#all of the previous starters requested are all queued up!)

[storyofwhoiam]

So my week off has become a week of creating new OCs. In my defence though, I entirely blame these most recent two on @piecebypiiece

So let’s consider this a starter call for OCs in general. Reply with an symbol for what you want — and you are encouraged to reply with multiple symbols — feel free to specify if you’ve got something in particular in mind, if not I’ll throw something random at you:

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 for a starter from Amy (bio here)      🏁 for a starter in Amy’s prison verse 🌼 for a starter from Daisy (bio here) 🟥 for a starter from Harley (bio here)      🖐️ for a starter in Harley’s prison verse 🐶 for a starter from Justino (bio here) 🌏 for a starter from Kellie (bio here)      🔗 for a starter in Kellie’s prison verse 👊 for a starter from Matt (bio here) 👜 for a starter from Melanie (bio here)

🔀 for a starter from a random OC  📨 for me to spam you with memes (feel free to specify who from) 🧭 for me to jump into your IMs/discord and plot something

[jae-bummer]

Butterflies

Request: Could you please do number 20 w/ Chanyeol as romantic?

20) Sleepover with your bias (platonic or romantic)

Member: EXO’s Chanyeol x Y/N

Type: Fluff

You dropped your bag at the door of the studio and cleared your throat, waiting to be acknowledged. 

“Chanyeol,” you said simply, crossing your arms. You leveled him with the best menacing stare you could produce, but he was clueless. 

“Chanyeol,” you repeated again. You shifted your stance from one foot to the other, growing progressively more annoyed with each moment you went unnoticed. 

“PARK,” you grunted as loudly as you could. Chanyeol immediately jumped, his shoulders flying into his neck as he flung his headphones from his ears and onto his keyboard. 

“WHat, yes, hello jagi,” he gasped, his eyes wide as he swiveled his chair toward you. 

“Can you tell me why your volume is so loud...when you’re literally playing online Candy Crush?” you grumbled, squinting at your boyfriend’s screen. “Hell, I thought you were at least working on a song, is this what you mean when you say you have a lot of work to catch up on at the studio?”

“I had writer’s block!” he muttered, readjusting the headphones so they weren’t so haphazardly thrown. 

“Well, regardless of what you were actually doing, do you know what time it is?” you sighed, leaning against the door frame. 

“No,” he hummed sheepishly. His cheeks were turning pink as he spoke, already knowing that he was in trouble. He lowered his head to squint at the small time noted on the bottom of his desktop screen and took in a sharp gulp of air. “It’s...it’s 20:00.” 

“Meaning...?” you prompted. 

“Meaning it’s close to bed time?” he smiled with a wince. 

“Try again,” you chuckled. 

“Meaning...I might have possibly forgotten maybe I was supposed to be at your apartment three hours ago?” he said quietly, his eyes darting to the floor. 

“Precisely,” you hummed, pushing off from the doorframe and crossing the room to stand in front of him. It was on very few occasions that you managed to stand taller than Chanyeol, but in this instance you were pleased with speaking to him while he was still seated. You put your fingers beneath his chin and tilted it upwards, forcing him to look at you again. “But I’m not worried, because I brought the apartment to you.”

“You...you what?” he asked, tilting his head as if he were a curious puppy. You grinned as you strolled back to the bags you had dropped at the door and began to dig through them. 

“You don’t want to leave the studio, so we’re having a sleep over here,” you smiled, digging around in the first bag. You began to lay out snacks on the small coffee table placed before the worn couch behind Chanyeol. He watched you carefully as you busied yourself back and forth, pulling out plushies, blankets, and even your laptop with Netflix already queued up. 

“You brought half of your possessions...to the studio...for me?” he asked, lifting his brows. If he were an emoji, his pupils would be replaced by hearts. 

“Well...not technically for you,” you chuckled, beginning to make a nest of blankets on the couch. You didn’t have to turn around to know his previous expression has now been wiped from his face. “I’m pretty selfish, so this was more of a “me” situation.” 

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he nodded. “And pretend like I have a romantic partner who encourages my career and brings the dates to me.”

“I encourage your career!” you gasp. “Think of all the inspiration I’ve given you through the years!” 

Chanyeol smiled as he stood, crossing the room to wrap his arms around your waist from behind as he began to gently rock you. “You’re right. Who can forget such classic lines as, “in the end, you can’t reject me, i’ll play with you however I want.””

“Or,” you nodded, furrowing your brows. “The lyrics for Lucky...maybe Heaven.”

“You think those were about you?” he chuckled. “Someone thinks highly of themselves.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with me,” you muttered, giving him a light elbow to his ribs as you pulled away from him. 

“Aigoo, jagi, you hurt me,” he pouted, grasping his side in feigned pain. 

“Good,” you nodded. “Maybe next time you’ll think before you speak.” 

“I’m creeping in your heart babe,” Chanyeol growled, standing up again and dropping his injured act. He began poking at you as he followed you around the room instead. “I’ll flip you over, break you down, and swallow you up.”

“While that sounds fun,” you hummed, partially ignoring your boyfriend as you began to search the room. “Do you remember where I put my laptop charger? Did Kyungsoo run off with it again?” 

“Top shelf,” he nodded, jutting his chin at the shelves on the opposite side of the room. He looked at you knowingly as you bit your lip, looking from the shelves and back to his face again. 

“I mean, do you think you could get it for me...or?” you trailed, crossing your arms. You already knew you were asking an empty question. There was no use in ever innocently asking Chanyeol to use his height for anything. 

“Absolutely not,” he grinned. “Because I mean, obviously, if I do it, you’ll be forever in my debt.”

“I’ll get it my damn self,” you grumbled, trying to eye what you could use as a stool. “Jerk.”

You began to stack unused boxes together, attempting to make a makeshift ladder to get to your computer charger. Without it, your plans to Netflix and chill would quickly turn into just chilling. And by chilling, you meant trying to fend off Chanyeol’s wandering hands. 

“Why do you have to be so difficult?” Chanyeol sighed, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around your waist again. He lifted you slightly and turned 180 degrees before placing your feet on the floor again. 

“I’m the difficult one?” you hiccuped. “Says the man who expected my eternal gratitude.” 

“Well, maybe not eternal,” he said with a wink. “I kind of expected that anyhow.”

“Remind me why I date you again?” you grumbled, snatching your laptop charger from him as he pulled it form the highest shelf it could have been placed on. 

“For starters,” he nodded earnestly. He began counting off on his fingers as he spoke. “Handsome, smart, kind, good-looking, creative, aesthetically pleasing-”

“You literally described yourself with three synonyms just now,” you sighed. You plugged in your computer and turned around, crossing your arms. 

“And all of them are true,” he nodded again. “I mean, have you really looked at me? My face is perfectly symmetrical.”

“Aish, you’ve been hanging out with Sehun too long,” you groaned. 

“Incorrect,” Chanyeol argued. “If I hung out with Sehun too long, I would be trying to tell you why you should stop finding me attractive and why you should find him attractive instead.”

“Good point,” you chuckled. “Now can we watch our movie?”

“Depends, did you bring my pajamas?” he grinned. 

You rolled your eyes as you shuffled over to the bags and began to dig around again. You tugged out a pair of pajamas with tiny music notes floating across the fabric. 

“I appreciate you,” he whispered, taking them from your hands and setting them gingerly onto the coffee table. “Now turn around.”

“Ex-excuse me?” you stuttered, furrowing your brows. 

“I’m modest,” he nodded. “Turn around.”

“Since when?” you croaked. 

“Since now,” he smiled. 

“Fine, you’ll turn around when I get dressed as well,” you hummed, tugging out an oversized t-shirt for yourself. 

“Alright so, problem one, that’s unfair. Problem B, is that my shirt?” he asked, crossing his arms. 

“And if it is?” you asked. You clutched the shirt tightly to your chest with no intention of giving it back to him. 

“That’s pretty friggin adorable,” he giggled, pulling off the shirt that was currently on his body. He wadded it up before tossing it at you playfully. You bit your lip as your eyes traced over his half naked, tanned frame. After all of the time you had been in a relationship with him, he never got any less attractive to you. Your eyes were never tired of looking at his body and your mind never got sick of combatting his teasing. He had completely won you over. 

“Like what you see?” he giggled, promptly tugging on his shirt. His face was a bright red as he had noticed all of the attention you were giving to him. 

“You can’t say stuff like that and then act shy,” you laughed, tugging off your own top and letting it fall to the floor. You pulled on his oversized t-shirt and sighed happily as the thin cotton fell over your shoulders and past your waist. You looked up to notice his wide eyes as he took your body in; the same body he had stared at countless nights and witnessed bare dozens of times. He seemed just as enthralled with you as you were with him. 

“I’ll always act shy around you,” he said quietly. “You give me butterflies.”

“Still?” you grinned, incapable of keeping your happiness from finding your face. You shuffled over to wrap your arms around his tall frame. 

“Of course,” he whispered, leaning down to place a kiss on your hairline. “I’m actually pretty fond of them at this point.” 

[mathematicalghost]

scorbunny is my son now

Listen, I pretend to know much more about pokemon than I actually do. I spent seven hours queuing for the Pokemon Center in London, but please do not ask me about pokemon. My entire ranking list for pokemon rests on “which pokemon would I most like as a pet?”. I’ve been asked what my favourite generation is (I don’t know), what my favourite region is (I don’t know), and what my favourite game is (I’ve only played Diamond, Blue Mystery Dungeon, and Yellow). In summary: I do not know anything about these funky little pocket monsters, I’m sorry.

Pokemon, as a concept, has always attracted my attention. Much like Animal Crossing and literally any MMO ever, I want to be the kind of person who likes these games. I want to feel that kind of joy that can only come from methodically catching [enter full Pokedex total here] funky little pocket monsters through a combination of catching funky little pocket monsters and giving stones to some of your favourite little funky pocket monsters. I want to be the person who likes Pokemon.

I really fucking hate grinding, and repetition, and “thinking”. So maybe Pokemon wasn’t for me.

I played Diamond the year it released. If you want to keep notes, I was nine years old. I wanted the monster on the box who was shiny, and blue, and nice and sharp. I also got my request in early when it came to Christmas of 2006, so I got a copy of Diamond and my stepbrother had to get a copy of Pearl.

Vaguely, my recollection of these games involved me being stuck in caves (Although, I played Blue Mystery Dungeon a few years after release but still before I hit the age of 13, so my memories of both games fade into one), being annoyed that I was stuck in caves, and losing all my pokemon repeatedly in wild grass. Pokemon, broadly, was a stressful experience and all I wanted was to play a digital version of the card game that I occasionally collected and even more occasionally played.

When Pokemon Sword and Shield came out I was positioned in the never-before seen position in that I:

Owned a current gen console

Had friends, and they would entertain a conversation about literally any interest

I had money that didn’t need to be spent on a bus fare

When the Pokemon Centre London was announced, and then later the concept that you’d be queuing from 2am to get even the slightest hope of entry was introduced, I was gripped with a need I’d last felt when I begged my father for a copy of Pokemon Diamond.

I want to be the kind of person who likes Pokemon.

So I did it. I got in line at 4;15am, and at approximately 11;30am I had been relieved of £95 in exchange for a few stickers, an umbrella, and a 30cm Scorbunny plushie.

Two days later I remembered I should probably pre-order Pokemon Sword because I wanted that cool ass steelbook and also like, I just spent seven hours queueing for Pokemon and then went straight to work, and that should mean something.

My parcel arrived a day late, mostly due to Nintendo’s bizarre ideas about how big a box should be to post a video game in, but then I was stuck in. My mission to be Someone Who Likes Pokemon.

I chose Scorbunny as my starter, primarily because he looked cute and also I’d used 1 of my 5 item quotas to buy him as a plushie and I should honour that. From then, I crashed through the map, primarily not catching Pokemon as I’d forgotten that I was no longer 8 years old and much better at resource management now, and picking up Pokemon who were either cute, useful, a mix of both, or the Noctowl who was neither but always remained in my team for reasons I still can’t fully express. Most of my team were built through NPC trades or pure accident as opposed to any level of skill.

And it was… great fun? I never needed to try a gym a second time, and I only once lost all my Pokemon and had to restart at the previous town. Some of the rivals I came across on the path were harder than others, but never impossible. When I knew I’d truly fucked it, I simply set up camp and played ball with my Pokemon before healing up and moving on (using Potions are for fools/people smarter than me, I can’t tell). The routes were never particularly long - Route 8 stands out as a tough one, but I still crossed it without too much trouble. Each town had an NPC trade with a Pokemon who always came in handy for the next gym and eventually became part of my final approach team.

It took me 27 hours to run through the main story, including the brief deviations to level up my Pokemon to prepare for the next gym. In my final approach, I was under the level of my opponents, and I still ran through it with some nail biting moments and a lot of Full Revives. I played Sword, and so got to experience the Fighting gym and Rock gym - leading to the bizarre experience of being in the middle of a snowy town without leading into an Ice gym. Choosing an edition of Pokemon should technically involve considerations of which has the better exclusives and gyms as well as the legendary, but in predictable fashion I did what I imagine every other Sword player did. I saw a dog with a sword, and I wanted that for myself.

After finishing the Championship run, there is a second ending story that you can complete. Did I do it? Of course not. I wandered out to the Wild Area, camped out with my final team of Pokemon, and had a curry. And then I switched off the game.

Maybe I’m still not quite the kind of person who likes the concept of a Pokemon game, but I sure did enjoy Sword.

[someaulone]

��Top surgery” is usually associated with lads beaming triumphantly as they post selfies and show off their bandages and later their chest, lads feeling victorious and having a joyous recovery. My mastectomy experience was definitely nothing of the sort and was honestly really fucking awful. I’m a month short of being a year post op and I finally feel able to talk about it. It’s nearly two thousand words so if you read the whole thing thank you, I appreciate it a lot.

 For starters, there was a long waiting list, I mean a really long waiting list. I was referred to James’ hospital in July 2013, I had my consultation December 2014 and the operation was then in July 2016. Not only that but after my consultation I had zero contact with the hospital apart from the odd letter from administration asking me to confirm I still wanted the operation. I finally got an offer of a date. It was a Thursday and she said I could have the operation Monday. This was less than a week post abdominal hysterectomy so I had to decline. The secretary was abrupt and hung up on me quickly leaving me barely able to get a word in. In June 2016 I got a letter saying I might be able to have the operation in July if there was a bed available. I had to call on the day and ask if there was a bed available. If yes the operation was happening if not I was back in limbo. Yeah that month fairly fucking dragged by. Between December 2014 and the day I had the operation I existed in this fucking awful soul destroying, spirit crushing, demoralising limbo. My entire life was on hold and I felt unable to make even short term plans never mind long term plans. Every day I waited for the phone call to say I’d be getting a date.  

Secondly I didn’t even fucking want to go to that surgeon. She has a long history of people being unsatisfied with their results (I am most definitely unsatisfied) as well as having a reputation of being cruel and demeaning to their patients. But I felt like I had absolutely no other choice. I had no means of saving the money to go privately (unable to work and I have been on disability for a number of years). Saving to go privately would have taken me a decade or more. I absolutely could not have waited that long. I had to have the operation before I was 30 there was no two ways about that. So I was simultaneously really excited to finally be post mastectomy and absolutely fucking dreading my results.

I called on the day I was supposed to and miraculously enough there was a bed available. I had to go in that afternoon for 2 and the operation would happen some undetermined time the next day. I had to leave my house pretty early to get there so the only meal I had was breakfast (cereal) and the only food I brought in was some chocolate because the hospital is pretty strict about what food patients can have in their rooms. I spent the day isolated in a private room, I guess that contributed to my state of mind as well even though I am super introverted being alone on the eve of such a major event isn’t ideal. The few interactions I had that day didn’t help either. The doctor that took my bloods cocked it up and it was the most painful blood taking I’ve ever had, actually near fainted and I’ve never had an issue with needles or getting blood before or since. The doctor that came in with my consent forms got super thick with me about me requesting they leave me with no nipples and was reluctant to let me sign the forms.

Then the caterer came in in the evening and she told me the dinner options and I was like “uh I’m a vegan so I can’t have any of that” and she said “we can’t cater to special diets, we might have something for you tomorrow”. So I had no food for the entire day apart from the bowl of cereal and a bar of chocolate. I had no money to order takeaway and nobody to ask to get me a takeaway. By the next morning when I was getting ready for the operation I hadn’t eaten in nearly 24 hours. My blood sugar levels had crashed so I was in a pit of depression. The rational part of me knew it was the hunger but it’s hard to listen to that rationality when you’re in the depths of depression.

I was told to be up and ready to go by six am. The nurses didn’t have any idea when I would be called down but it ended up being around noon so I had a whole six hours to stew in my misery and nerves and become increasingly depressed about how I knew the surgeon was going to do a shit job. The real icing on the cake was around 8 am when the surgeon came in to mark up my chest. She brought a couple of doctors with her including the one that had gotten thick with me about my nipples. I really didn’t want to take my t-shirt off in front of them but thought it would be silly to make a fuss as the doctors would be seeing me practically naked on the operating table. So I went ahead and pulled off my t-shirt and the surgeon stared marking me up while the two doctors peered over her shoulder. Then the surgeon suddenly loudly announces “wow you’ve put on a ton of weight since I last saw you. You’ll have to do something with yourself”

I just wanted the ground to swallow me whole and then I had four more hours to stew in what was easily the most mortifying moment of my life. So you can imagine the kind of state I had worked myself into by the time the nurse came to bring me down to theatre. I had to be wheeled down in a trolley bed and even worse had to leave my glasses behind in my room. I feel extremely vulnerable without my glasses. I was wheeled down to the waiting area where there was lot of other people queued up for operations. It was a busy very public place with doctors and nurses running in and out and there I was in this ridiculous paper gown with no glasses feeling totally exposed and then the chap next to me kept trying to engage me in conversation. I also realised I really needed to fucking pee and I was stressed out of my mind over it. I mean I was fucking bursting but too socially awkward to ask a nurse if there was a bathroom available. Then I was wheeled off to be prepared for the operation and I realised it was too late and I started having visions of me pissing myself on the operating table.

I was depressed going under and when I came out of the anaesthetic I was even more depressed.

In terms of pain there wasn’t much and my mobility wasn’t nearly as severely impacted as it was with my hysterectomy. But it was a very different experience in terms of how much attention I got from the nurses. Holles street hospital is a maternity hospital so is obviously a lot quieter then James street (general hospital). I never had to ask the nurses for anything in Holles street as they were in and out so much. They came in the morning after the operation (can’t stand up for 24 hours after abdominal hysterectomy) got me out of bed and dressed me. I had to ask for assistance in James but I was too depressed and miserable and ended up rarely asking for help. I wore the same dirty underwear and shirt for 3 days. The nurses only came in the morning and evening so I felt very shy about asking them anything as I didn’t get familiar with them. Nobody assisted me to get out of bed and go for a walk and I was too embarrassed to go out into such a busy corridor and have to walk up and down past tons of people. As a result I ended up having to be in the hospital until Saturday. The operation was Tuesday, I should have been out Friday when the drains came out (they don’t discharge you until the drains are removed) but the drains weren’t ready to be removed until Saturday because I hadn’t been moving around enough.

So I  lay around in the hospital in dirty clothes with unwashed teeth (took me ages to ask a nurse to get my toothbrush out of my bag) stewing in my misery sinking deeper and deeper into the depression. The food situation didn’t improve. They gave me a lot of dry toast and this grey slop (I have no literally no idea what it was supposed to be) on rice every evening. It was too disgusting to stomach so I was barely eating so my blood sugar levels continued to be at a dangerous low. So it was not surprising that my brain then got stuck on the track that it did.

Ireland has a huge shortage of hospital beds and massive overcrowding and under funding. People get stuck on trolley beds in a&e for days. Sometimes elderly people get stuck on chairs overnight and people have even died in corridors without any privacy or comfort because there wasn’t any beds available. Just a quick google search will confirm what I’m shitteing on about. So this is all I could think of when I was in that hospital room. Kept thinking of all the people in the a&e in this hospital as well as all the hospitals across the country waiting desperately for a bed. All the elderly people and the very sick denied beds while I, a disgusting, rotten transsexual freak, was hogging this precious resource from people who truly deserve it. ­­

That’s why I didn’t call a nurse for ages when I started experiencing a sudden severe pain in my chest. I tried to sleep it off and then paced the room (as best as one can pace such a tiny room) then tried to sleep it off again. I just kept thinking I didn’t want to disturb the nurses or take up their precious time because there were people who really needed them and I didn’t really deserve to be treated.

Anyway eventually I did call a nurse. She got a second nurse in, they took my bandages off and they stood around poking and prodding me. It was a dark room with just a really bright overhead light beaming over the bed which gave it this surreal alien abduction feel to it. Unpleasant to say the least. Eventually they concluded I was going to be fine but I needed a stronger painkiller. I had been only taking paracetamol up until now due to my previous codeine addiction. The nurse told me it wasn’t a codeine based painkiller but I said it still felt like falling off the wagon and it scared me. She talked me through it and I reluctantly agreed to take it.

That was my last night in the hospital and I cried straight through till morning. Once I got home and started getting proper food again my mood improved drastically. I’m not happy at all with my results but I’m learning to be ok with it. This is nearly two thousand words now so I’m just going to stop here. Thanks if you’ve read this far, I appreciate it.