#i just needed to put this all down in words somewhere

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hi hii!

New follower here!

Love your writings, I love how you write for each of the TF141 my men 😌.

Just wanted to hop in and ask how would you think each of the men would react if they found out their SO has a MAGNIFICENT singing voice. 😊

Oki that’s it haha. 😅

Hi! Hello! At the time of you sending this in, you were a new follower, but it has been a MINUTE! (And by minute I mean several months; y'all I am very backlogged on imagines requests). So, welcome! Hello! Happy you're here!

I adore this ask. It's so CUTE. Love the idea of reader not revealing that they can sing and just surprising them in either very odd or normal ways. Like, reader doesn't think it's a big deal but the guys do!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, swearing, brief suggestive themes, undercover, tf141!reader (Soap's), nondescript nudity, fluff, karaoke, alcohol

Word Count: 1.2k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John Price

John settles against the booth, his gaze roaming over the crowd. Cigar smoke lingers in the air, and the only light comes from tiny candles at each of the tables. His target is here, sitting at a table at the front of the room next to the stage.

You are somewhere behind the scenes—somewhere backstage. It annoys John that you volunteered to do this, to put yourself on display, and it irritates him further that he cares at all. Whatever interest he feels needs to be set aside. You are his coworker—a teammate. It can’t be more than that when the two of you are in the field. It doesn’t matter that it’s his name you moan in the dark.

But you’re the bait—the pretty thing that will catch the target’s interest and reel him in, and that makes John’s blood fucking boil.

The announcer appears on stage, dropping your fake name. The crowd politely claps and John steels himself.

As the curtain opens, John expects you to be clad in something revealing, to parade around and undress further. This club is known for that, but instead, you twinkle like starlight. The dress itself might appear to be nothing but air with the appearance of sheerness, but there is nothing revealed to the naked eye.

No. You’re covered. And you take nothing off.

A live band starts to play. You open your mouth, and beauty emerges, enveloping John like a snug hug.

Every note is magnificent. Gorgeous. You are angelic and seductive in equal measure. A siren on stage luring all in attendance to their end.

How did he not know you could sing like this?

John’s mouth falls open, the whiskey in front of him forgotten.

“Are you hearing this, captain?” Soap’s voice crackles through the earpiece.

“Yeah,” he coughs. “I hear it.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

It’s all quiet on base. Most are down for the night; the only ones awake are on guard at the gates or on routine patrol.

Johnny is freshly showered and ready to go home. All he needs is to check in on you.

With towel hanging loosely on his hips, Johnny discreetly enters the women’s communal showers. He’d never do this, but he knows you’re alone. What he doesn’t expect is to hear your voice. You’re not speaking to yourself—or anyone. The place is completely empty.

You’re…singing.

Actually, singing. And not that weird off-key shit one might do in the shower. This is true singing. Your voice is goddamn gorgeous—angelic.

Johnny stands in silence for a moment, simply listening, allowing the steam from your shower to curl around him just like your voice. His feet begin to move across the floor and then he’s right there in front of the curtain. He yanks it open.

You turn, eyes widening, the song you’re singing becoming a surprised squawk. “Johnny!”

Without looking away, Johnny removes the towel and hangs it up. Stepping inside, he shuts the curtain, trapping you between him and the tile wall.

“You never told me you could sing.”

“You never asked?” you reply, arms covering your breasts.

It’s cute that you’d hide from him like this. He’s seen it all anyway.

Smirking, Johnny places one hand against the wall. Leaning in, he lowers his voice into a gentle coo. “What else are you hiding from me?”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“He’s cute, Johnny.”

Soap beams. Simon has never seen him so happy. “Takes after his mum.”

“Thank fuck for that,” chuckles Simon. “You’re an ugly bloke.” He lightly nudges Johnny’s arm with his elbow. Somehow, the man’s smile widens.

On the sofa, you sit next to Johnny’s wife. She’s transferring their son into your arms. He fusses a bit, tiny fits waving around, face pinched in annoyance.

“Hello,” you coo, your smile so sweet and soft it twists something deep in Simon’s stomach. The infant stretches and makes an irritated gurgle, his face growing red as a tantrum bubbles up. “Oh. None of that now,” you murmur.

There is no panic on your face. Instead of handing him back to his mother, you hold him close, and start to sing. It’s a light melody, a gentle song that even soothes Simon as he listens. The infant hiccups, eyes widening slightly in surprise, and then promptly calms. Those gorgeously blue eyes are focused on your face, completely enthralled.

Simon knows so much about you, but how did he not know this? Johnny’s smile even faulters, his own surprise apparent.

He leans in, whispering in Simon’s direction. “Did you know she could sing like that?”

“No,” replies Simon, his attention locked in on your serenade.

As you continue, the child’s eyelids grow heavy, eventually closing altogether. When your song comes to a close, you glance up at Simon, smiling.

Johnny chuckles, and Simon shoots him a look. “What?”

“Think you’re next.”

Simon frowns. “Next what, Johnny?” That shit-eating grin is back on Soap’s face. “Next what?!”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick (can be read gn!reader)

Price reclines against the vinyl, eyes closed, arms crossed, and legs spread. Simon sits off to his left, awake and alert but clearly not wanting to be there. Kyle observes it all from his spot on the L-shaped couch.

You and Soap stand next to the karaoke machine, the two of you whispering and giggling as you sift through all the options. The two of you picked this place—a karaoke lounge full of private rooms for groups of all sizes. Payment is by the hour.

The massive flatscreen television on the wall rolls through different local advertisements as well as what’s on the menu. The prices for a single beverage are fucking outrageous.

“Pick something yet?” grumbles Simon.

Price doesn’t even budge. He might be out cold.

Kyle grins, basking in your joy. This is the first time the team is meeting you in person and not hearing about you secondhand. Soap flips Simon off and you press a hand over your mouth, glancing at Kyle for reassurance.

Soap holds out a microphone to you and you take it, the two of you standing on either side of the couch, and turned toward the television. The screen shifts, and then the opening notes of ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” start playing. The original music video appears, and over it is the opening words.

“You’re fucking joking, mate,” groans Simon, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees.

Soap is off-key. It’s honestly some of the worst singing Kyle has ever heard. But you? You’re fucking killing it. Hitting every note, making up for Soap’s terrible tune, and still smiling through it all. Kyle has been with you for several months now, and he had no idea you could sing like this.

You and Johnny start moving around the room, dancing and pointing and having the time of your lives. Kyle can’t help but smile, to enjoy the experience of simply watching you having fun with the people he not only considers his teammates but his friends.

As the song wraps up, Simon pushes off from the couch and snags the microphone right out of Soap’s hands.

“You’re done, Johnny.”

taglist:

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[thef1diary]

I need ghost!max to start haunting my place…. Please… I’ll pay good money… bake ghost cookies… 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

BUT DI, that is giving freeuse kink and you know who’ll love that ? 👀 yeah yeah…. Dirtbag!daniel….

hear me out, when he realises that maybe there’s something more that triggers the jealousy and all, he’s looking for a way to have you all to himself for some time (you’d obv been fucking regularly but it’s not like you live at his place) AND WHAT BETTER EXCUSE than that??? Y’know…. You’ll NEED to spend the whole week at his place for him to use you like he wants to… AND HE DOES 👀👀

-🐱

— “bake ghost cookies” nonnie you make me laughhh 😭 but mhm dirtbag!danny would loveee free use kink 👀 it wouldn’t be hard to convince you at all, I mean a full week with the hottest guy, giving him the full authority to use you as he wishes? Hell yeah, where do I sign up? 18+ content below

It started with you coming over, a casual plan for the evening. But the moment you stepped through the door, Daniel had you pinned to the wall, his lips on your neck, his hands roaming like he couldn’t wait another second.

The plan to stay for a single night turned into two. Three. Then a full week. Neither of you could get enough of each other, so why would you leave? He wanted all of you, at any time of the day he desired, and you eagerly complied.

Your clothes? Gone. Tossed somewhere and never given back. At best, he let you wear one of his shirts—oversized and smelling like him, but with nothing underneath. Any time you walked through the house, he’d pull you into his lap, his hand sliding up your bare thighs with a smug grin.

“Gave in so quickly, hm?” He said one afternoon as you stood in the kitchen. “Why do you put up a facade for the world when you’re desperate to be my personal slut? Mine to use whenever I want, however I want.”

