#it just painted such a vivid scene in my mind
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What about a what if scenario involving Rowan, if she had lived?
Like, she and Freyja might have drifted apart and found new friends they connected with, only to reunite years later in their respective careers, and they catch up in a café, reminiscing about their school days, discussing their current jobs/lifestyles (Wow! Rowan has started a family of her own and she’s expecting any week now? And she is a professor in Koldovstoretz? Yes that is a wizarding school. In Russia. Wow. How time flies.), and it’s like they have become best friends all over again, but more mature and content in the person they have each grown to be in the paths that they followed. Sadly, time flies, and they both have places to be, but they both exchange information and are determined to keep in touch even if it may not be a constant basis. They both hug each other goodbye, and Rowan whispers in her ear: ���Always remember, Freyja...”
“It’s all your fault.”
AVADA KEDAVRA!!
Rowan krumples in Freyja’s arms, the same expression of terror and pain frozen on her face as it was in their 6th year, Rakepick’s cold chuckling echoing all around them as the sweet café gets shattered and destroyed by suddenly growing trees straight from the Forbidden Forest. Freyja tries desperately to revive Rowan, as dementors bloom out of the immense shadows cast by the looming trees, circling overhead as they near Freyja, and all she can hear as the darkness closes in and whatever is left of the light glows green in Rowan’s dead eyes are: It’s all your fault.
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Freyja wakes up.
@ anon - It’s a been ages since i’ve done some proper proper angst so I really just wanted to leave it at the waking up bit, but I appreciate your follow-up ask all the same!
no need to apologise, it didn’t freak me out. ☺️
#hogwarts mystery#rowan khanna#hphm mc#freyja young#ask#anonymous#long post#i need to draw something silly and funny now#but it was a blast bringing this ask to life through art#it just painted such a vivid scene in my mind#i had to wait until i was properly drawing again to get this anywhere near how i wanted it to look
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this morning in the thirty minutes between my first alarm and second alarm i had a dream that felt like five hours long
#one very specific scene that i remember was that i was looking up at a hill of dead grass and there were two glass/mirror doors on that hill#and i was saying to everyone to look at it just so i wasn’t going crazy and i pulled out my phone and opened the camera app to see if it was#real and existed that way too#and idk it’s so vivid in my mind i wish i could paint it
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i maxxed the tags (what did i expect) but!!
what a soft piece ari 🥺 thank you for sharing this hurt/comfort piece w us!! i think satoru will always be a figure of strength—but i think it’s in part because that’s how he brands himself to be around the people he cares about. he’ll never truly share how he thinks and feels about things, will almost always downplay it really. but he’s always worrying, always aware and cautious, overthinking 🥺 and i felt that loads here!!
there’s a shipwreck stuck between your ribs ; satoru gojo
synopsis; three times satoru sees you cry, and the understanding you gain of each other from it.
word count; 4.6k
contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, the synopsis speaks for itself i think, copious amounts of hurt/comfort, i just think he’d be so good at comforting u :ccc, also fluff!!, he’s addicted to calling u ”baby,” satoru gojo vs human emotion (he loses)
a/n; pls ignore the fact that 90% of my gojo fics are hurt/comfort ok we dont need to get into that <33 the writing in this one might be a lil rusty but im pretty fond of this gojo :’3
dim lights, buttery popcorn, and boredom.
the senses invading his mind are mellow, coaxing, a little tedious. all he can see are the buzzing lights before him, all he can hear is the insistent chewing of the people around him, and all he can feel is just that:
boredom.
satoru stifles a yawn, resting his cheek on the heel of his palm. he’s trying to pay attention — really, he is. trying to pay attention to the movie he picked out himself, after thoughtful consideration, one he’s been looking forward to watching with you all week. he’s trying his best. but, gosh, it’s just so boring.
or maybe he just doesn’t have it in him today — with all these too-dim lights, too-loud popcorn-chewers, and the too-convoluted plot playing on the big screen in front of him. he has no idea what’s happening, anymore, what scene this is supposed to be. some sob-story? he clocked out a while ago.
so, with nothing better to do — satoru decides to savour another view.
that’s how it always goes. no matter the movie, no matter the snacks, whether you’re watching at home on the couch or a nearby movie theatre — eventually, when his eyelids begin to grow heavy, or when his attention span begins to falter, that blue-soaked gaze of his shifts. a moth to a flame, following his instincts. constantly looking over to see what kind of face you're making.
after all, your reactions are far more entertaining than any movie could ever hope to be. little sighs of exasperation, jolts and shivers down your spine, or a laughter so bubbly he can’t resist leaning in for a kiss or ten — he loves it. adores it. lives and dies by it.
so satoru turns his head, and looks at you, knowing you’ll save him from the boredom clutching at his subconscious.
and something in his chest constricts.
at first, he doesn’t notice it. hungrily lapping over the expanse of your jaw, to your cheekbones, his gaze drinking in everything he can see. scanning your eyes for a hint of emotion; and he finds it. he finds it in something that glimmers in the dim lighting of the theatre, something that has his breath drawing back to the depths of his throat.
tears.
crystalline, dew-drawn, a fresh set of tears clinging to the edge of your lash line. they’ve yet to fall, but satoru sees them — he sees them and he doesn’t know what to do.
tears.
tears?
you’re crying.
in the depths of your glassy eyes, he sees a fractured scene — playing against the scope of your iris, as the movie reflects off your pupils. there’s a turmoil there, a sadness, one that has you covering your mouth with the front of your knuckle. and you’re crying.
satoru wants to tease you. he wants to lean over and purr against the shell of your ear, poke fun at you for being so emotional. such a little baby. what else is he supposed to do?
the tricky part is that he can’t. he can’t move, can’t shape his voice into a purr, can’t even speak. he’s frozen in place like a bug trapped in amber, stuck to his seat, unable to do anything but blink at you in what he thinks might be bewilderment.
his breath hitches — and that’s all.
something about the sight of you makes him falter, makes him stop in his tracks. catches him off guard. he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t recognize the feeling stirred deep within his chest, something discomforting and foreign. doesn’t understand why his heart feels so itchy, all of a sudden.
then your eyes meet.
and you blink. once, then twice. eyes just a little wide, an embarrassed kind of surprise. he thinks you must be flustered, and he’s proven right when your gaze flees from his.
a mingle of words clog up at the base of his throat. say something, say something, say something. but he doesn’t know what.
he wets his lips, preparing to part them, but before he can get the first syllable out you're leaning in. close. close enough that he feels your breath ghost against the shell of his ear, close enough that his heart starts skipping the way it always does when you press yourself against him like that’s where you belong.
a whisper. it’s small, hushed, a little frail. but there’s something else, too, laced together with the vowels — amusement.
”you didn’t tell me this was a sad movie.”
a pout plays at your lips, as you murmur your grievances. but then there’s that amusement; it’s there when you pull back, in the crinkle of your sparkling eyes, the curve of your smile.
and satoru’s shoulders relax. stiffened bones melting. he exhales a breath he had no idea he was holding, and his heart feels at ease. a grin finds it’s way to his lips, wide, teasing, cheshire and sweet.
he leans a little closer, bumping his head against yours. gently. ”i think you’re just sensitive, baby.”
his teasing is rewarded with a little huff, as your elbow meets his side. soft. everything you do is soft.
”oh, shut up,” you scoff. smiling. he’s so relieved that you’re smiling.
a moth to a flame, following his instincts, satoru brings you closer. an arm around your waist, pulling you into his orbit, until you’re practically sharing seats. searching for your hand — and he finds it, intertwining his long fingers with yours, just to give it a little squeeze.
(for some reason, he feels more protective than usual.)
he feels your gaze. questioning, maybe. but you melt into him quickly, with your head slumped against his shoulder, and his heart settles back into a sleepy rhythm. just watching the movie pass you by.
the dim lighting of the theatre casts a hazy shadow over your face, a tender desaturation, and his eyes stay glued to it when you aren’t looking. the smell of popcorn hangs heavy in the air, salty and buttery, warm and sweet, and he’s almost grateful to feel that familiar boredom tug at his veins.
anything is fine. anything is better than that discomfort, that irritating itch.
satoru watches the movie flicker by, scene by scene, whispering commentary into your ear and stealing your popcorn with a satisfied hum. chuckling when you whisper-shout at him to cut it out!
he tries not to think of the glittering tears at your lash line, and almost succeeds.
rain clouds, cups of chamomile, and frustration.
it seeps out into the open air, engulfing your living room in a feverish haze. thick and suffocating; the scent of heavy rain, lukewarm tea, and that ugly, ugly feeling underneath his skin.
it pulses. it itches. and oh, how it aches.
satoru hates it. he hates feeling angry, feeling upset — hates when either of those emotions are in connection to you. hates it, hates it, hates it more than anything.
he does everything he possibly can to avoid it; his eyes are keen, always have been, and he can see when that thin line he shouldn’t cross crawls a little too close for comfort. when the rubber band of your patience just snaps. he sees all your buttons, knows which ones not to push. he knows you.
and, more importantly, more than anything — nothing you do could ever make him angry at you.
(well, at least that’s what he thought.)
satoru’s anger is a fickle thing, controlled, kept under wraps. it’s a slow process; it simmers, boils, a cup of chamomile brewed too long. and then it all but invades his senses. it never gets the best of him, never, but right now he can feel it — little pinpricks against his skin, a frustration that stirs his guts and has his eyes going cold.
satoru towers over you, like this. full height on display. not slouching or draping himself over furniture, but standing tall, and proud, and menacing. he isn’t smiling, and that’s all you need to know that he’s upset with you. his eyes are layered over with discontentment.
a sigh spills from his lips, a little gruff, unmistakably annoyed. it slices the silence of the room in half, and a shiver travels down your spine. he doesn’t notice it. his voice has a rough edge to it, something firm. something that doesn’t sound like it could come out of his mouth at all.
”don’t act like such a child.”
a flinch. or maybe more like a jolt; this time, he notices, but it’s too late. he’s in too deep, boiled water licking at his ankles, pulling him down. frustration nips at his skin, and he can’t quite seem to push it away.
and you’re just so, so unaccustomed to it. unaccustomed to seeing him wear anything but a smile, unaccustomed to that cold gaze, usually nothing but warm and fond when it meets your own. this isn’t like him.
it’s not like him at all.
swallowing thickly, you do your best to calm down. but before you can make any attempt to contain it, wetness begins to gather in the corners of your eyes. pooling, little droplets yearning to fall.
satoru notices them instantly. he sees that sad glimmer, framed by the murky darkness seeping in from beyond the curtains, accompanied by the symphony of pitter patter against the windowpane. tears, much like the rain beating down outside.
and his chest goes cold.
a tiny sniffle pushes past your lips, and the dam inside you begins to break — tears tripping over your lash line, rolling down your cheeks. cascading across your pretty face. the air fills with a sense of dread, and both of you seem to be thinking the exact same thing.
(oh, fuck.)
satoru notices, belatedly, that his throat has gone dry. that his heart feels itchy, again. it itches and itches but he can’t do anything to soothe it, and your tears continue to fall.
his heart begins to crack. right down the middle, like a gash in the reflection of a puddle, right across his chest. it hurts.
an inhale, then an exhale. you’re still trying to keep it all together, grasping for control over your emotions, but it’s not going too well. the little breaths that escape your throat are shaky at best, hands trembling as you wipe the tears away with the front of your wrists. and your voice sounds a little like it’s about to crumble away.
”sorry,” you squeak, taking a step back. there’s a silent panic in the gesture, one that makes satoru want to get down on his knees. ”i’ll just — i’ll leave —”
he wants to stop you. he needs to stop you. but he does nothing, nothing at all, even as you stumble out. leaving the haunting echo of tiny sniffles and tear-stained cheeks behind you.
satoru just stands there. once again, the sight of your tears seems to render him completely helpless. useless.
and he's frustrated, honestly. frustrated by the argument, by your tears, by his own guilt. he’s so frustrated he wants to claw his eyes out. he scratches at his forearm, but it does no good. all he can think of is your frightened little expression.
(he scared you.)
satoru slumps down on the couch, head in his hands, running rough fingers through his soft hair. it’s unruly by the time he’s done, and his bottom lip is bruised with teeth marks, and everything in the world feels so meaningless. so out of tune.
(he made you cry.)
a sigh. drawn out, tinged with exhaustion, bitter and battered like the swing of a baseball bat. he feels a little like he could throw up. it’s foreign, this emotion, suffocating. how long has it been since he genuinely felt this kind of shame?
the crack in his heart grows deeper, while you’re gone. more severe. every moment you spend outside of his vision makes him falter more and more, makes his desperation grow. desperate to plead for your forgiveness, to convince you not to leave. to wipe the tears away from your cheeks, delicately, the way you deserve. but he can do nothing but sit there, useless, repeating the same old phrase inside his mind.
he’ll make it up to you.
and when you finally come back, having calmed down a bit, he does just that. you’re embarrassed, he can tell, a little meek. it makes him feel that discomforting emotion, again, that ache. the crack that only ever seems to deepen.
but he covers it all up with a smile. a little sheepish, more than a little forced, but he hopes you understand. hopes you can see his remorse, see a man who loves you, because he does.
so satoru takes you into his arms, softly, hands finding the small of your back. delicate, protective. a little whisper spilling from his lips.
”’m sorry, baby. i didn’t mean it.”
and it’s not enough. he knows it isn’t. but he does what he can — even when it just ends up clumsy, teasing, bordering on something that most would interpret as insincere. all he can do is coddle you. shower you in hugs and kisses, gifts and praises. he hands it out like candy, eager hands finding yours, everything spilling out of his chest all at once.
there’s a desperation to it that isn’t lost on you.
but it works. he’ll make it up to you; he swears. and he dotes on you until you’re too embarrassed to be sad anymore, apologizes until his throat runs dry. until he’s sure you believe him.
he brews you another cup of chamomile, stirred to perfection, warm enough to make up for the shiver he sent down your spine. the rain beating down on your windows serves as a constant reminder of his failure, and satoru does his best to ignore it. swallowing what’s left of his frustration, focusing on you.
anything to see you smile again. anything to wash away the red tint to your eyes, the puffy skin beneath them. anything to hear you laugh, to get you to feel safe around him again.
(anything to make him forget the sight of those tears rolling down your cheeks.)
panic, panic, panic.
it’s all he can feel, all he can think, the only emotion his muddled mind can cling to. he’s in pure, sincere, genuine panic, and you aren’t saying a thing. can’t bring yourself to.
arms wrapped around his waist, tightly, you hide away in the crook of his neck. clutching the fabric of his shirt, burrowing your face deeper into his warmth — and you’re not just crying.
you’re downright sobbing.
satoru knew something was off the moment you fell into his embrace, suddenly, tackling him into a hug so desperate it left him reeling. a kind of desperation he isn’t used to, from you.
he knew something was wrong.
he knew even before he heard it; your choking sobs, those shaky, heaving breaths. muffled into the cotton of his shirt, his uncertain arms around you.
they break his heart.
”hey, hey…” there’s a soothing lilt to his voice, awfully delicate. sweet like molten honey, almost enough to hide the panic. ”what’s wrong?”
satoru holds you to his chest, safe and secure, cradling you protectively. as if shielding you from the world — from whatever or whoever got you like this. as if you’d crumble into dust, otherwise.
he tries to calm down, but his mind is spinning like a broken clock, and your silence doesn’t help. you’re trying to respond; he knows you are, but you just can’t get the words out. any attempts only make you cry harder.
a shake of your head is all he gets — and it’s not much, but satoru’s learned to make a lot out of a little.
so he continues to hold you, hiding his worry, tucking his anxiety away somewhere you won’t be able to see. he curses, inwardly, grasping blindly for conclusions — for some divine guidance. how is he supposed to deal with this?
(how long has it been since he felt so very useless?)
gentle. that’s the approach he takes, finally, hiding his nervosity. he rocks you back and forth, just a little, like he’s lulling you to sleep; his warm hands finding the small of your back, the back of your head. cradling you so close you hear his rapid heartbeat by your ear.
soothing whispers. murmured into your hair, so soft they seem to melt once they slip from his tongue, all honey and devotion. affection so palpable you taste it in the air, from the breaths he exhales.
”it’s fine. i’m here, i’m here… i’ve got you.”
he doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really, but it seems to work. because you calm down, after a while, just sniffling into his neck and letting him soothe you. sobs and unstable heaves, turning into whimpers and shaky breaths. clinging to him all the while; so desperate for comfort, for him.
it makes him feel so, so desperate to protect you, to wash every single one of your worries away.
it’s unbearable, this aching desire. like a great, insatiable, unnamed something deep within the caverns of his chest, clawing at his ribcage, snarling and hissing, itching to break out so it can open its maw and devour you both.
(it’s ugly. it’s grotesque. it wants to keep you safe so badly it might kill him for it.)
a coo. sad, dripping with care, a comforting tone that he hopes you’ll find soothing. he smooths his palm down the back of your head, heavy, doting. it hurts so much to see you hurt.
”my baby….��� satoru exhales, a little shaky. but he smiles, and he hopes you can hear it, hopes it’ll help mend the pain in your chest. ”what’s got you this upset, hm? you're worrying me, here…”
a broken sniffle. the guilt eats at you, gnaws at your bones, and all you can do is hide away in the crook of his neck. apologizing, your voice no more than a tremor of a breath.
”’m sorry…”
and satoru thinks his heart shatters. he can practically hear the crash, feel the broken, useless little pieces dig into his skin.
his arms travel down to your hips, steady, and he lifts you up. just for a second, just so he can plop down on the floor with you in tow — keeping you snuggled into his neck. seated on his lap with your legs around his waist, like you’re his baby koala.
”shh, it's okay,” he soothes, a grounding rumble of his chest right by your ear. he’s got you enveloped, wrapped up in his buzzing warmth, and all you can feel is him. ”you’re okay. no matter what it is, i'll take care of it, alright? you can rely on me.”
a moment passes.
satoru clears his throat. nervous, suddenly. ”you know that, right?”
all you can give him is a shaky nod, but it’s enough. he sighs, in palpable relief, still rubbing circles into your back. ”okay,” he sneaks a hand underneath your shirt, tracing little shapes into your bare skin. ”good.”
he isn’t sure how long you spend there, on the floor, entirely focused on comforting you. washing away all your sadness, with every gentle caress, every soothing murmur of there, there… every little stutter of his heartbeat next to yours.
and when you’ve finally calmed down, melting under his touch and into his skin, arms going lax around his neck — satoru takes a breath. collecting himself, so you don’t have to. acting like his heart isn’t still a mess of crushed glass.
”you okay now?” he coos, drawing absentminded hearts into the skin of your back. his voice is teasing, but warm, spilling from his tongue and into your ear. deep and smooth. ”almost gave me a heart attack, baby.”
he feels the way your grip around him tightens, just a smidge, and he hears the weak little breath you draw in. your voice is still shaky, and it makes him want to rearrange the world, stitch those broken vowels back together.
(he doesn’t like how irrational it is, this insatiable something. how it makes him want to bend the rules of the universe, just to see you smile. a dangerous temptation.)
”i’m sorry,” you croak, clinging to him like a shipwreck to a shore. ”it’s not — not a big deal, ’m just…”
satoru pulls back. just a little bit, making sure your arms and legs stay in their rightful place, curled around his neck and waist. making sure the two of you stay connected.
then he pinches your cheek.
”don’t apologize,” he quips, a playful frown on his face. soft, a vague furrow of his brows. like he’s scolding you.
it makes you wince, your eyes downcast. you look so meek. a little like a kicked puppy, glassy eyes glancing up at him in search of comfort.
satoru clicks his tongue. ”and don’t look at me like that, either.”
he boops your nose, playful, doting, and you exhale weakly. it’s small, more breath than a real laugh, but you’re almost smiling, and —
it’s a start. it’s something.
satoru coos, voice dripping with warmth, sickeningly sweet. it seeps from his fingertips when he cradles your cheek in his palm, rubbing circles into the puffy skin beneath your eyes. there’s a mirth in his own, crinkled at the edges, tucked into that blue shade, something glazed over with pure adoration.
”there’s that smile.”
he leans forward, closer, to press a kiss against the bridge of your nose, eyelashes fluttering. tickling your skin. you fall further into his embrace and he makes no move to resist, wouldn’t do it even if he physically could. even if he had the strength to let you go.
then he broaches the subject. hesitant. tactful, careful, delicate — he tries to remember how it works. how to handle something fragile. he thinks of those boxes you carried last week, little porcelain cups. heavy in his arms. he thinks of the way you jab his side with your elbow; gentle, always gentle, even though there’s never any need.
he thinks of you, and it all comes easy. that’s how it always goes.
”wanna talk about it?” he asks, softly. fingers treading through your hair, scratching softly at your scalp. it makes you melt, a little. clearing your throat.
”it’s nothing, really,” you mumble, tiny, seeking respite in the warmth that seeps from his body. speaking with a raspy voice, a hoarse throat, all tired out after crying. ”nothing big, anyway…”
a moment passes, before you continue. ”i guess it's just been a rough week,” you admit, a sigh slipping from your lips, tinged with pure exhaustion. ”just little things piling up. ’m okay now.”
a hum. satoru clears his throat.
”anything i can do?”
(please let me help.)
but you only shake your head. ”you’ve already done enough,” you assure him, leaning into his touch. ”think i just needed to get it all out, y’know?”
a beat. an itch. satoru holds you tight, a little tighter than he should. gentle, he reminds himself. but he needs you close enough to feel the flutter of your heartbeat, close enough to delude himself that you’ve merged together. closer isn’t close enough.
he gnaws at his bottom lip, teeth sinking into the flesh. pulling words out from the back of his throat, uncertain. ”i’m always here,” he settles on. ”if there’s anything you need, come straight to me. okay?”
a frown plays at your lips. you’re silent, for a while, until he hears you mumble beneath your breath.
”i don’t want to bother you so much, though…”
”— it’s not a bother.”
the words spill into the air, a little more firm than he meant to sound. but he means them.
”i’m serious. if you ever need help, with anything, come find me. i’m yours,” satoru inhales, deep, his chest moving in tune with the breath. you’re carried along with it, as if being lulled to sleep, following the steady pattern of his lungs.
then he exhales. in, and out, and with it comes a promise. ”if anyone makes you cry, i’ll get rid of them.”
he says it casually, so casually that you assume it’s a joke, a bout of breathless giggles pushing past your lips. the sound has his own curling up, and he doesn’t have the heart to correct you. has enough tact to know that this might not be the best moment to let you know that he’s honestly a little terrified of how far he’d be willing to go to keep you safe and happy.
but you’re smiling, finally, laughing. and that matters more than anything. when he closes his eyes, he thinks he can even feel the telltale signs that his heart is picking itself back up, gluing jagged shards into a shape that resembles you.
"that's scary!” you gasp, amusement bubbling up inside your throat. ”you’d go to jail for me?”
satoru huffs. ”bold of you to assume i’d get caught,” he tuts, a smug smile on his face. it makes you giggle, again, and he feels like a god.
”okay, okay,” you nose at his neck, breathing him in, strawberry lotion and laundry detergent filling your senses. ”please don’t kill anyone on my behalf, though.”
”no promises.”
”satoru…”
slowly, steadily, his heart begins to stitch itself together. it helps that you’re there, he thinks. helps that you’re pressed up against him, that you’re holding him, like he’s the safest thing in the world. like you trust him.
(the word tastes like molten honey and luscious berries, sickly-sweet on his tongue. he gulps it down hungrily.)
it’s healing. the weight of your arms around him, the breaths that brush against his neck. he holds you to keep you together, intact, to keep himself together. a shipwreck and a shore — he just isn’t sure which one of you is which. but your jagged edges fit just right with his own.
”i don’t like seeing you cry.”
you blink. gazing up at him, with a contemplative look in your eyes. it melts into something a little too close to guilt for his liking. shame.
”— but i still want you to let me see you like that.” satoru smiles, with a tilt of his head. snowy tufts of hair falling across his face. ”is that weird?”
a moment passes. then you hum.
”no,” you exhale, a little breathless. smiling, somewhat weak, but still enough to have his heart skipping a beat. ”i love that about you, satoru.”
”huh?” he gapes at you — blinking dumbly. ”love what? that i want to see you sob into my chest?”
”that you try,” you stifle a yawn, sleepily nuzzling into him, all tuckered out from crying. ”even when it makes you a little uncomfortable.”
satoru stills.
silence fills the space between you. there’s nothing more to say. his tongue isn’t really cooperating with him, anyhow — all tied up. so he leaves a kiss on the top of your head, and doesn’t say a word about the tremor running through his chest.
he hates seeing you cry. hates how powerless it makes him feel, how useless. hates the fact that he can’t always protect you from the world, from himself.
but you let him see you like that.
he thinks of your tears, crystalline and glassy, like translucent marbles on a summer shore — and sees the trust instead of the sorrow. he thinks of your tearstained face, meek and feeble, and knows it’ll always be enough to break his heart to pieces.
he thinks of you, and tells himself that it’s worth it; just as long as he gets to bring that pretty little smile back to life.
#jjk#satoru#omg i am so excited i finally got to this ari 🥹🥹 and an x times kind of fic too oh my heart!!!!!!#oh he’s soooo into you 🥺 how his gaze always gravitates towards you i am sOOO my heart is SOOO#‘lives and die by it’ PLSSS reading this is like reading it thru rose tinted glasses!!! his rose tinted glasses!! like a movie in a haze 🥹#your writing is always so incredibly descriptive ari and i love love love that because it paints the scene so so well!!#it describes his emotions so well too — the part on him watching your tears is so pretty ‘crystalline & dew-drawn’ HOW PRETTY#the way the movie reflects on your irises — i love that image so much!!!! its such a vivid picture#satoru not knowing what to do when youre near; his emotions going haywire UUUGH forever a fave concept#and WHEN HE SPEAKS WKNDJEJD I THINK URE JUST SENSITIVE BABY HELLLLLOOOOOSUSJDJISJSJS#‘everything you do is soft’ MY GOSH that’s SO CUTE#anything is better than that irritating itch :((((((( GAWSH i love him#i LOOOOOVE the little descriptors at the start and how they set the mood for the scene omg love love loce#comparing his anger to a cup of chamomile??? oh my god i LOVE that how it simmers and boils omfg ari ur mind#and an angry satoru? oh my god take me tf out LOL IDK iF I CAN TAKE THAT LMAO#slicing the silence in the room into half is an AMAZING description ari omfg#‘dont act like such a child’ MY jaw DROPPED oh my god ari if he ever said that to me id actually cry#that oh fuck is so so loud and i love love love how you described that scene ari omg its so vivid and i could feel his and the readers#emotions thru it !!! i wish i could copy paste it properly but im rdg from my phone rn so 🥲#the idea that he hurts when you hurt is sooo oh my god im such a sucker for that and i think its so true!!#because as much as youre unaccustomed to him acting this way; he’s just as unaccustomed to treating you like this too :((((#oh my god him biting his lips to death :(( everything is meaningless . out of tune :(#see a man who loves you because he does :((( WAAAAH ILL SAWB RN#:(((( it makes him want to rearrange the the world & stitch those broken vowels back together HOW PRETTY#the sheer panic he feels at you sobbing bc he just doesnt know what to do#oh god :(( he thinks of you when he wants to handle you gently :(( bc thats all u rlly are :(( gentle :((#and its insane omg how kinda crazed u can feel he is abt u too. how uve managed to write in the extent of what he’d do just for y#i love the lil banter after 🥺 how he tries to keep things lighthearted still bc thats him!! thats satoru!!!#that dialogue is so tender ‘i dont like seeing u cry but i still want you to let me see u like that’ UGH i love that#:((((( and its that act of. he doesnt like it but he’ll brave it for u!! i love that line of him knowing that itll break his heart
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"Kento, can you play this game for me?"
Putting his shoes in the rack, and loosening his tie with two fingers, Kento's hands magnetised to your hips, and his lips to your forehead.
He hummed at the plastic-sealed game in your hands.
"I may be wrong, but I believe the enjoyment of a game comes through playing it yourself."
The game cover was a jagged mash of reds and blacks-- something grotesque, Kento had no doubt-- and you grimaced, apologetic.
"The thing is, I want to play it, but I just...can't. I don't think I could handle it, but...I could watch?"
Kento looked flatly at the game case. Your words still didn't seem to register.
"...you...just want to watch?"
"Yes."
"Watch me play it?"
"Yes."
"Wh-- ...never mind. Alright. I'll play it for you."
You gasped in joy, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek, and jumping onto the sofa. Kento huffed, his half-smile painting his irritation as false. With bags of sweets, snacks, fluffy blankets and the lights off, you had clearly placed money on him saying yes.
Kento sat, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, and watching you set the game up.
"It's a horror, I assume?"
"You assume right. You've got a camera, and there are ghosts, and an abandoned creepy village and you're trapped--"
A cool hum, unfazed. Kento leaned back, unbothered as the title screen opened, and he clicked through settings, suddenly sixteen again. The game began, the cut scene telling a tale of woe, and the barest hints of the dreadful, mangled spirits to come.
You chirped, hiding all of your toes beneath a blanket. Your body pressed to Kento's side, and he grunted, sweeping your legs over his lap without looking away from the screen. You crammed a sweet into your mouth, adorably wide-eyed enough to make Kento huff with a crooked smile.
You were an easy target for games like this; your vivid imagination and skittishness fell victim to haunting ambience, hook, line and sinker. Kento was safe-- slick, analytical, more method than man.
By the first ghosts, you threatened to pull the blanket over your eyes.
By the first fight, you jumped hard enough to upend popcorn all over Kento's lap, squealing and flapping your hands as Kento chastised you ("Darling-- you're a Sorcerer, for god's sake--").
By the boss fight, you had buried your face in Kento's neck, your arms throttling him as you clung for dear life. Kento grunted again, as concentrated as he was as a teenager, and paused the game for just long enough to lift you into his lap, rest his chin on your head and finish the fight. Two broad arms bracketed you, while clever fingers did their duty.
Kento finished the fight. He breathed out, completely unshaken, and looked down at you mulishly, gently scolding. You swallowed hard to feel him twitch inside his pants against your lower back. His voice was gravelly, the room still bathed in ghoulish light.
"I think that's quite enough for one night."
You looked up at him, suppressing laughter at yourself. Your voice was sickeningly sweet, coy, and you stroked your fingers down his chest, whispering.
"My hero."
Another hum, and a rumbling moan as your fingers hit his zipper. Kento took his spoils, your kisses a boon, and pressed you back into the sofa, deepening his kiss until his tongue stroked for entry, and you felt molten promise pit in your belly.
Without warning, Kento pulled back with a sigh. He sat in the corner of the sofa, mellowsoft eyes on you in a determined half-smile. Your mouth watered as he unzipped himself, hooked his aching cock out and held it in his palm. He offered one slow stroke, a bead of pre cum trickling down his fingers.
As you crawled towards him, Kento held up his other hand to halt. You obeyed, close to a whimper, as Kento scolded you, and began stroking himself to a ragged moan and spreading thighs.
"Ah ah ah. I thought you liked to watch?"
#pseudowho#jjk#kento nanami#haitch#nanami kento#jjk nanami#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#nanami my love#jujutsu kaisen nanami#nanami fanart#nanami fluff#nanami kento fluff#nanami kento smut#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami smut#nanami x reader#nanami x y/n#nanami x you#Husband Nanami#nanami kento x y/n#Nanami Kento X reader fluff#Nanami Kento x reader smut
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25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1
Hey there!📚✨
As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.
But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.
Power of Rhythm 🎵
One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:
a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.
Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."
b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.
Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."
c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.
Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)
Paint with Words 🎨
Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:
a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.
Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."
b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.
Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."
c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.
Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."
Choose Your Words Wisely 📚
Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:
a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.
Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."
b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.
Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."
c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.
Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."
Play with Sound 🎶
The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:
a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.
Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."
b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.
Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."
c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.
Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."
Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️
How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:
a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.
Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."
b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.
Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."
c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.
Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."
Power of White Space ⬜
Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.
Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.
Inside, a single word.
'Yes.'"
Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️
One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.
Edit Ruthlessly ✂️
Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.
Study the Masters 📖
Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.
Practice, Practice, Practice 💪
Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.
Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.
Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:
Create a Word Bank 🏦
Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.
Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣
There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.
Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."
Power of Silence 🤫
Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.
Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."
Play with Perspective 👁️
Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.
Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.
Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️
While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.
Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."
Create Contrast 🌓
Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.
Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."
Use Synesthesia 🌈
Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.
Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."
Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊
Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.
Create a Sensory Tour 🚶♀️
When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.
Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."
Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃♂️
While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:
Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."
Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨
Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.
Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."
Play with Time ⏳
Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.
Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."
Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁
Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.
Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."
Create Word Pictures 🖼️
Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.
Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."
Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭
Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.
Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy
Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.
Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.
Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T
Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!
#writing tips#on writing#creative writing#writers block#writing#how to write#thewriteadviceforwriters#writers and poets#writers on tumblr#writeblr#aspiring author#author#book writing#indie author#writer#indie writer#authors of tumblr#fiction writing#writing a book#writing advice#writing blog#writing community#writing guide#writing help#writing characters#writing ideas#writing inspiration#novel writing#romance writing#writing reference
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based after this scene in season one 💦 sucking stepbro!rafe off 👅
Your legs swung back and forth as you patiently waited on your stepbrother’s bed, waiting for him to get done talking about something with Ward. You knew he didn’t necessarily like anyone in his room without him knowing, but you just had to tell him what was on your mind. The sound of footsteps pulled you from your thoughts, watching as the door opened and in walked Rafe. He let out a small snort as he saw you, shaking his head as he grabbed the keys to his bike. “What are you doing in here?” He asked, mind focused on something else at the moment.
As fucking pretty you looked, he had plans to go to the Southside to Barry’s to get some blow before Topper’s party that night. He watched as you bit your glossy bottom lip, looking down at your pink painted toes. He let out a huff, already irritated from the berating from his dad. “What’d I tell you about coming in here?” He asked.
The truth was that behind the walls of Tannyhill, Rafe Cameron was starting to teach his innocent stepsister some nasty things. It was wrong, he absolutely knew that. You on the other hand, were so curious to learn more from him as he knew best. You couldn’t help yourself, the memory of him teaching you how to suck him off, vivid in your mind. You felt the blush come to your cheeks, your eyes meeting his blue ones. “I.. I wanna do that thing again.” You spoke shyly, watching as he crossed his arms.
Rafe leaned against his desk, raising a brow as he became a little more focused on you. He’d been wanting to corrupt you for a while now, your saint like ways making it an even bigger turn on for him to want to ruin you. “And what thing is that?” He asked, tone a little taunting. Maybe going to get coke could hold off for a few, he had some time.
“I wanna-ummm… suck it again.” You said quietly, a little ashamed as you held back from saying the word he told you it was called.
Not moving from his place against the desk, he nodded his head slowly with a hum to hold back his grin. “Suck what again? My dick?” He asked, already feeling the ache run down to his balls. Oh this was going to be easy. One lesson and you already were feening for more. You nodded your head eagerly, tits bouncing in the tank top you wore which his eyes went to before back to your beautiful face. He laughed, giving you an amused look as he uncrossed his arms. “You want it so bad then come get it.” He said, reaching over to shut the door and lock it.
You giggled, hopping off the bed and sinking down to your knees in front of him. He looked even more giant from this angle, staring down at you as you popped the button open of his khaki shorts and pulled the zipper down. Pulling his pretty cock out, it nearly smacked you in the face. You wrapped your delicate hand around it, looking up at him through thick lashes.
“Go ahead, put it in your mouth little slut.” He drawled out, watching you slowly wrap your lips around the tip. It was quite the sight to see again, taking the back of your head to shove it down more. You gagged around him, trying to pull back from the grip he had on your hair. “You’re fine. Breathe your nose.” He said, thrusting his hips forward.
You did as he told you, breathing your nose as he began sliding his cock in and out of your mouth. He let an almost amused laugh as he watched his thick meat stretch your pretty lips open. The way you had your hands behind your back already like a good little obedient slut he was about to start training even more. “Fuck yes… you like getting your throat fucked by your stepbrother?” He asked, pulling out and slapping his dick against your tongue.
“Y-es.” You squeaked out, desperately opening your mouth for him to shove it back down your wanting throat.
Rafe slid his fat cock back in your wet mouth, letting his hand roughly grab the back of your head to push down his entire massive length. You placed your hands on either side of his hips, whining around him as he continued to hold you there. Maybe he was taking out his frustrations about his dad out on you, but then again you wanted this and he was enjoying it too much.
“Don’t try and back out now sis, you were sneaking in here just to get some dick down your throat. Remember?” He said, pulling out so that you could catch your breath for a second, only to slam back in your mouth. “Oh yeah and after Top’s party tonight, you’re gonna learn to take your stepbrother’s dick in your pussy.”
#rafe cameron#stepbro!rafe#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron concepts#outerbanks rafe#rafe outer banks#drew starkey#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey smut#obx#obx smut#outer banks
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In the Glow of Christmas Lights, You Bring Me Clarity
Small one shot of Alexia Putellas x Vision-Impaired!Reader
Fluff
The soft hum of holiday music filled the living room, blending with the faint crackle of the fireplace. The scent of cinnamon, pine, and freshly baked cookies wafted through the air, wrapping the space in warmth and comfort. Christmas lights twinkled along the walls, their colors vivid even through the haze of your vision.
It was one of your bad days. The world was a blurry mess, the details of the room fading into indistinct shapes and shadows. You’d hoped the festive atmosphere might distract you from it, but the frustration lingered like a weight in your chest.
“Need a hand?” Alexia’s voice broke through your thoughts, soft and steady as always.
You turned toward her shape, the dark sweater she wore standing out against the glow of the tree. “I think I’ve got it,” you replied, though your hands fumbled as you tried to string the last ornament onto the tree.
“Hmm,” Alexia hummed skeptically. She crossed the room in a few strides and gently took the ornament from your hand. “Let me help.”
Her touch was familiar, grounding. She guided your hand with hers, lifting the ornament to a higher branch before stepping back. “Perfect,” she said, though you couldn’t tell if it was or not.
“Thanks,” you muttered, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
Alexia crouched slightly, trying to meet your gaze. “Bad day?”
You nodded reluctantly. “It’s hard to enjoy everything when I can’t… see it.”
Her expression softened, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it lightly. “Close your eyes,” she said.
“What?”
“Just trust me. Close your eyes.”
With a sigh, you did as she asked.
“Okay,” Alexia began, her voice warm and soothing. “The tree is glowing—it’s covered in golden lights, the ones you insisted we use this year. The ornaments are a mix of red, silver, and green. The star at the top is a little crooked because I rushed it, but I think it gives the tree some charm.”
You smiled faintly, her voice painting a picture clearer than your eyes could manage.
“There’s a plate of cookies on the coffee table,” she continued. “Some are burnt—my fault again—but the ones you made are perfect. And the stockings are hanging by the fireplace. Yours looks fuller than mine, by the way.”
You laughed softly. “That’s because you said you didn’t want anything.”
“I lied,” she teased.
Alexia shifted closer, her hand still holding yours. “There’s snow falling outside,” she said, her tone quieter now. “It’s not heavy, just a light dusting, but it’s enough to make everything sparkle.”
Her words painted the scene so vividly in your mind that you felt your frustration begin to fade.
“And you?” you asked. “What do you look like right now?”
She paused, her thumb brushing over your hand. “I’m wearing that sweater you hate—dark green with the itchy fabric. My hair’s a mess because I didn’t have time to fix it after training. And I’m smiling because you’re here, and it’s Christmas, and that’s all I really wanted.”
Your eyes opened, blurring back to reality, but the warmth in Alexia’s voice stayed with you.
“You’re so cheesy,” you said, but there was no mistaking the emotion in your voice.
Alexia grinned, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Maybe. But it made you smile.”
“It did,” you admitted, squeezing her hand in return.
The room was still a blur, but it didn’t matter as much anymore. With Alexia by your side, grounding you in her world, Christmas felt clearer than it ever had.
Alexia stayed close, her hand in yours, as the warm glow of the fireplace danced across the room. You could feel the unspoken comfort she brought, but there was still a weight pressing against your chest—a mix of anticipation and frustration.
“I, uh…” you started, your voice wavering.
Alexia tilted her head slightly, her expression curious. “What is it?”
You reached into the pocket of your sweater, fingers brushing against the small object hidden there. It was supposed to be her gift, something you’d been planning for weeks. But with your sight so unreliable today, you couldn’t make out the details well enough to hand it to her properly or explain its meaning the way you wanted.
“I got you something,” you admitted softly, pulling your hand back before you fully retrieved it.
Her eyes lit up, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” you murmured, chewing on your bottom lip. “But it’s… it’s not perfect. And I can’t even—” You stopped, the words catching in your throat.
Alexia’s brow furrowed slightly, concern creeping into her expression. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain. Whatever it is, I’ll love it.”
You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “No, it’s not that simple. I wanted to make it special, but I can’t even see well enough to… to make sure it’s right. I wanted to give it to you properly.”
Her hand tightened around yours, her touch steadying you. “You don’t have to do anything perfectly, amor. Just tell me.”
You exhaled slowly, nodding as you finally retrieved the small object from your pocket. It was a delicate silver bracelet, simple yet elegant, with a tiny charm shaped like a star.
“I thought it reminded me of you,” you said quietly. “You’re always this bright, steady presence in my life. Like a star—always there, even when I can’t see clearly.”
Alexia stared at the bracelet, her expression softening as her fingers gently brushed over yours to take it. She held it up, letting it catch the warm glow of the Christmas lights.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
“I wasn’t sure if it was good enough,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
Alexia shook her head, setting the bracelet down carefully before taking both your hands in hers. “It’s more than enough. Do you know why?”
You shook your head, unsure.
“Because it came from you,” she said simply. “And because you always make me feel like the luckiest person in the world, no matter what. This just proves it even more.”
You felt the tension ease, your chest lighter as her words settled in.
“Thank you,” she said, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your temple. “I’m going to wear it every day.”
Your lips curled into a small smile, your heart full despite the blurry world around you. Alexia had a way of making everything feel clearer, even when you couldn’t see it for yourself.
-------------------------------------------------------
I want to wish everyone happy holidays and a healthy 2025! Thank you for all the love and support you've all shown my writing- it means the world to me. This might be my last piece for a while, but I always cherish the encouragement and kindness you've all shared. Wishing you all the best in the year ahead! 🎄🎇
#woso one shot#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso#woso community#woso x reader#alexia putellas one shot#alexia putellas fanfic#alexia putellas imagine#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas
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do u have any tips on how to be a better writer? or improve? idkk I don't think I'm that good.. like urs is do whimsical and majestic and im sitting here wondering on how u make urs so magical..... do NOT gatekeep nana 😓😓
i have an incredibly vivid imagination so when i write it’s like the scene is playing out in my mind so that helps tremendously
try to extend scenes by describing what the reader/mc is feeling or seeing and really elaborate on it, go into detail and paint a picture for the reader don’t just say “he looked needy” say “his pupils were blown out as he sat back on his knees, he had an almost pleading look in his eyes like he was desperate for my next instruction” see how much better that sounds? it paints a more vivid picture for ur reader
when ur describing scenery or positions that ur reader is in, write it out to the best of your ability then go back and reread it like a reader would and see if you can picture the position/scenery from what u said alone, if not u should be more descriptive
those are my biggest tips to make a story seem more realistic and immersive!! hope this helps uu!! if u have any more questions u can dm me :p (and tysm for the compliment ur so sweet)
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Funny How Times Flies | 5
terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader
summary: you and terry have been locked in your relationship for five months, and with the holidays approaching, you both agree to finally meet each other’s families.
warnings: explicit smut (18+), slow jams, making love, oral (f), fluff, encouragement, family gathering, angst, anxiety, mention of a pregnancy scare, mention of kids and marriage, thanksgiving, words: (4k)
Note: Hiiii. I hope y'all eat some good food today and have a good time with your family. Please enjoy! Let me know your thoughts and if you want to be tagged in future parts.
series masterlist
-
You and Terry have been dating for nearly five months, and it has been so wonderful. Like any couple, you've faced ups and downs; for instance, Terry hasn't found a job since moving to Lafayette, and you had a pregnancy scare.
Fortunately, both of you were relieved to discover you weren't pregnant, but it did spark an honest conversation about wanting kids and getting married to each other one day.
Living together now has undeniably grown you both as a couple. You've fallen more deeply in love with Terry than before. Just waking up and seeing his handsome face every day was everything.
Of course, both of you established clear boundaries that have fostered responsibility, trust, and respect in your relationship. A gentle breeze pulled you from your thoughts, and you adjusted to the soft sunlight that filtered through the trees.
You gaze over at Terry, and you can't help but smile at him laying on his back on the picnic blanket. His eyes were closed peacefully, and his chest rose and fell gently with each breath.
You turn your gaze away from him and absorb the atmosphere around you. The park presents a stunning autumn scene, filled with the sounds of chirping birds and the rustling of fallen leaves.
Though the day's warmth is slightly more intense than you'd hoped for, it only adds to the coziness of the moment. You blink, pulling yourself out of your daydreaming, and turn your attention back to Terry.
You can't help but wonder what he said moments before, triggering his soft chuckle. You feel a warmth spread through you, a mix of affection and curiosity, and you can’t wait to hear what’s on his mind.
“I’ve been trying to find the best way to express this, but I’m not sure how—” Terry starts, his words tumbling out in a rush as he begins to ramble, quickly losing his train of thought.
You watch him with concern, sensing his hesitation. “What is it, T?” you ask gently, placing your hand softly on his arm to offer reassurance.
After taking a deep breath, he suddenly looks directly at you, his eyes sparkling excitedly. “I want you to meet my family,” he declares, his voice filled with enthusiasm.
Surprised and nervous, you widen your eyes and respond, “Really? You mean, like… your parents and your family?” Terry nodded eagerly, his bright, expressive eyes gleaming with warmth and genuine affection.
A wide, sincere smile stretched across his face. “Yes, baby! I want my family to finally meet the incredible woman I’m in love with,” he proclaimed, his voice infused with enthusiasm that hung like a melody in the crisp air around you.
“They’ve been constantly asking about you and are practically excited about getting to know you!” His heartfelt words enveloped you in a comforting embrace, easing the nervous flutter of uncertainty gripping your stomach.
The notion of becoming part of his family ignited a joyful spark within you, painting vivid images in your mind of laughter-filled gatherings and shared experiences.
Yet, despite the warmth swelling in your chest, you couldn’t shake a twinge of hesitation. You glanced at him, unsure of the expectations swirling around this moment.
Noticing the uncertainty in your expression, Terry's demeanor shifted. The enthusiasm in his eyes dimmed slightly as a shadow of concern crossed his face.
He shifted his gaze downward, struggling with his own words. Clearing his throat, he spoke again, his voice softening to a more tentative tone.
“But if you don’t think you’re ready for that, then it’s completely okay,” Terry said, his sincerity evident. He rose from the soft blanket as he took a few steps away.
You stood up immediately, your heart urging you to bridge the space between you. With a gentle resolve, you walked toward him and wrapped your arms around his waist. "Terry, I'm ready"
The sweetness of your voice prompted him to turn around, and in that moment, his expression shifted. Wonder flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by gratitude and hope.
"I would love to meet your family, Terry!" you said with a warm, inviting smile, excited at the thought. He paused for a moment, his expression shifting to one of surprise.
"Wait, are you sure?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Yes!" you replied confidently, your heart racing. Terry’s face broke into a bright smile, unable to contain his joy.
He scooped you up effortlessly and spun you around in a playful circle. "Terry, put me down!" you laughed with exhilaration and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm glad to hear that! I was going to ask you if you wanted to go with me this Thursday coming up for Thanksgiving," he said, gently setting you back on your feet but still holding you close.
"Of course I want to go! But only if you come with me to my parents' house tomorrow," you proposed, playfully poking your lips towards him, eyes closed in anticipation. "Seal it with a kiss."
He leaned in and kissed you passionately, sending a warm rush through your body. "Mmm, Terry…why do you have to do that with your tongue?" you purred, biting your lip.
You gazed up into his eyes; the playfulness between you was real. He shrugged, a smirk dancing across his lips. "Don’t act like you don’t love it," he teased.
Terry suddenly grabbed your ass, causing you to squeal in surprise and delight. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of affection and lust.
-
It was a bright, sunny day, the kind where the warmth of the sun seemed to create a joyful atmosphere. You and Terry strolled hand in hand along the familiar path to your parents' ranch home.
As you approached the front door, Terry glanced down at his clothes for the fifth time, a nervous look on his face. “Do I look good?” he asked, adjusting a collar that didn’t need fixing.
You chuckled softly, your heart swelling with affection. “Sweetie, you look absolutely handsome. Stop worrying! Now come on!” you reassured him, flashing a warm smile before pressing the doorbell.
After moments of waiting, the door swung open, revealing your mom with a beaming smile illuminating her face. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around you in a tight, loving hug.
“Hi, Mama,” you said, relishing the comfort of her embrace before gently pulling away.
“Hey, my baby girl—Oh,” she began, stopping mid-sentence as her eyes landed on Terry.
“Oh, hello! You must be Terry. It's so nice to finally meet you! We’ve heard so much about you!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a firm, welcoming hug.
“We would have loved to meet you sooner, but…” she teased, giving you a playful glance filled with maternal affection.
“It’s truly nice to meet you too, ma’am,” Terry replied, a little taken aback by the warmth of her greeting as he pulled away, looking genuinely pleased.
“Come on in, you two!” Your mom said, stepping aside to let both of you enter. The interior of your childhood home felt inviting and warm, filled with cherished memories.
Terry's eyes widened as he took in the various elements that hinted at your upbringing. “You have a lovely house,” he said, glancing around the cozy living room and noting family photos adorning the walls.
Each picture told a story, capturing moments of laughter and love with you and your parents. He added, “It feels so homey here.” You looked up at him and felt pleased to see the look in his eyes.
“Why, thank you, honey!” your mom replied, closing the front door gently behind you. Her eyes sparkled with appreciation, and Terry nodded admiringly at her.
His earlier nerves started to dissipate, and he switched his attention back to you, a sweet smile lighting up his face. Your mom led you both into the living room.
Your dad and some other family members were waiting there. He was seated on the couch, a comforting presence exuding the authority of a protective father.
"Hey...now, there's my sweet pea," your dad said, clapping his hands and standing up. He quickly crossed the room to envelop you in a warm, tight hug.
"Hi, Dad!" you said with a chuckle before pulling away from the hug to motion him towards Terry. “Who’s this?” Your dad asked, glancing over at Terry, his brow slightly furrowed.
Terry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a subtle sign of his nervousness, while you instinctively squeezed his hand, offering him strength.
“Dad, this is Terry, my boyfriend,” you proudly introduced him, smiling warmly at your dad. “And Terry, this is my dad.” Terry took a deep breath, clearly feeling the weight of your dad’s scrutinizing gaze.
You shifted your eyes nervously between them, hoping this potentially awkward moment would pass without incident. “Terry, huh?” your dad began, his expression severe and unwelcoming.
“So, Terry, what are your intentions with my daughter?” your dad asked. Your heart raced a little at the question, but you understood your dad's protective instincts came from a caring place.
Sensing the moment's gravity, Terry straightened his posture, his voice steady and confident. “I intend to treat her with the respect and the love she deserves, sir. She means a lot to me;"
Terry moves his eyes away from your dad to look at you. "I love her and care deeply about her. I see myself spending the rest of my life with her, honestly.”
Your heart fluttered as you smiled at him, and Your dad nodded thoughtfully, a satisfied smile slowly creeping onto his face as he assessed Terry's response.
“Good answer. If you treat her right, we won’t have any problems. But let me be clear: if you hurt her in any way, you’ll have to answer to me and my shotgun.”
Terry was confused on the last part until your dad pointed the shot gun above the fireplace. He nodded, quickly understanding. “I understand, sir. I promise,” Terry replied.
“Alright then,” your dad said, visibly relaxing now. “Welcome to the family, son.” He extended his hand, and Terry shook it firmly, smiling genuinely.
Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, you laughed lightly. “Okay, let me introduce you to everyone else,” you said, taking his hand again and leading him deeper into the living room.
With a bright smile and eagerness, you announced to your family, “Hey, everyone! This is Terry, my boyfriend! Terry, this is my Uncle Eddie, my dad's brother, and his wife, my Aunt Clara,”
You pointed to each as you went along, “And over there are their kids, my cousins, Mia and Jalen.”
“Nice to meet you all,” Terry said, offering a warm smile as he waved, his nervousness fading as he engaged with your family.
“Welcome! It’s about time we finally met the guy who has our niecy smiling so much!” Aunt Clara exclaimed, her voice full of warmth as she pulled Terry into a hug as tight as your mom’s.
“Yeah, if you keep making her this happy, we’ve never seen her glow so bright!” Mia joked, her playful tone earning hearty laughter from the group.
You rolled your eyes at their teasing but couldn’t help but smile wider. “Alright, alright! Enough of that!” you said, laughing along. As the conversation flowed effortlessly.
The atmosphere in the room became lively and inviting, filled with laughter and childhood stories from your family. Soon, you all were around the table, and Terry gradually relaxed, engaging with everyone.
The mouthwatering aroma of the food wafted through the air, filling the room with the comforting scent of soul food, which always brought a sense of warmth and joy during family gatherings on holidays.
Dishes brimming with fried chicken wings, ham, collard greens, macaroni and cheese, and cornbread were spread across the table, each a testament to home-cooked love and tradition.
After everyone had gathered and offered a heartfelt blessing over the meal, you all began eating and drifted into a conversation about anything.
Your parents asked Terry a series of questions to learn more about him, curious about his interests and background. You chimed in with answers to ease his nervousness, sharing details that highlighted Terry's personality and values.
As the conversation progressed, your dad seemed particularly fascinated by Terry's marine background. The more they talked, the more your parents began to appreciate him.
Their growing fondness for him was reflected in their expressions and laughter. It was clear that Terry was making a solid impression, and you couldn’t help but feel happy seeing them get along so well.
“So, Terry,” Uncle Eddie said, leaning back in his chair with a stern demeanor, “Since you've been done here, have you found a job?” He asked.
You and Terry exchanged an apprehensive glance, silently communicating the unexpected question. “Uh...no...I’m still looking for a job, sir,” Terry replied, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.
“Wait, you’re telling me you’ve moved here to be with her, but you’re not working? Sounds like a cozy arrangement,” he remarked, his tone sharper.
Terry kept his composure, responding steadily, “I’m actively looking for a job, sir. Moving here was a big step for me, and I want to ensure I find the right fit.”
Aunt Clara chimed in, “Oh, come on, Eddie! It’s tough out there with the job market right now. Give the boy a break.” But your uncle wasn’t finished.
“Sure, but it sounds like he’s just living off her. What’s he contributing?” he pressed, crossing his arms, a challenging look in his eyes.
You felt the tension rise and placed a reassuring hand on Terry’s lap. “Unc, please chill out. Terry has been incredibly supportive of me, and he’s been working hard to find a job that suits him.”
“Supportive, huh?” Uncle Eddie countered. “What the hell does that even mean? How supportive can you be if you’re not bringing in income?”
Terry spoke up, his tone calm but firm. “I may not be working right now, but I’m doing everything I can to help around the house and support her emotionally.”
Your dad jumped in, sensing the growing hostility. “Alright, Eddie, that’s enough. Everyone’s situation is different; judging Terry without knowing him is unfair. He’s trying, and that's what counts.”
“Exactly,” your mom added, giving Eddie a pointed look. “Remember when you were struggling to get started? It takes time, and moving to a new place is hard. Terry deserves our support, not criticism.”
Mia and Jalen nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Pops, you’re being a bit harsh,” Jalen said. With a sigh, Uncle Eddie relented slightly. “Well, he’d better step up soon if he wants to stick around,” he muttered.
The conversation gradually shifted back to lighter topics, but you felt proud of Terry for standing his ground. You squeezed his hand, and he smiled slightly in appreciation.
After dinner, everyone moved into the living room to talk and play games; you took Terry's hand and led him upstairs into your old bedroom.
“I’m really sorry about my uncle; he can be quite overwhelming at times,” you said, observing Terry as he scanned your room uncertainly.
It felt like the silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. He was lost in thought, maybe processing everything around him.
“Terry, baby, you know you can talk to me,?” you asked softly, your hand finding his shoulder gently. You assured him he could lean on you, especially in such moments.
Terry turned towards you, revealing the anxiety in his eyes. “I want to give you what you deserve and to provide for you; I can't do that without a job,” he began.
“Terry, don’t worry about my uncle; he just like talking shit. You’re doing your best, and I love you so much for that,” you reassured him.
“It’s not all about what you provide; it’s about the love we share and the support we give each other. You are a good man with a good heart. Remember, we’re doing this together.”
Terry looked into your eyes, his expression softening. “You always know how to lift me up.”
Desiring to lighten the mood further, "I know, handsome" you said with a playful grin, “How about a joke? What do you call fake spaghetti?”
Terry raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “I don’t know, what?”
“An impasta!” you giggled, and to your delight, he broke into laughter, the tension easing away.
“What? That was terrible!” he chuckled, cringing while shaking his head, but the smile on his face told you it had worked.
“Well, I have plenty more where that came from!” you teased playfully, stepping closer to him, eager to close the distance between you.
Your lips met in a sweet, lingering kiss that seemed to capture the essence of your togetherness and love. When you finally pulled away, you gazed into his eyes, which sparkled with affection.
“I love you, Terry. I truly believe things will work out; we just have to keep the faith,” you said earnestly.
“I love you too, baby. Thank you,” he replied softly, a genuine smile lighting up his face and warming your heart. Hand in hand, you both left the cozy confines of the bedroom.
Just as you stepped into the hallway, Uncle Eddie appeared unexpectedly, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of you. “Hey, there you are!” he exclaimed, but his demeanor quickly shifted to one of concern.
“I was just looking for you two. I want to apologize for my earlier behavior. I’m really sorry, Terry, and I’m sorry to both of you. It was unnecessary,” your uncle admitted, sincerity evident in his voice.
You glanced at Terry, who nodded in acknowledgment. “It's cool,” he responded, showing he appreciated the gesture.
“Um, Terry,” Uncle Eddie continued, his tone shifting to a more serious note.
“I remember you talking about your jiu-jitsu training in the Marines. How would you feel about a job at my training school?” His eyes reflected genuine interest, and you gasped in disbelief.
Terry’s expression transformed into one of astonishment. “What? For real? Really?” he questioned, his voice a mix of excitement and surprise.
“Absolutely! It’s the least I could do after everything. Plus, I could really use someone with your skills and passion. We can discuss the details later,” Uncle Eddie said, his voice laced with enthusiasm as he reached out to shake Terry's hand firmly.
“Oh, and you both are a beautiful couple. I wish you two the best,” he added warmly, glancing between you, showing a sense of remorse for his previous actions.
“Thank you, Uncle Eddie,” you said, your smile wide as you appreciated his words and the generous offer. He nodded, visibly relieved, before turning to make his way back to the living room.
Feeling pride and excitement for Terry, you squeezed his hand tightly. “See? Just like I said, things work out,” you beamed at him, confidence bubbling within you.
Terry grinned back, his self-assurance visibly restored. At that moment, it felt as though everything was finally aligning perfectly in your lives.
-
A few days passed, and the long-awaited day finally arrived: Thanksgiving. Today, you will be meeting Terry's family, and you have been preparing for this moment.
Terry carefully backed into a parking spot, allowing you to take in the cozy, welcoming home adorned with autumn decorations. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the introductions ahead.
Terry touched your lap and said, "You have nothing to worry about, baby. My family is going to love you, I promise." His comforting words boosted your spirits.
You both stepped out of the car and took a deep breath to ensure you looked presentable. Hand in hand with Terry, you walked toward the front door.
Just as you reached the halfway point, the door swung open to reveal a brown-skinned, petite, slim woman with dark brown, short hair. She stepped out of the front door to greet Terry, and when her eyes shifted to you.
You smiled shyly and said, "Hi!" Your heart raced a little as you stepped into Terry's mother's welcoming presence. She was beautiful, and it was clear where he inherited his good looks.
"Oh, hi, beautiful! Welcome to the family!" she exclaimed with warmth in her voice, and before you could respond, she enveloped you in a tight hug.
The sweet scent of her perfume filled your nose, instantly putting you at ease. You smiled back at her, and the warmth of her embrace made you feel accepted.
As you pulled away, you glanced at Terry, who was watching the exchange with a beaming smile, who was delighted. His contagious happiness made you feel even more welcome in this new family.
"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Richmond," you said, pulling away from the hug. She grinned and replied, "Oh, it's very nice to meet you too. Come on in."
As she walked you into her beautiful house, you exclaimed, "Wow, something smells good!"
Mrs. Richmond smiled and said, "Yes, dinner is almost ready. Terry, you and your girlfriend should get settled into the guest bedroom. Not everyone is here yet."
“Sure, Ma,” Terry replied, leaning down to kiss his mom’s cheek quickly before effortlessly grabbing both of your suitcases. You followed him upstairs to the cozy guest bedroom.
After freshening up and gathering your thoughts, you felt excitement mixed with nerves. Once you both returned downstairs, Terry introduced you to his dad.
"Nice to meet you, young lady" He welcomed you with a warm smile and a firm handshake. You couldn't deny how much Terry resembled his father.
Mr. Richmond exuded kindness, making you feel at ease right away. Then you met with his brother and sister, and things went similarly well; they were full of laughter, tales, and good-natured teasing.
His uncle was funny. "I see you, nephew" his uncle whispered, giving him a nudge. His niece and nephews, bursting with energy, excitedly informed you about his favorite movies and toys.
Terry's family welcomed you with genuine smiles, complimented your appearance, and was happy to finally meet you. This warmth washed away lingering nerves and filled your heart with a sense of belonging.
As you settled into the family dynamic, you laughed and joked with Janelle, his older sister. Her vibrant personality made your conversation flow easily.
However, while sharing a light-hearted story, your gaze drifted toward Terry. You couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly he played with his nieces and nephews.
Janelle noticed your distraction, followed your gaze and her expression turned knowing. “Wow?” she said, raising an eyebrow playfully.
You shifted your attention to her, feeling caught. “What?” you asked, feigning innocence. Janelle continued, “I’ve never seen anyone look at my brother like you do. You’re really in love with him, huh?”
Her words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily stunned that she had picked up on your feelings. You laughed shyly, brushing your hair back as you contemplated responding.
"Yes, yes, I am!" Your gaze drifted again to your boyfriend. Terry caught your gaze, and you both looked at each other lovingly. Before he could react, one of his nephews tackled him to the ground.
You giggled quietly and turned back to Janelle. "You know. I have known Terry all his life," She began with a smile.
"And he's never introduced anyone to the family before," Janelle said with a warm smile, "but until now, you might just be the one, girl. I'm really happy to see my brother with someone like you." Her words surprised you, and a swell of warmth filled your chest.
"Wow! Thanks, Janelle. That really means a lot to me, and I sincerely hope I am," you replied, feeling a rush of warmth and happiness. The atmosphere around you was inviting, and it felt like you were beginning to carve out a place in their family.
You and Janelle moved on to discuss—everything from favorite movies to embarrassing childhood stories—until Terry approached, a playful glint in his eyes.
"Hey, do you want to join us for a game of spades?" he asked, nodding toward his mom and Shawn, seated at the smaller dining room table.
"Yeah," you answered. After a few lively rounds of the card game, filled with laughter and friendly banter, you felt more comfortable with his family.
It was nice to connect and share these moments. Once the game concluded and the evening wound down, you and Terry bid goodnight to everyone.
Hand in hand, you ascended the staircase to the guest bedroom. As you removed your jewelry, relishing the feeling of the day winding down.
Terry wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin gently on your shoulder, creating a cocoon of warmth. "Wasn't it so bad after all?" he asked, his voice low and comforting.
You placed your earrings carefully in your bag and, still caught in his embrace, shook your head in agreement. "So why were you so nervous?" Terry asked, turning you to face him.
His eyes searched yours for an answer. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, trying to convey your feelings through the embrace.
"Honestly, I should be asking you the same thing!" You said, looking up at him sweetly. “Nah…I asked you first, baby girl," Terry replied playfully.
His expression softened into that sweet look you adored—the kind that assured you that you could share anything with him, the look indicating that, from the very beginning, you were meant to be together.
"I don't know," you started, feeling vulnerable yet open. "I just had this notion in my head that they wouldn’t like me, you know? But, of course, I was proved wrong. Your family is incredibly sweet, and I love them."
"I feel the same way about your family," Terry said, his expression earnest. "And honestly, even if things hadn't gone perfectly, it wouldn’t matter because I never let you go. Plus, I feel you’re destined to be Mrs. Richmond."
Your heart flipped at his words, and your eyes sparkled with joy. You couldn't hold back the surge of emotion; you leaned in and pressed your lips to his in a sweet kiss.
"I'm never letting you go, either, Terry. I’m forever yours!" you declared confidently, resting your foreheads together. Terry kissed you, but it became a bit heated. *edited* added some smut
Terry placed his hand under your skirt, feeling his fingers caressing against your now wet panties. You put a hand on his chest, halting him just inches from you. "Terry, we're not about to get it on in your parents' house."
He flashed a playful smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned in closer, pressing his warm chest against yours. "Come on, baby," he urged, his voice low.
"All we have to do is be quiet." You raised an eyebrow in playful disbelief, curiosity mingling with a hint of challenge in your gaze. "Oh really? And how exactly do you plan on keeping me quiet?"
A smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "You know you love it when I get loud."
Terry took a step back, a glint of determination in his eyes. "I promise this time will be different. Just trust me. I’ll lock the door and play some music to drown out any sounds," he whispered, leaning in to gently kiss your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.
His words and the warmth of his breath against your skin made it hard to resist. You could feel your resolve softening as the moment's thrill washed over you. Slowly, you found yourself giving in, your heart racing with excitement.
Terry went to the Bluetooth speaker on the dresser, connected his phone, and began playing some slow jams. He turned back to you, giving you a look that you couldn't deny.
"Fine," you finally said, a smile creeping onto your lips and the lust hanging in the air. You pulled him down into a kiss, and both of you began taking each other's clothes off.
Terry lays you down on the bed, and you let a light moan as he begins kissing your inner thighs before giving your wet pussy lips the soft pecks it deserve.
You cover your mouth, trying to keep quiet as he spreads your legs out a little wider before going back to eating you out. You removed your hand from your lips and bit your lip.
You began rolling your hips to feel his face against your pussy, "Terry...ahh, it feels so good," you whimpered, and he looked up for a second with your juice on his face.
Terry plunging back between your legs and your eyes rolled in the back of your head, secured your hips up an inch to get a little bit more.
He let out a little growl, gripping your lower back to rock your hips against his face, soaking his nose and mouth. "Oh fuck…Terry. So feels good."
You cried in pleasure; that was always music to his ears. Terry couldn't get enough of hearing you telling him how he made you feel and the pleasure he gave you.
Your eyes rolled in the back of your head when you felt his tongue hit a good sweet spot. "Mmm, you're doing good, baby," He declares so deeply, voice sending shrinks down your spine to your dripping cunt.
Terry dives back in, tongue dipping in and out of your hole at an unforgiving pace. You gripped the sheets, "Yes, just like that." You whisper, feeling yourself get already close.
"Does my good girl need to come?" Terry asked in a whispter, and you nodded, shaking and tense. "I'm so close Terry…can I cum, please?" you whimpered, voice wavering more and more.
"Cum for me, baby," he ordered and you did, crying out his name…shaking from the mindblowing climax. You lay there quietly, trying to get yourself together.
Terry began kissing up your body to your lips, and you moaned tasting the juice of your cum on his tongue. You felt his hand grip your plump waist and wrapping your legs around his waist.
Terry pulled away and smirked, filling you up perfectly; you silently him as he moaned at the feeling of you clenching around him tight.
His forehead leaned against your forehead, pulling out slightly before thrusting back in. The thrusts were slowly and gently, the breathless moans between you, and the music wrapped around you like a warm embrace.
"Shit...baby, you're the best thing that happened to me; you lift me up, love me for who I am, and I'm forever thankful you know that," Terry whispered, kissing your neck.
"Yes, ahhh Terry. I'm so happy I met you on that trip, you give me so I'm thankful for you, too," you whispered, getting emotional as you looked deeply into his beautiful eyes.
Terry wipes your tears away and kisses you for a few minutes before lifting your leg to be on his shoulder to go deeper. "So deep, so fucking deep Terry"
You let out a light moan, placing your hand on the back of your leg to keep it steady as the music drives out the sounds of your skins slapping togather.
"Fuck, I love you baby." Terry moans, leaning his forehead against yours and looking into your eyes deeply, thrusting a little faster, setting a steady rhythm.
"Ah…Terry….I love you, I love so fucking much" You moaned softly, feeling your pussy clenching around his dick. Terry kisses you and feels yourself getting ready to orgasm.
"I'm gonna come," You whispered in a moan, pulling away from the kiss. "You're gonna come, huh? Fuck Me too, baby, I'm gonna fill you up, would like that," He whispers in your ear.
"Yes, yes, fill me up with your come, please, Terry, I need it," You said, pulling him into another kiss as he thrust a few times, and you both came together, muffling each other's names.
You felt the streams of his hot cum dropping out of your pussy once he pulled out. "Mmm, that's all me coming out of you" He smirks, glancing down at your pussy proudly.
You and Terry went to take a warm shower together. The steam filled the small bathroom, creating a cozy atmosphere as you washed away the fantastic sex you just had.
Once you finished, you both slipped into soft pajamas, feeling comfortable and relaxed. As you settled into bed, you turned toward him and rested your head gently on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Terry wrapped his arms around you, drawing you closer with a tender embrace, his hands softly caressing your arms. At that moment, everything felt right, and you knew nothing could stand in the way of this beautiful love between you both.
#terry richmond x black reader#terry richmond x reader#terry richmond x black!reader#terry richmond fic#terry richmond fanfiction#aaron pierre#aaron pierre x black reader#terry richmond#terry richmond x black fem reader#terry richmond x black! fem plus size reader#terry Richmond x plus size reader#terry richmond x fem reader#terry richmond fluff#terry richmond smut
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Rex, incognito; and you, frustrated.
When your god goes incognito, his only giveaway is his amber eyes. And you’ve been running into amber-eyed folk a lot lately…
When you go fetch the morning paper, the man delivering them tells you not to believe the front-page news about Qiaoying’s monster crisis and that the matter has already been dealt with swiftly. You frown at him, confused, and that’s when you see his amber-hued gaze as he trudges away.
The bookstore has a new highly-anticipated book in stock! Demand is sky-high, and just when you’re about to snag the last copy…some guy takes it for himself, smiling apologetically at you. One look at his eyes and it’s made known that Rex Lapis just swiped the book you’d been looking forward to reading.
A black cat runs over to you one day, nuzzling the everloving crap out of you. How cute, you think, and pick him up, and as he licks you eagerly you notice his damn amber eyes. (You still cuddle him for a bit, though. You’re not going to hold a grudge against your archon for some book.)
Taking a stroll along the foot of Mt. Aocang, you find a painter expertly decorating his canvas in a vivid array of colours. When you approach him and ask what he’s painting, he says without even looking up, “It’s a scene from a book I have been entranced by recently. The scene takes place at the foot of this mountain here, and I was inspired to try my hand at recreating the scene. Here, you may have a look.”
And when you do look…it’s a spoiler from the book you’d wanted to read but failed to snag. The book Rex Lapis literally yoinked from under your nose.
You look up hastily, intending to erase whatever you’d seen in that moment from your mind, and you meet the curious painter’s amber eyes.
Rex Lapis the painter tilts his head. “Is something the matter?”
You’re eating your lunch by the pond you frequent, minding your business when someone quietly sits near you, opening his lunchbox. His eyes meet yours and oh boy, they’re amber.
Your eyes widen. Maybe it’s time for a confrontation. “I know you’re Rex Lapis.”
The man looks away, a deep blush blooming on his rather lovely face. “Rex Lapis…I’m afraid I have never heard of him.” And then he goes back to eating his home-cooked, traditional Liyuen meal.
****
You sigh as you stir your tea, venting to the tea seller about all your encounters. And yes, you checked to make sure: this man’s eyes are grey. Thank archons.
“Perhaps He simply wishes to get to know you better,” offers the man earnestly. “When Rex goes incognito, He attempts to understand us on a deeper level, yes?”
“I suppose so.” You sip your tea in contemplation. “By the way, this tea is exquisite.”
He beams like it’s the greatest compliment he’s ever gotten. “Thank you.”
You down the rest of your cup and are about to ask for another one when something small falls onto the table. You pick it up, frowning. A…grey contact lens..?
The tea seller blinks at you, equally taken aback as you register how his face has now changed; one eye grey, one eye teasingly golden. The man fidgets, shielding his eyes from you but it’s too late.
Sighing, you gather your things, leave a tip for Rex Lapis the tea seller, and head straight home.
★彡Sort of a sequel-but-not-really to this post hehe
#zhongli#genshin impact#zhongli x reader#genshin#genshin x reader#sini writes#zhongli x you#fluff#drabble#rex lapis
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Letters Of Love - Chan🖤
Pairing: Chan x gn!Reader (poly!skz)
Word Count: 978
Summary: Your anniversary with your beloved boys makes you think of how to show them how much you love them best. Soon, you settle on sending them a message and picture in relation to one of your favorite days spent with them - starting with a sunset beach walk with Channie.
Warnings/Tags: fluff, poly!skz
A/N: Happy one year, guys🤭🥳🖤🖤
do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -
Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin
You sit comfortably on the oversized sofa in the living room, your legs tucked beneath you as a soft throw blanket drapes over your shoulders. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the evening outside. The warm, ambient light from a lamp nearby casts a golden glow on your laptop screen as you scroll through your photo library, smiling at the memories that flash before your eyes.
The idea had come to you a few days ago, sparked by a simple desire to celebrate the bond you share with each of the boys. With your anniversary around the corner, you wanted to do something meaningful—not grand or flashy, but something that speaks to the heart of what they all mean to you. So, you decided to put together a collection of messages, each paired with a favorite photo of yours. One for each of them.
It’s not just about celebrating the years spent together, but a way to show them how much every single moment counts—how deeply woven into your life they’ve become. It’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of life, schedules, and everything in between, but when you sit down and look back at these snapshots, the memories are filled with so much warmth that it almost makes you tear up.
Each picture carries its own story, a unique reminder of shared smiles, whispered conversations, and unexpected adventures. It feels like the perfect way to say, “I remember. I see you. And I treasure these moments more than words can say.”
Choosing where to start wasn’t easy, but in the end, you settled on Chan. Leader. Rock. One of your favorite people. The one who somehow always knows exactly how to make you feel heard and seen. Your eyes linger on one particular image that makes your heart flutter—a photograph of a breathtaking sunset on a secluded beach.
The sky is painted with vivid hues of orange, pink, and deep purple, casting a magical light across the gentle waves lapping at the shore. In the foreground, Chan is beside you, his broad smile lighting up the scene as much as the setting sun. He’s looking at the camera, but his body is slightly angled toward you, as if caught in a moment of joy, mid-laughter. His tousled hair frames his face, the salty breeze lifting it slightly, and his eyes crinkle warmly, filled with a playful energy and contentment. The two of you are barefoot, shoes forgotten somewhere in the sand, and you’re holding hands, your arm swinging lightly as if you’d just been spinning around together, giddy from the beauty of the evening and each other's presence.
You can almost hear the sound of his voice from that day—the way he kept pointing out how the colors of the sky matched your favorite shade of coral or how he’d sneakily race you to the water’s edge just to let the waves catch you by surprise. It was one of those spontaneous days, a perfect pocket of time when everything aligned, and all that mattered was the way the world seemed to slow down around the two of you.
The day had started unassumingly, with a casual suggestion from Chan to go for a drive after a long day of work. There had been no real destination in mind until you noticed the telltale sparkle of sunlight reflecting off the distant waves. Without a second thought, he turned the car toward the coast. When you arrived, the beach was nearly empty—just you, him, and the endless expanse of sand and sea. As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky with the most brilliant shades, you both kicked off your shoes and wandered along the shoreline. You talked about everything and nothing—dreams, music, life, and silly inside jokes that had the two of you bursting into laughter.
As the colors deepened and the first stars peeked through, he pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Just you, him, and the rhythm of the waves. It was then that he set up the camera timer, capturing that perfect image, your smiles forever frozen against the backdrop of the sun-kissed sky.
The smile on your lips softens as you relive the memory, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You take a deep breath and begin to type out a message for Chan, the words flowing easily from your heart. He’s someone who would understand the significance of this little project of yours—your way of saying, “I’m grateful. For you, for us, for all the tiny pieces that have come together to build this beautiful mosaic of memories.”
Message to Channie Baby🖤:
Hey Channie,
I came across this picture today, and it made me think of one of my favorite memories with you. Remember that sunset beach stroll? The way you just decided to take us there on a whim? I think that’s one of the things I love most about you—the way you turn ordinary moments into something unforgettable.
That evening, I remember feeling like everything was just… right. The world seemed quieter, softer, and it was like we had all the time in the world just to be ourselves. I know we’ve had so many amazing experiences together, but something about that day stands out to me. Maybe it’s because it felt so simple, just us, the ocean, and the sky. But it’s one of those moments that I’ll always cherish.
Thank you for always making life brighter, for your laughter and for the way you see beauty in everything. I’m so grateful to have you by my side—not just during sunsets, but every single day.
Happy anniversary, Channie. Here’s to many more sunsets together.
Love you, always.
Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):
@zehina @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @theo4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @dis-trict9 @minh0scat @jinnie-ret @5starluvr @slutforchanlix
#stray kids#skz#skz fic#stray kids fic#chan#bang chan#chan fic#chan fluff#bang chan fic#bang chan fluff#skz ot8#stray kids ot8#poly!skz#poly!stray kids#chan x reader#stray kids x reader#bang chan x reader#skz x reader#stray kids fluff#skz fluff#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#chan imagines#bang chan imagines
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My favorite thing about rereading this bit of Dracula is that there is SO MUCH vivid character detail you can miss the first time around by seeing Jonathan as just a lens for the English Viewpoint (tm) or a mouthpiece for Stoker’s infodumping. While those elements are there, by viewing him as a character in his own right so many details spring to life!
“I went to the library to read every book I could find about the country my work trip is taking me to”— This got skimmed over my first reading as an excuse for Stoker’s scene-painting infodump, but from this angle you have this freshly minted little lawyer SO dedicated to doing his job well and so eager about it that he’s up to his ears in books and maps before he even gets on the train. And this is AFTER STUDYING FOR LAW EXAMS!! This is a studious little nerd and a perfect match for Mina!!
Unfortunately since all his sources are from the British Museum they’re going to be like that, but he’s so eager to learn—and you can see that singleminded dedication that characterizes him showing already.
It also firmly sets why “just turn around!” is something that can’t make any sense in the story’s logic. Not only does his livelihood hinge on this trip, but he’s been studying to prepare himself for any number of cultural differences. If an Englishman turned tail at everything they thought was a “red flag,” they’d never leave the country. He’s still ignorant and naive and ethnocentric, but if you compare him to contemporary British Lit characters he’s comparatively determined to not be close-minded (a theme that will show up again with Van Helsing).
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Writing Tip - Unnecessary Descriptions
More writing tips
We all know the importance of making a story immersive with detailed and vivid descriptions. They truly bring the story to life and get you hooked right away. That being said, there is such a thing as unnecessary descriptions. What do I mean by this? It means a description that doesn’t need to be there. I’ve been guilty of this in the past, which is why I’m always adapting my writing style (something I’ll discuss in a future tip). That being said, what’s an example of a pointless description? I’ll show some from stories I’ve read, but I won’t include author or story names because these tips aren’t about badmouthing people; they’re about helping others improve.
Example 1:
“Without her tailcoat on, the only articles of clothing that covered her torso were her bra (which couldn't be seen) and a white undershirt.”
They didn’t need to mention the bra. Simply stating that she wore a white undershirt would have been enough.
Example 2:
“The sun was shining brightly in the clear blue sky, with no clouds in sight, making the day sunny and bright.”
They basically said the same thing twice, repeating it unnecessarily. They could have ended the sentence after saying there were no clouds in sight.
Example 3:
“Jessica picked up her phone, which she had bought two years ago from a shop in a small town she visited during a road trip. The shop had a quaint little sign painted in faded yellow, and the owner had a peculiar habit of wearing mismatched socks.”
This is nicely described, but what does it have to do with the actual story? Jessica picking up the phone was just a simple action. Unless the phone and where she got it from become crucial to the story, there’s no need to say where she got it from.
Example 4:
“Carlos wore a shirt with 14 buttons, each perfectly round and made of plastic, with four tiny holes for the thread to go through.”
Again, nicely described, but did we need to know the specific number of buttons on his shirt? Just saying he wore a neatly buttoned shirt would have been enough.
...
With those examples in mind, how do we avoid unnecessary descriptions? Here are some things to keep in mind:
Focus On Relevance: When it comes to excessive detail, focus on what’s actually relevant. For example, if you write about a character drinking from a cup of coffee, don’t feel the need to describe what the cup looks like. Focus on the sensory detail of the coffee with a simple sentence rather than unnecessary specifics about the cup's appearance.
Avoid Irrelevant Backstory: As in example 3, don’t bother with irrelevant backstory. Focus on the action relevant to that moment rather than including unrelated details that don’t impact the current scene.
Avoid Repetition: Like example 2, don’t feel the need to say the same thing twice. Provide a clear image without repetition.
Avoid Overly Specific Details: As in example 4, don’t go into too much depth about how many buttons are on Carlos’ shirt. Keep it simple and focus on what’s important, like Carlos’ neat appearance.
All in all, unnecessary descriptions can slow down the pace of the story and take readers out of it. Focus on the details that enhance the story.
#creative writers#creative writing#fanfic review#fanfiction#fanfiction tips#helping writers#how to write#references for writers#review tips#wingfic#writer#writers#writers and poets#writers community#writers corner#writers on tumblr#writing#writing advice#writing community#writing help#writing inspiration#writing life#writing prompts#writing resources#writing tips#writing tips and tricks#resources for writers
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All hail ID! Leon!!! I’m wondering how he would reacts when his Reader! young gf got kidnapped or been taken as hostage. Let’s just say maybe she got at the wrong place wrong time? Chris and Leon partnered up to save her 🫢 (I don’t want Leon go thru this alone, he got enough shit already tbh)
(I don’t know if you’re gonna write this up or not but whatever it is, stay safe and take care of yourself gorl 🩵)
Leon S Kennedy - Help Me
ID!Leon is my favorite Leon no questions about it. I have this headcanon that ID!Leon is the one with the most confidence in his skills & second most optimistic Leon era just due to his successes ( saving ashley and the ‘dozens of successful missions’ that shen mei references ). Anyway, watch me rip that all away in one fell swoop.
cw for : f!reader, kidnapping, swearing, blood mention, implied age gap (up to you tbh), reckless driving, chris redfield, it’s mostly just a mess of angst and anger.
gentle reminder that all of my works sfw or not are intended for 18+ audiences.
The inbox is open for requests.
How many times had he told you to lock the goddamned doors?
Fingers drum against the steering wheel as he weaves in and out of traffic. His phone trilled in his ear as he drove and the longer it rang, the more his gut bubbled with anxiety.
“Pick up the fucking phone Redfield.”
The scene was still vivid in his mind. Your front door slightly ajar as he pulled up to your house. Leon had immediately been put on edge by this. The overwhelming feeling of panic however, didn’t set in until he noticed the bright red smear across the white painted wood.
Inside the house wasn’t much better, turned over from top to bottom. Every single one of your meticulously placed photos and knickknacks were strewn smashed on the floor, broken glass, plastic and porcelain everywhere. All decorated with a spattering of red. The same scene played out in each and every one of the rooms. It didn't seem to be a run of the mill robbery though. Nothing of value was missing, nothing besides you.
The worst part was the way your phone went to voicemail every single time he called.
“Hello?”
Leon’s torn from his thoughts at the sound of the voice on the other end of the phone. Chris Redfield.
“Answer the phone any slower?” he’s snappy, frustrated, scared.
It must have been obvious, with the way the concern laced into Chris’s words. “Leon? Is something wrong?”
“She’s gone, Chris. The house is a mess and her phone just goes straight to voicemail. Someone was there, and I think they took her.”
The word vomit just spews from his lips as he switches lanes again, white-knuckling the steering wheel as icy eyes dart around. He’s not sure where he’s going, what he’s looking for. He’s not sure of anything anymore.
Had he gotten too cocky, too lax in his security? Everything had been going so well since Ashley. He had been saving people. What the fuck went wrong? Fuck, he should have pressed the issue harder when he asked you to move in with him. At least there he could have kept a better eye on you, kept you safe. This wouldn’t have happened.
Leon was spiraling.
“Are you still with me, Kennedy?” Chris’s voice broke through the haze again.
"Yeah." Barely.
"You sure she was at home? She's probably just not answering your calls."
Chris didn't know you, didn't know that you didn't just ignore phone calls, especially not his calls. You weren't just ignoring him.
"I wouldn't have called you if I thought she was just ignoring my calls. The place was torn up Redfield. Whoever it was, was looking for something. There was blood fucking everywhere." His words came out more aggressive than intended.
They had to, he needed to get his point across.
“Okay, yeah that’s bad. But I can’t just get clearance to do anything..”
“I’m not asking you to deploy the BSAA. I’m asking you to help me” Leon cut him off.
The silence that hangs makes him regret calling Chris. Had he made a call to the wrong Redfield? He should have just called Claire. She wouldn’t have hesitated so much, wouldn’t have wasted so much time. That was if she even picked up the phone.
Either way, for once, he couldn’t do this on his own. Not like this.
"Go home. I'll meet you there. We'll figure this out okay? Don't do anything stupid Leon."
"Yeah."
---
Your head is aching, forehead damp with sweat or blood ( you're not sure which ), feet sore and bloodied from stumbling through the shattered glass on your living room floor. Eyes are covered with a thick blindfold, and the room is dark and quiet.
All alone with your thoughts. Thoughts of how you ended up here. How you had been so distracted, unable to notice the men coming in through the unlocked front door. One snatching you up as the other set out to look for something, smashing everything in his path. Your screams fell on deaf ears, feet being dragged through the mess on the floor as you struggled to break free.
Until a sharp pain to the back of the head forced you into unconsciousness.
There's the sound of shuffling, metal clinking, and there's something pressed to your ear. A phone? There's a few moments of trilling rings before a voice answers with a panicked "Hello?"
"Leon?"
Your voice is hoarse from the screaming earlier, and tears sting at your eyes.
"Baby where are you?" You've never heard him sound like this, scared.
"I don't know, Lee. Help me. I don't know where I am. It's dark and I'm scared."
Before he can respond, the phone is pulled from your ear. The scream ripped from your throat as his voice was cut off by the phone being hung up. A sharp laugh caused a shiver to course through you as you struggled against your bindings.
"Think that got his attention, hm princess?"
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uh i don't know where I was going to go with this, meaning cliffhanger!!! one person says they want more & i'll plan out more <3
#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#resident evil x reader#leon kennedy fic#leon kennedy angst#tea writes things
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Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café
-> Chapter 1(Here)| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | ...
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Hello everyone, pls don't expect much from this chapter,which is going to be part of a series, will be that good. I may have grammatical errors and wrong spellings so please don't hesitate to tell me in the comments about it. English is not my main language. Also, I write some very descriptive and long scenes about what the reader does because i got used to writing descriptive essays so please bear with the long paragraphs and sentences. Thank you.
And yes, I'm back. Also the Misunderstanding series will be updated after my exams this is just in my drafts and I wanted to just upload it.
-Eli
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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au, a bit of cussing like this bit 🤏.
Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Café Owner!Reader
Characters: Reader
Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. You can slide into my dms (😝 im joking bro) if you ever want to be tagged in my works just tell me what series you want to be tagged in or all of them. thank you <3.
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You close your eyes and think back to that very fateful day — the day that entirely altered your life's course and shatter any semblance of normalcy you once knew. The memory is etched in your mind, clear and vivid. The secret your café had.
You had always dreamed of owning your very own café when you get older. It had always consumed your thoughts and fueled your ambitions. Doing everything you can to be able to make your dream come true. It was a dream that guided you through your highs and lows, the setbacks and triumphs, and now, your very own cafe is now right infront of your eyes. You stand awe, gazing upon your newly built dream café that represents your years of hard work and dedication. It almost feels surreal. The weight of such an accomplishment settles in your shoulders, filling with a sense of pride that it threatens to burst out of your chest.
The obstacles and challenges you faced along the way have not gone unnoticed. The countless hours of planning, the sacrifices made, the hurdles overcome—each scar and battle wound a testament to your unwavering determination. They have shaped you into the person you are today, a person who is standing on the precipice of their own extraordinary creation. In this moment, you can't help but reflect on how far you have come. You just want to curl up into a ball and cry for how proud you are for yourself.
As you approach the door to your café, your hand trembles with anticipation. You grasp the smooth handle, feeling the coolness of the metal against your palm, and slowly turn it. The door swung open, emitting a soft creak that pierced the silence. Above it, a small, quaint bell dangled delicately, waiting to be disturbed. The cascade of delicate notes wove together seamlessly, announcing your presence, like a whispered greeting to anyone who would listen.
You stare in awe and wonder at the interior design of your cafe , captivated by it's beauty. The space exceeds your imagination and sketches, each detail meticulously brought to life. You explore every corner, your eyes eager to take in every detail. The plants you selected with great care breathe life into the space, their vibrant green leaves adding a touch of freshness and enhancing the cozy, warm aura you envisioned. Sunlight steams through the windows, casting a golden glow that illuminates upon your carefully handpicked furniture, adding a touch of charm. Every detail, from the placement of tables and chairs to the color palette and textures and to the shelf placed at the wall behind the counter with small sized standees of genshin impact, comes together harmoniously, painting a reality that is more beautiful than it was in your imagination.
You took one last look at your own café, only to catch sight of a door that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. It wasn't in your sketches, nor was it part of the layout you had memorized. How could something so out of place suddenly appear in your beloved café? How weird. You were sure that when you went inside this café it was never there. It was on the opposite side of the front entrance door of your café. It had a very different kind of design from the doors you had. How weird . Were you perhaps hallucinating? Was your stress and sleep deprivation finally getting to you? You resort to pinching and slapping your cheeks in an attempt to jolt yourself back to reality. Nope. You can still see it. You rushed to go outside of your café. As you step out into the open, your eyes scanning the exterior, you're met with a surprising revelation—the door you saw inside your café is nowhere to be found. It's as if it had vanished into thin air, leaving you bewildered and questioning your senses.
Nonetheless, you breathed a heavy sigh of relief and once again went inside of your café, blaming your hallucination to your stress. However, as your eyes scanned the interior again, you saw the door still there.
'Oh, hell no.' You thought and quickly opened the front door again, took a look at the exterior, look at the door inside, and continued doing that action for a minute. Yup, you're officialy hallucinating.
You looked at the strange door and felt a nagging feeling of curiousity wanting to try and open that door. Maybe it was actually a big ass sticker that one of the builders placed as a prank. You never know. Steeling yourself, you went closer to the door on your tippy toes. Carefully trying to be quiet. Why? You don't know. You just knew you had to. Maybe it was an instinct of yours. You were now infront of the door and you tried reaching for the door knob still thinking it was a sticker but the coolness feeling in your hands said uno reverse. You abruptly took back your hand in shock. You stared down at the atrocity in front of you. You quickly raised your foot and took off your shoes/heel/slipper and held onto it tightly. Preparing yourself to open the door, you took in a deep breath and reached for the door knob once more. Twisting it open, a ray of sunlight shone through the small crack as you pushed the door open gently.
Your eyes widen at the sight infront of you as you had fully opened the door. The grip your hand had on your lethal weapon widened and it slipped from your hands. The sight infront of you was so surreal. 'This can't be true, right?' your head was going to so many places, unable to comprehend what was going on. You felt kinda dizzy.
You would be a fool not to recognize this place that you had seen so many times throughout your life. A few kilometers infront of you was the City of Mondstadt in view. You could even see the knights guarding the gate and Timmie with his pigeons at the bridge.
The weird door from your cafe was actually a door to the Genshin Impact world. Wow... wtf.
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also pls take a look at my poorly drawn drawing of what your view looks like cause for the love of god I can't seem to explain it:
Also you're in a cliff or something. so yeah
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#genshin sagau#genshin reverse sagau#genshin impact sagau#genshin reverse isekai#genshin impact#genshin fanfic#various genshin characters#gn!reader#gender neutral reader#gn!reader x various genshin character#•works[🍡]•#genshin series
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The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)
Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨
Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.
First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.
But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.
Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.
For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.
But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.
Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.
So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:
Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.
For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.
Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.
Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.
Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.
Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.
For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.
Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.
Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.
Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.
Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.
Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.
The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:
Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.
Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.
Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.
Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.
Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.
Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:
Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."
Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."
Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.
Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.
Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.
Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.
It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.
Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.
So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.
Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:
First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.
Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.
Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.
Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.
Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.
Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.
In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.
Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.
This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.
Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.
As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.
Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.
Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.
Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!
Happy writing! 💖✍️ - Rin T.
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