#hopefully i can get that sorted by the end of the week c:

[euon111a]

SmokeStack Blues: An Alphabet

summary: just a nsfw alphabet

warnings: obvious NSFW themes, nothing too crazy

notes: again this is in second pov, and afab. the title is both elias and elijah’s nicknames, so maybe smoke’s version will come out soon. ik the writing isn’t the best, this isn’t proofread, I just wanted something new to be out before the end of the week. I kinda went overboard, but I was in too deep doing this. i got inspiration from someone’s smoke nsfw alphabet, but I can’t find it anywhere anymore sooo… i’m just gonna pretend i got this credit from the most recent one i saw. hopefully smoke’s nsfw alphabet is shorter.

A is for Aftercare:

He’s all for aftercare. There hasn’t be a moment where he hasn’t taken extra good care of you after sex. Pretty much anything you can think of he’s already got done. Of course, he actually was the worse at aftercare when you initially got together, but thankfully he’s picked up a thing or two from you. (‘Specially cause you’ve been insistent on the whole thing.)

He’s always been real handsy. Before, during, and after sex. He’s made a big habit of keeping his hands on you, but he’s extra gentle. His hands wouldn’t leave your body, it’s like it’s physically impossible for him to keep his hands off you. He’s always extra gentle when he’s touching you, rubbing the sides of your hips, gently sliding his hands up and down your waist. He’s gotten into the habit of just letting his hands touch you, your stomach, your back, your neck, his hands would be subconsciously searching for any tension in your body just so he could massage it away.

Just as quick as he is to keep his hands on you, he’s equally as quick to get his lips on you. Soft kisses along your neck, your shoulder, the base of your head, your forehead, anywhere he could reach. Now, he wouldn’t call himself a cuddler, but he’s damn near close to one even if he’s in some sort of denial ‘bout it. He makes sure he’s real close to you, running a finger through your hair and ignoring your protests to clean up with a “just wanna feel on you a lil’ longer.” It’d take you about ten minutes to finally get him off of you and finally wash up, but even then he’s the one scrubbing you clean.

B is for Body part:

Man’s a huge ass guy, always has been and probably always will be. He’s a looker, and he’s not really ashamed about it. He likes it when you walk, especially loves it when you’re walking in front of him or walking away from him. Always gives him a good view to let his gaze linger just for a second longer before looking up to you if he’d look for a second too long. You can’t really blame him though. Ass— your ass specifically, holds a special place in his heart.

And he especially likes randomly giving your ass a little pat when he walks by. Said it’s something ‘bout the way it feels in his hand, though he might be a bit biased, he claims it’s the second nicest thing he’s ever felt in his life. Saving the feel of inside you as number one.

He loves the way your ass jiggles when he smacks it, loves the look of his hand print on your right ass cheek when he’s rough enough to hear the smack. Sometimes he’ll insist on fucking you from the back just so he can grab on your ass and watch the way it bounces with each thrust.

Now maybe it’s a little cocky for him to say, but he’s very cocksure. Can’t really blame him for being confident. He would never go as far as saying he takes pride in it, but he’s definitely thought it a few times. He loves watching his cock slide so easily in out of you, loves seeing that little look on your face and that hitch in your voice when you’re ‘bout to cum, and absolutely loves when you become a babbling mess if he’s thrusted too deeply and too quickly.

C is for Cum:

Stack has a thing for cumming on your face. Actually, a huge thing for cumming on your face. Thought you’d always looked so pretty when you were all teary eyed with that little pink blush to your cheeks. You were damn near ethereal.

He didn’t even realize how much he liked cumming down your throat until the first time you’ve given him head. At first, he was a little concerned he was being too rough with the sounds you’d make whenever he fucked into your throat a bit too deep or that dazed look you’d get when you were too busy choking on his dick. But fuck you were so good, took him so well, looked so damn pretty doing it.

The first time was an accident, or he claimed it was an accident. He was fucking your face, one hand behind your hand, and his dick just happened to slip out, but he was already so fucking close. As soon as you grabbed the base of his dick to guide it back between your lips, he couldn’t help himself. At first, he was worried he’d offended you or gotten some too close to your eye, but the sight of his cum on your lips had him hard again. Watching you lick your lips and sucking his tip clean had him groaning a little “oh fuck” under his breath. He felt bad after, apologized three times for being too rough, and promised to make it up to you if you’d sit on his face after.

He also discovered that night that he really liked eating you out.

D is for Dirty secret:

Now it ain’t a heavily guarded secret, it’s also not something he’s openly admitted, but he absolutely loves seeing you on top of him. Doesn’t have to be during sex, could be just when the two of you are alone at night and talking, or when you’ve fallen asleep with your head on his chest. But he always favors seeing you on top. He loves that shit.

Sometimes he’ll be so caught up in the sight of you guiding himself into you that he’ll forget to breathe. Have his bottom lip between his teeth and his hand firmly on your hips to keep himself from bucking up into you, guiding you with a soft “just like that baby”. You being on top is probably the only time he’d willingly let you set the pace and go as slow as you want.

Plus it gives him the chance to watch the way your hips roll down against him, the way your tits bounced with every move and that gorgeous look on your face as you chased your climax.

He’s a lot more vocal when you’re riding him. Praising you for how well you’re doing, telling you how gorgeous you look, whispering little encouragements: “That’s it, just like that ma,” “God you’re so pretty,” “Don’t go getting all tired on me now, you’re doing so good.”

E is for Experience:

He’s confident where and when he needs to be. Knows just what to do to make you feel real good, where to kiss, and touch and hold. Makes sure to be extra slow with his touches and press extra hard to get you going.

He knows his way around a female body, but he’s gotten real good at knowing his way around yours. Knows just where to flatten his tongue and just where to suck when he’s busy eating you off. Knows just how deep to fuck you and is quick to listen to you whenever you’re mumbling for him to go harder and faster. Knows when to scissor his fingers apart and curl them up against you when he’s gently easing himself knuckle deep into you.

He’s a quick learner. Learned just what to do to help you come, knows what you like the most, what gives you that tight knot in your tummy, and what’s got your toes curling.

F is for Favorite Position:

He’s got a few favored positions; likes missionary with your legs resting against his shoulders, just cause it gives him a better angle to thrust deeper into you, loves doggy style, for its own reasons. But he’ll never get tired of cowgirl.

He’s a sucker for watching you ride him, though he doesn’t really let you do all the work. Thinks it’s probably morally wrong. His hands are glued to your body, grabbing at your boobs, smacking your ass, gently guiding your hips as you move. And if you get tired, all he gotta do is adjust himself ever so slightly so he can fuck up into you and guide your pretty self down on his dick.

G is for Goofy:

Elias excels at balancing the seriousness and humor where it’s needed. You two are good at keeping each other on your toes, and he’s made sure to not let things get too serious in certain moments.

He gets all serious and focused when you two are together late at night. Channels all his attention onto you and you only. He’s laser focused, making sure to be extra aware of every shift in your breathing and any tension in your body.

But after, it’s a different story. Still talks you up, teasing you for certain noises you’ve made, kissing up on you when you get annoyed at him for mocking you. “C’mon now, you looked real pretty moaning like that.”

Plus, not like he couldn’t handle every witty comment you’ve thrown at him. He likes that about you, he’s glad you can keep up with him, though sometimes you do got a quicker mouth than him. You know how to put it to use.

H is for Hair:

Both twins strive on cleanliness, like to be nest, and presentable. Elias is a well groomed man, doesn’t like getting too hairy and untamed. He makes sure he’s all good down there, both for his sake and yours.

Now, he doesn’t necessarily like going smooth and bald, but he’s always making sure he’s trimmed and groomed. Sometimes he lets his happy trail grow just a little, but not too long.

I is for Intimacy:

Now, his intimacy is solely based on his mood. When he’s feeling real good, and real loving, he’ll be so sweet and passionate. Attending to your needs, paying attention to all your responses and reactions just to see if you feel good.

He takes his time exploring your body, savoring every curve and contour even though he knows it better than the back of his hand. He kisses you long and slow, taking the time to feel the way your body moves against his and adjusting himself ensure you’re always satisfied. Likes to savor the feel of your heavy breathing against his skin, likes to feel the way your pussy clenches around him, sometimes he’ll deliberately go slower just to prolong the moment. He’ll whisper against your ear, planting light kisses against your earlobe, being extra careful when he’s biting at your neck. “Doing so well, baby”. “Mmm, keep making that face”. “Y’like that? ‘Boutta moan my ear off”.

J is for Jack off:

He’s never been one for jacking off, especially ducking somewhere just to get himself off, but he’s impatient. Doesn’t really like to wait. Finds it torture to be looking the way you look, smelling the way you smell, watching you walk away from him and not even giving him a glance.

He likes it better when you touch him. It just feels better, you’re gentler and slower. He’d been missing the hell outta you that weekend, trying to occupy himself and keep his mind off of the fact that you wasn’t there with him. But he’d already had his hand around his dick, jerking fast and rough, fucking up into his fist with muffled groans and with an extra long string of “fuck fuck fuck”.

K is for Kink:

When he’s actually worked up, he loves that freaky shit. He’d never put a hand on you to harm you, can’t even fathom that thought, doesn’t like the thought of hurting you. But he loves spanking you.

Of course, he’s apologizing over and over, kissing on your ass after he’s finished, massaging the tender flesh if he’s smacked it too hard.

Face fucking: Elias loves seeing you on your knees, loves seeing you on your back scooted towards the edge just enough to let your head dangle back so he can slip his dick into your mouth. Likes the feel of your lips around him, likes the way those tears will prickle down your face and that tight feeling whenever he’d thrust down into your throat.

Loud sex: He loves when you’re loud. He’s always loved listening to you, liked how whiny you’d get when you were cumming, liked how you’d gasp and squirm when he kept thrusting into you even after you’ve cum.

Spitting: He’s huge with spitting. Likes spitting into your mouth before making out with you, likes when you spit into his mouth when you’re riding him, and especially likes spitting against your pussy just to see how wet you’d get.

Exhibitionism: He’s all for groping your ass under the table when you’re out, running his hands awfully too close to your hips in public. Likes pinning you against a wall in a dimly lit alleyway, likes kissing all up on you when the two of you are in the bathroom.

L is for Location:

Wherever you want, you’ll get it.

You guys have done it almost everywhere. Almost. Done it in the back room of a juke joint with his hand resting on the back of your head to keep your hair from getting all messy as he fucked you up against the wall. Done it against your gramma’s kitchen counter, being extra careful with each thrust because Lord knows how damn creaky those floorboards are.

But he loved doing it in the car, parked it somewhere off the road but just close enough to see the stars, even when all his attention was put on kissing you slow and gentle. Liked how it felt like the car was guiding his strokes deeper and deeper into you. Liked how angelic you looked with the glow of the moonlight casting some soft light on you, just enough so he could see the way your lips parted and the furrow of your eyebrows.

M is for Motivation:

Confidence is key baby.

He’s big on smells and the way you hold yourself. Likes that floral perfume you use that lingers just enough when you walk by him. Likes when you’re all sweet on him, rubbing up on him, kissing his neck and whispering against his ear ‘bout how much you want him. He likes the little back and forth you two do, that little sharp tongue teasing. Likes that little challenge and the way you claim up and down that he can’t handle you. “Come on now, ma, I know what this pussy likes better than you do.”

N is for No:

If there’s no verbal agreement, he’s not doing it.

It’s as easy as that. He’s big on respecting your boundaries, big on making sure he’s got your yes on things. Doesn’t like ignoring your boundaries, or making you feel uncomfortable in any way. He hates disrespecting you in any way, even if it wasn’t intentional, doesn’t like objectifying you or making you feel like he’s putting you down. And he especially doesn’t like prioritizing himself over you in bed, always makes sure you’re the one cumming first and that he’s doing whatever he can to make you feel good.

O is for Oral:

He always always prefers giving than receiving.

He’s gentle with it. Kissing your inner thighs, kissing you through your panties, rubbing at the sides of your thighs to coax you to spread your legs apart just a little more. Kissing everywhere, against the slit, top to bottom, bottom to top. He’s got all his attention on your clit, sucking, kissing, and running the tip of his tongue against it in slow circles. Keeping his eyes glued to your face, drinking in those gasps and whimpers as he’s running his hands along your thighs and belly. He’d be talking you through it, taking his time, adjusting his tongue solely based on your reactions. “Taste so good”, “Look at how pretty she is”.

P is for Pace:

He prefers slow, and sensual over fast and rough sex. Thinks it’s more intimate and romantic that way.

Prefers the time between you two to be drawn out, taking his sweet time to really savor it and to savor the feel of your body. Takes his time during foreplay, not only cause it gives him more time to hold and kiss you, but also because he likes getting you all worked up.

Prefers a soft, steady touch over quick and aggressive. Likes guiding your hands down to the print in his pants, likes keeping an eye on you when he’s busy rubbing the tension of your muscles.

Q is for Quickie:

He’s not big on quickies, but he’s not against it. He likes some variety or something to break the routine, plus they give him the opportunity to be a little rough and a little impatient.

He’s particularly into quickies when he’s feeling extra frisky and you’re looking extra good.

He’d be the first to say something after an argument, because Lord knows if he’s not, you’d stay quiet for weeks. He wasn’t even sure what he even did that time, but he was already all on you, grabbing at your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he rested his head against your shoulder. He’s quick to talk all kinds of nasty, especially right before a quickie. Talking up and down about how he’ll be nice, make sure to hold you right and promise to make up for it if he was too rough for you. “C’mon now baby, I’m sorry,” “Lemme make it up to you.” Before you know it, he'd have you pressed up against a wall, his pants undone, one hand gripping your hip as the other held the side of your neck. “I’ll be real nice to her this time, fuck this pretty pussy ‘til she’s leaking.”

He'd fuck you hard and fast, making sure your face wouldn’t get too close to the wall. Said he didn’t want to dirty you up even as he was fucking you up against it.

R is for Risk:

Elias isn’t too much of a risk taker, sure he’d do a little public stuff with you at night and if he was absolutely certain you two were alone, but he also doesn’t want to feel like a sore thumb and have eyes on him.

He’d talk to you first, ask you how you’d feel about exploring. Granted he probably should’ve used a different word cause not even two minutes later you was freaking out thinking he was talking about exploring relationships with other people. But he meant something more restraining.

He was awkward as hell that night. Tried tying you up but set his tie too loose around your wrists, and then made them a little too tight. He got it right the third time, made sure to be careful when he was fucking you, but you seemed to enjoy yourself, so he started exploring a little more.

Got better at the whole restraint thing, knew where to start, where to stop, knew what was good for you specifically, cause he could get off on the sight of you alone.

S is for Stamina:

He prioritizes quality over quantity. Doesn’t really focus too much on a high number of orgasms, but he’s more than happy with it. He’s more focused on making sure you’ve got that blurry vision-toe curling kinda orgasm.

You’re looking at 2-3 rounds with enough time to get your breathing calmed down and for him to check in on you. He’ll always make sure you’re cumming once or twice before he’s actually fucking you, whether it’s from his fingers, his tongue, or from you riding his thigh.

He won’t go over 5, never has. He’s never needed to.

On average, you’re looking at a good 25 minute session, sometimes the first rounds will be a little shorter, just so he can focus on the aspect of rebuilding your arousal.

He would not and does not prioritize endurance over your pleasure. He wants to make sure you’re satisfied every round, because the goal is to have you squirting enough to soak his dick and slide right in again.

T is for Toys:

Now he says he ain’t too big on toys, but he’s definitely all for them. He likes toys that specifically give him all the control, and he swears it’s cause he likes the way you look when you get annoyed at him for teasing you, but you’re pretty sure he only likes it cause he likes to see you beg.

He’s only particularly fond of items or toys that subtly force some kind of power dynamic there. Toys with dual sided tips or vibrations aren’t really something he’d be into, but he wouldn’t mind trying it out if you’d ask. Wand vibrators and restraints are his favorites to use. Likes using them to make sure he’s the one with the power, to watch the way you’d squirm under the vibrator and try to reach out to him when you were tied up.

U is for Unfair:

He fucking loves to tease you, teases you constantly, even public, just as a way to keep you engaged. For him, teasing is his way of flirting, of getting under your skin before you get under him. He always uses humor, and witty flirting on you, sure he’ll get handsy here and there, but the flirting is more for him. Helps him gauge your limits and see how far he can go.

He'd start slow, barely touching you, telling you all the things he’d planned to do to you once you're both good and worked up. He'd take his sweet time undressing you, savoring every inch of skin he reveals, placing soft, teasing kisses along your collarbone and down your neck. Tracing little circles against your collarbones, but never enough pressure to actually feel the heat of his tongue. He'd play with your tits, grabbing and kissing and biting just hard enough to feel the hardness of your nipples against his palm.

He’d be in between your legs, gently nudging himself closer to you, letting you feel the tent in his pants, but not giving either of you the satisfaction of actually fucking you. He'd slip a hand between your legs, his fingers dancing along your slick folds, teasing your clit with light, maddening circles, only to pull away when you're about to climax just so he can get his way. He'd apologize for not letting you cum, though you doubted that he’d actually cared, nudging the tip of his finger against your entrance to catch the slick there. “I know, I know, I’m sorry mama, but feel how wet you are,” he’d finally slip his finger into you, kissing the base of your temple but not moving his finger any more. He just let himself soak in the warmth of you. “Shh, it’s alright, go ahead and beg, I won’t tease you anymore.”

‘Course he was lying, probably tease you for another ten minutes before actually finger fucking you, but he praised you real good for being so patient.

V is for Volume:

He’s a groaner. He’s got no problem expressing how good you feel and how tight you are. He’s not overly vocal, but he makes sure all his noises of pleasure are directly against your ear. Likes it that way.

When he’s deep in you, he’s grunting and groaning against your ear. He isn’t focused too much on how loud or quiet he’s being, he’s already focused on the sounds you’re making. Depending on how close he is to cumming would be how vocal he actually is. When he’s slipping his dick in you, he’d be sucking in sharp breaths, mumbling a little “mmm fuck”.

When he’s getting closer to his climax, he’s sloppy. Breathing heavily, biting down on his bottom lip to try to hear your moans clearly. His breath growing shorter and more frequent, letting out quick pants. He’d tease you a little, make fun of your moaning like he ain’t spend the past twenty minutes groaning at how tight you are. “If only you could—mm fuck—listen to you, sounding like a kitten in heat.” “Taking this dick so good, jus’ listen to yourself baby.”

W is for Wild card:

He runs really hot, he’d wake up sweating cause he’s too damn hot. Would need the window cracked open a peek, or stripped of his clothes just so he wouldn’t overheat late at night. You run cold. Gotta sleep deep under the covers, even if you keep the room cold, and then complain ‘bout it being too cold in the morning.

It was a ritual since the two of you got together. He’d keep you warm enough to not be hidden under the blankets, and you’d keep him cool enough to not go bare every time he was getting ready for bed. Though you didn’t mind him going shirtless to bed, gave you a better chance for some skin on skin, and to soak in his warmth quicker. For Elias, it helped him sleep easier, kept him asleep on nights where it was difficult to fall asleep.

X is for X-ray:

Elias isn’t as built as his brother is. He’s got some muscles to him, though he’s a little more on the lean side. Whenever it’s brought up, he’s not really offended by it. Truths the truth, right?

He’s broad where he needs to be. Has muscles where it matters. Tan and thick skin from his time away. Smooth, and taut in the way that screamed soldier. He had a pretty dick, tip’s a pretty warm brown, got a vein on the underside that gets more prominent when he’s hard. He’s packing a thick uncut six, eight when he’s hard, curving a little to the right. He’s a shower.

Y is for Yearning:

Elias. Is. A. Yearner. He may not want to admit it, but his actions are very clear to how he is. He yearns for any contact, doesn’t have to be intimate, could just be something as simple as you looking over at him or rubbing his shoulder. He lives for that.

He seems to constantly crave your touch, your taste, the feeling of your body. Its the same type of craving that a drunk man gets for something real sweet. His desire for you isn’t just something that’s physical, it’s beyond that. He needs that connection, the vulnerability, and the intimacy that happens from making love with the person. It’s this intense, feeling that underscores some powerful drive in him. His yearning is the kind of feeling that is always there but gets more intense when you’re with someone. Like butterflies in your stomach, but he’d never admit to that. But it shows.

Z is for Zzz:

He’ll do this thing where he rolls over onto his side to regain his breath, and closes his eyes like he’s actually fallen asleep, but never does. He can’t, he physically has to check in on you, he won’t allow himself to fall asleep before you.

He likes kissing, and caressing you after, likes that emotional connection of coming down from the high. He doesn’t like talking much, but he’ll do it if you want to, he’ll just let you talk for however long you want, looking at you the entire time.

He’ll keep an arm around your waist, gently pushing your hair out of your face and participating in a conversation with you once you’ve had your share in talking. He’ll clean you up if things were overly messy, and most times they are. He’d never fall asleep first, and even once you’ve fallen asleep, he’ll wait an extra thirty minutes to make sure you’re deep asleep before falling asleep too.

[miraclewoozi]

DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome.  or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it. 

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader.  content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT.  content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?”

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song. 

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong. 

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.” 

He was right. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all. 

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say. 

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position. 

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air. 

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done. 

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal. 

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present. 

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort. 

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you. 

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember. 

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.  

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter. 

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again. 

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary. 

The urge to just… lean in to you. 

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees. 

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again. 

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly. 

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop. 

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday. 

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare. 

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once. 

He swears. 

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure. 

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting. 

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway. 

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t. 

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances. 

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise. 

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that. 

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come. 

Eight seconds later… still nothing. 

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light. 

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug. 

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again. 

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?” 

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue. 

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before. 

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip. 

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter. 

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh. 

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair. 

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop. 

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders. 

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help. 

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place. 

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head. 

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in. 

I love them. Thank you, you said. 

It’s perfect. 

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double. 

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead. 

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue. 

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose. 

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late. 

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to. 

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are. 

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob. 

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum. 

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him. 

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen. 

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door. 

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important. 

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair. 

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath. 

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright. 

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened. 

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head. 

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop. 

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together. 

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said. 

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love. 

With someone who wasn’t him. 

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt.  And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before. 

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder. 

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it. 

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush. 

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head. 

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth. 

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you. 

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too. 

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure. 

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together. 

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try. 

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could. 

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down. 

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better. 

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same. 

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved. 

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person. 

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say. 

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here. 

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no. 

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline. 

Not enough, but some. 

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin. 

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky. 

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour. 

2.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough. 

1.

Happy New Year. 

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes. 

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you. 

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow… 

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there. 

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you. 

You could do it, his brain tells him. 

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter? 

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside. 

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said. 

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in. 

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule. 

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all. 

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday. 

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you. 

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change. 

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant. 

The pouting continued. 

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table. 

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right? 

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling. 

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together. 

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features. 

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road. 

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess, 

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks. 

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer. 

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks. 

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick. 

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone. 

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own. 

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block. 

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths. 

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too. 

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again. 

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

[skulla-rxcks]

A wolfs puppies

Paring: werewolf!chan x fem reader

Rating: explicit

Genre: smut

Warnings: cr3ampie, breedlng

Day 31 of k-tober

Taglist: @f3lix00 @channiesgoodgirl @mal-lunar-28

!THIS IS PURE FICTION, NOTHING IN THIS IS REAL ITS JUST A STORY!

A/n: sorta pt2 of werewolf in heat, it’s not needed to read it but you’ll understand what’s happening better if you do :)

P.s; i’m afraid kinktober has come to an end, thank you for all the new supporters and all of the reads on my stuff throughout this month, as much as it’s been tiring for me, i’m really fucking thankful for all of you <3

It’s been a while since I’ve been in the woods, after what happened last time I mean; a whole fucking werewolf fucked me against a tree, definitely something that wouldn’t happen on a daily day basis, hell. I didn’t even believe in myths like werewolves before then. Maybe I should go back and see how he’s doing, If I remember correctly Chan was his name.

Anyways I should probably head off now, maybe I’ll bring him some food too? Maybe I’ll meet others like him sometime. I sigh going to my fridge and grabbing a chunk of cooked beef, he’d eat that right? Either way, I slip on my boots and exit my house, as I shut the door I think about why the fuck am I going out at like 12AM again, but whatever I guess, it’s a full moon tonight so hopefully that’ll up my chances of him showing up.

I made my way to the path once again and begin to walk down it, a smile forming on my face as I see the familiar trees get closer and closer to me. I continue to walk down the pavement until I reach the lake, taking a seat on the log before frantically looking around if I can find the strange creature from about a week ago.

The stars are brighting so I pay my attention to them as I’m waiting for the man/werewolf thing to come out of the shadows. It doesn’t take long until I hear a rustle in the bushes, followed along with someone tapping my shoulder.

“Oh, you’re back” a voice says to me, I turn around. It’s Chan, it’s really him. “Y-yeah I uhm, wanted to see how you were doing.” I stutter as my cheeks become visibly flustered.

“Ah, I’m not too bad myself, what about you?” He replies. As I’m thinking of an answer I pull the slab of meat out from my bag and hand it to him. “I’m okay, t-this is for you, I sort of have an idea what you’ll eat but I also don’t..” I turn my head embarrassed.

“Oh thank you~ of course I’ll eat anything from you.” The creature smirks. “So why did you come here this late again? It’s pretty dangerous for a girl to be walking alone in the woods, or perhaps.. you wanted something from me” Chan whispers into my ear before pulling away to see my bright red face.

“I.. I told you, I just.. wanted to see how you’ve been and if you want anything else from me..” a splash of fear and lust runs through my veins, also being visible on my face too.

“Hmm? Only that? Fucking boring, well may I at least one thing. Has your body recovered from me breaking your pretty little cunt yet..?” He grins, taking my hands in his.

“C-chan.. why are you asking?” I question, feeling my cunt grow wet as I drip down my thighs.

“Because I want to fuck you again. I want to breed you, fill you with my puppies and claim you as mine.” He responds boldly with no hesitation at all, making me gasp in shock as I feel my body growing weak due to the slutty words he’s saying to me.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking good you felt around me. Please, may I?” Chan asks me, I nod in response letting the strange werewolf begin to strip me of my clothes, he unbuttons my jeans and slides my panties off, taking my shirt and bra off slowly after, he licks his lips at the sight of my tits, wanting to touch me, wanting to fuck me, but most importantly; Wanting to pleasure me until I can’t take it anymore.

“Channie… please.” Whimpers fell out of my mouth as he begins to make circular motions with his fingers around my clit, making me buck my hips for more. “Patience baby doll.” Chan chuckles, moving his head down between my thighs and taking my swollen clit In into his mouth and sucking on it lightly. “Mmgh.. more.. I need you inside of me..” I cry out. He thrusts two fingers into my cunt slowly changing the speed and pressure of the thrusts. “There you go, I’m inside of you now”

“N-no..” I whine. “No?”

“Dick.. I want your dick.. I need your cock in me..” I plead, needing more of him so fucking badly.

“You whine so fucking much..” he growls, positioning his tip at my opening before slowly pushing me open, I let out an airy gasp as he does so. It’s almost like I’ve forgotten how thick his cock is. “B-big” I moan, wrapping my legs around his waist as he begins to pound in and out of my tight, wet hole, stretching it really fucking good. Way better than last time we did this. “Yeah fuck.. god you’re such a good girl.” He praises me, this thrusts getting more and more rougher than ever before, making me squeal out in pleasure. “Shh” he chuckles, connecting his lips to mine making our mouths dance together, as well as our tongues.

“Chan..~” I moan into the kiss, feeling myself get tighter as I drive closer towards my orgasm, hoping he also is. “Mm, I wanna fill your pretty hole with my pups..” Chan teases, pulling away from the kiss to watch my face as he’s fucking me good, making my body into his property. “Please.. please” I answer him, wanting him to feel me with his seed until I can’t take anymore. “Yeah? You wanna get filled with my cum until you take all of my puppies?” He teases, a chuckle escaping his mouth as he hears how god damn eager I am for him to thoroughly breed my cunt until his balls are dead empty from spilling all of his semen inside of my hole. “Yes.. yes please, give me your babies.. please Chan..” I beg again, tears beginning to swell up in my eyes from how badly I want this.

“Mm, I’m gonna fill you up. You ready babes?” He smirks, holding my body still holding himself from releasing as he waits for my answer. “M-mhm, do it.. I want to carry your puppies.” I cry out, my pussy tightening around his cock as he finally, fills me up with his seed, not pulling out until he’s certain that all of it’s gone into my womb. I climax not long after, my nails scraping into his back as I cum around him. “Do you wanna come back to mine for a bit? So we’re out of this shitty looking forest?” I ask, blushing. “Of course babes.”

[maaikeatthefullmoon]

This week I have mostly been reading...

May 13-19th, 2024

New idea I've had, and hopefully something I'll have time to do once a week on a Sunday. Over the past seven days, I have devoured the following Good Omens fanfics, and I recommend these most heartily to you:

Completed works I've read this week:

Boyfriend Debut by snae_b Rated E - A & C are both porn actors. It sounds seedy. It's not. Holy Hell, it's not. It's one of the hottest things I've ever read, but also so, so sweet and delightful.

They Drink Tea At The End by @knifeforkspooncup Rated T - After a year spent in Heaven, A returns to C in the bookshop completely and utterly overstimulated in every sensory capacity. A wonderful, sweet story of them truly knowing each other and an excellent example of how the fandom relates to GO in so many beautiful ways.

Pay Per View by IneffableToreshi Rated E - A lovely story set in Canada, full of our so frequently seen miscommunication between A & C. And, as the author says: "Also, why the fuck is Aziraphale watching porn in their hotel room?! And taking notes?!"

Cranking Up The Heat by @vavoom-sorted-art Rated E - Well, the title says it all, really. And the fic's description: "The equivalent of that hot wings challenge, but with porn." Don't really want to say much more, as you've gotta see it to enjoy it.

On The Same Page by Chekhov Rated E - A fake marriage fic with Only One Bed. A & C are both authors, but two very different ones. Excellently written with very vividly described mental struggles with internal homophobia & self loathing.

A Model Guardian by Fuuma_san Rated E - As a former model, I found this fic really interesting. I'd genuinely love to know what the author's tie/experience in the industry is. C is a model, A is their bodyguard. An interesting tale which involves some great discussion on gender.

In The Room Where You Sleep by @mrghostrat Rated E - Another banger by ghostrat, posted in its entirety this week. In a reversal to many other fics I've seen, A is a vampire and C is a vampire hunter. *Homer Simpson voice* With sexy results. ;)

WIPs which have updated this week (which I devour as soon as I get the update!)

There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out by @phoen1xr0se Rated M - A is a researcher (puffins!), C is a lighthouse keeper on the island where A has run away to to escape his problems and do his research. The author has recently spent a week studying puffins - which is the ultimate dedication, if you ask me. Ch 9/26 posted this week

Find The Light by @klikandtuna Rated E - Headmaster A and Rockstar C. The story teases out a fraught history between them whilst keeping a tension between them in the modern day. Ch 4/? posted this week.

Terminus by @emotional-support-demon-crowley Rated T - Astronaut A is guided back to Earth by controller C after 92 years in space. There are many difficulties both of them have to face and they develop an amazing rapport. Ch 15/17 posted this week.

Oddity by @tsyvia48 Rated E - Actor C is contracted by (useless) Gabriel to guest curate an exhibition at the museum where A works. After getting off on the wrong foot, can they work together to pull off this show? Ch 22/24 posted this week.

Under The Summer Stars by @pannotbread Rated E - This wonderful fic has taught me more about physics than school ever did (mostly because I never did any physics, but...well). A & C have to share their time at an observatory because there is Only One Telescope. Not only will you learn about astrophysics, astrobiology, and astroecology, you'll also read some of the most poetically, beautifully written masturbation scenes I've ever seen. *ahem* Ch 6/13 posted this week.

Free by well, me: imposterssyndrome Rated E - A & C meet (again?) in an acute mental health ward after both having had mental health crises. A runs a bookshop but is very much under his parents' control. C has been homeless since childhood and has struggled his entire life. They do not trust each other when they first meet, but feel strangely drawn to one another all the same. Where will this lead them? This is a passion piece for me. There is a lot of lived experience in it, and extensive research from both professionals and peers. It has been a real journey for me to write it, and as I'm coming closer to the end it's becoming very emotional for me. Ch 43/? posted this week

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 9 - Nobody Else Gave Me A Thrill

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: You two finally figure it all out on New Year's Eve...

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: none, really… just some swearing and love confessions.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. Here we are; this is the final chapter! Both reader and Benedict finally see the truth. There will be a short, hopefully humourous epilogue to this story as well, which I will post tomorrow. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing. I hope you have all enjoyed this fic <3

For the next few weeks, the dreary weather, the clocks changing, and the chilly nights drawing in match your sullen mood. Your argument with Benedict at the wedding made you so sad but resolute to try and put it behind you.

It's the last weekend in November when you are buying a Christmas tree that you feel the worst. Making a mess of dragging the tree back to your place alone, leaving a trail of needles behind you, you stop halfway and slump onto a doorstep. Recalling with perfect clarity how you and Benedict had bought one together from the same man the previous year, laughing carefree as you easily carried it between you. Then you drank mulled wine as you haphazardly threw on lights and ornaments, dancing to cheesy Christmas songs. It's what you miss the most—his companionship, the ease of time spent with one of your favourite people.

Just as you are wrestling the tree through your front door, exhausted, sweaty and prickled by a thousand tiny shitty needles that seem to have it out for you, your phone pings with a message.

BB: I'm sorry for how things ended at the wedding. I've been thinking about it for weeks now. Please call me. I want to talk. 

Pride (and your current disastrous had-a-fight-with-a-tree-and-lost appearance) stops you from doing what you genuinely want to—picking up your phone and Facetiming him to sort it all out.

Not ready yet.

__

Two weeks later, it's mid-December, and you are sitting cross-legged on your living room floor with a big glass of wine, wrapping presents for friends, when your phone pings again. For a while now, almost every day, he has been sending links to Insta posts with adorable and hilarious content. Each of which you have enjoyed but couldn't bring yourself to reply to. This time, it’s a message.

BB: If you are available at the moment, please call me.

You stare at the little pop-up notification and take a gulp, a weird weight in your chest at the idea you might cave this time. Perhaps. Once you are done wrapping this gift. A few minutes later, your phone pings again.

BB: Okay, I assume no call means:

BB: (A) you can't take a call right now

BB: (B) you can, but you don't want to talk to me or 

BB: (C) you desperately do want to talk to me but are trapped under something heavy

BB: If it's A or C, please call me back later, doesn't matter what time

BB: Also, if it’s C, please call 999 if you are in danger, then call me after. I don't have any heavy-lifting equipment… 

You can't help but giggle at his gentle, silly humour, attempting to diffuse the tension. A large part of you wants to call; you even have the phone in your hand, but at the last minute, you rest it against your forehead with a sigh, something stopping you. Your stupid rebound fling being the biggest one, Benedict’s cutting remark about how quickly you let someone else into your bed, making your stomach roil. 

Still not ready yet.

—

“Obviously, she doesn't want to speak to me,” Benedict laments, his words muffled into a scatter cushion on Kate and Anthony’s sofa. 

It's the morning after they've returned from honeymoon, three days before Christmas. While they are thankful Benedict popped over with some basics to make breakfast, they could do without his melancholy—they’re much more about a ‘let’s have newlywed sex on the kitchen table’ vibe.

“What do I have to do? Get hit over the head? Be in some calamitous accident?” Benedict whines, twisting his head in aggravation as if trying to burrow himself head-first into the furniture.

‘What do we do?’ Anthony mouths to Kate, who throws her hands up defeatedly.

‘How should I know?’ she mouths back, frowning. ‘He's your brother.’

‘Your friend's fault,’ Anthony shoots back.

Kate crosses her arms and gets a look like a sour lemon, and he instantly regrets that line.

Benedict lifts his head to look up at them, and she has to stifle a giggle behind her hand at the deep red imprint of the cushion zipper on his forehead.

“If she wants to talk to me. She will call me back, right? I'm done with making an idiot of myself….” Benedict claims boldly.

__

You are sitting on the sofa at your childhood home early evening on Christmas Day, almost disgustingly full of Baileys (your mum's tipple of choice on this day) and Christmas pud, watching The Wrong Trousers - a family tradition - when your phone pings with a message.

It's from Benedict and your stomach vaults. You honestly thought after more than a week of silence, he had given up trying. And part of you was so sad. There is no text this time, just a video attachment. You excuse yourself to the downstairs cloakroom, taking a seat on the closed lid of the toilet, intrigued as to what it is.

The video starts with him looking directly into the camera, his handsome face filling the frame and making your stomach swoop again. Fuck, you have missed seeing it.

“Merry Christmas y/n. I hope you are having a nice time. I miss you, and I hate how we left things,” he opens honestly, “and when Bridgertons don't know what to do, we always act stupidly. It's our ‘thing’. So here, You can blame this on my genetics...”

The video cuts to black briefly and then fades into him, a huge 6ft lump, crowded behind a plastic toy piano on the floor, probably one of Daphne’s kids' toys. You instantly giggle at the ridiculous visual as he apes a maestro, closes his eyes as if about to play Chopin, and flexes his hands. Then, the tinny, electric sound of some familiar notes being played hesitantly begins. He isn't exactly a natural pianist.

“Hey, I didn't just meet you, And this is crazy, 

You know my number, So call me maybe,

It's hard to feel right without you, lady

You know my number, so call me, maybe…”

You are instantly laughing. He's such an adorable, charming idiot. Sitting behind a miniature plastic piano and playing, half in earnest, half in jest. At least his voice can hold a semi-decent tune. It brings an affectionate mist to your eyes even as it continues…

“Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad

I missed you so bad; I missed you so, so bad

Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad

And you should know that, I miss you now… so, so bad….”

For the last few words, he slows down the song and looks directly down the lens pointedly.

Something in his pleading look is the straw that breaks the camel's back proverbially, and with a slight tremor in your hand, you scroll to his name and hit the FaceTime button before you can think twice about it. The sound of the tone, as it rings, feels so loud, and each crisp ‘bringggg’ makes your nerves jangle. Just as you are about to hang up, the call connects.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to answer. I had to find a private spot.” he sounds a little winded.

“Where are you?” you frown, an unfamiliar background behind him.

“My childhood bedroom. Aubrey Hall.”

“Oh my god! Show me!” You enthuse, your initial equivocation derailed by nosiness, which you decide to frame instead in your mind as mere curiosity.  You never got to see it the wedding weekend for, well, reasons you don't want to dwell on right now.

He quickly flips the camera around, giving you an audio-guided tour of the room he grew up in. Dark blue walls with framed posters for his beloved Blur alongside Travis, Radiohead and Shaun of the Dead. Silly stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars on the high ceiling that are likely too high for anyone to bother getting out a ladder and peeling off. Shelves with little wooden car models he made with his dad before he died, mixed in with certificates of achievement from school, shiny brass archery trophies, and his early sketches in those cheap snap-in frames. And lastly, a collection of jagged small rocks and colourful pebbles. It makes you feel so very affectionate for little teenage Benedict.

“You are bloody adorable!” you blurt out, almost forgetting all the awkwardness from the past few weeks.

The camera flips around, and his lopsided grin fills the screen. “Thank you. I try to make a habit of it…”

You smile back and then sigh. “I’ve missed this,” you confess quietly, wistfully. 

“I’ve missed this too. You. Us. Can we please be friends again? Please? I know we both have a lot of things to talk about. With that night and all… but… can we reset? I need you, Bluey. I am miserable without my best friend,” he pouts, his raw honesty making your chest ache. 

It’s exactly how you feel, too. Except with a massive pang of regret that he seems to want to forget your magical night together. Sex is never like that, at least not for you—electric and addictive. Doing a reset to save your friendship feels like the most logical step. Still, it doesn’t stop the “what if” fantasies running in your head with increasing frequency, especially on a day like today—nostalgia, sentiment and overindulgence swirling in your being. 

“I would like us to be friends again,” you exhale, a lie by slight omission, drumming your fingertips on your cheek nervously to stop you from saying more. 

“Wonderful! Then it is so! I can’t wait to see you again! Are you going to the New Year's party? The one Simon & Daph are hosting at the Sky Terrace? Cos if you are, I was wondering, if you don’t have a date if we could go together? We always said we would be each other's plus one if neither of us is with anyone…”

That he wants to completely reset to that world makes your heart crack. You want to scream at him, ‘No! I want to be your real date! Pick me, for real, this time!’

“I… can’t do that,” you waver, and it comes off sounding tired.

“You have a date?” It’s soft, hesitant, trepidatious.

“No…” you admit, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go together like that. I… I can’t be your consolation prize anymore, Benedict,” you blurt out, the hurt taking over your tongue.

The look of stunned surprise on his face makes it worse. As if he had never even seen it from that perspective.

“That’s not what I….” he begins but is interrupted by a loud door bang as it slams into the wall and a yelling voice.

“Stop fucking hiding and get your bloody arse back downstairs. You can’t miss family dinner on Christmas Day!” Colin scolds loudly offscreen.

“I’ve got to go…,” he sighs reluctantly as an arm manhandles him up and off the bed. “Merry Christmas,” he adds, belatedly realising you both forgot to say it earlier on the call.

“Whoever it is, hang up. No one is more important than family on Christmas,” Colin gripes. “That’s it, I’m taking your phone…”.

The screen is filled with random shapes and loud noises as they seem to wrestle like children. And then the call suddenly disconnects. 

You sigh and tip sideways against the cold tile of your parents' cloakroom wall.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

__

Benedict takes stock of his surroundings. December 31st, 11:00pm, lying on his stomach on his sectional chaise, staring up at the big flatscreen on his wall.

This isn't so bad… he tries to convince himself. I've got Jools Holland’s Hootenanny - the only decent New Year's programme, some Glenfiddich and Mini Cheddars - the best snack there is… 

He sighs and realises how pathetic he sounds, even in his own mind, alone in an empty flat.

__

The man whirls you around, and you are almost thrown straight into Kate and Anthony.

“I should never have let you drag me to this,” you grouse so only they can hear.

They both shoot you an apologetic look until you are whipped away again. This man’s dancing style is more akin to a waltzer amusement ride than anything sensual or fun. Your shoulder is already aching. It's a far cry from the surprising salsa Benedict pulled out of the bag last New Year’s Eve. And the idle thought of him has you spiralling…

“Mind if we stop?” you puff as the band finishes the song with a flourish. He’s some slick European investment banking type, and really, you couldn't give two shits about offending him, merely your ingrained politeness kicking in.

He nods and goes off to grab drinks as you stand, hands on hips, trying to gather your breath as you watch all the people moving like a mass of limbs on the crowded dancefloor as the following number begins.

Why the fuck am I here?

__

This is much better… Benedict rationalises to himself as he wanders down the rainy, empty East London streets not far from his Hoxton pad. Who needs to be at a big, crowded party pretending to have a good time?

He pauses outside a trendy shop on Old St, selling overpriced crap that he's not even sure what it is.

See? I can do some window shopping. He tells himself silently—clutching at anything to distract himself from the creeping sense of dread in his gut. A slow twisting knife as he thinks about you dancing the night away, ringing in the New Year with some fancy, handsome man who definitely doesn't deserve you.

What does it matter to me? We are just friends. Best friends… the only friend I ever want to see every day… the only one who truly matters….

He has thought about how to repair the damage between you so much over the last few weeks that he's exhausted himself. Really, he just wants you back. All of you, ideally, but being realistic, any part of yourself you will let back into his life. The suggestion of a reset he made on Christmas Day being his cowardly way out.

—

You are fake laughing at the banker’s story as you lean around the pillar you are backing yourself against in an attempt to secure more personal space. Glad of the heated lamps and the glass overhang to shelter from the drizzle.

“I'm going home,” you growl.

“You’ll never find an Uber,” Kate points out deadpan as you turn back around and keep faking amusement.

__

Just as his thoughts spiral, Benedict hears a chuckle on the other side of the road. There, a couple are laughing together, wrapped in each other's arms, kissing, looking like no one else in the world matters… and it’s like a lightning rod hits him square in the chest.

Suddenly, all he can see are images of you, fluttering like motioned-filled playing cards from above, swirling into his eyeline, then floating onto the glistening pavement around him. Vignettes of his life and where you intersect at so many pivotal moments. The day he left uni - the car ride where you bickered like an old married couple, the day he moved to Paris - your dilated pupils and hitched breath on the Eurostar when he whispered in your ear, the unerring sympathy when you heard about his divorce, the way you held his hand when you wandered after dinner somewhere (he doesn't even recall where… only that it was with you), watching movies together on FaceTime, your incredulity when he confessed to his uneventful recurring sex dream, your surprise and, yes, arousal as he led you in the salsa dance, the way you tucked so neatly into his arms haunting him. And finally, how it felt to be buried inside your gorgeous body as you clung to him, calling his name like a siren song, intimacy like he has never known, the profundity of the connection petrifying the very life out of him. 

But as he stares down at his tatty old Converse, the same ones he wore the day you met, in fact, all he sees in the puddle beneath him is the simple truth he has been in denial about, possibly for a decade or more. Rippling refractions of your face - your knowing smile, bright eyes, your wonderful, happy expression…

And before his brain acknowledges it, his feet are moving….

Walking fast…

Then it’s a jog…

Then it’s a run….

.. his feet carrying him to the one place he knows with every fibre of his being he wants to be.

—

You wander as if in a daze, seemingly surrounded by nothing but couples, kissing, dancing, whispering, and it's the final straw. You spy Kate and Anthony sipping champagne together and slope over.

“I'm going,” you sigh.

“But it's almost midnight,” Anthony protests.

“Being surrounded by people kissing is just…” you shrug, melancholy creeping in like a clingy fog around your heart.

“I’ll kiss you,” Kate placates, and Anthony perks up to no end at that suggestion, nodding enthusiastically as you both roll your eyes, bemused. “Stay? Please?” she pleads, pouting and grabbing your hands.

“Thanks, Kate. But no. I have to go. Have a wonderful night,” you bid them, kissing her gently on the cheek. “Happy New Year,” you whisper as she returns the greeting.

__

Benedict's lungs are burning as he races down Old St towards Shoreditch, not far from where you celebrated last year. He ignores the ache in his muscles and keeps going, checking his watch to see 11:56pm and racing harder.

I need to be there at midnight!

__

As you walk to pick up your coat, a sight makes your heart leap into your mouth and stops you dead in your tracks.

There, rounding the top stair, casual in old faded jeans, those ancient Converse and a chunky knit jumper… is Benedict. Hair fluffy and dishevelled from the rain, out of breath and scanning the crowd desperately. As if he is seeking someone.

Then his eyes finally land on you, and your world tilts. 

Oh god, is he here… for… me?!?

Then he is striding purposefully towards you, and it seems like the crowds part. His eyes blisteringly intense, like they were on that fateful night. You try to school your face, aiming for casual indignance; you probably fail spectacularly— your heart thumping wildly.

“I've been doing a lot of thinking…” he begins as he pulls up before you. “And the thing is… I love you..”

Everything grinds to a halt, and your head feels dizzy.

This must be a prank, surely?

“What?” you stutter, disbelief rocking your core.

“I love you,” he says with a simple shrug as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ben.. I… what do you expect me to say?” you blurt out, floored.

“How about you love me too,” he smiles a tiny fraction, and you hate it.

You hate how RIGHT he is. Your body is a total jumble of live wires, but your mind is suddenly calm. It's like the clouds of your thoughts part, and it all seems crystal clear. And yet, something in your stubborn heart won't let you admit it. Terrified what it could mean to voice it.

“Look, Ben, I know it's New Year, and I know you may be lonely tonight. But please don't do this,” you implore haltingly, tears prickling hot in the corners of your eyes, “...not like this,” you whisper, defeated.

“Okay, how about like this….” he throws his hands up. “I love that you won't admit you love me. I love that you are looking at me like you want to kill me right now. I love that my body is screaming at me cos I ran here as fast as I could.” he gestures down at his slightly shaky legs.

“Ten seconds to New Year's!!” a loud voice blares out over the speakers.

“TEN!!” the crowd chants.

“I love that we are idiots who would never admit to how in love we are.”

“NINE!”

“I love that you are my blue lobster, rare and beautiful as a diamond but a delicious soft treat under that hard as nails shell….” 

“EIGHT!”

He tilts your chin to look up at him, a thumb swiping a tear you didn't even know had escaped. 

“SEVEN!”

“Don't leave me out here in the wind, y/n…,” he murmurs softly.

“SIX!”

“I… I love that you never give up,” you whisper so quietly even you can barely hear it. 

The smile that lights up Benedict’s face makes your whole being feel like the stars live inside your chest.

“FIVE!”

“I love that you take homemade salads on a road trip,” he smirks playfully, referring to the first day you spent together all those years ago.

“FOUR!” 

“I love that you kept your amazing dance prowess under wraps,” you laugh over a stilted snuffle, everything in you fizzling.

“THREE!”

“I love that I can still smell you on my clothes after we spend the day together,” he sighs, moving in closer, your eyes hypnotised by the movement of his cupid’s bow.

“TWO!”

“I love that you came here tonight,” you admit, your hands circling his forearms as you sway slightly in unison.

“ONE!”

“I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night,” he confesses, his lips ghosting over yours now, smiling crookedly even as he speaks.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!” the crowd chants.

All around you, party poppers go off, colourful ribbons of streamers, and the sound of glasses clinking fills the air. But it’s background noise, your whole focus on each other.

Finally, your lips meet, the fireworks under your ribs matching those in the skies above, the same as it was that first time weeks ago. You melt into each other's embrace, your kiss a seal of a pact and the promise of something new and infinite.

“For the record,” he rumbles, his minty breath hot on your lips, the strains of Auld Lang Syne ringing around the rooftop. “I'm not saying this because I’m lonely and not because it’s the New Year. I came here tonight because when you finally realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start…”

“...as soon as possible,” you exhale, completing his sentence with him as he nods, grinning from ear to ear. 

The drunken chorus around you gets louder; he chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ve never understood this stupid song.”

“I think it’s about remembering not to forget. Or not forgetting to remember. Or something,” you peal a laugh, knowing you are talking gibberish and not giving a damn. “Anyway, it’s about old friends,” you add pointedly, moving in for another spine-tingling, heart-melting kiss.

As you part, he cradles your jaw in his hands. “It was only ever you, y/n,” he sighs, hazy eyes burning into yours, his whisper fervent but contented into your skin. “It had to be you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

[multiplicity-positivity]

Had an experience a week or so ago that made me start questioning if ‘I’ was actually a ‘we’, now im trying to get more resources. At the moment, in incredible amounts of denial and refusal, since I’ve never been someone who thought they experienced dissociation or dissociative amnesia, nor do I feel any trauma I’ve gone through is ‘bad enough’ for smth like this, but from what I’ve seen that’s a fairly common plural experience. So, im really curious about median systems, I think is the right term for it. Was wondering if there were any resources on what it /feels/ like? I don’t think I fit a lot of the symptoms or criteria for this, but the last time I thought that I ended up getting an official diagnosis years down the line for the thing I didn’t think I had simply because it ‘wasn’t bad enough’ etc, and im now very hesitant to brush off a strong feeling like this. I don’t know, anything would help, really. Thank you

(I did also send this ask to uniquely-plural, I hope I’m not overstepping. I’m not trying to scam, im just a little bit scared and looking for direction. Sorry. Thank you)

Hiya! We don’t think sending the same ask to multiple blogs to get different takes and advice is a bad thing at all! We hope the lovely folks at uniquely-plural can have some helpful guidance for y’all! :33 honestly we think it’s a great thing when seeking advice to hear from as many folks as possible!

Our biggest post with resources for questioning systems is our resource post for questioning systems, hehe >w< we’ll go ahead and link it since there’s bound to be something listed which could be helpful for you!

As far as specific advice or experiences regarding median systems… we don’t have any specific advice or experiences for you because we aren’t a median system at all. So sorry!! But the blog @median-culture-is is an active blog for median systems, and they might be willing to share a bit about what their experiences are like! You could also scroll through that blog to see what sorts of experiences folks have sent in as culture asks! Feel free to also check out the “#median system” tag here on tumblr for more personal experiences from median systems! >w<

From what we know about median (aka midcontinuum) systems, they exist somewhere between being a singlet and being fully separated individuals. There’s a huge, probably limitless variety of ways a median system can look! There’s no official symptoms or criteria for what makes a system median, other than the fact that they identify with that term and it works well to describe their multiplicity :3 Here’s the pluralpedia entry for median systems in case you could benefit from it!

Also, we feel like it’s worth mentioning that you totally can be a system even without a history of repeated or extensive childhood trauma! Being plural simply means experiencing life as more than one, and many folks out there identify as plural even without having a dissociative disorder like DID or OSDD! We’ll include a couple more posts for you. One included our personal experiences with dissociative amnesia, and the other is our post on dealing with denial! Hopefully these posts can help answer some of your questions or help put your mind at ease a little bit :3

Also also like… trauma is trauma! If it affects you, it affects you. There’s no, like, trauma scale or certain experiences that are objectively bad enough to cause a system to form!! Every person is unique and some people respond to trauma in unique ways. So, like, please don’t downplay your own trauma history!! Besides, it really is a common occurrence for trauma survivors to believe that their trauma history wasn’t all that traumatic, or that they should be fine because other people have had it worse. Please just spend some time validating your experiences and giving yourself/selves a chance to rest and heal!

We hope we’ve touched on everything in your ask in our response! Do please get in touch again if there’s anything we missed or if you have any other questions for us at all. We’re wishing you the very best with figuring out more about yourself and your potential multiplicity!! Have a great day! :33

[chycoin]

HUGE SPOILER AHEAD!!!

Watch “TRASH FRIENDS” before reading. If you haven’t watched it and still read this, pls don’t say I didn’t warn you 🫠👍

Just watched “TRASH FRIENDS” and the thumbnail really made me think this was going to be an episode focusing on the way Mario has been treated by Smg4 and his friends (at least that’s how I see it) but I wasn’t expecting an episode about Smg3’s insecurities and fears (mostly insecurities)

I really was caught lacking because I was expecting something and I got the opposite lmao. I should be familiar with this guy’s content already and know that the only thing expected from these episodes is the unexpected xD, but anyways back to talking about the video.

In previous episodes we see that he gets a little bit of customers such as in the episode “You used to be cool” and “CEO OF RIZZ” but in this last mentioned episode he tries to advertise his café after Boopkins’s date works out in the end and so does the same in “SMG4’s NEWS.”

At first you think “Maybe he wants more than what he has” but after watching this episode you realize he’s actually struggling with his business and last weeks episode you change your view from his actions and see him as more desperate rather than greedy after watching this latest ep.

Constantly trying to get more people into his café and taking every single chance he can see to advertise no matter the place or time, like life depends on it.

And talking about chances ._.xD

(This goober losing the video to a basketball, I’m dead😭)

Smg4 comes to this guy’s café for his help to get his “Michael Jordan Endorsement Video” back because boi lost it and he wants Smg3’s help because their “FRIENDS”

Of course Smg3 saw this as a chance to advertise his café because HOLY SHIT MICHAEL JORDAD!!! A famous basketball player that anyone would want to have the chance to meet and that’s a chance that Smg3 is willing to take because it means his business would BLOW UP *someone throws them a chair*

Btw when Mario shows up to offer his help, I expected Smg4 to be more happy that he has his avatar buddy always trying to help him but instead…

Don’t get me wrong, I know they got a little weirded out about the fact that Mario is a regular around the Junkyard due to him eating at that location but still, that dialogue still sort of hurt me man qwp

But anyways back to my review of this episode and giving my acoustic povs that nobody asked for.

They arrive at the junkyard and after being there for 5 seconds, they find the legendary pokemon that goes by the name of “Michael Jordan Endorsement Video” (sorry for my weak ass jokes, I just woke up and my humor is a little broken rn)

After having the video on sight, Mario pulls a Yoshi and beats the crap out of the spaghetti plate where the video so happened to land on, in one go. Obviously, causing the other two to try and force the USB out of him but both failed as Mario did a BLJ through the trash and forcing 3 & 4 to dig through everything to find him.

Now… the part I was dying to talk about and hopefully I can let out my thoughts the proper way.

As the two spend an entire evening just digging through trash, they start a friendly conversation until Smg4 touches the Smg3’s CnB topic which causes Smg3 to get nervous and lie about everything being fine because he has something that every human being has unfortunately, ✨I N S E C U R I T I E S✨.

Which I understand because bruh, 3’s been seen as a bad copy of 4 who’s the total opposite of him for a good piece of his life, if not his ENTIRE existence and now that’s he’s going through a change in his life for the better, he’s going to face a lot of these insecurity episodes because he’s so used to being seen as the bad guy, the bad copy, The Villain. Always people seeing what 4 does and never looking what 3 does which got him into that dark path.

Is like the Sun and the Moon kind of thing. The Sun (Smg4) can shine the brightest while the moon (Smg3) is just a floating rock shining the least. I’ll bring this up again at the end of the review.

But yeah, Smg3 has insecurities and is more shown when they reach the entrance of Mario’s hiding spot.

-Part 2 🫠👍-

[mariacallous]

After passing the Senate nearly unanimously last week, the future of the Kids Online Safety Act (KOSA) appears uncertain. Congress is now on a six-week recess, and reporting from Punchbowl News indicates that the House Republican leadership may not prioritize bringing the bill to the floor for a vote when legislators return.

In response to Punchbowl’s reporting, Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer released a statement saying, “Just one week ago, Speaker Johnson said that he’d like to get KOSA done. I hope that hasn’t changed. Letting KOSA and [the Children and Teens’ Online Protection Act] collect dust in the House would be an awful mistake and a gut punch—a gut punch to these brave, wonderful parents who have worked so hard to reach this point.” The bill has also received support from vice president and Democratic presidential candidate Kamala Harris.

But the bill created a massive divide among the digital rights and tech accountability community. If passed, the legislation would require online platforms to block users under 18 from seeing certain types of content that the government considers harmful.

Proponents of the measure, which included the Tech Oversight Project, an nonprofit focused on tech accountability through antitrust legislation, saw the bill as a meaningful step toward holding tech companies accountable for the way their products impact children.

“Too many young people, parents, and families have experienced the dire consequences that result from social media companies’ greed,” said Sacha Haworth, executive director of the Tech Oversight Project, in a statement in June. “The accountability KOSA would provide for these families is long overdue.”

Others, like the nonprofit digital rights organization the Center for Technology and Democracy, said that, if enacted, the law could be used to prevent young users from accessing critical information about topics like sexual health and LGBTQ+ issues. This meant that some organizations that regularly lobby to hold Silicon Valley accountable found themselves siding with tech companies and their lobbyists in trying to kill the bill.

“KOSA is not ready for a floor vote,” said Aliya Bhatia, policy analyst with the Center for Technology and Democracy’s Free Expression Project, in a statement in July. “In its current form, KOSA can still be misused to target marginalized communities and politically sensitive information.”

Evan Greer, director of the nonprofit advocacy group Fight for the Future, which opposed the bill, tells WIRED that KOSA and legislation like it “divides our coalition” while allowing tech companies to “keep getting away with murder and avoiding regulation.”

“This was never really about protecting kids,” Greer says. “It was sort of about lawmakers wanting to say that they’re protecting kids, and that doesn’t actually help kids.” Instead of legislators focusing on the “flawed” legislation, Greer says that Congress could have spent that same time and energy on antitrust-focused legislation like the American Innovation and Choice Online and the Open App Markets Act, or on the American Privacy Rights Act.

“When our coalition is divided in fighting each other, we’re going to get rolled every time by Big Tech,” she says.

Meanwhile, Linda Yaccarino, CEO of X, has said that she supports KOSA, as has the Center for Countering Digital Hate, a tech accountability nonprofit that was sued by X last year for exposing hate speech on its platform.

Although the House Republican leadership’s decision may signal the beginning of the end of KOSA itself, Gautam Hans, an associate law professor at Cornell University, says that “given the bipartisan interest in enacting this law, I suspect other proposals will follow—with hopefully more extensive safeguards against potential censorship by the state.”

[villainsview]

Chapter 3

That's Life

<Prev | Masterlist | Next>

Three more days passed. Erick was getting used to the chain, but didn’t move around much beyond shuffling from the corner he’d nestled himself in to the bucket and back again. I kept him mostly fed on the leftovers of my takeout meals and refilled water bottles. I didn’t want to waste too much resources on him until I was sure Allard agreed with the new price, but he hadn’t gotten back to me about that yet.

The boy had gotten much quieter since I took out some frustration on his hand. His only questions were on the subject of the time after waking up, or if he could have more food or water. Initially he was worried that I was going to kill him because I showed my face. I told him the police wouldn’t be able to catch me anyway, but he still didn’t seem very convinced. Maybe that’s why he was so quiet?

Whatever, I wasn’t gonna start complaining about that now. Unfortunately the peace and quiet was broken by my phone, and it wasn’t even Allard with his confirmation, it was an unknown number.

I sighed before picking up.

“Hello?”

“I’m looking for someone to get their hands dirty for me,” a deep, female voice replied. I raised a brow, not recognising it…her.

“How’d you get this number?” I checked.

“Peter Allard gave me your card—”

“I don’t have a card.”

“Well it was actually a greasy napkin that he’d scribbled your number on because the idiot doesn’t keep paper at hand,” the lady said. I could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

“Yeah that sounds like Allard,” I said, “I suppose you’re not his bookkeeper?”

“No I— Listen, can you do a job for me, or not?” the woman asked, trying to get back to business.

“I’m kinda in the middle of a job right now though, but I’m hoping to be finished by the end of the week,” I said.

“That won’t do. I need this done quickly.” She sighed, sounding rather impatient.

“I could multitask, but it being a rush job will cost you extra,” I said, smelling a little extra cash coming my way.

“Hm…fine. I’ll text you the details. Let me know if you’re up for it. You’ll have two days to complete it.”

She hung up without warning. Talk about demanding... I shook my head a bit, before checking the text that arrived almost immediately after. She’d enclosed some addresses and a picture of her target, asking to bring him to a specific address within the two day limit. It was all in the city. That should be doable…

“You behave yourself, I’ll be back soon,” I said, glancing over at the boy in the corner.

“Y-yes, sir,” he replied quietly, quickly nodding, “um…c-can I have some water while you’re out?”

“Whatever,” I said, tossing a bottle and a granola bar in his direction,

“I’ll be back soon, no need to make it last.”

“Thank you, s-sir…”

I ignored him, closing the side door of my van and opening the garage door so I could drive out, making sure to lock it properly behind me.

I forgot to ask for her name, but the lady from the phone wanted me to grab the guy from the picture in her text. He didn’t seem too important to me, but why she wanted him wasn’t any of my concern, nor did I care. I just had to find the right supplies, find the guy, truss him up properly and hand him over.

His name was Mike Tracy, he was an accountant of some sorts. So I planned to grab him after work. He usually worked overtime, so he’d be tired, and hopefully wouldn’t notice me following him. In my van at first, then, after spotting an opportunity I parked up ahead in an alley and waited for him. It was so easy. I just had to grab a hold of his arm, pull him into the alley, wave my gun at him, explain it wasn’t a robbery and force him into the van.

He wasn’t a lot of fun. Crying a bit, asking who I worked for…I told him to shut up, putting my hand on his throat and managing to block enough blood flow to his brain for him to pass out so I could tie him up for the road in peace.

It being just after rush hour made for nice and quiet traffic, giving me a smooth drive back to the storage lot, smooth jazz playing on the radio as I cruised over quieter and quieter roads until there wasn’t a person in sight. I unlocked the gate surrounding the lot, leaving it open as I rolled my van inside. I’d be leaving soon anyway. Just had to pick up another passenger, and better restrain Mr Tracy.

I cranked the radio up a bit, leaving my van running as I opened the garage door. It seemed Erick had been curled up in his corner, probably trying to catch some sleep, though he sat up alarmed as the door loudly rattled as it opened. Recognising me, the teen pulled his knees closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he shrunk a bit, giving me the usual fearful stare.

“On your feet,” I said as I approached him.

While he scrambled to pick himself up, I reached for my gun. I had put all my supplies in the van, so I needed him to behave during the couple feet towards the vehicle. However, when he spotted the gun, he freaked out, shaking his head and backing away until the chain nearly tripped him up.

“W-wait, p-please!” he said, “p-please…d-don’t kill me!”

I smirked. Of course he was still scared of that. I’m usually always right. I stepped closer to the teen, watching him unsuccessfully attempt to blink away the tears that were already rolling down his cheeks as he pressed himself against the wall. I hadn’t even switched the safety off , but the kid either hadn’t noticed or didn’t know much about guns as he sobbed some more pleads while I slowly pressed the barrel against his throat, shushing him slowly and repeatedly until he started holding his breath in an attempt to be quiet.

“We’re gonna go for a lil drive,” I said, “and you’re going to behave, right?”

He quickly nodded, choking back a sob as I put a little pressure on his throat with the gun.

“I can’t hear you…”

“Y-yes sir…I-I’ll behave!” the teen whimpered.

Satisfied with his answer, I nodded, stepping back and handing him the key to the padlock holding the chain in place.

“Free yourself,” I said, “put the chain in the van. Now!”

The teen jumped, nearly dropping the key as he shuffled over to the piping and shakily unlocked the padlock, holding it in his hand as he bunched up most of the chain in his arms, the other end still connected to the shackle around his ankle. He glanced over at me as he held the chain, and I gestured towards the van with my gun, following closely behind him as he headed out of the garage.

I put a hand on his shoulder, making sure he wouldn’t try anything stupid as I pulled open the side door, sliding it aside to reveal Mike Tracy, looking none too happy as he had woken up to find his necktie stuffed in his mouth, kept in place with a strip of tape. Erick froze, staring at the man a moment before shooting me a confused look.

“Just get in,” I said, giving him a push and climbing in after him.

I pulled my bag from behind a struggling Tracy, grumbling at him to shut up while I pulled out some leftover rope and tape. It was easy to push Erick against the floor so I could tie his hands behind his back. I used the chain to wrap around his ankles a bit before padlocking it to the ring bolted to the floor so he couldn’t kick around. It seemed he was too stunned about the whole situation to struggle much, though he protested when I picked up the tape to gag him.

“N-no, wait! S-sir, please, I—”

Smack!

The back of my hand collided with the side of his face, the teen promptly shutting up as the satisfying smack rang in our ears. He took a shaky gasp of air as I grabbed his jaw.

“I said behave!” I hissed, using my teeth to tear off a strip of tape and smoothed it over the teen’s lips.

I shoved him to lie down, giving Tracy another kick for good measure, before packing up the rest of my things and heading off to the address I was given.

The address was that of an office building in the south of the city. It looked pretty run down, but also abandoned. The lights on the parking lot didn’t work, meaning it would be easy to move around unseen from the road.

I checked my phone to double-check the floor I had to go to, before scouting the entrances to see how I would get Tracy inside. The emergency exit was the only door that was unlocked.

I returned to my van, sliding open the side door and looked over my prisoners. Tracy still had some fight in him, while Erick tried to avoid looking at me. I grabbed at his shirt, forcing him to sit up.

“Not a single peep from you while I'm gone or so help me!” I growled.

The teen quickly nodded, shuffling backward as far as the chain let him after I let go again. I needed both my hands to manage Tracy with his struggling and shaking his head. I ignored his muffled bitching as I cut his legs free, before dragging him out of the van and closing the door. He tried to dig his heels in as well as call for help as I dragged him towards the building, but there was no one around to help him.

“Come on!” I growled annoyed, pulling him through the door and finding the stairs to go up to the second floor.

There was a light burning in one of the old offices, dust crunching under our shoes as I used Tracy as a shield, forcing him to walk in front of me. You can never be too sure after all. We turned the corner, the light flickering strangely, before I realised it came from a couple candles, dripping hot wax all over a dusty, cracked desk.

In a significantly cleaner-looking chair sat a tan woman with bright red lipstick. Her long, brown hair was braided atop her head, but I couldn’t get a good look at her face as her eyes were hidden behind a pair of black shades. Steel-toed biker boots were resting on the desk near the candles, dark blue jeans hugging her legs and hips, disappearing seamlessly underneath a black leather jacket with elbow padding. In her hands, clad in fingerless leather gloves, she was holding a small device, pressing a button on the side as I walked in with Tracy.

“Seven hours to spare,” she said.

I recognised her voice from the phone call.

“Impressive.” she added, pocketing the stopwatch and getting up.

She wasn’t taller than me, but still tall for a woman. She looked at Tracy, gesturing for him to come closer. He didn’t move, however, so I pushed him forward. The woman caught him, putting a hand under his chin.

“Kneel.” she ordered.

Tracy seemed to melt as he promptly dropped to his knees. The woman bent over, still holding his head up with her hand under his chin.

“Look at you. That’s not how you wear a necktie~” she said, pulling the tape off of his face and prying the tie out of his mouth. Tracy coughed as she stepped back, tossing the tie aside.

“Isn’t that much better now, hun?”

“P-p-please Miss Thorne! I-I’ll get the money, I-I swear! I just need more time!” Tracy began pleading, “M-Mr Allard said I had until the end of the week!”

So her name was Thorne? I wasn’t sure if her name rang a bell. Maybe Allard mentioned her before? It didn’t matter. As interesting as she was, I never planned to stick around.

“Can I get my money now? I got other things to do,” I said.

“All in due time~” Thorne said, unzipping her jacket and shaking it off.

Underneath she was wearing a very revealing tank top, her collarbones and chest decorated with an elaborate butterfly tattoo. I would’ve turned around for her privacy, but I didn’t know her well enough to turn my back to her, so I focused my gaze on the sharp-looking ornament dangling from her earring instead, remaining vigilant as she did turn around to put her jacket on the chair, revealing the gun tucked into the band of her jeans.

“I know what Peter said,” she continued, turning back, “but you know how he is.”

She pulled out her gun, the mechanism clicking loudly as she loaded it. Tracy panicked, sobbing something about his mother while Thorne aimed the gun at him. I noticed I was slowly moving my hand closer to my own gun, just in case. And sure enough, with a deafening blow, she pulled the trigger. In a reflex, I pulled out my own gun before his lifeless body even hit the floor, but Thorne had already lowered hers again, wiping some blood off of her tattoo.

“Relax,” she said, spotting the gun in my hands as she looked back up, “you know Peter can lose his patience sometimes~”

“And then he calls you?” I asked, lowering my gun, but not putting it away just yet.

“I’m usually more subtle, but this was a rush job,” Thorne said, “you smoke?”

I sighed, pulling my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and opening it to offer her one. After she took one, I grabbed my lighter, flicking it on and holding it out towards her so she could light it. She took about three quick drags, before handing it over to me, her lipstick staining the filter.

“Here, you finish it. I’m trying to quit actually,” she said, pulling a grey backpack from behind the desk, handing that to me too, “here’s your money. If you clean up the body for me you can sell his organs. I’m sure that’ll provide adequate payment.”

“Only if I can remove and preserve them in time,” I said.

“Well, can you?”

I looked down at Tracy’s body and sighed.

“Yeah,” I said, “I know a place.”

<Prev | Masterlist | Next>

[elskamo]

I Actually Have Some Good News for Once!

And some bad but at least things are finally turning around for the end of 2024!

I Won My Court Hearing and My Benefits Have Gone Back Up Again!

I've gone back from a little over £300 to £800 a month along with some backpay for the year or so that my benefits were wrongly reduced. Unfortunately almost all the money has been spent on things like repairs, replacing broken items, and living costs. Although it went rather quickly at least it went to towards things that were desperately needed.

I did have to give up quite a large chunk of the money to my parents in order to keep staying with them as I still don't have anywhere else to live, but again, at least I have a rood over my head for the winter.

I'm still job searching and am potentially hoping to look into working abroad in Canada using their IEC program, that being said it's a long way off for me and I would have to get a lot of paperwork, finances, and other things sorted out first. So for the meantime I'm still looking into work here in the UK.

I Had My First Two Appointments at an NHS GIC and Have Started Testosterone!

I previously went private in 2021 back when I had a job and actual money to get my Gender Dysphoria diagnosis but ended up not being able to continue with that GIC to get hormones due to everything that happened in late 2021/early 2022 onwards. My first appointment at the NHS GIC covered A LOT of safeguarding stuff as well as catching them up on what happened at my private appointment and how I've been since then. It was a very quick turnaround for my second appointment, the first was on November 5th, the second was on November 26th!

At my second appointment I chose to take the large injection every 12 weeks so I can have my health monitoring done at the same time at the appointments, I'm expecting to have one earlier injection in 6 weeks time that my GP should agree to take over but I have a backup appointment scheduled at the GIC just in case there's a problem transferring my prescription.

I did find out through the health monitoring and through chatting with both doctors that I have PCOS as well as raised liver function. The former should be easily treatable with Testosterone, but I have the option to get surgery later down the line if I'm still experiencing severe side effects from the condition, the latter is likely down to the medication I'm on so I'm waiting to book an appointment with my GP to get it changed or reduced.

I Had My Assessments With a Psychiatrist and Will Be Starting Therapy!

I'm still waiting to confirm what exact diagnosis I've been given but the psychiatrist frequently mentioned Dissociation/Dissociated Parts as well as (C)-PTSD during our appointments. I'm being referred onto the Trauma Pathway which has three phases, the first being Stabilisation Therapy. Given how close it is to Christmas and knowing how long things take on the NHS I probably won't have my first therapy session until the New Year but you never know.

Hopefully with all the good things that have happened recently I'll be feeling up to creating more content and posting more frequently like I used to, at the very least I'm in a much better position than I was two years ago when everything started going wrong - Ronald

[mins-fins]

≡;- ꒰ °𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 ꒱

chapter two; crushy wushy

"y/n can you come here for a moment?"

upon hearing his name, said boy raises up his head, finally looking away from his test, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as he saw the 100% circled atop his paper. he folds the test and places it into his backpack, looking to the teacher who just called his name.

"yes?" he sighs and fixes his hair, blinking away the hopefully not obvious tiredness present on his face.

"y/n, can you do me a favor?" the science teacher, mr. lim inquires, sorting out blank test sheets for the next class coming soon.

"uh.." he pauses for a moment, biting his inner cheek. "depends on what it is!" he quickly replies, trying his best to seem bright.

"okay" he mutters. "i need you to tutor a student for me".

y/n's face drops.

he resists the urge to sigh, keeping his expression the same as before. it's only the beginning of the year, yet y/n already has been tutoring people, people who aren't even in his own grade.

he understands that people need help, yes, and he understands that sometimes options are limited, which is usually why teachers come to him and ask that he tutor students.

he's tutored students before in lower grades, and most, if not all the students, did end up improving their grades and understanding on said subjects, so teachers love to extort him whenever they want someone to tutor their students.

the problem is, though, y/n's schedule is now packed because of all this. he's already tutoring three kids, and school began only three weeks ago.

he's already been stressed because of all of the pressure put on him to be the perfect student, but now he has three students that he has to teach, and a fourth one mr. lim wants him to?

he gives a tight-lipped smile.

"i can't" he responds rather awkwardly. "i already have three students i'm tutoring, they're all in different grades, my schedule is already packed despite school just starting and— i don't think i'll be able to manage tutoring another person".

mr. lim registers his words, and y/n somehow has a glimmer of hope that he'll say; "alright then, i'll see if another student is available to tutor".

oh how he wished he would've said that.

"y/n" he begins, and said boy clenches his teeth because he can already guess what he's going to say.

"you are an extremely smart kid, there's no doubt about that, your chance of getting a scholarship is already insanely high, but this will help boost your luck—"

y/n sighs, the former expression already having left his face. "i know, but— is there not someone else you could consider? like park gunwook? he can also be a suitable tutor! he's just as smart as well i'll tell you that".

he tries his best to negotiate, but that doesn't seem to be working, at least in his eyes it doesn't.

y/n knows that ultimately, he's gonna end up doing it, because that's just the kind of person he is, he would never deny helping another person because of his own selfish (even though they're not selfish) needs.

"gunwook is the class president, he already has responsibilities he has to take care of".

and i don't? y/n desperately wants to reply, but he bites his tongue to avoid saying something that may be wrong.

i hate myself for being selfless..

"fine, i'll do it".

though y/n would love to continue arguing with his teacher, it's just not worth it, he knows that, he just has to deal with his circumstances, make the best of them or whatever. "who am i tutoring now?"

"someone in your grade, he— he's not the best when it comes to science, but, he's not horrible at the class, you won't need to tutor him for long".

y/n blinks. "can you tell me a name?"

"kim gyuvin".

y/n narrows his eyes, feeling like he recognized the name from somewhere. his mind races as he tries to remember where he's heard that name before.

kim gyuvin. kim gyuvin. kim gyuvin—

oh. he's one of gunwook's friends, and junhyeon's friends. tall, handsome guy who screams all the time, he's actually pretty good when it comes to history class, and has decent grades, they're not all that bad, science just always trips him up.

alright y/n, shouldn't be that difficult, at least you kind of know the guy.. it'll make your life easier!

"i— yeah yeah, that's fine, i'll do it, can i go now?"

"oh, yes yes!"

y/n sighs, giving a fake smile as he repositions his backpack on his shoulder and walked out of the classroom.

maybe he muttered a few curses under his breath, but no one needed to know that.

⟡   ֺ   𓂂 TAGLIST (open) ꜜ ˖ ݁  𓂃 @jinkiseason, @i520u, @junjiie, @elaineas-elysian, @purikkura, @big-uwu-stan, @sirenologies, @cowsidfk, @kpoprhia, @bbangricz, @samudan, @solarwoniii, @stvrboy-k, @gunwookiez, @planethyuka

⌗ previous | masterlist | next

[derpsternium353-blog]

Nervous about Grades

Alright, so, first saturday post of the blog. Basically, I think at the end of each week, I'll summarize my thoughts on the week, and then every sunday I'll set goals for the next week.

Anyways. this past week was my last week of first semester for sophomore year at Georgia State. Now, I'm not too concerned about my Sociology or Media Writing finals, I tend to do well on writing assignments. I'm concerned about my Spanish grade, as I'm not sure if I got a good enough grade for it to not bring down my overall grade to a C. Currently my grade in Spanish 2 is an 85, so hopefully it's enough that it doesn't get hit too badly. Verb endings are tough for me to memorize alright?

Oh, the other test I'm worried about? Perspective on Comparative Culture. It's sort of a grab bag course. I guess it allows a Tenured social sciences professor to do a course on whatever they want, so it's not the same topic in each individual class for the course. Class I took was on Criminal Justice, and I was doing pretty fine, I thought. I had a bad grade on an early discussion I had forgotten to complete on time, as I was distracted by attending Dragoncon 2024--Oh yeah, Dragoncon's fun, it's held in the Hotel District basically on the first week of school, so I can attend without paying for a hotel room.--But I was doing well on the tests.

I had an 80 on the first exam, and an 80 on the next. My classwork grade was a 77 so I thought my 3rd exam would easily secure me a B-. Unfortunately, I somehow flubbed the 3rd exam so badly I got a 36, bringing my exam grade to a 65. I know it's a weighted average, but i'm not going to bother calculating it right now.

I'm concerned about this because my GPA affects my ability to keep the HOPE Scholarship, which means if my GPA is too low I'll have to figure out how I'm gonna pay to stay in the dorms.

If I was to commute, it'd be difficult. My family's home is 30 minutes from the nearest Train station, and I don't have a drivers license, so I would have to rely on them to transport me. Plus, I don't exactly feel at home, at home. That's a vent for another day though. It's not that i'd be in danger, we all love each other, there's just a lot of stress.

I'll hope for the best. I'll have to apply for the payment plan anyway, since I don't have enough in my refund to pay down the full amount yet, and Sallie Mae won't disperse until the 2nd week of classes. Stupid right? I have to pay this down by the 13th of January but it won't be there until the 22nd! At least with the payment plan, it gives me time to find a job, which I'll need either way, especially given the oncoming economic issues we're in for with the incoming administration. I'll talk more about that tomorrow though. That's it for now, Tumblr. ttyl

[metaphorfordeath]

🎊 6, 12; 🎉 3, 7; 🍾 1; 🎆 6; 🕛 4 !

Hi Kam!! Thank you for the ask (and sorry I'm always so slow to get to these, I promise I love getting them!) For the year end prompts:

🎊 6. How have you grown this year?

Since this is my writing blog I was thinking about these questions mostly through the frame of my writing, and I've done a lot of growing in that area this year. Spending most of the year revising and rewriting my novel has helped me hone my skill at not only taking and implementing feedback from others, but also at building confidence and trusting my own instincts as a writer. I am historically a chronic people-pleaser, so it's been a growth process as I've learned to use others' feedback to help me make my writing better in ways that *I* want it to be, and not just adjusting it to what other people want to see.

12. What achievement are you proudest of this year?

I finished my novel and started querying!! I'm only at the start of this journey and I'm trying to keep my expectations low, but I feel optimistic about this project's potential. Regardless of the outcome, I'm pretty proud to have been able to get something this important to me to a level of polish that I feel confident enough to start putting it out there.

🎉 3. Sum up the year in one TV show/quote

This was the year of Interview with the Vampire for me. I cannot get enough of those evil gay freaks. I don't have a good quote to pull from it but it was my favorite and defined my year--although Black Sails ended up being a close second, and definitely filled the incredibly-well-written-prestige-drama niche in my media diet left after IWTV ended for the season. Also, I feel like there are some major thematic overlaps in vampire and pirate narratives, so it feels right that these were the two best shows I watched this year.

7. Sum up the year in one of your posts

I'm going to cheat and point to this post from my main blog, which sums up the year for me because I took those photos on the most perfect Boston fall day imaginable, doing one of my favorite activities, with my favorite person ever--one of those days that makes you happy to be alive. I've had a lot of those this year, and for that I'm very grateful.

🍾 1. What's something you just watched/read/played/listened to for the first time this year that you loved?

I read a lot of really good books this year (not as many as I'd like because I'm not very fast and also split my time between a bunch of other hobbies) so it's hard to choose just one, but it's probably a tie between The Left Hand of Darkness and Crime and Punishment; I knew I would love LHoD because Corinne loves it and she has good taste, but C&P was a surprise to me. I picked it up because I'm interested in reading more of the "great books" that I didn't read for school, and I found it to be really engaging and thought-provoking and funny in a way that I didn't expect. For film/TV, my favorite movie of the year was The Vourdalak, which I can't recommend enough, and for games I finally got to play Baldur's Gate 3 which is. Awesome. (Honorable mention to Balatro, which has been sucking my phone battery dry for the last two weeks with how much I've been playing it)

🎆 6. What project most surprised you this year?

I feel like I've talked about GBD so much already in this post but I had an epiphany a couple months ago about where I'm going to take it, and I now have a fully-formed five book arc in mind that came to me almost out of the blue. Since up to this point I've sort of nebulously been like "ehh it'll be an open-ended series, I can write these guys into shenanigans however many times I feel like," I'm both surprised and pleased to have found such a clear path to creating something that will hopefully be narratively complete and thematically satisfying by the time it's done.

🕛 4. What are you hopeful for next year?

As I said above, I am trying to have low-yet-optimistic expectations about the query process for my novel, and I know that it can sometimes take years before people find representation (if they find it at all), BUT I'm hopeful that I'll find an agent who will understand my vision and see enough potential in my book to want to work with me. The full manuscript is currently with two different people, so my hope is that even if it isn't a fit for either of them, they'll at least have something constructive to say that I can use to improve my draft for future queries. Despite all my hedging, I really do think this story has legs, and I have faith that someone out there will think so, too.

Thank you again for the questions! Wishing you very happy holidays, and a joyful new year <3

[pixeldistractions]

Gameplay notes on a broken, stinky camper:

They haven’t set off on their adventure quite yet, by the way. There’s a bit more story to go still. But this is a glimpse into their future to show off the camper, since I need an entire empty lot to park this thing on, and the camper shown in the previous story scenes is just deco.

Here is the camper build that they’ll actually live in. It’s a decent sized class-C motorhome. As Jordan said, it’s not really one of those cute little renovated #vanlife campers that Ingrid has her heart set on. (Like this one <- I am a total geek over this woman’s van life channel, lol!)

But maybe Ingrid will get hers someday.

This camper is old and run down, definitely in need of some renovation. Jordan is a handy guy, so I have no doubt he’ll keep it running. But creative or stylish, he is not. So he’s probably quite happy to make it smell better and just leave it be.

It’s off-grid, and doesn’t currently have any power or water capabilities, but he is welcome to upgrade those systems when he’s ready.

It’s off-grid, and a micro home on 32 squares. (33, actually, being 3x11, and I cheated out a block from the bathroom so it could remain in the smallest tier. 😉 )

I haven’t played with either of these lot types in gameplay before, and I’m super excited to try them! I’m also looking forward to the gameplay of bringing this camper to different locations and playing in some towns that I don’t normally play. But it’s a bummer that, more often than not, I’ll have to bulldoze an entire building to place it somewhere.

(OMG give us world editing tools!!!)

The lot challenges are filthy, gremlins, and creepy-crawlies. And because it was said to be very stinky in the story, I placed a few of these apartment problem stink clouds around to pop up and give them a bad surprise from time to time.

The whole camper, not counting the lot value of wherever it’s placed, is around $7000. Neither of them paid that much for it, or even have that much money to their names. I keep my sims broke, lol! But I do have a kind of personal gameplay rule that my sims can get a bonus “kaching” for each apartment problem or lot challenge they add, to help out with the purchase price. Because in game, lot challenges don’t make the lot any cheaper, even though they kind of should, in my opinion.

Then they would have to pay $1000 in “repairs” to get rid of the lot challenge or apartment problem, if they ever decide to.

(Sadly, I suspect my apartment problems are about to totally break with the new For Rent pack we’re getting, and I’m not sure I have the brain space or ability to fix them this time. Oh well, we had a good run with them, didn’t we? Hopefully someone with more skills and time can pick up the torch.)

Jordan imagines renovating this back room with a couple of bunk beds for his boys, for the hopeful occasion that Colette lets them come out to visit.

So, they’ll take this thing to a few locations on their way out to California, and then in a couple weeks, Jordan will end up in Sierra Nova to meet up with Maya for the climbing club she hosts through Tyler’s adventure park. The plan is that they’ll train for a season in Sierra Nova, then travel to Komorebi to train further and then attempt to summit, which is another bit of gameplay I haven’t tried before.

I am not going to attempt to wrangle any sort of road trip driving shots with this thing, or the deco object, either. We will use our imaginations!

(Oh, but how cool would a cars/road trip pack be, where we could own a camper and drive it from place to place? But I bet even if they made a pack like that, the campers would be rabbit holes like the tents are.)

[terresdebrume]

Things I did today at work:

Introduced the happy/frowny points system* in the nursery class, which works great to make the sort of behavior I'd like them to adopt easier to understand

Taught L. a sign she can use to signal when she wants to go pee and had TA S take her even though she wears diapers (I'm all about encouraging and facilitating her getting out of diapers if it's at all possible)

Took the first couple of pictures for the communication cards I want to tape on the wall to help her and A. communicate more easily, might also come in handy for other kids and just generally make line easier with a class that has at least 4 (potentially more) special needs students out of 15

Had a little trivia tournament with the y7 and the Y8 to review for their upcoming exam tomorrow, they were excited and had fun

Met several parents who mentioned they were happy about their child's progress and time which is always nice

Got to talk to Si's parents about him potentially having ADHD, found them open to the idea and receptive, to be continued

Got the first class dictionary up and running, it has its flaws and I have to redo a couple of pages, but it's there and will hopefully help the students ^^

Got to have one of my nursery student demonstrate that he remembered the vocabulary we learned this term in front of his parents and reassure them that he's doing fine in class

I do wish I could have had better answers for the parents of C who is doing TERRIBLY this term (like. Worse than usual.) but I guess I'll have to talk to him about it as we go along.

*It's a system where they get a frown point of they do something I don't like and a smile if they do something I like**, and if they have more frowns than smiles by the end of the class they have to wait three minutes before they go down to the playground. I frame it specifically as things I like/dislike because some teachers have different rules and while we largely align I feel like it avoids the confusion of presenting differing sets of rules as correct/incorrect

**It's not necessarily my ideal in terms of how to deal with the class but since we're only together 2x30mn per week I need them to be able to stay at least somewhat calm and near their tables so we can get to the actual fun bits that help them learn. Also, as mentioned above: I have 4-6 special needs*** kids in one classroom, slated to likely expand by one in the new term. I NEED the discipline from everyone else

***Also most kids WANT to please the teacher so it helps me figure out which ones are able to follow my instructions and which ones are not which is ALSO helpful to figure out who does and doesn't have special needs

[pumpkin-spike18]

✨Weekly Progress 2024 #13-15✨

I thought I missed 2 weeks, but turns out it was 3 🤐

Weekly Progress #13

Submitted DGM Page

Submitted 1/2 Fan Project checkin

Fleshed out about 1/3-1/2 P^3 outline

Read through + ID'd illustration points for Fan Project #2

Weekly Progress #14

Made SYVNH Script plan

Copied SYVNH + Side B to renpy

Talked with SFB musician

Drafted a pitch

Initial scripting pass for SYVNH main story

Sketched SFB Dove & Avia sprites (additional poses + outfits)

Linearted SFB Raven sprite

Weekly Progress #15

Initial scripting pass for SYVNH Side B

Finished 19 new additional SYVNH art assets

Coded in additional SYVNH art

Programmed in Side B link in main menu

Scripted in additional SYVNH art

I had a lovely two weeks of scripting 🙂🙂🙂

Yes, I lost my mind. Yes, it was mostly missing to begin with so no harm done.

Stuck in a Yandere Visual Novel...HELP!!

As I discussed before, I do my scripting in multiple passes. Though, this time I checked to make sure my staging is good before doing sound bites and audio. I'll admit that it's mostly so I can listen to streams as I go through the rather mindnumbing task. There were 10 files for the main story remaining so I tasked myself to script 2 files per day. Each file varied from as little as 150 lines (like 1 file) to 200 lines (most files) to 300+ lines (1 ending) and completing 2 files/day took about 6-8 hours.

Scripting mistakes result in both above and below. ...This is what I get for calling MC's sprite "mcs" and the male extra sprite "ms" One missing letter gives me a black shadow jumpscare.

The Side B scripting was a bit forgiving. It's only 28 pages compared to Scenes 5-6's 55 pages. So altogether Side B only took me 2 days for first pass scripting. That gave me time during the rest of the week to draw... new art assets... that I realized I needed during scripting. Some of them weren't required, but I felt would make a scene flow better.

And since I'm an artist?

Of course I did all 19 of them.

Wait, this wasn't updated- Just trust that I did 19 new image assets, including 3 new sprites 😂

Here are some previews. Is that a familiar character? Maybe~

So yeah, I've coded and scripted in all the new art, but I haven't tested everything yet. I plan to do that when I add in the soundbites.

A Sky of Falling Birds

...Still don't know what sort of visual I want for the game so I just started making sprites and lineart. I might make a demo with just the flat color at this rate tbh.

I got some positive reactions on their sprite sketches, so that makes me shy happy ;//v//;

Peter Pan Project = P^3

Still no title, but I've gotten used to calling it P^3 right now haha.

I didn't get very far with this project in the last 3 weeks, but about a third-half the story is outlined.

The story comes in 2 parts. The first part is 2/3rds outlined (1.7k+ words). The second half of the story is two bullet points lol. Granted, The second half may be a rapid descend to a conclusion. The planning document is already 2.3k+ words, which surprised a few folks...? I think my longest planning document was 11k+ words.

Hopefully next time I update, I'll have more info to share.

[Fan Projects]

Not too much/anything I can show yet as project rules have me not sharing until specific dates. It will be for Ace Attorney and D. Gray Man c: