#how unfortunate

[hansoeii]

stuck in the rain.

#I can't stop drawing them under the rain #they're on their way back home to the bookshop after a nice date at the ritz #and oh no it suddenly started raining and they only have one umbrella #how unfortunate #btw i made this the perfect size for a lockscreen on purpose #go ahead and use it if you like!! #i love drawing them so much #head empty no thoughts just good omens #thank you neil gaiman #good omens #good omens fanart #good omens 2 #good omens 2 fanart #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow fanart #my art #digital art #david tennant #michael sheen #neil gaiman

[mediumgayitalian]

The crooked, creaky door of the cluttered infirmary storage room pushes open and slams shut in the span of a second, just barely allowing someone to dart through. Nico jumps, banging his head on the shelf he’s hiding under, chomping full force on his lip to bite back a shout. The shadows, on lucky reflex, bend around him and shroud his face. The rest of him he tucks further into the forgotten corner between two filing cabinets, holding his breath.

Under the unflattering light of the single swinging lightbulb, Will looks dull.

A thin headband attempts to hold back his frizzy hair, although it does very little. Curls stick out oddly and many shorter hairs are plastered to his temples and the back of his neck. His skin is unusually lacklustre, even pale, except for the high flush around his cheekbones. The bruising under his eyes rivals Nico’s. He has been wearing the same scrubs for the last two days.

With one last look at the closed door, nothing but garbled voices filtering through the heavy wood, he slumps. He drops his face into his chapped and bleeding hands, heels pressed into his eyes, and holds them there for ten seconds, twenty. Slowly, with trembles so minute they are at first glance unnoticeable, his shoulders begin to shake. The long fingers flexed and tensed around his forehead curl tightly, and he twitches, whole body trembling, teeth sunk hard into his bottom lip to stop his chin from quivering.

It does not work.

The first sob is quiet. He catches it quickly, forcing it back down, breathing heavily through his nose and out his mouth to beat it back. The second follows quickly, though, and it’s harder to choke down. When his face crumples, his resolve goes with it, and his knees hit the floor, sharp crack swallowed by the stillness of the room. He curls forward until his nose nearly hits his knees, hands sliding through his hair and over his ears and settling finally clutching together in the dip of his chest, bouncing with every heave of his chest. It’s quiet, his crying, enough that every dropped tear can be heard as it hits the dusty floor. The only time his sobs are ever audible is when he opens his mouth, trying desperately to soak up enough air to catch himself, to carry himself through.

Mute horror holds Nico’s tongue hostage.

He’d escaped in here the second Will had been called away this morning, dragged for the umpteenth time to handle a crashing patient or a complicated hymn or to soothe someone’s nerves. For the past two days he’s been doing his best to monitor Nico and a handful of other front liners who’d exhausted themselves in battle, but his focus has been split and the infirmary has been crowded. Whenever he runs off to put out whatever fire had cropped up — sometimes literally — the whispers start, the glances, the skin crawling up Nico’s back. Nico can hardly tell anymore what’s the shadows and what’s the people around him, watching him out of the corners of their eyes like they’re waiting for him to bust out a scythe and a black hooded cloak and start reaping.

The storage room is supposed to be an escape. Out of the way and forgotten as it is, it is supposed to be the place he can hide for an hour, escape the heavy gaze of the rest of the camp, collect himself before braving it all again.

Clearly, though, he’s not the only one who thinks so.

There’s something disorienting about seeing Will Solace cry. In the few times Nico has spoken with him during his visits to camp, he’s been a barely-contained explosion of energy, whether talking Nico’s ear off with updates about people he barely knows and references he hardly understands or cussing him out for overextending himself. He’s used — as much as he can be to someone he’s only beginning to really get to know — to his wildly flailing hands and widely playful grin, his loud drawling voice, his painful, constant brightness.

