How To Be A Writer

How to be a Writer

Step 1: Hate everything you ever write ever.

Step 2: Keep writing.

Trust Me

Pairing: Loki x reader

Word Count: 1,044

Summary: You are an agent with S.H.I.E.L.D. and are assigned on the case of Loki. What will your final judgment be?

Warnings: N/A, I believe.

A/N: Happy birthday to Tom Hiddleston! <3

Also, this is a bit irrelevant to the events of Thor: The Dark World; my apologies for that.

“I don’t understand,” the clipped, slightly accented and very much annoyed voice of Loki resonated in the empty room, and he fixed his piercing glare on you and his brother Thor, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat yet returned the Trickster’s cool look.

“I have paid my dues. I have understood the weight of my crimes and I have spent a sufficient amount of time in prison, thinking of what I did wrong and doing everything else expected of an inmate like me. Now that you need my assistance, why won’t you just let me out?” he insisted on the same argument he had gone over numerous times but always used slightly different words for. He enunciated every word clearly, as if he was speaking to two rather stubborn children instead of Thor and an experienced S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

“We told you, Loki. You are too dangerous to be trusted. We just need the information,” Thor’s deep, loud, voice boomed and echoed in the confined space of the room you were in.

Loki frowned, his eyes scanning you carefully for anything that might be useful to him, and you allowed yourself to break character long enough to shrug apologetically at him, indicating that it wasn’t in your power to decide about his future.

Loki and you had a rather... interesting relationship that deviated from the usual one between an officer of the law and a criminal. You knew there was good inside him; you knew he had changed, and you knew that well. It had been only last night when, anxious about his interview with you and Thor, he had confessed all of his fears and insecurities to you and kissed you senseless.

There was no hint of the previous night’s desperation and vulnerability in him now. His posture was straight, regal -that of a king’s- and his expression was neutral, almost bored.

“I don’t have the information,” Loki said sharply, the sound of his voice drawing you back to reality. “But I have a way of finding it that would require countless hours of research -and that could only be possible if I were free to go to the palace library,” he said, meaningfully rattling the handcuffs that tied his hands together.

Thor and you shared a look at that and, without a word, you got up and walked out of the room.

“Whatever shall we do, Lady Y/N? I am afraid that Loki is right -we need his help, and it is obvious that the only way to ensure that is to free him. But he is dangerous, and both Asgard and Midgard alike would be enraged if they found out about this. The threat of another of his attacks is too big, and the fear too fresh in the people’s minds. We can’t just cut him loose,” Thor said with a sigh. “I wouldn’t want for my first big and crucial decision to be a failure, but I also cannot let this mission fail, and without Loki’s help, disaster would be imminent.”

You thought for a bit. You, of course, wanted Loki’s freedom. You’d seen a reformed Loki in the cage the previous night, and you wanted the world to understand that he indeed was different.

“Nobody said that the world has to know. And we don’t have to cut him loose either. He asked for a way out of that cage, but any place -if guarded properly- can become a prison. You can convert his rooms into a heavily guarded holding place and you can gradually give him more and more freedom until he either convinces you of his change or gives you a reason to throw him back in jail,” you suggested, and Thor’s frown turned into a smile.

“That’s brilliant -and exactly what we are going to do. But I have to ask a small favour of you. Could you watch him while he does his research? You’re intelligent enough to keep him under control,” he said.

It was your turn to smile. “Certainly. It’d be my pleasure.”

Half an hour later, you were standing near a table inside a vast, seemingly endless, library with Loki next to you. You were so caught up in the mystery and sheer mass of the books that surrounded you that at first you didn’t notice Loki’s piercing gaze.

“What is it?” you asked him, and he continued to look at you in that way that made you feel as if he was reading you. In the end, frustrated, he heaved a sigh.

“It must’ve been you who convinced Thor to give me this -however limited- amount of freedom,” he said, and you smiled, understanding the underlying message. ‘Thank you.’

“I just... I trust you,” you replied, and he chuckled.

“Not a wise decision on your part. I’m a criminal.”

It was your turn to fix him with a piercing glare. “Yes, you are, but I believe you’ve seen that what you did wasn’t right. I believe that a part of you -if not all of you- has changed,” you said firmly, moving closer to him. “I always had my doubts when it came to what everyone said. Last night only helped reassure me. Loki, give me no reason to distrust you, and I won’t,” you told him, and you were happy to see a small, rare, smile appear on his lips.

“Last night... it was good,” you said hesitantly, and his smile turned into a more predatory one. He walked closer to you, backing you up against the table and trapping you between its cold surface and his body.

“But this night can be better,” he muttered, leaning closer to you and pressing his lips on yours. His tongue licked your lower lip and you gave a small moan, opening your mouth to allow him access. The kiss was heated, passionate and needy, very much unlike the previous night’s tender caresses.

“I like the way you trust me,” he muttered as he pulled away, and you barely managed to stifle a whimper at the sight of his heated gaze.

“Always,” you muttered back, and he smirked.

“What do you say we postpone research for a while?” he suggested and, not waiting for a response, leaned closer to capture your lips with his.

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.”

Being a writer

IDEA

*thinks of a whole mystery plot while in the shower*

I like that synonym, ohhh but I like that one too.

“It’s just a draft” I say to hide the fact that I suck and this is the best I can do

What’s another word for ‘said’?

Argh I can’t spell

Their tongues battled for dominance…

DON’T BREAK MY CONCENTRATION

You broke it.

And then she…and then she…

I’m so hungry

I’m so tired

I’m so horny

I’m just going to write about my OTP and change their names.

I’m so proud of this! *a week later* wtf did I actually write this shit this is terrible what was I thinking just ugghh

I just need to change one more thing…or 80.

FUCK EVERYTHING

*writes for 5 minutes* *block*

If Stephenie Meyer can publish, so can I.

This is it! I’m going to turn it into a book. No really, this one’s better than the last one.

My book’s so gonna be a movie/TV series, so I may as well plan ahead and pick my cast.

Why are they always fictional??

*mind wanders*

“What’re reading?” Ummm a book…that’s online. NO you can’t see it.

Nothing rhymes with orange? Challenge accepted.

I’M A FAILUURRREE

It’s just a short story, won’t take me long *seven hours, 30 energy drinks and 10,000 words later*

WHAT’S THE POINT?!

*mind continues to wander*

“What’s lemon?” *sweats*

Another rejection? Perfect! Harry Potter was rejected thirteen times. I’m on my way.

FOR FUCK’S SAKE IT’S EITHER THERE, THEIR, OR THEY ARE.

No, I didn’t use rhymzone.com. I’m insulted by your accusations.

I want Emma Watson to play my character.

And Tom Felton to be her love interest.

How do you write smut?

What’s another word for ‘and then’?

OMFG I’M SO INSPIRED RIGHT NOW MAYBE I SHOULD WRITE THIS DOWN

I’ll write it later, I’ll definitely remember it.

What’s another word for ‘suddenly’?

SMELL THIS BOOK. SMELL ITTT.

Wasn’t there something I was supposed to remember to write?

Ugh I give up

IDEA!

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!

twitter / dA / COMMISSIONS

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!”