#google and its toxic wording

[mukuberry]

Is there a better word than 'dominant' for someone who prefers to take the lead in the relationship? I like the word dominant but i think most people immediately associate it with sex

[ledzephlin]

Ok but hear me out: to make up for "I liked you better when you were the Nightmare King" Kalina swears a new vow of loyalty to Cassandra and they're left being even more intertwined and codependent than they were before with both of them always wondering in the back of their mind whether what Kalina said was true

[alyrasturnz]

pls write an angsty fic where matt gets mad at reader for being too clingy but he finds her shivering on the couch and yeah just a happy ending

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎TOO CLINGY ?

❐ summary » when matt falters and, in a moment of weakness, channels all his pent-up anger towards you, the weight of his mistake hangs heavy in the air. his frustration, like a storm, lashes out, leaving emotional wreckage in its wake.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » angst, argument, lowkey toxic!matt

❐ a/n && w/c » this was sloppy af.. my vision is so blurry dude its so late and im so sleepy i cant think straight • 2.80k

the tension had been simmering all day, a cauldron of unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings, teetering on the brink of eruption. you had sought refuge in his presence, your touches and embraces a desperate attempt to bridge the widening chasm between you. yet, he remained indifferent, his demeanor as impenetrable as a storm cloud brooding on the horizon, casting a shadow over every fleeting moment of intimacy.

each time you endeavored to initiate any form of physical connection, he would instinctively recoil, as if your touch carried the weight of an unspoken burden. his reactions were swift and unyielding, a silent rebuke that deepened the chasm between you with every attempt.

»--•--«

9:37 AM, saturday

your eyes fluttered open, the absence of matt's arms around your waist immediately unsettling you. this deviation from the norm sent a ripple of unease through you. as you rolled over, you were met with the sight of his side of the bed, meticulously made and conspicuously empty, a silent testament to his early departure.

you cast your gaze over to his desk, where he was seated with an air of quiet concentration. his hair, still tousled from sleep, framed his face in a disheveled halo. before him, the glow of his open google docs illuminated the scene, a silent witness to his early morning endeavors.

you smile softly, the gentle curve of your lips a fleeting expression of warmth. sitting up, you rise to your feet, the chill of the ground seeping through your soles as you make your way towards him, each step a delicate bridge between the realms of your shared solitude and his focused sanctuary.

you wrap your arms around him from behind, feeling the subtle shift in his posture as he tenses beneath your embrace. the tension radiates through his frame, a silent testament to the unspoken complexities that linger between you, each heartbeat a whisper of the uncharted emotions that bind you together.

you furrowed your eyebrows, a fleeting expression of concern that you quickly brushed aside. leaning down slightly, you planted a soft kiss onto the top of his head, the tender gesture infused with unspoken affection, a delicate attempt to bridge the silent chasm that had momentarily formed.

"hi baby," you muttered into his hair, your voice a gentle murmur that wove through the strands like a whispered secret, carrying with it the weight of unspoken emotions and the subtle promise of comfort and connection.

"hi," he said, his voice cold and distant. you furrowed your eyebrows once more, the chill of his tone reverberating through you as you straightened up, the moment heavy with unspoken questions and a palpable tension that seemed to hang in the air.

"you okay? something bothering you?" you ask, your voice laced with concern. he responds by shrugging your arms off of him, the gesture a silent yet poignant rejection that leaves a lingering ache in the space where your touch had been.

"i'm fine," he muttered, his fingers dancing around his keyboard with a restless, almost mechanical precision, each keystroke a testament to the emotional distance he was trying to maintain.

"okay, i'm gonna go make breakfast," you say, walking around him with a measured grace until you're beside him. you cup his face gently, leaning in for a kiss, but he subtly swerves, the motion a silent yet unmistakable evasion that leaves your gesture hanging in the air.

"mm yeah okay," he mumbles, shrugging you off again, leaving you perplexed. the weight of his dismissal lingers, but you choose not to dwell on it as you walk out of his room, the unanswered questions trailing behind you like shadows.

»--•--«

3:34 PM, saturday

matt was on the couch, his eyes glued to the tv screen. a small smile crept onto your lips as you watched him, the flickering light casting a warm glow over his focused expression, creating a momentary haven of tranquility amidst the chaos.

you saw this as the perfect chance to cuddle with him, the opportunity presenting itself like a rare gem. you moved towards him, the anticipation of his warmth drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

you walked towards him, each step deliberate and measured, before settling down next to him on the couch. he slightly shifts in his seat, his eyes still glued to the screen, the flickering images reflecting in his gaze, creating an almost hypnotic trance.

"what are you watching?" you ask, your voice a soft murmur as you gently rest your head on his shoulder. the question hangs in the air, mingling with the ambient sounds of the television, as you seek to bridge the quiet distance between you.

he gently shrugs you off, his voice still cold as he mumbles, "10 things i hate about you." the words, though simple, carry an undercurrent of detachment, creating a chasm between the two of you that feels both vast and unbridgeable.

"you love that movie, don't you?" you giggle softly, inching closer to him, your attempt to rest your head on his shoulder interrupted as he abruptly gets up. the suddenness of his movement sends a jolt through you, and you watch as he stomps away, the sound of his footsteps echoing the unspoken tension in the room.

you furrow your eyebrows, a deep crease forming as concern washes over you. he's been acting strange and distant, his avoidance like a shadow that has lingered over you both all day.

have you done something to provoke his ire? you wonder, the question gnawing at the edges of your mind, casting a long shadow of doubt over your thoughts.

»--•--«

11:12 PM, saturday

now, you find yourself lying on his bed beside him, his back turned towards you in a gesture that feels like a silent barrier. the room is filled with an unsettling quiet, each second stretching into an eternity.

as you gaze at his turned form, a frown tugs at your lips, the weight of his silent withdrawal pressing heavily on your heart, leaving you to ponder the invisible chasm that has grown between you.

as the night deepened, you made another attempt to bridge the ever-widening gap, slipping your arms around him in a tender embrace, hoping your warmth might melt the icy fortress he had built around himself.

"can you just give me some space?" he snapped, his voice cutting through the quiet room like a whip crack. "i need to breathe without you constantly clinging to me," he continued, each word a sharp, stinging rebuke that left you reeling in the wake of his sudden outburst.

your heart felt as if it had been struck by a hammer, the sting of his words reverberating through every fiber of your being. "i was just trying to be close to you," you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your hurt and confusion.

"why do you have to be so cruel?" you continued, each word laced with the raw pain of his unexpected harshness, leaving you to grapple with the emotional chasm that seemed to yawn wider with every passing moment.

he turned to you, his eyes cold and unyielding, like shards of ice piercing through the dim light. "because i can't stand it anymore," he spat, his words dripping with venom. "you're suffocating me with your neediness. it's pathetic," he continued, each syllable cutting through the air like a blade, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable under the weight of his cruel declaration.

the harshness of his words cut deep, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if your very soul had been laid bare. "i'm not trying to suffocate you," you whispered, tears streaming down your face like rivers of sorrow.

"i just want to be there for you," you continued, your voice trembling with the weight of your earnest longing and the pain of his rejection, hoping against hope that he might see the sincerity in your eyes.

he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "you think you're helping? you're just making everything worse," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "i can't even think straight with you around, always needing something from me," he continued, each word a dagger aimed at your heart, leaving you to grapple with the crushing weight of his contempt.

you felt a tempest of anger and sorrow welling up inside you, your hands trembling as you struggled to hold back the flood of tears. "i never knew you felt this way," you said, your voice barely audible, a whisper lost in the storm of emotions. "why didn't you tell me sooner?" you continued, the question hanging in the air like a fragile thread, seeking answers amidst the turmoil of your heart.

"because it's pointless," he said, his tone dismissive, like a door slamming shut. "you wouldn't understand. you're too wrapped up in your own world to see how you're dragging me down," he continued, his words like heavy chains, binding you in a prison of misunderstanding and despair.

the weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders, leaving you feeling small and insignificant, as though the very ground beneath you had shifted. "i'm sorry," you said, your voice breaking like fragile glass. "i didn't mean to hurt you," you continued, each word a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm that had opened between you.

he rolled his eyes, his expression one of contempt, a cold mask that concealed any trace of warmth. "save your apologies," he said, his voice like ice. "i don't need them. i need you to back off and give me some space," he continued, each word a barrier, pushing you further away, leaving you to grapple with the chasm that now yawned between you.

with a heavy heart, you nodded, the weight of resignation settling over you like a shroud. "fine," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, a fragile echo of your inner turmoil. "i'll give you the space you want," you continued, each word a reluctant surrender, an acknowledgment of the widening distance that now separated your worlds.

you turned and walked away, each step a painful relinquishment of hope. the sound of the door closing behind you echoed through the room, a final punctuation to the conversation, leaving him alone with his anger and the oppressive silence that followed, a silence that seemed to swallow all the unsaid words and unresolved emotions.

»--•--«

2:45 AM, sunday

matt had been caught in a relentless dance of restlessness, his body twisting and turning in the sheets as the hours dragged on. sleep eluded him, a distant and unattainable dream, for the absence of your presence left a void too vast to ignore.

without the comforting weight of your head resting on his chest or the warmth of your body nestled in his arms, tranquility slipped through his fingers like sand, leaving him adrift in a sea of sleepless longing.

he extended his hand toward the vacant expanse of the bed, the emptiness a stark reminder of his solitude. guilt, like a relentless specter, tugged at the delicate threads of his heart, weaving a tapestry of remorse and sorrow. a frown, unbidden and sorrowful, etched itself onto his lips, a silent testament to the ache of your absence.

he was acutely aware of the distance he had imposed between you both today, a chasm carved by the weight of his own burdens. guilt gnawed at his conscience, a relentless reminder of how he had unfairly unleashed his stress upon you. you, with your unwavering patience and kindness, did not deserve to bear the brunt of his turmoil.

he swallowed his pride, the bitter taste lingering as he rose from his bed. with a heavy heart, he made his way out of his room, each step echoing the weight of his resolve, and ventured into the living room, seeking solace or perhaps redemption.

he discovered you shivering on the couch, your delicate frame curled up in a futile attempt to capture any semblance of warmth. the sight of your vulnerability pierced through him, a silent plea for comfort etched in the contours of your form.

a blanket was draped over you, yet it did little to stave off the shivers that coursed through your body. the sight of you, cold and vulnerable on the couch due to his actions, tugged painfully at his heartstrings as he approached, each step laden with the weight of his remorse.

his heart clenched at the sight, the pang of guilt nearly overwhelming. without uttering a single word, he gently scooped you up, cradling you in his arms as he carried you to the room, each step a silent vow to make amends for the pain he had caused.

you stirred, drowsy and disoriented, your eyes fluttering open in a futile attempt to grasp the reality unfolding around you. "what... what's going on?" you murmured, your voice a fragile whisper, barely audible in the quiet of the room.

"shh, it's okay," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm as he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking the blanket around you with tender care.

his eyes, brimming with remorse, held a depth of sorrow as he sat beside you, delicately brushing a strand of hair from your face. "i'm so sorry," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his genuine regret. "i never meant to push you away. please, forgive me."

you reached out with trembling fingers, your hand finding his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "it's okay," you whispered, your voice a soothing melody amidst the tension. your eyes, softening with forgiveness, met his with an understanding that transcended words.

"i understand," you continued, each word a gentle balm to his aching heart, conveying a depth of empathy that only the closest of bonds could foster.

but he couldn't shake the guilt that gnawed at him, a relentless specter haunting his conscience. "no, it's not okay," he insisted, his voice quivering with the weight of his remorse. "i was wrong, utterly wrong. i should have never treated you like that. you deserve so much better, more than i have given."

you shook your head, a small, bittersweet smile playing on your lips. "what matters is that you're here now," you said softly, your voice imbued with a gentle warmth. "and that you're truly sorry. that's enough for me. the past is a shadow, but your presence now is the light that dispels it."

he looked at you, his eyes a tumultuous sea of guilt and gratitude. "i promise i'll make it up to you," he vowed, his voice resolute despite the emotion that threatened to choke him. "i'll never hurt you like that again. i'll spend every moment proving that you're cherished, beyond words and beyond measure."

you nodded, your heart swelling with a profound mixture of love and forgiveness. "i believe you," you whispered, and in that moment, the oppressive silence that had once filled the room began to lift, replaced by a fragile yet hopeful sense of reconciliation, a delicate promise of mending what was once broken.

he sat there for a moment longer, his hand still holding yours, as if afraid that releasing it would shatter the fragile bond you were rebuilding. "i just... i can't forgive myself for making you feel this way," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with sorrow. "seeing you like this, it breaks my heart into pieces."

you squeezed his hand tighter, your eyes locking onto his with unwavering resolve. "we all make mistakes," you said gently, your voice a soothing balm. "what matters is that we learn from them and grow, becoming better versions of ourselves. and i believe, with all my heart, that you will."

he nodded, swallowing hard as he fought back the tears threatening to spill. "i will," he promised, his voice trembling with emotion. "i'll do everything within my power to become the person you truly deserve."

you smiled, a serene sense of peace washing over you like a gentle tide. "that's all i ask," you whispered, your voice imbued with a quiet strength. your eyes fluttered closed as the weight of exhaustion began to envelop you. "just be here with me," you murmured, the words hanging in the air like a delicate promise, an unspoken plea for presence and companionship in the face of weariness.

he watched as you drifted off to sleep, his heart a tumultuous blend of guilt and unwavering determination. he understood the arduous journey that lay before him, a path fraught with challenges and the need to earn back your trust.

yet, he was resolute, ready to traverse every step, no matter how treacherous. for you, he would move mountains, conquer any obstacle, and face any hardship.

tags — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetameivous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike

[bachibabe]

📂 ‧ ₊ ˚ — Everything You

ren kaji x idol!reader

✰ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 1.8k

✰ ݁ ˖┊: content: obsessed!kaji, soft yandere!kaji, idol!reader, parasocial relationship, obsession, male masturbation, hand-job, dom!kaji, facial, cum eating, toxic behaviour, violence (not against reader), creepy behaviour, kaji scares you a little at the end :// but he means so well, he just wants to protect you <33 all chars are aged up

18+ → minors / blank blogs dni -> dark content

Kaji who’s just so so so obsessed with his favourite pretty little idol.

He didn’t mean for it to happen, no. But they never really do, do they? Just get caught up so caught up that they don’t even know the path their heart has led them down. Don’t know what to do when they’ve fallen so deep into the trap of dazzling cameras and flashing lights.

For Kaji, it all starts out rather simple– too simple, almost. A friend leaning over his shoulder, phone screen propped up in his hand. A picture of your face, your blinding smile on full display as his friend prattles on about you. Everything you, really.

In the moment, he has no amount of care for you in his bones. Right then he simply rolls his eyes at the other man, pulls his headphones back in place. Effectively shuts out the rest of the world just as he always does. He’s never cared about idols before– especially not popular ones like yourself. So why should he this time? Just ‘cause his friend finds you cute?

Whatever.

Yeah, in that moment he pretends to forget all about you. Cussing at his friend, effectively telling him to ‘fuck off with his useless shit’-- his words, of course. Yet, your name. That pretty little smile, the one that makes him feel almost electric continues to run through his brain.

Continues to rattle around behind his eyes, continues to force its way inside of his conscious with no remorse. No matter how loud he turns up his headphones, how hard he swings his fists, your name continues to irk him like a stupid fucking shadow.

For a week it goes on. For a whole week it feels like you’re haunting him like a shadow.

Never before had he noticed all of your posters. The ones in convenience stores advertising drinks, the motivational ones in cafe’s telling him to cheer up with that little pout on your lips. Your arm held up in a gentle flex. Never before had he noticed your advertisements on tv. Staff making you all dolled up to promote something stupid like a fried chicken chain.

Turns out the entire world is utterly engulfed by everything you.

He finally gives in after seeing one of your CDs at a record store. Finally gives in after a week of hell– your presence leaking into his soul to the point he simply could no longer avoid it. Could no longer hold back from googling your name, listening to your music, watching your performances, watching your interviews, reading your articles, following your accounts, finding out who your staff are–

He doesn’t sleep that night. Doesn't think he can with how his heart is racing, his head is pounding. He feels like he’s dying. Is this a heart attack? Is he going to pass on? What the fuck is he feeling? What is making him feel like he’s falling into insanity?

And thus is the birth of your biggest fan, Ren Kaji. <3

Not that he tells anyone, anyway. Why the fuck should he tell anyone? It’s not light they have the right to know. They don’t have the right to know anything about him– much less what his headphones are playing.

It’s always you, of course. All of your albums play on loop through his headphones. Over and over again. Never stopping for even a second. The classic rock he used to listen to all but forgotten in the face of everything you.

Your voice just as sweet as the candy he eats religiously, your face just as pretty as the sunset over the horizon. Your very existence comes as close to the importance of the very oxygen he breathes.

No one can really blame him for falling so easily, honestly. No one can blame him for falling for a piece of safety, a piece of calmness in the world he normally enjoys being so rough. For so easily siding with your charms. Especially whenever he attends your concerts. When it feels like you’re singing just to him.

When your face lights up whenever it crosses his in the audience, when you shoot him a wink that almost caused him to die from the all-consuming heat that surrounded his very being. His face is hot, red. The lollipop in his mouth breaking as he clenches his jaw, hard shards of glittery candy falling uselessly against his tongue.

You noticed him. You know him. Maybe you could come to like him too?

The moment was perfect. Maybe a start to some sort of cheesy romantic-comedy in his head. The start to getting to know you, being your friend. Protecting you.

But of course the fucking guy standing next to him had to ruin it all. Whining so excitedly that the wink was sent at him instead. That you, a practical goddess, would ever give attention to some fucking low life like him? Some fucking perverse creep who didn’t truly understand your beauty. Understand you.

Fucking disgusting.

Unfortunately, the night didn’t end like a romantic movie would. You did not invite him backstage, nor did he leave with your number scribbled across his palm. It left with him being escorted off the premises. The pervert’s blood on his fist.

He doesn’t regret taking the swing. What? Was he just supposed to let that shit slide? Of fucking course not. He’s not about to let anyone else get delusional about you. No, and that wink was definitely meant for him. Not that creep.

He’s sure of it.

He’s sure of a lot of things he probably shouldn’t be, to be honest.

Especially when he wraps his hand around his cock at night. When he imagines it’s your cute little hand wrapped around him instead of his own. When he buries his face into a towel he caught at one of your shows– the gentle scent of your perfume still lingering across the surface. The same towel he sleeps with under his pillow every night.

Someday it’ll be you laying next to him. At least that’s what he hopes. His dreams during the day spilling into something else during the night. Hopes that one day his admiration for you can turn into something more. Hopes that one day he’ll get to have you on his bed, your cute little frame kneeling between his legs as he rests against the headboard.

Hopes to see your flushed little face, eyes half-lidded, already fucked out and submissive just for him. Hopes to coach you through touching his cock with his own hands. Showing you how to wrap your fingers around the base– how your hand wouldn’t even be able to make it all the way around his girth.

Imagines the way you would whine quickly, his hand guiding you up and down his length. Squeezing it just the way he likes you to. Watches the way your thumb would flick cutely over the tip, rubbing his precum around the head. Teasing him just like a brat would.

Seeing your cute little expression as you move your head close to his cock, following his directions so well as you open your mouth, tongue falling out as you prepare to taste his cum. White hot streams of it shooting from his cock, coating your face. Your tongue, lips, cheeks– hell maybe even a glob of it could land on your eye. Shit. That would be a sight.

The cute little giggle that would leave your lips as your messy hand would come up, the little “Oopsies~” That would leave your lips as you wipe it off, bringing it to your lips. Licking your hand clean as he comes down from his high. How you’d smile to yourself, proud little waves of excitement radiating from your form.

The way he’d give sugar-coated insults, pulling you back up his body for a rough kiss. One that told you that you can’t get too big a head or else he might have to do something about it. The way the fresh smell of your shampoo would run through the very air he breathes. That same gentle smell that reminds him of forest flowers in a delicate bloom.

It’s only then that reality returns to him. A mess in his hands, your towel pressed against his nose as he remembers that he still has to make all of that a reality. So he can protect you from those guys like at the concert. Hell, so he can protect you from the rest of the world.

It’s those feelings that drive him to do something rash. Something just a tad bit extreme. Well, it really is too bad that the sane part of him is long gone. The need to protect you driving him to buy more copies of your newest album than he can count. The part of him that scowers each copy for a ticket to your handshake event. The part of him that buys up any extra tickets that he can online.

The part of him that makes him stand back until the rest of your fans finish their turns. Holding place at the back of the line– kind enough to still let everyone else have their turns. Let the rest of your fans greet you, say their thanks. They are important to your career, afterall, and he isn’t dumb enough to keep the normal ones away from you. Even if just a little part of him wants to.

But as the clock ticks on and the line wains down, he can’t help but feel restless. Can’t stop his heels from rocking to his toes, his fingers fiddling with loose threads inside of his hoodie pockets. Can’t help but feel annoyed as he is kept from you longer and longer.

Ah, you have no clue the relief he feels when it’s finally his turn. When he takes all of the handshake tickets out of his pocket, places them on the table in front of you with force before reaching his hand out to hold yours.

The shock evident on your face is something he’s never seen before. The way your eyes slowly lift to him, take in his full face for the first time. He’ll never forget it. He could never forget anything to do with you.

Hundreds of handshake tickets sit between your bodies. Each one lasting for a duration of 10 seconds.

You gulp quietly, a shaky smile spreading to your lips as you slowly clasp his hand into your own, shaking it slowly. Eyes darting to your manager and your security for only a second before returning back to him. Silence hanging heavy, your voice bleeding ever-so-softly through the headphones around his neck.

The lollipop rolling in his mouth, waiting for you. Surrounded by everything you.

“Th-Thank you for your support!”

© all rights reserved to bachibabe ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[mgc02]

Yandere Vox and Valentino x angel Fem reader who snuck to hell to help Charlie out.

Its been a while since I tried learning Spanish and I used Google translate to help out but I apologize if I got it wrong

Caught on Camera

Cw: toxic behavior, stalking, toxic relationships, suggestiveness

You had felt compelled to do something when the princess of hell pleaded her case to heaven. To think they've been slaughtering hell's citizens this whole time and for the reason of overpopulation.

It all seemed so unfair and the princess seemed to actually be making an impact as you all saw the sinner she was trying to redeem act very selfless. Looking out for his friend and standing up to someone with power over him to protect others. Yet the seraphim concluded that there was no helping him.

You couldn't believe the events you witness so you decided that enough was enough and you packed your bags and took a portal to hell. (Without telling anyone of course). When you arrived you noticed that it was like earth but worse. Dirty with crime in every corner.

You tried not to be judgemental. You didn't like how the angels acted so superior towards the princess and her people so you wanted to be as open minded as you could. You tried to find some kind of directions so you make your way to the hotel but nobody seemed inclined to help.

Meanwhile you were unaware that as an angel showing up in hell you were attracting more attention than you realized. The demons that noticed your halo and wings began to whisper about and you were oblivious to the cameras watching you since you arrived.

"Is that really an Angel?" Vox pondered. "She certainly looks like she comes from heaven" Valentino said with slightly suggestive implications. "She might be powerful if we can get her to make a deal..." Vox's words trailed off as he felt consumed with the way she moved. She was born to be on a screen. "...We'll have to make sure she doesn’t make it to her intended destination." He caught himself trying to hide his allure towards her.

Val on the other hand never tried to hide anything. "Ella seguro es hermosa. I wonder if she'd be open to filming something with me." He spoke as he eyed her on the screen. Vox tried to contain the unreasonable amount of jealousy he was already feeling. "Well if I get a deal with her we can share." Vox lied. He didn't have any plans to share her. Val didn't seem to like that idea.

"How come you want her so bad? Maybe if I get her I can make us both rich." They both threw shade at one another while trying to hide their true feelings before they noticed the cameras had lost their precious little angel. "HEY! WHERED SHE GO?!?" Vox shouted. They searched street after street before the drone found her again. She was close to the hazbin hotel. "Shit! We can't let her get there." Vox declared. "You're right. We can discuss this once we have her here." Valentino said being uncharacteristically reasonable for once.

"I'll cut her off and you meet me there" Vox knew he might have to share her with Val but he started to feel confident he could manipulate him enough to keep him in check at the very least. Now all he needed to do was convince an Angel to trust a demon which was something he wasn't too concerned about. Convincing people to trust him was literally his job. And it was pretty damn good at it. This should be easy.

[inbloomwriting]

Everything to me - Chapter 2

Chapter two - Blueberry & Kidney Bean

Chapter 1

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: 5.6k words. I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. I tagged everyone who asked me to do it when I posted part 1. Please let me know if you want to be taken off or added to the taglist. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

The store smells like dust and cardboard and old carpet. It's not necessarily a bad smell, it just doesn't live up to her memories.

She remembers the perpetual scent of menthol cigarettes and some kind of cheap men's perfume wafting through the air. The store used to smell like her dad and now it doesn't. And that just makes it all even more real.

Boxes upon boxes litter the room, filled with records. Some older, some newer. Guitars adorn one wall while the others are covered in posters from tours that happened long ago, some even before she was born.

There is something comforting about being here. It’s like stepping back into the past. Long nights watching Dad and his friends play their guitars after store-closing. Discovering new bands whenever a new shipment of records came in. And yes - she is the first to admit that in her younger years, she mostly chose the records by how cool the cover looked. 

It’s also memories of Dad getting caught up in the after-hours jam sessions and forgetting about her dance recital and that one time he threw a guitar at the window out of anger that a shipment of records got lost. It took him months to get the window replaced. She could probably still trace exactly where the crack used to be. 

Being here is very reminiscent in all the good and bad ways. But it’s a warped version of the past. One that’s laced with all the knowledge she has now. Like a movie that you’ve seen a million times.

“I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to be doing that!” 

Jamie’s voice cuts through the nostalgia-induced fog like a sunbeam through the clouds. And it also gives her a little heart attack as the only sound filling the room up until now had been her moving around and the soft tunes of an Eric Clapton record playing in the background.

“Jesus fuck! You scared me. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to startle pregnant women either and give them heart attacks.” 

He looks at her with those big expressive eyes of his and a comically overdone pout on his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But seriously give me that.” 

He’s so quick to take the box of records from her hands (Y/N) hardly has time to process what’s going on. 

Quite honestly, his worry is a bit misplaced here but she appreciates the sentiment even if he might be a little overly cautious at that moment. It feels nice to be cared for. 

“You know I’m pregnant, not sick, right? I can carry stuff.” 

“Yeah but why would you if you got me carrying it for you?” 

He has a point, she has to give him that. 

“Fair enough. Those go over there in the corner please.” 

Jamie follows her order without hesitation and, after setting the box down in its designated place, his eyes dart across the room and light up with childlike wonder and curiosity.

“This used to be your dad’s place, yeah? It looks really neat with all them posters and shit. Like stepping into an old person’s mind but like a cool old person that buys you alcohol when you’re 15 and lets you watch horror movies when your mum said no.” 

Of all the adjectives in the world, (Y/N) wouldn’t ever think of using the word “cool” to describe her dad. He was creative and fun and eccentric and stubborn — but cool? 

Then again he was her dad and no one ever likes to think of their own parents as cool. Oh god, will their kid think she’s uncool?! 

“Uh yeah, the shop and the apartment right above us. He owned it, now I do. I’m trying to get it all fixed up and ready to be sold.”

“What? Why?” 

There is something to be said about Jamie’s face and his absolute inability to mask his emotions. Everything he thinks and feels is mirrored twice as vividly on his face. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips. 

“I mean — it’s a record store. People don’t really buy records anymore. Be honest, when was the last time you bought one instead of just streaming the music?” 

“Like two weeks ago.” 

“Fuck off, no you didn’t!” 

“Uh — yeah, I did. Olivia Rodrigo if you must know.” 

A soft giggle falls from (Y/N)’s lips. How fitting for Jamie to buy an album full of teenage angst. 

“Well, you’re one of very few people though. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to sell. I’d keep it open. Instead of selling instruments, it’d turn that part of the shop into a little stage with a coffee counter or a bar. Host open mic nights and shine a spotlight on undiscovered artists. But the world isn’t perfect and there is no way I can afford to turn that vision into reality so really there’s no use in letting myself get too caught up in it.” 

There is pity in his eyes and she hates it. She doesn’t want pity, not his or anyone else’s. Has seen enough of it, especially lately. If she had received just one more “Sorry for your loss” card in the mail from relatives she hadn’t seen in decades, she probably would’ve stabbed a fork in her own eye. Pity does no good to no one. 

“Anyway, Jamie. Not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with you, it’s kind of necessary if we want to get this whole beings-friends-thing right, but uh — what are you doing here?” 

“Jesus, can’t a guy just come around to say hi to his baby? “ 

She thinks the way he says the word “Baby” in his thick accent is surprisingly and undeniably adorable. As if it ends in an “eh” instead of a “y”.

“By the way, they’re as big as a blueberry now.” 

And the way he’s keeping track of the baby's growth gets her right in the heart. For some reason, this seems to come so naturally to him when it all still feels weird and foreign and surreal to her. As if it were happening to someone else and she’s just a mere spectator. The idea that something as small as a blueberry will one day turn into a proper baby, a child, a teenager … a whole ass adult - is so wild to her. Almost incomprehensible. A person with their own feelings and dreams and personality. (Y/N) wonders if at any point in this pregnancy, she'll wake up and it'll all just make sense or if that only comes once she's holding the baby in her arms.

“That's cute. Doesn't answer my question though. What brings you here?”

A shadow of something flickers across Jamie’s face. Something unreadable and unfamiliar. Something that makes (Y/N) feel a sense of dread bubbling up in her stomach.

“I uh — I can’t do this.”

And there it is. That unfamiliar shadow is now a metaphorical atom bomb, a mushroom cloud of all that could have been and won’t be.

“Oh okay. I mean no, not okay. This sucks actually. You said you wanted to be part of the baby’s life and now you’re bailing? That’s a shit move, Jamie. You’re a right prick for pulling that crap.” 

“What? Oh no!” his eyes widen as the realization sets in. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then what did you mean? Cause you’re truly giving me a heart attack right now. Second one for today. You really need to start working on your conversation starters.” 

She had given him the chance to opt out of being a dad, to not be a part of the baby’s life. It seemed like the right thing to do and, foolishly, (Y/N) had believed that she’d be okay with him doing just that. In this very moment though, she feels everything but okay. The idea of Jamie changing his mind is terrifying. 

Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you need something — or someone until you’re faced with the possibility of losing them.

“I mean, I can’t do this alone. I need to tell someone. All I keep thinking about is the baby and I feel like I am going to explode any second now. I know we can’t tell everyone yet ‘cause of — well you know, things going wrong and stuff. But I need to tell someone. You got to tell Rebecca and your mum, I think it’s only fair I get to tell two people as well, yeah?”

A sense of relief floods her. Starts in her toes and fills her all the way to the top of her head. He wants this — wants the baby. It’s not just her in this. It’s nice to know you have someone in your corner. It’s also scary. Because he deserves to know just whose team he’s on. And being vulnerable fucking sucks. 

“Jamie, that’s fine. Absolutely you can tell your mum.” 

“And Simon? You got two people so — “

“I didn’t though.” 

“Uh yes, you did. I know you told Rebecca.” 

“That’s right.”

“And your mum too”.

The silence that follows his words is deafening. Being vulnerable means also admitting guilt. It means owning up to all of your mistakes. Though we are not the sum of our mistakes, they are what help shape the person we become. And (Y/N) really doesn’t think they make her a very good one.

“And your mum too?” 

More silence.

“You didn’t tell your mum? Why not? “

To his credit, Jamie looks truly surprised and confused. There is no judgment there, just absolute bewilderment and that signature softness that rounds out his features and settles in his eyes whenever Jamie talks to her about something serious. Granted they’ve not had that many conversations but she hopes that softness stays. She hopes that maybe their baby can have those soft, gentle eyes too.

“I’m not sure. I think I’m scared. My mum and I have a — complicated relationship. I disappoint her, she judges me. You know, the usual.” 

“You think she’ll be disappointed because we're having a baby? Is it because of me?”

(Y/N) shrugs, breaking eye contact and fixing her gaze on the old grey carpet with the ugly 90s pattern. What if those soft eyes can look straight through her, see all the ugly parts and the insecurities? That’s too scary for now. Too much too soon.

“No, it has nothing to do with you. Think she’ll just be disappointed I didn’t get pregnant according to the timeline she dreamed up for my life when I was like 2 years old. Had it all planned out for me and I never stuck to it.” 

Jamie is quiet for a moment but (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look back up at him. She can’t deal with any more pity.

“Well if you want to practice telling a mum, we can start with mine.”

“Huh?” 

“You can come to Manchester with me if you want. To tell my mum. We’ll have one mum down then, makes it easier to do it a second time. It’s science.” 

Jamie has the fascinating quality of making you believe in his words just by being so undeniably charming and because he believes in them himself. He makes it look easy when it is everything but.

“And if things don’t go well with your mum at least you’ll know you have at least one mum you can rely on, even if it’s not your own. She raised me pretty much by herself so she knows a thing or two about babies and parenting and stuff.” 

The mocking raise of (Y/N)’s right eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by Jamie who opens his lips to a silent gasp and clutches his chest with an overly dramatic gesture. 

“What? You saying I didn’t turn out perfectly?”

“No,” she laughs, a lightness festering in her chest. Like the first rays of sunshine after a cold winter that never seemed to end. Like a glass of wine after a long day at work. Like your favorite song on the radio at the exact moment you need it most. “I think you turned out exactly the way you were supposed to.” 

“Thanks,” Jamie says with that cheeky smile playing on his lips that makes him look a little younger than he actually is. Then he dares to wink at her and it’s a little annoying but also insanely charming. “Not sure you meant it as a compliment but I am taking it. Now when are you free for a trip up to Manchester?” 

(Y/N)’s been on a lot of road trips around the country when she was younger. She’s even spent a whole summer traveling Europe, partially by train but most of the time was spent stuffed in a Fiat Punto with 3 of her friends and all their luggage. It was stuffy, it was chaotic and it was immensely fun. None of those road trips ever involved a shiny black Aston Martin Rapide though. 

Or a famous footballer dressed in the ugliest lime green sweater (Y/N) has ever seen. 

“That’s all the luggage you got?” Jamie questions as he moves the black shades off of his eyes and sets them on the top of his head, holding back some of his hair. It shouldn’t work so well but it does. 

“I mean, we’re only staying for a night right? Why? Should I have brought more? How much did you pack?” 

He glances at her, then towards the car, and back at her. A sheepish look crosses his face before being replaced by his childlike cheekiness. “That’s confidential. Don’t worry about it, yeah?” 

“I got my ginger lollies, that’s all that matters really.” 

“You feeling alright?” 

“Mh, I’m good. Just pregnant.” 

His eyes drop down to her stomach for just a second before he nods his head in what (Y/N) can only describe as a mix of pride and satisfaction. “Yeah, you are.” 

That’s new. Well not new-new but it hasn’t happened since the day of the funeral. That tingly feeling in her stomach that has fuck all to do with the baby and everything with how the baby got there. Yes, Jamie is hot and (Y/N) is the first to admit as much but there has been so much stress and chaos and she hardly had time to think about anything but surviving and making sure not to completely lose herself in bad visions of what-ifs that her brain has had no time to process any feelings of arousal or lust. That look he just gave her though, that one made her remember it for just a second.

“You sure you’re alright?” 

Jamie’s voice shakes her from her daydream and brings her back to the real world, her eyes focusing back on the obscene car parked in front of her tiny apartment building looking so insanely out of place.

“Uh yes, I’m fine. I just — sometimes I forget that you’re famous.” 

Jamie regards her for a moment before shrugging his shoulder and grabbing the bag from her hands. “I don’t. It’s fun. Now come on, let’s goooooo.” 

His voice is dipped in excitement and there’s a bounce in his step. If this is how the prospect of seeing his mother makes him feel and behave, she must be one lovely woman. Whenever (Y/N) thinks of her own mother her chest fills with tiny metaphorical icicles. Sharp and rough and painful. It’s all regret and judgment and disapproval. It’s “You gained weight”, “you look tired”, and “You should really look into getting a new job”. Daggers disguised as roses. Stabs right to the heart in the name of being honest. “I just care about you, because I love you, because I am your mother!” 

If there is one thing (Y/N) knows for sure, it’s that she will never ever find the need to resort to criticism and thinly veiled malice in order to show her child that she cares. They will know. Every single day. Because she’ll make sure to show them. Every single day in all the big and tiny ways a person can show their love. 

“Kidney Bean?”

“Kidney Bean. And apparently, the baby is sprouting webbed fingers and toes right now. Oh, and it’s starting to move!” 

“Can you feel that?” 

“No, not yet.” 

“It’s mental. Last week she was the size of a blueberry and now she’s a kidney bean. Kid’s growing up too fast.” 

It’s true. There is so much happening all at once and it’s almost impossible to really process it all. Suddenly there is a tiny spark of a human inside her. Not really a baby yet but a baby to her. And it's moving and developing and changing every second of every day. Fucking insane.

“Wait … you said she. You think it’s a girl?”

Maybe it’s the sunlight casting a glow through the windshield but (Y/N) is almost certain she can just about make out a blush dusting Jamie’s cheeks. 

“Dunno.”

“Jamie Tartt, do you want to be a girl dad?” 

He glances at (Y/N) through the corner of his eyes for just a moment but it’s enough for her to see the sincerity in him. This is something he’s thought about before. Learning new things about Jamie is fascinating.

“Ah,  it’s stupid, really. It’s — It’s dumb or whatever.” 

“No, come on, don't go shy on me now. Tell me.” 

He takes a deep breath. A moment passes then another. There is no rush. Sometimes silly thoughts are the result of harsh truths. 

“Told you my dad was a prick. Like the biggest piece of shit walking this earth, yeah? And I knew that all my life. Thing is I still tried to impress him. I just — I wanted him to like me so badly. Just felt wrong that me own dad didn’t care about me and that made me angry. And I kept that anger inside me for so long. Sometimes when I think about the baby and the future I am scared that if I have a son that anger will jump over to him. Like maybe all Tartt men are cursed or some shit like that. But if I had a little girl maybe that would make it easier for me to be a good dad. I don’t mind either way, obviously, but the idea of having a son scares me.” 

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been with her so far and by the way he clenches his jaw and grabs onto the steering wheel just a little tighter, (Y/N) can tell this isn’t easy on him. It means a lot that he shares this part of him with her anyway. It feels like they are actually becoming friends. So opening up to him in return is only half as horrifying. 

“When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12, I wrote a short story for school and I won an award. They did this big ceremony thing where the 3 finalists got to read their stories out loud for an audience and then receive their prizes. My mum didn’t show up, not sure if it was because she stayed longer at the office and didn’t care enough to leave on time or if she just didn’t feel like getting out of the house. Point is, she wasn’t there. When I came home that night I was sad, obviously, and I was also pissed. Because why the fuck couldn’t she take one night off to come see me succeed at something even if it wasn’t something she deemed worthy of praise. 

So I yelled at her and I’m sure I said some hurtful things. But I was so devastated and angry and I needed an outlet for once. She called me ungrateful but I was used to that, she always called me ungrateful. Then she looked at me with that look of absolute resignation and malice and she said that she hopes I have a daughter like me one day and that she makes me realize how hard it is to love me. 

When I think of the baby, sometimes I see a little girl too. One that I will love so much she never has to doubt it for a single second. And I will also prove my mother wrong. Because it will be so easy to love my little girl and it would’ve been so easy to love me, her little girl.” 

It’s the first time she’s ever said those words out loud. Truly, (Y/N) had not expected for them to come out in an Aston Martin, on the way to meet her baby’s father’s mother but life doesn’t seem to care for plans very much these days.

Softly, as if to not startle her, Jamie places his hand on hers, squeezing gently.

“I think your mum is a right bitch.” 

“Thanks. I think your dad is a huge asshole.” 

“We’re gonna be better than them, right?” 

It’s not really a question. It’s more of a promise.

“We will. I know it.”

His hand doesn’t leave hers for a good long while. 

The nerves don’t hit her until they pull up to the quaint little house with the white front. There’s a rose bush to the side and some kids playing football just across the way. The nerves don’t hit her until Jamie puts the car in park but when they do, they hit her like a freight train.

“Woah, you alright?” 

“Huh?” 

“You look all pale and like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Do you have to puke?”

A chuckle falls from her lips at the absurdity of it all. In all honesty, she’s not met a lot of parents yet but the few she did meet were parents of actual partners. People she had been dating for a while. It was a natural progression of steps. This is all wrong and sideways and topsy-turvy. You’re supposed to meet the mum first and then get pregnant. 

Again with the life and the plans. 

“I’m fucking nervous.” 

“Hah,” Jamie laughs. The audacity of this guy. “You’re nervous to meet my mum? Why? She’s an angel.”

“Do you not know how intimidating that is? Like, if she was shit I wouldn’t care but she sounds wonderful and I want her to like me. No, I need her to like me. Desperately. And I can only imagine what she thinks of me already. Some floozy who gets knocked up and really just wants your money.” 

Before she even fully realizes what’s happening, (Y/N) feels Jamie’s hands on her cheeks, framing her face in warmth.

“Calm down, please. I promise it’ll be alright. My mum will love you, I know it. Probably more than she loves me. Actually no that’s a lie, but she will love you and she will love our baby. Promise.”

“She’s not gonna judge me for — you know. Getting pregnant even though we’re not dating or anything.” 

“My mum was married to my dad, worst person on planet Earth. Don’t think she’s in any position to judge you. It’ll be alright, trust me.” 

She hardly knows this man and yet she can’t help but do just that. Trust him.

The first thing (Y/N) notices about Georgie is her smile. A smile that is so familiar because it looks exactly like Jamie’s smile. Warm and radiant and true. A part of (Y/N) hopes that their baby inherits that same smile. Partially because it’s a really good smile and partially because maybe that could help Jamie realize that he is more than the sum of his father’s problems and mistakes. He is all his mother’s boy.

“Oh, I missed you, my baby.” 

Georgie wraps her arms around Jamie’s middle, getting swallowed by his frame for a moment. There’s no denying that part of (Y/N)’s heart breaks a little seeing how loving of a relationship these two have and wondering where she and her own mother went wrong.

And as it so happens with so many kids that have never been loved quite the way they deserved, (Y/N) can’t help but search for the problem in herself. 

“Yeah sorry for not visiting earlier. You know how it is with training and stuff.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I know my boy is busy being a star.” 

The words hold a slight mocking, never mean but in the way that only people who are close can tease each other. You know every word comes laced with deep affection, with pride, with love.

“And it’s so nice to meet you too. I’m Georgie.” 

It takes a second for (Y/N) to realize that Jamie’s mum is now talking to her directly.

“I uh — oh thank you. Nice to meet you too, I’m (Y/N).” 

Georgie smells like mint chewing gum and floral perfume as she pulls (Y/N) into a hug. She’s soft and gentle and it’s been the first hug from a mother (Y/N) has received in quite some time.

“Sorry, didn’t even ask if you’re a hugger.”

“Oh that’s alright, don’t worry about it.” 

She’s not a hugger, never really was, but there is something about Georgie granting her some affection that isn’t all that bad. Maybe their kid can have at least one grandmother who cares and who isn’t completely disgusted by the idea of showing any kind of positive emotions.

“Jamie never brings girlfriends around so I’m a bit out of my element here if I’m being honest.” 

“Mum we’re not — she’s not.” Jamie takes a big breath before starting again “(Y/N) and I are friends, yeah? Told you about it on the phone.” 

“Right, right. Well, you don’t bring around a lot of friends either so same difference, really. Now come inside will you, I’m sure we got a lot to catch up on.”

Oh if only she knew how true that sentiment really is.

There are pictures of Jamie staring back at (Y/N) from every corner of the house and Georgie leads them through the hallway and towards the kitchen. Every wall and every shelf holds a memory of him at one point in his life. Gap toothed with a football in hand smiling, surrounded by a field of tulips arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder, his teenage self smoldering at the camera with an even more questionable haircut than the one he is sporting right now. Oh to be loved in a way that every past version of you is being remembered.

As they reach the kitchen a sweet scent fills the room when a man clad in an apron turns around and faces them with a huge smile playing on his face. He has a dorky kind of charm to him that immediately puts you at ease. Maybe it’s just the frilly apron, maybe it’s the big oven gloves, maybe it’s the smile. Either way, (Y/N) thinks that if they take the news well, her kid might have truly lucked out on one side of the grandparents department. 

“Jamie, welcome home.” 

“Hi Simon, thanks, mate. Glad to be back. This is (Y/N).” 

“The friend, right.” Simon says and shoots Georgie a look that neither of them misses. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be one of his best qualities. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you too. It smells amazing in here.” 

“I found this new recipe for honey blondies. Not sure if they'll be any good but I guess we'll find out. If you guys want to go have a seat, I'll come bring them over.”

“Actually,” Jamie speaks up while nervously fiddling with his hands. “I was hoping we could have a talk before we do anything else. There’s something I need to tell you both.” 

Imagining the hypothetical scenario of telling your mum you’re having a baby and actually doing it really are two completely different things it seems. Gone is all of Jamie’s confidence and replaced with a whole lot of anxiety. 

“You're worrying me, Jamie. What has you acting so serious? Did you get someone pregnant or something?”

Georgie's words are followed by a thick awkward silence. It's heavy and suffocating and it makes (Y/N) feel uneasy in both her heart and her head.

It doesn't take long for Jamie’s parents to realize what his silence means. Everything communicated by not saying a single word.

“Oh, fuck.”

And there's nothing to add to Georgie's reaction. It's the exact same one (Y/N) had when she first saw those faint blue lines.

Of all the possible outcomes and ways this day could’ve gone, (Y/N) had not expected to find herself staring at not only a curly-haired Roy Kent but also come face to face with two very persuasive arguments belonging to no other than Keeley fucking Jones. 

“This is surreal.” 

The posters stare back at her all crinkled paper and bleached ink, as if to mock her silently. 

“Ah, well I told them to redecorate when I moved out, think they just haven’t gotten around to it yet.” 

A light dusting of pink settles on the apples of Jamie’s cheeks as well as the tips of his ears. This man can’t hide his emotions for the life of him. It’s quite adorable really. 

“Do they know?” 

“Does who know?” 

“Roy and Keeley. Do they know you have their pictures up in your room?”

“Well no and It’s not my room anymore, is it? ‘S not like I have ‘em hanging at home. Put these up ages ago.” 

A giggle slips through (Y/N)’s lips at his desperate attempt to talk himself out of this situation. 

“It’s okay, Jamie. I won’t tell.” 

“There’s nothing to tell, alright?” he responds in mock offense before sitting down on his childhood bed next to (Y/N). “Just liked boobs and football and those two were the best those fields had to offer, yeah? Can’t really blame me.” 

“Not much has changed has it?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response “Nah. Still like boobs and football but no way I’d put up a poster of granddad’s ugly mug nowadays.”

From the few times they talked about his job, including his teammates and coaches, (Y/N) was able to gather that Jamie’s relationship with Roy is something special. Odd, but special. Maybe that’s what happens when you end up working with your childhood idol. Either way, no matter how much shit he likes to talk about him, it’s clear that Jamie respects and admires Roy a great deal still.

“And uh — and Keeley?” 

“What about her?” 

“Is she — are you — how are things?” 

She still remembers that crestfallen look on his face on the day of the funeral. That infinite sadness in his eyes. She hadn’t put two and two together at that moment but later that night it all clicked. Keeley was the woman he was in love with, the woman who did not love him back. And while (Y/N) knows that she and Jamie are only bound together by happenstance and fate — if one chooses to believe in that, and that there is nothing romantic about their situation, it does sting a little to know that the man you’re having a baby with is in love with someone else.

“We’re good. We’re friends, think that’s all we’ll ever be. Her and Roy, they’re happy and I don’t want to ruin it for either of them. Keeley and I just were not right together.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” 

He nods his head, a small smile playing on his lips “Yeah, I’m alright with it. If I hadn’t made a fool of myself at the funeral then you and I wouldn’t have — you know, and then we wouldn’t be having a baby. Little Kidney Bean.” 

“That’s true. Your mum seemed excited.” 

“Hah, sorry about her. She can be intense.” 

Intense might be the understatement of the century. It took her approximately 2.3 seconds to get over the initial shock of the announcement and really process it before Georgie let out a scream of pure excitement and joy and wrapped both Jamie and (Y/N) up in her arms. She didn’t fully let go for a good 20 minutes. It was intense. It was also phenomenal.

“Don’t apologize. I am so glad she took it so well, Simon too. At least now I’ll have the certainty that my baby will have one set of loving grandparents at least.” 

“Hey,” Jamie says and nudges her shoulder with his “We’ll sort out telling your mum next, okay. I’m sure it’ll go better than you think. And if not we can always call up my mum for some more hugs and a pep talk. Whatever happens, you won’t have to do it alone. I promise.” 

For what is probably the first time in her life (Y/N) lets herself believe that there truly is someone else having her back, undisputedly and all the way. It’s unfamiliar. It’s a little scary. It’s also wonderful.

“Thanks, Jamie. I appreciate it, I really do. Think so far we’re doing alright, huh?” 

“I’d say so. Two sexy parents and a little Kidney Bean.” 

Their laughter echoes through Jamie’s childhood bedroom for quite a while longer until at some point it stills and gives room to soft breathing and quiet snores. The bed isn’t meant for two grown adults and really Jamie truly meant to sleep on the couch but somewhere between talks of baby clothes and childhood memories, eyes grew heavy and tired, and soon enough both of them are fast asleep.

Just them and their little Kidney Bean 

— and a curly-haired Roy Kent 

— and Keeley’s boobs.

taglist (@ me if you want to be taken off or added): @captainfrisbee - @scaramou - @mischiefmanaged71 - @rexorangecouny - @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog - @tweasley20 - @dreamtrydoforkinggood - @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo - @heletsmelovehim - @snubug - @katdahlali - @oldglitterstory - @lalla-04p - @aiyaiy

[outofconcheol]

Exit West (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: Minho x f!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, post-apocalyptic au (based on the Netflix series Sweet Home), 18+

summary: Even when the world is plunged into its darkest hour, you find the faintest light in Minho.

warnings: heavy angst, lots of mentions of blood and injuries (i tried to make it as non-graphic as possible), minor character deaths, weapons, panic attack (again not graphic), it's heavily implied OC struggles with agoraphobia and PTSD, brief infidelity, Minho and reader do get into verbal arguments (they're a little toxic lol), Minho is a true loverboy, ambiguous but hopeful ending, smut warnings: kissing, fingering (f rec), unprotected sex, brief nipple play

word count: 6.3k

a/n: i'm so sorry that this took so long, google docs decided to be a jerk and delete a huge chunk of this while i was working on it (I apologize in advance for the poorly written angst)! It is based on the world of Sweet Home but honestly you don't need to have watched the show or read the webtoon to follow along. the title is from the book by Mohsin Hamid. I hope you enjoy! &lt;;3

The sharp wire of the metal fence cuts into Minho’s palms, digging into his mottled skin, and he braces himself for the jump. Leaping over, Minho lands silently on his feet, skills honed from many years of observing his cats take the same leap from couches or counters. But none of that existed anymore.

His eyes remain sharp, taking in the cover of woods around him, and he remembers that while the trees helped him stay hidden, they hid the monsters from his sight as well. No sooner than he’s managed to calm down the ever-present racing of his heart, he’s swinging the door to the bunker open, closing it quietly behind him.

Wincing, he examines the cuts on his palms, tinged with dirty specks of rust. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this, knowing the small supply of rubbing alcohol he’d managed to collect over the past few months was now down to the last bottle. And there was no more to be found.

The small bit of sunlight that streams in through the barely-qualifying window illuminates your sleeping figure nestled amongst a pile of dirty blankets, and Minho almost hesitates to disturb you like this. You look so peaceful like this, a stark contrast to the emptiness that fills your eyes when you wake, the pain of living through two starkly different lifetimes contained in their depths. He knows his eyes hold the same.

“___,” he shakes you awake gently, watching you stir. The gashes that mar your face have begun to scab over, leaving ugly scars in their wake.

“I brought dinner.”

That gets you to jolt up, rubbing sleepily at your eyes. 

“Are you okay? Anything hurt?” You shake your head, a small frown on your face when you see the fresh red marks that litter his palms. He has the feeling you’re lying to him again, but he doesn’t push it. A lot went unspoken between you two.

Minho wordlessly hands you over a full sleeve of crackers, your eyes lighting up. You chomp down eagerly on one, before pausing, holding it out to him.

“I already ate,” he lies, knowing he didn’t want you to sacrifice any kind of meal for his sake. He’d eat the less full sleeve when you fell back asleep.

Moments of silence pass between you, the soft sounds of your eating lulling Minho’s tired eyes to fall, becoming heavy with sleep. He rests his head on his knees, fighting back the shiver that night brought with it. 

A deafening roar breaks through the stillness, and you freeze, dropping the crackers to the ground. Minho is by your side in an instant, hand tentatively reaching out towards your shoulder. But he never closes the gap.

“Ten seconds,” you croak out, so softly that Minho thinks he might not have heard you. “If the distance that sounds travel is 343 metres per second, then ten seconds means it’s far enough away from us.”

The ghost of a smile twitches at Minho’s lips, and he wants to praise your sharp skills, considering he’d only ever been a pabo, but you’ve turned around and fallen asleep again, your back to him. 

Minho settles into the blankets across from you, watching you for a few minutes before his body is weighed down by the exhaustion of the day, knowing the exact same thing waited tomorrow. The end of the world was more boring than he’d expected it to be.

It hadn’t always been this way. The chaos had naturally broken through the quiet, starting one night when a fire broke out in his apartment complex. Amidst the screams and sounds of windows shattering, Minho’s only concern had been the cats, scooping them up, taking special care to cover their ears from the blaring alarms. But all of it hadn’t made a difference anyway.

He thought it was his neighbour at the end of the hallway. Or at least, it looked like him. He’d always had some sort of disdain for the man - in Minho’s eyes he talked too much. Always interrupting him during his morning mail runs to brag about his latest conquests when it came to dating. It was a sore spot for Minho, especially considering his own romantic interests were so singular, something he didn’t want to get into whenever his neighbor cornered him.

But the vain man who talked Minho’s ear off about sleeping with as many women as possible was nowhere to be found, lithe limbs transforming into ropes that broke through the ceiling. Heading straight for Minho.

Somewhere in the chaos, Minho briefly had time to register that whatever was in front of him was no longer human. And so, he did the only thing he could do. Run.

The floor slipped underneath him, hurtling Minho to the ground, the cat carrier thrown open next to him. Soonie, Doongi, and Dori are nowhere to be found. His palms claw against the tile, trying and failing to lift himself up, eyes widening when he sees the red that coats his palms.

“Please,” Minho croaks, attempting to break through to the human underneath the monster. “Don’t do this.”

There’s a brief flash, a spindly arm reaching out for Minho’s face, and he ducks. The sound of shattering glass follows, the grotesque body flinging itself out the window. Minho heaves, hot tears leaking from his face as he remains curled in the fetal position, arms braced over his head. When his breath returns to him, he looks over at the empty carrier and lets out a sob. Slowly, his eyes turn to the shattered window. 

Blood lines its jagged edges, dripping to join the mess on the floor. Peering downwards, Minho sees the mangled body of the thing (he refused to acknowledge it had been his neighbor) that had attacked him, unmoving. 

He had to get out of there.

…

The knock at the door startles you. It’d been days since you’d locked yourself away from the chaos, days since you’d heard a sound. But the screams would never leave your head. 

You’ve been huddled up in the same corner since it all started, exactly ten feet away from the door. Close enough to act quickly in case someone (or something) came knocking, but far enough away to duck into one of the rooms of your apartment for safety. 

However, the splitting pain in your ankle prevents you from doing either. The bruises are turning a nasty shade of yellow, mixing with the unsightly violet from before. You’re pretty sure it’s broken, your bookcase toppling over onto it the day this had all started.

The knock startles you again. It’s soft, gentler than the ramming you’d expected if a monster were to come knocking. But still, you could never be too safe. 

“Churu,” a soft voice whispers through the darkness, and you freeze. There was only one person in the world who’d know that word, and come knocking at your door.

Your palms burn as you drag yourself against the floor, taking extra care to make as little sound as possible. Fighting the urge to curse when the door creaks, you brace yourself against it, peering through the peephole. 

The banged-up face of Lee Minho greets you on the other end, and you nearly sob with relief. Swinging the door open, you take him in at the threshold, peering at you with a strange gaze. You’d often joked to Minho that his eyes resembled his cats’, curiosity mixed with having seen too much contained in their depths. But it seemed especially true today, his lip split open and face haggard while he clutched a baseball bat in his hand.

You know the first thing he’s going to ask before it even leaves his mouth.

“Are you hurt?” he huffs out, watching you collapse against the door frame.

“Junho is gone.” You watch Minho’s entire figure tense up when his best friend’s name comes off your lips, his grip around the bat tightening.

“I-, I tried to talk to him, but there was a weird sound on my phone that kept breaking us up, and then I heard him scream, and then…”

You collapse against Minho in a fit of sobs, forced to recount those awful last moments when you’d heard your boyfriend die over a phone call, the chilling screech of something that wasn’t human cutting off his screams for help. And you were trapped halfway across the city, crumpled on the floor, unable to do anything to help him.

Minho’s arms wrap around you, supporting your weight, and he’s moving you both over the threshold, taking care to shut the door softly behind him. You don’t know how many minutes you spend wailing against his chest, the sight of another human forcing you to confront the horror you’d dealt with in the past few days, but eventually, the pain in your ankle makes itself known again, and you slide to the floor.

Minho rests his head against the door frame, his own eyes red-rimmed, and you watch his face contort, trying to hold back the tears from falling.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, watching Minho’s gaze snap to yours. 

“What for?” he croaks. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m so scared, Minho,” your eyes fill with tears. “I thought that no one would come for me, that I’d be alone here, and that I’d…”

You choke, unable to finish the sentence, and you watch Minho straighten next to you. The warmth of his hand wrapping around your waist startles you, watching his lithe body contort as he helps you up off the floor, taking special care not to put weight on your ankle.

“You’re with me now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

There’s a furrow in Minho’s brow when he hears your request, lips tightening into a thin line while his throat bobs.

“Absolutely not.”

The decision is final, resolute, stubborn — Minho’s arms are crossed over each other, and he stares down at your figure among the blankets, eyeing the makeshift splint currently tied around your ankle.

“Minho, please.” It comes out as a whine, years building in your eyes from the frustration of being trapped in the bunker for months on end. 

“I said no.”

Minho had dragged the two of you to safety not long after he’d found you, stealthily dodging the strange creatures that had begun to pop up on the city landscape. There was little in common between them besides their monstrous appearances, but Junho’s screams lingered in the back of your mind, causing you to wake up every night in a cold sweat for the first few weeks.

The tiny bunker became your new home, and Minho your roommate, forced together by circumstances beyond your control. You’d snapped at him when he brought up the idea of leaving, wanting to search for food and supplies outside. 

Unfortunately, your ankle made the final decision for you — Minho would have to be the sacrificial lamb, risking his life for you both. It filled you with an immeasurable amount of guilt, knowing he put himself in danger every day to provide for you both. But it also made you angry, the listlessness that had begun to brew inside you only becoming stronger when you felt more and more useless every time he’d come back with food and medicine for you and nothing for himself. 

Regret cut through you like a searing knife. Who was Minho to do all these things? He’d been Junho’s best friend, not yours. The relationship between you two had been cordial at best, Minho barely managing to string more than five words together every time he was around you. It always seemed to you like Minho stood at the other end of a vast abyss, impossible for you to reach in any way. Admittedly, you’d been no help in closing the chasm, even since you’d both escaped together, the pain in your ankle lulling you to sleep as soon as you swallowed the meds he brought every day. 

Your eyes flit to Minho across the bunker, holed up into the corner. You watch his hands rummage around in his pocket, pulling out a switchblade. The shiny metal gleams in the rays of the sun, Minho’s fingers enclosing around a lock of his messy, overgrown hair—

“STOP!” The switchblade clatters to the floor at the sound of your voice, Minho’s lips parting in surprise. A deep flush creeps across your neck, wondering what had prompted you to interrupt him in the moment. His eyes study you with a curious glint, a thousand questions hidden in them.

“You’ll dull the knife,” you manage to get out, amazed at the calmness in your voice despite your heart racing at a million miles an hour. “What if we need it?”

Minho’s lips twist up into a smirk, and you wonder if he can see through your thinly veiled excuse. If he does, he doesn’t say anything, throwing a baseball cap over the shaggy strands, smiling when they fall into his eyes. 

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “You can come along. But any sign of trouble and you have to leave me and get back here, okay?”

“What do you mean, leave you? You’re coming back with me, of course.”

“___.”

“Minho.”

You push yourself off the ground with your palms, hobbling over to Minho’s side. 

“Thank you,” you whisper softly to him, and Minho rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly, before the door to the bunker creaks open once more, this time the two of you stepping out into the sun together. 

. . . 

Sweat pools on Minho’s shirt, the sun beating down on the two of you while you make your way through the woods, eventually finding yourselves in a vast field. You’re slower than he is, trailing behind him while you skip on your partially healed ankle, but Minho finds he doesn’t mind.

In fact, he thinks he must look like a fool, the huge smile that threatens to take over his face creeping up every few minutes. Somehow, it feels different now, having you here with him. The sun’s rays feel less ruthless, and there’s the faint rustling of a breeze through the meadow. It's almost like he’s on an adventure, and not caught in an endless struggle for survival. He’s filled with the hope that maybe the two of you can come out of this alive. Together.

Pushing through the blades of grass, Minho pauses when he hears a small thud behind him, followed by the faint sound of wheezing. Turning on his heels, his heart turns to ice when he sees you, knees curled to your chest, the faint sheen of sweat lingering on your skin. 

“Shit!” Minho curses into thin air, crouching onto the dirt next to you. “Stay with me ___!”

His arm swings out to steady you, but recoils at the last second, not wanting to startle you. Guilt eats away at his chest when he realizes this is all his fault. He’d been the one to agree to let you go outside. Realization dawns on him that there’d been a reason you stayed in the bunker the entire time, his mind flashing back to the days you must have spent alone in your apartment, full of pain, wondering if anyone would show up.

Minho panics, looking around the field for something, anything that could help hold you over until this passes, when a thought crosses his mind.

“Do you want to hear about the time I tried to walk my cats?” He babbles out, cheeks hot at the silly interruption. It works though, your face jolts up, the trance finally broken. Your eyes are red-rimmed, hair dampened with sweat, snot running down your nose. Minho thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“It was in a field just like this, I brought them out here with their harnesses,” he continues, the smile growing on his face when he sees the stream of tears that run down your cheeks dry up.

“It was a disaster. I thought Doongie ran away for sure, and Soonie just laid down in the grass on his belly, refusing to get up. Dori was the only one who took to it,” he reminsces fondly, a half-sob, half-chuckle escaping him at the memory, trying to soothe the hollow ache in his heart when he thinks of them.

“I wish I’d met them,” you reply softly, your hand resting on Minho’s shoulder.

“It was my fault,” Minho spits out bitterly. “Junho was over all the time, I could have introduced you. They would have really liked you I think.”

Just like I do.

“I hope we find them,” your voice is quiet, but there’s a resoluteness to it that surprises Minho. “They have to be out there somewhere, waiting for you.”

That strange feeling of hope bubbles up in Minho’s chest again, and he helps you up, fighting the burning in his cheeks when your hand remains clasped in his, the two of you hobbling through the field.

Half an hour later, and you’re stopped outside the remains of what looked to be a convenience store, completely ransacked. Minho ignores the emptiness he feels when he lets go of your hand to peer inside, his heart dropping at the bare shelves.

Behind him, a twig snaps, your sharp gasp echoing amidst the silence. The gleam of the switchblade is apparent in seconds, Minho pulling it out of his pocket.

The woman is whimpering, her gauzy white dress in tatters. His eyes trail to her hands, the discoloured nails offset by the glint of a fancy diamond ring, and for a moment, he could almost believe she’d just walked out of the church, beaming from the happiest day of her life.

But her eyes say differently. Hollow pools of black, nothing behind them. She’s one of them.

“___, run.” Minho commands, not even turning to look behind him. He hopes you’re gone already, hopes you won’t have to stick around to see this dark side of him, the one that was used to doing battle with monsters every time he left the safety of your little bunker.

But you’re not gone. Your hand wraps around his, lifting it up to study the switchblade in his hand. He looks into your eyes, full of fear but also sadness at the sight in front of you, and he wonders if you see yourself in her. What things could have been with Junho.

“I don’t think she’s going to hurt us,” you wrestle Minho’s blanched fingers off the blade. “We should just go.”

You pocket the knife, Minho’s jaw tensing at the thought of leaving the woman behind, unsure of the potential harm she could cause. He opens his mouth to protest, but realizes you’ve already begun to walk away, your slumped figure visible against the setting sun. You’re crying again.

The woman wails harder when she sees the two of you go, her cries echoing into the silent night.

It’s cold tonight in the bunker. 

You shiver among the pile of blankets, watching your breath turn into mist in the frosty air. Teeth chattering, you look over to Minho. His pile of blankets is even more sparse than your own, and you catch sight of his own trembling figure. 

It’s cold, your voice echoes in the back of your mind, your feet dragging across the floor, the blankets dragging behind you. 

It’s cold, it echoes again, Minho stirring when you lay by his side, throwing the extra blankets over the two of you. His eyes go wide with shock when he sees your face across his in the darkness, studying the way your hair falls messily in your face, the rapid rising of your chest with every breath. 

It’s cold, it repeats a final time, your lips surging forward to meet Minho’s, a strange noise escaping his throat before one of his arms comes up to wrap around you, his other palm steadying him against the floor. It’s cold and Minho is warm, the heat from his body burning through you when his tongue traces your lips, before slipping inside, a low whine escaping your throat. 

You break away from him, flushed and shivering, but no longer cold. Minho’s hot breath fans against your cheeks, his thumb resting tentatively at the curve of your jaw.

“Touch me please,” you beg him, and his grip around your waist tightens, hands tracing circles on your side. His lips find yours again, thumbs slipping underneath the hem of your shirt, resting against the curve of your hips. You burrow your face into Minho’s neck, leaving featherlight kisses against his jaw, heat rising in your chest when you hear Minho hold his breath. Breaking away, you meet his gaze, the tips of his ears turning red. 

“Anything,” he whispers against your lips. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Sparks crackle in the air between you, the once stagnant air in the bunker becoming filled with frantic energy, you slipping a leg over to straddle Minho, him fumbling with the buttons to your clothes, pushing aside just enough to feel how wet you are. The fingers of his other hand trace under your shirt again, climbing up your stomach, thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts before he tugs at your nipples. 

Sighing, your hips move against Minho’s hardness, pushing aside the worn fabric of Minho’s flannel to press kisses to his collarbones, his thumb working on your clit. Your back arches when he presses another finger inside, and the familiar burn of your orgasm begins to rise, building in your stomach.

“Let go for me,” Minho groans, and the deep growl in his voice has you hurtling over the edge, trembling as you fall apart on top of him. The two of you exchange shallow breaths, Minho’s fingers still buried inside you, and you feel your core begin to clench around them, whining from the oversensitivity.

“Please, please, can I fuck you?” Minho whispers, desperation in his tone. You nod, head spinning with everything that had happened, and you reach back under his sweats, fishing his cock out from underneath them.

He pushes into you slowly, groaning when he feels your walls widening to accommodate him. The two of you stay there for a few moments, catching your breath before you tell him it’s okay to move. His hips snap lazily against yours, fucking you slowly and deeply, soft pants and the sound of your wetness reverberating through the bunker.

You rock against him gently, and you reach for his hands, his warm fingertips slipping through your own easily, limbs tangling together in desperation. 

“You’re perfect god, you’re perfect, I love you, I love you so much,”  he slurs the words, the confession ringing in your ears, soft groans accompanied by the speeding up of his thrusts before he spills inside you. 

Lifting you off of him, his arms reach around your body to press you against him, his lips ghosting your forehead, and you feel the wet trail of tears on his cheeks. Eventually, his breathing slows, soft snores telling you he’s fallen asleep, but you remain restless for the rest of the night.

The headache hits Minho like a freight train in the morning, as he stares up at the rust-covered ceiling. There’s a faint chill in the air, one that became even more pronounced when he woke up and you weren’t by his side, and he wonders for a second if he’d imagined it all, from the softness of your lips to the way the words he’d been wanting to say, waiting years to say spilled out of his throat, every kiss and laugh you shared with Junho burned into his memory. And all he did was look on, hopeless in his desperation. Until everything changed last night.

A loud clang startles him, and he jumps up, watching you throw a heavy sack containing the supplies he’d stockpiled against the walls of the bunker, your back turned to him. He lifts himself off his feet, padding softly behind you, his arm reaching out for you.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, words clipped and venomous, and you keep rearranging, completely ignorant to the way Minho stands there, unable to formulate a response, his tongue feeling as though it’s weighed down with lead. 

Rage lights up inside him as he watches you move around him, the silence making his heart freeze over, and he decides that he can’t take it anymore. It’s been months with you acting this way, cold and distant, refusing to let Minho in. Before, he’d been able to write off your happiness with Junho as an excuse, as a reason why he couldn’t let himself get close to you. But Junho was long gone.

“We’re not doing this,” he spins you around to face him. “You don’t get to walk away from me like that.”

You push against Minho’s chest with all the might you can muster, and he staggers back. The look in your eyes makes you seem like a wounded animal, ready to pounce.

“Why’d you say it?” Another push, the words leaving you in a broken sob. “Why’d you do that?”

You bat against Minho’s chest until he can no longer take it, grabbing both of your hands with one of his, pinning you against the wall.

“Because it’s true,” he breathes, looking past you through the window outside, unable to meet your eyes. “I love you ____. I’ve loved you this entire time, even when you were with Junho. And I hate myself for it.”

He lets go of your arms, stepping back, his shoulders beginning to shake with the force of his own sobs. 

“Why do you think I stayed? Why do you think I put myself in danger every day to make sure that you had medicine for your ankle, food to fill your stomach? Why do you think I go out there and kill every single monster I run into, because I need to make it back here, to be with you again?”

“You shouldn’t!” you scream at him. “What kind of life is this? Love should be the last thing on your mind right now, Minho! You should fucking worry about your own neck, and stop giving a damn about me!”

The words tear through you, because you know that if it weren’t for his love, you wouldn’t even be alive right now. And it hurts, hurts to think of how long he’s spent living like this, merely surviving, a wall of ice around his chest.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t. But I do. Do you know that these past few months, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been? What kind of fucked up logic is that? I have nothing, nothing in this world besides this stupid bunker and the clothes on my back, and it makes me want to sob with joy. Because I get you. I get a chance at life with you, after so many years of wishing for it, and knowing I could never have it.”

He falls onto the ground, tucking his head into his knees. 

“The universe gave me another chance,” he whispers softly.

Your blood turns to ice, and you crouch down next to him.

“What do you mean, another chance?”

He looks at you, and you finally see all the pain in his eyes come to the surface, everything that he’s kept bottled up inside.

“It should have been me,” he mutters, lost in his own head. “I told Junho about how I wanted to go up to you that night, how beautiful I thought you were, but before I could do anything, he was there. It ended up being him.”

Your head reels from his confession, and you think back to everything that’s happened through the years. All those memories you had with Junho, Minho lingering in the background, purposely keeping his distance. Memories that you could have had with him instead. Bile rises up in the back of your throat, and you back away.

“I can’t do this, Minho, not right now, I can’t–” 

“I know.” He’s at the door before you can stop him, one foot on the other side of the threshold. “Don’t worry about it.”

He leaves before you can even ask him to stay.

Minho knocks back another shot, stomach churning when he sees Junho approach the pretty brunette, chatting her up. She’s batting her eyelashes and giggling at him, and he knows he should be grateful that his best friend is helping him out, on a desperate mission to cure Minho’s singleness.

But all he can focus on is you in the corner, nervously watching your boyfriend flirt with another girl, and Minho wants to vomit when he sees your lip tremble, eyes glassy with tears. 

He’d driven himself nearly mad with the fantasies about what he’d do if he was in Junho’s position, how much better he could treat you. But at the end of the day, that’s all they were. Fantasies. You two were happy together, and he had no place in it.

Minho suddenly remembers the shiny ring that Junho had shown him last week, tucked away in the drawer of his dresser, and decides promptly that he needs to step outside, the stale air of the bar burning his nostrils.

There’s a faint breeze outside, and it calms him, rewiring his muddled senses enough for him to plop down on the curb. Minho heaves, the alcohol coming back up his throat, but he tries his best to breathe deeply, like his therapist had told him. The pity in her eyes when he’d explained his feelings for you lingers in the back of his mind. You were a vice he couldn’t quit.

A shadow looms next to him, and Minho looks over to see you standing on the curb next to him, studying him curiously.

“Not a fan of cheap vodka?” you chuckle, taking a seat next to him, and Minho internally curses when he feels your thighs brush. He was too drunk for this. 

“Just needed some air,” he tries to laugh it off too. “Gonna have a killer headache tomorrow.”

“She was pretty,” the statement startles him. He couldn’t give less of a damn about the girl Junho was talking to, but it seems that wasn’t the case for you.

“Not interested,” he grits out. Not when she’s not you.

“You know, dating isn’t all it’s cut out to be,” you sigh. “I mean, there are good times, don’t get me wrong, but the bad times feel a thousand times worse when you care about someone. Like seeing your boyfriend flirt with another girl right in front of you.”

There’s a bitter edge to your words, and Minho surprises you, reaching over to cup your cheek and tilt your head towards him.

“Junho is a fool,” the words come out in a slow, heavy breath.

“Happy birthday, Minho,” you whisper, a small smile on your face, and Minho leans in, lips searching for yours. The kiss is quick, a brief graze full of shy reluctance, but you’re surprised you don’t back away, dizzy when he retreats, and missing the feeling of his soft lips.

You lean your head on his shoulder, the two of you lingering on the curb for a few moments, before Junho’s loud voice echoes in the background, startling you apart from each other.

“Hey dipshits, the party’s inside,” he drawls, walking over to swoop you off your feet. Junho presses a peck to your cheek, wrapping his jacket around you, and your eyes roam around frantically, looking for any sign of Minho. But he’s already gone, the faint outline of his leather jacket the only thing you see before he disappears around the corner of the bar, vanishing into the night.

Minho stumbles through the forest, the pounding in his head only growing worse, the memory of the kiss you’d shared consuming his thoughts, splintered with snippets from the conversation with you. The one he’d been waiting so long to have.

The spell had been shattered, and Minho thinks he’s foolish to imagine that it could have lasted, the two of you playing house together, and he cursed the false hope he’d harboured for so long. It was a fucking apocalypse, you were desperate for release, and you’d never cared. Not like he did.

But then his mind flashes back to the kiss, and he doesn’t know what possessed him that night, or possessed you to return it. The moment was the single spark that kept the flickering flame of his love for you going, even now, when you’d basically banished him.

A sharp pain surges through him, and Minho staggers to the ground. He clutches the fabric of his shirt, lifting it up to see the ugly wound he’d been letting fester for weeks, a stray swipe from a monster he’d run into. It’s pulsating now, stabbing into his side, and he wants to kick himself. Why had he been so selfless?

Sometimes, he thinks loving you was the worst decision he’d ever made, the way it consumed him completely. He thinks that maybe if time could reverse, and he had a second chance, that he’d never do it, never lock eyes with you from across the party, your smile forever etched into his memory. But that was a lie. Minho knew he’d do it all again for as long as his heart continued to beat.

Minho feels something squelch on the ground below him, a metallic tang hitting the back of his throat. He swipes at it, crimson coating his fingers. Blood. His blood. He presses a tentative hand to his face, swiping at his leaking nose, but the bleeding won’t stop. There’s too much of it.

Minho screams when his spine cracks, the pain splitting through his entire body, and he feels his eyes roll back into his head. 

When he opens them again, the world is dark. And he runs.

. . .

Your lungs feel like they’re going to collapse, parched for air as you make your way through the forest, wobbling through the trees, looking for something, anything that could lead you to Minho. 

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, accompanied by a ringing that hasn’t ceased since you left the bunker. The decision still made your stomach turn, afraid to confront the outside world without Minho by your side, but you had to find him. Had to let him know that you wouldn’t let him suffer anymore.

Mind lingering on a specific memory from Minho’s birthday, you realized there’d always been a strange undercurrent between you, even when Junho had been around. Despite how many times he drew away from you, you never let him escape completely. At first, you’d thought it was because he was Junho’s friend, but it all changed after that night outside the bar, your attraction to Minho settling in your chest like a lead weight.

You think back to the months you’d spent together, the world falling apart around you, and how Minho had become your entire world, the reason you’d continued to hope. How you’d fallen in love with every part of him, from the way he’d let you take the first share of food to the messy strands of his grown-out hair. 

The wind whips through your hair, the dense cover of trees thinning around you, and you stumble upon the meadow, a lone figure illuminated in the moonlight. You know it’s him.

“Minho!” you scream, watching as he stumbles across the field in response, trying to get away from you. “Minho!”

You scream until your voice runs hoarse, fighting through the pain in your ankle, and eventually, Minho draws closer and closer, collapsing in the middle of the field. His back is turned to you, and he ducks his head, avoiding your gaze.

You think he’ll run away when you approach him, but he remains lifeless, as still as a statue. Crouching down beside him, you lift his chin, turning his face up to you, a gasp caught in your throat at what you find.

There’s something wrong with his eyes. They shift from the dark brown irises you’d come to know to hollow pools of black. His face is smeared with blood, and his breathing is shallow.

“____, you have to go, I’m turning, it’s not safe, I’m not safe–,” Minho grabs your arm, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. His speech is garbled, but you can hear the gentle tone of his voice still trapped inside. He’s still Minho.

“How dare you tell me to run,” you hiss at him. “How dare you tell me to leave?”

“You don’t understand,” he growls, hands shaking in rage. “I’m a monster!”

Fear strikes you at the realization that something was very wrong with him, something neither you or him had ever been able to anticipate. But it’s overcome by a stronger, more profound emotion.

“I don’t care,” you take his face in your hands again. “I love you, Minho. I loved you through the world ending, and I’ll love you through this. Because your life is mine now, just like mine is yours. It’s our second chance. And we will do whatever it takes to survive.”

Minho clasps your hands in his, fingertips rubbing against your knuckles, and you smile when you notice that his eyes are normal again, no longer filled with darkness. Maybe there was a chance.

“We’ll head west,” Minho rests his forehead against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I saw a hospital nearby. Maybe there are other survivors, people just like us.”

You nod, throwing your arms around him and burying your head into the crook of his neck. The two of you would exit west as soon as the sun rose, ready to start a new journey together.

Perhaps the life you shared was far from perfect but you realized that you’d clutched onto it as desperately as him, because he was the only thing you had. You were each other’s home.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[bridgetoesoteria]

🖤Breaking baddie🖤: Describing your 'dark feminine' energy. How to channel it?

Hola malacitas 😘 (i hope that actually made sense lol).

First things first, what is "dark feminine" energy?

Yes, this is the **first website that comes up when you google "dark feminine," but it is pretty thorough and comprehensive! I liked it the most out of all the others. The others either repeated the same points or had too many outdated/black-or-white views. Feel free to do your own research however. There are plenty of videos on YouTube as well. **One caveat...when you get to the part about tapping into DF energy, I disagree with #8 (specifically).

(We're going to keep this post light and I'll dedicate a separate post to my personal viewpoints.)

So I will be telling you all about your personal DF "archetype." I will also provide guidance on how you channel your DF energy.

I am so so excited for this! Eek 🙊 Okay, options below, left to right. I hope it resonates!

I am using a few different decks. I won't be adding pictures but I will provide what cards I drew.

Pile 1

Off the bat: I am hearing "no fuss" and also "ruthless," which is interesting considering the image you chose. I was also hearing the lyrics "all I do is win, win, win no matter what." So I'm getting some really bad ass energy right away! Come thru mob girlies!

4-Card Spread: 4 of Diamonds, 8 of Diamonds, 7 of Hearts, Joker. Bottom of deck is 6 of Clubs.

It's funny you have the 6 of Clubs (wands) on the bottom of the deck. I was hearing those lyrics about winning. This is a card that signifies victory and public recognition or celebration. I feel like the DF side of you is really bad ass! I'm also getting a pinch of "lover girl" energy. Its kind of like you have perfect formula sugar+sheist+everything nice! lol

This energy isn't afraid to be in the spotlight but is also quite comfortable in the shadows. You may be (or this is what other people think) the type to use underhanded to get ahead. Its not personal but you gotta do what you gotta do. I'm also getting an energy of it is easy for people (I'm hearing "dudes" so maybe some of you talk like that) to get attached and feel led on. But I think you are married to the hustle.

Some of you may not regularly reside in this energy and could be put off by the description. But that is exactly why its dark feminine energy. It pokes and antagonizes the status quo, which is where most of us reside from day to day. Traditionally, feminines are not painted as cunning, street-wise, heartbreakers. Your DF energy pushes back against those constraints placed on feminines that require prioritizing the group over self. Not that anyone asked but I think that's actually kind of amazing.

Of course you don't have to reside in this energy and adopt some toxic alter ego, but there probably are some gems hidden here. People who move like this are usually made, not born. In some way, they learned that survival=competition, so you learn to "stay ready so you don't have to get ready." Your motto as a DF would be "every (wo)man for themselves," making betrayals feel less personal because...well it just isn't, as crazy as that sounds.

Advice: The Devil, Queen of Swords, King of Wands, The Star. Bottom of deck is 7 of Swords + Mute (Oracle)

I'm getting a strong message about speaking up. I am using Tarot de Carlotydes and in this deck the 7 of Swords is depicted as a sword swallower. Which I always interpret as "swallowing" the truth. Then as I was focusing on this group's image, I realized the cabinet behind her is full of skulls, reminding me of "skeletons in the closet." Then finally we have a literal Mute card:

The Mute is told what to hear, say and think and is often suppressed. Sometimes breaking the chains against heeded words may be rewarded.

So you currently may be the complete opposite of your DF energy. One of the keywords for the Mute is "insecurities." I feel like a lot of you are sleeping on yourselves. 🔊AND ITS TIME TO WAKE THE F UP!

Maybe you are trapped in your light feminine energy. I say trapped because it feels like you are forced into that box. Super passive, loss of control. Where your DF energy would insist on speaking up and standing out, you may just keep your head down and avoid any trouble.

I'm hearing specifically that some of you love writing poetry but may have someone who discourages you from pursuing this interest. You may want to present your poetry to an audience and they tell you that no one wants to hear what you have to say. For others, they are saying no one wants to hear from you about something else.

If you are used to toxic and restrictive connections or friendships, you are being called to step out of that. Get used to asserting your boundaries, "do not speak down about my hobbies," "if you cannot allow me to think for myself, then we can not continue our relationship." I think you definitely have it in you.

Another keyword listed is "hope." I think some of you may enjoy singleness and being single-mindedly focused on you and your goals, more fulfilling than you think. It can be healing to finally feel like the star of your show.

TL;DR: Your DF energy definitely has a bit of edge to her. She does what she has to do to move ahead and she prefers to fly solo. Even if that is not where you are right now, this energy already exists within you. Once you drop the dead weight--be it toxic family, toxic friends, or a toxic partner--you will see how quickly you flourish. You have every right to speak your truth and protect your peace. Its time to peel yourself off the wallpaper and start standing out and speaking up!

Pile 2

Off the bat: I wasn't getting anything with this group. I found that strange and wondered if I wasn't "tuned in." I think this represents your mental space when you are in your DF energy. You are clear minded and have a "sober" outlook. Maybe some of you are literally sober or are considering it.

4-Card Spread: 2 of Clubs, Queen of Spades, 8 of Spades (R), Ace of Hearts/7 of diamonds. Bottom of deck is 9 of diamonds.

I am very strongly getting that there is something noteworthy about your DF's decision making abilities. Maybe that sounds "boring," but its actually pretty admirable! The world often sends the message that feminine energy does not possess strong cognitive abilities. When feminines contradict this stereotype, they can be labeled as "cold," "mean," "masculine," or met with hostility.

I'm honestly getting that the DF in you does not care. You may naturally lean more to this side in every day life. Or this is where you could be if you tapped into your DF energy more often.

You make clear decisions and keep it moving. You do not allow your thoughts to keep you tangled up in a web of confusion and indecision. Some of you could be really good at chess. I am getting that kind of energy. Calculated, self-assured, and making decisions with no intentions of taking it back.

You are quite comfortable standing on your own, and pouring into your own little world. I get the image of a woman who lives on a quiet estate, walking through her garden, with birds chirping and flying above. Have any of you watched the movie Men (2022)? I loved the imagery in that film and that's kind of the vibe I am getting now. A lot of horse girlies may have picked this pile.

I feel you being very unbothered, above drama. Your DF energy would love to find a masculine that can match your energy. You are good on your own so you won't allow anyone disruptive into your peaceful little domain. You do not make impulsive decisions in love and you are willing to wait for a new opportunity that is worth the investment. With the king of diamonds two cards under the 9 of diamonds, I do feel like this DF energy could pull the kind of masculine you desire.

Your DF energy really shines in STEM related jobs, corporate spaces, or any position that requires a sharp mind.

Advice: Ace of Swords, 10 of Swords, 4 of Wands, Knight of Cups. Bottom of deck is 10 of Wands + Spider (Oracle)

As soon as I pulled the ace of swords, I heard "get used to speaking your truth." I also heard stop entertaining "little boys." I don't think this is in terms of age, I think this referring to the maturity level of masculine energies you may usually deal with. I am in no way encouraging that you pursue anyone older. (Honestly, that does not guarantee emotional maturity or respect. But that's another convo).

I think this message is about the expectations you set for your partners. There is nothing wrong with expecting them to match you. They can either rise to the occasion or be left behind. If you hold this potential inside of you to be a queen of swords, queen of pentacles, and 9 of pentacles. Then I'm sure that energy exists out there in a suitable counterpart. The ten of wands is encouraging you to keep forging forward. I don't like preaching to be "strong" and "endure," but this is different. You are being strong for yourself. If you have to walk alone right now, it gets tough at times, but you are doing it with purpose. It will pay off.

For some this may literally require you to live alone. Its interesting that I keep getting messages about homes. I got a lot of diamonds/pentacles in the last spread, which also can deal with the home and related practical matters. "Home" is one of the keywords for Spider. The Moon is on the bottom of the deck, I think it is also relevant. This is what the guidebook has to say about each:

The Spider traps those who wander into her web. Keywords: Control, Home, Familiarity, Comfort, Trapped, Security. The Moon is not always as she seems. Her delicate glow seeks for hidden truths while blinding others to her own. Keywords: Confusion, Apprehension, Suspicion, Feelings.

You may need to be more discerning when it comes to who you let into your home and/or your heart. You might need to create a little confusion when it comes to what your next move is. Everyone does not deserve your energy or to be held on to.

Spiders can also be associated with anxiety. In regular tarot, I do consider the moon to be a card that can speak about mental health. So some of you may need to make these changes for your own sanity, literally.

TL;DR: Your DF energy is a very strong and self-sufficient queen of swords type. She thinks clearly, can make decisions without questioning herself, and always stands on business. She has high standards for those who come around her because she has built a beautiful life for herself and will vet anyone who wants to join. This self-respect and authenticity helps to attract a suitable mate. One who can match this go-getter, no bs energy. The key to channeling this energy is to start living in it now. Trust your decision making abilities, don't announce or seek validation before you make a necessary personal decision. Staying true to yourself and becoming more independent will pay off.

Pile 3

Off the bat: When I looked at the image for your pile, I immediately heard "I'm not one of those/your little girls." So whew! We are coming in hot! Also hearing "I wish a b---- would."

4-Card Spread: 7 of Hearts, Jack of Clubs, 2 of Clubs, Joker. Bottom of deck is 5 of Hearts.

I am getting more light-hearted energy in this pile than the previous two. Maybe a lot of young, or young-at-heart, people have chosen this pile. This DF energy could easily pull many suitors but she views lovers as more of a "fun time," not so much a "long time." You could also be a little toxic toward lovers. Makeup to breakup, or honestly sometimes its just breakup lol.

This energy is quite fiery and uninhibited. Some of you could be fire signs, specifically Sagittarius. Or I am getting that because of what Sag represents: free spiritedness, adventure, luck. No wonder this DF energy resists being tied down. The world is literally your oyster and you knows it!

This DF energy is also a little scrappy. Have any of you watched the Bad Girls Club? You know how there would be that one person who has a temper, then gets a little too messed up when they go clubbing and ends up wanting to fight everyone... When you see red, people need to clear your path! I do get a bit of a party girl energy which is not surprising considering I was picking up on Sag.

This DF does not have a problem fulfilling her emotional needs. You will always make sure your cup is full. You will always make sure you are having a good time. You realizes that you have this amazing, fortunate energy and unapologetically harnesses it to get the most out of life. I think your DF self is also likely to be single and happy that way. Picking yourself up after disappointments in love is no problem because there are plenty more where they came from. You have an abundant mindset when it comes to love and life.

Advice: Queen of Wands, The Hanged Man, Ace of Swords, 5 of Cups. Bottom of deck is 5 of Swords + Ghost (Oracle)

In order to channel this DF energy, some of you may literally have to ghost someone. I am not surprised the energy of having to cut people off has been coming up. Sometimes the company we keep can really hinder our growth and self-expression. The hanged man is about surrender and next to the ace of swords, I sometimes see this combo as maintaining no contact. Ghost could also be taken literally.

But I think Ghost is also talking about a tendency toward self sabotaging and shrinking yourself. This is the total opposite of the DF energy that I just channeled. Its like the past and your insecurities have a tendency to haunt you and keep you stuck. You may also try to make yourself invisible. In the guidebook, the word forgotten repeats itself twice for this card:

The Ghost lingers, forlorn and forgotten. Keywords: Hidden, Mystery, Forgotten, Spiritual Matters, Fears, Faith

You will need to work on your self-confidence. When you are more confident in yourself, you will be more confident in your decision making abilities. You will be more authentic with the way you present yourself to the world because it won't matter whether people approve or disapprove. You know who you are. With the 5 of cups, there could be something that you are still grieving or regretting but you can bounce back from this! Channel your inner phoenix and allow yourself to blossom. Its time to reinvent yourself!

Be open to all the great things life has to offer you. Guided meditations for gratitude and self-confidence/self-love could be very beneficial. Trust that the flow of life is always leading you to something wonderful. Trust that you are allowed to call the shots in your reality. Do your part then trust and let go.

TL;DR: Your DF energy is very spicy! She is popular and free-spirited. She knows that life has so many different adventures to offer and she does not let anything stop her from exploring them. This DF is likely to be single or somewhat noncommittal. She does not mind flying solo and knows she can always find another mate. She is also quite lucky and manifests fortunate events with ease. To channel this energy you will need to drop any dead weight and increase your confidence in yourself and your decision making abilities. You could benefit from some form of self-help resources like books and guided meditations. And if it is accessible to you, therapy, support groups, or other resources that will help your create a stronger you.

Pile 4

Off the bat: I am getting a pretty serious energy. Some domme energy or you could just be a pretty dominant woman. This could be describing you or your DF energy. I keep hearing strawberries and champagne. Is that even a real thing? I've never met anyone who enjoyed that combo.

4-Card Spread: 4 of Clubs, Jack of Diamonds, Ace of Hearts, and Ace of Spades. Bottom of deck is Queen of Spades

I am still getting some of that super assertive and stern feminine energy. I could see your DF self working being a principal. I am also hearing headmaster/headmistress. I think she would love working with children but not in the traditional, mushy-gushy light feminine way. Its more of a "I have/enforce rules because I love you" type of energy . You believe in structure and order. If this isn't working with children, this could also apply to raising children. I could also see this DF running an orphanage. I did hear "rule the roost" while I was shuffling, so no matter how this resonates, you definitely are not afraid to lead.

You are generous and wise. Beneath the stern exterior is a lot of love and compassion. Your soft spots are not visible until you take a closer look at what you invest your time and energy into. This kind of energy could also attract less mature suitors, because it intimidates them yet they are so infatuated. You carry yourself with grace and probably won't entertain them. You are much more suited to be their mentor than anything.

Going back to the original domme energy I was getting. You may actually prefer partnerships that allow you to wear the pants. You don't really want a masculine energy coming in and dictating to you. You can run your own life just fine and would rather partner up with someone who can understand that. I don't think you want someone that is "weak" either, its more like you desire the cliche of the masculine that calls the shots in the board room but is more submissive/passive at home. They are secure enough to be with a feminine energy as strong as them.

Some of you as DF would be comfortable living a "nontraditional" life. Nontraditional as far as feminine energy is concerned anyway. You may prefer live-in partners, or life partners, over traditional marriage. You could identify with being poly or something similar. You would love to travel and always seek to broaden your horizons. This is the type of person you would expect to have "summer homes." You could also decide to not have children or you would want to wait on having/adopting children. You love living authentically because of how freeing it is to just be you. You don't care what outsiders think of your life because you know you are doing what works best for you.

Advice: 3 of Swords, 5 of Pentacles, 9 of Swords, Queen of Wands (R). Bottom of deck is The Devil + Soil (Oracle)

To channel this DF energy more, you will need to master the art of not giving a shit. Some of you could be currently suppressing this energy. I really don't think its that far out of reach for all of you. Its just your fear that is keeping you trapped.

For some of you this trapped feeling is because you are in the closet. I am not telling you to come out because I don't know how that would impact your life. I want you to stay safe! However, maybe you can seek out queer friendly spaces. Or spaces that are supportive of whatever group you identify with.

There could also be a heartbreak that has left you questioning yourself. In the Tarot de Carlotydes, the 9 of swords is depicted as a woman chained in a dark room, with a flower in her hand and broken heart drawn on a piece of paper. I always see this card as being tortured over a disappointment. In this particular deck, I see as a mental prison that you feel trapped in because you are clinging to and rehashing an event. Holding onto this event keeps the pain fresh or recurring. It is time to release it.

Do not internalize other people's actions and shortcomings. It is not a reflection of you. You are who you decide to be. Do not dim your shine for anyone. Do not stunt your growth either. I'm not sure what it is that is holding you back but you have the potential to be the brightest star! You can be strong, and confident, and assertive. There is this little ball of power inside of you, that can grow if you allow it. Soil echoes the same message I am seeing in tarot. You must let yourself bloom:

The soil is a conduit of both growth and decay. Eyes forward, rooted to the past and reaching to the skies, she'll grow. Keywords: Balance, Forward, Growth, Duty, Building.

Some of you may use less than healthy tactics to cope. Maybe you should think of yourself like a plant. What are you fertilizing your soil with? What are you using for watering? Put the best in, get the best out.

TL;DR: Your DF energy is a L-E-A-D-E-R, okay?! She calls the shots in every area of her life. Some suitors are attracted to her because their immaturity is infatuated with her self-assured, mature energy. However, she prefers an equally strong partner at her side but this does not mean she wants to be led. No, she wants someone that respects her as an equal but allows her to take the lead. She lives life on her terms, loves on her terms, and does not care what anyone else thinks of that. She does have a soft spot but that is not for everyone. This nurturing energy could be channeled into working with children in some capacity. In order to step into this energy, you will have to untether yourself from insecurity and heartbreak. You already have this power inside of you, its only a matter of letting it grow. You don't have to deny what you have been through or the way it impacts you, but it also does not have to hold you back. Replace your unhealthy coping mechanisms with healthy ones.

As previously stated, I have a planned post that will expand on my views about feminine energy and other spiritual topics. I am really looking forward to sharing my thoughts and hope you all will chime in! I would love to start a discussion.

Until then ❤

~ K

[taekooktimeline]

Hello 👋🏽

I’ve completed uploading episodes 1-4 of “are you sure” 🥳It goes without saying, but this is a Taekook focused blog so all of these posts, just like all my other posts, highlight Taekook and their bond (or in some instances, my posts archive important pieces of information so others can’t distort facts).

I wanted to upload episode 3 as one post, and episode 4 as one post, but Tumblr wouldn’t let that happen due to their sizes. When I shrank photos to make each episode one post, text and images became blurred and my OCD couldn’t stand it. I hate that they each have 2 posts, but I preferred it to the alternative of unreadable pieces.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever gone in depth about the uploading process? It’s quite an undertaking for long pieces. I first draft the posts in Google docs. This can take days as I rewatch things, chat with friends and gather what people have noticed from my timeline. One episode can take 3-4 hours to watch, as I draft as I go and then go back through and fill in further, then tighten it all up.

After this, I upload the draft into Word Press. It’s not straightforward anymore. When I copy and paste the draft into WP, only the text follows. I have to then go back to Google docs and copy / paste the pictures one by one, and then add the timestamps and hyperlinks under these pictures.

Once that’s done, I convert the post into HTML code. I can’t simply hit “select all.” I have to drag my finger down the entire post and carefully hit copy, or else I erase the whole post (which has happened). I then copy / paste the HTML code into my email and email it to myself.

From there, I copy / paste the code and upload it into Tumblr. Tumblr won’t let me post more than 30 photos a post now, sadly, which means splitting posts up. I have to read the HTML code and decide where to break things up.

I upload the post, then reblog it to its respective year, so you can read the post in the “main” timeline, but also in chronological order in the year it happened. When it’s reblogged to its year of occurrence, I have to scroll to events that happened around that date to determine what backdate to make that piece, so it lands in the correct spot of the timeline.

Uploading these posts took me all morning. Factoring in drafting, I spent at least 2-2.5 days on these episodes.

I’m not sure why I felt like sharing that today, except that I wanted to really take a moment and sincerely thank anyone who stops by to read my blog and let you know it’s so appreciated. Even if no one read this blog, I archive Taekook’s moments as one way of supporting them. I really enjoy preserving their moments - we have so many! - and looking back fondly.

So I’d do it no matter if no one read this, but knowing people do read this blog and treasure it as much as I do means so much to me. I’m thankful for the friendships formed, the people I’ve been able to talk to and some I’ve been fortunate to meet in real life, and it’s all thanks to this blog.

Not only that, my anxiety gets the best of me. I greatly admire those who tweet on Twitter, or post on Instagram, without giving much thought. I can’t do it. I wish I could. I will sit on posts, get anxious, bail out of posting, or post then mute because I’m so tense. I’m not sure why that is. Sometimes I wish my accounts were smaller so I could maybe feel more comfortable freely speaking my mind. But I also think I’d be anxious no matter what because social media is so toxic and dark and my energy can’t stand it. It doesn’t help I’m still trying to figure out my medical mysteries, and that’s been such a drain on my energy. I can’t find it in me to do much more than lurk on Twitter and IG right now.

Here on tumblr, I feel like I’m in my little safe space. It’s quiet here, I post my pieces and show my support, and my support is measured in a more meaningful way for who I am as a person (in addition to streaming, buying their merch etc). I really am so grateful for this space. We all support in our ways and though I wish I was bolder on TW and IG, I appreciate those who are and I also appreciate that we are all here to equally love and support Tae and Jk. That’s what matters.

So if you’re reading this, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here and reading this blog💜💚

[cherubispunk]

BARK! BITE! BLEED! (PART I) - FWB!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

summary: being without is always easier when you don't know what it is to be 'with'.

a note from Lucy: heyyyy! hows it going? yes...im back with another series. Those of you waiting for cherub, its coming. I promise. hand over my heart and the other on the bible. but words have a funny habit of not wording so...tale please take the humble peace offering of slutty fwb!frankie and please dont bite my fingers off.

playlist | moodboard

wc: 5742 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n, slight noncon voyeurism, thin appartment walls, mentions of cheating, obsessive behaviour, frankie is obsessed and it is very unhealthy, toxic relationships, heavy religious imagry (come on, is this even a surpise when it comes to my writing?), age gap but not bombastic sorry chloe (reader is 21, Frankie is 27) - though not mentioned in this part, graphic smut, could be considered dubcon, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (do i need to spell it out to you not to do this?), creampie, biting, its not vore!!!! but there is something inherrently sexual in the themes of metaphorical consumption, softdom!frankie, scratching, gore imagry in the sense of a hunter prey type of thing? More of lu being dell, batshit insane, blurting words onto a google doc and praying ot makes ense when being blasted out into the void.

series m.list | m.list

“At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is merely a bitch. True power lies in those who don't just bare their teeth, but make you bleed when they sink in.”

Frankie was a quiet man. He would always keep to himself. Never usually stuck his nose in anyone's business unless it was for their own good. Stayed in the four walls of his own apartment he rented close to the barracks. He’d made one friend in the entire complex. You. His next-door neighbour. The only thing he knew before prying was your last name on the buzzer out front. From there it was waiting. And watching. Frankie had an obsession with observing you from his kitchen window every time you came home from work at the bar. Stood in the shroud of shadow and sheer curtain. He dug his claws in and clung to each passing conversation in the hallway, or the laundromat down the street whenever coincidence let you pop up there too. Stored each part of you that you trusted him with in his mind for safekeeping. Often caught himself staring at a particular pair of red lace panties whenever you did your laundry. 

There was one small, tiny little problem in all of this, however. Lisa. He supposed he should thank her really, because without her, he would have never moved out of the barracks in the hope of starting a life for them. He would have never met you. It was convenient, reasonably priced and he could excuse poor plumbing and heating for the fact it was close enough to his work that he didn't have to wake up any earlier than 5:30. But Lisa…oh, Lisa was Machiavelian. A conniving woman, with her heart set in thick ice, and a cold, unforgiving grip over what was hers. It made him wonder what he saw in her in the first place. Maybe he was blinded to everything but the curve of her face, or the pout of her mouth and the pant of his name as it passed her parted lips. Or there was some morbid fascination he had with her teeth as they bared to his skin and bit down. Tearing him to shreds. Either way, there was something to live for when being ripped apart by her. Something to distract from the sounds of pleasure that seeped through paper thin walls at night. Your pleasure. At the hands of a man he felt nothing compared to and knew nothing about. So he’d roll over and fuck out his frustration on the woman he hated but chose to stay with until she left him for another.  

Another day, another ache. Another pain cramping in his lower back as Frankie inched closer to thirty and still no happier. Twenty-seven, a stable-ish job…and what else in life to show for it? He was bitter. In no place to want the company of another unless only for the night. Except tonight he was alone again, pressing his key into the lock, twisting it open, closing the door behind him. And then waiting…listening. Anticipating the drag of his hand south over the plane of his abdomen to under his boxers where he’d tease himself to the sound of you with another man. The pretty whimpers you’d let slip under the weight of another man's skin and bone, and the pleasure flooding the gaps of your synapses. 

Only this time there were no cries for more. No whimpers, or moans. No. These sounds were shouts. And anger ignited you as you rampaged through your apartment on the other side of the wall, getting dressed as Mark, the man you’d wasted months on, chased after you in pursuit of your forgiveness. 

“Who do you think I am?’ Frankie heard through the wall, pressing his ear to cold plaster with bated breath. Your voice was shrill, seething with the intent to carve into Mark’s skin with an onslaught of verbal mutilation. Have the words mark him with bleeding, weeping shame. “No, really? You think I’d never figure it out, Mark? Am I naïve to you?” 

He slipped out of bed with careful stealth: Followed the sound of your voice through the wall, walking with his ear pressed to it before the sound of your front door opening made him jump, stepping back for a second. He blinked, once, twice…then raised his hands to plaster again and leaned closer, ears straining to hear what was now distance shrieking from the hallway outside. Which he followed to his front door. Listening intently behind the wood.

As he held his breath until his lungs burned in his chest, something flared up in Frankie. A desperate, wanting, starving need to swoop in. Be your knight in shining armour. The words were stuck in his throat, and if he wasn’t careful, they would choke him blue. But if he knew even a shred about you, it was that you’d hate that just as much as whatever it was Mark had done to you to have you tossing him out in the early evening. You were a private person. A woman who never appreciated prying ears or eyes. You avoided all his questions about your past whenever he asked. Swerved him off topic and into the hedgerow before he had a chance to blink and realise he had the backhand of whiplash. And if he let it slip once that the walls were thin, there was no telling where your quick mind would jump to next. Frankie never knew why or what made you so guarded. But he imagined one day you bit the hand of god and he stopped feeding you. 

Frankie’s heart was thumping to the beat of his anxiety in his throat, making it harder to swallow the lump it formed, clammy palms pressed to the cool wood with the rest of him. 

“You’re a sick man!” He heard, followed by a thumping of something being thrown, then a yelp out of Mark as Frankie guessed he was dodging whatever it was you threw his way. Shoes, maybe? Something else? “A coward! So get out. Don't call. Don’t come knocking. And tell your fucking wife!” 

A shuffling of ashamed feet. A slam of your front door. Clattering around behind shared walls. Then silence. 

It was five minutes of silence. But it felt like the seconds within those intervals were put on the rack and stretched in torture. Five minutes that he should have used to step back from his door but didn't. He just prayed there was more of you to have to himself for a second. 

Then the descent of knuckles came beating down on his door. Causing his heart to jolt out in his chest then plummet into his stomach. Twisting his insides into knots that made him sick with intrigue. He took a step back. And a breath. Then waited a second before opening the door to find you stood there in a silly little lace hemmed tank top and sleep shorts. Your hair dishevelled and cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but found the words stuck to the backs of his teeth and the roof of his mouth like soggy, claggy toffee. So he shut up, grateful you cut him off first. 

“We’re having a bonfire. So whatever shit Lisa left here, bring it with you. My door will be open. I’ll be on my balcony.” And you left him with nothing but that. Stomping back down the hall in a flurry of your anger. 

Frankie stood there, feet practically glued to the floor, fingers curling in on his palms as his blunt nails pressed into already calloused flesh. And an image of you, teeth bared to him like Lisa’s once were, appeared in his mind. An apparition of hurt, torment and his own vulnerability. But it was too late. His feet moved before his mind could and he was already collecting the things of his ex-girlfriend who had wronged him time and time again, stuffing them into his arms in a bundle of broken memory, anguish and lingering hurt. 

He found you standing by a metal bin of a man's belongings. The odd t-shirt, pictures of your face next to his, smiles happy and bright with the joy of a relationship you never expected to cave in. In your hand was a packet of cigarettes you'd told him in the passing of a hallway’s conversation that you’d quit, but evidently not. And a crumpled, misshapen box of matches. In the other was a bottle of Whiskey. The brand Mark insisted on liking and you’d bought him for a birthday present. A present he’d never receive because he was as dead to you as the day was long. 

“I thought you quit.” He said, trying to start a conversation that hit a dead end pitifully quickly. 

“Toss it on.” You mumbled dismissively with a jerk of your head to the pile, eyes glued to Mark’s belongings, washing down your bitter words with an even more bitter swig of drink. 

Frankie complied wordlessly from there, dumping the contents of his arms on top of the photos and clothes, stepping back while you poured a generous amount of the liquor on top. A seasoning of fuck you not farewell to the people you’d shared your life with and would thankfully never cross paths with again. He took the bottle from you when you pressed it into his chest, taking a drink and grimacing at the taste. It wasn't smooth. It was almost sour, with a kickback that burned too much to be pleasurable as it passed down the column of his throat in a thick swallow. His thoughts trickled in from there as he read the label and glanced at you. He wanted to get you drunk. Get you to slip up. Let yourself be taken for once.

You both watched, deadfaced, as you struck a match, used it to light a cigarette and then tossed it in the bin as memories curled up under heat. The alcohol setting the blaze up in a satisfying roar of good riddance. 

He thought it was a little strange. How you’d come to him. Yes, you were friends. But the type of friend that only ever conversed between life events. In the empty limbo of hallways and laundromats. Not burning things on your balcony in the hope the heat will melt your heart back together, It was a little late for that. Stone doesn’t melt. And the two of you had hearts of set concrete from the turn of events you’d experienced. Encased in the cage of bone that would no longer open to another unless broken in two and forced apart. So you slid down the brick wall, knees bent to your chest while you smoked. The flame flickering a violent xanthous, ochre and scarlet. 

He joined you on the floor, passing back the bottle. The two of you side by side, and it only just occurred to Frankie how lonely he was now. But how terrified of intimacy he was. Intimacy of a level deeper than skin/ The both of you wordless, silent as the decaying dead of night. Only the crackle of fire between you and a sniff for your nose as the evening air nipped it and made it run. So to distract yourself, you condemned your tongue to bad liquor, chasing it with a drag of your cigarette and a grimace,

“God, this is shit.” You scoffed. 

“Not a hard liquor gal?” He chuckled, turning his head to glance at you out the corner of his eyes before the flame had his eyes attention again. 

“More of a wine person, really. But even I can tell this is shit.” And you gestured to the bottle in your hand, reading over the label and sighing. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, inflicting another taste upon himself when he took it out of your grasp. “It is.”

Silence again. Not awkward for you who preferred your own company to others, but for him, who had been watching you begging for an in, it was clawing at his insides like a starved animal would at the walls of its enclosure. 

“So…” He drew out, and you had to bite back an amused smile. 

“What?” 

Frankie found himself staring in trance at your side profile, with the same fascination you honed in on the flickering flame. He thought in silence for a second. Asking himself the same question. 

"How long did you date Mark for?" He asked. The name made him grimace as if it tasted sour in his mouth. Like he had to spit it out with disgust in every syllable for fear of it burning.

"Six months." Another awkward, off beat pause followed as he nodded. Then asked again. 

“Did you love him?”

"No." You said flat out. But your words were honest and brutal to the man you let in then kicked out. 

Frankie found himself suffocating a sigh of relief in his own ribs. They pinched slightly with an attempt of something profound to be felt. Like a child who had stumbled upon a strangely twisted shell at the beach. "Have you ever loved anyone?"

You turned to him, tilting your head. But Frankie couldn't tell if it was annoyance or respect for the bravery he had on asking you such personal questions. "What is this? Keeping Up With The Kardashians?"He held up his hands in quick defence, backing down. 

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

"There isn't anything to know except for the fact I'm pissed off." You muttered. “And I figured you would be too, considering the argument I heard a couple nights ago through the wall of my kitchen."

Frankie felt his face go pale, then heat up in the apples of his cheeks. "Oh. So you heard that?" The way your cigarette smouldered as you spoke was the only movement on the narrow balcony. So you did know the walls were thin. It made him wonder what else you knew. If you knew how he strained to listen through plaster and drywall each night. 

"Oh, I heard it alright.” You smirked, finding sick pleasure in the way he seemed to squirm. “Something about Lisa finding you...'dull behind the eyes'." Frankie watched as you rolled your eyes and doubled back on your standing in the argument, "If you're going to insult someone, at least be creative about it. ``Give them a good reason to cut it loose." You were like a pendulum to him. But one that spun in clockwise, then anticlockwise circles, instead of oscillating back and forth. Unpredictable in a way that both horrified and intrigued him. 

"Dull?" He had to laugh in disbelief, "I am not dull."

You smiled to yourself at that, leaning your head back against the brickwork. Ready to shatter his lie with a flick of your sharp tongue. "You are dull, Frankie. You get up. Go to work. Come back. You do your laundry every Sunday— and I know that because so do I. Your car is always in the exact same spot next to mine. Without fail. Now, you can put all down to ‘strict military regime’, but the bitter truth is," You looked him in the eye, your cig hanging from your lips as you showed him the satisfied grin pulling at your mouth, "you are dull. We all are. We work, we grind, we cry because we work. You ache to the marrow and you get stabbed in the back. And you're begging on your damn knees to bite the hand that feeds you. But if you do, then you starve.”

Frankie had never had his own fear served to him by such a beautiful devil before. And he wished, with all he had left in him that Lisa hadn’t taken or ruined, that you were wrong. It made him want to cave into himself to protect what little he had left. Snarl like a wounded bitch as he held back from others to lick his wounds. Maybe offer it to you and beg you to take it off his hands. But how could he argue when you were practically holding up a mirror to his own eyes? "I hate that you're right." He said in solemn downcast bereavement. And watched the cloud of smoke float silently in front of your face to obscure the very mouth that let him have it in such careful, exact slicing words. The blade of your knife was sharpened to a paper thin point. Now stained with his body’s red. 

"There are very few things I'm wrong about. Regardless of that, it's a simple formula and easy to understand.”

“And what is it?” He asked, but regretted it for he knew his heart might not be able to take much more. Not that he showed it. This whole exchange his brow hadn’t folded into a single crease. 

“Two things in life are certain: Death. And taxes. You work to pay your taxes, and you die from working."

"That's a pretty pessimistic way of looking at things."

"Life is pessimistic." You shot back with amusement, intently staring in a fixed trance at the pile of burning memories. The last warmth it offered was metaphorically and literally its own destruction. Irony, as Frankie pointed out to himself in his crawling mind. "It crucifies you, and burns you...until you curl in on yourself at the corners and turn to ash." 

The conversation had reached a level of solemnity he hadn’t expected, but he’d be a liar if he didn't admit to sinking his claws in yet again. His teeth might come next if you gave him the sweet chance. 

You were quiet after that. Both of you were. The remnants of a fire that symbolised how Mark was no longer relevant in your life, and neither Lisa in his. If he thought Lisa was machiavellian, the word had new meaning now. But like with her, it drew him in and snared him into blissful trance. It was the type of blind faith you pin to a deity in the sky. The type that you never see but are forced and gaslit into believing because it's shoved down your throat from a young age. You were not his savour. He knew that in the pit of his very existence, the eye of the storm in his gut.

He would be crucified by you. 

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

"Aw." You pouted in mock appreciation, pressing a hand to your chest. "Thank you." 

Frankie afforded himself the pleasure of laughing at that. As cynical as it all was, it was real. You had just dared to say the quiet hushed parts out loud for him to digest. Though he felt like he was choking on it more than swallowing it. Regardless, he pushed it down to find confidence in himself and prod further. 

“You keep doing that.” 

“What?” “That.” Frankie pointed to all of you with a gesture absent of any direction, as if it was obvious. He watched as you tilted your head and scrunched your face a little. That crease in your brow…how it would haunt him in future. He felt like the prey. He was torn between wanting you to hunt him slowly so he could feel something at your hand, agony or not. Or asking you to do it quickly so he doesn't have to pursue through the bitter aftertaste. 

“I’m not following.” 

“You do this thing…where you turn conversations on their head. I feel like I'm getting whiplash.” He forced out a chuckle to make it seem like he was playing through with humour. But his words were genuine under the lace disguise of jest. You really did confuse him. You had his string of thought in knots. Complicated ones. “Why?” 

Your eyes narrowed at the question. “You’re trying to figure me out.” 

“Why shouldn’t i?”

"Because I'm not the distraction you need." You bit, almost like a warning. And Frankie would have listened if he wasn't so hellbent on breaking in. No matter how hostile, how feral, he'd take the time to tame the caged, battered, abused animal. 

“Maybe not.” He agreed, twisting his upper body to face you. It’s important to understand that what Frankie felt wasn’t love. At least, not how he’d experienced it in the past. This was an infatuation birthed by the fruit of lust forbidden to act upon until now. “But you’re the one I want.” With those words came a darkness in his eyes. The kind that reminded you of floods and tempests in biblical art. You were that tempest, with swollen grey clouds and a hammering of thunder ringing in his ears. Laughing as you crashed him onto rocks while he swam helplessly with little energy to the shore. Only to be shoved back with another crushing wave that cut through flesh and met bone with a chill like ice. “Just because we’re sad and miserable, doesn’t mean we have to give up a good time.” His instincts were buried before. Rolling in their grave at the chance to touch you. So he pressed his palms to the lid of the coffin and pushed. Reaching out to trace a delicate line along the angle of your jaw. His eyes were drawn to the soft plush of your lips and how they parted ever so slightly. “I want a distraction, baby.” 

He had you where he wanted you. And the liquor mixing thick with your blood had inhibition slipping through your fingers. His breath was hot on your lips. Needy to be paid attention to.

“Would it be worth my while?” You challenged, ignoring eye contact for now. Instead looking to his lips for the lies. 

“You don’t think I could satisfy you?” He smirked, lifting your chin with a single thick finger curled underneath and the pad of his thumb swiping slowly over your bottom lip. “I’ll do better than anyone else could.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of confidence you have there. At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is just a bitch.” 

Frankie chuckled at that. A deep rumble that rattled the bones that protect the hollow hole in his chest. “Come on…let me have a taste.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply. He took the silence and the glimmer of ‘i dare you’ in your eyes, pressing his lips to yours to consume you. Devour you whole. They took their time in sinking together and suctioning your lower lip into his mouth. Then his tongue dared to venture forward past parted lips to lick into your mouth and taste the backs of your teeth.

First, you let go of trepidation to take a hold of him. The roots of his hair and the back of his neck, fingers curled like talons. After, you let go of all else. The thoughts scratching the back of your skull, the headache that blistered before by the inferno calmed down and you were forced to focus on him alone as he took a handful of your hips and lifted you up to his lap to roll into him like a steady tide. 

You pulled him by the collar of his shirt to your room, clothes left in a scattered flurry along the way. Breadcrumbs to pick up later and either regret or laugh at. He unhinged your jaw to let slip your airy moan as his hands travelled south to meet the seam of your cunt. All else fell into place when he circled your clit with two fingers to start the first loop of the knot in your belly. A warmup for the act of sin, and need, and wanting. Whatever god there was should have never been prayed to in the first place. And Frankie knew it now that he was damned to hell from the first parting of your thighs for his wandering hand. His teeth were ready for sinking as he gathered your legs and hooked them over his shoulders to walk open mouthed, spit decorated kisses down the trunk of your navel. Pressing his nose into your mound. The must of your cunt making his eyes light up as he stared at the bob of your throat when you swallowed sharply. Head rolled back to the pillow. His tongue glided into your folds for the first lick. Making a hot wet stripe of a path from your asshole to your clit. He used the tip of his tongue to circle it and glide lover to curl into your quivering hole. Drawing out the taste. The beckoning gesture of his tongue gathering your taste in his senses. A thumb following suit to roll the bud of your clit under it, his nose clumsy as it bumped into it too. Obsessing over the tang of your arousal, thick in shine over his lips the scruff of his chin.

Your thighs clamped over his ears that were red. The heat made your own skin burn. Dark curls of his hair whispering against their insides as he continued to devour you from the seam. And your orgasm– it burned bright after the first fizzle. Made your eyes scrunch closed as he pulled it from you with hand and tongue. What was used for his words had yours spilling from parted lips like a puppet. A vessel for him to carry pleasure through. It had you toppling over into oblivion. The abyss. 

With bones brittle and hollowed like a bird you were fine to be dead weight as he ascended your body again. Folding you in half with your legs still bent over his shoulders. He traced the jut of your collarbone with the blunt edges of his teeth. How he wished they’d be sharp to sink deeper. But you were grateful as it would be easier for him to not draw blood and see the inside of you ran red like all the others. It was easy to not be human. It was easy to not show emotion and weakness. 

“Feel that?’ he panted against your goosebump pebbled skin, and you nodded. You did. It was the promise to feel desired and not broken. And not maimed beyond repair by another person you let in. Another person you built yourself up to prepare to love, to only have the rug pulled from under your feet and the brickwork clatter to the ground. It was the same promise to him. And the desire that ran thick in his blood made his pulse thrum heavy under its weight. Its intrusion hot under his lust scorched skin.  

“Yeah.” 

“Imma make it go away for you, baby.” he promised with a kiss to the hollow of your throat below its column, between your clavicle. And it was anything but empty. It was full. And round, and swollen with something deeper in his ribs that ached to be let loose. Breathed to fill you too. “I’ll make it all go away.”

His hips pressed flush to yours and the drag of neatly groomed hair sent a shockwave through your clit and up your rattling spine. Vertebrae by vertebrae. Setting off blazing fireworks in your mind for just a second before he started a slow drag. It was a stretch that stung. But pain was comfort if it had pleasure hot on its heels like an obedient dog. Ironic how you feared men like him, who seemed so eager to please and let themselves in uninvited. But you took it willingly this time because you needed to forget for a single second about the heart that bled under flesh and bone in the cage of your ribs. 

His cock was thick, full and curved up into the part of you that you couldn't have reached even if you tried. He slotted into your heat like he was meant to stay there. And that alone made you want to scream for him to give in and not relent so you could be ignorant to the way it seemed divine. The roll of his hips kicked up in pace and soon he was hunched over you. Strong arms rippled with muscle from brutal training since the age of eighteen bracing himself on either side of your head. The feeling of him curling his hips into you made you burn. It sent a tumble of a moan from your lips through the breathless pant of his name. A name he never thought you'd call in the tangle of your sheets. But the burning need to give you what he had wanted all this time ate at him. It ripped the flesh fresh off his bone and left him bleeding into you. 

Frankie’s eyes misted over when the chain that hung from his neck slipped over your chin and you bought the metal of his dog tags between your teeth. Biting down. It feels better biting down anyway. And the cool of the metal on your hot tongue made your head swim. Looking him in his eyes and daring him deeper. So his lips pressed into a firm line, and your nails raked down his back to leave raised red lines in their wake. Tracing new paths over the old map of scar tissue. Marking new land and territory. The air between you hung heavy with the heat of exhales. And blew with the shared moan you indulged in when it coiled in your belly. The cradle of your hips accommodated his cock as it stretched the tightness of your walls. Your slick arousal giving way to fluidity of otherwise rabid motion. Starving.  

When on his tongue, you were alive. Inside you he breathed again with the clutch of your cunt around him. Warm and beating, and thrumming quickly like a hummingbird's wings. A squatter temporarily camped up in the crack between two ribs. Where thick muscle shuddered with breath. You believed something in you was worth loving. But you also knew for it to be found you'd have to be flayed alive. 

The crash of his hips into yours aided in the symphony of sex, and filled the four walls painted but void of personal belongings. If he were on the other side of them he'd be jealous. But now he was here, he was alive. Beating hearted and thriving. And any god, saint, angel or divinity could watch and weep as he finally had what he wanted. What he might have needed in order to restore his humanity that lay dormant for so long. He was trying to crack you open so he could lick up what lay inside you. Gather it up in his arms like the greedy wolf, lambs gore, blood and flesh, between fangs of his lower jaw. Have the muscle pulsing between his teeth. But he wouldn't. So for now he'd settle for the flesh on show. The mound of your panting breast that he pressed into his open mouth. The flat of his tongue pressing greedily to your nipple. Before his lips pinched together and pulled the left pert. Switching to do the same for the right. Not leaving an inch of you untouched. Because he had his chance now. And who knew when he'd get another. So he relished in what he was spared and he would take it with him to the grave. Dream of it on his deathbed if this killed him. Or if something else did. Regardless. This would run through his mind until his last heavy and troubled breath. 

“That's it.” he murmured into your breast. “Take it. Take it, baby. Take me..” 

Your back arched, strung tight like a bow ready to fire. Spine curled up into the heat of his mouth and he bit down again on the swell of your breast. Wanting to take its entire weight into his mouth and have it rot and smear into his tongue. The fizzle of nerve endings reached the tips of your curling toes. The heels of your feet digging into the planes of his scapula to press him closer in the burning of your young orgasm. 

“Come on. Let me see you come.” Frankie demanded in a breathless growl as he stared you down with his eyes.  The hue of his irises almost devoured by black of pupil. Your jaw unhinged to let rip a silent scream. Feeling that sharp coil snap, and a numbness fill your aching core before your toes curl in pleasure. He helped you ride it out with his cock fucking into your tight weeping cunt while you sang out his name in a chorus of moans, whimpers and cries. Letting go utterly as a rush filled you, lighting you up like dry kindling under your skin. The pulsating of your walls around his length had his hips faltering for just a moment, twitching within your sopping cunt. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he let out a deep guttural groan, closing in on skin with teeth again. Spilling inside you, the mix of your slick with his cum painting you white like the searing heat of pleasure between you. He leaves the last of his load with you by fucking it deeper. Three, sharp, punctuated thrusts. 

He lay flat above you while he awaited the comedown from his catharsis. The tingle down his spine sputtered out in a haze of slowburn afterglow. Eyes closed and face buried into the crook of your perspiring neck. Panting together. Hit tongue forgot for a second to shape your name the way it sounded, but with a sharp inhale, the air surged his mind. 

“I suppose this is the part where I leave?” He mumbled, pulling back from your skin. His time had come and ended. The two of you now sat back to the world of hallway and laundromat limbo. He sighed through his nose when you nodded. And he did the same, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

Frankie gathered his clothes up, putting them on slowly one by one. Drawing out the ache of being alone again by lingering in your presence. 

“Come back tomorrow.” You said. Not asked. He nodded, still facing the door. Then twisted the handle and left an empty space in your apartment where he had once been. 

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Round 3

Propaganda Under Cut

Kairi

kairi is the third protagonist of the kingdom hearts series and the third member of the destiny trio, alongside fan favorites sora and riku. sora/riku shippers HATE kairi, and will go out of their way to discount her at every turn. the hate for her ranges from typical "she's a boring bitch" to fans of soriku making five-hour long video essays reassuring their fellow shippers that the big bad kairi won't show up in the next installment – to quote one video, "she's in a box. she's on the shelf. four walls, no door." kairi is the greatest bogeyman the soriku fandom has ever known, to the point where most of said video essays and fanon meta posts focus not on why sora and riku should get together, but rather on why they don't like kairi.

Literally has a 100+ page Google doc fan theory writing her out of the narrative and putting all of her (few) canonical accomplishments onto half of the popular m/m ship (soriku). Don't even get me started on how her memory was completely written out of the canon plot of re:coded. KH is a nightmare to explain so dude trust me she is THE victim of yaoi

She is so fundamental to the plot and themes and narratives of game and yet it is near impossible to find anything about her thats not ship bashing pre-mlm with the other two characters. I dont even care if she ends up with one of the main characters i just want fans to see her as a cool character to love or like, anything other than “annoying comphet girl.” You can write your mlm but pleaae stop inventing comphet where it doesnt exist. She does not even get to spend time with sora ever?? Why does everyone see her as a threat and a thing to destroy?? Let her have friends so help me

Misa Amane

she gets treated in-canon the way fandoms treat female characters that Threaten an m/m ship. it's like, "oh why don't you go sit in the corner and be pretty, misa, while the Men have intelligent conversation and pretend they aren't ten seconds from fucking each other, doesn't that sound nice?" it's infuriating. and MAYBE it's better now but i remember her getting treated the same way in fanfiction too, like we all need to do just as badly by our female secondary characters as fucking tsugumi ohba, but with the added insult of making her be alternately oblivious of the relationship between light and L or actively trying to sabotage it—incompetently, of course, because god forbid misa be allowed dignity or moments of cleverness.

she's one of the first characters I think of when I consider old school fandom misogyny. The annoying bitch and clingy crazy gf allegations were AFTER HER ASS. She's also a lot more intelligent than people gave her credit for, but most seem inclined to take the Very Biased word of our unreliable, narcissistic narrator and his homoerotic arch nemesis and claim that just because she's bubbly and into romance that she's also a complete moron. Which is blatantly untrue. Everyone was afraid of Misa girlbossing too hard. Killing people and devoting yourself to the deranged twink of your dreams even though you know he'll never love you back??? Having a hardcore goth aesthetic and being so Hot even literal Death Gods are into you?? God forbid women do ANYTHING!

Not only is she the victim of yaoi culture, she is the victim of early 2000s misogyny by an author that wanted to introduce a girl character because he knew his male rivals were getting too homoerotic. She is a goth bimbo icon who portrays what I think is one of the few callouts for stan culture and what parasocial relationships can do to both the stan and the idol. The fact that she is a toxic fan of Kira and also hot, funny, sociable is tragic in its own way, which I think the author did try to touch on but was too misogynistic too really get through. Of course, she was reduced to villain status by the fandom and anime alike because she got in the way of the supposed romance in their psychological horror anime.

[tarotwithavi]

what effect do have on others?

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Disclaimer : for entertainment purpose only .

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pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

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PILE 1

I am hearing the word LOVE~ it's either that you make people feel loved and make them love themselves. You inspire people. Like really there's something about you that makes people feel extremely positive. Wow, I really admire you guys. I'm getting that you might be the therapist friend? You inspire people to do what they love and follow their passion. You follow the motto that nothing is impossible . Idk why but I'm getting that when you do something others go like " If pile 1 can do this, I can too" . Your energy makes people want to change like they want to change for the better . You may have an earth moon.

And I'm also getting that you make people fall in love with you. People fall in love with your personality and how you carry yourself . People may get attracted to you just because of your beauty but they fall in love with your personality. You are the perfect combination of beauty and brains. You're very self disciplined and you pamper yourself. I'm getting that you make people come out of their shell. you might have go through a lot or endings and may get tired around a lot of people . You are a social butterfly on the outside but an sleeping bag at home lol.

If you wonder why you attract only messed up people and the people who are mostly depressed trust me man I don't know too 💀 #webothmessedup . Jk it's because you are healed and you trigger those who are not healed yet . You might attract a lot of energy vampires or toxic people. So please protect yourself and your energy.

And one last thing,

YOU GUYS ARE PRETTY AF. like I was trying to not type it but I couldn't control myself.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

PILE 2

I'm hearing the word Luck for this pile. You bring a lot of luck in other people's life. Like there could be black clouds and thunderstorms everywhere but then you enter the room and BOOM sunshine and rainbows everywhere. Its funny how I'm trying to explain this. But one thing you make people speechless. You might even look different from the people in your area or just that you have a very unique aesthetic that no one in your are has. You might even speak two or more languages and people find that amazing.

T, O, M, R, A I'm getting these initials for some reason. Wait, they make AMOR which mean love in French . Maybe some of you are learning French or just have some sort of connection with France. I'm getting that you might give French artist vibes to people. It also makes RAM which is the name of one hindu God. Let me know if you see more words . You might have a lot of knowledge about different cultures . Also it's random but you look good in blue or shades of blue. Are you a middle child? Just asking.

Okay a lot of tarot readers in this pile , so hello to the tarot readers of this community! Honestly this pile has some abilities with tarot or could become famous in tarot community. Also you're very mysterious to others , they want to know you more and what's going inside your head.All I'm getting is Knowledge, intelligence, brilliance, a lot of intellect. You guys have a lot of unique and weird ideas . Sometimes you brain makes people go like "are you serious rn? " . You are always thinking about new things and you might over think a lot. Pile 1 and 2 are giving siblings vibes.

One last thing

YOU LITTLE WORKAHOLICS AND PERFECTIONISTS PLEASE GIVE YOURSELF SOME REST!!! It's okay to be lazy sometimes.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

PILE 3

Sjjsjsjs this group is femme fatal , if you don't know what that is, google it up. But yeah people tend to put you on a pedestal. People are ready to worship you like literally, they are ready to bow down to you. Because ya know you focus on yourself and never give other much of your time and keep people wanting for more. And that makes them obsessed with you. But this burdens you because you don't want this. You just want to work, earn, enjoy. Just to let ya know , two boys are extremely obsessed with you.

You make people fall for you at the first glance. I'm hearing " You're one you're two✌" . You are their first and you're their second. There's no one who has the same amount of charm as you. Even the people who look emotionless and reserved will fall for you. You fill their heart with love till it overflows. And they can't control their feelings for you. They feel instant connection with you.

K, L, W, V are the initials I got for you. You embody the Girlboss energy. Like the rich CEO who is also pretty AF. You guys are filled with confidence and know your worth and that's very ahem hot to others. You're also very grounded and don't like to show off. A lot of you could be leo. I just heard Dove, you might like dove or just give their vibes.

One last thing

Stop being so hot all the time Momma 😫💀 . Alright that was weird but I hope you get the point ;)

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[mynameis-noe-body]

Okay, for marquis de gramont we can get reallll toxic. Both the reader and Vincent are angry with each other and are tying to make one another jealous at the event. Because they’re very kinda delulu and possessive they kill the people they're using to make the other jealous and confess their feelings

Thank you so much for this request, my dear anon. I hope you'll love this. 🖤

I am your slave

Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont × you (F/GN)

Rating: Teen & Up Audience

Status: Complete (one shot)

Author notes: I used Google translate for the Russian and French sentences. Let me know if it's incorrect!

Obviously. You muttered the word under your breath, chewing its bitter taste, testing its sound on the tip of your tongue as you watched, disarmed, as the Marquis made his triumphal entrance.

The most influential families of the High Table had gathered at the Hotel Mademoiselle de Condé for a gala and business evening. Those weren't rare events, but that didn't make them any less sumptuous. Money flowed freely, as did the champagne, the drugs, the caviar. And the lovers. Yes, they were purchasable too. Women and men of supreme beauty, unattainable, sometimes sons and daughters who were given away, exchanged, lent — everything, in exchange for favors.

But the Marquis — Vincent — never had to ask anyone for anything.

With a gallant gesture he opened the door of his 1970 Cadillac DeVille and offered his arm to a woman. And not yet another high-class whore that he would have refused to touch even with the tip of his little finger, no. The woman who accompanied him that evening was a creature of rare beauty, perhaps someone's protégé. Perhaps his protégé. She was graceful, elegant, she flaunted a cascade of golden curls that would make Venus herself envious. And you, you felt flooded with anger.

"Champagne" you ordered, snapping your fingers. They served you immediately. You too had your power, and you had never hidden it. You knew, deep down, that it was one of the things that attracted him. Your shy elegance fiercely contrasted the anger that could ignite in your heart. The strength of your hands, the fury in your eyes, the power you wielded ruthlessly. Yet, in his arms and in his bed, you were capable of the deepest love, the most total devotion. He was bewitched by it, and inebriated. Therefore, he loved to instigate every jealousy in you, just to have you desperate at the end of the night.

Vincent didn't even glance at you. He shook dozens of hands, ordered food and drinks, laughed with his colleagues and friends. And he ignored you. At least until, from the door of the luxurious hotel, taking off his Armani coat and handing the keys of his Ferrari Portofino to the doorman, Mr. D'Antonio entered.

"Santino!" you exclaimed, with a smile so bright it lighted the entire dining room. Many turned, if only for a moment, to watch you gallop towards the man, with a hem of your beautiful dress grasped between your fingers to reveal crystal heels that echoed off the walls.

Santino opened his arms, and welcomed you with a loud kiss on the cheek. "Meraviglia! Look at you — beautiful, you are beautiful."

Santino was warm, welcoming, purely Italian. And charming, in every aspect of his person. He knew how to make any woman feel like the most beautiful in the world. He gallantly offered you his arm and ordered for you. His laugh was loud, contagious. His exuberant nature amused you. You had been friends for years now. You had worked together, sometimes — often you had worked for him. And he appreciated you. He was generous in his payments. And above all, Vincent was morbidly jealous, because D'Antonio had no qualms about making blatant advances on you, even in front of all those people.

Vincent was daydreaming about murder. God, how he hated him. And yes, he had planned to take that beautiful Parisian home with him, one of the new acquisitions of his organization, now that he saw you... you were his favorite. Oh, bullshit — you were the only one. Since he had met you he had no longer been able to keep faith with his numerous lovers. One by one, they had extinguished his desire, and you had ignited his. Or they were fallen dead, because you killed them. Many of them, to be honest. And every time he learned of one of your murders, his desire to possess you — body and soul — violently took hold of him. He didn't want to give in, not that easily. But now he understood how difficult it was to resist you, while your hand caressed the muscular shoulder of that penniless Italian. That coward. The mere thought that you could enjoy yourself under his fingers made him vomit — so much that he poured what was left of the wine into the boulle and twisted his mouth in a grimace of disgust.

With my bare hands, he thought. He crossed his legs and wrapped himself in his double-breasted jacket, brooding. I want to kill him with my bare hands around his neck. He would have done it. He was Vincent Bisset de Gramont, the Marquis and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He could have attached Santino D'Antonio to a pole and set him on fire to make him feel a tenth of the physical pain with which, due to that jealousy, he himself was now burning.

The young woman he had brought with him caressed his face. Or at least, she tried. But he grabbed her wrist before she could touch his cheek. He looked at her with the same hatred. "Go take off that lipstick" he hissed, through clenched teeth. "You look ridiculous."

She obeyed, humiliated, and reached the bathroom. Of course, she didn't expect to meet you anytime soon.

As soon as you saw her walking away towards the toilet, you took your chance, followed her and closed the door behind you with a sharp slam, waiting for her right there, outside her niche. She, surrounded by that shiny hair, those brilliant eyes, those scarlet lips, had raised a single eyebrow in an inquisitive manner.

"And you are?" she asked, passing a cloth over her lips, cleaning them from that bright color.

You inhaled deeply. "You know who I am."

She allowed herself an amused smile. "Ah," she had commented, smugly, "nomer dva."

You thought that, before speaking, she should have made sure that you didn't speak Russian.

▪️▪️▪️

"Dance with me." Vincent took your hand, intertwined his fingers with yours and dragged you before you could respond, or refuse.

He had chased you as soon as you left the bathroom. The Marquis had immediately noticed your flushed chest, your freshly washed hands, your disheveled hair pulled back with a mechanical gesture of your hand, your pupils as narrow as pinpricks. Magnificent. On the dance floor, he had first twirled you once, before grabbing you and holding you against his chest; one hand — the right one — on your back, the lower part, the other intertwined with yours and pressed against his chest, on the beating of his heart. And his face in the corner between your neck and your shoulder.

You huffed, trying to maintain composure. "They're all watching us" you whispered in his ear. He smiled against your skin. "You'll make us look ridiculous in front of the High Table."

"Mon amour. I am the High Table." Vincent left the ghost of a kiss on your neck before making you sway in his arms. Another pirouette, and there you are again in his inevitable grip. "I could order half the men in this room to lick the floor where you walk, and they would do it for me."

You barely held back a small smile. "I can not stand you." But you settled a little more against his chest. The soft, slow music lulled you gently. "And what do you think of Santino? Would he kneel for you too?"

His nails dug into your side, making you flinch. You met his icy eyes in mid-air. So cold, so beautiful. "The Italian. That's it then, you like him."

"He's a charming man."

"He is rude, and vulgar. So pompous."

"And you're not?"

You almost heard him growl. Vincent shot a terrible look at D'Antonio, across the room, who was watching you swing on the dance floor with dark, annoyed eyes.

"You shouldn't be here with me" you added, coldly. "Your woman? Where is she?"

He laughed heartily. "Oh, please. We both know she won't make it out of that bathroom alive. How long did it take you to kill her?"

But you didn't answer. You never responded to his curiosity... it was your game.

Vincent grinned. The kiss on your neck now became passionate. You felt his soft lips caress your skin from your bare shoulder to the tip of your chin with five deep, intense kisses. "You drive me crazy."

This time, you smiled happily. "You are sick."

Vincent looked deadly serious, hovering over you, his back straight and tall to tower over your beautiful figure. "I will have monsieur D'Antonio's raw heart served to me on a silver platter. I will kidnap you, lock you in a dungeon, make you die of hunger and thirst if necessary — anything, as long as you admit the truth."

He was scary. Exciting. Terrifying. Beautiful. You blushed, panting slightly. "What truth? What the hell are you talking about?"

He smiled. He leaned down and whispered in your ear. "That you love me, mon amour."

"I —" yes, you loved him. And you loved the way he made you feel. You loved that hateful jealousy you felt for him, and that he felt for you. You caressed his face with an unexpected sweetness. Your eyes were large, languid. Vincent felt his whole body tremble like never before... "I'll tell you. Not now, though. Tomorrow morning. Now, take me home, and make love to me."

He stopped. He smiled, looking younger than he was. So happy. With a ridiculous low bow, he offered you his hand. "Je suis ton serviteur."

[plagueoffools]

toxic mentally unstable nikolai with a fem reader that just has enough of him? angst to fluff? or maybe no fluff? your choice!!

"INSANITY IS THE MENTALITY! SO DENY SANITY TO UNEARTH THE RAW VITALITY."

(REQUESTED) TOXIC! NIKOLAI GOGOL/ GN! READER

BUNGOU STRAY DOGS

[ slight ANGST/ FLUFF ] 1.3k WORDS

⸺A/N // I figured since Nikolai is already quite literally unhinged I would just write what I depict of the normal Nikolai but with a twinge of toxicity. I'm not quite fond of my sloppy writing but motivation is kicking my ass. //

⸺TW // Google translated Ukrainian, correct me if there's any mistakes you spot. //

⸺INFO // Reader is implied as FEM regarding request but never stated. //

You're not sure how it had come to this, you're not sure how you had expected it to not come to this.

Either way, you want it all to end. All the worrisome days where he does not answer nor visit you and when he does he's quick to brush off your questions regarding his abrupt disappearance. It's an endless cycle that you've found yourself caged in, no matter which key you prod the key lock with, it'll never open for you to leave.

You've realized for the past few days that you're a sitting duck in a cage, willingly waiting for a man who will not wait for you.

You're not sure how it all even started, you recall blurry memories that you used to reminisce with so much vibrance and brightness; have now dulled. You're able to reminisce back when it was all much simpler, where he bombarded you with teasing remarks and when you humoured him. Humoured him, all because you'd thought to stimulate his need for an audience.

However, you're no longer amongst the audience. You're now propped and dressed for a role you've never wanted to be casted for.

He had to admit it to, he never thought his jocular advances would go anywhere-

- but the seed he has planted; like a flower, flourishes quickly. Standing tall and vibrant. All he wants to do however is to so desperately starve it of its sun, thirst it of its water. He attempts to bring himself to cut it down, his heart prevails, rebels against him.

Won over by his ever so fleeting but dreadful emotions nonetheless, he flees cowardly. Confrontation was never his thing anyways, he'd rather just run until the sun sets and he's no longer plagued with the heat of it all. He figures that if he cannot bring himself to destroy what leashes him to the ground he will run until the leash merely snaps. But who knew the same leash he was running from would lead him straight back to you.

After a heavy day with a heavy heart, you return back to croak your problems to your pillow. Burying your face so deep you've wished that was all it took for it to asphyxiate you but you tweaked the position of your head to allow yourself to breathe properly .

You feel cowardly, sulking about a clownish man that made you feel like the clown. Retreating back to the warmth of your bed hoping it would dissipate your thoughts; turning and turning you search for a position to get comfortable in. Your slumber is prolonged due to your restless behaviour, your body aching and seeking for the warmth of the man that not even your bed can replicate.

You groan before pulling the blanket over your head. 'This is something future me can worry about .' you sigh out before shutting your eyes and hoping to find peace by listening to the rhythmic thump of your heart instead of the blaring silence your room offers.

⸻click!

Your eyes groggily shoot open at the sound, your breathing stills as you register the sound . You lay still for a second, figuring if you should continue your slumber or investigate the sound. Your body only runs cold when you notice the breezy wind ghosting over your skin. You're absolutely one hundred percent sure that you did not leave your window open . You hastily shut your eyes as you focus on picking up a sound but when you do you restrain yourself from not letting out a blood curdling scream when you hear soft thuds of footsteps growing in proximity towards you.

You're frozen, you internally cry for your body to move, scream for it to do anything, to get away. Your breath subconsciously picks up when you feel the weight of your bed dip just right beside you.

A hand fit with a tight glove presumably leather from what you can feel off of the texture. It gracefully dances across your face, sliding across your skin as If they're testing their boundaries. You start to internally scream when the perturbator leans close, you're aware because you can feel the heat off of their skin right agaisnt you.

-and it is one you undeniably recognize, the heat your body soughts out for.

You hear an amused chuckle before slowly translating to a full heinous laugh,

"You're so cute when you pretend to be asleep."

Your breath hitches, it's him. You're about to jump from your rigid position and tackle him after not hearing from him for so long but your conflicted emotions stops you, restrains you. You're still upset and justifiably angry at his disappearance, you only huff before turning your back to him.

He dramatically gasps, him and his theatrics. "My dove has forsaken me! " - ironic. "My, what will I ever do to regain my doves affection?".

You roll your eyes, "Isn't that what you're trying to abolish? Why run back to something you wish to rid from your life fool." you hissed back at him.

He diverts the topic at hand to something else, hoping to distract himself from facing another dilemma. Just this once, I'll embrace the cage you've trapped me in.

Chirping out he leans closer to you, "Kolya wants a hug, don't you think he deserves one?" he only further whines when you push him away. Pouting childishly as if you've just denied a child ice cream.

Grabbing you at your wrist, halting your pushy motions as he sets it aside and clumsily maneuvers to your side. With a soft thump he lays beside you facing you with an annoyingly mirthful smile, with those stupid big doe eyes he tries to reel you in with.

"I've missed you dovey, do you miss me?" he flicks your nose when you take too long to respond. Groaning you send a short lived glare before muttering out a 'no' and returning to the comfort of darkness behind your eyelids.

"Are ya sure?" you hear him whisper amusingly right next to your ear, he was close, so close to the point you could feel the vibration of every syllable he uttered.

That's just him you suppose, pushing people's limits to see how far he can venture. Your train of thought is halted when a thin sheet of an object falls on top of your arm that was resting outside the safety of your blanket, confused you opened your eye.

The first you noticed was that Nikolai was no longer present, not in your sight atleast. For a man who was so daringly close to you just a few moments ago, he sure knows how to be as far as possible as well. The second were the sharp edges of hundreds of Polaroid photos that are piling at the center of your bed, some you've noticed have already fallen off of your blanket to the floor.

Your hand curiously reaches out and takes a closer look at one polaroid you managed to pick out, your breath hitches as you recognize the figure of the person in the picture. It's you. Snuggling cozily in your bed just the day before this. You'd know because you wore a new set of pajamas that had just arrived on your doorstep just the day before. Your eyes wander more and you noticed a scribbled out date at the back with a number, #689. Six hundred eighty-nine? You gape at the number.

Your hands scramble and you sweep up a couple of polaroid photos in your hand, #520, #638, #459, #381.

Each and every one includes you both outside and inside of the comfort of your house, each and every polaroid coming with their own personalized doodles and notes scribbled from front to back. Hearts being doodled on your sleeping figure, messy scribbled of notes in cursive and some you recognize in his native language, Ukrainian. Scribbled either outside of the border of the picture or behind the polaroid. Never across, you figured he didn't wanna block the actual picture with his writings.

Your hand curiously ventures out to take one more, it's a common occurrence of most of the mass amounts of polaroid photos to include you doing mundane tasks such as this ; watering the flowers you keep near your living room balcony. You flip to look at the back, it seems this one is one of the older ones ; you noted.

22/7/2006

#143

"𝙄𝙛 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙪𝙩 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙬 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨, 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙢 𝙄 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙬 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪."

"мій голуб полетить, і якщо його зупинять, я пожертвую власними крилами."

[mysticbewitched]

Hey mystic

I was gonna link an ask from earlier but i cant seem to put links in here for some reason and google is not helping. Its the one about the non-dualism community and how toxic it can be. I just wanted to say I am glad others agree. I wouldn't consider myself a beginner to loa manifesting or shifting. I just think its crazy how someone says things like "just be" and someone asks them to clarify it and they respond by saying something like "do you need help drinking water."

Trends come and go, I'm sure once ND is no longer new someone else will unearth some old spiritual practice and claim its above LOA as well. I just wish everyone would be accepting and encouraging instead of what seems to be condescending because they think they know something no one else does.

Lastly I heard you say on the podcast the person you were gonna do it with is no longer in your life, sorry to hear that. I only bring this up because I believe I saw a post saying you manifested this person into your life and then they changed (I could be wrong though). I also manifested someone back (an ex) but it was a 'manifestation' and all i ended up creating was misery.

You don't have to answer this if the last part is too personal, but if you want send me a message. Just wanted to say I think you have some great views that resonated.

Great podcast btw

I completely agree with you and I'm glad that others are able to see the madness that I'm seeing.

What they usually mean by telling you all, "just be" is they're telling you to realize your true self as awareness. They're telling you to just recognize your divine nature in the present moment and enjoy knowing yourself.

I don't see why they don't just tell you to turn within and recognize your true self as awareness in this present moment without all the riddles.

I agree that everyone here should turn within themselves and listen to their inner guidance instead of relying on the "others" for advice, because then the constant search and craving for more answers will never end. However, at the same time, it's the polite and helpful thing to do to let your readers know exactly what they're looking for while you advise for them to look within themselves for the truth: realizing divine the source of your true self.

If everyone knew what they were looking for, I think they would have an easier time turning within and trusting their inner voice to lead them to answers.

I feel as if the lack of clarification on exactly what to look for is unnecessary and it can come off as mind games instead of just being direct with the readers and telling them all, "you're turning within to realize your true nature. Hint: you are always *aware.*"

I happen to notice from time to time as well that some of these bloggers feel the need to use the whole "words are meaningless" nonsense as a moronic excuse to bully or put down other blogs amongst themselves or with their anons for simply viewing things in a different perspective and I don't think that's cool for anyone to do.

That behavior isn't right. It's just plain mean.

Everyone is entitled to their own perspective and share their own views, but to publicly put down specific blog names for everyone to hear and make fun of them together? Very condescending and cold.

Oh, believe me, I'm waiting for the next spiritual trend to come out of nowhere. I wonder what it's going to be next. Now my curiosity is in flames.

To end things here, I want to thank you so much for your kinds words and the lovely compliment.

Your feedback and appreciation for the podcast means so much to me. I'm so very glad to hear that my perspective of things resonated with you.

Thank you for enjoying my podcast.

[butchgtow]

Introduction to Armchair Activism

Current feelings about the state of radblr.

Fundamentals

"Yes, Everyone on the Internet Is a Loser." Luke Smith. Sep 3, 2022. YouTube.

An activist movement can be a place to build community with like-minded people, but action is its foremost purpose, not community. To allow yourself and other activists to remain effective, you are obliged to abandon your personal dislikes of other individual activists. Disagreements are worth discussion, but interpersonal toxicity is not.

Connect with in-person community and do not unhealthily over-prioritize online community. Over-prioritization of online community is self-harm.

Luke is a loser, but his channel is teeming with entry-level digital literacy information and advice pertaining to healthy use of technology for us cyborgs.

"Surveillance Self-Defense: Tips, Tools and How-Tos For Safer Online Communication." Electronic Frontier Foundation.

Hackblossom, outdated, is discontinued. The EFF project Surveillance Self-Defense is up-to-date, comprehensive, and follows personal educational principles of simplicity and concision.

To learn more about general (not focused solely on personal action) cybersecurity, visit Cybersecurity by Codecademy and Cyber Security Tutorial by W3Schools. Both contain further segueways into other important digital literacies.

Direct recommendation: Install and set up the linux distribution Tails on a cheap flash drive.

Direct recommendation: Develop your own home network security schema.

Direct recommendation: Always enable 2FA security for Tumblr, disable active / inactive status sharing, and learn to queue reblogs and posts to protect against others' interpretations of your time zone.

Direct recommendation: It's both possible and relatively simple to host your own instance of a search engine using SearXNG.

Zero-Knowledge Architecture.

As a remote activist (even if also a hybrid activist), none of your action should be taken on, using, or interfacing with non-zero-knowledge-architecture services. Tumblr is, of course, a risk in and of itself, but you should not be using services provided by companies such as Google, Microsoft, or any others based in or with servers hosted in 13-eyes agreement nations.

Search for services (email, word processor, cloud storage) which emphasize zero-knowledge architecture. Businesses whose services are structured as such cannot hand over your data and information, as they cannot access it in the first place. If they cannot access the majority of your metadata, either - all the better.

Communications for Armchair Activism

"Technical Writing." Google.

Contained within the linked page at Google Developers, the self-paced, online, pre-class material for courses Technical Writing One, Technical Writing Two, and Tech Writing for Accessibility teach activists to communicate technical concepts in plain English.

"Plain Language." U.S. General Services Administration.

Plain language is strictly defined by U.S. government agencies, which are required to communicate in it for simplicity and quick, thorough comprehension of information.

"Explore Business Law." Study.com.

Extensive courses are offered to quickly uptake principles of business law such as antitrust law, contract law, financial legislation, copyright law, etc. Legal literacy is often the difference between unethical action of a business and its inaction. Legal literacy is also often the difference between consideration and investment in your policy idea and lack thereof.

"Business Communication." Study.com.

Now that you're able to communicate your prioritized information, you may also initiate writing with bells and whistles. While other activists care most about the information itself, business communication allows you to communicate your ideas and needs to those who you must convince worthiness of investment to and win over.

Logic.

Learn it through and through. Start with fallacies if you're better at language and work your way backwards to discrete mathematics; start with discrete mathematics if you're better at maths and work your way forwards to fallacies, critical literacy, and media literacy. State that which you intend to state. Recognize empiricism and rationalism for what they are. Congratulations: you are both a mathematician and a law student.

Economic Literacy for Armchair Activism

"Microeconomics." Khan Academy.

"Macroeconomics." Khan Academy.

The globe operates on profitability. Women's unpaid labor is a massive slice of the profitability pie. While it's possible to enact change without understanding all that drives the events around you, it's impossible to direct or meaningfully manipulate the events around you beyond your scope of comprehension.

Understand economics or be a sheep to every movement you're active in and to every storm that rolls your way.