs peer back at you, an innocent gleam in them when she sees your lips slowly tug into a smile. 

She mirrors your actions, neither of you saying anything yet. You couldn't utter a word even if you wanted to; her beauty leaves you speechless. 

"That was close," she says quietly, only to you. Your friends have almost caught up with you now, still busy with their own conversations, though they'll tease you once they see a gorgeous stranger's arm wrapped around you. 

"Thank you," you breathe out, clearing your throat as you take a step away from her. 

"Ooh, who's this, Y/N?" One of your friends coos, garnering a chorus of childish "oohs" and kissy noises from the others. Why are they so obnoxious?

You apologetically glance at the girl one more time before turning around to respond to them, but she speaks up before you can. 

"Kim Jisoo." She introduces, facing them with a wide smile. It's easy to see that she's done this before; her tone is pleasant and light, not even a hint of hesitancy in it. She's used to being the center of attention; you can tell by the way she carries herself and commands the space. 

"I see you guys are taking a tour, right?" She looks between all of you, though her eyes linger on you for a second too long to be brushed off as 'just friendly'. 

You nod, saying, "I can't find my last class. It's a Gen Ed one; World History, room 435. The map says it's in Complex D, but the room was vacant when we went by."

She listens intently, paying attention to your every word. "They must've handed out the old maps by accident, then. Mr. Johnson had to move rooms to accommodate larger class sizes. When do you have him?" 

You unfold your schedule again, gazing down at the slightly crumpled sheet until your eyes find their target. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, 1PM." 

Upon registering what you said, Jisoo does her best to contain the grin that threatens to spread across her face. "Ah, same as me! I can take you to the room, if you'd like. That way you can find it next week." She offers, pleased by the fact that she'll be seeing you more often. Your cute mannerisms have already thrown her for a loop, and she wants to get to know you better. 

"That would be great." You let out a relieved laugh, releasing the worry you felt; tours are meant to end within 20 minutes or so, and before Jisoo came you were afraid you'd never find your last class. She's saving the day again, it seems. 

"Great, follow me," she smiles warmly, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to turn you in the right direction. When you give your friends one last glance over your shoulder, you find them giving you thumbs up with smirks on their faces. One of them puckers their lips at you, and you stick your tongue out in return. 

You're not sure what they'll end up doing while you finish your tour, though it'll likely involve either skating or eating fast food. They have each other to keep themselves entertained, so you're not worried about them in the slightest. You make a mental note to text them when you're done to meet up again. 

Jisoo smiles like an idiot when she realizes what's happening behind her, failing miserably to hide it when you spin back around and give your full attention to her. 

"What?" You ask, leaning in closer to her to nudge her shoulder when she looks away, blushing. 

"Nothing," she shakes her head, only to be prompted by you again. "You're just cute, is all." 

You have to use all your power to hold back the squeal you want to let out at hearing that. Kim Jisoo, as you now know her to be, thinks you're cute? You must be dreaming. 

"That's funny, I don't remember turning into a mirror."

"Yah, babo!" She chuckles, not expecting that as she smacks the back of your head with no real force. The two of you share a laugh and continue talking while you make your way to the room.

Beeping sounds from the microwave bring Jisoo back down to Earth, causing the pleasant memory to fade more and more with every incessant signal that cuts through the air. She grabs a couple heat guards and approaches the machine, carefully opening the steaming package and pouring its contents into a big, shareable bowl. Though it may be Aera's favorite food, she'd be damned to not make enough for the two of you as well. After all, keeping her entertained will take plenty of energy. 

"Did this princess order one heaping bowl of popcorn or am I at the wrong castle?" Jisoo plays, padding into the room with a bright smile on her face as she looks over at her niece. The smell of her snack snaps Aera back to reality, making her eyes light up with pure joy as she leaps off of your lap and runs to Jisoo. She wraps her arms around her legs, thanking her in that sweet little voice of hers as she gazes up at her aunt with stars in her eyes. 

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She chants, wiggling her body around in excitement. She lets go when Jisoo goes to walk to the couch, following close behind her like an eager puppy. 

She approaches you again, making grabby hands for you to lift her onto your lap even though she's more than capable of getting up there by herself. Nevertheless, you pull her up with a humored grin, watching as she puts her hands in her lap and patiently waits for the two of you to get a bite first. Her ability to follow manners is commendable, though the slight twitch of her lip when she gets a whiff of the food is pretty adorable. 

"Dig in," you say around your mouthful of food, locking eyes with Jisoo when Aera jumps at the opportunity to follow your instructions. You never have to tell her twice when it comes to food. 

"Yep, definitely related." 

Jisoo laughs at your comment, reaching over top of Aera to flick you in the forehead. She shrugs at your pained exclamation, uttering a nonchalant "Sorry, not sorry," as the two of you crack up together.

----

"Y/N, how the hell did you manage to do that?" Jisoo whispers, not bothering to censor herself when she sees Aera fast asleep in your arms. It's not like she could hear her anyway. 

"She was already kinda tired when she got here; I just made sure to get that last little bit of energy out with the games. Have you forgotten that I know a thing or two about kids?" You tease, turning to her with a smile when you finish walking up the short staircase. 

"You don't understand: usually it takes us hours to settle her down. She's just a totally different person around you." 

"Must be my awesomeness." 

"Hmm, must be," Jisoo hums, quietly opening her bedroom door for you and watching as you carefully lay Aera down. You tuck her under the blankets with care, making sure to brush the hair out of her face and adjust her pillow a bit. Jisoo leans against the doorframe, adding the scene before her to her list of reasons for loving you. Seeing you in such a domestic situation gives her baby fever, and she has to push the persistent feeling away. 

"Ready?" You whisper with one last look over your shoulder, giving Jisoo your undivided attention once you confirm that Aera's alright. 

"Let's do it," she says, pulling the door to but not latching it. The two of you will be in the living room, just down the hall, and you want to be able to hear her in case she needs something. So responsible.

You take in the dorm as Jisoo leads you towards your destination, amazed at how much bigger it is than yours and Ryujin's. This one has separate rooms equipped with their own personal bathrooms, a decent kitchen, and, of course, a living area. Clearly, having ties to the school and being president of the student council come with some major perks. Your socked feet pad against the hardwood floor, and you close what little distance is left between Jisoo and yourself to press your body against her back, wrapping your arms around her. She lets out a little noise of surprise, but doesn't protest; she tucks one of her hands into your clasped ones and uses the other to rub your forearm. 

A few moments later you plop down onto the couch and get comfortable on the cushions. Jisoo digs around in her bag that leans against the tv stand, searching for the script of her upcoming production. Her shirt rides up slightly, giving you a perfect view of her beautifully sculpted stomach, and her skin looks ethereal as it glows in the soft lamplight of the room. Embarrassed for admiring her in such a way, you avert your gaze, failing to notice how she subtly bites her lip as she approaches you; she planned that little show, and it worked. 

"Okay, so here's the scoring sheet," she hands you a semi-formal looking paper, along with a pencil and clipboard to use as a stabilizer. "I'll be reading from the first few pages on my own, but I was wondering if you'd fill in for the male lead for some of the other parts? It's a lot easier to get into character if I have someone's energy to feed off of." 

You smile at how cute she sounded with her little rambled request, and nod. "Of course, Jisoo. I doubt I'll be any good, though." She releases a sigh at that, happy to have you agree; her plan is coming along nicely, but there's always room for things to go wrong. 

"I'm sure you're better than you think." 

"Stop sucking up, Chu. Flattery won't make me raise your grade," you warn, pointing the pencil at her sternly. Your tone sends a shiver down her spine, though it goes unnoticed by you. 

"Let's just get started." She concludes, doing her best to keep from getting too flustered under your already watchful eye. 

----

Her show is well underway, caught somewhere towards the end of act two, and you're enthralled by the performance she's giving. The paper that once rested in your lap is marked up with comments of praise and proud annotations to accompany your high scoring, though now it lays forgotten about on the coffee table, serving no purpose any longer. You finished all of the required sections necessary for your peer review, and now you're just enjoying the journey that Jisoo is continuing to take you on. 

You look back up into her eyes after reading off the lines of the character you're filling in for, looking completely unskilled next to the pure talent that she's exuding. She stands from the couch, looking down at you with an exasperated expression as she remains in character. 

"You don't get it!" She raises her voice slightly, though not loud enough to wake Aera. Even while in the intense mindset she has to be in for her character, she keeps one foot in the reality of this world, making sure to behave appropriately. 

"Enlighten me, then." You stand and retort, shifting a bit closer to her after reciting your line. 

"Only when I'm with you do I feel true happiness. Your kind eyes bring me comfort like no other; I'm safe in your arms. For you, my love," she pauses, her eyes brimming with tears from the emotional words she's spent so much time rehearsing. "...there isn't a thing in this world that I wouldn't do." Your breath is held tightly in your throat, and your hands subconsciously grip onto the material of your jeans. 

Only now do you realize how close the two of you have migrated to one another; she's merely a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from her. You swallow thickly, feeling your nerves come alive with every second that passes in heated silence, neither of you knowing what to do now. You've lost the desire to read your next line, and she doesn't seem too upset by that fact. Her eyes slowly scan over your features, and the lovesick look in them makes you question if she's still in character or slipping out of it. 

After her gaze darts down to your lips and she licks her own without even realizing it, you seriously begin hoping for the latter of the two options.

She searches your face for any sign of refusal as she leans in closer, now bringing her arms up to wrap around your waist and lightly ball the material of your shirt up into her fists. Your hands rest on her shoulders, and you glide your fingertips over her jawline. A singular nod is the last form of consent that you give her before she pulls you closer. 

Her lips ghost over yours, receiving some of the vanilla balm you applied earlier; her breath hitches when you tug at the collar of her university sweater, teasingly taking her bottom lip between your teeth. She wants to savor this moment, so she fights against her urge to dive right in and get lost in you. 

Within seconds, she's kicking herself for that decision. 

"Auntie? Y/N?" Aera calls sleepily from just around the corner, making the two of you spring away from each other. When she appears less than a second later, you realize how close you had been to getting caught. Jisoo refuses to meet your gaze when you look towards her, and that simple action disheartens you a bit.

"Hey, sweetheart. Bad dream?" You ask, using your inference skills after noticing the way that she's clutching her stuffed bunny close to her chest. Her lip trembles as she nods, and the sight breaks your heart. Quickly, you pick her up again, assuring her that she's safe and that you'd slay any monster that dared to hurt her, even in her dreams. A small smile tugs at her lips, and she brings a fist up to rub her eye. "How about this: I'll do a quadruple check of the room for you, and stay with you until you fall asleep. Sound good?" 

