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thetriumphantpanda · 6 months

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it's new, the shape of your body | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Five

Chapter Summary | A dead end following a lead at work leaves you tense, with Javi only too happy to help you destress.

Chapter Warnings | Mention of drugs, drug related violence and the drugs trade. Zero knowledge of how journalists find information in the 90s but we ride with it. Explicit smut, these two do some stuff in public that the lord wouldn't approve, fingering, Javi is a dirty talking menace.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3.5K

Authors Note | So, as well as being a sexy little dbf!Javi fic, this also has another overarching plot that I'm starting to introduce in this chapter - I really hope you like the addition of this other part of the story, as well as these two finally getting it on! Another huge shoutout to @undercoverpena who has been such a rock with this chapter, helping me smooth out the kinks to get it to where I wanted it to be. Thank you for the support so far. If you're enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

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There’s a spring in your step when you walk into work on Monday. You’d spent all of Sunday is some sort of daze, thinking about what had happened with Javi and all the things that he’d promised you over the phone. You let your hand wander a little on Sunday night, bringing yourself off to his promise of showing you exactly what you’d been missing, so much so that the lack of sleep from keeping yourself awake didn’t bother you as you sat down at your desk, taking out your notes to start working on the piece for the newspaper about the drugs bust in town last week.

“You seem more chipper this morning,” Your boss muses, setting down a mug of coffee next to you like she always does each morning, “You sleeping better?”

The answer is no, not really, just that you’re awake for a far better reason that pining for your dad’s buddy, now you’re awake because he wants you just as much as you want him and those daydreams and the visions that come to you in your dreams are far nicer to deal with than the wondering of if you were going to make a fool out of yourself in front of him.

“Yeah, much better, thanks,” You smile, picking up the mug to take a sip, “I’m gonna start working on the bust story today, hopefully it’ll be ready by the end of the day.”

She places a hand on your shoulder and gives you a squeeze, “Nice work,” She smiles back at you, “Your stories have been really well received recently.”

She leaves you to it, letting you open your notebook, you rip the old pages out, lie them out on the desk in front of you, picking up a pen, putting it to the fresh page to start formulating the bare bones of the story.

It’s easy to start with the facts.

1. There’s a house in town had been involved in a police raid.

2. A large amount of both cocaine and marijuana had been seized.

3. The house had been empty.

4. The police had spoken to the neighbours.

You circle the last point on your notepad: no-one could figure out who would be responsible for storing that amount of drugs at the address. Staring at it, seeing it in a new order, your brain begins to think, wondering about how you might be able to dig deeper.

Something, the instinct that made all of this possible, tells you to start with who owns the house. Fingers typing, suddenly remembering that you’d overheard your dad talking with your mom a few days ago about how they’d tried that avenue and come up at a loss down at the station, but not why.

Opening the webpage for the public records for the county, your fingers drill in the address, clicking on the search result that pops up. Leaning forward in your chair, chin propped on your palm, you scan the information in front of you. There’s a list of everyone who had ever owned the address since it was built, starting from the first all the way down to the last, which is where you realise what the dead end is. The last owner was dead. Had been for almost a year, and the property was waiting to go up for sale again, which meant whoever had been storing the drugs in the house was squatting.

You let out a frustrated sigh, because if the police can’t figure it out from here then what makes you think you can. Except, when you sit there, tapping your fingers against the desk in frustration and realise you’d been there. You’d been in that house a few months ago with Liv, who had dragged you to some kind of party.

Almost automatically you’re reaching for the phone and dialing the number you’ve got memorized for her. She picks up on the third ring.

“Hello, this is Laredo insurance, you’re speaking to Liv, how can I help?”

You bite back a giggle at her customer service voice, it’s so unlike the girl you really know, “Hello bestie,” You greet, which has her gasping down the phone.

“Oh my god have I forgotten a lunch date?” She asks.

“No, it’s okay, don’t panic,” You say, “It’s a really random question, but you know that party we went to a few months ago, do you know who hosted it?”

You can hear her clicking her tongue in the background as she thinks, “I can’t even remember who invited us,” She sighs, as do you, “I think I just heard about it from someone, who’d heard about it from someone else.”

“God damn it.” You mumble, head in your hand.

“Is it important?”

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly, “It was the place that got busted last week, and I’m just trying to do some digging, but it’s okay, I’m sure if it’s meant to be I’ll figure it out.”

“I have every faith in you,” You can tell she’s smiling on the other end, “Listen, I gotta bounce, but how about we do drinks later on this week?”

“Sounds good, phone me later and we can sort it out.”

“Alright, bye bestie!”

You laugh and wish her a goodbye, deciding you’ve gone as far as you can with this for today. You save what you have of the story, thinking you could send it to your boss for approval as is, but deep down you know there’s something here you can pull on, something bigger than just busting a house full of drugs and taking them off the streets to be dealt, so you keep it to yourself for the rest of the day.

“I’m heading out,” Your boss speaks as she walks past your desk on the way out, “Did you get the story finished?”

A smile thrown her way in response, trying to cover the fact that you want more time, “Almost,” You speak, “Just a few more tweaks and a couple of things I want to check, but I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.”

She nods, seemingly pleased that you’re wanting to make it as perfect as possible, “No rush, we can hold it for a few days until you’re happy with it.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Well, you have yourself a good evening and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You wish her the same, watching as she heads out, leaving you in the office alone. You sigh, annoyed that there’s nothing further you can really do. You save the document, gathering your things and deciding you can worry about what to do next tomorrow.

When you emerge from the front door of the office and look across the parking lot to your car, you’re taken aback to find Javier’s truck parked in the space right next to it. He’s leaning against the driver’s side of the truck, casual as anything, with his ankles crossed over each other and his arms crossed over his chest. He notices you stood still, motions you with his head to come over.

Your feet carry you across the parking lot, shoulders heavy with stress and that niggling feeling that you’ve been missing something all day, the one thing that’s going to make you realise what’s going on, but seeing Javi slip his aviators off his face and tuck them into his shirt, shooting a smile your way, you feel a little better.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, in that cool, casual way that he always does, “Wanted to see you,” He reaches out, taking your hand in his to pull you closer, but does so whilst looking around, making sure no-one either of you know can see you, “Wanted to do this.”

Then he leans down, presses his lips to yours, one hand cradling your cheek. It’s different to the kiss at the ranch, it’s not rushed. He keeps his lips pressed against your own for a while, pulling away, but planting one right on your forehead as he leans back against the car.

You bite your bottom lip between your teeth, smiling a little as you feel the temperature rise across your face, “How did you know what time I finished?”

“Lucky guess,” He shrugs, “Thought if you didn’t come out within an hour I’d have just gone home, tried again tomorrow.”

“You would have waited for me for an hour?” You chuckle, leaning against your own car behind you.

“Yeah,” He nods with a smile, “Would wait a lot longer but you know how it is, things to do.”

You settle your back against the passenger side of your car, rubbing a hand up one of your arms, “You seem tense,” Javi observes, “What’s up?”

You consider telling him the whole story, but there’s something niggling in the back of your mind that this is something you should keep to yourself for a while, just until you can try digging for more information first. If you keep drawing up blanks then you can ask him, see if his expertise can offer any ideas, but for now, you keep it vague.

“It’s just work,” You shrug, “Deadlines and stuff, but I’ll be okay.”

You watch him look at you, those beautiful brown eyes looking directly into your own, his mouth pulled into a smirk, “You wanna take a drive?” He asks, head tilting to his truck, “Let me help with some of that stress.”

That familiar pool of arousal is settling in your tummy, excitement thrumming through your veins at what he means. He wants to touch you, and God do you want to touch him right back. But it’s getting late, and you know you’re parents are going to wonder where you are soon enough. There’s not enough time to go driving around, but you think there’s just enough time for something else.

You grin back at him, reaching to grasp his wrist in your hand, somewhat aware of how big he is when you can’t fit your fingers all the way round it. You drag him back across the parking lot, and down the side of the your office building. It’s a small alley, definitely not the most romantic spot, but at least it doesn’t smell, and unless someone is coming looking, you’re not going to be disturbed, most people having gone home from the offices on either side of you.

You go down just far enough that you’re in the shadows, far enough that even if someone did wander past, you’re going to be hidden as much as possible. You drop his hand as you lean back against the brick wall, staring at him as he takes a step closer to you, hands settling on your waist.

“You want me here?” He speaks lowly, bringing his face closer to yours, so close that you could reach up on your toes and kiss him, but you want to see if he breaks first.

You nod your head, tipping it back against the brick, shoving your hips off the wall as some kind of hint to him, “What do you want, hermosa?”

“Want you to touch me, Javi.” You breathe, leaning up just a touch so he can feel the breath from your lips across his.

“But I already am.” He smirks, eyes flitting to where his hands are resting on your hips.

With a roll of your eyes, you reach your own hand down your body, coming to rest of the waistband of your work trousers. You motion your head a little, dragging Javi’s eyes down to where your hand is resting on the button of your trousers, making sure he’s watching when you pop it open, dragging the zip down and then leaving it like that.

His own hand trails from your right hip, warm fingers brushing the skin you’ve revealed, but he doesn’t move them further, just lets his fingers rest on the skin as he brings his lips to your jaw, kissing softly from your chin, all the way up to the delicate skin behind your ear, “Want me to touch you here?” He all but growls into your ear as his hand sinks beneath your trousers, wide palm cupping you through your underwear, bringing a gasp from your throat, “Yeah, sounds like you do baby.”

You bring your hands up to rest on his shoulders – something to grip onto as his fingers trace along the seam of your pussy through the thin cotton of your panties. His touch is gentle, but the way his mouth is pressing hot and wet to the skin across your neck is anything but. It’s searing, and exciting, and wrong but in all the right ways.

“If I dip my fingers under here,” He asks, fingers toying with the elastic of your panties, “You gonna be wet for me, querida?”

“W-why don’t you find out?” You choke out, feeling him smile against the skin of your neck as his fingers dip just below the waistband of your panties, fingers dragging over the curls on your mound, down lower, until they’re so close to where you want them.

He dips his fingers through your folds, slipping them into you so easily. Your mouth drops open, his own so close to yours that you could feel his lips on yours as you moan, his fingers dragging out of you and up to your clit, where he starts gently circling.

“What’s got you all worked up, eh?” He asks, his other hand coming to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him, your mouth dropped open as he works his fingers across your clit, “Can’t just be from me right here,” He muses, “You been sat at your desk thinking about me?”

He presses his fingers more firmly across your clit, it feels so good, the way he’s working you, “T-think about you a-all the time.” You croak out from your throat, hips starting to move with his hand, needing something more.

“Naughty little thing,” He breathes into your ear, teeth nibbling lightly at your earlobe as his fingers drag from your clit back down to where you’re so slick for him, his fingers slipping back inside you, but curling up, finding a spot inside you that no-one had even shown you existed until now, “Feel good?” He asks, “You tell me what works, okay?”

You nod, two of his fingers working in and out of you. It feels good, but it’s nothing compared to the way he made you feel before, when his fingers trailed over your clit in little circles. You grip his wrist, “Outside,” You say simple, “Like how you were doing it before.”

He presses his lips to yours, dragging his fingers back up through your folds, using his middle finger to draw light circles over your swollen bundle of nerves, “Like this?” He asks, which is punctuated with a moan from your lips. It’s loud enough this time that his free hand is flying to cover your mouth with his palm, shushing you as he presses his body against yours, pinning you in place, his own excitement no longer hidden from you. You can feel the bulge of his cock through his jeans, pressing into your side as the movement of his fingers speeds up, just a touch.

Whilst it’s a familiar feeling – it’s the way you’re used to bringing yourself off, more often than not to the thought of the very man in front of you – there’s something so different about Javi being the one to have you dangling over the edge, teetering on the edge of pleasure just with his fingers.

“Tell me, bebita,” He coos into your ear, “Has anyone else ever made you come?”

His palm is still covering your mouth, so you can’t speak, so all you do is shake your head in response, watching as his eyes darken and he sticks his bottom lip out a little in a pout, “Poor girl,” He says, his middle finger speeding up just a touch again, pressing harder, “Shall we fix that?” He asks, which has you nodding your head so ferociously that it should be embarrassing, “Go on then,” He coaxes, “I know you’re close, just let go for me.”

If someone had told you months ago, before he’d reappeared in town, that Javier Peña would be the first man to make you cum, pressed against the brick wall of your office, with his hand clamped around your mouth to stop you from crying out, you’d have told them to get lost.

Your entire body shakes as your orgasm starts to ripple through you. White hot pleasure explodes across your lower body, your fingers dig into Javi’s shoulders, fisting the material of his shirt as he finally drops his hand from your mouth, gripping at your waist to keep your upright when the shaking of your legs threatens to topple you to the ground. His fingers are moving across you more slowly, but are adding just enough pressure to work you through those aftershocks, until it becomes too much.

Your forehead hits his shoulder, your hands wrapping around the breadth of his broadness as he drags his hand from your trousers, slipping both around your back to drag you into his body, “Did so good for me, querida.” He praises, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your spine through your shirt.

“Felt good.” You manage to mumble into the material covering his shoulder, pushing yourself back up and off him, hand trailing down his chest to try and touch him, return the favour, but he’s gripping your wrist to stop you.

“Not tonight,” He says, “Just wanted to make you feel good.”

“But-” You try to protest, but his grip on your wrist is strong and you can’t move it.

“I promise I’ll let you return the favour, but not tonight, okay?”

You nod your head. Javi brings his hands to your trousers, zipping them back up and pushing the button through the buttonhole. He tugs the hem of your shirt back into place, before he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. He glances at the watch on his wrist, clocking the time, “It’s late, querida,” He sighs, “We better get you on the road.”

And it’s a strange feeling, that this tiny little bubble is bursting so soon. You know it’s important to keep this under wraps, you’re sure no-one would be pleased to find out that Javier Peña, your dad’s friend, had been pinning you to a wall and coaxing an orgasm from you with his fingers, and there’s something about the secrecy of it all that makes it more exciting, but as you walk back to your respective vehicles, Javi so far away that you can’t reach out to touch him, it stings a little. Stings a little that you’re not going to get to be normal with him, that for now, your relationship, whatever that might be, is going to be kept secret, clandestine meetings and stolen glances wherever possible, when all you really want to do is grasp his hand in yours and shout to everyone that he belongs to you.

“We going to make this a habit?” You ask, unlocking your door and sliding into the drivers seat.

Javi keeps a hang on the top of the door, keeping it open for a while, “What?” He smirks, “Pressing you up against brick walls?”

“Pressing each other against brick walls,” You correct, “It’s your turn next time.”

He runs a ringer over his bottom lip, a habit you’ve known for years is something he does when he’s nervous or stressed, “I need you to know if I didn’t have to keep you a secret, I wouldn’t, okay?” You smile up at him, nodding your head, “I promise it won’t always have to be like this, but just for now, okay?”

“Okay,” You nod, “Now give me a kiss goodbye and let me go home.”

