#and now i publish a completely different work :'D

[gotstabbedbyapen]

Greetings! I dedicated a week to write a five-chapter fanfiction for Blood Of Zeus! Hope you guys will like it 👉👈

#iris #ares #seraphim #hermes #thaumas #electra #hera #blood of zeus #greek mythology #my works #fanfiction #AO3 #AO3 fanfic #short stories #i'm sorry for the deception #i talked about doing an Appreciation Week challenge #then i showed a snippet of my Hanahaki AU #and now i publish a completely different work :'D #don't worry guys i'm still working on my other fanfics #i can't say how long i will be writing but it will come out eventually

[aoi-kanna]

Hey hold on a minute! >:V Since you like drawing the human body (in your case specifically the female body) how come you don't post much here then? Like maybe a human Royal!Cross? that would be cool or others?, random humans , humanoids, fae? etc, I have seen you do Frisk and Chara before :D ..very pretty -//- You mostly draw their non-flesh counterparts (skeletons lol) Is your skeleton energy stronger than your human energy? XDD

Thank you! []~(￣▽￣)~* A brief answer would be that I do not have a very clear concept of the skelebuddies as humans, at least with a human face, since I have undoubtedly modified the characters of cartoon origin to a style that is comfortable for me, completely anthropomorphic. I have spent many years drawing human characters from animated series because it is my hobby, but it was always for my own consumption, the difference is that now apart from me, there are you, and it is partly a coincidence that when I started in UT fandom I also began to take sharing my work on networks more seriously, I began to publish consistently and took the first step in establishing interactions with other people (as well I had a very warm welcome from you too (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) <3333) I met wonderful people and more sources of inspiration about UT that encouraged me to continue, so the human designs were left to rest, but they will return >w<,

Now, mind you, trying to make this doodle feels like a person playing the piano suddenly changes to the violin and vice versa, I feel like I have to learn everything again lmao.

#aoi-kanna #my art #undertale au #asks #random stuff #royaul!human/cross

[usagii-bun]

𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇 ( NAMOR X READER ) PT.3

in which you find a child floating in the water and you save them only for your acts of kindness to get misinterpreted by the father who is also the king of an underwater civilization.

PLEASE READ THIS FIRST : this is a story i am writing on wattpad but my wattpad version is more in detail, slightly different and has an oc ( alora ). It has 6 chapters thus far and still work in progress if you want you can check it out with the link below or use the linktree link in my bio to access wattpad but if you feel more comfortable with x reader I'll try and get all the chapters I have currently published over here in a few days

hiraeth ( namor ) wattpad | oc version!

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3

TAG LIST:

@kpopgirlbtssvt @lazyassfinals @ilovehobi101 @f1uveryys @r3dc4ndy @puzzlemastersworld @namorlover @happycupcakeenthusiast @kakimakiloh @glaciuswduo @disaster-in-waiting

I hope I tagged everyone! also tysm for the support , pls do like, reblog and share ❤️

THE SKY WAS A PEACH color in the early morning. The ocean was calm, the sun that was slowly getting up from its slumber greets the ocean with its rays of light causing the ocean to twinkle and sparkle like stars.

Your eyes were still fogged with sleep but when the first ray of light entered your room, your slumber was broken— your mind instantly telling you to get up and check on Huracan.

"Hura.." you mumbled out, voice still laced with fatigue when you entered the bathroom to find that the young child was already up— gaze was lingering at the window that was across from him, staring at the sky that was slowly turning from a shade of peach-red to a blue.

"You're up, Good Morning." You say, your voice was calm with a subtle hint of fatigue , Huracan turns towards you — a lopsided smile plastered on his face, he seemed to be much better then before.

"Good Morning" the boy says out in english, his words were thick with an accent but it did surprise you, that he had picked up on basic greetings.

"Well this is a pleasant surprise." You state heading towards the side of the bath tub to check on Huracan's wounds. The boy adjusted himself in the water so that you could check his wounds, when you had peeled off the last bit of bandages a gasp leaves past your lips— the bite mark from the shark was completely healed just leaving behind a scar—such healing would take months, maybe even a year but Huracan was healed in a weeks time.

"It's gone.." you mumbled out, gazing back up at the boy that smiled at you.

 

˖࣪ 𓇬   ˖࣪ 𓇬   ˖࣪ 𓇬

After getting ready for the day and feeding Huracan and yourself, you decides to take him out— deciding that it was now time to let him go.

Your time with him was short but it was also worth every moment you spent with him.

The air was warm today, the ocean was calm— it was a perfect time to send him back. Your hand held onto his as you both walked towards the ocean, the sun being the only witness to know that you had helped and saved the prince of the ocean.

Huracan stared at the ocean, the place that was his home but he didn't want to go back yet, he really enjoyed the company you gave him— you gave him affection he lacked, even though back at home, everyone in Talokan including his father showered him with love and affection but the type of affection that you had given to him, made him feel even safer and calm— it was motherly affection that he lacked and unknown to you, you gave him that affection for the short time you have known each other.

Suddenly, Huracan let's go of your hand and runs instead towards the direction of the tidal pool— your brows knitting together as you follow him, he turns back towards you and suddenly hugs your waist— shocking you.

"Hura, what's wrong? Do you still feel pain ?" Your voice laced with worry, the boy understood the word 'pain' and could sense the panic in your voice, hugging you tightly.

"D-don't want to go back yet, stay with you for a bit." the boy stammered out in english causing you to look down at him, shocked that he could form a sentence in english and also feeling relieved that he didn't want to leave you yet, a smile forming on your face as you softly placed your hand on his back and hugged him back gently.

"Okay, I won't let you go until you feel most comfortable to but if I see that the surface is affecting you really badly, I'll be forced to send you back— okay?" You say in a soft tone, the boy understood you slightly and nods his head, letting go of you and then pulling you with him into the tidal pool causing a laugh to escape your parted lips.

This was the first time in years you had felt genuinely happy.

Little did the two of you know, that you were being watched from somewhere in the ocean— eyes trained on the both of you in worry, anger and panic.

"We should go and take him now, Namora." Attuma insists, anger boiling in his blood at the fact that you , this surface dweller had taken the young prince— after days of searching for Huracan, they finally found him.

Huracan had snucked out of Talokan— the young boy was curious about the world beyond the uderwater city but that curiousity had lead to him getting lost and also being attacked by a shark resulting in him being unconscious and floating up to the surface where Alora had found him.

The dispearance of the young prince, left an enraged king— who didn't blame anyone but himself, he was so wrapped up around the issue of the surface dwellers finding out about Talokan along with the tension that was between Talokan and Wakanda that he didn't have time to see to his son— this was his biggest regret.

Namora surveys the behavior of you with Huracan, she notices that you was not being hostile with the young prince rather you was playing around with him but something also told Namora that you could be using a façade.

"The surface dweller does not seem to be a threat , we can't just go in and kill. We must inform K'uk'ulkan first before we do anything else." Namora states and submerges into the water, Attuma was in disbelief at her words as he gives one last glance at the prince and you, a venomous glare being thrown at you before he submerged into the depths of the ocean.

˖࣪ 𓇬   ˖࣪ 𓇬   ˖࣪ 𓇬

Talokan was in despair after the disappearance of Prince Huracan. The young boy was the King's only son whom he treasured with his heart and soul, now the king was anguished in despair at the fact he may have lost his son forever.

He had sent his top generals to go and seek for the young boy one more time, in hopes of any sightings before he went on a rampage in finding his precious son. His generals were back , his heart ponding as he sees no sighting of Huracan.

"K'uk'ulkan" they both said in unison, doing the hand gestures towards their king who returned it back.

"anything?" the king's voice was rasp, his tone filled with hope and a mixture of sadness. Attuma steps forward, pressing his spear into the ground.

"We have found sightings of Harucan." Attuma states, this causes the King's body to jerk up— his heart beating faster and hope burning through his veins.

" than where is he ? "

"However, we have found that he was on the surface with a surface dweller." Attuma said, voice monotoned.

These words made K'uk'ulkan's blood boil, his face that was perceived in a calm manner twisted into an enraged one, he gets off his thrown in anger.

"What ? And did you two not think of retrieving him back?" K'uk'ulkan angrily asks, trying to push back his anger that he didn't want to throw at his people, for this anger was towards himself and the surface dweller that took his son from him.

"They don't seem to be hostile with Prince Huracan but we can not be slow as we do not know the true intentions that this surface dweller holds." Attuma states, voice gravel with caution and stoic as their King's blood boiled in anger as to what this surface dweller might do to his only heir.

"We shall leave now to retrieve him." The king announces, the two generals follow behind their king— who's mind was now only focused on the safety of his son.

PART 4

#namor fanfiction #namor smut #namor of talokan #namor x reader #namor the sub mariner #namor fic #namor fluff #mcu namor #prince namor #namor x y/n #namor x you #namor x oc #k'uk'ulkan #kulkukan #marvel mcu #black panther #namor wakanda forever #wakanda forever #mcu imagine #mcu

[scottappreciation]

Scott Appreciation presents Scottuary3!

➤ WHAT IS IT?

Scottuary is a Scott appreciation event running from Feb 1-Feb 29, 2024. The goal is to get as many Scott-centric, Scott-positive fics posted throughout the month of February to boost the tag & show our appreciation. Cards for Readers’ Bingo will be added midway through the month!

➤ HOW DO I PLAY?

To submit a work, simply write for one of the prompts and post your work to the Ao3 collection—you may write as many fics in advance as you’d like, but please reserve posting for February! Once you’ve posted it, share it with us using the #scottuary2024 tag, or mention us at @scottappreciation​.

All fics must be Scott-centric and Scott-positive. Scott does not need to be the POV character, but the primary focus of the fic should be Scott’s emotions/interests/needs/etc.

No character bashing, or hate of any kind, is accepted for this event. NSFW materials are fine as long as they are tagged appropriately and the author is 18+, but please no depictions of noncon at this time. No non-canonical MCD (Main Character Death).

➤ RULES

Download the bingo card before/during February 2024.

Write a fic using one of the prompts, to be posted only once February starts.

Fics must be at least 500 words.

Bingos are achieved by publishing five fics (one prompt per fic), going horizontally, vertically, diagonally, or all four corners + the free square.

You are allowed to combine spaces for Full Board Bingo, but no more than three tiles/fic.

Please post each prompt fill as a different work, rather than chapters—for related prompts, we encourage publishing them as a series. You can submit them on Ao3 to our Scottuary collection!

The free square still needs a story paired with it to make bingo, but can be for whatever concept you’d like!

When you post a fic, share a link to it + your bingo card with that tile marked off so we can reblog it!

You do not have to complete a full five story bingo to participate! We welcome as few or as many stories as you would like to contribute.

You are more than welcome to combine fills with other February events such as @febuwhump, etc., as long as Scott is the primary focus!

We’re so excited to read all your fics!!

For easier access for translating to another language or visual impairment, the prompts for Scottuary are written out below the cut!

Filling out all five items in a column will give you horizontal bingo, filling out the same number for each row (eg, all the 2s) will give you vertical bingo, and to make a diagonal bingo, use prompts A1-B2-C3-D4-E5 or A5-B4-C3-D2-E1.

A Row:

Maybe I Should Be No One

Scott + STEM

Shadow Wolf (Darkness around the Heart)

Threefold Death

I'm an Alpha Now

B Row:

Werewolf Reveal

Somatoformic

The Bit

Mercy

Beacon Hills' (Disaster) Clubs

C Row:

Berserker Remnants

Peter Trauma

FREE SPACE

Scott + Monroe

The Preserve

D Row:

Outsider POV

Hunted

UC Davis

Wolfsbane

Scott + Fear

E Row:

I Just Need Something Permanent

Episode Tag

Scott + Clothes

Asthma

I Do Things That Should Be Impossible

#scottuary #scottuary2024 #scott mccall #teen wolf #tyler posey #teen wolf events #fandom bingo #scallison #scydia #scalia #scira #sciles #sceo #scackson #scisaac #scerek

[char-lie-spirals]

I would like to learn about the rest of the aus you mentioned here:3

Okay okay so!! I talked about some of them, so I'll just put the entire list under the cut and either link to my previous responses or cook something up! And what I cook up can possibly include a snippet of my writing too :]

Also since this is a lot of AUs/WIPs I'll try to be brief, but feel free to ask about more details on them!

Terminus' Ritual

This is an AU I've had for like a year now, and it answers a very simple question - What if the End HAD a ritual? That its avatars complete between mag 159 and mag 160? Simple answer - Zombies. And also some deaths getting reversed because getting a quick taste of it should make people more scared, and it's hard to keep a zombie apocalypse going with too few people. (This doesn't match the End's values, I Know.)

I have some notes on different characters' situations, who comes back etc etc but honestly the storyline I focused on the most is Oliver seeking shelter in Graham's old flat only for Graham to also be there, Pretty Confused about the passage of time between his death and now. :]

Graham gets spat out AU

Sasha gets replaced, NotSasha picks up the tape recorder and goes to dispose of the tape. The Artifact Storage is silent, but not empty, as a man who doesn't recall his own name wakes up on the floor. Okay this already sounds a bit like a snippet so I guess you can have a proper one too:

It was all pointless, you only suffered longer -- but is that truly pointless?