She utters a tired, "Yes, Y/N-yah", before laying her head on your shoulder and waving a goodbye towards Jisoo as you take her back to the room. 

Four sweeps of the room and one fight with a ghost later, you tuck her in again and lay a sweet kiss to her forehead. "Love you," she mumbles lazily, making your heart melt. Kids say that phrase quickly, without even realizing the weight that it has, but you're always glad to accept whatever they imagine it to be. Whether she loves you for playing with her, tucking her in, or defending her honor against imaginary monsters, you don't really care all that much -- she loves you in the ways that she knows how, and that's all that matters.

"I love you, too, Aera. Sleep well." You tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and settle against the wall, prepared to come through on your promise. 

----

"Hey," you start, albeit a bit awkwardly. 

"Hey," Jisoo returns, pushing her leftovers from the restaurant around her plate half-heartedly. You approach the marble countertop that she sits behind, silently begging for her to look up at you. 

"Should we talk about earlier?" You quietly ask, picking at imaginary imperfections on the surface of the countertop. 

"What about it?" 

"We practically kissed--"

"It was in the script to do so, Y/N." She says, finally looking up at you. She sounds a bit hostile now, like she's getting defensive for some unknown reason. 

"Oh," the simple utterance is all you can manage, seeing as how your brain is running a mile a minute. You want to ask if it meant anything else to her -- if she would've taken it farther, had Aera not walked in -- but you don't.  Her tone serves as enough of an answer, and you're not sure you could stand to hear her verbalize your fears anyway. 

"Well I guess I should go, then." You retract your hand and put it in your pocket, realizing how stupid you were for thinking she could like you back. She doesn't; she was just in need of a helping hand tonight, and you offered that. You shouldn't have tried to turn it into anything that it wasn't. 

Hearing the disappointment in your voice makes her want to confess right then and there, but something still holds her back -- some force is yelling at her to keep her feelings hidden for fear of rejection. "I can drive you." 

You shake your head. "Nah, it's okay. I'll have Ryujin come get me. You can't leave Aera here and I wouldn't want to have to wake her up just for you to drive me across campus." Jisoo agrees, realizing that she didn't even think about that at first. 

"Goodnight, Jisoo." You say, heading off towards the front door. She returns the gesture, reminding you to be safe as she locks it behind you and watches you dial up your roommate's number. Before long, she pulls into one of the parking spaces in front of the dorm, and the two of you drive away. 

Click Here For Part 2

[writing-in-april]

Converging Parallels

Spencer Reid x Female Single Mom Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Summary: Spencer goes to a support group Penelope suggested after the death of Maeve. He quickly connects with a single mom who’s experiences have been similar to Spencer’s.

A/N: I’m prefacing this by saying I know shit about math and am horrible at it lol 😂 so my math analogies might be horribly off 😂 This is my fifth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- this one was requested by @samuel-de-champagne-problems- this is the request- (go check out there fics too!!) I tweaked it a little bit so I hope you enjoy it 🥺 a lot of it is confined to Spencer grappling with his thoughts- but there is dialogue I promise lol 😂I had a good time writing it ☺️Thanks for all the love recently and if you want to drop me an ask for any reason you can do so here- I’m always looking for some new friends on here (I promise I don’t bite lol) Thanks again and hope y’all enjoy 🥰

Warnings: Angst with a hopeful ending, General dealings surrounding death and grief, Mentions of Maeve’s death, Reader’s a widow, Guilt about moving on, Reader’s child is a daughter

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.6k

Parallel lines were never supposed to meet, they were set on a strict path following in a similar direction with no hope of ever converging. At least that’s what was the widely accepted definition by anyone with any authority in the field of mathematics.

My own math degree was being contested by a set of two lines set on a collision course with each other, though they were not supposed to. Logically I knew that the two lines were not beholden to any mathematical equation as I was referring to two human lives.

We were set on a similar course, only slight differences that seemingly were leading us to different destinations, or at least I tried to convince myself that. I tried every night to convince myself that she was only a friend, that it wasn’t what she wanted and I was desecrating the memory of the person I still claimed to be the only person I loved.

Logically I knew that by forcing where I wanted our relationship to go, what I thought the universe wanted to happen wasn’t what I truly wanted. The reason I had boxed us in so vehemently was only because I was scared and guilty, I knew it too. I wanted us to converge, but logic doesn’t always win out when dealing with guilt.

It had all started with Garcia mentioning that I should consider going to a grief support group after the death of Maeve. Every action I took was being weighed down by her death, whether I cared to admit it or not.

Garcia had good intentions when she suggested going to this meeting to me, of that I was sure. It isn’t that I saw no reason to go to the support group, I just knew that it would dreg up all the unwanted feelings that bombarded me enough already.

The flier in my hands felt heavy even though it was made of paper it weighed my hands down enough where I almost dropped it. I could have let it go then to have it fly away, being taken by the wind, that would let me forget about it. But, I knew it would have only made me forget for a short while, I’d inevitably get questions from Garcia and my own mind wouldn’t let me forget the reality of what had happened. And, logically I knew that it would most likely help. So instead of letting the wind take it away, I crumpled the paper slightly in my hands out of frustration, moving my feet forward one step at a time to enter the building.

That’s where I had first met her. When I first walked in I didn’t immediately lock eyes with her or anything, my eyes were too fixated on the ground for that to happen.

I only noticed her when she was invited to tell her story. Her strength instantly captivated me, almost making me feel like a failure at first. Her story of how she lost her husband was eerily similar in some aspects, especially the cause of his death. The feeling of failure on my part to be strong swirled in my gut as she recounted her struggles that were so starkly similar to mine. She even had a young daughter to take care of as well, she often spoke of her whenever she told her story, almost neglecting herself sometimes- which she admitted she knew she needed to work on.

However, when she came up to me to talk after the meeting was concluded my opinion switched to view her as inspiring. We began getting coffee after each meeting, sometimes talking for hours, sometimes sitting in silence. Whatever I needed she was there to give it to me, whenever she needed help I wanted to be there too.

To see our almost parallel lives begin to converge at first felt like someone had driven a car into traffic about to collide straight into my path. My mind would not stop arguing about whether or not I should pull away from her or not, like guilt was on shoulder and my potential happiness was on the other.

—-

Guilt was eating away at me from the inside out slowly, that part of my mind would not stop clawing away any good aspect of my relationship with Y/N. The relationship between us had shifted in recent weeks, tension invading what had once been a simply platonic connection formed through our shared experiences. When it became clear to me what our lingering stares and touches were leading to, guilt had reared its ugly head to burrow its way down deep and take root.

It had disrupted my sleep even more than usual, nightmares ranging from Maeve guilting me to the visuals of her death. The images of Maeve and any time I had shared with her invaded my brain at all hours of the night, haunting me. I scrunched my eyes up tight, maybe that would banish the images from my brain. That only made the guilt worse it seemed as I now felt double the guilt for wanting to banish the thoughts about a person I still claimed to love.

My hand hit the pillow in frustration, then grabbing it and throwing it to some unknown location across the room. Sitting up, no longer being able to tolerate laying down knowing that sleep would never come, made my exhausted joints beg me to lay back down. I leaned forward to put my head in my hands, also tangling my curls with my fingers. I tried to think about what Y/N had said to me at one of the first meetings I had attended, my normally impeccable memory struggled as the memory of Maeve’s bloodied face would not leave. Screaming internally was the only thing that seemed to work to push the words I was looking for forward,

“I try to think about something my therapist told me- Although it's difficult today to see beyond the sorrow, May looking back in memory help comfort you tomorrow.”

The quote wasn’t something groundbreaking or new, though the origins were unknown. But, the words still struck me deep everytime I forced my memory to call back on them.

The words she had spoken in the meeting when talking about her husband made me want to try too. She inspired me whenever she told snippets of her story to me or the rest of the group, her story had been similar to mine- with the added element of having a daughter to raise on her own.

Her strength was what had drawn me to her initially, like a moth to flame. Our relationship wasn’t even a friendship at first, just two people sharing advice (more her giving it to me) about how to deal with crippling grief.

What had blossomed since then from death and decay had thrown me for a loop. I hadn’t been expecting for this to happen, I never even thought romance would be an option for me again. I thought that I would have one great love and that our time in the sun had ended along with any option for romantic interests in the future.

Then she came along and spun my thinking upside down, not that I blamed her at all for it. She originally had just reached out to help me, not to pursue any romantic connection purposefully while I was vulnerable.

She continued to stay with me to help despite my urge to push her away even though that’s not what I wanted. I tried hard to convince myself that our lives were never meant to connect, that we were destined to remain apart.

It took many more sleepless nights for me to realize what I hadn’t seen for so long, even with Y/N reassuring me at every turn. Maeve would want me to be happy, I was sure of it. So I’d try to let myself, no longer letting myself get hindered by my own swirling thoughts of guilt that Maeve wouldn’t have wanted me to feel.

—-

Asking her out on a date had been surprisingly easy once I had let go a little of my guilt. We had chosen to go somewhere different than a coffee shop, since we already did that often. I took her out to more of an upscale restaurant than she was used to, which may be too fancy for some for a first date, but she deserved it. She worked so hard to take care of her daughter and even me to some extent.

At the end of the night we were both standing outside her door ready to go in to relieve the babysitter for the night. I had already given her a chaste kiss for the night, even though my nerves kept trying to talk me out of it. I was about to say goodbye when she grabbed my wrist to hold in her hands. She looked afraid at first, almost like she wondered if I wouldn’t like her touching me. Touch may bother me with most people, but she wasn’t most people, I’d happily share germs with her. When I did not pull away relief was evident in her eyes, then taking a big breath before speaking,

“Would you like to meet my daughter?” Her voice was shaky, understandably full of worry.

“Of course.” In the past hesitation would have littered my voice if she had asked me the same question. But, my thoughts had been slowly shifting to want our lines to converge fully and with no fear. Sure, Maeve would always capture a place in my heart, but I was ready for our lives to collide. Our parallel lives converged into one line, with a set path forward. It may get derailed from its intended path, but we would be stronger together than apart.

Ask me anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith (damn tumblr just let me tag them)

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

[veterveter]

Hello Tuuli!

