#i could write like a 5k essay on them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

noficbyhalves · 7 months

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I'm not dead, I was just eaten by the brain weasels. Everything is fine and I really meant for this to be over 5k :/

I would also like the record to state that I did finish this last night, I just chose sleep instead of staying up til 4am formatting it and fighting with tumblr about Malik's fucking name. So my Valentine's Day one shot was toooootally on time shut up don't look at me.

In other news febuwhump is looking more like it'll be whumpril but *gestures at the length of this monstrosity* y'all can deal. (If my life is enough of a disaster maybe my brain autofilling it as whumptober will be accurate! T_T)

Anyway!

Content warning for panic attacks, implications of past abuse, light internalized homophobia, vague allusions to sexual acts, a lot of profanity, and Altaïr being horny on main

Flowers, or A First Valentine's

(or, Altaïr's biggest enemy is actually the closet in this essay I will-):

Altaïr was very careful to avoid looking at Malik when the mail appeared, or he was certain his face would give him away. He knew what was going to appear anyway, had spent a week and a half overthinking it to death. Malik may not have thought much of the holiday, but Altaïr didn't feel right doing nothing at all. He had settled on a dozen red roses - simple, tasteful, impossible to misinterpret - with a note smothered in so many layers of handwriting charms so as to make it functionally anonymous.

Thankfully a convenient distraction materialized in front of him, in the form of the rapidly growing pile of envelopes addressed to him. Altaïr was considerably less thankful the second he looked closer, realizing they were dozens and dozens of Valentine's notes. He recognized some of the handwriting - the purple one was definitely Katerina, and he noticed Rhona's loopy script, which was baffling for numerous reasons - but there were many of them that he didn't in the slightest. He gingerly pulled one open, increasingly alarmed to find a love letter as long as his arm from some lady he had never met.

Malik still hadn't said anything, which would have stressed Altaïr much more if Malik's ankle wasn't pressed against his under the table. He couldn't have still been reading the note, it was barely two sentences, and even that Altaïr had spent days agonizing over, whether it was too much or not enough. If he had tried to write something half as long as the monstrosity in his hand, he'd have given up and flung himself into the lake. He had the words on it burned into his brain:

My Vega, May your day be as bright as your smile Happy Valentine's Day - Your not-so-secret admirer

Curiosity got the better of him. He dared to glance over at Malik, and for a second everything stopped. Because Malik was looking at the note, yes, but he was also trying and failing to hide a bashful smile in his hand. There was a blush blooming on his cheeks, a sparkle in his eyes. And if Altaïr was walking on air then, the moment Malik looked up and locked eyes with him stole the very breath from his lungs. He had to bite down on his tongue until it hurt, so he didn't say something out loud where other people could hear (something like help I'm so fucking in love with you).

The words that came out of Malik's mouth were not thank you or I love you (as Altaïr's daydreams where everyone else in the great hall suddenly disappeared would have gone). Instead they were, "What in the hell?"

At which point Altaïr remembered he was, in fact, holding a letter from a crazy woman, sitting next to a pile of similarly unhinged mail. "I... this lady sent me a Valentine's... essay? I have no idea who she is." He skimmed further through the letter, but each subsequent sentence made him more uncomfortable than the last.

"Well you are a public figure, I guess. Ladies love a war hero...?" Malik trailed off in a shrug.

Altaïr winced. "She's, uh, really into me having been a Templar, actually." That part was deeply weird on multiple levels, not least of which was the interpretation that any of it had been a deliberate ideological choice, as opposed to Altaïr being backed into approximately six different corners.

"What. You're joking," Malik looked as dumbfounded as Altaïr felt. His bafflement turned to outrage when Altaïr didn't break. "Who's screening these things?"

He had an awful suspicion the answer was nobody, or at least not for anything that wasn't a death threat. Not for the first time, Altaïr was very glad they had conspired to keep Malik out of the public eye. It was bad enough with all of this addressed to only one of them. "No, apparently she wants to-" He squinted as he searched for the correct line. "-heal the wounds on my soul with the power of her love?"

The noise that came out of Malik's mouth was somewhere between a gag and a laugh. "Oh my god that's terrible. What else did she write."

"Something about wanting a summer wedding..." Altaïr adjusted the parchment so he could double check the woman's name. "I don't know who this person is, why...?"

Malik had dissolved into laughter, and it took him a few moments to compose himself. "Read the rest of it," he said, wheedling when Altaïr balked at the idea. "C'mon, give her the dramatic reading she deserves."

Altaïr opened his mouth, closed it. Considered the merits of fleeing into the woods never to return. He quite frankly didn't want to read another word of the letter, much less out loud.

Malik seemed to catch that, at least, and had switched tactics to reaching out for the letter, slightly wiggling his fingers in the please give me that thing way (rather than the wands are for amateurs way, which he was also prone to doing). His eyes were wide in an approximation of an innocent look that Altaïr knew was total bullshit, but it wasn't like he could deny Malik anything on a good day.

He sighed, and handed it over. "You do it."

Malik's expression grew gleeful (not benevolent, not by a long shot, but gleeful). He started to read but immediately choked on a laugh, trying and failing to muffle it into his elbow. "She spelled your name wrong," he wheezed.

Altaïr had noticed the writer had used his grandfather's surname instead of the one he had chosen, but hadn't thought it was that funny.

"No, look," Malik said, turning the parchment around and showing him. Sure enough, the top of the letter had Altear scrawled on it. Altaïr let out a huff of laughter.

Malik pulled the letter back and cleared his throat, beginning to read in a deeply overblown falsetto. "My dear Alteeeer Wrong-Last-Name," he said, before switching back to his normal voice, "you're not even good at being deranged and obsessive, honestly..."

Altaïr snorted. "Is that the offensive part to you?"

"It's not wrong to expect a base level of competency. If you can't trust your stalker to get your name right, who can you trust?"

Altaïr decided there was no good response to that, and tore open a different envelope.

The falsetto was back. "I am writing this letter to tell you that I am madly in love with you. I had a vision you see, months ago, foretelling that you and I are destined to be soulmates." Malik rolled his eyes, "see, this is why divination is bullshit."

"That's not how divination works," Altaïr said tiredly, pulling out what appeared to be a normal card, along with a little bag of chocolates. "What are the odds these are laced, d'you think?"

"Too high to risk it. Novice, do not."

"I wasn't going to!" He insisted. Malik gave him a doubtful look. The problem, Altaïr thought, with Malik famously being half of his impulse control, was people refusing to believe that he was capable of the other half.

They steadily worked through the pile like that, Altaïr putting anything edible directly into the baskets that vanished garbage, and Malik providing scathing commentary on the letter all the while. It helped, having Malik there, the grounding contact under the table and the reassurance that "oh, ew!" was a reasonable response to someone telling him she wanted to lick his scars what the fuck.

He had gotten down to the last few envelopes when he dared to look at the one from Rhona again. Altaïr couldn't fathom why she would write to him. He was pretty sure there was no possible combination of words that wouldn't be weird. Would an apology be better or worse than none at all?

Malik had paused, eyeing the note in his hand, but didn't say anything. He just sipped at his coffee and let Altaïr sort it out in his own head.

That, more than anything, made up Altaïr's mind. "Mal?" he said.

"Yeah?" He frowned when Altaïr held the envelope out to him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Altaïr nodded. "Can you burn this for me?"

"I'm not a fucking matchbook," he grumbled under his breath, but flicked his wrist regardless. The paper caught in an instant, flames licking up the edges. It was ash before it hit the table, vaporizing in the scorching heat that merely felt pleasantly warm against Altaïr's fingers.

***

By the time they had gotten midway through the day, Altaïr was already cracking at the seams. He couldn't make a beeline directly for the secret passageway down to the second floor, no matter how much he wanted to. Malik had been giving little pleased smiles (pointedly at the flowers, not at him) all through class and making his heart flutter every time. If he couldn't get a second alone to kiss his fucking boyfriend, Altaïr was going to go insane.

Malik caught on anyway, steering away from the main stairs without Altaïr having to say a word. He was talking about the Runes essay he had due later that week in a way that was clearly intended to be space filler, so Altaïr let the words fade into comforting white noise. He made affirmative noises at the right times, used to the steady rise and fall of Malik's tone as he more-or-less monologued.

By the time they reached the tapestry hiding the entrance, the hallway had emptied around them. Altaïr dared to reach out and grab Malik's hand. The bright smile Malik turned on him when he threaded their fingers together made his heart skip in his chest. He sped up, towing Malik along behind him, shoving the tapestry aside with more force than necessary.

"Slow down!" Malik laughed.

The lack of light in the passage left him briefly blinded, operating mostly on muscle memory to pull Malik forward without running into a wall. If they had twenty feet or so of distance, they'd be hidden enough and Altaïr could finally kiss him.

When his vision adjusted, he froze. Just ahead of them in the corridor (twenty feet from the entrance that's enough space not to get caught) were two other students - a boy and a girl, a couple years younger than them - locked at the lips. He dropped Malik's hand like it had burned him, and he must have made some sort of noise because they suddenly sprang apart, staring at him.

Oh fuck they had seen them. Anyone could have seen. Other people used this passage. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"So much for that shortcut," he distantly heard Malik huff, through the ringing in his ears. There was a hand tugging at his elbow, pulling him back out into the sunlight. "C'mon Altaïr, don't be a creep."

Anyone could have seen them. Altaïr would've been too wrapped up in Malik to notice. How many times had he closed his eyes in hidden corridors, trusting that they were alone?

His head was full of static. Everything was too loud but indistinct and blurry. Malik was talking but he couldn't make out the words. He dug his fingers into the fabric of his robes. It didn't help. The only solid thing in the world was Malik's steadfast grip on his arm, tugging him forward.

They could've seen anything. Altaïr kissing Malik, fuck, Altaïr on his knees. Everyone would know, his grandfather would find out. A blasting hex would be the least of his worries, with a stain on the family name like that-

"Oi, habibi!"

Altaïr startled. They had stopped walking, and Malik was snapping his fingers in front of Altaïr's face, looking at him with poorly disguised concern. The floor was swaying beneath him, shit they were on one of the moving staircases how the hell had they gotten there. He surreptitiously glanced around them, at all the other people on the landings and other flights of stairs. "Don't say that here!" he hissed.

"Unless half the school became fluent in Arabic overnight, I think we're fine," Malik said dryly.

Altaïr blinked. On second thought, fair. The tone of voice Malik had used was more in tune with calling him shithead than darling (though with Malik the line between insult and term of endearment had always been very thin).

"Are you okay?" Malik asked, stepping back to a more respectable distance.

Altaïr clutched onto the banister as the stairs began to pivot. He didn't want to lie to Malik, but the weight of the proverbial gaze of the entire school kept him from admitting just how shaken he felt. He settled for a wobbly so-so gesture and whatever the hell his face was doing.

"I can spin Berg some excuse if you need to go back to the dorm."

The offer was tempting, but he knew Malik couldn't join him if Altaïr didn't want anyone to suspect anything, especially not today of all days. Sitting alone with his thoughts for a few hours would probably be a bad idea right now, at least going to Alchemy would give him something to do with his hands. "No," he cleared his throat. "No, I'm good."

Malik's flat look clearly expressed his doubt on that front. "Am I going to regret handing you a knife?"

"I'm fine, Malik. I'm not going to cut off a finger."

Malik's face contorted as he tried to fight a smile. "You're not funny, novice."

***

Alchemy helped, for the most part. With a little breathing space, his panic felt slightly ridiculous (his grandfather had been dead for months, he wasn't sure why his brain had jumped to that). No one had stumbled across the two of them, or there would have been rumours or gossip or worse. Instead, Katerina was trying to bat her eyelashes at him from across the room, looking rather like she had been hit with a twitching jinx, while he was struggling not to stare too blatantly at Malik.

The heat and humidity in the Alchemy classroom worked unfairly well for him. With his sleeve pushed up and his hair mussed and his dark eyes focused intently on wandlessly adjusting the flame beneath their cauldron, he looked a bit like if a fire elemental had a ridiculously gorgeous human form. Altaïr, in comparison, felt a bit like a drowned rat. (A drowned rat that really should be paying more attention to the herbs he was mincing; if he actually injured himself, Malik would be pissed and worried and also would never ever let him live it down.)

Malik straightened, content with the temperature, and reached past Altaïr to write something down. Malik had been the dedicated notetaker in Alchemy for basically forever - for a myriad of reasons, including but not limited to the weird language of symbols he used to delineate changes in fire spells that only made sense to him, his handwriting was generally neater, and the fact that Altaïr never remembered to bring pencils instead of quills on Alchemy days. The problem was that he was so close Altaïr could feel the heat of him, and on any other day that would only be mildly distracting. On any other day Altaïr wouldn't feel quite as flayed open, equal parts desperate for contact and terrified of being too close. It just wasn't fair.

"Those, then the moth wings, then the gold dust. Ninety seconds between each of them," Malik muttered, reading out of the textbook. It snapped Altaïr back to the task at hand.

He frowned. "Shouldn't that be gold dust first? For stabilization?"

"Quote-" Malik flipped a few pages. "Nicholas Flamel, goddammit, gold dust is last."

Altaïr knew the rant that was brewing there quite well - he internally called it the "you idiots have trains (why is progress scary to you)" rant, after a particularly inspired rendition several years ago. Malik probably had three or four multi-hour lectures worth of content for it in his back pocket at all times. As entertaining as it usually was, Altaïr was still puzzling out the gold dust thing. "No, shush," he said, running back through the contents of their cauldron in his head.

The look Malik leveled him with would have caught a lesser man's hair on fire. Altaïr was more than willing to blame the heat in his cheeks on that. (It was, on occasion, reassuring that his taste in women was not so diametrically different from his attraction to Malik. This was not one of those times.)

"It shouldn't mess up the xanthosization, if anything it'll give us a wider window. Three minutes, maybe four?" Now that Altaïr thought about it, they could probably rework the whole recipe, cut the brewing time, maybe improve the potency?

"Makes sense," Malik said, jolting him out of his scheming. He dropped the bag of gold dust next to Altaïr's hand, where he hadn't realized he started drumming his fingers against the table.

Altaïr glanced up at Berg, who was standing across the room, scowling at another student's cauldron, and not paying them any attention whatsoever. Perfect.

"Don't fuck up," Malik said in an undertone, as he scattered the gold dust into the steaming liquid. The slight curl of his smile belied the severity of his words.

"Gee, thanks." Altaïr thought he did remarkably well at keeping his voice even, though Malik would probably be the only one who would notice. It took all of his concentration not to fumble into an overpour, with the way his heart was hammering. Malik was moving over to his right, grabbing the herbs, leaning into Altaïr's shoulder as he did. He was so close, Altaïr could slide an arm around his waist and hold him. Maybe if he was quick, no one would notice him kissing Malik's cheek. Maybe they could-

Maybe he needed to add the moth wings.

Malik plucked the stirring stick out of his hand when he did, taking over now that he was empty-handed. Altaïr could see his pinky twitch as the fire beneath the cauldron grew steadily, until the elixir was hot enough to bubble merrily.

They had half an hour or so until the filtration step, which left them sprawled in the chairs around their clean workstation. Malik had pulled out the project notebook and, based on the runes scrawled all over the pages, was trying to sort out the last set of enchantments for the map. Altaïr was tilted back in his chair, twisting his sash over his fingers since Rosa had glared at him when he was audibly tapping a few minutes ago. (And wasn't that interesting, how when it was Rosa it was just kind of uncomfortable, but when it was Malik it made him want to- nope.)

He had counted the number of cracks in this part of the ceiling months ago, and though he had a History essay he could be editing he deeply did not want to. He couldn't really help Malik - while Altaïr could probably pass a Runes exam based solely on several years of listening to Malik chattering about it, that didn't mean he could make heads or tails of whatever hellish combination of that and numerology that Malik had been beating his head against for months. Something about a youclid and a quantum whatsit? It made his head hurt, was the point. And trying also ran the risk of someone noticing the amount of enamored staring he would inevitably devolve into once he stopped being able to say anything meaningful.

Their elixir had been getting bluer by the minute but wasn't done yet. Which left looking blankly around the room, avoiding making eye contact with Berg lest he decide Altaïr looked too bored and made him grade essays or something. No one was doing much of anything interesting, only one other pair hadn't gotten to the simmering stage yet, but they weren't messing up in any interesting ways. Katerina had been distracted by her brewing partner, at least, so she wasn't trying to convince him to... canoodle with her or something. Whatever that couple in the corner was doing whenever Berg wasn't looking directly at them - Altaïr was not going to examine them closely enough to check. Though, speaking of-

"Hey, Malik?"

Malik glanced up at him, twirling his pencil around in his hand.

"Why didn't you tell off those kids, in the corridor?"

It took a couple blinks for Malik to catch where his train of thought had wandered. "It would be a pretty futile endeavor? I mean it is Valentines," he said, as if Altaïr were particularly oblivious. As if he hadn't been the reason for the flowers tucked into Malik's bag, as if seeing every couple in the castle didn't feel like they were flaunting it in Altaïr's face, as if it didn't make him want to scream. "They'd just go make out somewhere else." He shrugged.

Wasn't that the point? Altaïr thought but could not say. It wasn't like kicking them out would have stopped him from spiraling, but at least away from prying eyes Malik could have held him. "It's definitely not allowed, though," he said petulantly.

"They weren't doing any harm," Malik's tone softened. He flicked his gaze deliberately over to his schoolbag, with the roses peeking out from where they sat just inside the flap.

And Altaïr knew that logically. They hadn't set out to hurt him, to mess with his brain. They were not unlike the two of them, looking for a safe place away from prying eyes, and clever enough to know at least a couple secret passages. If Altaïr hadn't been so in his own head they probably could have just passed each other in the dark, not a notable encounter in the slightest.

"Besides," the corners of Malik's mouth tipped up ever so slightly, "I'd be a massive hypocrite if I did."

Altaïr was very glad for the roaring flames masking the flush in his cheeks.

***

The rest of the day dragged on. When they finally made it back to the dormitory that evening, Altaïr could barely wait for the door to be shut before he was pushing Malik up against it to kiss him. Malik breathed a laugh into his mouth and tugged him closer, draping his arm around Altaïr's shoulders. He tasted like sunshine, like warmth and fire and home.

Altaïr only broke the kiss when air became an issue, leaning back just far enough to notice Malik's breathless grin. He was sure it was mirrored on his own face.

"Holding that in all day, were you?"

"Yeah," he croaked. His cheeks heated with the heady mix of embarrassment and arousal he found all-too-common around Malik.

And he knew it was his own fault, that there was a very simple solution to this problem. If the idea didn't scare him so badly, they could have spent the whole day hand in hand, sneaking kisses in alcoves without caring if others knew.

Malik didn't bring it up at least, despite the easy opening to mock him. He just kissed Altaïr again, slow and deep, stealing the breath from his lungs. One of his hands slid down Malik's torso to clutch at his hip, his fingers fitting into place like they belonged there. Like his hands were crafted to fit Malik, and vice versa.

The idea of soulmates had seemed silly from the mouth (quill?) of a stranger that morning. It seemed a little bit less so now. Soul magic didn't work like that (he knew in excruciating detail how little it worked like that), but Altaïr knew without a shadow of a doubt that Malik would be the other half of him if it did. He felt more calm than he had all day, having wasted the morning tying himself up in knots over the flowers.

Speaking of... "They were okay? They weren't..." too much not enough somehow both. He asked, when they separated again.

It took Malik a few seconds to catch up. "Oh, the flowers." He smiled. "They were very sweet. Thoroughly unnecessary, but sweet."

Altaïr blinked. "Unnecessary?"

Malik let go of his shoulder to cradle his face. "You don't need to give me flowers to keep me, habibi. I'm already here." He kissed Altaïr's nose.

"That's not, I don't..." he trailed off, struggling to phrase the feeling that had been clanging around his head the whole week. Malik waited for him, held him tight and didn't bat an eye when the implication of his gaze became too much and Altaïr had to bury his face in Malik's shoulder. "...I just, I want to do more than just necessary. I want to do this right, I guess?"

"So which phase of doing it right is breaking blood curses, exactly? In case it comes up," Malik said. Altaïr couldn't see his face from this angle, but he could perfectly picture his shit-eating grin.

He jabbed Malik in the side, making him twitch and curse at him. "You know what I mean," Altaïr grumbled.

"I can't say I do, actually."

"Maliiiiiik," he whined.

"Should I expect a candlelight dinner and rose petals next year?"

Altaïr snickered, but he couldn't help but get stuck on that thought. It felt a little crazy, talking about next year as something attainable. Making plans with the expectation that the world wouldn't burn down in the interim, and there being an actual chance of being right. "...Yeah," he mumbled into Malik's jaw, "next year."

"Novice, that was a joke, don't-"

"Too late"

"Altaïr-"

"'M gonna romance the shit out of you." It was starting to take form in his head, an image of when they'd have their own space and he wouldn't have to smother his feelings outside these four walls.

Malik let out a massive sigh and let his head thunk back against the door. "Why do I have a feeling I'll regret this."

Altaïr pulled back so he could kiss him again. "Because you're being melodramatic?" he teased.

"Rude. Also, hypocrite."

"I have never once acted like flower petals were the end of the world."

"They're not the end of the world, I'll just genuinely be annoyed with you if you fling them around."

Altaïr squinted at him, attempting to make sense of that logic. Malik was deeply opinionated, sure, but there was usually at least some amount of internal consistency in those opinions. For the life of him, Altaïr could not parse how rose petals were that meaningfully different from roses themselves.

Maybe it was another don't treat me like a girl thing? But that missed the point, that when Altaïr imagined a nebulous future, a place that he shared with someone, where the idea of scattering rose petals on their bed felt indulgent instead of fake and performative, there had only ever been Malik in that image. (Truthfully, even just the idea of sharing a bed with someone long-term had been only Malik in his head for an embarrassingly long time.) "...what?"

"It's messy, and wasteful, for something that looks nice for what? Thirty seconds?"

"I... magic? You're a fucking wizard, Malik, come on." Malik's insistence on ignoring magic as a solution still blindsided him sometimes.

"That's still wasteful!"

"How?!" Altaïr fished his wand out of this sleeve to better make his point... somehow, and realized halfway through that nothing was stopping him from demonstrating right that moment. Unfortunately, Malik could read him like a book and immediately made a grab for it.

Any advantage Altaïr may have had by being right-handed (and therefore giving Malik fuckall for leverage), was swiftly countered by the fact that Malik had never once fought fair in his goddamn life. Malik dragged him into a truly filthy kiss, which made it difficult to focus on much of anything except Malik's tongue in his mouth, Malik's body pressed against his. Malik's fingers sunk into his hair, lightly tugging with just the right amount of pressure to make Altaïr's brain go fuzzy. A moan bubbled out of his throat, entirely against his will, as he melted into it.

Altaïr's hands fumbled of their own accord, clinging to Malik's shoulders, dragging him closer by the small of his back. He wasn't sure how exactly he could get closer, only that he needed to. That every inch of distance was unbearable, with how his blood was singing in his veins.

Malik shifted slightly, and Altaïr dimly realized he had been played when his wand was knocked out of his grip. Faced with the decision of letting it drop or letting go of Malik, he opted to pin his boyfriend harder against the door. Finding his wand - wherever it rolled after he heard it hit the floor - in the morning would be annoying, but if Malik stopped touching him Altaïr might actually die.

Altaïr pulled his lips back just a hairsbreadth, Malik nipping at him as he went. "You're an asshole," he panted.

He couldn't physically see Malik's eyeroll, but it was thoroughly implied. "Pot, cauldron." Altaïr was a bit appeased that Malik sounded just as out of breath as he did.

He kissed Malik again, just because. One kiss turned into two, turned into more, turned into Altaïr pressing his hips flush with Malik's, devouring the quiet groan that came out of his mouth. Kissing Malik was unfairly distracting. "Just because you're hot doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"If I concede to the dinner date will you shut up about the fucking petals? Oh my god." Malik growled at him.

Altaïr was tempted to ask Malik to convince him, but knew that was the kind of incentive that would make Malik turn him into a little puddle of goo on the floor. While that was a very appealing prospect, he did have a point to make. "Depends, will you let me be romantic or will you bitch about it the whole time?"

"I can multitask."

"Malik."

"Yes, fine," Malik huffed. "I will let you be as sappy as you like on this hypothetical dinner date that would require being out in public."

Altaïr watched Malik wince as his conscience caught up with his mouth. It happened more often than people thought; Altaïr did wonder sometimes whether Malik's instinct to poke and prod and needle was actually stronger than his instinct to breathe. The criticism wasn't completely out of line, though. If Altaïr had been frustrated with how the day went, it must have been eight times worse for Malik. He shrugged. "That's why it's next year," he said quietly.

"Shit, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry,"

Altaïr scattered kisses on his cheeks. "Don't worry about it."

"You really don't need-"

Altaïr cradled his face in both palms, looking him dead in the eyes. "Malik, I want to," he said. "I just... I can't. Right now."

Malik's gaze was so fond it made his teeth ache. "I don't want to rush you, is all."

Altaïr had no way to put it into words, that the tightrope he was fumbling across was in no way Malik's fault. That it was his own fear and chagrin that had him stuck like this, and he was so sick of being stuck. He desperately wanted to wake up one morning, forward in time to where it was all out in the open and whatever chaos that caused had blown over. "You're not," he said, glancing away, but it seemed deeply inadequate. "Besides, where would we even go right now?"

"If you take me to that awful cafe that is allegedly the height of romance, I will break up with you on the spot."

Altaïr laughed. "No, no way. I can still smell the incense in my nightmares."

"Eugh, I had forgotten about that part. Why is everything magicside like this."

"Yeah... it might have to be somewhere over the line," he admitted. Malik had been thoroughly right about it being less terrifying over there, where no one knew his name or his family or what he had done. Where he could just be Malik's boyfriend Altaïr, one person in a sea of strangers. "But I'll get there, by next year. Promise."

Malik smiled at him so softly, brushed his fingers over Altaïr's cheek. If he kept looking at Altaïr like that he was going to break in half. He looked like he was about to say something, was deliberately choosing how to say it best, which with Malik usually only took milliseconds.

Altaïr had a pretty strong suspicion of what it could be, and headed it off at the pass the second Malik opened his mouth. "If you say 'I don't have to' one more time I swear to Merlin I'll-"

Malik's snort of laughter cut him off. "I was going to say I love you, birdbrain."

"Oh." Altaïr could feel the heat flood his cheeks.

"Yeah, oh." Malik pressed a kiss to his jaw, then another. "You going to finish that threat?"

Altaïr, who hadn't really planned the end of that sentence even as it was coming out of his own mouth, shrugged.

"I mean... you don't have to finish it..." Malik said.

At which point Altaïr had no choice but bodily picking him up - ignoring Malik's startled squawk and flailing of limbs - and crossing the room to toss him onto the bed.

