#anyways i liked this snippet a lot. makes me think of how hard it is for me to feel like its possible to plan my future.

[chdarling]

Snape slipping Lily the Felix potion OH MY GOD. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING. BRILLIANT!!!!

I was absolutely floored. The foreshadowing is amazing. The last chapter got me thinking. I'm curious how much outlining have you done for TLE? Do you outline every chapter or just vague overarching themes? You may have answered this before, and if so, I'm sorry! I'm just more or less curious about your writing process since your work is so good.

I just wanted to send you all the good vibes and fairy dust. Thank you for sharing this story. I hope you're doing well and resting when you can. Burn out sucks.

Hi! Thank you!! And sorry I’m responding to this like months after you sent it!

I do a LOT of outlining. As a matter of fact, plotting is one of my favorite parts of writing. I just love taking two random, completely unrelated scenes that occurred to me separately and then trying to figure out how to get from point A to point B.

For the case of the Felix, I always knew there would be an attack on Hogsmeade at the end of TLE2, but I didn’t have a lot of the details worked out. It wasn’t until much later in the plotting process that I was working on a scene that I was 100% writing for the jily tension (their first potions class together) and I decided to go the Felix Felicis lesson route, mostly because coming up with new potions is hard and I figured Slughorn seems like a dude who loved his little traditions. It wasn’t until I got to the end of that scene that I realized I didn’t want Lily to win the potion because it would add too many variables, but SOMEONE had to win it….and then 💥bam flash pow 💥 I gave the Felix to Snape and suddenly alllllll these other plots went spiraling out of control hahaha.

So I guess I would summarize my process as:

1. Hoard snippets and scenes in my notes app for a long time

2. Put them all in a semi chronological timeline

3. Let the imagination go wild as I try to make it make sense

I also redo my plots more times than I can count. Things are always moving about because sometimes a scene will logically make sense at x point in the timeline, but then when I get to writing the actual scene, emotionally and narratively it doesn’t work.

But that’s part of the fun!!! Yay problem solving lol

Anyway! That was rambly and a bit inarticulate, but thanks for the ask and thanks for the kind words ❤️

[gutsby]

Mouthful

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller thinks he’s strong enough to quit it, but something in the way you suck him says he isn’t.

Warnings: 18+. A man with a big, bad oral fixation + lots of love for a sneaky succ. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. Blowing Joel under the table at dad’s birthday dinner.

Snippet of Hating Game

He knows better than to let a moan slip at a time like this. Not when he’s sitting at the dinner table; not when he’s surrounded by the people he knows and loves the most. Not when he’s celebrating his best friend’s 51st birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter is perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye but his.

Joel lifts the tablecloth. He almost unloads on the spot.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel can’t help but ache for a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgets all sense of decorum and simply goes to town on that pretty little face. But, as it is, the rest of the party is totally oblivious to your absence, and he doesn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That’ll come later.

No, now he’ll let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’ll let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you get to set—and he won’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure.

That doesn’t mean he can’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wants something done a certain way. The room is dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel will gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He doesn’t have to speak a word of it for you to know what he means. What he needs. You loosen your jaw and stretch your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazes your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel says aloud.

You freeze.

Then, without missing a beat, you hear him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continue to suck him anyway.

One hand braces tight against Joel’s leg and the other flits shamelessly between your own, and you try not to moan, but the sound escapes anyway. No one hears it, but Joel feels it reverberate down his shaft, and he grips his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shoots him a curious look from across the table but says nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grins beside him.

“What?” Joel falters. Sets his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you drag your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunts.

“The wine,” Tommy says, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel lets out another strangled breath that he tries to pass off as a chuckle and nods.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admits.

And that’s the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you kneel down to blow him, it’s still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you know it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man is enrapt. It’s just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that makes Joel loath to admit it. At any rate, he has your tongue licking stripes up his cock and feels a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knows he won’t last much longer. Neither will you.

Joel can’t see it now, but you’ve practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’ve been rubbing your clit—and how turned on you are from just sucking his dick, keeping your mouth wide open for a fucking whenever he wants it. While Joel reaches for another draught of wine, you bring one hand to his balls and keep the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needs you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guide him down to the furthest place in your throat, then push him even deeper. You gag, just slightly, and feel a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb starts to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nod that you do. Can’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you can feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rut your hips and hope no one drops a fork nearby. Buck desperately into your hand and feel the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you’re whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returns a quick smile from your father and cracks a joke about the Super Bowl. Raises his hips just the slightest bit and wipes one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you can do is cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he’s giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body make it almost impossible to bear, but you obey your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sense a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You want to taste him as he blows his load in your mouth, floods your tongue with his spend, and paints every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You need him whole

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reaches his peak—Joel raises the tablecloth when Tommy isn’t looking. His gaze locks on yours and his tongue darts quick between his lips. He cocks a brow. Brushes his thumb up again.

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You give one soft, wide-eyed nod, and that’s all he needs.

No sooner do you give him the green light than his cum goes pulsing out in ropes, coating your whole throat and eventually your mouth as you hold still and take it all.

There’s so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that’s been waiting to giving your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’s started he just can’t stop. Above the table, your dad shoots a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it takes every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’s filled so much of your mouth it’s spilling out now.

You try to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just know there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fuck up now. Your breath catches in your chest, and you feel too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel starts, and your head almost cracks on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinch back,

“—to the realization. That you are so…fuckin’ old, man.”

Your father’s laugh is the first thing you hear, followed by Tommy, your friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you feel, to your complete and utter shock, is Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slides his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth has made in awe and starts to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but desperate to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who can’t risk a glimpse at you now, but wants more than anything to see the mouth he’s just filled.

Your father’s words haven’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsides and Tommy scoots back in his chair, taking leave of your table, you feel a spark ignite. Whether it’s yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane, you can’t be sure, but you can make out a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slips his dick out of your mouth and grins. Takes a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers are practically coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It’s the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

Your Joel.

[misterradio]

["And the mind that has concieved a plan of living must never lose sight of the chaos against which that pattern was conceived."]

[valeriianz]

hi! in the spirit of Dreamling Week, here is an updated masterlist, now with clickable links to tags to follow along with a series :) welcome to my corner of the fandom, where it's predominantly human aus!

in time, all of my fics will be transferred to Ao3, so if you're interested in that, follow along here! this list will (finally) include (some) links to fics ive tagged on in reblogs that i usually ignore... but not this time! :'D Everything here is complete unless otherwise stated: (wip)

G - T Rated:

tepid - 1.3k canon, Dream can get sleepy, too

Stay - 1.7k hurt/comfort, vague mafia vibes

the date that never ended - 1.2k humor, established relationship

You Know How That Thrills Me - 2.2k The Devil Wears Prada AU, + blog tag which includes fanart, here!

savvy? - 1.2k pirate au! Hob rescues Dream

daydream - 1.1k fake dating, UST, fitting room pining

Exit Wounds - 2.1k hurt/no comfort, infidelity, angst

call me back for more - 2k NYE, strangers to lovers, sexual tension

scratch a little itch - 5.6k neighbors, pastry chef!Dream and professor!Hob

The magic of the mistletoe - xmas fic, canon

Hob grieves over Dream - canon, vague comic spoilers, angst

Cowboy AU (snippet) - aka Charro!Dream, Mexican rodeo vibes + blog tag with lots of art and collaborators :)

spin the bottle - highschool setting, friends to lovers

Reason in the Noise - 3k+ (wip) musician!Dream, companion piece to Bolt in the Blue (but can be read as a standalone)

Retired!Dream with facial hair along with part 2! - canon(ish), domestic, light spice

The Parent Trap AU and part 2! - loosely inspired by the film.

Hob walks in on Dream dancing - musician!Hob and Dream dancing to his music. marshmallow fluff.

Personal Chef!Hob, single dad Dream - what it says on the tin, part two here! and my 'chef Hob au' tag full of art and recipes!

NYE and slightly possessive Hob - another obligatory New Years Eve fic

The Proposal AU and also a part two! - a couple silly romcom things in collaboration with valiantstarlights here's the tag for it!

Bday fic for ambarden - the night before college graduation, pining,

Road Trip - the start of an idea...

ASMR youtuber!Dream - an add on... Hob is a fan. meet cute

Hard of Hearing Dream - pining, bittersweet, friends to lovers

Spicy/NSWF fics under the cut!

M - E Rated:

Bolt in the Blue - 102k+ (wip) the epic band au, slice of life, fluff, touring. see everything related to this fic in the tag fic: bolt in the blue

skipping breakfast - 667w domestic and a lil spicy

obsession - 1.6k canon, making out on the dancefloor

Fin de siècle - 3.2k vampire hunter!Hob and vampire!Dream

parked - 1.1k canon, car sex, PDA

tease - 1.3k Dream has a vulva, Hob fingers him in a car

ushy gushy pussy Dream - and he refuses to get off Hob's cock

Mr. Gadling's Bodyguard - 11.7k The Hitman's Bodyguard AU, action, humor... second chapter does not relate to the film at all and is just smut

Savory & Sweet - 6k+ (wip) restaurant au, unhinged behavior

Let Me Down Easy - 21k photographer!Hob and model!Dream but they're exes. angst with a happy ending

never enough - 7.3k friends to lovers, love confessions, mutual pining

turn the lights off - 3.3k phone sex, side fic inspired by by the minute by issylra

kiss me properly (and pull me apart) - 4.2k Hob wears a butt plug all day (lol) inspired by this incredible art by messmonte

Dream stepping on Hob - power imbalance, PWP

Bathtub shenanigans - a bit of relaxation ;)

Hob as Sexy Santa - and Dream can't handle it

Celebrity Dream and his normie bf Hob - inspired by that 3am photo of Ferdie looking all sweaty and disheveled

One of Your Girls AU - an ask fic/prompt i sent to Gabe and she added on <3

Let Me Down Easy [deleted scene] - they get frisky the morning after

Dream can feel Hob's lewd daydreams

Bi-curious Dream - basically a summary/headcanon of what i think Dream having his bi awakening with Hob would be like. and then hardly-an-escape went and wrote a full ass fic about it. but im counting this anyway lmao

#my writing

btw i am so sorry, yes i did give up on including the word count. i just... gave up. but everything without a word count is most likely under 1.5k.

[lonelychicago]

fuck it friday! 💌

tagged by the lovelies @devirnis @theotherbuckley @wikiangela @bidisasterevankinard @bekkachaos <33

okay so, idk if I'll ever finish it or post this fic. but! i had this idea of abuela suddenly coming out to eddie bc she found a gf that makes her so so so happy and eddie spending time with them and realizing he could have that too!! that second chances are possible!!! that it's okay!!!

anyway, i have a lot of thoughts and feelings and ideas so here's a lil snippet + a moodboard <33

“I wasn't expecting Abuela to introduce me to her girlfriend,” Eddie says, tilting his head and grinning softly. “But after seeing you two together? It makes sense. You make her happy.”

“She makes me happy, too.” Ruth giggles, like a schoolgirl talking about her crush. “And to be honest, Isabel was a surprise for me, too. I think that's just her effect.”

Ruth gets this look, talking about Abuela. A look that's so familiar to Eddie like the knowledge of breathing— the same look his Abuelo used to have when telling Eddie the story of how he met one Isabel Diaz, and how eventually he managed to marry her and form a beautiful family. The look that's on every inch of his parents’ faces on their wedding photos that are hung all around their home in Texas. The same look Bobby gets when Athena drops unannounced by the station. The look Chimney and Hen get when talking about Maddie and Karen.

The look Eddie knows as a fact it's on his face when someone mentions Buck or when the guy enters a room and Eddie can't help but to feel immediately drawn to him, like a magnetic force, like a moth to a flame.

Ruth shakes her head and turns around, gazing towards where Buck and Iaabel are dancing in the middle of the bar. Buck is laughing hard, with his head tilted back and his cheeks a rosy tint, Abuela chuckling as she tries to twirl the too tall man around.

“He’s special too, y'know. Your boy.” Ruth says so low that Eddie almost doesn't heat it over the music of the bar. “He reminds me of an old friend I had.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ruth smiles softly. “He was a good man. The kind of man that shines brighter than the sun, you know what I mean?” And then, Ruth turns to him, a knowing glint in her eyes. “The kind of man you'd be a fool to let get away.”

tagging (np): @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @rogerzsteven @bigfootsmom @usersiren @spotsandsocks @the-likesofus @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @thewolvesof1998 @excuseme-greentea @underwaterninja13 @father-salmon @saybiwithme @loveyouanyway @daffi-990 @messyhairdiaz @elvensorceress @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @diazsdimples and anyone else who wants to do it <33

[highvern]

Teach Me IV

extra credit

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au, frat!svt

Warnings: mentions of drug use (weed) and alcohol , phone sex, exchange of nudes, both are down horrendous, mutual masturbation, making out, dry humping, idiots in like, dokyeom has a praise kink and isn't ashamed, snippets of disgusting fluff

Length: ~5.1k

Note: ugh ... anyways! i know i mentioned potential angst in an ask but i'm weak

read more here

The best part of starting Fall Break on a Friday is having to do absolutely nothing for five blissful days. But because he is easily swindled by his friends, Dokyeom is ass over tits and the clock hasn’t even chimed 8PM. After the incredibly awkward week following your latest tryst, he’s thankful for the mind numbing freedom of alcohol, weed, and nothing but miles of mountain and woods.

Or he would be if wasn’t still upset you turned down his invitation to join him this weekend.

So he sneaks into his room and pulls up your Instagram. You're at the top of his results when he clicks into the search bar.

You posted a new photo this afternoon. A memory of a girls night out, sandwiched between two of your friends outside some bar, nothing but wide drunk smiles and closed eyes under the flash of the camera. Dokyeom already saw it. Already liked it. 

He keeps scrolling, down down down till he reaches his favorite picture. A frozen memory of you outside some cafe, slumped in an iron wrought chair, sunglasses obscuring half of your face; your mouth is spread over a wild guffaw, teeth flashing and the corner of your lips arched high in amusement. Whatever had amused you pulled your entire body in, shoulders curved up as your chest caves, chin tipped back. 

The soft pink sundress hugging you snugly is an added bonus. 

And somewhere in his muddled mind, Dokyeom decides he needs to talk to you. Right. Now.

After the third ring, the call connects.

“Heyyy, pretty lady.”

“Oh my god, are you drunk?” You laugh, and Dokyeom can imagine the same expression from the photo flashing across your face. 

God, she even sounds pretty. He thinks.

He whines through the goofy smile plucking the corners of his lips, “Nooooo.”

“Oh, really?”

“Maybe I’m a little drunk.”

“Only a little?” You jest.

“Maybe a lot-tle.”

“I can tell.”

“Wish you were here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Haven’t seen you in like a week.”

If he wasn’t wasted then he might feel embarrassed, but Dokyeom finds the words slipping past him without a second thought as he rocks back and forth, caught in waves of emotion.

“How’s the cabin been so far?” 

The sudden change in topic scratches unpleasantly but he lets it go.

“Would be more fun if you were here.” He confesses. “What are you up to?”

“Laying in bed, watching Love Island.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Seriously?” You scoff.

“What?” 

“You’re so lame, Kyeom.”

“I’m curious about what you do when you’re alone.” He tries to sound innocent. “You’re alone, right?”

“Yeah, Ava left for the weekend.”

“So what are you doing this weekend?”

He’s fishing for the real reason you told him you couldn't come with him to the cabin. You’d been purposefully vague the few times Dokyeom probed since last Thursday, claiming any excuse under the sun: a friend coming to visit, getting ahead on assignments, pulling a few extra shifts at the library. Anything to avoid flat out rejection.

“You know, this and that. What about you guys? Any big plans?”

“Some of the guys mentioned a hike tomorrow. And Beer-lympics Sunday.”

“God, you’re such a frat bro.”

“I can do better.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. What are you wearing?” He tries again.

He hears you huff, “Pajamas.”

“Sexy.”

“I actually think this is your shirt.”

“Oh? Send me a pic.”

“What do I get if I do?”

“What do you want?”

“Are you hard?”

“I can be.”

“I’ll send you a picture if you send me one too.”

“Fuck, okay.” He agrees, tapping open his camera app and trying out a few angles, working himself up in the process.

Dokyeom settles for cupping the bulge over his pants, outline of his cock pronounced as he lightly squeezes. He’s highly aware of your obsession with his hands, so he tries to flex his arm forcing the web of veins to rise as the muscles clench.

“I’m waiting.” You goad on the other end of the phone, knocking him out of his concentration.

The five photos he’s snapped all look about the same. Settling on the least blurry one, he quickly opens your messages and sends it before changing his mind.

A sharp inhale announces its arrival on your phone. 

“Your turn.” 

He can hear the rustle of clothes and blankets through the speaker, and a whispered curse following a dull thud. Dokyeom can’t help the chuckle that escapes as he pictures whatever caused it.

The photo you send back takes him a second to decipher. You're definitely wearing his shirt, the bottom hem bunched across your breasts, the swells of flesh peaking out near the top of the picture; perfectly omitting your face. Tracing down your bare stomach, your hips are wrapped in powdery blue cotton panties. And if that wasn’t enough, one hand is stuffed underneath, pulling the elastic taunt across the crease in your hip as it stretches to accommodate your fingers.

Holy shit.

“You like it?”

“You're evil.” Head rolling back, Dokyeom groans as he takes it all in. “You want me dead.” 

You giggle at his tone.

“Fuck,” he mutters, continuing to study your figure. “You’re so hot.”

“Kyeomie,” you whine, obviously embarrassed under his attention.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” you mewl.

“Dirty girl.”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

The back and forth of your relationship is the funnest part, in Dokyeom’s opinion. You like when he puts you in your place as much as he enjoys you putting him in his. It helps that even when he assumes the more dominant role, you still praise him as if he’s the best thing since sliced bread. It scratches that submissive part of his brain that always wants needs to be good. Especially for you.

“I can think of a few things.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Phone sex is unfamiliar territory. He isn’t sure how much is too much and the awkward parting last week still stains his brain. But you just sent him a photo with your hands down your underwear so Dokyeom tries to go with the flow.

“Could make you cry on my cock.” He flushes when you remain silent for a second too long . “Sorry, that felt awkward.”

“No!” You object, voice crackling through the speaker at the sharp increase in volume. “It, ugh, that’s hot.”

“What? Crying from my dick?”

“You don’t think so?”

Dokyeom’s cock twitches, as if to signal its eager agreement.

“I think anything involving you near my penis is hot so I’m not really a good judge.”

“Well, just imagine it. Remember that time we fucked at Wonwoo and Mingyu’s house party?”

“Not appreciating you saying other dudes’ names while my dick is in my hand but yeah.”

You snicker at his reprimand. “Anyway. Remember how I wanted you to fuck my mouth?”

Dokyeom takes a sharp inhale as the memory rushes forward. You on your knees, eyes glossy and lips bruised, begging him to stretch your throat. The second the request reached his ears Dokyeom nearly came on your sweater covered chest, but he’d ignored your request, hauling your ass up onto the counter in favor of stuffing your cunt. You hadn’t complained.

“But you wouldn’t because you didn’t wanna mess up my makeup?”

“You looked pretty… didn’t wanna ruin it.”

“Yeah but I wanted you to.”

Another squeeze of his cock as he slips his hand under his boxers, “Yeah?”

“You’re really hot when you tell me what to do.”

“Fuck.” He groans, vocabulary limited by the husky timbre of your voice. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Mhhmm, doesn't feel as good as when you do it though.”

A pathetic thrust through his fist at the praise. “I know but I’ll make it up to you next time. Promise.”

“How?”

“Might tie you up. Fuck you till your screamming.” Dokyeom doesn’t know who he’s become but you seem to like it.

“Oh?”

Your reply is all breath, the same way you sign when he gives you his fingers after a long study session. The beads of pre-cum on his tip increase as he works his cock, almost able to fill the way you’d coat his fingers if he was there to give them to you.

“You like that? Want me to use your tight little pussy? Fill it up?”

“Want you to come inside me again, Minnie. So hot.”

“I know, pretty girl. So desperate for it aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” you squeak, “Are you close?”

“Send me another picture.”

Only a few seconds pass, filled with muffled groans on his end and the clack of your nails on yours. Dokyeom rushes to open the new attachment you’ve blessed him with, heart clenching when his stomach caves around a moan.

The photo is blurry from your haste but he doesn’t care. You're drenched. The crotch of your panties tinged darker as you pull them aside, flashing the way your entrance stretches around three of your fingers. Your clit just barely visible, puffy and swollen from neglect.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Minnie—” Your voice sounds far away, and he realizes you've put yourself on speaker so you can use both hands.

“Can you do something for me?” he grounds, squeezing the base of his cock to stop his impending end.

“Anything.”

Another deep breath before he lays himself bare, “Drive up here tomorrow.”

“What?” You ask, the springs of your mattress squeaking as you sit up, clearly confused by the switch in pace.

“I wanna see you.”

“I—”

“Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Dokyeom scrambles.

Another pause before a timid, “How?”

“Whatever you want.” 

“Dangerous words.”

“Pretty sure I’ll enjoy it just as much as you.”

“I don’t know…”

“If you don’t want to, it's fine but,” he sighs, “if you can I want you to come. And not just because of sex.”

“Then why?” 

“Because I like—” He cuts himself off hastily. “Because I like spending time with you.”

As seconds tick by without response, Dokyeom is sure you're going to call his bluff. Or worse, laugh in his face. He’s sweating, heart beating irregularly as he waits for your reply.

“Really?” Shyness creeps into your voice.

Dokyeom nods before realizing you can’t see him. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll come.”

“Really?” Dokyeom asks, eyes wide and jaw slack. No way it's this easy.

“Really,” he can hear you smile. “But only because you said you’d give me whatever I want.”

“You’re gonna make me regret that aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” You tease, enunciating each syllable as his heart beats in time. “But Kyeomie…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m still wet.”

“Can’t have that.” He tsks.

“Please,”

“Be a good girl and play with your clit.” Dokyeom instructs, slipping right back in.

A hitch in your breath precludes a satisfied “hmmm”. He wishes he could taste both on his tongue. 

“Touch yourself too.” You plea.

Dokyeom’s wound so tight a gust of wind would have his load all over his stomach. He tells you as much.

“Shiiit” You curse, catching up to him. “Close.”

“Yeah? Think you deserve it?”

If he was there, Dokyeom knows he’d see the frustrated kick of your legs and feel the daggers shooting from your eyes.

“You ignored me all last week, I don’t know if I should let you.”

“Dokyeom, please!”

“But since I get to see you tomorrow.” he tuts, covering up the catch of his breath as you plea again. “Let me hear it.”

The call devolves into choked curses and groans. He keeps the screen close to his face as he focuses back on the picture you sent, painting his fist with streaks of white as you beg him to cum, choke on how much you want to taste. Your stuttered “ah”s floating right into his ears as you twist and shake in your bed hours away.

When Dokyeom can feel himself returning to his body, he soaks in the lull of you catching your breath.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” You sigh dreamily.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Send me the address.”

“Oh and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m happy you’re coming…”

“Goodnight,” you chuckle at the double entendre.

“Night.”

Even with the satisfaction of an orgasm coursing through his veins, the fizzing bubbles of happiness in his chest have nothing to do with the cum cooling in his underwear.

--

The drive to the cabin is two hours and thirty seven nerve wrecking minutes. Dokyeom has been up since six, texting you the address, asking you to let him know when you left, keep him updated on any pit stops you needed to make. Not to rush up the mountain and drive safely. 

The digital clock on your dash reads just past noon as you slowly creep up a narrow gravel road, praying another car doesn’t swoop around the bend. Of course a pack of frat boys would choose some creepy woods to set up camp for a long weekend. 

You dial Dokyeom’s number just to be safe. Barely a full ring passes before he picks it up.

“Hey!”

“Hey… I think I’m pulling up to the right place?” You scan for any sign of a driveway on either side of the road without any luck. 

“Oh shit, I’ll come outside. Jun got us lost yesterday when he drove up so it’s tricky.”

Taking a left as you finally spot the red mailbox with a beaver carved into the dark wooden post at the end of the lengthy driveway, a two story cabin comes into view between the trees. Dokyeom jogs from the porch to meet you at the edge of the yard. Rolling down your window as he makes his way over, you greet him.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” he smiles, bright enough to blind a village.

“Um, where should I park?” 

“Just pull up behind anyone, it doesn't matter.”

“Alright.” 

Dokyeom walks next to you as you pull in behind a white sedan. Once in park, you pop the trunk before slipping out the door. He already has your bag tossed over his shoulder, tangling your fingers with his as he pulls you towards the house.

“Some of the guys went on a hike earlier so I’ve been helping Seungkwan and Mingyu clean up.”

“Oh, you didn’t need to wait for me.”

“I wanted to.”

Before you can think too much on that statement, Seungkwan interrupts by tackling you in a hug. 

“Oh thank god you’re here.” 

“Hi to you too.” You say, carrying his weight as he goes boneless.

“Hi,” he responds with a squeeze, before turning to Dokyeom with a blunt, “Goodbye.” 

Seungkwan pulls you inside the front door, beelining for the sliding glass doors that lead to the back porch.

“Hey!”

Without slowing, Seungkwan fends him off. “She was my friend first!”

“Yeah well,” Dokyeom flounders like a washed up fish.

“You dazzle with words. Now go away.” Seungkwan sniffs.

Sending an apologetic smile over your shoulder, you allow Seungkwan to usher you along. You spot another person in the kitchen, face shadowed by the hood of his sweater. He doesn’t look up when you and Seungkwan shuffle pass.

“Ignore Mingyu, his girlfriend broke up with him yesterday.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, anyway.” Seungkwan plops onto one of the chairs circled around the patio table. “Speaking of girlfriends—”

“Did you finally get one?”

“Being mean is bad for your health.” He deadpans. “As I was saying, did Dokyeom ask you to be his?”

“His what?”

“His girlfriend.”

Your ears ring at the nonchalance in Seungkwan’s tone.

“Why would he ask me to be his girlfriend?”

“Why else would you get up at the ass crack of dawn to come to this dump?”

“He said he wanted me to come.” You answer, turning your head to observe the lake beyond the thin tree line.

“After you told him no? Wow, didn’t realize he was that good in bed.”

Your hands itch to circle his neck and shake but Seungkwan is saved by the very man in question.

“Hate to interrupt but I thought you might want some coffee?”

You turn around, smiling as Dokyeom leans out of the sliding glass door, “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“We aren’t done talking!” Seungkwan calls as you reach the door.

“I am!”

Mingyu apparently retreated to his room after you stepped outside, nowhere to be found in the kitchen or living room beyond the counter.

The isolation makes you nervous which is strange because it’s just Dokyeom. But his words last night over the phone, coupled with Seungkwan’s on the porch twist your guts uncomfortably. 

It’s too late to bail. You can’t claim illness since Dokyeom will fawn over you like some mother hen. Besides, you don’t actually want to leave. You just can’t stand the nagging voice in the back of your head insisting this isn’t what friends do. Even if said friends are having sex. 

“Wanna show me your room?” 

“Sure!” Dokyeom is still cheery, eagerly leading you upstairs and down a maze of hallways. 

The outside of the cabin, while daunting, failed to betray how big it actually is as you pass door after door on your journey.

The room Dokyeom is sharing with Soonyoung is cozy. Two full sized beds with little room for anything else and an en suite the size of a closet. But at least you won’t have to battle it out with anyone else for a bathroom during the next three days. 

Dokyeom was lucky enough to claim the bed closests to the bay windows, framing a pleasant view of the backyard, dock, and sprawling lake. When you step closer, you can spot Seungkwan’s mop of hair as he leans on the edge of the railing that borders the porch; hand animated as the other holds his phone near his mouth.

Turning back to the bed, you spot your bag on the floor at the foot of it. The room is ten degrees hotter when you realize Dokyeom was lying right there as he talked you through an orgasm barely twelve hours ago. You awkwardly shuffle on your feet as you try to find something to say.

Dokyeom seems unperturbed, flopping onto the mattress, arms thrown wide in invitation. A shy grin twists your lips. Hair a mess, and cheeks flushed, Dokyeom looks cute. He’s always cute but navy crew neck and gray sweats transforms him into a cozy dream. The mattress dips under your knee as you crawl to lay next to him.

Settling your head over his heart, arms twining around one another, you feel your own give a peculiar squeeze. It’s truly no different than all the other times you’ve cuddled, albeit those were post-coitous; except it is. Dokyeom told you he wanted you here, that he likes spending time with you, and now he’s squeezing the life out of you as he snags one of your legs to wrap around his waist.

When sleep tickles your nose, pleasantly warm and inviting, you ignore how Dokyeom isn’t your boyfriend. What you have right now is perfect enough.

—

The sweet hum of Dokyeom’s voice lulls you awake, a simple melody you vaguely recognize from his playlist he insists on blasting during your hangouts. Gray light from outside casts the room sullenly dark. Storm clouds, swollen to a near black, eclipse the late afternoon sun. Dokyeom’s neck is the perfect place to escape the unavoidable sounds of the cabin filled with life, eyes firmly shut as you inhale the smell of laundry detergent and pine. 

One of your hands managed to twist under his sweater in your sleep, fisting his thin T-shirt as you attempt to beckon sleep out of hiding and back towards you. A pathetic whine escapes when Dokyeom jostles you in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, only silenced by his lips against your forehead and his stroking your elbow.

“Shhhh,” he coos. “Go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“Like five.”

Lifting back from his neck, you pout. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

A gentle peck to your lips in response leaves you speechless, a soft quirk to his lips as you gape. Collapsing back into his chest you’re left to bask in each other's presence as you take to silently drawing shapes on his stomach, smiling as he giggles from ticklishness. His thumb traces the curves of your hip, digging to the soft flesh of your waist.

A banging on the door makes you both jump out of your skin before Seungkwan’s voice cuts the air. “Come on love birds, dinners ready!”

“If we don’t get up, do you think he’ll go away?” Dokyeom whispers into your hair.

“No.” 

On queue the door flies open, smacking against the wall and rebounding into Seungkwan’s face.

“I said it's time for dinner. Now get your asses up!”

“Go away, Boo!” You demand, chucking a pillow in his direction.

“What happened to respecting your elders?” Dokyeom asks, eyes sharp as he tries to kill the younger man with his eyes.

“When my elder does something respectable, I’ll consider it.” Seungkwan claps. “Now chop chop!” 

The dinner Seungkwan so adamantly demanded your presence at is a huge pot of spaghetti and some loaves of garlic bread. Nothing overly complex but the bustling atmosphere downstairs is nice, comfortable.

Dokyeom introduces you to some of the fraternity members you haven’t met, as well as their dates. Squished between him and Seungkwan at the dining table, you barely engage in conversation. Not that you need to. They both fill the space with their own joking easily enough.

Instead, your mind focuses on the warmth of Dokyeom’s shoulder brushing yours, and how he rests his arm on the back of your chair once he finishes his plate. 

When the mess is cleared away, a few people scurrying off to who knows where, Soonyoung insists on a game of Beerio Kart as dessert. Excited to have a new person to torment, he drags you to the couch before you can object. In a blink, you find yourself wedged between the armrest and Dokyeom as he explains the game.

“The rules are simple my friends! No drinking and driving and you have to finish your drunk before the race ends. If you fail to do so you’ll be publicly shamed.” Soonyoung claps his hands together, the maniacal glint in his eyes a little too intense for such a silly game. 

“And for additional chaos,” Seungkwan adds. “I’ve changed it to blue shells only.” 

“Now may the best driver win!”

“Alright, the first round is Jun, Marci, Sam, and me.”

“This is gonna be a bloodbath.” Someone calls from the other couch.

And it is. Jun uses height to hold Seungkwan’s drink out of the younger man’s reach, resulting in Seungkwan launching himself from the couch in a flying kick. They’re both so occupied with one another they don’t notice the race is long finished and neither of their characters moved past the starting line.

A chorus of boos rises as the race times out, designating them as 11th and 12th place.

“Alright, next is DK, Y/N, Wonwoo, and myself.”

“Can I forfeit?”

Dokyeom turns to you. “You wanna quit already?” 

“Considering my opponents, yes.”

“New rule: no quitting allowed.” Soonyoung interjects.

“You can’t make that a rule!”

“I just did!” 

You respond with a thumbs down, much more effective than the middle finger you want to throw his way.

“It’s okay if you’re scared, Y/N.” Wonwoo taunts from across the room. 

“I’m not scared!”

“That’s exactly what someone who is scared would say!” Soonyoung chimes in.

Dokyeom just shrugs his shoulders when you look at him for assistance. Figures. He’s part of the reason you don’t want to play. He and his roommate rile each other up too much under normal circumstances, let alone when things get competitive and alcohol is involved.

“Fine, let's play!”

Soonyoung divvies out another round of lukewarm beer cans you’re required to drink as Wonwoo picks the track. N64 Rainbow Road because apparently he’s an asshole. The way he reclines back in his seat confirms it.

To avoid the inevitable mess Dokyeom will make in his haste to chug before the race begins, you stand, shuffling closer to the safe zone at the edge of the coffee table. He tugs at the back of your shirt for a second, prompting you to shake your head. 

Dokyeom pouts but stays silent. 

“Alright lady and gentlemen! Start. Your. Engines!”

Cracking open your can the second the countdown begins on screen, you gag at the taste of cheap beer as everyone whoops around you. You manage half the can before you have to stop under the threat of it coming back up. Dokyeom and Soonyoung are still drinking, the later shuffling in place restlessly. Wonwoo hasn’t even opened his beer, focusing on getting as far ahead as he can.

Hopefully Seungkwan’s meddling takes care of him.

The race track is chaos as you press your character forward, occasionally blown off course by a blue shell moving to knock out whoever is in first. Half way through the course, you chance a glance at the other corners of the TV. Soonyoung and Dokyeom have finally started lap one, only for Soonyoung to fly over the edge at the first turn and wait to be rescued. Wonwoo is caught in the mess at the front of the pack, only able to maintain first for a fraction of a second before being sniped by a shell. 

Once you round the third lap, you take your chance. Stopping in a corner of the track to down the rest of your drink, hoping everyone is too engrossed in the events on screen to see you start moving despite still swallowing a mouth full of beer. 

This is when you see Wonwoo make his mistake. He pauses right before the finish line, cracking his can open and nearly choking on the large gulps in his haste. You're gaining quickly, barely a quarter of the last lap remains between your carts. When he finally finishes the can and picks up the controller, you unleash the blue shell you’d been saving. Rosalina goes flying as you sail by, Yoshi claiming fifth place.

“Suck it!” You scream, jumping up and down in victory; joined by Seungkwan who hollers with you as if he won too.

Wonwoo is shell-shocked, literally. He finishes seventh overall, pulling behind another computer character. Soonyoung is on the floor as he and Dokyeom fight for second to last place. The shame goes to Soonyoung as the race times out once again.

When you turn back to the couch you're met with another blinding smile as you drop into his lap. 

“Looooooserrrr,” you taunt as you flick his nose gently.

“Yeah whatever.”

“It’s okay, maybe I can teach you sometime.”

He laughs, squeezing you into his chest. “God, you’re annoying.” 

“It’s so lonely at the top.” You furrow your brow in mock sorrow.

Another race ensues, more chaos and screaming echoing through the living room. The heat of Dokyeom’s chest sinks through the back of your hoodie, strong plains of muscle shaking as he laughs with the group. When Seungkwan and Soonyoung face each other in a rematch you tempt Dokyeom upstairs, kissing behind his ear before leaning back and giving him the “look.”

The “I-want-your-dick-in-my-mouth” look.

Of which he very is familiar.

Dokyeom lurches forward, eager to appease, forgetting you're still in his lap until your weight knocks him back down. Shaking your head you stand and pull him up behind you, moving towards the stairs uninterrupted as Seungkwan and Soonyoung threaten each other's life and limb behind you.

Tacky wood shiplap digs into your spine uncomfortable as Dokyeom crowds you against the wall. His lips ghost along your jaw, hands on either side of your head to prevent him from crushing you. You don’t have the same concern, pulling him closer with the fabric of his sweater. The door to his room is a few feet to your left but the idea of separating for even a second to make it inside is pure agony.

“What does the winner want for her prize?” he whispers, teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Depends.” You sigh, grinding against the bulge of his thigh. 

“On?”

“If my prize is separate from what I get for driving up here.”

Dokyeom nips your chin, dodging your attempt to connect your mouths.

“Depends on what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“I’m gonna do that anyway.”

“I wasn’t done yet.”

He stays silent, teeth bruising the sliver of shoulder peeking out under your collar.

“I want you to fuck me,” cut of with a hiss at his vigor, “and I want to film it.”

Backing out of your neck, Dokyeom blinks at you, mouth wide.

Peeking at him through your eyelashes, you wait for Dokyeom’s brain to restart. His mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. Not a rejection or an agreement. Just surprise.

A heaviness curls in your gut. You thought he’d like the idea, especially from his reaction to the pictures you sent last night. And the videos he’s sent over the months you’ve been hooking up. Videos of him jacking off, cumming on his own stomach, your name on his lips. But maybe you assumed too much.

“Ifyoudon’twanttowedon—”

But a scream interrupts your rant as he lifts you by your thighs, ankles locking around the top of his butt and arms tangling around his neck like a koala. You hold on for dear life as he carries you down the hallway.

Palming your ass harshly with one hand, the other scrambles to open the door as he licks up your neck. The door rattles on its hinges as he kicks it shut but the blood rushing through your ears muffles it.

“Yes, yes. Holy shit, yes.” He’s whining into your ear, hips rutting into your core as he lands unceremoniously on the bed, crushing you underneath him.

You’re shocked for a second, woefully unprepared for his enthusiasm. But another harsh rush against you, coupled with his hands pawing up your shirt to palm your chest makes you bold.

Two things you know to be true about Dokyeom: 

First, he has a ragging praise kink. If you tell him he’s a good boy, he can come almost untouched.

Second, he loves the sight of his cum streaking across your body.

He was right to say he’ll enjoy this as much as you will.

“Yeah? Wanna come on my face?”

Another pathetic whine against your neck as he keeps curling his clothed cock against you. All of his weight settles between your hips as drives you to madness.

“Then go lock the door.”

[unreliablesnake]

Cheaters (David "Deacon" Kay x reader)

Note: Deacon's a cheater, reader's a cheater, his marriage is failing... Yeah, you've been warned. It's short, just a snippet, really. MDNI.

Warnings: afab!reader, fingering

You hated yourself for doing this to your fiancé, to his wife, and even to the team. If your affair ever came to light, there would be a scandal that neither of you wanted. So you took precautions and tried to stay under the radar, meeting every other week in a hotel room you paid for in cash. In the meantime you communicated through a password protected emailing app he suggested.

Because Deacon kept everything under control for the both of you, doing something you would have never assumed he would. A previously loyal and faithful Catholic man was cheating on his wife, and to make things worse, he clearly enjoyed every second of it, sometimes acting like some stupid hormone-driven teenager. It's not like you didn't love the thrill of this. Hell, you sometimes felt like breaking up your engagement for him.

Because every time he looked at you as if you were the only person in his universe, your heart melted, and every time his hands or lips began to roam your body, your brain stopped working. He had you under his spell, making you do things you normally wouldn’t do. After all, you would never look at anyone other than your fiancé, especially not when the other man was married. 

Yet here you were, struggling to bite back a moan in the backseat of his car as his fingers curled to touch that sweet spot inside you. Sometimes he played with fire, like right now in the almost empty parking lot of the station after your shift. Anyone could have walked up to the car to talk to him, but he didn’t seem to mind and you were way too lost in him to care.

He kissed you fiercely to silence you when your body told him you were close to another orgasm, and you could tell he was trying hard not to grin and laugh at the way you struggled to stay quiet. “I love the pretty noises you make,” he had once told you with a smirk before placing a soft kiss on your temple. But times like this he needed you to keep it down, so you did your best to be a good girl for him.

“Let’s get out of LA this weekend. Just you and me,” he suddenly said with his face buried in the crook of your neck, his fingers not stopping as you came for the second time that night. It took your brain a minute or two to clear up, and since you never responded, he repeated the suggestion, this time while looking you in the eye. “What do you say?”

“I wish I could go,” you began with a sigh, “but my future brother-in-law will stay with us for the weekend. And I have no idea how I would explain being away for this long anyway. How could you explain it to Annie?”

Deacon let out a groan, then leaned back against the seat. “We spend most of our time fighting lately anyway, one more thing to yell about wouldn’t really matter.” Your eyes narrowed as you watched him, having absolutely no idea how this man could be this nonchalant about something this important. “She wants me to retire. When I told her I don’t want to do that, she got mad at me. But let’s not talk about that now. How about just one night at the usual place? I need you, baby, I really do,” he tried to convince you with a sweet tone, even flashing a tired smile at you.

It was hard to decide what to think about all this. His marriage was going through a rough phase, yet instead of trying to fix it, he seemed more interested in spending more time with you to get away from his problems. You wanted to say no. You knew you were supposed to say no. But then you looked into his big brown eyes and logic seemed to flee your brain. “Fine, I’ll say I’m staying at Chris’ place,” you gave in. 

[bookshelfdreams]

Hey I like a lot of the takes you have regarding the pirate show so I wanted to ask for your opinion on smth that's been bothering me for a while:

I have a deep seated dislike for Hamilton. Twinkifying the fucking founding fathers, romanticizing slave abusers and overall villainizing the wrong people while others (Hamilton at the front naturally) gets sung at. Speaking of singing - I really hate it. Shipping (i want to repeat) the founding fathers, the blatant white washing bla bla bla. Anyway those are all known problems and better people have said it smarter before and that isn't really my point

It's the fact that a friend of mine recently brought up that Ofmd pretty much is the same and I shouldn't scream so loud in my glass house. Inaccurate historically speaking, the blatant ignoring of the slave owning that the real Stede and Edward did and so on and so forth. Minus the singing perhaps if we ignore Frenchies and Izzys

So. Does it make me a hypocrite to like ofmd so much but despise the mere mention of Hamilton? It's a thing I'm really stressed about lately and that kind of ruined my joy about finally getting season 2. I would love to hear your opinion. or that of your followers for that matter.

Thank you 😊

oh thank YOU because I do feel that this is an interesting thing to examine and we do not talk about it enough.

I have never seen Hamilton, or listened to the songs (except some snippets). I have never been involved in the fandom. I really, really can't speak to what the musical itself did wrong and right. But I will say this: There was a reason it got as popular and received the critical acclaim that it did. I can't speak to how it addresses the systemic injustice baked into the USA from the very beginning, and I do have a suspicion that it glosses over a lot of uncomfortable truths. But I also feel it is important that we divorce the source material from the fandom it spawns because ultimately, Miranda isn't responsible for Hatsune Miku Binder Jefferson, or the whole hivliving debacle.

Just as David Jenkins isn't responsible for the handwaving of slavery in fanworks, or the great Izzy Hands Debate, or whitewashing in fanart, or shitty, racist headcanons of the characters of colour, or whatever deranged scandal is yet to come to light. This is true for all fandoms; criticizing fandom dynamics is a very different conversation from criticizing the canon.

Let's focus on the canon here, though, because defending the fandom is pointless, and not something I want to do. Curate your experience.

The first thing to say is: If you like ofmd but don't like Hamilton, that's not hypocritical at all, that's first and foremost a matter of taste. Things are good when we like them and bad when we don't. We don't have to find objective reasons for it.

If the fact that the historical Stede Bonnet was a slaveowner, and the historical Blackbeard also participated in the slave trade, are dealbreakers for someone, that's valid. People have every right to be uncomfortable with that. The conversation could end at this point, if we want it to (I don't because I love to hear myself talk).

If we look at the historical figures a little closer the first stark difference is the cultural context in which they exist. The founding fathers seem to be extremely mythologized in the american consciousness but also, are understood to be real historical people. The founding myth is fundamental to the way in which the USA perceives itself (that is, as a beacon of freedom and democracy), and it's pretty hard to reconcile that with the bloodshed and human misery it was founded on. It's uncomfortable; and it's not just an American problem. Every western nation/former colonial power has quite literal corpses in their closets they'd rather not talk about (just so you don't think I'm getting on a high horse about the famed Erinnerungskultur here; go ask a german person about Lothar von Trotha and what he did to the Nama and Herero to receive a blank stare). The difference is, that the founding fathers are too prominent and too important to just not talk about, so instead, they are sanitized to a degree that can be straight up historical revisionism.

That's not Miranda's fault. Nor is it the fault of any one particular piece of historical fiction, biography, documentary, or what have you. But it is the context in which Hamilton exists and, from what I understand, a culture to which it contributes. Especially since it's based on a biography of the real Alexander Hamilton, and (again, to my understanding) claims to tell a more or less accurate story.

Pirates, on the other hand, are perceived completely differently. They are mythologized, but not for ideological reasons, not as state-building propaganda. Pirates are more like folk heroes; cultural icons (near) completely divorced from whatever historical figure once lived. They are "real" in the sense that they are based on real people, but engaging with them, from the start, has a layer of removal from reality that engaging with figures like the founding fathers hasn't. Blackbeard is from a saga. George Washington is from history.

ofmd, specifically, makes clear at every turn that what we are told is a fictional story that has very little to do with any real events. It's openly anachronistic, it has absurd internal logic. Life-threatening injuries are walked off. There's actual magic. Dinghies are treated like spawn points in a video game. Everything, from the costumes to the vernacular to the story beats, tells the audience that none of this is real.

You wouldn't accuse, idk, A Knight's Tale, or Mel Brooks's Men In Tights of whitewashing history. I feel like ofmd plays in a similar league; it's a comedy very vaguely based on history, and it makes sure the audience knows we are not about to be told anything true. If you watch ofmd, you know this isn't about the real, historical Stede Bonnet or Edward Teach.

So. Let's examine the actual story, yes? The story that is told here is anticolonialist, antiracist, and challenges oppressive power structures as much as is possible for a production like this. It addresses these things and condemns them, both explicitly and in its underlying message. (I'm not gonna explain all of this, enough ink has been spilled about it by people smarter than me)

I do not know what Hamilton is about at its core. I know Our Flag Means Death is about authenticity in the face of the whole world telling you there's something wrong with you. It's about resisting dehumanization and reclaiming your personhood. It's about love, in a radical, system-destroying way, about breaking the cycle of abuse, about healing, and finding joy.

Yes, the real historical figures it's based on were all horrible people. Again, if that's a dealbreaker, that's fine. I'm not trying to convince anyone who is deeply uncomfortable with that fact; it's perfectly understandable.

However, for me, personally, the story as a whole is so far removed from reality, and so firm in its message, that I feel this is forgivable.

(Oh, and a lat aside, I also feel like likening ofmd to Hamilton seldom seems to come from a place of genuine criticism. Often it seems to be more along the lines of "Hamilton is cringe, and if I say ofmd=Hamilton ppl will be too embarrassed to defend it" which yk. feels kinda disingenuous to me.)

[hurthermore]

Hello! I found your page a few days ago, and last night, I completely binged on your Misconduct fic (I regret it sm cuz now I read it all T-T). And can I just say, wow, I think this has been my official favorite fanfic if all time. I can relate so hard to MC, and I've had similar abuse, and the way you write her is so authentic. Sometimes when fic writers portray abuse, it just doesn't ring true for me, but jeez yoir portrayal is SO fucking accurate. Anyway. Fangirling aside... I have a few questions for you!

1. Do you think part of the reason Alastor was so interested in MC is because she carries herself like his mother/has similar qualities to her?

2. Are we gonna see some of Alastor's childhood in this fic? I'm interested to hear about it since he hinted at it during the picnic.

3. (I know this question is annoying so ahndbfbfb feel free to ignore it, but do you have an estimate for when the next part is coming out? I only ask bc in a previous ask you said you like to plan things out haha)

4. Oh and! What do you think Alastor would do if during intimacy he notices MC dissociating/crying? What do you think he'd say if she voiced her thoughts about not being good enough?

Okok andjfnfn I don't wanna overwhelm you with questions so I'll stop here. But again, the way you manage to capture the abuse and the calmness Alastor brings is just- *chefs kiss* ilysm <3

Ahh tysm!!! I'm so glad you read misconduct and enjoy it so much!!<3 This kindddd of goes into spoiler territory SO.

Spoilers ahead!!

Onto your questions:

I thought I established it in chapter 10, but it will be become more obvious in chapter 11 that the reason Alastor is attracted to reader is not only because she is just insanely attractive, but because she has the same glint in her eyes that he does when he murders people; she has the ability to kill. Reader is neither elegant nor cute nor whatever, reader is your or your self insert, so whatever YOUR reader is, thats what reader is. (Does that make sense lmao??)

Honestly I wasn't planning on having Alastor's childhood in it because it would serve no purpose to the plot and I feel a lot of people would get bored if I did that. I might make him have some flashbacks of his mother, only snippets, but nothing in depth.

Honestly, I'm almost finished with this next assignment! LUCKILY ahaha. I've begun on Chapter 11, I just gotta focus on it, with the discord server and my assignment, i've been a bit too busy to focus on it. But I'm hoping to get the next chapter out by... Sunday??? Fingers crossed!!!

Ooof. He would stop immediately. If you seem uncomfortable or distressed whilst you're meant to be making love, he will stop. This will be established later, but Alastor can only kind of... get hard if you're turned on?? So yeah. He'd comfort you, asking you whats wrong, what he can do to help; he hates to see you cry, it breaks his heart! But hearing you say you don't feel good enough? He will be baffled; he's not good enough for you, if anything. So to hear you be so worried about that? He will remind you how you're a goddess in his eyes.

[sinner-sunflower]

A HH Lucifer-centric AU 13/?

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

For me, Goodie is not a total goody-two-shoes. Remember that she sees a soul's inner good. She is kind, yes, but only to those she deems worthy.

All I can say is that she and Roo are 2 sides of the same coin.

P.S. I'm not gonna put any snippets anymore, I end up not following them anyway aksjdlajk

----------------------------------------------------

Goodie: Such words! Angel, was self-preservation not included when you gave them the fruit of knowledge?

Lucifer: Apparently not.

Velvette doesn't dare to make eye contact when the King of Hell crouches in front of her. He roughly takes her face with one hand to forcibly make her look up.

Lucifer: A lot of you seem to think that 'King' is just a title I was merely given.

His claws were digging into her skin so hard that she knew for a fact that she was bleeding- if not for the wet sensation then the taste of iron in her mouth was a dead giveaway.

Lucifer: I can't blame you. I was not the most present ruler, after all. But I thought I made something very clear when I dealt with that moth man.

Velvette can feel her jaw dislocate from the sheer strength. Vox wants to help but he can't move- none of them could. He looks to his side to see Alastor smiling like he just got the best gift ever- the fucking psychopath.

Lucifer: I guess one example isn't enough.

She wants to struggle but her body won't fucking move. Her head was going to explode. She was going to die right here.

Lucifer closes his hands suddenly, crushing the lower half of Velvette's face. Surprisingly, she's still alive. Lucifer removes his command on only her, letting Velvette keel over. She's saying something but it comes out garbled. She makes an attempt to crawl closer to where Vox is.

Vox is looking at her with devastation and horror. His friend is going to die. Velvette produced a high-pitched noise as she felt something stab her leg, pinning her from where she lay. Then came the burning sensation. Her leg is on fire. It's on fucking-

Lucifer: So, let me keep it simple.

He twists Lightbringer and effectively cuts off Velvette's leg.

Lucifer: I'm Lucifer Morningstar.

He swings and slices an arm.

Lucifer: The creator of the first sin.

A stab to the torso.

Lucifer: The angel that damned humanity.

Velvette can't even do so much as a whimper now. Her whole body is mutilated. If she could still see, she's sure that all that's left is a gooey red mess.

Vox averts his eyes but something compelled him to keep his head facing the mess.

Goodie: Uh uh uh! A bit rude to look away, don't you think?

Lucifer: Í̷̫̈́́͂̒̚̕͝͝͝'̶̨̛̺̤̿̀͒͛̂̿͋̄̑͆́͘͠͝M̴̝̯̖̦͍̽̎̏͆̔ ̴̛̛̄̋̈̑̓̀̓̃̄͐͗ͅŸ̷͇̙̟͈̭̥̬̻̙͔̠̱́̽̊̊ͅÔ̵̤͙͈̬̫̪͕̼͍͌̀̔͜U̴͈̼͖̯̤͌̀̀̓̾̔͆̈́̊͑͗̕͠͝R̵̨̹͍̦͒͌̋͒͆͌̄͛̓͑̔́͜ ̸̝͑̐̀̉̃͠͝F̵̞͖̮̗̗̜̯̯͔̮͒̊͒̈́̈́́̽́̂̂͑̎͝U̵̟̙̱̙̯̤̼̙͈̳̘̫͊̈̀C̷̙̞̔̅̊͌͋K̷̖͙̼̪̠̾̄̅̾͘I̵̛̩̘̜͖̩̙̿̐̽́͊́̒͆̆̎̑͗N̴̤̏̂͝G̸͋̋̍ͅ ̵̡͈̩̹̗̹̝̻̬͍̗̬̲̳̟̍͋̽͛̒̉̍͊͑̑̋̅̽Ḳ̷̡̬͔̞̱̤̬̮͉̙͇̪͛̅͊̚I̵̤͙̪̞̝͔̱͎̜̩̖̺̟͔̙͊Ṉ̵͈̤̘͚̻̙̼̓͂̌͋́̎͜ͅĢ̸̭͔͇̹̹̳̭͋̓̒͗̈́̉̈́̂̚

Lucifer casts hellfire on the dying sinner. The king laughed as the flames grew tall. This is the power of the Devil and they will remember now of their place.

The flames dispersed leaving a charred mass. Lucifer turns to face the still-kneeling group of demons.

Lucifer: Û̶̪̌͐́̂̆͠͠n̸̛̟͕̱͍̫̘̻̣̱͈͈͇̱̜͛̓͗̏̅̇͋̒͆͊̓͗̚͠d̷̢̢̨̼̙͈̞͈͓͈͙̂̌͋̔̂̉̍̈́͆̿̈́̕͘͜͠e̵̛͍̯̫̼̫̐͛̊̒̆̉̓̊̽̓̒̒̚͘ŗ̶̨̢̧̮̜͙̪̹̯̙̪̤̠̝̓́̒̋͆̆̓̿͐̄̓̕̚̕ş̷̛̮͖̰̝̟͇͕̟̞̳̟̪̥̂̀̈́̈͗́̿̐̔̎̕̕͠t̶̮̖̭̹͓͉̪̣̦͙̖͍́͐͂̑͒̑͂̑̾̓̍̊͝ô̵̥͓̥͐̄̏̀̾̀̽̆ò̴̜͇̣̣̳͖̗̹̟̇̓͑͝ͅd̸̨̨͈͓̠͑͑̒̎̈́͘͠?̸̟̎̈

All nodded- he almost thought the sinner Overlords' heads would roll off from how frantic they were moving it. Except for Alastor- he kinda looks like he just experienced euphoria.

Lucifer: Good!

He claps in delight as transforms back to his normal appearance. With a snap of the King's fingers, everyone could move again. What they didn't expect was Velvette turning up in her dying place, perfectly fine, looking like nothing happened.

Vox runs forward to hold her as she shakes and cries in his chest. He gives the King a confused look.

Lucifer: What? Do you really think I killed her? Sounds counterproductive. We still have a situation at hand and you are no use to me dead.

They shuddered. His eyes say a silent reminder of how he could kill and revive them over and over again as he pleased. How he could, literally, show them what the phrase 'make your life a living hell' means.

Goodie: Up now! My sister is becoming restless.

Everyone reluctantly stands and gets in position.

Mammon: Show-off.

Leviathan: Ha! You wish you were that scary.

Goodie stands next to Lucifer, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Goodie: Remember, angel, if this fails, you must do what I have told you.

Lucifer nods. A giant red pentagram appears above the entirety of Sloth the moment he opens his palm.

Lucifer: Let's start.

---------------------------------------

Apologies Velvette stans

[staytheword]

thanks for the memories (lmly, part one)

thanks for the memories — part one of leave me loving you [→ part two] [series masterlist] [general masterlist]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!! if you interact with my writing please have a profile picture and short bio indicating your age. it helps me make sure you are not a bot!!

• han jisung x female reader, all other stray kids members are featured. other idols are mentioned briefly (ateez's wooyoung, itzy's yuna).

• non idol au, rock band au. drinking, partying, explicit language, explicit smut. oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, protected sex. (let me know if missed any warnings)

• word count: 11.6k

There’s only one person there, sitting on the edge of the stage, swinging his legs and looking around. For a second you think your eyes must be deceiving you, but it’s him. Han Jisung.

• permanent taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @tanyas97 ; @raspbinniecreme ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit

• story taglist: @mintquokka ; @is2cb97 ; @dirah-h ; @bokk-minnie ; @allypasta ; @strawberriesandknives ; @drhsthl ; @hyunjins-red-lights ; @thesunsfullmoon (hope I didn't forget anyone, sorry if I did I have an awful memory!)

• author’s note: hello ♡!! here is part one of the series! thank you so much for all the support you've given me, it's really heartwarming :') I really really hope you'll enjoy this (can you tell I'm incredibly nervous haha?)! the first part is a bit longer than expected because I wanted to divide it differently but thought it didn't work as well.... ahh. anyway. well. if you can please let me know what you thought ♡ lots of love!

The Jack of Trades is packed tonight, exactly the way you like it. It smells like smoke and booze, colored by neon lights and light projectors. The floor is sticky under the soles of your combat boots, and you have to zig zag through the crowd to make it to the bar. 

Tonight is one for the books.

The Trades is hosting the concert of a band who’s visiting your city on their tour. It’s a big deal. The band in question, Side Effects, got featured on Spotify and are really popular on social media. You don’t know them very well - you’ve only heard snippets of one of their songs - but judging from the amount of people squeezed in the Trades tonight, you’re representing a minority. 

Leaning against the bar, you catch Yuna’s gaze and raise two fingers. She gives you a nod, her long hair falling in elegant waves on her shoulders. You always order the same thing, anyway, so she doesn’t have to ask. A minute later she hands you two bottles of your favorite beer, which will go straight to your tab, and you give her a thumbs up of encouragement in return. 

You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen the place so packed. You don’t think you ever have. It’s usually busy on Fridays, but never like this. You feel a rush of pride because the Trades is your favorite place on this godforsaken planet and you know how hard Changbin worked to get it back on its feet after the last owner deserted. 

Speaking about your best friend, he’s where you usually find him, near the mixing console where Jeongin is sitting, focused, his headphones placed on his bleached hair. Changbin is frowning at his phone, clearly busy with final preparations. It’s an important night for him. He lets out a relieved sigh when you hand him his beer. 

“Finally,” he lets out, immediately taking a long sip. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, smirking. “You’re welcome, Bin.” 

He drinks for a few more seconds before answering you - his beer is already half empty. 

“Can you see this?” he laughs in disbelief. “The place is fucking packed.” 

“You did it, Bin,” you say, lifting your bottle to clink it against his. “You sold out the Trades.” 

He grins and cheers to your words before emptying the rest of his beer. When he’s done, he releases a content sigh and you take the empty bottle from his hands. 

“I feel better now. I was getting a little stressed,” he chuckles.

“Is everything ready?” 

He nods. “Yup. We should be able to start on time,” he says, checking his phone again. “Oh, fuck, no, why is Hyun texting me…”  You let your gaze wander around the room as Changbin starts to type frenetically on the phone. It’s hard to believe that only two years ago, this place was nothing. Changbin bought the place as it was falling to ruins. You still remember the first time he showed it to you, making a big show out of it. He put a blindfold around your eyes and everything - and when you saw the dusty floor, the bare walls and the half collapsed stage, you thought your best friend had gone crazy.

But Changbin had a vision. He wanted to create a place where there would always be live music, where people could come to dance to a band they liked just as much as grab a beer and listen to whoever was playing. You could see it in his eyes as he explained it to you. 

It took months just to undo the damage made by the past owners - the plumbing needed to be replaced, there was mold in the walls of the bathroom, and things you preferred to forget in the dressing rooms. Luckily, Changbin was one stubborn guy, and he pushed through at the times you would have easily given up. You did your best to be there for him. 

The months after that had been easier - choosing the color of the paint, the best material for the floor of the stage, the placement of the bar and tables. Changbin already had a name in mind, and you worked for weeks on a design for its logo. When Changbin gave his approval, he ordered a neon light in the shape of your logo, which now hung on the brick wall behind the stage. 

Since its opening, the Trades has seen its fair share of rising artists, of questionable singers and chaotic musicians. A few concerts sold well, and the place became a success. Now there are so many proposals Changbin actually has to choose who will play on the nights the Trades is open. 

Tonight, the place is sold out for a band that you’ve actually heard on the radio. Hyunjin, who works backstage, has a friend who has a friend - Side Effect’s guitarist. They were looking for a venue and the Trades ended up being mentioned in a conversation. When Hyunjin told Changbin, you were sure he was going to go into cardiac arrest. It cost him a small fortune to pay the band and promote the concert, but seeing tonight’s crowd, it was definitely worth the investment.

“He said three, Hyun - not, not two, three - I SAID THREE - HYUN?!” 

You turn to Changbin, eyebrow raised, and he sighs deeply, holding the bridge of his nose. His outburst has also gotten the attention of Jeongin, who has turned his chair towards him and pulled down his headphones. 

“We really need to get a better network for his place,” Changbin mutters. He nods at Jeongin. “Everything ready?” 

Jeongin nods. He doesn’t talk a lot but has an impressive work ethic. He’s also the best - the best - poker player you’ve met.  

“Y/N,” Changbin pleads, “can you please find Hyun and tell him three changes, not two. I need to stay here.” 

You nod and head outside the booth. Although you’re always here, you don’t officially work for the Trades - but you don’t mind helping. The place is your baby a little bit, too. You’ve been here since the start, helped with the renovations, and you’ve barely missed a concert. 

Holding on to your beer, you slip through the crowd towards the door leading backstage, Wooyoung letting you in with a sharp nod. You know the place so well you have no difficulty finding your way in the dark. You find Hyunjin standing behind the black curtains around the stage, hiding him from sight. He’s dressed all in black as usual, and blends with the shadows so well sometimes the only thing giving him away is the piercing on his eyebrow. 

“Did he say two or three?” he asks you. 

“Three,” you confirm. 

“Three,” Hyunjin repeats under his breath, turning to finish preparing his things. “Why not two like everyone else? Why does it have to be three?”

You smile to yourself at his muttering, and hand him your beer. 

“Take a sip, yeah?” 

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” 

He drinks as you peak around the curtain to see the stage. You love seeing it from this angle when it’s all ready to go, its floor covered in cords and various equipment. Side Effects has four members, each with their own microphone, and the drum kit is huge.  

You turn back towards Hyunjin who has a finger against his earpiece and hands you back the beer. You understand the signal - the show is about to start. The Trades goes dark and you hear the crowd scream in excitment. You turn on your heels to leave, as you don’t want to be in the way, but as you’re about to head back, you’re blocked by a few people passing in front of you. 

You can barely see them in the darkness, only a few lights giving a hint of their faces, but you can easily guess from their outfits and general energy that they’re the band. 

The first has short, ruffled dark hair and wears a tank top that barely covers his wide shoulders. He does not see you, clearly in his own mindspace. The second is slightly shorter, with shoulder-length black hair that is half tied behind his head. His eyes are wide and shine in the darkness. He notices you staring and nods at you quickly, munching nervously on his lower lip. 

The third barely glances at you. He wears a leather jacket and his hair covers his eyes. The last is smiling, visibly excited, and gives you a wink as he walks by - but he does it so quickly you can’t get a good look at him.

Each of them gives a different energy, none of which feels similar to what you would expect in a popular rock band, and just for that, you are intrigued. The crowd is going wild, a few people screaming at the top of their lungs, pushing towards the stage. The overall atmosphere is electric, tense like the few seconds before a raging thunderstorm.

You decide to stay for a song, making yourself small backstage. The first notes of an electric guitar rips through the Trades, soon followed by a rhythmic beat on the drums. When the voices join the melody, you find yourself moving, tapping your feet on the floor. The song is catchy, reminding you of the music you listened to when you were a teenager - in a good way - and their voices blend in perfect harmony. 

Tank top guy, who you understand is the main singer and guitarist, stands at the center of the stage, belting a high note in the microphone. To his right, the other guitarist smiles widely at the crowd, no longer looking nervous - and to the left, perfectly sporting the bad boy look with his leather jacket, the bassist does not even smirk. 

But really, it’s him you can’t look away from. Sitting at the drums, on the edge of his stool, slamming his sticks like a man possessed. He’s fast and aggressive, his face quickly dripping in sweat, his tongue slightly sticking out from between his teeth. In your entire life, you’ve never seen anyone play the drums like that. He’s probably barely visible behind the other members and the array of drums and cymbals in front of him, and yet he shines so bright you can’t take your eyes off him. 

You stand there as if struck by lightning for the rest of the song, and then for about half of the second. 

Who is that guy?

You see the appeal of Side Effects. Four handsome guys with an insane amount of charisma bombarding really good music like they were born for it - of course they would be popular. Around you, the audience is dancing and singing, clearly having fun. You feel proud for the Trades, and a little embarrassed that you didn’t give this band much attention before. They are good. 

You clap when the second song ends, listening attentively as they introduce themselves. The singer and leader is Chris. The other guitarist is Felix. At the bass is Minho, and behind the drums sits Jisung. 

You can’t help it - you stare at him. Jisung. He’s fidgeting like a child as Chris interacts with the crowd, happiness overflowing his eyes. He plays with his drumsticks like they’re the extensions of his fingers, which you don’t doubt is true. As Felix says something about an upcoming EP, Jisung leans down to drink some water, and as he looks up, your eyes meet.

He doesn’t react, and for a second you think he can’t actually see you in the dark - but then, he smiles. 

A heart-wrenching, life-altering smile. 

You can almost feel your legs wobble, but really, you are too shocked to move. You just stare back like an idiot until he looks away. 

How can a guy be so goddamn magnetic? 

The next song starts and you try to catch your breath. It’s hard to do so as he plays right next to you, the muscles of his arms tensed, his entire body jolting as he pounces on the drums. He’s still smiling, but he’s focused. You breathe out slowly. 

When you think you can stare at him in peace, he turns his head for a second and winks at you. 

It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You take a step backwards, clearing your throat, and look around nervously. That’s when you see Hyunjin, who is smirking at you. You give him a glare and he playfully winks at you. 

You make sure to give his arm a good slap before you head back towards the booth to go back with Changbin, your legs a little shaky. 

You’ll watch the concert from a distance.

People often talk about the calm before the storm, but you prefer the one that comes afterwards. The latent electricity, the echoes of screams. You stand in the middle of the Trades, your ears ringing in the eerie silence. The entire audience has left, the stage is empty. 

You stand among the staff, your shot glass lifted as Changbin ends his speech. He has a proud grin illuminating his face, his eyes shining like stars - you cheer with the others to the night’s success, clink your glass against Hyunjin’s and drink. People disperse to finish cleaning up or to get home, but you linger next to Changbin. You throw your arm around his waist as he finishes talking with Wooyoung, and once the bouncer tells you both goodnight, you pull Changbin into a hug. 

“Congratulations, Mr. Seo,” you tell him. “I’m proud of you.” 

He hugs you back, chuckling, his breath making your hair dance. In the way his body leans against yours, you can feel how both happy and exhausted he is. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he breathes. 

You shake your head, leaning back, gently tapping his cheek with your palm. 

“Of course you couldn’t.” 

He pulls his tongue at you as someone calls his name. You both turn towards the voice. A young guy with dark hair is smiling at Changbin, walking towards you. Wearing a pair of jeans, a white button-up and a relaxed tie, he looks both casual and fancy. Behind him are four people you immediately recognize.

Side Effects. 

You try not to stare, stepping away from Changbin.

The main singer, Chris, looks completely spaced out although he’s smiling politely. Felix looks like he’s still on his adrenaline high, bouncing slightly, looking around in curiosity. The bassist, Minho, remains impassive, but he perhaps looks a little bored. The drummer, Jisung - will you ever be able to forget that name? - is on his phone and does not see either of you. 

“Mr. Kim,” Changbin says, extending his hand. “I thought you would’ve left by now.” 

“Not without saying thanks,” he replies, shaking Changbin’s hand. You conclude he’s the band’s manager. “Call me Seungmin, yeah?” 

He looks at the main singer and nudges him with his elbow. 

“Right,” Chris smiles. “Thanks for having us. We had a good time.” 

“Yeah, it’s a really cool place you got,” Felix, agrees. 

They all give smiles and thanks, shaking Changbin’s hand. Your best friend’s grin cannot leave his face. You stand a little behind him, observing the exchange. It’s hard not to gawk. They’re still wearing their stage outfits, and although they look different without the spotlights, you can still feel their energy. 

“We’re having a little after-party,” Seungmin explains. “Wanted to extend an invitation.” He glances at you. “You and your staff, of course. Anyone who wants to join.” 

“Ooh,” Changbin chuckles. “Hell, why not.” 

Seungmin nods. “I’ll text the address then. See you in a bit.” 

As they walk away, you exchange a long look with Changbin. You wait until they’re out of sight to gasp loudly, holding on to each other like you’re going to fall on your knees. 

“Did they just -” Changbin exclaims. “Did we just get invited to an afterparty?”

“I think we did,” you whisper frenetically. “I think we fucking did.”

“Holy shit!” 

This is the first time anything like that has ever happened - usually, if there are after parties, they take place inside the Trades, and it’s with bands or musicians that aren’t very well known. Those who are, even just a little, often leave as soon as their performance is over.

“You know what that means, right,” Changbin giggles. “Not only did they stick around, but they took the time to thank us, and then invite us? What the fuck!” 

You laugh hysterically, throwing your arms around Changbin’s neck. You take the time to scream and dance for a minute or two, but then there’s stuff to do. You help your friend settle a few things, leaving the rest in Yuna’s safe hands, who’s not in the mood to party and has worked at the Trades since its opening. 

There’s five of you going to the party, so you split two taxis and get to the address Seungmin texted Changbin. It’s already really late when you get there, but you don’t care. This sort of thing never happens and you are going to enjoy it. Besides, if it allows you to steal a few more looks at that hot drummer, you won’t complain. 

The place, which you guess is the house the band rented for their time in town, is huge and already filled with people. Nobody asks who you are, and you just join the party like you were there from the start. Changbin is able to find Seungmin, who guides you to the kitchen where there’s a scandalous amount of beer available. You grab a bottle and cheer with your friend. 

It’s going to be a good night.

You’re going to lose the game, that much you know - but you’re not going down without a fight. If only your eyes weren’t burning from the exhaustion and the booze, you might’ve stood a chance. But then again, your opponent is good. 

Minho has brushed his hair away from his face. His eyes drill into yours, and while they are beautiful, they are, right now, your worst enemies. 

You squint as the people around you hold their breath - and after a few more seconds, you can’t take it. 

You blink. 

The small audience lets out an audible sigh. Minho gives you a smirk. 

“Well played.” 

You wave your hand, rubbing your teary eyes. You’re not proud, but you can admit defeat, so you nod at him and he pats your shoulder. You'll get him another time. Or not.

It’s incredibly late and horribly early. You’ve been drinking - not too much, but a fair amount. The party is slowly calming down. There’s still music playing, but it’s faint. People are no longer dancing and drinking but rather lounging and chatting. A few are laying on the floor or on the couches, asleep. Someone is snoring nearby. A lot of people have left. Most, in fact. But not you. 

You’re still here and you’ve just had a staring contest with Lee Minho - which you’ve lost. You shake your head, letting it fall against Changbin's shoulder. He is half asleep, barely able to keep his eyes open, his head secured against a fluffy cushion. In a minute or two you’ll lose him, but that’s fine - you plan on just curling up next to him and sleeping too. 

Except, as you’re about to do exactly that, you spot Han Jisung. 

You haven’t seen him much during the night. Not long after you arrived, you saw him flirt with a girl and he disappeared afterwards - you can guess the rest. Not very surprising coming from a member of a rock band. Of course he would have groupies. He was handsome, talented, charismatic. A flirt, too, apparently. Not like you cared, and certainly not like you expected him to remember the wink he gave you - if it had even been intentional. At this point, you’re convinced he didn’t even see you, that you were just a faceless shadow observing him from backstage.

So much for the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. 

But he’s there now, walking towards the kitchen, wearing distressed jeans and a white t-shirt. His hair is all over the place, his steps a little uneven. You stare at him as he crosses the room - he’ll never see you, anyway. 

Changbin's chest is rising and falling regularly now, and you glance at him to confirm he’s fallen asleep. You smile tenderly, pat his cheek, and decide to head to the bathroom before you also get some rest. You head to the hallway, stepping over a few bodies, smiling at Jeongin who’s still playing DJ although the music is at such a low volume you can barely hear it. You ruffle his hair as you pass him. 

You step out of the bathroom, thinking to yourself you should get a glass of water, and look up. A few steps away, leaning against the wall, is Han Jisung. 

He looks up at you and smiles, his hands in his pockets, his eyeliner a little smudged.  

“There you are.” 

You’re too surprised to say anything at first, and he chuckles. 

“What, you think I forgot about you?” 

You blink, trying to gather your thoughts. “Excuse me?” 

He smiles, tilting his head a little. “It’s you. You were backstage earlier.” 

“How do you know that? It was dark.” 

“Not that dark.” 

You chuckle, maybe a little nervously. You’re a bit too drunk and tired for this conversation. He just looks at you in response, and you know it deep inside your heart. This guy is dangerous. Dangerously attractive, no doubt. But also just dangerous - the kind to consume your heart in a single bite and not leave a crumb. Exactly what you should avoid.

You cross your arms, looking back at him. “If you knew I was here, why didn’t you come earlier?” 

He shrugs. “I thought you’d look for me.” 

“There were like a hundred people here,” you sigh. “And when I saw you, you looked a little busy.” 

He laughs, shaking his head. His smile - fuck, that smile. Wide and bright and heart-shaped. Fuck. 

“Oh, that,” he says. “Yeah. She was all over me, what kind of gentleman would I be to refuse?” 

You snort. “For some reason I can’t buy into the whole gentleman thing.”

“I’m hurt.”

“Do I need to remind you you’re a rockstar?” 

“Hm. I would have just said musician or “some guy in a band”, but I’ll take rockstar.” 

You stare at each other, and you can’t explain it, but you both burst out laughing. Surely, it’s the booze. It has nothing to do with the electricity between you, like you’ve known each other for years, like this is far from being your first ever conversation. What the hell is this? 

Is this what people mean when they talk about instant connection? All you’ve known is friendship and trust built by experience and bonding. Not that it’s a bad thing - on the opposite - but this is new for you. 

You cover your face with your hands, shaking your head, and Jisung approaches you slowly, his eyes filled with sparks. 

“I love your laugh.”

“Oh, come on,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. 

You turn to lean against the wall, placing your hands behind your back, and he follows your move, barricading you between the wall and him. He smirks. 

“You don’t believe me?” 

“It’s not that, rockstar,” you smile at him. “I just know guys like you. Flirts. Fuck boys.” 

“Aoutch.” 

“Like you don’t know it.” 

He doesn’t refute it, his eyes lingering on your face, your nose, your lips, your body. Most of all, your lips. You’re tired and drunk and he smells good - it would be easy to reach out, but you won’t let yourself do it. You want to see what he will do.

And just like that, like he’s reading your mind, he leans in. Your breath hitches but you put a finger against his chest. 

“Hm. Haven’t you had enough for one night?” you tell him mischievously. 

He groans, and he’s so close to you his breath caresses your lips. 

“It’s you I wanted from the start.” 

It’s a terribly attractive thing to say, and you try really hard to ignore the fact that you’re turned on. You attempt to focus on little things to take your mind off his smell and his warmth - the fact that your mouth is dry, that a strand of your hair is tickling your ear, that your feet feel heavy in your boots after an entire day in them. 

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” you whisper. 

“All the more reason,” he grins. 

He reaches to put said strand of hair behind your ear, removing your itch, and it makes you almost dizzy - so much that you barely see him as he leans towards you again. Your finger, still pointed at his chest, pathetically bends, and your hand ends up sprawled against his shirt. His breath smells like apple flavored liquor. He kisses you. 

You know you’re just some random girl for him, one he’ll probably never know the name of, one of many he’ll have made out with on his tour. You know you’re just that, and you should have enough self-respect to push him away and not become yet another groupie on his fuck shelf, but he kisses so well you forget all of that. 

Or, well.

You know it, but you choose to forget it. 

Han Jisung’s lips taste like chaos. He kisses the exact opposite way he plays the drums, languidly, longingly, almost carefully - he is patient and delicate, yet it is clear he knows what he wants. You wrap your arms around him, and he pushes you against the wall, kissing you deeper. 

His hands are in your hair and he slides his tongue against yours, and you moan at the feeling of it, and in this instant you would let him do whatever he likes to you. 

You said it. 

Dangerous.

You are vaguely aware someone approaches you and stops next to you, but Jisung is still kissing you like it’ll never happen again - and it never will - so you don’t really pay attention to it. It is only when Jisung lips leave yours that you touch back with reality, realizing the voice has been calling his name repeatedly. 

“What is it, man?” Jisung asks, his voice low and annoyed. 

You’re still hidden in his arms, feeling drunker than you’ve ever been. You can barely open your eyes. 

“Sorry,” the voice says. It’s Chris. “But we need to go, like, now. Felix isn’t feeling good.” 

You glance at Jisung to see his face has changed. He looks tense, almost sad. It’s a surprising sight and it stirs something inside of you. 

Jisung gives Chris a nod. “I’ll be there in a second.” 

Chris leaves, and Jisung turns back to you. 

“Sorry, baby. Gotta go.” 

He gently lifts your chin with his fingers and gives you a last gentle kiss. Your legs can barely keep you up. 

Just like that, he walks away and disappears. You know it’s the last you’ll see of him tonight - and probably ever. You’re not sure how you feel about that, but there’s nothing you can do.

You trace your lips with your own tongue. 

Apples.  

You drag your feet back to Changbin, who is still asleep, and you sit beside him. Feeling disoriented, like your whole life has been taken apart and built back sideways, you wrap yourself around him, close your eyes, and let sleep steal you away.

The barista slides the two full cardboard trays of coffee on the counter and you thank him with a smile. It’s heavy and impractical, but luckily you only have to go next door. 

As much as you love the Trades during the night, when it’s packed and loud and stifling, you adore it during the day. If the weather is nice, like today, the doors remain open to let the fresh air in, and there’s a spot at the booths, where you usually sit, that catches the light just right. You head there first, leaving your bags and your own coffee, and then you make a round around the place to give the other cups to the people you meet. 

Jeongin is making repairs on his sound console and he accepts the coffee with a nod. Andy, the janitor, takes the next one, and soon you’re left with just one. You head upstairs to Changbin's office, and seeing that the door is closed, you knock. It’s the code everyone knows - an open door means you can go in. A closed one means knocking.

You wait for a few seconds, and when the door opens, Changbin only lets his head through - you see there’s someone in there with him. Soft brown hair and a black coat. Could be anyone. You just hand him his coffee, and he thanks you with a smile. You’re curious to know who he’s meeting, but you’ll just ask later. 

That’s the beauty of your friendship with Changbin. There’s absolutely nothing complicated about it. Since day one, you have been completely open with each other about everything, so ambiguity has never been an issue. Nothing ever lingers - you just talk about it. Good things, bad things, uncertain things. 

It’s an affectionate friendship, but it’s also a brutal one. You both have strong personalities, and everyone expects you to clash, and you do. But you do it in a way that is so open and true it never results in actual conflict. 

Changbin keeps you steady, Changbin knows you, and Changbin learns with you. To be human, to do better - but also to accept you’ll always have your flaws. 

Whistling a Side Effects song - it’s been stuck in your head - you head back to your usual booth and sit down. You take off your jacket, open your laptop and plug in your headphones. 

It’s difficult for you to find places where you manage to be productive when working. Your own apartment is often too warm; cafés are a nightmare; but the Trades, however, is perfect. There’s just an energy that gets your creative juices going, and you’ve been enjoying it as much as you can. 

You take a long sip of coffee and get to work. 

About twenty minutes later, you see Changbin crossing the room towards the main entrance with someone - the person he was in a meeting with, obviously. You recognize Seungmin, Side Effects’ manager. They seem to be on friendly terms, so you’re wondering why they met. You can’t resist the temptation to take off your headphones to try and listen, but they’re too far away. 

It’s been two days since the party and you can’t think about much else, although you keep telling yourself it’s pathetic. Still, you’re intrigued. You thought the band would’ve left town by now. Clearly, they haven’t.  

Changbin appears a minute later, sitting down on the booth in front of you with a smirk you can only describe as ecstatic. You raise an eyebrow. 

“Tell me you still have the file for your poster,” he tells you. 

“Always,” you frown. “Why?”

He scrunches his nose and leans towards you. 

“Because you’ll have to add something to it. Encore.” 

“Wha - WHAT? WHEN?!” 

“In two days.”

“TWO DAYS?” 

Changbin explains that the band’s next scheduled performances have been canceled due to a flood in the venue. Since their tour would only resume a few days later, they had some free time ahead and decided to stay in town. 

They offered to perform another time at the Trades because they loved the place, and Changbin certainly wasn’t going to refuse. A last-minute show on a Wednesday would be a challenge to organize, but it could be done. It would be done.

Giving Changbin a tight hug with a squeal of excitement, you immediately get to work on the design of the poster announcing the new date. The rush of adrenaline is inducing a rush of inspiration, and you have it wrapped up in a few hours. 

Once you’ve sent the file to the printer, you lean back against the booth and realize you’re hungry. You remember you still have leftovers in your fridge, so you decide to head home. You throw your bag around your shoulder but leave your headphones around your neck for when you’re outside. It’s quiet in the Trades, but you glance around the room to see if anyone is there so you can say goodbye. 

There’s only one person there, sitting on the edge of the stage, swinging his legs and looking around. For a second you think your eyes must be deceiving you, but it’s him. Han Jisung. 

He’s wearing grey jeans covered in patches of different patterns. His oversized red and black striped sweater is torn here and there, his dark hair in disarray. To complete his look, he wears a thin leather choker around his neck and a variety of bracelets on his wrists, and his nails are painted pitch black. 

Whatever he might say, he does look like a rockstar. 

You don’t know if you know him well enough to just approach him like that, but you figure that his tongue being in your mouth less than forty hours ago must count for something, so you take a few tentative steps towards the stage.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. 

He turns his head in mild curiosity, and once he sees you, grins widely. 

“I was hoping to find you here,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Sure you were.”

“Sorry. It was too easy,” Jisung chuckles. 

“Seriously, why are you here?” 

He shrugs, the heels of his leather boots hitting the stage as he keeps swaying his legs. 

“I was really bored, so I took a walk. Ended up here, and the doors were wide open,” he explains. 

He looks up to the ceiling, a strand of hair brushing his forehead and falling in front of his right eye.

“I love to see venues when they’re empty. They’re this special feeling about them.”

“I know what you mean,” you agree with a smile. “It’s calm, but there’s still… this lingering tension.” 

“Yeah, exactly,” Jisung nods, looking back at you, eyeing you up and down. 

You feel a little casual compared to him in your baggy jeans and crewneck, your hair tied behind your hair with a claw clip, not wearing any makeup. You must look like a different person from the other night, but Jisung does not make you feel self-conscious. He looks at you exactly the same, with an intrigued gleam and a charming smile. 

“Where are you heading?” he asks. 

“Home,” you reply. “To eat.” 

“Ooh,” he chants, jumping down from the stage. “I’m in.” 

You stare at him in disbelief. 

“What?” 

“I kinda feel like a cheeseburger, though,” he states, walking towards you with purpose. He stops in front of you. “I’m paying.” 

You open your mouth to argue with him, but then you realize you don’t want to. Free food and pretty entertaining company? Why not. You nod.

“Lead the way,” he says with a grin.

In a couple of steps you’re standing outside under a timid sun. You point to the left, and Jisung follows you. 

“So what do you do here, exactly?” he asks, nodding towards the Trades. 

“Nothing,” you say. “I don’t work there, not really.” 

He frowns. “So why are you -”

“Changbin is my oldest friend. I helped him put the place together, and it’s kind of just… where I hang out. I designed the logo, though.” 

“You did that?” Jisung wonders, pointing to the sign. 

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” he whistles. “Looks really cool.” 

You thank him with a smile. Although you’re always hard on yourself when it comes to work, you are proud of what you did for the Trades. Not that you would have accepted anything less than perfection, anyway. 

“I did the posters for your show, too,” you add. 

Jisung gives you a smile that you would call impressed, and you feel a tang of pride in your heart. 

“So you’re a graphic designer?” 

“Yup.” 

“Cool. Tell me about it.” 

You have no idea why he’s interested, but you indulge him, telling him more about your work as you head towards the closest diner. It’s not a fancy place, far from it, but they do have the best cheeseburgers in the neighborhood, in your opinion. Jisung doesn’t look like the fancy type, anyway. As you watch and listen to him, you feel like he’s more the type of person that can adapt to every environment they’re in. 

Being constantly on the road as he is, you guess it must be a good quality to possess. Has he always been like that, though? Or is it something he picked up along the way to make it easier? 

Something about him just tickles your curiosity.

You sit down on a booth of worn black leather and the waitress brings you the menu. Jisung doesn’t look at it - just at you. 

“Were you born here?” 

“Yes.”

“You never left?” 

“Nope.” 

“Not even for traveling?” 

“Just once. Went to London.” 

“For what?” 

“Fun.” 

“Hm.” 

“Are we done with the interrogation?” 

To your surprise, Jisung lets out a loud laugh, sliding his hand through his hair. 

“Sorry. I meet so many people, and I rarely have the chance to get to know them. This is new.” 

“So I’m the first human being apart from your band and management you are able to have a conversation with in what, weeks?”

“Months.” 

“No pressure, then.” 

His smile stays on his face, large and luminous. You kind of like it. The waitress comes back to take your order, and you ask for two cheeseburgers, two sodas, and a large plate of fries to share. 

Jisung keeps asking you questions. You tell him about how you met Changbin - kindergarten - what was the best concert of your life - not his - and what your favorite font is - depends on the day.  

You get your food not long after, and as you pick up your burger, you decide to turn the table on him a little. Only fair, right? 

“So you’ve been bored and wandering around. What about the rest of the band?” you ask as he takes a bit of his burger. “What have they been doing?”

“Sleeping,” Jisung answers with his mouth full. He swallows. “Fuck, this is a good burger.”

“Must be grateful for the rest,” you say.

Jisung shakes his head. “Not all of them. Minho can’t stay still to save his life. He’s climbing up the walls already.”

You laugh in disbelief. “Really? He looks so… calm.” 

“He’s so weird,” Jisung laughs. 

You hear the tenderness in his voice, and you catch a glimpse of the bond that must be linking them. You felt it, even when they were on stage. They were more than a band - they were brothers. 

“And the other two?” you ask, simply out of curiosity. 

“Chris is fine. He doesn’t say it but he’s glad to be able to stay in. Work on music. Watch movies.” 

Jisung’s eyes darken. 

“Felix… sleeps. A lot.” 

You can hear something there, but you don’t want to ask. It’s none of your business, after all. Still, Jisung explains.

“He’s been through shit recently. So it’s good he can sleep.” 

You smile softly. “You’re really close, right? The four of you.”

“Yeah,” Jisung nods. “With Seungmin, too.” 

The softness on his face is new, but it does not last too long. Quickly, his smirk comes back, his eyes full of mischief. 

“You like video games?”

You expect Jisung to bring you back to the house where the party took place, but instead he walks you to an apartment building. He explains that the house would’ve been too expensive for a longer stay - it’s not like they were millionaires - so they found this place on Airbnb for cheap. It’s smaller, but more than big enough for the four of them. The rest of the crew shared another place a few blocks over. 

“The four of us lived in a shoebox for the longest time while we were in our garage phase,” Jisung says as he closes the door behind you. “So this is luxurious.” 

He doesn’t bother to give you a tour, but you don’t care. Leaving your bag in the hallway, you follow him to the kitchen. 

“That was a long-ass walk you took.”

Minho is glaring at Jisung, wearing two oven mitts and a neon pink bucket hat. The kitchen smells delicious, and you glance at the oven to try and see what is cooking in there. 

“Found a stray cat,” Jisung says, waving at you. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Cute of you to act like it wasn’t you that was lost.”

“I wasn’t lost. Just bored.” 

Minho stares at you - or, well, you think he is. His eyes are completely hidden under his hat and his hair. He raises an oven mitt towards you, and you have to guess he’s pointing.

“Staring contest girl.” 

“Not the worst nickname I’ve heard,” you pout.

“What was?” Jisung asks. 

“You’ll never know.” 

Minho chuckles. 

“Made some meat pies if you’re hungry.” 

“Thanks, bro.” 

You frown as he grabs a plate to get a slice. 

“But you just ate -”

You stop and shrug. One thing you’ll never judge or pretend to understand is how a person’s stomach works.

Minho and Jisung start whispering between themselves, and it seems like you hear Felix’s name, so you give them some space. In the meanwhile, you wander around the apartment, check out the hallway leading to the bedrooms, and then enter the living room. It’s a cozy space with a large sectional and a huge TV. You glance around for a good thirty seconds before you notice there’s someone sitting in a window nook. He hasn’t seen you, his eyes focused on his computer. Piled up on his head is a beanie, a pair of headphones and a hoodie. Chris. Jisung’s description was accurate. 

“Don’t mind him,” Jisung tells you as he reappears next to you. “When he’s like that he’s not conscious of the outside world. You could be walking around naked he wouldn’t notice.” 

“Sounds like a theory you’ve tested before.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

You both plop down on the couch, laughing, and Jisung turns on the console. He hands you a controller and you start to play Crash Bandicoot, not really talking. You enjoy taking your mind off things, not really thinking about the situation you are in. Why are you here, after all? There’s no clear reason apart from the fact that you like Jisung. But you aren’t the type to question things too much - most of the time you prefer to just follow the path life takes you on. 

For now it’s taken you here. 

You spend the next few hours playing and eating snacks. At some point, Felix emerges from his room and sits on an armchair, dizzily staring at the screen. He looks exhausted, snuggled in a hoodie that is way too big for him, black hair curling around his ears. 

When your eyes get tired Minho takes your place, playing a few games with Jisung as you text with Changbin. He reminds you you’re supposed to go to a birthday party that night, and you let out an irritated sigh. 

“Fuck me,” you hiss through your teeth, resisting the urge to throw your phone across the room. 

“Sure,” Jisung grins at you. 

When you glare back, he chuckles. 

“What’s up?” 

“I have to go to this thing tonight. Birthday party.” 

“Hm. Sounds fun.” 

“Really not. The girl is a nightmare but she can’t, for the life of her, understand we’re not friends anymore, and that Bin will never be interested in her pathetic ass. All she does is show off how much money she has.” 

“Wow,” Minho laughs. “Now I kinda want to meet her.” 

“Good idea,” Jisung nods. “We’re not doing anything tonight, anyway, and I don’t know for you guys, but I don’t want to spend my entire night shut up in here. Let’s go.” 

You shake your head. 

“No way.” 

“Think about it, Y/N,” Minho says, placing his elbows on his thighs. “Bringing us as guests would shut her right up.

“And I need to get really drunk,” Felix states, all of a sudden. 

It’s the first words he’s spoken since he got out of his room, and while you look at him in surprise, the other two seem used to it. 

“Then let’s do it,” Jisung claims, clapping his hands.

“I have to go home and change, though. If I show up like that she’ll start a rumor I’m homeless or something,” you sigh. 

Jisung waves his hand. “That’s fine. I’ll come with you and help you choose a killer outfit. You guys meet us there, yeah?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get Chris when he emerges from the deep,” Minho nods.

Jisung takes your hand and lifts you off the couch. He guides you back to the hallway and slides on his boots. 

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say. “We can meet there.” 

“I wanna see your place,” Jisung simply responds.

Maybe you should be freaked out or annoyed at the game he’s playing. You know he’s just trying to get to know you, that you’re an adventure for him, but it also feels like he wants to assimilate as much as he possibly can before time runs out. It’s cute, but it’s also unnerving. What will he do with all this knowledge of you, once he leaves? Will he forget? Will you become a fond memory, or one that will fade away over time? 

You shouldn’t indulge him, because you’ll probably end up getting hurt. But at the same time, it’s stimulating for you, too. Letting someone in. Letting him see who you are, every part of you, knowing it’s temporary. Then he can walk away, carrying pieces of you. There’s a beauty to that you can’t yet grasp. 

When you arrive at your place, you let him walk around to look at what he wants, heading for your room. It’s not a big apartment, nor is it in perfect shape, but you made it yours. You and Changbin took the lease most particularly for the bathroom, which is more spacious than any you’ve seen in the city. In exchange, both of your bedrooms are kind of tiny, but it’s not like you have people over very often. If you do, it’s agreed you’ll find another place to stay for the night. 

You remove your clothes of the day, changing your underwear and slipping on a short leather skirt. You’re zipping it up when the door of your room opens on Jisung, who strolls in like he lives there. 

“What the fuck?” you let out, covering your chest - you’re only wearing a bra.

“You told me to make myself at home,” Jisung smirks, sitting down on your bed, sliding his hand on your comforter. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Come on,” he says. “You’re almost dressed already. Love the skirt. Is this the shirt you’re planning on wearing?” 

He lifts the piece of clothing, a black tank top that laces on the front, and hands it to you. You snag it from his hand, slipping it on swiftly. He eyes you up and down. 

“What about accessories?” 

He stands up, walking to your dresser, and opens your jewelry box. You stare at him, absolutely mind blown at his behavior. 

“Oh. Love that. That’s hot,” he says, handing you a lace choker you haven’t worn in ages. 

“Having fun playing dress-up, are we?” you laugh. 

He winks at you, and proceeds to choose the rest of your outfit. Cherry earrings, silver rings, and loose hair. Once he’s done, he twirls you around, biting his lip.

“Perfect,” he says, slipping a hand on your waist to pull you close. “Thoroughly fuckable, if I might say so.” 

“Thanks?” you answer with a giggle. 

“Y/N,” he breathes, taking a step towards you. “C’m’here.” 

Before you can answer anything, he plunges his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your smell, and places a kiss there that sends shivers all over your body. You close your eyes.

“Jisung…” 

“It’s not the outfit,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve thought about fucking you all day.” 

You do your best not to let out a moan right there, instead biting your lip hard as he keeps kissing your neck. 

“Jisung,” you breathe. “I just got dressed.” 

“I don’t want you to undress.” 

You frown as he pushes you towards the bed. You lay down, eyes on him. Outside the blue is fading to black, enveloping the room in a heavy purple, and there’s something earnest and intimate about it. You’ve been on edge ever since that kiss he gave you - and you’ve so desperately wanted to know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been interrupted. 

You have somewhere to be, but you don’t care. Jisung is at your apartment and visibly also wants to pick up things where you left them off. You are not going to waste the opportunity. 

Jisung’s hands spread your legs, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses on your thighs. 

“Just want to get a taste,” he mutters. 

Your breath hitches as he pushes up your skirt, lips brushing your skin. He makes his way between your legs, finally setting his mouth on your underwear. At this point you are writhing around him, desperate for a direct touch. 

“Getting wet for me so fast,” he breathes. “How can I resist you?” 

“No one talked of resisting,” you answer in a sigh. 

He chuckles. “Fair point. Can I?” 

You nod, and he draws your underwear aside, leaving you exposed to his eyes. You spread some more for him, pulling up your skirt, and he does not waste another second. His lips embrace your wetness, his tongue swirling around your clit. You let out a shaky sigh, your fingers reaching for his hair. Your thoughts wander, far away from your reach, as you just enjoy Jisung’s caresses. 

He hums against you as you roll your hips against his mouth. It’s working wonders for you, your pleasure building quickly. 

“That’s good, baby,” he breathes. “Make yourself come in my mouth.” 

You’re hot, your body tense, Jisung making out with your cunt. His tongue makes a quick work of it, and you come not long after. You shiver delightfully, and it takes you a while to come down. As you do, Jisung gently replaces your underwear where it was, contemplating the drenched fabric with a satisfied smile. 

“Now you can walk around all evening in your soaked underwear, courtesy of me, and I’ll have your taste on my tongue,” he says in a low voice, his smirk all the right kinds of dirty. 

You’re still riding the high of your orgasm, so you don’t really find the right words. You just smile at him.

“You’re fucking insane.” 

“Just trying to enjoy the time I have.”

The taxi drops you off in front of your friend’s house. Jisung hands him a few bills and comes to stand next to you, admiring the place. 

It’s huge, outrageously so, the typical rich person’s, and you absolutely hate it. From the judgemental look on Jisung’s face, so does he. 

You put a hand on his shoulder. “You asked for it.”

Felix, Chris and Minho are already inside, according to Jisung’s phone, and it takes you a while to find them - the house is packed and loud. 

“Have you seen Changbin?” you ask them, but they shake their heads. 

You check your phone - no news from your friend. He’s probably running late or has a last minute hold up. You decide to stick around anyway. You’re dressed up, you’re here, and you have company. 

You get drinks and sit between Jisung and Chris. You talk a lot to the latter, who, now that he doesn’t have his head in his computer, proves to be really fun company. You discuss productivity and creative slumps, interrupted here and there by the occasional fan asking for an autograph or a picture. Jisung is busy playing cards with Minho, his hand on your thigh. Felix is flirting with a few people, drinking fast, his smile widening with every second. 

When your friend comes into your field of vision, and eyes you with annoyed envy, you are so happy you could sing. You wish her a happy birthday, the band too, and for once she has absolutely nothing to say. 

“Changbin didn’t come?” she asks as a last resort. 

“Sorry, he couldn’t make it,” you reply with a fake pout, trying to hold back your laughter. 

When she leaves, dumbfounded and annoyed, you laugh hysterically with Jisung for so long you have tears streaming down your cheeks and your sides hurt. 

As the night advances, Jisung’s hand rides higher and higher on your thigh. His eyes get glassy with the alcohol, as do yours - in fact, everyone gets pretty wasted. Chris and Minho share a joint, keeping an eye on Felix. Despite the chaotic ambiance around you, you five stay pretty calm, chilling on the couch you claimed, talking or playing silly games. 

A few other people join you for a classic game of never have I ever - except you’re all too drunk already to play with drinks, so you agree on changing the rules. If you have, you kiss the person to your right. 

“Never have I ever been naked in public,” Felix proposes. 

His eyes are lit up like fireworks, and he stares at Chris, who shakes his head.

“Oh my gosh…” 

“You HAVE to, Chris!” Felix cackles. “We all saw you!” 

“What’s the story?” you ask, laughing. 

“Nothing interesting. You don’t want to know,” Chris sighs. 

“I do!” you retort. 

“A simple story, really,” Minho explains, twirling a joint between his fingers. “He went to take a shower at the camping site we were staying at, and I stole his clothes.” 

You all burst out laughing, and Felix claps his hands. 

“C’mon, now. Kisses. On the mouth.” 

Felix receives a kiss from the girl next to him, which surprises him - and Chris turns to you. 

“It’s the game, right?" he laughs. "Sorry, Ji.” 

“No harm, man.” 

“You’re okay with it, right?” Chris asks you.

You nod, amused. Chis leans in, a smirk on his face, and slides his fingers in your hair. His lips are plump, kissing you gently, and you feel yourself melt a little. You almost don’t want to stop, your hand falling against his chest. The booze makes your tongue act on its own, dancing with his, and Chris indulges. It takes a minute before you lean back, falling back on the couch. 

“Fuck, damn,” you laugh. Your cheeks are red. “You’re a good kisser.” 

“So are you,” Chris smiles. 

“That was hot,” Jisung lets out with a solemn nod. 

You hide your face in his neck, giggling like a teenager, and the game continues. At the next question, Minho kisses the guy next to him, and you appreciate the sight a little too much. Your senses are getting tangled - between the booze, the weed, Jisung’s warm fingers around your thigh, Chris’ tongue and the sight of so many people making out, you’re officially horny. 

It doesn’t help that you still feel your wet underwear against your cunt, reminding you of the joys of Jisung’s tongue. 

You bite your lip, waiting for the right moment. Finally, a girl asks never have I ever stolen a car, and nobody moves - except you. You fall against Jisung, pulling him into a needy kiss. The people around you start yelling and laughing. 

“What the fuck!” 

“STOP MAKING OUT, WE NEED THE STORY,” Felix screams.

“I don’t think we’ll get the story tonight, bro,” Chris tells him with a chuckle.

He’s right, because you’re lost in your kiss, Jisung’s hands all over you. You don’t even care that there’s dozens of people around. You devour his lips, get drunker on his taste. You want him, you need him - and he kisses you deep and passionately. One of his hands grip your ass and you moan softly. 

“I think we’ve lost them,” Minho says. 

“Hey,” Chris says in your ear. “Get a fucking room.” 

A giggle escapes your mouth and Jisung pulls away from you. His lips are already swollen, and the sight is so attractive you have no idea how your legs are able to hold your weight as he pulls you on your feet. 

“Have a good time,” Felix sings as you walk away. 

You wave at them, letting Jisung guide you through a house neither of you really know. You stumble through the crowd, stopping to kiss sometimes, and you can’t wait to be alone. It’s proving to be complicated, though, because every door you come across is either locked or already has people busy behind it. You scoff and snicker until you find a door that has a piece of paper taped on it. 

PRIVATE DO NOT ENTER

You exchange a knowing look with Jisung. No words needed. He turns the handle and you see stairs leading down. You close the door behind you, lock it, stumbling down the stairs to the basement. 

When you get there, you gasp. 

It’s a beautiful room, with thick, fancy carpets and the biggest TV you’ve ever seen. There’s a bar in the corner, and on a wall, a collection of guitars. You stare in awe at everything, Jisung standing behind you, kissing your neck.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. 

For a second you forget all about Jisung, running towards the guitar displayed on the far right. It’s the same, you realize. The exact same model. 

“That’s a rare one,” Jisung says, sliding next to you. “Worth a fortune.” 

“My mom had one,” you tell him with a smile. “She found it at a flea market. Guy had no idea what he had. She paid 11 dollars for it.” 

Jisung smiles even more widely. “It was meant to be.” 

“Yeah.” 

You smile fondly at the memory. It soothes you, envelops you. You forget where you are, for a second, although your entire body is drunk on Jisung. 

“You play?” he asks you, his eyes not leaving yours, his hand putting a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“A little,” you admit.

“Then let’s hear it.” 

“No, Ji, you can’t touch -” 

You might not know him that well, but one thing you are learning about Jisung is that he does not care. So it’s without hesitation that he grabs the guitar from the display and hands it to you. You laugh, carefully taking it. 

You sit down on the floor, the guitar in your arms, and you gently brush the strings. Jisung sits in front of you, leaning against the back of a couch. 

Before you know it, you’re playing a melody you know like the back of your hand. With your eyes closed, and just the sound of music to guide you, it all feels like a dream. The basement, the party, even Jisung, it all fades - you’re alone with the guitar for a few seconds. 

When you open your eyes again, at the end of the song, Jisung is staring at you with wide eyes and a parted mouth. 

“A little?” he repeats.

You laugh. “Ok. More than a little.” 

“You didn’t tell me you’re a musical genius.” 

“I’m not.” 

He lifts an index. “I’ve heard a lot of people play the guitar. I’m not just saying this. I think I’m lowkey in love with you, now.” 

You smile at him, at his dark hair and his round eyes, at the line of eyeliner under them, at the choker around his neck, at the red and black sweater you were gripping desperately minutes ago. 

“Same to you,” you admit. 

He grins and crawls over to give you a kiss. The guitar falls beside you, immediately forgotten. Jisung hums against your lips. 

“I want to fuck you,” he tells you in a hoarse voice. 

“Yes please,” you answer, and he laughs. 

You remove his sweater and let your fingers wander around his chest, touching his skin. It feels warm. Still kissing you, he unlaces your top, cupping your breasts. He teases your sensitive nipples, drawing a soft cry from your lips. You arch your back, thrusting your hips against his. You can feel his hard cock under his jeans, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around the bulge to stroke him. Jisung grunts in your mouth, and suddenly bites your lower lip.

You jump in your surprise, letting out a moan. 

“Keep moaning for me, baby,” he whispers, gliding his teeth across your lips. “You sound so hot.”

“Fuck, Ji. I’ve been dreaming about that cock.” 

You unbuckle his belt and take him out of his boxers. He’s hard, and you lift your hand to your mouth, slowly licking your palm. You keep your eyes on him while you do it, and he stares back at you, mouth parted, taking in the sight. Then, you start to stroke him, coating his length with your spit. 

“I’m going to fucking ruin you,” Jisung growls. 

He roughly takes your hand away, enclosing his fingers around your wrist, and pins it against the carpet. He lays you down as you bite your lip in amusement, glancing at his erection - and you can almost see him pulsating. He doesn’t let go of your arm, pushes up your skirt and pulls down your panties at the same time, and slides his fingers against your pussy. 

You shudder as he chuckles.

“You’re still so fucking wet, baby.”

“It was all the kissing,” you admit with a smile.

You kiss his jawline, his neck, his ear, as he keeps rubbing his fingers against your wetness. You’re clenching around nothing, your hips moving in search of pressure - but Jisung keeps his caresses light. 

“Chris got you good, didn’t he?” 

“He did,” you breathe, although you can barely find the words. 

“Got me, too, to see you make out,” he replies, keeping his voice low. “Maybe one day I can watch you fuck.” 

As he says the words, he inserts two fingers inside of you, and you let out a choked whimper. 

“Fuck, Ji, don’t say shit like that,” you cry out.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you want to?” 

“Right now, I just want you,” you say, and you mean it. 

He smiles against your lips as you kiss him. You sit up slightly, and he liberates you, taking his fingers out of you. He slides them into his mouth, cleaning them. 

“The taste was almost gone,” he explains, and you smile.

You give yourself a boost to turn him around so you can straddle him. You place yourself so your folds grind against his cock, swaying your hips slowly. He lets out a deep breath, and you throw your head back. Your hands sprawl on his chest as you keep moving, and you know you’re making a mess, smearing your wetness on his skin, but you don’t care. 

“Fuck, yes, baby,” he moans. 

You glance at him with a smile. 

“You like that?” 

“I do. Are you coming?” 

“I’m close.” 

“Then stop. I want you to come around my dick.” 

Not that you could refuse him. He takes out a condom from his back pocket - you don’t question why he would have that ready - and hands it to you. You get him ready, your fingers trembling slightly. 

“Going to pound that pussy so good,” Jisung whispers to you, placing your hair behind your ears, cupping your cheek. 

You rub his length against you to lubricate, and then slowly ease him in. A curse escapes your lips, and Jisung secures his hands on your hips. You accelerate gradually, and soon you are fucking him, your capacity to think escaping you. He helps you by bucking his hips, deepening the thrusts. 

One of his hands travels across your stomach, squeezes your breast.

“So pretty,” he moans. 

“You’re so fucking deep inside me,” you breathe out.

“C’m’here, baby,” he grunts, pulling you towards him, so you lean against his chest. 

He places your arm behind your back, pinning you in place, and your knees fall on either side of him. Then, he starts hammering into you. The way he holds you, you can barely move, and the sensation is so intense it instantly makes you see stars. 

“Holy shit, Ji,” you whimper. “I’m coming…” 

“Come, pretty thing,” he whispers in your ear. 

You come undone around him, shaking violently as he keeps you in place. Your moans echo through the basement, and maybe you’re being too loud, but you don’t care. You’re pretty sure no one can hear you above the deafening music from upstairs, anyway. Jisung continues to thrust into you, placing a few languid kisses on your neck until you’ve come down. Only then does he slow down.

“How was that, baby?” he asks, still rolling his hips.

“So fucking good.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” he smiles. “Stand up for me.” 

You nod and manage to push yourself on your wobbly legs. You lean against the couch, and a part of you just wants to lay down on it. But Jisung has another idea. He stands up as well, pulling you in his arms. 

“Sit here,” he says, and pats the back of the couch. 

He pushes the hair away from your face, kissing you deeply, his cock brushing your pussy. He’s still so hard - you know he’s not done with you. You settle on the top of the couch, spreading your legs. Jisung takes his pulsating cock and guides it inside of you again, keeping your legs apart. 

You’re already getting too used to having him there, because your body hums in approval, and your pleasure immediately starts building back up. It feels like he’s filling every inch of you, his breath heavy on your neck, thrusting into you in deep, languorous moves. 

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” you mutter. 

“It’s because you take me so well, baby,” he grins. “But I like your compliments.”

You bite your lip. “Praise kink?” 

“Y’know it.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing his earlobes, licking his neck. You start to suck at the skin there, intent on leaving a trace, and he growls. 

“You’re look so fucking sexy right now, Ji,” you breathe in his ear. “I love your cock. I love how you fuck me with it. You’re so beautiful and you made me come so hard.” 

You feel him twitch inside of you, and you can’t help but smile. You hum, planting a few kisses along his jawline. 

“Is there anything you can’t do, Ji?” you breathe, although he starts thrusting into you so hard you have a hard time aligning your words. “Such a good kisser, and you… You fuck so well… And the way you play…” 

He moans, slamming into you. The sound of your voice, of his breathing, of his skin slapping against yours becomes a blissful symphony.  

“When I saw you playing the drums… Fuck, I just fell in love with you,” you say. 

You don’t know how you’re still talking because he’s moving faster and faster, bringing you to the edge again. 

“Your fingers around the sticks… The way you hit the drums… So fast and brutal…” 

“Fuck, baby…” he whimpers.

“You’re magic, Ji,” you cry out. “Everything that you are is magic.” 

He moves his head to capture your lips again, and you moan in his mouth. Your kisses are feverish, disorderly.

“I’m coming again,” you moan.

“Don’t hold it back, baby, fuck, keep clenching like that,” he says. 

You’re seconds away from coming when he does, and the feeling of his cock bursting into you is almost too much to handle. Your orgasm reverberates in your entire body, his too - and after a few seconds of delightful chaos you breathe out against each other, panting. 

When you’re able, you open your eyes. His remain closed, and you admire the sweat on his skin, the slightly smudged makeup. You must look as much of a mess as he is. 

You place a chaste kiss on his lower lip, and he opens his eyes to smile at you. 

“I don’t want to move,” he says. 

“Me neither,” you admit. 

“Let’s just stay like that for a few more seconds.” 

You nod, your head falling on his shoulder. After a minute, however, your legs start to waver, and you reluctantly move away from each other. Luckily there’s a bathroom in the basement, so you go together to clean up. He helps you lace your top back on and you insist on putting back his belt yourself. 

He strokes your hair. Kisses you on the temple. Keeps your hand in his as you walk back upstairs. 

You feel dizzy. You feel good. 

This is dangerous. 

Jisung will be leaving soon. 

He’ll forget you and you’ll have to do the same.

All in good time. 

Felix has fallen asleep on Chris’ shoulder, who is texting on his phone. Minho is playing a card game with the guy from earlier - when you approach them, he gives you a nod. 

“You two look fucked out.” 

“Let’s go home,” Jisung says, ruffling Minho’s hair. 

You watch as the two boys walk away, their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. Although you’re exhausted your smile doesn’t leave you, and you help Chris wake Felix. The guitarist groans but still follows you, and you steal a bowl of chips on your way out so you can eat them in the taxi. 

You get to the band’s rental and everyone heads for their bedrooms - you leave the empty bowl on the kitchen counter, following Jisung to his bed. You both fall against the mattress, entangling your limbs together, and you sleep.

Thank you for reading! I really hope you liked it, please let me know if you did. See you soon for part two!

[goodluckclove]

Are You a Writer That Isn't Writing? Join Me Inside My Blanket Fort!

Hi! Welcome! It's so good to see you. i've just been hanging out here, kind of listening to my favorite podcast and drinking some green tea. I have another bottle here - do you want to try? It has lemon in it. It's sweet, but not too sweet. Just like I like it.

Yeah, so I might need to introduce myself. My name is Clover, but you can call me Clove. I've been a write for fifteen years and I've finished fourteen novels. I published one and I'm working on the sequel. I've written and produced plays, published short stories, and even worked as a copywriter and ghostwriter. That wasn't very fun. Actually, the writing was fun, but they brough in AI right at the end - it's a long story. Anyways, what I mean to say is that you could consider me a working writer. If you go through my blog I post a lot of snippets from what I'm working on. You can even Google my old pen name "Miranda Seaver" and find some columns and stories and I think a short play I had some strangers do over Facebook.

I'm not saying this to brag. I'm saying this because I've been doing this for a long time and I want you to have context to the work I've done as we keep talking to each other. If you read what I write and you don't like it, maybe you can decide that I have no idea what I'm talking about. That's fine. We can still be friends!

Okay, so you're probably here because you're having trouble writing. Either that or you just can't resist the allure of a blanket fort - that makes sense too. But assuming you're unable to write for some reason, I just wanted to speak to you in private. Because I know it's hard. I know it's disillusioning. And though there's this weird perception online that writers are supposed to hate writing, I personally believe the situation is a lot more nuanced than that.

Maybe you're scared. Or you're tired. Or the whole act of sitting down and writing feels so big and clumsy and unwieldy as it bounces around your head that you don't know what to do with it. The weight of it doesn't feel right. It happens - it happens to me too sometimes, and it never feels good. But it's a natural part of the creative process and it's more of a slight mishandling rather than massive sin or flaw of character.

It might not help that there's so much advice online, isn't there? It seems all these people have a set guide to how to do literally everything. There's some sort of odd binary to the creative process that some make it seem as if writers innately fall under. You're either a pantser that never outlines, or a plotter that only structures. Every draft has have a specific focus, and you must follow an arc to achieve any specific goal in your character or plot.

That's a lot! Isn't that a lot? I've been talking to a lot of new writers on here who find all of that information - especially the information that conflicts (A lot of them) to be deeply intimidating. If not intimidating, then just slightly...off. Potentially enough to make the act of opening a word processor and slamming out a few hundred words to not really seem like that much fun anymore.

See, there are useful writing resources on tumblr. People with unique experiences sharing their specific information in a public space where writers can benefit from it. How would a certain mobility aid impact a person's life? What are the physical ramifications of training on a sword? Look at this picture of some sickass gems of different colors! These are all super cool things that I find incredibly useful for both current and future reference.

On the other hand, the guides that speak structurally to writing? That try and tell you the exact steps to follow in order to achieve a certain result? A lot of them end their posts by plugging their ko-fi but don't actually show any of their own personal writing? They don't necessarily have the answers.

If you read some prompt list and it inspires you, that's cool and great! Our brains think of a lot of really innovative things based on the smallest spark of input and that's a truly incredible thing. But if you read someone who makes a list of ways to show a certain emotion and you're left confused and discouraged - consider that they're wrong. Or not wrong, not really. They just don't have the right story.

For other forms of writing advice, maybe they're right - only not in a genre you want to write in. That's the weird thing about all these writing blogs that don't actually say what they write or read. If I was looking for writing advice, I wouldn't go to someone who specializes in reading and writing political thrillers or mysteries. They're valid genres, just not what I specifically do.

You just can't make grand blanket statements about this kind of thing, and that's an unpleasant truth I think we all need to hear.

Every writing rule has been broken successfully. The Dharma Bums, and frankly anything else Jack Kerouac has ever written, has truly no plot. American Psycho chains you to a truly reprehensible protagonist. Naked Lunch was written in one long chunk that was then cut up and rearranged, and then that nonsense was published. If On a Winter's Night a Traveler takes YOU (literally you - half the narrative is written in second person) and sends you on a wild goose chase where every other chapter is a different book. Kurt Vonnegut has a literal self insert of himself that shows up as a side character in Breakfast of Champions and then takes role in the lead cast in Timequake. Read a Chuck Palahinuik book and he will lie to you three time at least. Read House of Leaves and you'll feel like you're wandering a contemporary art gallery. I can't fucking get past the first 60 pages of Ulysses but I've been TRYING for YEARS because the prose is BEAUTIFUL.

I'm rambling. What I mean to say is that - you know Monet? Manet? Degas and Renoir, and all the other painters of the Impressionist era? They make the kind of paintings you probably think of if I ask you to imagine a painting you'd find in an art museum. They're respected - idolized, even. People will dedicate their lives to painting in honor to the legacy of Impressionism.

This would be a great surprise to early Impressionists, who were mocked mercilessly for their work. The name itself - Impressionism - was a reclaimed dig at how their art style was an impression of actual art. The road for it to even be CONSIDERED art, much less respected AS art, was a long one.

I'm rambling again, aren't I? I had a lot of this green tea. I just hate to hear so many people refuse to develop the ideas in their heads for one reason or the other. Or, even worse, they circle the brainstorming stage over and over again, far past the point of usefulness. I agree that some people function better with some form of an outline. I outline in my own way, through short form bullet points or taking space to storyboard in my head to music. It can help! But even if you work better with structure, there's a good chance that you don't need that much structure.

You can't fail here. You truly can't, I promise you. If you finish listening to me and you crawl out of the blanket fort and write two paragraphs, nothing bad will happen. If it's not the strongest thing you've ever written, that's okay. We're writers, aren't we? If you write something that you don't like, you aren't a fraud. You aren't weak. You aren't a hack. You haven't failed. You don't lack creativity or imagination or motivation.

Here's the truth: If you write something you don't like, you're a writer who wrote something you don't like. It doesn't mean you're bad. It doesn't even mean the writing is objectively bad. That's it.

Writers tend to be dramatic. I know I am. I laid on the couch for an hour trying to wrestle with act three of my newest book, and as my wife tried to talk me through it I slowly sank off the couch and onto the floor. Much as a slug would. If you ever get into that mindset, that's just a thing that happens when you're an artist. I think in the Hemmingway days writers would drink or smoke until they had the strength to try again.

We've seen how that turns out though. So welcome to the new era of writers who - though occasionally neurotic - try again at some point. And everyone is welcome. As I said already, there are no real rules or guides to the structure of writing, only ideas. And if you don't like the idea, you can look or think of another one.

And you can think of another one. Assuming you don't just have a drastically unrealistic perception of how much societal clout you can achieve by saying you're a writer (Answer: nearly none), you clearly want to tell a story. I haven't met a single person with that dream that has it based on nothing. The situation is so much more vast and complicated than the internet will try to make it out to be. Did you see some variation of the Apple Test and decide that your Aphantasia means you can never be a writer? Consider reading up on the Aphantasia Network to get a better look at the condition and learn more about what it means for you. Imagination is nuanced and it is absolutely not limited to Overall Apple Clarity!

Okay, that's all I have to say. I just want to see more people here putting their ideas to paper because a lot of them are really good and interesting, and they deserve to be seen. The feeling of writing your story is so much more complex and rich than just thinking about it, I promise. I know you can do it.

Okay okay. I have to pee. This was a long talk! I'm going to scoot past you in the fort now, but I think before you go on with your day you should maybe check out a video I think you'd like.

Have a nice day, Friend!

oh and this too.

yeah nice

[taesanluv3r]

as the sun rises. (snippet ver!)

myung jaehyun x reader

heavily inspired by one of my fave romance movies 'before sunrise' <3 a lot of dialogue (just like the movie), a lot of cuteness! ignore any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors. enjoyyy!!

full fic HERE!!

snippet wc: 1,225

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"no but i'm telling you honey, that's just not how it works! you never believe me when i say..."

a young and pretty girl sighs, trying her best to drown out the sound of the arguing couple as she leans against the seat of the train and stared deeper into the book in her hands. she can't really focus though, the aforementioned couple's quarrel only getting louder causing the girl to finally get off her seat in frustration to sit in another one just a few windows down the cart. as her body makes contact with the plush leather material once again, she can't help but feel a set of eyes fixed onto her. the girl furrows her eyebrows, slowly moving her gaze away from the book and over to the guy that sat directly adjacent to her on the other side of the train cart. they make eye contact, he's quite good looking. an asian man, about a couple centimetres taller than she was. and he, too, had a half-read book in hand.

the boy smiles at her first, she returns the gesture before reverting back to the page that remained opened. "what are you reading?" he suddenly speaks, and she looks up at him in surprise. "um, this" she replies, lifting up the paper-back to show him it's cover. pride and prejudice by jane austen. he nods, familiar with the infamous piece of literature. "and you?" she asks, eyes lingering at the hard-cover book in his hands. "ah" is all he says, lifting up the collection of paper so she could see it well. metamorphosis by franz kafka. she nods too, going back into reading mode, and he does as well. they don't say anything to each other for about three minutes or so until the guy abruptly shuts his book and turns his body fully in her direction.

"hey, i'm heading to the dining car...care to join me?" he's standing and she's sitting, their eyes stare into each other's for a moment before she smiles at him. "um...yeah, let me grab my bag" she doesn't notice but the boy has a sort of proud glint in his eyes, waiting patiently as she gathered her things and making way for her to walk in front of him.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"so...that couple, huh?" the boy says, beginning to slice at the sausage on his english breakfast plate. the girl giggles, "yeah..." she looks at him intently, her eyebrows knitted together. he notices, tilting his head off to the side. "what? is there something on my face?" she laughs, "no, no! it's just...you're not from around here, huh?" he smirks, "that obvious?" they share a mutual laugh. "well, you're right. i'm here on holiday...er, maybe not a holiday. i'm not really sure what to call it...but anyways, i come from korea" her eyes widen and her lips form an oval shape as she nods in understanding. "your english is amazing" she states, "i'm jealous" and he chuckles, "yeah...i studied abroad for a while. and you? are you from here?" she shakes her head at his inquiry, "oh, no! i go to art school in france, i was just here to visit a friend" he nods, sighing as he stares out the window. "so...you're going back there, then? to france" the girl smiles, watching the trees and clouds that passed by outside the train cart. "mhm...and you are...?" he answers right away, "i get off in vienna, catching a flight back home from there tomorrow morning" the girl responds with a hum, "how's europe been? your not-so holiday trip" she asked and he looked up for a moment as if he were really thinking of a good answer. "it's beautiful, really..." the guy trails off, "...but?" she's curious, her gaze on him getting stronger. "i don't know...i guess being on trains for most of the trip and not really knowing where i'm going...it's just...is starting to get to me" she laughs at his response, taking a sip out of the iced tea that sat in front of her on the table.

"i think this is vienna..." the young woman says, watching the world that stood behind the large glass window. the young man nods, "guess that means i have to get off soon..." they shared a moment of silence, juxtaposing the way natural conversation seemed to ricochet among the pair for the past hour and a half or so that they sat in the dining car. "we have arrived in vienna, please be careful as you exit the cart and don't forget your belongings...have a safe trip!" the announcement sounded scratchy and muffled coming from the old speakers that stuck against most corners of the transport. "so...um...i guess this is goodbye" the guy says, retrieving his stuff and getting off of the seat. she nods, "have fun in vienna" and then he turns around to leave, the girl left all alone as she watched his figure slowly disappear. she sighs, some sort of uneasy feeling starting to rumble up in her stomach. surely he can't just leave like that? right?

and as if he could read her mind from miles away, the girl gasps when she is met with his face again. he looked out of breath, his hands entangled with the strap of his carry-on bag. she's confused, not really understanding what exactly was going on. she was about to speak, not being able to stand the silence that flowed between them. however, he spoke first, though his voice was still a little mumbly from the way he had ran right back into the cart. "come with me" is all he said to her, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. "what?" she asked, not believing the words that came out of his mouth. "c'mon, it's just one night. and i'm not gonna lie i really enjoyed talking to you and i know you feel this connection too and i think this short vienna trip would be a lot more...fun if you were around...?" the last bit of his slight monologue came off as a question, like he was almost unsure about whether taking a stranger off the train to a foreign country with him was a good idea. she laughs, "okay" is all she said, getting her stuff and standing in front of him. "okay?" he asked, eyes widened like he had just seen a ghost.

"yes! c'mon, the train's about to leave again, we have to get off"

the pair walked closely beside each other as they hopped off the train, the automatic doors shutting tight behind them. he grabs onto her bag, taking it away from her hand to help her carry it and she thanks him silently. they stop a few feet away from the train tracks, breathing in deeply to take in the new air. "so..." he starts suddenly, "what's your name?" she widens her eyes, giggling at the thought of agreeing to get off the train before even learning his name. "i'm yn" he smiles, "what a pretty name for a pretty girl, yn" she rolls her eyes, tilting up her head to look at him. "and you?" she asks, tumbling in a zig-zag pattern as they began to walk. he grins, the corners of his mouth pointing up as he did so.

"i'm jaehyun, it's nice to meet you"

end of snippet.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

FULL FIC SOOOON!!!! and hiiii im finally out of hiatus 😭😭😭😭 im EXHAUSTED from my trip and i have a fever rn 😭😭😭 but i was watching before sunrise on the plane recently and i just thought it wld be so cute as a myungjae fic <333 hope u enjoyed this teaser snippet moment, reblogs n feedback is VERY appreciated 🍭 love, kona.

[itsdappleagain]

tagged by @emily-prentits THANK YOUU THIS LOOKS SO FUN

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

18!

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

141,974 words...which is a little embarassing considering jo, who tagged me, has 59 works and only about 30,000 more words. evidently i like my longfics.

3. what fandoms do you write for?

carmen sandiego 2019! 17 of those and one (1) original work that i dont mention in this post at all

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

the cardinal and the kitten - 325 kudos

say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime (let me lead you from your solitude) - 164 kudos (we call her the phantom au for short)

simple are the ways of love (simple as the touch of another's hands) - 156 kudos

Upon the Sword - 154 kudos

Everything is a Lie - 127 kudos

5. do you respond to comments?

Most of them yes!! I LOVE getting comments I screenshot and save every one I get.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hm- I guess it depends. Hellscape ends with Carmen's internal monologue just before she gets mind-wiped by VILE, but its technically no angstier than canon. they gave you life (and in return you gave them hell) is pretty angsty the whole way through and examines Carmen's trauma.

Those are both little one-shots, though- I usually end my reigns of terror within chapter fics pretty happily if I can manage it. The Phantom AU (linked above) ends in a dark place but leagues brighter than it seemed to be heading towards. It isn't a terribly neat and happy ending, and it tells a story of trauma and attempted suicide and the road to recovery from these. Let's go with that one.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

In Love Is A Locked Cell Door Chase Devineaux and Crackle happily start making out in a jail cell and live happily ever after!

Ok, being serious-

For a one-shot, simple (linked above) starts happy and ends happier.

For a chapter fic, Choice ends with Carmen, Julia, and Gray all living in a very happy polycule pardoned from the law with full emotional control of their lives which is fun :]

8. do you get hate on fics?

@emily-prentits used to leave passive aggressive comments on my wattpad and we would fight in the comments sections 💀now we're partners so make of that what you will. but anyway, no serious ones, no!

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

No, not really! I have a few "fade-to-blacks" or skip-overs without any detail. The one time I tried writing smut it was really forced and hard for me to write...doesn't help that I've never felt sexual attraction in my life so I don't know about that. Curse you asexuality for taking papertiger handcuff sex away from the world.

10. do you write crossovers? what's the craziest one you've written?

No, I'm not a fan of crossovers

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

I've had one or two...heavily referenced. Not in bad faith, but it was funny to see a lot of my plot and prose mannerisms reworded in a younger author's fic. I think they credited me as inspiration or gifted it to me both times so its not a big deal.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

If FRANTIC FANFIC! counts, which it shouldn't lol. Also the polycule is working on something :3

14. what's your all time favourite ship?

15. what's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have an au where paper star and black sheep escape VILE together and go through a sort of friends to lovers to enemies deal as carmen (renamed cardinal here due to never escaping in the boat the way she does in canon), though influenced by paper star at the start, eventually finds her inevitable path of good while paper star slips into a chaos that cardinal just can't stomach

ill paste a snippet here that i wrote but its a little bit long and complex and i dont have a ton of motivation for it

16. what are your writing strengths?

ABILITY TO MAKE READERS SUFFER

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

cohesive plot...lord help me i cannot plan a fic to the end before i post chapter 1 and it bites me in the ass all the time

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

if there's a small amount of it, i usually write it as-is in the other language and use external sources or context clues to explain it. if a lot of dialogue is in another language, I'll put it in brackets and write it in english!

19. first fandom you wrote for?

carmen sandiego. still going lmfao

20. favorite fic you've written?

that's really hard- i'm going to do top three in no particular order SORRY

Love, Carmen - this was the first or one of the first fics I ever wrote. it put me on the map a little bit (wattpad..) in terms of writing and boosted upon the sword and choice when they came along. it was really fun to just be young and writing after finishing all two released seasons of the show. i still like it a lot. its just cute and simple.

the phantom au - what a labor of love. i've had other fics (evil carlotta series, cough cough) that have been long and complex but those strayed into meandering and pointless and i lost a lot of motivation. phantom combined my love of theater with my favorite show and my hunger for angst angst angst. it was super fun to write and, at the risk of sounding vain, i pulled off a very hard to pull off trope at the end and i think i did it well. i think if you read any one of mine, this highlights a lot of my strengths.

the cardinal and the kitten - this is a popular one of mine that kind of serves as an updated love, carmen. i really enjoy how i wrote carmen and julia playing off of each other and my dialogue is very strong in this one.

okay, sorry about how long that was i treated it like a professional interview. i had a lot of fun writing this instead of working on a very important school project

[char-lie-spirals]

I would like to learn about the rest of the aus you mentioned here:3

Okay okay so!! I talked about some of them, so I'll just put the entire list under the cut and either link to my previous responses or cook something up! And what I cook up can possibly include a snippet of my writing too :]

Also since this is a lot of AUs/WIPs I'll try to be brief, but feel free to ask about more details on them!

Terminus' Ritual

This is an AU I've had for like a year now, and it answers a very simple question - What if the End HAD a ritual? That its avatars complete between mag 159 and mag 160? Simple answer - Zombies. And also some deaths getting reversed because getting a quick taste of it should make people more scared, and it's hard to keep a zombie apocalypse going with too few people. (This doesn't match the End's values, I Know.)

I have some notes on different characters' situations, who comes back etc etc but honestly the storyline I focused on the most is Oliver seeking shelter in Graham's old flat only for Graham to also be there, Pretty Confused about the passage of time between his death and now. :]

Graham gets spat out AU

Sasha gets replaced, NotSasha picks up the tape recorder and goes to dispose of the tape. The Artifact Storage is silent, but not empty, as a man who doesn't recall his own name wakes up on the floor. Okay this already sounds a bit like a snippet so I guess you can have a proper one too:

It was all pointless, you only suffered longer -- but is that truly pointless?

This one is a WIP in which I just wanted to explore the idea that the only reason Graham lived for so long was because he was scared that entire time, to the point the NotThem wasn't in much of a rush. It's pretty angsty, but can be bittersweet too if you look at it at the right angle and I am a simple man with a lot of hope in my heart. I've not been making much progress with it, and I'm not sure if I'll end it on the title-question and leave it up for the reader to decide, or if I'll provide my own answer, but let me say here: I don't think it was pointless. Not to me.

Michael(s) experience confusion

Already talked about this one here!

Graham Lives WITHOUT Becoming

Graham survives the events of MAG 003 because Oliver gets there in time to help him, and the two of them try to navigate the aftermath together. They go through many ups and downs, Oliver ends up becoming an Avatar himself, but Graham just kinda,, doesn't?? It just never happens. No fear claims him. At this point a lot of people are convinced he's an Avatar because of how his life is intertwined with the Fears but nope. Just some guy who can bluff pretty decently, gets lucky a lot, and loves his End-Avatar fiance a whole bunch :] (yes they're engaged now)

Graham Folger Lives because The Eye Is A Backseat Gamer

One of my Eye Graham AUs :] The main one, you could say! In this one, The Eye backseat-games his MAG 003 experience, and he Knows where to hide, what to do, and how to survive. After that, he goes on to start working at the institute, becomes an Archival Assistant after Jon's promotion, and goes through the horrors! I also talked about it Ages ago, right here- hold on that was in MAY???? 2023????? 10 months ago???? This is messed up.

Anyway! here's a little something I have written about it so far :]

DeathNote intro

Just me trying to explore how Graham and Oliver might've met, grown closer, gotten together and stayed together for 6 years :] No clue if I'll ever publish this and if so, if I'll use it as a backstory/background for one of my AUs or as its own stand-alone thing? But yeah it's just the two of them growing closer and falling in love :] You can have this snippet of it, too! It's their literal first meeting!

Antique seller Graham

Talked about this one here! I will probably do so again soon! But you can also have a snippet, since I guess writing all this really put me in a snippet mood! This is from this AU's version of Amy's statement :D

Cockroach Graham AU

I don't think I need to elaborate.

[danthepillerman]

Meeting Star Platinum☆

Jotaro x reader ♡

Your first time meeting Starts Platinum wasn't... forgettable to say the least.

Taking time outta your busy day was now a daily thing for you, getting out of classes a bit earlier then the rest to sneak out of school and ditch the rest of the day with jotaro, then after going back to his place for a bit or to yours to study. Either you followed his lead or he followed yours. You both trusted eachother enough to walk aimlessly behind the other. So that how this day started.

Walking out of class a few minutes early then sneaking past the security guard thats way to dedicated to his job was the easiest part about this whole meeting plan you both do. The hardest part being the aftermath of it all, for you at least. Jotaro couldn't care less about what happens in class while he's gone, he did leave for a while 50 days two years ago. He told you snippets about his trip and how he now hates Egypt. You two met two years after you transfered from your old school. Your old school was more chaotic then the one you're at now, leaving that school was easy because there was no body who would've cared.

Being the quiet smart kid people would pick on for fun was tough but at least you now have a chunk of muscle as your closest friend. Hating the fact you ditch classes just to spend time with him was unusual and made you want to itch at your skin till it all was gone, but you didn't mind either. You enjoyed any moment with him. Still sucks you won't know some things on the test next week but heyyyy who cares right? Making your way to the gate you both meet at you see a tall figure, and smoke coming from it's mouth. Jotaro. He turned his head and looked at you dead in the eyes, your body shivered anytime he just stared at you. "Hey Jotaro" you spoke out softly, getting closer to him. He looked down at you and took his cigarette out his mouth smushing it onto the wall behind him then flicking it into the trash can next to him "hey."

It was hard to read what this man was thinking, looking into his eyes for a bit to see what he's feeling, you gained this habit as a kid. Looking at someone's eyes can say a lot or very little. For jotaro...it was very little to understand what he felt or what he was thinking. "Follow." His tone was strict and demanding as most times he'd ask you to follow him, he walked fast because his legs were longer than yours but hed take smaller steps so you can walk either behind him or right next to him. Rambling about something that came to mind or your childhood favorites wasnt rare, you thought he didn't listen to you but he pays very close attention to whatever you say to him.

His heart was racing with what he was going to tell you, although most people think seeing stands for non-stand users is impossible it really isn't, the SWF found a way to show non-users stands. Which is how some of the workers have seen stands. Just so happens Mr joestar was giving a pair of the special goggles they use and gave them to jotaro, they are more like dad shades then goggles but they still call them goggles anyway. When jotaro found out about them he was over the moon, may not have shown it but he was, he's been wanting to show you star platinum so you didn't think he was crazy when he talked about it.

"so tell me, where you takin me today?" His train of thought was interrupted by your voice. "some random ass waterfall I found back at the park we went to last week. I went over there a little after we did and started searching the forest next to it, found a pretty sick waterfall." He pulled hit hat down and turned away. It wasn't just the waterfall he wanted to show you, obviously, but it wasn't star platinum either. What he really wanted outta all of this is to the see look on your face when he shows waterfall. He can picture it now, your face lighting up with joy, your eyes sparkling as the water does, your smile bigger then ever, a slight hint of blush of your face.

"here grab my hand this part is tricky" He said putting his hand out to you as you both tried getting over some rocks, in doing so getting close to the waterfall and whatever he wanted to show and tell you. The sky clear of clouds and the wind blowing just soft enough to tickle exposed skin. You can't help but feel as if you're about to be proposed to or confessed to, look at it from a side point; nerdy-ish girl and the delinquent boy go to a waterfall after ditching classes, are BEST FRIENDS and the day is beautiful. That's my story animation right there if I haven't seen it. You knew it wasn't the case though, jotaro never showed any signs of having romantic feelings for you, hurt to admit but you can't live in denial for long.

"alright we're here." He said pulling you onto the concrete. Just as he imagined your face light up light a torch. The waterfall had ingrown plants everywhere, there wasn't any graffiti on it and it looked old, it had beautiful flowers growing from the cracks and vines all around. "wow.." your smile was so big it was starting to hurt a little but you couldn't stop now. Why should you when you're this happy? Jotaro loved seeing you like this. A subtile smile tugging at his lips couldn't be help. He wanted to say how he felt so bad, he wanted to tell you that he loved you, he wanted to scream it from the top of his lungs how me wanted to marry you one day, he wanted to kiss you and laugh with you. His heart aches for you but he had to hold back just a bit longer, first you meet star then maybe if he still has the balls he'll tell you how he feels.

Time went by as you two sat down and just talked for a bit, the subject finally came up. Stands. "So tell me about your star platinum, how does he look? How strong is he? Is he nice or mean???" You bombarded him with questions. "How about I just show you him?" He ask you, rising a brow and turn your head in confusion as to how, as if he read your mind he pulled out some goggles and handed you them. "with these you'll be able to see stands, the people from the speed wagon foundation use them cause some aren't stand users so they invented tech to help them out with us" you put them on and smiled up at him. "Do I look good?" You winked at did finger guns "no you look awful" he chuckled lightly.

"alright. I'ma bring him out 'kay?" He spoke softer then usual. Nodding your head quickly excited to see his stand for the first time. You saw a purple figure slowly rise from jotaro's body, and them as if nothing it was there. There he was for the first time ever for you, Star Platinum. His hair defined the laws of gravity and floated in the air, his skin was purple with a few lines of gold that flowed in squiggles. He wore shoulder pads that looked his armor and a head band type thing his his hair, he was stunning. "holy fuck." Was all you could say. Jotaro chuckled at your response. "He's also pretty strong" before your could say a word you were in star platinums arms, he through you up and cought you like nothing. A mix of screams and laughs escaped you as this happened, jotaro over joyed with how you took it.

Star platinum set you down and retreated back into jotaro's body, "your goggles back good sir" you said handing them back as if you were some sort of knight to the king. "Why thank you my loyal knight" it was rare that he went along with your sarcasm or little things like this, but you loved it when he did. A smile still on both your faces, you semi out of breath, him with a flushed face it was nice to just be here with him like this.

It felt like time slowed as the two of you stood together, he looked at you with soft caring eyes and a warm but small smile. You looked at him with the kid of look only explained like a lover who's finally gotten to see the love of their life after years of not getting to. He wanted to blurt out he loved you, and so did you. It's like you two spoke to eachother without saying a thing. You knew after all this time of not knowing how he felt about you, you knew he loved you. Both of you feeling the connection and spark lighting up with every last once if your beings. He wanted to say I love you so bad but it was to soon, way to soon. So he smiled a little more and rested his hand on top of your head, he didn't want you so see him so this was second best. He would've pulled down his hat but that's to obvious.

"Y/n, I feel like it's pretty clear what I'm..." He stopped to rephrase himself. He hated words at this moment in time. "Y/n, would you like to go on some sort of date with me?" He could feel your body heat up just with his hand on your head. "yea..why not" he knew you wanted to scream yes but he's taking what he's getting. No complaints.

He removed his hand from your head and looked at you for a few seconds. "Let's go back to my place, it's a Friday so if you want you can stay the night or something. Maybe Saturday or Sunday we can do that date thing" he grabbed your hand gently and walked off. "Already holding my hand aye??" You said with a teasing tone "I'm just trying to help you get across don't get the wrong idea." You laughed lightly and started talking about some field trip you went to when you were a kid and how you hated your 6th and 8th grade teacher. He didn't say a single thing once to stop your rant.