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tkingfisher · 1 year

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So I write all sorts of things (fiction, fanfic, screenplays) and my mind is cluttered garden of flowers and weeds and shiny ideas, and I'm wondering how to form a writing practice to clear it into tidy rows? Is it possible to shepherd untamed ideas into order?

How do you manage all your wonderful worlds, characters and inspiration and not feel haunted by the story bits and pieces in your head? Any practical tips beyond dark magic?

Thank you, you are such a constant inspiration for me, both prose and just your presence. <3

*laugh* Oh god, Nonny, if I ever find out, I’ll tell you! When you read books, you’re getting the Instagram-filtered view of a writer’s brain, all the flowers that grew out of the compost heap, carefully composed and shot in optimal lighting. The real inside of my skull is a magpie nest of Neat Shit I Read/Saw/Thought Up While Lying Awake At 2 AM. There are characters and ideas in there that I’ve been trying to get into a manuscript since I was twelve and typing on an Amiga 500.

But, that said…really, I think it’s okay. Creativity is inherently untidy. The compost heap can be corralled into a very pretty box made of sustainably harvested materials, hand-stained by traditional artisans being paid a living wage by an employee-owned company, but as soon as you lift the lid, it’s all worms and coffee grounds and old potting soil and cow shit and the vegetables you swore you were gonna eat this time before they went bad. That’s what compost is.

Nevertheless, having been in the business for…uh…fifteen years now? (@dduane is snickering at me, I can feel it) and having written nearly forty books, I can offer three bits of something less than advice. It’s what I do. It may not work for anyone else, but it’s what I do.

Un-Advice The First: If you get a shiny idea and you are super excited by it? Go ahead and chase it. Pull up a new page in Word or whatever and slap down a couple thousand words while it’s exciting. I know that this absolutely flies in the face of common wisdom, but quite frankly, my enthusiasm is a much rarer commodity than my time, so if I’m excited about something, I write it down until I’ve taken the edge off.

Then I usually save it into a big folder called “Fragments” and go back to work on whatever I’ve got a deadline on. (Usually. Sometimes the edge doesn’t wear off, and I wind up with another book. Which, y’know, darn.)

There are vast numbers of people who will tell you that a shiny idea is a sign that something is wrong with your current project and the solution is to knuckle down and work! through! it! And those people are probably right for them, and I trust they know how their own brains work. Me, though, I got ADHD like a bat has wings. My hard drive is a vast swamp of story beginnings, neat ideas, random scenes. And that’s okay because I still get books finished.

In fact, it’s better than okay. Not that long ago, my agent sent a novella to a publisher and they said “We’ll take that novella and three more novels. What’ve you got?” And I ended up plundering my hard drive and sending the editor a good dozen random beginnings until we found one that we both liked, and then I wrote the rest of that book. And then another one. If I hadn’t had all those fragments lying around, though, it would have been a miserable experience of writing book pitches and trying to think of stuff I could get excited about. (This may not be how some editors work, but it’s how my editor and I work, anyhow.)

Un-Advice The Second: Trust that everything will find a home eventually.

This one is easy to say and hard to do because sometimes you get that overload that if you’re writing the book about, say, werebear nuns, you aren’t writing the one about the alien crustaceans. Or worse, you feel guilty. If you don’t use that one cool thing, was all that time you spent on it wasted?

Breathe. Be easy. Every single cool thing does not need to go into a single book. There is no sell-by date on the neat character. You will probably write many books in your life and all those random characters will find a home. (Seriously, the werebear nuns were lurking for like a decade.)

For me, at least, when I find the spot where something fits, it often snaps into place like a Lego. Easton’s backstory as a soldier from a society where soldiers were a third sex had been kicking around in my head for a few years, derived from about three different sources, and then I wrote the opening to What Moves The Dead and all of a sudden Easton was there and alive and they had strong opinions about everything and I had ten thousand words practically before I turned around.

You can also stave off guilt by writing some of your ideas in as highly personal Easter Eggs. A couple of my books have references to a white deer woman, a heroic deed done by a saint and the ghost of a bird, and a woman with dozens of hummingbirds on tiny jeweled leashes. Those are all characters and stories I’ve had vague notions about, but haven’t managed to work in anywhere or learn much more about. Still, the passing reference is enough to make me feel like I haven’t abandoned them.

(The advantage to this is that once you DO write those in, the readers are all “oh my god, she foreshadowed this a decade ago, she must have planned this all out in advance!” Then you look really clever and well-organized and no one has to know that you have no idea what you’re doing.)

Un-Advice The Third: Write the kitchen sink book.

At one point, I had so many stray ideas that hadn’t gotten into a book yet—the tree of frogs, the dog-soldiers, the stained glass saint, the albatross and the shadow of the sun, and also I wanted to write something with Baba Yaga—that I hauled off and wrote a book where I just put in everything and the kitchen sink. It’s called Summer in Orcus. There are bits in there that I had been cooking in the mental compost heap for decades, but that weren’t enough on their own to sustain a whole book. The phrase “antelope women are not to be trusted” showed up in my head some time in college. It’s a fun little book and I’m proud of it, but it’s very much a patchwork quilt of weirdness. But it’s also written so that if later on, an antelope woman shows up in another book in another context, that just adds to their mythology, it doesn’t break canon or whatever.

(Pretty sure I’m not the only one who has done this, either. China Mieville has said that he wrote Perdido Street Station because what he really enjoyed was writing all the weird monsters.)

So yeah, that’s my advice, for what it’s worth. Some days I just tell all the fragments and ideas that I promise that I’ll get them a home eventually but I need to write this thing here now. Sometimes I throw down enough words to get the story stabilized and then I’m okay to move on. Sometimes I write multiple books simultaneously.

Any method you use to write the book, so long as it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else, is a perfectly valid method. If anyone tells you different, you send them to me.

(…god, I hope that was the question you were actually asking, Nonny, and that I didn’t go off on a completely different tangent when you just wanted to know how I keep track of a plot or something.)

#long #rambling #writing

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waldau · 3 months

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put a ring on it — lee jihoon | 1,236 words | fluff, hurt/comfort

can y'all tell i love this man a bit too much? like, this is way too sappy even by my standards. inspired by me forgetting my ring one morning and feeling extremely uncomfortable without it.

gender neutral reader. warnings: one gross(ish) fact about the human body.

jihoon’s not going to make a big deal out of this. he’s not going to make a deal out of this on any scale. not when this is the first proper date you’ve been on in almost a whole month.

it’s his fault, definitely, what with managing making songs and practicing for their comeback and being unable to sleep because of all the ideas buzzing around in his head. it went on till bumzu forced him out of the studio and made him take some time off for you, if not for his own sake.

oddly, the date’s going well. you look amazing, the food’s great, and he’s feeling more relaxed than he has in a while, all thoughts of deadlines pushed back because he’s worked enough to take on new projects.

jihoon knows he’s still not the best with being affectionate with you, and doesn’t match up to the way you’re so casually affectionate with him, despite how much he wants to be.

but it’s not so bad that you’d just stop wearing your promise ring, is it?

you’d been ecstatic when he’d first given it to you, pointing out how much he’d been blushing and how shy he’d been to tell you what it meant to him, and for the two of you, but now your hand looks bare without it. it looks wrong.

to make things worse, you don’t even seem mad with him. you’re talking to him like you normally do, asking him about his work and how all his friends are, telling him about how your day’s been. any other day, he’d love to listen fully to everything you have to say, but today it feels like your words are flowing in through one ear and leaving through the other.

you’ve both neared the end of your meal, and you still haven’t brought up why you’re not wearing the ring. jihoon’s sure he’s beginning to feel sick. did you just forget it after all these months of wearing it? is this your way of telling him that you’re done, you’re moving on, you have better things to spend your time on?

“do you want to go for a walk?” he asks, almost out of breath, when you finish telling him about a new movie you watched with your friends last week.

“what?”

“right now. it’s been a while since we’ve spent time together like this, and i just…don’t want it to end. if that's okay?”

you give him an apologetic smile. “i’m really tired today, hoonie. just want to go home and cuddle with you.”

ouch. okay. at least you didn’t turn him down entirely. and called his place home.

but the doubt doesn’t go away even when you’re in the car with him, singing to songs on the radio while you drive, laughing at how terrible your own voice is. any other day, jihoon would join in to tease your voice, but he doesn’t have the courage to do it right now. he watches you and thinks about what to do next, and more importantly why you’re not bringing it up.

you go into the bathroom first to take a shower, and come out wearing your sweatpants and one of his shirts. but your hand is still empty.

jihoon can’t take it anymore. he turns around resolutely to avoid facing you, trying to shut his mind before he says something stupid. the bed dips on your side and he knows you’ve turned to face him.

“hoonie?” you ask softly. “everything okay?”

“yeah,” he says, burrowing his face deeper into his pillow.

"are you sure?"

jihoon shrugs.

“okay, can i just…” you wrap an arm around his waist so your face rests in his neck, and he instantly relaxes against you. “tell me if this is too much.”

“not too much.”

you just stay together in silence for a while, jihoon just taking in your presence. it’s crazy how he doesn’t take more days off when it’s you he gets to come home to.

“did you know?” you ask, your words laced with a tone he's come to learn indicates you’re up to some mischief.

he shakes his head.

“earwax is a type of human sweat.”

jihoon’s broken out of his thoughts at that, turning to face you with an expression he hopes conveys disgust. you laugh loudly, poking his cheek.

“that’s what you wanted me to know?”

“just wanted to make you react somehow. tell me, what’s wrong?”

he shakes his head. “it’s nothing. i got over it.”

“i’ll believe that when you come crawling to me for cuddles.”

jihoon glares at you. “i don’t crawl.”

“but you haven’t asked me yet, so…”

jihoon knows he’s not going to get out of this, and it’s for the best if he doesn’t. “you didn’t wear your ring today.”

“i…what?”

he knows he’s being shifty. “it’s just…you weren’t wearing your ring when we went out for our date tonight. and you didn’t wear it after your shower, either.”

“i didn’t think you’d notice,” you say.

he sighs. “i’m not…i know i’m not very physically affectionate, and this ring is my way of reminding you i’m always there. for you. so i just felt…you know.”

you shake your head and the next thing he knows, he’s being pinned to the bed while you straddle his waist, giving him a stern look.

“lee jihoon.”

“oh, no.”

“how long have we been together for now?”

“um…a year?”

“are you asking me, or are you telling me that?”

“telling. one year.”

“have i ever once hinted at wanting to break up with you for whatever reason?”

“…no.”

you show him your hand. it’s bare, but when he looks closer, he realizes there’s a skin-coloured band-aid taking the exact place of your ring.

“what…”

“little accident when i was cutting an apple for myself. it’s nothing. i’ve been wearing my ring the way you do,” you say, tugging at your chain you’ve been wearing all evening long. it’s only then that he sees his ring sitting on it like it’s always belonged there.

