#i think the outline for it ended up being too long for a week event

[a-kaash-me-outside]

˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto. 

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you. 

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.” 

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back. 

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in. 

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs. 

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable. 

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest. 

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin. 

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you. 

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?” 

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door. 

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient. 

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body. 

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait. 

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure. 

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration. 

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence. 

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now. 

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils. 

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question. 

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope. 

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think. 

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less. 

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view. 

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates. 

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes. 

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer. 

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest. 

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left. 

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me. 

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated. 

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along. 

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now. 

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?” 

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that. 

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want. 

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever. 

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it. 

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee. 

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee. 

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee. 

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee. 

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee. 

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt. 

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead. 

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful. 

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either. 

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession. 

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too. 

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too. 

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too. 

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again. 

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says. 

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips. 

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body. 

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs. 

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat. 

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act. 

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall. 

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?” 

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out. 

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure. 

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this. 

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out. 

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys. 

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen. 

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes. 

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere. 

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked. 

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?” 

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs. 

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face. 

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering. 

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost. 

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs. 

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together. 

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur. 

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree. 

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?” 

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow. 

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence. 

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump. 

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask. 

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not. 

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement. 

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before. 

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile. 

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak. 

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about. 

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree. 

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response. 

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap. 

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh. 

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy. 

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case. 

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop. 

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word. 

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky. 

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too. 

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are. 

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles. 

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time. 

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you. 

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop. 

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back. 

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety. 

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur. 

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter. 

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates. 

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder. 

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

[lanitalay]

Before I Say Goodnight Chapter 14

A/n: I hope you all enjoy this one!!!!!!! I feel like I could end it in one chapter or in 10 :')

Warnings: canon typical mentions/depictions of injuries, mentions of a toxic relationship.

Word count: 2.6k

Other chapters

Steady steps fill the air as Eris walks down the main hall of the House of Wind. He had not expected to be welcomed here in light of recent events. 

“How is she?” He asks the shadowsinger posted outside a door, presumably hers.

“Stable” 

“Is she awake?” The spymaster shakes his head “Sometimes, never for long”. Eris purses his lips at that, those last few moments in the clearing flashing in his mind “can I see her?” Azriel nods once and opens the door behind him. Eris is certain that he will remain on the other side of the door and that his shadows will be watching closely. 

His breath catches in his throat when he sees her. In truth, he did not know what to expect. It had been days since that night and she had been given Feyre’s blood and a mix of power granted by two high lords, one high lady and one cauldron made fae. It was not something that had been documented before. He was relieved when she had opened her eyes in the clearing, but the white light that shot out of them had surprised him. She had been drained of her blood, kept in a dungeon for weeks, mauled by an ancient monster and struck by lightning. If he had to guess, she had done something to offend the Mother or another god. How does one come back from that? 

The dark circles under her eyes had softened. He noticed the new points of her ears poking out of her hair that laid strewn across soft looking pillows. The lightning had left her with scars that peaked out of her shirt and went to the base of her neck. The bolt forever reflected on her once porcelain skin. He couldn’t see her leg but was relieved to see two outlines beneath the sheets. From what he had seen, it would not have been surprising that a healer would have recommended amputation. Her cheeks looked fuller, that was a good sign. 

He stood there for a while, as she slept. There was so much guilt eating away at him for all of the things he had done during his father’s reign. Unspeakable and unforgivable things. He had tried to do some good, when he could guarantee that his father’s wrath would not be turned to him. He was brought out of his thoughts when she stirred. 

“You can’t be serious” she grumbles and Eris tenses “we are going to have to discuss boundaries”. Her eyes are open and she seems… fine. No pain, no grogginess, no anger. “What?” She yawns “everytime I open my eyes you're there, you were always at the Manor, in the dungeons and now my room? I think we need to talk about getting friends your own age”. Eris stays looking at her and she rolls her eyes “not you too”. He repeats himself “what?”. “I need normal conversation, everyone has been acting like I’m going to break if they look at me wrong and I hate it” he relaxes his stance but remains uncertain “you got demolished by three separate entities, you should be dead, forgive me if I am not in the mood to banter”. She goes to sit up but winces and lays back down “no”. Eris crosses his arms at his chest “no, what?” She throws a pillow at him “I won't forgive you not wanting to banter” he catches the pillow “I did not realize you were enthralled by my humor” he walks closer to her bed and places the pillow where it had been “are you aware of the watchdog at the door?” She scowls “don’t call him that. But yes” and yells “it’s a waste of your time Azriel, I’m fine!” 

A hint of a smile escapes Eris “you are the worst patient I’ve ever seen”. Now, she looks seriously pissed off “you try being bedridden for a week and see how you like it”. “You’ve been bed ridden?” She nods and grimaces “after everything went down the magic healed all my wounds but my leg was broken in so many different places and it healed all wrong. Madja has had to re-break and properly set the bones. They have not let me leave the bed”. A shiver runs down Eris’ back and just how brutal the attack had been. Any lighthearted energy having been sucked out of the room. “I wanted to apologize” she looks away from him and starts to pick at a loose string in the bedsheets and interrupts him “don’t”. He goes on “I have to, it was my father who got you into this whole mess and I could have done so much more to prevent it or to get you out sooner. I should have killed him years ago but I never had the courage and-” she held up her hand “Eris, please don’t”. He took a step closer “and I’m sorry you got hurt and tortured and I just stood by” she would not look at him but asked “did you notice that the bargain marks vanished?” He nodded. She took a breath and said “you kept your promise. I’m out. You never owed me any kindness. We were never even friends” that stung. “You deserved better” she made knots to the string she was fidgeting with “I hate when people talk like that, you can’t change what happened or what you did or didn’t do”. He took one more step “I think it's fair to lament what happened” she looked up and met his gaze “I think it's useless”. He could have flinched at the venom in her voice, but stood still when clouds and bolts of silver amassed in her eyes. She closed her eyes, breathed deep and said “let’s talk about something else” when she opened her eyes again, the storm was gone. Before he could think of what to say the door opened and Madja walked in, followed by Azriel. 

“Good morning y/n, how are you feeling?” The healer asked while opening up her bag of bandages and tonics. “I’m fine, the leg is a little sore” Madja hummed and said “well we have the last procedure today. If all goes well you’ll be able to walk around in a few days”. Y/n smiled at the news “really?” Madja nodded “alright, I will need any visitors to say their goodbyes now” she searched through her bag for something and Eris took his cue to leave. But before he did said “I will be back in a few days”. 

Azriel stood at the door throughout every procedure. His stomach churning every time he heard crunching or snapping coming from inside. She had been put to sleep again. Madja was done in less than an hour. 

He waited by her bedside until she woke up. After the procedures she would wake up in pain and he would be there to give her the tonic Madja had prepared. “That never gets easier to get down” she gagged at the foul taste of the concoction. “I know, it does not taste good”. He remembers all of the times he’s been hurt and forced to drink it. “You’re done though, Madja said everything went perfect. You can try to walk tomorrow” she let out a sigh “thank God”. Azriel chuckled “here, Elain made you soup” and helped you sit up so you could eat. 

“So what are you going to do?” Nesta asked, interrupting a very interesting scene in the book you were reading. She was keeping you company while Azriel was at a meeting in the River House.  “About?” She closed her book. Oh lord. “About Azriel and Eris”. You frown “I’m still lost” she leaned closer “are you going to choose?” Now you scowled “I don’t know why I would choose between two friends” Nesta rolled her eyes. “Don’t be coy, y/n” you cross your arms, defensive “I am not being coy, I am not thinking of my love life at all”. Now, she leans back and says nonchalantly “Gwyn has been dying to ask Azriel out”. Your eyes widen and you curse at how those words irked you just how Nesta wanted them to. “Gwyn does not want to go out with Az” Nesta raised a sharp brow “she used to, but since you came into the picture she’s lost interest”. You huff “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Azriel only has eyes for one person but that person seems to be undecided” 

“Why do I have to make a choice now?” 

“You don’t have to, I was just curious”.

“I barely know either of them”.

“You know them well enough to know how you feel” 

“It’s not that simple” your voice quivers and Nesta’s expression softens.

“It seems simple to me”

“It’s not. I hate talking about it but I used to be engaged to a man, back in my world. He was not kind to me. But I stayed far longer than I should have because everyone in my life kept telling me that I had to, that I should. I also had a complicated relationship with my mother. She was very… controlling”. You got lost as you remembered how she would manipulate you “Anyway, it feels that all my life I have never made a choice for myself. The only true choices I have made was leaving him, traveling and then working at the apothecary. Everything else was either orchestrated by my mother or predetermined by fate. The portal being open, Lucien finding me, meeting Azriel, meeting Eris and now I am not even human anymore”. A wave of pain floods your chest at the reminder of your stolen mortality. “I just… as much as I might like Azriel I need to heal, in more ways than one”. 

Nesta nodded “I’m sorry for everything. I understand feeling like things just happen to you without you having a say in the matter” the way her eyes darkened you knew she had also gone through something similar. You could recall from what Mor had told you that she had been made against her will and that she had a… destructive way of dealing with the trauma. “I love Cassian, he’s my mate but a part of me will always wonder about the mortal life I could have had or what I would have done if they had not locked me in this house. So I’m sorry for prying and pressuring you. I should have known better” tears are gathering in your eyes. She gets out of her chair, sits in front of you on the bed and pulls you into a hug. “I don’t know what to do,” you say, voice quiet. “Just focus on healing”. 

