#you should really take a page from this book

[yan-randomfandom]

P!Yandere!Pines Family x GN!Teenager!Reader

[PLATONIC] a continuation to this! decided to just make them all yanderes cuz y not lol errmm just subtle ykwim... i'm not proofreading all this so just have my draft

warnings: staring, violence, alcoholics, abuse, blood, implied murder. woah intense

❤️‍🔥

"Then I saved Ford by slicing its eye! You should have seen it!"

You laughed, settling down from your dramatic gestures that you've been making throughout the entire dinner. The entire Pines family watched you in awe, especially Dipper and Mabel, easily captivated by your personality and story.

"Yes, well, they certainly saved my life," Ford chuckled as he fed himself a spoonful of food.

"You have to stop lettin' kids save your life so much," Stan scoffed.

Dipper grabbed a book out of nowhere, clicking his pen in preparation—

"No writing at the dinner table! We talked about this!" Stan called out, earning a sheepish smile from Dipper who immediately drops the book on the ground.

"But what did the monster look like?" Dipper stammered, eventually turning to you with a curious look on his face. He looked eager to learn more. That's what you can tell anyway, if you remove his reddened face, which is most likely from embarrassment.

Mabel, who sat across from you, leaned towards you with the biggest smile on her lips. You grinned back to return her energy. "Bet it was super gross! Was there a lot of blood?! Blaarrrgghhh!!!"

"No gross sounds at the table, pumpkin!" Even Stanley felt like he's tired of his own voice. This is him trying his best to not let you be uncomfortable. Well, he supposed you and his brother brought up the story in the first place.

Speaking of, why were you even here? Ford came back in the mystery shack after missing for a day, only to bring a random teen with him. It's a good thing he cooked extra since he thought Soos was coming over.

But he needed answers fast.

"Ford," Stan whispered firmly, catching his brother's attention. Tilting his head, he tried to signal him to move out, but someone interrupted them before they could do anything.

"Hey! No sneaking out the dinner table!" Mabel exclaimed, pointing a fork at her grunkles.

Stanley stood up and Ford followed his actions. They were already heading out the door with Stan holding his twin's wrist. "Well, sweetheart, VERY REASONABLE EXCUSE!"

As soon as they were out of sight, you and the other kids exchanged looks.

"He did say it's reasonable."

"Yeah, I can live with that."

... You snorted. "You guys are a funny bunch. He literally said the excuse, and you let him go just like that? You must trust each other a lot."

"You have no idea, stranger, you have no idea," Mabel laughed. "Sorry, what was your name again?"

💥

Meanwhile, deep inside the mystery shack, where they were sure there'd be no eavesdropping happening...

"You let the kid stay here without telling their parents?!"

Stanley was freaking out. Yet, he really shouldn't be surprised Ford would do this. Ironically, poindexter would even criticize his behavior, his grunkle methods! How ridiculous is this whole thing, huh?!

"It's more complicated than that! Look, I know this sounds bad—"

"It does!" Stan yelped, his hands clenching. "Their parents must be so worried! And we can't just let them—"

"No, no, Stanley, walk with me here," Ford said, placing his hands on his brother's shoulders. "It's their parents that are the problem."

A few deep breaths from Stan. Alright, okay. This is making more sense now.

"We'll take them to their house first thing in the morning," Ford explained. "Let's see what we'll do from there."

🔥

"I hope my drawing isn't too bad," you chuckled, giving the journal back to Dipper. His eyes skimmed over your illustration of the monster you killed. "It doesn't match yours and Mabel, but..."

"Are you kidding?! It's perfect! Thank you!" Dipper beamed, writing more notes down the rest of the page.

From above, Mabel had her legs folded over the ceiling wood of the house. You looked up and made eye contact, as much as you can anyway. She's upside down.

"Hi! How old are you again?"

How did she even get up there, you wonder. You glanced around, smiling when you realized, and worked your way up.

They stared at you in awe when you climbed right next to Mabel's side. Now you're hanging upside down too. "Cool tricks, Mabel. Hope you don't mind me copying you?"

She doesn't respond, starstrucked. Glancing at Dipper, his jaw was also on the floor.

"Uhhh," you awkwardly smiled, "But I just turned sixteen! You guys are turning thirteen, right?"

"You're the coolest," Mabel whispered, dragging a hand across your face. Okay. That's a bit weird, but it's welcome.

"Thanks," you grinned, manually removing her hand from your face. You looked down at Dipper again. "Hey, Dipper, what time is it?"

He scrambled around and grabbed a watch from somewhere. "Uh, nine o' clock."

"Nine?!" your sudden outburst caused you to fall to the carpet, a pained groan leaving your lips. At least you managed to drop skillfully. "Oh, that hurt."

"Are you okay?!" Dipper rushed to your side, offering a comforting hand on your back.

"Yeah, I just," you paused. "It's nine already? My parents are gonna kill me, man. I gotta go home."

"What!!"

Mabel also dropped down from her outburst, but her landing isn't painful as yours, because you caught her in time. She gazed at you from your arms, stars forming in her eyes.

"Woah. You have fast reflexes!" she squealed as you gently put her down.

Dipper shook his head. "But you can't go home this late at night. Didn't you say you're from outside of Gravity Falls?"

You crossed your arms, pondering. "Yeah, but... Okay, wait, where's Ford?"

Footsteps followed your words. All of you turned to the doorway, seeing the older set of Pines twins. It's kind of amazing, really, you rarely saw twins and this family has two pairs.

"Oh, there you are!" you grinned, walking over to him. Ford blinked at you. "I'm sorry, dude, but I think I overstayed my welcome. I'll go ahead and—"

"Eh, nah," Stanley chimed in, earning your attention, "It's too dark for ya to go out. Let's take you home tomorrow, yeah?"

"But-"

"No butts, they're for sitting," he continued, gently pushing you down on his recliner. You sat down, albeit confused. "Think of it as a sleepover. That's fun, right kids?"

Mabel skipped to your view, an eager grin on her face. "Yeah! We can paint your nails and everything!"

"While I'll show you more of the journals," Dipper beamed, showing one of them to you.

Their ideas were nice, it truly was, but the circumstances are concerning. You couldn't help the frown forming on your lips. They all noticed.

Ford stepped in between them, kneeling and offering you a smile. "Don't worry, kiddo. We'll take good care of you 'til morning. I'm sure your parents will understand."

"I guess I can't really do anything about it," you muttered, eventually accepting the situation. You stood up with a grin. "Okay! Who wants to be unaware of me stealing cool stuff here?!"

"I do!" Mabel screamed, only to pause. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah," Stan squinted, "What?"

You hummed, suddenly behind him, and stared at his wallet. Ford shook his head at you. "You have a very alarming number of IDs. Is this normal? Then again, you're old."

A laugh left Stan as he took his wallet from you. "Oh, I could use that type of skill. Didn't even hear or feel you take it!"

"I can teach you," you smiled.

"Please don't," Dipper groaned.

🌬️

"This journal is amazing! And Ford wrote this? Seriously, no wonder why he was so smart!"

You flipped the book page by page, your jaw dropped the whole time. Sure, a while ago, you saw one page, but only because Dipper told you to draw on it. You didn't expect a whole research surrounding Gravity Falls!

"Interesting enough for you to visit Gravity Falls more often?" Dipper chuckled as he watched you.

"Woah," you smiled, "You like my company that much, Dipper? Don't you have any friends here— oh shoot, wait, I didn't mean—"

A ghost of a frown spread through his face. Why did you have to ask that?! You were just projecting if you had to be honest, but still!!!

"Sorry, that was insensitive," you blurted, closing the book and focusing all your attention on him. "I only said that because I feel that way. I know, that's pretty lame."

He looked surprised. "Really? But you're so cool?"

"Some people think I'm weird is all. But thanks for finding me cool, Dip," you laughed, glancing at Mabel who was snoring. "I find you and your sister cool too. A lot, actually. So it's nice to know you both like me."

Dipper sniffed. "Man. Ditto."

You grabbed a blanket and placed it over Mabel's body, making sure she's covered head to toe. She snuggled up to it unconsciously.

"Welp, bed time," you murmured, reaching for another one. You stretched the blanket, letting Dipper be able to invite himself in. "Come on."

He happily accepted, nestling his head next to your shoulder. Mabel followed him, her head tilting to your chest.

You slept, content.

🌪️

You woke up, disturbed.

The first thing you saw after sleeping is Dipper and Mabel staring at you in silence. As soon as you noticed them, they scrambled away from you and tried to act natural.

Yet, you couldn't forget the small glimpse of their faces. Wide-eyed, a bit of judgment, but most of all, solemn.

Before you could question them, Dipper yelled, "Grunkles! They're awake!"

You winced from the volume of his voice, having just woken up. He immediately apologized to you, but it's all good.

"Visit us again soon! Byeee!"

The next thing you know, you're in the backseat of a car with Stanley next to you. He was pouting, arms crossed.

"This is literally my car. I can't believe it! You won't even let me drive my own car?" he sneered at Ford who sat on the driver's seat.

Ford rolled his eyes. "I can't have you get in trouble by driving again. Think of the kid."

While driving to your address is certainly much faster than walking, it still took a while. You managed to fall asleep, tilting your head on Stan's shoulder. It seemed that you're not alone in being unconscious, because he snored loudly.

Glancing at the mirror, Ford simply exhaled.

You're here.

He parked in front of your house.

Ford nudged Stan awake, who poked you awake next.

You stood up drowsily, holding Stan's hand while walking up to your house. Ford took the lead and knocked on your front door.

To both grunkles' disappointment, things get messy.

Both your parents, drunk, loudly told them off and took you away roughly from Stan. Tears leaked out of your eyes, saying countless apologies to the Pines twins and your parents.

Without much of a fight, Ford forcibly grabbed you back, carrying your body with one arm. He looked at Stan who placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Psst, I'll handle this," Stanley murmured in the midst of your father yapping nonsense. Maybe the professional con-man can knock some sense into your deadbeat parents.

Ford took you back to the car. You sobbed relentlessly, whispering the most saddening things he wished to unhear. He hugged you tightly, muttering sweet nothings until you fell asleep.

After a long while, Stan finally came back.

His eyes were wide. He was shaking.

"I didn't mean to. They started it—I had no choice!"

Gazing down, Ford realized Stan's hands were covered in blood. He swallowed the thickness in his throat.

"...I'll help you clean it up."

[dekariosclan]

We know from the epilogue that Gale is often so immersed in his research that he can ignore everything in the world, including Tav, until he finishes. How will Gale make amends after a few days of ignoring his love?

Ps: Tav wasn't really mad at him, of course, but sometimes it's a shame that the book is given more time than Tav, don't you think so?

Ooh what a great question!! 🥰

So I have to imagine that Gale getting caught up in his research—the topic of which can be anything and everything, depending on what his brilliant mind decides to focus on that week—is something Tav gets used to pretty quickly.

But I don’t believe that Gale ever fully ignores Tav, no matter how passionate he is about the topic he’s working on. For example, I don’t see him locking himself away in his study for hours at a time and completely forgetting to interact with Tav. This is a man who spent a year+ in lonely isolation, bereft, desperately longing for company. This is a man whose greatest wish (as shown by the magic mirror in Act I) has always been for a sweetheart to join him in his tower. And this is a man who, even when he read Karsus’s book and his thoughts were consumed with the knowledge it contained, was still focused on Tav, and what Tav would think, and how Tav would react.

So all that said—what I DO think happens is that he becomes immersed in his research to the point of complete distraction.

I can see him going up and down the tower, rummaging through his piles of books and bookshelves, paging through giant tomes, then tossing them aside and muttering to himself, while his conjured mage hand scribbles notes on a piece of parchment. Meanwhile, Tav watches all of this with fond amusement—because while Gale is pacing around with his nose buried in a book, his mind seemingly a million miles away, he’ll still occasionally take Tav’s hand and press it to his lips for a gentle kiss, all without ceasing his reading.

At other times he’ll step into the room and, with his gaze focused on the book or notes clutched in his hands, start bouncing ideas off of Tav: “My love, did you know that the alchemical properties of Daggerroot make it an excellent weapon coating? Do you think it could also be used for medicinal properties? Yes or no?…Hmm—I can tell by your silence that you are hesitant about it…you know, I do believe that you are correct in your assessment. Yes, now that I think about it, Mugwort remains the superior choice. Excellent advice my love, you truly know how to steady the direction of my mind even through the most volatile of seas!” Then he’ll hurry away—all without realizing that Tav was not even in the room, but in the hallway behind him, watching all this play out while trying not to laugh.

AND THEN, finally, when Gale has completed his work and the scholarly portion of mind is satisfied (until the next topic takes hold…) Tav will look up from whatever they were doing to find that their delightful wizard has, without their noticing, conjured an entire dinner spread of Tav’s favorite foods, scented candles, and flowers.

And their wizard will be before them, gently plucking whatever book or letter or item that Tav had been engaged with from their grasp, so that he can take both of their hands in his. Then he’ll caress them slowly, while smiling lovingly into Tav’s eyes, his full attention on them and them alone.

“Done with your research now, are you?” Tav will ask with a smile.

But Gale will shake his head. “My love,” he will admonish gently, as he worshipfully caresses his fingers over their face, down their jawline. “You should know that a wizard’s research is never done.”

Then he’ll place his bent finger under their chin, and smile. “I’m simply moving on to studying my favorite subject,” he’ll conclude, as he tips their head up and kisses them deeply.

[trippinsorrows]

without you + three

authors note: welp. the ball is, gradually, rolling.

do not read this story if you haven’t read ’with me’. it won’t work as a standalone.

warnings: none

song inspo: be without you by mary j. blige

one + two

words: 4k

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never a good thing.” Removing your eyes from the book in hand, you glare and flip your soon to be ex-fiance off if he keeps playing with you like this. 

Of course, he simply laughs as you shove on Joe’s shoulder.. “I’m serious.”

His hand moves to your stomach, rubbing a circle as he beckons, “tell me.”

Using the bookmark on the comforter, you stick it in the page you’re on and lay it against the side of you. “I think we should take Callie back so she can have her graduation.”

