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cacmsinsitute · 1 year ago

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The Path to Professional Certification: Tally Training Prepares You for Industry Credentials

In today's competitive job market, professional certifications provide a substantial edge by demonstrating skill and dedication to one's career. Proficiency in Tally, a popular enterprise resource planning (ERP) software, is extremely beneficial to people in accounting, finance, and business management. Tally training not only improves practical abilities, but it also prepares the groundwork for obtaining industry-recognized credentials. This study investigates how Tally training prepares individuals for professional qualifications, hence increasing their employment opportunities and professional development.

The Importance of Professional Certification

Professional certificates demonstrate an individual's knowledge, abilities, and competencies in a certain domain. Employers all over the world recognise and respect them, which frequently leads to better work chances, higher income, and career progression. Certifications can reflect a dedication to lifelong learning and staying current on industry norms and practices.

Understanding Tally's Industry Relevance

Tally is an ERP software that is commonly used for accounting, inventory management, payroll, and tax compliance. Its user-friendly interface, extensive functionality, and versatility make it a popular choice among enterprises of all sizes. Professionals who want to flourish in accounting and financial management must be proficient in Tally. As organizations increasingly rely on digital solutions for financial operations, the demand for Tally-trained professionals grows.

Tally Training Prepares for Certification with a Comprehensive Curriculum

Tally training courses provide a thorough curriculum that covers the software's numerous modules and features. The training covers everything from basic accounting principles to complex financial analysis, ensuring a complete understanding of Tally's functionality. This in-depth understanding is essential for passing certification tests, which assess both theoretical and practical application.

Practical Experience

One of the most important parts of Tally training is the emphasis on practical practice. Hands-on activities, real-life scenarios, and case studies are used in training programmes to simulate the obstacles encountered in the workplace. This practical experience helps learners acquire confidence with Tally and prepares them for the practical components of certification exams.

Up to Date Knowledge

Tally training programmes are designed to stay current with the software's most recent changes and innovations. As Tally evolves to meet changing company needs and regulatory constraints, training ensures that learners are familiar with the latest features and functionalities. This up-to-date knowledge is critical for success on certification tests, which frequently include questions about the latest software versions.

Exam Preparation

Many Tally training programmes provide specialized test preparation courses. These sections offer insight into the exam format, question types, and major subjects. They also feature mock examinations and practice questions to help students become familiar with the exam structure and assess their readiness. Effective exam preparation increases the likelihood of passing certification exams on the first attempt.

Professional Guidance

Tally training programmes are led by experienced educators and industry professionals, who provide invaluable assistance and mentorship. Their knowledge and insights assist trainees in learning complex ideas, clarifying doubts, and gaining a better understanding of the software. This professional coaching is essential for studying for certification exams and laying a solid foundation for a successful career.

Benefits of Tally Certification

Enhanced Career Opportunities

Tally certification leads to a variety of professional prospects in accounting, finance, and company management. Certified experts are in high demand because businesses value their proven abilities and knowledge. Tally certification can lead to careers as accountants, financial analysts, auditors, and ERP consultants, among others.

Increased earning potential.

Professional certification frequently leads to better earning potential. Certified Tally workers can earn higher wages than their non-certified competitors, demonstrating the value of their specialized skills and knowledge.

Professional Credibility

Obtaining Tally certification increases professional credibility and establishes persons as experts in their fields. It gives you a competitive advantage in the job market and boosts the chances of career progression and promotion.

Continuous Professional Development

Tally certification is more than simply a one-time achievement; it represents a commitment to continuous professional development. Certified professionals are urged to keep up with the newest industry trends, software changes, and best practices to ensure their skills remain relevant and valuable.

Conclusion

Tally training is an essential step towards professional certification, giving the information, abilities, and practical experience required for success. Individuals who invest in Tally training can advance their careers, expand their earning potential, and gain professional recognition in the accounting and financial professions. Whether you are a seasoned professional or just starting out, Tally certification can be a game changer in your work life.

Join CACMS Institute for a Complete Tally Course

Are you ready to take the next step in your career development? Join CACMS Institute, the best Tally training institute in Amritsar, and learn the skills required to obtain industry-recognized Tally certification. We provide hands-on practical training with various times to fit your schedule. With our comprehensive training programmes, you may advance your career and become a Tally specialist.

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gtiaindia · 1 year ago

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Get The Best Tally Certificate Course in Kolkata 2024

Do you want to learn tally online course with gst from the best accounts training institute in Kolkata? Visit George Telegraph Institute Of Accounts today and know your course fees details. Join Now.

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vtechiepteltd · 2 years ago

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Elevate your skills with V-Techie! Explore a diverse range of online courses with certifications, including Data Science, Full Stack Development, Python Mastery, Web Designing, and more. Join our expert-led programs for a transformative learning experience and unlock new career opportunities. Your journey to expertise begins at V-Techie.

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shojizbae · 1 year ago

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Too Sweet

Spencer Reid x reader

It was no secret to the team that you had a sweet tooth. Anytime you walked past an ice cream shop, your eyes lit up with unbridled joy. After a hard case, you always came into the bullpen with a box of sweets. Donuts if you solved a case under five days, Hush Puppies if there was a fallen family, or maybe some Snickerdoodles if there was arson. They were always the same pink bakery boxes with a cellophane window.

Today was no different.

"Good morning!" you signed songed as you skipped into the bullpen and too the right to the kitchen.

"What treats have you cooked up today mama?" Derek rubs his hands as he closes in on the kitchenette

"Oooh, sweets!" Emily smiles and skips over to the counter

"They're macarons."

"Ugh, those nasty almond cookies." JJ giggles as she snoops around the box

"No those are macaroons." I correct and hold a raspberry-pink macron at her. She bites it playfully out of my hand and laughs with me. She wipes the extra creme out of the corner of her lip and thanks me.

"Woah those are delicious." she goes back to her office.

"What diabetes are you giving us today." Hotch tosses a file on the counter as he walks by.

"Pistachio, raspberry, or lemon?" I smack Emily's greedy hand away as he goes back for a fourth and fifth.

"Pistachio." He leans back to look in the box "Those look professional."

"That's what happens when you have an existential crisis and take a baking course while completing your doctorate and feel like no man would ever want to marry a woman with more degrees than 'wifely skills'." You rattle mindlessly

"Well, that was our daily depressing moment of (Y/n)!" Derek chides like a sports announcer.

"Where's Reid?"

"An that's our daily 'first Spencer question' being the tally!" Emily holds a ghost microphone up.

"C'mon,"I put my hands on the counter and leans my hips forward, "I'm not as obsessed as you think I am."

"Oh, just only a little." Emily placates. The two return to their desks to grind through the many stacks of folders. I picked up the box and reorganized the disheveled cookies. I sauntered over to his hunched back. Dr. Reid, my work husband, was mangled over his desk scratching down details of a past case on a legal pad. I sit on the right side of his corner-shaped desk.

"Good Morning Spencer," I chide. He jumps slightly with the high timbre of my voice.

"Uh good morning Agent (L/n)," He clears his throat a few times.

"I made macrons," I held up the box "Would you like one? I made some with lemon, pistachio, and raspberry. Take your pick." I brandish the box once again.

"That's alright I haven't had any real breakfast yet."

"op how about some fake breakfast?" I pick up a light yellow circle and shake it twice in my hand.