The following day was better, you could finally stand and walk around. 

The day after that was great, Madja said you could resume your usual activities as long as you did not put too much stress on the leg. 

The following week she gave you the all clear that everything was perfect. Azriel was with you  every day. Eris came to visit and was relieved to see you in better spirits and mobile again. Lucien had brought you gifts that Muriel, Jurian and Vassa had sent along. He told you that Muriel thought you had been sick all along and she had sent so many tonics and salves in hopes that you'd get better.Your heart warmed. It broke a little, too. Going back to the Human Lands was not an option now and that stung. 

You were at the River House for a visit when Feyre asked you what you wanted to do now. “I have no idea, but I need to get out of the House of Wind”. Feyre furrowed her brows “why? Did something happen?” You shake your head “no, no, it's just that I feel bad asking to be winnowed or flown all the time and during the day nobody is really in the house and it gets lonely”. She thinks for a moment “you could stay at the town house if you want”. You raise a brow “town house?” She nods “we used to live there but the family grew so much we needed a bigger place. I don’t think anybody is using it now… so you could move there if you like”. That sounded perfect “yes, I would love that”. Feyre smiled “that’s perfect! You’d be so close you could walk here”. 

“How will I ever repay you?” It was a sincere question, they had been keeping you alive since Lucien found you and you had no money for rent or anything. “You don’t owe us anything, you’re part of our family now” you hated how that scared you. “Seriously Feyre, is there a job I could do or something?” She shook her head “Nope, you will move to the town house and continue to heal. I think you could train with an apothecary here or even with Madja if you’re interested”. She went on to list every apothecary in town and how they would never say no if the High Lady asked them for a favor. 

A knock startled you “come in”. “How was your day?” Azriel asks and closes the door behind him. He stays in place as he sees that you are packing up your clothes into boxes. “What are you doing” you look up at him “I was at the River House today and Feyre said I could move into the town house”. 

“Oh”

“I was just telling her how it gets lonely here when all of you are gone and how I’d be more comfortable in Velaris rather than above it” 

“When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow” 

He didn’t reveal any emotion but you knew he was hurt. “She said there are several rooms… you could come with me, if you want” he shifted his stance, hands behind his back, wings tight. “Do you want me to go with you?” You reply “I don’t really want to live alone” he shakes his head. “Do you want me to go with you?” Yes, you wanted to scream. You wanted to shout and hug him and apologize for not asking him first and that he found out like this. You wanted to kiss away his frown until he was smiling. But you stood there not saying anything. 

“Y/n”

“Yes” you step closer to him “I want you to come with me” you falter. Heart beating faster, hating the vulnerability. His hands come to his sides “are you sure?” You mentally curse him “yes, I’m sure”. You are standing a foot away from him. So close you can see a glimmer of something in his eye when you finish talking. “But I have to be honest with you” the glimmer disappears “Az, I…” A lump forms in your throat and you can’t get the words out. “I like you, ok? I like you a lot and I think you like me too but-” 

He cuts you off  “I do” 

The lump gets bigger “but I can’t promise you anything other than friendship right now… I hope you can understand that” 

He steps closer and your breath falters. He is so close. You want to reach up and just touch him. He grabs your hands and says “I’d wait any amount of time for you. You have my friendship, always”. His gentleness overwhelms you and tears well up. You groan “I feel like I’m always crying” he smiles and wipes away a few stray drops. You inhale “so you’ll come with me?” He nods and you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and kiss him. 

Azriel laid in his bed feeling lighter than he had in years. She likes me. 

Her words were a breath of fresh air, a cool summer breeze, a shimmering night sky. She likes me. 

He could not stop replaying the moment. She likes me. 

That night, he prayed that the fullness in his chest was something more than infatuation.

taglist: @luvmoo @leeknows-wife @nocasdatsgay @mybestfriendmademe

#acomaf #acotar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #lucien vanserra #acowar #jurian acotar #acosf #rhysand #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #eris vanserra #cassian acotar #acotar fandom #eris x reader #eris acotar #cassian #tarquin #feyre archeron #feysand #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nessian

[moodymisty]

Wow! Congrats on 1k followers!! Your writing is always a delight. 🥰

For your event, may I request Tech x F!reader with the prompt "You really want me?"

Thank you! I hope you have a great day. ❤️

❀ Milestone prompts list ❀

Author's Note: Awww thank you! I'm glad you enjoy my writing! and techtechtechtechtechtech

Relationships: Tech/Gn!Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff and confessions of love

"So, I have to ask..."

Echo's voice perks up your ears, as sits beside you. His glass is in his hands but he hasn't taken a sip yet, at least that you've noticed.

79's is relatively barren tonight, at least by the normal standards; Though it's still quite loud and packed with enough clones that traversal through the bar is for sure going to end up with you bumping into a few shoulders.

"Did you show Tech some new book or something?" He's not here tonight, having neglected coming out for drinks because of some important worked he wanted to finish, and had insisted you all go on without him. it's not incredibly unusual; This sort of scene isn't his type.

You think on Echo's question for a moment, pursing your lips as you look off in no particular direction trying to recall. Once you do, it's such a brief moment that you don't really think that it would be anything of note.

"Um, I mean I mentioned something not too long ago?" Echo leans back against the seat, an arm over the back behind your head.

"Ok, because he's not shut up about whatever it was for at least a week now. He's been researching it nonstop." That sentence makes you surprised, but also it's impossible to contain a smile at the thought of him doing something like that when you aren't around. It's, endearing. Not too often do you find someone who enjoys you enough that they try to enjoy the things you do. You love watching Tech tinker, to sometimes catch his tongue just barely poking out between his lips, but it makes your heart flutter a bit to know this new tidbit of info.

"Really? I didn't know he cared that much." Crosshair makes an amused noise.

"Cares? He's obsessed." He gets an odd look from you back, and Hunter seeks to clarify what Crosshair won't.

"The two of you really get along well," He says, and you raise your eyebrows. He can't exactly find the best way to put this so for the sake of his brother and for your own sanity, he'll be blunt.

"Look, we don't wanna shove into your business or anything," Hunter rubs the back of his neck. "But Tech really likes you." It's feels more than a little bit intense being underneath the stare of four eyes, especially considering who they are.

"But he's not gonna say it unless you do first."

Were you really so obvious in your attraction that they were all able to notice? You had hoped you were being at least somewhat subtle.

No point in denying it, you guess. They already have it all figured out.

"So, you want me to just go for it then?" You smile and laugh, expecting it to be taken as a joke. But instead, Hunter nods and agrees with you.

"Go sweep him off his feet."

You're not drunk in the slightest; seeing the outline of the Marauder ahead of you as you walk forward towards it with purpose. It's just that your conversation with the rest of the 99's has pushed you over the edge.

You ended up leaving not long after you'd finished talking, deciding to take the opportunity of Tech being alone. It's not too often you have the chance to do so.

You'll just say how you feel, and damn the consequences. You can't stay in the limbo anymore.

But Tech is just, so hard to read.

You've gotten better at it over time, but sometimes you find yourself wondering. His brothers know him best, and hopefully their encouragement doesn't end with you making an ass of yourself.

You have the codes to unlock the Marauder, bringing down the gangplank so you can head inside. Once you do, it's only takes a quick look to the right to locate Tech, who's situated in the cockpit using Gonky as an extension to his current work table; Which is the control panel. He heard your entrance and looks over, perking up in casual surprise.

"Oh, I thought you all would be out for most of the evening." He says it with curiosity, not disappointment. You notice he's reading one of the books you'd mentioned awhile ago when you step closer, datapad sat aside whatever he's been tinkering with. He must be using it as background noise.

"Yeah, it got a little too rowdy for my liking." He's soldering two wires together, humming and adjusting his goggles with a wiggle of his nose. When he speaks he's still working, not looking as you watch over him from his side.

"I apologize for my brothers if they said or did anything particularly uncouth; Them and large amounts of alcohol are not often the best combination." Speaking from experience? You joke to only yourself. Smiling, you wave off his concerns.

"Nah, they were fine," Your sentence hangs for a bit, leaning to one side as your eyes flick over his hands and arms. "I, wanted to talk to you, actually." That admission gets Tech's interest, naturally.

Gonky takes up a good portion of the free space between the seats, so he ushers the droid away and gives you the room to sit down.

"To me?" He seems both surprised and curious, already trying to figure out what you'd possibly need to talk to him about. It could be any number of things, it's not as if the two of you have ever run out of things to talk about.

"Yeah, I," You lick your lips, finding the words and the confidence to just say them.

Gods he looks so cute right now... You think while seeing his dark brown eyes watch you from behind his goggles.

"Do you want to go out sometime? Just you and me?" He quickly counts his tools as he puts them away back in his storage box, glancing up at you.

"Do you need help with something? I see no need why to specify just you and me if you would just like to go and-"

You get out of your seat and kneel on the edge of Tech's, leaning inward and stealing a kiss from him. He certainly looks surprised the moment you pull away, but it seems to get the point across well enough.

"Oh," He says, adjusting his goggles from where you'd bumped them out of alignment. "You meant in that way." His eyes are wide, flicking around focus on a different part of your face as he thinks.

"I, failed to think this was a possible scenario." In any other situation you might've considered making a joke, but the tone would be ruined if you did so.

"Being a clone isn't a desirable trait apart from a few select scenarios, my brothers are quite overbearing, and the state of the war I-" He cuts himself off, brain thinking a mile a minute. "You really want me?"

You smile and nod, lips just barely dusting over his. You can still feel his breath on your face, before he decides to kiss you this time. His feels more assertive, as if he's quickly gaining the confidence in what he's figured out so far. His body rises from his aggressive slouch and his hands move up your thighs, from where they had laid politely on your knees.

"Do you want me to say?" You say, feeling his hands on your hips.

His brothers won't be back for most of the night anyways. He has plenty of time to figure things out and get all the answers he needs.

"Yes."

#is the first part a very very vague reference to me absolutely nuking anyone that looks at me with WH40k lore? maybe #the bad batch tech x reader #tbb x reader #Tech/Reader #tech x reader #the bad batch x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

[total-drama-brainrot]

Island Assistant Noah AU, where Noah got himself eliminated on purpose, but Chris + Chef somehow figure it out... The day after Noah's elimination, everyone is surprised to see that Noah's back... Chris reveals that inside the contestants' contracts: "Anyone who gets eliminated on purpose, will become Chris Mcclean's Assistant."... And Noah has to be decent at his job, or he won't get paid... Noah stays Chris' Assistant all throughout Island, Action and World Tour! 🌎 (I'm sorry if I'm asking this twice; I don't remember asking this!)

OKAY!! SO!!

You did already ask me this and I did have an answer in the works to the original ask, but because Tumblr's mobile app is my number one enemy, I accidentally posted it. So, really, it's super fortunate that you asked this twice!

But! Because I'm a smart cookie, I took some screenshots of what I had typed out in the original post, so I can just re-type it out here and carry on! (I'd post just the screenshots, but they're full of typos because I'm just awful at typing on a phone.)

So, here's my answer:

Yes!! Give me a Noah who thought he was being so sneaky and cunning by intentionally getting himself eliminated, only for it to backfire horrendously!

The producers would've known that the contestants were being sent to Camp Wawanakwa instead of the resort their contract heavily implied they'd be going to, so they would absolutely anticipate at least one of them trying to pull a stunt like Getting Themselves Eliminated Intentionally- either as an act of defiance against the trickery (of Camp Wawanakwa not being what was advertised) or just to be spiteful.

Noah being the one to do so is just happenstance.

(It was more so expected from the likes of Duncan or Izzy, who are outwardly anti-authoritarian and not afraid to confront perceived injustices.)

If I may, I'd suggest having the contract outline that whoever intentionally gets themself eliminated has to work as a base-level intern, and that their "pay" is them working off whatever expenses the show invested into them as a competitor (travel costs, lodging, food, ect.). So Noah ends up stuck in the role of an unpaid intern for however long it takes him to "earn his keep" so to speak. But it's a Sisyphean task, since his debt is ever growing- he's forced to stay at Playa des Losers as an intern, and his daily cost of living is just added to the expenses he needs to work off.

At first, he'd be outright resistant to doing any of his tasks as an intern, because why should he? He didn't ask for the job, he didn't (knowingly) sign up for it either, and it's not like he's gonna be paid for his work. That is, until the producers threaten to pass his debt off to the rest of his family to "pick up his slack"; Noah's not heartless, and he cares a lot about his family, so he concedes to actually doing the work expected of him to save the rest of his brood from having to compensate for his short-sightedness.

(Let's say this turn of event takes about a week, meaning that from the time of his own elimination to the threat to his family's financial wellbeing, only Justin and Katie have been eliminated. Since, at least during Island, it's established that a challenge and subsequent elimination ceremony happens every three days.)

Now, the thing about lazy people- of which Noah undoubtedly is- is that they're downright innovative when it comes to figuring out shortcuts for any type of labour. Now that he's invested in doing his job, Noah uses that big brain of his to quickly figure out how to get all of his allotted tasks for the day completed to near-perfection, in a manner that's both efficient and easy. It gets to the point where he's completing a full day's work in an hour, spending the rest of the day doing what he loves; nothing. The other interns are just as annoyed as they are impressed.

Word quickly gets back to Chris about his miracle intern. But he's either too preoccupied to actually listen to who it is, or no one thinks to explain that his most productive labourer is the ex-competitor he'd contractually conned into the position.

Needless to say, Chris' interest is piqued.

The host issues a request to have the mystery intern shipped out to the island so they can work on the "important stuff" instead of doing menial tasks on the Playa, and is met with staunch refusal on their part. Which is odd, at least to Chris, since the interns send to be far too scared shitless of him (or, more notably, Chef) to ever outright deny a request like that.

It makes more sense when Noah's literally dragged kicking and screaming back to the island. Of course the only person ballsy enough to defy Chris' whims is the same contestant who got himself intentionally eliminated via deliberately pissing off his teammates. But he's back, now, so he might as well be put straight to work! No use in wasting labour, after all.

(Again, this probably happens over the course of a few days at most, since showbusiness is such a hectic and fast-paced line of work, so let's say that Tyler's the only new elimination in this timeframe.)

Again, Noah utilizes his higher-than-average smarts to figure out how to streamline his expected tasks because he's lazy, inadvertently proving himself as a Valuable Asset to both Chris and Chef since he's surprisingly good at what he does (even if what he does is very little by design). Chris is quick to offer Noah an ultimatum; he can either be promoted to being Chris' Personal Assistant, thus meeting the demands of his previous contract (and, of course, entering a new one under different pretences) and finally being paid for his work, or remain as an unpaid intern indefinitely and receive penalisation for his slacking off- since, despite the fact that he's gotten all of his work finished, he's still technically on the clock for the allotted work hours and should be acting as such instead of lazing about.

It's not really much of a choice. Noah reluctantly takes the promotion.

That's how he finds himself in the position we all know and love; Chris' Personal Assistant.

Because of his new promotion, he's expected to be at least within the vicinity of Chris at all (reasonable) times. The problem with that? Chris is hosting the show he got himself eliminated from in the most socially destructive way possible. Noah's now contractually forced to, at the very least, tiptoe around the prior teammates he knowingly and intentionally made hate him and dearly hope they don't notice him.

...Thus begins an AU's worth of shenanigans wherein Noah is desperately trying to fly under everyone's radar as an intern.

(I'd carry on into what he does during Action and World Tour, but this post is already fairly long, so maybe another time?)

#love having noah face the consequences of his actions #especially when they're disproportionate to his actual “crimes” #also really like the headcanon that he got himself eliminated on purpose. it's JUST maliciously compliant enough for him to feasibly do. #...not that i think he did. in my mind noah really is just that much of an asshole AND socially illiterate enough-- #to do what he did in the dodgebrawl episode with no ulterior motive. #anyway in this au noah gets his two disaster gay uncles via chef and chris because i said so. #all assistant noahs get to have chref guardians. as a treat. #total drama #td noah #assistant noah au #silly ideas #others' ideas #replies

[cassifictional]

Underneath

Picture taken from @sapphictemple 's Sevika pic folder and edited. Go check it out.

Pairing: Sevika x g/n reader

Tags: nsfw - oral. Established relationship, Sevika’s on the receiving end for once.

Summary: poor Sevika has had a long day fighting paperwork. She probably needs to relieve some stress. Why not try something new?

Word count: 2.9k (cheers)

Notes: Started making it. Had a breakdown. Bon appetite.

For real though, I’ve had a real shitty week so any nice comments/reblogs would make me so happy. And it’s been a while since I wrote smut. I really like how it turned out, despite the events of this past week. Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. ❤

As you rounded the corner on your way to The Last Drop, you noticed that most of the lights had already been turned off for the night. You hadn’t even realized it was that late already. Not that it mattered, you were quite comfortable being active and awake all throughout the night, right up until the early hours of the morning. It also didn’t matter that the bar was already closed. You weren’t there to party, you were there for one person and one person only: your girlfriend.

The front doors were already locked, but some of the lights inside were still on. Peeking through the windows, you could see the vague outline of a person sitting at a desk near the back of the room. No doubt about it, that had to be the woman you were coming to see. As you looked around for a second longer, you noticed there wasn’t anyone else around. You grinned as you realized this might be the perfect time to attempt a little thing you had been wanting to try for a while now. The Last Drop, entirely vacant, doors locked, granting you the most privacy you could possibly get in this nightlife hotspot. A hotspot that was always so crowded. Except for now. Exciting.

You quickly made your way to the side entrance, a partially hidden door reserved for employees and “special guests”. As you pushed it open, you called out for your girlfriend to announce your presence as a “special guest” and not a thief looking to get their hands on the contents of the register behind the bar.

“Sevi?” you called out to no response. You couldn’t yet see her from where you were right now.

Oh god. What if it hadn’t been Sevika you saw through the window. Maybe it had been Silco. In a really big coat.

“Oh, thank god.” you sighed as the desk in the corner of the room came into view and you realized it was, in fact, your girlfriend sitting at the desk as usual. Sevika raised an eyebrow at you as you approached her.

“Thank god I’m stuck at this desk?” she said, sounding more than a little annoyed.

“No, it’s just- no, actually, nevermind.” you walked up to her desk and took a seat right on top of it. You’d rather sit in her lap, but that spot wasn’t available right now. The desk was a mess, there was barely enough space for you to sit. Little piles of papers and notes were everywhere with tools and small loose bits of machinery mixed among them. From the looks of it, she had been combining paperwork with some maintenance on her mechanical arm.

“I was waiting for you at home,” you spoke, reaching out to touch her hand, “but you were taking too long, so I came to see you.”

Sevika allowed you to touch her, but she didn’t return the gesture like she’d usually do when you two were alone.

“Well, yeah, it’s one of those days. Lots of work. Nothing I can do about it.” she huffed, taking back her hand to get back to the work on her desk.

“Sure you could.” you smiled sweetly, tilting your head to the side. “You could finish it.”

“No shit.”

Right. Seemed like humor wasn’t working on her tonight.

“How much longer, do you think?” you asked, trying a more compassionate approach. You leaned over to take a look at what she was working on. Shimmer shipment details and numbers. Boring stuff. The kind of stuff that would make her extra grumpy.

“I’m almost done. Twenty minutes or so.”

“Can I help?”

“Yes. Stop distracting me.” she glared at you.

“Alright. Fine.” you grumbled, getting ready to hop off the desk again. Sevika quickly reached out to grab your arm before you could do so.

“Didn’t say I don’t want your company.” she said without looking up from her papers. Seems like she had realized she was being a bit harsh.

You smiled at her and turned around on the desk to face her, swinging your legs over to the other side so you could rest one of your feet on her thigh. Immediately regretting her decision to be nice to you, she shot you another glare, but you just glanced around the room, feigning ignorance. Sevika let out a long, deep sigh, and continued with her work, trying her best to ignore you for the time being.

Now all you could do was wait for your girlfriend to finish her work. You took your time to study Sevika’s beautiful features, something you loved to do whenever you were near her but she was too busy with other things to pay attention to you. You noticed her brow was more furrowed than usual. By the way she kept blinking, you could tell that she must be feeling tired. Her shoulders seemed stiff, the rest of her posture seemed to be as well. Her leg, the one you were not currently resting your foot on, was bouncing up and down ever so slightly. She looked incredibly tense, like she had a very long and very annoying day. Luckily, you knew a thing or two to help her get rid of all that tension.

“Almost done.” she mumbled, shoving a few more papers to the side. You took that as your cue to start the little plan that had popped into your mind the second you had seen her through the window, sitting here all by herself in the corner of the now closed bar.

You slowly let your foot slide down her thigh until it was in between her legs. You felt her flinch at the sensation, but she didn’t give you the satisfaction of a further reaction. Displeased, hoping for a slightly more exciting response, you started slowly rubbing the tip of your shoe along the inside of her thigh. Again, you felt her shudder underneath your foot ever so slightly, but that was all you got out of her. You had to stop yourself from grinning when you noticed all the hairs on her arm were now standing up straight. As hard as she was trying not to react, her body could not help itself.

“I thought I told you to stop distracting me.” she said in a tone that was meant to sound intimidating. It didn’t work on you, though. Not right now. You knew that in this case, it was just an empty threat. She could try all she wanted to pretend she wasn’t enjoying this at least a little.

“I’m not distracting. I’m encouraging.” you smiled at her.

Eager to see her react even more, you made a bold move and decided to gently press the tip of your shoe right in between her legs, rubbing it up and down her crotch just once.

A quiet “fuck” escaped her mouth as you felt her whole body twitch underneath you. Finally, a crack in that stoic composure of hers.

Breaking the silence in the building, there was a small noise coming from the direction of the side door, from where you had entered. As if feeling relieved, Sevika shot up from her seat, loudly shoving her chair back as she did. You sighed, rolled your eyes and turned around a little to see where the noise was coming from. One of Silco’s goons had entered the building, holding a small stack of more fucking paperwork. Sevika huffed and straightened her clothes, trying to hide that her breathing had suddenly gotten very heavy from seemingly just sitting still at a desk, and made her way over to the guy awkwardly standing by the door.

“Here’s that report that was missing, boss. It’s-“

“Give me that.” you heard Sevika hiss, followed by the noise of rustling papers.

As Sevika gave the guy an earful about being late, you hopped off the desk and set the second phase of your plan in motion. You were already getting excited, and the best part hadn’t even started yet.

When Sevika returned, she seemed surprised when she noticed you weren’t sitting on her desk anymore. She glanced around before sitting down, jumping in her seat a little once she realized you had hidden yourself underneath the desk.

“Last guy, right? Did you lock the door?” you asked, sitting on the floor underneath Sevika’s desk, pretending to admire its wood grain as you talked.

“I did. What are you doing? Get up.” she demanded as if she had forgotten about your previous interaction just a minute ago. She really wasn’t taking hints well tonight.

“Encouraging you.” you said plainly. “You were almost done, right? I suggest you hurry up.”

Sevika scoffed. “Or else?”

“Or else I’m not rewarding you for working so hard today.”

Something finally seemed to click in her when you saw her eyebrows raise a little once you started running your hands up from her calves to the insides of her thighs.

“What, right now?” she asked, her breathing getting a bit heavier again already. “Why here? Can’t this wait until we’re home?”

“No, because I know how much you like to instantly fall asleep the second you get home after a day like this.”

“I hate how accurate that is.” she chuckled.

For a moment she considered her options, but her decision was quickly made. Without saying another word, she leaned back over the desk and started scribbling on the papers again. You rested your head on her thigh as she worked, continuing to tease the inside of her thighs with your hands as “encouragement”. She carefully pushed you a little closer to her with one of her feet, wordlessly urging you to continue whatever you were doing.

After five more minutes, you were getting impatient. Sure, you had a front-row seat to the best show you could think of, but nothing was happening yet. The scribbling of Sevika’s pen continued and irritated you. Enough was enough. Either she finished her work now or she could finish as she was herself, well, finishing.

You moved in a little closer and moved your hands up to the front of her pants. Slowly, giving her just a little more time to continue her work, you started to undo her belt. A sharp hiss shot out from her metal arm, followed by the sound of her sharp metal fingertips scratching the desk. Good. You were getting her all worked up again.

“No patience, you..” she groaned.

“Hurry the fuck up then.” you said as you fully undid her belt, working your way down to the button and zipper below.

She leaned forward a little more. You heard her curse quietly under her breath again.

“Shit.”

The button now undone as well, you decided to take the zipper in between your teeth and undo it like that. You felt Sevika shudder underneath you.

Then finally, as the zipper was now fully open, her underwear already peeking through, you heard Sevika slam her pen down on the desk. Forcefully, but careful as not to hurt you, she shoved her chair back and raised her hips just enough that she could quickly slide her pants down.

“I’m done.” she growled as she dragged herself forward again to be closer to you, reaching back to take her underwear off as well, but you stopped her from doing so.

“Took you long enough.” you grinned, hooking the fingers of one of your hands underneath the top of the hem of her underwear. Right in front of your face, you could see that a damp patch was already well visible in between her legs. Teasing her a little more, you lightly ran your fingers over it. You heard her sharply inhale as you did.

“About that ‘reward’ I was promised..” Sevika said in between heavy breaths, pushing you a little closer again with the back of her foot, “how about you quit being a nuisance and get to it?”

“Who’s the impatient one now?” you said teasingly before dragging her underwear down in one smooth motion, a sharp contrast to your previous slow teasing that seemed to please Sevika. You were about to please her a whole lot more, though. The sight of her glistening wet in front of you was even better than the front-row seat you had before. This was more like a VIP-ticket. Including a meet-and-greet. Meet-and-eat.

“Fine. How about you say ‘please’ first?” you smiled up at her expectantly.

“No.”

You shrugged. “Oh, well. Was worth a try.”

Sevika wasn’t the type to beg for attention. She knew she would get it one way or another anyway. That didn’t stop you from trying every once in a while, though.

You took in the sight of her all wet and ready and impatient in front of you just once more before you finally went down. Savouring that first taste of her just a little more than usual. She let out a long, shuddering sigh as your mouth finally made contact with that sweet spot. To finally relieve that mutual impatience together, to release that built up tension from the entire day, that relief felt incredibly good.

“Ah, yes, just like that..” Sevika groaned quietly, “keep going. You know how I like it.”

You sure as hell did.

Dragging your tongue up and down her folds, you lapped up everything she was giving you. After the long day at work, her scent was intoxicating, musky and warm and wonderfully her, somehow still not smelling gross like you’d expect someone to smell after a labor-intensive day. You wanted to tell her all about how much you were enjoying her, but for you to talk you would have to pause and you weren’t eager to do that.

You moved up to give her clit some much needed attention, which she happily accepted. With her metal hand clutching the armrest of her chair, Sevika’s free hand quickly found it’s way to your head, intertwining itself in your hair and pushing you down into her a little more. Her foot, still behind you, pushed you a little closer as well. It was almost getting a bit hard to breathe, but not enough to be an issue. But even if it was.. what a way this would be to go.

“Just like that. Perfect.” she panted, already looking perfectly dishevelled.

Her hand on your head and the foot behind you were enough to tell you that she very much still demanded control of the situation, even though you had her fully at your own mercy as well. The balance between both of your needs to be in control made everything feel that much more exciting.

As you continued to eagerly eat her out, juices dripping down your chin, you felt her thigh tense up underneath your hand. A telltale sign that she was getting close. Already?

In an attempt to make the situation last a little longer, you tried to move your mouth down a little again. A rough tug on your hair quickly made you reconsider that decision, moving back up again as quickly as you had tried to go down.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop now.” Sevika growled, her breathing heavy and deep, her body feeling warm and flushed against you.

So you continued as you had before, eagerly licking and sucking and enjoying every little reaction you got out of her. You looked up at her in an attempt to maintain eye contact, but she couldn’t keep her composure anymore. You could feel her thighs tense up again, along with the muscles in her hips and the now painfully tight grip on your hair told you all you needed to know. Still looking up at her, you watched her close her eyes and lean her head back. So close.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop.” she repeated, breathlessly now. “Please.”

The unexpected please sent shivers up your spine. You knew exactly what you needed to do now.

Keep up the pace. Let her come.