Joe looks over at you, brows furrowed. “I thought we were just going to do something here?”

“I know, and I think we still can, but I don’t want to take that from her. She was really excited about graduating.” It’s something you’ve been thinking about a lot, both as a teacher and a mom. It’s so important for children to feel and be able to celebrate their accomplishments. Sure, it’s only preschool, but it’s still a big deal for her.

You want her to be able to celebrate with her ‘classmates.’

And you express as such.

“She should be able to celebrate with the other kids. Plus, and I know right now, she’s still excited about them, but I don’t know, something tells me she’s going to struggle with some form of jealousy when the babies get here.”

Joe nods, not necessarily disagreeing with you. “But, that’s not entirely abnormal, right?”

“No, doesn’t mean it’ll be any easier to deal with though.” Frowning, it’s only now you also think about how that might be for you as well. For almost five years, you’ve been able to devote all of your time and attention onto one child. 

Now, it’s about to be four.

“Hey.” Joe, forever adept at reading you, brings his hand to your chin, forcing your gaze to land on him. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”

His words, as per usual, comfort you greatly. “You’re right.” His thumb flicks your chin, as you chuckle. “It’s probably good her little spoiled self is spending all this time with you now. Before she has to share you.”

His scowl makes you snort as he drops his hand back to your ever growing belly. “She’s not spoiled.”

“Joe, as the kids say, be so fucking for real.”

“What?”

Ignoring the fact that this man literally probably still has an AOL email with out of touch he is, you continue with your very valid point. “That little girl is spoiled rotten. You give her whatever she wants.”

“She doesn’t ask for much.”

“Not you being in straight up denial.” He’s so down bad for Callie Bear. It’s not even funny. “Need I remind you of her little tantrum two weeks ago? Baby, the way you folded so quickly should have been recorded. Tribal Chief, my ass. Got taken down by a four year old.”

Joe shoves you gently. “Shut up.”

Laughing, you continue, “just admit it, she has you wrapped around her lil’ finger, and she knows it. That’s why she tried you the way she did, but I mean it, next time it happens, and it will, set her little butt straight. She can take it.”

Joe’s frown doesn’t make it any easier for you to hold in your laughter. “I don’t like being mean to her.”

“It’s not being mean, baby. It’s being a parent. As much as she loves to play with you like you’re one of her little friends, you’re not. You’re her dad. She needs to respect you as such.”

“She does,” he defends, and you sigh, knowing this is probably just a battle you won’t win. Quieting down, you decide to switch topics to something you’ve been thinking more about as you prepare for the arrival of your children.

“I’m gonna tell her, you know. When she gets older, that I’m the reason you weren’t there the first few years of her life.”

Joe sits up in the bed, removing his hand from your stomach, concern evident all over his handsome face. “Y/N—”

You lift your hand to silence him. “No, she’s going to eventually ask, and I’m not going to lie to her. Whatever anger she feels would be justified, and I’ll handle it.” 

You’ve thought about this more and more as you progress with your pregnancy. The fact that these babies will get to experience Joe from day one when Callie didn’t. There’s undeniable unfairness, and should she ever want to know just why Joe was MIA at the beginning, you will be honest with her.

You’ll make sure she knows that it was you who decided to keep her a secret from her father. How specific you’ll get will depend on her age, but you’re not a fan of lying to and holding secrets from kids when it directly impacts them.

You know firsthand how thinking your dad didn’t want to be around can fuck with someone’s mental.

You won’t let that be the case with Callie.

Joe looks just as bothered, like he doesn’t want you doing anything that could impact how Callie sees you. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but I do and will, baby.” You place your hand to his cheek, his beard a little more outgrown and slightly unkempt as he truly relaxes in the embrace of vacation. “Because that’s one thing I never did and would never do. I never let anyone say any disrespectful shit about you not being in Callie’s life. Amir would try it a lot, and I shot him down every time.”

The mention of Amir brings a scowl to Joe’s handsome face. It’s a bit of a distraction technique you’re grateful worked. This will also be a revisited topic over the years, clearly. “I don’t know what the fuck you saw in him.”

Small smile on your face, you shrug, “he’s not ugly, and his dick was decent.” And before he can say anything smug and smart, “yours is better, duh. Why you think I’m giving you all these kids, huh?” He smiles and shakes his head. “You gotta have God tier dick for me to push out not one but gonna be four of your big headed ass children. Boy, I wish you would try to leave me. You gon be wrestling into your eighties with how much I’ll come for you in child support.”

He rolls his eyes and kisses your temple, “you know I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

“Of course not, who the hell is gonna want me with all these damn kids?” The topic at hand reminds you of the book on the side of your bed, the previous reason you two were taking a break from figuring out your approach for letting friends and family know about the courthouse wedding. “Now, we really need to start deciding on names. I’m almost five months.” Pretty soon you’ll be finding out the sexes of the babies. It’s crazy to you how quickly this pregnancy is passing by, most likely due to the happiness you feel. 

Time flies when life is good. 

“Did you get Callie’s list?” 

He curses. “Shit, I forgot.”

You wave him off. “No worries.” Sitting further up in bed, you shout out, “Callie Bear! Bring us your list for baby names!” 

She doesn’t say anything, and you start to try again when she comes running into the room, Disney notebook in one hand and her American Doll in the other. She doesn’t hesitate to climb onto the bed and sit on her knees at the end, “here you go, mommy!”

You accept her notebook that’s already opened to her list of potential baby names that she came up with. “Thank you, baby.” Callie switches to sitting with her legs crossed, her doll that looks just like her, courtesy of her rich ass daddy, smack dab in the middle. “Let’s see.”

A smile falls on your face as you share the notebook with Joe, pointing out the first name that he also smiles at. 

“Moana.” Predictable. So predictable. “Maui. Hei Hei. Tamatoa.” Joe coughs beside you to clearly hold in his laugh. “Baby….are these all names from Moana?”

Callie nods happily. “And Toy Story and Encanto and The Little Mermaid,” she essentially continues to sing-song list off damn near every Disney movie ever created. “The babies have to like Disney too, mommy! Like me, you, and Grandma.”

“You’re so right.” To be fair, you really shouldn’t have expected too much more. She is one Disney loving kid, through and through. “Well, thank you so much for the list, Callie Bear.”

“Daddy, did you make a list?” She asks, head tilted as she gently caresses the top of her doll’s head.

“Not yet, baby. Mommy and I are gonna make one together.” 

“I like baby Moana.” 

He chuckles. “But you’re our little Moana.”

She pouts and corrects, “no, I’m Callie.” Her sass makes you laugh. Joe wasn’t entirely wrong. She really is a lot like you sometimes. “I want a baby sister named Moana.”

“What if they’re all boys?”

You and Callie have similar reactions. It’s just that yours is one of horror and hers is more of shock.

“Noooo, I want a little sister.” 

Adding onto Callie’s vehement protest, you make your own strong thoughts and feelings known. “And I am not pushing out three boys at once, Joe. You done lost your god—”

“What do you want for your birthday, Callie Bear?” You’re partially thankful for the save but also irritated he’s asking this question he already knows is gonna generate a wild ass answer.

“A puppy!”

See.

You do your best to use the perfect combination of understanding yet assertiveness. “Baby, we done had this conversation before, we are not getting a puppy until you’re at least ten.”

“But, I’ll be old!”

“Exactly, old enough to take care of a puppy.” One look at Joe, and you can see he’s about to open his mouth and probably find some reason to ‘agree’ with or at least defend Callie’s request. “Absolutely not. No dog until she’s older, and that’s final.”

Callie, understandably, does not agree nor like this rule, and it’s evident in her deep pout and the way she crosses her arms over her little body. “Not fair.”

“Life ain’t fair, buttercup.” You retort, quickly reminding her as you take in her appearance. “Speaking of, it’s almost time for your wash day….”

The infamous, dreaded day of nonstop hair washing and styling is enough to wipe her smile away and award her a brand new reason to start whining, “I don’t want to.”

The feeling is mutual. “Neither does mommy, but we gotta do it eventually, Callie Bear.” Looking over at Joe, you inform him, “and you will be present for this ordeal, sir, so you can learn how to do her hair for me.”

He looks confused, nose turned up. A chuckle is withheld at how much he and his daughter mimic each other in this situation. “Baby, I don’t know how to do hair.”

Sucking your teeth, you smartly point out, “you do your own!”

“I barely do anything with my hair. You know this.” 

Damn. He’s right. Lucky ass. “Regardless, when I get too big to be bending over the sink like that, someone’s gonna have to do it.”

Of course, Joe’s smartass just decides to throw out something that should probably be discussed before saying around Callie, “I’ll take her to your mom.”

Callie’s eyes light up a bit. “Grandma!”

“Joe.” Lord, this man got too much money or something. “You seriously are going to fly our daughter out to my hometown so my mama can do her hair?”

He shrugs, clearly not seeing an issue with what’s being proposed. “Yeah.”

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head, you lean further back in the pillows of the bed. “You are too—” However, you’re cut short mid-sentence, face and chest dropping simultaneously, the change in your disposition enough to catch Joe’s attention. 

“What’s wrong?” He’s sitting up even more, expertly masking the concern that’s growing by the second. Recognizing this, you will that small smile to start forming on your face, shaking your head as you motion for him and Callie to move closer.

“Mommy?” Callie is just as confused as you reach for both her and Joe’s hands, placing them on your belly, trying to find the spot of origin. “What—”

This time, she’s the one to stop mid-sentence as she feels it, the sensation you last felt when you were pregnant with her. Callie’s face is still set with understandable confusion, but your gaze on Joe reveals minimal concern and an abundance of amazement. 

“What is that, mommy?” Callie finally asks. The emotion in your throat takes you back a bit. You’re not typically a super emotional person, but there’s something about this moment, about feeling your babies kick for the first time and being able to share it with your fiance and child that does something to you. Knocks at those pillars that hold up your resolve. 

“That’s the babies. They’re kicking.” You explain, smiling a bit as Callie looks at you in horror.

“Why are they hurting you?”

“They’re not, sweetie. That’s what babies do. As they get bigger and grow, they need to move around and sometimes kick. You did the same thing to me.” Adding some playfulness into your voice, there’s a level of relief to see she appears less concerned. 

Your attention, however, is brought back to Joe as he kisses your temple, hand still planted on your stomach, clearly soaking up every bit of this precious, cherished moment. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against your temple. It’s such a simple statement, a little three letter sentence that means more than anyone could ever understand. Moving your hand to the side of his face, you both laugh as Callie moves her face to your stomach. 

“Don’t kick mommy too much, okay, little babies?” The determination on her face should be captured and locked away for safekeeping for the rest of time. “She’s the bestest mommy ever and pretty and smart and—”

“—and still not getting you a puppy.” While your daughter is undoubtedly one of the sweetest kids you’ve ever come across, she’s also intelligent as hell. And you know her like the back of your hand. Enough to know where she’s headed with this. 

And, you’re proven correct when she rolls her eyes again, making a ‘hmmph’ sound that has Joe chuckling next to you. She then sets her little plotting sights on Joe as she takes her hand from your stomach and moves to crawl into his lap.

You have to keep yourself from rolling your own eyes as she pulls out that sickeningly sweet voice and holds onto his shirt. “Daddy?”

Joe doesn’t hesitate to answer right away. “Yes, baby?” One look at him, and you already know what the answer is going to be. This man is so weak for this little girl. It’s not even funny. 

“Hallie wants a friend…..” Joe’s eyebrows cave in confusion as he looks over at you. 

Gesturing to her American Girl doll on the edge of the bed, you fill him in, “that’s what she named the doll.” 

He chuckles, clearly amused by the name that rhymes with hers. “She does?”

Callie nods, that excitement building back up. “Two friends!”

Mouth dropping, you prepare to put this child in her place when Daddy Warbucks beats you to it, living up to his reputation.

“Well, then we need to get her two friends.”

“Yay!” Callie celebrates, hugging Joe who ignores your look of disapproval. “Can I make her friends too?” 

And once again, the first living, breathing bank to ever exist is quick to fold. “Of course, Callie Bear.”

“Yay!” She cheers yet again for another way too easy battle. It’s not even a battle at this point. Battle would mean that both parties have somewhat of a chance, and Joe is clearly putty for his little girl. “Thank you, daddy.” She seals the deal with a hug and kiss on his cheek before climbing off the bed, grabbing Hallie as she shares, “I’m gonna make them now!”

With her tablet, clearly. The tablet you’d bet any money Joe once again disabled the time limits on. 

Lord, you’re about to have five damn children to take care of at this point. 

It’s only when Callie is out of the room and on her way to celebrate yet another successful day of finessing her daddy that you punch this man in his big ass arm. 

“What?” It’s him having the audacity to sound and look confused that has you ready to kick him out of the room. 

“What do you mean what?” Angling your body more toward him, you explain, “Joe, why are you buying her more dolls? American Girl dolls, at that. I know you must have paid at least $300 for the first one you got her. I saw all them accessories.” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it, because he can’t. Callie had always asked you for one, and while you could have scraped some money together to make it happen, you couldn’t come to grips with just how many other more useful things one could do with that money. “She doesn’t need them dolls, babe.”

“You gon’ let her get a puppy now?”

An easy ass answer. “Hell no.”

He has the nerve to catch a slight attitude with you as he affirms, “then she’s getting the dolls.”

Rubbing your temples, you realize this isn’t a ‘fight’ you’re not going to win. “You know what, whatever. You do what you want, but I’m telling you right now, these—” You bring his hand back to your belly. “—babies are not going to be spoiled like their big sister. They gon be like Oliver Twist and grateful for a bowl of soup.”

He moves his hand around, probably trying to see if he can feel any more movement. “Callie is grateful.”

“For now.” Not really wanting to have this circular dialogue with him, you grab your phone to see a couple missed texts but open the one from your mom first, instantly rolling your eyes. “Not this again.”

The shift in your voice catches Joe’s attention. “What?”

Shaking your head, you show him the thread, thumb right next to the link for an article on ‘melanin maternal mental health’. 

Talk about fucking alliteration. 