2, 3, 5, 11, 13, 17, 18, 20, 30, 33 for Fic writer ask game

That's what I'd like to know 😃

Hi Max!! Thank you so much for popping by with these!! <3

2. How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

I mainly read, but when I'm actively writing I read less. I struggle not to hold myself to the impossible standards of my favourite writers, and usually I just reread the same favourites again and again. (my old ff.net account still exists with 2k favourite stories, so clearly I used to read more back then)

3. Are there any fics that inspired you to write what you do?

I think if I had to name one, then it'd be Breaking and Entering by Resonant. This is one I've, like, analysed, and it's beautiful how many things are said between the lines, and I've been trying to imply more things than I write out ever since. Sometimes I try to imply too many things, for sure, because I'm not a master of it. But maybe some day. (if I had to name more it'd be everything @sorrydearie has ever written, that's the energy I wish to convey when I write Berlermo specifically but that's honestly not a standard me or anyone else should ever hold me to and that's why this is in brackets)

5. What are your fanfic pet peeves? Do they have a huge effect on whether or not you decide to read something?

I can't deal with bad grammar. Like it's not such a big issue nowadays but back in the ff.net days you'd have perfectly good stories absolutely ruined by atrocious grammar. Other than that, I don't really like it when people use a trope but don't bend it to fit the ship they're writing for, that kind of thing. I've a lot of squicks obviously but these are things that I think are a bit more universal?

11. How do you come up with your fic titles?

I put Panic! at the Disco on shuffle until inspiration strikes. Well, sometimes a title comes to mind before that, and I totally have come up with some myself, but this is simply foolproof. Panic! has never let me down.

13. Do you outline your fics? How much of a headache would someone get if they just looked at an outline of yours without reading the fic?

I don't :))) I write whatever scenes come to mind and then I try to fill in the gaps that don't inspire me. I bother my boyfriend to proofread and tell me what doesn't make any sense. Well, sometimes I pitch my ideas to friends and honestly that's the closest it comes to an outline. So maximum headache, you'll have to trust me that it makes sense in my head.

17. How obsessively do you sit and stare at your fic after you’ve just posted and wait for feedback?

Used to be verrrrry obsessively but now it's less so because I already know there won't be much of a response :'D that being said, nowadays I content myself when I hear that one (1) person other than myself liked a thing. That has to be enough.

18. Do you have a WIP that you keep telling yourself you’ll eventually get back to, but deep down you know that’s probably a lie?

Oh yes. I wish to finish my Hollywood fic. More so now that I've actually been to Hollywood. But I don't feel skilled enough to execute it to where I want it to be. I have the vibe so clear in my head, but whenever I try to commit it to paper it just doesn't... work.

20. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Editing beloved <3 I love not having the stress of figuring out a plot. Plots freak me out and so the less the better. So editing is me living my best life.

30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words.

Below the cut, have this exchange from what will hopefully be my Berlermo AUgust fic. It's 303 words but sue me.

When Andrés suggested they go to a football match, simply because it was a thing a lot of people did, he had conveniently forgotten about one very important detail. 

"Who's playing?" 

"Hmm? I have no idea." 

Martín actually cared about football. 

"It's crucial," Martín insisted. "I mean, of course I'll go, but we need to know who's playing, so we can pick the correct side of the stand. Don't look at me like that, this is important."

Andrés laughed. "Look, I'll leave the organisational side of it to you." 

Martín glared at him, as though Andrés's lack of passion offended him personally. 

Anyway, that's how Andrés found himself a week later, with Martín tying a yellow and blue scarf around his neck, three hours before the game.

"These aren't my colours," he complained. 

"You're right," Martín agreed, "They're my colours. And you're going to be a good fake boyfriend and support my team." 

"I'm surprised you found an Argentinian team playing here." 

"Not just any Argentinian team!" Martín insisted, "It's Boca. That is important, because I'd rather die than show any support for Los Millonarios." 

"Would you ever want to go back to Argentina?" Andrés asked, and Martín's hands stopped moving. Unfortunate, really. 

"If I did, I'd go for the Superclásico and nothing else," Martín said, bringing the topic back to football so smoothly it could have fooled someone else. 

"So you won't abandon me here all by myself?" Andrés asked, aiming for jest but realistically - this was the reason why he was asking. They'd be finishing school in a year, and Martín was smart, and if he wanted to go back, he could probably get accepted by any university he chose. 

"No," Martín said, needlessly solemn, "Till death do us part. Provided you don't say anything offensive at the match, anyway."

33. What do you like writing better: one shots or multi-chapter stuff?

One-shots (no plot vibes only), but actually my favourite thing to write is 1+1 so the fic and the b-side that's the other POV. Even better if they've complementary but slightly different vibes (ruining this banquet // spike the punch beloved). This is mostly because I always wish to see the other side of all my favourite fics so I try to deliver that + it allows more exploration of all the background stuff I enjoy implying. Win-win, really.

[iwhumpyou]

I posted 107 times in 2021

57 posts created (53%)

50 posts reblogged (47%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.9 posts.

I added 120 tags in 2021

#envy answers - 31 posts

#whump meta - 14 posts

#batfamily - 12 posts

#writing advice - 12 posts

#whump prompt - 12 posts

#whump community - 10 posts

#compliment - 8 posts

#shitpost - 8 posts

#enemy to caretaker - 7 posts

#whump tropes - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 103 characters

#sometimes your readers' imaginations come up with things more horrifying than you can ever put to paper

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Trope: Enemy to Caretaker (Take Two)

See also: Enemy to Caretaker (Take One)

It’s about the power dynamics, see.

It’s about being vulnerable and helpless at the feet of someone you believe wishes you ill.

It’s about how people react when they have absolute power thrust into their hands.

It’s about how you can tell the depth of a person’s soul by whether they help when it is not required of them, when it is not expected of them, when it is not custom to them.

It’s about expecting pain and receiving comfort.

It’s about breaking - breaking in front of a rival, a villain, an enemy - and being handed the pieces to put yourself back together again.

It’s about what you give and what you take when you don’t have the energy for trust.

It’s about tipping the balance of power - through injury, through exhaustion, through emotional trauma - and watching them reach out and slowly tip it back.

159 notes • Posted 2021-01-14 22:00:41 GMT

#4

Aesthetic: ‘Please’

It’s funny how a single word can change everything.

It’s supposed to be polite.  It’s supposed to be good manners.

It’s not supposed to be a glaring target.

Because please means something.  Because please changes the context of the situation from casualness to desperation.  Because please is begging, is pleading, is hoping and praying and crying.

‘Please don’t hurt them.’

‘Please give it back.’

‘Please stop.’

‘Please.’

Force the plea from stuttering lips, drag it out of cracking defiance and impotent rage, arrange the pieces of broken confidence and control.

Please.

215 notes • Posted 2021-01-05 22:00:51 GMT

#3

me: I want to read something written with my favorite tropes, in my favorite style, with my favorite characters.

my brain: so basically you want to read something you’ve written.

me: yes.

my brain: without ever actually writing it.

me: .....yes.

587 notes • Posted 2021-06-14 01:04:29 GMT

#2

Every piece of work you create doesn’t have to be The Best, Perfect, Most Flawless Work for it to be meaningful.

The first story I ever started?  About teenage girls that get elemental powers and get kidnapped?  If I hadn’t written that, I might’ve never tried getting stories out of my head and onto paper.

The first story I ever finished?  A YA fantasy with too many characters and flat relationships and a unnecessarily complicated plot?  If I hadn’t written that, I might’ve never believed that I could finish a novel-length story.

The first fanfiction I ever uploaded?  A self-insert OC fanfiction that overused italics?  If I hadn’t written that, I might’ve never gone on to spend a decade writing fanfiction.

The first novel I tried to query?  A draft I didn’t much like, a story I was fed-up with, rejections I knew were deserved?  If I hadn’t written that, I might’ve never pushed myself to figure out what the publishing process looked like.

The whump snippets I jot down?  Help me refine writing whump, writing pain, writing angst and emotions and feelings.

The new tropes/styles I try out?  Help me broaden my writing experience, better my writing, allow me to branch out.

The writing, day after day, even if it’s deleted, even if I hate it, even if I think it’s absolute garbage?  Help me write, help me get words onto the page, help me flex my fingers and imagination, help me figure out what I’m doing wrong so I know what to do right.

Everything you create is a step forward, even if you don’t see it at the time.

When you look back at old work, it’s easy to cringe, it’s easy to hide your face, it’s easy to wince and wish you did better and pretend like it didn’t exist.  But climbing a mountain means accepting that you started at the bottom, means realizing that the view is so much better for the effort, means remembering that even when you couldn’t see the clouds, you kept moving forward.

2247 notes • Posted 2021-05-31 15:04:04 GMT

#1

One of the best tips for writing descriptions of pain is actually a snippet I remember from a story where a character is given a host of colored pencils and asked to draw an egg.

The character says that there’s no white pencil.  But you don’t need a white pencil to draw a white egg.  We already know the egg is white.  What we need to draw is the luminance of the yellow lamp and the reflection of the blue cloth and the shadows and the shading.

We know a broken bone hurts.  We know a knife wound hurts.  We know grief hurts.  Show us what else it does.

You don’t need to describe the character in pain.  You need to describe how the pain affects the character - how they’re unable to move, how they’re sweating, how they’re cold, how their muscles ache and their fingers tremble and their eyes prickle.

Draw around the egg.  Write around the pain.  And we will all be able to see the finished product.

60058 notes • Posted 2021-03-06 16:40:09 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[hyba]

Hey, Hyba, I hope you're doing well ^^ There's no pressure to reply immediately, it sounds like you've been busy <3

But I was thinking of you and your projects and got curious about something. We've have talked about some of this in bits and pieces before, but each and everyone one of your stories is very different and unique, even the short stories, particularly when compared to each other. They're all so detailed and interesting and exciting. And they all feel very well thought out no matter what genre you are working with.

So, I was wondering where does a wip start for you? Can you walk me through the process from where you get ideas, to how you decide to approach characters, worlds, and the plots; and when you decide that this is something you want to write? Was it the same or different between your different projects? Did any of them have unique challenges that you didn't expect? And have you scrapped any writing projects before, and if you don't mind talking about it, do you know why they stopped working for you and what the decision to discontinue them entailed?

I know that's a lot, so as I said, take your time with getting back to the answer ^^' I was just wondering what the process of someone so versatile in their writing looks like.

Hello hello! ^^ Thanks so much for dropping by my inbox <3 'Tis true, I have been a lot busier (started a new job!) and my new schedule is taking some getting used to. I haven't written - really, really written - in a while. 2 weeks? I'm getting increasingly restless. But now that I've got a keyboard, I'm back in the game.

As for your Qs: I think it really depends on the WIP for me. Some WIPs start from a small snippet, a tiny scene, kind of like how my fantasy series did - the whole warrior-vowing-vengeance scene. Others are just me trying to work with a vibe - a specific atmosphere or feeling that I'm trying to emulate or evoke - and I think that fits better with how Apartment started out, because I was trying to work with that liminal sort of feeling, that eerie emptiness. And sometimes it's just a single line that pops into my head and that I really like, so I write it down and keep turning it around in there until it grows into something more. In rarer cases, it's a continuation or off-shoot of a story I've already written or plotted out, so it's not entirely brainstorming from scratch there.

For Apartment, the obvious issue became plot. I had a vague idea of what I wanted, but I was mainly preoccupied with the vibe of it, the looming suspense, so plot and character was almost secondary to the main goal of the story, which was to create something that dripped with suspense and used absurd events to represent certain realities. It worked out in the end, because it let me go a bit wacky with the plotting and have fun with the magical realism elements. When it comes down to it, the plot is super simple. What fills up the story are snippets - puzzle pieces - that contribute to a growing tense atmosphere of unease. In that sense, it also allowed me to flesh out the characters through the use of that atmosphere and environment. But the story went through a lot of changes from how I imagined it and how it translated onto paper... for example, I used to say that the apartment building came under siege - that was the original idea, but now you can see that it's less coming under siege and more just being attacked.

When do I decide this is a project I want to write? Hm. That's a tough one. I don't think I ever decide I don't want to write something. I'll write what I write for it, whether that's one line or a snippet or a chapter or whatever, and then when I'm not sure what else to do for it I just put it aside. I think I've only every given up on a small number of stories, and those were mostly when I was still experimenting with writing style and genre, figuring out what I wanted to write. The latest of these was that foray into the romance genre, where I realized romance is just not my genre, haha! And I'm pretty sure I still have that story somewhere and have considered turning it into a thriller, so... yep.

As for those I did end up scrapping, it tended to be stuff that I wrote in middle/high school, when I wasn't the writer that I am today. I didn't have the confidence in my skills to continue a story even when my doubt caught up with me - and I certainly didn't have the skills and the knowledge to finish a story even if I wanted to. I would inevitably reach a point where I didn't know what to do - what I now know is called the Muddy Middle by some writers - and I wouldn't know how to move things up from there. So, I'd just give up out of pure frustration.

Another factor was the discovery writing. I discovery wrote my plots. To some degree, I still do. But I know now how to plot in a way that works for me, and I know that different stages of the writing process require that I lean more towards discovery writing or plotting, and that it's not a dichotomy. Unlocking these lessons has helped me work on projects for longer periods of time without feeling defeated or giving up on them. That - and the added lesson that you can literally just put something away and figure out how to fix it later (whenever later is). You don't have to scrap it completely just because you feel a bit cringed out with it. After all, nobody is reading it but you. (Unless someone else is reading it, in which case I understand that struggle, too! XD Thinking particularly of Beast of Ildenwood and Murder in Heliopolis here - I really want to go back and edit them and make them good. Until then, they are what they are.)

How about you, Ren? How do your stories start out? When do you decide you're going to continue writing a story? Did you ever scrap a story, and what were your reasons for it, if you don't mind sharing?

[amarimaryllis]

I Never Writ, Nor No Man Ever Loved (Ushijima x Reader)

Pairing: Ushijima/Reader

Prompt/Summary: Shakespeare wasn’t wrong, you’re just afraid of admitting the truth. Alternatively, Ushijima Wakatoshi’s first love never died.

Tags: Angst, Haikyuu Timeskip Spoilers

Note: I used she/her pronouns for the reader, You might wanna reread the ending of “All The World Drops Dead”, I gave Ushijima’s mom a name, Ushijima’s a rich boi, Bold Italicized sentences are excerpts from the poem “Sonnet 116” by William Shakespeare

Warnings: Swearing, Heavy read, Author doesn’t know how off-seasons work, Mentions of separation

Part of A Sensitivity to Ephemera

Ushijima Wakatoshi was your antithesis, in a sense, and somewhere in the sky, Cupid laughs.

Way to go for putting the most incompatible people ever, am I right?

You found beauty in the temperance of words. Enjoyed their sheer ability to paint a hundred stories with only strokes and letters. Words meant everything and nothing all at once, and snippets of different stories appeared with each changing context. Ushijima, on the other hand, found beauty in the directness of words. Observed in the brutal honesty that constantly leaves his lips. He preferred to have it all laid bare, no hidden meaning, no ulterior motive. What you see is what you get.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love—

It was with words that you two ever even met, back in your first year at Shiratorizawa. Ushijima was not the best at literature, or any subject aside from Physical Education, and you were the panacea that the concerned teachers had offered as a remedy for the ace. It was a rocky start, but eventually, the relationship had grown into something more.

A literary genius and an athletic prodigy.

A master of language and her stumbling apprentice.

And eventually, a poet and her muse.

You never thought it would work out, but somehow, it did. And you were thankful that it did because you wouldn’t be where you are today. Standing in front of a large window overlooking the city, reminiscing on the events that led you to your present reality.

—Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

Ushijima comes up from behind you and grips your hips with his large hands before he presses a tender kiss on your nape. “What’s on your mind?”

You smile as you turn around in his grasp to wrap your arms around his neck. “Nothing much.”

Ushijima raises a brow as he moves his hands from your hips to your waist. “By nothing, I’m guessing you mean anything and everything.”

You grin as the two of you begin to sway to the silence. Dancing to nothing but the sound of your breaths and the noise from the city below. “You know me too well.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Ushijima smiles as he pulls you in for a kiss.

You smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms tighter around Ushijima’s neck to pull him closer to you. The telltale signs of lovesickness had been set in motion in your body once more: warming cheeks, speeding heartbeats, and crashing lips.

As you find yourself pulled deeper into Ushijima’s embrace, you wish for the world to freeze this moment. Unmoving. Unchanging. Immortalized in your memory and for the rest of your waking reality.

A few days after your engagement with Ushijima, you found yourself in the place where it all started. Shiratorizawa had not changed at all since you left. Sure, the notices hung on the wall, the faces that roamed the rooms, and the shape of the shrubbery had changed, but everything else was the same as you remember it.

You shut your eyes, take a deep breath, and it’s almost as if you’re transported back to 2012. A year of loss, victory, stagnancy, and change. So many had happened, and it all rushed past you in the blink of an eye.

“Love—“

“Yes!” You stand up straight from the bench, eyes wide open in an attempt to pull away from your little flashback. “Yes, hi. Sorry, Toshi, I was… Lost in thought. Are you done talking to Washijo-sensei?”

“Yes.” Ushijima chuckles softly as he flicks your forehead lightly. “You should be more observant of your surroundings. What if it wasn’t me who found you?”

“But you did, didn’t you?” You grin up at him only to see him looking ahead.

You turn around and your eyes land upon a familiar sight.

Warmth floods your cheeks and Ushijima laughs as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin atop your head. “I remember Tendou catching us there.”

You smile fondly at the memory as you look at the tree beside the volleyball gym. “Not my fault you kissed me all of a sudden.”

“Not my fault you look absolutely irresistible.” Ushijima’s warm breath tickles you as he leans down to whisper against the shell of your ear, placing a quick kiss before he lays his chin back onto the top of your head.

O no! It is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

Ushijima Kimiko’s eyes were burning holes into your skull. It was clear from the moment you had stepped into the house that you were not welcome. That you were not the one she wanted for her son.

There’s bitterness in the way she looks, the way she acts, and the way she speaks. She’s eloquent, so well-spoken that you wouldn’t have noticed the insinuation of each backhanded compliment she threw your way. Her son seemed to be oblivious to the silent war of undertones and context buried underneath your exchange of seemingly harmless words. It had gone on for the entirety of dinner, his mother unforgiving and you unrelenting. If she thought her disapproval would send you running, then she was sorely mistaken.

After dinner, Ushijima leads you to his room. A place you had not acquainted yourself with because this was the first time Ushijima had brought you into his home. Your lover sits on the bed, watching you while you familiarize yourself with the setting.

“So this is where you grew up.” You smile to yourself, choosing to bury the events that transpired earlier into the darkest corners of your mind in hopes that it would be consumed into the void. “Nice room.”

Your eyes trace over every inch of the room, taking in what you can to better understand the man that you were soon going to marry. It’s plain, nothing revealing anything personal save for the pictures lined up and hung on the wall.

There were many different faces. A young girl, a few boys, some familiar, some unknown. There were also pictures of some teenagers, particularly the members of the Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club.

“Is something bothering you, love?” Ushijima asks from his bed where he’s currently seated. “You haven’t been talking much since dinner.”

You froze on the spot, having an internal debate on whether or not you should voice your concerns.

“Come here.” Ushijima beckons you to come closer and you do. You stand between his legs, placing your hands on his broad shoulders as you continue to look at the pictures behind him. Ushijima reaches for your hand on his shoulder, intertwining your hands there as he plays with the ring on your finger. “Something’s wrong.”

“Toshi…” You sigh, giving in. “I don’t think your mom likes me very much.”

It’s Ushijima’s turn to tense up. “My mom doesn’t like anyone.”

“Yeah well… I think she hates me.” You fiddle with Ushijima’s collar. “God, I hope not. I really wanted her to like me too…”

“In time.” Ushijima smiles as he pulls at your hand to make you cup his cheek. “But for now, let’s talk about it at home.”

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Ushijima sits alone on the couch, waiting for you to come back. You had left after a heated exchange, unable to stand being in the same room as him, it seems. A few weeks had passed since your visit to his childhood home, and things in your relationship have been somewhat rocky since then. While Ushijima wanted his family to accept you, he knew that their disapproval wouldn’t stop him from pursuing a life with you. You were the person who stood by his side when nobody else was there. The world would have to end before he let you go.

But you didn’t understand that. You were still stuck in the events that transpired at the dinner table while Ushijima was already walking towards your future. He knew he shouldn’t have invalidated your concern simply because he could stomach going against his mother. He just wanted this argument to end, he had an Olympic game tomorrow, and he didn’t want to walk in there with a heavy heart that would most definitely affect his performance.

The ringing of the doorbell pulls Ushijima from his thoughts. He stands up and walks towards the door to answer it, wondering who it could be since he did not remember inviting anyone.

When he opens the door, it is not noticeable, but there is shock written on his face. “Sato-san, what brings you here?”

“Ah, Waka-kun! Your mom told me I’d be able to find you here.” Sato pushes a paper bag into Ushijima’s hands, her eyes disappearing into lines as she gives him a bright smile. “I just got back from Cali, and I wanted to give you your souvenir and some ingredients from Kimiko-san…”

“Ah, thank you.” Ushijima gives a soft smile as he grips the paper bag tighter in his arms. He knew that his mother was in the area, visiting so that she could watch her son’s game tomorrow. “Would you like to come in for some coffee?”

“Ah no! It’s fine.” Sato waves her hands, smiling as she turns the offer down. “I have to go meet up with a friend.”

“Ok then.” Ushijima nods. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“Same here.” Sato moves to walk off. “I’ll be off then.”

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

With his bending sickle’s compass come...

When you come back home, Ushijima is quick to pull you into his arms. A string of apologies falls from his lips, weaving their way into your hearts as you melt into your fiancé’s embrace. The walk had cleared your mind enough, and you knew that Ushijima had a point. If he was willing to brave it out despite his mother’s disapproval, then you would do so as well.

After all had been said, and the issue was closed, you both retired for the night. Ushijima lays on his side of the bed, and you on yours. You turn to your side and are met by Ushijima’s broad back. Scooching closer, you wrap your arms around him, press a kiss onto his nape, and mumble, “I love you.”

You wait a few seconds for a reply, but you are met with silence. You sighed and wrapped your arms tighter around him, nuzzling your face between his shoulder blades. He was probably asleep.

Ushijima was wide awake. Memories of a young girl with bright eyes and rosy cheeks running through his mind. And as he loses himself to vivid images of the past, sleep never laid itself upon his eyes that night.

The next day, you make Hayashi rice from the ingredients that his friend had delivered, and you wish him luck.

Apparently, that luck wasn’t enough because the Japan team had lost to Argentina that day, and as much as you wanted to comfort Ushijima, his mother had gotten to him first and was now talking to him inside the stadium.

You waited outside of the venue, sitting on the steps that led up to the doors that opened to the realm of competition and Olympic athletes. You could only wait it out, not wanting to bother your fiancé and his mother in fear that the latter might attack your very being once more.

The sound of footsteps comes closer, and you turn around quickly in hopes to see your lover, but you are met with the sight of their trainer instead.

“Oh, Iwaizumi-san!” You stand up to bow. You notice the red at the corners of his eyes as if he had been crying. You don’t ask. It was normal to be upset after a loss. “You guys fought well, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He moves to sit beside you on the steps, and you follow suit. “Hey, L/N-san…”

“Hm?” You reply with a hum. While Iwaizumi and you were not close, you two were still familiar enough with each other to carry a casual conversation. “What is it?”

“You’re a writer.” Iwaizumi states, but there is hesitance in his tone.

You can’t help but snort. “No shit.”

Iwaizumi glares at you, and you suppress a laugh. “Ok, I’ll stop, but yeah, I am. Why?”

“That means you’re good at the poetic symbolism shit right?” Iwaizumi asks for confirmation and you resist the urge to laugh at his choice of words.

“I like to think that I am good at the—“ You use your hands to show air quotes, “—poetic symbolism shit as you said.”

“Does first love never really die?” Iwaizumi asks and you nearly choke on air.

Iwaizumi is looking at you expectantly, and you look like a deer caught in the headlights. Out of all the things that could happen in your life, talking to Iwaizumi Hajime about his love life was not something you even thought of ever happening. Not even a single bit. It’s silent, and you realize that Iwaizumi is waiting for a reply.

You pause to think, not wanting to give Iwaizumi a half-assed answer that could make whatever he was going through worse. It seemed like Iwaizumi was more hung up over this than he was over the game they just lost, and while you don’t know the full story, you realize its gravity. “It’s something people like to say… Haven’t quite understood it because I’ve never felt it…”

You smile sadly. It seems like Iwaizumi wasn’t given the similar luxury of living out the rest of his life with his first love. “First love never dies, but true love will bury it alive.”

“And what if your first love is your true love?” Iwaizumi asks, his fists clenching as he looks down at the steps.

“Then you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning a lifetime that was never meant to be yours.” You sigh as you pat Iwaizumi in the back. “You never really know if it’s true love, Iwaizumi-san. Tomorrow promises nothing, after all. The only time you’ll ever truly know is when you’re a breath away from death and reliving your entire life.”

“Fucking hell.” Iwaizumi mumbles to himself. “Love is hard.”

“It is.” You smile. “But whatever the situation, Iwa-san… Don’t deprive yourself of the opportunity to move on, yeah? It’s kind of like volleyball.”

Iwaizumi turns to look at you. “How so?”

“Well, when you get blocked during games, do you stop spiking for the rest of the game?” You raise a brow.

It’s silent until suddenly, it’s not. Iwaizumi is laughing. He’s standing up, and he pulls you up before enveloping you in a hug. “You genius, I hate that you have a point.”

You reach around to pat his back, happy that your words somehow enlightened him. You knew that this enlightenment was brief and that somewhere along the way, Iwaizumi would be tempted to give up, but you were glad to have at least given him a way out. “As I said, I’m good at the poetic symbolism shit.”

A cough interrupts your little hug session with Iwaizumi, leading to the both of you pulling away and turning to the source of the noise.

It seems like the universe just loved screwing you over because standing at the top of the steps were three people: two familiar faces, and one that was teetering between remembrance and oblivion.

Ushijima Kimiko looked smugly angry. Her son looked confused, tinges of betrayal creeping into his eyes. The young woman beside them on the other hand looked absolutely livid as her eyes flitted between you and Iwaizumi.

“How scandalous.” You could hear Ushijima Kimiko whisper to her son. “Are you sure this is the woman you want to marry?”

You pretend you don’t hear it, forcing a smile and a bow. “It’s nice to see you again, Ushijima-san.”

Iwaizumi on the other hand does not let the comment pass. “There’s nothing scandalous about the situation, Ushijima-san. I simply asked my friend for advice and showed my appreciation. She loves your son too much to ever even think of looking at other people.”

You notice how the stances of Ushijima and the young woman relax.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ushijima Kimiko’s smile is tightly lipped.

The drive to Ushijima’s penthouse was silent and absolutely tense. Ushijima’s knuckles were practically white with how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. You can see the creases between his brows deepening as he clenches his jaw in both frustration and concentration.

“Who was the girl from a while ago? She looked familiar.” It was a seemingly harmless question on your end. You didn’t want to talk about the game because they did lose. You didn’t want to bring up his mother because that would be another argument. You didn’t want to talk about Iwaizumi because you figured that maybe the hug you shared was the reason for his frustration. So you decided to settle with the one thing in that situation that had no heavy feelings attached.

Well, you were sorely mistaken.

Ushijima tenses up before he relaxes. “She’s my childhood friend. She used to be my closest friend until middle school.”

“Ah.” You nod to yourself. “Cool.”

“She means nothing to me now, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Ushijima quickly added.

“Ooooh, did little Toshi have a crush on her?” You tease, trying to use this opportunity to lighten the mood.

Ushijima tenses up before a fond smile makes its way to his face for the first time since this morning. “She was there for me throughout my childhood. She helped me get through my parent’s separation.”

You didn’t know why, but you finally realized why she looked familiar. It was minimal, very minimal… But there was a large similarity between her facial and body structure and yours. And as you realize this, the conversation you had with Iwaizumi echoes disturbingly through your head.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Although they had been given a month-long break after the game, Ushijima was still out most of the time. Some part of you was bitter over the fact that your fiancé chose to spend more time spiking balls and playing with his teammates (that he already plays with on a regular basis), but you don’t pressure him to stay. If that made him happy, then you were happy with it as well. But still, some part of you wishes that he would just stay in with you and cuddle while you type your next piece on the laptop.

Later that night, Ushijima comes home with his arm slung around Kageyama who looked like he had just walked through hell and back. There’s a dopey grin on his face as he reaches out for you and crashes his body against yours. The smell of alcohol fills your nostrils, and you scrunch your nose up in disgust.

“Please take care of Ushijima-san.” The setter bows lightly before straightening up.

“Thank you for bringing him home.” You smile at Kageyama who blushes a deep red.

“I’ll take my leave.” Kageyama bows and walks off.

You shut the door once you see that Kageyama has made it to the elevator.

“You’re so pretty…” Ushijima’s grin is wide as he cups your cheeks. Nuzzling his nose against yours before peppering kisses all over your face. “Can’t believe you’re here…”

Ushijima presses you against the door and leans down to capture your mouth into his. He presses against you, grabbing at your wrists to wrap your arms around his neck as he pushes his mouth harder against yours. There’s desperation in the way he digs his fingers into your hips as he lifts you and pulls at your legs to wrap it around his waist.

“I love you so much…” Ushijima whispers between kisses as he nips at your neck. “Don’t ever leave me again… Fuck.”

Ushijima’s hand creeps under your shirt, trailing on your skin while his other hand supports you against the door. As good as it felt to be finally receiving attention from your lover, you grab at his wrist to stop him. “Toshi, you’re drunk. Let’s go to bed first, yeah?”

“What happened to Waka-kun?” There’s a pout on Ushijima’s face, and you would find it endearing if you weren’t confused by the words that left his mouth.

Choosing to chalk it up to his drunken stupor, you just smile, unwrap your legs from his waist and bring him to bed. “You need to sleep.”

Once you two were settled in bed, Ushijima nuzzled himself into your neck as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, positioning himself to prepare for sleep.

His breath tickles your neck as he mumbles, “Don’t ever leave me, please.”

“I won’t.” You smile as you sink deeper into his embrace. “I love you too much to do that.”

“You love me?” Ushijima was a talkative, sappy kind of drunk, it seems. “Really?”

“Very much.” You mumble as you intertwine your fingers with his.

“You’ll stay with me forever, right?” Ushijima’s voice is weak, almost as if he was afraid of what your answer could be.

“Of course.” You answer without a second thought.

You can feel Ushijima kiss your neck before his breathing starts to slow. It’s a whisper, the way he says it, lips brushing as he lightly mouths the words into your skin, but you hear it clear as day.

“I love you, Fuyumi-chan…”

If this be error and upon me prov’d,

You stare blankly at the Instagram profile on your laptop screen, your hands on the table as you focus all your emotions into clenching them as tight as possible. The apartment is quiet, but the noise in your head is a different story. Voices, faces, and emotions flood your brain, each wave stronger than the last as it threatens to drown you into the void of your head. You briefly wonder where it all went wrong.

When Ushijima decided to get drunk? No, it wasn’t.

When Iwaizumi hugged you after their loss at the Olympics? No… It wasn’t that either.

Maybe when you had visited Ushijima’s childhood home? No. Although it seemed like it went downhill from there… It wasn’t that.

It all went wrong the moment you allowed yourself to fall in love with Ushijima Wakatoshi.

“Good morning.” Ushijima smiles as he sits across from you on the floor on the other side of the coffee table.

You force a smile. “Slept well?”

Ushijima freezes for a split second before recovering. “Had a good dream.”

“Good for you.” You don’t know how much longer you can pretend like your relationship wasn’t falling apart. “About the wedding—“

“We’re having it in 2 months right?” Ushijima interrupts you, and for some reason, it looks like he’s trying to avoid something. “I’m still on vacation, so I’ll be able to help you and the coordinator plan it—“

“Let’s call it off.” You interrupt with a smile.

“Do you want to move it to a later date?” Ushijima furrows his brows as he reaches over, grabbing your left hand, his heart sinking when his thumb brushes over skin instead of silver on your finger. “Where’s your ring?”

“Wakatoshi,” You start with a smile, your voice as steady as it could be while a war rages in your head, “I don’t want to get married anymore.”

For someone who understood words best when they were said directly, Ushijima Wakatoshi was having a lot of trouble understanding you right now.

Ushijima’s frown deepens, but he continues to speak casually. “That’s fine. We don’t have to be married to love each other, right? That’s just a formal ceremony—“

“I’m leaving, Wakatoshi.” You attempt to pull your hand away from his grasp, but Ushijima holds it tighter.

There are tears in his eyes as he looks at you, and you’re almost tempted to stay. Ushijima crying was not a common sight. You had only seen it happen once in the entirety of your relationship, and your heart breaks at that thought.

“When will you come back?” His voice is desperate as he looks into your eyes, searching for any sign indicating that you’ll stay. He finds none.

You can only smile. “I’m sorry.”

You stand up and shut your laptop, walking off to your room to pack your things. You didn’t want to make this harder than it had to be. You didn’t want to see him cry, and you didn’t want him to see you cry. If this was love then it seems that Shakespeare was wrong, or maybe what you have isn’t love. But if it isn’t love, then why did every single step away from Ushijima’s crying figure feel heavier and more painful than the last? Why did you yearn for him despite the stabbing in your chest?

When Ushijima hears the door of your shared bedroom close, he opens your laptop, wondering if he’ll find an answer there.

And he did.

Sato Fuyumi’s unmoving face stares back at him, a smile etched onto her face as the sun shines brightly behind her. At that moment, Ushijima understood. Last night was no dream, it seems, but he had blurred the lines between fantasy and reality and that led to the inevitable decay of whatever it was that you two had. With that, Ushijima stood up and walked to your shared room, one last time.

“I’m sorry.” Ushijima states from the doorway. He expected you to be packing your things, but he didn’t expect that seeing it would hurt this much. It was almost as if you were ripping his chest open with each clothing you pulled from your shared cabinet.

“I know.” You whisper, unable to trust your voice.

There’s silence as Ushijima sits beside you on the floor.

“Toshi...” The name feels heavy in your mouth as you speak. “Did you—“

A sob somehow manages to break free, and now you were crying.

Ushijima pulls you into his chest, guilt and despair filling his chest as he feels you sob and shake in his hold. He wishes he could make it all go away, but how could he when he was the reason you’re this way in the first place?

“Please tell me the truth…” You grip at his shirt, your forehead pressed onto his collarbone as you let the tears fall one after the other. “Did you… Did you ever love me?”

Ushijima answers with no hesitation. “I did.”

You cry harder into his chest as you mourn the lifetime that could’ve been yours. Images of a distant life fill your head: a home in the countryside, a young boy, a young girl, a loving husband. You allow yourself to bask in the illusion for a second before you pull yourself away. You were afraid that if you had stayed any longer, you’d never be able to walk away.

“We can make it work, Y/N.” Ushijima pleads one last time. “This is just something we have to work through. We’ll get past this and then we’ll live the rest of our lives together. We’ll go to the countryside when I retire, raise our kids there—“

You cut him off. “Stop.”

“You could write from there. It’s peaceful, no one will disturb—“

You cry harder into his chest, gripping tighter at his shirt. “Stop please, just stop already—“

“We can still make it work, Y/N. Just stay—“

“Just stop!” You pull away, daring to look into Ushijima’s eyes. “It’s never going to work. We would be living a lie if I agreed to all of that. It’s clear that you’re still in love with her, and you always will be!”

Ushijima’s shoulders slump down in defeat, and he lets you cry it all in front of him.

“And what if your first love is your true love?” Iwaizumi asks, his fists clenching as he looks down at the steps.

“Then you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning a lifetime that was never meant to be yours.”

Your own words haunt you.

I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.

You realize it now, looking back.

Years of denying the poet only for you to agree with him in the end. It took you 3 years, but now, you were ready to admit that Shakespeare was right in all he said about love. Everything around you was just pointing in a different direction, you just didn’t realize it when you were still in the middle of it all.

It was a mess you no longer wanted to revisit, but you brave through it for your friend.

You watch the love of your life mourn a lifetime that could’ve been his.

Ushijima Wakatoshi watches as the love of his life goes down the aisle.

Sato Fuyumi smiles as she sees the love of her life waiting at the end of it.

Iwaizumi Hajime looks ahead one last time as the love of his life sits somewhere in the crowd.

And somewhere in the sky, Cupid laughs.

A/N: I feel like this should be classified under “Angst/No One Gets A Happy Ending”. Also, I finally gave Iwa some closure AHHHHH I hope you guys liked this one! Feel free to drop my by ask, I’m always up for a discussion, after all. 💖

[shashawip]

Mia Asking Jason About His Feelings For Roy While Cooking

Summary:

Mia asking Jason about his feelings for Roy while cooking, and Jason didn’t deny it.

Notes:

English isn’t my native spoken language so there can be grammatical errors.

This snippet is from an originally planned fiction revolving around Roy, Jason and Mia with Mia being the witness of Royjay’s developing relationship. I may never find a chance to finish their story so I will just post moments that I enjoyed writing while picturing their world. Hope you enjoy.

Published on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33110860

——

It wasn’t Mia's turn to cook today, but not like she minded it and all. She’s in a good mood lately given how well the day job has turned out, and the camaraderie she’s developed with the colleagues at work.

To be frank, the two other housemates’ cooking skills just weren’t satisfying. Jason was alright, if he really paid attention and invested his time to cook. Same cannot be said for Roy, however, who was an entirely different story. The only edibles on his menu might just be that ham and cheese sandwich he seemed to be barely able to assemble.

Mia hummed in joy while she poured her lasagna sauce into a rectangular Le Creuset, which had already been layered with some pre-made lasagna sheets. She raised her eyes to look at Roy who’s sitting across the kitchen island, while still preserving her attention down at the stoneware.

“I never knew you’d be so interested in a wooden door before.” Mia chuckled.

Roy seemed to be dragged out of his lost thoughts and back to the world by her voice, quickly moving away his glaze, looking a little embarrassed. He’d been fixed to the stool he’s sitting on and stared at Jason’s bedroom door with his head rested in his elbow in the same position for quite a while, even the oven had been pre-heated.

Mia continued to work on layering sheets and pouring the mixture from the saucepan, the warm steam spreading the fresh smell of tomato, garlic, slightly caramelized pork and veal bolognese along with other goodness that’s been well combined into the open air kitchen. She kept her head down while going on, “Figured what’s getting into your head. Now that James and I are dating, Jason seems like about to start one himself, you’d be thinking of finding someone to hang out with too?”

Roy admitted almost immediately, let go of an unnoticeable sigh for Mia seemed to not be aware what’s really going on in his mind. “Didn’t you always mention that girl… the one on that team you and Dick were on back then, was it Danielle?” “Donna.” “Donna. Anyway. I don’t know, maybe you can try contacting her again?” Roy looked a little confused by her suggestion. “Donna… she’s a partner and a good friend that’s all. Also I haven’t caught up with the Titans for quite some time.” “But there is always a chance out there somewhere, right?”

By now Roy seemed to have lost interest in this topic, and just shook his head towards the room that Jason was in, and steered the conversation back to what’s happening in there. “You can’t know… that girl, she came here and was after Jason…” Mia knew what he’s going on and about, “If you ask me, well, from a female perspective, what she’s after from Jason could not have been any more obvious.”

Just a little less than half an hour ago, a silver white long haired girl walked in from the front door of their apartment without giving any heads up, she promptly glanced over the room, including Roy who was laying on his back in the couch at the time, and Mia who’s busy preparing their dinner behind the counter. She briefly studied the situation, confirmed with the cook which bedroom was Jason’s, then dashed and disappeared into that room with a not-so-gentle bang as she closed the door, leaving Roy and Mia completely dazzled and curious.

Roy exchanged looks with Mia as he got up. He thought that girl looked familiar before he remembered that he, or rather, him and Jason had met her on the plane from Gotham back to Star City. She was sitting across the aisle, had started to strike a conversation with Jason around halfway of the flight. Roy hadn’t paid them too much attention as he curled up comfortably in his window seat and napped almost the entire time. When their plane had arrived and the seatbelt signs turned green, and Jason stood up to reach their backpack from the overhead bin, Roy saw the girl had slipped a thin piece of paper into the back-pocket of his jeans.

Roy had never seen her again after they got back home, until just now. He bet that Jason had contacted her without him and Mia knowing, and for Christ’s sake, he’d exposed their secret headquarters - an apartment on Winnick St that the three of them would scramble each month to come up with the rent for - to a stranger that hadn’t gone through their little gang’s trust test.

Mia saw him shuffled around yet eyes glued to that door, so she ordered him to buy some more basil leaves from the store that apparently her topping sauce is now short of. Roy groaned before leaving the apartment, still managed to strike a last look at that door that the girl has vanished into.

Some time later, the girl has finally decided to stomp out of that room again, she glimpsed over Mia, without saying a word then bounced across the communal space before walking right out, seemingly assuming oneself to be one of, otherwise, the owner of the house.

When Jason emerged just a little later too, Mia then stared at the ceiling and started talking at loud to herself, “Gotta be impressed with all the soundproof works of these walls, you can’t even hear a thing that you’d expected from the other side.”

Jason said that he and Roslyn merely spoke while in there and nothing more had happened. He looked around and asked where Roy is. Mia told him that she requested him to go to the shop and get her some more basils. Jason pondered on that. Mia figured out he’s gauging whether he should go out too, “I thought he might want some air for himself seeing that both his housemates are romantically involved in a relationship.” Jason started to look confused.

Mia thought to herself, Mia Deardon, don’t you screw this one up. She made an effort to calm her tone of voice before speaking up again. “That girl and you, aren’t you a thing or about to be?” She probed in a slightly joking way.

“A thing?” Jason now looked even more puzzled, as if this image of presumed future has never come across his mind before, “I don’t recall anything remotely like that ever discussed in our conversation.”

Mia stopped what she’s doing and pointed a silicon spatula at him, which was still covered with warm tomato chunks, “Jason, when you let a girl walk into your room, you should be prepared to provide her the chance of a mutually respectful association that is what we called a relationship, instead of just fooling around and walk away like a jerk.” Though in this particular scenario, the female individual seemed to matched that perona more, Mia had no intention of pointing that out.

“I’ve not even had a clue how she found this place, I thought she’s just some upper manager of a business, not some sort of a detective.”

Mia squinted her eyes, clearly not buying, “You know, usually a girl found out a guy’s address through a text message or a phone call.”

“Trust me, Mia, I’ve never even asked for her number.” Jason wiped his forehead and started to feel the angst up his gut, but he tried hard to not let it unleash upon Mia. “Do we have enough ingredients for tonight?” He indicated the kitchen bench filled with mixing bowls and food scraps with a nod. Mia gave it a thought, then answered, “We might have just run out of paprika, can you give Roy a ring and ask him to get a jar from the shop?”

“I’ll head down myself, don’t think he can hear the call right now.” Jason turned around to leave. Just when the door’s about to be opened, Mia called his name.

“Jason, do you love Roy?”

His hand on the doorknob came to a sudden halt. He paused for a second, “Why’d you say that?”

Mia took a deep breath, giving her best to not give away the fact that she’s rehearsed over and over what’s coming next. Instead of answering the question, she continued, “I’m not saying the kind of brotherhood you’d shared with Dick or your other partners from the cop shop, what I meant was something like Ollie and Dinah, like between me and James.”

Jason looked to be caught off guard with what she’s just said, and Mia for one was happy with how this whole situation had been going, as he at least didn’t just abruptly deny the question nor went on interrogating why the hell she’d stir up some shit like that. She heaved a sigh of relief, carefully thanking herself for the sharp observation and analysis she’d secretly inducted on themselves.

Jason looked at her, without saying a word, seemed to be still waiting for her to go on. So she did. “Roy is the kind of person that, how should I put this, would rather let his feelings sink than swim if you don’t show anything to him first. Probably why he and Ollie never saw each other eye to eye when they came across.” Jason nodded in agreement. “If he thinks that the other person doesn’t share a mutual feeling, I bet you he’d take it to his grave than ever speaking up about it.” This actually has contradicted to Roy’s impression on him, as he always saw the guy as carefree and weren’t shy about showing his affections towards the others, but Jason wasn’t going to oppose otherwise and just let Mia kept on.

“He had a crush on a girl in that crime fighting group he was in before, always claimed that he wasn’t good enough for her, so the girl never found out his feeling for her in the end.” Mia fixed her eyes on him, her spatula had now dropped to the bench surface as she leaned against the edge with both of her arms, looking at him demurely, “He’s recently acting more and more like that again. I don’t know about you, but here’s what I thought, if that other person this time at least showed him some sort of hints, maybe he wouldn’t have too many regretful undone deeds to carry with him to his tomb after all.”

Jason lowered his head and thought on that for a moment, his hand already loosen from the doorknob and he just noticed how his palm had been sweating all this long. He turned around to face Mia behind the island, who’d clearly done speaking and was waiting patiently for a response. Jason found her gaze again as he meticulously raised his eyes, “And you think this person… is… me?”

Mia grinned, “We both know that his current social life, or rather, his only life is devoted on bringing down that Merlin’s evil little scheme, which the whole operation comprises only two people, and he’s surprisingly one of them.” She could not have been clearer than that who the other person she’s referring to.

Jason couldn’t bring himself to let out of a word. There was too much to be said, too many questions bursting in his chest. When did Mia start to notice Roy’s altered behaviours as she described? How did she work out the confidence to ask him about it and not even worry that she might’ve been wrong? Did Roy ask her to feel him out, or was her perception of Roy’s feeling for him even legit?

“Jason, hello, someone in there?” His thought had been interrupted with her teases as he drown, “So let me ask again, Jason, do you love Roy? The kind of love like between Ollie and Dinah?”

The former Robin had let out a deep breath before cracking her a smile, “I’m gonna go get us some more paprika from the shop.” Then he opened the door and left the apartment.

None of the three housemates had ever demanded paprika when they had lasagna night, Jason knew better than that, and he secretly thanked Mia a thousand times as he sprinted downstairs.

——

End of snippet

End notes:

I draw Royjay fan arts from time to time, if you liked this story you’re welcome to also check them out on my Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shashawip

[pen-dipped-in-moonlight]

it’s been a bit since I’ve written! maybe not the best idea to post now because this is not proofread properly haha, but a prompt I spotted made me feel like continuing this snippet here.

“A thief stealing from a party. How very original.”

The thief merely smiled, tipped the ring on their finger to reveal a poison capsule. An empty poison capsule. “Thirty minutes,” they said. “Better get praying.”

“I haven’t had anything to drink.”

They shook their head, eyes glittering. “I never said praying for yourself.”

prompt from @gingerly-writing​

Blackwood stiffened, but before they could summon up a question or reply, the thief melted back into the crowd of lavishly costumed guests. 

Damn, they hated that thief. They had been a necessary piece in their operations for years, but recent… disagreements had put them on rather shaky ground with each other.

Was this revenge? Blackwood racked their brain for who the thief would have thought fit to poison. Who? Someone important enough that they’d thought Blackwood needed to “get praying”. Or else the thief was just being dramatic. Fuck, they’d argued several times this week already. About what?

A possibility hit Blackwood like a brutal uppercut to the jaw.

The hero. That’s who they had argued about last, when the thief had found out that Blackwood had put the hero onto the list of guests to “admit without question”. 

“You’re getting too attached,” the thief had said, their words deceptively smooth and velveted. The thief never yelled, not in any of their arguments. It got under Blackwood’s skin. “It’s disgusting, how you’re always looking for them. If you don’t break this off now, they’re going to rip back the curtain on all your dealings. I won’t be here for it.”

“What is ‘this’?” Blackwood had demanded.

“You tell me,” the thief mused. “Puppy love?”

The guests on the floor swept around in graceful circles, oblivious to the twisting storm that had suddenly descended upon Blackwood. They scanned the dresses and suits in a myriad of colors, now wishing that they hadn’t decided to make the cover-up for tonight’s dealings so lavish, so over the top.

A stunning masquerade party.

Maybe they’d hoped that the hero would be impressed.

Blackwood wanted to laugh.

Maybe they’d hoped that the hero would dance with them on the floor this time.

Blackwood wanted to throw up.

A laughing couple brushed past Blackwood, startling them out of their racing thoughts. Action. They were good at this. They reached up and turned on the mic for their earpiece.

“Ballroom floor,” they said, voice cool. “Looking for a guest. Shimmering pale green high-low gown, lace sleeves. Dark brown hair in a half-up. Necklace is a silver chain, green tear-drop pendant… maybe peridot. Half-face mask, black, very plain. Report if you’ve seen.”

There was a small crackle before his employees began to report in. None of them had the hero in sight.

“Stepped outside, I think,” one of their employees said. Finally. “Not the main balcony, but through the catwalk on the north side. Could be that they were leaving early.”

Blackwood started moving, fast as they could through the shifting crowd. “How long ago?”

“Ten minutes? Fifteen? Sorry boss, I’m not certain.”

Blackwood flicked their microphone back off, and burst out into the chill night air. A delicate walkway lined the edge of this side of the mansion, twisting its way around the corner of the mansion down on its way three stories down to the ground.

The hero was nowhere in sight. Blackwood broke into a run, then skidded to a stop halfway down. Something tugged at their brain, saying not right. Up again they ran, stopping before the door at the side. The decoration hanging off the front had flipped, and that wouldn’t haven’t happened unless someone had entered and been too rough with closing the door behind them.

Their office was down the hallway behind that door.

Blackwood tried the door handle—unlocked, when it shouldn’t have been—and burst through. Down the hall, to the right… the villain skidded to a stop in the doorway of their main office, the door ajar and papers scattered across the floor. 

In the center of them all, a huddled figure clad in pale, shimmering green, their gasps audible as they clutched their ribs. The hero’s gaze snapped upward at Blackwood’s arrival, and their eyes were wide and unfocused with panic?—fear?—the effects of the poison?

“No, no, no.” Blackwood rushed forward, and the hero flinched away from their outstretched arms. They barely understood what they were saying as they scooped the hero up, and staggered toward the door. “You’re okay. Please. You’re going to be okay, just stay with me—”

The hero wouldn’t survive without immediate medical attention from the best.

The best, the villain knew, came from the hero agency’s personal medical center, right at the center of their base.

Fuck.

There was no time to call an ambulance and wait for it to get here. Vortex only made it to the edge of the property before desperation overrode any caution, and the villain pulled the edges of the world in towards them, vanishing from the spot with a low rumble.

They reappeared closer to the heroes’ base, a quieter corner of the street. The pavement cracked beneath their feet as they appeared, a lamppost tilting dangerously and a few lights flickering out. 

Just half a block away.

The villain sprinted, and burst through the front doors. 

The receptionist at the front desk bolted to their feet with a scream.

“Doctor,” Vortex gasped. “They’re hurt. Poison. Get a doctor.”

A door slammed open, and three heroes spilled into the room.

Vortex clutched the silent hero to their chest. “Doctor. Now.”

The next minutes were a blur, then the hero was being rushed off on a stretcher down a white hallway. They lunged to follow, but a hero stepped into their path, eyes narrowed. “Explain this situation.”

Vortex looked between the three. “I...”

“Wait. You’re Keswick Blackwood, aren’t you?”

Blackwood nodded. The heroes exchanged glances, and the villain was perfectly familiar with the change of atmosphere in the room. Hostile. Suspicious. Keswick Blackwood was under investigation, and they all knew it.

“I hosted a party. I don’t know what happened. I found them unwell—I don’t know how—and I knew to rush them here.”

“Your mansion is five miles away. Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”

“Personal vehicle. Ambulance would have taken too long. Are they going to be okay?”

The heroes exchanged glances again, then the tall one—Vortex knew him, too well—spoke. “You’re detained for questioning.”

It was hard to summon the indignation of an innocent person when all Vortex could think about was whether the hero would be okay. “What—why?”

“Under suspicions that you are acting as the villain Vortex.”

“What?” Vortex snapped. “A villain?”

Option one: accept arrest. Be thrown in jail. Be stuck in there for… who knew how long.

Option two: Fight. Escape. Use their powers—and risk damage to the very building and structure that the hero was relying on to stay alive.

“I’ll need my lawyer,” Vortex said weakly, as the heroes clamped cuffs over their wrists. 

They stifled a gasp as they felt their powers flicker and go out.

