#doing whatever i can to distract myself from actually writing fic

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Your writing is amazing! I’ve been checking daily for new fics lmao

I was wondering if your requests were open would you be able to write some angst with a happy ending w/ Peanut?

Perhaps a Shy!Reader who has flirty banter with Logan. They’re on a mission and Logan has to make a quick decision on who to save — Reader or Jean and he saves Jean without thinking. Reader ends up surviving with a few injuries but her and Logan’s relationship starts to deteriorate. Logan’s not good with verbal apologies so he does acts of service — bringing reader food/drinks etc. reader is stubborn and Logan starts to get frustrated. He eventually proves himself to reader.

I’m sorry if this is confusing!! I’m not creative enough to write it myself and you’re really really skilled. Love your work x

a/n: I read this request and then read them together and my brain imploded because I loved it so much, no smut in this one Summary: Logan saves Jean on a mission and it's the wake-up call you desperately needed to understand that you will never be her. You can't stand to look at him anymore and he doesn't understand why you've stopped talking to him.

“What’re you thinking of doing after this?”

You shrug, leaning back on the uncomfortable bench seats and looking over at Logan. “Not sure, got any plans?”

Logan smirks and you immediately know whatever he’s about to say is going to send you spiraling. “Yeah, whatever you’re doing, sweetheart.”

Oh. My. God!

You know you’ve got it bad when something as simple as that has you swooning. It’s so easy to fall into this routine with him, to pretend you’re more suave than you actually are. Despite your usual tendency to fade into the background, you find it nearly impossible to do with him. 

Where someone else might let you stay quiet and go ignored, he seeks you out. He makes you feel seen and heard. Some days you don’t know if you appreciate it or despise it. You laugh a little, trying to hide just how affected by him you are. “Sounds good, Lo.”

He smiles and leans back on the seat, his arm coming around the back to rest lightly over your shoulders. You can tell from the look on Storm’s face that she’s trying not to laugh at you. You can’t blame her, you’re sure your eyes have tripled in size and you look absolutely stunned. 

Flirting isn’t out of the usual for you and him. Lately, though, he’s upped the game. Touching you more than usual, spending more one-on-one time together. You can feel it all building up to something. You’re shy, not stupid, you know when a guy’s going to ask you out. 

But it feels like he’s dragging it out longer than necessary like he’s enjoying teasing you a little too much.  “Alright,” Scott stands up and moves towards the back of the jet. “We’re almost there, get ready.”

You, very reluctantly, pull away from Logan and get to your feet. He walks past you, briefly squeezing your hand before joining Scott by the ramp. You grin, flexing your hand by your side and trying to memorize the feeling. 

The ramp lowers to the ground and Scott and Logan lead the way out. You’re expecting this to be simple. Stake out the area, find some information about the people running the warehouse, and figure out what exactly it is that they’ve been doing. 

The air is bursting with moisture. It’s suffocating, how humid it is, how it makes the material of your suit cling to your skin. You know the rest of the team can feel it. That it’s irritating them just as much. 

None of you want to be out here in the peak of summer, trying to be stealthy in these ridiculous costumes. Your thighs squeak every time they rub together. It’s beyond embarrassing. You know that that’s what has you all distracted. 

You’re struggling through ankle-deep mud and sweating buckets. So none of you are paying any particular attention to the area around you. Technically, you shouldn’t have to, you’re still about a mile out from where you need to be. 

You duck, hands coming up to cover your ears as Charles’ voice screams through your mind. It’s a trap!

Even with the warning, there’s no time to prepare. The ground around you explodes, grass and dirt flying through the air. Logan grabs your arm, he shoves himself in front of you and takes the brunt of the bullets. Splatters of blood hits your cheeks and he runs you both behind a tree for cover. 

The other three have all found their own cover and they’re struggling to figure out where the shots are coming from. You spot something in the underbrush and scream, “Behind you!”

It’s more of a warning to duck than it is to move. You throw your hands up, shoving the man away from them and sending him flying into the trunk of a tree. You swear you can hear the snap of his spine as it hits the bark. 

You look to Jean and nod towards the small clearing of trees. “Don’t,” Logan warns. But you’re already slipping out of his grip and solidifying the air in front of you. It provides enough of a cover, absorbing the bullets, and giving you all time to figure out a plan of attack. 

Jean moves beside you, eyes narrowing on the perimeter of your cover. “There are too many of them, more than I can count.” 

“How did they know we were coming?” Scott snaps, keeping an eye on the area behind you. 

Your arms struggle under the weight of your power. The more bullets they shoot into your cover, the harder it is to keep up. You’re forced to absorb their energy, push it out tenfold to try and keep the blockage solidified. 

“Guys,” you snap, “we need a plan. I can’t hold it much longer.” You grit your teeth, taking a step forward to try and push against the strain. It does nothing but make your bones ache. Logan shoots you a concerned glance, coming up behind you like he wants to take the weight off your shoulders. But there’s nothing he can do. 

There’s movement behind you, a boot snapping a twig in two. You can’t risk looking back but you can hear the worry in Jean’s voice. “Ten of them-”

You can tell by the sounds of their movement that the others don’t give her much of a chance to finish. Ororo, Scott, and Logan all shoot forward to deal with the threat. Ten isn’t much to worry about. But that doesn’t change the fact that the men in front of you haven’t let up and you’re about to weep from the weight of keeping the wall up. 

Jean stays beside you, brows furrowed in concern. She places her hand on your shoulder and closes her eyes. A second later you feel something like a cool blanket laid over you. The tension in your arms and core eases just enough for you to stop clenching your jaw so hard. Some of the strain eases away and you know she’s sharing it with you. 

But just as quickly as the relief was given, it’s yanked away. Jean jumps back with a gasp, “Flux, we need to move!”

“I can’t,” you shout, fighting to be heard over the sound of bloodshed and gunshots going off in front of and behind you. The others are steadily moving through the people surrounding you, but their numbers are still overwhelming. “It’ll all come crashing down,” you tell her. 

She glances towards the bullets, finally spotting the way they’re slowly, but steadily, moving through the thickened air. The second you let go you’ll be riddled with holes. “Shit,” she hisses. “Look, we can’t stay here much longer-”

She’s cut off by a loud bang. You’re so disoriented by the noise your hands drop to your sides. At the same moment, you hear wood splintering and cracking beside you. What has to be the largest tree in the forest creaks before it begins its descent down towards you both. 

You don’t what happened, or what they used, but it doesn’t matter. The wall in front of you is fading. You have seconds to get out of the way of the bullets and the tree, you’re not sure either of you is going to make it. 

“Jean!” There’s a flash of brown hair and Jean’s being tackled to the ground, safely out of the way of the tree and bullets. You feel something stinging against your shoulder and know the first bullet’s made its way through. 

You also see the tree is almost over top of you. You’ve always been a fight response in flight or fight scenarios. But when there’s nothing to fight, when you have nothing to go up against, you freeze. It’s horrible, you know it, but there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Even as you’re desperately screaming at yourself to just fucking move, all you can do is watch as the tree topples down on top of you. “Flux, duck!” The words trigger something in your brain just soon enough to drop to the ground. 

Scott releases a red beam, blasting through the tree and knocking it off course. You don’t even register the smell of burning flesh as you lay in the mud. Your blood is rushing so fast in your veins, there’s so much adrenaline pumping through you, you can’t focus on anything except the sound of your heartbeat. 

You let out a breath of relief, slowly lifting yourself up to your knees. You don’t hear any more fighting and you figure whoever they hadn’t taken down before, the beam took care of the rest. 

You look down, checking yourself for any bullet holes or serious damage but you can’t find anything. Something warm trickles down your shoulder, it drips across your arm and down your hand. 

You look at the blood curiously, it seems to steady a flow from the simple bullet graze you’d had earlier. “Oh my god,” Jean whispers your name and you turn around with a concerned look. 

You want to ask her what’s wrong but your eyes are trained on the way Logan’s arms are bracketing her. He’s practically on top of her, only now getting up to check on you. You get it, it was a stressful situation, he acted fast. 

But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the lump in your throat. It doesn’t ease the burn of betrayal. He saved her, not you. He chose her even though she doesn’t want him. The anger you’re feeling only makes it harder to be aware of your surroundings. 

It’s not until Scott kneels behind you a presses a gentle hand against your back that you lurch forward with a loud cry. The pain slams down on you all at once. The wind blowing gently against your back feels like someone’s dug razor blades in your skin and ripped. 

Feet rush towards you, someone kneeling beside you and grabbing your shoulders. Logan forces you up and makes you look at him before his gaze turns to your back. “What the fuck did you do?” He practically growls, lunging towards Scott. 

He grabs him by the collar and shoves him into the dirt. Ororo and Jean leap forward, trying unsuccessfully to rip him off. You try and keep your eyes open, try and stay focused. The pain is too much, you don’t want to be awake for this anymore. Every nerve on your back feels like it’s being forcefully exposed and plucked at. 

Your brain forces a shutdown and you slump into the mud, the world going black. 

When you wake up, you’re on your stomach. You’re a little dazed, not fully remembering how you got here. You try and sit up but there’s a steady grip around your wrists stopping you. “Don’t move,” Jean warns from somewhere behind you. 

You try and look for her but you can’t move much. Your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, stuck to the pillow beneath you. “What happened? Why can’t I move?”

Her shoes appear in front of you and then she’s kneeling down, a slightly worried look on her face. “We needed to make sure you didn’t roll over in your sleep.” Her brows crinkle and she frowns, “You don’t remember?” You shake your head minutely. She sighs, lifting her hand to your face and pressing her chilled fingers to your temple. 

The images rush towards you. You see it all from her eyes. The way Logan had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground, checking over her and not once looking at you. How Scott had tried to stop the tree from breaking your spine. His beam had just barely grazed your back as you had ducked. But it was enough for there to be serious damage. 

Through her view, you can see the way your skin had bubbled up and blistered. How horribly damaged it was. You have limited healing abilities, but it was enough to stop the nerves from being permanently damaged. 

She lets you go and you groan, the pain slowly registering in your brain. It’s dulled and you don’t know if they’ve given you drugs or if your abilities are still working to help you. “How’s Scott?” 

She chuckles and shakes her head while she undoes the restraints around your wrist. “He feels awful. He keeps coming by to check on you.”

The thought of him sitting beside you while you were strapped down to the bed makes you feel a little bad. It wasn’t his fault, he’d helped you. It was more than Logan had done for you. 

You frown, hating yourself for being bitter. If he hadn’t helped, Jean might not be here next to you. He had saved your friend. The thought didn’t bring much comfort, though. “I’m not mad at him.”

Jean eases you onto your knees and slowly helps you sit up. It causes minimal pain, but it’s still uncomfortable enough to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms. “I know, but he’ll probably be coming down here a lot to check on you.”

You almost ask her if anyone else has visited. If Logan had, but you don’t think her answer would make you feel any better. “He did,” she tells you and you click your tongue in irritation. 

“Out of my head,” you warn. She releases you with a small grin. “I don’t care,” you tell her, trying to appear nonchalant. 

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing on you. “Yes, you do. And I don’t need telepathy to know.” She walks towards your IV bag, fiddling around with something on the line. “He was here whenever he could be, practically lived beside you.”

“Don’t care,” you tell her again, but there’s less conviction this time. 

Jean frowns and you hate how guilty she looks. It’s not her fault he’s desperately in love with her and not you. You can’t force someone to love you or choose you. And you don’t want to. You want someone to love you for who you are, not because they couldn’t have their first choice. 

“Don’t,” you say lowly. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything before the door bursts open, both Logan and Scott sliding into your room. Scott lets out a relieved breath when he sees you. He breathes out your name and approaches with a guilty smile, “You’re awake.”

“Charles told us,” Logan informs. You offer him a brief glance before diverting your attention to Scott. 

Petty, you’re aware. But you don’t want to see Logan right now. You’d put so much effort and time into your friendship with him. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t feel the same way about you. You two are best friends, and he didn’t even try to help you when you needed him the most. 

So, you smile at Scott. You forgive him and you tell him you're fine. You chat with him and Jean while Logan just stares at you from the other side of your bed. You can’t make yourself face him. You don’t want to look at him, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Eventually, Scott’s guilt is slightly assuaged and he and Jean leave for the night. Logan is a heavy presence beside you, one you no longer can ignore. You shift around, pretending to fluff your pillows until he grabs your hand. 

“What’re you doing?”

You look at his hand and then at him. Whatever look is on your face is enough for him to release you and back off. “Getting comfortable,” you spit out, more venom in your voice than necessary. Something clicks for him, you can see it as it happens. 

He backs up and narrows his eyes down at you. “Right.” He frowns and sucks on his teeth, nodding his head silently. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling a little better.” You don’t miss the hidden dig underneath it all, the way he’s calling out you’re unusual behavior. 

“I think that’d be best.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, slamming the door behind him as he leaves. You jump at the noise and it makes you hiss as a twinge of pain shoots down your spine. You feel slightly guilty about the whole interaction. Then, you remember the way he’d been cradling Jean and you feel slightly vindicated. 

You’re sure he doesn’t even give a shit. He’s probably pouting in his room, wishing Jean was in bed beside him. 

What the fuck?

It’s all that’s been playing through Logan’s head since he returned from your room in the medbay. He’s waited days for you to wake up, so he can finally take a breath and let go of the anxiety that’s been plaguing him. 

He’d thought that he’d lost you in that forest. When he’d gone for Jean, he’d assumed you’d just be able to use your powers to knock the tree out of your path. Or make it melt around you. 

Honestly, he can’t put a finger on what exactly he was thinking. But he knew that you could protect yourself and that would be your priority. So he’d moved without really thinking and grabbed the person who would be collateral damage if your powers went haywire. 

And then you hadn’t saved yourself and all he could smell was your burning flesh. The smell has been stuck in his nose since you were brought back to the mansion. He can’t escape it. Everywhere he goes, he sees you burning and hears your screams. 

He’d thought that you were dead and there was a moment where he genuinely was so lost he could do nothing but watch as the others swarmed you. He couldn’t move, couldn’t help you. He could only stare at your still body and pray to anybody who could hear him that you weren’t dead. 

He didn’t know what he would do if he lost you before he ever got a chance to love you. 

He’d, irritatingly, imagined all the different ways he would finally tell you how he felt when you woke up. He’d prepared himself for every possible reaction, except this one. He hadn’t expected you to reject him before he ever got the chance to confess. 

Anger stews within him as he paces through his room. He knows that it’s unfair to be upset with you. You’d gone through something horrific and there had been doubts about your recovery. Of course, you’d act off. 

Except, you only seemed to be directing that at him. Had you been just as dismissive to Scott, the person who actually hurt you, he would have looked past it. He’s tempted to go back down and see you again, maybe try and make you see some sense. 

Instead, he decides to give you both some time to calm down. He doesn’t want to do anything he might regret while he’s pissed off. He’ll see you tomorrow and, hopefully, you’ll be back to normal. 

You’d thought Logan might have gotten the hint with how you behaved earlier. That was not the case. He’s back today and you can smell the breakfast food he’s brought you. The smell is wafting deliciously from an inconspicuous brown bag. 

But you know it’s from the restaurant that’s twenty minutes out of his way. You’re not petty enough that you can’t appreciate the forty-minute round trip he’d taken for you, but you still aren’t excited to see him. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles at you despite your clearly hostile energy. He tugs the chair towards your bed, ripping open the bag and pulling out enough food for the both of you. 

You think it should be considered a form of manipulation to call you that while you’re pissed at him. He has such a clear effect on you. You know he’s aware of it. He knows that when he calls you something sweet like that it makes your heart race and stomach flip. 

You turn your gaze towards your blanket. You pretend the thread pattern is the most interesting thing in the world so you don’t have to look at him. You’re sick of giving your all to men who couldn’t care less about you. 

You’re tired of being the second, third, fourth choice. You want someone to choose you first for once. And you genuinely thought Logan would be the man to do that. But he’d chosen Jean. You should have known. 

“Alright,” he huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at you. You’re pissed off that he’s acting like he’s the one who was hurt. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve never been this mad at me before.”

It’s his tone of voice that really grates on you. He genuinely does not understand what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t even comprehend the possibility that you might be mad he left you to die. Have you really become such a doormat?

Yes, you’re shy and generally reserved with the people you meet. But he is so different. You two met and it was an instant connection that you thought was reciprocated. You hadn't realized that you'd become so complacent in the relationship he thought he could get away with something like this with no repercussions. 

“You left me to die,” you snap at him, voice taking a pitch it never has before. You’ve never truly gotten angry at him. Pissed off sometimes when he teased you a little too much. But you’d never plainly shown anger at him. “You fucking left me behind and expect me to, what,” you scoff and shove the food back towards him. 

“You think some shitty breakfast is going to fix this?” His face contorts. It screws up into something like hurt and you worry you might have been too harsh. He doesn’t know how you feel about him. He doesn’t know that this would hurt you so bad. 

But, it doesn’t matter. You’re still his friend. You should have at least warranted a little concern. 

Just as quickly as it appeared, the hurt is washed away by his own anger. “I thought you could take care of yourself. Isn’t that what you’re always bitching at us about?”

If you weren’t so upset you might find it funny how quickly the two of you turned on each other. Clearly, there was something repressed between the two of you. Some brewing resentment that neither of you had ever acknowledged. The words are coming quickly now, without thought.

“Fuck you, Logan,” you snap back at him. “You didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died. You only cared about your precious Jean.” You spit out her name with so much venom it stings as it leaves your tongue. 

He laughs, getting out of his chair. He shakes his head and glares at you. His anger is always a physical thing. You know he’s pacing so he doesn’t do something worse, like destroy the entirety of the room. 

“That’s what this is, you’re jealous? Don’t blame your fucking incompetence on me.” You hate the way he’s speaking to you. Like you’re a little girl who's incapable of understanding even the most basic of concepts. He has such a patronizing look on his face, you want nothing more than to wipe it off. 

The tables beside you tremble, the vases of flowers rattling against the wood. “I’m your friend, Logan. You could at least pretend like you cared about me.”

He leans against the end of the bed, tilting himself forward until he’s aggressively imposing your space. You shrink back against the pillows, narrowing your eyes in disdain. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me. I knew that your priority would be to save yourself and I acted accordingly. This wasn’t some goddamn ploy to get into Jean’s pants. Grow the fuck up, Flux!”

You flinch back at the volume of his voice. Unwillingly, tears pool in the corners of your eyes. It’s an involuntary response. Sometimes you just get so enraged that you have no other way to get rid of it than to cry. It’s infuriating to see the moment someone stops taking you seriously and starts to think you’re nothing more than a crybaby. 

Logan’s face pales and he winces, backing away from you. “I didn’t-”

“Enough,” you stop him, voice thick with unshed tears. He never calls you by your X-men name, it’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you. That’s a formality reserved for the other members. To each other, you’re nothing more than two people who care deeply for one another. 

Or, you had been. Before this one moment had blown your life and your back up. 

“I appreciate how much faith you have in my abilities, but the fact that your first instinct wasn’t even to protect me says a lot.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head. “Thanks for the breakfast, but can you please just leave?”

He looks like he doesn’t want to. You know he doesn’t want to leave. You two never fight like this. Even if there wasn’t a lot said, it’s still not normal for you. Maybe that should have been your first hint that things weren’t what you thought. 

It’s healthy to fight, to a certain extent. Sometimes it's needed. You two never have before and you know it’s just been brewing for a while, waiting to blow up. “I-”

“Get out,” you shout, and the tables beside you finally crumble under the weight of your emotions. They drip to the ground in an inorganic form of liquid wood. “Shit,” you hiss, glancing over at them. You wave your hand and they return to their normal state, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have lost control at all. 

The door slams and you look up to find the room empty. You sink back against your bed and run your hands over your face. You ignore the way the skin of your back screams in protest. 

You embrace the pain, the fiery shocks running up your nerves as the bandages chafe against the wounds. You focus on that instead of how things have ended with Logan. You always had such high hopes that he might be the one you finally man up and confess to. 

You should have known you were wrong. You should have known that it would never have ended with him picking you over her. 

You’re permitted to leave the medbay the next day. You don’t see or hear from Logan for the following week. You can’t confirm if he’s purposefully avoiding you or not but you have to believe he is. You both live in the same hall. You don’t know how it’s possible to have gone this long without even catching a slight glimpse of him. 

You force yourself to suffocate the part of you that misses him. You picture the side of yourself that longs for his presence and imagine shoving a pillow over her face. You don’t want to ache and cry over someone who doesn’t give two shits about you. 

You keep reminding yourself over and over again that when things got rough he showed you his true colors. But it’s more difficult than you imagined to just completely disregard so much history with him. 

Besides, you hadn’t realized just how little you interacted with the others until Logan was out of your daily life. It’s so difficult for you to bond with people that when you’d connected with Logan you’d latched onto him. 

It’s a little pathetic, honestly. Being grown and eating lunch alone because you only had one friend. You wonder if your feelings for him were genuine or born from a desperation not to be alone. You don’t let yourself linger on the question for long. 

It’s as your training with the students that you finally see him again. 

“Has he made much progress yet?”

Jean shakes her head and purses her lips. She watches as Billy, one of the newer students, struggles with the logs in front of him. He was a firestarter, a very inexperienced one who had only ever set his curtains on fire. 

His powers were more focused on the mental aspect of things rather than the physical. Which is why you and Jean were in charge of helping him. He couldn’t start anything on his own, he only really seemed to be able to activate the ability when he was emotionally stimulated. 

That meant whenever he was mad or sad, or anything in between, everyone in a fifty-foot radius was in danger. He was a risk to the other students and you were both trying to be gentle with him. But you’d been working with him for so long and there was so little progress. It felt like he wasn’t trying sometimes. 

He’d asked Rogue out a week ago and when she’d said no, her hair had caught on fire. You know he could have been hurt and lashed out without thought or malice behind it. But you’d seen the look in his eye. 

You’re fifty percent sure he knows exactly what he’s doing. This little act he puts on is just to get himself out of trouble. You hadn’t brought the issue to Charles yet because you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Billy,” you call out. His head whips up and he sends you a vicious glare. You can’t help the sneer on your lips. “Just take a deep breath and try again. There’s nothing wrong with struggling, we all did.”

You put on your normal teacher voice, calm and collected. Assuring. But the little shit in front of you isn’t buying it for a second. He gives you a sarcastic little grin, “Right. Sorry, I forgot you’re a fuck-up just like me.”

“Billy!” Jean snaps, taking a step forward to reprimand him. She doesn’t get far before there’s a fireball shooting out of his palms and hurtling towards the both of you. 

There’s no chance to react before something slams into your side and is tossing you to the ground. Your head nearly snaps against the grass but there’s a hand underneath your skull softening the blow. 

You smell something smoking and look up to see a large scorch mark right where you’d just been. Jean’s standing over it, palm outstretched as she keeps the fire subdued. She gives you a worried look, “Are you okay?”

Surprisingly, yes. You glance up to see Logan hovering over you. He backs off when he notices you’re okay, getting to his knees and offering you a hand. Wordlessly, you slip your palm into his and let him help you into a sitting position. 

“You alright,” his hand hovers over your shoulder like he wants to pull you closer. But he resists, backing off and waiting for your answer. You nod your head, still a little dazed from the failed assassination attempt. 

He narrows his eyes, searching your face for any sign of head trauma. When he’s properly assured you’re okay he jumps to his feet. “Billy!” His voice booms across the courtyard and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen that little asshole scared. 

He’s barely on his feet before Logan is stalking towards him, jerking him forward by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the mansion. “We need to have a little talk,” the tone of his voice has you a little scared and you’re not even the one he’s mad at. 

Jean walks towards you and helps you to your feet. “Is your back okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod and brush your clothes off. You have to physically shake the shock of what happened off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe he did that.”

Jean scoffs and glares towards Billy’s back. Your eyes widen in shock when you see the large scorch mark across his arm. “Jean! He got you, are you okay?”

She glances down at her shirt and frowns. “Yeah, practically a sunburn.” She gives you a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine.”

As shitty as this sounds, you’re not concerned for her. You can only focus on the fact that she was in just as much danger as you and Logan had tackled you to the ground. You glance back towards the mansion, more fucking confused than ever. 

You’re not sure what compels you to follow Logan, but you’re running after him before Jean can stop you. He’s barely got a minute headstart on you, you’re not sure why you can’t find him. You’d gone through every inch of the first floor. 

You don’t know where he would have dragged Billy, but it’s nowhere you can find. After about ten minutes of looking for him, you give up on the hope that you’re ever going to figure out what’s happening inside his brain. 

You let out a defeated sigh, running a hand over your face and trying to shake off the funk of the day. You can’t believe that little shit tried to roast you. You’re not comfortable with the fact that he’s just roaming around inside the mansion somewhere. 

You turn out of the living room and nearly slam into someone. His hands shoot out, grabbing your shoulders and gently stopping you. “Logan,” you give him a strained smile. “I was looking for you.” You glance over his shoulder and frown. “Where’s Billy?”

Logan sighs, his hands linger on your arms for a moment before he takes a step back. “Wheels got to him before I could do anything.”

You laugh a little, the noise involuntary. “What were you planning on doing with the sixteen-year-old?”

He doesn’t find the question amusing if his expression is anything to go by. “He was really trying to hurt you.”

His words sober you up slightly and you drop the flippant attitude. “Yeah, I wanted to,” god, it feels like you could choke on the words. Just last week you were screaming at him for not helping you. Now, you could barely thank him because he had. 

“You’re always my priority.” He tells you before you can struggle any longer. Your head shoots up and you stare at him with confusion. He groans, the noise tired and resigned. “Saving Jean was a mistake. I mean it, kid, I just thought you could handle yourself.”

You open your mouth but he stops you before you can argue. “I know, that’s not the point. I should have saved you, no matter what I thought you could or couldn't handle.”

“No,” you stop him and shake your head. “No, Logan, I shouldn’t. I,” your mouth opens and he stares at you expectantly. What you were going to say gets stuck in your throat. This is a horrible idea. 

“I liked you in a way you didn’t like me and it was unfair of me to push my expectations onto you.” You wanted it to sound better, and more intelligent. Instead, it came out in one rushed breath and you’re not sure he even understood half of what you said. 

His brows furrow in confusion for a moment before a smile breaks out on his face. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that he’s smiling. You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or about to profess his undying love. 

You don’t have to wonder for long. He moves closer towards you, leaning forward until you’re practically sharing the same breaths. Unconsciously, you’re drawn into him, hands braced gently on his chest as you chase after him. 

“What are you doing?” Your whispered words brush against his lips and he gives you a small smile. His hands travel up your waist. He tugs you closer, his other hand looping around your neck and craning you up. 

“I’m gonna choose you every fucking time, kid.” His lips brush across your own and it’s like a switch is flipped in you both. Your arms twine around his neck, pulling him down until you’re practically melting into him. 

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so different at the same time. You always thought your first kiss would be after some cheesy first date. He would have taken you out to dinner. Something would have inevitably gone wrong, you spilled something on your dress or the waiter brought the wrong order. 

You would both worry that it was a sign that nothing would work out between you. And then, at the end of the night, he’d tug you into his arms and kiss you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. 

That would be nice, but this is better. He’s not holding you like you’re something fragile or something too precious for this world. He’s kissing you like you’re the very air he needs to survive. He’s greedy with his affections and demanding with his wants. 

You’re being consumed and devoured. And you never want to stop. This is all you’ve ever wanted with him, from him. 

Sadly, you do have to breathe. You’re the one that forces the stop, you’re sure he would have happily suffocated if it meant he could keep touching you like this. You pull back, the air coming in short pants between your parted lips. 

You can already feel them swelling, the slight irritation on your cheeks from his stubble. You don’t mind, you quite like the feeling. He speaks before you can, a pleased smile on his face. “Forgive me yet?”

You chuckle, a little impressed by how cheeky he is, still slightly pissed off. “Why don’t you do that again and I’ll think about it?”

He rolls his eyes but you can see the smile fighting against his firm glare. “You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?”

You smile and nod, leaning into him again. “You’re never gonna hear the end of it,” you whisper before dipping down and kissing him again. You can’t believe you ever doubted just how much he cares for you. 

He didn’t choose Jean over you. He’s just a dumbass. 

a/n: I had to resist putting in a “pick me, choose me, love me” line in there bc that would have just been too much lol

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl ♡ 

[mattphobiia]

ok so... i was wondering if you could write a matt or chris smut where they are in the podcast studio with the reader (their gf) and thye try to not get caught

(please tag @mattsfavwh3re)

PODCAST.

disclaimer: heres some more smut AGAIN, im rlly treating you all right now😭😭 also this was suggested by @mattsfavwh3re so thank you!!! hope you enjoy this ml😛😛 also working on more requests so pls be patient🙏

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

the triplets and i all sat in our spots before nick began to set up the cameras to record as they all opened up todays video topic. i was sat next to matt with an extra microphone as they introduced me as their guest, matt's girlfriend. i waved over to one of the cameras before smiling as they all laugh, making me feel confused and nervous. did i do something wrong already?

"thats the wrong camera." matt whispered in my ear, making me freeze in embarrassment as i sigh. "don't worry about it, other guests make that mistake." his hand slowly reaches under the studio desk, resting onto my thigh before we all engaged in the topic.

meanwhile, his hand rubbed against me in slow circular motion as each movement of his moved further up until he was at my inner thigh, nearly making me choke mid sentence.

"are you good?" nick asked concerned while i reach over to grab my bottle of water, taking a quick sip before gaining my composure.

"yeah, let's continue-" i cut myself off when matt suddenly slips my underwear to the side while his index and middle finger hovered over my folds before spreading them apart, making me shudder at the sudden contact. one finger was now touching my clit directly as i bit my lip hard, nodding along to nick and chris while matt stayed quiet, trying to hide his smirk.

the tip of his finger now dragged along agonisingly slow as both now pressed against my clit and rubbed softly in slow circles. with no warning, he suddenly inserted his fingers inside me before slowly thrusting them in and out. my hand nearly flew under the desk as i tried to grab his wrist and pull him away, but his grip was stronger than mine. his leg hooked around mine under the desk as my legs were now forced to widen. i felt my whole body sweat as i felt my nerves rise higher and higher. my heart was practically pounding against my chest, nearly letting out a moan as i squeezed my eyes shut, resting my head against the cold surface of the table.

"guys! are you even paying attention? seriously, whatever you two are doing needs to stop." chris groans, rolling his eyes at us both while nick stops talking to look at us both.

"what even are you doing?" nick asks hesitantly, an unreadable expression on his face, but before i try to speak up, no words could come to my mind.

"she beens complaining that she doesn't feel well." matt adds in, feeling relief wash over me before i pull his hand away whilst he was distracted. "i think we should just have a break and continue later."

we both immediately got up from our places as i nearly rushed out of the room, matt following behind me while chris and nick glanced to each other across the room, giving confused looks. when i shut the studio door, i slapped matt on his arm, looking at him with a death stare.

"what was that?!" i yell, grabbing onto his shirt in frustration as i pull him closer to me. i wasn't actually mad, but it was just something you wouldn't usually expect from him.

"awh, am i not allowed to have fun?" he smirks, his hands now resting on my waist, pressing a small kiss to my lips.

"i didn't say that! just don't do that with your brothers there." i sigh, resting my head against his shoulder. "can we go relax now?"

he nods, beginning to interlock his fingers between mine while holding onto my hand gently, now walking away from the podcast studio as we make our way outside.

"i love you." matt smiles.

"i love you more, idiot."

MASTERLIST

a/n: i feel like this isnt my best fic but guys pls im so thankful for all ur reblogs, likes and the support🥹 thank you all so much i appreciate you SO MUCH, you motivated me so much and have gotten me through work (i hate my job), my account is slowly growing and im so happy people like my work! like i say, suggestions are open for anyone but just remember that i have my own personal life so it could take awhile for me to write yours. i do see all my requests! anyways, have a nice day all of you:)

[griefabyss69]

THWIP THURSDAY

technically tagged by @carbonbased000 for WIP SHARING PURPOSES and so here I am! Thank you <3 I haven't done any WIP posting/games/etc in ages and I appreciate everyone who tagged me, it makes me feel nice even if I don't participate <3 I mentioned in some tags earlier this week that I attempted to have a day where I took a break from writing (I've been writing a LOT lately, even more than I posted in Sept) and that instead of doing THAT, I got possessed by two brand new WIPs that refused to wait their turn. One of them is over 20K by now and the other I think is still under 10K but it's gonna be a long one! My instinct is to keep these squirreled away until they're finished but they're not gonna be finished for a very long time so I might as well share some of the longer one! ---

God. What a relief, when Eddie slides into the passenger's seat, looking exactly how Steve expects him to, smelling like coffee and cigarettes - though he said he was quitting - and everything he uses in the shower. "Hey," he says, pulling out of the driveway. "Hello there," Eddie says, looking him over. "Is this a… don't you DARE talk to me about it kind of thing, or do you want to bring it up later, or should I pull it out of you with brute force?" Steve laughs. Everything's actually alright, isn't it? "The second thing. Nothing's… nothing's that bad, just had a hard day," he says. "Even though it was short." "Yeah," Eddie says, graciously, though Steve can tell that Eddie can tell that whatever it is feels like fucking dogshit. "Lucky you, then. You get to hang out with a such a distracting, devastating specimen like myself." Steve's got. Hot blood. It reminds him presently. "Uh-huh," he says, flat and dry as possible. "Tell that to all of the sexy single moms when we're waiting in line and you've got your cart full of like, fucking ice cream and TV dinners." Eddie laughs, scrunching his face at him. "You think you're sooo funny," he says. "That's embarrassing." "No, what's embarrassing is that you think I'm funny." Eddie bites his lips together like he's trying not to smile, crossing his arms. He doesn't have a retort, but Steve knows that's only because it's still Eddie's version of too-fucking-early in the morning. "You had coffee, right? Breakfast?" he checks. There's a diner up ahead. "Yeah, didn't want to go terrorize the aisles hungry, or whatever you said," Eddie sighs. "So I ate the stalest peanut butter sandwich on EARTH and with coffee that had NO milk in it." Steve laughs. "Good thing I'm here to save the day," he says, and pulls into the diner. He's not hungry, but they can get something small and share it or something. Whatever Eddie wants.

This fic is set in 1990 and is about trauma AND bdsm AND deep easy friendships AND it's got some of my most Eddie dialogue ever in it. (I've really been working on my presentation of him as someone who does NOT grow out of the adhd hyperactivity, perhaps inspired by pulling myself out of the sludge of a months long disassociation/depression thing and my own return of adhd hyperactivity, which is why I got SO possessed by the Stories I'm Writing)

I'm not tagging anyone specifically because if you see this (thank you for reading all of that ^), you're it!!! Please @ me so I can see your wip thank you <3

[sweeteststing]

🎀 Hii !! I hope you're doing good, i have a request ;) i crave for more Gladiator II content with transgender reader, there is not even one out of all those stories. Anyway ! I don't know if you write for Ftm (transgender, female to male), it's not indicate in your rules, so i try.

To be honest i have a lot of ideas for differents characters in this movie, they are all so charismatics and mesmerizing.. but let's go first with the Emperors ! We know that in the past, homosexuality was normal for great family like those, sexuality in global was soooo present, without any gender. So ! I would love to see a scenario where in one of those parties the Emperors have, a transman shows with a group of females, some friends or whatever. He's just here for the music, food or dancing, just to enjoy one of the famous Emperors' party. But, Geta sees him and as the great Emperor, wants that man to remplace one of those women and men they have to distract themselves. Maybe it can involved smut if you're feeling up too ? Like you prefer !

Oh and also ! If you do this, i would love a transmasc who is only operate from the chest <3

Thanks for reading me, i hope my resquest can be done and if not it's not a problem, i would understand !

Have a good day/night 🎀

I'm answering it now, but I will 100% do it. I absolute love it and yes i do ftm! I actually one of my ocs who's pretty loved (on twitter-) who is ftm so i could inspire myself with my own character while making the trans reader x emperor!

I'll come back with the fic (also for the the others, i didnt forget you ! For the others i didnt forget you all, I'm currently moving to a new place so i haven't had time to post the fics)

[bow-of-aros]

Day Seven: Fidget

Summary: Ted is just trying to have a nice, relaxing afternoon. It would really help if Peter could stop with all the fucking twitching.

-

Hey guys! To make up for yesterday's half-awake fic, I present you with the Spankoffski brothers! This got really wholesome and honestly I'm super happy with it. They're so much fun to write and I hope that y'all enjoy <33

-

“Dude stop fucking twitching you’re scaring the hoes.”

The look of complete and utter disbelief that Peter shot his older brother would’ve been pretty damn funny if Ted wasn’t about five seconds away from actually ripping his ears clean off his face.

“First of all, there aren’t any fucking hoes here outside of you, Ted. We’re at home. Second of all, I’m not twitching, I’m fidgeting. And yes—” The kid cuts Ted a scathing look and he snaps his jaw shut with a smirk, “There’s a difference.”

Ted just shrugs and leans back into the couch, “I don’t give a shit. Twitching, fidgeting, it’s all equally a pain in the ass. Can’t you like sit on your hands on something?”

Click click click.

The rhythmic sound of Peter’s fingers snapping together severely undermined his,

“I don’t need to sit on my hands, asshole! I just have some nervous energy that I’m getting out. There’s nothing to fucking do in your shithole apartment.”

He then very pointedly Ted’s patented Are you fucking kidding me look, one that’s been passed down through generations of Spankoffski’s and perfected after years of practice.

Oh, he is not going to let that one stand.

“Don’t forget that this is our shithole apartment now! I didn’t hear you complaining about it when you showed up in the pouring fucking rain asking to move in.”

“So what? You gonna kick me out?”

“And what? Send you back to our bigoted-ass parents and your frilly fucking princess room? Fuck no. You’re stuck with me and this shithole apartment, the least you could do is show it some respect.”

Ted reaches for the remote and turns up the volume on whatever brain cell-killing show they’ve had playing in the background for the past however long. It’s his turn to ignore the look his brother gives him, although this one is more vaguely confused than outright menacing.

The silence drags out a little longer, and Ted almost jolts when Peter speaks up,

“Thank you apartment for not having a speck of pink on your walls and smelling perpetually like rotten food. I appreciate you.”

Oh, that fucking dweeb.

Apparently, Peter’s not done, “Thank you for your thermostat that only works half the time and for the fact that the only annoying voice I hear is my brother’s, which mostly doesn’t make me want to throw myself out the nearest window like my parents did.”

Ted has developed a keen sense of when serious emotions might be coming into play. Mostly it’s so he can get the fuck out of dodge, fast.

This is straying a little too close to that.

“Alright alright. You can shut the fuck up now, Petey. I get it!”

“Petey?”

Oh goddammit.

He’s about to take it back, throw out some half-hearted insult that will distract both of them for long enough that Ted can make his escape.

But then, he glances over at his little brother who almost looks like he has stars in his eyes he’s so fucking happy. Ted’s not sure he remembers the last time he really smiled like that, and like hell he was going to do anything to fuck it up.

“It’s your name, isn’t it? And what part of shut the fuck up didn’t register in your little genius brain, huh?”

There, that’s a good balance of minimally heartfelt and asshole older brother.

Click click click.

“Oh, come on!” Ted throws his head back as Peter tucks his hands sheepishly under his legs, “Again with the snapping?”

“I can’t help it!” Peter snaps back defensively, “I have—”

“Nervous energy. Yeah. I know.”

And then it was like a lightbulb flickered on above Ted’s head.

“You know. I can be pretty good at getting rid of nervous energy.”

He tries to tone down the grin that’s creeping across his face. Ted knows it’s there, not because he’s consciously smiling, but because Peter is growing more concerned by the second and he doesn’t want to scare the kid off just yet.

“Ted, I swear to fucking God if this is one of your gross sex things I will—”

“It is not a gross sex thing! Jeez kid, get your mind out of the gutter.”

Peter snorts and rolls his eyes, but settles back down which is exactly what Ted needs right now.

Neither of them says anything for a few seconds, and Ted is in the middle of wondering how high Peter’s eyebrows can rise before they start floating above his forehead when he finally caves,

“Fine! How do you get rid of nervous energy?”

He’s pretty sure that he can hear a muttered dipshit after that last bit, but he’s gonna let it slide in order to get down to business.

“I thought you’d never ask! Now, try not to scream.”

“Wha—TED! GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!”

This fucking kid, “What did I say about not screaming? Now, hold still!”

Alright, where was that one spot again?

“TEHEHEHED! Nononono shit! Plehehehehease I cahahahan’t!”

Bingo!

“Hey, don’t get down on yourself like that!” Ted leans forward, shit-eating grin front and center on his face as he puts all of his focus into tickling all the nervous energy out of little Petey, “You totally can! Just check this out!”

And, before Peter can stop him, Ted manages to worm his hands under his arms and drill into the sensitive muscle there.

“You motherfuhuhuhuhuhuhucker! Get out of thehehehehere please!”

Looking down, Peter’s face is growing redder by the moment, and is sporting a grin that puts the damn sun to shame. Ted’s enough of a man to admit that the sight of his brother looking so happy melts his heart just a little bit.

That doesn’t mean he’s not gonna be a dick about it.

“Oh, what? Here? Get out of right here?” Ted does lighten his touch a bit when he sees a few tears leak out. He’s not a complete monster!

The panicked giggles that are now leaking out are almost adorable.

So is the begging.

“Yes! Plehehehease Ted! Come ohohohohon!”

“Do you have any more nervous energy?”

“Nohohoho!”

“Are you sure? Because I really don’t mind helping you out. Get you less fidgety and all that.”

“I’m sure! I’m suhuhuhure! Teddy please!”

And, well, how can he say no to that?

Ted leverages himself off of Peter, dragging the kid up with him so they’re leaning against each other as they settle back into relatively seated positions.

They don’t say anything, just watch the show that keeps droning on, but eventually, Ted feels Peter’s head drop onto his shoulder. He shifts a bit to make sure they’re both comfortable before wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

Just as he thinks Peter’s fallen asleep, he hears a whispered, “Love you, Teddy.”

Fuck. He really would do anything for this kid.

“Love you too, Petey.” Ted rests his cheek atop Peter’s head.

“Even if you do kind of need a shower.”

[bluedalahorse]

I think I’ll say this once, since I need to say it before I can move on to more excited posting about promos and things:

Obviously Young Royals means a lot to me. It’s become another way for me to connect with my hyphenated-American heritage and to start teaching myself Swedish again. It helped me survive a pretty brutal year of bullying at work. It made me confident enough to start the process of getting formally evaluated for autism and ADHD. I’ve been writing a 200k+ historical AU fanfic for YR—the kind of fic I always read and adored back in fandoms when I was younger, the kind of fic I wanted to write myself. I’m proud of the way that Heart and Homeland has made me a better writer, and I’m glad for the way it’s deepened my friendship with @heliza24. It is Young Royals in part that inspired by thesis on restorative justice in YA literature. When I was in the hospital last fall because I almost had a literal stroke from stress, I was comforted and kept calm by the fact that I was wearing a YR t-shirt and had a plush doll of a YR character sitting in my lap. And all of that is the short list.

As we come close to the release date, I hope that every single member of the fandom gets something they enjoy in the new season. I don’t think every person is going to get everything they want, but I genuinely hope there’s a moment, a scene, a line that brings them joy. We’ve all stuck with this series for a while, and I want us all to have something we can take with us. A little bit of sparkle for the road, if you will.

There’s of course the possibility that some of us get a lot of what we want, and others of us are let down. I know this was the case for season 2, and it feels naive to imagine that everyone in the fandom will be equally satisfied by season 3. I’ve got my fingers crossed that I’ll enjoy the hell out of it, but I’m also trying to prepare my heart in case it’s not what I wanted. I’m trying to gently talk to myself right now and say that even if the third season leaves me upset and unsatisfied—even if the writing takes a nosedive or it’s good writing but it’s just not what I wanted—that I still learned a lot about crafting stories and being myself and surviving hardship and thinking about systems and whatever else, from this show. That my experience with the first two seasons still matters, that my work on my fic is something to be proud of. If season 3 is a disappointment, Heart and Homeland will be my new canon. I’m sure there are other people out there talking themselves up in this way too. I know we’re all pushing through the pre-season jitters.

The other thing I’m trying to reconcile right now is how I feel about the promotional material that’s come out, and the conversations around that. Like on my own, I actually feel pretty great? It’s fun to see the new stuff come in? But then I think about the ratio of Wilmon to other things and some of the responses I’m seeing to that. And I see people say like “oh the show is back to focusing on what’s actually good about it” and “it’s great that they’re doing this because the audience doesn’t really care about characters who aren’t Wilmon.” And… hello? Aren’t I the audience? Tumblr isn’t too bad (most of the time) but then there’s like, Instagram, where the Netflix Nordic posted whole set of photos of different pairs and friendships from a whole bunch of shows, and there was one (1) picture of Sara and Rousseau and I saw enough comments where people were like “ew! Vomit! Give us Wilmon instead!” that like… y’all. Frida Argento is a human being and a damn good actress, and Lisa is a good writer of female characters, and like. We can celebrate that, once in a while. We can create space for her too. It’s not Frida OR Omar and Edvin. It’s Frida AND Omar AND Edvin AND Nikita AND Malte AND Nathalie AND Mimmi AND Fabian AND Samuel AND… look I could keep on listing but I’m going to get distracted if I do.

Like, man. I love Wilmon. Don’t get me wrong. I love the complexity their relationship can run with. There are lines heliza has written for them in fic that make me swoon and I am giddy about the part where I get to read them first. I love the glowsticks. I love Wilmon’s sense of humor and the part where they cheated at Vincent’s rowing race thing and their utmost commitment to being dumbass teenage boys against the world. The first week I saw the show and came into work (where we have an athletic field) I went and took a selfie on the field after covering my hands in those gross fake dots. Look. I am all in.

And also… I came to the show for Wilmon but I stayed for so much more. I would have watched Young Royals once or twice and said “that was pleasant” without ever getting back into fanfic after a decade away, if the show was only Wilmon. I do like Wilmon, but it wasn’t Wilmon who inspired my thesis on restorative justice or made me a better writer overall. I survived that year of bullying at work because I could come home and write my ensemble fanfic, especially the parts where I focused on the non-Wilmon pairing I was in charge of writing. I finally felt confident enough to be evaluated for AuDHD because of a connection I felt to a character who wasn’t Simon or Wilhelm. It was a plush doll of a non-Wilmon character who sat in my lap and kept me calm while I was hooked up to those scary machines in the hospital this past October.

I guess my one humble request is that people be thoughtful about how they use phrases like “everyone thinks” or “no one wants.” Not every member of the fandom has the same opinion, and not every member wants the same things out of season 3, and there are some of us who are happy about the new Wilmon content but who are still feeling a little hungry for more of our most beloved characters, and hope they’ll get meaningful storylines (and not get ignored) in season 3. I do know we probably won’t all get what we want, and that some of us will probably get more of what we want than others. I hope that whatever happens, we’ll all get something we want, and we can all be gracious about it, and continue to find meaning in the canon.

For the people here on tumblr who are already including me in their everyone… thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you know who you are and I hope you know how much I appreciate you. And I do hope this Little Fandom That Could can keep going into all sorts of new creative places.

[hippolotamus]

You wanna talk fic?

tagged by lovely @spotsandsocks (rescuer of wayward bees) @inell @tizniz @kitteneddiediaz thank you 💞

1. How many WIPs do you have currently?

*laughs in Distracted Author while shoving a bunch of docs under a rug that now looks like it's hiding a body* I'm going to try sticking to the ones I'm "serious" about, but... yeah, take a seat, friends

watch my shattered edges glisten, with my heart in my lap (Twylexis), you can plan for a change in the weather and time, all my days i'll know your face, Bi Buck, home is where you love me (Twylexis), lights camera bitch smile, if this love is pain sequel, come close (let me be home), you're where I wanna go, run to the water, the darkest fairytale, a new religion, Buddie kid date fic, this is the part (OG work)

so let's see that's 1, 2... (runs out of fingers (fuck!)) 15! (not nearly as bad as I thought actually)

2. Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

Other than all of them? I would say home is where you love me because it's for someone and I'm probably putting a lot of pressure on myself that doesn't need to be there.

3. What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

Usually it comes from a song I've been listening to. Like a single line (or several) hit just right and make me think of a certain scenario. So then I go to my docs and tippity tap like hell so I don't lose whatever I'm thinking about. Then inevitably James will ask me a ton of questions that help me hash out what comes next.

4. Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

Not on purpose. The only current WIP with an intentional playlist is watch my shattered edges glisten. Some of these have acquired quite a few songs that carry the right vibe so they wind up getting a playlist.

5. Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

Mostly balls to the walls tbh. Longer WIPs, especially those that cross multiple years/decades do get an outline if only so I remember what happened when 😅

Any one want to share? Not sure who’s actively writing right now so if you do please tag me

np tagging @actuallyitsellie @a-noble-dragon @diazheartsbuckley @dangerpronebuddie @saybiwithme

mi amor @bidisasterevankinard @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @stereopticons

@your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings @wikiangela @steadfastsaturnsrings

@jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress

@bi-buckrights @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @the-likesofus

@thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @welcometololaland @blackandwhiteandrose and anyone else who wants to 😘

[divinehedons]

you write THE BEST dark fics like oh golly you execute it with such poise and charm 🫵 i saw you're looking for drabble ideas so i've been wondering.. what are your thoughts on jealous joel miller?! just him being disgustingly jealous that it's consuming him. oh that paired with the miscommunication trope.. i'm salivating..

side note: this emerged as i was mulling over bacon and eggs in my sleepy, migraine-y brain :'D

ann, you're an actual angel and i love you wtf! thank you for bringing pstar!joel into our lives, and i hope you enjoy! nsfw and dark themes (stalking(??), possessiveness) under the cut!

joel miller and the five stages of envy

i think it's very rarely that joel miller feels envy. he's an adult, for god's sake, and he knows you better than you know yourself. so when that insatiable head of envy turns to him, it's something that he does not take lightly.

it always begins with the seedling of doubt. when you don't kiss him the moment you see him. when he has to call your name for a moment or two before you finally look to him with all your attention. he'll try to reason with himself. maybe you were just tired. maybe you were just stressed. he'll take you to his arms and kiss your temple sweetly, as if his lips could take away whatever was distracting you from him.

however, his envy would only persist with confirmation. one scapegoat to explain everything, no matter how false. one time it had been your childhood friend. another time, it was your boss. whoever or whatever it was, he becomes hyperaware of the inconsistency. he'd ask you in bed, moments before you fall asleep. "any plans, doll?" you'd mumble something, seeing christopher tomorrow, or something else so innocent. it'll haunt him. images of you in someone else's arms, fucked open by fingers that were not his own. he'd lean down and kiss the crook of your neck. "don't have too much fun, darlin'."

in the morning, he'll try to rationalize it. you're a grown person, he trusts you. of course you can have friends of your own. it's not enough. it was never enough. when you kiss his cheek and run out the door, he takes a deep breath, counts to a thousand, before opening his eyes. of course he has to do something

then, there was escalation. suddenly it was him sitting three tables away, your back to him, watching the way this "friend" smiles and laughs with you. he doesn't find it twisted, doesn't find it troubling. you were just so precious, of course you needed someone to keep an eye on you. and of course he was the one to do it. you're all his. he's not going to let some sleezy boy get all over you that easily.

so, then, conclusion is inevitable. he reacts. he shoots up from the table, trying to ignore the pounding of the vein on his temple as he approaches your table, wrapping an arm so easily around your shoulder. he makes a quick, flimsy excuse to pull you out of your chair and into the nearest restroom, forehead creasing as you try and derive answers from him.

"what the fuck, joel? i was having a good time-"

"is that what'cha call it, doll? whorin' around some guy like you're not mine?" he growls, large hand pinning you by your neck to the nearest wall. you stammer, try to explain, try to free yourself. "guess i don't remind you enough that i own you, sweet girl."

"it wasn't like that. he was just-"

your words fall short when you feel his fingers up your skirt, pushing your panties aside to fuck two into you, making your breath hitch and your eyes glaze over. true pavlovian response. as if the feel of his fingertips, and only his fingertips, was enough to silence your protestations.

it was easier this way, anyway: reminding you of just who you belonged to when you're crying for his cock while he smirks down at you. you always come back for him, anyway.

"that's it, doll. have i made myself perfectly clear to ya?"

[avaantares]

Re: your idea for that fic where Sparda comes back- any more details or thoughts on how he'd feel about Trish? 👀 I can only imagine how conflicted he'd feel, since she's a construct of Mundus, but has his wife's face, and is also a demon who protects humans, but acts Like That-- how do you think they'd react to each other? I can't imagine she'd be very happy in this situation either...

Ahahaha you have the best timing, because it's 1 AM and I just had a Thing happen and wound up on a 911 call and can't sleep because I'm still waiting for the adrenaline to clear my system, so I turned on my laptop to write and generally distract myself until my pulse rate drops to two digits (it's been almost an hour and it hasn't gone down yet) and lo, there was an Ask about a story! So I'm going to answer right now because it's something to do that isn't worrying about the Thing that just happened, but I apologize in advance if my writing is a little... uh... more jittery than usual. Because *I* sure am.

(For those unfamiliar with the above-referenced fic post, it's here.)

The first letdown would definitely be the worst. Sparda has been trapped in the underworld for decades, and his one thought the whole time has been returning home to his family (as he tells Nero). Then he finds out Red Grave has been destroyed -- and by his own son! -- and he's trying hard to stay calm, but some part of his mind has to be in a spiral because he knows Eva is only human and would be at risk, but can't bear to think that his son would be so irredeemable as to cause harm to come to his own mother, but he also can't imagine that if Eva were alive she would have allowed Vergil to become... whatever he's turned into that he's now destroying cities, and he just goes in ever-widening circles of panic.

He's also starting to process just how long it's been. Nero, his grandson, is already in his mid-to-late 20s (if I'm setting this post-CotFA, he'd be 26 or 27), so Sparda estimates he has likely been imprisoned for some 40 years or more. Human lifespans are short; even if she is alive, Eva could be in her 70s, in the sunset of her life.

And in the middle of all of this fretting and fear and denial, he looks up and he sees her. Eva, young and beautiful and alive, just as he left her. The joy and relief sweep everything else away for one moment...

...and then he feels it. This isn't Eva, but a demon wearing her beloved face. A creature tainted with the essence of Mundus, his archenemy and captor. To Sparda, she is the vilest form of blasphemy -- a mockery of his sainted wife.

(This is not lost on Trish, who has also had to process a little bit of guilt in regard to her resemblance to Eva. See also: CotFA chapter 8)

Sparda cannot tolerate Trish's existence, but he is not yet recovered enough to destroy her outright, which gives Nero and Lady a chance to intervene and keep him from doing any serious damage. Because Nero is the one who freed him (and he's not eager to fight his own descendant), Sparda respects his wishes and stands down, but he's infuriated and fully intends to deal with Trish once he has a better grasp on the present situation -- and has seen his sons, one of whom is apparently friendly with this abomination, according to Nero.

(Nero assumes that "Gramps" only attacked Trish because she's obviously a demon and he's an old demon hunter; he doesn't catch on to Sparda's identity just yet. Trish, for her part, keeps quiet because 1) she never actually met Sparda, assumed Mundus had killed him, and has no idea how the real Sparda could be here now, and 2) she doesn't want to say anything prematurely, since it might get back to Dante and raise his hopes, only to disappoint him if this turns out to be a mere copy of his father.)

Throughout the rest of their underworld mission, Sparda retains his antagonism toward Trish in much the same way that Vergil did, at first -- he can't bring himself to look at her and doesn't want anything to do with her, including working directly alongside her or listening to her suggestions. Though Dante's emotions are running wild after the reunion with his father, he does take a firm stand whenever Sparda lashes out at Trish; he's spent a lot more years of his life with Trish, and while Sparda may be his progenitor, Trish is his family.

Over time, as they continue their quest and ultimately work as a team to take down the semi-resurrected Mundus, Sparda will grudgingly acknowledge that Trish is not evil and respect her fierce loyalty to Dante. It definitely bothers him that Dante is so attached to Trish, because he still sees her as something inherently wrong, but he comes to terms with her existence and no longer feels the need to obliterate her. It still hurts him to look at her sometimes, though.

Though Dante insists she doesn't have to change for anyone, Trish recognizes how hard it is for Sparda to see the face of the woman he loved and has effectively just lost, and has not yet had time or space to grieve. She makes subtle changes to her appearance to set herself apart from Eva: Bold makeup. Statement jewelry. A new hairstyle. The odd splash of color in her hair or outfit. It seems to help, and in the end Sparda comes to regard her as something like Eva's radically disparate twin, rather than an inferior copy.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Eyyy, it's now 1:45 AM and my pulse rate is finally down to 98! Huzzah!

[epickiya722]

Hi Kiya, hope you are doing well.

What inspired you to come up with the concept and ideas for the Star's Rebirth AU?

I'm doing fine, thank you! I low-key having been neglecting my sleep but I'm now back on track!ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ )

Oooh, I was asked a similar question before! But I'd like to talk about it again.

The first story, His Role, was just a story I wrote on a whim. I was going though an emotional period and needed to get my feelings together and distract myself. I started writing that story and somehow it became a 17K+ fic that begun a series of the idea of "what if Yuji was Tengen's vessel".

I also wanted to write more interactions between Kenjaku and Yuji and also try out the "Sukuna and Yuji are twins" concept.

Which before I really got into writing the AU was already a post I was working on, you can read that here.

After His Role, I actually didn't think I would turn it into a series. But I was a lot more invested than I thought!

While that fic was Yuji becoming Tengen's vessel, the following stories were exploring him and the others adjusting to the new changes.

His Mercy and Her Tears are both birthday fics! His Mercy is for Yuji's birthday. In that fic, I touch on some ideas I had in mind. The fic is like a story made up of smaller ones. The characters celebrate Yuji's 16th birthday and then other things happen, most of which are discussions between characters.

I knew I wanted to write a fic for Yuji's birthday, but I didn't have a clue as to what should happen in the fic.

Unlike the former, Her Tears is of an idea I had in mind for a long time and it wasn't until Nobara's birthday came around that I wrote it. It also doesn't take place on Nobara's birthday. Instead, it's more of Nobara reconnecting with some important people in her life while out one day.

His Mother, that takes place after His Mercy, and Her Weightlessness are both fics where I explore Kaori's character, the latter being a fic that explores Kaori's made-up backstory before the narrative of JJK took place.

In canon, the most we know very little of her and I decided to take a stab at conjuring an image of what she could have been like. I headcanon that Yuji would have gotten his personality from her.

If you asked me, I can see Yuji being a mama's boy. Like, he and Kaori have a good relationship and are like two peas in a pod. So similar in behavior that even though he looks like the men in his family, Yuji is like Kaori's mini-me.

Then there's His Following! That fic actually was going to a long one shot with His Mercy, however, I had a feeling I wasn't going to finish that version in time for Yuji's birthday. So I scrapped the idea and used it for what is His Following, a fic that should be multi-chaptered.

I had a thought one day about the possibility of Sukuna having a "fan club", like the Star Religious Group, in modern time and used that to develop the plot.

I also wanted to have my own JJK OC to write for. Asahi, I didn't have a last name for her until I thought "it would be funny if she was a Gojo". I had everything else in mind for her but that until then. (Feel free to ask more about her if you want, folks.)

While I love her, I'm not actually sure how everyone else feels about her. I don't think anyone has really said anything, but it's whatever.

Once I decided to make her a Gojo, I immediately opted to make her a sibling to Gojo. I often see sibling OCs for him. Instead, I made her a cousin of sorts to him and older. She's like that cool older cousin/aunt.

There's also The Pink Sky and Cherry Blossoms.

That fic actually wasn't a part of the AU until I decided to add Uro to the AU. The fic explores her, how she feels. I really enjoys Uro in the manga and just felt it was only right to write a fic for her and where she interacts with my other pink haired fave, Yuji.

It was definitely a challenge to write that fic, it was. But sometimes I like to challenge myself.

And that's all I have to say for the AU!!

Overall, the AU was just another one of my "what crazy idea Kiya will cook up this time" moments.

I'm surprised people have read the fics, too. I thought people wouldn't have taken to them, but I had a pleasant surprise there!

Fic Backstory Ask

[wholoveseggs]

hi hi! i hope this isn’t a bother, but i admire your fics so much and i’m always astonished when you post them back to back so quickly. i haven’t been able to finish a single wip for over a year now and it’s so frustrating. i feel like every sentence is bad and it takes me so long to write just one paragraph bc i keep rethinking it. do you have any advice on staying motivated/inspired to write or writing faster?

Hello darling!! You are absolutely not a bother 💕

First, it's funny you ask me this now, as I find myself in a bit of a writing funk as well. It's been a very long time since I've struggled with motivation and writing, and I think the first thing I would recommend is not to force yourself to write.

For me, the hardest thing about writing is bridging the gaps, trying to create context to get to what I really want to write. When I feel like I'm having trouble getting to the interesting bits. I simply skip what I don't want to write, and start at the scene I actually want to write. It's a trick I use when I'm stuck writing, and it helps me stay motivated and excited.

If I'm stuck on a idea and don't know where else to take my story, I usually go for a nice long walk and brainstorm. Sometimes I just need to see the world to be inspired. If I'm stuck in a room, my brain will get stuck, too.

It can be really hard to get into a rhythm, especially if you are writing long, involved fics. My random tip is to listen to video game music, it's made to keep you playing, and keeps you alert, but without any lyrics to distract you from your writing. Just pick something that matches the vibe you are going for with your work.

Also! Write down every idea you have, it doesn't matter if you will ever use it in an actual story or not. Read this list back every once in a while and you may find ideas you would have forgotten otherwise.

The last thing I want to say is not to beat yourself up. Don't stress out. Write when you want, write what you want, and be proud of whatever you write. The worst thing that could happen is your fic isn't loved by many. But maybe you will connect with one person, and that will make your writing all worth it.

[dandelion-springs]

Sometimes, in the quietest, most unexpected moments of the day, I find myself holding my breath—frozen in place—just because something about your fic, deja vu (amidst the ruins), crosses my mind. My heart aches in a way that takes me right back to the first time I read it, which shattered me in the most beautiful, painful way.

It’s how Beomgyu loved, loves, and will love the MC, every lifetime, no matter how and what. His love is unchanging, bound to repeat through time, and it’s that love that haunts me—lives in my chest, reminding me that nothing, absolutely nothing, can ever compare.

(It really hits differently when I imagine these two as the same characters in your other Beomgyu fics.)

I swear, I’m so grateful I found you, because in all the stories I’ve read, this one, your story, will always hold a place.

P.S. Whenever I hear the song deja vu, it's them. It's yours. And nothing will ever come close.

TLDR at bottom:

Before I say anything else, I have to say that the fact anyone even clicks on anything I've done is an honor. I don't care if they hate it or what-the fact that someone was like, alright, I'll give this a go, means so much to me. It doesn't matter if after the first paragraph, they're like, nah, this aint it.

There is so much fic-idol fic, fandom fic, whatever out there. If I can have a single person give me a shot, I consider it a success. ESPECIALLY when I know that my style isn't for everybody. I know that. I've gotten "I like the idea, but the way you write distracts me." I'll never forget that. That was a decade ago on FF.NET of all horrendous places, lmao. (Do you like Harry/Hermione? Well, no one else does)

But when you love the people you write about, you just...do it.

And this is how I felt about this story. It's my least read story for TXT, but that makes absolutely no difference to me, because this one story, I put my heart into. I'm not even joking. I have a soundtrack for it. This one is one I've held so close to my heart, it's borderline stupid.

Sorry, anon. I am...with every comment and kudos, I'm always taken aback. It may seem cliche but I'm literally always shocked. I literally flinch.

I rejoined tumblr after a while. I ACTUALLY REMEMBER POSTING ABOUT 'CANT YOU SEE ME ' MV WHEN IT DROPPED-I was like, Heuning is TOO YOUNG for leather pants, lol.

TLDR:

But sorry...Beomgyu, to me, is a romantic. He's an analog guy in a digital world. He's sentimental in the best way. He said once that his parent's relationship is what he strives for and I believe that to be true.

I think there is a lot of truth to the 'Beomgyu' he shows us, and I think that when he loves, it's truly and deeply. And yes, this is you from all the other fics I've written. There's something really raw in the way he presents himself sometimes (the 3am/3pm comparison)

I'm so serious when I say thank you. To you, anon. It means so much to me. Not only for you reading what I write, but to write me here. I take your words to heart. I really, really do.

I don't know if you know how much this really makes me want to do better.

Thank you.

I'll be better about checking this place

[honeybeefae]

To Build A Home (Nesta x Reader)

Summary// Ever since you had met Nesta you knew she felt like an outsider. She always had her guard up, never letting anyone get too close until you had come along and slowly broke down her barriers. The two of you were more in love than ever and for Starfall, you wanted to gift her something truly special, but getting the nerve to tell her was proving to be harder than you thought.

(Day 5 of Starfall Week, I am so sorry this is late but the stomach bug has been killing me. However, I hope you guys are having as much fun with this as I am. This is probably my longest Starfall fic so far, I really wanted to write a fic just for her. I hope you guys enjoy it <;3)

@starfallweek

Prompt: Character A swore they’d tell Character B something really important at Starfall but they’re nervous.

WARNINGS: None

Nesta was lounging beside you in your bookshop, the sun hitting her in just the right light to make her seem otherworldly. You were trying to go over finances, chewing on your pencil, but kept getting distracted by your mate. 

It still felt funny to say that Nesta was your mate. You had first met in this very room, her entire demeanor one akin to an ice queen as you offered to help her find whatever it was she was looking for. She had declined but you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at her from the corner of your eye, completely enthralled from the start.

She had put all of the books on your High Lord’s account, watching you keenly as you fumbled over your words and blushed every time you made eye contact. As she walked out, you yelled out for her to come back soon, and to your surprise she did. 

It was a weekly occurrence that she would visit your shop, spending large amounts of money while barely uttering a word to you, and then leave. However, after a few weeks of it, she came to your shop on a rainy day, soaked to the bone with a fire in her eyes that would terrify anyone in her path. She marched straight over to your counter, straightened her spine, and all but demanded a job. 

“I want to work here.”

You blinked in confusion, looking her up and down while worrying she had lost her mind. “Uh…sorry?”

She huffed in frustration and repeated herself, adding, “It’s not my doing that I want this job but unfortunately I have found myself backed into a corner. If I have to work, it might as well be here.”

“Oh, um, well okay. I don’t really need that much help but I suppose you can come on the weekends-”

“Great.” She said, cutting off the end of your sentence and turning around to walk back out. You were still standing there dumbfounded before she turned at the door to look back at you. 

“Thank you, Y/N.”

And she had come every weekend, albeit begrudgingly, and helped you out in the shop. Nesta liked to sort the books and stay more in the shadows while you helped the customers and cashed them out. The two of you had short conversations that slowly grew to more friendly chats, where you learned more about her and where she was from.

It was almost a year before you had found the nerve to ask her to hang out after work at your tiny apartment above the bookshop. She said yes surprisingly quickly and it was on that night that you also shared your first kiss. The rest was a history that you kept close to your heart, the two of you inseparable and just fresh off your mating ceremony that had been attended by her family and yours. 

“You’re staring again,” Nesta smirked, glancing up at you with a quirked brow. “Am I that distracting?”

“Is it me, or is your head getting bigger again?” You tease, laughing when she hit you with the back of her book. “You know how distracting you are. I should kick you out so I can get some actual work done.”

She tucked a bookmark into her book and closed it, laying it beside her before rising up and resting her chin on your shoulder. You blushed and smiled, twirling the pencil between your fingers as she looked over your budget sheet.

“Are we doing okay?” She asked, pulling away to stretch her arms over her head. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine.” You smile, hiding the sheet when she started to get a little too close. “What are you doing?”

“What are you hiding? I know that tone of voice, Y/N.” Nesta argues, her lips turning downward. “Is something wrong?”

The palms of your hands became sweaty as you put on your best mask, assuring her that there was nothing to worry about and that you were just stressed from the long weekend leading up to Starfall. 

Nesta studied you very carefully before relaxing back into her earlier position. “I didn’t know Starfall was such a big deal. I mean I have heard stories, of course, from Feyre and others, but people take it so seriously. Especially the gifts.”

“You’ll just have to see it for yourself, Nes.” “I suppose, though I don’t really want to go to the party tonight.” She sighed while closing her eyes. “I would much rather stay home with you.”

“I knew you liked me.” You grin, putting your budget sheets back into the locked drawer of your desk when you saw a familiar figure standing outside the shop. Before she could take notice you motioned for her to head upstairs, kissing her sweetly. “Why don’t you go ahead and start getting ready? I’m going to close the shop early.”

She tucked her book underneath her arm and went upstairs none the wiser, her footsteps becoming softer and softer before you released all the tension you were holding in your lungs. You booked it towards the door, opening it as quietly as you could, to reveal Feyre and Elain on the other side.

“Is it finished?” You whispered, only your head visible through the doorframe. The two sisters nodded, their excitement palpable. “Thank the Mother. I was afraid I would have to push it back until her birthday.”

“Nope.” Feyre chirped, holding out a small set of keys in her hand. “Thanks to the two best sister-in-laws in Pyrthian, and the help of their mates, everything is moved and set up for the two of you.”

“Oh, I wish we could see her face when she gets there. I just know she’s going to be surprised.” Elain said, clasping her hands together. “Does she suspect anything?”

“She’s starting too.” You mumbled, taking the keys from Feyre and turning them over and over in your hands. “I’m not the best under pressure and she definitely knows it.”

The two girls smiled knowingly, watching as you suddenly grew silent. They gave each other a look before Feyre reached out and touched your hand, pulling away when you jumped like a frightened cat. 

“Are you okay, Y/N? Is something wrong?”

“I just…” You trailed off, looking back into the shop to where Nesta had just been. “Do you think she’ll like it? Will she be mad that I didn’t have her help?”

Elain stepped forward and patted your shoulder, offering you a sincere smile. “Nesta might be shocked when she first sees it, but trust me. She is going to love it, I assure you. It’s the home of her dreams, especially because she’ll be sharing it with you.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I just get so nervous sometimes, it’s like the first time we met all over again. I find myself laying beside her at night and I question if I even deserve all this. Sometimes I’m afraid she’ll wake up and realize that.”

“I used to think the same things,” Feyre confessed, her eyes full of empathy. “I know exactly what you mean. But if you let those thoughts control you, you will always live in doubt. It’s okay to accept the love and care of another, even if sometimes we think we don’t deserve it.”

“We all deserve it, every person on this Earth.” Elain chimed in.

“It’s true. And you should hear the way she talks about you, Y/N, or how her entire life has changed for the better since meeting you.” Feyre added, looking at Elain who nodded along in confirmation. 

“We know her better than anyone and Feyre is telling the truth when she says she is a changed person. She’s happier. You’ve opened her eyes to what the world can be.” 

Tears were threatening to fall at their kind words. You had never had siblings before, or even a family. Both of your parents had passed early on in your life and so to be accepted like this by Nesta’s sisters made you feel whole. 

Footsteps sounded over your head and your eyes widened, wishing Feyre and Elain a hasty goodbye before shutting the door and locking it. The steps were getting closer and you looked around for somewhere safe to hide the key but in your panic, you ended up stuffing it inside your shirt.

Her heels landed on the hardwood of the shop floor and you looked up, your mouth dropping in awe at just how beautiful she looked. The gown was floor length and filled out her body perfectly, her hair in a half up half down hairstyle that accentuated the features of her face. She gave you a sultry smile when she stopped in front of you, closing your mouth with the tip of her finger.

“I’ll take that as a good sign.” She chuckled, her ruby lips calling your name. “Maybe we should skip the party, head back upstairs…”

Nesta’s hands started wandering up your shirt and it snapped you back into reality, her fingers dangerously close to the key. You immediately stepped back and went to go around here, mumbling that you needed to get ready before she stuck out her arm and blocked your path.

“Y/N, what is going on?” She snapped, crossing her arms with an angry look. “You’ve been acting weird, won’t let me look at what you’re doing and sneaking off early in the morning, and now you won’t even let me touch you.”

Your face was red with anxiety, unable to look her in the eyes. All you needed was time to get dressed and you could reveal to her your Starfall gift, which you were still very nervous about, and this was not helping.

“Are you even going to answer me?” She pressed, your gaze briefly rising to meet her. “Are you…are you seeing someone else?”

“What?! Nesta, no. I would never, ever do that to you.” You swore, shaking your head vehemently. “You are all I want in this life and the next.”

“Well what is going on then? I deserve to know.”

You took in a deep breath and looked out the large bay window in the front of the shop. The sun was already setting and Starfall was soon to begin. Nesta watched as you looked down at your outfit, mulling over something, before you muttered a soft, “fuck it.” and grabbed her hand.

“Where are we going?” She questioned, looking behind her as the two of you left the bookshop and went the opposite way of the House of Wind. “The party is that way, Y/N.”

“Just trust me, Nes. I’m going to show you why I’ve been acting weird.” You answered, going against the wave of people who were slowly going up the streets. “You deserve to know, no matter how nervous I am.”

Nesta was worried about where exactly you were taking her, her mind racing with one nightmare after the other. What could you have been doing that made you act like this? She couldn’t think of one good thing that would cause you to be so nervous. 

As the shops began to get farther apart and her feet started to hurt in her heels, the two of you finally arrived to a driveway of sorts. There was a small, rusty mailbox that was in desperate need of paint, and the driveway itself was made of cobblestone. However, there was a lush of trees and flowers lining it up and as Nesta’s eyes followed the path, she gasped when she finally landed on a grand house.

It was a beautiful estate with large windows, spiraling archetitcture, and a sort of eretheral look about it. You watched your mate take it in, your heart racing as you tried to read her face to see what she was thinking but finding it difficult.

After a few minutes of silence, of listening to the waves crashing against the shore and the birds in the trees, Nesta whispered, “Where are we?”

“Our home.” You smiled, squeezing her hand. “Come on, let me show you inside.”

You guided her up the drive and pulled the key out from under your shirt, unlocking the gilded doors and stepping inside. The parlor had a grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling while a winding staircase was on the left, the floors made of warm hardwood. 

She listened as you gave your tour of the house, pointing her towards the kitchen and living room, the bedroom the two of you would share, a few bonus rooms for guests or for certain plans the two of you hadn’t yet discussed, until you arrived at the last door in the hallway.

The keys jingled as you opened it with a different key, grinning from ear to ear as you pushed it open for her to see. Inside was gorgeous library, with the shelves reaching all the way to the ceiling. All of Nesta’s favorite books were held within them, along with a sitting area and desk, and a warm hearth towards the back. 

A large window was the main focal point though, the view overlooking part of Velaris and bay area where the ships were docked. The moon was now rising in the sky with the stars winking in and out. You turned to watch her as she strolled around the room, her fingers ghosting over the spines of the books, until she stopped at the window.

“Do you like it?” You asked earnestly, nerves twisting your stomach into knots. This was supposed to go differently, you were both supposed to be dressed and you were even going to have dinner first, but you had to tell her.

“Why?” She whispered, turning to look at you. Your face fell immediately, thinking she hated it, until you saw the tears welling up in her eyes. “Why would you do this for me?”

You walked over to her and grabbed both of her hands, your own eyes becoming wet. “It’s your Starfall gift from me, Nesta.” You smiled softly, biting down on your lip. “This is what I’ve been working on, why I’ve been going over the budget so many times and sneaking away. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect before I brought you here.”

She was speechless, absolutely stunned at the feat you had pulled off. 

“I wanted us to have a home of our own, not just some apartment above our store.” You continued, looking out the window. “And I wanted your first Starfall to be memorable.”

“You did all of this just for my Starfall gift?” She said incredulously, her lips parted in amazement. 

“Well, I mean…” You stammered, now worried it was too much. “Yes?”

Nesta was quick to pull you towards her and kiss you with the passion of a hundred poets, her love and appreciation practically soaking into your skin as you gladly followed her lead. 

The relief of her kissing you, of liking the place, lifted an enormous weight off your shoulders. You finally felt like you could breathe again and when you pulled away, you rested your head against her shoulder and let out a small laugh.

“You have no idea how nervous I was about this.” You confess, gazing up at her as she grinned and kissed the top of your head.

“And you have no idea how lucky I am to have such a wonderful, thoughtful, incredible mate you are.” She cooed, cupping your face and kissing you once more. “I love you with all my soul.”

“I love you too.” You blushed, the two of you turning to watch the beginning of Starfall in your new home. 

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

bury's tips to ACTUALLY combat writer's block

a lot of the time when you hear writers talk about writers block and what you can do to fight it, the advice that you hear is 'just write'

i took this to be true for a long time, and it's not the worst advice or whatever. at the end of the day anything you want to get done w writing does need to be solved by simply writing. but it took me until i was writing much more regularly to realize that actually thats nonsense

there are totally things you can do to help w writers block! ive been experiencing a bout of it recently, so i thought id share some tips partially to help out those who might read this, and partially to help myself out of that same slump

FEEDING THE MACHINE. in my experience, a lot of the time writers block is less of a blockage getting in the way of a flow of creativity and more like a machine running out of fuel. thoughts, ideas, and emotions CAN come from nowhere, but... usually they are coming from somewhere! i get my worst writers block when i am bored, under-stimulated, or stuck in my real life. try getting out into the world and doing something you don't usually do. this can be wild and exciting, or small and plain. take a different route home than usual, go for a drive somewhere cool, take yourself to a garden, bookstore, museum. if you're stuck at home try a new hobby; draw a weird picture, bake something, bird watch. this is really my top advice for myself at least, and something i have to remind myself when im despairing my own worth and dedication as a writer. you cant pour from an empty cup! you cant make something out of nothing! theres no point scraping yourself dry without trying to fill yourself back up.

FEEDING THE MACHINE... DIFFERENTLY. same principal applies here, but with what stories you are consuming. what actually got me to start writing and posting fic regularly was starting work in publishing that meant i was reading 1-2 books/manuscripts every day. they were often outside my usual reading genres, and sometimes i genuinely hated them... but they were food for the machine. the brain doesn't care if you like books about cows, the brain cares about variety and expanding its horizons. read something new and interesting! try a classic. try getting into queer classics you've never heard of if you're tired of old white men. read a murder mystery or a biography of a cool person or the history of the romance novel or frued's melancholia. try that new fantasy novel youve heard good things about. even if you only end up reading three chapters, thats still something new youre giving your brain. documentaries are also great for this if you're not feeling a new book; sit back and learn something.

CLEAN UP YOUR ENCLOSURE. humans feel yucky when we're in a yucky environment. cleaning is often exhausting and annoying and it sucks, but so is sitting in an environment that makes you feel bad. try clearing off your desk or table. set something nice you like nearby! choose a sunny spot to work in.

TALK YOUR IDEAS OUT. i really struggle with this one, because i dont like bothering people and im really embarrassed about my ideas, especially in the planning stage. it can really help though! try talking to yourself in the shower like you're being interviewed about your work. try going on some chat site, find a stranger to talk to, and infodump until they leave (or stay and you've made a new friend!). ask around for someone who wants to chat ideas; you can share yours, they can share theirs. if you have a loved one who would listen, ask if they would sit down for 45 minutes and let you talk.

LIMIT DISTRACTIONS. this one also sucks but yknow. turn on forest: stay focused. close discord. ask your dog politely to stop barking. get off tumblr and stop writing advice posts about writers block. turn on some ambient music and rain noises or chappell roan's red wine supernova on loop.

may add to this later as i think of others, but the point here is that writer's block isn't laziness and, even if you do in the end just need to write, there are ways to uplift yourself and make doing so more pleasant. these also dont fully apply to what i think the actual cause is of what we often call 'writer's block,' which is just exhaustion and lack of free time; i wouldn't consider that in itself writer's block. these tips are more for when you have that time, or you're making it, but you just cant seem to make it happen.

[phoenix-writez]

Decided to post entry #1 here as some people may not enjoy reading things on ao3 :D

I'm not sure how to format the fic on tumblr, so feel free to give me criticism! (Constructive. Criticism. I will ignore insulting)

So, have fun with Scar's POV! It's in first person, so if you're not a fan of that... Sorry! I try to analyze the characters beforehand and write them as themselves! Scar's a silly little guy, so I hope I got that down!

—

Entry #1

[SCAR]

August 18, 1997

This place is fun, honestly! I got here just four days ago!

A theater filled with red and pink strobe lights, it feels rather disco-ey, if I'm being honest. There's a rather large stage where people step up and say whatever they want. There's actors, circus acts, and even singers. Or karaoke.

Why is karaoke spelled that way? It should be kareoke, but to each their own!

Either way, I've gone up there a few times just to sing songs from my favorite cartoons. Had a few cheers from the crowd, but not many.

I loved it here though!

When I first got to the theater, I had been with a few friends. I don't know where they went, lost track of them. I remember this guy welcoming us, holding out his hand and grinning fancily.

“Welcome, all! This is the Eye’s Spy Theatre!”

Trust me, it's not spelled theater. I learned the hard way.

“Want me to take you to your rooms?” The fella acknowledged each of us. He had a towel folded over his arm, just like a butler would in a fictional story. I tilted my head to the side like a dog, “Sir? No offense, but I don't recall this being a hotel.”

“Perhaps you missed the sign, but all is well, Scar Goodtimes, your room is already booked. First floor, as always! Can't be giving you anything further than that with your given situation, can we?” He says, then steps behind me.

I raise my hands, “WAIT– Hands off, fancy guy! Firstly, what do you mean?”

“How do you know his name?” My friend asked. Fancy Guy looked over, “When you book a room, we get your names on the screen. Besides, I know everyone in this town.”

Right.

—

August ??????

I woke up with a start, hearing a bang nearby. I pull myself onto my chair and roll onward, out of the room.

“What?! What happened–”

I look towards the stage, my breath slows. “Oh! Obviously.” I giggle, then I do a double take. What the– “What am I doing up there?!”

On the stage, was me in a weird outfit. I've never seen this kind of outfit before, honestly. Maybe some new fashion shaped itself in the six days I've been here.

Wait… how long has it been?

I blink, but I can't really think. My memory is kinda foggy.

I see more characters on the stage, some blue haired guy and this ginger lady clearly tired out and breathing heavy. I'm not sure if it was Hollywood level acting, or they were actually just overworked out of their minds.

I roll towards the bar, and no, this bar isn't necessarily an alcoholic bar you see at night time when everything else closes. I'm sixteen! I can't even drink anyway! I doubt rules changed that much when I've been here.

I grin at the tender, “Do you have anything other than really warm milk? It was you, after all, who said you'd make this the best experience possible y'know.”

“I… we do, in fact. Anything you want, dear hero.”

“Hero? My name is Scar, did you forget that fancy pants?” I smirk. “No. I did not.” He said flatly.

“Oh.”

“I'd like just a simple water, honestly.” I said. “Ah, only the crispiest we'll hand out for you.” The man kneels towards the shelves.

Huh? I blink. He's reaching up at them actually, I swear I've been seeing things.

I spend my time drinking the water and distracting myself from the fact I may have just met my walking doppelganger. Though he's using a cane, still those legs can work and I'm jealous.

Just kidding, I don't care.

—

After a few minutes, I nearly jump, but I keep my composure. Another guy, looks around my age but surprisingly short. I'd give him a… 4’11? Jeez, really needs a growth spurt by now.

He ordered an orange juice and stared into the distance. That's when he spoke to me, “Fun act, right?”

“I wasn't really interested, too confusing. What was that back there, some kinda jester or whatever?”

“I'd give it a 5 out of tried their best.” The short guy said, then he turned to look at me and giggled. “You look like one of the actors.”

“Must be a long lost brother.” I put my cup down and look at him, and woah. My eyes widened and I smiled awkwardly. “Well! That's a… so what's your name, orange juice?”

“Oh! My name's Grian.” He smiled so brightly. I chuckled, “Cool! My name is Scar.”

“Oh I know–”

“Huh?”

“Sorry, long story.”

“Everyone knows my name in this place!” I look back at the table in front of us. “That would be a given. This place isn't really, well, real.” Someone walked towards us both.

Actually, a group.

The actors.

“Aw, I'm getting a standing ovation from the fellas themselves–” I look around. “Where's the guy who looked like me?”

“Hi.” This strange lab coat wearing guy– oh! I know him. Cub?!

I blinked. How long ago did he show up here? Two days ago I saw him on the news and he looked much shorter, and he'd been running away from a police department, some sort of forensics office he'd blown up.

Cub raked his hands through his hair, it looked really messy. “I sorta used this weird amulet to change my appearance.”

“Are we still acting?” I asked, “Amulet, you say? Well, I simply cannot!” Immediately, my hand impacts my forehead dramatically. “... We're acting, right?”

“No.” Grian said, “Though he is lying, listen, Scar. I'm gonna ask you a really weird question and you have to answer me.”

“Uh-huh…”

“What year is it?”

“Oh! That's easy, 1997, duh! Did you guys hit your heads or something?” I smiled, chuckling. The bartender finally came by and gave Grian his orange juice. Then he vanished.

Grian grabbed his cup and he took a sip. “1997, hm? What if I told you it's not?”

“I wouldn't believe you.” I giggled. “I've been here for a week, duh! Got here just Monday with some of my friends. Where did they go, though?” I looked around. I still couldn't see them.

“They probably got out.” The sassy blue guy said, “Yeah, or stuck.” The ginger crossed her arms. I looked at them. “They’re just in their rooms.”

“Why don't we take a look then, huh? Where are their rooms?” Grian asks, I shift awkwardly. “...Third floor.”

“This thing doesn't have an elevator for you?” Cub asks.

“If a building ain't as tall as five stories, there's no need.” I lean back in my chair. “Which is, uh, needless to say, no.”

The ginger thought for a moment, then she grinned. “Tell them the numbers, and we'll go on from there. I'll stay back with you, just so you have someone near you!”

“I'm fine on my own.” I looked at her. “Absolutely not,” she glanced at me up and down, “genuinely, if I had to guess. You're dehydrated, probably haven't eaten much, and the moment you see the sun your eyes will wish you'd gone blind.”

“With these strobe lights? Might as well have gone blind already.” I shrugged, she stared at them. “They're LED now.”

“Meh! I think they always have been, luminescent and whatnot.” I said, “What's your name, by the way?”

“Gem. That there is Scott, he's uh… something, alright.” She sighed. Scott, the fancy blue guy, waves. “I'll go up third floor, what's the room?”

“Rooms, uh… 307, 315? I think?”

“Why are they so separated?” Grian’s eyes widened. “The rooms might've been taken between ‘em.” Cub immediately began his journey towards the stairs.

“Eight rooms between them?! Cub, there's seven people in this room!”

“Most people got drained after the second day and went to sleep. Haven't seen them since.” I added.

Grian paused. He looked at Gem, and they both seemed to come to an agreement. I heard Gem mutter, “Hypnos,” and she sat by me. Grian stood up.

“I thought that guy was fine by now! What's going on?” He grumbled. My head laid on the table like my neck had gotten exhausted from holding it. “Maybe he changed his mind.”

“Or maybe, this establishment is really old and he forgot to tear it down.” Grian sighed, then he took a step forward and looked at the ground.

“What's… this symbol doing here?”

“Aren't you supposed to be heading up to the third floor?” I said, for some reason my body felt like all the energy was getting sucked out of it. I don't know how, but everything in my field of vision was getting blurry. And Grian had sharp-ish ears, and an elven face. I swore he didn't look real.

Because he didn't.

I glanced at Gem, and she looked completely normal. Besides the fact that she was actively plotting something and had a sword in her belt. I don't know what I saw before, but I guess I just assumed she was in some sort of costume.

Everyone wears costumes around here. I've seen a giant guy with a hundred arms walk around here demanding for some cyclops guy, then he exited the building fine as that.

I felt nauseous, and everything went black.

—

I don't know. I don't know what today is. Everything is the same.

I wasn't out for long, fainting spells don't usually last longer than a minute. I woke up and everyone was staring at me with concern. “We found your friends.” Scott grimaced, “And we found you, doing the same thing as them.”

“I passed out, I don't know what happened.” I groaned, “Grian, since when were you an elf guy?”

Grian giggled, “I'm not an elf, idiot.”

“Why are your ears all sharp then?”

“Oh! That's just normal, I was born like that.” Grian shrugged, “But back to you. You passed out on our watch, which means this doesn't happen when you're on your own.”

“Possible.” Cub gazed at the floor, then he leaned and played around with the tiles like it was a puzzle. “What do you mean possible? We proved your hypothesis, thank you.” Grian tilted his head.

“What if we're not registered here?” Cub lifted himself, holding a brick that revealed a gaping hole underneath the building. “What if we're just simply wanderers with no true meaning to this place?”

“We'd still be people, hun.” Scott said flatly.

“Not in this place. I think this is an entirely different world compared to, well, Earth.” Cub grabbed a coin out of his pocket, and he dropped it into the abyss.

“Scar, do you perceive things differently than normal people?” He looked up at me. I couldn't help but think that this situation is way too serious for a random questionnaire I've had billions of times when I was younger.

The answer is yes.

It's always yes.

“When I was, like, six, my mom found me digging at the ground. It's ‘cause I heard some rattling, and I wanted to free the thing that was suffering. When I finally did, it was a skeleton monster! She grabbed me and pulled me away, told me never to do that again.” I started, “That those things are dangerous, that my father would be back and he would never want to see me playing with creatures I can't define.”

“I mean, a skeleton monster is pretty much accurate.” Grian laughed, “Wait, you don't know your dad?”

“Nope!” I smiled, “Always asked, was told he died.”

“...So how would he be back?” Scott squinted. “We had a ouija board in our house, although it's only for eight year olds and older, and I was barely able to simply sleep on my own.” I sighed.

But, the presence of the board didn't scare me knowing what it did. I quite like the idea of ghosts, and I know we had some in our house. They slept in the corners, watched me do my chores, and stared at me when my health declined.

Not much they could've done anyhow.

I felt my hands clenching on my legs, and I released them. “Uh… I never believed that. There was no grave we visited. Ever. She just said it like it was a fact from years ago.”

Cub nodded, then we heard the coin ding and slam itself into what sounded like concrete. I glanced at the floor. “What was that?!” I press my hands to the wheels of my chair. “Cub?!”

“I heard what I needed to hear.” He smiled, then simply disappeared.

We all stared where he left. “UGH! CUB!” Grian grabbed a knot of his own hair and tugged, but not pulling anything out. I gazed at the underground, and I swear I felt a calling.

Like I needed to be somewhere.

That's when the stupid butler grabbed all of us and dragged us out. “I do believe your time here is over, thank you for being so kind.” He shoved us out the door. I locked my chair and looked around, frozen.

“Where's Cub?! WHERE'S IMPULSE YOU–” Grian grabbed Gem and pulled her aside. She'd been yelling at the guy the whole time we were getting kicked out. I had no idea there was another person with them that had gone missing.

I had a theory, but it wasn't so friendly.

And I swear I could see that guy in a different form now that I had been placed outdoors.

He was tall, almost goopy, and I swear he had one giant eye in the middle of his face that stared deeply into your soul.

Normally I saw him as just this generic black-haired guy. He had this way about him that felt, well, casual yet business.

Like he was familiar with you but he didn't want to get fired.

I covered my face with my hands. Just thinking about my mother made me realize something.

“Guys, what year is it?” My tired eyes felt like they were dragging on the ground. I could just feel the hot pavement scraping my eyelids.

“...Scar, it's 2025.” Grian said.

“...Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

I stared at the outdoors, and felt like I'd been through multiple disasters at once.

“It was just a week…”

But now I realize how much time I truly spent there. And it doesn't make me too glad to know it.

[deadbeatbirdmom]

So I have a potentially unpopular opinion. It's not based on any one fic, more like observations after reading a lot of fic. It's also not meant to be a personal attack or anything. This is just my opinion, and who am I to tell anyone what to do. A good chunk of the time I don't even listen to myself, particularly when it comes to telling myself to go to bed already.

Anyway! If you write fic, can we talk about epithets? Think about how you use them if you do, especially bearing in mind the POV you're writing in. Ignore this advice if it's third person omniscient, it probably doesn't really apply there. I don't know, I don't write in it, and rarely read it either.

If, say, you write from Yang's POV, ask yourself this: would she really think of herself as 'the brawler' or 'the blonde' or whatever epithet applies? I mean, maybe she does. That's not the sort of thing I think of myself as, but I'm not sure I think of myself using epithets at all. That may be different for other people.

It also goes for how Yang thinks about other people. Is Blake 'the brunette' or 'the faunus' to Yang? With a Bumbleby fic I think 'her girlfriend' or whatever relationship stage they're in actually would apply. That's a pretty natural way for Yang to think of Blake as.

It's just there is a reason I avoid epithets in my own writing outside of a select few, and limit how often I use them. And that reason is that I find epithets can be distracting and make me stop and wonder if a character really thinks of themself or another character like that. But this could well just be me being weird. That or I've just read too much fic where the POV character thinks of themself with a fanon term or something.

Food for thought maybe. Or ignore me and carry on writing the way you want. I don't make the rules, and tripping over an epithet while reading a fic doesn't stop me from enjoying it, and doesn't make a fic bad. I'm not saying 'if you do this you're wrong!' Not at all. I'm asking 'would you do this in the character's shoes?'

If you've read this far have a Yang for your time: