the writer and his muse

A Battle of Wits

Originally posted by juptern

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: A battle of wits, a bit of Sherlock-level deductions on both ends

Warnings: none

Word count: 509

A/N: ok you guys I am so sorry but I’m not gonna be able to post imagines for the next couple of days, I have a lot going on in school right now so I won’t be able to work on requests or anything.  so to make it up to you guys, I’m posting a short drabble that I wrote before I even created this blog.  So sorry again, hope you enjoy!

“Cliché,” he muttered under his breath, turning back to his laptop.

“Excuse me?” she demanded. He rolled his eyes as he continued typing. “Please, do explain.”

“Listen,” he starts, closing his laptop lid, “I’ve seen it. There’s at least one in every small town.”

“One what?”

“A tortured artist,” he proclaimed, doing sarcastic jazz hands. “You had a miserable childhood, guessing some daddy issues? Abandonment?”

“Dad and mom, actually, but do go on Sherlock Holmes,” she corrected, leaning back in her seat. He pursed his lips before continuing.

“Because your life is so sad you created an outlet for yourself, an anchor of sorts where you can channel all of your negative emotions. Lo and behold you just so happen to have a knack for art, and thus begins your journey as a tortured artist.” He finished with a small smirk as he imitated what she had done before and leaned back into his seat, crossing his arms.

“Very good,” she drawled, leaning against the table. “You got me spot on.” He nodded nonchalantly. “Although I must say this entire tangent was very hypocritical.”

“Hypocritical?” he questioned, also leaning in.

“Oh yes, you see you’re quite the cliché yourself. The tragic writer.”

“Tragic writer?” he mused, taking a bite of his sundae. “Explain, please.”

“You, too, had a rough childhood. Not abandonment like me, though. No, your family had money issues. Mommy was never around so daddy had to do all the work, and he wasn’t the most responsible and reliable parent. You’re the oldest, so you take it upon yourself to act as a parental figure for your younger siblings. However, you quickly learn that it is much too difficult for you, not even a legal adult yet, to take care of yourself and others. You come to the decision that your family is better off without you. One less mouth to feed, one less occupied bed, one less person to buy necessities for. You run away and take care of yourself. You try your hardest to find a job, and you eventually find one at some run-down place where it’s not busy enough for anyone to give a damn about your age. You work as hard as you can, saving up as much money as possible until finally you made enough. For months you’ve been dying to buy yourself a laptop, a place where you can create and store your writing. You buy it and immediately start writing, isolating yourself from the world and finding solace and comfort in your own writing, where you can play god over any character you create. This eventually turns you into quite the brooding guy, hence the sardonic humor and lack of close friends.” She finished her analysis with a smirk and sipped on her milkshake, eyebrows raised. His mouth was slightly agape.

“Just one sibling,” he mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said,” he spoke up, “just one sibling. You said siblings. With an s. Plural. I just have one.” She shrugged, unbothered by his correction.

“I’m not Sherlock Holmes, Jughead.”

First Dance, LMM/Reader

Prompt: Lin and Reader meet early on in their careers.

Words: 1008

Author’s Note: Another Lin fic! I know…I’m so predictable. I’m working on the Lin/Reader/Pippa one next! Send in some requests if you’d like to see something other than Lin! We’ve also hit over 600 followers! You guys are amazing!

Warnings: None!

Askbox | Masterlist

You were lucky to get anything, you reminded yourself as the day-long rehearsal came to it’s beginning.

Dressed head to toe in the most comfortable workout clothes you could throw together, you stood in line with the other female ensemble members. You glanced at the other side of the room, where the men were lined up.

Keep reading

@sonderiiism​ | xxx

Someone new is moving into Pelican Town today, and everyone is excited about it; the town is relatively small, so having a new face join their crowd was always something to talk about. Elliot is no different, especially since he is the one that will be sharing his little cabin with this newcomer. There hadn’t been time to construct a new house, therefore he had volunteered to share his cabin with them until one could be built. He knew it’d take time, but he welcomes the change; he’s been lonely for far too long…not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, of course

The morning of the new arrival comes, and Elliot is waiting for them - oh, her - outside his cabin with a smile.

“Ah, hello there!” His voice is just as warm as the beach he (and now her) live on, and it has a hint of an English accent, which only serves to make him stand out even more among the other villagers. “My name is Elliot. I’ll be your new roommate. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Namjoon as your Boyfriend

- this boi…
- If you date him you are stuck with him
- All of him too
- This little bean has few sides of him that you are going to learn to love
- Lets start with his dorky, cute, slightly awkward self
- Especially around the start of your relationship
- He’s gonna be a little awkward
- He tries to be slick, he really does
- But it usually doesn’t come off that way
- Usually
- He is super sweet to you
- One good example of this is whenever he gets really busy
- He feels bad whenever he has to be cooped up in the studio, so he usually has a few main ways to make up for it
- One being little things left around the house
- Like notes in random places saying how much he loves you
- These notes also tend to show up when he breaks things, but thats okay…
- *sigh* this boy….
- Back to what I was saying
- Also, there have been handfuls of times when he’s left things for when you wake up if he has to leave early
- Such as coffee or breakfast ready and made sitting on the table
- Another thing he tends to do is call you at random, usually really late, times, asking you to come down to the studio.
- He claims its cause he has writers block, and you’re his muse
- Which isn’t a lie
- But its really because he misses you
- But he definitely comes to for inspiration too
- Which kinda leads into our next topic
- Philosophical Joon
- Okay, so there is kinda two sides of this…
- The times when he says something that actually makes you think, and makes a lot of sense
- Or…
- When he’s tired (Or just lowkey crazy), and its like 2am and he turns to you and says some bullshit like
- “Do you think its possible to create a living organism out of human hair?”
- “No Joonie, go to bed, we’re both tired and need sleep.”
- “Yeah, but what if-”
- “No”
- But you secretly find it really funny, unless you’re actually trying to sleep
- But this makes him a really good person to talk to if you’re upset, or just to talk to in general.
- You two could stay up for hours just talking about whatever comes to mind.
- I also feel he is very observant
- Like, if you’re upset, he’s going to know. You dont have to even tell him
- Namjoon is very protective of you
- And I mean, VERY
- Like, if some dude on the street even looks at you, he’s already annoyed
- Not to even bring up the time you got catcalled in front of him…
- Thats a story for another day…
- Moving on, Im keeping this part a little bit shorter cuz… I dont wanna get too detailed *Clears throat*
- I just have to say it cuz it will be lowkey a big part of your relationship
- I believe Namjoon is a very sexual person, and he likes to be in charge in the bedroom *Lowkey kinky…Lowkey*
- So if he is in the mood, its time to get down to business…
- Overall, Joonie is a little dorky, philosophical, bean.
- And probably one of the best boyfriends you could have
- He just loves you so

- Babe
- Baby girl
- My love
- Princess
- *Cough* Kitten *cough lowkey kinky cough*

Originally posted by taestylips

Black Ink|Chap. 03

// He was God. He wrote with such beautiful, spindling words, they lured anyone to their own death if it was deemed. And every letter of every book he ever wrote were those of Spring - beautiful, and clean, and pure, and fresh. But he was cold like ice, and his eyes were harsh with all the ugly words he could never write. And she - well, she was his Ending.

// Chap.01 | Chap.02 | Chap.03 | Chap.04 | Chap.05 | Chap.06 | Chap.07 | Chap.08 | Chap.09 | Chap.10 (FINAL) | Epilogue |

// jihoon x reader

// word count: 2148

  Before Jihoon could really stop it, the days had rather quickly gotten colder. But he had expected it, on some level. Considering it was January, and the average temperature in New York City was 2℃. But it wasn’t like Jihoon was really surprised with the temperature, anyway. In fact, when he lived in Busan, South Korea, that was basically the average temperature in January as well.

  The only difference, possibly, was the rainfall. It rained on occasion in New York City, and this only made Jihoon grumpier with the extra coldness and his numb fingers. After all, how was an author to write when he couldn’t even feel his own hands?

  And, on top of all this, the coffee shop Jihoon regularly stayed at did not have a thermostat. It had broken when a six year old boy had thrown a ball in the shop and hit the old thing. Or, so the manager, Seungcheol, had said. But Jeonghan had snorted at the time when he overheard, later whispering to Jihoon that it was broken from the moment the coffee shop had opened for business, and Seungcheol was always too cheap to pay someone to fix it.

  Many times Jihoon had contemplated leaving the shop and retiring to his apartment where he had some thick blankets and a heater, but he could only think of Y/N, and he somehow needed his muse to survive throughout the day. That was something else that had recently happened before Jihoon could stop it - he’d begun to call Y/N his muse in the privacy of his own head.

  But it was raining outside, and she was late - or, at least, later than usual. And Jihoon could hardly feel the tips of his fingers anymore. He’d balled them into fists and held them closely to his jacket, but it still couldn’t stop the lack of warmth from staying there.

  Chan had tried to serve him with his usual cup of black coffee, but Jihoon had immediately rejected him. He somehow couldn’t handle the idea of someone other than Y/N serving him, and he was truthfully angry at himself for being so mean and ridiculous when he saw Chan’s embarrassed face, and heard his mumbled apology.

  He shivered for probably the third time, and Jihoon hugged his jacket tighter around his body. Where was Y/N?

  Just then, almost as if she had been waiting for his silent plea, Y/N had walked in through the open doors, hair and clothes slightly damp. She didn’t seem to be out of breath, but she certainly looked freezing.

  “I’m late again!” She called out weakly. “I’m -” Jisoo interrupted her, a small smile on his face.

  “Sorry, we know.” He laughed to himself. “You’ve been late for the past week you’ve worked here. Quite a record.” He pulled out her white apron. “Go serve the customers.” She smiled at him, something kind and genuine, and Jihoon absolutely hated it. For some reason, he couldn’t just cope with the idea of Y/N smiling at anyone else except him. He tried to tell himself the dumb excuse that it was probably just a writer instinct, but, of course, he didn’t believe himself.

  Y/N was walking to him, legs shaky, and Jihoon could see the weariness on her face as she tried to tie the apron around her waist. He saw the frustration on her frowned lips. He saw the blueness in them, and the glaze in her eyes as she yawned for what he would’ve guessed would probably be the seventh time. And that - that - was a writer instinct. And Jihoon just knew she was his muse. Because he’d look at her, and thousands of words just wanted to spill from his mouth.

  She was still trying to tie the apron around her waist when Jihoon had come back to reality, and he sighed, biting his lower lip before he begrudgingly stood.

  “Here, let me help you with that.” He murmured under his breath, and he gently pushed her hands away when Y/N shyly turned around so her back was to him. Jihoon took the two strings in his hands, and even he had some trouble with it considering the coldness of the room, but after a few seconds, he’d managed to get a decent knot, and he let it fall on the small of her back before sitting back down.

  “Black coffee?” She weakly asked, and Jihoon nodded, eyebrows furrowing at the tone of her voice. She tried hard to grip the stubby pencil in her fingers, and Jihoon saw that, but he also saw the tremble in them, and the way she dropped the writing utensil before hurriedly picking it back up.

  And before Jihoon could stop it, she was murmuring an apology and scurrying back to the kitchen. With a huff, he realized there were a lot of things he couldn’t stop today. And it just put in perspective how many things he wanted, but just couldn’t stop. And with an even greater huff, he realized Y/N was one of them.

  Soon, she was out of the kitchen again, a white coffee mug in her hands, and Jihoon watched with worry as she seemed to sway on her feet. She truly did look exhausted. At one point, when she was right beside his table, she almost spilled the coffee with her shaky hands, and Jihoon had to reach out to steady her before she did. And then, with a hot blush rising to his cheeks, he realized their hands were actually touching, and oh my God, was this even real life anymore?

  Jihoon quickly took the coffee into his own hands instead, and he set the hot drink on the table before returning his attention back to Y/N. And finally, he asked the question.

  “What’s wrong with you today?” He hadn’t really meant for it to sound so rude. Perhaps he could’ve said something like, “Are you okay?”, or “Have you been keeping yourself healthy?”, and forever, Jihoon would rethink that question over and over again, and think of the millions of ways he could’ve reworded it.

  Y/N moaned, leaning over to steady herself on the edge of the table, and, quite boyishly, Jihoon was almost embarrassed at the noise. He cleared his throat as he stood, gently placing his hands on Y/N’s shoulders, and, to her, it was almost like the touch of a ghost. He guided her to sit down in front of him, and she whined, shaking her head as she tried to get back up.

  “No, I have to get back to work.” She mumbled, and there was another yawn coming from her perfectly pink lips that had Jihoon licking his own.

  “You can’t work. You’re weak, and tired, and exhausted. I can see that. You shouldn’t have even come at all.” She sighed, leaning back in her seat as she closed her eyes.

  “But I needed to serve you your usual black coffee. I can’t have anyone else serving you.” Jihoon blushed again, a brighter pink than before. Y/N shivered, and he caught the sight of her hands rubbing together in her lap - a desperate attempt to get some kind of warmth in them. He sighed, and even though his own hands were numb from the cold, he couldn’t help himself as he shrugged off his jacket, and moved closer to Y/N.

  Gently, he reached over to place it around her shoulders, and he saw her eyes open at the sudden feeling of warmth on her body. Her eyes were glassy but bright at the same time, and Jihoon swore he’d never seen colors more beautiful than the ones in her eyes. People usually classified eye colors as one whole color, but Jihoon was never fond of that, always looking closer - deeper - to see the different specks of shades in the irises. And Y/N’s were quite possibly the most pure he’d ever seen. He cleared his throat.

  “You gave me your jacket…” She mumbled, voice quiet and almost in a daze. Y/N was already slipping her arms through the sleeves, and his heart pounded at the sight of her hugging his jacket tighter around her body. He nodded, scratching the back of his neck which he was sure was redder than his face. He sat down.

  “Well, you look tired and cold.” He pushed his mug of black coffee forwards. “Here, drink this.” Y/N’s eyes flickered from his face to the coffee, and then back to his face, and Jihoon saw the hesitation in her features for a quick second before she was reaching over for the sugar, and pouring more than Jihoon would’ve liked into the drink. He smiled to himself. So she liked sweet things. It could be a good reference for the future. But of course, that was just him being an author. Planning ahead of the story was always a good strategy.

  She reached for the glass container of milk next, and after she had poured her liking of it into the coffee and made it swirl with the different colors colliding, Jihoon spoke up.

  “What were you doing that got you like this?” She stopped everything, not even mixing the drink as she looked up at Jihoon. She sat back in her seat.

  “Rehearsing. Over, and over, and over again. I have a performance coming up soon, and I need it to be great. My hands are shaky, and my fingers hurt so much, I need a rest. I probably only got two hours of sleep before I had to spend my savings on a bus ride over here. And I really needed that money for groceries, too…” She pouted, and Jihoon felt a pang in his chest. His muse didn’t even have enough money for groceries. How was she to stay healthy and continue inspiring him?

  “Let me buy you something to eat.” He found himself offering, and before Y/N could decline, Jihoon had waved Chan over and asked for a muffin. Chan looked excited - Jihoon had overheard him talking to Jisoo about his first time serving customers today - and had brought over the muffin in a quick instant. He gave a worried look at Y/N, and opened his mouth to say what seemed to be a warning to get back to work, but Jihoon tipped him extra so he could leave them both alone. Jihoon pushed the muffin to Y/N. “Eat.” He mumbled.

  She shyly smiled at him before sighing a quiet thank you, and then Y/N was biting off pieces of the muffin, her cup of coffee still unstirred - untouched. After she was nearly done with it, she put down the delicacy, and Y/N just stared at the cup of coffee for a long moment.

  “What?” Jihoon asked, eyebrows furrowed. She looked up at him, that smile on her face that was real and pure, and reminded Jihoon so much of Spring dandelions.

  “Look.” She simply demonstrated, carefully pushing the cup of coffee back to Jihoon, and he looked in the cup. The milk had not yet mixed with the coffee yet, and he caught wisps of dark brown among lighter brown, together, yet somehow still far apart, and Jihoon heard the sound of her voice as he still stared at the cup of coffee. “Is it weird to say that I thought of us when I saw that?” She asked. “I think… in a way, you’re kind of the black coffee. Your strong, and plain, and bitter… but people like you. And I think I’m the milk. Sweet, and pure, and a compliment to black coffee.” She paused for a long second, and Jihoon took this time to look up at her. She had a happy, faraway look in her eyes. “I think we make a good team.” She mumbled. And then, she seemed to come back to where she was, and Y/N was nervously laughing, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But, what would I know? I’m not the one who writes in here everyday.” Jihoon smiled.

  “Yeah… ” He murmured quietly. “Yeah.” And he suddenly had a new idea for his book. He cursed himself in his head for not bringing his papers - Jihoon was slightly terrified of getting the pages wet, and he quickly stood from his seat. Y/N watched as he placed a few dollars on the table, stuffing the wallet back in his pocket. “I have to go.” He quickly spoke, already taking long strides to the front door.

  “Wait!” Y/N called out, and Jihoon did. He stopped, his hand already on the glass door as he held it open. “Your jacket!” She was gesturing at the jacket still around her shoulders, and Jihoon bit his bottom lip.

  “Keep it.” And he left.

Novelists writing about writers: “His muse was the pale limped-haired nymph who sat next to him in lit class. But his insecurities could never allow him to admit his deepest most intimate feelings for her, so he spilled his passion into his work…”

Me, sitting at my desk in my underwear, eating fruit Gushers: How can I work the phrase “Humans are just giant blood-filled Gushers to vampires” into my novel?