"No that's really ok," but before he can protest I force half the cookie past his lips and all that he can mutter out is a disgruntled, mouth-filled groan.

"Did that taste real to you?" He sassily holds up a finger as he chews and swallows.

"That was rude." He states but takes the second half of the treat from my hand and finishes it off. A bit of the filling slings to his lips and I slide my thumb over it

"You've got a little something-" My speech is caught when his brown eyes meet mine. He looks nice below me. His eyelashes are thick but his eye bags drown out his cool amber eyes.

"Sorry," I clear my throat and lean back on the desk. "Would you like some more?"

"Yeah, can I have the pistachio one?" He rolls around on his chair. He takes a bite of the cream-filled delectable. "Woah you have a real knack for this. It's like all the ingredients want to be together. It just takes you to make things right." He gives me that dorky smile and I lose all sense of restraint. I dive in and hold his chin while I kiss him. I pull back with the fear that I stepped out of bounds.

"Come here." He tentatively holds my jaw and his kiss is much nicer than mine. He releases me and I scan between each of his eyes. "You had a little something."

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #baking

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miyamizuna · 1 year ago

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Is it that sweet? I guess so~

Haikyuu boys as lyrics from "Espresso" by Sabrina Carpenter part 1 | part 2 ft. miya atsumu, kuroo tetsuro, semi eita

I can’t relate, to desperation (miya atsumu)

Being the MSBY social media manager means work- especially when it comes to Miya Atsumu. It seems like every other week he gets himself. caught up in controversy. Whether it be him being too touchy with an already-married older actress, or even being spotted on dates with multiple female idols. It’s your job to defend his already poor internet reputation.

“Y/n~ c’mon now, one date is all I'm askin’! Throw me a bone here!” He pleads for the 5th time today. He was sure to be persistent after the many rejections before.

“Miya, how many times do I have to tell you no?” You sigh as you reject him once more to add onto the tally of 56 rejections over the course of a year.

Sure he was attractive, what normal person would say no to a 6’1” professional volleyball player? Sadly you know firsthand about his player activities. You understand it though, a young early twenties male is bound to act like this. though the severity of actions vary on a case-to-case basis; he happens to be on the far end of the spectrum.

“Besides, it’s unprofessional to have a relationship between the two of us. I’m your manager.” You explain to him hoping finally you’d be able to get the message through his thick skull.

“Professional or not, who cares! give me a chance to prove myself! C’mon I've been good recently, no contreveries!” He explains trying to persuade your thoughts.

“If you call being spotted with a married woman in a fancy restaurant ‘good behaviour’, I don’t know what to tell you.” You frown as you avert your eyes from him, back to your laptop, typing out a public apology for Atsumu’s recent events.

With a frown, he steps forward and closes your laptop whilst leaning over your desk. His figure obviously towering over your sitting self.

“Enough of that, It wouldn’t be the same as those famous women who only want me to have an affair. It’s different with you.” He explains with sincerity as if this time he actually means what he says.

You look up at him with a smirk and now with crossing arms, leaning back on your office chair. “Oh really? Maybe when you give me an easier time with your little affairs, I’ll consider it.”

That's when his face lights up and puts on a stupid grin and leans in closer to your ear. i’m

“Oh you bet.” He whispers seductively in your ear before pulling away and walking to the door of the office.

“Well, see ya around Y/n, ya better hold up yer end of this.” He tells you before walking out of your office.

God this man. He's so… desperate for attention!

and I got this one boy, he won’t stop calling (kuroo tetsuro)

42 missed calls. Are you fucking kidding me? You had met this hot guy today at the cafe you work at, he was a tall man in a business suit, kind of built as you could see some of his triceps through the dress shirt, a really classy guy overall, though odd his hair didn’t match the aesthetic. You left your number on his cup just for the slight off chance he wasn’t in a relationship. Clearly, he’s not in one.

You decided to call him back, afterall you were busy with the cafe with the 8 hour shift you had just worked. Now lying on your stomach first, your leg hanging off the bed, you hit the call button.

“Hello?” a male voice says after only one ring.

“Uhm, Hi. You left 42 calls on my phone.” You informed him as if he wasn’t already aware of what he did.

“Oh yeah, I did do that~” He teases through the phone. “So what’s your name, coffee girl?”

“It’s L/N Y/N, and you?” You ask with a semi-interested tone returning the energy of his voice.

“I’m Kuroo Tetsuro. Y/n is a pretty name ya know” He flirts through the phone.

You can just imagine his silly smirk, the same exact one as when he saw the cafe when he read your number, and then the “call me <3” written under it.

“So I take it you’re not taken as you’re calling me” You suggest as you twirl your hair and kick your legs, god you feel like a teenage girl.

“Nah, I’m not taken. Haven’t really had a girlfriend before, closest was talking stages.” he explains you hear the ruffling of papers in the background.

So that explains the 42 calls. Takes a man's guts to admit that.

“You don’t exactly know what you’re doing, don’t you~” You tease as you hear a sigh from the end of the phone.

“Well no- I do know what I’m doing! Just I wanted to get to know you- soon!” He fumbles words trying to explain himself which brings a laugh out of you.

“Suuuure…”

There’s now a long awkward pause in the conversation. In which both of you don’t exactly know what to ask each other next.

“Soo- Are you a full-time worker at that cafe?” He suddenly asks, speaking up to fill the silence.

“Well no, I’m still in college. I’m going there for an English degree. How about you? You seem like you got a pretty good job.” You explain, then follow up with a question about himself.

“Well darling, I’m a sports promoter, specifically for volleyball. I work for the Japanese Volleyball Association.” He informs you with a proud tone.

This does pique your interest, not every day do you meet a guy who works for a sporting association who happens to walk inside a hole-in-the-wall café.

“Well shit, that's cool! Did you play in high school or something?” You ask now, flipping over onto your back to a more comfortable position.

“I did- made it to nationals during my last year.” He answers with a cocky tone. There is more shuffling of papers in the background, maybe he’s still at work-

“Kuroo! We need the papers finalised by tonight!” A voice from the background of his end says with a very demanding tone. Causing him to groan into the phone.

“Well you certainly heard my boss…” He sighs. “Call you back cutie. We still need to finalise our date.” He tells you before hanging up the phone not even leaving time for you to respond to his statement.

“huh…? DATE?” You shout to the void that is your room.

Man, this guy is confident. Both him personally, and you being too willing to give this man a chance. You know one thing though. You’re definitely going to come back to 42 calls again.

I'm working late bc I’m a singer (semi eita)

Oh, Semi Eita, the lead singer and guitarist of his little band. The foundation of what his band is about all stems from him. His rock style is unique, flashy if you call it. He always felt the need to stand out from others. You know that best as his significant other. Since high school, he’s always been a show-off or tried to be. Because of his show-off nature, he was benched on the volleyball team in his 3rd year.

Now here he is, slumped over on his office desk at one in the damn morning, struggling to come up with meaning to his new song.

“You know, Eita, This song must really got you stumped. You haven’t stayed up writing this late in forever.” You smirk leaning on the doorframe to his office. You both know that you’re right.

Eita usually has a set schedule; sleeps at 11 pm, unlike his teen days when he’ll pull all-nighters for fun. He sighs and turns his office chair around.

“Well, I guess you can say that.” He replies as he tiredly smiles at you.

You walk over to his desk, the wood planks creek in the silence of night, and lean over his shoulder to look at the song.