“I don’t know what’s been up with her lately, but she’s been sending me all these links for articles and like motivational photos about mental health and motherhood.” You explain to him, going to heart the message and send a quick response to at least show some appreciation. Because there is a little there. That your mom cares about you so much. But the concern isn’t necessarily valid or needed..

This is the happiest you’ve been in some time. A long time. If ever.

Nothing is going to change that.

Especially being a mother to three more children. 

Placing your phone back on the nightstand, a glance at Joe reveals he’s debating something. “What?”

He moves closer to you, hand pushing back some of your coils. “Been thinking about that movie thing…..”

The smile on your face grows as you move closer, eyes twinkling with all the curiosity in the world. “What did you decide?”

—------

Megan is having a wonderful day.

One of the best she’s had in a while.

Not only did she manage to wake up on time, but the coffee she ordered from this cute little cafe she found while on a business trip in Denver a couple months ago awaited her on the outside of her apartment door when she got back from her pilates class the night before.

And there’s few things she loves more than a delicious cup of morning Joe.

A smirk falls on her face as she hums “Here Comes the Bride” while engaging in her extensive shower routine, admiring the expert work of her wax lady. Body hair has always been an absolute no. But, it’s when she moves the loofah across the weight of her heavy breast that Megan imagines hands and not her loofah. Big hands that would cup her boobs roughly as he forces her to turn around, slams her up against the shower wall and fucks her hard from behind, her moans and shouts of pleasure dancing across the tile, alerting everyone of just who owns this pussy.

Hand gliding down her wet, nude body, she keeps the vision going, slender thighs clenching together at the thought of him forcing her on her knees, his dick down the back of her throat, eyes watering as he mouth fucks her.

“Joe….” Thin fingers slip past wet folds as she realizes she’s going to be a couple minutes late for work.

So worth it though. 

Because Megan hasn’t come like that in years. Her legs are practically wobbly as she finally exits the shower, bathroom mirror completely fogged to where she has to grab a towel to clear up a section so she can see herself.

The pink tinge of her cheek brings a sly smile to her face. 

“I can’t wait until we can be together, my love…” A sweep of sadness comes over her as she grabs her phone, admiring his handsome face on her lock screen and opens Apple Music to play his entrance music, selecting the repeat button before she continues with her routine. 

It takes her about the usual time.

And soon enough, Megan is out the door, having finished her delicious coffee and opted to just have a banana for breakfast. There’s no time for unnecessary caloric intake.

She has to start preparing for the wedding. 

Walking into the office, right away, she can detect the almost sullen atmosphere and does her best to match the vibe.

To play along. 

And before she can go to her office bestie, Paige, to “find out” why everything feels so off, the team is pulled in for a mandatory meeting.

Luke’s quiet demeanor does take her a bit back. He’s never quiet. She’s not complaining though. Not at all.

As soon as everyone is seated, he starts off with the general pleasantries that are weighed by the sadness in his voice. And then he gets into it. “I know some of you have heard, but for those who haven’t, I—uh—I got some bad news.” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “There’s uh—no way to say this, but Susan Jackson was found dead this morning.”

As an array of gasps and shocked countenances fill the room, Megan does her best to blend in, to play along with the genuine surprise of all of her coworkers.

Paige leans over to whisper to Megan, eyes also watery, “they say she killed herself. That she was found her on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building. Window was open and everything.”

Megan expertly fakes a horrified expression. “Oh my god, how heartbreaking.” She even manages to crank out some tears that don’t shed but get the job done. ���I can’t believe she’s gone….”

“Megan.” She lifts her head, eyebrows also raising. “I know you worked close with Susan on a couple of clients, and you also know she was set to assist Roman Reigns on his debut film, but with Susan gone….”

Megan shakes her head, pulling out a few sniffles. “It’s okay. I’ll….I’ll do it. I’ll take Reigns as my client.”

And my husband.

Luke gives her a nod of appreciation, wiping at his eyes as he clears his throat and continues to address the room.

It takes almost everything in her not to roll her eyes. The woman was fucking fifty for crying out loud. 

She lived long enough. 

He says something about grief counseling, the suicide hotline, blah blah blah.

Megan does her best to listen but mostly tunes out the rest of the meeting. It’s irrelevant. She has what she wants. Now, it’s time to go after who she wants, the thought alone creating such an intense, euphoric feeling inside of her stomach as she casually traces the brand new tiny letter ‘J’ she now has tattooed on her ring finger.

[elumish]

I talk about what writers should do a lot, so now I'm going to take a break and talk about some reforms that I think agents should make.

A caveat: I am not an agent! Unlike when I talk about writing, I am just talking about this as an author who happens to be in the midst of querying. If I have an followers who are agents who think I'm getting something wrong, please let me know!

That said, here I go:

Trad publishing is, fundamentally, about getting past a whole bunch of layers of gatekeepers, and agents are the first gatekeepers. With some very limited exceptions, you can't be trad published without having an agent. From what I can tell, being an agent is a bit of a thankless job--it's based on commission, so an agent only gets money if they are selling their clients' books. (Remember: the money flows towards the writer. If someone claiming to be an agent is telling you that you need to pay them to represent you, run.)

Because of this structure, agents have a massive amount of power over unagented authors, particularly because unagented authors simply do not have another option if they want to trad publish. It is my opinion that that power dynamic is part of the reason why querying actually sucks so unbelievably much for authors.

Now, part of why querying sucks is that it's a numbers game, which means that most of us will lose. Every writer is competing against a gazillion other writers, some of whom are better or writing things that are seen as more sellable or happen to be eariler or whatever. You are going to get a bunch of rejections, and that's not the fault of agents.

But here's the other problem:

There are, from what I can tell, no true industry standards and somewhat limited professional expectations for agents when it comes to how to deal with querying. Again, this is what it looks like from the outside--agents, if I'm getting this wrong, please let me know.

For example, many agencies and many agents will have different rules about what you can submit to them and how, and in many cases those rules are in somewhat arbitrary places, which means that querying authors have to hunt for them, and it's easy to run afoul of them even when you're trying. It's common for some agencies to say that you can't query two agents from the same agency at the same time, but some say that you can't query two agents from them ever--a rejection from one is a rejection from all.

But most agents' Twitter bios/MSWL pages/personal pages/etc. don't say that--which means that authors need to hunt through every individual agency's webpage and then cross-reference against every agent that they have ever queried previously, which can be arduous when many people are querying dozens or hundreds of agents. It also means needing to keep track of things like when agents switch agencies.

There are also no standard expectations for agents to actually respond to queries in any sort of time span, or at all, which complicates the above issue even more. But it also is just (imho) kind of unprofessional to ghost people who are seeking a professional relationship with you, when you have explicitly asked them to reach out to you seeking that professional relationship.

And to make that worse, many agents don't say whether or not they respond to all queries, meaning that authors are often left wondering if a 6-month or longer wait is a "no" or an "I haven't gotten to this yet but will definitely respond to you."

There are more issues that I could cite, but my overall point in this is that authors have no recourse here. There's not authors' union, no way to go on strike until agents change what they're doing.

And some agents are really awesome about this! But enough are not, and authors don't really know what they're going to get when they query someone.

So all of this is to say that, if you are an agent, here are some fairly easy changes I would love for you to make to your own behavior to make querying a little bit less of a nightmarish hellscape for authors (and thank you so much if you already do some or all of these):

Respond to every query that you receive

Tell people your general response times and be communicative if that changes. It's okay if it regularly takes you six months! Just tell us it regularly takes you six months, so we're not left wondering if we've been ghosted at four months

Outline all submission guidelines on Query Manager or where you accept queries, including things like a) rules about whether a rejection from one is a rejection from all, b) length expectations for things like synopses (I've seen a range), and c) any other expectations you have (e.g., you require trigger warnings). Don't make people hunt through 2-4 websites to find what you want

Stop asking or at least strongly rethink how you ask about Own Voices or why an author feels like they are qualified to write about a marginalized identity--I understand the impulse, but nobody should be expected to disclose medical or other personal information like that in a professional setting

Also, just to say (other than please don't reject my query because of this post), agents: authors really do appreciate the work you all do. I want someone to work with to get published, because I am very well aware that I am not the expert in this situation.

And again, please tell me if I got anything wrong or misrepresented anything.

[wanderingsoul6261]

Gif credit goes to entertainmentgirl80

Tyler Owens x Reader

Additional Note: scenes in this are improvised and aren't true to scenes in the movie (was at work when I wrote one half of it so I had to improvise. )

Would prefer if Minors DNI with this one, but nothing explicit happens, so just read at one's own discretion.

Warning: swear words, pretend sex, implied sex, let me know if i missed anything(although I'm willing to make the sex scene between the reader and Tyler if people are interested- if I added it into this it would have turned into a 3 part instead of a 2 part fic) - still very long so it probably should have been a 3 part regardless, but take it

Y/N was sitting on her bed, a book in her lap when a knock sounded at her door. She perked up, knowing exactly who it was before he walked through the door. She glanced at him as he let himself inside,their eyes catching each other's gazes as he shut the door behind him.

His eyes moved down as she closed her book, setting it on the nightstand next to her.

“Good book?”

“It's a book about lobotomies. So yes.” He raised an eyebrow in what looked to be concern as he walked further into the room. Y/N let out a laugh, a full belly laugh as she reassured him.

“I'm joking. It's a western. Not too bad.” She said, slipping out of the bed. His eyes roamed over her body, before he looked at her face, catching her staring at him with a smirk.

“Would you like a drink?” She asked, moving to the fridge that resided in the room. His eyes took in the little space that she was temporarily calling her own, her bed was slightly unmade, pillows in an unorganized heap. Her suitcase was tucked underneath the bed, but a neat pile of what he assumed to be dirty clothes sat in a pop up hamper sat near the bathroom, ready to be cleaned in the downstairs laundromat.

“Whatcha got?” he asked, finally moving his gaze back to her. Tyler watched as she looked into the fridge, clicked her tongue and turned to look back at him.

“Budweiser is all I got.” she said, cracking a smile. “Not really much for choices.” Tyler shook his head.

“That is okay. But, yea. I’ll take one.” He said. Y/N nodded, turning back around and grabbing two, lifting her shirt in her hand to twist the cap off of both bottles. Tyler caught a glimpse of her body underneath the shirt, his throat going dry as he thanked her for the drink.

“Just so we are on the same page.” Y/N started, moving to her side of the bed once again. “We aren’t doing anything frisky tonight.” She looked up at Tyler as he took a swig from his drink. “There is a bag by the front door for empties. Help yourself to more if you’d like.” she said, and he nodded in acknowledgement. Y/N was silent for a few moments as the stood stared at each other, taking each other in as they stood before each other. Their eyes moved over each other, trying to read the other person. There was something there, both could feel it, and Y/N was tired of waiting, and something in her also told her that Tyler likely felt the same way.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I liked you Tyler. I don’t want things to just be a fling when the season is over.” Tyler nodded, taking a few steps towards the bed. “And we don’t have to talk a lot about it tonight, but I do want to get to you better, if that’s okay.”

Tyler nodded.

“Yea, that’s fine, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

“Great. But, everyone probably didn’t see you come up here. Someone probably did though, so we have to make things look convincing in case someone walks in uninvited-”

“They do that?” he asked. She gave him a look that told him not to ask and he only held a hand up in understanding. “Got it. Anyways, go on.”

“Strip.” Tyler nearly choked on his beer at the order, looking at Y/N as she tried to withhold laughter.

“Pardon?”

“Just to your boxers.” She explained. “I’ll replace my shirt with your flannel, it looks more intimate that way. And then I’ll take just my shorts off.”

“You’ve really thought about this darlin’.”

“Possibly.” She cracked a smile, watching him as he started to unbutton his shirt. Tyler couldn’t help but smile back at her, the grin on her face was highly infectious. He was becoming hypnotized by her and everything that was her. Once his flannel was off, he tossed it in her direction, watching as she caught it effortlessly, setting it on the bed as she turned her body slightly, starting to take her tank top off. As she slipped it off her body, and Tyler watched as she did so, he saw that she wasn’t wearing a bra, his eyes on her backside as he slipped off his pants, dropping them carelessly on the floor of the motel.

At the sound, she turned her head slightly to look at him.

“Is this okay?” She asked, her eyes catching Tyler’s gaze. His heart thudded against his chest. He was okay with it, but the thought of her making sure it was okay with it caused his stomach to flip with butterflies. Most other women would have already tried to throw themselves at him, which is what already made Y/N different from the others. She was committed. She wanted this just as much as Tyler realized he wanted it.

“Yea.” His voice came out hoarse, followed by a raised eyebrow of amusement from Y/N. “It’s okay.” He spoke softly, crawling into the bed, setting his beer on the nightstand. Tyler watched as Y/N finished changing, buttoning up two buttons in the middle of his flannel and pulling her shorts off, tossing them across the bed to settle on the floor not far from his pants.

Tyler enjoyed the sight of his flannel over her body, falling about mid thigh, giving him much to think about.

He watched as she crawled into the bed next to him, shoulders brushing each other’s as Y/N turned on the dingy and very old tv, putting some old reruns of “That 70s Show”. As the two got comfortable, sitting in silence and spending a little bit watching the tv show, Tyler watched from the corner of his eyes as Y/N grinned, turning to him.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours darlin’?” He turned his attention from the tv and to her, trying not to let his wander to her cleavage, trying to remain polite.

“What to know what would really give them the impression that we fucked?” she asked. He let out a hum, his eyes drifted briefly to her lips before back to her eyes.

“What’s that?”

“We make sex noises, rock the bed so it hits the wall.” She tried to suppress a laugh as Tyler’s grin grew to match hers.

“God I fucking love that brain of yours.” He said. She blushed at the compliment, her cheeks and ears becoming a shade of red. “But we should also throw in some dirty talk. Y’know. That will really sell it.”

“Okay. Okay. Yes. Good thinking.” Y/N nodded, agreeing. “Who goes first?”

“Ladies first.” Tyler motioned for her to begin. Y/N started giggling, finding the idea funny, watching as Tyler also started to suppress a laugh.

Turning her head away from him, she composed herself, then let out a moan.

“Fuck Tyler. Yes, just like that.” She watched as Tyler smacked his hands against his thighs, imitating the sounds of skin slapping, before a low groan escaped his throat.

“Fuck, baby. So fuckin’ tight. Takin’ me so well Darlin’.” Y/N let out more moans, grabbing the headboard and rocking it against the well.

“Feel so good, Tyler. Fuck.” Y/N and Tyler looked at each other, trying to stifle their laughter as they continued the little charade. The two continued to groan and moan in between small bouts of laughter. The dirty talk also continued, as Y/N continued to rock the headboard against the bed. The two kept the charade up for about ten minutes.

“This pussy was made for me. Fuck, Y/N. Squeezing me so well. You’re close. I know it. I feel it.So am I Sugar.” His voice was almost guttural at this point, trying to imitate him being close to an actual orgasm.

Y/N moans got higher pitched and Tyler continued to make slapping noises.

“That’s it. Such a good girl, Y/N.” Tyler let out a broken groan, and Y/N let out a moan to match his, until the two finally let out a string of expletives, their fake moans and groans becoming broken as they reached their fake orgasms. The slapping of his hands on his thighs and the pounding of the headboard stopped. The two sat in silence for several moments, before the two broke out into quiet laughter, Y/N turning her head to muffle her laughter into the skin of Tyler’s shoulder and he turned his head to bury his face into her hair, his own laughter muffled by her hair, lips pressed against her head softly.

The two sat in silence once again, pressed slightly closer to each other than what they were previously, having not moved their heads away from each other, eyes back on the tv still playing old reruns. His fingers gently grazed her thigh, and she let him, pushing her thigh closer to his hand. Tyler let his hand move up, hand now settled entirely on her thigh, drawing small shapes.

“We should play 2 truths one lie. But instead of 2 truths, it's 2 lies and one truth.” Y/N finally spoke up, tilting her head slightly to look up at him. His eyes moved down to look down at her, moving to her lips briefly before back to her eyes.

“What are we? Teenagers?”

“Please.” She begged him. Tyler let out a sigh and rolled his eyes.

“Okay. Okay. I'll go first.” Tyler shifted slightly, getting comfortable, his grip tightening slightly on her thigh before it loosened. “Okay. I can't handle spicy foods, I've been storm chasing my entire life, and I had a Shetland pony named Ruger growing up.”

“Easy. You’ve been storm chasing you're entire life.” She said.

“No, actually. I had a Shetland pony growing up. The other two are lies. I can definitely handle spice and I've only been storm chasing since my late teens. Parents wouldn't let me go when I was younger.”

“You and a Shetland pony?”

“Yes. We were inseparable.” Tyler said, Looking down at her. “He was a Christmas gift. Absolutely adored him.”

“Figured you’d be more of a thoroughbred or Quarter horse kind of guy.”

“Nope. Had some, but Ruger was my guy.” He answered. His eyes moved back down to her. “You're turn sugar.”

“Okay. I had a thing for Javi.” She grinned at him, and he rolled his eyes, a small smile still on his face regardless. “ I've been bull riding.” She waited until his eyes moved back to her before she said the final one. Her hand came up to rest on his cheek, his head instinctively leaning down closer to her face. “I really enjoyed the kiss earlier.” His eyes moved back to her lips, before he moved in, his lips pressing against hers for the second time that night.

Tyler's hand moved to her waist, rolling on top of her, body pressed into hers. His hand slipped under his flannel, fingers grazing her stomach. She sucked in a breath, her hands looping around his neck, fingers finding homage in his hair.

Tyler moved away from her lips, trailing kisses down her jaw and towards her neck, biting and sucking on the skin where her neck met her shoulder. Her neck tilted away, giving him more space to work as she caved in to him.

“What do you want, Sugar.” He mumbled against her skin. Her legs spread for him, allowing him to move his hips between her legs. Tyler’s lips grazed her shoulder softly, before he pulled back and looked her in her face. She let out a groan, giving in to him.

“I owe you a ride don’t I?” She asked. Tyler smirked, the image of her wearing his cowboy hat ingrained in his mind.

“Atta girl.” Tyler flipped them over so that he was on his back and she straddled him. Her hands settled on his chest, her hands moving up and down his skin, taking in the feeling of him beneath her.

“I just ask for one thing, Tyler.” She said, Looking down at him, feeling vulnerable, in that moment.

“For you? Anything.” He said.

“No one night flings.”

“No. I'm afraid, after tonight darlin’, you’re stuck with me.”

“Good.”

—----

Y/N stepped out of her motel room, Tyler holding the door open for her before following her out. The two walk side by side, walking towards the stairs that would take them to the ground level. Everyone down below watched as they talked and exchanged laughs, only one of the groups finding solace in the evolution of the two’s relationship.

Their shoulders brushed together and Tyler’s hat was now back upon his head, looking down at Y/N as she spoke.

“I remember the bet from the bar last night. About the winner of the pool game. I am almost certain that you let me win.” She claimed, turning her head to look at him, a smirk on her face, one in which he had returned.

“Not sure I know what you are talking about, Sugar. That’s quite an accusation. But a deal is a deal. You get to choose who goes to what storm.” Tyler stopped her, pinning her to the railing of the second floor.

“Follow us.” Tyler stared at her.

“That’s not what I meant sweetheart.”

“I know. But it’s what I want.” She said. He stared at her for several moments longer before finally nodding.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” His eyes moved past her and landed on the StormPar crew, who couldn’t tear their eyes away from the two. Two of his fingers slipped through a belt loop, pulling her towards him. He dipped his head down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, grinning when they heard the Tornado Wranglers hootin and hollering.

“Still puttin a show on for them?” Y/N laughed against his lips once they pulled away.

“Using your words darlin’.” Tyler pulled away, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. His hand moved from her belt loop and to her waist. “It’s fun riling them up.” He grinned at her, before it turned into a soft smile. “You bought coffee yesterday. I’ll run across the street and get it this time.”

Y/N smiled up at him, a genuine smile, one that lacked mischievous and snark.

“Could get used to that smile of yours.” He murmured softly, taking all of her in.

“You better.” Her hands came up to rest on his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, fingers weaving into his hair as he pulled her against him.

“I don’t know if I can ever get used to kissing these lips of yours though. Each one is its own amazing experience.” Y/N let out a full belly laugh, Tyler pulling away to grin at her.

“Whatever, cowboy.You mentioned a cup of coffee?”

“On it.” He smirked at her and tipped his hat, making his way down the stairs. Y/N watched him go and watched as he interacted with his group, promising them all coffee on him as he walked off. StormPar glared at him as he passed them, politely tipping his hat in their direction.

Y/N finally made her way down the stairs, smiling at Tyler’s group as she walked past them, giving them all a good morning as she walked over to the StormPar vehicles. She held their gazes as they looked at her, most of them giving her a cold shoulder as she attempted to help them get ready for the day.

She tried offering input on weather conditions for each storm and would be better when compared to another. No one wanted to listen. Y/N tried offering help in getting technology and systems ready for the trip, but she was ignored.

“Don’t need to go another round with him?” Someone asked, shouldering past her. Her eyes watched them retreat, and when she turned to look at Javi, he couldn't even meet her gaze. Her throat closed up, and she moved to Lion, climbing into the back seat. Y/N stared at the back of the front passenger seat, the silence in the truck becoming suffocating.

“Owens hasn’t tainted you enough yet? Figured you’d be attached to him like a lovesick puppy after last night.” Scott’s voice reached her ears through the lowered window. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat, trying to drown out the voices outside of the vehicle. Tyler and his group weren't terrible. They were competition though, and apparently it was frowned upon to be fraternizing with them.

Then she decided to make a rash decision, climbing out of the truck and making her way over to the other wrangler’s. Her feet crunched against the gravel on the ground, aware of the eye on her back as she held her head high, her sight focused on Boone, Lilly, and the others, who had all stopped what they were doing to watch her.

“Y/N. Tyler isn’t back with the coffees yet.” Lilly spoke up, catching her attention.

“I figured. I just…I was wondering if you guys would like a tag along.”

“You can have shotgun.” Boone told her. With that being said, Y/N sat with them, waiting for Tyler to return. She shared some laughs with them, in a much better mood than she was when she had walked over. Y/N mainly had taken the opportunity to get to know the group better, learning things that she never had the chance to learn previously.

It wasn’t much longer before Tyler had arrived back to them, his eyes catching the gaze of Y/N. His face turned to StormPar briefly before he finished handing out the coffees to everyone who had wanted one, the last one going to Y/N.

“What’s the issue?” He asked. “Everything okay?” Her gaze moved to the StormPar crew, before back to him. She didn’t have to say anything for him to understand what she was trying to tell him. He stepped closer to where she sat on the tailgate of his truck, hands coming to rest on her thighs, his cup of coffee abandoned next to her.

“Let them stew in it. We aren't breaking the law or anything. They are just a bunch of lonely pansies with nothing else to do.” He said, a finger coming up to tap her nose. “Understood?”

She laughed softly at his words and nodded.

“Understood.”

“Good. Now get your pretty ass up in that shotgun seat.” He helped her down from the tailgate and the two walked over to the passenger side. Tyler opened The door for her, a soft kiss landing on her temple as reassurance for the day, and landed a smack to her ass.

Y/N turned around, seeing him leaning against the open window, a cheeky grin on his face. It was infectious, and she couldn't help the smile she gave back to him.

Her smile faltered slightly, seeing Javi, Kate and Scott staring at them. Tyler turned his head, catching sight if the three and stared for a few seconds before he turned back to her.

“I get Rivera and Carter are your friends, but changes have to be made if they won't.” Y/N nodded as she looked at him.

“I'll talk to them tomorrow. See if we can reach common ground.” Tyler watched as she pulled her phone out, sending Javi a text message stating that, Just telling him he wasn't giving up on StormPar just yet.

“Y'know Sugar. StormPar isn't what you think they are.” Y/n turned her to look at him after pressing send.

“What d'you mean?”

“They feed off the weak. Talking to the victims like they do? The ones that lose their house and everything inside? They are moving in to buy from the victim and turn it around for their own gain.”

“And what are you trying to telling me to do?” She asked quietly. Y/N was surprised when she didn't feel shocked about the revelation. Watching interactions in destroyed towns between StormPar and victims had always left a sour taste in her mouth.

“Sweetheart, I'm not trying to tell you what you should do. You’re smart. I mean, you’re giving me a chance.” He grinned again at her and Y/N smiled, pressing a hand to his face in an attempt to push him away. Tyler only captured that hand in his own, thumbs running along her knuckles.

“What about you and your shirts?” She asked.

“All proceeds from the shirts go to buying food for those who need it after a disaster like an EF5. Yea, it's a little untasteful to sell some in the towns, but we don't keep any of it.” Tyler explained.W"its the difference between us and StormPar. We are in it for the communities. StormPar is in for themselves.” Y/N stared at him in thought, taking it all in. She has seen Lilly, Ben, when he wasn't taking photos, and some of the others passing food out to The people of the damaged communities. It was slowly starting to make sense to her. She turned her head to look back at Tyler, seeing him still staring at her, head tilted slightly.

“Kiss me?” It came out as more of a question than a demand.

“Yes ma'am.” He tipped his head forward, tip of his stetson tilting up slightly as it brushed against her head. Boone made fake gagging noises in the back as Ben climbed in next to him.

Y/N smiled into the kiss, amused at Boone's childish antics. The kiss was gentle and soft, full of promise.

When the two pulled away, Tyler pressed a few more chaste kisses to her lips, before giving her a knee weakening smirk and walked around to get into the driver seat.

“Alright ladies and gentleman. We have a storm to chase.”

—---

Y/N looked over to where Tyler was, currently helping a family find their dog. She watched as he showed genuine concern, reassuring the family, before her head moved to where some of his group members sold shirts and passed out food and water to those who needed it.

They were truly the light at the end of the tunnel, while StormPar seemed to be the preceding darkness, back behind them.

“Y/N!”

Many heads turned at the mention of her name, mostly from the Wranglers as she stopped and watched as Javi ran up to her.

“What's going on?” He asked, coming to a stop in front her.

Tyler paused his search for the dog, watching the two, although he couldn't hear what was being said. His eyes were focused on Y/N as she spoke with her boss.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Riding with the Tornado Wranglers? Of all people?” He asked. as Y/N watched him, she was almost certain he wanted to say something about Tyler, but had held his tongue.

“I obviously didn't feel welcomed with you guys earlier. And Tyler and his crew have been nothing other than welcoming.” Again. He looked like he wanted to say something but bit it back.

“They are only in this all for themselves. I mean, they sell shirts with Owens face on them, for fucks sake.”

“It's for a better cause than StormPar.” She snapped. “Really? Preying off the families that just lost their homes and everything else they own? buying properties for a reasonable margin and then turning it all around to sell for more for your own gain?”

“We are helping these people.”

“Bullshit. Tyler and his crew have a larger foot in the door helping these people. Using proceeds to buy food and water for those that need while you do nothing of the sort.”

“Smart talk coming from the person who killed three of our friends.” Y/N stopped, feeling like she had been slapped across the face. Even Javi released the damage of his words. She took a step back as her reached for her.

“Y/N, I didn't-”

“No.” her shaky voice cut him off as she turned to walk away.

“Y/N. I'm sorry, just please. Let's talk about this.” His voice fading as her ears started pounding, her eyes moving frantically in front of her before catching sight of Tyler. He stood in the middle of a bunch of rubble, his eyes trained solely on her, having watched the conversation turned into an argument. She swallowed thickly, before turning away and running over to Lion, climbing in. The truck roared to life and she spun tires as she left, leaving everyone in the rear view mirror.

—---

Y/N found refuge in her parents barn, now belonging to her brother and his family. All of her storm equipment and tests and everything else in between still existed her, behind closed doors and semi forgotten. Many pieces collected dust, but the most well loved was her little alcove in the back corner.

A small projector lit up the room, casting a video of a Tornado, sound and everything included around the room. She sat in a bean bag, knees pulled to her chest, tears pricking the corner of her eyes threatening to fall as they were trained on the force of nature. When light flooded the small room, she didn’t move.

Silence filled the air between who stood there watching her and Y/N.

“You’re brother said I’d find you here.” her gaze snapped to Tyler’s, not expecting to see them there.

