#i don't use this blog anymore but i had to drop in and say this

[hongcherry]

pretty please (just this once) || c.sc

Seungcheol comes to visit you while you're working on a photo shoot; however, he ends up staying after you ask him for a favor.

🍒 Pairing: businessWorker!Seungcheol x fashionDesigner!Reader (f) 🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Fluff, slice of life; Non-idol au, Pretty Please couple 🍒 Warnings: Suggestive content and allusions to sexual activities 🍒 Word Count: 4.1k 🍒 Timeline: This takes place before "love me," but you don't need to read that prior to this. 🍒 Author’s Note: Happy (almost) weekend! As planned, here's another installment of the Pretty Please universe ♥️ I'm excited to publish the next one! Spoiler: It's a two-parter 😉

pretty please masterpost | seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

“He did what?”

Your hands still and eyes narrow at Yumi, irritation quickly growing upon hearing the bad news.

“Apparently, he accidentally double-booked himself,” Yumi explains as calmly as she can.

Your eyes roll before you can stop them, hands dropping from the garnet you were working on.

Prior to booking your model, you had triple-checked both your schedules to ensure they aligned. Now, hearing that he canceled an hour before the shoot, has steam shooting out your ears.

Sure, you can reschedule, but you have already rented the space and have a deadline to meet for the photos. Additionally, you can no longer trust your old model to show up anymore.

“Of course he did,” you scoff and grab your phone. You’re not sure what you are going to do with it, but you grab it on instinct. Maybe subconsciously you think you can call in another model, but you doubt it due to the short time frame.

Sensing your thoughts, Yumi says, “Maybe there’s still someone available.”

Huffing, you throw your hands in the air in exasperation.

“Fine. Let’s try,” you say and unlock your phone to begin trying to get another model.

Not a second later, the door to the dressing room opens.

“Hey, ba—What’s wrong?”

Seungcheol slows his steps when he sees the tell-tale sign of distress on your face.

“What are you doing here?” you wonder, voice gentler but still on edge.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he replies, lifting up a bag of what you suspect are yummy goodies.

Your heart does a little flip despite you wanting it to. You had never considered yourself a hopeless romantic, but the small gesture tugs on your emotions.

“Thanks, it’s just—” You begin to say but a poke on your arm stops you. You glance at Yumi, whose eyes are flicking between you and Seungcheol. You can tell there’s an idea brewing in her head.

“What about him?” she whispers, but there’s no other sound in the room to cover her voice.

“What about him?” you repeat.

“He can be our solution!”

Your eyes widen slightly in realization, then you’re shaking your head.

“He doesn’t have experience,” you explain.

Yumi frowns. “At this point, we just need a good face. And look at him,” she pauses to gesture to Seungcheol. He stands with his head slightly cocked in confusion.

“He’s perfect.”

Your lips purse as you take in your boyfriend. There’s no doubt that he’s handsome, and his build is impressive… But what would your boss say if she sees someone unknown in the fashion world in the photos? She has a policy about not using rookies in her shoots. Though at the same time, what would she say if you didn’t get anyone at all?

You’re at an odds.

“What’s going on, Cherry?” Seungcheol questions.

You sigh for what seems like the tenth time.

“Our model quit on us last minute,” you disclose.

“You don’t have a backup?”

His question brings forth more irritation; however, that stems from self-anger than anger directed at him. You should’ve known better.

“Unfortunately, not, but,” Yumi trails off and she glances at you for approval.

It’s not like Seungcheol doesn’t have the looks, but he’s never done this before and what if he feels uncomfortable? Though, your hands are tied and you’ve already lost time.

You rub your lips together before finishing Yumi’s sentence.

“Since you’re here, would you mind stepping in?”

Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow up.

“You want me to be your model?” he asks in disbelief.

“You have the looks,” you shrug, trying to hide the smile that wants to form when he averts his gaze shyly.

“I’m not sure,” he fades off.

“Please? Just this once? We’ll guide you,” you offer some reassurance.

Seungcheol glances at the door as if imagining himself at the setup out there. 

PDA isn’t something you favor, but since it’s only you three in the room, you decide to test your luck. You step forward and guide his face back to yours. Your thumb brushes over his cheek gently.

“You’d really be helping me out, babe,” you plead.

He still looks unsure. 

You give him a peck on the lips. “Please?”

Seungcheol’s free hand squeezes your waist.

“Fine. What do I need to do?” He sighs.

You grin and give him another kiss. His hand moves to your lower back to pull you closer. Not wanting the kiss to last too long, you pull away after three seconds.

You straighten your clothes as if wiping away your embarrassment.

Yumi watches with a mix of surprise and delight. You’re unsure of their origins, but you get the hint it’s from seeing this new side of you.

You met Yumi on your first day of work a few months ago. She’s interning at the company, learning from fellow fashion designers and event coordinators. You don’t always work with her on projects, but she was assigned to this one with you as the lead.

You weren’t sure what to think of Yumi in the beginning; however, you’ve learned to like her. She is hard-working and passionate—two things you can relate to.

After clearing your throat, you instruct, “Tell the photographer to be ready in thirty.”

Yumi lingers in the room, eyes moving between you and Seungcheol, then she leaves.

You let out a breath when the door closes.

Yumi was aware you had a partner, but she’s never seen or met Seungcheol. You guess she doesn’t need an introduction now.

“I’ll take that,” you say and grab the bag from Seungcheol’s hands. You take a peek inside and see a bowl of noodles and veggies. Your tummy growls.

“When was the last time you ate?” Seungcheol wonders.

You set the bag down and move to the clothes rack.

“It’s been a while,” you answer vaguely. “Take off your clothes.”

“Cherry, you can’t starve yours—”

“I’m not. I’ll eat soon,” you interrupt.

When you see Seungcheol studying you rather than stripping in your peripheral, you turn to him with a frown.

“Seungch—”

“I know, I need to change, but your health is important,” he scolds lightly.

“So is this photoshoot,” you reply. You take off a few pieces from the rack and transfer it to an empty one.

Seungcheol reaches out to grab your arm.

“Baby,” he calls for your attention.

You look at him.

“At least eat a little while I change,” he suggests.

“I need to get hair and makeup—”

Seungcheol leans in and shuts you up with a kiss.

Your body wants to melt into his touch, but you force yourself to stay alert. Now’s not the time.

You gently push his chest to pull away.

“Eat,” he says.

Sighing, you relent with a nod. Just the smell of the dish is making your mouth water. You know he’s right. 

You gesture to the clothes and Seungcheol nods in understanding.

Once he starts changing, you text Yumi to inform her of your outfit choice and for the hair and makeup crew to get ready. Then, you sit on the couch and open the noodle meal Seungcheol brought.

Your boyfriend, now without his shirt, smiles at you—pleased to see you doing as he said.

Your gaze meets his, and your heart skips a beat. He looks too good shirtless. It doesn’t matter that you’ve seen it before; it still has an effect on you.

Seungcheol chuckles at your reaction and removes his pants.

“Lucky you, Cherry. You get lunch and a show,” he teases.

You roll your eyes in lieu of showing you flustered.

“Change faster,” you huff after you swallow a bite.

Seungcheol grins bigger, taking the pants on the rack and stepping into one leg.

“Afraid of what’ll happen if I stay naked for too long?” he taunts.

“You’re not naked,” you mumble, eating again.

“Bet you wish I was though.” He smirks.

You send him a not-so-deadly glare. 

Unaffected by your stare, he chuckles and finishes changing. Luckily, the hair and makeup people come in a minute after he fastens the last button on his shirt.

The outfit is a plain, all-black trousers and suit jacket, but Seungcheol fits the outfit perfectly. He suits formal wear extremely well.

The hair stylist gives him a wet-haired look and the makeup artist keeps it simple.

You hurry and finish half your food so you can check on the crew in the main studio. Thankfully, they’ve finished getting ready without any hiccups.

The door to the dressing room opens and Seungcheol comes to stop beside you. He may feel out of place, but he doesn’t look like it. You stare at him a little too long before adjusting the outfit. Though, there’s not much to adjust. You’re just worrying. 

“You sure about this?” you ask.

“Ah, not really,” he answers hesitantly, “but if it helps you, then I’ll be fine.”

Three words sit on your tongue, but you can’t find the courage to say them. It’s not that you don’t believe them, but there are people in hearing range, and saying it has always felt awkward to you.

Seungcheol gives you a reassuring smile. You know he wants to kiss you by the way he keeps glancing at your lips, but you appreciate that he respects your boundaries. Especially while you’re at work.

The photographer guides him to sit on the leather armchair. Seungcheol does so stiffly.

“Try to relax and look into the lens,” they instruct. “Pretend you’re a wealthy, overly confident CEO.”

Seungcheol nods and leans against the armrest. It looks almost unnatural.

Even though there’s music playing, the sounds of the camera feel extra loud. You peer at the monitor and watch as the pictures begin to appear.

The photographer moves to different angles. Seungcheol shifts a bit as he follows the camera.

After a few more shots, the photographer tilts their head.

“Let’s try resting your chin on your hand,” they say.

Seungcheol follows, but there’s still something off. You can tell the photographer thinks so too from their slightly furrowed brows and downturned lips.

Seungcheol’s not oblivious to everyone’s reaction. He becomes more rigid and mimics everyone’s small frown.

You rub your lips together in thought. Maybe Seungcheol really wasn’t the best choice. He has the looks, but the photos are not coming across well.

“Let’s take five,” you call out, walking toward the setup and stopping at the edge of the backdrop.

“Follow me,” you tell Seungcheol and turn on your heel. You hear Seungcheol excuse himself as he stands from his chair.

You guide him back to the dressing room and find it empty.

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol says as soon as he shuts the door. “I’m trying, but it’s weird having everyone stare at me.”

You lean against the built-in vanity counter with your hands resting on it. You stare long enough without a word for Seungcheol to apologize again.

You know you can’t blame him. It’s uncomfortable to try something new in front of strangers. However, it’s too late to try to get a model. Either you deal with the unsatisfactory photos or you try to knock some confidence in Seungcheol. You go for the latter.

“Don’t apologize,” you sigh and walk to him. “I’ll ask them to leave.”

“It’s fine,” he mumbles.

You raise your hands to his shoulders and begin massaging the knots out. His shoulders slowly begin to deflate. 

“Try to focus on something besides the camera,” you suggest.

His frown deepens. “That’s hard to do when I’m supposed to look at it.”

