#tired ! i have written 200 words .

[youwerelikeanangel]

anxiety days at the library are soooo fun

[amtrak12]

62,000 words with 4 chapters to go before the midpoint. My last two chapters have averaged 9000 words apiece. You guys.... you guys....

This can’t be a 200,000 word fic. PLEASE! Tell me this isn’t a 200,000 word fic?! :S

[makkir0ll]

heyy! Can you write a prompt 48 for Kageyama? I don't know why but that prompt just looks like it' meant for him. Hope you're having a good day!

Ps: that daichi fic was so cute😭😭😭

thank you!! i'm glad you liked the daichi fic it's one of my favs. also i got extremely carried away with this bc i love this man, i hope you enjoy.

200 milestone event!

kageyama + 48 ("this is humiliating"/ "there's nothing humiliating about needing help every once in a while, my love")

kageyama had a routine.

every morning he woke up at exatly 5:45 on the dot, not a second later, or earlier. he would lay in bed for five minutes before getting up to brush his teeth for two minutes, then changing and going out the door for his morning run.

regardless of the weather, kageyama always had to have his run. whether it be pouring rain, snowing, or even the hottest day of the year. even when you stayed over at his house you would wake up to a note on the table with the words written "out for a run, be back soon. love you" scribbled in his messy handwriting that you've grown accustomed to reading.

this past week especially it had been pouring rain all morning, and you would've hoped that when your boyfriend went on his morning runs he would atleast put a rain jacket on.

that wasn't the case.

which is how you end up here, on the edge of his bed where your olympian boyfriend who can't remember to put on a rain jacket is buried under several throw blankets along with a hoodie. you can't see his face but you see some of his hair peeking out from under the covers. your hand reaches for it, gently stroking your fingers through his silky locks and he leans into your touch.

"come on tobio, sit up i need to check your temperature." you plead, thermometer in hand as you continue to play with his hair. with a groan, he sits up. you reach behind him to adjust the pillows so he can sit up comfortably. you look at him and his cheeks are flushed from hiding under his covers and his hair is a mess. he looks tired and your heart aches to see your boyfriend like this.

"i'm not sick." he lies, crossing his arms as a pout appears on his face. he hated this feeling, he hated when people looked down on him. he wasn't sick he was perfectly fine.

"sure tobio, you're literally shivering under five blankets" you state, you can feel his body tremble near you. "open your mouth" you say, your hand that held the thermometer going closer to his face. with furrowed brows he opens his mouth and lets you place the tip of the thermometer inside. he closes it tight to make sure to not let any cold air get in. your hand reaches for his under the cover, interlocking your fingers as your thumb rubs comforting strokes above his as you patiently wait for the thermometer to beep. the back of your other hand goes to his forehead and down to his throat to see how hot he was and he was burning up.

when you hear the thermometer beep you take it out of his mouth, inspecting the temperature and your eyes go wide. 39.1 celcius (102.38 fahrenheit). "holy shit" you say under your breath.

"how much is it?" he asks, trying to lean over and get a glimpse of the numbers on the device.

"39.1" you say, getting up to go to the kitchen and he reaches out for you, grabbing onto your t-shirt to hold you back. you chuckle at his actions, he seemed to be a bit clingier than normal.

"where are you going?" he asks, grip on your shirt getting tighter, not wanting to let you go. your hand goes over his, attempting to loosen his grip which you succeeded to do.

"i'm just going to the kitchen, i'm not going anywhere don't worry." you say softly walking out of the room to come back with a bowl of ice water, a clean washcloth, medicine, and an clementine.

you sit back down on the bed, putting the items you brought in on his bedside table. you take the washcloth and dip it in the cold water and wring out the excess before folding it into a rectangle and placing it on his forehead. his breath hitches at the feeling of the cold cloth but he sighs and relaxes at the cool sensation, sinking into his pillows.

"have you eaten anything?" you ask, reaching out for his hand again and you take notice of how his eyes are starting to close. he nods his head no, to which you reach over to the clementine you brought in and he whines at your actions.

"what's the matter?" you ask, trying to stiffle your laughs.

"'m not hungry." he says pouting.

"you need to eat something before i give you the medicine." you try to reason with him. he gives it a moment of thought before deciding that he needs to get better sooner rather than later.

you reach over to grab the clementine, peeling it gently to make sure you don't let any of the juices leak out and get all over your hands and his bed. your put the peel on the table, making a mental note to pick them up when you go back to the kitchen. you grabbed an clementine because you knew he wouldn't be that hungry but he had to eat something, you weren't going to give him medication on an empty stomach. also the citrus will make him feel less gross, the sweet juice making him feel better. you grab a piece of the fruit and bring it to his mouth. with his cheeks flushed red, shy due to your caring actions, he takes the fruit into his mouth. you continue these steps and once he finishes the fruit you take the washcloth from his forehead to resoak it and place it back. his body temperature was starting to cool down slightly.

you go back to the nightstand, opening up the medicine and reading the instructions before popping out a pill and handing it to him with a glass of water. he pops the pill in his mouth before swiftly taking a sip of water and handing it back to you.

you start to clean up the clementine peels when you hear your pouty boyfriend mumble something, you turn to him with a quirked brow. "you need anything tobio?" he shakes his head no, and you continue your actions before you hear him say,

"this is humilaiting." he says, a little bit louder and sinking in deeper into the covers, almost as an attempt to hide away from you. you know tobio, he likes to do things by himself, and he doesn't like the feeling of being weak, unable to do anything as simple as take care of himself when he's sick.

kageyama took pride in being the one to take care of you. to help you put on a new necklace because the clasp was hard to grip with your new nails. to clean the kitchen when you made him a nice home cooked meal after coming back home from an away game. to push your feet back under the covers before he left the house to go on his morning run, not without giving your forehead a kiss of course. to be the one to pay the rent in the apartment the two of you now share, to be able to take care of the bills. it filled his chest with pride. and not being able to take care of himself with such a simple task as remembering to put on a rain jacket, well he felt sort of shameful.

with a soft smile gracing you features, you lean over him and cup his cheek. you move the wet washcloth a little bit off his forehead to present some of his skin to you as you press a kiss to his now cool forehead, some water droplets sticking to your lips. his hands come to your hips and rub soft circles, sort of as a silent plea to not let go.

"there's nothing humiliating about needing help every once in a while, my love," you say, pressing another kiss this time to his cheek. the term of endearment turning his ears a bright shade of red as you adjusted the washcloth to cover his whole forehead again. "now, why don't you sleep okay? i'll be right back" you tell him, getting up to throw away the clementine peels.

as kageyama dozes off, he feels your body lay down next to his, tucking him in better into the layers of blankets on top of him. he realizes that maybe it's okay to be taken care of, especially when its you.

[ridhearts]

can you tell my heart is speaking? {misc.}

@diodellet​ requested: how would these characters react to getting an anonymous love letter from their crush who, ~plot twist~ has really really illegible handwriting? (like doctor's penmanship but ramp it up by 200% hahaha) like who would try to deduce the sender's identity or who would mistakenly throw the love letter in the trash?

this was one of those requests where i read it and INSTANTLY got inspo - even though it ended up a little silly. i hope you like it!!

!! information !!

characters: ruggie + jamil + rook + lilia + sebek

reader: gn!

cw: none!

masterlists ⇿ requests

• • • • • • • Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie is one of the easier ones to slip a note when he’s unaware. Just ask if Crewel needs to bother Leona about retaking any tests, go tell Leona about these tests until he threatens to bite a piece of you off your body, then slip into Ruggie’s room and leave the note squarely on his pillow. Most of the guys in the dorm don’t care enough to watch the weird freshman and remember what they’re doing, or they just assume you’re dropping something off for Ruggie as you tend to do.

When Ruggie gets the letter, he at first thinks he’s too tired to read. But then he blinks a few times, holds the letter closer and further from his face, and realizes that, no, his vision is just fine. He’s just got a mysterious letter to figure out, on top of all his regular work. Now, he just has to figure out if it’s a ransom note or a love note…

His consideration of it being a love note is 100% a joke. He doesn’t mean it. But after checking all of his belongings (the stash is still meager, but it’s been growing substantially) and realizing nothing is missing, he crosses ransom off the list. So he starts wondering if he forgot to repay someone, or if somebody could be collecting an IOU. But the list of people he allows to hold favors over his head is notably short, and they all accuse him of trying to hasten the process of them deciding what to use him for when he asks them about leaving a message for him. Ok, so it’s not debt collection, either.

At lunch, Ruggie holds the note in the sun and turns it around in his hands. Some of the symbols actually look like words…written by the kids back home, of course. When he thinks about it like that, he can actually make out a few words: confess, his name, and…love??

OH. So he was right when he found the note. He laughs at himself then, and is thankful he chose to sit by himself in the courtyard today.

That makes narrowing down the suspects way easier. There’s only one person in this school who even pretends to like him, and luckily it’s the one person he doesn’t mind getting a love letter from. Yeah, he wishes he could actually read what you wrote, but something tells him he’ll hear it straight from the horse’s mouth soon enough.

Did you think he’d run straight to you like a lovesick prince and clear the air, saving you from your multi-day suffering of wondering why you haven’t heard a response? You’d be right! - well, partially, about him beelining for you. But you know he’s going to tease you for your handwriting, mentioning how some of the kids back home wrote better than you. Lucky for you…a lot of them can write so well because of him. He’s not the neatest writer out there, but you can READ his handwriting, which would be an improvement on your part.

Ruggie showing up at your door nearly gave you a heart attack, even though it was what you’ve been hoping for. You noticed instantly the piece of paper held in his hand, full of your deepest thoughts and feelings for him. But why did he look so confused?

“What does this say?” He immediately asked, not allowing you to get a word in. Your eyes darted from his face to the note, an embarrassed heat creeping up to your face.

“Uh. Well. If I wanted to tell you, I wouldn’t have written it out, you know?” 

Ruggie stared at you for a few moments before laughing, crumpling the paper in his hand as he did so. Your heart sank - was he really going to reject you in such a cruel manner?

“Listen up, prefect! I’m going to give you some lessons in penmanship,” He declared. “I used to teach some of the kids back home, so this should be a breeze.”

“Oh, okay,” You agreed, not wanting to sound too eager. You didn’t wanted to say it (out loud), but he got a million times cuter when he talked about the kids in his neighborhood. “But...what about the letter?”

“I can’t read it.” 

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry!” With the mischievous look on his face, you were suddenly reminded that Ruggie wasn’t simply some innocent underdog in the school just because he wasn’t one of the infamous overblots. “Your final exam will be rewriting it, and I’ll be watching you write every single word.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being flirty or mean, but your heart did somersaults anyway.

• • • • • • • Jamil Viper

Jamil is a difficult one to catch off guard, especially since (mostly unbeknownst to you) he has a crush on you, too. When you’re in the room, he finds himself watching you from the corner of his eye (or sometimes straight on during his less subtle days), noticing little things that only make him all the more wistful.

The one time he won’t do this is during basketball practice. This is for two reasons: one, he’d die of shame if he missed an easy shot because you were in the room, and two, he happens to be in a club with one of the people who would instantly blurt out any strange behaviors from him if spotted (Floyd). At least Kalim has the sense to stop talking when Jamil gives him a very pointed glare that would only encourage Floyd further.

So, as long as you rope Ace into your plans, talk to him by the bleachers for a second and sneakily place a letter on Jamil’s bag, he probably won’t even notice. And if your note is just on a piece of paper and not enveloped with stickers (please make it discreet, he would also DIE if he had a very obvious love letter on his stuff, regardless of who it’s from) then he won’t even suspect anything until he’s already reading the letter!

…unfortunately, Jamil can’t read the letter.

He tries! He really does! For about 30 seconds. Then he decides it can’t be deciphered and is probably a stray page of somebody’s notes that got stuck on his bag somehow. Ace, who is very aware of what it actually is, tries to casually question Jamil as he crushes it in his hands.

Jamil responds flippantly, saying he couldn’t make sense of it and it’s nothing any of them need to worry about. Before Ace can casually try to offer to decode some of it, Floyd takes that as an invitation to snatch the paper ball, shout a popular baseball player’s name out (nobody is sure if he chose a player of the wrong sport on accident or not), and throw it in the wastebasket across the room instead of the one right next to him. (It makes it! As the basketball club cheers Floyd on and Jamil rolls his eyes, Ace swallows nervously. He’s 90% certain that you just got rejected, hard.)

Ace not-so-subtly breaks the news to you the next day, and he winds up pulling Deuce into ‘Operation: Cheer Up The Prefect!” This involves ice cream (coincidentally they bring home more than you need in their own favorite flavors) and keeping you as far away from Jamil as possible. With how brutally Ace told the story, you’re positive you’d die of embarrassment if you had to meet him face-to-face.

But Ace notices during practice one day that Jamil keeps staring at him. When they take a water break, Ace almost implodes in relief when he’s finally approached.

“Hey, Ace. Is anything wrong with the prefect?”

“You care?” Ace asked, purposely taking the bite out of his words. 

“Well...” Jamil shoves his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt - sweat tank? - and looks to the side, as if choosing his words carefully. “Kalim was planning another party, and I need to know if they’re sick or anything so he doesn’t get sick.”

“Oh. Yeah, they’re fine.” Well, as much as he hates it, Ace feel sorry for you. This guy is ruthless. But he can’t just leave it at that - he’s gonna get you closure, whether you wanted him to or not. “Hey, what did you make of that weird letter on your backpack the other day?”

“You still remember that? It was a piece of-” Jamil stopped, looking right at Ace. Shrinking away, Ace watched Jamil as his eyes shifted slightly, trying to figure out if Ace was messing with him. “What do you mean, a letter?”

“...I may or may not know the basics of what it said. And could’ve read it. Because I know who wrote it. And I can read their handwriting.”

Jamil’s eye twitched once as he started to connect the dots. He looked more annoyed than horrified, which Ace couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. “This letter is sensitive in nature if you only know the basics of what it said, and it just so happened to be the event right in between the prefect talking to me every day to avoiding me when ‘they’re fine?’ Did I get that right?”

Ace laughed nervously. “They don’t call Scarabia one of the smartest dorms for nothing...”

“Sevens,” Jamil cursed, turning on his heel. He was out the door before anybody could ask him what he was doing, but Ace figured out where he was headed. You were in for quite the surprise. To walk out like that...Jamil must really like you.

Gross.

• • • • • • • Rook Hunt

Epel tried to fight you tooth and nail when you asked him to deliver the letter. However, after several rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors and even more accusations of you cheating, Epel finally (and begrudgingly) agreed to be your mailman. If Vil wasn’t in the room when he delivered it, he would’ve just tossed it at Rook and been done with it. However, he handed it over with as much grace as he could, listened to Vil’s curt corrections, and scurried out of the room (while Vil called out something against said scurrying.)

Rook knew exactly who wrote the letter as soon as he saw the first word. With handwriting as unique as yours, how could he not? You thought you could hide it when romance seized you so wholly you couldn’t help but express it in written words? How foolish!

Rook began giggling like a madman, and eventually, Vil’s curiosity got the better of him. “What do you have there?”

“It seems the little lovebird has finally decided to sing their song!” Rook exclaimed. Vil wasn’t sure if he’s ever seen such pure glee before.

“Ah, of course. Any highlights?” Code for give me the details, please!

“I would tell you, but I’m afraid I can’t read a single word.”

“Huh?!?” They don’t talk about the utterly disgraceful noise that left Vil’s mouth at that.

See, Rook knows what he received through deduction alone. He’s been expecting you to make a move for some time now, actually! And while he’s touched by what you decided, it’s such a shame that your feelings didn’t break through like you thought they might! Fortunately, Rook gets told he speaks cryptically all the time, so he can play your little game with you if you’d like.

Suddenly, you have Rook trailing you even more than usual, spouting long, wordy praises(?) and sonnets that put Shakespeare to shame. He uses excessively flowery prose and more dramatics than usual, so what little words you catch just don’t make any sense. You enjoy the show, and you’re happy to see he hasn’t rejected you entirely, but you’re also completely lost on any progress you thought you would’ve made with the letter.

Rook has had his fun. Now, it was time for the moment you’ve certainly been waiting for - he was going to answer your feelings and return them in full!

With the recent theatrics, he decided a simple flower and a knock on your door would be enough to express how genuine he was being. After all, he didn’t want to overwhelm you entirely and have you doubting him! So he knocked on your door between the end of classes and dinner, certain you’d be winding down from the day and have a second to spare.

When you opened the door, Rook bowed and offered the flower in his hand to you. “Ah, mon cœur, how lovely it is to see you again. I’ve come to officially accept your feelings and see...if you might be interested in pursuing a relationship with me? You know I do love a good pursuit.”

You took the flower cautiously, an eyebrow raised. “But I thought..”

“Hm?”

“Oh! Nothing.”

“No, no! Do not be keeping secrets from me already!” Rook lamented, straightening his posture and grabbing your hands in his. “Tell me what it is that confuses you.”

“Well...” All of a sudden, you were feeling very embarrassed and sort of like a fool. “I guess, when you started with all the poems every day, I kinda thought...that meant we already were in a relationship?”

Rook blinked at you, unable to hold back his singular laugh. “My feelings are as strong as they have always been. I could feel the passion in your letter, I could see the love-”

“You couldn’t read the letter, could you?” You sighed. “Grim warned me this might happen...”

But Rook, thoroughly amused with the situation, only brought your hands to his face and pressed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Perhaps we are soulmates, then, if we so thoroughly understand each other with such indirect communication.”

• • • • • • • Lilia Vanrouge

Are you confessing to Lilia via letter because it’s old fashioned and romantic, or because you’re scared? As you walk up the hill to the front door of Diasomnia, you still can’t figure out the answer for yourself.

If you know Lilia well enough to even considering there’s a CHANCE at a successful confession, you’ve definitely picked up on how he’s much…more than he leads on. Even if you didn’t know him that well, with the way everybody who knows him respects and admires him, you’d have to be stupid not to know SOMETHING was hiding beneath those “innocent, adorable eyes” and those “boyish good looks” and his “smooth, youthful cheeks.” (All, of course, are direct observations made by the fae himself.) So perhaps the chance at being gently let down is greater than you’d hoped, but certainly you’re trying to appeal to his more private side, right?

You approach the door, stand frozen in front of it, and slip the envelope with his name beneath the door before hurrying away. Okay, you wrote your confession because you were scared.

Lilia allows you to leave the dimension of his dorm before curiously picking up the letter. You aren’t very good at hiding your tracks, but against fae, most humans aren’t. He smiles at the hearts you’ve drawn on the envelope, carefully peeling off any stickers to keep. What a sweet way of telling him things he already knows.

Oh, he doesn’t mean to be demeaning! You’re simply so cute, it’s hard for him not to coo over every little thing you do! He’s been carefully tiptoeing around the subject for ages, but if you were brave enough to confess to him first…perhaps it’s time for him to truly confront the feelings that have been building ever since he met you. You are strange, and you are reckless, and you are oh so dear to him. It couldn’t hurt to at least see where a relationship would go within the year, right?

(Read: Lilia has some hangups about the difference in your lifespans, but fae aren’t exactly known to be selfless creatures. Lilia doesn’t hoard jewels and gold so much as he does the people he holds close to his heart, so it was really only a matter of time before you found yourself by his side anyway.)

Of course, even if Lilia can read the letter just fine, he has to have some fun with it! The hope and apprehension in your eyes when he meets you next is too enjoyable not to toy with, just a little. So, instead of asking you to dinner, Lilia asks if you need help with your unit on hexes and curses. Confused, you cautiously agree and suddenly, instead of a date, you have a two-person study group. At least he’s not avoiding you completely?

Lilia has you carefully drawing out the symbols in your textbook while he watches with his sharp eyes. You’re almost positive he’s leaning too close to you on purpose, and you’re 100% sure he’s being such a perfectionist just so he can fluster you more. When he purposely puffs a little air on your neck just as you’re finishing this round of symbols, making you jolt and mess up an otherwise perfectly straight line, Lilia clicks his tongue and begins to tell you to start again. You interrupt him.

“You’re being weird again.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” You respond, turning to face him. Ah, right, he never backed away and now your faces were inches apart. Leaning back, you turned your head and huffed. Normally you’d find this endearing, but now you were beginning to feel like a toy. “What’s with this whole studying thing, anyway? I never mentioned having trouble in class. Actually, I’m doing just fine.”

“And yet you accepted my help anyway?” Your face began to heat up. Lilia backed away to give you your space again. “No, I just thought I might help you, since whatever curse you slipped underneath my door was absolutely abysmal.”

“Curse?”

“I’ve gotta say, though, hearts are a strange choice of rune...”

“Oh,” Your face got hotter, and you sighed. “Listen, Lilia, if I overstepped...”

Before you could finish, Lilia leaned in again, one hand on the back of your chair and the other on the table. You weren’t caged in at all, but you felt as if leaving would be a big mistake - not that you wanted to, of course. Lilia was smiling, the carefully constructed way someone does when they’re waiting to prove you wrong.

“Don’t say that, little one. It appears I’m the one that overstepped. I only meant to tease you a bit, that’s all. I never meant to imply I wasn’t interested.”

• • • • • • • Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s eyes have been on you all day (more than usual). Lilia joyfully proclaims that he has “‘got it bad,’ as the youth are now saying,” but Sebek knows it’s deeper than that. Sebek knows you are planning something.

You and your two friends (which, now that he’s got suspicions, he refuses to admit are also his friends) have been hunched over something, whispering conspiratorially and laughing all day. What’s more is that the Young Master has been hanging around you at night more and more frequently. Dots are connecting in Sebek’s head, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Before he can best decide how to confront you, you leave with your little entourage. But what’s this? Upon closer inspection, Sebek realizes you’ve left behind a piece of paper. He scans it closely, once, twice, then realizes…

YOU’RE PLOTTING AGAINST THE YOUNG MASTER AND WRITING YOUR PLANS IN A SECRET CODE?!?!

