#turns out I'm secretly worse at writing descriptions than i thought

[devondespresso]

More Steve Henderson AU!! I love love love your idea behind how Dustin and Steve end up so close--it's so fitting for what glimpses of Dustin and Claudia we get in the show

sngdjysynsnysngzngsmh thank youuuuuu i really really appreciate it!! your encouragement means the absolute world to me 🕺✨

anyway we finally started writing scenes today!! with dialogue and everything!! woohoo! this snippet is part of a missing scene after the tunnels in season 2

“Yeah, so lets get his car back before he wakes up and he won't notice it was ever gone” Mike interrupted, slinging the passenger door open. Max glared at him. “He’s going to notice. He notices everything with his car.” “And there's mud all over the sides” “And there's definitely going to be mud inside after we ride back” “And its pretty safe to say at least some of Steve's blood got on the backseat” Oh God they're screwed.

[calaisreno]

Those Who Can't

I've always loved writing, but for a long time thought it was pretentious to call myself a writer. What if someone asked to see what I'm writing? What if they didn't like it? That would make me a terrible writer, I thought, one of those people who go around thinking they're great while everyone is secretly laughing at them.

But I walk in the park every day, and I see people who walk there, too. We're all walkers, even the guy who brings his oxygen tank with him every day, even the woman who sits down to smoke a cigarette before she finishes her walk. The young parents pushing strollers, the women in hijab, the elderly lady who has her hair "done" each week and wears jewellery while she does her doctor-prescribed exercise, the people who are overweight or all lean muscle and bone, the people looking for Pokemon, the business suits walking during their lunch hour. All walking, all walkers.

If you walk, you're a walker. If you write, you're a writer.

It's said that those who can't do something become teachers. As a teacher, I resent the implication that we have all failed at something and now pretend to instruct others how not to fail. But it's true in the sense that we are all learners, never finished learning, and no one knows this better than a teacher. Every day I learn just how much I don't know.

Years ago I was walking down the hall of my school, heading for the copy machine, three minutes from the next bell, and an administrator stopped me.

"Would you like to teach creative writing?" she asked. "We need more elective courses next year."

At the time I was teaching three Latin classes and two freshman English classes. Did I really need another prep?

Could I even do this? Why me? What made me more qualified than the other people in my department? How would I teach it? What would the course description say? Who would take the class?

"Yes," I said.

When I started teaching it in the fall, I didn't have answers to all my questions, but I had a plan. The most frustrating thing, I learned, was teaching people who hadn't signed up for it, and just needed a course to fill a hole in their schedule. I thought writing was easy-- and fun! We could all have a good time here, because it was just about self-growth and imagination.

I learned was that I was not the expert. My students might be terrible writers, might hate every moment of journaling and writing exercises and prompts, but they had ideas, too. They were just too used to thinking their ideas were shit, that creativity wasn't worth anything, that the things that mattered were the things that could get them a good job.

My job, it turns out, was coaxing them to open up and explore ideas, to think divergently, to regard storytelling as more than entertainment. Stories matter; how we tell them makes a difference. I was not an expert. I read a lot and wrote stories for fun. And I became my first pupil.

Nearly everything I learned about writing, I got from teaching it. And I haven't yet reached the point where I felt entitled to call myself a writer. I still sort of cringe when I confess to someone that I write. But I keep writing.

"No writing is a waste of time – no creative work where the feelings, the imagination, the intelligence must work. With every sentence you write, you have learned something. It has done you good. Don't always be appraising yourself, wondering if you are better or worse than other writers." -- Brenda Ueland, If You Want to Write

[for-your-comfort]

Hi! I hope you're still taking requests, but can I request a Knuckle Bine x hunter!Reader fic?

Reader is also one of Morel's apprentices and she participates in the fight against the Chimera Ants at the palace. But she's also secretly in love with Knuckle (he's oblivious) and she decides to confess to him in the spur of the moment mid palace infiltration. They just have this little "we might be dead by tomorrow so fuck this" moment, and confess to eachother and kiss desperately before getting back to fighting the Royal Guards. I live for life or death romantic situations and angsty/fluffy moments 😭

I love your writing so I hope I'm not bothering you! Kisses :)

Now or Never

Knuckle x Reader

a/n: i’m sorry this isn’t really what you asked for, i changed it a little to adapt to my current knowledge of HXH since i don’t want to do the chimera ant arc any injustice by putting an unfitting scene in.

summary: you’ve been sent on a dangerous quest with Knuckle and Shoot, and find yourself doubting whether you will even make it out alive. what better moment to confess your feelings?

warnings: injuries + blood loss (no graphic descriptions), bit of angst (but also comfort)

word count: 1603

A moment you feel most vulnerable in… Like your entire world is crashing down, and you’re so helpless, because there is absolutely nothing you can do.

What do you do at this moment? When you’re aware of how fast your thoughts are racing, as if competing with your pounding heartbeat in your ears. And yet still none of those thoughts are helpful, they’re nothing but mere, fleeting ideas passing through. Nothing you need, nothing to save you, nor the person next to you.

Your hiding spot is behind a few boxes, and so far they’ve been a good place to not be found. You listen carefully for anything suspicious, yet all you can hear is your own heartbeat, the irregular breaths of your friend, and the shuffling steps that must belong to the beast. You’re lucky to have limited it’s hearing and smelling senses during the earlier fight, or else you would surely already have been found. And given the circumstances, there’s no guarantee you’d make it.

You put a hand on the ground to steady yourself, and wince in pain when your palm touches the dirty ground. There’s a cut across your hand, that you hadn’t noticed up until now. You will have to clean the wound later and make sure it isn’t infected, if you make it out of this situation alive, that is.

“What is it?”

A hushed voice, barely even a whisper, is heard from beside you. You clutch your hand into a fist as your eyes meet Knuckle’s and guilt washes over you. Isn’t it so selfish to think of your own injury, when the person you cherish most is in much worse shape?

Your eyes linger on Knuckle’s once-white jacket that is all soaked up with blood, and just imagining where it’s coming from makes you tear up once again. He must be in so much pain.

Yet, nobody could have predicted this. Not Morel, when he sent Shoot, Knuckle and you out on a casual bounty hunt for a monster that has turned out to be a bite much bigger than the three of you can chew.

Not Shoot, who had agreed to it without a second thought after seeing the nods of Knuckle and you, who is now nowhere to be seen, ever since you lost sight of him somewhen during the fight before.

And certainly not Knuckle, who has overexerted himself, and gotten this beat up. His usual so energetic self is now slumped against a wooden box, sitting on the floor to your left. The sight breaks your heart over and over again.

“Hm?”

He asks again, and you can tell he’s getting weaker. How much blood has he lost? How much more can he hold on?

You can no longer hold back the tears now silently trickling down your cheeks. You can’t even remember the last time you felt like this, so at the mercy of fate’s cruelty as you couldn’t do anything but sit and wait for the inevitable end, since the two of you can’t possibly hide forever.

You get lost in the features of Knuckle, the deep lines on his face and his furrowed eyebrows. His usually so bold mouth, with lips that have their corners turned downwards now.

His big hands have always seemed so strong and secure, and even at this moment you long for nothing more than to feel them around you, and wake up to find all of this to be just a horrible nightmare. But his hands are tightly clutching the side of his stomach, and you know he’s trying to stop, or at least slow, the bleeding.

A tiny part of you hopes Shoot escaped and is seeking help in the nearest city, however you know very well that it’s hard to access, and even at your usual pace, at least an hour away. By now, that hope for help has pretty much died out.

You make another feeble attempt to use your nen ability, but the presence of the beast is still blocking it out.

You tightly clutch one hand within the other and press your eyes shut, before you feel a rough hand gently wipe your tears.

“Why are you crying?”

You shake your head as you look at Knuckle, and even more tears pour down your face and cheeks, some getting caught in Knuckle's calloused fingers, others spilling down to your clenched hands. But you will not speak. You will buy Knuckle, and yourself, as much time as possible. You will not make one single sound, that could betray your location to the beast. At least, that’s your plan.

As if having read your thoughts, Knuckle goes silent for a moment. He musters you with that look again, that one he gives you whenever you do something he disapproves of, or doesn’t understand.

“Once all this is over and we’re back home tomorrow, I’ll make Shoot and you those dumplings again. I know you mock and criticise my cooking, but it will be the best dumplings of your life-“

You interrupt him with a push against his arm, and he lets it drop to the ground with no resistance. He expected this.

“How can you say that!?” You hiss at him, “Don’t you understand? We might be dead by tomorrow!”

The salty tears rush down your cheeks even quicker as you angrily glare at Knuckle, still trying your hardest to be as quiet as possible.

A soft sigh escapes Knuckle as he reaches an arm out towards you, and gently pulls you into his mostly uninjured side. You simply let it happen, and close your eyes upon impact with his shoulder as you carefully snake an arm around his waist, the other wrapping around his other shoulder.

You can hear him taking a breath to say something, but nothing more than a quiet sob rips through the silence. You instantly pull away to look at him, your eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“You don’t deserve this. Any of this. I failed you.”

His voice is so quiet.

You shake your head and hug him tightly once again, this time with his face buried in your shoulder. You gently brush through his hair with your fingers to soothe him, as you lean in to whisper in his ear.

“You could never fail me. You did all you could, we both did. Then this is just how it has to happen.”

He lets out another sob as he clings onto you, his tears slowly soaking through your shirt.

You hold him tightly, silently crying into his hair. This is honestly the last moment you’d expect to be in when you would get to hold him like this for the first time, but given the circumstances, now there might not be any other moment for this in the future…

“I have feelings for you,” you start, “I have had them for a while now. I guess this might be the last time I get to tell you.”

At once, his eyes are on you, wide and startled, but not in a negative way. You’re happy to see some of his usual energy to be back, even if only for the moment, and that twinkle in his eyes you love so dearly has returned.

You can’t help but reach out to brush your hand through his hair again, your fingers tangling in his curls and getting stuck in the pompadour. Instantly, it seems like Knuckle is melting at your touch like soft butter in the sun. A warm feeling spreads inside your chest at this reaction, as if you swallowed the sun yourself.

“I had no idea… Why didn’t you say anything sooner? No, wait- aaaaaah! I should have said something!”

You cover his mouth with your hand, looking left and right, listening hard, in fears that his whisper-shouts gave away your location. You’re not out of danger, how could you be so reckless? But there’s not a single thing you hear, and you slowly remove your hand.

As you do, even Knuckle seems to sigh out in relief before you feel a calloused hand on your cheek, and Knuckle’s warm breath on your chin before your lips meet.

You sit there, frozen in shock, yet only for a moment. Your eyes flutter closed, your hands desperately grasping at his clothes for some stability, even when you know you must be the strong one in a situation where he is injured.

You two don’t let go of each other, neither of you daring to break the kiss. This wonderful, soft kiss.

His lips are chapped and dry, and you imagine yours aren’t any better. But still, you couldn’t imagine your first kiss to be any more perfect. For while you’re here, there’s no danger. There’s no beast out there to get you, no wound in your palm to burn in pain as you clench fistfuls of Knuckle’s shirt, and no pools of blood seeping through the same once-white shirt.

Right now, this might not even be the last kiss.

“There you are. I could hear you whispering.”

Both Knuckle and you snap your heads towards the source of the voice. And you see Shoot, looking at you with a warm smile.

You first worry that the beast might hear you, but knowing Shoot, he would never be so careless. The beast must already be disposed of. You two are safe. Knuckle will be okay, and you will make sure of that. You look at him, and the look on his face tells you that he has drawn the same conclusions as you.

“Let’s go home.”

[cherryonigiri]

nanami kento [evenings with you]

nanami kento x reader || cw: descriptions of blood/injuries, light angst

a/n: this is just self-indulgent writing for me but i'm v stressed about school rn and this is the result. just imagine that y/n is a bio/medical phd candidate lol.

Nanami can tell that you're stressed. Usually you savor the nights he's not on overtime, asking him about work and refusing to leave his side for most of the evening. He's used to you being attentive, so the fact that you've asked him the same question twice within the last ten minutes is already setting alarm bells ringing in his head. You're constantly fiddling with something, or flashing furtive glances towards the bedroom when you think he's not paying attention.

It only gets worse after dinner. You insist on washing up, something about how you want him to 'enjoy his night off.' Nanami compromises, silently grabbing a towel and drying the dishes. It's clear that your mind is elsewhere. Your hands scrub the porcelain on autopilot, and he can hear you muttering under your breath.

Every now and then you'll mutter a list of tasks under your breath. Nanami remembers you mentioning that things were hectic in lab. You're almost always still working when gets home from work, even when it's well past when you eat your dinner. It's clear that you've had a busy day-- the apartment is far more cluttered than it usually is. There are post-it and pieces of scrap paper stuck to every single surface, and a forgotten pile of folded laundry rests on the couch.

An intense burning sensation across your palm causes you cry out. "Shit!" You drop the knife you were washing in favor of cradling your already bleeding hand. Nanami is instantly by your side, firmly pressing the dishcloth against your cut. There is a worrying amount of red seeping into the fabric, so he silently ushers you to the bathroom.

It's a strange reversal of roles. He's used to being the one leaning leaning against the counter while you bandage his wounds. Instead, it's you who is perched on the marble surface, wincing as he dabs an antiseptic soaked cotton ball against your injury. "Sorry, I'm almost done," he says when you let out a loud hiss.

"It's fine," you reply, sheepishly looking away. "I should have been paying more attention."

Nanami chooses to only respond with a nonchalant hum, focusing on cleaning your palm. The two of you sit there in comfortable silence while he applies ointment to the cut, adding gauze once he's finished. It's only when he reaches for the bandages that he decides to ask. "What's stressing you out?"

Your eyes widen as you realize you've been caught. Nanami is rarely home early these days, especially since he's been mentoring Itadori on behalf of Gojo. (Not that you mind - in the few times you've met Itadori through video call with Nanami, the pink-haired student's sunny disposition has never failed to cheer you up.) When he'd texted you saying he'd be home by dinner, you'd jumped at the opportunity to spend some much needed time with him. You'd pulled out the stops, cooking something a little fancier, and intent on spending the earlier part of the evening cuddling with him. Secretly, you had planned to sneak out of bed after he'd fallen asleep (he always goes to bed early on days like these) and finish preparing for the gauntlet of meetings and presentations you had tomorrow. It was your fault for putting off the tasks, and you didn't want to let your own bad habits get in the way of some quality time with your boyfriend.

"It's nothing, I just have a lot on my plate tomorrow." You do your best to laugh it off, but quickly trail off once when you catch Nanami's deadpan expression. He's always been too good at seeing through your white lies. "I put off some work..." A raised eyebrow from him prompts you to continue, "And I was planning on doing it after you went to bed..." You can't help it when your face scrunches into a pout. After all, now your carefully-laid deception has been revealed.

When Nanami bursts into amused chuckles, you're momentarily surprised, but quickly go back to sulking. "Stop laughing at me Ken!" you whine, "I'm a--"

"Self-aware procrastinator," he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. "I know love, I know. I've seen you write far too many papers within 24-hours of a deadline to be surprised." He presses an affectionate kiss against your wrist.

You scowl at your boyfriend, snatching your bandaged hand away from his grasp. "I'm glad that my suffering is entertaining for at least one person." You stomp back to the bedroom in faux-anger, smiling when you hear Nanami's footsteps not far behind you.

When he steps into the bedroom Nanami drapes his frame over your shoulders, his warm torso nestled against your back. "It is one of your more...endearing traits," he murmurs into your ear before pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. You can feel your cheeks and ears tingle at his words of affection.

"Sometimes you can be such a sweet talker," you mumble to yourself while you change into your pajamas. This week it's been an old Jujutsu tech hoodie and a pair of well-worn athletic shorts.

"Only for you," Nanami replies while he undoes the buttons of his outfit, chucking his tan pants and blue button up into the laundry basket in the corner. He dons a pair of sweatpants before returning your side to recapture you in another affectionate hug. It's a well kept secret of the Kento-Y/N household that Nanami Kento likes to lounge around shirtless in the privacy of his apartment. (You've been sworn to secrecy, but only because your boyfriend claims that Gojo and the students would have a field day teasing him if this information were to be made public amongst the jujutsu sorcerer community.)

Turning around, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your nose against his torso and taking in his comforting scent. It's been so long since the two of you have had a moment to yourselves, and for once your hectic thoughts are silenced in favor of sharing a moment of calm bliss with Nanami. He hums in appreciation, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips.

"Do you want to watch anything tonight?" you ask after a few seconds of silence.

"No," he replies. "I was actually planning on reading the briefing Ichiji just sent me. Gojo apparently has another scheme up his sleeve." You giggle when your boyfriend lets out a pained sigh. On more than one occasion, your boyfriend has ranted to you about Gojo's unorthodox approach to exorcism. "I swear that idiot shaves a year off my lifespan every time I go on a mission with him," Nanami complains. "He's taking away the years I could spend in Malaysia."

You hum thoughtfully before responding, "Then do you mind--"

Once again, Nanami already knows what you're going to say. "Just remember to bring your laptop charger, I know you have a thousand tabs open on your computer right now," he says while exiting to the living room. After a few moments you join him, overburdened laptop and charger in hand. You both take your usual spots in the living room, him resting comfortably in the center of the loveseat and you sitting on a floor cushion, nestled between his legs. Soon you've fallen into a groove, fingers steadily typing on the keyboard. The warmth of Nanami's presence next to you brings a sense of calm, giving you the grounding focus you need to finish off the last of your tasks.

As he thumbs through the printouts Ichiji gave him, Nanami can't help but let his eyes drift towards you every now and then. You look so adorable when you work. From the way your brow furrows whenever you reread a line, to the way you unconsciously chew on your lip when you scrutinize your draft for any errors. Every now and then he'll gently run his fingers through your hair, relishing the content sighs you let out in response.

It only takes about another hour before you're (finally) closing all your tabs (he still doesn't know why your laptop hasn't crashed yet). As you scroll through social media, your head begins to droop. Soon enough you've fallen asleep, breaths coming in soft and even puffs as you rest against his thigh. Smiling to himself, he puts down his papers and gently lifts your body from the floor. He's careful not to wake you as he slowly makes his way back to the bedroom.

Setting you on the bed, he tucks you under the blankets before lying beside you. The moonlight coming through your window softly illuminates your relaxed features, and he softly traces the outline of your face with his thumb. As he continues to caress your cheek, his eyes are drawn to the dark circles under your eyes. He rarely falls asleep after you these days - between his physically demanding occupation and the ever growing number of things you are responsible for at work- he's often the first to fall asleep from sheer exhaustion while you work well into the night. Not to mention that he's had to spend an increasing number of nights away from you, either on challenging missions or accompanying Gojo's students. And while he knows most of your stress comes from being a student, he can't help but feel guilty about all the additional distress his status as a jujutsu sorcerer has caused you.

When you started dating him, you insisted that Shoko teach you how to suture. He hates how much your stitches have improved since then. The neatness of your stitches is a constant reminder of how much you've endured because of him. When he hears you trying to muffle your sobs into a pillow, he swears he can feel his heart crack in his chest, hurting more than any kind of physical wound from battle. Those nights end with him holding you tightly to his bandaged chest, murmuring reassurances and affection into the crown of your head until you've calmed down enough to fall into a fitful sleep. Even when you're unconscious he'll still continue, words morphing into apologies for the sadness he's inflicted upon your shoulders.

Feeling his eyelids being to droop, Nanami presses one last kiss against your forehead before laying down. He wraps his arms around your waist, surrounding you with warmth, hoping that his presence will be enough to keep your nightmares away, at least for tonight. I love you, y/n is the last thought he has before he drifts away, ready to dream of a tropical sunset and a peaceful future with you by his side.