“So what’s this song about?” You ask him while reading the lyrics.

“A boy who fell in love with a girl and sees her with rose-tinted glasses.” He explains as he taps the pen on the paper every few seconds, clearly in thought.

“Well is she a good person, or a bad person.” You ask, sitting yourself at the corner of his desk.

He sits at his desk long in thought. “That’s the thing. I don’t really know.” He admits and he runs a hand through his hair, the other hand twirling the pen around.

“Well when you think of this girl, who do you think of?” You ask him whilst playing with the drawer of his desk that sits above you.

as he sits there in thought, an idea suddenly pops into his head. There is one girl in particular that comes into his head.

“I think of you.” He lets out with a grin as he ruffles your hair, causing you to let put a laugh

“Me, huh? You really love me that much huh..?” You grin in response to his actions, with a proud tone of voice.

“I guess I do huh?” He smiles at your proud self. “I’ll write about you being the girl who I view in rose-tinted glasses,” He says as she writes down his ideas on the paper, making light scribble noises.

That's just when you get up and try dragging him away from the desk.

“You know its bed time right?” You tease and you put him in a headlock and ruffle his hair.

“I’ll be there soon! Just, let me finish noting these ideas down!” He protests and he doesn’t look away from the page despite what you’re doing to him.

You sigh in response and let go of him. Walking to the door in the process.

“Don’t stay up too late. We both know how grumpy you get without your beauty sleep.” You tell him in response to his protests. Finding a good opportunity to tease him in the process.

As you walk out of the room, all you can hear is a grumble in response. All for the fact he knows you’re right.

©miyamizuna 2024 do not repost

espresso is my spotify number 1 rn

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arlucent · 19 days ago

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Title:Love, In Theory

(Furina x gn!reader)

Note:the reader is a professional and a famous lawyer in the court of Fontaine. They also bear a vision. All of this happened before the archon quest

`♔･ﾟ✧ °•∘⛲∘•° ✧ﾟ･♔`

The Grand Proposal Problem

The Court of Fontaine had become a revolving door of romantic humiliation.

That morning, a Liyuen shipping magnate had presented Furina with a literal boat carved from solid noctilucous jade ("To sail the seas of love together!"). At noon, a Mondstadt knight attempted to serenade her with a lyre (badly). Now, as the sun dipped below the aquabus lines, a Snezhnayan diplomat was sweating through his fur collar while listing his "extensive holdings" in excruciating detail.

"—and of course, my "maison de campagne russe" has heated floors—"

Furina swirled her goblet of sparkling water, watching the bubbles rise and pop with exaggerated fascination. "How... quaint." She set the cup down with a decisive clink. "But I'm afraid Fontaine's Archon requires a partner who can at least pronounce 'maison' correctly. Next!"

From his vantage point behind a marble column, Neuvillette marked another tally in his ledger. Rejection #23 this month. The pattern never varied:

1. The Old Guard: Aristocrats who thought wealth could substitute for personality

2. The Young Lions: Hotheaded heirs who imagined themselves taming a goddess

3. The Foreign Opportunists: Diplomats treating courtship like a trade negotiation

A Melusine tugged at his sleeve. "Chief Justice? The lawyer has arrived."

Neuvillette's lips thinned. "Send them in."

`♔･ﾟ✧ °•∘⛲∘•° ✧ﾟ･♔`

A Rivalry For the Ages

You remembered the first time you'd faced Furina in court.

It had been a simple property dispute—until she swept in, Hydro constructs swirling around her throne-like witness stand. "The defendant," she'd declared, pointing an accusing glove at your client, "is clearly as guilty as a crab in a pearl shop!"

You'd dismantled her argument in six minutes flat.

The second time, she'd brought charts.

By the fifth trial, the newspapers had coined it: "The Hydro Archon vs. Fontaine's Razor: A Clash of Wit and Will."

Now, standing in Neuvillette's office, you stared at the contract like it might bite you. "Let me summarize," you said slowly. "You want me to pretend to romance the woman who last week threatened to revoke my law license because I 'breathed too loudly' during her soliloquy?"

Neuvillette steepled his fingers. "Precisely because of that history. No one would suspect artifice."

The doors burst open. Furina stood framed in the doorway, her Hydro aura crackling. "Explain immediately why this—" She jabbed a gloved finger at you. "—insufferable gavel-spinner is here!"

You smirked. "Miss me, Your Majesty?"

Her eye twitched.

`♔･ﾟ✧ °•∘⛲∘•° ✧ﾟ･♔`

The Terms of Engagement

The negotiations lasted three excruciating hours.

Furina insisted on clauses like:

- "No unsolicited eye contact"

- "Absolute must to compliment me when we're in public"

- "If we must hold hands, wear gloves. Two pairs."

You countered with:

- "Hazard pay for every suitor-induced migraine"

- "Right to veto any pastel-colored outfits"

- "Final approval on all pet names"

Neuvillette mediated with the patience of a man who regularly sentenced sea monsters to community service.

"You'll attend the Melusine Founders' Gala tomorrow," he declared, stamping the contract. "Sedene will handle your... coordinated arrival."

The mentioned Melusine perked up from her notetaking. "I've already prepared complementary hydromimetic bouquets!"

Furina looked physically pained.

`♔･ﾟ✧ °•∘⛲∘•° ✧ﾟ･♔`

Performative Affection (With Spectators)

The gala was a masterclass in psychological warfare.

You arrived precisely five minutes late—enough to make Furina fume, not enough to be truly rude. Your outfit (deep blues instead of her preferred pastels) clashed deliberately with her frilly gown.

"Darling," you drawled, offering your arm.

"Counselor," she gritted out, gripping your elbow like she wanted to snap the bone.

The Melusines adored it.

"Look how they bicker and banter!" Mamere sighed dreamily. "Just like in my romance novels!"

The night devolved into:

- Furina "accidentally" stepping on your foot during the waltz

- You "forgetting" to fetch her preferred canapés (three shrimp, no dill)

- A Snezhnayan diplomat catching you mid-argument about fontaine law code subsection 47-B and mistaking it for foreplay

Neuvillette observed from the punch bowl, silently calculating how much longer he could allow this charade to continue.

`♔･ﾟ✧ °•∘⛲∘•° ✧ﾟ･♔`

Cracks in the Facade

The cracks appeared like fissures in glacial ice:

1. The Midnight Pastry Heist

You found her in the Palais kitchens at 3 AM, wrist-deep in a mille-feuille. Powdered sugar dusted her nose.

"Section 12 of the Kitchen Code," you intoned. "Unauthorized consumption of—"

A cream-filled pastry hit you square in the chest.

2. The Defense

When Duke Montblanc sneered about your "commoner stench," Furina's Hydro constructs materialized before you could blink.

"Apologize," she sang, twirling her parasol, "or discover how well your toupee floats."

3. The Staring

During trials, you'd catch her watching—not with her usual competitive glare, but with something almost... soft. The moment your eyes met, she'd snap her fan open with a crack.

`♔･ﾟ✧ °•∘⛲∘•° ✧ﾟ･♔`

The Duel

Marquis Beaumont was all smarm and no substance when he slapped you with his glove. "A real partner would defend Her Majesty's honor!",he says as if he wasn't the one who just insulted her.

You rolled up your sleeves. "Five minutes. I have a meeting with the Melusine Bar Association."

The fight was brutal:

- His Electro-infused rapier versus your (vision element)-enhanced parries

- The moment he dared aim a stray bolt at Furina's skirts

- Your Vision flaring not to strike, but to shield—erupting a geyser that drenched the entire courtyard

The crowd lost their minds. Furina's hands flew to her mouth.

Later, in a secluded alcove, she grabbed your wrist. "That was... adequate."

You flexed your tingling fingers. "Don't get used to it."

`♔･ﾟ✧ °•∘⛲∘•° ✧ﾟ･♔`

The Unraveling

The contract became impossible after:

1. The Jealousy

That Fontaine socialite who kept "accidentally" brushing Furina's hand? You may have "tripped" and spilled an entire carafe of Fonta on her décolletage.

2. The Late Nights

Shared silences in your office stretched longer. She'd critique your penmanship; you'd mock her posture. The space between you on the sofa grew smaller each time.

3. The Almost

Post-ball, wine-drunk and giddy, Furina leaned in to fix your crooked tie. Your breath hitched. Her pupils dilated. Then—

"Ahem." Neuvillette materialized like a specter. "The contract is fulfilled. Suitors have ceased."

`♔･ﾟ✧ °•∘⛲∘•° ✧ﾟ･♔`

The Breaking Point

The goodbye was painfully formal. Furina offered a stiff nod; you bowed precisely 15 degrees.

Until—

SLAM

Your office door flew open at dawn. Furina stood heaving, hair half-escaped its ribbons. "Why," she demanded, "did you never look at me like you meant it?"

The legal brief you'd been holding fluttered to the floor. "Because I was terrified you'd see that I did."

Silence. Then—

"Idiot," she breathed, and kissed you.

`♔･ﾟ✧ °•∘⛲∘•° ✧ﾟ･♔`

In Practice

The curtain rose on Fontaine's grandest opera house. Furina, resplendent in her spotlight, extended a hand toward the audience.

"Mon amour," she called, voice dripping with theatrical sweetness, "won't you join me?"

From the crowd, you sighed—but stood. The audience gasped as you ascended the stage.

"This wasn't in the contract," you muttered as she pulled you center stage.

Furina's grin was all wicked triumph. "Consider it... 'judicial discretion'."

The curtain fell on a very real kiss.

Somewhere in the wings, Neuvillette sipped his water. A Melusine tugged his sleeve. "Does this mean we plan a wedding now?"

The Chief Justice closed his eyes. "One crisis at a time."

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h6307518864 · 3 months ago

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decentffashionstore · 3 months ago

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literaryvein-reblogs · 1 month ago

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ideas for a backstory for someone who is a writer?

Writing Ideas: Writer Backstory

Abandoned by a parent/s

Experienced financial instability; usually moved frequently

Experienced bullying, contributing to feelings of isolation

Grew up in an affluent household, thus had access to a huge library

Grew up in a small village, often close to nature, thus developing observational skills for their writing

Had a solitary childhood, usually read numerous books

Lost a significant other, or other personal tragedies

Struggled with addiction (e.g., alcoholism) or other mental health conditions

Was a former professional in a different field

Went to a prestigious school where they learned literature or different languages

Examples

Briony Tallis in Atonement. When we first meet Briony, she is a 13-year-old who likes to write; when we last hear from her, she is a novelist in her late 70s. What passes between first appears to be merely the story of her life and her family’s life, but in the final pages, all is revealed: it is she who is the author of what we have just read—and things did not turn out quite the way she said.

Dr. Watson, in the Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, is a medical professional, but it's on account of his writings about Holmes that Holmes is so well known. Of course, the stories he writes that make Holmes famous are the same ones that we read, so this could be the world's first meta example of the Most Writers Are Writers trope.

Esther Greenwood, the protagonist of The Bell Jar, is in many ways Sylvia Plath. Essentially every aspect of Esther from her appearance, talent for writing, bad luck with hypocrite boyfriends to her mental breakdown, suicide attempts, and subsequent hospitalization can be traced back to Plath herself in some way. Which takes a meta twist when Esther starts a draft of an account of her experiences, which is obviously The Bell Jar in a nascent form.

Jack Torrance in The Shining. The typical alcoholic writer type, who accepts a winter position at the Overlook in the hopes of fixing up his life.

Jo March in Little Women. An alter ego for Louisa May Alcott herself, Jo is a strong-willed tomboy who loves to read and write. She writes plays and short stories in her youth, and later goes to seek success as a writer in New York City. In the end, she gives up writing and gets married.

Kurt Vonnegut. The main character in his novel Cat's Cradle is a writer who starts out doing research for a book he's planning to write about the day the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. Later in the story, he takes an assignment from a magazine to visit the island of San Lorenzo and write an article on it, where he gets more than he bargained for.

Stephen King's Misery. The main character has written a long series of popular genre-novels (historical romance, rather than horror), but wants to write more "serious" fiction, and is kidnapped by an obsessed fan who needs to know how the series ends.

Winston Smith, the unassuming protagonist of Nineteen Eighty-Four, works as a writer for the Ministry of Truth, his specific job being to redact inconvenient news stories or incorrect predictions made by the ruling Party, and replace it with propaganda he is told to make up from whole cloth. He says that his writing is the high point of his life. His love interest, Julia, is also a writer, albeit of amateur pornographic novels and other tripe meant to keep the populace distracted and happy. Author George Orwell was a highly experienced writer, and was wearily self-aware about the nature of the literary world, and it shows best here. Orwell also worked for the BBC during WW 2 and observed Britain's wartime propaganda broadcasting firsthand. In some respects, the Ministry of Truth is, pretty much exactly, the wartime BBC.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Writing Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here are some examples for inspiration. Choose which ones you would like to incorporate in your story. Consider combining or modifying them as needed/desired. You can find more in the sources. If you have a specific writer/s in mind, you can study their life story to get more ideas. Hope this helps with your writing!

#anonymous #writers #backstory #character development #writeblr #writing reference #literature #dark academia #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #light academia #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writing resources

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gtiaindia · 2 years ago

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gul4bjamoons · 5 months ago

Text

✩ scoops of doubt;

aurélien tchouaméni ──────

grabbing ice cream after a meal is a cherished tradition for the two of you, but the sweetness fades when a single comment sends your emotions over the edge.

⭑ wordcount : four thousand four hundred sixty-seven.

⭑ notes : not sure if you guys will like this fic as it is more sensitive, but i wanted to write about a topic that everyone struggles with to some extent: body image. everyone’s body is beautiful and comes in different sizes; as for this story i picked a reader on the chubbier end and will be diving into some insecurities that they could face. i tried my best to display this topic in an appropriate manner and and as always, my dms are open if you ever need someone to talk to, though i'm not a professional. <3

warning : body image struggles

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Going out with Aurélien was always special, and tonight was no exception. You both enjoyed taking turns picking places for your date nights, and no matter where you dined, you always ended up at your guy’s favorite ice cream shop afterward. This summer evening, it was his pick—a hidden gem that his teammate, Federico Valverde, had strongly recommended. After just a few bites, it was obvious that the footballer had made the perfect choice.

The night was filled with the usual tender smiles and exchange of dishes. Each of you stealing bites from one another and debating whose choice was the superior one. It was silly, but it made the meal feel more like an adventure in itself.