They stifled the urge to fight as the heroes escorted them through their base and to a cell that was too secure for anyone normal.

They hid fear behind shock and indignation as their wrists were shackled up against the wall, and their ankles too.

The door slammed closed.

[youre-fired-s-seaborn]

So you guys are never going to guess what I just did.

I might possibly be writing a tww fic (FOR REAL THIS TIME I PROMISE) and I just finished the first little snippet so I thought I’d share that with y’all!

It’s going to be several chapters, each one from the POV of a different senior staff member, basically just a random collection of scenes where everyone Works Out their Issues. Official summary= The senior staff + Donna think about the past, how far they’ve come, heartbreak, hard times, sleep deprivation, and what family means to them over a ginormous bowl of popcorn.

(Part backstory headcanons, part character study, part found family, part random other shit?? I have no clue where this came from tbh. Anyway enjoy this rambly dumpster fire) (the popcorn is figurative)

Part one is Sam, and I’m sure none of you are surprised 😋 Enjoy!!!!

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When Samuel Norman Seaborn was a kid, ‘I want to be a lawyer when I grow up’ was one thought that didn’t cross his mind, not even once. Which is saying something, because little Sam had a lot of thoughts. He had opinions about everything, even things he didn’t understand (especially those) and he had ideas, big ideas that everyone said were going to change the world one day, and he had an imagination the size of the Chrysler building and not enough room in his head for all the stories he wanted to tell. Everyone liked Sam. He was easy to like. At least, until he got a little older and suddenly his imagination was distracting instead of endearing and his ideas were silly instead of helpful and the big books he liked to read were taking time away from more important things. It didn’t make sense to him, because he had always thought they were the most important things in the world, but one day when one too many teachers had commented on it and one too many other children had teased him for it, he sat himself down at his desk and told himself he wouldn’t be like that anymore. Sam decided he wouldn’t be the dreamy one with his head in the clouds anymore. He would be focused, and dedicated, the model student and son.

So somewhere in middle school, Sam Seaborn changed from the cheerful, somewhat dazed and forgetful child he had been into the most intensely focused little academic his teachers had ever seen. Focusing was usually...hard, for Sam. At least, focusing on the right thing. His mind wanted to go in so many different directions and think about so many different things, and none of them were what he should have been focusing on. But he found that if he worked really hard and forced himself to think about one specific thing, then he could usually achieve it. Homework and such wasn’t exactly what he was passionate about, but it was what his parents wanted, and what everyone else around him seemed to want, so he did his best.

He worked hard through high school and when he graduated, he got accepted to Princeton. Sam loved Princeton. He loved everything about it. He started working hard because he liked it, and not because he thought other people wanted him to. He worked towards his law degree, and he got it.

(He never did stop writing, though. It was like a disease. No matter where he was or what he should have been doing, he could never make himself not write.)

There was a bit of a gray area after that, and more than one bad decision, but then he got the job at Gage-Whitney. And Gage-Whitney was...well. He was good at it. It paid well. He kept working his way up the ladder until he made partner, and wasn’t that everyone’s dream? Shouldn’t he love his job? Maybe he should have. He didn’t.

Then there was Lisa, and he couldn’t decide if she had been a mistake or not. He had liked her an awful lot; even loved her. She had been quite fond of him too. It had been real. Once. He remembered nice dinners and radiant smiles and the joy of having a partner who was as smart as you.

God, what happened to us? He’d think sometimes, but it was stupid, because he knew exactly what had happened to them. Sam had quit his job and gone running off to New Hampshire with Joshua Lyman. He’d tried to build a presidential campaign from scratch, then actually managed to accomplish it, which was somehow even worse for their relationship because then he was zipping all over the country without a minute to spare and he told himself he called whenever he could but it wasn’t enough and he knew it. Whenever they did get to see each other, there was a...distance, that there never had been before. Eventually Lisa would say something passive aggressive about how apparently Josh Lyman meant more to him than she did, and Sam would get defensive and mutter something about how he never complained when she always went off to fancy bars with her fancy friends every other night, and she would bark out an incredulous laugh because of course he would find a way to insult her friends when he was the one who had left her in the dust, because wasn’t that just the kind of person he was!

It hurt even more because they cared, they both cared. A lot. But in the end, it didn’t matter, because Sam chose the campaign and she chose to stay and there was nothing they could say to change each other’s minds. Her eyes had gotten big and wet and angry, and he had been numb, staring out at nothing. That was the night she gave him back the ring.

But he tried not to think about it too much now. It was a sure-fire way to ruin his day. Or week, more likely.

“Did you know that supposedly the shortest telegram correspondence in history was between Victor Hugo and his literary agent?” he asked. He was sitting at one of the desks in the bullpen, hunched over some files that he really didn’t want to read. It was one of those days, where there was a lot to do but a lot of time to do it, so you ended up doing anything but what you were supposed to do. One of those days that felt lazy and slow when it shouldn’t have been.

Josh was leaning against an office door frame across from him. “Really.”

“Yeah.” he flipped through some of the papers absently. “To ask how the book sales were doing he just sent a question mark. The guy sent back an exclamation point. And all I’m saying is if Victor Hugo himself could restrain his verbosity like that, then just maybe the guys writing these files could-” he paused as Josh wandered over, resting his forehead against the back of Sam’s head and wrapping an arm around him from behind. “What?” Sam asked.

“Nothing.” Josh chuckled. “You’re just a huge dork.”

“Oh.” He rolled his eyes. “Just part of my charm, I guess.”

“In that case, you are extremely charming.”

“Ha ha.” Sam looked over as Josh slid into the desk chair next to him. “Hey, did CJ say how the briefing went? I was on the Hill all morning.”

Josh shrugged. “It was fine. They were all just asking about whether Jancowitz was going to sink the healthcare bill with his insistence on antagonizing what’s-his-name at the DOD.”

“Ah. Should we send someone to smooth that over?”

“Yeah, you can put Ainsley on it. I’m not too worried.” A problem for another day, then. Josh leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk in front of him. “It’s supposed to keep snowing all night.”

“They said that the last two times it snowed.”

“I think they’re right this time!” Josh protested, tapping the side of his head. “It’s my flawless intuition as an outdoorsman.”

Sam laughed. “At this rate, we could put you on the Weather Channel. You’d be just as accurate as all of those guys.”

“Mmm. With their track record, I could be their boss by next Tuesday.” He squinted at something for a minute before hopping up. “Well, I should probably go work on my thing before Leo has an aneurysm. I’ll come see you later about the environment?”

“Yeah, see you.” He sighed, staring down at the papers while Josh went back to his office. After a minute, he just shook his head and stood up, gathering them in his hands and retreating into his own office. Sam unceremoniously dumped the files onto a shelf, settling into his desk chair. They could be read another day.

Straightening his glasses, he popped open his laptop on the desk in front of him. He tried typing out some remarks for the President’s conference next week, but didn’t get very far. He wandered over to his email, and replied to a few people who had asked him questions.

I should write my dad, he thought absently. It had been a while since his last email. The thing was, thinking about his father in any capacity was Sure-fire Way To Ruin His Week Number Two.

It was...complicated. Sam had never had the best relationship with either of his parents to begin with. They had always been busy, and now he was always busy, and he supposed that it was possible he had lost far too many important things in his life due to people being busy. It didn’t even sound like a good excuse.

His mother was a brilliant, industrious woman who had grown up poor and worked so hard to get their little family off the ground that there was little else left of her now. At least, that was how he’d always felt. She’d always been so caught up in working to secure his future, and seemed to not have time for him in the meantime. Oh, she had tried, but she was always on a phone call or an extra shift and so it had usually just been him and his dad at the house when he was little.

It made his blood boil to think about it too long. Sam had never been close with his mother, but she had worked so hard and given up so much to keep them afloat. And this was how his father had repaid her? By...by...he couldn’t even put it into words. Learning about his father’s mistress had shook him to his core, and hadn’t stopped shaking it since.

Family had never been a very comforting concept to Sam, and after that particular revelation, even the romanticized ideal of it had come crumbling down around him. Family wasn’t supposed to be built on lies and absence and forced smiles. It was supposed to be solid and warm and loving, not shaky and volatile and brimming with hurt.

He could feel his heart clenching with anger and bitterness and grief over what-could-have-beens, and Sam hated being that person. Instead, he stared at the blank white void of the email draft in front of him, forcing himself to breathe deep. What are the others doing right now? he asked himself, his mind latching onto a distraction. Josh was probably working himself up over the environment issue- that, or getting lovingly screamed at by Leo. CJ had just finished a briefing, and was probably high-fiving Carol or bickering with Danny. Toby was most likely scribbling notes for the energy conference, half of which would be crumpled up in the wastebasket by now. Or on fire. Sam smiled to himself, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Hey,” came a cheery voice, and Sam looked up to find Donna in the doorway with a file tucked under her arm. “Any important government business going on in here?”

“Absolutely not,” he assured her, leaning back in his chair. “You need me for something?”

“Nothing pressing,” she replied with a shrug, brushing forward and hopping on top of his desk like she always did. “Toby and Josh are in CJ’s office watching the game if you want to join. ”

“Don’t they have work to do?” he mumbled petulantly.

“I really wouldn’t know,” Donna said with exaggerated innocence. She smirked at him. “But you look so sad and lonely in here, the least I could do was extend the invitation.”

“Hush, you,” Sam lamented, stretching absently. He looked down at his laptop and tapped his fingers on the desk. “I really should be working.”

“So should everyone else,” Donna pointed out. She slid off the desk and crossed her arms, giving him a look. “Sam? Hey, are you feeling okay? You look a little…”

Sam frowned, looking down at himself. “Disheveled?” he suggested, noting his wrinkled shirt and crooked tie.

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “That’s the word I was looking for. But, hey, are you really alright?” She leaned down to rub his shoulder. “You seem gloomy.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sighing. “Just a long day, I guess.”

Donna raised her eyebrows. “And do you know what the perfect antidote for a long day is?”

“Watching the game with Josh and Toby and CJ?” he guessed.

“Exactly!” Donna smiled, bonking him on the head with her file. “See you in five?”

Sam looked back at his email, thinking. If he mustered up the sheer willpower to write to his dad, he would have no idea what to say. And it wasn’t like his relatives in California were truly family, anyway. Not if all he associated with them were pain and disappointment. Maybe he could leave this email for later. Maybe he could watch football with his friends and chuckle at Toby and Josh shouting at the TV and rib CJ when she didn’t understand anything that was happening and forget about all of it, for a little while.

“Yeah,” Sam said, closing the lid to his computer. “Yeah, I’m coming.”