He does just that, leans down and gives you a kiss, one that you would class as proper this time, where he opens his mouth against yours, licks into your mouth, the coarse hair above his lip scratching lightly at your skin. He pulls away just a touch, pecking you on the lips once, then twice, then a final time, when you grip the collar of his shirt to keep him there just a little moment more.

“Go home, Javi.” You giggle when you finally let him go, “I’ll see you soon.”

He gives you a final chaste kiss to your lips then shuts your door for you, walking around your car to get in his truck. You wonder for a while if there’s going to a weird stand-off between the two of you, but he turns the key in his ignition and drives off with a final wave, leaving you to do the same.

When you pull up outside your home, you pull the mirror down, make sure nothing on your face gives away what you’d just been up to, smoothing down your hair. You take a second to take a few deep breaths, before you step out, going back to being the innocent daughter your parents still believe you to be.

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saltygilmores · 8 months

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Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, 2/18 “Back In The Saddle” (more glorious filler) Part 2

Wow, Netflix really borked the captions in this scene.

Thinking about how the Chilton Crew wants Lorelai to come to the school and advise their business class, and then I remembered that in a season 3 episode (the one where Lane dyes her hair purple) she does just that at Stars Hollow High, but it didn't exactly go well for her, because instead of asking her questions about what it's like to run an inn, the students were more interested in why 16 years earlier she let Crustypher Hayden boink her on her parents' balcony in the middle of the winter. Then an army of PTA Karens (or Debbies, in that case) approach her outside the school and the word "Condoms" is thrown about, absolutely scandalous. So perhaps she's better off giving this one to Richard.

I swear to gawd, Lorelai, you better give my boy Michel a day off with no questions asked, after all the times you abandoned your post in the last few weeks to help Lucas and left poor Michel to pick up your shifts. She thankfully doesn't give him any guff. We then learn he is (apparently?) excited about his mother coming to visit, while Sookie and Lorelai try to remedy Sookie's misprinted wedding invitations by screaming at some poor underpaid customer service agent who is probably Kirk. Glorious, pointless filler!

A few moments later, Lorelai declines Rory's invitation to Business Advise her and she suggests she asked Richard instead, so Rory goes and visits Richard and he...also declines. Emily gets wind of this declination and gives Richard the business about letting Rory down, and they get into a spat over it. Spoiler alert: He eventually changes his mind.

The sign reads as follows: LIBERTY BELL: The bell in Stars Hollow was cast in 1780 to celebrate the 1st anniversary of the town. The bell cracked the first time it was rung and weighed 2000 pounds. The strike of the bell is E-Flat. On June 6, 1944, when allied forces landed in France, the sound of the bell was broadcast to all parts of the country. Guess that's just another thing they're trying to erase from American history textbooks! Seeing as it's directly next to the gazebo and would be hard to miss, I don't think we ever see this sign again and I don't know why we're seeing it now. Also, there is no actual bell to be seen anywhere in the vicinity. Lane is babbling to Rory about something and I have no clue what she's on about. I had to rewind. Okay, it sounds like she took one of those "Career aptitude" tests at school and it told her she should pursue a career in sales and now she's freaking out over it. R: "Lane, in ten years we'll be having lunch in Paris not discussing if you made quota." Rory is really hoping that in ten years Paris IS her lunch. I'm dirty.

INCOMING!!!!!

The look on Rory's face is like she knows he's coming up behind her. The temperature drops a few degrees whenever he appears. She has a sixth sense for this stuff. She's evolved a series of survival mechanisms. She's like, "if I freeze, maybe he'll just sniff me, see I'm not a threat, and scamper off into the woods. He's more scared of you than you are of him. Stay perfectly still, Rory." Lane, however, is oblivious to the danger, as always.

Women's Reactions To The Arrival Of Dean Forrester: A field guide. Unless you'e Lorelai Gilmore, a typical presentation is quiet, slack jawed terror and/or silently planning an escape route.

Okay butthead, what do you want? How is AmyShermanPalladino going to stuff you into this plot about Rory's grandfather, one that has nothing to do with Boys?

Okay Forrester, you've reached your 1 sentence, four word quota. The time to stop talking is now.

How about you suck my non existent left nut, Forrester?

Please don't do it Rory. I know you have more than 4 brain cells to squeeze together in that smart noggin of yours and you can choose to decline.

She was probably like "Oh yeah Dean I REALLY miss seeing you play softball", the same way she probably said to him "I REALLY want to see Lord of the Rings with you." Dean my friend, it's fine if you can't understand sarcasm, many people can't, and that's OK. But I feel this is causing a bit of a communication issue between you and Rory. For example, you think Rory cares about your stupid hobbies but in actuality Rory would rather see you walk face first into a nest of sexually frustrated hornets than do any of this shit with you.

Are we still on this "I spent one night without Dean so now I have to spend every night with Dean" kick?

NO! NO NO NO. WHY MUST WE DO THIS IN EVERY SINGLE FREAKING EPISODE?! I HATE SEASON 2, I HATE "BARGAINING WITH BUTTHEAD" AND I HATE DEAN FORRESTER! Rory of course fucking COMPROMISES with BUTTZILLA FORRESTER, AGAIN, and agrees to watch him play softball next week if he ALLOWS her to stay home and do her HOMEWORK. GOD DAMN IT RORY GILMORE! ALSO DAMN IT LANE KIM, SAY SOMETHING.

I was so blinded with rage I almost missed the guy cradling a chicken in the background.

Poor Butthead is sad. Wah wah wah. That chicken has more brain cells than you.

Rory got the short end of the stick playing Bargaining With Butthead again, because he's still going to show up at her house later!

Not me going to Google to read up on the weight of a softball and trying to imagine the satisfying crack when one beans him in the head later, knocking him unconcious. WHAT WAS THE POINT OF ALL THIS? Just so Jared Padalecki could get a paycheck? Remember how the WB cut Milo a check for not working? Couldn't they have done that to Jared? Go home, kick your feet up, and don't ever come back to this show. If only. Michel's Mom shows up at the Inn and it's a cute Z plot but it means fuckall and I have nothing to say.

We haven't been told why Richard decided to change his mind, but he did. The random student in the group is named Chip, and with a name like that he's definitely a 35 year old posing as a high school student.

Watch as Madelyn effortlessly invents the Amazon Echo (Alexa) (or a smartphone, depending on how you want to frame it, but the fact that it's meant to be stored in one area sounds more like Alexa to me) but Rory says it can't be done because nobody knows how to build a robot. Another brilliant woman whose multi-billion dollar ideas will eventually be co opted by a man. All because Rory didn't know anyone in her high school who could build a highly complex technologically advanced talking assistant in the year 2002. Pity, that. If you think about it, even the "Carrying your stuff" did not have to mean a literal robot butler, but foreshading the way a smartphone stores books and other school materials. Meanwhile Richard is falling asleep and nursing a migraine listening to her incredible pitch probably because she's a Girl, and the two other men in the group are contributing nothing. Louise wants to invent some sort of device to track lost lipsticks. You attach it to your lipstick then press a button on a remote to find it when it get lost? It sounds dumb on the surface then you realize she just invented AirTags. Rory and Paris are not on board with the LipStick LoJack or the Amazon Echo/Iphone. We have two incredibly advanced minds at work here. and they're being absolutely wasted. What this really means is that AmyShermanPalladino was inventing these things well over a decade before they were actually realized and entered the public conciousness. Let's give her some credit. Dang. I can't recall what the winning idea ends up being but I'm sure it will be absolutely usless. Wait, wait, here it comes... Paris' pitches...a first aid kit. Really? This is the brilliant idea that wins out over all the rest (they never bothered to ask Chip The 35 Year Old or Brad for ideas and actually Rory herself never contributed any idea of her own). Richard wants to know why Paris is inventing a) something that already exists b) something free c) something widely available d) something absolutely idiotic and lame and uninteresting to teenagers, and if you gave teenagers free first aid kits they'd probably just take the contents out and chuck them at each other. And what is her brilliant marketing tactic to get the Teens on board?

This idea is so dumb that it's completely out of character for Paris. How's this gonna look on your Harvard application, girly? I'm not gonna say that in 1998 I wouldn't have bought a lunch box full of band aids if someone slapped a picture of the Backstreet Boys on them, but... I don't know how to end that sentence.

Go on Paris, keep on making the old man feel smug and justified in his thinking that teenage girls only care about unicorns and the color pink. Richard: Tricked out first aid kits? You really think that's going to work? Paris: Yes, yes I do. Richard: So do I. It's perfect. I think Richard has been hitting the bottle a little too hard during his retirement. Rory agrees that the idea is just brilliant, the boys have still contributed nothing, and we cut away from the scene with Richard having never asked his own grand daughter to present any ideas.

She should have invented Buttzilla Repellent spray to keep Dean at bay. Honestly.

#gilmore girls #denise rewatches gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 2 #back in the saddle #richard gilmore #paris geller #Anti Dean Forester

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chaxiu · 10 months

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a list of further possibilities

pairing: hanamaki takahiro x fem! reader

summary: it’s hard to understand what it really feels like to want something. hanamaki is trying very hard to remember. only very loosely inspired by chen chen’s poem “when i grow up i want to be a list of further possibilities.”

notes: this is just a little piece with literally no plot and no overarching anything. spoilers for the post-timeskip professions of the seijoh four. allusions to depression and depressive modes; deals heavily with themes of mental health. mostly a character study instead of anything else – aka me projecting my constant existential crisis onto makki so,,, sorry about that <3 love you all! get some rest.

____

Depending on how he cares to tell the story, Hanamaki supposes it could all begin in high school, with the stupid career sheet his third-year teacher had slammed a stack of onto his desk (okay, really just placed, but in hindsight, she might as well have slammed it down hard enough to crack the desk, for all the good it did him.) He’d blinked at it, then at her. Matsukawa, behind him, had poked him, hard.

“Take one, pass it back,” he’d hissed. “Dude, I know you’re like, academically challenged, but this stuff should be easy.”

Hanamaki had flicked a bit of eraser shaving at him, pinging him square in the forehead. “Shut up,” he’d said. “I’m tired. Brain’s not functioning at one hundred percent today.”

“When does it ever,” Mattsun had grumbled, rubbing at the spot on his forehead where it’d hit.

Makki had scowled at him, but turned around to face forward, turning his attention to the sheet of paper. Name, date, class, he had filled out easily. chewing on the tip of his pen out of habit (one his mother was constantly after him to stop.)

Post-graduation plans:

He’d paused, biting down on his pen, hard.

Post-graduation plans. The phrase had made him think of Oikawa, tossing his head back with an air of practiced confidence. (Argentina, he’d told them, and only years of experience let Makki see the fear tensed in the edges of his jaw.

To play volleyball, he’d added, like it was something that needed to be explained.)

It made him think of Iwaizumi, steady shoulders and even gaze, always looking forward to the horizon. (Irvine, he’d said. California. To study sports medicine. There had been a weight on his shoulders but he'd carried it steadily. Something always there, something always on the cusp of becoming.)

These days, it even made him think of Matsukawa, who hadn’t said anything tangible about his college plans but whose backpack Makki had spotted with college brochures sticking out of it, some as far away as Tokyo.

Post-graduation plans. He had rolled the words around in his mouth. They didn’t taste like much.

He turned in the sheet blank, slipping it under Mattsun’s before depositing both in their teacher’s hands. There would be time, in the future, he’d decided, to figure it all out.

And then, and then, and then. And then his last volleyball match, and then his last bowl of post-match ramen. And then his last practice, and then his last walk home from the gym, pausing at the same bend in the road they always did, before Makki went one way and Mattsun went another.

Things felt a lot closer, suddenly. He’d shoved that feeling back down his throat, into his chest. Mattsun didn’t seem to notice, tilting his head back to look at the night sky above. “Big moon, tonight,” he’d commented absently, and Makki had forced himself to nod along.

Mattsun had raised his eyebrows. “See, that’s how I know things are bad, because that was a perfect setup for a stupid joke.”

Despite himself, Makki had laughed.

“There you go,” Mattsun had said. Dropped a hand to his shoulder, squeezed a little too hard. Makki hadn’t minded. The pressure of it all was a comfort. “Chin up, yeah? It’ll be okay.”

Makki wonders about that, as he sets the cardboard box filled with his desk belongings (such a cliche, down to the tape at the seams of the box, peeling in a way that makes him worried about the bottom dropping out from underneath) at the entry to his shitty little apartment. “Tadaima,” he breathes out, mostly out of habit.

A walk would probably do him good, he thinks, even as he toes his shoes off, sinks to the floor by the kotatsu. Clear the mind. Get some exercise in.

It sounds like something Iwaizumi would say, all gruff voice and rough hands even as he was at the peak of his mother-henning. The thought of it makes him smile, a little. He lets his head fall back. Stares at the ceiling.

Maybe it had been his own fault. His supervisor had given him a vaguely conciliatory smile as he’d delivered the news. “Hanamaki-san,” he’d said, as the two of them were sitting in his little office, the one without any windows that felt vaguely like it had been a closet in a past life, “thank you for your service to this company.”

Makki had nodded, in a vaguely distant way. The other man had frowned, leaned in closer.

“Hanamaki-san, please don’t take this advice the wrong way. Your performance was always adequate. But out of everyone in this office, you out of everyone seemed as though you didn’t want the work as much.”

There had been a loose thread on the sleeve of Hanamaki’s white button-down. He’d picked at it absently. His nails had been too short to do any real damage.

“I think it might be beneficial if you took the time to ask yourself what it is you really want.”

Hanamaki had bowed slightly in his chair. At that moment, all he’d really wanted was a window. To be able to see the sky.

His phone beeps. Mattsun, probably. On lunch break from his job at the funeral home. It wasn’t a job he’d ever envisioned for Mattsun, back in high school, but it made sense. Mattsun with his steady hands and his wry voice and his dependable heart. Mattsun who might not have fallen into something as easily as breathing but who had found a road and walked along it, steadfast.

Hanamaki wonders about that, at times.

It’s not even that he’s terribly disappointed about losing the job. Or even particularly surprised. His supervisor had made some good points, to be honest. It’s that he wishes he could be – more, at times. A little more than what he is now.

Maybe he could start a new career, he thinks absently. Maybe he could start all over, in an entirely different field. Except he doesn’t really have any marketable skills. Or passions. Or anything, really. Maybe he could sell all his earthly belongings, move to the mountains, and become a monk in a Buddhist temple somewhere. Except he doesn’t really have the temperament for a monk (he still gets angry when his Youtube videos take more than five seconds to load) and besides, he’s a little too attached to his hair to really commit to shaving it all off.

Maybe – well. Maybe what, then?

If he squints hard enough, he can see a faint spiderwebbing of cracks on the ceiling, in the corner. Maybe it’ll all come crashing down someday, a veritable rainstorm of plaster and wood and whatever the hell else his ceiling is made of. Maybe he’ll even be there to see it.

________

The thing is this: Makki knows enough about himself to know that he gets in his own head, sometimes. That there are days and weeks when he’ll cut off contact with his friends and family, shut down a little. Spend hours in bed, laying on his side, staring at the drawn curtains. It’s not comfortable, or peaceful, or good. But sometimes it’s all he’s able to do.

On the third day of what he calls his “vegetative phase,” there’s a knock at the door. It sounds three times, then stops. “Makki,” a voice says.

He knows the voice. It’s you. Of course it is. His phone, if he could check it – if it wasn’t dead – if his charger wasn’t God knows where – if he even had the energy to plug it in – probably has dozens of missed texts and calls from you alone.

“Makki, I’m coming in,” you say, and then the door to your bedroom is swinging open and you’re there. He blinks over at you.

“Makki,” you say, again. The tone of your voice is unbearably fond.

He says your name back. It’s been a while since he used his voice. The sound is croaky, hoarse, almost foreign. You smile at him like he’s given you the sun.

“I come bearing food,” you say, hefting a takeout bag in your hand. “As payment for entry. You should really move your spare key, by the way. Under the mat is like, the number one spot that people would check.”

A pause. His brain is working slowly, today. Even slower than normal, he hears Mattsun saying, a smile curved at the edges of his voice.

“Well,” he says, finally. “If you brought food.”

You smile at him and start pulling boxes out, setting them up on the bed heedless of any possible spillage. It’s nice, the way you navigate around him easily. It’s nice. You’re nice.

“You know, I saw a turtle that looked exactly like you the other day,” you tell him, pausing in your preparations to pull out your phone to show him a photo of a turtle sporting an unamused expression, looking like he could rock the haircut Makki had had in high school. “I was tempted to get him, to give to you. I think you could’ve been a phenomenal duo.”

“Probably,” he agrees.

“You could’ve been a comedy act, maybe. Ventriloquism, or something. Or maybe even just a singing duo. Or you could’ve had some sort of telepathic act where you both point to the same card at the same time. Although I suppose the turtle would move much slower than you, so that might be difficult to coordinate…”

You keep talking, even as you draw the curtains open. Outside, the sun is setting. The light is soft. It illuminates you so well. Not that there’s really any lighting that Makki thinks you look bad in, but, well. The sound of your voice is soothing. Makki lets himself fall into it, even as he stretches, long and slow. The pull feels good to his stiff muscles.

“Eat, Makki,” you urge, and he does. Slowly, at first, and then a little faster once he realizes how hungry he is. You hum happily, chewing a bite.

“Want to watch a movie after?” you ask, and he swallows his bite of food. Nods.

“Yeah – just let me. Uh. Shower, first,” he says, aware for the first time in a while of how greasy his hair must be. You just nod, simple and easy.

He stumbles into the shower with his stomach almost uncomfortably full, letting the warm water fall over his body. It’s good. Pleasant. It feels good to do something that makes him feel like a person again.

When he exits the shower, you’re sitting on his couch as if it’s the most natural thing. There’s already one of his shitty alien films on the TV – the kind with a stupid amount of gore – waiting for him to press play. He makes sure to leave a full cushion of couch space between the two of you when he sits down, but you make an impatient noise. “Makki.”

Then he’s being tugged into your space, head in your lap, and your hands are moving through his still-damp hair, moving carefully. As if he’s something precious. He watches the movie in silence with you.

“Makki,” you say against the backdrop of the sound of blood spattering everywhere, “do you want to talk about it?”

He does. He doesn’t. He wants to scream. He wants to fold into himself and fall into the sky, fall into something. There is a hole in the back of his throat, an empty space carved hollow. He thinks every part of him has been built around that absence. That he was made to be a lack of something. He wants desperately to want, to know what it’s like to hold an empty space in your hands and understand what it could be to put something there, instead.

You’re cupping his face in his hands, and distantly, he realizes that he’s shaking. “Hey,” you say, so soft, impossibly soft. “I’m here.”

He turns towards the softness of you, tucking his face into your stomach, feeling the faint rise and fall of the pattern of your breathing.

“I wish,” he says into the fabric of your shirt, “I wasn’t so hollow.”

You don’t say anything to that, just hug him a little tighter, press him a little closer. It helps, a little. He doesn’t feel so much like pieces that could fly apart at any minute. Your hand is warm in his.

“I’ll be here,” you say finally, “until you realize you aren’t.”

“It might take a while.”

“We have so much time.”

Your voice is warm. Your hand is in his hair. “And after, too?” he lets himself ask. He lets himself hope.

Your thumb smooths out the space between his brow, where he hadn’t even realized a wrinkle had formed. Under your touch, it softens, a little. The knot inside his chest sighs. It hasn't untangled itself, not yet, but it's a whisper of a start.

“And after, too.”

#haikyu x reader #haikyu!! x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq!! x reader #hq x reader #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki takahiro x reader #makki x reader #hanamaki takahiro

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magician-kitty · 6 months

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Wukong’s Lament

Plot: Wukong distance himself from everyone after his miscarriage.

Wukong woke up with a gasp, choking lightly on his own tongue as he gasped for air. He groaned loudly, trying to clear his throat with a shaky moan that scratched against his dry throat painfully. He lifted a trembling hand to his lower abdomen, biting his lip at the sensation of the cold, clammy skin.

Forcing himself to sit up in bed, the monkey leaned his whole weight on his palm. The sheets creased beneath it, but he tightened his grip as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, He looked over at his partner, snoring soundly next to him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting the hot tears drop, The same dream, he's sick of having the same awful dream he's been having every day,

Not since he....Since...

Wukong lay back down in bed, silently staring at the ceiling. Looks like another restless night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Wukong was sitting under his favorite tree, legs crossed, stared out into the horizon.

"Mr Monkey King?"

A voice snapped him out of his meditation trance, he turned around to see Bai He standing behind him. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, hey there kiddo. I was just...staring at the sun is all." He fakes a smile, Despite his words the small girl started moving forward, a determined expression on her face. Bai He jumped into his lap. "Easy, Kiddo!" He scolded the young girl. She ignored him, opting to press her back to his front and join him in gazing at the sunset.

After a moment passed she spoke. "Everyone is worried about you, you know," Wukong's tail flicked. "I hear you cry at night."

He looked down at the former host and sighed. "I...I'm sorry kid, I'm just going through some things and I doubt anyone can help me right now."

How does one tell these things to a child?

She looked up at him. "Then help me understand then, what's really wrong with you?"

Wow, Macaque was right, she really is mature for a 11 year old.

"Well, from all the stories you've probably heard that I've made a lot of demons and celestials angry with me, making regrettable life choices." He released a hollow chuckle. "I wasn't really the easiest to get along."

"Really? But you always seem so..." Her hands made a senseless gesture.

"Sweet?" He guessed, Bai He shook her head.

"No, Cute and Cheeky!"

Wukong threw back his head and laughed. "I know, I know. Anyway, I made a lot of bad choices, I thought I was doing good, but instead I just ended up hurting the ones I cared about." He grimaced, remembering Mei's words during the ritual site.

"We trusted you! All of us! How could you lead us into this fight without a real plan?! Time and time again, I've watched you put MK in danger, leaving her to figure everything out on her own! Don't you realize you're hurting the people who care about you the most?!" Mei sobbed,another wave of heat grew even more through all his emotions and built up anger letting out.

"This wouldn't happen to have to have anything to do with your miscarry, is it?" Bai He started fiddling with his tail, picking the grass out of it.

"Yeah. I thought that for once In my miserable century I could finally do something right, have something right for once," His tail wrapped around her waist, holding her close. "I guess I messed up on that too.

Tears started to escape his eyes, whimpering, His voice cracked. Bai He gasped and threw her arms around his neck, tucking her face into his neck.

"Please don't cry! It's okay. Im sorry you lost the baby and all the bad stuff happened to you. I think you're an amazing monkey and you just want the best for everybody. Heck people are big dumb, dumb brains if he can't see that, but I do! So does MK! Macaque! Rumble and Savage. We all love you!"

He stared down at the young girl wide eyed, his heart healed with the girl's words, The Monkey King nestled his face into hair, brushing the long white streaks. "Thank you Bai He, thank you so much."The child's arms tightened at his affection.

"You're Welcome, Mr Monkey King." She smiled and nuzzled her nose to his. He giggled and tickled her sides. "I think we're beyond past the "Mr" kiddo."

Bai He gasped excitedly, eyes sparkling. "Does that mean..." he trailed off.

He nodded, standing up with her in his arms. "Yeah, call me... Bàba. Or mom. I don’t really care.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bai He, kiddo where are you!?" Macaque called out, looking for his ward.

He entered the living room and to his surprise, Macaque found both Wukong and Bai He asleep on the couch.

He smiled, "Well, nice to know you're feeling better.."

#lego monkie kid #tales of the monkey princess #lmk macaque #lmk bai he #lmk monkey king

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armchairaleck · 7 months

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WIP update as I might post snippets of some of these and it will be handy to remember what they are..

I am slowly.. very slowly coming to terms with the fact that TDP is probably going in a different direction with certain aspects of lore and world building than I originally thought and that certain burning questions I have may never actually be answered and hey, that’s fine.. I get there’s theme and minute details about historic events might not be that important to the story being told.. ngl I do miss the flashbacks though, I guess Viren’s dream almost counts..

Plus side it leaves a vast amount of writing ideas wide open and lets me indulge in all my weirdest Viren ships so.. yay?

But also meh… historical world building..

Anyway current WIP projects which are all in various levels of unlikely to ever see the light of day:

Gothic AU which I had planned to be a kinda intense wuthering heights style Kpp’Ar/Viren romance while they sorta accidently unleash Aaravos on the world, but it has now turned more into a tale of academic/magical snobbery in a universe where dark magic is largely obsolete and everyone vies for the last scraps of power to curry favour with the king.. thanks season 5.. Viren is a poor wannabe student who can’t afford the fees to study even the theory of magic.. Kpp’Ar is a very rare practising but shouldn’t be practising dark mage… and because of how show Kpp’Ar turned out there is now more power play in the inappropriate age gap relationship, but damn, I still ship them pretty hard so I guess those student/master vibes have to go somewhere..

It swings kinda close to my dark King Atticus IS CANNON KING ATTICUS backstory… which I badly want to squeeze in around the snippets of what we have despite him seeming like such an utterly chill geezer… but whatever… I want total bastard Atticus who will use and abuse his access to dark mages and magic in order to further the political aims of Katolis… who will plot and scheme with Kpp’Ar to create an intricate web of deceit that no one can penetrate, who will take the deep insecurities of everyone he knows and hone them to his advantage, who will pimp out his own son to Viren to tighten their co-dependence and generally fuck them up…

and then I kinda also want his dying spirit to inhabit Viren dybbuk style, so Atticus can be constantly sniping into Viren’s subconscious whenever he tries to bone Harrow… because that’s amusing to me… anyway that’s basically just a long list of stuff I want but obviously won’t get…

Then ahem there’s my Viren/Corvus shipping, that probably shouldn’t be mentioned, is almost certainly completely inappropriate for this fandom, (as if any of the above wasn’t..) I’m keeping quiet on this one as it’s what I currently spend the most time actually writing and might actually get finished.. oh well.. RIP me.

Plus I still have cyber punk AU on the back burner because whenever I start really thinking about it and theorising on how Xadia and the human kingdoms would look with a hard cyber border in the year 1988 and Aaravos secretly pulling all the strings towards his own dubious machinations I come out with something pushing the word count of Dune and I cry.. because really I just want a little bit of Viren and Ibis smut action and this is the only way my brain can think of achieving it..

So the main issue for me here is that all these ideas clock in way over the 10k word mark that I like to limit myself to in the interests of getting something finished.. multi-chapter is not my friend, nor is intensive world/lore building, nor is development of OC’s, or deviously intricate plot.. so why all my ideas now involve quite a lot of those things I don’t know.. it probably means I won’t complete any of them..

Still I do also have a few 5-10k Virrow angst ideas that I might be able to get on with..

#none of this being helped by a personal crisis regarding writing in past or present tense..#oh well..#au #mostly gonna be au cos cannon is hard for me!

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daisywords · 2 years

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I don't really have nightmares but the two scariest horror movies ever are actually movies that my brain invented to show me in my dreams

The first one was a movie that was filmed entirely at one specific old hotel. The hotel was now famous because the movie had become a cult classic. I was staying there with my sister and they had like an in-depth tour of the hotel where they told us a lot of background/filming process stuff/extra lore. I hadn't seen the movie (I think it had been banned/was inaccessible) but they showed us a bunch of clips during the tour.

The movie was about a small group of people snowed in at the hotel, which was staffed by a mysterious order of hooded monks. The hotel was rumored to be inhabited by a mysterious beast, which traveled through the walls/heating ducts. Every night, one of the guests would disappear, presumably picked off by the beast.

Missing some plot points here, but the guests eventually barricaded themselves in the library, but the beast squeezed its way through the shelves anyway and bit someone's entire upper half off. There was one character who always wore a yellow raincoat, and I remember the shot of the raincoat being sprayed with blood.

The tour guide told us that the beast storyline was based off of a real legend about a real beast that actually inhabited the hotel, which is why the movie was filmed there.

Missing some more plot points but the next clip I remember was the movie's ending when the "final girl" (a man) was forcibly inducted in to the order of monks, who when they removed their hoods, revealed some...uh interesting body horror concepts that I an unable to express here. They gave the guy some drug so that he couldn't move but was still conscious, and [redacted]. It was implied that the monks served the beast, and would bring groups of people in as "sacrifices," and the one that the beast left alive was chosen as their new recruit.

The scariest part was that there was something important about the guests' names being written down, like it was important to the beast that there was a list and the guests had signed their own name, kind of like signing up, if you will. The second was that it was part of the lore that if you saw the beast you were marked for death.

Why are these the scariest parts? Well, you see, dream fiction and dream reality blended together a bit, as they tend to, and I saw a hooded monk out of the corner of my eye, right as the tour guide was having everyone in the tour group sign their names in the guest book. I realized with horror that I had now both seen the beast and signed my name.

The second scariest horror movie showed up in my dream last night, in which I was house sitting by myself. Connected to the back of the house was some kind of combined cellar/barn space, which was empty and divided into dark "stalls" like for horses or something. In one of them, I found something buried in the hay. It was a book. Just an old paperback with generic cover art, like something you could buy in an airport in the nineties. Looking at it filled me with dread.

I dropped the book and ran inside. After locking up the house for the night, I was about to turn on a movie before going to bed when I remembered the book and grew curious. I don't remember the title now, but in the dream I must have, because I googled it. I found there was a movie adaptation of the book called, and I'm serious, "Bees," but couldn't find a summary or even a blurb of the book or the movie. I turned on the TV and it pulled up a movie paused in the middle, like the owner of the house was halfway through it right before they left. Coincidentally, the movie was, in fact, "Bees."

Of course I pressed play. There were no bees in "Bees." What there were, however, were human beings with the most uncomfortably distorted faces I have ever seen. I cannot describe how awful the imagery was. It was incredibly disturbing. I turned off the movie after about a minute.

I was about to go to bed when I heard someone moving around outside. I went to text the house's owner to make sure there wasn't somebody coming over that night for any reason, but I didn't have my phone. With horror, I realized I had left it in the weird barn area, in the stall with the book. I wanted to go and get it, which I could do without going outside. But I was too afraid. I didn't want to go anywhere in the proximity of the "Bees" book. I ended up just kind of wandering frantically around the house, hearing more and more noises from outside.

#idk how to tag this #before you ask yes this is all true #just with some extraneous weird dream details deleted for increaased coherency #and also no I haven't dreamed of any other nonexistent movies that I can remember

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fallingintolove · 2 years

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8th April 2022

it has been two months since our first date. it still feels like yesterday though. it is very funny to remember us being very shy around each other. i want to write about every moment of that evening. i don’t want to forget about any little thing, of our first date. the small nuances of when i first saw you, of how my heart reacted when i saw your face after three years; how you captured my hand in yours, slowly, like a a delicate flower being plucked in the early mornings; of how your eyes followed me every time my face got flushed and i avoided your eyes. i want to remember all of this like the back of my hand.

i reached early at the mall; as always the early bird. your text got to me the moment i was walking towards the entrance of the mall. that youll be late. and my overthinking started right at that moment. oh shit he’s going to ditch me; oh shit all of this was a prank. but when your 5 texts of sorries pinged my phone simultaeneosly, i thought maybe not; lets stop overthinking.

our first date was at a bookstore, at my insistence. entering the bookstore calmed me down, but not enough so i started browsing the shelves of classics and found some kakfa. i tried to read but my mind was on you. every footstep i heard, my head turned around and observed whether the feet matched the face of the boy i last saw during boards exams. finally, after waiting for around 15 minutes and trying my hardest to get into reading the precious kafka; i saw you. you were wearing a white print shirt with some leaves on it. you were coming towards me when you saw me, i raised my hand to wave at you, and you did the same. you removed the mask and all i could do was look at you for a second. last i had seen you, you looked different, younger in a child like way. you used wear glasses back then, you didnt wear them that day. i remember i told you you look different, and you’d said something along the lines of how its been years since we last saw each other. after a beat, i remember you said that you’d thought i was shorter, but i laughed and said i was wearing heels. we talked about what i was reading and you asked me what the book was about. and while i was telling you the basic plot of how kafka personified the essence of losing himself with the help of an insect; i felt your hand hold mine. it wound tight, i could feel your eyes on mine, but i was shy, i just looked down and squeezed your hand back. we roamed the bookstore, you asked me what i expected you to read. that question filled my heart, the mere thought of you caring about what i thought you should read made me feel warm. i decided to buy metamorphosis by franz kafka, as we were going towards the counter, you offered to pay for the book. i don’t know why but somebody buying, or doing something for me always makes me flushed. because why are you doing that for me?

when we talked to your sister later, you said something like the mask mandate is lifted no? i got the hint. i was still wearing the mask. you wanted to see me. so i laughed, and removed my mask; and yes, avoided your eyes. but in my peripheral vision, i could see your gaze linger on me for a few seconds longer.

we went to this all you could get store after the bookstore to hang around. we roamed the aisles and talked about complete random stuff. we held hand in aisles where no one was present. it was addicting, holding your hand; connecting myself to you. peak romantic moment of my life till then, holding your hand.

we took a roundabout towards the food court after that. while we were deciding what to eat or drink, i came to know about your lactose intolerance. i added that fact in my brain where all the things about you are treasured, cherished, remembered. we decided to just drink juice, too nervous to eat anything. you wanted litchi juice but it wasnt available so you settled for your favorite; pineapple. during the entirety of time in the foodcourt, it was kind of awkward to carry conversations, not because we didnt know what to say; but because we were both shy. i stole some glances at you in the middle of the conversation you were having with your sister, i was liking you better every second. i could feel you looking at me too. it was cute.

but soon, i had to go, the date had to end. so we walked down together and as the impending realisation of not knowing when we,ll be able to meet again came into my brain and i suddenly got a little brave; and held your hand. when we reached my vehicle, we stood around for ten more minutes, chit chatting about the littlest of things; both clearly not wanting the night to end. so i became braver for the second time that night, and hugged you. it wasnt a full hug, it was a side hug that my shy self dared to do. after we pulled apart though, i realised i hadnt wanted the hug to end, because honestly, i felt safe in your arms.

but then i had to go. so i went home, taking the memories of the perfect first date back with me.

#firstdate #roman #romantic #love #lovestories #loveblogs #couples #datenight #bookstoredate #darkacademia

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sealinth · 6 months

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Hello, Guidelines and Info

This is a Sideblog

Hey, I'm Mar! Any pronouns you feel like is good. I'm gonna be calling myself a woman, a guy and whatever I feel like

Here you'll find more about Me, and How and What I write :) Português lá no fim!! (em construção)

I write in english and portuguese

Born in 1995. Will only write with adults, and all preferably 21+, ideally 25+.

Blog title is sea + labyrinth, because i was thinking of concepts i like and mashed words together like my brain works less than a bot. naming blogs is really hard. But this works (even if it sounds like a pokemon name)

I'm a huge nerd and am usually going on about a book, a game, a series or whatever else really

Timezone is GMT -3

I'll be liking from a blog called "mar0la"

Writing Hows

I've been writing for 11 years now

Only via discord! Love a cute organized server :)

Will only move to discord after we decided on plot and characters. I don't like having my discord full of people that don't talk to me and having to clean it every once in a while :/

Can use tupper or not

Only write OC's. I prefer to write males or masc coded people. favored dynamics are, in order, mxf, nbxf and fxf

I create a new OC for each plot/partner. I don't have open characters

Can do short replies but would rather we have at least a full paragraph to work with. That said, if writing too much brings the rp to a halt let's just write :)

Usual style is what I think it's called literate with like 2 or 3 paragraphs usually

I have a little trouble with certain letter and words sounds so it's possible I'll be making mistakes like trading "will" for "you" or stuff like "brief" for "breath". I usually pay attention but it happens, so let me know and I'll edit the reply

I don't currently want to join any groups as they take too much attention

Will be replying at least once a day but I usually manage to squeeze in 2 or 3 replies. Depends on partner speed too! :D

I will let you know if I'm in a particularly busy period of my life and we can either do shorter replies or wait a bit. Of course all the same goes for you!

OOC Communication

Love plotting and headcanoing together

Playlists, graphics, pinterest boards, art or just memes - whatever we talk about with our characters is fun

That said I truly would like to make friends and made some greats ones writing so I'll be open to talk about other things as well

It's a habit to say good morning and good night for me (if my adhd let's me remember) precisely because it keeps the rp and the partner fresh in my darn brain (and it's polite and I enjoy it :) ). It's not in any way, shape or form a sign that I'm pressuring you to write, ever

If you take longer to reply (always beyond 24 hours) I'll be asking if everything is okay and that's it

Writing Whats

Plot comes before anything for me and I'm looking to create worlds together

Also love romance, love shipping and that's always what I'm looking for the most, but without forcing anything and just having fun and seeing if the characters hit it off

I'm an artist and as such I'll always be more inclined to draw my characters or just stick to the descriptions on text

If you want a irl faceclaim from me, I'm probably just going to pick one from your own wanted opposite list

A partner can draw, have an irl faceclaim, use picrew or whatever other means they want of presenting their character

I prefer fantastic plots in some way or another over slice-of-life things. That means if the setting is modern there's got to be something else going on

It doesn't mean I won't write slice-of-life, it's just harder and I get slower

My favorite setting are fantasy (low or high), scifi stuff and I'd like to try at least one fresh apocalipse here and there tbh

I don't focus on smut ever, but I can write it if you really want to. Otherwise it's all fade to black and headcanons

Trigger Warnings and the such: I have no triggers for content except characters that smoke weed, specially if they keep talking about it. Otherwise it's all good. We can always talk about content deeper depending on the sort of rp we're planning to do!

WON'T WRITE: Serial killer/slasher, incest, abusive/toxic/mean spirited relationships im general - I'm all in for complex, angsty, grey area ships. Stuff like too much devotion or forbidden love and all. Just not obsessive, destructive, controlling etc

Ok I can't think of anything else so whatever you need to know, ask me!

That's all! Thank you for reading all the way here :)

#mar!personal #i'm putting mar in my tags now so they don't show up in the og tags hopefully

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chifuyusfingers · 3 years

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Dad! JJK boys reaction to your baby kicking for the first time.

Gojo

Letting out a cry of pain from the weird feeling, you woke up from your sleep, sitting up heavily breathing, you clutched your arms around your pregnant belly softly not to hurt the baby. Hugging it and cooling down your breathing, trying to comprehend what has just happened.

Many paranoic thoughts filling your mind. Is something wrong? Did something happen to the baby? Thinking about the worst scenarios, another one of those weird tumbling motions occurred in your swollen belly. Bending down to place your ear on the top of your belly of 5 months, you caressed it, trying to feel the twitches again.

Looking to the side, you placed your hands on your sleeping husband gojo, gently shaking him to wake him up.

His sleepy eyes slowly opening, trying to get used to the darkness in the room. Mhm, what is it, baby? Did something happen? Why did you wake me up for?“ hardly understandable mumbles left his mouth as he laid in his place, not moving a bit, still not woken up.

"Toru, I think that… the baby just kicked.“ swiftly sitting up after those words came out of your mouth, his widened eyes in shock. "Really? Did the baby kick? Oh my-"

Gojo did the same thing as you did, laying his head on your belly, his hands wrapping around your bottom, trying to feel anything. And as the baby kicked again, your belly moving softly under his head.

Gojo almost jumped out of his place in amazement as he felt that. "Oh holy Y/N, that was- -your belly just moved, I felt it. Oh my God your baby just moved.“

Tugging up your top to expose your baby bump, he planted kisses on it, still astonished from the new feeling of a baby moving inside your body. "My baby? It’s your baby too, it’s our baby and it moved, Toru.“

You both giggled at the new feeling, it all felt so real, now that you could really feel your baby. "Come on, let’s get back to sleep, you have to rest.“

Going back to sleep, he spooned you from behind, his arm embracing you close to him, caressing your baby bump until you fell asleep again.

Yuji

"Y/N do you know where is the bottle of the vinegar?“ Yuji shouted for you to hear, rummaging all over the kitchen, trying to find the liquid he was looking for.

You were laying on the couch, resting with a book in your hands, since any excessive movement made your pregnant body tired.

One eye on the pages of the book, the second one looking out for your husband Yuji who was cooking you two a meal, making sure he didn’t hurt himself or mess something up.

Even though Yuji was a good cook, he was a bit clumsy so occasional cuts on his fingers weren’t that occasional. Suddenly a dull pain hit your belly, causing you to cry in pain, wrapping your arms around your swollen belly.

As Yuji heard your painful whimpers, he dropped the knife he was holding, cutting his finger slightly, but that wasn’t what he cared for, immediately running over to you.

"Y/N Are you okay? What’s going on? Is there something wrong?“ kneeling in front of you, letting his hands fall onto your knees. Your head lowered down, trying to overcome the pain that hit your ribs and abdomen.

" I don’t- don’t know, it just suddenly started to hurt so much.“ his worried expression turned into a soft one in a blink of an eye. " Isn’t it… our baby kicking?“

Getting the pieces of information that flowed through your brain together, you realised that Yuji might have a point.

"Aww Y/N, I’m so sorry for what our baby is putting through, come on lay down, I’m gonna bandage my finger, and I’ll give you a massage, maybe it’ll relieve stress, what do you think?“ nodding you laid down, still not over the pain your baby just gave you.

Yuji ran back to the kitchen for a second, rummaging over the boxes of medicaments and this type of stuff, trying to find a plaster to wrap his finger in before going back to you and sitting on the couch. He laid your head on his lap, his hands massaging your stiff shoulders in circular motions while singing to you, trying to help you relax.

Megumi

The weekend always meant Megumi well-deserved rest. Usually, the two of you spent a weekend together in bed, lazily cuddling and watching series you abandoned throughout the week. Today was not any different.

Laying in the bed under piles of comforter, you nuzzled your back into Megumi’s chest, letting out small mewls at how comfortable his presence was. Ever since you got pregnant, Megumi treated you like the most fragile crystal vase in this world.

His arm wrapped around your baby bump protectively, the other arm laid under your head. Watching the characters move on the screen of your notebook, your attention fully captivated.

You were on the edge, almost not breathing from the unexpected plot twist, when your swollen belly twitched lightly. Frowning your eyebrows at the weird feeling, it was as if butterflies were flying in your stomach.

But the nervous twitches did not stop, yet, they only intensified. You remembered an article you read a month ago, about how to distinguish when a baby kicks or moves. Concentrating more on the feeling, it was the same as described in the article.

Turning around to look at Megumi, his eyes closed as he was probably napping. Shaking his shoulders to wake him up, he opened his sleepy eyes. " Megumi“ humming tiredly, he tried hard not to knock out, but listen to what you had to say.

" I think our baby moved“ His no longer sleepy eyes opened widely, looking at you with excitement. "Really? How does it feel? Oh I can’t even imagine it, let me touch.“

His loosened grip around your belly now tightened, his hand roaming all over your belly, trying to feel anything. "But I don’t feel anything Y/N.“ he looked at you sadly, for not being able to feel his child kick.

"It’s because the baby stopped moving, Megumi I’ll tell you the next time it moves.“ He nodded dejectedly and laid back down, holding you close to him as you two resumed the series while waiting patiently for your baby to move.

Nanami

"That’s him, that’s the guy. The guy with the black hat is the killer!“ shouted gojo as the aforementioned character of the movie you were watching appeared on the screen.

" I swear try to do this once again and you’ll be the one left out when we have the next movie night.“

Switching between the channels you turned the TV off and decided to rather talk together since nothing watchable was on. You listened to the men who was talking about his next week’s schedule.

Laughing at some of the sarcastic remarks your husband Nanami made, you comfortably positioned yourself on Nanami’s laps, his strong arms keeping you close and wrapping around your baby bump protectively.

It was as if your baby reacted to the feeling of his dad’s hands when you felt some weird twitches and tumbles. Shrugging your eyebrows at the weird feelings you supposed was the baby kicking, you lightly bent forward, your fingers circling over your bump, occasionally poking it to get another reaction from the baby.

"Is something wrong, Y/N?“ queried your husband Nanami, catching the attention of gojo, who stopped in his convo, instead diverting his attention to you.

"-I think our baby moved…“ as soon as the words left your mouth, gojo jumped out from his seat, coming over to you and immediately placing his hands on your belly out of curiosity, leaving you and Nanami speechless as the men tried to feel your baby moving.

"Get your hands off my wife’s bump, you’re irrelevant right now. Her dad should be the first one to feel her kick, her uncle is further in the line. Make your own child.“

Getou

Having to deal with pregnancy was hard, but having to deal with pregnancy when your partner couldn’t be present all the time, was even harder.

When you got pregnant Getou made sure to be there for you as much as he could.

Coming out of your shared bedroom, you yawned, still not completely woken up from your night sleep. Picking some milk out of the fridge to cook oats in, you made yourself oatmeal with fruit and a cup of coffee to eat for breakfast.

Digging your spoon into the bowl, you couldn’t get yourself to have a bite. Your stomach feeling somehow heavy. It wasn’t like the morning nausea you had in the first trimester, it was just a bad feeling as if someone was squeezing your stomach.

You at least drank the coffee as you sat down on the couch in your living room, turning the TV on to listen to watch some news. You caressed your baby bump out of a habit, it was almost like a routine, every morning when you and Getou watched the news, he’d always caress your belly.

Sipping on your coffee, you felt a sharp kick to your ribs and stomach, spilling the coffee all over your clothes. You shrugged your eyebrows, mouth wide opened as you tried to hold back your tears from the sharp and tingling pain.

"I’ve been carrying you for over 5 months and this is how you repay me with your first kick?“ Saying playfully to your baby even though you knew it can’t hear you, you couldn’t help but smile at the precious feeling of your baby kicking even though it was painful.

'I should probably say this to Getou, he’d be happy to know that our baby kicks’ you said to yourself as you picked your phone and dialled his phone number, hoping that he’d be able to pick up.

"Good morning love.“ you subconsciously smiled at his sweet voice as he called you the pet name he often used.

"Getou, our prince kicked me. It hurts like hell, he’s a strong boy, he must be taking after his daddy.“ you could feel the regret in his voice at not being able to be there when your baby kicked for the first time.

"Really?I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be there when he kicked for the first time, wait for me I’m home soon“

Toji

Chopping some pepper bells, onions and tomatoes, you put the aforementioned vegetables into a pot, pouring a bit of oil and letting it roast on a low heat as you poured some vegetable broth onto it afterwards.

Looking up to see your partner Toji enter the kitchen with no t-shirt, his sweatpants long hanging as he rubbed his sleepy eyes, from having to wake up after coming home late.

"Good morning. “ He smiled at you beamingly, brushing his hair with his fingers and pouring himself a glass of water. "Good morning, babe. I’m so tired, my muscles stiffened as I slept, I must be getting old.“

Laughing playfully at his remark you resumed your previous activity of cooking, pouring some seasoning into the pot.

The sleepy figure of your partner Toji, disappeared from your sight as he got behind you, his long limbs wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, whining out of the comfort.

"Toji we can cuddle later, I have to finish cooking, okay?“ He groaned in disagreement not moving a bit as his grip tightened around your '5-month old’ baby bump, running his fingers over the material of your top.

You were so engaged in cutting tofu, that you didn’t pay any attention to the feelings in your lower belly. Sensing some tingling, you brushed it off, thinking it was only Toji's fingertips trying to tingle you to make you stop doing your actions.

"What was it?“ Letting out a quiet 'what do you mean’ you continued not taking your eyes off the cutting board. "Your belly moved.“ Turning over to look at him, you raised your eyebrows, not getting any of his words. "It didn’t move.“

"It did Y/N, I felt it.“ Letting out a small chuckle you turned back. "Toji, I’m not going to stop and cuddle you, this attempt to make me stop is hopeless.“ as you cut the food, you suddenly felt a movement in your lower stomach.

"Wait, what, it really moved. Woah, it must be our little girl.“ tears fell down your cheeks at the new feeling, happiness overflowing your veins. "See? I wasn’t lying!“

Inumaki

"What can I get for you?“ asked the young waiter dressed in a uniform with the logo of the café you were in.

"She’s pregnant and she shouldn’t drink much caffeine, so one strawberry and one watermelon lemonade.“ ordered your husband Inumaki, before you could even open your mouth to say something.

Turning to face his caring and lovely smile, you pouted at him, for not giving you a chance to order something yourself.

"You know I can order for myself? And I didn’t have any caffeine in a week, so I could at least have an iced latte.“ He shrugged his shoulders, as he gazed around the café.

"It’s not about the caffeine right now. Do you remember? We had our first date here and drank the same thing, I just wanted to recall the memories.“ You smiled as you replayed those reminiscences in your mind.

"Who would’ve thought that a bundle of joy will come out of the single date, I can’t express how happy I am. I still remember that day, I was so nervous and embarrassed myself so many times that I thought you would’ve never wanted to go out with me again, yet you did.“ you smiled at his remarks, thinking about how he almost tripped on his own foot from how nervous he was.

"I did. And there wasn’t a time when I regretted, going out with you was the best choice of my life.“

As the waiter was approaching you with the lemonades, you felt fluttering movements occur in your lower abdomen. Onum noticed the grimace on your face as you lightly hugged yourself, but waited until the waiter left.

"Is something wrong Y/N?“ You looked up to meet his worried face. "I don’t know, there is a weird fluttering feeling in my stomach and it’s just… weird.“ You answered as you took a sip of your tasty lemonade, his gaze softening.

"Y/N, it must be our baby, he started kicking, don’t you think?“

______________________________________

Heya earthlings! I hope y'all are doing well~ And I was quite busy these days because of my damn exams, so I wasn't able to answer your requests but now that I'm here, I'd make sure to do it.

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cherryatiny · 3 years

Text

𝐃𝐚𝐝! 𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳: 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐺𝐼𝐹𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠

⩥ 𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠

Letting out a cry of pain from the weird feeling, you woke up from your sleep, sitting up heavily breathing, you clutched your arms around your pregnancy belly softly not to hurt the baby. Hugging it and cooling down your breathing, trying to comprehend what has just happened.

Looking to the side, you placed your hands on your sleeping husband Hongjoong, gently shaking him to wake him up.

His sleepy eyes slowly opening, trying to get used to the darkness in the room. „Mhm, what is it, baby? Did something happen? Why did you wake me up for?“ hardly understandable mumbles left his mouth as he laid in his place, not moving a bit, still not woken up.

„Joongie, I think that... the baby just kicked.“ swiftly sitting up after those words came out of your mouth, his widened eyes in shock. „Really? Did the baby kick? Oh my-“

Hongjoong did the same thing as you did, laying his head on your belly, his hands wrapping around your bottom, trying to feel anything. And as the baby kicked again, your belly moving softly under his head.

Hongjoong almost jumped out of his place in amazement as he felt that. „Oh my Y/N, that was-your belly just moved, I felt it. Oh my God your baby just moved.“

Tugging up your top to expose your baby bump, he planted kisses on it, still astonished from the new feeling of a baby moving inside your body. „My baby? It's your baby too, it's our baby and it moved, Joongie.“

You both giggled cutely at the new feeling, it all felt so real, now that you could really feel your baby. „Come on, let's get back to sleep, you have to rest.“

Going back to sleep, he spooned you from behind, his arm embracing you close to him, caressing your baby bump until you fell asleep again.

⩥ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐰𝐚

„Y/N do you know where is the bottle with caraway seeds?“ Seonghwa shouted for you to hear, rummaging all over the kitchen, trying to find the seasoning he was looking for.

You were laying on the couch, resting with a book in your hands, since any excessive movement made your pregnant body tired. One eye on the flavescent pages of the book, the second one looking out for your husband Seonghwa who was cooking you two a meal, making sure he didn't hurt himself or mess something up.

Even though Seonghwa was a great cook, he was a bit clumsy so occasional cuts on his fingers weren't that occasional. Suddenly a dull pain hit your belly, causing you to cry in pain, wrapping your arms around your swollen belly.

As Seonghwa heard your painful whimpers, he dropped the knife he was holding, cutting his finger, but that wasn't what he cared for, immediately running over to you.

„Ah fuck it- Princess! Are you okay? What's happening? Is there something wrong?“ kneeling in front of you, letting his hands fall onto your knees. Your head lowered down, trying to overcome the pain that hit your ribs and abdomen.

„Ah, I don't- don't know, it just suddenly started to hurt so much. As if you hit my ribs with a bat.“ his worried expression turned into a soft one in a blink of an eye. „Isn't it... our baby kicking?“

Getting the pieces of information that flowed through your brain together, you realised that Seonghwa might have a point.

„Aww Y/N, I'm so sorry for what our baby is putting through, come on lay down, I'm gonna bandage my finger, and I'll give you a massage, maybe it'll relieve stress, what do you think?“ nodding you laid down, still not over the pain your baby just gave you.

Seonghwa ran back to the kitchen for a second, rummaging over the boxes of medicaments and this type of stuff, trying to find a plaster to wrap his finger in before going back to you and sitting on the couch. He laid your head on his lap, his hands massaging your stiff shoulders in circular motions while singing to you, trying to help you relax.

⩥ 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨

The weekend always meant Yunho's well-deserved rest. Usually, the two of you spent a weekend together in bed, lazily cuddling and watching series you abandoned throughout the week. Today was not any different.

Laying in the bed under piles of comforter, you nuzzled your back into Yunho's chest, letting out small mewls at how comfortable his presence was. Ever since you got pregnant, Yunho treated you like the most fragile crystal vase in this world.

His arm wrapped around your baby bump protectively, the other arm laid under your head. Watching the characters move on the screen of your notebook, your attention fully captivated.

Turning around to look at Yunho, his eyes closed as he was probably napping. Shaking his shoulders to wake him up, he opened his sleepy eyes. „Yunho...“ humming tiredly, he tried hard not to knock out, but listen to what you had to say.

„Remember the article? I think our baby moved...“ His no longer sleepy eyes opened widely, looking at you with excitement. „Really? How does it feel? Oh I can't even imagine it, let me touch.“

His loosened grip around your belly now tightened, his hand roaming all over your belly, trying to feel anything. „But I don't feel anything Y/N.“ pouting at you sadly, from not being able to feel his child kick.

„It's because the baby stopped moving, Yuyu. I'll tell you the next time it moves.“ He nodded dejectedly and laid back down, holding you close to him as you two resumed the series while waiting patiently for your baby to move again.

⩥ 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐞𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠

„That's him, that's the guy. The guy with the black hat is the killer!“ shouted Wooyoung as the aforementioned character of the movie you were watching appeared on the screen.

„Oh my fucking god Wooyoung, I swear I'm gonna sew your mouth one day, try to do this once again and you'll be the one left out when we have the next movie night.“

The boys started scolding Wooyoung as he once again spoiled the movie you were watching, some of them throwing pillows at him.

Switching between the channels you turned the TV off and decided to rather talk together since nothing watchable was on. You listened to the eight men that were discussing their next week's schedule.

Laughing at some of the sarcastic remarks your husband Yeosang made, you comfortably positioned yourself on Yeosang's laps, his strong arms keeping you close and wrapping around your baby bump protectively.

It was as if your baby reacted to the feeling of his dad's hands when you felt some weird twitches and tumbles. Shrugging your eyebrows at the weird feelings you supposed was the baby kicking, you lightly bent forward, your fingers circling over your bump, occasionally poking it to get another reaction from the baby.

„Is something wrong, Y/N?“ queried your husband Yeosang, catching the attention of the others, who stopped in their convo, instead diverting their attention to you.

„I-I think our baby moved...“ as soon as the words left your mouth, all of the boys jumped out from their seat, coming over to you and immediately placing their hands on your belly out of curiosity, leaving you and Yeosang speechless as the 7 men tried to feel your baby moving.

„Oh my god, guys I feel it kicking.“ San immediately scoffed at his words, responding sassily. „Shut up Wooyoung, you don't feel anything, you made that up because you just want to be the first one to feel our little niece move.“

„Get your hands off my wife's bump, you're irrelevant right now. Her dad should be the first one to feel her kick, her uncles are further in the line. Make your own child.“

⩥ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐒𝐚𝐧

Having to deal with pregnancy was hard, but having to deal with pregnancy when your partner couldn't be present all the time, was even harder. Many would've thought that having an idol husband must be a dream come true - a life out of fanfiction.

But at the same time, you have to deal with an exhausted man who has a packed schedule and hardly any free time. After the two of you got married, San and his group adjusted their schedule to have more time, after all, all the members weren't that young anymore and they also had their own lives.

When you got pregnant San made sure to be there for you as much as he could, it wasn't a comeback season so it was possible. However he was shooting for a drama he was supposed to play a lead role in, so he left for a 'job trip' for two weeks since they were shooting in Jeju Island.

Digging your spoon into the bowl, you couldn't get yourself to have a bite. Your stomach feeling somehow heavy. It wasn't like the morning nausea you had in the first trimester, it was just a bad feeling as if someone was squeezing your stomach.

You at least drank the coffee as you sat down on the couch in your living room, turning the TV on to listen to watch some news. You caressed your baby bump out of a habit, it was almost like a routine, every morning when you and San watched the news, he'd always caress your belly.

„Ah, I've been carrying you for over 5 months and this is how you repay me with your first kick?“ Saying playfully to your baby even though you knew it can't hear you, you couldn't help but smile at the precious feeling of your baby kicking even though it was painful.

'I should probably say this to San, he'd be happy to know that our baby kicks' you said to yourself as you picked your phone and dialled his phone number, hoping that you won't interrupt anything and he'd be able to pick up.

„Good morning princess.“ you subconsciously smiled at his sweet voice as he called you the pet name he often used.

„Sannie, our prince kicked me. It hurts like hell, he's a strong boy, he must be taking after his daddy.“ you could feel the regret in his voice at not being able to be there when your baby kicked for the first time.

„Waah really? Ah I'm so sorry that I couldn't be there when he kicked for the first time, wait for me I'm home in 3 days.“

⩥ 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢

Looking up to see your partner Mingi enter the kitchen with no t-shirt, his sweatpants long hanging as he rubbed his sleepy eyes, from having to wake up after coming home late after his practice.

„Good morning sleepyhead.“ He smiled at you beamingly, brushing his hair with his fingers and pouring himself a glass of water. „Good morning, babe. Woah, I'm so tired, my muscles stiffened as I slept, I must be getting old.“

Laughing playfully at his remark you resumed your previous activity of cooking, pouring some seasoning into the pot.

The sleepy figure of your partner Mingi, disappeared from your sight as he got behind you, his long limbs wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, whining out of the comfort.

„Mingi we can cuddle later, I have to finish cooking, okay?“ He groaned in disagreement not moving a bit as his grip tightened around your '4-month old' baby bump, running his fingers over the material of your tank-top.

You were so engaged in cutting tofu, that you didn't pay any attention to the feelings in your lower belly. Sensing some tingling, you brushed it off, thinking it was only Mingi's fingertips trying to tingle you to make you stop doing your actions.

„What was it?“ Letting out a quiet 'what do you mean' you continued not taking your eyes off the cutting board. „Your belly moved.“ Turning over to look at him, you raised your eyebrows, not getting any of his words. „It didn't move.“

„It did Y/N, I felt it.“ Letting out a small chuckle you turned back. „Mingi, I'm not going to stop and cuddle you, this attempt to make me stop is hopeless.“ as you cut the food, you suddenly felt a movement in your lower stomach.

„Wait, oh my, it really moved. Woah, it must be our little princess.“ tears fell down your cheeks at the new feeling, happiness overflowing your veins. „See? I wasn't lying!“

⩥ 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠

Standing in backstage, you watched from behind as your husband Wooyoung performed their newest comeback's title song on the music show stage.

Swaying his hips and letting out soft angelic sounds off his mouth. Finishing it off as an ending fairy with his serious but hot pose. Bowing respectfully to the cameramen and staff, sweaty figures of the members left the stage as they returned to the backstage, breathing heavily from the dynamic choreography.

„You were amazing guys, as always.“ You exclaimed as they neared you, grateful smiles on their faces. Wooyoung took your hand on his way and you followed him to their changing room.

„Uhm, I'll wait for you outside while you change.“ you stated as you sat on the metal bench that was in front of the changing room. Running your hand up and down your visible baby bump, you closed your eyes, just trying to think peacefully about anything that came up to your mind.

A gentle thud in your womb breaking you out of your concentrated state. You focused on your swollen belly, thoughts running all over your mind. Could it be your son? Not paying attention to the sound of the door opening you still thought about the uncanny feeling.

Since it was your first pregnancy, how were you supposed to distinguish between those feelings?

„Y/N, I'm done, let's go, Yunho is paying for dinner.“ Looking up at his smiling you focused on his deep hazel eyes with little sparkles in them. „Youngie, I think our baby kicked...“

A really loud 'woah' left his mouth along with some cheerful squeals, alerting all the people in the hallways.

„Really? Did our son really kick? Don't play your jokes on me. We'll have to celebrate then, come on, give me your backpack and I'll treat you the best meal of your life.“

„You? Didn't you say Yunho is the one who's paying?“ you remarked playfully in the mood to tease him for every detail he says. „That's just a bare detail, come one honey.“

⩥ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨

„What can I get for you?“ asked the young waiter dressed in a uniform with the logo of the café you were in.

„She's pregnant and she shouldn't drink much caffeine, so one strawberry and one watermelon lemonade.“ ordered your husband Jongho, before you could even open your mouth to say something.

Turning to face his caring and lovely smile, you pouted at him, for not giving you a chance to order something yourself.

„You know I can order for myself? And I didn't have any caffeine in a week, so I could at least have an iced latte.“ He shrugged his shoulders, as he gazed around the café.

„It's not about the caffeine right now. Do you remember? We had our first date here and drank the same thing, I just wanted to recall the memories.“ You smiled as you replayed those reminiscences in your mind.

„Who would've thought that a bundle of joy will come out of the single date, I can't express how happy I am. I still remember that day, I was so nervous and embarrassed myself so many times that I thought you would've never wanted to go out with me again, yet you did.“ you smiled at his remarks, thinking about how he almost tripped on his own foot from how nervous he was.

„I did. And there wasn't a time when I regretted, going out with you was the best choice of my life.“

As the waiter was approaching you with the lemonades, you felt fluttering movements occur in your lower abdomen. Jongho noticed the grimace on your face as you lightly hugged yourself, but waited until the waiter left.

„Is something wrong Y/N?“ You looked up to meet his worried face. „I- I don't know, there is a weird fluttering feeling in my stomach and it's just... weird.“ You answered as you took a sip of your tasty lemonade, his gaze softening.

„Y/N, it must be our baby, he started kicking, don't you think?“

#ateez #dad!ateez #ateez fluff #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez headcanons #ateez x reader #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho

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nightingaelic · 3 years

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Companions reacting to the couriers birthday

Thanks for the lighthearted one, anon, lately I've been getting some super plot-heavy, game mechanics-heavy or just plain heavy requests, so a birthday is just what the doctor ordered �� Also a happy birthday to @profess0rjam!

The courier had been acting a little strange. They slept in for once, something that had hardly happened since the mess at the dam. They seemed like they weren't paying attention to anything around them, even though Freeside was in rare form that day with caravan traders, pickpockets and children hunting rats all over the place. It wasn't until the courier tripped over a crate of barrel cactus fruit outside a farmer's trading stand and had to apologize by buying all of the bruised produce that their companion finally turned a questioning eye on them.

The courier looked down at the armful of fruit they had acquired and sighed. "Remember when we went through Primm last month? I stopped in at the Mojave Express branch there, and Johnson told me he got those records in from the Hub. Most of it was stuff I already knew- height, weight, eye color, hair color, shoe size for some reason... but they also had my birth date. It's today."

Arcade Gannon: "Whoa." Arcade straightened his glasses. "Uh... happy birthday. How do you feel?"

The courier looked from side to side and shrugged. "I don't know. I don't feel any different. Is that normal?"

"Um... yeah?" Arcade chuckled nervously. "I mean, you know you're a year older, but it's not like a switch gets turned on or off. You were still getting older even when you didn't know when your birthday was, Six."

"Yeah, but now it's... marked," the courier replied, wrinkling their nose. "Like when Mr. New Vegas talks about me on the radio. I feel weirder about his news bulletins than I do while I'm actually out doing the things he reports on."

"Well, you're alone on that one, Six," Arcade said with a hint of jealousy in his voice. "Not everyone can attract that DJ's attention the way you do. Then again, if I ever wind up on the radio, it probably won't be good news for me."

He patted the courier on the shoulder reassuringly. "Come on. Let's get rid of the cacti fruit and head to the Atomic Wrangler to celebrate. I'll buy you a drink."

Craig Boone: "Did their records tell you anything else?" Boone asked.

"Uh... no," the courier replied. "Well, a couple of things, actually. They kept track of most of my trips when they first hired me. I've been all over the place, apparently: Circle Junction, Fort Abandon, around the Big Circle a few times, even Utah. They also wrote down that I refused to tell them where I came from, so no new info there."

"Mmm-hm." Boone frowned. "It's a start, for sure. Maybe you can retrace your steps, someday."

"Yeah." The courier picked a piece of fruit and held it up, inspecting its color. "We should do something fun tonight. Celebrate."

Boone cracked a rare smile. "For your birthday? Sure."

"Want to go see a show at the Tops with me? I think the Lonesome Drifter is playing the Aces again. Maybe we can catch him after for a drink, ask him about his travels."

Boone moved to accept a few of the cactus fruit and lighten their load. "Sounds good to me."

Lily Bowen: "Well isn't that just grand," Lily said with a smile. "How old are you turning, dearie?"

The courier made a face and giggled. "How old are you, Lily?"

"A lady never reveals her age," Lily answered primly. "Point taken, pumpkin. You should walk that fruit home to the icebox while Grandma gets going on her shopping list."

"Shopping list?"

Lily nodded. "Of course. Flour, eggs, butter, sugar, and a few other things."

The courier gave her a sly look. "What are you up to, Lily?"

"It's your birthday, dearie!" Lily replied, seizing them and the fruit they were carrying in a hug. "We have to bake a cake!"

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul grinned. "Feliz cumpleaños, Six. Happy birthday."

The courier looked back at him with frustrated helplessness in their eyes. "What am I supposed to do with that information? What do people do for their birthdays?"

"Well, it's a bit different now than it used to be," Raul answered, scratching his bald head. "But back in my day, we threw a little party if we had the time and money. Some years were better than others, and some were bigger milestones. In my experience, once you got past 18 there wasn't much left to celebrate except staying alive for another year. Or if you were en los Estados Unidos, 21."

"Okay." The courier nodded, then kept nodding. "Okay. Can you do me a favor?"

"Sí."

They dumped the armful of fruit into his hands. "Take those to the Old Mormon Fort and pass them out to anyone who looks hungry. I need to track down some friends and see what they're doing tonight."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "It's your birthday?!?" Cass was positively beaming. "Well shit, Six. Could've told me sooner, and I'd have planned some kind of surprise."

"Eh-heh." The courier looked sheepish. "That's what I was afraid of."

"What?" Cass put her hands on her hips. "I didn't think my surprises were that bad."

"No, no, it's not that," the courier reassured her. "It's me. You know what I do, what I've been up to. I wasn't sure I'd... I have a lot of enemies, Cass!"

"Ohhhhh, I get it." Cass threw an arm around their shoulder and steered them through the Freeside marketplace. "You weren't sure you'd make it to today, so you didn't say anything. Gotcha."

"And I'd feel like crap if I told you my birthday was coming up, and then I bit the dust after you'd already bought me a present or something," the courier added.

"Pffft." Cass waved their concerns away. "I'd just give that present to myself, then. Don't let the ones gunning for you dictate how you live your life, Six. Now come on, let's pick out something new and shiny for your gun cabinet up in the Lucky 38. My treat."

Veronica Santangelo: "Six!" Veronica squealed and did a little dance. "Happy birthday! Oh my goodness, there's so much to do, we need to round everybody up, we need to go book a table at the Gourmand, we need to-"

She stopped when she caught the courier biting their lip. "Orrrr we could not do any of that. Whatever you like, it's your birthday."

"Can we just... I don't know." The courier shuffled their feet in the dust. "My life has been kind of crazy lately, and the people on the Strip won't leave me alone if I show my face in one of the casinos. I went up to the cocktail lounge in the Lucky 38 last night and pushed some tables together. I think we can fit everyone, even if the Securitrons will have to squeeze around us to serve drinks."

Veronica's smile returned. "Okay. Yeah, that'll work. But I don't know what kind of food House has in his pantry, nowadays."

The courier answered by holding the cactus fruit up. "This'll help."

"That's not nearly enough." Veronica looked around the marketplace. "Stay put. I'm going to go find some of those kids chasing rats. They'll probably help us carry some groceries back to the Lucky 38 for a few caps."

ED-E: The courier's eyebot bobbed and beeped quizzically, as if unfamiliar with the term.

"Um, how do I..." The courier wracked their brains. "Today is the anniversary of my... creation. My assembly."

ED-E blipped a few times in quick succession, surprised.

"No, no, that's not- no." The courier shook their head. "How do you know what that is, but not understand what a birthday is? Today is the day I came out of my mom, ED-E."

The eyebot blatted understanding and disgust, as if displeased with the mechanics of biology. The courier laughed. "Well, that's what it is. Yes, I know, humans are strange, and no, I don't know why it's important. It just is. Come on, let's go hand these out to those kids we saw earlier."

Rex: Rex cocked his head to the side, tongue lolling happily. A cactus fruit escaped the courier's arms and fell to the ground, but the cyberdog gently picked it up again and offered it to his companion.

The courier smiled down at him. "Thanks, Rex. Let's go see if the King has any more refugees in need of a meal."

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teyvattherapist · 3 years

Text

Episodic

My sister and I had a long talk about how we both suffer from dissociation earlier today cause of an ask I got. And I got inspired to write a lil smth. This is based off of my experiences for the most part so anywayss.

tags: gn!doctor!reader + Kaeya, feat Diluc + Venti, dissociation, Kaeya story spoilers, Diluc story spoilers, mental health in general.

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Lies, so many lies, that’s all he was made up of! A liar, a cheat, a fraud, a dirty traitor. Years ago, well into his teens, he wouldn’t have cared. He didn’t give a damn whether or not the nation burned to the ground, he didn’t care if Teyvat as they knew it was ripped away from them and destroyed. But he was older now, and he cared so much. Oh too much. Torn between loyalties, his royal family who abandoned him to help them or the nation that loved and raised him. The lies stacked up, the nightly duties, the work within the shadows, the information he gave to his informants.

The lies were bearing down on him, he was being crushed, lungs screaming for air. It was almost like he was drowning except the ice above his head stopped him from surfacing for air. Kaeya Alberich could swim but he was not strong enough to shatter inches of thick ice. Every drop of water that filled his lungs, every lie that he needed to keep track of, they all froze over eventually. He was heavy, his body felt heavy, his shoulders hurt, and taking in air was a chore. He wished he’d just drown, but he kept scrambling, slamming against the ice, would anybody come-

“Are you even listening?” Diluc sighed, setting the glass down on the bar counter loud enough it shattered Kaeya’s thoughts and he lifted his head from his hand, star pupil blown as he looked around quickly. Diluc raised an eyebrow at the reaction, not expecting it from the ever composed cavalry captain he once called brother. The bar was relatively empty, Venti was asleep at a table tucked in the back. You were leaning against the wall while you did some work at the bar. Kaeya’s breathing was shaky, he realised as he tried to intake air, fill his lungs, stuff down the suffocation.

“Kaeya?” You set your quill down, concern quickly taking over your features. Diluc grabbed the glass Kaeya had been drinking from, opting to dump whatever remained. Kaeya didn’t even react to Diluc’s actions, instead he opted to look at his hands, opening and closing them, he did the action with his palms up and then repeated while looking at the back of his hands. Being a doctor for the knights, dissociation wasn’t the hardest thing for you to recognise. Approaching the situation, however, that was what became difficult.

“I don’t know how much longer I can endure this.” Kaeya’s voice was so weak, like he was testing out a tongue that didn’t belong to him. You stood immediately, Kaeya turning to you in surprise from the sudden action. You held your hands out and Kaeya looked at your waiting hands, he blinked and then looked up to you where he received a quick nod in return, a reassuring smile on your face. Kaeya put his hands into your own, his hands were surprisingly warm even through your gloves, slender fingers curling to intertwine with yours.

You gave his hands a gentle squeeze, he could feel two different sets of eyes staring at him outside of you directly in front of him. The weight of the world was so heavy and he felt himself slipping beneath the current again, it was relentless, endless, it dragged him down, the frozen lake was so dark- “Describe how my hands feel, please. What do my gloves feel like? Temperature?” You did your best to keep your voice reassuring, exceptionally kind as you crouched slightly so you could be at eye height with Kaeya who continued to sit.

The words dragged him to the surface and he struggled to remember who he was beyond all of these damn lies. There were so many lies, so much to hide, so many ties and loyalties oh how they swirled in his head. But he had to focus on the feelings of the gloves, thankful his seemed to be fingerless. “Cotton, your gloves feel like cotton.” He got a reassuring squeeze, an affirmative. Diluc snuck out from the bar, heading to the tavern door to lock it, sure an hour early, but given the circumstances.

“Okay, anything else?”

“Cold.”

“Haha, very good. Do you know your name?”

“Kaeya Ragnvindr. No, wait..” He trailed off, eyebrow furrowing. “I changed it, Alberich.” You quickly nodded, prompting him to continue. “You smell like mint and I smell like wine. Or is that the redhead? I’m not sure.”

“Both, probably.” Diluc responded casually, as if his heart didn’t just shatter hearing Kaeya say his old last name as his own once more. How long had it been since Diluc tore that family name from the navy haired captain? Diluc got closer, standing behind you, enough distance from Kaeya not to overwhelm him, but close enough he could watch.

The water still lapped at his legs, threatening, stabbing into him and trying to drag him back in. But he clawed at the sand, finding hold in the frost covered shore. “Are you back with us then, Kaeya? If not, you could try describing one of us.” You squeezed his hands again and Kaeya slowly nodded, his brain fog was lifting at least, he wasn’t entirely focused on the frozen lake anymore. When had he broken through the ice?

“Whoa, sorry- What happened there?” Kaeya pulled his hands back suddenly, gripping his head in one hand and shaking it with his signature laugh. Diluc had been frowning the entire time, and your reassuring smile vanished in an instant at his new words. “What? Don’t look at me like that, it’s embarrassing.” Kaeya smiled, turning his head to survey the rest of the empty tavern.

“You were having a dissociative episode. I’d offer a mora for your thoughts but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.” You stood straight again and Kaeya wished you weren’t on his blind side, that way he’d be able to see without turning towards you, instead the cavalry captain eyed the sleeping Venti in the corner. “I’m not going to ask you to talk to me, but at least talk to Diluc about what’s on your mind if nobody else. It will only get worse from here.” You moved by the redhead who made no objections, and you began to gather the paperwork you had been working on.

“I promise, I’m fine. You’re worrying over nothing. And you, Diluc. I didn’t expect such concern.”

“We grew up together. Of course I’m concerned. You’re one of the few competent knights, and they need you to be on your best.” Diluc had his arms crossed over his chest, but he genuinely was trying not to seem so malicious, despite the biting words of his former brother. “How often has this been happening?” Diluc inquired, waiting for Kaeya to actually look back at them, but he never did, calloused fingers gently tapping the wooden bar countertop instead. “Okay, when did it start, then?” Diluc switched questions with a nod from you.

“A few months ago. They only lasted a minute or two, and I’d barely remember what happened. Recently the times I’ve blanked have been longer. I don’t remember what happened since coming in here.” Kaeya’s voice was quiet, low, ashamed maybe. He was so tired of it all, the lies and the burdens. He didn’t want to be a plot point or a chess piece. He just wanted to live his life, free of the whispering secrets of the dark.

“That was seven hours ago. [Name], is that normal?”

“Quite. Some dissociative episodes have been known to last years. The hours will turn to days, days into weeks. You know how it goes. I’ll bring Venti home so you two can speak.” You pulled your bag over your shoulder, heading off to grab the drunk bard from the corner. “Come on, bard. You can stay at my house.” You lifted the man easily, letting Diluc silently unlock and open the tavern door for you. The door was shut and locked once more.

“You don’t have to pretend to care, Diluc. I’m fine.” Kaeya pushed his barstool back, standing to his full height. He was exhausted, his brain fog may have been gone but his body still didn’t feel real and every step he took felt like walking on pins and needles. It didn’t help when Diluc blocked the door though, the usual bored expression replaced with something else.

“I do care, idiot. Whether or not you believe that isn’t my problem. You’re still my brother, even if we never shared any blood. Now you’re going to sit down and we’re going to talk about what happened that night, do you hear me?” Diluc lowered his arms, gaze dropping to anywhere but the captain. “Please, just talk to me. I won’t push you away this time.”

“Do you promise?”

“Obviously.”

#Kaeya x reader #not really but you're familiar with him #Genshin Impact #Genshin x reader #Kaeya #kaeya -handshake emoji- lane suffering from Stress #i've been depressed okay don't @ me for the sad posting #LET THEM BE BROTHERS AGAIN MIHOYO #Lane Writes #s/o to the person who sent the ask I will get to it

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nanowrimo · 3 years

Text

5 Tips for Finishing Your Novel

April’s session of Camp NaNoWriMo is drawing to a close, and you might find yourself nearing the end of your novel. If you need some tips on writing and polishing the ending of your story, author Derek Murphy is here to share a few! Plus, you can check out the rest of our novel-finishing resources on our #NaNoFinMo page.

You won NaNoWriMo and have a 50k collection of scenes and sentences, but how do you clean it up and get it done? How do you make sure it’s finished, satisfying and enjoyable? Here are 5 powerful strategies for finishing your novel and some helpful writing tips that will push you past the finish line.

1. Give it a satisfying resolution.

In order to have a powerful story, your book should probably focus on a main character’s change or transformation. There’s an inner war, a.k.a. the character’s emotional healing, and an outer war: the conflict that forced the reckoning. If it’s a purely symbolic internal realization, you can mirror that with actual conflict in the real scene: the breaking of a dish, a fit of rage, a sudden ray of sunlight (or a storm… this should not be pleasant; It’s a breaking point and spiritual death/rebirth).

You can clarify the moment of change by setting up an illustrative contrast, a before and after, that shows how those internal changes have resulted in real-world consequences or benefits. Each character’s unique challenge will match their personal weakness or fear. The price for victory is the one thing they have so far refused to do, or something they cannot give up or bear to lose.

Make sure your protagonist has gone through a transformative struggle to arrive at deep insights, knowledge or awareness. Find a way to deepen the incidental scenes so that they become instrumental to a deeper purpose, leading towards an identity-shifting event.

The plot is what happens, and it’s important. But you can make it more dramatic and meaningful by making sure you demonstrate how hard it was and what it cost. It matters, it is remarkable, because it forced your protagonist to change.

Your conclusion might include:

Physical tension as allies perform a tug-of-war battle against resistance, that shows how difficult this struggle is, and how much force is required.

The consideration phase, as characters are tempted last minute or the price for victory is revealed: the sweet memories that give them awareness that this fight is worth the cost or risk (you need to show them making the choice, knowing what they will lose).

The final flashback, as the full backstory is revealed so we can see exactly why this conflict is so difficult or meaningful for the main character.

2. Add (unresolved) conflict.

Your story is made up of the events and scenes, where something happens. Each new event will push the characters further into the plot. Slow scenes where nothing is really happening can be red flags, so the first thing to focus on is increasing conflict, drama, suspense and intrigue. This is what creates urgency. The full reveal, demonstrating why THIS challenge is so difficult and powerful, should happen just before the final battle or resolution.

You want to make sure every scene, especially in your conclusion, has enough conflict. I recommend these three:

Outer Conflict (threats): Challenges or obstacles that prevent the character from achieving goals.

Inner Conflict (doubts): Moral struggles, decisions, guilt or shame, anger.

Friendly Fire (betrayal): Strong disagreements between allies or supporting characters.

You want to extend and deepen the potential conflict, without resolving it too easily. The biggest destroyer of conflict is conversation: when your characters just sit around and talk to each other. Most conflict involves a lack of information, and a desire for clarity. A lot of conflict is perceived or imagined.

The most important information needs to come last, and come at a great price. The information that has an emotional impact, and influences their actions and decisions, should be big reveals at dramatic peaks. A surprise or twist should be treated as an event: each scene is leading towards a change or new piece of information that provokes the protagonist to respond.

3. Fill plot holes with character motivation.

After you’ve made sure that “what actually happens” is intriguing (opening questions and raising tensions without resolving them) you can focus on making sure the plot holes are filled, and characters are properly motivated – these two things are usually adjacent.

You can find and fill plot holes by asking:

Why are the characters doing this?

Why does any of it matter?

Basically, readers need to respect the main characters enough to care what happens to them, so their choices and actions need to make sense within the given information. If there’s a simpler, easier solution, readers will get stuck up on “why didn’t they just…”? To fix plot holes and gaps in logic or continuity, or make the story go where you need it to, you can add urgency, fix the mood of the scene (bigger stakes require bigger justifications), show characters in a weakened mental state, or raise concerns but have them dismissed, with an excuse or justification.

You need rational characters to make plausible choices that lead to dire consequences. You need show why they don’t do something easier, or nothing at all, or why they face clear challenges, despite potential obstacles.

They’ll also require a deeper motivation, for why they’re willing to put themselves in identity-destroying conflict, rather than just giving up or running away. Why do they stay in THIS fight, when they’ve run from similar ones? If they weren’t ready at the beginning, why are the ready now – what changed in them, as a result of your story’s journey?

Your protagonist needs to have a strong, consistent internal compass, and it needs to be revealed through incidents that establish their character. This is who they are. Without this reliable core identity, we won’t be able to tell a story that forces them to change.

4. Let readers picture your story with detailed description.

In the final stages of revision, you can begin improving the description with specific details.

It’s smart to start – or end – a chapter with a vivid, immediate scene. You want to leave readers with an image they can see in their minds, hopefully connected to the feeling you aim to evoke. You can close a chapter with a reference back to a motif or image, with a deeper or more reflective context; applying meaning to the metaphor. This will help readers feel engaged, be moved, and leave a lasting impact.

Vivid scenes are mostly a matter of detailed description, so add the specifics about the story environment. Be precise, not vague. Instead of “she put a plate of tea and snacks on the table” you can write “she gently placed an antique porcelain teapot on the table. I could smell it was Earl Grey from the scent of bergamot. The half-sleeve of Oreos and can of onion-flavored Pringles seemed incongruous with the fancy dishes, but I knew she was making an effort to welcome me.”

Focus on the sensations and feelings; but also zero-in on any potential sources of conflict or internal emotions or states of mind. In my example above, the host might be nervous or ashamed of her spread; or perhaps she has a degenerative brain disease and doesn’t notice the incongruity. Tensions are unspoken, potential sources of negative feelings. They hover in the background of your description.

Readers will remember the pictures you put in their heads, not the words on the page.

Description should serve and be bound to the story, not distract from it.

It should be squeezed into and around the scene action, when the protagonist is using or exploring.

Show what’s different, not what’s the same.

Leave space for readers to fill in the gaps, but get them started in the right direction so they aren’t surprised later.

Sidenote: be careful about your metaphors, analogies and similes. Each one will put a picture into readers’ minds, and it can quickly get overcrowded with imagery. You’re asking them to ignore your real scene and think of something else. Use them to confirm and amplify the scene you have, and limit distractions.

5. Prepare to publish.

Typos are bad, but perfectionism will ruin you. This section is about editing and proofreading, but I don’t have time for all that, and you don’t either. The real problem with a story is rarely the number of typos. A very clean book isn’t better if people stop reading.

You can solve a lot of common writing problems, with my big list of 25 common writing mistakes, and self-edit your manuscript to make it as good as possible. After that, a copyeditor or proofreader isn’t always the best investment (and it can also be the biggest publishing cost).

Instead, use an editing software (I like Grammarly) to root out obvious mistakes, but don’t dwell on the small stuff like perfecting every word or rearranging the commas. Spending a very long time wrestling a poorly-written manuscript in shape is less effective than getting something (actually) done to the point where you’re comfortable sharing it.

This may be difficult at first, but you can’t learn and improve without genuine reader feedback (from people who aren’t your mom or best friend; nor the short-sighted opinions of a self-proclaimed literature enthusiast). You need to find readers who enjoy your particular genre, and the sooner you find them, the more valuable feedback you can get.

Shorten the feedback loop: Get over the fear and focus on learning by getting feedback early and often. However, this doesn’t just mean joining a writer’s club: writers are brutal and might focus on trivial things. The safest bet is to make it public, on Wattpad at least. Or get a cheap cover and throw it up on Kindle, Draft2Digital or even your own blog.

Making it public is scary and vulnerable, but it’s better than letting the fear of messing up keep you from the brutal, necessary experience of allowing readers to tell you what they liked and disliked about your writing. Will some people be critical? Yes! But guess what, you’ll get negative reviews even if you’re a brilliant, famous writer. Those are inevitable. And the first negative reviews may teach you more about writing than 10 years attempting to self-edit, afraid of putting your book out into the world.

PS. You can use resources, like my 24-chapter plot outline, as a way to spot story gaps in your manuscript and improve the structure (especially if your book suffers from a “soggy middle.)

Derek Murphy has a PhD in Literature, writes urban fantasy and is the founder of the alliance of young adult authors. More recently, he’s started sharing writing tips on http://www.writethemagic.com

Top photo by Adegbenro Emmanuel Dipo on Unsplash.

#nanowrimo #camp nanowrimo #nanofinmo #writing advice #writing tips #finishing a novel #by nano guest #derek murphy

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volot · 2 years

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what's a scenario you really want to write volo in but haven't had a chance to yet?

› ❝ munday questions.

guess who has to put this under a cut bc they got wordy... meeeee

oh this is genuinely a really tough question... i had to rattle my brain around because i have so many good thread ideas in the works with others that my usual check-list feels checked off, but i thiiiiink... i'd really like to dabble with something regarding the sinjoh ruins, past or present. it's something i've talked about before and i'm working some plotting stuff out with a friend right now, but outside of that there are a few different avenues i'd like to explore with it! the ruins of alph, too. less of 'haven't had a chance' and moreso 'i haven't really voiced my thoughts on it.' i want to write more involving the celestica too, but might be more of a drabble thing than an interaction thing.

other than that... legendary / mythical encounters are always something i'd like to explore ( i know i owe knight's darkrai an ask so i'm :eyes: ), whether they go pretty alright, mediocre, or horribly terribly bad for volo.

thinking about it and tbh i have to wonder what it'd be like to throw volo at any of the modern gen villains, especially ones who had tried conquering gods of their own? you know, talk villain shop. in general, i'd like to do more with my modern verse, so i'll have to write up a proper verse explanation for it when i'm more awake!

this did remind me though that i'd love to throw him at a cyrus sometime, but i don't know if there are any active that i've seen? i think it'd be a fun time to dissect their similar-but-different worldviews and means of going about them. also how do you react when this run into this survey corps' captain's great-great-great-grandkid who wants to do what you do but like, not in the way you wanted to do it, you know? encountering the protagonists from gen 4 in the modern day is something i'd like to poke at too; whether they remember him or not depending on if they got isekai'd back - or maybe they remember him from before getting isekai'd? - he sure would remember them.

volo... traveling. volo traveling to modern celestic town. volo... how volo met giratina, i'd like to see how other giratina mun's interpret it and play with their ideas on their dynamic and write out other people's ideas for it, because i love seeing people's perspectives / interpretations by things!

speaking of cyrus... my original blog headcanon that i'm kind of wiggles hand about now because i don't think it fully makes sense anymore given the lore we know Now but i'll probably turn into an au on this blog is like... volo being a vessel for arceus. or more specifically, a failed vessel of arceus that was abandoned late-creation process because it felt unnecessary and was left to live a normal life, so that's why he feels so empty, because he literally doesn't have a purpose. i don't really know how much i could do with it or what interactions i could squeeze out of it, but it's def something i want to explore either in drabbles or anything else.

'volo wins the battle with the protagonist' is something i'd like to chew on, solely because i'm curious on what would happen if he had won. i can't imagine it'd go as he'd planned and it would not be a fun time for him, but definitely something to throw at the wall. in relation to this, divine retribution if he ever did try to actually subjugate arceus would be interesting? i think arceus deserves to knock him flat on his ass from his pedestal. as a treat. another related to this is like... this is definitely probably something better suited for a drabble, but writing volo grappling with the fact that like if he did create his ideal world or try and force arceus to, it'd be impossible to fulfill because it's an extremely unrealistic dream for what he wants. i'd like to see him have to swallow that down.

god volo... i do think of him as a concept. no clue what i'd do with it yet, but i do think of it. cannot imagine it'd be smooth sailing for him though.

aura users... i've talked with a friend about his aura being very, very intense. he sure can't use it, but this is something i'd less imagine is a big scenario and more like 'oh that's a cool detail to note, i wonder if anything can spiral from this.'

outside of that... i just think general relationship building is neat. good or bad, healthy or toxic, whatever the case, i just really like writing dynamics against people and seeing what comes from that and where they could go, but again this is less 'i don't have the chance to' and more 'oh man i need to reply to my threads.'

sorry this got so long, i hope all this makes sense!!

#actually i can answer some since im eating but ty anon for the ask! <3 #anonymous.#ooc.#asks.#prompt: munday questions #long post

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Home (Four Times Crowley was Lovesick - and Aziraphale Took Care of Him)

Written for @do-it-with-style-events "Who Needs A Great Plan" event, Day 1, prompt "Four"

Crawly stood beneath the white wing, watching the rain fall, watching the humans walk away, watching anything but the angel beside him, his smile, the way he furrowed his brow and pouted.

His heart kept doing a funny skipping thing every time he looked that way, which was odd, and made him think he’d gotten some sort of defective body, or possibly that he’d messed something up in the transition from the serpent form.

“You know, I do think this rain might not be as pleasant as I’d hoped,” the angel said, tipping his head back so sopping white curls dangled, dripping onto his robe. “I’m starting to feel a bit cold, are you?”

“Nah. M’adem’n,” Crawly muttered, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Well. I suppose we all have our aptitudes.” He reached down to squeeze the rainwater from his sleeve. “I suppose you carry the fires of Hell within you, or something?”

“S’nice.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the angel turn to smile at him and now his heart was doing some sort of backflip, and his stomach attempting to dance. “G-g-gotta keep’m somewhere.”

“I see. I do find myself missing my sword, but I think…” his lips pursed. “I think it’s in the right hands.”

How could he forget the angel had given away his sword.Fucking brilliant.

Crawly sniffed, and the cold seemed to creep into his nose. “M-must’a b’n-n-nice t’have a-a-achoo!”

His body must be worse than he’d thought. His entire face seemed to have exploded.

“Good lord, what was that?” The angel shuffled closer, peering at him, reaching up to poke at Crawly’s nose. “Is this supposed to make that sort of noise?”

The demon braced himself, expecting pain, expecting a reprimand, expecting anything but a soft finger gently massaging the bridge of his nose, pressing lightly as if he might break.

“S’only a-achoo!” Not again. “Achoo! A-CHOO!”

“This sounds serious!” The angel now stood so close that his arm pressed against Crawly’s. “Oh! And your hand!” He snatched it up, gently tracing his fingers across the demon’s palm. “It’s cold! Have your fires gone out?”

“Nnnnnnnnnh. S’th’cold,” he confessed. “S’getting in m’nose.”

“Well, that will not do.” Being careful to keep his wing in place, the angel looped his arms around Crawly’s waist, drawing him into an unexpected softness, a steady warmth. “There. Is this better?”

“Mrgl.” Crawly didn’t look over, even as the angel leaned against him. He shifted his am, putting it around the angel’s shoulders, rubbed his forearm as he rubbed Crawly’s side, but the demon did not look.

It was safer that way.

“Then you hold the oyster like this, and—” Aziraphale slurped it out of the shell.

“Ngk.” Crowley swirled his wine, glaring into the cup. “I…maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”

“Nonsense! Trying new foods is one of the delights of the world.”

“Yeah, but…I prefer foods that don’t smell so bad.”

That made Aziraphale laugh, which made things harder. It seemed to echo in Crowley’s chest, send his heart into answering flutters. He shifted on the couch, but there was only so far he could roll before it was impossible to drink. Which meant he had to keep looking across the table, at Aziraphale’s couch, where he reclined in a rolling curve of soft white toga and ate his oysters and wouldn’t stop smiling.

“Crowley? Are you feeling quite well?”

“Nrgh. Yeah. Why?”

“Because I asked four times how your wine is and you never responded.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t remember, so he drank a mouthful, then immediately spat it out. Salt water and vinegar, same as any Roman wine. “Lousy.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” And all at once, the angel rolled off his couch and now he was crossing the room and oh Satan, he was on Crowley’s.

This was a disaster.

Aziraphale leaned down and rested a hand on Crowley’s forehead. “You do feel extremely warm. Are you ill? I’m not sure a demon can get ill but—”

“Yes! Yes. That.” He tried to sit up. “Very, very ill. I should go. I should go now—”

“But—”

Crowley managed to get his feet under him, and his robe under his feet, and he collapsed again, falling onto something softer than the couch Oh Satan it was Aziraphale’s lap.

“Crowley!” His head turned instinctively and shit, those eyes were so close.

His heart was going to explode, but it was worth it.

“I should…take you home…”

“Ahhhhhhhh,” Crowley managed. Yes. Please. Please, wherever you call home, that’s where I want to be.

“Yes. Right. Immediately. Tell me where you’re staying, and I will escort you back.”

“My…my…oh.” His stomach was doing something new, twisting around itself. Like when he saw the Hellhounds getting ready for a walk, but worse. “M’a’th’p’liss.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m! At! Th—thepalace.” Great. Now he was either shouting or mumbling. Why couldn’t he think?

“Good. Right. Palace.” He slid his arm behind Crowley, supporting him. “Do you think you can walk?”

The demon’s legs had never shaken like this before. “Definitely not.”

“That’s alright.” And Aziraphale scooped him up into his arms, as easily as if Crowley were a child. “I’ll help you.”

Crowley hadn’t slept in over a month.

He shouldn’t have needed to. Demons didn’t sleep. But he’d gotten used to it, most nights, and now his task consumed him day and night, driving him to ever more complex plans, ever more desperate measures.

But finally…finally…he’d gotten a bloody crowd to see that gloomy talk-y play.

And just in time. Aziraphale had sent word that he was returning tonight, and he was supposed to meet Crowley here, outside the inn. The demon had rooms above, which had been used for scheming and planning and plotting and not, for a long time, sleeping.

He was fine, though. Running on pure adrenaline, yeah, but that just made life good. He couldn’t wait to swagger into that theater, spread his arms and show the angel—

“Ah, Crowley! There you are, my good fellow.”

He turned his head and fuck, there went his knees. Aziraphale was smiling at him like he was actually glad to see Crowley, and his entire body just stopped obeying any commands or even regular rules of biology. He staggered, legs feeling watery, his head spun, lights brighter than stars flashing before his eyes, and his heart just ached to reach out.

“Crowley? Is something the matter?”

“Mnothang.” Brilliant. He slumped against the wall of the inn, trying to get some sense of reality back. “M’a little tired’s’all.”

“Tired? Are you sure?” Aziraphale rushed forward, cupping Crowley’s face in his hand. “You feel…clammy. I need—can you take your glasses off? I need to see your eyes.”

“Szfiiiine.” But he pulled them off, and found himself again pierced by eyes glowing just a bit too blue to be allowed.

“No, no your eyes are glassy. And—and look, your pulse is racing.”Now came the concerned look, oh Satan, no one else ever looked at Crowley like that. “This…this looks a great deal like the latest plague, I saw several villages struck by it coming back.”

“Angelllll. M’ademon. We don’ get th’plague.” Why could he not just speak normally?

“Nonsense, you know perfectly well you’ve always had a strange constitution, getting sick far too often. You still have rooms here, yes? Upstairs. To bed.”

Will you come with me? The angel’s hand hadn’t moved from Crowley’s cheek, and he never wanted to be away from that touch again. “But…”

“No buts.” The hand did fall away, but only to grip his shoulder, spin Crowley around and propel him forward, through the door, and up the stairs.

Aziraphale walked past the mess in his room, the papers, notes, maps, disguises, and everything else needed to convince a city it actually liked that blasted play. He steered Crowley directly to the bed, and pushed him down onto it. “There. Stay put, please.”

“Nnnnh.” It wasn’t the most comfortable place he’d ever lain, but the rough straw mattress seemed luxurious just now. Something tugged at his foot, and he looked up to find Aziraphale, carefully pulling his shoes off. “Still here?”

“What are you talking about? Where else would I be?” He sounded cross.

“The play.”

“Play? Play? Oh, yes, Hamlet.” He tossed the shoes aside and settled Crowley’s leg back onto the bed. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty of opportunities. I hear they’re planning to run it twice as long as they’d expected.”

Of course they were, Crowley was good at his job. But there was no point if Aziraphale didn’t see the crowd. “Gotta go,” he insisted, though his body was already curling up on itself, preparing for a long sleep.

“Absolutely not.” A rustle, and when Crowley’s eye cracked open again, Aziraphale was seated on the edge of the bed, taking Crowley’s hand in his. “I need to make sure you’re alright.”

“Hnnngh.” But he was far too exhausted to argue. “Why’r’ya’lways…fussing…like y’r worried…”

He didn’t hear Aziraphale’s answer, but in his dream the angel said, “Of course I worry. Whatever would I do without you?”

“All them angels,” Crowley shouted, bottle in hand, “an’specially Gabriel, can go! To! Helllllllll!”

“Really? And what about the demons already there?”

“Thas’th brilliant part.” He staggered a little, grinning at Aziraphale. Their celebration at the Ritz had gotten a little out of hand, but in a good way. A way they bloody well deserved. “Th’demons. They go to Heaven. But. But. Buuuuuuut.” He took a long drink, then offered the bottle to the angel, who shook his head. “Wha’was I…ri’ri’righ’—go to Heaven. But. Don’ tell’em th’passwords. For anyfing.”

“Won’t they just figure them out?”

“Nnnnnnnnope! Cuz allll the brains in Hell are right here!” He shouted in the general direction of the office building. “Have fun puttin’…Hastur’n charg’a…stuff…” He tried for another drink, but the wine had all gone. “Awwww.”

“Don’t worry, my dear, we’re nearly home.”

“Ya. S’good.” Home was good. Plants. Television. More wine. The bed. Hadn’t slept all week.

Why was Aziraphale coming with him? Hadn’t the shop un-burned down? Had he left something at Crowley’s flat? A…spare bowtie?

Also: why did Mayfair look suspiciously like Soho?

The penny dropped at about the time Aziraphale got the shop door unlocked. “Thizzisn’ home,” he pointed out.

“Well-spotted. Come on, then.”

Shrugging, Crowley followed. There’d be more wine here, at least, and a sofa to sleep on. Not the most comfortable, but he was tired enough.

Something was different. Crowley squinted at a pile of books, but they remained stubbornly bookish. Ah, well. Sofa.

He slumped on it, waiting for Aziraphale to head to the back room for some wine, or settle into his armchair. Maybe pick up a book to read while Crowley rambled.

Instead, the angel sat beside him.

“Annngiraphel…”

“Crowley. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

“Course. I’m cebretory. Cerebrorrry. Celebatory. ‘M partying.”

“Yes, I know. But…I just…” Oh, Someone. The concerned, furrowed brow. The pouting lips. The eyes. So much worse than the smile. Good thing Crowley was already sitting, because the room was starting to spin, even before Aziraphale picked up his hand. “I wish you would take care of yourself.”

“Wha? I do. Allllays do. No one else’z gonna do’t. Not’n Hell. Wily demon, righ’?” He tried to smile, even as his heart and stomach started switching places.

“Then why are you always unwell? I’ve lost count of…of how many times I’ve seen you falling over, unable to speak, too hot or too cold.”

“Ssssss’not like that.”

“Yes it is! And…and it was bad enough before. Crowley, we…we’re all we have left. Each other. And…and whatever it is that…that gets you into this condition…alcohol, or illness, or…whatever else. I wish you would avoid it.”

“Can’t.”

“Crowley—” Aziraphale pulled his hand closer, eyes pleading, and for a moment the demon thought he’d just discorporate on the spot. Probably would have if he’d been sober.

“Can’t. S’only one thing tha’makes me…fall orer mysel’. Makes me…can’t speak. S’only evrrr been one.”

Aziraphale’s face was so soft. Crowley couldn’t figure out how his hand had gotten there, pressed to his cheek, but it was good.

Or not. Angel’s eyes went wide. Probably did something wrong. Crowley pulled his hand back, wondering if he’d be kicked out.

“Can you…sober up, dear?”

“Nnnnnnnnnnnnidonwanna.” He wrinkled his nose. Shoulda stopped three bottles ago.

“Yes, I know. But you’ll likely have a hangover either way, and you might as well have it now. And…I want to finish this conversation sober.” Oh, the sad eyes, the serious face.

“Awwwwwtha’s no’fair. S’not like I c’n say no.”

“I…yes, you can. It is your choice.”

“Nnnh. Can’t say no’ta’you.” He looked around for something, maybe a garbage bin or…oh, yes, a planter. Lucky tree was about to get some very expensive alcohol.

He concentrated, pulling all the alcohol out of his body, filling one planter, then another, then another. As the light-headedness faded, the headache came in, pounding and pulsing.

“Glarghl.” Crowley pressed a hand to his eye. “See? Sober. Happy?”

“Not yet. Can you walk?” A light tug on his hand, and Crowley staggered to his feet, trailing after Aziraphale. Up the stairs? They never went up there. Private bookshelves and sculptures and junk.

At the top, Aziraphale opened a door that he’d thoughtwas a closet but actually led to Crowley’s bedroom.

Wait.

Crowley turned around, bleary eyes searching the shop. Plants. His plants. His sculptures. Junk. Also his.

Back to the bedroom. His bed, his furniture. Not his room. Wooden walls covered in bookshelves, good sized window looking out at the back alley. He could just see the Bentley parked out there.

“Th’fuuuuck…”

“I’m…I’m sorry. I should have asked.” Aziraphale gently pushed him towards the bed. “If you don’t like it, I’ll put everything back tomorrow. I just.” A gentle nudge, and Crowley sat on the bed. “I want you close. Where I can take care of you.”

“Don’need it.” He wriggled his toes, making his boots vanish. It was easier than meeting Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Yes, you do.” A hand on his shoulder pushed Crowley down into the bed, his head onto the pillow

It felt so much more comfortable here, in Aziraphale’s shop, with Aziraphale beside him.

“No. Don’t need you to take care of me.” He stared resolutely up at the ceiling, searching his aching head for the words he needed. Swallowing, trying to push aside the pain, the soreness in his throat. “I need…I just need…”

He couldn’t say it. But he reached out, hand groping along the edge of the bed until it found Aziraphale’s, resting lightly on the mattress. Cautiously, Crowley slid his hand on top of it.

“Crowley…please look at me.” His eyes wandered down, following the shelves until they landed on Aziraphale’s face. On his brilliant, angelic smile.

The demon tried to smile back, though his head was pounding. He managed something like a grimace. “Nnnnnnnnh. C’n we finish this in’th’morning.”

“Do you think you’ll be better able to talk?”

“Mrrrf. Will you be there?”

“Of course,” the angel said, nearly indignant.

“Nope. Not a chance.” His thumb traced the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “I can never say what I want. S’not even that many words. But…” Crowley shrugged.

“Can you move over?” Aziraphale asked, sliding his hand out from under Crowley’s.

The demon blinked, confused, and wriggled further along the mattress.

The bed dipped under the new weight as Aziraphale climbed into the vacated space, laying beside him. “I…I could never say it, either. Always something stopping me, some…uncertainty. Even now. But I shall keep trying.” His fingers gently brushed Crowley’s cheekbone. “My dear…would you like to…to make this place…your home?”

“Nh. Shop’s not home.” The fingers jerked away, and Aziraphale’s brow furrowed, not in concern this time, in pain. Fuck. Why was it so hard?

He caught Aziraphale’s hand before it could get far, bringing it back, gently resting it against his heart. “This, Angel. This’s home. You.”

“Oh.” Blue eyes blinked, a look of wonder in them Crowley had felt many times, wonder at this being who cared for him, who stayed by him. Always. “I…I see.”

The mattress shifted again, and suddenly the angel was closer. Which of them had moved? Did it matter? Did anything matter, apart from Aziraphale’s arm across him, all the warmth and softness he could ever ask for, pulling him in, pulling him close, enveloping him as it had that first day.

“Yes. Welcome home, dear.”

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