#and this is one i just discovered this way

[pukicho]

I know they came out like a whole month ago but have you played or watched the new chapters of deltarune? 3 and 4 I mean.

I played Act 1 of Deltarune when the demo released five years ago and to be honest, I didn't really like it. It felt juvenile to me, it lacked the balance and mood and confidence that Undertale had in its writing. Even the music felt less confident to my ears. To be even more cynical, it simply felt superfluous, especially because Undertale already existed.

Mind you, I played Undertale the day it came out, so I've been a fan for a long time - I even made some shitty Undertale remixes back in the day - but I guess I thought I had simply outgrown Toby's writing style and humor by the time Deltarune came out, and merely accepted that I was not going to engage with it any further.

Despite a feeling of melancholy, I was still glad to see Toby making games for people to enjoy, but I was out.

Anyways, I decided to play Chapters 2, 3, and 4 a month ago out of boredom, and it turns out, I was WRONG. ABOUT THE WHOLE THING.

I genuinely believe that if he manages to stick the landing for the remaining 3 chapters this will become my single-favorite story ever told in a video game. Perhaps that seems a bit extreme, but it isn't. This game really is a roided-out version of Undertale. Stronger in every way, Improved across the board, and boy, that Toby, he's still got it.

I don't know how he manages to imbue his characters with so much LIFE - they're so tangible and earnestly-written - Susie especially, what a good character. Usually, I struggle to endear myself AT ALL to the characters in a story, even really well-written ones - because I'm a sack of shit - but somehow, here I am caring about Toby's purple dinosaur and goat.

I want to talk about the instanced-dialogue system in Deltarune: It's really fucking impressive. Apart from the dialogue itself being extremely well-realized in chapters 2-3-4, It's staggering how many variations on a given-scene there are based on small, seemingly-innocuous decisions made by the player during a given playthrough. I guarantee you, new bits of dialogue will be discovered years down the line that are only triggered by super specific criteria, because toby is just like that.

Every section of the game feels rife with hidden interaction. It gives the game a very mysterious element that only doubles in mysteriousness as you delve deeper into Deltarune's hidden nooks and crannies. Some secrets in Deltarune are so abstract that I almost feel like we're hitting Yume Nikki-levels of low fidelity RPG-maker weirdness, and I love that.

The music is also good.

Tobert successfully straddles the line between absurdity and sincerity so confidently in Deltarune that things that SHOULD be cringe-inducing simply end up feeling charming and whimsical instead. The story is good, the characters are good, the deeper themes and secret allusions are much more mature and complex than I had expected them to be, and I am very impressed by the writing in general, and the level of quality it reaches. And of course, the gameplay is just Undertale, so it fucking rocks.

That sly fox did it again.

[pooksgetspooked]

Thesis such a chore that it reignited my passion for writing fanfic. Procrastinating writing to focus on writing 💔

Anyways! Thinking about:

Deaf!Doctor getting involved with Huntrix and Saja Boys

Note: part 1 because I got lazy! I have lots of ideas roughly fleshed out with 2 chapters done, but we’ll see <3

Deaf!Doctor who’s actually too soft, but has walls tougher than the Trojans. She’s about as pleasant as an aggressive cat with only the dying wish of vengeance and spreading hate.

Her anger management is channeled into slaughtering demons, armed with a bow and arrows so she can play sniper from vintage points. It’s not as effective as therapy, but it certainly makes her feel just a little better, even if temporary.

Speaking of anger management, she hate hate hates Huntrix due to undisclosed reasons pertaining to the construction of her impenetrable barb-wired walls. Absolutely despises them, almost as much as she despises demons. But she knows the necessity of them. Knows of their double life as demon hunters, and despite scowling anytime she so much as hears their name, she still keeps them alive and breathing because 3 hunters and an honorary support keeping the population afloat beats one.

First came under the radar of both entertainment groups after saving Zoey and Mira’s necks via arrow delivery to the heads of the demons who had them cornered. Both groups kept the doctor at the back of their minds, but nothing grand enough to go out of their way to act yet.

It was only when she proved to be a hindrance to the collection of souls, doing a little too much against the demon forces and their soul KPIs did the Saja boys decide to deal with her personally. One sad disguised grandma demon and a couple Saja boys in the shadows was all it took to take her down.

In a last minute impulsive decision, they decided against snatching her soul in favour of prying information out regarding Huntrix, keeping her in their overworld hideout that they insisted on having for ‘a place to practice and strategise,’ when really they just think the underworld is too hot and kind of drab at the best of times.

They initially tried to intimidate Deaf!Doctor to no avail. They tried threats, small injuries, even tried to mind control her with their unreleased song ‘Your Idol’. It didn’t work, oddly enough. It made Jinu just a little insecure that his singing wasn’t as great as he thought for awhile. But they got feedback that it was upsettingly catchy when they caught her humming the song to herself. During one sizing up session, the group learns of her hearing defect, and Abby breaks her hearing aids and that was that. She called them stupid, before settling for silence because they don’t get the pleasure of easy communication if she has to lip read all the time.

Soon after, she’s kept around for a little too long to justify as anything other than personal, and after one incident where they all discovered she could temporarily mute Gwi-Ma’s lull of whispers (purely accidental, she was actually testing out a theory and trying to poison them), they begin to see her in a different light.

Jinu calls her sweetheart. He finds her cute and silly in a trying and failing to be nonchalant sort of way. He believes she’s trying too hard to be something she’s not, and in a way, she reminds him of tiger. Way scarier from a distance and mostly all growls, but charmingly silly (opinion exclusive to him) when up close and too personal. It’s a little hard to take her seriously too when she couldn’t hear him enter the room, and he finds her napping with Tiger.

Abby whistles for his kitty. He finds it amusing when she’s feisty and agitated, especially when he talks down at her as though she didn’t know any better, lips deliberately slow so she could see what he was saying. In his eyes, he could see a pair of cat ears always tucked back like airplanes with a flicking tail to match. It doesn’t help that stature-wise, he’s the biggest, making it easy for him to loom over the doctor and size her up for the fun of it.

She avoids him like the plague and makes blatant attempts to make his life as inconvenient as hers. He likes to scare her at least twice a day minimum.

Romance purrs doll. He finds her cute like one. Fragile like a one too. He tries to disarm her with flirty winks and romantic gestures, but she always turns them down with a snarl, later worn down to a haughty huff. That’s fine though, he knows his way around people. All he needs is time, and time he has.

Mystery doesn’t fucking talk. He just trails after her like a shitty rendition of a shadow. Ever silent, somewhat forgettable until she turns around and slams into him, but otherwise tolerable. He taps her on the head to get her attention though. Sometimes, she can’t differentiate when he’s the one tapping, or if the bird was the one pecking. To reciprocate, she occasionally yanks his sleeve to get his attention before acting out what she wants him to fetch for her. She takes advantage of him the most.

Despite that, Mystery enjoys her company, and with time whittling her down, they actually end up sharing time together by reading occasionally.

Baby rotates between baby or sweets, depending on the time, place, and his mood. They actually kind of get along because Baby doesn’t talk too much. Just a comfortably small amount, which gradually grew after they both noticed their shared sweet tooth. It helps that Baby likes the sour sweets that the doctor doesn’t and vice versa, meaning they’re frequently exchanging candy.

Out of the five, she secretly goes to Baby for comfort in the dead of the night when the rest are out and about. Baby gets the highest of highs from it and has to actively resist being smug shit. The rest almost beat him up once in an attempt to get him to spill.

Out of everyone, she gets along with Tiger the best, though Crow and Mystery are the one that sticks with her the closest. The guys speculated her and Tiger has some way of communicating through unblinking, prolonged eye contact, but they could never decipher anything. Jinu tried talking to Tiger about it at one point, asking him what they usually discussed, but his furry companion simply blinked at him and sank into the floor.

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ something something...

“damn, your past lovers were a greedy men, aye!” johnny’s voice echoes through your flat.

he’s sitting at his desk in front of the fan, wearing nothing but his boxers. you’re sprawled out on the bed, lying on your stomach, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. just your panties and one of johnny’s old oversized military shirts hang off you. for the past few minutes, you’ve felt his eyes glued to your arse. it’s practically right in his line of sight, so you can’t exactly blame him.

you glance up at him, confused and already fed up with his nonsense. you’re used to his random comments, he says whatever pops into his head, no filter. and he knows you won’t really judge him for it, so he lets his thoughts run wild.

“what the fuck does that even mean?” you ask with a sigh, shaking your head.

you had been right, his eyes were locked on your arse, not even pretending to look away.

“well, you see, when i was waiting in line for coffee yesterday, there were these two women in front of me. really, i say women, but they were barely fourteen. i should’ve said girls,” he starts, already drifting from the main point. “so, these two girls, they were talking, right? waiting in line, of course they were talking. and i know you always tell me not to listen to other people’s conversations, but i couldn’t—”

most of the time, when his mind wandered like that, you just let him play in the background, white noise, until you heard a few keywords that meant he’d finally circled back to the point.

but right now, you’re stuck on what he said before. you’re confused, maybe a little humiliated. he hadn’t said it like an insult, it sounded casual, but still, why the hell was he talking about your past lovers?

“johnny,” you cut him off. “back to the main point. what was that about my past lover?” you snap, sharper than intended.

“yeah, sorry,” he says quickly, catching the edge in your voice. “they were talking about this theory, about beauty spots. how they’re the favorite places for your past lover to kiss you… you know, in another life and stuff? and well...”

his eyes drop again, landing on your arse, where six small, dark beauty marks scatter across the skin.

“oh,” you breathe out, feeling the heat rise to your face.

the shame bubbles up, not because you were wrong to feel thrown off, but because he hadn’t meant “past lover” in the way you thought. he wasn’t talking about before him, he meant before this life.

getting up from his chair, he kneels beside you on the bed, his eyes never leaving your arse. he doesn’t say anything, just starts grabbing at you like a kitten making bread. he kneads the skin so good, you let out a small, involuntary whine.

the way he looks at your body always amazes you. like he’s discovering it for the first time, every single time. you know johnny's a generous lover, always giving, rarely taking, and his filthy mouth never shuts up about how much he adores every inch of you.

“and you know, i was thinking…” he murmurs, slowly bending down to nip at the soft curve of your cheek. “with the way i leave teeth marks and hickeys on this pretty arse, maybe we were lovers in a past life.”

before you can respond, his mouth is back on your skin, his teeth nipping, his tongue soothing the sting. your phone slips from your hand, landing with a soft thud on the mattress as a moan escapes you.

it isn't even truly sexual, not yet. johnny just loves to worship you. he doesn’t need anything in return. he loves to kiss you, taste you, study your skin like it holds every answer he's ever wanted.

his mouth leaves your arse and begins its slow journey upward. his hands slide your shirt higher as his lips follow, until he reaches your neck. he pushes the shirt away from your shoulder and reconnects his lips with your skin a second later.

“isn’t it fucking romantic, bonnie?” he murmurs into your ear, already knowing you’re drifting into that soft, horny daze he loves. “you and me, we were always meant to be.”

he kisses a beauty spot on your neck. the one he always returns to. the one so often hidden beneath his teeth marks and hickeys, it barely has time to fade.

“you see, i fucking love this theory, baby,” he coos against your skin, laying his body over yours, grinding his now-hard cock against your arse.

“i was your lover in every fucking life you’ve ever lived. you’ve been mine since the dawn of time. always.”

©sillyswriting 2025

fun fact : i might have six beauty spots on my arse... i know no shame

[tales-from-nocturnaliss]

This, right here, is why I'm lowkey upset the 'experts' who diagnosed me autistic completely overlooked my (strong) suggestin I'm actually AuDHD.

I NEED the learnig factor. Once it's gone, my mind starts to hurt because I, and I cannot express this strongly enough, NEED. THE. LEARNING. FACTOR. I need the exploration. To discover new things. The autism can ensure I stick to my chosen field (writing, in this case) but if there were no exploration factor, I would struggle.

And sometimes I do because I get bored of a specific exploration and need a new one. Or, bad bad needed habit, I extrapolate so far into the story that there's nothing left to discover (or so I think) and would just drop it right there despite wanting to see how the story actually goes.

Nowadays I'm trying to get back into art. I'm purposefully not obsessing, becuase I know that if I obsess, I'll give up at some point. Instead purposefully focusing on the enjoyment aspect and on doing something I've been craving to do for years: visualize both characters and feelings. But I have to be purposeful - to put in effort to actually be methodical. While also not giving up because it gets tiring to do and my brain only wanted to fixate for so long.

There's a whole part about internalizing what you love, and why you love it, and to make it a real part of yourself instead of a momentary fixation. Things that I feel come natural to 'normal' people but, to me? No I feel the steps. It's exhasuting and overwhelming. As is finding ways to not feel the steps.

In short: being ND is hard like just GODS WHY. But also ooo shiny new brain idea must go produce oo oo oo dopamine influx yessssss.

One of the most frustrating things about being ADHD is the way hyperfixations and skill levels work.

So I, an ADHD person, will get obsessed with A Thing. I will research, I will practice. I'll check out library books, watch YouTube videos, seek out podcasts, all to learn everything I can about The Thing.

Thiat Thing is often a skill or hobby. Painting, writing, candlemaking, baking, mixology, tea blending.

But the thing with ADHD is that you'll be obsessed with it only to a certain skill level. Something where all the mystery is gone. It's not as fun once the learning part is over and it's just boring practice to get better.

Then abruptly, you'll lose interest and move to another fixation.

That skill level you've earned may be higher than your average person with a passing interest. But it's also lower than someone who specializes in said thing, who has put in those hard hours of practice and work.

So you start just forming this miscellaneous collection of things that you're good enough at to earn some praise, but still leave you feeling like you're just never *quite* good enough at anything because you can't just choose anything.

And you want to pick a Thing. To find Your Thing. The thing that fits, that you can finally excel at. But you just can't seem to.

[mariasont]

the hundred-and-eleventh kiss

you desperately try to steal a kiss from spencer, but interruptions keep getting in your way.

pairing: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: fluff!, mild sexual suggestiveness nothing crazy, PDA (at least attempting), banter goes crazy between these freaks prompt: here! wc: 0.4k

“Please.”

You’ve resorted to begging. All that education, and yet, faced with one (admittedly beautiful) man, you’ve reduced yourself to a puddle of pathetic yearning.

A pathetic puddle of yearning liquified in sticky-sweet increments onto a wooden dock like gelato left out in July heat, all because his thumb finds the sensitive hollow beneath your kneecap.

His gaze does a quick reconnaissance — checking for teammates, wildlife, asteroids, any of the thousands of cosmic interferences fate might throw your way — before settling back on you with a look of poorly contained affection you adore, and frankly, deserve after all your suffering.

“Morgan will never let me hear the end of it.”

“Ah, yes. It must be terribly humiliating,” you sigh, rolling your eyes heavenward, “to have an irresistible, brilliant woman completely in love with you. However do you cope?”

His smile widens until you see teeth.

“With great difficulty. If you understood the sheer catastrophe your irresistible beauty causes my brain cells daily, you’d be impressed I still manage to remember my own name.”

He's burnt today, droplets of radiation dappling along his legs and arms, casualties of a last-minute, half-hearted spritz-and-pray approach to sunscreen. His face, however, is unblemished, cool to the touch, because of you and your patient hands and SPF 50.

“Hmm,” you muse, your foot sliding along his calf watching as red flesh turns white, “sounds serious. I’m sure I can think of some creative ways to refresh your memory later.”

He smiles at that.

“You know, repetition is the key to learning,” he counters, grabbing your ankle and pressing his forefinger into the freckle that sits there. “We might need a lot of practice before it sticks.”

“C’est prometteur,” you tease, tilting your head closer until your nose brushes his. “Mais avant les répétitions, un baiser serait un bon début, non?”

“I’ve been trying all day,” he sighs, fingers moving slowly up your leg to dance along the bikini string at your hip. “If Morgan or Hotch had even a shred of tact, I’d have already kissed you at least a hundred times. Possibly more, purely for reinforcement.”

“Maybe the hundred-and-eleventh time's the charm?”

Spencer laughs, the warmth of it skimming your lips and lighting a constellation of little fires under your skin. When he finally leans in, your entire being seems to sigh happily, embarrassingly eager and desperately grateful to be receiving the nourishment it’s been denied.

Your thoughts scatter into a kaleidoscope of languages, all variations of finally and please and thank you. 

“Has anyone seen Spencer? Garica’s setting up trivia and I need him on my team.”

Fuck.

Spencer’s eyes shut momentarily, his reluctant smile pressing against your temple as you bury your face into his neck, releasing a muffled, heartbroken groan.

Apparently, the universe and asteroids and wildlife and your teammates have conspired to ensure you’ll never actually kiss your boyfriend again.

You know you have approximately three seconds, maybe less, before Emily discovers your not-so-secret hideaway. 

Drawing back slightly, just enough to capture Spencer’s eyes with your own, you whisper decisively, “You owe me tonight, Dr. Reid. Big.”

“Believe me, angel, by morning you’ll consider the debt paid — with interest.”

join me at the lake for my 5k event!

maria's red, white and bau masterlist

[bullet-prooflove]

Swiftie: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @yousigned-upforthis @oklahomapeach @before-we-get-started @fadeinsol

Summary: Robby realises your baby might just be a Swiftie.

Companion piece to:

Lines - It’s been a long time since Robby’s been attracted to someone like this.

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby's had a really shitty day he always ends up whereever you are.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

Dumb Bitch - Robby exhibits his protective side when another man steps on his territory.

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

24 Hours - Robby refuses to leave your side in the aftermath of the shooting.

Saftey Rail - Abbot gets real with Robby when he finds him on the roof.

Baby, It's Gonna Be Alright - Robby wonders if he's fucked things up with you for good.

Exorcism (NSFW) - Robby and you finally find a way to be honest with one another.

Ready - Robby and you discuss starting a family in the aftermath of Pittfest.

The Rose - You give Robby a special gift for your anniversary.

Heartbeat - Robby finds something to help him sleep.

Jinx - Robby discovers a particular superstition of yours.

The Scary One - Robby and you face concerns during your second pregnancy scan.

Pop Tarts - You and Robby decorate the baby's nursery.

Brave Little Boy - Robby wakes up to the baby kicking and gets a suprise.

Brown Eyed Boy - The birth of your son doesn’t quite go the way you’d planned.

One Week - Robby cares for the two of you one week after his son’s birth.

Seperation Anxiety - Robby gets severe seperation anxiety at the thought of returning to work after Noah's birth.

The baby likes dancing.

He likes being tucked in close to Robby’s body, feeling the rumble of daddy’s chest as he sings to the music. His tiny fists flail excitedly as Robby sways his hips to Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off in the kitchen.

“He’s definitely a Swiftie.” You say watching the two of them over your laptop at the kitchen table. “He’s gonna drag Papa kicking and screaming out of the Blues and right into mommy’s favourite genre Pop, just you watch.”

“You been working him while I’ve been at the hospital?” Robby asks you as Noah’s chubby fingers come to rest his lips. He kisses the tiny pads, making loud smooching noises as the baby scrunches his face up as if to laugh.  “Playing the Midnights album while he sleeps?”

“Trust me when you’re not here the only thing he does sleep to is folklore.” You inform Robby as you return your attention to the spreadsheet in front of you. “He really loves The Last Great American Dynasty, I think it might be the fact it tells you a story you know? You put that on and he just crashes out.”

“Have you seen what happens when you put on Bejeweled?” Robby asks you and you shake your head before pulling up your Spotify playlist to find the right album. “I’m telling you he loses his mind.”

He isn’t wrong. As soon as the opening bars start to play baby Noah’s chubby arms go up like he’s at a rave, and his feet kick out as if he’s doing the two step at a barn dance. Those delicate features of his light up like the Fourth of July, a smile appearing on his pursed lips.

“Holy shit Robby.” You erupt as the song hits the chorus. “He just smiled. He’s smiling right now.”

“What…” Robby tilts his head down to look at him and there’s his son beaming like the god damn moon, bouncing his tiny booty. “I can’t believe we made a Swiftie.”

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior,

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Authors note: I know everyone wanted Y/n to go full on badass mode, I had wrote her joining in like 3 different ways and it didn’t feel right just yet. She’ll get her badass moment I promise!

18+ only- No Minors

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

 Chapter 7: Fight or Flight

The gunfire intensified, each shot a thunderclap in the night. Through the van's tinted windows, you could see muzzle flashes illuminating the compound like violent lightning. The drone feed on the monitor showed chaos—figures darting between buildings, taking cover, returning fire.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage. You recognized the tactical movements of the ATEEZ members even through the grainy night vision feed—Hongjoong's decisive leadership as he directed the others, Seonghwa's precise marksmanship, San's acrobatic maneuvers, Jongho's raw power as he engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a much larger opponent.

But they were outnumbered. Badly.

You could hear their labored breathing through the comms, the terse exchanges becoming more urgent with each passing minute.

"East exit compromised—" Yeosang's usually calm voice edged with tension.

"Two more hostiles on the roof—" San, followed by the sound of more gunfire.

"Mingi's hit!" Jongho's panicked report sent ice through your veins. "Not critical, but we need extraction."

"Working on it—" Hongjoong, his voice strained. "Seonghwa, cover the south approach. Yunho—"

"Almost there," Yunho responded, his voice coming through the comm.

The situation was deteriorating rapidly. You could see it in the frantic movements on the monitor, hear it in their increasingly desperate communications. This wasn't just a mission gone wrong—it was a trap. They had walked into an ambush, and now they were fighting their way out.

Fighting for their lives.

Something snapped inside you. Seven years of anger, of hurt, of carefully maintained distance—all of it fell away in the face of the primal fear that now gripped you. These weren't the men who had abandoned you. In this moment, they were simply the eight boys you had loved your entire life, and they were in danger.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed the comm activation button.

"I swear to god," your voice rang out, steady despite your racing heart, "if any of you die before I can make your lives miserable, I will never forgive you."

A beat of stunned silence followed, then—

"Y/n?" Hongjoong's surprised voice.

"Yes, I'm breaking the 'minimal chatter' rule," you continued, a hint of your usual defiance returning. "Deal with it. Now get your asses back here in one piece."

Through the comm, you could hear what sounded like a soft chuckle from Seonghwa, a grunt of agreement from Jongho. On the monitor, you saw renewed purpose in their movements, a second wind as they pressed forward with more coordination.

"On our way, princess," San replied, his voice tight with exertion but with a hint of his usual playfulness. "Just taking care of a few party crashers first."

"Taking too long," you countered, watching anxiously as Mingi limped behind cover, clutching his side. "Move faster."

"Bossy as ever," Yeosang remarked, but you could hear the ghost of a smile in his voice.

"God, it's so hot when you threaten us," Wooyoung's voice came through with an exaggerated moan that was so ridiculous, so perfectly Wooyoung, that a genuine laugh escaped you despite the gravity of the situation.

Even in the midst of gunfire and danger, he could still make you laugh. Some things never changed.

On the monitor, you could see them making progress, fighting their way toward the extraction point where the vehicles waited. But they were moving too slowly, and more hostile figures were appearing on the perimeter of the compound.

Panic coursed through your veins. Seven years ago, you had lost them to circumstances you didn't understand. Now you might lose them permanently, right before your eyes.

The thought was unbearable.

"First person that makes it back to me gets a kiss," you blurted out, desperation making you reckless.

The effect was immediate and electric. You heard several sharp intakes of breath, followed by what sounded like a renewed burst of energy in their movements.

"Oh, you're ON," San declared, his figure on the monitor suddenly moving with doubled speed.

"That's not fair!" Wooyoung protested. "Some of us are farther away! I'll shoot anyone who gets to the car before me, I swear to god!"

"Shut up and move," Hongjoong ordered, but even his voice had a new edge of determination.

Through the drone feed, you watched in amazement as their retreat transformed from desperate to almost supernaturally efficient. Seonghwa provided perfect cover fire as Hongjoong helped Mingi toward the exit. Jongho single-handedly cleared a path through three armed men. San and Yeosang worked in perfect tandem, one creating distractions while the other neutralized threats.

And Wooyoung—Wooyoung was moving like a man possessed, vaulting over obstacles and dodging bullets with an almost comical determination.

"I have visual on the vehicles," Hongjoong reported. "Yunho, status?"

"Area secure," Yunho responded from somewhere outside your van. "Ready for extraction."

"Incoming in three, two—"

The world outside erupted in a final, furious exchange of gunfire. You held your breath, tears welling in your eyes as you watched the monitor, counting figures, praying that all seven dots would make it to the extraction point.

One by one, they appeared on the edge of the compound—Hongjoong supporting Mingi, Seonghwa providing rear cover, Jongho and Yeosang flanking them protectively. San emerged next, dragging a limping Wooyoung who seemed to be simultaneously cursing his injury and demanding to be let go so he could win the race.

Your hands trembled as you watched them sprint the final distance toward the vehicles. They were going to make it. They had to make it.

A final burst of gunfire, a shout of warning—

The door of your van burst open so suddenly you jumped, reaching instinctively for the knife concealed at your ankle.

Yunho's face appeared, his expression intense as he slid into the driver's seat. "Everyone's accounted for. We're moving. Now."

The engine roared to life as the others piled into the second and third vans. Within seconds, all three vehicles were peeling away from the compound, tires screeching on asphalt as they accelerated into the night.

Through the rear window, you could see muzzle flashes as the Russo men continued firing after you, but the bullets fell short as the distance increased.

"Status report," Hongjoong's voice came through the comm, authoritative despite his heavy breathing.

"Vehicle One clear," Yunho responded beside you. "Y/n’s safe."

"Vehicle Two operational," Seonghwa reported. "Mingi needs medical but it's not critical. Flesh wound to the lower abdomen."

"Vehicle Three functioning," San added. "Wooyoung took a graze to the leg. He's being dramatic about it."

"I am NOT being dramatic!" Wooyoung protested in the background. "I was THIS CLOSE to winning that kiss before I got shot! This is TRAGIC!"

Despite the lingering danger, a wave of relief washed over you so powerful it made you dizzy. They were alive. All eight of them had made it out.

"Everyone maintain evasive driving patterns until we're clear of the hot zone," Hongjoong instructed. "No direct route back to the compound until we're sure we're not followed."

"Copy that," Yunho acknowledged, making a sharp turn down a side street.

For several minutes, the three vans wove through the city in a carefully coordinated dance—separating, rejoining, taking unpredictable routes to shake any potential pursuit. Your eyes remained fixed on the side mirror, watching for signs of followers, but the streets behind you remained clear.

"I think we're good," Yunho said finally, both to you and through the comm.

"Agreed," Hongjoong responded. "Converge on route Alpha and proceed to base."

As the immediate danger passed, an awkward silence filled your vehicle. You were acutely aware of what you'd said in the heat of the moment—the offer of a kiss, the naked concern in your voice. Seven years of carefully maintained anger and distance, undone in an instant by fear.

"Thank you," Yunho said quietly, his eyes on the road ahead. "What you did back there... it made a difference."

You stared out the window, unwilling to meet his gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A small smile touched his lips. "Of course not."

The comm crackled to life again. "So," Wooyoung's voice, deliberately casual. "About that kiss..."

"You didn't win," San interjected immediately. "I definitely reached the extraction point before you."

"You did not! I was ahead until I got SHOT, which is CHEATING—"

"No one's getting a kiss," Hongjoong cut in firmly. "It was said in the heat of the moment. Drop it."

"Actually," came Yeosang's measured voice, "I believe I was technically the first to reach the extraction point. By approximately 2.3 seconds."

"That's a lie!" Wooyoung exclaimed. "Yunho, you were monitoring! Who got there first?"

Yunho glanced at you, amusement dancing in his eyes despite the gravity of the situation you'd just escaped. "No comment."

"This is OUTRAGEOUS!" Wooyoung continued, his theatrical indignation drawing reluctant smiles from everyone. "I demand a rematch! Once my leg heals. Which might be never, by the way. I'm probably dying."

"It's a graze," Seonghwa said dryly. "You'll live."

"You don't know that! I could be bleeding internally! I could be—"

"Going to shut up for the rest of the ride?" Jongho suggested.

"Unlikely," Mingi chimed in, his voice strained but amused. "He's going to milk this for all it's worth."

"You know," San observed, "for someone who almost got killed, Wooyoung seems remarkably energetic."

"It's the promise of a kiss," Yunho said, giving you a quick, teasing glance. "Powerful motivation."

You felt your cheeks warm, but kept your expression neutral. "No one's getting a kiss," you stated firmly, echoing Hongjoong's earlier declaration. "I was just trying to get you all to move faster."

"And it worked," Yeosang pointed out. "Quite effectively."

"Whatever," you muttered, sinking lower in your seat.

The banter continued as the three vehicles made their way back to the compound, the familiar pattern of teasing and comebacks so reminiscent of earlier days that it made your chest ache with a complicated mixture of nostalgia and grief.

For those few minutes during the crisis, you had forgotten to be angry. You had forgotten the abandonment, the cruel words, the seven years of silence. All that had mattered was making sure they survived.

Now, as the adrenaline ebbed, the walls began to rebuild themselves—but slower, less certain than before.

Because the truth was undeniable: when you thought you might lose them, nothing else had mattered. Not your pride, not your hurt, not your carefully cultivated hatred.

"We're home," Yunho announced softly as the compound came into view, the gates opening automatically to admit the three vehicles.

Home. The word echoed in your mind, uncomfortable in its resonance.

This wasn't home. It couldn't be. Home was safe, and nothing about your feelings for these eight men was safe.

But as you stepped out of the van into the compound's courtyard, watching as they emerged from the other vehicles—battered, exhausted, but alive—you couldn't deny the relief that flooded through you.

You couldn't deny that, at least for tonight, you were glad to be here with them.

And that was dangerous territory indeed.

* * *

The compound buzzed with tense energy as everyone dispersed to assess injuries and debrief. Seonghwa had immediately whisked Mingi away to the medical room to tend to his wound, with Jongho following to assist. San was half-carrying, half-dragging a still-complaining Wooyoung, who seemed determined to make his minor injury sound like he was at death's door. Hongjoong and Yeosang had disappeared into the command center to analyze what had gone wrong.

That left you standing in the foyer with Yunho, the adrenaline of the night still coursing through your veins.

"You should get some rest," he said, studying your face with concern. "That was a lot to take in for your first mission."

"I'm fine," you insisted, though the slight tremor in your hands betrayed you. The reality of how close you'd come to losing them—all of them—was still sinking in. "What about the others? Mingi and Wooyoung..."

"They'll be okay," Yunho assured you. "Mingi's wound looks worse than it is—the bullet grazed his side. And Wooyoung..." A small smile touched his lips. "Well, you heard him. He's milking it for all it's worth, but it's barely a scratch."

You nodded, relief washing over you. Then you noticed the dark stain on Yunho's sleeve, partially hidden by the black fabric of his tactical gear.

"You're hurt," you said, reaching for his arm.

He tried to pull away. "It's nothing. Just caught some glass when one of the windows shattered."

But you had already taken hold of his arm, pushing up the sleeve to reveal a nasty gash along his forearm. "This isn't nothing. It needs to be cleaned and bandaged."

"I can take care of it later," he said dismissively. "After we debrief."

Your eyes narrowed. "The debrief can wait ten minutes. Where are the medical supplies?"

Yunho seemed about to argue, then sighed in resignation. "Second floor, third door on the right. There's a fully stocked medical cabinet."

Without waiting for further discussion, you headed for the stairs, knowing he would follow. He did, his footsteps quiet behind you as you made your way to the designated room.

The medical room was smaller than you expected but immaculately organized—more like a professional clinic than a home first aid station. Several cabinets lined the walls, filled with medications, bandages, and various medical instruments. A padded examination table stood in the center, with bright surgical lights overhead.

"Sit," you commanded, pointing to the table.

A ghost of a smile played across Yunho's face at your authoritative tone, but he complied, perching on the edge of the table while you searched the cabinets for what you needed.

"Top cabinet on the left," he guided. "Antiseptic, gauze, suture kits if needed."

You gathered the supplies and returned to his side, setting everything on a small rolling tray. With careful hands, you helped him remove his tactical jacket, revealing a fitted black t-shirt beneath. The wound looked even worse now—a jagged cut that ran from his elbow nearly to his wrist.

"This might need stitches," you said, frowning as you examined it.

"Probably not," he replied. "Pressure and butterfly bandages should do it."

You gave him a skeptical look but began cleaning the wound with gentle, methodical movements. The silence between you was charged but not uncomfortable—a familiar intimacy from years ago when you'd patched up skinned knees and minor injuries for each other.

"You were good out there," Yunho said softly. "On the comms. You probably saved us."

You kept your eyes focused on your task. "I doubt that."

"I don't," he insisted. "We were scattered, losing cohesion. Your voice..." He paused, searching for the right words. "It centered us. Reminded us what we were fighting to get back to."

Your hands stilled momentarily, his words stirring emotions you weren't ready to examine. "I just didn't want to be stuck in a gunfight alone," you deflected.

Yunho chuckled. "Right. And that kiss offer was just strategic motivation?"

Heat crept into your cheeks. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Spectacularly," he agreed, his tone lighter now. "I've never seen Wooyoung move so fast in my life. I think he broke some kind of land speed record before he got hit."

A small laugh escaped you despite your efforts to maintain your composure. "He's ridiculous."

"He's Wooyoung," Yunho said simply, as if that explained everything. And in a way, it did.

You finished cleaning the wound and began applying butterfly bandages, closing the edges of the cut with careful precision. Yunho watched you work, his eyes never leaving your face.

"You learned a lot in seven years," he observed quietly.

"I had to," you replied, a hint of the old bitterness creeping into your voice.

"Y/n..." he began, but you shook your head.

"Don't," you said firmly. "Not now."

He respected your wishes, falling silent as you finished bandaging his arm. When you were done, you stepped back to examine your work.

"It should hold," you said. "But keep it clean and change the dressing tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a hint of teasing. "Thank you."

You began packing up the medical supplies, aware of his eyes still on you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between you. The night's events had shifted something—weakened the walls you'd built so carefully. The fear you'd felt when they were in danger, the relief when they returned safely—it had all been too raw, too real to dismiss.

"Yunho," you said suddenly, turning to face him. "About what I said on the comms..."

He slid off the table, standing to his full height. "It's okay. Hongjoong was right. It was said in the heat of the moment. No one expects you to—"

You didn't let him finish. Acting on impulse, on the lingering adrenaline and the memory of how close you'd come to losing him—to losing all of them—you stepped forward, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him down to your level.

Your lips met his in a kiss that was nothing like the innocent one you'd shared at fifteen. This was fierce, urgent, a release of tension and fear and something deeper that you weren't ready to name. Your hands moved to his face, holding him to you as the kiss deepened, became more desperate.

Yunho froze for only a heartbeat before responding with equal fervor, his uninjured arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. Time seemed to stop, the world narrowing to just this—his lips on yours, his heartbeat against your palm, the solidity of him, alive and whole.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, you kept your hands on his face, forcing him to meet your gaze.

"You got to me first," you said, your voice husky. "You got the kiss."

His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours. "Y/n—"

The sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway made you step back quickly, putting distance between you just as the door opened.

Hongjoong stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable as his gaze flicked between you and Yunho. If he noticed the heightened color in your cheeks or Yunho's slightly disheveled appearance, he gave no indication.

"Yunho, we need you in the command center," he said, his tone professionally neutral. "The drone footage picked up something interesting."

"I'll be right there," Yunho replied, his voice remarkably steady.

Hongjoong nodded once, then looked at you. "You should get some rest, little one. It's been a long night."

Without waiting for your response, he turned and left, his footsteps fading down the hallway.

An awkward silence fell between you and Yunho, the moment broken, reality rushing back in. What had you been thinking? One kiss wouldn't erase seven years of hurt. One moment of weakness wouldn't change anything.

"I should go," Yunho said quietly. "They're waiting."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

He moved to the door but paused before leaving, turning back to look at you. "For what it's worth," he said, his voice low and sincere, "I've thought about that kiss by the bonfire every day for the past seven years."

Before you could respond, he was gone, leaving you alone with the medical supplies and the lingering warmth of his lips on yours.

You sank onto the examination table, your fingers touching your mouth in a daze. What had you done? More importantly, why had it felt so right, so natural, to kiss him? As if no time had passed at all. As if they hadn't broken your heart and left you to pick up the pieces alone.

One kiss wouldn't change anything, you told yourself firmly. It was just adrenaline, just relief that they had all made it back alive.

But as you made your way back to your room, you couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. The walls you'd built were cracking, and you weren't sure you had the strength—or even the desire—to repair them.

Sleep, when it finally came, was filled with dreams of bonfires and lake days, of eight boys who became men while you weren't looking, and of a kiss that tasted like both the past and the future.

Next>>

Taglist: @paramedicnerd004, @miracle-sol  @drinkingrumandcocacola @cksanpurpleluv @everglow98

@imagine-all-the-imagines @green-moon @thelordofshadows21 @yunyunrin @vinylphwoar @thuyting @mdurir @dachshunddame @ninjakitty15 @moonchild-stuff7 @stellmeiv @spenceatiny18 @herpoetryprincess @m00njinnie @starz-choisanii @ateezswonderland @mxnsxngie @purple-bell @awkward-fucking-thing @hecateslittlewitchling @pixie0627 @parkthothwa8 @hwa2tiny @s1ar4s @atinystay-xxx @moonxxlover @babymbbatinygirl @londonbridges01 @miracle-sol @klllerwaifu @peachyplumsss, @cksanpurpleluv, @teafortarry, @fudgeflyssworld, @deafeningpandareview, @ramadiiiisme, @frankielou02, @mjaudrey, @leahhhher, @poptartsandpopstars, @silentwhisper666, @whyme11, @special4u, @sparda1234, @scuzmunkie,

[cyntheshepicone]

We truly do just gather in packs I can't name a single one of my online friends that's straight or not LGBT in some way. I was till like 19 when I realized the really close feeling I had for some of my female friends was actually a crush and I was bisexual then I hit 25 and realized Im still a girl but also a fucking creature and sometimes not a girl and discovered what a demi girl was it's a process

“it’s unrealistic for all the characters to be queer” maybe your reality is just fucking boring. literally my entire friend group is queer, we travel in packs

[formulafanfics13]

Kimi and reader getting caught by either George having sex in his driving room. Since George can’t keep secrets the whole grid then know and tease Kimi. Please 🙏

Hot lap of gossip - KA12 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: You and Kimi Antonelli sneak off during a race weekend for a quick, intense hookup — only to get caught mid-act by George Russell, who immediately spirals and tells the entire F1 grid. Now, everyone knows Kimi’s not just a quiet rookie but a quietly dangerous one — and you’re the woman who proved it.

Warnings: Smut, public sex risk, hand over mouth, dominant!Kimi, mildly voyeuristic moment (interrupted), humorous reactions, light degradation, explicit content (18+), references to marks/bruises. Public exposure element. Entire grid gossiping.

The most dangerous thing about Kimi Antonelli is not his driving. It’s not his precision, or his ice-cold race craft, or the fact that at just 18, he’s already being whispered about as the next Verstappen. It’s the quiet. Because when Kimi goes quiet, it means something unholy is about to happen.

Like now, in the back corridor of the Mercedes motorhome, the paddock loud with post-FP2 bustle, and you pinned to the wall with his hand already under your skirt.

You’re meant to be working. He’s meant to be reviewing data. But he’d looked at you once in the engineering room, that silent, heavy look of his, and muttered “room. now.” And you, helpless to whatever spell this boy has wrapped around your spine, had followed.

Now you're in his driver’s room. Door locked. Lights off. Whole world outside.

And Kimi? Kimi has you bent over the couch like you’re nothing but something to ruin. One hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip, keeping you still as he sinks into you inch by inch with the kind of deep, deliberate rhythm that should be illegal. His race suit is half on, just pulled down to his waist. You’re naked from the waist down, panties crumpled near your ankle.

“You knew what you were doing,” he mutters, voice thick against your ear. “Wearing that fucking skirt.”

You moan something incoherent. His hips snap harder. The sound of skin on skin echoes in the tiny room.

“You want to be caught?” he growls, barely audible through the rasp of his breath. “You want someone to see how needy you get for me?”

You whimper, head spinning, body flushed, and that’s when it happens. The door swings open. “Hey, Kimi, have you seen-” George Russell stops. Sees everything. You. Bent. Fucked. Moaning. Kimi. Fully inside you. Hand still gripping your waist. Face like he couldn’t be less surprised.

There’s a beat of stunned silence. George makes a noise. Somewhere between a gasp and a yelp.

Kimi doesn’t even pause. He just raises his head slightly and says, in that same deadpan tone that makes race engineers flinch, “Get out.”

George stumbles back, nearly falling into the hallway wall, and the door slams behind him.

You’re frozen. “Oh my god-”

Kimi pulls out slowly, presses a filthy kiss to the base of your neck, and chuckles under his breath. “Guess that’s one way to tell the grid.”

Seven minutes later… George Russell is spiralling. He’s pacing the Mercedes motorhome like a fucking Victorian wife discovering adultery, eyes wide, voice high-pitched. He’s just seen a teenage prodigy blowing someone’s back out on a Saturday afternoon like it’s nothing.

And now he’s in Toto’s office. Panicked. “I just- I walked in- and he was just- fucking- and she was- bent- Kimi Antonelli, fucking- baby kimi, Toto.”

Toto stares at him. “George, breathe.”

“I did! I did breathe! And then I immediately stopped breathing! Because he was inside her! And I think I saw… teeth marks? And he didn’t even flinch! He told me to get out like I was interrupting a tyre change!”

Toto exhales like he’s aged twenty years in five seconds. But George? George is already texting.

DRIVER GROUPCHAT George: i just walked in on KIMI ANTONELLI having sex. HARD sex. FULLY inside someone. in the driver’s room. Oscar: oh my god Pierre: wait. baby kimi?? like… 18 year old kimi?? George: YES. and he was SO calm about it. like “get out” calm. like he’s done this before. Lando: no i’m not believing this until i see cctv Charles: cctv?? are you mad Lewis: not surprised tbh. kid’s got dark horse vibes. quiet ones are always the filthiest Yuki: he looks like he’d spit in your mouth and not even blink after Alex: jesus christ George: it was… the most unholy shit i’ve ever seen. i made eye contact with his abs. Oscar: were they good abs George: RIPPED. like dangerous. he’s 18 and already more terrifying than max.

By the time you and Kimi finally resurface, freshly showered and rehydrated like you didn’t just have couch-bending sex next to a pile of telemetry printouts, the entire paddock is watching you. Pierre winks. Lando gives Kimi a slow, horrified thumbs-up. Max just grins and mutters, “Knew it.” Fernando claps him on the back and says “Impressive.”

You’re mortified. Kimi? Not even phased. He walks beside you like nothing happened. Nods at a couple mechanics. Takes a bottle of water. “You’re enjoying this,” you hiss under your breath.

He shrugs. “They were gonna find out eventually.”

George, meanwhile, is still spiralling. In the Mercedes sim room. To anyone who’ll listen. “I swear to god she screamed. Like full vocal range. And Kimi didn’t even blink. Just kept going.”

Toto eventually drags him away by the collar. 

Later, back in the Mercedes garage, as you sip your coffee and pretend you’re not the most talked-about woman in motorsport, Kimi leans in and whispers against your ear, “You know… the briefing room has better acoustics.”

And god help you, you’re already blushing.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Golden Cheese's impromptu expedition to Beast-Yeast ends in catastrophic failure: beaten, broken, and clamoring for freedom as Burning Spice dangles her over the edge of a cliff, ready to deal her the final blow. But before he does... he stops. As does the wind. As does the spice storm whipped up by their frenzy. Everything, everyone, completely frozen in place... all except for her, and for the strange woman in strange clothes that suddenly pops out from behind her assailant, armed with an obnoxiously whimsical attitude and a pair of gigantic golden scissors.

The stranger, with an eerie smile and a twinkle in her one remaining eye, remarks that she has been watching Golden Cheese's little adventure with great interest, and is really rather displeased that the great battle against her nemesis had to end in such a way. She offers Golden Cheese not only an escape from Burning Spice's clutches, but a chance to start their clash over on... more equal footing, or so she describes it. When Golden Cheese rightfully demands answers - how, why, who even are you, what the hell is even going on - the stranger insists that she is but a good Samaritan seeking to liberate both her and her oppressor from their current circumstances.

Not knowing what else to do, Golden Cheese accepts her offer, albeit begrudgingly - but the moment she puts her hand in the stranger's own, she's wrenched from Burning Spice's iron grip and sent flying through a glowing portal filled with bizarre images of melting clocks and whirring cog wheels. She falls, and falls, and falls, until she finally falls out of this mind-melting void and onto solid ground - quickly realizing that she is still in the Land of Spice, just in a different location.

Shocked, confused, and consumed by righteous indignation, she is found and rescued by none other than Burning Spice - but not the one she's come to know and despise. This Burning Spice not only looked different, but behaved differently as well: this one was jovial, good-natured, eager to come to her aid simply because he saw her in need of it.

Well... that, and... because he thinks she's pretty.

Now Golden Cheese is stuck in a distant, idyllic past; a time long before the Beasts fell from grace, where they were still loved by the world and hailed as forces for good. She's taken in by the Wild Spices, whom are likewise shockingly friendly and accommodating towards her, even despite her initial hostility. Her mission is thus to somehow find a way back to where and when she came from (that crazy woman won't just take her back herself, she refuses to) while grappling with the personal and cultural clash between her and the Wild Spices, her crushing sense of anxiety and loneliness born from being trapped in a time and place entirely unknown to her, and - perhaps worst of all - the so-called Herald of Change coming to see her and flirt with her constantly, for his mission now is to court her and win her heart.

Meanwhile, in Golden Cheese's time, Burning Spice - her Burning Spice - knows full well that she is missing. Where she went, and how she managed to escape him, he does not know - but he will. He will spend every waking moment tracking her, hunting her down, gathering whatever information he possibly can to discover her where(when?)abouts. He will have his Soul Jam back. He will have the fight he is rightfully owed. He will have her, one way or another. If she wants to play this game with him, then fine; let this be his greatest, most entertaining hunt yet. One that will inevitably end with him catching and devouring his delicious prey exactly the way he's always wanted to, as was always meant to be, for there is nowhere his little bird can hide where Burning Spice will not find her.

Here's the first chapter haha. Hope you all enjoy it. And I hope you stick with it, the story is far from over. Also the summary on AO3 is cooler than this one. I'm sorry this one is so cringe

Also, everyone please give a round of applause to my wonderful and wonderfully talented friend @pythoticusbingle for making both the cover art and all the illustrations in the fic! I couldn't have done this without them, I consider them my right hand in this endeavor and they're behind just as much of the story's potential success as me

[geniusvenusxxx]

【 ♡ 】 AS ALWAYS PLEASE NOTE: These are simply just observations I made for fun based on my experiences but the entire chart matters.

Ⱄ — TRIGGER WARNING: Death. ALSO - Please don’t screenshot and repost on other platforms, but feel free to repost on tumblr .ᐟ

Ⱄ — The most loyal signs are CANCER AND CAPRICORN hands down. Especially if its their venus sign or the person has a stellium with one of those signs. However, if they have an indication of being a cheater like a strong venus square uranus aspect or something then that can sometimes create an opposite effect.

Ⱄ — A secret to gaining attention or fame that no one talks about is EMBODYING THE HOUSE YOUR SUN IS IN. If its in the 5th house be louder, show your talents to the world more, find a creative outlet to express yourself through, wear brighter colors like gold or orange. If it’s in the 8th house don’t be too loud, be mysterious but still have a powerful presence when you actually are online or in public, wear dark clothes.

Ⱄ — An EVOLVED PISCES MOON is such a beautiful placement. These people are incredibly emotionally intelligent and caring toward others. Very kind people that are fun to talk to. Also stunning!

Ⱄ — SAGITTARIUS/GEMINI PLACEMENTS make me so mad sometimes because you want to be mad at them for something during a conflict and then they’ll make a joke and make you laugh when you don’t want to, so it’s hard to hate them in that moment.

Ⱄ — CAPRICORN VENUS/RISING people usually don’t find success until later in life. It’s interesting because people with strong Capricorn energy in general almost age backwards. They seem mature from a young age and then experience the things they were supposed to experience in their youth late (when they’re older).

Ⱄ — 7TH HOUSE STELLIUMS usually have both a lot of friends and a lot of enemies. I envy their beauty, but this stellium seems really hard to have. I’ve noticed a lot of them attract random haters for no reason. They’ll literally just exist and have someone come up to them and say the most out of pocket things and be mean for no reason at all.

Ⱄ — JUPITER AT 3° can indicate being able to create success and make lots of money when creating connections. These people adapt well to their surroundings. If they’re around success they become successful.

Ⱄ — JUPITER AT 18° can indicate making a lot of money and creating success from being a leader in whatever career field you choose. 18° is a very powerful degree and can also indicate someone being not only a talented business woman/man but a very influential person.

Ⱄ — JUPITER AT 23° can indicate being able to create success and make a lot of money through being in the entertainment industry or posting online. Even having their own online business could be beneficial. These people are very charismatic and influential. They have a unique aura.

Ⱄ — VENUS AT 9° can indicate loving people very deeply but struggling to forgive mistakes. These people can hold grudges at times both in romantic and platonic relationships. When they do love they love very very intensely though.

Ⱄ — 19° IN THE CHART can accelerate outcomes. For example if it’s in Saturn then karma can come to you extremely quick or others who hurt you quickly. If it’s in Venus you can gain money quickly but also lose money quickly if you’re not careful. This is one of the most intense degrees you can have.

Ⱄ — A 12TH HOUSE STELLIUM in the solar return chart indicates a period of isolation and spiritual self discovery. It may be an emotionally challenging year with this in your chart but you will heal in a lot of ways.

Ⱄ — When your RISING IS CANCER IN SOLAR RETURN it’s always going to be an emotional year, but a positive is that often people gain emotional intelligence and discover more about their true selves during this time. Their souls purpose can start to become more clear too.

Ⱄ — The years celebrities blow up or are talked about and idolized a lot they almost always have prominent NEPTUNE ENERGY IN THE SOLAR RETURN CHART. Most often Neptune in the 1st/10th house in solar return. One of the things Neptune represents is fascination, so people can become very fascinated by you suddenly when this energy is present in your solar or lunar return chart.

Ⱄ — JUPITER IN THE 10TH HOUSE IN SOLAR RETURN is a big indication of gaining lots of success this year or being granted with opportunities that further your career. You could achieve a lot of your long term goals during the years you have this energy as well! Could also be a gaining fame indication for that specific year.

Ⱄ — VENUS IN THE 3RD HOUSE IN SOLAR RETURN CHARTS indicates that you will make lots of friends and have a better social life this year. This could be online or in real life. It also could indicate meeting lovers online.

Ⱄ — PLUTO IN THE 4TH HOUSE IN SOLAR RETURN CHARTS indicates an intense transformation involving your family or home life occurring this year. This could mean your parents divorcing, moving to a new house, or at worst someone in your family passing away.

[downtroddendeity]

I have no idea why I'm thinking about this post again, but I am, so even without penicillin, some thoughts about how a modern person could be the past's greatest doctor* with minimal effort:

Sanitation: besides knowing about washing your hands, you know to boil water or filter it through several layers of cloth to make it safer to drink. My previous reblog said how to invent soap, and distilled alcohol is also pretty easy to invent- you heat an alcoholic liquid like wine in a container that's sealed other than a pipe/tube in the lid, which is attached to another container that isn't heated, allowing the steam to condense. The first little bit that comes out will be methanol and some other horrible poisons, but after that you'll get mostly ethanol, because alcohol evaporates much more easily than water.

Cholera and dysentery: what actually kills people with these is dehydration, which means even cholera is very treatable even without antibiotics. The most important thing is making sure the sick person drinks as much clean, boiled water as they can keep down and gets some electrolytes and calories in there too, such as by drinking broth, thin soup, or water some sort of grain has been boiled in.

Scurvy: you know this one. Cooking destroys a lot of Vitamin C, and copper stops it from being absorbed. Besides the kind of fruits and vegetables you might think of, rose hips have a crazy amount of Vitamin C, tea brewed from pine needles is pretty good for it, and while there isn't very much of it in meat, some Arctic expeditions managed to recover from scurvy by eating nearly-raw seal.

Rickets: Vitamin D deficiency, and maybe sometimes calcium. You can literally cure the first one with sunlight.

Goiter: often iodine deficiency. Seaweed and eggs are the foods of choice here.

Malaria: quinine is extracted from the bark of a tree native to Peru, which Europeans were smart enough to immediately bring over to Spain when they found out about it. Enough cloth to make mosquito nets would probably be way too expensive to be practical for normal people in most of the world until the Industrial Revolution, but at least you know.

Smallpox: STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM SMALLPOX, SMALLPOX IS TERRIFYING, IF YOU WANTED TO MAKE A DISEASE TO KILL AS MANY HUMANS ON THE PLANET AS POSSIBLE IT WOULD BASICALLY JUST BE SMALLPOX. It's insanely contagious and frequently fatal, and you probably aren't vaccinated. However, you can become inoculated, and developing a true smallpox vaccine is way easier than discovering penicillin. People in China were practicing variolation for centuries before it became a thing in Europe- it consists of taking a scab from someone with smallpox, keeping it in a bottle for a week or two to make sure most of the virus is dead, and then having someone inhale the dust or using a needle to prick their arm and get a little of it into the wound. This generally gives them a mild case, which still isn't a good time, but will make them resistant to getting the real thing afterward. Vaccination is the same procedure, but using the much less deadly relative cowpox, which is why the word "vaccine" is from the Latin vacca, "cow." The vaccine that was in use when smallpox was declared extinct in the wild was developed by deliberately passing cowpox between test animals to get it to mutate and selecting for the mildest strains.

Syphilis: the only good treatment for syphilis is antibiotics. However, syphilis is such a bastard that there are a couple of bad treatments that are, somehow, not the worst thing you can do. Insanely enough, this is the one time that mercury actually sometimes helps- like with chemotherapy for cancer today, if you catch it early and poison the bejeezus out of it, sometimes the disease will die before the person does (it's useless once the syphilis goes systemic, though). The other most effective treatment for syphilis before the discovery of penicillin was- I shit you not- giving the person malaria by injecting them with blood from a sick person. Malaria causes extremely high fevers, which kill off a lot of the syphilis bacteria. The drawbacks to this one are, uh, pretty self-evident.

As a bonus, since you probably know how a lot of these diseases are spread, you know when it's worth bothering with the full plague doctor getup! No need to bother when it's cholera or syphilis! But don't skip the mask if there's actual plague though, it's not just the fleas, plague can spread through the air and it can literally kill you in under 24 hours, don't fuck around with the plague-

*Besides time period, how much you would have it made as Superdoctor would also depend heavily on where you land. The Islamic world and China, for instance, were both working off fundamentally incorrect models of health and disease but were still generally a lot more competent than European medicine until the last century or two, while there are Inca skulls with marks from healed brain surgeries from 400 years before European doctors started to consider whether they should maybe consider washing their hands before sticking them in open wounds.

I can understand how "modern person thrown into the past gets by pretending to be a healer/doctor" is as surprisingly common of a trope as it is. I mean I'm fluent enough at bullshitting to be pretty sure I could pull it off to impersonate a doctor in any time pre-1800s. If I have no idea what something is or how to treat it, I could just get the opinion of the other whatever-passes-as-medical-professionals around, but if their suggestions sound like bullshit I'm not doing it. And I'll beat the shit out of anyone suggesting bloodletting or mercury. With my healing stick. I've tied little bells on it, that jingle comically with every smack.

The awesome curative powers of my healing stick come from two separate sources: Placebo, and me using it to beat anyone trying to give my patients mercury.

[si3rren]

Vein Theory

enhypen masterlist

bsf! Jake Sim x shy! fem reader | friends to lovers | smut | hand kink

author note: because you know damn well those hands were never safe. HIS HANDS ARE CRAZYYY DOES HE KNOW IM INSANE

warnings: face grabbing, choking (light + sexual), intense kissing (lip biting, spit string), fingers in mouth, pussy rubbing, fingering, light slapping, filthy talk, dominant!Jake, friends to lovers tension, praise kink, light degradation, eye contact kink, consensual teasing, mouth on fingers spit play, aftercare

summary: You never meant for him to notice. But Jake caught you admiring his hands—those veiny, perfect hands—and that was all it took to change everything. From friends to something far, far messier.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　

You didn’t mean to stare. You should’ve been paying attention to the worksheet in front of you, highlighter cap between your teeth, pretending you knew what the hell Jay was talking about as he ranted about tension force. Instead, your eyes were locked on his hands—Jake’s hands. The veins along his wrist, the way his fingers flexed as he rolled up his hoodie sleeves, the subtle strength in them as he scrawled something onto his notes. And it wasn’t the first time. But today, under the shitty library lighting, they seemed unfairly distracting. Beautiful. Dangerous.

Your gaze lingered too long. When Jake looked up, brows raised slightly, you dropped your eyes so fast it made your head spin. He didn’t say anything at first, but you felt it—the weight of his gaze on you, like he was piecing something together, like he’d just discovered the secret you’d been trying so hard to hide.

The room emptied out. Heeseung slung on his backpack with a yawn, Jay teased some throwaway line about you and Jake finally making out, and Sunghoon barely glanced up from his phone before following them out. The door clicked shut. Silence.

Jake didn’t move. He just stared at you, the corner of his mouth quirking up when you fidgeted.

“You like my hands,” he said, voice low and steady, no hint of teasing.

You froze.

“I—no, I wasn’t—” You couldn’t finish the sentence.

“You did,” he said again, softer, like he was humoring you. His eyes dropped to your lips, then back up. “You’ve been looking at them for weeks.”

Your breath caught. You couldn’t deny it. Not when he was looking at you like that. And especially not when he reached across the table and tilted your chin up with two fingers.

“You like how they look when I do this?”

Your heart stopped. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, coaxing it open. You didn’t mean to let your tongue peek out, but it did, and Jake’s pupils darkened.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed.

His hand moved so slow, so deliberate, when he slid two fingers past your lips. You gasped softly, lips wrapping around him without thinking. His other hand cupped your jaw, steadying you.

“Suck,” he said, and it wasn’t a request.

You did. Shyly, tentatively at first, and the groan that rumbled low in his chest made you feel dizzy. His gaze was locked on yours, like he couldn’t look away. Like he was memorizing this.

Then Jake stood abruptly, pushing back from the table. He rounded it, grabbed your chair, and pulled it back. Dropping to one knee in front of you, he slid his hands up your thighs, warm and strong, worshipful. You whimpered when his fingers skimmed the edge of your skirt.

“Keep looking at me,” he whispered. “I want to see your eyes when I make you fall apart.”

His thumbs hooked your panties, sliding them down so slow it made you ache. He kissed the inside of your thigh, soft and reverent. And when he stood again, he didn’t give you a chance to think. He kissed you—hard, consuming, like he’d been waiting forever. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, lips devouring yours.

You clung to his hoodie, breathless.

“Off,” he said against your mouth. “Take it off.”

You did, trembling. His gaze raked over you, and he swore under his breath.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

His mouth crashed onto yours again, and this time when he kissed down your neck and bit at your collarbone, you gasped. His hands explored—your waist, your hips, your thighs—fingers firm, possessive, but never cruel.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, voice thick with need.

“I want you to touch me,” you breathed.

Jake groaned, guiding your hand to his. “Show me.”

You led him between your thighs, and the sound he made was pure sin. His fingers slid against your slick skin, finding your clit with practiced ease.

“God, you’re soaked,” he said, like it wrecked him. “Is this what happens when you look at my hands?”

His fingers worked you slow, circling, teasing, until your hips bucked.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded softly, tilting your chin up. “I want to see everything.”

You obeyed. You had to.

His fingers slid inside—one, then two—and the stretch made you gasp. He watched your face, smirking at how your mouth fell open, at the desperate little sounds you made.

“Look at you,” he said, voice dropping even lower. “Clenching around me like you’ve been waiting for this.”

His thumb stroked your clit while his fingers curled just right, and you were already shaking.

Then he slapped your cheek—light, testing.

You moaned.

“You like that?” he asked, grin sharp.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

His fingers pushed deeper, faster. His other hand wrapped gently around your throat.

“I’m gonna choke you while you come,” he whispered. “Wanna feel that little gasp you make when you fall apart for me.”

And he did. His hand tightened just enough, his pace relentless.

“Come for me, baby,” he said, eyes blazing.

You shattered. Your body convulsed around his fingers, the world narrowing down to him, his voice, his eyes on you as you moaned his name.

When it was over, he held you close, lips brushing your temple, heart pounding against your back.

“I meant it,” he murmured.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Meant what?”

He kissed your cheek, tender. “You drive me insane.”

And he smiled.

“Guess I just needed to catch you staring at my hands to finally do something about it.”

[userluhna]

࿔⋆ LIKE LIVING

dad!hwangjunho x mom!pregnant!reader

based on this request

words: 1.3k

warnings: adoption. pregnancy. childbirth. season three spoilers. soft domestic life<3

a/n: might be the last request i write like this—junho discovering the baby with his girlfriend/wife—because it’s starting to feel a bit repetitive. however, if you guys want small scenes of what dad!junho looks like when the baby’s older, I’M DOWN FOR IT OKAY. you can also find more in: still ours. new dad.

enjoy! :)

you and junho met in winter, years ago—you were at the same café. it wasn’t the first time you saw him there, but he always passed through, coffee in hand, never staying long. never long enough. until one day, you went for him. right after he took his coffee—

“hey!” you had said, a little louder than intended. because the way he looked at you—he seemed on guard. not afraid, just ready. like he’d been waiting for this moment but didn’t know from who, or why. “sorry,” you added quickly, stepping a little closer—not too close, just enough so you didn’t have to raise your voice. “just—i see you, often, there,” you said, pointing awkwardly to the café window. “and […]” you were awkward. painfully awkward. and he was just there, listening to you, eyes steady like he hadn’t talked to anyone in years. “so yeah,” you said, because the silence was too much. “i’m sorry. i probably don’t have time for this anyway.” your lips pressed into a tight line as you turned and slipped back into the café. but maybe two days later, he sat beside you. coffee in hand.

“the light is really good,” he said.

and from there, it just… went. small coffee dates. soft mornings. you told him about the films you loved. he told you he read sometimes. you told him he should think about himself more. he told you he couldn’t. and still—you helped. without meaning to, you helped so much. he found comfort in you. a shoulder when he was too tired. his hand finding yours when he got anxious. his palm at your back to ground you in crowded rooms.

you grew safer and safer with each other.

so safe that one day, he asked you to marry him. so safe that he told you about his brother—not everything, but enough. so safe that he showed you his wound. so safe that he explained. so safe that he rested his head on your shoulder and cried. so fucking safe that when you handed him a positive pregnancy test, saying nothing, he didn’t even hesitate—he just looked at you, confused, and then hugged you so hard your feet left the ground. “oh my god—” he breathed, voice full, body shaking. “we’re having a baby.”

and you nodded, crying, just because you were happy. he moved with you through your pregnancy—slow, careful. his hand would brush your belly even before it started showing. his lips too, gentle and quiet. “hi there,” he’d whisper at night, like a lullaby. “talking to you early so you get to pick favorites.” you pinched his ear.

“ow, hey— that hurts!” he gasped, as if a tiny pinch could kill him. it was around three months in. you were craving rice and sauce, early morning. junho was already up, making breakfast. when he heard your footsteps in the hallway, he turned around.

“hi love,” he said softly, moving toward you like it was a dance he’d practiced for years. “slept well?” his lips brushed your temple. his hands rested over your belly. you nodded, still sleepy. “need to grab a few things from the store. you wanna come before it gets crowded?”

“oh yes please.”

you went, got what you needed, paid. really, it was such a small, normal thing—barely took time. but when you returned—oh god. you stepped inside, slipping off your shoes, and junho was already moving with the grocery bags—until he froze.

“june? you okay?” you asked, coming closer—only to freeze too. “what the—” your hand found your belly, as if to make sure it was still there. he didn’t speak. just opened a black envelope that had been left by the door.

inside: a golden card. player 222. winner. your eyes jumped from the baby, to the card, back again.

“just—it, oh my god.” you breathed, steadying yourself against junho’s shoulder. his hand found your waist, holding you tight—but his eyes were on the card. he pulled it out. a credit card. and then he looked at you—lips parted, eyes wide, searching for answers he knew weren’t there. “is it from the fucking games?” you asked. he nodded. unsure, but still—he nodded.

you couldn’t even believe it. your free hand covered your mouth. his hand—the one not holding your waist—moved to your cheek, brushing tears you hadn’t even noticed were falling. and junho—he was speechless. he always had something to say, even if small. but now, nothing. you just stood there. with a baby that wasn’t yours. with another one not yet born. his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, like even they had run out of words. minutes passed. you breathed out.

“okay,” you whispered, wiping your tears. stepping back to meet his eyes. “okay. so… what do we do now? how much is on that card?” and junho—he already knew. he’d seen it before. the kind of money gihun walked away with. and from his face, you could tell—it was a lot.

you moved eventually. junho strapped the baby to his chest, walked beside you, checked the balance on the card. and you just looked at each other. fucking stared. two days later, you used it. for diapers. for the little girl who’d been left at your door.

you had talked—god, you’d talked so much. sleepless nights, whispering about what this meant. you were three months pregnant. in six months, you’d have two babies. the one thing that was clear: the money from the card, knowing where it came from, would be for the baby. only the baby.

you asked for help—how to manage two. leaned on your parents, your sister. junho apologized, knowing no one from his side could help. you asked your friends. good ones. the ones who didn’t hesitate. you filled out paperwork. because the baby didn’t have any. you named her—hyejin.

it was like meeting your baby early. way too early. but you were okay. because you knew. because you had time to prepare. even if, some nights, it was hard. even if you felt distant. disconnected. but then—love arrived. quietly. in the middle of the afternoon, when she fell asleep on your chest. at night, when she cried and junho was holding her, but she still wanted your voice.

junho kept taking care of you. you were still pregnant, still heavy, still tired. he massaged your ankles when they hurt, even with hyejin drooling all over him. you laughed.

“she’s drooling, you know?”

“no way??” he gasped, fake offended. “yah, that’s not fair!” you squealed, kicking your feet lightly. careful not to disturb hyejin. “you’re not fair—” he muttered, hand over his chest, pretending to be wounded. “i’m pregnant. i have every right.” he laughed through his nose, the quiet kind of laugh that meant he was totally defeated. oh, and junho—he didn’t hesitate with her. held her like she was the most fragile, most precious thing. maybe it was instinct. maybe guilt. maybe just love.

sometimes he whispered, “you’re so safe, baby.” other times, he said nothing at all—just held her. watched the sky shift through the windows. and you—pregnant, heavier each day—watched them. and you loved her. not because you had to. not because you chose to. but because love came anyway.

then the delivery came. quietly. middle of the afternoon. hyejin was at your dad’s—he insisted. the due date was near and you needed rest. then you felt it. the warm trickle down your leg.

“junho—” you called, not loud. not scared. just needing. hours later. crying. sweating. clinging. she came. alive. strong.

you still remember junho’s face when he held her—wrecked with wonder. “she’s here,” he whispered, forehead against yours. “you did it.”

they’re different, your daughters. hyejin is quiet. watchful. like she’s already survived too much, even if she won’t remember it. she clings to junho’s hand when the world gets loud. buries into your lap when strangers come too close.

your newborn is louder. impatient. she wants warmth, milk, everything, now. but her eyes—god, her eyes. they look just like junho’s. wide and calm and full of something still.

some days, it feels like a miracle. other days—it just feels like living.

masterlist

[kxsagi]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNdfGUWhP/

IDK WHY BUT THIS FEELS SO ISAGI/BACHIRA CODED

“𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 (𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧) 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬”

a/n: THAT IS A W HUSBAND WHAT

HE'S SO SWEET I AM GONNA CRY

nah isagi and bachira's dumbasses would definitely do this, like pads with wings does sound weird, i see how they can interpret it as pads and chicken wings from wingstop or sum 😭

uh oh i wrote about it

ft. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢 – “𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝” 

“yoichi,” you call out from the couch, voice a little strained. “can you go to the store and get me pads with wings?” 

he peeks his head in from the kitchen like the dutiful boyfriend he is. “yeah, of course. anything else?” 

“nope,” you sigh, curling deeper into your blanket. “just that.” 

“got it.” he throws up a thumbs-up and grabs his keys like a man on a mission. this man has faced down kaiser in the final third, he’s got this. 

you assumed he’d be gone maybe 15 minutes. max 20. instead, 40 minutes pass. forty. and then the front door opens and your sweet boy comes in, looking so proud of himself. 

“i got you both kinds!” he grins, lifting two bags like a game show prize reveal. 

you blink. “... both kinds?” 

“yup!” he sets the bags down dramatically. one is from the pharmacy. the other? wingstop. 

“here,” he starts with the first bag, pulling out a pack of pads like he’s discovered fire. “your classic pads.” 

you nod slowly. okay. so far so good. 

“and…” 

he opens the second bag. the aroma hits you first. 

“pads. with wings.” he beams. “for the pain. and the soul.” 

you stare at him. he stares back, proud. 

“yoichi.” 

“... yes?” 

“those aren’t the wings i meant.” 

his smile falters. “wait… what?” 

you hold back a laugh. “pads with wings as in the ones with extra coverage? the flaps that stick to your underwear?” 

he goes still. “... oh.” 

you burst out laughing as he slowly sets the chicken down like it personally betrayed him. 

“i thought i was being clever!” he groans, flopping face-down on the couch. “why didn’t anyone at the store stop me?! i looked so confident…” 

you crawl over and pat his back. “you tried your best, baby. and hey, at least now i have pads and dinner.” 

“… do you still love me?” 

“only because you brought honey BBQ.” 

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 – “𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫” 

“babe, can you do me a huge favor?” 

“always.” 

“can you buy me pads? with wings?” 

bachira doesn’t even hesitate. “say less,” he grins, already slipping on his shoes like he’s heading to battle. “wings coming right up.” 

twenty-five minutes later, he’s back. 

the door swings open with an unnecessary amount of flair. “YOUR WISH. IS. GRANTED.” 

you look up from your phone, already suspicious. “what did you do.” 

“i got you wings.” he kicks the door shut and saunters in like he’s won the lottery. “a combo, in fact. with curly fries. for healing purposes.” 

he drops the takeout bag on your lap. 

you peek inside. “meguru.” 

“yes, my love?” 

“this is buffalo chicken.” 

“yes!” 

“i meant pads. with wings.” 

he blinks. the silence is deafening. 

“like… the ones that stick to your underwear?” 

his mouth forms a tiny ‘o.’ 

“oh. ohhhh.” 

you raise an eyebrow. “what did you think i meant?” 

“... i thought you were being fun with your words,” he admits sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “like, ‘yo get me pads with wings’ was just your way of saying ‘i want comfort and spicy chicken in a time of need.’ i didn’t question it.” 

you blink. “that’s… weirdly wholesome.” 

he beams. “i try.” 

“… but you didn’t get the actual pads?” 

he freezes. “... wait. i thought the chicken was the pads. like… soul pads.” 

you laugh so hard you nearly fall off the couch. “meguru–" 

“don’t worry,” he says suddenly, grabbing his keys again. “i’m going back. this time, i’ll bring the absorbent dignity.” 

“… you’re lucky you’re cute.” 

he leans down, kisses your forehead, and grins. “wingman of the year, baby.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[actualhumancryptid]

I know I am about to write a damn essay, lol. Apologies. I can only speak to what's helped me, and what I've observed in other writers over the years, with blocks and burnout or extended breaks. (and boy, did I have the mother of all burnout for years). So this will be speaking broadly.

Two things come to mind here. I don't think you can get over a block this persistent without having to do some self-searching to figure out why you are, to discover what it is you are bringing to the table. This can be hang-ups about your skills, preconceived notions about what you should be doing (I should be writing x words. I should be finding this part easier. I should be producing what I produced x years ago). Even the fear that it's been too long since you last did this can create a self-fulfilling prophesy, where the belief that you can't write can stand in the way (fun ironies yay). I've found that when my confidence has taken a beating, it's so hard to get it back. Even if my skill-set remains the same. And then you can get stuck in a kind of feedback loop of 'failing'.

And in my experience, to come back from that, you have to change how you talk to yourself about your creativity. You have to be kind, and try and treat yourself the way you'd treat a friend coming to you with this problem.

The second thing is about ways to find it again. A useful question to ask yourself: why do you want to write? What is it specifically that excites you? What made you want to do it in the first place? Something that probes more deeply than just 'to have written', which can be paralysing.

You have to find that spark that made you want to do it in the first place. And often that comes from a place of joy or play. Truly, it will be helpful to try and remember what it was like being a kid, and finding that one cool thing you loved doing, just to do it, and practicing nonjudgement.

And I think sometimes, you need to do this work *before* you try and write. I think of it as pre-writing. Because the words won't be there right away with this kind of thing. And man can it hit your confidence if you jump in too quickly, and then bam — you're bone dry. They can definitely be something you can build up to.

If this is something you genuinely love, there are ways to come back to this, and to find the fun again. I promise.

Hi! Lately, I've been trying real hard to start writing again after a break of a couple of years, and it's simply not happening. I took the break to begin with because I figured that I could pick up writing fic again easily when I felt less burned out. But each time I've tried since 2025 started I can barely get the words out. I keep telling myself I need to go slow and build up to it, but my brain blanks after a sentence or two, with or without an outline. I can force myself into a drabble or two, or even a flashfic, but it feels like pulling teeth the entire time. I even tried going back to old drafts and adding to them (unsuccessfully). Nothing works! I'm getting more and more frustrated and angry with myself for taking this long of a break from being creative. Do you have any concrete recommendations for what to do when the ideas/words/characters/whatever just aren't coming? My brain is mush.

(I love this blog. So excited to see you back.)

I'll tell you what I do, but I also want to encourage folks to add their thoughts on the notes. This is very much a situation that can be worked on in a million different ways, so any one particular take might or might not work. Often, frankensteining a bunch together is the better route.

I've currently got two creative hobbies: writing fic and making site skins for AO3. When a site skin isn't working, I just have to drop it. I've been attempting to redo my glowy blue Tron skin from like 4 years ago and every time I go back to it, I just get frustrated and need to stop. I don't have a clear idea of where I want to take it, and so nothing looks "right" because everything feels wrong. For site skins, I need to have a solid idea to latch onto in order to get anywhere with them.

For writing, it's kind of similar. It's a LOT easier to write when I have an idea that really lights a fire under me. However, I've found that I can write even if I just know what the end goal of the story is. Even if my ending is just "and then they bone" at least I know where I need to get my characters in the end, and that guiding principle is really helpful because most of what my characters do in the fic is going to be aimed at that end point.

I don't know if it's just the way that you've phrased it in this ask, but it seems like you can't see the story for the words. If you're focused too much on the act of writing then you might need to back away from that for now and work on just imagining the story first. Spend more time daydreaming or lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and picturing your blorbo in situations. Get into the habit of thinking about the story before you start writing the story. Then the writing part is just transcribing the picture that's already clear in your head.

I well understand the frustration that comes when you've got something in you and no way to get it out. Whatever else is happening, the way you used to go about writing fic doesn't work for you anymore and now you need to discover a new method. Maybe it's handwriting in a notebook instead of typing on a screen. Maybe it's dictating into your notes app. Maybe it's chatting it out with a bestie over coffee or in a DM. Maybe it's something else.

Let's see what other people suggest for you, and then you can cobble together a method of your very own. Good luck, anon! I'm rooting for you ❤️