#hopefully will get more written over the next few days so i'm not writing the chapters the day of or anything... if all goes well...

[lululawrence]

You Should Be Here With Me

A 2024 Advent Fic by lululawrence

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson | 34k | 26 Chapters

The festive period is a traditionally hectic one in the world of Premier League football, and this year is no different. A lot is riding on how Manchester United is able to come through the fixtures in the coming weeks.

Louis and his teammates know all too well the pressure that is on their shoulders. They need to prove, not just to fans of the club but the entire league, that they still have what it takes to be a team worthy of fighting for the top of the table.

Throw in the fact that Louis is all too aware that he's not getting any younger in a profession that demands your peak physical fitness year round and the incredibly fit Harry Styles, who is part of the club's social media team, and this year's festive period might just be the most important one yet.

🎄1 🎄 2 🎄 3 🎄 4 🎄 5 🎄 6 🎄 7 🎄 8 🎄 9 🎄 10 🎄 11 🎄 12 🎄 13 🎄 14 🎄 15 🎄 16 🎄 17 🎄 18 🎄 19 🎄 20 🎄 21 🎄 22 🎄 23 🎄 24 🎄 25 🎄 26 🎄

NOW COMPLETE!

[reiderwriter]

For some reason my comments don't come through on your posts, but I want to first say I absolutely love your writing and I'm so happy your requests are open!! 🥰😭 So I've had this idea of a fluff mixed with spencer angst where reader is maybe interning at Diana's facility (not a dr yet, studying) and becomes close with Diana by reading, chatting, etc and Spencer over hears it from time to time and the dialogue between spencer and reader gets too close for Spencers comfort, but Diana wants her around more. Thank you again for your hard work okay bye!

A/N: I've never written a fic with Diana in it before, so this was a bit of a challenge for me, bit I enjoyed writing it a lot! Hopefully, this is somewhat like what you wanted!! ❤️

Warnings: Spencer is a bit dense (real) and puts his foot in his mouth (metaphorically, of course).

Diana Reid's son was exactly the way she described him, down to the tiny curls at the base of his neck and the glimmer of intelligence in his eye. 

After four weeks interning at the care facility while working on your medical degree, you'd spent a considerable amount of time with your favorite patient, and her stories about her son were legendary. 

At first, you weren't sure whether to believe the woman when she said her son was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs, and a job in the FBI. She wouldn't be the first schizophrenic patient to muddle up her facts, but she certainly was the sweetest. 

So when you recalled your conversation with the head nurse later that day, she laughed and confirmed every story about Doctor Spencer Reid. Your mouth hung open in shock because surely nobody that incredible could just be out walking the streets. 

Another month of conversations about the man, and you were half in love with him. He wrote his mother letters every day - hand wrote them, even - and she's shown you a few. He'd talked about his friends, his team, his jobs, and how he was saving lives. And when one of the latest ones dropped in the news that he'd be free for a visit soon, you found yourself overflowing with anticipation. 

Of course, you felt like you already knew the man. You knew what his first words were, what his favorite toy was growing up, and even about the exploits of his first date, as pitiful as it was. What you didn't know was if Diana was passing along similar information about you. 

The day Spencer Reid finally showed up, he took your breath away. You were mostly in awe of Diana's ability to describe her son perfectly, though you'd grown fond of her perfectly professional English Lecturer tone of speaking over the last few weeks. She was practically lyrical when talking her son into existence. 

“His hair curls beautifully. He's my little adonis. He keeps it too long though, I'm always telling him he needs to cut it because it hides too much of his face,” she'd told you one day before picking her book up and ignoring you for the next half hour. 

“My Spencer is delightfully tall. He's a little bit spindly like a spider. He's not the most grateful, that's for sure, we used to call him crash because he was always bumping into things. Poetic, right?” 

You knew from the second he walked through the door that this man was him. 

Tall, slightly hunched, clutching his satchel strap in his hand, terrifyingly handsome and making your hand jump into your throat. Definitely him, and definitely a problem. You'd have to check the code of conduct about falling hopelessly for a patient's beautiful son. 

If you had any doubts, this was Spencer in front of you though, when he bumped into a chair just as he was about to reach his mother, it was confirmed. 

“Diana, I believe your Crash is here,” you smiled and giggled, watching her turn quickly to greet her son. 

You, too, gave him a warm smile, but he seemed a little hesitant to return it, instead greeting his mother softly and sitting with her while you retreated slightly to give them some privacy. 

You hovered in the space, as Diana had been talking about introducing the two of you all week, and you didn't want to distress her if she couldn't find you close by. 

But though Spencer was closely attentive and soft with his mother, he took brief pauses to stare almost frustratedly at you. You weren't sure what it was, but something about you was setting Spencer on edge, and that in itself was unsettling you as well. 

“Oh, Spencer, you must meet our Y/N. Y/N, come here, this is my son, Spencer.”

Slightly more apprehensive now, you held out your hand to shake his, “I've heard so much about you  it's nice to finally be seeing you in person, Doctor Reid.” 

He didn't shake your hand, though, but awkwardly waved it off quickly, leaving you to awkwardly replace it by your side. 

“Nice to meet you. Are you a new attendant? I asked all updates about my mother's companions to be confirmed and passed on to me, patient and carers included.” 

His tone was business-like and clipped, and you could see a gentle annoyance settling on his features. 

“I'm sorry, Doctor Reid, I thought Diana would have told you in a letter, or the administration would've passed it on. I'm a medical student on an internship.” You felt like you'd been chastised by an irate parent though he'd at no point raised his voice or indicated in his words any sense of anger at all. His eyes burned across your skin, though, and you felt a flame heat your skin under the weight of his stare. 

“You're mother has told me a lot about you though, she reads me your letters sometimes, between our discussions of Marjorie Kempe.” 

“My letters? Mom, we've talked about this. Those are private.” You looked at the quiet disappointment on Diana's face and felt protective over the woman all of a sudden.

“Please, I'm sorry for overstepping, but your mother is just very proud of you. She talks about you a lot actually, and your job-” 

“With all due respect, Y/N, the last time my mother talked to a new friend about me, he traveled to Virginia and shot one of my friends, so this really is a conversation I'd rather not be having.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as he turned back to his mother and started talking to her gently again about personal security, effectively dismissing you from the conversation. 

You'd had stupid hopes for Spencer Reid, and that's all they would ever be. 

Reid talked on, and you left him alone with his mother, though she seemed distracted by your departure. 

“Spencer, that wasn't nice. Look at that poor girl. She's close to tears.”

“What? Mom, are you even listening to me?” 

“No, and I likely won't until you go and apologize to Y/N. She's a pretty girl, Spencer, and she was very excited to meet you.” 

“Pretty…. Mom, please.” 

“What, do you disagree? You think I don't know you well enough to know when a girl would suit you well? Or do you think I'm blind to the fact that you were stealing glances at her before she introduced herself.” 

Spencer went quiet at having been caught, and he hated to accept that maybe his mother was right. 

It was true as well that the care facility had informed him of medical interns coming and going in the next few months, and really, she wasn't to blame for his mother being fond of him. 

He was glad, though, that neither of them had noticed the ten minutes he'd spent just outside the large sitting area watching them talk. He'd been obviously taken aback to see someone new so close to his mom and his mom similarly comfortable. He felt even worse for the fact that for a solid minute and a half, he'd stared at the girl with no other thought in his head than the sound of his heart skipping a questioning beat. 

He'd pulled himself out of it eventually, but only when another nurse had come along to ask him if he'd actually be visiting his mother today or just dropping in to check on her. 

And then he'd bumped into that infernal chair when he was so fixated on getting to them, and she'd opened her mouth and called him crash, and his heart had sank. 

He reminded himself it was neither of their faults and inwardly cursed himself for being so unfriendly with someone who'd taken such good care of his mother recently. 

He promised himself that he'd talk with his mom and then go and find the woman, and apologising for being such a brute. 

“Spencer, are you listening to me, or are you busy daydreaming about my nurse?” 

“Mom!” 

“You're plain as day, kiddo, you'll never get anything past me. Now please, leave me be, I'm reading. Come back later if you must, but for now, take this to Y/N for me, please. She left it with me to read this morning, but I'm not in the mood for Medieval Romance right now.” 

It was a blatant lie, but a dismissal nonetheless, and Spencer quietly took his chance to search for you in the halls. 

The head nurse humorously pointed him in the right direction without him asking, much to his annoyance, but he persisted and lightly tapped on your shoulder to greet you. 

“Oh, Doctor Reid, hello again.” You smiled a little smaller this time, still polite, but he watched the way it didn't reach your eyes and felt like a jackass all over again. 

“My mom told me to come return this book to you.” He held out the book, and you quietly took it, folding it into your arms and hugging it tightly against your chest as you both stood there silently after the exchange. 

“I'm sorry, as well. I wasn't exactly very friendly back there, because-” 

“It's okay, Doctor Reid, you really don't have to explain. I overstepped, it's my fault and it won't happen again.”

“Are you kidding? My mom hasn't looked that relaxed in years. Please keep overstepping.” 

Your smile widened slightly at the compliment, and Spencer's tongue kicked into hyper drive immediately at the sight, even as his brain powered off. 

“You're pretty,” he blurted out, stopping only as his brain caught up with his tongue before firing off again. “My mom said you're pretty. I agree as well, though, you have a nice smile, and it's better when you don't force it. Not that I'm telling you how to smile, though. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but my mom made me come over here and talk to you, even though I'm pretty sure that's her book and not one you loaned her.” 

He took a moment to catch his breath as you blinked at him in confusion, heart beating rapidly even as you heard the blood rushing through your ears. 

“If you're free now, would you want to grab a coffee? Unless you have a boyfriend. Or husband. Or girlfriend or wife, I guess, I don't mean to presume. But if you're free, as in time, and free as in, like, relationship wise, I'd like to buy you a coffee to thank you for listening to my mom.” 

He finally stopped, and you stared wondrously at the reddened skin of his cheeks as he held his breath, waiting for your reply. 

“You want to take me out for coffee to thank me?” 

“Yes.” 

“And on a separate note, I'm pretty, and you want to know if I'm in a relationship?” 

“I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me, I'll just see myself out. It was a stupid idea anyway-” 

“No, wait, Spencer! Let me… let me grab my coat. My lunch break is in half an hour, and I'm sure it'll be okay to take it early.” You held his arm for a second, stepping slightly too close for comfort before realising yourself and taking a tiny step back.

He stood and blinked in your direction, as though wondering seriously for a moment what your lunch break had to do with him. 

“Are you going to stand there staring at me, or are we going to go out?” 

“You're serious?” 

“I guess…. I guess I am.”

“And you're… you're single.” 

Your mouth went dry as his skin finally completed its transformation from vampiric to tomato red. You desperately hoped your own embarrassment wasn't equally as readable on your face. 

“Quite single. Medical students don't have that much time to date.”

“Neither do FBI agents.” 

“Perhaps a subject we could talk more about later?” 

“Definitely.” 

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not to be a downer, but I actually finished my novel and now I’m confused because I don’t want to publish it. I don’t even particularly want anyone other than maybe my two close friends to even read it. What on Earth did I write 40k words (which I know is not really long enough for a novel, but it’s still far and away the longest thing I’ve ever written) for? I know people say “write for yourself” but like… am I just wasting my time? Help?

(p.s. you can leave this off anon)

(p.p.s your blog is really great 👍)

There's No Such Thing as Wasted Writing

I'm going to tackle this two ways...

#1 - "Write For Yourself" - there's a reason this common phrase has echoed through the Hall of Writers since time immemorial. It's because it's true! Writing doesn't have to be anything more than a pastime. It doesn't have to be anything more than something you do for your own benefit and enjoyment.

I have an in-joke with family members about how any time one of us does something the least bit crafty, DIY, skilled, whatever, a particular family member will always say, "You did a great job! You should do it for a living!" Like, someone can't even crochet a Kawaii mushroom without being pressured to turn it into an Etsy dynasty, or paint a cabinet without being pressured to become the next Property Brothers. And that's such a BANANAS capitalistic mindset, isn't it? This idea that nothing can be done purely for our own enjoyment. That you can't just write a novel because you want to... you can only write it if you plan to share it or publish it? It's just so silly.

And, the thing is, we don't even apply that mentality to a lot of other things people do purely for enjoyment. No one is streaming all of Bridgerton in two nights and saying, "I enjoyed every second of that, but why did I do that? Such a waste of time!" No one spends an hour strumming their guitar under the stars on a beach, and then says, "That was so relaxing and fun, but I didn't charge for that performance and I didn't record it to sell it, so that was obviously a waste of time."

You know what I mean?

#2 - And Anyway, Practice Makes Perfect - And if you keep writing--even if you continue not to share or publish--you'll get better and better with each story you write. Which, maybe all that means is you get to appreciate your own improvement, but also, should you ever change your mind and decide to write something to share or publish, you've now spent time honing your skills. Even if those other stories never see the light of day, they're still an important foundation of the writer you become. Do you know how many unpublished novellas, novels, and short stories I have? Too many to count. Hundreds of fan-fiction and original fiction short stories I've only shared with one or two other people, if anyone. A dozen or so novels and novellas that have only been read by a few people, and some haven't been read by anyone else or have only been read by my CPs. I would never consider those stories and novels and novellas to be a waste of time, because I know every single one made me a better writer. My published work is better because I wrote those other things.

So, I hope that makes you feel better. At the very least you hopefully enjoyed writing your novel--or at least got something out of it--and you definitely honed your writing skills, which matters! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[felibrary]

╭──╯PAIRING: aventurine x fem!reader

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS:  Out of everyone this could’ve happened to, of course, it struck you. As a barista, you meet new customers every day but a fateful encounter with a stupid(ly handsome) stranger, turns into two and three and to the point of no return, and somewhere along the way catching yourself faltering for his persistent charms annoyance.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

CONTENT & GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, barista!reader, cursing, light angst if you squint, fluff, march is the n1 shipper, vague mentions of ratio, banter and bickering (more from readers side), no beta-read we die like baiheng

AUTHOR'S NOTE: the last chapter was posted like 2 weeks ago? i think not sure. sorry guys i just had no motivation in the previous few weeks at all 😭😭 but here it is, enjoy! also just cause this took super long to write doesn't equal it being super good 😓

ART CREDITS: none of the characters or art belong to me all art credits go to @/kkuekkue on x!

TAGLIST: @azullumi,@sunananaa, @milksnake-tea, @iceunhie, @nayukiyukihira, @jjzlisu, @raideneiari (if you want to be added to the tag list write a comment or send me an off anon ask! ^^)

PREVIOUS || MASTERLIST || NEXT

“Order for uh.” you abruptly stop your sentence. Furrowing your brow in confusion you look at the questionable name that is written on the paper cup that you’re currently holding in your hand. Your gaze drifts over to the barista behind you. “March..” you whisper through gritted teeth, trying to maintain a smile while pausing for a brief moment to study the face of the girl with the cotton candy-like hair. 

The short girl hums quietly, “What is it?” she tilts her head to the side, a milk-frothing pitcher in her right hand, almost empty. “And why are we whispering?” admittedly you’re not even sure yourself, after all, people come up with silly names all the time, so why are you refraining from saying this name out loud?

“Well, I'm whispering because I don't want the other customers to listen into our conversation, but, are you sure that you wrote the right name here?” you ask the girl behind you doubtfully before directing your view towards the letters that were written in cursive and were adorned by little stars and flowers drawn by none other than March. 

The '*•.¸♡𝓐𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓮 ♡¸.•*' which she wrote in cursive (and if you may add, kind of crooked) made you raise your eyebrows as you held the cup in front of her face for her to see.

She always had a habit of drawing cute smiley faces or hearts onto the cups, reasoning it by saying that it’d sweeten the customers' day. Although you’re not sure if that’s really necessary, their day probably already gets sweetened enough from the amount of sugar and sweetener March puts into the drinks.

She huffs, feigning hurt and acting offended by your question “If you want to suspect someone, blame her!” March’s eyes drift over to the silver-haired girl who is currently sitting next to the trash can near the staff rooms, playing video games and thus blocking the way: Stelle. 

The girl in question quickly lifts her head and just smiles sheepishly as if not knowing what’s going on right now. “She’s the one who gave me the receipts and told me the names before you took over, I just added the condiments and started creating cute latte art!.” you sigh at that. Well, whoever gave Stelle their name will probably be able to recognize it sooner or later anyway. 

The worst case scenario that could probably happen is the customer putting their hands on the counter and starting to scream and yell at you to the point where their spit lands in your eyes. Urging to talk to your manager: Pompom. If the customer would see them the customer would probably start scolding you for bringing out the mascot instead of the manager, leaving the shop and giving you zero stars on Maps. (definitely not talking from any former experiences.) Yeah, hopefully, that won’t happen.

You let out a throaty cough before loudly shouting once again “Order for Aventurine!” you really wonder whose mom named their kid after a quartzite stone now — hell, if you let your guard down, the next person who you’d have to call up is someone named Ashleigh or Jonaslian. 

What’s up with women who are only maybe one or two decades older than, and their obsession with horrible baby names?

“Hellooo” the o of the greeting gets dragged out by the owner of the sing-song voice. “Earth to the cashier.” The next thing you know is a hand that is covered in a black leather glove,  waving at your face, moving in a repetitive up-and-down motion. The gesture makes you snap out of the haze which you were in, and slightly shake your head, before looking up at the customer and getting a good glance at them.  

In front of you stood possibly the hottest man you’ve ever seen. Blond silky hair and was dressed in a crisp black waistcoat that was draped around his slim torso, wearing a turquoise button-up underneath it that was adorned with gold decorations around his collar. His tie that matched his waistcoat was adjusted perfectly so that it sat in the right place. Black leather gloves envelop his slender fingers. 

The last time you were enamored by someone was when you were 9 reaching 10, and seeing Asami Sato bumping into Mako with her motorcycle on TV for the first time made you fall head over heels in love with her. That woman had younger you in a chokehold.

You feel your body tensing and heating up slightly. Fuck, has it always been this warm here? Your eyes sway over to the air conditioner behind you. No, that can't possibly be it, you made sure that the A/C was on the highest level before opening the cafe. 

The blond in front of you raises his eyebrow and looks at you expectantly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his eyes shift over your face as if studying your expression. There’s amusement that settles onto his face — smugness would be the best word to describe it.

 Shit, there was no way he found out that you were fawning over him.

“Take a picture. It lasts longer sweetheart.” he shoots you a small wink and you’re not sure whether to feel impressed or horrified at the fact that he was able to read you as easily as an open book where the most important words are already highlighted in a bold colour. 

So you remain silent — speechless, to be precise. There’s a familiar feeling bubbling up in your chest, one that makes you all giddy and nervous. How can someone whom you never met enarmour you so much? It’s weird, but it’s weirder that it feels all too familiar. Suspicion arises within you.

“Hmm?” Aventurine — or whatever his name may be, tilts his head to the side, a questioning and innocent expression manifesting on his face that it almost makes him look like a young boy who still has to grasp the concepts of the many fundamentals of the world.

“Spacing out already? Am I that handsome?” Yeah, keyword: almost.

It takes a second to compose yourself again before speaking up again. “Yeah.” Your eyes form into crescent moons as you give him a small faux smile (how March likes to call it: your customer service smile) before your face contorts into an expression of unpleasantness “No, in your dreams Mister. Also please hurry up, you’re holding up the line.” You point behind him and he angles his head backwards to see..no one?

“There’s no one there.” This time it’s him who looks unimpressed, a deadpan expression gracing over his features and you do have to admit that he looks kind of cute with that expression. Oh god, what were you thinking? “You know you’ll have to do better than try to tri-”

Before he can even finish his sentence you quickly cut him off. “With cash or with card?” Your customer service smile from before finds its way onto your face once more. “Miss, you’re so cruel! You didn’t even let me fini-” “I repeat. With cash or with card?” 

Your patience was running thin. Lucky for him he’s somewhat respectful and cute while bothering you and not going on your nerves. If he were some weirdo, you would’ve scurried away already. People like him (unfortunately) remind you that pretty privilege does exist. 

His gloved hand dives into the depths of the pockets of his slacks before pulling out a leather wallet and revealing a black card. Oh great, a rich guy. “With card.” he sighs dramatically. Do all rich people behave like this? “Sir, this is a café not an acting audition for some teenage romance drama.” You’re not sure what to think of this guy, on one hand, his attempts are cute on the other it’s kind of weird that he’s flirting with a cashier whom he met 5 minutes ago. “Just.” You hesitate before speaking up again. “Just type your PIN in here and you’re done.” He nods and continues to do so which the small sound the machine makes confirms. 

At that, you give him a small nod as a gesture of thankfulness, before attempting to kick him out again. “Great, thank you. Now please go and I wish you a good day.” 

“But how am I supposed to have a good day without yo-”

“You’ll live.” you wave him goodbye and that leaves him with no other choice but to step back and leave. 

Maybe you’re hallucinating and maybe you’re just imagining it but before he leaves he gives you a small smile. The soft and charming glow that emanates from his eyes resonates well with the dusking sun as if they were reflecting the last golden rays of sunshine before they were to be engulfed by the warm hues of the sky and later on painted black like the night. An inexplicable feeling rises in your chest as he bids you goodbye, wishing you a nice day.

“Oh he so has a massive crush on you.” you shudder upon hearing March’s voice. Her words ring in your ears like Christmas bells chiming during the holiday season. Loud and obnoxious. You try to drain the thoughts away but how can you when the source who started it all is right behind you? Continuously gushing about how that handsome stranger must have an enormous crush on you.

“The group chat has to know about this!” March enthusiastically squeals and quickly fishes her phone out of her pockets. Before you’re even able to realize what is bound to happen let alone prevent her from aggressively typing on her phone, she’s already sent the first message. 

At that you can only bury your face into the palms of your hand, face sinking into your hands in embarrassment. As much as you love March, it sometimes feels like she’s the oldest of the group and not Mr. Yang. Not in terms of matureness and wiseness, no more like in the sense of the kind of mom who has to share each and every one of her baby’s accomplishments online, but not as bad though, of course. Still.

“I hate you,” you complain, words muffled by the palms of your hands.

“I love you too.” she quips cheerfully, a smirk on her lips.

Safe to say March was in charge of cleaning and tidying up the café for the whole shift.

“Aww the handsome guy from yesterday isn’t here today.” March coos into your ear, a frown is displayed on her lips. She frowns, but you can see the hints of playfulness that linger in her expression. “Put on such a nice show yesterday only to chicken out. Booo, lameeee.” March rolls her eyes in amusement, giggling while doing so. 

Although you didn’t want to agree with what March had to say, she’s somewhat right. You full-heartedly believed that he’d visit again today after the move he pulled off yesterday or perhaps you wanted him to visit him again. 

You quickly shook your head at that thought, brushing the idea of someone paying you a visit at work off to humor you a bit. There was absolutely no way you wanted to see him again. 

“It’s early in the morning and you’re trying to shake the dandruff out of your hair already?” “Not funny Mar-” There was no fucking way.

If this wasn’t a deja vu, you don’t know either. It’s almost as if the interaction of yesterday was replaying right in front of your eyes and once again catching you off guard.

“You know it’s not polite to blatantly stare at people right?” he spoke with a chuckle as he observed your irritated face. “Frowning like that will make you gain wrinkles.” The twitching on your right eye doesn’t go unnoticed by him and he can only chuckle at that, seemingly amused by your morning misery. 

“What are you doing here.” you can only mutter a single question out, dumbfounded by him appearing in front of you once again. “Hm, am I not allowed to come by? I mean, everything’s quite affordable in here and this place isn’t far away from my workplace either sooo.” 

Well, you can’t judge him for that. “Then, what do you want?” with a sigh you pluck one of the sticky notes of the block of colorful sticky notes, ready to write his order and name down. “Someone’s in a bad mood.” he chirps. A blank stare is the only thing you provide him as an answer and at that, he can only chuckle, it’s obvious that he’s enjoying this. “An Iced Americano would be nice. Thanks.” 

“Mhmm, noted.” you quickly scribbled his order down onto the quadratic paper before shouting March’s name over your shoulder. “Can you come here to keep our dear customer company? I’ll prepare his drink in the meantime.” you shoot Aventurine a heavy side-eye before darting your gaze back to March. The girl only giggles in response before happily skipping over to the counter. 

“Aww, do you want to extra prepare my drink?” upon hearing his remark you turn around. Meeting a pair of pink eyes which were covered behind long blond lashes, scanning your figure from a close distance. 

Nervosity crawls at your skin as you feel yourself getting watched by him. It’s weird — screw that, he’s weird. 

“Close!” a giggle accompanies your words. “Actually, I just really wanna get away from you. Have fun with him March.” scoffing, you turn around again.

It didn’t take you long to prepare his order, filling a cup with ice cubes and pouring some shots of espresso over them was a piece of cake. “Here” You hand him his drink and he nods in contentment before handing you a few coins, a cheeky grin appears on his face and you can see the amusement glimmering in his pink eyes. “See you tomorrow” he chuckles and upon that March nudges your side, which in response you can only give her an exasperated groan. 

“Yep. Head over heels in love.” she quips as soon as Aventurine is out of sight, and you have to fight the urge to slam your forehead against the counter.

Your third encounter with Aventurine occurred on a fairly rainy day. With sluggish movements and wet clothes, soaked from head to toe he slumped over to the counter and grinning as soon as he saw you. 

“Hey.” it takes you a moment to process the situation and reluctantly you reply. “Hey.” Your eyes scan over his figure, his white dress shirt is completely translucent now and you can’t help but let your eyes drift to the tattoo on his neck, down to his collarbone which is visibly poking out, and his slim waist, ribs only covered by a thin layer of pale skin.   

Aventurine seems to catch on pretty quickly and wraps himself into his blazer, seemingly uncomfortable by the way you’re looking at him.

You quickly gather your words, and voice an apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shamelessly stare, that was rude again, I’m so sor-” “It’s fine.” Aventurine interrupts, cutting your apology curt while huffing out a tired sigh. The exasperation that resides in his voice implies that he obviously doesn’t want to dwell on this topic any further.  

A meek nod is the only response you’re able to give. “Can I just get the same thing I’ve had last time? Thanks.” he pulls out his card, ready to pay for his order. 

“Really? An Iced Americano during this weather?” you let out a small chuckle with which you’re trying to lighten up the tense atmosphere that built up between the two of you. 

At the sound of your light laughter, Aventurine’s eyes flicker over your face. “You remember my order?” he asks dumbfounded.

“Well yeah, no one besides teenage girls order an Iced Americano.” you joke, the usual sarcasm back in your voice. It quenches his former uneasiness, your light-hearted words soothing him like a cool steam dripping into his parched heart.

The corners of his lips twitch and he can’t help but smile. “Oh, shut up.” His signature smirk graces his lips and upon catching sight of it you can’t help but also let out a fond smile. 

“Will.. a freshly black brewed coffee do?” you’re careful when asking him. Nervousness crawls at your skin in anticipation. 

“Black coffee?” he hums. “Yeah, that should work. Thanks.” the reassuring smile he gives you makes your tense shoulder drop in relief, easing the worry that previously swam in your stomach.

You disappear into the kitchen, searching for the container that stores the coffee beans to prepare his drink, in the meantime, Aventurine quickly types into his phone before erasing the words as fast as he wrote them.

The fresh scent of coffee beans engulfs your nose and you can’t help but smile. Freshly brewed coffee always reminds you of home; someone in whose arms you can bury yourself in, nudging your nose into their chest as they cage you with their arms, softly embracing you. The rattling of a coffee machine in the background rings in your ears, but the only thing you can focus on is a voice that softly caresses the shell of your ear. 

Domesticity washes over you — it’s all too familiar. 

Aventurine’s drink is prepared in no time and you set it on the counter which makes him look up from his phone, giving you a weak smile before wrapping his hand around the drink. It’s still hot to touch, the warmth spreading over his hand in an instant like wildfire, it’s nice — the feeling of warmth enveloping his cold hand is nice. 

“Well, I’ll get going now.” his announcement catches you off guard, and impulsively you reach out to tug on his sleeve to prevent him from leaving. The action leaves both you and Aventurine surprised. Curious, the blond raises an eyebrow and grins (oh how much you want to wipe that stupid grin off his face), expectantly awaiting your next move.

“Sorry.” you cough apologetically before quickly letting go of his semi-dried sleeve. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to go out again when it’s still raining. If I were you I’d just wait until the rain stops.” Upon hearing your sincere suggestion, Aventurine’s grin falters and instead slowly molds into a fond smile that makes you inexplicably warm.  

“Aww, don’t tell me you're worried that I might catch a cold?” You counter his playful remark with one of your own. “Well, yeah. Who else is supposed to give me a generous tip?” At that Aventurine can only laugh and the smile you’ve been trying to hold back escapes. 

“Touché.”

From there on visits from Aventurine became frequent, always coming during your shift or during your break to chatter with you about mindless topics. You got used to his visits, and even when you gave off the impression of showing no interest in his ramblings, you always lent him an ear, carefully listening to what he had to say about his pets or his grumpy friend. 

(He told you that the both of you resemble each other in some way, aloof on the outside but caring on the inside. In response, you shot him a big side eye, cause what does he mean by aloof?)

The small conversations exchanged between the two of you, ranged between topics of the latest spots that have just opened, to operas and musicals and eventually work. 

His work to be specific.

Curiosity got the better of you and you couldn’t help but ask: “Aventurine.” upon hearing his name sliding off your tongue, he hums in acknowledgment. “What is it?” you scan his attire, the material of his black blazer is slightly crumpled and the turquoise button-up he’s wearing underneath seems to be the same one as the one when you first met him.

“What the hell do you even work as? I mean what kind of job requires you to wear a new suit every day?” befuddlement manifests on your face. “Ah, well.” Aventurine hesitates for a moment, mouth slightly agape before closing it once again as if searching for the right words to say. “I’ve told you that I work here right down the street right? I’m a teaching assistant at St. Freya University for my friend.” he gives you a small and coy smile. 

“Oh, that prestigious university for rich kids?” at that Aventurine slightly raises his eyebrows as if surprised by your remark before quietly laughing. “Mhm, I suppose you could say so.” “I should’ve known that you taught there, I bet you also went there for university.” It’s only a joking remark you made upon impulse but the amusement on Aventurine’s face slightly dissipates, replaced with a sheepish expression.  

“I didn’t go to university.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What do you mean you didn’t go to university? I mean as teaching a-” “I-i started working from a very early age on and not as a teaching assistant it’s only a job for me to help my friend with.” he quickly corrects himself. “Oh.” “Yeah.” he hums, looking away. 

The silence is unbearable. It’s weird and unusual for you to not hear Aventurine chatter into your ear. “So uhm.. what do you teach or help with?” the embarrassment quickly rises to your cheeks and you turn your head downwards to avoid any eye contact. God, why’s initiating a conversation so hard and always fucking awkward.

“Interested in joining? Want me to sign you up?” you’re relieved upon hearing Aventurine immediately responding, lifting your head only to be met with soft pink eyes that are already earnestly admiring you. 

Your deadpan expression tells him more than enough and he chuckles more to himself than to you. “Well, my friend, he has high expectations for his students. To some people, he might appear strict, but really, it’s for their own well-being — not his. He cares about his students a lot. Sharing his knowledge about certain topics and seeing the potential in all of them, for them to pick the information up and be able to use it. So the things he does in his classes differ, from practical to theoretical classes and I’m just there to assist with my knowledge.” the small smile that quirks at his lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Okay, okay, well enough about me, what about you? Any plans for the weekend?” Aventurine smoothly changes the topic. 

Upon being asked what your plans are your eyes immediately light up with excitement. “I’ve been meaning to visit the fair for a while now. Trying out the new rides and stuff you know?” Aventurine momentarily pauses. “Ah, I’ve actually never been to a fair.” his admission comes over as surprising to you. 

“Wait what? You’ve never been to a fair? You’re lying!” 

“I’m not! Or maybe I am.” he laughs. “Well, I might have gone to some but I can’t recall anything like that. Perhaps I was too short, too young, or too much of a pussy to try out one of the rides.” 

Before you can even think of how to respond to that, you blurt out a: “Go with me then!” You’re not even sure how you had the courage to ask that, especially to someone whom you’ve only met a month or hell a few weeks ago, you’re even less sure where that question even came from.

From what you can read off Aventurine’s face, he seems to be as equally surprised as you, mouth slightly agape and lips forming a smile as he stares at you with expectant eyes. 

“Really?” Disbelief settles onto his face.

“Thinking about it now, nope.” The light in Aventurine’s eyes immediately dies down, suddenly looking like a kicked puppy who didn’t get any belly rubs. It somehow makes you feel bad — somehow you sympathize with him. “..Fine.” you mumble. You can’t believe yourself. “Though there’s one condition: You’ll have to pay for everything.”

“Sure, no problem.” Aventurine agrees without any hesitation and that makes you skittish. “I was joking!” He gives you a boyish grin “Well, I know but it’s not like it’s a big deal either. Also, can this be considered a date?” he props his elbow up and places his cheek onto his balled fist, smirking while doing so.

“Aventurine,” you say in a stern voice. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

Your irritated eyes meet his fond ones. “I’m glad.” he expresses and you’re caught off guard by his sincere tone. There’s no teasing or playfulness behind it, just pure gratefulness. 

“Is it alright if I have your number? It’s easier to reach you then.” the smirk plastered on his face is enough to tell you what the actual intention behind his words is. 

“Admit it. You just want my number, don’t you?” you deadpan him.

“Hmm, who knows?” the grin on his face only grew wider, amused by the fact that you caught on so quickly.

Swiftly you fish out your phone from your pockets, unlocking it before showing him your phone number, and before you can even ask how he’s saved your number; which contact name he typed in for you, he pulls his phone away. Smiling in triumph upon seeing your irritated face.

He gets up from the chair he’s been sitting on for the past few minutes. “Well, your break is about to end soon, so I’ll take my leave.” your eyes follow him as he checks if he’s got everything. “See you tomorrow then:” he says in a playful tone before leaving. 

Yeah, you’re going to meet your demise, you just know it.

END NOTE: this is just idk man we're gonna progress more in the future chaps okay 😔

© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[roxygen22]

can i request any beautiful boy writing and thank you love your writing

Aww - thanks, anon! I can't believe I haven't written for Nic yet, so thanks for the nudge!

Context: Nic has been sober for a while and is holding down a steady job in the city, where he meets the reader.

<><><><><>

Bus Stop

"I have a crush on a stranger," you blurted out at dinner with your BFF. She stared at you like you had lost your mind. Maybe you had.

"Okaaaaay. Tell me about said...stranger," she replied slowly, skeptically.

"I take the same bus every day heading home from the office. Same bus. Same route. Same time. Every weekday. This cute guy - dark brown curls and cheekbones that could cut glass - always gets on two stops later and sits across from me. Every day except Wednesdays. Sometimes, if we happen to lock eyes when I look up, he'll nod and offer a closed-lipped smile. The looks have started to...linger. I've noticed that I have started to look forward to it."

At some point while narrating your story, your focus drifted off into the distance. When your eyes returned to your friend, she was grinning at you like a cheshire cat.

"Oof, you've got it bad."

"I know....," you groaned and dramatically dropped your forehead to your hands.

"What's the big deal? Ask him out." She shrugged nonchalantly.

You stared at her wide-eyed, jaw slack. "How?" You asked incredulously.

She laughed. "Start by asking his name. The rest should take care of itself."

<><><><><>

The following Monday was a federal holiday, so you wouldn't see the beautiful mystery boy again until Tuesday. The last hour of work crawled by at a torturous pace. At closing, you grabbed your coat and bolted out the door, determined to catch the bus on time. It dependably arrived at your stop like clockwork.

You sat in your usual spot, knee bouncing from nerves and excitement. Two stops later, a slew of people stepped onboard. With each unfamiliar face, you grew more and more disappointed until finally, the object of your affection appeared. He took his normal position across the way and down a few seats. He always looked so nice and put together in his button-down shirt and slacks.

You were eager to talk to him but didn't want to come off as a stalker, so you waited a couple of stops before scooting over to sit directly in front of him. Your movement caught his attention, prompting him to look up at you.

"Hi," you squeaked and froze as you locked eyes.

"Hi," he replied slowly, both confused and amused. He flashed a smile that frazzled you further.

"I- uh, I've seen you here almost every day for months. So this isn't like talking to a stranger. I, uh, don't usually make it a habit of talking to strangers. I've been wanting to meet you." You paused and caught your breath. "I'm [Y/N]." You stuck out your right hand to shake. Smooth, real smooth.

"Hi, [Y/N]." You felt electricity run through your fingertips as he took your hand in his. "I'm Nic."

"Nic," you breathed, holding his hand probably a little longer than a customary handshake. You weren't sure what to do next, except make a note that your BFF gives terrible advice.

He cleared his throat. "I- I've uh, noticed you, too. On the bus every day, I mean."

All you could do was blush.

"Getting off work for the day?" Nic asked as you settled back into your seat, nodding toward the laptop bag at your side.

"Yep, the daily grind. The best part is the bus ride home."

It was his turn to blush. He ducked his head down sheepishly. You were dismayed to look up and see your stop was next.

"This is my stop coming up. The day crept by while I waited to finally talk to you, but the ride blazed by once I did." You sadly half-smiled as you looked into his jade-hued eyes, while also admiring your own newly found confidence.

"Oh." You detected a hint of disappointment in Nic's voice. "If...hopefully this doesn't sound creepy...if you'd like, I can get off here, too, and walk with you. My stop is just the next one down," he offered.

Your heart beat rapidly - slightly wary since he was still effectively a stranger, but mostly exhilarated by the prospect of having more time with him. Your words failed, so you just nodded.

When the bus stopped, you both stood and walked toward the front. Nic stepped off first, then turned and offered his hand to help you down.

"Thanks," you responded, blushing at the gentlemanly gesture.

"Where to?" he asked as he shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

You froze as rationality hit you like a ton of bricks, finally realizing that you would be leading this guy, still essentially a stranger, to your apartment. No matter how much you liked him, that wasn't a smart move.

"Well, I...I," you stammered nervously. "I barely know you, so I'm not going to show you where I live. Not yet, no offense."

"None taken," Nic replied, holding his hands up in surrender.

"But I want to get to know you, and I don't want that to stop here. Want to duck in somewhere and grab a drink?"

"I- I don't drink." His brow furrowed, and his eyes cast downward slightly. "B-but I do eat!" he added. "Hungry? My treat."

You smiled and nodded, pointing at the diner across the street. "How about there? They make a mean cheeseburger and milkshake."

Nic grinned. "Works for me."

<><><><><>

Part 2

Masterlist

@croatianprincess @bluizh @jindongdongie @groovy-lady @pmak2002

[ohdeerfully]

Hello

I live

Well, barely

OMG ISTG I JUST REREAD LIKE ALL OF YOUR FICS I'M GOING SGSJDGDJHFJDY

Your writing. I swear. It's so good. Like when I read any other alastor x reader fic I have this nasty voice in the back of my head going 'He wouldn't do this'. THAT DOESN'T HAPPEN HERE

You are a genius. (Thabk you for speepy Alastor coming from an insomniac is good praise, no?)

My personal favourites are

a. Either of the sleepy Alastoe fics (obviously)

b. Dry bed. Istg the writing in that.. Augh

Could you do a part two to Dry bed? Maybe they just wake up (Together!!!) and awkwardly get their way down to breakfast. Then they simply avoid each other all day, not talking, but still stealing glances at each other when the other isn't looking. Then reader finds Alastor chilling on the hotel roof the following night and they TALK about it. And figure things out.

Omg thabk you for listening to my rant I hope you are doing well byeeee

~❤✨

P. S. You and your fics are my new hyperfixation

hello!!!!! in general sorry yall for my absence, finals are literally next week so it Will happen again

im so glad u like my depiction of alastor hes literally so annoying to write... a dry bed is honestly probably one of if not THE fave fic ive written (though might be a tie with mourning dove) so i hope part ii does it a bit of justice (,: i kind of deviated from ur request at the beginning (they dont wake up together >_<) but otherwise i hope u enjoy! hopefully its not too obvious i kind of rushed it

mwah! <3

A Warm Bed

(sequel to A Dry Bed)

Alastor x Reader (hurt/comfort, fluff) TW: none really, alastor is probs ooc but who cares

join my discord!

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It felt a little bit too cold when you woke up, but you couldn’t immediately find a reason why. Your eyes squinted open, facing the curtains that were drawn just enough to where a peek of the morning light rudely shone against your face. You turned over with a dissatisfied groan.

Peering at the empty bed beside you, you stared blankly as wheels began to turn in your mind. It only took a few seconds to remember the previous night, and your face quickly warned as you hissed in a breath through clenched teeth, wrists coming up and rubbing your eyes with a sense of dismay.

Man, what were you thinking. You felt a strong mixture of regret and embarrassment but also… you felt lonely. The strong, strange affection from Alastor the previous night directly compared to him disappearing and leaving you alone in the morning made you feel all the more cold. The room also had an uncomfortable silence to it, but at the same time too loud with the hum of your ceiling fan.

Whatever, you feigned indifference to yourself and lifted yourself from your mattress, legs dangling over the side of your bed for a few moments, allowing yourself to get a quick stretch in before sliding on some comfortable slippers while you went to your restroom, protecting your feet against the cold tile.

You quickly freshened up, pulling on some comfortable loungewear before leaving your hotel room and walking down the long corridor that led to the steps. Maybe it was just your current mood, but the ambience was too quiet and uncomfortable.

Your spirits slowly lifted as you made your way down the steps, and you could hear the faint clashing of kitchen tools being dropped and thrown, alongside unintelligible and arguing voices, one doubtlessly being Vaggie trying to tame—or, no, threaten—the chaos.

The air, at the very least, smelled good despite the racquet. Though you were in Hell, the food was still appetizing—even if you weren’t exactly sure what it was half the time.

You must’ve made it just in time, as right when you turned the corner you nearly hit your head against Charlie’s shoulder as she rounded the same corner. You tripped over each other for a moment before she ultimately steadied you with a hand and a breezy laugh.

"Good morning! I was just about to tell everyone breakfast was ready…” You smiled at her gesture. Every morning she tried to host some sort of typical continental style breakfast that was standard for most hotels—that is if Niffty’s behavior permitted a successful morning—and the quality was usually higher than what you remembered in your time alive. Of course, you were dealing with the Princess of Hell, who obviously wouldn’t want anything mediocre for her treasured guests.

“Thank you,” was all you could offer in return before she passed you, doubtlessly to gently announce the food to the other guests. There had been an increase in residents lately, so you weren’t shocked at the piles of delicious looking food that met your eyes when you stepped into the kitchen. You could practically imagine sparkles dancing around the fluffy pancakes and still sizzling pans of various breakfast meats.

You helped yourself to a meal, carefully stepping around the growing crowd of other guests, who all, for the most part, seemed a little aggravated at being woken up but nonetheless pleased at the free meal.

A brief hush filled the room as the air seemed to get just a bit heavier, more ominous, alongside the new presence of a prickling against your skin. You didn’t have to look up, nor did you even want to look up, to know who the culprit of such a suffocated atmosphere was; you knew him well enough.

The kitchen slowly came back to life, albeit a bit stiffer and with quieter conversation. You kept your eyes glued to your plate of food as you made your way towards the dining area. As you passed through the entrance, out of your peripheral you saw the large, looming figure of the demon you had become unnaturally attached to. You didn’t look up or even acknowledge him, pretending to just not notice, but you could swear you felt his red gaze burning a hole in your skin.

A few minutes passed after you sat down before Alastor joined you, sitting in his unofficial assigned seat. The only difference was he didn’t scoot his chair nearly as close as usual, as well as the way his body was turned just slightly so that his back was facing you. Not enough to be noticed by other people, but just enough for you—though, maybe you were just overanalyzing things?—to notice how he was pointedly uninviting you from any interactions with him.

Why even bother coming to breakfast, you thought coldly to yourself, deciding to just feel mad about it instead of stewing in your own self-hate and regret. You had already spent all morning feeling stupid for the night before. It’s not like you even eat this shit. Go eat a dead deer or something.

Your fork poked aggressively against the food on your plate, head propped up against a fist as you mindlessly scooted the food around in a pool of syrup. You hoped to convey some sense of hatred to the demon next to you as you jammed a fluffy bite of pancake into your mouth—oh, that’s so good, your spirits were lifted just a bit as the slightly sweet and buttery pancake touched your tongue.

A hand touched your back, and you jolted in surprise. Naturally your eyes first went to Alastor next to you, thinking maybe he was finally over himself, but he had his hands folded on the table in front of him as he watched another table argue over something probably meaningless. Maybe you’re crazy, but did you see his eyes flick to your just as you looked away? You shook off the idea.

Vaggie sat to your right, and was currently eyeing you with a hint of concern in her eye. You shrugged off her hand as politely as possible before smiling at her with a raised eyebrow, trying to play it off with an ‘I’m alright.’

“People that are ‘alright’ don’t usually have some personal vendetta against a plate of breakfast food,” She said in a low voice, trying to keep your conversation private, particularly from a certain set of prying, fluffy red ears. “You know you have friends here. Especially Charlie.”

“Really, I’m all good, just… long morning,” You did your best to wave away her worries again, suddenly feeling a little childish. From the way she spoke, you would think she was talking to someone going through something serious—you were just having some guy problems.

It seemed to work well enough, because after looking at you for a few more beats she raised her hand and turned away, picking up a conversation with her girlfriend. You sat in your spot for a few more minutes, but the growing anxiety from silently and awkwardly sitting next to Alastor, sifting through so many racing thoughts and doubts, gnawed at your stomach. You finally stood up and excused yourself with a thank you and left the room.

You had no specific place to be, so you just wandered into the lobby and slumped against a couch. You briefly wondered where Angel was; he was surprisingly good at listening to romantic troubles, though honestly you probably wouldn’t divulge your whole “thing” with Alastor. That would probably meet no welcomed response.

You must have dozed off, because the sudden sound of raised voices startled your eyes open. Arguments and general anger were commonplace here, so you weren’t particularly shocked to find Vaggie and Angel Dust going at it about something regarding his behavior and the Hotel—a recurring theme in their conversations. Vaggie’s words fell on deaf ears as Angel tutted at her words with a waving and dismissive hand.

“I’m sure ninety percent of these guests would love to have a piece’a me!” He said, taking long strides across the room as he fixed up his chest fluff with two hands. He leaned his hip against the large chair that, much to your dismay, sat Alastor, his grin tightening as Angel approached. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as the spider laid his torso across the head of the chair.

“Even this one…” Angel said with a pouty lilt in his voice, finger dragging up the embellishments as he tried to play flirty. Alastor clicked his tongue distastefully in response before he stood up, hands folding neatly across the top of his cane.

“Not quite to my taste, thank you!” He said, looking down at Angel with an ugly curl in his lip. Angel only huffed in response before slinking down the back of the chair and taking up the space where Alastor previously sat, leaving said demon just standing there.

Alastor’s eyes glanced at you, so brief that you honestly may have imagined it, before he simply hummed with closed eyes and melted into the ground, the shadow where he once stood inking across the carpet before finally coming to a rest… behind the couch where you were laying. You grimaced as you felt his presence manifest again, sending a ripple of that familiar prickle down your bare arms.

Was this going to be your eternity now? Playing some game of cat and mouse where you have to leave every room you’re in just because Alastor gets too close for comfort? You turned your head to try to get a look at him from the corner of your eye, but immediately looked away again when you saw he was already looking at you. You couldn’t read his expression.

You sat up and thought for a few moments. Honestly, it was probably best to just go spend a depression day alone in your room. As pushy as Alastor could be, he wasn’t typically the type to barge into rooms without invitation.

Slowly standing, you managed to avoid the attention of the couple of others in the room—though, realistically, none would care if they happened to see you leave; you were just on edge to everyone and everything. You quickly made your way up the stairs, frowning down at your feet as you walked. You shot a sideways glance at Alastor as you rounded a turn in the steps, finally meeting his gaze for a few seconds before your view was blocked by the wall.

You sighed as you found yourself in front of your hotel room, a heavy feeling making you suddenly choke up. You ushered yourself into the room before you embarrassed yourself by crying openly in the hallway, but the comforting solitude of your room as you leaned your back against the door to close it made it a bit easier to breathe.

After ensuring the door was locked, you went to stand at the edge of the bed, frowning down at the still unmade sheets. Thoughts of that tender night came to the front of your mind at full force, and you bit your lip anxiously. The warmth of his body against yours, the tangle of legs and soft touches of lips… was it all actually, in a cruel turn of reality, a fake expression of care from him? When you had finally begun to think you could read the affection on his face…

You settled into the soft mattress, uncomfortably aware of how big and cold it was. You were no stranger to sleeping alone by any means, but after finally experiencing the shared space with someone you loved, the contrast was stark and unwelcomed. You did your best to ignore it as you tucked yourself in, letting your eyes fall shut in a poor attempt to sleep away your worries.

Your attempts were unsuccessful, and an empty feeling of longing and despair in your stomach grew stronger with each hour that passed as you watched the red hue of the daylight sky turn darker. You felt both restless and tired at the same time, lacking any energy to actually do anything to pass the time. 

It all proved to be counterintuitive to the whole “sleep your worries away” as the hours you spent just lying down only gave you ample opportunity to melt in your own thoughts as the memories of last night kept returning. Man, why did you have to kiss him? You unwittingly ignored the fact that he had also played a part in closing that gap between you; you were honestly just pinning the blame fully on yourself.

Finally sick of stewing in misery, you kicked off the heavy blanket and stood up. You needed some fresh air. 

You tried to walk quickly with a fake sense of purpose so, in the odd chance you passed someone, they hopefully wouldn’t ask about your absence all day—you were typically more present and friendly with everybody as you would often help Charlie with event organization. Lucky enough for you, you passed nobody on your way to the door that opened to some stairs up to the roof of the Hotel.

After a quick pace up the echoey, metal steps, you pushed open the large doors and greeted with a pleasantly cool rush of wind. It was still warm, of course, being Hell and all, but cooler than usual. You quietly closed the heavy doors behind you.

There was a spot on the roof you typically sat at during long, restless nights, and you turned the corner of the door before promptly backtracking and pressing yourself up against the metal door once again, jaw clenched in a mix of shock and anger.

Why the Hell was Alastor on the roof at your spot with your blanket that you had left up here on some previous night? Was he doing all this on purpose? Constantly getting all too close to you while simultaneously acting cool and indifferent towards your existence? Was this all just some sick game to him? Well… it is Alastor.

You peeked over the edge from where you hid to get a better look at him. He sat serenely with his back towards you, legs hanging over the edge of the roof. You couldn’t see his expression, but his body waved just slightly, most likely to the tune of some song in his head. Despite all the frustration you felt in your soul towards him, looking at him under the blanket of a dark red sky with a sprinkling of stars… he still endeared you. Especially when he looked so harmless and relaxed.

Just as you were about to turn away again and find somewhere else to relax, he cleared his throat, stopping you before you could even move.

“It’s rude to stare,” He stated, projecting his voice just enough for you to hear the light humor in his voice. “You seem like a stalker, darling!”

You straightened your shoulders before walking out from behind the wall, a frown on your face. You didn’t walk any closer—God forbid you accidentally do anything to hurt your relationship anymore, if that was even possible.

“I didn’t mean to, I was just… surprised, that’s all,” You reasoned, tapping your foot impatiently. “You are kind of in my spot.”

He hummed, absently pointing at the surface around him. “I didn’t see your name on it.” 

You couldn’t really think of a response quickly, so you just stayed quiet, continuing to just stand in place a few meters away from Alastor.

He briefly put his hand down on the space next to him, patting twice in a vague invitation for you to join him. You thought for a brief moment before cautiously walking towards him, steps growing slower with each foot you got closer. He made no move to send you away—in fact, he even started moving the blanket in a way to make the concrete just a bit more comfortable to sit on. He still didn’t look at you.

Embarrassingly your hands had started to shake, which you realized when you reached your hand down to support your body as you lowered it to sit. You just hoped Alastor didn’t notice. You let your legs fall over the ledge, swinging slightly next to Alastor’s. You didn’t notice how he shifted his knee a bit closer to yours.

The two of you sat in silence under the still-darkening sky, and you couldn’t decide if it was a comfortable or awkward silence. Alastor didn’t seem to mind, so you tried to convince yourself it was comfortable despite the itching anxiety in your chest.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” You blurted out, unable to contain it anymore. Was it a bad idea to even bring it up? Maybe. But you felt that your relationship was already irreparably damaged so it couldn’t hurt to at least apologize. You saw his eyes turn towards you out of your peripheral, and you were too ashamed to meet his look, instead opting to fiddle with a fray of the blanket edge.

“Whatever for?” He responded after an uncomfortably long pause—this stunned you. Fuck you mean ‘whatever for?’ Your head whipped up to look at him, brows furrowed.

You had spent all die scared that you ruined everything between you and Alastor, regretting everything that led up to last night’s events—it didn’t help that Alastor himself was also blatantly avoiding you. What the fuck is he acting so confused for?

Apparently you said that all out loud, as Alastor’s smile was growing more and more strained with each loud word that tumbled from your lips. You didn’t even realize until you were done and catching your breath, but at this point you couldn’t care less to apologize or feel bad about it. You folded your arms and fixated your eyes on some random pedestrian below as another long stretch of silence filled the air.

“You confuse me,” He finally said, with a voice that lacked its usual radio tone. You didn’t respond, so he continued. “I feel these alien emotions when I’m near you—you bewitch me. And I don’t like it. I hate you for it.”

You couldn’t control the slight slump in your shoulders and the sharp pang in your stomach that his words brought you. Hate. 

“But… I kill the demons I hate,” He said, looking away from you and up at the sky. “And I can’t find myself wanting to kill you. That has to mean something, though I’m really no man to figure it out myself.”

You cautiously returned your eyes back to him, shoulders curled forward as if to protect yourself against the blow of any harsh words. But, as he spoke, you felt that anxiety slowly lighten as you pieced together what he was trying to convey in his own strange way. Although, you weren’t really sure what to say in response, filled with too many swarming emotions—both new and old. 

Suddenly you looked at the space between the two of you—was Alastor’s hand there just a minute ago? You looked up to try to get any hint of his goals; but, unsurprisingly, he remained unreadable. It was definitely safer to just ignore it.

Well, that got a lot harder when his pinkie finger stretched towards you just a bit, practically inviting you. You looked at his face one more time, swallowed your fear, and tenderly laid your hand down next to his. You moved it cautiously closer, just enough so that your pinkie touched his own. His lifted up and curled over yours, tightening in a way to bring the rest of your hand closer and enveloping it with his own. Your gaze was fixated on this exchange and you felt heat warm your cheeks and ears.

You both said nothing, but you thought the pounding in your ears would drown out any attempt.

Your attention finally broke from the hands that now clasped together between the two of you, turning up towards Alastor. You found that he had been looking at you with such an intensity it made you feel like an open book before him. His eyes had a slight glow to them now that the sky had fully darkened—eyes that were usually so malicious and secretive seemed to now burn with what you could only assume was affection.

“I can’t promise I’ll be a good man,” He finally broke the silence. His smile was small but strained, and his voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

In response you shook your head with a breathless laugh, tightening your hand just slightly around his as you focused on the street below, watching the scattered presence of night owl demons.

“I probably couldn’t promise the same, either,” You admitted, leaning back and stretching out your legs in the open air over the ledge of the roof. You froze momentarily when Alastor shifted a bit closer, his knee now barely knocking against yours.

He reached his hand out, fingers curling gingerly but firm over your chin and pulling your face closer to his. He examined your face for a moment, red eyes trailing over every curve of your features before settling back to look into your eyes.

“But I can promise, cher,” The new name he referred to you as made the already present flush in your cheeks only intensify. “That as long as you own what’s left of my heart, no demon in Hell can keep you away from me. Not even you.”

His words were spoken almost like a threat in an ominously low tone, that heavy radio affliction dripping from his words. In his eyes was a sudden look of sinister intensity and devotion, something you had never even dreamed of seeing, especially from him and especially towards you. As menacing as the words seemed, you couldn’t stop the wry smirk that inched up your lips, slightly smushed between his fingers that still firmly held your head in place.

“I’d like to see anyone try,” You responded in an attempt to match his energy. This seemed good enough for him, as his smile lifted for a moment as he released you from his grasp and faced forward again.

You yawned and stretched out your arms above your head, popping a few bones in your back before you stood. He followed suit, deftly touching his clothes with one hand to smooth any wrinkles or crooked buttons—his other was still holding your own.

He stepped closer, nearly pressed against you, when suddenly the atmosphere around you seemed to melt in a swirl of black before being replaced with the familiar decor of your hotel room. He gave you a light nudge and you fell back onto the bed.

After recuperating and settling, you watched him from your spot on the bed as he draped off his coat and slacks before joining you in the sheets. His body language was tense and unsure, but to your own pleasure the stiffness in his shoulders lightened just a bit when your hands tenderly rubbed against his skin.

The bed that was only hours before too big and too cold was now inviting with the warmth of Alastor’s body against your own, his scent filling your nose with every inhale as his hair brushed against your cheek. Every movement was a shaky blur as you were still filled with a sense of disbelief and maybe a little bit of adrenaline from the unexpected switch-up from him. The mattress dipped and creaked as he tried to make himself comfortable, which took an awkward few seconds, but after finally settling in you found yourself laid against his chest, fingers trailing down his skin.

Alastor’s own clawed fingers trailed through your hair and he hummed the quietest tune, lulling you further into an exhaustion that you didn’t realize had been creeping up on you. You fell asleep to a comfort that you hoped you wouldn’t have to spend another day in eternity without.

[kairiscorner]

hihiii pookie :DD!!

tw// mentions of depression

i'm wondering if you could maybe write a comfort fic about miles 42 with a reader who hates asking for help even when theyre clearly suffering in silence because they were taught to just 'suck it up' and deal with it alone as a kid?

you dont have to write this if you dont feel comfortable with it <33

Thank you pooks :33!!

hi pooks @jrrantss <:DD oh man, okay so i was kind of that kid back then too (though i was a big crybaby) it's like the adults around me didn't fully comprehend why i was feeling the way i was, so in response to that, they basically condemned crying at home or in front of them. i'm sorry if you went through something similar or, hopefully not, something worse ;-; i hope this provides you some comfort, and in a way, might also let you know you aren't the only one going through stuff like this. i'm here for you pookie, all the time <:)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

you can be honest with me. – miles 42 x reader (angst + comfort)

nothing went your way this week, hell, you couldn't even remember a week in your life when anything felt right, when you didn't feel that you were holding yourself back from letting go of everything that felt wrong, awful, and just... painful. you were too good at keeping secrets, too good at lying about how you really felt; and that was something you hated about yourself, how you found lying as your first nature, not your second. you lied to people when they'd ask you if you were doing okay, if your day was going alright–you always gave them the answers they want to hear, that you were fine, that nothing was wrong.

but when everything just comes crumbling down, and the cracks in your facade begin to show and become more obvious... you get more and more defensive, more and more angry, more and more... scared and worried about these feelings that are hurling themselves at you so quickly that you can't even begin to understand why they're affecting you so badly–why people can see the bare you now if you just turn your face to look at them or open your mouth to speak; and your boyfriend was the first person to see you this way, vulnerable, yet trying all you can to avoid that vulnerability while you're crumbling down.

"hey," miles calls out to you in a soft voice as he sees your back turned to him as you kept working on your assignments, hunched over at your desk with your brows furrowed together and your lips curved into a scowl. you had been avoiding him for a few days now–at least he thinks you might be avoiding him–and have acted very distant, very... out of it recently. you didn't turn your head around to face him, which prompted him to continue talking, hopefully so you could find a reason to face him and his worried eyes. "you've, um... you've been busy lately." "uh-huh." you hummed as you tapped the end of your pencil against your desk impatiently, racking your brain for the answer to the questions written down that all seemed to blur together as the shittiness of the previous days just irritated you even more, and the worst part was... you couldn't hide the fact you can't mask ot anymore.

miles' face contorted as he got more and more worried about you, not knowing why you were acting starkly different than the usual you, or the only you he was familiar with. he extended his hand out to you as he walked over, looking at your cluttered up papers on your desk and the smudged up marks on the paper from your erasures. "...is something wr–" "everything's fine, i'm fine, i'm just peachy!" "you don't sound very convincing." he said, his voice returning to his nonchalant, cool tone as he took a small glimpse at your face before you turned away from his field of vision.

he sat in the chair next to you and wrapped his arm around you in an effort to comfort you. "cielo, sonething's up with you. are you... are you sure you don't wanna let me help?" he asked you with a soft voice, hoping he didn't overstep any boundaries as you slowly turned your head to show him a bit of your face. there were tears in your eyes, though you didn't dare let miles see them fall down your face; there was a sob stuck in your throat, but you didn't dare let miles hear it escape your lips. you had been there before, being severely troubled for more things than just homework–but never had you been advised to do anything than the age old phrases you've heard all your life as a kid: 'get over it.'

you took in a deep breath and tried to tell him what those words you've exhausted yourself from saying all the damn time–that you don't need any help, that you've got this, that you're okay... but your body's betraying you right now. it's betraying you for turning your back on your own feelings, but that... was never your fault, never. as you let out the breath you've been holding in, the hot tears came streaking down the ends of your eyes, your scowl morphing into a sad frown as you felt yourself slowly come undone and all the raging thoughts in your mind boiled down into one thought right then and there: 'fuck no, i am far from okay'.

you had one tear come down, then two, then... a whole waterfall of tears came pouring down your eyes as you finally released that sob you had been desperately keeping in. you had released it out into the air as it mingled with miles' shushing and gentle whispers as he held you while you leaned against him, wailing as you tried telling him how nothing had been right lately. you choked out in broken cries how you desperately wanted a way out of everything horrible that's been happening but you didn't want anyone else to be bothered by your 'stupid, insignificant problems'.

"i just... want to be okay... but i can't even pretend to be okay for at least one damn day." "please, stop pretending, mi vida. it's hurting me how you... how you think it's strength to rake up everything by yourself... when you clearly need help." miles said with a cracked voice as he felt himself choke up at your melancholic state. you cried even more out of guilt that you saddened miles, but he kissed your forehead, cheek–your whole face as he murmured words of reassurance, of love, to you to calm you down and comfort you. "you're not alone, not anymore... i don't care if some idiots in your life want you to deal with alone, never to bother them–you're never a bother to me, got that?" he mutters to you as he holds you close, letting you sob into his shoulder, your sobs getting louder and louder all the while. he shushes you and rubs your back gently, kissing your wet cheeks as he keeps reminding you that no matter what you're going through, what problems you're having, he's always going to be there for you–be the help you'll need, one way or another.

"please, don't be scared, mi vida... you can be honest with me. i promised to love you with all my heart, protect you, and... always be the help you'll need."

he whispered to you as he looked into your eyes and gently wiped your tears away and leaned his forehead against yours, hoping you would be more lenient, more understanding towards yourself and your own needs; and that you wouldn't hesitate to ask him for help. because even if you don't ask him to, he'll be there to help you, be there to guide you, be there to comfort you the best he can. because he loves you, and knows you deserve more than what you think you deserve, that you deserve... the best of the best, and nothing less.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @fiannee @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @onginlove @meowmoraless @q2ie @zalayni @anikaluv @conitagray

[topazadine]

How to Write Faster (And, Hopefully, Better Too)

Estimated Reading Time: 7 minutes

I've shared some tools before to help improve your speed and motivation, which include:

Using a word count spreadsheet

Working on only one WIP at a time

Leverage StimuWrite and Cold Turkey

.... but I still have a few more tricks, which I'll share now.

Why should you listen to me? I've written over 2 million words of fiction since 2021. That's a lot, more than many people write in a lifetime.

This is despite the fact that I also write 22,000 words every week for my day job. I do around 10k of creative fiction a week. And there's also the time I spend writing these articles for you, the lovely people of Tumblr, which is around 4-5k per week.

So, all told, I probably do around 37,000 words (creative, informative, and otherwise) every single week.

I did that by following these tips.

Separate the work into stages.

First, let's outline the stages of work (or at least the stages I use). You may have a different setup, and that's fine - if you do have a system that works for you, then you probably don't need my post at all. Keep doing what you're doing and ignore my advice.

But if you do not have a system, consider mentally separating things into these parts.

Active Writing. When I am busy doing the draft. It is both the most precarious and productive time; everything else related to books goes on the backburner. I am doing nothing writing-related but writing. No discussing the work unless I'm stuck somewhere, no making moodboards, NOTHING. This is my sacred time when I am in the thick of things and I put Writing Blinders on.

Percolation. I am done with the first draft. I set the piece aside and do other things like reading other novels, outlining another story, answering tag games, playing with moodboards, or putting everything aside and focusing on other hobbies. This is so I can come back to revisions with a fresh set of eyes. It keeps the story in my mind and can even help me discover new things I want to add.

Revision. After I have had a beta reader check things out, I go back and start fixing things. Then it percolates again. I repeat percolating and revising as many times as I feel necessary. Many times, I will have one beta reader look at it, then revise, and then have another beta reader look at it, each one getting a slightly different version of the story so I can compare what they liked or disliked.

Prepublishing. Most authors' least favorite part: marketing and telling people about your book so that they want to read it when it is ready. That includes stuff like making mood boards, doing tag games, sending out ARCs, setting up adds, posting on social media, and so on.

Again, ONE STEP AT A TIME. Do not blend all of these into a slurry.

I will say that this time around, with Pride Before a Fall, I ordered the cover before I was done with the book because I had a very clear vision of what I wanted.

Talk less, write more.

This is similar to the problem I highlighted in my Double Outlining post; the more you talk about your story, the more you trick your brain into thinking that you've done the work when you categorically have not.

Plus, the time you spend talking about your book is time you spend not writing your book. We can't do both simultaneously.

I don't really talk about my stories while I'm doing them, not even with my family. I may post a line or two, and I may tell people the basic plot, but I'm not spending hours discussing them with anyone unless I need advice on what to do next. Even then, it's more like "hey what do you think about this? Good? Cool, off I go."

Please get out of the habit of exhaustively picking apart your work with other people during the Active Writing stage. That can come during the Percolating and Revising stages.

Devote all your love and attention to one story.

Yes, I've mentioned this in a whole entire post, but I need to emphasize just how important it is to write stories one at a time. Working on a million things at once is not efficient; it's scatterbrained.

Force yourself to do ONE story. Just one. Not two or three or five. ONE.

Again, I've written 132 stories on AO3 (two of which are 100k+, multiple of which are 50k+), published one book, and written 5 of the upcoming manuscripts for the 10-part Eirenic Verses series. I am a very productive writer, and that is because I do everything one at a time.

Don't tell yourself "oh, I can get more done if I do a little bit on this one and that one and that one."

Can a chess player win three games of chess if they play all of them simultaneously? Uh, probably not. Each of their opponents is devoting everything to one game while their concentration is split between three different boards.

And you're not going to win either if you're playing twenty games of Write the Book simultaneously.

Do not mess around with moodboards, tag games, character questionnaires, playlists, etc, during Active Writing.

I discussed this in my Extremely Controversial Writing Opinions, but it bears repeating.

Do all of that stuff later, after you are done, as a marketing tool. It's procrastination, plain and simple.

Any time I get sucked into tag games or moodboards while writing, I get less done because I'm devoting time and energy to something that doesn't actually enhance my book.

It's one thing to do character questionnaires while you're figuring out a character, but quite another to stop what you're doing and tell everyone what your character's favorite food is.

Is that helping you get the project done? No, it is not. Log out of Canva. Turn on Cold Turkey to block Tumblr or Twitter. Leave that stuff alone.

Read short stories.

You know you need to read to become a good writer, but taking hours out of your day to read a novel while you're drafting your own novel can take away from your writing process.

That's not to say you shouldn't ever read novels, of course, but you can do that while you're in between projects.

During my active writing phase, I like to read a short story before I get started on working. This gives me inspiration and primes my creative pump so I'm excited to do my best.

Reading short stories also helps me focus on brevity rather than long-winded diatribes, which lets me pack more into a story.

Don't reread your work during Active Writing.

It's easy to get sucked into rereading and then not get anything new done; plus, this makes you want to revise, which should come later.

Reread only as much as you need to fix plot holes or remind yourself of where you're going. Refusing to reread also lets you look at your work with fresh eyes during revisions.

Make a writing ritual.

You need to tell your brain that it is writing time. This could be anything, like brushing your teeth right before you sit down to write, or drinking coffee out of one specific coffee cup when you are in writing mode, or putting on a playlist that you only use when writing.

For me, I light incense and ring a bell, then ask my muses to help me. When I take a break, I'll light a new incense stick (it's Japanese incense so very light scent) and ring the bell again.

That's about it, though I may write another post with more tips. I hope these are helpful to you, even if you don't like them. Sit on them, think about it, and give it a try. You might find yourself spending more time writing and less time just thinking about writing.

I've created a masterlist of writing resources that you can peruse at your leisure, all for free.

The posts I write can sometimes take me hours - they're always intricate, always thoughtful. This one took me about 1 hour to write.

I do this as a labor of love for the writing community, sharing what I have learned from almost 15 years of creative writing.

However, if you'd like to support me, maybe you'll consider buying my book?

9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age romance set in a fantasy world. It follows Uileac Korviridi, a young soldier training at the War Academy. His primary motivations are honoring the memory of his late parents, protecting his little sister Cerie, and becoming a top-notch soldier.

The book features poetry, descriptions of a beautiful country inspired by Mongolia, and a whole lot of tsundere vibes.

You can also check it out on Goodreads for a list of expanded distribution.

If you do purchase my book, don't forget to leave a review!

Reviews are vital for visibility on Amazon and help to support indie authors like me. Whenever you love a book, be sure to let the author know! It's much appreciated.

[poppadom0912]

Together (IX)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, injuries, abuse, kidnappings, shootings, swearing and scary men.

Summary: They're finally together and nothing's getting in the way... maybe.

A/N: So this is the second final chapter before the epilogue. This has been so much fun to write you don't understand. This is like my baby that I've had since January and I'm so proud. You guys have shown so much love for it that it makes me upset it's all coming to an end. So I hope you enjoy and cherish the last two chapters of this series!!

I'm not a professional so ignore any medical inaccuracies. Also, for my sake, let's pretend that all these characters are still here because I can't be asked to remember who left and what season is which. Everyone's just going to exist happily together ;))

Previous Chapter / Series Masterlist / Next Chapter

The gunshots reverberated through the warehouse, despite being cut off from the outside world it sounded like a battlefield where thousands of bullets were being shot when in reality it was probably under thirty people shooting back and forth at each other.

You’d been awake for a while now, your body curling around Will’s as both of you shivered. He tried talking, telling you stories that you somehow never heard before but talking became too hard at one point and his pain doubled resulting in staying in silence.

The silence made it easy to get lost in thought, getting carried away in the thought that maybe this was it. It daunted on you that no matter how hard you fought, how hard your brothers fought, none of it was enough at the end of the day because look at where the three of you ended up.

Half an hour later, Will was dragging you and himself towards the door as soon as the gunshots went off. He murmured how when the door was eventually opened, you’d be hidden behind the door and it’d taken just a few seconds longer to be found, giving Will hopefully some time to come up with a very last-minute plan.

Holding in your breath, you waited anxiously on the floor with Will crouched besides you, pain evident on his face from the new uncomfortable position. Just as you were going to tell him to sit down, footsteps could be heard stomping downstairs and across the corridors.

You and Will shared a glance, worry written boldly on both your faces. This was probably it and that thought of this being the end made the pit in your stomach grow. All this pain and suffering only ending in death, it was kinda pathetic. You prayed Jay mourned healthily, prayed Kelly wouldn’t lose himself and moved on, prayed that everything stuck together, and no one let this tear them apart.  

Will gripped your hand as tightly as he could, his body shielding yours as best he could because if this was it, then he was going to go down protecting you and putting up some sort of a fight. You squeezed his hand back as tight as you could, expressing words that you were too scared to say in the silence that was interrupted by stomping feet and shattering bullets.  

With a watery smile, you squeezed Will’s hand one more time for good measure, maintaining eye contact for just a little longer, having a silent conversation where you both said everything necessary with simply your eyes; eyes that you shared with Jay and eyes that he shared with your dad. Merely the thought of it made a tear slip from where you were pushing it back.  

Will softly smiled back at you, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles comfortingly. This minute of silence shared between you two wasn’t enough, you wanted, scratch that you needed more time.  

The sound of struggle was the next thing you heard; someone was trying to get into the locked room. The sudden banging overtook your thundering heart that was already having a tough time. 

The door burst open; it happened so fast that it hit Will’s back whose face scrunched up in pain. You squeezed his hand tighter to hopefully offer him some comfort, but he only adjusted his position so that his crouched body was fully covering yours from outside eyes.  

“Please, please don’t touch her.” Will begged, urgency dripping as it heavily coated his words. He would rather they did all the damage on him than you, you’d been hurt enough, and he could handle a little more violence. You argued he couldn’t since he was barely stable while on the ground. If he wasn’t being so hypervigilant and took the time, he’d realise he was worse off than he thought.  

“Thank fuck.”  

That didn’t sound like Jackson or Ezra, neither did it sound like any of their bulky lackeys.  

You slowly peeled your eyes open, watching as Will froze from shock. All the oxygen left his body as he lay eyes, finally, on Jay.  

“Shit, what the hell did they do?!” The fear and anger mixed as Jay took in the sight of his siblings. To see them again took off all the weight on his shoulders, relief replacing it but soon it was gone because you and Will looked worse than he could’ve ever anticipated.

“Help me up Jay.” Will ignored Jay’s question and instead held out his hand. Jay complied easily, pulling Will up onto his feet but as soon as he stood, he crumbled back onto the floor.  

“Shit okay, never mind.” Will groaned, eyes screwed shut as he caught his breath, arm protecting his abdomen. “Leave me for now, you gotta carry Y/N, there’s no way she can walk.”  

“Dude, neither can you or are you also blind now?” Jay scoffed; his eyes wide in bewilderment at his older brother's insistence. “Kevin’s down the hall, he can help.”  

You and Will hummed in reply, neither of you having the energy to properly reply. You felt bad because you barely did anything while Will did all he could and more despite being incapacitated.  

“Seeing your ugly mugs makes me want to cry.” Jay said, a smile appearing on his scabbed lips as he looked down at the two of you. There were no lies in his words, relief flooded his body at the simply seeing his siblings even if they were injured beyond human capabilities but being separated for so long, it did things to men.  

“Come on Halstead’s, let’s get you outta here.” Kevin said, suddenly appearing from out of nowhere, making you and Will jump in fright. It would’ve been funny had your responses not been a result of the trauma you just experienced.  

Jay scooped you into his arms, expletives spilling from your lips from your body being jostled around. His whispered apologies and tried comforting you, trying his best to quell your pain with just his words but it could only do so much. Behind you was Kevin holding Will around his waist, the pair being much slower as Will struggled mightily on his feet, but Kevin was a godsend, being the most patient and kind person as he supported Will.  

The bright afternoon sun blinded you as your finally entered the outside world, being met with fresh air, natural lighting and the company of people who had pure intentions of helping. You briefly saw members of intelligence surrounding you, acting as a shield as they guided Jay towards the ambulance waiting.  

The familiar faces of your favourite paramedics soon came into view causing a smile to break out on yours. As soon as you approached the ambo, Jay gently lay you on the awaiting stretcher and stood back, letting the professionals do their job while keeping watch.  

“Oh Y/N.” Sylvie said sombrely, gingerly pushing your hair back before connecting to a bunch of wires that you couldn’t remember what their purposes were. “We’ve got you, you’re going to be just fine, okay?” 

The question was rhetorical, but you still nodded drowsily in reply. You were aware of the two pairs of hands working on you, Violet and Sylvie were very likely panicking on the inside from the state you were in, but their concern took over. They could panic later once you were properly treated.  

From the corner of your eyes, you could see a new group gathering around the ambo and you could hear voices rising, getting louder the closer they got to 61. If you had it in you, you would’ve looked for the source, but Sylvie reassured you that everything was being handled.  

Violets hands suddenly disappeared as she suddenly exited the ambo, rushing with things in her hands. It took a while for you to understand why, your brain all muddled up, but it only now registered that Will was behind you with Kevin.  

“Will.” You mumbled, your voice scratching as your panic increased. “Will-” 

“Violet's with him.” Sylvie said, her undertone giving it away that she wasn’t confident deep down. “Another ambos on the way for him, don’t worry.” Yet, despite her own words, Sylvie didn’t believe in them. She saw Will for a brief millisecond when he appeared, the ruckus catching her attention, but he somehow looked worse than you under the blaring sun.  

Before you could insist on being told what was happening to him, the ambulance doors were suddenly being slammed shut as Violet drove with all lights and sirens.  

*****

Maggie couldn’t believe her eyes.  

It had been two days since the Halstead’s disappeared. Everyone was informed on day one about their disappearance and it was news that everyone found difficulty in swallowing.  

Everyone had been on edge for the 48 hours. While on shift, multiple people from intelligence and 51 made an appearance into the ED and their solemn faces were all identical. The tension was high, and it only got worse when Jay was randomly dumped outside of Med.  

Around an hour ago, Kim called in saying that Will and Y/N had finally been found and that they should be prepared for the worst. And so, Maggie did what she does best.  

61 Was the first to arrive with police escort, Hailey and Adam drove in front with Kim behind with Jay. They almost formed a protective circle as Sylvie exited along with Violet who helped pulling out the stretcher.

Laying eyes on you for the first time made the charge nurse sick. No matter how long she’d been working in the emergency department, nothing could ever make her get used to this.  

Sylvie relayed shakily what she knew about your condition, Crocket and Natalie listening intently with April’s assistance as they got to work as soon as they entered a trauma bay. Maggie stood with Ethan and Connor by her side, watching as chaos descended in the bay. The three of them were waiting for Will.  

“Jay, how about we finally get a good look at you, huh?” Ethan said, remembering what happened yesterday as he caught sight of the green-eyed detective at the back of the group who refused to look away from his baby sister.  

But the man in question looked like he’d seen a ghost.  

“Will’s not going to make it.” Jay stated, his voice strong and firm as he spoke. He looked away from where you were being treated and looked at everyone almost robotically. “Will’s not making it.”  

Before anyone could say anything, the bay doors were opened and everyone flooded out, pushing the gurney towards the elevator. Crocket stayed back from the rest, slowly walking backwards as he explained, “We’re taking her into surgery, but all things considered, she’s looking okay.” 

And with that, the surgeon was speeding off to basically save your life.  

“How about we look at you Jay? You promised me, remember?” Ethan asked rhetorically, guiding the stoic man towards a different, cleaner trauma bay so that he could properly treat him, giving him everything he desperately needed yesterday.  

“I don’t have Will.” Jay retorted but followed the doctor anyways.  

Maggie and Connor watched the two men enter another bay before all they could hear was the sounds of the bustling yet peaceful ED. They didn’t know what to make of Jay’s words, but the man seemed hopeless and on the verge of breaking down. He looked awfully similar to the time when his dad died.  

They turned to the paramedics and the three members of intelligence but the look on their faces told them everything they needed to know.  

*****

Jay finally broke down when he was left alone, your sleeping body being the only thing present in the room with him.  

Crocket fully led Jay through every procedure that they did, explaining what they did during the surgery and what exactly your injuries were. Usually, that was Will’s job, but Jay tried not to think about that when the surgeon gently spoke to him.  

You had several broken ribs, some even fractured, and it’d been very very close to puncturing your lungs - it was apparently surprising you didn’t have a pneumothorax. You had quite the concussion, multiple lacerations that were both superficial and that needed surgical fixing. There also had been some damage to your spleen that was repaired, a fractured left hand and an out of place bone in your foot. 

Overall, everyone had been expecting much worse, but they did explain to Jay that recovering would be the worst part of all of this. They weren’t sure about neurological damage nor how bad your vocal damage was. Once you woke up, there was plenty of testing to be done.  

Seeing you alive and breathing, even while connected to a bunch of tubes and wires, Jay felt relief but oh so overwhelmed at the same time. So much happened in the last two days and now that he finally was left alone with his thoughts and feelings, the sounds of beeping machines and you sleeping painlessly, everything came crashing down on him.  

It properly dawned on him that the three of you had been kidnapped, you’d been hurt and hurt time after time. He was left to fight and get you back home and he’d been so close. For a while, Jay thought everything was done and he did it but then, but then Will happened.  

Jay harshly wiped away the tears on his cheek, his eyes catching sight of his bandaged knuckles and the IV in his left hand that he was itching to remove but then a voice sounding like Will warned him against doing so.  

Ethan did an x-ray on him, stitching his bullet wound and thoroughly wrapping it. He plucked several butterfly stripes and many cotton swabs to get rid of any and all blood stains. All in all, Jay would be off work for a few weeks, maybe some physio depending on how his leg felt but he was in pretty decent shape given the circumstances.

Jay bitterly laughed, shaking his head at the thought that he was expecting to have a full recovering with barely any long-lasting damage. He hated to admit it aloud, but this was going to stay with him forever, there was no way he was ever going to get rid of your gut-wrenching screams, they were forever engraved into his mind.  

And well, if Jay didn’t see Will at least arrive at Med, then nothing was ever going to be the same again.  

And so, what if Jay cried himself to sleep in the chair at his sister's bedside, at perhaps his only sibling's side.  

Jay drowned out his thoughts as he sobbed, hand curling around his mouth to muffle his cries as not to alert anyone of his emotional state. But, when Maggie walks in later to find the two younger Halstead’s gone to the world, she pretends not to see the tear tracks staining Jay’s cheeks.  

Series Masterlist:

@mads-weasley @sowrongitslottie @elite4cekalyma @senjoritanana @hufflepuff-blackwidow @mrspeacem1nusone @kmc1989 @goth-cowgirl-03 @daggersquadphantom @photographerkaiya0306 @jamie0515 @samanthavitale @iamasimpingh0e @lanea-1 @swidkid

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Losing my Mind over Veilguard 4/??

I think what's killing me the most is this "have your cake and eat it, too" mentality EA-as-Bioware has ushered in with this game.

To try and perfectly walk the line of giving old fans what they wanted/deserved and new fans something to just jump into was a tall fucking order given that they fired so many writers, and I personally feel like they fell way short.

Part of that, I think, comes from the fact that while it's certainly helpful to play Origins and then DA2 before you reach Inquisition (I'm speaking as someone who played the games backwards), I don't think Inquisition left off as a complete story the way the first two did. We had a world on the brink and pieces on the board that had so much personal stake in staying on it until Solas was handled. We had, whether the head devs wants to accept their failures regarding it or not, an entire Keep of previous choices that could have and should have informed the world going forward. I'm not saying it was sustainable to keep raising the stakes on those choices. I am saying, however, that with the time it took to get this game to us, more than three sanitized choices deserved to matter before Bioware closed the chapter on its strongest line of storytelling and moved on to RPG Lite. To give that up, to choose a new and uncertain fan base over an already dedicated one, is disappointing.

And to that end, even if we weren't going to get the Inquisitor again (which, at this point, I'm kind of thinking we should have, even if just for parts of it), I had near-constant exhaustion finding a shred of story that connected us to the previous games and then realizing it had been done in an unsatisfying way (hi, Dorian/Isabella/MORRIGAN).

I wouldn't have cared if this had been its own standalone game. There were parts of it I enjoyed, and I'm sure I'll be here shouting about those things too, soon enough. But the fact is that for every thing I appreciate about the game there are about ten more that make me mourn the nine years I spent eager to see what was coming next.

TLDR: You cannot show me a watered-down game that stands on the shoulders of stronger writing, plot, narrative, characters, etc. and the built world and depth of three previous games and multiple supplementary written works, and then expect me to be wholly accepting of the result. Veilguard gutted the rich body of work that came before it, threw enough bone shrapnel into the mix to keep people desperate to see a conclusion to events that had been building up for in-game years hanging on, and then discarded the rest with a casual sort of "deal with it, we're making way for the new" attitude.

Welcome to the new, I guess.

I intentionally waited a few days after finishing the game to sift through everything and not just rage-post immediately, so hopefully this comes across as relatable to those on a similar page and not as me telling you that you should hate the game too if you in fact are very happy with it. (Put another way: I'm not here to change minds, I'm here to scream into the ether)

[bellaxgiornata]

October Update Information

Tuna-Tober starts next week and I figured I'd give a bit of information about what to expect from me during this next month. It's fitting this writing challenge happens during my birthday month and after reaching over three thousand of y'all lovely people following me! I have absolutely no idea how we got here and I want to celebrate, but I am far too busy to do a follower event specifically. BUT I'll be dropping quite a few fics throughout the month of October for Tuna-Tober so we can pretend it's serving multiple celebration purposes! It's like my birthday gifts to all of you!

I'll be giving a bit of important information below the cut, but you can keep up with my updates for this event in my Tuna-Tober Masterlist.

I'm going to try to schedule posts for the days I have a fic to drop on tumblr (which I've never done and hope it works) in order to update on the correct dates. Though for those of my AO3 readers, you'll either have to read the fics here or wait because I will most likely not be able to get those posted on the correct days. I'm far too busy to actually sit down and update almost daily, unfortunately (and I don't think AO3 let's you schedule posts).

I will not be updating any of my series' during the month of October. I'll be posting far too much already (currently seven pieces completed but I'm aiming to get a couple more written/finished that you see on the masterlist and some you don't) But I should hopefully resume those stories in November.

I will try to use the character one shot tag lists for each of my Tuna-Tober updates, but I will not be adding to it during the time since I'll be scheduling posts ahead of time. I'm hoping tumblr will properly tag, but if not, the days I have fics going up will be listed in the event masterlist. You can always go there to see what updates are out and when more are coming.

I love all feedback and will absolutely try my best to respond to everyone, but I will probably be slow since I'm posting more fics in a month than I've probably posted...like ever. But I absolutely read every comment and reblog when I see them and I appreciate each one ❤

With that, my first fic should drop on October 1st! 🙃

[william-o]

I participated in the Seasons of Gensokyo Zine!

I'm back once again in a collaboration Gensokyozine to share a fic I've made for their zine! Last year I wrote two short poem pieces but this year I did something I rarely do and wrote a whole short story!

You can read my piece on its own on ao3 here! But I highly recommend looking and reading all the amazing pieces this new zine has to offer!

I have quite a bit to talk about for this piece I wrote, it's been a journey! If you're interesting keep reading below!

So I knew there was going to be another event like this this year but I had no idea what the theme would be until the announcement was made. When I heard it was going to be based on seasons it was actually pretty tough figuring out a story revolving around that. I was also determined to write more than just a poem this time around so it had to be somewhat substantial.

Thankfully in the application where we had to pitch our idea there were a few topic examples provided, one of which involved using a story involving cicadas. So I started to do some research on cicadas, and what I found as a source of inspiration was a story about Cicadas by Lafcadio Hearn. Perhaps you've heard about him? Me being a *somewhat* superstitious individual saw it as a sign that this is what I was to write about for the seasons of gensokyo zine!

With further research I discover the existence of Dog Day Cicadas. They share the name of the shot type in the extra stage of Hidden Star in Four Seasons, they have folktale of how they're a sign of the end of summer and beginning of the next season, and strictly as a bonus for myself they're green and black just like me! It sounds like a story perfect to feature Yukari!

Now one of my biggest fears about writing a fanfic is completely misinterpreting a character. So I did all I could to try to get Yukari written just right. My idea was that it was most common in Gensokyo that people hated the sound cicadas make, except for Yukari. I was however advised that I needed some kind of reason that Yukari would like the sound cicadas make, or some kind of justification. Thankfully I found just what I needed in Chapter Five of Cage in Lunatic Runagate where Yukari states "The moon was unthinkably silent compared to the Gensokyo that was constantly noisy from bickering between humans and youkai. ~ Whether it was decay or pure heaven, I hated it. I needed the noise of the city." Close enough in my book to say that Yukari prefers noise over silence whether it be from people, a city, or cicadas.

Now when it comes to Son Biten, I didn't pressure myself as much to try and get her character right as I did with Yukari. She is one of the newest characters after all so there was less material to analyze her character. Although if I were to criticize myself about this fic, it would be that she's only there to be a plot point. I'll admit, I only really wanted her in here as a way to have the great sage equal to heaven and gensokyo and an actual sage interact. I will say I did a little bit of research to Son's personality, but I more or less just had her trying to do her best pretending to live up to the title she gave herself (Even though her character is more than just that).

And for good measure at the end I threw in a poem, this time in the tanka form (5-7-5-7-7). This was overall a lot of fun to write! I tried to format the story as a whole similar to a Hifuu story as well as the "A Beautiful Flower Blooming Violet Every Sixty Years" story. Speaking of Hifuu, I did throw in a little reference to Taboo Japan Disentanglement, did you happen to catch it? Well I hope you enjoyed my little story, I'm gonna go order some pizza and I'll see you again next year! (Hopefully!)

[goodluckclove]

In Defense of Self-Inserts

This is written in response to an ask sent from the Always Delightful @fukurouonthesea, who asked for my thoughts on creating unique characters in regards to a tabletop game character they're building. My first thought on getting this question is that Fukuro likely assumes unique characters are a subject I know things about - good to hear! Good that people assume I know things! That works out well for me.

So I can speak more on the perspective of writing characters for prose and scripts rather than TTRPGs. I recently finished my first campaign, but I was sort of tricked into playing by my wife who was DM-ing and ended up going the whole time with a joke character I really couldn't find any actual dramatic pathos in*. My next attempt will hopefully be more intentionally-crafted. But also still probably chaotic. I tend to lean that way, apparently.

But characters! How do you do them? Or, more accurately, how do I do them? There's a ton of paths to get to the same goal of Cool Guy That's Fun To Read About, but I'd love to take this opportunity to put off actually working on Migration Patterns for a while longer and instead ramble about something I've been wanting to dive into for a while.

Self-inserts are actually super useful! They're great! All of my characters are self-inserts and virtually no one has ever commented on that! I genuinely don't think they've noticed!

(this is a long one)

What is a self-insert, really? The definition I'm the most familiar with in writing is a character drawing (maybe even heavily drawing) from yourself as the author. I saw people back in the day get very mean about self-inserts, considering them an overlap with the Original Sin of Mary Sue-dom. It's 2024, though, and these days Mary Sue is primarily a term used to describe female characters that a critic personally doesn't like. Still, I've had a TON of writers come to me worrying about writing self-inserts, and I'm consistently confused.

Maybe it's because I've been doing this for long enough that I've built up an immunity to the dumb nonsense people say online posing as "Objective Writing Advice". Maybe it's because I'm a huge fan of Kurt Vonnegut, a man who straight up wrote himself as a side character in a few of his most notable books. I've never gone that far, but I absolutely pull from my own life and identity for all of my characters and it consistently works.

I think when a reader points out a character as a self-insert, it's a reflex of seeing someone with notably less nuance than the rest of the cast. This character - let's name them Goobis - is written with the near-explicit intent to be just super cool. It's an instant turn-off for me in a written work if there's one person I can just look at and immediately know they're crafted to be the fandom darling. Goobis might have faults, but if they do, they're pretty cool faults. They're things that could definitely be bad if pushed to a thematic height (Caring too much, over-protective, self-sacrificing, a level of snark that's guaranteed to make impressionable fans slightly insufferable for a few years), but they aren't.

Goobis, typically, gets kid gloves in terms of the treatment of the story. Plot Armor, maybe. Or they might be a Plot Martyr that has every bad thing ever happen to them and everyone around them is either an old-timey villain or a kind cardboard cutout that weeps oh no poor Goobis!! Both are fine. There's an audience for both, clearly. But from what I've seen those are the types of characters that typically get readers - myself included - to think they're a form of wish-fulfillment.

You can do wish-fulfillment in writing. You should do that at least one, it's nice and good for bone health. But man, there are a lot of writers (Including adult ones that I've known in my real life) who can benefit from - like - distance, man. Draw from yourself and your life, but unless you're ready for a conversation maybe don't be one-to-one accurate.

I have a relative who got a masters in creative writing. I found his novella online and aimed to read it and send him my thoughts as a show of support, only to find that it was actually unbelievably pretentious and I honestly couldn't get through it. What drew my attention, though, was that the main character was dealing with the grief of his father, who died literally the exact same way my relative's actual father died.

I caught it immediately and I think I whispered "oh no" out loud. Like, what are you doing dude? Your mom read that shit, and she had to see you describe an entirely accurate depiction of how her fucking husband died that is such a weird move. Processing grief through writing is great - but change some fucking specifics, you weirdo. Make it a mom instead of a dad, or maybe an uncle or grandpa if you're keeping the patriarch thing. Change the reason why he needed surgery, or the medical complication that caused his death. Maybe don't name the exact hospital where your Dad died in this non-autobiographical work. Fucking hell.

Shifting some surface-level details from events in your life is, often times, enough to make it so people directly involved in these events can read them and not even realize what you're referencing. You can also tweak a certain event slightly to fictionalize it even further, while still having the honesty of your real life experience. I dropped out of school while starting the same creative writing program my relative graduated from. What if I stayed? What would my life look like? What would my writing look like? Would I still even enjoy writing? The concept of sliding door moments is a fascinating one to me and it's something I think about a lot.

On a more internal level in terms of character, you know more of yourself than anyone else in your life. You know your fears and your faults. You know what makes you lovable - or what people say they love you for, or what you'd like them to love about you. You probably know things about yourself that are so painful and trembling that you assume that if anyone else finds out about them they'd immediately realize you're worthless as a human being. If you don't know any of that, maybe you should. Internal contemplation - or external though something like therapy - is absolutely beneficial in a ton of ways, including for your art.

People are complicated. Everyone is complicated, and the average person as the most experience with their own network of identity. And in my own work (The only craft I can really speak for), putting at least a touch of myself in the characters I create has really caused people to engage and relate to them.

And it's weird, because I can't really think of any major faults that any of my characters have. At least, not in the way a lot of newer writers describe character faults - like some rubber stamp easily marked in the center of a person's forehead. There are things about the cast of my series Songbird Elegies that I see as struggles that either have to be processed or managed. Someone might be self-loathing, or struggle with emotional intimacy, or have a temper that will absolutely steer them wrong. They might be impulsive to a degree that is no longer Quirky Cute. That's not great.

But growing writers will sometimes make a fault out to be a thing that you can see very clearly in a person above anything else. As if you can point at a guy on the street and say BAM - SEXIST! Which - yeah, you can do that. I can have brief interactions with people I don't actually know and come away thinking that someone is stupid or lazy or irresponsible or any number of bad qualities. It's only if I got to actually know them - either though a relationship or just somehow following their lives as an outside observer - that I'd learn they slipped through the cracks in school so deeply that they just stopped caring, or they went through a loss that resulted in them choosing to survive instead of actually live.

Your worst qualities weren't predestined from birth. The Meyers-Brigg is absolute nonsense mainly utilized by the military and most major corporations. There are things you might hate about yourself that once served to protect you. This is true for everyone you see, but when you're just starting out in art it might be hard to see that. That's why it's so helpful to first draw from yourself.

So draw from yourself to whatever degree you want. Give Goobis your sense of humor, but maybe use it as an opportunity to explore why you're so quick to joke and what doing that might be avoiding. Have Goobis experience the same childhood birthday that irrevocably changed the course of your life, but maybe change what year it happened and make it a close-up magician you found instead of a Spiderman Impersonator. In fact, consider seeing what would change if it was Goobis' innocent little brother who stumbled across Spiderman's dead body instead of Goobis themself. If you're willing to be honest - not excessively self-deprecating or praising, just honest - you'll probably be surprised how many people see themselves in the people you write.

God that was long. I hope that helped maybe? Helped someone?

*It was an eldritch horror wearing a cowboy Hat of Disguise to look like a bulldog. His name was Socks. He ended the campaign traveling to early 2000s Philadelphia and kidnapping an NPC with him. This was after Socks paid for the NPCs Wizard school education, then paid for the NPC to become a potter after crossing paths again, and then sacrificed the NPC to be an immortal slave to a Time Spider. In the climax of this campaign Socks used the Teleport cantrip from Wizards101 to banish the final enemy to the Tomb of the Beguiler. Things went off the rails real quick.

[always-sleeepy-headd]

Happy Birthday, Your Present Is Angst Because I'm Tired and Kinda Emo Inside

This was written for Cross's birthday ages ago and I'm only now posting it lol (Sorry!)

Summary:

It's Cross's birthday today, he wants to forget and he tries his hardest too. Although it never seems to work and just leaves him with more scars and more pain.

Cross is beginning to love that pain.

Notes:

Cross burns himself so if you don't think you can handle that I just wanted to let you know.

Also he purges and I know that's a sore spot for a lot of people including myself but I'm tiny bit of a masochist lol (I actually enjoy writing about things that have happened to me or to someone dear to me and projecting on my poor Crossyboo 😔✊)

Don't purge guys, it's not good and can seriously damage your body, and if you have before, I got you babes everything will be alright <3

Even if you're just going through a tough time right now remember everything is temporary, you and I, the world, sadness, you name it, we'll all make it through if we keep trudging on!

_________

Cross wasn't the type for celebrations, it made him nervous and want to hide under something while everyone just chatted it up like they weren't all dead.

He was sure nobody knew this year though, just like the last, and the one before that. A third unnoticed birthday is what he was hoping for when he checked the time this morning, he could go on with his usual day and hopefully not pass out again.

That was really close with Nightmare the other day, he was out training for an especially excessive time and Nightmare came in and had told him to take a break and Cross had barely registered him.

He had turned to the noise but all he heard was a ringing in his ears, he heard Nightmare's voice a second time and he was able to make it out then, "And take a shower or something."

As soon as he heard the door close he had stumbled and blacked out, it was only for barely a minute thankfully. When he got up he found himself on the floor and his heart beating quickly, thank the skies nobody had come in just then.

He had eventually managed to get up and take a shower before being called down to eat dinner, it was a very strange tradition for someone like the Bad Sanses, they always ate meals together. But honestly if you really think about it it makes sense, Horror needed to know everyone was eating, he could go into panic mode if not.

It also made it easier to figure out if something was wrong with someone, that's one of the reasons meals were dreaded in Cross's mind.

That and the fact he can barely handle eating the food, much less keeping it down, and don't get him wrong, Horror's an amazing cook... he just can't. Especially when he's already frustrated with himself.

He barely made it though dinner, Nightmare gave him a few looks but he must have chalked whatever it was up to low self worth and Cross overworking himself, which was what Nightmare thought were the only things wrong with Cross, making it so much easier for him to do what he does next.

Cross's nightly routine always starts hunched over a toilet throwing up his insides and silently crying while doing so, this was easy to do without Nightmare noticing because Dust almost always had at least a small freak out during this time of evening.

Then when he's done throwing up anything and everything he's eaten and kept down he collapses onto the floor and desperately rummages through his box of 'special' things, pulling out a lighter and lighting it across his bone.

The intensity of the heat calms him while at the same time making him restless, he needed something, something.

Anything.

He would burn and burn and he would even shed a few tears at the pain, just to do it again just to feel the heat of reality mix with fiction.

It was like a dream.

A terrible, awful, dream.

That would eventually bring him to today, he was putting on his overly complicated outfit again and would stare into the mirror as he splashed water on his face.

It was cold.

He wanted heat.

The pain of his burns hurt, he wanted more, more, anything for feeling and control, he would run them under cold water and this was the time of day Chara would say something to him. Chara would run off away from him to look for Killer to watch him play video games or mess with the others.

It was always along the lines of, "Cross, this is seriously getting bad," Or, "I think you should let that heal at least before doing it again..."

Cross didn't trust those words, not from Chara, not from anyone.

He walks down the stairs only to see an unhappy Nightmare and a on the verge of a panic attack Dust.

That was not a great thing to start his morning with, oh well he'll just ignore it at least means the attention will stay far away from him this morning.

Cross doesn't bother a good morning, he didn't feel like speaking. Nor did he really ever but that's life.

He walks into the kitchen to see how Horror's doing as he does every morning but Horror seems quite on nerve so Cross doesn't walk too far into the kitchen, it was a small gesture but very much noticed by the big guy.

"Good... morning Cross," Horror starts, sounding a little on edge, "The boss told me to keep everybody occupied this morning... although I know you usually train.. I was wondering if you'd help me out...?" He asks.

Cross was startled but he would never say no to someone asking for help, it's a habit he could never sway, he nodded but in a more 'are you sure?' way.

"Thanks... I asked Killer but... you know how he is..." Horror says, shuffling around, seemingly understanding Cross's not speaking as him not being up to conversation and handing him a bowl and some chocolate.

Cross gives him a questioning look, "Just... heat up the chocolate so it melts..."

"A-" Cross attempts but his voice fails him, "I- Is there a specific reason that I'm heating up... chocolate...?" Cross asks, they didn't usually even have chocolate in the house, let alone anything sugary but it seems Horror either had a stash or got this special to make something.

"Wanted... to make something." That was enough for Cross, he didn't care to question it any further, besides he really just wanted to get Horror's approval.

Cross, without a word, easily heated up the chocolate over the stove, it began to bring back memories of his AU he didn't want surfaced.

The sound of laughter, the taste of chocolate in his mouth, his arms didn't hurt, the worst he felt was a little sore. Speaking to everyone, not holding his tongue, no, actually feeling the urge to speak real words out loud.

The smell of chocolate cake, kind words he'll never hear again-

His palm burning.

Cross blinked in surprise and lifted his arm off of the stove quickly, he had accidentally set it down on the burner and hadn't noticed, the feeling already so normal to him.

Horror looked over at the sudden movement and asked him what was wrong.

Cross didn't respond.

The words were so caught in his throat, they refused to leave, he didn't want to speak, he didn't want to speak, he didn't want to-

"Cross." He hears a powerful and commanding voice that was unmistakably Nightmare's.

Still he didn't speak but his hand fell from where he was apparently clutching it.

"Is something upsetting you Cross? I can feel your emotions you know, so it would be best not to lie, I will know." Nightmare asks, Cross barely understanding.

Nightmare wanted him to speak.

He didn't want to speak.

He turned towards Nightmare, but still he couldn't even manage to get his mouth open.

"Cross, respond to me." He says and Cross could barely even think, his brain suddenly filled with images of his family's death.

A death of his own, maybe.

And then, his lack of food and therefore energy caught up to him yet again, he stumbled and then blacked out.

...

When he awoke he lay on the couch with a damp washcloth on his head and a bandaged hand, he almost panicked but realized his arms had no such care, Nightmare hadn't felt the need to check for other injuries thank gods.

Cross sat up and took the washcloth off of his head, staring at his hand for a moment before a smell hit his nose.

Chocolate cake.

He couldn't handle this, not right now, not ever.

It was his birthday, a day that he dreaded every year now, October 10th, the day Cross was born.

A day he considers to be the worst day of his life.

Celebration was no more, he needed a way out, he needed to get his frustration out, he needed to burn every piece of bone on his body until it was unusable, then use it anyway.

"Cross, you're awake." Nightmare says, startling slightly.

Cross didn't say a word.

"What's going on, you've been strange all week, more so than normal. Your little nightly negativity bursts have been getting larger and more prevalent every night, I think now is when I interfere." He sighs and Cross almost gasps, Nightmare knew something was wrong.

He didn't want to speak, his body would not let him.

He wanted to cry, his body could not.

He wanted to burn, he wanted to burn, he wanted to burn, he wanted to burn-

"Cross. Are you listening to me?" Nightmare's voice suddenly bursts through his thoughts of self harm. "Cross I'm not kidding, have you suddenly gone mute?" Nightmare says, his voice turning stern but softening a second later, "I promise I won't judge if something is bothering you."

Cross manages to open his mouth this time, nothing comes out though. So he closes it, unsaid words threatening to spill out now and that scares him more than not being able to get anything out.

Nightmare sighs, "At least tell me what happened, Horror was terrified..." Nightmare mumbles.

Cross opens his mouth again, but this time it worked, "I... got distracted..." He manages to mumble, his voice hoarse from little use.

Nightmare sighs again, "Distracted how? You end up with a burn on your palm, which you should have noticed right away if you had your hand on the burner by the way, that's really weird and you might need to figure out what that is supposed to mean, Horror is concerned you haven't been eating enough and passed out due to lack of malnourishment, although I'm going to guess it was overexertion, but then again you just woke up-" Nightmare sighs a third time, "My point is, what the hell got you so upset?"

"Ch-" Cross coughs slightly, rubbing his throat, "Chocolate..." He muttered, "The smell reminded me of something."

"...Oh boy." Nightmare says, realizing this was probably a mistake.

"...What...?" Cross mumbles.

"I think I should just show you, follow me." Nightmare says, gesturing to a door.

Cross got up and followed Nightmare without a beat, anything to get his mind off of his-

...

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY CROSS!" Mostly Killer yells, Cross is suddenly hit with a dump truck of emotions.

"I- I- H- How- I don't-" Cross whispers just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"You told me one time when I was upset about something." Dust says, who happens to be covered in colorful streamers.

"And you told me when I was half asleep!" Killer yells excitedly, he's covered in silly string and Cross realizes that Nightmare has a tiny piece of it on his shoulder.

This made him cry.

He didn't cry in front of others, it was so taboo in his brain.

It wasn't sobs, it was just tears, he barely changed expressions.

Everyone looked startled, they had been expecting Cross to say they didn't need to or maybe even get a small smile out of him, not tears.

Killer immediately ran over when he realized what was going on, "Hey, hey, what's wrong? I thought birthday parties were supposed to be happy?"

Cross couldn't explain so it came out in sobs, Killer grabbing onto him while Cross cried on his shoulder.

Killer caught Nightmare's gaze and gave him a panicked look and Nightmare just shook his head.

...

Once Cross had calmed down and there were just occasional sniffles every now and then, they had moved one of the couches, "So... is this why you've been acting strange this whole week then?" Nightmare asks.

"S- Sorry." Cross mumbles.

"Do not apologize for things you are not at fault for."

"Sor- uh."

"Poor Crossy baby, he can't stop being a people pleaser~" Killer says, smooshing his face against Cross's in a manner that could be taken as mocking but Cross knows Killer well enough to know it isn't, still doesn't stop him from shoving him off though.

Killer is undeterred, he just hugs onto Cross harder.

"...Are you... okay?" Horror asks, looking worried.

"...Yeah. I'll live." Cross mumbles an 'unfortunately' afterword that only Killer and Nightmare could hear, Killer squeezed a little tighter at hearing that.

"Why did you pass out...? Do you... know?" Horror asks.

"..." Cross can't bring himself to tell them the way he treats himself when they aren't looking.

"You do know, don't you?" Nightmare asks, his tone only slightly accusing, Cross flinches either way.

"Criss-Cross, are you doing something to yourself?" Killer asks.

"Yes." Is the only word that Cross can manage to get out of his mouth, everyone's frown deepens at the sound of it.

"What...? If I may ask." Nightmare says, even though it sounds like you have a choice, you'll have to tell him anyway, he'll just ask you when nobody is around.

"I can barely eat..." Cross whispers, "And when I manage too, I throw it all up, I can't keep food down anymore, I don't even need to make myself throw up anymore... I can do it on command."

"...What?" Horror says, looking horrified.

"I'm sorry..." Cross says and his voice starts to waver, tears threatening to spill again.

Suddenly Chara's voice pops in, "What about your arms?" They say, "I know you already told them some of your bullshit but every morning when I see them they get worse."

"That's not... the only thing..." Cross mumbles, clutching at his sleeves.

"Of course it isn't." Nightmare sighs.

"..." Cross slowly rolls up his sleeves and a series of gasps and exclaims are heard, one from Nightmare as well.

"W- What the hell are you even doing???" Dust asks, his horror not even hidden.

"Burning." Cross says.

"... How much is there?" Nightmare asks.

"All over my whole body... but mostly my arms." Cross says, wincing.

"I- I don't even know-" Nightmare says, seemingly astonished. "You know what? Come here, let me heal you."

...

Cross was super embarrassed the entire time Nightmare was healing despite Nightmare telling him that it was fine over and over.

It... went away.

The burn is gone.

He needs the burn, the painfully awful heat on his bones to stab at his regret and shove it so deep down it disappears momentarily.

Nightmare notices his... unhealthy... thoughts and lets out a frustrated sigh, "Cross, you do know you're definitely not allowed around lighters anymore right?"

"Okay." Cross says, his emotionless stature coming back, but Nightmare, being so close to him, could feel the addiction in his aura, the temptation and pain that Cross was so good at hiding.

Nightmare frowns at this.

"Come on, I thought we hit something and you wouldn't be an emotionless robot around us anymore." Killer grumbles and Nightmare sends a glare his way, Cross knew Killer was actually worried about him though.

Throughout his entire time at Nightmare's he's seen everyone but Nightmare cry before, Nightmare obviously has his own problems though, he's seen him flinch when he gets glared at or Killer and Dust's roughhousing gets a little too close to him and a hand goes up near him.

They never seem to notice though, they just keep going and Nightmare will sigh and tell them to be nice and that he's going to take a nap. He never does though, he goes and sits in his library and reads what are 'not' romance novels. Cross had seen it himself, Nightmare was reading a book that Cross had read and of what he remembers it was all schmoopy feelings and smut.

He leaned over and said, "Whatcha reading there?" He giggles as Nightmare flinches and turns his head around quickly, his face turning extremely confused as it was not normal for Cross to act like this at all.

"Sorry about startling you, I just recognized the book you were reading." Cross says, holding back giggles.

The horror that showed on Nightmare's face when he said that was unmatchable with anyone he's ever seen die at the hands of any of them.

"You. Didn't. See. Shit. You hear me?" Nightmare had said, Cross replying with a thumbs up and giggling a little.

Nightmare was interesting, although seeing Killer cry was the craziest thing Cross thinks has ever happened.

Killer was supposed to be emotionless, he wasn't supposed to feel anything at all.

And the funny thing about it was that Killer wasn't crying about regret, or his own sadness, or even for someone dead.

Killer was crying about a fake comic about two cats.

Nightmare's face when he heard Killer's sobs in the corner of the room was completely shocked, Killer per usual was sitting on the bright pink beanbag in the corner of the room that had been there as long as Cross has and longer.

As it was just Cross, Killer and Nightmare home at the time, they both had looked over immediately and seen Killer sobbing over his phone, Nightmare had run over as quickly as he could and asked what was wrong.

"The cat dieddd!" Killer responds, sobbing into Nightmare's shoulder.

"...What?" Nightmare had said, confused as ever.

This was also the first time Cross had heard of Color, apparently Color had sent Killer a link to this super cute cat comic about two cats who were siblings but then a human killed on of them near the end of the comic, Color had also apparently sent that 'watch this being back your emotions' and Killer had been like, okay, whatever I guess I'll read it.

But then the cat died and he started sobbing.

Cross had felt bad but then he realized the hilarity of the situation and started to uncontrollably giggle.

Nightmare had looked at him and given the most 'are you kidding me' face in the world and Cross started to laugh more.

Killer's face when Cross started to laugh was so...

Let's just say there was no words to describe the mix of hurt and then awe at Cross's laughter.

Cross didn't emote, that was how it was and how Cross thought it would always be.

Nightmare was the first to change that, then Killer started to hang out with him after that, Cross never realized how funny Killer was. It was hard to see through the insensitive bitchass Killer was when he first met him.

Killer had... changed in his eyes a lot since then, like right now, with Killer hugging on his arm that had already been healed to the best of Nightmare's ability.

Like right now? Killer was the cutest thing Cross thinks he's ever seen.

Killer and Cross weren't dating, neither of them were good enough with their own feelings to deal with eachothers. They liked each other, maybe.

That's how it was and Cross didn't mind, Killer wasn't as much as a bitchass as he'd first thought.

"My apologies about all the festivities Cross, we just were excited that we finally found out when your birthday was and didn't think about how you hadn't said anything for the past three years, or how it might have painful memories attached to it." Nightmare says, finishing with his other arm.

"... I'm fine, I just..." Cross sighs, "My birthday was never a bad thing before... It's not like I have these terrible birthday memories, it just reminds me of... my AU." Cross says, stopping himself before he says family, he couldn't call them that, it hurt too much to think of how they were gone.

"I understand, if you want us to ignore it from now on we will, but I think it might help if your memories of your birthday are not all of things that cause you pain." Nightmare says and Killer nods and whispers.

"I got you a special present." he says in Cross's ear, seemingly excited about it.

"Okay," Cross says, talking feeling so much easier than usual, "I think you're right..."

"Yay!" Killer exclaims, "I can't wait to show you what we got you~!"

Cross exhales and smiles a little at Killer, who sees it and his eyes light up in a triumphant way. "I knew you could smile." He says, getting in Cross's personal space a little.

Suddenly, Cross knew everything would be okay.

[thefallennightmare]

So I turn 29 on Wednesday, but I also have to have surgery the same day so I’ll be celebrating while delulu from pain meds and anesthesia wearing off. But it also means I plan on reading a lot during my week long recovery and maybe (hopefully) get some proper write done too.

For Headcannon Tuesday, I was thinking Jesse meets reader, who is a writer, in a cute little bookstore/cafe where they are both regulars. Feelings develop and one day while he walks her home they get caught in the rain. Make it as romantic as you want.

@thescarlettvvitch @mitchhbitch @burning-outx @missduffsblog @hayleylatour @sleepyomens @loeytuan98 @artificialbreezy @marvelousmal @bngurngheart @lma1986 @dsireland86 @wild-child-7747 @calleyx13 @illmakeyousaywow @jaded-and-hollow-souls @concreteemo @cookiesupplier @thatchickwiththecamera @whenthesummerdies @lookwhatitcost @klutzy-kay24 @tashka

HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY AND I HOPE SURGERY GOES WELL! I'll be sending you all the good vibes!

"Excuse me? Is this seat taken?"

Glancing up from your laptop, you felt your heart jump into your throat at the sight in front of you.

A man with a head full of curls and dark round glasses held a book to his chest and a coffee in the other hand.

He was gorgeous.

You pointed to the seat at the table next to you in the busy coffee shop. "Go for it."

Not wanting to bother him, you went back to typing away the book you were working on.

Every so often your eyes would catch his as he was already staring at you.

"Business or pleasure?" The man asked while motioning to your laptop.

"A little bit of both?" You smiled. "I'm writing a novel."

"Yeah, what's it about?" The man set down his book to give you his full attention.

You spent the new few minutes going over the premise of your book.

"I'm not sure how to end it though. But I'm sure the idea will come to me eventually," you sighed.

The barista brought you a to-go cup of coffee, your name written on it and the man smiled.

"Y/N."

Your skin ignited at hearing how your name sounded on his lips.

"My name is Jesse," he extended his hand towards you.

You took it with a smile and loved how his skin felt on yours. "Nice to meet you, Jesse. Will I be seeing you around here more?"

"Definitely."

Every week, you and Jesse showed up at the coffee shop at the same time almost every day and spent time either reading your own books, working on your novel, or listening to him read from his book.

Almost two weeks of this, the two of you stayed later at the cafe than you usually do to wait out the storm but knowing that the cafe was about to close, you had no choice but to walk through the storm.

Your apartment was around the block, hence why you walked here earlier in the day.

"Can I walk you home?" Jesse asked.

You buttoned up your jacket. "You didn't drive?"

"Nope, my roommate dropped me off," he chuckled. "So it's only fair if you have to walk home in the rain, I should too."

"In that case, sure," you nodded with a smile.

You two took your time walking home in the rain, your giggles at feeling so carefree and alive radiating off of you, and made Jesse watch you with an adorning gaze.

"Hey, Y/N?" Jesse questioned when you ran up the stairs of your complex, not finding any cover from the rain yet.

"Yeah?" You shook out the rain from your hair.

He helped you by brushing away the strands from your face. "I think I figured out how your book should end."

With furrowed brows, you were ready to ask how but felt soft lips against yours.

Jesse's hand rested on your hips and you grabbed onto his sweater, pulling him closer.

The rain continued to pelt against the two of you, soaking you to your bones.

But the only thing that mattered was how breathless Jesse made you from this simple kiss.

"You're right," you mused while resting his forehead against his. "This is a perfect way to end my story. Although, I think in real life things are just getting started."

[cerridwen007]

Retired Javier Shorts #1.

That time where you two spend the afternoon basking in the afternoon sun on the couch and Javi has to teach you a lesson for wiggling around so much.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: 1K (18+) minors DNI

Notes warnings: SMUT, established relationship, teasing/dirty talk, fingering, unprotected p in v, no use of y/n.

A/N: Here is a little something to hopefully tie y'all over while I continue working on Corruption of Innocence Part 2. Truefully I'm not as far as I would like to be or thought I would be writing it but I'm hopefully going to get it out by late next week. This is a new series I’m starting with little 1-2k shorts about retired Javier and reader and I've already got a handful of other stories planned/semi written out for this series that I’m also working on so expect some more of these to come in the near future. Also I plan on creating a Masterlist for my fics soon, as I know it's the best way for Y’all to be able to track down what fics I have so also expect that soon. Thank you as always for your love on my work and I hope you enjoy!

*******

It's a midweek afternoon, you and Javi are cuddled up on the couch basking in the warm afternoon sun fluttering in through the window. Exhausted after a long day working on the ranch. You are smiling so hard to yourself, wondering how you got so lucky to be here right now and thinking you wouldn't change it for the world. Javier sleeps behind you, his hot breath fanning your neck. You sigh happily and scoot back into him while trying to get even more comfy than you already are.

A few minutes pass by and you move again, trying to find another comfier position. This goes on a few times. After the fourth or fifth time you feel a hardening object pressing into your butt. You giggle to yourself knowing that you caused it. You move back into Javi this time purposefully trying to get him worked up enough that he wakes up and hopefully needs your help sorting out his ‘problem’. Suddenly Javi’s hand that was resting on your stomach grips and pulls you forcefully against him.

“Honey, are you purposefully trying to work me up, cause everytime you move around…” he growls playfully in your ear leaving a kiss below your ear.

You try to stifle your giggle. “No Javi, I don’t know what you're talking about.” You sarcastically say. “But I could help you with that problem if you want.” You tease, pushing your butt back further into Javier’s hard cock.

“Oh you sure are a teaser sweetheart, and you bet your sweet ass I'm going to take you up on that offer.”

You smirk pretending to get up from the couch. He stops you and pulls you firm against his flannel wearing chest.

“Ah ah ah cariño, don’t you know it’s rude to start things without intending on finishing them, don’t think you're getting out of this one easily.”

He caresses up and down your side, hooking his fingers in your pants and sliding them down. His lips leave soft, warm kisses on your neck. His palm circles the exposed skin of your ass, he smacks it quickly leaving a slight stinging sensation.

“I ought to teach you a lesson for getting me so worked up when I'm sleeping.” He whispers in your ear.

“Hmmm, what did you have in mind, Mr Peña?”

He chuckles, hand moving to the front of your hips, fingers dipping below your waistband. “How bout fucking you so hard on this here couch that you can’t wiggle round no more.” His fingers start circling your clit.

You let a quiet moan leave your lips. “That would..that would be a f..f.fair punishment.” you struggle to say, his hands working on your growing bundle of nerves.

He chuckles deeply. “I think so too, Mi amor.”

Before you can retort back, Javi has climbed on top of you and pushed you firmly into the couch by your hips. He leaves soft wet kisses on your mouth, cheeks and nose, you can’t help but smile lovingly at him as he does so. He then kisses down your neck as he pulls down your panties and pants below your knees. His hands make some room for himself, wiping up your dripping cunt.

“Fuck baby, you sure are excited about me punishing you.” he chuckles.

You kiss him on his Adam's apple hanging above you. “Anything I can get from you, punishment or not, makes me dripping wet, baby.”  A raspy moan escapes him, jaw clenched as you reach and grab his stiffness. Your eyes batting innocently as if you did nothing.

You bite your lips as he unzips his jeans and pulls out his pulsating cock. He rubs the head of his shaft through your glistening juices, and pushes the tip in. You both moan, grinning. He then begins to rock into you, slow and steady, inch by inch. Each small thrust makes the air catch in your throat. He begins to rock into you harder and faster. 

Your eyes roll back and your mouth opens wide, letting all the dirty sounds easily fall out. Javier smirks down at your arousal stricken face, eager to make it stay there as long as possible. He pulls on your thighs and adjusts them to clutch around his waist, the new, deeper angle provides you with even more pleasure as he reaches ‘that’ spot with each hard thrust. Javier moans along with you, feeling your climax nearing cunt flutter close around his veiny dick. 

“Oh..oh..g.god..jav..Javi!” you moan out. “Im so.sooo..close!”

He continues thrusting into you at a painstakingly pleasurable pace, his hands dipping down to rub your clit only adds to the overwhelming pleasure. Both of your whines turn into whimpers as you each simultaneously reach your high. He relentlessly continues to plunge into your dripping cunt, making you cry out and your legs shake.

“Fuck… Javi.”

“That’s right baby, scream out my name! The name of someone that makes you feel so good, who owns your pretty little pussy.”

He pulls out suddenly and pulls your drenched centre to meet his lips. He licks up every drop of your mixed juices that falls out of your aching hole. Your back arches up to his touch, so overstimulating yet addicting. He tenderly kisses and bites down gently on your throbbing clit. Your lips quiver, pleading, pathetic whines leaving them. He finally pulls away satisfied with your pleasure drunk state when your thighs squeeze his head firmly and your hand that holds his soft brown curls pushes him away. He crawls up to your panting chest and lets himself down softly. 

“What do you think, Cariño? Do you think that punishment was adequate for your behaviour?”

“I know I won’t be able to walk for the rest of the night, and my cunt will be aching for days.” You say both chuckling.

“Good. Think of it as a reminder of what happens when you tease me.” he taunts you.

You swallow excitedly knowing that you will very much tease him again, hoping for a similar punishment as soon as your trembling hole would allow it. You both sigh happily, your hands stroking his silky hair content. You and Javi’s eyelids soon flutter close again as the afternoon sun sets upon your conjoined bodies.

*******