#do I really want to subject myself to this?

[poisonf0rest]

genuine question because youre one of my favorite writers, you seem to really have a thorough grasp of the characters: what do you see in rafayel that makes him appealing? i try to get past his entitled brattiness because i really want to enjoy all of the guys, but i cant see anything else. please help me understand 🥲

Oh boy, baby, darling, sweetheart, you opened a can of worms. Come do a little bit of character analysis with me~

About Rafayel:

Rafayel is a brat, yes. But that means he wears his heart on his sleeve, outright when he needs your attention or sulking when something is bothering him or faking a dramatic accident to get your attention. There's no silent guessing or fake "I'm fine's," just his overdramatic, raw emotion that's easy to read. He's has anxious attachment stemming from hundreds of years of betrayal and loss.

Rafayel is a romantic, a yearner. And yes, while I also agree his attitude was annoying at first I am very unfortunately into people who get on my nerves, especially when they are flirty and funny as well. I folded during his hospital scene.

Entitled? He is a god. He has been trying and failing to save his entire civilization for over 800 years and still simply can't because he refuses to hurt the one he loves. While all the boys have been through pain there's something about Rafayel's story that really gets me. I think it’s because if I— as mc— knew the sacrifice he was making, I would give myself up. So to have someone selfish enough to place me first is heartbreaking, devoted, and cruel. 

Also there are plenty of scenes where Rafayel is serious, especially if you read between the lines. The brattiness and sass is a playful cover to someone who's been through pain and understands it. Someone who chooses to still see joy and happiness in his life while fully understanding how cruel the world is.

Simply, I'm a sucker for doomed character archetypes. There is no version of Rafayel's and mc's story where they both end happy. Millions of people will die or if mc kills herself Rafayel will live forever as a husk of his former self. Using a sassy, filirty, bratty attitude to cover up such a genuinely depressing story is so juicy to me.

About Me:

I'm a Zayne irl. Work is honestly the most important thing to me outside my family, I'm devoted to my hobbies and leadership positions, and I have a close circle of friends I would do anything for. I'm also fucking hilarious subjective.

I'm the eldest sibling, the guard dog, the de-facto leader for almost everything. I'm the person who had to grow up fast, to parent my immigrant parents at times, who never made space for love, and who is by default independant and comfortable with it.

I prefer to listen-- I love my yapper friends. Don't get me wrong I can talk for hours about anything, but day to day I tend to get exhausted talking after a while so I surround myself with people who can do the easy talking for me.

My irl partner is a mix between Rafayel and Sylus I'd say. He's the one who pulls me out of my work spirals by nagging me until I give in, someone I'm comfortable yapping about my current hyperfixations too, someone who my inner child can come out to. But I also enjoy being a caregiver, that's always been my role and I relish in it, I like being relied upon as much as I appreciate having someone in my life that lets me take a step back. The only part that's Sylus is how his love language is bullying me and his vibe/looks lmao, but usually I am more into raf-stereotypical pretty boys.

So, overall, the appeal of Rafayel to those that choose him:

Rafayel is for the eldest daughters who needs their inner child to be free, who needs a little bit of ridiculousness and impulsiveness in their lives.

Rafayel is for those who never got praised for their effort or strength, for those who success was the only option, who had to be perfect, reliable and serious all the time. He makes it so clear how much simply being with you means to him, constantly complimenting, flirting, and reassuring you just how much he needs you. Showing you how obsessed with you he is.

Rafayel is for those who didn't think love had a place in their lives due to shit family or life circumstances. He proves time and time again that you're the only one he loves. Even though he's lived forever, you were worth the wait and that he would wait again for you, no matter how long it takes. He proves you can be loved, and that it comes easy.

Rafayel is for those who always placed others first. He's more than willing to show you again and again you will always be first in his mind. He needs you more than he does water. Sure, you can take care of him, but he wants to be with you and take care of you, too.

Rafayel is for those who need someone else to drag them out of work/school/spiralling even when they don't want to admit it, bringing in laughter, color, and a little bit of dramatics.

Rafayel is for creators who dedicate themselves to their craft, who are scared of losing this "spark," who want to get better but constantly feel that what they create isn't enough or must be more. 

Rafayel is for hopeless romantics, those that go out of their way to surprise their friends during their birthdays, those who plan platonic dates for those they care about, those who put out so much love into the world and suddenly break when they get that love back.

Rafayel is for those used to having little siblings or those to take care of in our lives. Only while Rafayel relishes in the attention, he's also ready to give it back five-fold.

Rafayel is a switch for switch (brat for brat) lmao. He's for those who like to start on top, teasing and pushing his buttons to get all those cute reactions out of him, just until he breaks. Then he can take control and finish us up. We love vocal men.

Maybe projecting, but Rafayel is the perfect bi-girl's boyfriend. He's a classic pretty boy, unafraid to be in touch with his feminine side, a little dramatic, a little artsy. But he's also super romantic, sensitive, loving, and intense. And gosh, who could say no to those big puppy eyes?

I could probably continue to talk about Rafayel for hours, but ya, hopefully this helps answer why I and others love this man. Just continue on with the main story and read between the lines with his dialogue and I'm sure you'll pick up on it too~

[expelliarmus444]

If texting were a thing in the 1890s pt 16

Sebastian: so i was practicing the unforgivables right Ominis: fuck right off Ominis: right off Ominis: literally fuck off Ominis: how many times do we need to have this conversation Sebastian: no no hear me out! Sebastian: i'm trying to see if there is a way to counteract them defensively, immediately upon cast Sebastian: to protect people Ominis: ....okay Ominis: what does that have to do with me Sebastian: i need someone to cast crucio on and i refuse to do it on MC ever again Sebastian: but you might work... Ominis: oh FUCK OFF Ominis: im not subjecting myself to that Sebastian: PLEASE Sebastian: i could really discover something here Sebastian: its not like i can use Anne Ominis: the fact that you even CONSIDERED using Anne is SICK Sebastian: i didn't until just now Ominis: i'm not doing it Sebastian: what if i give you something in return... Ominis: like what? Ominis: a cure to the permanent headache you've given me????? Ominis: don't think that's possible Sebastian: no no Sebastian: you've always wanted to ride a thestral right? Ominis: i'm listening Sebastian: yeah well...i know a guy Sebastian: a girl actually Ominis: Poppy? Sebastian: no Sebastian: meet me in the undercroft and we'll sort it out Ominis: ugh fine Ominis: i'll do it Ominis: at this point just use avada kedavra on me, take me out i'm sick of this shit Sebastian: WTF????

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

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

Chapter Thirty

The café was a whirlwind of movement, noise, and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The morning rush had hit full force, and the line of customers stretched nearly to the door. The hum of conversation mixed with the steady whir of the espresso machine, the sharp clatter of cups against saucers, and the occasional hiss of steamed milk. It was the kind of organized chaos that made my stomach twist with nerves.

I stood behind the till, my fingers hovering just above the touchscreen as I mentally prepared myself. Despite working here for a few weeks now, the pressure of handling orders quickly—and correctly—still made my pulse race. The fear of making a mistake in front of a growing line of impatient customers was real, and as more people poured in, that familiar sense of dread curled in my stomach.

Before I could let it get to me, a pair of warm hands landed on my shoulders, kneading them gently.

"Come on, you got this, girl," Serena's voice came from behind me, light and teasing but undeniably supportive.

I let out a breath, rolling my shoulders as she gave them one last squeeze. "I really hope so. Otherwise, I might just throw this register at someone."

Leah, who was stocking pastries nearby, snorted. "Please do. If someone complains about the oat milk one more time, I’ll pay you to do it."

Cyrus grinned, adjusting his apron as he leaned against the counter. "I'll film it. We’ll go viral. ‘New café employee snaps—customers beware!’”

I chuckled, shaking my head. These three had been my saving grace since I started working here. What had started as awkward introductions and polite small talk had quickly turned into inside jokes, shared complaints about customers, and lunch breaks that felt more like therapy sessions. I was lucky to have them.

But right now, I had a job to do.

Taking a deep breath, I turned my attention to the first customer in line—a middle-aged man in a sharp navy suit, glancing impatiently at his watch.

"One flat white, extra shot, and a chocolate croissant to go," he said briskly, not even looking up from his phone.

I quickly tapped the order into the till. "That’ll be £5, please."

He barely acknowledged me as he tapped his card against the machine, the beep signaling a successful payment.

"Thank you! Your order will be ready shortly," I said with my best customer-service smile, though I doubted he even heard me.

The next customer—a woman in a bright yellow sundress—offered a much friendlier smile. "Hi! Can I get an iced caramel latte with oat milk and a blueberry muffin?"

I nodded, my fingers moving across the screen. "That’ll be £4.80."

She dug into her purse and pulled out a five-pound note, sliding it across the counter. "Keep the change!"

I smiled, grateful for her kindness. "Thanks! Your order will be ready in a few minutes."

As the line moved, my nerves gradually settled, and I found myself slipping into a rhythm. Order, payment, smile, repeat. By the time I glanced up at the clock, it was almost noon—finally time for our break.

Leah clapped her hands together. "Alright, team! One-hour break before we lose our sanity."

Cyrus groaned dramatically, tossing his apron onto the counter. "Too late. I lost mine halfway through that guy who ordered seven modifications to his drink."

Serena laughed, pulling her curls into a high ponytail. "You mean the one who wanted ‘just a hint of vanilla but not too much’? Yeah, he nearly broke me."

We flipped the "Closed for Lunch" sign, quickly shutting everything down before collapsing into our usual booth near the back of the café. I sighed, letting my body sink into the seat, savoring the rare quiet.

Leah stretched her arms over her head. "Alright, since we actually have time to talk like normal human beings—remind me what you guys are studying again?"

Cyrus leaned back in his chair. "Computer science, unfortunately. I swear, my brain is just numbers and error messages at this point."

Leah smirked. "Yeah, yeah. You say that now, but wait until you're making six figures and too busy coding in your fancy office to even remember us."

Cyrus placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. "Excuse me. I would never forget you guys—especially if you all bring me free coffee in my fancy office."

Serena rolled her eyes. "Typical." She turned to me, resting her chin on her hand. "What about you, AJ? You never told us what you studied."

I hesitated for a moment before taking a sip of water. "Car design."

Cyrus nearly choked. "Damn, girl! So whatchu doin’ in a place like this?"

Leah immediately smacked his arm. "Cyrus! You cannot just say that."

I let out a small laugh, though my fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of my glass. "No, it's okay. It didn’t work out, so... here I am. Trying to take another shot at life, I guess."

Serena reached across the table, giving my hand a squeeze. "Good on you, girl. As you should."

Leah and Cyrus nodded in agreement before, in perfect unison, all three of them threw their hands in the air and shouted, "Period!"

I burst into laughter, shaking my head. "You guys are the absolute worst."

Cyrus grinned. "But you love us."

Before I could respond, the café door swung open with a soft chime, but it may as well have been a thunderclap with how suddenly the energy at the table shifted.

The air seemed to thicken as Adam stepped inside, his presence somehow eclipsing everything else. His dark eyes flickered toward me just for a second, barely even a glance—but it was enough to make my breath hitch. There was something about the way he looked at me, sharp and assessing, as if he was searching for something yet unwilling to let me find anything in return. It wasn’t just indifference it was deliberate, like he was making a point to keep his distance.

And then, just as quickly as his gaze had landed on me, it was gone. He strode past our table, heading toward the back with effortless confidence, his movements controlled, precise. Today, he was dressed in a fitted black t-shirt that clung to the sharp lines of his frame, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the tattoos running along his forearm. Dark jeans, slightly worn at the knees, completed the look, along with a silver ring on his middle finger that caught the light as he ran a hand through his tousled dark hair.

I didn’t realize I was still staring until Serena nudged me with her elbow, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

"You sure he doesn’t like you?" she teased, eyebrows waggling.

I scoffed, finally tearing my gaze away from the door Adam had disappeared through. "Trust me. I don’t think dislike even covers it."

Cyrus waved a dismissive hand. "Nah, don’t take it personally. Adam’s just weird like that. He barely talks to anyone unless he has to."

Leah leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Yeah, it’s part of his whole bad-boy persona. Gotta keep up the mystery, you know?"

Serena nodded, grinning. "Right? The whole I’m too cool to care act. Classic."

I exhaled, shaking my head. "Well, if it’s an act, he’s seriously committed to it."

Leah rolled her eyes. "Trust me, he’s like that with everyone. You’re not special."

I forced a small laugh, trying to play it off, but something about that didn’t sit right with me. The way he looked at me—it wasn’t just indifference. It wasn’t casual, either. It was something. And maybe it was just my overactive mind reading into things, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that his coldness toward me wasn’t the same as it was with everyone else.

I forced myself to shake off the lingering thoughts of Adam and turned my attention back to my friends. Serena was still smirking at me like she knew something I didn’t, and Cyrus was watching me with a raised brow, like he was waiting for me to admit something.

"What?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Cyrus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Nothing, nothing. Just wondering how long it’s gonna take before you admit you’re at least a little curious about him."

I let out a dry laugh, picking at the edge of my napkin. "I’m not curious. I just—" I hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Notice things."

Leah scoffed. "Oh, you notice things? Sounds a lot like curiosity to me."

Serena grinned, resting her chin in her hand. "Mmmhmm. And what exactly have you noticed, AJ?"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that he stares at me like I personally offended him in another life? Or that he won’t even acknowledge me unless he absolutely has to?"

Cyrus let out a low whistle. "Damn. Enemies to lovers arc in progress."

Leah burst into laughter while I groaned, dropping my head onto the table. "Please. No one is in the ‘lovers’ category here. Let’s not get carried away."

Serena hummed thoughtfully. "I mean, you have to admit, it is kinda weird how he looks at you."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

She tilted her head. "It’s not just avoidance. If he didn’t care at all, he’d just ignore you like he does with most people. But he looks at you, AJ. And not just a glance—like, really looks at you."

Cyrus nodded in agreement. "She’s right. You can feel it when he walks in. It’s like the air shifts. And you’re the only one he does that with."

I pursed my lips, replaying the moment in my head. The way his gaze had lingered for that extra second before he walked away. The sharpness in his stare, like he was sizing me up—or maybe warning me away.

But why?

I shook my head, trying to push the thought aside. "Look, I don’t know what his deal is, and honestly? I don’t care. He doesn’t like me, fine. I’ll just stay out of his way."

Leah arched a brow. "You sure about that?"

"Absolutely."

Serena smirked. "Alright, alright. We’ll drop it. For now."

I sighed in relief, leaning back in my chair. "Thank you."

But something told me they weren’t going to let this go anytime soon.

And if I was being completely honest with myself neither was I.

Leah leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table with a sly grin. “Anyways, now that we’ve established the undeniable tension between you and our dear Adam—”

I groaned loudly, throwing my head back. “Leah, please—”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Fine, fine! I’ll let you live... for now. But I do need to know something.” She tilted her head at me, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Has a beautiful girl like yourself ever been in a relationship?”

Serena gasped dramatically, slapping the table. “Ooooh, yes, excellent question. Spill, AJ!”

Cyrus smirked, rubbing his hands together like he was ready for some juicy gossip. “Yeah, come on, don’t be shy. We need all the details.”

I sighed, feeling heat creep up my neck. “I hate you guys.”

Leah winked. “Love you too, babe. Now answer the question.”

I huffed, playing with the edge of my napkin as my mind circled back to my college years causing me to debate how much to say. “Alright, fine. I’ve been in one real relationship.”

Serena gasped, eyes wide. “One? That’s it?”

I gave her a look. “Yeah, and trust me, one was enough.”

Cyrus leaned in, eyes gleaming with interest. “What happened? Did he cheat? Were you secretly a spy and had to break up for his safety? Please tell me it was something dramatic.”

I laughed. “Nothing that exciting. It just… didn’t work out.”

Leah raised a brow. “That’s a very vague way of saying something happened.”

I sighed, tapping my fingers against the table.  "It was in college and we were together for a couple of months. I really believed we were going somewhere.” I paused, swallowing the slight lump in my throat. “But then, we fought a lot and things got hard, so we thought it was best if we just parted ways.”

Serena’s face softened. “Damn. That’s rough.”

I shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s whatever. It was a long time ago.”

Cyrus frowned. “Still, that sucks. You gave him months of your life, and he just dipped? That’s messed up.”

I forced a small smile, but his words hit deeper than I expected. You gave him months of your life, and he just dipped? My fingers tightened around the edge of my napkin as something heavy settled in my chest and my mind wondered back to my time with Jungkook, completely forgetting about my college relationship.

We had never officially been together. There were no titles, no grand declarations of love. But the way he kissed me, the way his hands found me in the dark, the way he whispered my name like it was something precious—it all felt like more than just nothing. He acted like I was his. And for a long time, I let myself believe it.

The way he always found a way to pull me close, his breath warm against my skin as he murmured things I knew he never meant. The late nights where we blurred the lines between friendship and something else, something more, until it was impossible to tell where we began and ended. And then, just like that, he was gone.

I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away before it could drag me under.

Leah reached over, squeezing my hand gently. “Well, it’s his loss. You’re a catch, AJ.”

I smiled, squeezing her hand back. “Thanks, Leah.”

Serena smirked. “And now you’re single and thriving.”

Cyrus wiggled his brows. “And possibly on the verge of an enemies-to-lovers romance with a certain broody boss.”

I groaned, covering my face. “I knew you were gonna bring that back up!”

Leah laughed. “We never let things go, babe.”

Serena nodded. “Especially when they involve a hot, mysterious man with tattoos.”

I peeked at her through my fingers. “You think he’s hot?”

She scoffed. “AJ, please. He’s objectively attractive. Doesn’t mean he’s nice, though.”

Cyrus chuckled. “Yeah, he’s got that whole I hate everything aesthetic down. Respect.”

I shook my head, sighing. “You guys….”

Cyrus glanced down at his phone and immediately cursed under his breath. “Shit! I was supposed to sort out a few boxes in the back five minutes ago.” He pushed back his chair so fast that it screeched against the floor, nearly toppling over in his rush to stand.

I chuckled at his panic. “I’ll do it.”

His head snapped toward me, eyes widening. “Wait, really?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, no problem. Anything to get away from you guys and your weird obsession with my love life.”

Leah, Serena, and Cyrus all erupted into laughter.

“We still have half an hour of break left,” Leah teased, wagging her eyebrows. “So don’t think you’re off the hook.”

Serena grinned. “Yeah, we’ll be waiting right here, ready to interrogate you again.”

I rolled my eyes, smirking. “Right. Well, have fun with that. I’ll be back.”

I stepped into the storage room, immediately feeling the temperature drop slightly from the café’s warmth. The space smelled of coffee beans, cardboard, and a faint trace of cleaning supplies. Rows of metal shelves stretched across the room, stacked with inventory, and I spotted the boxes Cyrus had been talking about tucked away in the far corner.

I walked over and got to work, grabbing each box one by one and placing them on the shelves. It took longer than I expected—the weight of them had my arms burning after a few minutes but I kept going, determined to finish.

After about ten minutes, I reached the last box. It was heavier than the others, and the shelf it needed to go on was just out of reach. Still, I wasn’t about to back down. I stood on my tiptoes, stretching as much as I could, gripping the sides as I slowly pushed it backward. My muscles strained with the effort, but after a few seconds, I thought I had it secured.

I exhaled in relief, smiling to myself.

Until I heard a soft shift.

My stomach dropped.

Then before I could react, the box tilted forward. I squeezed my eyes shut bracing myself for the impact but it never came. Instead, I felt something solid in front of me, a warmth that wasn’t there before. When I slowly opened my eyes, my breath hitched.

Adam. He was right there, standing impossibly close, his tattooed hand gripping the box effortlessly while his other was braced against the shelf beside my head, effectively caging me in. His sharp jaw was tense, dark eyes locked onto mine, his entire frame towering over me like a storm about to break.

I swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how small the storage room felt.

"Uh…" My voice came out weaker than I wanted. "Thanks?"

Adam didn’t answer right away. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable—but something burned behind his gaze. Anger. Annoyance. Frustration.

Finally, his lips parted, and his voice came out low and sharp.

"Do you ever think before you do things?"

I blinked, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

His jaw clenched, and he yanked the box fully onto the shelf like it weighed nothing. The movement was forceful, controlled—but I could feel the irritation radiating off him.

"You could’ve gotten hurt," he snapped, his voice edged with barely contained anger.

I scowled, crossing my arms. "Well, I didn’t."

His jaw tightened further. For a second, I swore I saw something flicker across his face—something deeper, something raw. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a cold, hard mask.

He finally stepped back, creating space between us, but the tension between our bodies still lingered in the air.

"Just be more careful," he muttered, his voice quieter now, but no less intense.

I stared at him, frustration bubbling in my chest. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t even look at me. And then, just as he reached the door, he threw his response over his shoulder, voice low and cutting.

I stood there, heart hammering, breath uneven, the weight of his words pressing into my chest. But no matter how hard I tried to shake it off, I couldn’t ignore the way my skin still burned where he had been close.

Jungkook’s POV:

The boardroom was a pristine, almost clinical space—modern, minimalist, and impersonal, just like every other meeting room he had ever been forced to sit through. The long glass table reflected the glow of the overhead lighting, polished to perfection, not a single smudge in sight. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city skyline stretched endlessly, neon lights flickering in the distance, but Jungkook hardly noticed.

The room was filled with people—team principals, engineers, sponsors, and a handful of other drivers—all engaged in animated discussion about the upcoming season. Voices overlapped, some eager, some calculated, some skeptical. Pens scratched against notepads, the occasional sip of coffee punctuating the conversation.

Jungkook sat at the far end of the table, leaning back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest. He was here in body, but his mind? Somewhere else entirely.

He should’ve been paying attention.

Everyone else was.

“The new FIA regulations mean we’re looking at adjustments to the rear wing, which should increase straight-line speed—”

“Yeah, but won’t that mess with high-speed corners?”

“The simulations show slight understeer, but braking zones will compensate.”

Jungkook barely heard them. Their words turned into white noise, a distant hum that barely grazed the surface of his awareness. He stared at the blank notepad in front of him, the pen in his hand motionless. His coffee sat untouched beside him, steam curling up into the cold air, dissipating just as quickly as his focus.

What the fuck am I even doing here?

The question pressed against the inside of his skull, but he ignored it. He was the reigning champion. The next season was already looming over them, and this meeting was crucial for strategy, for preparation, and for solidifying his dominance on the track.

And yet, none of it seemed to matter.

Not the data. Not the numbers. Not the talk of performance upgrades and tire compounds.

He had everything—success, fame, money, power—yet an unsettling emptiness coiled in his chest, growing heavier by the day.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face, willing himself to focus but was snapped out of his haze when an unfamiliar yet so painfully recognizable voice sent a jolt through his spine.

“Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Aylah—”

His breath caught. His entire body went rigid as his head snapped up.

His chair scraped against the floor, the sharp noise cutting through the room like a knife. His hand nearly knocked over his coffee as he sat up straight, eyes locked onto the woman standing at the front.

His pulse hammered against his ribs.

It can’t be—He didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.

For a split second, hope surged through his chest so violently it almost hurt.

And then—reality hit.

She had different hair. Different eyes. Her stance wasn’t the same. The voice was similar but not identical.

It wasn’t her.

His throat tightened as humiliation crashed over him in waves.

The room had fallen silent.

Every single person was staring at him.

Confused expressions. Raised eyebrows. Someone muttered, “What the fuck was that?” under their breath.

Jungkook clenched his jaw, cursing himself internally as he forced his muscles to relax, leaning back in his chair like nothing had happened.

Fucking idiot.

His heart was still racing, but now it was out of frustration—at himself, at the stupid hope that had flickered alive just to be snuffed out immediately.

He wasn’t this weak. He wasn’t the type to dwell on shit like this.

She’s gone. Why the fuck would she be here?

He exhaled sharply, the weight in his chest unbearable. Without another word, he pushed his chair back and stood abruptly.

“I need a minute,” he muttered, not waiting for a response as he strode out of the boardroom.

The fluorescent lights of the bathroom were harsh against his skin, too bright, too exposing.

Jungkook braced his hands against the sink, shoulders tense as he stared at his reflection.The man looking back at him barely resembled the version of himself he used to be. Bloodshot eyes. Prominent eye bags. Shadows lingering in the hollows of his face, making him look older, more exhausted.

He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in weeks—because he hadn’t. He ran a hand through his damp hair, his grip tightening slightly as frustration simmered beneath his skin.This wasn’t him.

He didn’t lose sleep over people. He didn’t get caught up in feelings. He didn’t miss people.

And yet—

Why does she still feel so close?

The thought alone sent another wave of irritation rolling through him. He exhaled harshly, turning on the tap and splashing cold water onto his face, blinking rapidly as the icy shock cut through him.

Get a grip.

As he made his way back to the boardroom, his hand hovering over the door handle, voices from inside caught his attention. Low murmurs. Whispering.

“Yeah, heard his designer quit.”

“No way.”

“Yep. Walked out. That’s why he’s been so off his game, he’s gonna lose without another car like that.”

Jungkook froze.

His fingers twitched against the door handle.

“Shit, his loss. That car was insane.”

Then—

“How much you wanna bet they fucked and then he tossed her aside?”

Rage ignited in his veins. His breath left him in a sharp exhale, his jaw clenching so hard it ached.

For a brief moment, he considered walking in there and breaking someone’s nose. But what would be the point? It wouldn’t change anything. No what they thought. And certainly not the fact that they weren’t technically wrong. He had tossed her aside.

So, instead, he turned on his heel and walked out of the building without another word. The moment he stepped outside, the crisp night air hit him, cooling the fire burning in his veins, but not enough to extinguish it. His shoulders were tense as he stalked toward his car, the rhythmic click of his boots against the pavement barely audible over the sound of distant traffic.

Then, with one swift motion, he yanked open the door to his Lamborghini Aventador SVJ, slid into the driver’s seat, and slammed it shut. The second the engine roared to life, a sharp thrill ran through him—the kind that came not from excitement, but from the promise of escape.

Jungkook gripped the steering wheel tight, his foot pressing down harder than he should as he peeled out of the parking lot and onto the open road. The world outside blurred into streaks of neon and headlights as he weaved through traffic, the powerful engine growling beneath him like a caged animal desperate to break free.

Faster. He needed to go faster.

Needed to outrun the anger, the frustration, the goddamn ache that had been clawing at his chest for weeks. The city lights flashed past in a feverish haze—skyscrapers illuminated like constellations, billboards flickering with advertisements he didn’t bother to register, the glow of red taillights streaking through the darkness like falling stars.

His thoughts raced just as wildly.

Aylah. The whispers in that fucking meeting room. His grip tightened until his knuckles turned white, his jaw aching from how hard he was clenching it. They don’t know shit.

They didn’t know how he had spent the last few weeks unable to sleep, haunted by the ghost of her voice, the phantom touch of her fingertips against his skin. Didn’t know how the race felt off without her there. Didn’t know how he still fucking saw her in the crowd sometimes—only for the illusion to shatter the second he blinked.

Didn’t know how he couldn’t step into the design company without expecting to see her, leaning against the workbench, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she examined the car. Didn’t know how badly he wanted to hear her voice, even if it was just to tell him off for being an idiot.

The thought alone made something snap inside him. With a sharp inhale, Jungkook slammed his palm against the steering wheel, a growl of frustration ripping from his throat.

The sound echoed in the enclosed space of the car, but it did nothing to ease the tension clawing at his ribs. Nothing did. His foot eased off the gas slightly as he reached the outskirts of the city, where the skyline melted into rolling hills and empty roads. He didn’t know where he was going—just that he needed to get away.

And so, when he finally reached a familiar overlook—a secluded spot high above the city, where the lights below looked like scattered embers in the dark—he pulled over.The moment the car rumbled to a stop, he exhaled sharply and leaned back against the seat, tilting his head against the headrest.

Silence.

Only the sound of his own uneven breathing filled the car, mingling with the distant hum of the city below. After a long moment, he pushed open the door and stepped out.

The night air was cool against his overheated skin, the wind carrying the faint scent of rain. He leaned against the hood of the car, eyes locked on the horizon as he took slow, measured breaths, trying to calm the storm raging inside him.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as frustration curled through his muscles.

Then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his stomach twisting when he saw the notification.

Jade: Where are you?

His jaw tightened. Without hesitation, he locked the screen and shoved the phone back into his pocket. A bitter laugh escaped him.

Of course she knows.

She had been hanging off his arm for weeks, showing up at every afterparty, slipping into his bed like she belonged there. But no matter how much he tried to lose himself in her, no matter how much he let her touch him, whisper his name—

She wasn’t her.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he stared out at the city below.

“For fuck sake just give me a sign.”

A bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the darkness for a fraction of a second. Jungkook flinched as the deafening sound echoed across the hills. Rain poured down in thick sheets, drenching him within seconds. His shirt clinging to his skin, droplets sliding down his face, his wet hair falling into his eyes.

He let out a breathless laugh, shoving his hair back as he stood in the middle of the storm. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he tilted his head back, eyes locked onto the raging sky above. His voice was hoarse when he spoke, barely above a whisper.

“So this is what love feels like.”

His fingers curled at his sides.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips as the rain pounded against his skin, cold and relentless. He let the weight of the words settle over him, let them sink into his bones, let them carve themselves into the spaces she had unknowingly left behind.

Then, with a hollow laugh, he whispered into the storm—

“What a fucking joke.”

[zsakuva]

hi saku! so about the last question you answered, do you plan on writing a book in the future ? or maybe a movie or show?

Also i would like to ask, you may have already answered , but did you do a lot of writing in high school , or even before that? i want to get into writing because its a huge part in my career choice and i never know if my writing is good or if im being blinded by delusion, but at the same time im kinda embarrassed? or maybe hesitant to show and tell people my narratives. Do you have any tips on this? I enjoy the beauty of being able to create different universes and any character to my heart’s desire, but i really don’t know where to start.

I've been writing one book since 2018, but I recently gave it a complete overhaul so I'm essentially starting from scratch. I also have another that's connected to my fantasy world, but I haven't touched that in a while. I would spend my time just writing and focusing on my novels, but alas, work takes priority.

I've been writing since I was young.

I think a lot of people can relate to that, including myself. The great thing about writing is that no matter what level you're at, there is always something to learn. If you're unsure about yourself, ask other writers you trust to read your work and offer their opinion. But always take their opinions with a grain of salt because writing is so subjective—from outlining and story beats to tenses and prose structure—and you will no doubt have your own preference.

I understand feeling embarrassed to show your work. But I always remind myself that the only person who can tell this particular story in this particular way is me. And if I don't, it'll remain an idea.

All writers hope to improve their craft, and I think the majority will welcome you because they are no doubt exactly where you are. So, my advice would be to start writing! Join a few communities, or find friends who are also writers to exchange stories. Read good books, 'bad' books, bestsellers, and debuts. The more you consume, the easier it'll be to refine the way you want to write and tell a story.

Hope this helps!

[darlingdaisyfarm]

｡°✩ for academic purposes only .ᐟ.ᐟ

Every month Ford experiences the same cycle: scientific curiosity, self-restraint and complete obliteration. He should’ve known better

tags: nsfw, Ford Pines aka uterus researcher, established relationship, nerdy Ford, periods, cycle, journaling, mentions of sex, period sex, breeding kink if u squint, Ford's notes

i would like to personally thank the female reproductive system bc this is the only reason this fic exists

JOURNAL ENTRY — CYCLE ANALYSIS BY DR. STANFORD F. PINES, PH.D. (MULTIPLE FIELDS), AUTHOR OF JOURNALS 1, 2 AND 3, MAN OF SCIENCE, CURRENTLY IN AN INCREDIBLY GRATIFYING AND SCIENTIFICALLY ENLIGHTENING RELATIONSHIP.

SUBJECT: (your name), hereafter referred to as my darling, my sweetheart, my love, my starlight (edit later, leave for now), follows a standard 28-day cycle, but their body’s response to each stage is something i cannot help but study with rapt fascination

STUDY FOCUS: menstrual cycle behavioural & physiological analysis (personal, HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL!!!)

OBSERVATIONAL PERIOD: (start date - present)

FOR SCIENCE & DEFINITELY NOT BECAUSE I’M OBSESSED

INTRODUCTION:

oh, my starlight, if you ever find this... i am a dead man. but in the interest of science (and, let’s be honest, my own hopeless fascination with you), i must document this properly. perhaps i should hide it somewhere impenetrable, but then again, i do enjoy re-reading my notes and recalling particularly... captivating instances. must deliberate further.

the goal of this entry? to analyse, in the most thorough and detailed manner possible, the profound effects of your cycle, particularly your most intimate needs and behaviours!

(personal note: this is entirely scientific. definitely. well. mostly. fine, i just want to remember every last detail of you and the way you change through each phase, but can you blame me? you are the most enthralling subject i have ever studied.)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that i, Stanford Filbrick Pines, have been fortunate enough to conduct one of the most fascinating, perplexing and occasionally overwhelming studies of my entire academic career. This, of course, refers to the ongoing, deeply personal and intensively hands-on analysis of my partner's menstrual cycle and its profound effects on both their physiology and our shared... extracurricular activities.

(hands-on research is, naturally, a critical aspect of any thorough investigation. i am, above all, a diligent scientist.)

HYPOTHESIS: her cycle influences not only her physiological state but our shared activities in ways that, if charted correctly, could allow for optimal... performance calibration.

(note: i should really not phrase it like that. sounds terribly perverse. i am a scientist, not a deranged old man. though, considering my reaction to certain phases of this cycle i fear i may be both)

PHASE ONE: FOLLICULAR (DAYS 1-14, PRE-OVULATION)

The luteinizing hormone (lh) surge initiates ovulation and its effects on behaviour are undeniable.

PHYSIOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS INCLUDE:

• Estrogen levels increase, this means brighter eyes and faster speech. Energy levels rise noticeably, leading to an increase in spontaneous affectionate behavior as hand-holding, lap-sitting, casual nudity. I am holding myself together. barely

• Playful disposition increases, resulting in (very welcome) teasing remarks, touches, and moments of flirtation.

• My sweetheart is adorable, she moves so much. Paces while talking, gestures wildly, kisses me mid-sentence before running off to do something else.

(PERSONAL NOTE: My partner's thighs. have i ever properly documented my fascination with them? i should dedicate a separate entry. but her thighs during this phase are soft and firm, strong but yielding. When she wraps them around my waist, i momentarily lose my ability to process coherent thought.)

Arousal is present but manageable. My love enjoys teasing, initiating long, drawn-out foreplay, but not rushing into things. A preference for languid, exploratory touches, lazy morning sex where she can take her time riding me while still half-asleep.

PREFERRED POSITIONS & BEHAVIORAL NOTES:

• Tends to straddle me while talking, seemingly unaware of its effects. (This is a problem, i cannot concentrate.)

• Kisses are more playful than desperate.

• Lower cervix position = deeper penetration is easier, but subject’s own preference leans toward grinding rather than thrusting.

Overall: delightful Somewhat distracting, but so attractive.

PHASE TWO: OVULATORY PHASE (DAYS 14–17, PEAK FERTILITY)

PERSONAL NOTE: Oh. Oh no. Oh yes.

I am a mere man, defenseless against these biochemical weapons of seduction.

PHYSIOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS INCLUDE:

• touch frequency escalates, subject initiates physical contact at a staggering (and frankly overwhelming) rate, often in seemingly innocuous ways that, due to my unfortunate hypersensitivity to her presence, result in considerable mental derailment.

• spontaneous arousal occurrences, seemingly triggered by voice depth, prolonged eye contact or even minor dominance cues

• her behaviour changes entirely. she becomes insatiable. restless. demanding.

• physical responsiveness is heightened, tactile stimulation along the spine, lower abdomen or inner thighs elicits a near-instantaneous shivering reaction.

• specific positional preferences emerge:

deep, cervix-targeting angles become more desirable, despite previous sensitivities.

• my darling climbs onto my lap, straddles me, kisses me until i can no longer form coherent thoughts. (note: i have, on three separate occasions, nearly dropped whatever i was holding due to this. once, it was coffee. another time, a priceless extraterrestrial artefact. the third time, my own dignity.)

PERSONAL NOTE: i find myself gravitating toward her like a man under some primitive compulsion.

PERSONAL NOTE: she told me, quite bluntly, that she “needs to feel me ruin her“ and then proceeded to climb into my lap and grind against me until i blacked out momentarily. truly, i have never been more in love.

OBSERVABLE SIGNS OF OVULATION:

• skin luminescence enhancement (note: skin is glowing. literally. did i hallucinate that? no. confirmed under direct lighting. biologically unfair!)

• heightened blood circulation leads to noticeably rosier cheeks, increased nipple sensitivity and a subtle but consistent warmth in the lower abdominal region.

• cervix sits higher, softens significantly; vaginal walls remain in a persistent state of involuntary contraction. arousal response time is astoundingly low, mere seconds of stimulation elicit immediate lubrication. (note: nearly passed out the first time i confirmed this.)

• body appears primed for contact; she leans into touch more, presses against me absentmindedly, makes these little “ah” whimpering noises if i pull away. (note: this is devastatingly effective at reducing my cognitive function to near-zero.)

MORE BEHAVIOURAL OBSERVATIONS:

• heightened assertiveness (dear god.)

• sustained eye contact (i am sweating.)

• subconscious body language cues, what means increased proximity-seeking, enhanced hip sway while walking (i am so normal about this. so incredibly normal.)

• direct verbal cues. e.g. "Ford, come here. sit down. let me straddle you." (???????)

• tactile seeking: my darling cannot stop touching me. fingers constantly curled into my clothes, tracing my chest, sliding under my coat. at one point, she pressed her face against my neck, inhaled deeply and whined. (note: i lost the ability to speak for a full minute.)

• vocabulary exhibits a marked increase in expletives and breathier, higher-pitched intonations. (example: during an encounter last night, she gripped my wrist, dragged my hand between her legs, and in a very insistent tone, said: “Ford, please, please, i need you, i need your mouth, your fingers, fuck, do something“ )

MORE DIRECT QUOTES FROM SUBJECT:

"Ford, if you don’t fuck me right now, i am going to lose my goddamn mind."

"I need you inside me. Now. No, i said now, why are you taking notes, oh my god—“

Unintelligible noises followed by what i can only describe as a feral growl.

PERSONAL NOTE TO SELF:

• do not attempt to maintain professional detachment. it is already lost.

• i swear, my starlight could ask me to hand over my life's work in exchange for kissing her ankle and i would do it without hesitation.

Most devastatingly, she becomes particularly receptive to deeper penetration and—

(note: pause. breathe. do not combust while writing this.)

The increased cervical softening allows for an absolutely devastating depth. She can take every inch of me, every grind against her cervix without discomfort. In fact, she moans for it! Begs for it, pulls me closer, gasping into my mouth, her nails biting into my back, telling m—

(note: take a cold shower.)

Scientifically speaking, her body is in peak condition for conception... and im fully aware of this fact, because every time she tightens around me, i—

(note: for god’s sake, Stanford, edit this later.)

EXPERIMENTAL OBSERVATION: INTERCOURSE DURING OVULATION

PERSONAL NOTE: i am not a young man but good lord.

SECONDARY PERSONAL NOTE: i need to start doing cardiovascular training if this is going to continue.

By compellingly, sexual appetite during this phase escalates significantly. Vocalisations become more uninhibited, involuntary muscle contractions increase, lubrication levels heighten and orgasmic response is intensified.

additional note: psychological implications are equally profound. subject’s confidence peaks, decision-making speed increases, and overall emotional resilience is heightened.

my sweetheart looked in the mirror today and said she looks beautiful. so proud of my love!:)

TEST ENVIRONMENT: my bedroom

SUBJECT STATE: ovulatory phase, heightened sensory sensitivitу

FORD PINES STATE: near-critical (hypothesis: excessive arousal may cause cognitive collapse. further testing required.)

POSING & ANGLES ANALYSIS: 

BACK-ARCHED, HIPS LIFTED (MISSIONARY VARIANT)

• her legs wrap around my waist immediately, locking me in place. (potential psychological factor: subconscious desire for security??? note: must investigate further. once i regain coherent thought post-orgasm)

• verbal responses increase by 63%. (examples: "oh my god, oh my god, Ford—“ , “please, please, deeper—“,  ”you feel so fucking good—“ etc.)

• cervical pressure is heightened (noted increase in breathy whimpers + desperate fingernail digging into my back)

• direct quote: “Ford, oh my god, deeper, i can feel you in my stomach—” (instant system failure on my end.)

• notable reaction when wrists are pinned above her head triggers rapid pulse, dilated pupils, small, breathy "oh—oh, god—" sounds. (note: physically difficult to maintain composure. potential solution: don’t maintain composure at all.)

• deep penetration, cervix stimulation. position: legs over shoulders. mating press, I think it’s called? anyways. EFFECT: immediate physiological surrender. my darling trembles, clutches at my arms, lets out a breathless, high-pitched little whines and, frankly, i nearly black out from how tight she gets. (note: jesus Ford.)

FACESITTING (I am a ruined man.)

• her hands in my hair, breathy little moans every time my tongue moves. (note: muscle control significantly reduced. fascinating!!)

• grip on my hair tightens when i lap at her clit. (involuntary response: bucking forward. possibly subconscious attempt at deeper pressure?)

• when i grab her waist and press her down harder, she makes this high and loud moan. (note: if i were a weaker man, i would be dead now)

STRADDLING, HIPS ROLLED FORWARD (COWGIRL VARIANT)

• optimal clitoral stimulation (highly enjoyable for both parties)

• direct quote: “Just—just let me use you, okay?”

ON HER SIDE, LEG HOOKED OVER MY SHOULDER 

• deep angle, excessive wetness and overwhelming intimacy

• one of our favourite 

• direct quote: “mmh, feels so good like this—so full.” (i nearly perished.)

BACKSHOT POSITION (EXTENDED DEEP-PENETRATION STUDY):

• initial hypothesis: deeper angle = greater cervical stimulation = heightened pleasure response

• confirmed within seconds. (note: DEAR GOD)

• subject reaction was immediate, sharp gasp upon first thrust. “f—fuck, Ford—ahh, god, right there—” (approx. 5 seconds in.)

“harder—please, please, deeper—“ (approx. 10 seconds in.)

loss of verbal coherence entirely (approx. 20 seconds in.)

• secondary observation: gripping her hips tighter makes her whimper. lifting her slightly higher makes her sob. both are important scientific findings!!

CERVICAL & WOMB-BASED RESPONSES:

• during ovulation, cervix sits higher and softens.

hypothesis: so subject can take deeper penetration with heightened pleasure rather than discomfort!

• confirmed within minutes. (note: will require many, many additional tests.)

• increased suction effect!! vaginal walls clench rhythmically, pulling me deeper. (note: brain ceased function entirely.)

• post-orgasm aftershocks. body remains hypersensitive, resulting in continued involuntary clenching even after climax

ADDITIONAL PHENOMENA:

• reduced patience for direct verbal requests for “breeding,” “filling,” “stuffing,” and other absolutely ruinous terminology.

• noteworthy psychological change. my darling displays an urgent need for full mating contact, requesting (or rather, insisting) that i “stay inside her” for extended periods following climax.

• direct cervical stimulation leads to involuntary whimpering, eye rolling, toe-curling and full-body tremors.

• personal weakness: gasping "right there, right there, right there" when i find the precise angle.

• frequent biting. of me. everywhere. lip marks on my neck, my lips, collarbone. teeth sinking into my shoulder while she’s clenching around me. (i am barely holding myself together.)

• if whispered praise is added (e.g., "you’re so good for me, sweetheart. taking me so perfectly."), subject exhibits full-body shudder and involuntary clenching.

DAY 15. ovulatory window confirmed. direct quote: “Ford, darling, put a baby in me.”........

oh. oh no. at that moment, i momentarily lost all ability to form rational thought. my cognitive processes flatlined. my only active function was a reaction i cannot, in good conscience, document further.

DIRECT RESPONSE (APPROXIMATE, AS MEMORY WAS COMPROMISED): incoherent groan and desperate, feral sort of growl.

PSYCHOLOGICAL IMPACT AFTER INTIMATE INTERCOURSE

• my sweetheart exhibits increased need for physical closeness, wrapping arms around me, nuzzling against my chest, making small, satisfied sounds

• ..... notably, i appear to be suffering the same symptoms

CLIMAX ANALYSIS (Stanford its 4 am, go to slee-)

• observable full-body tremors. internal muscular spasms. impossible to quantify pleasure levels. scale is inadequate.

• immediate cognitive dysfunction:

post-ejaculation speech delay (~12 seconds).

• loss of motor function (i collapse.)

• mild dissociation... ("did that happen in real life or was that an interdimensional hallucination?")

my partner's response: laughter and lots of kisses to my jaw and cheeks

PHASE THREE: LUTEAL PHASE (DAYS 17–28, PRE MENSTRUAL)

my darling gets so sensitive, becomes more prone to snuggling, less prone to teasing. libido fluctuates, but when it spikes, it is sudden and intense.

PERSONAL NOTE: there is nothing more arousing than her needy little whines when she pulls my hands to her chest and begs me to touch her...

NOTABLE BEHAVIOURAL PATTERNS:

• my love's body craves touch, warmth and closeness. she nuzzles into me, sighs when i wrap my arms around her. she likes to lay against my chest, my hand on her stomach, whispering soft praises

• partner exhibits heightened emotional sensitivity, cravings for both physical closeness and specific foods (namely chocolate, pickles, and, perplexingly, peanut butter straight from the jar.)

PERSONAL NOTE: she wrapped herself around me like a koala for two hours yesterday. i had work to do. i did none of it! none!

• sexual behaviour, as mentioned earlier, changes too. desire remains, but preference for gentler stimulation, extended foreplay, full-body contact. intimacy rather than urgency

• preference for slow, deep sex love making. (lengthy sessions. multiple orgasms. excessive praise.) strong desire for full-body contact. (chest to chest, fingers tangled, whispered affirmations.)

• occasional bursts of frustration where she demands to be "fucked properly" (????)

PROGESTERONE RISES, INCLUDING:

• metabolic increase when subject’s caloric intake rises; a preference for carbohydrate-dense, sodium-rich foods emerges, possibly due to fluctuating serotonin levels! (personal note: adorable little thing)

PET NAMES INTRODUCED DURING THIS PERIOD:

“sweetheart” (first observed: day 19, after she clung to my arm for 45 minutes and refused to let go while I was attempting to type.)

“honey” (first observed: day 22, when she started nesting in my sweater like a small irritated woodland creature)

“my love” (first observed: day 25, whispered against her hair while she buried herself under the covers and only emerged when I bribed her with hot chocolate)

"my poor, sweet, overdramatic thing" (day 26, when she claimed she was “literally dying” because I made her get out of bed for two minutes)

MORE OBSERVATIONS:

• subject requires constant touch, if no direct contact is made, pouting will occur.

• breasts become unbearably sensitive. (this has led to certain.... incidents. in which i was scolded for touching when i was explicitly given permission. this is unfair!)

PREFERRED POSITIONS & BEHAVIOURAL NOTES:

• will climb onto me at any given opportunity. (even while i am working.)

• slow, deep wnd intimate contact. heavy emphasis on cervical stimulation, warmth, closeness.

• soft praise required. frequent affirmations, reassurances. (she is particularly receptive to hearing how “beautiful” she is. which is, frankly, an objective truth.)

PERSONAL NOTE: her emotional state during this time, I ADORE IT. my darling needs comfort, touch and reassurance, and, well, i am only human. if she asks me to hold her, i will. if she asks me to lay on top of her and just be warm, i will. if she tells me she wants to feel full, wants to feel every inch of me keeping her safe wants me to tell her how much she is loved... well.

SECONDARY PERSONAL NOTE: she really, really likes when i call her “smart girl”

PERSONAL NOTE: i have no complaints. zero. none. absolutely none :)

MENSTRUAL PHASE (DAYS 1–5, ACTIVE BLEEDING)

initially, i had hypothesized that sexual activity during this phase would be uncomfortable or at the very least, unappealing to the subject. i was incorrect.

shedding of the endometrial lining initiates vascular dilation, heightened temperature and uterine contractions.

PRIMARY OBSERVATIONS INCLUDE:

• temperature regulation is disrupted, subject experiences fluctuations between feverish warmth and sudden chills. skin remains notably softer during this phase

• muscular fatigue, increased joint tension, my darling often seeks massage therapy, sustained compression (weighted blankets, my own body weight), and slow movement assistance.

• experiences waves of pain and discomfort, interspersed with unexpected surges of desire.

• blood viscosity is fascinating!!!!! color shifts from bright red (early days) to a deeper hue with occasional clotting (mid-phase). i have documented firsthand how the consistency changes during... se- various activities.

My sweetheart currently suffering the full physiological impact of uterine lining detachment, fluctuating between lethargy, irritability and an insatiable craving for attention, pressure, and snacks.

SCIENTIST’S DUTIES DURING THIS TIME:

• food preparation (nutrient-rich, iron-replenishing meals)

• pressure application (via full-body weight or strategic abdominal massages)

• endless patience (tested frequently)

EXPERIMENTAL CULINARY TRIALS

Partners nutritional intake fluctuates wildly during this phase. one moment, she craves salt; the next, sugar. she has, at times, demanded both simultaneously (a truly confounding biological mystery).

DAY 2 OF MENSTRUATION. my partner appeared lethargic, burrowed into blankets, making small, distressed noises whenever she moved

direct quote: “Ford, if i don’t get mac & cheese in the next ten minutes, i will die.”

counterargument: “you literally just ate an entire chocolate bar, honey”

Partner’s rebuttal: long, drawn-out groan followed by burrowing deeper and a tragic little sigh of suffering.

conclusion: i made the mac & cheese. i am weak

PERSONAL NOTE: my darling told me, quite shamelessly, that orgasms help her cramps. i told her, quite honestly, that i would be happy to conduct further research in this area ;)

DIRECT QUOTES FROM SUBJECT:

“Ford, it helps the cramps, please, this is literally medical.”

“Mmm, you’re so warm. No! don’t move, just stay inside me like that.”

SECONDARY PERSONAL NOTE: the psychological aspect of this is fascinating! the hormonal interplay of pain relief, emotional vulnerability, and deep, physical intimacy is something i should, theoretically, analyse further.

QUATERNARY PERSONAL NOTE: if i am not careful, i am going to end up proposing to this person during a study session.

of course reblogs/comments are always appreciated, but no pressure

[m-to-z-andbackto-m]

Okay so I have religious trauma and common coping mechanism is using your hyperfixation/s to explore trauma and stuff right?

Well Killer was made by an Arab creator and since we love creating casual versions where everyone has the heritage of their creator (i.e. Cross being hispanic, Dust and Farmer being Korean, etc...)

I... Also... Gave Killer religious trauma, or just a sorta cultural tradition kinda trauma because I just can't see religion existing in their world, it can, but I don't want it to be among our sillies at least (So at least background characters can still be diverse in that way)

I'm talking about this because I found the beginning of an old comic I was doodling on some paper a long time back, so lemme relay it over text for you guys

(Also note, I don't personally think of Horror as the cook of the group but I did it because I wanted the cute domestic feel that some people have their sillies in and it was a comfort comic at the time for myself so I didn't care about being accurate to my interpretation of them because I was already giving Killer religious trauma anyway, this is essentially just a comfort concept:)

[Killer casually walks by the kitchen while Horror is making something, Dust is sitting at the table in the kitchen on his phone or something]

H: "Hey Killer, wanna come try this real quick-"

[Killer speeds past and pretends to not have heard him, while walking by the viewer can see he visibly got a little tense/nervous]

[Horror is concerned and looks out the entrance]

H: "'M worried about 'im, Dust. He's been avoiding the kitchen since mornin'."

[Dust looks up and shrugs it off, not that he doesn't value Horror's concerns, but doesn't value Killer's bad behavior]

H: "Do you think it's my cooking?" [He said at the end of his short rant]

[Dust gets a little annoyed that Killer's behavior is making Horror overthink this]

D: Look, your cooking's fine, Killer's just being an ass, he'll be fine.

[Dust probably comes off harsh or dismissive because he probably wouldn't be good at comforting, Horror gets the sentiment though and that's all that matters]

I never finished the comic but the idea was that Killer was fasting secretly and eventually his behavior was noticed, I didn't really have an idea for the ending but I imagine he gets confronted about it eventually (I assume with dadmare present) and maybe the beans get spilled and they support his progress 🥺

Literally only made this as a comfort doodle because I was just done fasting I think and it's nice to have this y'know, but really I'd never subject any of my sillies to religious trauma (Unless it's plot relevant or makes sense because I remember seeing a multiverse where DreamTale's village left some religious trauma on Dream that subtly affected his mental health, so it was hard when she got older and discovered herself (Yes, Dream got she/her-ed and everything), and like y'know, stuff)

[crowsofdarkness]

A Fight For Darkness: Chapter Two

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: Eric Draven(Bill Skarsgard) x Female!Reader.

Content Warnings: language, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of taking own life, black mail, blood, smoking, drinking, mentions of drug use, arranged marriage, 18+ smut that I will mention at the beginning of the chapter.

Summary: An unknown text and a list full of questions for what happened to your sister leads you down to the underground fight ring that belongs to none other than Eric Draven, The Crow. Once he captures your eyes with his, the web you were desperate to untangle suddenly tightens.

Authors Note: This is not cannon to The Crow(2024). Shelly nor her and Eric's love story exist in this series. Eric does have his fast ability to heal thought. Tags are open for this series as well!

A Fight For Darkness Masterlist

“I’m only going to ask one more time, Y/N. How the hell did you get into the club tonight?” 

Eric’s voice fell on my deaf ears as I continued to stare straight ahead at the peeling paint on the wall, almost in a near catatonic state. My body couldn’t move no matter how hard I tried; not even my toes that were still covered in blood since I kicked them off before my run from those two men. 

I blinked before gazing up towards Eric, who was leaning against the door of the room with his arms crossed over his bare chest. Even in my current state, I looked over the variety of weird tattoos that covered his skin and could feel something inside of me twinge with disgust. 

No, not disgust. Something new for me. 

Arousal?

Typically I wasn't attracted to those kinds of men, my type more on the preppier side. The ones that wore polos and spent their Sunday afternoons at the golf course. 

So why was I currently staring at the hard v-line of his hips, practically drooling over this man? This stranger?  

It’s the shock, I told myself. It had to be the shock of the last ten minutes. I’m not thinking clearly. 

I racked my brain trying to think of an excuse, not wanting to give him the real reason why I was here tonight all the while trying to prove my innocence that I had nothing to do with the two dead bodies in that room. 

One with a slit throat and the other with a bullet hole in their head. 

Blinking away those images, I ran a dry tongue over my lips and let out a staggering breath. 

“I was looking for someone,” I did my best to ignore how shaky my voice sounded. 

Eric raised a brow. “Who?” 

“No one of importance,” my eyes flicked down at my hands, stained with blood. 

I began scratching away at it, opening to rid myself of what I saw.

“How’d you get in tonight?” Eric continued to lean against the door. “I haven’t set out any new invitations in months and this is the first time I’ve seen you here.” 

“Wait,” I looked up at him. “This is your place?” 

“Don’t change the subject. How did you get an invite?” Eric asked again through thin slits of his eyes. 

“Uh,” I began rubbing my palms on my bare thighs, hoping maybe that action would wipe away the dry blood. “Someone sent it to me.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie. 

I was still telling the truth while not divulging too much into my true motives for showing up tonight. That should keep Eric happy enough to let me go. 

“Who?” His deep voice questioned. 

Shit. 

“I don’t know,” I sighed, still rubbing my palms on my thighs. 

Up and down. 

Up. 

Down. 

Just as Eric was about to ask yet another question, there was a rapid knocking on the door. 

“Not now!” He called back. 

“Boss! You need to come see this!” A worried voice said. 

Eric grumbled a spew of curses under his breath before taking three wide strides over towards me, yanking my body off of the couch. His grip on my elbow was fierce, his fingers digging into my skin. 

“What are you doing?” I demanded, my heart nearly bursting out of my chest in fear so I dug my feet into the ground. “Let me go!” 

“I don’t know who you are or why you were here in the first place. Do you really think I’d let you walk around my club unsupervised?” Eric whirled his head towards me with dark eyes. “For all I know, you could have killed those two people.” 

“I didn’t!” I said, shaking my head violently with wide eyes. “I promise! I just walked into the room by accident. I was trying to find the way out!” 

Eric cocked his head to the side with an assessing gaze. It lingered over my face for longer than I deemed necessary yet when his eyes watched the way my throat bobbed, something fluttered deep within my gut. 

“Was that before or after you killed someone?” 

Before I could protest again, someone pounded on the door causing Eric to continue dragging me out of the room. It was so fast, I hadn't had time to see if the man that was leading us through the now empty fight club was the same man I’d run into before; the one that was chasing me. 

People were working on cleaning up the fight cage, scrubbing out the blood from the mat, while others were sweeping up the trash that littered the floor. It felt sticky under my bare feet and internally I cringed at how gross this entire place was. 

Surely there was no way my sister would be involved in some place like this. 

The second we stepped, well more like Eric dragged me through the threshold of the room, I took in sight of the two dead bodies now in better light. My stomach dropped out of my ass and bile rising in my throat. 

It was so much worse than I thought. 

The woman who had her throat slit also had bruises covering her body while the man on the floor not only had the bullet hole in his head but all of his fingertips were cut off. 

“Oh god,” I ripped myself from Eric's grasp to hunch over on my knees, emptying my stomach all over the floor. 

Eric made a noise that sounded a mix between disgust and annoyance as he watched me continue to lose my stomach contents. Eventually when all I could throw up was air, he let out a sigh. 

“I’m going to guess that you didn’t kill these two.” 

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before slowly rising back to full height. “What gave it away?” 

Something like a smile pulled at his lips but he refused to let it show and instead, motioned towards the two bodies behind me. 

“Do you know them?” 

Refusing to look, I shook my head. “No. I’ve never seen them before. I stumbled in here when I was looking for the way out.”

“Did anyone see you in here?” Eric asked. 

My lips parted but I hesitated, not knowing if it was a good idea to let him know. 

“Don’t bother lying. When you barged into my office it looked like you were running from something,” he noted. 

Letting out a shaky breath, I nodded. “Two guys but I didn’t get a good look at their faces because of how dark it was in here. The only light that was one was the one above the bed.” 

Now, there was a brighter light on, illuminating the entire space. 

Eric scratched at his bare chest, staring at me for a long moment, and I felt myself becoming small underneath his intense gaze. But it wasn’t only that. I found myself feeling that unknown feeling again, like earlier. Something fluttered low in my gut, a warmth spreading through my veins, and I shifted on my bare feet when they stuck to the nasty floor. 

He must have noticed how not only gross I looked but the mess surrounding us as well because he turned to one of the guys in the room with us; one of his guards. 

“Did we get an I.D on these two?” 

The shorter one nodded towards the girl. “Some hooker.” 

I sliced my eyes into him. “That’s not nice.” 

“If you expect me to care about some drugged up hooker, you’re fucking crazy,” the guard took a step towards me. 

Eric was quick to step in his path, blocking him from me. “Watch it, Greg.” 

The guard, Greg, clenched his jaw. “You don’t know who this broad is, Eric. She shows up in your office covered in blood. For all we know, she could have killed these two.”

“Did you not see me throw up all over the place?” I pointed to the ground. 

“That doesn’t mean-.” 

Greg began but Eric held up a hand to silence him, the muscles in his back tensing. 

“Who is the guy?” He asked, changing the subject. 

“That’s where shit gets interesting,” Greg ran a hand over his jaw. “Alexi Sokolov.” 

Eric somehow even went more tense in the shoulders as his head snapped over towards me. “You’ve never seen these two before?” 

“I already told you, no,” I shook my head with narrowed eyes. “Should I?” 

“Alexi is, well was the leader of the Russian mob here in the city. He frequented my fight club a few times,” Eric ran a hand through his short hair. “And that doesnt help narrow down the list on who killed these two.” 

My blood ran cold and skin clammy as I thought back to the two men I ran from. Could I have stumbled into something more than just a simple murder while looking for my sister? Could the Russians be involved in my sister's disappearance?

The task of finding my sister was becoming more daunting and I suddenly questioned if I could do it on my own. 

“I need to get out of here,” I muttered more so to myself. 

I made it all of two steps before Eric’s large frame blocked the doorway. 

“You’re not leaving until I know for a fact you’re not linked to these two,” he crossed his arms over his chest. 

Scolding myself for letting my gaze linger on his thick arms, I narrowed my eyes up at him. 

“I already told you. I don’t know them,” I said through gritted teeth. 

“Until my guys finish running a background check on you, you’re not going anywhere. Especially like that,” Eric nodded towards the dried blood covering me. 

“Did you say you’re running a background check on me?” I nearly yelled. 

He shrugged. “I don’t know you and you still won’t tell me how you got in tonight. So you could save us all the trouble and just tell the truth.”

“Are you going to let me go if I do?” 

Even though my head was held high and eyes were narrowed at him, my voice shook with undeniable fear. 

Eric’s eyes raked over my body, a smug smile on his face. “Depends on what you tell me.”

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I glanced around the room at Eric’s guards who were busy cleaning up; dragging the bodies away and scrubbing the floor with bleach. The severity of what exactly happened tonight was beginning to bury itself deep inside of my bones, the fear making me sick to my stomach again. I could feel the bile rising in my throat again so I swallowed a few times in an effort to keep it down. 

“I don’t know you,” I finally spoke while looking back at Eric. “How do I know you won’t kill me?”

“If I wanted to, you would have been dropped dead on the floor the second you stepped foot into my office,” Eric answered without an ounce of remorse. 

I blinked, mouth agape. “You-you kill people?” 

Eric stood unmoving in front of me, a thick wall of muscles, and his silence was the answer to my question. My palms began to sweat and I took a step away from him, all the blood draining from my veins. 

“I’m leaving,” my voice was meek. 

“No you’re not. Not until you tell me what you were doing in my club,” Eric grunted. 

Not even giving me more than a few seconds, his grip was tight around my elbow as he all but dragged me out of the room and towards his office. 

“Let me go!” I yelled while digging my heels into the ground. 

“And have you run off? I don’t think so,” Eric snorted. 

As we neared his office, he was about to toss me inside when someone else appeared in the doorway making Eric curse and putting me behind him. Due to his height, I couldn’t see over his shoulder so I peered around his shoulder to see a leggy blonde leaning against the doorframe, dark red lips pulled up in a smile. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you for our celebratory fuck because of your win tonight!” 

I internally frowned at the feeling that festered low in my gut. It was unfamiliar but began to burn when she took a step towards Eric, which in turn made him take one away, bringing me along with him. 

“How’d you get in, Lindsey? I have you blacklisted ” He said, voice clipped. 

The blonde rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you blacklisted me over a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” Eric’s shoulders tensed. “I caught you snooping through my computer and you proceeded to lie to me when I confronted you about it.”

“You think you saw me,” Lindsey held up a finger. 

“I have you on video surveillance,” he replied bluntly.

That seemed to shut her up as Lindsey crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, I wanted to see you. So what do you say when we head back to my place?” 

Eric’s grip had loosened around my elbow while he was talking so I took it as my opportunity to quietly slip away, doing my best to ignore the stupid and annoying feeling stabbing my gut. 

Why the hell was I jealous? I had no right to be. I didn’t know her or Eric. 

I only made it a few steps before Eric’s hand shot out to grab at the nape of my neck, yanking me back to him. 

“Nice try,” he breathed against the shell of my ear. 

“You seem busy,” I said, ignoring the way my body ignited with a blaze from his grip on the back of my neck. “I don’t want to get in the way of your booty call.”

Something flickered in his dark eyes. “Are you jealous? Want me to bend you over and fuck your tight cunt instead?” 

I swallowed thickly when my core ached at his vulgar words. Never in my life had a man talked to me this way before. So why was I so turned on by it? 

“You’re disgusting,” I tried to fight against him which only made him tighten his grip on the back of my neck, yanking me towards his chest. 

I glanced up at him with my best pissed off expression as nipples brushed over his bare chest through the thin material of my dress. I bit the inside of my cheek at how good it felt, not wanting to let the moan slip from my clenched lips. 

“You didn’t say no,” he said with a smirk. 

“Did you want to?” I blurted. 

What the fuck? Why did I ask him that? I didn’t care to know if he wanted to fuck me or not.

Eric’s eyes flicked up and down over my body again. “Tempting. I must say, the dried blood on your skin is making my cock hard.”

“Can I please go home? I just want to leave,” I begged quietly, changing the subject away from the images of him bending over. 

Truth be told, I was exhausted. I had no idea what time it was and wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed in hopes of forgetting everything that happened. Also, the earlier revelation that Eric may have killed people made me want to run far away, never looking back.

“Stop fucking asking that,” he muttered under his breath while dragging me back towards his office where Lindsey continued to lean against the doorway; her eyes flaring when she noticed me. 

“Who’s this?” 

“Get the fuck out of here, Lindsey,” Eric demanded and wrenched her out of the way. 

Her protests were hushed by him slamming the door in her face before he swung on his heels, pointing a finger at his couch. 

“Sit.” 

“Fuck you,” I snarled. 

Something flickered in Eric’s eyes as his upper lip twitched but instead of saying anything, he forced me to sit on the couch ignoring my protests. 

Like previously, I sat on the couch while he sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of me. His thighs were spread wide on either side of my closed legs, almost as if he was blocking me in. Eric was still shirtless and I forced myself to keep my eyes on his, not wanting to get caught taking in the sight of his abs. 

He doesn't have a six pack. That man has an eight pack. 

Scolding my inner thoughts, I played with the ends of my dirty dress. 

“So,” Eric’s deep voice broke through the quiet. “How did you get an invite to my fight club?” 

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, contemplating whether or not to lie to him but knew that in the end, the only way I was getting out of here was giving Eric what he wanted. 

Not everything. 

“Uh,” I cleared my throat while sitting up straighter. “Some unknown number texted me with the address and a picture of a bloody crow.” 

Eric hummed. “The Bloody Crow invite. Only specific people on the list get that invite.”

“Do you think you could figure out who sent it?” I asked. 

“The list is over two hundred people long.” 

Not knowing what to say, I nodded. I’d been curious as to who sent me the text earlier today. There were only two people who knew about my search for my sister and that was my dad who was dead; he killed himself shortly after my sister went missing so unless he was contacting me from beyond the grave, it wasn't him. The other was the detective assigned to my sister's case and something told me he wouldn’t be sending me somewhere where I could find out more info about the case than him. 

“Why did you come here tonight?” Eric asked. 

I hesitated for a beat, not knowing if I could trust him with my search. But maybe if I gave him a little bit of information, he could point me in the right direction. 

“My sister,” I said. 

“I don’t have any female fighters.” 

I shook my head with a sigh. “No, she’s missing. Has been for the last six months and I’ve been looking for answers.” 

Eric’s left brow rose. “Isn’t that a job for the police?” 

I snorted. “The police haven’t done shit. They gave up after a month. Everytime I try to get updates, I’m directed to voicemail after voicemail of cops who could care less. So it’s up to me to find out where she is.”

“What makes you think she’s still alive?” 

My heart sank at Eric’s words. I knew there was always the possibility that my sister would be dead, especially with how long she’s been missing, but I refused to think that. I would find her and when I did, she would be alive. 

“I don’t,” I answered honestly. “But I’m not going to stop looking for her.”

“You think she came here?” Eric asked. 

I let out a long sigh before easing back into the couch. “I doubt it. Illegal underground fighting rings wasn’t something she was into.” 

“Who said I run an illegal establishment?” He asked with a mock hurt tone but then his face turned serious. “Do you have a picture of her? Maybe I can recognize her.” 

My knee brushed up against his, a surge of static flowing through me, but I ignored it. 

“How can I trust you? You could lie to me just to throw me off course,” I said with furrowed brows. “I don’t even know you.”

Eric scratched at the tattoos on his chest and shrugged. “That’s right, you don’t. And I don’t know you. But you stumbled into my fightclub. Someone sent you an invite for a reason. Which means one of two things. Either it wasn’t meant for you or I have a mole inside my club.”

“The text said I could find answers for my missing sister here so I think it was meant for me.” 

“Well, then it looks like I have a mole,” Eric’s jaw clenched, a vein on the side of his forehead prominent with a deep shade of purple. 

I motioned to my purse that was still on the table next to Eric. “I have a picture of her in my wallet.” 

Once he rifled through my purse to find the picture, he stared at it for a long moment before shaking his head. 

“I’ve never seen her before.” 

“I’m starting to think this was a dead end. Whoever sent me that text did it to throw me off,” I said. 

Silence fell between us, our deep breathing echoing in the room, and I took in the sight of Eric’s office. It wasn’t big by any means, just a desk with a chair, a couch, and a punching bag in the corner. There was a closed door behind the desk to which I assumed was a closet. 

A rough knock sounded on the main door to his office and Eric called over his shoulder. “Come in!”

One of his guards peered his head inside, hesitating when he saw me sitting on the couch. Eric noticed but instead of kicking me out, he nodded towards the guard urging him on. 

“Uh, boss. We reviewed the tapes and we got something.” 

“What did you find?” Eric asked while rising to his feet. 

I didn’t bother to move, only slink further deep into the couch. 

“Ms. Y/L/N was telling the truth. She came alone and as soon as she saw you fighting in the cage, she tried to leave but ended up in the room with the two bodies. She was in there less than two minutes, not enough time to kill them.”

“Told you,” I grumbled under my breath while crossing my arms over my chest. 

Eric glanced down at me. “Did I disgust you that much during my fight?” 

No, not you. 

“I don’t like violence,” I stated with a shrug.

He hummed before looking back at his guard. “What else did you find out?”

“Whoever the two guys that caught here weren’t that slick. While they were chasing her, they ran into direct sight of the cameras. We got a good look at their faces.”

“And?” 

The guard shifted on his feet before running a hand over his face. “It’s bad.” 

“Worse than the head of the Russian mob being murdered in my club?” Eric retorted back. 

“Worse like they are Roeg’s men.”

A slew of curses fell from Eric’s mouth as he rested his hands low on his hips, the black gym shorts he still wore from his fight hanging even lower. He began pacing the length of his office and I watched with slight fear in my eyes, heart beating rapidly. 

“Who’s Roeg?” I dared ask. 

Eric ignored me, turning back to his guard. “How sure are we that they got a good look at, Y/N?”

“They didn’t get a good look at me,” I said. “The room was dark.” 

“Are you positive?” He directed towards me. 

My lips parted to speak but quickly I snapped them shut when I realized I wasn’t entirely sure if those two men actually saw me or not. 

Running a hand through his hair, Eric went over towards the other door in his office and opened it, pulling out a hoodie and a pair of sweats; him obviously keeping extra clothes in there. He tossed them to me with a pointed finger. 

“Get dressed. Leave your bloody clothes here so we can burn them.” 

“Why?” My voice shook as I held the clothes to my chest. “What are you going to do?” 

“Are we clear?” Eric asked his guard. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “We did a full sweep of the building and the grounds outside. Roeg’s men are nowhere in sight. Jackson is reviewing the tapes from the backdoor to see how they got in.”

“Send me the footage as soon as you get it,” Eric said and then grabbed a shirt from the closet, throwing it on. “Didn’t I tell you to get dressed?” 

I slowly stood from the couch, still holding the hoodie and sweats close to my chest. “Why? What’s going on?” 

“You’re leaving. Go home and never come back here.” 

Eric’s words should have elated me, finally being able to go home, yet I continued to stand in front of him unmoving. Something in those bright eyes gave way that he was keeping secrets. 

Instead of arguing, I let out a long sigh and nodded. “Trust me, you’ll never see me here again.”

“Good. You can get dressed in here and one of my guards will walk you to your car.” 

He walked towards the open door of his office, muttering something to the guard, but my voice called after him. 

“What am I supposed to do if one of those guys shows up again?”

Eric paused for a moment, contemplating something in his mind, before stalking back over to his desk and ripped open a drawer. 

“If something happens, call me,” he handed me a card with his number on it but held it back before I could grab it. “This doesn’t mean you can text me asking me what I’m doing or what my favorite color is.” 

Narrowing my eyes, I snatched the card from his hand. “Trust me, Eric. You’re not even my type.” 

Liar. 

Ignoring the voice in my head yet again, I held his gaze for a solid three breaths before he let out an amused noise and turned swiftly on his heels, hating right in the doorway. 

“A piece of advice?” Eric called over his shoulder. “Stop looking into your sister's disappearance. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

[stupidlittlespirit]

i've seen the "he'd never date a woman" thing with ford so much, which i think about a lot. like it's one thing to just headcanon him as gay but there are a lot of posts where internalized or blatant misogyny shine bright. one i saw straight up had multiple people going "he respects women too much to want to date/fuck them" like hello? do you realize what you are implying ab real women when you say that?

i'm not great at articulating my thoughts but i think it's especially prominent with ford because of his intelligence + unconventional demeanor. he's off-putting and a genius and didn't want to give up his work to settle down into a standard marriage with kids. women can't be weird or smart in the same way men can for example and all women want the typical white picket fence nuclear family american dream. therefore you are off your gourd if you think he'd ever want to be with a woman. so there’s that on top of the already rampant misogyny present in fandom spaces with shipping especially.

there's also the whole "gibe the oracle your phone number" / "i miss dimension 52" that could have some implications if you want but ig i can't blame people for forgetting jeselbraum because hirsch barely expands on her LOL. but basically it’s all up to interpretation and it really isn’t all that wild to think he could be attracted to women.

personally i just enjoy projecting my own sexuality onto him. “what gender are you attracted to?” don’t care. can i show you my isopod colonies. “how would you describe your sexual attraction?” uhhhhhhhhhhh (<- is probably demisexual)

So, I deleted my post because I felt like I was rehashing points I'd previously made a million times before, but I stand by it.

I want to address what you said and then I want to kind of go on a tangent (shocker, I know) about the interpretation of GF at large because I've been engaging with a lot of Lynch stuff recently, who we know was by and large the most influential person for Hirsch, and one of the biggest things around Lynch's work is the beauty of subjectiveness. I think Hirsch carries that legacy with him at the heart of his work.

So yeah, the comments about Ford 'respecting women too much' is insane. If anyone thinks that they are probably the kind of person who doesn't respect a woman anyway. If your hands sully the one you touch, perhaps your hands were not so clean to begin with, yknow? That's the vibe I always get with those kinds of comments.

Society approaches women so differently from men in this regard, as you said. Where a man is 'quirky' and 'cool', a woman is 'annoying' or 'trying too hard'. She suffers for her differences where as he profits for them. She can only commit the crime of being Cringe, and in my experience, people will forgive many things but never that.

There is certainly merit in the way in which a lot of people recognise that Ford is partial to things that are 'weird' or that are shunned by society, especially because of his hands, and that plays well into Queer culture. It's a feeling most of us (if not all of us) experience. So I can see where there connection comes and it's totally cool to hold that belief. Queer is BIG umbrella and I think he falls under it myself, what with the ace/aro stuff. We're given much more canon evidence of him being ace/aro, in fact, than of anything else. I maintain personally that canon Ford is asexual and aromantic, and that romance doesn't factor into his life in the way it does for 'normal' people. It's why when Bill mentions that quiz Ford does in his dreams in TBoB it makes me think of my own struggles with asexuality: "I'm not normal, everyone else is feeling this type of way and I'm feeling that type of way. There's something wrong with me. I'm weird. I need answers." It feels very much like Ford is attempting to understand that side of himself and is very afraid of the answer.

The Oracle stuff makes me so sad it was never expanded on more. I really love Jheselbraum and it felt like she was one of the first people that Ford met who was of higher intelligence than him, and who actually did just want to help. She extended an extreme kindness to him. Whether it was more than that doesn't even really matter. There was still a relationship formed there that can't be discounted. But again, it can be interpreted in lots of different ways.

This is the other thing. There's nothing wrong with projecting yourself onto your favourite character. We all do it. I do it. It's fun and it brings comfort. And that's okay! But that means we can all do it. So it's unfair for someone else to say "you're wrong for thinking XYZ about Ford" because we're all just kids in a sandbox playing house with these characters. You can't gatekeep someone else's enjoyment.

You can believe Ford is gay. You can believe Ford is ace. You can believe Ford is whatever you want him to be, but what you can't do is then rescind that privilege from someone else just because you don't like it or because it makes you feel better about yourself to punch down on someone else. People are entitled to their own interpretations of media, even if they make you feel uncomfortable or whatever.

Which brings us onto Lynch. Now, I'm not a huge surrealist fan, I like Lynch most for the person that he was (ugh I'm still so sad to type that). One of the biggest things about him was that he valued the intelligence of his audience and respected them enough to allow them the space to interpret his works as they saw fit. He never wanted to define his films in a way that would prevent another person from taking their own meaning from it. There was no definition, only feeling.

There's a clip of him being asked to expand on his meaning for one of his films, I forget which one, and he just replies "no". It's so fucking good because that, to me, is art. It is fundamentally subjective in its existence and the way I view something is not going to be the way someone else does, so why take that interpretation away from one to give to another just for their approval? We may align in thoughts but the way we process the media is going to be entirely different. Why? Because we're different people. Our experiences throughout our lives have informed the way we interact with things.

I think Alex Hirsch enjoys other people making their own interpretations of his work in a similar way. Just as Lynch does. Hirsch wants you, the audience, to derive personal meaning. He doesn't need (or even want) to tell you how to engage with the themes because why would he? It would only make him work harder to get a simpler point across and it would risk alienating parts of his audience. He wants the audience to connect and to find their own familiarities, and he respects his audience enough to give them the space to let them do that. He's often evasive when he's asked to tie things down firmly. To be honest, I think he should be braver in just saying "no, I don't want to answer that" sometimes. You can tell he wants to but he also wants to engage with people so it can be hard.

People are very desperate to want to have answers in black and white. They need things to be canon in order to feel vindicated, when in actual fact, an idea is just as legitimate when it comes to fiction. Fiction IS an idea. It isn't tangible and therefore cannot be quantified, so it can be interpreted however.

Anyway, by forcing your interpretation of the work onto others (ie. 'Ford would never', 'Stan would never' etc), I think you fundamentally misunderstand what the purpose of the work is. You're taking away the light of other people because you're scared yours doesn't shine bright enough. And you're scared because other people previously took your light away, but all you're doing is repeating the cycle and taking away from the rest of us.

Your ideas can coexist with others. No one is right and in that, everyone is right. Does that make sense? Idk.

I voice my opinions of disliking certain ways the fandom engages with elements of the show, but I don't think they have less right to have those ideas than I do to have my own. I interpret Bill as one way and someone else will interpret him another. That's okay. You're allowed to do that. But I don't think you're allowed to be actively vicious to others over it.

Engage with honesty and recognise that other people enjoys things in different ways, and it's okay not to control the narrative of that sometimes.

I have my criticisms of Hirsch but I also have a lot of love for the guy, and one of the biggest things I respect about him is him allowing us to draw our own beliefs. Do I think he could stand to do some things better? Yes. But that doesn't mean I don't love what I already have from his work.

I'm not sure if this makes sense, I'm having a bit of a Day, but I hope it at least reads well enough to convey my meaning.

[zorosangell]

I'm shocked at the lack of wano zoro fics involving a geisha reader tbh??? I'd expected to find more but there's NONE ... or atleast not ones that isn't your fic

but oh my goddd that geisha reader & zoro fic was beautiful but imagine after komurasaki allegedly dies orochi finds reader to be his new little personal geisha and inviting (demanding) her to come to onigashima with him n zoro poorly receiving the news that'd be funny I think,

⛥ﾟ・。 stupid

synopsis: part two of oiran -- zoro starts an argument over you going undercover as orochi's personal oiran. and it ends... interestingly.

cw: fluffy fluff, microscopic angst ig, zoro don't play about you, reader is just a girl (just like me fr), kinda suggestive

"No way in hell," Zoro denied, not even giving the matter a second thought. "We'll figure something else out."

"Zoro, please... think of Kin'emon... think of Momo."

"I'm thinking of you. And how stupid this plan is."

"It's not stupid."

"Coulda fooled me."

Your brows flattened, growing annoyed with his stubbornness.

'Forgot how much of an ass he can be...'

"Zo', you're being unreasonable," you crossed your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Oh, I'm being unreasonable?" he cocked a brow, letting out a sarcastic laugh before stepping out the way of the door. "Then by all means, please go."

You smiled, surprised by the sudden change of heart.

"Really?"

"No!" he exclaimed, incredulously, eyes widened by the fact that you actually believed him. "Christ, (y/n), you might as well send yourself gift wrapped with a bow!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"I'm talking about you!" he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Look at yourself, (y/n)! You're what guys like Orochi dream about. A gorgeous, dolled-up oiran dropped right on his doorstep for the taking."

You paused a moment, processing his statement.

In preparation for your arrival to the Flower Capital—a trip you were already supposed to be well on your way on—you'd fixed your rain-ruined makeup and changed into new kimono, which you'd tucked away in the safe-house in the earlier days of your mission.

You also touched-up your hair, adorning your... everything with jewelry and ornate pins to make yourself look like an oiran fit for shogun.

Much to Zoro's displeasure.

But you weren't concerned with that.

What you were concerned with... was the last part of his statement.

"You think I'm gorgeous?"

Zoro's breath hitched, a crimson flush rising from his neck to his cheeks, and only intensifying as you stalked closer.

"I...! Well...! You...!" he stammered, slowly backing away while you pressed forward, until his back hit the soft wood of the door. "Quit tryna change the subject!"

"Okay~" you flashed a cheeky smile, moving even closer until your chest was pressed against his, forcing you to look up at him with innocent, doe eyes.

"And quit looking at me like that!"

"Like what, Zo'? Why can't I look at my handsome swordsman?" you cooed.

"'Cause I know you're trying to butter me up. And it's not gonna work," he deadpanned, crossing his arms.

"Dammit, Zoro! I can take care of myself!" you groaned, annoyed that your seduction had failed. "Why won't you let me do this? It's for the mission!"

"Damn the mission! I don't give a shit! Think about yourself for a second, (y/n)!"

You flinched slightly at his volume, and were quick to clam up.

Of course, he noticed this, and took a moment to reign himself back in, taking in a deep inhale through his nose.

"What do you think Orochi wants with you? What reason could a man like him possibly have for asking for you by name? He only wants one thing, (y/n)!"

"And you'd think I'd give it to him?!" you scoffed, incredulously, knowing exactly what he was talking about, and feeling offended by the insinuation.

"Men like him don't ask! They don't care about boundaries, and they don't take no for an answer!"

"So now you think I can't fend for myself?"

"I think you wouldn't have to if you just didn't go all together! I've spent time in the Flower Capital and these guys are nothing like the small fry you were dealing with in the country! They do whatever it takes to get what they want! And I'd rather not fuck up everything the crew has worked for by having to cut down the goddamn shogun for putting his hands on you!"

You faltered a moment, surprised, and he took the opportunity to grab you by the shoulders, pulling you closer until you both were flush against each other, and his lips only a breath away from yours.

"I don't think you understand that I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because I let you go and do something reckless," he stated, significantly calmer, though not without his firm tone. "You're not some sacrificial lamb, or a soldier for a better cause. You're a member of this crew... my right hand... and I'd..."

He faltered a moment, another flush of crimson rising to his cheeks.

"Be pretty inconvenienced if you didn't come back."

You raised a silent brow, a small smirk rising to your lips that said 'Really?'

He scoffed, avoiding eye contact.

"You get the idea."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips.

He froze, turning stiff as a board as you rested your hands on his chest, before carefully pulling away.

"I get the idea."

With a slight sigh of relief, his shoulders sank, and his index and thumb came up to lift your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"So... no Orochi?"

You nodded, dutifully, the sight causing a certain stir within the swordsman's undergarments.

"No Orochi."

At that, he smiled, genuinely pleased.

Before anything—before Wano, before the Akazaya, before any old daimyo—your safety was Zoro's utmost priority.

And he'd be damned if he let anyone, even the fucking shogun himself, lay a single finger on you.

Using his distraction against him, you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, swirling you both around before tackling him to the ground.

"(y/n)?! What are you—?!"

You placed a finger to his lips, the devilish look in your eyes forcing him to swallow thickly.

"If I can't do what I wanna do... then we're just gonna have to find another way to occupy our time..."

Slowly, but intently, you began to tug off your robes and sashes, your eyes not leaving his for a moment as you stripped.

And as day turned to night, and then night turned to day, and then day turned to night again, Zoro only had on thing on his mind.

Especially with you resting on his chest in a spent pile of sweat and bliss.

'This woman... is going to be the death of me...'

[theambitiouswoman]

Hello! 🌞

May I ask you, how do you deal with gossiping?

I need to be true with myself, a lot of times I find myself gossiping, sometimes about people, sometimes about myself to people. And this had me ruined professionally, people found out something that I told. I was very sad, and learned. I hate this feeling, and really just wanna change. Yesterday a coworker of mine came to me and said stuff like: hey do you know what it’s happening between x,y,z person?

I just found out disgusting, because this was the same person the spread the rumors that I have told her, thinking she was listening and keeping to herself, and I thought she was a friend. It’s really hard because I don’t feel I can trust people.

I get how gossip can be entertaining, but the more you focus on yourself, the less you care about what others do. You should be so focused on your own world that you have no idea what’s going on outside of it.

What’s rarely talked about is the energy behind gossip—it spreads negativity. It lowers your vibration, creates an energetic loop, and keeps you tied to things that don’t serve you. When you stop engaging, your energy feels lighter, your mind clearer, and you attract better conversations, people, and opportunities.

Instead of gossip, speak life into people—say good things when they’re not around. Change the subject when negativity starts. What you give energy to grows. Negative conversations = more negativity in your life.

Decide that from now on, you are someone who does not gossip. People will stop bringing it to you when they realize you don’t engage. This builds trust and respect—the kind of person you want to be.

At work, coworkers are not your friends. Share just enough to build rapport, but don’t overshare personal details. Your coworker already showed you who she is—she spread what you told her and now wants to gossip again. You don’t owe her engagement. Try:

“Oh, I actually don’t keep up with that stuff.” (Shrugs off the conversation)

“I hope everything works out for them.” (Neutral but dismissive)

“I’d rather not get involved.” (Direct boundary)

You also mentioned gossiping about yourself. Oversharing often comes from craving connection or validation, but in the wrong hands, it can be used against you. If you don’t have a trusted friend, vent to your journal or work on resolving the root issue.

Right now, you don’t feel like you can trust people—and that’s fair. But the real lesson is to trust yourself first. Trust yourself to hold your tongue. Trust yourself to choose better company. Trust yourself to be the kind of person you respect.

[dandelion-de-deus]

the real reason I don’t listen to a lot of classical music is because I’ll inevitably start listening to some Mendelssohn sextet and find myself getting really upset over the fact that I don’t live with more musicians

[beigetiger]

Cannot stop thinking about how Skulduggery has sort of peaked in his abilities. He’s four hundred, the Death Bringer, and one of the most powerful Elementals ever. That’s quite a lot to his name.

I’m also thinking of how Valkyrie is just getting started. She’s BABY to the other sorcerers, and yet she’s already practically on his level. I’m obsessed with the idea that she’ll just…keep going. Godhood is inevitable for her, she’ll just keep losing more and more of her humanity until she’s no longer even a sorcerer. She’ll outgrow the world some day. And Skulduggery will love her anyway.

There’s a lot to be said about the religious aspect of this series and I find it all extremely fascinating, both how the sorcerers view religion and how it’s wrapped up with the characters and their arcs. Valkyrie already has a religion dedicated to one of her aspects and Skulduggery is kind of the Death Bringer, and yet neither of them view each other in an explicitly religious way (although there could be an argument made for them worshiping each other in less of a generally religious and more of a mutual adoration sense).

Not much analysis going on here, I’m just thinking about them. Might write more on this later when I’m slightly more coherent and have fewer other things to do.

[outlying-hyppocrate]

artists & bands i recommend if you like will wood!!

jhariah: very theatrical, clever lyricism & unafraid to blend various genres into something he can so beautifully call his own.

bear ghost: has a sort of vampiric essence to them similar to will's. like jhariah, their music is theatrical & upbeat.

machinery of the human heart: also happens to be from new jersey. the music is composed of his haunting vocals & intricately played piano melodies. my personal favorite song by him is champagne from his first album, surgery.

human zoo: i haven't looked too closely at anything by them yet, but their album wealth and hellness features collaborations with will wood on the titular song & machinery of the human heart on the sixth track, fever dream.

sarah & the safe word: dark cabaret. need i say more ?

[xxplastic-cubexx]

good news I got that bullet out I can speak me truth

Charles wears a collar to let Erik choke him with it, maybe some binds BUT ALSO maybe some consensual mind control, happily making Erik tie him up in a sense then letting him get a full look like “well, wonder what you could do while I’m like this :)” who knows. anyways gonna get my bullet wound sewn up since Erik just yanked it out of me

good morning beautiful inbox of mine i see youre trying to kill me before 10AM

[fisheito]

hey. hey you. yeah, yoU!! the one who actually looks at clothing!!! i request help. i need images of wedding dresses that you think would fit the starter trio [yaku, ed, oli]. pls send images........ of any ideas you have🙏