#i think i was a bad writer for eight of the ten years i wrote

[blueberrylixie]

yes, professor

professor changbin x fem! student reader 

word count: 9,903

content warnings: oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal penetration, pussy job, fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie (use protection kids!), professor kink, pet names (princess, angel, baby), light degradation (bin calls her a slut mostly), spanking with hand and a ruler, classroom sex.

let me know if i missed anything in this one-shot bc i tend to miss stuff! if you want to skip to the smut, scroll to the white heart divider!

Your first day of your last year of college was already off to a bad start. 

Not only was it already eighty-eight degrees out at only ten in the morning, but you had tripped and fallen on your way out of your dorm, and skinned your knee. The cut still hurt like a bitch, even as you traipsed the fifteen minutes to your first class of the day. 

And that was really the cherry on top of this miserable summer day. You had to attend your first and only college math class. And you were absolute shit at math.

If you had your way, you wouldn’t be taking this course at all. Not only were you bad at the subject, but you hated it. You wanted to become a technical writer, which 90% of the time didn’t actually require you to know any math. Writing? Love. Science? Fine. Even history was passable, Cs get degrees and all that. But math, for lack of better words, was the bane of your existence. You even struggled to pass back in high school. 

So no one could blame you for putting off this class until practically the last second. You didn’t want this to be your very last course before graduation, because that would be absolute torture. So you buckled in to take it your fall semester instead.

And oh how you were regretting it. 

Now, you stood outside the classroom. The little window on the door was covered with white paper, so you couldn’t see inside. If you could, you would probably have run away. 

Instead, you steeled yourself, straightened your shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed it open. 

You had arrived a few minutes early, a little later than you usually were to other classes. You had admittedly stalled back at your dorm for as long as possible, knowing what was in store. 

You took a seat in the second row, a few seats away from a quiet-looking guy with dark hair. You pulled a notebook and pencil out of your backpack, before looking up at the front of the room.

And that was when you saw him.

He was standing facing away from you, writing something on the chalkboard. He wasn’t very tall, but he was incredibly built. His broad shoulders flexed in that navy blue button-up as he wrote, and you couldn’t help but check him out. His movements were confident and sure, like he knew he belonged up there. 

You’d never had a hot professor before. Maybe that was about to change.

Of course, he could have an unattractive face, you reminded yourself. Or even worse, a shitty personality. Just because he was ripped didn’t mean he was hot.

Then, he turned around.

Dear God. Your heart rate picked up immediately, your chest contracting as you gazed upon him rapturously. You didn't want to look behind you to see if anyone else felt the same way. There was no way they didn't. 

His dark hair was styled casually, wavy bangs sweeping across his forehead. He had kind, intelligent, yet humorous eyes, adorned with thick-framed black glasses, and small but full lips. Your eyes kept zeroing in on them, and you found yourself wondering what they would feel like against yours.

You shook your head, instantly clearing that thought from your mind. You could not be imagining your professor in that way. Even if he was young, maybe five years older than you at the most. You could not think about him like that. You were terrible enough at math as it was, and you couldn't afford to get distracted.

But when he smiled at the class, your mind went blank, forgetting your little pep talk. God, how could a man look so fine by simply existing?

“Good morning, class,” he said, pointing up at the board. My name is-“

Seo Changbin. 

You read the two words, written in a rushed, messy scrawl. You almost mouthed his name, wanting to feel what it was like to say it. But you kept your mouth shut. 

“My name is Seo Changbin, and I’m your professor this semester,” he continued. “This is a mid-level calculus class, so if that’s not what you’re here for, then you should probably leave now.”

You inwardly sighed. Taking a mid-level math class when you hadn’t taken math in four years seemed dangerous. And honestly, in any other situation, you might have hopped up and left, off to find the easiest possible course the school offered.

But how could you pass up the chance to be around this absolute specimen of a man for an entire semester?

So you stayed put.

“Good.” Changbin moved his hair out of his face, and you watched with a fervor you never thought possible. If your friends could see you, they would call you a simp. For this man, hell yes you were. 

“Now, I’ll be coming around with the syllabus.” He held up a stack of papers. “We’ll go over it, and then jump into the first lesson. Don’t worry, it’s nothing crazy. Yet.” He smirked, and your breath stuttered in your throat. Every time you assumed he couldn’t get any hotter, he inevitably did.

He started making his way up and down the rows of students, handing them the small syllabus. He greeted a few who he must have known from a previous course, asking them how their summer was. 

So he was an attentive teacher, too. Dammit.

Finally, he reached you. When your eyes met, just the hint of a smile graced those perfect lips. You held his gaze, unable to look away. Your entire body was on fire, and you crossed your legs in what you hoped was a casual manner. 

For a split second, you could have sworn his eyes flicked up and down your body, once, checking you out. But it was so fast, you couldn’t tell. Your face was so hot, you couldn’t think straight.

“And what’s your name?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of you. 

As you introduced yourself, he took a step nearer, leaning down. He wasn’t even that close, but you instantly felt the need to pull him to you. You weren’t sure if he felt it too, but the energy between you was magnetic. 

“Are you new here?” he asked curiously. “I’ve never seen you in my class before.”

“No, I don’t usually take math classes,” you responded. “This is my first and only one, actually. I’m an English major, but it was required.”

“So you’re a senior?” he chuckled. “Waited till the last possible minute to join us, did you?”

You shrugged, embarrassment threatening to overwhelm you. But you didn’t let it show, simply shrugging and smiling at him. “Math isn’t my thing.”

“Well, hopefully I can change that,” he grinned, handing you a syllabus. “Welcome.”

As he started class, you became enthralled with how knowledgeable he was. While most everything went over your head, you found yourself wanting to understand what he was saying. You wanted to impress him, wanted him to be proud of you. So while you would usually space out and succumb to boredom, you actually read the syllabus in its entirety, and took vigorous notes. Even if it was boring, you wanted to hear every word that came out of Changbin’s mouth.

When class was over, and you were packing up, Changbin walked over to the desks, saying goodbye to some of the students. You ignored him, not wanting to come off as too eager.

“It was nice to meet you, Miss English Major,” Changbin said, and you looked up, shocked that he remembered anything about you.

You glowered at him, rolling your eyes playfully. “Is that all you’re going to refer to me as from now on?” you teased.

He shrugged, straightening his shirt and smiling. “Once I get to know you, I’m sure I’ll refer to you as something else. For now, have a good day, Miss English Major.”

——————————

Two weeks passed uneventfully. 

Changbin’s calculus class had started ramping up, and you were barely surviving. Everything was very confusing, and you found yourself blacking out for most of class just staring at your hot professor, instead of learning. All your other courses were a breeze, which left you tons of time to focus on failing to understand basic math. 

You and Changbin had continued to talk, a little bit every day after class. He would ask you about your other courses, mostly about writing and all kinds of grammar. He seemed genuinely interested in you and your life, which was so opposite from any other teacher. He even wanted to know about your personal life, like your family and friends. You told him everything. Except the fact that your friends were dying to meet your aforementioned “hot professor”. It felt nice knowing that he supported you, even if you were inevitably going to fail his class.

You fell into a nice groove, of sorts. You would act cool, funny, even effortless, to his face, and when you got back to your dorm, when none of your roommates were back yet, you would touch yourself to the thought of him. Fantasizing about his rough, strong hands holding your thighs open as he ate you out, or him caging you in between his huge arms as he pounded into you from behind. You couldn’t help it, you were infatuated by him. You wanted him, no matter how terrible you were doing in his class.

All that changed on the Monday of your third week.

“Next week, we’re having our first test,” Changbin announced as he stood at the front of the room. He turned on the projector to display a PowerPoint presentation with information about the test.

It would be thirty percent of your overall grade. One test?? Thirty percent??

You felt your mouth hanging open as you stared up at the screen, then down at Changbin. How could such a kind, handsome man do this to you? Was he trying to make you fail?

Changbin met your eyes, and a smile graced his lips. You snapped your mouth shut, feeling your face warm. He definitely just saw you gaping at him like a fish. Totally smooth.

“I know some of you may be worried, and some of you may not,” he said. “And if you’re one of the former, I would love for you to stay after class and talk to me about it. I know you all have the ability to pass this test. Every answer to every question is in your notes. Study those as hard as you can, and you’ll be more than fine.”

You could feel your heart rate picking up as you thought back on the dozens of pages of notes you’d taken over the past four classes. You couldn’t think  of anything that made sense. How were you supposed to take a test and pass? Let alone one that was worth so much of your grade?

For the rest of the lecture, you could scarcely pay attention as you continued to spiral. Clearly, you should have just taken a different class, hot teacher be damned. To be fair, you hadn’t expected the class to be this hard. 

As the class ended, you started packing up in a daze. You had a morphology course - one of your favorites - next, but you were thinking about skipping it so you could study for this test instead. Even a week straight of studying probably wouldn’t be enough for you to pass, so you needed all the time you could get.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice someone calling your name, over and over again.

“Miss English Major! Miss!” Changbin finally called, and your head whipped around to face him, your cheeks warming at the nickname.

“I-sorry, what’s up?” You stumbled over your words, trying not to look completely flustered. From his look of understanding, you knew you had failed.

“Would you like to study with me tonight?” he asked gently, approaching your desk. 

“Ah, why would you think I need extra studying?” you asked quickly.

“I have eyes,” he said with a quiet laugh. “And you look like you’re about to pass out. Really, the test isn’t going to be hard. But like I said earlier, I’m more than willing to tutor any student who needs help. I have the time.”

You sighed. “Am I really that obvious? Or do I just look like an idiot?”

Changbin shrugged, moving so he stood in front of you. “I can tell you’re really smart. You just don’t believe in yourself. So… I’ll see you at six tonight? I’ll bring donuts?”

You relented, grinning. “If you bring glazed donuts, I’m in.”

“Are there any other kinds?” he winked. “See you tonight.”

Oh, you were so done for.

——————————

You arrived at 5:55pm, terrified of being late, or wasting Changbin’s time. You assumed he was so busy already, and you didn’t want him waiting on you.

Seeing as he wasn’t there yet, you just stood awkwardly at the side of the room, unsure if you should pull up a seat by his desk, or just wait for him.

He arrived a few minutes later, carrying a cardboard box from the campus donut shop. Your heart leaped when you saw him, dressed in a casual black t-shirt, zip-up hoodie, and jeans. He would have fit right in as a student. 

“Oh, you’re already here.” Changbin grinned at you, and your face heated. He was so hot when he smiled. 

“I’m always on time,” you pointed out.

“You’re always late to my class,” Changbin chuckled, shaking his head.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t like your class,” you countered.

“Ouch.” He came to sit at his desk. “Here, sit with me.” He motioned to the chair next to his. 

“So, what would you like more help with?” He asked when you got settled.

You sighed. “What don’t I need help with?”

He frowned, tilting his head. “Am I really that bad of a teacher?”

“No!” you said hurriedly. “Math just really isn’t my thing. I probably made a mistake taking a mid-level class. Everything is just really over my head. It’s not your fault.”

“Well, we can start from the beginning,” Changbin conceded. He glanced down at your notebook, which was covered in your neat but hurried scrawl, and even a few shitty doodles at the top of each page. “May I?” he asked, pointing at them.

You nodded, pushing them towards him. 

He took it, and flipped back to the beginning. “You’ve taken really thorough notes,” he complimented, and you blushed. At least you were doing something right.

“I’m trying to pay attention to you.” You smiled weakly.

Changbin started pointing at things in your notes, trying to explain them as thoroughly as possible. You had to admit, he was very good at dumbing down every concept, and even gave you examples of when they might be used in the real world. That tended to be your struggle with math. None of it made any practical sense, it was so abstract. At least with words, they always correlated to a real-world thing, or concept. Math was filled with what-ifs, and you hated that.

As he pointed at your notes, he moved closer and closer to you, his arm brushing yours. Your skin tingled from the touch, almost desperate to feel more of him. His arms were so firm, entirely made of muscle. Of course, you had known that from hours of staring at him. But being this close to him, getting to touch him, was intoxicating, making your mouth water. If only you could reach out and-

“Are you even listening to me?” Changbin’s voice snapped you out of your lusting. 

“Yes! I was just uhh…” you paused, unsure what to say.

He raised an eyebrow at you, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. 

“Ah, no I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” You ducked your head, unable to meet his gaze.

He turned his chair to face yours. “I’m sorry, this is all probably way too much all at once. I should have realized that,” he apologized. “Maybe we should take a five? Then we’ll get back into it.”

You brightened, nodding quickly. “Yeah, that would be great.”

He grinned, sitting back in his chair. “You’re nothing like my usual math students, you know.”

You raised your brows at him. “That sounds like a badly veiled insult, Professor Seo.”

His eyes darkened for a moment at the way you said his name, but he seemed to shake it off immediately. “No, it’s just an observation. You’re very different.”

“How?” Your eyes drifted over to the box of donuts, which sat untouched next to you.

He shook his head at you. “Because of stuff like that. You’re very easily distracted. Just have one, or I’ll never get your attention back.”

You smiled apologetically, before tearing the box open and grabbing a glazed donut. “I can’t believe you actually brought these for me.”

“For you??” Changbin exclaimed. “Nah, I wanted them. You were just an excuse. Pass one here.”

You glared, taking a bite. “Okay that’s rude. I would think you cared more about your struggling student.” You handed him a donut.

He laughed at that before taking a bite too. “Of course I care about you.”

You gazed into his eyes, watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed. Your eyes flickered back up to his, wondering if there might, just might, be a hidden meaning behind that. 

Before you could stop yourself, or fully process what you were doing, you felt yourself moving imperceptibly closer to him, like there was an invisible force pulling you. 

Your face was a mere foot away from his, your eyes remaining locked with his. “How else am I different from the others, Professor?”

He groaned, a low sound deep in his throat, and you saw a flame flicker to life in his eyes. A flame of desire, you wondered? Did he want you just as badly as you wanted him? Had he thought about you in the same way you thought about him? Your stomach twisted with desire, hot and potent. 

Your hand reached out to grip his thigh, desperate to touch him. But before you could make contact, his hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“What-“ you began.

“We can’t do this,” he said. His voice was quiet, but firm. 

“What are you…?” you trailed off, your heart thudding so hard your head hurt. Was he rejecting you right now? After that almost animalistic noise came from him, just by making eye contact?  A noise that would most definitely be used to fuel your nightly desires? “But you were just flirting with me!”

“I was,” he paused, licking his lips. You wanted to know what that tongue tasted like. “But I can’t. You’re my student, and it was incredibly unprofessional of me. I’m sorry.”

You pulled your hand from his grip, moving your chair away from him, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Yes, you’re right. Let’s continue studying.”

“Okay.” Changbin nodded, picking up your notebook again. “Onto lesson two.”

You continued the study session for another hour, before bidding him farewell. He promised that he would continue to help you study for two hours every night, and you agreed. He also demanded that you take the rest of the donuts home, but you refused. It felt wrong, somehow, to take something from him. 

You walked back to your dorm, body burning with shame.

——————————

For the rest of the week, you dutifully attended each study session with Changbin, carefully avoiding any kind of physical closeness with him. You knew that if you got near him again, you wouldn’t be able to control yourself. 

Your thoughts were plagued by images of him. The way he smirked playfully at you when you got a question wrong, the glimmer of pride in his eyes when you got one right. His strong arms as he leaned over your notes, and his tight ass and muscular legs when he stood in front of the chalkboard to write every morning, or give lectures. 

No matter how hard you tried to ignore your growing feelings for him, you couldn’t help it. Every night, you found yourself desperately touching yourself to the thought of him doing unspeakable things to you, imagining it was him ravaging you instead of your vibrator. Him straddling you from above as he pounded into you with that thick cock, instead of your fingers. At this point, you knew it would never happen, but the forbidden, risky aspect turned you on even more.

Finally, the day of the test had arrived. Your heart had been racing with adrenaline. The night before, you had left this very classroom, saying goodnight to Changbin before cramming even more. 

“Good luck, Miss.” He’d smiled at you on your way out.

“Thanks, I’m really gonna need it,” you had replied.

“No you don’t,” Changbin said as you left.

The test had been shockingly easy. You weren’t sure if it was because Changbin purposely made the questions simpler than usual, or if his study sessions really had helped. But you whizzed through that test like never before. It gave you hope that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t absolute shit at math after all.

Now, Changbin was passing out the test results. You hoped your gut instinct that you’d done well was right.

He placed the test on your desk, shooting you a faint smile.

“Well done, Miss English Major,” he whispered, so quiet you could barely hear him.

You peeked at the top right corner, almost afraid of what it said. 

92%.

Your head whipped around to face Changbin, who was now a couple of desks down. 

Holy shit. Not only had you passed, but you passed with an A! How was that possible??

You wanted to run over to him and leap into his arms, but you had to hold yourself back. No one, including Changbin, wanted that.

You would wait until the end of class to celebrate.

As you packed up your bags, Changbin cleared his throat. 

You looked up to see him motioning you towards him. Of course, you couldn’t help but obey.

After the other students had left, you approached him, a huge smile plastered across your face.

“I passed!” you exclaimed, suddenly breathless. “I-I can’t believe it! Thank you.”

He shook his head, unable to hide his smile. “It was all you. You studied harder than I’ve ever seen any student do before. You earned it.”

Before you could stop yourself, you wrapped your arms around his midsection and hugged him.

“Seriously, thank you,” you said quietly. “I’ve never gotten an A on a math test, ever.”

Changbin laughed, and for a split second you thought he was going to hug you back. His arms raised to grab your waist, and your heart thudded in anticipation. You had thought about what it would feel like to be in Changbin’s arms countless times.

But instead, he pushed you away. His movements were gentle, respectful even, like he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.

It did quite the opposite. It stung more to know that he wasn’t an asshole who just wanted a girl's attention, but he thought he was doing the right thing in rejecting you for a second time.

“Well… thanks again,” you said lamely, moving away from him. “I’ll see you next week.”

You practically ran out of the room, tears stinging your eyes. You wouldn’t let yourself get hurt again.

——————————

Changbin stood at the front of his classroom, preparing for that day’s lesson. It was two months into the semester, and about time for another test. The last one had been almost a month and a half ago, and his students were beginning to get complacent. It was his job to make sure they didn’t get too comfortable.

It had also been about a month and a half since he’d properly talked to you. Ever since you had thanked him for all his help on that first math test, you had avoided him. 

He wished you wouldn’t. But you were right to. He would have done the same thing if roles were reversed.

He had rejected you, twice. Those glorious five days tutoring you were some of the best times he’d had in his entire three years as a professor. He’d never met someone half as bright, witty, or funny as you. 

Or as beautiful. 

Let’s be real, fucking sexy.

That first day of class, when he’d turned around and met your gaze, still stuck with him. Those curious yet guarded eyes of yours instantly drew him in, and he’d had to inwardly slap himself just to focus on his job. He’d never let anyone distract him from work before, let alone one of his students. He’d worked hard to get where he was, and ever since he got the job, he’d made a promise to himself never to date a student. From watching his colleagues, it never ended well.

And no one had ever made him question that promise. Until you.

Everything about you intoxicated him. The way you rolled your eyes at his cringey jokes, that little crease in your left eyebrow when you were focusing extra hard, the dimple on your left cheek when you smiled. Your determination to be good at whatever you put your mind to. And something he hadn’t expected: your desire to please him. 

In a strictly professional sense, of course. Or so he convinced himself. Until you two had almost kissed. And he’d told you no. That had to be in the top five of his stupidest moments, and he had a lot of those.

For that whole week, he’d found himself wishing that you would try again. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. When he went home to his empty apartment, he found solace in his hand, thoughts solely on you. About the way it would feel if it was your hand instead of his, gripping his shaft as you stroked him up and down, those nimble fingers knowing exactly where to place more pressure, where to be gentle. That pretty mouth of yours wrapped around him, taking his thick cock to the hilt. And he would cum to the thought of you, knowing that he couldn’t have you.

Even when you hugged him after the test, he still rebuffed your advances. Why? What the hell was wrong with him? He wanted you, you wanted him. It was legal, you were both adults. And yet, he had still rejected you. 

He still thought about you, obsessively so. The more he came to the fantasy of you, the more he became reliant on your presence, craved it, really. He looked forward to seeing you everyday in class, even if you didn’t speak a word to, or barely looked at him. But your beautiful self walking to his class by yourself, gave him a sense of security.

Today, he arrived at class, eagerly awaiting your presence. When he turned around to face the door, slightly concerned because even two minutes into class, you hadn’t arrived, his stomach quite literally dropped.

Because you weren’t alone. 

——————————

Hwang Hyunjin was the smoothest man alive.

You’d noticed him sitting a few seats away from you since the first day of class. He was incredibly smart, but tended to keep his mouth shut. He was always busy writing or drawing something on his notes instead of paying attention, and when you weren’t busy staring at Changbin, you found yourself watching him instead.

The two of you had been paired up for a class discussion, and he mentioned that he loved art. Being the creative that you were, you asked him what he liked to draw, and he showed you some of the doodles he did during class. They were good, really good. 

When he asked you out for coffee a month into the semester, you’d had no choice but to say yes. And you had a great time. 