“i love it just as much as you do, hoonie. of course i want it with me all the time. besides, i told you you’re stuck with me forever, didn’t i?”

jihoon can’t stop smiling like an idiot. when you first met and fell in love, it was new to him, because the love he’d written about in his songs was nothing like what he felt for you. if his songs were two dimensional, loving you and being loved by you was four dimensional.

not to mention all the songs you've inspired him to write about you, songs you get to listen to when you're in his studio, on his lap. just his whole world in one room.

he’s been working to keep that feeling between you both every single day, given he used to wonder how you’d ever understand and accept the part of his life that was music. but you have. and it’s been a whole year since you changed his perception about love.

on a whim, he tugs you down by your chain to press a kiss to your lips, and it ends up with you sprawled on top of him, laughing into his neck. just a year ago, he wouldn’t even have imagined this, but now, it feels right.

because it’s you.

taglist: @bookyeom

#woozi 😭💞#also rip to my most uninspired title ever i gave up on finding a good one #lee jihoon #lee jihoon fluff #seventeen #seventeen fluff #svt #svt fluff #woozi #woozi fluff #fluff #waldau writes

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roosterforme · 5 months

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How You Play the Game Part 7 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley are both determined to enjoy your last day together, but that doesn't mean neither of you are hurting. More than anything, he wants you to stay with him past the World Series. You wish you could reassure him that's what you want to do, too.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley's words were echoing in your ears. "What do you have in New York that you couldn't have in San Diego? Here. With me."

You couldn't answer him. There was nothing you could say, really. Instead you sat on his lap until your tears stopped and you felt like you could breathe again. Breathing was always easier around Bradley, because he seemed to be the only one who wasn't rushing you or shoving you along through deadlines and connecting flights and time zones.

You couldn't exactly tell him you had stronger feelings for him after knowing him for nine whole days than you did for the last guy you dated for a year. And you couldn't tell him you felt lonely in your own skin sometimes, like nobody else could understand how hard it was to love your job but hate the constant demands. You couldn't tell him that feeling lessened with each passing day he was near you.

When you finally eased away from him and kissed his lips, you tried to smile as you said, "Let's just enjoy our last day together." That was all you could offer him. That was all you could have from him in return.

Bradley closed his eyes, and said, "Sure, Ace." And you couldn't fight the urge to smooth out the crease along his forehead with your lips. You kissed him there, and he didn't stop you. There were so many things you didn't know about him, hadn't bothered to ask. And there was no reason for him to ask you either, because this was all a fling with an expiration date. But you were curious, especially after spending so much time in his home.

You were still smoothing your fingers along the scars and lines on his face when he opened his pretty brown eyes and tried to smile at you. By the time you were on your flight to Boston on Monday morning, you'd be craving the feel of his skin and the scratch of his mustache.

"It's late," he said softly, his voice raspier than ever. Your lips were on his before you could even reason with yourself that you needed to start pulling back in self preservation. And of course he kissed you back just right with his big hands on your back. When you pulled away, there were more tears in your eyes, and you wanted so badly to hide them. But he kissed your cheeks and said, "We should try to get some sleep. I want you to have energy when you're in Boston."

You nodded and stood, and you watched him gracefully pull his big body off the cold floor. Wordlessly, he picked up your computer and took your hand, leading you back to his bedroom. He carefully plugged your computer in so it would be charged up for game seven, and he kissed your forehead. "I already brushed my teeth. I'll warm up the bed."

When you slipped into the bathroom, you had to scrub at the tear streaks on your face as more threatened to fall. You brushed your teeth and used the toilet, and then you realized you still hadn't actually booked your flight. You were swiping at your tears when you walked back into his bedroom and saw him in bed with his head on his pillow and his hands over his eyes.

He must have heard you, because he sat up a little bit and pulled the covers back as he said, "Come on, Ace." Then he paused. "You're crying again."

You located your phone and whispered, "I still have to book my flight." You were clutching your phone to your chest as Bradley took a deep breath and patted the spot in bed next to him. You slid in, and he wrapped his arms around you, making it somehow easier and harder for you to open up the airline app and search.

Direct flight. 6:35 on Monday morning. One seat left. It seemed too fateful for you to look any further. You could be in Boston late in the afternoon and go right to TD Garden and start your research and maybe get a jump on the exclusive. You bought the ticket and then tossed your phone aside as you buried your face in Bradley's chest.

He must have seen your phone screen, because he whispered, "I can drop you off at the airport." You just nodded as he rubbed his hand up and down your arm, soothing you. "Hey, I thought we were going to enjoy our last day together."

You took a deep breath, indulging in the smell of his skin before you looked up at him. "That's what I want." Bradley looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face before he turned off the lamp next to the bed.

---------------------------

You were curled up sweetly with your head on his chest, but to Bradley, it felt like there was an unmovable weight that was crushing him. Your upcoming schedule would have you flying all over the place, and he wanted to know he did everything he could to let you get some rest now. He wanted you to think back to the World Series with him and smile, not feel stress from it.

Maybe you'd text or call him occasionally, when you could. The idea of it took some of the pain in his chest away. Just seeing a message from Ace on his phone would probably destroy and excite him equally.

"Bradley?" you asked softly. Your voice surprised him since your breathing had finally evened out to a slow and steady rhythm.

"Yeah, Baby?"

Your arm draped across his abs tightened around him as you said, "There are so many things I don't know about you. It's like we did this all backwards in a way, and I'm missing some little pieces of it all. I don't even know how old you are."

"I'm thirty five," he replied instantly. Then he told you when his birthday was in June.

"I should have known you were born during baseball season," you replied with a smile in your voice. "Where are you from?"

"Virginia. And I gotta say, I like the east coast girls, Ace."

He wanted to make you laugh, wanted to try to ease your mind, but you just said, "They like you, too."

Then you asked him more about his family, but there wasn't a lot to say. And you asked him about the Navy, but there was too much for your last twenty four hours together. And he wanted to know everything about you, too. So he repeated a lot of the questions you already asked, and eventually you yawned and rolled onto your side, pulling him with you.

Bradley knew it was time to let you get some sleep as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. This time he was almost certain your even breathing meant you were out, and he let himself relax with the back of your body nestled against the front of his. He was nearly asleep now, too, but he indulged in one last question. "Would you stay, Ace? Would you stay if you could?"

Once again he slept so soundly with you cradled in his arms, warmer and more comfortable than he could ever remember being. When he woke up, he'd barely moved, because you were facing him in his arms, still sound asleep. It was Sunday. Game seven. You'd be well and truly gone by this time tomorrow. Bradley wanted to wake you up and talk to you, hear your voice. He wanted to spend the whole day in your presence. But this was kind of perfect, too. You trusted him next to you after just a few nights together.

He pressed his lips softly to your forehead and let you sleep as long as you needed to, and his reward when you woke up was the look of pure happiness on your face when you realized you were with him. His heart ached as he watched your expression falter just enough that he knew you realized what today meant.

"Bradley," you whispered, voice laced with sadness as you let your palm rest on his cheek before pushing your fingers back through his hair. "Bradley, I-"

But you didn't finish your sentence. You kissed him instead. You were wearing his Padres jersey and a pair of his socks, and Bradley never wanted you to stop. He wanted you to have his clothing at your disposal whenever you wanted to wear it.

"Ace," he grunted, rolling you onto your back. You didn't let him break the kiss as you kept your hands on his cheeks and in his hair. Your thighs were spread wide for him, and you moaned softly into his mouth when he settled against your core.

Bradley's cock was heavy and throbbing as he carefully pulled his underwear down around his thighs. Your little moans were so pretty as he devoured your mouth and caressed your opening with his tip until you were bucking up against him with a gasp.

"I want you."

Well that was fine with Bradley, because he wanted you. And he wanted to give you everything. He wanted you to be his. So he guided himself slowly until he was deep inside you, and he let himself pretend it was already Monday and you decided to stay.

-----------------------------

Bradley's arms were wrapped around you from behind, and his chin came to rest on your shoulder. "Let me make you breakfast. To say thank you for letting me eat all your food," you whispered. It was hard not to smile when you were wearing his clothing and he had you in his arms like this.

"I'd rather make it together," he murmured softly next to your ear. "Rather spend the whole day touching you."

You closed your eyes and swallowed past the lump in your throat. This would never work, no matter how badly you wished it could. Bradley wanted to touch you all day when you were here with him, but you'd always be away. You'd be chasing exclusives and jumping through all the hoops Greg set out for you. And Bradley would grow tired of your lifestyle, crave someone easier to be with. You were already too much for him.

"Can we make breakfast together?" he asked, and you realized you and he had snuggled in bed for such a long time, you only had a few hours until you had to be at Petco Park.

"Yeah," you replied softly. You did most of the work, and he did most of the touching, but a little while later, you and he were on the couch again with plates of eggs and bacon.

Bradley's pretty brown eyes were on your face as you took a bite and smiled softly. "It's yummy. I like cooking with you."

He closed his eyes and balanced his plate on his knee. "We could keep doing this, Ace. We could definitely do this again." When he opened his eyes, he asked, "Maybe I could meet you in New York whenever you finally make your way back there? Or maybe you could come back here if you have a day off? I know it wouldn't be easy. I wouldn't expect it to be. When I get deployed, it's kind of the same thing. We'd understand each other that way."

"Bradley," you whispered. "That would only make things worse. We'd never see each other, and-"

"Just think about it." His voice was low and harsh, and his eyes were pleading. You didn't respond except to pick at the rest of your breakfast silently while he did the same. But as soon as his hand came to rest on your leg, he took your plate and set it aside next to the box of baseball cards you'd been looking through on his coffee table.

"You have some rare cards," you murmured, daring to meet his eyes again. "They were your dad's?"

You'd taken the time to ask him more about himself last night, and you kind of wished you hadn't. Bradley had answered every question you tossed at him, and you learned all about Nick and Carole Bradshaw as a result.

"Yeah, they were my dad's. My mom gave them to me when I was ten or eleven. I've been hauling them around with me everywhere since she died."

"Hey, that's dedication," you whispered.

You ran your fingers along the edge of the box before reaching inside. As soon as your body was no longer touching his, you felt Bradley scoot a little closer and slip his hand around your waist. He found you desirable, maybe even lovely, and when he kissed your shoulder through the jersey fabric, you turned your head to kiss his lips.

Before things could get too heated on the couch, you murmured, "I need to get a shower and start working on my article. You coming with me?"

You led him into his own bathroom where he turned on the shower and then took his time unbuttoning the jersey. Inch by inch he guided the shirt open, his fingers skimming your skin, making you whimper. "You're beautiful," he whispered, cheeks flushed and eyes on yours as he rubbed his hands along your sides and down to your butt. You shrugged out of his Padres jersey and let it fall to the floor as he kissed you.

He backed you up against the wall, and his lips were relentless on yours as you moaned his name. When he broke the kiss, he cupped your face in his big palm. "So beautiful." Then you stepped under the spray of the shower, and you were treated to his hands and mouth on your slick body.

This must have all been part of the long goodbye, because you let him whisper the sweetest words against your skin as you rode his fingers. And it broke your heart a little bit more when you felt his mustache on your ear. Your name was a broken cry on his lips as you used your hands on him as well.

Your legs felt like jello as he kept you pinned against the shower wall with his body. Your hands were covered in his cum, and he was looking at you with wide eyes and gently parted lips. "Ace." He shook his head. "Baby. Please."

More than anything, you wanted to tell him that you thought you could love him. But you pushed him away from you instead. "I can't be late again today."

-------------------------

Bradley found himself right back where he had been during game one. You and he sat side by side at the narrow counter in the press box at Petco Park. As good as it felt to acknowledge that this was all familiar to him by now, he knew this was the last time for it. You were keeping your stats and typing up your article, but your gaze landed on his face frequently. Your eyes were soft yet guarded, and every time you let your hand rest on his thigh, you kissed his lips.

He couldn't give a shit about the game. Ten days ago he was as excited as everyone else in San Diego about the Padres, but now it didn't matter. "You want something to eat? Some water?" he asked you softly, glaring at Quincy and the others every time they so much as looked at you.

"Please," you replied, marking down another Padres home run that Bradley wasn't allowed to cheer for but didn't really want to anyway.

"Be right back." He stood and made his way to the tables of food. He picked up a plate, but he just stared at everything before glancing back at you. Would anyone be there to make sure you ate and took breaks in Boston? Would anyone else even care? He knew your boss didn't. And he knew you would keep pushing yourself to be better no matter what.

"Fuck," he muttered, closing his eyes against more tears. He wanted to take care of you in the stupidest ways. Check on you a few times during the day. Make sure you weren't hungry. Keep chocolate chips in his kitchen. "Fuck."

He filled a plate with food as Petco Park erupted in more loud cheers, but only you really mattered. Bradley kissed your cheek as he sat down with your food and water.

"Padres are going to win," you murmured as you opened the bottle. "By five runs." Bradley just nodded, because even though there were still two innings left, he knew you were probably right. "Are you excited?"

"About the game?" he asked softly as your hand came to rest on his leg.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, taking a sip and then setting the water aside. But you looked more apprehensive than happy, and Bradley certainly didn't feel happy that the World Series was nearly over.

"The only thing I'm excited about is spending tonight with you."

You laced your fingers with his and occasionally scribbled down the bare minimum on your stat sheet as your head came to rest on his shoulder. Bradley drew shapes on your back through your blouse just like he had during every other game. And he kissed the top of your head just like he'd done in bed. When the Padres won seven runs to two, you set your pencil down and ran your soft hand up along his neck. And the kisses were sweet, so sweet as everyone around you started to pack up to leave.

Bradley knew there was a race now to be the first journalist to submit a clear, concise article chronicling game seven. He could hear the others talking about it. But you just kept kissing him, kept your hands on his face and in his hair. Nobody said a word to either of you as the press box cleared out, and you were in Bradley's lap with you finally broke the kiss.

There were tears in your eyes when he whispered, "I have some champagne in the fridge. Let me take you back home so you can submit your article, and then we can celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

Bradley shrugged and kissed your damp cheek. "Celebrate how fucking cool you are. And how much I like you."

He was happy when you laughed, and he stood with you in his arms. It was a long walk through the crowds of people celebrating. He held your hand, and you stuck by his side the whole way back to the Bronco where he opened the door for you. The desire to make tonight a sweet goodbye instead of something painful had Bradley giving you just the softest touches and kisses. He didn't want this to end.

You sat on his lap in his kitchen and finished your article, but you weren't rushing it. Bradley kissed your neck and offered up some thoughts as he read what you wrote, and you added some of them to your piece. He held onto you like he had all of those nights in the hotel rooms, and he swallowed against his sadness. He was going to miss doing this with you, too. Just simply sitting with you while you worked your magic on your computer.

"I think it's done," you whispered, your fingers hovering as the cursor blinked over the Submit icon. "Game seven. That's it."

Bradley nuzzled against your neck. "Send it in, Baby. It's incredible, and people can't wait to read what you wrote." As soon as you sent it, you checked your email inbox for the receipt, and Bradley's eyes caught on the fresh batch of people trying desperately to recruit you. He tightened his arms around you as he skimmed the names, and he had to force himself to say, "Let's open that champagne."

He didn't even have flutes, but you didn't seem to mind that he poured you some in a pint glass. You tapped it against his and then took a few sips, but when you met his eyes, you set your glass on the counter. "I'll never forget you, Bradley."

"Fuck," he gasped, setting his glass aside as well. Now your mouth tasted like the champagne as you and he slowly made your way back to his bedroom. He wanted to make it last for the rest of the night. Every button on your blouse was a privilege for him to undo. Your warm skin was soft against his rough hands. Your voice telling him you'd miss him sent the ache in his heart up into his throat.

He was choked up by the time you were in his bed, completely naked and whispering his name. The room was mostly dark, but you were beautiful, and your voice was everything he wanted to hear. You pulled his body down on top of you, and his mouth found yours like it was a magnet.

He made love to you, fingers laced with yours, hands on the pillow above your head. Every roll of your hips soothed him and broke his heart. Every whisper of, "Bradley," left him wanting to beg you for more after this. Tomorrow and next week and next year. He wanted to stay buried inside you so your soft moans would never stop. Soft kisses to your face became more as he could taste the salt from your tears.

"Don't cry, Ace," he whispered, dragging his lips to yours. You hiccupped softly, and he knew you were broken like he was. And he thought you felt like a better version of yourself when you were with him. He knew he was better around you. "Baby, don't cry."

"Can't help it," you replied as you nibbled on his lips. "You're just so... you're good. You make me feel good in so many ways."

When he rubbed his big hand down the length of your arm and neck to your chest, he felt your fingers in his hair. The words were right there along with the desire to say them. Would he feel better or worse if he did? Your soft hiccups turned to gentle moans as his fingers reached your clit. He knew exactly what you liked now, and he knew how to give it to you. Your hands held his body tight to yours, and his shallow thrusts grew erratic as he got close. And when you came for him, your body shivering before loosening into languid limbs and softer kisses, he pushed himself deep. For the last time.

"Baby," he gasped, lips cascading down your neck as he came to rest on you. You held him close for so long without saying a word, he was a little afraid you weren't going to. But when you did, he kind of wished you hadn't.

"I'll never forget you."

You slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, and Bradley took a minute to get himself cleaned up. He had to wipe his eyes as he leaned on his dresser, the ticket stub from game one hanging right in front of him. When he looked in the mirror, he looked truly miserable. When you returned from the bathroom, your face looked pinched in the darkness as you tossed your loose items into your luggage and set your tote bag next to his bedroom door. Then you slipped into his Padres jersey without a word and climbed in bed.

When he eased himself next to you, he felt your hands on him immediately. You rolled onto your side and tugged on him until he was snuggled up behind you. When he wrapped his arms around your waist, you squeezed his hands until he wrapped them a little tighter. His lips were right at your ear as he whispered, "I'll take you to the airport. I'll drop you off. I already set an alarm."

Your response was so soft, he barely heard you say, "Okay."

But even your breathing was a little rough. Shallow, shaky breaths seemed to be the only thing either of you could handle, and Bradley tried to kiss your chin and jaw, tried to offer you comfort, but he was hurting too much. He just wanted to know what came next, and if you told him nothing, then he'd be devastated. But not knowing was worse at this point, so he forced one deep breath in and back out of his lungs.

"Will you call me? From Boston?"

Your shallow breaths turned to a sob. "Bradley. That's not a good idea."

He held you a little tighter. Pressed his lips to your ear a little harder. Trying to live without you in his bed or at least your notifications on his phone screen just didn't seem possible at this point. "But you're everything I've been looking for, Ace."

"Bradley."

He could be good for you. He knew he could. But he didn't know what else to say as he clung to you, memorizing the way you felt and how you smelled. So he said the only thing he could. "You know how to reach me. You know where to find me."

You nodded your head against his pillow and whispered, "I know." And that was just the thing. You knew, but he didn't. He wouldn't know where you went after Boston unless you told him. He had no idea where in New York City you lived. He'd only have your phone number and your articles to read unless you wanted him to have more of you. He just wanted more of you. He wanted you to stay with him in any way you were willing to. And that's why he said it. Because it was true, and he was sure he wouldn't regret saying so.

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

You didn't say another word to him. He must have fallen asleep eventually to the warmth of your body. He must have dozed soundly, calmed by your presence even though subconsciously he knew it was going to hurt again soon. But when he woke up to his alarm going off, you weren't next to him. The spot was still warm as he killed the alarm and ran his hand along the sheets where you should have been.

"Ace," he rasped, panicking as he jumped out of bed and reached for his underwear. "Baby?" he called out as he pulled them on. He flipped the lightswitch next to his door and squinted against the intense brightness, but he noticed immediately that your bags were gone. The bathroom was empty. "Ace," he whispered as he darted into the kitchen. All he found was the mostly full bottle of champagne and the two half empty pint glasses.

He ran both hands through his hair as he paced around his kitchen and living room, tugging at the roots in frustration. His heart was beating so fast, he was sick and dizzy. He couldn't even look at the baseball card collection still out on his coffee table. Then he ran back to his bedroom and picked up his discarded phone.

He called you, and it rang for a long time. When he got your voicemail message, he hung up and tried again. Once again it rang through. When he tried a third time, you ignored his call. Or maybe you'd turned your phone off. It went right to your voicemail. With tears in his eyes, he listened to your voice tell him that you weren't currently available to take his call, but you could leave a message for later.

He walked back toward the door with tears in his eyes and turned the light off. As darkness surrounded him, he stumbled back to his bed. When it was time for him to leave a message, he swallowed hard, waited a few seconds and then said, "See ya, Ace."

Then he ended the call through his blurry tears and tossed his phone onto the floor as he climbed back in bed.

-------------------------

I hurt my own feeling so much. Thanks for crying with me @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

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withleeknow · 7 days

Note

hi lovely!! first off congrats on 1k that's so so awesome and you deserve all that + more truly :( your writing is so tender and so lovey

i would to join in on your little drabble event!!! could you do something for hanji and the song compass by the neighbourhood? that song reminds me of him so so much so i hope you get the vision!! thank you angel and have a beautiful day!! ✮⋆˙

compass.

pairing: producer!jisung x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, hurt/comfort?, fluff, swearing, arson jokes? lmao word count: 1.4k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / request masterlist / ko-fi

you're always there to help me when i'm down i'm lucky you've been keeping me around you're the star i look for every night when it's dark, you'll stick right by my side

compass - the neighbourhood

"fuck, fuck, fuck!"

the sound of jisung's verbalized frustration draws your attention to his desk and setup in the middle of room, where he's been sitting for the better part of two hours, hunched over the equipment like he often does when he's in the studio.

it's written all over his face just how upset he is that this particular piece he's working on isn't flowing right. the deep furrow between his eyebrows communicates utter displeasure. the clench of his jaw tells you he's angry, and that he's angry at himself for not being able to work through his block.

you abandon your comfortable spot on the couch in favor of pattering over to his side where he's all tensed up like an aggrieved hamster whose body can't contain the annoyance he feels. jisung can be short-tempered sometimes, but you know how to handle him in moments like this.

sliding a hand over his back, you say, "take a little break with me."

he huffs out a breath, eyes still focused on his laptop screen. "i can't afford a break. chan hyung expects this to be done in two days."

"so it's in two whole days. you can leave it for fifteen minutes, it won't kill you."

"but i still have to rework the first verse and figure out what in the fucking hell this second verse is-"

"han jisung," you scold him lightly, to which he instantly shuts up and peers up at you with his big eyes, immediately apologetic when he recognizes his harsh language.

"sorry," he mumbles, "i'm just stressed."

"which is why you need a break. you're not doing anyone any good just sitting here and trying to make your laptop explode with your eyes."

he lets out a pathetic-sounding mewl but he follows you to the couch regardless. jisung knows you're right because you always are. you're the more level headed between the two of you, whereas he's the one who lets his emotions get the better of him sometimes.

before, he would often succumb to his negative feelings. it's hard to keep his cool when nothing seems to go right and there's a deadline on his ass. he'd get so frustrated with his work that sometimes, he would delete whole tracks off his drive only to instantly regret it and spiral even more. he'd take it out on the people around him with his grumpy attitude and misplaced pettiness.

when jisung is overwhelmed, he tends to spin out in all directions. he splinters and drowns in a sea of his own making, constantly being pushed away further and further from shore because he doesn't know how to anchor himself, how to hold on so he wouldn't drift far away. his solution to soothe his anger has always been to give into it, to rip whole pages from notebooks and lock himself in his studio for hours on end until he could plow through the stubborn creative block. it'd often leave him exhausted - emotionally and physically so - and in no better state than he started out with.

jisung accepted this a long time ago - that his way of dealing with his emotions wasn't very healthy, but it was the only way he knew.

that is, until you popped into his world and taught him that people can be lifelines too. falling upon him like a wish that he never realized he was making his whole life.

"what's the matter, baby?" you ask, prompting him to air out his grievances as he lays his head on your chest while you card your fingers through his soft curls. he leans into you instantly, a long sigh escaping his pouty lips. jisung's got a lot of pride, and he would rather die before admitting to anyone that he loves to be babied by you behind closed doors.

he knows the question is just your way of getting him to verbalize all of his pent-up frustration, and not because you're eager to help him traipse through his mind palace and solve whatever dilemma he's having with the track. let's be honest, you never really have a clue what he's talking about, but it helps that you're keen on listening to him even though you can't offer him any valuable insight. more than you could ever know, it does wonders for jisung, just being able to untangle his thoughts and release the mess in his mind.

he could simply just talk to chan, sure, or any of his other friends who work in the industry. but again, his pride is an awful thing sometimes.

you never make him feel like he has prove himself to earn your love and attention, though. around you, jisung feels enough as he is. there's never been any need to toughen up in your presence.

"i just... i can't work with this track. nothing is flowing right. i hate everything i come up with." he rambles on about the things that plague his mind; topline this and beats that - they're really just words to you. you weren't blessed with the same genius in music that jisung was, so you just listen until he's done, until he concludes his tangent with a groan as he nuzzles further into the comfort of your warmth.

"you said that the last time, you know?"

"said what?"

"that everything sucks and you hate it."

"because everything sucks," he whines again, his eyebrows knitted together as he adorns a petulant pout. "and i hate it."

as you play with his fluffy hair, you feel him lean into your touch like it's the very thing that will bring him clarity. in a way, it does. your gentle touch may not give him the answer he needs, but it quiets the static in his mind, drowns out the continuous buzzing that muddles his brain.

"you're too hard on yourself," you say, to which jisung just huffs out a breath in disagreement. "i'm serious. you say this every time but it all still works out in the end. you're so smart, and talented. you shouldn't forget that."

his frown only deepens in response to your words. he knows you're right; things have always turned out fine before. trust the process and all that shit, but he's hot-headed and impatient sometimes, and he doesn't want to endure the stress that often comes with the process. he just wants to get to the finish line.

then, you continue, "remember 13?"

"what about 13?"

"you didn't like it at first either. you were so dramatic about it. but you sucked it up and finished it anyway. you made a hit and nobody could stop talking it. i believe in you. you just need to believe in yourself too."

in complete silence except for the sound of your steady heartbeat in his ears, jisung keeps laying on top of you like a weighted blanket, soaking up your words as a flower would in warm sunlight. of course he remembers 13 and the day he let you listen to the song for the first time. you'd nearly burst into tears in the middle of this studio, pressing kisses all over his face while you gushed over how proud you were of him.

"damn you," he mutters after a while. "why do you have to be so rational?"

"someone's gotta be. if i wasn't here, you probably would've ripped all your hair out, set your keyboard on fire and ran off into the woods."

he shoots up instantly, propping himself on two elbows as he glares at you even though you've got a valid point. it's not that far-fetched of a scenario.

"what?" you tilt your head with a coy smile. "am i wrong?"

jisung stares at you for a quick minute, and it's that very smile you're wearing that mitigates his frustrations and dulls his urge to sabotage his work out of self-inflicted anger. he says nothing at all, just leans down quickly to give you a kiss full of appreciation, despite the way there was a frown tugging on his eyebrows only seconds prior.

"you good now?" you ask, the words coming out a little muffled against his mouth.

if it's with you, then he is. you're the anchor that helps him part his stormy seas. you're the compass that always guides him home. he really doesn't know where he'd be without you, or how he'd manage in times like these if you're not by his side to ground him.

"always good with you around."

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #han x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung scenarios #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines #han jisung x you #stray kids #han jisung

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cassandraclare · 23 days

Text

A bit of publishing stuff (if you get my newsletter you've already seen this)

So by now you lovely people have all seen the announcement about what books I have coming up next. Ragpicker King is coming March 4, 2025, and The Last King of Faerie is coming early 2026.

I know a lot of you were hoping for LKOF to come earlier. It’s going to be a big gap between the last Shadowhunter book and the next — three years. Previously the longest gap between Shadowhunter books was two years, between Mortal Instruments and the Dark Artifices.

I announced last year that I was taking time off — six months. It was the first time I’d taken any real time off since 2005. The pandemic had just happened and I was wiped out physically and mentally. I also needed to take stock of where I was in my publishing journey and really think about what I wanted — it had been years since I’d had time to consider whether I was happy, because I always had another deadline and that was always more important.

When I came to the end of The Last Hours, I was “out of contract” — meaning I didn’t have any further Shadowhunter books that were owned by or owed to a publisher. it was the first time that had happened since, again, 2005. Being out of contract is your one chance to change anything you want to change about your career, and I knew I was going to leave my longtime US publisher of the Shadowhunter books and move to Random House, who published Sword Catcher.

This isn’t a small decision for any writer to make. It sometimes happens when a writer has been at a publisher for a very long time that the nature of the publisher changes. Maybe all the people you worked with when you first came to that publisher have gone elsewhere, so your team has inherited you rather than having chosen you. Maybe your publisher has been sold to another company whose vision for that publisher doesn’t fit with yours. Maybe your publisher isn’t interested in your genre anymore.

I spent a lot of time agonizing over the decision—I certainly could have stayed where I was, but I knew that was no longer the best decision for the books. So those of you who pay attention to these kinds of details will note that where the other Shadowhunter books have all been published by McElderry Books, these next ones will be published by Knopf. (Who are an amazing imprint. They make great books.)

Normally a writer wouldn’t really address switching publishers — it happens a lot, and most readers don’t care who publishes a book. I’m talking about it now because I know there will be a lot of people who are angry and don’t understand why Ragpicker King is coming out before Last King of Faerie. The short answer is: Ragpicker King has been under contract since it was sold along with Sword Catcher, years ago now, and I’m obligated to get it done when I said I was going to. The books of The Wicked Powers are only just now securely under contract enough to be announced, as you just saw! So Ragpicker King is planned to be turned in in a couple of months, and after that I will be able to focus entirely on The Last King of Faerie (which I already began, but since it was only sold to Knopf last October, I was only able to get started after that).

And it takes a a year at least to write a book and another good year or so to publish it, and that gets us to the pub dates we’ve got. I would love if I could get it to you earlier, but multiple factors have brought us to this point, and in the end, not rushing through them is the best thing for the books, and will produce the best version of those books. I always want to get you my best work — that’s what is important to me above all things.

In terms of other publishers in other countries — I’m staying with all my longterm Shadowhunter publishers. Nothing’s going to change for y’all — Walker Books is still publishing Shadowhunters in the UK, even though a different publisher is going to publish In Fire Foretold there (due to spiciness.) ;)

For those of you who backed the Kickstarter, that will mean you do get new Shadowhunter content between now and early 2026* — which was part of the reason I did it! I’m also talking to my new publisher about bringing Better in Black out — with at least a six month gap for the Kickstarter backers to have it to themselves — so fingers crossed. There’s also Black Volume of the Dead, the final Eldest Curses book, which is still planned and which I am still excited to write, but since it is set after Last King of Faerie, it hasn’t been scheduled yet. More news on that as it develops—for now, I wanted to talk directly about the schedule in the next couple of years, since I feel confident it is set and will reliably happen this way, something I can’t yet say about 2027 and beyond. The point is, I’m really excited to bring you Wicked Powers just as soon as it is ready, and I know enough about it to say it’s going to be quite a ride!

And also an early look at In Fire Foretold.

#shadowhunters #the wicked powers

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visionofhope04 · 5 months

Note

Here for the angst of neglected batsis, imagine or hc them of moving out if the house when they are 18 and let's say they meet some spirit and they have their memory wiped and transfer to the marvel universe to restart their life and more happy, then the dc/marvel merge together because of a big threat and batfam sees batsis is heavily pregnant and married to our favorite deadpool charater Colossus?

How would they reached if batsis just can't remember them and keeps on telling them they have the wrong person?

I LIKE THE WAY YOU THINK. Guess who's back!! Sorry it took me so long to get this out, I haven't had the motivation to write until recently. Also OOC warning bc I don't really know him well besides the Deadpool movies. I almost freaked out bc I haven't used the tumblr website in so long and it got updated so I thought I lost all my drafts. So glad they're still here, whew. Not beta read so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes!

---

It's been a year since moving into your apartment and you couldn't be happier. College was going well and you were taking classes you enjoyed. However, you haven't made any friends yet which led you to spend your free time reading or surfing the web. Jason didn't come by much due to having his own life and vigilante things, which you understood. It didn't mean you couldn't be a little bit sad about it though.

Even though you were enjoying your life, you still felt as if there was something missing. You'd been trying to figure out why you had felt this way but nothing came to mind. Any time you tried to brush off the feeling, it came back stronger. You did your best to ignore it and continue on with life, but it was always there, nagging you.

It had been a long day. College was so stressful. Your professors kept hurling projects at you that had deadlines that were practically impossible to meet. You just wanted it to end already and be on summer break. Then, you’d be able to sleep how long you wanted to without the fear of being late for class or forgetting to complete an assignment.

You sat down at your desk and pulled out your laptop, preparing to continue an essay that was due in three days. Suddenly, you began to feel nauseous. Confused, you attempted to ignore the feeling in favor of completing the essay. A few seconds after trying to focus on your laptop screen, you saw a bright light.

"My child, you will be saved from this life." A strangely comforting voice said.

Then everything faded to black.

---

"Hello?!"

A voice. A voice? But you live alone and no one has the spare key to your apartment. You slowly opened your eyes, groaning and quickly shutting them again once a bright light blinded you.

"Oh you're alive, thank God. Can you speak?" Whoever this was seemed to have been panicking before, slightly less though now that you had indicated you were alive. You groan as you push yourself up off of what seems to be concrete. Concrete? You're definitely not in your apartment. You crack your eyes open again, this time with less difficulty, and come face to face with white lenses of a mask. Blinking again, you register that the lenses are attached to a red material with black lines.

"Ah!"

"AH!" The figure yells and jumps back, startled by your sudden surprise.

"What the hell are you supposed to be?" You asked, tilting your head slightly to the side.

"What do you mean? I'm Spiderman." His voice was a bit high pitched, he sounded like a teen at most.

"Spiderman? You've got to be joking. There is no Spiderman. Go home kid, crime fighting isn't a game." Sure, you may be a hypocrite, seeing as you are an ex-assassin who began learning how to kill at around 5, but at least you had training. What did this Spiderman have? From how startled he was, you assumed he had barely been trained, if at all.

“What? I'm literally Spiderman! I'm Queens' hero!"

"Queens, New York?" You thought you'd still be in New Jersey at least.

"Uh yeah. I don't think there are any other places called Queens that have a Spiderman."

"Again, Spiderman? Seriously? You couldn't think of a better name at least?"

"Hey! There's nothing wrong with Spiderman!"

"Sure kid, keep telling yourself that."

He was about to protest when suddenly, someone else dropped into the alley.

"Hey Spidey, who's this lovely lady?" A person in an all red with black suit with two swords on his back and guns strapped to his waist called out. The person seemed to be a male, around 30 years old.

"This 'lovely lady' is very confused. Who are you?" They keep multiplying, and you'd never seen this person either.

"Did you hit your head or something? You've never heard of or seen Deadpool? The most handsomest, most awesomest, funniest, killer crime fighter?"

"Uh nope. Also, I'm from Jersey, how did I end up here?"

"Good question. What's your name?"

"Oh, it's-" You stopped in confusion. "I actually don't remember. It was just at the tip of my tongue but I don't remember."

"Oh great! Amnesia! Just what we need. I'll let you handle her Spidey and I'll go stop some bad guys, 'kay?"

"What! No, don't leave me here!" Deadpool was already sprinting away.

"Let's get you to the base. Colossus and the others will know what to do."

---

They did not, in fact, know what to do. Colossus sent Negasonic and Yukio to contact Professor X, while Spiderman went to contact Tony Stark (I'm still emotionally scarred from Endgame so no, he won't be dead, this is my fanfic and I can keep him alive if I want to) and Deadpool went back out to patrol. You were left alone with Colossus.

Uncomfortable silence sat between you. Just as you were beginning to get antsy, Colossus broke it first.

"Do you remember anything at all?"

"I'm... a college student. I live alone in an apartment in New Jersey, I think. I used to fight crime until... I don't know, it's fuzzy. I'm an ex-assassin who has been training since I was 5. That's all I remember."

"You can remember that but not your name?"

"Look, I don't know okay? I don't know what's happening or why I can't remember anything else. I want to remember who I am, but I can't. And it's so... so frustrating! Your suspicion is understandable, but it is not helping."

"I apologize. This is a stressful situation for you. I will be more considerate."

"Thank you."

---

They could not figure out what happened to you or why you suddenly appeared in Queens one day. Your memory remained fuzzy, so you were stuck. As time passed, you and Colossus grew closer. You became so close that he told you his real name, you became a couple, and you got married. Seven years passed, you were 25 and you'd been trying for a baby. You both felt the time was right and that you'd be able to handle parenting.

Colossus came home from work one day, spent and tired. There you were, waiting for him at the door as usual.

"Hi my love, long day?" You fiddled with the positive pregnancy test behind your back.

"Yes darling, when is it not?"

"Well, we're going to have to figure something out, because there's no way I'll wake up every night to take care of our baby."

He looked confused, then realization hit. "You're..?" He looked so happy and hopeful, you couldn't contain your happiness. A huge smile lit up your face.

"Yes, we're finally going to be parents!" You pulled out the pregnancy test and held it up to him.

He laughed a joyful laugh, tears began to fall from the corners of his eyes as he embraced you. It must've been infectious because you began to tear up too. You remained in each other's embrace for a while, just existing in the moment. Time felt irrelevant as you basked in your shared delight.

---

8 months later, your belly had swollen and grown. Everyone was happy for the both of you. You and Colossus were both eager for your little one to arrive. You'd both decided to wait for birth to find out the gender. It didn't matter to you whether it was a boy or girl, just that they were healthy (gender's a construct anyway). The pregnancy had been going great so far, but this time of easy-going was about to get ruined by your husband's job.

---

Your world had merged with another because of some cosmic threat. Great! Your husband would be preoccupied trying to fix the situation, which meant that you'd be alone. Selfishly, you wished that they could let your husband stay with you so close to your due date, but you knew he had a role to play in saving two worlds.

Seeing your loneliness, Colossus decided to bring you with him to the Avengers' base. He hoped you'd be able to befriend some of the people there. You entered the compound and your eyes were drawn to some men standing beside a set of double doors. They all had suits on, black hair (one guy had two white streaks in his hair) and most had blue eyes, except for one man who had green eyes. He was also noticeably the darkest of the group. They felt familiar to you, especially the man with green eyes. Have you met them before? Who were they?

As your husband was discussing some details about the meeting, you couldn't help but watch the group of men. Not knowing why you thought you knew them annoyed you. As if they could feel your eyes on them (they could), they turned around in sync and locked eyes with you.

Their eyes widened and they all exclaimed your name in various degrees of disbelief. They rushed over to you and your husband protectively stepped in front of you

"How do you know my wife?"

"Wife?!" Some of them shouted. They were beginning to cause a scene.

"You're pregnant." The one with green eyes observed. He seemed to be having some sort of crisis.

All their eyes darted to your belly, making you uncomfortable. You placed your hand over your stomach and attempted to discretely hide behind your husband. This did not go unnoticed by them.

"You don't remember us?" The shortest of them questioned.

"No, I've never met you guys." You were very confused.

The man who appeared to be the oldest said your name. You stared at him as he studied your eyes, presumably to see if you were lying. It made you feel vulnerable and unsettled, couldn't they leave you alone?

"We're your family."

The guy with the white streaks in his hair scoffed. "You didn't treat her like she was family. I was the only one who cared for her when she was younger while you all ignored her and let her suffer. I'm glad she doesn't remember what you all did to her. She's clearly living a much better life without you lot in it."

This was getting more confusing by the second, although you felt there was truth to his words. Did you forget these people? They seemed very convincing if they were lying.

"I'm sorry but I really don't remember you guys. Maybe you have the wrong person?"

"No we don't! You disappeared one day and now that we've finally found you, you're saying you forgot everything!"

"That is enough. Please leave my wife alone, she does not know you, and she does not need the unnecessary stress of trying to remember people she's never met. Do not approach her anymore." Colossus guided you away from the men, who stared longingly at you. The heartbroken expressions they had after your husband's speech would follow you often. Were you sure you'd never met them before?

---

Words: 1,847

#batfamily #batfam #batfam x reader #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #avengers x platonic reader #colossus #colossus x reader #tim drake #damian wayne #batfam x neglected!batsis!reader

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dustofthedailylife · 8 months

Text

No Gift Greater Than Love

→ Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Alhaitham, Ayato x (gn!) Reader

Summary: It's your birthday so he plans to spend some time with you.

Tags: Fluff, a teeny tiny bit of angst/uncertainty at the beginning if you squint, confessions, kissing, Ayato is being a smooth talker

A/N: I wanted to write a little self-indulgent fic for my birthday today, so here it is. Posting an HSR fic as well later! :3 I also can't add an animated header because tumblr hates me again so, sorry about that! ;_;

ALHAITHAM

You rarely ever took a day off work, not when you were sick, not when you were tired, and especially not when you had so many deadlines coming up. And knowing the perfectionist you are there was no way you’d even rest for a single day until everything was set and done. Only then you would allow yourself to rest.

So you sat there, at your desk, on your birthday, with your head buried in your books and no other plans but to study all day long. But besides that, you still hoped your friends didn’t forget you and would at least come by to wish you a happy birthday or send you mail.

Because despite not wanting to make a big deal out of your birthday and running around being like ‘Hey, did you know, today is my birthday?’, reminding people that it was your birthday and expecting gifts, you at least wanted some birthday wishes from your friends. That wasn’t too much to ask, right? Especially after your own brother forgot your birthday last year, which despite having a great day made you cry back then.

So you were positively surprised to find letters from your parents, your brother, Cyno and Tighnari in your mailbox on the morning of your birthday. Kaveh had stopped by before he visited another one of his clients as well to drop off his – quote: “magnum opus of birthday cakes”. Which was essentially just a one-by-one model of your house in cake form - with some additional tweaks he must’ve made out of artistic liberty here and there. It looked almost too good to eat.

Tighnari and Cyno both sent you a small gift and a letter with birthday wishes as well.

The only one who hadn’t yet sent anything or stopped by was Alhaitham. Not like you expected him to actually treat today any differently than any other day in the first place. Birthdays weren’t exactly something he cared about. Yet, despite knowing his attitude towards them, you felt disappointment welling up inside of you. You secretly hoped you would be his exception. But apparently not.

Swallowing the lump in your throat down you dove head first into your study materials to distract yourself. Successfully. Because before you realized the sun was barely just a thin line on the horizon and a knock could be heard on your door.

You peeled yourself away from your desk, stretching your exhausted limbs on the way, only for them to tense up again when you saw who was standing in front of your door. Alhaitham.

“You look tired.” He remarked monotonously.

“Good evening to you, too.” You rolled your eyes, but without being able to suppress a small smile. After all, you knew his antics by now and his blunt statement came out of a place of concern and care. He simply huffed in reply, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a barely noticeable manner.

However, you couldn’t help but wonder about his visit. Could it be that he stopped by because of your–

“Do you still want to go grab dinner?” He inquires, stopping your train of thought.

Right. It was Thursday. The day you usually meet up at the Tavern after work to get dinner with your other friends every week. It totally slipped your mind since you were so buried in your studies all day. Of course, he didn’t stop by just because it was your birthday, stupid.

You nod in reply to his question and quickly grab your keys before following outside into the still-warm and muggy fall air. It smelled like damp leaves that had begun to fall and spices that always seemed to hang into the Sumerian air. It had already gone dark and the moon was hanging high in the sky, framed by a myriad of little sparkling stars. You had always loved the night sky, especially on cloudless nights like tonight.

“Do you mind if we do a little detour?” Alhaitham questioned out of the blue.

“Uh…, no not at all.”

“Good.” He nodded his head to the side, urging you to follow him to wherever he planned to go.

He began walking up the ramp to the Akademiya again, which caused you to assume that he must’ve forgotten something in his office earlier. But when he walked right past his office door and led you outside again you were beginning to wonder.

You were now standing on a secluded balcony. On it stood a blue pavilion with a mosaic roof and a single stone bench that offered a perfect view over Sumeru and the beautifully illuminated night sky.

“Beautiful…”, you mutter in awe.

“Agreed.” Alhaitham mused contently. What you failed to notice at the moment however was, that, unlike you, he wasn’t referring to the view you were referring to. He was looking right at you out of the corners of his eyes.

“I didn’t know there was such a beautiful place up here.” You exclaimed in surprise, leaning on the railing of the balcony.

“I often come here to read. Not many people know of this place.”

You could definitely see why he loved this place so much. But one question began to push itself into the foreground of your mind more and more.

“Why… did you lead me here, though?” You questioned curiously but interrupted yourself when a shooting star appeared in your field of view. “Wait, was that–? Alhaitham, did you see that?”

You turned around excitedly gifting him a smile. And the shine in your eyes sparkled more intensely than the stars in the night sky ever could.

“Close your eyes.” He urged. “Make a wish.”

You grinned widely, turned around to face him, and closed your eyes.

“You have to make your wish too, though.” You reminded him teasingly.

“I already did.”

You tried to think of something to wish for. Especially after being led here you couldn’t think of anything you desired right now.

Do you? Are you maybe not betraying your own thoughts again?

No. You didn’t dare to think about what your heart really yearned for. What it truly desired. It would never come true anyway. Alhaitham would never feel the same for you.

He didn’t even remember your birthday today.

You were just friends.

And yet you couldn’t get the image of kissing him out of your head, continuously replaying in front of your inner eye. No matter how hard you tried to push it away.

There was no way you could wish for–

You felt him inch closer to you. Leaning one hand against the railing behind you while the other hand brushed a strand of hair out of your face before he rested it against your cheek. Spearmint breath and the tangy smell of moss and pines from his aftershave ghosted over your face. He was so close by now that you could feel the heat that radiated off his skin and his breath fan over your lips.

For a moment you thought you could hear that his breath was shaky. Was he nervous?

Your mind was racing a thousand miles per hour at this point, and so was your heart. The irritated muscle was thumping against your chest with such ferocious intensity that you feared he may be able to hear it as well. Question after question and speculation after speculation popped into your mind, completely overwhelming your senses.

What was he doing? Why was he so close? How long have you had your eyes closed already? What was his plan? All of these were questions you found no immediate answers to.

You slightly parted your lips in order to speak and were just about to open your eyes again when he muttered something.

Happy Birthday.

Something that made your breath hitch and heart sing as your lips molded together, fulfilling what you had both wished for.

AYATO

You’ve been on your feet since roughly 4:30 a.m., running up and down the halls of the Kamisato Estate to help the Retainers with the preparation of the most important political meeting all year.

Much to your dismay it had to fall exactly on the day of your birthday and had to be held at the Kamisato Estate. Which meant you wouldn’t get to see Ayato for most of the day and had to spend it alone. Well, mostly. The staff, Ayaka and Thoma were still there, too, but just like you, they were busy helping as well. All hands were needed today.

Ayato woke up around the same time you had and wished you a happy birthday first thing before already having to rush out to run errands.

But you understood the importance of the ordeal and were not mad or disappointed. Which seemed to have not gotten through to Ayato yet, who seemed extra touchy today whenever you ran into him in the hallway this morning.

Just now as you were carrying some items into the huge room the conference was supposed to be held in, you walked past Ayato in the hall once again.

Gloved, slender fingers suddenly found a place around your waist and turned you around. One of his hands wandered to the back of your head, pulling your face against his chest while he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

He stayed quiet for a moment, soaking your presence in, and exhaling heavily before uttering yet another apology into your hair.

“My love, please forgive me. I’m so sorry we are not able to spend all of today together to celebrate.”

“How often do I need to reassure you that it is alright, Ayato? I’m not upset in the slightest. In fact, I understand the importance of this. It may be my birthday but at the bottom of it, it is just a day like any other.” You reassured, burying your face deeper into his chest and basking in his warmth for this fleeting moment while inhaling the familiar flowery scent that always seemed to linger around him.

You heard him sigh before you looked up at him. He pressed his lips together into a thin line, before kissing the crown of your head once more with a defeated look in his eyes. One that carried all his thoughts and emotions at once. You knew he was sorry, it was practically written on his face.

Sorry, that he couldn’t spend your day with you, that he wasn’t able to give you all the attention to deserved, and that he had to waste his precious time away with some boring politicians.

The hand that rested on your waist gave you another reaffirming squeeze before he peeled himself away from you again with a slight frown on his beautiful features. The sadness and disappointment still lingered behind his lilac irises. He was definitely beating himself up over it way more than you did.

“Okay.” He nodded in defeat. “I will see you in the evening, yeah?”

“Alright!” You cheered, giving him an honest smile. “And stop beating yourself up over it, okay?”

He nodded, squeezing your hands with his for one last time before going back to work.

You continued helping out around the Estate until all the guests arrived and the door to the room all of them vanished into stayed shut. You expected them to stay in there at least until the late afternoon, if not even the evening.

And you were right, the sun had already begun to set when you felt a familiar pair of arms snake around your waist from behind again. You had been sitting outside in the garden and reading your book, soaking in the soothing late summer breeze while eagerly awaiting the end of Ayato's meeting.

"There you are." You hummed contently carding through the soft pastel blue locks of your husband who had his head buried in the crook of your neck. "I missed you."

"And so did I. It's been a long and exhausting day." He spoke in a low voice, as if he was about to drift off to sleep any minute, and slung his arms impossibly tighter around your midriff.

"Let's go for a short stroll to the city, my love. Will you join me? It doesn't sit right with me that you had to spend your birthday in solitude." He proposed in an afflicted tone.

"Aren't you too tired for–"

"I will not hear any objections." He interrupted, lifting his finger against your lips with a smug grin.

And so you found yourself strolling through Ritou hand in hand. By the time you had arrived, the sun had completely set and the paper lanterns illuminated the streets, draping a comfortable blanket of yellow light over the surrounding area.

It was a quiet night. Just how you preferred it. No massive crowds of people you had to squeeze through, no queues in front of restaurants, and no one who would stop you to talk to Ayato. Just you, him, and the cicadas in the trees that bemoaned the encroaching end of the summer.

"Do you want me to get us some milk tea? I saw that my vendor of choice is still open." He asked when you sat down on a bench underneath a tall maple tree just out of sight of potential prying eyes and not far from said vendor.

"I'd love to."

"Anything specific you’d like me to get?"

"You choose.” You smiled brightly. “Surprise me.”

“Alright. Stay right here, I’ll be right back.”

You watched as he made his way over to the stall, carefully studying the menu with squinted eyes and a hand on his chin. You bit your lip and laughed to yourself because, as always, he was taking this tea business way too seriously.

Eventually, he picked an item before going right back to studying the menu as if he wanted to burn the letters themselves, into his retina. The vendor was visually nervous to be serving the man in front of him in fear of messing anything up and was twirling a straw between his fingers to calm himself. Until your husband finally decided on the second drink he wanted to order.

The vendor carefully handed the drinks to Ayato and promptly refused when he was offered Mora in return. Ayato skillfully ignored the man and promptly put the coins inside the tray before walking back in your direction with two cups of tea in hand.

“So, what did you get for me?” You quizically raised your eyebrows at the drink he handed you.

“I guess there is only one way for you to find out.” He smirked, taking a sip out of his own cup.

You carefully did the same, subconsciously expecting something like salty algae tea with sea ganoderma pearls, because you knew your husband and his strange tastes. But alas, you had signed up for it.

But unlike what you were expecting, black milk tea with a tinge of honey and sunsettia pearls enveloped your tastebuds soon after. Your favorite.

You hummed and closed your eyes with a smile, raveling in the refreshing taste of the beverage, making you forget how lonely you had been most of the day.

“You chose well.” You contently stated after a brief moment of indulging in your tea and looked at Ayato with a smile.

He inched closer to you on the bench with a devilish smirk painted across his lips. He shifted your chin upwards, making eye contact with you for a fleeting moment before uniting his lips with yours in a tender, loving kiss. And after all this time, it never failed to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter about wildly.

He gently took your hand in his as he began to carefully twist the wedding band around your finger. He looked up into your eyes, a sly smile adorned his lips once more before he smugly whispered: “Of course. I always do.”

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#genshin impact #astronetwrk #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin fluff #ayato x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x female reader #genshin x y/n #genshin impact fanfic #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin brainrot #genshin headcanons #🍁 dust writes #🍁彡 gi

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wonfilms · 1 year

Text

━⁠☆ﾟ｡ﾟTXT WHEN THEY CALL YOU "CLINGY"

includes : bf! ot5 x gn! reader.

warnings : a lot of tears, hurt / comfort , a tiny bit of swearing

soobin only registered the words slipping from his lips after he'd said them, he immediately regretted it when he saw how your eyes glossed up as you shrunk into yourself.

"oh god, babe i didn't mean that i'm so sorry." he almost jumped up to engulf you into his arms. when he felt you sniffle in his embrace he felt his own tears prick in the corners of his eyes, he'd been so stressed lately with his tight schedule, he'd never meant to lash out on you.

that was the last thing he wanted to do.

he couldn't ask you to forgive him right away. he deserved your silence, " 'm so so sorry" he whispered into your hair. he hoped that if he would say it enough times you'd believe it

beomgyu spat the words out in such a flurry of emotions.

he was angry, not at you but himself. he'd let the deadlines get too close and he stressed himself out which amounted to him showing all of his pent up frustration on you.

"you're so clingy you don't know when to stop, do you?

he watched the way your expression turned sour as you scoffed, "oh fuck you beomgyu."

he felt the aftermath of his words like the silence of your usually happy and noisy shared apartment.

he knew you wouldn't talk to him, and he knew he deserved it though even you, deep down, knew that he didn't mean any of it at all.

beomgyu often spoke his mind, even if his heart said something entirely different.

"god you're so clingy, do you ever think about that??" hyuka mumbled quietly under his breath, the room was so quiet that it was loud enough for you to hear.

"do you want to say that louder kai?" you spat out with a scoff. though you regretted provoking him further, you felt your blood boil in your veins at his words, "i said, you're so clingy " he spoke louder this time.

his voice rang out slicing through the tension in the room like a knife. "i can't believe you" you mumbled before heading out the room.

he couldn't believe it either, he couldn't believe he'd just said that to you.

yeonjun groaned when you asked him to come and eat dinner, you felt your heart drop as he mumbled something incoherent under his breath, all you caught from his sentence was the word clingy.

you immediately backed away from the door closing it, though he tried to stop you through the door you refused to give in, you didn't want to get your feelings hurt more.

it was safe to say that yeonjun regretted it, he often found himself in situations where he realised how much you meant to him after he'd lost you for a while.

he wouldn't ask for your forgiveness straight away, you wouldn't accept it but even he knew that he deserved what was coming.

taehyun would've crumbled when he saw the tears in your eyes, somehow the anger that had bubbled up and overflowed earlier disappeared when he saw you.

he's messed up big time.

"god, i'm so sorry-" there was almost a sense of desperation in his voice. he pulled you close , kissing your forehead through his own tears. though you knew he didn't mean it, he couldn't forgive himself for lahsing out on you like that.

a/n : whoopsie i'm sorry about this one, i just felt like hurting everyone and my self

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flanaganfilm · 3 months

Note

Hey, Mike! Did moving to Los Angeles at the start of your career turn out to be all that you thought it would be? It’s a big step that a lot of people take, and I’ve never really heard you talk about those early years before. Did you ever contemplate quitting? And if so, I’m glad you stuck to it - we love your work!

Oh, I contemplated quitting many, many times.

I moved to Los Angeles in January, 2003. I had just graduated the previous summer from Towson University, and a group of five of us moved out together. Some wanted to be filmmakers, some wanted to be actors. We shared a 3-bedroom apartment in Glendale. The adjacent apartment was occupied by four other Towson alums. Between the two apartments, we called it "Little Towson." I didn't own a car at the start. I had no health insurance. I'd saved a few thousand dollars to get me through the first six months, but none of us had jobs at the beginning. I remember applying (and being rejected) for a job at Walmart. I combed Craigslist looking for non-union editorial gigs.

I had told myself I'd give it five years, and if I hadn't gotten any traction, I'd move back to Maryland.

People started dropping out pretty quickly. One of my roommates (and one of my best friends) had moved out here to be an actor, and only lasted a few months before he decided to go back. It's overwhelming and terrifying to take a leap into a city as expensive as LA, and you're surrounded by people who all want the same career that you want. But it feels like there is a thousand foot wall circling the industry, and it seems impossible to scale it.

I found work doing odd editorial jobs before working as a logger, than an assistant editor, then an editor on a few reality shows. I shot and cut those local car commercials you see on late night cable. And I frequently ran out of money and overdrafted my account. As more and more of our original group gave up and moved back East, I started to feel more and more crazy. A lot of my friends from school were getting married, buying houses, having kids. I felt pretty delusional as my 5-year deadline came and went, and I still hadn't found any way over or through that wall. When we started to talk about making Absentia in 2010, I had been in LA for more than 7 years. I was working two jobs as an editor. I found out I was going to be a father. It felt very much like whatever I'd wanted to happen by moving to LA was not going to happen. Absentia was kind of last-ditch effort. Ultimately, the five year plan I'd allowed myself when I moved to LA turned into a 9-year plan. I started shooting Oculus - my first "real" movie - in the fall of 2012, just shy of my 10th anniversary in Los Angeles. That movie wouldn't come out for a while after that, so by the time I actually had a career as a filmmaker, well over a decade had passed struggling in LA.

For most of that time, my refusal to move back to Maryland looked (and felt) like a delusion. Only afterward did it start to look like "tenacity." And it never felt like "persistence" or "determination"... it felt insane. It felt like constant, daily frustration and rejection. And when I couldn't pay the bills, or couldn't land a job, it felt downright embarrassing.

For what it's worth, the only difference I've seen between people who "make it" out here and don't are that the ones who made it all stayed long past their expiration dates. I've seen wildly talented people pack it up and head home. Talent helps a lot once the door is open, but really the only thing that opens the door is persistence. To the point of feeling insane.

#los angeles #film business #behind the scenes #I felt absolutely insane for almost ten years

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 4 months

Text

New Beginnings

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: New city. New job. New school. New apartment,. New neighbors. New beginnings.

Square Filled: choose your own au for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

This is a new start for you. New city. New apartment. New neighbors. New job. A fresh start from your old life. Growing up, you’ve always been a small-town girl with hopes of moving to a big city to chase her dreams. Back home, everyone knew everyone’s business. Like when Shelly from church was caught having an affair with the pastor. Her husband found out that day and both of them had to leave town to avoid the scrutiny of everyone else. Or like the time when your sister got pregnant and only told a small group of people only to go to work the next day and people knew.

Small-town folk aren’t for everyone which is why you left while you could. The only problem is that all your family is back home. You know no one in Quantico, Virginia. You guess that’s the best part about it. You can reinvent yourself and create a whole new life separate from what you’ve known.

Before moving to Virginia, you got yourself enrolled in night school for graphic design since you’ve always wanted to be a designer. You’ve done some work for your town like making websites for businesses and making some ads for smaller companies but you want to know more so you can do bigger and better things.

Tomorrow, you’ll scout the city and find a coffee shop to make your second home, find the nearest grocery store, etc. Right now, all you’re focused on is getting all your boxes out of the moving truck so you can return it before the deadline. You’re doing it by yourself but you don’t have a lot to do. You never had a lot when you left your hometown but it’s still a lot for one person to do.

It takes you all day to get everything inside your house, and the only thing you’re able to unpack is your bedframe and mattress. It’s going to take all week to get most everything set up which is fine because night school doesn't start for another two weeks.

You live in a building that sits in a circle of other buildings with a huge courtyard in the middle. The courtyard consists of a dog park, a pool, a volleyball set, and some outdoor furniture where people can sit and eat. Your building is right across from another so you can see into people’s apartments if their curtains are open.

Your phone rings and you answer it while admiring the other buildings.

“Hey, mom.”

“Y/N! Did you get in okay?”

“Yeah, I just set up my bed. I’ll start unpacking tomorrow.”

“I’m sad you’re so far from us but I’m happy for you. Does that make sense?” she chuckles. “Anyway, your dad and I will come visit as soon as he gets this new promotion. He’ll get some time off and we can always use the vacation.”

“Yeah, by then, I’ll have seen some places we can go to. You like history and Virginia is a history-rich state.”

“Okay, I just wanted to know if you got in safe. Your dad and I are going out with the folks from church. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

The building across from yours is close enough to where you could communicate with another resident if you shouted but you’re not going to disturb others, especially at night. The sun is still up but is quickly going down, leaving the sky with pretty colors. There is a young man sitting on his small balcony with a book in his hands minding his own business. Every apartment has a small balcony where people can sit and enjoy the fresh air, but most of them use it for storage.

The young man runs his fingers down the pages of the book and flips through the book at a shocking speed. Is he really reading that fast? He must feel your eyes on him because he looks up and makes eye contact with you. You give him a small wave to which he returns before going back to reading.

You look at the boxes inside your room and see a label on one of them that reads: ARTS AND CRAFTS. You open the box to see thick small poster boards you were using for a project back home. Next to them are your markers so you grab the black one and a handful of poster boards. You write “Hi, my name is Y/N” on one of them before going back outside.

The man looks up just as you hold up your poster board for him to see. You wrote the letters in a thick font so he is able to read them from where he’s at. He reads what you have and leaves the balcony to go back inside his apartment. The smile is lost from your face at the thought of making him uncomfortable but then he walks back out with poster boards of his own. He writes something down on his and shows it to you.

Hi. My name is Spencer.

You like reading?

I love it.

You new here?

No, been here 13 years. You new?

Yes, I came from Kansas.

Job?

Graphic Designer. You?

FBI.

Sounds exotic.

Spencer smiles at this. Some of his nighttime preparations are to read for an hour before bed, and he was at the forty-five-minute mark when you two started talking.

I have to go. Talk tomorrow?

Tomorrow.

Spencer packs up his poster boards and heads back inside, and you follow suit a few minutes later. You’re going to need to buy more poster boards if you want to continue talking to him across the courtyard. Tomorrow comes and you end up finding a grocery store, a coffee shop, and a place that sells a lot of poster boards.

Spencer must have a day job because you didn’t see him at all while you were unpacking. You started with the kitchen and barely finished with it by the time Spencer got back from his job as an FBI agent. Wow, imagine that. A real-life FBI agent. You’ve only seen them in movies and TV shows so it's kind of cool you get to say you know someone in that field.

You sit on your balcony and wait for him to come out. Ten minutes go by and you see the light in his place turn on. Five more later, he walks out on his balcony with poster boards in hand. He doesn’t look too good. Yesterday, he had a natural glow about him but today, he has a sort of sadness about him. Still, he’s out here talking to you because he enjoys your company even though you’re in separate buildings.

You okay?

Rough case.

You want to talk?

Can’t. Open investigation. Of course. Duh. He flips the poster board over and scribbles something else on it. How was your day?

Good. Just school. I graduate Fall 2027.

Field of study?

Graphic Design.

Anything I’d see of yours?

You grin and write down a website you helped design before showing it to him. He takes one look at it and types it on his phone. He admires your work and thinks it’s amazing work. You have real talent.

I like it. You’re talented.

Even from where you’re at, you can see how sad he is. You’re not sure what he’s dealt with today or what he is going through, but you hope to make it better at least a little bit. You have to use two posterboards for this to get your message across.

Don’t let your job strip you of who you are. No job is worth it if you’re losing yourself.

You got Spencer to smile.

Same to you.

As the days progress, you and Spencer make it a nightly routine of talking to each other through poster boards. During the day, you’re unpacking boxes and getting your home ready while Spencer is at work dealing with the worst of the worst. His job isn’t easy but seeing you every night lifts his spirits.

That is until he stops showing up. You gave him a couple of days without bothering him since he might be caught up in something for work, but after seeing his light every night without him coming to the balcony, you know something is wrong. You don’t know who he is fully, but you do know that he would come talk to you if he was feeling up for it.

“Any sights of your secret lover?” one of your best friends, Marcy, says over the phone.

“No, he’s still held up in his apartment,” you say and look out the window to his.

“I bet he’s not even an FBI agent. Maybe he lied to you,” Rebecca, your other friend, says.

“I don’t think so. Maybe he just needs some time alone. I don’t know a lot about him. He can only fit so much on small poster boards.”

“It’s giving You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift,” Marcy chuckles.

“I think you should go over there and talk to him face-to-face.”

“Yeah, I have to agree with Bec. It’s not like he’s your next-door neighbor. If it doesn’t work out, you don’t have to see him in passing.”

“True,” you bite your lower lip. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Let us know how it goes,” Bec smirks.

“Oh, I will. Wish me luck.”

“Luck!” both girls say at the same time before hanging up.

You turn back to Spencer’s apartment and see the light peeking through the curtains. You count the number of floors he’s off the ground and the number of apartments he’s at from the wall so you know where to start. You’re not sure what you’re going to do when you get there but you’ll think of something on the spot.

You have some cookies left over from when you made some a few days ago, so you box those up and make your way over to the building across from yours. Your keycard works for this building even though you’re not a resident in it because you’re a resident overall. Once inside his building, you make your way up to the fifth floor and the tenth apartment from the wall.

Here goes nothing.

You knock twice on the door and wait for someone to answer it. It might not even be his apartment but you’ll try all of them if you have to. A few moments later, Spencer opens the door with a confused look on his face. When he sees you, his eyes widen slightly.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“What?”

“You’re more beautiful in person.”

Your cheeks heat up at his compliment.

“I brought you some cookies. I hope you’re doing okay. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he sighs. “Work has just been… yeah, it’s not fun sometimes.”

“I can only imagine which is why I brought some cookies.”

“Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” you smile.

You walk inside and immediately notice all the poster boards he’s been using to communicate with you. He’s saved every single one of them and that brings a smile to your face. You never thought you’d meet someone this quickly after moving to a new city, but you’re glad you did.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

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𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — pretty + bkg.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — fluff + sfw, reader knows how to draw, just general admiration of bakugou bc i love him, calling bkg pretty, implied friends to lovers,

“you’re so pretty.”

bakugou looks up from his wilfully and organised assignment papers, having easily swept through each short answer essay question— highlighting the important parts so he knows how to grasp the big marks.

“the fuck are you on about?” he grumbles, putting down his work to get a better look at your face.

you’ve long since abandoned the task at hand, having taken to doodling in the back of your hefty project book with a pencil that’s about the size of your thumb. “well,” you hum, tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. “i mean,” you hold the pencil up to katsuki’s face to align it— watching as the sun filters down on his golden lashes, as it illuminates the faint freckles he has in the shade of honey across his skin. the led of your pencil scratches across the page satisfyingly enough to make you not miss your sketch book and then you speak again. “you’re just really pretty, katsuki.”

he is, and you mean it.

a blonde eyebrow raises and bakugou scoffs, “now you’re just talking bullshit,” shifting his attention back to the work before him. “get back to work, you have deadlines at the end of the month—“

a heat washes through your body in slow waves, as if you’re a child who’s been told that they’re wrong. you’re not, you’ve never been more right. katsuki is beautiful but in ways that you can never say. you can’t seem to ever string together the correct the words to describe just how beautiful he is— not just physically either. katsuki has a heart of gold, he’s loyal to the death for the people he cares about, he’ll always go above and beyond for them.

“i don’t know how to explain it!” you huff abruptly, still carving out a work of art into your project book— still connecting the freckled dots on his face like constellations in the night sky. “you’re stunning katsuki, a person like you. perfectly imperfect, you should be a statistical anomaly,” heads positioned at other desks in the library whip around to hush your outburst and even the blonde before you makes embarrassed attempts to keep you quiet. “you’re kind, you’re pretty, i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

“what? you got some sorta evidence of my beauty that i don’t know about?”

bakugou’s face crumples, wrinkling at his nose and lips downturned into a frown— and still he looks better than ever painting completed in the history of art. you sketch his expression down. beauty is in the eye of the beholder, sure, but it frustrates you to know that katsuki doesn’t think the same as you— doesn’t see himself as the centre of the universe and the panicle of all things to be loved because though flawed, he’s a wonderful human being. he’s bewildered by your passion to prove him wrong, but says nothing, going back to his work.

the both of you fall into a silence, accompanied by the sounds of katsuki’s highlighter being dragged across the page and your own pencil on lined paper— the lead smudged on your finger tips as you blend it out on the page.

if he didn’t believe your words, he’d have to believe your art— for he is a work of art himself.

“here,” you whisper, tearing out the page with a small doodle of the handsome blonde, care and attention put into every line— highlighting what you see, the truth about katsuki bakugou. “your evidence.”

for a second, bakugou blanks. he may not see the way you do, but he can tell from your simple and heartfelt drawing that you think the world of katsuki bakugou. that he’s important to you, means something to you. you’re gathering your things when he comes to this realisation— drawing clutched in one hand, the other darting out to grab your wrist.

your eyes meet, vermillion red eyes swirling with appreciation and gratitude— the emotions dancing between the dark brown flecks that line his eyes. “f’the record,” bakugou mumbles, thumbing the edge of the page where you’ve drawn him in his most natural and relaxed form. “i think you’re pretty too. in all the ways…just dunno how to explain it.”

when you laugh brightly, bakugou knows there’s no need for him to explain further— a warmth blossoming in his chest, knowing that he’s appreciated by the one person that matters most to him.

you.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagine #bakugo x reader #this has been in my drafts since summer pls take it #bakugo fluff #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted

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wordsvomit101 · 23 days

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As usual credit to Hiki (@shyanimeboi) for this god sent gift they grace me. The amount of lore drops got me feral, it feels like Christmas, it feels like summer coming.

I won't post all of it since it is best that you go support the original poster at here: Hikifans on X: "Here is part 3 of the story. Sorry it was abit of a long wait, was stuck grinding for satans beginner nightmere candy https://t.co/IStdo8f7Xs #whatinhellisbad" / X (twitter.com)

Anyway here is the ramble

True but I don't lust as much as you girl (no problem with anyone that related to MC, she's just not for me). If I have that much sexual drive in me, for more than 70 guys at that??? I need to check myself out for medical attention, or else I gonna feel dread every time the lust comes (it is surprisingly a thing that I saw people talk about on TikTok)

Ppyong is a deadly combo man, he is cocky but also a masochist. His appearance is so my type too

MC being a freak, as usual, you go sis ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

THE WAY I CHOKE ON MY OWN SPIT- Like wtf do you mean?!!!! Why are you doing this to my fujoshi kokoro??!!! I know you want to do it but how do you want to do it?!! Shibari? Choking? WHat Ishb Ittzdhbjsfbnv?!- *Error*

NAURRRRR ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽ MC DON'T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!!!!

ASK HIM!! ASK HIM TO SPILL IT ALL OUT!! I NEED TO KNOW!! TELL HIM TO SPELL IT OUT-

*Error*

So, uh, they show a close-up shot of Juno's chest and he asks if Minhyeok is hard like his and MC is a bad liar, said "probably" and Juno calls her out on it.

And MC actually admitted and said that Minhyeok's chest is actually "wide like this"???

You did??? But then again why am I surprised that she did, they had to be kissing at some point if they stuck together for more than a decade with that amount of tension between them

Ok so Minhyeok played soccer in high school, MC and he are in different classes and they were going to give him back something they lent. But come across Minhyeok changing in the classroom, pretty standard

Yup, he knows, he definitely knows and he is tempting her. Also, apparently, Minhyeok's chest is toned, but flatter than Juno's, his abs also feel different than Juno's...

If you can't tell I'm furiously taking notes right now, someone on the dev team is looking out for my shipper's heart and I wish that person woke up on the right side of the bed every day and had their taxes filled on time, etc.

Woah that has to be some intense session you got there, I awake until 3am before and I still have energy fueling me.

Relatable, highly so, I got deadlines every day during the semester. You think it's fine when you get used to it after 3-4 weeks but then it hits you with a week's worth of exams that you need to finish within that time while maintaining other stuff outside your major, and then combine it with other stuff outside uni (҂ ꒦ິヮ꒦ິ)

Too high of a standard girl, if I were him, I would already be too high on coffee and delirium to even see what I'm typing on the computer.

I'm surprised he's only tired, I expected some breakdown but then again, it's Minhyeok. The guy built different

Wait that's so cute!!! Awww (∗˃̶ ᵕ ˂̶∗)

Minhyeok sure is deep in his sleep, cause the slightest noise or outside touch would wake me tf up, I will go straight back to sleep later if it is nothing but if this happens it would me start kicking before I could even think

Built like a campus crush and act like a campus crush. If he has time to be good at sports then he most likely be in one of the SKY universities in Korea. If he also doesn't go to Hagwon then that would be even more crazy

Ok rude, you not even gonna clean the wet chair up??? Even if you're my best friend, I would still drag you back to clean the mess yourself cause ain't no way I'm touching the juice that came out of your bussy

THE TENSION IS REAL BOISSS

I know what you are MC and don't worry I won't judge, just tell me how big the file is compare to others

Ok, that is it, love part 3, they feed me a good amount of lores, and thank you again to the heaven-sent Hiki (@shyanimeboi), please watch the full video on their channel. I couldn't do this without them sharing this with all of us for free at that 🛐🛐🛐

Thank you for reading through my fangirling and good days to everyone!

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb minhyeok #whb mc #whb ppyong #whb juno #wordsvomit notes

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esamastation · 6 months

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Part fifty-six of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: forty-seven forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five

Sephiroth knows he's on borrowed time. He bought it, accidentally, with his Qi-deviation… but it's been well over a week since then, without any other deviations. Instead he has had other more interesting developments… and the timer never stopped ticking.

For over a week he's been fine - for over a week he's been doing… pretty much nothing but training. Which in PIDW wouldn't have been a big deal - things happened slower, developments took time, everyone went into seclusion every now and then, and it was fine. When your life revolves around cultivation, haste is an enemy. Cultivation takes decades - sometimes centuries! You need to take your time with it! Months upon months had passed Shen Qingqiu by without him doing anything but laying and reading, and it had been great!

But he's in a sci-fi fantasy dystopia, in the middle of a war, and he's the Big Bad super SOLDIER hybrid. Something the world seems keen to remind him.

"Tseng of the Turks," his new guard introduces himself in the front of the charcoal burner's house. "I will be taking over for Reno and Rude."

Sephiroth can almost see a clock behind Tseng, ticking down to a deadline. He's just as sharply handsome as the game art made him seem - and even less flexible. Everything about him from his posture up his clothing to the precise lack of expression screams you're wasting the company's time, and mine.

"I know who you are," Sephiroth says, setting his face carefully blank as the vibes around the house just about plummet. "To think I rate such a high level watchman."

"Your wellbeing is of the highest priority to the company," Tseng agrees. "I'm here to ensure your recovery goes by smoothly so that you can return to your duties promptly."

Arching a brow, Sephiroth folds his arms. Well, isn't that a corporate speech if he's ever heard it. "I'm honoured," he says. "Though I thought the highest priority for me was to, what was it… stay here and get my shit together?"

Tseng's expression doesn't even twitch. "According to Reno's and Rude's reports, your shit seems to be held together remarkably well."

… oh? Smiling a little, Sephiroth looks Tseng up and down. "You'd think so, hm?"

Tseng is quiet for a moment before clasping his hands behind his back. "We shall see. For now, you should act as though nothing has changed. Pretend I'm not even here. I won't disturb your training."

"I don't think I can," Sephiroth muses, testing the waters. "Your very presence is disturbing."

Not even a twitch of an eye lash. "Are you disturbed now?"

Oh, what a bitch! Sephiroth likes him already. "I guess we shall see, at that. Now, where is Angeal?" he glances around, even though he knows Angeal didn't come back with Tseng.

"On a mission, I presume," Tseng says, and Sephiroth casts him a sharp look. Tseng faces him blandly. "Judging by the reports, his presence here was largely unnecessary to your progress. It is an inefficient use of company resources to have two First Class SOLDIERs indefinitely off the clock. He is taking up your missions here in Wutai."

Sephiroth can feel his own expression growing blank. "I didn't agree to that."

"It was assumed you didn't mind," Tseng says calmly. "Seeing as you didn't seem interested in completing your missions yourself, they were simply passed down the chain. To Angeal."

"It would've been nice to have been consulted on that," Sephiroth says firmly.

"Would you have taken on the missions if you'd known?" Tseng asks with the slightest arch of his brows. "Because unless you would have, your opinion had no bearing on the matter going forward. "

… Okay, ouch. "I see," Sephiroth says, his voice growing low. "Will Angeal be returning here once he's done?"

Tseng blinks at him, slowly. "This location isn't near any of the current points of interest in Wutai. That's why it was selected for your use. It's much more practical for Angeal to stay in the town."

Ah. Well, well, if it isn't those company shackles he'd been happily ignoring. Damn. "... So it's just you and me here, huh?" Sephiroth asks unhappily.

"Only until you feel fit to return to taking on missions," Tseng says and then asks, pointedly, "Do you have an estimate on how much longer will your cultivation training take?"

Sephiroth looks at him closely, but it's hard to say what Tseng thinks - or what he knows. The man just looks at him coolly, expectantly. "I suppose that's another thing we will have to see, isn't it?" Sephiroth answers, just to be contrary. "Alright - do you need help finding a room, Tseng of the Turks?"

Tseng considers him for an uncomfortably long time and then says, "I think I can manage. I will set up in the room vacated by Reno, unless you have objections."

"Be my guest," Sephiroth says and then watches as the man heads inside. Then he looks out to the yard - to the training field Angeal had cleared out for him.

It doesn't seem quite as comfortable as before, all of a sudden.

Of course their stay here was always going to be temporary, and Sephiroth hadn't exactly expected them to leave together. It's just that… he'd figured he'd be leaving first, to parts unknown, maybe with Angeal, but probably not. Angeal is still too loyal to the company - honestly, and he might very well stay loyal until the degradation would begin. Which is… something Sephiroth still hadn't figured out a solution for. Beyond a regular Qi-transfer, maybe.

Shit. He'd procrastinated too long, hadn't he? He'd gotten complacent. He always gets complacent.

Now the matter of Genesis and Angeal might be out of his hands. The company is isolating him, for whatever reason, he doesn't even care. It's manipulation, either way. Now Angeal is out there, maybe killing people in his stead, and Sephiroth has no say in the matter. And Sephiroth is alone with no friends to lean on, as the head Turk in command begins prodding him for results.

Great. Wonderful. Such fun.

Closing his eyes briefly, Sephiroth sighs and then looks up at the darkening night sky.

Tick-tock, goes the clock, as time starts running out.

#fanfiction #ff7 #svsss #sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #tseng of the turks

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