#<- still working on a name. and also everything else

[nicsnort]

Sex Therapist

NSFW 18+ male incubus x female reader

Word count: 2980

CW: hypnosis, dubious consent, illusions, incubus, cuckolding, blowjobs, edging, praise kink, pet/owner talk, squirting; also you have a shitty boyfriend

Usually, I'd have a lore prompt here but I really just wrote this over three days as a way to distract myself from...errr "current events". It is set in the same world as my other monster fucker fics though

You and your boyfriend were having trouble with your sex life. So, you agreed to go to a therapist. Turns out their therapist is an incubus, and he has his own plans for you.

~~~~~~~

You were thinking of breaking up with your boyfriend. He had been super pushy lately about sex. He wanted every meet-up to end in sex, and when you said no for whatever perfectly rational reason, he still pushed for a blowjob or tried to guilt trip you. It wasn’t like sex with him was that great, like it was fine, but you took more pleasure just doing things by yourself than relying on him for an orgasm…not that he had ever made you cum in the first place.

Still, you hesitated to break up with him; the first couple of months together were great outside of sex. He was kind and considerate. Then, something changed after he lost his job and spent most of the day online; he started putting all his focus on your sex life together. Sex wasn’t everything in a relationship, and the way he acted was enough to turn you off. Still, you wanted to work on these problems together - though so far, you’d gotten nowhere.

What you needed was outside relationship counseling. And luckily your boyfriend agreed.

“Are you sure this is the right place,” you asked him as you approached what looked like a renovated club. He had found a counselor through a recommendation from a buddy from his work who had similar problems with his wife.

“This is the address I was given. I mean, open property around here is pretty scarce; I’m sure they took what was available.”

Together, you went up to the club—the therapist’s—door and rang the bell. A peep window on the door slid open; you saw a feminine set of eyes peering through. Your boyfriend smiled at her. “Hi, we’re here for an appointment with the doctor.”

“Oh, yes! One moment,” a feminine voice replied with surprising enthusiasm. The eye slit shuttered, and a few moments later, they were buzzed in. Inside, the office was surprisingly clean and formal compared to the exterior. Comfortable chairs and couches were littered around, a tea and water station against one wall, and a desk where an extremely beautiful woman was waiting to check them in.

“The doctor knows you are here and will call you in when he’s ready. Please feel free to sit down and have a drink while you wait.”

You found it a little strange that the woman didn’t take your names or confirm your identities at all, but you shrugged it off. It wasn’t like this was a selective thing; people only came here if they needed help. You poured yourself a cup of tea and offered one to your boyfriend, who denied it as he sat in a chair. His eyes were on the assistant covetously. 

With another shrug, you sat on the plush couch across from him. Whatever tea this was smelt marvelous. Just inhaling the scent made your shoulders relax. There was a water feature providing a gentle, burbling water sound. As you sipped the tea, you sank into the couch. This waiting area was so relaxing that you were nearly falling asleep.

There must have been a silent fan somewhere as you felt a soft breeze drifting over your face and neck. Relax. The whisper of touch across your whole body. Let go. A ghostly caress upon your lips. Sink. A soft sigh escaped your lips. Deeper. Your neck muscles released, your head tilting back to rest upon the plush couch back.

“The doctor is ready for you.”

You jerked slightly as you were awoken from your dozing. Had you fallen asleep? You must have, or else had your boyfriend been speaking to you? Either way, you were feeling very relaxed. Getting up from the couch, you saw anticipation in your boyfriend’s eyes. He was nowhere near as relaxed as you.

The assistant led them through the door. On the other side, a tall man stood there. He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Both he and his assistant should be models instead of working in a place like this. Where did the assistant go? Had she already left?

“Ah, please sit down,” the doctor greeted, his enrapturing voice capturing your attention completely. He gestured you to a couch across from the chair he was standing near. With a soft smile, you did so. Good girl.

You blinked, confused. It sounded like the doctor had said something, but his lips had not moved. Your boyfriend entered as well, sitting on the other end of the couch. You barely paid him any mind; your focus was on the doctor.

The doctor sat in his chair, his legs open and relaxed. Through his dress pants, you could see an impressive bulge. It was so much bigger than your boyfriend’s. So, eager.

Your eye slid up to the doctor’s face. Had he spoken again? No, but he wore a smile almost as if he knew what you had thought. Let your worries fade away.

“What brings you into my office today,” the doctor asked, his voice low and melodic, forcing you to focus on it to hear him. 

“Unmet sexual needs,” your boyfriend said bluntly. “She doesn’t want to ever have sex when I do, and when she finally puts out, she’s no fun, just wants to get it over with.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. Then his beautiful eyes focused on you; there was a strange shimmer in their depths. “Do you believe that is an accurate statement?” You are a good girl.

“No. He always wants sex or sexual favors whenever we get together.  I asked him to bring my lunch to work, and he wanted a blowjob in the bathroom in exchange. Bringing your girlfriend lunch shouldn’t be an exchange; it is simply something you do.” Your shoulders tensed, and the stress started to reenter your body.

“I see.” Relax. “Do you give him oral sex otherwise?” Sink deeper.

“Yes.” You are warm. Comfortable. You leaned back against the couch. Like sinking into a hot bath, a flush rose up your body. You were so relaxed. Listening to the doctor’s voice, each syllable pulling you down. Deeper. Sinking. Your thoughts were growing sluggish.

“Do you like sucking your boyfriend’s cock?” The direct nature and harsh words from his mouth were spoken in the same smooth tone as before. Such a question should have jarred you, but you were so relaxed. 

“No.” You heard your boyfriend huff. Would the doctor be upset with you? Relax. You are safe.

“Can you tell me why?” You are a good girl.

“It feels like an obligation.” 

Good girls like sucking cock. The doctor shifted in his chair, your eyes could not help but gaze down to his straining pants. The bulge was bigger than before. You licked your lips at the thought of his member aching to get out of its confines. “Do you want to suck my cock?”

“What the fuck, man,” your boyfriend shouted. The doctor waved his hand, and your boyfriend stiffened as if restrained.

“Yes, please,” you replied politely, your boyfriend’s words and sudden petrified state not even phasing you.

“Good girl,” the doctor said aloud. A shiver of pleasure coursed through you at those words. A smile grew on your face. “Tell me, does your boyfriend eat you out?”

Your smile faded into a pout. “No.”

“Do you orgasm when your boyfriend fucks you?”

“No.”

“My poor, pretty pet,” the doctor cooed. “Thank you for being honest with me. As a reward, you may suck my cock.”

The smile returned to your face. He pulled his cock from his pants and gestured you to him. Your eyes were fixated on the cock as you slid off the couch and crawled forward. Just like the man, it was such a beautiful cock. Long and thick with just the right amount of curve. He was already rock hard, a glistening bead of white pre-cum waiting for you to taste.

As you knelt before him, there was a grunt behind you like a muffled scream. Your head turned back to see your boyfriend frozen in place. The doctor touched your chin and gently redirected your face to look at him again. “Forget about him, pet.”

His gorgeous yellow eyes shimmered like fire. They were so beautiful against his scarlet skin. A stray thought passed your clouded mind. Had they always looked like that? Had the doctor always had beautiful ink-black horns that curved up from the top of his head, reaching back to his strong, leathery wings? Of course, he did. Silly you.

“Good girl, brush away all those silly little thoughts. All you want is your reward.” His devil’s tail lifted from behind him, pushing your head forward.

Your focus returned to your reward. The turgid cock before you. Reaching up, you grasped the hot rod in your hand. Pumping your hand up and down, you marveled at how the soft, smooth skin combined with each bump and ridge. Your pussy clenched with desire. You wanted to feel this cock in you.

Silly you. You could.

The growing bead of inky black pre-cum on the tip of his cock was calling to you. Sticking out your tongue, you ran a long lick up the underside of his cock before lapping up the pre-cum. As that beautiful pearl of essence hit your tongue, you groaned. You had never tasted anything so good. Salty, yes, but with an undercurrent of addictive sweetness. You wanted more, and you already knew how to get it.

Popping the tip of his cock in your mouth, you began to bob your head up and down. The bumps on the underside of his cock rubbed against your tongue, pleasuring you as you pleasured him. 

“There is a good girl.” He cupped the back of your head, guiding your rhythm but not forcing you to take more. 

The beautiful creature before you moaned and sighed gently as you pleasured him. “Mmmm, you are already so good at this, but there is room for improvement.” His breath hitched with pleasure. “I will teach you. No worries, pet, I will teach you everything you need to know and more.”

You could feel his body tensing, his member growing hot. His fingers tightened on your head, his claws digging just a hair into your scalp. “Such a good girl. You are going to swallow all of me, right? Good girls don’t let cum go to waste.”

You redoubled your efforts. Taking more of his cock into your mouth. Usually, you would choke on a cock this deep in your throat, but all you could think about was taking more of it in. Each time it went deeper into your throat, you sank deeper into yourself. Relaxing your throat, letting more of his cock inside of you. 

Sucking cock felt so good. Good girls liked sucking cock. You were a good girl.

He held your head in place. His member swelled as his delicious cum poured down your throat. You worked hurriedly, swallowing every drop you could. With each spurt of the hot, thick seed, your pussy clenched with delight.

Releasing your head, he began to stroke your hair. Slowly, you raised your head, cleaning his cock as you went. You sucked on the tip of his cock, getting every last drop of his cum. It tingled in your throat and stomach, warming your body like a hot meal on a cold day. With a pop, you released his cock. Looking up at him, you smiled contentedly.

“You look happy. Are you happy, pet?”

You nodded, your smile growing. He smiled back, his beautiful fangs displayed. “Excellent. Good girls are happy girls. And you are a very good girl.”

The compliment sent a wave of warmth across your body. You were so warm.

“Stand up, pet.”

Without hesitation, you rose to your feet. As you moved, your soaking sensitive pussy lips rubbed against each other, causing you to whimper. Your nipples were rock hard, poking through your shirt and bra, begging to be touched.

“You look warm. It is warm in here. Undress for me.”

Your movements were languid as you complied. Your fingers dragged across your skin as you removed your shirt. The tension of your bra straps stood out compared to how relaxed your shoulders were. Freeing your breasts was a relief. You wanted to touch them, to pull at your nipples, but you resisted. Good girls did what they were told, and you had not been told to touch yourself. 

As you pulled down your jeans and underwear together, a pool of your arousal was revealed in your panties. Your inner thighs quickly slickened as your desire was no longer soaked up by your clothing. Soon, you stood nude before him.

“Good girl. You look delicious, pet.” As he stared at you, you realized that while his eyes were roving your form, they were looking beyond the flesh. His fiery yellow eyes stared right into your very being to your soul. He licked his lips with hunger.

The large wings on his back flexed as he opened his arms, inviting you to sit. His serpentine tail guided you in place. Your back rested against his chest, your legs on either side of his, baring your dripping pussy to the man in front of you. Who was he? Oh, that’s right. Your boyfriend. You had forgotten.

Your boyfriend was still frozen in place. Fear in his eyes as he forcibly stared at the beautiful creature coddling you. Was something wrong? You furrowed your brow in confusion.

“No need for that, pet,” the heavenly being touching you suggested. “No need to worry. You are safe with me. Relax.”

The claws at the end of his elegant bat wings hooked around your ankles, holding your legs up and out. The position forced your arms up and around his neck or else risk slipping off. But you felt no fear. No concern that you would fall. You were safe with him. He would never let you fall.

“I am going to pleasure you, now, my pretty little pet. All you need to do is focus. Focus on my voice.” His low, even, melodic voice spoke in your ear. 

His claws hands ran up your stomach to play with your breasts. He rolled and rubbed your nipples and breasts gently. The spade of his tail stroked your pussy. Just enough pressure to keep your attention but not enough to let you cum.

“Now, pet, do you know why you are here today? No need to speak. Just nod or shake your head.”

You nodded. The tip of the spade of his tail flicked your clit. You gasped with pleasure.