“Okay, so I definitely picked the best dish this time,” Aurélien grinned, as he leaned over to offer you another bite of his meal. “I knew you’d love it.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing him. “Oh really? Are we going to keep a tally of who picks the better dish? Because, overall, I’m pretty sure I’m winning right now.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, no. You definitely think you are, don’t you? But you can’t deny that this is a strong contender.”

You pouted, taking the bite he offered. "Fine, you win this round. But next time, I’ll make sure to pick something even better."

He leaned back, giving you a playful, mock-dramatic look. “This is war, then. Prepare for the next round.”

You both laughed, enjoying the easy rhythm of the conversation. The little games you played over shared bites of food made the whole experience feel so much more fun.

“So,” Aurélien started, swirling his wine in his glass. “If I win this little food battle we’ve got going, what do I get as a prize?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm, well, what kind of prize do you think you deserve?”

He leaned in with a teasing smile. “A kiss, obviously.”

“A kiss, huh? ”Your lips curling into a playful smile as you raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess I could be persuaded,” you teased, a flirty spark in your eyes.

Aurélien leaned in close, a teasing smirk on his face. “Come on,” he whispered.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, playing along, and your thumb grazed his cheek as you leaned in like you were going to kiss him. But, just before your lips met his, you quickly swiped your thumb across the side of his mouth, wiping off the sauce he’d missed earlier. His eyes widened, and he groaned in disbelief, clearly disappointed.

“Oh, come on!” he muttered, though he couldn’t help the small smile that crept back on his face.

A mischievous laugh escaped your lips as you watched him, his mock frustration only making the moment more delightful. The soft glow of the candlelight danced across his face, highlighting the amused sparkle in his eyes. It was as if you guys were in your own bubble of happiness.

You savored the moment, the rich flavors of the meal dancing on your tongue as you made your way through the courses. Aurélien’s rants about training filled the space between you, his voice blending with the clink of silverware against plates. It felt almost dreamlike—the way the world outside faded away as you both sank deeper into the rhythm of each other’s company. You both finished your plates slowly, savoring the last few mouthfuls, reluctant to leave the comfort of the cozy Italian place.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick before we head out.” Your boyfriend stated as he squeezed your hand to signal his departure.

You nodded, watching as Aurélien stood and melted into the crowd, his tall frame effortlessly disappearing toward the restrooms. Left to your own thoughts for a moment, you took a slow sip of your drink, letting your eyes drift around the warm ambience. As you glanced over the dessert menu, you pondered your options. You knew you’d both end up at the ice cream shop later—it had become a tradition—but maybe you could share something here first. It seemed like the perfect compromise. After all, the idea of a sweet Italian pastry was tempting. A crisp cannoli? Or a velvety tiramisu? You couldn’t decide, so you waved down the waiter, hoping for a little guidance.

“Excuse me, could you help me choose between the cannoli and the tiramisu?” you asked, flashing a smile. “Which one do you recommend?”

“Oh, another order?” The waiter raised an eyebrow. “Well, the tiramisu is world-class, but after all that, I doubt you’d even fit in your dress anymore.” He chuckled as he answered you.

The words hit you instantly, meant to be playful but coming across with an edge that caught you off guard. You froze, a flush creeping up your neck as the comment sank in. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over you, and instead of anger, you felt a rush of awkwardness. Was that really necessary? You opened your mouth to say something, but the words never came.

Finally, you let out a small, nervous laugh, trying to brush off the discomfort. "Uh, yeah... can I just get the check, actually?" you said, offering a tight smile as you reached for your drink, hoping the awkwardness would pass.

The waiter nodded, clearly unaware of the effect his words had, and turned to go. You sat back in your chair, fiddling with the napkin in your lap. You shook your head slightly, trying to push the feeling aside. You felt silly for letting the situation impact you like this. Nothing had seemed overtly wrong. Just… a bit strange. But then again, it could have just been in your head.

Although the waiter left, it felt like every eye in the room was suddenly fixed on you, each gaze heavy with judgment. Of course, you knew this wasn’t true—logically, you understood no one was staring at you—but that didn’t stop the feeling from washing over you like a cold wave. Your body suddenly uncomfortable in the chair, too much for the space around you. The fabric of your outfit felt suffocating now—clinging to you in ways that highlighted every inch. You wished you could just disappear.

Your stomach twisted, the pressure growing unbearable, the feeling of nausea even crept in. Every breath felt like too much effort, too loud, as if just being alive was drawing in too much attention. Your arms crossed over your torso instinctively, hoping you could somehow hide yourself from the world. But nothing helped, the ache was deeper than anything you could physically conceal. Your thighs pressed against the seat, and you could swear they expanded under the weight of your thoughts, a cruel trick of perception that only fed the panic rising inside you.

The heat clung to you, pressing down on your chest, its weight making each breath feel shallow and strained. It was like being trapped inside the very furnace that had just baked your pizza, the warmth heavy and stifling, consuming everything in its path.

You managed to steady yourself before Aurélien returned, but the floor beneath you betrayed every shift. Each small movement sent a sharp creak reverberating through the silence, an intrusive sound that seemed to echo your every restless gesture.

As Aurélien came back, the waiter dropped the check off. Your boyfriend’s focus immediately shifting to it, his hand instinctively reaching for his wallet. He sat down across from you, as he placed down his card.

You tried to hide the faint tremor in your hands and the nervous habit of tugging at the hem of your dress, hoping he wouldn’t notice. It was a silly plea when you considered the fact that Aurélien had been trained on the pitch to detect even the smallest shifts in movement—to read the slightest twitch of a muscle or the faintest change in posture. It was second nature to him, a skill honed over years of relentless focus.

So, of course, he noticed.

“You okay, mon amour?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He wasn’t demanding, wasn’t pushing, just offering you a space to speak.

You swallowed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Mhm, just tired,” you muttered.

Aurélien didn’t press further, but the eerie quiet between you lingered once he stood up from the table as he thanked the waiter. He reached for your hand as you both moved toward the door, his grip warm and steady, though his fingers tightened slightly, as if sensing something was still off. You followed him outside, the streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement.

As you approached the car, Aurélien opened the passenger door for you, his usual confident smile back in place, though there was something in his gaze that seemed to weigh you down even more. You sat down staring out the window, the city passing by like a blur as he drove, you hoped for a reprieve from the heavy feeling in your chest.

With dinner finished, the next step in your routine should have been a trip to the charming little ice cream shop nearby, a tradition that had started on your first date. It was a small, unassuming parlor where, with complete confidence, he had declared he could figure out your favorite flavor just by looking at you. Of course, he was wrong—but his confidence had made you laugh so hard your stomach ached, and in the end, you picked that flavor as your new favorite.

Yet tonight, the thought of ice cream twisted your stomach in a different way.

“Aurélien… I’m not really feeling it tonight,” you said in a hushed voice, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

Aurélien shot you a glance, brow furrowing. “Not feeling it?” he echoed, as if the words themselves were foreign.

You nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll get any ice cream”

His face fell slightly, a small frown tugging at his lips, but after a moment, he nodded. "Okay."

Instead of heading toward the ice cream shop, he smoothly made a U-turn at the next light.

“Wait, did you not want anything either?” you asked, blinking at him.

He glanced over at you with a half-smile. “It’s okay. Ice cream doesn’t taste nearly as good unless I’m sharing it with you.” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “I mean, have you ever tried chocolate chip cookie dough all alone? It’s just... sad."

You let out a soft chuckle, your shoulders relaxing a bit. "You’re ridiculous."

He just shrugged, eyes still on the road. "Hey, I swear the flavor will grow on you one day."

You looked back out the window, resting your head against the cool glass, feeling the weight of your earlier thoughts lighten just a little.

Then, his hand reached for yours, his grip warm and steady. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, a quiet, soothing motion—one that seemed to soothe something deep inside you, though he was unaware of what.

When he pulled into the driveway, he turned to you, opening his mouth as if to say something. But you were already unbuckling your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle before he could voice his concern.

“I’m gonna go change,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t wait for a response, slipping out of the car and into the house, where the warmth should have been comforting but only felt suffocating.

Aurélien lingered in the entryway, watching you disappear up the stairs, his frown deepening. This wasn’t exhaustion. This wasn’t just a passing mood. This was something deeper, something festering just beneath the surface, something eating at you from the inside out. And he knew. He always knew.

But he also understood you wouldn’t talk until you were ready. With a quiet sigh, he leaned against the doorframe, dragging a hand down his face before slowly removing his shoes, giving you the space he knew you thought you needed.

Upstairs, you hurried to the bedroom, the door swinging shut behind you—or so you thought. You barely noticed it remained slightly ajar, too preoccupied, too desperate to strip yourself free from the weight clinging to you.

Your dress pooled at your feet, as if even the fabric was eager to rid itself of you. Shedding you like an old skin—but unfortunately, this was no simple transformation. You didn’t even spare it a second glance before tossing it onto the chair in the corner. Your heart hammered in your chest, beating so fast you could feel it in your throat.

Your hands reaching for one of Aurélien’s shirts—the one that always offered solace in ways nothing else could, especially when he was away, swallowed by the distance of football and travel. But just as you were about to pull it fully down on yourself, your gaze flickered to the mirror.

And everything stopped.

The reflection didn’t greet you with kindness. It didn’t soften its edges, didn’t smooth out the harsh truths you spent so long ignoring.

It stared back, merciless, cruel in its honesty, dragging your eyes down the lines of your body like an artist outlining every flaw with deliberate strokes. As if it’s not just your body that feels burdened, but your mind too.

Your stomach—softer than you wanted, pushing outward when you wished it would vanish instead. The skin stretching slightly, smooth with a few faint lines marking where it met your waistband.

Your chest—felt fuller than before, both physically and emotionally heavy. The discomfort pulling at your spine, making every movement feel strained.

But worst of all? Your thighs.

You let your shirt slip, falling softly over your figure as your hands instinctively found their way to your thighs. Your fingers pressed into the warm flesh, grasping, as if to test reality. You felt the resistance of how they refused to shrink, to yield, no matter how desperately you willed them to. Each inch of flesh that you grip only deepens the chasm between who you are and who you wish to be. There’s a sense of helplessness in the way your fingers meet the soft curve of your thighs, like you’re at war with your own skin.

You want to recoil, to pull your hands away, but they stay, as if your own touch has become a punishment. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the reflection in the mirror, but even with your lids shut tight, it’s as though the image is burned onto the back of your eyelids. The feeling doesn’t go away, not even in the dark. It lingers, clinging to your skin like an unwelcome shadow that refuses to leave.

You wanted to sever off the parts that wouldn’t obey.

Your breath hitched, nausea pooling in your stomach. The mirror made a mockery of you, highlighting every insecurity, every whispered doubt, every cruel thought that lurked beneath the surface. You crossed your arms over yourself, dread curling around your ribs like barbed wire. A sickening thought sank its claws into you:

Why would he want you when you look this way?

The thought struck without warning, a tightening coil cutting off the oxygen to your lungs.

Would he still trace his fingers over your skin with that same reverence? Still hold you, still love you, when you felt like nothing but a burden too heavy to carry? If you couldn't even love yourself, then how could anyone else?

The faint sound of movement drew your attention, and a chill swept through you. You spun, and there he was—Aurélien Tchouaméni, standing in the doorway, his eyes shadowed with something you couldn't quite place. His heart silently shattering as he watched the person he loved more than anything crumble beneath the unbearable weight of their own reflection.

He had seen everything.

Your arms yanking down the shirt, a pathetic attempt to shield yourself from his gaze, but it was too late. His expression was no longer just concern—it was heartbreak. For you. For whatever cruel battle you were fighting inside your own head.

“Mon amour,” his voice was quiet, hesitant, as if afraid to startle you.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your throat had closed up. Embarrassment burned through you, hot and suffocating. You felt exposed, vulnerable in the worst way, like every insecurity you tried to hide had been laid bare for him to see.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away. "I—I’m fine…really I—"

“Amour…” he interrupted gently, stepping inside the room, closing the distance between you both. “Please, don’t try to hide from me.”

You shook your head, averting your gaze. “I can’t—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed, shaking your head harder. “Please... just give me a minute. I don’t want you to look at me when I’m like this.”

Aurélien’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing as the hurt on his face became undeniable. He reached out, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like what?” he asked, stepping closer, his heart in his eyes.

“Like this— I’m a mess,” you whispered, gesturing at yourself like your own body was something disgusting, something shameful. “Like—like I take up too much space. Like I’m too much. I—I don’t feel like—"

The footballer sighed, stepping back, running a hand over his head. His jaw clenched, and his whole body tensed.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. His hands curling into fists at his sides. “Who made you feel like this?” His voice was quiet, his protectiveness beaming through.

“Who?” he asked again, not taking your silence as a response.

You could hear the barely veiled frustration underneath, but not at you—never at you. It was anger at whoever had planted this seed of doubt in your mind, at whatever had made you believe that you were anything less than extraordinary.

You swallowed, shaking your head. “Well the waiter,” you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “He made some stupid comment, but… it’s not just that.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” he said, his posture stiffening.

You let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. “I wish I was.”

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “If I’d heard it—” he exhaled sharply, reigning in his anger. “I would’ve said something.”

“I know,” you sighed. “But it’s not just about what he said. It’s how I’ve been feeling for a while actually.”

Aurélien exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before stepping closer, his hands hesitating before cupping your face. His thumbs caught the next tear before it could fall. "Amour… I love you so much," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, just talk to me about it."

The weight of his words unraveled something in you, and before you could stop it, a sob broke free from your throat. Your knees buckled slightly, but Aurélien caught you as you stumbled, his arms scooping you up, strong but delicate. His warmth enveloped you entirely, and for the first time all night, you felt at ease as you laid in bed.

“I hate that you feel like this,” he murmured against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there. “I hate that someone made you doubt how incredible you are.”

You let out a choked laugh, but it held no humor. “It’s not someone, it’s me,” you admitted, voice trembling. “It’s how I’ve felt for a bit.”

His hold on you tightened, his jaw tensing against your hair. He was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “Still, I wish I could just make it all go away. You shouldn't have to carry this alone. I’ll carry it with you.”

More tears slipped down your cheeks as he peppered your face with kisses. His lips brushed over your skin in the softest, most reverent way. But then his hands found your thighs, gripping them firmly, kneading them as if committing them to memory. His fingers traced over the softness of your stomach, his grip both possessive and tender.

“Mon amour,” he whispered, voice husky, thick with emotion. “Do you know how perfectly you fit against me?”

Like you were made to be there, pressed into him like the missing piece of a puzzle.

A shiver ran down your spine at the sheer conviction in his voice, the way his hands never wavered as they caressed you, he was worshiping every inch. He pressed a hot, lingering kiss to your jaw, then down your neck, his breath fanning over your skin.

“I love being suffocated by your thighs,” he murmured, nipping playfully at your skin, earning a startled laugh from you despite the tears still clinging to your lashes.

You swatted at his arm, pushing at his chest. “Aurélien!”

He grinned against your skin, placing one last kiss to your temple. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

You sniffled, hands clutching at his shirt, the fabric bunching between your fingers. “I just don’t feel—”

“Shhh,” he interrupted gently, cradling your face again so you had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were burning with something fierce, something unshakable. “You are enough, mon amour. You always have been. And if you can’t see it right now, that’s okay—I’ll remind you every single day.”

A broken sob escaped your lips, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness alone.

It was from the overwhelming love, the sheer depth of what this man was offering you. A love so pure, so unwavering, that for the first time, the voice in your head telling you that you “weren’t enough” quieted.

Aurélien exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t care if we have to stay up all night, but I’m not letting you go until you understand how much I love you.”

You let out a wet laugh, sniffling. “That might take a while.”

His lips quirked up, but his eyes were still serious. “Then I hope you’re comfortable, because I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

Another moment of silence passed, your ears pressed to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He took a deep breath, then smiled—this time lighter, with something familiar in it.

"You know what we need?" he asked, his voice soft but certain.

You blinked up at him, still sniffling. “What?”

“Ice cream.”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “I just said I didn’t want any.”

“And I just decided that’s unacceptable,” he said, guiding you toward the door. “Come on, we’re going.”

You gave him a half-hearted glare, but he simply grinned ear to ear. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

A small smile broke through your haze of sadness. “Fine. But no more strange flavors!”

The drive to the ice cream shop was quiet, filled only by the soft hum of the music playing in the background. Aurelien’s hand never left yours, his touch a steady reassurance, grounding you in the present. Every now and then, he’d steal a glance at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips, as if he were silently reminding you that you weren’t alone.

When you stepped into the familiar little shop, the soft chime of the bell above the door echoed in the stillness, and for a moment, the weight pressing down on your chest lifted just a little. The warm scent of freshly made waffle cones filled the air, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

Aurélien made a show of examining the menu, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I think… I’m going to pick for you, just like our first date.”

You arched a brow, crossing your arms as you challenged him. “Oh? And what makes you think you’ll get it right this time?”

He smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Because I know you, mon amour.”

A few minutes later, Aurélien handed you a cone with a knowing grin. The flavor he picked wasn’t just good—it was perfect. Honey Vanilla Bean.

“You know, I really wanted to go with blueberry,” he admitted with a teasing smirk. “But I figured… you deserve something like you. Sweet, comforting, a little bit of warmth when everything feels cold.” He paused, feigning exasperation. “Also, I really didn’t want to get yelled at over an ice cream scoop.”

You shook your head in disbelief, holding back a grin. “Alright, fine. You win.”

His grin was smug as he bumped his shoulder against yours. “So, can I get my prize now?”

With a playful glint in your eye, you stood on your tiptoes and pulled him in, pecking his lips. The moment was brief but full, the sweetness melting between you as his fingers brushed your waist, holding you steady.

Hand in hand, you wandered outside and settled onto the curb, the cool night air wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. Aurélien pulled you closer, his warmth a contrast to the gentle chill.

Aurélien nudged you with his elbow, holding out his own cone. "Here, try some of my chocolate chip cookie dough. I even got star-shaped sprinkles on it."

Rolling your eyes as you leaned in, ready to taste it, but just as your lips parted, the ice cream dripped on to your face. Your eyes widened in shock as he burst into laughter.

Before it could roll off your body, Aurélien leaned in without hesitation, licking the ice cream off your face before pressing a brief, puckish kiss to your lips.

“There, crisis averted.” He announced smugly, pulling back with a satisfied smirk.

You shoved him away with a mix of laughter and disbelief. "Eww Aurélien, what is wrong with you?!"

He grinned, completely unfazed. "Oh, plenty, but you still love me."

You rolled your eyes, but as you looked at him—at the man who had spent the last hour trying to hold you together when you felt like you were falling apart—you felt your heart flutter.

“I do,” you whispered, leaning into his side.

His arm tightened around you, holding you securely in his arms as his cheek rested against your hair. “Good. Because I love you more. Every single part of you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you actually believed it.

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chaeuvy · 7 hours ago

Note

WAAAA okok first time requesting, could we get some Ness x reader headcanons and it's basically Ness having a crush on reader, how would he find out, how would he pine, would he confess etc etc, feel free to take as much time as you need!!!!

⸝⸝ ＃┆ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⎯ 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

summary: As Bastard München’s manager, you’ve always kept your distance — but Alexis Ness finds himself drawn to your quiet precision. What starts as respect turns into something he can’t quite explain. These headcanons follow the slow, quiet unraveling of his feelings, from realization to confession.

warnings: Gender-neutral reader, Fluff, slow-burn romance, Mild jealousy, Quiet pining.

wc: 1.2k words.

anon: he was sooo hard to write wahh, I hope I still did well !

˗ˏˋ ꩜ How he Starts Getting a Crush on You ˚｡ ꒱

꩜ At first, you’re a functional part of the team — the manager. Neat, efficient, no-nonsense. You handle schedules, med kits, and logistics with military precision. Ness notices — of course he does.

You’re the only other person besides him who seems to understand how important control is.

꩜ He appreciates order. He appreciates competency. And you? You’re both. He watches how you anticipate what the players need before they even ask, how you adjust to Kaiser’s ridiculous whims without blinking. You remind him of a well-oiled machine — just like he strives to be on the field.

꩜ The moment it clicks is when he sees you handle Kaiser like you’re not afraid of him. Not impressed, not submissive — just professional. Cool. Unbothered.

Ness blinks, watching the interaction from the sideline, and thinks,

“How the hell did they pull that off?”

Followed by,

“…Wait. Why do I care?”

꩜ After that, he’s suddenly… aware of you. The way your brows knit when you’re focused. The way you always roll your sleeves up the same way. The little smile you gave him after he nailed a particularly complex pass drill — polite, fleeting, and somehow more memorable than anything Kaiser’s ever said.

꩜ He starts finishing drills faster. Volunteering to carry equipment. Checking in with you about things he already knows the answer to. Why? He doesn’t really understand yet. He just wants to stay close.

˗ˏˋ ꩜ How Ness Realizes He Has a Crush ˚｡ ꒱

꩜ The team teases him once — light, passing. “Damn, Ness, you’ve been hovering around the manager more than you do Kaiser.”

He responds flatly, “I just value competence.”

But the words taste hollow. He doesn’t even believe himself.

꩜ He tells himself it’s strategic. You make his job easier. You’re efficient, and efficiency is attractive — no, not attractive, appealing — wait, no—

Yeah, he’s spiraling. Quietly.

꩜ It becomes harder to ignore when you say his name — just casually, like you always do — and his heartbeat actually skips. He’s too controlled to flinch outwardly, but inside? There’s chaos, and he hates it.

Why do I feel like this? I don’t have time for this.

꩜ Then one night, after practice, you’re still in the storage room tallying inventory, and he ends up staying behind. Not because he has to. Not because Kaiser’s around. Just because you’re there.

You thank him softly when he helps — and he doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, uncharacteristically still, like his brain has shut down.