And she did. Moaning and groaning through clenched teeth, trying to not make too much noise in case anyone was somehow still around in the vacant and closed bar. She pulled you in so close you could barely breathe as she rode out her orgasm. Judging by how long it lasted, she must have really, really needed that sweet release. After what felt like forever, she released your head and you took a long, deep breath, thoroughly enjoying the sweet, sweet oxygen.

“That was fast.” you panted, out of breath after nearly being smothered in the best way possible.

“Told you. You know what I like.” she grinned, also out of breath, but for an entirely different reason. The way she said it made it sound like a genuine compliment, a rare treat coming from her.

“One more?” you asked, more than eager to get back to work.

“No, that’s enough,” she chuckled,” You did well. I need to have some energy left to walk home.”

Disappointed but also satisfied, you crawled out from underneath the desk, letting Sevika dress herself again before taking her head in between your hands and giving her a long, deep kiss. Letting her taste herself a little in the meantime from what remained of her on your lips.

“You know..” she mumbled through the kiss, “If all my days behind this desk ended like this, I think I’d be more inclined to take the shifts involving paperwork.”

“You go do that.” you mumbled back at her, your eyes still closed. “Show those papers who’s boss. I’ll sit under your desk all day if it’ll help.”

“I doubt it will.” she snickered. “But it’s something to look forward to, for once.”

Notes: I think I may have a bit of a fixation with desks :v and legs. Definitely legs.

Also, the logistics of (tight) pants and this position are something I’ve yet to experience for myself. I have a hard time picturing it in my head without it looking silly.

You’d think I’d have a thing for almost getting caught doing something somewhere you’re not supposed to, considering I’ve written a scenario like that before. In reality, I have anxiety and would never ever put myself in a situation like that LOL

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x female reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x you #arcane x reader #arcane imagine #arcane imagines #cat writes

[shipmistress9]

Okay, soo… I had this idea for a Xaden/Violet fic. And as things work for me, it’s mostly been a handful of random impressions of them being in a specific situation, then my shipping brain spinning a story around this. How they got there, what happens afterwards. At first, I wasn’t happy with the storyline, the reasoning was all wrong. But then I got another set of impressions, and suddenly, it made PING! in my head. 

But as I laid out this new idea, I realised this would have to be a pretty long story, just to get the lead up right, which… I didn’t feel like doing. 

But I know the idea won’t let me go until I write it down, so I’ll do it in the form of my usual story outline and be done with it. xD 

Right, so we’re starting shortly after the end of Fourth Wing. To keep her promise to Liam, Violet has to return to Basgiath, and she has to do it soon to not raise suspicions. She spends a couple of days learning how to erect shields around her mind so Dain can’t read her. Or can only read what she lets him see. They’ll have to spin some story, maybe that Tairn died in the ‘Gryphon’ attack, but she survived thanks to Andarna. That way, Tairn can stay with Sgaey in Aretia and nobody gets suspicious. 

All this means, however, that she has no time to resolve her situation with Xaden. She has no time to think about how she feels about him, about his secrets. They leave without really having talked again after her waking up. And with the great distance, they can’t speak mind to mind anymore, either. 

At Basgiath, people suspect that more happened at Athebyne that she’s not telling. But Dain can’t see anything, even as he ‘inconspicuously’ searches her mind. She has to pretend that she hates Xaden and the marked ones that turn traitors, though, so looking out for Sloane won’t be easy… 

Anyway, the point, the one that leads to my idea, is that Violet gets sent to attend some ball. It’s some ambassador-thingy, something where she’s supposed to represent her mother and leadership, but also something where she’s supposed to prove her loyalty in some way. It taks place outside Navarre’s borders, possibly some event to renew the trade contract, or something. For this occasion, I imagine her in a slim dress, again with the long slit at her thigh(s), but this time in navy blue and sparkling. Sgaey’s colouring.

Anyway. Of course, when she reaches this ball, Xaden is there, too. Maybe Tairn speaks to her, which tips her off that he (and Sgaey) are close by. Or maybe she just happens to stumble into him in the hall, entirely overwhelmed by his minty scent. And Xaden as a stunned moment of simply staring at her in that dress. (Thinking of Anastasia and Dimitri here)

However, there are people watching her, making sure she stays in line. Maybe Dain even accompanies her. Either way, she is forced to ignore Xaden, pretend that she hates him, or at least doesn’t care for him one bit. 

It’s hard, though. During the past… weeks? months? she had a lot of time to finally examine her feelings for him, but it’s probably still a mess. She still loves him, deeply. And understands, on a logical level, why he wasn’t honest with her. But it still hurts and they’d need time to talk it out. So seeing him there, being so close, but not being allowed to talk is torture. They might be able to speak mind to mind, but it doesn’t feel right, neither brave enough to intrude on the other. Or it would be a risk, the people watching her might notice in some way. 

So it’s pining from afar, trying not to let anything show. Lovely angst and tension. (Thinking about Bridgerton, here)

It gets worse when Xaden appears not to be alone, either. Violet spots him dancing with a pretty blonde, sees them talking, openly small talk but also more secretive in some hallway. Are they lovers? Was he tired of waiting for her to make up her mind and moved on? She feels like dying inside thinking she might have lost him. Which in turn makes her realise her feelings for him, that she doesn’t want to lose him.

I’m not sure how this would fit into this scenario, but I want them to dance, too. If I had the time, I might even try my hand again and draw this, them doing the palm to palm and slowly turning together. I already have some reference pictures, but… arg... I wish I could draw.

I have this moment in mind, where Violet bites some comment like “I didn’t expect you to be a dancer” at him, since he’s a pretty good dancer, certainly better than Dain, and he replies with his usual calmness but a hint of heat beneath “I grew up as the son of a nobleman. What did you expect?” Reminding her that he wasn’t always this secretive, forced to carry so many burdens. 

At some point, they’d be able to talk, I guess. The blonde turns out to be an informant, a spy giving information about Basgiath and leadership to the rebellion. The ball was their meeting place, them acting like lovers their cover. Nobody knew Violet would be here as well. Violet might feel like a fool and Xaden might, rightfully, gain some hope from her jealousy. 

In the end, I want them to kiss and make out in some shadowy alcove, with them both confessing their love, and the promise to work everything out once they get the chance. 

******

I don't think I'll ever write this story. But if anyone feels inspired to write it (or draw), I'd love to read/see it. 🥰

#ShadowStorm #riorgail #xadence #xadenviolet #viden #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #fanfiction #fanfiction idea #outline #fourth wing #rebecca yarros

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

Hi Em,

Hoping you can help me figure out my MBTI and/or enneagram type or at least point me towards the right direction.

As a writer, I do a detailed sentence by sentence outline for a specific chapter I’m writing and overall rough outline for the book. In life and in writing, I can veer off the plan, but as long as I have that end goal in mind, I’m good. It’s like seeing a train light in the fog – you know it’s coming even if you can’t see it clearly yet. Writing for me is all about enemies to lovers, witty banter, power struggles and internal monologue just like my life lol. I write best when it’s episodic or shorter segments at a time. I also need feedback the interactivity from fans to keep me engaged.

With routine, I need some external push, like deadlines from work, classes, or events, to get me going. If you say by the end of the week, it will done early or on time. If you say by the 15th I procrastinate or it’s late. It’s weird how that works. I also need actionable tangible steps to things otherwise I’m lost. Cleanliness and organization are my jam, not because I love order, but because I love beauty. I trust my gut and intuition for the final say with my heart making most of the decisions. It has to feel right or I get physically ill.

Aesthetics are huge for me – I’m all about beauty, art, culture and hedonism. I love nature, animals, children, reading, solitude, the supernatural, the dark, the taboo, the mythical, spiritual, touch, excitement and adventure. Good sex, good convo, beautiful clothes, good food- 100% me. I’m into enjoying life’s pleasures, and I spend a lot of time making sure my appearance reflects who I am. It’s not about others liking me; it’s about them knowing what kind of person I am upfront and they can do what that what they will.

I believe in fate, but sometimes I get too passive, waiting for things to happen instead of making them happen. I prefer alone or with my partner vs others. I don’t like venting without having some sort of solution at the end, some sort of action. I get frustrated, and I’m like, "Ok, but what are you going to try to do about it?" Doing can be crying, talking, or just giving yourself some time to think. It just has to have an action.

I’m quietly ambitious and if I want it I get it. I hate complaining or sharing my problems, preferring to work through things on my own. But when I do reach out, it’s all about finding solutions, getting that step-by-step guide to hitting my goals. My emotions are private but I go nuclear if pushed too far. I’m not about revenge- that’s up to the universe and it takes too much patience and minute detail, which just isn’t me.

Socially, I’m a bit of an enigma. I’ve faced bullying, which makes me cautious in social settings, despite being quite good with people one-on-one. I’m not into trends or networking; it feels inauthentic, though part of me wonders if it’s because I feel like I have nothing to offer. Talking up my achievements feels awkward; I’d rather let them speak for themselves. I’m the person who sees the talent in others and isn’t shy about pointing it out.

I have to know myself 100%- I can’t move forward without it. Once I hit a goal, I’m done and onto the next, always striving for excellence. Competition motivates me, but I’m not cutthroat. I work at my own pace, based on my mood. I’m generally calm until I’m not, and then it’s zero to a hundred. I struggle to express anger healthily, thanks to having to bottle it up when I was younger.

I’m triggered by the following: being called over-emotional, needy, lack of personal space and control, group projects, noise for the sake of noise. I worry about wasted potential and not living up to my gifts and talents. Hate being a second romantic choice option. I am intense, nicer than I look. I’m great at reading people in person because I can get a strong feel for their energy, vibes and body language. But online-social media feels like a minefield where I’m constantly misreading or attracting the wrong kind of attention.

I appreciate it, Em

Hi anon,

I am fairly confident you are a high Fi user, and I think with that in mind you are likely an Se user - the aesthetic focus is one part, but also what you said about needing interactions to stay engaged with writing (whereas I'd expect an NFP to be sufficiently hooked on the conceptual aspect) seems likely. I personally think the topics that interest someone in writing are not really dictated by MBTI, but how one approaches writing definitely is. High Se is also, generally, the best in my opinion at reading people; there's an attunement to body language. My guess here is ISFP.

The part about needing a routine to ground you/procrastination without clear deadlines is more in line with perceiving, though plenty of things (eg, ADHD) can complicate that, and going through this in order it was that followed by the comment on inauthenticity that led me to high Fi. It sounds like you're an introvert in MBTI but fairly comfortable with people, which is not unusual for feelers - I know a decent number of ISFPs and they tend to be quite personable but ultimately prefer to hang out with only a few people.

The ambition aspect is interesting though - you see this in high Se, to be fair, but much less so in the Se-auxes than with the Se-doms. I'm wondering if this is a relatively new thing, especially if you're at a point where inf Te would be starting to deepen.

#answered #Anonymous #mbti

[squarebracket-trickster]

Happy STS! Since you're on the second draft of ur WIP, how was the progress of the first draft? What are some things you learned during it? What is something you would do differently for your next first draft?

It's so rare to see a writeblr going through revisions and i find your commentary very inspiring. One day i too will be telling myself to leave the sentence be for another draft LOLLL

Oooh I love this question so goddamn much!!! (well, ig it's sort of two? three? questions.) I had so much fun answering this<3333 It was an excellent chance at reflection.

How was the progress of the first draft?

(lol I did not intend for my answer to be this long but it just kept going. But I like the idea of being very transparent about the journey because I hear a lot of nice, summed up "one day I sat down and wrote a novel, the next month I had a manuscript and started querying" stories and I think that can be really invalidating for people for whom the journey isn't that smooth if that is the only narrative you hear.)

I think I came up with the story idea some time in 2019. It was one of those, "princess runs away from an arranged marriage but [redacted due to spoilers]" concepts but at the time I was worldbuilding for other things so I put it aside for later.

About a year later, when I had not made much progress on my other WIPs (due to not having enough worldbuilding ideas to carry a fantasy or sci-fi story and banging my head against a wall trying to think up something I was happy with), I decided, ah what the hell, I'll try this instead.

I picked it because it was a simple concept--an idea fit for a standalone novel on the shorter end, with a fairly small setting and requiring little worldbuilding. It seemed like it would be good practice before I seriously tackled my more ambitious WIPs.

It still took a while to actually get writing. I tried three or four times to make an outline--one was more than 8000 words--and ended up scrapping each of them because when I got to actually writing the scenes I had outlined I found them dry and soulless. I was just going through events that needed to happen but there was no emotion, no humour, no themes, nothing. I tried to write the first chapter once or twice but I started the story too early in the timeline and lost the momentum to keep going. Finally, I wrote a scene somewhere in the middle (the one where Sorin figures out Adris is a girl) and it was the first I was actually happy with. I had fun writing it and then reading it again, and it finally felt like there was some "life" behind the plot I had been failing to outline. I rewrote that scene in both first and third person, decided I liked 1st better, and tried to keep adding to it. Then I had about 3600 words. I wrote another scene near the end (when Isadred and Firnen meet; though I changed this later) and it gave me some direction to work towards.

Then I did not touch the project again for several months.

One day in November of 2021 (NaNoWriMo month but I hadn't heard of it yet) I decided to just go for it and put a bunch of time aside to write like crazy. I started from chapter one and had two rules, 1. Start chapter one as late into the story as possible, and 2. keep it going--don't edit (not even spelling unless it is absolutely critical for me to make sense of later), if I get stuck just jump ahead to the next scene I can write, and if I don't know what happens next just ramble about everything that can't happen until I figure out a situation where that does not apply.

It worked. Really well. The next things I knew (about three weeks in) I had roughly 48 000 words. Some days I was hitting 13-14 000 words per day. Then I took a break because uni and came back to it in April 2022. Same rules, same deal. Suddenly I had 112 572 words.

I got stuck on the ending. I wrote a few scenes but didn't like them. So I figured I would just call it a finished manuscript, put it aside for a while, and come back to it when the time was right.

About two months ago I thought up part of a better ending while in the shower and a few weeks ago, just before I started the second draft I figured out the rest. So I knew it was time and I went back to it.

What are some things you learned during it?

I had a lot of fun. I laughed a lot at the banter and dramatic irony, I highlighted my favourite lines to look back on later, and I left funny comments for myself in the margins. The weird part was that I was not expecting it to be fun at all. I see so much writing content about how hard writing is and how much writers hate it, especially first drafts, and I have done my share of banging my head against a wall (especially in my other WIPs) but, for me at least, it is one thing to get stuck on a plot point, but if I am finding every single new sentence to be a struggle to get down it is probably because my story has not come to life yet. I am writing too much from a place of "hit each plot point in my outline" and not enough from a place of "you know what would be fun/gut-wrenching/shocking/funny/clever/insightful?".

Believe it or not, the middle section was the most fun to write.

I have also come to believe ardently in these commonly touted morsels of advice:

if your story is losing momentum after only a few chapters you either don't know where you are going with it or you have started too far before the inciting incident.

Name your first draft draft zero, garbage draft, word vomit (or in my case, "idk what the FUCK this it looks pretty cool tho"), and just expect utter garbage.

Don't look back, just keep going. You know that thing in improv where they do the "yes, and..." exercise? Do that.

If you are stuck on what happens next, skip that scene and go to the next. There is a chance you may not even need the scene you were stuck on. Long time skips in the same chapter are allowed.

If you don't know what to write just sit down and start rambling. As long as you know what you are trying to write towards, eventually you'll end up there and you can cut the bloat later.

Know your climatic moment before you start--not your ending, but the big final showdown the story is building to. You don't have to know how it resolves (I didn't figure that out until like six weeks ago) but know who is in your final battle and where it takes place.

Don't research. Don't worldbuild. If you need a piece of information you don't have, write [insert type of medieval ship here] and move on.

What is something you would do differently for your next first draft?

I am honestly not sure on this one... I do wish I was a more skilled writer prose-wise because my first drafts would need a lot less editing later on if descriptive, poetic prose came as naturally to me as dialogue and emotional one-liners. But all I can really do for that is keep practicing.

The only other thing I wished I had done from the start was keep a journal, log, or blog of my progress, and save some of the funny comments and [somehow our two romantic leads have to sword fight their way out of a masquerade ball in this scene while dressed to the nines] notes-in-brackets I left in the draft but went back and deleted later once I actually filled out the scene. Hence the existence of this blog now.

One of these days I would also like to develop a proper writing schedule to make more consistent progress throughout the year (instead of the random sprints of activity followed by months of not touching it that I do now). But between the ADHD and the Chronic Fatigue Syndrome I don't know when that will happen.

#wipvii #sts #ask game

[cellsshapedlikestars]

I’m sure you’ve answered this before, but I scrolled through your Tumblr for an embarrassingly long time and wasn’t able to find a post on it so I thought I’d ask you (possibly, again) but please don’t feel any obligation to answer (which goes without saying), but: what is your secret? You’ve written 60 works in your fandom in 3 years — that’s insane! And they are such good quality writing! The prose, the plot, the dialogue, the characterization, everything. How do you do it? How do you find the time, because I assume you’re an adult with a job, etc. (this conclusion, dear reader, being the result of my aforementioned sleuthing) and how do you find the motivation? Sometimes I come back from work, and if I even manage to make it in before 8 pm, I’m still a zombie staring at the wall. Do you plot? Do you outline? If you outline, do you have a specific way of outlining? How long do you spend on a first draft? I’m sorry, I want to know EVERYTHING, because I’m so impressed, not just by your stories or your writing or your storytelling, but your CONSISTENCY — I’ve been writing 30 years and it takes me so so long to produce any type of writing (100 words can take me a whole week) . Having said that, obviously no pressure at all to answer this, in which case, just know that I find your writing magic 🥰

I feel like I've answered all of these in bits and pieces over the years.

answer below the cut cause it's kinda long

yes, I'm adult lmao, but an adult with a job where I'm high up enough that I often have a ton of excess time during the work day, which I'll use to write. Notice how my fics are usually updated on a Tuesday or Thursday? It's because I work from home those days. Now, does my job also have periods of intense stress where I end up not writing for a full week because my brain is too numb? Yes, absolutely.

on the topic of writing quckly, I've explained it like this before: when I'm doing something mundane like driving or showering or work or whatever, I think about my stories constantly, and therefore by the time I sit down to write, I've watched the movie version play out in my head dozens of times and so all I need to do is type it out. Writing is my creative outlet, stress relief, and therapy all in one.

Do I plot? In my head, absolutely. I always know the end of a story when I start it. How I get there may shift and change, but usually not the main plot points, and I've very rarely deviated from my original ending. The only one I can genuinely think of is help me out. The main killer changed about halfway through, as did what Jon chooses to do with his life at the end.