This one is a WIP in which I just wanted to explore the idea that the only reason Graham lived for so long was because he was scared that entire time, to the point the NotThem wasn't in much of a rush. It's pretty angsty, but can be bittersweet too if you look at it at the right angle and I am a simple man with a lot of hope in my heart. I've not been making much progress with it, and I'm not sure if I'll end it on the title-question and leave it up for the reader to decide, or if I'll provide my own answer, but let me say here: I don't think it was pointless. Not to me.

Michael(s) experience confusion

Already talked about this one here!

Graham Lives WITHOUT Becoming

Graham survives the events of MAG 003 because Oliver gets there in time to help him, and the two of them try to navigate the aftermath together. They go through many ups and downs, Oliver ends up becoming an Avatar himself, but Graham just kinda,, doesn't?? It just never happens. No fear claims him. At this point a lot of people are convinced he's an Avatar because of how his life is intertwined with the Fears but nope. Just some guy who can bluff pretty decently, gets lucky a lot, and loves his End-Avatar fiance a whole bunch :] (yes they're engaged now)

Graham Folger Lives because The Eye Is A Backseat Gamer

One of my Eye Graham AUs :] The main one, you could say! In this one, The Eye backseat-games his MAG 003 experience, and he Knows where to hide, what to do, and how to survive. After that, he goes on to start working at the institute, becomes an Archival Assistant after Jon's promotion, and goes through the horrors! I also talked about it Ages ago, right here- hold on that was in MAY???? 2023????? 10 months ago???? This is messed up.

Anyway! here's a little something I have written about it so far :]

DeathNote intro

Just me trying to explore how Graham and Oliver might've met, grown closer, gotten together and stayed together for 6 years :] No clue if I'll ever publish this and if so, if I'll use it as a backstory/background for one of my AUs or as its own stand-alone thing? But yeah it's just the two of them growing closer and falling in love :] You can have this snippet of it, too! It's their literal first meeting!

Antique seller Graham

Talked about this one here! I will probably do so again soon! But you can also have a snippet, since I guess writing all this really put me in a snippet mood! This is from this AU's version of Amy's statement :D

Cockroach Graham AU

I don't think I need to elaborate.

#I can't EXPRESS how happy I got because of this ask #Had to go hug my cat and all #asks.char #write.char #for the snippets and general creativity

[sagau-my-beloved]

Headcanons about Zhongli with God reader:

Warnings: general Sagau stuff, slightly suggestive at one, vague mentions of violence at another

• For starters, he absolutely considers himself to be the most devoted, both among the other Archons and the rest of the world

• Because of how that's more of a subjective statement, he doesn't really have any way of proving it, and it absolutely irks him to no end

• Venti uses that to his advantage when all the Archons play the "Who can annoy Zhongli the fastest" game

• Right now Venti is crowned the winner at 753 to 1

• But moving away from that, Zhongli follows worship in a very traditional way

• He's a very traditional person, causing him to fall into this role seamlessly

• He does have a bit of a tendency to go overboard in the "traditional" aspect though

• He has an entire personal library dedicated to every single piece of text that even briefly mentions you, and tends to rely on them heavily to learn things about you, often without questioning the information

• "No no, I distinctly remember reading that your favorite flower was Dendrobium."

• "But Lamp Grass literally glows-"

• "It's just a grass, it can barely constitute as a flower! There is no way you didn't have plants that glowed where you last lived."

• It gets a bit frustrating for him, not towards you of course, but towards the books

• He's disgusted how so many of the works in his library are full of "blatant misinformation"

• Eventually, he just starts keeping his own notes, correcting every contradiction himself

• He might have even gone so far as to publish it under an anonymous name, if it didn't contain some of the more "personal" information about certain specific preferences of yours that fall in a more "intimate" setting

• "Hey Zhongli, what's this big book called 'Personal notes on the divine creator'? I've never seen it before."

• "... Those are my very boring and completely irrelevant transaction notes from the last decade, it's just full of numbers and acronyms, it would be nothing of interest to you, please don't open it-"

• Exactly how he conducts his worship differs heavily on whether or not he's still considered an Archon

• Under the assumption that he is, you'll be absolutely lavished in fineries

• Nothing is too good, and very few things are good enough

• You'll be gifted things you never even heard of in game

• He'll also give you the option to either take your pick out of the most glorious dwellings available, or, if none of them are to your liking, you can have one custom made

• Of course you really shouldn't have to trouble yourself with all the details, he'll pick up the slack by using the very meticulous information he gathered on your tastes to fill in blanks

• He's going to be the Archon that tries to completely fill your desires, down to the T

• Any small minor mistake means he needs to scrap the entire thing

• Also, there's a concerningly high chance he might crash the economy on accident from the amount of mora he's putting into it

• Now when he's not an Archon... It's all going to be much more personal

• He's going to try to accomplish whatever you want himself instead of just hiring someone else to do it, because he's broke

• You'll probably have to assure him a few times that it's really not that big of a deal that you couldn't get a very specific one of a kind piece of jewelry that cost upwards of 20 million mora

• (You do still get it, and on a completely unrelated note, he now owes Childe a really big favor)

• He does still give you lots of gifts, they're just more personal and easier to obtain

• Instead of hiring on expensive and experienced chef, he'll try making the dish himself

• He could probably go pick the flowers himself instead of dropping a couple thousand mora, right?

• He's keeping his library though, mora be damned

• Continuing on, this sense of traditionalism extends into his other mannerisms, like speaking

• It's very rare for him to directly say anything to you without it ending with some formal title

• It really doesn't matter how many times you correct him, how many times you tell him that your first name is perfectly fine, he'll either insist, or say that he'll try to stop and then not

• Rather serious when it comes to your honor, if he's in the same room as someone who references you by your name instead of your title, he'll immediately correct them

• How politely he corrects them depends entirely on who it is

• And God forbid anyone actually speak bad about you in a place where he can hear

• Acts of disrespect are dealt with quickly and efficiently

• If someone decides they want to use their tongue to spout such blasphemy, then they don't deserve to have one

• Affection wise, he's is a bit uncomfortable with instigating it, considering it to be disrespectful

• But he also gets jealous pretty easily when he sees someone else (Venti) practically hanging off your arm

• He's absolutely delighted whenever you instigate it yourself though, always moving to mimic your motions but never going further

• If you were to just tell him what you wanted he would gladly do it, but him assuming what you want is out of the question

• It's not only incredibly disrespectful towards you, in his mind

• He also doesn't know if he could live with being rejected in any form

• It would cause the currently unwavering idea that you prefer him over anything and everything to start crumbling

• So he would rather play it safe, at the disadvantage of losing out on some of your attention

• He does always try to be near you, or at least have somebody under him near you, in the case something happens

• He would never risk other people's incompetence interfering with your happiness and wellbeing

• There are many different excuses he uses to always try to be near you, and the most prominent one is knowledge

• You haven't been in Teyvat long, your knowledge is a bit lacking in a lot of aspects surrounding the world

• Lucky for you, you have a multi-thousand year old being who has a smattering of knowledge on pretty much everything at your beck and call

• Anything you could possibly think about asking, he probably knows at least something about, he's like your own personal search engine

• He doesn't really know what a "search engine" is, but by God, he's going to be the best one you've ever had

• He takes pride in any name you give him of course, whether he understands it or not

• (and please don't try to explain the Internet to him, poor guy wouldn't understand it even if he lived in our world)

#genshin impact #genshin zhongli #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #sagau #yandere genshin au #headcannons

[cilil]

So wait, is the myths transformed version of Melkor supposed to be canon?🤔 I always thought the Silmarillion was basically just a collection of the most finalized versions of the first age events, but reading up on Morgoth’s Ring it sounds as if what’s written in there is what was intended to be canon by Tolkien?

It's a tough question that only Tolkien could definitively answer. Christopher Tolkien states in the foreword of the Silmarillion:

"On my father’s death it fell to me to try to bring the work into publishable form. It became clear to me that to attempt to present, within the covers of a single book, the diversity of the materials – to show The Silmarillion as in truth a continuing and evolving creation extending over more than half a century – would in fact lead only to confusion and the submerging of what is essential. I set myself therefore to work out a single text, selecting and arranging in such a way as seemed to me to produce the most coherent and internally self-consistent narrative. In this work the concluding chapters (from the death of Túrin Turambar) introduced peculiar difficulties, in that they had remained unchanged for many years, and were in some respects in serious disharmony with more developed conceptions in other parts of the book." "A complete consistency (either within the compass of The Silmarillion itself or between The Silmarillion and other published writings of my father’s) is not to be looked for, and could only be achieved, if at all, at heavy and needless cost."

Basically, Tolkien worked on this mythology for over half a century and, as anyone who has ever even thought about doing their own worldbuilding can already guess, changed his mind on a lot of things. Myths Transformed in particular contains some later writings of Tolkien and deals with some changes he envisioned, particularly in regards to the cosmology of Eä. Christopher writes:

"In this last section of [Morgoth's Ring] I give a number of late writings of my father's, various in nature but concerned with, broadly speaking, the reinterpretation of central elements in the 'mythology' (or legendarium as he called it) to accord with the imperatives of a greatly modified underlying conception." (...) "With their questionings, their certainties giving way to doubt, their contradictory resolutions, these writings are to be read with a sense of intellectual and imaginative stress in the face of such a dismantling and reconstitution, believed to be an inescapable necessity, but never to be achieved."

So what we can say for sure is that Tolkien wanted to make various changes, but a lot of things were never quite finalized or properly edited or compiled, which Christopher then tried to do.

Which one is more canon? I don't know and the one person who knew best has not been with us for many decades now. But what I would say is that it's completely valid to take the Silmarillion as a basis for canon and use the other writings and other versions - both earlier and later texts - to expand on canon however you see fit.

While it can be fun to examine the material and try to piece it together like Christopher did, I personally am a huge fan of people engaging with various texts in various different and unique ways; it's just important to be clear and honest about what was taken from which text and what is headcanon/fanon and not try to present one's own conclusions as the one true canon.

I know this is not really a clear answer and thus may be not as satisfying, but it's also cool to see how things like this evolve, no? :D

#cílil answers #meta #silmarillion #morgoth's ring #myths transformed #tolkien

[writingquestionsanswered]

Anonymous asked:

[ask edited for length and content]

Egodeath/Jealous Anon. Thank you. I feel better after your response. I wanted to clarify two things, just if you want more context: With the similarities, I think I'm afraid that if I do get published, my books will be instantly rejected because people think it's just another copycat. I've seen people instantly reject a book just because it was similar to one that's already popular. I put so much effort into making sure my ideas are my own, it would really hurt if readers thought the work was copied and not my own.

You are deeply overthinking things here.

If you want to be a published writer, you need to reconcile yourself with the fact that everyone isn't going to love your books. And that's fine, because no one has EVER written a book that was universally loved 100% across the board. No one. Ever. In history. Every single book ever written has its critics. Every single author whose ever put pen to paper has people who don't like them. This is just a reality.

If some people don't like your books because they're similar to another book they read, that has nothing to do with you. That's their prerogative. Other people might dislike your books because they're not similar enough to another book they read. It's pointless to worry about it because you will never please everyone. Why people don't like your book is none of your concern.

I guess with ACOTAR it was just too many specific things. The character design and role of Rhysand. The telepathy between the love interests. There was a whole lot more but I put it down so long ago I've forgotten most now - but at some point it just felt like reading my own notes when I opened one of those books. The worst was when a fictional name I made up was used in that book - and given it's popularity I 'd probably have copyright issues if I tried to keep it in my work anyway. I think that was just the last straw to make me quit the series.

It happens, and it's honestly not as big a deal as it feels like it is now. Again, ideas don't come from nowhere. As much as you strive to make sure your ideas are your own, our "creative wells" are all filled from the same places, and human experience is only so varied, so the odds of multiple people coming up with the same things over and over are actually pretty likely. You're holding yourself up to impossible standards by expecting yourself to create stories that are wholly original and share no similarities with any other story.

Let me share a few times when this has happened to me in hopes it will help you see it's not that big a deal...

A few years after I wrote my first novella (which was not yet published at that time), I saw a commercial for a new TV show. The background concept, setting, and many surface details were pretty identical to my novella, but what KILLED me is one of the main characters had the same name and nickname as my protagonist... and they weren't even that common a name/nickname for that time period. I was sick... absolutely sick. It completely derailed my plans to flesh the story out into a full novel and publish it. Now, YEARS later, I just laugh when I think about it because the things that felt like glaring similarities now are nothing. The plot and conflict of the TV show are completely different from my novella. In the intervening years, I've come across countless other stories with the same background concept, same setting, same surface details, similar characters... and all of those shows, movies, stories, books, video games, comics, graphic novels, plays--whatever--have people who adore them and DGAF about any similarities to some random TV show.

Less than two years after my debut novel was published, I was reading a newly released book and was absolutely floored by the number of similarities. Two less common names, two unusual titles used in a similar way, and three unusual descriptive words used in the same way. Plus, 24 bigger similarities like setting similarities, plot point similarities, situational similarities... Were it not highly unlikely that the author had read my book, and had it not been for the short amount of time between my book and their book, it would have been tempting to think they'd intentionally copied me, because the similarities were just that glaring. But the reality is, we're just two writers who think alike, and in the years since, I've found a few other writers with whom I constantly have these kinds of similarities. They happen, and they feel world-ending at the time, but I promise you they're not as big a deal as your brain is making them into.

So, seriously, stop worrying about it. Similarities are going to happen, and they're going to be glaring sometimes, and there's nothing you can do about it. There's absolutely no way you can write a book that has not a single similarity with an existing story, and even if you could, that's not going to mean you'll write a book that will be universally loved 100% by everyone. People are going to dislike your book no matter what you do, and some of those people may see similarities between apples and oranges. There's nothing you can do about it. You're not writing for them anyway. You're writing for the people who are going to LOVE your book, and that will be the majority, similarities or not. ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

#wqaadvice

[olderthannetfic]

Professional jealousy anon here: Thank you so much for your reply and your advice! You're completely right, the root of my issue is probably a combination of all these factors and I really appreciate your detailed explanation.

Just to adress a few points that have been mentioned: I do write in my native language (an Eastern European language) and publish it on a small local archive that is more reminiscent of 2000s HP fanfic sites than AO3, therefore its tagging culture is a bit more rudimentary as well. I always assumed people read the stories that showed up on the front page and didn't bother to get the search function to work but the site has recently been updated, so there might be newcomers who are already proficient with the now-functioning tag and filtering system and search specifically for the darker tags. (Also, nobody makes any money off of these stories, unfortunately with the levels of homophobia in my country that's just not a viable option :( )

As for the quality of my writing, I pride myself on the quality of my prose and my characterisation but I'm admittedly very weak at coming up with decent plots, which these other writers might excel at. I tried reading their stories to see but I was always turned off by their prose style, which just proves, as you've said, that we're very different writers and want different things, and ultimately it's pointless to compare myself to them. So thank you for pointing that out.

Overall, thank you again for your reply and thank you to everyone who added their thoughts! :D

--

:)

I think plot also might matter more for something with fewer obvious hooks, but it's probably mostly just about what audience happens to be on that site. With a smaller venue, you'll just get specific trends in tastes or content sometimes. Nothing you can do about that. It's not a reflection of your skill.

[felixblankspace]

〔» •••〕 ↷ ❝ The Time Difference Saga ❞ ↺

────── ── ─ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭 ψ(｀∇´)ψ ── ─ ──────

Summary:

Time Difference is going to be a series of fanfic(s) about (Rise) Leonardo Hamato / (UY) Miyamoto Usagi telling the story in two separate lines; Present, Future and a little twist. Present is more of a love story with a lot of fluff and a bit of angst. While Future is a more bittersweet love story with no emotional maturity to be reasonable and open with your feelings (?) In total the saga is going to have 3 fanfic(s) + extras and each fic is going to have a different content and is not going to be for everyone. I really like leosagi in the Miyamoto / Leonardo way and I will try to make the characters less ooc possible taking in consideration than this is a Rise oriented adaptation. I'm reading Usagi Yojimbo, theres changes in the canon timeline and basically de-age Usagi in order to make him more appropriate but, I make him live his early history at the age of 15 - 16 and in the present timeline he is 17 years old + he is a teen dad (and he does not know-) (he have his affair with Mariko post- adachihara btw) I really like how Usagi is in the comics and is gonna keep a lot of that. All TW and Ratings will be put in the respective fic but as a general recommendation please be at least 16 before reading the SWF fic and only +18 for anything else. This also will be in Spanish and English :D

── ─ ── ─ ━━━━━━━━╰☆╮━━━━━━━━ ── ─ ── ─

────── ── ─ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐜(𝐬)(❁´◡`❁) ── ─ ──────

Now we move to the fanfics and its states of progress （￣︶￣）↗　

This is work in process please be patient with me (?

Time Difference - Diferencia Horaria

Status: Published - COMPLETED (unedited)

Rating: Teen And Up Audience ( +16 Recommended )

Art: TDS Art - Tag

(*) More Tags Will be Added

Chapters:

01 .- A New Place - Un nuevo Lugar 02.- The Turtle and The Rabbit - La Tortuga y el Conejo 03.- Meditation - Meditación  04.- You Need to Sleep! - ¡Necesitas dormir! 05.- Meeting the Family - Conociendo a la Familia 06.- Pizza! - Pizza! 07.- Samurai Tourist (or something like that) - Samurai Turista (o algo así) 08.- Being Together - Estando Juntos 09.- Not so Many Explanations - No hay Muchas Explicaciones  10.- Usagi Adventures (and Drunken Fellings)  - Aventuras con Usagi (y Sentimientos en Alcohol) 11.- I missed you  - Te extrañe 12.- Us and I - Nosotros y yo  13.- A Glimpse into the Past (or the Future, it's up to you) - Un vistazo al Pasado (o al futuro, depende de ti) 14.- Shared Feelings - Sentimientos Compartidos 15.- As you Are - Tal y como estas 16.- Our life Together - Nuestra Vida Juntos 

Extras (It can have explicit content, please read the tags):

1.- I Waited a Lot - Espere Demasiado 🔞

If One Of Us Die - Si Uno de Nosotros Muere

Status: In Process (unpublished)

Rating: Explicit (+18 Only)

TW: Graphic Depictions Of Violence - Canon Major Character Death - Explicit Sex Descriptions

· · ─────── ·No Fic for now· ─────── · ·

Chapters:

In Process

Horny Extras:

In Process actually (?

Ready Now - Estamos Listos

Status: Not Started (in planning)

Rating: Mature & Explicit (in a more funny manner idk) (+18 Only)

TW: Explicit Sex Descriptions

· · ─────── ·No Fic for now· ─────── · ·

Chapters:

Nothing for Now... (∪.∪ )...zzz

────── ── ─ This is Over for Now ── ─ ──────

Latest update: 03/09/2023

#leosagi #leonardo x miyamoto usagi #fanfic masterpost #Time Difference Saga #fanfic status #rise leosagi #TDS Art #TDS Ramblings #this post will be edited #Time difference related #Rise Timeline #felix's art tag

[robin-the-enby]

Hiya! I would like to request Abe Sapien x my oc it would be the continuation of the first fic and it would include her going on her first mission and how the others react to Abe and my oc getting closer. Hope you have a good day/night ^^

Someone like me p.2

Pairing: Abe Sapien x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of killing and hypothetical bloodthirst :)

A/N: To all the lovely readers besides riya: I do not write for other people's OCs! This is an exception, since I've already written part one in the past :) With that out of the way, I am happy to come back to this, Abe was the first fictional character I ever published a fanfiction about (Confusing feelings on my masterlist, feel free to check it out ;D), so I have a special place in my heart for this man <3). Also, I would like to point out that you have no idea how much research went into this fanfic XD (but some things are completely made up, so don't come at me when some things can't be fact-checked).

Time passed...as it does. Life at the BPRD was nothing like your calm, quiet and mostly uneventful life in the outside world. The facility was buzzing with life most hours of the day, every day of the week. Luckilly, you weren't completely shut off from the world, like some of your more unfortunate colleagues. You could go outside, thanks to your human appearance. It did take some paperwork and time before your trip got approved, but it was certainly better than being stuck inside. You also had access to the internet and your old social circle, because, well, it would be very strange if you suddenly disappeared.

But you quit your old job and told everyone you're moving somewhere far away, which wasn't a complete lie...And now only few people kept in contact with you. And when they did, you either texted or called. But it was still nice.

And it's not like you minded much. You had a whole new set of friends and a world of possibilities open in front of you. Training with Liz and having some girl time every now and then, because both you and her really needed it from time to time, movie nights with Hellboy- or Red, usually everyone called him red, which Liz almost always joined, and sometimes Abe as well.

Speaking of Abe...

After the accidental confession in the BPRD's exercise pool, the two of you were like two peas in a pod. With your passion for learning about all the different creatures that secretely roam this Earth and your aquatic abilities, you were a perfect partner not only during research, but also on missions that required agents to go underwater. So it's no surprise that the two of you spent a lot of time together while working.

But you never had to worry about being sick of each other. Your personalities mended so beautifully together that you rarely needed to be apart. When you weren't working, you both usually did your own thing, just...together. Of course, you loved to talk and learn about one another, but it was nice to be able to just be...close to someone, with no words needed. Not to mention Abe was a very adaptable person, sometimes you worried he has people pleasing tendencies, but when you needed time alone, he always understood and never pushed past your boundaries. That being said, it's only natural for partner's to argue sometimes. And while that was true and there were instances where you disagreed on one thing or another, you both were smart enough to give each other some time to cool down, when things really escalated, and then talk it through. With Abe's telepathic abbilities, communicating feelings that were hard to put into words was also fairly easy.

Finally, you felt content with the way your life was going. And honestly? Everybody was on board. They were all supportive in their own special ways. Liz was glad that Abe found someone who understood him and wasn't put off by his appearance or his abbilities. Knowing him basically her whole life, it warmed her heart that Abe was happy. Red was proud of Abe. Seeing him always as the more introverted and nerdy friend, he thought Abe would be alone for a much longer time, if not forever. Not that he wouldn't wish a happy romance for the guy, hell, he sure knew about Abe's desire to love and be loved, but the in their line of work, meeting new people is hard and doesn't happen often, and meeting people who stay long enough for romance, or any deeper relationship to bloom is even harder. And he knew that. That was why Red was seriously proud of Abe for shooting his shot. Although when his blue friend revealed to him how exactly the confession went down, Red laughed so hard he couldn't quite catch his breath for a while.

The other agents and staff of the BPRD were happy as well. With the special agents happilly taken, the bureau was just a tad calmer. There was still drama, but nothing serious, like when Hellboy used to escape just to see Liz in the mental hospital, who didn't even want to talk to him at that time. Even Manning seemed calmer, to everyone's relief.

As much as you enjoyed your time at the BPRD, it wasn't always easy. You could still remember the first mission you went on. From your first day at the bureau, you worked hard on yourself to be a good agent. You wanted to go out there and face whatever the world had in store for you. And a few months of intense training and working mostly as a researcher, the day finally came.

Manning had called you, Abe, Liz and Hellboy into the library, for Abe's comfort. And because it was spaceous enough that it easily provided privacy. There, you could go over the details of the mission ahead of you, construct a plan and immediately grab some books to help you learn what you were dealing with at once.

So here you were, sitting around a larger table, listening to Manning tell you about a mysterious creature who, according to secret sources, are responsible for the unsolved disappearings and drownings of multiple people at Wilson lake, Kansas. Based on the evidence and statements from witnesses, every person disappeared at night while going swimming. First outside of swimming zones, but then also right from the designated swimming beaches. First, the victims would swim out into the deep water, where they couldn't feel or see under they're feet. Once they got comfortable, they got pulled under, not to be seen until the next morning. The time the victims spent in water was always different. For some it was ten minutes, for others thirty minutes and for a few even an hour or so.

From what Manning implied, there were some sort of agents scouting the area even before this mission has been ordered, since some of the sources saw a snake like creature, covered in scales, with the head of a cat, or somthng similar. It seems to be able to breathe underwater and above water, and it seems to not have any hind legs.

"First, we need to at least have an idea hat we're dealing with." said Manning with a huff and everyone present turned to look at you and Abe. You tried with all your might, but couldn't remember any creature that would meet the description in a closer way than vaguely. With a slight shake of your head you pushed away from the table and disappeared into the rows of bookshelves in search of amphibian cryptids, monsters, demons and the like. After a few moments, Abe joined you in your search, not knowing sure what it could be either. Luckilly, the two of you knew the library like the back of your hand, so it didn't take long before you came back with what you were searching for.

Each holding a few books, you gave everyone a book or two and you started flipping through them. It couldn't be merfolk, because only a few species live alone and not in groups...it could be a mutant, but most things can be mutants when you think about it...You wondered as you flipped through the pages, sometimes stopping to read the description, most times skipping entire chapters. This went on for roughly half an hour, before Liz suddenly spoke up "And what if it's a Tatzelwurm?"

You all looked towards your raven-haired friend. "The what now?" Red grumbled. "Tatzelwurm, a creature commonly found in Alpine lakes. It's venomous and agressive towards humans. How could it end up in Kansas?" Abe tilted his head to the side. "Look, I'm not saying I'm right, I was just trying to point out that it matches the description almost perfectly." Liz shrugged with a huff and you nodded along her words.

"Well, it seems to be the best we've got so far." Manning said, clasping his hands together. "Are there any weaknesses mentioned in that book? Or something we might use?" you asked. Liz picked up the book and flipped through a few pages, before quickly scanning over the text of one. After a moment, she sighed "No, not really. It just warns to be careful, because a single bite can kill an adult human and supposedly it's able to let out poisonous fumes and has acidic blood." "Well, that's helpful." Hellboy grumbles, not mad at Liz, more annoyed that this case was going to be a tough one.

"Abe, is there a possibility it could be something else?" Manning asked. The amphibian thought for a few seconds about the answer "Well, that depends...Are there any creatures with a similar way of living? Yes, many. Are there any that would match the description given to us that closely? No. Or at least, I can't think of any." he shrugged at last. Manning clapped his hands together and stood up "Alright. We'll assume it's a Tatzelwurm for now. I will have a plan created tonight. Pack your things. Tomorrow at seven o'clock sharp" he looked at Hellboy with that instruction "we'll meet here and you will be given the details of the mission. Then, you'll be leaving for Kansas." he turned on his heel and walked out of the library, dismissing you all in the process.

The next morning, you all met in the library exactly as Manning said. Even Red came on time, although you suspected Liz was to thank for that. Along with Manning came two other agents, the ones who made an elaborate plan for you through the night. It was actually pretty simple, you and Abe would search the water and after you manage to find the creature- there is no "if" as you were told by Manning, you will try to lure it out of the water, where Hellboy and Liz will be waiting to dispose of the creature properly. You and Abe will also be equipped with weapons meant for close combat, which you are strictly advised against, but for safety measures, you'll still have them.

After that, you loaded the super secret garbage truck look-alike and then it was a roughly seven hour journey, spent mostly in silence, as everyone prepared themselves for the mission. You pondered taking a nap, but even if you wanted to sleep, you couldn't. It would be a lie to say you weren't nervous. But you had trained for so long to get to this point. You had done so much in life just to be able to do this. You couldn't, and wouldn't, give up now. But the thought of facing a monster that could kill you with a single bite was terrifying, especially when not that long ago, you were a simple civilian.

As if he could sense your nervousness, Abe softly reached for your hand, encompassing it in his own. As soon as your hands made contact, you knew he could read you like an open book, so you just relaxed and let him feel what you were feeling, hear what you were thinking. In return, Abe reassured you that you had nothing to worry about, that he would do his best not only to accomplish the mission, but to protect you as well. His soothing energy calmed you down significantly and you actually managed to catch some shut eye for the rest of the journey.

After arriving to Wilson lake, you and the rest of the agents set up camp near the lake, away from prying eyes. Since the lake was enormous, and the Tatzelwurm could be literally anywhere, a few technicians came along with underwater drones, which would be placed into the water in several places at the lake, scouting for the creature. After that, you and your friends will be transported as quickly as possible to the place the creature was captured at, where the plan you already were familiar with would be set into motion.

And so you waited. And while waiting, you got you gear set up, Hellboy had his guns loaded and checked, Liz had her gun loaded and checked, as well as her knife and her fire proof jumpsuit. Abe was finally able to get rid of his breathing apparatus and you simply had to put on a tight swimming top, since your legs would turn into a fin.

Abe and you immediately got in the water to warm up for the chase. After such long time of training, you had a better grip on your transformation, so now you were able to get through it more quickly and with less discomfort. Of course, you made sure not to venture too deep into the water, in case the Tatzelwurm was nearby.

After several hours, when the sun was already setting, one of the cameras in a more rocky area of the lake captured something big. A big creature. The technician controlling the drone made sure not to disturb it, and it seemed to have worked, but sadly, the drone caught just a slight glimpse of it, so nobody could be sure if it was realy the creature, or perhaps just a big catfish. But the drones nearby were informed to be on high alert, while the rest were instructed to slowly move towards the one who captured it first. That way, it was nearly impossible to miss it.

While this was all happening, your friends got notified of this progress and you promptly loaded a jeep and were driven to the place where the Tatzelwurm was supposed to be right now. On the way there, your driver got confirmation that another drone got a clear visual of the creature and it's heading towards onbe of the beaches slowly. Putting their foot down on the gas, the driver quickly told you about everything and you and Abe mentally prepared yourself. You needed to be fast, because there were lives in immediate danger.

After finding a good clearing, both you and your blue partner wasted no time and jumped in the water, taking off in the direction you were instructed, while Hellboy and Liz were driven to the location you were supposed to lure the creature to. The bottom of the lake was half muddy, half rocky. It almost seemed like a ghost town, with no creature in immediate sight. They were all probably hidden, but that didn't help the already spooky feeling that was creepin into your heart while looking around for the Tatzelwurm.

You kept close to Abe as you made your way through the dark water. He kept updating you from time to time from where he could sense the creature and if you're getting close. So far, everything was going well. After you made it about a kilometer into the water, where it was more than 8 meters deep, you finally spotted a sillhouette moving almost hypnotically in the water. You both swam faster and each on different side, hoping to be able to get in front of the creature and redirect it away from the beach.

As you got closer, you could clearly see that Manning's informators were right, as well as Liz. It was a Tatzelwurm. It was around two meters long, its scales a rich black colour that reflected the sunrays in small shimmers. Its head was that of a feline, except it had no fur. Its eyes were wide, yellow and wild, hungry for flesh of anything that would cross its path. Its front legs were pretty short, compared to the rest of its body, but they were adorned with long, sharp claws. After a few minutes, you managed get ahead of the creature and you started closing in on it. When you were roughly at the edge of its visual range, you quickly crossed in front of it and darted behind immediately, trying to throw it off guard. At which you succeeded, because the Tatzelwurm stopped dead in its tracks and looked around confusedly, before turning around to finally see what dared cross it.

You simply floated there, not moving for a few seconds, before you flicked your tail swiftly, as if to beckon it, challenge it. The creature's pupils slanted, turning into small slits as it opened its maw, displaying rows of sharp teeth, ready to tear meat from bone. Abe swam slightly closer towards it, seemingly not afraid of the killer cryptid in front of him, although you doubt that if you could see into his thoughts right now, you would see a myriad of emotions going through that brilliant mind of his.

This seemed to rile up he creature even more as it hunched its back threateningly and swam closer to you. You darted a few meters in one direction away from it, but as it turned to look at you, Abe moved exactly in the opposite direction. This was the final straw. The creature, frustrated and angry, let out what would've been a roar on the surface, but here it was just a stream of bubbles coming out of its maw, although that did nothing to make it less imposing. You and Abe started swimming away in the direction where Liz and Red should already be by now, the Tatzelwurm following quickly behind you.

It was a if death itself was chasing after you, the sloshing of water completely ignored by you as the only thing that you could hear was your blood pumping through your ears. The amount of adrenaline coursing through you made your skin prickle and you had to concentrate on keeping the motions of your tail as quick, but also as smooth as possible. From time to time you managed to spare a glance at Abe, who seemed just slightly faster than you, and could afford to look out for you and behind you, to see if the creature was sill following you.

And quite surprisingly, it was. Instead of getting tired of not being able to catch you, your speed, that was putting you just slightly ahead of it, was frustrating it to no end. If you saw any signs of exhaustion or that the Tatzelwurm wasn't interested in chasing you anymore, you'd have to stop and tease it again. However, if you stopped now, it would be certain death.

Slowly, you were reaching the shore. It was just a few hundred meters ahead of you. You could feel the cold water rushing against your sking as you pushed forward, caressing you as if to encourage you to keep going. You could also feel the Tatzelwurm right behind you and you imagine that if there was a way for it to snarl at you, it would, its desire to dig its sharp teeth into your tail so strong you could almost feel it.

Suddenly, you are met with the edge of the lake, the water slightly more shallow. Abe shoots up from the water and before you can stop and ponder how you are going to get out yourself, his hand is reaching for yours. You grasp onto it as if it was the last thing to keep you alive, which in this scenario might as well be true.

Abe pulled you out of the water and away from the shore, behind Hellboy and Liz, who were now dealing with the Tatzelwurm, and continued, until you were safe behind the agents who served as backup for your two friends. You were slightly dazed from the quick change of environment and from the physical strain your body and mind just went through. But feeling Abe's hands on you brought you an unexplainable feeling of safety, though later you started o suspect that was just Abe trying to keep you calm. Nonetheless, under the wave of tranquility and love you were surrounded by thanks to your wonderful partner, you allowed yourself to close your eyes and rest.

You didn't come to until you were in the car again, Abe's arms secured tightly around you with you snuggling into his chest. You closed your eyes as soon as you opened them, relishing in the weight of Abe's head on top of yours, occassionally pressing soft kisses into your hair. Back at the BPRD you learned that the mission was a succsess, the Tatzelwurm having been killed by Red and Liz and even Manning told you that for a first mission, you did a great job.

#requested #hellboy #abe sapien x reader #abe sapien x you #fem!reader #mermaid reader #abe sapien x oc #fluff #cw violence #abe sapien

[azrielgreen]

I know you get a lot of questions about writing and how to write fast and how to produce as much content as you. My question is sort of related. How do you stay motivated to continue fics when it’s been a while since updating? I have multiple WIPs and want to finish them all but I feel like a different person now than I was when I started them and don’t feel the same energy for the ideas either. I know it’s an option to abandon them but I hate the idea of that. I know passion is one corner of your triangle for the Az method, but how do you keep it alive and not burn yourself out by writing so much? Do you ever force yourself to finish stuff? Idk if my question makes sense. I hope it does. Thank you!

Ahh, this is an amazingly important question and you sent it AGES ago and I couldn't reply until now because I was SNOWED UNDER WITH MULTIPLE WIPS and didn't have a clear answer for you, beyond "hang in there babe😭" until now!

My advice is:

a) anyone reading this, don't write more than 2 things at the same time. If you have two and you're thinking of a third, don't do it. Trust me. Finish the others first.

b) if you find yourself in the ✨WIP SEA✨ you need to choose ONE island to swim to and one only. Get to your biggest project and set up shop there. Forget the others, immerse yourself again in the vibe, the story, the magic. Make a playlist, plan a themed tattoo, make a mood board, but get back into why you fell in love with the story in the first place and STAY THERE. You have to finish the biggest project first. The others will fall like dominos after that.

c) keeping passion alive is REALLY fucking hard sometimes and it takes very little to snuff it out, so my advice there is to remove yourself from what can dampen your spirits. Take a social media break (always radiant advice), make a new desk area, hype yourself up for THAT SCENE you have in mind, and if nothing else is working for the story, do something drastic. Write a dialogue only chapter. Do a POV switch.

d) Change your font to one of these: Comic Sans, More Sugar Thin, Jessica Antique or Beryllium Ink. These fuckers work MIRACLES for the neurodivergent brain. Switch the font, just start writing SOMETHING and watch the magic happen.

e) Know when to cut bait. I have never abandoned a fic in my life, but I have abandoned stories before I published them, including professional publishing ones and I have deleted MASSIVE amounts of text because it just wasn't working for me and I can confidently tell when to move on, start fresh and shift gears. If these are fics that are published and WIP, then the pressure to complete them definitely is higher, I know from experience. My advice is to either work on the biggest one and complete that first OR find one that would take very little to complete and smash it out.

f) Don't lose your momentum. This is CRITICAL and I want to talk more about this because creative momentum is powerful and important. The more you write, the more you can WRITE. Write every day, keep it doing. When you complete something, use that boost of pride and joy to fuel yourself. There will be days where you don't physically write of course but writing is a cyclical process and the more you map it to your energy (especially if you have a moon cycle VS sun cycle) the more you'll realise there are specific weeks where you'll have high, clear energy and other weeks with lower energy, so you can adjust your output to prevent burn out.

g) Don't let it get you down. The longest gap between update and completion I ever had was 6 years for my Twilight fic. 6 fucking years and in the end I had to end it with them writing letters to each other, back and forth because I was a completely different writer to who I was before and everything would have been different, so I took a risk and wrote it differently and it paid off.

h) Know that you CAN do it, you just have to decide to. "I just decided to..." is one of the most powerful sentences we can ever say aloud. Just look at yourself in the mirror and DECIDE to do it. That's it. Maybe it won't be great to start off with but that's why we edit. Just get the ball rolling again. The first push after a long period being stationary is ALWAYS hard but keep it going and it'll get easier with every passing word.

I hope this was helpful, apologies again for the delay.

P.S- Finishing Touched changed EVERYTHING for me. I really do recommend ticking off the biggest one first. 💜💜💜

#askaz

[sillywillyrobotics]

william afton (+ relationship) headcanons

a/n: my headcanons for willy I had for like 8 years and never published it anywhere. GN reader. (reader is not a biological parent of William's kids).

william in a workaholic, so he often needs a reminders to do basic human stuff (eating, sleeping, etc).

as his work progressed, he started to have different vitamin deficiency so healthy food and pills/medicines could help from time to time.

takes care of himself very well, but often forgets to shave or keep his hair under control;

so if his partner can do some magic with scissors he would be grateful if you could cut his hair for him.

has a bad habit of falling asleep late, in the middle of the night, at his desk.

he had a rabbit and a turtle in his childhood.

doesn't want pets himself now, but if his kids would really want one he would agree for a dog or a rabbit.

he's demiromantic/demisexual.

smokes only outside; hates to smoke at home where his kids are.

Is really charismatic and confident but long social interactions completely drain him from energy.

likes pop music but won't admit it

probably was incredibly insecure about his springlock scars at first. He still is, but not as much as right after the accident.

his love language are mostly physical affection and acts of service.

won't admit it directly but is incredibly grateful if you help him to bond with Michael and help them improve their relationship

is also grateful if you help with kids;

also Mike is happy that he finally have another parent figure that help him calm down after arguments with Will and solve problems between them.

William need more vitamin D, please help him go get some sun.

he's a dog person

He meet Henry when he already had plans for Freddy's, but it was William who at the end motivated Henry to actually start business.

Will and Henry are(were) actually good friends and they often helped each other with domestic stuff (diner, taking care of each other kids).

Henry would play matchmaker with you and William when the tension would become unbearable between you two.

William has extremely cold feet but extra warm hands.

he has an aquarium with fish in his office at home and Elizabeth loves to count them when she's in there.

William loves to cook but rarely has time and energy. Although he always will find some for anniversaries or special occasion.

he really does tries but needs some help form time to time.

often leaves things in his pockets.

loves to kiss your hands.

forehead kisses are also comforting for him, both giving and receiving <3

#william afton #fnaf #fanfic #william afton x reader #sillywillyrobotics

[demonscantgothere]

Valian Years vs. Solar Years in regards to Galadriel's Age:

Valian Years get a little tricky in Tolkienverse sometimes because J.R.R. devised some different methods for telling them. Tolkien Gateway points out the differences between the two, and the inherent problems with one of the published versions we have as well:

In the 1930s and 1940s, Tolkien handled a length of the Valian year fluctuated slightly around a round number of 10 solar years. In the notes to The Annals of Aman, Tolkien stated a single Valian year lasts 1,000 Valian days, defined as the duration of a complete flowering of the Two Trees of Valinor. Each of these Valian days is divided into 12 Valian hours, with each Valian hour having a duration equivalent to 7 solar hours. Thus, a single Valian year would last 84,000 solar hours. As a single solar year is approximately 8,766 hours, it was easy to calculate the equivalence of 9.582 solar years for each Valian year. However, in the 1950s, J.R.R. Tolkien decided to use a much larger measurement, 144 solar years for each Valian year, and included this concept in his Appendices to The Lord of the Rings as the duration of yén, or Elvish "great year". If this new duration were applied to the earlier works, they would extend the time line dramatically: the duration of the Flight of the Noldor, which was 5 Valian Years, went from signifying around 50 solar years to being converted in about 700 solar years. So the new definition should be understood as belonging to a new conception that is completely different from the previous one, and therefore not applicable to the dates noted in previous drafts of Tolkien's writings.

source (x)

If we accept the first draft as true with what he wrote in The Annals of Aman, it would make Galadriel approximately 138 Valian years, or 1,322 solar years old, by the end of the Years of the Trees. This is a sensibly young age for an Elf, as she was still considered young at the time, and works well within the Legendarium. Which makes each Valian year approximately 9.582 solar years. So, 1 Valian year = a little under 10 solar years.

Now, if we apply what he published in Appendix D of The Lord of the Rings decades later from what he originally wrote, Galadriel's age changes massively from a mere 1,322 solar years to 19,872 solar years by the end of the Years of the Trees, meaning she goes into the First Age nearly 20,000 years old. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, so I also consider the later draft from the 1950s (so time-wise, if not publication-wise) to be a new conception from an unreliable narrator that perhaps was devised by someone who wasn't an Elf.

Its conception of time just does not work well with the dates offered in Tolkien's earlier writings. I can't imagine it took the Elves 700 solar years to cross over to Middle-earth (those would be some lazy travel buddies, I can't even fathom it). 50 solar years just makes a lot more sense.

If Galadriel is then 1,322 by the end of the Years of the Trees, then she is 1,912 by the end of the First Age, which was 590 years long. The rings of power were forged in S.A. 1500, so we can then assume through the show that Galadriel is approximately somewhere around 3,412 years old in The Rings of Power. If we keep following that path of time, Galadriel is approximately 8,372 years old by the time the Fellowship reaches Lothlórien in the Third Age.

#tolkien meta #valian years #galadriel #timelines and things #helpful tips for writing perhaps #to consider if you dabble in the years of the trees #or even the first age or second age or beyond #the rings of power #rings of power #trop

[onomatopiya]

writer tag game!

hiiii thank you @avi-why for tagging me this game seems so fun :D

1. is there a common piece of writing advice that you disagree with? alternatively, is there one you think (generally) most people should follow?

oooooh okay! generally i dislike any hard absolutes like "don't use adverbs ever" because i mean. no piece of advice like that will ever be universal and it's important to consider what Your Piece of writing needs rather than trying to fit a set of ~arbitrary guidelines~

as for advice i think works, i think consistency in writing will always be key to improvement. i like. very heavily stagnated in actual writing after covid (i was like. good lord i was 15 then. wild) because i got bogged down trying to make my book Perfect. and i think if i had actually written more during that time i would be a much better writer now! more writing = more improvement and practice makes pretty damn close to perfect etc etc

2. you can have dinner with any author, living or dead. but the catch is that after the dinner, you and that author will team up against a third writer in a no holds barred cage match throwdown. which 2 authors do you pick?

OOOOH ok. i'm currently very enamored with andrew joseph white and lee mandelo's writing because they both write GORGEOUS prose so maybe one of them? OOO or r.f. kuang . i think tolstoy should get got in the cage match. cry old man

3. have you ever experimented with poetry, plays, or screenwriting? what was the result?

YES i have and now i have a web series. help girl this was not supposed to be longer than a short fiction piece and yet. also shameless self plug you can read my web series about a dead girl haunting her own narrative HERE: https://gloryburning.substack.com/

i do want to experiment more with poetry though!!! that's one medium i haven't really dipped my toes into so to speak

4. what type of rancid twitter discourse would your current wip generate?

oh god what discourse WOULDN'T rr spark. i definitely think having an aroace mc weaponize someone else's attraction to him is probably um. discourse worthy. my top fear is that someone unironically ships lahar (romance and sex repulsed aroace) with anthony (horrible white savior who has no semblance of self) some other notable things that happen in the book:

diversity loss the capitalist kendall roy ass character (anthony) is gay

people of color get to KILL

ruh roh! tragedy :(

horrible horrible body augmentations with dangerous and ableist implications

so much murder. so much assassination. god bless

5. what author would you love to be compared to? what author would you hate to be compared to?

OOOOOOH . uhhhh i love so many authors oh god. i do love neil gaiman i would be so floored if someone compared me to that guy. OH and terry pratchett . probably would not want to be compared to like. jkr. booooo

6. design the ideal piece of merch/swag for your wip.

oh this one is so me bait. i have serious merch and then deeply unserious merch

7. free space: what's one thing you really want to talk about in your writing that no one ever asks about?

I LOVE soulmate horror and just. idk taking different concepts and hitting them with my aroace beam. i love aroace horror i love aroace people. and i think there should be more weird aspec fiction

and question time. putting them below the cut along with tags

what's the first story you can remember writing? how does it compare to the way your writing has evolved? where do you see your writing going in the future?

what parts of yourself (if any) have gone into your current wip? alternatively, how would you fare if you were suddenly dropped into your own wip?

what's one quality of your writing that feels completely unique? what's one thing you want to improve upon in the future?

make or share a meme that you feel captures the essence of your wip.

what are your goals as a writer? do you want to publish? is your writing for your eyes only?

which of your characters is your favorite to write and why?

free space: feel free to be self indulgent--do you have any aus or your wips? if so, what, and if not, what aus/fanfic would you write of your work?

tagging: @macywrites, @cream-and-tea, @saltwaterbells, @coffeeandcalligraphy, @wren-is-writing, @encrucijada, @snowinks, @chayscribbles, @cuntylittlesalmon, and anyone else who wants to do this

#writeblr #tag game #writblr

[hislittleraincloud]

(Mature, NC-17, Cairo Sweet/Jonathan Miller, Jairo, student-teacher, age gap, angst, language, sex/smut (Chapter 2 & 3 are the explicit ones), etc. This fic begins at the very end, where the film left off.)

Note: I'm publishing [this first chapter only] here in advance of its publication on AO3. I'm growing tired of the blackouts. I don't publish there often enough to not be affected. Just please, if you liked it, go to AO3 once it's published there for the blah blah. I'll let you know when it is. // I'm still working on Chapter 3, it's 90%. Homestretch. And yet I want more Jairo....

Summary: Judgement day in front of the school board has come, but Jonathan Miller had something more than a fancy lawyer to get him out of trouble. Can he and Cairo escape a dangerous situation and work out their differences? Maybe after some fancy bourbon and a cigarette. Or two.

Tags from AO3: Teacher-Student Relationship, age gap, Age Difference, Seduction, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Loss of Virginity, Mild Cock Worship, Mesophilia, Somnophilia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, detailed sex, Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Literary References & Allusions, Literary Fucking, Consenting Adults, Erotica, Drama, Dramedy, Erotic Thriller, Fluff, Fluffy, Dialogue-Driven, narration, Southern Gothic, Canon Compliant, Miller's Girl, Definite Amber Heard references, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking

Chapter 1: If You Asked Me To

Opal County Board of Education

“I came.”

“That you did.”

Jon shook his head at her smirking satisfaction. “This…this is your last chance, Cairo. Last chance to come clean.”

“Have you come clean, Jonathan?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.  I have come quite clean about your d —” he stopped himself with a frustrated sigh. It was hot enough outside without abandoning decorum (with his accuser, no less). “Your midterm and the circumstances around it. I'm just hopin’ against hope that in these last few minutes before this very public hearing, you will too.” 

“It isn't public, is it?”

“It's public enough.” His eyes suddenly lifted to the attention of someone in the short distance beyond Cairo’s head, and he waved as the footsteps clacked up the stairs. “Speakin’ of hope.” 

“Hey Mr. Miller!” 

Cairo’s jaw clenched when she heard the sing-song voice of Winnie Black, but when she turned towards it, she was dumbstruck by how different Winnie looked: her usually untamed mane was combed back, the length of her long, bushy tresses held at bay with a baby pink hair band. Her light grey and pink argyle cardigan complemented her pleated knee-length skirt, which was far too tight on her curvy form. She looked like a completely different person, and if it weren't for the careless, open-mouthed way she gnawed on her gum—and her white faux fur tote bag that looked like a yeti’s nutsack—one might believe that she was.

She yelped as she almost fell into Jon, snagging the toe of her black Mary Janes on one of the steps.

He steadied her with his hand. “Oo, careful there —”

“I'm just so eager to help you that my feet got ahead of me,” she cooed, her trademark flirtatiousness as incapable of being contained as the breasts that were almost bursting through the white dress shirt underneath her sweater, which she pulled down and adjusted as she righted herself.

Jon spoke to her, but his gaze remained frozen on Cairo’s bitter countenance. “Okay, well don't — you don't wanna git yourself hurt now, Miss Black.”

“We sure wouldn't want that now, would we,” Cairo blurted, staring at Winnie’s profile. Her words cut fast like a bullet, killing the cordiality between Winnie and Jon instantly.

Winnie finally turned to acknowledge Cairo’s presence. A sly grin peeled across her lips as she checked her out from head to toe and back. “Well look who showed up lookin’ like her dog done stepped on a bee.”

Jon’s internal seismometer could feel the impending quake. Cairo’s eyes hadn't left Winnie’s face. He dipped his chin and picked up his bag, backing away. “I'll let you — I'll give you some space.”

“See you on the other side, Mr. Miller!”

Winnie snapped her gum as she watched him purse his lips and turn up the stairs, hopping up each step towards the doors. She languidly turned back to Cairo with a sigh, her judgmental eye scanning her former friend up and down.

“The preppy look don't suit you.”

“That suit don't suit you.” 

“Looks like two can play at this little cosplay game, sweetheart.”

Cairo’s brow remained deeply furrowed. She could feel her breathing start to tighten. “What're you doing here?”

“I'm here to testify against you…like I told you I would.”

“And like I told you, your credibility —”

“What credibility?  I haven't told any lies, Cairo. I may’ve flirted heavily with a teacher, that's my cross to bear. I've already written it all down, just like you did,” she said, sliding a manila folder out of her bag and holding it up, fanning herself with it. “I don't know Your Honor —”

“It's not in front of a judge, you —”

“I was just bein’ a lil’ aggressive with my platonic affections for Coach Fillmore,” she continued, uninterrupted and undeterred. “You see, young people can get a little crazy sometimes…,” her voice faltered. She looked down at Cairo’s shoes, then looked up, a tear falling from her eye, her lip quivering.  “Cairo made me send that photo to him —”

“You fucking bitch, I'll —”

“You’ll what, kill me?” Winnie had shut off the water works as effortlessly as Cairo had, and Cairo’s small stature jolting forth didn't even make her flinch. “Oh honey, I know you don't care enough about me to trade Yalie blue for prison orange. If they'll even have you after this.”

Jon leaned against a pillar base, watching Cairo’s face fall from the top of the stairs, her heart-shaped lips dropping open. Broken. The turn of her chin towards him in her crestfallen disbelief lasted a lifetime.  

Winnie turned and hopped up the stairs. She pat Jon on the stomach, causing him to huff.

“Almost showtime, cowboy,” she said, turning around and walking backwards. “I mean…Mr. Miller, sir.” She winked at him, but her eyes widened as she stuck her fingers in her mouth and plucked out her gum, flicking it into the trash bin behind the pillar before she stepped in through the building’s doors. She waved at him with the same fingers, and he waved back.

When he turned his head, Cairo was slowing her steps to the one right underneath him. His heart leapt from his chest to his throat, then to his gut: her brow had relaxed into a neutral position, but she still looked terrified.

“It's too late, isn't it.”

“For some things, maybe.” He watched her frown deepen, and she moved to continue into the building. He was able to grab the crook of her elbow, but upon her nasty glare, he let go, hands up. His own brow softened. “Maybe not,” he offered, his concern thickly coating his words. “You'll get destroyed in there, Cairo.”

“Too late for that,” she grumbled, attempting to continue on.

“Hey,” his abruptness startled her still, and he was able to cut in front of her path. He moved to place his hands on her shoulders, but instead, stuffed them in his pockets. “I'm here. Not for me, my fate’s already decided. I'm walkin’ in there on suspension. I'm here for —” he sighed through his nose. “I know you didn't want this. Nobody does. But I understand what I did, Cairo. Now when you walk through those doors, you'll understand what you did too, and no one’s —” he swallowed, shaking his head and averting his gaze. He lowered his voice and his lips to her ear.

“People don't look too kindly on manipulators, even in this day n’ age, even in the thick of #MeToo. That's all I'm sayin’.”

“I don't have anything more to say than what is in my written complaint, so I politely decline to take – to make any further comment.”

“Where are your parents?” 

“Don't need ‘em.”

“Well, what about your lawyer, or advocate, anyone?” 

“Don't need one.”

Principal Joyce Manner was nonplussed. “Miss Sweet —”

“Don't I have the right not to testify?”

“Well, you were the one to bring the complaint….”

Cairo couldn't mask her disgust at the female lawyer Jon’s wife had hired as her parting gift to him. She was a celebrity lawyer with the capacity to render any liar lie-less within minutes of interrogation, apparently, and she was pricey; much pricier than even Cairo’s parents.

And she was gorgeous, just like each of her parents.

In another timeline, the lawyer and the lawyers' daughter might be related; both flavorful, petite, dark brunettes, the chestnut undertones of their hair were particularly visible under the natural light pouring in from the windows of the hearing room. There was little difference, how the sun touched their skin and clothes, but their individual posture was telling as Cairo sat forward in her seat while the lawyer relaxed her shoulders and clasped her hands before speaking softly.

“Miss Sweet. Thank you for showing the courage to be here. You're a very brave young woman.” Her voice was mellow and comforting, emphasized by her upturned, pitying brow, but Cairo knew better. Same look, same vocal tone as Mama Sweet whenever she was doing the same thing during her own trials to butter up the hot lobster she was slow-boiling on the stand. It appeared that this lawyer could sense from Cairo’s silent defiance that the tactic wasn't working, as she quickly flipped off the heat. “Please tell us in your own words what happened between you and Professor Miller. Starting from when you first entered his classroom.”

“Can I plead the fifth?”

“This isn't a criminal trial, Miss Sweet.

“Then why do I feel like you're treatin’ me like a criminal?”

“That's not our intention today, Miss —”

“Isn't it?”

“Miss Sweet. Can you just proceed to tell us what happened?”

“And I have stated quite plainly that I have no desire to do that. Everything I had to say is in my complaint.”

“Let's move on, then,” the lawyer didn't  miss a beat, nearly clipping the end of Cairo’s sentence. “You had a conversation with your classmate about Mr. Miller. Miss Winnie Black?”

Her gaze automatically flickered to where Winnie sat just behind Jon. She was unreadable, but then, Cairo had hardly stopped to read, her eyes quickly turning back to the podium. 

“I’ve had several conversations with Miss Black about Mr. Miller.”

“Will the board please look to Exhibit 7B, please,” her strike was swift and hard, as if she had been anticipating Cairo’s calculated caginess. She approached the stand with a thin packet of papers, placing it on the ledge next to Cairo's water bottle. “Apologies, Miss Sweet, here's a copy for you, please review it.” To observers, the time that the lawyer gave to Cairo to look over the documents seemed far too short, but they were also so far unaware of the conversation’s brevity. “Does this look like a conversation you had?”

“Looks like one.  Coulda been edited,” she half-heartedly suggested, carelessly dropping the transcript back where the lawyer had put it.

“I assure you, it's not edited. In fact, this is a transcription of an audio recording provided by Miss Black in Exhibit 7A, which I will play for the board in just one second —”

“Hey, I object to my bein’ recorded without my consent —”

“Tennessee is a one party state, Miss Sweet, or did Greg and Ivy not tell you that?” The expressed familiarity with her parents had its intended effect on Cairo, with her turning to Joyce for support that wasn't there. The lawyer dropped her eyes, shuffling her papers. The unkindness of her rhetorical question stung, the board members shifting uncomfortably in their seats as the lawyer reached for a small remote.

Cairo shot up out of her seat. “Then I wish to withdraw my complaint —”

“It’s too late for that, Miss Sweet. The matter is out of your hands. Now sit down,” Joyce spoke up and tried not to show her annoyance. She waited until Cairo slowly sank back down, defeated. She nodded at the lawyer, whose thumb was poised but patient on the remote. “Play the recording, please.”

What're you doin’ to Mr. Miller?

I'm testifying against him. In front of the school board.

Why?

He underestimated me. I overestimated him.

Are you okay?

I'm inspired.

That's not funny.

It is. A little. 

Please don't do this.

Why?

You're gonna ruin his life. And for what?  To avenge your rejection? To punish him?  Because he didn't want to [bleep] you?

He wanted to [bleep] me, Winnie.

Huh. Yes.  But he didn't leave his wife for you. …I'll testify against you.

No you won't.

Excuse me?

I'll show them the evidence I have against you and Boris…and not only will your credibility be shot to [bleep], but you'll incriminate him as well. 

Cairo abruptly popped out of the leather seat and sprinted past all of the scrutinizing eyes towards the double doors. 

Two teachers can lose their jobs. Oh hey, maybe we can double team.

Jon had shifted in his seat the moment she started objecting. Not a single person moved to chase after her. Not one, until it was almost compulsory for his feet to start flying down the same path.

Winnie: “how's it feel?”

“Fuck you!” Cairo cursed aloud at the text.

Winnie: “knowin that I'm gettin that rec that you so desperately wanted? 😘”

Jon called out, slightly out of breath as he chased her down the barren sidewalks. “Cairo!  Cairo, stop! Don't do anything stupid —”

She whipped around, her face contorted in a pathetic anguish. “It's too late for that!” She turned back to her phone, hyperventilating.

Cairo: “FUCK OFF!!1” 

She typed quickly, her hands shaking, even as she screeched the words in real time. Her phone hit the pavement as hard as she threw it; it bounced against Jon’s shoes as she sobbed and continued ripping her way through the sidewalk in her Keds. 

Winnie: “right back atcha, bb 🖕🏽😎🖕🏽”

He scooped it up, glancing at the shattered screen and their conversation before pocketing it and struggling to keep up with her quick strides.

He had almost reached her. It surprised him how briskly she could speedwalk on those little legs, and he was already panting. He tried to grab her arm, but she jerked away. “Cairo —”

She turned again, her face reddened and tear stained. “Just fuck —”

She squealed in terror as she was suddenly weightless, his body a blur to steal her tiny form from the path of the oncoming SUV that hadn't seen her. She hadn't even heard him scream her name to warn her. Maybe he did. Or maybe it was all in her head, just like everything else. 

Whatever it was, it stole her breath, and she fell limp like a ragdoll in his arms, fainted.

“Cairo?  Cairo,” he said, holding her up. Jon looked around, struggling to keep her upright. There were a few uninterested people around the street corner; the other few people who had passed in their cars seemed to slow down until he backed onto a bus bench, heaving her onto it lengthwise with her back to the street. He slid her phone out of his pocket—its shattered screen was almost chipped in one corner, flashing on and off depending on how he held it. He dropped it into his jacket pocket before his trembling hands found their way to his own. Still panting, he glanced at Cairo’s form on the bench, scanned the area for the nothing that it was, and cursed.

Boris pulled up to the curb in his black sedan as Jon waved him down. Jon’s sweaty, thankful face filled his passenger side window as soon as he lowered it.

“I didn't know who else to call…or text.”

Boris grunted in his irritance, leaning against his steering wheel. “Where is she?” Jon moved aside, revealing her body on the bench. “Is she dead?”

Jon’s brow furrowed in his disbelief. “Wh — no, she's not dead! She just — she just fainted. And now I think she’s sleeping. I don't know — she's breathing, but not wakin’ up.”

Boris sighed, craning his neck to look up and down the street. “I don't think I need to tell you what this looks like —”

“Then don't — we're beyond looks now —”

“Maybe you are, but I ain't drivin’ no unconscious student back to their house!  Alone!  With you!   Wake Sleeping Beauty up, we gotta get ‘er home.”

Jon looked back to the bench where she lay, her body quietly breathing. He looked back at Boris, a withering shake of his head telling of his desperation.

Boris slow-blinked into a rolled eye, acquiescing to Jon’s pleas and putting his car in park. 

“God damn it,” he pointed his finger at his face while unbuckling his seatbelt.

“You owe me bigtime for this.”

“I know.”

Sweetland Manor, Lovell Hill

“Just set her down there, right there on the settee —”

Jon led Boris inside, and his instincts could've led the good coach to believe that he might've previously been inside her house for an extended period of time, even when he hadn't. Boris’s wide eyes drank in the darkly opulent hallways and decor until he was directed to set Cairo down on the velvet couch near the tall windows of the parlor.

“God damn. Didn't know Miss Cairo was rollin’ in the dough.”

“You didn't?”

“I told you before.  I know where the line is —”

“And that's why you're still teaching and I'm not —”

“That's exactly right. Now let’s get the Hell outta here before that line gets stomped on any more,” he turned, trodding back down the hallway towards the colonade. Jon followed, but with a different type of urgency as Boris’s keys jingled in his hand.

“I can't leave her alone.”

“That's for damn sure —”

“That's not what I mean,” he stopped in his tracks at the front doors.  “Boris.”

He threw his head back and turned. “Man, you can't be serious —"

"I'm very serious, I haven't been more —"

"You're in enough trouble already —”

“And I would never forgive myself if somethin’ happened to her! I'm already never gonna forgive myself. But this…it’s the least I can do for her now.”

“For her or for you?” He stabbed his car key so hard in his direction that Jon could feel the wind of it on his face.

He swallowed. “Are you askin’ out of concern or curiosity?”

Boris huffed, nodding as he watched the tip of his key scratch into the center of his palm. His anger vanished, replaced by guilt. They both listened to the white noise of it before he softened, and looked his friend in the face. There was genuine concern written into his brow, and genuine fear as well. “You really think she'd do somethin’ to herself?”

“She's all alone.”

“Is she?”

“Did you see anyone back there with her? Or here?”

“I take it Miss Black —” 

“Testified for me, remember?”

Boris put his finger to his lips, looking like he was going to be sick. He shook his head, hard. “God damn it!” He continued to his car, incensed and alone. He whipped open the car door and stabbed his key at Jon again before dropping into his seat. “Next time, call an Uber.”

Jon hurriedly approached close enough to plead for one last thing. “And uh…please don't —”

“Deaf, dumb, and blind. Like Helen Keller,” he said as he turned his key in the ignition.

“Drive safe, Helen,” he waved.

“Who's that dumbass talkin’? I don't know who the fuck he is, never seen him before in my life.”

It was a blended storm of frustration and consternation as he stood over her, watching her shoulder rise and fall as she lay dead to the world, but thankfully not dead. She came pretty damn close, though.

Goddamn, Little Ghost.  What am I supposed to do with you now? 

The pressure in his bladder that he felt so strongly in the hearing room had returned—it had been driven away by the tightening he felt the second he pulled her away from the path of the SUV; a miracle considering the situation should've called for instant release—so much so that it overpowered his reluctance to let her out of his sight. At least she was home, and there didn't seem much incentive to run. 

Run to the bathroom, maybe grab a drink of water or juice if she has any, then come right back was the plan.

Of the Greek Revivals in the South, Sweetland Manor, a.k.a. Lovell Hill, most closely resembled the Thornhill plantation house in Forkland, Alabama, and Jon knew this after some midnight Google stalking the day that Cairo told him where she lived. Still, he’d been drinking the night he looked at the floor plans, so his mind’s eye was bleary when it came to what was where. 

Across the hall from the parlor was a bedroom, but his urgency sent him down the hall and past a—a library!—that he would have to check out after he was done with his business. As he started to breathe deeply in his attempt to avoid incontinence, he smelled an oddly sweet scent in the air, wherever he stepped: it was a dichotomously light and heady fragrance that reminded him of the tropics. The Bahamas. Bimini, in particular, where he and Bea honeymooned so many years ago. It was a strange combination of floral and…fruit? He stopped, his body temporarily forgetting its need to piss as he wracked his brain trying to place the scent. Pineapple? No, it's not that sharp. It smelled just as sugar-savory, though, and it was coming from all directions. He thought for just a moment that perhaps it was a Glade Plug-in, but those things were never as pleasant or subtle. A minor stabbing in his abdomen woke him out of his enchantment; he pinched his nose to rub out the obsession as he peeked around corners, finding the dining room, the rather modern kitchen, a large back patio that had an absolutely gorgeous Edwardian wrought iron and glass table, and finally, the bathroom. Or, a bathroom, since this one seemed to be a mere water closet off of the kitchen.

He glanced at himself in the mirror after he was done. He looked awful—his normally bagged eyes were even baggier from lack of healthy hydration and sleep. His reflection couldn't blame him; ever since Cairo turned in her midterm, he hadn't been able to sleep much. Obviously from her current state, she hadn't been able to, either. A splash of cold water against his eyes and he was headed back to that kitchen to quench his thirst after all of the stress and activity of getting the little tired ghost back home. 

It was odd to see such a modern kitchen in an old mansion like this, but it is what it is, and perhaps her parents were foodies—Greg and Ivy Thompson, as he was informed by his own entertainment lawyer, hobnobbed with their rich and famous clients on the regular, so surely there was a celebrity chef amongst that lot. White with black and gunmetal furnishings, the decor was minimalist compared to the rest of the house, and the cabinets, plenty; Jon’s breath caught at the sight of them. Not the cabinets themselves, but what sat on the shelves behind the glass panels of the doors.

Row after row of staggered row of hard liquor: vodkas, tequilas…whiskeys. Not just any whiskeys, either, as he’d discovered after his beeline to the row of beautiful golden browns behind the cab right next to the fridge—none of that Crap Daniels gasoline—but celebrity whiskeys and bourbons. Decent ones, at that. Bob Dylan’s Heaven’s Door Small Batch, Lagavulin Offerman Edition Charred Oak Cask, Sassenach Limited Batch Blended. A lonely blue bottle of David Beckham’s Haig Club Clubman in the back, untouched. His hand twitched and went straight for his favorite, a mostly full bottle of Sweetens Cove Blended Bourbon. He opened it, deeply inhaling the notes of toasted oak and brown sugar, his mouth watering for the sweet taste that reminded him of a densely alcoholic Almond Joy. He found himself a crystal lowball glass and poured it halfway full before replacing the bottle in its place, taking a moment to thank the cabinet for its fine spirits before gently snapping its door shut.

He checked his watch as he briskly headed back down the hall—How long had he left her for?—but not without almost spilling his Cove all over the front of his shirt when his feet stopped on his recent memory—the library. All of those leatherbounds, hubbed spines, gilt letter volumes of classics, wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling shelves packed full and equipped with sliding ladders on each for the ghostly occupant of the house who might be a little too short to reach. He could already see where she’d deigned to, from the empty spaces on the highest of shelves…and lower shelves where he, but not she, could reach. It tickled him to imagine her attempting to reach for one of the tomes and failing. 

He set his glass down onto a lower empty shelf and reached into one of those high hollows of darkness next to a ladder, the gilt of “1905” on the foot of a spine catching his eye. “NOVELS OF THE SISTERS BRONTË | THE PROFESSOR” it read in gold between the raised bands of its fine, red Moroccan leather. It had been moved, possibly read, but lazily left behind against others that were too thick and obscure for a busy young girl. He flipped it into his hand and reached for his glass, pausing for a moment to appreciate the little finger marks in the dust on the edge of the shelf that he’d missed before.

His anxiety was quelled once he wound his way back to the salon. She was still fast asleep, huddled in a little ball against the velvet and pillows, her bowed lips in a frown as she breathed through her nose. Her normally kempt bangs were clinging to her forehead in sweat, but there was a slight shiver to her breaths. He glanced around the room, the afternoon daylight still spilling in to illuminate its quiet sanctuary, but there was nothing else besides more pillows and books, so he put his treasures down on the book-crowded coffee table and skipped over to the bedroom across the hall. 

He winced when he found it, but it was the only thing light enough to tote around quickly without cumber: a Denver Broncos woven throw, from their 2015 Superbowl win against the Panthers. Jon was a Titans man through and through, but he also had great respect for the Panthers (at least, he had great respect for Boris’s Carolina fanaticism). He was there, in San Francisco with Boris, thanks to Bea and her highfalutin' connections. Also thanks to Bea—and Boris—his own collectible throw lay unused in its bag in a closet back at the house, after he was convinced not to burn it in the parking lot after the game.

He draped it over her body as carefully as he could without waking her, his only fright being a soft murmur from her throat as it settled around her shoulders. He seemed to be incapable taking his eye off of her very safe and secure form, even as he pulled one of the salon chairs up to the coffee table, where he relieved a spot of its books for his bourbon. He sat, Brontë book in hand, but was reminded of his pocket heavy with their phones when the bulk jabbed into his thigh.

Cairo’s screen was totally fucked. She had thrown it with such force that it rendered her neon green case useless against the hot, solid Tennessee pavement. It turned on, but there was no use trying to access any apps. He laid it face up next to his glass and checked his own phone, which should’ve been thanking its lucky stars that it hadn't met the same fate as hers. A message from Boris and a shit ton of messages from Bea. 

I oughta block her.

The obsequient in him merely steered his brain towards ignoring the messages as they came, and instead checking what Boris had to say. The problem was, Jon didn't know what to say back. Just as he couldn't admit his feelings to him that day in the bleachers, he couldn't admit to them now. But now, he was just angry about it. Angry at himself for being so gutless, but also angry at Boris for pretending like he hasn't done worse.

Yes, damn it, yes, I'm in love with her. She's—you don't get it, she's eidetic, I'm eidetic. To the same photographic degree! Fuck man, don't just look at her face, her body, that's all bonus! I'm talking about her mind. Her mind. It's overflowing with talent and knowledge and…and feeling. That g…that woman knows things. She is…exceptional. And I went about this the wrong fucking way. I know that.  

But fuck, Boris. Fuck you and the lesbo porn you're jackin’ off to, with her n’...her n’ Miss Black! Don't you get it? She wanted you to show that shit to me. God damn! Fuckin’ self-righteous asshole. Don't gimme any of that goddamn line shit either…like you ain't after Miss Black. You gave her your phone number, dumbass! Imagine what would happen if fuckin’ Cairo turned you in, too. She's got those photos hangin’ over your head now, we're brothers in arms. Don't you fucking abandon me.

Jon reached for his glass and took his first sip of the Cove, the nutty Neopolitan dessert notes blanketing his tongue and granting a little calm and clarity. He punched in a simple emoji and left it at that, pocketing the phone and getting comfortable to read, his eyes flickering up to keep watch on the girl who seemed to have no idea that he was there. Or that she was there. Something pretty hard must've hit her in that moment she wasn't hit, but Jon would keep vigil regardless. It was the least he could do.

That, and without his car, he was pretty much stranded there. 

But, you're only really stranded when you don't want to be where you are, and his acceptance of that fact quickly dispatched the excuse to another sip of that sweet, sweet bourbon. He sat back into comfort and slipped his reading glasses on, prepared to keep company with another English professor and a girl who was much more demure and diplomatic than the little wrecking ball at his feet.

“Cairo? Cairo!”

Jon popped up when he realized he’d fallen asleep. He nearly tripped on the Broncos throw at his feet when it hit him that he must've been asleep for more than ten hours, and that in ten hours, a lot could happen with a broken-hearted young girl whose life had crumbled before her eyes. He thought he might start to hyperventilate when he caught wind of it again.

That smell. That weird, tropical scent of flowers and something. It was stronger, somehow. It felt damp, and this time  was accompanied by a very faint and muffled 90's power ballad. Celine Dion? He followed his senses, and they led him down the hall and up the stairs, where an acrid cloud of fresh cigarette smoke was wafting out of a room at the top. The cloud swallowed the pleasant scent, but at least now he could breathe.

The music had stopped the second he stepped foot into the room. He found her on the window seat across from her bed, cigarette in hand and laptop in her lap. The ashtray on her little table stand told of her chainsmoking, since it clearly needed to be emptied.

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder at him.

“Left, right, left, soldier. Or didn't you get the memo?” Her eyes followed him as he stood to lean against her footboard. “I left you a note.” 

“I didn't — I didn't see a note.”

“I knew I shoulda stapled it to your forehead. You just looked so peaceful, I didn't wanna wake you.”

He was snoring when I woke, his open book on his gut, threatening to slide off onto the floor on the next inhale. I slipped it carefully from under his slack fingers and placed my blanket over his form, along with one of my mama’s decorative pillows under his cheek. Gets cold at night in this old house, and a crick in the neck’s made worse by it.

Kissing him for the first time was a lot more tender than it was in my imagination. It was the feel of his beard on the backs of my fingers that was unexpected. Softer than it looked, even with every other hair deciding to grow at an angle unconducive towards neatness. The funny corner of his open mouth was all I could get from him in his state, lest I wake him from his exhausted slumber. I can still feel the hairs poking into my lips, even as I tried to keep it brief.

I could've pet that beard forever, though.

I left it propped up on the coffeetable. I thought for sure you'da seen it. “Left, right, left, soldier. Come and find me.” Written in red and punctuated with a stupid little schoolgirl’s stupid little heart…because goddamn —

I still love you.

“But that begs the question, why did I wake up to find you sleepin’ in my house, and why haven't you gone?”

“Those are two separate questions —”

“I believe they have the same answer.”

“...I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Do I look alright?”

He pursed his lips. Her hair was brushed out, and she was wearing an oversized flannel nightshirt over floral silk shorts. Blush over black was somehow fitting, and aside from that odd mismatch and the redness around her eyes, she looked cleaned up.

“You look like you been cryin’. Have ya?”

She took a long draw on her shortened cigarette, shortening it further down to the filter. “I vomited so hard I was up in tears, does that count?”

“So you're not alright.”

She crushed the end of her stub into a pile of ash next to the other butts in the ashtray while at the same time reaching for a new one. 

“I'll manage,” she said as she struggled with her low-fuel lighter. She checked the end and twisted back to her laptop, taking a big drag and exhaling slowly as she started to close tabs on her browser. She glanced at him, dismissive with her cigarette hand. “You can go. I know you don't wanna be here.”

“Now what on Earth gives you that impression?”

“So you do wanna be here?”

He eyed her cigarette, and her pack. “May I?”

“You may.” As he bent back from taking the cigarette, he looked around for something to sit on. “I got a chair by the vanity,” she gestured.

He humbly thanked her and dragged it over, close enough to reach the ashtray if he needed it. He lit up, his first large stream of smoke directed towards the ceiling.

“Tell me why you wrote it,” he said, his eyes watching the smoke drift. He turned his head to see her slightly confuzzled countenance.

“I told you why —”

“No. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me —”

“ ‘ — coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit-droppin’ seagulls above’?” She watched Jon chuckle, smoothing his hand over his eyes and then his mouth. Her second recitation from Apostrophes and Ampersands had its intended effect on him, just as the first one had before, but she remained guarded. Coy. Lovestruck. “Because I wanted you to fuck me.”

“Why?”

“B’cuz I wanted you to take my virginity.” Her words came forth a little deeper now, her voice exuding a husky quality that he hadn't heard before. It could have been the cigarettes, or more likely, her conscious denial of the present tense.

He shook his head, but his nervous chuckle betrayed the disbelief of his position. “I'm twice your age.”

“More than twice.”

“Cairo, please.” 

“You're askin’ me why…why I wanted you to take my virginity.”

“That's exactly what I'm askin’.”

She finally looked away, taking a drag with a big sigh. “If you have to ask, you can't afford the answer.”

“Please, Cairo, I'm already under suspension —”

“Well I guess that makes two of us then, doesn't it,” she sniped, busying herself with her laptop.

He blinked. “What?”

She turned her laptop towards his view: there was a .pdf file letter with the Benson Agricultural Wildcats seal in the center at the top on the screen, but that was all he could read without his glasses. “Two weeks out of school suspension with a permanent note on my record,” she announced with a defeated acceptance. “For ‘severe violations’ of the Student Code of Ethics.” She shut the laptop and set it aside on a pile of books, sliding her legs off the seat to hang over the edge and ashed. “I checked my email when you were sleepin’.”

He swallowed. Something like that ain't gonna get ‘er into Yale.

“Surely your parents can take care of that —”

“I don't want them to take care of it. I want to take responsibility for my mistakes. That's the adult thing to do, isn't it?”

“Cairo, honey, you don't have to —”

“ ‘Honey’?”

“I may be makin’ another mistake by continuin’ to treat you like a friend, but that's all we are right now, isn’t it?”

“Are we? Friends, Mr. Miller?”

“Y’aint in my class anymore.”

“That’s ‘cuz you ain't teachin’ it no more. Right now, at least.”

“And whose fault is that?” He watched her brow rise, and he swore he could hear her breath catch whatever it was she was going to say. He put his fingers up, his perpetually nervous smile diffusing his heat. His voice sometimes wavered under such stress, and it was stressful to look into her big brown eyes. “I didn't come—I didn't stay here to argue.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I didn't wantcha to be alone right now —”

“Why?”

“God, you ask too many questions! —”

“Just the same questions you're askin’ me. ‘Why?’”

“Can you just — please. I got nuthin’ right now. Between the suspension  n’ the divorce, I just —” he pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Please.”

She hadn't taken a drag on her cigarette in more than a few moments and had to ash. Her large eyes were heavy-lidded in her search of his face for his intent. “You want me to make you feel good about yourself, is that it?”

“Nothing about this is ever gonna make me feel good about myself, Cairo.”

Don't be too sure about that, she thought as she took a long drag. “What was the question again?”

“You know what it was.”

She sighed. “ ‘Tell me why you wrote it. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me, coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit droppin’ seagulls above.’ ” Satisfied with the subtle shake of his head and his smiling eyes, she crushed the long end into the ashtray. “That's exactly why I wrote it.”

“But…why?”

“That ain't good ‘nuff reason for ya?” She watched as he struggled to comprehend his station…and her. “Well, why not…”

“Because I'm too old for you.”

“I wasn't finished.” 

“My apologies.”

