#keep your eyes out for more series! i've been working on my own projects over the winter break

[maochira]

Working at Blue Lock/father figure!Ego introduction

Tags: gn!reader, overworker and overachiever!reader, reader is a graphic designer, artist and assistant at Blue Lock

A/N: I want to make this a series so feel free to request more for father figure!Ego!! A part two to this will come soon as well! Also, this originally goes for one of my Blue Lock OCs, but I want to write it as an x reader for you guys to enjoy and because I prefer writing reader inserts💟

Working at Blue Lock is your first job ever, so ever since the beginning you swore to yourself that you'll put all of your power and passion into this. Especially because of how passionate Ego is about Blue Lock, you want to do your best to help him

Ego tends to give you very tight deadlines almost all the time. It's to be expected that at least once a day he'll tell you something like "You need to do this until tomorrow", or "I have this speech planned later, you need to do this until then", but nothing about that ever bothered you. It's on the opposite side, you've always been happy about getting tasks from him and feel good about being helpful to the project.

Most of your work consists of designing and drawing player icons and all the graphics Ego shows on his screens during his speeches. Every time he holds his speeches, you're in the back of the room to watch. To you, it's like seeing your work come to life, and that's always been your dream.

Ego often criticizes your work when you show him your ideas or sketches. But that's part of working as a graphic designer and artist. Even though his criticism tends to come off as harsh and cold, you're always happy to follow his wishes. And hey, in the end, it's always worth it because you get at least a little bit of praise. It's never much, usually just a simple "Good work, (Y/N)-chan" but for you, it's enough.

But due to your hard work, you pull at least one all-nighter a week. You'd still be able to finish all your tasks on time even if you got a healthy amount of sleep, but you always get so lost in your work that it keeps you awake all night. A part of that is passion, but another part is your overworking nature.

You rarely tell Ego and Anri about your all-nighters, you either act as if you got up extra early or just briefly mention something like "I couldn't fall asleep" and laugh it off. Ego never showed any concern over it, but Anri certainly did.

And for the first months, sleep deprivation didn't have that many effects on you. Surprisingly. Your passion kept you going. Well, until you pulled an all-nighter after a night with only 3 hours of sleep. Even caffeine couldn't save you anymore. You really try to keep your eyes open, but they get so heavy that they just close on their own and you end up falling asleep at your desk.

In the meantime, Ego is rewatching recordings of Blue Lock matches, until he sees you asleep at your desk. His first instinct is to wake you up and yell at you to continue your work, but he's so hesitant about it, he changes his mind after second thought. He remembers how you've been working extra hard lately and knows your current task isn't that urgent, so he simply lets you sleep.

But when you wake up, a rush of panic runs through your body. You immediately look up at your computer which has gone into sleep mode by now. You turn around to see Ego, still sitting on his chair.

"You finally woke up, huh?" His voice doesn't give off any particular emotion, but you automatically think he's mad at you for falling asleep during your work hours.

You open your mouth to apologize, but your mind is still a bit fuzzy and not properly awake yet. Before any words actually get out, Ego continues: "It was about time you got some proper sleep."

"Sorry, I've been-"

"No need to apologize," Ego interrupts you, "Just don't let this happen again."

"I won't, I promise." You answer before turning your computer back on, ready to finish whatever you were working on before you fell asleep.

"You really need to take better care of yourself." Ego tells you in a stern voice. "Get more sleep and pay attention to your health. I don't want you to get sick."

"Oh?" You turn around to face his direction. What he said makes you laugh a little. "Aren't you the one with eyebags who only eats instant noodles?"

Ego is slightly taken aback by your response and for a moment he struggles to find an answer. "Are you talking back to me?" Is the only thing he manages to come up with.

"I wouldn't call it talking back," you answer as you turn your head back to your computer, "I'm just surprised why you'd care more about me than taking care of yourself."

And with this, you've got yourself your own personal Ego speech.

"Listen, (Y/N)-chan. I 'care' for you in a way an employer cares for one of his workers. Because that's what you and I are. I can't have you getting sick or breaking down because you exhaust yourself too much. That would mean I would have to look for a temporary replacement which would cost time and money. Plus, your work is great even under these conditions and I doubt I'd find anyone else who's as passionate about this as you are. But even with that, I don't want you to exhaust yourself this much again. It's true that I appreciate your hard work, but with your hard work comes the need of taking care of yourself. Understood?"

Halfway through his speech, you turned back to look at him again. His expression and tone are not much different from how he usually is, but what he says still surprises you in some way. You and Ego never had a deeper conversation on anything, but this is starting to pick up your curiosity, so you decide to continue.

"That still doesn't explain why you'd tell me to take better care of myself when you uhm, you know."

"Leading Blue Lock comes with its sacrifices." Ego responds, "If I'll lose sleep over it, I'm willing to sacrifice that. But I'm not willing to let you sacrifice your health."

"So you're worried about me?"

Ego lets out a short frustrated sigh. "As I already said, I care for you in a way an employer cares for their worker. You're not much more than a tool to help my dream come alive."

You only nod in response and return to your work. You want to continue this conversation, but Ego's frustrated sigh is a sign to stop.

Even though what Ego said could definitely hurt someone's feelings, especially because of his stern tone, just him mentioning he cares about you in some way makes you happy. Sure, to him you're not much more than a tool to achieve his dream, but that still means you have some sort of important role for him. Be it in an employer-worker way, you're just happy to be useful.

As you continue your given task, Ego finds himself unable to concentrate on his own work. He thinks of his own words he just said to you moments ago and they keep repeating in his head until he wonders if he even spoke the truth.

Sure, in theory, you're not much more than an employee to him. But something about seeing how you overworked yourself and even sacrificed a lot of sleep just for the tasks he's given you made him truly realize how hard you've been working ever since the beginning of Blue Lock. It awakened some sort of protectiveness over you inside of him.

And even when he's back to focusing on his work every now and then his gaze wanders over to you with slight concern. He can't help but ask himself: Is this the kind of protectiveness a father feels about their child?

[captainbrookeworm]

'Find the Word' Tag Game

I have been summoned by @galaxythedragonshifter

I have never done one of these but from what I can gather, I have to find the words "fake", "swerve", "fight", and "life" in my writing. Luckily, I found all of my words in fics I've posted so you can read those to get the context (shameless self promo lmao)

Tagging:

I'm like 70% sure I'm not mutuals with any authors so I'm just picking ones I've read from and know are on Tumblr:

@webtrinsic1122 @littlemisslol-fic @fabro-de-omres @izaswritings

Dunno how you're meant to pick words so I used a random word generator lol. Your words are: Twist, Blink, Stir, and Guide No pressure tho! Good luck!

Fake: From "and they were roommates" (Danny Phantom)

TRAITOR: BRO THAT WASN’T A SECRET

Danny: IT WASNT??????

TRAITOR: YEAH??? My dad already knows and its not like my social life can get any deader

TRAITOR 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO: heh 

TRAITOR 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO: ghost pun

Sam: Tucker I will break your pda in half

TRAITOR 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO: NOOOOOOOOO

TRAITOR: Also all the ghosts seem to figure it out too damn quick so keeping it quiet won’t keep them from attacking the people I care about. I’m outta reasons to not tell.

TRAITOR: But I can fake it if you want. 

TRAITOR: Oh no Wes! You have uncovered me! How will I ever cope????

Swerve: From: "Land of the Living" (Ninjago)

Morro laughed wildly. “It worked!” 

Lloyd quickly tied the wires together, ignoring the burn of his fingertips from the voltage. As he shimmied back into his seat, he said primly, “I can’t believe you doubted me.” After seeing the look on Morro’s face, he quickly put on his seatbelt. 

Morro rolled his eyes, clicked his own seatbelt on, and put the car into drive. “I didn’t doubt you, I just didn’t expect that to work.” He swerved, using the truck to punt three nindroids into the wall.

“That’s doubting me. You’re literally describing the act of doubting me.” 

“You’re being needlessly pedantic.”

“Ooh busting out the big words there.”

Fight: From "Hugo Finds Out Varian Is Scary" (Tangled: the Series + Varian and the Seven Kingdoms)

Varian swung his staff with the grace of a drunk man, but he achieved his goal of konking the bandit in front of him across the head and sending him sprawling to the ground. Hugo didn’t watch Varian chuck one of his sticky grenades at him to keep him well and truly out of the fight, though he did hear the sound of it activating behind him. Instead, he turned his attention to the two bandits in front of him - one tall one with a thick beard, and one shorter one with a gold tooth.

“C’mon now, boys, this can’t be worth the effort,” he said, grinning easily at them. 

He ducked a swipe from a sword. That answered that, he supposed.

Life: From "Shores of Restless Souls" (Ninjago)

“If you wanted me to return to a life of crime,” Morro commented idly, “you could’ve just asked.”

Jay whipped his head around, sputtering. “Wha- I- no!” he hissed.

Morro blinked, projecting an innocence Jay didn’t believe for a second. “No? I mean, what am I to think when you’ve dragged me to possibly the most crime-y place possible?” He blinked at him with wide eyes. “Are you using me to pay off a debt to the mob?” 

“No!” he almost shrieked. A few thugs glanced over at him, so he lowered his voice more when he said, “I don’t make a habit of getting into debts, and even if I did, I wouldn’t sell you!” 

Morro snorted. “Relax, Motormouth, I’m messing with you. Your face is turning three very distinct shades of red, so please take a deep breath before you pass out and I have to carry you back home.” 

[randomsquirrel]

Asks for a Fic Writer! 🔆

Well! I've been tagged by the very nifty @eemamminy-art, so how can I refuse? Thanks, mate! <3

1. how many works do you have on AO3? Only 41. It feels like more, but that's because I've got a couple of works that are obscenely long. Like, two series that are (so far) over half a million words, each

2. what's your total AO3 word count? ...1,524,864. That...is intimidating o_O

3. what fandoms do you write for? At the moment, just Stardew Valley and Final Fantasy XIV. I'd like to write for a couple more fandoms (like Baldur's Gate 3, as I am having a blast), but I just don't have the time as it is to work on the current series I have going D:

4. what are your top five fics by kudos? I don't have a lot of kudos on my fics because most of my works are long series with lots of chapters, so while they get quite a few hits and many return readers, only one kudos per visitor @_@ Friends With Benefics (FFXIV, NSFW), a spicy Thancred/Urianger one-shot that I really wanna revisit and turn into a mini-series :3c Sunshine on a Cloudy Day (SDV, SFW), a soft Sam/Sebastian work, one of my first ones, dealing with depression, and how it's hard to get people around you to understand that. Fortunately, Sam does :) Tales of Loss and Fire and...Love (FFXIV, SFW), a fluffy piece, just Thancred and Estinien being bros, having some drinks and bonding, before the Scions leave for Sharlayan. They have a lot in common, like shared trauma that they can finally talk about :( Formality and Debauchery (FFXIV, NSFW), the second of my Estimeric Week works, the prompt was "gala," so I decided that Aymeric had to figure out a way to get Estinien to join him at a high-society event, and did so creatively ;) Rose & Sunflower: The NSFW Chapters (SDV, NSFW), as my first Stardew fic series (Rose & Sunflower 1: The Music Within) was initially being posted to the SDV forums, before being cross-posted to AO3 several months later, I decided that any spicy scenes would have to have their own work so that I could keep posting on the forums. Thus, the NSFW Chapters are all of the naughty parts that couldn't make it into the "main" story. ...And gave me the chance to try a few "what if" ideas, too, that aren't "canon" to the rest of the story but are a lot of fun >:3c 5. do you respond to comments? Absolutely! Comments make my entire hecking day, and I love being able to interact with my readers, I'm just all, THANK YOU FOR EATING MY FOOD, I HOPE IT WAS DELICIOUS <3

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? An End to Hope (FFXIV, SFW), just for the challenge, for the second Estimeric Week event, I decided to see if I could actually do a "bad ending" fic. So this is what might have happened if Aymeric had been possessed by Nidhogg's eyes instead of Estinien >:D 7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I want to say the first book in my Rose & Sunflower series, since I was so chuffed to have completed a project I wasn't sure I could follow through on. But I had been going through a bad patch for a while when writing book 3 (A Different Perspective), and almost didn't finish it, as I lost the drive and physical ability to write for over half a year. So it was both a happy ending for both the characters and myself to see the entire trilogy completed ;_;

8. do you get hate on fics? Thankfully, no. So far I have been so fortunate to only have had positive and constructive feedback, and I treasure every person who has left those remarks :D

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind? Of my 41 works, *checks and does math*, 16 or 17 are smut/nsfw in some fashion, and is a lower number than I'd have expected. But again, I am prone to lengthy works, so while the number of dirty fics is relatively low, the lewd content per word is very high. All of it is m/m (so far), mostly 'cause the characters I'm working with just work that way. It's also diverse; some of it is normal pr0n, often there's poly/multiple partners, a bit of BDSM, and a few light kinks here and there. Heck, I forgot all I've done, 'cause now and then I go and backread things to check something and go "wait, I don't remember writing that! ...Hot" XD

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written? I enjoy writing crossovers, but don't do them that often. The best/craziest one is Ishguardians- The Factions of Coerthas, which, yeah, isn't so much a "crossover" as it is "Ghost in the Shell meets FFXIV," but it's more than just a futuristic AU. It was basically one lengthy excuse to flex with several of my personal knowledge sets, and was a heck of a challenge to get so many "moving parts" working smoothly, and I'm quite proud of it \o/

11. have you ever had a fic stolen? Not yet, to my knowledge, and I'm hoping it stays that way. Hooray, I'm too unimportant! :P

12. have you ever had a fic translated? I haven't had that, either. While my work is interesting, there's just not been enough interest in getting it translated/localized

13. have you ever co-written a fic before? Yet again, nope. I've got a few RPs with a couple of people, but as far as fics go, I've always been working on my own

14. what's your all-time favourite ship? OOF, that's a hard one. I've got a lot that make my brain go brrrr, but... Funny as it is, Elliott (SDV) and my OC (Lysander). I played Elliott's romance route the first time I played SDV because he looked like a sweetie (and an aspiring writer? Heck yes!), and was floored at how closely our respective stories/motivations/desires paralleled. I'd been wanting to pursue a writing career for ages as well, but never had the courage, so after completing his story and seeing him find success with his novel after we helped him get there, I smashed down my fear and gave writing fic a go, at the same time fully developing and fleshing out an OC I'd had a hard time properly giving life. And the success with that series gave me the confidence and experience to keep doing more fics, and eventually my own original works. I just got a second original short story accepted for publication last year, so yeah, those two will forever be precious to me <3

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Probably "Rose and Sunflower 4." I've got a few ideas (technically, I have ideas for both a fourth AND a fifth book), but with work and life just being loopy, and lacking proper meds for ADHD and other things, I just don't have the spell slots at the moment. I'm also neck-deep in my FFXIV OC's lore, doing a crazy long series that follows his own version of the story, and that's taking up pretty much all of my writing time not devoted to specific projects for exchanges or events or the like :-\

16. what are your writing strengths? Action sequences, and character-driven dialogue. Again, "Ishguardians" was the opportunity to write an action film, more or less, and I have a surprising knack for not only snappy one-liners and comebacks, but also some deeply raw and heartfelt moments. I've got range :D

17. what are your writing weaknesses? I am shit at creating conflict. It's why I've not been able to get a writing career completely off the ground. I'm an engineer, a gamer, and a soldier; I solve problems on purpose! So deliberately creating situations that drive the plot and characters that doesn't feel contrived or "but this shouldn't actually be a problem/a thing" is genuinely difficult for me

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Done right, it can add to the work. I've done it myself, as while my OCs aren't necessarily multilingual, they have picked up a few phrases and the like, so now and then that gets used to convey something specific in a scene. My personal rule is that if I haven't taken at least Level 1 in a language myself, I don't use it. Because while I can use Google Translate or the like to get my result, I still want to check it myself to make sure it's got the right context/grammar/whatever, which can sometimes be lost with automatic translation. ...But, since I've done level 1 with about six or seven languages so far, I've got a decent range to work with ;P

19. first fandom you wrote for? Stardew Valley. I had tried to write for something else in the past, like, in the 90s, but I don't remember what it was, and I crumpled it all up/deleted it before I could post it anywhere, so it's all been (thankfully) memory holed and lost to time. SDV was my first true foray into fics and creative writing. Well, creative writing that I actually enjoyed >_>

20. favourite fic you've written? Again, oof, that's tough. It's a tie between R&S1 and "A Song of Memories," as both are my OC's stories in SDV and FFXIV respectively, but R&S was where I finally took the terrifying plunge into fics, and therefore started my career as an author. Conversely, ASoM is a goddamn epic, and all of my strengths as a writer, storyteller, and worldbuilder are on full display. The R&S series still holds up, and you can definitely see what the characters would "evolve" into in ASoM, as well as looking back and seeing just how much of R&S influenced them :)

Okay! Time to tag some d00ds so they can have their turn! @yaminohere, @burgiethewriter, @nateharmonica, and @nanasamantha, feel free to have at it! I had wanted to tag a few more people, but apparently I don't follow that many writers after all, and several of them haven't updated their blogs in a few years o_O

[genericpuff]

To me the problem with lore olympus and rachel is that she keeps the fan feedback too close to her chest, yes it does "affect her because she's very sensitive" which is smth rachel has said before in interviews and stuff, but the problem is that if u let fan opinions get in the way of ur work maybe u should set boundaries with the way u interact with fan content OF UR OWN WORK.

Im not sure if im explaining myself correctly, but the way rachel somehow always tries to prove criticism wrong and has slowly started ignoring the foundations she previously set is making everything just so flat and boring. She doesnt work with what we've already read but trying to somehow "fix" things that are sometimes not clear on the get go.

For example, u (and a lot of people) complained about how demeter explicitly said she always put persephone in white (when persephone has willingly been wearing that color through the entire series). Meanwhile, i remember having read a post from loreolympians on instagram (iirc) analyzing perse's change of color scheme during s2.

The problem with these things is that rachel has most likely been engaging with these fans who take for granted that she plans everything out or that everything has a deep meaning (which to a sense you should do, because having faith in the author is usually how to go about analyzing storytelling), and somehow it's become a strange echochamber and it results in these weird, very blatantly written to be noticed, details or moments htat try to be smart but are just flat bc rachel doesnt give any effort to anything else aand prefers telling rather than showing so she can feel like a good author when fans obviously point these out

Jdhdjd these are just my two cents and sorry for the long rant but yeah basically rachel should separate herself from the fandom and try to write more objectively and focusing on the narrative instead of taking every little criticism of her comic so personally

Honestly, I can get being a little squeamish around criticism, shit I've had analysis stuff on my work that's consisted of praise and it's still sometimes a little overwhelming to read (I've got a big one in my asks right now that took me like 10 minutes to get thru because I had to keep taking breathers and I still need to actually share it LMAO it's not even criticism! it's just got so much in it, ahfdsaklg)

When it comes to criticism, I still get a little "aw man" sometimes. I recently got feedback from Pyrrhic & Victoria on my Reaper redraws and even though I'm pals with them and know they aren't gonna be harsh, it's still an incredibly vulnerable position to put oneself in. Especially when it's projects that you hold very close to your sense of self.

RS has definitely taken it a little too far in tying LO to herself as a person. Criticism of the comic = criticism of her , and her fanbase seems to view this the same way, that if someone doesn't like the comic, that has to automatically say something about them as consumers when... it really doesn't. If anything their reactions to criticism say way more about them as people than the criticism existing lmao

What's more upsetting and simultaneously eye-rolling is the fact that Rachel goes out of her way to look for things to be upset about. On multiple occasions now over the past 4-5 years, she's snuck into groups containing criticism, attempted to strongarm power away from moderators so she could have criticism removed, and basically just ruined her own day over other people's opinions whether or not they were meant to be read by her.

It's why I stand by the fact that people shouldn't be directly messaging RS with criticism or hate because that would just be unsolicited cruelty. While she should be more open to criticism, that doesn't mean she needs to open the floodgates on her DM's because there are plenty of places for criticism to exist outside of her peripheral. But she keeps turning her head to look at it. Like, she'll throw a hissy fit over criticism that wasn't even really directly aimed at her, just meant for the sake of discussion. And that's where I'd really honestly wish she could just get a grip.

Like, I'm sure there's criticism of Rekindled out there already. Shit, I've had other projects from yeeears ago that ended up being made fun of outside of where I posted it. It sucked, but going out and actively looking for it for the purpose of erasing it from existence wasn't going to make me a better creator nor was it going to benefit me as a person.

It's a shitty reality, but the bigger you grow as a creator, the more you will have to separate yourself from your audience. You don't have to stonewall them completely, many people follow these works for the creators themselves, but you're not entitled to everyone's friendship and praise, and if the criticism really bugs you that much, then fucking work on the thing they're criticizing, don't double down on it or try to control how your audience consumes your content.

It's why it drives me so nuts when RS does infiltrate these groups because it's an incredible invasion of privacy as well as the creator-reader relationship. Q&A's, panels, and personal socials are where you go to interact with the creator. A creator sneaking into a Discord group or subreddit or FB group with the intent of "listening in" would be equivalent to J.K. Rowling showing up in person to a book club meeting. It's just disrespectful to your audience and makes you look like a huge asshole. Have some grace and for once, I'll tell Rachel and her fanbase to take their own advice - if you don't like it, don't read it.

[viktheviking1]

The Pompous and The Prick Fanfic

Chapter 7: Everyone Should Cry More

Typically, the Stolas mansion was dead silent, without even a single creaky floorboard to announce a living presence. It was as schrödinger's box; with everything in it could be dead or alive and you wouldn’t know until you looked inside. At least, that's how it was on a usual day.

"Sh*t!" Stolas screamed, turning over furniture, "Blast it all to hell and up your father's *ss!"

Loona heard this from outside, but was busy looking up at just how big the mansion was, mouth agape. She traced her hand along the smooth curve of a pillar. D*mn, what was Blitz running from again?

Octavia, however, heard the expletives and approached with caution.

"That . . . Is unusual. Maybe wait on the doorstep? It's not that he would hurt you, I just don't want him to have an aneurysm if he realizes that you heard all that." Octavia said to Loona before she opened the door. She began sneaking through the palace, hearing crashing and the occasional curse from Stolas, only some of which made sense.

“. . . Dad?” she peeked her head through the open door.

Stolas spun around so fast, his head had to catch up with the rest of his body, “V-Via! Darling! How long have you been home? Don’t mind me, dear, I’m just doing some . . . cleaning! Yes, cleaning; I’m sorting things that need to be thrown out, and things to keep. You know how the saying goes, you gotta make a mess to clean a mess!” He said, before tripping over some books on the floor.

Via looked around at the overturned nightstands, sheets stripped off the bed, vanity drawers emptied of their contents, “Yeah . . . very organized sorting.”

Stolas sighed, leaning against his bed frame which was now several meters away from where it usually was, "Alright, I'm looking for something I've lost. I'm sure I never took it out of this room. Still, it was a light blue envelope, if you see it, please give it to me directly, and for heaven's sake, do not open it. There are things in there that a young child should not read." He went back to looking around and rummaging through his own reckage like a maniac.

"I'm not a young child anymore." She said, leaning on the door frame.

Stolas paused his chaos to look her dead in the eyes, "Okay, then there are things in there that my child should not read. It was addressed to Blitz. I was never going to send it, of course. It was just an exercise advised by my therapist."

"You go to therapy . . .?" This was news to Via.

"I was planning on burying it in my garden, or perhaps throwing it poetically into a brimstone lake on a family trip together, but if I don't know where it is, then anyone could have gotten their hands on it. And just when you had specifically asked me to lay low in the media, too-" Stolas's eyes wandered over to where the grimoire usually was held on the shelf, ". . . Sh*t . . . I know where it is."

He began gathering his coat and barrelling past her..

"You mind if I have a friend over-?" Via called after him.

"Of course, darling! They can help themselves to whatever's in the fridge!" He shouted as he ran.

"Hi, Stolas." Loona smiled and waved as the prince ran out of the house.

"Hi, Loona. Sorry, not now." Stolas said without looking, “Where the devil is the car?!”

“Uhh . . . Don’t you, like, portal everywhere?” Loona cocked an eyebrow up at him.

“Oh, right! Thank you dear!” He called back, and made a portal in front of himself.

Octavia walked over to Loona and they watched Stolas leave.

“Where the f**k is he going in such a hurry?” Loona asked.

"No idea, but he'll probably realize that you were here, later. At least the aneurysm will be someone else's problem. Come on, let's go."

[ensignsimp]

[Please feel free to ignore this if ya like]

Do you have any advice for someone who wants to start up a Star trek x reader blog? I'm pretty new to it, don't know too much, but steadily catching up an the series.

The thing that's giving me the most grief is that I don't know enough lore to feel confident enough to start writing about anything with the characters ._.)

Ensign Simp Advice Column:

How to Write x Readers

Finding the right formula for writing x readers can be difficult. As authors we have a distinct habit of putting ourselves into our works. However in this case you should try to remain as neutral as possible. Remember that you are an outside observer. Similar to a video game you are creating a world for your player/reader to interact with, just on a more limited scale almost like Mad Libs.

For new people writing x readers, here are the main points you should take away:

Gender

For anyone starting an x reader blog I always recommend keeping the reader Gender Neutral (GN) and Gender Non-Conforming (GNC). This helps a wide sweep of readers be able to better connect with who they are in the story. Many x readers are written in a hetero-normative structure. This isn't the writers fault most of the fan fiction we read today was started by women and feminine people in the 60s.

And a lot of fan fiction is written by feminine people as a way to cope with the crap dating pool that they're in. The men in our fandoms are basically our new Ken Dolls. We can project our own desires and needs on to them. Writers and readers can take comfort in knowing that we are safe because no real harm is being done, it's just make believe.

However, as an evolving culture, we as a fandom need to embrace the variety in gender and break up gender norms. This is why keeping the reader's gender neutral is a good way to break that norm. Also it allows your readers to connect more when their are options to choose from, example: "Good (boy/girl/gender neutral pet name)." Using "they" is much easier in the sentence structure because it is grammatically correct when you don't know the definitive gender of a person.

They walked along the beach holding (insert random character)'s hand. "I love you so much, my dear (husband/wife/partner)." (Character) said lovingly. "I love you too." They said.

If a gender is specified make sure your label it clearly! This helps readers navigate which writings they may like more. I personally only do it on request. It is also why I don't do pregnancy plots or end with "they lived happily ever after with two kids, a dog, house, and white picket fence. THE END"

Appearances and Race

Just like gender race is always an issue in writing x readers. We will try to compensate with trying to add descriptions like:

"She had (long/short) (hair color) and sparkling (eye color) orbs."

However, descriptions don't give a personality! As a Pansexual myself I love people for who they are and not what they are. This has benefited my writing over the years because I was able to break out of the mold of "you must be aesthetically pleasing in order to be loved by this person" in my writing. Remember that all of your readers come in different shapes, sizes, colors, backgrounds, and neuro-divergence.

We have lots of people of color who write and read fan fiction. So make sure your are leaving the door open by not describing the appearance of the reader but the personality! Allowing your reader to mentally roleplay. If you want to tell the reader how beautiful they are (which all readers are beautiful), try something like this.

"I've always been insecure about how I look." They said looking down shyly. "I've always thought you were beautiful. I love your laugh, the way you bite your lip when you're thinking, and how you look at me with such love and devotion. I thought I would never get the chance to be with someone as amazing as you." (Character) said taking their hands.

Describe little things that could be about anyone. Keep it open, keep it loose, and don't pigeon hold yourself into something. Remember that this is an open audience, character appearance customization is for visual mediums.

Characterization

Having a good personality for your character will be important. You don't want to make the reader "the perfect protagonist" but as we know this is a way to help people cope with their own insecurities and issues. But give them realistic issues such as anger issues, social anxiety (not just selective social anxiety), recklessness, impulsivity, SOMETHING THAT ISN'T A PERFECT FLAW!

"Perfect" Flaw Examples:

They care too much

Clumsy

Shy

(Insert Disney Princess Flaw Here)

That is why when making an x reader you should make the reader a flexible as possible but yet give them realistic obstacles and problems. Maybe the reader has anger issues or has a fear of intimacy.

Interesting Flaw Examples:

Childish

Competitive

Impulsive

Indecisive

Jealous

Paranoid

Socially Awkward

Stubborn

ALSO REMEMBER THAT BEING AUTISTIC OR NEURODIVERGENT IS NOT A FLAW!

Give them fears and problems that are relatable to a lot of people and are plot relevant. Try not to give them a specific niche fear (again unless by request and you have it labeled). Remember that your reader will be more interested in the story, if they are interesting. Especially in longer stories than a short one-shot!

Setting

DO RESEARCH ON YOUR SETTING YOU ARE IN!

Unless it is an AU (can't stress labeling), make sure to do research on the time period, world lore, and settings before making up stuff. New writers may not know certain lore but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't do research. If you are writing fan fiction you obviously have access to the internet or someway off connecting to it. USE IT!

For example I had a request for a character I didn't know. So I went on YouTube and looked them up. I watched a couple of videos and decided I liked the character enough to write for them. So I borrowed my friend's box set of the show I was going to write for.

I watched a couple of episodes, looked up everything about them online through fandom wikis, chat rooms, and lore (videos, articles, and other fan creations), then I started to write for the character.

To me, being new to a fandom is no longer an excuse for why you are not able to look up information. It doesn't just stop in high school. You'll still need to research things, BEFORE YOU WRITE ABOUT THEM!

Plot

Start with the action, I know I got out of bed, brushed my teeth, and ate breakfast. WHAT AM I DOING AND WHY SHOULD I CARE? Explain what am I doing, what is happening, and what is at stake!

If you don't have a plot idea look up other fan fictions about that character, if there are none, look up prompts to use. Make sure to ask or tag someone in the prompt or inspiration you pull from. This helps other writers get their work noticed, while also sharing in the love of the character and writing.

Make sure everything you write about it plot relevant!

And the most important:

Establish Boundaries

Make sure you have a list of rules for your blog and your writing preference. Make a list of things that you do and do not write for.

EXAMPLE

This helps readers understand what they can and can't ask for.

REMEMBER THAT FAN FICTION WRITERS ARE NOT PAID!

THEY DO NOT HAVE TO TAKE YOUR REQUEST IF THEY DON'T WANT TOO!

[elpickett]

Sense Her is out on AO3!

The first (and last) times Joel sees, hears, smells, touches, and tastes Tess.

This is the prequel of sorts to my new Tess Lives series, I wanted to explore Tess and Joel a bit more before I let them be happy and back together. It focuses on how they met and the very early part of the outbreak.

Rating: M

Words: 3k

Warnings: Major character death (does it count if she's not actually dead?), standard violence levels for TLOU.

Full fic below the cut if you'd rather read it here!

Joel Miller's first sight of Theresa Servopoulos was through a rifle scope, watching her dig a knife behind a man's knee cap until he began to speak. He and Tommy had been tailing her group of eight for a few days now, trying to work out where they were headed. In their experience, a group of that size moving purposefully meant some sort of settlement, and they desperately needed to trade for ammo that would actually fit their guns.

This, though, was a surprise. Tommy had clocked pretty fast that the group was divided into two or possibly three smaller groups, the tension rising steadily as time went on. They'd been expecting some shouting and the group splitting, not the only woman of the group, long auburn hair tied back with a bandanna, to stab someone in a way designed to maximise pain and avoid killing them. Joel should probably have found it less attractive than he did.

He turned to Tommy, who was still watching the scene through his rifle scope.

‘Any idea what's happening?’ he asked his brother, lifting the binoculars back up to his face.

‘Think one of the men made the mistake of coming onto her,’ Tommy answered, ‘definitely put hands on her at least, she didn't start it.’

‘As long as they still head towards the settlement,’ Joel responded, dropping the binoculars and picking up his rifle and heading back to the edge of the woods, ‘you keep watch, I'll sort dinner.’

~~~~~~~

The first time Joel heard Tess speak was three days later, when he was sitting on watch beside his and Tommy's stuff, rifle loose in his hands as his brother slept next to him. She slipped through the trees, silent as a ghost, gun loose at her side, and sat opposite him on the other side of the fire, ignoring the gun pointed at her chest entirely.

‘I’ll tell you where the nearest settlement is if you take me with you. I know you've been tailing the people I'm with, and the amount of firearms you have on you suggests you probably need ammo, as food doesn't seem to be an issue,’ she said, nodding towards the deer carcass hanging across the clearing. Her accent wasn’t local, Joel may have lost track of exactly where they were - Tennessee he thought, but he couldn’t be sure - but she was from significantly further north than whenever they were, most likely Midwestern.

‘How’d you know we were here?’ Joel responded brusquely, gun not wavering at all.

‘The rifle scope is reflective. First couple times I wrote it off, but by the third day it was clear someone was tailing us,’ she said, pulling a water bottle out of her pack.

‘Why wouldn't ya’ just go with your group?’

‘They aren't my group. I've been temporarily travelling with them, and that temporary period is now over, given I stabbed one of them. I'd really rather not travel alone, and since you and your brother haven't tried to kill us, rape me, or steal all our shit yet, you're my best option.’

‘We’re a shitty option.’

‘And that would be why I said best, not good. Try anything, I'll stab you too,’ she said, before picking a pinecone from beside her foot and lightly throwing it at Tommy, who sat up, gun loaded and pointed at her before he was fully awake. ‘Impressive,’ she mused, not reacting to the now pair of guns pointed at her.

‘Oh, it's you,’ Tommy said, blinking sleep from his eyes. ‘Wait, why are you here?’

‘We’re travelling to the next settlement together. I know where it is, you don't, and I would like not to go alone. I'm meeting the rest of my group there,’ Tess said coolly.

‘’Kay. D’ya have to wake me up early for that, though? I was hopin’ for more sleep,’ Tommy said, putting the gun down and going to roll over.

‘Tommy!’ Joel hissed, still holding the gun.

‘What? She knew we were followin’ her and she found us here so she's clearly competent, and besides if she wanted us dead she would have shot ya’ before I woke up. She's goin’ where we want to go and is willin’ to take us there. Plus this way we can split watches three ways, this is a win for all of us. Now pipe the fuck down, I'm sleepin’. We can leave at dawn,’ Tommy said, gesturing vaguely with the hand not holding a gun. Tess may not have had much experience with firearms (she hadn't learnt to use one before the outbreak, and hadn't found someone to teach her properly since. The one she carried was more for show than anything else, her words normally enough to keep her safe and a pair of daggers filling in when words weren't enough), but she knew just enough to be impressed by the younger man's trigger discipline even when half asleep.

‘Works for me,’ Tess said, shrugging and pulling a sleeping bag out her rucksack - a warm one, Joel noted, much thicker than his and Tommy's. She crawled inside (clothes and shoes still on, pack neatly fastened and ready to grab to leave at a moments notice, gun loaded and tucked next to her, same as Tommy's), rolled her eyes at the sight of Joel still staring at her, and rolled away from him.

~~~~~~~

The following morning, Joel learnt what she smelled like. He’d kept his gun on her the rest of the night, splitting his attention between her and the woods in case it was a trap. She’d woken with dawn by herself, slipping out of her sleeping bag and going to relieve herself (taking the gun, but leaving her gear, Joel noted), and had arrived back as Joel began prodding Tommy to wake up. Tommy hadn’t been good with mornings and getting up on time since he was teenager, and despite Joel's hopes time in the army had made that habit worse rather than better. She had pulled a granola bar out of her bag, and set up a pan of water over a small camping stove before heating water up, and pulling out a sachet of instant coffee. As Joel moved past her to get to the rest of their water supply to put out the remainder of the fire, he realised her gear apparently stretched to perfume, the scent of woodsmoke and coffee mixing with lavender and jasmine.

‘Ya’ got a good setup there,’ Tommy said, looking on jealously as she made up a large mug of coffee, adding several packets of sugar to it, as well as what looked rather a lot like long life milk.

‘Lots of stuff around if you know where to look,’ she shrugged, going to sip her drink before realising her coffee was definitely still too hot to not burn her mouth, putting it back down as she rolled up the sleeping bag and tucked it away. By the time her coffee was almost cool enough to drink and poured into a thermos to take with her, she had not only packed up but messed with the leaves and branches so you couldn’t tell anyone had been sleeping there.

They set off soon after, Tess pulling out a compass and a paper map (the same one Joel and Tommy had, not that it seemed to be doing them much good) and striding off past Joel to begin a long day of hiking, leaving nothing but the scent of jasmine in the air.

~~~~~~~

The first time Joel touched Tess beyond shoulders brushing as they walked or made dinner together (they had shared rations in Tess’ group so the food tasted better, plus it was much easier to justify having a decent selection of spices if everyone only had to carry the equivalent to one spice jar) was three weeks into knowing each other, when he ended up holding the skin of her stomach together as someone else stitched up a stab wound. This was certainly not how he wanted to first touch her skin and find out if it was as soft as it looked.

He was careful not to touch anything more than necessary or even look too closely at her mostly naked upper torso, to the point Tess would have thought the blood was making his queasy if she didn't know how little blood bothered him, or her, or Tommy, or the rest of their group. She thought it was funny, in a way, how respectful he was being while she was bleeding out. The group medic, an EMT before cordyceps, had cut her shirt down the front to get to her abdomen as fast as possible, then barked at Joel (the nearest person) to hold her still while he stitched her up, so Joel ended up with one hand on her hip bone, fingers brushing what he recognised as a C section scar, and the other spanning her entire rib cage, covering the pair of tattoos there and holding her still as she tried not to scream, the medic suturing as fast as could before tipping rubbing alcohol on the wound to try to sterilise it.

Tommy, still attempting to cover the four of them from the hunters firing at the them while the rest of their group picked them off one by one, glanced back in panic as Tess’ blood made its way across the floor in a river of blood towards him, soaking his trouser leg as he knelt. Joel, still trying to hold Tess still as she got stitched up, didn't move as her hand clung on to his arm hard enough to bruise, her eyes screwed shut with the pain. Even after the medic sat back on his heels, after Tommy and the others had dealt with the other group, Tess and Joel stayed as they were, his hands on her torso, her fingers digging into his elbow as her forehead moved to rest on his bicep as she breathed through the pain.

~~~~~~~

The first time he tasted Tess came a few weeks after she got stabbed, when the group found a liquor store. After drawing straws on who got to stay sober and on guard, everyone else had started drinking, enjoying spirits that most of them would never have been able to afford before cordyceps. Tommy was gleefully partaking in the drinking games (truth or dare, never have I ever, spin the bottle, and a bunch of other juvenile shit Joel was pretty sure people only did in college), whilst Joel and Tess passed a bottle of fancy gin between them, sitting next to each other a little further back from the bonfire.

‘God, I remember being young enough to think that was a good idea,’ Tess said, looking at the others playing games and swigging deeply before passing the bottle back to Joel.

‘Ya’ say that like it was a long time ago,’ Joel said, looking at her. She looked younger than him and Tommy, but he couldn't tell anything beyond late twenties.

‘Certainly feels like it, honestly felt like it before cordyceps too. Think I was done after I ended up getting a tattoo on a dare, then just started skipping straight to the drinking or drugs,’ she shrugged. ‘And besides, it's rude to ask a lady's age, Texas, didn't your Ma ever teach you manners?’

‘She did, hence why I didn't ask. Any information ya’ offer up in response to my statement is on you,’ he said, blushing slightly at being caught, his accent thickening.

Tess laughed, deep and full bodied, limbs heavy and loose from the alcohol.

‘I’m 27. Was born in ‘77. You?’

‘Thirty four,’ Joel responded, ‘Tommy turned 30 last month.’

‘Oh, so he's old now!’ Tess grinned.

‘The fuck does that make me?’

‘Distinguished. A silver fox. Han-’

‘I’m ain't going grey!’ Joel protested, cutting Tess off.

‘Oh?’ she said, rolling her eyes and carefully placing the gin bottle down, then twisting to straddle his lap, all her weight on top of him. He froze, before his arms quickly came up to hold her waist as she listed to one side, steadying her as best he could.

‘Then what, pray tell, is this?’ she said, hands finding a lock of hair and gently tugging, ‘because I hate to break it to you, Texas, but this ain't brown any more.’

Joel's breath caught in his throat as her hands gently combed through his her, their bodies pressed together, his mouth at the same height as her collarbone. He had a sudden impulse to lean forward and press his lips to it, and was halfway there before Tess tugged on his hair again, tilting his head up to look at her.

‘And what do you think you're doing?’ she asked, a twinkle in her eye that Joel was coming to realise meant she was fucking with someone (usually him).

‘I - nothing,’ he said, swallowing as one of her hands came down to his neck, her thumb pressing lightly on the side of his neck.

‘Well that won't do at all,’ Tess murmured, looking down at him, ‘if you aren’t doing anything you might have to think for once, and we can't have that.’ She bowed her head so their foreheads were touching, lips almost brushing his as she spoke.

‘Can I kiss ya’ now, darlin’?’ Joel asked, hands tightening slightly on her waist, carefully avoiding any pressure on the still healing knife wound. Tess smiled at him, a different smile to her usual fake one, and pressed their lips together softly for a few moments.

She tasted of the gin they'd been drinking for the last few hours, the stew they'd had for dinner, the spearmint gum she chewed while they walked. Her hand tangled in his hair as she pulled him back towards her, licking into his mouth as her other hand settled along his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. And while their lips were pressed together, bodies tangling, laughing as they tried and failed to make it to where Tess was sleeping without falling over, Joel felt his world narrow until it contained only the woman in front of him, freckles barely visible and hair redder than normal in the firelight, Tess turned into flames set to burn him up in her wake. He welcomed it.

~~~~~~~

He realised, after he got Ellie to Lincoln, that he could barely remember all the last good times, not wanting those memories to belong to the ending they'd been dealt.

The last time her saw her remained in his head, the image on repeat of her begging him to take Ellie (as though he wouldn't, as though either of them would ever abandon a child, no matter how much it might hurt them to care for someone who wasn't the one child they wanted with them), arm shaking, the bite on her neck angry and fungus tendrils already snaking out from the wound. The scent of blood and dirt covering her jasmine lotion (the one luxury she afforded herself, always keeping it for herself if they found it or traded it), the shake in her voice as she spoke. She'd always had a way with words, a way of telling people what they wanted to hear and making them think her ideas were their own, so it killed him to hear her weakness, hear her losing what made him love her. The salt from the sweat on her forehead as he kissed her there, not wanting to risk pressing a kiss to her lips in goodbye. The feeling of her hand squeezing his as she told him to run.

Instead, he tried to focus on the good memories.

The last time he'd tasted her, a few days before they'd met Ellie, falling into bed together after a successful run, his head between her thighs as her hands tangled in his hair, holding him there until she was sated, kissing the taste of her off his lips.

The smell of her after she'd showered, making use of a rare period of hot water, the scent of her shampoo (rose scented, this time, a gift from Frank from last time they were in Lincoln) and lotion drifting into his nose as she curled around him in bed, her hair falling onto his chest.

The sight of her the morning before Robert’s men had beaten her up, perched on the kitchen counter and laughing at a joke, hair falling loose in waves around her shoulders in a way she never let it when they were working, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of long socks to combat the cold. He was attempting to cook eggs for breakfast, out of practice after so many years.

The sound of her talking to Ellie as they worked their way through Boston, trying to settle the girl (and him, Joel knew) and distract from the corpses littered around. Her voice as she spoke to Marlene, getting exactly what she wanted while Marlene thought she was getting a good deal. Her quiet words as they went to sleep the first night outside the walls, promises that they’d be okay, that the fireflies would take Ellie, that they’d go and find Tommy wherever he’d ended up.

The feel of her head on his thigh, using him as a pillow as he kept watch over her and Ellie, one of her hands curled around his leg as though to keep him close as one of his hands carded through her hair, gently working out the tangles as she slept, the skin on the back of her neck soft and smooth.

~~~~~~~

He clung to those memories later, sitting by the river, recounting them with each stone he added to her cairn - one for each sense, first and last, until ten stones sat neatly, one atop each other, the best grave he could give the woman he'd loved for so long. He briefly wished he would’ve been able to bury her properly, before remembering a long rant she’d gone on at one point about funerals being dumb and pointless. It made him feel better, at least, to know that she wouldn’t have wanted him to make a big deal of it. The way he mourned her was the same way he’d loved her: quiet, understanded, but always present, and always there.

[thekenikaridevblog]

Updates biweekly!

Hello! This is Tena, and I'm making a silly little rpg maker game called Kenikari

In this blog, I'll be posting regular updates about how development process is going (every two weeks). Hopefully the need to stay consistent will help me work consistently instead of working like a maniac for a few weeks then leave it untouched for a month straight, and also hopefully this blog will build a little audience that will want to see the sillies in action in their own pc

Normally I like to keep things all mixed up in my main blog, but this project is too important for me to do that, and I thought this would be an easier way to archive things

Pronouns are she/her

Small QnA under the cut!

What is Kenikari? (Game-wise)

It's a game made in RPGmaker xp. It contains point-and-click sections, normal exploring and walking around sections like you'd see in your average RPG, and puzzles. It's dialogue heavy, so if you prefer more action and gameplay that keeps you on your toes, I wouldn't recommend this game to you. If you like reading a lot, today's your lucky day, bucko

What is Kenikari? (Plot-wise)

A bunch of people of different ages and social backgrounds who don't know eachother get kidnapped into a killing game, where they'd have to solve puzzles, work together, and against eachother to survive. You play as Lare, a normal teenage girl who just wanted to learn some french

Where can I play it?

So far I've only given very early betas to some of my friends, and there isn't a wildly available finished product out there, so if you want to see how the game looks like so far, the best I can give you are some friends' streams, who played it live. Their names are zMali and asherthedragonfox, both on twitch. I'm working on a releasable demo at the moment!

Any requirements needed to play it?

It is only playable on windows pc. I think it's also runnable with Linux wine but there is a chance it might not work properly. It's a relatively small game with not too much going on at the same time so low quality computers won't explode when trying to run it, but there are a lot of files and counting so if you want to download it make sure you've got space to spare

Any trigger warnings of note?

There isn't any blood or violence shown yet, but it will be. You will also die if you get a game over so trigger warning for death??

Hey, this game looks a lot like ___

This game was originally thought out to be a Your Turn To Die fangame, but due to the fact that the story is completely separate from the original game and the gameplay mechanics are wildly different in some aspects, I decided to call it a whole separate project from Nankidai's. It is also inspired by games like Danganronpa (especially the fangame Another 2), the Zero Escape series, Ghost Trick, Phoenix Wright, and probably other games later on as the project comes to life

For how long have you been working on this?

A few years. Development started around two years ago but the concept idea has been brewing in my mind for far longer

Is this a solo project?

90% of it yeah. For music I stole some from my friends Bree-sae and Niku Moto Sama. And Bree even composed a few songs exclusively for this! Go check em out :3

Can I stream this/talk about this?

Of course!

Any release date? How will it be distributed?

The game, much like YTTD, will release in chapters. So far I'm working on the demo of the first chapter, to get the public an early taste of what will go down in the death game. I want to release it on June 21st alongside an animation for hype and lore reasons, but those are two very big projects for one person, so it might take longer. Time will pass anyways. It will be available on itch.io for free! For the full chapter and future ones I haven't thought of a release date, but it will definitely take years for this whole project to be done

Hey, what's wrong with this character?

:)

No, seriously, why do- why's the body like that, the hair, the eyes

:)

I don't understand. You've made this all on your own what's the point of going out of your way to- why would you ever-

:)

Weren't you wanted by the fbi or something?

Oh shit-

[lotus-btas]

BTaS Update: May-July 2023 - Pages of Lotus

Back again after a VERY long while without an update. Sorry for that, I'm forgetful.

Let me catch you up to speed on how the progress for Beyond Time and Space has been going these past few months, where we are now, and how we'll do things moving into the future.

Starting with the past, I'm gonna be fully honest: I haven't made a lot of progress with episode 2. Towards the end of May and the entire month of June, I've been suffering some serious burnout, to the point where interacting with my work would make my physically ill and exhausted. For a while I thought about skipping episode 2 entirely and moving on to 3, but then remembered that I stopped working on ep 3 because of my dissatisfaction/change of ideas with ep 2 that mentally stopped me from moving into the next arc. I'm still semi trying to get over it, but every day I can feel my creative drive starting to kick back in. I just need to sit down, focus, and get to work, which is a lot harder these days than ever before.

I also mentioned in the past how I was gonna host a beta reading for the first episode of Beyond Time and Space on the 20th of May. That also didn't happen. Not only was I sick with a headache on the 19th of that month, but I was rushed to the hospital for treatment, and spend the 20th, 21st, 22nd, and 23rd recovering. Plus, that post got little to no interest or attraction, so making a sign up that no one would bother to mess with seemed kind of pointless.

As of the present, right now I'm working on trying to balance my energy between BTaS and my other projects and interest, to make sure that my burnout doesn't get as dangerously bad as it did in May and June. It seems to be working. None of them are making much sound progress, as I keep getting distracted by my own thoughts, but it's keeping my energy in check, which is all I need.

I also decided to start working on a pilot for Beyond Time and Space! Yeah! The one thing that I should've started with, especially because this is an animated series, I'm doing now, a full year after I wrote the first episode! Kinda ironic! I find a huge benefit of this being that I know my characters super well now, but the big disadvantage is finding something for them to do; how they can interact with this new environment that I'm putting them in for a single short episode. That's also been a little draining. Might need to brainstorm some more.

And, last but not least, going forward. My plans from this point on is to hopefully have a more consistent update schedule (every or every other Saturday, if I can remember), maybe create and show off some art made specifically for the updates, like a visual summary. I'm also working on a twitter account for Beyond Time and Space that is currently up, but probably won't have anything on it for quite a while. I'm a full believer that it's never too early to share your work, but I'm an anxious gun that needs some sort of visual content to back it up, if that makes sense.

Anyways this is really long. Apologies for that. I would add a TL;DR, but I'm kinda in a rush now because I gotta cook dinner. Just getting this out of the way beforehand (and because the time it took to write this was the same amount of time I had left before the time to cook dinner struck, so it kind of just fell in my lap). Maybe I'll include one once I reblog with the tag list.

Thanks for spending your time reading this update! Your eyes are a blessing :D

- Yors Truly

[gamesbyalbie]

The Cursed Journey

PART 8: MOTIVE

"What does this even mean?" Michael's face scrunches up. "To Kelly with the cool bangs?" 

I snort. "It's exactly what it says."

"But who is Kelly? Is this a reference? Am I missing something? Is there anything—or anyone—you need to tell me about?"

I look away from the hologram and roll my eyes. Hopefully, he still hasn't upgraded his phone and the projection's too blurry for him to tell. "Just print it, Michael. It's non-negotiable."

"Okay." His shoulders appear as he makes an exaggerated shrug. "But you know people are going to talk when we release this. Right?"

"Sure. People will theorize. Let them." I can hear exasperation seeping into my voice. The tremor is back in my hands and I can feel a cluster headache gathering like storm clouds. "My private life is public property. I'm a character as much as I am a writer." I shake a small white pill out of an orange bottle. "You should be happy if people are talking," I grumble before tossing the pill into my mouth, swallowing it dry—a decision I immediately regret. "That's what you want. Isn't it?"

"I suppose. But that's not all they're gonna talk about. Tobi and the Brain Worm isn't exactly what people have been waiting for. I need you to be prepared for that."

I wince internally. "I know." People are gonna be pissed, disappointed, confused. But I'm not a machine, and it's these weird little experiments that keep me going. I'm doing all I can to hold the curse at bay.

"You're gonna have to do press for this."

I sigh. "Do I?"

"Yes! Of course. Ody, people are losing faith. It's been over a year since Neo Olympus dropped." I grimace. He doesn't have to constantly remind me of that. I don't think he'd spontaneously combust if he went a whole day without mentioning it. "You're lucky you write so well. People give you a lot more patience than normal." He means I'm lucky bots still can't replicate my work. "But your fans aren't gonna be satisfied with some quirky little sci-fi novel about Tobi and her brain worm unless they know something bigger is coming. I need you to reassure them of that."

"Well, if I spend time reassuring them, I won't have time to produce it." 

"How much more time do you need?" Michael squeals. "You just wrote a novel in three days. That sequel should be finished by now! Hell, the series should be finished by now."

I look away. "It—it nearly is."

"Ody Specter... tell me you aren't writing Act 3 again."

I'm silent for a moment too long. "I just—"

"Unbelievable! Do you need me to come over and watch you? Like a child doing their homework? Cause I'll do it."

"No! No. I'll get it done."

"Tonight. You will get it done tonight."

"Fine."

"Fine, what?"

"Fine, I'll finish it tonight."

"Okay. You better. And Ody, you know I'm only doing this because I care about you, right?"

"Yes." No, I don't know that. How could I be sure of that? I'm your source of income. I'm a product you sell.

"Good." Michael sighs. "Good."

"But—" Anxiety gnaws at my stomach. "What if it isn't good?"

"Pardon?"

"The sequel. What if it isn't what they've been waiting for? People have already waited ages for this, if I then release something that's disappointing—"

"Stop. Ody, Listen to me." Michael interrupts. I allow it. I don't really want to finish my sentence. "Do not worry about that. Okay? Two things. Number one: I believe in you. You are your own worst critic and you're never gonna be fully satisfied with what you create. That's the burden of being an artist. Trust me, I've worked with enough of you to know that." I brush a tear off my cheek. "Number two: people are going to be assholes. There's no avoiding that. Either they're shitty trolls or people so invested in your story and characters that they treat them like they own them. You'll never give those people what they want, and you don't have to. You can't let your fear of disappointing strangers keep you from creating something you love. And I know how much you love this—how much you care. Just... get it out there. Share it. And remember, there's always more people who silently appreciate you than who vocally critique you. However it turns out, people will love it—and those who don't love it, don't matter."

"Thanks, Michael." Warm calm settles over me. "I needed to hear that."

"Don't mention it. It's my job to be here for you. While I have you here, they also want you to do press for Min-joon's book."

"You're shitting me, right?" The calm is yanked away, exposing my back to harsh cold. "That is not Min-joon's book. There's no way I'm going to show support for that factory produced, plagiarized crap. You should be grateful I'm not publicly denouncing it!"

Recently, that's all I've wanted to do. It aggravates me so much to see people praising it on every platform. It's a lie. A scam. A forgery.

Michael sent me a copy last week. I ripped it apart and set it on fire.

Apparently, it's a solarpunk love story about a robot tea farmer and a human antiquarian. I don't know. I only skimmed through parts of it before the nausea turned unbearable and my urge to destroy it became all-consuming.

What I do know is that everyone else in the world seems to be wet with anticipation. Every major news outlet has been calling it, "the ultimate friends to lovers story." Or, "a revolutionary tale with intoxicating worldbuilding." My old boss at Biblio called it, "the most serenely beautiful work of fiction she's ever read."

I could slap every single one of them. Right in the face. Just slap the shit out of them. Maybe then they'd come to their senses and see that nothing has been created. This book, as good as it may be, is manufactured bullshit hiding under Min-joon's name—wearing his style, tone, themes, etc. as camouflage.

"Listen, Ody, I know you've felt that way, but—"

"But what, Michael? There's no past tense. I do feel this way."

"I know, I get it. Trust me... but Mr. Steel called me today. Literally, he called me. He wants to speak with you, to see if you'll reconsider."

"Well, next time he honors you with a call, tell him to eat fucking glass. That'll be less painful than trying to convince me to support him and his despicable actions."

"But you just send them the unfinished work. Or just the ideas! They'll write it for you. They'll even make it sound like you if you give them enough. There's no risk. No danger! You barely have to lift a finger—"

"Never, Michael. Never."

"Fine. I'll tell them it's a no."

"And don't bring it up again."

"I won't. But remember, this means you have to work. You have to write. You have to finish this story, then do it all over again. You turn Steel down and that's your only option. It doesn't have to be perfect—that's what editing is for—just... do it. You make this harder than it has to be. And if you need to," he stops for a moment. I can see debate in his eyes even through the hologram. "Think about Min-joon. If nothing else, do it for him."

A visceral snarl rips from my throat. "Do you think I'm not doing that? Every second, of every fucking day?"

"No. Ody, that's not—I'm just trying to motivate you."

"I don't need motivation! Surprisingly, the threat of death and need to support my loved one is more than enough. And, for the record, I'm not making this hard. This is hard. Really fucking hard!" A cauldron of rage starts to boil over, searing and charring my insides.

It's unproductive. Everything about this. This has been a massive waste of time and—the more I get worked up—the more time I'll continue to waste. I need to get out. Fast.

"I'll call you in the morning."

"Okay, g—"

I toss my phone on my bed and walk over to the windows. My hands fly to my face and neck, rubbing the overwhelming emotion from my tense muscles. I look out at the urban landscape, doing my best to cool my furious blood—to quiet the string of violent obscenities parading through my head.

The sun hangs low in the sky. Dark brushstrokes of clouds cross the vast expanse. It's almost a perfect rainbow—dark purple overhead gradually turning to fiery crimson along the horizon. The lit windows and labyrinthine streets are equally beautiful, creating a tapestry of electric life.

It's distracting. Hopefully calming. Perhaps even inspiring.

Hmm, maybe... I look back at my office door. No. Being generous, it would take me at least thirty minutes of strained grunting and heaving to get my desk out here. By that time, the sunset would be long gone. There's no time, you worthless piece—

I force myself to turn away and drag my body back to the study. Michael is right, as much as I loathe to admit it.

I have work to do.

End of Part 8 of ? • LAST PART • NEXT PART (coming soon)

More Cursed Journey • More by Albie • Image Source

The amazing music video that inspired this:

[brightfuturenovel]

weekly update two: eyes on the prize (but how?)

the best way i've found to keep myself on track for long-term projects like this is to set a series of incremental goals. in this case, i've been setting daily, weekly, and monthly goals, as well as a couple overall goals.

i created these before i started writing, because i know my own abilities pretty well. if you aren't sure how much you can write in a day, experiment! don't strive for something you won't be able to achieve, because it'll only end up making you feel like a failure. which is no good at all.

if anyone is feeling unsure of where to start, here's a breakdown of my goals, as well as my reasoning behind them!

my daily goals are the most rigid. it's 750 new words per day. that can be changed if i don't think it will work with another goal (for example, ive had to increase my daily word count goal to 1,200 this week, because i wasn't going to meet my monthly goal). these daily challenges keep me motivated with consistent, low-stakes tasks to complete. i get a little dopamine hit every single day. it's fantastic.

next up, i have weekly goals. these are pretty much always just my daily word goal times 7, but they help keep me accountable for the daily goals. it's a deadline that's far-off enough to not be last minute, but close enough that i don't forget that it exists. also, if i finish a weekly goal super early, i get to relax for a day or two! it's built-in downtime, which keeps me from getting burnt out.

next on the scale, i have monthly goals. these are word count totals i have to hit. they're mostly there to keep me on track, and make everything fit into perspective. they let me look back at when i started in mid-august and realize exactly how far i've come, and exactly how far i have left to go. these goals are much more aproximate, and i'll almost certainly end up changing them wildly as i get closer to the end of drafting. for now, they're my north star, always pointing onwards.

and, of course, i have my overall goals. days that i have to be done drafting, be done editing, and the absolute last day i can start submitting to publishers. these are less goals, and more deadlines. there's no fudging the numbers here. without these deadlines, this project would stretch on forever, and i'd immedietly get bored and move on. that's not an option, so the deadlines are my solution!

my advice to fellow writers: keep these goals in your mind! write them down somewhere! on your calendar, in your document, on a sheet of lined paper that you tape to the wall over your desk, anywhere! also, don't beat yourself up for missing a deadline or not meeting a goal. in the end, you should write because it's fun, and if you stop having fun, you'll stop writing. and we can't have that.

[agerefandom]

Mornings and Knights

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Aziraphale & Crowley

Words: 1,800

Summary: The first morning that Crowley wakes up still regressed, after an evening of regression with Aziraphale as his caregiver. (Able to be read alone, but technically a continuation of my ‘Evenings of Eternity’ series!)

Content warnings: Bath time, play-fighting with sticks, and enough fluff to rot some unsuspecting teeth.

“Up you go!” Aziraphale caught Crowley gently, lifting him up towards the midmorning sun. He was cheating a bit, ignoring the gravity that should be pulling them back down to the ground, but he was sure that Crowley wouldn’t notice.

Crowley was laughing, wiggling in Aziraphale’s grasp. He stretched his fingers up towards the blue sky, dark against the shining backdrop.

Aziraphale brought him back down into an embrace, holding him tight. “There’s my little one!” he exclaimed, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s bedhead. Neither of them had gotten dressed before running outside this morning, after a quick breakfast of cereal and a longer cleanup of said breakfast. Crowley had certainly gotten into the spirit of making a mess as a toddler.

“I want to play!” Crowley protested, trying to get out of Aziraphale’s arms.

Crowley didn’t really go in for the baby talk, but Aziraphale could tell how much less he filtered himself. How different he was like this, how open. Aziraphale was amazed every time by how much trust Crowley was putting in him, to take care of him and see this part of him. It had been just over a month since Aziraphale had first raised the topic, only four evenings of exploring Crowley’s regression.

Crowley had taken to it like a duck to water, from finger-painting to playing pretend. Aziraphale was hard-pressed to keep up with his toddler energy, but he admired this new form of Crowley as much as he loved the other lives they had shared together. It was nice to have a natural place with this version of Crowley, each of them constructed to fit the other: Aziraphale the one with snacks and napkins, and Crowley with a mischievous grin and fast-running legs.

“Remember to stay in front of the house,” Aziraphale told Crowley before he let him run off into the field. The backyard was still sizeable, but it dropped off into a sheer cliff that Aziraphale didn’t want Crowley going near when he was regressed.

Crowley didn’t pause to acknowledge the warning as he bolted out of Aziraphale’s grasp into a longer patch of grass. He batted at the fronds that bobbed at the level of his chest, then went into a complicated martial arts routine that flattened a large section of the poor greenery. He flipped between coordination and childish stumbling steps, a contradiction in movement. Aziraphale leaned against the gate and watched him, calling out encouragement every now and then. He loved to watch Crowley play, showing an internal drive and joy that Aziraphale didn’t often see in him.

Crowley was now performing some speech in the center of the grass, attempting to threaten the remaining fronds into submission while illustrating the consequences with punches to the air.

Aziraphale smiled fondly at the sight of Crowley yelling, dressed in a new t-shirt with two crossed swords on front. Crowley, as a toddler, had an obsession with knights and weaponry. Aziraphale was almost convinced that it was adult Crowley mocking him, knowing just how much Aziraphale had hated their days in knightly armour, but Crowley was much too genuinely excited as a toddler to have a nefarious agenda. So there were pledges of loyalty and honor, quests for imaginary treasure.

Aziraphale was thinking about getting Crowley some kind of playset that was themed around knights, but he wasn’t sure if that would be taking things too far. He would have to ask Crowley when he was feeling grown up.

“Help me siege the castle!” Crowley yelled, pointing at the tree in their yard with his newest ‘sword,’ a broken piece of wood that Aziraphale had dulled on both ends with a quiet miracle.

“At your service, my liege!” Aziraphale called, running to his side. “I come with my bow!”

“Good.” Crowley took his position, chest puffed out and sword raised high. “Shoot them all! But don’t hurt them too much.”

“No worries,” Aziraphale assured him. “All of my arrows are covered in sleep dust, and they’ll fall asleep as soon as they’re hit.”

“Brilliant!” Crowley swung his sword around once with a fierce war-cry and rushed at the tree, Aziraphale obediently loosing imaginary arrows over his head at the invisible enemy.

“They’re no match!” Aziraphale called as Crowley slashed at the trunk with his stick. He wouldn’t do any real harm to the tree, Aziraphale knew. And if he accidentally hit too hard, they could always heal it later. They both loved the shade of its leaves too much to allow it wounds from silly games. “You’re too good!”

“None can defeat me!” Crowley cried.

With one last thrust to the trunk, Crowley dropped his sword for a victory lap around the tree, his fists held high.

“The knight victorious!” Aziraphale said, exaggerating a bow. “How can we repay you?”

“No repayment,” Crowley said imperiously. “I do what I do for the good of the chivalric code. As all men should.”

“A noble knight,” Aziraphale nodded. “Truly.”

“Can I have a medal?” Crowley’s eyes came together, and his eyes were wide. Aziraphale laughed, recognizing what writers would call ‘puppy-dog eyes.’

“You may have a cookie, darling one, and that will be your medal.” Aziraphale held out his arms and Crowley jumped into them, curling long limbs in until Aziraphale was supporting his weight entirely. “And a bath for your grass-stained knees.”

“I don’t need a bath!’ Crowley protested, but Aziraphale knew from previous discussions that a bath was something Crowley had been wanting to try for a while. Neither of them usually took baths, able to miracle away any blemishes that settled on them. It would be a new experience for both of them, and all the better for being tried together.

“But don’t you remember the new duck we bought for your bath time?” Aziraphale coaxed as he carried Crowley towards the house. “I think he deserves a chance to float around.”

“Oh, true!” Crowley brightened, squirming in Aziraphale’s grasp until he could wrap his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, nuzzling into his chest. “And will it be very warm?”

“The warmest,” Aziraphale promised. “And you can take a nap afterwards.” The door opened politely for them and Crowley’s shoes unlaced themselves, tucking themselves away in their proper spot. Aziraphale toed off his own shoes and carried Crowley down the hall to the bathroom, sitting him gently on the closed toilet seat.

The running water was calming, sound and steam filling the room as Crowley chattered about the morning and his escapades. Aziraphale sat on the edge of the tub, one hand testing the water’s temperature, smiling and listening to Crowley’s stories. Once the bath was full and warm, he helped Crowley undress and watched him clamber into the tub, settling in with a sigh of contentment. Aziraphale could practically see him soaking up the warmth.

Just as Aziraphale started to wish that the bath was big enough to fit two, there was suddenly enough room for them both. Aziraphale blinked, fairly certain he hadn’t made that happen. Crowley stretched his arms over his head, wiggling back and forth to send waves through the bath, then grinned at Aziraphale, reaching out a hand in his direction.

Aziraphale laughed and started unbuttoning his shirt. “If you wanted me to come in, you could have just said so.”

“You need to wash my hair!” Crowley pointed out, grabbing for the shampoo bottle and making a little sound of surprise when it fell into the bath water with a splash.

“Patience,” Aziraphale said, scooping the bottle up and putting it on the side of the bathtub as he stepped into the warm water. He’d made it a bit too hot for himself, knowing that Crowley would appreciate the extra heat, and his pale skin turned rosy red as the water touched it. He sank into the water carefully, trying not to jostle Crowley. The tub might be big enough for two now, but it was still a bit of a squeeze with Crowley’s long legs. “Okay, lean back,” Aziraphale said when he was settled.

Crowley obediently leaned back against Aziraphale’s chest, and they both huffed a contented sigh at the same time.

The world was full of soft steam and wonderful warmth. Crowley’s familiar sharp lines were pressed against him, head on Aziraphale’s chest and their arms pressed together on the sides of the bathtub. Aziraphale could feel the inhuman heat coming from Crowley’s skin, could feel the lines of his ribs as he breathed. Aziraphale wished they could stay here forever, basking in the water and the intimacy. He wrapped his arms around Crowley, tugging him closer and hooking a chin over Crowley’s freckled shoulder. Crowley nuzzled his cheek against Aziraphale’s, damp hair tickling Aziraphale’s nose.

“I love you very much, little one.” There were no words for the pressing feeling in Aziraphale’s chest, but those would have to do.

“Love you too,” Crowley murmured into the quiet air.

After a moment of silence, Crowley started playing with the water, splashing it between his hands. Aziraphale laughed, unwrapping his arms from around him so that he could play. Crowley didn’t have a long attention span when he regressed, preferring to be moving at any given moment. Sometimes Aziraphale wished he was more interested in cuddles, but he was happy enough to spend the time with Crowley however he wanted to.

The rest of the bath passed in a cycle of suds and rinses, with Aziraphale doing his best to keep the soap out of Crowley’s eyes and give him enough time to play with his rubber duck in between bottles of shampoo and conditioner and bodywash. Crowley liked pushing the duck under the water and then watching it shoot up to the surface, laughing delightedly every time.

“Come on, darling one, out you come.” Aziraphale had some trouble coaxing Crowley out of the nice warm water, but eventually it cooled down enough that he clambered out and into the towel Aziraphale had been holding for the last ten minutes. Aziraphale towelled him off with determined scrubbing, and an unusual gust of indoor wind finished the job, pushing Crowley’s hair into an absurd shape and making him laugh.

Aziraphale carried Crowley back to bed and put him into pyjamas, changing into his own comfortable clothes. Crowley willingly crawled under the blankets, but left the corner turned down in a clear invitation.

Aziraphale hesitated: he’d been planning to do some reading this afternoon, and a nap was not really part of that plan… but Crowley looked so cozy that Aziraphale eventually gave in and climbed after him, wrapping Crowley in his arms and closing his eyes to let the now-familiar darkness of sleep claim him for a little while longer.

[watchmegetobsessed]

WILDEST FANTASIES (part 13)

⚫️A/N: okay OMG this!!! this is the part i've been waiting for to come since i started the story, the twist that started the whole thing and i really think this is the best thing i've ever come up with! okay, i might be hyping it up a bit too much but im so excited to see your reactions after all the conspiracies you had!! so im wrapping my rambling up here, can't wait for you guys to read it!!

⚫️PAIRING: Professor!Harry X Reader

⚫️WORD COUNT: 5k

SERIES MASTERPOST | SUPPORT ME!

THREE YEARS LATER

Niall’s spacious living room is now littered with cardboard boxes and suitcases, the stylish furniture he carefully chose out upon moving into his new home now almost get lost between the mountains of his best friend’s belongings.

“Dude, I know you’re like an academic and intellectual person, but do you really need to own a whole ass library?” Niall sighs, as the two of them walk into the apartment with two more boxes filled with Harry’s books.

“Shut up, it’s not even that much,” Harry rolls his eyes, dropping the box he’s been carrying on top of one that’s labeled to contain shoes.

“Man, this feels like first day of college all over again!” Niall enthuses, quickly dropping his interest in Harry’s book collection. “Only this time we’re not sharing a tiny dorm room but my fucking cool New York City apartment!”

“Thanks for letting me crash here while I find a place for myself, I really appreciate the help,” Harry sighs, taking a look around all of his stuff he is moving in with to his best friend’s home.

“Anytime. You’ve helped me so many times before, it’s the least I can do. You’ve been through a lot. How are you holding up?”

How is he holding up?

He wants to answer that truthfully and tell Niall that he is the lowest he has been probably in all his life. Having to move in with his best friend after his fiancé broke up with him after moving across the country just to start a life together. Harry sold his house and moved in with the woman he thought he would spend the rest of his life with, but turns out the feeling wasn’t mutual, because out of the blue, he found himself single and without a place he could call his home.

At least he has a job. It would definitely be his last straw if he was sent away from the publishing company he started working at after deciding to give up his career path of being a college professor. It was a hard but necessary choice, especially after everything that happened on campus. There was no way he could keep working there.

Moving to New York he dived right into finding a new but still fitting job for himself and he ended up being an editor at a decent size publishing company, so he now spends his days buried in manuscripts and possible best-selling novels.

With all the changes he went through the past years, his new job is the only thing that has truly brought him happiness and a sense of safety. Everything else crumbled around him, it seems.

“Um, I’m doing okay. Just taking it one day at a time,” he sighs, hoping to sound convincing. Niall has been such a big help to him, his biggest support system.

A year ago, Niall has decided to take over the States, leave his home country behind and bring his talent overseas. He already had several clients and projects going on with American artists and now that his base is permanently in the Big Apple, he is off the charts, doing better than ever in his career, working with the biggest names in the industry.

Being physically closer, Niall stood by Harry’s side in these trying times and now they are even sharing a home. He is determined to do everything he can to get his friend back on the tracks.

“Great. Let me know if I could do anything for you. I’m always here for you, you know that right?”

“Of course,” Harry nods with an appreciating smile. “Thank you.”

“Alright, are there any more boxes in the car?” Niall claps his hands together.

“No, these were the last ones. Thanks for the help, I’ll just start to unpack.”

“Cool. I’ll head out then, I have a few things to take care of. Make yourself home and I’ll see you later.”

As the front door closes behind his friend, Harry takes a moment to take in his new home for the upcoming weeks. It’s a pleasant place Niall has got for himself, definitely a bachelor’s home with the darker tones and stylish furniture. It’s not necessarily Harry’s taste, he always tried to make his place homey and welcoming, a warm hideaway from the outside world.

But for now, he’ll have to compromise until he gains control back over his life.

It wasn’t easy on Harry. The way he had to end things with you. It was never how he planned and he has been doubting himself ever since. The look on your face, the way you screamed at him and told him that once he was out the door he was dead to you…

It broke him. More than he ever imagined it could.

But he didn’t have a choice and he couldn’t let you give your future up for him, he would have never been able to live with himself knowing he was the reason you couldn’t finish your degree or had to push it longer than you originally planned and Nina made it clear that she would do anything in her power to set you back.

Harry thought about not doing what she asked and played with the thought that what if she can’t hurt you the way she wanted to, but he had to come to the realization that she had every power to go through with her plan. She was great friends with the biggest names not just in the department but in the school as a whole and he knew she had connections at different universities too, she could have easily kept her word.

So Harry had to do what she asked and make sure you were safe. But it was hard not telling you the truth. He knew you’d put up a fight and try to fight back, making sacrifices, so he decided to keep you in the dark, but it was almost even more painful this way.

His heart shattered when you questioned whether he loved you or if it was just all a lie. He couldn’t get himself to even answer, but his silence was enough of an answer for you. It hurt him to think about what he did to you, made you believe you were unlovable when in reality, he was doing all of it because he loved you more than anything and wanted the best for you.

Even though many would disagree that he did the right thing.

Niall couldn’t believe him when he filled him in on what happened, even though part of him knew Harry would do something stupid like this.

“You fucked up, Harry. I’m not gonna lie. You should have told her the truth,” he said on the phone when Harry called him a few days after the breakup. “I knew you’d fuck it up, man.”

“This does not help, thank you very much,” Harry growled under his nose.

Moving on wasn’t easy and Harry feels like he still hasn’t left you entirely in the past, but at least he has learned to live with the ghost of you that will always linger in the back of his mind and heart. There was a time he believed he would never recover, that he dig himself so deep that he would never be able to make it out.

But somehow he did, even though there are still nights when he dreams of you and wakes up with his chest tight and heaving, tears flooding his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling, still seeing your face so vividly.

He watched you graduate and get the degree Nina threatened to put into risk. You didn’t see him, but he was there, in the very back, clapping with teary eyes when they called your name and you shook hands with the dean. You looked as gorgeous as ever, your hair pinned up, a black dress hugging your body and that proud smile when you finally held your degree in your hands… He needed everything in him to walk away without trying to talk to you.

That was the last time he saw you.

By the time Niall gets back home most of Harry’s stuff is moved out of the living room and at least settled in Harry’s bedroom, part of it packed away. He has some light 80s music flowing from his laptop that’s set up on the desk in the corner of his room as he is trying to decide which books to put on the shelves. He won’t be able to fit all of them, he is planning to actually sell some, mostly things he only used while he was teaching, and the rest will be taken into his office.

“Hey man, how is it going?” Niall asks, standing at the door as he looks around the guest bedroom he let Harry take for the time being.

“’M doing fine. I definitely have more shit than what I need,” he sighs, scratching the back of his neck.

“We all have, believe me,” Niall chuckles. “Do you want to grab a drink? I’m meeting with a few friends, gonna be back early. You should get out of here too.”

“Uh, I’m not really in the mood.”

“You haven’t been in the mood since I fucking moved here! Come on, just a beer! It’s gonna be fun! You need the change.”

“I just moved into a new place, that’s quite the change,” Harry points out, but it earns him an eye-roll from Niall.

“Just shut up, take a shower and be ready in thirty,” he simply says before disappearing. Dropping the book in his hands Harry sinks down to the edge of his bed.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath and then starts to look for a towel and a clean pair of boxer briefs.

An hour later Harry is sitting at some bar with Niall and his friends, they are all nice and Harry would definitely enjoy his time socializing, but it hasn’t really been his thing lately. He can’t even tell when the last time was when he truly enjoyed an evening out.

Before his breakup with Jo, his ex-fiancé, they had been struggling for a few months already, all normal conversations turned into a screaming match and arguing became their normal. Before that, Harry was busy transitioning from being a college professor in a relatively small town to moving to one of the biggest cities in the world and working at a publishing company. He was putting in extra hours to secure his spot and thinking back at it, the amount of time he spent with working was one of the reasons things went downhill with Jo. All the nights he got home barely before she went to bed, leaving them no time to be together definitely distanced them from each other and lead to their parting.

“I promise, it’s not as bad as in the movies! Harry, maybe next time you should come too!” Hayden, one of the guys from the label Niall works with says and Harry realizes he has no idea what he is talking about, he completely zoned out of the conversation.

“Huh? Where?”

“These speed dating things! I’ve done a few lately and it’s actually fun.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s for me,” Harry chuckles shaking his head and gulping from his beer that he’s been nursing for the past hour. It has gone warm for sure, but he doesn’t want to have another one.

“That’s what I thought too, but it’s not that bad. If you click with the other person, you exchange numbers. If not, you can just simply move on when the time is up,” Hayden explains.

“Maybe we should both go,” Niall offers and Harry holds back a loud laugh, because that is for sure not Niall’s scene. He doesn’t need speed dating to get himself a woman.

“Oh, yeah! So you can steal all the women!” Ben roars with laughter next to Hayden.

“Can’t blame me for being a ladies’ favorite!” Niall grins satisfied. “But for real, we should put ourselves out there sometime. Honestly, I think I should look for something serious.”

“You? Serious? Great joke,” Harry huffs.

“What? I’m thirty-six, it might be time to settle down,” he shrugs and though he is talking lightly, Harry can notice that glint of sincerity behind his words.

Niall has always been the womanizer, hooked up with different girls every weekend in college and though he chooses more carefully now that he is older, Harry has been noticing the slight change in him. Not long after he moved to New York, he actually dated a girl for two months, that was the longest he was anchored down with the same person ever, so it’s not a surprise he is now open to more than just games and fun.

“We could be each other’s wingmen!” Niall continues, wrapping an arm around his best friend’s shoulders.

“I’m not sure if that’s what I need,” Harry frowns, but Niall just chuckles patting his chest.

“It’s alright, I know what you need.”

As the evening carries on Harry finally gives in to have another beer instead of keeping the last drops of his first one forever. The conversation flows smoothly and he is actually kind of glad he left the house tonight. That is until a woman walks into the bar.

Harry catches her walk up to the bar with two other women and he can only see her from the back, but he gets an eerie feeling that it’s you. Same height, same curves, same hair color, only it’s shorter than the last time he saw you, but it’s been long.

He freezes right away, his stomach and heart dropping in an instant as he stares at the woman who still hasn’t turned around. What if it’s really you? What are you doing in New York? Are you living here now too? Do you still look the same as he remembers? And what if you see him?

Part of him wants to find out what you’d do if you ran into him. If you’d simply ignore him, or cuss him out or maybe get a friendly little chat with him. He doubts the latter, but he likes to play with the thought that you don’t actually hate him that badly after all this time.

He sees the woman slip her coat off of her shoulders and Harry is watching her holding his breath, waiting for her to turn around so he can see if it’s really you. The rest of the bar has blurred, his tunnel vision is fixated on the woman as she looks for something in her purse, her hair falling forward, once again covering her face and Harry is on the edge, desperate to see her at this point.

And then she looks over her shoulder when someone enters the bar.

It’s not you.

She is pretty, looks a bit younger than Harry is, but she is definitely not you.

Harry’s cheeks heat up at the realization and he feels so stupid how worked up he got over a stranger just because she resembled you the slightest.

His upbeat mood vanishes instantly and for the rest of the evening he just sits in silence, finishing up the rest of his beer, thinking about you.

It’s not even midnight by the time he and Niall arrive back to his apartment. Niall has noticed the sudden change in him and he is not letting him lock himself up in his bedroom without talking.

“Hey, everything alright? You got so quiet all of a sudden halfway into the evening.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry mumbles as he grabs a bottle of water for himself from the fridge Niall always keeps stocked.

“I’m not your mother, Harry. I’m not buying this shit.”

“What makes you think my mother buys it?” he huffs.

“You’re right, not even sweet Anne would believe you’re fine. So, what happened?”

Harry sighs as he leans onto the kitchen island, Niall standing on the other side his hands in his pockets as he stares at his friend patiently. Harry hesitates whether he should share what he saw or thought he saw today.

“There was a woman in the bar tonight.”

“There were several women,” Niall comments and Harry shoots him a look that shuts him up.

“She… She looked like… I thought she was Y/N.” Niall breathes out at Harry’s confession, he wasn’t expecting this, but he is not surprised either.

“I thought you were over her.”

Harry doesn’t answer him, but Niall understands the message loud and clear: he’ll never be over you.

“Is there any chance your feelings had something to do with your breakup with Jo?”

“She thought I’m still in love with her,” Harry admits truthfully.

“Wow,” Niall breathes out.

“She said that she can’t live with a man who is in love with another woman. I never talked about Y/N, but… I guess she could feel it.”

“So you still love her? Y/N?” Harry hesitates before answering.

“The Y/N I knew? Yes. I don’t know her now. But… Fuck, I can’t escape the thought of her, not even years later! I thought that if I get myself out there and start again with someone else I’ll grow out of the place where I was with her, but I can’t! I keep comparing everyone to her, it’s so fucking annoying. Joanna and I dated her for two fucking years and I still… I kept telling myself it could work and that it’s enough but it wasn’t.”

Niall listens to Harry’s sudden rant patiently, allowing him to let it all out. He has a feeling it’s been bottling up for a while inside him and though Harry has opened up to him a few times before about the pain he had to deal with, Niall always suspected he didn’t let him in on everything.

“I was waiting and waiting that one day I would finally wake up and feel okay, but it never came. I still think about her, Niall. A lot. There were times when I was lying on the couch with Jo, I held her in my arms and I still found myself thinking about Y/N. I know it’s messed up and I shouldn’t have gotten into a relationship with her knowing I was still stuck on Y/N, but… Fuck, I feel so dumb and… I fucking hate it.”

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Niall sighs softly, bummed to see his friend this hurt.

“Why? I’m an idiot. I proposed to a woman when I was still in love with my ex. Joanna did nothing wrong and I still hurt her, I’m such a mess,” he sighs shaking his head.

“At least you admit to the mistakes you made. It’s better than denying it. I think Jo would be even more hurt if you tried to feed her lies.”

“Oh yeah, but she is so thankful that when she asked if I was still in love with Y/N I couldn’t even answer her or look her in the eyes. Must have been so much nicer for her.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t mess up, I don’t even know why you proposed to her when you were still thinking about Y/N.”

“Because I’m fucking stupid!” Harry groans, pushing himself away from the counter. “Because I thought that if I go through all these things I would eventually forget about her and love Jo the way she deserved to be loved. But it never happened and I just messed her up like I messed myself and Y/N up. I fucking ruin everything!”

“That’s not true. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“When was the last time you messed up this bad, Niall? Because I assume never,” Harry huffs, holding his arms on his chest.

“I have issues too! I’m fucking terrified of commitment! I’m so damn scared of being left and hurt that I just go ahead of it all and never give anyone the chance to do it! I broke up with Jamie because I was falling for her and I didn’t want to give her a chance to hurt me. I know it’s messed up, but it’s the way I am.”

“You never told me that,” Harry tells him softly. He feels bad, he’s been so wrapped up in his own life that he never really got around to get involved enough in Niall’s.

“It’s not a big deal. I’m working on it and my therapist says I’m not a lost cause,” he chuckles, bringing some humor into the conversation.

“Maybe I should go to therapy too, I’m clearly messed up,” Harry sighs.

“I can ask mine to recommend someone for you. It really helps.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Niall nods and licking his lips he opts to just say whatever is on his mind.

“Look. You have to decide where you stand with Y/N. If you want to reach out to her, do that. Have a chat with her, maybe moving on would be easier if you made up and apologized… told the truth. Or if you don’t want to do that, find a way to forget about her for once and for all.”

“Reaching out to her is not really an option. She made it clear when we broke up that she didn’t want to see me ever again.”

“She was angry and hurt, we all say shit we don’t mean. It’s been three years, maybe she sees the situation completely differently now.”

“I doubt that,” Harry mumbles under his breath.

“It’s gonna be fine, man. Just be patient with yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m heading to bed, I have a meeting in the morning. See you!” Niall nods at him before disappearing down the hallway.

Harry takes Niall’s advice and a week later he has his first ever therapy session with a doctor Niall’s therapist recommended. The one hour long session proves him that talking to a professional is actually useful in his state of mind. It feels nice to talk to someone who is not biased and takes no side in his life. He opens up to his issues about letting you go and he agrees with Dr. Jackson that it’s gonna be their main aim during their sessions in the future.

Arriving home he finds Niall in the kitchen, making a sandwich, his hair is damp and Harry can smell his shower gel right away as he walks in so he must be fresh out of the shower.

“Hey man, how was it?” he asks, cutting some pickles to add to his masterpiece.

“Actually, it was pretty nice.” Harry climbs onto one of the stools at the kitchen island and watches his friend pretending to be a chef. “I talked about myself and then we cleared up what exactly I want to work on.”

“Sounds good. How is the doc? I’m sorry you can’t go to mine but… you know, it’s not a good idea to share a therapist,” he chuckles softly, spreading some mayonnaise across the bread.

“Yeah, I know, don’t worry about it. She is great, very nice, I feel fine talking to her.”

“That’s great. So you told her about Y/N?”

“Yeah, filled her in on the story,” Harry sighs. “I was afraid she would be all judgy and stuff, but she either didn’t think it was weird at all or she just hid her thoughts well.”

“Why would it be weird?”

“Because aside from the whole story, she was still my student.”

“And you thought she would judge you because of that?” Niall laughs, finishing up his sandwich. “Please, these therapists have seen the worst of mankind. Your issue is definitely not the worst she has dealt with, you can bet on that.”

“I’m glad I’m not the worst then,” Harry chuckles. “I have some work to finish, I’ll see you later,” he nods at him before heading to his room. For the first time, he feels like he is on the right path.

“Good morning Harry!” Denise greets Harry as he walks out of the elevator, quickly matching her steps with his as they walk to his office. “I have forwarded a few emails to you from Brian. The manuscripts you asked me on Monday are on their way.”

“Amazing, thank you.”

“I’ll work on the chapters you gave me earlier, do you need help with anything today?”

Denise has been the biggest help for Harry, starting at the publisher a while ago. She was just starting out as a full time assistant after being a trainee. She works so fast on the editing tasks Harry hands her, it amuses him, but she always tells him it’s because reading was her only hobby growing up. Harry has been enjoying Denise’s company a lot, not just at work. Whenever he needs a break from Niall’s pestering he knows he can turn to the girl and he has even met her girlfriend of three years.

“Nothing that I know of, thank you,” he smiles at her shortly just as he walks into his little, but homey office. He drops his briefcase to his chair as he gets rid of his coat, mentally noting everything he needs to get done today but he forgets everything when he sees a package on his desk.

It’s definitely a book, he knows that just from the shape of it, it’s wrapped in simple, brown paper, his name written on it with a black sharpie.

“Denise? What’s this?” he calls out and the girl appears at the door a moment later as Harry holds up the package.

“Oh! A woman dropped it off this morning not long before you arrived. Maybe a gift?” she shrugs, holding a folder to her chest as she watches him inspect the package again before starting to unwrap it. “Wait, is it your birthday? Did I forget about it?” she asks with wide eyes.

“No, no it’s not,” he chuckles softly.

The paper comes undone under his fingers and it finally reveals the book inside. The cover is simple, it’s a painting of a pair of glasses on a desk filled with papers and books, looks awfully familiar, but he can’t really decide why. His eyes run up to the title in bold black letters at the top.

Our wildest fantasies.

And just above that, he sees the name of the author and he instantly drops the book.

Y/N Y/L/N.

“Harry? Everything alright?” Denise asks as the book lands on his desk with a loud thud. His eyes snap up and the panic must be obvious in them.

“Huh! Oh, yeah. Everything… Everything is fine, I just… I need to check something. Could you please close the door?”

“Sure,” she nods slowly, but suspiciously before walking out of the office and closing the door.

Harry sits down grabbing the book again, taking another look at the cover to make sure he didn’t just imagine it. But he sees the same thing as the first time.

Your name.

He runs his fingers over the letters as if he was caressing your skin. Millions of thoughts are running through his mind but at the same time it’s completely empty.

Our wildest fantasies. What an odd title, but it definitely tickles his curiosity. He opens the hard cover and flips to the title page and he is surprised to see there’s a handwritten message there. Not even a message, rather just a date scribbled there.

Friday, 5 pm.

“What the fuck?” Harry mumbles under his breath as he flips to the end of the book and see your portrait with a short introduction of yourself and his breath hitches in his throat.

You look so pretty. A wide smile adorning your perfect lips, a gentle breeze is blowing at your hair and you barely wear any makeup. It seems like it was a candid photo of you somewhere out in a natural setting and he is so grateful that you didn’t go with a forced picture taken in some studio. This is so much more you and it feels like a piece of you was brought back to Harry seeing your smile.

He flips the pages back to the beginning of it and he doesn’t hesitate before starting to read it, feasting on the pages faster than ever, ignoring every work he was planning to get done today.

One chapter after the other, he gets lost in your words and at first he is oblivious to what the story will be about, but maybe his mind is just trying to block the truth out, because it’s so absurd and unbelievable.

But as he slowly moves over the first three, four, five chapters, it finally clicks.

This is the story of the two of you. The story of you and Harry.

As soon as he realizes, he drops the book again and turns to his computer, typing your name into Google Search, adding the date that was scribbled into the book. And just like that, the first find is exactly what he is looking for.

“Young, promising romance novel author Y/N Y/L/N holds her first book signing this Friday and talks about her first story, ‘Our wildest fantasies’.”

Harry reads the headline out loud and then there’s the same picture of you in the article like in the book and it talks about how your book is already on its way on toplists and it’s selling out everywhere.

He goes back to read the date and then checks the writing in the book again. He has no idea if it’s your handwriting, but it sure seems like it’s a female’s. Could you be the person who sent him this? But if it was you, how did you find him? If it wasn’t you, then who the hell? Especially a woman just starting from the handwriting. And what is that supposed to mean? Is that an invitation? Why didn’t they write anything else?

There are so many questions racing in his mind, he is still in shock and has no idea what this is all about, but there’s one thing he knows for sure.

You wrote a book about him and you and published it. Without him knowing it.

And he knows exactly where and when he can find you on Friday.

NEXT PART

Thank you for reading! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Your Daddy Don't Know 9

Masterlist

Not really a full series, more a little drabbling here and there ft. dilf!Frank Castle. Leave a comment or some feedback if you like! <3

Warnings: age gap, dubcon and noncon, fucking, smut, choking.

You still feel the crush of Frank's hand on your throat. Your eyes wander to his muscled arms, his thick middle snug beneath the ribbed cotton as sweat thin the fabric. Your fear for him used to be childish but now it's all too real.

You walk at his side as you cross the palatial suburban street, the storybook backdrop venomously ironic given the horror of the trap you've fallen into. Your father's on the front porch as your mother's down in her garden, pulling at deep-rooted weeds. You can't look at either of them. 

"Frank, want a beer?" Your dad kicks the side of his cooler.

"Nah, think it's early for me," Frank climbs the steps and stands against the pillar, arms crossed, "me and your girl got something to chat with you about."

"Uh, okay," your father sits up and puts down his can as your mother looks up from the dirt.

"Well, ya know, with her workin' with my crew like she's been doin' and all that, I feel I've become a bit of a mentor to her, at least a…" Frank pauses and rubs his chin, "a guiding hand, ya know?"

"Sure, I mean, you're used to whippin' youngs punks into shape," you dad kids, "don't think she'd make much of a marine though."

"Yeah, well, you know I've been wanting to convert that old space over my garage, and I thought I got the room and she could help me with it, nice project to keep her outta trouble," Frank says coolly, "she can help me get the drywall in place and all that and I'll take the rent outta her check. Get her a bit of a foot out the door too. Some real responsibility on her shoulders."

"Ah, oh," you father sips from his weeping beer, "that's awfully generous, Frank."

"I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it. The girl and me, we been talkin', we think it's best until she can get enough for a real place. She too old to be living under your roof and I ain't got no kids to bother me… I don't know, just wanted to put it out there."

You stare at Frank. Oh he is sly. 

"I mean, you're right, she's all grown up, I'd say it's up to her," your dad shrugs, "sure she's dying for an escape from us."

You look between the two men then peek over at your mother. She gives a brief glance as she yanks on a stubborn root. You take a breath, knowing what Frank wants and slightly put off by your father's expectant gaze. 

Maybe Frank is right. You're a burden, a disappointment. Your parents are just too kind to say it. And you can't say they're wrong. You are a failure. You're absolutely pathetic.

"I think it's a good idea," you muster your voice, "to get out of the house. Now that I'm not in college, I should figure out what to do. How to… be on my own."

"Well," your dad leans back and tilts his head, "guess if Frank's offering…"

"Gotta get the place built first," Frank intones, "so you'll have her a little longer."

"Sure," your father nods, "sure you don't want a beer?"

"Nah, but your girl might need some hair of the dog," he kids and he peers back across the street, "got some things that needa be done and think the girl's suffered enough."

"Oh don't worry, we got lots to keep her busy," your dad chirps, "all nice and ready to go to bed early and start the week right."

You frown and cross your arms. Your dad has no idea what he just agreed too. Neither really do you. It's only the twinkle in Frank's eye that assures you it's not good.

☠

Monday morning. For once you're up before your alarm. You stare out the window in the hallway, dressed in the straight-legged jeans and loose shirt already stained from your first week of work. Your bag is stuffed with a granola snack and cup of yogurt, you doubt you'll have much appetite as the alcohol lingers in your gut.

You see your neighbour, your biggest mistake, as he hops down his front steps. For a grumbly old man he sure is chipper at the crack of dawn. You get up, knowing it's better not to poke an already grumpy bear.

You drag your feet downstairs and head out the door. You cross the street as Frank gets to the bed of his truck. Your shadow skews before him as he looks up.

"Sugar," he greets with a wink, "up and at 'em."

"Sure," you murmur as you hold one strap of your bag over your shoulder, "get it over with."

"Ah, come on, you're really gonna be a brat?" He closed the back of his truck and stood straight, "don't think I won't spank you some more."

"Gross," you sidestep him and he catches your arm, swinging you back so fast your bag falls to the ground.

"Now, don't do that," he growls, "you were the one who sucked me off behind that shed and came over in those shorts like you were lookin' for trouble. This isn't on me."

"Oh, so I'm asking for it? That's disgust‐"

"What you are asking for is what you're gettin', sugar. A space of your own and I won't even take it off your check. You got other ways to make it up, huh?"

"Get off of me," you push against his burly chest, "I'd rather live in my parent's backyard--"

"If they even take ya back," he turns you and pushes you against the truck, "sugar, I'm offering you more than a room above my garage. You don't even gotta keep up this whole work thing. I'll take care of ya. Like the pretty little thing you are."

"You're not that old, don't be ridiculous," you try to shove him away, "I don't wanna be… whatever it is you're thinking."

"Too late for all that, isn't it?" He hums and kisses your forehead, "so be good for me, sugar, and I'll make it easy for you."

"Whatever," you utter, "let's just go."

He hesitates. His large hand frames your chin and he forces your head up, kissing you roughly as he grinds against you. He draws away and chuckles darkly.

"Sugar, best hope this day goes fast, all the things I got in mind for you, I dunno if I'll be able to hold out," he slowly drops his hand from your chin, "damn, you look fine in just about everything, huh?"

You say nothing, not wanting to provoke him further. He's right. It's too late. You agreed to it like the weak girl you are. You couldn't cut it in school so maybe this is what you get. The only prospect is that old man. 

☠

Plaster dust sticks to your sweaty skin as you head back down to the basement, ready to haul up another bin of scraps from the torn out walls. The task is heavy and dirty and uncomfortable but distracting. You keep on as you hear the men above, arguing about the countertops and hinges.

You're the grunt, you don't have the skill so you do the cleaning up, the things anyone could do but no one wants to. You toss down the empty bin and start throwing armfuls of drywall into it, wiping your damp forehead with the back of your grimy hand.

You bend down and hear what can only be described as a growl. You stand and drop another pile into the bin. You turn as Frank tramps down the last stair.

"Mm mm mm, sugar, if you don't look delicious," he leers as he gets closer, his grey tee showing signs of his own work, "and you're down here all alone."

"Doing my job," you shrug and stumble back as he comes closer.

He marches you back and you nearly trip on the stray pieces. You hit the barren interior of the wall as he stretches his arms to grip the uprights on either side of you. You blink at him and try to see around him to the stairs. 

"No one coming down," he grasps your hips and spins you so that you yelp in surprise, "told you I couldn't wait."

His arms entrap you as he fumbles with your fly then wrenches down your jeans and panties. Your body jerks as you slap the wall and he blocks you from sidling away. His fingers spread over your skull and he pushes your head against the naked wood.

"I'll be quick, sug," he says as he wiggles and picks at his filthy jeans. 

You smell his sweat, feel the heat of his body as ice trickles through your veins, hear the subtle inhale as his breath picks up with anticipation. His hard tip brushes your ass and he pulls your hip back, square nails bearing into you.

"Be nice and quiet for me, sugar," he says as he thrusts into you from below, lifting you to your toes, "or someone might just wander down here after all."

[kindahoping4forever]

Threw Out Our Cloaks & Daggers Because It's Morning Now // Ashton Irwin

The bulk of this fic was a WIP I'd been sitting on for months because while I loved the idea, it just never felt Right. I've also been working on a particular arc for Gardener!Ash for most of this year but had been struggling to figure out how to get there. During the impromptu hiatus from writing I took this month, I realized this idea could add the type of color and depth to the Gardener!Ash series that I'd been needing to set up my arc and everything fell into place from there! As always, @cal-puddies is my hero and MVP.

Warnings: Moderate angst comes to the land of Domestic Thirst. No spoilers but obviously there's some sort of resolution because there's also dirty talk, unprotected sex in an established relationship, a handful of uses of the word 'Daddy', brief oral sex performed on a male and cum play.

Word Count: 5755

Gardener!Ash Masterlist

Masterlist // Ko-Fi and 2021 Taglist linked above

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

You were only gone for one night but you can't believe how good it feels to sleep in your own bed again, to feel the warmth of your boyfriend next to you. Morning comes and you roll over to see him still sleeping soundly at your side and a rush of emotions overwhelm you. Things have been so crazy recently, you can’t remember the last time you had the privilege of waking him up. You’ll never take it for granted again.

You gingerly trace over the condor on the back of his neck, rubbing your thumb over the nail imprints you left around the wings, when you feel him start to stir. “Morning, baby,” he croaks, voice heavy with sleep, worn from staying up and talking things through with you.

“Hiya,” you answer sweetly, brushing his hair off his face. “Sleep alright?”

“Better than I did without you beside me," he admits, leaning into your touch. "Let's not do that again, k?"

2 Days Earlier...

“Missed you this morning.”

Your smile wavers a bit as a sense of deja vu hits you and you realize just how often you’ve been greeting your boyfriend with that phrase but you make an effort to recover as he approaches the patio, tossing his gardening gloves on the table as he opens his arms to you.

Ashton presses a kiss to your lips before replying, “Keep tellin’ ya, gotta get up with me one of these days and try some yoga up on the roof. Nothin’ like it, starting the morning off feeling grateful and appreciating all the natural beauty the morning sun has to offer.”

“Well, I’m sure the sun is lovely but I miss appreciating the natural beauty of the full moon I used to see when you’d stay in bed with me until my alarm went off,” you smirk, grabbing a handful of his ass.

He giggles but you detect a hint of sadness in his eyes just before he pulls you into an embrace. “Might be able to arrange one of those for you sometime too,” he jokes.

You burrow silently into his chest and he pecks at your forehead before removing his straw gardening hat and plopping it on your head as he ducks inside the house with a cackle.

You lovingly shake your head at his antics as you walk to the edge of the patio, looking out to see what he’s been working on. Typically the thought of Ash toiling away in his garden would make your heart skip a beat but he’s been spending a lot of time out here in recent weeks. By the time you wake up in the mornings, he’s already out starting a new project and he’s almost always still out there when you’ve finished with your work for the day. With the band coming out of their hiatus and taking up more of his time, you know it’s important for him to have something that’s just his that he can unwind with but you miss him all the same, miss the days when you alone could be that distraction for him.

Ashton reemerges from the house, glass of ice water in hand, and sits in the lounge chair by the door.

You walk over, interested. “You done for the day, handsome? I was thinking about going for a walk if you’d like to join me.”

“Aww, that sounds nice, baby, but I’ve actually got to jump on a management call with the guys in a few,” he explains, downing his water in one long gulp. “Why don’t we have a nice dinner together, though? Let’s order something good and catch up.”

You murmur your agreement and kiss his cheek before returning his hat to his head. Your walk is a bit longer than you intended but it felt nice to relax your mind and stretch your legs after a long day of being inside working. The sky is nearing dusk by the time you get home and you’re surprised to return to a dark house. You check Ash’s usual haunts - the garden, the basement studio, the kitchen - before you eventually find him in the bedroom, face down asleep on the bed with all the lights off.

You smile wistfully at the sight. He’s been running himself ragged between the band, helping friends with their projects and working on his own. This isn’t the first time you’ve found him like this, his mind reasoning he’ll just “rest his eyes” for a few minutes only for his body to insist that he nap for much longer. You sigh, kick off your shoes and curl up beside him. It’s not exactly the reconnecting evening you were hoping for but at this point, any time spent next to Ashton is a gift you’re more than happy to receive.

The next thing you know, your face is being peppered with kisses and a gentle but firm touch is shaking your arm.

“Baby?” He says softly, smiling sheepishly at you as your eyes flutter open. “You could’ve woken me up, love, I didn’t mean to knock out like that.”

You hum, leaning into him, eyes adjusting to the bedside light he turned on. “If you need it, you need it, dude… it’s not like I see you sleep much these days anyways,” you point out, stroking his stubbly cheek. He'd recently decided to shave his beard and let it regrow and you always forget how much younger he looks without it. “Been meaning to talk to you about that, honestly.”

“Yeah… my head’s kind of all over the place right now so sleep has been… fitful, I guess,” he admits, eyes failing to meet yours. He doesn’t offer more of an explanation and you can tell right now isn’t the time to press the issue. “Sorry I fucked up our dinner.”

You shrug. “No big. Too late to just order a pizza?”

He smiles warmly at you, relieved at your understanding. “Think that one we like on Ventura should still be open.”

“Let’s do that please,” you say with a yawn, which he attempts to muffle with a sweet peck to your lips before reaching for his phone on the nightstand. You watch him place your order and wrap your arms around as much of him as you can reach when he’s done. You quietly offer, “You know if you ever wanna talk about anything that’s going on, I’m here. Doesn’t matter what time of night.”

You feel Ashton relax into your embrace, giving a long and cleansing exhale. “I know, baby… love you,” he breathes. You’re surprised but happy to have him stay resting in your arms until the doorbell rings to announce your dinner.

On a whim, you go back into the bedroom with the pizza and eating in bed proves to be the right choice; the two of you make easy and light conversation as you eat, sitting cross-legged next to each other, smiling like goofy teenagers everytime your bare knees touch.

You’re pretty sure he sleeps through the night for once and you notice him lying closer to you than usual. He typically keeps to his side of the bed but tonight he alternates wrapping himself around you with sleeping on his side right next to you, a hand on your stomach or thigh if he can reach. You find it curious but sweet and enjoy it for what it is.

You can’t help but feel a little disappointed when you wake up alone again; the morning air feels extra cold after being surrounded by Ashton’s warmth all night. You peek out the window and sure enough, he’s already in the garden. You shrug because what else can you do and you head off to start getting ready for your day.

You don’t see him again until after your work day is over and you pad into the kitchen to rinse out the mug you’ve been using all day. You weren’t even sure he was home at first, the house is so quiet and he almost always has music playing in the background. Your heart leaps when you see him showered and out of his gardening clothes, sitting with his computer at the kitchen island but your excitement quickly fades when you notice how stressed he looks as his fingers fly across the keyboard, an email reply on one side of the screen, some sort of calendar on the other.

You chew your lip, torn between wanting to ask him what’s wrong and wanting to wait for him to come to you about it. The problem is you feel like you’ve been waiting for that moment for weeks now and it’s becoming clear Ash either doesn’t want your help or doesn’t know how to ask for it. You’ve both always been careful not to overstep in each other’s personal business; you love the idea that you’re partners but ultimately two separate people living independent lives that you choose to share with each other. With Ashton not having toured for so long now, your lives have blurred together in ways they never really had before and you’re starting to realize it’s not so easy to just go back to the way things used to be.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts you don’t notice that he’s stood at the sink next to you until he reaches over and sets his own mug under the tap.

“The invite said ‘cocktail casual’ but I think maybe you’ve taken the idea a little too literally,” he cracks, eyeing the band hoodie and sweatpants you’re sporting. You purse your lips at him as you try to understand the joke, unsure if you’re confused because you weren’t paying attention just now or if you’re missing something else. Another beat passes without your response, so he addresses you again, still playful but with a slight edge to his voice this time. “Seriously, love, if you’re gonna shower, we need you in there ASAP, Cal’s gonna be here in like 40 minutes and we both know it’s gonna take you at least that to get dressed.”

You furrow your brow, now entirely confident your boyfriend has wildly different plans for your evening than you expected. You turn to him with narrow eyes and say, “Babe, I mean this with all the love in my heart but I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Ash gives you a 'yeah right' smirk and when you continue to stare at him blankly, a mixture of alarm and annoyance washes over his face. "The dinner party we're going to?" Your expression remains unchanged. He presses on, "The people from the new label?"

You shrug apologetically, "I know nothing about this."

"We one hundred percent talked about it."

"When?"

"Recently," he insists, jaw tensing more with every syllable.

You shake your head emphatically. "It's OK if you forgot to tell me, Ash."

He scoffs, running his hand over his face like he always does when he's getting agitated. "Well it's OK if you forgot that I told you."

You roll your eyes. "Like I don't have a distinct memory of every conversation we've had the past few weeks, they happen so infrequently," you mutter.

Your eyes dart up to meet his as soon as the words leave your mouth, much more bitter than you imagined they'd sound. His expression changes rapidly, shuffling through surprise, hurt, anger, confusion and finally landing on incredulous exasperation. "And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

You wince at his tone, the sharp one you’re used to him using with invasive journalists or the occasional tense moment with a bandmate, one he’s only directed at you a handful of times over the course of your relationship. The two of you love talking with each other so when an issue arises, it’s only natural that you discuss it rather than squabble. Arguments are rare but when they do happen… boy, do they.

The frustration that’s been brewing between you finally spills over into petty bickering which inevitably leads to some regrettably mean barbs and before you know it, you’re storming out the door, smart enough to get away before you say something you can’t take back. You’re proud that you make it down the street before the first tear spills down your cheek, that you manage to make it to your best friend’s house without pulling over to call and apologize.

Ashton is as stubborn as you are so you’re not surprised when you don’t hear from him that evening. As you lay on your friend’s couch, trying to remember how to sleep without Ash’s body acting as a space heater next to you, you replay the day’s events in your mind. Something like this was bound to happen sometime, the way you’d both been carrying on like your circumstances hadn’t changed was naive and unsustainable. But now that you’re hours removed from it, you’re not even sure how the fight started or what it was really about anymore. You’re just sure that you miss him and not just being beside you tonight, you miss the way he was, the way you were a few months ago before real life started creeping in again.

You’re not angry, just frustrated and more than a little sad. As your body finally gives into the exhaustion and you drift off to sleep, your pride chimes in and you decide to wait him out, let him apologize first, let him make an effort to give you the attention you’ve been craving. But when you wake up a few hours later with no cheerful whistling coming from the shower, no coffee smells coming from the kitchen, no scratchy stubble on your face and neck, coaxing you out of bed, it only takes a few moments for your resolve to crack. You look around the unfamiliar, empty room and become suddenly, painfully aware that this isn’t where you belong, even temporarily.

You get dressed and hide your phone in a drawer because you know if you don’t, you’ll be obsessively checking it every two minutes to see if he’s messaged you. You set up your laptop and try to power through your work for the day. You allow yourself a peek at lunchtime and you feel your entire body immediately warm when you see his name in your notifications. You click on the text and smile at the sight of a single bouquet emoji, his go-to when he’s testing the waters for an apology, an olive branch of sorts. You text him back a simple heart and hide your phone away again, eager to finish up your work so you can get home and apologize properly.

This Morning...

“Well, I can’t promise no more fighting but I can predict that’s the last time I storm out like that… that was the first night I’ve slept alone since I moved in… can’t say that I missed it,” you smile wistfully, fingers scratching at his scruffy cheek.

“Yeah… when I came home to the empty house and it started to sink in that you probably weren’t coming home… I can’t remember the last time I felt so unsettled,” Ashton recalls somberly, grabbing your hand to kiss before interlacing his fingers with yours.

The pangs of guilt and regret you feel match the hints you detect swimming in his eyes as he softly gazes at you. You lean in to him and as your lips slowly move against each other, you feel the mood of the room lighten. You smile and coo, "Tell you what, though, if you want to pretend-fight every now and again for the sake of making up, I'm down for that."

He grins, running a hand up and down your side. "For a couple who doesn’t fight often, we are remarkably good at that part, aren’t we?"

"Mmm… I’ll say. You really forgave the shit outta me, babe.”

Ash has always been better with words than you are but you’ve learned that the ways you express yourselves after the apologies are just as important as the sorries themselves. And as you admire the red scratches up and down his back, the way his light brown curls, still wild and tangled from your fingers, pour onto his pillow to reveal the subtle bite marks decorating his neck… you conclude you definitely got your point across.

He laughs, sliding his hand under the hem of your t-shirt, letting his fingers trace over your bare skin before bringing you closer. “Took my apology so well… so generous,” he teases suggestively, the kiss he pulls you into noticeably more passionate than the last. “Y’know, now that I’ve had time to sleep on it, think there’s a couple more things I’m feeling sorry about.”

“Glad to hear you say that because I've suddenly got the strongest urge to hold you accountable,” you smirk, reaching down to squeeze the bulge that’s been noticeably growing in his boxers.

Ash chuckles naughtily against your lips as the two of you share another heated kiss. You let out a slight squeal as he easily swings your leg over his body and pulls you to lay on top of him. His kisses are hungry but his hands are slow and unhurried as they move over your body, from running through your hair to dipping under your shirt, dancing over your back before settling on your ass, squeezing and massaging your cheeks over your panties.

“Missed you,” he says quietly against your lips and you smile into the kiss, knowing he’s referring to more than just the night you spent away.

You lean over and tongue around his earring before attaching your lips to the spot just underneath his ear that always makes him moan, sucking what’s bound to be a large mark on his skin. “All mine,” you softly declare, rolling your hips over his, relishing the feeling of his hardness underneath you.

He groans at your words, sliding his fingers under the leg of your underwear to run along your folds. “All yours?” He teases, swirling your wetness around, ghosting over your clit. “Think you’re mine, baby. Who’s all this for? Huh? Got you soaking wet first thing in the morning?” He teases a finger against your entrance but never quite pushes in.

“Y- you, Ash,” you murmur, trying your best to move your hips at the right angle that’ll catch you some friction from his fingers but to no avail.

“Goddamn right, baby,” he growls, rewarding you by rubbing a few slow circles around your clit. “Pussy’s all mine. Missed it while you were gone.” He sinks a finger inside you, then a second one. He maintains eye contact as he rocks you slowly against them until he decides you’re done. As soon as he withdraws them, you grab his wrist and lift his fingers to your mouth, sucking them clean.

Without missing a beat, Ashton brings you back up to his lips, moaning as he tastes your essence on your own tongue. You pull back, resting your forehead on his, panting, “And what about this?” You pull his cock out of his boxers, stroking slowly as you lilt, “Missed this thick cock while I was gone… missed me so much, last night wasn’t enough... already so hard, leaking so much.” You thumb over his slit, dabbing at the precum beading there and you both watch as a long, sticky string of it follows nearly all the way to your mouth when you lift your finger to taste.

“Fuck, baby… need you now,” he groans with a newfound urgency. He pulls your panties to the side and groans again, deeper, when you immediately start grinding down, rubbing your wetness over his shaft. “Baby, please. Wanna see you ride this cock… ‘s what it was made for. Just for you and your perfect little pussy to take.”

You lean in to give him a filthy kiss that’s all tongue while you sink down on him, the both of you whining at the feeling of your wet heat engulfing him.

“Oh my god, Ash,” you breathe, moving your hips methodically, letting every inch of his cock drag torturously slow against your walls. “Always so good inside me… I’ll never get enough.” You lean back, bracing yourself on his strong thighs, moaning as you feel them flex underneath you as he struggles not to buck up into you.

Ashton lets out another deep groan and you bite your lip, knowing it means he’s caught up watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again; you know it’s his favorite part of having you ride him. “Never get tired of watching you take this cock, baby,” he huffs, confirming your suspicion. He runs his palms over your thighs, fighting the urge to grab onto your hips because he wants you to feel confident in your control. “Such a good girl, taking every last bit of it… look so pretty doing it. Bet it feels as good as it looks, doesn’t it, baby?”

A whimpered reply is the best you can offer as his hand travels to thumb at your clit. You start moving your hips more rapidly, trying to take advantage of the sensations he’s giving you but it’s not enough. You shift forward, flattening your palms against his broad chest, using it for leverage as you rock yourself at a moderate pace, gasping sharply as you immediately feel how the new angle changes how he’s hitting inside you.

“Ash… fuck, babe,” you whine, voice shaking as you speed up even more. “Never felt like this until you… filled so fucking good… never gonna want anything else. Just need you.”

He murmurs your name softly as he slips his hands up your t-shirt to cup your breasts, kneading them, his large hands using just the right amount of pressure to make you moan. He quickly decides he needs to hear more and tugs at the fabric; you understand he wants you to remove it and as soon as you peel the shirt off, his mouth is all over you.

He leaves wet kisses all over one tit while his hand massages the other and then he switches, never leaving you feeling anything less than spoiled. The scruff on his face is already causing a delicious burn on your skin so when he gently grazes your nipple with his teeth, the painful pleasure is almost too much for you to handle and you cry out before redirecting his attention by nudging his face so you can catch his lips in a needy kiss.

You pull away, rubbing over the light hair on his chest. His fingers are content to play with your nipples while you resume bouncing on his cock, settling into a rhythm that has you both breathing heavy.

You feel your climax building and breathe his name over and over like a prayer, almost as if you can’t believe you made it home and he’s here with you, giving you this pleasure. Ash picks up on your energy and shifts his hands to your waist, letting his touch reassure you. “I’m here, baby, come on,” he soothes, giving your hips a tight squeeze. “I’ve got you, love... wanna feel you cum.”

You feel like a woman possessed, pawing at your own breasts, riding his cock as fast as you can, wishing you could go faster but it feels so good you’re almost too overwhelmed to keep moving. “Fuck… Ash… fuuuuck… fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” you plead breathlessly. You whimper again and again, feeling your release so close and yet nowhere near close enough. “Need to cum… need you… please… oh Daddy, please.”

You and Ash hadn’t been together very long when you first let a ‘Daddy’ slip in bed. You had no idea where it came from, you’d never called anyone that and it wasn’t a kink either of you had discussed any interest in. But you were already so comfortable with him that you never felt embarrassed about it, you both just giggled and went with it and he gently teased you about it in the following days. You decided to own it, dropping it occasionally as a half-sexy, half-ironic inside joke between you until one day the two of you realized just how serious it’d actually become, how much it seemed to affect you both on a primal level. Your use of the word evolved, like things always do when you’re with someone for a long time; it went from a bonding joke to a naughty cue to something reserved for special occasions and these days, it seems to only slip out subconsciously during your neediest, most desperate moments.

You’re so far gone the words you’ve just said don’t even register in your mind until you hear the guttural noise coming from Ashton’s throat and you feel his hold on your hips tighten to an almost painful degree. Your eyes flicker open to meet his and the excitement and love you see, the eagerness to return to that era of shared intimacy with you, is almost enough to push you over the edge.

“What was that, baby?” He teases, holding your hips still so he can buck his into you at a deviously slow pace. “Didn’t hear you… think you might need to say it a little louder.”

You try matching his rhythm as he rocks into you but his grip is so tight it’s no use, but you do keep trying because you like the struggle and he likes denying you. You lock eyes and stare him down for as long as you can, almost as if you’re challenging him, until he hits that one spot inside you that forces you to close your eyes and shudder. “I said…” You start, trying to find your breath as he moves his hips to match the staccato rhythm of your words. “Fuck me. Please. Need you. To make me cum. To fuck me. Daddy.” Your voice gets louder with every word and by the end of your request, you’re practically shrieking.

“That’s my girl,” Ash says in a voice both syrupy and dominating. “My baby wants to cum, my baby’s gonna cum. Give this pretty pussy what it deserves.” He gives your body an affectionate squeeze before he plants his feet flat on the bed for leverage and begins fucking up into you with impressive force.

You want to cry out, to call his name, to tell him how glad you are to be his, how you always want to be, how every time with him is better than the last and as exciting as the first. But you’re so fucking close and his cock is hitting so deep inside you, you barely have the brainpower to keep holding onto him the way that you are.

The only sounds filling the room are Ashton’s belabored grunts, your strained whines and the sound of his skin slapping against yours. A low, rumbly moan stirs in your throat and you both know this is it. He’s careful to keep his thrusts steady as you start to fold in on yourself, tensing from the sensations surging through your body. He feels you clench around him hard, your breath coming out in short, huffy sobs that seem to keep perfect time with the feeling of your pussy pulsing on his cock.

You’re seeing stars by the time you fall forward against him, arms made of jelly. Before he even has time to check on you, you push up on his chest, balancing yourself upright again. He gives you a half-concerned, half-amused look and you answer his unspoken question, “I’ve got one more apology to make.” He shakes his head, smiling and gestures for you to take the lead again.

You bounce on him, knowing he loves to watch the way your tits sway when you ride him like this. “Tell me when,” you direct, speeding up your pace. You’re nowhere near the speed he was moving at but it still only takes a couple minutes of work to get Ash groaning and grabbing at your ass.

"Love you like this, baby," he mumbles, kneading your cheeks as you move on him. He lets you get a few more pumps in before his fingers are digging into you and he’s growling, “So fucking beautiful… squeezing me so fuckin' tight, baby… ‘s all I can take, got me too fuckin’ close.”

The urgency in his voice springs you into action and you climb off and swiftly take him in your mouth. Ash moans loudly as you quickly bob your head up and down, not wanting to lose momentum. You flutter your tongue along the underside of his cock, murmuring as you taste your own release on his skin. You pull up, letting your hand continue to work him and you let the spit pour down your chin as you look at him and rasp, “Gonna let me have it all, Daddy? Promise I’ll be good and take every drop.”

Ashton props himself up on his elbows, stroking through your hair before his loving but firm hand starts coaxing you back down; his hazel eyes are clouded with lust as he meets your gaze and breathes, “Don’t swallow.”

A thrill runs through you and you share a mischievous look with him as you lower your mouth on him. His hand stays in your hair, applying light pressure as you sink down as far as you can before you start gagging; he pulls you back and guides you to bob more shallowly and seconds later, with a loud shout of your name, he’s cumming.

You focus on the sounds of his grunting and groaning as the hot liquid shoots across your tongue; you close your eyes, trying your hardest to follow his direction and fight your instinct to swallow. You pull back so you’re suckling at the head and you feel his grip on your hair start to slack as he takes his other hand and gives himself a few light strokes, milking out every last drop for you.

With an exhausted sigh, Ashton gently tugs your head back and instructs, “Show me.” You eagerly open your mouth, wiggling your tongue around, enough to let him see his release swirling around but careful not to let any of it spill from your lips. The satisfied look on his face has you feeling like you might cum again on the spot. “Good girl,” he smirks proudly. “Now make it disappear for me.”

A sly smile of your own spreads across your face as you let some - but not all - of the substance slide down your throat before leaning in to kiss him, murmuring as he takes the hint and deepens it, dipping his tongue in your mouth for a taste. You take it a step further, using your tongue to push the remaining cum inside his mouth, a chill running down your spine as he moans against your lips.

He tugs your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away, giving you an amused look. You shrug playfully, explaining, “You just said ‘make it disappear,’ you didn’t specify how.”

He chuckles and pulls you closer for the slow, reassuring kiss he typically lays on you after a kinky, more intense session like you just had. You smile softly at each other and when the moment is over, he gently grabs your hand and leads you to the bathroom for a quick cleanup.

You return to the bedroom a few moments later and Ash resituates the bed while you slip on a new shirt and underwear. You crawl back under the covers together and he promptly lays you on his chest, hand once again sneaking up the back of your tee, craving as much skin on skin contact as he can get.

“You sure about not wanting to fight ever again? Don’t wanna miss out on fun like that,” you joke, heart swelling at the ridiculous cackle that rattles through your boyfriend’s chest.

“Maybe we pick smaller, lower stakes things to fight about,” he muses, kissing your forehead. “What movie to watch, who has to load the dishwasher. No more serious shit.”

You cock your head at him amusedly. “Maybe… it is nice knowing the ‘Daddy’ card still works, though.” He pokes at you and you let out a squeal which he silences with another sweet kiss.

There’s a beat and then Ashton sighs, “I am sorry, baby. I wish I hadn’t said --- “

“Hey. No, Ash, we promised we weren’t gonna do that,” you cut him off, lifting your head to look at him. “That’s the past now. Who did what, what was said… ‘s not important. This is. This is all that matters.” You press a kiss to his shoulder, lightly pecking across his collarbones until you hear him give a deep exhale, letting go of whatever guilt he was still holding onto.

You settle back on him and he strokes his fingers through your hair, humming softly before thinking out loud, “I think I’d like us to try and set aside some time to spend together each week, no matter what we have going on. Obviously when it comes time to tour again, it’ll have to be virtual but… I just… I wouldn’t say we’ve started to take each other for granted… I just think maybe living together has gotten us used to how much we need each other and so now that we finally have other things that need our attention ---”

“When that need goes unfulfilled, disaster strikes,” you muse.

“Exactly.”

You gaze up at him fondly. “I think that’s a great idea, Ash.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied, before following up in a much softer voice. “I just don’t ever want to feel that disconnected from you again. I didn’t like it.”

You pout, squeezing yourself as tightly to him as you can. “Me neither, babe.”

The two of you lay quietly for a few moments. You’ve just started to drift off back to sleep when his voice breaks the silence. “Nap and then breakfast?”

“Mmm,” you approve, hands running across his chest hair. “Pancakes.”

Ashton clicks his tongue. “See, I was thinking breakfast burritos…”

You look up at him, love, mischief and exhaustion in your eyes. “Ooh, are we fighting again?” You suggestively ask, cocking an eyebrow.

He grins, pulling you back into his embrace. “Definitely nap first. We’re gonna need the energy if we’re gonna make up anymore today.” --- @conversecake @cxddlyash @cashtonasfuck @talkfastromance4 @camelliastreet @itjustkindahappenedreally @saywhatnow07 @mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower @pxrxmoore @findingliam-o @fedorable-killjoys @trix-arent-for-kids @olivia-foster-irwin @saphseoul @calmsweetcreature @onthecliffside-mgc @feliznavidaddycal @blacktreacles @maggiesupertramp @karajaynetoday @ashtonangst @sunshineeashton @aladyofalbion @youngblood199456 @xsongbirdx @fairytrice @calumrose @irwindoll @polycashton @in-superbloom @2fangirl4u @highstwildflower @t3lkfast @bport76

[sohin-ace]

Retirement Note

Hello my gangsters.

I hope you are doing wonderful and healthy in this early 2022.

As you may have noticed, I hardly have been active on any of my accounts lately.

I've written this message over 5 times and have been trying to avoid it for 2 months, like a coward.

I wanted to keep this short, yet, my best friends have advised me to explain and tell you the truth of all that happened, and I agree, you deserve to know.

Due to a serie unfortunate events, I am pushed to terminate my career as a fanfic writer.

There are exactly three reasons for that, but one in particular was the catalyst.

1 . You may certainly not know, but my health has been deteriorating for the past year, and even more so since Summer 2021.

I developped chronic migraines, sensory overload and my immune system is getting weaker and weaker. I get sickly like never before, so writing, among other activities, for long hours have been more straining than ever, especially for my eyes.

I could push through though.

2. I've been getting more and more responsibilities as the years went by. I'm not 18 anymore, writing out that first Bakugo fanfic sitting bored in college, before dropping out without remorse, not caring what would become of me.

I'm 22 now, have many people that all are very dependant of me.

You may joke that I'm a 'mom friend', but there's always a part of truth in a joke.

They would be lost without me.

I also have a life-long project that takes a lot out of me, and as much as I love writing for you beautiful gangsters, I have to choose the empire I'm building for myself and, once it's done, I'd be more than happy to show you what I've accomplished, if any of you are still here when that time comes.

Then why am I retiring so soon? Time and health can be balanced easily right...?

3. What is pushing me to stop is that, on the 1st of January precisely, technology has eventually failed me, and my phone died.

Pretty mundane, it happens to the best of us. But none of my data was able to be recovered. Nothing. Not a spec.

And that includes all two years worth of fanfictions, drafts, requests, ideas that I had ready for you. It's a miracle I even got my accounts back to recount this.

I know, it's really underwhelming of a reason, but for all the time and effort I've spent, I can not imagine redoing all of that work all over again. Especially with the two factors I've mentionned earlier. I don't have that luxury anymore, neither the time, or the strength. It's over for me.

I was planning on retiring sometimes this year actually. I was planning on finishing up my current written fics, post them all and close the requests so I could retire in peace.

I'm not in the right place to dedicate my life to writing anymore, be it health-wise, or priority-wise.

I wished I could have continued a few more years in fact, I had it all planned out, but alas, things happen in life that are out of our control, and all we can do is move on.

However I don't wish to mourn over the epitaph of my own grave, I still do want to spread positivity in my gang ✧

Something tells me this was just a sign. Whether you believe in signs and fate or not, I sure do. And I guess fate forced himself onto me to let me know what I had to focus on and what I had to leave behind.

All is good, my gangsters. Please don't worry your little faces about me. Everything will be okay.

The future is bright for all of us. As they say, "Don't be sad because it's over, be happy because it happened."

I love you. I truly do. And I spent amazing hours writing for you, reading all your hilarious comments, your sweet messages and reactions. If anything, I'll miss these the most. I'll miss you the most.

I'm sorry for those who are disappointed. I am as well.

I apologize for all the unkept promises.

I thank all of you for the endless love and support. You have been only sweet to me and this decision was not taken lightly, or without guilt.

Your presence have given me something I never had the privilege to experience, and that is Love. The wave of warmth in my heart, the butterflies in my stomach, the electricity down my spine. All of the things I write in my fics, it's all you.

I want to give a special thank you to:

@cocojumbohno , for using your notoriety to give me visibility. If it wasn't for you, I would have never been seen on this plaftorm.

@gio-is-writing , for being a friend.

And of course, Thanks to you, reading this. Take amazing care. Drink water, get some sleep, prioritize health and mental health.

I hope my stories brought a little sliver of peace in your day.

You will always be my gangsters and this gang will always be open for you.

I love you. I love each and every single one of you.

I will stay for a bit to answer some of your messages. And on that...

I take off with a smile, so please send me off with one too.

Thank you, and goodbye 💙

※ Sohin Ace ※