Do I outline? I try. My current outline for saddest summer is just "chapter 5 - festival". Like plotting, I tend to do it all in my head. If I type out an outline, it's a stream of conscious set of words and thoughts and possibly phrasing I want to use. there's no bullet points or anything like that

I'll be honest and say I don't really know what people ever mean by drafts. I just start writing the chapter and I'll usually reread what I've written before continuing to write, so the first part of a chapter is always the most edited. One shots I tend to write in one go, read it over once, then post it.

I've seen other people on here talk about writing like it's some elegant craft, whereas I feel like I throw a bunch of nonsense at the wall and call it art. I feel like my writing is as chaotic and random and last minute as my home renovations are, but somehow both always turn out alright. I'm really just here to have fun and hopefully other people can have fun reading what I write!

Also, you say 60 fics, but remember that 30 of them are one shots I did for events/prompts, and about 10 more are 2/3 chapters only. Also my stories in general tend to average about 10 chapters, which is also how I get so many written. I don't enjoy writing super long fics (though I have no problem reading longer fics?) When I was first starting out, I posted waaaayyyy more frequently, especially with the events here on Tumblr that aren't really a thing anymore. Now I average a chapter a week

#cellsshapedlikeasks

[contentment-of-cats]

Here we go-

We are actually getting the curled tail of the storm in the PNW going all the way down to AZ. Nothing here but some unexpected rain and greyness, though we are looking at a storm system moving in Friday night and staying until Tuesday.

The previous weather systems screwed up everything from power and phone service east from Utah, and shipping is just starting to get back on its wheels. There are still a lot of places serviced by FedEx and UPS that have no service, and where it's not safe for semis carrying LTL to go. It get there when it gets there at this point.

Boss has strep, went to the urgent care last night when it felt like he 'swallowed glass and chased it with gasoline.' Told to stay home. His swabs should be in tomorrow and they can change his antibiotics then. He's thinking of postponing some events planned for February in hopes the wild winter dies down sometime in March.

I have signed up for the Golden Treadmill again. One ghost-written porn novel every six weeks. Apparently the breakneck pace of one per month was to clear a backlog of novels that they tried to have written by AI and could not. Writers couldn't even fix them, the product was that bad, and it was cheaper to round up some freelancers. The outline lands in my inbox on February 1. AI can do a lot of things, but it apparently can't write in long formats and definitely can't write porn. I'll write eight this year and that will retire the medical debt, then start replenishing the savings. If I do eight next year, that will being me back to level. Here's hoping.

Mom's birthday is in two weeks, and it's so strange not to have her here. Even the children of Cluster B parents want to love them and to be loved by them. At the end of her life, there were startling episode of clarity, where she said that she hurt me, that she wasn't a good mother, and that she was sorry. Terminal lucidity is a well-documented phenomenon, but it's still startling to experience. I'm glad that she could experience it, and hope it gave her some peace.

I suppose Mothers Day and her anniversary will be as strange. My birthday is coming around that time, too. I joked after she died that she found a way to make that about her, too. The literal ultimate narc move. However, she suffered with dementia, knowing that 'my mind is dying.' I'm glad she didn't have to miss a birthday this year.

I have my last scan for the year (I hope) next week. After the last week of the month, my labs go to every eight weeks. I want to hope that remission continues, but I also want to be a realist. It's walking the tightrope.

I will have news of the cat distribution system later.

#life in general

[ronanlynchbf]

hi, i wanted to ask what did you mean by the og format of the dreamer trilogy being discarded (in the tags of that opal story post you make about a week ago)? i keep missing all the behind the scenes info on these books :(

HIII hello <333 i'm putting this under a keep reading cut because it ended up being quite long

so in a tweet i think? or actually it might've been a fansign event of sorts i don't rlly remember which one it was but anyway maggie said that originally the dreamer trilogy was set to be further in time, with all the characters in their 20s, and the moderators (worst part of tdt imo) were never actually intended to be in the story AT ALL, from which we can conclude that the story of tdt would've been different bc if u eliminate the moderators there's LOADS of stuff that would change. maggie also said somewhere that - especially when writing greywaren - she had a lot of anger inside of her over being so sick that she put in the book initially but eventually scrapped and redid for some reason or the other (personally i think cdth & mi touched on that anger & frustration she felt abt being sick, but i can't rlly see it anymore once i get to greywaren). maybe she felt it was too personal, maybe she was advised to change it idk but she described it as "an angry draft" or something like that and mentioned having to rewrite a lot throughout tdt after that first greywaren draft/outline. she didn't rlly go that much into detail and i don't remember everything, but considering what she did say and what she implied, the dreamer trilogy originally had a different look and format and setting and outline/story even and tone and also different titles!! the og titles she was gonna go with was this:

which i personally think are very cool and also all corresponding to each other, like the three titles are in the same theme whereas call down the hawk, mister impossible, and greywaren have little to no correlation. ANYWAY i don't have any actual links to when she said this i'm soooo sorry but like bottom line. the dreamer trilogy's story was originally different (though maggie didn't specify as to how or how much difference there was) and sans-moderators, it was more heavy and raw on how tiring and hard and frustrating the reality of dealing with chronic illness is, the characters were originally all supposed to be fully adults (adam was also originally more in tdt but that was also cut), and the titles (and i assume overall theme/tone of the story) were different, so the dreamer trilogy that we now have is likely quite far from the dreamer trilogy we could've had/maggie originally wrote. i for one would LOOOOOOOVE to see the original draft of tdt even if all the books are published already and the story has basically come to an end (i personally believe that, had maggie stuck with the og outline, the epilogue would not have been what it is now, which like. atp i'd take anything over an "it was all good" ending four years later but maybe that's just me) OK ANYWAY this is wayyyy longer than i had intended it to be but that's what i meant with my tags; there's nothing in the world i'd love to see more than that original angry draft of greywaren that maggie changed to - i presume - satisfy the masses, genuinelyyyyy would give anything to get that version in my hands but either way i hope i explained it sufficiently!!! and i hope u have a great rest of the day 💗💗💗 ❗

#sorry this is a bit late i went to bed early last night & didn't see this until now! #hope i explained this well i feel like it's so rambly and incoherently formed i'm sorryyyy 😭 #dreamer trilogy #💌

[withgreatpowercomesmyfuckingdick]

Do you have like a discord or group you soundboard off of to create your plot ideas? What's your process like?

Oh lovely, the only group I soundboard off of are the voices in my head

Thanks for the ask! see below for my rambling extended answer lol

Wasn’t kidding though, I have no sound board but myself. I’m a hardcore editor so, even though typos get past me, I’m always looking at my writing from a very critical “does this make sense” angle and tweaking until it does. Continuity pleases me. I like for my writing to connect, for things to line up. I’m not against maybe having a beta in the future? I’m unfortunately very bossy when it comes to my writing though, maybe even a little conceited, so maybe I need to save some poor soul from a toxic relationship and just not seek a beta period lol.

Although my process…hm, hard to describe, because I can’t say the process is necessarily consistent. I don’t write linear at all.

See, what happens is: I know my big events. I have hallmarks in the story that are non-negotiable for the progression of the primary plot (Cloud’s story of being in the past, his ultimate mission to save Gaia). Every major event that happens, including the ending, I’ve had marked out for weeks now. Granted, I’ve made some changes as the plot progressed, but knowing my main events allows me more wiggle room for bits of foreshadowing. The parade was one of those hallmarks, because it was sort of the lever for the Firsts really going “Okay what the fuck is wrong with this kid.”

Along with those are subevents, which aren’t as rigid but also need to happen. Those are for the progression of aspects of the plot, such as romantic developments and Cloud’s ‘day to day’ realizations. Scenes like that include Sephiroth and Cloud bumping into each other at night and Angeal tending to Cloud’s wounds.

What happens in between, I freestyle. As ideas come to me, I write them out. So I’m actually writing very often, it’s just that what I’m writing isn’t necessarily for the next chapter so much as a future chapter. I have a document specifically for flashback ideas and a separate one for event ideas, and a ‘scrapbook’ for things I discard in one scene that I sometimes use somewhere else.

MILD SPOILERS FOR 16 IF YOU HAVENT READ YET: As I write a chapter I outline what events I want to happen and what’s the point of those events. I joke about 16 mostly being flashback, but when I choose a flashback to include in a chapter (because trust me, I have a lot) I am always keeping in mind (1) what the next major event is and (2) how that characterization of Cloud will give more depth to his reaction to the event. 16 is very responsibility and community focused for a reason, specifically highlighting how Cloud refuses to abandon things he finds himself responsible for even if it injures him emotionally. And it’s there because that’s going to be important soon ;)

something i get stuck on often (and i bitch abt it in 16’s A/Ns) is dialogue. I love dialogue but hate writing it. I’m the sort of person who needs to describe expressions and movements CONSTANTLY and I’m always struggling to balance keeping immersion in a scene and not writing too damn much. To circumvent my tendency to avoid those scenes, I’ll usually write a bare bones scene with nothing but the dialogue and the speakers’ names, sort of like a play script, and then go back and fill in details once I’ve written in emotional shit and other more crucial scenes.

Overall, when I write I just be Back On My Bullshit™️ and kind of spazz all over the place, deleting what won’t make sense in the long run and keeping what I think can be twisted well around the main events. You probably weren’t looking for an answer this fucking convoluted but uhhh hope you enjoyed anyway! 😆

#liddle’s asks #wgpcmfg

[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

[inkovert]

Editing Update (10/21/22)

So I rarely post anything about my WIP because I don't think there's an audience for it here on writeblr - which is fine, I've accepted that - so rather than straight up not posting about my writing ('cause then why am I here) I figure I will start posting about my writing/editing process (I''ll try to post an update at least once a week I suppose? We'll see).

So as I mentioned in my 'hi I'm back' post, I finished the first draft of my WIP Some Call It Fate and I'm currently editing it. Which, as someone who always thought I preferred editing more than writing (a blank page is too intimidating to me), no one is more surprised than me by how quickly I went from being excited to edit to being like 'oh god fuck this I can't'.

Anywho. I have successfully found a reverse outlining process that I'm satisfied with after digging through a number of resources.

For each chapter I: List the scenes, characters involved, word count, followed by a quick summary and how that scene is important to either plot ("scene nugget") or a specific character(s) development. The key at the top allows me to see at a glance what modifications I need to make for each scene (rewrite, shorten, delete entirely etc).

I've done this for 22/45 chapters why is my story so goddamn long so far, I'm *hoping* to finish this reverse outline before nano...because I'm ambitiously attempting to use nano this year as a way to push me to edit (famous last words).

In the meantime - because I hate outlining and find it boring - I've been brainstorming the changes I want to make in my second draft (which I find infinitely more fun) and attempting to come up with some semblance of a story structure (which I didn't consider and/or attempt to follow while writing my first draft and it shows). This resource has been particularly helpful with that (among others).

So above is a structure of the plot points (orange) and events (green) in my story. I'm *almost* done with this part. I have the beginning and the end/climax (which I'm super proud/excited about) figured out, but it's that nebulous middle that has me stumped. But no worries because I have plenty of ideas to fill it with, I just need to sit down with my whiteboard and map some more things out.

So yeah! That's where I am in the editing process. Should I make goals for myself? ....sure why not.

By next Wednesday

Have at least 10 more chapters outlined

Strengthen/figure out first and second plot/pinch points

hopefully future updates will be more organized 😅.

#ink edits #yay #we doin this #maybe this will give me some sort of accountability

[japrilsanatomy]

Hey, so I’ve had this story in my drafts for a while now. I’ve never actually written fanfiction before, so this might be absolutely terrible, but sometimes you’ve just gotta get it out, you know?

Anyways, this story takes place at the end of Black Widow (2020). It dictates how Natasha reunited with her former teammates and how everyone got to the positions they were in in Infinity War. Romanogers, too, of course. Let me know if I should keep writing. Reviews are appreciated!😊

How We Stay Together

After the events of Black Widow, Natasha is on her own again. But what happens when she comes across a familiar face while breaking Team Cap out of prison? Can she earn their trust back? 

Chapter One: Everything Has Changed

Nat approached the stolen quinjet, her freshly died platinum bob mussing a bit in the light summer breeze as she said her farewells to Mason. “Where are you gonna go?”

     Nat had been pondering that question for a few days herself. She knew she was still a fugitive and she had to law low for a while after all of the uproar the events two weeks ago sparked. “It’s funny, my whole life I didn’t think I had any family. Turns out, I’ve got two.” Over the past month or so, Nat had felt a sort of emptiness. She didn’t realize how much the Avengers really meant to her until she didn’t have them anymore. “One of them’s a bit of a mess right now, I’m gonna go break a few of them out of prison, see if I can’t help patch things up.” She gave a last glance to her friend before turning and walking away.

     A few hours later, Nat sat thoughtfully in the pilot seat, feet propped up next to the controls. Now that she was thinking about it, she was quite nervous to see her former team members again. After all, she chose a different side when it came to the whole accords situation and fought them in Leipzig. She wasn’t sure if they’d accept her again. Wanda, Clint, Sam, they were some of her closest friends, but she didn’t know if they’d forgiven her yet, or if they ever would.

     But if she was being honest, the person she was most worried to see again was Steve. The two of them had grown close after working together as SHIELD operatives for two years, and then proceeding to take down HYDRA and the Winter Soldier largely on their own. He taught her how to trust and open up to people, and now he meant more to her than probably anyone on Earth. She didn’t know what she would do if he rejected her. It hurt to choose Tony’s side over Steve’s when it came to the accords, as she of all people knew how corrupt a government could be, but she made the best choice she could to keep her family together. Of course, that wasn’t the outcome, and now she’d maybe lost the few people she’d ever called friends. Of course, she’d ultimately let Steve and Bucky go in the end, but would it be enough to make him forgive her?

     Not long after, Nat could see the faint outline of the raft prison. “Good God”, she said to herself. “This is a bit overkill, don’t you think, Ross?” It just occurred to her that she didn’t really have a plan. This was going to be a lot harder than she thought.

     Nat circled the perimeter and concluded that there weren’t any guards in the area. She touched down as quietly as she could near the edge of the building. She was thankful for the cloak offered by the dark night sky as she made her way to the nearest window. On her way she saw another quinjet a few hundred feet away. Someone’s already here… she thought.

     Of course the window was locked. Why wouldn’t it be? Natasha kicked the glass hard with her boot a few times, and once the glass was cleared away she slowly squeezed her way through the small opening. She landed on her feet at the end of a dimly lit hallway, and she could see what she assumed was the main control room at the opposite end. Perfect.

     She cautiously made her way towards the center of the floor, glancing down each branching hallway and sneaking past a few guards before they could see her. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw her former leader and friend hunched over what appeared to be the surveillance system, surrounded by unconscious men who must have been on duty when he arrived.

#natasha romanoff #romanogers #stevenat #romanogers fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #black widow #captain america civil war #captain america #steve rogers #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #clint barton #scott lang #bucky barnes

[fortheloveofdeaddove]

TMC ramblings

Lots of good progress on The Magnificent Centuries today. Just freaking fixing things and moving on helped a lot.

The thing I like about flying by the seat of your pants within the confines of an outline is that I have to worry less about where I'm going. I hadn't planned this specific Dis/Kili scene, but I think I'm pretty pleased with how it turned out.

I'm struggling a bit with representing Kili's sexual experience/lack of sexual experience. For what is meant to be a very smutty omegaverse harem fic, so far his representation (convo with his mom, being dragged like a sack of potatoes to his heat chamber) has been pretty chaste. On the one hand, that reflects how his life has been since coming-of-age (there's a several year gap between coming of age and presenting - presenting is considered sexual maturity, which is different from coming-of-age). On the other, turning him into the sexpot I need him to be is now a little tough. Not that I can't do it, it's just so far I feel like I'm not doing GREAT at making the transition believable. In the context of omegaverse, the heat phenomenon is often a dramatic event, so uncharacteristic shifts in personality potentially could go hand in hand with that. Maybe that's Kili getting a little taste of what his brother felt, and that Fili still doesn't desire him despite being sexually active will further hurt him once he realizes how much it increases the sex drive. (*hastily takes notes* This is good, this is good.) The prophecy plot line is so flimsy, too, but it does tie into basically every omega feeling a compulsion to offer themselves to Thorin pretty much at all times. *shrug* The idea is to flesh it out the more we go, but in my recent re-read, I went back and forth believability on it depending on the scene.

Then there's Ori's characterization. I have a lot in store for him, but I fear being resented for going with the typical fandom interpretation of him, which we all have to admit is absolutely nothing like the film depiction. A well spoken but shy and secretly highly competent scholar who has uncharacteristic outbursts of hesitant bravery, and he's pretty and always Balin's assistant. I like my Ori this way, but it's pretty, um, I dunno. It's done a lot.

It also takes me so long to write everything, as in, IN fic. We have an interlude between Dis and Kili as he comes out of his heat, Kili reuniting with the company and therefore Thorin (and Fili, whose perspective I feel I ALSO need in this chapter, if only to whumpify him because being around his recently presented little brother is TORTURE (*takes more notes*)). Bilbo gets a small scene every chapter, and then I need to leave Rivendell before the chapter is through. There's also a shift over to the POV of King Bard in Dale for a convo with a certain wizard and elf king. Plus back in Rivendell, I could really use a small scene for Elrond and Lindir. It's A LOT.

I have 15 pages so far that just cover Dis/Kili and the majority of the scene in Dale. I know my chapters are around 25 pages so far, and I can't see myself getting all that in in 10 pages lol.

I just feel like if I produce a chapter with less than that (story coverage, not page count), my pace for the story will be too slow. I, myself, greatly anticipate Bilbo joining the harem, but it doesn't happen until after Thorin has been installed on the throne at least few weeks. In future chapters the caravan travels through Khazad-dum (where we get the scoop on Azanulbizar and some OC members of the line of Durin and meet many of the OC dwarves that will end up serving in Erebor), the Woodland Realm, Dale, and then finally Erebor. I feel like that's a good three or four chapters away already. Is that ridiculous? I suppose it would be if it was JUST a Bagginshield fic. My point is, I know readers are eager to get to Erebor and get to the good stuff. So if I pair the chapters down, we' looking at 7-8 shorter chapters before Erebor. I don't seem to be able to really clamp down on all the introspective and narrative (I actually do quite a damn bit in editing, but I'm still churning out 25 page chapters despite that). So I'm referring to splitting them up in order to be less exhausting for my readers, not actually writing... less. Ugh I frustrate myself sometimes. I wonder if Tolkien ever felt bogged down by how much he wanted to talk about trees and dykes. (I don't have a grain of rice worth of talent compared to him, and that's not what I'm doing.)

I don't have a good idea of whats really important to include, so I just chuck it all in. I'm spending to much time on the introspective, or the narrative, or both. I don't know.

Okay, that's all.

(Block tmc thoughts tag to opt out of my ramblings.)

#the magnificent centuries #dead dove do not eat #nsfw-ish #fanfiction #writing problems #durincest #i mention it anyway #the hobbit fanfiction #tmc thoughts