“Why not you, is what I been askin’ myself for weeks. Once I was around you, that is. Your captivatin’ lil’ words on the page of your one and only book —”

“You mean those mediocre words?”

“I was mad when I said that, I'm not mad right now at least not yet,” she snapped.

“I'll stop interrupting you.”

Her gaze flickered away in shame, but just for a missed moment. “No, that wasn't right, and I apologize. In case you haven't noticed, sometimes my temper matches my height. I don't mean to slight you as hard as my stature.” 

“Yeah, you are a little…a lil’ shrimpy,” he smirked.

“ ‘A little shrimpy’?”

“Just a little,” he teased, holding his fingers up to almost pinch the air. It drew her grin back, and she blushed.

“You really wanna know why?”

“I do.”

She inhaled deeply, as if to answer with a defeated affirmative. He had finished his cigarette, and upon her offering the near-empty pack, he obliged, slipping one out and nabbing the lighter so that he could light hers as well.

“Lookit us. Just like old times.” 

“It can't be like old times.”

“It has to be, since it's the answer to your question.” Her curtness indicated a self-righteous sensitivity, but she softened as smoke made its way out of her nose. “I wanted to save myself for someone with whom I had a connection. And I don't connect with boys my age. Never have.”

“You've connected with other, uh, older —”

“Why Mr. Miller, you do sound jealous —”

“I'm not jealous —”

“Good, ‘cuz you shouldn't be. You’d be the first one. Hence…vir…gin…i…ty.” 

It was the first time in a while he’d seen that neon smile. It was the first time in a while it came to the door, following her favorite person into the shared fresh air and the sunlight of his eyes. 

“Don’t lie to me now, Mr. Miller. I know you felt that connection too. Otherwise you wouldn't be here.”

He looked away. He hadn't sat back in his chair after reaching for the cigarette, instead twisting his body to lean against its solid arm rest as he stared at her while she talked. His gaze swept over the piles of books and papers next to her on the sill, and her laptop’s energy light flashed red, then stopped.

He picked at his fingernails, the cigarette hanging carelessly between his fingers. “Still got your sights on Yale?”

“What's it to you? It’s not like you can write me a recommendation.”

“I could still get my wife to write you one.” He erased at an invisible chalkboard with his finger and pointed. “Soon to be ex -wife.”

“Now that…is a gargantuan feat I'd love to see.” The soft neon glowed in amusement.

“Barbaric,” he chuckled. “But she’ll do it, if I ask nicely.”

“Anything to get the little homewrecker outta sight, outta mind?”

“No, that's — no. But she'll have to, if she wants me to sign the papers.”

Her brows raised. “I'm not sure how I should feel about such coercion, Mr. Miller.”

“No one’s askin’ you to feel anything about it. Just take the rec. It's what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?”

He leaned back in the chair. “Fair ‘nuff. Then what is it that you want?”

He could see that she was chewing on her inner lip before answering.

“I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I still want you.”

His hands lifted up off his thighs, gesturing at himself. “This?”

“That.”

“I'm too old for you.”

“You said that already. But I think that’s up to me to decide.”

“Cairo —”

“Mr. Miller. Jon. May I call you that?” She took the ashtray and emptied it into the little trash basket by her feet. She set her cigarette into one of the grooves to let it burn. “I told you why I wanted you, yet you seem to be fishin’ for more. Do you really need me to elaborate —”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I need a damn good reason for why I'm even here, in your room, in your hou — your mansion, alone with you when just a few hours ago, we were sittin’ in an academic courtroom watchin’ our lives get blown to smithereens!”

“Or maybe you just need some reassurance that what you're doin’ is right.” He balked, but she hit a nerve. One of many she’d been battering for weeks, and her grin of awareness turned neutral. “I can assure you, it's alright. We’re both legal adults, ain't no crime here —”

“Maybe no crime, but ethically —”

“Not every romance is ethically sound, Mr. Miller.”

“Romance. Is that what this is? You – you wrote that it wasn't.”

“I did, but that was your line in the context of fiction and right now that's neither here nor there.” She watched as he stammered through whatever it was he wanted to say, shredding the words with his teeth. “I know how I feel about you.”

“And you think you love me.”

“Don't you feel the same?”

“I — this isn't about how I feel —”

“Then what is it about, Jonathan?”

“Please —”

“Sorry.  Mr. Miller…sir.”

“We could've had this talk before —”

“We’re havin’ it now.”

“I shouldn’a done what I did, but you shouldn’a done what you did.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda…three of my least favorite auxiliary verbs,” she blew a small raspberry at them to emphasize her annoyance. 

“And why’s that?”

She blinked into deep thought, as she would often do around him during class and office hours. The intensity of his stare always gelled her thoughts to completion.

“Hesitance for the weak,” she nodded. “And the negatives are often rooted in fear and regret.” She quickly plucked the nearly burnt out cigarette up for a drag, but it was already done. She watched its frayed end scatter its burning tobacco bits as she pushed it down against the gray of the previous ash. “E.g.: If I had thought…it’d make you fall out of love with me…I wouldn’a done it —”

“It didn't make me —” 

“So you are still in love with me?”

“...I never said that.”

“You never say anything. You write it. But you haven't written anything in…what is it, decades now?” She didn't  mean to sound so derisive. She dropped her eyes to her bare feet. “I mean, why can't you just adm —”

“Alright! Alright,” He put out his cigarette and stared, his knuckles at his lips. “If I have felt anything for you —”

“Come on, Jon —”

“This won't work. It can't work.”

“Why not? If two people like you n’ me are in love, why can't we just —”

“Because it's inappropriate.  It's always been inappropriate. And that was my error, my mistake. I led you on —”

“Did you? You said no bullshit. Yet here you are…”

“You sayin’ I didn't lead you on?”

He watched as she slid off of the seat and approached his chair without breaking eye contact; or at least, he believed it to be eye contact. However, she stepped over to him with eyes glassed over, not focused on anything but the wholeness of his presence. She leaned her thigh against the armrest as he sat, stricken by her proximity. The last time she was like this, she emasculated him in a manner not unlike Beatrice had several times before; but this time, Cairo's expression was less than furious. Her eyes finally focused on his, which reflected a similar fear and impuissance of which he reflected before; however, once their glances touched, contact dissolved the discomfort into reassurance. 

“You led me to where I wanted to be,” she shifted against the armrest and casually lifted her hand to his beard. It hadn't been a day and she missed the feel of it on her fingers. “And now you're here. Where I want you to be.”

His hand covered hers on his cheek. “Cairo —”

She wrested it free, pushing it away as she continued to pet his beard and stare into his eyes with hypnotic determination. “You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be here.”

“I'm just — I was just —”

“Just what? Concerned about me?”

“Yes that's exactly it —”

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you never wanted me the way I want you. No bullshit.” She was leaning into him; her hand had migrated to the nape of his neck, the soothing scrape of her fingernails having done their job. He looked her in the eyes and, when he said nothing, she pushed herself upright. “That's what I thought.”

“What now, then?  What do you suppose happens now?”

Her eyes trailed over his head and features, roaming around until they settled on his lips. He felt like a slaughter steer, and she was checking him for quality.

“Sleep with me,” she shrugged.

“You — I mean that's —”

“I didn't say fuck me. I said sleep with me. You remember what sleep is, don't you?”  

“I haven't gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”

“Well then. My suggestion must sound pretty damn enticing, doesn't it.”

He insisted on turning around before she got into bed, despite the fact that she was wearing the exact same thing she’d been wearing since he found her. They had agreed to keep their clothes on, and thus Cairo saw no problem in him watching her get into bed; Jon, however, knew better than that. 

He was still reeling from the day’s events, but their conversation made it pretty clear that they were on the same page of the dirty fantasy that she’d written for him. Same page, same paragraph, same sentence, same words, same word, same letters, right down to the crossed t and dotted i. But he couldn't risk excitement, or even a hint of desire, especially when it could have been objectively stated that she was scantily clad: her shorts barely passed halfway mark down her thigh, and her shirt hung almost as low as the hem of her shorts while she was standing. She might as well not be wearing anything down below, but that was another idea that sent him mentally scrambling for distraction.

If only he remembered the existence of the vanity mirrors. Or, insisted on sleeping on the right side. But the right side was her side, as she so firmly informed him before dipping out to her bathroom for a minute while he stripped and got himself settled in.

Dumbass. Boris’s voice rang in his head.  Dumb. Ass!

Ripping the covers over his head would’ve been far too childish. He lay on his left side while watching her kneel onto the bed behind him, a particularly sly grin on her face. 

The grin was only there because she’d caught him staring at her reflection. 

He quickly dropped his eyes, but it was too late. She unbuttoned the highest buttoned button on her top, slowly, paused— Was she tonguing her cheek? —and then lifted the covers, wedging under the sheets next to him, about half an arm’s length away.

Neither faced the other, but he still felt the need to pee—even though he already had.

“You know you can face me. I won't bite.” 

Her voice had become tinged with diffidence while Jon’s breathing had gotten heavier, but come Hell or high water, Cairo was going to have her heaping Big Spoon somehow. “I just think it’d be warmer if one of us faced the other. And my back is cold.”

At once, Jon rolled around under the covers to face her back, and that's when it really hit him: that sweet, intriguing fragrance from before. 

It was her, obviously. But that still didn't answer the question of what its tantalizIng scent profile was, or from what or where it came.

Could be perfume. Or the scent of her laundry detergent. Her hair. He resisted getting close enough to be sure, and instead stared at the dainty flowers of the floral pattern of her pink flannel nightshirt, visible between strands of her hair. 

She, on the other hand, dared to scoot just a little closer, jutting her behind towards him as she made herself comfortable. He looked down into the gap between them; her shirt was pulled tight to the front, exposing the small of her back and its concave dip of her spine into the blackness of the crack of her silk shorts. He moved back a little, with ample room for the covers to hang low enough to shield his sinful view, but unfortunately for him, her body wriggled with him, and he sighed.

They were hardly settled for one minute before she turned her chin to speak over her shoulder.

“I never said fuck me, but you can if you want.”

He had closed his eyes in an absurd attempt to think his way out of the room and into sleep. Maybe if he couldn't sleep soon, he could go raid the kitchen for some more Cove. The image behind his eyelids of her head that had been there a minute earlier when he closed them remained almost exactly the same, except now he could see her shiny gold ear cuff on the helix of her little ear, as she had drawn her hair behind it. Everything about her was little, and adorable.

Save for those giant eyes that’re too large to be proportional to the rest of her face and features. Those things were big…and dangerous. And right now, Jon really wanted to read them, since he was pretty good at finessing her sincerity with just a quick skim. 

“I'm not going to fuck you.”

“Sure, Jon,” she taunted. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head. It was the same feeling she got whenever she sat in his class. He was watching. Always watching. The way it thrilled her. The way the thrill terrified her, making her hope that someday it would become more than a stare. More than a shared cigarette, or biscuit. More than an argument that ruined their lives. 

“I haven't slept much either, you know.” 

“Yeah?”

She turned her chin further, then twisted her body around to face him, his hand in the shortened space between them unsure of where to go before it retreated to rest by his belly. The light from her lamp behind him created a halo around the silhouette of his hair until her eyes adjusted; his doleful eyes exuded concern. Pity, even.

And she hated that.

She reached towards his face, and he flinched.

“May I?” she asked, her voice as small as she looked. He nodded, and she reached her fingers along the edge of his jaw, scratching her black fingernails through the hairs along its line. She bent to touch her forehead to his chest, humming in bliss.

His stomach twisted in knots, a terrible contrast to the feel of her fingers on his face and the heat that radiated from her little body. His eyes trailed over the sheet covering her shoulders; her hair splayed over it in loose strands, and he was tempted to run his fingers though it. The temptation translated to something else, and he moved his hips back at a safe distance from her under the guise of adjusting the covers.

“Well, Little Ghost. Looks like you got your way,” he whispered, cupping his hand over hers to cease the scratching. 

“Not quite.” She shifted back a little, tilting her head up. “Can I tell you somethin’, Jon?”

She trapped him in her gaze, her brows knitted up in earnest. He exhaled, not conscious that his fingers were tinkering with one of the rings on her fingers, the pad of his index scraped by the prongs of its jewel setting.

“What it is.”

As they lay locked in their stare, her brow crumpled, her expression caving to her emotions. He watched the faint muscles of her face contort, her lips pressed together to hold back what she could, however futile to fight against desperation. She choked out the words as the tears flowed freely, rivulets of regret and adoration.

“I'm sorry,” her voice keened into sobs as she withdrew her hand from his jaw to join it with her other, clutching at his t-shirt. “I'm so, so sorry Mr. Miller, please don't — hate me. Please don’t leave me. Please, I'm sorry, you don't—know—how sorry —”

“Hush now, Cairo,” he held her to his chest, his heart aching with every tremor and hiccup. He smoothed his palm over the back of her hair as she cried it out. “You're okay. You’ll be okay. Everything's gonna be alright.”

#under virgin circumstances #under virgin circumstances chapter 1 #miller's girl #miller's girl fan fiction #teacher crush #jairo #cairo sweet #jonathan miller #boris fillmore #winnie black #joyce manner #joyce manor in the film #teacher student #student teacher #teacher student fic #jenna ortega #martin freeman #bashir salahuddin #christine adams #consider it a gift for ao3 being down for two days