#I have so many notes and outlines that I easily get overwhelmed in the details

[renegade-skywalker]

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[blakbonnet]

AUTHOR OF THE WEEK: @clairegregoryau 💕

Everytime the topic of fandom kindness and community comes up, of helping each other out and fostering a quiet corner where people can be themselves, most people in our little fandom think of Claire. She's written over a million words of OFMD fic and read even more, and you can always see so so many recs over on her twitter. Incredible good vibes, and an author who truly lives to lift other authors up. She also does SO SO much for fic authors over on the OFMD Fic Club server <3 And she was incredibly kind and shared her entire writing process with me:

What's your writing process like? Do you start with the beginning or the end? Do you write in order or as the scenes come to you?

I’m a huge advance planner, which is a process that has developed for me over more than 25 years of writing original fiction. I’ll get whacked with a story idea, then I’ll sit down and set out the central kernel of that idea, and where it needs to start, where it needs to end, and what the turning points need to be to get there.

A lot of the time I use a three-act structure, largely because Jenkins has talked about OFMD using that structure (one example here). So that makes it easy for me to hold to the canon beats when I’m writing AU stories, or to mirror them in canon-era stories, which is also something I try to do most of the time. With long experience (and now 1.7 million words of OFMD fic written (!)), I find this part of the process really easy. I’ll usually do that plotting by hand-writing out my notes, because it really fires up a different part of your brain.

Because I am such an advance planner, I do tend to write in a completely linear way from start to finish (I also pretty commonly post my long-fics as I write- each chapter goes up as soon as it’s finished and has a final editing pass). Punching through it in a linear way, knowing the ending that I’m working towards and being enthusiastic to get there, really keeps me motivated.

I do all of my writing in 30-minute sprints at the OFMD Fic Club Discord, where we’ve built a lovely and LOUDLY enthusiastic writing community that anyone is welcome to hop into 24/7. For those who find the constant chat a bit overwhelming, we also have a Quiet Focus Sprints channel. Again via long practice, I’m a very fast writer, but that’s accelerated a lot more over the last couple of years, paradoxically because I couldn’t write the way I used to anymore.

I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that includes some fun brain impacts at times, and it’s really hit my working memory especially. I used to be able to hold all the strands of a complicated story together in my head as I wrote, but now I can’t do that as easily. So that’s why the outline is important for me, so I never lose track of the idea- I’ll also do a quick outline at the start of each chapter I’m writing that notes what needs to happen, and then I’ll write in what I call layers, getting down whatever I can first, and then doing sweeps back through it to add internals, narrative detail, sensory details and so on. I make a LOT of notes and square brackets as I go to remind myself of things to look at later.

I also use a plot matrix [Twitter thread, Example Matrix] that you may have seen floating around- I mostly use it to keep track of plot details that have already happened within a story, so that I can check it out at a glance, but I will sometimes plan certain elements in advance (as in the case of Tree Change, which covered 87 of the 93 Kinktober prompts last year across 12 carefully planned chapters). There’s always space when I’m writing for the characters to surprise me within that plot framework- as a final plotting thing, once I’m at the halfway mark I’ll often plot backwards from the planned end to make sure that I’m on course, and to see what I need to adjust.

Favourite trope or headcanon you like to explore while writing?

I really like to dig into the friends-to-lovers trope that sits at the heart of the show. The Ed and Stede relationship reminds me immensely of my own- like Rhys and Taika as friends, we’ve been yes-anding each other for over 25 years (all of my least hinged fic ideas come from bouncing thoughts back and forth with my husband), and it’s been a steady mix of constant silliness, curiosity, and care. We’re best friends first and that’s one of my favourite things about Ed and Stede, that they are, too.

What I really love about it is the vulnerability of these two people who’ve been hurt so much by others in the past, who’ve never been fully appreciated for all the things that they are, and in each other they find the one absolutely perfect person who just gets them, and it makes all the difference. It’s always fun to play with that and variations on it in fics, and it’s usually the beating heart of my stories.

Whose voice is easier to write - Ed or Stede? Why?

I want to say that I find them both equally easy depending on the story. Ed as a character speaks very much the way I think- he has that ADHD buzz, the high swear level, and a very AoNZ turn of phrase that’s also very familiar to Australians (like me). Writing Ed is like turning the inside of my head out and it always flows easily.

But I have always said that I see myself in both characters in equal parts, so I find Stede pretty easy to write as well. I feel like I pretty solidly understand him as a person, with his history of rejection and his commitment to trying anyway, and trying to be kind, and letting himself be fascinated by things, from piracy to books to moths to Ed (that one’s not hard).

Your personal favourite thing you've written that you'd like more people to read

This is a near-impossible question with 69 OFMD fics up on AO3 😅 I really do love them all, and I have a lot of smaller one-shots that haven’t been read as much, but overall I’m incredibly lucky with readership and so so grateful for everyone who enjoys my work.

But my recent Reverse Bang fic The Broken Lines is hugely important to me and I think it’s probably one of the best things I’ve ever written anywhere. It’s set in the aftermath of the First World War (my professional zone of expertise), and features a Stede who’s lost his voice, his memory, and as far as he knows, his Ed. He gradually remembers what happened with the help of the crew and another Ed, who appears in his mirror from 1719, searching for his own Stede. It was a beautiful collaboration with artist Gerlinde to begin with, but I also got to work with one of my longest-term writing friends Jill @followedmystar as my beta, and then with Boy, who made a truly transcendent podfic that I can’t yell about enough.

What is the one word that you think you use a lot?

I think the word I have to zap more than any other is “actually”, and there are still a million of them in there when I’m done. The main reason is that to stick close to canon voice, I try to incorporate a lot of the less iconic/ more ordinary turns of phrase that the characters use a lot in their speech (I’ve watched every episode of the show… way too many times), and both Ed and Stede actually use “actually” a surprising amount. I just use it an even more surprising amount 😂

(This just sent me on a QUEST to find a specific number because I am that kind of nerd- Stede says it 15 times in S1 and 12 in S2, and Ed says it 8 times in each, for totals of 27 and 16, many of them in distinctive moments; it just gives that little buzz of recognition for me. I started out screenwriting before I moved to prose, so my writing tends to lean pretty strongly on having a recognisable, almost audible voice to the dialogue, as well as a cinematic visual style for the big adventures especially).

Do you have a beta reader? Have they made you a better writer?

I quite deliberately don’t use a beta reader for most of my OFMD fics, because being in this space is an exercise in recovering from lifelong paralysing perfectionism around writing especially. I’ve spent so many years not finishing original work because it never feels like it passes the invisible bar for perfection that exists in my own head. So when I started writing OFMD fic, I set out to accept good enough as good enough, and to get back to enjoying writing as fully as I can.

Obviously this means that my work could be better, but I’m actively working on letting that thought go and loving everything I’ve made just as it is. When I have worked with beta readers on projects that require them, like the Reverse Bang, it’s been with friends who I trust and adore, who I know will listen to what I need (cheerleading, mostly), and will do their best to work with me on improving the story without letting me spiral into hating it all because it wakes the perfectionist beast back up.

That doesn’t mean I’m without regular support, or that I’m not trying to improve my writing! I read an absolutely insane amount of fic, and I’m always in awe of the talent we have on this ship, and always learning from what other people do well. In lieu of beta readers, we share snippets of work all the time in our sprints team, so I get feedback there; I also get it from readers in progress, who often give me a sense of what’s hitting the way I hoped and what needs a bit of tweaking. I also have lovely group chats and individual friends like Kerry @communionnimrod and Lis @ghostalservice and Jill who I can run to if I need an opinion on whether an idea feels right or not, which I will often ask.

I’m very very careful with my writing, but in a couple of rare instances readers have also DMd me to note spots where I’ve inadvertently included something that doesn’t reach the sensitivity standard I’m aiming for. I’m always grateful for that gentleness and bravery in reaching out and I’m always happy to change something or to add tags or notes as needed.

Why OFMD 🥹

I watched the whole show in one hit a week after the final episode aired, and I loved it immediately, but I thought I was going to be normal about it. The unravelling into complete, unrelenting obsession happened gradually as I rewatched it with my husband and teen, then again, and again, then started to read fics and hunt up art, then started joining fan spaces, and then dived into writing my first fic in two and a half decades (all original writing between The X-Files and here), thinking it would also be my last.

I’m still here, still writing constantly, and a major portion of it is the show and how distinctly it reflected all the many parts of me, some of which I’d never seen so clearly before. I had a tough childhood in a few different family respects. I didn’t understand that I was neurodivergent until I turned 40 and my own kids were heading for diagnosis, and I’d been rejected constantly throughout my life for being too much. I was a high achiever who was in the process of crumpling under pressure right when I watched it, and while I’d been figuring out my sense of my own queerness for a few years, I’d never had a community that helped me feel at home with that.

And in the end it’s the community that’s been the reason I’ve been fully sucked into fandom for the first time since my teens- the writing in this space is top-tier wonderful, and the community is such a found family, just like the Revenge. Being able to write and have people actually want to read that writing, being able to cheer others on and hype their work, being able to help set up the OFMD Fic Club Discord and make it a safe spaceship for so many people, has been incredibly fulfilling and lovely. 

Please head over to @ofmdlovelyletters (who also made the header) and send your love to all your favourite authors (and authors of the week 😈 watch that blog for some special letters coming your way)

[jonmcbrine-author]

Tangibility is a heck of a thing. Holding the proof copy of the paperback edition of Unsecret Identity: Eric Icarus - Book One stirred surreal reactions. Despite the ebook/Kindle edition having been released in the fall of last year, unboxing the printed copies of the book made it feel real. That being said, it’s not like the digital version didn’t find any readers - I’m appreciative of anyone and everyone who downloaded the novel or read pages via Kindle Unlimited. To tell the truth, I am a mix of being floored and thrilled by the fact that there are humans who gave my story a shot. Now that the book has finally entered the physical realm, this YA sci-fi superhero adventure has been given new life. But just because there will be a material item available for purchase, will anyone else pick it up?

At the time of this writing, the review process of the proof copy is only beginning, with the final edition intended to be released in August. The secret origins of this story, though, was initially conceived when I was a young child. Like many other writers, this passion project sparked within me and floated around in my brain for several years. From a childhood fantasy, through on-and-off-again revisits in my teenaged imagination, and into adulthood ambition, this book was going to be materialized one way or another. All those concepts and early incarnations of the characters swirled in my mental periphery for decades, but in 2018, the first set of preliminary notes started.

Outlines, ideas, sketches, and various details took up numerous pages in different document files until one day I made the decision to actually create content. Working on a fiction novel can easily consume every waking moment of your life, and as any author could tell you, there simply aren’t enough hours in the day to commit to writing. It’s a lengthy process, and it can also be a lonely journey at times. Typing across different devices, copious copies saved, and round after round of editing resulted in going live with the online version of the manuscript. Seeing the fully realized cover art and text uploaded as an ebook was a rewarding experience. In a perfect world, a print and audiobook edition would’ve launched at the same time, but at that point, I was happy just to have released a product. Print plans didn’t stop, however, and it would be nearly a year before I would be prepared to order my first proof copy.

The sensations from flipping through the pages of my book were almost overwhelming. While awaiting the delivery of the “test” copies, I tempered my expectations, accepting that this print would undoubtedly be imperfect. Yes, the proof has errors, but all are easy fixes. Even so, I allowed myself to feel the swelling pride of a years of hard work paying off. I never expected to make a lot of money from self-publishing books, and like I stated previously, the proofreading process isn’t complete. Above it all, that tangible object has brought immense satisfaction. Part of me wanted to not make too big of a deal of the whole thing. It’s just one book, hopefully the first of many, and there is still a lot of work left to be done. It’s maybe even a little embarrassing to get too excited over my little novel. I’m glad to say that while I acknowledge that there are more challenges up ahead and I’m nowhere near finished, getting the first printed copy of my first book is too cool. Tangibility is indeed a heck of a thing.

Stay in the loop for more details by following Jonfiction Blog on Substack and be sure to check out jonmcbrine.com for more info about this and all my books.

Unsecret Identity: Eric Icarus - Book One is available now from the Amazon Kindle store.

https://a.co/2XAtxvH

New blog every Monday. Newsletter first Monday of the month, only on Substack.

[speedofsoundsketches]

How to draw Elise

Ooo sure!

When starting with any human, I always begin with a basic outline of the figure. Since I draw Elise with Anime proportions versus realistic ones like her original version, I can bend the realism a bit more to get that effect I want.

Just a note, I can mostly eye things at this point due to just drawing so much for so long and having done many studies of realistic and anime figures, that this sort of thing I can whip up thanks to having a trained eye for it. I recommend reading up figure drawing books and tutorials for learning from real life first before studying into anything stylized like Anime. Learn the rules before breaking them!

Satisfied with the base figure proportions, I start roughing out the clothing and facial features. Normally I'd do the hair with the face but for the sake of this tutorial, I felt it's easier to see the face without adding it. The base outline helped me know how to fold the clothing around her so it looks believable as to how it drapes on her body. Note that I'm forgoing any details as this is just about charting out how it's functionally going to look before I define things too much.

The face is a tougher subject to explain since it's all based on my collected knowledge gained from studying the human figure. I tried to condense it in this little diagram but I strongly recommend doing studies of your own to improve your internal visual library on how faces work. Broadly speaking, this is about how it's broken down from realism to Anime-ish proportions. (I hope this spaghetti makes sense haha)

Since I'm pretty satisfied with her face, I'll roughly outline the hair and get that sorted out. Elise is a very dainty character with wispy features so her hair should be close to the head versus having too much volume. It ties well with her overall theme of "feathers" and lightness, like someone who is easily guided around by the wind (aka Sonic).

Thematic things like this are informative because for me the artist, I want to capture that quality of her since it's strongly indicative of how she's presented. Too many harsh, dark lines or clunky details could easily make her appear too heavy which takes away the "airy" aspect she emits, if that makes sense.

With everything now charted out, I can THEN start refining the edges of things with heavier lines where it'll help for eventually rendering this if I choose to do so. For a sketch though, I think this is enough. I changed her left hand to suit the angle her arm was at and to feel daintier/more comfortable.

Her feet and hands are larger than a regular person's simply because that's the Sonic way :^)

I also keep in mind that Elise is a teenager. I'm not a huge fan of how elongated and tall she looks in Sonic 06 because it makes her feel too adult for her age (This is mostly due to how small her head is compared to her body). I gave her more youthful features like a bigger head, slightly shorter figure and large anime eyes to hint that she's quite young without being AS young like Maria.

I'm at a point where I can do most of these things without breaking it down into such specific steps but for a beginner, it helps to try doing things in this way to help you learn how everything is built on top of basic shapes without getting overwhelmed with details and busy work. Build it up a step at a time. Over time you get a feel for how you're doing it!

[life-and-law-studies]

My approach to law school // January 3, 2021
This is an overview of my approach to law school and general advice. **There isn’t one way to be a successful law student**


1. MENTAL / PHYSICAL HEALTH - your health is THE most important factor in your law school success. Unfortunately, law school tends to normalize constant stress and exhaustion. Prioritize your health over your studies and you will be a much more functional student. 


Do things that make you happy: read a book for fun or go on a long run/walk/bike ride with a friend. Do things that have nothing to do with law school!


Therapy: it isn’t accessible for everyone, but if you can, do it. 
Take sick days: rest and nourish your body when you are sick. You will recover faster and be a better student because of it. The same goes for mental health days.


Practice community-care: check-in with your friends and support your classmates. Ask your friends and family about their lives and don’t dominate conversation with law school stories. 


Drink plenty of water and eat well. 


2. ORGANIZE


Plan ahead: every Sunday I look over my schedule for the upcoming week and write my to-do lists for homework, law review, and my internship. 


Tab, label, and index: I tab my Bluebook, casebooks, and notebook to find sections more easily. In my notes I include an outline/index of key concepts and cases with page numbers. (I will share a photo of an index in the future)


Keep your workspace organized: I clear my desk of all notebooks and casebooks except for the ones that I need for an assignment. This keeps me focused on one task at a time. At the end of each day I clean my desk so that it’s nice and neat for the next day. 


3. SCHEDULE


Treat law school like a full-time job: I have free time on the weekends and sometimes during the week because I stick to my work schedule. On weekdays I get up at 6:45 am and workout until 7:45 am. Then I eat breakfast. I begin studying/homework/class at about 8:30 am every day and work until about 6 pm. I give myself 45 minutes for lunch sometime between noon and 1:30 pm, but then I get straight to work again. Most days, I spend another 1-3 hours in the evening doing homework, but I always take time to eat dinner and hang out with my roommate for a couple hours first. 


Find a calendar/planner system that works for you: I use my planner for assignments and use my Outlook calendar to keep track of class time, homework time, and internship time. 


Schedule “fun” time to do things other than law school and put it in your calendar. 


4. STUDYING / HOMEWORK 


Pomodoro method: timing study session in segments of 30-45 minutes is extremely helpful because it keeps me on track with my schedule and forces me to take breaks to stretch, drink water, and use the bathroom. 


Note-taking: depending on the class, I handwrite 50-100% of my notes and type the rest in OneNote. I find that handwriting helps me absorb information better than typing, although typing does have its advantages (it’s so much faster). I read through an assignment/case and highlight it, then I go back through and take notes. (I will post a photo of my notes in the near future)


Highlighting: it’s no secret that law students dominate the highlighter market, and for good reason. I highlight reading assignments and my notes. I also use different colors to signal different things, such as statute law versus case law. 


Case briefs: some cases are so confusing that the holding is nowhere to be found and the entire thing seems to be in a different language. Do the best you can to write your own case brief before looking online for one. There’s no shame in using Quimbee every once in a while - in fact, it is a great source for reviewing - but you still need to do the work. 


Find a conducive study space: I spent a lot of time in the law library studying with friends because it is quiet and full of good study energy. Now that I’m working from home, I try to recreate that atmosphere. I even play “library ambiance” sounds on Youtube while I do homework. Make sure you are comfortable and that your space isn’t full of distractions. 


5. NETWORK


Make friends: as an introvert, I loathe socializing in large crowds for long periods of time and find networking difficult. However, I forced myself to network and socialize a lot during law school orientation and made so many incredible friends! I appreciate them all and I don’t know how I would survive law school without them. 


Internships: I recommend talking to 2Ls and 3Ls about their internship experiences. It’s great to talk to career advisors too, but you are more likely to get the most candid details and advice from fellow students. When I was a 1L I befriended a 2L who was interning at a restorative justice legal clinic. She gave me great advice and a great recommendation to her boss. Long story short, I now intern at the same restorative justice clinic and love it. 


Office hours: talking to professors one-on-one is terrifying at first, but in my experience, professors LOVE when students come to office hours. Talking to professors in office hours can make it less intimidating to raise your hand in their classes or when you are cold-called (the horror!). 


6. EXAMS


Outlining: write your own outline. Using another person’s outline as a reference is fine, but write your own! All of my best grades were in classes where I created at least 80% of my outline on my own. 


Go over your outline several times and cut out things you don’t need or won’t be tested on. A long outline isn’t necessarily the best outline. 


Practice exams: do at LEAST two practice exams for each class using your outline so you get used to using it as a reference. Time at least one of these practice exams so you get used to the pace. 


7. REMEMBER WHY YOU ARE HERE


On the first day of my internship, my boss said, “the first thing you lose in law school is the reason why you are there.” Law school is overwhelming, stressful, and at times, soul-crushing. It is easy to forget why you decided to go to law school and you are likely to second-guess every life choice you have ever made at some point or another (I do ALL the time). Therefore, it’s important to remember why you are here. If you want to go into social justice, look into social justice law courses you can take. If you want to represent athletes, look at sports law and contract law classes. Bottom line: step back and recenter yourself to remember why law school is worth the hard work.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

i could make you care

[saiki kusuo x reader]

author’s note: i tried to incorporate as many characters into this as possible to make it feel like an actual episode and i got overwhelmed so fast lol i haven’t written this many characters in a story in a long time. in any case hope i did them justice and that you enjoy :’)

word count: 3,029

Today’s morning is bright, and Saiki’s walk is quiet. Typically this would be no cause for concern. A quiet walk to school is few and far between, difficult to come by given the company he keeps. (He’d much prefer a calmer bunch, if he were granted the chance to choose, but that is neither here nor there.) Don’t misunderstand: he’d bask in this brief peace, guaranteed to be broken the moment he passes through the gates of PK Academy, if the reason for this uncharacteristic period of silence comes about because of the absence of one particular person—someone who, if one could hardly believe it, Saiki actually prefers to have around more often than not.