It was clear that Changbin had no interest in you, so who could blame you for wanting to spend time with another hot guy? Who cared if you still thought about him in the privacy of your dorm, late at night? That was just a phase. Every college girl had a crush on her professor at some point, right? 

You and Hyunjin weren’t really seeing each other, it was casual. So you had never come to class together, or showed any sign that you were interested in each other.

Until today. 

Hyunjin had walked you to class, after treating you to coffee. You were even later than usual, but you found that you didn’t mind.

But when you walked into the classroom, and Hyunjin suddenly grabbed your hand, it was clear that someone minded. They minded a hell of a lot.

Changbin’s eyes seared into the two of you, his gaze roaming over both your and Hyunjin’s faces, before landing on your connected hands. His jaw clenched and unclenched, a vein ticking in his forehead, but he stayed quiet. His fists were pulled tight at his sides, those huge arms flexing in a most mesmerizing way. You couldn’t help but stare. Was there the potential that he was… jealous? 

Of you. Being with another guy.

Before you could think about it further, Changbin cleared his throat, and Hyunjin sat next to you for the first time that semester. 

You should feel giddy that this gorgeous man was sitting with you, but you couldn’t pay attention to anything, except your stud of a professor glaring at Hyunjin like he wanted him to disappear. 

“Today, we’re going to be discussing next week’s test,” Changbin ground out, his teeth gritted so hard you could hear them scraping against one another. “Mister Hwang, do you remember what our first unit after last month’s test was?”

Hyunjin paused next to you, brows furrowed. How was he supposed to remember what you’d learned over a month ago, off the top of his head?

“No Professor, I don’t,” he said evenly. “If I could just check my notes-“

“No, you may not,” Changbin snarled, his eyes narrowed as he stared Hyunjin down. “Clearly, you weren’t paying close enough attention.”

“Professor!” you exclaimed, blood pounding. Why was he targeting Hyunjin all of a sudden? You thought he liked Hyunjin.

“What?” Changbin sneered. “Trying to protect your boyfriend?”

“Just don’t.” You rolled your eyes, looking away from him. 

For the rest of the class, Changbin continued to pick on Hyunjin, calling on him for the hardest review questions, and actually laughing at him when he couldn’t remember.

Finally, when class was over, the two of you made to leave. 

“Miss, please stay behind,” Changbin practically growled, gaze hot on your back.

“Will you be okay?” Hyunjin asked, glancing between the two of you.

You nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll see you later.”

Hyunjin followed the rest of the class out, casting one last look back at you.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

You stood behind your desk, staring at Changbin. He stared back at you, expression unreadable. Was he upset? Of course he was. He wasn’t very good at hiding that during class. 

He walked to the door and slammed it shut, the force startling you. But when he clicked the lock in place, your chest seized up. What was he doing? 

“Come here.” His voice was soft, yet you could hear him clearly. His face looked calm, but you could see the fire in his eyes as he gazed at you. Your breath caught in your throat as you wordlessly obeyed, coming to stand in front of him.

Was this really going to happen? Was he-

Before you could formulate a proper prediction, his lips were on yours. His hands fumbled at your waist with a desperation you didn’t expect, even in your dirtiest fantasies. He picked you up, grabbing your ass roughly as his plush lips forced your mouth open, sucking and biting with enough pressure that would leave marks in the morning. 

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Changbin growled against you between kisses. Your hands slid into his hair, clinging to him as you kissed him back with equal strength. 

“What took you so damn long?” you gasped, pressing your tongue into his mouth and rolling your hips against him.

He groaned, the sound low and guttural, before setting you on his desk as gently as he could. He slid a finger under your tank top strap, pushing it down slowly, his gaze devouring your skin rapturously.

“I’ve been so good, so in control,” he breathed as if you were torturing him, his mouth coming to land against the shell of your ear. You shivered at the sensation. “Until today, when you decided to bring that poor Hwang boy along with you. What are you, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

You shook your head quickly. “N-no, it’s casual,” your voice shook despite yourself. “We’ve just been hanging out.”

“You like that he’s willing to give you attention when I wouldn’t?” He leaned down, nipping at your shoulder and collarbone. “Has he fucked you?”

You moaned softly, closing your eyes. “No, of course not,” you whispered. “And even if he had, why would you give a shit? I made a move on you, and you fucking rejected me, twice!”

Changbin let go of you, stepping back. For the first time, he looked embarrassed. Good, as he should. 

“I'm sorry, Princess.” He slid a hand down your arm, skating his fingers across your skin. “I thought I was making the right decision. But… I want you all to myself. Is that so bad?”

You glared at him. But no matter how long you tried to play hard to get, you knew damn well how this was going to end. You needed him too badly.

“Well, you better prove how much you want me, then.”

His mouth curled into a smirk, and your core dampened at the sight. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He pushed you back against his desk, shoving your legs apart, before tugging your denim shorts down your legs and ripping your panties clean in half.

“Changbin!” you gasped. Those were your nice panties, too.

“What? You won’t be needing them,” he smirked, holding them to his nose and inhaling a hungry breath, before tossing them away. “And from now on, you will call me Professor, not Changbin.”

You gaped at him for a moment, before you realized he was watching you expectantly.

“Y-yes… Professor,” you said weakly.

He smiled, kissing your cheek in an uncharacteristically tender way. “That’s my good girl. Now I’ll make you feel the best you’ve ever felt.”

He traveled down the length of your body, pressing kisses to your bare thighs as he went, admiring every inch of you. Your breaths came in short gasps as you laid in anticipation. You didn’t know much, but you were sure that Changbin was experienced when it came to sex.

As he gazed in appreciation at your soaked cunt, he tore his glasses off and set them on the desk, licking his lips. “Gonna need to get close and personal, huh Princess?”

Oh yeah, he was most definitely experienced. 

But nothing could prepare you for the sensation of Changbin’s tongue against your center. He pressed his mouth flat against your clit, swiping his tongue up and down in broad strokes. He covered your entire pussy with his warm, wet mouth before sucking and licking in earnest. 

“Holy shit, yes,” you gasped, your eyes widening as your hips jerked up against his movements.

He grabbed your waist to stop you, his tongue fucking in and out of your cunt as his lips pressed against the sensitive nerves above it. You moaned, your hand finding purchase in his hair as your vision sparked in and out, stars flashing before your eyes.

“Fuck, faster, please,” you begged, tugging his hair as you tried to pull him closer.

“What’s my name again, Princess?” he rasped against your core, his voice interrupted by his continued slurping. 

“P-professor, please,” you whimpered, gazing at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Fuck, how could I say no to you, Princess,” he snarled against you, yanking your legs open even further as his tongue moved impossibly faster, two of his fingers sliding into your pussy, adding even more squelching sounds to the mix.

The addition of his fingers nearly sent you spinning over the edge, your free hand gripping the side of his desk as your legs shook, your thighs trying to squeeze his head.

“Stay nice and spread for me, Angel,” he sucked hard on your clit, and you sobbed his name over and over, clutching at him like your life depended on it, your entire body vibrating.

“Professor, I-I’m gonna cum, please let me cum!” you begged, squeezing your eyes shut as you ground your hips up against him, this time Changbin allowing you.

“Cum for me, Princess, let me hear you,” Changbin ordered, pressing his tongue in just the right way against your throbbing pussy.

With a strangled cry, you rode out your orgasm against his mouth and fingers as he thrusted them in harder and harder, working you through your release as you crested the peak and came tumbling over, your whole body falling onto the desk in a trembling, sobbing mess.

“Was that good enough for you, Princess?” Changbin licked his lips as he gazed at you smugly, coming to his feet and gazing down at you.

You rolled your eyes, standing up to meet his eyes properly. “It was amazing, Professor,” you murmured against his lips, before kissing him forcefully. The taste of you lingered on his lips.

He kissed you back hungrily, his fingers traveling back between your legs to rub your clit gently, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You licked his bottom lip, grinding against his fingers as you moaned into him. 

“Let me return the favor,” you whispered, pushing him against the desk this time, before kneeling in front of him.

“Let’s just hope you’re better with your mouth than you are at math,” Changbin teased. But you could see the desire flaming in his gaze as he caressed your hair with a rough hand, fully pushing you down onto the floor.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Professor,” you said sweetly, and he groaned, eyes flickering shut.

“No more dawdling Angel, open up.”

You unzipped his black work pants, tugging them down to his knees. Even with his dark gray boxers on, you could tell he was huge, and already hard. Pulling his underwear off, his cock sprang free, angry and red, leaking precum.

Your eyes widened, and Changbin kicked his pants to the side, smirking down at you. 

“Big enough for you, Princess?”

“Perfect, Professor,” you breathed, gripping the base with one hand.

“Ah shit,” Changbin gritted his teeth, his hand already tangled in your hair. “Don’t make me wait too long, Princess. I’ve already been waiting for months.”

You giggled softly, sticking your tongue out and kitten licking the pretty pink tip. He was quite thick, so thick that your hand could barely fit around him. He was about seven inches long, with a pretty vein running along the right side. Your core throbbed at the sight, imagining how well he would fill you up. 

“Fuck,” he snarled, thrusting into your hand impatiently, a bead of precum dribbling onto your skin. “Are you asking me to punish you, Princess?”

You felt your core clench at his words, and you almost hoped he would just flip you over and spank you for disobeying him.

But that could happen later. Instead, you slid his entire length into your mouth, taking him so deep your nose hit his hips. Coarse brown hair tickled your face, and you shut your eyes. 

“Holy-“ Changbin choked out as you began sucking hard and fast, using your hand to rub the base where your mouth couldn’t reach. Your saliva instantly became sloppy, running down his cock and onto his waist.

“Oh fuck yeah, just like that,” he grunted, tugging your hair roughly as he thrust his hips against you, driving his cock further into your mouth. “I bet you just love being my little cockslut, don’t you Princess? You like me using you like this.”

“Mm,” you moaned, sending vibrations up his cock. He shuddered at the sensation, his huge, muscular legs flexing next to you. One of your hands gripped his thigh, the other squeezing his taut ass as you fucked your mouth up and down on him so he didn’t even have to move.

“Oh shit, you do know what you’re doing, don’t you, Slut?” He ran his hand through your hair, and you felt a tinge of pride shoot through you. A thin line of tears dotted your lash line and your jaw hurt, but you didn’t care. He was impressed with you, and that was all that mattered. 

“Only for you, Professor,” you gasped as you took a quick breath, before sliding him back into your mouth. Your hands moved to cup his balls, and he growled, loud and animalistic, against you.

“Fuck Angel, you’re such a good girl for your professor, aren’t you?” he moaned, pulling your hair into two makeshift ponytails as he started fucking against you in earnest.

You started to choke on his harsh ministrations, but you didn’t want him to stop. Your core was so wet, arousal was dripping onto the ground. 

“I’m gonna cum, Princess,” Changbin growled, as his hips stilled. “But I don’t want to cum in your mouth. I want to breed that little pussy of yours. How does that sound?”

“I-it sounds amazing, Professor,” you breathed as you pulled his rock-hard cock out of your mouth.

He grinned, yanking you into another bruising kiss. “That’s my good little Cockslut,” he murmured, picking you up and setting you back on the desk. “This is exactly how I imagined fucking you for the first time. You look so beautiful lying there, all wet and ready for me.”

You whimpered softly, shooting a seductively innocent look at him.

“Fuck, do you know what you do to me, Angel?” He closed his eyes, his body trembling at the sight before him. “Even better than my imagination.”

“You’ve thought about me, Professor?” you said faux-shyly, grabbing his hand and placing it against your core.

“Of course I have, Princess,” Changbin chuckled, opening his eyes again as his fingers roamed over your clit gently. You shivered at his touch. “Who wouldn’t think about ruining a perfect girl like you?”

“I'm not a virgin, Professor,” you pointed out. 

“I know, but you’re perfect,” he responded, stepping closer. “Just look at you.”

“Professor?” you asked softly, gazing at him. “Can I ask just one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Can you take your shirt off?”

Changbin’s eyes flickered in amusement. “Do you like my body, Princess?”

You nodded vigorously. “I love your body. I think about it all the time.”

“I like the sound of that,” he murmured, leaning over and pressing harsh kisses against your neck. “What do you think about?”

“Fuck me, then I’ll tell you,” you breathed against him, starting to undo his shirt buttons.

He tugged the shirt over his head hurriedly, before coming to hover over you again, those perfect, muscular arms of your dreams caging you in. You whimpered at the sensation alone, pulling him closer to you so you could grab his cock, stroking him a few times.

“Fuck yes, Princess,” Changbin choked out, before lining himself up outside of your core. “I need to be inside you right now.”

“I need you inside me too, Professor,” you begged, moving your hips back and forth against his hard cock, wet squelching sounds ensuing as his cock rubbed through your slit. You threw your head back at the overwhelming sensation, moaning into his shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he pulled your face up and kissed you once. Then, screwing up his eyes, he slid his entire cock into you in one harsh thrust.

“O-oh shit!” you cried, eyes widening and hands coming to grab his broad shoulders. He filled you perfectly, his girth stretching you deliciously, that vein rubbing against your walls just right. “Fuck Professor, you feel so good inside me.”

“God, you feel heavenly Princess,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “Can I move? Please, tell me I can move.”

“Please move, now,” you gasped, fingernails digging into his back. “Don't be gentle with me, Professor. I can take it.”

“Yeah? We’ll see about that, Angel.” Before you could say anything else, he pulled all the way out, leaving you feeling incredibly empty, before thrusting back in with all his strength. 

You squealed, fingers scrambling for purchase against him, as he pounded in and out of your tight, wet pussy over and over, filthy noises filling the classroom. 

You whimpered against his neck, pressing harsh kisses against him as he thrusted in and out, balls slapping your pussy as he went harder and faster. His cock slammed against the spongy part inside of you, causing you to cry out and clench around him.

“Ah shit, Princess, ease up a bit!” he grunted, nipping your neck as his hips stuttered against yours.

“Y-you just feel so good,” you sobbed. “Please fuck me harder, don’t stop, please, Professor.”

Changbin listened, continuing to hit that sensitive spot over and over again until you were a babbling mess, unable to say anything except “Professor”.

“Fuck baby, can you stand?” Changbin demanded into your ear.

“Y-yes Professor,” you breathed, and before you could stop him, he was carrying you over to the chalkboard, and setting you down, so your face was towards the board, ass presented to him.

“Well shit, don't you look like a treat,” he whispered, slapping your ass with a calloused hand, before trapping you between his arms once more, his mouth against your neck. 

You gasped at the stinging sensation of his hand against your skin, but it wasn't fully because of the pain. Him slapping you felt good. What did you have to do for him to do it again?

His fingers traveled between your legs again, feeling the dripping wetness that gathered there. You felt him smirk against you.

“Did my Princess like it when I spanked her? Does she like it when she gets punished?”

You nodded vigorously, closing your eyes. Was he going to think you were disgusting for liking something so violent? 

Changbin started chuckling, and you glanced back at him. Did he find this funny?

“I might have underestimated you, Sweetheart,” his hands traveled up to your breasts and squeezed, making you squeal. “I guess you were right. You’re more of a whore than I thought.”

“N-no Professor, I’m a good girl,” you gasped, rubbing your ass against him as you begged for him to hit you again. “I just need you so bad, please.”

“You want me to hit you again?” Changbin snickered. “Okay, I can hit you again. Anything for my princess.”

He stepped away from you, leaving your skin cold. You missed his hulking presence warming you, his huge arms caging your body. 

You watched with wide eyes as he stepped back to his desk and picked something up. What was he doing? He couldn’t leave you hanging like this.

But when you saw what he had in his hand, you knew he very much was not leaving you hanging. He was just getting started.

“A ruler?” you said softly, staring at the wood strip in his hand. Your core pulsed at the sight, causing more arousal to slide down your thigh. Fuck, you wanted it.

“You said you wanted to get slapped, didn’t you, Princess?” he challenged.

You nodded, trying to hide your desire. If Changbin saw how much you needed this, he might deny you.

“Yes, Professor,” you responded, not moving from your position at the chalkboard.

“Good, Angel,” he approached you with a satisfied grin on his face. “So, are you ready for your test?”

“Test?!” you squeaked. You hadn’t expected that. You’d hoped he would just slap you with the ruler a few times, then fuck you silly.

“You’re going to have a math test in a few weeks, aren’t you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want me to tutor you still?”

You nodded furiously. You would fail without him.

“Well, consider this our first session.” He came to stand behind you, running the ruler up and down your thigh a few times. 

You shivered despite yourself. You would do anything he wanted at this point.

“So, answer this problem, Princess. The axes of two right circular cylinders of radius A intersect at a right angle. Find the volume of the solid of intersection of the cylinders.”

You gasped at him, speechless. You had no idea what any of that meant. Solid of intersection? You were an English major, for god’s sake!

“I-I don’t know Professor!” you whispered, body quivering as you waited for his response.

Changbin tutted quietly, pacing back and forth behind you. You tried to watch him, but he kept going in and out of your line of sight.

“What a shame.” His voice was dangerously low. 

Suddenly, the ruler came slashing through the air, landing across the center of your ass. You let out a loud gasp, covering your mouth before you could curse or yell. 

“Chang- Professor, what the hell?” you exclaimed, whipping around to face him.

“Did that stir up any potential answers?” Changbin said smoothly, ignoring your protest. “Please turn back around, Angel. We're not done yet.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but you caught that steely look in his eyes, and obeyed. 

“Well?” he prompted. “Anything?”

“N-no, Professor,” you said meekly. “We haven’t learned anything half that difficult yet.”

This time, as the ruler made contact with your ass again, you were prepared. You bit your lip so hard it almost drew blood, but you had to admit, it felt… nice. The stinging sensation it left after the pain was gone was incredible. 

“Fine, if you can't come up with even a guess, how about this. What is the mathematical perception of the gradient said to be?”

You paused, thinking the question over. You knew Changbin had talked about this in a lesson at some point, but it had been a while ago…

“Is it tangent?” you said with a little smile. You knew the answer was wrong but… you also didn't mind.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” Changbin grinned, and the stinging pain of the ruler raced across your skin.

You let out a stifled moan, squeezing your eyes shut as hard as you could. Oh god, did Changbin hear that? He was going to think you were such a whore.

Changbin set the ruler down on his desk and slid a hand around your waist, breaths coming hard and fast against your neck. You whimpered softly, unable to look back at him. 

“I knew you liked that, you little Pain Slut,” he snarled into your ear, nipping the lobe. “You're my little Pain Slut, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, only yours!” you exclaimed. “P-please Professor, fuck me again.”

“Mm, you're just insatiable aren’t you?” he snickered, his hand coming down onto your ass cheek, sharp and hard. “Now say thank you, Professor.”

You cried out, your core soaking wet. “Th-thank you Professor!” You forced out through the blinding pleasure.

His hand came down on your other cheek. “Again.”

“Thank you, Professor!” you moaned, turning your face to him and pressing your lips against his. 

He didn't pull away, as the hand he used to spank you wound around your leg, lifting it up so your body was still facing the chalkboard, but your lips were attached to his. 

“I’m gonna fuck you like this now, Angel, down and dirty. I’ll bet you like it like this, don't you? Seducing your poor professor, and letting him have his way with you in his classroom. That's exactly what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“No, I didn't mean to seduce you,” you mumbled against his mouth, as he positioned his hard, heavy cock outside your entrance. “You're just so hot and smart, and I wanted you so bad. But you kept rejecting me so I gave up, remember?”

“How do I know that little boyfriend wasn't just part of your plan to get me to change my mind?” Changbin challenged, finally breaking the kiss. 

“Well, if it was, it worked, didn't it?” You teased him. “Now are you going to fuck me or not?”

Changbin growled deep in his throat, thrusting his hips slowly against you, running his cock through your wet folds. “I’ll fuck you when I’m ready to fuck you, Princess. Not sure you deserve it, with all the stunts you’ve pulled. And you didn't even get that easy math problem right.”

You giggled softly. “If I get it right, will you fuck me properly? Nice and rough?”

He paused, like he was pondering the question. “Sure, Angel. What’s the right answer?”

You turned around, pressing your lips against his ear gently. You watched in satisfaction as he shivered. Thank god he was holding your leg up, or you would be numb by now. “It’s the slope,” you whispered to him, lips curling in a smile. You knew you were right.

“Mm, you knew the right answer the whole time, didnt you, Slut?” Changbin shook his head at you, a hungry glint in his eyes. “But you were a good girl, listening to your Professor so well. So I guess you get a reward.”

“Yes please, Professor.” You immediately started begging at the prospect of his cock inside of you. “Please fuck me now.”

“It takes a lot of self control to stay away from you,” Changbin groaned. “Self control that I clearly do not have.” 

This time, he thrusted into you nice and slow, one inch at a time. You gasped loudly as he shoved you up against the chalkboard, still holding your leg up, as he began pounding in and out of you mercilessly. 

“Fuck, this pussy was made for me, Angel,” he hissed into your hair, breathing deeply as he did so. “So tight and wet, squeezing me perfectly. You hear that? This pussy is all mine.”

“Yes, it’s all yours,” you wailed, fucking your hips back against his, forcing his cock to impale you to the hilt. “You feel so good inside of me, Professor.”

“Mm, hell yeah I do baby.” His huge arm wrapped all the way around your waist, trapping you entirely as he hammered in and out, the lewd sounds of his length thrusting turning you on even more.

“Fuck, Professor please touch me!” you begged, grabbing his arm that was holding your leg up and sliding it towards your clit. 

“You’re such a greedy little girl, aren’t you?” he sneered, pressing rough kisses up and down your collarbone, sucking harsh bruises along your soft skin. “I can’t deny you though, can I?”

His fingers slid over your sensitive nerves and rubbed in rushed, frantic circles as his hips pounded against yours, causing the entire chalkboard to shake and rattle. 

“O-oh yes Professor just like that,” you panted, your legs nearly failing as he turned your entire body to jelly. 

“Don't give up on me now, Princess,” Changbin warned as he spun you around and picked you up, not removing his cock from your throbbing pussy. “You don’t cum until I do, you hear?”

“Of course, Professor,” you whimpered helplessly, the new position hitting spots inside of you you hadn’t known even existed. “Please go harder!”

“Just for you, baby,” Changbin ground out, and he started bouncing you up and down on his huge length.

The vein on his cock slid against your nerves addictively as you wrapped your shaking legs around his waist, clinging to his beefy arms desperately. Your core throbbed as you tried to be a good girl and hold your orgasm back, but it was coming.

“Please Professor, let me cum!” you pleaded, pressing kisses up and down his huge pecs, sobbing into his chest. “I’m so close, I’ve been so good!”

Changbin grunted against you as he bullied his cock deeper and deeper into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over while you pleaded incoherently to please, please let you cum.

“Shit, okay, cum for me baby,” he hissed.

You didn't need to be asked twice. Your hips shook against him so violently you thought you were going to pass out. Stars blinked in and out of your vision as you cried, “Professor, please!” once, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice, as he pounded his cock infinitely faster. His fingers pressed against your clit, and you were done for. You exploded around him in a puddle of whimpers and moans, clutching onto him for dear life.

“Holy shit baby, you’re so fucking hot,” Changbin panted, squeezing his eyes shut, his thrusts becoming more jerky and unstable. “I’m so fuckin’ close, Princess, gonna cum inside that slutty little pussy of yours, yeah?”

“Oh fuck, please give me your cum Professor!” you begged, moving your hips in time with his. “Want you to breed me like the good girl I am!”

“Fuck Angel, you really want it?” Changbin hissed, his hips stuttering as his lips smashed up against yours again. “You wanna feel my hot cum inside you?”

“Yes Professor, please, I need it,” you breathed against his mouth, biting his bottom lip and sucking it into your mouth. 

Changbin thrusted sloppily in and out a few more times, his breaths stilted and hoarse, before halting entirely inside of you. You felt his warm cum fill your pussy, ropes and ropes of hot, sticky liquid, and you let out a shaky moan, closing your eyes at the sensation.

As he was about to put you down and pull out, you shook your head, gripping his arms.

“P-please, stay inside.” Your legs tightened around his waist. His softening cock felt so good, keeping his warm cum inside you. You didn’t want him to let go, not yet.

“You like me cockwarming you, Princess?” Changbin’s cock stiffened at your actions, and you nodded.

“You feel so good inside of me,” you sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I bet I do,” he said cockily, and you slapped his arm.

“Way to ruin the moment, Changbin,” you glared.

He laughed, finally letting go of you and setting you back on the ground. 

“I'm kidding, baby.” He pressed his lips against yours, much more tender this time. You melted against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. 

“I like the confidence.” You giggled against his lips, before breaking apart. “I should probably go. I've got another class in an hour, and I don’t want to walk in looking like this.”

“I wouldn't want that either,” Changbin observed. “You might get dress-coded. Or arrested.”

When you were both dressed and semi-cleaned up, you waved goodbye to Changbin.

Changbin waved back, a little smirk on that handsome face of his. 

“So, we on for another study session tonight?”

You smirked, biting your bottom lip before replying: “Yes, Professor.”

laska's note — wow, this one shot took me forever to finally finish! but i wanted it to be perfect you y'all, so i spent a long time figuring out the plot and exactly how i wanted everything to go. i really hope you enjoyed it, because i'm kinda proud of how this turned out. i'm sorry for the slow ass updates, but again it's just supposed to be for fun! hopefully i'll get some more content out soon. leave any comments about what you liked, i love reading them! until next time... 😏💋

#stray kids #skz stay #skz smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz female oc #skz scenarios #skz oneshots #skz x female reader #skz #stray kids smut #changbin x reader #seo changbin #changbin smau #changbin x female reader #changbin smut #skz changbin

[trollprincess]

Okay, so some of you might not know this because I did this before I returned to Tumblr from the bird site, BUT. Last year I dictated almost two entire books to my phone.

Let me explain. One of my jobs is a twelve-hour weekend night shift. Six PM to six AM Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, so thirty-six hours with the other four hours paid just as long as we do the entire weekend. I first took it so I could have the rest of the week off, and then proceeded to go back to work at dog camp those days. For the most part, over the last five years, I have only have Mondays completely off solely because that’s when my therapy sessions are.

Anyway, my weekend job is full-time, dog camp is part-time. The weekend job is factory work, making helmets, a lot of which are for the military. (Which, as a pacifist, I manage to stomach because hey, it’s just protective gear.) The thing is, like a lot of manufacturing work, it’s boring and repetitive. Think about how bored you are after five or so hours of an eight-hour shift. Now imagine it’s one o’clock in the morning, you still have five hours to work, and you would literally rather shove nails in your eyes than work. It sucks.

Meanwhile, my free time is spent trying to work at my third job (making @disasterarea-podcast) and attempting to work on getting published. I had all these grand ideas about getting traditionally published back in my twenties, and now I’m 46 and I’m struggling just to come up with any ideas at all a lot of the time. Three jobs doesn’t help. Depression and anxiety don’t help. So for a while there, I had terrible writer’s block when it came to my novels.

So last year, I decided to try something. I have these massive baby-pink noise-canceling Bluetooth gaming headphones with a mic which I wear to work. Why not try dictating a first draft to my phone? Obviously it wouldn’t be exact, since voice-to-text dictation isn’t perfect under the best of situations, and certainly not with loud factory noises around you. But I tried it on dictating notes for my podcast a few times and it worked pretty well, all things considered. And a bad first draft is still a first draft.

So I figured, fuck it, and one night I just started dictating a story off the top of my head. No preparation, no outlining, no worldbuilding - just pantsing HARD with nothing but an annoyance following a Teen Wolf rewatch and a resolution not to edit until after I churned out a first draft.

It took fifty-one days.

Eighty thousand words or so later, I had a dreadful first draft which needed an absolute fuckton of editing and continuity correction and character work. BUT I had a finished first draft of a novel. Which is something I hadn’t had in a good long while.

So I tried it again for NaNoWriMo. I got up to 65k words. So I won NaNoWriMo, but I put the story aside because I hit a bit of a wall. Still! That’s almost two full fiction manuscripts in one year, AND the nonfiction memoir I wrote about my road trip to disaster sites during the pandemic. 2022 was a good writing year.

So I did what I do with first drafts and put them aside for a while. I knew they were awful. I knew they needed a ton of work. And maybe that was a tad intimidating, which is why I only JUST picked up the NaNoWriMo first draft to work on it and finish it off. It’s queer, it’s got time travel, it’s got disasters. It is right up my fucking alley. I may be just a tiny bit obsessed with that story.

Unsurprisingly, going through it now is taking more than a little while. I sit down, I spend an hour working on it, I maaaaaaybe get two paragraphs polished. If that.

But the fact that I’m working on ANY fiction is kind of remarkable. And fingers crossed, maybe I can get this damn thing, and the other manuscript, AND my road trip book, finished and polished over the next year so I can submit the fuck out of them.

NOW. Someone send me a twenty-pound bag of rooibos vanilla chai and ten pounds of red licorice laces. Mama’s gonna need it. *cracks knuckles*

#writing

[aspiringfictionwriter]

Writing Questions Tag!

Thanks to @digital-chance for tagging me in this!

I’ll tag @theroseempress @miles-style @leisoree @anonymousfoz @caffeine-powered-aroace @olivescales3 @dragonhoardingwips and anyone else who’s interested!

The questions will be at the bottom.

1. What is your absolute all-time favourite ideas you've ever had?

When I was in the early stages of outlining ald, I wanted to give Arachne a special connection to the Dawn Guard. Anyone who’s read that far in story, knows that she has a love interest the moment she enters Cell Maccis (a part of the Dawn Guard.) However, I did not expect that said love interest would end up being woman, and I’m glad she did. It just wrapped up so nicely with the rest of the plot. One thing I always struggle with all of my stories is that I make the emotional impact of tragic events more than it should be, which is why characters like Amalica and Durdyn exist.

2. Is there a question you've been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about sometimes?

I feel like the question I always get asked is whether or not I have published anything, and it’s flattering to me, because when those people ask me that question, it’s at the perfect time. Like when I have a huge presentation I need an ego-boost for or something like that.

3. What is your favourite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

What I love about being a writer is that writing can be interpreted in so many different ways, depending on the person and their experiences. Each story means something completely different to each person, and to me, that’s just so inspiring. What I’d leave is all the outlining, because I’m that kind of writer who can’t write without a brief outline for each character. It makes my drafts a little more organized, but otherwise I’d leave it if I could.

4. What is your greatest motivation to write/ create?

My dad introduced me to D&D in 2018, and I fell in love with the freedom I had over everything. This set off a creative spark in me that is one of the reasons I’m a writer now, as well as a DM!

5. What is the best piece of advice you've ever read or been given as a writer?

Write for yourself and not others. I’m a huge people-pleaser, and I know I’m not the only one, but I needed to hear it, and my writing has reflected on it.

6. What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

That it’s ok to look back at previous drafts and be a bit embarrassed. Heck, I wrote my first draft at the age of eight, and when I revisited it a year later I was shocked and embarrassed, but I feel bad for thinking that now. Eight year old me had some pretty good ideas!

7. What is your favourite story you've written to completion? Link it if you'd like and can!

Ald is not done yet, but in ten more weeks it will be! And it’s the only story I’ve written ever!

8. What is your favorite out-of-the-box quote?

“No murdery drow things, either, if you please.” -Ezili Ngozi

9. Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

Even though it’s not explored much in ald, but Bemril probably has the most controversial ideals out of the whole bunch. This is because he will do anything for his family, but he claims to be above ruthless murder, even though he has and will kill for his family, quite ruthlessly if I might add. To boil it down to a word, he’s hypocritical at best, and he thinks he’s doing the right thing. And to be perfectly honest, I made him that way because I wanted people to not know how to feel about him, and it’s worked on me.

10. If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

That my sentences are too long and I use too many big words 🤣

Questions for my friends in the tags ⬇️

1. What is your absolute all-time favourite ideas you've ever had?

2. Is there a question you've been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about sometimes?

3. What is your favourite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

4. What is your greatest motivation to write/ create?

5. What is the best piece of advice you've ever read or been given as a writer?

6. What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

7. What is your favourite story you've written to completion? Link it if you'd like and can!

8. What is your favorite out-of-the-box quote?

9. Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

10. If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

#aspiringfictionwriter #writers on tumblr #writing game #tag game #i love these so much

[oficmag]

Contributor Spotlight: Leandra

Now that Issue #1 is live, we at OFIC Mag are excited to shine a light on some of the amazing contributors from our inaugural issue. We hope you all love them as much as we do!

Today’s spotlight is on Leandra | @LeandraMWrites, who wrote “A Bad Lock” for Issue #1.

Tell us a bit about yourself!

Hello! I'm a Black millennial from Southern California who is currently on a "hiatus" from teaching preschool. Prior to teaching three and four year olds, I taught yoga to grown ups (somehow more difficult than being around children) and spent the rest of my free time writing fan fiction and playing video games. Currently, I'm on a roller skating kick while attempting to write the novel I've been trying to execute since 2014. 

How did you find fandom?

I found fandom through Myspace and Livejournal when I was in middle school. RPF was the shit back then and I had notebooks full of "bandom" fan fiction that I'd share with my friends during lunch and passing periods. Things were so simple, then. 

What fandom are you in now and what brought you here?

Publicly, I'm afraid I have to plead the fifth.* 🤐 No, but for real, I'm actually not super active in any fandom space right now! Though I do have many friends and acquaintances from the [redacted] fandom, who I thank every day for supporting my unhinged tweets and fan fiction. Special shout out to my best friend and beta reader for the past ten plus years for bringing me there! That space and support/positive reaction really pushed me into actively pursuing the goal of submitting my original work to magazines. (*If you are so inclined, peeking at some of my followers on Twitter and their accounts could give you a good idea of where I've been, fandom wise).

What’s your favorite book of all time and what do you love about it?

This is a hard question. I don't really have a favorite book because every time I read a book and I really enjoy it, it becomes my favorite book. Genre wise, I tend to stick to literary and I'm kind of a sucker for weird shit and sad shit and offbeat shit about all the nuances of interpersonal relationships. For the past few years, I've been reading pretty much short story collections and nothing else. But recently, I read Red At The Bone by Jacqueline Woodson and it blew my mind. Maybe I'm biased, but stories about families and difficult relationships with mothers always strike me in a very specific place. 

What projects are you working on right now?

Speaking of difficult relationships with mothers, that's one aspect of what I'm working on now. The elusive novel that may or may not take eight more years to complete if I keep working at the same pace. Other than that, I have about a dozen short story ideas at varying stages of completion. I'm a slow writer though, so each one of those will probably sit for another six months before I get around to having something that's actually readable. (Not necessarily likable to my standards, but readable at least).

What are your aspirations as a writer, big picture or small?

I sort of want to do everything. Call it delusional, but I see myself floating around everywhere in terms of writing (mostly because my interests are fleeting, but also because it's fun to do new things!) I've got a few screenplay ideas laying around, plans for multiple novels, plans for eventual short story collections. I'm a big idea sort of person. A big dreamer, I guess. As someone without an MFA and no desire to get one, I can only hope that my writing reaches as many people as possible.

If you could give one piece of advice to beginning writers, what would you tell them?

Write what you want. Don't write what you think other people will want. Oh, and don't compare your character of color's skin tone to food. 

THANK YOU FOR BEING A PART OF THE OFIC FAMILY, LEANDRA! WE’RE SO THRILLED TO SHARE YOUR WORK WITH THE WORLD.

#bookblr #writeblr #issue 1 #spotlight

[nny11writes]

Have you ever participated in nanowrimo? If so, what was the experience like!

I have, and I have even "won" it before! Bu this is a long ass answer so I'm putting it below a read more. :p

So, here's the deal with the experience of nanowrimo. If it does not mesh with your writing methods, it is an absolute pain in the ass and you can feel like dirt during and afterwards. That's not a reflection on you as a writer or on the event! But the nature of nano means you have to average ~1700 words a day to finish.

For some people, that means ignoring all spelling and grammar mistakes, writing in ways that you personally hate or think are "bad writing", and really pushing yourself to get it out there.

Despite how much I tend to write, I fall directly into that category! So Nanowrimo for me, personally, is painful and frustrating.

THAT SAID: I still participate basically every year.

Why? Why do it if I hate the writing experience?

Because I like what I have to practice and learn to do it!

I have to let go of my perfectionism in a way I can't/don't typically in any way shape or form. I've learned to better manage expectations and disappointment. Several years have taught and re-taught me that I can "fail" or "lose" or "write bad" and that it's not the end of the world. Putting the ego and fear to rest from the combo "I am the worst writer and everyone wishes I'd stop"/"I am a writing god, why aren't you laughing and enjoying my work damn it!" that I suffer from. Learning that I can say "I'm gonna do it" and then can change my mind without consequence has been a godsend.

I think a lot of fanfiction writers specifically would benefit from trying nano at least once! Not because the experience will be fun, but because it will be valuable.

And that all said, I have genuinely enjoyed myself several times as well! I've been participating basically every year since 2010, and part of why I enjoy it is having embraced life as a planster. That's right, I'm a pantser and plotter rolled into one fun sized package. And nano gives me a space where I basically get told to do whatever I want however I want and actually allow myself to go buck wild! Regardless of if I end up planning more than writing or writing pure nonsense, it's a freeing experience as long as I don't let my expectations get warped into punishments.

So, for example, last year in 2021 I participated in NaNoWriMo and started working on my Bloodborne AU! It ended up being a lot more outlining being jammed between written sections so I didn't get too far in my word count despite my outline being over 24k words. 😳 It was still an absolute blast to just jump into and write haphazardly, and while I've kept very little of the original so far, it didn't die just because I failed at nano. It just had to wait for a while instead :)

Another super fun one was 2010 when I wrote "Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before". It was my first attempt and I really enjoyed the challenge of writing daily without over thinking it. I worked my ass off to write that novel and still write fanfiction at the same time. And when I finished the month out, I beat the challenge at 50,004 words with a generic corporate mook meets a blue collar worker and falls in love while learning to be a better person plot line but this time for lesbians (who were totally not B'Elanna and Seven of Nine, s-shut up!). At the time I was very proud of it, even if it included me writing up family recipies for the first time ever and writing out every number as they counted (Held her breath for 10 seconds then exhaled for eight? No! She held her breath; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Then she exhaled her inhaled breath; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight!). Trash fire fiction, but I felt very accomplished and pushed the right amount that first year!

On the other side, in 2015 I tried it when my anxiety and depression were spiraling wildly out of hand but I was still in denial about it because I didn't want to do meds or go to therapy. Really was just trying to force myself along while being miserable 95% of the time and thought nano would help. Shockingly, it did not do that! My science fiction novel outline was shit, I abandoned it immediately anyways and I hated everything I did manage to write. I'd write a little then nothing for several days, just feeling bad I wasn't writing, then a little more, then nothing and feeling bad, etc. I hit almost 30k by the end of the month and I hated the experience, hated the book, hated myself, and hated everyone else who was having a great time. I deleted "Black Moths" from my computer and the back up USB I used at the time, and I deeply regret that. I don't even remember what my story was. I really wish I could read it though, because I bet anything it wasn't bad at all, but it's still gone forever as far as I can tell.

This has gotten wildly out of control (when do my answers not get out of control?) but TL;DR: I have and the experience has been a total mixed bag of highs and lows, that I would absolutely recommend every writer attempt but not feel bad if they need to stop at any point for a good stress cry.

(Also, wanna be my writing buddy if you're doing it?????? I'm on there as Nny11 with the lumpy pic and everything :D)

#nanowrimo #national novel writing month #thanks for asking! #somehow both complaining and NOT complaining about writing #what can I say #I'm skilled that way! #not sure if i'll do it this year #and I know I'm already late if I do #but often nano takes over and I don't write what I want to which is not that much fun #and these days I'm in writing for the fun :p

[threeletterslife]

hi! I'm a small writer on wattpad and I was just wondering if you had any useful writing tips for me and other writers? I love your works and I would really love to know how you write so well! ♡

hello!!

i’d love to give writing tips! thank you so much for your kind words! but i’d say most of my writing skills come from trial and error and experience LOL but here’s what i really have to say:

GRAMMAR

i’m a huge grammar freak when it comes to writing and nothing’s a bigger turn off than reading a supposed emotional scene and spotting a huge ass grammar error lol

i’d suggest (if you aren’t already familiar with grammar) to study up on it

OR you can use sites such as grammarly and hemingway to catch mistakes for you (but they’re not always 100% accurate)

i feel like grammar is over-looked a lot in writing or maybe i’m just sensitive

even the simple wrong usage of the em dash triggers me these days lol (remember, it’s not ‘--’ it’s ‘—’ THERE’S A DIFFERENCE)

immaculate grammar means there’s one less thing that you have to worry about when putting your thoughts on-screen (or paper)

i studied grammar by buying an ACT test prep book LOL but you can probably learn it for free online

INSPIRATION

i think inspiration is really, REALLY important when it comes to writing

it’s always a struggle to come up with an original idea and to flesh it out is even harder at times

world-building is particularly a challenge (especially if that world is set in a futuristic dystopian world)

so i suggest you take time to get inspired (listen to music, get some fresh air, spend time with your loved ones, watch a movie, read a book etc)

writing always comes easier when you feel like doing it

once inspiration hits, don’t hesitate, DON’T DOUBT YOURSELF, just write

write first, edit later (that’s the #1 rule tbh)

gaining confidence through your inspiration is just as important as your writing itself

the writer is only as good as she thinks she is

if you get an idea, DO NOT WAIT TO FIND A NOTEBOOK TO WRITE IT DOWN. 85% of the time, you’ll forget the idea and that is the WORST MF feeling in the world. so please, write it on your phone, piece of scratch paper, on your hand—literally anything

CHARACTERS

my FAVORITE part!! i absolutely love coming up with characters

my biggest rule of thumb is to make a character that would actually fucking exist in the world LOL

well, i guess it depends on the plot or your story, but most times, your story will work better when the characters are realistic

remember, people want to connect to your characters (why else would they want to read about them??)

your characters should be balanced. there is no such thing as a perfect person. (also no such thing as an evil person,,, unless they’re psychologically damaged.) good traits come with bad traits. in fact, their good traits may even BE their bad traits!!

i.e. diligence. let’s say your character is diligent. it’s a good thing, perhaps. they may have a stable job and high income because they work very hard. but, in the end, their diligence turns them into a workaholic and that may cause problems with their relationships with loved ones

i always tell people who are starting off as writers to try to base characters off of the people around them (without making it insanely obvious, of course)—it’s more like picking and choosing traits from a personality pool LOL

if you’re writing romance, the character chemistry should be the plot of the story, which means you’ll have to make sure their personalities don’t exactly clash too much

here’s a character template i made that you can use (i actually use this character template for EVERY story)

PLOT

if you’re starting off as a writer, i can’t emphasize enough how important it is to PLOT

your story will literally flop if you don’t plot (cough cough that one wp ff after)

filler chapters or scenes are ALL RIGHT!! (that’s a common misconception) but they’re only okay IF they offer some insight about the characters’ personalities OR if they deepen the relationship between two characters (probably the future romantic couple)

i personally bullet plot (which means i just sit down and just word-vomit the contents of the story in a bullet-point form)

but the way people plot really differs, so i’ll leave it up to you

here’s a plot template i made that you can use (i don’t use this template very often anymore—only for longer stories, but it helps for beginners!)

sometimes, it works to leave the ending of your story unplotted (but only if you haven’t yet a single clue on how to end your story)

i find that once you write your characters a bit, it becomes easier to figure out what they would do in the future (and thus configure the ending)

A VERY IMPORTANT PART IN PLOT ACTUALLY INVOLVES THE CHARACTERS

your characters MAKE the plot

their choices will DEFINE the plot

if you had different characters, your story would turn out very differently

so always make sure your characters are CONSISTENT (unless they have subtle character development)

i.e. say you have a character who is sort of a curmudgeon lol and they’re living as a recluse and they hate people and romance. you can’t suddenly have them fall in love with the hot neighbor next door. you have to shape the plot so that the story is about the main character learning to understand others and willing to love someone who’s not herself

i.e. but say that you have a character who is a romantic-freak and idealizes romance. when the hot neighbor next door moves in, she’d be all over him (and planning the wedding the moment she sees him lol). the story would probably be about her learning how to be level-headed and lose just a few of her unrealistic ideals. the story would be about maturity, overall. there is such a huge difference in the plot just by switching ONE character

DIALOGUE

i just felt like dialogue had to be addressed because i think it’s SOOO important

dialogue makes up the relationship between two characters. you can REALLY tell where they lie on the line of friendship/relationship just by reading the way they talk to each other

a rule of thumb is to READ the dialogue out loud as you type it out

if you can read it out loud without thinking ‘well that’s not fucking realistic’ or ‘that sounds like a robot not a human’ then you’re usually good

there’s nothing wrong with repeating the word ‘said’ or ‘say(s)’

i’d actually say use other descriptions such as ‘yells,’ ‘whispers,’ ‘sighs’ sparingly. because no one on planet earth sighs 47 times in one conversation

i.e. “you’re not dead yet,” she says.

this is simple. it works. but you can make it better

i.e. “you’re not dead yet, huh?” she scoffs.

even better

i.e. “you’re not dead yet, huh?” she scoffs, shooting him a disdainful look before turning the other way in disgust

great!

try to split up long quotes!!

i.e. “it was always blue outside where i’m from. sometimes we had scheduled rainy days for the private gardens and stuff. you know, at least the food there was good. way better than the crap we're forced to eat here,” he says

it’s just a huge quote block right now

the words blend in with each other

and honestly, if you skim through it, you probably forgot what he’s even talking about lol

but we can fix that

i.e. “it was always blue outside where i’m from,” he says, gazing up rather sadly at the darkened gray skies of the run-down city. “sometimes we had scheduled rainy days for the private gardens and stuff.” he shakes his head in disbelief as if he can’t accept how desolate his home had deteriorated into over the past few years. “you know, at least the food there was good. way better than the crap we’re forced to eat here.” he glares at the muddy bowl of mystery soup he had neglected to touch since it was served

the paragraph is significantly longer, but you’re able to visualize what is happening in this scene much better!!

dialogue is my favorite part of any story LOL so i’m always open to giving more advice if you need it! 

NARRATION

oh god this is so fucking important

i write in 2nd pov PRESENT tense and i’ve been consistent with this for over a year now

it’s important to probably choose a tense to write in; you typically have two options: present or past tense

i personally prefer present tense because it gives the feel of the story unfolding right before your eyes in a very linear way

past tense kind of means things have ALREADY happened, so you have more leeway to jump around on the timeline of your story

i recommend writing present tense if you’re writing action, especially, but otherwise, it’s completely up to you

just STICK to one tense. nothing is more confusing than reading a sentence with two different tenses lol

i.e. he sighed as he looks over at the fireplace with deep sorrow in his eyes. “now i’ll never fucking qualify for the championships,” he gripes as he rubbed his hand frustratingly over his forehead

like... what?? pick one and GO WITH IT

i.e. he sighed as he looked over at the fireplace with deep sorrow in his eyes. “now i’ll never fucking qualify for the championships,” he griped as he rubbed his hand frustratingly over his forehead

OR

i.e. he sighs as he looks over at the fireplace with deep sorrow in his eyes. “now i’ll never fucking qualify for the championships,” he gripes as he rubs his hand frustratingly over his forehead

READ

i cannot emphasize this enough

READ. like literally if you don’t have time to read, you don’t have time to write periodt

reading is so SO important when you write

if you haven’t yet found your writing style, reading will SAVE you

you need to read your favorite works, analyze why you love them so much and try to emulate that writing style

after you’ve tried emulating the writing style, try to tweak things to YOUR taste until you’ve developed your very own style

it’s not easy developing your writing style. i’ve been writing for a decade give or take and i refound my writing style like two years ago LOL

the process takes patience and diligence

you don’t even always have to read good books, either

literally sometimes pick up a bad book just to see why it’s so bad and make sure you don’t make that mistake in YOUR writing lol

also, you get better at writing when you begin to edit others’ writings—it makes you self aware of the mistakes that YOU might make

RESEARCH

if you’re writing about territory you’re unfamiliar with, RESEARCH IS GOING TO BE YOUR BEST FRIEND

please don’t write about heavy concepts involving mental health, gang violence etc. without either researching it or experiencing it

your job as a writer is NOT to relay false, unrealistic information to your readers

sure, your story is FICTIONAL, but that gives you no right to romanticize something dark/serious for your pure enjoyment

it doesn’t matter if it’s fictional or not. some things are not meant to be written about in a light-hearted, romanticized way

there’s no such thing as enough research

i’ve underresearched a lot of topics that i’ve written, and i actually regret it looking back because i know for sure that if i wrote it with a little bit more knowledge, it’d become better and more realistic and OVERALL MORE READABLE

there is always more research available online. it’s fucking 2020. use your resources online lol 

CONFIDENCE

it takes time to become a good writer

no one fucking wakes up one day and can write like a god

so you can always be in peace when you’re not satisfied with your writing

because 1) there is someone who is worse than you out there lol 2) you will IMPROVE (only if you put in the effort) 3) you may not be in the mood to write today, so take a break!! (it doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t write; you just need time and inspo)

confidence comes with experience

experience comes with perseverance

keep that in mind

you will become a great writer one day, and when that day comes, you will know it. you’ll feel it

the day will come when you’ll be able to sit down and write advice for others. if you can teach it, that’s when you know you know it (:

so keep writing and you’ll get there!

idk if this rambling even helped, but my shorter writing advice post is here! wish you a good time on wp!

#ask #milkimochii #writing #chana #chana's advice #inspiration #this was lowkey kinda fun to write #i hope it was helpful #because i definitely didn't know half of this shit when i started off writing #i think i was a bad writer for eight of the ten years i wrote #which kinda sucks #but at least i know now loll

[asexual-juliet]

Things Veronica Mars Season Three Could Have Given Us If The Writers Weren’t Cowards

1. An actual exploration into the aftermath of all the shit that went down with Cassidy.  - Dick Casablancas’ trauma & guilty conscience. He’s a piece of garbage but had so much fucking potential and I’m never gonna get over how the writers fucked up his entire life and then spend ten minutes max exploring him in the aftermath. - Mac’s trauma & intimacy issues. I’m never gonna forgive them for deleting those scenes in 3.04 with Wallace realizing Mac is uncomfortable around guys she doesn’t know and even him when he puts his arm around her. Release that footage cowards. Ily Mac you deserved so much more. - Not writing Gia out and actually exploring her trauma. God she could have been so interesting... I’ve written some stuff about it but I feel like she would actually feel bad for Cassidy, like... while Dick feels guilty that he didn’t notice Cassidy was being abused, Gia would probably feel guilty that she didn’t notice her dad was abusing all these boys... and she had a little brother, so god knows what her dad did to him. - Logan’s guilt regarding Cassidy’s suicide is something that wasn’t even touched on?? Like he was there when it happened and literally couldn’t answer when Cassidy asked him why he shouldn’t jump...you can’t tell me that didn’t fuck up this already fucked-up kid.

2. Not forcing Piz and Veronica together - this one is self-explanatory but. Logan and Veronica were so endgame. I get Piz’s puppy-dog crush on V, but to actually have them end up together??? Logan did not save Veronica’s life time and time again for this kind of treatment.

3. Not killing off Kendall - No one else probably cares about this one but I am a Kendall stan. she’s got that Julie Cooper energy and I would give my life for Julie Cooper. Let Kendall skip town with her eight million dollars and live it UP. - (Or stay in town, get a divorce and actually be kind of a good stepmom to Dick? This is just because I wrote that one fic but Mom Kendall is now near and dear to my heart. not to plug my own shit but fic link here)

4. Appreciating Parker Lee - I fuckign love her - sunshine girl... i miss her so much

5. Parker and Mac as girlfriends - I forgot I shipped this until two seconds ago but omg it’s valid - I just think they’re neat

6. Not just entirely writing out Duncan Kane - Unpopular opinion I actually really like Duncan?? He’s doing his best. - I would like to order one (1) interaction between him and Logan regarding the hit on Aaron Echolls.  - They were best friends in S1 and I deserve more!!

7. More Logan & Heather!!! - Ok 3.13 has all my rights but Logan promised Heather they would play Mariokart together once a week and I would like to see that please!!

8. Everyone just hanging out and having fun?? - They’re college kids! let them hang out and be happy! - Especially during that last stretch when Veronica wasn’t actually solving any major mysteries?? - Just like... Wallace and Logan and Dick and Mac and Parker hanging out... their overall dynamic is something we deserved. - Just playing video games in Logan’s suite... idk just hanging out!!! having fun!!! - This is entirely based on this fic it’s maybe my favorite VM fic... ever? go read it omg.

9. I don’t remember very much about S3 Weevil and I think that means more Weevil scenes/plotlines are required - Finally let Logan and Weevil resolve their shit - I just think canon bisexual Weevil would be neat

10. Dick actually fucking apologizing for leaving Veronica passed out in a room with Cassidy & telling Cassidy to rape her - I would feel much less guilty about enjoying the character so much if he apologized for the worst fucking thing he ever did - i know they changed his character around because Ryan Hansen was so likeable but if they could’ve actually addressed his Biggest Fucking Flaw in the process, that would’ve been dope

Anyway I’ve revoked all of season three’s rights. Wish I wasn’t two years old when it aired so they could hire me to write a better, gayer version. Thanks for nothing Rob Thomas

#veronica mars #veronica mars spoilers #logan echolls #dick casablancas #gia goodman #cindy mackenzie #parker lee #cassidy casablancas #kendall casablancas #weevil navarro #wallace fennel #heather button #duncan kane #i'm not even gonna mention season four because there are some things i just can't fix #guess i'm back on my bullshit everyone

[sentofight]

2. Do you believe in long notes threads or each time the plot changes, you write a new starter?

3. Do you feel jealous of doubles? and if no, please share ways for others to learn.

munday meme on tuesday heh | accepting ?? | @cadcnce​

2. Do you believe in long notes threads or each time the plot changes, you write a new starter?

[[ I dooo!!!! I love when a thread can pass over the usual ten notes ;u; it feels like some kind of accomplishment you know? it has been a while since I had long threads. Well, so far the longest thread has 89 notes! and it is still going so that’s neat~ Though i do the switch to a new post if I feel like it is better to separate the thread if the events are changing??? like uuhh it would be neat to make like save points? haha kind of. it helps if you like to reread through threads to see what you have wrote so far or maybe try to find a line to quote for a new thread. i think both ways are neat! 

3. Do you feel jealous of doubles? and if no, please share ways for others to learn.

[[ do i look like saint to you? lololol uuuhhhh i mean hmm i did get a little bit jelly but then it was annoying for me to feel that. i cant make AAAALL ppl love me or like the way i write. it would be hypocrite if i said “yep that does not bother me AT ALL” yeah sometimes i get that tiny little me noise in the back of my head saying ‘uwu they dont write with you hohoh~ bet they like x’s muse better. how shame~’ and i really want to beat me sometimes. but hmm a way .... idk A WAY but first you need to be happy with what YOU write you know? i got a little bit shaky with my single muse blog, chrom but then it was like ..that age ?? you reach when everything is just EH. you will get there if you believe in what you write. you dont compare yourself to others, well in a negative way. learning from others is nice but comparing and trying to find what makes you different and look for why certain blog follows them and not or they interact with them but not....boy. thats a maze. not gonna lie, been there and it is ugly. im not great at pep talk but the most important thing i will repeat again you having fun in what you write. because in the end, this is fiction. this is a hobby not a job (unless u get paid then good for you) so dont stress about people with the same muse as you. there is NO WAY, NO CHANCE you will write the same as them (unless you are the person who steals ppl ideas to try to get their ppl to interact with you then begone piece of poo). i’d like to jazz hands at my favorite person who writes a muse as me, wars. we wrote the same muse for years but i have a different look for Eight and so does she but in the end what makes us besties THAT WE FRICKING LOVE OUR POTEIGHTO. every time i feel bad about being less of a writer because I THINK someone else write this muse better than me i remember my past interactions with amazing ppl who wrote the same muse as me and how we can actually have a rave party and not be on each other throats. to each person their own experience they write from. so dont feel bad that you dont share theirs and their viewpoints. EVERYONE ARE VALID AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA  

sankyu for listening to my rambling ted talk.

#OOC.| FATY SPEAKS #cadcnce #[[bruh

[snlhostharry]

to be determined / one

harry styles x reader friends with benefits au

soon after moving to new york, you meet harry styles at a party. you convince yourself that there’s nothing between the two of you until it becomes too intense to ignore. if you keep telling yourself that he doesn’t mean anything to you, does that make it true?

a/n: hi everyone! welcome to my first harry styles series. This originally started as a challenge for myself to try and write a harry fic inspired by taylor swift songs so that’s where the chapter titles come from, it’s kind of become something bigger than that but I figured I would keep the theme anyway 

chapter 1: welcome to new york

The story starts in New York City. 

A place written about in countless stories, about love, about heartbreak, about giving up, about standing tall, and about putting broken hearts into drawers and slamming them shut. It’s easy to say that writing another story about New York is beating a dead horse, throwing characters into the same tired old setting and letting them live out the writer's wildest daydream. But it’s never been about the city itself, it’s always been about the people. Something about the city always manages to be the perfect stomping ground for people, for characters to find each other in a  whirlwind of A list parties and harsh billboard lights. 

Speaking of which you are suddenly very sick of said harsh billboard lights in the middle of times square. As someone who has read (and written) countless articles describing times square as a flurry of activity but also with some kind of inherent magical appeal, the center of everything it’s own small utopia, you know that everyone who wrote that had to be aware of their own bullshit. It’s a nuanced way of tourist trapping, smart, albeit annoying on a variety of levels. A gimmick to get wide eyed little girls to stand in the middle of chaos and think that maybe they could carve out a place for themselves here. 

You’re not trying to carve out a place for yourself, you’re trying to get to a stupid party. That and manage to not get any mud or other stains on this very nice dress you’re wearing. After what seems like forever of looking around and then suddenly looking back down at your phone just in case anyone wanted to even try to make eye contact with you, familiar faces appear out of the sea of people. 

You greet them with a look of disappointment, “Two questions: why did you want to meet here-” a tourist elbows there way past you mid sentence, inadvertently proving your point, “-and why aren’t we just taking an uber?” 

Molly, a tall black woman with objectively perfect hair (which is somehow gorgeous at all times), smiles and pats your shoulder like a kindergarten teacher, “I thought you would want to see Times Square.”

“I’ve seen it,” You shoot back, squinting again at the bright light coming from directly behind her head, and adjusting your jacket over your shoulders. 

She squeezes your shoulder quickly, “And also to teach you that any time someone asks you to meet them in Times Square  they’re fucking with you.”

“I figured you were fucking with me,” You tell her, “But thank you, god forbid the midwestern girl gets lost in Times Square waiting for someone to meet her who is obviously not coming.” 

Molly laughs, and so do you. She looks down at her phone briefly, and then back at you, “To answer your question, why would anyone ever try to get an uber in the city at seven?” 

You shrug, “What kind of self respecting party starts at eight?” 

Fletcher, who’s name admittedly sounds like it should belong to anyone but him, finally stops staring at the large elmo mascot a few feet away and jumps into the conversation. “The kind with an age range, twenty somethings to late thirty somethings, who no longer have the energy to go from nine to six am.” 

You sigh, “So boring then or-?”

“It’s about networking,” Molly says, “And also drinking, but mostly networking.” 

“One of those unique business opportunities where you get free food, and possibly run into celebrities, singers mostly.” 

You roll your eyes, “Wow you had me at various singers.” 

“Says the woman who did an interview series with Tik Tok kids who all live in the same house,” Molly snips, half joking. 

You shiver, half from the memories of that objectively terrible experience and half from a sudden breeze. Needless to say a significant portion of the reason why you’d left LA, was because their entertainment section was suddenly drifting away from profiles on actors and towards compilations of one minute videos made by sun tanned twenty somethings that somehow made them millions a year. That and after you’d spent two weeks semi living with ten of said twenty somethings for a story that had gotten a lot of buzz you never wanted to see anyone connected to the app ever again. 

You give Molly your best ‘I’ll kill you’ smile, “You have to decide what you’re going to make fun of me for, is it the midwestern thing or is it the Tik Tok thing because one of those involves you admitting that I lived in Los Angeles for a year which means I’m perfectly capable of handling Times Square in all of it’s elmo public urinating glory.” 

Fletcher looks again at the mascot who is not in fact publicly urinating, but honestly if it did suddenly start none of you would be surprised. 

Molly looks at you for a second and says, “Both,” She looks at Fletcher. 

He looks at you then back and Molly and nods, “Yeah. Both.” 

You roll your eyes, “So can we get going now or-?” 

The ride to the location Molly had all but refused to tell you was filled with talks of the impending deadlines on Monday for pieces that were anywhere from fifty to seventy percent finished. (your’s is at the lower end of the spectrum because there is only so much one person can write about an art installation that you found less insightful and more literal in the sense that the sculpture was literally just large amounts of clay pressed together in something that shouldn’t even be considered a shape with no metaphor or meaning behind it). 

Soon enough you’re standing in what looks like mostly a residential neighborhood, with one precariously nice building in the middle of the block. You turn to Molly, “What the-?” 

“Don’t finish that, just be patient,“ She interrupts as a response. “You are very impatient, you know that?”

“I’m a journalist,” You say, “I need to know all of the facts, including what the-” You take a breath, “-heck we’re doing in the middle of a nice little neighborhood, I was expecting something more Gossip Girland Brooklyn Nine-Nine.” 

“You’re definition of journalist is a lot looser than mine,” Molly says.

“Have you ever watched Gossip Girl? And isn’t Brooklyn Nine-Nine set in a precinct?” Fletcher adds. 

“No, and Jake and Amy live in an apartment.” 

“Beyond the fact that you’re a TV writer who has never watched Gossip Girl-” Fletcher sighs, even though you know he hasn’t watched it either beyond random snippets for a hit piece he wrote on it a few months back (not received well by the way), “The top floor of that building-” He points to the precariously nice building, “isn’t apartments its a loft, the floor is huge and only one house.” 

You squint your eyes, “You’re kidding.”

“And the rest are offices?” 

“How did they get zoning for that?” 

They both shrug at the same time. 

“Guys I want to know that if the police bust up this party, speaking of loose terms, I’m going to say that you dragged me here against my will.” 

“I always knew you had good survival instincts.” 

Molly turns to you, “Look when you’re getting special press access to the inside of the met gala you will be saying thank you Molly for bringing me here to catapult my career.” 

“I have catapulted my own career thank you, the Tik Tok thing-” You shake your head, “Nevermind can we go in and stop loitering, then we’ll really get arrested.” 

Party is a loose term but you learn that's not necessarily a bad thing. It’s not a rager with strobe lights and pumping bass but there is music playing albeit classical. People mill around at tables talking to one another, both twenty somethings and thirty somethings, you recognize a few faces from the media mostly. Fletcher was right about the food, and Molly was right about the drinks. You talk to a few people just to introduce yourself, a couple of them have heard of you, if only because your sudden cross country move to newspapers that aren’t necessarily competitors but might have a bit of a rivalry was something that people talked about. You’d made a couple thirty under thirty lists (no not the Forbes one) while in LA, which meant nothing to you if you were being completely honest but apparently meant things to other people which is fine.

When you’re finally exhausted at putting on a smile and nodding like you’re actively engaged in conversation and not thinking about something completely you hang out by the bar, not even drinking, just watching the room and all of the people there. You never wanted to get a reputation for being the quiet girl in the corner who just watched and listened because those kinds of people are always seen as weird or doormats or both but if you’re being honest this is where you’re the most comfortable. Making small talk just to get some opportunity down the road has never quite been your style. 

You turn to go and find Molly when you suddenly come face to face with someone you recognise right away. 

In that moment you realize that Taylor Swift was in fact onto something when she said, “Didn’t you flash your green eyes at me?” As weird as it is, the first thing you think when you meet Harry Styles is how that song is definitely about him, because those green eyes are striking and they are staring right at you. 

“Hi,” He says, quick to the draw. 

You take a step back just because of how close you are and say, “Hello.” 

He looks at you like he’s thinking about something, and then holds out his hand, “Harry.” 

“y/n,” You shake his hand. You recover from your initial shock quickly, and plaster on that fake conversation smile again, ready for whatever it is he wants to say, if anything. You came here to ‘network’ and you’re not sure what kind of advantage talking to Harry Styles could possibly give you, but for some reason you want to talk to him. 

“What brings you here?” He asks you. 

“My co-workers,” You shrug, “I would much rather be at home watching Succession on HBO and listening to the Beatles on my record player, like true people of culture would.”

He looks at you for a second, as you try to keep a straight face. Then he laughs, “Seriously?”

“Fuck no,” You say, “That’s my impression of the girl who meets Harry Styles at a party and has to convince him that she is not like all the other girls, she is the one for him.” You smile, “Was that good? Or should I try again?” 

He thinks about it, “I think you should try again.” 

“Because you think it’s wrong or because you think I’m funny?”

“What do you think?”

“Well if you think I’m funny, then I’ve already won, I’ve tricked you into thinking that I’m not like all the other girls with reverse psychology .”

“Are you screwing with me?”

“Of course I’m screwing with you,” You take a sip of your drink. “If I were home right now I would be playing Lizzo on my record player, and drinking something with a medically unsafe level of caffeine.” You pause, “What brings you here?” 

“Honestly,” He looks out over the room, “I thought that this was going to be a much cooler party. Instead it’s just a bunch of reporters, and editors and media people.” 

“Who are inherent mood killers?” You ask. 

He narrows his eyes at you, “Am I allowed to say yes to that?” 

“You can do whatever you want,” You tease him, “You’re Harry Styles, who am I to tell you what to say?” 

“I feel like it was a trick question, which means that you are also a reporter.” 

You laugh again, “That was funny, I’m going to write that down for my story. ‘Harry is genuinely funny which he tries to use to make up for the lack of small talk abilities’.”

“You’re screwing with me again.” 

“Of course I am,” You say, “I work in the arts section of the Times, well not the actual art anymore but the movies and television.” 

“TV critic?” He says, “So you’re harsh.” 

“TV critics are just harsh for attention, I don’t need to be because no movie snob or well meaning director is going to go to the Times to see what we thought of any given movie. I write honestly, sometimes under the influence of caffeine and try to contain my excitement at narratively unnecessary plot twists.” You explain, “That and I get paid to watch TV, and usually private screenings of movies.” 

He leans against the bar a sign that he doesn’t plan on moving anytime soon. You’re not going to say that you’re so awestruck by a celebrity that you have no idea what to say, or that he’s intimidating you but your hand shakes just a little as you clutch your fingers around the glass because he’s objectively attractive. Objectively attractive in the way that if he were on a dating app you would swipe yes and then put a lot of pressure on yourself to be funny and relatable even though you know that you don’t need him. 

“What did you think of Dunkirk?” 

“Oh!” You forgot that he acted, “That was before my time. I was working at the LA Times doing the music section then I think.” You know what he’s going to say next, “And before you ask yes there is a piece still posted of me reviewing your debut album. I think I reached out to get an interview with you, but I was suspiciously declined.” He looks embarrassed, “I was like under five years out of college I would’ve declined me too. They only gave me the story because it was the time where people weren’t sure that ex boyband members could make objectively good albums that meant something.” 

He tilts his head to the side for a second, “And? Can they?”

“I’m in no place to make a generalization,” You say, “But I think you did. Admittedly that album was something, very intimate.” 

“I don’t know if I should be taking that as a compliment.”

“I don’t want to give you a compliment because some people have a hard time with them, and this will get very awkward very fast. No shame, personally I have no mechanism to take compliments on my writing.” 

He laughs, “I think I can take it.” 

“Hmm.. okay,” You take another step back, “Okay are you sure you're ready?” 

“Yes.” 

“I think the entire album was very good, very unexpectedly good or at least I didn’t expect it to be. It was very open in that way that songs are vulnerable but still leave enough mystery that your fans don’t think you're a shitty person and I really like meet me in the hallway,” You say quickly, “In fact I listened to it just yesterday when I was working.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and then fake sighs, “See I don’t think that counts because it was more of a backhanded compliment.” 

“What?”

“You said you didn’t expect it to be good, that’s not really a compliment then-”

“I was saying it pleasantly surprised me,” You say, throwing your hands in the air in mock annoyance. “You surprise me, Harry.” He doesn’t say anything, and for a minute neither do you, but you snap back to life just in time to say, “Is that compliment enough to embarrass you?” 

He shrugs, but you know he’s messing with you. “It’s something but I don’t know if it’s really doing it for me.” 

“You are impossible, just another out of touch celebrity, is nothing ever good enough for you people?” It’s by now that you realize that you inadvertently closed the gap between the two of you, and you’re standing very close. 

He seems to realize this at the same time as you, “I-”

“Are you going to ask me to have sex with you?” You deadpan. 

“What?” He looks offended for a second, “No.” 

“I had to ask,” You tell him, “It’s happened before.” 

“I was going to ask you for your number.”

“See usually when a guy asks me that they’re asking so-” 

“It’s not for that.” 

“Then what’s it for?” 

He looks at you with something in his eyes that you don’t know the meaning of, “In case you want to do an interview, so that they don’t reject you this time.” 

You know that’s not it, but you give it to him anyway because he’s Harry Styles (which yes is not a valid reason but this ‘party’ is very boring and this is the most interesting thing to happen to you in at least the past week). It takes you a minute to remember which one is your real number and which one is the fake number you give off if a guy is asking because he wants a booty call, but you eventually give it to him. Then you scurry off with a quick goodbye when you realize how late it is, and how you do have work to do. There’s a new episode of Big Little Lies out tomorrow and you don’t understand why but people are very into the show, and very into your episode recaps. 

You corner Molly away from some guy you think might have actually been able to get her press access to the Met Gala and remind her that she also has a deadline tomorrow. The two of you go off to look for Fletcher and find him very close to sealing the deal with an objectively pretty girl, but you politely remind him that he has work to do and is very busy. The girl looks sad but let’s him go without much whining. You would’ve understood if she tried to get him to stay with her, he’s a little bit shorter than Molly but to be fair Molly is above averagely tall, and is nice and fit and has brown curly hair which you know from personal experience is sometimes just kryptonite. (you’ve kissed Fletcher before, long story, and can also say he’s on your top list of good kissers as well right up there with a guy you hooked up with in LA only to realize later that he was Robert Pattinson). 

Somehow the three of you are only able to make it back to your apartment. So the night ends with Molly and Fletcher in the living room on the couch and in a sleeping bag respectively, and you are comfortably in your bed. Your phone sits on your nightstand, suspiciously silent. You’re not waiting for Harry Styles to call you, nope, definitely not. 

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles one shot #my writing

[izzyfandoms]

Sleepality - Inky Freckles

SHIPS: Sleepality, background Virmile and Thomgan, and mentioned Dukeceit (though neither of them show up)

WARNINGS: Remus sends one text message with an implied threat (not towards the recipient), very very background sympathetic deceit and remus (they aren't acc in any scenes), mild swearing

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread

Masterpost

Patton chewed distractedly on the end of his pen, tapping his foot on his bedroom floor as his eyes remained on his clock, watching as the seconds and the minutes ticked by.

Five minutes. Ten seconds.

Five minutes and ten seconds until the moment he turned sixteen.

January 15th, 1:46 am on the dot: the exact date and time of Patton’s birth. Precisely sixteen years after that moment, his soul would open up, and the bond between him and his soulmate would be formed, like an invisible string from one soul to the other. Any ink spilled on Patton’s skin would show up on his soulmate’s, too, and vice versa. Of course, nothing would happen if Patton’s soulmate wasn’t also sixteen yet, but it was still a big moment in his young life.

(If he even had a soulmate, that was. Most people didn’t, but Patton wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t hopeful.)

Four minutes. Thirty-six seconds.

Patton got up from his desk, pacing around the room a few times before sitting down on his bed, leaning back against the pillows and pulling his knees to his chest. Despite the coolness of his room, and the goose-bumps on his arms, he was dressed in a worn blue t-shirt and pyjama shorts, revealing as much skin as possible, just in case. His father, Roman, had gifted him a new pack of pens – the ones made specially to be safe for skin – and he’d picked out the glittery light blue one, his favourite colour, ready to write.

Three minutes. Twelve seconds.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Patton mumbled.

Three minutes. Seven seconds.

He yawned loudly, stretching and almost dropping his pen. It was late – much later than he usually stayed up. Patton was a well-behaved kid; he went to bed when his father told him to, never stayed out past curfew. He was usually fast asleep by 11pm at latest, so this was rather unusual for him.

Tonight was one of a kind, after all.

Two minutes. Fifty-one seconds.

The tick of the clock was maddeningly slow, every second seeming to take hours. Patton couldn’t wait for when he didn’t have to keep watching.  

He reached over to his bedside table, taking his phone and switching it on.

There was one new message, from his uncle Remus, sent a few minutes ago.

UNCLE REMUS

tell your soulmate if he ever hurts you ill rip off his dick and shove it down his throat

Patton sighed, switching off his phone and placing it back down beside him. He wasn’t sure why his uncle was so certain that he had a soulmate – he claimed it was because he was psychic, though his husband, Janus, had chided him and told him not to get Patton’s hopes up.  

It was hard not to be hopeful. Impossible.

One minute. Forty-nine seconds.

Patton chewed nervously on his lip, looking over his freckled arms and wondering what exactly he’d write to his soulmate.

Would a simple ‘hello’ suffice?

There was no point in writing a whole paragraph, especially when it was statistically unlikely that Patton even had a soulmate – and even if he did, perhaps they were younger, and their connection wouldn’t start until his soulmate turned sixteen, too.

One minute. Zero seconds.

A minute. A minute. A minute. Just a minute until Patton (maybe) talked to his soulmate for the first time. That was so little time – though it felt like so much.

Patton couldn’t help but burst into delighted laughter, and he was sure that if anybody was watching him, they’d think he was insane. The hope bubbled up inside him, like a cup overflowing with water, unable to be suppressed.

Fifty seconds.

He moved forward, and then lay down on his back, spreading his arms out like a starfish.

Patton tried to keep the hope down, tried to keep it from spilling over even more. Or maybe that was nausea, swirling in his stomach, but it almost felt too good to be that. Too happy. Too excited. Both, maybe.

Forty seconds.

Patton twirled the pen in his hand.

It slipped from his fingers, hitting the carpet with a quiet thump.

He bent down – wobbling slightly and nearly tumbling right off his bed – picking it back up and then sitting up again. He moved so his back was pressed against the wall, and tilted his head up to look at the pattern at the ceiling, counting each swirl.

He glanced back at the clock.

Twenty seconds.

His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and his eyes remained on the clock, watching it tick.

Ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

Zero. Zero. Zero.

Patton sat up straight, squeezing the pen tightly, so tightly that his nails dug into his palm.

He pulled off the cap, dropping it on the bed beside him and holding the tip just above his wrist. His hand shook (nervousness or excitement? Both) as he pondered what to write for another moment.

He pressed the pen to his skin.

Hello?

Hopefully that was good enough.

Patton waited a few seconds, almost a whole minute, and then sighed, leaning back so his head hit the wall and closing his eyes. He was disappointed, but he knew that it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have let himself get so hopeful. Maybe he didn’t have a soulmate – that was alright, his uncles weren’t soulmates and yet they were wonderfully happy together.

(But his brother, Emile, did have a soulmate, and there was something amazing about the way he and Virgil could practically read each other’s minds, communicating effortlessly without saying a word. Patton wanted that. He really, desperately wanted that, more than anything else in the world.)

He wouldn’t cry.  

He wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t.

His lower lip trembled.

All of a sudden, Patton felt a funny sensation on his wrist, like someone else was writing on it – the non-existent pen so light on his skin he almost couldn’t feel it. Almost.

Patton’s eyes shot open, and he immediately lifted his wrist to stare at it, wide-eyed.

His breath stuttered at the words now written in black ink just below his greeting.

holy shit

Before Patton could truly process what was going on, before he could regain his breath, the sensation resumed, and more words began to appear below those first ones.

hi

guess im ur soulmate lol

Patton couldn’t help but giggle, practically vibrating with excitement.

He picked his pen back up, ignoring the slight stain he’d left on his bedsheets. He’d spilt enough juice and milk on his bed to care about one little stain, especially right now, when he had a much more important thing to focus on.

Oh my gosh!!!!!!

Soulmate!!!

Im Patton!

Patton Picani!!!

thats a lot of exclamation marks babe

Nervousness tinged the edges of Patton’s bubble of excitement, enough that he almost didn’t notice the use of the word ‘babe’, which made his heart skip a beat.

sorry

not a bad thing

its cute

Patton bit his lip, wiggling excitedly as his heartrate increased. He watched as the words continued coming. They were messy, but Patton was sure the handwriting was the prettiest he’d ever seen, though he could admit that he might’ve been a little biased. He would read a million books written in this handwriting.

im Remy

Sanders

my bdays acc the 16th lol

tomorrow

i turn 17

Its my birthday today!!!!

Only after Patton wrote that did he realise how obvious it was – of course it was his birthday – but he didn’t particularly care. The ticking of the clock had faded into background noise, and it was hard to believe it had ever annoyed him so much, though it was impossible for him to think of anything negative right now. He was floating on cloud nine.

happy birthday

were running out of arm space

id have to strip to get leg room

wanna gimme ur number?

Okay!!!

They quickly exchanged phone numbers, and Patton immediately grabbed his phone, creating a new contact labelled ‘Remy’ followed by seven colourful hearts – a rainbow of love. But before he could text Remy, Remy texted him first.

REMY:

what time is it for u

Patton glanced at the clock.

PATTON:

Almost 2am

REMY:

same

Realisation struck Patton, and his eyes widened with guilt and concern. He bit his lip, and quickly resumed typing.

PATTON:

Oh my gosh im so sorry!!!! Did I wake you up?

REMY:

nah babe dw bout it

i was already up

i always sleep late

PATTON:

That sounds unhealthy :(

Get some rest!!!

REMY:

ha

u sound like my dads lol

PATTON:

What are they like?

REMY:

my dads?

its just the three of us

their names are logan and thomas and theyre the sappiest motherfuckers on earth

gotta love em tho

theyre gonna be real thrilled when they find out bout u

bet theyll love you right away

wbu  

whats ur fam like

PATTON:

Oh! Well ive got my dad

His name’s Roman

He works in theatre!!! Hes so cool

And I’ve got my older brother Emile hes 22 and hes a therapist

He uses cartoons to help people!!

Hes also got a soulmate his name is Virgil and hes a florist

They got married last year and the wedding was so much fun!!! So many pretty flowers!!!

And I’ve got my uncle Remus hes my dads twin hes a writer and his husband Janus is a lawyer theyre also both so cool!!!

And that’s everyone!!

REMY:

if theyre all as sweet as u sugar then im sure ur all v popular

PATTON:

Well we do have dinner with our neighbours a lot!!!

Mrs Smith gives me lots of candy

Its often stale but I eat it anyway cos shes just so sweet!

Sweeter than her candy lol

Patton’s door suddenly swung open, and he jumped, his phone slipping from his fingers and landing right in his lap. His father, Roman, stepped inside, yawning and rubbing his eyes, wincing at the bright light that hung from the ceiling.

“You still up, Pat?” He asked sleepily.

He squinted, his eyes landing on the still-on phone in Patton’s lap.

“Who are you te- by the glittering horn of a unicorn! Is that writing on your arm?” He sat down, taking Patton’s arm and looking over the words. He then glanced back up at his son, his eyes shining excitedly. “You have a soulmate,” He breathed.

“I do!” Patton exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in place. “His name is Remy and he turns seventeen tomorrow and he’s just so cool!”

Roman beamed. “Wow, I’m so incredibly happy for you, Pat!” He said. Then, he chuckled, his smile turning a little teasing. “But... it’s late, and you really should be sleeping. And I’m betting that Remy should be, too.”

Patton pouted a little. “But it’s a Friday! I don’t have any school tomorrow.”

“But the family’s coming over tomorrow at 10 for your birthday, and I know you. You’re gonna be all grumbly in the morning, instead of our happy-pappy Patton, and that’ll be even worse the less sleep you get.”

Patton drooped, like a little wilting flower, but couldn’t deny that his father was right.

“Okay...” He frowned, picking up his phone, switching off the screen without looking at it, and holding it against his chest. “Can I at least say night to Remy, first?”

Roman smiled. “Sure.”

He leant forward, squeezing Patton’s arm supportively, before pressing a quick kiss to his son’s forehead. Roman gave him one last smile, affectionately ruffling his hair, before pulling back and standing up. He brushed the non-existent dirt from his pyjamas.

“Goodnight, Pat,” He said. “And happy birthday.”

In the excitement that was talking to Remy, Patton had almost forgotten that it was his birthday, and he blinked in surprise as Roman left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Patton then took a deep breath, before switching his phone back on to see whatever messages he’d missed.

REMY:

u rlly r an angel huh

PATTON:

Awwwww!!

Your making me blush

REMY:

thats the goal babe

PATTON:

Such a flirt!!

REMY:

im gonna be ten times more flirty when i get to see ur pretty face in person

PATTON:

How do you know Im pretty?

You havent even seen me yet

REMY:

i can just tell

im awesome like that

i bet ur the cutest person in the whole damn world

the whole damn universe

but while were on the subject of seeing each other

were waiting to meet naturally right?

PATTON:

Yeah!

Its good luck  

REMY:

yea

PATTON:

Welp!!!

Dad says I gotta go to sleep now!!

Night <3<3<3

REMY:

night xoxox

Patton switched off his phone, placing it on his bedside table and getting off the bed. He wobbled slightly as he stood up, suddenly realising how tired he really was, and quickly walked up to his fairy lights, switching them on before switching off the main light. He then climbed back into bed, settling in the soft nest of pastel pillows and blankets, and his last thought before he fell asleep was of his soulmate.

He barely knew Remy, but he already couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him.

***

The sound of the alarm from Remy’s phone rang through the room, waking him up suddenly. His immediate reaction was to groan, shutting it off quickly and then returning to the warm comfort of his mattress and pillows and blanket. It was the weekend, he had no plans, so if his dads wanted him up, they could come in and get him up themselves. Remy wanted to sleep.

Then, the memories of the night before flooded back to him, and he shot up in bed, pulling out his arm and staring at it wide-eyed.

The words Patton had written last night had now been washed away – likely to leave room for new words and new conversations – whilst Remy’s words still remained, though now a little smudged and faded. The only sign that Patton’s words had ever been there in the first place was the new word on his wrist, just below his palm, in baby blue, like the ones before.

Morning <3

Remy grinned, jumping out of bed much more enthusiastically than he usually did, grabbing the black pen on his bedside table and rushing to the bathroom, thankfully not bumping into either of his dads on the way there.

He washed his arms as quickly as he could, leaving them a little sore and red, though he didn’t care, and uncapped his pen with his teeth, leaving the lid in his mouth.

mornin

!!!!!

Do you always get up this late?

Remy laughed. The handwriting was a little larger and a little neater than his, and each i was dotted with a heart, which made him even more convinced that his soulmate was probably the cutest person on earth.

what time is it

10:30

later usually

what time did u get up

8:30

oof

i could never

What do you do for school then?

suffer

Remy took the pen lid out of his mouth, pocketing it and twirling the uncapped pen between his fingers, watching as more light blue words appeared on his arm. The sensation was feather-light, barely there, but impossible to ignore.

Aww no!!

I don’t want you to suffer :(

dw babe ive got coffee

life saver

id die without it

100%

Well make sure you don’t drink too much!!!!

Its bad for you!!

dw my dad always tells me that

he keeps an eye on it

Which one?

logan

Okay

There was a brief pause, and Remy almost continued writing, but he got the feeling that Patton wasn’t done, so he just waited patiently, tapping his foot against the tiled bathroom floor.

Do you mind if I doodle on my arms?

I usually do when Im bored but I thought Id ask

I wont if you don’t want me to tho

go ahead

what do u doodle?

I usually just connect my freckles

Like little constellations!!!!

It was impossible to keep the grin on Remy’s face from widening – Patton's enthusiasm was adorable and infectious – and he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, crossing one leg over the other as he pressed his pen to his skin and continued writing.

u got a lot of freckles?

Yup!

Theyre everywhere

everywhere?

Yeah!

hm

one day  

im gonna kiss every single one of your freckles

(Perhaps that was a little bold for only their second conversation, but Remy was a natural flirt, and Patton was his soulmate, after all. He’d back down at any sign of discomfort, but so far Patton had seemed receptive.)

every single one

Thats a lot of kisses

not enough

but itll be a good start

A little, swirly scribble appeared just beside the words Remy had written – the universal key-smash equivalent for soulmates writing on their skin. Just the thought that he was already able to fluster Patton so easily made Remy very, very happy. He grinned.

Gtg! Presents time!

Ill talk to you later <3<3<3

later xoxo

Remy fished the pen lid back out of his pocket, capping the pen and pocketing it. He then strolled back out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and towards the kitchen.

His fathers were both sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and talking. Their legs were pressed together under the table, and it was clear they’d just been flirting. Both Logan and Thomas looked up when Remy entered the room, surprised.

“What kind of natural disaster got you up before midday?” Thomas joked.

Remy waved his arm, showing off the writing, and Logan choked on his coffee. Thomas patted his back a few times worriedly, and Remy waited impatiently for the conversation to resume, tapping his foot against the floor.

“Is that what I think it is?” Logan asked incredulously, once he was breathing again.

Remy nodded. “Yup. Can I make coffee?”

Thomas nodded slowly, but it was clear he was much more focused on the previous topic at hand.

“You have a soulmate?” He asked. “Oh my gosh! What’s their name? Aren’t you gonna tell us about them?”

“Well, his name’s Patton,” Remy began, heading towards the coffee machine and immediately getting to work to make himself a large mug. “It’s his birthday today – it was actually, like, 2am, or something – and he’s real cute. I think you’ll both like him.”

Thomas exchanged a look with his husband – the former much more openly thrilled, whilst the latter looked more confused, though undeniably pleased. He then stood up, opening his arms immediately.

“I think this calls for a family hug,” Thomas grinned.

Logan sighed, but put his own coffee mug back down, getting up obediently.

Remy groaned. “Really? Before my coffee? Do I have to?”

“Yup! Right now,” Thomas said, wrapping one arm around Logan’s waist and resting his chin on his head, keeping his other arm outstretched, awaiting their son. “This is a big moment! It calls for a family hug. C’mere.”

“There is no point refusing, Remy,” Logan said dryly. “I learnt that a long time ago.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“Of course. That is why we got married, after all.”

Remy groaned again. “Are you two really flirting, right now? Gross.”

“Well, if you want us to stop flirting, you’re gonna have to join the hug.”

Remy sighed exaggeratedly, dragging his feet as he walked up to his dads, reluctantly joining the family hug. Then, he pulled back as quickly as he could get away with, making a face and turning back to the coffee machine. He quickly made himself a large mug – with excessive amounts of milk and sugar, something his father would usually criticise, though he seemed to turn a blind eye for today.

Remy then sat down at the table, beside Thomas, sipping eagerly at his coffee and leaning back in his chair.

His fathers didn’t take their eyes off of his arm, clearly reading the words, and after about a minute, Remy rolled his eyes, placing the coffee on his table and crossing his arms.

“What are you looking at?”

“Attitude, Remy,” Thomas sighed. “Be nice. And we’re looking at your arm because we’re excited! You have a soulmate, that’s a really big deal! We should celebrate.”

Remy perked up. “Celebrate?”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Perhaps tonight we could have dinner at the Italian place that you like.”

“Ooh, the one with that fancy pasta?”

“Weren’t we planning on going there tomorrow?” Thomas asked his husband.

Remy blinked, surprised. “We were?”

Thomas blinked, and then gave his husband a slightly sheepish smile. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

Logan sighed. “Well, I think we can put that off for tomorrow, then. Today... you may invite a few friends over.” Remy opened his mouth, but Logan quickly continued, interrupting him before he could speak. “Three friends, maximum. No parties.”

Remy pouted. “Only three? Lame.”

“If you complain, we’ll bring it down to two.”

“Three sounds great!”

***

Patton picked up his phone, holding it to his ear as he paced casually around his room.

“Emile!” He greeted. “How are you?”

“Happy birthday, Pat!” Emile greeted cheerfully, and Patton could practically hear the usual smile on his face. “And I’m doing great. Virgil invited his brother to dinner yesterday, so that was fun, and I had a real breakthrough with one of my clients, too. You?”

“I’m good! Hey, do you think this counts as Remy and my anniversary? I mean, I know we haven’t actually really met, yet, but it’s been a year since we first spoke, and we are soulmates. Does that count? Would it be weird to count it?”

Emile hummed. “I think that if you want it to count, it counts.”

“That’s a bit vague,” Patton sighed.

Emile laughed. “That’s just how it works, I’m afraid. How is Remy anyway? It’s his birthday tomorrow, right?”

Patton perked up at the opportunity to talk about his soulmate. “Remy’s great! He got a new job at the Starbucks near his house; he’s pretty excited about it. And yup, it’s his birthday tomorrow! He turns eighteen. It’s a funny coincidence, isn’t it? That our birthdays are so close?”

“It’s actually a lot more common for soulmates to have these similarities than you’d think,” Emile said. “Close birthdays, close locations, things like that. I mean, Virgil and I were both born in the same hospital.”

“Really? Oh, that’s cool!” Patton smiled.

He sat down on his bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, and moving so his back was against the wall, half-sitting on one of his pillows.

“Yup! I’ve researched a lot about these things,” Emile said. “And- oh, Virgil, there you are!”

Patton heard rustling on the other end of the line, like Emile was temporarily putting his phone down, probably to greet and kiss his husband. He waited patiently, humming a song from the Steven Universe movie and drumming his fingers against his leg. His eyes scanned the various words written across his arms. Shiny black and glittery light blue. There were doodles, too – lines connecting the dots of his freckles, done by himself, and little stars and moons and hearts by Remy.

Then the rustling resumed, more movement, and Patton stopped humming.

“Morning, Pat,” Virgil greeted.

Patton smiled. “Virgil! How’s work going?”

“Not bad. I helped a guy arrange a hate-bouquet for his ex-boyfriend yesterday, so that was fun.”

“Sounds interesting!”

Virgil hummed in agreement, and it sounded like he was nodding. “I’m gonna hand the phone back to Emile, now. Happy birthday, kid.”

“Thanks!”

There was another moment of rustling, and then Emile returned.

“Okay, Virgil and I have to get to work,” Emile said. “We’re stopping by later for dinner, dad already knows. And, before you ask, no I will not tell you what your gift is, you’re gonna have to wait and see.”

Patton pouted. “Aww, okay. Bye!”

“Bye!”

Patton hung up the phone, before switching over to the texting app, and opening up his conversation with Remy.

PATTON

Hey im running out of space

So im gonna clean my arm

Can you too?

Remy responded almost immediately, as he usually did.

REMY

sure

one sec

Patton smiled, getting up and pocketing his phone. He headed over to the bathroom, quickly scrubbing away the words on his arms (he could leave the ones still remaining on his legs and torso, for now), and watching as Remy’s words disappeared at about the same time.

He then returned to his bedroom, sitting back down on his bed and fetching and uncapping his favourite pen.

The moment the tip of his pen touched his skin, a small black dot appeared just below it, like Remy was doing the exact same on his side – unintentionally trying to write in unison. All of a sudden, a wave of peace and happiness washed over Patton, but the emotions didn’t come from within himself. No, they came from an outside source, from somewhere else. Not from him.

From Remy.

At first, Patton was confused, disoriented, and then his heart skipped a beat, and he lifted his pen from his wrist.

The feeling stopped.

He then returned the pen to his wrist, creating another dot of light blue ink. For a moment, nothing happened, the feeling didn’t return, but then a small black speck appeared just beside his.

This time, the happiness was joined by an almost cautious excitement, tinged with something else.

What was it?

Love?

Love.

It felt like Patton was loving himself, except the love came from elsewhere, it came from Remy. Like a warm, comfortable blanket of love, wrapping around him and keeping him safe.

Patton beamed, wide and toothy and delighted, leaning back against the pillows and practically wiggling with excitement, careful to keep his pen tip on his wrist. A similar, thrilled feeling came back at him, and Patton quickly realised that whatever feelings he was getting from Remy, Remy was probably getting some very similar feelings in return from him.

damn babe

either something v weird is happening to me or thats ur feelings im feeling

I can feel it too!!!

Oh my gosh!

good i was worried i might be drunk

Have you been drinking?

nah thats why i was worried lmao

would be v weird to be drunk with no booze

Well that sure would be unusual!

The feelings from Remy weren’t constant, they only surfaced when both Patton and Remy were writing at once – flashes of emotions that were practically addicting. He wanted to keep feeling those feelings forever.

this is v weird

on and off

think itll get more constant the more we talk?

like we wont need to be both writing at the same time to feel it or smth?

Yeah!

I think so

Thats what happened with Em and Virge at least

cool

cant wait

There was a brief pause, and then Remy’s writing resumed.

can we doodle?

might make the empathy connection thingy better

Sure!

Patton giggled, unable to help himself, before pressing the tip of his pen to one of his freckles and drawing a thin line from it to another. Then another and another and another. Over and around the written words. He wasn’t making any specific shape or pattern in particular, just connecting the numerous dots. As he did this, Patton felt new shapes and doodles appearing on his legs, though he couldn’t see them through his trousers. Hearts and stars and moons and pawprints, most likely. The last one was new – Patton’s favourite.

He could feel Remy’s peace and contentment and love (love, love), like it was flowing through the air and seeping through his skin, filling him with happiness. Sometimes, it even increased for a brief moment, usually just after Patton’s happiness bubbled over into delighted giggles. It was a cycle – happiness creating happiness creating happiness.

Patton loved Remy. Remy loved Patton.

Love. Love. Love.

***

“Hey, Remy!”

Remy glanced up from his phone, straightening up as noticed and watched his best friend, Toby, approaching him. His foot tapped impatiently against the pavement, and his sunglasses were on to shield his eyes from bright midday sun.

“Gurl, what was taking you so long?” Remy complained, stuffing his phone into his pocket and crossing his arms, practically pouting. “I’ve been waiting here for, like, hours.”

Toby gave him a dry look. “I’m ten minutes late.”

“And that’s, like, ten hours in gay-and-in-a-hurry time.”

“In a hurry? What the hell are we even doing? Your text was very vague.”

“Well, it’s my dad’s birthday in a-”

“Which one?”

“Thomas. Bitch, stop interrupting me.”

Toby laughed, and Remy glared at him. He held his hands up defensively in mock surrender, and then gestured for Remy to continue.

“Anyway, it’s my dad’s birthday on Sunday and I’m supposed to get him a gift. I dunno what, though, so you’re gonna help me.”

“I’m pretty sure you know him better than I do.”

Remy shushed him. “Gurl, I am not letting you get out of helping me. So, we’re going to-”

He suddenly froze, going silent. Remy’s brow then creased, too, and after a moment of stillness he began to rapidly pat his arms and legs, like he was looking for something, though he didn’t seem to find it. Toby gave him a bewildered look.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I can feel Patton’s emotions,” Remy said.

He could, but only barely – just little hints of Patton, pricking the edges of his soul – much less than he was used to, but still impossible to ignore. He was used to these feelings by now, always recognising them immediately, though this time it was... different.

“Okay... so, he’s writing to you? Isn’t that normal?”

Remy looked back at him, looking just as confused as Toby. “No, he isn’t. He isn’t writing to me. No ink.”

“He... isn’t?”

“I can always feel it,” Remy explained. “Always. But not right now. Why... why-” He froze, his eyes widening behind his dark sunglasses.  

“What?”

“He must be close. He must- oh my god, he must be close!” Remy looked around quickly, at all of the surrounding pedestrians. None of them looked right – none of them were Patton – but he could practically sense him. He was so close.

Toby blinked. “Really?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes. Yes, really. I know what I’m talking about!” Remy exclaimed, perhaps a little harsher than intended. “The empath shit only happens when you write or when you’re close. Gurl, that’s, like, common knowledge.”

Toby held his hands up. “Right, uh... sorry.” He cleared his throat. “So, how are we gonna find him?”

Remy’s brow scrunched up in thought. “I don’t know.”

His best friend shrugged, even more lost than he was.

“Maybe... maybe...” Remy continued, trailing off, before he suddenly straightened up. “It’ll get stronger the closer I get to him, so I just have to follow where it’s stronger, right? Like... like getting warmer and colder.”

Toby nodded slowly. “That makes sense. So, uh, walk around, and we’ll go in the direction that makes it stronger.”

Remy immediately began to pace in circles around Toby, pulling a slightly panicked face when at one point the feeling completely disappeared. Then, it got stronger, a wave of anticipation and curiosity, nervousness and excitement.

It suddenly hit Remy that if he could feel Patton, then Patton could feel him, too.

Patton was probably looking for him.

The corners of Remy’s lips twitched up into a smile. He was practically oozing excitement, and it was contagious, as Patton’s also seemed to increase – even Toby began smiling, too.

Toby patted him on the shoulder.

“Go on, follow your gut. I’ll be right behind you.”

Remy immediately turned on his heel, sprinting in the direction the emotions seemed to be coming from, and Toby almost tripped over his own feet following him. The empathy got stronger and stronger and stronger with every step, until it was even stronger than it usually was, and as his excitement further increased, so did Patton’s.

He rounded a corner, and immediately ran right into someone running at a similar speed, and they both tumbled to the ground with two loud thumps.

“Ah, fuck,” Remy groaned, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose as a jolt of pain shot down his leg.

“Oof,” The other boy winced.

His voice was like a bell, ringing through the air: suddenly the only sound that Remy could hear.

That was when Remy realised that Patton’s emotions were now equal to his own – mixing together in Remy’s soul until they were one and the same. It was almost like they were thinking and feeling as one, which was rather disorienting, to say the least.  

Patton... Patton was right in front of him.

Remy opened his eyes, immediately coming face-to-face with the most gorgeous person he had even seen – a wide-eyed and freckled boy, about a year younger than Remy, staring back at him with parted lips and an equally startled expression. He was wearing a blue and grey t-shirt, showing off his arms and the words Remy had written to him today, and all the constellations he’d doodled on his own skin. Now, Remy could see the stars that he’d been missing, and, in his opinion, they were even better than the ones in the night sky.

Patton.

Patton, Patton, Patton.

“Patton,” Remy breathed.

“Remy.”

Remy laughed, uncontrolled and loud and delighted, sitting up straight and taking Patton’s hand in his own, squeezing it. It was warm and soft, Remy never wanted to let go, and when Patton squeezed back, he felt... complete. Perfect. Heaven.

Patton smiled – like a shining sun, one that thankfully didn’t hurt to look at, as Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“Wow,” Remy laughed. “You’re... wow.”

“Wow,” Patton echoed.

People were probably staring at them – Toby included – but Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of Patton to check. Patton seemed to be doing similarly, his eyes slowly taking in every part of Remy’s body, before returning to his face, staring into his eyes.

Patton’s eyes were brown, like honey in the sunlight. Beautiful.

“It’s... it’s nice to finally meet you,” Patton said softly.

“Likewise.”

There was a beat.

“You are gorgeous,” Remy continued, the words coming out before he could stop himself. He almost regretted blurting it out, but then Patton’s face turned a particularly pretty shade of pink, and Remy immediately grinned.

Patton squeezed his hand. “You, too.”

“Oh, I know I’m hot, babe,” Remy said, making Patton giggle. “But you, you’re... you’re an angel. Like, damn, how the hell did I get so lucky? I must’ve done something really freaking amazing in a past life to have deserved you.”

“You’re even more of a flirt in person,” Patton smiled, a little teasingly.

Remy laughed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I warned you.”

“You did,” Patton said, smiling fondly.

“Is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?” Remy asked suddenly. His tone of voice was casual, like he was joking, but they both knew – Patton could probably sense – that he was serious.

Patton didn’t hesitate, answering quickly. “No. I mean, yes. I mean... no, it’s not too soon. Please?”

Remy didn’t waste any time, reaching forward, carefully cradling Patton’s face in his hand and kissing him gently. His lips were soft and warm and Remy never wanted to stop kissing him. Patton covered Remy’s hand with his own free one, kissing back a little clumsily, though it was without a doubt enthusiastic.

Then, he got a little too enthusiastic, and Remy tumbled backwards, pulling Patton along with him.

They broke apart, and after a moment of startled – slightly awkward – silence, they both started laughing loudly, and Patton climbed off of him. He finally stood up, holding out his hand and helping Remy up, too.

The pedestrians that had been watching them had mostly all moved on by now, leaving only Toby hovering awkwardly nearby. He had his phone out, trying to distract himself, give them some privacy, though he was undeniably still keeping an eye out. It wasn’t every day you saw a soulmate pair’s first meeting.  

Remy took Patton’s hands in his own, looking him over again and again and again.

An idea came to him – not a new one, one he’d thought about and talked about and dreamed and daydreamed about a million times – and he grinned in a way that he could feel made Patton’s heart skip a beat.

“Remember how I said I wanted to kiss every freckle?"

#me #writing #sleepality #sanders sides #remy sanders #sleep sanders #patton sanders #mosleep #soulmate au #human au #sanders sides au #thomas sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #emile picani #cartoon therapy #virmile #thomgan

[mentesimploria]

It’s already June and god knows what they’re going to do on Señorita 1 year anniversary so I made this whole massive post about SEÑORITA BECAUSE IT’S ABOUT LAUREN JAUREGUI AND CAMILA IS GAY

Her interview to Variety:

"So finally we're just 'you know what? no pressure, let's just get in the studio. Let's finalize and see how we feel about it.’ Then two weeks later we made the music video"

Her interview to Vogue:  

Her interview to E!News:

They've come up with an answers for every question related to when they recorded the song, who came up with the concept of the song, when they decided to do another song together etc

Her answers were always short: it took eight months so that both of us agreed to do the song. 'When I wanna do it, he didn't wanna do it and then we went back and forth for months'. So this was a short lie, you don't wanna say too much and take the risk of being caught in a lie.  Another thing: she never said exactly when they recorded the song or shot the music video. Why? 1. too much details that could've been easily forgotten. 2. They were ok with people wondering if she cheated on Matthew or not. You don't like Camila? Well, she cheated on her boyfriend with Shawn Mendes. You like her? No one knows when they recorded the song, they could’ve recorded it on June. 3. Camila sucks at lying, she always forget what she's supposed to say. An example: she started saying they shot the music video two weeks after they recorded the song, then she changed her mind and it was one week and a half after then it was just only one week after.

If any of it was true, she wouldn't have forgotten when they made the music video. to sum up: They want you to think they made the music video on June. They didn’t spend eight months working on the song, in fact, they wrote and recorded it in less than a month. 

Now let’s see Shawn’s version: On June 24 a fan asked Shawn how was the process of making Señorita, his answer was pretty much the same as Camila’s: 

“it took us so long to make the song. I mean, the song was done and there was a point where Camila didn’t wanna do it there was a point where I didn’t wanna do it” “it was like ten months of this back and forth (...) and then finally, out of nowhere, literally like 3 weeks before the song came out we were like ‘let’s go to the studio and sing the song together and see how it feels’”

According to Shawn, they finalized the song two weeks before it came out. Señorita came out June 21 and on June 12 Shawn was back touring, so that means they finalized and made the music video some time between June 1 and June 11. On May 27 Camila and Shawn got papped together but we can’t say that’s when they decided to go to the studio and see if they would finish the song or not because two days later he was in Toronto. Another thing: the last time Camila and Matthew were seen together was on May 14.

Now let’s talk about the co-writers version (August 12):

They came up with the idea then their first thought was: why don’t we send it to shawn mendes like he’s gonna love it camila who

They sent it to Shawn and he only wanted to do it with Camila pois não é o seu lugar de fala

 Charli XCX forgot what she was supposed to say when asked about Señorita (October 21) :B

so many lies

Early this year Charli XCX gave another interview and this time she was smart and kept her answers shorter although she messed up a little bit by saying she, at first, didn’t know Shawn and Camila were involved in the song.

 So this is the part I wanted to talk about: when they came up with the concept and recorded Señorita. 

 I don’t know exactly when Camila recorded Dream of You and Living Proof, but it was some time between November 2018 and January 2019. I don’t think Camila was in the studio on February, she had the rehearsals for the Grammys and after that she went to Dubai. When she came back she had to go to the Rodeo Houston. She was back at the studio during  this time  So she could’ve started to work on Señorita on March, I don’t have any proof of it though, I know she was at the studio with Ali Tamposi on March, but that doesn’t mean anything since Ali Tamposi co-wrote most of her songs.

Watt said something to the Billboard interview that helped me to figured it out when they recorded the song:

This was on April 7. That means they were already working on Señorita, but since Camila was at the studio in Miami (probably recording This Love) on April, I’ll assume they were working on Señorita in the end of March and were going to finish it when Watt came back from London. 

It didn’t take them too long to finish it considering Camila started to record Liar and shoot the music video right after, and when finished, she worked on Bad Kind of Butterflies, went to Italy, came back and recorded Shameless on May 15. 

I doubt that they finished the song on May, Shawn was promoting If I Can’t Have You in New York and when he went to L.A they had to: come up with the concept of the music video + rehearsals  + shoot the music video. 