His hands, now, clench until they’re bloodless, trembling. There is no hint of his wide smile or twinkling eyes, because his face is hidden by all the hair that his given up on the pretence of the hairband, and the only sound from him are his gasping breaths and swallowed-back sobs. Nico watches him because he cannot look away. He flinches because every cry, every rough, scraping inhale, sounds like shattering rock, like an iceberg breaking off a glacier.

A quiet beeping startles them both.

For a stretch of time Will is motionless. The beeping continues, steady and soft, bouncing off the cluttered shelves and fading before they echo. After the third round — and Nico counts, if anything for something to do besides watch the chafed skin on Will’s hands crack and bleed with every flex — he drags himself upright, nails drawing lines in the thick dust of the floorboards, and rests back on his heels. He breathes for a moment, shuddering, hands pressed flat to his face; in, beep, beep, beep; out, beep, beep, beep. None of his breaths are ever steady, but he wastes no more time, swiping under his eyes and pinching his cheeks to restore his face to some of its usual colour. He grips onto each board of the shelf to his right as he yanks himself upwards, hand over hand, until he’s stretched, finally, to stand, although there remains a slouch to his broad shoulders.

The beeping continues, emanating from the watch on his left hand, growing softer or louder as he trails his fingers over the shelves from one end to the other, from the first, the second, the third. He pauses finally on a collection of bottles, turning them carefully to read the labels, then tucks them each gently into his already bulging pockets until he is left with what he must carry between his fingers.

The shadows bend to cover Nico again as Will turns, unknowingly facing him, and pulls himself suddenly straight-backed, chin set high, shoulders squared. He smiles, wide, fractured, squinting his eyes deliberately. The beeping stops. He breathes, in, smile, out, nod, and turns, striding, back to the door, opening it with flourish and swiping the dust off his clothes.

“Found them! Sorry it took so long, I really had to look —”

The door swings shut behind him, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Nico stares at it with bile churning in his too-empty stomach.

———

art by the incredible @clingonlikeclingwrap

#will i ever come back and resolve this? who knows! right now i just wanted to inflict sorrow #sorry will you’re a good vessel #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #solangelo #will solace angst #angst #hurt no comfort #my writing #fic #longpost #sigh everythint i do seems some meh and lacklustre lately #how unfortunate #maybe i’m losing my touch that would suck so bad #we’ll have to see

[ao3-crack]

(x)

#archive of our own #ao3 quotes #ao3 stuff #archive of our own quotes #fanfic #fanfic quotes #funny #ao3 #how unfortunate #also I’m gay #this has context #that makes it funny still #but not AS funny #so as my banner says #no context we die like idiots

[shopwitchvamp]

Eclipse today, huh? And we're perfectly in the path of totality?

*peeps outside my back door window*

☁️🫤☁️

#it's fully cloudy out there #how unfortunate #eclipse #eclipse 2024

[yonemurishiroku]

Obsessed with overprotective Percy asks Nico “Who hurt you?” and Nico replies with a single “You.”

#how unfortunate #there's no context just understand it the way you want i guess... #when you hurt the one you care for the most. HA. So much for loyalty #percy jackson #nico di angelo #percico #pjo #hoo #toa #percy jackson and the olympians #riordanverse #overprotective

[pinkslenderman]

Feeling particularly fem today, shame I only have a dozen suits, perhaps I should broaden my wardrobe keeping it PINK of course.

#Mod: don't ACTUALLY have that many suits (tho I DO have enough to be fully decked out in a vibrant pink suit minus a blazer XD) #only have uhhhh....5 full suits and rest just mix and match dress shirts-blazers and dress pants XD #and its TOO BLOODY COLD to dress fem how i want #how unfortunate #to i'll likely play 'dress up PS' today XD

[headchamberlain]

(ooc: tw repeating text :3)

"I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE. I WANT TO ADMIRE NOT TO LOVE."

#how unfortunate #to have an obsessed mind #where all of your admiration #becomes unreturned love #(is this about fyodor and someone else? possibly)

[dailyjermasparkle]

There was a point in time where I thought Cillian Murphy was a butch lesbian, then I realized that he was actually a man. Most disappointing day of my life.

#not blog related #i was like #woah she's hot good for her #and then i realized #no #that's a man #how unfortunate #he would make a hot woman #:[

[x3nshit]

#how unfortunate #jessie pinkman #walter white #walt #brba meme #brba #academia #dark academism #dark academic aesthetic #chaotic academic aesthetic #art academia #academia aesthetic #desi academia #desi dark academia #chaotic academia #desiblr #born to forced to

[anothergoodtime]

Always the void filler for others until they go find better.

#personal #how unfortunate

[bufomancer]

It’s always funny to me when I’m in a disagreement about animal husbandry online and someone says “well I would never buy from you because you do/recommend xyz” as if that’s supposed to really chastise me or something. First of all, I don’t breed animals. Second of all, what makes you think I’d sell to you even if I did?

#oh no the rack keeper wouldn’t buy snakes from me #HOW TERRIBLE #HOW UNFORTUNATE

[moonsgreendawn]

me after realizing that even though I consider most people in the lotf fandom as my friends, they probably don’t see me as their friend:

#lord of the flies #lotf #lotf fandom #how unfortunate #I’m not begging for attention #I swear #that would be terrible #I would sound like a pick me #greendawn speaks #shut your mouth finn you silly goose

[blvck-coffee-dad]

Well, I tried to post a couple of grey sweats pics this morning, but Tumblr thought they were ~too much~. (They weren't, but whatever.)

#how unfortunate

[leiawritesstories]

idk if you're still taking these but "how unfortunate" for the fake fic asks please?

Y'know...this is giving me ideas. thank you, dear anon ;)

~~~~~

Rowan Whitethorn sat in the hazy, low-lit bar, nursing a bourbon in his lonely seat at the end of the polished wooden bartop. Over at the register, the effusive blonde tending the bar barked out a laugh at something a patron had quipped, his million-dollar grin flashing in the muted lighting. Ah, Fenrys. That boyo had a way with making the money flow smoother than the drinks he poured, he did.

As if summoned by Rowan's musings, Fen sidled down to where his friend slouched, dark eyes inquisitive. "Alright there, Whitethorn?"

"Fine." The single syllable came out a touch more dismissive than he'd intended.

Fen, though, knew him too well. "Not that I want to push you or anything," he began, his glance darting leftwards, "but there's a woman a few booths down who's been sitting there alone for a good hour, give or take."

Rowan just shrugged. "So?"

"So," Fen beamed, swiping Rowan's glass, "you're gonna go over there like the gentleman I know you are, you're gonna greet her and ask if she wants some company, and then you're gonna buy her a drink, because whatever pin-headed prick that stood her up like that deserves to stumble in here an hour and a half late to find that stunning woman enjoying your company."

"Godsdammit," Rowan grumbled, reluctantly pushing himself off the barstool. "Thought I told you no more interfering, Fen."

"This isn't interfering," Fen beamed. "It's what a gentleman should do." He cocked his head. "Go on, champ."

Muttering a string of choice words, Rowan did indeed stroll down the row of booths and did indeed find a stunningly gorgeous woman sitting alone in one booth, her blonde brows deeply furrowed as she stared at her phone screen. Gods burn him, she was gorgeous.

A little awkwardly, Rowan cleared his throat. The woman's head shot up, her piercing turquoise gaze finding his. "Hi?" she offered, slightly wary.

"Hey." Rowan rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, gods, I'm gonna sound like a complete idiot, but my friend's tending bar tonight and he told me to come be a gentleman and I guess--hi, I'm Rowan, can I buy--"

"Aelin!" Completely ignoring Rowan's presence, a brunette man of average height and build slid into the booth opposite the woman--Aelin, her name was Aelin--his flushed cheeks and heaving breath indicating his obvious rush into the bar. "Gods, I'm so sorry, traffic was hell and my boss made me stay over."

Aelin reached across the table and squeezed the man's hands, her lips curving up into a small smile. "Hey, babe, it's okay, I know your boss is a total dick."

Rowan melted backwards, disappearing into the crowded haze of the bar, head spinning a mile a minute.

So...Aelin had a boyfriend.

How unfortunate.

~~~

TAGS: (updated taglist! please lmk if you want to be added or removed!)

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

#ask #fake fic titles #but it has *potential* #hehehehe #thank you anon #my writing #fake fic #how unfortunate

[axelhasstoppedresponding]

He is no longer silly, he is now fully deranged. (Yeah this color pallet fucks honestly /pos)

I used even more random colors for the accents and shading and such

#oc art #axels art #oc artwork #original character #steven universe oc #insanity #he has gone mad #he will shatter someone #how unfortunate

[slayingfiction]

Just push me down a reversing escalator, omg god I’m going to figure out how proform a taxidermy so i can give myself a well deserve labotonmy and then keep my perfectly preserved empty to all intelligent thought head on display so i can be publicly shamed for the rest of this poor exploited planets existence (humans to earth is as excrement in nail is to humans) like the actual Dunce that i am, i wrote 10,000 words and technology hates my shrivelled scrotum soul and didnt save the draft nkt only that it then descides out mary had a fricky lamb nowhere to refresh. The torment. The anguish. This stuff can make someone try to summon the devil for a favor or some goddamn braincells on my part.

So my question is have you ever lost a large amount of writing or just an amount that you can never see again, its lost in the void its yeeted out your skull, if so what did you do, if not then i'll just be in my basement snacking on my breakdown.

Babe. I'm so sorry. That is heartbreaking.

Much like you, technology hates me and I have had significant amounts of work lost on several occasions. It's one of the worst things I believe could possibly happen to a writer. Here are the steps I go through when this happens.

Search all over to find if you can find a way to recover your material. Ask people, google search, bring it to a specialist IT person if you want, do whatever you need to to get it back if possible. If you cannot get your material back, continue to the next steps.

Grieve. Trust me, no know will judge you for this. Every time I lost my work I would cry, and I mean ugly cry, and have a panic attack. I once even made my sister drive me 20 minutes into the city while I had a panic attack in the middle of a black out to see if I lost all my progress. Grieve, cry, break something. It doesn’t matter. When you write, you put a piece of your soul into it, and now that piece is lost forever. Take your time and properly process what you have lost and cannot get back. When you feel you are ready, move on to the next step.

Get a system in place so that you always have your work saved. Examples: when writing, have a timer on you phone to press save every 20 minutes. Turn on auto save. Keep multiple copies on your laptop, multiple USBs and the cloud. Write in a source that doesn’t need internet in case your internet goes out. Save every chapter in separate files, and a separate document with the full work.

Write down as much as you can remember from your writing. Over the days you can hopefully start to remember a few more things and keep adding to it. You’re much less likely to remember in a state of panic, but try to get to this asap. Short term memory is strongest, but can get lost quickly enough.

Start writing again. Yes, you will feel anxious that it’s going to happen again, and that maybe it’s not worth it. That is completely up to you to decide, but I always think writing is worth it. I’ve had my story improve while writing it the second time, and I’ve also been disappointed that it wasn’t as good as the first time. Write it anyways. If it was only your first draft, it was likely to change anyways in subsequent drafts anyways.

I have lost thousands of words of work, so I can relate to how you feel. It’s devastating and heart wrenching, and I wish you all the best in your writing. If you any any more questions, need any more tips or just want to rant, feel free to reach out. I would be happy to listen. Hopefully this helps you and any others experiencing this.

Happy Writing! @lilyjaycee27

#writers life #creative writing #how unfortunate #this is devastating #writing process #save your work #save save save #writing tips #writerslife #writers on tumblr #writer #writing problems #wip #writing community