He walks past the street which leads to your home, his pace never slowing because he expects you’ll join him, as you do every morning. You’ll wait for him on the corner and smile widely like you haven’t seen him in weeks then skip towards him, falling in step easily. He’ll remain nonplussed as you hug his arm, give it a brief squeeze as you greet him—Good morning, Kusuo!—and then promptly let go because you understand he likes his space but you just can’t help but indulge a little bit.

However, none of the aforementioned events play out this Friday. You’re not on the street corner, not there to smile and fall in step with him. There’s no arm hugging or a bubbly greeting Saiki pretends he isn’t affected by. But the truth is that he is, the routine coming somewhat as a comfort, even at the price of sacrificing some of his beloved personal space. So when you’re nowhere to be found his brows furrow and he wonders where you are.

His steps slow until he comes to a complete stop. He wants to check up on you, sooner rather than later. There isn’t much time to delay if he wants to make it to school before the first bell, but this won’t take long. He crosses his eyes, activating his clairvoyance, and he centers in on you immediately. You’re still at home. You’re at home, and you’re sick.

A box of tissues rests on your nightstand and you’ve pulled your small trash can right next to it from where it usually stands by your door. You toss used tissues into it before nestling beneath your blankets, pulling it up to just below your chin and hugging it close in order to retain heat. Your breath evens out quickly and he can tell you’re asleep. Your body must be exhausted dealing with your cold, and he’s confident this is the way you will be the rest of the day—drifting in and out of sleep, dealing with the sniffles and congestion.

He blinks and loses sight of you and now he’s staring once more down the road. Readjusting his bag on his shoulder with a sigh, he resumes walking and thinks about his plans for the day. As it was the last day of the school week, he’d planned to go to Cafe Mami for coffee jelly to celebrate. But now that he’s learned you’re sick in bed, he’d have to make adjustments. Momentarily he debates if that’s really necessary. You probably wouldn’t want visitors in the state you’re in, and knowing you, you’d tell him to go to the cafe without you to enjoy himself anyway. The thought is tempting, truly, yet he can’t shake the urge to check on you.

It feels less like an obligation and more like a simple desire of his own to make sure you’re okay. Saiki shakes his head, more amused than frustrated. There’s no one else for whom he would so willingly do this, or much else, for, and he doesn’t think he’d ever tell you because you’ll tease him the way you are wont to do whenever his facade cracks and he’ll let you have your fun because when you ask if you’re really so different as to make him act this way, the answer is, well, yes. You are.

He imagines this scenario and the corner of his lips lifts in a small smile. Good grief. You could be quite the handful.

“Hey, Saiki!”

Nendo’s voice is entirely too loud for the morning and Saiki heaves another sigh, one that sounds as though it belongs at the end of the day and not the beginning. Nendo is joined close behind by Kaidou and Kuboyasu, and they easily fill the silence with discussions about going to get ramen after class and the latest movements of the Dark Reunion. Saiki really only picks up words here and there that allude to the topic of conversation but it doesn’t require his full attention. It’s the same song and dance every morning.

The commotion once he arrives at school is much the same. During lectures he is afforded the temporary reprieve from having his ears talked off, since the only one speaking is the teacher, but at breaks, the noise resumes, and though he always stays sitting at his desk, in hopes the others will get the hint that he’s uninterested in chatting, they inevitably crowd themselves around it, until he is right in the middle.

Hairo has outlined a new workout regimen and in his louder than normal volume of speaking he shares it. He’s going to start it today, and if anyone wants to join, they’re more than welcome. It doesn’t look like anyone wants to take the offer, which is expected. Hairo’s exercise routines were… a little extreme.

In any case, Hairo is nonplussed by the lack of enthusiasm from everyone else and remarks he can’t wait for the end of the school day.

“I think I’ve been losing muscle tone,” he laments, and he complements this statement with a casual flex of his arm, more so to point out the specific areas he thinks are getting soft rather than to show off, but even if he isn’t trying, his biceps are bulging and if his sleeves hadn’t been rolled up, they would have torn.

Saiki’s brow raises. Yeah… I don’t think that’s an issue for you, Hairo.

“I’ve just finished installing an indoor gym at my home, you know.”

Everyone turns to find Saiko has entered into the circle, a smug smirk on his face. When had he gotten here? Really it’s only Hairo who has any sort of reaction to this, eyes practically sparkling imagining the machines and equipment (or maybe that’s just the glare from the fluorescent classroom lights). All the same, Saiko relishes the attention, boasting of the privacy and space and how really, it’s so much easier to be productive if there’s no one else there but Saiki can only wonder if Saiko even works out at all. He doesn’t remember that being mentioned, and Saiki is nothing if not detail oriented.

Saiki doesn’t have long to ponder over this (not that it would’ve continued much longer because he doesn’t actually care about whether Saiko exercises or just set up a gym in his house to brag) before Nendo asks where you are.

Had he just noticed? You always join them on their walk in the morning. But Saiki can’t say he’s surprised it took this long. What he is surprised about is that Nendo had noticed in the first place.

“Oh that’s right,” Kuboyasu adds. “I thought she just went ahead of us today.”

Yumehara informs them of your whereabouts before Saiki does. “She texted me this morning she wasn’t feeling well so she stayed home.” Her phone dings with a new message and she glances at it, then looks back up. “But she says she’s a little more awake now!”

“It’s the Dark Reunion.” Kaidou’s sudden interjection draws everyone’s attention. He clenches his right fist, staring at the bandages wrapped around it. “They’re trying to get to me by going after my friends!”

Saiki remains expressionless but if he didn’t have such good control he would’ve rolled his eyes. Or maybe she just has a cold.

Upon Kaidou’s claim that a secret society is responsible for your illness, Saiki picks up Yumehara’s thoughts: I wish I was the one Kaidou was so worried about! Maybe if I got sick he’d worry about me too! Getting sick to grab Kaidou’s attention? That’s… going overboard, but Saiki can’t find it in him to be shocked, considering from whose mind this speculation has sprung.

“Poor [Name],” Teruhashi says, kind as always. She sets an index finger on her chin, gaze momentarily aimed upwards as she thinks. “I was about to suggest we all go to the cafe after school today and I wish she could join.”

This gives Saiki pause. Wait. The cafe?

“That sounds like a great idea!” Yumehara declares. Again Saiki hears her thoughts: If we go, I need to do my best sit next to Kaidou!

Whether a visit to Cafe Mami comes across as a good idea because it’s a fun way to celebrate the end of the school week or simply because Teruhashi suggested it, Saiki doesn’t know, but one by one the murmurs of assent resound through the group and he barely contains a relieved huff. He’d already changed his own plans from visiting the cafe to seeing you instead, and it’s a good thing too since it’s apparent his alone time would’ve been ruined. Now he has an excuse not to stick around.

Once the final bell rings, they begin their walk into town towards the cafe. The sidewalk feels crowded with all of them on it, and they have to split into pairs to keep the opposite side of the sidewalk free for people going the other way. Among comments from everyone else about how hungry they are, Saiki makes known his intention to just pick up food before leaving. There’s somewhere he needs to be.

“You’re going to go make sure [Name] is doing okay!” Teruhashi exclaims. It’s a statement, not a question. “That’s sweet of you.”

Saiki shrugs. “Sweet” is not the first word he would associate with his actions. It just seems like common sense to check on you. You’d looked miserable this morning, but he takes your message to Yumehara earlier as a good sign that you’re improving, slowly and surely. Still, he’d be more comfortable seeing you himself. He hadn’t gotten any other chances today to use his clairvoyance, but at least it wouldn’t be long now until he’d be heading to your house.

Chisato is working today and she seats everyone. Saiki goes directly to the counter to place his order—coffee jelly for him and strawberry mochi for you—and he stands off to the side while waiting for the treats to be packed. The others are sitting on the far side of the cafe (in his peripherals he sees Yumehara has taken a seat right next to Kaidou) but he can hear them clear as day discussing what food they should order. Yes, he’s certainly glad he won’t be sticking around. Spending Friday in the midst of that noise is far from ideal.

Holding the bag of coffee jelly and mochi in one hand, Saiki uses the other to push open the door, the bell jingling gently, and someone, Nendo it sounds like, raises their voice to shout across the room: Seeya later, Saiki! Then the door closes behind him, and all he can hear is the footsteps of other pedestrians and the low whoosh of cars.

He exhales slowly. Peace at last. He proceeds in the direction of your home, and when he thinks to himself that any longer and his ears might’ve begun to bleed, he’s only half joking.

In the neighborhood it’s much quieter, the only person he passes being someone walking their dog, and only a couple of cars drive past. He knocks on the door and he assumes you’re in your room and so it will take some time for you to open it, but you’re there faster than he expects. You open it just wide enough to stand in the gap, and immediately he notices the fatigue in your eyes. When you realize it’s him, they light up, and the fatigue fails to take away from the brightness of your smile as you open the door wider.

“Kusuo!”

Inside, he sees you’ve moved downstairs to the living room. That’s why you’d answered the door so quickly. There’s a pile of blankets on the couch and a tissue box on the coffee table. The television is on and playing an animation. He doesn’t recognize it, but it must be one of the new ones you mentioned wanting to watch. However, you’re not interested in it now that he's here and you grab the remote to turn down the volume.

“I thought you were going to the cafe today,” you state, head tilting.

Saiki shakes his head. Change of plans. Instead I brought the cafe to us. He holds up the bag of food and doesn’t have to tell you what’s in it. You squeal in delight that he’s come bearing treats, but the sound is a little raspy and awkward due to your sore throat. It’s still easier on Saiki’s ears than the earlier commotion he’d been surrounded with and, if he’s honest, it’s cute.

You plop down on the couch and wait as he joins you. He unties the bag and opens the box, first taking out the packaged pink mochi and handing it to you. Then he grabs his coffee jelly and the plastic spoon it came with before settling back against the cushions.

You sit cross-legged facing him and bite into your soft and squishy treat, humming delightedly. “Thanks, Kusuo.”  

Saiki chews a mouthful of coffee jelly and glances at you.

You grin and hold up the mochi. “For the snack and for coming to see me.”

He shrugs because it’s no big deal. Or, well, he tries to play it off like it’s no big deal. But you know him better than that, better than most others do, and don’t brush it off so quickly. You breathe out dramatically and set a hand on your chest.

“What must I have done for Kusuo Saiki to give up his quiet time for me?” Then you giggle, and  it’s punctuated at the end by a sniffle.

He tells you there would’ve been no quiet time at the cafe since the others had also decided to go, and that you’re much better company. Even when I’m sneezy? you ask him, and he chuckles. Yes, even when you’re sneezy.

His remark about coming to see you because he’d prefer to be here and not at the cafe with the rest of your friends is merely part of the truth. The rest of it is that he did genuinely want to check on you to make sure you were okay. Though to give this a voice felt like too much for someone typically so reserved in his feelings, but you understand perfectly fine as you smile softly. You’re appreciative of his actions, and it would seem Teruhashi had been right about them, for you murmur that he reminds you of the mochi you’re eating: You’re so sweet!

Grabbing your mug from the coffee table, you frown when you see it’s empty. “I ran out of tea.”

Saiki sets the spoon and now empty container back in the box then holds his hand out. You blink, momentarily confused, but when it registers what he’s doing, you give him the mug. As he stands to make his way into the kitchen, you call after him.

“Thank you!”  

Having been to your house a number of times already, he knows where everything is and starts brewing a fresh cup of tea. You’ve turned the volume up on the television again, but you have to rewind to return of the spot you were at before he’d arrived. Once he comes back with a filled mug, instead of allowing it to continue to play, you pause your show.

You’d snuggled beneath the blankets and have to finagle your arms out of the multiple layers to take the mug from him. You say thanks again and blow gently at the tendrils of steam floating from it. The ceramic is warm in the palms of your hands and you sigh contentedly.

“Sorry I’m a little high maintenance today,” you apologize suddenly. “I’d make the tea myself but I just have such little energy…”

Saiki wishes you wouldn’t apologize because there’s nothing to be sorry for. So he tells you as much. Don’t apologize. Besides, he’d offered to make that tea, and if you wanted soup, he’d offer to make that too. He does understand where you come from, however. You tend to be more independent, opting to do things yourself, and you also know his propensity for being alone and needing space. As such, you’re careful not to be overbearing, and the idea of Saiki doing even little tasks like brewing you tea bothers you.

It’s endearing, the level of care you take to make sure he’s comfortable too, but when he says you’re far from high maintenance, he means it. You immediately understand what he’s implying and laugh before scooting closer and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Okay, point made,” you concede. With a small smile, Saiki grabs the remote you’d tossed down on the couch and presses play.

He would struggle to call you high maintenance on any day considering who your friends are.  They’re loud and all over the place, practically bouncing off the walls. Life could hardly be tranquil when around them and their antics. It’s the total opposite of Saiki, who values calm and silence. If they were high maintenance, he was low maintenance. That’s the way he prefers to be, existing in relative quiet and as close to mediocrity as he can muster. But he can't say he’s opposed to the occasional interruption to the otherwise mundane, especially where it concerns you. You’re not to be found on one side or the other, but right in the middle, and to Saiki, you are just right.

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

edge

pairing: harry styles x reader (au)

warnings: smut, dom/sub, exhibitionism, degradation, spit play, choking, face fucking, spanking, ring kink (if that’s even a thing ..?), orgasm denial, unprotected sex, subspace, aftercare, very fluffy and cheesy ending (like seriously so cheesy and cliche pls don’t bully me i didn’t know how to end it)

word count: 4.7k

synopsis: harry and y/n are a cam couple

author’s note: i hope you enjoy! xx all the love 

masterlist

—

It started by accident, really, with a simple, offhand comment one night.

Already two-and-a-half bottles of wine deep, Y/N was close to tears with one glance at their pitiful bank account, and Harry was trying his best to comfort her and assure her that everything would end up fine, but he had absolutely no way to promise her that. Their part-time jobs did very little to cover their monthly expenses, and their next loan payment for school was coming up; needless to say, they were feeling overwhelmed.

And what better to do than drink and complain about your problems when you’re feeling overwhelmed?

“Maybe I should go into porn,” she sighed, and he rubbed his hand under her shirt, trying to soothe her. They knew that they were taking a risk moving across the world for uni, with no backup plan and nothing to fall back on, but in the end, it will, hopefully, be worth it. In the end, they would have a brighter future, despite the mountain of debt, but the middle part, the part where they struggle and contemplate giving up, is so difficult to get past.

“I—I’d do it with you,” he hiccuped, resting his head against her shoulder.

“Maybe we should do our own videos,” she said, “I heard that people can make a lot of money doing that.” Not noticing that he had gone quiet, she continued, laughing and raving. “Could you imagine? Oh, what if we did one of you going down on me? Harry, babe,” she moans lightly, “that would be hot.”

He smiled widely, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head at the thought; he felt a rush of blood in his groin. They had talked about recording themselves and posting it online before, so the idea wasn’t something they were unfamiliar with, but it normally only happened when they were tipsy, and they never talked about it in any detail like she was. Now, the thought of her recording him between her legs or vice versa, for them to enjoy over and over, made arousal burn in his belly. He could imagine how the camera would shake as she came on his tongue, her hips bucking wildly, hand pulling at his hair. He holds back a moan.

“That would be so hot,” he said, “we should totally do it.” He downs the rest of his wine and pulls out his laptop.

“No,” she giggled, “no, no…”

“‘M doin’ it,” he said.

“Don’t do it,” she argued weakly, making no actual move to stop him. While she seemed to be on the fence about the idea, she had a slight grin on her face, her heart nearly racing out of her chest.

“We are so doing this,” he said, exploring the page. He gasps suddenly and taps on her leg, making her nearly spill the glass of wine. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N—”

“What? What? What?” She mocked him. With mischievous smirk on his face, he faces her, a slight purple hue to his lips.

“What if we did cam?”

And the rest is history.

Now, they dedicate their Friday nights to do cam videos. It started off as something they did on special occasions, quick little teasers that lasted no longer than ten minutes, but they ended up getting a lot of money for it. It helped pay their school loans and get a head start on their savings, and it gradually turned into a regular occurance.

By the time they are ready to begin their live one evening, it’s nearing ten o’clock. They’re on their bed, pillows and comforter long gone, leaving nothing but faded floral sheets, stretched tautly beneath them. Y/N is nestled into his side while Harry’s on his knees and fiddles with the computer, brows pulled together and lips puckered slightly. She’s tired, her swollen eyelids closing every few seconds. He kisses her forehead, wrapping an arm around her. Their laptop, with the main webcam, is propped up on a stool right behind the footboard, and the secondary camera, a cheap handheld camcorder connected to the computer with flimsy wires, which is used for close up shots, is thrown off to the side. Harry leans back on his heels.

“Ready?” He asks with a teasing smile. Even with such a small gesture, his grin is still infectious, with cute little dimples and laugh lines. She returns the smile. It’s a redundant question at this point, whether or not she’s ready, but Harry asks every time. It never felt like a chore; it was something they both enjoyed, and if they were to grow tired of it, they would stop. They were finally financially stable enough to be able to make the decision.

While initially they decided to start doing cam for the money, it became something that they both enjoyed doing. She always got this little rush of excitement in the seconds before they finally went live. This was the last moment of secrecy they would have for the next hour or so. To many, the thought of some strangers watching her and Harry at their most intimate would make them apprehensive, but she always got this exhilaration from it.

“Always,” she says, stealing one last kiss from him.

It’s a tradition of theirs to hit the “Go Live” button together, cheesy as it is, and tonight is no different. Their faces light up the screen, and they both grin, arousal building with each thrilling second. There is only a moment of calm before dozens of familiar usernames flood the screen.

“See some new ones,” Harry comments under his breath. She rests her cheek against his shoulder, toying with the rings on his fingers. The introduction part is always the most awkward; there is no decorum or set way that they have to be done, and not feeling comfortable using their first names, she and Harry found it difficult to find their rhythm and interact with the viewers. It felt a bit unforthcoming for them to just dive in without saying anything.

“What are we feelin’ tonight, lovie? Soft and vanilla or rough and dirty?” Harry asks, like he normally does.

Comments fill the screen; a lot of them describe what they would do if they were there, but most of them have similar responses: rough and dirty.

The couple very rarely genuinely ask the viewers what they want to see because the most important thing, to them, is that they are enjoying it. What’s the point of doing it if they aren’t enjoying themselves? Sure, they sometimes cater toward the audience (that’s the easiest ways to make any money), but for the most part, they stick to what they both know the other would enjoy. Harry gives her a soft smile, leaning in a little closer. No matter what she wants, it’s all the same to him; as long as he is with her, he likes just about everything.

“Rough and dirty,” she smirks, tongue curling over her teeth teasingly. “I want you to fucking wreck me.” She whispers that part, low enough for only Harry to hear. He hums appreciatively, leaning back.

Ding!

“Be careful what you wish for.”

He kisses her, rough and gnawing, their teeth knocking together with his tongue slipping through, gently prying her lips apart. He bites on her tongue, and she lets out a small whimper, trying to hold off a smirk. Even after all this time being together, since they were just teens, he still knows what makes her tick and ache and melt; he knows exactly where to kiss and bite and lick to make her fall apart. She tucks her arms beneath his own, draping tightly around his waist, her fingertips tracing along the plain of his back, and he shivers.

His hand wraps easily around her throat, another thing he found early on that she enjoyed. He can feel her breathing pick up. She tugs at his bottom lip, suckling at the skin. He digs his fingers deeper into her neck, pressing harshly onto her pulse point. Eyes rolling back, she moans, strained and muffled, breaking slightly, and wraps her hands around his wrist.

“Open,” he beckons, and she does as best as she can, jaw still confined within his strong grasp. Her tongue dips out, ready and willing. “Good girl,” he says, loosening his grip on her throat. A breath of air slips past her swollen lips. Spit dribbles out from his puckered lips onto her greedy tongue. She closes her mouth quickly to keep it all in, his hand tightening around her neck once again. She sighs, head tipping back.

“You know the rules, babylove. Don’t swallow.”

“Mhm,” she nods, voice muffled. Her fingers dip into his boxers, nails tracing over the inked skin. She can trace the outline of his tattoos from memory at this point, every curve, point, and shadow etched in her brain. She pinches the extra skin at his abdomen lightly, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to her swollen lips.

“Wan’ my cock, huh?” He raises a brow. “Should I make you beg?

Ding! Ding!

“No,” she mumbles, pouting slightly. “Wanna make you feel good.” He hums appreciatively, tapping her cheek lightly.

“Taught you well, lovie,” he says. “Down.” He guides her onto her onto her elbows as he adjusts onto his knees, her hands moving back under the elastic band, the tips of her fingers teasing his skin. “Le’ me see,” he coaxes, fingers tugging on her chin. Sure enough, his spit is still in the divot of her tongue. “Good girl, you can swallow now.”

Ding!

Her fingers tease up his thighs and into his boxers, cupping his balls suddenly. He bites his lip, slapping her on the cheek. It’s not enough to do anything more than a slight burn, but it leaves her tingly with her eyes fluttering closed.

“Don’t be greedy, slut,” he spits, yanking her head back by her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “Just want you so bad.”

She tugs his boxers down, but only enough for his hard cock to slip out. She normally starts off slow, teasing him until he can't take it anymore and pushes her all the way down, using her as he pleases. That’s not the case tonight. A part of her wants to take control, to suck him until he’s nearly falling apart, his knees weak. She takes nearly all of him in her mouth, and he gasps with surprise, his hands combing through her hair, guiding her. She gags on him, her bottom lip pressed tightly to his balls. He tugs her back.

“Watch the teeth,” he hisses. She gasps for air, lips lingering on the red, nearly purple, tip. His hips buck. He breathes out through gritted teeth, shaky and heavy.

“Sorry, just wanna make you feel good,” she says, pressing a wet kiss to his hip. She runs her tongue over the divot of his hip bone.

“Want me to fuck your mouth, lovie?” He asks, his fingers tracing over her tender lips. She nods, and he can feel her trying to move, but he holds her back by the hair, grip tight. “Beg,” he says, brows cocked.

“Please, H, want you to fuck my mouth, use me,” she moans, mouthing over the head of his cock. He holds himself steady, teasing her, just barely letting her feel but not allowing her to fully take him in her mouth. A pool of spit slides down her lips and into his hand, wetting the skin even more, before it falls onto the mattress. Her hands travel up the back of his thighs and onto his partially clothed bum, giving him a cheeky squeeze.

“M’kay, relax, babylove,” he says, brushing flyaways from her forehead, the skin already sticky with sweat. “Hold still and look at me. You know the rules.” She looks up at him, wide eyes never breaking from his as he guides his cock down the length of her throat, squeezing and stroking. She barely winces as he thrusts his hips, shoving himself deeper with every move. Her tongue runs along the bottom ridge of his cock, tracing every vein.

Ding!

She squeezes the skin of his thighs, guiding him further down her throat. The filthy wet sounds make her clit throb and her arousal seep into the sheets. There’s absolutely nothing better than seeing him above her, lost in pleasure, his chest flushing red, nearly incoherent: all because of her. There’s also something incredibly intimate about it as well; he always insists on keeping eye contact until there are tears in her eyes. With one hand gripping her hair tightly while the other gently caresses her cheek, he guides himself into her warm mouth. He nibbles on his lip.

“Take it, baby,” he moans, stuffing his cock deeper in her mouth. He traces his fingers along her throat, feeling the muscles swell and contract beneath them. Saliva dribbles from her lips, down her chin and the length of his shaft. She chokes and gags, but she doesn’t let up.

She barely reaches the base, her nose only just grazing the curls before he’s yanking her back, a string of saliva trailing from the head to her swollen lips, which breaks under the force of her gasps, and his cock twitches at the sight of her looking properly wrecked, eyes wide, blown with lust, her lips swollen and wet from spit and pre-cum, and chest heaving.

“Bend over,” he says, tapping her cheek. “Made such a mess, baby,” he says after she moves up, running a hand over the wet patch that formed on the sheets. Like a good girl, she turns until she’s facing the headboard, her glistening pussy on display to their hundreds of viewers. She shakes with anticipation.

Harry doesn’t deter from his normal routine, not touching her until she’s nearly in tears. She can feel the heat from his hand hovering over her skin, and she can feel hungry eyes on her; a small part of her wants to shrink away, but with Harry right beside her, it makes her feel like the strongest, sexiest woman in the world. Harry finally runs a finger along her slit after a few tense minutes and roughly presses into her clit. Her hips buck into his hand, and she presses a cheek into the mattress, moaning with relief.

“Such a good little slut,” he hums. “So wet for us, baby.”

Us.

When he says that, her pussy clenches and a rush of arousal threatens to slip down her trembling thighs; she sinks further into the mattress, sliding down until her chest is pressed tightly to the sheets, and her thighs spread even further until the joints of her hips ache with overexertion, but the pain is welcomed.

“Keep 'em on or off?” He asks.

“On,” she answers, the feeling of his cool rings against her heated skin is comforting almost. Her stomach tingles when he slips two fingers inside her pussy, with his thumb massaging at the tender skin between her holes. He easily finds that spot inside her, the spot that makes

Her orgasm comes painfully soon, her clit throbbing and begging for attention as he fucks her so close to oblivion, his rings adding extra friction to her sensitive walls. The scent of her arousal is thick in the air as it slips down his hands, traveling either down to her belly or her thighs. She’s so close, close enough to taste it; she just needs one more push until her high completely swallows her, bathing her in a warmth that only he’s been able to give her, but she is, perhaps, a little too optimistic. With every helpless jut of her hips, the more frequent moans, and the tightening of her walls, Harry knows the signs of her impending orgasm, but he can’t let her have it that easily.

A pained yelp slips past her lips when he suddenly pulls away and smacks her clit with wet fingers, the fervent climax drifting away until a dull ache, of yearning and lust, is all that remains. He spanks her sensitive pussy and lands two more on her bum. She groans, savoring the sting from his rings, cold yet burning.

“Not yet,” he says, running his hand along her prickled skin. He spanks her, harder than before, and she groans with pleasure. He wants to see the raised imprint of his hand on her smooth skin.

She can feel herself slipping. It starts off slow, a slight fog behind her eyes, and then it drifts and settles, spreading to her limbs. It feels like being high, swaddled in a soothing haze, and you can only feel yourself. The external earth doesn’t exist, and in that moment, it’s just her and Harry. Her world muffles, the sporadic chimes coming from the laptop ceasing, and the mattress disappears from beneath her, leaving her floating and vulnerable, with nothing to hold her other than him.

Harry.

He has always been able to make her teeter on the edge of pain and pleasure, and with her senses are in overdrive yet dulled at the same time, she feel that edge slip away into the abyss, with each slap delivered to her ass, they’re dulled just a little bit more. Like an addict, she yearns to feel the first one, the one that made her legs tremble, the one that sent tingles up her spine and a burning to her supple skin.

“More,” she says, inching closer to him.

“More?” She can hear the smile in his voice. She stretches her arms in front of her, back arching further than ever before. He lands another slap to her ass, lower and closer to her dripping pussy. He kisses the welts that raised over her skin from the rings, but she can barely feel them, nothing more than a welcomed prickle.

He spits on her pussy and slips three fingers inside this time, stretching her further than before, and with the extra friction from his rings, she tightens up almost instantly, the burning fire from before coming faster and stronger than before.

“Fuck,” she moans, long and drawn out. His free hand spanks her again, and she hisses, her arms giving out. Pleasure rushes through her veins, threatening to envelop her, and she can feel herself give in once again, sinking into him and accepting anything he has to offer. “Close,” she whines, but he pulls away again, slapping her clit roughly. She cries out, wanting to shy away from him, but her body betrays her, and she backs into him, craving yet another stolen high.

“Move t’ the side, button,” he says, tapping her leg, and she does, turning until they’re parallel to the webcam. He only teases the head of his cock through her folds for a moment before he slams into her with little warning, her warmth swallowing him easily. This is something he could never get tired of: the feeling of her hot, wet walls gripping him and of her arousal slipping down his thighs.

Ding! Ding!

His near brutal pace knocks the wind from her chest, making her drawn out cries of pleasure break and split. As he pounds into her, his hips smacking harshly against her raw skin, the remnants of her ruined climaxes leave her walls overly sensitive to every rough thrust, but she backs into him, meeting his hips, eager to finally come undone. He digs his nails into her tender skin, and she lets out a breath.

There has always been a fine line between pain and pleasure, and Harry knows exactly how to dangle her right at the very edge.

“Takin’ me so well,” he coos, but she can’t even fathom his compliment in her addled mind, let alone respond. He wraps his hands around her throat and pulls her head next to his. He wants to feel her, the heat of her breaths, the salt on her skin, the tremors of her thighs, everything. Her body grinds back against him, whether consciously or unconsciously, he doesn’t know. Her eyes are closed, features pinched, chasing her high.

Y/N can feel everything, every rush of blood flowing in her veins, every stroke of his cock inside her, every bead of sweat that drips from his skin and onto her back. She can feel everything, yet nothing at all; it all blurs together into a blanket of warmth and euphoria, and he’s at the center of it all: holding her and pleasing her and giving her everything she never knew she desired. She can barely speak, nothing more than a few broken whimpers filling the thick air, lost amongst his heaving breaths and the chimes from the laptop, which is at the back of their minds at this point.

She hooks her arm behind her, around his neck, her fingers carding through the sweat-drenched locks. She tugs on them painfully hard when he hits her weak spot, and he groans. Her heart is nearly racing out of her chest when yet another taunting orgasm tightens her stomach.

“Need cummies,” she whines, her words slurring, head falling to the side. He nestles his nose into the crook of her neck, hips grinding his cock deeper inside her.

“No cummies, yet, lovie,” he says. “Wait f’ me.” He can feel her struggling to hold her orgasm back, the walls of her pussy fluttering, milking him; he groans, feeling more blood rush to his cock when she squeezes him even tighter. “Relax,” he coos, scratching his nails along her scalp. He slaps her clit, making her twitch and buck even more, and he spreads his fingers around the swollen skin of her pussy, teasing where they’re connected. He lets go of her neck, and she nearly collapses without his support, leaning heavily on her elbows, back arched.

“Please,” she whimpers, shaking her head, “Can’t hold it.”

She slumps onto the mattress, her quivering knees slipping out from under her. Her hips buck, a long, drawn out moan slipping out as toe-curling orgasm washes over her, bathing her in warmth and relief and pure bliss. He comes soon after, hands gripping her hips tightly. Her shallow breaths are barely audible in the thick air, amongst a cacophony of chimes from the cam and his own heavy breathing. He rubs along her back, pressing sporadic kisses to her spine, following the ridges up to her neck.

“Babylove?”

She doesn’t answer, only a weak whimper and a sigh leaving her as she shifts beneath him, causing his softening cock to slip out, their releases pooling beneath them. He quickly closes the laptop to keep some semblance of privacy, and he tries to ease her onto her back, but she’s unresponsive, head nestled deep into the bed, but her breathing becomes more stable, muscles lax.

“Y/N?” She hums and turns onto her back. He cups her cheeks, trying to look into her eyes. They’re half-lidded, and she can’t seem to focus on much of anything. “Can you get up f’me? Need t’ get ya cleaned up.”

She finally looks at him, her pupils dilated, like she’s faded, lost in an empty mind. She blinks and looks down at his hands on her arms. Her brows furrow, and the tremors return, starting in her hands and spreading to her legs. They’re not pleasant, like before when she felt like she was floating; these ones make her blood run cold. Her high lessens, her head still foggy, but the feeling returns in her limbs, leaving her skin burning and bruised. When she meets his gaze again, there’s a sinking feeling in her stomach, shame and dread.

In her current state of mind, she mistakes the concern in his eyes for anger, and tears fill her eyes. She disappointed him; she was being greedy and dirty and bad. She covers her face with her arms to hide the tears that slip out, knees tucking to her chest.

“‘M sorry,” she cries suddenly. His heart stops for a second. What on earth could he have done to make her want to apologize? He tugs her arms away from her face.

“For wha’?”

“You said no cummies, and I couldn’t hold it—” Her face crumbles. “I was being a bad, bad girl.” She mutters to herself, biting her lip, which quivers pitifully. “Please, please, don’t be mad,” she begs, hands clinging to him. Before, she felt absolute euphoria, a high she didn’t want to come down from, but now, her skin aches, and there’s a pang of guilt and shame in her belly that she can’t seem to soothe. She doesn’t even feel it when her teeth break past the skin of her lips.

“Hey, none of that,” he says, easing her bruised lip from her teeth. He runs a thumb over her knuckles. “‘M not mad, never, lovie,” he reassures her. “C’mere,” he says, tugging her into his arms. “Look a’ me.” He rests his forehead against hers. He’s had to coax her out of a subspace only a handful of times, but she has never crashed this hard. Never has she been this shaken, nor has it ever happened during a cam. He just wishes he noticed sooner; he should have known not to go as rough as he did, especially when she was feeling tired to begin with. When she’s in her subspace, she tends to take it a little too far, thinking she can take more than what she would normally handle.

“Better?” He asks her after a moment, and she nods, but her hands still quiver at her side. “Be right back, yeah?” He lays her back down gently and goes into the washroom to draw a bath. When he comes back, he finds her with her hands over her face, shoulders shaking.

“Can ya walk?”

“Yeah,” she says, scooting up off the bed, but her knees buckle, and they barely make it to the bathroom.

“I gotcha,” he says. “Jus’ gonna getcha cleaned up, feelin’ all better.” Her bum, the skin raised with welts made by his own hand, barely touches the water before she’s wincing. There’s a tinge in his stomach, but he continues to help her in, holding her under the armpits.

“In ya go,” he whispers, nursing her like she’s a toddler. The water is hot and comforting against her aching muscles. The lavender oil he tossed in leaves her skin silky with a tingeful burn on her bum and thighs. She clings to his arm, which has now wrapped tightly around her middle, pressing into her tender breasts.

“Come in with me,” she says. He sinks to his knees and cups her neck, elbow dipping in the water.

“Be right back, button,” he says, kissing her forehead lightly, “Jus’ need t’ change the sheets.”

He returns not a moment later and joins her in the tub, washing her body with a sweetly scented scrub. She comes fully down in the bath, with his arms coiled tightly around her, one over her chest and the other around her middle, their fingers toying together. The water’s run cold, but they don’t make any move to get out any time soon, basking in the warmth of each other.

Despite how many years they have been together, he still finds it difficult to believe that he can be so comfortable with another person.

She puts her heart, body, and soul fully in his hands and trusts him not to break it.

He trusts that she’ll do the same for him.

And when she snuggles into him and presses a tired kiss to his cool skin, after he gets them dried and in their bed once again, he knows that there is no other person in the world he would trust more with his heart than her.

—

[weaverofthreads]

On the process of writing a novel...

Ok, so this began as a DM to a very dear friend who had said they were super excited to work on a novel of theirs that they'd abandoned for years, but they felt a bit lost when looking at the project again. They had "too many characters, too many intrigues" and they didn't "know how to create order" for all their ideas. They didn't know "what to keep, what to remove, what to change" and wanted to know if I had any tips.  

I began to reply in messages and then realised I needed to make a whole post out of it, so here it is! All 3k words of it. This is for you, darling! I hope it helps.

Things I found extremely helpful when planning my novel for NaNoWriMo this year, after also taking some time off from it.  

Most of this comes from Alicia Lidwina’s Four-Part article on her NaNoWriMo prep process, and setting up a writer’s notebook, for 2018. You can find the link to the first part here and I highly recommend you check out the whole series of articles for a more in-depth read. 

Content of this ‘essay’: 

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials

Project 'Stats' & Overview  

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

Things to Consider, and Important Bullet Points

Get to Know Your Characters  

Chronological Order

Tangential and Preceding Events

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, Sub Plot Ideas  

List of Locations

Scenes

Chapter Outline

NaNo Plan

Additional Notes and Tips for Writing

Ok. Let's begin.  

First of all, I'm not saying that this is the only way to write or organise a novel. It can be tackled in as many ways as there are writers in the universe. This is just the method I used to get my ideas crystallised and organised. 

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials.  

Take your preparation seriously. I bought a cheap but still nice A4 sketchbook with blank paper for maybe £2 at the local hobby store, and used it solely for the purposes of being my Novel Notebook. It doesn’t have to be a pretty, perfect, Aesthetic(TM) journal at all. Its function is to act as a route-guide through the process.  

I bought a cute sticker from Etsy and used it as the front cover design so that I liked the book and that it felt a little bit special, without being too intimidating to put a mark in. Then I left the very first page blank, and opened it to the first double page. On the left, I wrote ‘Contents’ and then moved on to the right and wrote ‘Project Stats and Overview’.  

I used a pen that was comfortable to write with, which for me was important. I’m a very tactile person, and having nice paper and pens (not necessarily fancy), made the process feel good.

Project Stats and Overview

This is the bare bones of the book, and includes details such as:

Project Working Title: (in my case it’s Weaver of Threads)

Targeted Wordcount: (to give yourself an idea of the scope, but it’s not necessary. For me it’s 50-100k)

Genre: (for me, fantasy)

Series: (will it be one book or more? For me, probably more than one, and at least two).  

Inspiration: (here you can jot down all sorts of things which inspire your world and your writing, and it can be anything. In my case, I began with “density and lore, and feeling of being grounded in a real world from LOTR and Tolkien.” And I went on to include other writers and novels in the fantasy genre, as well as elements from our own world, such as Mongolian herding communities and way of life, the history of the Persian Empire, and Renaissance Florence!).  

Project Timeline: Give yourself a structure, and be realistic. If you know you’re a slow writer who’s prone to distractions, be generous, but if you’re someone who responds well to short deadlines, tighten the time frame up a bit. I said “November 2020 - November 2021 for the whole manuscript” because I know I’m a procrastinator who gets dejected if they shoot past intense deadlines….

Editing Deadline: December 2021-January 2022. I know I can edit fairly quickly, so I made this one much shorter.  

Main Requirements Prior to Starting: What do you need to get sorted before you can get going? It could be purchasing a laptop or figuring out a magic system. In my case, it was the latter.  

What Happens in your novel?: This is not ‘what do your characters do?’, but what, in one sentence, actually happens in the book. For Fellowship of the Ring, you could say ‘a diverse group of people assemble and set off together with the goal of destroying the Ring’. LOADS more stuff actually takes place, obviously, but that’s probably the key thing that happens in that book. So, write the same thing for yours. I’m not going to tell you what happens in mine, because that would spoil it :).  

That took up the first A4 page of my writer’s notebook, and after that, I moved on to Mood and Key Imagery. 

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

On the left hand side of the page, I wrote down the words and concepts that sprang to mind when I thought of the novel itself. These were in no particular order or placement — just a random cloud of ideas in a rough column on the left hand side of the page — and they included: history, mystery, love, friendship, betrayal, nostalgic, homesick, sense of belonging, sense of place, searching, closeness, secrets… etc. etc.

Then on the right hand side, I wrote down five key words that I wanted to associate with the novel. These would form the ‘visual aesthetic’ in the background of my mind, and could be very easily expressed with a moodboard.

This same process (writing down words and creating a moodboard) could be achieved on a website like Pinterest. Take your time with it, find the right visual clues that really match the essence of your story, and create a final mood board with a limited number of panels that will be your novel’s ‘true north’ when it comes to feelings. If you're artistically inclined too, you could draw sketches of things relevant to your world too.  

While this stage is really important for solidifying the feeling and mood of the novel, don’t get stuck here and spend forever procrastinating on Pinterest or whatever. Once you’ve crystallised that ambiance, it’s time to move on. It’s also perfectly fine to come back to this at a later stage if you find yourself running out of inspiration or drifting a bit. Daydreaming, drawing, mood-board-ing are all great ways to work on your novel on days when you don’t feel like writing.

Things to Consider:

Alicia Lidwina asked herself some questions which helped me get past the ‘block’ that I’d created when thinking about the novel, and those were:

What scares me about this story? (in my case it was the scope of it - it was easy for me to get lost in over-thinking tiny details and get too overwhelmed to handle the big picture)

What will readers take away from it? (in my case, I hoped that it was a sense of friendship, people from desperate cultures finding common ground, and a sense of being grounded in a real, tangible world.

What is its selling point? (essentially, why would an agent/publisher choose yours over the next one in the pile?). Don’t be bashful about this. This is your notebook, so if you’re proud of a feature or aspect of the story, write it down. In my case, there is no ‘Big Bad come to destroy the world’, no Chosen One who is the only one who can stop it. There is an antagonist, but it’s on a personal scale, and that’s the selling point. It’s about two people going on a personal journey to uncover a lost piece of knowledge that’s arguably not all that world-changing on its own, but which means the world to them.  

What will be the three biggest issues in writing the first draft? Identify the three biggest roadblocks, and then take a bulldozer to them. For me, it was time management, getting mentally stuck, and the sheer darned effort of it becoming overwhelming!

Important Bullet Points  

These are five key facts about your novel, distilled from the sections above. They include: What’s at the heart of the story? How long is the story? What’s the narrative focus of the story? What are the maximum number of main characters? And the maximum number of supporting characters (this obviously doesn’t mean you can’t have other, less important characters too!)?  

Relationship between the two main characters is forefront

50-100k words

The novel’s focus is on the characters’ main goal (had to be more vague here so I didn't give it away)

2 main characters

3 supporting characters  

If you find you’ve got too many main characters (not necessarily a bad thing to have a lot of characters - look at A Song of Ice and Fire after all!), then figure out whose story you want to tell here. You can always write another story with other characters in a connected novel, or a sequel. You don’t have to tell everything all at the same time.  

Speaking of characters… 

…Get to Know Your Main Characters:  

Here you can write character sheets for each of your main characters and cast. There are hundreds of these templates available on the internet, asking questions like ‘how would your character react to [insert event]?’ etc. to get to know your character. If this isn’t your thing (it isn’t mine) then at least write down some useful information about them. Rough height and weight, hair, eye and skin colour, general temperament, and any other defining physical or mental traits. 

Next came the Chronological Order

This does not have to represent the final order of the novel’s structure, nor the order in which you write the manuscript, but you need to know what happened within the timeline, and when, in order to be really clear when you’re telling the story. You can write the manuscript out of order, and you can tell the story with flashbacks or in a different order, but you need to have the underlying chronology securely in place so that your writing makes sense and so that you don’t confuse yourself or the readers in the process.  

Preceding and Tangential Events

These don’t need to be in the novel itself, but it may be important to define the sequence of events that also led up to the moment where we pick up your story, and what is happening elsewhere so that you can be sure of these too. In my case, I defined the events that concerned one of the supporting characters’ lives so that I knew how and why they were at the point they are in the story. It relates directly to - and heavily influences - the events of the novel, so I needed to have this person’s history nailed down as well, even though I don't tell it all explicitly in the book (because that would be unnecessary and a bit dull).  

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, and Sub-Plot Ideas (plus writing a synopsis)

Alicia Lidwina defined the story premise helpfully with the following formula:

Story Premise = Main Character + Desire + Obstacle

Pick a different colour for each of these components, and write a short paragraph to explain them in the context of the novel. Alicia Lidwina used the following:

[Main Character] “Harry, an orphan who didn’t know that he’s a wizard, [Desire] got invited into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and wanted to live his school life to its fullest, [Obstacle] but a certain Dark Lord who killed his parents is trying to rise into powers again and kill him in revenge.

Do this for your novel, and keep it really short.  

Plot Definition: This is even shorter than that! It’s a single sentence!! It’s most closely tied to the desire of the character, and lies at the heart of the story. It’s most likely a distilled version of the ‘what happens in the story’ from the Project Stats page, so check that to see what you wrote there.  

Sub Plot Ideas  

Five bullet points (no more) for things that are happening concurrently and which are related in some way to the main story. For me, Kae and Tomas are doing their research, so that’s the main theme, but beneath that there are a few other related incidents.

Writing a Synopsis - developed out of the points in this section, and includes:

Who the main character is

What the stakes are (the story premise is your guideline)

What the main plot line is

How the MC resolves the problem in the main plot line

How the book ends.

List of Locations  

Start with the main ones and add to it as you go on. Write a little bit of information about them so that you have something to refer back to. I also drew a big old map which I found very helpful and also really fun to do.

List of Scenes

It’s very important to map out every single scene that happens in the novel. Use your timeline to help with this, but remember a scene is not necessarily a chapter. You can have more than one scene within a chapter, but try not to have too many.  

I used small post-it notes (sticky notes) and wrote down things like “M joins K’s clan at the fire and K learns about magic” and “K studies at Citadel, intro to Citadel, magic, and characters” as separate scenes. Once you’ve written down everything that is going to happen (this will take some time! Get a drink and some snacks ready, and go slow), you can stick them into your notebook in the order you’d like to tell the story. Some chapters may have just one scene, while others may have two or three. I didn’t have more than two in any of my chapters, and actually ended up splitting some scenes that I’d made too vague in this section into more chapters. It doesn’t have to be set in stone, but it will form a road map.  

Additions and Notes:  

I left a section of the Scene Outline bit of the notebook blank for things to add in as I went along. I haven’t used it yet, but I might.  

Chapter Outline

I arranged the scenes into the chapters already by sticking them in order, but you could do a chapter outline separately after this. It’s up to you. 

NaNoWriMo plan:  

I did this back in October, and wrote down the main goal for nanoprep, which was to finish the background info. Breaking that down further, I listed - magic (how does it work exactly), geography, and politics. 

After that, it was just a case of writing the 1667 words a day. *spoilers, I got distracted and didn’t do NaNo this year* . What I should have done, was break it up into chunks and write down my goals so that I had something tangible to use as a road map, and I will be doing that now for the novel as I take it up again outside of NaNo. Having check boxes and manageable goals really works for me. Find what will work for you, and if it turns out not to, adapt!

Some final pointers and tips:

Set regular goals for yourself. Whether you work by saying ‘I’ll write 1000 words a day’ or ‘I’ll write something every day’, make a structure for yourself. If you slip and miss a day, week, or month (I didn’t meet NaNo this year because I chose to work on another project instead *slaps forehead*), don’t beat yourself up. Writing is a craft and it takes a long time and a lot of discipline to master a craft.  

Your first draft does not have to be good. At all. Your first draft is just words on paper. A first draft is the block of marble taken from the quarry, and subsequent edits and reworking is the process of carving the sculpture itself. The editing that is done by the publisher or the professional you employ to edit it for you later, is the final polishing. Don’t be demoralised if the block of marble seems very rough when it first lands in your studio. That’s ok!  

Take regular breaks. Writing is hard work, and most people can’t concentrate on something successfully for longer than 55 min's, and if you’re doing that, you’re already doing really well. Personally, I’m at 15-20 on a good day. Write in little sprints of ten minutes or so, and then get up and stretch, look out the window, maybe leave the room, come back in with a fresh approach.  

Stretch your hands, and wear wrist braces when you work. Seriously. I gave myself tendinitis on my first major project, and couldn’t use either hand properly for weeks. The ones I have are these, and they allow me to work safely for much longer.  

Keep hydrated. Have a bottle of water on the desk in front of you between your arms as you type and sip it, otherwise you’ll forget. 2 litres a day is usually recommended, but know your body and drink accordingly.  

Treat yourself. Whether that’s something as simple as a decadent hot chocolate after your first chapter/chunk/sprint is done, or a new notebook or a pen or that sticker set you wanted on Etsy or literally anything nice, reward yourself for the hard work you’ve put in, with tangible things you can look at or experience and say ‘I have that because I did the work’. It’ll help with your sense of achievement, especially if the project is a long one.  

Join a local writer’s group for feedback. With the current Covid-19 chaos, this is probably not possible right now, but getting constructive feedback on your work from someone who hasn’t been cocooned in the project in the way you are, but who respects you as a writer and wants to help you grow, will be invaluable. It’s too easy to exist in a little isolated bubble and think you’re doing ok, when in reality you could be creating bad habits which will be difficult to break later. By these, I mean things like ‘filler words’ you don’t realise you use, or other pit-falls it’s easy to tumble into when you can’t see the wood for the trees…It’s intimidating, and it might take some courage to work up and do, but I promise it’ll help you grow. You don’t have to do what the people suggest, but it’s great to get outside opinions all the same.

Submit work to writing competitions. This will help with showing agents and publishers later down the line that you’re not only committed, but hopefully talented, and will help you to push yourself. Use the world of your novel for the setting, and get to know it by writing short stories on the competition’s theme set there.  

Read. Read the writers you admire, and read them ‘actively’ - figure out exactly what it is about ‘that’ sentence that made you shiver, and use the same techniques in your own work (don’t plagiarise, obviously, but if it was alliteration that made the sentence work so well, use it yourself! Perhaps it was the metre of the line? Great, now you know a rhythm that will drive a sentence forward or slow it down etc.)

Enjoy it. If you’re not enjoying what you’re doing, it’ll show in the work. Take a step back if you start floundering, and ‘interview’ yourself about why it’s not fun any more. Refer back to the sections in the notebook that helped to clarify the plot/process, and see if you’ve wandered away from them. Make yourself answer questions like: ‘What is the main reason I don’t want to do this?’ ‘What is the character’s motivation?’ ‘Should I scrap this section?’ (don’t delete it, but cut and paste it into another ‘scraps’ document, and then start afresh from the last place you were happy with. Nothing is wasted - it all goes into building the world and getting to know the characters, even if it doesn’t get explicitly told in the finished product, so don’t be afraid to do that last bit).  

Good luck!

I hope you found this helpful, and if you have any questions or things you’d like to add to this, please feel free to send me an ask here on Tumblr.

If you’re a new writer hoping to get an agent or publisher, you might also find this post on ‘talking to a published author’ helpful or interesting.

If you would like to keep up to date with my own novel’s progress, you can follow me here on Tumblr, as well as on my writing Instagram @rnpeacock

[lovetenya]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧

pairing: tamaki amajiki x gn! reader

warnings: pretty angsty, relationship anxiety, fear of abandonment, descriptions/imaginations of choking (it’s figurative and imaginary, it’s demonstrated with snakes), hurt/comfort, reassurance, worrying, ???, ENDS IN FLUFF I PROMISE!!

word count: 1.7k 

author’s note: okay OKAY I’m sorry this took so long, i’m now onto the ones that i’m coming up with completely from scratch, because i’m not writing them from outlines. as always, this is all over the place bc i love inserting 294848 different scenarios into one work. someday, maybe, i will focus on one plot line. today is not that day. ALTHOUGH THIS ISN’T THAT BAD BY MY STANDARDS, I’M SORRY TAMAKI, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

being in love with tamaki amajiki is green.

it’s the small, fragile beansprouts he grew from the tips of his fingers at lunch time when you were kids, and he was trying to show you that his quirk was nothing to be afraid of. the other kids didn’t talk to him because they thought his tentacles were scary, but you just thought they were neat. 

he knew you before he knew mirio, and you were the reason he even considered talking to the loud, sunshine boy in the first place. you gave him the confidence to try to make new friends, to try to choke down the green of the nausea that comes with uncertainty.

“maybe not everyone is going to be mean to me,” he thought, slightly emboldened at the fact that he had a friend now. ‘y/n,” he thought. “they’re my friend now...”

it all started years ago in primary school when you noticed how he sat alone at his desk, drawing pictures of animals while the other kids played. his crayons never seemed to stop moving, and the green jungles he colored were detailed with a wide variety of wildlife and plants. 

he liked to be alone, where it was quiet and safe, and nobody would pick on him or ask too much of him. everyone knew that the tears that formed on his lashes were a common occurrence, so they tried to avoid pressing him too much. his peace usually remained undisturbed, until there was you. 

you walked up to show him a drawing you made of a spider. he jumped in fear, both at the drawing of a weirdly-realistic spider, but also the fact that someone was talking to him. 

“why don’t they know to just leave me alone?” he thought, already shaking in his seat. his blood ran cold, spit filled his mouth, and a bright green nausea overtook all of his senses. he looked up at your face, wincing and bracing himself for a playground insult. kids were creative, and he knew that all too well. 

“hi.. amajiki. i like your drawing. do you like animals too?”

“mm-hm..” he softly replied. this was new.

“what’s your favorite one?” you knew to keep it simple, because he clearly wasn’t comfortable speaking. he never raised his hand, even when his favorite subjects were brought up in class or when everyone was encouraged to participate. this time, however, was different. this time, there was you.

where mirio was his sun, you were his stars.

where mirio loudly encouraged him, you provided your gentle, guiding support, and always proved to be a perfect shoulder to lean a head into.

“i.. i like butterflies a lot.”

and so it began.

—

since you met, there were many periods of closeness and distance between you and tamaki, which is typical of childhood friends. you could go weeks without talking and then come right back together, making each other giggle with your newest ideas about the funniest things tamaki could do with his quirk. 

one day, you joked, “what if you ate a clam, manifested the shell, and then just knocked somebody over the head with it??? the guy would fall down like blehhh and that would be so funny!!!”

he laughed a little, before deadpanning. “wait a minute.... i think.. i think you might be onto something.”

—

tamaki remembers that the most nervous he’s ever been was while your relationship was still green. the two of you took a walk through a community garden after grabbing a quick dinner with mirio and nejire, and the two of them mysteriously had to leave at the same time, leaving the two of you alone. (the return of ultimate wingmen, mirio and nejire!) 

normally, he’d feel anxious about being in public, but he was okay because you were right there with him. you were here, walking shoulder to shoulder with him, through a garden full of butterflies. what more could he ask for? 

he didn’t have to worry about being judged or being teased, because it was you. the leaves surrounding you felt like nothing more than company. as you made your way through the beautiful maze of plants, flowers, and stone statues, it was just you two in the whole wide world, taking it all in and enjoying each other’s company.

although he hadn’t always known what his feelings meant, he now realized that he’s a crush on you for as long as he could remember. while mirio had several different flings, tamaki always had his eyes on you. nobody was as understanding, as considerate, and as perfect as you. he didn’t want to be like this with anyone but you.

his hand twitched toward yours, but he didn’t dare. he couldn’t risk the pain of rejection, he wouldn’t risk it. if it meant he could possibly lose you, it wasn’t worth it. luckily for tamaki, you didn’t share the same fear, and slowly took his hand in yours. he harshly avoided eye contact, desperate to not let you see his crimson red blush. you knew he had a hard time telling people what he really felt, but he wasn’t usually this quiet with you. 

“tamaki, is this okay?” you questioned.

“yeah. it’s.. good. i like it.”

—

green is the matcha-flavored boba tea that tamaki sips on while you’re on a date. he asks, “y/n, do you like seafood?” before he balances a boba pearl on the tip of his tongue and laughs. what a dork, you think, and then balance a pearl on yours. this is what tamaki needed sometimes, normal moments of relaxation, and you’re more than happy to provide him with it.

—

however, being in love with tamaki is also loving him through the moments that are hard, and when you can’t lean on each other, because it’s all too much. the moments where the problem is between you, and isn’t easily defined and solved. these are the moments when he’s green with envy, or sick to his stomach with worry, or overrun with anxiety at the most simple things. 

these are the moments where you’re tired, or overwhelmed, or you just can’t handle his emotional intensity today, even though you wish you could. you love him, of course you do, there would never be a moment in time where your heart wasn’t bursting for him, but every person has their limits.

these breaking moments are the ones where one of you blurts something you don’t mean in a moment of anger, cracking the meticulously constructed façade, which is in place to spare the other’s feelings.

they’re the moments where your mind goes blank, and all you can think of is, “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.”

they’re the moments spent frantically comforting, speaking through tears, words spilling out. they’re the moments where his head lays sobbing in your lap, and his arms circle your waist, desperate to hold onto something, anything. desperate to hold onto you, so that you don’t leave him. your words come out shaky, because even they aren’t really sure how to make this all better. how can you fix what was never meant to be broken? it’s uncertain, but you can’t ever finish if you never begin. you reassure him as many times as he needs to hear it.

“god, i’m so sorry, tamaki, i didn’t mean it, i promise i didn’t mean it.”

even though he says he forgives you, that it’s over with, you know he’s replaying every lilt of your voice, where it broke when you were angry. 

you know he’s feeling more than he lets on, but doesn’t share those intensities because he doesn’t want to come on too strong. you know better than to trust a simple “i’m fine, y/n. really.”

he’s not lying just to lie, because he’s never felt anything truer than his love for you. he’s doing it because he doesn’t want you to understand the heartbreak that often comes with love. he doesn’t want you to feel suffocated, or like you’re being strangled by thousands of emerald green scaled snakes. 

he doesn’t want you to feel their bodies coiled around your throat, like he does. 

he doesn’t want you to feel their scales: cool yet burning, smooth yet slicing, glide across your skin gently, intending to strangle. 

he doesn’t want you to feel their eyes boring into you, threatening under the ruse of being calculating. 

he doesn’t want you to feel what he does, so he hides it. even though he knows he shouldn’t, he can’t help it.

he can’t help how much he loves you, how afraid he is to lose you, how scared he gets whenever mirio and you are paired up together for a class.

he can’t help that he feels like time is running out, your life together is wilting away, and that you’re slipping through his fingers like fine sand.

but you know, truly and wholeheartedly, that his insecurity didn’t deem him invaluable or unworthy of love. his fear and his worries didn’t take away your love, and they never would. every moment spent reminding him that i’m not going anywhere, was worth it. because he’s worth it, and this was something worth fighting for. he’s worth the fighting and the courage it all takes, because he is what makes you whole. he, and everything he is, is worth loving, because there’s value to the things that break us.

--

being in love with tamaki is grassy green countrysides and wildflower stems, and finding little adventures in every single day. it’s reassurance through the irrational, it’s validation through the pain. it’s not loving despite, it’s loving because.

loving tamaki is green in its youth, in its freshness, in its refreshing reminder that you are loved. you are loved so vividly, so intensely, so naturally. 

tamaki loves you, and you know that, because he wouldn’t be able to muster the courage to let those words spill unless he really, truly meant it.

with you, tamaki can let a little loose, a little bit wild. he can let the vines restraining him wilt away into nothing.

because no matter what, it’s all worth it in the end.

—

thanks for reading! love, tj 🪶

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[something-tofightfor]

I have been following you for a while now--and I sent you anon asks well before I made my Tumblr account--but I don't know that I've ever expressed to you how much I truly, wholly enjoy your writing.

It isn't the characters, although I love them. It isn't the plot, although you do a fantastic job. It isn't the settings, although those are gorgeous and thanks to you I took a detour through Las Vegas just to see the strip (NO REGRETS THERE).

It's your writing! The actual placement and selection of the words. I think I really could pick YOUR writing out of a line-up, just because it is well-developed, and refined, and every piece of it has purpose. It has been wonderful stalking following your blog and I deeply enjoyed the couple of analysis posts I've done using your writing (don't wait up but there's more sitting in my drafts).

This is how careers are made--Writing that can bring fans to hop genres just to read more of it.

And the point is WRITE THE NOVEL!!!! carpe diem!

Sorry for the long ask!

Putting this under a cut because I'm gonna get sappy.

First of all, thank you for following and reading. I'm pretty sure I've said this before, but even knowing that one person TRULY likes and understands my work and knows what I'm trying to do and ENJOYS it means the world to me.

Knowing that you were interacting without even having a tumblr makes me so happy, because I like thinking that even if people aren't commenting or reblogging or liking things, they're still lurking. The numbers aren't really an indication of true reach, and it's hard sometimes to see something I've written and spent weeks on get 20 notes, but I KNOW that there are more people seeing it and just choosing (for whatever reason) to not interact.

YOU DETOURED TO VEGAS?!?!!? What was your favorite thing on the strip? Did you watch the fountains? Did you see the Flamingo? Did you see the Eiffel Tower?!? I miss it so damn much.

... and as for what you say next? Goddamn, you're gonna make me cry. There are so many talented writers here and on AO3 and in the real world, and for you to say something like that - that you think the way I write is different enough to pick out? That's ... unbelievable to me. Because I know that I've adapted my own style based on some of my favorite writers and taken things from the way they write ... but I just ... thank you. Endlessly, thank you.

I know I'm wordy, but I hate rushing things. I hate feeling like there was more that characters could have done, or more that I could have explained or shown, or that a situation is unclear. I want you (readers) to feel like you're in the story, and skimping out on details or writing short pieces that I feel are incomplete is just not my style, and I don't think it ever will be.

I know that my stuff isn't as smutty or as in your face or as easily consumable (short and to the point) as a lot of other work that people so often enjoy, but I am really really happy with the content that I've created and posted here. I'm happy with the way I've chosen to tell the stories that I've created, and I hope to continue doing so.

The fact that you bring up jumping fandoms just makes me feel very warm and very overwhelmed, because that says a LOT about the overall content. I want to be a writer. I want to see my name on a book on the shelves or in an e-shop and know that I created it from scratch. Success would be nice, but I guess I just want to know that something that I've loved doing for 25 years has translated into something that I can look back at and be proud of.

I've actually got an outline for the novel (or parts of one). I've come up with a couple different characters and the overall plot. It needs more research and more time and it definitely needs a lot of patience, but it's gonna get written at some point. Thank you for the encouragemnt - and please never apologize for sending a long ask or leaving a long comment. I cannot wait to read your Billy story - I promise to get to it soon! <3

[erasethedarkness]

The Cat and the Key

Summary: The most wanted woman in town has announced that she'll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat's neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail. The cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them. He was the first one to figure out the obvious, even with no intention of going for the prize: do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key.

Reader: Female

Words: 4644

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader

Note: The summary is, almost verbatim, taken from this tumblr post that inspired the story. Bonus inspiration: Please don't knock, the cat has the key.

“Ugh, another?” you sighed, vexed by the marriage proposal brought to your attention. Your parents received an offer for your hand that, like the others before it, outlined how beautifully your family names would mesh, and how lovely a woman like you would look on some rich man’s arm. As always, they emptily promised you would want for nothing- but how could they be so sure? People you didn’t even know were sending you offers, and it seemed like everywhere you turned, someone was trying to- how did they used to say it?- wife you up .

“I’m over it. I’m so over it. I’m just gonna fake a husband so no one thinks I’m available.”

“(Y/N), that’s such a dumb idea,” your brother ridiculed.

“Oh, come off it,” you groaned, rolling your eyes as you leaned back in your chair. You placed your fork down, sighing deeply and taking a sip of wine.

“Hey, I’m just saying… What’s gonna happen when you meet someone and actually do want to get married? Are you gonna fake a divorce, too? Bit more effort than it’s worth, don’tcha think?”

Your lips tightened in a frown as he made a point you couldn’t refute, the family dinner carrying on as the topic changed to something much less antagonizing for you: pets.

“God, she’s awful right now since she’s not potty trained. I swear, I come home to a mess every day,” your brother complained, his new puppy a mess of a sweetheart. “And her favorite game? Guess it. Anyone, guess it.”

“Fetch?” your father gandered.

“Fetch?! I wish! No. It’s Keep Away. Keep. Away. She takes my keys and then I have to chase her around the house because she likes to play Keep Away. The pup doesn’t even go for the decoy set anymore.”

As your parents chuckled over your brother’s misery, your eyes widened for a moment as an idea blossomed in your head, a content and mischievous smile following afterward.

The following week, you made a public announcement that was first published on your “personal” blog beneath a picture of a cat with a key around its neck:

Words cannot describe how fortunate and honored I am to receive the number of proposals and requests for my affections that I have. Everyone has made such tempting offers and promises, shown an eloquence with words and feeling, and in the end, I find it difficult to choose someone to walk this life with. The number of wonderful people inquiring on my behalf is almost overwhelming, so I have come up with a simple task:

Tied to my beloved cat is my house key. Let it be known that whosoever retrieves the key and returns it to me will have my undivided attention and romantic interest to pursue a relationship.

I know, what a wild idea, right? But animals have the best judgement in people, and it’s just as crazy as marrying someone who’s sent a letter to my parents asking for their blessings to marry me. :)

Good luck.~

It didn’t take long for your crazy idea to headline the local newspaper and station. While the letters persisted, you instructed your parents to simply throw them away- after all, you weren’t interested in someone who couldn’t be bothered to be invested in your life and follow a misleadingly simple instruction. Whoever wanted to win your heart would have to get the key, and you’d give no one else a chance

All throughout town, cat traps were set up, waiting for the unsuspecting housecat to fall into them. Food, water, and even the occasional bowl of milk was left out in hopes of attracting the sweet little feline. But the cat wasn’t so easily swayed- after all, it was a housecat and knew the luxuries that people tried to bribe it with. The strays, however, loved it, and overnight seemed to double in numbers.

Aizawa, for one, seemed to be all the happier for the influx in cats. After all, it wasn’t like he didn’t already provide for the strays around his neighborhood. Before your announcement, he always saw the same few: a tabby with mix matched eyes, a black longhair, and a calico. They were an odd bunch, but they seemed to get along, sometimes coming together to his door as he set out food for them. Gradually, more and more would pass by his door- and he wasn’t certain, but he thought he saw a glint of silver as a new cat crossed his path now and then.

The soft clink of something hitting the ceramic bowl outside his window woke the pro hero all too soon from his slumber. Still in his hero’s garb from last night’s patrol, Aizawa got up from his bed and spread two plastic lines of his blinds as he looked for the source of the noise. Outside his window, a cat sat at the bowl of water, and around its neck was a single key that bounced off the bowl as the cat drank, making the clinking sound a few times over. Next to the bowl was an empty plate, all the food eaten by strays that came before the wandering housecat.

He quietly and slowly opened the door, not wanting to scare the cat away. It stopped drinking and backed away from the bowl, staring at him distrustfully. This wasn’t the first time someone tried to approach the key-bearer to steal from it. Seeing the defensiveness, Aizawa showed his palm to the cat, a can of wet food in his other hand. Slowly he came to the plate, still more than an arm’s reach from the housecat, and placed the open can down. As soon as he set it down, he backed away and went back inside, giving it plenty of space.

From his bedroom, Aizawa pulled up the blinds, watching the housecat from afar. It was sitting in the same spot it backed away to, staring at the hero with its tail flicking at the tip. He studied the cat, discerning from its finer details that it was likely a fully grown female- and she was probably spoiled, considering the fact that she had absolutely no interest in the food he put out just for her. The cat stayed for a moment longer before something caught it’s attention, fleeing with the key around her neck still.

Nights later, Aizawa stopped beneath the streetlight across from his back door. He sucked on the tube of his fruit pouch, listening to the soft clinking the cat’s key made as she drank with her back towards him. Slowly and quietly he began to walk towards her. “Hey, kitty,” he spoke lowly, not quite a whisper but still lower than his usual tone. The cat’s ears perked up and she defensively turned around with a hiss, her back arched and tail puffed. He stopped, holding his hands up at chest level. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to go home. That okay?”

She stared him down, moving away from and around the hero, never turning her back to him.

“You hungry? It’s late; I’m surprised you’re not home with your owner,” he mumbled as he got to the door, unlocking it. To his surprise, the cat meowed softly at him and was sitting down when he glanced back at her. “Huh. Stay there, I’ll get you some food.”

Aizawa returned with a fully cooked and butterflied shrimp. He stopped just outside his door, watching the cat who sat still and returned his stare. A soft smile curled onto his lips as he placed the shrimp on the plate.

“You must be a spoiled one since you didn’t even touch the canned food,” he mumbled, talking more to himself than to the cat. He moved back to the door and squatted down, hands in plain view as he studied her. For about a solid minute, he watched, until speaking again. “Am I still too close?” he asked, standing back up and leaning back against his door with his arms crossed.

As if challenged by his words, the cat stood and took a step forward, watching him to see if he moved in response. When he didn’t, she took another, then another, until she was at the plate and just barely out of arm’s reach. The gentle smile returned to Aizawa’s lips as he saw her bow her head and sniff the shrimp, and grew when she took the shrimp and then bolted away into the night. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he went inside.

After treating the housecat to a piece of shrimp, Aizawa started to see her around his place more often. Every now and then, he’d wake up to the sound of her key bumping against the water bowl in the morning, or come home to see her sitting by the plate. Each time, he’d give her a little shrimp and watch her disappear with it delicately in her mouth. Eventually, he was able to pinch the tail and hold the piece of shrimp out to her, letting her take it from him instead of placing it on the plate. The strays seemed to warm up more to him as well, hardly moving when he walked near them on his way in or out.

Returning from U.A. one afternoon, Aizawa stopped as he heard a fuss. Looking in its direction, he saw a man bolting at him and chasing the key-bearing cat. Without hesitance, he threw out his capture weapon and apprehended the man, who immediately started yelling at him and causing a scene. The cat ran right between his legs and kept going as he pulled the person towards him.

“Hey, what the hell gives, dude?! I was just about to catch that fucking cat and get the key!”

“No, you weren’t,” Aizawa grumbled, staring at the captive with glowing red eyes, his hair standing on edge and out of his face. “In fact, you’re going to turn around and leave her alone if you ever see her again. I won’t hesitate to subdue someone terrorizing a cat.”

“Tch, whatever man. I bet you just want that key for yourself so you can marry (Y/N).”

“Hardly,” Aizawa grunted at the thought, “but anyone who has to forcibly take that key isn’t worthy of marrying her.” He unwrapped his capture weapon from the man, letting his hair fall and eyes return to normal. “Get out of here.”

With a deep sigh, he headed home for a nap before his patrol.

A few days passed without a trace of the housecat. He would never admit it, but he was actually a bit worried for her. Did someone catch her? Did they hurt her to get the key? Maybe she started exploring a different part of Tokyo? Absentmindedly, he started looking at your blog to see updates on the cat to make sure she was well, and soon enough, he was checking daily, since you posted a new picture of her with the key around her neck every day. He didn’t give a damn about the key- he was just happy that the cat was alright, and enjoyed seeing pictures of her.

The soft clatter of metal on glass caught his attention as Aizawa returned home from a late patrol. Even with his trained eyes, he couldn’t spot the cause until he crossed the street and got closer. As he squinted, he saw the familiar silhouette of a cat lost in the night’s shadows. It was on his window ledge, standing with its front paws against the glass and moving its head as it tried to look into the darkness. A soft smile pressed to his lips as he took the end of his capture weapon and tossed it close to the cat, giving the scarf playful little flicks to catch its attention.

“Here, kitty. There’s nothing inside, but you can play with this,” he offered, squatting down and moving the scarf around.

The cat stopped pawing at the glass, the clinking coming to an end as it turned and looked at the man keeping his distance. It hopped off the ledge and pounced at the gray fabric, coming into the outskirts of the streetlight. The smile on Aizawa’s lips grew wider as he recognized the housecat, her key still safely attached to her collar.

“Hey… It’s been a while. You’re full of energy right now, aren’t you?” He chuckled softly and reached out his hand, offering the back of if his knuckles to her as she played with his capture weapon. Immediately as she noticed his hand, she backed away from him, leaving the scarf with small divots where her teeth pinched it.

“You’re okay; I’m not gonna hurt you, little one…” Other than rubbing his thumb and index finger together, Aizawa remained still. “Don’t you remember me?”

She meowed softly in response and took cautious steps to the hero in black, and for the first time approached him close enough that he could just barely feel her whiskers on his calloused hands. The housecat sniffed him for a short moment before deciding to jump on his capture weapon again, catching it between her front paws and rolling over with it so that she could chew on the end while her back paws kicked at the remaining length that eventually went up to his neck. Aizawa laughed softly and gave her more slack to play with, watching the way she twisted her body as she laid on her back, and soon introduced the other end of the scarf to her. He dangled it just within reach and pulled it away as her claws came out to catch it, watching in amusement as she quickly rolled back onto her paws and swiped at the fabric that was always just out of reach.

When she finally caught the end Aizawa dangled at her, he let the scarf go, the length of the capture weapon tangled in a mess around the cat. He laughed as she began to play freely with it all again, and left her to roll around in the gray fabric while he went inside and boiled a single shrimp for her.

To his surprise, the cat followed, dragging his scarf with in her mouth. She paused at the door, sitting in front of it with the capture weapon leading from her mouth back to the spot she played in. Her soft meow greeted him as he came back with the shrimp on a plate, making him pause in the hallway leading to the door. The house cat stayed at the door as he took slow steps toward her, and placed the plate down right in front of her. As usual, she sniffed the shrimp before delicately picking it up in her mouth and turning to walk away.

After a few steps, however, she stopped and turned back around as Aizawa was pulling in his scarf. He finished wrapping it up, holding it in his hand as he turned away. Just as he was about to shut the door, he noticed a metallic gleam and paused to look back outside. As he did, the cat came up to his doorstep with the shrimp still in her mouth, and sat down looking up at him. Her eyes shifted to look inside, and then back at him.

“What’s this..?” he murmured to himself as he crouched down, offering his hand to the cat again. “It’s.. odd. Are you asking to come inside? That’s not very like you.”

The cat placed the shrimp in his hand and looked back at him, and he could have sworn it was like she was trying to answer him.

“Alright, fine, come on,” Aizawa grumbled despite the smile on his lips. He stood back up and gestured to let her in, closing the door behind her. The cat stopped and looked back at the door as her host retrieved a plate for the shrimp. His footsteps caught her attention and she looked back up at him with an inquisitive meow.

“It’s alright, kitty. I’m sure you’re trained to ask for out, aren’t you? Just wake me up and I’ll let you out. Simple as that,” he explained despite his doubt that she could understand him.

The hero set the plate on his desk, pulling out his chair so that she could jump up to it with ease. Beside it, he placed a bowl of water and his capture weapon. Without an extra pillow, Aizawa went to his closet and pulled out one of his sweaters, folding it and putting it inside the ring his scarf made, turning it into a makeshift bed for the little housecat.

“I doubt it’s anything like what you have at home, but… well, it’s the best I’ve got for a cat right now.” He smiled at her as she hopped up onto the desk, watching as she sniffed at the bed. As she sat down to eat her shrimp, he left the room to shower.

When Aizawa returned, half dressed and half dried, he looked around for the cat before noticing that she was curled up in a resting loaf on his singular pillow- right in the center with no space to share. She had already fallen asleep, and rather than wake her up, he smiled and finished towel drying his hair before getting the lights. Carefully, he sat down on the bed and pulled the pillow down and to the side, slowly and trying not to wake his visitor. The soft touch of her tail against his wrist made him pause as she meowed and stretched, and even in the darkness, the two shared a look. He smiled at her and laid down on his side, resting his head on his arm and spooning the stolen pillow. A soft, rumbling purr created a strange kind of white noise in the room, and Aizawa fell asleep much sooner than he usually did listening to it.

A few short hours later, the hero woke with the rising sun. Only half awake, he looked down to his arms where he hugged the pillow to his chest and stomach- and much to his surprise, was alone. Aizawa bolted up and flung the blanket off, looking around for the late night guest.

The clatter of something small and metal falling onto his floor caught his attention, and on the ground laid a key- it’s bearer nowhere to be seen. Aizawa picked it up and began to look around the rest of his home, calling for her- checking the kitchen, bathroom, underneath the futon, and even in a few cupboards- but she wasn’t there, and no meows responded to his voice.

That afternoon, gossip was especially rampant as people gasped and griped over the fact that you had posted a new picture that morning of your cat- without her key. A few of his students were distracted with the celebrity news, wondering and speculating on the type of person who got the key.

“I hope he’s handsome-”

“What if it’s a woman??-”

“Do you think they’ll really date and get married?”

In their distraction, they didn’t notice their instructor come up behind them, and in a blink of their eyes, they were all tied up with useless quirks.

“Do you really think a villain will care?” he asked them harshly as they squirmed and protested.

“Well… maybe? Villains have lives too, don’t they?”

“DUDE! Dude, what if a villain got the key and (Y/N) has to marry a villain??!”

The students’ excitement was getting out of hand and Aizawa squeezed them both in his capture weapon. “That cat’s not dumb enough to lose a key to a villain,” he grumbled before letting them go. “Worry about it later and focus on becoming a hero- unless this isn’t important to you anymore and you want to be cut from the class.”

His threat reeled the students back in as they knew he was fully serious- he was notorious for expelling people he deemed unfit for the hero course, and they didn’t want to be next. For the rest of the week, he seemed somehow less tolerant and more severe, as if to prevent his students from bringing you or your cat up.

Two weeks went by, allowing news of the lost key to calm down. An occasional article went out wondering why the keyholder hasn’t come forward yet, speculating that maybe the key was genuinely lost somewhere in a park or lake, or suggesting that you took the key off the cat. In truth, you were starting to become a bit concerned, so after the third week, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Three weeks had gone by since Aizawa last saw the housecat. She never returned after staying the night with him and losing her key. He was certain that it must have come off in her sleep, and- because she was a cat- she had no way of putting it back around her neck. Once or twice he thought that maybe she left it- after all, she could have picked it up in her mouth- but why would she? That put too much stock into an animal’s actions- and no matter how smart she might have been, there was no way she was like Nezu and had a higher intelligence than a normal cat. Since the key chase was over, there was no reason for you to let your cat out at night anymore, and he assumed that’s why she no longer came around.

Aizawa stopped in his doorway as he returned from patrol, hearing a familiar meow. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw the housecat sitting underneath the streetlight, watching him. As he turned around, she daintily pranced over with soft, silent pawsteps until she was looking up at him right outside his door. He squatted down and offered his hand to her, smiling broadly when she pressed her cheek against his knuckles and passed her chin over his hand. She meowed again and reared up, placing her little paws on his knees and presenting her face to him. The hero chuckled and bowed his head to her, closing his eyes as he felt her whiskers tickle his face

“You wanna come in again, kitty?” he asked, standing back up and looking down to the cat. She meowed at him again and stepped through his legs, pressing her side against his pants in the process. Without delay, the man- long exhausted by teaching and protecting- went into the kitchen to boil up a shrimp for his visitor as she wandered through his home. Once again, he placed it on his desk beside a bowl of water, then left her to take a shower.

When he returned, Aizawa dropped the towel he was using to dry his hair. The shrimp was untouched and the cat was nowhere to be found-

Instead, you sat on his bed, one leg crossed over the other, waiting for him. A light blush dusted your cheeks as you closed your eyes and looked away.

“You… wore pants back the last time.”

“... and you must have been a cat the last time,” he mumbled as he pulled on his sweatpants. The bright pink surprised you more than his nudity when you looked back at him, and you looked away again- at anything but him.

“You’re not surprised?” you asked after taking a deep breath and forcing yourself to look up at the hero. He held your eyes for a moment before leaning against the doorframe.

“... Y’know, it’s been three weeks. I figured.. If you don’t want my key, I would just ask for it back.” Your words came softly, with a fragility that caught you both by surprise. A silence settled between you as neither looked at the other.

“I thought it was an accident-”

“I guess you don’t- wait what?”

The words came out together, and you both caught yourselves as one interrupted the other. For a few awkward seconds, you continued to cut each other off trying to insist the other continue speaking, until Aizawa finally just kept talking.

“I thought it was an accident, and that the key fell off while she- er, you- were sleeping. I didn’t want to approach you and have you think I was just another person trying to marry you.”

You pressed a polite smile onto your lips and nodded at his explanation.

“I see. Um… Well, it was intentional, but if you’re not interested then that’s okay and I’ll just get my key back.” The words came flatly and awkwardly for you, but you kept yourself together. It was uncommon for you to be rejected- it’d been years, really- but the feeling was the same. Your heart sunk a little, while your lips lifted into a forced smile. You watched as Aizawa took the key from a drawer in his desk, and took it when he handed it back to you.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” you just barely mustered as your fingers closed around the key, looking down at your hand to avoid his gaze.

“It’s alright. You're… erm," he sighed softly. "You're a cute cat, but I'm … not keen on dating one, so…” he trailed off, awkwardly bringing his hand to the back of his neck.

“Oh- uh, that’s fine- I underst-”

“Wait- no, that's- I-" Aizawa sighed in exasperation as you two started talking over each other again, and sat down beside you. "Just wait a second, (Y/N).

What I meant is… You're a cute cat- a damn cute one, honestly- but I don’t want to date the cat I met, I want to know what you as a person are like. And I want to find that out without the pressure of what having the key meant.”

You glanced to the side at him, brows slightly furrowed as you tried to make heads or tails out of what he was trying to say. When your eyes met, he saw the perplexity in your expression and gave you a soft smile- the first one you’d seen exposing yourself as the cat.

“I appreciate that you trust me with your key, but I’m afraid you got to know me better than I got to know you. So why don’t we try this again on a proper date, and not 4:00am at my place?”

The hero gave you a soft and even sweet smile that brought a blush to your cheeks, and you couldn’t look away from him as you nodded in agreement. He put on a sweater and offered his hand to help you from his bed, and escorted you home despite the hour and his fatigue. With each step, you two got to know each other just a little better and more sincerely- words no longer a barrier between a cat and a human now that you shared a common tongue as man and woman.

“Aizawa?” Your voice stopped him at your doorway before he turned away. He reacted just like he did when he heard your little meows at first, and you smiled to yourself in seeing the similarity.

“What is it?”

His eyes followed you as you walked back to him, and for a moment, he looked even kinder and sweeter. You stepped in front of him, your chest nearly pressing against his, and slowly brought your hands to his cheeks. One of his hands followed yours and held your hand to his cheek as the other came to your waist. He leaned down as you drew his face to yours, and allowed your lips to meet his in a soft kiss.

“I’m glad I met you,” you whispered as he straightened back up, smiling at him before you disappeared inside.

I am, too.

[captain-azoren]

The Spirit Forged: A New Breed

Since I’m going to be kind of busy for the foreseeable future, I don’t know how much time I’ll have to actually write fanfiction. So for now, I’m going to post outlines for the stories I do have in mind.

This right here is a prequel story to my current Spirit Forged fic, detailing how my OC Raiga came to be. If you have the time, read it and leave me a comment. I might actually write it out in full.

-------

·         The story opens with a group of loggers in a forest at night; the trees are massive as they walk between them lit by lanterns. Deer-ox haul something massive on a cart, hidden by a tarp.

o   All the men are nervous as they hear a growl in the darkness. They scream as a large animal pounces on one. The carriage bolts as the rest of the men, wielding spears and earthbending, fight the creature, but are nearly defenseless in the dark.

o   The last man standing runs in terror as the creature watches him flee, eyes glowing sapphire in the dark.

·         Aang and Katara visit the Eastern EK for a vacation, one of the few places they had left to see.

o   They are there to see the Immortal Forest, one of the oldest and nearly unchanged wilderness areas in the world.

o   Toph is busy with the metal bending academy.

o   Zuko is busy being Fire Lord, with the Kyoshi Warriors still acting as body guards.

o   Sokka is spending time with Suki for his vacation.

·         Aang and Katara overhear a logger arguing with a businessman over how dangerous the forest is. The logger quits and the businessman, Shung, yells back that he’s replaceable like everyone else.

·         Aang and Katara learn about mysterious attacks happening in the forests outside a developing city and decide to investigate.

o   The attacks have either been on lumberjacks or on travelers who strayed too far from the main paths into the forests.

·         Some people claim it’s a spirit, others claim it to be bandits, some dismiss it as wild predators.

·         They go investigate and meet the Zhang tribe in the forest.

·         The Zhang claim it isn’t them behind the attacks, but there have been territory disputes between them and the city folk over a specific spot in the forest.

·         The Immortal Forest is rich with giant trees extremely suitable for lumber, but it is considered sacred. The Zhang believe only they are allowed in there, as this is their homeland. Anyone else who enters will be hunted down by Bao Hu Shou, the King of Beasts, unless they are brought in by a member of the tribe.

o   Bao Hu Shou is a lion-tiger spirit, one of the oldest and strongest, only surpassed by the likes of Raava and Vaatu.

o   Bao Hu Shou was the guardian deity of the Zhang in ancient times. It was said he protected the tribe from other spirits in the era before the Avatar and before bending.

o   Some legends say that Bao Hu Shou would grant his power to a worthy champion, called a Spirit Forged, who would aid in protecting the people and the lands from threats.

·         The Zhang debate allowing the Avatar into the forest.

o   One of the Zhang objects, a burly man in his mid-20s named Grola, but another one, Raiga, argues to let the Avatar help clear their names.

o   Raiga has light brown hair styled into a mohawk, hazel eyes, dresses in brown hog monkey skins and wields twin daggers. He also carries gear for climbing trees. He is in his late teens and has many scars.

o   Grola shouts at and belittles Raiga, but the Zhang elder agrees with Raiga.

o   They perform a ritual to bless them.

·         Raiga eagerly volunteers to be their guide. He is scrappy and hotheaded, but means well.

·         They journey with Raiga through the forest and learn a bit about him.

o   Raiga’s father was an outsider, possibly a Water Tribe warrior who left the South Pole to fight the Fire Nation, and his mother was a sickly member of the Zhang. For most of his childhood he was scrawny and weak, called a runt by the others, but he has persisted and grew into a nimble scout and hunter.

o   Raiga was there at the Great Divide, but none of the gang remember him.

o   He has so many scars because he keeps throwing himself into danger, even though he’s not a great warrior. He is a good climber and decent hunter though.

o   Raiga proves to be somewhat annoying and overbearing, trying way too hard to become friends with Aang and Katara, though he seems to mean well. This makes it very hard for Aang and Katara to have any alone time.

·         As night begins to fall, the group has an encounter with Bao Hu Shou. It knows they mean no harm, but tells them to leave anyway. It does not want any more humans in the forest.

o   Bao Hu recognizes Aang as the Avatar, and voices its disappointment; this is not the first time an Avatar has come to intervene. Humans have tried to exploit the forest for centuries, and Bao Hu has fought them off. Avatars in the past promised to keep humans out, but sooner or later humans would break the promise.

o   Bao Hu takes note of Raiga, who shows the spirit the utmost respect. Bao Hu allows them to pass through the forest for this.

o   Bao Hu is very old, and time has taken its toll on him. The shrinking of the forest and the loss of followers has caused him to lose much of his strength and power. Aang pleads to let him handle things, but Bao Hu ignores him and departs with one last warning to not linger too long.

·         The group sets up camp for the night. In the middle of their sleep, they are ambushed by bandits. There is a fight and Raiga discovers the bandits are other Zhang tribe members, the ones who bullied him and are led by Grola. They have abandoned their traditions in order to turn a profit;

o   The Zhang bandits have made a deal with Shung to act as guides and security through the sacred forest so that they can brings heavy logging machinery in and chop down the trees for lumber.

o   One logging machine is a large mecha tank on treads with a massive chainsaw.

o   They offer Raiga a chance to join in on their scheme, but he refuses and fights back, but to no avail.

o   Grola pushes Raiga down the side of a cliff, providing a distraction as they flee from Aang and Katara who go searching for him.

·         Raiga is fatally injured from the fall, but is found by Bao Hu Shou. Impressed by his audacity and determination, Bao Hu Shou offers to save Raiga’s life by merging with him.

o   Bao Hu knows that he has little time left on earth as the forests continue to shrink, but by merging, they can save both their lives and have the power to take back the forests.

o   With little else to lose, Raiga agrees, and Bao Hu Shou merges with Raiga, transforming him into a beast man with claws and fangs and a tail. Raiga’s body is healed, most of his scars vanishing, and he soon finds he’s been gifted with incredible strength, agility, and heightened senses.

·         As Aang and Katara search for Raiga, they stumble upon the logging camp. They try to confront the loggers, but a fight ensues.

o   The Zhang fight like Jet, able to nimbly navigate the trees to fight. Others use logging machines to fight, like chains and saws and axes. Some are Earthbenders, who use their bending to uproot the stumps left behind.

o   The trees hamper Aang and Katara’s ability to fight back; they don’t want to destroy any trees, but the trees get in the way of their bending.

o   Katara has little water to work with, the roots prevent any major earthbending without knocking the trees over. Firebending is out of the question, as it could easily start a forest fire. Aang’s airbending skills are effective, but they’re outnumbered and they can do little to stop the logging mech, which is piloted by Shung.

o   Eventually, both Aang and Katara are bound by chains and rope. Aang laments not learning metalbending, and he wonders if he needs to go into the Avatar state.

·         The tide of battle turns when Raiga appears in his new form, to the shock of everyone.

o   Raiga begins to tear apart the loggers and the Zhang bandits, easily able to catch the ones in the trees and take them out one by one.

o   He breaks the chains holding Aang and Katara with sheer brute strength.

o   The last opponent standing is the logging mech. It tries to grapple Raiga with its claw arm, but Raiga is able to overpower it.

o   Raiga rips the mech to pieces, but leaves the trembling businessman when he sets his sights on Grola who tries to get away.

·         High off the adrenaline and his new power, Raiga mercilessly attacks Grola, mauling him out of anger and vengeance for all the years of bullying he suffered.

·         Aang and Katara are able to pull Raiga away before he can kill the leader, but Raiga has gone berserk, the spirit of Bao Hu Shou beginning to overwhelm his mind.

·         Aang tries to calm Raiga down, but Raiga realizes what a monster he’s become and runs off into the forest, his roars echoing through the trees.

·         Aang and Katara clean up what’s left of the camp, and Aang declares that the sacred forest is completely off limits to all except the Zhang tribe, who promise to more vigilantly protect it.

·         The tribe asks about Raiga, and Aang explains what happened with him and Bao Hu Shou. They say that Raiga has become Spirit Forged, but at a price; he has lost a piece of his humanity.

·         Aang decides to try and find a technique to calm spirits. He will look to the past Avatars and learn of the toll Kuruk suffered from fighting spirits directly.

·         We see Raiga standing on top of a cliff looking at the stars. He lets out a roar before vanishing into the night. This is not the last they’ve seen of him.

-------

There you have it. I did consider having Sokka in this, but then I thought the fewer characters to juggle the better.

I might consider having more stories with Raiga set during Aang’s time as the Avatar. He’s basically immortal so he can show up at any time. Something eventually happens to him to make him go into the feral state he’s in by Korra’s time.

[spideythot]

Companion

This is an AU where Peter is Tony’s pet. I might write more, small bits of this later. But here’s something to start with for now.

~~~~~

Tony bought Peter on impulse, after watching the poor thing get slapped by an ungrateful and ugly man. Tony rushed up to the abuser and demanded to know how much the bastard had paid for Peter. Then he doubled it, took the ownership deed and Peter with him. So, here they were now, Peter sitting quietly at Tony’s feet, sniffling softly. It had likely been overwhelming for the poor little pet. There were usually protocols when buying new pets, to allow them to adjust to new owners. Tony sighed and ran a hand over his face. Peter gazed up at him. “M-Master?” he asked.

“None of that, now,” Tony said. “You can call me Mr. Stark or Sir. Okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Tony leaned down and tilted Peter’s head back. The boy was wearing an ugly brown leather collar. His skin around the collar was bright red with irritation – it was too tight. Tony reached forward to remove the offending article, but Peter flinched away. “Its okay,” Tony soothed, “Its okay. I’m just going to take it off.”

Peter shivered as Tony removed the collar so inspect Peter’s wound more closely. The skin was pink and scarred over in places – Peter had been wearing tight collars for a long time. Tony hummed, “Well, we’re going to get you cleaned up and get that treated. And then we’ll go home and get you into some more comfortable clothes.”

Peter nodded. Tony took Peter’s hand and pulled him to his feet. The boy clung to him and followed Tony out of the building. Tony hurried Peter into the waiting car, ignoring the look Happy gave him. Peter curled up on the seat and stared at the floor in front of him. Tony rested a hand on his back and rubbed the boy’s shoulders trying to be comforting. Peter was skittish, which was understandable – he was waiting for Tony to hurt him, like his previous owner had. Tony would do everything to convince Peter he has no intention of causing the boy pain. “Take us to the groomer’s Happy,” he said.

Happy simply nodded and drove off. When they arrived, Tony brought Peter inside and spoke to the women there detailing what he wanted for his new pet. He turned to Peter. “These very nice ladies are going to clean you and bandage up your neck. I want you to listen to what they tell you, alright?”

Peter nodded. “Yes, Mr. Stark,” he whispered.

“Be a good boy. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done,” Tony said.

Tony was indeed waiting for Peter when the groomers were done. He had stepped out briefly to purchase something special for his new pet. He returned and was now shopping online for other essentials. Peter needed new clothing, shoes, and other household accessories – books, toys, movies, maybe?

Peter was escorted back into the waiting room, presented happily by the shop owner. “Here he is Mr. Stark,” she said.

Tony raked his eyes over Peter. The pet stood there, shifting his weight between his feet, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. They had trimmed his hair, perfect little brown curls just a bit shorter now. He was wearing light blue sweater, too large for him but it was adorable, and soft gray leggings. He was wearing slippers too, but that was standard for a grooming shop. There was a neat, gauze bandage around his throat too. “Perfect,” Tony complimented.

Peter blushed, pretty dusting of pink on his cheeks, and gave Tony a small smile. Tony beckoned him over. Peter was still nervous, but he quickly went to Tony. The man presented Peter with a silver box. Peter opened it and gasped. Tony had bought him a new collar – ivory colored leather, with a soft lining to avoid irritation on Peter’s neck. It had three small embedded opals and a gold tag that read: Property of Tony Stark.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter murmured, “Its…”

“One of many,” Tony said. “I’ll buy you more if you like, but I feel we should make it more official. I don’t want you wearing that ugly thing that hurt you anymore.”

Peter nodded. He took the collar out of the box and handed it to Tony. Peter lifted his chin as Tony put the collar on him. Tony kept it loose, to avoid hurting Peter any further.

“Thank you, sir,” Peter said.

Tony smiled. “You’re welcome, lovely.”

Tony paid the groomers and accepted the take home care package from them. He took Peter back to the car and told Happy to take them home. “Peter, that’s Happy, my driver and bodyguard, and estate manager,” he said. “If you ever need something, and can’t find me, ask him.”

“Okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter said.

“Happy, Peter is just as important as me,” Tony said to the man. “He needs something, you notify me. Keep him protected.”

“You got it, boss,” the man said.

They arrived at the mansion and Tony took Peter inside. Peter’s eyes lit up with wonder as they entered. The place was huge compared to his last – compared to anywhere he’d ever been. “You have free range of the house,” Tony said. “Unless doors are locked. You’re not to leave the house unescorted. But you are welcome to the roam the garden as long as you notify someone.  I’ll give you a full tour, but I think we’ll start in the kitchen. Hungry?”

“I could eat, Sir,” Peter replied. “This is all so amazing. I can’t believe I’m not dreaming.”

Peter followed Tony into the kitchen, still marveling at the house around him. They ate together – Peter made the meal, surprising Tony – and then Tony gave him a tour. He showed Peter the living area, dining room, sun room and green house, the master bedroom, study and library. He pointed out guest rooms and they designated Peter one for his own use. They ended the tour at Tony’s workshop and attached garage.

He handed Peter a tablet in the workshop. “I’ve got a couple of things to do, so you’re welcome to watch a movie or read,” he said.

He had Friday set up a pet safe mode on the tablet. Peter took it with a soft thank you and curled up on one of Tony’s chairs to watch. Tony made a mental note to buy something more comfortable for Peter to have in the workshop. Tony could hear whatever Peter was watching and he let it become background noise to his work. He set up a mirror just to keep an eye on Peter, who kept stealing small glances at him. Tony kept himself busy, slowly becoming engrossed with his project. An hour or so later, he checked the mirror again, to find Peter still watching him, clearly interested in what he was doing. Peter quickly averted his gaze when Tony spun around in his chair to face the boy. “Want to see?” he asked.

“Yes, please sir,” he replied.

Peter stood at Tony’s side as the man explained what he was doing. Peter must have been educated at some point; he seemed to understand most, if not all, of what Tony had explained. Tony figured he would ask later. Tony took Peter back to the main house shortly after that. They had dinner, another meal prepared by Peter and Tony reminded himself to have groceries delivered. Then they retired to the living area. Tony put a movie on for Peter and played with his phone.

About halfway through the flick, Peter carefully crawled across the couch. “Mr. Stark, sir?”

“Yes, Peter?” he asked.

Peter hesitated for a moment, but Tony easily pulled the boy into his lap. He gently kissed Peter’s knuckles. “Is this what you wanted?” Tony asked.

“I… I wanted to thank you,” Peter said. “For buying me… you’re so much more kind than anyone else who owned me.”

“That’s sweet of you Peter,” Tony said, “You’re welcome.”

“Will you… will you touch me, sir?” Peter asked, “Or I can touch you.”

Tony hadn’t really planned on touching Peter so early on. He wanted to let his pet adjust. But Peter seemed eager to solidify their new positions. Tony dragged Peter closer, keeping his hands on the boy’s slim hips. He kissed Peter softly. Peter leaned into it, eagerly kissing back and whimpering into Tony’s mouth. Tony slipped his hands up under the sweater Peter wore, and found the pet’s nipples. Peter broke their kiss and moaned when Tony teased his nipples, gently tugging and flicking them.

“Mr. Stark!” he whined.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” Tony whispered, “So good for me, perfect little thing.”

Peter blushed, turning pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Tony grinned. Peter liked being praised, like most pets did. Tony pulled the boy’s sweater off and tossed to the side. He could see the outline of Peter’s dick under his leggings, the fabric damp with precum. “You feel good baby?” Tony asked.

“Yes, sir,” Peter said, “Never been touched like that before…”

Tony felt a small rush of anger. No one had ever touched Peter like this before? Pets were meant to be played with and well loved. Peter caught the upset flash across Tony’s face. The boy shivered just a bit. “M-Mr. Stark?”

“It’s okay, Peter,” Tony promised, “I’m going to make you feel even better.”

Before Peter could respond, Tony leaned forward and sucked one of the boy’s pink little nubs into his mouth. Peter gasped and gripped Tony’s shoulders. “Sir!” he cried. Tony could feel Peter writhing against him, hips rutting against him. Tony kept lapping at the nipple, nibbling and sucking on it to tease his little pet.

Peter whimpered when he switched to the other nipple. “I can’t, Mr. Stark!” he pleaded. Tony ignored his cries and brought a hand up to tweak Peter’s exposed nipple. Peter keened, his whole body shaking. He ground his hips against Tony’s, rubbing their clothed cocks together. His back arched and he came with a shout, ruining his leggings. Tony gave a final lick to Peter’s chest and leaned back. He held Peter in place, admiring the growing wet spot over the boy’s pants.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Peter panted, “Please… don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad at you, Peter,” Tony assured, “I loved that.”

He kissed Peter again, slipping his tongue into the boy’s mouth with ease. Peter remained pliant and even moaned against Tony’s actions. “You don’t have to ask to cum unless I say so before we start,” Tony explained.

Peter nodded. He placed a hand against Tony’s abdomen. “I want your cum too, sir,” he murmured.

“Of course, baby boy,” Tony said. Peter slid off of Tony’s lap and pushed his damp leggings to the floor. He sank to his knees as Tony opened his legs to allow Peter room to sit between them. Peter opened Tony’s slacks – Tony helped him slide them down with his briefs. Peter immediately took Tony’s cock in his mouth. He suckled the head, rolling his tongue in small circles over it. Tony hummed. Peter’s mouth was velvet and hot, his tongue moving expertly down the shaft of Tony’s dick. Peter took him deeper, easily relaxing his throat. Tony watched the boy’s eyes flutter as he worked.

“Fuck, Peter… that’s it, that’s good,” Tony groaned. Peter sucked just a bit harder at the praise, moaning around Tony’s cock. He held the man’s balls, and gently squeezed them as he bobbed his head up and down. Tony could feel his orgasm growing; his pet was quite well trained. Peter no doubt felt the man’s balls tighten with imminent release, because he pulled back just slightly. He let his mouth drop open, tongue out under the tip of Tony’s cock and began pumping Tony with both hands. Peter gazed up at Tony through his lashes, playing coy as he twisted his hands around the man’s dick.

Tony cursed again, and threw his head back. He came hard, thick ropes of it spilling down Peter’s willing throat and coating his face. Peter held his mouth open, waiting patiently for Tony to come back. Tony breathed in deeply and directed his attention to Peter, who was wiping cum from where it dripped onto his chest and licking his fingers. He swallowed what he could, staring directly at Tony.

“You…” Tony breathed. “God, you’re such a perfect little thing.”

Peter smiled at him. “It was good, Sir?” he asked.

“Best I’ve ever had,” Tony told him. He pulled Peter back into his lap. The boy curled up against his chest and sighed, content.

“Let’s get cleaned up, hm?” Tony asked.

“I can lick you clean, sir,” Peter offered.

“Peter,” Tony moaned. “I mean like a shower, so I can cool down. And we get the cum out of your hair. And then, when we’re in bed, I’m going to officially make you mine.”

Peter sat up and glanced at him, confused. He touched the collar around his neck. “I thought it was official, Mr. Stark…” He pouted.

Tony gave him a quick peck. “Well, I suppose,” Tony said, “But I’m still going to fuck that sweet little ass of yours. Make it mine, and mine alone. Since no one’s ever touched you there before, right?”

Peter blushed again, this time a brilliant shade of red. “You’ll be the only one, sir,” he confirmed.

“Good,” Tony said. He stood up, lifting Peter with and headed for the master bath. Peter peppered kisses all over face as they walked, excited for the night ahead.

~~Fin~~

[unnidoesnursing]

New Grad Interview Tips

Y’all probably see this everywhere just from youtube and googling, but I really honestly hate the trend of watching videos to find out the information that I need.

So I decided to write out some of the things that I found, and worked for me in my interviews.

1. Research the facility

Most recruiters and hospitals know that new graduates are applying to a lot of places. Therefore, it stands out more when someone can say the facility’s mission statement or state facts related to the facility like ranked #1 for certain specialty procedure.

When you incorporate aspects of their mission statement into your interview responses, it makes you more desirable as a candidate because you are displaying traits that are practiced at that facility.

But also, it shows them that you did put in a little more effort rather than just doing the bare minimum of filling out an application and hitting submit.

2. Use the STAR method of answering questions

You can google what this is.

As a new graduate nurse, most hospitals know you probably won’t have enough clinical knowledge for them to test you on patient scenarios and such. However, they do know that they can ask you behavioral questions to see how you will response in particular situations.

Nursing is a teamwork based profession whether you want to believe or not, and it is particularly crucial for critical care and ED units where people are expected to help others. These hiring and unit managers want to make sure that the person they’re hiring will mesh well with the personalities in their units. They want to make sure that you are able to work with other people, acknowledge when you’re wrong, and provide feedback to let others know when they did an exceptional job.

3. Practice your interviews and have some interview answers written down

I wasn’t nervous going into these interviews because I have a lot of experience interviewing in a corporate setting already for promotions. I’ve done group interviews, 1:1 interviews, panel interviews, you name it. I’ve done. But I’m only this confident now because I’ve had so much experience in the past.

I know how to dress, what to say, because I have experience. But if you don’t, you need to find someone who can help you practice so that you won’t be nervous in front of 1-10 strangers who are all asking you questions, and you need to learn tactics that help you refocus when you’re feeling overwhelmed. Ask someone that you TRUST to be honest with you when providing feedback otherwise you won’t know what your problem areas are and how to improve.

When you practice, you can recall answers easier. Don’t write out paragraph responses, but outline the important parts of your answer so that you can easily string together events to formulate a response.

4. ASK QUESTIONS.

Towards the end of the interview, the interviewer will ask do you have questions. You need to ask questions. This shows that you were paying attention, researched their facility, and have topics that you want to know more details in!

Even if it’s only 3-4 questions, you still need to ask. Aren’t sure what to ask? Here’s a few:

What kind of patient population/cases are seen on this unit? What kind of opportunities are present for continued growth and development? Who will be my resource other than the preceptor? What is your managing style? How would you give feedback to someone who made a mistake? What do you think is the best trait for a new grad to have to be successful on your unit?

These kinds of questions give you insight to the unit and to management that may expose potential yellow or red flags that were not shown during the initial interview process.

5. Bring a notepad, planner, or folio for notes.

You don’t need to write something down everytime someone talks. But you should be taking notes through the interview on crucial information like unit patient population, how orientation done, and etc., so that you can go back and compare units and facilities after receiving offers.

Also, this shows the interviewers that you are LISTENING and INTERESTED.

6. Try to relax.

Yes, interviews are extremely stressful, and you feel like you just have to land this position for your #1 choice or else your life is a failure.

HOWEVER, many of these people are trying to get a feel for your personality and how you deal under pressure. They want to make sure you won’t crumble, and being relaxed during an interview shows that you’re prepared and can handle stress. When you’re relaxed, you’re less likely to stumble over your words and make mistakes. Typically when you’re anxious, you tend to make a mistake, get flustered and make more mistakes which leads to more anxiety and so on.

7. Treat every interview as a learning experience.

Didn’t get the offer? No problem, it happens.

If you can, email them asking why you were turned down so you know what you can focus on. You should also take some time to reflect on your own interview to see what you could’ve done better to bring that to your next interview.

If you’re interviewing from home, record your interview in private so that you can rewatch. Interviewing at the facility? A little more difficult, but use your note pad to write down notes immediately afterwards while things are still fresh in your mind!

[loyalflutist]

Fodlan Holy Grail War (Chapter 1)

Characters present: Edelgard, Dimitri, Claude, Hubert, Ferdinand, Petra, Dorothea, Bernadetta, Caspar, Linhardt, Ingrid, Felix, Sylvain, Dedue, Mercedes, Annette, Ashe, Leonie, Lorenz, Lysithea, Raphael, Ignatz, Hilda, Marianne, Rhea, Flayn, Seteth, Catherine, Hanneman, Manuela, Byleth Pairings: Felix x Annette, slight Hilda x Marianne, very slight Edelgard x f!Byleth (Edeleth)

A/N: So... this is a lengthy chapter... and I didn’t expect to become lengthy. Most of my old chapters in my old series range between 3k - 5k maximum. This? It was 6.8k+. It burnt me out, lol. However, I had fun sticking as many characters as I possibly can for the first chapter! Hope you all enjoy this. :) I had fun writing it. 

Previous Chapter: Prologue Next Chapter: Chapter 1

----

“I hope my kid gets in.”

“He’s a commoner. You know they only enlist the richest of the rich.”

“Are you sure about that? There are some students who aren’t from nobility.”

“Yeah, but they have to have a Crest.”

“That’s wrong.”

“No, you’re wrong. They need to have the Crest.”

“My daughter will find a worthy partner!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Why not just marry her off to some rich noble?”

“My grandchildren’s future would be secured if they get in.”

“I can finally find a worthy opponent.”

“I’ll never get in…”

“Cheers!”

Commoners and nobilities mingled and exchanged powerful wishes and lamentations unto each other. Whether they spoke to those that wear their aromatic perfumes in large dosage or to those that wore nothing more than tattered rags, they chirped and frolicked like birds. It was as if a festival bloomed in all three nations simultaneously. Celebrations and haughty statements were tossed around like playthings. Anxiety and tears shed from the inevitable truths. Anticipations gnawed at their mangled souls.

Everyone knew what this month entails. Every five years, on the Guardian Moon (January), a letter from the archbishop would be sent to prospective students throughout the continent. Wings fluttered about over the population. Bells chimed in the background to signal the start of sunset. Stray feathers lazily descended upon the land from the orange sky. Children would squeal and leap, their hands outstretched to catch the pure object, the adults staring intently at the flock like predators. Many elders sunk to their knees, their clasped hands violently trembled, prayers muttered with incredible speed.

All for an invitation to Garreg Mach Monastery.

Its name easily rolls off from one’s tongue. Not more than 50 years had passed when the holy institution was instated as an academy for the continent, yet it managed to pridefully puff its chest. It is a prestigious academy so many yearned to attend. Only the best of the best was considered. After all, the monastery welcomed its gifted students with open arms for opportunities they would never get anywhere else. Future leaders and heroic warriors were products of the school’s program. Not a single student dropped out of each academic term. Everything must glisten in gold. Accepting mediocrity would sully their pristine image.

The Adrestian Empire, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and the Leicester Alliance were invited to send over their best civilians. Letters were mailed out by white owls to potential candidates; details about the invitations and academic programs sunk its sweet tooth into their recipients.

“Looks like things are about to get serious,” the brown-haired grinned, his scroll crinkled in his grip. He glanced at the wide-eyed bird. Still smiling, he slid over to his right, his hand outstretched to the thin utensil. “It doesn’t hurt to spend five years in training.”

It was as if he had outlined his course of action down cold. Hesitation was never his middle name, anyway. Past the basked warmth of his private quarters, into the corridor, Hilda peered from the corner like a Peeping Tom. Hark, she was not the only person guilty! Various members arched their neck, their head, their ears craving for delicious news.

Claude von Riegan snagged a nearby feathered pen on his desk. The young lad dipped its tip into an inkpot and fluidly circled his response on the smoothed letter. His wrist haphazardly flicked within seconds for a signature.

Submission of his response granted him the role of House Leader for the Golden Deer House from the Leicester Alliance. Hilda, Raphael, Ignatz, Marianne, Lysithea, Leonie, and Lorenz were chosen by the Church of Seiros to follow him that fateful day.

“My Lord, will you be going?”

Another young male held the letter. He shifted the crinkled paper, his bright hues aimed at his closest friend. Dedue’s inquiry caused a soft hum to sing from the blonde. At that same moment, the owl tilted its head, a soft coo harmonic.

“I will,” he twirled the feathered pen, his lips firmed, and his voice solemn. “If this will let me redeem the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus to its former glory, then I will attend.”

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd pressed his utensil unto the thick parchment. There was a circular motion of his wrist, and, shortly afterward, zig-zagged it for a signature.

Submission of his response granted him the role of House Leader for the Blue Lions House from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Felix, Sylvain, Ingrid, Ashe, Dedue, Mercedes, and Annette were chosen by the Church of Seiros to follow him that fateful day.

“Everything is falling in place,” the white-haired grimaced, her fingertips unsteadily smoothing amongst the moist palms. “I must accept the invitation.”

“Are you certain, Lady Edelgard?”

Hubert stood in her shadows. No— he is her shadow. His second posture flickered in time with the lonesome candle. She completely unfolded the scroll to the owl’s supervision. The feathered ally blinked once. She nodded. Then, the young gentleman rested a hand on his chest, the darkness discoloring the smooth beauty of his porcelain pale skin. He bowed deeper than any loyal retainer would to their lord.

Edelgard von Hresvelg stroked the application with grace and delicacy. Weaves danced upon the page in a singular motion of her wrist.

Submission of her response granted her the role of House Leader for the Black Eagles House from the Adrestian Empire. Dorothea, Petra, Hubert, Ferdinand, Caspar, Linhardt, and Bernadette were chosen by the Church of Seiros to follow her that fateful day.

Everything has been set into stone. Owls hooted their final call to the upcoming students, their wings flapped in tempo. Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude watched from high above, their pupils directed at the glistening land. The white bird was soon nothing more than a dot in the vast, orange sky. They shifted the weight on their feet, their grip tightening on the opened window's edge, their eyelids fluttered from the pleasant breeze flowing parts of their locks, all conducted simultaneously in a symphony. Now, the students must wait for the Great Tree Moon (April).

-----

Harpstring Moon (May). It has been one month since their arrival; one month at the famous Garreg Mach Monastery. Lengthy orientations and settlement were slowing to a standstill. Booming chatters and flurried excitement comfortably dipped into dignified and refined tranquility. Almost everyone had familiarized themselves with their surroundings and colleagues. Those that did not would quickly catch up.

Lady Rhea, standing in her bedroom, slowly exhaled. Birds chirped in volumes that penetrated the glassed barrier, their small bodies soaring to everlasting freedom. Tis’ the season for Spring to reach the finishing line. Their eventual retirement would pave way for the new, blistering season. She blinked. Both of her hands were raised, fingers intertwined, palms impressed, and head lowered; her silent prayers ushered into nothingness.

“Lady Rhea, how are you faring?”

Seteth stood at the doorway. Rigidity colored his posture, his bright hues gently lay to rest upon the holy maiden’s figure, to which it was drummed with the afternoon heat. She remained still and unmoving from her prayer. The same could not be said about her thin lips, its movement as casual as it could get.

“You need not worry about me, Seteth, but I am well.”

“I see.”

“How are the students?”

The songs from those birds increased in frequency. Melodies tinkered to their eardrums, their notes bouncing about within their heart, their natural passion embracing their souls. Seteth smiled in response.

“Noisy as ever.”

He could only use euphemism to describe it all.

The first month was beyond hectic. “Noisy” hardly captured the real image. Light tremors reverberated throughout the monastery. Overwhelming energy eradicated the lonesome premise once home to mere foot soldiers and bodyguards. Everyone had their eyes on each other. Crow’s feet were an epidemic as they exchanged formal greetings; some informal, such as Mercedes and Annette, where friendly hugs and kisses were given and received. An aromatic smoke wafted from the large cafeteria, sucking the population’s majority into its already-crowded site, the hopes of alleviating the chaos from outside.

“H-Hey! Linhardt, why aren’t you letting me grab thirds?!” Caspar’s reach trembled, his sight glued to the meaty target. “I’m really hungry!”

“Did you forget that there are other students in line after you?” Linhardt shook his head. “We need to leave some for them.”

“It’s a first-come, first-serve basis.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m going to starve!”

“You will not.”

“Yes, I will!”

“I suggest you change your eating habits then. It won’t hurt missing one drumstick from your diet.”

“LINHARDT!”

It is unfortunate traffic began to jam from the inside, its chaotic nature having shifted to a new location.

“Oi, are you both done yet?”

Felix felt his vein bulge from his head, his piercing eyes sparing no one. His metallic tray gloried its empty content before the bickering duo. Their shoulders slumped as their jaws clamped. Caspar would normally argue. It was his nature to counter a sharp response with another sharp response, albeit slightly weaker. Yet his blood stiffened at the sight. Linhardt shook his head again.

“Oh dear… It’s time we find a seat.”

An apology was delivered swiftly to his doorstep and they promptly removed themselves from the counter. The young male rubbed a couple of fingers against his temple, a huff escaping.

“Thank God they’re gone. They’re so annoying.”

“Felix, you shouldn’t say that!” Annette popped her head in with a bow. She gazed upon the sword-wielder with puffed cheeks. “Besides, they’re just getting food.”

“They were holding up the line, Ann.”

“You could’ve asked them politely.”

“Well, it’s too late for that now.”

“I think you should change your scary expression.”

“Oh, really?”

“I admit, it’s not as scary as Dimitri, but you should really smile more often.”

He scoffed. Felix plopped a chunk of sliced steak onto his newly placed plate riddled with greeneries and bread. His eyes slanted, turned towards Annette, and proceeded to drop a large quantity of meat onto her plate, despite her earlier objections.

“I would never be like the Boar Prince.”

“If you say so. I still think you should smile more in public.”

“…”

“Felix?”

“Annette,” the two have stepped away from the elongated counter, swooped down to press his lips upon her cheek. It left a tingly aftermath on Annette’s rosy cheeks, her feet tangled from an accidental crooked misstep. Felix freed one hand and intercepted her fall. Their faces were in short proximity, their breaths puffed amongst each other’s skin. Flames sharply ignited their skin with a roar as he whispered, “I want to shower you and only you with my smiles.”

“F-Felix…”

“Wow~ Take it to the bedroom, you two.”

Felix and Annette snapped their heads up. Seated from one of the table’s end, Leonie, Hilda, Marianne, and Ashe watched the two interact. Hilda smirked, her tongue holding no restraint. Besides her, the weary blue-haired student anxiously tugged on the pink-haired’s sleeve. Inaudible utters tumbled out of her parted lips, her pleas unheard by the female. As for Ashe and Leonie, they did their best to eat in silence, yet their ears perked for worthwhile events. Felix narrowed his eyes.

“You got a lot of nerve saying that to us, Hilda.”

“Felix—”

“Relax, Ann, I’m not going to hurt her.”

He approached the sitting Golden Deer. Though his hands were occupied, his mouth was not, and he happily made use of it. Verbiage intent on reprimanding filled the silent void Hilda purposely created. She plopped her chin on the palm of her hand, unblinking, and possibly bored out of her mind. Hilda did not bother to stifle her yawn either, letting it loose for the whole world to witness. Marianne felt parts of her soul fly out of her body, and dread shadowed over her eyes.

“Hilda, please apologize to him…” Marianne pleaded, her tugs becoming more apparent. “We… don’t want to cause trouble again…”

“Again…?” Annette raised a brow. “It’s only the first day we’ve been here.”

“Um… well… We accidentally broke a merchant’s axe…”

“How so?”

“Hil— I…. crashed into it—”

“Marianne! It was me, silly!” Hilda had done a complete 180 and swerved her attention to the shorter female. The energy that lay dormant bubbled to the surface, her arms pulling her friend into a tight embrace. Marianne felt her strength wither as her eyes widened. The sensation of her weight was still in her arms as Hilda glanced over at Annette. “It was me. I broke it. Not her.”

“…really?”

“Yes! I actually broke it with my bare hand!”

“Are you sure you aren’t covering up for her—”

“I. Did. It.”

“Hey! Why are you ignoring me!?”

“Pipe down, Felix,” Leonie waved her fork. “I’m trying to eat here!”

“Oi, Hilda started it!”

“And you continued!”

“Why are people so— You know what? Nevermind.”

“Hah? Could you elaborate on your unfinished statement?”

“I think this conversation is over, comrade.”

“Fine!”

Felix and Leonie fumed. Imaginary puffs of air emanated the dramatists. Soap opera would want to take note of their interactions for the next spectacular feature. Ashe began to laugh after settling the metallic mug onto the table.

“It sure is lively.”

“Lively? I think it’s outright noisy.”

The orange-haired promptly slugged his shoulder. Ashe ran out of language, incoherent sound effects elicited, and his hand furiously rubbing the affected area. His endurance is above average. He had an innate ability to run longer, burn faster, and bear far more than an ordinary boy similar in age and stature. If given the chance, his splendors would be renowned at the monastery. Yet he underestimated the power of a person called “Leonie.”

“Ow… You don’t hold your punches back, do you?”

“Why should I?”

“…”

Women are scary! Leonie especially! Such prowess that bundled and coiled in the young girl… How is that possible!? Sweat flew from his head dramatically as Leonie jabbed her fork into another piece of protein, its squelch muted from the rowdy setting. Felix fingers ran through his black hair, Annette appearing back by his side and pulling on his arm.

Ignatz and Raphael, who sat on the opposite end, pinned their gaze upon the small group. Flailing of arms, subjectless exclamations, and unnecessary lamentations painted the group as a form of entertainment.

“Ignatz, you think they’ll ever stop?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Why can’t they take it out on the training ground? I heard it’s good for sparring.”

The young boy shrugged his shoulders. As if on cue, the level of noise had risen. Vocals were lost amidst the background, his lips moving without sound.

“— - –—"

It went on for a couple of seconds, hinting of its lengthy content. Raphael was unable to grasp any of them; not a single peep was grasped and stuffed into his eardrums. He leaned forward, his muscular chest pressed upon the extended furniture, and tried to hear his artsy friend.

“——-—"

Raphael frowned. Under normal circumstances, one would speak up. This was not the case for the mighty brawn.

In contrast to their curiosity, Mercedes and Ferdinand could not bear to look. The mantle of responsible dependency rest over the duo’s shoulders.

“This is turning out to be a lively first day,” Mercedes giggled, her spoon scooping bits of the honeyed porridge. She tucked a stray strand behind her ear, her long eyelashes fluttering. “I hope it will stay this way for a long time.”

“It will happen if you strongly believe in it,” Ferdinand motioned.

His absurd confidence resonated in her heart, the healer shooting a glance. An amused hum stroked his taste buds once he took another bite from the salad bowl, oblivious to the probing gaze. She tilted her head. There had to be discrepancies with his proclamations and reality. Mercedes is a devout believer for religion and charity, but even she knows about the harsh conditions real-life posed.

“How could you be so sure?”

“Because I am Ferdinand von Aegir.”

“…oh! I… see.”

Did she expect something deeper from him?

“…”

He beamed. She reciprocated with a beam of her own. Maybe she was asking too much from him.

Nearby the four eaters, a black shadow zipped by. None of them had sensed the abnormality. Another shadow scurried after the first foreigner. That was when their sight and auditory senses kicked in.

“Was that Sylvain?” Raphael blinked. “What’s he doing?”

“I’m not too sure… It’s probably not something good, knowing him.”

“You think so too, Ferdinand?”

“I can attest to that, fufu~”

A shudder ran down Ignatz’s spine. “Y-You’re kind of scaring me, Mercedes…”

“PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Students standing and nestled near one of the four doorways nearly went into cardiac arrest, their hands immediately resting over the wildly thumping organ. Glares and bewilderment shot at the fatigued girl. Bernadetta had burst from the cafeteria. Under normal circumstances, she would cower from their dagger-like stares. However, their eyes were the least of her problems…

“W-Where… Where can I go?!”

She had to run. She had to hide. She had to disappear.

Hot behind her trail was Sylvain. The young noble tossed his hand out to the doorway’s border. He grunted, his firm fingers curled inward, and swung his body out into the open with a sharp turn.

“Bernadetta!” he hollered. “Come back here, will you!?”

The fluttering of loose-leaf papers threatened to fly away like a bird from his grip, an entrapped victim desiring for release. Sylvain’s fast feet neared the writer, but he was careless. Smooth as the road may be, the pathways were littered with specks of debris, with some large enough to warrant a red flag.

“WHOA!”

He stumbled forward. Life danced before his eyes, Sylvain’s arms frantically mimicking wings, his frail balance with gravity fractured. Sweat poured from his pores and his breath hitched. Multiple half-steps pitter and pattered in front of one another while incoherent outcries sputtered. By the time he reconnected with the earth by kissing its pavement, the papers had all flown away to its yearnful freedom.

Bells chimed throughout the academic ground as tens of scribbled sheets scattered the clear blue sky. Day owls hooted, its wide eyes estimating the distance of its haphazard counterpart during its flight. Five of the wonderful creatures flapped and urged forward into the open plane.

High above the training ground, they traveled with sporadic battle shouts emitted from Ingrid and Petra. Two partners clunk and smacked their wooden sword.

“Haaaaah—!”

Petra swung the blunt end down. Ingrid immediately adjusted her posture, her knees bent, and her right foot slid backward. The knight raised her weapon vertically.

‘ CLUNK! ‘

Comma sweats crawled down to her chin as Ingrid felt her wrist creak. Petra’s feet returned back to earth, but not without applying an extra layer of pressure onto her opponent’s wooden sword, her arms shoved forward with a grunt. Ingrid nearly bit her lower lip, a tiny lump traveling down her throat. The Brigid princess is strong.

“Take this!”

The knight instantly reduced her strength. Petra’s figure lurched forward from the unexpected loss of equilibrium, her stability with gravity disrupted. Ingrid sidestepped to provide room for her fall. She elegantly twirled the training wood at hand and thrust it outward to “stab” Petra.

“Oh my gosh…” Dorothea watched from the distant, her hand covering her mouth. Petra had twisted her body enough during the collapse to avoid the assault. The songstress clutched her chest, small clumps of her brown hair clung to her moist forehead. “This is so stressful to watch.”

The two wonderful ladies sparred to test their might and the two had asked Dorothea to be the judge. But… who should she cheer for? Petra came from her house, but Ingrid was always there for her since the day they stepped foot. It didn’t help that they were both a beauty. Luscious hair, bountiful maturity, toned figures, delicate fleeting touches— Wait, why was she thinking about that?! She underwent her own mighty battle as the clunking of the wooden blades continuously overlapped.

Surprisingly, not one page had descended upon the monastery’s ground. The owls gave another hoot. High above the marketplace, they traveled and Lysithea, Lorenz, Hubert, and Dedue stood amongst the growing crowd.

“Ugh, I think that’s unfashionable,” Lorenz shook his head, his hand resting on his forehead. “I would expect better from you.”

“That’s rude to say that to them!” Lysithea elbowed the taller male. She furrowed her brows. “You know they’ve traveled far out here to sell their goods. Give them a break.”

“Unfortunately, if they were passionate, their products wouldn’t like this.”

“Lorenz!”

“It belongs in the U-category for ugliness.”

Unfortunately for the two, the merchant they were squabbling in front of began to see red. His shaky hands extended outward to the broom. The still shadow of fury washed over his eyes, his wooden stick slapped the stall’s pole. Both visitors felt beads of sweat fly out of their heads at the newfound sight. Death rarely crossed their minds, but today was one of them.

“It was nice visiting your shop, mister!”

Lorenz was about to follow the praising Lysithea when— oopsie! He was shoved towards the furious owner! A shriek slipped out after a narrow escape from certain doom, the stick walloped the ground mere centimeters from bodily contact.

“LYSITHEA!”

Hubert and Dedue glanced over to the rowdy Golden Deer.

“My, how unpleasant,” Hubert grumbled. He snapped shut one of the two spellbooks in his hands. “If Lady Edelgard would be disturbed by these silly activities, I would have to do something about it.”

“I object,” Dedue crossed his arms. “I understand where you are coming from, but that is not the correct way to serve your lord.”

“Excuse me, did I ask for your opinion.”

“No, but it is something I had to say.”

Hubert narrowed his eyes. “I think it would be wise for you to keep your opinion to yourself, Dedue.”

“…”

Dedue resisted the temptation to sigh. Out of all the students he had met, he knew they would have a rickety relationship. Perhaps they will never see eye-to-eye, and perhaps that will never happen. Nonetheless, their upmost loyalty to their lord was commendable. Hubert respected Dedue for serving Dimitri, and Dedue respected Hubert for serving Edelgard.

Past the students, more students arrived from all three nations like little ants through the gate. The gatekeeper’s cheerful “Welcome!” brightened their spirit for their new life. They were going to spend the next five years working, challenging, learning, loving, and forging bonds. It was an opportunity not many were granted.

They came in all different sizes and shapes. Some were from nobility. They were given special treatment by the Church, their accommodations sate the high-leveled expectations for their living conditions. Many possess some form of Crest, whether it be minor or major. Some were commoners. They were given resources by the Church, their accommodations sate their basic necessities for their living conditions. Very few possess any form of Crest.

House leaders were handpicked and determined by the archbishop, Lady Rhea, since day one. Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, and Claude von Riegan would act as this academic term’s house leaders.

Edelgard von Hresvelg would become house leader for the Black Eagles.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd would become house leader for the Blue Lions.

Claude von Riegan would become house leader for the Golden Deer.

“And so… we meet again, Dimitri,” Edelgard lowered her teacup. She sat opposite of the blonde, her lilac hues keeping tabs on his every action. “Though I cannot say I didn’t expect this.”

“I agree,” Dimitri chuckled. “Since you did not return to my kingdom, I predicted this might happen. You’ve changed though…”

“In what way?”

“Your hair—”

“That might be for another time.”

The abrupt cut off slashed hard. Dimitri blinked a couple of times in silence, his teacup returned to the clothed mat. Loveliest of all trees ruffled from overhead as a breeze smoothed their exposed skin. He lowered his eyes, a heavy weight nestled between his shoulder blades.

“Perhaps another time.”

Though silence should have followed, Claude intertwined his fingers, chin rested on them, elbows on the table, and tilted his head.

“What shouldn’t be saved for another time is how you both know each other. Spill me the tea.”

“I don’t know, Claude,” Dimitri bitterly smiled. “It’s a long story.”

“I agree. It might sour our teatime session too.”

“Aw, you’re both no fun,” the young man smirked. “Why not tell me? I promise to tell you something in exchange.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Maybe about my past too.”

“Hoh… That’s quite a trade.”

“Trust me. Here, I’ll give you a little snippet, free of charge,” Claude straightened his posture and coughed into his fist. “Not too long ago, I bumped into two fabulous people. They were of nobility, yet they seem to know each other.”

“Claude…”

“One was a cute little princess, and one was a grumpy looking prince.”

“Claude.”

“And I hope we could become good friends.”

“CLAUDE.”

Edelgard and Dimitri overlapped, their cheeks flushed. Claude placed his hands behind his head and winked.

“It’s a good story, don’t you think?”

-----

Now, a month scampered forward, to where Seteth, Rhea, Flayn, and Catherine stood inside of the holy church ground. Seteth was bent down, his fingers brushing black ink on the pristine surface, faint squeaks occasionally cracking the still atmosphere. Flayn bent forward in a similar fashion, hands behind her back, and observing the process. Those paired bright hues, accompanied by a smile, flickered between her older brother and the ritual drawings.

“I’m excited to see who the new professors and staff are.”

Garreg Mach Monastery had a tradition every five years: the Garreg Summoning Ritual. Led by the Church of Seiros and its headmaster, Lady Rhea, this was one of the many options to tackle economical strategies. Funds from the Church were finite; there was only so much their nails could scrape in from donations. So they turned their heads towards a new shining beacon.

Three students from nobility, who would naturally become house leaders, were invited to complete the mandatory summoning ritual. Being chosen as house leaders were not an easy feat. The students had to derive from a long legacy of lineage fit to rise to the role. A large quantity of magical energy, called mana, was required to fulfill their position. This was so they can summon their professors.

Unlike other academic institutions, Rhea expressed this unique tradition for over 50 years. The act of calling forth their instructor would help bolster the students’ performances with a teacher fit for their personalities, attitudes, and beliefs. It was the perfect substitution for conducting costly background checks and hiring of adjuncts and tenures.

“To be honest, Flayn, I’m a little worried who they will be. I still cannot get over the fact one of the students summoned a thief!”

“He was stealing a lot of our supplies, wasn’t he?”

“Unfortunately.”

“If I hadn’t caught him, the church would have been in a pinch.”

Seteth paused. He glanced up from the fresh circle, his chuckle apparent. Catherine, on the sideline, cracked her knuckles.

“I would’ve pummeled him if it weren’t for Flayn.” No moral restraint… a rather prominent feature in very few warriors like her. “The fact that he would take Lady Rhea’s belongings deserved more than a simple execution.”

So long as it was in the name of Lady Rhea, she would chop up her limbs and offer it up to the holy maiden.

“I am certain that would not happen again.” Rhea stepped forward once Seteth rose from his crouch. “I have prayed to the Goddess for good fortune. I can sense that this year will be one that will forever be remembered.”

Catherine’s knuckles suddenly whitened, her grip tightening on the relic’s handle, and jawlines outlined from the smell of fresh meat purifying the distilled air. The double doors creaked. Sharp eyes penetrated the sturdy chests of the incoming house leaders. Claude and Dimitri each pushed one half of the majestic, tall barrier, Edelgard walking between the tall boys. It was picturesque.

Seteth and Flayn returned to Rhea’s side as the archbishop silently motioned her hand down to Catherine. A grunt as she eased her hold, but not without a displeased exhale. The top-ranking Knight served under the name of Seiros stepped back. Her eyes had not left the three students, however.

Archbishop bowed.

“Greetings, House Leaders. I hope you have familiarized yourself with the Officers Academy.”

“I think we’ve had plenty to check around,” Claude said. “One month is enough to make us experts for any visitors.”

His jokes were not received— Rather, Rhea rolled over and onward from his witty remark. She slowly looked at the marked ground.

“I have also requested that you participate in the Garreg Summoning Ritual. You all were required to bring three items that you wish to use for the tradition.”

Then, she returned her gaze to the trio.

“You will be their Master and they will be your Servant. But you will refer to them as your Professor.” Her eyes were crinkled. “Are you prepared?”

Dimitri, Claude, and Edelgard nodded. Their silence following afterward notion the archbishop to beckon them forth.

“Best wishes, my children. May the Goddess watch over you.”

One at a time, they stood in front of the archaic circle, their hands and pockets filled. Compatibility may play a heavy influence on their soulful incantations, but the students’ chosen objects held some degree of control over who their professor would be. They exchanged glances. The question now lies if Lady Luck would bestow her magic for them.

The first to stand is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. He pieced the three chosen objects with great care upon the circular design. A monocle, a parchment on tactics, and blood from a dying boar preyed the markings. His vial had tipped upside down after a complete stride. Dimitri stuffed the stained glass into his pocket, the metallic iron smeared his and his friends’ olfactory. The Prince of Faerghus raised his hand.

Stanza after stanza riddled the tense environment. Sky blue light illuminated beneath his feet, a gust of wind swirled around the noble, his navy cape flapping in the air. Searing heat crackled into the back of his hand, his brows scrunched, and his stifled cries noticeable. Dimitri’s chants maintain stability. There would be no interruption that would snaffle his delivery.

Bright light blinded everyone on the premise. Edelgard and Claude were forced to shield with their arms, their eyelids squeezed shut for good measures. Catherine, Seteth, and Flayn grimaced from it. Rhea calmly stood out with her holy demeanor. The entire church disappeared for a few seconds from their sight, the sky blue blanketed their vision.

Fine mist surrounded a tall man. The summoned Servant stroke his gray beard, his monocle glistening in-sync with the sunrays, and his thick coat covering all parts of his body, leaving very little room for skin exposure. He spotted the panting Dimitri, the mark of the command seal tattooed on his burning skin. Little attention was given to the others as the elder chuckled.

“So, it appears that I have been summoned by a young gentleman.” He bowed deeply. “I am Hanneman, Archer class.”

“An Archer, huh… You don’t look like one.”

“You think so?” Hanneman cupped his chin. “Then again, you speak of the truth. I am well-versed in the art of magic. As you can tell, I am nothing more than a scholar when I was alive.”

Dimitri nodded, his shaky hands coming to a standstill. It appears that the person he had summoned was not meant to be summoned into this class.

“Yikes… That’s one heck of an L you’re gonna have to take,” Claude shook his head. This bemused the new professor. Yet Dimitri responded in his place.

“I find possibilities where others see limitations, Claude. This is a gift from the Goddess.”

That earned Dimitri a whistle. The Golden Deer House Leader smiled—genuinely in fact—it stroked the blonde’s heart to a slight flutter!

“You might be right… this might be an impressive result in the end.”

Seteth proceeded to cleanse the circle in preparation for Claude as they continued their conversation. Edelgard, who had remained mute, stared down at the palms of her hands. They were violently trembling as if an earthquake descended. Was it from her nerves? She instinctively curled her fingers inward and jammed her nails. In the background, Dimitri pat Claude’s shoulder as he was next in line.

Claude von Riegan took out his belonging. A wooden flute, a package of herbal medicine, and an alcohol bottle. The first two objects held the least shock value compared to the third for both Dimitri and Edelgard. When they expressed wonderment, Claude responded with a playful tone, his hand cautiously spilling the alcoholic content.

“Random chance. I have a feeling this is going to go well.”

“I don’t think you should be horsing around with this…”

“Relax, Dimi, I got this.”

He mimicked his friend’s action after settling the empty container on the ground. Hand extended outward, his lips parted, and golden light circulated the ritual. The wind blew into their figures once again as his chants became louder. Compared to Dimitri, he was able to bear through the flaming sharpel from the forceful engraving of the command seal for the most part.

This time, the newcomer was a woman. Dressed to impress, her beauty radiating in conjunction with her angelic voice, the Servant boasts her skillsets to the witnesses.

“I am Manuela. Songstress, physician, Caster class, and available, I look forward to working with you, Claude.”

Boastful? Perhaps, but Claude sees the positive trait from it. Though some may think otherwise.

“How haughty.”

An unusual remark from Hanneman. Dimitri, Claude, and Edelgard diverted their attention to the older male, his features tinged with displeasure. Manuela felt a strong pulsation from the corner of her head. The Caster opened her mouth, paused, then clamped it close. She dryly swallowed and waved her hand.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Hanneman. Wouldn’t want to look back in front of my new Master.”

Claude felt a nervous chortle erupt from his throat. His and Dimitri’s Servants are going to have a field day with each other… Their eyes shifted to the quiet female. Not a peep from the princess. Her nerves must have gotten the best of her, her figure stiff as a stick. They wonder… what could make her so nervous?

Their pondering continued as Seteth wiped and swept the remaining materials from the ritual. Rhea motioned once more for the final summoner. Edelgard inhaled deeply. She held it. Then, she exhaled.

Finally, it was Edelgard von Hresvelg’s turn. In her grasp were three items. Just like Dimitri and Claude, they were special in their own way. They picked it with careful consideration. For Edelgard, she had found these materials from the Red Canyon. Ferdinand and Hubert had accompanied her for the abrupt trip. Compared to Claude and Dimitri, she felt a strong, magnetic pull to the location. It was almost as if it were calling for her.

A rustic piece from a shattered sword, a torn patch from a dark overcoat, and… that was it.

“Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation Let my great Master Hresvelg be the ancestor”

Rhea widened her eyes when she spotted the white-haired unsheathing the dagger from behind.

“Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.”

Its slithering blade shone as Edelgard brought it high above her head. Catherine reached for her sword, her wrist prepared.

“I hereby declare Your body shall serve under me.”

The tip moved in a curvature. A crimson line was left in its wake, the blood oozing out of her self-infliction.

“My fate shall be your sword.”

She tilted her hand despite the throbbing aches scratching underneath her cut.

“Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail If you will submit to this will and this reason… Then answer!”

Gentle vermillion light encapsulated everyone present. Its rays brightened with each drip of her blood, her offering sating the slumbering Servant. At that same moment, a fiery ignition dragged burning hot iron on the back of her hand. Edelgard bit back a whimper. She grabbed ahold of her extended wrist with pinched features.

“An oath shall be sworn here! I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!”

A gust far more powerful than that from previous sessions threatened to fling the students away. Seteth and Catherine had embraced Flayn and Rhea respectively, their feet rooted to the vibrating floors. Dimitri and Claude struggled to keep afoot. Their narrowed eyes peered through the slits as Edelgard forced herself upright. The grip that kept her wrist in place squeezed until her blood circulation drastically slowed.

“From the Heaven, attended to by three great words of power Come forth from the ring of restraints, Protector of the Holy Balance!”

Just like Dimitri and Claude’s session, white light enveloped their five senses.

“…”

Smoke lingered in the air, but at the center of the summoning circle, no one had appeared. Everyone waited with bated breaths. Seconds transitioned into a minute. The silence was all that resulted. She glanced down at the back of her injured hand. The aching red mark resembling that of an unknown Crest seared into her skin. Yet this excruciating process yielded no Servant.

“…why?”

Edelgard sunk to her knees.

Had she failed? Was this all a fluke in the end? Edelgard groveled at the tainted ground, her magma-red blood engulfing the entirety of her wounded palm in its flames. The command seal was still present. What did she do wrong? Tears spurted from her lacrimal glands, those salty substances hurried to separate from her skin and onto the flat surface. Claude and Dimitri exchanged worrisome glances.

“Edelgard…”

“Princess…”

They approached the withered youngster. They stood nearby but found the inability to engage sympathetically. After all, their Servants lingered from behind. The boys were able to call forth their professor, and Edelgard was unable to. They would never be able to understand her anguish.

“This isn’t fair…” she hoarsely whispered. “Did I do… Is this karma?”

“Karma? Don’t be silly,” Dimitri shook his head. He kneeled to her level and eyed the female. He was not sure what she meant by karma, but it crushed his heart to see his childhood friend defeated. “Your Professor might come. You still have your command seal.”

“That means nothing if they don’t appear.”

“Is this thing rigged?” Claude’s attention diverted to the older adults. He motioned towards the weeping girl. “This isn’t supposed to mess up, right?”

Rhea shook her head. “This is the first that had happened before. All professors were able to be summoned the past nine times.”

“You didn’t have to include that last part, you know.”

“Hey, don’t speak to Lady Rhea like that, young man,” Catherine stepped forward and viciously pointed his finger. “Know your place.”

Claude huffed. He shrugged his shoulders and abandoned insanity. “I apologize. I’m a bit frustrated too for Edelgard—”

‘ BANG! ‘

It was immediately accompanied by a distant crackling of heavy logs tumbling on top of each other. Students and staff alike perked their ears. Claude and Dimitri immediately assisted in Edelgard’s recovery, their Servants swiftly turning to the source. Precautions were taken as their chosen Class weapons were pulled out. Catherine completely unsheathed her Thunderbrand, its electricity crackled and popped without restraint. Seteth shielded both Flayn and Rhea with his arms, his body ready to absorb any potential damages.

Once the dust had settled before them, they were greeted with a spectacular sight. The Goddess Seiros must have shone her lucky stars to the warrior. Stones and obliterated woods formed as a piece of disheveled furniture. Arms resting on the natural armrest, palm pressed on the Sword of Creator’s hilt, and cheek leaning on her elbowed hand, she slowly opened her eyes.

“…”

Could this be…? Edelgard’s jelly legs wobbled as she approached the arrogantly seated woman. The roles were reversed. Edelgard collapsed onto one knee, head raised to the female like a Servant as the Servant exerted regality like a Master. Navy hues dragged its gaze to the fallen. She examined the student with scrutiny.

“Your blood…” The newcomer had gotten up from her seat, kneeled, and instantly greeted the magus with a kiss on the gash. Normally, this would be viewed as romantic, but not a lick of emotion crossed. When she parted, sticky fluid clung to bits of her chin. “I’m bad at healing, but this is the least I could do.”

Perhaps this is part of an innate skill the Servant has. The shallow infliction had dissipated, leaving behind a bloody mess of leftover iron.

Then, she got up, sword still at hand. Edelgard watched in awe from below as the Servant quietly spoke,

“Byleth. Saber class. Tell me… are you my Master?"

[unsettledink]

From the Ask Game Post celebrating finishing Act 1 of Gotcha:

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an "architect" or a "gardener"? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

Grrrrr I have a very low opinion of him lol. But as to the actual question – with the exclusion of Gotcha, definitely a gardener. I generally get a snapshot or a scene or two, and then start working out from there. Sometimes it's just letting it sit for a while and see what starts connecting, and sometimes I'm actively going okay but what happened between? How did they get there? After I've got enough parts I have to start getting a little more specific about the daydreaming. Or, well, I don't, nothing is topping me from posting 2k of one random scene!

(And now I ramble about outlining Gotcha lord what a project:)

Gotcha is a very different experience. It started out because I wanted a lot of not that kinky sex between Quentin and Peter, way back in... ooof, Sept 2019. So I literally made a list of the things I wanted them to do, lol, and then kept thinking of more. There were so many that I wanted to be part of the same fic that I realized I'd have to have some sort of connective bits between, sigh.

And then, uh, the connective bits started getting more important and there were emotions and plot and wtf? By that time I had realized I couldn't put this all in one massive doc, but I didn't have a timeline or a real idea of what went where, just that some certain things happened and how I wanted it to end. Scenes kept popping up and it was getting more and more overwhelming. It didn't help that I was working overnights at a hotel during that time, so I literally had eight hours all alone with nothing to do but daydream and write (well it was a good thing too but).

I realized that as much as I've never been a fan of outlines, I needed something for this monster. I'd finished Better Than not that long ago and not having a structure for it was difficult.

I ended up really liking the format of the percentage outlining I found here, because I could figure out those basic points easily enough, and then start figuring out where the problems went, and then roughly how much space should be filled between them. I probably spent four or five nights messing with it, getting one for the fic as a whole and then one for each of the six acts (also basically why I did six acts vs any other number lol). And while a few things have moved around, those have stayed pretty solid throughout.

Great! But then I reached another point, where it was like... the space between 20% and 35% of one act ends up being like 20k, I need a little more structure withing THAT jfc help.

I spent a really, really long agonizing amount of time trying to map it out precisely on a calendar. Which was really frustrating when I had something pinned to a certain date – say, Halloween – but I wanted scene 1 to happen at least two weeks before that and that meant scenes 2-5 need to happen before that but scene 6 is tied to a date only a month earlier, how can I fit that many scenes in there???? But forcing myself to really work within that framework helped me make stronger connections between scenes and reasons for things to go where they do.

I've gotten away from being exact down to the day of a specific year and let most things fall 'sometime within this week', but it's still really useful. Right now I've actually got a sticky note map up on my wall that I was using to restructure Act 2 before I got really going on edits. I did that for 1-3 at one point and being able to visually see color coded clusters like that was incredibly helpful.

I kind of hope I don't ever have to get that exact or detailed for another fic because holy crap it's been a lot, but I also don't think I could have gotten far on Gotcha without it.