His grip tightened on your waist as he stood behind you, his words ticking your ear. “You’re here for me to use, sweetheart, and I don’t plan on wasting a single second.”

He made good on his word. Mornings started in various ways each day. Face down, ass up, your teeth buried in a pillow as he pounded into your wet pussy, groaning about how tight you were, how you were made for him.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his hand fisting in your hair to pull you up slightly. “So fucking perfect like this. You’ll never want anyone else after me, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it.”

Or he’d have you on your knees, his cock heavy in your mouth as his hand guided your movements, controlling every inch you took. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his head falling back. “Taking me so fucking well. You like this, don’t you? Letting me ruin you before breakfast.”

Afternoons were no reprieve. He found any excuse to touch you, to take you. The couch, the counter, even the floor—every surface in his house bore witness to the way he unraveled you.

He dropped to his knees in the living room one day, devouring you like a man starving, his beard leaving marks on your thighs. “Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he groaned, his tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers worked you open. “Could spend every damn day buried here.”

By the time night fell, you were spent—but he wasn’t done. He’d pull you into bed, his body flush against yours, guiding your hips to sink down on his cock. “Just stay like this,” he murmured, his hands trailing up your sides. “Keep me warm for the night, maybe I’ll wake you up by fucking you, exactly how you like it.”

One hand lazily gripped your waist as the other toyed with you—pinching your nipples or rubbing slow, maddening circles over your clit while you were stretched around him.

By the end of the week, you were a wreck. Your body ached, your throat was hoarse, and your mind was a blur of pleasure and submission.

When he finally let you rest, he pulled you against his chest with a rare softness. “Don’t wanna hear about anyone else, got it? You’re mine. Always,” he murmured.

And lying there, his hand stroking lazily over your back, you realized you didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. You were happy to be his personal slut, just like he said.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[chellestrash]

Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: seeking comfort and company you end up at joel's door warnings: none. word count: 3.1k a/n: i think this is the first thing i wrote this year…so, the quality might not fully be there but i really needed to wite something with Joel. This is just a little one shot that maybe will help someone who needs it

“Hey”

You mumble quietly when the heavy, wooden door to Joel’s big farm house on the outskirts of Jackson opens in front of you. The man leans on the door frame, head slightly tilted to the side, eyebrows pulled together in a slightly confused expression as he looks you up and down quickly, attempting to guess the purpose of your unannounced visit.

“Hey”

His deep, groggy voice rumbles through your body as you stare at each other for another moment. He continues when you don't pick up the conversation like he expected you to do.

“Didn't know you were coming.”

You nod silently as a response.

“Yeah, I...wasn't planning to, just sorta…”

You shrug, not sure how to explain the extremely deep need for his company you feel at this very moment, to the same middle-aged man standing right in front of you.

“...happened.”

Joel nods this time, sniffling quickly as he looks around the front yard. The cool winter breeze hits you both, uncomfortably cutting through your already exhausted body so intently you'd swear you can feel it going through your bones.

“Come on.”

He nods toward the inside of the house, inviting you in before you can say anything else. Without hesitation, you step into the hallway and glance back as he shuts the front door closed behind you.

“So you just happened to be on the other side of Jackson in the middle of a night? In November. Winter.”

Joel stands behind you, arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes not leaving you even for a moment as you take off your boots, scarf and the thick winter jacket he managed to find for you in one of his supply trips with Tommy a couple of years ago.

You sigh quietly, eyeing him up and down, once again going over how you could try to possibly explain the overwhelming anxiety in your head to Joel Miller.

“I don't know, Joel, I just… I needed to be here?”

That's the best you can do. The best way to put whatever the hell has been happening inside your body lately to him and maybe to yourself as well at this moment.

“Alright.”

He speaks quietly; it's almost a whisper, but loud enough so you can hear him. His body relaxes once he realizes it's not an emergency. No one is dead, no one lost a limb, there's not a hole in the wall somewhere for the runners to get through, everyone is safe, you are safe.

“You want to sit here for a bit?”

He continues, walking over to get your coat before he hangs it up above the heater. The warm air inside his house hugs your body like a thick blanket. Joel was used to rough conditions. He spent most of the years after the outbreak on his own or in smaller groups, sleeping in abandoned buildings, often outside the safe zones or somewhere out in nature. After all that, there was no way in hell he would refuse the luxury of a lit fireplace and a warm house, now that he has settled in Jackson.

“Don't really have much to offer you, though, coffee?”

You breathe out a quiet laugh, watching him quickly tidying up the space around you: kicking his shoes closer to the wall, picking up the one glove that fell on the floor probably hours earlier, or straightening up the coat on one of the hangers.

“Joel, it's almost ten now.”

He frowns, glancing at the big, wooden clock by the stairs before turning back to you.

“And?”

You shake your head, scoffing with a quiet chuckle, and he hums softly, amused with the results of his attempt to cheer you up slightly.

“Well, was gonna get myself a cup anyway.”

He gestures toward the kitchen, and you think over the offer again.

“Alright, but a small one.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He nods again, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, before making his way over to the other room.

Being left alone now, you shut your eyes and attempt to take a deep breath in, doing your best to calm your body down. It is shallow and short, it won't help, and you know it. However, you still try to push this overwhelming feeling away. You try to focus on the things around you, redirecting your attention to something outside your panicked brain. It's just this heavy, tightening feeling in the center of your chest or deep down in your stomach. You can't shake it. You can't make it go away this time, no matter how hard you try. That's why you came here in the first place. That's why you walked almost the whole length of Jackson at his hour and on your own. That's why you sought him. That's why the only thought on your mind with every step you took was, “please be home.”

“Hey.”

You shake your head, blinking a couple of times before it comes to you.

“Oh, shit sorry.”

Reaching out slowly, you wrap your fingers around the ear of the cup and smile softly as a thank you, the smile never reaching your tired eyes.

“Thank you.”

You mumble, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“Yeah.”

He starts, his eyebrow raised slightly as he does his best to estimate the situation. He knows something's off, you're acting different, you're quiet, and your demeanor is different, almost as if...muffled for some reason.

The silence is long, longer than you would've liked, you know he can tell something's off, you know you're not doing the best job at holding it all together and as your brain continues to fight itself on the matter of whether you'd prefer to tell him everything or that he wouldn't know anything was wrong you do yourself a favor and open your mouth to the first thing that comes into your head.

“You ever get that new rifle?”

His eyes widen slightly at the question, like he wasn't expecting it; he wasn't. But it was the only thing you could think about that could save you from attempting to most likely over-explain whatever the hell was happening to your body and mind on this godforsaken day.

“The one from Jimmy?”

He gives in, and you sigh, relived.

“Yeah, the one you were supposed to carve the handle for?”

He shuts his eyes with a soft nod and a quiet hum.

“Mhm.”

You glance up the stairs, towards the bedroom where you saw he keeps his guns, and he turns to follow your gaze.

“Did you want to see it?”

“Sure.”

He gestures to the stairs, letting you pass by and walk in front of him. You don't say much more for a bit, somehow there's this silent understanding between both of you, he somehow understands the situation, without fully knowing it. That's why he's not asking, he's not drilling into you like some people would, he does not want to force the answers out of you. What he knows is that you needed to be here, and that is enough.

Stepping into the bedroom, you smile softly to yourself as your eyes scan the familiar space. It's comforting, it's safe, you know it. The half-made bed takes up almost half of the room, the grand painting of wild horses resting above the wooden headboard. He finally hung it up.

Joel walks past you, it feels natural now for you to occupy this space, it is almost as if he feels comfortable with you being there, more than when he's alone. After setting his cup down on the nightstand closer to you, Joel makes his way over to the big closet door.

“Didn't get the chance to clean it yet.”

He explains, reaching for the rifle through the hanging clothes as you sit at the edge of the bed, your back turned to him, waiting to see the weapon.

“Here.”

He holds the barrel towards himself and away from you as he hands you the rifle over your shoulder.

“Holy shit, Joel.”

You exclaim, setting down your cup next to him before taking the weapon in your hand. Your thumb runs over the detailed carving on the light wood. The mountain and trees with a deer bust chiseled carefully into the rings of the wood.

“She's beautiful.”

“Yeah, you think?”

The man asks, sitting down next to you with a loud grunt.

“Yeah, look at it, goddamn it, that must've taken weeks.”

“Eh,”

He shrugs, showing how much he disagrees with your statement.

“Took more patience than time.”

He explains as you drag your fingers over the handle, astonished by the details he managed to transfer into the rough material.

“Still needs some work, and care…she's in a rough shape.”

“Yeah…”

You listen to him explain the process to you and you let him talk. It's not like you haven't seen him working on different commissions before. But you want it, you need it, his voice so comforting, you wish it could be the background noise for your life as you go about your days.

After carefully resting the gun against the wall, you admire it for another moment. Your thoughts wander as you realize how aware your body has become of Joel’s presence so close to you. You can smell his scent so vividly now, you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, the touch you long for so strongly.

“Yeah…gotta clean the metal, you know, don't want it rustin. The wood needs some oil too, maybe some stain so it'll look properly and not like every other-”

He doesn't get to finish the sentence, cut off by your lips crashing against his the second you turn back in his direction. Your hands fly up to his face and you hold him right there, so close to you now. He lets you lead, his eyes shut, his lips following yours as he grunts loudly into the kiss. The soft scent of his body surrounds you when he leans forward and draws closer to you. Quickly raising his hand, he rests his palm against the back of your head, pulling you even deeper into the kiss.

You pull away after a moment, resting your forehead against his while you catch your breath and reach for the buttons of his old jeans.

Joel follows your gaze, wrapping his fingers around your wrist almost immediately. There are no words shared between you, but you look up into his eyes, panting after the prolonged kiss. You take a few short breaths before he lets go of your hand.

Not taking his eyes off of you, and without a single word, Joel takes the lead now. Leaning back against the wooden headboard of his massive bed, he guides you closer to him, pulling on your wrist gently to suggest you follow. And you do. Turing to face him before throwing your knee over his legs, you let him hold onto your hips. His big, working hands resting on both sides of your lower body now, his eyes scanning your face for any clue of what this whole thing meant. It's been a while since you two slept with each other. It was never anything exclusive, never really anything to make a big deal about; however, to be completely honest, it was never entirely casual either. Relationships got a bit complicated for some people after the outbreak. And for people like Joel? They always were.

“You sure you want-”

He starts, but you muffle the words, quickly pressing your hand to his lips.

“Don't.”

The whisper slips past your lips, and you drop your hand, now slowly leaning down and closer to him. There is not a single thought in your head beside that you need this, you need comfort, you need his touch; you need his body against yours. You need him. Joel watches as you move in closer and closer, his eyes glancing down at your lips occasionally, his hands passively resting at your sides. There is no push, no lead from him anymore, you have the floor, and he wants this to be how you want it or how you're convinced you want it.

Now more hesitant, you stop. Your lips almost brushing against his, your chest resting on top of him, your body rising and falling gently with his every breath.

Once again, the choice is yours. With your gaze dropping, you focus on his lips again.

Shutting your eyes quickly, you lean into him, searching for the comfort in the desperate act of intimacy. It feels different from before, when you used to see each other more regularly. Your body, despite the familiar setting, feels tense, as does his. The anxiety not leaving your chest even for a moment, despite how hard you try to get rid of the feeling. But you want this, you need this, the closure, the distraction, the company.

You tilt your head to the side, deepening the kiss, and his hand moves from the side of your hips to your lower back, his lips never following yours.

You know he can feel it too, you know you can't hide it, not from Joel, he knows you too well. There is no give in the kiss, his body does not respond to you, it is as if he wants you alone to realize what he already knows.

You move away, breaking the kiss as you pull back quickly. There's a moment of silence when you both stare at each other, not sure what the reaction will be for the other person, not sure what is meant to happen now. The stinging sensation behind your eyes grows stronger as you feel your chest tightening, your chin trembles, and your lips part. A shaky inhale gives away the current state of your mind and there's nothing you can do to try to hide it now.

He doesn't say a word—there's no question, no confronting, no confusion or frustration. Once the tears flow to your eyes, and you turn away, shutting them in a desperate attempt to stop this, he finally speaks.

“It's okay, you're okay.”

His quiet, gentle voice is enough for you to crumble this time.

You sob loudly, covering your face with the palms of your hands. You allow Joel to pull you down and onto his chest, where you bury your face into the fabric of his shirt. Curling up into a ball, you let your body tense up on top of him. You let yourself feel the anxiety within the tension, feel everything, for the first time in so long you can't remember it properly. With tears streaming down your face, you rest on top of Joel. Your head pulled into your shoulder, your legs pressed against his chest, his hand resting firmly on your back. He adds to the pressure, feeling your body shaking with the sobs. The overwhelming need to let all the built-up tension out doesn't allow you to really think through what you're doing. It just happens and you can't stop it, not this time.

Joel shuts his eyes at your shaky inhale, rubbing his big hand over your back in an attempt to comfort you slightly. He’s not really sure what to, he has never really been great at this. Vulnerability, or the desperation of the display of emotions, was never something he was in tune with. It was definitely better if the emotions on display weren't his, it helped that he didn't have to think about himself. Worrying about others is always easier than worrying about yourself. Still, he always felt inadequate to provide any sort of comfort.

With shaking shoulders, trembling chest and cheeks wet from the tears, you clutch onto the fabric of his dark navy blue shirt when the tension becomes too overbearing to handle. He wraps his arms tight around your body. Your chest and throat hurt as you unsuccessfully attempt to calm yourself down, choking on your own tears.

“Shh, shh, I have you. I have you, babygirl.”

His gentle words make you lose whatever composure was somehow left within your body, and as your tears drip onto the fabric of his shirt, Joel moves his hand from your back up to the back of your head. Pressing a gentle kiss against the side of your head, he holds onto you like this for a moment before brushing his palm over your hair. He continues the movement from that point on, the slow, repeating sensation bringing you the desperately needed comfort. It takes a while for the feelings that turned out too strong for you to handle to slowly wither away. A long moment somehow stretched out in this otherwise calm, ordinary night in the small city of Jackson. The lights illuminating the main streets dim behind the window of Joel's bedroom when you finally feel like no tears remain behind your eyes anymore. With a loud sniffle, you snuggle your face into his chest, still curled up into a ball but now, attempting some deep breaths to calm yourself down. The pounding of your heart slowly softens deep within your chest.

Joel rubs his fingers against your arm slowly, gently moving his hand up and down against your skin. Your body so exhausted now, finding comfort within the gentle touch of this, some people would say, violent man's hands.

No words are spoken as you reach up, wrapping your arms loosely around the back of his neck. Another quiet sniffle as you pull yourself up on his chest slightly. With your face hidden in the crook of his neck, hidden from the world, finally provided with the comfort you've longed for weeks now, you let out a deep sigh. Joel feels your body relax in his arms, feels the tension fleeing from your limbs, your chest, and lungs as you slack on top of his body.

Holding onto you, he adjusts his position slightly, his hands gently rubbing over the back of your neck and down your shoulders.

Shifting gently with the movements of his chest, you feel your eyelids growing heavier. Your body, your insides, your brain are all exhausted from the loss of control over yourself. Tilting your head up slightly, you glance up at Joel. There's a second when you both stare into each other's eyes before he looks away, leaning down as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Get some rest.”

He mumbles, the sound of the words rumbling in his chest. And with those words, hidden in his arms, with his heart beating gently against yours, for the first time in weeks you feel at peace, you feel safe, you feel at home.

[justmeinadaze]

Not Alone Part 3 (Eddie X You)

A/N: This Y/N is currently me and while out getting snacks I realized I needed to write this into existence. Maybe one day I'll meet a partner like this... If you're spending the holiday by yourself, know you aren't alone <3

Warnings: being alone for the holidays, mentions of grief, Eddie comforting

Word Count: 1056

Eddie Masterlist

Eddie heard it in your voice and saw it in your face when he talked about Christmas with his uncle.

“Yeah, he usually gets the day off so Wayne makes some burgers and we watch A Christmas Story.”

“Aw that sounds like fun!”, you grin as you take in how his face lights up. 

You loved seeing how animated he got when he talked about certain things but when it came to family sometimes his face would drop. He missed his mom and told you that his dad used to ruin the holidays most of the time by being drunk or absent all together. From what he told you, it sounded like Wayne was making up for lost time and new memories that couldn’t be made since his sister-in-law passed. 

“What do you guys do?”

“Oh, uh, my dad used to make a big show of Christmas and make a huge meal. Pull out all the stops.”, you giggle. “He loved giving us presents and seeing us smile.”

“Sounds about right from what you told me.”, he chuckles. “What about now? Do you guys carry on the traditions?”

“Um, yeah absolutely. My mom makes a turkey and we get to together to just talk and watch Christmas movies like you and your uncle.”

Your smile fell ever so slight as your eyes glazed over causing him to reach for your hand. 

“Well, after, if you want to come over and share a burger you absolutely can. You know you’re always welcome over here, sweetheart.”

“Oh, thank you, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re never intruding, babe.”

After knocking on your apartment door, he waited, hoping for your sake he read the signs wrong but as the door slowly opened his heart broke. 

“Eddie? H-Hey, baby, what are you doing here?”

Your voice was gravelly telling him immediately you had been crying. 

“Come on.”, he murmured as his hand gestured absently out the door. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

“Sweetie, I can’t. I don’t want to bother you—” Before you could finish your sentence, he collected you in his arms and began heading towards his van. “Eddie, wait! I’m in my pajamas! I haven’t even done my hair.”

“You still look beautiful to me.”

***

“I can’t put my arms down!”, the little boy in the movie whines eliciting a loud cackle from Wayne as he sips from the beer can in his hand. 

“You know, Y/N, my mother, Eddie’s grandma, used to dress up me and Allen in all those layers like one gust of wind would freakin’ blow us away.”

“Pfft, thankfully my mom didn’t hate me that much.”, Eddie teased as his uncle tossed him a playful glare. 

You laugh as you curl up closer to the metalhead’s side and take a bite of the fry on your plate. 

“Ah commercial. I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette real quick.”, Wayne announced before rising to his feet and disappearing out the door. 

“How are you doing down there? You alright? Need a refill?”, Eddie asks as he cranes his neck to meet your gaze and his fingers brush your hair away from your face. 

“No, I’m alright.”, you smile as you tilt up to kiss his lips. “Thank you for this.”

“No problem. You’re always welcome here, baby. You’re never a bother. I’m going to get that tattooed on you somewhere so you can look at it and always remember.”, he jokes as he pokes your side. 

After you pull back to fully sit up, he does the same knowing you’re about to tell him something you struggle to say. You always pulled away slightly when you felt like you were about to tell him something heavy. He thought maybe it was your physical way of protecting yourself. As if you were expecting him to explode by your news so you wanted to be able to run and be safe. 

Eddie did everything he could to make you feel physically, emotionally, and mentally safe but he understood that sometimes your mind won the internal battle over anything else. 

“I haven’t spent Christmas with my family in years. When my dad died… my family struggled to cope especially my mom. She’s strong willed you know? ‘I don’t need therapy. I’m fine. I can handle it.’ But…every holiday…it’s like she forgets about me. We don’t do anything.  I don’t even get a text or a phone call… Then of course my siblings have their own families with their own traditions and since my mom is in her own head she doesn’t scold them for not even calling either. 

For years, I called or invited myself over…forced the family to spend time together…but these past couple of years…I can’t do it. I want them to think of me first for once. God, that’s so selfish.”, you sigh as you hide behind your hands. 

“No, baby, no it’s not. Hey. Look at me.”, Eddie coos as he lightly pulls at your wrists and reaches out with his fingers to dry some of your tears that had fallen. “It’s not selfish. Like you said, you tried for so many years and it went unnoticed AND unreciprocated. You deserve to have someone put in the same effort you do and then some. Your dad always did, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” After moving your plates and drinks to the side, he collects you in his arms and holds you tightly to him, rocking you gently back and forth as he pets your head allowing you to cry in his embrace. “Everything’s ok, Y/N. You’re safe with me, babe.”

After a while, your tears stop as you both focus on the tv in front of you and he smiles when you laugh at the boy on the screen. 

“You know I did that once.”

“Eddie, no!”, you tease as you lightly smack his chest.

“Oh, of course. Put my tongue on the pole and it got stuck. No one had to dare me or nothing. I just did it.”

“Oh my god.”

The door slams shut as Wayne wipes his boots on the mat and grins when he sees you in his nephew’s arms before taking a seat back in his chair. 

 “Hey, Ed. Remember your junior year of high school when you stuck your tongue to the pole?”

[midnight-mourning]

Not Santa

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 17❄️❄️

this was so silly and fun, really enjoyed it, hope you all do too ^_^

Prompt: MOON HAVING TO WEAR A SANTA HAT INSTEAD OF HIS HAT (they are red so similar but different)

Word Count: 1580

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It had started out as a simple joke, a passing comment you'd made while getting out decorations for the month. 

"Hey, you know, this is about the same size as your hat." You pull the red Santa hat out of the box, holding it up. "They ever let you play Santa Claus?"

Moon stares at the hat a moment, then chuckles, turning away. "They have not. What a silly idea."

"It's not silly!" You protest. "I think you'd be pretty cute in this, actually. Try it on, won't you?"

He scoffs. "Absolutely not."

"Why?"

He shrugs, "Don't want to."

"Why?" You press further. 

Moon steps back as you stand up, bending so you're closer to him. "Do I need a reason? It will look ridiculous."

"Sure if you don't take your other hat off first. Come on, i just want to see, please?" You beg. 

But, he's relentless, though teasing, in his resolve. "You'll have to do more than that to convince me."

"Lame." You pout, heading back over to the box of decorations. 

An idea pops in to your head then, a rather devious one. 

It starts small, just leaving the hat out in places where you know Moon will stumble across it. The naptime cubbies, the story shelf, his favorite spot on the playset to observe the kids. Each time, he either simply ignores and goes about his business, or he'll deposit it to you in some way. 

"Cute." He'd say, then walk off to attend to his duties. 

It only encourages you further. 

You decide to up the ante, finding more hats in storage and laying them around everywhere as well. Sun even lets you have this one, not insisting on cleaning them up or the likes. 

Moon still avoids the hats, but now he's taken to tossing them at you while you're not looking, as opposed to just handing it back to you. 

Your next move is a bit more drastic, and unfortunately unsuccessful as well. 

You wait until Moon's let his guard down, sitting beside each other monitoring naptime, when you reach up, and snatch his hat off his head. You quickly scramble to your feet, and hold out the Santa hat to him, keeping his night cap tucked behind your back, smile saccharine. 

His faceplate twists once, twice, and then he chuckles, and you think you're finally victorious. 

But as he stands, you realize how wrong you are. 

"I'll give you until the count of three, Starlight. After that I won't play nice."

If you didn't know he was teasing, you'd hand it back no qualms. But, you can hear that cheeky lithe, practically daring you to test his paitence. 

You grin, and then run off into the dark. 

Careful to keep quiet so not to wake the kids, you search around wildly for a place to hide his hat. You find it in one of the small fake houses, stuffing it into one of the corners behind some toys. You hurriedly crawl out of the house, trying to find somewhere for yourself now. 

You're crawling into one of the playset tubes when you hear a chuckle above you in the darkness. 

You put a hand over your mouth to keep quiet, doing your best to smother your giggling. 

There's nothing but quiet all around you. You wonder if he's left and started searching elsewhere. 

Suddenly, red eyes encompass your field of vision, and you let out a muffled shriek as he drags you out of the playset and up into the air. After a bit, you're on the ground again, out of breath from the adrenaline rush, and trying to contain your laughter. 

Moon holds out his hand expectantly. You grin, giggling as you give him the Santa hat. 

"Sorry, it's all I have." You shrug. 

He takes it from you, shaking his head. You gasp, only to be covered in darkness as he pulls the hat on over your eyes. 

You make a noise of protest, and when you lift it to see again, find him putting his cap back on.

You puff out your cheeks, disappointed, and he chuckles. 

Moon starts to walk back to where the kids are sleeping, and checking the time you realize that it's time for the to wake up. You both start to gently rouse them one by one, Moon with smothered delight, you with veiled annoyance.

As he makes it over to the light switch at last, he turns to you, head tilted to the side. "Better luck next time, Little Star."

The lights come on, leaving Sun in his place. 

Sometime later, you're standing by the security desk sulking, head resting on your arms as you watch the kids play. 

Sun comes over to stand beside you, patting you on the shoulder thoughtfully. "I believe in you, Sunshine. I know you'll get him eventually!"

"Thanks, Sunny. But honestly, I think I'm losing hope." You hold up the hat in one hand, then slump further into the desk. "Maybe it's just not meant to be after all."

You hear his rays click once or twice. Then, he takes the hat from your hands. Adjusting his rays, he sets it on his own head and steps back, hands on his hips. 

"Well, what do you think?"

You smile, sitting up a little bit. "I think you look very handsome, Sun. And in the Christmas spirit."

"Aw, shucks." His rays spin, waving his hand at you. 

You put your head in your hand. "I mean it. Though you don't have to keep wearing it, can't be comfortable. Thanks for indulging me for a moment."

"I think I'll keep it, thank you very much." He crosses his arms, then seems to think of something, pounding his fist into his hand. "Oh! I think I've got it!"

You tilt your head, he continues. "This is all just a game to Moony, so if you make it a game with a definitive winner and loser, then he'll have no choice but to wear it!"

You think for a moment, then start to nod in agreement. "You're right, Sun. That's a great idea. And I know just exactly how I'm gonna make it happen."

You wait for the perfect opportunity; the holiday party. 

You make sure to keep the lights on enough to see, but low enough so that Moon could participate. Then, you choose the perfect game to approach him with your deal. 

"Antler toss, hm?" Moon asks, holding the headband with the reindeer antlers in his hands. "Another plot to get me to take off my hat?'

You stick your own pair on, smile polite, tone coy. "In a way. If I win, you have to wear the Santa hat the rest of the party."

"And if you lose?" He questions.

You shrug. "You can decide that yourself."

Moon's head twists in thought a few times. Then, he sticks the antlers on his head with a snicker. 

"Let's play."

You go first, and of ten rings, you manage to score seven of them around the antlers on his head. 

You cheer when you're done, victory certainly assured. There was no way he could beat you, surely not. 

Moon makes six of his seven tosses. Three rings remaining in his hands. You keep a smirk on your face but swallow internally, you can't lose. Your best guess is that he'll dispose of the hat, and then you'll never get to see him wear it. 

He misses the first toss, but then scores with the second. Now it's a tie game. 

You stand a chance of winning if you have to play again, he just has to—

The last ring lands on your head, and Moon laughs, victorious. You deflate immediately. 

"Gosh darn it." You sigh, shuffling over to Moon, rings on your head bouncing against each other only reminding you of your defeat. You hold out the hat to Moon. "Go ahead, destroy it then."

He chuckles, hand coming up under your chin to get you to look up at him. "Is that what you think I want?"

"Well yeah,"—you scoff—"What else could you—"

You're interrupted by a kiss to your lips, causing your breath to hitch and your eyes to widen. After a few moments, Moon pulls away, taking the hat from your shocked hands. 

"Since you've been a worthy opponent, I suppose it's only fair." He removes his night cap, and putting the Santa hat in its place. 

You're too surprised to react properly, face burning. "Okay, yay."

Moon chuckles, arms wrapping around you. "Is this alright?"

You come to your senses again.

"Yes! Yes um, more than alright." Your hands wrap around his neck. "Though, maybe not overly appropriate for a holiday party for children. Probably not setting a good example."

Moon tsks. "Maybe not, but I think one more kiss won't hurt."

"Moon!" You protest, but do nothing to stop him as he leans in again. 

"Now tell me, is this everything you wanted?" He looks up to the hat. 

You chuckle. "Yeah, that and more."

"And do I look handsome?"

You huff, smile on your lips. "Didn't take you for the jealous type. But yes,"—you give him a quick peck—"Very handsome."

"Very huh?"

You break apart finally, shaking your head. "Don't go getting a big head now, then that hat won't fit."

He snickers, and you grin. 

He was no Santa, but you think that's more than alright with you.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Thank you for the silly prompt @buzzybee3 I think it was fun to have a sort of cat and mouse bit to it, but still all in good fun hehe

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[loserlvrss]

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍, 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 s. hanbin ( 성한빈 )

synopsis | after your car breaks down in the middle of a winter storm, you have a bright idea on how to keep warm.

pairing : hanbin x fem!reader genre : oneshot, smut, established relationship, light argument, light comedy warnings : unprotected sex, language, pet names, slight exhibitionism, a little rough for a second, hair pulling word count : 1702

authors note : i love this man so bad

“You’re joking,” You spit out a pained laugh, “Babe, stop fucking around and just turn the car on.” 

The man in the driver’s seat emphasized pulling the key out, putting it back in, and turning it—only for the engine to try to turn over with all its might, and then off. 

“Babe…” You were in complete and utter disbelief. How could this happen? Of course, it had to be on a day when you needed to be somewhere: your parents house in 20 minutes, to be exact. “Are you kidding?” 

He deadpanned, “I really wish I was.” a disbelief smile cracking against his features as his hands gripped the wheel. 

“You hate my parents that much, huh?” 

“Do you even like them?” 

“Touché.” You huffed, falling back against the seat, arms crossing. You looked out the windshield that had started fogging because of your breaths (and conversation), watching as the snow danced through the air. It would’ve been beautiful, and you did think it was…about 5 minutes ago when the car was still moving, heat blasting. 

You sighed, coming to terms with what had happened, “I’ll call them. You call the tow place.”  

And you did, asking your dad if he’d come pick you up—he said no, and you would’ve laughed in his face if you knew he wasn’t actually being serious. He blamed it on the snow, saying your sister had taken the truck to get last minute preparations for the party, and that, evidently, a small car wouldn’t be of any help. 

After you hung up the phone with a frown, you listened to the way your boyfriend spoke to the towing place. He sounded so calm despite the situation possibly being dire. He explained how you were only a couple of minutes from the town your parents lived in and that they weren’t willing to come pick you two up. He even double-checked all of the questions the man was asking him: does it roll-over? Do the lights turn on? Is it smoking?

You didn’t know your boyfriend had that side to him. Of course, you knew Hanbin was mature, that’s why you liked him initially—besides his looks, you’ve got eyes after all—But him taking control over the situation was…hot on a below-freezing day. 

He hung up the phone, catching your gaze. You’d been staring, and he’d noticed. 

“What’s up?” 

“You’re kinda hot.” You blurted so nonchalantly. 

He laughed, “Thanks, I’d hope you think that way. I am your boyfriend.” 

Your head shook slowly, eyes still wide from the staring, “Lucky me.” 

He started to open the door after popping the hood of the car, which made you slightly jump back to reality at the sudden noise. “I’ve got to check something, you stay here though.” 

“Do you think the car will blow up?” You only-kind-of joked, “I hope so,” 

He gave you a knowing look, “Shut up and just stay here, babe. It’s not gonna blow up.” 

“Bummer.” Your eyebrows knit at the command, “Do you even know anything about cars besides how to drive one?” 

“Well, you were too busy staring, but he did tell me what to look for over the phone.” 

You replied in a duh-tone, “Well, excuse me,” A slight huff left his lips at your response, and you shivered, only now realizing that the door was slightly cracked, “God forbid I ask a simple question…and can you close the damn door or get out? If you haven’t noticed, it’s fucking snowing.” 

Hanbin looked outside and then to you, mocking the feeling of being shocked, “Oh my God, it is snowing! Thanks for telling me, captain fucking obvious.” 

“H-holy shit,“ You remarked, feeling anger at the situation, “Just get out, I don’t want to fight.” 

He hummed, almost like he was debating your proposition, “Yeah, because I don’t know if you were still mentally aware when he said this, but they’ve gotten a lot of calls tonight. It will be like an hour before they even get someone out to us. But let’s not fight. That would really dampen our holiday spirits, wouldn’t it?” 

Without a shred of thought, your hand came up and smacked against your forehead. Hanbin snorted loudly at the action, dissipating whatever resolve he had brewing for you. 

His hand reached out, taking yours off your face, “It’s okay, we’ll just go home after this and watch a movie. Maybe we even have some hot chocolate in the cabinet—I bought some a couple of weeks ago.” Your cheek found its way between your teeth, “I’ll be right back.” 

“Don’t freeze to death—That would really dampen my holiday cheer.” 

He didn’t freeze to death; he just slipped and fell comically on the way back, like one would on a banana peel in a stupid cartoon. A loud announcement of “fuck!” following. 

After making sure he got up, you burst out laughing, a scowl on his face. Though he started to giggle once back in whatever residual warmth the car had to offer. 

“Are you okay?” You asked as he shut the door beside him, noticing the wet patches on his jeans now as the snow melted. 

“Wet and cold.” 

You mumbled, cracking another joke, “I know what you can make wet,”

However, it must've not been that bad of an idea because now you couldn’t think about how awful you were feeling, your head clouded with the pleasure of your boyfriend under you. 

“Fuck, y/n,” He sighed, earning your fleeting attention. His voice trailed off into nearly a whisper, “You’re so perfect.” 

His hands gripped your hips painfully tight, sure to leave his prints in its wake. He pulled you chest to chest, hearts beating in unison through the fabric blocking you. 

You moaned, rocking in tandem with his small thrusts into you. 

“So much better than awkward small-talk with your parents. I’m glad this—fuck—car broke down.” You tried your best to laugh, “Did me a favor.” 

Though the thrusts were sloppy, all you could feel was the warmth and security he brought upon you. He held you close, caged onto him, and whispered sweet-nothings into the skin of your neck. He made you feel better despite the pleasure, your heart swelling with affection that only he could deserve. 

He said something along the lines of: I love you, and you were made for me, and so wet, so tight. 

Hanbin wasn’t even cold anymore, and he had long forgotten about the ache in his hip from falling. This was better. This was worth it. 

The feeling of you wrapped around him, the light kisses you kept pressing against the side of his face, the claw marks left in the wake of thrusts that hit just right inside you. 

It was all worth the inconvenience, in hindsight. 

You felt the bubbling sensation in your lower abdomen, pushing back against his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” You swore, staring down at his lidded eyes—the ones that were locked on you. His fingers dug into your hips, assisting your attempt at quickening the pace. 

He looked so unforgivingly good under the slight moonlight shining through the window. His lightly tanned skin glimmered with sweat, tattoo on full display as the collar of his shirt rode down. His hair was now tousled from the grip you’d had on it earlier, and he looked so utterly ruined. 

You almost felt shy over such a sight. 

You couldn’t possibly show up to your parents house anymore. 

As his hands guided you up and down his length, you dove in to kiss the exposed skin of his neck, overwhelmed and trying to get ahold of yourself. You were building up to your peak quickly with this newfound vigor. 

“Don’t hide from me,” He must’ve heard your inner monologue, “I wanna see you when you come, baby, that’s my favorite sight. You always look so pretty, falling apart because of me. I need to see it. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” 

You nodded into his neck, still sucking marks along the underside of his jaw. A weak moan escaped your lips and went directly into his ear, butterflies swarming inside him. 

The sudden movement made your stomach drop—in a good way—cunt clenching around him as his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you back upright. 

“Look at me,” His grip got tighter, forcing your mouth open to assist with the pull, “Don’t hide from me, y/n.” He warned again, low moans now tumbling out of your mouth. 

You weren’t usually quiet, but there was something about the sorta-kinda publicity of a car that made you feel self-conscious—though you’d not seen or heard a soul. And Hanbin evidently didn’t like that. 

He let go of your hair, letting you collapse just a bit into him, now doing most—if not all—the work. “I know you’re close, babe,” 

And he was so far from being wrong. 

His hand came off your hip and snaked between your bodies, rubbing circles along your clit. You squeaked, forcing your eyes to stay open with whatever willpower you had left and looking at him. Just as he desired. 

“C’mon,” His voice was low, intimately so, “Let go for me, baby.” 

Oh, you did, with or without his words of encouragement; your ears were ringing so loud you could barely comprehend. 

Your head felt fuzzy but clear enough to hear the groan he let out, nails now digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he came too. 

Hanbin finally let you fall into his shoulder again, chest rising and falling abnormally as you both let reality back in. He gently stroked your back as you kissed his cheek, a reminder you were still awake and aware. 

He liked the reassurance of your body, knowing that only he could make you feel the way you do. And vice versa. 

“Shit,” He slightly laughed as lights filled the car from behind. He saw it approaching through the rearview mirror; however, he didn’t process that it was the tow truck. 

You jolted up, squinting from the brightness. There was no way you were hiding now, but you had to do what you had to do to keep warm.  

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[fictionstudent]

How to begin writing TODAY!

Writing is like a plant. It needs time, care, and love. Your stories won't write themselves—you need to put in the time to learn to write, and then actually write them down, y’know.

All of it takes time. A lot, I’m afraid. And it takes even more time to start seeing any form of results. People spend years honing their crafts before they even self-publish a single novella on Amazon.

That's why people don't get anywhere if they don't enjoy just the writing part—you can never earn from writing until you’ve spent a lot of time and resources into the craft. It’s kinda like YouTube—you need that watchtime on your channel before you can monetize. But the thing is: writing doesn't have a watchtime feature. You can't quantify how far you’ve come and how far you’ve still got to go.

You need to discipline yourself if you wanna get somewhere. But… how do you do that, lol? Here’s my two pennies on how to start writing, and keep up at it.

***

#01 - When to Start

You can’t pick up your laptop one random day and just start writing a story. Nope, that's not how it works, even though some might say otherwise.

A good writer should understand when is the right time to start typing the words out, y’know. If you have an idea for a story, you need to have some form of outline. Yeah, you can be a pantser—it’s a term used for those fiction writers who write without an outline—but at least you need some form of story. Know the beginning, at least. And know your characters.

Know something about your story, and the direction you want to take it, before you start putting pen to paper.

The reason I’m suggesting you this is because just inspiration is not enough. It can get you somewhere, but after a point, you might feel lost. Stories often end up in places where you might not want them to be, and then you just feel disheartened. Or, ideas might just stop hitting you after some point.

An idea of where to begin is enough, but you also need an idea of where to end. I’ve personally tried several times where I just had a single-line idea of a plot, and I wanted to create a story out of it. Didn't work. I personally need some loose outlines to start first.

What I’m trying to get at is you should know what’s the best time for you to start writing your story. Some don't write a single word before they know exact what happens when, and how. Some, like me, need some loose outlines. Some don't need outlines at all—just the first scene is enough to get them started.

Know what you are—a pantser, planner, or plantser—and start only when you feel like you have enough ideas that could keep you going for a couple weeks. Or if you feel like you could churn enough ideas that could keep you going.

***

#02 - Time

Writing takes time. And if you wanna get somewhere, you need to have a schedule.

Y’know, different writers might commit different amounts of time to writing. Some write once or twice a week, some (liek me lol) write everyday. And, you need to know which one works for you.

And—and I hate to be the bearer of bad news—it doesn't depend on you. The amount of time you can spend on writing depends more on your life. Are you a student? Or do you work?

And how many friends do you have? How busy is your work?

You need to take care of all these aspects of life that you can't mess up with, and then softly rearrange them all to fit something like writing in it. That’s why I hated the times when I shifted schools, houses, or when I was promoted to college. Because those shifts meant that I had to rearrange my day’s schedule again, and somehow fit writing in it.

And, before you start rearranging everything, I need to tell you something else—you need to be realistic about it. You can't just come back from college and sit back to write, y’know. If you generally take some rest during that time, take your rest. Please. Don't cut down on the time you rest or eat or sleep.

Why, you might ask? Is it because I care about you fellow writer? NO!

The thing is: it just won't work. You need sleep and food and rest to keep functioning, and if you think you can cut on that time and allot it to writing, you won't be able to keep on doing it long-term. You’d relapse. There would be days you’d be hungry, or sleepy, or tired, and you’d think you should just rather go take care of yourself instead of writing. And then you’d do that. And soon, you’d stop writing altogether.

I wrote at six to eight in the morning everyday for a couple of months. But I’m just not a morning person. I can't sleep before twelve in the night, and so I was sleeping for, like, four-five hours a night. You can't keep on going with that sort of schedule.

Firstly, I was sleepy all the time. When writing too, yeah—even though I’d just woke up and taken a bath—but also during my lectures. I slept through all of my political science classes and nearly failed that course. Zero-on-ten experience, not recommended.

Secondly, like I said, you’d relapse. Be true to yourself. You can't keep going on like this, man. Going to bed at one, waking up at five won't work for long. A recipe for disaster.

That's why I urge you to be realistic with the schedule that you make for yourself. Yeah, make a schedule. And appoint time for writing only where you know it’d work. Take enough rest, sleep, and use enough Instagram too. 

***

#03 - Know When to Skip

Yeah. There are, no doubts, going to be days when you just don't feel like it. Writing feels like a pain, ideas don't hit you anymore, you’ve just come from a stressful day at work and are tired. We’ve all been there.

At that point, you need to ask yourself: are you really tired, or are you just tired for writing?

I mean, if it’s the first, you should probably work on your schedule. If it’s a one-day thing, that’s fine. Skip it.

But, if it’s the second reason, you need to dig deeper. Why does writing tire you now? Why are you not interested in your story anymore? Where’s the spark gone?

There's a high chance that you’re just not motivated to write this story, y’know. Writing can be a pain for a lot of reasons.

One thing you need to keep writing is to keep yourself motivated. To keep yourself interested. Because that’s how you’d be willing to spend more and more time as days go by, y’know.

And, if it’s the second reason: don't skip. Sit down. Write. And think about what’s not working. And why is it not working. You need to diagnose this problem yourself, and then fix it.

***

#04 - Know When to Go on a Break

I can’t even stress on how many times I’ve tried skipping on trips with my family just because I wanted to write. And I should stress even more on how many times I’ve kept myself going on when I was burnt down to my core and needed a break.

When you’re too pumped up, you do all that stuff. But, as they say, even a lot of something is bad for you. Same with writing.

It’s kinda hard to believe, but that’s true. Firstly, don't skip on stuff. Live your life. If there are days your friends are calling you for a party, and that means you have to skip writing—do it. Skip writing.

Go travel with your family. Go live life, man. You don't just need the skills to write, after all—you need these experiences too. So go get ‘em.

Secondly, know when you’re burnt out. Regular hiatuses are important for any author. Don't start working on the next book of your trilogy if you’ve just completed the first. Go take a break first.

Don't push yourself too hard. I did that. Very recently. I was burnt out to my core, and it was hard pushing myself through. But I loved writing, so I made sure I took out two hours of my day for that.

But my story suffered. I lost all interest in it. Writers’ block hit me hard—even though I was working on a second draft, so I mostly knew where I was gonna take the story forward. I averaged around three-four hundred words a day—and that’s when I could actually write something—even though I used to average around fifteen-hundred a day. A big fall. And, there were days I just wrote a hundred words in two hours.

Those were some hard times, to be honest. I literally thought that I was probably growing out of it, and I was afraid if I did. Luckily, it was just a burnout, and a two-week’s break was enough to get me back.

And I’d scrapped the old project, lol. It was seriously bad.

Anyway, what I mean is that you need to know when to take breaks too. Writing is not just about writing. It’s also about learning about life.

***

Conclusion

I have an important announcement to make today. I’ve finally launched my very own newsletter! Yeah, that’s right. Now you’d find a really annoying click-me-master link at the very end of every single one of my blogs.

So, if you want more blogs like this one straight onto your inbox, click here!

I hope you have a nice day. Meet’cha next time!

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[reimeichan]

(Vent for things I've been holding in for years. This no longer reflects my current situation, but these feelings still linger inside of me.)

Why is it so hard for you to understand that I'm disordered? That my memory issues are debilitating and disabling? Whenever I tell you I forgot you tell me I need to try harder, but I try as hard as I can and I still can't remember. You tell me to take notes, and I do, but I read the notes days later and they no longer make sense to me. "Take better notes" you tell me, but I'm doing the best I can! I set alarms to try to remember to do things, but sometimes the alarm goes off at an inopportune time and I forget to reset it. Sometimes I even forget to set the alarm at all. I wrote a checklist for the things I need to do every night, I have it taped to my door- but it's now just visual noise for me, like all the other things in my life. I don't know how to make it any more noticeable or obvious to me.

Am I the problem? Am I truly not doing enough? Can't you understand that I'm struggling and struggling and struggling and there's no perfect solution? I took my meds like you asked me, why do I still forget things? Is it really all on me?

You say you can't accommodate my memory issues anymore. That it's draining you and hurting you. That it's not your responsibility to help me. And... I know this. I don't want to rely on you. But when my phone is in another room and I'm washing the dishes, is it really so hard when I ask you to send me a message to remind me of something I'm remembering to do at this moment but I know I'll forget once I'm done? Is that my fault that I can't write myself a note right then and there?

Am I that much of a burden for you? When did I become a burden and not equals? What happened to making compromises with the person you love? It's not your responsibility- but you told me you cared about me. About us. Where did all of that go? Have I really burned you out so much?

Am I really that broken that you no longer love me?

[caught-in-the-filter]

Feeling some type of way about the SAer among other things winning AGAIN, and FL’s reproductive rights amendment not passing even with the majority vote wanting it.

It’s not just about abortion. It’s never just about abortion. It’s about healthcare and basic human rights.

It’s about my first ever gynecology appointment, with a female gynecologist because I’d thought that would be both “safer” and “purer” than letting a man see and touch me “down there” unwed even in a medical setting. It’s about the fact that she didn’t believe I was a virgin in my early twenties. It’s about the fact that my mom, thank god she was there, had to insist more than once on a pediatric speculum on my behalf before the doctor finally listened and switched it, because I didn’t know there were different sizes they could use. It’s about the fact that the doctor didn’t listen when I fucking *begged* her to be patient and go slower because the speculum hurt so badly because I’d never had anything inside me before. It’s about the fact that I had to pretend I was fine when I stood up from that uncomfortable table-seat afterwards and realized she’d made me bleed. It’s about the fact that all my life I was told I’d go to hell for something like that, that even a medical procedure could make me somehow “impure” because it broke something inside me even out of necessity. It’s about the fact that I had to quietly panic-research “hymen” and how that even works because we are not taught our own anatomy in school because it and our mere existence is “inappropriate.” It’s about the fact that even the somewhat neutral resources I found contradicted each other, so I still don’t fully understand my own body or what actually happened that day when I bled.

It’s about the fact that raising concerns about excessive menstrual bleeding and painful cramps resulted in the doctor asking simply, “Do you want birth control or ibuprofen?” It’s about the fact that growing up in conservative churches made it clear that abstinence was the only way to live out of wedlock, and the best and purest form of birth control, that taking anything for it meant I had sexual intentions, which would mean I was going to hell for being a whore even if they couldn’t physically stone me to death for it anymore then. It’s about the fact that my only options are to fuck with my hormones and cycle in hopes it helps a little, or give myself future stomach ulcers I didn’t know then could be a side effect of NSAIDs. It’s about the fact that I have to pop that ibuprofen like candy anyway so I don’t feel like I’m dying for at least a week every month. It’s about the fact that so many with even worse complications than me need a non-existent future husband’s *permission* to be able to get hysterectomies even when it’s 100% necessary, because some hypothetical man that doesn’t exist has more say over her body and what it endures than she does.

It’s about the fact that my mom’s doctors ignored her uterine fibroids until they were so big that her uterus was fused to her bladder and she was bleeding so heavily and irregularly until someone finally listened and didn’t just say, “Lose weight,” which is a whole other degrading issue. It’s about the fact that her previous doctor *knew* about the fibroids and didn’t tell my mom, just gave her a passing, “Oh, they got even bigger?” in the office to her surprise, when it was too late to do the minimally-invasive laparoscopic version of the procedure which they could have done if he’d mentioned them sooner. It’s about the fact that she’d already had two kids and a miscarriage in-between and a tubal ligation, and her doctors still ignored her medical needs for years. It’s about the fact that her surgery was years ago and things have only gotten worse. It’s about the fact that as my cramps and bleeding only get worse, as ibuprofen hurts more than it helps, I’m afraid to start birth control only for the chance it could be taken away completely. It’s about the fact that I’m afraid to *not* be on birth control because rapists get congratulations and powerful offices and applause, but I’d get sent to jail or sent to my death with the consequences of their actions. It’s about the fact that I don’t know if I could find a doctor who would sterilize me by my own choice. It’s about the fact that I can’t afford, nor afford to take time off work for, an invasive surgery I shouldn’t have to endure just to keep myself safe.

It’s about the fact that every fucking day, all day, Hims and Viagra and however many other erectile disfunction ads are broadcast in every medium “for better performance in bed.” It’s about the fact that I am expected and required to not want anything to do with any performance in bed, while simultaneously expected to take it with a smile if a man wants it of me. It’s about the fact that in either case, I am the only one who’s considered impure. It’s about the fact that merely wearing shorts in an increasingly hotter climate is seen as “asking for it” but wearing full coverage in spite of it is seen as “needing to lighten up.” It’s about the fact that even if I were married and procreating on purpose and did every single thing The Right Way, but “God decided it wasn’t my time to have a child,” that we would both be left to bleed to death, that I would be left to bleed to death in my grief when at least I could be saved. It’s about the fact that that’s not an exaggeration and is happening all over the US because doctors are either restricted or afraid or agree with the bans themselves.

It’s about the fact that it’s not just about me, but the response to my outrage and grief is, “Why do you care if you’re not having sex? You’re not planning to need an abortion anyway, right?” It’s about the fact that yes it still very fucking much is about me, and about you, and about the people in your life you at least pretend to or think you care about. And it’s about the fact that we need to frame it as “your daughters, your wives, etc.” because you can’t possibly be expected to care about anyone you don’t already think you own and/or anyone outside your immediate periphery beyond “sending thoughts and prayers” when the system you praise and kill for is the root of the problem. It’s about the fact that even then, so many of you would rather see you’re so-called loved ones dead too than see them not conforming to your hypocritical ideas of perfection and righteousness. It’s about the fact that you think that’s somehow better and destined and even merciful. It’s about the fact that you think all this death is somehow “pro-life” or simply write it off as collateral damage like it’s their fault. And it’s about the fact that you can’t even see just how misguided and horrible you are through those pretty stained glass windows. I know, I lived inside them too, I believed you that we were being good and doing the right thing and thinking the right way too, I hadn’t actually read the book we were hitting people with then myself yet either, but then I grew up and learned what you really mean, what any of it really means, and that that book is a weapon wielded for power and to enforce compliance in a corrupt system masquerading as holy. I pity you, I pity me, I pity all of us. But I am *enraged* on behalf of the people who have already suffered and lost so much because we live in a world that refuses to see women first and foremost as human, and refuses to see humans beyond our own selves as deserving of the most basic decency and autonomy.

[blitz0hno]

Why does knowing I have DID because ✨DID Problems✨ make said problems both less and more Terrifying.

Like I know what it is and how to cope. I'm getting really good at it in fact.

But also these are like. Problem problems. I dunno if we can counsel ourselves outta this one gang..

Blogging time! Cuz like yeah it's objectively weird but just another Sunday for us lmao

Like tell me why, when we headed back to work shortly after hanging out with a friend, "we" briefly couldn't even remember who we hung out with. Except now that I know what's going on, I realize when I'm not fronting. This other alter fronted by surprise, probably because we were deciding where to work tonight.

Like cool I know why I was so out of it but still Doing Things but the WHY there makes things. So incredibly complicated for me. And bro felt baaaaad like shit he didn't remember jack. Because duh the Guy Who Was Not There fronted only after the other human is Gone. Some alters just can't help but mask and it's not good for us so they don't front with others around, you know the basics lol

And why do we feel like a bad friend even though we remember them perfectly clearly now. We remember them, but we had to consciously communicate it... To someone else in our own head... Like a thought-game of telephone? And like u know what it's like to think u can feel your brain working, and mine's like "compartmentalize or else." Whoops! Having fun? Many people wanna share front? Gonna slice up the memories! Oh you're conscious of this process? Amnesia. Get shadow realmed bitch you're not about to come into contact with something you shouldn't be reminded of. DAMN being wired for Living is so cool actually but also mom pick me up I'm scared (picks myself up). We always remember after a moment or two, which is why we never used to suspect amnesia to begin with. I will never understand why latching onto guilt for every little thing seems to be hardwired into our being.

It's up and down really, and makes socializing tough even though we love interacting with our friends so much. And Idk we always have really good communication when we're happy (and high ngl) but sometimes if we're alone we connect a lot of dots and don't know what to do with them. Silly funny interesting things and not something legit keeping me too dissociated to drive lmaoooo good thing we're freelance

BUT because we stopped, we saw a raccoon skitter across the ground. I love raccoons, they're cute. We were just thinking about them earlier. Makes up for the Horrors I think.

Tryna make some more money before bed but my phone is crying "no signal" despite working on certain apps. Guess I'm being forced to chill for a second. We're doing just fine and hopefully have a whole new job soon. We saw a magazine at the store that had part of the title obscured and all that remained visible was "your mind works." I think I'll take that as a good sign because uh it sure does! We deal we deal.

Being myself is the best advice I ever actually followed but damn this is difficult.

So yeah internal communication is a fuck. But less so than it used to be.

[dandyshucks]

okay its going under a readmore bc its messy and a lot, i'll try to keep it succinct though. CW for some discussion of the ongoing g.enocide and things around that topic

so one of the friends is someone I've really respected and admired because they're a very intelligent well-spoken and kind-hearted individual. i've really been impressed with how they think about things and with their ability to write really fantastic essays (that they often share with this friend group because they're in school and enjoy sharing their work with us because a lot of us are interested in the things they write about). about a year ago, this person went through the process of converting to j.udaism and we were all very excited (and continue to be happy) for them. they've been really happy with the process and the community they've found and it's been really good for them.

however! this person has since stated they are a z.ionist! and they've said that it just means that j.ewish people should live in i.srael, it doesn't mean they support the i.df or what is happening in p.alestine currently. but I'm just... baffled at how they can think that non-p.alestinians occupying the country could EVER be done peacefully. it has ALWAYS been colonization. it was never going to be done in a peaceful manner.

do j.ewish people deserve a safe place to exist? absolutely! but I do not think, ESPECIALLY now, that that safe place can ever be located in p.alestine. I'm not the most educated or well-read individual, I've done a bit of reading over the past few months but my memory is shoddy and I consistently forget almost everything I've read, but as far as I can tell, this has been a non-peaceful occupation (...can occupation ever really be done peacefully in reality? i doubt it.) from the very beginning. p.alestinians were being kicked out of their houses from the start.

and to add onto the messiness of this all, I am the only i.ndigenous person in the entire group. I am the only one coming at this from an i.ndigenous perspective. and because of my perspective, I am ALWAYS going to be on the side of the population that first lived and existed in a place. i am always on the side of l.and back, i am always on the side of the first peoples. anything less would be essentially agreeing with colonization.

so it is just incredibly uncomfortable to be the only i.ndigenous person in this group while the rest of the group has discussed and expressed sympathy with this person for holding self-professed z.ionist beliefs (I do not believe this person has done the right reading to fully understand what they are saying, which is so strange because they are usually so good about educating themself). and I feel like if I try to say anything to argue or simply question this person, I'm going to rock the boat too much and make Everyone uncomfortable and the entire thing will blow up and fall apart around me. so my options seem to be either: a) say something, b) say nothing and stay in the group, or c) say nothing and quietly leave the group. none of which feel like good options!

and it sucks so much because there are people I genuinely do like in this group, and I've liked this one person and respected them since I met them, but they're really .... showing themself to be an unsafe person at the end of the day. I keep feeling like maybe I'm not seeing something or maybe I'm missing something, but I've looked at this from multiple angles and while I do absolutely see where they're coming from and even sympathise with some of it, I disagree with them on a fundamental level.

(also it seems really fucked up for them to be newly converted to j.udaism and endorsing what is essentially colonization and lowkey ignoring the fact that PEOPLE ARE BEING GENOCIDED RIGHT NOW so maybe we should not be discussing "but where are all the j.ewish ppl going to live :(" until the bullets and bombs stop at the very least(????????), while I've been indigenous and dealing with the consequences of attempted (and still ongoing!) genocide and colonization my entire life)

[theinfinitedivides]

dear God pls. pls i am begging you let me never have to hear Ha Do Kwon scream like that again i don't think i'll make it

[boomingsmile]

who gave sharp the audacity to be so kind, loving, sweetest person. D:< no amount of words i can put up will ever be able to contain the vibe he has; i desperately need a drink with him and i dont even drink and he doesn't even exist!

[ricky-horrors-whore]

don't get me wrong, it's definitely fucked me up for my entire life to come, self awareness will cure nothing, but I've always been told by my family, friends, and people who are nice to me, that no one will ever want me or date me for no real reason, like, sure I'm nothing special or pretty but there's really nothing That wrong with me?? even in their lists and reasoning for it

like self esteem isn't even a pipe dream for me after all this, any self worth I could have in the eyes of anyone but a cat is blown to smithereens, but there's no justification for why I'm apparently "that bad"

[thetangibleghost]

"give me a beer, a lullaby, and a word in my ear" -guy at a speed dating event in my dream