“You are wrong. But that is okay, silly thing. You are wrong because that man across from you lied to you. You know that man, do you not, pet?”

You nodded and were rewarded with a tug on your nipples that made you moan in want of more.

“Correct. You do know him. He is the man that cannot make you cum. He is the man that only thinks of his own pleasure. He is the man that came to me and asked me to make you a cock-drunk slut who would cater to his every sexual whim. He is the man who could never make you feel as good as I do.”

You whimpered in need. While he spoke in your ear, his hot breath caressing your skin, the words buzzing in your mind, his eyes were fixated on the man across from you.

“That man thinks you are a bad girl, but I know better, pet. You are a good girl. You are such a perfectly submissive girl.”

His long, forked tongue ran up your neck. He bit your ear softly before continuing. “You see, I like to help people, pet. You humans are so wrapped up in your sexual morals that you all have such a hard time indulging. So, few of you know what you truly want, but I help you discover that.”

He began speeding up his attention and the rhythm of his words, driving you closer to the edge.

“You humans think my kind brings sexual corruption, that we are evil, but all we do is reveal your deepest desires and aid you in reaching them. When that man came to me, I accepted his request to help in your sex lives as a therapist. But when you arrived, I saw what he truly wanted - you as nothing more than a tool for him for sex and money, a leech. And I saw what you truly were - such a good submissive pet, so ready to find the perfect owner.”

Your body writhed in his arms. You were at the edge, almost ready to climax, but you could not cum. Deep inside of you, you knew. Good girls did not cum without permission.

“Good girls do not deserve men like him. You have so much more potential.”

You whimpered. Tears forming at the corners of your eyes. Your body was pulled taught, ready to hear that word. You need to hear it. You would go insane if you did not-- “Cum.”

White filled your vision as your eyes rolled back in your head. A gush of fluid shot out of you as your pussy clenched wildly on nothing, nearly reaching the dreadful man sitting frozen on the couch. You had never felt like this before. The orgasm was a rocket, and now you were floating among the stars.

Slowly, your body relaxed once more. The hot hands on your body stroking you, calming you. 

“Very good,” his voice was low and evenly melodic again. He sighed and pressed a kiss against your ear. As he pulled his lips away, the softest whisper that you only heard because of your focus on his voice was spoken. “I think I am going to keep you.”

_________

This is definitely a part 1 - I'll link part 2 here

Other Department of Monster Affairs works

Werewolf bites and bodily fluids - worldbuilding/lore prompt for Hello Neighbor

Hello Neighbor - m!werewolf x f!reader, teratophilia, knotting, heat. One-shot.

Minotaur Essence Products - worldbuilding/lore prompt for After Party

After Party - m!Minotaur x f!reader, teratophilia, breeding, overstimulation.

For other works see my masterlist

[netherfeildren]

Busy, Dying. Part 3;

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my lovely and kind friend @FloBallestra whose beautiful beautiful art inspired me so much for this story. You’re the coolest, smartest girl in the world, Flo; I love being your friend. 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, Heat Sex, Knotting, Fluff & Smut & Angst, Premature Ejaculation, Scenting, Dacryphilia; Explicit Sexual Content, Dom/sub Undertones, Breeding Kink, Excessive Amounts of Cum, Aftercare, Touch Starved Joel Miller, Angst With a Happy Ending

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

Part 3;

The apartment with the small, warm room you bring him to is a radiant and generous place; some brightly lit bubble of life Joel hasn’t looked upon in years and years.

You tell him you have a roommate who spends all her time with her girlfriend—crazy in love. They work at the opera, too—set carpenter and sound design. Soon, they plan to get married. 

You tell him all of this with a patently wistful look in your eye. Like you’re happy for your friends, and also terribly aware of what it is that landed you in a place like the Emmanuel. 

In your bedroom, there are twinkling lights that hang from the edges of the ceiling, and a mess of a pink and cream colored bed at the center of the closely packed room, blankets and pillows piled high into what looks like a preemptively engineered nest. 

You move into the space slowly, like you’re shy, hesitant to allow him into this sacred place, as you drape his borrowed coat over the back of the desk chair. The surface of which is cluttered with books and papers, a beaten up red journal, a laptop and makeup strewn about haphazardly. An etched glass bottle of perfume perches precariously at the corner's edge, the deep golden liquid within: still and undisturbed. 

“I like your room,” he tells you. 

But what he’d really like to say is that he feels in danger here, in this comfortable space. That he wishes he could run but that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, also. Nowhere to run to. That he’s grateful. That the act the two of you are about to commit here will be undeniably selfish. That at the end of it all, he hopes you might forgive him. 

The look on your face when you turn to thank him, one hand braced against the back of the chair as if to hold yourself upright, is full of the ardor of your unfurling heat, the weight of your biology, the reasons for finding yourself in the basement of an old church. There’s sweat dampening your hairline and a glaze in your eye that tells him soon you won’t even remember your own name, but you’ll surely remember his. 

Joel feels suddenly flayed open, like some prey animal gutted by a wolf, spilling all of his own ravenous hunger out for your witness. It’s a moment of undeniable honesty. His own face, a mirror, his own skin damp with sweat. He’s painfully hard already with your scent on his tongue and fingers and surrounding him everywhere in this room. And the look on your face is so similar to the shiver in his gut, that he decides to be honest with his fears:

“We’re about to do somethin’ selfish here. With no thought for how it might hurt anyone.” Not even ourselves. “And I’ve always been a selfish man. But I worry for you.”

Your lashes flutter, as if taking in the weight of his words. But you smile, “Think I can’t handle it?” Another drooping flutter of your lashes, thick and curling. The fever turns you into an unreliable narrator. He can see the flutter of a too fast pulse beneath the thin skin of your throat. All bravado—you struggle to maintain the smirk. “I don’t think I believe half the things you say about yourself.”

“I don’t care about anything,” he tells you, palms splayed wide as if to show you all his cards. 

“You’re a bad liar, Joel Miller.”

You know his last name without him ever having told you, and it feels like a sign. Like you already know everything there is to know about him, so obviously he’s supposed to be here. 

“You can sit down,” you offer, slowly moving to shut the door. “They never stay here, we’ll have the apartment to ourselves for a few days most likely.”

He swallows his nerves, the reality that he’s never done a thing like this, been in this position before, slides down his throat to settle heavily in his gut as he sits slowly at the edge of the pink bed. On the nightstand there’s a dangerously leaning tower of books: Anna Karenina, The Second Sex, Emily of New Moon, The Norton Anthology of Poetry, an autobiography of W.B. Yeats, The Happy Hooker, The Act of Creation, Seven Gothic Tales. 

A wishful romantic, a realist, a smart girl doing a stupid thing. 

He stares at the stack unblinking. You like to read. This is who you are, this person who collects books in your small, pink room with the absent housemate and a brother who’ll only speak to you once a month. Parents who you want to be nothing like. Someone who works at the opera and likes to walk and eats too many sweets, with the golden perfume teetering dangerously at the edge of a desk. 

Someone who’d dreamt of something better. 

Suddenly, he can’t think of anyone else in his life whose small details he knows like this. Not a single person. Certainly not the woman he’s lived with for the past seven years. Perhaps not even himself. 

And learnt in such a short time, too.

You move around him slowly, a gentle hand at his shoulder dragging to softly touch his cheek. He’s glad it’s you he knows like this. At least there is that. 

“I’m not scared to be selfish. I’m scared of other things, but not that.”

He swallows, eyes wide and dry. And you’re so beautiful, and wanting him, what else is there to be but frightened and here, waiting for you to decide what’s next for him. 

Your soft fingertip follows the curve of his cheekbone, back and forth, watching him with eyes that are not as afraid as his, but wide and young and honest. Full of the potential for life that has so callously slipped through his own hands. He thinks there’s nothing within him that can understand why you’d have found yourself in a place for lonely people. Why would you ever need a miracle cure the way he does? How could God or the whole world not want to miraculously cure you of any sort of loneliness you might have ever suffered? Desperate for the power to turn back the clock, change his whole life, find you at a time when he was young and unbroken and honest, too.

You push his hair back, fingers sliding through the thick strands, dancing over the shell of his ear the way they’d danced over the temptation of sugar. His blood throbs madly at his temples, his muscles spasming beneath his skin; he shuts his eyes, sucking in a slow, deep breath to steady himself. He’s not afraid to admit he’s afraid of this.

He hadn’t suffered any sort of real sex drive in years. His libido cold and inconsistent and… gone. He can’t remember the last time he’d slept with his wife, taken himself in hand. His erection this morning had been the first he could remember in months. Joel worked, he thought of the past, he did not consider himself. He went home, he existed. 

He was so, so cold. Frozen. 

Now, he is here. 

Slowly, he brings his palms to your hips, gripping you there carefully, hearing the phantom sound of your moan in his ear as he’d made you come on his fingers. Unbelieving he’d had the gall to even touch you like that. 

The hand at his ear moves to the buttons at the base of his throat, opening the first, the second. His breathing goes erratic, coming in quick, hot bursts. He pulls you in closer, spreading his thighs wider to make room for you, and his hold on you slips higher, mapping the curve of your waist beneath your sweater. Looking up at you with all the wonder of a man coming upon the answer to a question he’d been looking for his entire life. 

He tries for sound once, falters. There are so many things he wants to say to you now, and all his bravado from the church has fled him. His strength gone under the feel of your soft fingers and the glow of your pink room in the warm fairy lights. Things he wants to say that might frighten you, disgust you, make you wet and pliant. He swallows courage once again.

“You’re going to let me have you.”

A muscle under your left eye flutters light and frantic, spasming with your nerves. You nod once.

“Fuck you, knot you—” he insists on clarification.

Another nod.

“Say it. Lemme hear it.”

“Yes. I’m going to let you have me.”

He pulls you in even closer, a groan as he presses his face against your belly, breathing in deep, filling his lungs until they hurt with your scent. The ache in his groin and his stomach beats behind his eyelids. Your fingers move quickly, undoing the rest of his buttons and then push his shirt back and off his shoulders, smoothing over the hot skin there up to his neck to ghost over the sensitive skin of his glands. He shudders a broken sound, pressing his face deeper into your stomach. 

“The rest—tell me.”

“I’m…I’m going to let you fuck me, knot me.”

He pulls you in tighter, thank you thank you, he says against your midriff, mouth sliding against the knit fabric of your sweater that he pushes up your waist, uncovering the skin of your stomach for him to kiss. 

Tugging the garment over your head, you let it fall to the floor from listless fingers, the soft shucking sound landing heavy against the carpet of the quiet room. You have on a black bra, soft, translucent lace, he can see the color of your nipples beneath, beautiful and succulent so his mouth waters. You’re like wild prey caught in his thrall, looking down at him with those bright eyes full of mirrored hunger. His fingertips make their slow, ghosting way up the skin of your back and then down again, mapping you, catching at the waist of your skirt to tug it down over your legs. You’re left only in your dark tights and tiny underwear. Hands on your hips he pivots you, taking a look at the back of a little thong. He feels perverted—he wants to bend you over and spread you wide and look at it all, press his fingers against tight, sensitive skin before getting to taste it all, too. 

His legs shake and he hides his face against your stomach again, embarrassed with the intensity of his wanting, breath shaking in his lungs. Your hands smooth over his hair, comforting him, soothing and painful all at once. And cautiously, you begin to push him backwards until he’s stretched out and laying against the soft duvet. 

It’s like he floats on a pink cloud, and Joel is nervous. 

With his eyes closed, he concentrates on the feel of gentle fingertips moving over his chest, down his belly, sifting through the hair there to the clasp of his belt—open, his jeans, the zipper, parted. It’ll be his skin next. He breathes fast fast fast, he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him, and he has to focus intently on willing the boiling heat his blood full of mercury has become to calm down or he’ll spend in his jeans without you even having pulled him out. 

At his sides, his arms are tangled in his open shirt, and he’s unable to defend himself when you climb on top, settling on his lap in nothing but your flimsy tights and your tiny panties. 

He can’t look, he’s afraid of what he’ll see. He’s afraid of you. 

“Open your eyes, Joel—”

The immediate realization that he’d been wrong before, that he is a weak man, that he’d never been able to escape it, that maybe all the sad, childless alphas of the world are a little bit the same—dying, it doesn’t bother him as perhaps it would have, had he not made it here with you. 

“I can’t believe I found you,” he says in utter awe—eyes wide open now. 

Your smile is beautiful when you lean over to kiss him. Fingers twisting into his hair as you moan against his tongue, sweet kittennish laps while you grind and press along his chest. He tries to twist out of his tangled shirt, frustration mounting at his trapped arms. He wants to pull you tight, grip you hard, feel your skin and leave his fingerprints everywhere, but you reach down, bracing your hand against his wrist to hold him down. Other hand coming up to circle his throat lightly. 

At the provoking nature of your touch, his instincts finally come fully alive. 

“This you pretendin’ to be in charge?”

“Yes,” you shiver, pressing your face to his throat, your hips starting a rhythmic cant against his abdomen. 

The rumble, low and satisfied in his chest, is one of gratification. Happy to let you play for a moment, familiarize yourself with his body. 

“Alright,” he says. “Enjoy it. It’s all you’ll get.”

He settles back, accepting he’s trapped for now whilst you slither lower, shuffling to straddle his thighs. Your touch is tentative, looking up with your own shy candor and glowing cheeks as you carefully grasp his hard flesh. 

The muscles in his stomach bunch, a rough, pained sound clawing its way up his throat—he has to clench his whole body to stave off a humiliation. 

“Fuck—” Joel whines. 

Pulling back, you shove his jeans down his thighs and he toes his boots off, helping you to dispense with the horrible, confining clothes that hurt his skin. When he’s free, his sex lies there, heavy and jutting, and it embarrasses him. The angry, violent looking thing under your beautiful hand.

But there’s a sound in your throat, click clicking, whining too like him, and when you wrap your small fingers around his cock, the both of you stare down in awe. Your touch is too gentle, not hard enough. He needs more. Straining to wrap his own large hand around yours, he shows you how he needs it. Squeezing tightly he writhes on the bed, moving your palms up and down together, teeth clenched tight. He pulls away, letting you handle him on your own, and your touch goes light again, maddening. 

“Does it hurt?”

“God yes.” 

It aches, it needs inside. 

He hisses when you gently part the spongy skin of the tip, foreskin rolled back, pulling the small slit open. Your eyes are glazed over, shiny with the fever heat now, like you don’t really know what’s going on anymore. Humming to yourself while you play with him.

His sac is heavy and tight, the space behind beats. He’s going to come soon, already. It doesn’t matter that you’ve barely touched him, it’d been so long for him, and you’re so beautiful on top of him, sweaty and fevered and ripe. He rips his arms violently from the trap of his shirt, seams popping and grips your hip forcefully with one hand, the other pulling your touch back to his agonized erection, moving your grip up and down brutally. Reaching to tuck his fingers beneath the half-cup of your pretty, lace bra, he tugs, letting one soft, full breast free. 

“I’m so close,” he begs. 

Your lashes flutter at his tone, nodding your head—I’ll be gentle, I’ll be gentle with you—slicking your palm over the wide, wet head, and then gripping there in a twisting motion, sliding down the length. It’s not hard enough, but goddamn it’s so good, too. 

“I’m going to come in your hand, I’m sorry,” he says, too far gone to remember he was feeling embarrassed just a moment ago. 

Suddenly, his semen is spilling hot and wet over your fingers and down your wrist, knot pulsing in agony. His animal snarl sends a shocked shiver down your back so that you’re gripping him even tighter, pulling his hips off the bed by the cock, your own high pitched sound meeting his deep one. 

He ruts into your fist, moaning, crying your name, and your other hand joins your moving fist to scoop up his thick white come, bringing it to your mouth to smear against your tongue. 

Joel is going to die. 

He jerks you forward, over himself, fists twisting in your tights and wrenching them apart, snapping the clasp of your bra to tear it off. You’re crying his name back at him, writhing against him, wet hand sliding over his skin and getting come everywhere while you tell him how much you ache, how hot you are, how it hurts without him. How you need him. 

Joel is needed, and it is a perfect, suspended moment. 

Flipping you over suddenly, he crowds you with his heavy mass, pulling you up off the bed against his chest, belly to belly, fingers in your hair to tug your head back roughly and bearing the soft column of your beautiful throat, he closes his lips around your gland and sucks hard, the flavor of your pheromones flooding his mouth, sticky on his tongue like honey. Your fists tangle in his hair, pulling him in closer, bearing yourself further, a keening cry on your tongue as he ravages the supremely sensitive skin.

With a growl, he pulls back, running his rough hands all over you. Skin, bare and soft and hot. And with one rough tug, he rips the barely there panties from your hips, beneath him you’re breathing fast and hiccupped in a way that makes him feel like a predator and you some small prey. Your breasts are soft and lovely—on a quiet, hungry sound, he captures the tip of one in his mouth, sucking careful, then hard, biting gently, working the sensitive nipple with his tongue until you’re moaning and pleading with him for more. He can feel your hot cunt wet against his stomach. 

“Hmm, such sweet, sensitive pretty tits. Do you like that, little omega?”

Your scent builds, blossoming and swelling and he feels the change in your temperature when you dip fully into the pit of your heat, his own rut responding in kind, coming up on him like a wave so that he feels suddenly that all sense has been lost and all he is, is a thing that takes, with you beneath him so ready to give. 

He had warned you that this would be a selfish sort of thing. 

Wrapping his big hands around your soft tits, he sucks on one and then the other, slapping the side to watch it jiggle and then, with a rough sound, nipping at it again like he’s angry at how it moves. He slides lower, teeth scraping along your ribs, tasting the curve of your soft belly, dipping to bite at the plump inner slopes of your thighs. Between your legs—God. Had he ever smelled something so sweet? Your arousal is thick and leaking heavily, pooling between your thighs onto the bed. 

You’re beyond words or reasoning now, maybe that’s why he feels brave enough to say: “You can’t imagine the things I’ve done t’you in my dreams. Disgusting things. I wanna fill you so badly, mark you with my scent and my come. Want you to be only mine.”

He buries his face in your cunt, lapping at your hole and sucking on your pretty clit, so swollen. Spreading your sex open to admire what’s his. 

Oh please, you cry above him, dragging your palms over your body to squeeze your own breasts tightly. He watches a lone tear slide down your temple in rapt fascination, and he’s certain he’s never laid eyes on such a sight in his entire life. 

“Shh,” he soothes. “Let alpha kiss your little clit.”

He presses a full mouthed kiss to the swollen bud, eyes still locked on your face, flicking his tongue slowly back and forth. You’re so wet, pouring slick for him. Joel takes a deep breath through a clenched jaw, and distantly, thinks it would be wise of him to make you come first on his mouth. But as he straightens to his knees, his palms sliding up the backs of your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressed against the vulnerable backs of your knees, spreading you wide, touching skin softer than he even knew was possible, he knows he can’t wait any longer. Doesn’t want to. 

You’re begging for it anyways. You don’t want him to wait either. 

His wet cockhead brushes against your belly as he leans over to give you a long, lingering kiss. One last moment of softness, he thinks, before all reason is lost to rut. 

He’d like to say so many other things. That you’re like an angel. That it makes sense he’d found you where he did. That he wants to do obscene things to you. Tie you up—ropes wrapped around your heavy breasts, your soft thighs, so that he might watch your skin take his marks. Keep you captured and bound.

Abstinence does strange things to a man. 

Kneeling between your spread thighs, he lets his cock lay heavy against you, reaching halfway up your belly. Your palm slides over it, pressing at the hot skin, letting yourself rock against it, thighs flexing. 

“This part is the worst,” you cry. “—So hot. Oh, I itch and burn everywhere, alpha.” Your words are slurred and febrile. 

“You’re alright,” he soothes, taking hold of his thick flesh. “I’m here to fix it now.”

You claw gently at his shoulders like a desperate creature seeking safety. He tucks the wide head against your little hole, and eyes full of glorious fever, hair clinging to your sweaty face, you lift yourself up a little to watch him push it in. 

As he presses inside you, Joel feels like he might cry. 

He’s sure when he returns to that house not a home, that meager and cold place, that he will cry. Thinking he can’t remember when the last time was that he allowed himself to weep. Like touch, like lust, like all he’d deprived himself of for so long—his whole life, nothing but abstinence—Joel can’t remember the last time he let himself cry.

Now, he presses deeper, lashes fluttering, and he feels the hot press of tears behind his eyes. He slides his hands beneath your bottom, lifting you, filling you, and hisses, eyes on where he fucks you open. His hips nudging forward, rocking, until he’s balls deep, the wide, painfully sensitive tip of his cock pressed firmly against the mouth of your cervix. His burgeoning knot is an unspeakable ring of pleasure at the base. He bends, hunching over your splayed open form, to kiss your midriff, nuzzling gentle at your belly. Above him, you mumble nonsensically: his name, alpha, pleading for more. 

Joel—it sounds more beautiful than he’s ever heard it said before. Like it means something now, not just a thing that exists, but a real person, too. 

He pulls his hips back until only the wide head remains caught in the tight ring of your pussy—it’s so swollen, he can almost imagine he sees the blood beating beneath the thin, slippery skin. You’ve bloomed for him, and you’re so beautiful for it. He slides forward, hard, bumping roughly against your womb again and grinding there, making you really feel him. You wail once, long and sharp, and then the low pitiful sound of an animal trapped in a maw of teeth. 

“Fuck—Oh, fuck,” he grits, letting himself fall forward on braced arms, looking down at where you connect, how you stretch so shockingly around the thickest part of him, the place just before his knot starts to swell. As if he could tear you apart. 

His thrusts pick up speed, not bothering to measure the strength behind them, you were made for this after all. Perfect little omega cunt meant to be fucked hard—it starts to flutter around him, the wettest, most obscene sound he’s ever heard, squeezing and milking his length as you come on him for the first time. 

“That’s it. Yes—” he growls, fucking you on his cock, your arousal dripping down onto his balls as he pulls out and slides back in with a deep, satisfied groan at the feel of his omega coming for him.

Joel loses his mind to the feel of it—better than anything else has ever been. 

“Is your pretty cunt feeling good? She’s sucking on alpha so well, little one. This is what y’needed. I know. F’r me to fuck you until you wet my cock with your come.”

Wrapping his palm around your throat, reaching for your wrist to pin it to the mattress, the way you’d held him, prone and caught beneath him, he holds your pulse in two places, presses his lips to a third, the perfect, fragrant spot behind your ear. Tasting there, licking and sucking on the delicate skin. Ravenous mouth moving down to your gland, as soft and sensitive as your clit. 

“Perfect, perfect thing. Can’t believe I found you—” he says again, taking your mouth now in a desperately hungry kiss. Your free arm wraps itself around his neck, holding him tightly. His chest fills with a heat so unbearable his heart feels it’ll burst, and then he’s settling as deep as he can, knot catching and swelling, and he’s pumping long spurts of hot come into your soft little womb, filling you. 

His weight falls heavy over you, smothering your body with his much larger one, while he throbs deep inside of you, breathing in your scent, letting himself be suffused with your warmth. 

Your smell, full of heat-fever, so sweet it sticks to his gums—it fills his head with thoughts of what next…what if? Plots to keep this for himself for the rest of his life because beneath all of that sweetness, all of that sticky slick that slides between your two hot, perspiring bodies, there’s him. Beneath all of that, him, him, his. Your bones are made of his own scent now. How could he ever let you go when you’re made of him?

“Look at me, look at me.” He pushes the sweat soaked hair out of your face, tilting your head back to get a good look at you. “You’re alright? Lemme see that angel face.” Your cheeks are burning hot, eyes unfocused, but you give him the most beautiful smile, sated and entirely trusting. 

Your fingertips touch his own face, passing lightly over his eyelids and nose to his mouth. 

“I’m okay. I’m okay, alpha. I’m here.” You tug his head closer with weak, heat-sick fingers. “More. More. I’m so hot—” But you shiver like you’re cold. “It hurts, please.”

“Tell me how it feels,” he rumbles. “Describe it to me.”

He goes limb-heavy over your body, pressing you into the bed, comforting you with his breadth. The skin between your eyebrows wobbles and creases, a tiny frowning pinch, and you make the most curious hiccupping noise. Like the answer to his question needs to work its way slowly through your silly, little heat-addled mind.

“Oh—it’s… it’s— Joel, it’s so good. I never thought—alpha, I never imagined it would be like this,” you mumble and slur. “So full.”

He watches the bright eyes fill with tears then, and spill over in a hot rush, clinging in large perfect droplets to long lashes of which he counts every single strand. The sight of your tears, of your overwhelm—it makes him come more. His cock jerks and swells impossibly fuller, and he begins to spurt again, filling your belly swollen with his seed against his own stomach. 

“Silly thing,” he soothes gently. “S’no need to cry, little omega.”

“Oh, but Joel—” you sob, nuzzling into his throat, mouthing at the swollen gland behind his ear. 

“I know it’s a lot,” he assures you, rolling the two of you over onto your sides, cuddling you close and gentle-like, petting your hair and letting the deep, rumbling sounds in his chest wash over you soothingly. “Just need some rest now. That’s all.” 

He presses a kiss to your hairline, your brow, your mouth again—he licks into it deeply, pulling the edges wider to make more room for himself, his tongue tasting all along your own. He can understand your tears, how overwhelming this must be for an omega inexperienced in taking an alpha with a knot as big as his. It’s true that he might not have had much experience before this, but this is natural, after all. This is who Joel is and what he was meant for. This is exactly where he’s supposed to be. 

I belong here, he whispers into your hair as you settle into him, melting into a heavy and sated sleep—so beautifully obedient, willingly submitting to his caring command for rest. 

He feels so far away from where he’d started, from that mad creature who’d lost everything—that man with a daughter a whole world away. With nothing to hold on to and even less to lose. 

He feels closer to his real self, here and now, than he has in years.

You had both been so alone and in so much pain, but he had found you. 

The heat dips and swells in waves and bursts. You wake gradually from that first reprieve, calling his name, begging for something only he can give you. He takes you again and again, the bed so wet it sticks to your fevered skin, sweat and semen and spit. On your side, back to chest, his body cupped around yours in a shape akin to love, kissing your neck, your chin, the cup of one palm and the inside of a wrist. On all fours, mounted like a defenseless thing, fluttering, little hole creamy from use—spread it open, let me see what belongs to me. Splayed above him, little drip of a girl, cooing his name mindlessly, caressing yourself, sliding your hands over the round of your belly, cupping your breasts, tips of your fingers tangling in your hair while you writhe above him, and Joel…Joel is sure he will die beneath you, watching you like this. He moves inside of your slick heat, cunt like a little furnace. Your tears leak in a constant stream that he licks from your cheeks to slake his thirst. 

Time is a loop and a loop and a loop and maybe the two of you exist here only, together now. 

He thinks that he goes away from himself too, sometimes. Forgets his name and his past and who he was or who he could be and lives only inside your cunt, to fill and mark as his. He is certain that this is the warmest bed he’s ever known. 

When he blinks awake and coherent, he feeds you soup he’s pilfered from the fridge and water that he drips into your mouth from his own, and feels sure that it must turn sweet on your tongue. If anyone could, it’d be you—turn water to wine. 

Joel thinks he might finally believe in God now. 

The gut twisting realization of all he could lose here, how he feels so happy beside you—it turns him from a faithless man into one full of zealous belief. And on a sigh, he feathers his lips over yours, the round of your cheek, the arch of your brow. He’s not alone anymore, and he’s happy. If he could, he’d hold onto this feeling forever.

Your eyes blink open, focused for the first time in hours or maybe days, but heat burns so brightly from the center of your navel, osmosing into his own belly, that he knows he only has a moment. 

“Hey,” softly.

You murmur back at him, confused little hiccups of sound followed by a fluttery kiss to the tip of his chin, the bite of hungry teeth demanding flesh. 

“Did you know you snore?” He laughs into the sensitive shell of your ear, rolling on top of you. His knot is sated for now, but it throbs with the feeling of his heavy length moving within you. 

You blink once, wide eyed—then a funny little frown. “I do not!”

“Yeah, you do. It’s very soft like the purr of a kitten,” he tells you, nuzzling at the swollen gland at the slide of your neck. You make a soft sound at the back of your throat at the touch. “Yes—just like that.” 

“Don’t snore—” you mutter, lashes fluttering and drooping. Too much conversation for the sleepy omega. 

“Don’t go away yet. Talk to me for a little bit. Stay with me.” He squeezes the back of your neck and your eyes blink open, hazy and then alert. 

“Do you have dreams?” He thinks to ask you.

“Oh, yes.” Your eyes droop again, there’s a smile on your face. 

“What about?”

You hum, the look on your face is sly in that half-sleep space he’s trying to tug you out of. 

“Of being great. Of being loved. Of being happy. Of family. Like a story book. I never thought I’d find anyone to love me,” you say with your eyes closed. Joel’s heart writhes in his chest, pains him as if it were cleaving in two. But you’re smiling, tangled in your dream, and say: “I want us to know each other so long and so well, we don’t need words to speak.” 

He’s like an imposter in this bed, for all his feelings of belonging—unsure he could ever give you anything you really want. 

“Does your brother look like you?” he asks all of a sudden.

“Yes. Very much. Does yours?”

“I don’t think so, but people say he does. Where it counts, we’re nothing alike. What’s his name?” he asks you.

You whisper it in his ear. Another one of the small things about your life that he knows about no one else. 

The two of you tell each other things you’ve never told anyone else, funny things, sad things. Words full of hope that leave a bitter and longing taste in Joel’s mouth. 

“Did you never want to have a baby?” you ask, and his heart jumps to his throat. 

“I did once. She died.” 

He can’t believe he has the courage to say these words which he hasn’t talked of in years and years out loud. Your eyes snap open, the pupil contracting so quickly it frightens him. 

“Oh. I understand now.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I see it now.”

“What do you see?”

“What you were looking for.”

“What was it? Tell me—” For part of him feels he still doesn’t know.

“A way back to yourself, of course”

He nods, a feeling of relief so intense washing through his body, his limbs ache with it. Something chemical within him aligning for one perfect, singular second. He feels entirely known, and he thinks: this is the happiest moment of my life— before it fades away. 

“Maybe. Yes.”

“Do you think it can be okay now?” 

You press your entire palm against the skin of his face, as if you’d lift it off his skull and look at what’s held beneath. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think it can ever be okay after something like that.”

“Please, don’t be sad anymore,” you tell him as if it were something so simple. As if it would just be within him because you’ve asked it so. 

“I’ll try.” But he knows it isn’t something he won’t ever be hurt by. Joel realizes, with your simple words, this isn’t something he’ll ever be able to fix. That there will always be something missing, incomplete about him, and that no matter how hard he works, how hard he prays, how deeply he could ever lose himself inside of you, he feels sure it won’t ever be enough. He’s still in want of his miracle. “I’ll try,” he says again. “There are times I feel relieved. She suffered.”

“I’m sorry.” He can tell that you really are. 

“We eventually all do. Perhaps that’s where the relief came from. She got hers over with quick.”

“What was her name?”

“Sarah.”

You put your hand over his heart, your face is wet with tears.

“Do you think this is a betrayal?” you ask him then. 

The reminder of the woman who is his wife, who he had tried to love but who could never reach the bottom of that dark and fathomless well of cold within him to find anything worthwhile, it does nothing to him. Is it a betrayal? Surely to someone who cared it would be. But Joel cannot remember the last time they really talked, the last time either of them cared about one another. Maybe he’s a bad man. He’d chosen her for comfort, because it’d been what he felt he should do. Perhaps merely for something to do, or because he knew it’d be easy. Comforted by the fact that she was a beta and could thus never know him in a more intimate or painful way, in a way that would demand more of him. He couldn’t even accuse himself of not doing right by her because he’d always done what he was supposed to, what she’d asked of him which was so little, truly, that there could be no real claim of betrayal. At least, not before this, you, his knot locked within you and his heart on his tongue ready to be spit into your palm. 

Yeah, maybe he’s a bad man. Certainly one who could never, ever deserve to keep this. 

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I know what the word means anymore.” 

He bids you to sleep again after that, and in a brief respite of clarity, he has the wherewithal to call his house, to let the woman who lives there with him know he’ll be gone for a few days longer. But there’s no answer, and he’s relieved. In the following days, his phone does not ring. 

As he stands before your bed, he takes a moment to study the picture you pose as. Curled in the center of your pink nest—you look lonely. 

Do you even really exist if no one loves you? 

Outside, there is snow in the night—winter come alive in the midst of heat. He climbs back into the bed, taking you into his embrace, arranging you perfectly, a sharp elbow, the soft knee—certain that he won’t ever be able to fix himself, to keep you, choking on gratitude that at least he gets this. He’ll preserve it in his memory for the rest of his life and maybe it’ll be okay. 

As he lays watching you sleep beside him, entirely innocent in your vulnerability, and with such trust, lying here in this bed you’ve shared together, he has for a moment a great and treasurable illusion of the past. This feeling of being trusted by someone so entirely, that gift of someone’s safety and heart and rest handed to him with little compunction, for there is that much certainty in the care that will come from him. Watching the dreamscape unfold behind your fluttering eyelids, the membrane so thin there’s that almost indiscernible pulse of your heart beating through your body. The street lamp glow comes in through a split in the curtains to lay warmly over your lovely face, and there’s only faint sound, the blown snow. Little light, a heart of warmth. 

It’s late now, he thinks, I could love you. Saying it out loud would be like creating a world with its sound. 

He shifts his weight to make you more comfortable, your warm, soft weight rolling more heavily into his side, moaning unintelligibly in your febrile sleep, and then suddenly, lucid—Joel. The sound of his name in your mouth makes him real again for a single moment—how will he ever let this go? His throat is tight, perhaps with the strangle of tears—don’t leave me, don’t leave me, you murmur like you already know. And then settle quiet again, falling away back into deep sleep. 

There is only your rest now, the soft sound of your sleeping, darkness. They are here, the both of them, together. At the center of all things, there is this bond; biology or heart or soul. Fate—perhaps. 

He could bite you, make you his mate, fuck it all to hell. Run away again. He’s done it once before. 

But how could he ever keep you without a miracle fix?

Outside there exists, as always, that great tragedy, that undying grief, that barren loneliness. But for now, there is this, and you, this enduring heart of warmth. His own dreams. 

This cannot be happiness; that ever elusive thing. He must decide that in the here and now, in the presence of this enduring moment. This is the thing he can never earn and will not keep, and even perhaps, cannot realize for what it truly is. 

All of this, he decides with his thumb against the mating gland at the back of your neck. 

This is not joy, Joel lies and lies and lies.

Part 4;

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

[bloomzone]

THE "LUCKY VICKY" MINDSET !

The Lucky Vicky Mindset or jang wonyoung mindset was created by Jang Wonyoung herself combining "lucky" with her English name "Vicky" (stand for Victory )to share her positive mindset that it's abt choosing a perspective that helps you move forward with confidence so this mindset is about understanding that your attitude shapes your experiences and that seeing yourself as "lucky" isn’t about chance but about the way you navigate challenges, setbacks n success.cuz It’s easy to feel overwhelmed when things don’t go as planned. Whether it’s struggling in school, facing criticism, or dealing with self-doubt, the natural reaction is often frustration or discouragement. But if u shift by thinking like : What if, instead of seeing obstacles as signs of failure, you saw them as redirections toward something better?

This mindset isn’t about ignoring problems it’s about handling them with clarity and resilience. "So how do you develop it?" u need to :

ஐ - 𝟷. ʀᴇғʀᴀᴍɪɴɢ sᴇᴛʙᴀᴄᴋs

There will always be moments when things don’t go your way. Maybe you didn’t get the opportunity you wanted, maybe people misunderstand you, or maybe you feel like progress is slow. The lucky vicky Mindset teaches us that nothing is truly working against us—it’s just working differently than we expected.A well-known example what wonnie said "This happened during a tour when I visited Spain. At that time, I waited a long time at a famous bakery, but all the bread in front of me was sold out. They told me that if I waited a little longer, fresh bread would come out. I thought, ‘That’s Lucky Vicky,’ because I could eat freshly made bread. I shared that story with my fans, and from then on, ‘Lucky Vicky’ spread instantly and became a popular meme.” It’s a small moment, but it reflects a powerful way of thinking it mean that Instead of focusing on what didn’t happen, focus on what’s still possible.This applies to bigger situations too. Didn’t get the result you wanted? It’s a chance to adjust your approach. Lost an opportunity? Maybe it wasn’t the right one, and something better is coming. Feeling stuck? That means growth is happening, even if you can’t see it yet.The way you choose to interpret setbacks determines whether they drain you or empower you.

ஐ - 𝟸. ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴅᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

Wonyoung is often criticized online, but her response to negativity is simple: “No problem, I don’t care. You are you, and I am me.” This isn’t about arrogance or something but it’s about understanding that not everything requires your energy.If you spend too much time thinking about what others say, replaying negative moments, or trying to justify yourself, you lose focus on what actually matters. Some opinions do not need to be addressed. Some people are not worth your time.That doesn’t mean ignoring constructive feedback, but it does mean choosing where you place your attention. The Lucky Vicky Mindset is about knowing when to engage and when to walk away because your energy is too valuable to be wasted on things that don’t help you grow.Jang Wonyoung also said in a show interview : "I believe there is energy in thoughts and words. When I got anxious and negative thoughts, I tried to correct them positively. In the end, there was no wrong path even if I looked at where I am now,"

ஐ - 𝟹. ғᴏᴄᴜs ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴇss

Comparison is one of the biggest traps in personal growth. Social media makes it easy to see others succeeding and wonder why you’re not at their level. But the truth is, no one’s journey looks the same and no one has it all figured out.Wonyoung has been in the spotlight since she was a teenager, constantly compared to others, yet she stays focused on her own path.

🗝️:You don’t need to be ahead of anyone else you just need to be ahead of where you were yesterday.

Instead of thinking:

"Why am I not as successful as them?"

Try:

"What small step can I take today to improve?"

Your timeline is your own. Trust that your progress is happening at the right pace for you.

ஐ - 𝟺. ᴄᴏɴғɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

A lot of people wait to feel "ready" before taking action. They think confidence comes when they finally have everything figured out. But in reality, confidence grows through experience, not through waiting.Wonyoung didn’t become poised and self-assured overnight. She gained confidence by stepping into situations that challenged her. The only way to become good at something is to do it, even when it’s uncomfortable.So, whether it’s speaking up more, taking on new challenges, or stepping outside your comfort zone, start before you feel fully prepared. Confidence isn’t about never making mistakes but it’s about knowing that mistakes won’t break u

ஐ - 𝟻. ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴀss ɪs ʜᴀʟғ ғᴜʟʟ

I want to add something about positive and negative thinking for the setback part

People often say, "The glass is half full" to mean optimism and "The glass is half empty" to mean pessimism. The Lucky Vicky Mindset takes it a step further.

wony once said, “I was about to drink water after practice, and just about half a cup was left. I had hoped for just about half because it would be too much to drink all of it and not enough if it was too little. I am totally a ‘Lucky Vicky!’”

That it’s about seeing things as aligned for you. It’s not about forcing happiness or pretending everything is perfect. It’s about trusting that what’s in front of you is just right cuz The way you interpret situations shapes your reality so this way of thinking removes the pressure to categorize things as "good" or "bad." It allows you to move with life instead of resisting it. When you start seeing every outcome as something that fits into your journey, you naturally feel more at peace, less anxious, and more confident that things are unfolding the way they should.

So instead of asking, “Is my glass half full or half empty?” try thinking, “Maybe this is exactly the amount I was meant to have.”

@bloomzone

This mindset allows you to be present, grateful, and naturally attract opportunities. When you believe that life is working with u, rather than against you, everything starts to feel like a lucky break even the things you didn’t expect.i hope y'all like this blog and thank you for the love and support ! have a lucky Vicky day 🍀

[hoonieyun]

this is what that fucker wants!

pairing: sim jaeyun x reader x park sunghoon warnings: mentions of death and murder, violent threats, yn gets attacked, profanity, overall adult themes, 18+ ignore timestamps and possible typos lol a portion of this chapter is written so please be sure to read the written portion so the story makes sense!

wc: 1713

breakfast with jake was nice, it gave you a sense of normalcy and for once everything felt normal. or as normal as things could be. usually whenever you and jake would hang out, intak was also there. it was the classic trope of older siblings taking their younger sibling everywhere just because it was the duty of an older sibling to look after their younger one. 

your mind drifts off to intak as you drive to the mechanic and how you haven’t even had the chance to see him yet since they’ve found his body. the police station denied you access to do so because he was a part of an on-going investigation and there was still logitistical things that needed to be done before they let you see him. 

fucking ridiculous. he was your brother and for practically all your life, you only had each other. you had your parents growing up but after your dad was sent to prison for a murder that you believe he didn’t commit and was framed for; your mom became as absent as he was. 

she threw herself into the family business, constantly flying around the world for deals and partnerships in the name of “making money for the family” but all you and your brother wanted was your mom to comfort the two of you with a hug and tell you guys that everything would be alright. you haven’t received a hug from your mother in almost 10 years and you thought that maybe with intak’s passing, it would give the opportunity for you and your mother to rebuild that relationship you once had but she was too busy with the family business to even fly to come see her daughter and her dead son. 

you scoffed at the idea of your neglectful mother as you pulled into the mechanic shop, not having the energy to talk with any of the workers but because you needed your car to work properly, you mustered up whatever energy you had to tell them what was wrong. 

the guy with oil stains on her jumpsuit and tools hanging off his belt gave you a quote and an estimate on when it would be ready for pick up and since you had time to kill you decided you’d check out the area the car shop was in. you passed by several shops and things as you drove into the parking lot so you figured you could kill time by browsing. you gave the mechanic your number to call when your car was done and although you didn’t want to because he gave you the creeps, how else were you going to be notified when your car was ready? 

🗡 

the small town that the car shop didn’t have a lot of things in the plaza. there were small boutiques that had antiques and handmade goods, a few restaurants that you hadn’t heard of, and a library that seems like it hasn’t gotten anything new since the 90s. 

nonetheless, you took your time to browse through the quaint little town, popping into different stores if it caught your eye enough. you did however check out the library even though you didn’t think you’d find anything interesting. you mainly just needed to charge your phone and you figured you could find somewhere to plug your phone in the library without having to purchase something. 

you gave the librarian a smile and nod as you entered and she barely paid you any mind, probably because of her vision. you noticed that the glasses she was wearing had the thickest lense you’ve ever seen. the library was quite small and just like you assumed, it was fairly old. there were outdated computers, dust that was probably older than you, and it smelled faintly of moth balls. after finding a spot somewhere in the back of the library, you plugged your phone into an outlet and decided that you’d just wait here until you received a call from the mechanic that your car was ready. 

it was saturday and although you wished you had something better to do, you were content with taking it easy as you went over the documents in your email about intak’s death. you’ve been in contact with a funeral coordinator and were responding to some of his questions. it was going to cost a lot of money and you were once thankful for your mother who worked endlessly so that you and your brother never had to worry about finances. hence, why she was never around. 

you had sent her several texts since you last called her and you’ve only received one word responses. it angered you to see that your own mother barely cared about her own son’s passing but it made sense since she was barely around, it didn’t even seem like she had any kids. 

it was barely 10am when you got to the library and you were trying your best to keep your eyes open but it was getting harder and harder as you couldn’t find anything interesting to occupy your mind as you waited. your eyes began to grow heavy and a yawn escapes from your mouth, you blink a few times and shake your head to fight off the drowsiness but in just a few minutes you find your slowly falling to the side and your eyes fluttering shut. 

🗡 

the library was very quiet, as a library should be, but not the type of quiet because it was filled with people focused on their tasks like reading books or browsing on the old computers. it was the type of quiet that felt eary. like there was a stillness in the room that was caused by an unfamiliar emotion that causes people to freeze. 

only thing was, there wasn’t anyone else in the library besides you, the old lady at the front desk, and a looming figure shrouded in darkness; making its way to your sleeping figure in the corner of the library. it weaves and slithers through the various shelves of books, trying its best to go unnoticed by the old lady; which wasn’t hard since her vision only went past a few feet in front of her. 

the library is silent aside from the clock ticking in the corner of the room and the sounds of the librarian flipping the page of the romance novel she was reading, unknown to her the danger that creeped around the corners and shadows of the library. 

your phone was constantly buzzing with notifications from your friends, several texts that won’t be looked at until a lot later and as the hooded figure got closer to you, it pulled out a blade that reflected the light from the sun beaming into the window behind your sleeping figure. in a one and a thousand chance, the light just so happens to shine across the librarian’s eyes, causing her to look up and with her strained vision, she’s able to spot the hooded figure raising its arm just before the knife swipes at you. 

she shouts loudly, causing it to turn around and look in her direction while you’re jolted awake. confused at the sudden commotion, you’re taken out of your sleepy daze when you see the figure standing above you, a knife in its hand. when it turns its head back towards you, it’s met with a driving force as you kick it in the stomach, causing it to stumble backwards; giving you enough time to grab your phone and bag and run over to the librarian who was already calling the police. 

the two of you run out of the library and escape the danger. you don’t see the attacker run after the both of you. “are you okay, dear?” the old lady asks and you nod, trying to catch your breath as you ask her the same. the police are suddenly arriving and you were grateful that this town was so small because it prompted the cops to arrive in a timely manner. you and the librarian were questioned as several cops made their way inside of the library, only to find it empty. 

they had even checked the back room of the library and every area that the attacker could be hiding; and nothing. you were starting to grow less angry and more fearful. angry that this person took your best friend and little brother, but afraid that you would be next. 

had you not saved danielle that night she would’ve been next. 

had you not woken up because of the librarian, you would’ve been next. 

the cops let you go just as you’re receiving a call who you assumed to be the mechanic. you bid the old lady farewell with a small hug as the cops are driving away and when you answer the call, a raspy and ominous voice answers you. 

“hello?” you ask and for a moment it’s silent. 

“close one that was, huh? you’re a tricky one aren’t you?” the voice speaks and it sends shivers down your spine. you try to look around and call for help but the cops are long gone and there seemed to be no one else on the street. 

“what the fuck do you want?” you bite back and the voice just chuckles. “you’ll know soon enough.” it responds and the call just ends without further explanation. 

you couldn’t possibly wrap your head around what they could’ve meant by it but it struck fear inside of your nonetheless. 

as you begin your walk back to the carshop, your phone rings once again and the unknown called ID, stops you in your tracks once again. 

“look motherfucker, if you don’t leave me alone i will call the cops.” you spit into the phone and you’re met with the voice of a regular man. 

“um.. maam; your car is ready for pickup…” he responds slowly and you apologize profusely for throwing profanities at the man who was just calling you about your car. you end the call and roll your eyes in shame at the awkward interaction that would soon arrive when you had to pick up your car and how you were going to have to explain all of this to your friends later. 

back - masterlist - next

detectives notes: yn, brother of victim intak and best friend of victim wonyoung was attacked two towns over at moonstruck library. attacker escaped, no casualties or deaths. investigation is on-going.

tags: @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @leipforggy

@wildtigerlili @mydearyeseo @hoonielvv @leehsngs @immelissaaa @skyearby @shuichi-sama @herrymxxnie @notab1tchwho @minfolio @theothernads

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

[inthefoxholes]

Yes to everything you say.

This is such a strange way to watch movies, to need to have everything spelled out to you - i mean, the mcu is kinda responsible for this trend, trying to simplify everything to caricatures, *cough* Thanos *cough*.

I think Tony Stark is the most obvious candidate for this disconnect, because he is a selfish asshole billionaire, that got rich off of weapons manufacturing, who is shown, again and again, to not have functionining impulse control, to not be able see the bigger picture; he has anxiety and is up in his head a lot. None of this is inherently bad (except being a billionaire, of course, but even this could be reckoned with, narratively), but it makes for a complex character. But as you say, the narrative does not allow him to be one; he doesn't get to grow, he doesn't get to learn. From start to finish, he is the eccentric, abrasive guy with "secret" self-worth (daddy-)issues, which, yeah, make him martyr himself if need be, but never reconsider outside of these life and death situations. After every movie he starts again, only with more anxiety, more self-worth issues - no reflection, no growth.

In my opinion, this rather simplistic character-formula crashes horribly with the Cap franchise, which at least tries for more nuance, and, more importantly, does not tell their viewers so much. It shows, and you have to inference for yourself what it means/might mean/might imply. It never tells us, in so many words, that Bucky was too brainwashed to be culpable; we don't learn that POWs, even if they are not robbed of their whole agency as Bucky clearly was, cannot be held liable for their actions while in capitivity. It also never explains (in-movie, I mean), why exactly Howard transported the serum in his private car, with his wife present. (Infuriatingly, the movies keep teasing these things that never get explored. Like in Endgame, when it's shown that Howard knew Zola, worked kinda closely with him? When he must have known that it was Zola who tortured Bucky and what would later become the Howling Commandos, because Howard was shown to be obsessed with Captain America, so he would have known what happened on the mission that basically made his name. What is the connection here? What else did Howard know? We never find out, because Howard, too, gets redconned in the movies, from a complex, morally grey, shitty father to someone who always tried his best, he just didn't know any better! So like father like son, I guess, because Tony also never knows better.) But if you watch the movie, have watched CA:TWS, you know that Bucky is as much a victim as Howard, and cannot, in any sense, be held responsible for his actions. Which makes Tony, who hurts Bucky, sadistically, who is ready to seriously injure Steve to get to Bucky, unequivocally the villain. And the mcu does not like that or cannot deal with that, or maybe it doesn't fit their ten-year-multi-billion-dollar-plan, whatever, but it is a badly done, from a narrative standpoint, to have the Accords (the wrongness of them) be present in the following movies and series, but never ever reckon with what Tony did and what it shows him to be.

Also, to add to what you wrote (sorry this got so long, this has infuriated me for so long, i can never shut up about it. Apologies!), i mean, EVEN IF Bucky never helped anyone after getting away from Hydra after TWS, even if Bucky turned into a bitter, misanthropic asshole (which would be entirely justified, btw), it still would never be ok to murder someone. That, in-cannon, this gets treated like an "understandable" reaction, as if Tony were a child and not a goddamn grown man with every money-resources-information-agency available to him, that this gets treated as "just as bad as what Steve did, not telling Tony beforehand" boggles my fucking mind.

Like, I can't even tell who is (more) media illitarete here, the Tony stans or the makers of CW and everything after that, who just ignore this elephant in the room.

You can like Tony Stark, i don't mind, but at least be honest about who he keeps shown to be.

It is wild, as they say, that after 9 years, holding that Tony was morally wrong to try to murder Bucky in Civil War is still a controversial position.

Are Tony fans really such a morality void that they have to condone murder and revenge-killing.

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Okay brief post before I sleep, re: the problem of "fantasy dwarves"

Obviously I am no authority on any community that I'm not part of, so I cannot be a final voice on whether or not any particular use of various fantasy people and creatures are good or bad.

However, it also means that when I run into issues like this, it's important to me to get info from multiple sources (even if I don't reblog or share everything I've found) in order to make my own choices for my work. And I recommend the same to everyone!

Because human history is the way that it is, it's pretty much inevitable that the common fantasy people or creatures you want to use in your own new work have at some point, maybe even a lot, been portrayed in ways that are very offensive and bigoted towards real human people. (and this goes for scifi too)

Orcs have commonly been portrayed as some manner of "barbaric savages" with aesthetic details that call to mind Mongolian warriors, Native Americans, and African people, frequently combined with animalistic features.

There was a huge debate on the antisemitic features of goblins in mainstream fantasy, especially around the time JK Rowling was becoming more and more openly bigoted and the issues of racist caricature goblins and house elves in Harry Potter were being made more relevant.

The lore of drow in Dungeons and Dragons is a whole mess of racism and misogyny with their evil matriarchy and slavery situation, not at all helped by their dark colored skin.

Elves are certainly not exempt from this, though they're often taken in the opposite direction and portrayed as wise and beautiful white people who are more civilized than everyone else. And a lot of people have decided to subvert that by making elves into the oppressors. I've done that a little myself.

I'm also writing a lot of characters who don't match my own identity, including some in rather sensitive categories like being trans or having dissociative identity disorder. Those are my two main characters in the book I'm currently writing. I've seen people with DID write very passionate posts trying to dissuade people from ever writing any character with that condition. And I've seen other people with DID encourage the existence of those characters.

Fact is, there is no universal answer to the conundrum of whether or not a particular type of character or fantasy people or creature should be written. There are, I think, clear traits and tropes to avoid because they just can't be subverted in a meaningful way, especially not by people who aren't part of the marginalized groups that are harmed by them.

Like I don't think anyone who isn't Jewish should try to lampshade and openly subvert the antisemitic goblin tropes like the ones you see in Harry Potter.

I have been using fantasy dwarves in my writing, and I've reblogged a post from a person with dwarfism who is very much on the side of fantasy dwarves no longer being used. And I respect that, which is why I reblogged it and why I am still pondering a name change for my own "dwarves". But while I have not posted any links to it, I have in fact watched a video by another person with dwarfism who thinks fantasy dwarves are cool! There is no singular answer here. I'm still thinking about using a different word, and I plan to keep on hearing out different opinions.

I think the most important thing, though, is whether or not my many fantasy people come across as nuanced and respectable or if they come across like bad stereotypes and offensive caricatures. I can rename them all I like, but whether I'm using the word "orc" or "boarin" or whatever you like, does that make it any less offensive if I write them to be savage uncivilized evil barbarians regardless? Is it less offensive to remove the title of "dwarves" and replace it with "cavern folk" if you're still going to write them as angry little men with big heads who only exist for comedic effect?

It is important to be careful of the use of specific words and I think coming up with your own names for fantasy people is a great idea, of course. It's why I have the stroi as another species of elf. But it does kinda bother me when people act like the very use of a word is the main problem and not just one more detail on top of a pile of problems.

[vshiftsss]

THE CHROME SPIDER - (SPIDERVERSE DR #1 INTRO)

okay, let’s do this one last time.

hi, my name’s venoria kingston, and i’m earth-404’s friendly neighborhood spider-woman (that everyone kind of has beef with for some reason?). my official name is the chrome spider…i just happen to be a woman and a ‘spider’, so people think that other name is easier.

not as cool, but whatever…

let’s get one thing straight: i was not bitten by a real spider. i made my own spider. originally, it was meant to be a drone-type mechanism for a science project, but there was a malfunction and the spider “bit” me. the fluids i used to power the machine fused with my blood, and instead of poisoning me or hurting me, i became the chrome spider.

still don’t understand the scientific basis of that, but…hopefully miguel will figure it out!

shortly after that event, the whole debacle with kingpin happened. i got transported into miles’ earth, and let me tell you, it was a learning curve. people were using devices i read about in textbooks — they were like ancient relics to me. my earth is set in the far future, the future with flying cars and androids that could be your philosophy teacher or your math tutor. so imagine my surprise when i saw cars, with rubber wheels, on the ground.

i’m getting distracted. anyways, during my time wandering through new york without a clue as to why i’m there, i met miles, noir, gwen, and peter, who are still my friends to this day. after everything was resolved, i went back to my earth, earth-404.

while the multiverse crossover was happening, my sister, yvonne, went missing. i’m still looking for her to this day, and i’m determined to find her. that’s why i went to miguel for help. he has the tech to jump from universe to universe, and i have a goal i am hellbent on completing. now i’m part of the spider society, simultaneously doing grunt work for miguel and narrowing down where my sister is.

surely nothing else can go wrong. right?

ABILITY OVERVIEW

chromium (chrome metal) manipulation… i can materialize liquid chrome from my fingertips and basically create whatever i want out of it. i use this mainly to create body armor, weapons, shields, and restraints.

electricity overload… due to my spider suit, i have electrical abilities that are enhanced with my chrome. i can overload certain signals or machines with direct contact.

coding efficiency…

hacking efficiency…

web slinging… i have artificial webs that are kept in my wrist gauntlets. these webs can also be hardened by my chrome to secure their durability and resistance, though once they are coated, they cannot move from their initial position.

jet boots… on the bottom of the boots of my suit, i have small jet boosters that can enhance my attacks and fly me up into the air, enhancing my web slinging as well.

chrome-coated motorcycle… i just have a cool tron-like motorcycle with extra armor on. cause i can!

END OF INTRO — HAPPY SHIFTING!

[skimmingmilk]

ooo now i'm curious, tell us more about drift! 👀

i'm assuming, like his name implies, he "drifts" around and just does whatever he wants?

You got it! Drift's name came from a couple of things. First, it's the game mechanic when you take tight corners while boosting as Sonic xD But also, it can mean being carried along by the wind or water, so fitting for a pirate world and also compatible with Sails's name :) And then the big thing is that he's so adrift in his own life. Just completely and utterly directionless.

Drift lives alone on an island in the middle of No Place. He can't swim, so he's not about to go live a life on the open seas. Most of the planet is under water, with scattered islands spread out across the ocean.

Now, he doesn't let it bother him! He doesn't need much, his island is lush and peaceful. It's okay that he can't really run anywhere, the island's not that big, he can cross it in less than fifteen minutes just walking. He likes living life worry-free, without a care in the world. He naps in hammocks all day long, plays his guitar, and eats seaweed salads and drinks out of coconuts xD He has absolutely no drive to do anything. No purpose. No point. And he's happy. He doesn't care that he's stuck in one place because his island is beautiful and he's alone! No one telling him what to do, no one expecting anything of him. It's just him, nature, and peace.

This probably doesn't sound too bad, right? Except, it's Sonic. An aimless Sonic who sees absolutely nothing wrong with lying on a beach all day, every day, alone, forever. He's Sonic's carefree nature dialed up to the point where he couldn't care less. Without anything to run towards, he doesn't run at all. Without anything to live for, he's not even really living.

He's also very talkative despite being alone. Drift got the whole slice of the talking pie xD Sharp might have a sharp tongue, but he also isn't compelled to say everything that's on his mind and Bur (originally Snare, but I think Bur works better for his character, like the little spiky seed balls that get stuck on clothes or in animal fur) is non-verbal. So it's safe to say, Sonic's most annoying qualities went to Drift, lol.

When Drift finally has some company - in the form of Rouge and Knuckles landing on his island for a change - all he's got to offer them are carefree conversations and coconuts, no way home in sight. Just miles of ocean.

"Haven't you ever wanted to at least see what else is out there?" Knuckles demanded. Eyes still closed, Drift lazily waved his hand towards the endless blue expanse beyond the edge of his beach. "Take a long look, pal. That's all there is." "You can't know that!" Knuckles smacked the palm tree with the side of his fist, the whole thing swaying along with the hammock and finally coaxed the hedgehog to crack one eye open and peer up at him. "If you've never left this island, how could you know that there isn't something more for you?" Drift clicked his tongue, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he folded his arms behind his quills. "You tell me, big guy. What could be better than this? Now d'ya mind? You're kinda blocking my sun."

Knuckles can't stand him xD Rouge is just annoyed and wants to find a way back as soon as possible. But the two of them give him a little more perspective, even if he doesn't outwardly show it - because it is pretty fun to annoy them, he's never had real people to mess with - and when Tails shows up, it becomes clear that Drift is fully aware of how he's not actually free. Not caring is his way of coping, convincing himself that he couldn't possibly want more because he can't have it when the world has nearly drowned. But after connecting with both Tails and Knuckles, Drift decides life's no fun without taking a chance or two, so he decides to go with them when they finally leave the island.

Then they'll run across a familiar pirate ship we all know and love, and Drift will find both a purpose and adventure waiting for him aboard <3 He and Sails hit it off almost instantly, to the surprise of absolutely no one, lol. They bond the quickest out of all the variants.

Drift likes to hang out in the crow's nest because "it's the farthest from the water that I can get" and that's where Sails likes to hang out, too, when he doesn't feel like partying and wants somewhere to tinker on his contraptions. Sails thinks he's funny and Drift thinks he's clever. They understand each other's longing for freedom and purpose, but they worry about the price. Drift doesn't want to be anchored to anything and Sails worries he's only valuable as a member of a crew, that on his own, he's nothing. They both fill a need they didn't know they had, and they recognize it straightaway.

"Well... if ye every feel like yer being dragged down here," Sails hummed as he looked out at the edge of the horizon, "I'll fly ye up and out." "Oh yeah?" Drift snorted, but his muzzle quirked in genuine amusement. "Wouldn't that be considered mutiny?" "Can ye really mutiny if ye don't even have a proper captain?" Sails sighed dramatically, coaxing a chuckle out of his companion. "It keeps changin' every day! They keep... they keep abandonin' us," he said, his voice soft, but there was a frustrated edge to it lying just beneath the surface. "Why shouldn't any of us leave?" "Then why don't ya?" Sails pursed his mouth thoughtfully. "I've only ever been any good as a part of a crew. Even if all I ever do is help throw parties and act as lookout. At least I'm doin' something for someone." "A fair point," Drift agreed idly. "Well, guess it'll just depend then. How far can those tails of yours carry ya?" Sails looked over at him and shrugged. "Don't know," he answered honestly. "But so far, they've gotten me where I've needed to go. Can't promise they'll do the same for ye, but... I can promise I'll try." Drift glanced at him, and the sea breeze suddenly wasn't all that cold as a warm smile spread across his face. "I'll hold ya to it," he chuckled.

I haven't written much for them, I still need to figure out exactly when in the show they meet (right now I have it outlined for right after the episode "No Way Out" but I haven't fully pieced together each sequence of events), but I know I love them and they're wonderful~

Thanks for asking about my other problem child Drift! <3

[goddamnitmahtin]

Jason is a Teenage Dad Part 5

(So this part might be a bit wonky in some places, I did write a portion of this while in the hospital on pain meds so.)

Keeping the family business from Danny? Yeah that didn’t happen. The child could go ghost whenever he wanted and use his invisibility to sneak around the manor. He knew about the Batcave and how everyone else in the house was connected. What impressed Jason the most is that he didn’t need to ask any questions to understand what was going on. He had met Babs, Cass and Steph and immediately knew who they were. He knew Jason used to be Robin. He knew Tim was Robin now.

It had only been 4 years and Danny had improved so much. His flashbacks had toned down significantly and he was running around like a normal 7 year old. Well as normal as a half ghost 7 year old who used to be 15 with ghost powers could be. He adapted well.

Things were changing in the household constantly, people coming and going from the house whenever needed. Jazz Sam and Tucker only stayed in the manor half of the time, having the Manson estate that the three of them also shared. Steph on the other hand, was living with them full time. She had gotten pregnant by her boyfriend who dumped her after finding out. According to Steph, she wasn’t planning on telling anyone except Tim but Clockwork had left her a note telling her move in with Bruce and that he would handle everything else.

Clockwork did that sometimes. Like with Cass. She had gotten one of his post it notes one day and it had spooked her enough to turn around instead of following her orders. She had gotten another one when she was saving Commissioner Gordon, telling her to let Batman take her in. Not all of the notes were on big things. Sometimes they would get one just because. The latest one Jason got was telling him to remind Sam to eat lunch. It was almost as if the family had gained an all seeing, overpowered, ancient being uncle.

Ever since learning about Danny’s halfa status and his own…. whatever he was? It’s hard to pinpoint. He wasn’t exactly a revenant, didn’t fit the requirements of a liminal and didn’t possess the full capabilities of a halfa. But he was still some sort of ecto based being. Tucker had taken it upon himself to try to give it a name. The closest thing Tuck had suggested so far was a zombie but that was flimsy at best. Anyways, after learning the truth, Jason was doing his best to provide for the slightly different needs of himself and Danny as ecto beings.

Bruce had been nice enough to let them put their graves in the Wayne family cemetery. Since Jason hadn’t been dead for very long before he came back so Bruce had never had the time to give him one. And Danny had gone far too long without one according to Jazz. It means a lot to the dead to be honored with a grave, even if they themselves weren’t in it. Bruce had let Jason and Danny design a mausoleum for their name stones to be in. With compartments as if their bodies were in there and everything. Jason tended to just store things in his while Danny sometimes felt better to sleep in his. Jason admitted, being near his grave made him feel better but he was far too big in the shoulders to fit in the compartment. Danny and Jason designed the structure to fit up to 6 bodies, incase anyone wanted to be buried with them in the future.

Jason also started working with the JL to try and dissolve the Anti-ecto Acts. The SCP Foundation was fighting against it hard. Apparently, they saw ecto beings as SCPs that should be under their jurisdiction. Danny’s friends were helping out the case together. Since ecto beings were technically under the rule of their own government. Apparantly JLD was cooking up something so the Ghost King could get involved personally with the help of Sam and Tucker who were on good terms with the guy.

The ambient ecto in Gotham was enough to live off of so it wasn’t too bad but others like them that didn’t live in high ecto areas like Gotham or Amity Park didn’t deserve to not have access to ecto and even more didn’t deserve to hide who they were in order to survive. The ecto in Gotham wasn’t as pure as Jazz said Danny used to work with in Amity and the purer the ecto, the better for the environment and their health.

Danny was turning out to be the little genius. Jason knew that he could still remember things from before he was de aged and apparently, he had a lot of experience with mechanical engineering. He was working with Tim and Tucker to try and develop a filtration system of sorts to clean the ecto in Gotham. At first, Jason wasn’t so sure about leaving Danny all by himself on the lab. He was only seven after all. But after talking to Jazz about it… he was concerned about other things.

“Well I love his enthusiasm and these blueprints look… oddly professional but he’s only just a kid and if something goes wrong and no one is in the lab with him…” Jason said, sipping his coffee. He wasn’t lying, Danny couldn’t draw artistically to save his life but the moment he needed to draw a blueprint he was suddenly DaVinci.

Jazz who stayed at the manor almost exclusively except for nights where her work took her to a part of town that was closer to Sam and Tucker’s place and it was too late to drive all the way home, looked at the blueprints over Jason’s shoulder while she headed to the kitchen to pour herself her own coffee. “Looks like he never lost that talent of his. Danny could build anything he put his mind to back then. He was even more talented than Mom and Dad. It was too bad that he was always so busy being Phantom that he never got to… well you know… spend time on the things he liked.”

And with that, Jason watched as she walked away to the kitchen. Jason and Jazz were friends. Very good friends. Maybe even best friends. Well… something like that at least. She was nice enough and helped him raise Danny as a mother figure and the two of them hung out a lot. Her room was next to Jason’s so she could be close to Danny but most nights she just crashed in his room. He had an extra bed for her and it was easier to switch out who got up if Danny had an episode in the middle of the night. The two of them had talked about it. It wasn’t like Jason was blind, he knew she was very pretty but he didn’t feel any attraction toward her that went past platonic. She had said she felt the same way and the two of them agreed it would be too weird anyways since he was her brother’s dad. Not many really understood their dynamic but that was okay. It worked for them and Danny.

Jazz came back from the kitchen with a mug of coffee and the coffee pot. She filled Jason’s since it was low and he nodded in thanks. He had told her countless times that Alfred preferred to do that stuff himself but honestly this was just their routine in the morning now. He would get coffee and then she would join him, stealing the coffee pot until they were done with it and it was time to wake Danny for the day.

“I know that… but I don’t know… I worry,” Jason said. He knew it wasn’t a logical fear that he would get hurt. Halfas didn’t get hurt because of mortal causes like metal or, well, a stab wound. Jason may or may not have tested it on himself and sure enough he was also pretty immune. Just needed some ecto and it healed right up with no pain like it never happened.

Jazz just smiled softly, “I know you want him to have a normal childhood. As much as we can give him. But given both of our pasts, I’d say we are far past that. All that matters now is that he gets to experience the things he never got to the first time around.” She was right of course, sipping her coffee lazily.

“Okay yeah… in this family I have seen kids to weirder things. Once we wake up our star for the day, we can tell him he can build his machine. I would just prefer that he had someone with him while he tinkered,” Jason responded. When it came to things like this, he knew that Jazz knew Danny better than he did. She knew him before he was deaged and knew what kinds of things he missed out on.

She smiled at Jason, “You are a good dad Jason. I can see your self doubt in your eyebrows. You are doing just fine.” She rubbed his back comfortingly while the two of them looked at one another, Jason acknowledging that she’s right and that he needed that, Jazz acknowledging his need for comfort. After the moment passed, Jazz left to wake up their little star.

“Well then,” Jason turned his head to see Stephanie indulging in her peanut butter and oreos craving. She was standing next to Tim who had just stolen the coffee pot for himself.

“What now,” Jason asked.

“I just don’t get it is all. She likes you and you like her. And yet you refuse to fuck!” Stephanie shrugged as she shoved more cookie into her face.

Jason simply gestured toward her belly, “I don’t think you get room to talk right now.”

Tim spit out his coffee laughing.

…

Tim was at the Batcomputer looking over the next case he and B were gonna looking into. It was fun and all but he almost felt like he needed more of a challenge… like… something to do. School was too easy and he ahead already finished the work for the rest of the year. He was even considering starting next year’s work but he was going to have to ask Babs or Tucker to hack to the system into letting his online course end early so he can start the next ones. He could do it himself but he was going to be busy on patrol tonight.

As of right now though? He was playing babysitter so Danny could nerd out on his ecto machine. The “lab” Danny asked for was just a small corner of the Batcave that Danny had set up with an almost kitchen like feel except instead of an island in the center, it was a hunk of metal pieces fused together that made weird noises sometimes. Tim understood the bare bones of what Danny was building, it was a typical filtration system but how it was supposed work with ecto? Not Tim’s area of expertise. He was just there so that if Danny needed help or if something happened, he could call Jason. Nothing had ever happened before and Danny was fully capable of handling it all by himself but it was mostly so Jason wouldn’t have a heart attack.

Tim was pulled out of his thoughts when her heard a swoosh next to his head. “Danny, what did we say about flying in the cave?”

He watched and Danny became visible, his head poking out from behind the massive screen, “Give a warning and don’t touch anything that’s not mine…” Danny said, pouting, “But I have something to tell you Tim!”

Tim thought about this for a moment. Knowing Danny, it was either something interesting, what category of interesting was yet to be seen but Danny wasn’t like normal kids that said things that had no meaning. He could hear Danny out. Now was there a large chance that something very concerning about his past life was about to come up that he couldn’t share with Jason lest his brother have an aneurysm. Tim was willing to roll those dice.

“Okay Spooky, what’s up?” he said.

Danny clapped happily, phasing through the computer to fly right up to Tim’s face, “Stephanie needs your spleen!”

Well… not what Tim was expecting. But it was worth asking about further. At the very least he wanted to know what this child had to say about it before coming to his own conclusions.

“Elaborate?”

Danny laughed, unnervingly happy about this whole thing, “I asked this doctor ghost I know to watch over Stephanie for me! He’s very nice! Told me about how he used to treat Grand-B when he was sick before he died! Anyways, he told me all about Stephanie’s condition and he says that even though most people can live without a spleen, Steph’s blood is kind of weird so living without one isn’t possible for her. She’s having her baby right now upstairs and even though the ghost doctor said that she will okay after giving birth for now, her spleen will eventually finish necrotizing and once enough of it is gone, she will probably die which sucks because she’s going to be a cool mom. Anyways, you’re the only one in the house that is enough of a match that can save her and can also live without your spleen because you’re really healthy! It’ll be super easy though since I’m a ghost, I can do it super quick. Steph might be more liminal after and her eyes might glow sometimes, but that’s okay!”

Tim jumped out of his seat, “She’s having her baby RIGHT NOW?!”

Danny nodded smiling, “Yes! Upstairs! She went into labor really fast so she didn’t have time to go to the hospital.”

Tim shook his head, running toward to the stairs, “Priorities Danny! I promised her I’de be there!” Tim ran as fast as he could into the manor and through the halls.

“Is it because you like her?” Danny asked while flying along side him.

Tim scoffed, “Danny, my wildly inappropriate crush on who’s practically my sister has nothing to do with this!”

Danny’s smile never left his face as he kept flying along at Tim’s side, “It’s okay, I know you like boys too so you can just get a boyfriend and get over her!”

Tim almost halted in his steps but he didn’t, “Danny! Not the time!”

Danny laughed in that spooky way he did sometimes, “Okay!”

Tim kicked Stephanie’s door open and ran to her side, holding her hand, “I’m here! I’m here!”

Steph shot him a glare as she immediately began to squeeze his fingers, “You are late Timothy.”

Tim apologized as the blond began screaming in pain. The only one in the room besides the two of them was Alfred who had decided to deliver the baby himself. Was there anything that guy didn’t know how to do? Steph didn’t seem to be on any pain meds or any sort of epidural so she was muscling her way through this like the women of old, and she was handling it pretty well even though she was screaming bloody murder.

Tim tried his best to be as supportive as possible, telling her to breathe and ignoring her as she cursed him out repeatedly for telling her what to do. She squeezed his fingers tighter than Tim thought was humanly possible, to the point where they actually went numb as she pushed over and over.

There was no doubt that the entire household was just outside the door waiting for news on the baby’s arrival. The birth seemed to take forever as she kept pushing. Tim had read about how sometimes births could take a while so he wasn’t concerned about that, but he was very concerned about how the longer Stephanie pushed, the more color seemed to drain from her face. She looked as though she was starting to lose consciousness, probably from the pain.

Finally, Tim heard the cry of an infant. The baby was born. Tim looked away as Alfred did what he needed to do to prepare the baby for being held and made sure Stephanie didn’t have any tears or bleeding. He felt as she finally let go of his hand. As the feeling came back to his fingers, he was hit with the realization that she had broken 3 of them.

Once Alfred said everything was covered, Tim looked to Stephanie once again, She was covered in sweat and there was almost no color in her face. It was almost deathly pale, making Tim very concerned. He could see her starting to dip out of consciousness. Was that normal? He took her hand again wit h his unbroken one and tried to get a response from her. He didn’t get it.

“Alfred, I think something is wrong,” Tim said, looking to the butler.

“The Ghost Doctor says that she will be okay, she’s just in shock from the pain. But he also says that her immune system is really weak right now and since we aren’t in a hospital, she has a high chance of getting sick,” Tim heard Danny’s voice say as the boy appeared at the foot of the bed.

“Is there anything that can be done about this Young Master Danny?” Alfred said as he finished cleaning the baby and wrapped it into a blanket.

The seven year old nodded, “Ghost Doctor says that if I help, she will stabilize. I think I should take Tim’s spleen now too.”

Tim just nodded. It wasn’t the craziest thing he’s ever heard. This was the Wayne family. Shit was always crazy.

By the early hours of the morning, Stephanie was happily holding her baby girl that she had named Kore. Jason and Jazz were scolding Danny for not sharing information with them but also telling him how proud they were for helping. Bruce was breathing for the first time in hours. Cass was wrapping up Tim’s fingers. Tucker and Sam were on their way to greet the newest addition to the family. And Tim? Had never been happier to lose a spleen.

[thetriforcetriohouse]

Link, Zelda, and Ganondorf all live in a house together.

Link:

The only one in the house with an actual job.

What is that job? Well...

He Works. He leaves the house, and then comes back hours later with money.

To be clear, there's nothing illegal going on! If you follow him, you're going to see him pulling weeds, busking, and other various sidequesty activities.

Trades cooking duty with Ganondorf. Link's cooking is delicious, if somewhat unconventional. He will eat anything--this man has eaten rocks before, and he'll do it again.

Horse Girl. Keeps Epona in a nice stable on the property. Rides her regularly around the neighborhood and at the Equestrian Center nearby.

ADHD. Autism. But we all knew that.

Smokes weed sometimes. Buys from Ravio. Doesn't buy from Tingle anymore.

Link is part of a massive polycule that he himself is not aware of, but all the girls in it have a groupchat.

Buys his clothes in bulk at Walmart.

Is the one who actually owns the house.

Zelda:

Does the taxes, keeps track of the finances...she likes to do Books.

She is just living her life.

Can't eat spice to save her soul. Ganondorf's cooking obliterates her every time, and he laughs.

Is not part of the Link polycule, but keeps everything scheduled. Polycule secretary.

Dating Yona.

Gets distracted from work because she looked outside and saw a cool frog or bug and had to go look. She and Link frequently text eachother in the Trio groupchat whenever they find something cool, so the other one can come running and Ganondorf can go "why though?"

Does the grocery shopping. Link used to, but isn't allowed anymore because he always buys protein and nothing else.

Overachiever. Wants to get a good grade at living life, which is normal to want and possible to achieve.

Does her own laundry after Ganondorf side-eyed her about her cheap underwear.

Anxiety disorder. It's fiiiiiiiiine.

Ganondorf:

Does the household chores. Is frequently exasperated by the state the other two leave the place in.

His cooking is sublime but incredibly spicy. Makes the best Gerudo food around for miles.

Road rage. Don't put this man behind a wheel.

Has broken soooooo many console controllers and at least one TV.

He keeps the house looking nice so his moms (Koume and Kotake) can visit whenever they want.

Incredibly competitive, especially with Link.

Planted Deku Babas near the sidewalk to eat the children walking by because they're obnoxious. He still thinks that's funny.

Has two sugar babies that don't know about eachother. Also has a cute girlfriend named Lyric living across the street.

All of his items are incredibly luxurious and high-quality. His clothes, his weapons, his everything. He deserves the best!

Has a rigorous gym routine. Every time he walks in, people stare. He knows this. Gets into frequent flex-offs with Groose while he's at the gym.

Respectful to women. Duh.

Surprisingly reasonable. Most of the time.

Designated straightman, but is not a Straight Man.

Has a little crusty white purse dog named Annalise. That thing eats better than almost everybody else.

Also has a big black horse stabled in a NICER stable than Epona's. It was important to him. The horse's name is Demise.

[snifflesthemouse]

Why do they have no problem registering LLCs in Delaware, but they CANNOT ever get a USPTO Filing done correctly? Help me understand it.

They have no issues, whatsoever, filing the paperwork to register LLCs and nonprofits in Delaware, but they fail at registering trademarks for business ventures EVERY. DARN. TIME.? Thinking about that is weird.

According to the Delaware Online, even Meghan's old LLC she originally had in California that registered The Tig was moved to Delaware December 30 2020. The article even has Andrew Meyer mentioned as the secretary. Shannyn Yates was listed as the incorporator, but the address is still in Cali. I find it interesting the article written by Meredith Newman mentions that companies are not required to reveal to their owner's names in Delaware.

Meredith Newman was onto something if the companies in DE can be registered through attorneys and llcs, and they don't have to reveal Meghan or Harry owns them, I guess I can see why they like registering their businesses successfully in Delaware.

Yet, today, on the USPTO website, The Tig has two dead USPTO files with the old Frim Fram in Cali, and then there are two more The Tig results showing the new Delaware Frim Fram LLC listed on the live, pending USPTO results.

The first live USPTO results show the Tig written in her cursive - I mean her calligraphy- (it is cursive). It was originally filed in Feb 2022. Yet, it is Feb 2025 and it is still pending. Danielle Weiss is listed as the attorney for the paperwork filings. However, on October 01, 2024, they were granted a six-month extension to correct the issues. This was the THIRD extension request. It's main description for the Tig is a website "featuring commentary in the field of travel" and then there's also: interior design, food prep, cooking, recipes, commentary in the field of health and wellness, and then last but not least "featuring commentary in the field of personal relationships, fashion, fashion style, personal lifestyle".

SO... The NEW Tig was granted a six-month extension in October 2024. April 2025 is time's up. Maybe by then, the Tig will bring us Meghan elevating our lives with her travel lifestyle. I imagine she's gotten a lot of usage out of the past events for pictures and things for content.

Before... the Tig was SIngle Smeggy. Now, the Tig 2.0 is Married Meggy. She's seasoned, experienced. Grounded. Gutteral (she loves that word). Goofy. Insert fake break serious moment with fake laugh montage in black and white here, please. AH, there, now we have le Teeg.

Listen, I don't care if Meghan relaunches her website. Everyone should have the right to make an income. If she wants to return to what she was doing before she got with Hazbeen, so what? I don't care about that. What I find odd is why they need so many extensions. She could've been building her audience base for going on three years had she just filed right the first time in 2022. But no, she kept stalling. I find that odd. Why does she always seem to self sabotage herself with every turn.

For example, why didn't they film that in their own home for the Netflix show? Why did they have to rent another home? Her's is good enough, and it wasn't security. Did they lose the house and the bank was renting it out? Nah... IDK. But from that moment, when the viewer realizes they weren't trusted to be welcomed into her palatial mansion on the shores in Montecito, well, it makes everything else hard to believe, too.

Think about it. If she doesn't trust the idea of having it filmed in her own home, then how can the viewer trust her back? We cannot. If the house is fake, the recipes aren't hers either. If the recipes weren't her's, it wasn't made by her to look that camera ready. If the food was faked, then the friend eating it was fake. This mouse knows people... why fake any of it?

Filming on a set would've been better than claiming the neighbor's house and garder has her own hard work. COME ON NOW.

Meghan never wants to do the work. She only wants to jump on board if it goes sensational and viral. The problem is, she is infamous now, not famous. Big difference. Maybe she has so many abandonded USPTO ideas because nothing ever takes off like hot cakes, and she takes that as failure instead of accepting success requires hard work.

Harry especially never wants to stick around to do the actual work needed for things to have success. Working one hour a week sounds like a welfare requirement, not something you are passionate about or wanting to succeed. Nothing is handed over to you, you must work.

I find it interesting there are so many pots with sticks in them, but she just jumps kettle first thing.

I think she thinks everything will just be a soap commercial script change and if it's not, it's not worth five minutes.

She barely gives five minutes anymore, I doubt she will be sticking around another five years. Mama knows best, after all... Yall get it? That's the name of the LLC registered in DE that Meghan has her ARO registered to. American Riveria Orchard is registered to Mama Knows Best LLC Delaware. Which is registered to Mama Knows Best Beverly Hills, to the same address Archwell is registered to. A bunch of loops, I say!

This mouse must take a break and will be back shortly, potentially, maybe.

This mouse loves you all! Be safe out there!

[johnny-but-emo]

do you guys think I should make a blog for like. A dumb horror au thingy

[arovalentines]

pony posting

[feelo-fick]

PRANK GONE WRONG!!! ( real ) ( not clickbait )

weirdly defensive.

[blue-eli]

Skuld in quantum design :)

[artem1sc0re]

Dropping the reveal of my main operatives through doodles because why not 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️

Here’s their appearances in game as well :>

Close-ups: