#so fucking lucky it's a rough draft that's due and not the final draft

[equalseleventhirds]

i have actually finished almost all my assignments this semester before the deadline, which is startling but also perhaps bcos of i am home all the time? anyway i’ve been doing rly good and if i space out the self destructive habits so they’re not last-minute i do a lot better! just gotta. impose early deadlines upon myself.

#it helps a little to tell myself that i have twitch streams to look forward to on the weekend #so i set my personal deadlines before those streams #i don't always meet them but i DO get a lot done before them #.........the one thing also is i still need to do my journals #but i have taken notes for all of them and just need to organize them into coherent short essays #so i will devote next week to that and rly it shouldn't take more than a few days #i am INCREDIBLY lucky bcos my final draft for my ad campaign for writing is actually due next tuesday #BUT bcos i turned in the rough draft sunday and my teacher gave me an a on it that means i don't have to turn in any more drafts #fuckign. thank u professor r for that. i mean i know i did the work but fucking baller that i'm done early.

[babyboibucky]

The Match - Part 10

Pairing: CEO!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sam helps you out in planning for the launch while Bucky is away.

Word Count: 4.2k (woopsies)

Warnings: SMUT is back, angry unprotected sex, spitting, a tiny hint at scratching and choking, some hurtful words thrown in yada yada yada, kinda intense asjkcackansk

A/N: STRAP THE FUCK IN BECAUSE WE BOUTTA RIDE A DAMN ROLLERCOASTER OMG I’m nervous for this because I found this part very intense while writing it. And I hope it comes across as that to y’all as well because my fingers ached from how hard I was typing this part lmfao. Team Bucky vs Team Reader/Team Sam here we goooo sksksk enjoy

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

You didn't accept Sam's invitation to connect in LinkedIn. Not yet. But it did give you several ideas, like maybe submitting a resignation letter? Get away from Bucky and his toxic ass? He has Mackenzie now, he can easily have her take over your position anyway.

However, you were also torn because you loved your job at Bucky's company. It paved way for you to improve your skills and you experienced a lot of growth too. And well, Bucky's there too but god, you hated him right now. As much as you wanted to wave the white flag, you didn't feel like it was the right thing to do.

You wanted Bucky to learn that not everything he wants, he can easily get. And Mark was right, that you weren't just a trophy employee or whatever. You were so much more than what Bucky probably thinks of you.

And you were going to prove him that.

-

"Hey, Bev. Can you ring up your boss for me? Tell him I want to go over some of the plans I made for the launch before I discuss it with Mackenzie tomorrow." you asked.

Beverly was about to lift the phone up when an unexpected visitor arrived. None other than Sam Wilson himself.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop but did I hear you correctly? You've already made some plans for the launch?" he asked with interest.

You chuckled, "Sort of. Well, it's a rough draft of my ideas. I just thought it would be nice to get a headstart." you admitted.

Sam nodded and was about to say something when Bucky stepped out of his office, his brows furrowing upon seeing you and Sam conversing. Bucky eyed you before glancing over at Sam, patting his shoulder gently as a greeting.

"You checking up on us or what?" Bucky teased with a chuckle.

Sam shook his head, "Not really. Well, kinda. I figured that another presentation would be unnecessary, I mean. I'd love to work on the launch with your team instead of being on the sidelines for approvals." he admitted.

You shrugged, "I think that's a great idea too. Less time to waste, less back and forth." you pitched in.

Bucky frowned a bit, his jaw clenching at how you backed up Sam immediately. "That's fine, but I have a meeting in a few. Might last the entire day. Mackenzie won't be here until tomorrow too." he said.

"She and I can discuss her plans today and maybe I can pitch in some of my ideas too. She can present them tomorrow to you and Kenzie." Sam suggested, gesturing over to you.

Bucky stared at you and Sam alternately, his hands balling into fists at his sides. You could see his internal struggle about leaving you and Sam to discuss about the launch, without his presence.

You lifted up the folder in your hand, "I wanted to go over these plans with you but I didn't know you have a meeting. Sam and I can just refine these today, would save us a lot of time. We don't want to be rushing anything for this project at the last minute." you told him.

Bucky swallowed but nodded anyway, albeit with hesitation, "Yeah. Of course. I'll just catch up on the both of you later."

And with that, Bucky walked away but not without sparing you and Sam one final glance. His eyes met yours for a brief moment and you weren't sure, but you saw a flash of worry in his eyes before it was immediately replaced by his usual stern, ice-cold gaze.

You turned to Sam with a smile, "We can discuss in the conference room." you said and led the way.

-

The planning was seamless and you were surprised that you had so much fun exchanging ideas with Sam, to the point of almost forgetting about lunch break. It was quarter past noon when the both of you realized that it was way past lunch time.

"Do you want to grab lunch or order something instead? I honestly hate working lunch, just so you know." Sam said with a laugh.

You groaned, "I hate that too, honestly." you admitted with a chuckle.

Sam nodded, "Great, we can head out for a quick lunch?" he asked.

It didn't even cross your mind to hesitate, so you immediately agreed and even asked if you can take Beverly with you. You'd grown somewhat attached to her in the short time you've known her. Poor kid was being treated like an outcast by the other office girls. She always waited for you to have your lunch break too, especially that Mark has been pretty busy lately.

Sam was kind enough to agree about including Beverly for lunch. The two of you were about to head out of the conference room when Beverly peeked in, worry etched all over her face.

"I need your help." she whined, "I think I messed up Sir James' schedule. Mister Nakajima is on the phone and said that he's going to be an hour late for a meeting today. I forgot about Sir James’ meeting with another company today!" she explained, almost close to tears.

You rushed over to her and held her shoulders, "Hey, calm down. Did you tell Mister Nakajima?" you asked.

"I did and he got mad at me! Today is his only free day and he said that if he doesn't meet up with Sir James, the deal is off." Beverly said, stomping her foot on the ground.

You heaved out a sigh, knowing that the deal was very important. Mister Nakajima owned an auto manufacturing company which produces world-class materials for cars. Bucky had been working on convincing Mister Nakajima to be his permanent supplier for quite a while now. Big fucking deal.

You looked back at Sam, "Hey, I'm sorry. Can you give me a couple of minutes?" you asked with an apologetic expression.

"Take your time." Sam nodded with a smile.

You went over to Beverly's desk and took over the phone call, without knowing that Sam trailed behind you. He watched you carefully as you talked to Mister Nakajima, your demeanor calm yet confident.

"Hi, Mister Nakajima. I'm the company's Marketing Head and I would like to apologize for the mix up. Bucky has been working really hard on improving the quality of our products, he's been in meetings in and out. That being said, would it be alright if I take over this afternoon's meeting instead? Bucky worked on an amazing presentation and I honestly would love to go over it with you and just show you how this partnership would be beneficial for both our companies." you asked.

Fortunately, you were able to appease Mister Nakajima while also saving Beverly's ass for her honest mistake. As soon as the call was done, you reassured Beverly that everything was fine now and that you'll take care of Bucky. By the time you looked back at Sam, he was merely smiling at you.

"You're really good with people."

-

Lunch break passed by quickly, with you, Sam and Beverly engaging in all sorts of conversations. Even Beverly felt comfortable being around his presence. He mainly talked about his experiences at his first job, giving Beverly a couple of tips on how to navigate through the corporate world.

Sam was very kind.

The planning resumed after lunch and by the time Mister Nakajima and his associates arrived, the launch plan was pretty much refined with a lot of details. Sam excused himself to give you time to meet with Mister Nakajima, however, he said he'll be staying until Bucky comes back.

Presenting to Mister Nakajima made you nervous as fuck, especially that he didn't really work closely with you which might affect his decision. Luckily though, you knew Bucky's presentation like the back of your hand due to the fact that he had gone over it with you for a couple of times back when the two of you were still, well, fucking around.

Ah, the good old days.

The meeting with Mister Nakajima went perfectly well because as soon as you were done with the presentation, the old man simply asked for the contract to seal the deal. Although it wasn't you who actually worked on the deck, you had a sense of fulfillment. You were proud of yourself and you couldn't wait to dangle it right in front of Bucky's face.

"Thank you so much, Mister Nakajima. We are excited for this partnership." you said happily as you led him and his associates out of the conference room, just as when Bucky arrived.

He looked confused when Mister Nakajima greeted him happily, shaking his hand and telling him how good his presentation was. Bucky looked over at you, as if asking what the hell was going on. You merely shrugged and headed back inside the conference with Sam.

Bucky followed shortly and for some reason, he looked agitated. He was about to speak up when Sam beat him to it, giving him a hard pat on the back.

"The launch event is gonna be really good." he said confidently before glancing at you.

"You're lucky to have her, Bucky." he said before bidding goodbye, giving you one last look and a wink as well, something that Bucky immediately noticed.

When Sam left, so did the light atmosphere inside the conference room. Bucky turned to you with a scowl, his footsteps rushed and heavy as he approached you.

"What the hell happened with Mister Nakajima?" he asked gruffly.

You smiled as you handed him an envelope, "The partnership is a go. He signed the contract and his team will be keeping in contact with us and our factory soon." you explained proudly.

Bucky took the envelope from your hand and went through the contract before placing it back on the table. "I thought my meeting with him isn't until Friday."

"Beverly mixed up your schedule and before you even reprimand her, give the girl a break. It's her first job and with the amount of meetings you've been having, mix-ups are inevitable. What matters now is that I took over the presentation and Mister Nakajima signed the contract." you explained with nonchalance.

Bucky shook his head, "The end does not justify the means." he said. "Beverly should have been careful. My schedule is not a joke and if I miss another important meeting, that can fuck up the entire company."

You rolled your eyes, "Calm down, Beverly surely learned from today's mistake. It's done. The deal is on. Everything is peachy. The launch details have been planned out, Sam is happy with it. All I have to do is to secure your and Mackenzie's approval for it and then we can start with the execution. You're welcome." you said all in one breath, handing Bucky a USB containing the details of the launch.

You brushed past Bucky to leave the conference room but you were immediately pulled back with his hand around your arm. He looked down at you with an angry look on his face, almost fuming. You couldn't understand why the fuck he was so aggravated with you today. Sure, he had been testing your patience lately but it was the first time he actually looked like he was going to snap.

Not at the situation, but at you.

"Are you trying to impress Sam? Taking on my responsibilities while he's around?" he asked, eyes narrowing at you.

You scoffed, unable to believe what Bucky was accusing you of. Pulling your arm back, you took a step back and looked at him with disgust. "You're unbelievable, Bucky." you said.

"Had I not stepped in, we would have lost the deal. You promoted me for a reason, and I believe part of it is my leadership skills. And no, I'm not trying to impress Sam. I'm simply doing my fucking job." you hissed and tried to side step Bucky, only for him to block your way.

"Did he offer you a position in his company? What the fuck was the wink all about?" Bucky accused yet again.

"Oh my god, Bucky! You're blowing things out of proportion. He didn't. We talked about the event. That's it." you explained, pinching the bridge of your nose because Bucky was getting on your very last nerve.

Bucky had been fucking with you too much now and you could feel the last bits of your composure slowly slip away with every word that was coming out of his mouth. Coming for your job was one thing, but accusing you of flirting your way to another company? That was a low blow.

"Don't lie to me, I saw the notification on your phone the other day. Seems to me like Tinder matches don't work for you anymore, you moved on to LinkedIn now to find connections instead?" he asked and that particular statement struck a certain nerve.

You let out a bitter scoff, "Do you even hear yourself, Bucky? At least Sam was being professional and didn't use Tinder to hire a fucking consultant to threaten my damn job!" you slipped, unable to hold back.

The look on Bucky's face was a whirlwind of emotions-- shock, wrath, exhaustion-- and you felt like you were supposed to get scared. Gone were the blue orbs that used to make you feel safe, his eyes only held anger in them. And the thing was, your eyes looked the same as you held Bucky's gaze.

You were so fucking tired of everything, of Bucky.

"How did you-- it doesn't matter." Bucky said, shaking his head. "How much did Sam offer you?" he asked.

Your jaw dropped at the implication of Bucky's statement, "You are a fucking asshole, Bucky. Sam didn't offer me a fucking job. You really don't listen, Bucky. You never listen." you huffed out exasperatedly.

"Okay, maybe he hasn't laid down his offer yet. Perhaps, you let him fuck you too?"

Your vision blacked out upon hearing that and by the time you regained your senses, all you could feel was how your palm stung. You had walked up to Bucky and slapped him right across the face, hard enough to make the corner of his bottom lip bleed. Your entire body was trembling from rage as you stood in front of Bucky.

He tilted his head as he wiped the blood off from his lip, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes. And then his hand gripped your neck, tugging you close for a bruising kiss. You grunted against his mouth and pushed him away, slapping him again. Before Bucky could even recover, your fingers wrapped around his tie pulling him down to you for another kiss.

Walls crumbled down, tension was broken and needs were being fulfilled. The rush of emotions blurred the line between fury and lust with the latter obviously winning. All you could think about was the throb that you suddenly felt within your core begging for relief.

Relief that was denied from you for the past few weeks of playing cat and mouse with Bucky.

And with the way Bucky was kissing you, you knew he felt the same. It had been too long and both your minds were too hazy to even care that it was only five in the afternoon and that there were employees working just outside the conference room.

Was the fear of getting caught going to stop you? No, not now. Because you needed release and you were sure as hell going to get it. This wasn't like the other times you and Bucky fucked. You didn't care about Bucky at the moment, how he felt or what was going on in his mind. You just needed to release all your pent up emotions and you were going to use Bucky to get what you need.

Bucky pushed you against the table, your tailbone hitting the edge with such force that made you groan from pain.

"Yeah, why don't you make some noise so everyone can see how fucking needy you are for me?" Bucky growled, gripping your face with one hand, forcing you to keep your eyes on him as his other hand bunched your skirt up to your waist.

You let out a chuckle, "I'm not the one going to make noise here." you warned before reaching down to palm his erection.

Bucky hissed and bit his lip hard to prevent himself from eliciting a moan. His jaw ticked as he squeezed your face tighter, forcing you to open your mouth as his eyes scanned your features.

"Watch your fucking mouth, baby. I still own you, you're fucking mine." he said through gritted teeth, his eyes lidded as he looked down at you like a predator.

You kept your mouth closed but as soon as Bucky's fingers found your damp panties, you weren't able to stop your whimper. Bucky took the opportunity and spit in your mouth before crashing his lips against yours in a messy kiss. It was all tongue and spit, the way he kissed you as his fingers rubbed at your folds through the thin fabric of your underwear.

He kissed you like he owned you.

"I'm not yours, Bucky." you said as your hands quickly unbuckled his belt, unzipping his trousers and pulling out his hard cock from the confines of his boxers.

The groan that reverberated from Bucky's chest as you stroked him made you smirk. His hand on your face slid down to your neck, holding you tightly as he pushed aside your underwear and then he slid into you with no prior warning. The lack of foreplay made it hurt when he bottomed out, but the pain quickly turned into pleasure when Bucky started moving his hips against yours.

No words were further exchanged from then on. Only soft whimpers and hushed grunts could be heard. However, it was clear that even up until now, there was competition. You didn't want to make noise, didn't want to lose to Bucky. You didn't want to give him the pleasure of knowing how fucking good he was making you feel right now, with how each drag of his cock was making your toes curl inside your heels.

Your hands held onto his broad shoulders as he fucked you against the table, the fabric of his suit bunching up against your fingers. Bucky kept his gaze on you and not once did you falter, not even when the tip of his cock hit your cervix, almost punching the air out of your lungs.

Bucky held the back of your thighs and lifted you up, sitting you on the edge of the table and bending forward so he could angle his cock in a way that you would feel it deep within you. Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist, one of your hands scratching at his jaw as he continued to pound your sopping cunt.

"God, fucking missed this pussy. Can feel you clamping down on my cock, you gonna cum soon?" he asked, pressing the tip of his nose against yours.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling the wanton moan that Bucky pounded out of you. Not wanting to be the only one to make noise, you clenched around him hard. Bucky let out a growl at how your walls squeezed his cock, his balls tightening as his own orgasm approached.

"Cum for me, Bucky." you whimpered, tipping your head up to lick at Bucky's mouth as your legs tightened around his waist to pull him deeper into you.

Bucky exhaled heavily through his nose, the veins on his neck popping out as he fucked your harder on the table. He kept his hand wrapped around your neck while the other held onto your waist so tight, you could feel his fingers digging deep into your skin. Even with your clothes on, you were sure that you'll be getting bruises from how hard his grip on you was.

"Go on, Bucky. Want your cum inside, want to feel you fill me up again." you moaned against his parted lips, darting your tongue out to taste his mouth.

The needy tone of your voice sent Bucky to the edge first. He uttered a string of curses under his breath as ropes of his cum painted your walls with their warmth with triggered your orgasm. Your body convulsed as waves of pleasure ran through your veins, starting from your fingertips down to your toes. Bucky kissed you and swallowed your moans as his thrusts slowed down.

It took a while for the both of you to recover from the intense fucking. Bucky nuzzled your neck with his nose, his heavy breaths warming up your sweaty skin. There was a short moment of peace that followed, the tension gone and was replaced by a heavy feeling.

You swallowed hard and slowly regained your senses. The release cleared your mind and the memories of the heated exchange from earlier were quick to come back. Bucky's accusations echoed in your ear and they were so clear it almost felt like he was saying them to you again.

Suddenly, you doubted Bucky's intentions when he promoted you. Was he really impressed of your skills at work or was it because you let him fuck you?

"Get off of me." you said, pushing at Bucky's chest until he straightened up.

Ignoring the emptiness you felt when his cock slipped out of you, you hopped down from the table and started fixing yourself. In the many times you had slept with Bucky, it was the first time that you felt disgusted with yourself.

You turned your back to Bucky as you adjusted your underwear, pulling down your skirt and pressing your palms against the fabric to iron out the creases. Your breath was heavy as you processed what had just happened. And just like that, your reserve broke and the strong facade you had built crumbled down into pieces, leaving you vulnerable.

"Hey, are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Bucky suddenly asked when he heard your sniffing, the darkness in his features gone.

His eyes were back to blue and there was nothing but genuine concern when he saw the tears in your eyes. Bucky tried to approach you but you quickly backed away from him, your arms wrapping around yourself as protection.

"Did you hurt me?" you scoffed. "In more ways than one, Bucky." you quickly added, wiping away your tears hastily with the back of your hand.

You were about to walk out of the conference but decided that it was probably time for you to actually speak up about everything. How you felt for him and how much you hated him for coming at you like that.

"I was going to admit that I like you. I thought about it and figured that I was too proud and a bit selfish for not considering your feelings when I rejected you." you explained.

Bucky blinked in confusion, "What? When?"

You shrugged, "The day you brought in Mackenzie. And I was more hurt than mad that you did that. Because you knew how much this job means to me and you had used it against me. You basically took advantage of my weakness, for what? To get me to cave in? Even when I clearly told you how fucking scared I was of the consequences of whatever kind of relationship we have?" you huffed out.

You didn't allow Bucky to speak, not yet. Not until you were done making him understand why you had been so hell-bent on keeping things professional.

"I wasn't born into a rich family like you, Bucky. I had to work my way up to where I am. Unlike you, I have a family to support and if I lose this job, it's not only me who would suffer. And it won't be easy for me to find another one, not after the reputation I'd have once we get busted." you further explained.

"I told you about it so many times and I wish you listened. Because maybe we could've figured shit out. Or I don't know, maybe the fucking was too good and you only wanted me for that." you shrugged.

Bucky quickly shook his head, "No. God no, you're more than that."

You chuckled again, a fresh wave of tears flooding the corners of your eyes. "It most definitely felt like it when you accused me of fucking Sam."

"Fuck, I'm sorry. Let me explain, please? I didn't mean to, I was too--"

"No, Bucky. You didn't listen to me when I told you how I felt about us. Now you're going to know how it feels to not to get what you want." you sternly said before walking over to the door.

You turned back at Bucky and refused to let his expression get to you. He looked devastated, his eyes glassy from the tears he had been holding back, his lips parted as he finally realized what he had done.

"Expect my resignation letter by tomorrow. As soon as we're done with the launch, I'm out."

-

The Match Special Tags:

@marvelslag @weird-mumbling @propertyofpoeandbucky @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @mostly-marvel-musings @squishybabies @megzdoodle @suchababie @annathesillyfriend @xhollycowx @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @5-seconds-of-mendes @gogolucky13 @countonthesun @iloveshawnieboi​ @learisa @borikenlove @scarlet-natasha89

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3 @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm @charminivy @amelia-song-pond @iamvalentinaconstanza @mcubqrnes @im-squished @tcc-gizmachine @sipsteacasually @prettyintopeerpressure @weloveyasmin @est19xxshit @bloodhon3yx @dressed-in-prada @lizette50 @thatfangirl42 @sunflowerbunny2 @unmagically @okiegirl24 @sugarpunch-princess @enlyume @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp @lyoongx @just-deka @nobody-will @jaziona92 @elisebuitron @dpaccione @suvikamahes98blr @buckybarneshairpullingkink @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes @iloveangstposts @weenersoldierr​ @asemistablehundredyearoldman @reidbuck @lizzarooni @girlfriday007​ @bonkywobble​ @lost-in-the-stars03​ @its-yasbxtch​ @whoth3hellisbucky​

#bbb writes #the match #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #sebastian stan

[miracle-sham]

Crack Your Bones and Say Those Lies.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 3: And They Were Roommates} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

———

| After getting roped into the Vigilante life by Chat Noir, her friend and partner in crime, Maladroit tries her best to help fight crime to make the city a better place, if only Red Hood and his gang would stop causing problems. |

| Or alternatively, Marinette and Jason are roommates with secrets. Both have huge crushes on each other but more importantly, both are trying to juggle moonlighting as their secret identities. However, when watching the nightly news together, everything changes. |

| Word Count: 5,014. |

| Warnings/Tags: No Miraculous/Different Powers Au, Roommates, minor gang mentions/Red Hood is a gang lord, gun violence, Vigilantism, Identity Shenanigans/Mistakes, Miscommunication, some emotional hurt, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, and Domestic fluff. Also Oblivious, Protective, & Mutually Pining Marinette and Jason. |

———

| A/N: Hey! Sorry this is nearly a week late but where I live got hit with a nasty heatwave and I was barely able to write from sheer exhaustion from the heat. But on a happier note, I'm so glad I've finally been able to write and post a proper Vigilantes au (as in like Spidey style vigilantism with homemade gear and all!) Because that kinda Vigilante au especially combined with roommates is my favourite trope ever! Well maybe joint with Dragonrider AUs, but still! I've had multiple Vigilante Aus sitting in my notes and drafts so it's brilliant to finally release one into the wild! Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It's Friday night, and Maladroit and Chat Noir are midway through their usual patrol of their slice of territory in the city.

“Race you to the billboard!” Chat Noir calls out, snickering in an almost cat-like-chitter as he launches himself forwards. Swinging over Maladroit's head with his grapple, he lands on the next roof ahead, in a perfect three-point landing.

Maladroit giggles, “Oh, you're so on!” She grabs her grapple and shoots. Swinging after him and onto the same roof. She instead, dive forward rolls for her landing and uses the momentum to propel her into a run.

Losing his lead due to the momentum loss of the three-point landing, Chat Noir vaults over a roof vent.

Forced to swerve to the side, Maladroit barely dodges a massive puddle of rainwater on her side of the roof.

Neck and Neck, the two raced across the rooftop. Closer and closer to the billboard they raced.

Nearly there! She thinks, c'mon! Reaching an arm out to slap the billboard—

Bzzt!

“Eep!” She yelps, startled by the buzzing crackle of her earring-comms. Unintentionally, she accidentally veers to the side and crashes straight into Chat Noir's side.

They collide with a loud thud, and two of them crumple into a pile.

“Graceful as ever, Mal.” A voice teases over her earring-comms. “Joking aside, didn't mean to spook you, sorry!”

Maladroit groans, “thanks,” and gingerly extracts herself from the vigilante limb pile.

“Gamer!” Chat Noir cheers, having heard him through his own disguised comms. “Got any crimes for us to fight tonight?”

There's a chuckle over the line, “Lucky you should ask, Chat, I do happen to have found some villainous plans for you to thwart.”

Chat Noir cracks his knuckles and stretches. “Oh? What are they?”

“Two which are time-sensitive.” Gamer adds.

Maladroit stifles a squawk, “Two! That are time-sensitive?” Her voice goes up a pitch on the last word, making it sound like a question.

“Uh-huh.” He confirms. “Chat Noir, there's a break-in at a jewellery store two blocks over from you. I'm sending you the directions now to your phone.”

Chat Noir does a two-fingered salute to the nearest security camera. “Got it, G! Detective Noir is on the case!”

“And Maladroit, we've got reports of sightings of Red Hood outside his usual area. By the Warehouses on fourth. There are no security cams around there so I've got nothing but rumours to go on. See if you can check it out and find out what he's up to.” Gamer informs her, sounding slightly irritated at the fact he's got little information to give her.

Maladroit nods, grumbling slightly. “When isn't he up to something.”

Slinging an arm around her shoulder, Chat Noir grins like the Cheshire Cat. “C'mon, Mal! It'll be a quick sweep and nothing will turn up like the last twenty times we've gotten this kinda tip-off!”

“You owe me ice cream from André's when we're in civvies tomorrow!” She huffs. “I made us macarons last time!”

“I haven't forgotten!” Chat Noir protests. “Anyway, see you tomorrow if we don't catch each other for the end of the patrol?”

Maladroit nods. “Yep! See ya later Minou!”

The two split. Chat Noir dashing after the directions, and Maladroit swinging towards the warehouses on fourth.

———

Breathe, Maladroit—reminds herself, perched on the rafters in one of the warehouses on fourth. Staring at the blood-red glowing mask of the red hooded villain, who happens to be oh so creatively named the 'Red Hood', leaning on the balcony railing on the opposite side of the warehouse to her rafter, and presumably glaring up at her.

“It's you again, Maladroit.” He growls, distorted by whatever voice modifier he's got wired into his mask.

She can't help but wince at the reminder of the word she had accidentally said the first time she had ever helped Chat Noir fight crime. Which irritatingly enough, stuck as her vigilante name. Especially since her second attempt at a name, Ladybug, didn't stick. She frowns beneath the black and red spotted bandana covering her mouth, and tightly grips her bladed yo-yo—with piano wire instead of string—of the same colour scheme.

“What are you planning, Red Hood?” She spits out, voice also modified by her bandana, a tad too grumpy and bitterly for the awkward-but-smiley "persona" she's supposed to act like (although it's not so much of a persona when that's just how she is almost all the time). But in her defence, she's had a rough day at uni, things have been awkward at home because of her crush on her roomie lately, and more importantly, Red Hood's lackeys have been a pain in the neck for the past week, so her reaction is more than warranted.

He has the audacity to laugh. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Pipsqueak?”

“Well,” Maladroit huffs, “I was hoping you were feeling considerate.”

Red Hood shifts his shoulders. “Aww, sorry Pipsqueak. I'm not feeling particularly considerate today.” In a split second, he slips both guns from his holsters, spins them, and shoots.

Maladroit squeaks, instinctively tugging on her power, and dives off the rafter to dodge the shot. “Rude!”

She's just able to shoot her grapple off and swing up to another metal beam.

“How the fuck do you keep dodging my shots?” He snarls, gesturing at her with his guns in short angry-looking motions.

In response, she throws her yo-yo at him, tugging on her power again. The yo-yo spins through the air, slashing through the Red Hood's jacket sleeve and slicing a deep groove into the gun, then rewinds on the wire back to her. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Bullet Boy!” She parrots back, cheekily.

“Hey!” Red Hood snaps, aiming another shot at her.

Tugging on her powers once more, Maladroit yelps as she swings to yet another metal rafter beam in order to avoid the shot. “Your aim sucks!”

“Fuck you!” He retorts, firing off four more shots aimed at her head.

There's a horrifying moment as she barely manages to tug on her powers in time. The bullets barely skimming past her hood, one even tearing the fabric slightly.

“Mal!” Comes Gamer's terrified voice over her earring-comms, “I need you to pull back immediately! Red Hood and his gang have been spotted nearby and Chat can't get to you in time to back you up if you do get into a fight!”

She raises a hand to her earrings and quietly laughs hysterically. “Little too late for that, G! I'm uh currently staring… face to gun to him”

“Oh, fuck!” Gamer responds, voice going up a pitch. “I'm contacting Chat now. Try and get out if you can but prioritise not getting yourself killed, please!”

Red Hood fires his guns again. “Eyes and ears on me, Pipsqueak.”

Squeaking yet again, Maladroit desperately tugs on her power once more and swings to another rafter. Her heart thunders in her chest as loudly as his gunfire. She spits out a frantic, “no promises!” to both of them.

“I've informed him, your backup is on the way.” Gamer tells her.

The main warehouse doors clatter open with a resounding slam! Followed by the stomping of multiple pairs of boots storming inside.

Maladroit waves at Red Hood, the quiet terrified hysterical laughter practically bubbling out of her mouth. “Haha, well I'm afraid that's my cue to Bug Out!”

“Oh, I don't think so, Pipsqueak.” Red Hood taunts, shooting six bullets at her, rapid-fire. “I ain't finished with our convo yet.”

Squeaking for the umpteenth time, and really just giving him even more reason to keep giving her that stupid pipsqueak nickname, she riskily shoots her grapple, aiming and swinging towards the warehouse's large balcony windows.

“Get the fuck back here!” He snarls, voice deepening with fury. Pausing to reload before firing off more shots at her with abandon.

Maladroit wriggles midair, tugging on her powers to try and dodge the shots. She curls into a dive forward roll as the grapple forces her to land onto the balcony. The same one that Red Hood has been stood on this entire time. Oh, help me! She thinks, eyes widening behind her makeshift red with black tinted lenses, goggles-slash-domino mask.

He aims his gun at her once more. “Move and you fucking die, pipsqueak.”

Putting her hands in the air, she swallows a gulp of air. Her body armour is padded beneath her red, and black spotted, hoodie but it isn't bulletproof. And she can feel the straining exhaustion of overusing her powers clawing at her.

They're at a standoff. Still as statues, the both of them. It's almost poetic how they parallel each other. He's got his gun aimed at her, whilst she's desperately clutching at her grappling hook gun in one of her raised hands. Both donned in red. Both committing crimes in the eyes of the law. Two sides of the same coin, one and the same.

Maladroit feels sick to her stomach, staring down the barrels of his guns. Ever so slowly, she tugs on her powers. The window a little bit behind her creaks quietly enough that Red Hood doesn't seem to notice beneath the clamour of his gang doing whatever it is they're doing below.

She counts her breath and tugs on her power. A minute passes with no movement, no words, nothing happening on the balcony. Out of the corner of her eye, she can just see that it's now open enough that she should be able to make it out unscathed. Or at least mostly unscathed.

Closing her eyes, not that he can see, her power snaps. Instinctively she doubles over and slaps a hand over her mouth. Barely in time as a stifled scream is yanked from her throat, leaving her panting for breath. Her knees crash onto the balcony flooring. A bullet whizzes past her neck.

“Shit. What the fuck was that?” Red Hood grumbles, sounding genuinely concerned. He storms across the balcony towards her.

Maladroit can't help but flinch, bodily throwing herself back as far away from him as she can. Mind racing in panic.

He stows one gun back into a holster then reaches a hand towards her. “Hey, hey, hey. Calm down.”

“Gotta go! Bug-bye!” She squeaks out, wrenching on her power with all her remaining strength, and bolting for the window.

“I think the fuck not! Fucking pretending to be hurt.” Red Hood barks, ripping the gun back out of its holster.

Narrowly dodging the spray of bullets shot at her, Maladroit dives through the window and fires off her grapple. Safely swinging far away from the warehouse.

———

Carefully Maladroit drops with the ease of far too many nights of practise, onto the fire escape outside her bedroom window. She crouches and lets the shadows of the night hide her form. Creeping closer, she checks the windowsill for any marks or signs of tampering but it all comes away untouched. Content with her quick security check, she fumbles for the disguised piece of string wedging the window ajar in a way that's barely visible unless you know where to look for it. Got it! She thinks to herself, grabbing ahold of it and prying it, and the window above it, up and open.

Slipping through the open window, she sits on the sill to rip her thankfully not-too-dirty studded steel-toed boots off. Picking them up in one hand, she wiggles the rest of the way into her room and immediately resets the security measures, yanking the curtain down for privacy.

Maladroit then shuffles over to her bed. Tikki—her gorgeous fluffy red and dark brown miniature dachshund—blinks sleepily up at her, from the dog bed next to it. The puppy yaps in greeting before snuffling and curling back up to sleep.

She coos at the cuteness before continuing on. With the other hand not carrying the boots, she pries the blanket covered duffel bag out from underneath. Wrestling to unzip it in one janky and awkward motion, grunting slightly at the exertion. The metal of the zip digs in but the discomfort is mostly mitigated by the padded gloves and wrist guards she's wearing. The easy to clean plastic bag designated for temporary storing of her boots is dragged out of the bag and said boots are tossed in without a second glance.

Huffing, she starts to take the rest of her cross between mostly homemade and refashioned sports kit vigilante gear off. First, tugging down the hood of her hoodie and unclipping the black scrum cap hidden under it. It's dumped unceremoniously into a secondary plastic bag in the open duffel bag. After that, Maladroit removes the black neck guard and pulls her makeshift goggles-slash-domino mask over her head. Those too, are dumped into the other plastic bag. Then she unties the bandana with the nose guard underneath, from around her mouth and nose. Unsurprisingly, they're also dumped in the bag.

Next, she undoes the velcros on her red and black padded gloves, black wrist guards, as well as black elbow, knee, and shin pads. Also dumped into the other bag. With the outer protective wear removed, Maladroit pulls her hoodie over her head. Continuing on, she peels the padded rugby body armour and shorts off, and then the thermal under-armour. All dumped into the third and final plastic bag. “I swear,” Maladroit mumbles to herself, “getting changed out my gear never gets easier. And to think back when I had my last P.E. lesson at school, I thought I'd never have to touch this kinda kit ever again. Rip me.”

Lastly, Marinette—no longer Maladroit seeing as she is no longer in her vigilante gear—throws on her running-to-the-bathroom spare bathrobe to cover herself. She hastily shoves the three plastic bags into the duffel bag and kicks it under her bed. Purposefully leaving it unzipped but quickly fixing the blanket covering the bag, so that she can more easily grab her kit to clean everything later, whilst keeping it sufficiently hidden.

With that mostly taken care of, she nabs the mouthguard case, some clean pyjamas, and dashes out of her room—clinging awkwardly to the bathrobe. She hops in the apartment's shared bathroom, the rest of the place is silent, meaning her roomie, Jason, must have gone out. Still, Marinette locks the door regardless. If there's one thing she's learnt in her foray into the nightly masked vigilantism, is that one can never be too careful.

“Shit! Nearly forgot to take this out.” She grumbles to herself, just as she was stepping into the shower. Prying the mouthguard out of her mouth as she shuffles over to the sink, she gives it a quick rinse under the tap. Followed by a thorough scrubbing with her toothbrush and glob of toothpaste. She pops it into the mouthguard case and leaves it on the side of the sink for now.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Marinette finally allows herself to indulge in a good half an hour-long hot shower to get the grime from a night of crime-fighting off of herself.

She's only just drying off her hair, having already changed into her pyjamas, when the blare of the TV echoes through the apartment. Tensing up, her anxiety runs wild. It's what they get for living in the cheaper but slightly dodgy apartments where the walls are thin and the doors are thinner. Grabbing the mouthguard case, she wraps it up in the bathrobe and peeks out the bathroom door and looks down the hall into the open plan kitchen lounge. Jason's back, he's sitting on the sofa watching the TV.

Shoulders untensing, she finished drying her hair and heads out into the hallway. In place of a greeting, she exclaims, “oh! Jason, you're back!”

Jason flinches slightly and looks over his shoulder back at her. “Yeah, a friend had an emergency so, y'know.”

Immediately, concern wrenches at Marinette's heart, “oh no, I'm sorry. Are they… okay?”

He waves a hand in a so-so gesture and clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. They're fine now.”

“That's good!” She says, nodding, as she makes her way fully into the lounge and the TV catches her attention. “Oh is it nearly the eleven o'clock news already? I need to watch this! Alya texted me earlier saying I have to, and she sounded really excited!” Glancing down at the bundle in her arms and flushes red. “Actually, I'll be back in a second!”

“I'll yell as soon as it actually starts.” Jason offers, smiling warmly at her.

Marinette just misses the smile, rushing back to her room, and throwing a quick, “thanks,” over her shoulder back at him.

Also missing his smile turn fond and the good-natured roll of his eyes at her antics.

Barely half a minute passes before she's bounding back into the lounge, with a sleepy Tikki at her heels. She plops herself down on the sofa next to him and hopes the blush on her face could simply be mistaken for the flush of running about like a mad thing instead. Tikki whines until Marionette picks her up and lets her on the sofa with them, padding over to the furthest corner to curl up in.

Jason points to the pink floral steaming mug on the coffee table, right next to his Pride Prejudice and Zombies themed mug. “Whilst you were in the shower, I made us both hot chocolates with marshmallows, my granddad Alfie's recipe.”

“Oh!” Marinette responds in pleasant surprise. She turns to him and positively beams, eyes shining with happiness. “Thank you so much, Jason! You're always so thoughtful!”

He blushes and rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “Yeah, well, I thought it's only fair since you normally make 'em. And I visited Alfie recently, and I promised to get you his recipe to try, so I thought it'd be a nice surprise for once!” He pauses and points at the big bowl also on the coffee table, “also I cooked us some popcorn.”

“Aw! Thank you again! I really appreciate this!” She scoops up the hot chocolate with slight reverence and takes a sip. Immediately her face lights up even more in joy. “Oh, this is delicious!”

Jason chuckles, “isn't it the best! I'll pass that onto Alfie though, he'll be glad to know you like it so much. Speaking of which, he's gonna give making them a try next time I'm up since I wasn't there long enough this time. Would you fancy coming with me to see him, then?”

Her eyes widen and her heart stutters in her chest, feeling close to bursting from happiness. “I'd love to! Do you have a date when you're thinking of going up?”

He nods. “Yeah, maybe around—”

But he's interrupted by the starting audio of the eleven o'clock news.

They both immediately shut up and watch the screen intently as the news anchors appear on the show. The starting discussion is somewhat boring, talking about the local billionaire Wayne-or-something business and a related upcoming charity event of some sort.

Marinette doesn't pay attention to it, but she does catch Jason wrinkling his nose and scowling at the conversation.

Luckily, the topic shifts quickly enough. “And now, over to our newest reporter, Alya. We hear there's been some rumblings regarding the conflict between local vigilante Chat Noir, his sidekick Maladroit, and the gang controlled by the infamous Red Hood himself.”

“That's stupid,” Jason grumbles, “Maladroit is a fully-fledged vigilante in her own right and not just the catboy's sidekick. That's like saying Nightwing is Batman's sidekick!”

Marinette frowns, very touched by his words and trying her damnedest to appear nonchalant. “I don't know… from all the-uh news clips, Maladroit seems like Chat Noir's sidekick to me. She's always hovering nervously near him like a strong wind would spook her.”

“C'mon! She's been reported to have held her own against Red Hood on multiple occasions, alone!” He argues, sounding rather offended on her alter egos behalf.

Scoffing, she shakes her head. “Clearly that's because he's going easy on her! He's never directly shot her, according to the reports clearly, he's soft on her!” The lies taste bitter on her tongue.

Jason splutters and flushes bright red, turning away from her slightly. “W-well that's obviously a testament to her skill and not Red Hood's mercy! He's always reported as being a merciless killer, why'd he be soft on her!”

“I don't know!” She makes a dying-choking noise as she flushes even more red than earlier. Shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth to avoid having to respond any further.

Luckily, the news shows pans over to Alya standing in front of a screen showing a recorded feed of a warehouse. Not just any warehouse, but specifically the one on fourth that Maladroit had faced Red Hood in less than an hour ago.

Marinette feels her pulse quicken at the reminder of the close shave she'd had.

“Hey wait a second, those warehouses don't have security cameras at all? How'd they get this footage?” Jason complains, eyes narrowed at the TV.

It feels as though ice has been poured down her spine at his words. She freezes, body stiffening in shock. He's right… G said there's none because that's why he asked me to check things out. The only people who'd know this are Chat, Gamer, myself, and Red Hood and his gang. She swallows thickly and tries to subtly side-eye Jason. Oh no. I've been crushing on my roommate who works for Red Hood's gang? Oh god! The friend with the emergency was referring to Red Hood calling him into work!

She can't help but inhale a shallow panicked breath. He could've been one of the lackeys shooting at me and Chat this past week. Or, or I could've hurt him with my yo-yo. Or—

Jason turns to fully face, clearly registering the blatant panic on her face. “Hey, hey, hey, Marinette, you're okay, you're safe. What's wrong?”

“Are you working for Red Hood?” Marinette blurts out, accidentally, the words pouring out in an unintentional panicked rush. “Are you in his gang?”

He jerks back, fear, confusion, and hurt crosses his face. “Wh-what? What makes you think that?”

“His gang was just in that warehouse, and you were out on an emergency for a "friend". And how would you have known unless you were there tonight and working for his gang?” She chews her lip forcefully and winces as the taste of iron floods her mouth.

He reaches towards her, eyes widening concern.

She flinches back, suddenly reminded of how similar this is to that moment with Red Hood on the warehouse balcony.

Jason jerks back as if her flinching burnt him. Raising his hands, he leans away from her to give her some semblance of space. “Fuck. Look, I'm not going to hurt you! Have I ever hurt you whilst we've been roomies?”

Nervously, she shakes her head.

“I really care about you, Marinette. Hell, we've lived together for nearly a year now. I would never hurt you, okay! I promise.” Tears prick in his eyes, and he grimaces slightly, lowering his hands to rest on his lap. “Yeah, I uh, I'm working for him. But I do everything I can to keep work from following me home. I didn't tell you because I never wanted to scare you.”

Guilt gnaws at her. “I'm sorry! I shouldn't have judged. I—” She takes a shaky breath, “I really really care about you too. I'm just worried, what if Red Hood, or even Maladroit, or any of the other vigilantes hurt you? What if you get hurt in one of those gang wars?” Her words aren't lies but they're not the full truth either.

He sighs, “I can't promise I won't ever get hurt on the job. Maladroit and the other vigilantes do a lot of good but Maladroit especially is far too nice to hurt any of us. I've uh, seen her fight some of the others gang members, and been fought by her too. And out of everyone against the gang, she's the one who leaves us with barely more than a scratch at worst.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Most in the gang really respect her for that, y'know.”

Marinette's brain feels like the windows shutting down sound. “Oh. Oh.”

Sheepishly, he smiles half-heartedly at her. “Yeah.”

“So, is that why you were so adamant she's a fully-fledged vigilante in her right?” She asks, feeling bashful yet honoured whilst completely surprised.

Jason clears his throat and glances away. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” Her brain rewinds a moment. She splutters for a second, desperation racing through her. “Wait, she's fought you!?”

Full-on grimacing, he nervously laughs. “Left but a scratch!”

“Are you misquoting Monty Python right now? Oh good gods, that's the knight who says that after getting his limbs chopped off!” Marinette exclaims, looking every bit as horrified as her tone of voice conveys.

“Seriously, I've never gotten worse than a couple of minor cuts and bruises, I'm fine!” Jason reiterates.

She frowns and gingerly shuffles across the sofa closer to him. He keeps leaning back away, so she physically throws herself at him, pulling him into a tight hug. Incidentally burying her face in his shirt. “Okay, okay. Just, please let me know next time you get hurt. I've a friend who lived in a bad situation before, so I know how to help patch up minor injuries. Promise?”

Jason stiffens at the hug and slowly moves one hand to cup the back of her head whilst wrapping the other around her back. He shuts his eyes, cocking his head back and sighs. “Alright. I promise I'll tell you. And I'm sorry for keeping something this big from you. As I said, I was worried you'd be scared of me or that you'd get dragged into gang-related shit because of it.”

“You don't need to apologise.” Marinette mumbles in response, “I get it. I really do understand.” She bites at her sore bleeding lips again in guilt, her secret identity left unspoken on her tongue.

He shrugs, “so uh. I'm guessing you're still happy to stay roomies then, right?”

“Of course!” She responds without missing a beat hugging him even tighter.

Eventually, they release each other from the embrace to finish their now lukewarm hot chocolates and popcorn. The news continues playing, no longer forgotten in the background as the two try to act as if nothing has changed.

———

Jason collapses onto his bed with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his phone and rings a number on autopilot.

The dial tone plays as the line connects. “Hey, whaddup Jay?”

“Holy fucking shit balls, man.” Jason groans. “I fucked up.”

Roy hums, “like need help burying a body fucked up or what?”

Jason groans even louder, smushing his face into his bed covers. “My roomie is smart, right. I accidentally let a tiny detail slip when we were chatting whilst watching the eleven o'clock news as usual. And she now thinks that I'm in Red Hood's gang.”

There's a long pause, before Roy bursts into raucous laughter. “Holy shit, I'm dying! She's not wrong!”

“Yeah. I know. She ain't right either though.” He grumbles in response. “She was absolutely terrified when she realised. Nearly had a full-on panic attack and everything.”

“Oh fuck.” Roy helpfully says.

Jason grunts in agreement. “She was also real concerned that Red Hood or the vigilantes have hurt me.”

“Well, that's better?” Roy offers, sounding rather unsure of his own words.

“Yeah but she's taken thinking I'm some low-level member of my gang this badly, how the fuck d'ya think she's gonna take finding out I'm the big bad Red Hood himself?” Jason sighs. “I don't want to ask her out without her knowing this, 'cause it could endanger her.”

Roy hums again, “well, you've been roommates this long already and she's been completely safe from the Vigilante-Gang life so far.”

There's a gentle thump as Jason lifts his head and throws it into the sheets again out of sheer frustration. He relents, reluctantly. “That's true…”

“See. And since it sounds like she's not planning on moving out, clearly she doesn't mind living with you. Just ask her out to dinner already.” Roy adds, cheerfully.

Huffing, he rolls over on the bed. “I'm starting to feel like those weird girl slumber party ads with the creepy phone-a-boy games.”

Roy wheezes, followed by a thudding noise and the distant sound of his cackling.

“Wow. And to think I called you for help. I'm offended.” Jason goads with no bite, waiting a few seconds to hear Roy's response but it's just more laughter.

He rolls his eyes and ends the call, not like Roy will mind. Throwing an arm over his face, Jason barely refrains from grabbing his pillow to scream into. He doesn't, obviously. Because the walls are thin enough that Marinette might hear him and he's worried her enough this night as is.

Sighing like a lovesick protagonist in a period romance novel, Jason moves his arm to run his fingers through his own hair. A date. Just gotta ask her at some point, to dinner at a fancy-ish restaurant. It'll be fine, what's the worst that can happen?

Her terrified reaction on the sofa flashes through his mind, followed by the reminder of how small and scared Maladroit had seemed when she had fallen to her knees on the warehouse balcony. There was no way that she was faking the pain, like he'd initially thought. She had practically staggered in her mad dash to escape. And there's no way for me to find out whether she got to somewhere safe afterwards. God, she could be lying dead in some dank alleyway for all I know right now. Fuck, I hope she's okay...

He groans in distress and shifts in place. Already feeling like he really won't be getting any sleep at all tonight at this rate, thanks to his concern for those two.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| I decided to go close to canon for names this time, hence why Chat Noir remains unchanged but Max is Gamer (because A. that was his Akuma name, and B. he's like Player from Carmen Sandiego in this, couldn't help myself), and Marinette is Maladroit (from the first thing she calls herself in Origins). |

| Oh, also whilst it's not explicitly stated in the text; Marinette/Maladroit's has the power of luck/being lucky, Chat Noir has the power of being unlucky, and Red Hood has "Perfect Aim" aka he's a hitscan. Which is why Maladroit is able to dodge his bullets by making herself "lucky enough" to dodge in time. |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #MLB x DC #DC x MLB #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #JasonetteJuly2021 #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July Saturday Challenge #Jasonette July And They Were Roommates #Crack Your Bones and Say Those Lies #CYBaSTL #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

[haokyeom]

all the stars | kim mingyu

ミ★ synopsis: in which you fall in love with your rival, kim mingyu.

ミ★ genre: sin of envy!mingyu, ceo!mingyu, ceo!reader, enemies to lovers!au, angst, fluff, some humor

ミ★ warnings: mentions of blood and broken glass

ミ★ word count: 8,764

ミ★ pairings: mingyu x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys ! it’s lila, aka, @viastro​ ! this is my last post for the lucky 7 collaboration </33 this one is actually so fucking long for no reason i am so sorry HAHAHA this was so exciting to be a part of even tho i kinda procrastinated and made all of the oneshots ten million years long </33 this one was really exciting to write tho. think it might be one of my favorite works along with my minghao oneshot for this collab :o i hope you guys like it ! make sure to give mingyu lots of love <3

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They say to live the life you dream of, you have to work hard. Some people can start from the bottom and work their way up to the top. While others are fortunate enough to start directly from the top due to the resources that are available to them. 

Unluckily for you, you are not one of the latters. You worked hard to get where you are now, being the CEO of Bloom. You didn’t earn the status of CEO through being the heir to the company, no. You built Bloom on your own, and now you’re one of the youngest, as well as the richest, in the business of the gaming industry. 

However, as it was said before, you’re one of the youngest and richest. There’s another that you’re currently ahead of in the business, some claim to be your rival in the industry. The two of you are always clashing on the charts, always competing at the same time. Since you just recently launched a new update for your game, you’re higher on the ladder than him. For now. 

Kim Mingyu, the CEO of Ainsoft. At the age of 19 he inherited the money to start up his own gaming company, which ended up being incredibly successful. As he is now 23, and one of the youngest and richest in South Korea. Right beside you on the charts, but you started from the ground up, while he had a bit of help. 

What you don’t know is that Mingyu is truly out of this world. Tall, handsome, and rich, yes. However, he is actually not a part of this world. For he is one of the seven deadly sins, 

The Sin of Envy.

And you, yln yn, are at the top of his list. 

“Nah, he’s a villain. If you wanna make him look the part, he should look less soft. Taller, broader, dark hair, nice tan skin. Yes! Perfect.” You clap your hands once your game designer makes the changes you requested. Minghao turns to glance at you with a look that basically says, ugh! this bitch. 

“... What?” 

“You literally just had me draw Kim Mingyu.” You purse your lips once you see the resemblance, and turn your head away, letting out a whistle tune. Minghao chuckles, deleting the edits he made so that the drawing is back to its original rough draft. 

“You know, it’s not my fault that he looks like the perfect villain.” You say to Minghao, and he waves his hand away at you, flashing you a grin. “I’ll work on this and show you the draft when I’m done, deal?” 

You smile, giving the black haired beauty a thumbs up. “Deal.” 

And with that, you turn and stroll back to your office. You check in with your other employees on the way there, seeing how the design and coding is going for the upcoming game you plan to discuss with investors in a month or so. 

With a smile and wave of your hand, you step into your office, shutting the door behind you and walking over to your desk. You sit down, letting out a breath and closing your eyes as you rest your head on the back of your seat. 

You quickly get interrupted by a knock on your door, and you call out that they can come in. Sitting up straighter in your seat, you watch as your COO, Chan, steps into your office with a straight face. You raise an eyebrow, knowing that he brought news you must not like. 

“What is it?” You ask as Chan sits down in the seat in front of your desk, and he lets out a sigh. He places the small envelope before you, and you purse your lips, reaching out and taking it. You carefully open up the red paper, and pull out what seems to be an invitation.

You immediately frown at what you read, and you glance up at Chan to see him also looking at the piece of paper as if it were cursed. You place it back down onto the table, letting out a sigh and slumping in your seat. 

“Why is Kim Mingyu inviting me to his gala?” You ask, pointing to the invitation in disgust, and Chan shrugs in response. He looks rather tired as well, and you feel a bit bad for your friend. 

His black hair isn’t as put together as it was in the morning, showing that he must’ve been running his hands through it a lot during the day. His tie is a bit loosened as well, and he’s more hunched over. You know for a fact that once he leaves your office, he won’t be showing any sign of fatigue to your employees. You don’t blame him for being tired though, it’s a stressful process trying to create a new game. 

“I think he might be planning something.” Chan mutters, squinting at the invitation from his seat. You tilt your head, wondering what Mingyu could possibly be scheming. You’ve never met him before, as you’re not one to go out to galas or many public events, and he’s never invited you to one of his galas before. Chan is usually the one who attends those things because he knows you’d much rather work on new game developments or on updates for any existing games than waste time at a party. 

“Of course he is. He never invites me to these things, and I’ve also never met him, yet we’re each other's biggest competitor. You’re the only one who has spoken to Mingyu before.” You say, pointing to Chan, who is now rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. Once he’s done he glances at you, giving you a shrug of his shoulders. 

“All I can remember is that he’s really tall, and pretty cocky.” 

“Only a little bit?” 

“Nah, like. The type that knows everyone loves him and can get anyone he wants without trying.” You purse your lips, turning your head away with a scowl. From what you’re hearing, Kim Mingyu is the worst type of man. 

“I’m not going.” You state with finality, turning back towards your computer. You begin typing away for a minute, only to pause when you realize that Chan is still sitting in your seat, staring at you. Your eyes immediately widen and you shake your head, while Chan stands up and raises his hands towards you. “Absolutely not!”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!”

“Because I already know what you were going to say!” You exclaim with a baffled expression on your face, and Chan gives you a defeated look in return. He purses his lips and you squint back at him. After a moment Chan finally says, “I think you should go.”

“Give me one good reason why.” You tell him and Chan grins, having already expected you to say that. 

“It’s an opportunity to get information on the enemy.” Chan states, and you raise an eyebrow. Leaning back into your seat, you signal for him to go on.

“Listen. Mingyu is known to hold these big galas when they’re planning on launching a new game, right?” Chan glances at you for your reaction, and you nod your head. “So, you can go to try and get information. You’ve never met Mingyu, and he’s never met you. What if you managed to even swoon him?” 

You roll your eyes, grabbing your stapler to throw it at your partner’s head, and he raises his arms in surrender, letting out giggles at your reaction. You place the almost weapon back down on your table, and bite your finger, a habit you do when you start to think heavily about something. 

Chan has a point. It’s a dirty way of playing the game, but hey, you’re in the gaming industry. What you and Chan are planning on doing isn’t that bad anyways. You’re just going to see what his next game may be, report it back to your employees, and make sure your new game release will be a thousand times better than his. 

Which is why you turn back to Chan, a newly formed smirk on your lips, and he grins evilly back. You rest your chin on the palm of your hand, “Guess I have plans this Saturday.”

“Ms. yln, the CEO of Bloom, has just arrived at Kim Mingyu’s gala. This is her first time attending Mr. Kim’s gala since they are the two biggest competitors in the gaming industry. She’s wearing an emerald green…” 

You ignore the voices of the reporters as you step out of your bugatti chiron with a knowing smile on your face. You hand your keys to the valet, giving them a nod as you walk down the red carpet. You flip your hair over your shoulder, before walking up the steps and into the grand venue. 

You feel the eyes on you when you step in, and you bow to those around you. You walk further into the ballroom of the hotel, running a hand through your hair as you walk up to one of the tables. You take out your phone from the strap on your leg, sending Chan a quick text that you’re going to curse him for not coming with you. To which he replies, 

chan: love you too sexci :D

“Champagne, Ms. yln?” You turn to glance at the voice, to find a young waiter standing before you, holding fancy glasses filled with the expensive alcohol. You give him a small smile, and watch as a blush rises to his cheeks when you take one. “Thank you so much.” 

He bows, before turning and walking away. You take a tiny sip and let out a pleased noise once you taste the unexpected sweetness to it. You ponder your luck on your favorite alcohol getting served at the gala you dreaded going to, only to receive an answer from the voice beside you. 

“Montaudon Brut, your favorite.” You turn your head to find none other than the Kim Mingyu standing close beside you, a knowing smirk on his face as he stares at you. You raise an eyebrow, turning your body to face him as you look back into his eyes. 

“How’d you know?” You ask with a small smile, and he shrugs, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, damn you kim mingyu, before giving you a mischievous look. “Did a little bit of research.” 

You let out an, ah, before turning your head away to sweep the room. You lock eyes with a few onlookers, but they quickly glance the other way, making the corner of your lips tilt upwards a bit. You take in the decorations on the ceiling, from the bright pink and white flowers, to the green leafy plants hanging next to the fairy lights. What used to just be a golden ballroom inside a hotel now resembles what you’d consider a great option for what heaven may look like. 

It’s rather ironic actually, considering that the Sin of Envy is standing right beside you. Mingyu watches you with fire in his eyes, having not expected you to be more gorgeous in person than in pictures, let alone when the fairy lights cast an iridescent glow over you.

“The decorations are lovely, did you pick them out yourself as well?” You ask, turning to glance back at Mingyu, just to feel your breath get caught in your throat when you catch the intense look in his eyes. He tilts his head at you, opening his mouth to say something when the sound of the mic turning on catches both of your attention. 

Mingyu flashes you a mischievous smile, “That’s my signal to go and greet everyone. I’ll see you later?” 

You find yourself smirking, nodding your head and waving off the handsome man with your hand. “You know where to find me.” 

And with that, Mingyu turns and walks off the stage. All while you head off in the opposite direction to go and get some info on his upcoming game. You notice a group consisting of a few women and men who are eyeing you, and you walk over to them. They seemed to not have expected you to go up to them due to their eyes widening slightly, and you let out a grin when you reach their table. 

“Ms. yln, what an honor it is to meet you.” The tallest male says, and you extend your hand out to shake his. Only to bite the inside of your cheek when he raises your hand up and presses a kiss to the back of it instead. He leans back and you glance at the rest of the people around him, just for them to immediately bow to you. You bow back, before giving the man a smile. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Cha Eunwoo, I’m Mingyu’s game designer.” You nod your head, mentally patting yourself on the back for finding one of the main people in charge of making Mingyu’s newest release. You run a hand through your hair before turning to ask, “What got you into game design?” 

The two of you spend the next hour talking about Eunwoo’s experience working with Mingyu. You find yourself enjoying the pretty man’s company. He’s nice, witty, charming, and rather funny. You wish he could be a part of your team, but alas. At least you found out small bits and pieces of what could potentially be Ainsoft’s next release. 

What you’ve gathered so far is that there’s mentions of a dystopian universe, and a team. You’re worried that may be all you’re able to get, but you think that it could be enough. You wave bye to Eunwoo, and he tells you he was happy that he got to speak to you, before you turn and walk back over to your table. 

You raise an eyebrow when you see that your table is now full, so you decide to walk around. Other than doing the occasional bow, you don’t feel like talking to anyone else for now, so you continue to roam around. You tilt your head when you find a hallway close to the stage, so you walk down it. Taking in the hanging green plants on the ceiling, finding the interior decoration of the gala to be impeccable. You see doors leading to a balcony once you’re closer to the end of the hallway, and you step out. 

You take a sip of your champagne when you find Mingyu looking over the ledge, staring out at the city. You raise an eyebrow and walk over, but he doesn’t seem startled by your presence. He just continues to look at the skyline, taking in deep breaths of the cold, night air. 

“Thought you said you’d find me?” You joke after a moment, and Mingyu turns to glance at you. He lets out an amused grin, shaking his head at you. “Wanted to give you a little adventure.” Is all he replies, and you find yourself smiling. 

The two of you stare out at the skyline together in silence, and you feel that you’re the calmest you’ve been in months as you stand beside Mingyu. Glancing up at the night sky you notice a shooting star, and you nudge the man. He turns to look at you, and you point up at the sky with a glimmer to your eye, “Look! A shooting star.” 

Mingyu looks up at the sky, and he catches the very last second of the shooting star. He chuckles, knowing that means one of the stars is on their way to fulfill a quest, but of course, you don’t know that. So he turns to glance at you, just to find that your eyes are closed, and your hands are clasped together as you make a wish up to the shooting star. 

Mingyu feels something in his chest at the sight, and he wonders whether he may be having a heart attack, but then he remembers that he’s immortal. You open your eyes and turn to glance at Mingyu, and that’s when he feels his heart stop. 

He realizes that your eyes outshine all the stars in the sky with the way they brightly bore into his, and he finds the visual so enchanting, that he forgets to speak. You tilt your head to the side at his silence, and you take the last sip of your champagne, before placing the empty glass onto the ledge. 

“So quiet now. Have you just realized how pretty I am?” You tease, and Mingyu snaps out of his trance. He leans in closer to your face, and your eyes widen when his nose almost touches yours. The handsome man lets out a smile, “I’ve always known you were stunning, yn. However, I didn’t expect you to be even prettier in person.” And with that, he leans back at his full height, chuckling at your surprised expression. 

You squint at him, “Shut up.”

“Awe, is my biggest rival shy now?” Mingyu asks, and you roll your eyes. You nudge him with your shoulder, and he hides his smile behind the glass of champagne, taking a large sip of it. You feel your phone vibrate in the strap on your thigh, so you stick your leg out of the slit of your dress. Mingyu glances down and his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you taking your phone out of the strap. 

“You kept… your phone there?” You nod your head without looking at Mingyu, seeing that Chan needs you to come home so he can discuss one of the character designs for the game you’re creating. You place your phone back in the strap, before hiding your leg from view. Turning towards Mingyu, you give him a grin.

“I have to take my leave now. Thank you for inviting me to your gala, I had a wonderful time.” You tell Mingyu, and he purses his lips at the fact that he feels the slightest bit of disappointment in his chest from you leaving already. 

“So soon?” Mingyu asks and you nod your head, muttering that duty calls. You’re about to turn around to leave when you feel a hand grasp your wrist, and you glance behind you to see Mingyu staring at you with a small smile.

“Will I see you again?” 

Your eyes widen at the question, having not expected for there to be a next time. While Mingyu continues to look at you with a glint in his eye, and you wonder why he wants to initiate a relationship between the two of you. However, you also enjoy Mingyu’s company, so it really has you thinking. 

“Maybe. Depends on what the Gods have in store for us.” You answer, and Mingyu finds it so painfully ironic that he lets out a laugh, to which you find yourself smiling back. He nods his head, letting go of your wrist so that you can leave the gala. 

“I’ll see you, yln yn.” You flip your hair over your shoulder, waving bye to Mingyu. “See you, Kim Mingyu.” 

And with that, you walk off the balcony. Leaving Mingyu alone underneath the night sky. He lets out a breath, turning back towards the ledge as he decides to head back into the gala after a few minutes. 

Mingyu glances up at the stars, and he comes to realize that you’re all he can think about as he does so. 

“Minghao!” The black haired beauty turns in the direction he heard you call, just to find you quickly walking over with an excited smile on your face. He raises an eyebrow, about to open his mouth to ask how much espresso you got in your coffee, just for you to slam your journal onto his desk. “Someone’s excited.”

“I had a dream.”

“So did Rapunzel and Flynn Rider.” You squint at Minghao, and he gives you a smile that convinces you not to reach out and smack the back of his head. So you instead open up your journal, showing the drawing you made at four in the morning the night before, and Minghao’s eyes widen slightly in awe.

“These are…”

“Perfect.”

“An incredibly different vibe from the characters we had drawn out before.” Minghao points out, and you nod your head. Running a hand through your hair, you give him a grin. “Don’t you think they suit the game so much better though? I was unsure of the direction we were going in, but after what I learned at the gala, I think these characters will be better.” 

Minghao nods his head in agreement, turning back towards the drawing. You stare at the drawing as well, “I had a dream last night and as soon as I woke up I just had to draw the characters I dreamt of. This is what I got. I want you to show this to the team and make these characters come to life by the end of next week.” You tell Minghao, and he purses his lips. He grasps the journal and raises it up towards his face, taking in the detail of their outfits, the brightness of the hair, and their varying facial expressions. 

“What kind of dream did you have?” Minghao asks after a moment, and you tilt your head at the thought of it. Perhaps you had that bizarre dream because you watched that one alien episode of buzzfeed unsolved to try and stop thinking of Mingyu, but you’re not sure. 

“These weird aliens kept trying to peg me with their tentacles.” You mutter with a look of unease displayed over your features, and Minghao just stares at you in concern. You snap out of the memory, turning back towards Minghao and giving him a small smile. 

“You can create these by the end of next week, right?”

“You dreamt… of tentacle porn?” You let out a laugh, reaching out and resting a hand on Minghao’s shoulder. “Remind me to not watch anything involving aliens before I go to sleep.” 

Minghao nods his head, “Noted.”

And after he confirms that he’ll be able to have the characters drawn out and will show them to you as soon as they’re done, you walk back to your office after checking with your other employees. You’re about to turn the corner to your office when Chan stops you, a bright smile on his face that has you suspicious. 

“...What?”

“You want coffee?”

“I don’t like coffee.”

“Well, let’s make you like it! Let’s go!” Chan says quickly, hooking his arm with yours and pulling you in the opposite direction of your office. With a frown you pull your arm away, squinting at Chan. “Why are you stopping me from going into my office?”

“Why… not?” You stare at Chan with a bored expression, before turning around and opening the door to your office, promptly ignoring Chan’s sounds of protest. You find yourself staring at the back of Mingyu’s head, who is sitting in the seat placed in front of your desk.

“Kim Mingyu.” You state, and the man turns around, flashing you a smile. His black hair is up in the style he had at the gala, revealing his forehead and strong eyebrows. He’s wearing a black dress shirt, the top buttons being unbuttoned, revealing a bit of his chest, and you raise an eyebrow. You take notice of his sharp canines for the first time as he smiles at you, and for some reason, you’re intrigued. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of having you in my office right now?” You ask as you walk up to your chair, feeling Mingyu’s eyes on you the whole way there. You sit down in your seat, and look up into his eyes, finding the same intense look that he had at the night of the gala two weeks prior. Mingyu smiles, leaning his head back into the chair, and your eyes trail down to his Adam's apple, watching it move as he swallows. 

“You weren’t making any moves to come and see me again, so I decided to pay my rival a visit and ask her out for coffee.” You choke on your saliva at the end of his sentence, and Mingyu smiles at that. You stare at him with wide eyes, and he rests his chin on his hand, looking at you with amusement dancing in his deep brown eyes. 

The two of you weren’t supposed to meet again. By you going to the gala it was simply for your own gain, to learn more about his upcoming game. However, you ended up learning more about the enemy himself. You know that you shouldn’t entertain him like this, but here you are, wanting to get to know your rival more.

And so you regain your composure, and tilt your head to the side, now grinning back at Mingyu. “After your research on me, I thought you’d learn that I’m more of a tea person.” 

Mingyu bites his finger, letting out a smile at that. “Guess the internet isn’t always that reliable.” 

You nod your head, before standing up from the chair and heading over to the door. Mingyu raises an eyebrow at you moving to leave without another word, and you turn your head to look at him. You smirk, “Are you coming or what? I know a good tea place down the street from here.” 

Mingyu laughs, standing up from the seat and grabbing the maroon jacket that was laid over the back of it. He puts it on, and you find that he looks like the epitome of a God as he walks up to you. Once he’s standing in front of you, the two of you stare into each other’s eyes for a moment. 

Mingyu thinks that emerald green complements your eye color as he stares at you, curious as to how he didn’t notice it when you wore that emerald green dress at the gala. While you wonder how cursed you have to be for your rival to be one of the prettiest people you’ve ever laid eyes on. So you grin, opening the door for him and pointing out with your arm. “After you.” 

Mingyu chuckles out, “How sweet of you.” as he steps out of your office. 

The two of you walk over towards the elevators, and you glance over to see Minghao staring at you with a small smirk on his face, while Chan looks like he’s shitting himself. You raise an eyebrow at them, and Minghao makes his hands look like they’re kissing, and Chan just makes the motion that looks like he’s praying to the Gods. You roll your eyes, before turning back towards Mingyu to see him bowing his head towards your other employees that are looking at the both of you. 

at least he’s respectful.

“Are you gonna pay for my tea?” Mingyu asks once the two of you enter the elevator, and you smile, turning to look at your rival. You reach over and press the star button, and the elevator makes its way down. After a second of silence you respond, 

“Sure, I’ll pay for your tea as a celebration for the fact that I’m in the #1 spot right now.” You answer, giving Mingyu a cheeky smile, and he rolls his eyes. 

For now, Mingyu thinks to himself bitterly once the elevator doors open. 

“You fucking suck at fall guys.” You mutter to Mingyu once you hear him yell out beside you. He chooses to ignore that comment so that he can try and make it into the qualifying round, and you let out a squeal once you take the last spot. Mingyu glares at the screen, seeing the word eliminated flash across it while you celebrate. 

Mingyu removes his headset, and turns to glare at you on the other side of your gaming room, clapping your hands happily. He lets out a groan and rests his head on the back of the chair, causing you to let out a laugh at his reaction. 

“Who would’ve thought that the CEO of Ainsoft is so terrible at fall guys?” You tease, and Mingyu rolls his eyes. He stands up from the seat without another word and walks over to you. You open your mouth to ask what he’s doing, only for your whole world to be flipped upside down when he throws you over your shoulder. You let out a laugh, “Put me down!” 

“No.” Mingyu states, smiling as he spins around, hearing you let out a squeal as he does so. You threaten that you’re going to throw up onto the back of his shirt if he doesn’t set you down, and he laughs. “Then apologize and tell me I’m the best player ever.” 

“Lying is a sin, Mingyu.”

“Bruh…” And so, Mingyu spins you around a few more times before setting you down onto the couch with a laugh. The two of you freeze once you realize the position you’re in, with him hovering over you and you laying flat on your back. 

It’s been a couple months since the gala, and you and Mingyu have gotten close. What started out as you trying to beat him, led to you wanting to get to know him, and now you can’t help but think how nice it must be to kiss him as you stare down at his soft, pink lips. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Mingyu thinks as he stares into your eyes. He didn’t even think he was capable of feeling this way towards anyone. But it’s when he lifts up his hand and rests it on your cheek, and he watches as your eyes glance down towards his lips that he realizes,

“I want you.” Mingyu murmurs, and your breath hitches at his words. 

And so the two of you stare at each other for a moment in silence, before you let out a small smile. 

“Only if you can beat me at fall guys.” Mingyu squints at you, and you giggle at his reaction. He rolls his eyes before leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss for the first time.

“Fuck!” You hear Mingyu yell as you step into his office. It’s already late at night, almost one am, and yet Mingyu is still here working at his desk. He glances up at you when he hears the sound of the door close, and he turns off his computer when you walk towards him.

His hair isn’t perfectly put together anymore based on the way it’s falling over his forehead now. His tie is loosened and is just hanging around his neck, the first few buttons now unbuttoned on his shirt as well. You take notice of the bags under his eyes, and you realize he’s been lacking sleep. 

“Yn, how did you get in?” Mingyu asks tiredly, standing up from his desk and walking over to you. You chuckle, holding up the spare keys that he left at your house a week prior and dangling it in front of his face. He opens up his hand, and you drop the keys onto the palm of his hand. Mingyu lets out a small, “Ah.” and you chuckle. 

You wrap your arms around his waist, rubbing his back and he finds himself smiling softly at the feeling. He lets out a breath of relief and cradles your head, pressing a kiss to the top of it. After a moment you pull back and give him a smile, “Let’s take you home, mm? You’re overworking yourself.” 

Mingyu opens his mouth to protest and you shush him, shaking your head. He stares at you for a moment, not used to anyone taking care of him when he stays late at the office, and he feels his heart warm slightly. He lets out a sigh, before giving you a smile and nodding his head. He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, “Just let me pack up, okay? I’ll be out in a sec.” 

You walk out of his office and wait by the door for a few minutes, just scrolling through your phone when Mingyu finally walks out. He reaches out for your hand and you intertwine your fingers with his, and the two of you talk about your day as you head to his car. 

“Eunwoo choked on tteokbokki?” You ask, and Mingyu laughs at the memory of Eunwoo choking in his office. He starts the car and backs out of his parking spot, and begins driving out of the parking garage. “He absolutely did. I wish I got it on video.” 

You giggle at the thought of the pretty man turning red in the face and choking on the small rice cake. Mingyu smiles at the sound, finding it to be one of your best qualities. The two of you drive in relative silence the rest of the way to his place, as Mingyu’s sleepy, and you’re also tired. 

When you both finally arrive, you step out of his car and walk into his house. Mingyu makes a beeline for his room, taking off his dress shirt and belly flopping onto his bed. You laugh at his antics, sitting on the edge of his bed and slapping his back. “Go and change into your pajamas at least.” 

“Can you do it for me?” Mingyu asks teasingly, lifting up his head to glance at your reaction. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you glare, reaching out and slapping his back. He lets out a whine, before getting up from his bed and walking over to his closet. 

He comes back after a moment, changed into fluffy pajama pants and an old t-shirt. He throws one of his t-shirts at you for you to change into and you chuckle. He climbs back into bed and looks at you with a confused expression, wondering why you haven’t changed.

“I’m not staying the night Gyu.” You mutter, pushing back the strands of hair that are falling into his eyes. He frowns, “Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.” 

“Mingyu, I have a meeting at work in the morning.” 

“And I’ll drive you there.” Mingyu offers and you giggle, shaking your head at him. He whines, making a grabby hand towards you, and you bite the inside of your cheek. 

Mingyu has come to realize that he sleeps a lot better when he’s holding you after the first time you let him spend the night a couple weeks ago. He realizes he shouldn’t have let himself get so attached to you, but he just wants one more night. One more night with you. 

“Please?” Mingyu asks in a softer voice, and you sigh. You nod your head, grabbing the shirt and walking into his bathroom to change, before waddling back over to the bed and climbing in. It’s like second nature to you and Mingyu when you both go into your cuddling position. With you draping your arm and leg over him, and Mingyu wrapping his arm and leg around you. He rubs your back, and you slowly find yourself falling asleep.

“Don’t forget that you promised to drive me to my meeting tomorrow.” You mumble before you fall asleep, and Mingyu nods his head. 

Mingyu watches as your breathing evens out, and he knows that you’re asleep. He stares at you for a moment, finding that you look so pure when you sleep. There’s no frown to your forehead, no tiredness to your eyes, you’re just at peace. He presses a kiss to your forehead, before letting out a sad smile. 

“I’m sorry, yn.”

“You hear that your boyfriend is releasing a game tomorrow night?” Chan asks as the two of you walk back to your office from the meeting on how far along your guys’ game development is going. You giggle at the term, and nod your head, feeling a sense of pride at the sleepless nights Mingyu has spent on working on the release of his game. 

“Yeah, he’s been working hard on the last minute touches. I had to drag him out of his office at like, one am last night. I plan to surprise him after his launch party.” You tell Chan as you enter your office. You sit down in your seat, placing your notes down by your keyboard, and Chan takes off his blazer and hangs it on the back of the chair before sitting down. 

“Has he told you anything about the game?” Chan asks, and you shake your head with a smile. “I told him I wanted him to surprise me, so I don’t know anything about it other than the little pieces of info I got from Eunwoo at the gala a few months ago.” 

Chan nods his head, letting out a grin at the happiness radiating from you as you login to your computer. Chan chuckles, “Who would’ve thought that by you going to the gala to get intel on the enemy, you ended up falling for the man?” 

You smile, shrugging your shoulders in response. You mutter how life works in mysterious ways, and Chan agrees wholeheartedly based on how life has turned out for you.

Everything is going great so far. The development of your new game is on its last stages, and you’re so happy seeing your characters come to life on the screen from what your employees have shown you. It’s one of your best works yet.

And you’re finally dating after years of just dedicating all your time into work. Chan hasn’t seen you so happy before, and he’s so glad to see you glowing. So Chan reaches over and rests his hand over yours, giving it a small pat, and you let out a smile. 

“I’m proud of you, yn.” Your eyes fill with fondness as you stare at your best friend who has been with you since the very beginning, and you feel your heart swell with love. “Thank you Chan, I love you.”

Eunwoo and Mingyu eat silently as they look over the game character designs and the gameplay. Mingyu can’t help but feel a sense of guilt as he stares at them, and he mentally slaps himself for feeling that way. Eunwoo glances at him, taking in the furrow between Mingyu’s eyebrows, and he lets out a sigh. Mingyu turns to look at him, “What?”

“If you feel guilty, then why did you suggest to even do this?” Eunwoo asks, and Mingyu scoffs. “I don’t feel guilty.”

Eunwoo rolls his eyes, reaching out and poking the prominent furrow that’s been hanging out between Mingyu’s eyebrows the whole day they’ve been working. The game release is tomorrow night, and they’re still here at the office working. Mingyu whines, rubbing the area that Eunwoo poked, and Eunwoo lets out a grin. “Lying is for sinners.”

Mingyu lets out a cocky grin, eyes turning red for emphasis, “Good thing I’m not a virtue.” 

Eunwoo lets out a tired sigh, pushing Mingyu’s face away, causing the sin to let out a laugh at his friend’s antics. Eunwoo is the only one who knows of Mingyu’s true form, it was an accident honestly. 

“I’m so sick of this fake love! Fake love! Fake love!” Eunwoo raises an eyebrow at the sound of Mingyu’s singing, and he steps into his friend’s room to see the tall man dancing in front of his mirror. His eyes are glowing a bright red rather than the deep brown he’s known him for. Mingyu pauses, slowly turning the sound down on his phone when he locks eyes with Eunwoo, and he turns his eyes back to brown.

“Eunwoo, let me explain-” 

Eunwoo passes out onto the floor.

Mingyu’s just lucky that Eunwoo’s his best friend and didn’t have any plans on outing him for being one of the seven deadly sins. However, he’s both blessed and cursed on the fact that Eunwoo can read him better than an open book. 

“You love her, don’t you?” Eunwoo watches as Mingyu turns rigid, and he tilts his head at him. Mingyu turns back towards the screen, choosing to ignore the way his heart throbs at the thought of you and him slow dancing in the kitchen the other night. Eunwoo decides to press him a bit more, “Gyu?” 

“I’m the Sin of Envy, there’s no such thing as love for me.” Mingyu mutters, making himself look like he’s staring intently at the gameplay on the screen. Eunwoo runs a hand through his hair, taking a sip of his water. “But you love her.” 

Mingyu bites his lip, choosing to stay quiet as his response. The silence is everything Eunwoo needed to know, and so he leans back into his seat and stares at Mingyu a bit longer. Mingyu turns to glance at him after a moment of silence, and he sees the judgmental expression on his best friend’s face. “What?”

Eunwoo just shakes his head, glancing over at the journal full of notes about the game before saying, “You could live a hundred lifetimes, and never deserve that girl.” 

Mingyu turns back towards the game, seeing the characters come to life on the screen, and he bites the inside of his cheek. He nods his head slowly, knowing what he’s going to lose as he quietly mutters, “I know.” 

Mingyu takes a sip of water as he looks at himself in the mirror, deciding that he looks good. He glances down at his phone when he hears a ding, letting out a smile when he sees your text on the screen.

yn: good luck !! i’m so proud of you, can’t wait to beat you at the game stinky >:D

Mingyu looks back up when he hears that it’s almost time for the game to launch, and he stands up from the seat. He turns around to see Eunwoo standing there, and he tries to ignore the disappointed expression on his best friend’s face. 

“You know you can still stop this, right?” Eunwoo insists, and Mingyu shakes his head at his friend. He bites the inside of his cheek, ignoring the feeling of guilt that’s building up in his conscience. He finds that emotion annoying, guilt. He’s the Sin of Envy, how is he able to feel that?

“Because you fell in love.” Eunwoo states. Mingyu’s eyes widen, turning to Eunwoo and wondering how he could hear his thoughts, who briefly explains that Mingyu said it out loud. 

“You can stop this, Mingyu. You’re going to ruin something you’ve been blessed with. Just listen to me-” Mingyu raises his hand up at Eunwoo, stopping him from speaking. Eunwoo lets out a tired sigh, and Mingyu gives him a smile.

“Let’s go celebrate our game launch.” Mingyu says, and walks out of the room. Eunwoo bites the inside of his cheek, before following after his friend.

While you hangout with Chan at his house, staring at the TV that displays OGN. They’re about to announce Ainsoft’s game launch and show the commercial for it as well. You let out an excited smile, seeing that Chan is staring at the TV expectantly. 

“Oh! It’s 8:00!” You exclaim, and right as you say that, you see Mingyu’s pre-recorded announcement of the launch of the game. “He looks so handsome…”

“Okay we get it, you have a boyfriend.” Chan jokes, and you let out a laugh. You watch as Mingyu gestures to the large screen beside him on the TV, and it zooms into it as the commercial begins to play. 

Your smile slowly drops from your face when the main character shows up on the screen, and Chan squints at the TV. “Wait a minute.”

You raise a hand to your mouth when the other characters start coming in, hearing the voice in the back of the video explaining the gameplay and the adventure the characters have to go on. You stand up from the couch with shaking knees, and Chan looks over at you. 

This is your game. This is your creation. This is the game you’ve spent months working on. 

It’s gone. 

All of it is gone. 

“Wait, yn-” Chan begins as you grab your car keys from the table. You walk towards the door, ignoring Chan’s calls as you hurry to get to your car. “Yn, you’re not in the right frame of mind to drive.” 

You feel Chan grasp your arm and you shake it off, pointing at him with a shaking hand. The anger that Chan feels is not even close to the betrayal you must be feeling as he notices there’s no trace of happiness to you anymore. “Let me go.” 

So Chan lets go, and you step out of his house. You quickly walk to your car, pushing back the tears so that you can be able to see as you drive. Millions of thoughts flow through your head as you back out of Chan’s driveway and speed down the street towards Mingyu’s house. 

Was that his agenda all along? When did he get the info on your whole game? Is that why he spent so much time with you? 

You bite your lip when you think,  

Did he ever even love you?

“Great job on the game guys, it’ll be a big hit.” Mingyu tells his employees over by the glasses of champagne. They all smile and tell them their thanks, and he waves his hand at them, saying that this wouldn’t have happened without their help. 

Eunwoo stares from across the room, drinking the sweet champagne that he knows you enjoy so much. However, it just tastes bitter once it goes down, reminding him of the sin he’s committed as he watches Mingyu act like everything’s fine. 

He stands up straight when he hears the front door open behind him over the chatter, turning around to see you walking in. Eunwoo’s eyes widen, and he reaches out to stop you but you push his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.” 

You walk over to the glasses of champagne, and grab one. Mingyu’s employees stare with wide eyes when they take notice of you, wondering what you’re even doing at their launch party. Mingyu raises an eyebrow at their sudden silence, and he turns in the direction that they’re staring in, only to get a face full of champagne. 

“What the fuck?” Mingyu growls, wiping his eyes so that he can see who did it. Only for his heart to drop when he locks eyes with you. You’re standing there, eyes full of rage as you stare at the man that you love, the one who betrayed you.

“Yn.” Mingyu breathes out, and you bite the inside of your cheek. 

“You fucking BITCH!” You scream, slapping Mingyu across the face, and the whole room turns silent at your outburst. You reach out to start shoving him, but he grasps your wrists to stop you. Mingyu glances around at his employees, and he gestures for them to leave, to which they slowly do. Once the living room is empty except for Eunwoo, he finally lets go of your arms, and you shove him away.

“You stole my game. You stole my fucking work!” You yell, and Mingyu just stands before you, face void of any emotion as he lets you scream at him. You tightly squeeze the glass between your hand, and Mingyu’s eyes widen when the glass shatters within your grasp. He tries to reach out to remove it from your hand but you step back, the blood from the wound dripping down your wrist as you stare at him.

“Was this your plan from the beginning? Since the gala?” You ask, and Mingyu stares. You bite the inside of your cheek, reaching out to grab another glass, but Mingyu steps forward and blocks your view of the table so that you can’t grab it. You throw the remainder of the broken champagne glass in your hand towards the floor, hearing it shatter into thousands of tiny pieces. 

“Answer me!” You shout, and Mingyu slowly nods his head. You stare down at the floor, and you feel nothing but betrayal running through your veins. You look back up into his eyes, and you wonder how you allowed yourself to be so naive. 

“So you just used me.” You mutter, and Mingyu just stares as he watches you break right before him. His hand twitches at his side as he holds back from falling onto his knees to beg for forgiveness, because this was all his fault. 

“How did you even do that? How did you even find out about my characters? The plot-” You pause when you remember the nights he spent at your house, the days he’d surprise you at your office to go get lunch. They were all just a ploy to get more information. You let out a pained laugh when you realize he must’ve gone through your stuff when you were asleep, while you were thinking he was holding you at night.

how pathetic.

You open the palm of your hand, staring at the tiny pieces of broken glass that have edged themselves into your skin. The blood continues to trickle down, and you know that you’ll have to get stitches, but for some reason, you can’t feel any pain. 

Mingyu takes a step forward when he sees the severity of your wound, “Yn, let’s go to the hospital so you can get stitches-”

You push him away, pointing directly at him with your other hand. You press the area where his heart is with your finger, and you bite your bottom lip harshly when you feel it beat beneath your finger. The familiar pattern is something you’ve gotten used to from the times the two of you have cuddled.

“You made me trust you, fall in love with you, just so you could steal my game? My work? Just to get on top? Just to be above me? Were you that envious of me?” You ask, and Eunwoo glances down at his feet when he hears how fragile your voice has become. Mingyu just stares at you, and he feels his heart break within his chest when he notices the glassiness to your eyes. He no longer sees anger or rage, he can only see the pain and betrayal in your gaze. 

There’s no trace of all the stars that he once saw.

“Did you even,” Your voice cracks, and you don’t realize the tears have formed in your eyes until you can only see Mingyu as a blurry blob. You blink, and Mingyu watches as the first tear escapes from your left eye, and falls onto the floor. “Did you even love me?” 

Mingyu stares at you in silence, the answer on the tip of his tongue as you look up at him with tears silently falling from your eyes. He looks down at the floor instead, breaking eye contact with you, and you have your answer. You let out a pained laugh, taking a step back as you stare at the man you love. 

The one who betrayed you.

The one who broke you. 

The one who lied. 

“Fuck you, Kim Mingyu.” You state, before turning away and walking out of his house. The sound of the door slamming echoes through the home, and that’s when the tears finally fall from Mingyu’s eyes. He watches as they fall to the floor, mixing with your blood. 

Eunwoo leans against the wall, and he runs a hand through his hair as he watches Mingyu just stare at the floor in silence. He stands up at his full height, and he claps his hands. Mingyu glances up at the sound, finding Eunwoo just standing there, applauding him. 

“Well. Was it worth it, Sin of Envy?” Eunwoo asks, pulling out his phone and turning the screen around to show that Ainsoft is now above Bloom in the market. Mingyu watches as the numbers keep rising, and he just stares at it.

A few months ago, Mingyu would’ve been ecstatic to see that he was above you. The craving to beat you and earn your spot would’ve been fulfilled.

But now, all Mingyu feels is pain. 

And so he smiles at Eunwoo, and his friend takes notice of the tears falling from Mingyu’s eyes as he responds, 

“No. No it wasn’t.”

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#lucky 7's #lucky 7's viastro #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen crack #seventeen fanfic #seventeen oneshots #seventeen mingyu #seventeen kim mingyu #kim mingyu #mingyu scenarios #mingyu fluff #mingyu crack #mingyu angst #kim mingyu scenarios #kim mingyu fluff #kim mingyu angst #kim mingyu crack

[they-call-me-megs]

Let It Be Me - MLQC - Gavin x MC

Well....hello there.  I’m new to Tumblr (or, new to being back--I was here for a while but fairly quite and then left for a bit, only to return once I realized I still was regularly checking some of my favorite pages/writers!).  I’ve been reading fan fiction for a looonnnggggg time, but have only ever been and enjoyer and not a contributor.  I don’t know if I will ever be a regular writer, but decided to give it a shot.  I saw some writing prompts posted by a writer I really enjoy, and as I was thinking through a request I would like to make and stories I would like to see, I got the bug to just give one a try myself!  So here we are.  I’d like to shout out @hifftn​ for taking the time to read my rough draft and give me some suggestions--this was my first time reaching out to her and she was so kind and amazing and I have been following her page for a good while now, so thank you! I love the MLQC and Voltage fandoms and I’m excited to actually be active now and to give kudos to some of my favorites writers where they are due (because I am convinced that some of the best writers out there are housed here!). 

So here’s my very first stab at writing.  I don’t expect it to be read by many (or maybe any) but I think it’s good for me to try new things every once in a while.  If you do happen to read it and want to give some tips/suggestions/encouragement/anything I’d love to have it!  Here’s hoping the format isn’t crazy--thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Warnings: some language. No smut...yet ;) 

_______________ 

Gavin.

The boy who everyone seemed to fear when you were growing up—including you. 

Gavin.

The now man who took his job seriously to protect those around him…and as he regularly stated--to protect you.

Gavin.

The one who, after time, had been such a confidant and the one you could always rely on. Through job stresses, and heartbreak and messy break ups and all the ups and downs of life. A firm and steady rock when you felt like the waves—constantly raging. Constantly changing.

Gavin.

The one who you viewed as just a friend until more time went on. And the more you got to see who he truly is—the Gavin that only you seemed to get to see, the more you wondered “what if”.

But you.

You were too afraid of losing the person that meant the most to you, afraid he may not see you that way.  So you decided to keep those “what ifs” at bay and push them out of sight and out of mind, satisfied knowing that he really did mean it, that he would protect you and be there for you forever. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that his words were true. And you were stuck chasing the wrong person and after the wrong person hoping maybe someday someone squash the “what ifs” away.

_______________ 

After a great finish on your latest project, Willow, Kiki, and Anna insisted on a night of drinks and dancing. You weren’t one to typically go for that, but you’d been working so hard and sometimes it really was nice to let loose with your friends. You agreed to at least one stop and you’d take it from there.  The four of you walked into a crowded bar with live music and found a small table towards the back as your home base for the evening. A couple of rounds in, you could feel yourself loosen up and were ready to see where the night would take you. 

“Next round is on me! I’m getting us shots!” you told the girls as you headed to the bar. 

You had been waiting at the bar for a couple of minutes when you “ahem” and a deep voice that exuded confidence. 

“My, my. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before and I know that I’d remember your face if I’d ever seen it. I’m Michael—and you would be?” 

You rolled your eyes as you turned his way, only to be pleasantly surprised.  The man talking to you had reason to have confidence in his voice.  He had dark hair that was just long enough to slick back with a small piece that hung just above his eye.  He was well-dressed--maroon slacks and a button-up shirt that had obviously been tailor to perfectly show that he was fit underneath it all. 

“MC”, you tried shouting back over the music and the crowd noise.

He slid right next to you and leaned in closer to your ear—a bit closer than you expected from a stranger you had never met, but you didn’t immediately blow him off. 

“I didn’t quite hear you, and I want to make sure I don’t miss the name of the most beautiful girl in the room”.

“I said my name is MC, and while I appreciate the compliment and you’re not too bad on the eyes yourself, I’ve really got to get going. I’m here with my friends—have a nice night”.

You gave him a wink and turned to walk away, but he grabbed your hand right before you were out of reach.

“At least consider saving a dance for me before the night is over. I’ll make it worth your time,” he said winking right back at you after pulling you closer.  

You couldn’t help but smirk—there was no lying to yourself. He was an extremely attractive guy with a smile that was dripping with charm. Not wanting to commit to anything while fully knowing you’d end up dancing, you left him with a flirty: “Maybe, if you’re lucky,” and turned to go back to your table.

“Who was that? He was cute.” Kiki couldn’t help herself--she had a radar for attractive men and she was always in favor when you considered chatting one up.

“His name was Michael—he very much so wants to dance with me tonight—I don’t know. He’s cute, I guess. I think he thinks he’s a real smooth talker…maybe a bit pushy, though.”

“Maybe pushy could be a good thing! You’ll get to find out if you actually go dance with him, if you know what I mean. He’s still got his eye on you”, Kiki said smiling at you and nudging your side with her elbow. 

She wasn’t wrong. He was looking your way. And his look seemed to follow your every move.

“He seems a little creepy to me,'' Anna said. “I’d steer clear”. It was from her expression that she was not Team New Guy.

“I’m with Anna,” Willow said. “Besides, I still don’t understand why you even give some of these guys you talk to the time of day when you have the perfect person for you right under your nose”.

They all saw the way you were around Gavin. You tried to play cool but every once in a while, there was a crack in your façade and your friends could recognize the change in your eyes and the way your shoulders seemed to relax in a way they normally didn’t when he was around.  You always got flustered when they brought Gavin in any way that involved you being more than friends--it was easy to push down any budding feelings when it wasn’t brought to your attention. 

“You guys need to give it up. I care about my friendship with Gavin way too much to risk it. And besides—if he was interested in being more than friends with me, he’s had a lot of opportunities to take a shot. He hasn’t, and that’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it. And I’ve also come to terms with the fact that one dance with Mister Following Eyes won’t hurt anyone”. You downed another shot and marched back to the bar to find Michael, confidence coming from you to rival the confidence he had earlier.  You insisted he’d buy you a drink before taking his hand, leading him to the dance floor.

And you danced. You closed your eyes and let his hands wander on your hips and you let your imagination wander into the idea that it was actually Gavin dancing with you, because no matter how many times you said you had come to terms with it, you really hadn’t and you wanted nothing more than for him to be the one touching you. 

 What you didn’t know was that Willow had called Gavin to come out and celebrate your success with you all. And that while you were grinding up on Mr. Smooth Talker, Gavin was walking in the door.

After losing yourself in the music and dancing, you finally “came to” when the house band took a break and lighter music began to play over the speaker. You started to turn back around towards Michael when you caught a sight of Gavin out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t know he was going to be here and you didn’t know how long he’d been there—or what he had seen. Gavin was always the one to let you cry on his shoulder when you’d go out with some guy you met at a bar or on Tinder after he’d stand you up or finally show you his true ugly and awful colors. And he was never critical. And he was always gentle. But that didn’t mean that you wanted him to see you dancing with someone else when you just wanted it to be him.

Michael pulled you out of your head when he grabbed your hand and pulled you back closer to him, this time face to face, moving in closer to whisper.  You could feel his breath on your ear.

“If you move like that with your clothes on, I can’t wait to see how good it is once they’re gone.”

That’s when you knew your time with this guy was over.  You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Why must men always do this? You knew why—because an MC a few more drinks in would entertain the thought of it and might just go home with him. But you were a few shots short and had one set too many eyes on you to agree.  The freedom and fun you were feeling was put back in it’s box to make sure this guy knew you were serious.

“I think you might be moving a bit too fast pal. Thanks for the dance, but I think I’m going to go back to my friends now.”

You tried to push him away so you could leave when he decided to double down and grab your hips a bit tighter, this time in a way that caused the exact opposite of pleasure.