Sebek is beside himself with grief, fury, and shock at your audacity. At your betrayal!! How could a human such as yourself - weak and simple-minded and kind and attractive and determined - stoop to such lows?! This isn’t right! It keeps him awake at night, and he decides the next morning that he must confront you before you do something you cannot undo.

You hear loud, aggressive banging on your door far earlier than Ace and Deuce ever arrive at your dorm. Excitedly sending the two a text saying Sebek is right on time, you jump down the stairs and try not to be too excited. After straightening yourself out one final time, you take a deep breath and open the door.

...Only to see a very frantic Sebek?

“HUMAN.” His voice is loud as always, but it almost sounds more tense than usual. You’re thankful Grim is the only other one in the dorm who sleeps, otherwise you’d have some very angry roommates right about now. “What is it that you’re planning?!”

“What am I planning?” You repeated. This was not how you were hoping this conversation would go.

“Don’t act like I haven’t seen you and the others plotting in the shadowed corners of the school!” From his pocket, Sebek presents your letter and waves it in front of your face. “I know this is a secret code, and I know you’ve got something nefarious up your sleeves!”

“What? I don’t-” You grab his wrist to stop his waving, only to look past the paper and see him so worked up, he’s got tears in his eyes.

“If you denounce all your evil plans to me right now, I’ll let you off with a warning! As a future knight of the young master, I really shouldn’t be making such deals, but-” And he cuts himself off, like the emotion is too much for him to handle. It’s almost sweet, how he offers up his integrity just to keep you afloat. Or maybe he’s finally accepted that Malleus actually likes you and would miss you if Sebek were to chase you away. It was hard to tell.

What wasn’t hard to tell was how distressed Sebek is, so you took the paper out of his hands and look at it. Deuce did warn you that your handwriting was rather messy. It would make sense that he couldn’t read it. How he got this idea in his head, you weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to watch him suffer for much longer.

“You figured me out, Sebek,” You responded sadly. Sebek looked absolutely scandalized. “I wanted to leave the young master vulnerable, so I was trying to take out the rising star that would one day defend him.”

“And how did you plan to do that?” Sebek scowled at you. You heaved a dramatic sigh.

“...You. I was trying to take you out.” For the effect, you paused for a moment before continuing. “On a date, actually. This isn’t a plan written in code, it’s a love letter.”

Sebek stared at you before clearing his throat. “OH.”

It was going to take a while to sink in and even longer to convince him, you could tell. You ushered him to your couch before he could faint.

[granolawriting]

"Do you have a boyfriend?" •°. *࿐

pairing: no breakout! Cowboy costume!Joel x fem reader

Summary: Your best friend holds a halloween party at her house, where the often brooding Joel you often disregard adorns a new attire that sparks something in you. And he makes it clear he feels the same.

Content warning: 18+ NSFW, age gap (college senior and 50 year old), grey hairs so hes about that old, picture part 2 joel cause he’s the sexiest, porn with lots of plot, p in v, creampie, HEAVY praise, you guys are wearing matching costumes on accident, he fucks you IN costume if you're wondering, nice aftercare, pet names (darling, sweetheart, doll), southern hospitality misconstrued for shyness, sarah is your best friend

word count: 7.4k (holy shit)

masterlist

A/N: christ almighty. This took me all day. it has clouded my mind, overtaken my senses. finishing the final lines of this fic made me feel raw, completly finished. I have never written a fic this long in my entire life I'll be so honest. Anyways, I've been delving so deep into pedro stuff recently that reignighting the Joel adgenda made me quiver at night thinking about it. ANYWAYS. THANK YOU FOR 200 FOLLOWERS!!!! confetti thrown everywehere.

and in other news, I hope u enjoy the 4th installment of my kinktober list, I'll see you all again on the 20th with some bondage!Joel.... Make sure if you like my work to check out my requests/comissions or my ko-fi!!!

P.S. The title was made with scream in mind but since I changed up him from wearing a mask to a cowboy because christ how could I not I decided to just keep it as is.

Monotonous noise of worn out wheels against tired linoleum floors squeak softly at the turns of your cart against the rows of aisles that comprised the small store. Dimly lit bulbs illuminated the rows of supplies— plates upon masks upon streamers of different colors and themes overtake your senses as the whole display seems ostentatious and unflattering to you. 

“How's this for a Halloween costume?” 

A wolf mask hides the face of an otherwise non-furry Sarah Miller. Who seemed to not share the same sentiment as you regarding distaste for the design. 

“I don't know, how are you going to drink if you have a mask on your face?” 

“Straws exist.” 

“I'm not convinced” 

She takes it off with melodrama, sullen disdain for your lack of halloween spirit as you push the cart further down the aisle. 

A soft squeak of tires indicates a stop in your steps as you stand before a wall of costumes— what you needed more than anything to hold an answer for you. 

Eyes tracing up and down the rows floor to ceiling coated with cheaply made, scantily clad costumes makes your vision blur. Until it lands on a single item; one that stood out to you above all else. 

“A cowgirl?” 

Sarah sounds unimpressed. Eyeing the plastic wrapped costume labeled “ride my rodeo” with a model on the front wearing small red and white plaid tied to her front, small jean shorts cut at most with an inch’s inseam, and a cowboy hat— sold separately. 

“It's the best I've got. It's either this, or I repeat last year’s costume.” 

“You are not dressing up as Adam Sandler to my party.” 

You put the bag in the cart. 

Ever since moving to college, your career as a party-goer has been less than prolific, as a freshman assuming that time away from home was means to let yourself go, slowly turned into a reluctant senior year where parties were oftentimes the last thing you wanted to do on a given day. However, as Sarah lived in the area, she at the very least dragged you to her neighborhood functions. Which, was marginally better than what any Greek life could pull together. And as your car pulls into the empty spot within the miller’s lot, you become privy as to why; because you always had to help put it together. 

As smooth concrete lays beneath your car while you park, the truck parked beside you was none other than Joel Millers— Sarah's bachelor dad. 

Bachelor was an overstatement, a compliment that wasn't quite applicable to him. He wasn't looking for love, a bachelor without a cause, he was purposefully distant. A brood coated his face from eyes to lips that only ever contorted to something positive in the sight of his daughter. A contractor seemingly married to his work he had no means to find love. A part of you wonders when the last time he even had anyone was, romantically or sexually. Or even how he got ahold of one to make Sarah happen in the first place. You could never picture Joel as someone sexually active, if Sarah told you she was immaculately conceived you would have believed her. 

The click of boots against concrete greets the Millers doorstep as your cowgirl boots are adorned, the rest of your uncomfortable costume shoved in a bag across your shoulder as means to at least dress the house in comfort before having to walk around in costume for hours on end. 

Walking directly in you’re faced with a Mr. Miller, with a similar idea. He wore nothing at all, costume-wise. Something that you wish you could have done, as every year he seems to escape the wrath of Sarah’s demands regarding spirit, to be met with the regular weathered jeans and loose long sleeves. Standing tall upon a stepladder was he already being put to work however, thick fingers pushing small thumbtacks into the open space of his home, orange and black streamers littering the front room as he works. 

His head turns to you at the sound of his door being opened and shut, 

“Well, what’re you supposed ta’ be?” 

His eyes size you up and down, southern drawl brings sound to the quiet of the room, only otherwise broken by soft halloween music traveling its way downstairs from Sarah’s bedroom. If there was one attractive thing about him, it was his accent. The way he would slur his words together, the charming yet teasing air to everything he says. Having moved to Austin 4 years ago you would’ve thought you’d have grown used to it by now, and you have, besides Joel. The age that honeyed his voice like old whisky was unprecedented, and never paralleled by any other man you’d yet to mean in your time there. 

“Haven’t put it on yet Mr. Miller. But I can see that your costume is quite the classic.” 

“Oh quit it. Now, Sarah asks that you go upstairs when ya’ came in. Bosses orders.” 

You give a stern look to him and nod as though you were to be sent on the front lines, and he only gives a small chuckle before returning to his work. 

“Oh my god you’re finally here. Look—” 

She opens the door in hurried fashion, and quickly centers herself in the middle of the room to do a spin for you. A small gust of wind as she twirled letting her skirt float as she moved to reveal her outfit. Bells and jingles fill the room at the movement of her body. 

“Does it look too corny? Can you tell who I am?” 

Looking her up and down, large bundles of curly hair hiding a stuffed serpent around her neck as a green top wraps around the back of it, paired with loose bells and metal pieces adorning a small blue skirt with layers of tulle, it was quite obvious who she was meant to be if you were born prior to 2006. 

“Britney spears. And you look perfect, but don't you think it’s a little early to try on your costume?” 

Her eyes pierce you with only the gaze of a woman who thought you clearly misunderstood what was going on. 

“The party is in 2 hours. I've yet to even do my makeup, or take photos before I get wasted. Time is of the essence. Here, put your costume on and help get ready with me.” 

Sarah, despite being in the same grade as you, was marginally less mature. Mostly driven by her intelligence boosting her into higher grades when she was younger, she was around 2 years younger than you despite graduating the same year as you. And despite her efforts sometimes her stress levels were purely driven by the fact she was barely 21. Still obsessed and enamored with arguably, menial things. Though through her age, you always attempted to discern her fathers. With grey growing into the roots of his head, speckling his beard as it traced the lines of his jaw, you had ventured to guess he was around 50. 

…

Ding Dong 

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh—” 

“It's okay Sarah, I'll get it.”

Feet scrambling up and out of her bedroom, you quickly find your way to the front door as the clock shone at 7:30, cursing the people who find joy in showing up so early to what is not a dinner party. Dressed in your cowgirl costume do you answer the door, expecting either trick or treaters or an older neighbor, does someone entirely different greet you as it opens. 

Joel towers before you within the doorway. He no longer wore the loose fitting shirts and jeans omnipresent on his person, moreover it was swapped for a much more form fitting attire. A cowboy hat for starters, sat upon his head of hair, usually messy and combed back did it now fall in front of his face, sculpting his jaw as it fell to the sides of chocolate eyes. Strands peppered his face as you took him in, a worn cowboy hat that complimented the tan of his skin, equally as sun bleached did it seem almost natural for him to adorn it. Followed by a small toothpick sticking from his lips, did it draw focus to the pink of them, shaped and contrasted by the peppered beard freshly trimmed, longer pieces of hair falling over his top lip to establish a thicker mustache that became the centerpiece of his look. As your eyes trailed down the rest of his body, you’re met with a form fitting tan tuscan button up as his underlayer, slightly unbuttoned at the top to reveal his chest lines do you notice fabric rolled to his elbows to reveal thick hairy forearms that held muscle visible unflexed. Trailing up to see the definition of bicep within the confines of cotton fabric almost bursting at the muscle he carried, only to be met with an overlayer of a dark brown vest seemingly made of corduroy or something similar, tightly buttoned around his waist to accentuate it's contrast to the broadness of his shoulders. The pants worn in tandem with the outfit were a chocolate brown, thick leather-like material clung to his quads as they tapered at the ends of his calves, square toed cowboy boots finding home beneath the heavy fabric of his pants. Around his waist was there a detailed belt, a worn leather belt held up the tie of his pants, and to his hip was a holster, housing a small toy gun that fell to his side as his hip stayed slightly cocked at the entrance. His thumb looped in the side of his pocket as he stood waiting at the front door. The scent of cologne fills your senses as it breeds with his natural scent to produce what was to you somewhat of an aphrodisiac. This was no longer the grumpy old man that wore clothes a size too large because he was too lazy to check the charts, no longer the father of your best friend— in this moment he was nothing but insatiably attractive. 

“Oh, Mr. Miller I— don't you have a key?” 

Only now do you notice the look he gave you. The equal look of awe as his eyes unabashedly trailed your body and it's curved. Much more revealing than him though equally as hidden from what he wanted. You watched as lips became slightly pursed, taking in the fit of your jeans and the curve of your hips, eyes falling for far too long upon your top and how it complimented you. 

He skips a beat. 

“Oh— uh, sorry kid. Though Sarah’d be comin’ down. Wanted to show her my outfit. S’ the last halloween we’re gonna have fer a while.” 

You feel yourself heat up, his eyes connecting with yours have a whole new meaning to it now. He seemed embarrassed, even, as his eyes darted from side to side, unable to connect with yours for more than a few seconds as he asked for his daughter. 

“She's still upstairs getting ready. Do you, do you want me to call her down?” 

“No, no that won’t be necessary. ‘Supose I’ll wait fer her inside.” 

It takes you a moment to register that as means for entry into his own house as you stood there agape in the center of the doorframe. Though quickly do you move your body to make room for him, as he dips his head to you in thanks before heavy boots hit the wooden floors of the downstairs in his entry. 

The tension that builds within the room is deafening as you both stand there in silence. Unable to remove yourself from his proximity does the air fill with feelings foreign and impure. 

“That’s a um, nice costume ya’ got there.” 

Joel breaks the silence with soft spoken words as he begins to pour a drink in the kitchen. Though not looking at you, the image of you within his mind pierced the darkest parts of his consciousness with glaring extremity as he felt himself grow hot in so many layers. 

“This? Oh, Sarah, she made me do it. But uh, I really like yours as well. It, it suits you well. And we’re matching, that's funny.” 

This was your poor attempt at flirting with a mind so foggy with memories completely turned on their head as your perception of Joel did that same. 

“WHO IS ITTTT!!!!!!!!!”

Sarah screams from the closed door of her upstairs bedroom. Clearly your time downstairs was limited before she began even more antics from the confines of her unkempt bedroom. 

He hands you a glass, amber liquid sloshes upon crackling ice fills up a quarter of the cylindrical glass. 

“Hope ya’ have fun t’night sweetheart. Make sure Sarah’s doin’ alright.” 

You flash him a shy smile as you take your drink to go, climbing the hardwood stairs leading to her bedroom as quickly as you can without spilling it. 

“Who was it? What took you so long! Is that whisky?” 

“Can you ask one question at a time?” 

“Well I already asked all of em so what's the point?”

“Just for future reference.” 

“Maybe. Well?” 

“your dad forgot his key, I helped him inside, he gave me a drink. Tis the story.” 

She looks you up and down as the recollection of her father instills newfound meekness at the mention of him. 

“Ok weirdo. Here, take candids.” 

…

Halloween music blares from speakers as the party comes to a head, the myriad of costumes all still holding creases from the cheap packaging they were purchased in become clustered together as the drinks you have begin to get to you. The smell of alcohol and pumpkin fill the room as a cacophony of laughter takes you out of a spell of staring thankfully focused on the floor and not upon unsuspecting persons. 

The only person who seemed to stand out amongst the crowds of duplicate costume and cheesy innuendos was a certain Mr. Miller— a prolific wallflower that only hosted these things as a means to keep Sarah close in situations like this. For if not here, she’d be somewhere else doing the same thing. 

Eyes scoured the home every few minutes, looking to catch a glimpse of Joel within his costume, politely smiling at guests through small talk or taking slow drinks of his flask. 

“Hey you!!!” 

You’re startled by the sound of Sarah's boom from across the room as she calls for you, a caramel hand stuck high in the air to signal you to her, drawing you out of the trance of Joel’s small movements. 

You walk to her with careful steps, trying not to step on capes or trailing costumes in the process. 

“What’s up with you! I’ve barely seen you at all tonight! I know you’re not a party girl anymore but please, try and live it up for me!” 

Something catches her eye as she speaks to you, her smiling face turning into an O with excitement; 

“And—” 

She points behind you. 

“I think that guy over there is checking you out. Go have fun! Let me hear all about it later!” 

Later. You forgot you’d promised to sleep over at her place too, rehashing the night's events as soon as they came to a close as you always did over the years. Though the first thing that comes to your mind is not the man behind you eyeing you, tacky tie-dye making up for a lackluster hippie costume, but Joel. the man who in fact owned the home you would be sleeping in, the man who kept eyeing you from the side of the room with a gaze you accepted much greater than the mans behind you, and above all, the man that had caught your heart in a way that led to it's seeping out between your thighs. 

God, what the fuck is wrong with me? This isn't right it's, it’s Sarah's dad. She’d be heartbroken to even know I think like this. 

You decide to throw away all the Clint Eastwood movies you stole from your dad and uninstall red dead redemption 2 when you got home, and blame your attraction solely on your overconsumption of cowboy media. You need a breather. 

There's a balcony, facing the back of the property that was off limits to the party guests. Entered only through Joel’s bedroom, anyone would be stupid to test their luck if getting caught within his personal dwellings. However, you were Sarah’s best friend. And was even shown this entryway by Sarah herself— of course when her father was not home. And so you decide with cautious steps to ascend the stairs of his home, the liquor giving way to uncertainty in every step as your eyes are glued to the placement of each foot upon the step one by one. Though as you reach the top with great pride, you venture into Joel’s room, to the left of the stairs as Sarah’s is farther to the right. 

You had never been in his room by yourself before, only for a brief moment with Sarah as she showed you one of her favorite spots in the house. It was secluded, of course looking over the backyard she lamented years past as a girl playing within the pool below. She was at the age where she wanted to be independent, but in no way could be yet; and for her that was about 10. And as means to give her her freedom but keep her close, he would watch from the confines of a balcony she paid no note to as the splashing of waves kept her occupied. And he doted on her from a distance. 

As you walk through his bedroom, walls covered in guitars and desk littered with wooden sculptures while a record shows to be finished upon his player. Sheets properly made upon his bed, and a sense of intimacy looking around at the things littered upon his shelves and tables. The framed photo of him and his daughter, his old watch he took off specifically for the occasion of dress. The distinct smell of him that enveloped your senses. 

Opening the door to the balcony does the feeling of cool air hitting a flustered face sober you everso slightly. Bracing yourself on the edges of the platform, you drift into a calm. The first time you’d felt that since the moment you opened the door for a cowboy Mr. Miller—  as you force yourself to call him in your mind. 

“Now what do you suppose yer doin’ in my room?” 

Your heart sinks. You knew you’d be fine, if caught, but the thing that sinks your heart is the uptick of your heartbeat and the twist in your stomach at the sight of familiar drawl sounding behind you. 

You hear heavy boots break the threshold of the doorway into where you stood as the sound of wood upon his feet changed to a scratch of concrete. 

He stands next to you, forearms pressed against the railing as his back curves along casual footing aside of you. The moonlight illuminates his face, the curve of his nose complimenting the side profile that gifted you sight at the tufts of hair poking out from the ends of his hat, and the proximity to him gave you the insight to the smell of whisky on his breath as he spoke.  

“Needed ta’ take a breather' myself. ‘Spose we had the same idea.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“Ya’ having a good time t’night kid?” 

“Oh yeah, I haven't seen all that much of Sarah though did you—” 

You stop as he shifts his body to turn to you. 

“Now, can I be honest with ya’?” 

As you turn to look at him, mirroring his stance he dwarfs you in the process, standing at around 6ft the broad of his shoulders shadowing your whole figure. 

You nod your head meekly. 

“I just— now, I don't know how ta’ say all this quite right. But, don't get me wrong darlin’, I’ve seen the way you’ve been lookin’ fer me all night. I don't know if ya’ think i'm blind or somethin, but i’ve seen ya’ all night, watchin me.” 

He pauses for a moment and within that silence does your heart shatter. The whole time you thought that he was eyeing you, looking you up and down, it was just a one sided coincidence that led you to this awkward conversation with a man twice your age. You start; 

“Oh listen I'm, I'm so sorry Mr. Miller I must have given the wrong impression or something I don't know i'm just so—” 

“Please, call me Joel. And don't hafta’ be so sorry sweetheart. Just callin’ it how I see it.” 

He pauses once more as he considers what he’s going to say next, a tinge of uncertainty covering his face as he decides how to follow up. 

“And I don't quite mind it, if that's what you’re worried ‘bout.” 

The tense of your muscles releases as he continues. 

“Just, wanted ta’ tell you you looked quite well yourself that’s all.” 

He’s holding back, you can tell by the sway of his legs as he goes on and the grip of his fingers upon the pocket of his pants. The way his gaze averted yours and his glancing upon the floor; for any look at you from your eyes to your body seemed to be hard for him to swallow with proper manners.

Your eyes lock in silence, the pale moonlight illuminating you two as the distance from Joel grows unconsciously closer as you take in his face, his body looming over yours and the prospect of their being more within his mind that he’s willing to give you. The southern hospitality still overshadows his true means. 

Rough fingers graze your face, tucking hair behind your ear as it falls in front of your face. And as he leans forward to do so, you lean in as well. Blinded by desire and complicated by liquor and closing the gap between the two of you. Tasting his lips reminiscent of whisky and the frosting of halloween cupcakes you feel him kiss you back for only a moment before shooting himself backwards. 

He almost trips over his own feet in adverse reaction, stumbling to the other side of the balcony as you watch him. 

“I'm—” 

“No darlin’ ya’ don't have to say anything. But I've probably got to get back down to company. Feel free to stay up here ‘s long as you want.” 

You watch as he rushes out of the room and the urge to chase after him grows weak as the taste lingers on your lips. The sense of defeat wells in your chest but not entirely, because for a moment he kissed back. A moment you felt him push forward on your lips and savor the flavor of them as you did for him. 

Later.

Now, a sleepover with Sarah is what you needed most. A sleepover with her, is a sleepover with Joel right across the way. And the mere feeling of that made your knees weaken with rushing dreams of him. 

The party seemed to drag on after that, only satiated by more drinks were you able to bear a night where you could feel him from across the room, sense his body and the heat that came with it. You felt naked for him, utterly exposed at the sight of his eyes trailing you— ones you could only hope followed you the way yours did for him whenever you noticed him with back turned. Drinking in every part of his body as he was none the wiser, finding joy and security within the turn from you as means to make him in for as long as you pleased. 

…

“Alright ma’am, seems ya’ need to be goin’ home, me ‘n Sarah got a lot of cleanin to do in the morning.” 

An outstretched arm grabs the bicep of a polite Joel, ushering out the final guest that had an affinity for his touch so it seemed. 

“Ohhh but darlin when will I see you in such a getup again? Oh i'd never want to leave.” 

“‘S a shame I’m about to take it off though ma’am. Now go walk home alright?” 

Her eyes hooded everstill she demands even more of him;

“Oh but will you take me? Don't think I trust myself in these conditions.” 

He closes his eyes and a heavy sigh leaves his nose. 

“‘Spose so ma’am— Sarah, I’ll be right back.” 

Her arm loops around his bicep as he leads her out of the house, jealousy overtaking you purely at the close proximity she had to him, for much longer than he ever had with you. 

Sarah turns to look at you as you stand a few feet back from the scene, a bemused look painted on your face unconsciously demanding explanation. 

“Oh- that was miss carey she uh, she’s had a thing for my dad for years now. It’s kind of funny if I'm being honest, given I didn't see her drink all night.” 

You let out a halfhearted laugh for a response, trying to deny the yearning within your stomach to feel Joel’s arm as she did, to touch him, fall over him. Just be close enough to smell him again, feel his warmth. It had felt like decades since the last feeling of him close to you. your body remembering calloused fingers grazing your heated cheek; contrasting with the cold tips that crept upon his hands as the air finally showed hints of the coming winter season. 

“Sorry to be a bother, but doya think you could start cleaning up? I’ve gotta get this costume off and shower before I vomit. Thanks!” 

As Sarah zips up the stairs all that’s left is you alone, standing within the living room of Joel Miller’s home. One where he could return any second. 

You decide to busy yourself with chores, cleaning up stray glasses and bottles littered across the house, fallen decorations and dessert trays now only holding wrappers and trash. It’s a hefty job, one that helps for a short while as the weight of hours prior looms over you with darring intent to seep deep within your mind, allowing visions of the taste of his tongue, the feel of his body pressed against you to consume you. What you would give to feel his nose clash against yours through sloppy kisses, lips puffy with desire as small nips and clashing of teeth is all that can fester in your mind as candy wrappers stuck to the floor fail to give enough distraction anymore to keep Joel off your mind. 

“Fuckin’ christ man I— oh.” 

You didn't even hear the door open, or the creak of boots as they settled into their first steps within the home. Only the sound of his voice did you perk up with your mind unable to shake your thoughts as you stand before him. Feet away with a small trash bag in your hand.

He continues. 

“Didn't know you’d still be here, my apologies.” 

“Oh yeah uh, Sarah didn't tell you I was spending the night?” 

“Spendin’ the night?” 

He repeats you, barely able to hide his shock. Clearly, she hadn't. And as you stand there, beginning to hear the water running for a shower she’s yet to even get into, the tension of the two of you grows immanent as he realizes just how alone he currently is with you. 

He didn't know what to do, feeling palms grow sweaty as his desire clashed with his sense of respect and responsibility as a father and his yearning grew too prominent to hide behind the unforgiving stretch of tightly fitted pants he busied himself once more. 

“Oh, right then. Well I ‘spose i’ll be in the kitchen if ya’ need me.” 

Walking past you with a heavy stride does the scent of him once more draw you to him— something primal, wanton is elicited from him when in close proximity. One that with a room now void of people to maneuver through, you refused to ignore any longer. You followed his quick steps into the kitchen, separating yourself even further from Sarah as the stairs fell into your purview as you ventured deeper into the home. 

You greet Joel at the counter of the kitchen where he stood, pouring another drink for himself does the hand gripping his drink suspend mid air at the sight of your trail behind him. 

“Ya’ need somethin’?” 

You don't know if it’s the liquor talking, or the suspense and tease of a night full of dreaming for a moment like this to arise but you don't allow yourself to beat around the bush anymore. If this old man failed to make a move, you would. 

“I do Joel, really— I think we both do.” 

He sets the glass down on the counter with a light chink filling the air. His demeanor changes; you watch as both hands lean forward on the counter to inch closer to you, arms outstretched flex his forearms to reveal muscles only garnered by heavy and hard working. His hip cocked to his left as he made unwavering eye contact with you, a smile forming slightly upon his face. 

“And what would that be darlin’?” 

He made you nervous. This was a first. The mild mannered gentleman that often stood before you, speaking only when necessary and smiling only when compelled to. You always shook him off, an old man not worth anything but a gracious thank you as he catered to you and his daughter when times came. But as you looked upon that man now, face shadowed by a cowboy hat perfectly curved at its edges lining his head, hairs falling in just the right places over the sides of his face, and the hooded eyes coated with lust you found yourself hard to speak. Hard to even think. 

“Well? Cmon’ now I ain't got all day.” 

He's taunting you. Watching you grow nervous under his gaze as you become the one that can't hold it anymore. 

“You, and me I mean. The way you look at me— I want you Joel. And so do you, right?” 

Without skipping a beat, Joel retorts

“So come closer then sweetheart. Can't do anything with ya’ so far away.” 

your heartbeat picks up again. Shaking steps inch around the bend of the countertop, until you’re no more than an inch away from him. Watching, as he looks down upon you. 

“Good girl— now, what’s this about wanting me hm?” 

“What?” 

“Oh don't play coy darlin’, I love hearin’ you tell me all about how much you need me. The look in those pretty little eyes.” 

A coarse finger falls upon your cheek once more, this time lingering there before toying with stray hairs. His fingers trail to your chin and jaw, gripping onto your face to lift it higher to lock dark eyes with his.

“Such a doll. I wanna hear ya’ beg for it.” 

You feel a pool of slick well between your thighs, heating and dampening already ruined underwear at the sight of him as the night went on. Though as you listened to the sink in his voice, demanding you to beg for him. You don't even know what you were so needy for, his kiss? That was too little. You wanted all of him, and as knees felt weak at the thought of it— him, and you completely at his disposal. He dwarfed you from this closeness, you realized this as you approached him. He overpowered you in every way, and that made it even harder to say what you wanted. Every semblance of confidence leaves your body as all you want to do now is whatever he demands, whatever he says. 

“Please Joel I— I need you. Every part of you. I can't take my eyes off of you. Every part of you looks so perfect no matter the angle or the lighting. Id, i’d never noticed it before but now I…” 

The gust of articulation you had quickly dwindled as his face lit up from such compliment, such desperation. You were desperate, needy for him. That much was true. And he knew that. 

“Mmm that's all ya’ had to say sweetheart.” 

Now he is the one that closes the gap between you, the yearning for his taste finally satiated as your lips collided once more, the fantasies of clashing of teeth against one another with impassioned touch as his hand falls from your face to trail bare stomach. Feeling the large of his hands take in every inch of you with precision, like he had memorized exactly where he wished to be. Feeling as his hands trace down to your hips, and slowly maneuvering up to the wire of your bra. 

“Take it off. Please.” 

You beg through breathy moans as you stay inside his mouth, taking into him as you refuse to open any gap of distance between the two of you. 

“Since ya’ asked so nicely.” 

His fingers trace the center of your chest where a simple tie kept together thin fabric that complimented your chest. Unraveling it's knot does he guide it off your arms and onto the floor, a free hand snaking to your back to unhook your bra, leaving you with nothing but the shorts you wore and the hat upon your head to constitute a costume. 

His mouth lets up from you to look down on your chest, his palms engulfing them as he kneeds them within his hands, letting the weight of them move with his fingers as he massages them. Fingers slowly trailed down to the mountain of your nipple, toying with them with two fingers as his eye flitted back up to you to watch your reaction. Sighing in relief, your eyes fluttering at the feeling of his cool touch against a body so overwhelmed with heat for him. 

He leans in to you, his lips pressing softly against your ear his voice no matter a whisper is still laced with lust creating deep tones otherwise foreign to you to emit from him as he speaks to you;

“God you don't know what you do to me darlin’.”  

“Then show me.” 

His hands make quick way to the back of your thighs, lifting you up to his hips where you can feel his bulge pressing into you, the thin material of your shorts leaving little room for imagination. 

Walking to the dining room adjacent to the kitchen, he sets you on a table that meets him at about hip level, lowering your back onto the wooden finish that often held dinners with the three of you now making way for just the two of you as you watch the buckle of his pants become the main spot of his attention. 

“Bet ya’ could feel what you’re doin’ to me sweetheart, you like that hm? Feelin’ my cock against you even for a fuckin second?” 

He talks down to you as he undresses his lower half, relieving himself to only his boxers as he now knelt down to face your heat, legs dangling off the edge of the table to uses that as means to slide your shorts off with ease, revealing the soaked underwear that gave you constant reminder of the eyes you held the whole night. 

“All this for me hm? Ain’t I lucky.” 

He lifts a finger to massage the outside of your heat, slowly pressing on the wet spots as he toys with you, making your breath hitch at the feeling of his touch, the sensitivity only growing overtime as you were denied for so long. 

Slowly he peels off your underwear, allowing your slick to trail down the side of your thigh as it leaves a trace when it hits the floor. The cool air hitting your clit makes you jolt, but Joel wasting no time allows himself to dig straight into you. Feeling his tongue explore every crevice of you, every place where you have leaked for him he wants to take in every drop of it. Tasting you was like heaven to him. As his lips were pressed against your heat as his tongue began to make a repeated circular motion along your clit.

your fingers beg for his hair, grasping it in desperate fingers do you confine him within the bars of your thighs as they squeeze against his head. 

“Mmng— god Joel it feels so nice please I-” 

He waited for you to speak before sticking a finger inside of you. Thick callused fingers grabbed at your core and pushed its way into your center, hooking at sponge from inside you right at the spot that felt best. No longer could you ever think he didn't know what he was doing, it’s as if he knew your own body in and out, and with the whines you have to bite back out of fear of it drowning out the shower's thud of water upon a clueless Sarah. 

“You like that sweetheart?” 

Joel groans into your pussy, he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. Hearing your stifled yelps and desperate moans over his tongue, his finger inside of you. 

“Y..yes please Joel I need more.” 

He slides in with a second finger, though lets up from your clit. Slick drips to his chin as he rises to face you, leaning over you as fingers still pump inside of you. 

“Never fuckin’ satisfied, is that it? Whaddya need darlin’ hm? How about ya’ use those words for me.” 

He made it hard for you to speak or even think as the steady grind of his fingers inside of you overtook your senses. But you obliged, trying through breathed heaves to try and relay what you desperately needed from him. 

“Fuck me. Please fuckme Joel I cant— ngh I cant fucking take it anymore.” 

“Good girl. Guess you’re in luck ‘cause I aint ever wanted to fuck someone this bad in my entire life. And I’m not gonna be gentle on ya’ alright? I know you can take it.” 

Slowly removing his fingers from you, he lifts them up to his own mouth to let him taste you one last time, slowly licking clean what was just knuckle deep within you. You watch as he slithers his boxers off, revealing what seemed to be impossible to fit inside of you. His cock was pulsating, almost red as it yearned to be touched, it yearned to be inside of you. You watch as beads of precum already coat its tip, and veins throb against the slight curve of him that twitches at the feeling of release. 

Inching towards you you feel his tip graze your core before pushing into your folds, covering himself with your slick does he push himself flush against you as you see how far his cock rides up onto your body. You see him smile at the sight of it lying on your stomach, predicting how deep it’ll push inside of you before he centers it once more at your entrance, slowly spreading you open as you feel a fire burn within your stomach at the initial pain of it. It felt as though he was ripping you apart slowly, legs instinctively closing did his hand grab onto your thighs to push them open.

His body flushes against yours with a deep groan, letting your walls warm his cock for a moment as he looks down on you. 

“You’ve got a pretty fuckin’ body ya’ know that? All done up fer me, feel so lucky finally gettin’ to do this.” 

He begins inching in and out of you with slow pace, your body moving with every stroke of his cock around you as you fell hopelessly obsessed with the feeling of him inside of you. 

“Been wantin’ to do this all night— imagining what ya’ looked like under that pretty little costume of yours. Fuck, woulda fucked you right on that balcony if I could’ve. Nngh—” 

His thrusts in you grow faster as he speaks to you, talking you through the whole thing makes you only look at him with wide eyes, desperately needing his cock and drinking in the southern drawl that detailed how he felt the exact same. 

“Body’s fuckin’ perfect. Pretty little pussy all fer me, yaknow that? Right now you’re all fuckin’ mine hm? Ain't that right doll?” 

“Yes, yes Joel— all for you nngh. My body is all yours please, please don't stop.” 

His finger trails down from your thigh to your clit, throbbing with pain at the need to be touched does he satiate it with a thumb beginning to circle where his tongue did moments prior. 

“Fuckkk please oh my god” 

your breath grows irregular as the fire burning in your stomach grows white hot, unable to utter anything coherent as babbling of desperate please escape your mouth as your body becomes addicted to his every touch. The push of his cock directly against your cervix, the circle of his thumb perfectly against your heat, you felt it bubble inside you. Nearing on toppling over all you can think of, unconsciously chanting as he fucks into you Joel Joel Joel Joel 

“Ya’ gonna fuckin’ come for me? Cmon, I wanna feel it darlin’ I want it to swallow me I want you to cum on my fuckin’ cock hm? Can ya’ do that for me?” 

He groans over you, thrusts growing irregular at the desperation of his own climax reaching a head at the same time yours does. Only letting a few more thrusts greet you before you feel it toppling over, every inch of your body becoming utterly ruined below him. Feeling his cock inside of you pistoning into you through your orgasm, legs lock around his clothed waist as your hips buck up, shaking as your back arches against the table with legs raised, most of your body not even on the table anymore as he holds your legs stable to fuck through his own orgasm. 

“Fuck fuck darlin’ you’re so fuckin’ tight— shit you feel so good.” 

“Inside of me” 

You manage to breathe through a fogged mind and blurry vision as the sensitivity of your body makes his use of you mind numbing. 

“Please. Please Joel please cum inside of me please—” 

You feel heavy liquid fill you as he slows his pace, heavy groan being the only thing that fills the room now as he pumps in and out of you, softening inside of you as his seed leaks from you. He slowly removes himself from you, a collection of your own fluid and his trails down the side of your thigh as you both stay there breathless. Watching as he slowly shifts on his boxers, and loosely does pants that are soon to come off later. 

Before you’re able to right yourself or even get up, you watch as Joel slides your clothes back on you, latching your bra softly as he raises your back up to do so. Slipping your top on and tying a proper knot is the only thing missing from your wardrobe, the underwear he took off of you, that of which becomes missing as he slips your shorts onto you. 

“I think you forgot something.” 

“Think I deserve a little trophy don't you darlin’?” 

You flush at the implication, Joel keeping them as a sort of token of remembrance of you, of this night. 

Straightening yourself up as he finishes clothing you do you stand there, as you watch his back once more fill up glasses of water for you and him. Taking in all he is, form fitting cowboy attire still decorating his body, do you outstretched a hand to feel his bicep, a desire you’d had the moment that woman did. As he turns to face you, feeling your hand brush against his body once more he smiles slightly, teasing; 

“Ya’ like what ya see sweetheart?” 

“I just wanted to feel you.” 

“Already did a lotta that don't ya’ think? But be my guest.” 

He hands you a small glass of water as he drinks out of his own, and as silence engulfs the two of you you hear the dreaded creak of a shower turning off sound from the upstairs as reality sets in for the two of you once more.

“Think ya’ best go check on Sarah now.” 

“Yeah that’d be smart.” 

You avert his eyes as you’d done once prior, engulfed by embarrassment as you remember Sarah after the intimate moment you shared. 

“Well, I’ll be down here for a bit longer, then headed ta’ bed. You just uh, let me know if ya need anythin’ right? You know where my room is.” 

A small smile across his face implies a very different definition of ‘needing’ something, depending on how you view it. But as you ascend the stairs to help deal with Sarah once more, part of you knows that you’ll be asking him for some more help, cleaning, before night's end. 

[enlitment]

A List of Relatable Things Stanisława Przybyszewska has done/written:

Studied philosophy at a university for one semester until "nervous exhaustion forced her to abandon her course"

Dated her letters by the French Revolutionary Calendar

Was known to often be humming La Marseillaise

Called Camille a twink in her play (okay, to be fair she used the word 'ephebe', but I'd argue that is as close to twink as you can get in the 1920s)

Worked at a leftist bookstore (and was subsequently arrested for it)

Took a stray cat from the street which at one point "was the only creature keeping her company"

Complained in at least two letters spanning over 3 paragraphs about a group of loud people playing football near her windows ("For the past forty-five minutes they have not been roaring, they have not been howling, they have been simply shrieking (...) like animals being slaughtered. Screams of that sort must be frightfully tiring for the vocal chords.")

When she wrote "I must write in order to be able to think. As a matter of fact, I am a remarkably unthinking person. Well, of course, that holds true too when I'm talking. But if I don't have either paper, or a human ear to listen to me, then I'm no more of a philosopher than a cat is."

1 + 8 - since I study philosophy at uni & am currently working on my thesis, these felt particularly relatable. I'm not more of a philosopher than a cat is definitely hits. Kind of want to put it in the preface.

2 + 3 are things I may have done myself before (okay, not letters but a diary, but it counts, right?)

7 - as someone who struggles with misophonia, I felt s e e n.

4- I'm sorry guys, I had to. But as someone who frequently asks herself "Are you really calling 30-somethings who have been dead for more than 200 hundred years twinks?", this felt like a vindication of sorts.

Also- I feel kind of conflicted about making this types of Tumblr posts about her since her work is really profound and serious and I have a sneaking suspicion she would have not appreciate them. At the same time, she has been living in my mind rent-free for the past week and this is a way to cope I guess?

SOURCES: 1. A LIFE OF SOLITUDE: STANISŁAWA PRZYBYSZEWSKA Author(s): JADWIGA KOSICKA and DANIEL C. GEROULD Source: The Polish Review , 1984, Vol. 29, No. 1/2 (1984), pp. 47-69 2. BBC Reith Lecture Three: Silence Grips the Town. Dame Hilary Mantel, 2017 3. Stanisława Przybyszewska: A Brilliant Playwright Preoccupied With Revolution. Alexis Angulo. Retrieved from: https://culture.pl/en/article/stanislawa-przybyszewska-a-brilliant-playwright-preoccupied-with-revolution 4. Przybyszewska, Stanisława. 1930. The Danton Case.

[astarionapologist]

Hello! I was looking for people were wanting write and stumbled across your blog. I was hoping for an established relationship with Astarion and bard!tav. After the graveyard scene where she asks him to listen to a song that she’s written about them and what his love means to her. With the song turning page by sleeping at last in mind.

AHHH oh my god you literally described my tav! On another note however this request is so adorable ohmygods.

Our new chapter

Astarion x fem bard!tav

Word count: 1.7k

Spoilers for act 3 graveyard scene!

Song:

As you collapse onto the soft sleeping bag in front of you, your body aches and your armor clings to your sweaty skin. You can't help but think back to the battle that ended not too long ago, still panting from the exertion.

Memories of having to see the love of your life struggle after killing his abuser of over 200 years flood in. How heartbreaking the scene painted in your mind was as you envisioned the pale elf sobbing out all the pain and misery that intoxicated a part of his heart for all these years. How his tears were a mix of anger and grief as he mourned the man he was before knowing Cazador.

You gave him some time to collect himself, and then you appeared behind him, taking off your cloak to wrap it around the upper half of his body. He was surprised by your sudden movements, and he looked up at you, his eyes heavy with torment and anguish. However, after a few seconds of keeping each other's gaze, his eyes grew softer. His wet, dewy eyes pierced into your heart as you dropped to your knees to hug him. He sniffled as he nestled his head on top of your shoulder and continued to release his agony, but this time his heart didn't feel as empty. In fact, it slowly began to fill with hope, and he imagined his newfound freedom with you by his side.

You snap back to the present as you hear the sound of your tent unzipping. Astarion's figure appears behind the thin sheet of your tent. You had left him alone to gather himself and bathe after the day's events. You half expected him to be already asleep by now, considering how tired his eyes look.

“Hello my love…” he says with a small pause

“There’s… something i’d like to show you if that's alright with you.”

Without hesitating you stood up swiftly.

“I would be happy to follow you. Please show me where you need me to go," you say with a hint of urgency. Your ultimate goal has always been to nurture and care for Astarion, which is why it took him so long to warm up to you. He was confused as to why someone so sweet and pure would want to be with someone as ill-minded and tainted as he is. However, after the events of moonrise, your relationship has greatly improved and flourished. Astarion has grown so attached to you that he now savors every second he spends with you.

A shocked expression fills his face only for a few seconds then changes into a small smirk.

“My dear don’t hurt yourself.” He says as he lets out a small laugh. “It’s not far from here so don’t worry, we won’t be out too long”

You gaze at him and give a nod as you both proceed to walk down a path outside the camp. The path eventually leads you to a cemetery. He stops in front of a small grave which is overgrown with thick and lush vines. He bends down slowly and carefully removes each vine off the sad-looking tomb.

“It’s been… 200 years since I’ve been here… 200 years since I’ve escaped this wretched grave.”

He begins to explain how he escaped his own grave and how he had to dig and claw his way viciously out of six feet of dirt. In the end, after all that fighting, he was met with the piercing eyes of Cazador himself who stood waiting for his new spawn.

“For all those years… I was his…” he says with disgusted scowl on his face

“He didn’t have the right to take you, you were never his in the first place… you never deserved this!” You say with anger on the tip of your tongue

He hums, "Maybe. But in the end, he took everything from me. There's nothing left of my old self, only fuzzy memories and an old rock with my name on it."

“For 2 centuries I was a monster… a ghost out on the streets looking for a new soul to fetch for Cazador… I was a shell….a husk of the person I was before”

Just as you were to say something he cuts you off

“But….. now I’m free…. Now I have to figure out who I am and what I want now.” He says with a small smile on his face as he turns towards you.

“And what exactly do you want?” You ask with another smile forming only this time it’s on your lips

“isn’t it obvious… I want you. Only you. I’ve only ever needed you.”

“You were by my side through.. well everything. You sided with me, protected me, cared for me and gave me a sense of comfort I’ve never felt before.”

"Hells. You trusted me too? Which was a terrible idea." He says while laughing at you.

You roll your eyes at his snarky little comment. “My apologies for falling head over heels for you” You say with a small sigh towards the end

“Apology accepted, falling in love is like falling through all the layers of the hells.” He quipped while dramatically putting a hand on his chest

“But seriously, I do love you. You know that, right? I love the person I am around you, and I'm so happy I get to stand by your side. Having the choice to be with you gives me hope that I deserve more in life. Being with you makes me feel a tad bit selfish. It makes me believe I deserve to be happy despite my past.”

” Thats because you do deserve to be happy… you do deserve to feel loved…” you say

“I’m glad you believe so.” He says looking at the tomb “ I think I’m beginning to believe that too…”

He clears his throat “Anywho I think so should fix this.” He bends down knife in hand as he changes the date on the tomb in front of him.

He stays down on his knees looking at the fresh markings in front of him.

You pick a flower away from the graves that caught your eye as it glistened in the moonlight. You picked the beautiful white tulip and carefully placed it on his grave.

“How cute” he dotes on your action a bit before turning to face you as you sit down next to him.

“I've been dead for long enough. It's about time I finally started to live for myself.”

“My dear, do you have any ideas on what we should do next?”

“well…” you say biting the bottom of your lip. “You don't have to but I have something planned for you… I've been working on it for a couple weeks now but I've been a bit too timid to show you. That is of course until now…. If you agree to it of course” you say looking at the ground in front of you.

“My my my… a gift for me? I’m assuming it’s another one of those beautiful ballads of yours” He carefully holds your face forcing you to look back at him. “I’d be honored to hear that captivating voice of yours darling” He coos quietly.

“It is.. specifically about us.. about my love for you about how I feel for you.”

His heart skips “ Very well then… let’s see what you have…” he blushes a bit while looking away then Turing his head to look back at you.

You pull out your spider lyre, a gift from Astarion. He found it during one of your adventures together and decided to gift it to the most beautiful and talented bard he knows.

You lick your lips timidly and clear your throat. Your hand gently strums across the lyre releasing a beautiful cadence with every strum.

a chill when up his spine as soon as you begin to sing

“I’ve waited a hundred years..

But I’d wait a million more for you”

His heart began to beat so fast it felt almost frozen in place.

” Nothing prepared me for… the privilege of being yours would do”

Gods you’ve barely started and he already want nothing more than to have you hold him already as he cries with appreciation.

As you continue to sing his eyes fill with adoration as he leans in so focused on your voice and on those beautiful plush lips of yours.

"If I had only felt the warmth within your touch

If I had only seen how you smile when you blush

Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough

Well I would have known

What I was living for all along

What I've been living for”

You softly sing while looking into his eyes. You use the tadpol to allow him to enter your mind… to allow him to feel how you’ve been feeling this whole time. He feels nothing but admiration… nothing but love for him. He feels like he’s floating… he feels so pure. So at peace. Gods is this how you’ve felt around him? Tears being to spill from his eyes. How could anyone feels so at peace with him…? How is he at the center of each of these pure and sweet emotions.

“Your love is my turning page… where only the sweetest words remain”

He lets to finish you song before he quickly grabs and wraps his arms around you crying. You gently rub his back in return which gives him a deep sense of reassurance. Yes he’s felt your emotions just now but your soft gentle touches are more than enough to calm his soul from almost anything.

His puffy red eyes meet yours “you really meant all that…. You really do love me…. I- thank you”’

You carefully cup his face kissing his forehead softly before he pulls you by the shoulders for a deep yet gentle kiss. He stops looks you in the eyes and whispers in your ear

“I never thought a love so pure could exist in this cruel heartless world…. Thank you for providing me wrong again… thank you for showing me what it’s like to be cared for….”

You place a gentle kiss underneath his eye, “It was my pleasure… now then, let’s head back yeah? We should rest while we can tomorrow will be a busy day… and you’re more than welcome to stay in my tent again if you’d like.” You rub the back of your neck after saying that last part.

He gives you another kiss however this one is a small peck “It would be my pleasure…”

Holy shit I hope this isn’t ass when I post it LMAO but still I hope you guys like it!

Ps if you see any mistakes on here no you didn't <3

[drabbles-mc]

The Price

Bucky Barnes & T'Challa

Warnings: 18+, angst

With the help of This Prompt List by @creativepromptsforwriting and my trusty Wheel of Names with every character I’ve ever written for, I’m aiming to write a fic in 500 words or less every day of March.

Prompt: shiny

Word Count: 200

A/N: I know it's just a quick little double-drabble, but this is my first time ever writing T'Challa in any of my fics! What a fun time!

He knew all of the things that he should’ve been feeling as he looked at the box that was opened in front of him. Gratitude probably should have been high up on the list, but it wasn’t. Maybe it would be eventually, but as he stood there in silence across from T’Challa the only thing he could feel was exhaustion creeping back into his bones.

The new arm was different in more ways than one. The colors were less jarring. The black wasn’t as shiny as the silver had been, which he thought was a nice touch. He had no doubts about the quality of the arm itself, more-so about the quality of the man he’d be if he allowed them to put it on him. The carnage he’d wrought still felt, most days, like it was nipping right at his heels.

T'Challa was studying his reactions. “I know you’ve been trying to find sanctuary here.” He paused. “I know that this…makes it much more difficult for you to achieve that.”

“It’s the price, right?” Bucky asked, more tired than snarky.

He came and stood next to him. “I understand that it’s steep.”

Bucky sighed, chin tucking down. “Always is.”

[vanessaroades-author]

Let’s look at what happened from June 13th to July 13th. (ARCs, Preorders, Sales, Marketing!)

Note: I’m not talking about costs here and likely won’t ever. However, my author buddy JAL Solski has an awesome write-up on the costs, tax considerations, all sorts of numbers, of publishing their sapphic fantasy duology! I’m also very fond of Ros’s write-up on expectations and goals related to post-publication.

Before you start–some disclaimers on my experience

First, expect very little! These numbers will not impress you and honestly there’s a part of me that’s pretty embarrassed, like I'm advertising that I'm a big dummy who can't write. But all in the name of honesty & transparency!

Something I hear a lot from other new authors is, “Am I doing pretty good? Am I doing really badly? I don’t know.” Well, here’s another batch of numbers to consider!

Deep Roots is currently only available as an eBook & through Kindle Unlimited.

I’m not writing anything trendy. By a long shot. I can throw “queer fantasy” on it but that’s kinda the most I got. (When’s the last time you saw a runaway indie hit that didn’t have a ton of romance?)

I’m not popular on social media (260 IG followers with on average <10% engagement and <200 TikTok followers).

I have so many friends in my corner. Someone should stop you at the gate to the Indie Publishing Amusement Park of Hell and tell you, “Listen, if you want any hope of staying sane, make author friends.” Besides helping you navigate tech questions or giving second opinions on your cover, and, you know, understanding and empathizing with you, your friends will be the ones who comment on your posts, repost them, tell their friends, add you in their newsletter, read, and review. That can mean sales…but that also means having people lift you up and celebrate with you.

Advance Reader Copies

I began posting about ARC sign-ups April 4th, sent the first round of eBooks ~May 5th, and closed applications on June 2nd.

I didn’t use a service like Booksprout or Booksirens, just plain old BookFunnel and email (therefore my reach was entirely reliant on my social media efforts). I was most talkative about it on Instagram. I only posted like once or twice on Tumblr and TikTok, but they went really well for my standards.

Sign-Ups: 51

Reviews/Ratings:

By publication day I had 4 ratings/reviews on Goodreads, 1 on Amazon, and 1 on StoryGraph.

After 31 days I had 6 reviews and 10 ratings on Goodreads. 1 extra rating on StoryGraph; Amazon stayed the same.

Note: I was really lax with my ARC team about when reviews should be sent in. I was clear that I didn’t care if they were pre-publication (partly because well…I read ARCs a lot and I know I can’t always get to things on time, and partly because I didn’t decide a publication day until fairly late in the timeline).

However, from what I’ve seen for other authors, a pretty low return on ARC readers isn’t entirely uncommon? Kind of a kick in the confidence regardless.

Preorders

Total of 7. I don’t remember when I opened preorders, but I believe it was around the same time as the ARC application.

Marketing (sort of) from June 13th to July 13th

I ran a small (kinda last-minute) campaign for extra merch & an extra story for anyone who preordered or purchased during release week. I said that I would re-run this campaign for paperbacks.

These are my Tired Girl numbers:

Instagram: 5 posts specifically about DR. 2 non-DR related.

TikTok: 7 videos specifically about DR, most getting ~300 views, though one broke 1k. (Notably, I didn’t post about the release week extras on TikTok at all.). 2 non-DR related.

Tumblr: One post I would send spinning around the block every once in a while. Definitely lowest priority.

Release Week Sales

eBook: 3

KU: 15 pages read

Release Month Sales

eBook: 4

KU: 594 pages read

Future Plans

*Releases one giant sigh* I’M FREEEEEE

Once the book is written and done, cover made and words edited, there’s only one thing left in your control: marketing. Everything else is up to chance (honestly, marketing is up to chance a lot of the time, too).

But I pretty quickly decided to take it easy on social media. A wave of burn-out that had been chasing me since last summer finally caught up, and I don’t think I’m alone in saying that when I saw like no return on investment for my posts or chatter, I was like, “Okay, I’m going to rest, instead of pushing this boulder up this hill, then. I deserve it.”

One plus of having paperbacks come out way after the eBooks? I get release day Part 2! (With fun new props for pics and videos!) I have a good list of video ideas & drafts, but I would always look at them and think, “Wouldn’t this be better to do when the paperbacks are around?” And soon, they will be!

As for blog posts, I want to continue being transparent with things like this. I will (hopefully) catch up on the numbers again near the end of August, as by then I’ll be making the decision to keep Deep Roots in KU for another three months or not.

Until then, lower your expectations! It’ll keep you sane out here. Thanks for reading and hanging out.

[ambiguouspuzuma]

This year I have set a target of writing 200 words per day, which I have managed to meet so far (it is currently 8 April). This is a marked departure from my previous fast-and-loose schedule where I would often go a few days without writing at all before knocking out a whole story on the weekend.

This has led to me writing slightly more words than normal, looking at the monthly counts to date, but I'm not sure that it has been a good thing. They aren't necessarily the right words, and writing has become much less of a hobby and more of a chore, a loss of the joy of creation, which might be starting to show in the pieces I produce.

I feel beholden to the streak, and forced to write when I'm not in the mood, even when I am coming home late and tired and in pain and want to do nothing of the sort. I have that sort of sunk cost personality flaw where I'm loathe to break any kind of run (a weakness apps often take advantage of), feeling that I would be throwing all of my past self's hard work away.

I know that's nonsense, but I'm still too terrified of the emotional crash to do it. I've worked a fourteen-hour day and ground out a story my minute of free time before midnight. I've written in hotel rooms on holiday, on the train home from drinks a little worse for wear, and kept myself awake into the early hours because I can't sleep until it's done. I feel like that might start to show in the pieces I produce.

Then there are the knock-on effects. With limited writing time, I have to prioritise meeting the daily word count, which means that I have not been as able to reply to people on here as quickly, or write posts like this, or plan, or edit, or resolve problems in my more complex WIPs, because I need to get the words down first.

The moment a story gets blocked, I can't afford to spend my hour unblocking it and more onto something easier. I am feasting only on low hanging fruit, constantly skipping over fences into greener pastures, jumping between WIPs and losing any sense of fluency. I am starting more stories and finishing fewer. I am picking at the ones I do finish, making piecemeal additions over the course of months where I used to sit and write in one fluid motion.

This is the sort of thing that is often recommended by writing blogs, but I can't help but feel that setting a target has made me write slightly more, but I am all the worse a writer for it. A handful of words, but at what cost?

[creativenicocorner]

2023 Writing Retrospective

That time of, hehe, New Year again folks, to contemplate over the rollercoaster event that was my writing journey of 2023!

I'm surprised by how much I did end up writing more than anything! And how some projects bloomed larger than I would have previously imagined. I'd like to think I've improved as well, which is inevitable made by practicing of course. I'm happier with how I write, despite knowing it isn't perfect (then again nothing is lol)

Trying the NaNoWriMo for the first time really changed things up in my approach I think, I'd like to try giving myself more of a disciplined approach to writing a little every day, even if it's one word...but I also realized just how tired I felt after November...so a soft middle ground will probably have to be found. I might try to use the website for other projects and set the deadline for far longer than just a month...we'll see!

I am happy that I'm not as disappointed with my own writing as I was with it last year...perhaps that too is a part of my growth as a writer. Could I have written more? Sure, but I've been far more wary of pushing myself and getting burned out last year. I need to remember to pace myself, to be kind, and that sometimes writing is just loafing about and doing other things and projects - and then the next thing you know WHAM 200 words pop in your head!

Anyways let's look at those cold hard numbers!!

2023 Total number of..

User Subscriptions: 17 Kudos: 341 Comment Threads: 61 Bookmarks: 81 Subscriptions: 70 Word Count: 107,804 Hits: 5,054

Top five hits/fics of 2023:

Glow Worms or rather: In the Depths of the Safflower Hills

Cold Green Tea and Colder Feet

Refrigerator Problem

Hand Rolled

Chapped Lips

2024 Goals

Honestly? To keep trying to make each new chapter / fic seem a little better than the last. Keep the progress going, while still remembering to be patient with myself (I'm not very patient with myself ^^;; )

I know I mention this often, but I'd like to attempt writing a multi-chaptered fic in its entirety before posting chapters...just once! Just to see what it is like. We'll see, we'll see... I'm not like in a hurry haha

I'd like to try and finish some of my Discworld Multi-chaptered fics...perhaps I'll use one of them in this theory, just to test it out. I'd love to get a new The Runaway's Gamble chapter out (or finish the fic this year, but I'm being soft with my goals this year) as well as get another Trial Runs and Errors chapter out (perhaps even finish the fic to start working on the next one in the Maurice and Lipwig series of shenanigans and adventures)

We'll see where my attention and heart takes me, cause it'd also be nice to get Glow Worms and Refrigerator Problem done

And yet I have so many other projects I'd like to jump into, like a Serizawa-centric serirei fic, or to finish Chapped Lips

I mean I know there's no rule in having to finish something before starting something else...technically I AM kind of working on them despite not posting anything...perhaps this is a way I could give that "finish the whole fic before posting it" a shot, or at least an attempt haha

I hope my quality continues to improve - but most of all I hope things become a little better.

If 2023 has taught me one thing, it's: let myself be surprised. And you know? I'd like to keep that energy moving forward into 2024

Thank you for reading this far!

I hope 2024 is kinder to us all than the last year, and we all grow and getting a little closer to our goals and dreams and happiness. Who knows where we'll be this time next year, hopefully it'll be a little better than today.

Anywho, stay awesome out there - don't forget to be kind to yourself and others.

And be safe

Best wishes!

[doubleddenden]

Okay I had a crazy theory about Heath- I know some of you are tired of these posts but my brain loves to speculate.

Anyway this is all speculation so if I accidentally get it right or close, it was literally a shot in the dark.

Welcome to DD's theory corner, where we can't leave because I'm not well

Okay so a while back, I think a year ago, I theorized that the potential source of Terastilizing was some sort of malevolent or eldritch entity that visited Heath and then influenced Sada/Turo to make the time machine do it can come from the distant past or far future when they were at their most powerful.

I think by now I will say that was probably wrong. But recently something made me think back to Heath's journal. Heath describes being separated from from his group, feeling as if he was talking to someone in a far off place as if in a dream, and then his crew found him with a page of pages in HIS handwriting.

This gonna sound crazy, but there's 2 options here:

1. Heath travels to the future

2. Someone like the professor, their AI, Briar, or even THE PLAYER travels to the past

In either scenario, these equations are highly specific. If I remember correctly, the equations written here might have been used to make the professor's time machine? Unclear on that.

Basically what I'm getting at is that somebody SHOWED him those equations. Look at the writing- scratch outs of incorrections.

Something from the future- our timeline perhaps- needed these equations in the book.

And mind you this is 200 years ago. Pokémon aligns pretty closely in terms of real world time parallels with maybe some slight utopic futurism, so 200 years ago would put them around the early 1800s. The industrial revolution was underway, but there clearly wasn't anyone until Turo or Sada that could properly understand what these equations mean or how to implement them. In other words, imagine going back to the 1800s and handing some guy the blue prints for a modern day smart car- absolutely mind blowing stuff they couldn't hope to figure out.

So now we have the question: why this equation?

I now bring up a question to answer that one:

Why was it so important to keep the time machine online despite the threat to the world?

Maybe I wasn't too far off: something needed to come through the time machine. Something incredibly important. Something so important that it was worth destroying the professor's family and sanity, and something worth endangering the world for.

Or... some ONE.

Someone from 200 years ago wants or NEEDS to come to the present. Or, someone from the present wants someone to come to the future with or against their will.

That's all for now

[bedlamsbard]

For anyone who missed it earlier (about two hours ago), Of Home Near Chapter 13 went up today. I am glad I split the original chapter, because this one ended up being over 14K, which itself is coming a bit near my split point. That leaves the new Chapter 14 at 5K, but it's still in progress and since I actually split mid-scene, I need to smooth out the beginning and I might actually change the POV there from Peggy to Natasha, we'll see. Also if I want to put another flashforward in, I'm not sure.

About 200 words written today, all in edits either to 13 or 14. Tired, stressed, same old. I actually meant to have this chapter up in the afternoon, but needed to do grading and class prep and didn't want it hanging over me while I prepped the chapter.

[nocompromise-noregrets]

💖✏️🤔 for the fic ask game!

wheee, thank you! :D :D :D Let's see...

💖 What do you like most about your own writing? I really love how the characters have grown and developed in my head, especially over the last four years of listening to them (though some of them have been talking for a lot longer). I can now tell how most of them will react to pretty much anything, and I can just sit back and let them talk, for the most part, and just listen and write down what they want to say. I really enjoy it. :)

✏️ Do you write every day? Since the beginning of May, I've written at least 200 words a day and while I'm amazed I've managed to keep it up, I think it's worked because the 200-word figure is easily achievable no matter how tired or uninspired I am. And quite often it turns into much more than 200 words. I feel so much better for it.

🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic? Coming up with ideas, omg. I mean, I'm not great at plot either, but ideas...I really struggle with ideas, hence how often I find myself wailing for prompts for events. XDDDD

Thank you for asking! <3333333 Anyone else fancy asking me some of these questions about fic? :D

[gwen-of-myth]

Update for my Steter followers… I actually started writing on something last night while procrastinating my hw. I am exhausted rn but I am 200 words into a fic thanks to Kings of Leon (amazing beautiful band)

I have no clue when it’ll be finished but it’s the most fic I’ve written in years lol

And listen it’s a miracle I’ve done any writing considering I’m working on designing a 24 page book, a 10 second animation, and an entire brand and product. I am very tired

[lemeduartes]

2023 Ao3 Wrapped

It's almost 2024, so it's finally time to show you guys my Ao3 Wrapped (A recap of my personal ao3 read fanfics, their fandoms and the ones i liked the most).

This year I read 218 complete fanfics from many different fandoms:

106 - Thiam (Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken - Teen Wolf)

63 - Buddie (Evan “buck” buckley/Eddie Diaz - 911)

18 - Superbat (Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne - DC)

16 - Dinluke (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker - Star Wars)

15 - other fandoms (Ghost, QSMP, Marvel etc)

All of them together add to a total of 4.172.008 words (Almost double of last year's count). This calculates to 418 hours of reading time, cus i have no social life <3

AND NOW FOR THE BEST PART: My favorites of the year!!

#1 - AIRPLANES BY @captainmintyfresh Thiam  Words: 236,875     Chapters: 43

This is most definitely my favorite fanfic of all time, it's SO WELL WRITTEN and so funny and sad and cute and romantic I JUST CAN'T GET OVER IT! Honestly one of the best works i ever encounter and its my top #1 of 2023 without a doubt!!

#2 - Dangerous Dreams BY @shirozora-draws Dinluke   Words: 196,702            Works: 4

With FOUR different works, this series GOT ME WRAPPED AROUND IT'S FINGER with the story, character studies and illustration that literally made me love it so much i wanna cry. My personal favorite was The Storm, but every single one it's a masterpiece on its own and I really hope they finish The Stars soon so i can scream and cry a bit more.

#3 The Right To remain Silent by fallingforboys @theoceanismyinkwell Thiam   Words: 28,992  Chapters: 3/3

This Teen Wolf adaptation of brooklyn nine-nine made my year 200% better, its definitely something i will read over and over again without ever getting tired, since its two of my favorite shows together! I love every aspect of it and i will recomend to everyone that I know in every situation possible.

#4 oh you're a crewmate? name every task by @remycchi Superbat Words: 11,348   Works: 2

This short and cute series is such a cool and chill read, it's very funny and makes you giggle and kick your feet, and also made me laugh very hard. I genuinely love how light it is and I have to admit that I read it more than a few times during the year.

#5 Bad Luck Buck 'verse by whileyouresleeping Buddie   Words: 50,216       Works:4

ANOTHER PERFECT SERIES THAT I ABSOLUTE LOVE! This one is funny, even if a bit exaggerated. I love how their relationship grows and you definitely should put it in your list for next year.

And that's it for this year! Thank you for reading and I hope all of you have a great 2024!!!

See you in the next Ao3 Wrapped.