#because it was 3am when I first drafted it

[crossbackpoke-check]

"Bees" [remixed, abridged], Claudia Emerson // "Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now" [remixed. abridged], Matthew Olzmann // "Letter to my Great, Great Grandchild" [remixed, abridged], J.P. Grasser | Len Redkole, Nina Weiss, Brian Babineau, Christian Peterson, Mitchell Leff, Dave Isaac, Megan DeRuchie

[somepsychopomp]

Meet the AU: Stolen Son

So this all started with me writing down an idea for another fic at 3am and forcing myself to stay up until I finished drafting the general premise.

SUMMARY: After the events of Ruthlessness, Poseidon is furious that he's yet to properly extract revenge against Odysseus of Ithaca. But instead of waiting ten years, he decides to punish the foolish little king in an entirely new way.

The sea god seeks out Telemachus and befriends him, pouring his desperately desired paternal affection upon the young prince. All so he could rob Odysseus of any chance to raise his own child, knowing that having Telemachus defer to another man over his blood father would hurt worse than even death.

(For context, you can read my first post for this AU here! + an extra tidbit or two)

Now for the fun stuff! I've got lots of extra ideas & minor plot threads brewing, so I've put a few below:

What about Penelope?

In case you were wondering, Penelope never trusted Poseidon. (Still trying to decide on his false name for this AU just give me time)

She was suspicious from the beginning because his initial proposal was just too good to be true. Why would a supposedly esteemed scholar from Athens come all the way to rocky, weather-worn Ithaca to tutor the prince of a small and somewhat humble nation? And for almost no pay whatsoever- just a room to sleep in and food each day.

At first, Penelope suspects that maybe Poseidon is a disgraced scholar driven out of the city or kicked out of his school. She doesn't outright refuse his offer to tutor Telemachus, though. She's only curious as to what the catch is. So she has the servants report to her about Poseidon's ability to teach. For the first few weeks/months, all they say is that he's a rather peculiar man. It's not that he seems unable to teach things like oratory and writing, but that he has little interest in it. What he excels at is history and religious studies, both useful to a growing prince. So Penelope lets him stay a while longer.

When Poseidon approaches her and suggests taking the boy out for his first hunt, Penelope's hackles raise as she detects what could be an assassination attempt, and a poorly disguised one at that. So she sends a few men after Poseidon and Telemachus, having them watch from afar to ensure nothing goes wrong. (Poseidon is aware of their presence and is extra careful to appear as a benign tutor with his pupil's best interest at heart.)

After her son is safely returned to her, her men report no signs of foul play or insidious intent. She doesn't start to trust Poseidon after that, not yet, but she calms down a little. Penelope knows there's something not quite right with this man, but she still can't figure out what it is.

Spoilers: she figures it out eventually. By the time Telemachus is like 12-13 and the suitors are starting to get out of hand, Penelope learns just how much her son cherishes the company of his teacher. Poseidon has gone above and beyond, teaching him about taming and riding horses & sailing- more useful skills for a prince to know. It also means they've spent quite a lot of time together over the past few years. Telemachus is a lonely boy without friends his own age and is a rather sensitive soul; his world revolves almost entirely around his mother and his tutor.

One night, Penelope risks venturing through the halls without her handmaidens or what few guards remain after most of the men left for war. A terrible nightmare woke her from her sleep, something about a dark shadow ensnaring her son. Fearing it might be an omen, she rushes to his room to find the door ajar. Inside, Telemachus is crying softly as someone holds him in the moonlight.

"Don't leave me," Telemachus murmurs, "Promise you won't."

Penelope watches with bated breath.

Poseidon pets her child's hair, "My boy, why would I ever leave you?"

Telemachus sniffles. Penelope knows how hard he tries to hide his fears in front of her. He's at that tumultuous age where his head is starting to fill with all sorts of nonsense thoughts, things like not wanting to appear weak in front of her.

Though... she can't blame him, especially when duplicitous men scavenge their halls and look upon the royal family with hunger. But he cannot hide his gentle heart from her, no matter how hard he might try.

Telemachus says, "I don't think I could stand it. Please! Don't leave me, don't go away like he did."

And Telemachus hisses with such venom that Penelope almost staggers back in surprise. She knows exactly who he's talking about.

Penelope expects Poseidon to reprimand her son, to tell him it's improper for a prince to speak ill of his lord father. But Poseidon only chuckles, his voice full of warmth, "No, no. You know me, Telemachus. Have I not stayed by your side these past few years, your faithful companion? How could I ever be heartless enough to abandon you?"

Penelope has heard enough, the rage building in her throat as she becomes more than tempted to throw the door open right then and there. But no, she waits until early morning to summon Poseidon and tell him that his services will no longer be needed.

She's found the catch- Poseidon wanted to win her son's affection and approval from the very beginning, to steal the place of Telemachus' father. Perhaps he even expected Telemachus to eventually advocate for his mother to marry the man! How disgusting, how foul. Penelope demands that Poseidon leave before the sun is fully risen or face death. There will be no time for goodbyes.

It will hurt her son, who was as much a victim of this man's ploy as she was. But Penelope knows this is the right choice.

Poseidon puts up a bit of a fight, arguing with the queen until he's escorted out of the palace. At last, Penelope thinks this is the end of him.

When Telemachus wakes up, curious as to where his false father is, he rages and cries the way she expects him to. Penelope is as silent as stone as Telemachus wails and cries about how unfair and cruel she is. It hurts very much to see her son so distraught, even more so when Telemachus refuses to accept her embrace, and it hurts the most as he runs away from her in contempt. But she did the right thing.

What she doesn't know is that Telemachus is well aware that his long-time tutor is in fact the god of the sea. He runs down to the water, calling out to Poseidon for the fear that his mother has angered him.

Poseidon appears before him and Telemachus throws himself into the god's arms.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?" Poseidon asks, combing his fingers through the prince's hair. "I've always known that your mother never trusted me. I suppose she had every right, I hardly spoke a truth about myself in her presence."

He chuckles softly, wiping the tears from Telemachus' eyes. Poseidon smiles. "She might have gotten rid of (insert his alias here), but I have every intent on keeping my promise to you. I will not be leaving any time soon, Telemachus. Not like Odysseus did."

From then on, there will be no need for false names or faces. Poseidon will whisper directly into Telemachus' mind, or appear in his dreams, or mask his presence from all others. Always with him, always watching over him.

Next up, the Big Man:

To be completely clear, Poseidon went into this plot w/ zero intention to ever become attached to Telemachus in any way. He just wanted to warp this young boy's mind to become loyal to him alone.

Granted, Poseidon isn't a trickster by nature, but he was willing to shower Telemachus with a few blessings and gifts here and there, a few loving touches for this obviously touch-starved child, etc. There were even a few moments where Telemachus was being super annoying to him and Poseidon was tempted to gouge out his eyes as the easy way out, but he resisted every time. That's pretty good behavior by his standards.

However, as a man with many children of his own... Poseidon found himself conflicted more than once.

Ex. He could easily dispose of all the suitors by turning them into fish, horses, or sea foam. It would make Telemachus' life much easier and he'd certainly feel extremely indebted to Poseidon for such an act, but Poseidon also kind of needs the suitors to stick around.

The suitors pose a constant, tangible threat. Having them alive and intact gives Poseidon something to protect Telemachus from. So the choice presents itself: he can choose to eliminate them all in a single moment and reap a huge amount of appreciation from Telemachus at once, or slowly sculpt the boy's mind over the course of years. Though known for his rash temper, Poseidon chooses the latter option.

After all, his true goal is for Telemachus to be completely and utterly devoted to him by the time Odysseus shows up.

And yet... there's this one suitor that drives him insane. He's big, burly. Much stronger than most of his ilk, a foreigner from a nearby island who's heard tale of an open throne up for grabs. Poseidon doesn't even know his name but this one particular suitor goes out of his way to torment Telemachus on the daily.

Note- this is before Antinous shows up, with Telemachus being approx. 13-14 years old

Now, Poseidon is all for letting his children fight their own fights. Yes, he will go far out of his way to avenge them, but he believes in letting his offspring learn to defend themselves. But unlike the other suitors, who mostly ignore Telemachus or go as far as to sling some insults, this mammoth suitor feels himself justified in hitting Telemachus and taunting him by asking if he'll hide his injuries from his mother, or go running to her in tears.

Poseidon has seen this sort of behavior in countless other royal houses before. A prince is only desirable if he's your son, otherwise he's better off dead & unable to fight you. (And even then, he's also seen plenty of instances of patricide/filicide)

After having bottled up his temper for so long, Poseidon snaps and devises a particularly cruel fate for this brute. He waits until all the suitors have gotten themselves drunk late at night. While no one is watching, he spirits this pathetic man away and drops his off at the stables. At such a late hour, no one else is present to witness the man cry out in terror as his fingers fuse together and his neck elongates, as his body becomes covered in hair and a tail sprouts from his rear. What was once a man is now a bucking, screaming horse. A rather fine one, large enough to be put to the field or before a chariot.

It thrashes in its stall until Poseidon snaps his fingers and ropes fly, trapping the stallion and preventing him from escaping. Once that's done, he slips into Telemachus' room to wake him up, promising a special surprise.

He takes Telemachus down to the stables and presents him with his new horse! It'll be his to tame and train, a fine gift for a growing boy such as he. But Telemachus is disturbed by the way the beast breathes heavily, constantly crying out as if in pain.

"Yes, it is a bit temperamental," Poseidon says, "Such is the case with many horses that were once wild. But its will can be broken, and it can be made yours."

Telemachus is confused as to why Poseidon wants him to hurt such a beautiful creature. Especially his own scared animal.

Poseidon says, "This is a skill you need to learn, Telemachus. Mercy is for the weak. To protect yourself, you must be ruthless."

Telemachus hardly understands what Poseidon means, not until he's handed a knife with a sharp, curved blade. His eyes widen and the horse shrieks as if it too recognizes what such a thing is for.

"I... I don't know if I can," Telemachus says.

A heavy hand falls on his shoulder. "Listen to me. Either you break this beast tonight, or it will fight and resent you for the rest of its life. Strike now, while you still have the upper hand. Turn this stallion into a gelding."

Telemachus looks up at Poseidon, his lower lip quivering, "You promise this is the only way?"

Poseidon smiles upon him, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes, "I would never lie to you, Telemachus."

"What if I'm not strong enough? What if I don't do it right?"

Poseidon closes his hand around Telemachus' own and says, "Then I will show you how. Come, let us do this together."

Once the deed is done and Telemachus has been safely put to bed, Poseidon strokes the gelding's cheek with false sincerity and chuckles without warmth.

"You thought you were broken already, but your fate has only just begun. If the boy wishes to ride you, he will ride. If he wants to put you to work, you will work. And if he ever tires of you and sends you off to be sold, you will be sold. You are his now, and I look forward to seeing how you fare under my child's ownership."

Extras:

Poseidon teaches Telemachus how to fight but it's not structured or formal training like Athena would. It's literally like "Okay child, here's a knife. Try to stab me as hard as you can."

When Telemachus eventually does manage to stab him, he immediately bursts into tears but Poseidon is lowkey a little proud like. Look at this child. He's only 12 and he's managed to stab a god! That's so cool.

Poseidon sends some of his other children/denizens to check on Tele whenever he can't. Ex. He'll send hippocampi to watch Telemachus as he walks along the shore/swims in the ocean, Pegasus to fly over the forest as Telemachus hunts, or Arion the immortal horse to watch the prince from land.

Amphitrite is like 80% certain Telemachus is actually Poseidon's child despite his adamant refusals. Which is weird because he was never hesitant to admit to any of his other illegitimate children, and in fact loves many of them openly. She doesn't really harbor any ill will since hers is more like a political marriage or one of convenience. She's just confused why Poseidon is seemingly embarrassed or shy to admit he has yet another mortal son. Maybe she even visits Telemachus in his dreams and is endeared by him, leaving a pretty pearl behind as a gift.

[telleroftime]

"Vessel" doesn't seem like a word to me anymore... anyways Sukuna is very OOC me thinks, but happy comfort means everything to me ,,,

Warnings: Mentions of the general effects of depression; implied eating disorder, insomnia, self deprecating thoughts, self sabotage. (Nothing caused by Sukuna)

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where, for one reason or another, you are forced to consume some of his fingers. Maybe it was a dare your friends threw at you or maybe it was an order from the the Jujutsu higher ups. Either way, you consume them. Of course, Sukuna thinks you're going to be an easy person to take over and control. A measly human? You're not that strong and yet your soul is just a little too hard to overpower.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he tries to sabotage you. One way or another, he wishes to weaken you. He will take over your body... or so he thinks. He tries to mess with your sleep but you already had it pretty bad. He tries to mess with your eating but you already weren't doing too great. Nothing works because you were already sabotaging yourself before Sukuna came into the picture.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where your soul still isn't giving in and he cannot afford to switch vessels. No one had caught his eye as worthy enough and with the fact that he can't even force control onto you, he has no way of switching anyway. So now he has to desperately try and keep you functioning. At least long enough for a solid plan to form.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he forces you to eat and drink and sleep because he'd be damned if your body gives out on him. He'll try and tease you into it, but when he notices that doesn't work he'd come up with some sort of excuse. He's not a liar, he's never been a liar, and yet he's barking out a "I need to eat too" like he's a desperately starved dog. "Let me have a taste," "cook me something," "there's two of us so eat it." It's so demeaning for him to have to say that, but you will live for his sake.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he originally made your dreams a living hell, suffering is his forte after all, but now he feels your body weaken. He can feel your hazy mind, your sluggish movement, your tired eyes. He doesn't like it. He'll stop the nightmares if it means you won't break.

"Oi, wretch, sleep if you're so tired. I ain't dragging this body to bed for you." // "You'll just torment me so what's the point?" // "Would you rather I tuck you in? Sleep."

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he's been watching you long enough he ends up picking up when your thoughts end up bothering you. He hates it. The way you just stop and freeze? He finds it such a troublesome 'weakness' and so incredibly dull. Your misery isn't caused by him and he has to watch it regardless? He nags you so much that you have no time to think of anything negative.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he keeps on using the excuse of needing an adequate host. "I have no use for someone so weak, so eat/drink/breathe to not disappoint me". In reality, he has started to fret over you. He's worried, especially as the only place he can truly look you eye to eyes is when he personally drags you into his soul. Where you see him through a reflection of yourself.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he finally finds a different body. Someone far more befitting his needs. Someone far more adequate to house his soul. Not you. It happens right at the moment that you let him in too. Where the eventual banter you two share is far better than the memory of his terror. You know you shouldn't, but have grown to like his company. Which is what allows him to finally take over your body and switch.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where your head feels suddenly so... empty. He's gone and you know it and everything is just so quiet. Unbearably so. You probably would have gone back on your bad habits too if it weren't for him. Your soul was alone, yes, but he didn't leave. He came back, like a dog to its owner.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where he's so much firmer now. It was one thing having his voice in your head but now you see him in front of you, a body other than yours. His gaze is firm and intense as if even beyond your mind he can still hear your thoughts. Bringing you food, tossing you things. Indifferent in everything but his actions.

Sukuna x Vessel!Reader where the King of Curses has taken a liking to you and comes back to stay, at least for a little while.

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can��t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Crinkled Polaroids

Ex-boyfriend!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Hi my lovelies, Lia here and I'd just like to say that this took so long and so much effort, I really poured my heart out on this one and I hope it goes well. Recently my biggest heartbreaks are the "What ifs", what if you two worked it out? Would things be different? Would Simon have the life you've dreamed for the both of you and the one he's been deprived of?

You might be asking me "Lia, what's up with all the angsty content recently, aren't you a fluff dedicated blog?" Well I feel ill, I just got off an extremely busy week and most of my drafts have been never ending angst because I lost ideas of a domestic fam with Simon but I still need to get something out for you guys okay? A random bedtime scenario written down at 3am and for the rest of my midnights during a photoshoot and exam week, what could go wrong?

I'm still waiting on what my beloved @connorsui's review has to say 👀

Disclaimers/Warnings: This is not proofread, also ANGST.

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000

A relationship with Simon Riley going south, at first it started great as most relationships do with several minor bumps due to his past but no big deal right?

But Simon distances himself, more than what's healthy and yes, you do give him his space but there's only little time until closing and distancing off for a while could turn into something like neglect.

Little things like "I love you"s, "thank you"s and every verbal affirmation that you used to think you could cling onto was now non-existent, it hurts but isn't as hurtful when he refuses to touch you.

Back hugs you give would only give you a cold shrug in return, kisses you left were on cold chapped lips that remain still. At this point, you were better off loving someone dead.. then again, aren't you already doing so?

The life you've imagined for the both of you cease to fade in your head as the true reality of the man you love sets in, that dumb idea your younger self who had rose tinted glasses had to actually settle down with someone in such a short period of time of a few years.

You felt so unappreciated, it seemed like no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get him to see you. You felt cheated of the relationship you were supposed to have with him when you see others with the one you love and how he acts around everyone except you. You felt like nothing but a chore to him, an occasional fuck who cleans his home.

Then again, this is a broken man, you felt entitled to ask such a thing of him when he himself is also just healing from what his past had caused.

In Simon's eyes, he was doing you a favor, fucked up in his part thinking hurting you is the best way to save you from himself. It worked, that's what he wanted.. right?

So you leave, it was best for the both of you anyway right? Simon deserves someone who could actually make him happy and you deserve to feel loved in a relationship. Simon's life was a mess, truly, but he didn't realize how much more of a mess it was without you.

Coming home to an empty shell of a house, nothing to look forward to. He found himself almost on the brink of insanity, moving things all over his own home as if you were still there.

Always finding himself staring at that one wornout and creased polaroid of you and him, you were a silly one huh? A hobby of yours that left so much proof of your existence.

Begging him to be in a picture, bribing him with a kiss. Slightly smudged and distorted but still legible pen ink at the back as he flips the flimsy piece of thick, shiny paper.

Keep him safe for me, Ghost.

- Your favorite girl <3

You always thought of him as Simon and Ghost as just an alter ego, a mask that he needs to wear in order to stomach the violence that comes with his occupation.

You were the only one who can differentiate these two people. Tears started to form in his eyes but he blinks it away and shoves the polaroid back in his wallet.

He only started noticing changes when Johnny points out that he's become stone cold, a lot more silent, though he was known to be a ghost.. a shadow.. it wasn't like him to not even try to light up his mood with his dark jokes.

Everytime Simon thinks he gets over the pain, there's always one thing in that stupid house that reminded him of you. You weren't there but it sure felt like that you haunted every corner of the house and his mind.

Whether that'd be something you gifted him or an item of yours left behind, especially when the two of you shared moments with those items, oftentimes Simon tries to relive those, preserve his fading memory of your face.

This is what happens when the decisions you make have consequences on the one that your world revolves around.

A few years down this lane, nothing has changed for Simon, at some part of this never ending low point in his life he was under substance abuse.. alcohol to be specific, since to him it was easier. In concern of his captain, he did get help for it to which had progress.

Ghost kept it together, "today was a day to celebrate Gaz" he thought, blowing out the nicotinic smoke and flicking the ash off his cigarette after.. he knew Ghost's thing was more of a "let's drink and play pool in a pub" rather than a sit-down dinner kind of guy but Kyle insisted.

He thought about how awkward it was, although Ghost felt like he knew Kyle's family just from the lovesick fool himself who would never shut up, always finding a way to talk about his wife and their two kids.

After another puff, he throws the cigarette butt on the pavement and grinds the sole of his shoe over it, the soft hiss for the cigarette evoking, proving it was put out.

Simon walked a few blocks till stopping at the Sergeant's described location, his footsteps made smooth, satisfying taps on the wood floorboards of the porch and he knocks.

Price took liberty of being the one to open the door for Simon because the family was busy, Simon walked through the front door with ease, seeing Johnny somewhat interacting with a kid.

He was welcomed by the a cozy looking space, it was homey and clearly occupied, the shoes lined up on the shoe rack next to the door from the largest pair to the tiniest which was such a far contrast from his empty gloomy apartment.

The kid caught glimpse of Simon, they run up to him and take his hand to guide him into the living room as of to welcome him before bringing back their attention to Johnny and somewhat messing with his stubby mohawk.

The lieutenant observed his surroundings, the little toys and picture frames hung around the house, for a moment his heart drops to his stomach, he blinks thinking he must've been imagining things. Simon walked closer to it, he wasn't imagining it.. that was you, in a wedding dress, in the photo with Kyle.

You looked glowing.. as if you've never looked better in your life, that heart stopping smile on your face, the flowery bouquet on your hands. The green of stems highlight the precious metal band on your finger. Of all the people, places and time, why here? Why now? Why Kyle..?

For a few seconds, just a few when Simon thought his nerves and gut settled, he heard the sweetest voice that was all he knew.

He forgot what it sounded like, the effect it had on him, all too overwhelming for a man who tried desperately to run away from the consequences of his actions. I guess that saying that once you don't hear someone's voice as frequently, you start to forget what they sound like.

For once, the ringing in his ear is gone. Just your voice, all he needed, he closed his eyes for a few soaking in the fact that you're here. For a moment he forgets to take into account that you weren't his. You and Simon make eye contact, the smile on your face drops as soon as you realize who is in your home.. who your husband invited..

Dinner came around, you tried your best to stomach the food you made, every swallow was a challenge. You spent most of your time staring at the food below you, afraid to even spare a glance at Simon. He was as uneasy as you were, telling the group he had to go to the bathroom as an excuse to explore what you now view as your home. The place you built your family together with your husband.

Simon uses the stealth he was known for to sneak in all the rooms, starting with the closest, the kitchen. The pictures on the fridge were enough to catch his attention, polaroids were something he was all too familiar with. Photos of the kids littered on the cold metal box with magnets others were of you and Kyle.

Everywhere he glances was proof of the life you built, the life you could've had together if he hadn't taken you for granted. Simon returned to the table a few minutes later, you easily notice the sudden drop of his mood to solemn.

Constantly closing his eyes, the lieutenant's head was spinning, taking in the fact that Garrick was able to settle down with you in those few years, the same amount of time you'd been together and you both were never close to achieving what you had now.

The night ended with the mens' satisfied stomachs while you and Kyle play-fight about who gets to do the dishes. As all of them were about to leave, you gathered what little guts you had to at least try to talk to Simon as he's the last one out the door, away from the ears of your husband who's currently doing the dishes because the last thing you'd want is to ruin their friendship.

"Goodbye Si.."

Simon never thought he'd hear that nickname out of your lips ever again, he stopped, his feet felt like they were sinking on the ground. Before he knew it, Simon was back on your porch, squeezing you so tight. You tried to pull away but he only held tighter, head rested on your shoulder.

"One last, lovie.. please.." you sigh, your arms wrapping around him, you tried your best to sooth him as your palm runs up and down his back. You felt the sleeve of your shirt getting damp, Simon didn't cry often, but this was different. It wasn't silent at all like you were used to, he was straight up sobbing.

Simon pulled back slowly, you saw his puffed up and flushed face against his pale skin. You felt bad for Simon however what happened is what happened and you were content where you were no matter how much pain the past brings you.

Simon knows you're happy, he sees it, he cups your cheek with his hand. He was about to lean in and kiss your forehead like he always used to but he stops himself.

He wanted to be selfish, he wanted you again but he can't do that to Kyle and he knows this would only upset you so just like before, with a heavy heart he leaves.

Simon will forever let that sink into his heart, the only one he's ever love will forever be engrained in his mind. You will always be his favorite girl..

[sabrecrane]

Battling Writer's Block

Believe it or not there are people out there who believe that writer's block isn't a thing. Nope, I'm not kidding, that is what my lecturer said last year and I just want to assure anyone that may believe it doesn't exist/ or are thinking of giving up on their work, don't. It is a very real thing and is very common to experience especially if you've written so much that you've managed to burn yourself out. Also, nobody in my class liked that lecturer for the rest of the year after making that comment so if you don't believe it's real...I wish you luck is all I'm gonna say lol.

So how do you prevent this?

Well first of all, you can't, but you can decrease how likely it is to happen.

Organisation

First thing is first, get your notes and your characters down somewhere you can look at them. Organisation will help a ton. Personally I have notes scattered all over the place both physical and on a folder on my laptop. Ideas come at random so I jot them down and then always forgot to put the physical notes somewhere. This meant I got stressed because I knew I had a good idea but couldn't remember exactly what it was. I did end up finding the notes and have now bought a folder to store my papers in. But this disorganisation meant I spent a lot of time overthinking my skills as a writer which then affected my confidence and ultimately resulted in writer's block.

Create

The next thing you can do is relax and create. Plots will come in time, focus on creating -- that's the fun bit especially if you're working in the fantasy or sci-fi genre! Don't create your plots first because as soon as you create your characters you might realise those plots won't work with those characters anymore. While this may not directly contribute to writer's block it definitely could affect your confidence so if you already have a good plot idea but find your characters don't fit then store away the idea for later to use with characters that will work for it.

Also I know I only focused on the writing aspect of creation but if you want to create other things then do that, too! Draw, make models, maybe a small mistake you make might give you inspiration!

Take a walk

This is common advice I see and that is taking a walk. If you can't find the inspiration to work on your current project but want to write something, grab your laptop or notebook and just wander around in a park and focus on your senses. What can you hear? What are the conversations people are having? What can you see? Try and show it instead of telling. Is there wind, can you feel it?

Create Your Own Definition For Your Favourite Words

If you don't want to write something too complicated and can feel your motivation disappearing but want to try and regain it, search for words and show your meanings for it instead of what the official definition is. For example the word 'love', the official definition is generalised and always straight to the point but the word means different things for different people. So what is love to you?

Poetry

Adding onto the previous paragraph, maybe try poetry! Last year I was dreading my poetry module but I have actually enjoyed it so far. I never thought I would but at 3am I find myself drafting up a poem to work on the next day. I do have old notes somewhere so when I find them I'll post them here so you have a sort of visual for how some poetry forms work. My favourite type of poetry is freeverse so if you're wanting to create a story without necessarily rhyming but keeping within the poetry theme, that would be a great way to start!

Relax

Finally, read. Sit down somewhere with a cup of hot chocolate or your favourite drink and read. Take some time for yourself, your writing isn't going anywhere and either way it takes time. Writing is a skill to develop not something to rush. Rushing will result in confusion and you may miss out some minor plot points you wanted to add. Reading helps you learn so pick out pieces that you enjoy from the book and see if you can incorporate it into your own work somehow.

To all my fellow writers out there, take a breath. Everything will come to you in time.

[luvelve]

boyfriend!wonwoo who wakes up at the slightest sound or movement and he can’t help it or do anything about it even if he so badly wants to. the first few weeks of living together was difficult to say the least. you’d wake up in the middle of the night to pee or to have a glass of water and you’d find wonwoo sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to come back. guilt would wash over you knowing he has to get up early in the morning and every other morning.

you feel like the worst person in the world having to interrupt his slumber, but he tells you its okay. you once even offered to sleep in separate rooms so wonwoo can have 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. but of course, he turned the offer down. sometimes he’d act like he wasn’t woken up from your movement because he knows you still feel guilty.

you’re many months into sharing a bedroom and you’ve kinda gotten used to your light sleeper of a roommate. it’d help when wonwoo came home absolutely exhausted, he’d sleep like a baby and couldn’t be disturbed by anything.

it’s way past 3am on a gloomy tuesday morning when you feel your blanket shift and cold wind hit your lower body. you look over your shoulder to wonwoo’s side and you see him getting up and putting his glasses on. he’s quietly heading towards the door when you let out a mumble.

“i’m sorry my love, i didn’t mean to wake you.” he finds your face under the moonlight that shines through the window.

“where are you going?” you use whatever strength you have to sit yourself up on the bed.

“i was just going to get some uh… water.”

liar. the glass of water you put on his bedside table before lying down has barely been touched. and the fact that he put his glasses on isn’t helping his lie either. it takes you a few seconds but you also notice that his hair hasn’t been messed up from sleep.

“have you been up all night?” you shoot him a head tilt, slowly getting up from your bed to make your way towards him. you can tell the mental gymnastics he’s doing in his head to try and convince you to get back to bed. at this point, wonwoo knows you’ve got him and there’s no point in lying anymore.

“yes… but its okay, really. y-you can go back to bed.” he tells you softly, putting his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. even at this hour, when wonwoo hasn’t had a second of sleep, he’s still able to be this selfless.

you stand just a few inches away from him, head tilted up to look him in his tired and droopy eyes while he looks down at you, doing the same thing. it’s silent and the only thing that can be heard is the faint sounds of the city. you take a small step to close the gap between the two of you as you wrap your arms around his waist. your head is resting on his chest and you feel it rise and fall.

“we’ve talked about this before. you always stay up with me, even when i never ask you to. waiting for me to get back from the kitchen or the bathroom. and it’s unfair to you… but i hope you know that i’d do the same for you.” you close your eyes, head still resting on his chest, internally blaming yourself for not being as light a sleeper as your boyfriend.

he smiles and returns your hug, wrapping his arms around your body and resting his chin on the top of your head. “i know, my love. i’m sorry.” another trait of your wonwoo’s, being sorry for something that’s not even his fault.

“just wake my sleepy ass up next time, okay?” he lets out a laugh and you feel it rumble in his chest. you lift your head up to look at him once again as he nods. his smile is big enough that the corners of his eyes crease.

“jeon wonwoo, i wanna hear you say it.” your voice is soft yet a bit playful. you tug at his white shirt as your lips unconsciously form into a slight pout.

“yes, maam.”

a/n: as usual, this is very self indulgent. but also, i feel like this is something that wonwoo would actually do :(( aaand i still can’t seem to finish this wonwoo fic that’s been in my drafts for over 3 weeks so pls enjoy this for now <3

[laswells-ashtray]

hi the post about soap buying ghost the blanket has been on my mind like all day and i have to hear more. if you have more. please. 🙏🙏🙏

this is the only ask I have right now that isn't about Sergeant Price and MacMillan so I welcome it happily. I'm running out of ideas for those two.

Soap bought the blanket as a pisstake, he'd walked past it in Home Bargains in September, it was out with the Halloween shite, and he'd bought it as a joke. Honestly, he'd expected Ghost to throw it away or give it to someone else.

He'd been in Simon's room more than once for... professional conversations between a sergeant and a lieutenant. And not once had he spotted the blanket, even when he was face down arse up on Ghost's bed. And that happened a shocking amount.

But then he walks in on Simon asleep with the blanket and he decides two things: Ghost is just a bloke and he urgently needs to wife up Simon Riley.

The next time they end up sprawled out in Simon's bed together, he asks about it.

"Ye ever use that blanket I gave you?"

"Yeah, I also rescue kittens and bake for the elderly."

Nevermind, he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life with an Englishman. He's better than that.

"Kept it for when the draft gets bad around here in the colder months." Simon admits quietly, like it's some kind of punishable offence that he's using a blanket for its intended purpose. Like enjoying a gift is a foreign experience.

The next time Johnny lands his arse in Simon's bed the blanket is there, coincidentally that's also the first night he sleeps in the Englishman's bed.

They fall asleep and Soap thinks nothing of it until he wakes up at around 3am, Simon is still dead asleep as are most people on base. He's firmly pinned under a quietly snoring lt. Simon is lying on top of him with a hand over his waist, but instead of grabbing onto him his hand is firmly gripping the edge of the blanket in a tight fist. And given how flat the edge of the blanket is, Soap has to assume he sleeps with that same edge in his hand most nights.

It isn't until one day they're all blethering that it makes sense. Gaz is talking about how his sister is expecting a baby and he's already bought the wee lassie her first bear, one like he used to have when he was wee. That becomes a whole other conversation.

"You didn't have a teddy bear when you were a kid? Really?!" Gaz sounds appalled but it doesn't surprise Soap, he can't imagine The Captain Price with a wee bear. He just imagines a toddler's body with Price's head.

"My old man would've had an aneurysm if I'd been caught with something as girly as a stuffed toy."

"I never had one either when I was a kid. Best I had was some ratty old blanket that Mum bought from a second-hand place." His reaction is subtle, the way he freezes and realisation washes over him. Ghost doesn't talk about his childhood a lot and they never ask. But suddenly everything makes sense to Soap.

The big and scary Ghost who spent his childhood comforted by some tattered old blanket. The same one who clutches the blanket Soap gave him so tightly that he worries about the strength if the fabric.

Soap can't judge, he wouldn't anyway but he truly can't because he used to sleep with a ratty old Chewbacca bear that he'd lob off of his sister's head when she would piss him off.

If later on he buys Simon another blanket to give him the choice between the two then that's his business. And if a simple stuffed bear with a silly and all too familiar hat appears in Price's office then that's Gaz's business.

[citruswriter]

Oh no! I'm sorry that Tumblr ate your asks, what an asshole!

Request: What would the yandere boys (Bayverse of Rise, your pick!) react to their Darling that is actually thankful to be kidnapped due to them living in an abusive environment with their family members and that resulted in the Darling having self esteem issues and suffering the effects of the abuse?

Tumblr you have your fill, leave them alone!

Rise Yandere Turtles x Thankful Darling

Listen with me! ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

Warnings: Abusive family, self esteem issues, yandere, dark themes, I suck at writing yandere Rise Raph, parent death mention in Leo's, very dark insinuations in Donnie's.

A/N: I wrote this at 3AM and then stuffed it in my drafts, love me. /lh

He had finally done it. Finally kidnapped you. You were home. Home with him. You were finally his! And he was ready for anything you might throw his way! There would be no escaping on his watch. But now you've been at the Lair for almost two months and still... not a single attempt. You even seem relaxed? What the hell is going on?

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Raphael x Reader 🧡

"Hey darling?" Raph's gentle tone washed over your ears, causing you to lift your gaze from the book in your hand to your... kidnapper? Lover? "Yes Raph?" You responded, gaze dropping back down to your book to read once more. You could hear the turtle shift nervously and mutter a little and you sighed softly, sensing his anxiety. Fingers moved to bookmark your novel before setting it to the side. You shifted in his bed, leaning back and opening your arms. "Come here. Tell me what's bothering you". You said softly and Raph slowly crawled into the bed, settling on top of you and nuzzling into you. "Why haven't you tried to escape?" He asked finally after a few moments and you raised a brow. "Pardon?" You questioned and Raph sighed. "We can't just pretend like I didn't kidnap you. I snatched you away from everything you ever knew". He said and you rolled your eyes softly. "Yes. Tore me away from my minimum wage job and an abusive family that made it clear that I was a good for nothing waste of space. Forgive me. I really should be trying to get to that". You said sarcastically before scoffing. Raph looked up at you with wide eyes. "Pardon?" He said, parroting you.

You sighed softly, rubbing your temples and closing your eyes briefly before opening them to stare at the ceiling. "Look, Raph, I didn't have a good home. Home wasn't even home for me. My parents were always screaming at each other, screaming at me. I was never good enough for them. Never pretty enough, skinny enough, active enough, driven enough. I was never ever enough". You swallowed thickly as tears sprang to your eyes. You moved to look at Raph once more, hands reaching up to touch his pebbled skin. "But you... Raphael you see me. Really see me. I'm somebody to you. I'm somebody worth loving. I'm not just the backup because my prettier sister already had a boyfriend. I'm the first choice for once. I'm... I'm wanted for once." Tears were streaming down your face at this point as you spoke and Raph just sat there, drinking in every word you spoke to him. Eventually you raised your arms to wipe at your face with your sleeves, sniffling to prevent any snot from embarrassing you. "Can I kiss you?" Raph's voice came and you peeked through your sleeves.

Raph had initiated a lot of physical contact with you but had never kissed you. Most he did was brush his lips against your temple when you were half asleep. It's like, even though he had you captured, he was still afraid to cross that line. "What...?" Was all you could reply with and Raph lifted himself til he was hovering over you. "Can. I. Kiss. You?" He asked again, slowing his speech down. You stared up at him, eyes wide and still wet, before nodding softly. Raph cupped the back of your head before lowering himself to gently press his lips against yours. As he felt you kiss him back, all he could think about was what photos the news would use when cops eventually found what would soon be the dead bodies of your family in their tiny apartment.

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Michaelangelo x Reader 🧡

"Why haven't you tried escaping?" The question tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it. You paused your movements in the mirror where you had been admiring another outfit that Mikey had dressed you in. You turned to stare at him for a moment before turning back away from him, fiddling with the hem of the skirt that you were wearing. You figured this would come up eventually. Mikey had kidnapped you around two months ago, claiming that you were his one true love and that the world was a horrible place that you needed protection from. It had scared you initially. This crazed turtle man thing rambling about how you were a celestial goddess, how you two were bound together by fate, how you were his and only his. But eventually, when he saw how pliant you were, crazed ramblings turned to loving whispers. This wasn't to say that you were unaware of how dangerous he could be. He almost killed a man for saying hello to you, it scared the living daylights out of you and it took you two whole weeks to warm back up to him.

But the whole time, you had never tried to run away. Part of you knew that attempting escape would be foolish, the damn guy can fucking portal. But the other part found contentment in his madness. "Mikey are you... aware of how my family treated me?" You asked gently. Mikey tilted his head to the side, thinking about the months he had spent stalking you and gathering information about you. Sure he had picked up that your parents weren't exactly the best but they weren't his focus. You were. "To an extent. I wouldn't call them the best of parents but I didn't pay much attention to them". He said and you nodded tentatively.

"They beat me." The words flowed out with no emotion and you turned to look at your orange turtle. "They had an image they had to upkeep. I was raised in a strict household. Rules that suffocated me til I choked on words that could never leave my mouth lest I get beaten within an inch of my life. My only solace was sleep. The world of dreams was my only safe haven." Your eyelids fluttered as you flashbacks played through your mind. Mikey stood up, hands cupping your face as he saw her saw you keeping tears in to the best of your abilities. "Do... Do you want me to go?" You asked softly after a few moments of silence. Had that been why he had asked? Had he grown bored of you as well?

His grip on your skull tightened slightly. Enough for you to notice the pressure difference but not enough for it to hurt. "No! No never. You're mine. Mine. My sweet angel. My goddess. I don't want you gone. You can't leave me even if you wanted to... we're meant to be together". He instantly responded, his voice having that crazed, obsessive edge to it once again. "I wouldn't blame you..." You murmured softly, a few tears slipping over onto your cheeks. Mikey growled softly, rage bubbling in his chest towards your parents. Thumbs moved to wipe your tears away, forehead bonking yours softly. "Mikey?" Your voice came again and he hummed in response. "Do you love me?" You asked and he blinked at you in surprise. "Of course I do." He said

"Say it."

"I love you."

Your eyelids fluttered closed as you gently grasped his hands with your own.

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again."

Your voice was strained, desperate. You opened your eyes once more to stare pleadingly into his.

"I love you, tangerine."

"Again. Please."

"I. Love. You. I love you more than anything."

A pause. A deep breath. A shudder in your body as you seemed to relax. "Thank you." Was all you breathed out. You didn't say it back. You weren't ready. He knew this. He was fine with it. You'd say it in due time. You had all of forever together now after all! Mikey hummed softly once again, hands sliding down to your waist as he leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. He couldn't help but smile deviously when he felt you turn your head, chasing his touch. "Why don't I take your mind off of all those bad thoughts, hm?" Was all he said as he slipped his thumb under the hem of your shirt to rub circles into your bare hip.

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Leonardo x Reader 🧡

Fingers trailed up and down your thighs, drawing patterns and writing love notes into your skin. You lay on Leo's bed, playing on the Nintendo Switch as a certain turtle stayed nestled between your legs. "You always let me do whatever I want". Leo's voice came suddenly and you looked up from your little garden to stare at him with wide, curious eyes. "Should... Should I not?" You question and Leo couldn't help but let out a dark chuckle. It was the kind of noise that reminded you just how dangerous the man in front of you was. That, despite his affections, he still kidnapped you and chained you to his bed for three weeks until he was damn sure you weren't just gonna run off or try to fight him. Not like you really could. Any potential skill you may have pales in comparison to his. "I didn't say that, corderito". His voice came and a shudder ran down your spine. You always loved when he spoke Spanish to you. "I'm just... curious." He admitted and you pause your game, saving the file before setting down the switch. "Bout what, Leo?" You question and you see him run his tongue over one of his sharp canines. "Why you haven't tried to escape yet".

You blinked in shock at him. "Oh um, I'm sorry. Did you... did you want me to try and escape? I can give it a try. If you want? Like if you wanna chase me. If that's what you're into?" You said and you noticed Leo's gaze darken into a weird mixture of delight and danger. "Querida I'd love to chase you but no, I don't want you to escape. You're mine after all." He purred, lifting himself up to snuggle into your chest, snout nuzzling your neck as you felt a blush rise to your cheeks. "Just curious as to why you're so... pliant. Don't you miss your home?" He questioned. Oh boy. "Not really, if I'm being honest." You admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. You hoped he wouldn't push. You knew he would, but you could hope. Leo chuckled, fingertips trailing up your thigh once more. "Why? Like it here with me too much?" He asked, tone teasing as he lifted himself onto his knees so he could hover over you. He liked doing that. Hovering over you. It felt almost condescending at times. A hand slipped under your jaw, gripping firmly as the other hand went to fiddle with the one of his mask tails. "Yeah actually. It's good to be around somebody who won't starve me for forgetting to turn the bedroom light off". You said casually as if you had just told him that it was raining outside.

"I'm sorry what?" Was his immediate response, shaking his head as his eyes widened with disbelief. You shrugged your shoulders and nuzzled into Leo's touch, awarding you a soft churr. "Yea. Mom always did shit like that. That's not even the worst of it. One time I was ten minutes past curfew, so she slashed my front tires. Oh and another time, I took a hot shower instead of a mildly warm one so she replaced my shampoo with nair and then proceeded to make fun of my patchy hair until it finally grew out past a bob. Kept saying I looked like an ugly ferret. Fun times". You said, rolling your eyes at the thought of your mom with a lack of fondness. Leo just stared at you, silently gawking at you and you had to snap your fingers in his face a few times to make him come to. "That's so fucked up..." He muttered. "Meh. Too bad it was my dad that died young instead of her. He was actually pretty chill." You said, hand reaching up to play with his other mask tail "I mean, we can rectify that. Can still make mommy go say hi to daddy". His voice came out in a delicious purr that dripped with sadistic malice.

You raised a brow at him before shaking your head and chuckling. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?" You said and Leo smirked down at you. "Please. You enjoy it". He cooed, mouth dropping to crush yours. You returned his heated kiss, hands reaching up to clutch onto him desperately. You bit his lip and you were rewarded with a low growl and a smack to your thigh, making you whine into his mouth. Eventually he pulled back, a string of saliva connecting the two of you as you panted for air. "Maybe just a little too much". You admitted.

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Donatello x Reader 🧡

Donnie was perplexed. If anybody was prepared for sulphur and fire, it was him. When you showed no resistance or wish to escape, he was suspicious. He'd be a fool not to be. But when one week turned into two and then two weeks turned into two months and still... nothing. He began to wonder if maybe he had miscalculated something. Or if you really were just that submissive. These thoughts swirled through his head once more as you sat on top of his lap, leaning over him as he stayed as still as possible. His hands stayed resting on your hips, fingers tapping affectionately as you did his eyeliner. "Darling?" He spoke up, hands trailing down from your hips to your thighs, thumbs beginning to rub circles just under the hem of your skirt. "Yes, my love?" You replied and Donnie had to grab the churr that rose up in his chest by a chokehold and stuff it somewhere else. "Do you um... enjoy it here? With um... with me? I mean?" He asked. He watched you as your gaze, still focused on making his eyeliner perfect, seemed to dissociate for a moment before refocusing. "It's nice. Better than home". You replied honestly. "Why do you ask?"

Donnie huffed softly. "Well I did kind of snatch you in the middle of the night. And I understand I can be a bit... controlling at times". He replied. You huffed a laugh, grinning as you grabbed his face. "Close your eyes for me". You said gently and he obeyed, letting you turn his head this and that way to check the eyeliner. "My father was a horrible man". You said suddenly, causing him to crack his eyes open to gaze at you. "Long story short, mother died and left him heartbroken which drove him to alcoholism and in his drunken state... I look a little too much like my mom". You said, voice shaking and Donnie set up a little more, brows furrowed as he went to cup your face. "Oh my sweet dove..." He cooed out. "Sometimes... Sometimes I miss home. But... But home hasn't been home in so long." You confessed, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you remembered the days before everything had gone to shit. "Donnie if anything you saved me." You said.

Donnie couldn't help the smug grin that crawled it's way into his face. You were just so fragile and helpless without him, weren't you? So delicate. So easy. So good for him. He welcomed the wave of possession that washed over him. You welcomed it too, as he dropped to bruise your mouth with his, nipping at your lips and puppy licking the roof of your mouth until you were dizzy and the only thing you could think was Donnie Donnie Donnie. "He'll never be able to hurt you again." Donnie growled out, holding you close to him in a tight grip. "You're mine now and I'll never let you go." You sighed out, pressing yourself into him more. The movement was almost hesitant, as if some small part of you tried to stop you before you snuffed it out. "And if you ever try to leave, you'll regret it". He added, tongue flicking out to lick his sharp canines.

Maybe you enjoyed the danger. Maybe you were just so happy to be free of your father that you grasped onto whatever straws you had. Maybe Donnie's delirium and obvious psychoticness was actually intoxicating. Whatever the reason it didn't matter. Donnie watched you as you gazed up at him with dilated pupils. Hands splayed across his plastron as you leaned yourself into him, humming as he squeezed his hands deliciously painfully over your thighs. "Then you can bruise me purple". Was all you said in response to his threat. Let's just say you left his lab with your body covered in blooming, beautiful shades of violet.

And applause. And applause. And waiting for your applause. /ref /lh

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Incomprehensible Horror. // Demon!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Halloween Special 🎃

MDNI, DD:DNE(?): reader discretion is advised.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to prevent seeing dark content from me.

WARNINGS: dubcon, cunnilingus, demon fucking(?), p in v sex, past life, mentions of abuse, plotting, murder, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), size kink, cum eating, slight breeding kink, spooky vibes(?), manhandling, so much canon divergence, GoT S8 spoilers(?) kinda idk, the plot is shifted and extremely altered to fit this story. + not proofread

WC: 3.8k

A/N: the original draft got deleted and i had to rewrite it because I wanted to publish this before Halloween is over, so this is slightly rushed :(

There was something extremely eerie about the red keep that always set you on the edge whenever you would hear stories about it.

The burnt down remnants of it untouched as the city around it prospered, only developing more as the time passed on, with skyscrapers, branded shops, turning into what you would call a 'modern city'.

King's Landing was not the way it was anymore, the destruction of it provided a reason to rebuild the city entirely, it was a lengthy process but definitely worth it.

A seemingly innocent city until you look past the sky scrapers, shops, etc, revealing a sinister and a tragic history of the land, a story that involves a royal family fighting and going mad for the throne, only to succumb to their madness and go extinct.

There have been many attempts in the past to rebuild it, but all in vain as there have been cases of construction accidents, fatal injuries, suicides, making it impossible to rebuild it, so they turned it into a tourist attraction.

What a way to make money.

Yet they close it off the moment the sun begins to set.

You had visited it a lot, having been living in King's Landing for a while, it was basically harmless, making you wonder why it was rumoured to be haunted, when it's just a disfigured building with half of its structure on the ground.

It was a casual weekday for you, returning to your apartment from work after the sun had long set, you took the elevator up the building, the music abruptly coming to a stop way before you reached your floor, leaving you confused, but you soon broke out of your confusion when you heard the familiar 'ding' indicating that you reached your floor, and as soon as you left the elevator the automatic doors slammed quickly, causing a loud sound, startling you.

It seemed as if the elevator was having technical difficulties.

You make a mental note to take the elevator less often until it is fixed.

You quickly scurry to the side of your apartment, pulling the keys out and pushing it into the lockhole, turning it, which opens the door, but you stumble over something and lose your balance, holding the wall for support to not fall until you finally push yourself back onto your feet and look down.

It was a package.

But you had not ordered anything.

Weirdly enough, there was no address.

You should've left it there.

But you took it inside.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and the package not having any address only further fuelled your justification for opening it.

It was a book.

An occult type of book to be exact.

You opened it and skimmed through the pages, it seemed more like a personal diary than an instruction based book for spells.

And it was convincing enough at first until you read a certain page.

“Go to the ruins of the red keep at 3AM, and chant this, 'Oh rōvēgrie zaldrīzes dārilaros, māzigon naejot se iōragon gō nyke, ivestragī aōha kasta se melkasta laesi jurnegon rȳ nyke, iksan isse jorrāelagon hen aōha dohaeragon, kesan krenyikhé tepagon mirros ao jaelagon' for a miracle!” (Oh great dragon prince, come forward and stand before me, let your blue and purple eyes look at me, I am in need of your help, I will gladly give anything you wish.)

This made you chuckle, what kind of prank was this? This was so badly written to the point of making any paranoia you felt about this book dissipate immediately.

I mean, chanting spells? to summon a dead prince? it made you laugh, and of course the location was the red keep, a place rumoured to be haunted. It couldn't not be more obvious than that, because whatever this was, was clearly a joke.

So you pushed the book aside and settled for bed.

Sleep did not come to you.

Which you found odd.

You would usually be extremely tired, and the moment you lay on the bed, you would be pulled under the depth of slumber.

Yet now you squirmed, not being able to find any sleep.

You don't know how many hours passed, making you frustrated.

And your mind wandered off to what you had read earlier.

You glanced at the time, it read 2AM.

You purse your lips in thought, not knowing what to do.

You got up from your bed.

You knew this was a bad idea, sneaking into the red keep, with the stupid book in your hand as you navigated through the building, and then you ended up in a room with a bunch of paintings of the past targaryens.

You set the book down and kneeled, looking at the verse you were supposed to chant out loud, you bought out your phone and looked at the time, it read 2:59AM.

One more minute.

You did not know why you were doing this, normally, you were a rational person, you usually don't let your curiosity win in situations like this, having control over it, but in this case, it seems you had lost all your control, and it seemed as your mind is being controlled to do whatever was written on that page.

Besides, it's not like anything would happen.

It seemed fake after all.

Trying doesn't hurt.

You never really believed in ghosts or demons yourself, so what were you scared of?

And so as soon as the time read 3AM, you chanted the saying out loud.

You waited.

And waited.

You looked at the time, 3:10AM.

Nothing happened.

You let out a scoff, what did you expect? A demon to appear?

You collected the book and left the scene, annoyed that nothing happened, but you were also glad nothing happened at the same time.

The air felt colder than before, and lights seemed to flicker constantly whenever you crossed a street light, everything seemed out of place and odd, the buildings looked distorted.

Was your paranoid finally getting to you?

You felt a chill run up your spine.

It felt as if someone whispered in your ear, causing you to jump and look back, only to find nothing.

This was setting you on edge, you quickly walked faster back to your apartment, you frowned when you saw the "out of order" sign on the elevator, knowing that it was not there when you used it to come down prior to your visit to the red keep.

You sighed heavily and took the stairs, climbing to the floor you lived in, but for an odd reason, the stairs seemed to go on for longer, the more you climbed, the more they went on, you did not know if you were seeing things for feeling that way simply cause you were spooked, but you know for a fact that climbing 7 floors should not take more than 10 minutes at a slow pace, and yet here you were still climbing at a fast pace yet the stairs seemed to be never ending, you did not know if you were hallucinating the scribbled out floor numbers assigned to the respective floors or if they were originally like that before.

You looked down the stairwell, and it only seemed as if you climbed 3 floors, which left you baffled. You ran up as fast as you could, and to your relief you saw the '7th floor' on the board, indicating you were on your floor. You sighed in relief, making your way to your apartment, you did your best to ignore the constant flicker of lights, and what seemed like a dark figure standing from the corner of your eyes, the keys fumbled in your hands, it took you a few tries to unlock the door and when you did, you saw the figure move towards you, so you quickly rushed inside and slammed the door shut behind you.

You leaned against the door breathing heavily, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, to try and calm your mind. You cannot tell if this was just your mind playing tricks because you're so worked up, or something odd is actually happening, but you know for the fact that whatever you were seeing was real.

Your apartment suddenly starts smelling putrid, making you scrunch up your nose. The smell was unbearable, as if thousands of dead rats were in your apartment, decaying away. It made you want to throw up, the foul scent leaving you light headed as you went towards your bedroom, to access the attached bathroom.

Luckily for you, the bedroom smelled like it usually would instead of dead rats, so you took a deep breath of the normal air, the nausea beginning to slowly fade away.

“For what have you summoned me, mortal?” a deep voice says, making you freeze in your spot, you turn around and your eyes widen in horror, as you take in the sight in front of you.

The face of a goat with horns, and scales that belonged to a dragon running down its upper body, stopping at it's elbows, black fluid dripping from its body, covering it's most intimate area, and its legs covered in scales as well, your voice was stuck in your throat, not being able to scream as the sheer panic made it unable to.

It looks confused at your horror filled face before looking down to its body and sighing annoyedly, and then its body distorts, the sound of bones cracking, flesh turning and squeezing, you watch the entire thing happen, the way its body is changing shape until it stops, making your breath hitch in your throat.

It took the form of a human man, face now mimicking a normal human, yet it was also disfigured, with a scar running up his cheek to his eyebrow, and an eye patch on his left eye, before he took it off, revealing the sapphire placed in the eye socket. His gaze was piercing, staring daggers at you, as he grew visibly frustrated at your silence.

“Can't you speak?” his voice booms across the room, causing you to snap out of your fear, and finally answer him, “I-it was an accident, I didn't mean to.” you answer and that displeases him, face now carrying the expression of a scowl.

“You followed as the book had instructed, did you not?” he asks and you nod, “Then it is no accident.”

“I did not think it would actually work, it was my mistake, please its an accident-” your voice cracks, still trying to process what was happening, trying to form words that made sense. He pushed you against the wall, his hand wrapped around your throat, long sharp nails digging into the skin of your neck, restricting the passage of air as you struggled in his grip, “On accident you say? Then you must pay the price for wasting my time.” he said darkly, and released you, causing you to fall to the ground, coughing and taking lungfuls of air.

“Should I kill you and then take your soul? Or take your soul directly and watch as the light fades from your eyes, screaming and writhing in agony in my hold.” he ponders genuinely and you gulp in fear, tears welling up in your eyes, knowing that something stupid is now costing you your life. “Please forgive me- I did not mean for any of this to happen.” you beg, voice hoarse.

“Forgive you? You should not have stifled me to begin with, now you must pay the price for your own stupidity, what shall I do hmm? My time is incredibly precious after all.” he looks down at you and you quiver in fear.

He grabs your hair and pulls you to your feet, making you stand, his hot breath fans against your face as you look up at him, and then he scans your face, taking in your features and then his eye widens as if he realised something.

And then he smiles, the grip in your hair becoming even tighter, causing you to wince in pain, “Please- let go of me- I'm sorry.” you grip his hand, trying to make him let go of the hold he has on you, “Aemond- please.” and that's when he releases you.

“Ah, so you do remember me.” he says, amused and you look at him confused, “Huh? What do you mean?” you ask him genuinely and that's when you realised you called him Aemond, it came out so naturally to the point you did not notice it.

But you still had no idea what just occurred.

Who's Aemond?

He grabs your cheeks, “I had waited so many years.”

What is he talking about?

“I won't lose you this time.” he says and before you can respond, he presses his lips against yours, one hand wrapped around your waist as the other holds the back of your head, pressing your face against him.

Your head felt hazy all of a sudden.

Why does all of this feel familiar?

You don't protest when he pushes you on the bed, climbing on top of you, you just stare at him, blinking in confusion as he tears away at your clothing, “Oh how the fashion has changed overtime, I remember last time you were wearing a black gown, mourning the death of your husband.” he whispers in your year and you feel ringing in your ear.

“What an amazing actress you were, mourning him in such a convincing way, only to get fucked by me after the funeral.” his hands trail down your body, “Such good memories, to have you underneath me, moaning my name constantly like a prayer, you were the first woman I ever desired after my death, the one who broke my curse, letting me become a true demon, it was on accident too back then.” he chuckles, he grips your pants, tearing the fabric as if it were paper.

“Until they found out of course, that you conspired with a demon, and planned the murder of your own husband.” his voice turns dark, and the ringing in your ear gets louder, your mind spins. “I remember not being able to do anything as they burned you alive at the sept, sigils placed around you to prevent me from interfering, to watch your flesh on fire as you screamed in agony, screamed my name in pain and it was then I swore that I would destroy that city.” he growled darkly.

“And so I did, possessing my own descendant and burning the city down, not too long after your passing.” he recalls with a satisfied smirk on his face, “Do you still remember my full name?” he looks at you and the ringing suddenly stops, and everything seemed to be spinning around you, his face becomes blurry and your head begins to hurt, eyes beginning to water as you feel that you were set on fire, letting out a loud scream at the sheer amount of pain coursing through your body as memories you didn't recognize flowed through your mind, you writhing below him in pain, letting out loud cries, “Shh..” he caresses your head and suddenly the pain stops, making you breath heavily, making you close your eyes.

“Aemond Targaryen.” you hear your own voice speak and you open your eyes to look at him, he has a smirk on his face, a small smile grazes your face as well, lifting your hand up to caress his cheek, pulling his face towards you to kiss you, lips engulfing his, you breathe in his scent, and he suddenly doesn't smell putrid anymore, but instead of cloves and ash.

“Fucking cunts, all of them, they remained silent all throughout the time i was abused by him, but the moment I get my own revenge, they burnt me alive.” you say after pulling away from the kiss, gritting your teeth.

You felt so confused with yourself.

Both memories of your past life and current life clashing against each other, fighting for dominance, to decide who you were.

“It's over my love, I burnt them all down.” he kisses down your neck, to your breasts, and down to your cunt, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. You smile at him, spreading your legs wide for him to settle freely and latch his lips onto your clit, making you throw your head back when you feel his tongue move skillfully against the bundle of nerves, you grip his hair, shoving his face further into your cunt.

“Fuck- you taste the same as I remember, I missed this cunt so much, seven hells.” he curses, licking away at your cunt, you moan as his sharp teeth grazes your clit. “Watch your teeth-” you whimper, feeling his fingers prod at your entrance, before gently pushing them in. He pulls away from your cunt and watches his own fingers be engulfed by your cunt as he thrusts them in and out, he groans at the sight, wishing it was his cock plunging inside you. “Goodness gracious, you're so fucking divine.” he murmers before latching on your cunt again, tongue swirling against your bud.

You feel the band in your stomach, “Aemond, I'm cumming- I'm- fuck-!” you reach your peaking on his hands, back arched as the orgasm ripples through your body. You breath heavily and watch aemond climb up, his knees on the mattress of your bed as he bends your legs, your knees pressing to your chest.

You watch as he grabs his cock, your eyes widening at the sheer size of it before flitting over to his own, he smirks, “Aemond it won't fit-” you whine but he shushes you, “You took it with no problem before, tis the same.” he lines in up against your entrance, “But still-”

“Remember when we did it the first time, you said it wouldn't fit? Only to have you crying and cumming all over my cock like a common whore.” he says and you sigh, remembering the memory.

He slowly pushes his cock inside you, taking his own time, throwing his head back in pleasure, “Seven hells, you feel so fucking good, the gods be damned.” he grunts, feeling pleasure at the way your cunt is wrapped around him so perfectly. You grip the sheets below you for support, clenching your eyes shut as you try to adjust to him.

He grabs a hold of your legs, throwing them over his shoulder before he grabs your hips and starts thrusting in and out of you, making your body jolt up and down the bed at the force. Your moans of his name soon fill the room, and he moans too, closing his eye in pleasure as he continuously shoves his cock in and out of you.

He opens his eye to look down, only to smirk when he sees the outline of his cock in your lower abdomen whenever he thrusts fully inside, he presses a hand against it and you squirm, the pleasure amplifying, making your toes curl.

He leans down, causing your legs to fall off his shoulder and be pushed up against your chest one more, his long black tongue enters inside your mouth, extending far back into your throat making you gag before he pulls it back, finally letting both your lips meet. Your hands shoot up to his hair pushing him against you, he hums in satisfaction. His scales are back on his body, along with his horns, partly turning into his demonic form, you feel him grow in size, both height and mass, and eventually down there, which rips an orgasm from you, wetness flowing down your hole and dirtying the sheets and you choke on your own spit at the sudden peak.

He pulls out, and you look at him in confusion, knowing he didn't peak yet, but soon the confusion is replaced with anticipation as he flips you around onto your stomach, your body knows what to do immediately and you support yourself on your arms and knees. Aemond doesn't waste another moment before pushing himself inside you, letting out a loud moan when he feels you clench around him.

His pace is brutal and fast, only seeming to care about his own pleasure, he grabs you by your hair and tugs on it, causing you to curve your head backward but not lean back, he's fucking you like an animal in heat, the size difference making it easy to manhandle you as he wishes.

He soon feels his peak arriving after pounding into you like a madman, and he spills himself deep inside you, cumming so much to the point it makes you feel bloated and so full, you whine when you feel his pull out. He watches as his seed leaks out of you, gathering it with his index finger and tasting it, humming at it.

“I wish my seed takes.” he mutters.

He turns you on your back again, and holds your legs wide and spread apart, and spits on your cunt, before leaning down, holding your thighs apart and once again presses his warm mouth against your cunt, only this time he shoves his long tongue down your hole, you can feel him licking around there, eating up his own spend, and that's when he flicks his tongue upwards inside you, grazing your gspot and your thighs shut around his head, trying to prevent him from making you cum again, too overstimulated and tired.

“Aemond- another time, please- I'm so tired.” you whine, your eyes closing, and he listens to you, pulling away, withdrawing his tongue from inside of you. He climbs next to you in bed, shifting into his full human form again and pulling you close.

“I won't let anyone take you away from me now.” he murmurs in your ear and you nod, turning and snuggling close to him.

There were so many questions left unanswered.

Each and everything was an odd occurrence.

From the encounter of the package to you summoning a demon, who turned out to be the one you loved & fucked in your past life, even conspiring with him to kill your abusive husband, and to fucking him again, and now laying safely wrapped in his arms.

Who was the one that sent you the package then?

Just then you remember an odd event.

You remembered the text and pictures of the book with a bunch of spells and summoning rituals, you hadn't noticed it then but it was the same handwriting as yours.

It was your diary.

And you remember losing it the day right before you were burnt to death.

And you remember writing the words you had heard in your dream, confused back then as what "3AM" meant.

You did not want to dwell on this anymore.

Because you realised that it would drive into madness.

And so, you drifted off into slumber in the arms of your beloved.

[sheeezu]

It's my first time seeing DPS shifter!! That movie is such a comfort for me (I know haha). I even got matching tattoos with my sibling based off of it with "Make your lives extraordinary". I would love to hear you talk more about it if you're comfortable with that. Do you maybe have any stories from that DR? Do you have an S/O there or made it different from the source material?

Hi :) I actually got a similar ask, asking about my dps society, it got lost in the drafts.

(I hope that person sees this)

(What fun boys they are)

My dead poets society dr

It was mostly based on the source material but a special someone does not die. Also I couldn't fit a girl in an all boys school, nor did I wanted to, so I went in as male.

It also took place in 1989, I wasn't going back that far.

I love Neil Perry, I wasn't going to leave him alone so we ended up as roommates, and adjusted Todd with Knox.

My S/O was my unassuming Neil Perry (ofc)

I actually have a lot to talk about, but I'm just going to break down how each character was like, kind of like a storytime which could fit in one post (if you're unsatisfied, you can always ring my inbox again, even disguise yourself by changing your tone of writing a bit)

Neil Perry

I'd like to say, this guy has no object permeance. If he get's excited then he becomes a literal hazard. One time, he pulled me so harshly by my wrist, to the point of dislocating my shoulder. disclaimer, he will vent out to you all night long if he's upset, not realizing it's 3am and you both have classes tomorrow, and you can barely keep your eyes open. Otherwise he's really sweet, and nice class participation as well. (idk why i mentioned that)

Todd Anderson

Todd, even though he claims "he can take care of himself", he can't. He's always lost, and childishly likes to ignore social cues. He's actually very gullible, at least with me. Other than that, for no reason at all, i'd sneak into his room to read his personal diary; like it was simply an interesting novel and not an invasion of someone's privacy, he wrote about every single social interaction he had that day.

Charlie Dalton

CHARLIE, CHARLIE, CHARLIE. other than his usual obnoxiousness (as seen in the media) he will get serious when required, personally for me, he had been the person I could tell ANYTHING to. He's responsible for writing inappropriate words in the bathroom stalls (this is the dr where i removed urinals, because excuse you, i am not man-ing like this; instead there were stalls) Sleeps with his mouth open, hits on every breathing things, but doesn't have interest in anyone.

Mr. Keating

I ASPIRE to be this man. Honestly throughout the lectures, when they took a weird turn, i was very much the "I'd like to be excluded from this narrative" type of guy.

He would never get mad if any of the student were to visit him, no matter the time, whether it was late at night, he never got mad at all!

I ended up having an entire convo on the multiverse with him, and he agreed and patted me on the back, saying "you're onto something, pal."

...

This was getting long, but tbh I enjoyed writing this (this had been in my drafts for weeks) im pretty sure their are only a handful of dps shifters, a handful of people shifting for THE BEST MEDIA EVER.

i get that your ask, requested a storytime, and this isn't that, i'm sure i'll make one, that'll actually be in the form of a story.

(also of course, some people are left out, will come to them later ..?)

...

[wooskirbyplushie]

Not So Sober Nights ~ Kang Yeosang

✰ yeosang x reader where yeosang is tired of running to your aid when you get a little too drunk

✰ word count: 660

✰ mdni/18+

✰ warnings: cussing, female!reader, light angst cuz i can only read so much heartache, mentions of drinking and clubbing, light smut (nothing crazy just like. first or second base maybe)

✰ italics are used for inner thoughts and bold italic is used to emphasize words

✰ a/n: hi hi im back! firstly thank you guys sooo much for the support on my little hongjoong fic, i appreciate it so much 🫶🏼 my friends are now threatening me to finish it, but in the meantime i’ll post other drafts and drabbles i have in my notes. and once again the dividers used are by @cafekitsune 💚

our little secret ~ k.hj

yeosang sighed as he kept you steady on your feet, helping you walk to the elevator of your apartment. you and him both knew that you could handle your liquor, but there was the occasional night that his phone would ring because you overdid it at a club. you always called him, it was always yeosang being dragged out of bed to come to your aid at 3 in the morning. but he would never ignore you, no. no matter how much he hated running to help you, he would still go.

he would never admit how much he wishes he could mute your calls, pretend as if you didn’t need him. turn on his do not disturb and turn off his ringer to finally get a full night of rest.

it wasn’t always like this, at one point yeosang could’ve sworn you were going to get married, that you were in love with each other. but he started realizing the patterns. the manipulation, the way you made him feel needed and dropped him in the same motion. you would build him up with flirting and kisses, little touches as light as feathers that the average person would brush off as nothing, and yeosang would take all of your actions to heart.

he kept his thoughts internal as the elevator dinged and opened on your apartment level. you stumbled against yeo again before he adjusted your arm around his shoulder and guided you towards your apartment.

“sangieee” you sang out once you reached your door. your song was ignored though, yeosang focusing on finding the spare key you gave him so he could get you and himself to sleep. he knew what you wanted — shit he knew what he wanted — but he was tired of being used.

he finally flung the door open, dragging you inside and turning the lock behind him. “god this is draining” was all he kept thinking. you eventually untangled yourself from his grasp, stumbling towards the kitchen, which yeo assumed (really hoped) was for you to get a glass of water.

yeosang sighed and walked towards the couch, deciding to crash at your place for the night. he was entirely too tired to drive back home and it was honestly the least you could do for having him up at 3am to save your ass again. he moved a few pillows over before laying on his back, eyes closing shortly after, but it wasn’t long before his sleep was interrupted. again.

“yeo bearrrr” you let out in that same sing-songy tone as before. he forced his eyes open to see you hovering over him with your usual head tilt and puppy eyes, wearing a sports bra and sweatpants. his sweatpants from the last time he had to take you to his house and you needed a change of clothes. he couldn’t deny how good you looked, but he also had to fight his thoughts…

“go to bed y/n, please. we both need sleep.” yeosang tried to persuade you, but you and him were on different missions, and he found that out the second you straddled his lap faster than he could react.

“fuck, no. no, we need to go to sleep”

“cmon yeo ~” you almost purred, leaning down to leave a trail of open kisses in the crook of his neck. “missed you. need you.”

he was falling for it again, and fast. fuck he knew you were just using him again, but being used sounded so good with you kissing on his neck on top of him like this. his hands met your waist while he adjusted underneath of you, you finally coming up for air and meeting his eyes in the dimly lit room.

yeosang reached up and kissed you. he couldn’t help it, he knew he shouldn’t but you had such a grip on his morals.

fuck. just one more time and i’ll debt it…

[magic-shop-stories]

OMG BESTIE YOU DID IT!!! 😭💜 I’ve been lurking since you first texted about this blog in our late-night DM spirals, and I’m SO PROUD OF YOU!!! 🥺 You’re finally sharing your magic with the world

Okay, okay, requests—let’s christen this blog with some SOFT JOON FLUFF.

Imagine: Reader is a shy artist who accidentally spills coffee on Namjoon’s notebook at a bookstore. Instead of mad, he’s delighted because her doodles inspire his next album. Cute awkward giggles, philosophical chats, and him buying her a new sketchbook “to keep colliding with the universe together.”

And I jusr realised this is so your aesthetic You’ve got this, love. I’ll be first in line to reblog every word. 💜💜 T

💌Reply

HI, MY SOULMATE ARMY 😭💜 Thank you for being my first request—and for believing in me even when I was stress-typing at 3AM. This one’s for you to T💜

REQUEST NAME:

Coffee Stains & Cosmic Drafts

↳ Namjoon x Artist!Reader; Fluff Imagine

Rank: G (Fluffiest of Fluff)

Warnings: None! Just honey-sweet vibes and a sprinkle of existential wonder.

The bookstore smells like old paper and ambition.

You’re tucked into your usual corner, charcoal smudged on your wrist and a half-finished sketch of the willow tree outside bleeding across your notebook. Rain taps the window, Seoul’s grey afternoon softened by golden lamplight and the click-clack of the shop owner’s typewriter. You reach for your coffee...

Clatter...

The cup tips. Liquid arcs in slow motion, splashing across the table… and onto the open notebook of the man sitting across from you.

Oh...

Oh no...

He doesn’t look up at first, too absorbed in scribbling lyrics. You freeze, watching the stain seep into the page like a Rorschach blot. His handwriting—a chaotic mix of Korean and English—swirls around your accidental abstract art.

“I… I’m so sorry,” you stammer, scrambling for napkins.

That’s when he lifts his head.

Kim Namjoon.

You recognize him instantly—the dimples, the brow furrowed in thought, the way his presence seems to bend the room toward curiosity. He blinks, adjusting his round wireframes, and… smiles.

“Wait,” he says, voice low and bright all at once. He tilts the notebook, coffee droplets glittering under the light. “This… this is incredible.”

Your cheeks burn. “It’s a disaster. Let me replace your notebook, I—”

“No, look.” He traces the stain’s edges, where your half-drawn willow branches from your sketchbook seem to reach toward his lyrics. “Your tree… it’s growing into my words. Like the universe is… collaborating.” His eyes crinkle, wonder softening his tone. “Do you always draw in the margins?”

You nod, clutching your charcoal. “It… helps me think.”

Namjoon leans forward, elbows on the table, and suddenly the world shrinks to just this: his mint-green sweater, the faint scent of cedar and coffee, and the way he studies your sketches like they’re maps to a galaxy. “Can I ask… why a willow?”

You hesitate. “They bend. But they don’t break. Even in storms.”

He hums, deep and resonant. “Like people,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. Then he grins, boyish and sudden. “Can I buy you a new coffee? And… maybe borrow your chaos for a while?”

Two hours later, you’re still there. He buys you a sketchbook—thick pages, bound in leather—and writes on the first page: “To my favourite cosmic collaborator. Keep bending the universe. – Joon.”

When you leave, rain still falling, he slips a napkin into your hand. Scribbled on it:

“P.S. Next time, spill the coffee on purpose. I’ll bring better pens.”...

[theweeklydiscourse]

The dynamic and initial characterization of the Archeron family in ACOTAR is…frustrating.

Trying to make sense of the Archeron sister’s backstory in conjunction with their future character development is enough to drive a person to the brink of madness. It’s a straining experience to try to accept the story on Maas’s terms due to how jumbled the continuity becomes as the series progresses. Specifically, the dynamic of the Archeron sisters feels artificial and contrived. It’s a dynamic meant to evoke as much pity as possible from the reader and in doing so, it creates a clash between Maas’s first draft of these characters and their future developments. I find that it makes it difficult for one to immerse themselves in ACOTAR’s world building and characterization because it lacks harmony with the rest of the series. Furthermore, Maas writes a kind of suffering that is indulgent and gratuitous, not seeming to care about how doing so might create problems in her story later on. It makes analyzing the later developments in the story akin to fist fighting the narrative in a Walmart parking lot at 3am.

Example #1 : The Dissonance of Nesta and Elain

The initial characterizations of Nesta and Elain is shallow and although they develop farther along in the series, they can never quite escape the impression of their introductions. In the early chapters, Nesta is a haughty ingrate who staunchly refuses to help Feyre with running the household while Elain is clueless and unhelpful. They behave terribly towards Feyre, but in a manner that feels like something out of a stand-alone story for young children and not the first book of a trilogy.

“Nesta picked at her long, neat nails. “I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters.” She glanced up from beneath her dark lashes. (…) “Besides, Feyre,” she said with a pout, “you’re so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it—they’re already so rough.””

“Her brown eyes--my father's eyes remained pinned on the doe. "Will it take you long to clean it?" Me. Not her, not the others. I'd never once seen their hands sticky with blood and fur.”

They are the embodiments of the “evil stepsister” archetype but are written with no nuance or thought for how their future development might look. They are tools that exist solely to make Feyre’s life as hellish as possible and this is especially apparent with Nesta. Nesta’s initial one-note meanness confounds me, especially when her character is expanded upon later in the trilogy. But here, she acts cartoonishly cruel and spoiled like the sisters in Cinderella and her initial moments do not do enough to suggest her complexity that is eventually used in ACOSF. This dissonance in Nesta reflects the flaws of Maas’s characterization and follow-through. The story indulges in Feyre’s suffering and asks the reader to feel terrible for the plight of this poor and unfortunate soul… but it all feels so gratuitous.

I was never fully convinced by The Archeron family dynamic, how could I be when the characters are not characters but instead are torture devices for the main character? They are elements that converge to make Feyre’s life as miserable and pitiful as humanly possible, but does so in a way that feels utterly shallow and cliche. I can’t become invested in the way Feyre is mistreated because it reads as pain for the sake of pain, it’s shallow and uncompelling.

Example #2 : Feyre’s Non-Existent Relationship to her Unnamed Mother

“My mother. Imperious and cold with her children, joyous and dazzling among the peerage who frequented our former estate, doting on my father the one person whom she truly loved and respected.”

Another example of this relates to Feyre’s relationship to her deceased mother. Feyre is intent on honouring her vow to her mother and yet, it seems like she harbours no positive emotions towards her. Descriptions of her relationship with her Mother are scant and reveal very little about any potential closeness between them. From this passage, a read could surmise that Feyre’s Mother cared more for wealth and status than her children and had little affection for them as a result. It wasn’t as if Feyre and her mother were uniquely close or had a strong bond or something that might justify honouring that promise (especially when she comments on the unfairness of placing that burden on a child very early on in ACOTAR).

“There were times when I hated her for asking that vow of me. Perhaps, delirious with fever, she hadn't even known what she was demanding.”

So what is the narrative purpose of Feyre’s loyalty to a parent she was never that close with and breaking her back to fulfill a promise made in delirium? Her mother is a complete afterthought and yet Feyre for some reason puts herself through the wringer so that she honours that promise? Why? It isn’t compelling for the heroine to sacrifice that much of herself for a family that has no real emotional stakes in the relationship dynamic. THIS does not make a good story, it is so fixated on creating a tragic background for its heroine that it strips the supporting characters of all intrigue and ironically makes the mistreatment Feyre faces feel flimsy and almost comically exaggerated. HER MOTHER AND FATHER DONT EVEN HAVE NAMES!

Example #3 : Feyre’s Father

Feyre says that their family had been impoverished for 8 years, but I fail to grasp how a family of four could subsist on the income from an amateur huntress and her sales of animal pelts. Am I to believe that all of them spent those past 8 years twiddling their thumbs while Feyre did everything on her own? While I’m aware that this is a fantasy series, it seems unrealistic that Nesta nor Elain ever gave Feyre any substantial assistance when it came to running a household. The idea that their prissiness and spoiled attitude prevented them from lifting a finger makes no sense because a mindset like that would never allow them to survive in such an environment. None of them have jobs or bring in any income to support the family and somehow I’m meant to believe that Feyre’s earnings were enough to support all of them. Meanwhile, her father is too ashamed to even attempt to aid his daughters.

Feyre’s father is presented as feckless and an object of resentment for Feyre and Nesta. Although he is given slightly more depth than Nesta and Elain initially, he is never truly expanded upon as a character and is confined to a pathetic characterization.

“What I really wanted to say was: You don't even bother to attempt to leave the house most days.Were it not for me, we would starve. Were it not for me, we'd be dead.”

Oh look! Her father is useless too! Her only living parent who “hadn’t argued when I announced that I was going hunting.”. Although papa Archeron is kind to Feyre, this doesn’t culminate in a meaningful character arc later in the book and his inaction as a father is left to fester. Feyre’s relationship with him is similarly shallow with her relationship to her mother and does not offer the reader anything to latch onto when Feyre leave her family towards the end of the book. I just feel that the story would become so much more emotionally compelling if there were any reasons for Feyre to truly have a connection with her family and if it were not a barrage of misery.

So basically…

I just can’t become invested in Feyre’s plight when it is so indulgent in her suffering (at the expense of some potentially compelling characters). It feels manufactured, it doesn’t feel real (in the sense that it is extremely contrived) and I hate how Maas makes the family dynamic more emotionally nuanced later on in the series, but is constantly at odds with the initial impressions of these characters. The potential is there, but Maas seemed to care more about making the backstory as sad and tragic as possible rather than considering any potentially complex emotional realities the characters would have to grapple with later on.

[yourpenpaldee]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ A BRIEF WIPS OVERVIEW.

Hello! I am not good with deadlines, especially when I set them myself. This post was supposed to be up three days ago, but it’s finally here! I’m very excited to share these projects as they were all created from different periods of my life, going back four years at the most.

These will be very short intros, but each WIP mentioned here will have a proper, detailed post when it’s time. The projects also aren’t listed in sequential order of when I’ll post about them with the exception of the first WIP.

A heads-up, most of these are romance since I used to write only romance. It was only about two years ago since I decided to finally branch out, and those stories will be coming soon! For now, I still have to figure out how to write characters that have a way higher IQ than I do…

On we go to the WIPs!

WHEN ART TALKS

— currently undergoing the first draft. — first person — a college romance where a reserved poet who is afraid of public perception connects with an outspoken musician due to their preference on using words as their art medium. — contains late night walk convos, cigarette smoking, passionate rambles, and microwaved meals. — “‘Why do we care about them when it’s our story to tell? We live our truth, we speak our truth, and we have to trust that it’s good enough because it’s all we got. The message will be received by those who are meant to hear it.’”

BLIND SECOND CHANCES

— currently undergoing the first draft. — dual first person — an adult romance in which ex-friends turned (unofficial) ex-lovers from high school decide to explore the old feelings that resurface when crossing paths eight years later. — lots of reminiscing, betrayal, weekly wine nights, and fancy dates. — “‘You’re holding onto a love from a situation where we didn’t even know our place in the world yet. We spent nearly eight years growing into the people we are now, so you need to be prepared for our dynamic to look and feel different because we aren’t the same kids we once were.’”

TO NEW BEGINNINGS

— brainstorming complete, drafting to begin soon. — third person, still deciding on the type — an adult romance story of a woman who decides it’s time to start over on a blank canvas, and meets a booked and busy workaholic along the way. — roller skating, painting, solo adventures, and plant shopping. — “‘It’s scary to deviate from your current life and start anew when your life no longer serves you or your purpose. But I’m not equipped for misery, so I’ll be damned trying to save a life that lost the chance of saving forever ago.’”

UNTITLED ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — pov to be determined, leaning towards third person limited. — an apocalyptic fiction where a teenage girl fights everyday to survive in an ongoing zombie apocalypse with hopes of finding her younger sister. — found family, zombie slaying, survival vs. morality, and, uh… death. — “She looked at every colorless home she walked by and wondered what stories could be told. What every stored memory that slipped through the cracks consisted of and the emotions they’d provoke. If the lives that once occupied these spaces were unfortunately fortunate enough to make it out like she did. If they constantly watched the memories flash before their eyes as they realized those would be the last batch of joyful, painless memories; how remembering became torturous and insufferable, but is all they have to remind them of their own humanity.”

UNTITLED TWISTED BONNIE & CLYDE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — first person peripheral or third person limited — a dark and twisted romance where two toxic lovers are at the beginning of an inevitable end and play fire with fire the entire way through. — manipulation, heists, lies, and expensive jewelry. — “The venom drips off of every word she says. She watches every last drop seep into my skin and become one with the blood that runs through my veins. How it attempts to shut down my body in hopes that I’ll beg for mercy in my final moments of weakness. That I’ll surrender my life into her hands as those soulless and apathetic eyes beam with some sick and twisted excitement. But I am sick and twisted too. We are two bodies wrapped in the same snake skin, and a snake cannot get poisoned by its own venom.”

PAST LIFE LOVER

— redoing the brainstorm process — first person or objective third person (quote will be in third person) — a soulmate, young adult romance in which a girl who no longer believes in love suddenly gets pulled in by the new barista at her favorite hangout spot. — love at first sight, breakfast deliveries, denial, and baking. lots of baking. — “Then there it was. The locking of the eyes where the inability to look away grows more and more intense with each passing second. They didn’t even know each other, but something in their eyes told them that there was a home waiting for them within each other’s souls.”

ANGEL AND KEN*

— currently on the backburner, brainstorming resumes once past life lover is complete. — prequel to past life lover. — *very much a temporary title — first person or objective third person — a 50’s historical romance where a pessimistic single mother is convinced to see the greener side of the grass by a jazz musician who looks at life through a rose-colored lens. — jazz clubs, slow dancing, tea parties, and red corvettes — “‘Why shut yourself out from the world when there are people like me that have waited for you to waltz right into their life? I know, the modern day world is frightening and filled with so much hatred that it’s hard to find happiness through it all. But people find a purpose to wake up every morning because of that one person that casts the brightest light. You’re my sun in a world full of darkness, and I hope to be the moon that reflects your light when you’re no longer visible in the sky.’”

I know I keep saying it, but I truly can’t wait to properly share these projects. I just hope everyone will enjoy reading it all and find comfort within these characters :)

I will post the the detailed summary for When Art Talks either on Monday or Tuesday (please yell at me if i don’t follow through omg), and the character intros should follow closely behind!

divider creds to strangergraphics ♡

[amiascv]

"you'll be safe here" — DAMIANYA !

Damian Desmond would go through hell and back for Anya Forger.

ANYA FORGER 's first love was wreckless. Too foolish, too sharp, too rigid. The recipient of her love was a typical player who failed to achieve the decency of learning what true love is at a young age.

Take a look at his social's and you'll feel right at home, but take him home and you'll feel like a stranger in her own place.

"Who the fuck is this?" He furiously throws her phone at her.

"Watch your language," She catches her phone, "And just who are you talking about?" Continued the young girl, keeping her cool at his foul tongue.

"Don't you 'who are you talking about' me," He scoffs, "Who the fuck is Damian Desmond?!" He points out to the contact she had just chatted a while ago.

"Seriously? You don't know Damian? He's my friend! But I guess you wouldn't know since you're too busy paying attention to other shit!"

'He's always like that,' She thinks, 'Maybe it's time I listen to Becky and Damian..'

"Like what, Forger?"

"Like trying to cheat on me with my bestfriend, you jerk," she coldly accuses her boyfriend. However, Becky has been trying to say this to her for a while, she just refuses to listen and tries to continue her perfect fairytale fantasy with this man.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Do you take me for a fool? I see your texts. I see how you go to her whenever I'm not around. God-! I'm such an idiot! I should've done this ages ago.."

"Babe, what are you talking about? Baby, no, please don't-"

"We're done, get out."

"Baby-"

"Out!" She finally tears up. Her boyfriend refuses and instead pushes himself onto her, clinging like his life depended on it. Because of this, she pushes him away. Hard. Landing him on the floor and possibly spraining his wrist. However, this sprain doesn't stop him from getting up and attempting to slap Anya.

She closes her eyes for the impact, but instead, she never ends up feeling it.

"You bastard!" She hears her saviour that just stopped her ass of a boyfriend.

Damian.

"Da- Sy-on!" Anya calls out, trying to prevent any fight from happening. But before she could leap into action, Becky Blackbelle appears on the scene.

"Anya, don't even. Let's go," She says as she drags her bestfriend towards her car.

A few minutes since the incident and Forger could be spotted at Blackbelle's house with her two friends drinking hot cocoa and trying to calm her nerves.

"More?" Damian asked.

"..No, thanks. But what I would like is to know how you two ended up there?" She instead asked back.

"You ended up calling Damian," Becky answered as she sat down and joined the two, "I don't know how, but when he picked up, we were working on our group thesis and overheard everything."

"Ah, I see."

"... Anya, get some rest. I will to. Goodnight. You two know where to find the guests rooms, yeah?" The dark-haired girl bid them farewell.

"Goodnight, Becky," The other two replied in unison.

...

...

...

"So, are you gonna talk or?" The pink-haired female asked her companion, trying to lighten up the mood. To her confusion, he ends up standing up instead and she interprets it as him leaving her, "Oh, okay..!"

But instead of leaving, he walks up to her and hugs her.

"W-what's all this?"

"Please, don't let anyone talk to you like that ever again," he starts, still hugging her, "Don't let anyone step on you like that, don't let anyone curse you like that, and don't settle for someone like that."

"I won't."

"Today was really scary, Fo- Anya."

"But you.. faced him with no fear."

"It was scary because I thought he had already laid a finger on you..

I'd do anything to protect you, Anya."

THIS DRABBLE SUCKS !!! but its been in my drafts since forever hehehe :3 dont mind the errors guys .... i think it was 3am when i wrote this..