That smile… it’s not for Kaiser. It’s for me.

꩜ It’s not logic. It’s not efficiency. It’s you. And that’s when he knows:

He’s gone.

˗ˏˋ ꩜ How Ness Pines for You ˚｡ ꒱

꩜ Ness isn’t dramatic about it — he internalizes everything. That doesn’t mean he’s subtle, though. He’s always finding his way into your orbit, even if he acts like it’s unintentional.

꩜ He starts adjusting his schedule to yours. If he knows you like setting up early? He’ll be there fifteen minutes before you. If you like order? The locker room has never been neater.

He’d never admit it, but he starts aligning himself with your rhythm, like you’re the playmaker and he’s anticipating your next move.

꩜ He watches over you from the sidelines, eyes tracking your every motion when you’re not looking. You’d think he’s reading a game — calculating. Focused. But it’s just you.

꩜ He gets jealous — especially when Kaiser gets too close. But Ness would never start a scene. Instead, his jaw tightens, and he quietly inserts himself into the conversation under the guise of needing something… “manager-related.”

꩜ Sometimes, you catch him staring. Not in a dazed or flustered way — in that sharp, Ness way. Like he’s studying you. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but it’s intense, almost too much.

꩜ He replays every interaction on a loop — your compliments, your offhand comments, your laugh. But he never lets it show. Not yet.

˗ˏˋ ꩜ How Ness Confesses ˚｡ ꒱

꩜ He doesn’t blurt it out. He’s not that kind of person. If he’s going to confess, it’s because he’s run the mental calculations, weighed the risk, and decided it’s worth it.

꩜ He asks you to meet him after practice — nothing dramatic, just a quiet moment near the edge of the field, where the lights hum overhead and the rest of the world feels far away.

꩜ He stands with his back straight, posture composed — but his hands are clasped too tightly behind his back. His voice is even, careful. “I’ve been thinking. About you.”

꩜ At first, it almost sounds like feedback — like he’s about to offer some analysis. But then:

“I think I like you. More than I meant to. And not just because you’re good at your job.”

꩜ His eyes flick to yours — a rare moment of vulnerability. There’s a faint crease between his brows, like he’s bracing for disappointment, but he doesn’t pull away.

꩜ He doesn’t ask for an answer immediately. He just stands there, steady and open. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… thought you should know.”

꩜ If you accept his feelings? and of course you do. His smile is soft. Gentle. Unlike any expression you’ve seen from him before — because for once, it’s not calculated. It’s just real.

← BLLK ┆ NAVI →

a/n : thanks for reading.. I don’t like those :(

#𖤐..chaeuvy #𓍯 chae..sfw #𐐪𐑂 chae..drabbles #bllk x reader #bllk ness #Alexis ness #ness x reader #Alexis ness x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #꩜chae..bllk #Bluelockxreader #Alexis x reader #ness fluff

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softeninglooks · 15 days ago

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#hinatashoyofest2025 | day 3: aged-up characters

“i won’t go easy on you just because we’re married, you know that, right?”

in the stands facing the court, some curious eyes set on the exchange between the schweiden adlers’ new coach—and former player—kageyama tobio, and sendai frogs’ head coach hinata shoyo. volleyball enthusiasts smiled at the entwined stories of the two former teammates, from their early years in the then forgotten karasuno volleyball team that they took to nationals, to their partnership in the japanese national team. and of course the many games there had been in between; between the adlers and the msby black jackals, the all star matches, the joint interviews and players’ enduring—and to the public, endearing—rivalry.

kageyama tobio’s retirement from professional volleyball shook the international volleyball scene to the core, but tobio’s passion for the sports could never be exhausted. as soon as the retirement announcement was made, he took up a position as a coach, joining hinata, who had been training the sendai frogs for two years. again, they were brought back together, as if after all these years nothing had really changed, save for the band of gold on their ring fingers and the discrete crinkles at the corner of their eyes, smiling maliciously back at each other.

“marriage has nothing to do with defeating you,” tobio did not lose face. “except when i beat you at proposing that is.”

“kageyama! this is against the rules of fair play.” shoyo’s feigned revolted look turned into laughter as he playfully accused his husband of unfair tactics. in their personal competition, kageyama’s proposal after they won the silver medal at the 2020 tokyo olympics had been a tough loss for shoyo (and, at the same time, his most treasured victory).

“you’re the one who brought up marriage,” tobio countered, unfazed. then, cracking a threatening smile—“scared of losing again?”

“i’ll have you know i won our last game, two years ago.”

“you’re still behind me.”

“we’re almost tied.”

“try to catch up, then.”

“that’s what we’re going to do! you’d lose your advance, though.”

“ah.” kageyama’s face softened in a moment of reflection. “i suppose so. but i’ll just have to win again to get the upper hand.”

it had always been like this between them—keeping score, pushing the other into surpassing himself; but also being there when the other called. shoyo, tobio knew with unexplainable certitude, would always catch up and find him. he did it in karasuno. did it after brazil. did it again and again to stand in tobio’s way. and each time, he showed tobio the new tricks up his sleeve, prodded tobio into matching his obstinacy to run two steps forward after each step back. deep down, tobio had already admitted it—shoyo was the someone better whom kazuyo had told him about so long ago. many talented, hardworking, and ambitious athletes had entered tobio’s life since the start of his professional career, but shoyo—shoyo had been the first to trust him, and without this dogged presence ready to take off at his right side, tobio would have been swallowed whole by the cracks beneath his feet, the desolate pits to which solitary kings were relegated. shoyo gave him a crown, and with it, the belief that there were others who would understand tobio’s volleyball.

the rest was history. meeting again on shoyo’s return to japan; growing beyond youthful clumsiness to see their closeness for what it was. shoyo took the first leap forward, and tobio followed. they kept tallies not only of defeats and victories, but whose turn it was to visit the other in italy or brazil, before settling in japan. the silver glimmers along shoyo’s temples kept track of time, but when looking into his eyes, tobio was met with the same deep sense of combativeness, the strength of a resolve as chilling as the first bite of mountain frost, and the kindness of someone who had known weakness. on the day when tobio announced that the time had come for him to pass on the mantle to the new generation of prodigious setters who had emerged under his very gaze, it was that same look in shoyo’s eyes which had assured him that the most painful step in tobio’s career would turn into a precious lesson learnt, another facet of volleyball that tobio could explore. here again, shoyo was one step ahead, and tobio had simply smiled, heaving a deep sigh of relief, and commented that he would focus on crushing shoyo as a coach.

there they were now, on opposite sides of the court, shaking each other’s hand as they had done many times before. tobio had missed it. the thrill of playing against his greatest partner. tobio watched him jog to the sendai frogs’ side, encouraging his team with pats on the back and a determined grin. it came naturally to shoyo, this trust which he inspired people, the ability to lead by example.

a jolt of gratitude jabbed at tobio’s chest. even though he did not stand below the net anymore, a familiar fervor took over him as the referee’s whistle was blown to mark the beginning of the game. if it meant more volleyball with shoyo, tobio would be happy growing old like this.

#hinata shoyo #kageyama tobio #hinata shoyo fanfiction #kageyama tobio fanfiction #kagehina #kagehina fanficiton #hinata shoyo fest 2025 #haikyuu!#haikyuu! fanfiction #hq fanfiction #hq drabbles #my writing #writing

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