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murderofravens · 2 days ago

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fly me to the moon

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, he's in his late 40s) angst, slight masochism, made him very fatherly again, mutual obsession, badly written smut, conflicting feelings, she's kinda crazy about him, brat reader, brat tamer inho, unhealthy dynamics, slight infantilization

summary: you're desperate to piss him off. it doesn't end well.

(part 3 the dusk till dawn series)

word count: 4.2k

FULL SERIES MASTERLIST

the ankle monitor attached to your leg itches.

you grunt in irritation as you use a spoon to scratch the area. it barely helps— you know the itching is more mental than it is physical. the mere presence of it bothers you. but at the same time, you're relieved. you were given two options— either that, or still having your hand chained to the bed with those insufferable straps. you chose the former. atleast it allows you to walk freely.

you're still not used to this lifestyle. honestly speaking, you've lost track of how long it's been. you mainly tried to count the days based upon the games, but inho doesn't allow you to witness the brutality of the newer games he's designed. he never even mentions them— pretends like it was all a dream and that everything between the two of you is okay. you pretend you don't almost piss yourself whenever his voice switches mid conversation— or when he puts on that mask and grabs his gun before leaving.

while it irritates you, a part of you is almost grateful. atleast this way, you can pretend you don't know exactly how sadistic he can be.

you almost snort at your thinking. you feel pathetic— but then again, do you have a choice?

he's given you free reign of his lavish penthouse— conveniently keeping any and all electronics or sharp objects away from you. which, you need to clap him on the back for. because the first thing you did when you were left alone and uncuffed was look for anything that you could use to hurt yourself— to touch an empathetic nerve in inho. your confidence in thinking of doing so was because he's made it clear how much the idea of losing you scared him. you tried to joke with him the other day— something about him coming back to find you bleeding out on the floor, and he got so furious that he threw his bottle of whiskey against the wall and then gave you an earful about making distasteful jokes. you almost considered running over and grabbing a glass shard and killing yourself in front of him to truly traumatize him like he did with you; but then the thought of your family and your dignity stops you.

you will not kill yourself over a man.

you've thought of many jokes since then, but never dared mention them in his presence.

currently, you were frolicking around— eyeing the massive screen on which he apparently watches the games. you'd insisted upon it once— and he'd pulled you into his lap and allowed you a single glimpse before hiding your face in the crook of his neck and patting your back till you fell asleep to the sound of 'fly me to the moon.'

your eyes narrow. you look around, desperate to find something. there's an itch within you that you need to scratch—it's different than your ankle. it's the itch to be insufferable, to take a sweet little revenge against your old man; to frustrate him and ruin his day like he ruined your life. you can only hope that if you succeed in doing so, he won't kill your entire family in a fit of rage. you've been forcing your heart to believe he's only bluffing, even though you know he isn't.

your eyes fall upon the side table placed by the couch. you look at it, then at the screen. then back at it. with a newfound vigour, you rush forward and pull out the drawer— it's empty except for a few files. you toss them out and hold the drawer in both hands, before looking back at the screen with the most devilish glint in your eyes.

you let out a victorious roar before lunging— using all the strength you can muster and then thrashing the drawer against the screen.

it doesn't budge. the blow has you stumbling over your steps, and the drawer falls upon your feet. you let out a cry, tears of frustration appearing in your eyes. you scream and pick up the drawer again, and then thrash it against the screen over and over— till your hands hurt and sweat builds across your skin.

the screen remains spotless.

amidst your one sided battle, you fail to hear the sound of the door opening.

"it's shatterproof." a heavy voice announces, distorted through the mask.

panting, you drop the drawer and shoot him the meanest glare you can muster with mascara running down your cheeks. he cocks his head to the side— the barrier of the mask between you two making you feel uneasy.

"are you done acting like a child?"

you release a heavy, shaky breath as you stare at him. you want to jump at him, tear that mask off and slam his head against the wall. you want to kiss him and beg him to spare you and your family. your heart races with adrenaline— and your skin feels hot. acting like a child, he says. he's treated you like a child forever. what's so wrong in acting like one?

you slick your hair back, eyes darting around the room— examining everything you can see, till an idea pops in your head.

against your better judgement, you pick up the drawer again. slowly, like a predator, you walk to the side, your gaze never leaving his figure. you stand before his music box— the one with the pretty jazz band that plays 'fly me to the moon,' whenever he watches the games. you've heard it quite a few times since you got here, and you have buried your head in the pillows a few times to avoid hearing it.

you used to adore frank sinatra, but now you can only associate his lyrics with impending doom.

you wish he wasn't wearing that mask, because you would've loved to see his reaction when you ruined something he visibly finds comfort in. you would've felt bad, if he hadn't done the same to you. if he hadn't taken your young-il from you.

you raise the drawer, and then bring it down fiercely. it almost happens in slow motion— how the music box shatters into pieces, and the tiny dolls fall to the floor.

you pant as you drop the drawer then, and wipe the sweat off your forehead. suddenly feeling brave, you shoot him the most smug smile you can muster in your breathless haze.

the silence that follows is suffocating. you blink at him, shoulders rising and falling with your heavy breaths — while he stands there patiently with his hands clasped behind his back.

"are you gonna keep standing there, watching me?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

you resist the urge to step back as he advances towards you ever so slowly. he looks at his broken music box, then redirects his blank, masked face back at you.

you egged him on, "aren't you gonna say something?"

"was this supposed to anger me?" he asks. you can detect a hint of amusement in his voice, "a man in my position doesn't have materialistic attachments."

you scoff, vision almost turning red with rage at his tone.

"i think i can afford another music box," he adds dryly, cocking his head to the side, "but what do i do about your manners?"

your eyes narrow with agitation— you were so desperate to piss him off, to evoke an actual reaction out of him; but he isn't giving you one. it frustrates you. before you can do anything, his foot pops out, hits your leg in just the right place to make you shriek and drop to your knees immediately— till the shattered pieces of the box dig into your skin painfully— wood and glass.

"fuck!" you wince, letting out another pained groan. he watches you blankly, and in this moment you wish that mask would just disappear. it makes him look more like a stranger than he already is. you want to see his reaction, even if it is at the expense of your pain. "you— ow! you asshole—"

"language." he chides, bending down slightly so he can grab your hair and yank your head up. you squirm around, trying to get up but he holds you in place, "why must you keep acting like a child—"

"why, i thought i was a child!" you snap back at him angrily, recalling his words from when he refused to send you back into the games. you're furious, "why shouldn't i act like one if you keep treating me that way!"

"do you not want me to?" he asks, giving you a humourless chuckle, "you want me to treat you like the adult you are, huh, darling? i'll treat you like an adult."

you grumble in confusion and he gives your head a little push as he lets go of your hair and straightens up. his hand comes down to shift his robe to the side so he can have access to his dress pants. he pulls it down slightly along with his boxers, revealing how hard he's been by your little show of defiance. your eyes widen and you almost choke on your spit as he grabs your head again, his free hand guiding his cock to your eager mouth, "fuck— is this what you wanted?" he groans, throwing his head back slightly as you wrap your lips around him with the enthusiasm of a slut. he's so unbelievably thick— and all your knowledge for sucking dick comes from porn, so you try your best— forgetting almost every vengeful thought as the skin of his neck is exposed to your vision.

you have never wanted a man this badly.

small cuts on the skin of your knees open up because of the damage you caused, but you can't bring yourself to think about it— not when you lick a long, wet stripe on the underside of his cock, before placing a teasing kiss upon his tip. he looks down at you again, his gloved hand digging into your hair, guiding your head up and down as you try to take him fully into your mouth. your hands come up in an attempt to hold what your mouth can't, but he slaps them away, "put those behind your back."

this time, you obey. your eyes water as he immediately pushes himself to the hilt till your nose presses against the coarse hair at his pubic bone— and only then you know that you are truly gone, because you moan at the smell of him. he lets out a soft grunt again when he pulls your head back, before thrusting in and out of your mouth gently. your hands stay clasped behind your back as he uses your mouth, his balls slapping against your chin as your watery eyes look up at him. you wish you could see him— you want to see his face, you want to see what he looks like when he cums in your mouth for the first time.

you whimper, pulling your head back slightly. he allows you, and you lean down to press a needy kiss to his balls before licking up his cock again. your voice is hoarse when you speak, "let me see your face."

he looks at you for a bit— the stoic face of the mask making you feel more and more isolated— like you're pleasuring someone else. and perhaps, you are, in a way. this isn't your young-il anymore.

"after that little stunt," he answers quietly, voice grim, "you don't deserve it."

you almost whine as he grabs your head again and forces his cock back down your throat— and then you realize what this is. what you thought started as some sort of reward is actually a punishment. you whimper as you gag around him, choking with each sharp thrust as his movements begin to get harsher. tears run down your face as you glare at him, and in retaliation you bring your hand up and grab his thigh. he hisses at being disobeyed, pulls your head forward till you nose is quite literally pressed against his stomach. "hands. behind your back."

despite struggling to breathe, you shake your head as best as you can given the situation. you can't see his face, but you can tell the exact expression he must be making. the one where his eyes get all intense, and his lips start quivering with rage, as if he wants to explode.

you moan slightly and take the opportunity to pull your head back. and then get back to sucking his cock— your tongue rolling deliciously across his shaft as you cup his balls. it almost makes him stumble with shock— the sudden pleasure he feels, judging by the throaty moan that escapes him. motivated by his newfound weakness, you jerk him off while mouthing at the soft skin of his balls, and he almost bends down as he lets out a raspy groan, "fuck! that feels— fuck!"

"language," you tease slightly, voice raspy. you enthusiastically indulge him, your brain suddenly consisting of him, and only him. his voice. his face. his moans. the way his eyes crinkle. you switch from sucking his balls to kissing his tip and jerking him off.

as if to reward you, he suddenly pulls his mask off, one hand of his going up to hold onto the wall for support. he squeezes his eyes shut, and the mere sight of his face has you crumbling— you let out a soft moan as you take him down your throat again. one of your hands slips into your panties, and you start rubbing your clit with vigour as he fucks your throat.

"you little fucking brat—" he grunts, thrusting shallowly in and out of your mouth, the vein in his neck popping and a few strands of his styled hair falling beautifully down his forehead. he's hot when he swears, you think— starry eyed as you look at him. you've never seen a more angelic sight. as you gurgle around his cock, he holds your head down again and throws his head back, cumming with a loud gasp. you cum with a choked moan of your own, your hand shaking as you rub circles into your clit, overstimulating yourself.

you choke as you feel him spill down your throat, and he pants heavily as he slowly pulls himself back, before quickly tucking himself into his pants. you swallow it and cough slightly, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you wince a little— it leaves a bitter and sticky aftertaste, but nothing too bad. you're sure you'll get used to it. he grabs your wrist and bends down to stick your wet fingers in his mouth, licking your slick off. his tongue rolls around the digits and you moan, eyes dazed as he ensures your entire palm is clean, before pulling back while smacking his lips and humming in appreciation like you were the most prized delicacy in the world.

as if nothing happened, he swiftly picks you up like you're a mere doll— carrying you bridal style to the bathroom. your hair— damp with sweat, sticks to your skin, and your eyes are bloodshot.

and though you can remember your original intention being wanting to take revenge, this somehow felt much more better.

perhaps, you really are too far gone.

you look off into space thoughtfully as he settles you on the bathroom counter. his face is uncovered but guarded— he takes his gloves off, grabs a towel and wets it with water before tending to you. with utmost gentleness, he pulls your bottoms down and tosses them in the basket, before analyzing your wounds.

your panties are so wet it's almost shameful. you got that horny just by sucking his cock. he glances at your face, and you look away sheepishly. the smell of you makes his head spin, but he needs to concentrate on something else. you clear your throat and redirect your attention to his face.

you stare at him while he stares at your knees. he gently wipes the blood off, ensuring no remaining pieces of the music box stick to your skin. he disinfects your wounds and it makes you hiss— he almost winces at the sound, but you're not sure.

you don't understand why he's doing this. how can he hurt you and tend to your wounds at the same time? but then again, how can you hate him and let him do this to you at the same time too?

perhaps, you both are confused. you need someone to rely on, and he needs someone to need him. but neither of you know how to deal with the complications that come with your unconventional relationship, so you pretend it's normal. it's okay.

you look at him but he doesn't meet your gaze. you wish you could go back in time, or travel to another dimension. meet him under different circumstances. perhaps, that relationship would've been healthy. you clear your throat, and change the subject.

"you know, back in the hall," it hurts a little to talk, but you want to hear his voice, and you're desperate to talk about something. anything to end this silence. "before i was leaving to come to you, the old lady said something funny."

he stiffens at the mention of her, and you pretend not to notice. he doesn't glance at you as he cleans your knees, before placing a comforting palm on your thigh. he hums in question, gaze lowered.

"she called you my father," you chuckle slightly, your voice suddenly getting shaky, "isn't that funny? such a funny thing to assume."

he tenses at your words and clenches his jaw. his thumb rubs circles onto the skin of your thigh, before he lets out a small chuckle of his own— it sounds dry. he finally looks up at you— and you almost see a glimpse of your young-il in his eyes. you think he looks upset. you wonder if you offended him, and you consider apologizing, but he interrupts your train of thought.

"really?" he asks quietly, giving you a small smile. it's odd, engaging in casual conversation with him after the little fight you two just had. "well, with how many times i looked after you—"

"—you might as well be," you finish his sentence with a roll of your eyes, "yeah, i know."

he gives a soft, hearty laugh then, tapping your knee. "yeah." he trails off, voice getting quieter. distant. "might as well be."

his mind drifts off. if he hadn't been so late, his kid would've been around your age. perhaps, that's why he immediately grew protective of you during the games. perhaps, it was fate.

your gaze softens, face falling slightly. he looks distant again— like he's fighting a war within himself. you swallow the lump in your throat.

"i saw you that way at first, you know." you said quietly, blinking down at your lap. "you made me feel safe." and now all i feel is fear around you.

he looks at you wordlessly, gaze unreadable. he's thinking— reading you, but you can't do the same with him. he has way more experience at hiding his thoughts and expressions than you do. he's spent decades confined within these walls with people in masks being his only companions— he learned how to wear one himself. permanently. he wants to tell you that you're an open book to him— since the start.

"do i not anymore?" he questions instead, cocking his head to side. you roll your eyes, shoulders slumping as you shoot him an impassive glare.

"seriously?" you ask, voice obvious. it makes him smirk slightly, and he clenches his jaw to hide it.

he cups your face, pulls it up as he looks into your eyes. you don't say a word, simply glaring at him as he places a kiss upon your forehead.

"let me tell you," he quirks an eyebrow— a hint of a smile on his face as he squishes your cheeks, "no kid of mine would be a brat."

you scoff, pushing his hands off as you look away from him. he looks unbothered as he grabs you and puts you back down on the floor.

"i can do that myself, thanks." you huff, straightening your shoulders as you brush past him.

he grabs your hand, pulls you back towards him till you collide into his chest. he cups the side of your face, gently leaning down to rub your noses together. it almost leaves you breathless with how flustered you feel.

"would you rather i give you the silent treatment again?" his voice is unabashedly soft as he speaks. "you didn't like that last time."

your breath hitches, and your heart begins to race again. you clench your jaw before closing your eyes, releasing a shaky breath. you remember collapsing in his arms and crying your heart out when he gave you the silent treatment— being ignored by him hurt and made you feel alone in a way you hadn't felt in years.

you shake your head no.

he smiles. it's almost sinister. his eyes are still crinkly and he would look so utterly adorable to you before— but now, you know his intentions. you can tell when he's smiling only because he's hiding a different approach.

"then you'll behave, won't you?" he whispers, placing a soft kiss upon your lips. you blink rapidly before nodding again.

"good," he says quietly, softly tapping your cheek before letting go and composing himself. "i'll clean that mess up. go back to bed and take a nap, you must be tired after that little show."

you grit your teeth before shooting him a glare, and he merely blinks at you, amused, before you rush back to the bedroom.

he follows not long after, wearing only a black undershirt and his pants. you stare at him as he gently places a tray on your bedside table. you sit up, looking at it curiously. it's a cup of tea.

"for your throat," he explains softly with a pat to your head. the gesture makes your heart feel warm— and once again you start wishing you had met him under different circumstances where he didn't practically kidnap you. that way, your guilty conscience wouldn't berate you for desiring him so much, for being so comfortable around him.

he stands by his own side of the bed, fiddling with his wristwatch. you sit up properly and blow on the tea before drinking it, humming in appreciation. it's your favourite beverage.

he gets into bed soon enough, sighing to himself. you place the empty cup on the table and look off to the side, not wanting to meet his gaze, no matter how good he looks.

he says your name softly and you melt.

you look at him and he tenderly caresses your face with the back of his hand. you wish you could read his thoughts.

you swallow your pride and say what you've been thinking.

"why did you never apologize to me?"

his gaze hardens slightly and his hand pauses. you swallow hard as you await his answer.

"because i'm not sorry," he says calmly, "I don't regret anything i did."

you clench your jaw, "not even hurting me or my feelings?"

he chuckles a little— amused at your naivety, "I don't regret doing anything that brought you to me."

you blink at him before looking away. he forces you to meet his gaze by grabbing your chin.

"i don't regret anything," he repeats lowly, eyes intense. "as long as i get to have you."

"you hurt me." you whisper, voice cracking.

"i know." he nods, "you'll get over it. you're my brave girl, aren't you?"

you grit your teeth so hard you fear your jaw might snap. you glare at him, while he looks at you indifferently. wordlessly, he opens his arms and welcomes you into the comforting little space he created. you consider running off, defying him, breaking the tea cup and using the glass to threaten him or just killing yourself— anything.

bur you don't. like always, you succumb to him, and give up control. you eagerly crawl into his side and he holds your head against his chest. he pulls the sheets over the two of you and pecks your forehead.

"still don't feel safe?" he asks, almost teasingly. you can't believe he keeps trying to joke with you— he's cruel. you scoff, giving him a weak shove and he grabs your wrist and holds your palm against his chest. you can feel his heart beating. you wonder if yours beats this loud too.

you get comfortable a few moments after, and force yourself not to think about your life before the games. before him. you wonder if your family is happy, if they're wondering where you are. you wonder if your mother thinks you're dead, you wonder if she still prays for you. even if your family thinks you're dead, you hope they find happiness and move on from the thought of you. you hope they live a life of ease.

the thoughts make you sniffle and you hold back the urge to cry, burying your head further into his chest. he hums softly, patting your head almost paternally till you fall asleep, and only when he is completely sure that you're out of it, that he allows himself to close his eyes too.

and the next day, the cycle repeats.

A/N: another song title because i have no creativity... anyway this was meant to be a blurb but i ended up writing a glimpse into their relationship because i love them so much. and well.. the smut is mid but i hope you guys enjoyed it. thank you for reading and thank you for the support!! i love all of you.

tags: @bonelessghoul @cowuies @auspicious-lilana @politicstanner @verouys @gloriousjellyfisharcade @carolinevoight @shadowmoonlight0604 @ancrygurl @sunoon @jessgentleman @colorwastaken @loversroq @clown-around-and-find-out @popcorm @xcinnamonmalfoyx @robertthehoover @iloveoldermen0204 @kpopsmutty69 @iamkali @thebluehair23

#hwang inho x reader #frontman x you #frontman x reader #the frontman x reader smut #player 001 x reader #squid game x reader #lee byung hun x reader #squid game season 2 smut #the salesman x reader

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nientedal · 2 days ago

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For specific ear plugs, Loop earplugs and the Flares Calmer earplugs are some of the best I've found as an AuDHD person. Flares in particular. They take the "edges" off sounds and are so subtle I regularly forget they're changing anything until I take them out, and then the world hits me in the ears and I quickly put them back in, lol. Loops are great for blocking heavy noise, and good for those of us with small or oddly-shaped ear canals. Their unique base shape allows me to turn them in a way that "braces" them against my ear and helps keep them in place. Also, they are the least obtrusive I've found as a side sleeper.

Neither will stay put very well if you're chewing or talking a lot, but that's been true of every earplug I've ever tried. Jostling loosens things, it's simply a fact. I wanted to at least mention it, in case "I need to block sound while chewing" is your need, but for anyone else, please don't let that deter you. They are a little bit pricy for a few grams of silicone that go in your ear, but I fucking love these things. You may be able to find them more cheaply as knock-offs elsewhere, too.

As far as studying goes...

Take Notes. Take as many notes as you can in class. Not after class!! IN CLASS. Take notes like your life depends on it, and doodle in the margins to stay focused until you realize there's a new slide you need to write down. Handwriting helps stuff stick.

Then, the night before the exam at the latest, get a new notebook. Copy your notes from class into the new notebook. All of them that will be on the test. By hand.

(Remember to shake out your hands periodically! Loose fingers, loose wrists, and wrist-twist while bouncing your elbows to shake your hands out! This is a pianist's trick to help stay limber, and it works just as well for handwriting. Do Not give yourself tendonitis. Learn from my mistake. If it hurts, stop. Your grade is not worth your health. Do NOT give yourself tendonitis in your hands; it will turn into carpal tunnel and you Do Not Want That. DO NOT.)

Copy all your notes by hand. If you are able to start a few nights before, great! This will show you what you're uncertain about, based on how much you're able to remember while copying. (You may remember bits and pieces from the lecture as you copy, because your brain made an association web while you were writing by hand the first time.) If not, THAT'S OKAY!!!! Every little bit counts! Copy as much as you can the night before the test. If you are rocky on some of it, try to copy those parts twice, but if you can't, OH WELL!

Go to sleep right after you finish writing. Shake out your hands, take a shower if you must, and GO TO SLEEP while your writing memories are still fresh. This sounds kinda like woo-woo nonsense, I know, but I never learned to study in high school and this is the best I've got. (It landed me two degrees in accounting, so...meh?)

If you cannot write by hand, type. If you cannot type, banish your roommate and speak out loud. Scan the chapters with your eyes and talk to an invisible audience as if you were trying to teach them. For me, writing was best, but speaking definitely also helped.

Important: If you have the "in one eye, out the other" inability to parse boring text, reading out loud like a newscaster (or Captain Kirk) is going to be your best friend. Example:

Snell's law is a formula used to describe the relationship between the angles of incidence and refraction, when referring to light or other waves passing through a boundary between two different isotropic media, such as water, glass, or air. In optics, the law is used in ray tracing to compute the angles of incidence or refraction, and in experimental optics to find the refractive index of a material.

Boring. I cannot read this. But, if I pretend I am an overly-chipper news anchor at 6:45AM on Good Morning America:

SNELL'S LAW is a formula used to describe the relationship BETWEEN the angles of incidence and refraction, WHEN referring to LIGHT or other waves PASSING THROUGH A BOUNDARY between two different isotropic media, such as water, glass, or air. In OPTICS, the law is used in ray tracing to COMPUTE the angles of incidence or refraction, and in EXPERIMENTAL optics to FIND the refractive index of a material.

(that's not accounting, obviously, that's physics, but it's an example, don't @ me.)

It looks deranged, formatted that way, but hopefully you can see what I mean by using a newscaster voice. Speaking aloud and forcing strong emphasis drags your brain into line and helps break down concepts and clauses in complex sentences WAY BETTER than just staring at them.

...I think that's all I've got for you. Good luck out there, buddy. Please let me know if I should clarify anything, I'm really tired. Hopefully this is at least coherent.

Me: how do I study as a neurodivergent person?

Google: how to help your autistic child study

Me: how to study as an autistic adult/teen

Google: teachers guide to how to deal with autistic children

Me: how do I study as an autistic teen/adult

Google: study tips for autistic people(-written by this allistic man that will talk about autistic people like they're zoo animals)

Me: how to study as a neurodivergent adult, tips from neurodivergent person to neurodivergent students, on how to study independently as an autistic person, no reliant support needed

Google: high functioning autism and school

Me: fuck just. How do I focus during this test that I'm in rn as an AuDHD person

Google: ok, so, to focus on this thing that you currently are doing and need to get done TODAY; weeks before the test you'll need to eat healthy and exercise, meditate, study, set timers, take breaks, drink water, sleep, find the secrets to a happy life, adopt five children, sacrifice a goat, take short showers, brush your teeth

Executive dysfunction:

My fucking deadline:

#studying #adhd life

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crookedteethed · 5 hours ago

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ᡣ𐭩 Positive • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- There are three things you know for certain right now:

You're pregnant.

The father currently has his hands all over some blonde at The Wreck.

According to Topper, you're Rafe Cameron's favorite topic during locker room talk.

warnings -- 18+-mdni, unplanned pregnancy, cursing, angst no happy ending, readers a pouge, fuckboy!rafe (?) toppers a dickhead frl, mention of abortions (once)

main masterlist(s) | taglist | wc: 2.2k

"Fuck." You stare at the positive pregnancy test between your trembling fingers.

"Fuck," you curse again, realizing you're alone in your apartment with this life-changing news.

Of course this would happen.

After months of sneaking around, of heated encounters and promises to keep things casual, one reckless night was all it took. One moment where passion overrode common sense, where neither of you cared about consequences.

A hushed "I want to feel you, all of you," slipped from Rafe's lips as he paused, the condom still on, but his desire for you raw, uninhibited, consuming him. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, silently asking if you trusted him enough to let go..

How naive you'd been, thinking you could trust Rafe Cameron with something so intimate. The golden boy of the OBX, known for his volatile temper and reckless abandon. The type of man who treats both relationships and speed limits as mere suggestions.

And you'd fallen for those dark cerulean eyes and heated whispers like every other girl before you. Only difference was, you were now staring at the consequences of that trust, watching it turn into two pink lines that would complicate everything.

Your secret hookup.

The trust fund bad boy of the OBX. The same Rafe Cameron who's probably at some country club event right now, charming his way through a crowd of socialites, completely unaware that he's about to become a father.

You can already hear the whispers at the yacht club – the Camerons' golden boy and his latest pouge conquest.

As if sleeping with Rafe Cameron wasn't scandalous enough, now you're carrying the next heir to his family's empire.

"Have you seen Rafe?" you shout at Topper over the pulsing bass of The Wreck's speakers. Your hand instinctively rests on your still-flat stomach – a new nervous habit you've developed since seeing those two pink lines.

Topper takes a swig of his whiskey, looking entirely too amused--and drunk, "Lost track of your boyfriend already?"

"He's not my—"

"Yeah, yeah." He smirked, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Just his favorite little Pogue to fuck behind closed doors, right? You know, he tells us everything in the locker room." He leaned closer, whiskey breath hot against your ear. "About how eager you are, how you beg for it. Though I gotta say, for someone from the cut, you've got quite the reputation among the trust fund crowd now."

Your cheeks burned with humiliation and anger. Of course Rafe would brag about all the girls he's had to his Kook friends. Of course you were just another story for their country club gossip.

"Go fuck yourself, Topper. Where's Rafe?"

"Aw, don't be like that, sweetheart. We all know you've got a thing for rich boys. Though usually we don't keep Pogues around this long – Rafe must really like something about you." His eyes raked over you suggestively. "Or some things."

The way he says it makes your skin crawl – it's pure Rafe Cameron coming out of Topper's mouth. That same calculated charm, that practiced way of making someone feel simultaneously special and worthless.

You wonder how many hours he spent watching Rafe work his magic at bars, memorizing the exact tone needed to make "sweetheart" sound like an insult. Rich boys and their fucked-up everything.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. "Hey, I'm just messing with you. No need to get your discount panties in a twist." He gestures toward the bar with his glass.

"Last I saw him, he was chatting up some blonde by the bar." Topper continued, "Though, something tells me you've got more on your mind than just another quick fuck in the coat closet."

"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" you snap at him, hands clenching into fists.

Your head whips around, scanning the crowded bar area, but there's no sign of Rafe's familiar frame among the sea of drunk socialites.

"He's not there," you mutter, frustration building in your chest.

"What's wrong? Don't have your Kook King on a leash?" Topper calls after you as you push past him toward the exit. "Better hurry – you know how fast Rafe moves on to the next thing!"

You storm out of The Wreck, the humid night air doing nothing to cool your rising anger.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Here you are, pregnant with his kid, and Rafe Cameron can't even stay in one place long enough to hear the news.

Slumping into your car, you grab your phone, fingers trembling as you pull up his contact. Three rings, voicemail. Again. Four rings, voicemail. Your frustration builds with each failed attempt.

hey, we need to talk

rafe, answer your fucking phone

where are you?

this is important

You watch the messages turn from "delivered" to "read" with no response. Of course he's seeing them. He's probably looking at his phone right now, some blonde draped over his shoulder, both of them laughing at your desperate attempts to reach him.

seriously rafe, this isn't about us. something happened

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You could just text it. Three simple words: I'm pregnant, asshole. But somehow, dropping that bomb over text feels wrong, even for whatever this is between you.

After the tenth unanswered call, you throw your phone onto the passenger seat, fighting back angry tears.

You should have known better than to expect anything different from Rafe Cameron, who treats Pogues like they're as disposable as his designer clothes.

To him, girls from the Cut are just temporary entertainment – something to play with until a more suitable option from his tax bracket comes along.

Your phone buzzes. For a moment, your heart leaps – but it's just another notification that he's read your messages.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you mutter, starting your car with more force than necessary. The engine roars to life, matching your mood.

You consider driving to his place – you know he'll end up there eventually, probably with tonight's blonde in tow. But the thought of waiting outside his house like some desperate ex makes bile rise in your throat.

Your phone buzzes again. This time it's a text:

busy rn. talk tomorrow?

A laugh escapes you, bitter and hollow. Busy. Of course he's busy. He's always busy when it doesn't involve getting into your pants. Your fingers fly across the keyboard before you can stop yourself:

hope she's worth it. btw, might want to start setting aside some trust fund money for child support

You hit send before you can think better of it, immediately regretting it. Your phone explodes with incoming calls – now he wants to talk. But you're already pulling out of the parking lot, vision blurry with unshed tears.

Let him panic for a while. Let him feel a fraction of the anxiety that's been eating at you since you saw those two pink lines.

Besides, if he can't be bothered to give you five minutes when you need him, he can wait until tomorrow to hear how he managed to knock up his favorite Pogue.

You wake up to the sound of coffee brewing – which is impossible because you live alone and definitely didn't set the timer last night. Stumbling out of your bedroom, you freeze in the doorway.

There's Rafe Cameron, looking unfairly good for someone who should be hungover, sitting on your beaten-up futon. His expensive clothes are a stark contrast to your shabby apartment furniture, but somehow he looks like he belongs there.

Between his fingers, he's holding the pregnancy test you'd forgotten to hide in your emotional spiral last night.

"Breaking and entering now?" Your voice comes out shakier than you'd like. "That's low, even for you."

He doesn't look up from the test, but you catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "It's not breaking in when I have a key." He finally meets your eyes, holding up the small silver key you'd given him three months ago after that night he'd brought you soup when you were sick. "You know, the one you said was 'just for emergencies'?"

The unspoken truth hangs heavy between you. This thing between you had stopped being just hookups somewhere between the late-night conversations and the drawer of his clothes in your dresser. Between him knowing how you take your coffee and you knowing which side of the bed he prefers.

"That's not—" you start, but he cuts you off.

"Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to text it and disappear like you did last night?"

"Oh, like how you disappeared with that blonde? Or should we talk about how you disappear every time after you're done with me, just to go brag to Topper about your latest fuck?"

His face darkens. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Rafe. Your locker room talk is apparently quite entertaining. 'Eager.' 'Begging for it.' Ring any bells?" You wrap your arms around yourself, hating how your voice shakes. "Tell me, do all your Kook friends know how I sound in bed, or is that a special story just for Topper?"

"That's not—"

"Not what? Not what you meant? Not what happened? Because Topper seemed pretty clear about exactly what kind of reputation I have among your trust fund crowd now."

"You really think that's what this is?" He gestures between you. "That I could think of you as just another hookup?"

"Isn't it? I mean, god forbid the Kook King actually care about the Pogue he's fucking—"

"Jesus Christ," he runs his hands through his buzzed hair in frustration. "If this was just about sex, would I have a key? Would I know your coffee order or—"

"You can't use that as some kind of proof you care! Having a key doesn't mean shit when you're out there treating me like your dirty little secret!"

The silence that follows is heavy, charged with months of unspoken hurt. When Rafe finally speaks, his voice is low, controlled: "Is it mine?"

The question hits you like a slap. "Are you seriously—"

"Just answer the question." His eyes are intense, searching yours. "Is it mine?"

The unspoken truth hangs heavy between you. He already knows the answer – can read it in the way you can't quite meet his eyes, in how your hand unconsciously drifts to your stomach.

That night without protection wasn't your first together, but it was the first time he'd looked at you like you were something more than just a good time.

Like maybe you could be everything. Now that look is back, mixed with something like fear as the reality of what you're not saying sinks in.

"Those tests—" he starts pacing, running his hands through his hair. "They're not always accurate, you know? Maybe you should take another one. Or three. Fuck, how do you even know for sure?" His voice takes on a desperate edge. "There are… options. I know a clinic in Chapel Hill. Discrete. I could make some calls—"

"You know what?" Your voice comes out quiet, defeated. "Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe this is exactly what I need to finally stop pretending this—" you gesture between you, "—could ever be anything real."

"I'm just saying we need to think about this logically—"

"No," you snap, your voice rising until it bounces off the walls of your tiny apartment. "You're trying to make this disappear, just like everything else that threatens your perfect Figure Eight lifestyle!"

You watch something crack in his expression, that carefully maintained Kook King facade finally showing a glimpse of real emotion. His hand reaches for you, then drops. "Don't—"

"I think you should go." You turn away, unable to look at him anymore. "Use that key one last time to lock up behind you."

You don't need to see his face to know he's struggling with what to say. The perfect Rafe Cameron, for once at a loss for words. It would be funny if it wasn't breaking your heart.

You don't turn around to watch him leave, but you hear the way he hesitates at the door. The silence stretches, filled with all the words neither of you are brave enough to say. Finally, the door clicks shut, and you're alone again.

Your hand drifts to your stomach, and you let out a bitter laugh. You can do this alone.

You'll move out of the OBX, maybe up to Wilmington where no one knows your name or that you're carrying a Cameron heir. You'll work extra shifts at the restaurant, save every penny.

Your kid won't need trust fund money or a father who treats relationships like they're disposable. Your child won't grow up feeling like some dirty secret.

Somewhere across town, Topper's probably already hearing about how the Pogue girl tried to trap Rafe Cameron with a baby. You can almost hear the yacht club whispers starting. But let them talk – you've survived worse than country club gossip.

(What no one would ever know: how your hands shook as you slid his key under his door later that night, or how he sat in his car outside your apartment for hours, staring at a small velvet box he'd been carrying in his pocket since before you ever said the word "pregnant."

Some love stories aren't meant to have happy endings, and some babies are meant to have just one parent who actually wants them.)

a/n -- thanks for reading, as always all likes comments, and reblogs keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore @madzig @thatdesigirl17 @drewstarkeysrightarm @seqhyvnz @romantasyreader2024 @luizaelias @rafe-cameronswife @emmavzlsblog @aileenunfiltered @swe3theart-succubus @511rkive @morrrrphin @xcinnamonmalfoyx @obxrafeandjj @rafegf-real @theeternaloptimistt

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elryuse · 2 days ago

Note

jang wonyoung-------- where oc is three years older than wony and have been dating before ive debut but its a secret in the public eye,but then thing happened wony kind of cheated oc finds out about it but he just can't let her goo so he endure at first but then it become worse and then they kind of parted ways even though wony doesnt seem to want to let go of oc.They really cant stay away from each other even though wony and oc parted ways they are still intertwined.Lets say oc is in the palm of wony hands kind of pretty toxic but sweet yeah...

Toxic Till The End

Wonyoung X Male Reader

Disclaimer : Don't Be Toxic Kiddo, :D

You glance at the clock hanging on the wall behind the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you wait for the next customer. It's early afternoon, a little after lunch, and the regular crowd has started to trickle in. Your café, tucked away in a quiet alley just a short walk from the busy corporate district, has always had a steady stream of customers. But lately, you’ve noticed a particular customer who has caught your attention.

It’s Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung. You’ve known her face for a while, even before she began frequenting your café. As a popular idol, her posters and commercials are everywhere, but the first time she came into your café, it felt different. You weren’t just seeing her through a screen. She was right there, in front of you, asking for a latte with the softest voice.

At first, it was nothing special. Just a polite exchange, like with any customer. You kept your cool, even though you were a little starstruck. But the more she visited, the more those polite exchanges became something more. A smile here, a small compliment there. You found yourself looking forward to the days when she’d step through the door, her eyes scanning the room before they settled on you with a glimmer of recognition.

The bell above the door jingles, and like clockwork, Wonyoung steps inside. She’s wearing a simple, oversized coat and a cap pulled low over her face, but you’d recognize her anywhere. Today, though, something is different. She looks tired, her shoulders slightly slouched, and her usually bright expression is dimmer.

“Hey,” you greet her, offering a warm smile. “The usual?”

She nods, pulling her cap a little lower as she approaches the counter. “Yeah, please. One vanilla latte.”

As you start preparing her drink, you decide to strike up a conversation like you’ve done before. “Rough day?”

She chuckles softly, leaning her elbows on the counter. “You have no idea. It's been non-stop meetings and rehearsals. I just needed a break.”

You hand her the drink, watching her fingers brush against yours as she takes the cup. The small contact makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly focus back on the conversation. “Well, I’m glad you came here to take that break. The world can wait a little, right?”

She looks up at you through her lashes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I guess so. This place has kind of become my escape.”

Her words stir something in you. An idol like her, with the entire world watching her every move, finding a sense of peace in your small café? It’s flattering. You lean against the counter, trying to play it cool, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.

“You’re welcome here anytime, you know that,” you say, your voice dropping slightly. It’s an invitation you’ve given before, but somehow it feels more meaningful now.

Wonyoung sips her latte, the steam rising between you two as she lets out a content sigh. “Thanks. That really means a lot.”

There’s a comfortable silence for a moment, the two of you just enjoying each other’s company. But then, as you’re about to ask her something, a group of fans passing by outside catches your eye. They don’t seem to have noticed her yet, but you know it’s only a matter of time. Wonyoung must sense your unease because she follows your gaze and tenses slightly.

“Do you need to go?” you ask, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

She hesitates, glancing toward the door. “I probably should…”

You don’t want her to leave. Not yet. Not when it feels like you’re finally getting closer. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Would you maybe want to hang out sometime? Outside of here, I mean.”

Her eyes widen slightly, surprised by your sudden boldness. You can feel your palms getting sweaty, and you mentally curse yourself for being too forward. But then, to your surprise, she smiles—a real, genuine smile that lights up her face.

“Are you asking me out?” she teases, her tone light but her gaze intense.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Uh, yeah. I guess I am.”

She looks down at her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For a moment, you think she’s going to turn you down, but then she looks up again, her smile still there.

“I’d like that,” she says softly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “But… we’d have to keep it a secret. My company has strict rules about… well, you know.”

You nod, understanding immediately. Dating an idol? You’ve heard the horror stories of how fans react. But the thrill of the secrecy only adds to your excitement. “I can keep a secret if you can.”

She giggles, the sound like music to your ears. “I guess we’ll see.”

As she stands to leave, you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline. You just asked out Jang Wonyoung—and she said yes.

“When should we—” you begin, but she interrupts with a sly smile.

“I’ll text you. We’ll figure it out.”

She waves goodbye, leaving you standing behind the counter, your heart pounding in your chest. You watch her disappear down the street, the bell on the door chiming softly as it swings shut behind her.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like something big is about to happen. Something that could change everything.

The days that followed felt like a blur of anticipation. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart would leap, hoping it was her. And then, one night, just as you were closing up the café, her name flashed across your screen.

“Tomorrow. 8 PM. I know a quiet place.”

You read the text over and over, a smile creeping across your face. It was happening. You were actually going on a date with Wonyoung, and no one else knew.

The next day, you close the café a little earlier than usual, making sure everything is perfect before you head out. The nerves hit you the moment you step outside. What would it be like? What would you talk about? But there’s also an excitement bubbling beneath the surface—a thrill you haven’t felt in years.

When you arrive at the spot she mentioned, you’re surprised to find it’s a small, dimly lit park, tucked away from the busy streets. It’s quiet, serene, and the perfect place for two people who didn’t want to be seen.

Wonyoung is already there, sitting on a bench, her face partially hidden by the hood of her coat. But when she looks up and sees you, her face breaks into a smile.

“You came,” she says softly, standing to greet you.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice a little shaky. You try to play it cool, but your heart is racing.

You sit beside her on the bench, the cool evening air wrapping around the two of you. For a moment, neither of you says anything, just enjoying the rare moment of privacy.

“So,” she begins, breaking the silence. “You really weren’t scared to ask me out? Most people wouldn’t dare.”

You chuckle nervously. “Well, I guess I’m not like most people.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling. “No, you’re not. That’s why I said yes.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but feel drawn to her in a way that’s both intoxicating and terrifying. The fact that you’re sitting here, in the dark, in secret, makes everything feel a little more dangerous. But you like it. You like her.

As the conversation flows, it becomes clear that there’s more to Wonyoung than what the world sees. She tells you about the pressures of being an idol, the constant scrutiny, the expectations that weigh on her shoulders. You listen intently, feeling protective over her in a way you hadn’t expected.

“You must get lonely,” you say, your voice soft.

She nods, looking down at her hands. “I do. Sometimes it feels like I’m living two lives—one for the public and one for myself. But the lines get blurred, and I don’t know which one is real anymore.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand over hers. “This is real,” you say firmly. “Whatever this is between us—it’s real.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away, but then she squeezes your hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“I hope so,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

The warmth of your bond with Wonyoung had grown over the years, weaving itself into every corner of your life. From stolen evenings in the quiet corners of the city to shared laughter over cups of coffee in the dim glow of your café, your relationship had become something sacred. She trusted you, and you loved her with every fiber of your being.

But things started to shift when Wonyoung sat across from you one evening, her face pale and serious.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

You set down your cup, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her mug. “It’s… good news, really. But…” Her words faltered, and the worry in her eyes twisted your gut.

“Wonyoung, just tell me,” you urged gently.

“I’m debuting,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said. Wonyoung had always talked about her dreams of becoming a star, of standing on the biggest stages and sharing her talent with the world. You should have been happy for her, proud even. But all you could feel was the growing pit in your stomach.

“That’s… amazing,” you said, forcing a smile.

She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It is. It’s everything I’ve worked for. But… you know what this means, right?”

Your heart sank. “What are you saying?”

She looked down, her hands gripping her mug tightly. “The company’s rules are even stricter now. I’ll be busier than ever. Training, schedules, promotions… I won’t have time for…” Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip, trying to hold back her emotions.

“For us,” you finished for her, your voice hollow.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t what I want, but I don’t have a choice. If they find out about us, it could ruin everything—for both of us.”

You sat back, the weight of her words pressing down on your chest. This was it. The moment you’d feared since the day you started dating her. You knew the risks of being with an idol, but you’d always hoped you could make it work. Now, it felt like that hope was slipping away.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your throat tight. “Your dream has always come first. I don’t want to hold you back.”

She reached across the table, taking your hand in hers. “You’ve never held me back. You’ve been my anchor, my safe place. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” you promised, squeezing her hand. “Even if we can’t be together the way we want, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

Her tears spilled over, and you pulled her into your arms, holding her tightly as she cried. You wanted to believe your own words, but deep down, you knew this was the beginning of the end.

The days that followed were the hardest of your life. Wonyoung’s visits became less frequent, her texts and calls more sporadic. You understood why, but that didn’t make it any easier. You poured yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself from the emptiness she left behind.

Then, one day, the messages stopped altogether.

At first, you told yourself she was just busy. Her debut was approaching, after all. But as weeks turned into months, the silence became deafening. You stared at your phone every night, hoping for a message, a call—anything. But nothing came.

You threw yourself into your café, hoping the familiar routine would keep you grounded. But even there, reminders of her were everywhere. The table by the window where she always sat, the scent of vanilla lattes that lingered in the air—it all made your heart ache.

Your only solace was watching her from afar. You followed her career, watching every performance, every interview, every commercial. She was incredible, just as you always knew she would be. But the bright lights and the adoring fans only reminded you of how far away she was now.

Still, you held onto hope. You told yourself that one day, when the world wasn’t watching so closely, she’d come back to you.

Years passed, and your life settled into a routine. The café grew busier, and you built a reputation for being the cozy little spot that people loved. But no matter how much time passed, Wonyoung was always in the back of your mind.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, your heart leapt, hoping it was her. Every time you saw someone with long, dark hair or heard a soft laugh, you thought of her.

One evening, after closing up, you sat alone in the café, a cup of coffee growing cold in your hands. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows across the walls, and the quietness of the night only amplified the loneliness in your heart.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling through old messages from Wonyoung. You hadn’t deleted them, even though it hurt to read them. They were all you had left of her.

“I miss you,” you whispered into the empty room, your voice breaking.

You didn’t know if she’d ever come back. You didn’t know if she even thought about you anymore. But you couldn’t let go. She was your first love, and a part of you would always belong to her.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you continued to wait. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew one thing for sure: if Wonyoung ever walked through that door again, you’d welcome her with open arms.

For now, all you could do was hope. Hope that somewhere, in the midst of her glittering, chaotic life, she still remembered the little café where it all began.

The bell above the café door jingled softly as another customer walked in, but your mind was elsewhere. The days had blended into a monotonous cycle—serving coffee, cleaning tables, and quietly hoping. Hoping that one day, Wonyoung would return, her familiar presence lighting up the small café once more.

You told yourself every day that it was foolish. That she had likely moved on, swept away by the tidal wave of her career. But a small part of you clung to the memories, refusing to let go.

Then, one fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, you saw her.

It was a glimpse at first—a flash of her unmistakable silhouette passing by the large window of your café. Your heart leaped, the familiar rush of emotions flooding your chest. Without thinking, you dropped the cloth in your hand and hurried to the door, your pulse racing.

“Wonyoung!” you called out, stepping onto the quiet street.

She didn’t turn around.

You froze, your voice caught in your throat as your eyes locked onto her. She was walking down the street, her delicate figure wrapped in a soft beige coat. But she wasn’t alone.

There was a man beside her, tall and well-dressed, with an air of casual confidence. Wonyoung clung to his arm, her smile bright and carefree. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as she tugged his arm playfully, her laughter floating through the crisp evening air. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that used to be yours. And that smile—the same radiant smile she’d given you on your first date—was now meant for someone else.

Your heart clenched painfully, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Was it just a colleague? A friend? Or… something more?

The rational part of you tried to dismiss it. She’s an idol. She must have many colleagues, right? But deep down, a gnawing doubt began to take hold, and with it came a wave of desperation.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. The image of Wonyoung with that man replayed in your mind like a cruel, endless loop. You tried to push it aside, to reason with yourself, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen.

You kept telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything. That there had to be an explanation. But the doubt lingered, growing stronger with each passing day.

“She’ll come back,” you whispered to yourself as you cleaned the counter the next morning. “She’ll explain everything.”

But she didn’t.

Days turned into weeks, and Wonyoung never walked through your door. You scrolled through her social media, searching for clues, but found nothing. Her life seemed to be as glamorous and untouchable as ever. Meanwhile, you felt yourself spiraling.

Your thoughts became consumed with her. You replayed every moment, every smile, every touch. You clung to the memories like a lifeline, even as they began to feel like a weight pulling you under.

Every night, you prayed silently, your hands clutching your phone as you stared at her name. You prayed that she’d text, that she’d call, that she’d walk through the door with that familiar shy smile.

But she never did.

One evening, as you closed up the café, you found yourself back at the place where you’d seen her with the man. You didn’t even know why you were there, only that you couldn’t stop yourself.

You sat on a bench nearby, staring at the street as if willing her to appear. The desperation in your chest had grown into a hollow ache, one that refused to go away.

“She wouldn’t do this to me,” you muttered under your breath, your hands gripping your knees. “She wouldn’t cheat on me.”

But the memory of her smile—the one she gave that man—gnawed at your resolve.

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of her. Your friends began to notice the change in you. They asked if you were okay, if something was wrong. But you brushed them off, retreating further into yourself.

Your café became your only refuge, the one place where you could pretend everything was still normal. But even there, the memories of her lingered like ghosts.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, you looked up, hoping it was her. Every time someone ordered a vanilla latte, your chest tightened with longing.

But Wonyoung never came.

The toxic cycle began to take its toll. You stopped sleeping, your nights spent staring at your phone, waiting for a message that never came. You stopped eating, your appetite replaced by a gnawing emptiness that nothing could fill.

Your friends tried to pull you out of it, but their words fell on deaf ears. How could they understand? They didn’t know what it was like to love someone like Wonyoung. To love her so deeply that it consumed you.

“She’ll come back,” you told yourself again and again, your voice growing weaker each time. “She has to.”

But deep down, a part of you knew the truth. You’d seen it with your own eyes. Wonyoung had moved on. She had someone else now.

And yet, you couldn’t let go.

You kept praying, day after day, for her to come back. You told yourself that if you just held on a little longer, she’d walk through the door and everything would be okay again.

But as the weeks turned into months, the hope that had once sustained you began to wither away.

You were losing yourself in the waiting, in the longing, in the toxic spiral of loving someone who no longer cared.

And still, you couldn’t stop. Because as much as it hurt, the thought of letting go hurt even more.

The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the windows of the café as the sky wept its sorrow. You stood behind the counter, absentmindedly drying a mug as you stared out into the gray, dismal street. The café was quiet tonight, save for the occasional rattle of thunder in the distance.

Then, through the streaks of rain on the glass, you saw her.

Your breath caught in your throat as Wonyoung’s familiar figure emerged from the downpour, standing just outside the café. Her hair clung to her face, wet from the rain, and her shoulders trembled as she hugged herself tightly. She looked… broken.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing. This was the moment you’d prayed for countless nights. Yet now that it was here, something inside you felt different.

With a deep breath, you walked to the door and gently pushed it open.

The bell jingled softly, but Wonyoung didn’t move. She stood in the rain, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the raindrops.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice trembling.

You stood there, watching her cry, her words cutting through the sound of the rain. In the past, you would have rushed to her, held her close, and whispered soothing words until her tears stopped. But tonight, something in you had changed.

You stepped aside, motioning for her to come in. “You’ll catch a cold out there,” you said quietly, your tone calm but distant.

She looked up at you, her eyes red and swollen, and hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

Wonyoung sat at her usual spot by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea you’d prepared without a word. The warm light of the café cast soft shadows across her face, accentuating the sadness in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”

You sat across from her, your expression unreadable. “What exactly are you sorry for, Wonyoung?”

She flinched at the coldness in your tone, her fingers tightening around the cup. “For… disappearing. For not calling. For—” Her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes again. “For hurting you.”

Your heart clenched at her words, but you forced yourself to remain composed. You couldn’t fall into the same cycle again. Not this time.

“Why are you here, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice firm but not unkind.

She looked up at you, her eyes searching your face for some sign of warmth, of forgiveness. “I missed you,” she said softly.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Missed me?” you echoed, your voice tinged with skepticism. “Or are you just bored?”

Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, she was speechless. “How could you say that?”

“Because, Wonyoung,” you said, your voice steady, “you walked away. You left me here, waiting for you, while you moved on with your life. And now, after all this time, you show up out of nowhere, crying and saying you’re sorry. What am I supposed to think?”

She stared at you, her lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” you asked, leaning forward. “That I wasn’t worth even a text? That you could just show up whenever it suited you and expect me to be here, waiting with open arms?”

Her tears spilled over, and she buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “I was scared. Scared of losing everything.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I understand fear, Wonyoung. But you don’t get to use that as an excuse to treat me like I don’t matter.”

Her sobs quieted, and she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and confusion. “You’ve never talked to me like this before,” she said softly.

“Maybe I should have,” you replied. “Maybe if I’d been more honest with you from the start, we wouldn’t be here now.”

The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the sound of rain tapping against the windows. For the first time, Wonyoung seemed at a loss for words.

“You’ve always been there for me,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t want to lose you.”

You sighed, leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. “Wonyoung, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what’s fair—for both of us. I’ve spent years waiting for you, hoping for something that might never happen. And it’s taken me this long to realize that I deserve more than that.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she reached across the table, her hand trembling. “Please… don’t give up on me.”

You hesitated, staring at her outstretched hand. Every part of you wanted to take it, to pull her into your arms and pretend everything was okay. But you knew that would only lead to more pain.

“I’m not giving up on you,” you said quietly. “But I can’t keep doing this. If you want me in your life, you need to show me that I matter. Not just when it’s convenient, but always.”

Her hand faltered, and she pulled it back, clutching it to her chest. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart breaking all over again. “Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending this can work.”

She stared at you, her face a mixture of shock and devastation. “Are you saying it’s over?”

You took a deep breath, the words catching in your throat. “I’m saying that I can’t keep holding onto something that’s tearing me apart.”

Her tears fell freely now, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

The rain continued to fall outside as you sat there, the weight of your decision settling over you like a heavy blanket. For the first time in years, you felt a strange sense of clarity.

This wasn’t the ending you’d hoped for, but maybe it was the one you needed.

The days that followed Wonyoung’s tearful return were bittersweet. She seemed genuinely sorry, her apologies heartfelt and tear-streaked. For a while, it felt like things might finally be different. She softened around you, her laughter returning, her gentle touches and warm smiles reminding you of the Wonyoung you had first fallen for.

But as time passed, the cracks began to show again.

It started small—missed calls, vague excuses about her schedule, and moments where she seemed distracted even when she was with you. You told yourself it was fine. That she was busy. That you could be patient.

But then came the nights when she wouldn’t respond to your texts at all. The whispers online about her being spotted with someone else. The photos of her arm linked with another man’s, her smile radiant and carefree, just like it had been the first time you saw her with someone else.

You confronted her one evening when she finally came back to the café, her expression tense but defensive.

“Who is he, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice quiet but trembling with restrained emotion.

She froze, her eyes wide, then quickly looked away. “It’s not what you think,” she said, her tone evasive.

“Then tell me what it is,” you pressed, your patience wearing thin. “Because this keeps happening, Wonyoung. You disappear, you’re seen with other guys, and then you come back here, apologizing like it’ll make everything okay.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered. “You have to believe me.”

You pulled back, avoiding her touch. “That’s what you always say. But you keep doing it.”

She began to cry, her hands trembling. “I love you. I just… I don’t know how to handle everything. The pressure, the expectations. You’re the only thing that feels real, but sometimes it’s too much.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto the idea that she loved you, even if her actions said otherwise.

But the truth was undeniable. This wasn’t love. It was something toxic, something that was slowly destroying you both.

The cycle continued. Wonyoung would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, only to return with teary apologies and promises to do better. And every time, you forgave her.

You hated yourself for it. Hated how weak you felt, how easily you crumbled under the weight of her tears and her soft words. But no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t let her go.

Until one night, when everything came crashing down.

You’d seen her again, smiling and laughing with someone else. The sight was like a knife twisting in your chest, and for the first time, something inside you snapped.

You went home that night and stared at your phone, the screen glowing with her name. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of anger, sadness, and despair.

Finally, you began to type.

“Wonyoung, I can’t do this anymore. You’ve hurt me too many times, and I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I love you, but I need to love myself more. Goodbye.”

Your thumb hovered over the send button, your chest tightening. You knew this was the right thing to do, but it felt like tearing a piece of your soul away.

With a deep breath, you pressed send.

The message delivered instantly, the small checkmark mocking you as you stared at it. And then, you turned off your phone, the weight of your decision crashing down on you.

The days that followed were a blur of pain and emptiness. You tried to focus on the café, on the simple routines that had once brought you comfort. But everything reminded you of her—the scent of vanilla lattes, the sound of the bell above the door, the corner seat where she used to sit.

And then, one evening, your phone buzzed.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. It was her.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

You closed your eyes, the familiar ache in your chest returning. You knew you shouldn’t reply. You knew this was just another loop, another step in the endless cycle of pain and forgiveness.

But even as you told yourself to ignore it, your fingers betrayed you, typing a response before you could stop them.

“I’m here.”

You hated yourself for it. Hated how easily she pulled you back in, how much power she had over you. But deep down, you knew the truth.

You and Wonyoung were toxic. You hurt each other, over and over, and yet you couldn’t let go.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken it made you feel, you still loved her.

And some part of you always would.

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #update #toxic #toxic relationship #wonyoung ive #ive wonyoung #jang wonyoung #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung x male reader #ive x reader #ive x male reader #ive moodboard #ive icons #wonyoung

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geddyqueer · 3 days ago

Text

Ok. So. Spoiler alert: we’re all fine.

Now that that’s out of the way, the three rules of ice climbing are: 1. don’t fall 2. know what’s above you 3. if the environment starts changing you might want to gtfo. Today we got really close to breaking all three of them.

(big mountain looking her regular intimidating self from the road)

It was -12 F in the valley, closer to -4 where we parked. What we call the “ice cave” is actually a waterfall at the back of a slot canyon at around 9200’ in elevation, tucked in between a handful of 14,000’ mountains. I got out of the car and peed behind a juniper: a brisk and honestly somewhat unpleasant way to start the morning! From the trailhead it’s not quite a mile to where the creek spits out from the mouth of the cave. We were the only ones there, which was a little ominous, since this is often a major tourist destination (cool waterfall! short hike!) and it’s a holiday weekend. We've climbed this waterfall dozens of times, and we've never been alone up there. But whatever, we thought, -12 degrees, let’s get a move on.

(cave mouth; water ice)

The cave is fully frozen. It is below zero. The ice is like glass: brittle and hard to hit. We set up at the base of the falls and my partner (the only one of us crazy and stupid enough to lead on ice) starts climbing.

Ok, so, the thing about lead climbing on ice is: remember the first rule of climbing? The main difference between ice and rock, other than the fact that you're on ice and not rock, is that there's no way to safely take a fall. You've got knives in your hands, you've got knives strapped to your feet, and between the ice and the nylon rope and the steel of your picks and your crampons and your body, you know which one of those will break first? If you guessed "your body", you're right! So if you're leading on ice, the generally accepted method of protecting against falls is, like, Just Don't.

So my partner starts climbing. He gets about 10' up and goes to put in his first ice screw. The screw teeth do not catch. There's no friction. The ice is too brittle. My partner is mildly insane, so he just shrugs and keeps climbing. He gets about 15' up, which is the point where a fall would start to do some serious damage, and I helpfully suggest that he "place a screw?" He pulls his first screw back off his harness and starts to put it in. This time the teeth catch. "Phew," our friend and I say. Our friend is belaying. I'm standing off to the side taking pictures. The screw is about halfway into the ice - 2 inches, maybe - when we hear what sounds like a fucking gunshot.

We are in a slot canyon. None of us are carrying a gun.

I'm the first to spot the issue. Radiating horizontally from the screw for about 5' is a giant crack in the ice. The entire bulge of ice that my partner has just screwed into is now cracking away from the wall. My partner very gingerly lifts his foot up. The ice stays where it is. "Okay," he says, and he slowly and quietly climbs away from it.

(can you spot the difference?)

At this point, if he tried to lower off that screw, the whole thing would fall off the wall (and kill him, and probably me too). If he tried to downclimb, he would most likely knock it loose from the wall (and kill him, and probably me too). It's at this time that I walk around to our friend's other side, because it seems slightly safer. So my partner keeps climbing. He places three more screws. Two of them lead to more cracking. We're starting to get jumpy. He gets to the top, where there are anchor chains, and clips in. "This is kinda fucked," he says. "Still want to climb?"

Well, we're all stupid, so we say yes.

Quick hydrology lesson: you know how I said this was a slot canyon? The creek comes down from an alpine lake another 2000' higher on the massif, and just before it drops into this canyon it pours over a short 20' drop and forms a very small pond. "It's weird," my partner says as he makes it back down to solid ground. "I would've expected the pond to be frozen over."

"Huh," we all say, and for some reason none of us stop to question this.

Friend climbs second and I switch to belay. His climb is a lot more successful, because he's on top rope and doesn't have to worry about putting screws in. He gets to the top and shouts something at us, but for some reason we can't hear him at all. That's fine, though. I lower him. "What did you say?" we ask as he gets back down to the ground.

"Oh, just that it's weirdly loud up there."

"Weird," we say, and for some reason none of us stop to think about this.

(me, moments before disaster)

I climb third. I start on the center route that everyone else had climbed. I get halfway up before my hands go numb. I call down, ask my partner to lower me, get back on the ground and switch my gloves out for the big gauntlet mittens. Then, as I'm standing there, I think - maybe it would be fun to climb the rockier left side? So I shuffle to the left and start working the left route, get maybe a third of the way up, and as I'm placing one of my tools I knock off a small pillar and it -

it drips on me.

It's still zero degrees F, by the way. There shouldn't be dripping liquid water when it's that far below freezing. "Huh," I say, and I look up, and I get a face full of water. I look back down. "Can anyone see what's peeing on me?" I ask, right before a whole flood of water starts pouring down the route.

I don't think I've ever been lowered faster than that.

(sound on for unsettling wet noises)

The thing is: our gear is still up on the anchor chains. Someone needs to go get it. My partner volunteers, because he's the fastest climber; our friend and I are hustling around the base trying to move our rope and the rest of our gear out of the rapidly-developing pond at our feet; the ice is getting really, really wet. My partner gets to the top and rescues the gear and lowers down and we start hightailing it out of there but when we go to leave the slot canyon, the ice bridge we'd walked in on has fully washed out and we have to slog through ankle-deep freezing water to leave the canyon. Jinkies!

Our best guess is that an ice dam further upstream broke; maybe the sun caught it and melted it out, maybe something fell on it, I dunno. Maybe it was fucking haunted! We weren't going to hike up and find out. Was this related to the fracturing ice inside the cave? Unsure! Unclear! Should any of us climbed after my partner finished the first climb? Probably not! Should I have taken the fact that it took seven tries to get my contacts in this morning as a sign and stayed home? Maybe! Who knows!

All I know is I think 10-25 F is a much more pleasant temperature to climb in and maybe we should climb somewhere else for a while.

#climbing tag #my god. 1300 word trip report

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evangelifloss · 1 day ago

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Hey, I just red your amazing fight analysis and I want to know what you think about the scene where the bartender at the continental bar in the first movie says to John that he looks „vulnerable“. Do you think it’s the look in his eyes or the way he acts or moves ? (Which in my opinion look pretty normal) and how do you think John was before he left the business? Was he more cruel with his kills ?

I'm guessing you mean this scene, right? I hope so because I made this gif JUST for this ask since I LOVE what you've sent in. Thank you @persephone411 💖💖

To answer why the bartender picks up on John's vulnerability without him seemingly displaying any signals, I'll first and foremost use what I know of the later instalments regarding John's behaviour. And that is how much he speaks. Between movies 1 and 2, there's only a 15 word difference in regards to how many lines of dialogue he has (1st movie has 484, 2nd has 499) and for a movie that has a run time of 1 hour and 40-ish minutes, that's not alot of dialogue to begin with.

Take for example, Jack Sparrow from the 1st Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Reading through the script, I counted roughly 490 lines of dialogue from him and that movie has a runtime of 20 minutes LESS than John Wick 1!

So we know that John isn't a talker. Yet, when he finds himself back at the Continental bar, and reunites with the bartender who knows him very well, and given how familiar they are (her excitement at seeing him, a brief hug/cheek kiss) it becomes apparent that John is more... open. He doesn't just order a drink and say nothing else. He engages with her, and expresses, "She (helen) was more than I deserved." Which by all accounts expresses a softer side to John, an admission that he is not impervious to grief. Assassins don't do that. Retired he may still technically be, he is still in a room full of people who are NOT retired, who could overhear and see the man behind Baba Yaga. That sentimentality can get you killed in the Assassin world.

Secondly, his face is sporting a few rough marks, and I very much doubt John the Baba Yaga would show himself at the Continental bar sporting proof he can be injured.

As my final thought, for me personally, it's his tone and his eyes that give away his grief. His inner turmoil that will eventually overflow into a bloody tsunami. The micro-movements of his face as he pauses, when he looks away, and even when he greets her, the man is Tired. The man is not at this point in time, the Baba Yaga.

The second part of your ask is very interesting because we have almost next to nothing to go off of! No prequels (thank god) and barely any direct Lore other than what others speak about John which ironically, is missing direct context which leaves us viewers to speculate.

The John we know is the old John. The grieving John. The Man. We get glimpses of what he used to be, and how characters react upon hearing his name but we never get the Baba Yaga. Not entirely.

Continuing off this, my personal speculation is that John wasn't a vicious killer. He was an incredibly efficient one. You can buy time with a sadist if you are able to withstand them long enough for help to arrive but you cannot do the same towards someone whose only goal is to kill you on sight. As quickly as possible. And that someone also happens to be the best of the best. Combine those two skills and I think that is what makes Baba Yaga so terrifying to those in the underworld. It was enough for Viggo, head of a massive Russian syndicate, to go silent upon hearing the name despite knowing John had been retired for 5 years!!

On another note, and this barely gets touched upon but throughout the movie you come to know that for such a silent and deadly killer, John has a weird amount of people willing to die for him.

The High Table actively discourages and creates a continually hostile environment amongst assassins so that bonds and genuine alliances/friendships can't begin nor be maintained and yet... look how many people are willing to so far for John.

This speaks to the level of respect and integrity John must have to simultaneously be a deadly killer AND to not be hated by everyone.

He does his job well but he is not cruel. He will not endanger unrelated persons if he can help it, he is sincere and loyal.

It's why the High Table fuckin hates him.

#its 4am and i wrote this up for like the past hour and a half #sorry if its jumbled #thank you for thr ask omg #john wick #wickblr #keanuverse #keanu reeves #viggo tarasov #jw #chad stahelski #winston #john wick winston #ian mcshane #the continental #the high table

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canirove · 1 day ago

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Canary boy | Chapter 8

Previous chapter | Next chapter (coming out on Friday)

Masterlist

It's been two weeks since the Halloween party.

And now you may be wondering, oh my God, what has happened between Inés and Pedri since then? Have they talked about what happened while they were dancing? About what he said? Did she speak with Carla the next morning? Did she get too angry? Are they still friends?

Well, yes, we still are friends. And yes, she got a bit angry.

Once we got home from the party we didn't say much. I was still a bit shaken by what had happened, so she just helped me get out of my dress and we went to bed. But in the morning, while we were having breakfast, I told her everything. From Pedri not telling me who he was, to me finding out, getting a bit tipsy because of Nacho's fault, and all the touching and kissing neck and cleavage that came after plus what he confessed while my hand was there, and then when he told me about breaking up with Nerea and the swimming pool accident. And her reactions were different intonations of the same “oh my God, Inés!” than went from “what the fuck is wrong with you”, to “what the fuck I can't believe it”, and everything in between.

But in the end, everything was and is good between us. She still can't believe the hand part, loves reminding me about the tits kissing like she calls it and making my face turn bright red, keeps telling me to be careful because things could still get messy and she doesn't want him to break my heart, but at the same she doesn't forget about what Nacho said. About everyone knowing that I like Pedri and that he feels the same for me. That he likes me back.

“They say kids and drunks always tell the truth, Inés” Carla had said.

But we are talking about Nacho. He isn't the most trustworthy person. Though he and Pedri are really close, so could he have confessed something to him?

Then there is what Vic told me before the party, all that thing about the connection we have and Nerea being jealous of it, me maybe being in love with him…

And oh, yes. Since all that wasn't confusing enough already, we need to add football to the mix.

We've been playing back to back games and barely having any free time since the Champions League is back. It's been all about training, playing, resting, traveling… There hasn't been time for much else, not even to see Pedri and have that very much needed chat.

But today may be the day that changes.

It is my last game with Barça before the international break, which means that those of us who haven't been called up will have some time to breathe and relax for a bit. He is coming to watch us play, and then we are going to my place and making dinner together.

So maybe… Since we have this joke about only asking personal questions while cooking or cleaning for the other… I'll be brave enough and ask him about the party. About what happened between us. About what it meant.

Or maybe I will chicken out and stay confused as hell for two more weeks. Make your bets.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“You know, if life as a journalist doesn't work, you can always open a restaurant, Pedri. This is the best thing I've ever eaten.”

“Thank you” he smiles. “Though maybe you should try eating it a bit slower?”

“I can't. This is fucking delicious” I say, filling my mouth with more food.

“Do it for me, Inés. I don't want our first kiss to be me performing CPR on you because you are choking.”

“What?”

“See?” Pedri chuckles when half of what I had in my mouth falls to the plate, the other threatening to go the wrong way. Such a lady, Inés…

But did you hear what he just said? Like, did you? Our first… Holy shit.

“So… Umm…” I say when I manage to properly swallow. “I have something for you. Like an early birthday present.”

“Inés, you didn't have to get me anything.”

“It's nothing. Wait here while I go get it, ok?” I say, getting up from my seat.

“I'm not going anywhere, I promise” he smiles.

“Like I said, it's nothing” I say when I'm back, my hand shaking a bit when I give him the envelope with his present.

“A Spider-Man birthday card?” he laughs.

“It fits you. You wore the suit the other day, saved someone's life, Pedro in English is Peter…” I shrug. My other option was one that said “happy birthday, hot stuff”, but we aren't there yet. “The present is inside.”

“Ok…” he says, opening it while I bite my lip. Why is he doing it so slowly? “Inés!” Pedri gasps. “This… you… I… I can't accept this.”

“Of course you can! It's a present!”

“Inés, it is a plane ticket to Tenerife. No, it actually is two since there is one to go there and one to come back to Barcelona.”

“I know.”

“This isn't cheap. I know it better than anyone.”

“But I can afford it, Pedri. I already told you this is nothing. And this isn't me bragging about having money or shaming you because you don't have enough or…” Focus, Inés. Focus. “It's just that you sounded so gutted the other day when you told me that you couldn't spend your birthday with your parents and celebrate their anniversary, that I… I… I didn't like seeing you like that. I don't like seeing you like that, Pedri. So if I can do something to make you smile again, to make you happy, I will” I say, my eyes focused on my hands. Did I just say all that to him? Aloud? Oh… my God.

“Inés…” he says, getting up from his seat. “Inés, look at me” he says again, holding my chin and making me look at him. Have I ever mentioned that he has the most beautiful brown eyes ever? “You don't know how much this means to me. I… Thank you. Thank you very much” Pedri says, his voice cracking a bit before hugging me.

“You're welcome” I whisper as I hug him back, daring to move one of my hands and caress the back of his head, something that makes him hug me tighter as he buries his face on my neck. And he… He is… Oh my God. He is crying. I've made him cry, I… “Sorry.”

“What?” he says, looking up.

“I've made you cry, Pedri. I wanted to make you happy and I've made you cry. I am so stupid…”

“These aren't sad tears, Inés” he smiles, wiping them away. “They are the happiest I've shared in a long time.”

“They… what?”

“This is one of the best birthday gifts I've ever received. I would say the best, but that probably is Iniesta’s Barça shirt when I was a kid” he chuckles.

“I mean, he won us the World Cup. I can't compete with that.”

“You actually could, you know? Even beat it. You just have to come to Tenerife with me” he smiles.

“What?” I laugh. “Wait, you are serious.”

“Deadly serious. Come with me, Inés.”

“Pedri, I…”

“You are going to have some free days because of the international break, aren't you?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then come with me” he says, putting a lock of hair behind my ear, the feeling of his fingers touching me not helping with the way my head is spinning.

“I can't, Pedri. Like, you just broke up with Nerea. You can't show up a few days later in front of your parents with a new girl.”

“I never told them about her.”

“You… what?” I say, my eyes definitely looking as if they are about to pop from their sockets.

“Yeah” he shrugs. “They knew that I was seeing someone, but I didn't tell them anything else, if it was serious or not. Only Fer and some of my cousins who follow me on Instagram knew that we were actually dating.”

“And didn't she ask you to meet them?”

“No” he shrugs again.

“But you were together for almost three years, Pedri. Did you at least meet her parents?”

“I did.”

“And judging by your face, it didn't go well.”

“It didn't, no” he sighs. “We met a couple of times, and I always got the feeling that they thought I wasn't enough for their daughter. Like, her grandfather on her mum's side was a duke or something like that, and the one on her dad's owned a bank in Switzerland. Meanwhile, my parents run a small bar and need to save for months in advance to be able to visit their son.”

“Money doesn't make you a better person, Pedri.”

“I know but… nevermind” he says, shaking his head. “That's in the past now.”

“And it is their loss. Because you are so worth it…” I say, caressing his cheek. “And just judging by what you've told me about your parents, so are they. Nerea's parents wish they had a family like yours and a relationship and love like your parents do.”

“Thank you” he smiles. “But does this mean that you will come meet them?” he asks, his smile turning into a teasing one. “If they are so worth it…”

“I…” Damn it. He's got me there. “But what will you tell them? That I am just a friend?”

“Yeah” he shrugs. Ouch. “Come with me, Inés” Pedri says, closing the space between us a bit more, my heart starting to beat even faster than it already was. “Let me show you my home, the city where I grew up and my favourite places, introduce you to the people I love, to my childhood friends… Let me show you a side of me you haven't seen yet. The canary boy like Carla calls me.”

“Wait, you know about that?”

“Mario told me” he laughs. “C'mon, Inés. Say yes.”

“Pedri…”

“Say yes, please” he says, moving even closer. “Don't make me cheat and do my pouty face. I know you can resist it.”

I mean, who can? Like… those lips? Urgh.

“Inés…”

“Ok, fine. Fine, I'll go.”

“Really?” he says, his smile growing by the second.

“Yes. I will go to Tenerife with you.”

“Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

“Pedri!” I laugh when he lifts me in the air and starts spinning around. “You are gonna make me dizzy!”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry” he says, putting me down. “I'm sorry. But thank you, Inés. This is gonna be the best trip ever. Thank you.”

“You're welcome” I reply, finding myself smiling as big as he is and even getting excited about it. Though at the same time, there is a part of me that is freaking out because I'm about to meet his family, all while another can't let go of the fact that he said he is going to introduce me as just a friend. Which it is what we are but… What about everything that happened at the party? About what we did and what he said? Did it mean nothing? Did I dream it all?

“Should we finish our dinner?” he says, letting go of me.

“Yes, of course” I nod before sitting down.

“You are going to love Tenerife, Inés. I promise you” Pedri says, still smiling.

“Yeah” I say before starting to eat again.

Let's just hope I don't regret it all.

#pedri #pedri gonzalez #pedri x reader #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri fanfic #pedri gonzalez fanfic #pedri imagine #pedri gonzalez imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 days ago

Note

If Jungkook really could cum 8(!) times, how do you switch it up between orgasms? Do you pick a different position each time? And what do you do during refractory periods?

Sex is a collaboration. All parties are to contribute. If not, well, that's just masturbation with somebody there. I'm not one for plans, as I believe that takes the fun out of sex, but more importantly this type of question implies that I lack consideration and perception of what he would want, which isn't true. I don't know Jungkook personally but I do respect him as a person with his own desires.

No, it would not matter if I was the dom. No, it would not matter if he gave consent to me having full control of his entire body. People are not tools for my own pleasure. People are people. Even gagged, tied-up, and unable to hear me. It doesn't matter. It is my responsibility to listen. The body talks. I will know he can do it even if he says he can't. I will not pressure him to do something he doesn't want to do even if I think he physically can. Those are two different things and it is important to be able to discern so before engaging in power play.

Also, want to make it clear that I don't expect him to have multiple orgasms just because I like it. I actually don't have any expectations. He could tell me he's a virgin and I would enjoy teaching him from the ground up. (Honestly, that would be much easier than unlearning any bad habits.) Sex is like any other activity - you need to practice to excel at specifics. People have ceilings, too. I could practice basketball every day for 10 years and I would still be ass at it. Likewise, if JK asked me to help him nut as many times as he possibly could, I would absolutely get him there over repeated instances. But I'm not gonna whip out every trick in the book and push him to his limit the first time we intend to fuck because 1) that's intimidating, 2) his dick couldn't handle it, 3) he couldn't handle it, and 4) I wanna enjoy too, lol.

There's no "do xyz, it works every time" because it won't. The realistic answer is, depends. The positions? Depends on how we're feeling. Variety is the most reasonable answer. But what if we want to test how many times I can make him cum with my mouth? Or what if he wants as much pussy as his dick can handle? What to do during refractory periods also depends on how things worked out that day. Sometimes you spend the time in between cleaning up a bit. Sometimes you don't care and stick to each other like sticky rice. Sometimes there's no stop and you keep going. If he wants to do it and can do it, I will make it happen. The individual actions matter little as they are completely circumstantial. I won't outline a step-by-step process because there isn't one. You just do what is right in the moment. We all have preferences but I think it's equally important to be adaptable. Read body language and respond to it. Not only for another, but also yourself. Attune to the moment, not just what you know or what you aspire to be.

There's no formula. When I first started having sex, I too had a idea of standard procedure. Maybe some can be satisfied with that but I quickly found it intrusive. I abandoned such a concept. Passion cannot be contained in a plan. People change on the day, in years, over their lifetime. The best sex happens when you're in the moment. I already know what they want before they know they want it because I'm listening to their body. Not just sound, but also reaction to touch, mood, tension. I honed intuition by paying attention to what is in front of me rather than getting lost in my own ambitions.

I never say, "I'm going to make you orgasm eight times." I simply ask afterward, "How many times did you orgasm?" And he wheezes out, "Eight," before collapsing while I think BTS is seven though, maybe he squeezed out the last one for me?

#wiyllt #whatifyoulivelikethat

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rivetgoth · 2 days ago

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hi do you have any music recs for somebody who's trapped in the industrial rock/metal (kmfdm, nin, etc) cycle and wants to explore more lesser known and weird industrial artists?

Yesssss of course! I’ll try to list some artists I think would directly interest you based on your liking industrial rock. Hopefully this isn’t too much, for each band I’ll link a song from an album I’d recommend starting with :) I’m also not sure how much you know BEYOND the two bands you listed so if these are really obvious and you already know them I’m sorry 😭🙏

My immediate biased answer right now is Foetus because I’ve been obsessed recently. If you like the rock elements of industrial rock I genuinely think Foetus is perfectly accessible but he’s also so deranged and theatrical. Raymond Watts of KMFDM would collaborate with him and honestly once you get into Foetus you realize how much of Raymond’s early stuff is just directly taking inspo lol. Check out the album Nail.

I don’t know from the list you gave if you listen to Skinny Puppy or not, if you don’t you definitely should though. Incredibly important to the formation of what would become industrial rock and also my favorite band of all time. Trent even directly sampled the Skuppy song “Dig It” for “Down In It.” I’d specifically recommend checking out The Process (the most industrial rock of their discography) or Rabies (the most metal—they collaborated with Al Jourgensen of Ministry for it!) to start in your case.

The cool thing with industrial is so many of the older bands are all connected once you go back a bit, so if you find yourself liking a certain artist you can start exploring who they’ve worked with and a whole world of music opens up to you. Two early Skinny Puppy collaborators are The Legendary Pink Dots and Severed Heads. Both of those are also all time favorites and they can really shift your sense of what industrial music is and means because they sound very different from what industrial would become over time. Both formed between 1979-1980. Two favorites from them (off albums that I think are the best starting points!):

Going back a bit further, for the early pioneers I think you’d enjoy Einstürzende Neubauten and Cabaret Voltaire. Both of them were involved from the very beginning of the development of the genre and everything that came after them is in part thanks to them (as well as the other pioneers, but I’m trying not to overwhelm and I think these guys are really good starting points). You can really hear their influence if you trace the progression of the genre from them to the bands they worked with. Start with Neubauten’s Haus Der Lüge since that’s their most well known, & I’d say Cabaret Voltaire’s Code is a good balance between their very experimental early stuff and their most synthpop later stuff.

Of course I do think it’s worth checking out Throbbing Gristle if you haven’t. They’re the OG OGs that actually named the genre and everything. They are significantly less accessible and might not as quickly be your thing but imo they are worth knowing about so you can really hear where it all comes from. Maybe this is just my own preference but I feel like going back through the history and watching the progression and evolution of all of this was a huge part of what made me fully fall in love with the industrial genre and all of its weirdness. It made it feel like such a full and lively subculture of so many different people taking direct inspiration from each other over the years. Coil and SPK as well.

(SPK has very little on Spotify so a Bandcamp link it’ll be, and I’d recommend starting with Coil’s Horse Rotorvator which is not on Spotify but IS on YouTube, though one of the songs IS on Spotify…. lol)

What I basically gave you is a very very quick descent from 90s industrial rock to the beginning of the genre, obviously give or take a couple hundred bands lmao. I guess to me the best thing to do when you’re looking into these genres is to get deeper into the history of ‘em. There’s nothing wrong with preferring bands like NIN or KMFDM to bands like SPK and Throbbing Gristle, but I think it can really deepen your relationship to the former to at least know about the latter and what they sounded like and were doing.

I’m out of song links I’m allowed for a single post but I’ll also share a handful of other bands you can check out:

Nocturnal Emissions (start with Viral Shedding)

Fad Gadget (start with Fireside Favorites; Tovey was influential for both industrial and goth!)

Babyland (I’ve just recently been listening to them more, check out You Suck Crap)

Lead Into Gold (the solo project of Ministry’s Paul Barker, extremely good both old and new material, check out The Sun Behind the Sun)

If you haven’t yet just in general check out Wax Trax! Records because NIN and KMFDM were directly working with all those guys and that label put out some of the greatest music of all time. Ministry I assume you know if you like industrial metal but you gotta listen through Ministry’s discography starting from Twitch to Filth Pig, Revolting Cocks’ first two albums, My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult, Front 242, Nitzer Ebb, Die Warzau, they’re not actually Wax Trax! but Electric Hellfire Club… etc. That’s obviously a lot of names and might be a bit more overwhelming but just starting with one and going thru who each band member has worked with will open up a MASSIVE world of music.

Umm or disregard all that and if you truly want weird music just listen to Caroliner.

^picture of their stageshow

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dcdreamblog · 2 days ago

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So I’m a little confused about the hero(?) called vigilante, he seems to be both a cowboy themed crime fighter and a violent psychopath in a power rangers suit. Are they different guys? Do they have any connection outside of the name?

They most certainly do not, the connection between Golden Age hero Greg Saunders and ANY of the murderers and sociopaths who have taken the name Vigilante after him is nonexistent and, in fact, any attempts to claim legitimacy from him are strongly condemned by Saunders.

(The portrait of Saunders currently on display at the Country Music Hall of Fame in Nashville, TN)

By now everyone on this blog should know Saunders. The son of a Wyoming lawman killed by criminal elements he took up the tools of the cowboy's trade and became a scourge to criminals from the Mississippi to the coast. He served with the 7 Soldiers of Victory and the All Star Squadron before being lost to time just after WWII, only recovered by an early case of the JLA. He has since mostly retired, married and settled down to a quiet life running a chain of western restaurants and serving as elected sheriff of a small town on the Mexican border.

(A photograph of Adrian Chase as Vigilante, firing back at pursuing police officers during an on foot chase) The man I believe you are referring to is disgraced former Manhattan judge and district attorney Adrian Chase. Originally a popular opponent to the city's organized crime he suffered a nervous breakdown after the death of his wife and children in a mob hit. Adopting the masked identity of the Vigilante he sought to mete out his own brand of justice across the big apple. He was a murderer. A mass murderer at that. A serial killer in every name but publicity. His body count stands at at least 300, most likely more, including at least two police officers. 35% of his victims had never been convicted of any crime. 15% had never been held in suspicion of one. Some people call Adrian Chase a controversial figure. I don't. Whether you like it or not, here is the unquestionable truth: Chase's actions did not eradicate the mafia in New York City. His activities made no significant statistical difference in crime rates. The guilt or innocence of many of his victims cannot be conclusively proven and less than 20% of his victims were ever under suspicion of a capital crime in the first place. Leaving ASIDE the fact that New York is a state with no death penalty by the will of its own population. The men he killed were criminals, people insist. I am educated and empathetic enough to know that crime, and organized crime in particular, are born out of poverty. Men and women from impoverished neighborhoods finding the only way out from under the system's boot. It is not a dragon you can slay, it's a side effect of a broken system. There is a REASON superheroes don't kill, even back to literal Nazi saboteurs in WWII. Because as of now we do not live in a society where we are meant to CHEER men in masks deciding who is allowed to live and who is supposed to die behind some condemned building in the dark. And I will never consent to living in a society where that is the case, especially when the victims of this kind of top down self righteousness on the part of a man who was meant to uphold and respect the rule of our laws and the rights of its accused will ALWAYS target those who are poor, marginalized or unwell above ANYONE else. My only regret in the life of Adrian Chase is that he managed to commit suicide before he could be publically arrested. Chase has been directly responsible as inspiration for at least 7 copycat killers, 2 following directly in the wake of his persona, 2 who are tied to the infamous mercenary hitman Deathstroke by the FBI, one in Metropolis, one in Gotham and one who is still currently at large in Los Angeles. I pray only that he is caught, unmasked and convicted before a jury of his peers. And that the families of those who any of these serial killers passed their "judgement" upon might someday find peace.

#dc #dcu #dc comics #dc universe #superhero #comics #tw unreality #unreality #unreality blog #ask game #ask blog #asks open #please interact #worldbuilding #vigilante #greg saunders #adrian chase

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rainy19days · 9 minutes ago

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This is exactly what I've been thinking too. He Tian knows that Guan Shan is hurt but it's so typical of him too to hide his own true feelings behind a smile and fake nonchalace. We can see him poking and prodding at Guan Shan to admit he missed him and still has feelings for him. Even when Guan Shan finally snaps at him and says he would've already forgotten about him long ago if he didn't come back He Tian calls his bluff, he knows Guan Shan says it to hurt him, to push him away. But then happy go lucky He Tian is back with his teasing and only when he sees the evidence of Guan Shan keeping him in his memory (with all the hurt proved by the covered face) it's like he wasn't actually ready to be faced with what he kinda asked for. Maybe he expected Guan Shan to just say the words "yeah, I missed you chicken dick" in an angry manner and imagined they would simply make up then and live happily ever after. Little did he know, though, Guan Shan had been mourning their relationship all this time and now He Tian has to deal with the consequences of his absence as well as the severity of the pain it caused. Perhaps also realizing that his unserious attitude hasn't been helping in mending things between them all this time since he came back.

I love how you mentioned that Guan Shan doesn't hate He Tian because I see lots of people being confused or straight up upset about their dynamic in this future timeline, saying how Guan Shan's attitude doesn't make sense and that the two of them haven't made any real progress, therefore it's boring or Old Xian can't decide where they stand.

I don't know if those people ever dealt with relationship problems that are complex and multilayered and breaking up is not an obvious option. Where your heart got broken but you still love the person who hurt you. And sometimes they hurt you unintentionally. And you want to forgive them and deep in your heart you want to spend the rest of your life with them but heartbreak is not just hurt feelings. It's a broken trust. It's a broken self esteem. It breaks you in many different ways. So you love them and don't want them out of your life and you keep them close but certain situations trigger your fears, reminding you why your heart got broken and you suddenly snap at the most random moments, asking yourself if you can go on like this, unable to stop clinging to the past and reminiscing about the time you tried to mend your shattered heart... Wondering if it's possible to ever forgive and you're so ready to push them away cause the pain is too much at times and you wish you could just forget them. But then you remember why you fell in love with them in the first place and they're still the same person you fell in love with, they just made one mistake... So you make an effort to live in the present, you give them another chance, until the past creeps in on you and you snap again...

Healing is never linear. There are better days and worse days. We can't expect Guan Shan to instantly forgive and forget all the hurt even if he hangs out with He Tian and lets himself have some tender moments with the other. I imagine every day is a battle for him, on one hand there's his pride and hurt and maybe wish for He Tian to acknowledge it, on the other there's his undeniable love for He Tian that he can't ignore.

I hope the realization He Tian was hit with is going to make him drop the easygoing act and face Guan Shan seriously with an apology and explanation. I hope that instead of waiting for Guan Shan to admit his feelings He Tian will approach him and validate his feelings first.

this update is devastating for obvious reasons but there's something else I've been thinking about all day

yes, the box is a confirmation that guan shan considered he tian an important person in his life and that he never really moved on after he tian left. that realization is hard-hitting, but my god, there's another underlying component that makes this discovery especially emotional to me

after spending a lifetime in isolation (a deliberate choice for self-preservation btw), he tian now has physical, undeniable evidence that someone cares/cared for him. and not just the idea of him, not the physicality of him (guan shan literally covered his face with tape), but just him and the time they spent together

I imagine this realization must feel like if someone approached you in a quiet and windowless room and said, "there's a bad rainstorm happening outside." you would trust/understand what they're conveying and you'd have an idea of what a 'bad storm' entails. you'd say, "oof, that sucks, hopefully it lets up soon."

but if you actually got up and walked outside and felt the rain pelting your face like bullets and saw trees getting uprooted in the wind and streets flooding with swells of water and roofs getting torn off houses and streetlights shattered and collapsed in the intersections, you'd backpedal and think, "oh shit. I didn't know it was this bad."

that's what I think he tian might be experiencing in those last few panels.

during their school days, guan shan eventually started showing how much he cared about he tian. he tian trusted and understood what guan shan was trying to convey, and he got a taste of what it was like to care for someone and be cared for by someone. he sampled what it’s like to be important to someone, and to be seen by someone in both the dark and the light

but now, years later, opening that (bittersweet) memory box is like the equivalent of walking into the rainstorm. during the entire time he was gone, he tian was hoping that guan shan still remembered/missed him. he knew his absence probably hurt him, but since he wasn’t there to witness the aftermath, he only had an idea of what that hurt looked like. but his hope about guan shan’s feelings wasn't certain and it definitely wasn't verifiable. he tian had an idea of what ‘guan shan cared for me’ and ‘we shared something special’ meant. but, really, he only had memories and his own interpretation of those memories. nothing physical, nothing tangibly conclusive or outright

but now the rain feels like bullets and there’s devastation in knowing that the damage is significant — but somehow there’s also the touching revelation that he tian is lovable and capable of being wanted and missed. it is possible for someone to see the worst sides of him and endure the awful heartbreak he puts them through and still think he’s worth missing/grieving. he risked his self-preservation and the payoff was the best and worst thing that ever happened to him

the box and the layers of torn tape show that guan shan hates what he tian did to him but he doesn’t hate he tian. he kept and memorialized every significant memento in their relationship, even if he did it with some anger or reluctance. this is truly the best-case scenario, yet it’s also a wounding reminder about the time lost and the pain inflicted

at the end of the day, it just hurts

#sorry for this long ass ramble #I love the metaphor you used in your analysis #the realization certainly crashed over him like a heavy storm #now it's in his hands to make things right #19 days analysis

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thewhizzyhead · 3 months ago

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if I had a nickel for every musical I've been sucked into that featured a main ensemble of at least 8 women, with two of those girls ending up dead/arrested, and another one being falsely accused of murder but ends up getting acquitted in the end, I'd have two nickels! Which isn't a lot! But it's weird that it happened twice!

#and if i had a peso for every musical that fits the above description tHAT ALSO happens to have two girls (one of which is grieving)#(and the other being a newbie to the group)#iD ALSO HAVE TWO PESOS!!!#for the uninitiated i'm talking about the warriors album #and we are the tigers #if i go crazy enough i'll draw even mORE parallels between the two drastically different shows #and i'll have more than 2 nickels!#warriors album #warriors musical #we are the tigers #watt musical #(for wattblr peeps that don't know warriors and vice versa - please do check the both of them out)#(both works are so so good like there are reasons why those two led to the proliferatikn of my long ass rambles)#fuck i still ramblr about watt to this day and i've been in wattblr since dec 2021!#*addition to the first tag: said girls that END UP TOGETHER

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crownedwille · 10 months ago

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I've come to the conclusion that loving young royals doesn't mean I can't be critical about it, maybe especially bc I love the show so much I have such strong feelings about it, good and bad and I can love parts of canon and agree with it and appreciate it but I don't have to love it all. I have accepted that it's okay if I don't accept the ending and I don't have to force myself to support it. It's okay to not agree with all of canon and it's okay to not side with all of the creators' intentions/views. Loving a show doesn't mean you have to take everything the writers say on face value and that's the only version that is allowed to exist. Canon isn't everything and fandom is about curating your own experience that makes you happy and not miserable. You don't have to dismiss canon in every aspect and ignore it entirely, that's certainly not what I want but there is a fine line between being canon respectful, allowing some parts to exist and sometimes, yes, you just have to say "fuck canon" and move on for your own sanity and wellbeing

#yrtalk #young royals #personal #especically in the first two weeks of a new release everyone is feelings lots of intense emotions ranging from ecstatic to angry #everything in between is a part of it and i know i'm also feeling very strongly about it right now #i always try to stay levelheaded and rational and see things from an objective pov and be diplomatic about discourse #i don't want any of what i say drift off too much into meaningless hate instead of the constructive criticism it's supposed to be #but when you feel so strongly about something and sometimes you really just wanna say yeah i fucking hate it lol #but i always try to explain why and give understandable arguments and not just blindly hate on something #for example - I'm aware there are fans who have some problems with s2 and don't love the season whereas i do and it's my fave #and there is a difference between expressing some criticism and justified concerns which you can understand where it comes from #and those who are just like 'oh it's a horrible season. it was so shitty and we should get rid of it' which is dumb hate and just not true #and i can't support people like that and take them seriously #i can have my own issues with s3 from a subjective pov which can also include some justified criticism as well #but also still acknowledge it as a truly good piece of tv media and the quality is top notch #and that's why you have such high expectations and have critique because it is so good and sets such a high standard #with that being said i understand ppl not wanting to see any critic about it if they are riding the high of happy wilmon endgame #but that doesn't mean that i can't express my own opinions on my own blog and i will continue to do so #and maybe one day i will feel differently and accept or even like the ending who knows #but it doesn't have to happen. it's fine if it does but it's also fine if it doesn't

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hurtmyfavsthanks · 1 year ago

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Whumptember day 10

“What are you doing to them?” Brainwashed | Hanging from their wrists | Phone call

It felt like their brain was vibrating. All they could hear or feel was an endless buzzing, like all their atoms were trying to pull apart from one another. It was overwhelming, muffling any sensations from the outside world. They couldn't hear, they couldn't think. Their brain was vibrating.

It’d hurt, before. Or they thought it had. They couldn’t remember much before the buzzing had started, but they remembered struggling against the feeling. Had they fought because it hurt? Because it was bad? They didn't remember.

They didn’t struggle now. They didn’t know how, when the entire world was vibrating.

It was like bees had taken residence in their skull; not to harm it, but to reshape it. Everything useless was tossed away, the gaping holes being filled with honey. They’d fought to stop it, but then the memory of why they were fighting had been drowned in sticky sweetness.

It was dizzying and disorienting, it put their teeth on edge, but they didn’t know if it hurt. They couldn’t know anything, not when their brain was vibrating.

They heard voices somewhere outside of their hive they’d become, distant and nearly drowned out.

“What…what is this? What are you doing to them?”

“Hero, you’re aware of our reformation project, yes? Villain is our first patient.”

Just barely, they could hear the voices approaching.

“I–So you’re what, brainwashing them? Is this ethical? Does it hurt?”

Yes, the thought bubbled through the buzzing, it does, please it–

”No, not at all. It’s entirely painless.”

–doesn’t hurt? No, it doesn’t, but didn’t it before? They weren’t sure anymore. The question was being thrown away alongside the other trash, swallowed up and drowned out. They quickly lost hold of it.

Something touched a distant part of their body, and it took a long moment for them to realize they were more than their buzzing skull. Something had been holding their arms aloft, and with a click, it released. They nearly fell forward without the support, but something wrapped around their face held them up, pulling at their scalp.

“Villain, can you hear me? It’s Hero,” The voice was back, closer, but still muffled by the chaos in their mind. It felt like the voice reminded them of something, but they didn’t know. The part of their brain that had known had been scooped out and replaced, leaving barely the shape of a memory.

Something clicked, the noise echoing in the mind, and the buzzing sharpened. They shivered at the sensation of their brain finally sitting still, the see of static shifting into an organized effort.

“Stand up,” The voice wasn’t muffled by the noise, it was the noise. The vibration was shaped by the words, speaking with power that they felt in their bones.

It was a relief, and they chased after that peace. They stood on legs they hardly remembered they had.

Something was moving on their head, whatever had been wrapped around their skull being removed. The world exploded into color, the change taking them a moment to adjust to. When they opened their eyes, two figures stood before them.

The vibrating was already coming back, their moment of peace fading. But then one of the figures clicked a button they held in their hands, and everything sharpened.

“Tell me, who are you and what do you want?”

They hadn’t known the answer seconds ago. They still didn’t know, and yet the truth formed in their mind. After the disorientating chaos, the confidence they felt at their answer was a comfort.

And outside of the angry hive Villain’s mind had become, Hero watched, a horrified onlooker, as their former foe’s face split with a vacant, dull-eyed smile.

“My name is Sidekick, and I want to help you in any way possible.”

#Honestly mind control is like wildly underused in whump #i know it's used a lot but still. underused #def a top 3 for me i should write it more #whump #whumptember day 10 #whumptember 2023 #day 10: “what are you doing to them?”/brainwashed/hanging from their wrists #villain whumpee #mind control whump #brainwashing whump #(still don't know the difference between those two)#forced reformation #hero #villain #my stuff #mind controlled villain #mind control

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zaffiri-saffici · 2 days ago

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"What I mean by proper is the narrative wrapping around them as lead female characters in the WLW ship and there is epic adventure after epic adventure constantly revolving around these characters and their love story."

I don't know a lot of shows that fit this category, unfortunately, but I'll do my best to offer some context on how I view WLW rep and femslash ships.

There are a few shows and fandoms I am a part of that don't have good WLW rep by my own personal standards but whose ships I have fallen in love with regardless, and those things don't need to be mutually exclusive to me to enjoy them.

How do I define good WLW rep in media? Here are some of the things I reflect on during my watch:

Do the WLW characters have decent arcs and development individually and are not just dependent on each other for said character growth? Are the characters defined by more than just their sexuality? (there are great WLW options out there where the central story revolves around coming out, etc, and these can count too, but shouldn't be the whole focus for me)

Is the story being portrayed one I can connect with? Is it authentic?

If a trope is being used ("tragic lesbian" or "evil queer woman"), is it thoughtfully portrayed with a broader message to take from it, or is it simply a plot device?

Do the WLW characters have significant roles in the narrative, or are they reduced to sidekicks?

With this said, I can place the shows below into three categories: Bar Raising (they've met and exceeded these requirements and are either innovating or setting the bar for other media to follow), Bar Meeting (they've met the bar, but they didn't exceed it), and Bar Lowering (there was a bar and they flat out missed, but I still love it anyway). I'll try to list out the shows and recommendations that weren't already mentioned off the top of my head.

Bar Raising WLW Shows:

Xena Warrior Princess: I think we can all agree on this one and don't need to explain much but its worth mentioning for the sake of this post.

The Haunting of Bly Manor: Gothic love story featuring a central WLW relationship layered with themes of love, loss, and memory.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power: Animated adventure series. Slow-burn romance between Adora and Catra.

Orange is the New Black: Diverse queer rep exploring the lives and relationships in a woman's prison, including multiple WLW characters like Piper, Alex, and Poussey.

A League of Their Own: Reimagined from the film of the same name. Looks at the personal and professional struggles of women in baseball during the 1940s, with prominent queer storylines.

The Owl House: Animated series, a young girl stumbles into a magic world and forms a WLW relationship with a witch.

Arcane: Animation is just killing it with WLW rep, and this show is just another example of that. The Vi/Caitlyn bond grows organically through the story, balancing action, emotional depth, and mutual trust.

Yellowjackets: The show portrays multiple WLW relationships, particularly between Taissa and Van, both as teenagers and in their adult lives. Treats queerness as a natural part of the characters’ lives without making it their defining trait, focusing instead on their personalities, struggles, and survival dynamics.

Bar Meeting WLW Shows:

Killing Eve: Cat-and-mouse game between an agent and assassin with a complex and evolving relationship between the two WLW leads. They took the ending in a different direction of the books and I consider that an unfortunate creative decision that I disagree with. Still, the story was great.

The Legend of Korra: Follows the next Avatar as she navigates a new political landscape and growing tensions in the various elemental nations. Lots of subtext re: her and the other female character, Asami, but it's not a central theme of the plot.

The Wilds: Follows a group of teenage girls stranded on a deserted island. It's an honest look at young love and identity, but the show's cancellation left the show feeling unfulfilled.

Grey's Anatomy: The pioneering relationship between Callie and Arizona broke ground for WLW rep when it first aired (especially when their wedding happened later in the series), but it wasn't without its problems. The show is messy when it comes to relationships; it is notoriously known for breaking up or killing off its characters. Still, other WLW ships show up throughout, making it a decent experience, including in its most recent season.

Wheel of Time: A fantasy series and saga adaptation, it explores the WLW relationship between Moiraine Damodred and her partner, Siuan Sanche. Continues to influence their motivations through the second season and there is a season three soon to be released.

Warehouse 13: Decent WLW through canon bisexual character, H.G. Wells, though it falls short of explicitly exploring a romantic relationship between her and Myka. The subtext is still delicious, and I appreciate the show's progressive tone and nuanced characters.

Bar Lowering WLW Shows:

Once Upon a Time: The model for queerbait. Regina/Emma, Mulan/Aurora, even the Red/Dorothy one-episode romance we got was terrible. Don't think I need to explain much here, but I am wholly biased in that I still support the Regina/Emma pairing.

Rizzoli & Isles: Missed the bar completely but I love the ship.

The L Word: This one was really for the male gaze. I still enjoy it myself and will gladly rewatch, but it just felt inauthentic 80% of the time.

The 100: Classic "bury your gays". It was unnecessary and exploitative, as it occurred immediately after a moment of happiness.

Glee: WLW ship of Santana and Brittany wasn't central to the plot, but even when it was on screen it often fell into stereotypes and inconsistent writing. I was fairly young when it came out and don't remember much, but I do remember feeling like it was a plot device and not an authentic portrayal.

Supergirl: There were a lot of fans hoping for a Kara/Lena ship, but even with its actual canon WLW ship, the show spent too much time on Alex's coming out, only to dissolve her relationship with Maggie when she left the show.

Now, onto Agatha All Along. I know many Agathario fans will probably be mad at me for this, but even though the show didn't end on a happy note for Agatha and Rio's relationship, I would still put it in the Bar Raising WLW rep category.

The story starts and ends with Agatha and Rio, and there are queer characters beyond just the two mentioned above (see Jen and Alice, and of course, Billy). Rio makes her intentions clear in the very beginning what she is there to do. We know the ending from the moment she's on screen. Agatha Harkness is a murderous witch who has committed atrocities for centuries, and she needs to meet her end. She has a tragic past that makes her feel real and not just like another mustache-twirling villain, but she hasn't demonstrated that she wants to redeem herself, and I don't expect her to. I love her because she was written that way. She's not getting a redemption arc, and she likely won't until she is ready to face her son in the afterlife.

And intertwined with all of that is her relationship with Death, literally, romantically, and metaphorically. Grief is an underlying theme in both WandaVision and Agatha All Along, and this show further explores those themes by also adding commentary on death - that sometimes, it just happens without reason, as such is life. Agatha had to die. She could have met her end a number of ways, but she chose to go by reaffirming her love for Rio (see kiss of death) despite how toxic and messy their relationship got through the centuries.

She's still technically "alive " as a ghost, so maybe at some point, we'll see them revisit her redemption in a future MCU project, but I don't need that to have enjoyed AAA for what it was.

Personally, WLW rep doesn't have to culminate in a happy ending for the leads or the two women involved. I'm more interested in whether the story ends in a fulfilling matter and whether the journey feels fulfilling for the characters involved. AAA fits that bill for me. I can look at it and see that it was a great story with great characters and understand the creative decisions were justified. I would have done the same thing if I were in that writer's room.

I am queer. I am a woman. I want to see my lived experience on screen. I want complex, nuanced, and compelling storytelling--it doesn't need to be happy to be enjoyable. It just needs to feel fulfilling in what it's trying to do.

Give me queer villains who meet justifiable ends. Give me messy, nuanced characters. Give me soft, delicate women trying to find their way in the world. Give me all of it and everything in between, so long as it's telling a fulfilling story I can relate to.

Anyways, I will stop rambling on now. Hope this helps!

Watched all of ‘Agatha All Along’. The story was certainly interesting but the reason why I wanted to watch it wasn’t really given much focus. I mean aside from what they did to each other, it was pretty bland.

Oh well. Here’s to the next one.

To be honest - short-form just doesn’t really satisfy me.

It’s my own fault really. That’s more the problem than anything else. I keep expecting something really significant and I never get it. I need to lower them.

#agathario #wlw rep #wlw media

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