You take a step closer, gaze lingering on the deep v the suit jacket makes.

“Then maybe imagine it’s me,” you reply, a hand trailing down. Your fingertips graze his exposed chest.

“You?” he asks with an airy voice.

“Yeah,” you smile and trace shapes on his skin lightly. Seungcheol’s pupils begin to dilate.

“What about you?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker to his. There’s mischief in them before you speak that causes Seungcheol to hold his breath.

“Use your imagination,” you tease.

As you’re about to pull away, Seungcheol grabs your waist and flushes your body against his. His mouth captures yours, fingers slipping under your shirt to touch your bare skin.

The simple touch makes your heart thump faster against your ribcage and your knees feel weak. 

“Cheol,” you mumble against his lips, grabbing his hands. He hums and stays pressed against you.

You try to tear his hands off you, but he persists. Granted, you didn’t try too hard.

“I miss you,” he says in the kiss.

You know you shouldn’t, but you lax in his arms. Despite seeing him nearly every night, you haven’t spent much time with him. It’s a busy season for you both at work and by the time you get home, both of you want to sleep.

You’ve missed his kisses and attention more than you realize.

A knock at the door jerks you away.

“Just wanted to let you know everyone’s back,” Yumi says from the other side of the door.

You clear your throat and step from Seungcheol who’s tempting you by just standing near.

“Thanks,” you reply. “We’ll be out in a moment.”

“Okay,” Yumi says.

You listen to her steps fade before looking at Seungcheol. He’s already straightened out his clothes.

“You good?” you ask.

“No, I could really use more alone time.”

You sigh. “Seungcheol.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “I’m ready.”

You hum, turning to leave but stop with your hand hovering over the handle.

“Something wrong, Cherry?” Seungcheol asks behind you.

You bite your lip and spin around. You quickly lean in and give him another kiss.

“For luck,” you explain, then exit the room before he can do anything and before you cave into his touches. 

Seungcheol follows shortly after, standing a little taller and looking less awkward.

You watch as the photographer guides Seungcheol back into the chair.

“Okay, just think about the CEO thing,” they remind.

Seungcheol nods and rolls his shoulders. He’s a little stiff again at first, but after a few pictures, he loosens up.

At the start, you watch the monitor as the pictures appear, but your eyes end up gravitating toward the live shoot.

Seungcheol catches your gaze. Something stirs in your belly, and you watch as he shifts to sit lower in the chair and spreads his legs. He leans his head back slightly, keeping his eyes on yours. He really could pass as a well-known CEO. He has the looks, the aura, and the work ethic. For the briefest moments, you wonder how successful Seungcheol will be in the future.

“Oh, I love that! Let’s try moving lower, put a leg out,” the photographer instructs.

Seungcheol keeps his expression the same but does as told. He hangs one arm off the side of the chair while the other stays beside him.

“That’s great! Now, eyes on the camera,” they say.

Seungcheol tears his eyes from you to the lens. You release a silent breath you didn't know you were holding.

You can’t help your eyes trailing down his body slouched on the chair.

Seungcheol shifts once more to rest a hand on the top of his thigh. The subtle change makes your mind race with thoughts of being kneeled between his legs. You curse mentally, changing weight to your other hip and looking at the monitor again.

Though that doesn’t help.

Since he’s looking at the camera, his stare bores into yours through the screen. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he’d done this before.

“He looks good,” Yumi whispers beside you.

You turn to her, unable to hide the small pang of jealousy that bursts in your chest.

Yumi laughs and shakes her hands in the air.

“Not like that,” she says, a hint of humor to her tone. “I mean, he looks good enough to make the boss woman happy.”

“Ah. Right,” you mumble.

She smiles and nudges your shoulder, eyes on Seungcheol still posing. You move your gaze to him as well.

He’s sat up now, legs still spread but looking down at the camera. You push away the memories of seeing him in a similar position in private. 

“Though I can’t say you aren’t lucky,” Yumi adds. “He sure is handsome.”

“Yeah. He is,” you murmur. For the first time, you scan the audience, noticing how many of the people watch on with interest. 

“I think we have enough of these,” the photographer announces and turns to you.

Seungcheol stands and follows the photographer toward you.

“Great,” you say, snapping out of your thoughts and reining in your lurking jealousy. “We have enough time for a quick wardrobe change and a few more pictures.”

“Sounds good,” the photographer says.

“Come,” you instruct Seungcheol.

You get him changed and his makeup adjusted quickly. You had a few more outfit options, but with the fiasco earlier, you’ve run out of time to try them all.

You lead Seungcheol back to the set, not having much time to take a break.

You watch from the sidelines again as the photographer guides Seungcheol into different poses and expressions.

Seungcheol has gone into character, following the photographer’s instructions with as much ease as he can for an amateur. Which, to be fair, seems to be above average. You’re surprised to see him doing so well.

By the time they’re done, you only have twenty minutes left of your rented space.

The photographer gives you a flash drive with the photos and let’s you know you have a week to pick your favorite ones so they can edit them. Normally, the photographer would keep the photos and select the best ones themselves, but since this photographer works within the same company, things are a little different.

The hair and makeup team have already cleared out their stuff from the dressing room when you walk in with Seungcheol.

You sit on the couch and grab your laptop, inserting the USB drive into the slot and opening the photos.

“These turned out really good, Cheol,” you praise enthusiastically as you swipe through the photos.

Seungcheol glances up from unbuttoning his shirt. “I guess your advice worked then.”

“What advice?” you ask, distracted with studying the images.

You don’t hear Seungcheol move closer until he grabs the laptop and sets it aside. You look at him confused.

“You said to imagine the camera was you,” he replied.

Your words flood back into your brain. “O-Oh.”

He chuckles.

“I’m glad it worked,” you say, ignoring the pounding of your heart.

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t wanna know what I was thinking about?”

“You already said me,” you reply hesitantly.

Seungcheol slowly rests his hands on the back of the couch, caging you in. You stare up at him—excited and nervous for his answer.

“You, in that sheer cherry lingerie… wearing that necklace I gave you on our first month anniversary,” he says lowly, deep voice luring you in.

Your mind races with the memory of showing him that for the first time. Warmth floods your chest and goes south recalling how many times you had cum that night. You hadn’t expected him to get so worked up at the sight, but you didn’t complain.

“You were a great inspiration,” he whispers and leans down closer. His lips hover over yours, a smirk on them.

“Kiss me like you want to,” he says.

You curse at him silently. It’s not that you don’t want to, but knowing he knows how badly you want it, makes you stay still.

“I think you want it more,” you reply.

He chuckles and slowly retracts himself. He shrugs, taking off his shirt and placing it on a hanger.

“Where should this go?” he asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and point to the rack to the left.

He eyes you for a moment longer before setting the hanger on the rack. You know he’s amused by your loss of words.

When he starts unbuttoning his pants, you shoot up from the couch.

“I’m going to make sure everything’s okay out there,” you announce and then swiftly walk toward the door.

“Hey, now,” Seungcheol calls out, grabbing your wrist and gently spinning you into his arms. His hands rest on your hips while yours flatten against his bare, muscular chest.

“You can’t leave me, pretty girl,” he says.

“I—I think you can get dressed without me,” you reply, trying to escape his hold.

“I don’t know,” he hums. He trails his hands up your body and grabs your hands. He pushes them down to the top of his already unbuttoned pants.

“Lend me a hand?” he questions darkly.

“We can’t do anything,” you warn, worried someone will come in.

“I know,” he says with a subtle frown, “but I just… wanna be close to you for a bit.”

Your chest clutches knowing he’s feeling the same about your busy schedules. You’re surprised he’s been here for so long.

“You’re not busy?” you ask, starting to carefully push his pants down his thighs. Your hands brush against his skin, making you yearn for more.

“I had some meetings get canceled,” he explains and watches you lean down slightly to get the rest of the pants off. He steps out of them.

You pick them up and start hanging them when Seungcheol wraps his arms around you from behind. You suck in a breath when you feel his growing bulge against you.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into your neck.

You place the hanger on the rack and turn in his arms.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, finally giving in to the kiss you wanted earlier.

Seungcheol holds you tighter, making you feel him more and causing arousal to shoot downward. It’s been too long since you’ve felt him fill you. You whimper into the kiss accidentally at the mere thought.

“Fuck, you’re making this hard,” he groans while pulling away.

You giggle, dazed by his kiss. “I know.”

He chuckles and rests his forehead against yours.

“That’s not what I meant,” he mutters.

You lean in to peck his lips again.

“I know,” you repeat. “You’re making this hard too.”

And how could he not when he’s kissing you heavenly and pressing up against you with his near-naked body—one that’s a sight for sore eyes.

“Let’s go on a date this weekend,” he suggests, hands rubbing your sides.

“Really?” you ask. You know people go on dates on the whim—you don’t need a reason—yet the idea of one randomly still surprises you.

“Yeah. Wanna spend time with you,” he says and kisses you shortly. “Wanna see you get all dolled up just for me.”

You smile and wrap your arms around his waist. You press your cheek against his naked chest, basking in his embrace.

“I’d like that,” you reply.

“I knew you would,” he says and hugs you tightly. He gives your head a tender kiss, letting the moment run its course.

Although you’re still weary about being so intimate in a public setting, you can’t help but get lost in the desire to feel Seungcheol. To just have him here with you.

“I guess I better get dressed,” he says after a while.

You linger for just a moment, then slowly release him. You feel cold without his heated body against yours.

“You working late tonight?” he asks while changing back into his work suit.

You begin packing the clothes in garment bags.

“Hopefully not. Just my normal hours,” you answer. “And you?”

“Unfortunately,” he sighs.

You hide your frown and zip up the bags.

“How late?” you wonder, hanging the bags from your arms and grabbing your purse.

“Not too late this time. Maybe an hour or two?” he replies.

You nod.

Seungcheol, now dressed, takes the garment bags from your arm despite your protests.

“I’ll help you load your car, then I’ll get back,” he informs.

Nodding once more, you lead him out. There’s only three people lingering around, cleaning the area. You bid them goodbye and guide Seungcheol to your car. After everything is packed, Seungcheol hovers by your side.

“I hope your boss is happy with the photos,” he says.

“She better be,” you reply. “We had a handsome man modeling.”

He grins. “Oh, yeah? You got a crush on ‘em now?”

“A big one,” you tease.

Seungcheol chuckles and kisses your cheek. He seems to want to say something but hesitates.

“I’ll see you at home. Drive safe,” he finally says.

“You too, Cheol.”

Seungcheol opens your car door and makes sure you’re in safely before shutting it. He stays on the sidewalk to watch you depart. In your rearview mirror, you see him turn and head toward his car.

You wish he wasn’t walking in the other direction and hope the day goes by fast. You just want to be in his arms again.

A/N: How could I not take the opportunity to write about Seungcheol modeling with this couple??? Do you guys think this will be the last time PrettyPlease!Seungcheol does this for Cherry? 🫣

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

Taglist: @musingsofananxiouspotato, @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @iammisstora, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @aeerio, @cherrylovescheol, @ellllsia, @gyuguys

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[bvidzsoo]

♡Boyfriend!Wooyoung♡

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x female reader

TW: none

Word count: 678

Genre: fluff, comfort, established relationship, bullet points, non-idol!au

A/N: Hello, anonie, I see that you have sent the request to my other blog, which I use for rebloging my favorite works (something that I haven't been doing for a long time lol I have to pick up on it again) I'd like to clarify that I don't take requests, sorry guys, but I simply don't have the time rn and I usually struggle coming up with anything unless it's my own idea lol. And if you do send a request, it might take a long time for me to write it, my apologies. This story is in bulletpoints, just letting you know. Hope you enjoy it! ^^

it had been a long day

too long, actually

normally, tackling a long day of work and going to your Pilates class too wouldn't have made you so exhausted

but you were sick, very, apparently

you had spent the weekend up in the mountains last weekend, at your boyfriend's best friend's weekend cabin and it was rather cold

so naturally, you caught a cold

but life doesn't stop there, no matter how unwell you felt

you still had a job...a very demanding one, at that

and you had just picked up more shifts last week, unknowing of the predicament you'd find yourself in after your little trip

so now, by the time you had reached home at the end of the day, you had no power left in your body

your head was dizzy and you were grateful you managed to get home without crashing your car, but walking up the stairs to your apartment felt like an eternity, and it was horrible

as you fiddled for your keys, on the verge of tears as your whole body was burning up, you became aware of the music coming through the front door, and you boyfriend belting out high notes alongside it

and as you finally unlock the door and push it open, you're met with your boyfriend standing in the middle of the living room in nothing but an oversized t-shirt reaching past his naked thighs and knee-high socks he uses when playing football with his friends after a long working day

and oh, he's holding a wooden spoon, looking completely off-thrown by your arrival

he misjudged the time and thought you wouldn't be home for another hour

now you'd have to wait for dinner, and that's not how he had planned your date night to go

which was a surprise that Wooyoung came up with last minute

you stare at Wooyoung for a second, before dropping everything from your hands and kneeling, holding your head in your hands, tears finally springing from your eyes

Wooyoung is flabbergasted and immediately rushes to your side, dropping the wooden spoon on the small coffee table in the process

he's by your side in an instant, cradling your head to his chest as he presses a kiss to your forehead before he's wiping your tears away, making you finally feel at ease despite the headache, dizziness, and nausea you're feeling

Wooyoung is your pillar when you're feeling even the slightest bit off and he certainly understands that what you need right now are silence, a warm bath, and some painkillers, of course

and so just like that, he helps you up and walks you to your bedroom, leaves you on the bed to discard of your clothes and goes prepare the bath for you

and once you are done with the bath, feeling slightly better as your head isn't pulsating so much anymore, Wooyoung surprises you by bringing dinner to bed, of which you can't eat too much now, but it'll be good in the morning

and then Wooyoung gives you some water and you take the painkillers and before he could go and let you rest, you grab Wooyoung's wrist and offer him a small smile

and he understands without you saying anything

and so, he shuts off all lights in the apartment before joining you in bed, and because you don't want him to catch a cold, he becomes the small spoon as you burry your head into his back, holding onto him tightly

and suddenly all your worries melt away, and today doesn't seem so grim anymore

your head is still thumping, and your nose is still stuffy, and you think your fever is finally going down

but what matters most, is your boyfriend being by your side and humming quietly, tracing your skin gently with his fingers, your right arm resting around his torso, feeling safe

far away from the exhausting world and demanding assignments from your work

and you know you'll feel a lot better by the morning, all thanks to your lovable boyfriend, Jung Wooyoung

⚞ Masterlist ⚟

↳Perm. taglist: @orshii @jjoongstar @tinyelfperson @thestarskiller @zuuhaaa

@aaa-sia @sharksandminhos @gong-fourz @a-tinycarat @sooberryworld

@anastasiamin860 @vcutparis @yunhogrippers @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @tunaasan

@poutyjjunie @blvckarabixnvoid @slowee00 @yusalterego @arigakittyo

❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[hollisxwrites]

Hi, can I please make a request? Reader (you can choose the godly parent) gets super protective of Percy after he gets in a physical fight with Clarisse.

fight for you

percy jackson x fem! child of apollo reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: cannon typical violence, mention of a concussion, clarisse is kind of a bitch in this one! sorry, i love her, but it had to be done. overall, super fluffy though.

summary: percy gets in a fight with clarisse because he was insulting him, and worst of all, his girlfriend. when the fight gets harsh, his girlfriend steps in, and then takes care of him after the fight.

authors note: y'all, thank you so much for all the love on my most recent posts! i have reached over 1.5k likes and 55 followers! i only started this blog two weeks ago, so thank you! i have been blown away by all the kindness. i am also working through all of my request, so don't worry, i'll get to all of them very soon! xoxo - hollis.

A horrific smack was heard all around the Camp when suddenly, my boyfriend, the brave (and idiotic) Percy Jackson, sent his practice javelin hurling at one of the camp's best fighters, Clarisse La Rue. Percy was already agitated, I could tell. Clarisse had been taunting him all day long, telling him that he would never be as good of a fighter as her, and telling her that his dad would never support him the way Ares supported her. I kept telling Percy to stand down, to not let her words affect him, but they did. Every word was like a knife to his side, making his insecurities run rampage on his mind. So, when the javelin left his hand, I hate to say it, but I wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Clarisse got what was coming for her, honestly.  

Clarisse had started to insult me, and that’s when I knew it was over for her. Percy’s demeanor shifted from almost joking to serious in an instant. He always said that it was okay to insult him, but the second it came to me, he wouldn’t go down without a fight, which I guess was sweet, but it also put him at risk almost all the time. 

“Percy! Stand down, please!” I yelled at him from across the training field. “If you get hurt, I’m going to kill you.” 

Percy’s eyes burned with a fiery passion as he turned around to look at me. “I’m defending you, sunshine. I can handle myself.” 

I sighed and rubbed my hands on my temples. This boy would be the death of me. “Please be careful.” I whispered, more to myself than to him. 

I told myself I wouldn’t get involved, I told myself that I wouldn’t let myself fight his battles, but when Clarisse dropped her weapon and started to fight with her fist, I couldn’t let it slide anymore. I ran up and pushed Percy behind me, and right hooked Clarisse right in the jaw.  She stumbled back, gripping her jaw and scoffed. “Percy is so weak that you must fight his battles? That’s hilarious.” 

Percy moved to my side, his nose already bleeding and his left eye going to be black in the morning, but he was not going to let me get myself hurt for him. “No, he’s not, but I can’t let you insult him like that. Percy is brave, strong, and a better person than you but tenfold. He is everything you are not.” 

Her eyes twitched and she threw another punch not at me, but at Percy. I pushed her off him, and using my hand-to-hand combat skills, threw her to the ground. I laid one more good punch on her before Chiron and a couple of my siblings from Apollo came running at us.  

“Stop fighting!” Chiron yelled. “You all have dishes duties for a month! Miss.{reader}, please take Percy to the medics, and Clarisse, come to my office, immediately.”  

I nodded at Chiron, upset about the dishes duty, but happy I got to be the one to take care of Percy. I helped him up from his place on the ground. When Clarisse had hit him the last time, he had fallen to the floor hard on his back, possibly hitting his head. Usually, I did not get this involved in his fights, but I couldn’t stand to see him hurting for my sake. I let him drape his arms around my shoulder, as the last punch sent him on his back, and we slowly made our way to my cabin. There was no way that I was going to let some of my siblings take care of my boy, that was my job. Anger still coursed through my veins as I watched Percy’s eyebrows pinch in pain with each step. His head was probably pounding, and he defiantly had a couple of bruised ribs from the fall he took.  

When we reached my cabin, I helped him lay down on my bed that was oh-so familiar with. “Stay right here, I’m going to grab you some pain killers and an ice pack. Do not move.”  

“Yes ma’am.” He said, his sassiness still peeking through his voice despite him being injured.  

I ran as quickly as I could to the medical building and grabbed what I needed to heal my boy, and then ran back. I was gone for less than five minutes, but when I returned, Percy was already half asleep, head nestled into my pillows. “Hey, Perc, can you sit up a little for me?” I asked him, voice as soft as I could make it.  

He shuffled to sit up and smiled a sideways, semi-loopy smile at me. “What do you think is wrong, doc?” He said, voice a little horse. I was scared he might have had a concussion because of the way he was acting. 

“Let me ask you a couple of questions, then I’ll know. Is your mind foggy? Are you dizzy or nauseous?” I asked him. 

“Dizzy? Yes. Foggy mind? No. Nauseous...” He paused. “I don’t want to think about it.”  

I took that as yes for nauseous, thus confirming my thought that he had a concussion. “Okay, so I think you had a mild concussion, because you never blacked out, but you were awfully close. So, I’ll put an ice pack on your head, give you some pain killers, and you and I can just rest for the rest of the day, okay?” 

He tried his best to nod. “Okay, as long as you stay with me?”  

“Of course I’ll stay. There is no way I would leave you like this, especially because it was my fault that you are in this state.” I sighed and looked into his beautiful eyes. One of them was bruised a little bit, and so I placed a kiss to it, which is one of my healing gifts my father gave me. I can quite literally kiss it better. My lips lingered on his eye, and then I went to the other one, this his forehead, then his neck, his jaw, and finally, his ribs through his battered orange Camp shirt. His eyes closed and he hummed in appreciation.  

“I love you; you know that right? That’s why I fought for you.” He said, tone muddled with exhaustion.    

“I love you too, that’s why I fought for you.” I paused and my hands, finding his hair. “I didn’t do it because I thought you were weak or not good enough, I did it because I love you, and I don’t want anyone to hurt you, ever.”    

His eyes met mine, and they were filled with genuine love and adoration. “You’re perfect. I’m telling you. How did I deserve you?” 

I continued to clean him off, pulling his dirty shirt off him and wiping down any cuts or bruises with something my siblings and I developed. “How did I deserve you, the perfect, most handsome boy in the entire world?”  

He laughed and shook his head. “I love you.” 

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know.” I said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

He beckoned me to lay in bed with him after I finished cleaning him up. He pulled me with his dwindling strength, and then shifted so he was laying on my lap. I continued to play with his hair, and he soon drifted off to sleep. My boy may be one of the bravest campers, but he will always be nothing but sweet to me.        

[daengtokki]

hi again! ~

i'd like to request yandere/obsessive seungmin. it's a concept that's been eating me alive for the past few days!

if this falls outside your comfort zone, please feel free to ignore! ❤️✨

love your blog! okay bye ~ 🥰🫰🏽

Thank you for being so patient! 🤍 This flavor of Seungmin is a first for me, so I definitely spent a lot of time overthinking. Hope you enjoy him!

Yandere!Kim Seungmin/female reader

wc: 5.2k

rating: explicit/18+

contains: manipulation, a little stalking, humiliation/degradation, choking (sexual & non sexual), reader is a little into it. overall typical male yandere things, so please keep that in mind when reading...

. ✦ . ✦ . ✦ . ✦ .

He isn’t taking anymore input on the matter. Seungmin is done, he’s standing, and he’s ready to go. He puts his hands in his pockets and waits impatiently, and you can already see what’s happening between his legs. He’s still soft, but he pulls the front of his sweats tight so you can better see what you’re obviously staring at.

“Come on…it’s all yours, remember?”

. ✦ . ✦ . ✦ . ✦ .

Seungmin watches you closely from his side of the table—arms crossed, legs spread open. You can see the soft flesh of his inner thigh peek out from his shorts, and when he moves, it moves, and staying on your side of the table gets a little more difficult with every passing moment. You hardly know him, and yet...this is tough. It's been four weeks since you met, and that in itself seemed like pure luck.

He looks at you like he has you all figured out.

. ✦ .

He was here, in this cafe, waiting patiently on a date that definitely stood him up. An hour had gone by since he arrived, and you watched him sit there, sipping his coffee, checking his phone...wringing his hands. It was obvious what had happened before you worked up the nerve to go over there, but you did. You abandoned the laptop and the work you'd been mostly ignoring (to look at him), and you cautiously walked closer. Had the cafe been any busier, you might not have, but there was nobody there to see you embarrass yourself except for him.

He smiled at you immediately when he noticed you walking toward him, but he was still surprised when you stopped and stood there, thinking of what to say. Even though you went over it in your head for the last twenty minutes, you were still stuck on an opener.

Seungmin spoke first, in perfect english, and his voice was so soft and pretty. "Hello, are you getting a lot of work done? You look very busy over there."

"Yes," you laughed under your breath, "I'm sorry to bother you—"

He shook his head, "No...not, um...you're not bothering me. I'm not busy," his eyes drop to the napkin he'd been tearing into pieces.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"I was, but I don't think they're going to show up"

You were right. Stood up. Whoever decided to not show up was missing out on a very pretty face. "Would it be too..." you switched to Korean very briefly, "Can I join you?"

He nodded quickly, and his smile grew a little, "yes, I don't think my date will be interrupting us."

"I'm sorry they didn't show up"

"I was feeling very down, but I think I'm better now...my name is Seungmin."

. ✦ .

Lucky.

He clears his throat and bounces his knee, "what did you wanna talk about?"

"Us"

"Yeah? I like us. We can talk about us.”

Still he sounds so sweet, so smooth.

The shy, well mannered boy at the cafe isn't here, though. Actually, he wasn't even at the cafe. You were both polite and respectful, but he matched your flirting perfectly, and you were both calm and reserved…until you took a walk an hour later and he fucked you in the park.

The sun had just set, and almost everyone had cleared out when you felt his knuckles drag up the back of your arm, and there was no denying it—you wanted it from the moment you laid eyes on him. And you did exactly what you imagined: hung on desperately to his shoulders, gripped his neck, dug your nails into his back as he held your thighs apart and fucked you slowly. You let him fill you up—you watched him slowly pull out, and felt his cum start to leak before getting on your knees and begging him for more. And he gave it to you.

Afterward he walked you home, and you invited him up, because you didn’t want to let him go just yet. There was no more sex, but he kissed you and touched like he already loved you.

“Are you mine?” He whispered into your ear as he kissed and bit at your neck, . “Hm, yeah, you are…I want you.”

“Lucky me. I want you, too.”

--

He leans back even further and stretches his arms over his head. A pale line of his tight stomach peeks out from under his shirt, and you watch it like you haven’t seen it before—haven’t touched it, haven’t tasted every inch of it.

“This was fun, but I’m not sure it’s gonna work”

The fall of his face is so fast, so dramatic. You didn’t think he would be so surprised, to be honest. It’s only been a month, but nearly every day together is enough time to figure out that things just don't fit.

“Not going to work?” He sits up and runs his palms roughly down his thighs, pulls at his shorts. “We work great, and we have fun. I’d like to keep having fun."

Breaking things off is hard because of the fun. The sex is too good, and it’s been blurring your judgement the entire time. Even now, all you can think about is getting on your knees for him, and you feel like today might end with that regardless of what happens. But Seungmin is everywhere; he’s always the first and last notifications on your phone, and it doesn’t stop at all in between. Maybe he means well, but you’re exhausted.

“I like our fun, too. But Seungmin…I need some space. We both need space before we burn this thing out.”

He rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes wander around your apartment. The look on his face is familiar, because it’s the same one that he had before you approached him four weeks ago. Upset, a little confused.

“I can take a break. So…what, no sex for a few days?"

You almost say yes. “I think we need more time than that.” This is you trying to be smart, but you don’t want to be smart, you want to do what you usually do with your relationships; let them run their course even though you know things will get bad, and someone will definitely get hurt. No, you want to be stupid...you want him to fuck you senseless right now.

Seungmin stands and adjusts his shirt over his shoulders, stretches his neck. “Okay…got it.”

Your heart thumps a little more as he approaches.

“You want me to go?”

Eye contact is hard to hold. His stare is so intense, and he’s so handsome...too handsome. The little nod you give him takes so much effort, like his closeness puts some sort of spell on you.

He steps even closer, and gently grabs your wrist. “Okay, I’ll...go…” another step, “can I have a goodbye kiss?”

The smell of his breath and his cologne make you dizzy. Pliable. Seungmin laces his fingers with yours and squeezes, and before you even tell him yes, he’s kissing. He kisses like it could somehow make you change your mind. He pulls back and guides your hand to his hip, “you sure?” hoping you’ll move it to where he really wants it.

But you don’t. You squeeze, though. “Yeah.”

“Don’t make me beg”

“Seungmin…” you start, but you have no idea where you’re going from here.

“Please, I have no problem begging”

You watch your hand slide up and under his shirt, touch his warm skin. His muscles tighten under your touch as you stupidly, mindlessly tuck your fingers beneath the button of his jeans.

His hand closes around the back of your neck, “it’s all yours,” and pulls you close to him, “and you’re mine.”

“No…no,” you pull away and make as much space between you as possible. “You gotta go.”

“I did something wrong, right…what was it?”

Being a little too much isn’t wrong. Seungmin didn’t do anything wrong, not really. The problem is his intensity...his overzealous personality. He watches you're every move when he doesn't think you notice, and he glances at your phone when he sees something pop up. You purposely left it unlocked and unattended at one point, which you still feel shitty about, just to see if he would go through it, and he did. He keeps you away from others when you do manage to go somewhere other than the bedroom—everyone is percieved as a threat, no matter what. A few nights ago you left a club because Seungmin insisted there were too many single looking men there. He was right, but he had nothing to worry about. Seungmin doesn't seem to understand how you see him; he's handsome, and he's funny. Thoughtful, and a little too selfless...especially in the bedroom.

But at the same time, he's suffocating. Jealous, possessive, and obviously terrified of someone stealing you away from him. So, this is hard.

"I'm sorry, Seungmin. I really wish we—"

"Wish? You don't have to wish...you have all the power, right? Let me try...I wish we never met. I wish you never decided to take pity on me, and talk.

You're lost for words, but it doesn't matter...everything you needed to say was said. He grabs his jacket from the chair and heads for the door, but he takes his time putting his shoes on. If he's waiting on more from you; a change of heart, more of an explanation (you didn't really tell him the truth), he won't get it.

He looks back at you once more before opening the door, and he closes it behind him with a slam.

. ✦ .

Two days pass so quietly, and you're surprised. Maybe he figured out what the problem was, the main part of the problem, because you didn't completely lie to him. You are afraid of going hard and burning out, and that is exactly where the two of you were heading.

The office door pops open and your coworker peeks in, "your lunch is here!"

"No, I didn't order lunch"

"Well, it has your name on it, and a note! It says..." she starts to unfold it, but you're up and on her before she can read any of it.

"Okay, okay...lemme have it"

The smell coming from the bag gives you flashbacks to your first real night out with Seungmin. You told him how much you liked the spicy fried chicken he picked for you, and that you couldn't wait to have it again, and of course he remembered. You open the note and read:

잘 먹고 있길 바라 승민

"Dammit, Seungmin." You fold it back up and stick it in your back pocket. This could be his soft approach to communication, but you also wouldn't be surprised if he scheduled your Monday lunch before you broke up with him.

Maybe you should have told him the real issue. You don't believe you can change his unhealthy approach to a relationship, and talking to him about it might even make things worse, but you didn't give him that much of a chance.

The buzzing of your phone snaps you back to reality, and you're not surprised when you see his name. The message throws you a little, though.

who is he?

Who is he? There is nobody else. There wasn't before, or during your few weeks with him, and there is no one now. He thinks you broke things off to be with someone else; seemingly, his biggest fear. So now what do you do? Anwer him and tell him there is no he? Or ignore him and hope he doesn't text again? Or pay you a surprise visit.

Today, you ignore.

Later that night, you stare at the open message thread and think. Instead of typing a reply, you scroll up and read his past text messages:

No, don't be busy tonight...can come over and we can make a mess here for a change

You did go over that night, and the two of you made a mess of his bed, and then the couch. That was the last time you slept with him, and Seungmin whispered I love you over and over as he fucked you raw, over and over. It didn’t seem wrong at the time, because he makes your head fuzzy, but afterward…you’re positive he wanted to tell you again.

Morning! I missed you last night, I miss you right now...don't make me miss you anymore today

Only vaguely threatening in retrospect. But also cute.

I couldn't sleep last night, and I really wanted to call you. Can I do that?

Thoughtful, but needy. Seungmin knows how to balance his cute, his hot, and his…whatever he is—you have to give him that. A new message from him throws the thread back to the bottom, and you read it before you even realize it's there:

I know you're reading this...fucking answer me

. ✦ .

You expect to see him outside of your building when you leave the next morning. And then outside of work. He’s nowhere, and he doesn’t text again—not yet. Answering him is inevitable, but you have to think about your reply.

Home is two more blocks away when you feel the buzz of the notification. Maybe he’s outside the lobby door, waiting patiently. Your heart races when you see him typing again. You're not sure if you're nervous, or excited.

how was work?

I hope you had a good day…

You don’t have to look so nervous

He’s watching. And you're not nervous, because Seungmin doesn't scare you. The watching is a tiny bit unnerving, though.

I can forgive you if there is somebody else. It’s not too late to fix things.

The texts keep coming as you walk, get to the lobby, and finally make it to the elevator. Only then do you look at your phone again.

Get rid of him, come over

Or I’ll come to you

I miss your bed

I miss you

I know you miss me

It feels like a weird dream.

Seungmin, there was nobody else, and there is still nobody else. And yes, I’m here and I’m reading everything you send.

There is nothing to forgive, and nobody to get rid of. I won’t be coming over, and I’m sorry that you miss me.

It’s stupid, and it might make things worse, but you send it anyway. You make a drink and find yourself sitting at the counter, watching and waiting to see his three little dots start to bounce, but it takes longer than you expect. Now you're feeling impatient, and you're not sure why. You want him to reply; you want to know what else is going on his his head, and just as you drain your glass, he starts typing.

I know you miss me. Stop pretending this is what you want. You're acting like a cunt.

That stings a little. He moves quickly between anger and sadness, but he's also somehow getting everything right. You can't deny that you miss him, and you are turturing yourself...but you kind of like how badly he wants you.

I need you so bad

That's the last message he sends, and it’s the one that you dwell on after a few more drinks; after getting into bed and pulling up the photos in your camera roll—selfies you’ve begged for, screenshots from your video calls.

You’re one hundred percent thinking with your cunt right now. Looking at him—he takes the cutest selfies—and remembering how good he makes you feel, and how good you make him feel…not touching yourself is a challenge. You squeeze your thighs together, put some pressure where you need it. You decide you can't give in and get off to this, not tonight, but maybe giving into him wouldn’t be that bad. Besides, Seungmin needs you.

. ✦ .

I'm not going to give you another chance. You have today.

That sounds a little more threatening, but you're not sure if he means it how you're imagining it in your head. What happens after today? You expected to wake up to more than that, but you’re relieved you woke up less horny. The last month with him is enough of an explanation for you, as far as why and how his weird, slightly unhinged texting got you so riled up last night.

But you’re only less horny. And you might text him back over your morning coffee.

Yeah, you definitely will.

What happens after today?

He starts typing immediately, but then he stops. A few seconds later, he starts again. Maybe he didn’t think it through well enough yet. Still, you’re on the edge of your seat.

Do you think I’m going to tell you over the phone? No, I need to see you.

He’s smart, you already know that. He has a big brain, and a big dick, and you thought for a while he might also have a big heart. Or you hoped.

Alone

Alone, of course. No coffee shop talk. But if he’s sentimental enough, he might agree to it.

Why don’t we just meet at our table?

He doesn’t respond quickly. He’s considering it…wondering if it’s isolated enough to get his point across. But you’ve offered to talk to him again, and that’s good enough.

okay…when you’re free

Thoughtful. Luckily, you’ve already called work and told them you needed to take a personal day.

I’ll meet you there in an hour

. ✦ .

You’re late, on purpose. Seungmin is sitting inside at your table, head in his hands, staring into his drink. He looks tired and angry, and you expected a text by now, asking why you aren’t there. As soon as the door opens, he looks for you, and he tries to keep a straight face as you approach.

“You’re late”

“I’m sorry”

There’s already a latte waiting for you on the table—caramel, steamed extra hot.

“…uh, I’m sorry,” he says it so quietly, you barely hear it. “For what I said yesterday.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes, I miss you…I do. I can’t think straight knowing you have someone else.”

“You were watching, did you see me with anyone else? And I mean when you called me a cunt.”

Seungmin doesn’t answer, but you assume that is what he’s really apologizing for. He’s fidgeting with his cup, and you see the same version of him that was here the day you met. The same sweet boy you couldn’t resist.

“I miss you, too”

“You do?” He perks up and clenches his drink.

“Yes, but you’re a lot to handle. You were a lot before yesterday.”

“Please, I promise I’ll be better at this. I do love you, I really do.“ He reaches out for your hand, and you let him take it.

“Seungmin, you haven’t known me long enough to even know that”

“Maybe not, but I do. I can prove it to you.”

“What happens after today? What if I leave here…what if I don’t take you home with me?” More silence, but his face changes. It’s not so soft anymore. “I don’t believe you’re going to just disappear.”

“I won’t”

“Why do you want me so much?”

“Why do you deny how much you want me?”

You try not to look too surprised, but you’re pretty certain he can still read you. Instead of answering, you take a long sip of your coffee. Seungmin does the same.

“Thank you for the lunch yesterday”

“I hope it was as good the second time. We should do that again.”

That was the only dinner date you’ve had. Everything else was mostly isolated; here, the park…but mostly sex. Seungmin doesn’t seem like the type for traditional dates, but maybe it’s because you didn’t get all of the fucking out of your system yet—both of you.

“Okay…” you start, but you feel like you’re making a mistake even as the words form and come out of your mouth. “Take me out tonight.”

He smirks. The look on his face is a little condescending, but relieved at the same time. His smile grows until you can see all of his teeth, and his cheeks turn pink. It’s a good look on him. You really hope you’re not making a mistake, because you’d love to look at him like this all the time.

“Six...Seven? We can meet wherever we decide to go.”

Seungmin slowly shakes his head. The smile is still plastered on his face. “At seven? No, no you’re not going anywhere, I’m hungry now. We can get food later.”

His voice drops, and the drop in your stomach feels so good. Your thigh twitches, and the pulse in your clit is too much.

“And your apartment is closer”

He isn’t taking anymore input on the matter. Seungmin is done, he’s standing, and he’s ready to go. He puts his hands in his pockets and waits impatiently, and you can already see what’s happening between his legs. He’s still soft, but he pulls the front of his sweats tight so you can better see what you’re obviously staring at.

“Come on…it’s all yours, remember?”

You nod as you pull your eyes away and look at his face.

“Let me make you feel good,” he takes a step closer and rubs his finger under your chin, “I know you’re already getting nice and wet for me.”

“Yeah,” you sigh as his finger traces over your lips, and you are…you start to ache for him. Your legs shake as you get to your feet, but Seungmin grabs you by the arm and holds you. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The whole walk back, he’s on you, holding tight like he expects you to change your mind and run. But that’s not going to happen. Your head is swimming, and you can only think of what he’s going to do when he gets you alone. You’ve gone this long without sex, but your downtime was still full of dirty texts, photos, telling each other in extensive detail what you wanted to do to each other next time.

His hand slides under your shirt and up your back once you’re in the elevator, and just as it slides back down to grab your ass, the doors open, and you lead him out with his hand still gripping you.

“Take this off,” he pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it on the ground.

“We’re almost there…Seungmin.” You’re spun around and pushed hard against the wall. One hand is on your throat, and the other unbuttons your jeans. “Seungmin—“

He shushes you, kisses you softly, and unzips, “pull them down for me…” You tug at each side until he has enough room to slip his hand between your thighs, and he smiles as he slides his fingers back and forth, collecting as much of you as he can. “Good girl, so wet for me.” He pulls back out and sucks his fingers into his mouth.

“Minnie…my door is right there”

“I know. Take them off.”

The pressure on your throat increases until they drop, and then he rewards you with another kiss. The cool air on your nearly naked body sets goosebumps off all over you, and you shiver. He tugs once at his sweats and you watch his cock slowly appear, and it bounces as he frees it completely. The shine of his pre-cum makes you throb and whimper, and for a moment, you forget where you are.

He grabs your hips and turns you, and now he has you by the back of your neck, cheek against the wall. There’s nothing to hold onto here, and you can’t reach for him, so you set your palms flat against the wall and try to balance yourself. And then his hand is gone. Both of them grab your hips, and his tongue slides over your entrance. He licks, pushes in deeply, and sucks at the arousal pouring out of you until he’s satisfied. Now you're hyper aware of where you are, out in the open…and someone can turn the corner at any moment. Seungmin doesn’t care. You're not sure if you care.

“Fuck me”

“Fuck you, hm? You ready for me?”

“Yes, fuck…please…I need it”

“What do you need, baby? Tell me.” He’s back on his feet, fingernails grazing over your thighs and ass.

“I need your cock, I need it”

His arm wraps lovingly around your waist, and slowly…very slowly, slides deep inside of you. Seungmin groans from the pressure, tight and hot. You clench around him and whine when he pushes in hard, and then he’s back out again.

“No, don’t stop”

The tight squeeze of his hand is on the back of your neck again, “c’mon…get your key…inside. Someone’s gonna see us.” He says it like this whole thing was your idea, kisses across your shoulder as you fumble with the lock, and leads you inside, “go... get into bed.”

Your head is spinning. You’re confused, and ready for him. But the bed…that’s good. That’s exactly where you want to be. You crawl onto the clean blanket and collapse onto your stomach—eyes close as you will your mind to catch up with the rest of you. It’s suddenly very quiet. Seungmin didn’t follow you in, and you don’t hear him outside the door. Maybe he left. Maybe he was just getting back at you—stripping you in public, getting the two of you caught. Embarrassing you, or worse.

Just as you start to believe yourself, the door swings open and he walks in, very casually, open beer in hand, bottle of water tucked under his arm. He smiles sweetly as he looks over your body, because you’re exactly how he wants you, and you’re immediately gone again as he walks closer, cock still hard and bouncing from the tease in the hallway. He runs a hand through his hair, and pushes it back until it stays out of his eyes, but you can’t watch long…his hand is on the back of your neck again, pushing your cheek into the mattress.

“You’ve been so well behaved for me…” he starts, squeezing a little tighter. He straddles the back of your thighs and rubs the head of his cock over you. “And good girls get what they want.”

You can’t talk, but you whimper…moan a little, just so he knows you’re still with him.

His hands run down your back, scratching before he grabs and pulls your hips up to meet his, and you’re filled up with him again. This time he stays in, rolls his hips, and pushes until you whine from the pressure. “Too much, baby?” Seungmin sounds so sweet, so concerned…and he does pull back before he starts to pump into you. Now he whines and speeds up, comes forward, and clenches the sheets as he fucks you. You push back against him, even though it hurts. The bed starts to shake, and the sound your bodies make on contact is almost drowned out by the moans neither of you can hold back anymore.

A Seungmin slips out between your cries, and his pleased little laugh slips out between his. You don’t want to come yet, but you can feel it rising, and you need to touch yourself. As soon as he sees your hand sneak under your stomach, he grabs and pulls both of your arms behind you. Seungmin wants to make you come on his own—no touching—and he will. He adjusts, and he knows he finds the perfect spot when you start to squirm.

“You…first,” he groans.

And you listen again—you come hard and tighten around him, let out a muffled moan into the blanket. You know he lets go by the desperate sound he doesn’t hold back. Seungmin says your name—pleads over and over again as he empties himself inside of you. He loses himself completely.

You’re still as he finishes, and you slowly come down from your high, gasping for air as he pulls out with a heavy, relieved sigh. Seungmin grips and pulls your asscheeks apart, and you know without looking back that he’s savoring what he did—he’s watching his cum slowly drip out. He places his hand over your cunt and gathers it up before pushing two fingers back in.

“Seungmin…” you’re still panting, face down in the blankets, unsure of what to do next.

You wonder what he’ll do next, but you don’t wonder long. His lips begin to trace a line up your back, along your spine. Long, slow, wet kisses every few inches until he reaches your neck—now he moves along your shoulder, and back up to your neck until he’s breathing steadily in your ear.

“Seungmin?”

“Yeah…you alright?”

The weight on your body is suddenly gone, and he comes down next you, looks at you with his usual puppy eyes, and smiles.

He asks again, and his smile falls a little when you just stare at him.

“Uhm…yeah”

Seungmin nods and makes himself comfortable on his side of the bed, stretches his naked body out, and watches you. "Come here," he beckons you with two fingers. Despite what just happened—despite the tousled, sweaty hair, and his spent dick resting on his thigh, the look of innocence on him is so intoxicating. The big eyes, his soft pouty lips, and pink cheeks. Seungmin looks like he just woke up and needs a good morning kiss.

Of course you listen and crawl to him, but your brain is fighting you with every thought, every movement you make. The lust, the hate, the need, they’re all on even playing ground right now.

. ✦ .

The first thing you feel is warm breath against your neck, but it’s not enough to wake you completely. It feels good—this could lull you right back to sleep. Next is a wet kiss. Then a nibble. And then his palm is flat against your throat, and your eyes finally open.

“Min?”

He shushes you and kisses as his fingers close around your neck.

“Don’t, please”

“Okay…okay,” his grip loosens while his thumb runs back and forth beneath your chin. “I love you…you know that? More than anything.” But he doesn’t let go. “I don’t know what I would do without you. Thinking you can just…leave me, like it’s nothing—“

“This isn't easy.” You choose your words carefully.

His voice is shaky, and when you finally look at him, his eyes are red and brimming with tears. “You're breaking my heart. I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Anything.” He squeezes again, just barely. “Everything. That’s what you are…everything." Seungmin’s face is flushed, and a few tears escape him. One, two kisses across your face, and your cheeks are wet with his tears, too, but he finally lets go, and you relax. Maybe he’s right. You don’t have any close friends here…you have nobody. But you do have him.

“Tell me you love me,” he whispers. An arm wraps around your waist and pulls until he can hide his face in your neck. “Please,” he begs.

His scent is intoxicating. The lingering smell of sweat in his hair, and the sweetness of his shampoo are pushed into your nose and mouth. When he’s sweet, he so sweet. He’s comforting. Even now, hours later, he feels warm and comfortable, and exactly what you need. “I do...I love you.”

“Tell me you’ll stay”

You can hear the tightness in his chest, and throat. More tears fall onto your neck, but you hesitate. You’re unraveling again. Seungmin is pulling you apart piece by piece—every sweet word, every aching appeal chips away at you.

“Please,” Seungmin pulls back and kisses your forehead, “I’ll beg all night…I’ll keep you up all night.”

Saying no just means starting this whole thing over again. Saying yes…maybe you can fix this.

“Yeah…I’ll stay”

. ✦ .

[missmonsters2]

What We Are

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda discovers all the things that Vision's done for her that have made her heart flutter was your idea.

Warnings: it's not angst...but it's not not angst. Also not beta'd.

Note: why do i feel bad for stealing vision's thunder. Also I will fix my mistakes later when I mortifyingly see them later :-)

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was a Tuesday when Wanda dropped by. 

The rain had been pouring relentlessly, and she had magicked herself to your front door, but even so, she was still soaked to the bone. It was late June and just a few minutes past dawn when you heard the hesitant knocks on your door. 

The years of working for Stark have made you paranoid as you check through the peephole carefully to see who could be at your door. Your heart constricts momentarily when your eyes land on familiar red hair and those melancholy green eyes. 

You opened the door, swallowing as you took her in. Drops of rain dripped down her cheek, almost like tears, as you let her in. 

"Wanda," you blinked, the questions building in your mouth but unsure which would come out first. You settled with, "let me get you a towel."

You opened the door wider to allow her to slip through wordlessly before shutting and locking it with a soft click. The rain outside pours relentlessly that it almost feels deafening in the silence. 

She stood in the hallway between the kitchen and your living room. Wanda looked around the quaint home you've built for yourself and felt even more lost. 

You returned with a dark navy towel, sighing as you sling it over her wet head, gently drying her hair. "What's the point of using your magic to get here if you're going to get soaked outside anyway?"

Wanda didn't say anything, just allowing herself to be under your care. 

This is familiar. 

It was a time before Vision and just a little after when Wanda began to see him too. Then, it was Vision's job to take care of Wanda, and all of it went away—you went away. 

"You should take a hot shower," you told her. 

"I don't really catch colds anymore," Wanda mumbles softly. 

"Lucky you, but you're still dripping on my floor and your nose is all cold and red. I can't imagine the rest of you is toasty warm," you smirked at her, and Wanda wanted to tell you that the tip of her ears was hot, but then she'd have to admit she was blushing. 

You guided her upstairs to the bathroom, gave her a towel and a set of comfortable clothing, and told her to use anything she felt like using. Once she finished, she could meet you downstairs, where you'd be making breakfast. 

Before you left, Wanda's quiet voice stopped you. "Thank you." Her voice is hoarse like she's about to cry. But it was sincere, and you gave her a light-hearted smile to put her at ease. 

"It's good to see you, Wanda."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda's skin feels warm and soft, the bath doing her wonders. She hoped you hadn't been waiting too long, but Wanda couldn't resist taking a soak first. She wiped the bathroom mirror of the fog and looked at her reflection. The bath helped return some color to her skin, but she still looked tired with her dark circles.  

Wanda only towel-dried her hair just enough to ensure it wouldn't drip on your floor. She felt only a little embarrassed to be given clean underwear by you but not a bra. The clothes you give her are soft, comforting, and smell like clean linens and leaves. 

This is crazy, Wanda thought. 

She hadn't seen you in months, and prior to that, it was always sporadic and brief. 

Wanda hadn't known what compelled her to show up at your door, but she knew much of it was due to loneliness. 

Everyone was gone.

But Wanda had hardly slept and hated how Scotland looked suddenly and decided that Portland would be better—Portland—where you've been living for years. 

The smell of bread, honey, and mushroom soup filled the air when she left the bathroom. Her stomach rumbled unabashedly, and she was glad you couldn't hear it. As she entered the kitchen, she found you chopping dill and parsley. 

"Hey," you looked up at her, smiling as she fidgeted with the ends of her sleeve. "Have a nice bath?"

Wanda nodded, giving you an awkward jilt of her lips meant to be a smile. "Thanks. Did you need help with anything?"

You shook your head. "Should be finished any moment now. I wasn't sure how hungry you'd be with it being so early but I thought something warm would be nice. Why don't you take a seat? I left out some bread, butter, and honey for you."

Wanda felt something crawl at the back of her throat as she sat. It was such a traditional breakfast, and it reminded her how Vision once tried to make paprikash for her. 

"I'm sorry," Wanda said suddenly. "For just showing up here."

You were silent. The sound of your chopping paused momentarily before it resumed again. "It's fine," you told her. "I mean, I wish you'd call in case I wasn't home. It would've been awful for you to stand out there alone."

But Wanda didn't know how to explain that your unused phone number was more daunting than just showing up. She didn't know how to explain anything. 

"Are you not often home?" Wanda asked instead.

You hummed. "Not often, but occasionally I do consulting work for some non-profit companies. It gets boring being retired sometimes."

Wanda nodded. 

It was lonely being retired alone. She had looked around your house and found no pictures or indications that you might've been seeing anybody. It brought forth something strange that she didn't know how to identify, so she placed it aside to be forgotten. 

It was quiet again, and Wanda felt restless. There were just so many feelings inside that she couldn't sort them. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream. She was relieved. She was anxious. She was a mess.

"Breathe, Wanda."

The words were unexpected. She sharply looked up to find you not even looking at her as you squeezed lemon juice into the pot. 

Taking a deep breath and releasing it quietly, Wanda was pretty sure she just wanted to cry now. 

"I'm sorry," Wanda repeated. She didn't know what else she could say. "I know it's been a while since we've last seen each other—spoke to each other. And now I'm here, and I've shown up unannounced and taken a bath, and now I'm wearing your clothes—I must seem crazy to you."

You just started to laugh, coughing lightly to cover it up when she gave you a look. "You don't have to explain anything to me," you told her, stirring the pot before grabbing some plates. "I know it's been hard."

There was a pause as if you were hesitating to say it before you decided to. "You miss Vision."

The words instantly hit the back of Wanda's throat and made her eyes water. "Yes," she could barely get a single word out.

"I know," you told her softly as you came over with a bowl of mushroom soup that looked amazing, but all she could smell was her own salty tears. 

Wanda couldn't hold it in then as she placed her elbows on the table, her face in her hands as her shoulders wrack. "I can't believe they're all gone. I keep waking up and expecting to see him. I feel like I can't breathe. It's not fair. It's not fair."

You rubbed her back, and she leaned into you, the familiar feeling of it all like it was just yesterday she was at the compound, alone and confused after losing Pietro. 

Wanda didn't even know what you did for Stark, but you were always around. You showed her to her room, gave her Tony's stream services passwords, and gave her a list of all the shows and movies she was to catch up on. 

Wanda wondered where all of that went, and she could only vaguely remember ending when Vision was beginning. But Vision was different. He had said something so profound that it had given her the courage to keep moving on. 

"I know," you told her, brushing your fingers through her soft, damp hair. "You have a lot of love to give and nowhere for it to go. It's just what grief is, Wanda. And if you're grieving, then you're persevering."

Wanda stiffened in your arms. 

It was so familiar. It was just a rewrite of words she's heard before—words she had never told anyone else. 

"Did Vision tell you that?" Wanda thought wryly as she straightened herself to look at you.

You looked momentarily confused before guilty and awkward. You let her go, but Wanda hung on. 

"Did he tell you?" Wanda pressed on. "Those words—did he tell you that they were the biggest reason I could keep going?"

Wanda looked so angry. The idea of being betrayed by someone she loved sharing something so private had you sighing. 

"No," You reassure her. "Vision didn't tell me."

"Then why—"

"I told Vision that." You cut in, the words leaving your mouth in a tumbled mess that was awkward and clearly made you uncomfortable. 

Wanda sat there with mild shock on her face.

"You...?"

You rubbed at your brow, taking in a tired breath. "Vision was very interested in you, and he came to ask me why you were silently holed up in your room. He knew what grieving was, but he didn't understand it like we do. Not yet, anyway," you muttered.

Wanda looked at you. You looked tense and reluctant to share any of this information, and she didn't understand why.

"I told him because you were grieving, but you also still had love to give. I told him he doesn't understand yet because he's always been alone and is lucky to have never lost anyone. You can't grieve what you've never lost," you had a distant look in your eye, and Wanda wondered if you were reliving this conversation with him.

"I told Vision that you were going to be okay, though," you shook your head as if brushing the memory away. "Grief was just love that had nowhere to go; it is persevering through loss." 

The words rock Wanda much harder than they did years ago. Maybe because the truth behind the words that had given her way when she was lost was actually from you. 

You, who let her show up at your door unannounced. You, who would always let her show up at your door unannounced. 

You have always given her a way to remain still, a way to return, and a way to move forward. 

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" Wanda's voice cracked.

It cracked because perhaps before Vision, she thought there might've been you. It never came close to anything, but Wanda still felt it. And that's why she showed up at your door on a Tuesday in late June just a few minutes past dawn. 

You shrugged. "You seemed interested in Vision too. Curious, at the very least. We...I never really knew what we were. Friends, I think, at that time. Just barely, though."

Wanda remained quiet. The mushroom soup was going to go cold soon, but you didn't seem to mind as you tore a part of a piece of bread into uneaten chunks. 

You seemed thoughtful. "I used to think we were just a case of 'almost'. Almost friends. Almost teammates. Almost something and almost nothing." You turned to her and gave her an unsure smile. "But now you're here on a Tuesday when I had been considering an hour before you arrived that even almost is gone."

Wanda replayed the words in her head and felt the unease she was experiencing the last few months slip away. She's still grieving, but just as you said, it was just her love having no place to go. 

But...

Wanda looked at you as she took hold of the spoon and scooped some of the soup up. She's sure in time, her love will have a place to go again. 

"Did you tell Vision anything else?"

You smiled at her as you also began to eat. 

"I told him you'd appreciate paprikash. I can't take responsibility for him following my instructions wrong, though."

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I don't know if you have enough data to answer this, but I believe that the Sussexes are becoming more irrelevant, people have just lost interest: do you get the same number of rumors nowadays as you did a couple of years ago? Or less?

What's your "sentiment" about this, if you feel inclined towards a little speculation?

I don’t have any quantitative data, this is just based on my observations.

First, the media’s interest in the Sussexes has dropped significantly. It used to be that they had new stories on them daily. Every day, no matter the occasion or what else was happening. Now, it’s about once a week, if that. (Excluding when they’re on “foreign tours”.)

Second, they’re not organic discussions on social media. They aren’t in the algorithms unless there’s a huge PR push (aka $$$) involved, like with the recent ARO product “launches” or the rumormongering about Kate’s health/the Waleses’ marriage. That means people aren’t talking about them until they’re paid to talk about them and then they go to work with trending topics and algorithm manipulations.

Third, there was a huge reckoning during the pandemic that saw an enormous shift away from the celebrity influencer culture of the ‘10s. People aren’t paying attention to celebrities just because they’re pretty or famous or wealthy anymore. People are paying attention to, and supporting, people who have values, who do something, who are meaningful.

That’s not the Sussexes. The Sussexes - Meghan more so than Harry (because Harry still offers purpose through Invictus Games, but he destroyed a lot of it with the whining in Spare) - are trapped in their “famous for being famous” mindset that was the late ‘90s - mid ‘10s. They haven’t evolved as the culture and as society has evolved. Meghan tried, with all those bandwagon trends and topics she spouted 2018 - 2021, but they always failed because everyone could clearly see she didn’t actually care about those things, she was only using them. So people aren’t giving them attention because they don’t fit the current model for our idea celeb. (And that’s why you see a lot of celebs hustling with their own companies and brands or charities now, separate from their acting or music or modeling - the market has shifted from their pretty faces to the contributions they give to society at large.)

Fourth, the Sussexes greatly overestimated the Oprah interview and their “revenge era” against the BRF (the time from Oprah to Spare when they were, more or less, gossiping about the BRF and whining about not having enough privilege). Their expectation was that everyone would be on their side and we would all condemn the BRF with them. They overestimated and misunderstood that the global majority of the world a) respected The Queen as much as we did, b) saw it was completely ducked up to have done the Oprah interview while Philip was literally dying (and also the Sussexes’ claim that “they’re just saying he’s sick so we don’t do this interview” was all sorts of inappropriate), and c) would never air our own family’s dirty laundry in public like that and judged them horrendously for doing that to The Queen and the BRF while their patriarch was dying. That alienated a lot of people and the result wasn’t “all hail Harry and Meghan, Royal Freedom Fighters” (which was the Sussexes’ expectation); it was “who the f@&k do they think they are” (especially after Fleet Street published about all the lies they told during the interview with receipts).

And finally, the biggest indicator that they’ve become irrelevant is the blogs here. Just look at how many blogs have stopped posting or changed their content. There’s a huge group of bloggers that left or lost interest, and the blogs that remain tend to fall on either side of the spectrum: they either love the Sussexes or they hate them. There’s no middle ground anymore, and it kinda does actually suck. It doesn’t mean the neutral/middle blogs and anons and readers don’t exist (they do, they’re here, I see them on my dash and in my mentions) but they’re lurking more than engaging. The people engaging are people that either love or hate the Sussexes, so there’s a lot of “same” being blogged and discussed. (It’s why I’ve not been posting recently - I get bored when we talk about the same things over and over so I check out for a bit until I can think of something (or see something) different to change the conversation with or I get anons with questions (like this one) that scratch an itch in my brain.)

So to that question, yes, the Sussexes are becoming irrelevant. They’ve become quite irrelevant if you go by the media and social media that was happening in 2017 when they got engaged.

For your question about the rumors and theories, yes. There’s been a huge drop off in those as well. I used to be updating my spreadsheet daily with all the gossip and discussions happening, but now, it’s just once or twice a month. I will admit that part of that is because the sources I used have become venomously anti-Sussex or anti-Kate and I’m just not interested in that so I don’t go to those places as much anymore. But another part of it is that there’s just an absence of people talking about it. The people left discussing the Sussexes are, again, either you love ‘em or you hate ‘em and that brings a certain bias to the rumor mill and the conspiracy theories, which can actually become very toxic very easily because there’s no one left to moderate or play devil’s advocate to remind everyone that these are real people with real families and real lives; yes, running away with your imagination is fun but it’s also not a realistic barometer of who these people (the subjects of the gossip, the sources of the gossip, and the consumers of the gossip) are.

And I think when you’re left with the two extremes of the spectrum - haters and lovers - that’s the ultimate show of irrelevance. The “middle” (or the silent majority, if you will) has completely noped out of the conversation and doesn’t have even a rat’s ass to give you.

That’s why all the Sussexes have left is either divorce or reconciliation with Charles, William, and Kate. If either one of those things happen, they’ll suddenly become relevant again. But they don’t either of those. They can’t afford either of those options reputation-wise because both options end with egg on their faces and a global chorus of “I told you so” from family, press, and the public.

So they’ll just stay stuck getting more and more irrelevant because their egos are too enormous to allow being served some serious humble pie.

[maximumkillshot]

Home

Warnings: There are a lot with this one and it hits close to home. Mentions of S/A. The R word is used, sobbing, anxiety and mental episode. mentions of self harm, mentions victim blaming and slut shaming. MDNI. There is fluff spattered around.

Pairing: BangChanxReader

Characters: Bang Chan, Reader, mention of the person who S/A, people Slut Shaming and Victim Blaming. 

A/N:  Okay so this one is heavy. The things you are about to read have happened to me. I had a mental episode a while back. I wrote most of this during said episode. This is what I think Chan would do for his S/O if they went through and go through what I did. This blog has always been a safe space. I use my fictions to entertain as well as a platform to have safe conversations. If you need me as always I will hang around after drop.

I Can't Lose You Masterlist-CLICK HERE

Stray Kids Masterlist-CLICK HERE

ALL WORK IS UNDER ME AND MY BLOG. DO NOT TRY TO REPUBLISH OR STEAL MY WORK, AS THAT IS COPYRIGHTED UNDER ME AND IS CONSIDERED COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WHICH IS A PUNISHABLE OFFENSE. 

ANY WORK THAT YOU SEE ON OTHER SITES THAT ARE MY WORKS PLEASE NOTIFY ME IMMEDIATELY.

“YN?” Your husband called out to you. You couldn't hear him from the pressure of today. It created a seething pool of frustration and anger as you kneeled at the foot of the bed, wanting to pray, but now that you think about it the pain of being on the floor was a sweet torture in and of itself. 

Usually, anger like this wouldn't be a problem for you. You would go down to the basement and punch granite with your poorly taped hands, yes you were only a kid then, not knowing how else to get the anger out only stopping when you'd hear a crunch. Yes, that was the start of negative coping mechanisms, and yes you are trying to either bury that anger or let it consume you fast before Chris gets home. He's dealt with enough, we don't need to add on to it.  

Now you're no longer a child… as a matter of fact, you are now an adult, an adult with a hairpin trigger vaguely yet expertly disguised as comedic sarcasm. Depression that you don't remember not having… maybe when you were 8? You weren't sure. Not to mention a cast made of a myriad of physical and mental health issues…. Disabilities… and the cast of characters just keep growing! You have the medicine and the “coping techniques”, they called it, for success! Even those fail. 

Trying to talk it out just made you more angry, the injustice looking more and more ludicrous by the second. Okay, let's try breathing. Yeah no. That didn't work either, it just gave your brain more oxygen, so your brain went from quantum computer speed to Sonic the fucking Hedgehog. Oh… ok oh oh! Let's try soundboarding. You know, talk to people, not yourself. That ended in yet another game of useless catch phrases like “calm down” and “you shouldn't be thinking of that.” 

TELL ME SOMETHING I DON'T FUCKING KNOW THANK YOU! Oh, and I almost forgot the “Your method of thought isn't changing because you don't want to change '' DO YOU THINK I AM POKED ALL DAY AND SAY TO MYSELF…

‘OH I WANT TO FEEL MORE LIKE SHIT… I KNOW LET ME RUN MY FACE INTO A BRICK WALL OF ANXIETY REPEATEDLY UNTIL I CAN'T CONTROL MYSELF ANYMORE.’

You reverted to hurting the people around you due to your anger and frustration, plus you darkened the mood, you've always been a multitasker. My friends were right. I'm depressing, I was only kept around because of my ex. That was before they kicked me out… because they didn't want to believe he assaulted me. You go back to that night often… 

“I didn’t want to do that, I felt icky” You told him after he came back from cleaning himself up in the bathroom, while you were left to clean the traces of himself from your own mouth. No aftercare, no thought about you. The ghost of a boy who used you, who was an on and off friend of almost 10 years…

“I know.” he answered with no emotion.

“Then… why?” You asked, your head cocked to the side.

“Because I really wanted it.” He puts his hand on your shoulder, “But I’m sorry you feel that way. Shit now I feel bad.”

Then it switched to those friends, on another night… “ I just don’t buy it. That DID NOT HAPPEN, I know him better than you.”

“I mean you did it anyway so you must’ve wanted it.”

You tried to explain that you were assaulted, it’s called coercive consent and it’s the most common form of assault. You were raped. You didn’t want to do it and he knew that but you wanted to make him happy. You tried to explain, to educate. They weren’t having it.This conversation at times whirls in your head. Making you itch to pull a trigger, do something to make the torture stop.

“You always overreact and you’re so annoying why don’t you just go the fuck away!”

“You’re so depressing just fucking go away! We only tolerated you because you are his girlfriend, just go the fuck away!” The intent in her voice. The reality. You trusted her most out of the entire group. She helped you emotionally… Now shaming you, blaming you.

Her boyfriend rendered you speachless when you called it what it was, it was rape via coercive consent:

“Oh I get the kind of person you are, you’re the type of person who gets felt up in the middle of the night by their significant other because they’re trying to get laid and you call it rape.”

You know the right method to take now, right… Yeah you do.

Isolate… process… torture yourself…cry… alone. Contain the monster, so it doesn't hurt anyone else… You're just a monster parading as a human. Don't forget it. This happens when you forget Y/N… stop being reckless. Always so fucking reckless… 

You started clenching your hands one over the other, wanting to rake the top of your hands until they bled, trying to ground yourself. Until subconsciously, you did. You rocked as you did it, trying to soothe yourself.

Sometimes you swear people don't see you drowning right in front of their fucking eyes. You know how to swim, you know how to get out, to scream, punch, fight. You want to swim, you really do. But you can only do so much in a rip current. The lifeguard sees you. But instead of helping they yell “PADDLE! JUST PADDLE YOU'LL BE FINE!” It's a different level of patronization. It just makes you want to let the tides swallow you. Because why fight when the waters are so warm?

“Y/N?!” Chris yelled as he saw your bag tossed haphazardly on the couch, never where you put it. He stopped and listened carefully. He thought back to the last text you sent him. “Shit hit the fan at work …I don't want to feel right now. I'll see you at home.” 

That middle sentence made his heart stop. He knows you… something was up. He tried texting you back, sending words of encouragement, calling, and leaving cute messages when you didn't pick up, and nothing was heard from you. As soon as he could get away from schedules he did. When he looked at the clock you had sent that message three hours beforehand, he never raced home faster. 

He knows what your mind does to you. He sees the battles every day. When he’d compliment you and you would look down, not shy, but contradictory. When he’d pick you up you would freeze and he’d remind you that you aren’t too heavy, that he loves you in every single way that you think is impossible to love you. He’d always encourage you to wear what you want, do what you want. He would caress every single curve, never being able to keep his hands off of you. Whispering into your ear in public as he tilts your head up gently after asking for permission. He’d kiss you so delicately in front of a sea of people. On the red carpet, on stage, it didn’t matter. You were and are his person, and he loved showing you off. He couldn’t win the war in your mind for you, but he damn sure would fight those battles with you.

He would fight away those negative thoughts, he’d wrap his arms around you and sing to you to will those images, the anxiety and fear away. Until those thoughts were rendered useless. He’d wrestle with them for control, as soon as he won your mind back he gave it to you. He reminded you that you are here with him for a reason. He adores you, and nothing would change that. 

It was something he promised you when he saw you breakdown while doing your medicines. You told him that you were ashamed of it all. All the illnesses, that you weren’t perfect and that you’d understand if he didn’t want you. He looked at you and helped with your medicines, learned about each of them, and their dosages. He was so gentle, smiling at you, wiping your tears. He looked at all the medicines and said, anything that keeps you alive is nothing to be ashamed of. You aren’t something to be ashamed of. He knows that sometimes you can’t hear him until he’s right in your ear. Now looked like that case.

You couldn't hear him calling out to you, your mind too loud, too vicious, bloodthirsty. When pain and self-deprecation are your main moods, all others seem like an abnormal concept. Something that is stolen, was it even real in the first place? You know one thing that was real… Chris. You hated being this… the medications, the constant fires in your mind, the barrage of hate aimed at yourself, of unbridled strength turned inward to rip yourself apart for no reason other than things piling up. He didn't deserve that. He deserves peace, the best… just like what he demands of himself, perfection. 

You got through the gauntlet at your job. People undermining your authority, people on a power trip of their own. Sending others to try to intimidate, embarrass you into submission… as if you weren't a bloodthirsty wolf that could snap any second, biting their heads clean off. “An Alpha through and through,” that's what Chris would say, “Even Alphas have to bite their tongue, Love.” 

That made you cry more because at this point you don't even know if your tongue is still existent, or if you swallowed the damn thing after you bit it off. Or worse… you still have it… but you lost your voice. You know that can't be it, we're too fucking stubborn for that.

But the hits didn't stop coming, traffic happened, then going to the doctor who said that the physical therapy you needed would eat into your personal time, your time to write, to cook for Channie and the boys, to spend time with Channie and the boys.. then you forgot the doctors note so you had to walk back in for it. Then you had to go home while you tried to talk about everything… and well now here we are. 

Even now you try to problem solve, try to nitpick at yourself, the person he loves so much. You collapsed more on the floor of your shared bedroom, cross-legged thinking of the ocean, the violent, dangerous, tumultuous ocean… something simultaneously so beautiful and scary. You want to say you are like an ocean, but you don't see beauty in yourself, only a beast. That's all we'll ever be.

Chris freezes in the hallway hearing a sob break loose from you. He hadn't heard a sob like that before, it chilled his core. How does he approach this? He sees the doctor's note thrown next to your purse… He was happy you were approved for physical therapy, you really were in a lot of pain daily from the muscle and tendon weakness, but he looked at the times…

He looked to the hallway, “Oh…Baby Girl.” He had one piece of the puzzle. He knew you loved to cook for him and the boys but this schedule meant you couldn't do that for the foreseeable future. You enjoyed seeing the boys eating, and staying fueled, knowing without that they'd opt for less healthy options. Then he saw the paper right under it. A typed log… a leger of interactions throughout your day… “No…” 

Right there, in black and white, was what you went through today, everything down to the sarcastic smirk your coworker had as you were barraged with pressure to break the rules… and you didn't break. He never would've expected you to. You are the strongest person he knows. Even under these conditions, Chris himself would break. In front of fifty plus people being berated, pushed to do something you knew you couldn’t do. 

Right at the end of it was a line, written in plain ink by hand. “Vacation not given as described by supervisor. No week off.” With tear stains smudging the ink. 

Chris started walking down the hall to the shared bedroom. As he walked closer he heard you mumbling as you sobbed. Things like “stop crying” and “it's nothing.” But one made him freeze right before he opened the door, “Chris is going to worry. You already take too much from him, get it together so he won't worry. It’ll hurt him. Stop hurting the people you love. You’re a monster.”

That made his eyes sting, you were worried about him above all else. He slowly opened the door and you couldn't find it in you to look up. You knew who it was. The aura you know and love, like salve on the holes you ripped into yourself. The small steps were only weighed down by his sneakers as he slowly spoke. 

“Hey…Baby Girl?” The tone was even more soothing. We don't deserve that. “Can you look at me please?” You just shook your head. Too embarrassed at the shambling mess you are. The real you that you hide. 

Before you knew it you saw two big hands undoing the laces on his sneakers, shortly after he toed them off. Slowly he sat in front of you groaning “Oooooookay criss-cross applesauce it is…” making you smirk as you wiped your nose with the inside of the collar of your shirt. Finally, as he settled he said “aaaaaughh” with a big puff of air… 

You just tucked your head into your chest as you hid as much as you could. He waited for a few minutes, until he said, “We can address what happened in a few minutes. But you need to know. You don't take from me.” 

Your tears kept falling as you listened, his tone calming the raging currents in your mind.

He looked at the engagement and wedding band on your left hand. He watched the tears fall, he saw the holes in you. He wanted to lunge at you, take that emotional knife away from you, smother you in affection. Hold you, his heart burned for it. Needle and thread ready to patch you up. To heal you.

 He spoke softly, “You are my everything, