The Worst Thing About Writing Is That You Arent Just A Writer. You Have To Be A Thousand Things. A Poet,

the worst thing about writing is that you aren’t just a writer. you have to be a thousand things. a poet, a flirt, a weapons expert, a bleeding heart, a scholar, a legendary cook, a theorist, an engineer, a reckless teenage girl, a dying god. you have to be able to write monologues and speeches and heartfelt confessions, and you have to make them believable. writing is putting yourself into someone else’s shoes.

writing is really hard (◕︿◕✿)

Join Me

Pairing: Lucifer x reader

Word Count: 1,074

Summary: The reader wants to confront Lucifer, but ends up giving into her darkest desires…

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: Hope it’s okay!

Your palms, clutching the gun tightly, were sweating and your hands were shaking visibly. If your hunting partners were there, they would have been sure to tease you about that, as you took pride in your steady hand and perfect aim.

But they weren’t even alive anymore, and all because of the man -archangel, demon, whatever- standing there in front of you with his back turned to you; vulnerable and bare. Nobody had seen him kill them, but word was he had sent his demons to do the dirty job.

Still, it was his fault, his fault, his fault.

Your whole body was shaking with anger and fear, and the adrenaline was pumping through your blood, making your skin buzz and tingle. Every slight movement felt weird, as if you weren’t fully in control of your body and you were feeling someone else control it.

You were so angry, so livid and full of rage, that while you knew your simple bullets would do nothing to harm Lucifer himself, you had to try. Your life held no meaning anyway without your friends and hunting partners, and you’d get your revenge if it was the last thing you did.

Suddenly, the stability in your arms returned and you were able to carefully aim at Lucifer’s back and fire.

The bullet cut right through Lucifer’s vessel’s body, and a spray of blood coloured his shirt crimson, but his face held an amused expression as he turned to face you.

He shook his head and pursed his lips in disappointment, and you felt like a scolded child. Not knowing what else to do, you fired again at him as he approached you, but not so much as a wince of pain crossed his face.

When he was actually close enough so you could feel the heat his body emanated, he smirked cruelly and with a simple twist of his wrist you were pinned against the wall behind you.

“You’ve been a reaaaaaally naughty girl, Y/n,” Lucifer said, shaking his head again and making your blood boil with anger. You were surprised by how human he actually sounded, how real and tangible and not supernatural at all.

You struggled against your invisible bonds, trying to form words so you could respond to him, but you were unable to.

“I can’t decide if you want to ask me how I know who you are or if you just want to tell me to ‘go to hell’,” he grinned, chuckling at his own joke, as you once again found yourself surprised, almost mesmerised by his voice.

Again, you tried to speak, only this time you found yourself able to actually form words.

“Both,” you croaked out, upper lip curling in a sneer of hatred.

Lucifer cast you another disappointed look, and part of you actually felt chastised by it. He was menacing, and imposing, and it felt as if he could make everyone in a room feel inferior just by breathing.

“I know your name because you are a very capable hunter indeed, and I have been keeping a close eye on you,” he said, smirking.

“So close an eye that you killed my best friends?” you spat out in fury.

“I had to do what had to be done to gain a follower, my dear,” Lucifer replied with a shrug.

“Oh, and did you get that follower? Were they worth it?” you almost screamed at him.

He smirked enigmatically. “I don’t know yet. That is up to you.”

Your heart beat faster as you came to a realisation. Lucifer wanted to recruit you.

“You bastard. Why would I ever join you?” you sneered.

“You are capable. You are inconspicuous. You are smart, and talented, and you are just like me. You are a shining star now, your parents’ favourite and your friends’ beloved, but I can see the strain in your eyes. You don’t want this life of a prodigy because your ideals are different. Act upon them; join me, and the world will be at our feet. It will be ours to do with as we wish; ours to create and to destroy,” he said, and you were embarrassed by how close to home his words had actually hit. You had always hated how the hunter’s life had just been thrust upon you without anybody asking you first, and what you had hated even more was the fact that you were amazing at being a hunter.

“We’re different,” you said, grasping at straws. He could see in your eyes that his words rang true, that what he had said had affected you in more ways than you cared to admit.

“Everyone’s different,” he scoffed. “But you and I… not so much. The only difference I can see is that your Hell is right here. You are living it every moment, breathing it in and exhaling it with every breath. And you know it. You can feel it. Yet… you deny it. We want the same things. Accept it,” he said, calmly striding closer to you; so close that you could almost feel his breath on your face.

You held his blue gaze for a long while, neither looking away.

“I am not like you,” you insisted.

Lucifer just gave a cold, low, laugh and leaned even closer to you, touching his lips to yours.

What you realised first was that you were no longer bound by his invisible spell. He was actually giving you the option to decide here.

That took you by surprise, but what astonished you even more was the fact that you were responding positively to his increasingly rough kiss. He was kissing and licking and sucking and biting and, when he met no resistance, he pushed you against the wall and trapped you between it and his body.

“What is your answer?” he asked, voice low in a growl as he pulled away from the kiss that had left you breathless and yet wanting -needing- more.

“Yes,” you said breathily.

You didn’t know why you replied with what you did. The only sure thing was that no demon was possessing you because your anti-possession tattoo was still whole and unharmed.

The prospect of the world being yours was seductive, and you couldn’t say no now that you had the way to make it reality.

Lucifer smirked. “Welcome, my queen,” he muttered and leaned closer to capture your lips in another desperate, needy, kiss.

Thank you, Game Freak, for all these years of fun, and for the many more surely to come!

a design based on this is now available on Redbubble!

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I wanna drown in literature and forget I actually exist

We Need to Talk

Pairing: James McAvoy x reader

Word Count: 904

The Request: Can I have one with James McAvoy where we’re dating and my best friend, Steven, is on a movie with him and after a couple of weeks he starts rumors that I am cheating on James but they’re not true. James believes them and we break up. One day, I am on the set (as a make-up artist) and James hears Steven say that it was all fake and he fights with him and I break them up and at home I clean his wounds and with a lot of fluff?

Warnings: N/A

A/N: Request for @anyfandomimaginex

“Y/n, we need to talk,” James’s voice told you over the phone, and you froze. In your experience, nobody ever used that phrase to say a good thing. Nervously, you replied.

“What is it, James?” you asked, trying to keep your voice level.

“What is it!? You dare ask me that question?” he was very obviously angry, and you didn’t know why. You felt like you were supposed to, though.

“Um... Yes. I don’t understand what your problem is. I’m sorry if I did something wrong, but tell me so I can fix it,” you mumbled into the receiver.

You could hear his scoff even from over the phone.

“You can’t fix this, I’m sorry. Your friend Steven told me that you’ve been cheating on me for a while now, and he has no reason to lie,” you could now hear a broken note in his voice, like he was holding back tears.

“We are over,” he declared and terminated the call. You just sat there, unable to comprehend what had happened, and you dialled James’s number again, hoping for an apology, a chance to let you explain that you were definitely not seeing another man, but he didn’t pick it up.

For the next couple of weeks, neither he nor Steven answered your calls or messages. You were both confused -because why would a man you’d known from school and called himself your best friend would do this to your relationship?- and determined to confront them both when you would be called on set for ‘Welcome to the Punch’, the action movie they were shooting.

When you finally were called on set as a make-up artist, you were relieved. You were finally going to have a chance to talk to James and Steven, demand explanations from the latter and ask the former if you could continue your relationship, because you’d been going strong for some while now and you loved him a lot.

You walked on set, hoping to catch sight of James first, so you could rush up to him and explain your side of the story, but you were unfortunate. Steven was there, and apparently he was waiting for you because he greeted you immediately.

“Oh, hello,” you huffed out a reluctant greeting and glared at him.

“Why so hostile?” Steven asked confidently as if he himself had done nothing wrong.

You were angry; extremely so. After two weeks of being unable to do something about the situation James, you had every right to be mad at the person responsible.

“Are you kidding me? What you told James about was absolutely awful and untrue!” you almost shouted at him.

The idiot just shrugged. “It was just some fun, sheesh. Why are you acting that way? I thought he’d have figured out by himself that you’d never cheat on him. Chill,” he said and you were about to reply with a string of curse words, but you were interrupted by a smooth, Scottish accent.

“Fun? You orchestrated all that for ‘fun’?” asked James’s incredulous voice from behind you. He quickly walked up to where you and Steven were standing and glared at the other man.

“That was unacceptable! You know I can get you fired, right? You’re not even important around here! You’re a waste of money and space,” James half-screamed at Steven. Even he had the good sense to look chastised by James’s fury.

“Do you have any idea what your stupid, moronic antics put both me and Y/n through?” James asked. “Fun,” he scoffed mockingly.

Steven didn’t say a thing to defend himself, but James was still angry. He launched himself at the other man, probably intending to land a punch or two, but Steven was quicker and punched him in the upper arm. You could see a small tear in the fabric of James’s shirt from where Steven’s hand had grabbed on tightly and pulled, and you thought you saw a bit of blood too. Steven was about to kick James when you stepped between them, glaring up at you old best friend and slapping him hard across the face, so hard that there was an angry red mark on his skin.

“Go,” you said authoritatively, and he did. Quickly, you turned to James.

“Let’s go to your hotel room, I can fix you up there and you can get another shirt, okay?” you asked him softly and mutely, he nodded.

The car ride there was silent but, once you were in the safety and silence of his room and you had dressed his small wound from where Steven’s fingernails had scraped his skin, he kissed you. Just like that, and out of the blue. You didn’t complain, instead kissing him back.

“I’m so sorry for believing that moron. It’s just... I thought he was your friend, and I didn’t think he’d be lying,” he sighed and grabbed hold of your hand.

“Will you forgive me for being stupid?” he asked, looking at you apologetically with his angelic blue eyes wide.

“I’ve already forgiven you,” you muttered in response, kissing him again. “I love you, and you know that,” you said with a soft smile.

“Me too,” he replied happily and hugged you tightly. “Thank you,” he said, “And I’m sorry for everything I put you through by refusing to listen,” he added.

“It’s all right, James,” you mumbled, kissing him. “I can’t stay mad at you for long.”

The Yule Ball

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Word Count: 1,266

Summary: Can I have a Fred Weasley one where we always fight (not dating) but we only fight because we secretly like each other and when it's the Yule Ball there is this guy who is new and he is a player and he asks me and at the Ball he is really touchy and I don't want it and Fred sees it and fights him and in the end with a lot of fluff and confessing our love.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: Request for @anyfandomimaginex I hope it’s what you wanted! ^_^

“You two! Could you please stop? You’re making too much noise and I’m trying to study over here. Some of us actually want to pass our exams with good grades,” you said in a whisper-shout, folding your arms on your chest and glaring at the offending red-headed boys who were standing in the library, looking up explosive spells and trying them out on small objects. Colourful smoke was drifting up from what had once been flowerpots and old quills and the table was dotted with ash of all colours. No other student was glaring at them because they were all very fond of the twin brothers but you, as a Prefect, felt the need to tell them off as the library was for studying and not experimenting around with strange spells.

One of the two brothers -Fred, you knew, because he was the only one of the two who ever fought with you- stepped forward and fixed you with a harsh glare. “Oh, it’s little miss Prefect again,” he said, rolling his eyes. He was about to say something else when George grabbed his forearm and gathered all their stuff. “Don’t bother, Fred. Let’s go continue at the Common Room,” he told his brother and hurried off. Fred cast one last look at you before following his brother outside. A part of you was disappointed at that, but you had never actually allowed yourself to admit that perhaps you didn’t really dislike him.

You sighed and decided to get back to studying but instead, you found yourself thinking about the Yule Ball the next week. You didn’t have a date for it, and you weren’t planning on getting one, though you and a couple of your girl friends from your house, who also didn’t have anyone to go with had decided to go for fun, not really expecting to be asked to dance with anybody. Still, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity and you weren’t going to miss it. That evening, after having mostly finished your homework for almost the whole week, you got up and headed to the Great Hall for dinner. On your way there though, a rather cute brown-haired boy wearing the blue Beauxbatons uniform stopped you. He looked rather confident in himself but his words, in perfectly good, if slightly accented English, were shy.

“Bonsoir, mademoiselle. You’re Y/n, right?” he asked you with a blinding grin on his face, though he was blushing a bit nervously. You nodded in response. “I’m Marc. I’m from Beauxbatons, as you can see. And I wanted to ask you... will you be my date for the Ball? I have seen you around, and I think you are very pretty and smart, and it would be my honour if you said yes,” he said. You found his slight French accent cute, and he was rather handsome as well.

Thinking yourself lucky, you smiled right back at him. “Of course, Marc! I’d love to,” you said and he beamed at you before bidding you a good night and hurrying off to dinner.

You spent the rest of the week talking with your friends about the Ball, laughing with them and smiling at Marc whenever you saw him walking around the corridors. All that kept you busy and, thankfully -or not, you weren’t sure- away from the Weasley brothers, and especially Fred.

The night of the Yule Ball you were excited. You felt particularly beautiful in your long blue dress and you were smiling as you descended the countless staircases and traversed the many corridors to reach the Great Hall, outside of which Marc was waiting, dressed in dark blue wizarding robes.

He offered his elbow at you and you hooked your arm through it, beaming up at him as you entered the Great Hall, which looked absolutely beautiful as it was adorned in winter decorations.

You didn’t have a lot of time to appreciate everything though, as you eventually felt a hand trailing up your arm, touching your shoulders. You turned around to see Marc there and you glared at him, shrugging his hand off. You thought that was a one-time-only thing but, eventually, you felt his hands on you again, this time touching your waist and stomach and arms, and you really didn’t like it. You made it obvious and you tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Hey, mate, don’t,” you heard a familiar voice say and both you and Marc turned to meet the glare of Fred Weasley. A glare, which, for once, wasn’t directed to you but instead to the French boy touching you. He looked quite intimidating but Marc didn’t move an inch.

“She’s my date,” he said with a shrug and you were about to retort that you were your own person and, given the opportunity to reach for your wand, you could hex him into the next century, but Fred spoke first.

“The fact that she’s your date doesn’t mean that you can do whatever you want to her! She’s a wonderful girl, intelligent and talented and amazing, and she’s not an object for you to touch against her will. So back off, before I make you,” he said, retrieving his wand from a pocket of his robes and pointing it squarely at the French boy’s chest. Marc seemed scared off and, when you elbowed him in the ribs, he hurried off, not looking back.

Fred immediately walked up to you and grabbed hold of your hands tenderly. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you or do anything bad to you?” he asked worriedly, his brown eyes locking with yours.

You found yourself unable to move away. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. And no. No, he didn’t hurt me,” you mumbled, though you were still feeling a bit uneasy. He noticed that and worriedly chewed on his lower lip.

“Would you mind if I hugged you?” he asked tentatively and you nodded your assent at that. Gently, he put his arms around you and hugged you close to him. “That idiot will never touch you again. If you see him again you should curse him, hex him, do something!” he whispered in your ear.

You nodded. “Yes, I will. He just caught me off guard this time and I didn’t know how to react,” you explained. “But... why do you care so much? I thought you disliked me,” you added.

He pulled away from the hug and stopped chewing nervously on his lip. “I, uh... Well, no, I don’t dislike you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I like you -too much- and when I saw that bloody bastard -pardon my language- touching you like that, I saw red. I couldn’t not do that, I hope you understand,” Fred said. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I’m not expecting that, because I’m definitely not your type and-” You cut him off by grabbing hold of his shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss. It was short and chaste, but it was enough to shut him up.

“What?” he asked rather stupidly, and you giggled.

“I like you too,” you said with a silly grin on your face before leaning closer to him again and capturing his lips with yours in a kiss that was, this time, long and made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

When you pulled away to breathe, he grinned a beautiful smile at you and grabbed your hand, entwining his fingers with yours.

“What do you say we end the night on a high note? Let’s have some fun!”