“Tyler, I’m so-” She was cut off. Y/N wanted to apologize for leaving him, but he held up his hand, silencing her. He moved into the small room, squatting down in front of her. Her eyes followed him, the tears finally falling.

“I had always thought your name sounded familiar. Dexter was the one to piece it all together.” He went silent for a few moments. “I’m sorry to hear about your friends. It’s not your fault.”

“It is though.”

“You never expected it to end the way it did.” Tyler brought a hand up to rest on her leg, providing reassurance.

“They didn't have to die.” She whispered.

“No, they didn't. And it sucks. I know it does sweetheart. But it's not your fault. and Rivera had no right to throw it in your face.” He reassured Her. His hands came to rest on her cheeks. “Are you listening to me?” He asked. Y/N nodded, causing him to give her a soft smile. “Good. Now come out and get some food. Your brother said they haven't seen a lot of you in the last few days, and his wife just made a killer feast.” Y/N chuckled at his last sentence, before she stood up, Tyler doing the same. He leaned down and pressed a long Kiss to her lips, the two of them melting into it.

“I'm sorry for leaving and not saying anything.” Y/N mumbled against his lips after They pulled away.

“It's okay Sugar.” He spoke with the same soft tone as her, his hands coming up to wrap around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

Y/N had fallen further in love with Tyler twice that night. The first one being that exact moment, understanding and caring for her in a way no one else but her brother and his wife did.

The second moment was watching as Tyler interacted with her niece and nephew as they all watched a movie. Her niece sat in his lap, her nephew sitting on the couch next to him as he told them stories about storm chasing, getting vocal and overdramatic to add excitement for the two young children.

A smile sat on her face, widening further as she locked eyes with Tyler during one part of his current story. A feeling that no words could have described passed between the two, knowing instantly that no matter what, they were both in it for the long ride.

And as everyone turned in for the night, and Tyler had beaten Y/N to bed, he had his arms open and already waiting for her. She crawled into them, burying her face into his chest as he buried his face into her neck, hands resting on her lower back and tangled into her hair.

Her arms moved to wrap around his torso, fingers drawing shapes into his back.

“Thank you, cowboy.”

“Anything for you, Sugar.” He mumbled against her skin, moving to press a kiss to her temple before the two of them fell asleep.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request the Obey Me brothers reacting to their s/o sending them selfies of them in skimpy outfits or completely nude?

Obey me Brothers + spicy pics from MC

Lucifer

Another tedious meeting that should have been an email. But Lucifer remained professional and stalwart as ever, so as to not embarrass Lord Diavolo.

The only exception he made was for his cellphone. Keeping it on silent, but on the table, as Lucifer had learned in the past if he didn’t check it at least regularly during these meetings it might be too late from when his brothers’ hijinks might ensure. Vering into calamity past hijinks.

He noticed he had a text from [Y/N] and was surprised as they usually never texted him when he was in these meetings. Respecting his work. If they were texting him, Lucifer assumed it was important and opened the text in a reserved manner so as not to draw attention.

When he saw what the text was, however, he had to grip his phone tight to the point of cracking to maintain that composure.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. It seems there is an important matter I must deal with at home. I’ll be back once the matter is taken care of. Thoroughly.”

Mammon

“Mammon-san! Over here!”

“Yes! That’s perfect! Hold that pose!”

“You look amazing Mammon-san!”

The Avatar of Greed grinned roguishly as he was showered with praise. He had to admit, he really was killing this photoshoot.

The photographer took a few more shots before they called for a break and the team moved in to touch him up. Offering him compliments still, along with water. Both of which Mammon drank up. One of the attendants handed him his phone from his dressing room. Giving him a few moments to check it before it was back to work.

He looked at a missed text from [Y/N] and nearly did a spit take of his water. Able to thankfully keep it down, but still coughed in a very un-model like manner at seeing their nearly naked form.

“I uh…I gotta go. We have enough for the magazine right?? Good. Great! Thanks for the opportunity and be sure to call me again!”

Mammon was then out the door fast than anyone could catch him. Including to get his wardrobe outfit off.

“Models….” The photographer muttered as he reset his camera to take shots of the background models in the meantime.

Levi

“On your right! On your right! NO! Your other right!!” Levi shouted into his headset as he tried to lead his team through the maze of undead swarm.

Zombie Zion XX9 had just come out this week and Levi had been grinding non-stop. He barely made time to sleep, much less do anything else, in pursuit of this final battle with the Mother Swarm of zombies (there by defeating the plague and saving the world from the undead at last).

“Guys, we have to get through the door together, otherwise we don’t get the ‘In This Together’ buff! You need to catch up to me! It’s…It’s…ugh! Hold on!” His phone had been buzzing beside him non-stop for the past minute with various texts.

Usually, he would ignore it. But something this persistent typically meant it was important, and what if it was his brothers telling him the house was on fire? He’d have to save his Ruri-chan figures if that was the case.

When he opened the text, Levi’s eyes bugged out and he felt his nose begin to well up with blood as he looked at the picture of [Y/N] in their cosplay panties.

“Levi! Where are you?! We’re getting hammered out here! Levi-!” The connection on his game went dead as the last of his team members died. The screen fading into a black screen of ‘game over’.

“Oh, come on!”

Satan

This anthology that Simeon had recommended to him was thrilling. Truly a masterpiece.

Satan had been absorbed into the new series almost since the first page. Devouring each of the nine books with vigor, much like his little brother did with food. He had forsaken all else, honestly, except reading the past few days. Anxious to find out who the final killer & mastermind behind the protagonist’s plight was, and finally get some answers.

He was nearly at the climax, the big reveal, when his phone started to buzz.

Grumbling that his concentration was broken, Satan picked it up to see who it was. His irksomeness quickly dissolving as he saw [Y/N]’s nearly naked chest in front of him.

He had a choice to make.

Continue reading and get the answers he needed, or put the book down and go to the person clearly in need of him. How was he to choose?

In the end, he put the book down and sprinted off to where [Y/N] was. If the main character could wait 10 years to find out who the killer was, surely Satan could wait a little longer to find out as well.

Asmo

Shopping was one of Asmo’s favorite past times. Going to stores and looking for the perfect item or accessory was like a little treasure hunt to him. Or just perusing the aisles and new merch like one would an art gallery, with the same enthusiasm for beauty. It was a wonderful afternoon. Especially if [Y/N] was with him.

[Y/N] had gone to try on some items that they found while Asmo continued to scan over the racks. His cellphone eventually buzzed, and he fumbled with his iced coffee to get it out of his bag. Seeing a picture of [Y/N] in the dressing room in a super cute bra and panty set with the question :should I get it?:

:OMG yes! 💓🥵🔥🔥: Asmo texted back immediately.

:It looks so good on you! Which dressing room are you in?? I want to see it in person! Should we get matching ones??:

He eventually found [Y/N] and showered them with praise. Insisting that he would buy it for them if they didn’t get it themselves, and offered to buy it in every color as well.

Beel

“98…99…100.”

Beel lifted the weights one final time and put the bar back on the rack. The weights clanking down with a heavy thud with the sheer mass of them. He loved getting a good workout in before he went home.

Heading over to his locker space to get some water and check his phone, Beel saw he had a text from [Y/N]. He opened it and saw the spicy picture they had just sent him. Usually only the 5x Hellfire Spicy noodles were the only spice that could make him drool this much. Clearly he was wrong.

Beel decided to, for once, cut his work out short. He quickly packed his bag and ran home to do some cardio on the way home. Planning to do some more ‘cardio’ when he got there.

He could make up for the missed sets in the morning before school. Since he’d be busy the rest of the night.

Belphie

Belphie yawned and rolled over as he woke up from his nap. His fifth of the day, so it was a pretty short one. Only about an hour this time.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes before reaching for his phone to see what time it was. He was immediately greeted with a text from [Y/N] on the screen. He felt a little bad for missing it while he was a sleep, but by now they had to know that he would get back to them eventually. Belphie opened it and was immediately greeted with something from his dreams.

:Are you still wearing that?: He texted them back.

:Come to my room: He then added. :In the attic. I’m still in bed. So half the work is done😉.:

He waited to hear back from [Y/N] and grinned when he saw them respond with they were on their way.

And his brothers made fun of him for being in bed all the time. With his soft mattress and [Y/N], why would he ever want to leave?

[kimberleyjean]

What did Adam change? (Part 1)

To follow up on my recent reblog about the baby swap, I'm going to take a closer look at Adam where we leave him at the end of S1. Because, by the end of S1, Adam had changed quite a few things... and I'm going to use both the TV show and the book to provide evidence.

To become the Young's real son, I don't think Adam really needed to change all that much. He just says the words to Satan, Satan disappears, and that should be it, right? But no, because Adam goes much further, and I think he does it because he can.

Because Adam has opinions, you see. Opinions on how the world should be and what he wants to happen. Except, unlike Agnes, who needs to write a prophecy and then wait 300 years for her descendant to enact it, Adam can just make it so.

The Other Two Babies

I originally thought about putting all the things Adam changes into a single post, but instead I'm going to make this a short series of posts, because he changes a fair bit. Let's start with where we left off with the baby swap, crack open a copy of the book and discuss the changes for Warlock and Greasy first.

Warlock

Here's some excerpts of Warlock flying home from Megiddo to America (my bolds for emphasis):

It was Sunday afternoon. High over England a 747 droned westwards. In the first-class cabin a boy called Warlock put down his comic and stared out of the window.

...

And now he was going back to the States. There had been some sort of problem with tickets or flights or airport destination-boards or something. It was weird; he was pretty sure his father had meant to go back to England. Warlock liked England. It was a nice country to be an American in.

...

And Warlock flew on to America. He deserved something (after all, you never forget the first friends you ever had, even if you were all a few hours old at the time) and the power that was controlling the fate of all mankind at that precise time was thinking: Well, he's going to America, isn't he? Don't see how you could have anythin' better than going to America. They've got thirty-nine flavors of ice cream there. Maybe even more.

So it's Adam who has sent Warlock back to America, despite Warlock wanting (even, expecting) to be on his way to England. And he's controlling the fate of all mankind.

Greasy

Likewise, he has changes for Greasy Johnson too (the discarded baby who grows up to win prizes for his tropical fish).

The plane was at that point passing right above the Lower Tadfield bedroom of Greasy Johnson, who was aimlessly leafing through a photography magazine that he'd bought merely because it had a rather good picture of a tropical fish on the cover. A few pages below Greasy's listless finger was a spread on American football, and how it was really catching on in Europe. Which was odd… because when the magazine had been printed, those pages had been about photography in desert conditions. It was about to change his life.

Adam is deciding here how to alter Warlock and Greasy's paths. Warlock wants to be back in the UK, but Adam thinks America is better, while Greasy's magazine is changed to American football, which I guess is implying he's going to become an American footballer.

Now, not everyone may be aware, but these parts weren't in the first release of the novel. It only came about later, in the American edition. Apparently the changes were in response to prompting from the American editor, but they got "carried away" making those changes (source).

Season 3 (warning: speculation)

So, do you think this could be relevant for S3? For me personally, the fact that these bits were added later makes me wonder if this was helping to set up for a potential sequel. It's certainly poetic - just like the baby swap that originally involved all three, we are now implying a potential adolescent swap of Greasy, who is interested in American football, and Warlock, who is interested to return to the U.K.

If you've read at all about the hypothetical plot of the proposed written sequel, you'll know that it involved a trip to America, ostensibly to look for a lost Jesus. So, if the next book was originally meant to be about going and finding someone (Jesus?) in America, then Greasy or Warlock could make sense. It would be a switcheroo all over again if Warlock had left for the UK and Greasy for America.

Another alternative is that all three could end up converging in America, since Warlock already lives there and both Adam and Greasy have interests in going there. But if that's the intention, why mention that Warlock wants to be back "home" in the U.K.?

So, those are my possible takes on how this passage can be interpreted. I know there are some theories that either Greasy or Warlock may be the Second Coming. I've also seen a theory now that Adam himself could be a contender (both spawn of Satan and spawn of God - it'd certainly be interesting!). I'm not placing bets on any of these outcomes just yet.

In addition to this passage in the book, we also see some interesting changes made by Adam which are featured more prominently in the show - one's that have implications for the ineffable husbands.

Part 2 coming soon!

Thanks as always to everyone at the @ineffable-detective-agency (including @noneorother, @embracing-the-ineffable, @lookingatacupoftea, @251-dmr, @somehow-a-human, @maufungi, @havemyheartaziraphale, @theastrophysicistnextdoor, @dunkthebiscuit, @komorezuki, & @ghstptats).

[papirouge]

idk how to explain to u guys, but people being homophobic/racist/misogynist/from another religion or voting for the "wrong" party isn't an excuse to gloss over the atrocity of sending them rocket and cutting them food & electricity.

you're welcome.

[bmpmp3]

sorry to be a bit of a hater but i do wish youtubers weren't so scared of making their videos just like, "reviews", whys everything gotta be a "video essay" all the time. every day my recommendations are filled with 40 minute videos titled "_____: An Underrated Masterpiece" where the first like five minutes are reading the wikipedia definition of "masterpiece" in a somber voice with dramatic themed text on screen. please just tell me how good or bad you think something is and use the rest of the runtime to explain why. you dont need to put on all these airs

[slimslamflimflam]

Wait if all the journal 3 pages were restored after Weirdmageddon why does Bill’s book insist there were still missing pages that just conveniently happened to pertain to his incredibly sad backstory and concepts brought up earlier in that same book

[63choux]

Two absolute dumbasses 🩸🗡️

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

About a month ago my new coworker told me he didn't like LoK (that's fine). When I asked why he said it reminded him too much of The Last of Us 2. And I was like ??????? HuH???? So I asked him to elaborate, and due to time constraints (and maybe him just....refusing to really elaborate????) the most I could get out of him was "Korra/Ellie choosing not to kill Kuvira/Abby at the end" and that was "bad."

AND THAT'S IT! Nothing else, no expansion. So I have to tell y'all, my ass hasn't been ok since. It's keeping me up at night. I'm trying to figure out what he means. Cause the math ain't mathing lemme tell you. I think it's all bullshit TT0TT Like this man had a vision, but god does he need some fucking glasses.

I haven't been this inside my own head since I was debating with air about P5. TT0TT

[urfriendlywriter]

How to write angst ?

@urfriendlywriter | req by @everynowandthenihaveacrisis @aidyaiden :)

know your character. from their deepest fears to what they cherish the most. know your deepest fear, ask yourself how you will react and feel at that moment. "oh shit, if this happened to me I'll lose my mind" what's that type of scenario for you? write it. :)

decide on the type of angst you are going for!

major, minor, physical, emotional, paranormal, spiritual, verbal, abusive, quarrel, misunderstanding, etc.

and then, decide on--what reaction you can take out of your character by doing what to them.

are they gonna be, held at a gunpoint to give something up? or have their soul wrecked by whom they thought were close to them? or is it going be horror, or etctec, decide on it.

moving on to actually writing it-

Tip 1 - Use sensory details.

her eyes brimmed with tears

his chest heaved

pain clawed at his heart, as his face twisted with hurt

his scream pierced my heart

her lips quivered

she dug her nails into her palms (to distract herself, to stop it from shaking, etc)

show what is happening to ur MC, instead of telling it.

Tip 2 - how to actually write it.

If they're panicking, make them notice too many things at once, show every detail that they're seeing, feeling, from touch, to that burning sensation on their eyes, the blood on the ground, that dryness of their throat, the buzzing in their head and their parted lips unable to trust their own sight, and--and, boom! have them register that they're really really in trouble. and that they've to act fast.

use short, very minimal type of writing for this. make it long, but not long enough that it feels like it's being dragged.

the readers should hold themselves back from skimming the page out of curiousity, they should be in their toes to find out what happens next.

what does your MC do in times of panic? do they chant calm down to themselves, do they get angry, or start crying.. or?? what makes your character genuinely feel an emotion so hard that they'll burst?

there's always something, someone that'll always give them love and easily can be that something or someone to take it away. yk.

Tip 3 - crying.

what is close to your character that u can deprive them of? will it make them cry? beg for it?

what will make ur character cry so hard, that their scream fills everyone's ear, stays in their minds like ghosts and always haunts them?

make a character who never cries, burst out with tears.

while writing crying, focus on the 5 senses, one after the other.

focus it on their breath, make them run out of breath, gasp for air, feel like they're being choked, cry so scrutinizingly. it shud punch the reader's gut.

have them replay what had just happened over and over again in their head

best books and writing styles (for angst) to analyse and learn from (in my opinion);

3rd book in the AGGTM series (yk it hit hard like a truck. it got me depressed in bed the entire time lmao)

Five Survive by Holly Jackson. The moments of red outside of the truck, and moments leading to it.

there's this book called " Warm by @untalentedwriter127 " in wattpad. the author served angst for breakfast, lunch anddd dinner.

and if there's more angsty ones, drop em in the comments! :)

Hope this helps, tag me when yall write a masterpiece! ;)

[derinwrites]

The Three Commandments

The thing about writing is this: you gotta start in medias res, to hook your readers with action immediately. But readers aren’t invested in people they know nothing about, so start with a framing scene that instead describes the characters and the stakes. But those scenes are boring, so cut straight to the action, after opening with a clever quip, but open in the style of the story, and try not to be too clever in the opener, it looks tacky. One shouldn’t use too many dialogue tags, it’s distracting; but you can use ‘said’ a lot, because ‘said’ is invisible, but don’t use ‘said’ too much because it’s boring and uninformative – make sure to vary your dialogue tags to be as descriptive as possible, except don’t do that because it’s distracting, and instead rely mostly on ‘said’ and only use others when you need them. But don’t use ‘said’ too often; you should avoid dialogue tags as much as you possibly can and indicate speakers through describing their reactions. But don’t do that, it’s distracting.

Having a viewpoint character describe themselves is amateurish, so avoid that. But also be sure to describe your viewpoint character so that the reader can picture them. And include a lot of introspection, so we can see their mindset, but don’t include too much introspection, because it’s boring and takes away from the action and really bogs down the story, but also remember to include plenty of introspection so your character doesn’t feel like a robot. And adverbs are great action descriptors; you should have a lot of them, but don’t use a lot of adverbs; they’re amateurish and bog down the story. And

The reason new writers are bombarded with so much outright contradictory writing advice is that these tips are conditional. It depends on your style, your genre, your audience, your level of skill, and what problems in your writing you’re trying to fix. Which is why, when I’m writing, I tend to focus on what I call my Three Commandments of Writing. These are the overall rules; before accepting any writing advice, I check whether it reinforces one of these rules or not. If not, I ditch it.

1: Thou Shalt Have Something To Say

What’s your book about?

I don’t mean, describe to me the plot. I mean, why should anybody read this? What’s its thesis? What’s its reason for existence, from the reader’s perspective? People write stories for all kinds of reasons, but things like ‘I just wanted to get it out of my head’ are meaningless from a reader perspective. The greatest piece of writing advice I ever received was you putting words on a page does not obligate anybody to read them. So why are the words there? What point are you trying to make?

The purpose of your story can vary wildly. Usually, you’ll be exploring some kind of thesis, especially if you write genre fiction. Curse Words, for example, is an exploration of self-perpetuating power structures and how aiming for short-term stability and safety can cause long-term problems, as well as the responsibilities of an agitator when seeking to do the necessary work of dismantling those power structures. Most of the things in Curse Words eventually fold back into exploring this question. Alternately, you might just have a really cool idea for a society or alien species or something and want to show it off (note: it can be VERY VERY HARD to carry a story on a ‘cool original concept’ by itself. You think your sky society where they fly above the clouds and have no rainfall and have to harvest water from the clouds below is a cool enough idea to carry a story: You’re almost certainly wrong. These cool concept stories work best when they are either very short, or working in conjunction with exploring a theme). You might be writing a mystery series where each story is a standalone mystery and the point is to present a puzzle and solve a fun mystery each book. Maybe you’re just here to make the reader laugh, and will throw in anything you can find that’ll act as framing for better jokes. In some genres, readers know exactly what they want and have gotten it a hundred times before and want that story again but with different character names – maybe you’re writing one of those. (These stories are popular in romance, pulp fantasy, some action genres, and rather a lot of types of fanfiction).

Whatever the main point of your story is, you should know it by the time you finish the first draft, because you simply cannot write the second draft if you don’t know what the point of the story is. (If you write web serials and are publishing the first draft, you’ll need to figure it out a lot faster.)

Once you know what the point of your story is, you can assess all writing decisions through this lens – does this help or hurt the point of my story?

2: Thou Shalt Respect Thy Reader’s Investment

Readers invest a lot in a story. Sometimes it’s money, if they bought your book, but even if your story is free, they invest time, attention, and emotional investment. The vast majority of your job is making that investment worth it. There are two factors to this – lowering the investment, and increasing the payoff. If you can lower your audience’s suspension of disbelief through consistent characterisation, realistic (for your genre – this may deviate from real realism) worldbuilding, and appropriately foreshadowing and forewarning any unexpected rules of your world. You can lower the amount of effort or attention your audience need to put into getting into your story by writing in a clear manner, using an entertaining tone, and relying on cultural touchpoints they understand already instead of pushing them in the deep end into a completely unfamiliar situation. The lower their initial investment, the easier it is to make the payoff worth it.

Two important notes here: one, not all audiences view investment in the same way. Your average reader views time as a major investment, but readers of long fiction (epic fantasies, web serials, et cetera) often view length as part of the payoff. Brandon Sanderson fans don’t grab his latest book and think “Uuuugh, why does it have to be so looong!” Similarly, some people like being thrown in the deep end and having to put a lot of work into figuring out what the fuck is going on with no onboarding. This is one of science fiction’s main tactics for forcibly immersing you in a future world. So the valuation of what counts as too much investment varies drastically between readers.

Two, it’s not always the best idea to minimise the necessary investment at all costs. Generally, engagement with art asks something of us, and that’s part of the appeal. Minimum-effort books do have their appeal and their place, in the same way that idle games or repetitive sitcoms have their appeal and their place, but the memorable stories, the ones that have staying power and provide real value, are the ones that ask something of the reader. If they’re not investing anything, they have no incentive to engage, and you’re just filling in time. This commandment does not exist to tell you to try to ask nothing of your audience – you should be asking something of your audience. It exists to tell you to respect that investment. Know what you’re asking of your audience, and make sure that the ask is less than the payoff.

The other way to respect the investment is of course to focus on a great payoff. Make those characters socially fascinating, make that sacrifice emotionally rending, make the answer to that mystery intellectually fulfilling. If you can make the investment worth it, they’ll enjoy your story. And if you consistently make their investment worth it, you build trust, and they’ll be willing to invest more next time, which means you can ask more of them and give them an even better payoff. Audience trust is a very precious currency and this is how you build it – be worth their time.

But how do you know what your audience does and doesn’t consider an onerous investment? And how do you know what kinds of payoff they’ll find rewarding? Easy – they self-sort. Part of your job is telling your audience what to expect from you as soon as you can, so that if it’s not for them, they’ll leave, and if it is, they’ll invest and appreciate the return. (“Oh but I want as many people reading my story as possible!” No, you don’t. If you want that, you can write paint-by-numbers common denominator mass appeal fic. What you want is the audience who will enjoy your story; everyone else is a waste of time, and is in fact, detrimental to your success, because if they don’t like your story then they’re likely to be bad marketing. You want these people to bounce off and leave before you disappoint them. Don’t try to trick them into staying around.) Your audience should know, very early on, what kind of an experience they’re in for, what the tone will be, the genre and character(s) they’re going to follow, that sort of thing. The first couple of chapters of Time to Orbit: Unknown, for example, are a micro-example of the sorts of mysteries that Aspen will be dealing with for most of the book, as well as a sample of their character voice, the way they approach problems, and enough of their background, world and behaviour for the reader to decide if this sort of story is for them. We also start the story with some mildly graphic medical stuff, enough physics for the reader to determine the ‘hardness’ of the scifi, and about the level of physical risk that Aspen will be putting themselves at for most of the book. This is all important information for a reader to have.

If you are mindful of the investment your readers are making, mindful of the value of the payoff, and honest with them about both from the start so that they can decide whether the story is for them, you can respect their investment and make sure they have a good time.

3: Thou Shalt Not Make Thy World Less Interesting

This one’s really about payoff, but it’s important enough to be its own commandment. It relates primarily to twists, reveals, worldbuilding, and killing off storylines or characters. One mistake that I see new writers make all the time is that they tank the engagement of their story by introducing a cool fun twist that seems so awesome in the moment and then… is a major letdown, because the implications make the world less interesting.

“It was all a dream” twists often fall into this trap. Contrary to popular opinion, I think these twists can be done extremely well. I’ve seen them done extremely well. The vast majority of the time, they’re very bad. They’re bad because they take an interesting world and make it boring. The same is true of poorly thought out, shocking character deaths – when you kill a character, you kill their potential, and if they’re a character worth killing in a high impact way then this is always a huge sacrifice on your part. Is it worth it? Will it make the story more interesting? Similarly, if your bad guy is going to get up and gloat ‘Aha, your quest was all planned by me, I was working in the shadows to get you to acquire the Mystery Object since I could not! You have fallen into my trap! Now give me the Mystery Object!’, is this a more interesting story than if the protagonist’s journey had actually been their own unmanipulated adventure? It makes your bad guy look clever and can be a cool twist, but does it mean that all those times your protagonist escaped the bad guy’s men by the skin of his teeth, he was being allowed to escape? Are they retroactively less interesting now?

Whether these twists work or not will depend on how you’ve constructed the rest of your story. Do they make your world more or less interesting?

If you have the audience’s trust, it’s permissible to make your world temporarily less interesting. You can kill off the cool guy with the awesome plan, or make it so that the Chosen One wasn’t actually the Chosen One, or even have the main character wake up and find out it was all a dream, and let the reader marinate in disappointment for a little while before you pick it up again and turn things around so that actually, that twist does lead to a more interesting story! But you have to pick it up again. Don’t leave them with the version that’s less interesting than the story you tanked for the twist. The general slop of interest must trend upward, and your sacrifices need to all lead into the more interesting world. Otherwise, your readers will be disappointed, and their experience will be tainted.

Whenever I’m looking at a new piece of writing advice, I view it through these three rules. Is this plot still delivering on the book’s purpose, or have I gone off the rails somewhere and just stared writing random stuff? Does making this character ‘more relateable’ help or hinder that goal? Does this argument with the protagonists’ mother tell the reader anything or lead to any useful payoff; is it respectful of their time? Will starting in medias res give the audience an accurate view of the story and help them decide whether to invest? Does this big twist that challenges all the assumptions we’ve made so far imply a world that is more or less interesting than the world previously implied?

Hopefully these can help you, too.

[valwrote]

PICK YOUR DOMESTIC HUSBAND 🛒

WHICH HUSBAND IS ON THE DOMESTICITY MENU TODAY?

featuring: diluc, alhaitham, zhongli, wriothesley, neuvillette.

synopsis: glimpses into married life with the genshin men.

warnings: implied fem!reader, occasional pet names, ooc (I have a sparse idea how diluc works, mention of "activities" (just mention I can't write smut pls), silly goofy ah loser coded men, mild swearing (damn, heck)

a/n: *stretching my back and crunching my neck.* I'm back from the dead. apologies for the choppy writing. thanks for the support on the other posts, if only I could write 50-page essays thanking everyone. <33 :')) not proofread.

DILUC 🍷

PRODUCT NAME: BREAKFAST AND KISSES IN BED. Diluc always hated the Knights of Favonius… 

He hated how most of them just stand around like buffoons and do not partake in any actual work that involves saving Mondstadt. He wouldn’t admit that he enjoys playing Batman. He hated them all except for one.

One he was willing to forgive all flaws of. "Knight of Favonius…always so inefficient,”  He scoffed at the pathetic sight of the hilichurls trying to dry roast a few knights roped to a wooden stick for their dinner. “Seriously, You’re so right Master Diluc.” Diluc’s head turned so fast at the sound of a new voice. When did you get here? Were you always there and how did he not sense you around?

That’s simply how you always were. A hard worker amidst slackers – he always termed despite Jean trying to explain that others work hard too. Perhaps that’s what caught his attention, honestly, he would never know what did. “G’morning…” He murmured against your skin, head buried in the crook of your neck, your flushed bare back pressed against him. “5 more minutes…” he heard your soft and groggy voice evoking a chuckle from the usually passive man. “Have I ever told you…how beautiful you are?” Diluc muttered against your skin. You smiled and turned around, “You always do. I remember my Dark-Knight Hero crying at the altar.” You pressed a finger against his chest, while he scoffed at the memory. “Don’t remind me about that, Kaeya doesn’t let me live that down…” He sighed, his brother consistently brought up the matter of him crying whenever he was losing an argument. Foul play if you ask anyone. “So…breakfast downstairs or in the bed?” He planted a kiss on your cheek while you hummed out a response, “Bed, you didn’t exactly go easy on me the previous night.” You recalled the events of the passionate night the day before. The honeymoon phase never seemed to end. “I am so sorry–” He panicked,” You're not in pain are you? I promise I’ll be gentle– I knew I should’ve been more considerat–” You stopped him by pressing a kiss against his lips. He groaned at the feeling of your soft lips touching his hands tangling themselves in your hair.

“I’m kidding silly… you should stop taking things so seriously unless you want me to start searching for grey hairs amidst those red locks of yours.” You snickered out seeing him release a breath of relief.

If the Darknight Hero really does exist, he's probably just someone in disguise. When he gets up in the morning to brush his teeth, it's the real him. He was his real him in front of you. People may call him a loser for such vulnerability…he was a loser for you.

ALHAITHAM 🌱

PRODUCT NAME: READING BOOKS OUT LOUD. One would say married to someone like Alhaitham was nothing short of a nightmare. They weren't 100% right. Shrouded beneath the aloof and meticulous personality resided someone who was in complete denial towards being loved. He loves it.

Who was he kidding? Nobody in a million years thought someone could put up with his insufferable personality — said Kaveh, his unpaying tenant. That was until he ran into you during his time as the newly appointed Scribe. You were like a painter, splashing heaps of paint in his 90s black-and-white life. Was eating ice cream always this enjoyable or was it because it was with you? Was the gossip between co-workers always this interesting or was it because it included you?

Why was his heart having an entire Queen’s rock and roll concert talking to you? Was it cardiac arrest or– He almost shuddered at the thought of it being what they called love.

“You’ve got flour on your face, sweetheart.” His teal eyes blinked amusingly into yours, a faint smile curling up his lips. You must have saved a nation in your previous life to land this man as your husband. Beige shirt perfectly sculpting around his abs – contrary to him calling himself “feeble,” hair slightly tousled and slight sleepiness in his eyes. He might not act like it but he was a little child whose needs had to be tended to like the coffee mug in his hands which you made, like usual. You wouldn’t want a cranky Alhaitham now, would you? “Hmpf, not my fault, this cooking book is completely bogus!” You rubbed your cheeks with the back of your hand, wiping away any remaining flour. “This is so boring…if only someone could provide their poor wife with some entertainment.” You always resorted to theatrics to get him to do things for you, albeit begrudgingly. “No, the same tactic is not going to work again.” “Please…” “No…” He groaned, tone almost pleading not to put him through the torture again. “During better or worse!” You resorted to the ace up to your sleeve. WEDDING VOWS! “Stop quoting the wedding vows.” He sighed in defeat. The most intellectually gifted man in the nation couldn't win against his own wife. Ironical. He got up and grabbed a book out of the bookshelf; a small fraction of his much larger library.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Alhaitham lazily flipped through the pages earning a rebuke. “More emotion! You are ruining the scene.” Alhaitham sighed and cleared his throat, “I love you most ardently…” His tone was feathery soft, emotion surging in it. A smile crept up as he stared at you endearingly.

“That’s much better. Though I seriously think Mr Darcy should’ve said– Miss Elizabeth, allow me to kiseth thy lovely lips.” You mimicked the deep voice of the character with the failing British accent. “Please have mercy on Jane Austen’s ghost and let her enjoy the afterlife.” Alhaitham chuckled and continued reading as you continued baking.  It was a shame that a man of such talent only paid attention to the truth itself and not to the people around him. If only the searching eyes of the ordinary say the exception to his indifference, you.

This was your biosphere, just you, him, novels and food encapsulated inside your small home.

ZHONGLI 🪨

PRODUCT NAME: ALWAYS ON HIS MIND. What is the best but the most useless flex you have? Being married to the Geo Archon. The inability to just tell the whole world that you are married to the frigging god was painful. You yourself were surprised by your ability to control yourself. Zhongli was a man of carefully curated words. Instead of words, straight-up poetry flew out of his mouth. Everyone knew how much he adored his wife, every vendor, every acquaintance, heck even Venti. Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's mysterious consultant. Handsome, elegant, and surpassingly learned. Excellent memory. A master of courtesy and rules. The amount of poor women who have tried to grab his attention. "Mr.Zhongli, how does this look?" the woman, who he remembered meeting over a history discussion 17 days ago. "Hm?" his amber eyes shifted to gaze at the hairpiece the lady was holding. "Most exquisite.." He remarked, seemingly going into deep thought. Instead of a compliment, he said something that made the woman back away, "Such beautiful craftsmanship...may I ask you to tell me where you found this? I wish to buy one for my wife–" he paused, seeing the lady vanished after pointing at the shop where she got it from. "Zhongli, you should be able to tell why people approach you..." Hutao sighed, standing beside the rather oblivious gentleman. "Let's just continue...we've got customers to find!" Hutao started walking alongside the railing, hoping to find people in need of funeral services. "Maybe we should go and ask peopl– Zhongli??" Hutao looked around for the Consultant, who was caught up chatting with a shopkeeper over some earrings. "Zhongli!" Hutao called out to him, causing his head to turn towards the director. "Oh, apologies...It seems I got too carried away. These earrings caught my eye...I'm sure [Name} would love them.." he mumbled, staring at the jewellery. "I'll take them." "Mister Zhongli? What about the payment..." The shopkeeper meekly asked, causing Zhongli to turn his head fully at Hutao; gazing expectantly. Hutao should've expected this... "Zhongli, we are out here to find customers! Not buying gifts for [Name], her birthday is months away!" "They say the best things should be done first. After all, why must I wait for one specific day to express my love for my beloved?" Zhongli asked curiously and Hutao shaked her head; love was clearly out of her expertise. Zhongli, he is particular about everything. He only attended the best operas and focused on the perfect ratio for the creation of an authentic dish.  On a typical day, all you will glean from him is a few pieces of useless trivia, because he particularly enjoys sharing these fun tidbits with you. He was particular about you and your likings. A smile on your face was what he wanted by the end of the day. For being someone alive for 6000 years, he could proudly say that he loved and cherished something– someone.

"Wait here, Director Hu...Perhaps I should get those flowers over there to accompany the hairpin and earrings..."

WRIOTHESLEY 🐺

PRODUCT NAME: BATTLE TO BUY A DOG OR NOT.

"Wriothesley, I want a dog!" You crossed your arms, staring down at the Duke who was glued to the chair in his office. “But why? That’s just unnecessary responsibility…” Wriothesley sighed, rubbing his temples. This was the 3rd time this month you’ve brought up this topic. Was he that incompetent in terms of filling his role as your significant other? Perhaps not with the never-ending paperwork. Oh, how he wished people would just stop committing crimes. “I get lonely in the Fortress…I want a child.” You put forth your point by using the term ’ child’. Child, dog same thing. You hoped to finally convince him this time.

“We have Sigewinne.” Wriothesley pointed at the head nurse prepping tea in the room with the back of his pen. “I am sorry, Your Grace but playing the role of the child is out of my job description.” The Melusine replied indifferently, pouring freshly seeped tea into the three cups. “Fine, we will go get one…I’ll schedule a meeting with the owner of the pet shelter. Happy?” He asked you, chin resting on his palm. Perhaps getting a dog was a good idea as he was guilty of being unable to spend quality time with you… “No way…” “Isn’t that..?” “The Duke of the Meropide–” “He rarely appears in public..” Wriothesley held out the door to the shelter for you, hoping you would go in and it would finally save him from the gaze of curious onlookers. The two of you walked in, only to be pounced upon by a big dog. “Kal! You sly dog! I knew I shouldn’t have let you out!” The caretaker yelled at the big ball of black fur who had tackled Wriothesley to the floor and was aggressively licking his face, tail wagging in delight. “Are you okay?” You asked your fallen husband, who just chuckled in response. “I am good just– Okay stop! I understand your gesture of love.” Wriothesley got up as the dog encircled him. “This one is so adorable…” you gasped at the cuteness radiating from the dog and its big brown eyes. “You’ve got a keen eye! This is Kal, Shiloh Shepard, one of the finest dogs out there.” The caretaker combed her fingers through the thick and groomed black coat of the canine. “He seems to have taken a liking to the Duke.” The caretaker continued as the dog ran back to Wriothesley, peppering his face with licks. “He even looks like you.” You teased as Wriothesley stared at you in disbelief. You did not just compare him to a dog…he even did a double take at the dog to confirm. “We will take this one then…” He chuckled in amusement. Never had he imagined marrying you and on top of that getting a four-legged beast. Needless to say, Wriothesley proudly walked out of the shelter, holding the big dog in his hands like a child. It felt complete ever since getting Kal; like your own little family. Wriothesley wouldn’t admit it but he loved the dog, despite it hogging all of your love and attention. He didn’t expect to be fighting over cuddling rights with a dog!? 

He watched you and Kal sleep peacefully on the couch, keeping him company while he finished up his work. He felt a sense of gratitude…people of the Fortress knew little of the crime he once committed. The only one who still remembers it like yesterday is Wriothesley himself. And no matter how much glory or repute he has earned, he still considers himself to be the same old Wriothesley he's always known.Neither a good person nor a complete villain. He's just another soul, still living on in this world. However, your eyes always reassured him in ways he couldn’t describe. Everything was perfect…

[Name]!! YOURDAMN DOG PISSED ON MY COAT!! Maybe not that perfect…whoops.

NEUVILLETTE 🌊

PRODUCT NAME: HELPING THE OTHER DRESS.

Monsieur Neuvillette, The Iudex of Fontaine, always wondered how his life had come to this. 500 years of serving his position as the Beacon of Justice, a lovely, beaming baker somehow broke the monotony. Well, calling you just a baker was now an insult. With your ring finger bejewelled, with one of the rarest gems– an ode to his undying loyalty and representation of his eternal love. “It’s astounding how a covert mission conducted by melusines could’ve landed someone such as myself a lady like her…” He muttered to himself, seeing his full form in the mirror. “Talking to yourself, again?” You leaned against the door frame, lopsidedly smiling at the peculiar antics of Fontaine’s most distinguished man. “Ah, apologies…I didn’t think you would notice me conversing with myself. Now I find myself in a rather awkward predicament.” He chuckled. Dear god, this man was so beautiful that his beauty was almost blinding with the morning sun perfectly hitting his face.

“Say ah,” You requested and he complied. Who better to take constructive criticism from other than your husband? “New filling?” He covered his mouth while chewing on the croissant. “Yup, how is it? I was experimenting with some Rainbow Roses and these Inazuman berries I bought.” You blinked curiously, waiting for some input. “Hmm it is very pleasant, it is fascinating how you manage to maintain the freshness of the fruit…” You smiled at his compliment, before noticing him struggling with the jabot around his neck. “Need help?” You offered and he nodded his head. “This is absurd..it usually isn’t this difficult.” He frustrated replied, it was amusing to see the cool and collected man all worked up about clothing. “I suggest simplifying your outfit.” You attached the jabot and secured it in with the teardrop brooch, fixing the ruffles. 

“Thank you. I do prefer my outfit as it conveys the message I wish for it to convey.” He explained before staring at you. You knew that look, he looked at you with his eyebrows slightly creased when he was hesitating from saying something. “What is it?” “Do I get a goodbye kiss before I leave?” “Pfft! I didn’t think you would take that seriously!” Conclusion: this man was wayyy to cute.

Neuvillette is a solitary person. Neuvillette is not known for his personal desires.

He was deemed as someone with unassailable impartiality. If only they knew that perhaps the Iudex was just a wee bit biased.

a/n 2.0: the crust will come off...hopefully. i wonder if it's possible to guess which one of them is my favourite??

don't steal, copy, plagiarise, or translate.

©definitelysel

[vipgyu]

nice boys don’t kiss like that.

summary — when your former rival chances upon your diary and reads all the unpleasant things you’ve written about him, he takes it upon himself to change your mind.

pairing — kim mingyu x fem!reader genres — fluff, suggestive; rivals to lovers, developing relationship word count — 3.3k

warnings — profanity, making out, suggestive innuendos & jokes, i would probably rate this 16+ author’s note — this fic is inspired by this scene from bridget jones’s diary. thanks for reading!

It is on a twilit Saturday evening, at precisely 7:01 P.M, that Kim Mingyu is accosted by a notebook for the first time in his life.

He lets out a startled grunt and finds himself with an armful of things—a denim jacket, a crumpled grocery shopping list, an empty box of Tic Tacs, a woollen beanie with a questionable brown stain he thinks is ketchup; all presumably from whatever depths of your drawer he can see you hunched over, searching for something that remains stubbornly elusive. The offensive projectile whizzes past his shoulder and lands on the polished wooden floor with a thud.

Mingyu stands at the doorway to your bedroom, having bypassed the living room and hallway that leads to the kitchen in favour of pressing heated kisses to your cheeks and collarbones. He watches you, bemused. A few weeks ago, he might’ve laughed at your frazzled state with derision. Now, he still wants to laugh, but more in an affectionate way.

You turn around swiftly, nearly tripping on a stray stocking on the floor, and he bites back a smile when you mumble a string of curse words under your breath. 

“Hi,” you say, chest heaving. “I’m really sorry.”

Then you slam the door shut on his face.

Well, Mingyu thinks. This is the first time a girl’s closed the door when I’m in her apartment.

Faced with nothing else to do except wait for your arrival, he drops the Tic Tac box on the floor, hangs your jacket and beanie on the back of the sofa, and almost stubs his toe on the corner of the notebook.

Wincing at the close call, Mingyu glares at the book like it’s the cause of all his troubles. DIARY, it reads, embossed in ornate gold letters. The cover is a rich shade of red, rough and leather-bound. He picks it up; it’s rather heavy, and judging by the frayed corners and the random bits of paper poking out of the sides, it seems to be quite old too. Regardless, it is well-cherished—he knows this because he knows you, and you’re the kind of person who wears your heart on your sleeve.

Which is why he knows opening it is a bad idea. 

Mingyu shrugs and places the book on the coffee table, taking a seat on the plush, olive green sofa opposite it. He leans his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers under his chin. From the inside of your room, he can hear muffled screaming—should he be worried? The screaming stops. Mingyu lets his tense shoulders relax.

His eyes zero in on your diary once more. He shouldn’t open it—he really, really shouldn’t. It would be a horrible breach of your privacy. Your trust in him would be broken forever, and even if he somehow manages to win it back, it will always be a stain in the fabric of your still-developing relationship.

But.

One tiny peek can’t hurt, right? He’s only waiting for you to come out of your room, after all. Just one little look, and then he’ll close the book immediately. It can’t possibly hurt. Curiosity is both a blessing and a vice, he figures, and since he’s already stacked up on vices, there is no harm in adding to his karmic points.

So he picks up your diary and flips to a random page, freezing momentarily when he hears an irritated grunt and the sound of something hitting the floor from inside your room. Your handwriting is a lot messier than it usually is; you probably save your best penmanship for official things, and your personal diary is not one of them. That, or you were just frustrated.

12th June

I fucking hate Kim Mingyu. I hope I never have to see him and his stupid handsome obnoxious face EVER AGAIN. I’m so DONE with him.

Mingyu’s cheeks prickle with heat. He’s thoroughly invested now. He turns to another page.

14th June

Ran into KMG again today. He spilled coffee all over me what else is new but. he actually apologised!!! Crazy. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, my new blouse is ruined so fuck him.

The strangest thing is that Mingyu actually remembers that day vividly. You were wearing a gorgeous cream-coloured blouse, and he was so caught up in staring at you talking animatedly with your supervisor that he zoned out completely and accidentally spilled his coffee on you because he tripped over his shoelaces. Now, knowing that your blouse was new at the time brings up a slight twinge of guilt. He’ll ask you about it later.

22nd June

KMG is actually…… kinda nice? He supported me in the meeting today with the clients when they were being so tiresome. He has a nice smile I guess.

Mingyu smiles widely. 

23rd June

Nevermind. I take back everything I said. Kim Mingyu is a prat with zero social skills. I mean, would it kill him to say hello back??? I get that he’s busy but i thought we’d made progress. One thing is for sure. Kim Mingyu is NOT nice. Not even a little bit.

His smile falters.

The next page contains a similar anecdote—something about how he always vehemently disagrees with everything you say, and how despite his good looks he was a complete and utter asshole. Further investigation reveals the same thing: you hate Kim Mingyu with a burning passion.

And… Well, he couldn’t lie and say the feeling wasn’t mutual at one point in time—but it has mellowed down since then, gently and slowly, like a fallen leaf being carried by a soft wind. There came a day where Mingyu found himself glaring at you, not with disdain in his eyes, but with a steady thrum in his chest where his heart lay. Later, he would realise that he didn’t hate you—not even a little bit.

He assumed you felt the same way. Why else would your smirks, so full of malice, melt into grins that could light up a whole town? Why else would you agree to go on a date with him when he asked you out, one day, after work, tripping over his words like an elementary schoolboy? Why else would you invite him home and ask him to spend the night?

Of course, it doesn’t explain why you’ve locked yourself up in your bedroom currently (frankly, he’s a bit befuddled about that). But the sentiment must still be there.

It’s a diary, he reasons. 

It’s your diary, his brain screams back, and that’s the real issue here, isn’t it?

Diaries are full of crap, anyway, he thinks to himself.

Diaries contain the Real Thoughts And Emotions of a human being, his brain hollers back.

Mind swirling, Mingyu closes the book and places it back on the coffee table, barely aware of his movements. Have you been lying to him? No, there’s absolutely no way—he trusts you far more than that, and besides, what would you even lie to him about? There are no benefits to stringing him along, and you’re not the kind of person who would do something like that, anyway.

You must have had a change of heart, then. That’s the only conclusion he can think of. Your diary entries come to a standstill after 27th June, which means you haven’t opened it in a while. It’s also around the same time you stopped picking fights with each other. Something must have changed by then; Mingyu is glad it did.

Satisfied with his deduction, Mingyu stuffs his hands in his pockets and crosses his ankles together. Behind your bedroom door, you remain suspiciously silent. He considers knocking on the door once to make sure you’re okay—or if you need any help, because staying put inside your room for over twenty minutes is certainly not normal when you have a guest and potential boyfriend over. 

Almost as if you’ve heard his thoughts, the door to your room swings open. You stand at the doorway, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, quickly standing up. “Everything good?”

You beam at him. “Perfect. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I—”

Your gaze drops to the coffee table, landing on your diary. Mingyu keeps his gaze fixed on you. You look back at him, lips parted. 

“Um,” you begin. “It’s— It’s just a diary.”

“Clearly.” Mingyu fights back a smile.

You chew your bottom lip nervously. “Did you read it?”

“I did,” he confirms, nodding. “I’m sorry. I was just curious—”

You groan, lifting your hands and covering your face with your palms. “Fuck.”

Mingyu reaches out and encircles your wrists with his fingers, gently tugging your hands away from your face. He finds it oddly endearing. “It’s only a diary. I’m sorry I read it. I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t care about that. You… you probably read all the horrible, mean things I wrote about you.”

“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “some of the entries were definitely… interesting.”

You blink. Unable to help himself, Mingyu drops a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you tell him.

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Mhm.”

“Mingyu.”

“I’ll tell you what I think about your diary later, ‘kay?” he says, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. “Come with me.”

“What? Where?” Confusion paints your features.

Mingyu huffs out a laugh. “Just trust me.”

Mingyu places the brand-new diary he’d bought for you on the dining table with a flourish. “D’you have a pen?”

You eye him suspiciously, gaze darting between him and the new, dark green notebook on the table. He grins, carefree and indulgent. Still wary, you hand him a blue ballpoint pen from the pen stand placed above the drawers to the left. He hums and uncaps it.

Flipping open the book to the first page, he bends down and writes slowly.

This book belongs to Kim Mingyu and

Mingyu stops writing and holds the pen out expectantly to you. “Here. Write your name.”

Confused, but curious, you oblige. Your name, written in your handwriting, next to his own semi-legible scrawl, makes a warm, affectionate feeling bubble up inside his chest. He wonders what it would look like when both your names are signed next to each other on a marriage certificate. Then, he wonders when and where your wedding would take place. A summer wedding sounds nice, but the sweltering heat might be a bit of a problem. Winter weddings are beautiful for sure, but neither of you is a big fan of the cold.

He’s in the process of thinking of names for your children and pet dog when you break him out of his daze. 

“Hey. What’s all this about, hm?” You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours.

Mingyu says, “It’s a diary, but for both of us.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. He swings an arm over your shoulder and draws you closer to him, smiling when flyaway strands of your hair tickle his cheek. 

“In your old diary, it was pretty obvious you, uh, didn’t like me much,” he explains, holding up his free hand when you open your mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. We were assholes to each other most of the time. But we’ve moved past that. At least, I hope we have.”

Your reply is instantaneous. “Of course. Of course, we have.”

Mingyu trails his fingers absent-mindedly over your arm. “Right. And… It’s kind of silly, I guess—I don’t know—but I thought—if we kept a new diary together, one that we could use to document our journey, with both our perspectives in the same place—I thought it would be nice.”

Your mouth parts and you look at him, an indiscernible expression on your face. He shifts from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly nervous. You don’t betray any hint of emotion on your face, but Mingyu’s heart hammers inside his chest. What if you think he’s being silly and overly sentimental? What if you find the idea ridiculous?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he quickly backtracks. “I know we’ve only just moved past the idea of being more than friends, but—” He stops himself.

“But…?” you gently prompt him, twisting around to see him better.

Mingyu swallows. “But I can’t imagine not being with you.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, and in the next moment, the breath is knocked out of his lungs when you throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a tight, rib-squeezing hug.  Automatically, his arms circle your waist, and he presses a light, barely-there kiss to the junction of your neck and jaw. 

Eyes shining happily, you pull back slightly with a wide grin on your face. “You’re so hopelessly romantic, it makes my chest hurt.”

“Consider this your trial run. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He sighs, content. “Okay, I won’t.”

“What should our first diary entry be about?” you ask, loosening your hold on him.

“About how you ditched me inside your house for almost half an hour after you invited me over.” He’s only half-joking.

You look away, embarrassed and sheepish. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I’m being serious, Mingyu.”

“So you’ve said,” he agrees breezily.

“Actually,” you begin, a tad shy, “I was thinking it could be about this—about how you bought us a diary and then kissed me in front of the dining table after we christened the book.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen, but before he can get a word in edgewise, your lips are already centimetres away from his. “May I?” you whisper.

“Yeah. ‘Course,” he murmurs back.

The kiss makes him feel dizzy, like he’s had one too many bottles of soda—fizzy and light-headed. Your lips are soft, mouth warm; you taste like chocolate, and he licks into your mouth desperately. His fingers dig into your waist, bunching up the material of your t-shirt, and you run your hand through his hair, tugging gently. He’s kissed you before, of course, but something about this time feels important, a core memory sort of thing. Later that night, he’ll sit beside you on your bed and watch as you write in your shared diary, and he’ll make fun of the way you chew on your pen cap when you’re thinking of what to write next and you’ll shut him up with a kiss.

But for now, he indulges himself whole-heartedly. You let out little gasps which he swallows with his mouth. He tilts his head and kisses you deeper. Only when his lungs are burning does he pull away, and even then, not without a parting peck to the space in between your eyebrows.

“Mingyu,” you say, breathless. 

“Yeah?” he responds, unable to tear his gaze off of your kiss-bitten lips.

“I really am sorry about what I wrote about you,” you apologise, looking down once and then back at him. “It’s only a diary—everyone knows diaries are full of crap.”

“I know.” Mingyu smiles tenderly. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I would be, if I was in your place.”

His eyes dart back to meet yours, and he grimaces. “If you really think about it, I’m the one who should be apologising, not you. I shouldn’t have read your diary, no matter how curious I was.”

“I… don’t really care about that, weirdly enough,” you say thoughtfully. “I was more worried about the fact that you thought I hated you and you were gonna leave me. Not so much about you reading the diary itself.”

“Pfft,” Mingyu says, affectionately condescending. “If I left you, where would I go?”

Your mouth parts as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “Jesus. How do you say things like that unironically?”

“I could compose whole sonnets about you and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s ironic, I hope.”

He tilts his head and pulls you close. “Only one way to find out.”

When he captures your lips with his this time, it’s with colliding bodies and biting teeth. He runs his tongue across your bottom lip, and you shudder in his arms, moaning. Somehow, you stumble back into the living room, a mess of tangled limbs.

Briefly pulling away, Mingyu sits down on the same sofa he’d occupied earlier and clumsily pulls you onto his lap. You brace your hands on his shoulders for support, lifting your head up when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you gasp, eyes falling shut.

He hums against your skin. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

“I was—ah—it’s embarrassing.”

Mingyu stops his movements. “I won’t judge you.”

“I know,” you say, teeth worrying your lower lip. “I’ll tell you someday.”

When you purse your lips, ready for him to kiss you again, Mingyu lets out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart.”

“What?” 

“I think I need to correct some of your… perceptions of me,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m sorry about your blouse,” he whispers. “You looked really pretty wearing it, you know. Got distracted. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“Mingyu, I don’t know what you’re talking—” You gasp when he kisses the column of your throat.

“I’m sorry for being obnoxious,” he continues, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the pulse point on your neck. “But I’m not sorry you think I’m handsome.”

“Only your face,” you mutter, but you tug on his hair to get him to tilt his head up. When he does, you kiss him again, your hands warm and placed on the junctions where his neck meets his shoulders. 

“I’ll support you in more than just meetings,” he says, pulling back. His breath ghosts over your lips, prompting a shiver to pass through your body. Your eyes widen when you finally, finally realise what he’s talking about. “I’ll tell those stupid clients to shut up and take it.”

You laugh, bright and happy, and Mingyu wants to bottle the sound up greedily. “That sounds kinda wrong,” you say.

He shrugs, his smile turning lopsided. “I’m sorry for ignoring you when you said hi to me. I won’t do it ever again.”

You laugh again, teeth flashing in the warm glow of the living room lights.

There’s an odd feeling in Mingyu’s chest—something warm and golden—something he can only describe as being terribly, hopelessly lovesick for you.

He whispers your name again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

You groan again, your previous amusement turning into embarrassment. Your next words are muffled by his shoulder, your lips warm against his clavicle as you mumble something only you can understand.

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you,” Mingyu says mischievously.

 Another sound of mortification.

“I won’t laugh,” he says. “Promise.”

“Underwear,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. “I was searching for a better pair of underwear than the one I had on.”

To his credit, Mingyu really doesn’t laugh. It takes a lot of effort, though, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent his giggles from escaping. 

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, go on. I know you’re dying to laugh.”

He shakes his head, cheeks blown out like a pufferfish. You stare at him quietly.

Minutes later, he exhales shakily. “See? I didn’t laugh. I’m a nice guy.”

His lips find yours again, slower and more languorous this time. After all, he has all the time in the world now—to hold you like this, kiss you gently—and he plans to cherish each second. Your tongue swipes his lower lip, and he parts his mouth willingly. He feels like putty underneath you, as he uses one of his hands to cup your face and deepen the kiss. Your lips move against his, already familiar, but he could never stop craving it.

When you pull back to breathe, your eyes are wide and your lips are swollen—a fact that Mingyu notes with pride.

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you breathe out.

“Oh, yes, they fucking do.”