And when was that? if you watch Señorita Behind The Scenes Video you’ll see that they had two days of rehearsals and then recorded it in two days. It has to be before May 29 (Shawn was in Toronto) and after May 15 (Shawn was in NY) So it has to be some time between May 16 and May 28. On May 24, Camila posted this on her instagram:

Look at her clothes :B Also, it looks like they were in a trailer, right?    Last day of shooting the Señorita MV:

It didn’t take them eight months to record the song. Ali Tamposi, watt and Charli XCX didn’t come up with the idea. They didn’t record it on June. “we went back and forth for months” is bullshit. Camila recorded Feel it Twice on January, that means: once they accepted on doing a PR together, they knew they had release a song together on June.  Shawn didn’t write the song. Camila’s a genius. 

[auroras-blend]

Road Trip

Bonus Chapter from Leo's POV where he takes Vittoria on a 10-hour car ride to Rome for a vacation. Basically, he's stuck in a car with an eight-year-old for 10+ hours.

Leonardo Borghese was a patient man and prided himself on his ability to stay calm in tense situations. He wore a mask that most artists could only dream of modeling, but his facade was quickly crumbling in the second hour of the ten-hour car ride. “Are we there yet?” asked Vittoria for the sixth time in the last hour.

“No, not yet principessa. Not for a while,” he groaned, looking at the car’s clock, “Eight more hours.”

He had promised to take her to Rome, his birthplace, months ago and now he, unfortunately, had to make good on that promise. Vittoria had seemed tired when she entered the car at four in the morning (she hadn't even had a panic attack), which is why he had forgone giving her Nyquil, but apparently, she had a burst of energy ten minutes into their ride. Apparently, the panic attack had been delayed and she spent the first hour crying and praying, before finally settling down into a conversation. Every single car ride. Whoever killed Giuseppe and traumatized his daughter would pay dearly, especially considering getting her to church was always a two-hour-long affair if he added in the time for trying to get her into the car.

The past two hours had been hell for him and he had eight more to go. Eight was optimistic given his daughter’s small bladder.

Leonardo Borghese didn’t like being in a small shared space with a prattling person. His cellmate hadn’t been as aggravating as Franco, and dear God he’d say it, Franco wasn't as aggravating as Vittoria was right now. “Why don’t you try and go to sleep?”

“I’m not tired!” she said brightly, before rapidly firing a line of questions at him, “How far is Rome? Do we still get to see gladiators fight? What about the lions? Will they have lions?”

“Far enough,” he breathed, “No, we won’t see gladiators fight and there are no lions.”

“They should have lions,” she quipped, “Did you know they had women, gladiators? I don’t think I’d like to be a gladiator, because I don’t like blood. Minerva was a war goddess and she was smart. I read about her in my book, but she’s not my favorite. Do you know who my favorite is Papa?”

Oh, God. “Who is it Vittoria?” he asked, trying to keep a smile in his voice.

“Venus and Diana. I like Venus cause she's the goddess of love and beauty. I play Venus a lot because I’m pretty. Did you know the planet’s named after her?” she asked, not giving him a chance to reply, “And then there’s Diana because she’s the goddess of the moon. She doesn’t date icky boys and turns them into deers! I’d like to do that!”

How am I going to do this for another nine hours? “Who’s your favorite Roman god, Papa? I bet I can guess! Is it Jupiter? Because he’s the king! Did you know a planet is named after him too? It's the biggest one! You're really big, Papa! Did you know I know all the names of the planets now because I remember the Roman gods and goddesses? Sg.na Sagesse taught me a song. I’ll show you!”

This is hell. Vittoria began singing along to the tune, Michael Finnegan: “There are nine planets around the sun, let me name them one by one…”

Can I mute her? “There’s Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars, they have super pretty stars!”

Leonardo was gritting his teeth and focusing on the road. She’ll fall asleep eventually. “Then there’s Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune but wait one moment we’re not done with this tune!”

Why can’t we be done? “Stop right there, please don’t go, make some room for Pluto! There are nine planets around the sun, now you can name them one by one!”

Leonardo gave a fake gasp. “That’s incredible principessa! You’re such a smart girl,” he praised as he watched a proud blush rise to her cheeks.

“Really?”

“Of course! I could never memorize that song like you can,” he said, unknowingly damning himself.

Vittoria gasped. “Oh Papa, don’t say that! You can! I can teach you!”

Shit. “Oh, it’s okay principessa,” he tried to quickly say before she began singing the song again.

***

He considered himself a saint for not snapping at her. Vittoria had sung the planet song close to thirty times before he finally got the hang of it, or at least until she passed out. He knew the song now. There are nine planets around the sun, let me name them one by one… Those damn lyrics were stuck in his head and he couldn't even drown it out with the radio unless he wanted to risk waking Vittoria. Leonardo looked at the clock...seven hours to go...make some room for Pluto...Leonardo sighed at the long road ahead.

***

They had made six pit stops in the last two hours because Vittoria had the smallest bladder. At the sixth stop, they decided to get lunch where he ordered a light meal but allowed her to order a pizza with a glass of milk, even though she begged for a soda. There was no way he’d make that mistake. Vittoria was incredibly chatty with the waitresses, telling them that they were going to Rome and everything they’d see. She could give Franco a run for his money.

“But all the Roman gods are there! Did you know that, Papa? I want to go to the Pantseon first. That’s my very favorite place!” she squealed.

As exhausted and annoyed as he was, he did smile at her excitement. He had been worried that his eight-year-old would be bored out of her mind and would throw an embarrassing tantrum at the museum, but she wasn’t. She’s an academic, just like her father. “Pantheon,” he corrected.

“Oh right! Anyway…” she continued.

Leonardo let himself enjoy the moment and memories he was making with his daughter. He knew she probably didn’t get to go on any road trips when she lived with her mother, and seeing her excited about her first-ever vacation was endearing. Especially when he was the one giving her her first-ever vacation because he had missed so many firsts. She stole those precious moments from me, he thought hatefully. But he had the rest of their lives to be the only one who gave her those special memories.

He had wanted this, a perfect daughter to spoil and who would worship the ground he walked on, but when he had wished for it he hadn’t imagined that he’d be raising her alone. A proper family vacation would have been with a wife and a car full of children, though now that he was in a car with just one child for the past several hours, he was content to keep the number down for the time being. It was a lot of work just caring for her by himself, not that he was incapable, mind you, but he took great joy in being called a “selfless single father” by those around him. Leonardo knew full well that if he were a woman, the words used to describe him would be derogatory.

He could tell the stigma that Vittoria carried around with her when she was raised in the States haunted her. The names she had been called, people refusing to play with her...he truly was, in his mind, the best thing to ever happen to her. He told himself he was acting in her best interest when he took her to Italy to live with him, after all, it's my right, and that he gave her everything she ever wanted and needed. She seemed far better off now than she did then, well with a sprinkle of a few traumatic events, but details, details.

“Are you happy, then?” he asked.

She nodded as her cheeks puffed out with a large bite of pizza. “Slow down,” he said when he saw her trying to swallow quickly so she could speak again.

He didn’t want her to choke. “But then we have to go to our garden and art museum!”

Vittoria was convinced that Villa Borghese and the Borghese Gallery and Museum were their family’s museum and that it only made sense because they were both artists. He let her entertain that notion. Leonardo, contrary to his nature, let his daughter lead the conversation, mainly because he didn't have the energy to contribute. Another three to four hours seemed impossible, but there was still enough daylight for them to use, and they had to check-in at five o’clock. “I can’t wait to be in Rome! We have to take super lots of pictures!” she grinned.

“We’ll take plenty of pictures,” he smiled back.

“You were born there, right Papa?”

“Yes, I was born in Rome,” he smiled.

“I wish I was born in Rome. I was born in stupid Idaho,” she frowned, “That’s a state.”

Idaho, in his opinion, was an ordinary state with unremarkable people. Not fit for Vittoria. When he had visited Rome a while ago, he had changed her birthplace to Rome to better suit her. She wasn’t an ordinary child. “Did you not like Idaho?” he asked, already knowing her answer.

“No. It was boring and the people were mean. I had to do a report on it and people like us because we grow potatoes, but that’s it,” her frown was set for a moment before she broke out into a smile, “My report was the bestest! I always make my first letters capitals and add periods. I’m the only second-grader who remembers!”

“Of course you are. I bet you were the best writer in your class,” he praised.

He had seen her writing samples, and even when she wrote an argumentative piece about throwing Charles to the tigers, her work was still fairly impressive. Writing seemed to be one of her strengths, which was reassuring given that math and reading were not. “I was! I always got gold stars! Mr. Morgan never gave them to Rodney, because he’s a bad writer!” she said the last part with a smug look on her face that she inherited from her father.

Leonardo had begun to notice the striking similarities they shared in their mannerisms and expressions. The way she slipped on her “happy mask” as she called it and the way she forced her eyes to soften when she wanted sympathy over a pointless tantrum. Vittoria was learning to play the game he had set, practiced, and perfected. She’ll never win, but it’s sweet to see her try.

He indulged her with ice cream before they headed back out into the car and onto the road for another few hours of hell. And it was hell. He had created a car ride bag for her, which he praised himself for making, that he had filled with crayons, paper, coloring books, storybooks, a blanket, and snacks that wouldn’t leave crumbs. He swore by it, finding solutions for the “I’m hungry” and “I’m bored” complaints that he insisted other parents adopt as if they hadn’t already thought of that before, because even though he called it a “car ride bag”, it was most certainly a “dad bag” that was a staple of fatherhood.

Leonardo thought it was one of the greatest things he had ever thought of, but he quickly regretted it when Vittoria pulled something out that he hadn’t even known she’d snuck in. She always claimed it helped her calm down. His shoulders tensed when he heard the tune of the London Bridge begin to play. “Is that your music box?” he asked, not bothering to turn around.

“Mm-hm,” she hummed before she began to sing quietly under her breath.

I’m going to kill Signora Bianchi. He looked at her through the rear-view mirror and saw her begin to color in her coloring book of a Greek garden, a pleasant smile on her face as she whispered the lyrics. It was only a few ear grating moments before the tune ended and even fewer moments in between her cranking it up again. Why am I being punished? “Principessa, I’m going to turn on the radio,” he said, reaching for the knob.

“You can’t!”

“Why not?” he sighed with irritation.

“This is my artist music!”

Of course, it is, he thought dryly. “Vittoria-,”

“I promise only for this page!” she swore, “Cross my heart!”

It was his fault. He refused to admit it, but it was his fault for believing her words and letting her play the song. Vittoria was a child who took her sweet old time with her art, so it was hours (twenty minutes) until she was finished with her masterpiece. “And done!”

“Thank Christ,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m turning on the radio now, okay?”

Anything to drown out that godforsaken tune in my head. And for a while, he was blessed with just the music as Vittoria fell into a post-lunch nap. Thank you, God. It seemed the Lord was shining on him because they were less than five minutes out without any problems. We’ll make it there and- “Papa, I feel sick,” Vittoria croaked.

No. His eyes met the small figure behind the rear-view mirror. She was hunched over, clutching her belly, and her face had gone ashy. He had to stop himself from insensitively saying, don’t throw up in the car! The hotel was right in front of them, all we have to do is make it. “Just hold on, a few moments and-,” as he made a sharp turn into the parking lot, the jolt caused her to unleash whatever was in her stomach.

The sound of her hurling was as sickening as the smell of pizza, milk, and ice cream that had been poorly dissolved by her stomach acid which also made an appearance. The sight of it nearly made him throw up, but he was better than that. He had finished parking by the time she had finished expelling her lunch from her stomach. Leonardo gave a shaky sigh as he heard Vittoria start to cry, apologizing furiously. He got out of the car and stretched his legs outside as he hurried over to her door, not taking a moment to breathe in the fresh air. “I’m-I’m sorry, Papa!”

He quickly unbuckled her from her seat belt and pulled her out of the car and settled her on his hip. He wasn’t his father, he wasn’t cruel enough to think that she could’ve controlled it, and he certainly wouldn’t punish her by making her eat it. His chest tightened just a fraction of a second remembering what he was put through, before focusing on the moment he was in. She’s just my fragile little girl. She can't help it. He knew that now, of all times, was an important reminder for her to know that he was the better parent. The one who is her favorite and who loves her most. “I know, I know you didn’t mean it,” he whispered as he felt her head.

A little warm, but she probably just got car sick. He forced his eyes to assess the damage, which was very little considering she aimed incredibly well into the bag. “Oh thank God,” he sighed before frowning.

Of course, that music box is left untouched. Of course, it is! With the exception of a few specks on the leather that could easily be wiped off and the smell that could easily be remedied by airing the car out, there was no damage whatsoever. He had been terrified that she had thrown up on the carpet that he just had cleaned. The mess was quickly taken care of and the bag was thrown out because they could just buy newer and better items later. The check-in process was swift and he wasted no time getting her into the hotel room and washing her off before putting her back in bed. Vittoria was moaning and groaning against the pillows as if she were a Victorian woman on her deathbed. He didn't know whether to roll his eyes or smile. She’s incredibly dramatic. “Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes vulnerable and wide, “For taking care of me.”

“It’s what fathers do,” he said, having her sip a cool glass of water to soothe her burning throat.

“I had fun,” she smiled.

He climbed into the bed next to her and let her lean against him, “You did?”

He had received absolutely no enjoyment in that car ride whatsoever and thought for all intents and purposes that it was a failure. “Uh-huh, except throwing up. I didn't like that,” she gave a weak laugh, “But I had fun with you.”

It occurred to him that he hadn’t snapped at her when he was annoyed, let her talk about things she was interested in, and do things that she enjoyed. Her mother was an irritable and unstable woman who probably would have already yelled at her ten minutes (he was being gracious with that number) into the drive, before breaking down herself. Who would’ve been furious at Vittoria for throwing up in the car and who would cause her to break down into uncontrollable sobs. Leonardo felt overwhelmingly smug that she had a great time with him and that he was the one who made her smile. “I had fun with you too,” he grinned.

Vittoria snuggled against him before falling fast asleep. She’s such a good sleeper. Vittoria’s breathing became soft and suddenly his breaths started to match hers, as his exhaustion caught up to him and lured him into a deep slumber. He had suffered, but she had smiled. And he had made her smile, and in his mind, that was all that mattered.

#leo being a schmuck #no new chapter for a while so here's a bonus? #i try to post on fridays #leonardo borghese #travel #bonus chapter #marilyn winslow #vittoria borghese #she's being cute #i made the planet song especially for this because we're learning about planets in class #PLUTO IS A PLANET #IN OUR HEARTS ♥️ #could've posted on ao3

[dxmichelle]

🌟  2020 fanwork highlights 🌟

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I was tagged by both @atembomb and @rainstormcolors! 

2020 was wild. As I mentioned in my year-end wrap-up post, I wrote a ton of things, and since you can always check out the post through that link, I’m only going to share a few snippet quote here. 

From Nerdshipping Shenanigans, I present passages from both “Blind Date” and “Weekend Getaway”, which I think were the two best ship pieces I’ve done this year.

In “Blind Date”, Ginny coaxes Hermione to attend Hogwarts’s winter formal, and sets her up with a date in the process.

Ginny turned the page in her book. “Is he stopping by Hogsmeade in two weeks?” There have been three Hogsmeade weekends so far through the year. Each time, Seto had traveled from wherever he was working to see Hermione, and she had never seen her friend so eager to visit the village before in all the years she had known her. One time, he even brought Yugi, and the three of them spent almost the entire afternoon at one of the outside café tables next to Wermes Bookstore.

She looked up to see the smile slip from Hermione’s face. So he wasn’t coming this time…interesting.

“He’s going to be at a convention that weekend,” Hermione said. “But he has the rest of them in his calendar. That was the only one he won’t make.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Ginny. Her face softened and she smiled sadly at her. “It must be really hard being so far away all the time.”

Hermione sagged back against her pillow and looked away from her.

“…So where is he these days, anyhow?”

“Right now, San Francisco,” said Hermione, and she leaned forward to pet Crookshanks. “He’ll be in back in Japan during Hogsmeade weekend, promoting a new video game for his company.”

“Guy sure does get around,” said Ginny, “How do you keep track of all the places he keeps going to?” She then smirked over at Hermione and cut in before she could respond. “The answer is – you can’t. Like that one time when –”

Hermione’s face reddened. “It was one time!”

“Weekend Getaway saw Hermione sneak Seto out of the office to celebrate his birthday. 

Seto woke to the faint sound of squawking seagulls and his eyes slowly opened to the darkened bedroom. Hermione was snuggled in, sharing the other half of his pillow with her head resting against the crook of his neck with one arm draped across his chest. He could feel her slow, deep breaths; each exhale a puff of air that warmed his skin just above the collar of his pajamas.

Of all the places she could have taken him, he did not expect a quiet coastal town off the eastern shore of the United States, in a little rented house that sat right along the beach, and the front steps led right onto the boardwalk that seemed to continue on forever in each direction.

“This place is charming,” Hermione had said when they first arrived. “Someone from the Department of International Magical Cooperation mentioned this town to me when I was trying to make plans for the weekend.”

They had spent the better part of yesterday exploring the town. The summer tourist season had ended last month, clearing most of the crowds from the beach. Cool crisp air rolled off of the water to counter the unusually still warm autumn weather. They had to have walked up and down most of the quaint little town, and wandered into a number of tiny little shops.

The longest brunt of time was spent in a hidden gem of a bookstore, four blocks from the house.

“I swear I didn’t know about it when I made the reservations!” she had said. Did he plan on spending half his vacation day in a bookshop? Nope. But was he going to begrudge her the chance to find something to take onto the beach, after seeing how much her eyes lit up once she saw the sign above the shop door? After seeing the pleading look of ‘can we please detour on our way to the museum, just for a few minutes?’ Absolutely not.

It didn’t matter that five minutes turned into a couple of hours.

Sufficed to say, wandering all over town on foot had tired him out more than he expected, and he felt he slept better than he had over the entire last week.

Despite waking up at six in the morning, like clockwork. Hermione seemed to be still asleep.

He shifted, to try and get out from under her arm when she suddenly let out a sad, whiney sort of noise, and she tightened her hold on him.

I also had the fun of writing a gift fic during this year’s YGOME exchange and had the most fun diving into Yugi’s headspace as he returns home from Egypt. This is from Guilt.

Yugi didn’t talk for the majority of the plane ride home, but did manage to give a small smile and a wave to his grandfather at the airport. Grandpa naturally pressed for details but only received short, clipped answers in return: what happened to the Millennium Puzzle? (“Gone.”) Did they get to finish what they set out to do? (“Yes.”) Did he still have the God cards? (“No.”)

Though he had to check himself on the last one. It was no secret that his grandfather loved to admire them, but Yugi vaguely remembered the tomb taking back the God monsters, just as it did the Millennium Items, as if to say the Pharaoh has left. The Millennium Items are gone. Their work is done, they can all finally rest.

Yugi sank down onto his bed and, with a shaking hand, pulled the golden box from his bag. Inside sat both his new Duel Monsters deck, and the one he used to share with Atem. He removed his deck and put it safely away in his deck box. But he couldn’t help but stare at the set of cards he left inside.

Ten years…

Yugi scooted back against his headboard and clutched the golden puzzle box tightly against his chest, eyes closed.

If he went back in time ten years to the date Grandpa handed him the Millennium Puzzle, broken apart in this very box and told his younger self of all he had to look forward to, both the good and the bad, he would have thought himself mad. Eight years to complete a simple puzzle? Ridiculous! Magic? Come on!

Gonna cut it off here because otherwise I will be dropping fic snippets for the next week. OLSSM, Sapphire Road, Ghost in the Machine, and Murder Most Foul all have too many great moments and I love them all equally. 

Continuing forward, I’m going to tag @darksidechick823 and @bellamy-taft! But if you see this post and are a writer, consider yourself tagged too! :D

#michelle replies #michelle writes fic #ask meme #tag game

[aidemint]

𝐑𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐊𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐲𝐚 𝐔𝐛𝐮𝐲𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐢

Word Count: 1781

Warnings: Mentions of smoking

__

I told myself I would stop smoking, for the sake of my own sanity. I'd already thrown out all the nicotine I had and invested the money in books. Judging by how many novels I'd bought with the new budget, it was a good decision. A step in the right direction, considering that I was a writer.

Sighing as I organized the pile of books on the floor, stacking them so they fit perfectly into my bookshelf, I grumbled as I fought the urge to go out and suck on my pipe. Maybe there were leftovers still stuck in there. Once I realized my thought process, I shouted and hurriedly stuffed the novels into their place and fumed. Stomping out the door, I wanted to do something to stop this toxic cycle.

I should do something different. There has to be something to do.

Maybe my horrible life was a byproduct of all the shitty decisions I made so far. My publishing company didn't fail me, at least. I couldn't say that my career was a total flop, and I had a consistent paycheck, but I just felt so damn sad and lonely all the time. Sure, I was whining, but it wasn't for no good reason.

Plus, it wasn't like I hated every single thing on the planet Earth, I was just in a rut. Motivation was fleeting and I didn't have enough energy to chase after it. Not without an excuse, at least. I spent my days tirelessly writing and working my ass off for deadlines. To think I once enjoyed writing -- that was a long time ago, when I was a child. I'd daydream for hours, weaving fantasies in my head like I was on mushrooms.

How I wished to get a glimpse of the old days, to feel what I felt way back when I wasn't like this. I was so sure I was going to die alone and miserable, since I broke all the old connections I had when I started my career. It wasn't part of the contract or anything, I just felt that if I were to be mature, then I should sever off my childhood -- drop it like a lizard to its cut-off tail.

My jaw clenched as I spotted my pipe on the ground. I picked it up, squinting in distaste, debating about whether I should or shouldn't go to the market to get another good smoke in. I could drown out my worries that way.

Scoffing at myself, I took the fragile wooden tube and broke it in half, tossing it into the bushes.

How stupid.

__

Two days later, I was still in that same mood. But instead of twiddling my thumbs and lounging around like some lazy pig, I tried to pick up a new hobby while still reminiscing at the old days.

Ah, to be young.

I sounded like some old geezer.

But I kept thinking.

I miss everyone.

__

A week passed and I could safely say I was in a better mood. My cravings weren't as bad, and I tended to chew on mint leaves rather than suck on that damn wooden pipe.

Maybe for this reason, the universe decided to gift me a surprise.

The invitation arrived by crow. I was outside, doing some garden work when that black bird flew in front of me, its beady eyes analyzing every single one of my features. For a moment, it seemed hesitant to come near, but the creature eventually hopped its way to my feet and dropped a note by them.

I could have imagined it, but it seemed as if the crow gave me a slight bow before flapping it great wings and flying away. Eyeing the rolled-up parchment carefully, I picked it up and unraveled it, curious to see what message was displayed inside.

(Y/N),

I hope this letter finds its way to you without interruption. It's been a long time since we've last spoken, so before we get to the technicalities, I'd like to know: how are you? Hopefully you're in a prosperous position, one of good wealth and balance. I remember you always went on about becoming a renowned poet, and I think you're quite close to achieving that dream. Just yesterday I bought one of your books, and the limericks and clever haikus are quite entertaining.

Anyways, the real reason I wrote to you so late in our relationship is that I've been meaning to see you again. The last time we met, if I recall it correctly, was ten years ago -- far too long of a time for friends to be separated, no?

During these years, I imagine that a lot has changed. You're out and about, pursuing your dream and accomplishing your wildest dreams. It's admirable, to say the least. Though my disability hinders the possibility of me becoming a sumo wrestler, I am doing better than expected (even though I live with that disappointment).

I've just realized, in the middle of my jest, the topic has suddenly shifted to me. It's unpleasant, seeing how little control I have over my words. Please accept my apology, (Y/N), as I don't expect you to become suddenly infatuated with my life, nor does the meeting represent a discussion about the current events happening in my little "circle."

I just truly want to catch up with you. One of my greatest wishes is to see you again after all these years. I've missed our kinship.

So please, I implore you to come. There will be a guide outside of your house an hour after this crow is delivered. Please do not be frightened by the methods taken to bring you to my estate -- I'm sure you understand based on our previous history together.

I'm looking forwards to our potential reunion.

- Kagaya Ubuyashiki

My teeth tugged at my bottom lip as I closed the scroll, feeling tears well up in my eyes. With a tidal wave of memories flooding back into my mind, I couldn't help but want to cry. Kagaya was one of the people that made my childhood worthwhile. I'd met him when I was eight, while he was nine. We spent our free time together, however small the amount was.

Despite being so young, we were always busy. I took advanced courses at home, tutored by poets and writers from across the community. My parents did all they could to help me on my way to success, which I was grateful for. I never knew what Kagaya did, as he always kept it a secret, but I appreciated him nonetheless. He seemed so mature, even at age nine.

The way he thought was like a philosopher. Whenever I showed him my work, he'd bring about inquiries that would dumbfound even the greatest of my masters. I wondered how he did it and always wanted to be like him -- diligent, thoughtful, understanding.

Even now as an adult, he never fails to blow me away with his humility.

Sighing once more as I swept the stray tears off of my face, I pocketed the scroll and continued to do my garden work until the guide came. I was just about done when a masked figure strolled up to my home and asked me if I was (Y/N) (L/N). In response, I nodded and exchanged greetings before hopping onto their back and being blindfolded by the figure.

"I hope Master already told you about the procedure," they muttered awkwardly, "It's to prevent information from leaking." I laughed lightly and waved the thought away. Too excited to see my old friend again, the commentary bounced off me like rain to an umbrella.

"It's a smart idea." With that, the guide hauled me onto their back and took off running along their designated path.

__

Once I could finally see again, I blinked for a couple moments to let my eyes adjust to the blinding light. Though my vision was blurry and I couldn't quite make out the scene in front of me, I sensed multiple presences waiting for me at the entrance to the estate. When I'd finally cleared all the fog out of my head, I felt myself instinctively draw in a small gasp.

There Kagaya was, standing in the middle of a group of colorful figures. He wore a small and docile smile, gently waving at me from a distance. I quickly thanked the guide as I slid off of their back and made my way over to him. The ravenette regarded me with a kind look, and spread his arms as a welcoming gesture.

All the world's noise seemed to come upon deaf ears the closer I got to him.

Though his lips moved and the trees rustled, all I could hear was the sound of my own heart beating, thrumming through my eardrums. The sound of the flowing of blood in my veins became more prominent as I got increasingly star-struck.

Was this reality? Or just another twisted dream that came back to haunt me?

I wanted to believe that it was real. I desperately prayed, in that moment, that this was real. Maybe in a few seconds I would wake up, breathing heavily, covered in sweat in my futon on the ground. Then I'd squeeze my eyes shut again, crying for the sweet dream to come back to me. But as my staggers became steadier, and those steady strides quickened, I had a newfound energy to hope.

To believe that my life wasn't so hopelessly lost.

When the tips of my fingers reached my friend's kimono, my heart blossomed. The silk seemed to greet my touch like they already knew each other, despite the sensation being so foreign. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. I wanted to collapse onto the ground and sob until my eyes fell out of their sockets.

To think that the connections hadn't been severed, but rather weakened, was the greatest relief I'd ever experienced. It spurred me to think that maybe I could reconnect with the outside world rather than keep to myself all the time.

The possibility of not being alone and feeling a socially ambiguous made my insides tingle with excitement -- with childish wonder. There was someone who still cared for me, who still waited for me all these years, who was kind enough to reach out and contact me, the recluse, the hermit.

When I fell into his arms, breathless, I closed my eyes and finally smiled.

I could smile again.

And be thankful.

And finally feel like I was somebody.

I couldn't have asked for anything more.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kagaya #kagaya ubuyashiki #imagine #oneshot #reunion #kagaya x reader #anime

[arthurhwalker]

Uroboros Saga, 2021 Update

I haven't published anything in about three years. I am writing, every day, and a lot of that work goes toward my various projects, including Uroboros Saga. This post is to let my readership know a little of what’s up.

In late 2018, shortly after publishing my 8th Novella, I became very ill. Clinical grade General Anxiety Disorder. I was in really bad shape.

It took fourteen months of working on myself, going to therapy, figuring out the right medication, lifestyle changes, and so forth, to be functional. In the aftermath, my partner became ill, with a similar affliction, but completely different somatic and physical symptoms. When I put the last three years into context, beside the Global Pandemic, and everything else going on, I cease being too hard on myself.

I feel badly that my readership has waited so long for new things to read. I feel like I'm bursting at the seams, with so many stories I want to tell. Learning to be a creative with mental wellness, and the intent of maintaining that wellness, adjacent the isolation of weathering the pandemic, has been difficult. All the things that I draw inspiration from, ward off imposter syndrome with, and used as a muse, are mostly unavailable to me.

Inspiration for Dystopian Science Fiction, right now, isn't in short supply. Governments around the world regularly challenge me to get grim, and find new things for people to wonder about, that aren't already happening. My notebooks overflow.

I'm not really smart enough to write science fiction. I'm more an Urban Paranormal, or Fantasy genre writer, by training. I have my partner get me a lot of research, and I've attended science seminars at the university to battle the imposter syndrome. I've had to come to grips with the notion that being smart enough doesn't matter, as long as my audience is entertained.

My muse has always been people. I will sit at a coffee shop, and just listen to ten people talk at once, letting my brain soak up their problems, joys, worries, and so forth. Not having that auditory component, that bit of the real world, is something I haven't been able to get over. I had to isolate while I wasn't well, had a short break before the pandemic, and started again.

Just seeing people's faces on video chat, and to hear their voice, helps a lot. I run a lot of D&D, but the format isn't the same as being there, and hearing the true tone of a person's voice. With trained public speakers, a transcript is fine, but for writing authentic feeling dialogue, it takes a connection, or presence, of people.

I talk to myself in the shower a lot, and that helps.

I'm creating text and environmental descriptions for books 9, 10, 11, and 12. I've everything laid out to finish the Book 7-9 plot arc, and start the new 10-12 story. I've got character designs, cover work prototyped, and timelines set for how it'll all unfold. I really want to tell everyone what I've got planned. I'm on the verge of exploding, you know?

I've done a little legwork on having audio books done, but that's something I think I may end up doing myself. I get compliments on my voice all the time, and think my readership would appreciate hearing the books read by me. Let me know if you agree, or disagree with that.

Anyway, I'd write script for the first three books, I think. Do a test chapter, and let people sample it. My new place has a pretty ideal space for doing audio work, with some upgrades.

For the Uroboros Saga Tabletop RPG, I've jumped back and forth between my old Storytelling Sciences System, and maybe licensing the Cypher System, D20, or similar. Because I'm a game design person, most of how I set up and tested Uroboros Saga, originally, was done with Storytelling Sciences. Before I wrote a single book, characters were made, and dice were rolled.

I really want to produce and publish a Tabletop RPG. It's very high on the bucket list, and I've always got a handful in the works. Retroclone Classic Dungeons & Dragons has been a passion of mine, since playing the game in the 1980s. I'm trying to pull all my projects toward some more common ground, so the work I do gets pushes them all forward.

That's not always possible, but I'm trying.

I've sort of given up thinking I'll ever finish Uroboros Saga, and move on. The media isolation from certain Science Fiction movies, books, and so forth felt necessary in the beginning. Uroboros Saga is enough it's own thing, I don't need to worry so much about it getting tainted by other things.

I'm definitely going to get caught up on all the science fiction I've missed in the last eight years. Recommendations welcome.

I'm mostly writing this to let people that Uroboros Saga is still a thing. A thing I intend to make more of. And, to thank my readership for their patience.

#Uroboros Saga #Science Fiction #AmWriting #Dystopian #Post Apoc

[salamandersofftheclock]

Principles You Can Use From Rowling’s Philosophy of Writing 

by Ruthanne Reid

If you’re like me, you loved the Harry Potter series. Maybe you watched the movies or even visited the theme park, and you wondered about JK Rowling’s writing process and the strategy she uses to write her best-selling books. If you’re like me, though, you’ve also been deeply hurt by things Rowling herself has said. On Twitter, on her website, in interviews, and more, Rowling has promoted harmful views of trans people, and you might be one of her many readers who find it painful, or even impossible, to return to the Harry Potter books you once loved.I understand. Before I dive into the wisdom we can draw from Rowling’s writing process in order to write our first draft (or others), allow me to share a principle with you. Death of the Author: Or, How to Love the Book, Not the Author In 1967, a French literary critic named Roland Barthes wrote an essay called La mort de l’auteur, or Death of the Author, in which he states that any piece of writing should be separated from the author that wrote it. In other words, he believed in judging the written work completely on its own merits, without involving personal beliefs or actions of the author in question. Sometimes, this is possible to do. Sometimes, it isn’t, and we readers have to apply discernment to what we read and the lens in which we view things.I have two examples for you. HP Lovecraft First, HP Lovecraft, whose incredible work literally created today’s modern horror genre. Do you enjoy any kind of tale with Elder Ones, or chaos gods, or even just good old Cthulhu? (I know I do!) His work was so creative, so new, that you’d be hard-pressed to find any horror story that doesn’t show at least some of his influence.Unfortunately, Lovecraft was also an extremely xenophobic racist. Now, I enjoy a good chaos god, and I’ve made the decision to separate his xenophobia from his writing. That means, of course, that I must view critically anything he wrote that implies white English people are somehow the pinnacle of humanity.It means I purposely do not allow his racism to infect my way of thinking. By doing so, I am practicing la mort de l’auteur. JRR Tolkien Here’s a second example: JRR Tolkien, whose work defined modern fantasy. Do you enjoy anything with elves and dwarves or made-up languages? We owe Tolkien for that. He redefined and polished the fantasy genre so well that everything from movies to MMORPGs still use his templates. Unfortunately, he also described his orcs as “squat, broad, flat-nosed, sallow-skinned, with wide mouths and slant eyes: in fact degraded and repulsive versions of the (to Europeans) least lovely Mongol-types.” Yowza. Now, was Tolkien a racist? Not exactly. In fact, according to the standards of the time, he was absolutely liberal and anti-racist. So then what do we do with this bizarro and racially horrifying description? We see it and choose to discard it. Generations of artists and authors have done exactly that, turning orcs into anything but“least lovely Mongol-types,” and aiding this genre.Again, it’s important to see the problem so you can avoid letting it influence your work. We enjoy the good parts while consciously discarding the bad, rather than being influenced by it. So What About JK Rowling? She’s not dead. In fact, she’s still saying harmful things, even as we speak. Instead of listening to her readers, who (at least initially) approached her in love, trying to help her understand, she doubled down, rejected their experience and their words, and in the process, caused an unbelievable amount of pain. Here’s the thing about la mort de l’auteur: it is entirely up to you whether to apply it to what you read, or to simply discard the whole thing and find less troublesome authors. Both roads are valid. In no way do I condone her attacks on the trans community, or her persistent sharing of misinformation. I choose to apply la mort de l’auteur for the simple reason that I benefited from the good things she’s written, and I wanted to share them with you. However, if you aren’t comfortable doing that, you are absolutely welcome to walk away. In fact, I’d suggest these writing articles instead: Neil Gaiman’s rules of writing, or how to create your own rules of writing. Okay. Awkward stuff done. Ready to dive into the process stuff instead? Let’s go! 9 Rules From JK Rowling’s Writing Process Over the course of her writing career, Rowling shared a lot of solid writing wisdom, and in my opinion, eight writing rules stand out—along with a ninth we can apply from her choices since. Whether or not you’re writing your first book like Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone) or last book in a series (like Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows), I think these rules speak to Ms. Joanne Rowling’s philosophy on writing.They are great writing tips for you to reflect on in your spare moments and then apply to your writing process, for short stories, novels, bestsellers, or even the first time you’ve ever attempted a book. Rule One: Protect your writing time “Be ruthless about protecting writing days, i.e., do not cave in to endless requests to have “essential” and “long overdue” meetings on those days. The funny thing is that, although writing has been my actual job for several years now, I still seem to have to fight for time in which to do it.” This is especially hard for those of us with family. Our loved ones come first, and while that is important, our loved ones also need to understand that we need time to write. Setting reasonable boundaries is a crucial step for a writer—even if they’re as simple as, “Mommy needs fifteen minutes of quiet time, okay?” If you have trouble setting boundaries with loved ones, try setting a reasonable boundary for one week. See how it goes. If it’s too much time or too little, tweak it. Establish a routine that signals to others that it’s your writing time, but also lets them know that outside of your writing space, you’re there for them. Not only will this teach the importance of flexibility and discipline to others, but also that your writing is valuable. It’s your work, and your dream! Needing quiet time to write doesn’t mean that you don’t love your family. Your writing deserves your time, too. Open communication about this can help everyone understand and respect that. Rule Two: Treat your writing like a job “You’ve got to work. It’s about structure. It’s about discipline.” It’s easy to forget that writing is a job. We don’t always feel like doing our job. We certainly don’t always feel inspired. To be writers, we must train ourselves to sit down and write even when we don’t feel like it. Those moments are the ones that really matter, even more than the shining, flying, muse-kissed moments.Writing when we don’t feel like it is what turn amateurs into professionals and rough drafts into polished manuscripts. “The muse works for you. You don’t write at her beck and call—you train her to show up when you’re writing. “ Rule Three: Believe you ARE a writer “I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me.” Yes, writing is possible with another job. Yes, writing is possible with other responsibilities. Are you a writer? (I know your inner critic snarled no, but I also know a tiny candle-flicker of unquenchable hope in you whispered yes with so much longing you could cry.) You ARE a writer. That means you write. A runner runs. A painter paints. A cook cooks. You are a writer. You write. Accept this, fight to believe it, and be amazed at how far that takes you. Rule Four: Write what you know “Write what you know: your own interests, feelings, beliefs, friends, family and even pets will be your raw materials when you start writing.” This doesn’t mean you need to experience aliens in order to write about them. It means that all good stories have universal application. A great example is this Google Doodle. (Trust me. I’m going somewhere with this.) Take two minutes and thirty-six seconds to watch this: Halloween 2017 Google Doodle: Jinx’s Night Out It’s adorable, right? Without a single word, this video told an effective story. You felt for the little ghost, both when it was sad and when it was happy, right? News flash: you’re not a ghost. That was universal application. It doesn’t matter what culture you’re from or what language you speak; all human beings know what it is to be lonely, to feel left out, to be frustrated, determined, and to finally be with friends. That story works because the creators used their interests, feelings, beliefs, friends, family and even pets to tell this story. (I’m fond of the kitty, myself.) I’m greatly oversimplifying, but here’s the gist: you already know how to tell a moving story because you live one. If you’ve ever had emotions, ever responded to anything, then you already know what universal application looks like. Listen to the people around you, and apply empathy. You don’t have to be a ghost to write a good ghost story. Rule Five: Read “I always advise children who ask me for tips on being a writer to read as much as they possibly can. Jane Austen gave a young friend the same advice, so I’m in good company there.” Read. Read. Read some more! The more you read, the bigger your arsenal of words will be. The more you read, the better your grasp of metaphor, poetry, beauty, passion, and empathy will be. The more you read, the greater you will be as a writer (and probably human being). It’s like learning more dance moves or impressively difficult notes on an instrument. The more you learn, the better you’ll be. So read in your genre. Read outside your genre. Get in the habit of finding time to pick up a book instead of your phone (unless it’s to open up another book.) You DO have the time to read. Even if that’s just ten minutes a day. Any time counts. And the more stories you read, the more likely you’ll start to implicitly develop the skills you need to become a great writer. Rule Six: Persevere “Perseverance is absolutely essential, not just to produce all those words, but to survive rejection and criticism.” This is one of those unpleasant truths about publishing: you’re gonna get rejected. A lot. I wish there were a way around this. Harry Potter was turned down again and again because that’s just the way it goes sometimes. And it isn’t only publishers: when you get published, and your work is out there, you’ll get bad reviews, too. Mostly, they’ll just be people who don’t understand what you’re doing. Intellectually, you’ll know that. Your heart, on the other hand, is going to break into a thousand pieces. But here’s the secret: you can’t stop writing because of push-back. You MUST NOT stop writing because of push-back. Keep going. Don’t stop. When you get rejected, pick up your pen and keep going (and use the way you feel to put more universal application into your work). And when you’re feeling really discouraged? Remember that when someone doesn’t like your book, they might also just not be your ideal reader. That person just wasn’t your target audience.If your book isn’t to someone’s taste, that’s all right. It will be to someone else’s.Keep writing your book, because your ideal readers need it. Rule Seven: Bring your whole self to the page “What you write becomes who you are … So make sure you love what you write!” Writing is a little like a Mobius strip, in a way: Your beliefs and experiences and feelings all help craft your writing. However, your writing clarifies, corrects, and often reveals your beliefs, experiences, and feelings. As you write, you’ll discover things about yourself. You’ll clarify things, too, because it’s only as you come to write them that you realize they needed clarification in the first place. Now, understand: this means that if you haven’t given yourself a good look to find your biases (we all have them), you will bring those to the page, too. It’s important to see who you are as you bring your whole self to the page. Writing is a brave, bold venture, and life-altering discovery is part of the journey. Rule Eight: Accept that failure is part of the process “Failure is inevitable—make it a strength. You have to resign yourself to the fact that you waste a lot of trees before you write anything you really like, and that’s just the way it is. It’s like learning an instrument, you’ve got to be prepared for hitting wrong notes occasionally, or quite a lot. I wrote an awful lot before I wrote anything I was really happy with.” Failure is normal. Also, it is okay. You’re going to write a lot of crap. You’re going to push past those things and write more crap. It may take you twelve years. It may take you a million words. If it does, then you’re on the right path—the same one your favorite authors walk. Accept that it will take time, and that sometimes, your pencil won’t be your friend. If you accept it, then when it happens, you won’t throw in the towel and set the house on fire. Instead, you’ll be able to go, “Well, dang; that sucked, didn’t it? Knew it would happen. Time to write some more.” Rule Nine: Respect Your Reader Sadly, this rule doesn’t come from writing advice she’s given, but in a way, it’s the final conclusion of the previous eight. This involves bringing your whole self to the page. This involves empathy and universal application. This involves perseverance, never quitting, and willingness to tackle your writing troubles. If your readers value what you created, they will listen to what you say. Your words have the power to uplift or hurt others. None of us can ever really know where someone else is coming from, and it’s essential that both our stories and our interactions reflect respect. Respect yourself enough to be a better person. Respect your readers enough to hear what they have to say. This sounds scary, I know, but I promise you, it’s worth it.

#how to write #writing advice #writing #tw jk rowling #jkr #jk rowling #tw long post #long post #long text post #top writing advice #rules for writing