#600 followers challenge

[sirowsky]

Hey, babes!

Apparently, I'm just shy of 600 followers, and true to tradition, that means I'm doing another prompt challenge!

And since it's October, I thought of maybe turning this into a Halloween themed challenge? I mean, why not 😊

So, if you wanna help me celebrate:

Pick one or more of the prompts below, or make up your own.

Let me know if you have a specific Pedro character in mind, otherwise I'll pick whichever one I feel is the best fit.

Either comment on this post with your picks, or send me an ask.

My goal for this challenge will be to try and write short stories, 600 words or less, which I already know I'm gonna fail spectacularly at 🤣 but it'll be a good exercise anyway!

Thank you to everyone who follows me and/or reads my stories, I will love you forever whether I know you or not. ❤️

Now let's have some fun!

Did you hear that?

What's with all the candles?

You're supposed to carve the pumpkin, not crush it.

It's so dark outside...

Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust?

I want to believe.

I never should've listened to you.

Is that a carousel?

Don't go in there!

Did your brain fall out somewhere on the way home?

I don't know what happened.

How did you do that?

This is stupid...

Let's get the hell out of here.

I swear I'm not drunk.

God, that stinks!

Well, that's not worrying at all...

What happened to the toaster?

You scared the shit out of me!

Can we just go home and have sex now?

That's all I can think of right now, but like I said, feel free to hit me with whatever else you can come up with!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

You should be using an RSS reader

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

No matter how hard we all wish it were otherwise, the sad fact is that there aren't really individual solutions to systemic problems. For example: your personal diligence in recycling will have no meaningful impact on the climate emergency.

I get it. People write to me all the time, they say, "What can I change about my life to fight enshittification, or, at the very least, to reduce the amount of enshittification that I, personally, experience?"

It's frustrating, but my general answer is, "Join a movement. Get involved with a union, with EFF, with the FSF. Tell your Congressional candidate to defend Lina Khan from billionaire Dem donors who want her fired. Do something systemic."

There's very little you can do as a consumer. You're not going to shop your way out of monopoly capitalism. Now that Amazon has destroyed most of the brick-and-mortar and digital stores out of business, boycotting Amazon often just means doing without. The collective action problem of leaving Twitter or Facebook is so insurmountable that you end up stuck there, with a bunch of people you love and rely on, who all love each other, all hate the platform, but can't agree on a day and time to leave or a destination to leave for and so end up stuck there.

I've been experiencing some challenging stuff in my personal life lately and yesterday, I just found myself unable to deal with my usual podcast fare so I tuned into the videos from the very last XOXO, in search of uplifting fare:

https://www.youtube.com/@xoxofest

I found it. Talks by Dan Olson, Cabel Sasser, Ed Yong and many others, especially Molly White:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTaeVVAvk-c

Molly's talk was so, so good, but when I got to her call to action, I found myself pulling a bit of a face:

But the platforms do not exist without the people, and there are a lot more of us than there are of them. The platforms have installed themselves in a position of power, but they are also vulnerable…

Are the platforms really that vulnerable? The collective action problem is so hard, the switching costs are so high – maybe the fact that "there's a lot more of us than there are of them" is a bug, not a feature. The more of us there are, the thornier our collective action problem and the higher the switching costs, after all.

And then I had a realization: the conduit through which I experience Molly's excellent work is totally enshittification-proof, and the more I use it, the easier it is for everyone to be less enshittified.

This conduit is anti-lock-in, it works for nearly the whole internet. It is surveillance-resistant, far more accessible than the web or any mobile app interface. It is my secret super-power.

It's RSS.

RSS (one of those ancient internet acronyms with multiple definitions, including, but not limited to, "Really Simple Syndication") is an invisible, automatic way for internet-connected systems to public "feeds." For example, rather than reloading the Wired homepage every day and trying to figure out which stories are new (their layout makes this very hard to do!), you can just sign up for Wired's RSS feed, and use an RSS reader to monitor the site and preview new stories the moment they're published. Wired pushes about 600 words from each article into that feed, stripped of the usual stuff that makes Wired nearly impossible to read: no 20-second delay subscription pop-up, text in a font and size of your choosing. You can follow Wired's feed without any cookies, and Wired gets no information about which of its stories you read. Wired doesn't even get to know that you're monitoring its feed.

I don't mean to pick on Wired here. This goes for every news source I follow – from CNN to the New York Times. But RSS isn't just good for the news! It's good for everything. Your friends' blogs? Every blogging platform emits an RSS feed by default. You can follow every one of them in your reader.

Not just blogs. Do you follow a bunch of substackers or other newsletters? They've all got RSS feeds. You can read those newsletters without ever registering in the analytics of the platforms that host them. The text shows up in black and white (not the sadistic, 8-point, 80% grey-on-white type these things all default to). It is always delivered, without any risk of your email provider misclassifying an update as spam:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/10/dead-letters/

Did you know that, by default, your email sends information to mailing list platforms about your reading activity? The platform gets to know if you opened the message, and often how far along you've read in it. On top of that, they get all the private information your browser or app leaks about you, including your location. This is unbelievably gross, and you get to bypass all of it, just by reading in RSS.

Are your friends too pithy for a newsletter, preferring to quip on social media? Unfortunately, it's pretty hard to get an RSS feed from Insta/FB/Twitter, but all those new ones that have popped up? They all have feeds. You can follow any Mastodon account (which means you can follow any Threads account) via RSS. Same for Bluesky. That also goes for older platforms, like Tumblr and Medium. There's RSS for Hacker News, and there's a sub-feed for the comments on every story. You can get RSS feeds for the Fedex, UPS and USPS parcels you're awaiting, too.

Your local politician's website probably has an RSS feed. Ditto your state and national reps. There's an RSS feed for each federal agency (the FCC has a great blog!).

Your RSS reader lets you put all these feeds into folders if you want. You can even create automatic folders, based on keywords, or even things like "infrequently updated sites" (I follow a bunch of people via RSS who only update a couple times per year – cough, Danny O'Brien, cough – and never miss a post).

Your RSS reader doesn't (necessarily) have an algorithm. By default, you'll get everything as it appears, in reverse-chronological order.

Does that remind you of anything? Right: this is how social media used to work, before it was enshittified. You can single-handedly disenshittify your experience of virtually the entire web, just by switching to RSS, traveling back in time to the days when Facebook and Twitter were more interested in showing you the things you asked to see, rather than the ads and boosted content someone else would pay to cram into your eyeballs.

Now, you sign up to so many feeds that you're feeling overwhelmed and you want an algorithm to prioritize posts – or recommend content. Lots of RSS readers have some kind of algorithm and recommendation system (I use News, which offers both, though I don't use them – I like the glorious higgeldy-piggeldy of the undifferentiated firehose feed).

But you control the algorithm, you control the recommendations. And if a new RSS reader pops up with an algorithm you're dying to try, you can export all the feeds you follow with a single click, which will generate an OPML file. Then, with one click, you can import that OPML file into any other RSS reader in existence and all your feeds will be seamlessly migrated there. You can delete your old account, or you can even use different readers for different purposes.

You can access RSS in a browser or in an app on your phone (most RSS readers have an app), and they'll sync up, so a story you mark to read later on your phone will be waiting for you the next time you load up your reader in a browser tab, and you won't see the same stories twice (unless you want to, in which case you can mark them as unread).

RSS basically works like social media should work. Using RSS is a chance to visit a utopian future in which the platforms have no power, and all power is vested in publishers, who get to decide what to publish, and in readers, who have total control over what they read and how, without leaking any personal information through the simple act of reading.

And here's the best part: every time you use RSS, you bring that world closer into being! The collective action problem that the publishers and friends and politicians and businesses you care about is caused by the fact that everyone they want to reach is on a platform, so if they leave the platform, they'll lose that community. But the more people who use RSS to follow them, the less they'll depend on the platform.

Unlike those largely useless, performative boycotts of widely used platforms, switching to RSS doesn't require that you give anything up. Not only does switching to RSS let you continue to follow all the newsletters, webpages and social media accounts you're following now, it makes doing so better: more private, more accessible, and less enshittified.

Switching to RSS lets you experience just the good parts of the enshitternet, but that experience is delivered in manner that the new, good internet we're all dying for.

My own newsletter is delivered in fulltext via RSS. If you're reading this as a Mastodon or Twitter thread, on Tumblr or on Medium, or via email, you can get it by RSS instead:

https://pluralistic.net/feed/

Don't worry about which RSS reader you start with. It literally doesn't matter. Remember, you can switch readers with two clicks and take all the feeds you've subscribed to with you! If you want a recommendation, I have nothing but praise for Newsblur, which I've been paying $2/month for since 2011 (!):

https://newsblur.com/

Subscribing to feeds is super-easy, too: the links for RSS feeds are invisibly embedded in web-pages. Just paste the URL of a web-page into your RSS reader's "add feed" box and it'll automagically figure out where the feed lives and add it to your subscriptions.

It's still true that the new, good internet will require a movement to overcome the collective action problems and the legal barriers to disenshittifying things. Almost nothing you do as an individual is going to make a difference.

But using RSS will! Using RSS to follow the stuff that matters to you will have an immediate, profoundly beneficial impact on your own digital life – and it will appreciably, irreversibly nudge the whole internet towards a better state.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

[saintgoths]

ꜱᴍᴜᴅɢᴇᴅ ᴍᴀꜱᴄᴀʀᴀ

ADA WONG, BELA DIMITRESCU, ELLIE WILLIAMS AND LADY.

THANK YOU FOR 600+ FOLLOWERS NOW HERE'S SOME WLW ACTION.

WARNING - NASTY SEX, STRAP USING, BITING, TRIBBING, PUSSY EATING, MUMMY KINK, 69 AND SCISSORING.

P!LINKS!

ADA WONG

You hadn’t remembered the last time someone else had made you feel like this, and you had hated the fact that the only person who could reach so deep inside of you and have you craving for more was the same woman you had sworn off from not seeing.

Ada Wong.

The mystique, the enigma.

The woman you had an on and off relationship with, the same woman who’d leave for weeks without saying another word to you, disappear into the world as if she was mist, a woman made of the very same air you’d choke on whenever a thrust from the toy she had worn had pummelled deep inside of you, she had you in a twisted position, face down and your buttocks staring up at her while she smoothed her hands against your skin before she had left it with one last slap.

You had jerked once you had felt the connection, teary-eyed as the strap vibrated against your walls, you had shuddered and flinched every time you had felt the tip of the cock lick deeper inside of you, you didn’t know what you were saying and didn’t realise how much you had cried in bliss. Your mascara smudged and voice trembled as she pulled you into a fountain of orgasms, Ada’s voice talking to you as she purred how much of a good girl you were, always coming back to her and being the adorable pet, you had silently promised her to be.

“Yes!” You had foolishly cried out. “Yes!” You had now been vocal on how you had belonged to her, Ada had known that side of you would come out soon, how slick and tactful she was, as if she was in your mind stroking and egging you on to point out how much you were hers.

“Good girl, say it again for me, say that you’re mine,” Ada moaned as she could feel her high attempt to cut through her, she had tucked her bottom lip behind her teeth, the pearl of her cunt slick and swollen as the vibration of the adult toy pulsated and quivered against her skin, she had rolled her eyes back, her slender digits caught up in your hair as she pulled herself closer to her, her naked chest against your bare and glossy back as she continued to pump the cock inside of you.

Her lips quivered before it had been pressed against your shoulders, she had left sloppy kisses against the wings of your body while she could feel her motions become more jerked. “Ada!” You had cried out, “I’m gonna---oh!” You squealed as your cunt tightened around the object, your body had trembled while your nails dug into the damp bed sheets, as your back had arched deeply as your juices painted the cock, you could feel Ada’s teeth dig into your shoulder, leaving her mark as she muffled her cries, her cum staining the strap that she had pulled out of you.

She had rolled to her back as she released a big sigh while she turned off the strap, you had laid beside her, eyes trained on the ceiling that had dimly lit the area, arm above your head while you had barely looked at her, though, had been aware with how her dark eyes focused on you. “Gonna leave now?” You whispered and as kickback, you felt the way her body shuffled on bed, in thought that she was getting ready to leave, you had been surprised when she wrapped her left arm around your upper torso,

“No,” she replied as she left a kiss against the sharpness of your jaw. “I think I’m gonna stay.”

REFERENCE

BELA DIMITRESCU

She had stared up at you, fingers stiff against your hips while her eyes glinted in a humour that had challenged you, she had known what you had wanted, what you had desired and she had brief moments of giving it to you, and you were so close to it. As if you were a naïve child pointing your hand towards the sun claiming you almost caught it, dominance.

Her citrine coloured eyes had been shadowed as the slick wetness of both of your cunts had shaded above each other, you had licked the back of your lower teeth, you had known she had also wanted it, wanted you to dominate her the way she’d handle you, so you had taken it, had pressed yourself against her, and had watched the way she had moved.

Bela didn’t close her eyes but you saw the way her eyes adjusted as she held back a moan. So, you had leaned forward and kissed her, both of your blood-stained mouths mixed with each other as the sweet aroma of the scarlet liquid had trembled a moan out of her. You had been smooth with the way you wrapped your hand around her neck, there had been a soft heat, as if fire had been slowly melting an ice cave, you had slipped your tongue inside of your mouth and she had gasped, her hands slipped to your buttocks.

You had moved yourself forward and as an echo the slimy and sticky sounds of both of your mixed nectar had been pronounced, she had shuddered, there had been a small fight in her as she gently bucked her hips forward, but you had pressed her down while you had kissed her hard. A high moaned had passed through her lips as you had begun to pick up the pace, her eyes now shut as she had taken in the pleasure that had shifted between her thighs, she had squealed in your mouth as your swollen pearls circled around each other, and once she had tilted her head back, you had attacked her neck with kisses.

You had nibbled and sucked as you could feel her tight cunt throb against yours. “Yes, right there!” She cried out, her moans reflected against the walls, her cries in scales higher compared to her natural tone, thus you had smirked, you had been rough, but there was still an essence of care with the way you had touched her, the way your hands cupped her breasts and circled her inflamed nipples as her back drowned against the bed, she had shook against you and her positioned her hearth in a better angle, she had wanted more, she had wanted it harder, and you saw it with the way she had looked at you.

With much lust and hunger, you had now had both hands wrapped around her throat as you continued to fuck her. “Like that baby?” You had questioned, your inquire enough to have her look at you with doe eyes, eyes she would barely look people with, just for you.

“G’nna cum! Oh baby! Oh!” She screamed as she curled her toes, “Gonna cum!” She echoed as her juices squirted out, her nectar had drenched the both of you, aimed in distances she’d never thought she could do, you had continued to move, adamant to let her go you had chased for your high and pulled your head backwards as you had grunted in inconsistent patterns while Bela continued to cry in bliss under you. “Yes!” She quivered as she could feel herself release one last time, with you, she had orgasmed again before she collapsed her limbs against her bed.

You had smiled while you pulled your used cunt away from her, had pressed your mouth against hers before you had spoken. “On a scale from one to ten, how angry is your mother going to be with me?”

Bela had smirked at you before she replied. “A thousand.”

REFERENCE

ELLIE WILLIAMS

She had been so ludicrous, desperate and empty when she didn’t have her face between your thighs, she had tried. Tired to stay away from you but you were a Siren, a Lorelei, Lilith herself.

She had moaned as her hand coated her soaked cunt that she had circled with the weight of her fingers while she had also tasked herself to suck and lick the small ball that had gently perked up from your small meaty fleece Ellie had captured her mouth with.

Your hips had gently thrusted forwards, hands curved around the arch of the kitchen island you had sat on. Its once cold platform warmed by the heat of your skin and the friction you had caused whenever you had moved your hips forward to press your cunt further against her face.

Her green eyes open as she looked up at you with loving eyes, and as she used two of her digits to slip inside of her tight hole, Ellie had rolled her eyes back while she had encouraged you to bounce on her face. “Mama, come on,” she whimpered before she kitten licked your clit, and in response to her name-calling you had moaned just as you slipped your fingers into the messiness of her hair, guided her on where to move her pink lips and where to inhale you.

You had felt it, the sweet stinging need to release on her face, but you had held it back and choked back a cry when you felt the texture of her tongue slip inside of you, her eyes still open as she watched the way you had fondled your breast, the way you had rocked your hips forwards to bounce on her small meat. “So good, fuck Ellie!” You had wept and as she had hummed against your heat, the smooth vibrations flowing through your body. Frantic, Ellie blinked towards you as she quickly grabbed your other breast.

Like a juvenile, was what Ellie had been, with the way she had suckled on your clit, bounced on her fingers and played with your breast with her other hand, she was like a thirsty mammal, and when she had closed her eyes and had curved her fingers against her sweet areas, she had then climaxed around her digits, her nectar spilling against the ground while she slipped out her fingers and used both of her hands to spread your legs further apart.

“Fuck! Ellie!” You had cried as you could feel yourself begin to shake; eyes drowsy as the second warning of your body wanting to cum zapped through your figure. “Ah-fuck!” You had cried out just as you lurched your body forwards, both of your paws deep into her tied locks as you had finally cummed into her mouth and like the hungry dog she was she had inhaled all of them, licking every inch of your ambrosia as much as she could and once, she had finished, she had pressed her chin against your leg.

There had been a certain look on her face, a look of happiness, and as you had sighed, you returned her smile, Ellie had then spoke. “Did I do well mama?”

“Yeah,” you had breathed. “Yes, you did.”

REFERENCE

LADY

You had lost how long it had been when both you had Lady had started kissing, and you had forgotten how you even made it into the room, all you had known was how much you had wanted to taste her, how much the both of you had wanted to taste each other, it was like your minds were connected, how the two of you were in sync. You had each other hands between each other’s thighs and the two of you had licked each other’s tongues, as if the moment you two would let go of each other you’d both disappear.

“I love you,” Lady breathed before she walked you to the bed, both hands clasped against both sides of your face as she had then pressed you against the soft bed.

It wasn’t long until the two of you had peeled off each other’s clothing and positioned each other’s hearths above each other’s faces, you had been quick to press your tongue against her slit, her taste had been hot and tangy and the simple aroma of her nectar had driven you crazy, you had moaned, your body tight as you could feel her the balance of her tongue stroke your sex, the both of you rolling your hips as you had both chased your high.

Quick, you had thrusted your tongue inside of her, aided her to bounce on your tongue, the slight effort had pulled an fiery string inside of her, and her moans began to get higher in a preposterous scale, her moans twisted into a nasally cry as she could feel herself suck her stomach in, she had lifted her mouth away from your cunt, her eyes were rolled back as she could feel herself quickly orgasm inside of your mouth.

Embarrassed, she had turned to you. “Sorry,” she had muttered and moved, you had shook your head.

“Don’t apologise,” you said before you kissed her again, and cheerfully, Lady had pushed your body against the bed.

“Then let me make it up to you,” she whispered before she crawled up your figure just as she had tucked her bottom lip behind her teeth fore she cupped the back of your knees with her palms. She had positioned herself above your sex before she started to rub her pussy against yours, and with a short sigh, Lady had fluttered her eyes shut, her dainty hands wrapped around your ankle as she slowly picked up the pace.

Her lips had shuddered as her clit smothered against yours, she had closed her eyes before she tilted her head to the side. “You feel so good baby, ah,” she had whined and as kickback you had watched how she quickly moved with your glossy eyes, you had watched how she worked her body, her waist, had stared at the curve of her hips and perk of her breast as she bounced against you, both of your cries intertwined with each other as the wet friction between the two of you had built up.

“You’re so beautiful,” you had muttered before you had reached for her breasts, watchful with how the short strands of her hair had bounced and swayed at every movement of her thrusts, you had circled the pad of your fingers against her nipples and lustful, she had bent over and kissed you again, the strokes of her need to orgasm once more had pulsed through her body and she had held it back, but it had been a terrible but wonderful pain, holding back her nectar and continue racing for yours.

She had lost herself inside of you, breathing you, taking you in when she licked your tongue again, you had gasped and whimpered, as you could feel yourself cry, she had felt so good, you had felt so good, the enlarged bud of your clit stroke and humped against hers, you had traced your fingers against her jaw, shadowed every inch and edge as you could feel yourself want to climax, the two of you in a pool of such intense pleasure that there had been a loss of words, just the mere gasp and moans and the strong staring in each other’s eyes.

The moment one of you had eventually spoken was when you could feel your body tremble, inflamed with bliss and thrill as it took over your body. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You squealed and with flush, Lady laughed through your mouth, stubborn to pull herself away from you, obsessed with idea of being connected with you eternally.

“Cum with me,” she lustfully suggested and once more, her distinct cries commenced again, shaking and jerking against you as her sticky honey spilt against your body, mixing with your amrita that quickly poured out, with a relieved sigh, she had fallen against you.

“Trish is so going to make fun of me,” Lady said before she folded herself off of you.

With a smirk you had agreed. “Yeah, you do moan really weird,” you said and with a short slap against your forearm, Lady clicked her tongue.

“I hate you.”

REFERENCE ONE

REFERENCE TWO

[pretzel-box]

if you are still taking requests could you do the opposite spin off where we the experiment like Sebastian of having a shop as for Sebastian being a prisoner who enters the reader shop?

Payment recieved

Words: 1k

Tags: Reversed roles, inhuman reader, human!sebastian, slight fluff, sebastian is still grumpy

authors note: Wrote it on my phone! This was actually requested by two people so I finished it now.

"How much?" Sebastian glanced up at you, his face a mix of exhaustion and relief. Your eyes followed his gaze, realizing he was referring to the jacket you were wearing. It was a brown leather jacket lined with cozy alpaca fur, keeping you warm ever since your body had stopped producing its own heat. The jacket wasn’t particularly important, but you enjoyed the comfort it provided.

You had known Sebastian for a while; he always wore a grumpy expression and often greeted you with sarcasm when he entered your shop. "How much?" he repeated, this time with a hint of impatience.

You blinked, scratching behind your ear fins with a free hand, and smirked. "600 and a smile."

Sebastian hesitated, his brows furrowing as he processed your words. He was used to bartering, haggling, and the occasional hostile negotiation with you, but this was different. A smile? That was new.

“600 and a smile?” he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. His usual grumpy demeanor was momentarily replaced by confusion, as if trying to gauge whether you were joking or just odd. He looked at you closely, taking in your strange, inhuman features—the ear fins, the scaled texture of your skin, and the way your eyes seemed to shimmer in the dim light of the shop. Despite your otherworldly appearance, there was something oddly comforting about you, something that made him relax just a little in your presence.

You nodded, your smile widening just a bit. “That’s right. A fair trade, don’t you think?” Your voice was light, almost playful, as if challenging him to go along with your terms. You tilted your head, the movement causing the fins on the sides of your head to twitch slightly.

Sebastian frowned, glancing down at the jacket again. It wasn’t just that he needed it—the halls of this facility were unforgiving, and his own clothes were worn thin from constant wear. It was more than that, though. This jacket seemed different, not just because of its quality, but because it was yours. He knew you valued it, even if you pretended otherwise.

But a smile? It was a strange request, one that felt more personal than the usual business interactions he was accustomed to. Sebastian wasn’t exactly known for his cheerful disposition, and smiling wasn’t something that came naturally to him. He was a man of few words and fewer expressions, and the idea of smiling just to get a jacket felt… uncomfortable.

He sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” His tone was less accusatory and more resigned, as if he knew he was about to lose a game he never intended to play.

You simply shrugged, leaning casually against the counter, your eyes never leaving his. “Completely serious. You want the jacket, right? Well, I want to see that grumpy face of yours break into a smile. It’s not every day I get to see something so rare.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at you, but there was no real malice in his gaze. It was a challenge, one that poked at the walls he’d built around himself. He could just walk away, keep his pride intact, and find another way to stay warm. But something in your relaxed, confident demeanor made him hesitate.

Finally, he let out a low grunt, something halfway between annoyance and reluctant acceptance. “Fine. If it means getting this jacket, then fine.” He looked down, taking a deep breath as if preparing himself for an ordeal.

Then,slowly and awkwardly, he tried to smile, hoping it was enough.

It wasn’t much—more of a twitch at the corners of his mouth than an actual smile, and his eyes remained as stoic as ever. But there was an effort, a hint of something softer beneath the layers of his usual gruffness. It was brief, almost too brief to notice, but it was there.

You watched him with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, your own smile widening in response. You would never say it but his smile made your heart skip a beat. “Not bad, Sebastian. Not bad at all.”

Sebastian’s face quickly returned to its usual neutral expression, though a faint flush colored his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me the jacket.” He stretched out his hand, wanting you to hurry up already.

You chuckled softly, unzipping the jacket and sliding it off your shoulders. The cold immediately hit your skin, but you barely noticed, more focused on the small victory you’d just won. You handed the jacket to him, your hand brushing against his as he took it.

“Take care of it,” you said lightly, but there was a sincerity in your tone that made Sebastian pause. “It’s seen a lot, that jacket. It deserves someone who’ll appreciate it.” It was one of your last personal items you owned.

Sebastian nodded, slipping the jacket on. It fit him well, and the warmth was immediate, enveloping him in a sense of comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. He looked at you, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t used to kindness, especially not in a place like this, and the way you treated him—like an old friend rather than just another customer—left him feeling off balance.

“Thanks,” he muttered, pulling the collar up to shield his neck from the chill.

“Anytime,” you replied, your smile still lingering as you watched him turn to leave. “And don’t be a stranger, Sebastian. My shop’s always open.”

As he walked out into the dimly lit corridor, the warmth of the jacket spreading through his body, Sebastian found himself thinking about that brief, awkward smile. In the end it was more than worth it because he was warm and he knew basked in the slight confort that it gave him. The smell of your scent going up his nose, making him feel grateful for your presence. With that, he crawled through the vent with your image in his mind.

“YOU FORGOT THE KEYCARD, SUNSHINE!”

[kathaelipwse]

Sunlight on a Rainy Day | | Xu Minghao

Pairing: Xu Minghao (The8) × Reader

600+ followers special!! (thank you <3) Request's are open!!

Trope: Slow Burn | Grumpy × Sunshine | University AU | Mutual Pining Warnings: Mild Language | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Bullying Mentions | Emotional Baggage | NO PROOF READIN WAS DONE Word Count: 5719 words ; Reading Time: 21-ish mins

Synopsis: From the moment you met Xu Minghao, he was cold, distant, and unreadable—a puzzle you were determined to solve. Through years of silent stares, stolen glances, and lingering touches, your persistence chipped away at his walls. But when cruel rumors put you at the center of campus gossip, will he finally admit the truth he's been denying for years?

Author’s Note: This story is a love letter to slow-burn romances—the kind that build over time, filled with unspoken words, longing stares, and quiet acts of love. Minghao is the definition of “actions speak louder than words,” and I wanted to capture the beauty of two people who understand each other without needing constant reassurances. If you love pining, emotional tension, and protective Hao, this one’s for you! 💙

-- Flashback (1st - 3rd year of university) The lecture hall, a breeding ground for fresh-faced naivety and the stale scent of textbooks, held no charm for you. Your gaze, however, was magnetically drawn to the back row, to the figure of Minghao. He sat like a stone gargoyle, his presence a dark stain against the sterile, white wall. His expression was a blank slate, his eyes fixed on the professor, but his mind clearly miles away.

Minghao was a walking enigma, a puzzle wrapped in barbed wire. From the moment you saw him at orientation, his silence had been a challenge, a dare. He was the one who never spoke, never participated, never even bothered to look at anyone. He was a ghost, a shadow, a goddamn phantom in a room full of living, breathing people.

And yet, you, the self-proclaimed beacon of sunshine, were inexplicably obsessed. There was a darkness to his quiet, a simmering rage that intrigued you, a challenge you couldn't resist. Maybe it was the way his dark hair, a curtain of night, framed his sharp, almost cruel features. Or maybe it was the way his eyes, when they did meet yours, held a coldness that made you shiver.

"He's…intimidating," Sarah muttered, nudging your arm, her eyes darting towards Minghao.

"Intriguing," you corrected, a smirk playing on your lips. "He just needs a friend."

Sarah rolled her eyes, a familiar exasperation in her tone. "You're delusional. He clearly wants to be left the hell alone. Some people are just assholes."

But you couldn't shake the feeling that his silence was a fortress, a wall built to keep the world out. You were determined to breach those walls, to drag him kicking and screaming into the light.

The first few weeks were a masterclass in Minghao's talent for being a complete and utter prick. He'd vanish the moment lectures ended, disappear from the library like a wisp of smoke, and ignore your cheerful greetings like you were a goddamn fly buzzing in his ear.

"Minghao! Hey!" you'd call out, your voice echoing in the empty hallways.

He'd simply walk on, his shoulders rigid, his pace unwavering, like you didn't even exist.

"He's not going to talk to you," Sarah warned, her voice laced with a mixture of pity and annoyance. "You're wasting your damn time. Just give it up, you're making a fool of yourself."

But you were stubborn. You started leaving notes on his desk, little scraps of paper with stupid, cheerful messages. You'd bring him coffee, leaving it on his usual spot with a childish drawing of a sun on the lid.

He never acknowledged them. Never a thank you, never a glance, not even a flicker of recognition. But you persisted, fueled by a stubborn belief that you could crack his icy exterior.

One afternoon, you found him in the library, his brow furrowed, his eyes scanning a textbook that looked like it could induce a headache. He looked like he was battling a demon. You approached him, your heart pounding a steady rhythm against your ribs.

"Hey, Minghao," you said, sliding into the seat opposite him, your voice soft. "Need help deciphering that ancient scroll?"

He looked up, his eyes dark and guarded. "No."

"Are you sure? It looks like it's written in some dead language."

"I can manage," he said, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth.

"Okay," you said, refusing to be discouraged. "But if you change your mind, I'm here. I'm fluent in 'things that make people want to scream'."

You stayed, pulling out your own books and pretending to study, but your gaze kept drifting towards him. You observed the way his fingers gripped the pages, the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his dark eyes flickered with a hidden intensity.

After what felt like an eternity, he sighed, a sound so faint it was almost lost in the quiet hum of the library. "What the hell do you want?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, a hint of weariness in his tone.

"Just to be friends," you said, your smile widening, a genuine warmth spreading through you. "Is that so hard to believe?"

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to decipher your sincerity. "Yes," he said finally, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. "For someone like me, it's impossible."

"Why?" you asked, your curiosity piqued, your voice soft.

He hesitated, his gaze shifting away, as if looking into a distant memory. "It doesn't fucking matter."

"It matters to me," you said, leaning forward, your voice earnest. "Everyone needs friends, Minghao. Even you, you miserable bastard."

He scoffed, a bitter sound that echoed in the quiet space. "You don't know shit about me."

"Then let me get to know you," you said, your voice soft, your eyes pleading. "Let me show you that not everyone is going to screw you over."

His eyes flickered, a flicker of something you couldn't quite name. "Why are you so goddamn persistent?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. "Why won't you just leave me fucking alone?"

"Because," you said, your smile unwavering, your voice filled with a quiet conviction, "I believe in you. Even if you don't believe in yourself, you prick."

He looked at you, his expression unreadable, a mask of indifference. Then, he closed his book, the sound echoing in the quiet library. "You're wasting your goddamn time," he said, his voice cold, devoid of emotion. "I don't need your belief, or your stupid friendship."

He stood up and walked away, leaving you sitting there, your smile fading slightly, but your resolve hardening. Even as you watched him disappear into the labyrinth of bookshelves, you knew you wouldn't give up. Something in his eyes, a flicker of pain, a hint of vulnerability, told you that he needed someone. And you, with your unwavering optimism, were determined to be that someone, even if he was a royal pain in the ass.

The next day, you found him sitting alone in the courtyard, his headphones on, his eyes fixed on the ground, lost in his own world. You approached him, your heart pounding a steady rhythm.

"Hey," you said, tapping him gently on the shoulder.

He looked up, his expression guarded, a silent question in his eyes. He pulled off his headphones, the music fading into the background.

"I brought you a sandwich," you said, holding out a paper bag, a small offering. "I figured you might have skipped lunch again, you grumpy bastard."

He hesitated, then took the bag, his fingers brushing yours. The touch was fleeting, a mere graze, but it sent a strange warmth through your veins.

"Thanks," he said, his voice barely audible, a hint of surprise in his tone.

"You're welcome," you said, your smile returning, a genuine warmth spreading through you. "I'm going to sit here, okay? You look like you could use some company, even if you’re a complete and utter jerk."

He didn't reply, but he didn't tell you to leave either. And so, you sat beside him, the silence stretching between you, a quiet understanding settling in. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but a shared space, a silent acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to break down his walls, one small act of defiance at a time.

The courtyard became our unofficial meeting ground. Not by any explicit agreement, but by the quiet understanding that Minghao, despite his gruff exterior, didn't actively push you away when you found him there. He’d still wear his headphones, his eyes distant, but the tension that usually radiated off him seemed to lessen, just a fraction. It was progress, however small.

You’d bring him small things – a bottle of iced tea on a hot day, a packet of his favorite crackers, a worn paperback you thought he might like. He’d accept them with a curt nod, a quiet “thanks,” his voice still rough around the edges. But the lack of outright rejection felt like a victory.

One afternoon, a light drizzle started to fall, the gray sky mirroring Minghao’s usual mood. You’d brought him a thermos of hot chocolate, hoping to offer a small comfort against the chill. He was sitting under a large oak tree, the leaves providing a meager shelter from the rain.

“Hey,” you said, sliding down next to him, the damp grass seeping into your jeans. “Brought you something warm.”

He glanced at the thermos, then back at the rain. “I don’t need it.”

“Humor me,” you said, unscrewing the lid and handing it to him. “It’s got extra marshmallows.”

He hesitated, then took a sip, his eyes widening slightly. “It’s…not bad.”

“See?” you said, a triumphant grin spreading across your face. “I know things.”

He rolled his eyes, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. It was gone in an instant, but you’d seen it, a brief crack in his carefully constructed ice wall.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because,” you said, your voice soft, “I don’t think you want to be alone.”

He scoffed. “You don’t know what I want.”

“Maybe not,” you said, “but I know what I see. And I see someone who’s hurting. Someone who’s built walls so high, they can’t see the sunlight anymore.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” you asked, your voice gentle. “Because I see someone who’s afraid to let anyone in. Afraid of getting hurt again.”

He flinched, a subtle reaction, but enough to confirm your suspicions. “Shut up,” he said, his voice laced with a raw anger.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Minghao,” you said, reaching out a hand, then pulling it back, respecting his space. “I’m trying to help.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the rain-soaked ground. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy.

“You know,” you said, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to tell me anything. But sometimes, just talking about it helps.”

He finally looked at you, his eyes dark and haunted. “Talking doesn’t change anything.”

“Maybe not,” you said, “but it can make it feel a little lighter. Like you’re not carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He took another sip of the hot chocolate, his gaze still fixed on yours. “Why do you care so much?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Because,” you said, your voice honest, “I think you’re worth caring about. Even if you don’t think so yourself.”

He looked away again, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. The rain continued to fall, a soft, persistent rhythm against the leaves.

--

The next few weeks were a slow, almost imperceptible shift. He still kept his distance, still remained guarded, but the edge of his hostility seemed to soften. He’d occasionally offer a small, almost reluctant smile, or a brief, almost mumbled comment.

One day, you found him in the library, not buried in a textbook, but staring out the window, his expression pensive.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, sliding into the seat next to him.

He hesitated, then turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “Nothing.”

“Come on,” you said, nudging his arm playfully. “Everyone thinks about something.”

He sighed, a sound heavy with unspoken words. “Just…things.”

“What kind of things?” you asked, your voice gentle.

He hesitated again, then looked out the window. “Things I can’t change.”

“Sometimes,” you said, “just accepting that you can’t change them is the first step.”

He turned to you, his eyes filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache. “You don’t understand.”

“Maybe not,” you said, “but I’m trying.”

He looked away, a flicker of something like gratitude in his eyes. “Thanks,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

It was a small word, a simple acknowledgement, but it felt like a monumental victory. You’d managed to crack the ice, just a little. And in that small crack, you saw a glimpse of the person he kept hidden beneath the walls, a person who was hurting, but also capable of feeling, of caring. And you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that you wouldn’t stop until you’d brought him into the light.

The library became a sanctuary, a place where the shared silence between you and Minghao wasn't heavy or strained, but almost comfortable. He’d still come to study, but now, he wouldn’t immediately recoil when you joined him. Sometimes, he’d even acknowledge your presence with a small nod, a subtle shift in his posture.

You’d bring snacks, sometimes his favorite, sometimes something new, and he’d eat them, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. You’d talk, sometimes about your classes, sometimes about the books you were reading, sometimes about the people you’d met. He’d listen, his gaze fixed on his books, but you could tell he was paying attention.

One evening, you were both studying late, the library almost empty, the only sound the soft rustling of pages and the gentle hum of the overhead lights. You were reading a particularly moving passage from a novel, and you couldn’t help but share it with him.

“Listen to this,” you said, reading aloud. “'Sometimes, the people who are hardest to love need it the most.' It’s kind of beautiful, isn’t it?”

Minghao looked up from his book, his eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“It’s stupid,” he said, his voice rough.

“No, it’s not,” you said, your voice gentle. “It’s about understanding. About not giving up on people, even when they push you away.”

He looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe not,” you said, “but I know that everyone deserves a chance. Everyone deserves to be loved.”

He scoffed, a bitter sound. “Love is a lie.”

“No, it’s not,” you said, your voice firm. “It can be painful, it can be messy, even brutal at times, but it’s not a lie. It’s real.”

He turned to you, his eyes filled with a raw intensity. “You’re so naive.”

“I’d rather be naive and hopeful than cynical and bitter.” you said

He looked away, the silence stretching between you, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was a shared space, a quiet understanding.

“You know,” you said, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to believe in love. But you have to believe in yourself. You have to believe that you’re worth something.”

He didn’t respond, but you saw a flicker of something in his eyes, a flicker of doubt, a flicker of hope.

--

The next day, you found a small note on your desk in the library. It was a scrap of paper torn from a notebook, with a single line written in Minghao’s neat, precise handwriting.

“Thanks.”

It was a small gesture, a simple word, but it felt like a monumental victory. He’d acknowledged you, he’d expressed gratitude, he’d reached out, in his own small, guarded way.

The weeks that followed were a gradual, almost imperceptible shift. Minghao started to open up, just a little. He’d share small details about his life, his family, his interests. He’d even crack a small, almost reluctant smile, or offer a brief, almost mumbled comment.

One afternoon, you were walking back from class together, the sun setting, casting long shadows across the campus.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence, “what do you do for fun?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I read. Sometimes I listen to music.”

“What kind of music?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

He hesitated again, then looked away. “I don’t know. Just…stuff.”

“Come on,” you said, nudging his arm playfully. “Everyone has a favorite band, or a favorite song.”

He sighed, then looked at you, a flicker of something in his eyes. “I like…hip-hop.”

“Really?” you said, your eyes widening in surprise. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He shrugged. “What do you like?”

“Everything,” you said, your smile widening. “But I especially love indie music.”

He looked at you, a flicker of something like curiosity in his eyes. “Maybe…maybe you could show me some.”

“Really?” you said, your heart leaping with excitement. “I’d love to.”

It was a small invitation, a simple suggestion, but it felt like a huge step forward. Minghao was letting you in, just a little. He was allowing himself to be vulnerable, to share a part of himself with you.

And you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that you wouldn’t stop until you’d helped him find his voice, until you’d helped him see the light that had been hidden within him all along.

The music became a bridge, a shared language that transcended Minghao’s usual reserve. You introduced him to your favorite indie bands, their melodies weaving stories of vulnerability, hope, and resilience. He, in turn, shared his love for hip-hop, its raw energy and rhythmic poetry resonating with a part of him he’d kept hidden.

You'd spend hours in your dorm room, or sometimes in the quiet corners of the campus, sharing playlists, discussing lyrics, and debating the merits of different artists. Minghao, surprisingly, had strong opinions, his voice passionate and animated when he talked about music. It was a side of him you hadn't seen before, a side that was vibrant and alive.

One evening, you were playing a particularly upbeat indie track, its catchy melody filling the room. Minghao, who was usually content to just listen, started tapping his foot, a subtle rhythm that gradually grew more pronounced.

"You like this one?" you asked, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

He hesitated, then nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's…not bad."

"Not bad?" you teased. "Come on, hao, admit it. You're secretly enjoying yourself."

He rolled his eyes, but the smile remained cause of the nickname specifically. "Maybe a little."

"Good," you said, turning up the volume. "Let's dance."

He looked at you, his eyes widening slightly. "Dance?"

"Yeah," you said, standing up and swaying to the music. "Come on, it's fun."

He hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't dance."

"Everyone dances," you said, pulling him to his feet. "You just haven't found the right music yet."

He stood there, stiff and awkward, as you started to move to the music. You laughed, your joy infectious, and slowly, tentatively, he started to move too. At first, it was just a sway, a slight bobbing of his head, but gradually, he loosened up, his movements becoming more confident, more fluid.

You danced together, lost in the rhythm, the music filling the space between you. Hao, the silent observer, the stoic recluse, was dancing, his eyes bright, his smile genuine. It was a sight that made your heart swell with happiness.

As the song ended, you both stood there, breathless and laughing, the shared joy creating a bond that went beyond words.

"See?" you said, your voice filled with triumph. "I told you everyone dances."

He chuckled, a sound that was still rare, but becoming more frequent. "Yeah, I guess you were right."

"I'm always right," you said, nudging his arm playfully.

He rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his gaze that made your heart skip a beat.

The music nights became a regular occurrence, a ritual that brought you closer together. You'd share your favorite songs, your favorite artists, your favorite stories, and with each shared melody, the walls around hao seemed to crumble a little more.

One night, you were listening to a particularly poignant song, its lyrics about finding hope in the darkest of times. hao was unusually quiet, his eyes fixed on the lyrics on the screen.

"This song," he said, his voice low, "it reminds me of you."

You turned to him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Me?"

"Yeah," he said, his gaze meeting yours. "You're like…a ray of light in the dark."

His words, simple and honest, were a revelation. Hao, the man of few words, had expressed his feelings, not with grand gestures or flowery language, but with a sincerity that resonated deep within you.

In that moment, you knew that your persistence, your unwavering belief in him, had paid off. You'd broken through his walls, you'd found the light within him, and in doing so, you'd found a connection that was both profound and precious.

That's how you and him ended up as best friends in the 4th year of uni.

Four years. Four years of shared notes, quiet evenings, and a bond that had become the very air you breathed. You loved Hao, a love that burned with a fierce, unwavering intensity, a stark contrast to the lingering shadows he still fought within himself. You’d confessed your feelings, laid your heart bare, but he'd retreated, his walls rising like a fortress, built of fear and the ghosts of past betrayals.

“We’re friends,” he'd said, his voice flat, his eyes unable to meet yours. “Just friends.”

The word echoed in your heart, a dull, persistent ache that you tried to ignore. You told yourself you were content, that being near him was enough. You were the sun, and he was the moon, and you’d learned to accept the one-sided dance, the silent orbit.

Then, the whispers started. Jaehyun, a guy with a swagger as loud as his insecurity, decided to stake his claim. He confessed, his tone laced with a cocky arrogance that grated on your nerves. “You’re wasting your time with that ice prince,” he’d said, his eyes raking over you with a possessive gaze. “I can give you what you want.”

You politely declined, your heart already spoken for. “You're not my type,” you’d said, “I like someone else.”

That was your mistake. Honesty, in the hands of those who relished gossip, became a weapon. The rumors started as whispers, then grew into a venomous storm. “She thinks she’s a queen,” Jaehyun sneered, his pride wounded. “Look at her, she’s not even that pretty, she's more like a bloated cow trying to look attractive.”

The comments escalated, each one a cruel twist of the knife. “She’s gained weight, hasn’t she? Like a pig,” someone would whisper, their eyes lingering on your figure with cruel amusement. “She used to be so bubbly, now she’s just…a sad, pathetic mess, desperate for his attention." Others added fuel to the fire, "She's so clingy, no wonder he doesn’t want her. She's a fat, pathetic loser, and he knows it."

The “sunshine” that had been your hallmark began to dim. The laughter became forced, the smiles strained. You tried to explain, to defend yourself, but your words only seemed to validate their cruel assumptions. “She’s just making excuses,” they’d say, their eyes filled with a pity that cut deeper than any insult.

Hao, typically indifferent to the university's gossip mill, usually brushed off any rumors. He never cared what people said. But when it came to you, his indifference shattered, replaced by a cold, simmering rage.

One morning, as you were walking to class, a particularly vile comment, a cruel jab at your weight and your supposed desperation, sent a wave of shame crashing over you. “Look at her,” Jaehyun sneered, loud enough for you to hear. “She’s like a beached whale, pathetic and desperate. No wonder Minghao won't touch her."

You flinched, your eyes stinging with tears, your hands trembling. Before you could react, a thunderous sound echoed through the hallway. Hao had slammed Jaehyun’s head against the desk, the impact sending a shockwave through the room. His eyes, usually dark and guarded, blazed with a cold fury that made your blood run cold.

“Apologize,” he demanded, his voice a low, menacing rumble that made Jaehyun’s eyes widen in terror. The air crackled with a silent threat, a promise of violence that made everyone around them hold their breath.

Panic seized you. “Minghao, no!” you panicked, your voice trembling. “It’s okay, I’m fine. Please, just leave it. I am sorry-” You apologized to Jaehyun, your voice shaking, a desperate attempt to defuse the situation.

Confusion flickered across Hao’s face, quickly replaced by a raw, unadulterated rage. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, his voice sharp and dangerous, each word a venomous barb. “He’s the one who insulted you, dummy”

Jaehyun, his face pale with terror, stammered an apology, desperate to escape Hao’s wrath. The silent threat in Hao's eyes promised a brutal retribution if he ever dared to speak ill of you again. And just like that, the rumors began to fade, their venom losing its sting in the face of Hao’s silent rage. He had become your protector, a silent guardian who made it clear that no one dared to speak ill of you.

He started leaving your favorite snacks on your desk, small gestures of care that spoke volumes. He’d sit with you in the library, his presence a silent comfort, but you barely responded. The cruel words had burrowed deep into your soul, leaving you hollow and numb.

--

Two weeks passed, a blur of silent meals and strained smiles. Hao, usually so composed, was visibly restless. His gaze constantly searched yours, his brow furrowed with worry, his hands clenched and unclenching at his sides. He couldn’t ignore the change, the way the light had faded from your eyes, the way your laughter had become a distant echo.

He found you on the university's rooftop, the wind a mournful sigh against the city's twinkling lights even in the early morning sky. You were curled into yourself, a fragile silhouette against the vast expanse of the early mornings of the winters. He stood there, his hands clenched into fists, his heart a thunderous drumbeat against his ribs.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, each word a raw, unfiltered expression of his anguish. “I can’t watch you wither like this, to see your light dim, to see the joy drain from your eyes.”

He closed the distance between you, his movements deliberate, as if afraid to shatter the fragile silence. He reached out, his touch feather-light as he cupped your face in his hands.

“The rumors,” you whispered, your voice trembling, a fragile echo of the vibrant laughter that had once filled the hallways. “They…they made me hate my own body. I don’t recognize myself anymore. I feel… broken.” you admitted.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a raw intensity, a fierce protectiveness that made his every muscle tense. “Don’t,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous demand. “Don’t you dare speak of yourself like that. Those words, those vile, venomous lies, they mean nothing. They are the desperate cries of small, insignificant people, trying to tear down something they could never possess.”

He pulled you into his arms, his embrace fierce and protective, a fortress against the storm of insecurities that raged within you. “You are beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Inside and out. You are my strength, you are resilience, you are the most incredible person I have ever known.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, his gaze filled with an unwavering tenderness. “You are the sun, the moon, the stars,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You are the very air I breathe. And I… I love you. More than words can ever express. More than I ever thought possible.”

He kissed your forehead, a soft, reverent touch, a silent promise of unwavering devotion. “I love the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, the way your voice softens when you speak of things you love, the way you face the world with such courage, even when it tries to break you.”

He took your hands in his, his touch gentle but firm. “I love every part of you,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. “Every curve, every line, every scar, every imperfection. They are all a part of you, a testament to your journey, and they are all beautiful.”

You leaned into his embrace, tears streaming down your face, a mixture of relief and overwhelming emotion. “I love you too, Hao,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He held you close, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice filled with a raw regret. “I should have told you sooner. I was afraid, afraid of losing you. But I was wrong. I almost lost you anyway.”

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “You’re here now.”

He kissed your head again, a soft, lingering touch. “I’m never leaving,” he whispered, his voice a promise etched in the very air you breathed.

For the first time in weeks, months honestly, a genuine smile bloomed on your face, a radiant light that chased away the shadows.

Weeks turned into months, and you and Hao became an unbreakable fortress, a silent declaration of love and protection. No one dared to utter a cruel word in your presence, for Hao, the unyielding guardian, made sure they regretted it. He would never let anyone hurt you again, not while he drew breath, and his wrath was a force that no one dared to test.

Seven years. Seven years since the echoes of cruel words faded, since the rooftop confession, since the day Hao became your unwavering fortress. Seven years since you began building a sanctuary, a life together, brick by brick.

It was decided, Breakfast cooked by you and dinner by him though mostly he cooked everything.

Sunlight poured into your shared apartment, highlighting the warmth of your home – the shelves overflowing with books, the walls adorned with Hao's stunning artwork, and the ever-growing collection of plants you both lovingly nurtured. Hao stood at the kitchen island, his dark hair a touch longer, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he flipped pancakes.

“Breakfast, my queen,” he announced, his voice a low, smooth baritone, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Pancakes, with berries, just the way you like them.”

“My queen?” you teased, leaning against the doorframe, your eyes tracing the lines of his broad shoulders beneath his shirt. “Is that your new nickname for me?”

He turned, his gaze sweeping over you with an appreciative intensity that made your cheeks flush. “Only when you look this good in the morning,” he purred, his voice a low rumble. “Which, let’s be honest, is always.”

You rolled your eyes, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Shameless,” you muttered, but the warmth spreading through you betrayed your amusement.

“Absolutely,” he agreed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But only for you.”

The years had been kind, softening the sharp edges of his youth, replacing them with a quiet confidence and a playful charm. The scars, both visible and invisible, had faded, becoming a testament to your shared strength. Hao’s protective nature, though tempered by time, remained a constant, a silent promise of unwavering devotion.

“Remember Jaehyun?” you asked, sliding onto a stool at the counter, a playful glint in your eyes. “He tried to apologize at our graduation. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.”

Hao’s gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of the old protectiveness surfacing, but quickly replaced by a playful smirk. “He should have,” he said, his voice a low growl. “He learned a valuable lesson: don’t mess with what’s mine.”

He leaned closer, placing a plate of pancakes in front of you, his hand lingering on your arm. “Though, I’m still surprised he had the audacity to approach you at all,” he murmured, his eyes tracing the curve of your smile. “After all, you’re quite… captivating.”

“Captivating?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, your voice laced with playful skepticism. “Is that your way of saying I’m intimidating?”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Intimidatingly beautiful,” he corrected, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “And you know it.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You have this way of looking at me,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur, “like you see right through me, like you know all my secrets. And it’s… intoxicating.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “And those curves,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips, then back to your eyes, a possessive gleam in them. “They’re a masterpiece. Every single one.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, a feather-light touch that quickly deepened into a passionate kiss. “I love you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice a soft sigh, your heart overflowing with warmth.

It was a simple declaration, a quiet affirmation of the love that had built a home. They had built a life filled with laughter, whispered secrets, and stolen kisses, a future where love was not a battleground, but a haven, a place where they could finally, truly, be themselves, flaws and all. And in the quiet strength of their bond, they found not just love, but a forever.

--

[whencyclopedia]

Mesopotamian Art and Architecture

Ancient Mesopotamian art and architectural works are among the oldest in the world, dating back over 7,000 years. The works first appear in northern Mesopotamia prior to the Ubaid Period (c. 5000-4100 BCE) and then developed in the south during the Uruk Period (4100-2900 BCE) in Sumer which established the first historical civilization.

According to some scholars, the works of the Indus Valley Civilization (c. 7000 to c. 600 BCE) pre-date those of Mesopotamia, but the Indus Valley developments do not appear until the Early Harappan Period (c. 5500-2800 BCE) by which time Mesopotamian works were already established. Early artwork and construction are evidenced in northern Mesopotamia at sites such as Göbekli Tepe (c. 10,000 BCE) and Ҫatalhöyük (c. 7500 BCE), both in modern-day Turkey, and Tell Brak (c. 6500-5000 BCE), in Syria.

The development of these works then progressed through the following eras, though, owing to space limitations, the Hittite and Kassite periods will not be addressed:

Ubaid Period – c. 5000-4100 BCE

Uruk Period – 4100-2900 BCE

Early Dynastic Period – 2900-2334 BCE

Akkadian Period – 2334-2218 BCE

Ur III Period – 2047-1750 BCE

Old Babylonian Period – c. 2000-1600 BCE

Hittite Period – 1700-1200 BCE

Kassite Period – c. 1595 to c. 1155 BCE

Assyrian Period – c. 1307-912 BCE

Neo-Assyrian Period – 912-612 BCE

Neo-Babylonian Period – 626-539 BCE

Achaemenid Persian-Sassanian Persian Period – c. 550 BCE to 651 CE

Artworks included reliefs, sculpture, statuary cast in metal, ceramics, jewelry, cylinder seals, stele & monuments, obelisks, and wall paintings. Mesopotamian monumental architecture is epitomized by the ziggurat, but the Sumerians were also responsible for the first large-scale palaces and temples, as well as urban planning, the arch, canals, and aqueducts, landscaped gardens, and architectural ornamentation. These early innovations would become more refined in the region through succeeding periods and influence the works of other cultures in the Near East and Mediterranean regions.

Earliest Sites & Base Materials

Although the Göbekli Tepe site is dated to c. 10,000 BCE, the first permanent settlements in that area are thought to have been established earlier, and, possibly, for the sole purpose of building the structure which most scholars believe was a temple. Göbekli Tepe is among the earliest sites, along with others such as Nevalı Çori (also in modern-day Turkey), to feature monumental architecture – including the oldest known megaliths in the world at Göbekli Tepe – as well as reliefs.

Architecturally, the site is comprised of circular areas and rectangular buildings with T-shaped pillars of limestone, some carved with images of wildlife in low and high relief. There is little evidence of human activity in the sculptures which seem to emphasize the natural world and, in some interpretations, the people's relationship with their gods. Some scholars associate the site with the later settlement of Ҫatalhöyük, though this claim has been challenged as the design of Göbekli Tepe, and the tools found there, differ from the later site.

Whatever purpose Göbekli Tepe originally served, it was a communal site associated with ritual, while Ҫatalhöyük was entirely residential. No public buildings have been found at the site which is comprised of tightly clustered mudbrick residences accessed by ladders or steps from a hole in the roof. Artwork from the site includes murals and statuary – such as the famous Seated Woman of Ҫatalhöyük – as well as ceramics. The artwork seems to focus on the natural world and the concept of fertility as several pieces represent female figures and erect phalluses.

The people of Ҫatalhöyük used clay, limestone, marble, and other materials for their statuary and paint created from natural substances. The figurines, statuary, and murals are usually interpreted as representing religious concepts, but this claim is not universally accepted. There is no evidence of urban planning at the site; it seems to have developed organically with buildings attached to each other and people using the rooftops for communal activities and movement as there are no streets, courtyards, or public squares.

Continue reading...

[help-itrappedmyself]

Summoning Game Show Part 5

Masterpost

I just spent an unnecessarily long time making A Quiz so I would have questions and answers ready to go, only to not put any of them in. And spend a ridiculously long time doing math because I had to redo it like three times. Numbers are not my strong suit. In any case I now have a fully functional Jeopardy game and the next part.

~~~~~

It’s a close race. They were equal on the mountain track and neither really got sidetracked by Skulker on such a straightforward route. They made it to Zone Two almost even, but Jason almost immediately falls behind as Skulker hits him with a paintball. Being shot at shocked him more than anything, but realizing it was paint, he stopped trying to avoid it and just kept going, letting his armor deal with most of it. Skulker got bored and quickly went after Johnny instead, who got irritated and started a shouting match with Skulker as he drove. The different terrains meant they had to keep slowing down and speeding up, and Skulker got bored with the paintballs and started throwing water balloons instead. This was more annoying for the drivers because the water made the sand and mud trickier to drive on. Both Johnny and Jason both got their bikes temporarily stuck in mud and had to drag them back out while Skulker cackled above them. 

Zone three allowed Jason to catch back up to Johnny. This was what he was used to and he was able to go faster with more confidence. Johnny and Jason separated after Skulker shot a net at them both. And they found each other again on a straightaway leading to the finish line. It was close at the end, but Jason managed to pull out ahead. 

They shook hands at the finish line, walking back into the main room together. They separated when Johnny left to go back to the stands, followed closely by Skulker. 

“Wonderful race, very intense, great driving all around.” Danny says, very entertained. “Well earned win, Jason. I’ll remind you this is what you have currently.”

“What letter would you like to guess?”

“I’ll take I.”

“Another vowel, very good.” Danny waves his hand again. “There are two I’s!

“The next challenge is trivia, which will be played by Red Robin as he is the only one who has yet to participate in a challenge.”

A new podium appears on stage as Danny’s podium rotates so the two are facing each other. Red Robin walks up to the new podium.

“ The theme is SPACE!” Danny is so excited he is practically bouncing. A jeopardy-looking game board appears on the screen. “ You have 6 categories, all space themed, they are:  Earth, Other Planets, Space Numbers, Stars, Other Space Entities, and Spacecrafts! There are 9,000 possible points, you need to get at least 7,500 in order to win! The game can stop as soon as we’ve reached that number.”

Red, being Red, decides to do all the hardest questions first. He starts at the bottom left corner, gets the first question right. Tim thinks since he got the hardest one he could probably finish out the Earth category pretty easily, so he goes down the list and gets them all correct. 

With 1,500 points he decides to start the next category with the hardest question as well. This is his first wrong answer. He starts going up the list, and gets the 400 incorrect for this category as well. Danny is disappointed. The rest of the boys are infinitely relieved that Tim is the one doing the trivia part. They probably would have lost already. 

Tim does get the rest of the ‘Other Planets’ category correct and moves on with 2,100 points and 6,000 points left on the board. He decides to start ‘Space Numbers’ with the 100 point question and keeps going, acing the whole category. He now has 3,600 points. With 4,500 points left on the board he needs 3,900 more points. This means he can only lose 600 more points. He aces the ‘Stars” category, then moves on to ‘Other Space Entities’. He misses the last question, leaving him with 6,100 points and 1,500 left on the board. Tim can only afford to miss the 100 point question, so he decides to start at 500 and get it over with.

He continues until he reaches the 200 point question. If Tim answers this one he will win, and he does so correctly the screen changes to shoots of confetti.

[shadysubject06]

SO THERE'S A LOT OF YOU NOW

I had originally planned to have two different prompts for this event, since the last time I looked at the follower numbers we were at 486. I was like "oh, it'll be a 400 and 500 event!" And then I woke up this morning and saw we were at 700. So. Maybe I'll plan some stuff for 500, 600, and 700 later. But in the meantime, this is the 400 follower DTIYS!!! Use the tag #SS06DTIYS (that's a zero not an o) and feel free to directly tag me in the post so I can see and share your work!

Thank you so, so much for joining this weird, wild ride! EDIT: There is no due date!!! All of the October drawing challenges are coming up soon so I don't wanna make anybody feel pressured or rushed. Feel free to do this whenever and however you'd like!

[briandraws]

600 followers was NOT a milestone I was expecting to hit for this blog omg. I joined this shithole 2 years ago in the TADC fandom and here I am 2 years later in SMG4 with 600 of you weirdos looking my shit, omg. I plan on doing a DTIYS challenge to celebrate(just like I did for the SMG Falls fic finally ending when it did), so stay tuned for that.

But seriously, thank you. Tumblr is one of the two social medias that I have that I actually care about, and it means a lot to me that you all like my stuff so much.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you 🤍

[thedialoguedilemma]

The Dilemma Bulletin: Monday January 27th, 2025

Keeping you informed about the daily events of the Trump Administration

China releases an AI source called DeepSeek set to rival ChatGPT and OpenAI. China claims it created this AI at a fraction of the cost causing US markets to trend downhill.

China releases an internet communications satellite set to rival Starlink.

NVIDIA has fallen out of being the world’s most valuable company after losing $600 billion dollars in market capitalization today under the Trump administration

Trump continues to threaten tariffs on nations that don’t agree with his policies which will skyrocket prices for everyone.

A January 6th terrorist that was pardoned and released into the public by President Trump was shot and killed by police during a traffic stop in Indiana following an altercation.

The Trump administration has instructed public health officials across the United States to stop working with the World Health Organization effective immediately as bird flu cases rise in the US

After Trump threatened Colombia with tariffs this past Sunday, coffee prices have risen in expectation of possible trade war with Colombia.

President Donald Trump announces a tariff on foreign semiconductor chips which will cause electronics such as refrigerators, game consoles, tvs, computers to all skyrocket in price.

Trump claims the United States military entered California and just “turned the water on” What does that even mean????? The pumps were temporarily off for a 3 day maintenance and are now up and running.

Trump says Microsoft is in talks to acquire TikTok

Google Maps updates Gulf of Mexico to Gulf of America despite every other world country still referring to the body of water as the Gulf of Mexico

Trump expected to sign an Executive Order banning transgender people from the military. Will be challenged in court.

Legoland Florida announces massive upcoming layoffs as a result of Governor DeSantis and President Trump leadership

Trump announces an idea of wanting to fly American criminals to other countries who will incarcerate them for "a small fee". Again— will be immediately challenged in court.

[sirowsky]

5. Why are you covered in sparkly pink dust? + Dieter Bravo

Super fluffy, happy, cute one with Dieter, his wife and their adorable 3 year old son happily celebrating his wife's niece's quinceañera, please?

I'm so sorry if my earlier reply made you feel like I don't wanna write your request, that was not my intention 🙏 I just wanted to let you know what my limitations are with those characters and that subject, so that you know not to expect a brilliant story.

The whole point of a challenge like this is for me to write whatever my readers/followers want me to, even if it's not exactly within my comfort zone. So, if this is what you want, then I will happily do my best to write it 😊

(I only ask that you don't expect a tela novela, because that is sadly beyond my skillset 😇)

[letmedixonyou]

i’m not yours - part 8

summary: Daryl and you are (were?) friends. He dated Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?

words: 2.3k

warnings: mentions of abuse, injuries

A/N: Good day, everyone! I've been literally working on this for a couple of days, editing and adding shit all the time. My partner has helped me with it, he's such a gem <3 I hope you enjoy it!

I would also like to thank everyone who has followed me and liked my shit, it is much appreciated! With your help, I somehow got to 68 followers and over 600 likes which is incredible! Thank you, muffins! <3

Read the previous part here!

Part 9

A few days later

Ribs hurting, body throbbing. Every single muscle screams for help with each move you make. Getting up from bed was a challenge enough, but taking a shower was even worse. You could barely move your limbs around, not to mention bending down or even sitting. The mirror image you see in the morning is somewhat depressing. Standing in front of it, in your black underwear, you assessed the damage with a pained gaze. The cuts and bruises were almost too much to look at. Their shades of purples, pinks, and reds were sticking out like a sore thumb in the morning light sifting through the window. They weren't only covering your body, but also stretching from ear to cheek on one side, with a big fat lip as a cherry on top. You feel a sharp pain in your side when you breathe in —a telltale sign of a few broken ribs.

That evening walk last night wasn't a good idea after all, you thought to yourself.

Moving at a snail's pace, you put on trousers and a grey hoodie, wincing in pain every now and then. Drawing a hood up, you cover most of your face. You weren’t trying to get any attention drawn to you, oh no. Leaving the house, you head towards the mess hall to eat your breakfast. Your hands were in your pockets. All the way down the street, you looked at your slow feet moving on the ground. You could hear people whispering about you. It was clear that somehow they already knew about your injuries. Maybe someone caught a glimpse when you were coming home last night, stumbling through the street. Or maybe you just weren't as good at hiding it as you thought you were.

Out of the blue, you feel a strong hand on your shoulder. You turn around with your fists up, almost hitting the person in the face before you realise that it was Gabriel - the community priest. You swallow hard, and you quickly put your fists down, packing them back into your pockets.

"Y/N, what happened?" He asks, a worried look on his face as he steps a bit closer to look at your face. As a respectful person that he is, he doesn’t touch you or move too close. He just points at your face, his eyes darting to the bruising and cut lip.

"Nothing," you mumble.

"That nothing sure looks like something," he retorted, examining you.

"I am fine, father," you say, stepping away from him and clearing your throat. "But may I suggest praying for all the wicked tonight."

"If we confess our sins, He is faithful, and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness," Gabriel quotes a Bible to you and smiles a little.

"It's not my sins we have to worry about, father."

You say, turning around and leaving him standing there, visibly confused. You walk all the way down the street, turning onto a gravel path that winds a little to the left, and you get to the mess hall. By mess hall, you meant the biggest building in Alexandria where some tables and chairs were put down, alongside a modest buffet so people could get their food before work. There usually wasn't a lot to choose from, but no one complained - food was a blessing these days, no matter how bad or good it tasted.

Getting a clean, but worn-out white plate, you put some scrambled eggs on it, a rare sight in the zombie world. You guess someone found some powdered eggs somewhere during the supply run. You don't complain and take some onto your plate, heading to sit at one of the empty tables.

Your jaw hurts as you slowly eat your modest, bland breakfast. The only thing you could eat, really. Soft enough so there's not much chewing involved. You dart your eyes up carefully to look around, and you spot Daryl’s crossbow, poking above the bustling crowd. He barely glances at you across the dining hall, and you know he probably is here to grab his food pack quickly before heading out on a supply run. It was busy anyway, so you weren't surprised he would not see you. You were just another face in the crowd. You didn’t expect him to pay much attention to you. Especially after your past arguments. And his own relationship explosion a few days ago. You resort to going back to your own plate.

All the hope of people not noticing you or your injuries dwindles when you overhear some hushed voices from the table next to the open buffet counter.

"You see her face?"

"Yeah, looks awful."

"Wonder who fucked that up."

"I’d hate to see the other guy."

You try not to react to the whispers and cover up more with your hoodie. You keep on eating, blocking out the noise as much as you can. You usually didn't care about people talking about you. You learned that it didn't matter. But somehow, having been beaten up and having clearly visible injuries made you uncomfortable and anxious when people stared and talked about it.

Lost in your thoughts, you get brought back to reality with a can of soda clash and hiss against the floor from next to the buffet counter. Startled by the noise, your eyes shoot up to look in the direction.

Your eyes meet Daryl's in the crowd. He is looking at you; his eyebrows fly up before he scowls. Horror and concern quickly flash across his face. You look back down to the plate, hoping he doesn’t react, pulling your hood instinctively to hide more. You can hear Daryl's loud grumble even from the place you were sitting, and as you peep around your hood, he's already moving quickly, slipping past everyone. You start to dissociate, and that built-up anxiety starts to blister and pop inside you.

Please don’t...

Please, don’t make a scene...

Maybe he isn’t coming over.

You are broken out of your mind by his hand slamming on the table next to your tray. Daryl’s eyes flashed across your face. Anger, no… rage, completely enveloped his eyes.

“Who did this to you?!” His growl resounded through the mess hall, and you almost flinched at how aggressive that sounded.

„Daryl, please…”

„Do not ‚Daryl, please’ me!” You were sure that if eyes could kill, his would leave you on the floor with two X's instead of eyes.

„I don’t know. It was dark. I didn’t see,” you try to explain. „Please, stop making a scene. I really don’t need any more eyes on me.”

Daryl looks around cautiously. A lot of people were paying attention to you both now, and it made you uncomfortable. He saw that. He knew that. He pursed his lips a little and then gave out a loud exasperated sigh. Before you know it, you’re dragged by your arm towards the doors. His grip was strong and relentless—it almost made you wince in pain. Your head swung down to cover your embarrassment and redness in your cheeks.

Once you are outside and out of the view of all the people, Daryl pulls on your hood, taking it off fully. He stands there, looking at your bruise and your cut lip, as if he were assessing the damage, taking in the sight before him. He steps closer, taking your chin into his fingers, and tilts your head to the side.

„Who the fuck did you piss off lately?” He asks, his gaze falling onto your eyes. When he doesn’t get a response, he scoffs and lets go of your chin. „I need to know who did this.”

„I told you already. I don’t-,” you say, rolling your eyes.

„How bad is it?”

The question falls from his mouth before you even get to finish the sentence. You think about it for a minute, trying to figure out if you should tell him about your broken bones or if you should just leave it alone. Why would you tell him? What’s that going to do? It will just piss him off even more.

„It’s just my face,” you say, and you hear an immediate dry laugh rolling out of his lips.

„Liar,” he says.

You stare at each other for a minute or two. Your throat goes dry, and you bite your lip, making yourself curse and wince in pain. His icy blue eyes were way too much to handle for you. It felt like he could just blow up at any second if you kept being silent, so you muster up some courage. Taking a short breath, you get ready to speak, but Daryl stops you by putting his hand up in front of you.

„Your face just told me everything I needed to know,” he grumbles.

„What?” your voice sounds squeaky, and your eyes widen in surprise.

„You can’t breathe deeply. Your face grimaced when you tried to. You have broken ribs,” he says confidently, and you're stunned at how he reads you like a book without even trying hard. „You shouldn’t even be on your feet if this happened just last night.”

„How did you—?” you ask, but you already know the answer. Of course he’d know. He probably suffered it himself at the hand of his father. Maybe even worse than this.

„It looks fresh; the cut on your lip is not healed yet and still red, which means that it can’t be more than a day or two old.”

„You a doctor or summin’?” You mumble, and you pull your hood up again. You look at him, fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie. His expression is almost unreadable, but you can see concern and worry on his face.

He rubs his temple before sighing.

„Let’s get you home.”

He takes your arm in his hand, more gently than when he pulled you up from the table but still hard enough that it made you silently wince at his touch. Though painful, his touch soothed you. Somehow, his concern made you feel like there was still a bit of compassion left in his heart for you. As he guided you towards your house, you didn’t protest. Truth be told, you are tired; you want to lie down or at least find a comfortable position to be in.

All the way down the street, Daryl stayed quiet. Didn’t ask questions, just walked beside you, his hand on your arm loosened a bit, so it didn’t hurt you. Once your house comes into view, your eyes dart around to see if any people are watching. They were. From everywhere. Of course… This wouldn’t go unnoticed—you and Daryl suddenly beside each other after months with no real contact. Plus, the hood on your head probably didn’t help.

Daryl walks into your house, drags you inside, and slams the doors behind him. You jump a little at the sound, but you keep your eyes glued to the ground.

„Look at me,” he says, his commanding tone making you bring your eyes up almost immediately.

He steps closer to you and once again pulls your hood off of your head with one swift motion. Daryl’s eyes glance all over your face, as if trying to read through the wounds about the people who did this to you. He takes a deep breath and huffs quietly before stepping away and motioning to the living room and the couch. You take a few steps and then lower yourself on the couch carefully, trying not to get any pain.

„Here,” Daryl says and puts one hand on your shoulder and the other wraps around your waist carefully to help you move down the couch into a half-seated, almost laid-down position on one of your sides. Your legs get put on the coffee table. „The best position to make sure you’re not hurting.”

„Thanks,” you mumble quietly.

„What do you need?” he asks. „Water? Pillows? Books?”

„All of the above.”

He huffs a half laugh and stands up, disappearing from view. You wondered why he’s helping you. He’s been absent from your life for months, and now he’s back, and at first glance, you’d say nothing had happened between you two. But you knew it wasn’t the truth. You argued. Badly. You couldn’t just go back to normal that easily, could you? Your mind also itched to ask about the fight he had with Leah. You wanted to ask if it was about you or if you just dreamt the entire thing, but you bit your tongue.

Daryl shows up with pillows from your bed, a book from the bedside table, and then goes to the kitchen to get some water. He brings you a glass and puts it on the armrest of the sofa.

„You should sleep in an upright position; it will be more comfortable,” he says, propping you with pillows on each side.

„You mean I sleep here?”

„Yeah,” he nods. „When my pops used to beat me up, breaking some ribs, I spent a lot of time in a position in which you are right now. It helped to ease the pain a bit.”

„Right,” you say and nod affirmatively. "How long?"

"As long as it takes for your ribs to feel better."

He stands there for a bit in complete silence, scanning your body like he had x-rays in his vision and could see the broken bones through your clothes. When he looks into your eyes, you could've sworn you saw some emotions that reminded you of the old times.

Care.

He quickly averts his gaze after less than a second and he nods once again, heading towards the front doors. He reaches for the door handle, but before he leaves, he speaks again.

„I am going to find out who did this. I promise they will get what they deserve.”

[el-jarado]

Turning some Epic AUs over in my head, and one that's appealed to me is Odysseus and the boys actually succeeding in the wind bag trial only to fail to make it home anyway because Odysseus has not yet learned you don't win god games, you play them helplessly until the god decides they're done with you.

Odysseus listens when Aeolus presents their game; the bag is a tool, not the game itself. He's being challenged to a battle of wits; he boasted mere moments earlier to his shaken men that he led 600 men to battle and none of them died there, but he's lost men since then. Is he a good enough captain to know how the men he has left will act when besieged by rumor?

And Odysseus rises to the challenge, greeting the difficulties with open arms like Polities would but remembering to use his wits. He has Eurylochus assemble a team to guard the bag; as the good man he wants to be, he soothes a moment of doubt with a gesture of trust, setting to work mending the cracks in his friendship with his brother. As the cunning man he is, he sends a message to any other doubters in the crew that he and Eurylochus are on the same page, and everyone else should be following their lead. He keeps his eyes on the men Eurylochus trusts with the task; they have been honored by his gesture, and so have motivation to deserve it...and quietly, Odysseus makes sure he knows who's guarding the bag and when, and they know he knows. Anyone who betrays them will be found out swiftly, and Odysseus sleeps soundly knowing his men will want to live up to his faith in their loyalty, and fear carrying the blame and facing the consequences if they don't.

The whispers on the wind are wily, but Odysseus is wilier, and bit by bit he stokes optimism in his shaken crew. Morale improves as they get closer and closer to Ithaca, and maybe Odysseus's assurance teeters on hubris; he does not correct the men when they start to laugh and joke again, saying to each other their Captain can even outwit the gods. He needs them to believe that; not forever, just for a few days. Just until he gets them home.

Odysseus lives up to his new ideals, and leads from the heart even as his guile tries to make sure of things. He plays Aeolus's game and wins, but as Ithaca approaches, Eurylochus's words ring true; don't forget how dangerous the gods are. As Ithaca comes into sight, Aeolus's business with Odysseus and his men is finished.

Poseidon's, however, has just begun.

Amusing the wind god for ten days has done nothing to calm the fury of the sea god, and Odysseus suddenly finds himself on the losing end of a game he didn't even know he was playing. Poseidon sent the storm to crush them and block their path, and when Odysseus's scheme stilled it, Poseidon lay in wait should the storm win free. Had it been released, he was ready to drown Odysseus's fleet wherever it landed, but with the storm still trapped, Poseidon watches and waits until Odysseus is in Ithican waters before rising from the sea to have his reckoning with the man who blinded his son. Odysseus won the god game, but Athena is not watching over him and Aeolus has neither the power nor the inclination to stay Poseidon's hand. Odysseus's only prize for winning the game is that all of his subjects can watch Poseidon make an example of him and his fleet.

Odysseus has let his men believe he can outwit even the weather, even the gods themselves; he had to, to make sure they would not be led astray by rumor on the wind. Now, however, the truth is laid bare; Odysseus floats in waters he has long considered his, only to find they owe their true loyalty to the angry god tossing the fleet about like toys. There is no strategy that can calm or trick Poseidon, no attack that can drive him away, no way to evade him. Odysseus stares at the shores of Ithaca; he could swim there if the waters were calm, but with Poseidon's will set against him, his home might as well be on the moon for all he can reach it. Somewhere, he knows, Penelope and Telemachus are rushing to the shoreline, and he has no way to escape the doom that has found him there.

No way, except one. No way, except for the winds he was warned would blow him halfway across the world if he let them free.

Odysseus looks at the god looming above, taking his time in the role of executioner; he looks at the bag that is his only way out. He looks at the shores he has thought about every day for the last ten years.

"Please don't make me do this, don't make me do this."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A 7-Part Book Development Template

Take your story from a vague book idea to an impactful first draft.

PART 1: Concept Development

A great story is built on a great premise.

This exercise is meant to help you develop a strong foundation for your story.

This story follows [name + brief character bio]. Their life changes/story begins when [inciting incident]. This causes [problem]. They wish to [goal] but are held back by [antagonistic forces].

CHARACTER "This story follows [name + brief character bio]"

Brief description of character (occupation, skills, lifestyle, etc.):

Emotional trait or problem:

PLOT "When [inciting incident], this causes [problem]"

Inciting incident:

Problem:

GOAL "They wish to [goal]"

Goal:

ANTAGONIST "Held back by [antagonistic forces]"

Internal antagonist:

External antagonist:

PART 2: The Protagonist

After writing the premise of your story, it’s time to focus on your protagonist.

This exercise will help you sketch out the fundamentals of your main character.

Five (possibly) positive qualities:

Five (possibly) negative qualities:

Personality type:

Aspirations and goals:

Belief system (written as ‘I believe…’ statements):

Significant life events & backstory:

Skills:

Appearance:

Mannerisms, body language, speaking style:

What is their character arc in the story? How do they change and grow?

PART 3: The Cast

Behind every strong protagonist is a strong supporting cast. This exercise will help you flesh out the key relationships in your protagonist’s life.

What important relationships were a part of the protagonist's past?

Who were they?

Their influences on the protagonist?

What happened to the relationship/s?

What important relationships are a part of the protagonist's life now?

Who were they?

Their influences on the protagonist?

What will happen to the relationship/s?

Select at least one and at most 3 important relationships to focus on developing. What are their progressions?

Relationship #1:

Relationship #2:

Relationship #3:

PART 4: The World

An impactful setting should put pressure on the character to grow. This exercise will help you identify how your setting can accomplish this.

Where and when is the story set?

What other settings will we visit in the story? List them here.

What does the main setting look like?

What is the climate and weather like?

Imagery associated with the setting?

What are the people like?

What does a day-to-day for this place look like? Describe it in a few sentences.

What challenges does this setting present? What opportunities?

How long has the protagonist been here? How do they feel about it?

PART 5: The Plot

This exercise helps you define your plot using the popular 3-act structure method.

Identify the 5 key points on the timeline:

Inciting incident:

Plot point #1:

Midpoint:

Plot point #2:

Climax:

PART 6: Form, Style & Voice

If a book’s structure is its walls, its voice and style is the interior design that makes the book truly unique. This is an exercise to help you nail down how this particular book will be told.

DEVELOPING THE BOOK’S FORM

POV:

Tense:

Narrator:

Voice and tone:

Emotional core:

What are the primary emotions in this piece?

Atmosphere and mood?

DEVELOPING YOUR VOICE

Identify 3 books whose style or voice is similar to what you want:

Read a few pages from each and describe what they do specifically:

Write a scene from your character’s voice. How close is it to hitting the mark? What do you wish it did differently?

PART 7: The Writing Plan

This exercise will help you determine the logistics of your writing process, so that you can finish your first draft.

What’s your project timeline?

Set a deadline for finishing your first draft.

To complete your book, how many words do you need to write per:

Week:

Month:

Source ⚜ More: Writing Worksheets & Templates ⚜ 100 Sensory Words Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding ⚜ 170 Quirks ⚜ 600+ Personality Traits

[creations-by-soap]

I reached 600 followers on my Instagram! Might not be much to some, but I've been meeting some actual cool and decent artists on there, despite the influxes of AI content creators and open ended policies about that crap.

As a thank you, I whipped up this challenge and wanted to extend it to my followers here on Tumblr!(Art raffle exclusive to my Instagram followers)

Draw either of these two images I have drawn in your style!

Use the hashtag #soapydtiys600 so I can see the post!

Share my OG art and tag me along with your art when you post :)

Deadline to submit: 4/2🌲🌲🌲

Thank you everyone and I hope you continue to follow my work! -Soap 🧼

[permettez-moi]

Ranger's apprentice dashboard simulator:

🦊 theonlyguythatmatters

I hope the Gods all come down to earth to smite us fools who dared to challenge the whims of fate

🦊theonlyguythatmatters

Sorry guys I ran out of coffee

52 notes

👤ranger-no Follow

I've said it before and I'll say it again: honey in your coffee is the only right thing in this world

🦋Will-you-Treaty-me-right

Did you have an argument about it with theonlyguythatmatters again

👤ranger-no Follow

Did I ask you

🦋Will-you-Treaty-me-right

No I asked you

7 notes

🤺TheSunriseWarrior

Thinking back to that time I stayed in Gallica and ate the best mashed potatoes of my life. Alligot? Something. Much cheese. I will miss you always

💛Jennyskitchen Follow

Boil 600 grams of peeled floury potatoes in garlic and salt water. Mash em (keep a bit of the water in them for juicyness)

Chop 330 grammes of cantal cheese in small bits and add it all at once to the hot mashed potatoes, stir until fully molten. Add spices to your own liking

🤺TheSunriseWarrior

I love you

💛Jennyskitchen Follow

Only for you big guy

☻️wizzard-ranger Follow

Hey guys isn't this the prince

340K notes

🌟Eventuallyn

Me: maybe we should stop cursing so much around our child

My husband: it builds character

🌟Eventuallyn

My husband: the child is discovering violence

Me: what did you do

My husband: nothing yet

🌟Eventuallyn

Me: why is the child screaming like this

My husband: the child discovered violence goes both way

🌟Eventuallyn

Me: do you sometimes think we're doing wrong by our child

My husband (lovingly): have you met the child? I think it would be impossible to do right by the child

23 notes

📅YourDailyDoseOfRecentHistory

Did I ever tell you guys the story of how a bunch of horses got stolen from a Temujai army, and somehow no-one noticed or cared

🦋Will-you-Treaty-me-right

No please do tell us

🦊Theonlyguythatmatters

I am so intrigued please share

👤ranger-no Follow

I hate all of you

📅YourDailyDoseOfRecentHistory

???

374 notes