"I feel very discouraged, bravo." Malik's tone was undercut by his barely suppressed giddy laughter. "Get over here."

And when he tugged Altaïr down on the bed with him, Altaïr couldn't say he minded in the slightest.

#altmal #skies au #they are so fucking gay jesus christ #for context they've been together for like 4-5 months #and have been *deeply* codependent for 4+ years #altair: yes the only person I could see myself living with long term is my bestie this is very normal and heterosexual of me #malik; head in hands: I am going to scream #altaïr ibn la’ahad #altaïr ibn la'ahad #altair ibn la'ahad #malik al sayf #autistic altair ibn la'ahad #you can pry autistic altair from my cold dead hands #assassins creed #assassin's creed #words that mean things #i should put this on ao3 shouldn't i

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school56df · 27 days

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Turning Dreams into Reality: Strategies for Effective Goal Setting strategies for personal Achievement"

Effective Goal Setting strategies for personal Achievement placing is a fundamental thing of personal and professional development. It serves as a roadmap, guiding people toward their preferred consequences, whether of their careers, education, fitness, or non-public increase. Achieving dreams calls for extra than just ambition; it includes careful making plans, staying power, and resilience. In this essay, we will explore the importance of goal setting, the strategies for powerful purpose placing, and the stairs concerned in reaching those dreams.

The Importance of Goal Setting

step-by-step guide to goal setting and achieving results is important for numerous motives. First, it offers course and cognizance. Without desires, individuals may also find themselves drifting aimlessly, unsure of what they need to reap or the way to get there. Goals help to make clear what's important, allowing humans to prioritize their efforts and sources efficiently.

Second, purpose placing fosters motivation. When people have a clear objective, they are much more likely to be pushed to take action. Goals provide a experience of purpose, making the responsibilities concerned in attaining them greater significant. This motivation is critical for overcoming limitations and preserving momentum, in particular while confronted with challenges.

Third, goals serve as a degree of development. By putting precise, measurable objectives, people can track their progress and make necessary adjustments. This remarks loop is essential for maintaining motivation and ensuring that efforts are aligned with the desired outcome.

Strategies for Effective Goal Setting

Effective aim setting entails extra than simply determining what you want to acquire. It calls for a considerate technique that considers each the feasibility and the steps needed to reach the intention. Below are a few strategies for placing desires which are both practicable and meaningful.

Set SMART Goals

One of the most extensively recognized frameworks for intention putting is the SMART criteria. SMART dreams are:

Specific

Clearly define what you need to reap. Instead of pronouncing, "I need to get healthy," specify the intention as "I want to run a 5k race within six months."

Measurable

Ensure that the goal may be quantified or assessed in some manner. For instance, "I need to lose 10 pounds" is measurable, while "I want to shed pounds" isn't always.

Achievable

Set a intention that is challenging but practical. Goals that are too ambitious can result in frustration, at the same time as those that are too easy may not provide sufficient motivation.

Relevant:

The aim must align with your broader life or profession objectives. Ensure that it's far meaningful and will make a contribution for your long-term aspirations.

Time-certain

Set a cut-off date or time frame for attaining the purpose. This adds a sense of urgency and allows to prevent procrastination.

Break Down Larger Goals

Large dreams can be overwhelming, making it hard to realize wherein to start. Breaking down those desires into smaller, plausible tasks could make the manner extra approachable. For example, in case your purpose is to write a e book, you may ruin it down into obligations including "write one chapter in keeping with month" or "research for 2 hours every week."

Visualize the Outcome

Visualization is a powerful device for goal setting. By imagining yourself attaining your intention, you can create a mental picture of achievement. This can assist to boost your commitment and preserve you inspired at some point of hard instances. Visualization also can assist to clarify the steps had to achieve your purpose, making the path ahead greater tangible.

Prioritize Your Goals

It’s not unusual to have a couple of dreams in exclusive regions of lifestyles. To keep away from spreading your self too thin, prioritize your goals based on their importance and urgency. Focus on one or key desires at a time, and once those are accomplished, flow on to the next. This technique enables to preserve cognizance and ensures that you are dedicating your efforts to what genuinely matters.

Steps to Achieving Your Goals

Once dreams are set, the following step is to expand a plan for achieving them. This involves developing an in depth motion plan, staying dedicated, and being adaptable whilst confronted with demanding situations.

Create an Action Plan

An movement plan outlines the particular steps needed to achieve your goal. This plan must encompass a timeline, resources required, and potential boundaries. For instance, if your intention is to examine a new language, your movement plan may include enrolling in a direction, working towards day by day, and locating a language alternate partner.

Stay Committed

Commitment is crucial for aim success. It’s clean to lose motivation, mainly when progress is sluggish or challenges stand up. To live committed, remind yourself frequently of the reasons why you place the intention in the first vicinity. Keep your purpose visible—write it down, create a vision board, or set reminders for your telephone. Additionally, bear in mind sharing your goal with others. This can create a feel of duty, making you more likely to comply with via.

Monitor Progress

Regularly tracking your progress helps to hold you on course and allows for modifications as wanted. Set milestones or checkpoints to evaluate how far you’ve come and what still needs to be finished. Celebrate small wins alongside the way; this reinforces your progress and presents motivation to keep.

Be Adaptable

No plan is perfect, and sudden demanding situations are likely to rise up. Being adaptable method being willing to revise your plan while vital. If you encounter an impediment, check the situation and determine whether or not you want to exchange your method or alter your intention. Flexibility is prime to overcoming setbacks and staying on path.

Overcome Obstacles

Obstacles are a herbal part of the aim-fulfillment system. Whether it’s a lack of time, sources, or motivation, challenges will get up. To conquer these boundaries, broaden trouble-solving abilities and resilience. Break down the impediment into smaller elements and deal with every one systematically. Stay centered for your give up goal, and don’t be afraid to are seeking for help or recommendation from others when wished.

Maintain a Positive Mindset

A positive mindset is critical for achieving desires. Negative mind and self-doubt can derail your efforts and make it tough to stay prompted. Practice self-compassion and remind your self that setbacks are a normal a part of the technique. Surround your self with supportive folks that encourage you and believe in your skills.

Review and Reflect

best practices for setting and achieving career goals once you have got done your purpose, take time to study and replicate on the journey. Consider what worked properly and what could have been executed in a different way. This mirrored image will help you analyze from the enjoy and enhance your intention-placing and success techniques within the future.

#best practices for setting and achieving career goals #step-by-step guide to goal setting and achieving results #Effective Goal Setting strategies for personal Achievement

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onyx-archer · 2 months

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Would anyone be willing to pay me to write stuff for them? Cause I need a bit of pocket change.

I'm thinking like, 10 bucks per 5k words, with a soft-limit of 8-10k words, depending on the nature of the commission? 5 bucks for possible NSFW (as I couldn't promise it'd be good NSFW). Fanfic preferred, but original stories could be done with enough detail provided. Fandoms would depend entirely on if I'm versed enough in it, so people can ask.

While I am okay with general NSFW, kinks are very much a "ask if I am comfortable with them first" type thing. I'm not going to kink shame, but if it is off-putting to me I'll say as much as the reason for declining. As an additional, slightly related thing: I won't write anything involving real people fanfic wise. Using face claims is okay, as they help me get an idea of how the characters look in your mind, but there'd be no mention of them "looking like <insert real person name here>."

In the event that revisions are needed, the first round of revisions would be free. Any revisions after that would incur an additional charge that must be paid before I do anything. This is to make sure people know that I'm a human being with other writing projects and a life, and I can't spend an eternity editing things to your view of perfection without being paid for it.

I'd also be down to write up some random ass essay thing like I have for both The Owl House, Amphibia, and Life is Strange for some kind of payment? Dunno what I'd charge for it though, so it'd depend on the subject?

Oh, and I'd be willing to proofread and edit your stuff too for a fee. It'd be determined by the wordcount, and in the case of fanfiction, how easily I can approach it with my level of knowledge for the fandom in question. It'd probably be $1-2 dollars per 1000 words?

Payment for anything would be upfront, and all sales are final. I'm not going to start writing until I get paid. Because of the nature of things, while WIPs can be provided, should there be an attempt to post it as your own work, you forfeit the commission, and I will cease working. Refunds will not be issued after I start working. In the event that I need to cancel a commission for whatever reason (example: in the event of a family related emergency, or a significant health related reason that prevents me from working), then a 50% refund will be issued as soon as I am able, and I will forfeit all rights I have to the work written, with the commissioner getting all work done up to that point to do with as they see fit.

If anyone is interested, shoot me an ask, and I'll DM you with an answer (this is just to filter out bots). If you have any questions, like specifics on what I'd be willing to write, you can ask too.

This post will be edited as needed, as I'm new to this kind of thing.

(Honestly, a lot of the wording in this post is just cause I have no idea if people would be interested. I've tried doing writing commissions before in the past on other sites, but got a lot of fucking weirdos as a result.)

#Writing Commissions #Commission Post #Editing Commissions #I'm honestly not sure how to tag this #Willing to write fanfiction #Send an Ask if interested

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mengyao · 10 months

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🍉🍑🍋 please!!

🍉 Do you prefer to write short fics or long fics? Multichaptered works or single ones? Why?

i wish i was BETTER at writing short fics. i really enjoy writing long multichaptered stuff but i have so many ideas and i feel like i could get through more of them if i didn't turn everything into a novella by accident. fic exchange assignments are genuinely the only time i've written anything <5k in years and that's because there's an external deadline

i highly respect support people who can write long fics (20k+) in one go. i do not have the stamina. chaptered or bust. i NEED the validation.

🍑 If you could make a connection between your favorite character and another work you care about (whether a crossover/fusion or a wonderfully “pretentious” literary reference) what would it be? How would it work?

i have an essay coming out....sometime in which i argue, among other things, that beefleaf=nell/theo from haunting of hill house.

“I love decorating myself,” Theodora said, regarding her hand affectionately. “I’d like to paint myself all over […] by the time I’m through with you, you will be a different person; I dislike being with women of no color.”

One of these times, she thought, one of us is going to put her head back and really howl, and I hope it won’t be me, because I’m trying to guard against it; it will be Theodora who… [She] heard Theodora’s wild laugh, and thought, Maybe it will be me, after all, and I can’t afford to.

🍋 What’s your favorite spicier trope to write?

sometimes i'll think "god i hope no one thinks i mostly write he xuan's dommier sex scenes in girl mode for feminist reasons"

#replies

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ferrarism · 1 year

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i will not write a 5k essay on this but jett lawrence. what a man. boy. man-boy. 20 years old, 5 straight titles. both east-west regionals in supercross. rookie 450 champion. the perfect season. words aren’t enough to describe, it’s very hard to see someone so good this soon in his career. you see talented, even very talented riders all the time but it’s the execution that matters. it’s not enough to be the golden boy if you’re just gonna crash and burn. as stew said, you gotta be lucky as well and jett can thank the stars and most of all his family, hunter, for going through with it. now i could separately talk about them both for a long time, but i love the humility and respect they have for each other. truly brothers first, and it seems they enjoy each others success more than their own. i hope it stays that way. i loved to hear jett first congratulate hunter and then check up on dylan. small things, but what a class act it can be. anyway, from a kid eating a donut at the podium, incredible. to see this level of success, a rider not yet at his peak at such a young age achieve these things, to witness history being made, wow. i think there’s something special watching someone realize all their talent, like there was never any doubt they would not fulfill their destiny, so to speak. the sport can be cruel, i hope they enjoy all the success as long as it lasts, it’s a pleasure just to watch. even if it was boring at times.

#i love jett ok #ama mx 2023 #jett lawrence

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rapha-reads · 2 years

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For my contemporary cinema class, the professor gave us a list of 8 directors and told us to pick one and write an essay about an aspect of their work we want, any one. List is James Cameron, Steven Spielberg, Francis Ford Coppola, Sofia Coppola, David Lynch, Jan Svankmajer, Jim Jarmusch and Wes Anderson (I know, only one woman, even the prof was sorry about that). Essay is supposed to be 1k words.

I chose Jim Jarmusch because frankly even though I have watched many Camerons, Spielbergs, Coppolas and co, I have zero interest in writing about them. And Only Lovers Left Alive is one of my favourite films.

So I've decided to talk about the Gothic in general and the contemporary Gothic in particular in Only Lovers Left Alive. Because some 6 years ago when I was in third year in the Sorbonne I had a class called "Gothic in Cinema" that I really loved. Problem is. I already have 6 full hand-written pages of notes, and at least 4 more articles to read. For an essay of 1,000 words.

I'm gonna have to choose only ONE aspect, or 2 if I'm economic in my wording (which I won't be because have I said that this essay is in Spanish? yeah. there's that too) of the Gothic or of the movie, and it is killing me to sacrifice like that all the ideas I have floating around my head.

This film is fantastic! And the Gothic is such a deep, mesmerizing genre! There are so many things I could write about: the emptiness of Detroit contrasting with the life of Tanger, the music nervous and slightly electro in Detroit and antic and peaceful in Tanger, when Adam is the one rejecting modernity, all the tragic romanticism of Adam versus the quiet power and elegance of Eve, the colours, the shots like a classical or expressionist painting... There are so many elements! And I found an article by a professor of Writing Studies called "The Contemporary Gothic: why we need it", and this article is fascinating and gave me so many ideas, I could use only that one as a guide and write 5k words...

...

I had forgotten how frustrating and wonderful academia is. I missed it.

#rapha talks #academia #contemporary culture #cinema #only lovers left alive #list of favourite movies #gothic cinema

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rainingmbappe · 1 year

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Maybe the sky has always been calling your name, maybe that’s why you take endearing pictures of it. This is what feels the closest to retranscribing the overwhelming beauty your eyes can catch, even if pixels will never be enough (at least for you and I).

I too, wish I could study about every science, but I just have one body and one life. I think i will always be mad at myself for not being able to live for hundreds of years, as ridiculous as it may seem. I get so overwhelmed by my love and desire to learn and discover everything that I often lose myself in ignorance if that makes sense. But this is what is so beautiful about it, no matter how hard I try to get all of the answers, i will never get all of them. So instead of being sad about not being able to learn literally everything, I enjoy the tiny speck of time I have on this planet, learning piece by piece.

Biology never failed to amaze me, I won’t lie jellyfishes are my favorite animal and when I heard that they were probably the first living thing present on this planet, I became so obsessively in love with them. I even have a huge poster of jellyfishes in my bedroom. Learning about the outside world and what is around us is cool, but learning and discovering about our own essence and what we’re made of is even cooler. What do you mean my brain knows how my body works but I don’t ? (Sorry if I’m rambling) I told to some of my relatives how it was amazing that the brain was the only organ « aware » of it’s own existence, and they laughed it off saying it was a rubbish thought. I don’t know if I’m right about it, i think I saw something about it in a book. The human body will never fail to amaze me, as much as every living thing walking, crawling or swimming on this earth. May I tell you that your blog always found a special place in my heart and that I always deeply enjoyed it when you talked about science or when you reblogged science stuff. You have a special place in my heart Sara.

The 🔭🌌 anon, formerly known as zowa.

I knew it. I knew that the last ask was you but I didn't want to say anything or assume anything at the cost of embarrassing myself. Zowa I don't know why you left and I wouldn't want to pry too much I will tell you how saddened I was by that. I was genuinely taken a back. I wasn't that active and when I came back on I noticed that your blog had deactivated beside it. I almost felt guilty for not checking I'm or being in contact. But I hope you're doing well <3

I too get overwhelmed zowa. I get overwhelmed all the time. I need to put down books and dry my tears because that's how overwhelmed I get. I cried numerous times during Oppenheimer and my sister just knowingly shook her head at me haha. But yes I completely understand you.

I, too, have had people scoff at me so many times. I've been told that I talk too much and that I'm very pretentious about talking about science stuff. And frankly it hurts like a bitch. I just want people to be as enthusiastic about it as me and when they don't reciprocate it hurts. But then I have people like you who make me feel so seen and heard. Make me feel so understood.

Jellyfish are unendingly cool. Having a Jellyfish poster is so so cool.

And zowa seriously speaking, if I can effortlessly write a 5k word essay on my love for space, the human body would be a full-length book. So I'll bookmark that one for now 😭🫶🏽

Not to be too sappy, but I miss you so much, too. I feel like as we were getting close and having so much fun, I had exams. I mean I always have them fucking exam man 😭😭. I really hope you come back when you're ready. And if you're never planning to, thata completely fine. Talking like this is rather mysterious and fun, I might add.

#🔭🌌 anon #or zowa #wtv you prefer <3

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cordeliawhohung · 10 months

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could i ask how you find the inspiration and motivation and ability to write more than 2k~ per chapter/piece? i’ve never really been able to crack past that except for maybe twice and that was only to 5k and i’m so curious and in awe of writers who can do that consistently. i absolutely know it takes a lot of time and dedication but sometimes i worry that i’ll be boring with too much backstory or exposition or xyz but it’s like i want to share so much but then i try and get absolutely fuck all written ): thank you so much in advance for even reading this, i absolutely adore you and your writing. you make me want to be a better writer.

!!!! i am certainly the WORST person to ask this because you're about to get a whole twenty million paragraphs of shit that just probably doesn't make sense but i'm gonna do my best to answer!! <3 (also i'm going to use a lot of examples from soft spot ((because it's my baby)) so... beware if you haven't read that series there will be spoilers lmao)

first off! i'd like to make it clear that having chapters/works/pieces that are like 2k words is totally fine! your work doesn't at all have to be long to be "good." there are tons of works both irl and on tumblr that i read that hit that mark for chapters and honestly it works just as well, if not better, than a long 5-10k word chapter. (i'm pretty sure most publishers recommend keeping chapters between 3-5k words anyway but this is tumblr and we're lawless) ((if i ever get published my editors WILL hate me))

now, as for me personally, and i know this... probably isn't a good thing to do (lmao) but when i'm thinking of my stories in my head, i think of it like i'm watching a tv show. my chapters are episodes. which is why most of them are so fucking long. how does the episode start, what happens in between, how does it end? for example, let's take a look at blood soaked cotton. what all happens in that?

simon is at the bank

simon and spook talk

simon chills at his apartment for a bit

back at the bank (spook is injured) and they talk about her injuries

the HANDKERCHIEF

simon back at the apartment but no handkerchief ):

NEW HANDKERCHIEF

simon realizes spook is lying about how she got injured

spook invites simon to the bar

they kinda sorta talk at the bar

eric comes in and harasses spook

simon punches the fuck outta him

simon walks spook home and she patches him up

i wanna say that was about like 6k words long. someone could turn that into a tv show and that could honestly easily be like fucking a 30 min episode i crammed so much SHIT into that. i guess what i'm trying to say is that, if you're wanting a higher word count, you've got to have a lot planned. i'd recommend not trying to draw one scene out into 6k words. remember, this isn't an essay you're trying to meet word count on, you're writing for the sake of writing. so throw some stuff in. change up the scene and day and whatnot. helps keeps things feeling fresh and flowing (:

now, if you're worried about backstory/exposition, i GET you. i struggled with that for a long time. it's so easy to just start a story and just dump everything on your reader because you want them to know!!! everyone says "show don't tell" but holy fuck is that a lot harder than it sounds. honestly i still struggle with that a lot, which is why i try and limit myself to like, no more than 3 or 4 paragraphs of exposition at the beginning of my chapters, IF that.

now, as for actually incorporating it into your story, something that i'd recommend is not revealing everything all at once. when you walk into a room, you notice the big things right? the color of the walls, the furniture, is the window open, the scent. but you actually have to spend some more time in that room to find the slight crack in the wall, or notice there's a draft. make sure when you bring your readers into the room, they see things at the same pace. if that makes sense?

for example, in the first part of everything you touch, simon returns home to the apartment and of course things are different. i mention a little bit about the plane ride, then the cops being there, the markers, anything broken and the blood in the living room. these are very glaringly obvious things anyone would instantly recognize if their home was trashed, ya know? but then as the 141 are talking and planning and whatnot, little things get brought up over like 2k words worth of shit. kyle asking what the beads are on the floor, and boo dashing in at the last second with a broken paw. there's tons of dialogue throughout, and i think you just gotta find a way to weave them together so that it meshes well! that way you can share all the little details, but it's not all at the beginning. i think it's really easy to compartmentalize things so that dialogue is all together, and then back story is all together and separate them, when really that's not quite how things end up working irl. they coexist and weave together and it's how you form the whole picture!

as for the inspiration/motivation/ability to write chapters as long as i do: autism. i'm only half joking. i hyperfixate on what i want to show my readers and i do not stop writing until i get to the end of the episode. i honestly try so hard to make my chapters shorter, but i literally cannot. idk if it's a gift or a curse. there's a few parts i've written that could have easily been split up more, but i just wanted to show everything that i had planned out. if i show everything i wanted to for my "episode" and it's 4k words then it stays that way. i don't try and write more or add something. if it's 10k words then it stays that way too. i don't know how else to explain it i know it's such a weird thought process i'm sorry ;-;

i think something that also sorta ups my word count is that i am a... very emotional writer. i have not been very secretive about using soft spot specifically as a trauma fic haha. while i am happy and appreciate that some people enjoy my work, or even find comfort in it, a lot of what i put in there is just me coping with a lot of personal shit, and so when i'm writing i put a lot of effort into the emotions. like i'll write a line or two of dialogue and there will be a paragraph or two just explaining how the character felt about it. or i'm turning the exposition into terrible foreshadowing or something like that. honestly, i think there's tons of writers out there who could take my work, say the same shit, and have half the word count just by taking all the extra fancy feely words out haha. (one day i will look at my dialogue to exposition ratio and SOB)

all in all, word count doesn't really matter. i think it's really easy to get lost in the "but it's only Xk words!" or compare yourself to another writer who writes more words/longer works, but that has no bearing on the story at all! never once have i heard anyone complain about a story being too short. i'm thinking like ray bradbury's short stories or something like that. short works that people RAVE about. i have, however, heard people complain about books being too long! (think the stand by stephen king ((fucking 500k words)) or les mis which is reaching close to 550k lmao) and you know what? all of these books are still popular. even the ones people bitch about for being too xyz, because it's not really the length they care about, it's the content.

write until you feel like it's finished. that's honestly the best advice i could give, because it's honestly exactly what i do. be it 2k words, or 10k; don't try to morph your beautiful words and your story around silly numbers, trying to confine them into chapters. shape your chapters around your words instead. because i promise you, your readers probably don't care all that much about word count anyway if they're too busy enjoying the story (:

i hoped this helped, if even a little! thank you so much for your kind words, and i wish you luck on your writing! <3

#core responds #i am in so much pain so i'm sorry if this is actually unreadable <3 #i saw your message when i woke up this morning but had to work and i was thinking about it all day lmao #writing #creative writing #writing advice

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5eraphim · 11 months

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(Feel free to ignore this if you don't want to share, but I'm so curious!) What the HELL was that phantom of the opera fic about that made someone write an entire essay about 😭😭?

(while i'm alright mentioning that one time someone linked me a google drive multi-page document that was critical of a 5k word phantom of the opera x reader insert i wrote when i was 16, (i think i delete the original post for some reason? but i still have the SRB vers. with an extra note) bc like i said, i didn't read the doc bc even as a dumbass teenager, i knew if i tried to be fair and read the doc i'd just upset myself, and realistically learn nothing (and this whole event is extremally funny 7 years later) i would also like to reiterate, people who were in creative spaces online around the early-mid/late-mid 2010s know how freakishly normal it was to see grown ass adults compiling random ocs and fanarts and making lengthy videos railing on them for the sake of "constructive criticism" (i watch those videos too, i'm not saying i didn't participate/or that i'm above this or whatever) but it was really just so needlessly meanspirited, and made fandom-spaces, like y'know, hobby spaces so lame.)

ANYWAYS- i don't remember what exactly i wrote (bc thank GOD everything i wrote before this account has basically been lost to the sands of time, and i'd rather run into a burning building than try to find my old stuff and be face-to-face with whatever the hell i was writing back then)

but from what i remember the plot was basically phantom watching reader sleep and just having a big dramatic monologue about it. and also i'm pretty sure thought about cutting her head off in her sleep? like i remember vaguely writing a tangent while he was wondering how hard it would be to cut through the cervical vertebra that was like, "if you gave me the chance to pluck the bones from your neck, i'd cherish holding them with my bare hands. i wish i could cradle every little piece of you like that"

that's honestly the one part i really remember, it was like that and a lot of "i'm such a monster, how could she stomach sharing a bed" and other such emo, incel-y ramblings. i think i just wanted to write something about sharing a bed with a girl and wanting to rub my grubby undeserving hands through her hair and kiss her neck and shoulders. (and the fact it took me over a year later to realize i was bi, makes this so much funnier to me)

it was that sentiment but with much edgier, very chuck palahniuk-pilled prose.

(i'm not saying i didn't DESERVE an essay-length take down of what i wrote, i'm saying im just glad i didn't read it)

#im sorry this is so edgy for no reason i was goin through a lot back then ._.#none of you can see how much im cringing and calling myself a loser weirdo right now. but i promise. I Am.#anonymous #thank you so much for the ask <3 #but also i hate you for making me remember all this (kidding kidding ilyy)#but also hear me out-#that idea of i wish i could hold every piece of you with my hands-#is that not at least KINDA similar to the notion of 'i wanna shrink my fave character so i can stick them in a pringles can and shake it up #like i was kinda cookin for a second there!#but you know what actually weirder to me?#back then i never had people being rude in my comments or even offering criticism at all-#and then one day i find out the only rude comment i'd really gotten was this fucking ESSAY someone posted and backd up on a google doc #that's so wild to me

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sincerely-krp · 10 months

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that's a whole new sentence. what are you even talking about? f you want to argue this it should go towards every single company out there for making their idols diet, when have they ever influenced fans to do the same? going from a serious topic to this is crazy. / not op, but you cannot be serious right now.

dude i used to stan bts and txt both really aggressively and they can't go one single live without talking about skipping meals and starving, and the issue is they interact with fans to influence them this way too. other idols do it too because it's ingrained in their culture but the sheer amount of bts and txt's proana content is fucking massive and i won't stand for you belittling it or trying to generalize it. because it isn't generalized. and it did influence me, as someone constantly consuming their content. i'm still an avid kpop fan and while the idols i stan now have their moments it's nowhere near as bad.

let me give a few examples for bts: how is your motto going to be 'love yourself' when you turn around and mention your calorie intake on live easily like, 20+ times, say your members look better when they're skinnier, make sure to mention you're not losing weight during quarantine, tell a fan to starve instead of eat dinner when she asks what she should eat: and when i say this i mean on weverse a fan asked namjoon for a dinner recommendation and he said, and i quote here, 'if you can, you'll feel better if you skip.' unprovoked. she didn't ask for dieting tips. she asked for a dinner recommendation. jimin said unprovoked on a vlive that jin (who wasn't even fucking there by the way) will get skinnier and prettier for fans, so they shouldn't worry. jimin always gives like how to starve guides because he always talks about how he's staying in his weight range and telling fans how he does it. spotify asked jimin what 2013 jimin would notice about 2023 jimin and you know what he said? that he had gotten skinnier. when you're a fan consuming bts content like i was, you run into this shit every. day. i once scrolled through twitter to find an account of thinks bts says about starving have like 11k+ followers, and people with pinterest boards over 600 pins with just diet culture and starving things bts have said. you can see this effect in real time. i left around march/april of 2022 because it was everywhere, it wouldn't stop, and you can track that period on twitter and see their OWN FANS talk about how dieting and starving is all bts seemed to talk about anymore. i'm not saying they don't say the whole 'don't starve lose weight healthily don't diet' stuff but it's fucking bs if they choose to go right on ahead and make sure their audience knows they don't practice what they preach. i stuck to examples that were recent btw, i didn't even dip my toe into the meat of when they were really disordered. i could write you an essay on this, over 5k words, because they have THAT MUCH CONTENT. they have enough content for a TWITTER ACCOUNT TO POST ALMOST DAILY SOMETIMES, FOR YEARS. bts is beyond irresponsible, and it hurts to say that but it's true. their main audience are impressionable girls.

when it comes to txt, the reason why op's comment made sense is because soobin specifically talks nonstop about how he omads, or feels like dying because he hasn't eaten and how he should sleep instead of eat. a fan asked him for diet tips and he said starving's the most effective but try omad if it's too hard and brush your teeth when you're thinking of caving. he said he gained weight in america because he ate two to three meals instead of the one meal he ate in korea, and then said it's okay!!! which is fine and dandy until he finished the sentence with 'i can gain weight i'll just lose it all later.' txt, more than bts, is so comfortable talking about this stuff that the fandom will always joke about how soobin will just start up a live to tell everyone about his fasts and shit, like this is???? a well known fact???? between bts and txt you can't escape it. you literally cannot escape it.

other idols are disordered too. i'm not saying they haven't done similar things. i'm saying they're usually held accountable to it, and that either way it is not even close to as much as bts and txt pride themselves in it. i think like enhypen is pretty disordered too, but they're not old enough to have the longstanding patterns you can aggressively see with bts and txt.

the most important thing i wanted to send this to say is that this is just as serious as a topic, and i hope you understand why. do your research, please, because i'm staying away from being too involved right now and i still have this much. there is much MORE that is MORE TRIGGERING that they do and say. kids lead by example and they're being influenced to starve by these idols so blatantly and openly, and frankly i don't see the argument you're trying to make here. because yes, bts and txt SPECIFICALLY do influence and outright tell fans to do the same, and for all the comments they make against it they blatantly do not follow that advice, and choose to talk about it all the fucking time to the same fans so the fans know they aren't, and then never take responsibility for the matter.

we will only accept constructive responses to this!

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nounpolycule · 1 year

Note

Actually I'm SO interested in the 5k essay on riverrose you mentioned in some tags 👀

Ugh so am I. I really need to finish it, I might see if I can manage it for a free day Friday for riverrosetober.

I started it in January, I think, in response to an ask saying it was weird to ship them since they never met in canon, and then I realized how long it's going to be and went "woah that's a lot I've got other things I'm trying to do during my break between semesters - oh woah it is now 10 months later how did that happen?" lol. The doc is currently 949 words long, and most of that is outline aside from the one (1) completed section that is 435 words long that could have just been the following paragraph (and frankly my entire reply could have just been this too, but I am viewing the ask as an excuse to talk about why riverrose makes sense to me for thousands of words, so I'm not giving that up lol):

My first few years involved in fandom [at the peak of SuperWhoLock and Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons] had writing, drawing, and discussing characters from franchises owned by entirely different companies maybe not as “standard”, but certainly as a thing that was to be expected and in no way went against the status quo. Compared to that, two characters that were in the same season of a show feels… mundane is maybe the word I’m looking for? So while I suppose I can see where you’re coming from thinking it’s weird to ship characters that have never met, I think we just have different standards for “weird”, my friend.

Hopefully I'll finish soon. If I'm honest, I would LOVE to sit down and like. Rewatch and relisten to a LOT and just like. Write an even more in depth analysis of why I think they'd work together. Like personally I feel like if I looked at s1 of the show and then looked at the River audios I've listened to so far and thought about it for too long, I would explode.

#asks #kasteraxilkemeryapheshexerindaikyat.pdf #the-lavender-creator

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struggling-with-time · 3 years

Text

How to spiral out of control [Simpbur x reader]

Pairing: c!Wilbur Soot x fem!reader (Simpbur x reader)

Summary: How simpbur became simpbur. And how you grew up and lived with him.

Warnings: Obsession, unhealthy obsession, stalking, murder, drugging, unhealthy relationship, and Simpbur being a creep.

Words: 5K

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: Listen I had brainrot. And I don't know how to defend this. (Also requests are still open! Click here!) And it's unedited for now it's 5:12 am here I will edit later today

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Wilbur was a pretty insignificant child. The death of his mother being one of the most interesting things about his childhood. While he claimed not to blame his youngest brother for the loss of his mother. He certainly had a funny way of showing his youngest brother affection.

Wilbur is the middle child of three. A charming but quiet and well accomplished older brother, who seems to never have to end to his dedication neither success. And his youngest brother, a loud ball of sunshine that just seems to make everyone in a good mood. Truly good with people, something Wilbur never seemed to grasp.

His whole childhood tainted by that fact. Always living in the shadow of his brothers, the clear favourites of everyone who came near the family of four.

So his grades was just average, never good enough to get acknowledged, never bad enough to need extra attention. Just average, like the rest of him. He grew up lanky, not athletic neither unable to run. Wilbur was grey in a family of golden people. His father raised them alone for most of Wilbur’s life. His father that despite never saying it out loud had clear favourites in his brothers. It was always, oh and Wilbur too!

Never him, never just him.

So, Wilbur spent most of his childhood lonely, disregarded and weird. A pitiful child. A pathetic child.

The thing is there was one thing, that made Wilbur worth anyone’s time. One person. You.

His childhood best friend.

Well, that’s what anyone who only knew Wilbur would say. Because you were the only friend he had. However, it was different for you, although the two of you were good friends, you wouldn’t call him your best friend for years. That didn’t happen till you became teenagers.

You had always tried your best to include the weird kid in playdates, birthday parties, and playground games. But nobody else seemed to find him worth their time, with his weird and morbid comments. But you persisted that he wasn’t that weird, besides his older brother was really cool.

So, you stick around, you stick around as playdates become hangouts, as dolls become makeup, and homework goes from learning to read to writing essays.

While you had many friends, both come and go and stay, Wilbur had been there for as long as you could remember. A playground proposal documented on home video. And a remake of it on the day of your school dance. You had played along, but it was known to everyone that your childhood friend wanted to be more than friends. But you stayed, smiled for the camera and laughed it off.

Then the school dance was over, and the last exam had been taken. That’s when you moved a country over, and slowly you lost contact with the people you used to call friends, but Wilbur stayed. Wilbur always stayed.

He finally got the spot as the best friend in your mind too. A definite win in his book.

Wilbur had always been odd, a bit to the left of normal. But now, with distance and screens in between you, he only started to act more concerning. This was around the time he started talking about feeling depressed and useless.

Of course, you always told him you didn’t believe that, what else were you supposed to say? Your friendship turning more and more into therapy sessions once a week for Wilbur on your end. While for him it was the highlight of his week.

Clicking the call button beside your profile picture, an anime girl from one he had recommended to you himself. One he had stayed up an entire night to shift through different animes to find the perfect one to send your way. One he was guaranteed you would watch.

“Wilbur, I should really get off.”

“C’mon stay on just a bit later, please.”

The silence deafening over the video call, he watches you intensely as you pull your legs into your chest, your shitty webcam standing beside you on your bed.

Wilbur reached out for the energy drink beside him, a new habit he has picked up. The more hours spent on the computer, the more he seemed to consume.

“Fine, just half an hour more. But then it’s the last half hour.”

Wilbur smiles at that, you choosing him over everything else in the world. He likes that, he likes that a lot. You valuing him. Spending time with him, and only him. Your attention is his.

“We could always fall asleep on call, then we could keep talking.”

“Another day Wilbur, another day.”

That. That sentence he on the other hand didn’t like. Not one bit. A promise never kept. A promise left unspoken and unpromised from your side, but a broken and abandoned promise on his side.

Then there was the wall incident.

Wilbur wouldn’t have told you if it weren’t for you noticing the hole in his wall. One that matched his fist quite neatly. His father had taken his PS4 in punishment for Wilbur using so much the WiFi plan to call you. At least that’s what he told you.

In reality, he had gotten into a fight with his older brother, his brother had asked about you, how you were doing, and if he could say hi during a call. There was something about the words that had irked Wilbur, something that set him off, something about him that made his brother seem dangerous to Wilbur. So, he had decked his older brother in the face. Causing a blackeye to occur.

In return, Wilbur now sported a big black and blue spot from where he hit the floor. His brother having immediately tackled him.

And to Wilbur that had confirmed his thoughts. Other guys are dangerous, he’s the only one you should rely on.

The wall had taken the brunt of his rage that night, a screaming match with his dad that ended with his little brother getting sent to his friends' house, and his PS4 getting confiscated until Wilbur had gotten a job and was able to pay back the damages.

And he did get a job, much to your surprise. But you had encouraged him throughout it all. A dead-end cashier job that only seemed to make his world staler and more bothersome than before.

A time where he searched for every distraction possible, gaming, music, you.

You were proud of him when he got the hole in his wall fixed, and even more when he kept his job. And Wilbur doesn’t remember you ever giving him more praise than the day he told you he was starting to investigate going to university.

Naturally, you helped him, and along the way, Wilbur picked up a guitar. A new asset to his den of depression that his room had become, decked in led lights, and overpriced RGB gaming stuff.

The university acceptance came rather quick, and suddenly Wilbur was packing up his life and heading to university. Boxes filled with stuff he barely remembered owning, and kitchen appliances that would never see the light of the day.

And he can feel you starting to drift, already busy with your own life. But he clings to you.

He stays, Wilbur always stays in your life. Even when you drift.

Wilbur knows it’s affecting him. It’s not hidden from anyone. The longer that goes between the two of you talking, the sourer his mood gets. The longer you don’t respond to him, the more messages he sends. The more information he craves to know.

Who are you talking to?

Who are you seeing?

Who is so much more important than him?

Hadn’t he always been there for you?

Hadn’t he always stayed?

You owe him.

Wilbur grows bitter and resentful. But not to you, never to you. But for everyone around you. His biggest joys in life now coming from the ungodly amount of caffeine he drinks, and whenever you reach out first.

This is why the day you call him asking for help is forever a day that will bring him joy.

“Hey Will, you’re really good with tech, and I was wondering if you wanted to help me start streaming.”

He chokes on the energy drink. He chokes on his words. He chokes on the air. He drowns.

His heart aching. His anger festering. His-

“Sure.”

He hears himself respond before he can even process the thought.

It takes him 2 days of absence from university, and what feels like 2 even longer nights, before he’s an expert on how to stream. He reads everything he can find, he watched everything that gets suggested.

You asked him for help, so he will help.

But Wilbur, spends these hours conflicted. You want his help, not someone else’s, someone lesser than him. Him.

But at the same time. His mind keeps wandering, isn’t he enough any longer? Isn’t he good enough for you? Why isn’t he good enough for you? Why? Why?

And thus, he learns you how to use the software, and beings alongside you. He finds comfort in knowing most of your streams whenever possible is spent with him on a call with you.

Although that happens after hours of pestering, that doesn’t matter. He gets to talk to you, while the rest is limited to a measly chat.

You seem to find yourself comfortably in the gaming category, slowly growing. Slowly rising.

Wilbur’s own streams, on the other hand, feels more like incoherent rants interrupted by his guitar plays. And once in a blue moon, you are on call with him.

It doesn’t take long before he gives up, watching you grow. Finding more comfort in watching you, instead of being the watched. Not that anyone really did watch him besides for you.

Wilbur stays out of a camera, as you only seem to grow more comfortable being in front of one.

The first time you have someone on a call with you on stream, who isn’t Wilbur. He just can’t help but break his bedside lamp. It’s a guy nonetheless. A guy from the internet. The type of guy Wilbur has never been shy to tell you horror stories about.

And this is where another bad habit of his started to emerge. He just can’t help himself. But you’re laughing with someone else. You’re smiling for someone else. You’re his. Not anyone else’s. His. His. His.

Wilbur is quick to find the donating button he had helped you set up himself. At that time it had only been used a couple of times. Nothing big. But Wilbur wants big. He wants attention. He wants you.

He fumbles with his credit card as he keys in the numbers, he’s a bit too familiarised with them. Because anything he can get from the internet will be delivered that way.

And then the notification pops up on your screen. A donation number you had never expected. And you start crying. Right there. Right on stream. And Wilbur sucks it up. He sucks it right up that you’re crying for him, whiling praising him, and only him.

The match you were playing ruined, and Wilburs smile only grows as he hears the familiar tone of discord receiving a call.

That night. You had ditched the fellow streamer to thank Wilbur and hang out with him.

Something you never thought you would regret.

But oh, how you did. How you did.

It takes Wilbur around 2 months to get used to a large sum of money means special attention to him, and only him. For everyone to see.

And he can feel you pulling away, so each time he donates, it’s bigger. Larger. Grander.

He��s never on your stream without a donation anymore. Never on call for free. But Wilbur doesn’t mind, because everyone gets to see you’re his.

And he keeps increasing the amount as you keep growing until he hits a stalemate. He’s using half of his paycheck on you, while he doesn’t mind going hungry a couple of days. His bills won’t wait for him. And he has been living away from home for far too long to ever think about calling up his father and ask for money.

Not to mention his oldest brother would never. Then neither will Wilbur. Because Wilbur is better. Better than all of them.

The larger your stream grows, the closer graduation arrives, and then Wilbur is sitting in another apartment. Another dead-end job. Another grey life.

Another dull life passing him by. Your voice constantly on loop his apartment. Constantly filling his life. As it always has. But to you, Wilbur is barely a part of your everyday. Only really showing up when a donation comes in. As you once again tell him not to spend money on you.

But he seems to stay. Wilbur always stays.

He’s the first to like anything you post on social media. Always online never off. Always lurking. Never missing. Never absent. He’s always there.

Wilbur never misses a stream; he schedules his life around yours. Even if you’re a country away.

And then one day you’re not. You’re not a country away, you’re moving back. You’re moving closer. And suddenly you live an hour away by car. Instead of an airplane ride, and shitty trains.

Suddenly Wilbur can see himself get a foot in the door. No longer grasping onto his parasitic parasocial friendship with you. He can see himself being more than the childhood friend who has always been there. He can see himself as the partner that always is there.

Wilbur is giddy the entire car ride. He’s giddy as he feels his bag burn on his shoulder. And he’s giddy until the second you embrace him in a hug and welcome him into your new apartment.

It’s bigger than the one you’ve had since university.

And then his future crumbles. You start talking about a guy named Jared. Fucking Jared. Why did even his name have to leave a sour taste in his mouth? A guy you met over the internet. Not just any guy. No specifically the fucker from the first time Wilbur had donated.

Apparently, he wasn’t a streamer, but a friend you had made during your 2 years you lived at university but never told Wilbur about. Not a single mention of him, and suddenly he’s all you’re talking about.

How could Wilbur have known? You hadn’t even mentioned him on stream. Wilbur always listened so carefully, writing down everyone you mentioned. You had called him attentive once, and he would never want to disappoint you. Maybe if he was attentive enough you would look his way.

Instead, here you are talking about this Jared guy. And Wilbur knows what he has to do. A thought he has been toying with for around 3 years now. Ever since you went to Disneyland together. A trip he paid for, and a trip that was streamed, so everyone could see you were his. You were always his.

That was easily his favourite video.

In the week up to the vacation, Wilbur had done everything he could to learn about cameras so he could help you, and do the most for you. He had even helped you sort through some of the non-streamed videos he filmed too for a YouTube video for you.

Which is where he found the clip of you changing.

The camera had been resting on your hotel bed, the video having a clear Dutch angle, leaving the hotel room slandered. But there you were, right square and centre still. Changing. It takes you a minute to finish before you turn around and pick the camera up again. Mumbling something as you turn it to show off your hotel room, and then the clip cuts to black.

He never told you about it, instead just saving that specific clip on a USB stick. A piece of tech he valued more than his life. Not that his life had ever been worth much in comparison to his.

Wilbur rips his bag open, careful not to make a lot of noise. He removed his clothes, and then the fake bottom. And underneath it reveals small security cameras.

Wilbur has never been more thankful for you being a heavy sleeper and letting him sleep on a mattress on the floor of your bedroom. He quietly sets up two in your bedroom, before moving into the rest of your house. One in your office that has been converted to a streaming room. His own personal angle to your public life.

Two more in the living room, he skips the kitchen and hesitates at the door of your bathroom. For the first time, he hesitates. His hand hovers over the doorknob, the other holding the camera.

“Wilbur?”

You’re standing in the hallway, sleep evident on your face.

“Will why are you making so much noise?”

“No reason darling, go back to bed, just needed some water.”

His breath is stuck in his throat until he hears you close the bedroom door again.

That was the first time he hesitated. And his last. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t afford to lose you further.

The rest of the trip passes Wilbur by as you introduce him to Jared. The douchebag himself. The asshole. The guy who dares take away what is Wilbur’s. Even on the ride home. All Wilbur can see is Jared’s image etched into his mind. His god-awful fashion sense. The way everything, he wore around you, just seemed to be a size too small. Nobody wants to see that fuckers’ muscles. Wilbur’s knuckles turn white, as he grips the steering wheel.

Jared has to go.

He’s ruining everything. He’s not part of the dream you told Wilbur you had. Jared has never been part of that. Wilbur was supposed to be part of that. Even if the dream changed through the year. Even if the one you’re living now is the unimaginable future the two of you imagined up at seventeen. But one thing was sure. Jared wasn’t part of that. Wilbur was.

Wilbur easily finds himself a new normal at home. The trip giving him a refreshed sense of hope. A plan in the making. His daily routine now including watching you all hours of the day. Not just your streams any longer. Every single second he can wrench out of those cameras.

And suddenly his friendship seems to improve with you too. Because now he can see when you’re sad and in need of a friend. He reaches out at the perfect time. Abusing your vulnerable state. Because it’s the best to do. It’s for the betterment of your future.

The more Wilbur is there for you, the more he resents Jared. He deserved to be in your bed, not that asshole. He deserves to reap the rewards of his hard labour. He is the one that has always been there because Wilbur has always stayed.

A simple click is all it takes for Wilbur and the item has been placed in a cart. Mere keystrokes and it has been paid. A single click and Wilbur has truly gone insane, as a packet is shipped off. A packet containing a bottle of sleeping pills.

The next time you invite Wilbur down, you barely recognise him as you open the door. Eyebags so deep you’ve never seen before. His entire body slightly twitching, and that manic smile on his lips. Wilbur brushes your concerns off, claiming that’s just what happens in real workplaces. Not that you would know anything about that.

Wilbur hates the feeling of insulting you, but you had barely responded the entire week. You deserved to suffer for a moment. Before he caves and apologises for being rude. That’s the moment you can see the resembles of his normal being as he hangs his shoulders.

Jared comes over that night. Just as Wilbur had planned. And this time he won’t hesitate. He even bought a bigger car for this.

Wilbur offers to mix the drinks, claiming to have learnt a new recipe. Which isn’t a lie, he has learned how to perfect just the right cocktail thick enough that covers the chalky residue of the pills. And sweet enough to make the bitter taste disappear.

He serves them, keeping a watchful eye as the night drags on, and Jared never seems to shut up. But Wilbur can deal with it for one night. Just for one. And then he won’t ever have to worry about Jared again.

He serves another.

And then another drink.

And finally. Finally. You’re starting to get tired. Slowly leaning against Wilbur. And he takes pride in that. Great pride. You didn’t choose to lean against Jared, you’re leaning against Wilbur.

Wilbur sits still until Jared too is starting to fall asleep. Wilbur is ecstatic.

He gets up slowly, gently laying you down, a pillow underneath your face. A blanket over you. He kisses your forehead and smells your hair. Taking in the shampoo scent still lingering.

Then Wilbur gets moving, he has stuff to do. Plans to execute after all.

He does his best to get Jared’s left arm over his shoulders. But their awkward height difference makes it difficult, but he can make it work. It has to work. He only gets one shot.

Wilbur gets the front door open before he realises a fatal flaw in his plan. He has to drag Jared down 3 floors worth of stairs. He realises he can’t do it the way he is now. He has to drag him down by his armpits instead.

It takes him the first flight of stairs to realise Jared shoes are making too much noise. He has to abandon them, Wilbur awkwardly gets Jared leaned against the wall before he removes Jared’s polished black shoes. Wilbur leaves them there, making a mental note to remember them when he comes back.

The rest of the stairs, while difficult and definitely breathtaking for someone who has no muscle strength. He makes it work. Wilbur actually makes it work.

He made it work. It worked. Oh god. It’s working.

Wilbur repositions Jared once more, his arm once again over Wilbur’s shoulders. The night sky greeting him as he steps out of the apartment complex. With great difficulty, Wilbur gets the two of them over to his car, where he throws open the trunk. In the proceed shaking the car, setting off the car alarm. Wilbur is quick to drop Jared as he fumbles after his car keys. It takes him nearly a full minute to turn off the car alarm.

Wilbur curses under his breath.

Annoyed with the time loss. He finally gets the knocked-out Jared into his trunk, and he shuts it again. Just as a front door in the apartment complex opens. A man steps out. He raises a hand to Wilbur, before pulling out a smoke.

Wilbur shuffles on his feet before raising a hand. And then awkwardly gets into his car.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

He has a body in his trunk. Now he just has to get to the harbour. Wilbur starts the car and starts the ride to the harbour a town over.

Half an hour has gone past when Wilbur is pulling the handbrake, and taking the keys out. He’s quick to get out, and even quicker to get to Jared. Wilbur keeps thinking about you. Your smile. Your kindness. Your voice. Your beauty. Your grace. As his hands are securing zip ties around the wrists and ankles of an unconscious man.

He has to go.

Wilbur reminds himself.

A cloth is tied around Jared’s filthy mouth, and then Wilbur is back to dragging him. It’s both easier and harder. Easier before he’s just dragging him across the pebbles and over to the brink of the harbour. Both of his arms are under both of Jared’s.

But it’s harder because if someone sees him it’s going to get difficult to explain. But nobody does. As far as Wilbur is aware.

So a splash is made by a body, and Jared is unceremoniously sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor.

Wilbur takes one more breath of fresh air. Before turning around and getting back into his new car.

He’s quick to arrive at your apartment complex. The man was no longer there. Wilbur goes to grip the front door. It doesn’t bulge.

Oh yeah, it’s locked.

He fishes the copy he made of your house key from his keychain and lets himself into the building he doesn’t live in. An invited guest, that has turned out to be an uninvited one.

He can feel the tiredness setting in his bones, as he ascends the stairs. And the realisation that he just killed someone hasn’t dawned on him yet. Instead, all his muscles are aching, and his eyes barely staying open.

He stumbles into your apartment. Another kiss gets left on your forehead as he goes for your bed. The smell is so nice. It’s so obvious to him this is where you sleep. And he’s soaking in each moment until his eyes are giving out.

His night remaining dreamless, instead, he gets awoken rather rudely around noon. You’ve pulled the comforter off him and told him to get up, so the two of you can spend some timeacting together. and Wilbur happily does that.

Not at all acing like a man who purposely took another person’s life mere hours ago. You rush him to get into his clothes. As you have something planned for rest of the day out of the apartment. You’re talking his ears off as you descend the first flight stairs your personal puppy in tow.

When you stop dead in your tracks. Wilbur nearly stumbles into you.

“Will, is that Jared’s shoes?”

And right there is in fact Jared’s shoes. The pair Wilbur had forgotten all about. The pair he had left unintentionally.

“Are you sure about that? Thought he already left.” Wilbur lies, he may be awkward, but he has gotten pretty good at lying to you through the years.

“Yeah yeah, you’re right. Why would he leave his shoes?”

The question gets left unanswered, and the tension is thick until you get outside, and the sun is shining. It seems it knows too of how good this day is for Wilbur, a dawn of a new era. Where you will finally acknowledge him as the perfect one for you.

The man from the nightstand once again with a smoke and raises his hand to greet Wilbur, once again Wilbur shuffles on his feet before he raises a hand back. You look at him weirdly, and Wilbur shrugs it off.

The rest of the day happening without any mishaps or other incidents. But the shoes just can’t seem to leave your mind, despite how hard Wilbur is trying to distract you.

And then the afternoon passes, and the night, and the car ride, and Wilbur is once again home. And as soon as the door closes. He crumbles down on the floor.

Oh god.

He did it.

He actually fucking did it.

He isn’t useless.

He’s fucking Wilbur, and Wilbur stays in your life. Even when you make such stupid mistakes as falling for another person. There’s only one person for you and that’s him.

You’re actually the first one to call him this time, and the smile never leaves his lips. Even if the call is about Jared. And how worried you are about not having heard from him. Wilbur just tells you; you should have listened to him. Guys on the internet are just like that. And that you deserve better. Someone like him.

You laugh at this and thank him for calming you down.

Wilbur suddenly loves phone calls.

This bliss is perfect for Wilbur you’re talking to him more and more. And he watches, god he watches you. Every step you take in that apartment is filmed logged on his computer.

However, all good things must come to an end, and Wilbur has barely pulled off his tie after work when a group of loud knocks sounds at his door. He isn’t expecting guests.

A group of men in blue uniforms greets him.

“Wilbur Soot, you’re under the arrest for the Murder of Jared Yarrow.”

Wilbur barely registers what’s going on, before he’s in a holding cell. A psych evaluation under his belt. A phone call to his father asking him to help him out.

The days bleed together in the unchanging environment, and suddenly a defender is telling him to plead for insanity.

Then the defender comes back again days later with a court date, and all Wilbur can do is count the seconds.

Time for the first time since arriving slows down when the doors to the court open and Wilbur is lead into the courtroom. And there you are, looking beautiful as ever. Tears and despair clearly written on your face. You look away from him, and it makes him stumble for a moment. A quick look to the other side, confirms his fear. His father is here. Alongside his brothers.

The trial goes over what happened that night, the evidence, the sleeping medication, the car. Everything. Yet even when his sentence is received, even when he is told he won’t see the sun again for a long time. There is only one thing on his mind.

They never found the cameras.

And he just can’t help but smile at that as he’s getting lead away to rot.

Because Wilbur has always stayed by your side, Wilbur always stays. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

#wilbur soot #Simpbur #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x reader #simpbur x you #c!wilbur soot x reader #simpbur x reader #c!wilbur #c: simpbur #c!wilbur x reader #c!wilbur fanfic #c!wilbur x you #c!wilbur soot x you #dsmp #mcyt #fanfic #female!reader #delias own writing

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savrenim · 3 years

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I've gotten a number of asks recently either directly about being a mathematician, or that have tied in pretty solidly to being a mathematician, to the degree that it's been on my mind enough that this month's patreon monthly hot take is "how to write realistic mathematicians and physicists; or, if you're going to stereotype the whole field, here are some more accurate stereotypes at least by my experience." (this essay as a whole ended up being over 5k, so is being broken into part 1, the mathematicians, and then part 2, the theoretical physicists, will be posted on said patreon presumably next month.)

I (re)-started my patreon this January in anticipation of funding my original work: it is my goal to release all of my original work online for free, and I've got a book that's now written and in editing stage so will hopefully be actually coming soon, but website domain, file storage, copyright filing, and ISBNs all actively cost money let alone treating myself to anything like having art for covers or professional help editing. My patreon was founded on the principle of "hey even though I'm financially stable and have good job prospects, maybe I shouldn't be paying out of pocket to give people things for free, maybe I should at least consider the option that there are folks who'd want to support my work!" The money is still going towards those things, but what with covid, uhhh….

Well my job prospects have been severely shaken what with how brutal the academic job market currently is, and my savings were hit fairly hard by my partner getting deadly sick with covid despite taking full precautions due to an older member of their household not, then being unceremoniously forced to move halfway across the country with next to no warning, so needing support for basic things like rent and groceries in the months before work was found. I've taken an extra teaching load to try to supplement this, but these days I could actually properly use the support.

I work very hard to make my patreon worth it in and of itself! It is $1 access to absolutely all content, and higher tiers are request tiers. There is currently well over 40,000 words of original exclusive content only on my patreon, split between:

weekly/bi-weekly quote analysis or reflections: director's cut commentary on lines from things I've published, or previews of cool lines in my drafts. this includes a fair amount of commentary on my fic, like iifmlam and wriu!

monthly hot takes that range everything from general essays on writing theory, updates on Things I've Been Reading And My Opinions Of Them, complete breakdowns of any of my works once they are finished and posted, any good solid post or commentary that catches my mind.

requests from the request tiers

early release of absolutely all of my work

I post very regularly! These days as I'm taking on more teaching work and trying to figure out if job applications are even feasible to try, it is bi-weekly quotes and analysis, monthly hot takes, and all requests. It may go back to weekly quotes and analysis if my general situation improves. (And, of course, for people waiting on my writing I will certainly write far more quickly if my general situation improves. At this point I'm planning on taking the additional teaching load in the spring again for the money, which will cut continue my writing time severely. If I had an income stream equal to that such that I didn't have to, I would prefer not to, and would probably start writing more regularly again and also have the chance to do more math research and get my job prospects back in far better shape.)

So tl;dr, if you like my writing and have been considering supporting me, give my patreon a try! I could solidly use the support!

#my life #my writing #tbh I am desperate enough that I put in a stretch tier with full story requests every month that #👀 I'm accepting fannish requests so if any rich people desperately want to see the continuation of ifmlam #'1500 words of the next draft of a chapter' is a request I will take #hell if 6-8 people signed up for that tier and always chose that particular request I'd be back to putting out about a chapter a month #if 6-8 people signed up for that tier my financial worries would be completely alleviated

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gashinabts · 4 years

Text

Ask Me Out (m)

Words: 5k

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader, Idiots to lovers

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Mature

Summary: You and Taehyung get in a fight because you were allegedly cheating, the only problem is, who are you dating and who are you cheating on.

Warnings: Teasing, spitting, oral (f/receiving), fingering, DomTae, slapping, jealously sex

A/N: Just a small one shot, hope you enjoy!! This is my work no reposting this and my other works on any other platforms.

Holding the letter tight to your chest you breathe out a heavy sigh before giving the letter to Eunha. Taehyung texted her that he will meet with her across the administration building, instead here you are standing in front of her, counting the seconds of when this interaction will end. She opens the letter and you cringe at every second she reads it, you look off at a distance to see if Taehyung could be watching this scene unfold. “ What the hell is this Y/N? Where’s Taehyung?,” she crumbles the letter and there’s irritation evident on her angelic face.

The one con of being Taehyung’s friend is that you have to break up with his girlfriends since he doesn’t like confrontation, to see them yell at him or worst cry in front of them.

In middle school Taehyung told you to break up with Soojin for him on Valentine's day, that was the first time you got bitch slapped by someone at school. Taehyung went to visit you at the nurse office with a red rose. “ Where did you get that?,” you asked him as you pressed the ice pack closer to your cheek. “ I stole it from Jungkook’s valentine’s gift,” he says, as he hands you the rose and sits next to you. His hands gently take off the ice pack inspecting your pink slap mark. “ Ouch. This will be the last time I let you do this for me,” he gives you a boxy smile. Another con of being his friend, Taehyung could be quite the liar.

“ Well as it says on the letter, he wants to break up with you…” you trail off taking a centimeter back. You don’t think she’ll do anything crazy, Eunha was nice when she was with Taehyung, however break ups can change a person.

Eunha takes a step closer and takes the lid of her ice coffee and throws it on your sweatshirt. The cup is empty and the ice cold coffee makes you flinch, “ I knew you guys were sleeping behind my back. Tell him, ‘ The next time he wants to break up with someone, he should be a man and tell them in person,’” she bumps her shoulder against you hard as she walks past you. You groan at her comment and walk towards the center of the campus where the water fountain is, there are students who briefly look at your coffee stain white sweatshirt. “ Well she got you good?,” Taehyung bites his lip and you glare at him. He stands tall right next to you, with his neutral tone baggy pants and sweatshirt. “ Hey I’m sorry I didn’t know she’ll react that way. Take my sweater,” he pulls his already oversized sweater and hands it to you.

You pull off your soaked sweater, “ That’s what you always say Tae,” then you put on his ugly dark green sweater. “ When are you ever going to have the guts to ask the girls you like out and also break up with them?” There’s also another thing he has a problem with, he needs to have someone, you, to ask the girls he likes out. It’s always awkward for you to tell them that Taehyung, the guy that you have a slight crush on, likes them.

“ Y/N, I can’t do that! Just imagine if I ask someone out and they straight out reject me. I would be traumatized for my whole life,” he takes your dirty sweater and walks with you to the apartment.

“ Nope. I can’t possibly see that. You are attractive and funny so I don’t see how you’ll be rejected,” you smell yourself and groan at the scent of ice americano. “ Look, ask me out right now,” you joke around while laughing to yourself. The short laugh becomes a gasp when Taehyung pushes you against a wall with his arm caging you in. His face is close to yours, you could almost count all the long dark eyelashes. Time feels like it slows down because the wind started to lessen along with chirping sounds from the birds.

“ Y/N. Go out with me,” he looks at you dead in the eye, his black curls slightly cover them. Without thinking much you let out a small okay and he backs up giving you space.

His face returns back to his bubbly self smiling, “ Do you want to order fried chicken and beer or pizza?,” he asked you while adjusting the straps of his backpack. The question takes you back and you pinch yourself just to see if this is a dream or an alternative universel. “ Fried chicken and beer,” you tell him, walking alongside him. There is silence between you two as he orders the food on his phone, he gives you the phone so you can review the order, you smile as he orders an extra order of spicy chicken since you are the only one that likes it. “ Looks good,” you say while handing it back.

You and Taehyung are watching a movie while eating the fried chicken peacefully until Jungkook barges in the living room from the front door, “ BAHAHA...Y/N you’re like all over everyone's snapchat. I even saw this video on my fyp on tiktok. Look it almost has one million likes,” he hands his phone while sitting down on the couch. ‘It’s the cheating for me’ you groan as you read the description. “ What the hell? Did you at least comment and tell them that I wasn’t the other woman?,” you ask Jungkook, the video plays and Eunha throws the coffee at you and your face grimaces.

“Yeah but like my comment got lost through the thousands of comments that are there,” he grabs a beer from the table, “ just live through your fifteen minutes of fame,” he chugs the beer. “ Ohh spicy chicken, my favorite,” his hands grab your chicken eating it with gusto.

You toss the phone on the couch, “ Y/N-” you ignore Taehyung’s voice as you go to your room. You take solace in your warm comforter hugging your stuffed penguin and taking a nap. The feeling of Taehyung’s warm hands wakes you up, he’s spooning you, hugging you tightly against his chest. You are used to Taehyung's skin ship at home, he typically does this when he sees a scary movie and has nightmares so he crawls into your bed or when the apartment is too cold and he doesn’t want to spend money on the heater. “ Are you okay?,” he asked carefully.

“ Yeah, I just hate how people don’t know the real story but it’s whatever I have you to make me feel better,” you sigh as you hug your penguin tighter.

He laughs and grabs the stuffed animal, “ You still have this raggedy thing?”

“ I’m not gonna throw him away. It was a present,” you take it back in your arms. Yeah, it looks beaten down but it was something special you cherished.

“ Man, I still can’t believe you dated Jungkook in high school. Doesn’t it feel weird to have that since you guys are not dating?,” he hugs you closer to him, you feel his warm breath against your neck.

“ Nah, we are still good friends even if he is kind of an asshole,” one of your hands reaches back raking your fingers against his curls. He hums deeply, “ Are you jealous of Mr. Penguin?,” you teased him with the question.

“ Kind of,” he mutters and snuggles into your hair. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting but you ignore it going back to sleep.

---

You grab an ice coffee for Taehyung and add sugar but a light tap halts you, turning you see a girl holding a phone zooming onto your face, “ Is this you?,” she asked you, eyes peering for a reaction. It was that stupid video from tiktok.

You laugh lightly, “ No, that is my twin,” you lie eaisly, you ignore her calls as you continue walking. You wait outside Taehyung’s office since he is talking to one of his students. The student adorably bows multiple times and thanks him, as she exits his room. “ She’s cute,” you comment as you enter his office with his coffee. He has his glasses on, along with his usual comfy aesthetic, there are a bunch of papers on the desk, and he looks the part as professor but clearly isn’t because he is a TA.

“ You are cute,” his large hand holds your hand giving it a quick kiss, while grabbing the coffee with his other hand and starts to gulp it. Today you were far from cute, you had no makeup, and you feel bloated because you were on your period. “ There’s an essay due about the elements of Gothic architecture and she was having a hard time about what to write,” he moves his hand as he talks, he finally sits down on his desk.

“ That sounds fun,” you sarcastically state. Sitting down on the chair you look on his desk and there’s a picture of you and him at the Louvre, it was two years ago that you guys spontaneously took a trip to Paris.

“ Sorry you aren’t a fan of art history,” he nudges you with his leg, “ Anyways let’s go to this new hotpot restaurant,” he gets up putting his laptop away along with his papers. “ Should we invite Jungkook?,” you asked while putting your seatbelt on in Taehyung's car.

“ No. It’s Y/N and Taehyung time,” he firmly states but his sparkly teeth show as he smiles.

---

“ You guys look closer than ever, which is weird because how can you guys possibly get closer,” Jungkook comments as you wash the dishes. It’s obvious that he is talking about Taehyung. Taehyung had been more clingy with you, almost every night sleeping in your bed and taking you to random restaurants without Jungkook.

“ What do you mean? We are always like that, you are just jealous that we don’t take you out anymore and pay for you,” you finish washing the last plate, you put the gloves away to dry. Jungkook crosses his arms which cause his biceps to bulge and you throw your head back with a laugh, “ Is that supposed to intimidate me?,” you lean against the counter.

He walks closer, “ Kinda, I’ve been working out,” he flexes it more. You roll your eyes and he stands right in front of you, “ So friends just invade other people’s personal space?,” his face comes closer to you, making eye contact with you. He’s provoking you and you just want to slap his smirk off his face. Jungkook lays his head against your neck, rubbing his nose against your neck, his body is against yours. “ This kind of reminds me of our first time, we did it in my parent’s kitchen when they weren’t home,” his hands gripped your waist.

You decided to play at his game, your hands reach his nape pulling his hair, “ But then you came the minute you put it in,” you whisper against his ear. You laugh as his face flush with embarrassment, you push him against his chest so he can give you space.

“ C’mon Y/N that wasn’t nice,” he groans, he tugs his situation in his grey sweatpants to not make it obvious that he has a boner. You stop laughing when you see Taehyung standing near the entrance of the kitchen, he has a blank face and goes to the fridge. Jungkook turned around looking at Taehyung as he quietly grabbed a coke, “ Hey Hyung, have you eaten? Y/N made dinner.”

Taehyung looks at Jungkook, “ I’m good,” he doesn’t even acknowledge you, walking away from the kitchen and you hear his door shut.

It’s quiet as you eat dinner alone and it is even quieter when you go to sleep by yourself. The bed feels more bigger and you might think it’s more comfortable but it’s not since you don’t have Taehyung hugging you like a pillow. The next morning you wake up late, Taehyung usually wakes you up and cooks you burnt toast with a shitload of jam but this time he’s already gone.

After class, you get his favorite coffee drink, and go to his office, there is another cute student talking to him. You peer through the window and see how happily he exchanges words with her. You wait until their session is done and she thanks him and he waves goodbye, you walk into his office. He looks at you but quickly reverts his gaze back at his laptop screen typing mindlessly. Placing the coffee on his desk, “ She’s cute,” you comment.

“ Yeah,” he says and continues typing, your heart lurches not expecting him to agree with you. There’s so much tension you feel like you are walking on eggshells.

“ Umm...are you okay?,” you ask timidly. You aren’t sure if he heard you since a minute goes by and he looks through his paper and then again types. There is sweat coming off your hands and wipe them down against your jeans,“ Taehyung?,” you speak just a decibel louder.

He closes his laptop, packing up his papers, throwing them harpazidly in his backpack, throwing the ice coffee that he hasn’t even got a sip of into the trash. “ I’m meeting with someone,” he brushes past you trying to exit his office. You grab his wrist before he can leave, “ Tae, are you mad at me?,” is the only question you can think of.

This is the first time he looks at you, it’s the first time he has ever shown anger at you, he yanks his hand back to himself and the feeling of the subtle warmth is gone from the palms of your hand. “ I just didn’t think you were the type of girl to cheat and try to fuck their ex in the kitchen,” he says seriously.

Cheating? Who were you cheating on? “ I wasn’t- Jungkook and I-,” you try to explain yourself but he wasn’t hearing any of it. He interrupts you, “ I don’t care anymore...I don’t want to see your face,” he jabs at you with a disgusted face one last time before leaving. There’s tears coming out and you quickly wipe them but they still stream down your cheeks. This is the first time in your friendship that you had a fight with Taehyung and it looks like it will be the last time you grab the tissue of his desk blowing your nose. The picture of you and Taehyung gleefully smiling in Paris is mocking you, you grab the picture and take it with you before he can also throw it away as easily as he did with the ice coffee.

You usually don’t like going to your parent’s house but this time you accept their invitation, planning to stay with them for a week, you already submitted all the assignments for classes and you could always look at the podcast lectures. There’s not much clothes you have to pack up since you hardly buy any new clothes and you usually borrow Taehyung's infinite amount of clothes, well used to. “ I’ll see you in a week,” you hug Jungkook goodbye.

“ Make sure you get some rest,” he walks you to the car, you nod and smile at him, waving him goodbye.

This is the last time you will ever visit your family, they make you do chores and take care of your nephews and nieces. It doesn’t even feel like you got any rest, you found a box under your bed and it’s filled with pictures of you and Taehyung, some of Jungkook but mostly of Taehyung. The more you shuffle through the pictures it gets harder to hold your tears. You have the urge to call him but you are afraid that he has you blocked.

---

It feels and sounds quiet in the apartment, Taehyung thinks to himself. Jungkook isn’t even making noise either which is odd since he is loud. He hasn’t seen you in three days, he was sure that he was going to eventually bump into around the house while you cook or get out of the shower but nothing, he hasn’t even seen light peek out of your door. He hears the door opening expecting it was you but it was Jungkook. Jungkook goes straight to the kitchen taking out a pan and vegetables out of the fridge, “ You want some Kimchi fried rice?,” Jungkook asks as he cuts some kimchi.

“ No,” Taehyung shakes his head and scrolls down on his instagram.

Jungkook sighs loudly, “ Wow this is going to suck. I have to start learning how to cook better since Y/N moved out.”

Taehyung drops his phone on the ground, “ What?,” he asked while walking towards the kitchen to where Jungkook is at.

Jungkook puts oil in the pan and adds onions, “ Yeah she moved out three days ago. She looked really sad, took everything she had and left.” Taehyung doesn’t believe him and enters her room, the bed looks empty, there are no comforters or pillows, he opens your drawers and is met with nothing, there are some skincare products on the table but those can easily be left behind. However there are pictures of you and Taehyung on the dresser, and he easily spots the one that he kept in his office. He walks back out and Jungkook looks like he is almost done cooking. “ You could be a real asshole Taehyung. Y/N would never do anything with me since she already whipped for you. The things you make her do and how she always does it because your Taehyung,” Jungkook says and finally turns off the stove.

“ What are talking about?,” Taehyung asked with hesitance.

“ Ask Y/N, why does she break up with people for you despite the many times she gets hurt from it. Ask her why does she spend so much money on your dumb ice americano? Ask her why she broke up with me in high school?,” Jungkook didn’t mean for the last question to come out but he’s tired of his two best friends being idiots. “ I’m going to eat in my room,” he leaves with a plate of Kimchi fried rice.

Taehyung sits in silence in his room thinking about your last conversation with him, and how he didn’t let you explain. How he yelled at you, how he threw his coffee, and how you looked like you wanted to cry. He hugged his pillow tightly desperately wishing that it was you and maybe if he thought hard enough you would appear.

---

“ Are you sure you don’t want to stay the whole week?,” your Mom asked while she helped you put your suitcase in your car. It’s the fourth day, six in the morning, and you don’t think you can last another day with her yelling at you to stop taking naps and to go grocery shopping with her.

Getting in your small car you sigh,“ Yeah, I have to go back. I forgot to turn something in for class,” you make up a lie.

“ What? Are you serious? Why didn’t you do that before when you came here, that’s very irresponsible-” Maybe on another day you can take her lecturing but not today.

“ Okay, bye Mom. Love you!,” you close your door waving at her as you leave the driveway.

It is expected for the apartment to be quiet since it’s early in the morning, you drag the suitcase quietly hoping that you won’t wake them up. Opening the door slowly, you are shocked to see a sleeping figure in your bed, your hand let’s go of the suitcase and you yelp trying to get it but it comes down crashing loudly on the wooden floor. Taehyung's head pops up from his small blanket, looking at you with wide eyes. “ I umm- I’m sorry. I’ll leave right now,” you pathetically try to excuse yourself. Taehyung said he didn’t want to see your face anymore so you hurry to pick up your things. Your shaky hands try to grab your suitcase but you are tackled into a hug, Taehyung’s arms engulf you trying to make you part of his body.

“ You came...I was scared that you were gone forever,” he whispers. “ I’m sorry for what I said. I was an asshole and didn’t let you speak. I hurt you in many ways that I never expected. Then Jungkook said you moved out…” he trailed off you couldn’t clearly hear him since his voice muffled in your hair.

“ Taehyung, let’s sit down and talk, okay?,” you asked him and brushed some of the strands of hair out of his face. He nods and sits down beside you and your bed, “ I wasn’t going to move out, I just went to visit my parents hoping that would relax me but it didn’t so I came back early,” you smile at him. “ Okay good,” he smiles back and scoots closer to you. “ Taehyung, I need to ask you something?,” you look away nervously.

“ Ask me,” he encourages and grabs your chin to look at you.

You swallow nervously, “ Are we together? I mean were we together? Since you said I cheated on you and I was kind of confused…” you trail off playing with your fingers.

He grabs your hands gently squeezing them “ Of course we were together. I mean we still are. Remember when you told me to ask you out?,” he asked, you nodded remembering it vividly, “ Well since that day we’ve been dating.” You didn’t think that was serious but it did make sense because of all the skinship he was doing and the places he would take out to eat. He did take you to the Han river and had a picnic during the night which you found oddly romantic but you didn’t think much into it. “ Y/N, I’m sorry,” he asked, kissing your hands.

“ It’s okay there was a misunderstanding. Next time, let’s talk before we act out on our emotions,” you tell him softly, before pecking him on his cheek. Turning quickly away so he won’t see you blushing in the morning sun. “ Help me set up comforters,” you get up, grabbing the comforters off the floor. He helps you set it up while complaining about how he missed you while you were gone, crying in your bed until Jungkook told him to shut up. You place Mr. Penguin on the bed and lay down hugging it.

Taehyung turns your body easily around so you're facing him, “ I actually didn’t know we were dating, I thought we were joking around,” your hand caresses his sharp jawline.

“ Idiot. I would never joke around about dating you,” he scoffs and takes the hand you were caressing him with, bringing it to his lips, kissing it softly. His lips move to your wrist, trailing up your forearm, arising goosebumps and leaving a giggly response from you, making him smile. Taehyung scoots closer to your neck so he can leave kisses there and you hug him closer when he kisses a particular spot that makes you squirm. The kisses trail upwards to your jaw, going closer to the area you wanted. He looks at you seeking permission and you pull him to feel your lips against his. It’s soft as you expected and you sigh happily at the feeling of his warmth. He pulls aways looking at you, “ That was nice,” he says as he moves over to hover you.

“ Yeah, it was,” you pull him down for another kiss, this time it’s more needier. Lips smacking at each other can be heard along with some heavy breathing. Your hands leave his tousled hair and go under his baggy sleeping shirt, feeling his naked back. You never thought you could feel Taehyung this way, but here are lightly trailing your fingers up and down his back. His mouth leaves yours kissing your neck and leaving marks here and there, he pulls the collar of your shirt down trying to get more access but gets frustrated. Laughing at him, you pull your shirt off, laying back down so he can kiss wherever he desires. His eyes sparkle at the sight of the swell of your breast, immediately leaving open mouth kisses that make you shudder with excitement. His large hands pull the cups of bra and his mouth envelopes your nipple, sucking while his other fondles with your other breast. Your pants are being louder and you can’t take anymore of the teasing. Your hands pull his hair as he lightly bites your nipple leaving you with pleasure and pain, “ Touch me Taehyung,” moaning at the end of the sentence.

“ Baby, I am touching you,” his lips leave your abused nipple and go to the other one giving it the same treatment. It looks like he enjoys you getting impatient since he is smiling at your frustration as you try to grind against him. “ No no no, touch me somewhere else,” you tell him shyly, you are never this coy with your partners but Taehyung just screams out dominance. His eyes darken and his mouth leave your nipple along with a string of salvia, his hand wipes his spit all over your chest. He sits up pulling off his shirt, his eyebrow arched, “ Where does my baby want to be touched?,” he asked, looking down on you. Your hand trails down to the button of your jeans, slightly tugging at it, refusing to tell him in words. His index finger tugs at the belt loop, “ You want me to touch your pussy?” Blushing at his words you nod, he takes off your jeans and looks at your panties, smirking at your evident arousal. He bends down and kisses above the hem of your panties before tugging them down your legs.

“ Please Tae,” you whine as he teasingly kisses the inside of your thighs, Taehyung finally listens to your words and eats you out like his favorite dessert, his hands holding your thighs up trying to taste more of you. Crying out in pleasure, as his tongue pays special attention to your clit and his two fingers slowly inched his way into your seeping hole. Afraid that you are making too much noise, you moan into your palm, his head lifts up and you whine at the loss of his tongue. “ Who told you you can cover your pretty mouth?,” Taehyung slaps your cunt, making you moan louder. “ Sorry,” you meekly let out but you desperately want to be punished again. He chuckles at your apology, rubbing your cunt to soothe the pain, “ Do you want me to fuck this needy pussy?”

“ Yes, I want you so bad,” you drawl at your words, hips rising and riding his long fingers. His fingers withdraw from you, quickly taking off his sweats and boxers, as you finally discard your bra. “ Spit,” he commands, his hand is below your mouth. Following his command, his large hand wraps around his impressive dick and you can’t wait for it to stretch you. Reaching to your drawer, you give him a condom and he puts it on. Taehyung slowly enters you and you feel an immediate stretch, your nails scratch his back at the slight pain. He kisses you to relax you and smile at his encouraging words. Moaning at the slow thrusting, the pain is completely gone, wanting to feel him deeper you tell him to fuck you harder. His hips move at fast pace and you can feel him in your stomach, “ You’re so fucking tight, I’m gonna have to fuck you everyday,” he moans out. “ Gonna have to fuck you everywhere too, so Jungkook can no longer flirt with you,” he thrust deeper hitting that particular spot that makes your toes curl. Nodding deliriously you meet his thrust, eyes rolling back at the euphoric feeling of Taehyung fucking you good. Moaning his name louder, as he grabs your jaw forcing you to look at him, “ I’m the only one that makes you feel this good, right?,” he asked but he already knows the answer.

“ Only you, only Taehyung,” you scream out feeling his other hand rubbing your clit. “ No one else,” you confirm once more, pulling him down for a messy kiss. Your approach is coming, clenching around him harder, “ I’m gonna cum,” you claw his back more, “ Can I please cum?,” begging him.

Rubbing your clit faster, “ Yeah, fucking cum for me, scream out my name,” he gives your clit you couple smacks. Crying out his name you come loudly with your body shaking in pleasure. Taehyung's pace falters, groaning at your tight cunt swallowing him in, holding your body closer as he orgasms. Kissing you softly Taehyung pulls out, tossing the condom in the trash bin. “ How’s my baby?,” he asked while stroking your flush cheeks.

“ Good but kinda tired,” giving him a tired smile. “ Taehyung I like you so much,” you confess, holding his warm hand against your cheek. High school you would be so proud that you finally confessed to him.

Taehyung grabs your hand and kisses it, “ I like you so much more. I liked you since high school but I was afraid to tell you and then you started dating Jungkook. So I thought I can never be your type. But then you told me to ask you out, joke or not, I thought that was finally my chance to have you be my girl,” he softly speaks but there’s an underlying insecurity in voice. Your hands pull him close to your body causing him to squeal, his head is on top of your breast listening to your heartbeat, as one of your hands comb his hair.

“ I guess we are both idiots, I liked you since high school too. But here we are now in each other's arms, better late than never right?,” you sigh. His fingers trace shapes your stomach, “ Just gotta make up for the lost time,” he agrees and his hand trails down.

“ Yes but not now because I’m tired,” you grab his hand before it can go any further. He laughs and kisses your breast tenderly.

“ I’m just glad that Mr. Penguin got to see me fuck my girl,” he snuggles more into you with heavy eyelids.

You sleepy smile at his words, “ You are so weird.”

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Do not repost, translate, or alternate my work in any way, onto any platform. I do not take plagiarism lightly.

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