“Come on, MC. We’re just getting to know each other, and I’m not ready for the fun to be over” he said.  He tried nipping at your ear and you felt sick to your stomach.  You just wanted to get away from him.

“Stop it, Michael. You’re hurting me. I don’t know you and you obviously don’t know me if you think aggression is the way into my pants. So if you could kindly back the fuck up, I’d appreciate it,” you said, pushing him harder to get him off of you.  You were all for having a good time and had had your fair share of one night stands--but they were on your own terms and they didn’t start with a guy trying to suffocate you with a handful of red flags to get you to cave.

“Stop being such a bitch—I buy you a drink and show you a good time and this is how you repay me?”

A clearing of a throat came from behind you and you saw Michael’s face change as you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder.

“MC—is this guy bothering you?”

The sound of Gavin’s voice and the anger in his eyes was the encouragement Michael needed to finally ease us his grip on you.  Thank God he was stepping in to help you. But also, oh shit—because Gavin did not act kindly to asshole dudes who wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Hey buddy—why don’t fuck right off and mind your own damn business?” Michael said, annoyance clear in his voice and on his face.  He had no idea who he was talking to.

And then came the crack. And a howl. And an asshole falling to the ground after Gavin decked him for not giving up when you asked him to. Gavin grabbed your hand and started walking towards the door. Anna, Willow, and Kiki met you there.

“MC, are you okay?” Kiki asked.  She was worried about you, and you could tell she felt bad about encouraging you to talk to Michael after the initial introduction.

“I knew that guy was a creep,” Anna said with crossed arms. She always seemed to be right about these things.

“How about we all go outside and I’ll call us an Uber,” Willow said, pulling out her phone.

“You guys take care of getting yourselves home,” Gavin said, handing them some cash. “I’ll take care of her—my apartment isn’t far from here”.

You felt awful--what was supposed to be a night of fun had turned into a nightmare. “Sorry for ruining the night guys. Maybe next time I’ll learn to just dance with you guys,” you said with your head downcast, taking the helmet Gavin handed you before patting the back seat of Sparky. You knew the drill. You hopped on and wrapped your arms around Gavin’s waist as he told you to hold on tight.

_______________ 

“You’re soaked,” Gavin said. “Go hop in the shower before you catch a cold. I’ll never forgive myself if you get sick because I chose to drive Sparky instead of my car. I really didn’t know it would start raining. I’m sorry MC.”

“Why are you sorry?! You saved my ass back there when that guy wouldn’t leave me alone. You’re always saving my ass. I don’t mind waiting—you can go first.” 

“No—I insist. I’ll be fine. My hair will dry fast anyway. You can use the bathroom in my room. Feel free to use anything that you need. Once you’re in the bathroom I’ll just come in to grab something from my drawers and I’ll be out so you can have some space.” He spoke to you with gentleness and care in his voice. You could see from his face how concerned he was for you, even though he was the one that just punched a guy.  That was so typical Gavin. Always putting himself last. Always taking care of you first. Never showing any sign of frustration or anger at you.

A quick 5-minute shower to clear your head of the evening’s events and you were done.

“Shit—I thought I had some clothes in here.”

This wasn’t your first time at Gavin’s place—you had become a regular here for movie nights and after it led to you falling asleep on the couch a few times, Gavin suggested you just leave a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt at his house so you could always feel comfortable there. Apparently, you forgot to change out of them the last time and brought them home with you, leaving you scrambling for something to wear. You panicked for a moment before looking through his closet and found the biggest t-shirt you could find and threw it on before heading back into the living room.

Gavin was in the kitchen making you a hot tea (your favorite) when he heard you come out of his room.

“Listen, MC. I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m trying to tell you what to do or how to live your life…I’m just trying to understand what it is about some of these guys that you find…”

It was at that moment that he walked out of the kitchen and saw you standing there looking through his movie collection, reaching to grab a DVD from the top shelf, causing the shirt to ride high enough to hit just shy of your ass. His shirt practically cradling your ass.

“Ah...are you wearing my shirt?” There was a bit of hesitation in his question that made you give him a soft laugh. 

“Ha...yeah—I’m sorry. I thought I still had clothes here, but I guess I brought them home, so I had to borrow some of yours again. Just another thing you’re having to do for me. Clothe me. Pick me up at any hour of the day when I need it. Scare off the sleazy guys I always end up getting mixed up with. You’re the one thing I can always count on to be the same for me.”

“But what if I don’t want to stay the same?”

The hesitation he just had disappeared and he looked at you with a resolve in his eyes that he’s never seen before and you thought you saw his eyes go black for a moment. You wanted to think maybe he was messing with you, but Gavin wasn’t much of a joker and there was only seriousness in the way he was keeping eye contact with you.

“What?” You felt your breath catch in your throat. What was he trying to say? Was this moment where he had really had enough and didn’t want to deal with you anymore? You stood frozen and just looked at him as he slowly walked up to you…not quite touching but closer than he normally got outside of your rides on Sparky together. He reached out and lightly ran his thumb and his index finger across the hem of his shirt—the one you were wearing.

He kept his eyes down, watching his fingers on the shirt and you felt his grip on it tighten, pulling the shirt flush to your chest. 

“What if I don’t want to stay the same with you? What if I don’t want to be the guy that scares off the sleazy guys you dance with? What if I want to be the one dancing on you. The one touching you.  What if I don’t want to be the guy that just loans you clothes anymore when you come over? What if I want to be the one that takes them off of you?”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. The only thing that could be heard was the rain falling on the window and low music playing from Gavin’s record player he must have turned on while you were in the shower. You saw his Adam’s apple move as he silently gulped, still too nervous to look up, continuously moving the hem of the shirt between his index finger and his thumb.  You couldn’t believe what you were hearing--you wished that you could stop time to give you a moment to process what was happening.  This was what you had wanted to happen for so long, resigning yourself to your wants believing it would never happen.  But it was. And it felt real. And you made the decision to not hesitate or ask questions or wonder what might happen next because you would be damned to do anything that might make him change his mind.

“Then do it.”

He finally looked up at you with his beautiful amber eyes that were full of wonder and surprise and a fiery lust that was thirsty to get out when you broke the silence. His gaze refused to leave yours when he opened his mouth to speak again.

“What did you say?”

You grabbed his free hand and guided it to the bottom of your shirt to join his other. Locking eyes with him and bringing your face as close as you could without touching, you slowly lifted your arms above your head.

“I said, if you want to be the one that takes my clothes off, then do it.”

#mlqc gavin #mlqc #Gavin #oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh #I can't believe I'm doing this #please excuse me while I go throw up #nothing like quarantine to get you out of your comfort zone

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Making the Grade

For @fairladymorgana as requested for a Raffle prize!

Warnings: slight non/dubcon elements, rough sex, oral sex, masturbation.

This is (dark)Professor!Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

For any other college student, Friday night meant the party was just beginning. But for you and the twenty other students in Warfare in the Twentieth Century, it was yet another class. It was the most dreaded slot in the schedule. Any professor was certain to have barely fifty-percent attendance and any student desperate enough to attend was faced with a weekly sense of FOMA. Really, for everyone, it was a bad time.

Well, except for Professor Barnes. Of the twenty-one students who hadn’t dropped his weekend-crushing course, sixteen of them were female; including you. It was a poorly kept secret why and you often rolled your eyes at the obvious dopey grins which spread across the faces of your fellow pupils. All along the front rows they sat, elbows on the small table attached to their seats, leaning forward as they admired every move made by the dark-haired instructor. You doubted their attention went so far as actually comprehending his words.

You couldn’t deny that he was an attractive man. He was probably the hottest man you had ever seen in person and yet you opted to hide in the middle rows, slouching as you typed away. Your sole study buddy in the class, Colton, sat at your side, munching on Doritos as he listened. Despite his lack of notes, he had aced every paper so far and you, well, you were struggling. And behind. 

Even if this class wasn’t scheduled at the cusp of the weekend, you’d be pent up all until Monday buried under textbooks and academic journals as you struggled to keep stride with your workload. It wasn’t that you were lazy, merely overly-committed. You spent Saturday afternoons at the food bank volunteering, other evenings spent at the library as a an aide to first-years in the writing clinic, and the small amount of time left between classes you spent studying. College was not such a party for you.

Even now, rather than taking lecture notes you were typing away at the paper due Sunday night for that very class. You doubted you’d get it done in time but you were determined to spend every second trying to do just that. It didn’t help that you found yourself distracted by Professor Barnes’ voice every now and then, looking up to find him standing before the front row, describing in detail the tactics developed during the Pacific campaign. You should have been enthralled as it was a topic you actually knew a lot about but instead you were drawn to how his rolled sleeves bunched just beneath his biceps, nearly bursting through the fabric. Goddamn, don’t be like the rest of these daydreaming fools. You had a GPA you actually cared about.

And then he looked higher. His blue eyes catching your guilty ones as you tried to look like you had actually deciphered his words. Why the fuck had you chosen Monte Cassino? The Italian front was your least favourite. Whatever. It didn’t matter, you had to make this sound logical. You blinked at him until he turned his attention elsewhere, his hand drawing out the battle lines in the air. Describing the Japanese bunkers and the coral rock of Peleliu. You could read the slides later but you had to get this draft finished.

“Well, I think I’ll do you all a favour tonight. Go enjoy your Fridays a whole…” He checked his watched, “Twenty minutes early.” He clapped his hands together, “But remember you owe me. Next Saturday,” The class groaned, “I know, I know, I have a life to, you know? Anyways, open house in my office next Saturday. Midterm marks, comments, questions, everything you need to be successful in this course. Please, try to make an appearance.” He pleaded casually but you could here the genuine quality in his voice, “Ten minutes each. I’ll be there noon to five. That’s all.”

“Jesus, Saturday,” Colton grumbled as you were dismissed and he stood, draining the last of his Monster, “He must be desperate. I don’t even know any faculty who are here on Saturdays. The last time I was in the history building on a weekend, I swear I had a paranormal experience.”

“Well, I might just have to do it to get in his good graces. I doubt I’ll get my paper in on time.” You whined, “I should have dropped this when I had the chance.”

“You can’t abandon me like that,” He kidded as you walked down the steps, Professor Barnes was behind his desk packing up as a mob of his fans preened over him. They didn’t really have any real questions, just relative enough to justify their presence. You sighed and looked to Colton. “I guess I should wade into the herd and try to talk myself into an extension...I’ll see you later.”

“I can wait,” He offered.

“I don’t think so. With this crowd, I’ll be here forever. Besides, I know Devin’s waiting for you. Some sports thing tonight or whatever.” You shrugged.

“Yeah, some sports thing,” He scoffed, “Try to wait for them to disperse. They might bite.”

He smirked as he left you to wait for the gradual thinning of giddy college girls. You couldn’t deny that your professor was of the few attractive individuals among the faculty but you weren’t delusional. He was your teacher and by no means a love interest. College was not meant for romance but rather stupid mistakes to reminisce on when you were old and boring. Ha, sure. You had entered your boring phase the moment you stepped on campus.

Finally, the last pair of students left and you tentatively approached Professor Barnes. He raised a brow, the exasperation plain on his face. You hoped that because you rarely bothered him he’d take it easy on you. 

“Hey,” He greeted, setting his bag on his desk as if to communicate his impatience to be gone. “Y/N, is it?”

“Uh, yeah,” You smiled shyly, “I’m sorry. I know you wanna go as bad as everyone else but I just um, wanted to talk to you about the paper. I…” You bit your lip guiltily and looked down, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish on time.”

“No?” He said, his tone unyielding, “Well, you’ve known the deadline since week one so I don’t see how it should be a problem now.”

“I know, I just--” You looked back up at him and sighed. It was useless. “Okay, no. I just figured I’d ask.”

He glanced around the room as he thought. “Look, do what you can and hand it in. We can talk about it next Saturday at the open house. If it’s a complete disaster, I’ll consider a rewrite.” He looked down at you pointedly, “Consider.” He repeated sternly.

“Okay,” You nodded eagerly, “Alright, okay. Thank you.”

“We’ll see,” He reminded you, hooking his bag over his shoulder, “Now please, let me go home.”

You actually laughed at that and he ushered you to the door, closing it behind him. The two of you took different paths in the hallway and you let out a breath of relief as you turned the next corner. A little breathing room.

***********

Well, it wasn’t enough. It had been a week and you were still fighting to finish your paper, adding footnotes, adjusting format, inserting points you had completely glossed over. You had failed to hand it in as you saw the pathetic mess as barely worth the bother of anyone trying to read it. Instead you were going to get it right and beg mercy at the open house. Even if it took all night.

Which it did. You fell asleep as the sun peeked in your dorm window, your face across the keyboard. You awoke with a jolt, your screen with a dozen calculators sprawled over it. You closed all thirty-six and printed out your final copy. You looked at the time in the corner and your heart jumped. Shit! It was already five-thirty! You got to your feet, stumbling as you pulled your canvas jacket over your tank top, not even bothering with a bra; you would keep your jacket zipped up. You stuffed your feet into your vans, sweatpants rolled halfway up your ankles as you seized your keys  and paper and charged out the door.

Your sides were burning as you reached the history building and tossed yourself into the ancient elevator, bracing yourself against the wall as it slowly lurched upward. You stepped out into the maze of upper hallways and grumbled. You hated the way these offices were laid out as if David Bowie had stolen your baby brother. First you ended up at a set of seemingly forgotten washrooms and then by some records storage, and finally, you felt like you were on the right path; all the signs told you so at least.

‘Professor B. Barnes’ was etched into a placard pointing to the next hall. You turned the corner, hoping he had lingered to finish up his teaching work or maybe another student was overstaying their welcome. As you neared, you realized how empty the building was. And quiet. Colton was right; there had to be ghosts up here.

You heard a moan and it all but confirmed your suspicions. Was it worth possession to hunt down a likely empty office? The moan came again and you tilted your head. No, that was a human. It was deep and luring. You looked at the square clock on the wall; quarter to six. You crept forward, the door denoting ‘Prof. B. Barnes, M.A’. The door looked as if it had fallen open and you got closer and closer, the noise coming from within. Slowly you pushed the door inward, poking your head around and gasping.

The back of a leather chair faced you, a head of dark hair pressed against the top of it as it rocked and the moaning continued. Oh, fuck. It stopped as the small wisp escaped your lungs, giving away your intrusion and you dropped the paper as you turned to flee before he could turn fully to you. Apparently no one else had shown up and your professor had chosen to take advantage of it. 

Oh god, you’d just have to take the fail.

You weren’t so lucky as that. You were pulled back as your name bounced down the empty corners of the hallway. You turned back and Professor Barnes released you, his face calm as if he hadn’t been caught. As if you hadn’t seen anything. “You’re late.” He said. He held your paper in his hand, “So’s this.” He held it up.

“I know,” You said weakly, unsure what else to say. You certainly didn’t want to talk about what you had walked in on. “But...I’m sorry, I just, I worked so hard on it.”

He shook his head, looking at the title page of your paper as he flicked it. “Right then, let’s talk and maybe you can convince me.” He stepped aside, standing parallel to the wall as he waited for you to precede him to the office. You were torn between flight and one last grasp at a passing grade. You took the latter and passed him, wringing your hands as you returned to his office. If you acted like nothing had happened, then it didn’t, right?

He followed you, keeping a few feet behind as you sat in the chair which faced his on the other side of the desk. You quirked your lips as you waited for him, the door clicking shut as he entered. Shit. You clutched your knees and hunched forward as he rounded to the other side and sat, steadying your paper on the edge of his desk as he flipped to the intro. He sighed and sat back, letting it go as he slid it onto the desktop.

“I really can’t make exceptions,” He said, “I’m sorry. It looks like a well-written paper but it just wouldn’t be fair. Don’t you think? I mean, how would you feel?”

You nodded and looked down, ready to just leave. He hadn’t even given you a chance. Did he get off on making students squirm? Well, I mean he got off on something judging by his previous activity. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I should--”

“You’d have to have a very convincing reason to make me change my mind,” He interrupted, staring at you as the corner of his mouth twitched. “So, why should I even read this?” He tapped the desk with his finger.

“I...I…” You stuttered, “I’ve just been so busy and I wanted it to be perfect. Between volunteering and all my other classes, which I’m also behind in, I just couldn’t...get my shit together, I guess.”

“Mmm,” He leaned back in his chair as he considered you. Still he didn’t really look mad. You rubbed your neck and he seemed please by the show of nerves. “And you didn’t ask Colton for help? You and him seem close?”

“We study together,” You explained, “But I mean, he’s not much of a help. He’s like an encyclopedia without pages. He doesn’t really write stuff down.”

“You see him often?” He asked.

“Uh, in class, sometimes we meet up at the library,” You forehead creased in confusion, “What does it matter?”

“So you and him, you’re not…” He raised a brow, “I mean. You’re both young college students, it only seems natural.”

“No, no,” You could have laughed, “Ew, no. He’s like a brother; the kind who puts gum in your hair and ketchup packets on your chair.”

He narrowed his eyes, pleased with your answer. He shifted in your chair. “It’s a big campus, there must be a guy.”

“I don’t have time for guys,” You huffed, growing tired of his interrogation. “Look, either you’re going to read it or I’m going to fail. Either one, I’d just like a straight answer.”

“Woah,” He braced the edge of his desk, standing up sharply, “I am your professor. Show me a little respect.” He leaned on the desktop, his tongue poking out and running across his bottom lip as he stared you down. “Take off your jacket.”

“Why--” He raised his hand in a gesture for silence, tilting his head in warning.

“So far you’ve not been very convincing so why don’t you put some effort into it,” He smirked, “Jacket.” He snapped his fingers and you stared up at him and gripped the arms of the chair.

Your mouth opened and shut without a response and you slowly reached up to tug on your zipper, pulling it down as the sound ruffled your nerves. You let it fall open, revealing the grey shirt which barely concealed your nipples. He touched his shoulders, a silent order to remove it. You obeyed, the process awkward as you remained in the chair.

He watched every move and you realized his eyes had strayed from your face, quickly finding the thin fabric of your tee. “I like my students to be comfortable with me,” He methodically stepped around the desk, looking down on you as he came up behind you, “When you’re in my office, I want you to relax,” He gathered your hair in his hands, “And I want you to listen.” He tightened his grip on your locks and pulled your head back so you stared up at him. “I know that’s not one of your better skills.”

Your face burned at his words. It was true that you rarely paid attention in his lecture but it was for good reason. One of his hands snaked around, spreading across your throat as he bent down to speak into your ear. “So, do you think you can change my mind or should I just mark this as zero in the books?” You gulped as his lips grazed your cheek, his breath singing you.

“Wh-what do you want me to do?” You asked in a whisper.

“Ugh,” He groaned, standing as he kept hold of your hair, his other hand playing with the neckline of your tee shirt. “I’ve been asking myself that for the last month. What do I want you to do? Hell, what don’t I want you to do?”

You were shocked. You had been certain you had barely been noticed past the flock of fan girls and yet it seemed the center of attention had kept all of his on you. He knew you sat with Colton and that you never listened. Well, it was easy enough for you not to notice as you were often halfway through a breakdown over your latest assignment.

“First, I want you naked,” He tugged your hair before letting go entirely, stepping back. “Stand and turn around.”

You rose and did as he said, his arms crossed as he waited and watched. You undressed one piece at a time. Vans slipping off as easily as they were donned, jeans unbuttoned with trembling fingers, slid down your thighs, tee shirt messing your hair as you shivered, your panties the last of your defenses. You hesitated before rolling them down, his gaze glued to your breasts at you bent to remove them. Thus you stood before him, bare and desperate for that A. And maybe something more.

“Stay there,” He neared but you were surprised as he passed you. You stood stalk still, listening at the sound of rustling paper and little clicks and clacks. He returned to your view and looked you up and down, his mouth slanted in a lurid grin. “On the desk. Turn around and on all fours.”

“Okay,” You said feebly and made to turn but he caught your arm.

“Call me Professor,” He squeezed your arm before releasing you.

“Yes Professor,” You uttered as you spun around.

You neared the desk, setting your hands on the cleared wooden surface before willing yourself forward. With one leg up, you were already exposed. The next and you were on full display, steadying yourself on hands and knees. You could feel the cool air along your pussy as warmth settled there. Rough hands scared you as they ran the length of your thighs, kneading your ass and spreading your cheeks for a better look at your pussy. You shook and he purred in approval at your reaction.

He pressed against your ass, leaning his weight on you until you felt his lips along your folds teasing you before delving deeper. You gasped at the first taste, the tip of his tongue poking at your entrance, your arousal spilling forth. He ran the length of your sex until he flicked your clit, the twitch it elicited made him snicker into your flesh. He dragged his tongue along your clit again, grazing it over and over as you pelvis flinched unwillingly.

“Ah,” You hissed, trying not to moan though it felt so good. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You were letting your instructor eat you out for a grade. It was like some poorly produced erotica. You clung to the edge of the desk, pushing your back end high as the first whine escaped you, the buzzing blooming and spreading down your legs. Your thighs trembled as he grew more persistent, his tongue agile as it drew forth an orgasm. It had been almost a year since you had been pleasured by more than silicone.

Your breath was laboured as you fell to your elbows, reeling in the after waves. His hands snaked around your legs and pulled them back off the desk, your feet barely reaching the floor as you were bent over. You heard his fly followed by a sigh and a prod along your ass. He guided his tip along your skin until he reached your entrance, hovering there as his hand spread on your lower back. “Now it’s turn. What do you want me to do?”

You lifted your head, looking over your shoulder as reality broke through your haze. You pouted, mortified as you realized there was only one answer. “I…” You swallowed your nerves and forced out your voice, “I want you to fuck me, Professor.”

He smirked and pushed inside roughly, allowing you no resistance as he filled you entirely. He was bigger than you expected. You dropped your head down on your forearm as you let out a low growl. He thrust sharply, allowing a moment between each as you were jolted into the desk. His hand was still on your back, holding you down as he slid in and out. Your pussy thrummed and you murmured in delight as each thrust against your sensitive walls sent a thrill up your spine.

As his motion steadied and his thrust grew closer together, your hips crashed against the lip of his desk and he began to groan. His voice was foggy as he spoke, slapping your ass so that it stung. “Naughty girl,” *slap* “Handing in your paper late.” *slap* “I don’t give easy A’s in my class.” *slap* He gripped your hips, hammering into you as you helplessly bounced against the desk, a withdrawn moan rising as another orgasm shook you.

He pulled out of you, forcing you back and you stood on wobbly legs. He pushed on your shoulders until you relented and fell to your knees before him. You stared up at him, his cock hanging out of his open pants, the untucked tails of his shirt forming a v around the base. He looked to his length, reaching out to clamp your head between his hands and drew you close. “You gotta work hard if you want to pass,” He gristled as his tip slipped past your lips and you opened wider and wider with each inch.

As he entered your throat and met his limit, you slapped your palms against his thighs, gripping him as he led your mouth along his cock. You relaxed your jaw, keeping your tongue taut against his length as he bobbed your head up and down himself, his pelvis working just as hard as he fucked your face. Despite your gags, he did not relent, your nails digging into his flesh. He sank deeper than before as he groaned and you felt a sudden burst of warmth, his cum leaking down your throat as you did your best to swallow, afraid you would choke.

He didn’t remove himself until he was empty, the last drops of his cum and your saliva dripping down your chin. You leaned forward, holding yourself up on shaky arms. He put his cock back in his pants, zipped them up and tucked in his shirt. He knelt before you, his fingers on your chin as he forced you to look at him. “I’ll read it.” He smiled, his thumb rubbed your cheek as you panted at him wordlessly, “Five percent docked for late submission.”

#dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!fic #one shot #request #fic #fairladymorgana #mcu #marvel

[helenarasmussen87]

Writing Asks

This the post where I know no one is going to ask me anyway.

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Something that is like a “Oh hey, what happens if we do THIS!” and go from there. Usually ends up having loads of emotions, comfort, angst, introspection, loads of kitchen sink dialogues, not too much action. Families, happy endings.

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Fluffy stuff and humourous stuff. I am a little too serious for either one and my humour is drier than the desert and very odd. So no.

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

Teacher and Student relationships. Necrophilia, abuse of all sorts, underage. Just not my thing. I’ve gotten unable to stomach a lot of grimdark and super dark stuff as I get older so I won’t write it. But go ahead if that’s your thing.

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Two, since I can’t have more than two on the burner. Learned THAT early on and they’re Terror AU’s One is a fixit, but with health complications and angst. The other is a Modern Day AU which has two professors falling in love after one gets injured and the other worked as an EMT and helps to take care of him and they fall in love.

5. Share one of your strengths.

I can offer insights on what flows and what doesn’t. I can also happily shred my own drafts if they don’t work. 

6. Share one of your weaknesses.

Action. I work at it, but it’s not my favourite. Or war writing. 

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“Danny had to turn his head away to hide his smile, because he knew that it was a legitimate concern for Jose. Most of the time, he had jumped into bed with his partners first and then did the mating dance. 

Although extremely smart in other aspects, dating and social interactions were always a bit skewed, because he was always second-guessing himself and nervous as hell.

“That’s actually how things work out in these situations. At least it did for me and my ex and for me and Claude.” Danny explained calmly, making Jose nod and take another pull of his slurpee.

“So what do I do? Like is there a time when I bring up the possibility of us sleeping together?” Jose asked, the words slightly mumbled as he chewed on the straw.

“You don’t bring it up. You’ll just know when the time is right for it to happen. Sex isn’t what a relationship should be built on. Yes, it’s nice and it’s part of it, but it’s not the end all to be all. Trust me on this. It will happen if it’s meant to happen.” Danny explained, hoping that he had put it all in the plainest and simplest terms he could for his friend.

I am proud of this because it was majorly borrowing from life and I can see the difference from earlier writing. 

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“Sergio laughed shortly. “I’ve already done enough of that, and look at where it’s gotten you. Yeah, legally I hold claim over you. I could make the club buy out your contract and sit at home all day, having litter after litter.”

Iker’s blood froze at that and he turned to look at Sergio to see if he really meant it, but Sergio’s face gave nothing away.

“Or I could sign your rights to the club and let them sell you wherever or to whomever. Take you out of Spain, or sell you to Getafe or Malaga. All of these things I could do. The club actually did bring it up at that meeting you didn’t show up for.”

Iker blinked, his hands going numb as Sergio’s wickedly honed words hit home.

“I’m not telling you this to hurt you. Or make you feel indebted. I’m telling this to you because you’re this close to losing your spot and that’s the last thing I want for you. But there’s only so much I can do for you.”

He sighed and looked at Iker dead in the eyes.

“I miss him too, Iker. I miss Antonio every fucking day. And I miss you.”

Iker swallowed hard as Sergio abruptly turned and left, slamming the front door and freeing him from the command so suddenly that Iker fell onto the couch and curled up in it.

He had no energy to do anything else. Not when he was all too aware he’d fucked up and fucked up big and needed to fix it.

Borrowed from life again and it was more of a dialogue that needed to be had when you finally realize how much you fucked up and how much you need to stop coasting and make it right. 

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

ALL OF THEM! Kidding. I want to say the one I’m working on right now. I was lucky enough I got a ton of help fleshing it out. I can see the end of the 1st chapter and I am having a hell of a time writing Goodsir’s chunk. He’s turned out more emo and romantic than I was expecting. 

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

The QuiObi prompts for the prompt week. Took me like two hours to knock them off and post. 

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

Its a passion and a hobby. It helped me through a lot of rough patches and keeps me sane. 

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Mostly music or a change in life. I tend to write when everything is in flux with me.

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Just write. Worry about editing later. Once you have something on the paper, fixing it up becomes easier. 

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Edit as you write. You don’t get anything done.

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Oooh. I think it’s a toss up between my Qui-Gon/Jango fic in a pastoral setting where they have put their pasts behind and are farmers on Concord Dawn. Or the Werewolf fic I wrote during my RPF phase.

16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Bloody hard. I would have to say Fitzier (Commander Fitzjames/Captain Crozier)

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Depends. Sometimes I go straight from beginning to end and sometimes I end up writing the middle and not figuring it out until later.

18. Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

Outlines. I have notebooks I jot down point form notes about the characters and the plot.

18. Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

Mine is a librarian or an alchemist trying to figure out answers and how things fit in.

19. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

A good playlist. Alone, in my room.

20. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

I revise it along the way when I sit down to write. Then before I post, I give it a once over to make sure it flows and makes sense. 

21. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).

All my old fics are honestly gone so I’m skipping this one. 

22. If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

Honestly? The Duo and Heero one I wrote about them being in an abusive relationship where they split up, then got back together again. I was again writing from life, and I have seen couples who did overcome it, but looking back, I think I should have written it that they separated and went their own ways. 

Keep in mind I was very young when I wrote this, and I was in an abusive relationship myself and didn’t realise it at the time. He hit me once, apologised and never did it again. But he did end up manipulating me, gaslighting me, and emotionally abusing me until I finally had enough and left. 

23. Have you ever deleted one of your published fics?

Yes. Loads of them due to me not wanting to finish them. Or the hosting sites going under. 

24. What do you look for in a beta?

Someone who is honest, someone who knows the way I write, and has suggestions to fix those said things. But someone who is themselves is the best. Because they know what they want. Same here. 

25. Do you beta yourself? If so, what kind of beta are you?

I do, simply due to lack of steady betas. Flow and story telling, but I also look for syntax and formatting as well as grammar. I will miss typos, so I run spell-check too. I mostly use a mental rubric. Teacher training.

26. How do you feel about collaborations?

I haven’t had a successful one due to the second person always deciding that they can’t follow through or up and disappearing. So I don’t do them.

27. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Oh my God! I read so much and so many different people that I can’t pinpoint three. I usually end up reading a fic or two, so I can’t say why I read the author.

28. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

I haven’t done that. I do admit to having inspired by fics. I wouldn’t ever presume to do that. It just feels like a snub.

29. Do you accept prompts?

Not really. I can’t tailor write stuff consistently. 

30. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

Oh always! I end up liking the characters that somehow never make it until the end. And in the Terror, unless you want to write angst all the time, you HAVE to ignore canon. And I mean BOTH the book and the show, since the book is nasty. The show is amazing, but oh my god is it depressing.

31. How do you feel about smut?

Yes damned please!

32. How do you feel about crack?

Depends on how well it’s done. Sometimes it is needed. Sometimes it’s like “Why?”

33. What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

A bit tricky. I don’t mind non-con, but it has to be handled well. Dub-con, especially in A/B/O happens within context and it is usually dealt with. So I can tolerate that more than the first. Outright abuse, no.

34. Would you ever kill off a canon character?

Yes. Not often thought. But yes. I usually try and keep as many alive as I can though.

35. Which is your favorite site to post fic?

AO3, its a wild place and I love it for that reason.

36. Talk about your current wips.

It’s an AU where two professors that live in the same building and work in different faculties get thrown together and start to get to know each other. Due to circumstance, one gets injured and the other kind of volunteers to help take care of him, where they fall in love. The others in the vicinity do also. There’s Canadian shenanigans and baking. 

37. Talk about a review that made your day.

That they really liked how I wrote Frank Randall and would like to see more with his son, an OC I created for the story.

38. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

I either delete, or give a generic reply and leave it. I’ve got stuff to do.

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

Nope. It just doesn’t work for me.

*somewhere I fucked up on the number but here you are*

Whoever wants to do this.

#about the author #asks #memes

[spideesenses]

Forbidden Fruit → Peter Parker

pairing: fratboy!peter x reader

warnings: swearing. use of alcohol. fluff!

prompt: he was desired by many but wanted you.

The probability that you’d be at a college party on a Friday night over studying? It wasn’t likely. Now, the same situation with a very persuasive friend? Consider it done because here you were, fishing through crowds of fratboys and sorority girls to find her, the one you came with. You were annoyed to the fullest because your only condition to Bella was that she wouldn’t leave your side. And she lied. Now you knew not to trust her. Actually, you been knowing that. So this was on you.

You tried not to step on any toes, muttering apologies as your attempts failed. Not that they minded, they were too fucked up to notice.

“Bella!” you shouted, gently grabbing her arm before she could escape from your vision. She wasn’t hard to miss anyway, she had bright orange hair.

“Oh hey Y/N! Did you want a drink?” she handed you her red solo cup. “It’s just jungle juice, taste it!” while you were weary, you were also relieved that you had found her. You took a sip of the drink, blinking a few times in surprise.

“This has alcohol in it?” you were shocked. All you could taste was juice. You noticed the limes and strawberries floating around. Bella nodded her head.

“I know right? Gage makes such great drinks. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” Bella tugged at your hand, pulling you through the dancing bodies. You wondered how the house wasn’t foggy from the body heat, maybe the AC was on?

Bella moved quickly, swiveling in between bodies and dodging dance moves. You however weren’t so lucky and ran into a wall, Bella’s drink splashing all over your stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” okay, maybe not a wall.

“No, it’s cool.” you rose on your tiptoes to relocate Bella who’d clearly not noticed losing you.

“Here, I can show you the bathroom. If you wait too long, it’ll stain.” the voice muttered again. Your eyes quickly flickered to him. You could barely make out his facial features. It was a black light party for fucksake.

“U-uh, sure?” you cursed yourself for being so willing. He gestured for you to follow him, moving slowly through the thick crowd. It was easy to navigate behind him, his curly brown hair standing out.

You shut the door behind you, the mysterious man waiting right outside the door. Running straight to the sink, you turned on the faucet and let it run before pulling off your shirt. You tried dabbing the material, hoping for the stain to move out of your shirt. You cursed under your breath, no progress.

“Jesus,” a voice called as the door shut. Your eyes widened, you hadn’t even heard the door open. You were met with the boy from outside- er, who was now in the bathroom. His reaction seemed to match yours as he quickly turned around to face the corner. “Fuck, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you had your shirt off, the hallway just got a little crowded.” his cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

“N-no, it’s okay!” you stammered, still quite shocked. “I actually uh, made the mistake wearing a white shirt. It’s stained.” you couldn’t help but nervously laugh.

“I, can lend you my flannel? It’s the least I could do, it’s my fault your shirt is stained.” the brunette offered.

“You don’t have to do that, I ran into you.” but he was already sliding off his blue flannel, holding it out behind him, not wanting to disturb your privacy. You stood behind him, pulling the material from his hands as you pulled your arms through. You buttoned up the middle buttons and tied the strands at the bottom, so it’d at least be intact, leaving your chest exposed to avoid swoob. “Thank you.” you said softly, scaring the boy. He hadn’t realized you were this close.

“I’m Peter.” he told you, peaking over his shoulder, seeing you were finally situated.

“Y/N, sorry again, for all of this.” you stammered.

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for. And, I know who you are. We have American Literature together.” Peter was just as flustered as you were. The way you’d styled his flannel made him sweat. You definitely had worn it better. The top of your chest was slightly exposed. You looked stunning.

“Oh shit, we do?” you blinked a couple times, leaning in as you recognized his face. “Oh shit, we do! Well, uh, it’s nice to finally meet you.” you flushed.

“Do you uh, wanna get a drink with me?” he couldn’t deny how yummy you looked. He didn’t even try to hide it, he was gnawing on his bottom lip right in front of you. You couldn’t help but bat your lashes innocently as you nodded your head, pushing your way out of the bathroom. And Peter followed you like a lost puppy.

You didn’t go home with him that night. He was the youngest in his fraternity, and that made him weary of other people’s intentions. He was untouchable. That was what he was known for. It’s what made him lusted over. Unlike his brothers in Alpha Kappa Psi, he was more reserved. That didn’t mean he hated partying, oh no, he loved to party. His intentions with women and men were different from his brothers.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go out tonight?” Bella frowned as she’d seen you pick up your laptop for the fourth time that night.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I have to write an essay, it’s due this on Tuesday and I haven’t even started the rough draft.” that was half a lie. You started a small portion of the first draft, but you were still way behind. And your essay was due the following weekend.

“You’re such a buzzkill,” Bella commented, letting you roll your eyes. “Don’t wait up, okay?” you nodded your head in response. You could hear the door moving to shut. “Oh hey-“

“This is where I can find Y/N, right?” the soft voice murmured. You perked up a bit, eyes not leaving your screen as you typed.

“Y-yeah,” Bella was shocked for words, jutting her thumb back, letting the man push through your room.

“Hey,” Peter’s voice made your eyes flicker up. He sported a black v-neck and a pair of blue and yellow sweats, repping his fraternity while silver chain hung around his neck. He looked gorgeous, not to mention, he didn’t do much with his hair; instead of it being nicely slicked back, his curls were tousled around.

“Peter, what are you doing here?” you sat up as he pushed your door shut. You happened to look just as beautiful. You wore a lavender bralette, outlined with lace, a pair of yoga pants and Peter’s flannel. You had it completely unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up. He didn’t make checking you out discreet at all.

“Your sorority sisters let me in the house and said your room was up here,” Peter said sheepishly with a blush. “I wanted to see if you were okay. I didn’t see you in American Lit today.”

“Yeah, I emailed Rostershire about today and he said he had everyone work on their essays. I asked him if I could work on it in my room because it was my only class and I’m super behind.” you rambled, standing up as you set your laptop aside. “You were worried?”

“Y-yeah, of course. I walked you to your place one night, and then I don’t see you the next day?” the brunette was flustered, thinking you were demanding an explanation. But you were just thinking out loud. His whole face flushed when you gazed at him with a small smile. He was different when he was sober, more shy and introverted.

“Shame you didn’t have my number to text me to see if I was okay,” you playfully flirted.

“Well, it’s not completely a shame. I got to see you, didn’t I?” and maybe his game wasn’t too shabby either. He was oblivious that he was flirting; believe it or not, he was pretty suave.

The next day, Peter showed up at the front of your porch, waiting for you. He wanted to walk you to class. It surprised you to say the least, you weren’t expecting him to be this... interested in you.

Winter rolled around and he still followed you around. And he didn’t make bold advances either. They were simple and small, they made you so warm that you could melt the snow. Like one morning, you were shivering your ass off as you walked through the snow. Yeah, you were bundled up for the weather, but you’d always been sensitive to the cold. Peter tugged the beanie off his head and pulled it over yours, making sure to cover your ears. The gesture alone had melted the icicles forming over your cheeks. It wasn’t long before you started returning them. Grabbing his hands and stuffing them in the pockets of your hoodie, your smaller, warmer hands gripping onto his colder ones. It was about halfway through December and winter break was just around the corner, everyone at school knew you and Peter were a thing. His frat brothers would give him shif about being tied down too early, having not experienced life. Peter was just fine by your side though, he didn’t have eyes for anyone else, he was too enamored with you and learning about you to be bothered with someone else.

“So, my brothers are throwing a party on Friday. I was wondering if you wanted to go as my date.” Peter was a bit hesitant to ask you. He knew parties weren’t exactly your thing. He had to go to parties without you (you insisted), and while he had a good time, he missed the feeling of your skin.

“Okay.” you said without blinking. Peter waited for a ‘but’, yet it never came.

“Wait really?”

“Yeah, I finished my last final today. I think I can handle some fun.”

“YEAHHH!” a scream blew through your ears as a boy from another frat had passed you, running around with his shirt off.

The second you stepped in, Peter’s eyes were stuck on you. He wasn’t the only one. You wore a pearl blue bodycon dress; you looked classy, yet ready to party. Suddenly, Peter’s frat brothers understood why he was only interested in you.

“Hi baby,” you had stumbled on the last few steps to Peter. You already smelled like alcohol, you must’ve pregamed with Bella. You were also overly affectionate (with words and touches), not that he complained.

“Hi Y/N, you look stunning,” he tucked your hair behind your ear. Peter really got a good look at you. The thick diamond choker lined your neck perfectly, it sparkled at every angle, if you didn’t have everyone’s attention when you walked in, you were sure to now. Your hair was pulled up into a ponytail, not wanting it to be a bother when you went dancing.

“Me? Have you seen yourself? Baby, you’re looking fine.” there it was again. The little petname that sent him over the roof. He wasn’t sure if he’d missed something or it was because you were drunk, he liked hearing it anyway. He sported a black button up with tiny white dots scattered everywhere. He left the top button undone, mostly for you. The silver chain didn’t go missing with this look, as well as an apple watch, rich boy things. He wore black jeans to match. He stuck by you the entire time. Even though it was you following him around, he let you hold his hand or grab his bicep.

Peter actually handled liquor pretty well. There wasn’t ever a moment in which you questioned if he was sober. You, on the other hand, were making up for the time lost spending time studying and aceing every single final thrown your direction. You weren’t shitfaced, thank god not yet, but you were not sober; you were at the sweet spot of drunkenness, where you were so comfortably drunk, you wouldn’t even have a hangover. So you stopped the drinks from there.

“Peter,” you frowned, leaning against his arm as you two took the loveseat. He immediately stopped conversing with friends to give you his attention.

“Angel,” he said back.

“C-can I hold your hand? Mine feel lonely.” you made grabby hands for extra effect. Peter couldn’t help but grin at your cheesiness, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers together. He kissed your knuckles, noting how soft your hands were compared to his.

Peter held your hand the entire night, when introducing you to his friends, when grabbing you a water. If he let go, it was only for a brief second. You were just as needy for affection as he was and he was down for it.

“Peter?” you called out again. Once again, he finished his sentence and glanced at you. You were worried that you were interrupting his conversation, so instead of using words, you hugged him, stuffing your arms under his. He could feel the contrast between his warm arms and your slightly colder ones. He could hear you hum in satisfaction. He held you with one arm wrapped around your waist and the other holding his rum and coke. He let you tangle your fingers with his jewelry.

Peter was the forbidden fruit, everyone knew that at this point. He didn’t like hooking up and was even hesitant about making friends, it’s what made him the most lusted for man on campus. He wasn’t oblivious to that fact, it made him more timid and aware of everyone’s intentions. For the first time in months, a girl had approached him. Months because everyone knew who you were to him, even if it wasn’t official, you were his girl and that was that. You recognized her. She was in your communications class, her name was Bianca. You weren’t sure if she was blind or just bold. She openly flirted with Peter, anyone who couldn’t hear the conversation could tell. The hair twirl, the smile and giggle, all of it. Right in front of you as you were curled up in his chest. Bold, she was. Peter was polite though, not giving into the flirting and not being rude. You were waiting for the moment she realized you were there. Or maybe she knew, she was just being ignorant. You were itching to make your presence known.

“Well, I’m actually here on a scholarship. I happen to be really good at basketball.” Peter explained.

“Oh yeah, I know, I’ve come to games to see you play. Are you teaching any classes or anything? On basketball, I mean, I’d really love to get into it.” Bianca shamelessly flirted. Peter didn’t know how to respond. You were annoyed, but he was in complete shock that she’d flirt with him in front of you. Was this how girls were?

“W-well, I-“ you gripped his jaw with one hand, your other hand tightly gripping his shirt as you tugged his jaw in for a kiss. It was spellbinding, tasting the plump lips he’d been daydreaming about for almost an eternity. He’d watched you speak with your hands for months now, but his attention were always on your mouth. Your lips were perfect in comparison to his thinner ones. Peter’s hand caressed your side, pulling you close to him. There was no one else but you.

When you pulled away, his eyes were still shut, his mouth slightly ajar as he slowed his breathing. When he opened his eyes, you couldn’t help but beam at him. Those were the brown eyes you were head over heels for. Bianca was long gone at this point. She was embarrassed and scurried away.

“Let me guess, your lips were cold?” Peter slyly grinned as he snickered at your scrunched up face. You could only shake your head and giggle, nuzzling your face in his neck.

“No, you just looked cute.”

“Baby, I am just your reflection.”

#also: i wrote the first half and then i went thru like a depression n then continued on w the second half #sorry it it’s all over the place :( #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #alia writes

[randompony03]

The Kiss of A Fairy Chapter 1: The Boy With Wings

Hey guys! I got this new fic I’m working on. It’s a lot better than the few I’ve posted here before, I promise. So, yeah. We got Logan, a normal high school student, who finds out there may be a bit more magic in his life than he wanted or bargained for. totally not based off of @fangirltothefullest ‘s amazing fae AU or anything-

Ships: Logicality, background prinxiety

Logan was a normal kid. Well, as normal as the smartest kid in school could be. He got good grades, always had an answer ready when a teacher called on him, and had received more medals than anyone else in debate. He liked to keep to himself, but he was by no account lonely. He had Roman and Virgil to ensure that.

Virgil had been friends with Logan since they were young. He had just shown up in the middle of the year during kindergarten. While the teacher was introducing him, he and Logan wouldn’t stop staring at each other. The two became fast friends, which was nice since they both had troubles making friends before, and even after meeting each other. That lasted until 8th grade decided to roll around.

Roman transferred to their middle school. Logan and Virgil met him and decided they hated him. He fought with both of them constantly. Despite this, they were stuck at the same table during science and consistently partnered together for history group projects. This had lead to them finally accepting each other. They learned to communicate better rather than resorting to name-calling and snarky remarks. Virgil and Roman still had trouble seeing eye to eye even after they settled down, but many long talks helped cure that. They grew very close after that, close enough for Logan to tease them about it. Soon enough, as Logan saw coming a mile away, fondness grew to love and the two of them were dating by their freshman year of high school. Life was simple but nice for them.

Logan now stood at the bus stop, his binder in hand. He could feel sleep beginning to sag under his eyes. He hadn’t counted on his after-school debate tournament to take so much out of him. Thankful for the cool night air, he closed his eyes to fully experience it. The sound of approaching feet pulled him back to reality. He opened his eyes and turned to see Roman and Virgil hand in hand. Roman had traces of green face paint on his light brown skin, while Virgil looked perfectly content. Lucky bastard only stayed after school for Anime Club. “We didn’t keep you out here alone for too long, did we?” Logan shook his head. “No, the tournament ended only a short while ago.” Roman relaxed at the statement. “Thank God. Dress rehearsal took longer than usual today.”

Roman and Logan droned on into the evening about what they went through that day while Virgil only snickered. Eventually, the bus arrived and the three boys boarded. They talked and laughed during the trip, then Roman had to leave. He quickly kissed Virgil good-bye before standing to exit the bus. After he was gone, Virgil and Logan were left to quietly chat until their stop came into view. Virgil quickly thanked the bus driver before stepping off and following Logan to their apartment building. They walked together to the second floor and bid each other good-night before Logan continued to the third.

Once in his room, Logan pulled out his Chromebook and began typing up a rough draft for a narrative for his English class. He wasn’t always the best with writing stories, even if they were from his own life. He figured he could have Roman look over it tomorrow. Asking for help had been a difficult task all Logan’s life, but once Roman stepped in and stubbornly insisted on looking over Logan’s writing it became a little easier. After a few moments of typing, he leaned back to think over how to phrase the next few sentences. That was when he noticed a figure dashing through the street to the trees across from the apartment. Standing up and leaning in close to the glass revealed the figure to be Virgil. Logan groaned and closed his Chromebook. What sort of mischief was that friend of his getting into now? He slid his window open and slipped through onto the fire escape. Rushing down, he carefully jumped to the ground beneath him. Once his feet made contact with the grass he bolted off after Virgil.

“Virgil!”, he whisper-shouted, “What the hell are you doing?” His question seemed to blow away in the night air when no response came. Logan batted away branches and leaves as he continued head-on into the forest. After it felt like he was truly lost, Logan caught a glimpse of Virgil, but he seemed different. His ears were long and pointed, and there were small horns poking out from his head. He took off his shirt and OH GOD. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. WERE THOSE WINGS? As Logan continued to run forward, thousands of questions swam around his mind distracting him from the outside world. He ran smack into a particularly wide tree.

When Logan came to it was daylight. He squinted at the sunshine stabbing through the leaves above him. He slowly sat up and brushed himself off. Some of the dirt stayed on his clothes, but at least he could get all the leaves off. He was about to stand when he heard a small yawn near him. Freezing in place, Logan turned his head to see the source of the sound. Some kid with strawberry-blonde hair decorated with a flower crown, an elaborate layered dress and a set of iridescent wings sat with their back turned to him. They stretched their arms up into the air before swiveling around to see Logan. A freckly face with a pair of glasses composed of what seemed to be rose gold and twigs sitting on it stared at him. They turned all the way around so their front was facing Logan as a grin spread across their face. Judging by body shape alone, Logan figured they might be a boy. “Oh good, you’re awake!” the boy in the dress said excitedly, clapping his hands together. Logan only stared back, mouth agape. The winged boy cocked his head at him, still smiling. There was a curious glint in his eyes.

Suddenly, he dashed forward on hand and knee. He stopped a mere few centimeters from Logan’s face. Logan found his cheeks to be heating up. The other boy grabbed each side of his face, turning it this way and that. “I’ve never met a human before.” he chirped, using his thumb to push Logan’s upper lip to expose his teeth. Logan had never felt so violated of his personal space, and yet so unwanting to do something about it. The other boy gasped. “Look how flat your teeth are!” He giggled, the sound of it comparable to bells. He pulled away placing his hands in his lap. A grin full of pointy teeth spread on his face. A shiver ran up Logan’s spine. “I’m Patton by the way. What’s your name?” The boy in the dress asked. Logan blinked a few times and just barely choked out, “L...Logan.” Patton seemed to be processing the name. “Logan? Logan. LoganLoganLogan.” he tried it on his own tongue, becoming more delighted the more he said it, “Logan! I love it!” he giggled his bell giggle once more and happily fluttered his wings. Logan’s face burned. He never really thought anyone would be this enchanted with his name. “Thank you..” he mumbled, “Uh if you don’t mind, would you tell me something?” He asked. Patton beamed. “Of course Logan!” He leaned forward a bit to signal that he was listening. “What are you?” Logan's eyes wandered to Patton’s wings. “I’m a fae! More specifically a fairy!” Patton answered. Logan held the side of his head. This kid either had to be insane or a figment of his imagination, no way was he a real fairy. “Would you answer a question for me now?” Patton asked, leaning forward more now. “Oh, uh, sure?” Logan agreed. “What’s your full name?” A gust of cold wind blew through the leaves. There was something about that question that didn’t sit quite right with Logan. If it had been anyone else, he would have out-right refused, but something about Patton made him feel like a powerful figure of natural authority. The bespectacled human felt like there would be unpleasant consequences for not answering the question. “Logan Farhan Berry.” A large toothy grin spread across Patton’s face. Logan had a feeling that was a bad sign. He, admittedly, didn’t know a whole lot about fairies, but he knew enough to know that they were dangerous and not at all like Tinkerbell.

Patton shot up and danced happily around the forest floor. He hummed in satisfaction as he twirled around Logan, reaching out to lightly hold up the human’s face every now and then. Logan had never felt more lost then he did right now. “Come dance with me, Logan! Don’t you want to celebrate?” Patton asked, tugging at Logan’s arm. “Celebrate what?” he asked, allowing Patton to pull him to his feet. The fairy pressed his back to Logans front and had him place his arms around him. “Celebrate our romantic bond of course!” Patton answered dreamily, nuzzling into Logan’s chest. By now, Logan’s face was as red as a tomato. “Wh-What do you mean, ‘romantic bond’?” he asked barely above a whisper. Patton spun out of his arms and faced Logan with a bright smile. “You gave me your full name! You’re my lover now, Logan Farhan Berry!” For a moment Logan thought he was going to collapse due to all the blood in his body rushing to his head then draining out in such a short amount of time.

 So THAT’S why Patton had seemed so excited at the idea of Logan giving him his name. Logan still couldn’t fully process the fact that he had seemed charming enough that a fairy had asked for his full name to be in a romantic relationship with him. Patton was very handsome, probably due to him being a fairy, but Logan wasn’t sure he wanted to start a relationship with him. Or anyone for that matter. He wasn’t exactly in tune with his feeling 100% of the time, that includes romantic attraction.

“Patton?” came a voice from behind some nearby trees. Logan swore he knew that voice, but he was so out of it he couldn’t pinpoint how. A hand placed itself on the side of a tree in front of them. A round face with a head of purple hair and small horns followed after. The piercing green eyes with the dark eye makeup around them finally clicked in Logan’s memory. “Patton, where did you go last night?” Virgil asked, stepping out more. Patton’s face lit up. “Virgil! Come meet my betrothed,” he wrapped his arms around Logan’s and pulled him into view, “Logan!” The human and the fairy half hidden by trees staring, bug-eyed at each other. “Virgil?!” “Logan?!” They called out in surprise and confusion to each other.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logicality #prinxiety #fae #fairy #thankyoufangirltothefullestforbeingyou

[heytheregreeneyes]

How come you gave up on 'Something Just Like This'? I loved that fic

So here’s the thing...

I haven’t given up on Something Just Like This. I actually still love that fic dearly and very much intend to finish it (and I need to do it soon before Tyler steals all of my ideas like he did with Jenna’s pregnancy reveal *shakes fist at Tyler*).

As you all know, this past year I hadn’t felt much like writing and I couldn’t figure out why... until the other night at work. I was sitting at my desk, staring off into space and thinking about dialogue for the current chapter when it hit me like a freight train why I haven’t been writing. I had had an epiphany!

My eyes literally got wide as I sat straight up, gasped and literally said “Oh my God,” out loud. It was so obvious, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. And the first thing I did was text @ohfrickfanfic (who agrees with me), even tho it was somewhere around 3:25 in the morning. So if you wanna hear the story behind the fic, buckle in kids, cause it’s gonna be a long one, and it’s gonna get deep.

So as you all know, I started writing Something Just Like This in July of 2017. I was 4 months pregnant with my 3rd surrobaby, who was due in December on Christmas Eve. I was writing as fast as my fingers could fly and was banging out chapters probably once a week. Sometimes twice.  

December 12, 2017 - SURROBABY IS BORN! After this, chapters obviously slowed down so that I could pump milk and get my life back to somewhat normal again.

Six months later, in June of 2018, I finally reached the end of my six-month contract for pumping breastmilk for Surrobaby #3 and I started working at my current job at the hospital. I am a CNA and it just so happens that this hospital is where all the surrogate babies were born IRL. I have been super lucky and I now work in that very department, which is where I have wanted to work all my life!  Serious life goals, guys. But as you all know, nurses work insane shifts and long hours. I work overnights, 13 hours at a time, and so writing slowed down even more since I was now working my first job outside of the home in about 9 years. For the next few months, chapters are still being posted, but much more slowly.  

Things are moving along great... I’m still writing, albeit a bit more slowly, but chapters are still being posted 

April 2018 comes and my grandpa dies... my emotions took a huge hit. I had grown up very close to my grandpa and I couldn’t write happy things when I was in such a sad place. It was rough. 

Writing slows even more over the summer, but I am still writing, still posting, still planning, still rough drafting, still plotting scenes, and still writing dialogue.

September 2, 2018 - I meet HIM. I don’t want to give out his real name, so we’ll just call him William. I will never ever forget that night. I wasn’t even supposed to be at work that night; it was my night off but they had sent out a text that they needed help, so I picked up an extra shift. Around midnight I got a call that they needed me to pass off my patients so that I could go down to the ER and be a 1:1 for a patient suffering a panic attack. I gather up my things, head down to the ER, get my assignment, go to his room, and...

That was that. He had been sobbing and when he looked up and saw me, he suddenly took one last big breath and stopped crying. He calmed. We got to talking over the course of the night and it was like we had known each other for millennia. We were immediately comfortable with each other, had each other's sense of humor, shared similar life experiences, you name it. This was the night I met my best friend.

He was still hardcore in the middle of a panic attack and didn’t like to be touched, but somehow I was allowed to touch. He openly admits to how much he despises hospitals and no one was allowed in the room, but somehow was calm when I was there. Do you believe in fate? Cause I do.

A week goes by and we now are either talking/texting/video chatting/instant messaging all day and all night, about anything and everything. Our phone calls go on for HOURS and often would end up talking all through the night. Turns out that he has severe anxiety and hasn’t left his house in over two years. Neither of us could believe how quickly we connected and bonded, but the new friendship was a blessing for him and me both. Because of his anxiety and tendency to call/text/message me if a panic attack hit, he earned his own ringtone, text notification sound, and custom volume so that if he called or texted in the middle of the night, or if I was out in a busy area, it would wake me up or ring loud enough so that I could stop and answer. 

September 18, 2018 - Two weeks after meeting William, my world gets turned upside down. I lose my mom. She was only 52 years old and died very unexpectedly from sudden liver death. I was DEVASTATED.  William was there for me throughout the whole thing, something I didn’t expect since we had just met barely two weeks earlier. In fact, one of the last things my mom ever said to me was “make sure you take care of that sweet boy”. I’ll never forget it. 

After my mom died I didn’t feel like writing for a long time. Again, it’s hard to write happy things when you feel so sad and shocked. 

So this past year goes by and things level to a norm. William’s depression and anxiety waxes and wanes. We’d hang out in person at his house sometimes, mostly just making fun of each other and enjoying each other’s company. We still talk and text multiple times every day, and had gotten into a habit of sleeping while on the phone.

Then mid-October this year, something changed. We still do all of our normal stuff but he had started to say that he hated not being able to leave his house, hated the way he felt, hated not being able to do stuff, felt like a failure and a coward, etc. All things he has said before, but this time was just hitting him so much worse.

The night of October 22nd is when things really changed. To me, that’s the day I had breast reduction surgery, but that’s also the day communication between us stopped. He stopped calling, he stopped texting, we no longer messaged or chatted on discord... He was gone. 

Let me tell you that this felt exactly like another death. How could I lose someone I was so close to? Did I say something wrong, did I do something wrong, did I make him feel bad, did I scare him somehow... all these questions were running thru my head, constantly, throughout the days.

One night I texted him that we needed to talk so he called and sort of, got onto me. He said that I did nothing wrong, that I didn’t say or do anything, that he just couldn’t handle things very well at the moment and he would see texts but just didn’t have it in him to reply. He lacked the energy to call and carry on a conversation. didn’t want to do anything but be by himself. He told me that he loves me and that he misses me, but this is just how it gets sometimes. it just be like that.  

I understood. Depression fucking sucks and it just sucks the soul right out of you sometimes. I was there for him but right now, he just needed alone time... something he hadn’t required in over a year... and something I definitely was not used to. 

So there I sit this past Saturday night at work, thinking about my fic and writing dialogue in my head like I had been the last few weeks when it hits me. 

‘Oh my God,’ I thought to myself. ‘I just figured out why I write fic and why I had stopped for a bit... until now.’   

IT FILLS A HOLE OF LONELINESS AND LONGING!

I texted @ohfrickfanfic and she replied, “you were lacking male attention so you made up for it by writing fic but then you met William and he filled the void but now he’s not giving you as much attention so you feel you need to fill that void again.”

I’ll be damned if she’s not 100% right. I had love. I had someone who loved me, someone who genuinely cared about me and for me, asked how I was, loved my family, wanted to know what I was up to, took interest in my life, valued my opinions, asked my advice and took it to heart, called me his, called me pet names, gave me hugs and kissed my forehead. 

When it suddenly stopped, ngl I cried quite a few times. I was heartbroken. I went into my own depression and that is when I got the want to start writing again. I’ve always wanted to write and finish SJLT, but now the urge is there. 

Things are slowly getting better. He calls every now and then... more often all the time. He teases me and texts sometimes and sends me messages on snapchat, just not NEARLY as often as before. It’s been over a month since I’ve seen his face and I hate it, but I can see my best friend slowly coming back to life. It’s tough because I miss him so fucking much, but he’s coming around and trying to battle his anxiety. 

As far as the fic goes, I NEVER gave up on Something Just Like This and it WILL be a finished fic if it kills me. As it stands now, there are only about 3-4 more chapters to go before the fic is finished, and I would like to get it out before the new year... again, before Tyler Joseph steals all of my ideas that I’ve had planned for Josh for over two years. *shakes another fist at Tyler*

I really do appreciate all of you sticking with me and the fic for this long. Allowing me to grieve the loss of my loved ones and asking for updates on the fic... it lets me know that you like it and that my work is wanted.

I won’t let you down. 

#something just like this #fanfiction #fanfic #josh dun x reader #encoreo #reader-insert #reader insert #fan fiction #depression #anxiety #about me #update

[the-outcast-in-the-back]

Perfectionist ( Brian May x Reader)

A/N: So I decided to write this little College Brian May fic because I had a very similar experience to this and also when I get back from Winter Break I have finals. So for anyone in the same perfectionist boat here is this.

Summary: The reader is really stressed out with one of her professors that doesn’t really do their job right. This leads to her wanting her paper to be perfect so that she can attempt to make a good grade on her final. Brian finds her frustrated and decides that she won’t take help willingly, so he comes up with a plan.

Warnings: Stress, swearing, mentions of testing anxiety, perfectionism, and Fluff!

~

You let out another groan of annoyance. You had been trying to write this paper for hours, but for some reason you couldn’t. Your english professor had given you a paper to write about Shakespeare’s work. It wasn’t anything too difficult, just some analysis work. But the part that annoyed you the most was that she never really read the papers. For some people that was okay with them, but for you it was the most annoying thing in the world. You’re a perfectionist, you always had been.

You thought that teachers would actually care and want there jobs once you were in college but here you are again with people who probably didn’t really want to be teachers. The worst part was that you loved Shakespeare and understood it fine, but there was nothing useful you got on your rough draft. You found many mistakes that were marked by the professor that you had gotten right originally. There was also a peer edit session and no offense to your class, but you didn’t trust a single one of them to look at your paper. A girl the other week asked what alliteration was. How they made it this far in life you had not idea. You wanted to earn your grade, but it’s hard to do that when no one cares. To add to your stress finals were approaching fast and this was a unit that would appear on the final.

So you just sat in your dorm reading and re-reading everything completely lost wondering what you should and shouldn’t do. You were snapped back into reality when you heard a knock at your door. When you got up to open it you saw that it was Brian and you calmed down a bit. Finally someone who doesn’t get on your nerves. “ Hey (Y/N), I was wondering if you would want to come see us perform next week? “Smile” just got a slot at this new bar and I thought you’d like to come.” He asked sweetly.

He then noticed the large pile of papers and eraser shavings that were scattered over your desk. “ Tough class?” He asked. “ Kind of. It’s really complicated and a long, long story...” He tilted his head to the side causing a lot of movement from his curls. “ I’m sorry, yes I would love to see you guys perform next week. Also would you like to come in Brian?” You asked shaking yourself out of the stressful thoughts that currently were going through your head.

You gestured for him to come in and he sat down in one of your extra chairs. “ Where’s your flat mate?” He asked looking around the dorm noticing a very studious mess of your side and a clean untouched side of your flat mates. “ No idea. She’s a partier, sucks for her better for me. “ you explained. He smiled and laughed at your bluntness. “ So are you going to tell me this long story or what?” You explained all of your frustrations about the class to him. He sat there and listened something that was greatly appreciated. “ At this point I want to say just fuck it! I’m a biochemistry major! I can’t do it! I can memorize the periodic table and most compounds in the world, but write a barley edited paper? Nope!” He then scooted his chair closer and took your paper.

“Bri, what are doing?” You asked a little worried about how quiet he was. “ Reading your paper, Miss Periodical.” He replied jokingly. The two of you had an odd relationship. Both of you would sarcastically tease and joke around with each other. It was mostly innocent which was great for both of you but it did at times get borderline flirty. Brian was always sweet about it and usually apologized afterwards, but it didn’t ever truly bother either of you.You both just sat there in silence for a very long time, you didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

When he put your paper down he went over to your dresser asking “ When is this due?” Confused you replied “ In 2 days”. He started rummaging around the drawers which caused you to say “ You find anything interesting?” He then pulled out your pajamas and said “ Catch!” You caught the flying clothing and asked “ What the hell?” He only smiled and explained as he headed towards the door “ It’s late. You need to take a break. Get some sleep, actual sleep which means no reading.” He teased as you sarcastically scoffed.

“ Your going to need it, because tomorrow you and I are going to knock this out and get it done. How about eight o’clock in the morning?” You giggled a little and asked sarcastically “ Brian May, are you actually asking me out on a date?” As he left all he said was “ Maybe.” And closed the door. You were taken back and stood there eyes wide. There wasn’t that cute little Brian apology that usually followed. Which actually kinda scared you a little.

It was almost eight o’clock and you sat at your desk trying to organize it the best you could. You were already dressed and had makeup on, surprisingly you actually were able to get up and dressed. Usually you were the type of person who did not and could not get up really early. Finally as your watch went to eight you heard a knock on your door. Punctual like usual you say Brian in your door way holding a try of coffee in one hand and some bags in the other. “ Morning (Y/N), I’m impressed your actually up and completely looking like yourself this early.” You let him in saying “ Well, my finals, grades, and dignity hang in the balance so...” you trailed off and shrugged. Once he set his stuff down he held a coffee cup out to you saying “ Coffee, two for you, two for me and breakfast take away.” You giggles at his kind gesture “ Your a god Bri!” You said taking the coffee and a seat at your desk.

Brian then scooted his chair close to you so you were sitting side by side “ So when I was reading your paper last night-“ you interjected with “ Is it bad?” You were nervous you really don’t like other people reading unfinished work. “ No, not at all. There are just a few spelling and grammatical errors. Maybe you could reword a few things, but other than that it was really good.” He explained with a smile. He then continued with “ If anything we need to correct your professor. She really doesn’t know what she was reading. Did you see she said to capitalize a word that was already capitalized?” You laughed and exclaimed “ YES!” He then got out your food and then was ready to help you work.

“ Thank you.” You said as you started. He looked at you confused “ For what?” You took a deep breath and said “ Thank you for helping me with this. I don’t usually do my school work with other people. I usually dread it, and if I do share it it’s because I know it’s done and I know it’s exactly what the professor wants. I don’t like struggling, I don’t like showing people that from time to time I struggle.” You circled your finger around the rim of the cup embarrassed by what you were saying. Growing up you always did what everyone wanted exactly how they wanted it.

Brian then laid his hand on your forearm and rubbed his thumb slowly across it. “ (Y/N), (Y/N) look at me. It’s okay to need a little help and it’s okay to struggle. Do want to know something odd? I struggle with things too. Everyone does, it’s just easier for others to show it than it is for us. We’re perfectionist, you probably more so than I but that’s not bad. Being a perfectionist means that you have more determination to get things done and done right. You’re lucky because of it.” You smiled and teared up a bit at what he was saying. What did you do to get someone as smart and sweet as Brian? You both stared at each other for a while, but Brian spoke up after feeling like he was staring to long. He cleared his throat and said “ Alright let’s start with the introduction shall we?”

It was almost noon when the two of you finished your paper. It was in both of your opinions perfect and ready for when you needed to turn it in for class. Once you realized you finished you yell “ YES! It’s finally finished! Thank you so much Bri!” You then hugged each other and he replied “ No problem. “ As you hugged you realized things about Brian you never did before. How warm his body was, how comfortable it was to be wrapped in his arms, how good he smelt, things like that. When you two left the warm embrace you looked at your watched and noticed it was almost time for me to go to work. Brian looked at his watch as well and said “ Well, I have practice in a few minutes and you have work. We should both be going.” He grabbed his things to leave, but this weird thought in the back of your mind demanded you to ask “ Brian, can I ask you something?”

He turned around and gave you a nod indicating that you could. “ Last night during our usual banter, I asked you if this was a date and you answered maybe. Usually when we say flirty stuff like that one of us apologizes immediately, but you didn’t and just left. Why was that?” You felt awkward asking and he seemed uncomfortable and unsure how to answer. “ Tell you what, you turn in that paper and come see us perform. When you do you can come back stage and I’ll tell you why, deal?” You rolled your eyes and asked “ You’re going to make me wait that long?” He laughed and said “ Good things come to those who wait.” And then he left.

Today could not have gone any better you got an A on your paper and you knew that it was the real grade you earned, and “Smile” did an amazing job with this new location and crowd. You went back stage and immediately say Brian, his curly long hair is kinda hard to miss.

“ Brian!” You called out and you hurried over to him. “ I got an A on my paper! And now I’m confident that I’ll get an A on my final and you know me I’m not really confident about anything! So we did it!” You said excitedly. He then picked you up which was surprising. You never would’ve guessed he was really strong.

“ That’s amazing!” You guys turned in a circle before he put you down. “ I knew you could do it my little perfectionist!” Before you could do or say anything else he kissed you quickly. You were shocked and noticing this he said “ That’s your answer for the other night. I love you.” A small smile appeared on your lips, this was amazing that one of your best friends loved you and you loved him back. After the silence he was afraid he said something wrong and he started blushing. “ I’m sorry (Y/N) if I offended you but...” you then stopped him by saying “ You didn’t, I love you too.” He then asked “ You sure?” Then you decided to go back to teasing. “ Hmm, well come here.” You then both kissed again and you ran your hands through his soft, plush curly hair. He placed his hands on your back and drew you close. When you stopped and pressed your foreheads together you said “ Oh I’m sure.” The two of you laughed a little he then let out a happy sigh “ You’re perfect, without trying.”

#bohemian rhapsody x reader #bohemian rhapsody imagines #bohemian rhapsody imagine #bohemian rhapsody #brian may x reader #brian may #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee #gwilym lee imagine #brian may imagine #queen x reader #queen imagines #queen

[selinavizari]

A Winter Evening With Mr. Egerton

Taron visits your loft to keep you warm during a cold winter evening. ;)

Word Count: 2887

It was a frosty Friday evening and I missed Taron immensely. The thought of him brought a goofy smirk on my face that I just wanted to immediately wipe off before someone saw. There was an irritating draft in my bedroom because the heating system was absolute trash. I wrapped myself like a burrito in my blankets. The texting between us was getting slower and slower. It started off with paragraphs and paragraphs of messages and then it just faded. Maybe he moved on? I made my peace with it. My eyes were darting between netflix and other social media apps. Eventually, I began to doze off. A text alert knocked me right out of that brief snooze.

Suddenly, I’m annoyed. What the fuck does this person want… I noticed the notification was from Taron with the long ass stream of heart emojis. Oh shit. My eyes pour over the message and it stated, “Don’t think for a second that I forgot about you, love. I’m in the area. Is it okay if I drop by and hang out tonight? Tired of texting all the time. Is that cool with you? “ Holy fuck. Suddenly, I leaped out of that burrito blanket, dropped the phone and turned on the light. It’s a mess in here. Suddenly, the phone buzzes again. “I’m ten minutes away. Sorry for the last minute text. :*” My fingers move in a blur, “Of course, it’s okay! I’d love to have you over. :-)” I launched the phone on the bed and start changing out of my raggedy sweatpants and hoodie into a decent pair of jeans and shirt. I really did damn near bust my ass trying to hop in those denim skinny jeans. No way I could just throw on a club dress and pretend that I just casually wear this in my own home. But there is no reason to look like the complete struggle. I dashed into the bathroom, rinse with mouthwash and brush my hair into a neat ponytail. I shrug my shoulders as I stared into the mirror. This is just gonna have to do. I tossed  all of the clothes lying strewn on the bedroom floor into the closet.

I took a moment to smell myself, reached for my favorite fragrance and lightly sprayed the air. I walked daintily through the mist. Much better. My ringtone goes off. IT’S HIM. HE’S CALLING. I leaped on my bed and answered. “Hey (Y/N) I’m outside freezing my nuts off over here!” he chuckled. My voice raised several octaves. “I’ll let you in right now!” When I finally got to the front door, I took a deep breath and opened it. He was not kidding when he said he was freezing. I felt the sudden shock of the brisk air. He was wearing a dark green coat with fur lining the hood. His grey scarf wrapped around his face so that I can only see his bright eyes. He yanked his scarf down, crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at me like a real goofball. I rolled my eyes and let him in quickly so I could close the door. My place was cold enough. He proceeds to pull down his coats zipper and his eyes were searching for a hook or closet. I took his outerwear and hung them carefully in the closet. I turned my head over and their he was... leaned against the wall in the hallway. The sleeves of his sweater were rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms. His eyes were studying my apartment. I stood several feet away from him shuffling my feet with my arms folded behind my back. I felt strangely exposed. My place is plain as heck in comparison to the places I know he’s been in. Taron suddenly noticed the shift in my demeanor. He got off the wall and strolled towards me. “Are you okay?” He rested his hand on my shoulder and looked at me with eyes full of genuine concern. “I love your loft but it’s kind of cold in here, yeah? Let me fix this. I can’t believe you’ve been in here this entire time like this. Where is your boiler?”

 “Oh you don’t have to that. I sh-h-hould have handled that myself.” I stuttered slightly embarrassed. “Nonsense. I’m at your service.” He rested his hand on his chest and bowed his head. I smiled warmly and led him to the basement. “The landlord is a complete tit and I’ve always been too creeped out to go down here alone to turn this damn thing on.” “It’s okay you have me now.” he responded confidently as I led the way. I’m glad I was standing in front of him because my face blushed immediately. “Well here it is.” I said unceremoniously. “Alright, here we go.” He dramatically cracked his knuckles, reached into his pocket and pulled out matches. After a few pulls at knobs and switches. The heat was on! He was still kneeling on the floor and I caught a peek of his exposed lower back. This guy’s amazing I can’t believe he just fixed this damn heater. I lifted my hands up into the air and blurted out, “My hero!” While still on the floor, he turned his head and glanced at me through the corner of this eye and said slyly, “Oh really?” “Of course! You saved me from freezing to death in here!” I laughed.

“I’d do anything to help you, (Y/N).” I blushed again and lifted my hand to cover my face. “No, no, no. Don’t do that.” He pleaded. “Why would you want to cover up such a lovely face? ” He smirked and stood close to me. He reached his hand out and moved a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My heart skipped a beat. This time I dared to stare at his face directly. His hands were strong but not rough. I noticed a few freckles on his neck. He had recently shaved and his skin smelled amazing. I took a deep breathe to drink it all in. “Shall we go back upstairs?” he said as he studied my features. For a moment I forgot where I was. His presence made me forget that I was in a dim, musty basement. “Yeah, lets get out of this dungeon.” Suddenly, I could feel his eyes practically undressing me. I turned my head back to catch him in the act of checking me out. His eyes widen in an attempt to appear innocent. “Having a good time back there, eh?” “I sure am. I have the best view in the world.” He winked. “I bet you do.” I responded with a dash of sass.

We made our way back into the room and it was toasty. “Oh my goodness. It feels amazing in here. Thank you so much for fixing that.” “No problem, dear.” He took his boots off and plopped himself on my bed. He leaned back and audibly groaned, “This mattress feels AMAZING. He glanced up at my television. “Netflix! What were you watching?” He looked me excitedly. I responded hesitantly “Hercules...Disney version....” There was dead silence. He was stifling laughter. I suddenly declared, “DON’T YOU JUDGE ME.” I folded my hands across my chest and pouted my lips. He was getting a real kick out of me pretending to be angry. He threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh. 

“Too cute I swear! I’m just kidding with ya! Everybody loves this stuff. Nostalgia, you know?!” 

“Oh my goodness, I just realized I haven’t even offered you any beverages yet. What would you like? I can make you some tea, coffee, hot chocolate -” 

“Are you on the menu?” He said abruptly. “Oh...well...I’m usually a lunchtime special but I can talk to the chef and see what we can do.” I said mockingly. He beamed. “Lucky me…but a hot cocoa would be divine.” he said with a crooked smirk. “Sure.” I strutted my way into the kitchen and created two tasty hot chocolates with marshmallows on top in my best mugs. I held both by the handle and carefully walked back into the bedroom. “Here we go! A hot cocoa for you and and the other for me.” He held his mug and lean his face close to it to take in the sweet aroma. “Nice. Thank you so much.” He sipped it gingerly. I nodded as I sipped my own. “I’m sorry that I’ve been distance these past few weeks. I hate using this excuse but I’ve been busy.” He frowned and stared down his mug. Without thinking I touched his thigh, “Seriously, it’s fine. Life happens.” I look at him reassuringly. “Thought I come by… and show you that I actually do care. Tell me about your week. Last time we spoke you sounded like you were having a real hard time at work. Boss giving you shit?” I nodded and told him about the falling out with my manager. The stress just melted away as we drank our hot cocoas. My problems seemed distant when we spoke. We sat together on my bed. My back against the wall and him sitting at the foot of the bed with his legs crossed. His head rested on his palms. My eyes were looking downward at my fuzzy socks as I spoke. He hung on my every word. I looked up at him and his worried facial expression broke my heart. “Oh don’t look at me like that! I’ll be fine!” 

“Well next time he gives you problems. Let me know so I can give him a swift kick in the arse.” 

“Okay tough guy! Will do!” 

“I’m serious. Don’t like hearing you upset ‘cause of some dickhead. Thing will get better. Come ‘ere, girl.” He reached out and hugged me tightly. Sometimes I forget how muscular he is underneath that sweater. My head was swirling with all sorts of lustful thoughts. My heart began to flutter and I felt drunk due to his intoxicating scent. As I was nuzzled in his neck, I placed a small sweet kiss on it.

He released me and paused to look me in the my eyes. He didn’t let go of my shoulders and his face was inches from my own. It was as if he wanted to make sure that really just happened and he didn’t just imagine it. I gulped. He leaned in and kissed me right on the lips. It was tender and my heart felt like it was set to flame. I could feel his hands caressing my back. My nether regions began to throb. The make out session became more intense as his tongue massaged my own. He stopped, scooped me up and then tossed me on the bed. While on top of me, he muttered, “I can’t tell you how many times I fantasized about you... and this sexy body... every...day. Almost can’t believe this is really happening.” The erection inside his jeans thickened. My breathing quickened by it’s sudden hardness. “Oh really? What happens in these fantasies of yours?” 

“I’d rather show you instead.” He yanked off my sweater and his own to reveal this athletic physique. I unhooked my bra to reveal my breasts. He massaged them and flicked my nipples with his tongue. I exhaled. He kissed me all the way down to my navel. Immediately, I got up from underneath him and he murmured, “Is everything okay? Do you want me stop?” 

“No.” I proceeded to guide him so that he would lay on his back and I pulled down his jeans. Taron raised his eyebrow and licked his lips. “So that’s what you want to do…” I nodded. I pulled down his briefs and his dick stood straight up. I held it and stroked it up and down. I wrapped my mouth around it and bobbed up and down at a slow pace. My tongue licked up and down his shaft and massaged it’s head. “Oh my god… that feels so fucking good…just like that… just like that.” He groaned as I deep throated his entire member. I could feel it hitting the back of my throat. I picked up the pace and then looked up at him. His eyes rolled back with his mouth agape. Suddenly, I took notice of the wet, slurping sounds I was making and it turned me on. While blowing him I reached my hand into my panties and started to rubbed my clit. I’m so wet right now. Taron took notice of my extracurricular activities. He sighs, “I want to watch. I want to watch you play with yourself.” I continued to stroke him and my hand was slick with mixture of his pre cum and my saliva. Then I used the back of hand to wipe my mouth,“...Okay.”

He sat up and I began to take off my jeans and panties. He took a deep breath and his eyes glazed over overflowing with lust. I laid down and spread my legs as far as I could. Taron began to stroke himself deliberately in response to my act and reached over to grip my thigh.  I closed my eyes began to rub my clit slowly. The wet sticky sounds filled the air. I used my other hand to lift the hood so I stimulate my clit even more. I moved faster and my moaning grew louder. “That’s it, Y/N. That’s it. So fucking sexy watching you play with that pretty...pretty pussy.”  I could hear the slapping sound of his hand working away. The orgasm was getting so close. He stops stroking, pulled my hand away and dived down to flick his tongue on my clitoris. I was overwhelmed by this sensation. He flicked his tongue wildly. “Taron, don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop” I demanded in a complete frenzy. Multiple orgasms rocked through my body. I yelled out. He rose his head up and I looked down at him. He proceeded to plant wet kisses on my inner thigh. “I’m not through with you yet. Not. Even. Close.” He growled. Suddenly, he lifted my legs up, and plunged inside me. I gasped and my eyes widened. The bed squeaked.  I couldn’t believe how big he was. I reached out and gripped his lower back. He grinded his hips and he hit a spot I didn’t even think existed. I cried out. “Ah! Right there! Right there. Fuck me harder!” 

“...Are you sure about that?” he says in a gruff tone.  I breathlessly responded with, “Give it to me!” He nodded. “Good girl.” He thrusted into me harder than anything I thought was possible. His rhythm was on point. I dug my nails into his back  and I know I had to leave a mark. “You like that? Tell me how much you like that?” I was being driven to total ecstasy. “I love it! I fucking love it!” My eyes rolled back into my head. He abruptly pulled out, lifted me up and bent me over. My head was pushed down on my bed and back purposely arched. I waited for him to slam his dick inside of me but that didn’t happen. I felt his tongue massaging my clit and I suddenly gripped the corners of the mattress. I didn’t know how much I could take. My legs were trembling as I reached that peak over and over again. It was then that he started to fuck me some more. His grunting was animalistic and my voice was hoarse.

When he finally came,  he turned me over and now it was all over my chest. He slumped next to me. Taron had a thin layer of sweat over him and was breathing heavy. One of his hands were resting on his heaving chest. I looked over and said, “Are you okay? You sound winded, ha-ha.” He replied, “ I’m better than okay.” He gave me a big toothy grin. “How about you?” I placed my hand on my head. “Well… I have neighbors, you know? These walls are paper thin. It’s going to be awkward for the next couple of days...but I’m not complaining.” I pecked him on the lips. Taron waggled his eyebrows and wrap his arm around me and whispered, “I love it when your loud. Makes me feel like I’m doing something right.” “Mhmmm.” He rolled over and went into the bathroom. “Be right back.” A few moments passed and his hand was wrapped in toilet paper. He began to wipe the come off my body. He balled it up in a wad and pretended the waste can was a basketball hoop. “Allright! That will have to do until we take a proper shower. My legs are a little wobbly at the moment. I’m sure yours are too.” 

“Ha!  You think?” He laid down, tucked us both in with my blanket and exclaimed, “Now we both can be wrapped like a blanket burrito.” Blanket Burrito? Wow. I turned around and looked at him with utter bewilderment. Taron adorned this cute puzzled look and muttered, “..wut?” I grinned and shook my head, “Nothing.” I turned back over and fell fast asleep as Taron held me close.

#taron egerton #fanfiction #smut #selina fanfiction #taron x reader #taron fanfic

[kierongillen]

Writer Notes: the Wicked + the Divine 455

Spoilers, obv.

The specials have been quite the time, having several ways to stress everyone the hell out. The amount of work that goes into a special is far more than any single script can justify in cold commercial terms. It's lucky that I'm only choosing periods that I'm interested in researching to death.

I suspect (or at least hope) that in terms of background reading, 455 is the most. 1831 was hard, but is a relatively tight period I looked at in depth. 455 basically involved researching the whole of the Western Roman Empire. This means the work was a much broader sweep. In the same way I suspected the 1831 story would be about Frankenstein, I knew this would probably be about what happened at one of the sacks of Rome. Not definitely – I've always got room to change tack if something more profitable turns up in the research – but likely.

As I started work, I realised the main advantage of the sack near the end of the Western Roman Empire is that it means you can do a swan song for the whole thing. Everything has already happened, so you can use it all. Thus we've got something which feels a little like a Roman Greatest Hits story.

Simultaneously, there's the awareness that while I think a lot of this is relatively well known, even the most basic facts aren't. Early readers made me aware that even basic ideas like Julius Caesar being dead for 500 years by this period can't be assumed – a level of historical literacy equivalent of not blinking if Joan of Arc turned up in a WW2 story. That's just audiences, and the vague sense of “Rome stuff” fills about 1000 years of people's imagination. As such, that our story is acounter-history required the introduction of what the real history actually was.

As I knew this was coming along way off, the research was a slow boil. I knew Rome, in various periods, relatively well. From the Punic Wars to Augustus is stuff I've read about many times – Carthage is something I've always wanted to do a story about. What I was looking for is a long sweep across the whole thing, to live with it a while, and let me think along the way. The actual device I used was The History Of Rome podcast by Mike Duncan, which goes from legendary prehistory to about 20 years after 455. It's about 60 hours of stuff, by my rough match, which I worked into my listening routine – which is mainly when working out, running, travelling or doing the dishes. I listen to my podcasts at 1.5x.

That was for most of 2016. After that, it was digging down into specific texts, the majority which happened in December/January. Trying to play with various theories about the decline of the Roman Empire was paramount. Everyone has one, and be suspicious of anyone who gives you one reason. The book which generally was most influential in terms of how I chose to present Rome was The Fall of the Roman Empire: A New History by Peter Heather, which basically forwards the idea that Rome fell due to trade across their borders creating increased population density of Barbarian tribes which (as opposed to earlier periods) the Romans were unwilling to integrate into the fabric of the Empire.

I went with my own counter-theory, of course, which was that an Old Lady Did It.

(The Old Lady Did It is a Roman Trope of long standing. I'm a proud owner of a Livia Did It T-shirt.)

Anyway – too much research, and I'll try and drop some things I'd wanted to use but didn't as we go through it. Suffice to say, there's nothing comforting about reading about Rome in the current political climate.

Anyway – Andre! I'd first encountered his work in Avengers AI, written by my friend Sam Humphries. That weird, neon-infused Cyberpunk vibe was a big part of the book's appeal for me, so I started following him. I believe we started talking properly around the time of his own Man Plus, which was is a Otomo-does-Akira-In-Portugal kick, and was another thing which made me file Andre in my “Sci-fi artist file.”

However, after we got talking, he showed me some of his other in-development pitches, which included historical and fantasy work. Which made me go “Hmm.” He's got a mass of gifts, but I had one image that I knew I needed for 455 – the Roman Triumph, with a God in the chariot. That demanded a certain sort of artist, namely one who was happy to actually draw a triumph in all its ludicrous glory. Andre, someone whose work had more than its fair share of city-scapes and crowds, seemed like someone who'd nail that – plus the confluence of European and Manga influences in the work would gel interestingly. We'd get Rome as a place, and that's what we needed.

He was working on Generation Gone with Ales Kot, but they talked, and Andre took as month off the preparation for that to do the special. Thanks, guys.

Colours are provided by Matt “Eisner For Matt” Wilson, and seeing how the two of them worked together was definitely one of the more intriguing parts of the process.

Andre's Cover

Done early, before the script was actually completed, which meant we were more conservative with the choice. The Laurel reef being lowered by elderly hands, the arrogance of it. A call back to the head-shots of the first year of WicDiv too. Also, compare and contrast Matt's colouring choices here with his ones in the issue. This is a much more subdued, chalkier mode. Or that's wot I think anyway.

Jamie's Cover| We were originally talking about statues of multiple gods, but as the script was still in process we didn't want to tie down any of the cast bar Lucifer. Equally, we leaned symbolic on the cover – the flames of Rome, the statue, the grafitti's Chi-Ro in paint (or blood)? Symbolic is good. We like Symbolic.

The Chi-Ro is an old Christian symbol. It's what they say Constantine had his soldiers paint on his shields to ensure victory. My fave thing of Constantine from the research was that while he was more responsible than any for the Christianization of the Empire, he didn't convert until just before his death. I enjoy the theory that it's because the idea that baptizing may have been a one-time “clear all your sins” opportunity. The idea of confession and absolution wasn't around as much. So if you convert and then commit a mortal sin, you're off to hell. But if you commit a mortal sin and then convert, you're fine. So Constantine may have just been gaming Christianity to ensure the best chance of a good afterlife.

IFC

Oh god. Looking at the last paragraph makes me think this could be eternally long if I just keep on stopping and telling you fun anecdotes from memory. Also, factually dubious, as they're from memory, and my memory cannot be trusted.

Jamie designed the icons, and had to work out what vibe to give it. I suspect he was grateful to me for having most the cast already being dead so saving him work.

The Inverted Chi-Ro isn't a real symbol anyone used, but our best way to make a Lucifer. The biggest historical cheat in the series is using any Lucifer figure like this in the period – as far as I'm aware, the idea of a singular satanic adversary in this mode simply wasn't around. But it dovetails with our mythology.

I get asked whether any special will happen earlier in the cycle. The tendency to lean towards the ends is basically the same urge which pushed towards a Roman Special at the fall. Ends let you write about the whole thing. It's only at the end where you can say with any hope of being correct what was really happening, and even then it's only a hope.

But the 1920s special is a little earlier than the end, if only because we've seen the actual end in issue 1.

(More on the 1920s special soon – there's been a few changes in my planning on that.)

The text on the page is the standard WicDiv one, but the final two lines, briefly explaining the history of the Vandal sack in 455 were added at lettering to provide the necessary context to a reader.

Page 1-2

Steady angle shot, three panels on each page. The issue has been compare to Uber by several readers, primarily for the volume of the violence and the detail of the historical focus. It's also a little like it in its storytelling like this – this lingering attempt to make a scene very normal. We don't see the battle against the Vandals – instead, we observe from a distance. We try and make it documentary, with us an observer.

The animal being gutted is a goat.

An example of an earlier tweak, the shepherd's first line was “Wh...who in god's name are you meant to be?” This could read as that our Lucifer actually is Julius. Changing it to “Dressed up as?” brings the artifice closer to the surface. While the nature of lucifer/Julius is explained in a few pages time, it's not meant to be a mystery. Creating a false uninteresting question is just a distraction for the reader.

I kind of laugh at the idea of Lucifer wandering around near Rome, trying to find an army.

Ave Atque Vale! Is a quote from Catallus, related to death. Originally was Ave in my first draft, which of course means “Hello!” so makes no sense to say when he's heading away to the shepherd. If you were generous, you could say he was greeting the Vandals.

The first pages which Matt coloured were these, and when I saw them, I knew it was going to be something special.

Yes, panicked sheep in the second panel of page 2 is a star.

Page 3-4

WicDiv is about many things, but “The fucking obvious” certainly rates highly. Triumphs are one of the big core Roman rituals we think of, when a general is given a personal parade. They're rare and hugely important. The slave whispering “remember you are only a man” to warn against hubris is the detail which everyone loves. Clearly, in WicDiv, the resonances are all kinds of fun.

In terms of how comics panels are not one moment in time, have a nose at the last panel. You read the line, then the Oh!, and then the response of the slave seeing something, and then you look at the miracle, the smug, painted face, of Lucifer, and his Heh.  That's a little journey.

The red face paint is ceremonial, to be akin to Jupiter. Bear that in mind for later, obv.

The big triumph is the first issue money shot – after 3 pages of very low atmosphere, we have the sprawl of Rome. Choosing the direction of the march was key – I gave Andre the best guess route of the triumph, and he chose his angle. By luck, he would enter via the gate here Lucifer is dragged out at the end of the issue. The triumph also ends at the temple of Jupiter, which is yet more fun subtext for those who really like digging into it.

We tweaked the colouring on the crowds, to try and get more of the cosmopolitan nature of Rome. The majority of legionnaires are white, but that's because most were Germanic in this period.

The triumph was originally planned for a spread, but I decided I needed another page later in the comic.

Page 5

Title drop, and a bleak laugh. The idea of calling a story IMPERIAL PHASE which isn't in the actual Imperial Phase trade came from thinking of Julian Cope having his single World Shut Your Mouth not on the album World Shut Your Mouth, an idea he in turn got from some sixties band I haven't time to look up.

The date was tricky to decide exactly, due to the timeline of real world events I wanted to get in. Clearly, for full trash-Roman pulp, I'd have pushed this story March, so I could Ides of March it, but alas, no dice.

Page 6

Nice atmosphere in the first panel, in terms of going from the chaos of the Triumph to something a little more contemplative.

Enter Dionysus/Bacchus. Flashback colours and... one of the thoughts of Matt was that the SFX budget for God Stuff would be lower back here. So the god powers aren't quite as SFX-y as they are in the present day. Not that there's much here, but I'm reminded by how low-key this is. The intent here is that he's done his god thing on stage and come off... but he could just be an actor, which is about as close as WicDiv gets to a 1:1 thing.

The nature of art in Rome (or “Rome”) is key here, and talked throughout. Actors were the underclass. To act was to be disreputable. The “actress as sexworker” trope arrives in Rome, I believe. I reference Lou Reed in the panel descriptions, in terms of these being a Walk On The Wild Side Romans.

Falerian is a type of fine wine. Mithras is presumably one of the other gods – Scythia being a place.

The nature of Imperial Phase has been about women involved with women, which has nagged. Having the humanising part of the story be a love story between men felt timely. It was a place we could do it, so we should. Though more on that later, in terms of the specifics.

There was the obvious worry of doing it, of course – where Lucifer ends up. Lucifer is not good representation. I haven't seen anyone pick up on that angle. We spend a lot of time worrying about stuff no-one picks up on, which is why we spend all that time worrying about it.

The word “play” is, of course, loaded, as are the name changes. Story about identity, we are in it.

Page 7

The best thing about the specials is definitely getting a chance to write Ananke again. She is a fun time.

If I had more space, I'd have almost certainly done more with Lucifer's adventures during the day. It's worth stressing that by this point, I believe Gladiatorial fights were no longer actually happening in Rome, due to Christianisation. My research has went straight on from Western Rome and barged into Byzantine Rome, and the story of the chariot races there is a delight.

Page 7-8

These scenes are very much me getting my I, Claudius on. Very limited set, two actors going off at one another. Of course, all of this will resonate with anyone who's been following the main series.

Panels 3 and 4 on page 7 are the bit of tight acting I like most from Andre here – it's all about the actions, and the space, with us positioned a little back from it.

I smile at Lucifer referencing something that was said of 2014-Lucifer in the first arc. Ananke has been doing this for a very long time.

A quick buzz through various other gods' fates in the first panel on page 8. There's a lot of historical reference packed in there to unpack for those who wish.

The Inanna/Attila The Hun panel is, I think, the largest panel description in the issue. Well... not true. The Rome Triumph one is much longer, but that's a splash. This one included a potted history of a bunch of Hun-related information for Andre to play with, in terms of deciding the looks, etc.

It was also the most discussed panel at the stage of pencils – avoiding objectifying Inanna here was key.

Attila The Hun died on (one of his) wedding night in the real life.

The “As I understand” is pretty key in the captions, as is other distancing effects. Lucifer would not have been a god when Inanna did this. It is very early in this pantheon's time.

I think this may be a place to have a word about Pantheon times through history. 455 doesn't seem to fit in one of these 90 years, if you follow that strictly.

The short version is, as seen in the first scene of WicDiv which ends the 1920s pantheon at Dec 31st 2013 and we start our story about 6 months into the new Pantheon on January 1st 2014, the question of where the 90 years is measured for has to be (to some degree) flexible. Gods appear over a period of a year or so in our 2014, and die at their own rates. You can assume that the “true” length of a pantheon can wiggle a little – some would be less than a year, some could theoretically stretch across 4 calendar years. As such, it's hard to predict exactly on which year any given recurrence could occur – even from the data we have from 1831, 1923 and 2014, we know that.

I suspect before the end I may give hard dates for every Pantheon. I suspect, anyway. I know where it would appear.

Page 9-11

You know, I suspect Page 9 – for an action scene – is one of the most story-beat laden of the issue, in terms. Lots of great Andre stuff here – the casual-ness of both the burning and the brutal-ness of the kick. Matt goes to town on the colours too, the reds taking over. Obviously the fire is a key thing with Lucifer, and his flame grows and ebbs as we progress.

There's some difficult hard cuts here – page 10 to 11, for example. We just have the “Ananke leaving” beat there, then moving to Dio and Lucifer in bed.

There is a tendency when discussing the ancients to be a bit blasé in terms of writing about their sexual habits. This normally is based around us mapping our readings of sexuality onto the past, while erasing their own social mores. I've ran with some of the information on page 11 before, when doing THREE, specifically the politics of different sexual roles. Relevantly, the status elements Lucifer alludes to here – in terms of being a bottom is always dishonourable. I could ramble at this at length, but I'll spare you.

Lots and lots of stuff here, in terms of trying to set up thematic elements here, but let's just say none of it would matter at all if Matt and Andre hadn't nailed the last panel.

Page 12-13

Lots of historical bits and bobs here. Perhaps the implicit question we don't answer is “what happened to the last Emperor?” He was cut to pieces a few days before this and thrown in the river, because he'd pissed off the Vandals enough to have them invade.

You may notice how thin the senate is populated. That's because the majority of the population of Rome have fucked off to hide. Rome's population is artificially lower during this point in history, which is a thing which tries to lend a little credulity to the Ananke/Geiseric cover-up.

The main tweaks here was making sure the exact nature of Lucifer's slip was tricky. Someone getting mixed up in the time-line requires making sure the reader understands the timeline. I half wonder why I went with Crassus rather than Pompey.

Anyway, let's hope that Lucifer manages to keep on the straight and narrow.

Page 13-14

Well, that escalated quickly.

When planning the issue, you start doing maps of time and space, and I rapidly realised with 25 pages, and so many other essential scenes, there was no possible way to show a slow descent.

The story's structure immediately suggested itself.

While the Triumph was the image we needed to enter the world, this is the one that will be remembered. People reference my Crossed work here – which is true, to some degree, in that it was also about turning flesh into art. I suspect I was more thinking of Banks, and a certain beat involving a certain object of furniture. I say, dancing around spoilers.

The influence here which gets kind of buried is Domitian, who threw the most goth parties of all time. Have a nose at this here, in terms of Things Emperors Got Up To.

Page 15-16

We've already namechecked Caligula and here comes Nero, the other of the most famous Roman Bad Emperors. The elements about Nero here were the closest thing the research unveiled which made me want to reposition the story to a different period – Nero interacting with the gods would have been fascinating, for all the reasons described here.

We had a reader question the direction of Imperial Phase, in that the insanity-leading-to-murder trope that appeared to be coming and the inherent ableism in that. It was a usefully timed question, as it made me dig more sharply into the exact choices we were making in explaining the idea. This isn't about going mad. This is – as Dionysus puts it – about excess. I'm thinking of Bowie living off cocaine and peppers. We lean into it pretty heavily in this issue, and hopefully it delineates the aim.

Just looking at my script, and found the anecdote about the time I threw up a handful of blood slipped in there. I'd forgotten that this page was autobiographical. Comics, eh?

Look at what Matt's doing with the colours here – the whole panel is bloodshot as we progress.

Page 17-20

In terms of buried research in the comic, that a hole was knocked in the roof of the Temple of Jupiter during this sack of Rome is the one which makes me laugh. Behold! Let team WicDiv present the true story of how the temple of Jupiter got a dirty great hole in it.

(I also like that this makes the sack of Rome much more efficient for the Vandals.)

This is an actor making a soliloquy scene, perhaps obviously, recalling both the stage and the Passion. While this issue is heavily in the research, it's also doing ahistorical work. Shakespeare's fingerprints is all over this, to state another obvious thing.

The “Emerge like an Eagle” thing is very much Roman Pagan belief.

I mentioned Nero, Caligulia and Julius. The other Roman Emperor who is in the mix with Lucifer was Julian the Apostate who was the last Pagan Roman emperor, and tried to revive Pagan Rome before dying early. A “What if Julian had lived?” is a counter-factual history which is always a fun one to swill around your mouth. He's the one we don't reference, but much of Lucifer's thought comes from mashing Julian with someone of lower birth and more melodramatic tendencies.

This is the sequence which I cut the page from the Triumph earlier to expand. Clearly this could happen quicker, but we need to let the death sequence come out, in all its horror. Also, the collapse on the page turn seems essential.

I'm almost surprise Et Tu Jupiter reached the final page. We were always wondering whether it was too funny. In the end, it was decided it was, but in juxtaposition with the art, sufficiently bleakly to not break the mood. Especially before the collapse on the next page, which is very much human stripped by the divine.

Clearly this plot beat, is the biggest one for close followers of the book. I suspect at this point of the story, there would be strong suspicions that the “you die in two years” isn't true. Unless this sequence is deeply deceptive, it is true. You die in two years, by yourself. We place the specials pretty carefully, in terms of what they reveal, so this being half way through Imperial Phase underlines what could await our cast.

In terms of craft, going silent for a page after the monologuing seemed key. I mean, Ananke's fundamental disrespect in terms of how she's carrying Lucifer says everything.

Page 21-25

Out the gate towards the Tiber. The names listed are famous Romans whose bodies were thrown in the Tiber so that they could have no honourable end – and in the case of Marius, that there was no place for his followers to gather. The man who did that was Sulla, btw. Marius was dead, he dug them up.

The “Pagan burial, but a shit one” is very much Ananke at peak “I will tell you the truth, but you really have to pay attention to the details” mode.

And here's Geiseric! Looking good. The Vandals have been in Carthage for 20 years, but we decided to have him be kind of pallid so as not to confuse people. Stories like THREE were all about the pure-historical aspect and risked (and often did) lose people by doing things in line with the best research rather than common belief. WicDiv has a slightly different set of priorities, especially on secondary aspects like tanned Vandals.

Heh. Story starts with butchery of a goat, and ends with butchery of Lucifer. WicDiv is a very subtle comic.

Sulla's an interesting dude, and I think the use by Ananke here seems pretty fair. The future she's pointing towards never happens – the marriage is there. Germanic hands ended up ruling what came after the Empire, but that's not really what is going. Of course, Geiseric is also entirely right in recognising he's being manipulated.

They're a fun pair, actually, in terms of the fencing. I kind of realise this is the sort of conversation which is going to be key in Spangly New Thing, which makes me excited about writing it again.

I smile at the Vandal line. People have wondered why I didn't do the earlier sack, so I could have had the goths. Well, it didn't really work for the story, which is about the end of an era. But also it would have been perhaps too much. I did have a joke take, where Ananke is debating which Germanic tribe to manipulate into invading Rome. “The Goths again? No. No More Goths.”

But 455 isn't that kind of book.

The final image! Lovely, in its bleak and awful way.

Page 26

City of God being Augustine's book, written primarily in response to the crisis of faith in the Empire over the 410 sack of Rome by the aforementioned Goths.

Anyway – thanks for reading, and thanks for Andre for joining us on this beast. We're back (eek) tomorrow, with Imperial Phase II. Onwards, etc.

#WicDiv #the wicked and the divine #andre lima araujo #matt wilson #Writer Notes

[rymurrsneckbeard]

Okay so I’m just feeling all verklempt about my stupid fucking team and I just need to ramble for a while so feel free to ignore this if you don’t care to read me swooning about them.

First and foremost, I am an incredibly spoiled hockey fan. This fanbase is stupidly spoiled. But this team? This team is not spoiled.

Look at this team from 2010-2015.

Sidney Crosby has missed over 160 games due to injury, most notably from concussion/neck issues that damn near ended his career in his mid-20s. We had Vokoun who was forced retire because of life-threatening blood clot issues. We had Pascal Dupuis who retired due to blood clot issues. We have Olli Maatta who had fucking cancer. We have Kris Letang who had a fucking stroke. Not to mention all the other injuries--Letang has had concussions, an elbow injury, other issues. Maatta had to have shoulder surgery and he’s also had a broken hand just this season. Malkin has had multiple injury issues that have kept him out relatively long term. 

This Penguins team has not been fully healthy since December. This Penguins team had to go nine defensemen deep in these playoffs. This Penguins team lost their 3rd line center in the Cup Final. They had stretches without Hornqvist. They lost numerous bottom six guys. Hagelin missed a huge chunk of time. Our reigning Cup Champion goalie was hurt for the first two series of the playoffs. 

And at the end of it all, they still fucking won. They won everything. 

Don’t come at me with this “they only got there because they tanked to get Sid and Malkin!!!” bullshit. The Blackhawks were fucking terrible for years and it took them a long time to find success. The Oilers have been awful for years and they had a string of top 3 picks and they just now finally are getting somewhere. There are plenty of teams who have had high picks and couldn’t put it all together. 

And even beyond that? They got those picks 12 and 13 years ago. That they have managed--in a cap-era world of hockey--to keep those top draft picks and remain successful is a testament to what this team can accomplish. You have two of the best players in the world up front (along with one of the best defensemen in the league on the back end) and yet all three of them have cap-friendly contracts that allowed the Penguins to also add one of the best US born goal scorers in the NHL. All on long term deals that don’t weight the team down unnecessarily. Sidney Crosby, the best player in the world, makes 8.7 mil a year. Because he doesn’t want that extra 2 mil he could make every year (ahem a certain center in Chicago) at the expense of a team that can compete, at the expense of a team that has to firesale pieces away every few years to finagle things to fit under the cap.

This team manages to find diamonds in the rough: Kris Letang was a third round pick. Bryan Rust was a second rounder. Matt Murray was a third round pick. Jake Guentzel was a third round pick. Conor Sheary was never drafted. And all of them were vitally important to this team during the last two years. Yes, this team was lucky to get Crosby and Malkin. But this team also drafts really well and develops better.

Oh, and Mike Sullivan is a goddamn genius. He manages to at once keep his players accountable--without ever throwing one of them under the bus. He keeps them honest in private, but he doesn’t trash them to the media. He reminds them of how good they are, he reminds them that he expects their best every night. But he trusts them. He knows that “next man up” is going to do his goddamn job. 

This team just won a Cup with a Norris caliber defenseman sitting in the press box for the entire playoffs. If that doesn’t prove their ability to take on the world, I don’t know what does.

You can hate this team, I understand it. But stop calling this team lucky. This team has been through a metric shit-ton of adversity in the last 8 years, and that adversity is what made this team so fucking unbreakable. They bend, but they don’t break. 

I am so goddamn proud of this team right now. I am watching history. 30 years from now my generation of fans will be talking about how great it was to watch Sidney Crosby play hockey. This team--back to back Cups in the cap era--just made history. And I’m going to fucking enjoy it, just the way I would expect any one of you to enjoy every last second of your team winning.

#i'm not giving this my playoff tag #because it's easy to skip over #I just wanted to ramble okay #i am so fucking proud of this team and these players #sidney crosby #evgeni malkin #matt murray #kris letang #bryan rust #conor sheary #mike sullivan #pittsburgh penguins #Stanley Cup 2017

[the-goat-writer-blog]

Segment of Novel for Y2 University Seminar (Draft for Assessment) (2015)

Chapter 1

  I washed off the red under the outside tap of the house across from us. After, I took the knife and stashed it in the wheelie bin. Wrapped it in whatever rags I could get my hands on; shabby white blouse off the line, probably abandoned like the rest of the place. That was behind me now; about three miles and counting. Well, guessing. I’d been walking for maybe an hour, maybe two; didn’t matter. Point is, I was away.

The brunt of it didn’t hit me until I’d reached The Stoke. I imagine I must’ve looked a bit mad to the punters, stumbling to the gents, and white as sheet. Lucky there was a game on, Chelsea v Spurs, I think; a decent clump of heads didn’t even turn to look when I walked in.

So there I was; hands tight on a grimy sink, knuckles as drained as my face, struggling to hold my own weight above the jelly that used to be my legs. The gents was empty except for me, thank god. The room was still and cold; a window above was ajar though the angle was steep and the crack small. Frosted glass blocked a view to the rough country blackness. However, despite how far my mind ran, I soon noticed there was more life around me than the simply thunder of my own pulse, and the rush of my breath. I could hear muffled jeers of the locals floating from the door to my back; and a voice on the TV, clinical and sure.

…Taking the first corner of the game… Stepping up.

I stroked the rough hairs on my chin and stared at the blurred mass before me. The heat of my breath had condensed the glass and yet I think, without it I still wouldn’t have recognised the face.

…High number of red cards this season. Higher than any other team in the division…

 It was surreal, to see a thing you’d seen so many times before – a thing you attributed meaning – and feel it strange.

…He’s probably the best performer on the squad, but he’s had an unfortunate game, Geoff. It’s a real shame, and I hope we can see him do better next game.

I stood there for a while. Must have been about ten minutes but it felt like an age. Just staring. Staring at the face in the mirror. Was it really my own? Then, as if to shake me loose from paralysis, the door came quickly swinging open. The roar of the punters rose and fell as the man entered and the door swung shut behind him. Regaining my wits, I splashed my face with water from the faucet and wiped my eyes dry. Before leaving the room, I took one last look at the reflection. I saw then the glass was broken; a series of cracks distorted the left side and ran the full length of the mirror. It was in me to blame my distaste for the face which stared back on this fact, but I could not. I knew that was wishful thinking. If you were to remove the cracks, repair the mirror, the face would stay the same. In a way it was broken too.

It’s time for me to get this down. So here I am. After all, I promised I’d explain everything before the end. Everything that happened, everything I am, everything I should’ve told you from the beginning. As you can probably imagine there’s quite a bit in-between now and that night in The Stoke, and even more around it that I need you to understand. So while I write this now – sitting in the house I own, in clothes I don’t, and blood I’ve spent on a life I can’t continue – I want you to know, all I’m thinking about is you, Sarah.

  Chapter 2

  If you’re reading this it means one of two things: I’m out. Or I’m dead. Either way, I need you to understand what I’ve done. And get ready, because this is one hell of a final vow, Sarah. So you best not skip a single word.

  I met with her the day before. Who, she says, staring at the page with that ruffled brow. The iron lady. The shrink I told you about once; maybe you weren’t listening. It’s okay, I wish I could forget her too. Face like Thatcher’s ghost, voice like her too – except more shrill. I thought psychiatrists were supposed to be calming to spend time with. She’s succeeded at one thing I suppose: at least it’s not my own throat I want to wring now. Then again, I didn’t need to, did I? Old bat went and fell down an elevator shaft last week. I bet you’re pretending to feel sad now. If you could remember her you’d say you hated her too. And you only met her once. And no, of course I didn’t have anything to do with that. I know you’re wondering. Just a little.

Anyway, I walked in at about twenty-past nine. God knows how or why I was up at 9AM on a Tuesday. Bad dreams, maybe. The reason it was twenty-past and not nine on the dot was due to the grim bastard that preceded me, He was old, so naturally he was slow. Like, real slow. Talked like Gary Barlow crossed with that tree guy from The Two Towers, and walked like every step was his first. Face as grey as Newcastle sky; head hung low, almost in his hands. As I passed him at the threshold I thought, damn, maybe my problems aren’t so bad. But looking back now, maybe this guy was just used to another level. Some people are not cut out for dark times like us, Sarah; but they’re in me, have been all my life, and I suppose in a way that makes me lucky. That’s the kind of optimism that Thatcher throws at me, anyhow. Disgusting. If any of that crap sticks I better be dead by the time you read this or else I’m going to need you to end me. Like putting down a dog. It’s just kinder.

Good morning, Gren, she said to me politely, albeit annoyingly, as I took a seat on the sofa. Light green, cheap, that kind of artificial fur stuff that leaves really clear marks if you part it with your fingers. I hated that green; reminded me of those horrible knockoff marshmallows I used to get as a kid. What ever happened to the cosy rose red like in all the films, I thought. How’ve you been feeling, she said. A question my own mother has never asked me, so it’s easy to imagine my discomfort in these meetings. I should probably mention at this point that her name was Mary. The shrink’s, not my mother.

Fantastic. That was my usual response, cut with a dry sort of irony. She didn’t press it, even though I knew she heard it. I just figured I’d stop by, long time no see, I went on.

Yes, amazing, she replied, sarcastically. Especially since my office is appointment only.

Banter, I suppose I’d call it. Lying, you’d call it. You get the gist anyway; we can skip ahead for time, I think.

I’m worried about a friend, I said, roughly ten minutes later. Mary sat with her legs crossed, a notepad on her lap which she had touched only to scribble ‘Defensive’ on earlier in the conversation, and her eyes peered over slim black spectacles to study me on the green flump.

Is this the same friend who I’ve heard about in the past, she inquired snidely, her eyes narrowing. The same friend whom you told me – she took a moment to flick through her notes, then briefly halted on an older page – needed to make six thousand bar at the dogs or he’d have his right hand removed, she recited the quote as if she herself hadn’t written it. The language was strange to her but I knew exactly what she was referring to. Mainly because that friend was me. And yes, I made the cash on time. Obviously.

Yeah, the same one, I answered defiantly. He might be a bit fucked this time.

What seems to be the problem, she said, and then after a moment added: with your friend. I sighed loudly, it must have been clear to her that I didn’t trust her. Nothing personal, and I’m sure she knew that too, I simply don’t trust anyone. Not even you, Sarah. Not yet.

He’s going to die tomorrow. Mary didn’t react immediately, as people do when they’re not sure you’re serious. But soon silence lends weight to words and breeds honesty, belief. She turned slightly in her seat, unconsciously edging her ear closer and cocked her head to the other side.

What makes you think that?

He’s in deep with the wrong crowd.

He can always speak to the police.

I turned to face her. I’ve never been good at threats, but faces I can craft. One look to let her know that that would be impossible, a bad idea, and one look to warn her. She took my meaning and retreated very slightly.

Perhaps, she paused, her own words seemed to pain her, and I knew that what she was about to say was not strictly ‘correct’. She had often given her thoughts this way, after a length of conversation. The only reason I would come to her still, through all of my discomfort.

Perhaps your friend could find a way around this arrangement. He seems to have a knack for self-preservation, has he considered applying that skill? She spoke slowly, carefully choosing her words as not to lead.

No way out this time, I’m afraid. If he doesn’t go they’ll find him. Or worse, they’ll find her. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

There are other ways of avoiding ends, Mary said quietly. I thought for a moment as to what she meant by that. The question seemed to mould my face, which Mary noticed. She smiled, a hint of fear on her lips, then shook her head and shrugged. Maybe we should change the subject, she said at full, shrill volume, once again.

I had nothing more to say. This time it seemed the request was too far beyond my psychiatrist’s scope, and so I’d have to find my answers elsewhere.

Therefore, with no time to waste I thanked her for her time and departed.

  I still wonder what Mary might have been suggesting. I wonder if she would’ve been surprised at my solution, had she lived long enough to hear of it. Or afraid? Or proud? We never truly know the measure of a person until we confront them with the barest of our truths. The grubbiest and most animalistic parts of humanity. When you discover my solution, Sarah, what will you feel? I’m not worried. But I know you are. But not of the truth; not of what I’ve done. But what I’ll say. You know I’ve seen your measure, and I know just what to say. So will I lie? When it comes to it, will I alter my story so it hits you just right, so that you’ll forgive me?

Will you know when I’m lying?

  Mary knew when I was lying. Shrink tricks, I guess.

(Experimenting a little with first-person perspective - I’d used it a few times before but not to this extent: attempting to build a personality for the perspective character as well as a compelling opening for the narrative. Additionally, this was the first time I’d actually tried to input some humour to my writing... not sure if any of the jokes will land, especially since the tone might be confusing - I was aiming for black comedy. Either way, I’m happy with this, probably moreso than the Y2 piece I actually submitted.

P.S: my class hated the indirect speech thing.)

#creative writing #writing #2015 #mywriting #aspiring author #black comedy #university #assessment #assignment #novel #crime #first person #indirect speech

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Writing Insights Part Four: Publishing Your Book

By Hugh Howey

if you’re willing to do all of that hard work, the self-publishing route offers numerous benefits

You’ve decided you want to be a writer. You’ve banged out a rough draft. After a dozen passes, you’re starting to think any more edits will mar its perfection. Now what?

Welcome to my fourth and final(?) part of this series on writing insights, where I go over all the things I wish I’d known about publishing a book before I became a writer.

Before I begin, it bears mentioning that I’ve written more on this topic than any other. My blog is one long history of writing about publishing, and the talks I give are usually about publishing. Attempting to consolidate my thoughts into ten mere insights has been a task of omission.

So I cheat a little with some insights-within-insights. My goal here is to distill all my thoughts into the most important advice I can give a writer, wherever they are on their journey. I wish you the best on yours.   Insight #31: Only ONE Publishing Decision is Forever

This is by far my most important insight when it comes to your writing career: Unless you sign away the right to make future decisions, no publishing decision is forever.

I can’t overstress the value of this insight. All the insights that follow are secondary, because if you make this mistake right off the bat, then none of the rest of my advice matters. Everything is negotiable until you negotiate away your right to negotiate.

When you sign with a publishing house, you no longer have control of your published work. You may no longer have control over your writing career. Many publishing contracts include no-compete clauses that preclude your ability to publish elsewhere for fear of competing with the work they are acquiring. Some publishers worry you’ll have too many works coming out in too many places! Greater market penetration is incorrectly seen by these publishers as a problem.

Great agents can get harmful clauses removed, if you can land a great agent and your work and name have enough clout to warrant the leverage. But in most cases, signing with a publisher is the last decision you’ll get to make as a writer other than to stop writing.

If you don’t like your cover art, you may get stuck with it. If you don’t like the title they suggest, it may not matter. I’ve had to fight like hell with major publishers over these decisions, and I’ve lost some of those battles even with hard-won contracts that stipulate my final approval. The publisher will always retain the option to drop marketing support or not publish the work at all. They may even ask to have your advance returned to them.

Assuming you haven’t signed away the rights to your work, no decision you make today is a final decision. You can always decide later on to sign the work over to a publisher. This is why signing with a publisher should be the last course of action you take, because it’s the last one you can take. Exhaust all the other options first while they’re still available.

Let’s say you followed all the advice in this series, and you wrote twenty books, and none of them have taken off yet. Guess what? You haven’t done your career any harm. Nobody has heard of you. Your books haven’t been considered and rejected by readers, agents, or publishers. They’re still brand new! First impressions can still be made.

Maybe you’ll go back and give your early works another pass with all of your acquired writing talents. Perhaps you change titles, or your author name, or the cover art, or all of the above. You can make your entire oeuvre free for a period of time to increase your chances of gaining readers. Or make some works free, some inexpensive, and some priced higher as an experiment. The choices are all yours. Because you’ve retained them. Ownership is everything. Once the books are written, you now have a product you can market and sell for the rest of your life. If you sign ownership away, a publisher can limit your ability to market and sell your works. This doesn’t mean signing with a publisher is always a bad choice; it just means you should carefully consider all avenues before you pull the trigger. In the previous part of this series I urged you to be patient when it comes to publishing your work; now I’m urging you to be patient when it comes to how you publish.   Insight #32: Understand your goals as a writer

With your final manuscript in hand, you now have two major paths forward: 1) Query agents and publishers 2) Self-publish

The first path means writing query letters, which is like a pitch and a resume all rolled into the most difficult and uncomfortable single page you’ve ever written and edited a billion times over in your entire fucking life. You’ll then send these query letters to dozens of agents and publishers, and hope one or more of them asks to read a sample (or a full copy) of your work. If an agent chooses to represent you, you’ll wait as they pitch your project to publishers (you might have to do numerous rewrites first). If you then get signed, you’ll work with the publisher to get your work out to market (you might have to do numerous rewrites first). It sounds straightforward. It’s nearly impossible.

That doesn’t mean it can’t happen to you. Thousands of books are published every year, and quite a few of these are from new authors. If you followed all the previous insights about outworking your peers, putting in the hours to observe the world around you, study great writing, read voraciously, write furiously and consistently, then your chances of being one of these authors is quite good. You may need to write a dozen novels and leave many of them in drawers as you improve your craft, but this is the price the successful are willing to pay. The only person stopping you is you.

However … if you’re willing to do all of that hard work, the self-publishing route offers numerous benefits. The major ones are that you have the creative freedom to write whatever you like, not what agents and publishers are currently looking for. Agents and publishers often go through phases and they chase fads; readers, meanwhile, continue to want books in a wide variety of popular genres. Urban fantasy and dystopia novels remain very healthy markets, but publishers have moved on. You don’t have to.

Self-publishing also means keeping more of the proceeds. You can price your works lower while still earning more per sale. You’re also likely to get more overall sales due to affordable pricing. Publishing houses have a lot of overhead and cannot compete with self-published authors on price; I often find myself recommending a great ebook to friends who balk at paying $12.99 for a digital book. Many of us remember when paperbacks cost half that.

Another area publishers can’t compete is the frequency of publication. Publishing houses are glacially slow; you’ll likely be limited to one novel per year, and your first novel will take a year or more to hit the market. Many successful self-published authors publish several novels a year (or even more!). Keeping readers engaged is a massive benefit. You can also follow up successful works quickly.

Querying and self-publishing. There are other options, but these are the two main paths open to you. You’ll notice that I left out options like: Get your books in bookstores. Publish with a large publishing house. Publish with a small publishing house. Sign a movie deal. Make millions of dollars. Get famous.

The reason I didn’t mention them is because those aren’t options. Those are opportunities. The only choice you get to make is whether you do this yourself or whether you try to squeeze through a handful of tricky gates. Which one you choose will depend on your goals as a writer. Next up, I’ll try to lay out the best steps forward and the pros and cons for each goal that you might have as a writer. But first, an insight-within-an-insight: Most mistakes writers make arise because they want it all. They want a literary writer’s respect, a presence in bookstores, the glow a major publishing house bestows, millions of readers, piles of money, awards, movies and TV shows, and a phone call from Oprah. The hubris that leads us to write in the first place comes with the kind of psychological baggage that gets overage fees and well-deserved TSA checks at airports. Greediness leads to terrible career decisions.

For many years, the authors who achieved all of the above went through the querying -> agent -> major publisher route. Well, no wonder. That was the only route at the time. But this has changed. New paths are opening up faster than stigmas are falling. There are now just as many writers who achieve all of the above by going it alone as those who query agents. Even with a century-long head start, the query path is now falling behind. Having it all is a fine dream, but dreams are things you hope might happen to you while you’re working toward your goals. Goals are solid and achievable. Embrace the difference. Don’t stop dreaming, and don’t stop working. Grab your goals through diligent effort and hope that you get lucky and the rest of your dreams come to you. This is similar to the old saying that the harder I work, the luckier I get. Each goal drives you closer to your dreams.

The realistic approach here is to rank your goals in order of importance, and choose the path that gives you the best chance of netting you your highest goals. Let’s look now at a handful of goals and my advice for each:

1) Your goal is that you want lots of readers. If so, my advice is to write a lot of works and give them away for free or on the cheap. Publish on Wattpad, Medium, Facebook, and all the major ebook retailers. Price as low as possible. Free has enormous benefits for obtaining a wide readership (more on this later). Short works are also great for achieving this goal.

2) You crave awards. This is a strange goal to have, but I mention here because it unfortunately plays into many a writer’s decision making process. The top awards in many genres used to be unattainable for self-published authors, but this is changing rapidly. Self-published works have now won most of the literary awards out there. Hopefully fewer and fewer authors will make poor decisions out of fear of passing up on acclaim from readers and their peers.

3) You want to be in bookstores. If you want to be in a lot of bookstores, you’re going to want to go the query route. The chances are still slim, but if you apply yourself there’s a good chance you can do it. There’s a reason I rank this almost as low on my personal list as garnering awards, something I go over in detail in a later insight. For now, it’s worth mentioning that most books these days are sold online. Getting into bookstores is a vanity goal. Yes, it can increase awareness and add to sales, but not enough to offset the revenue lost from a lower royalty rate.

4) Your goal is to land an agent or get a deal with a major publisher. And I don’t mean as an avenue to any of these other goals (getting readers, making it into bookstores, making money). Some people have this as a goal, period. They are willing to have fewer readers and make less money, because the need to feel validated is stronger than any other goal. The problem I have with this goal is that there is no validation more important than what you get from your readers.

5) Your goal is to become a full-time writer. When you look at these five goals objectively, it isn’t a fair fight. If you love writing, what’s better than having the freedom to do more of it and only it? Earning a living doing what you love is most people’s goal in all walks of life. If you’re enjoying what you’re doing, it isn’t work. Becoming a full-time writer means earning money with your art. While you may think awards and bookstore shelves are a shortcut to making money, you’d be wrong. The shortcut to both is winning over lots of readers and being brave enough to put a price on your art. Earn a living first. That’s your goal. The rest is dreaming.   Insight #33: Don’t quit your day job. Yet.

You might think writing a book is a quick path to riches. Books sell millions of copies, right? This work of yours is genius, and everyone is going to love it, and you only need to reach a fraction of the billions of people on the planet, and you’re going to be rich, rich rich!

If you think this, you’re dead wrong and you’re going to be dead broke. Building to a writing career is a long game. With your first manuscript under your belt, now is the time to live frugally, find a day job that gives you time to work on more stories, and keep writing!

If you do this, you stand a chance of transitioning to a full-time career as a writer. It’s certainly easier now than at any time in human history. That’s because more of the money readers spend on books now flows to authors rather than middlemen like bookstores, publishing houses, and agents. Another insight-within-an-insight here: The only two parties who matter in this game are the writers and the readers. Everyone else needs to prove their worth. Do not let headlines about the health of publishers, or the number of bookstores, or what Amazon or Barnes & Noble are doing, distract you. Care about readers. Care about writers. Demand that everyone else in the business service these two groups, and don’t feel bad for those who don’t and go belly-up as a result.

Readers and writers. Make this a mantra.

Lost amid all the distractions about the health of publishers and bookstores is the fact that most bestselling authors still have day jobs. Even if you develop a steady career with a publishing house, and they buy a book a year from you, a great deal might provide $50,000 per book. This might last six or eight books if you are very lucky. That’s not a great living, and it doesn’t last for long. More common than not is what’s known as the “death spiral,” where subsequent books do less well, so bookstores order fewer copies of the following book. so advances go down, which means less excitement, fewer books ordered of the following book, even lower advances, and repeat until you are dropped by your publisher. This describes the vast majority of writing careers, among the tiny fraction who get the opportunity in the first place.

Relying on publishing contracts is a difficult way to make a living. Many of the successful self-published authors I know publish several works a year until they have a dozen or several dozen titles available. Each of these titles might only bring in a few thousand dollars apiece per annum, but those streams really add up. Trickles become torrents. One or more of these titles will usually outperform the others and really give flow a boost. Sometimes, it’s like a dam bursts. I’ve seen it happen over and over to hardworking writers.

All this is possible because the cost of materials is plummeting and buying habits are changing. Audiobooks are now more often than not delivered digitally rather than on CDs in jewel cases. Ebooks are just electrons, which makes for fat profit margins. The print book is the outlier, in that per-book printing prices are worse with modern print-on-demand (or POD) technology. But this is more than offset by no longer needing to outlay thousands of dollars for a large batch of printed books which may not sell (or just as bad: having demand but not enough books).

The lower cost of materials and the generous cut of the retail price provided by online retailers means you get a tidy sum per book sold. Most retailers pay about 70% of the list price for ebooks. That means earning over $2 on an ebook priced at a rock-bottom $2.99! That’s as much as a publishing house pays an author per hardback sold, if the hardback is priced at $24. You have to somehow cajole readers into spending ten times as many reading dollars just to earn the same income!

As a self-published author, it’s best to look at these numbers as if you are a publisher, because that’s exactly what you are at this point. This makes for an interesting comparison. When I worked as a bookseller, we paid publishers roughly 55% of the retail price of their books. Basically, we were getting anywhere from a 40% to a 50% discount when we made an order. Now I’m on the other side of this equation; I’m the publisher, and a website like Amazon is the bookseller. Instead of giving them 40% to 50% of the list price for helping me make a sale, I’m only giving them 30%. I keep the other 70%, which is much more generous than the bookstore model.

The modern online bookstore is far more democratic as well. Product pages between various books look similar. Your book can march up the bestseller list and be indistinguishable from the biggest names in the game. Going from a career as a bookseller, and seeing all those spine-out books that nobody would ever see, to seeing my books on Amazon with a very similar presence to everyone else, was an eye-opening experience.

So how much can you expect to make as a self-published author? It depends on how lucky you get. Luck always plays a massive role in these things. But the more you publish, and the more you hone your craft, and the more attention you pay to the market and your readers, the luckier you’ll get. It’s almost impossible to publish twenty works of fiction with great cover art and book descriptions and not make enough to pay a bill or two every month. It’s possible you’ll make more than this. The chances here are much better than you’ll find along the querying route, where most applications are denied before you even get to the published-book part.

My advice to myself and others has always been to write because you love it, but position yourself to make a living if possible. The freedoms afforded by self-publishing allow you to do this. You can work as hard as you need and take time off when you have to. It’s a lot like starting your own business, with the same kinds of risks and rewards. The self-published author is his or her own startup. That might make it sound like there’s a ton of work involved in self-publishing, which is certainly true, but then there’s this…   Insight #34: You’re going to be doing most of the work either way

However you publish, you are going to be doing most of the work if you want to have any measurable success. This was one of the things I didn’t understand when I was just getting started. I thought if I worked really hard in the beginning and got an agent and a publisher that I could eventually “just write.” I still hear this from authors who shy away from self-publishing. They say they want to just concentrate on the writing. It would be nice if it worked this way, but it doesn’t.

When publishers began courting me for my works, some of the things they wanted to know was how many followers I had on social media, what my plans were to announce and market my next release, how many writing friends I knew that might blurb the work for me. They were interested in my blog and my online presence. Many of the things I hoped a publisher would provide were instead expected of me.

I have New York Times bestselling author friends with major publishers who have to pay for their own book tours, their own way to writing conferences, their promotional material, even additional editing. You won’t hear many authors complain about their publishers because reprisal is very real and very damaging, but once you get through the door the chatter is everywhere. There are horror stories.

I have plenty of horror stories of my own, and my journey has been absolutely charmed compared to most. I’ve been lucky to work with some amazing publishers. But painting a rosy picture is a disservice to rising authors.  And I care about writers far more than I care about publishers. I see many ways in which publishers can improve, and I want them to improve. I don’t think coddling them or sucking up to them gives them incentive to make things better. The main thing forcing publishers to compete and improve today is the explosion in self-publishing; it’s the first real option writers have had in decades.

My advice to authors along either path – querying or self-publishing – is to approach both paths in largely the same manner. If you want to query and land an agent and a publisher, I suggest the same level of revisions and professional editing that a successful self-publisher employs. Yes, I’m suggesting you hire an editor before you query. I’m suggesting you invest in the business of you-as-a-writer.

Working with editors is an opportunity to hone your craft. For some reason we go bonkers over writers paying for their own editorial services, but people are applauded for taking cooking classes for the joy of it. Invest in furthering your education. The bonus is that if you approach the querying path with the same rigor as a self-published author, you’re going to have a ready-for-market work sitting right there if you don’t land an agent, or if your agent doesn’t strike a deal you like.

For self-published authors, the advice is the same: Approach your career as if you are going to publish with Random House or Hachette. Take your author photos, your website, your social media presence, your email habits, just as seriously. You never know, you might end up publishing with a major house one day. Even if you don’t, author platforms are critical. You should want your cover art, product pages, and personal pages to reflect the highest level of professionalism. This doesn’t mean be stodgy. Know your audience and be yourself. Be playful, sarcastic, sexy, juvenile, dorky, provocative, but do it with professionalism and self-respect.

All of these things are necessary to become a successful writer, and you’re going to be expected to do them however you publish. Working with an agent and a publisher on the query side is similar to hiring an editor and uploading final copies on the self-publishing route. The difference with the latter is that you are paying one-time costs for products that you own and profit from forever. Agents and publishers will continue costing you money, even though they largely offer the same one-time services.   Insight #35: Only YOU have your best interests at heart

I don’t have much cynical advice, because I’m not a cynical guy. I’m an optimist. That’s why this insight has been one of the biggest surprises I’ve encountered over the years, and it’s why it’s the saddest for me to relate. But it’s the honest truth, and your career depends on understanding it.

You will have many publishing partners over your career, and most of them will spend most of their time assisting you in garnering more sales and readers. These publishing partners will include fellow writers you collaborate with; retailers you sell through; publishers you sign with; agents you employ; assistants, editors, and cover artists you hire. It would be nice to think that your goals will always align, but they won’t. For instance, your agent might be asked by a publisher to send them the latest thing in a particular genre. Your project might not be on the top of their list. This is obvious, but it’s worth keeping in mind. When you work directly with a retailer or a marketer, you know your work is represented to its fullest – by you. With your agent, you need to hope this is the case. You aren’t in the room when discussions are being made.

The far worse realization is that your own publisher often has conflicting interests. Every publisher has “frontlist” titles. These are works that get the highest level of promotion (they are situated early in quarterly release catalogs, hence the name). If your work is not frontlisted, it won’t be pushed as heavily as those that are.

Where this gets especially nasty is when you would love to discount your published works to boost sales, but publishers will not allow it. This is because they worry about gutting sales of current releases by making backlist titles too inexpensive. The number one complaint I hear from authors about their publishers is the inability to discount their works. This is what I mean when I say the decision to publish may be the last decision you ever make. You think all future decisions will be for your benefit, but there are conflicts of interest. A new release from a hot new author may take precedent over the book you released last year that didn’t do so well. Publishers will always pin their hopes on the next new thing rather than figure out how to give backlist titles another chance. This is a massive flaw in their business philosophy, and one you shouldn’t expect them to fix anytime soon.

There’s also the problem of staff turnover. The editor who excitedly purchases your manuscript may not be around for its release and marketing, or be there when it’s time to negotiate for a sequel. You’d think this would be a rare occurrence; it’s not. I’ve watched editors shuffle within and between publishers like a game of three card monte. It’s not uncommon to find yourself down the road with an editor who hasn’t read your work, or find yourself jumping between publishing houses along with your favorite editor, which means fewer cross-promotional opportunities. Think about this when you sign away lifetime rights; a lifetime is a lot longer than these editors spend on any one rung of their careers.

Having been a little cynical, let me now give you some hope. There are fantastic agents and publishers out there; I’ve been very lucky to work with a few. The right agent will more than make up for their 15% commission. The right publisher can help boost your career. In both cases, however, you’re better off when you can approach them from a position of power.

Here’s your next insight-within-an-insight:

YOU hire your agent and your publisher, not the other way around.

That’s right: they work for you! Too many writers get this the wrong way around, and it leads them to accepting the first offer of representation they can land, or the first publishing deal they can get. I’ve made this mistake in the past. I was lucky in that my first attempt to query led very quickly to a publishing contract. I was even luckier to get the rights back to that work. That work has since won me many readers and made me a lot of money. But early on, I thought I was the one getting hired. I had it all backwards.

Once I figured it out, I stopped looking for agents and publishers. I concentrated on finding readers. They are my real boss; I work to keep them entertained and informed. After amassing a lot of readers, I started getting inquiries from agents, and now I could have my pick. This is exactly how it should work. Agents and publishers can boost an existing career more readily than they can create one from scratch. Hire the best. Put them to work for you.   Insight #36: Understand the market

Books are no longer just printed tomes. You may prefer to read print books or ebooks, but don’t let this bias close you off to a large segment of readers. Audiobooks are exploding in popularity. Ebooks sales have overtaken print books in most genres. And print books still rule when it comes to book signings and many promotional opportunities.

Each medium has its readers and its advantages. And there is plenty of crossover. Keep the physical limitations that some readers have in mind. Not all readers live near a bookstore, or have the eyesight for the small print of most published books, and some have no eyesight at all. Ebooks have been a boon for older readers, both for the large print and the weight reduction. Audiobooks have opened up worlds for the visually impaired. Online shopping and home delivery are the only option for millions of readers.

The point is to not assume and to not let your personal reading biases color your professional writing decisions. Instead, treat the trifecta of book publishing as equal sides on a triangle: Print books, ebooks, and audiobooks. You should offer all three formats to your readers, and give all three formats your close attention.   The Self-Publishing Trifecta: Ebooks, Print, and Audio

Of the three dominant book formats, Ebooks are the simplest to create, but it’s easy to get them wrong. You can upload an edited word document right to KDP and other ebook retailers, but automated conversion can make many mistakes. I highly recommend using an ebook formatter like 52 Novels to create perfect ebook files.

You’ll want two types of file formats: .epub and .mobi. The former is used by a larger number of retailers. The latter is used by Amazon, which means it’s used by a larger number of readers. Mobi files are basically .epub files with a few added features. A must-have tool for converting these file formats is the free program Calibre. Consider supporting the developers of this program as you begin to rely on it. It’s pure gold.

There are countless outlets for your ebooks, including the ability to sell them directly through your website. In order of popularity (ie sales), the top options are: Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP) platform, Apple’s iBookstore, Barnes and Noble’s Nook store, and Kobo. There are also aggregators like Direct to Digital and Smashwords, which allow you to upload to a single place to reach multiple outlets. But I find the control and better royalty rates makes uploading to each site separately more than worthwhile.

I’m sure this sounds daunting, but it really isn’t. Learning how to write a query letter and researching which agents to send them to (and keeping track of your submissions and responses) is far more work. You can learn to publish on Amazon’s KDP site in a single weekend, and the ebook will be available to readers by Monday. If you have an Amazon account, you already have a KDP account. It’s the same login and password. You just need your polished and edited work and some cover art.   Print books are a little trickier to create, but not much. You’ll want to generate a PDF of your book. (Two PDFs, actually. One will be the interior; the other will be the full cover wrap, which includes the front, spine, and rear in a single splay). The great thing about PDFs is that they print just how they look. What you see on your screen is what you’ll see on the printed page. You can use a company like the aforementioned 52 Novels to create your PDF, or you can learn to play around with it on your own. I love and have used 52 Novels, but I’m a huge advocate for doing it yourself. For me, the layout of my print book is the final interface between me and my readers. How the fonts look, how the words are spaced, which sentences end on certain pages, how hyphens are used, all of this is as important to the reading experience as the words themselves.

The best artists stretch their own canvases and have opinions on which way is up when the painting is hung, how it is lit, how prints are matted and framed. The same can and should be true of authors. If you take your career seriously, consider learning about kerning, widows and orphans, pagination techniques, typography, even book binding. Even if you don’t do these things yourself, you’ll have the vocabulary and knowledge to communicate with those you hire to do it for you. This goes back to our insight in part one of this series about standing out from your peers by working harder than them.

The way your print books will be created and sold is different from what self-published authors had to do in the past. Gone are the days of ordering boxes of books that sit in your garage and that you sell out of the trunk of your car at trade shows. Now we have print-on-demand technology. This is partly a miracle of printing automation, but mostly a miracle of on-time production and delivery. Soon after uploading your book in PDF form to a print-on-demand facility, your book will go on sale. When a customer buys a copy, the book will be printed, bound, and shipped that same day. You’ll get a percentage of the sale in a month or two. This means your books never go out of print, and you don’t spend money on tons of books that go unpurchased.

There are a few print-on-demand companies out there, but only two that I recommend you look into. Lightning Source is one owned by Ingram, and they provide a lot of options on trim size (the height and width of your book), and binding (hardback, paperback). They can make your work easily orderable by bookstores (though almost no bookstore will make an order unless you talk them into it in person, or a reader goes in to order a copy rather than get it online). The disadvantage of upfront cost at Lightning Source is partly offset by a higher per-sale payout compared to the other option I recommend.

That other option is CreateSpace, which is owned and operated by Amazon. This is by far my runaway choice for my own works, and it’s the one I would recommend to most writers for most purposes. The simple fact is that most books are now purchased on Amazon, and CreateSpace provides a tightly integrated experience for both you and your customers (the readers). Your print books will show up on the store more quickly, and they’ll never show a low stock quantity. They’ll ship faster (especially to Prime members), and they’ll sometimes go on sale while giving you the same percentage of profits. You can also order copies for yourself directly from CreateSpace for direct sales, author events, and book signings. Since you own your rights, feel free to try both and compare. Or use both, one for Amazon sales and the other to make your books available through Ingram’s network of distributors.   Audiobooks are the biggest challenge, both in getting them right and affording someone who can get them right for you. A professionally narrated audiobook can cost a self-published author several thousand dollars. It takes a lot of sales to earn that back.

Cheaper options exist, including narrating the work yourself. Some authors have built a career on their podcasted auidobooks. You can also try to sell audiobook rights to publishers based on the sales of ebooks and print books, but this can take time and the rates won’t be as good as doing it yourself. The production quality will likely be very high though.

The best option for high quality and low price is to go through Amazon’s ACX platform. This is a self-publishing platform for audiobooks. The ACX platform helps authors match up with narrators. You can pay them outright for the work and keep the royalties for yourself, or you can share the royalties evenly with narrators who do the work at no upfront cost. This is a great way for authors on a budget to offer options to their readers. But my advice is to save up and pay for great narration on your own. It’s an investment in your career, and it will almost always pay off in the long run. If you look at my advice above, the trifecta of book formats comes down to a trifecta of Amazon offerings: KDP for ebooks, CreateSpace for print, and ACX for audiobooks. This is no accident. Amazon has become by far the #1 outlet for book sales in all formats. This is where readers are getting their stories, and Amazon has worked hard to improve the author and customer experience at all three platforms. I’ve used every outlet out there, and my current advice is to focus on this trifecta. Of course, that could change in the future. Which leads us to my next insight…   Insight #37: The Modern Book is Forever

One of the truths about modern publishing that’s almost impossible to fully appreciate is that books are now on the market for the rest of time. I list this insight very high on my reasons to self-publish, and I owe this insight to my years as a bookseller. Part of my job at the bookstore was to shelve all new incoming books from publishers. A less enjoyable part of my job was to then box up unsold books and ship them right back to those very same publishers.

The average time a book spent on a shelf was around six months. Some only lasted three months, at which time the next batch from the quarterly catalogs arrived. It was rare that a book spent a year on the shelf. Most books that end up on the store shelves for longer are age-old classics or the mere handful of top bestsellers that are destined to become classics.

This is one of the heartbreaking things to watch from the inside, especially when you appreciate all the obstacles authors overcame to get this far. To miss their chance to find a readership and only get a few months spine-out on a bookstore shelf is downright depressing. Working in a bookstore and seeing this day after day helped me lower my expectations as an author, and it made me steadily devalue the ability to get into bookstores at all. I realized those shelves were not a panacea for sales and readership.

You might console yourself by pointing out that these returned books are always available online, but this is only as long as publishers keep printing them. Unfortunately, they don’t do this forever. Not all publishers take advantage of print-on-demand (POD) technology, so some books just disappear in paperback form and remain as ebooks only. For the authors whose primary goal is getting into bookstores, you may sign over lifetime ownership of your art for a mere three months of spine-out visibility. This is why goals and dreams must be kept separate. Careers can implode when they aren’t.

If you self-publish, your works will be available forever. This is why the long goal of writing a dozen or more novels is viable. When one takes off, all the other works are still fresh. The online retailer’s algorithms will make sure readers know about your other works. Success seems to come all at once to authors who amass a library of quality titles. The great thing about today’s publishing tools is that if you don’t give up on yourself, the technology won’t either.   Insight #38: Diversify! (And consolidate)

This insight goes against much publishing advice and a lot of common sense, but I strongly suggest that you refrain from writing in the same world and about the same characters over and over. The only time to do this is if your first release has a massive amount of success. If this happens, keep striking while the iron is hot and turn your work into a long series.

A big mistake I see from too many aspiring writers is to follow up their first work with a sequel, and turn that into a trilogy, and write a fourth and fifth book while they plan their sixth and seventh.

There are three reasons we fall into this trap. The first is that ex nihilo creation is more difficult than working with something we already have, and writers tend to be paradoxically lazy when it comes to creativity. The second is that all writers are readers, and as readers we love revisiting beloved characters and worlds if possible (and now that we’re the writers, it’s very much possible). The third reason we fall into this trap is that we witness the major successes from the publishing world, and those authors seem to release another book in their same series year after year.

The problem with this third reason is selection bias. Publishers reinvest in their rare first-time successes, and they ask for more of the same and heavily promote these lucky authors. This means we naturally end up with big careers based on book series that run out of numbers and letters for their thematic titles. The self-published author is unlikely to have success with their first title, but they have as a filtered example from publishers the careers of those who were fortunate in this regard. All the authors who didn’t have this one-off success are gone and invisible, not to be emulated.

If you fall into the trap of writing a series out of the gate, the problem you’re creating is that you have to promote the same first book in the series with every new release. If it hasn’t taken off yet, it might not ever. Your writing is going to get stronger, but that first book isn’t. You’re left hoping that readers will force their way through to where the series really takes off. Don’t hope. Plan.

Plan on writing many great books about many awesome characters. Plan on writing three different trilogies in three different genres. Sequels aren’t bad; in fact, they can be critical to your success. What’s bad is only giving readers a handful of avenues into your imagination. Give them as many onramps as possible. Write short stories as well as novels. Write in different genres. Experiment and adapt to your sales and any critical feedback.

This is where we can emulate publishers. Major publishers invest in a wide variety of books, publish them all, and see what sticks. They reinvest in those that do. You should adopt the same strategy.

At the same time that I suggest you diversify your books, I highly recommend that you consolidate your brand. The only good reason I know of for multiple pen names is to keep adult work separate from all-ages work. If you write in different genres, don’t assume it’s necessary to keep up with multiple pen names. Readers are far more adventurous and diverse than publishers give them credit for – most of my readers read right across my various genres. All it takes to distinguish your content is appropriate cover art and product descriptions. Diluting your name is a huge mistake. It robs you of the advantage of critical mass when something takes off.

While I’m on the topic of diversifying and critical mass, I should mention my habit of serializing some of my novels. I’ve been hugely influenced by comic books and television, both of which offer lengthy plot arcs made up of smaller plot arclets (to coin a word). This works well if you can make each arclet a satisfying and holistic experience. Each arclet should have its own beginning, middle, and end. If not, you risk upsetting readers and appearing as if it’s a ploy to maximize profits.

What serializing really does is maximize visibility. WOOL, SAND, and BEACON 23 were all originally released in five parts. This meant five times as many impressions as readers scrolled through bestseller lists. There were other advantages: I could price these works more affordably, which served to draw in more readers to the first part. If I lost readers there, they save money in the long run, and I end up with superfans by parts four and five. But the biggest advantage is all the creative advantages. More parts means more plot climaxes. It means nail-biting cliffhangers. It means being able to shift the tone and perspective between entries. It means more frequent releases, so the passion remains high both in you, the writer, as well as the reader. Amazon’s algorithms in particular love new releases, and so serialized works continue to tickle that beast’s digital belly.

All of this was discovered by accident when I followed up a short story, WOOL, which was taking off on its own. I was writing a wide variety of stories, and when I saw one gain steam, I started shoveling coal. You might discover a very different insight through your own experimentation. The point is that you never know what will work, so don’t limit yourself to one or two ideas. Be creative. Experiment and adapt.   Insight #39: Packaging and Retail Decisions

The adaptability mentioned above is possible because of the flexibility we now have with story packaging. The words that form our stories are important, but how they are packaged and delivered is equally important. A great example of this is among audiobooks, where aficionados look for their next purchase by searching for their favorite narrator, rather than their favorite author. That’s a packaging decision, and it can overpower every ounce of your writing efforts.

There are so many other examples. Take your print and ebooks, and the sudden shift in philosophy behind cover art. That shift occurred the moment online booksellers took off, and suddenly your print and ebooks had to stand out while being seen online as a mere icon. If you can’t grab readers’ attention with your online packaging, the story you slaved to write may never get a chance.

The size of online cover art is why typography has become so critical, far more critical than the artwork. I urge authors to stay away from thin, cursive fonts. They will disappear when readers see the cover on Amazon as they’re scrolling through lists of books. Your name and the title should jump out. The biggest mistake I see (and have made) with cover art is to think you need a fancy illustration. After laboring over this illustration, or shelling out big bucks for the art, the author’s name and the title shrink to the top and bottom of the book, terrified of obscuring the artwork. This is completely backwards. Cover up that artwork. Splay your name and title in big block letters right on top of it. Take time once a month to scroll through the bestseller lists in your genres to see what jumps out at you and what looks half-baked. Study these examples. You’ll note most major publishers slap their typography right over the art. Most successful self-published authors do the same.

Here’s a trick you can try with any of your cover art ideas or existing novels: Bella Andre and I were at a book conference once, and she’d given a talk about her cover art (she does her own, and it’s some of the best in the biz). That afternoon, a young writer came up to us with a copy of her novel and asked us what we thought of her cover. It wasn’t bad as a print book, and ten years earlier it would’ve have affected this author’s career. But for a modern book, it was a disaster. To show her why, I took the book and began walking away from the author and Bella. I asked Bella to stop me when the book was “Amazon size.”

“Further,” Bella said, waving me back. “Keep going. More. Back, back. Okay, right there.”

She turned and looked at the author who had come to us for advice. Suddenly, we could both see that this writer no longer needed the advice. She saw what we saw. That is, she saw what readers were going to see online. “Got it,” she said, nodding, with the sort of can-do attitude that let us know she’d go back to work, punch up the typography, and get a new version out there.

I’ve gone through several packaged versions of my works over the years. HALF WAY HOME is on its third cover. The WOOL OMNIBUS has had four. My MOLLY FYDE series has a new set of covers from one of my favorite artists. THE HURRICANE and THE PLAGIARIST are also different from the originals. It doesn’t cost much to make these changes. For publishers, the cost would be prohibitive. They only do this when a book has a movie tie-in, or hits a major list or gets unreal blurbs it wants to add. Anniversary and special editions, that sort of thing.

But you can change your covers on a whim. An unintended side effect of this? You create collector’s items out of print-on-demand books. I’ve seen some copies of the original WOOL novelette sell for hundreds of dollars. For a little fifty page book! It’s not just the monetary value either. Early readers of my MOLLY FYDE series take great pride in the original copies with the old cover art. It’s proof and reminder of when they got into the books.

There’s so much more we can do with print-on-demand, so much untapped potential. You could celebrate a particular month like Black History Month, or put out a limited edition tied to a charity and give the proceeds for that month to the cause. You could update the cover every month with a different reader’s Amazon review blurbed on the cover, and then send the fan an offer of a free copy (this might held encourage more reader reviews). How about including a doodle in the book that animates as you flip through it, down in the corner of the book like those flip-books we made in school? You could commission one of these from an artist to celebrate an anniversary of release or a sales milestone. Show it off to readers and offer it for a limited time.

I remember a challenge I had years ago, when I had the opportunity to speak at a Boing Boing event and give away something in their swag bag. These were tech-savvy folks, and I thought about a flyer with a download link for some of my ebooks, but how boring is that? I wanted to get creative and make them feel like they’d received something special. So I had some business-card-shaped USB drives custom printed to look like ID badges worn in the silos of WOOL. They had a fallout symbol on them and were made to look worn and old. I loaded the full trilogy on the drives and included instructions on how to sideload the files to pretty much any reading device.

The fallout USB drives were a massive hit. When my readers saw them, they wanted to know how to get one of their own. So I had to print up another batch and sell them direct from my website. When orders came in with requests that I sign the drives, I realized what I’d inadvertently done: I’d given substance to electrons. I could now sign and give away my ebooks. The packaging drove sales and awareness.

Ebooks, audiobooks, and POD have allowed short fiction to become viable again. As long as the price is commensurate, and the shopper is well-informed, we no longer have to write for the very limited scope of old-school physical packaging. But it’s not just short fiction that’s affected. One of the most powerful tools in marketing and sales these days is the ability to delivery LOTS of written words all at once.

Multi-author boxsets are allowing dozens of writers to hit national bestseller lists by combining their marketing powers. It’s also possible to include every book you write into a single product, selling this library of works at a discount. In the old way of publishing, every page cost money. Publishers would shrink down the font and squeeze the margins to save pennies per copy (resulting in a worse reading experience!). And if the author sent in a manuscript that was too short, the publishers would spread the text way out to justify the same $25 price on the hardback. There was no creativity with the containers. Bean counters decided the package, and the authors and editors were forced to comply.

But now you can add as much content as you like to your works. Do you have a rough draft that is wildly different from the original? Include it at the end for a behind-the-scenes look. The reader can skip it or peruse it; their choice! Did you cut out a lot of scenes from your epic fantasy to improve the reading experience? Maybe punch those up and release them as short stories, or tack them on at the end of the book! Write a blooper reel for your novel that comes after the credits. (Has anyone done this yet? Why not!).

The point of all these ideas is that we are creatives. That’s what we’re trying to make a living doing. So be fucking creative. There is no box to think outside of anymore. Stand out.   Insight #40: The Power of Free

When I completed my first book, all I wanted was to have it read by as many people as possible. My goal wasn’t to make a lot of money; I just wanted to see if a full-time career might be possible. So I emailed the draft out to anyone willing to read it, and I made a plan to serialize the book for free on my blog. I knew of a few science fiction authors who did something similar; a couple of them had released their books as weekly audio podcasts. In the end, I was pressured by some early fans to submit the manuscript to publishers. I was told that giving my book away for free would harm my career, not kickstart it. One of the early mistakes I made as a writer was to listen to people who weren’t having any luck along the querying route and follow their lead. I should have trusted my gut and my observations of those who had broken convention and had found success.

Giving away my work turned out to be a very powerful tool indeed. In the early days of Amazon’s KDP service (their online ebook platform for self-publishing), they provided a handful of “free days” for every 90 day enrollment period. KDP authors soon learned that giving away their works led to more sales. The danger in the arts is not in having your works devalued; it’s having your works undiscovered.

Free has other advantages, ones long ago discovered by sales forces in other industries. Free lowers the barrier to entry. It’s like an app you can download on a whim, and if you love the demo, you can pay for more levels. My first WOOL story has been made permanently free, with the hopes that those who enjoy it will seek out more. When WOOL was first taking off years ago, readers joked that I was a digital crack-dealer, giving away samples. It was a terrible analogy!

It was also a perfect analogy.

Another benefit to free is market research. People who don’t like something offered for free are less likely to leave a bad review than those who paid a lot of money and were dissatisfied. Reader reviews have become the single most powerful force driving book sales. The road to going viral with your works relies on writing a work that elicits raves from readers. Pulling this off is harder than you can possibly imagine. Free books will help keep review averages high, and hopefully get word-of-mouth started. I remember seeing people on social media urge their friends to read WOOL, and part of their sales pitch to their friends was that it was short and didn’t cost much.

Free has always been controversial. Many writers hate the idea of free, and most publishers don’t understand its power. Neil Gaiman once fought tooth and nail with his publisher to give away copies of his book AMERICAN GODS. It wasn’t selling as well as he thought it should, so he wanted to just let readers enjoy it online at no cost. His publishers balked, but Neil persisted. To humor him, they agreed to do it for a month. During this month, paid sales of AMERICAN GODS increased 700%! Neil was vindicated and thrilled, but his publisher had spent the month agonizing over all the “lost sales” of each free download. At the end of the month, they terminated the experiment. Paid sales dropped back down. They’d somehow seen enough by not paying attention.

The new controversy is all-you-can-read services like Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited. Some authors loathe the service, and most publishers refuse to participate. It’s the same debate I saw play out over free books years ago. Kindle Unlimited allows readers to pay a $9.99 monthly subscription and then read as many books as they want. This has been a boon to voracious readers, and a bonanza for the authors who get discovered and paid through the program. The problem with Kindle Unlimited, for an author, is that they have to make their works exclusive with Amazon. Hence the balking from many authors.

Exclusivity is my last insight-within-an-insight, and it’s related to the paradox of free. Just as free can lead to more paid sales, limiting the distribution of your books can lead to more readers. This may not always be true, but the current publishing market certainly makes this the case today. It’s been the case for most authors over the last two years.

Let’s imagine that Barnes & Noble offers to carry your book, but you can’t make it available anywhere else. If you agree to this, they’ll put your book in the store window and run special promotions on your book to drive lots of in-store sales. Most authors I know would jump at the chance, even though it meant not being available on Amazon, or in small independent bookstores. The opportunity to stand out and win special bookshelf placement is worth taking books out of markets where they are practically invisible. This is how Kindle Unlimited works. You trade exclusivity for greater visibility in the number one bookstore in the world.

This may not always be the case as more distribution options become available. The point here is not that Kindle Unlimited is a shortcut to success, or that if you give your books away for free you’ll make lots of money. My point with free and Kindle Unlimited is that some of the best decisions you make in publishing will be illogical on their surface. You have to be brave and experiment; try different things. The beauty of our first insight in this part of my series is that you didn’t rush off and give away your freedom to make these decisions. You can jack up the price of that free ebook and one day make it free again. You can take your ebooks out of Kindle Unlimited and see if other distributors  have upped their game. You can put them back into KU at any time.

The choices are all yours. The technology is waiting. Readers are waiting. You are lucky, because there’s never been a better time in human history to be a reader or a writer. And there’s never been more ways to bring these two parties together.   Bonus Insight: The secret to marketing

There’s one more facet to publishing not mentioned very much in this series, and it’s something I’m saving for a future series on book publishing, and that’s marketing. The secret to marketing is to not market so much. Don’t spend time marketing that you could otherwise spend writing. There is no marketing force as powerful as another book to publish. Period. End of story. Mic drop. Please make me stop repeating myself.

This doesn’t mean marketing isn’t important. It just means that marketing can more easily get in the way of success as it can provide a path to it. I’ve seen too many writers market the hell out of their first novel, or first trilogy, and get frustrated with disappointing sales and never write the work that would’ve gone viral on its own if they’d just kept pressing forward.

Go back to my first part of this series and you’ll see the advice I give to have the long view, to write twenty novels before you analyze your potential to make a career of this. I mean every word of that. This detachment from sales will allow you to persevere. When you see a writer blaze past you on the road to successville, understand that they are lapping you because they set out a long time before you even laced up your writing shoes. You didn’t see them go through the same struggles you’re going through now. You don’t know their full history any more than they know yours. Assume those histories have much in common.

The time to start marketing is when you have lots of works to offer, or one of your works takes off, or you land a special deal somewhere with an agent or publisher or media outlet. Until then, the way to market is to be yourself and to put that self out there. Get engaged in the writing community. Use your writing to make a mark on social media and your blog. Lay a foundation on which future marketing endeavors may rest. The goal isn’t to sell your works but to establish yourself. Much more to come in my marketing insights series, which I’m not even considering a part of this series, because you shouldn’t be thinking about it.

You should be thinking about writing.

So what are you doing here?

Get to it.

Finish what you start.

Work on your craft.

I believe in you.

Believe in yourself.

* This is the fourth in a four-part series. Read the rest:

Writing Insights Part One: Becoming a Writer

Writing Insights Part Two: The Rough Draft

Writing Insights Part Three: The Revision Process

  A version of this article appeared at The Wayfinder.

Hugh Howey

Hugh Howey is the author of the award-winning Molly Fyde saga and the New York Times and USA Today bestselling WOOL series. The WOOL OMNIBUS won the Kindle Book Review 2012 Indie Book of the Year Award.

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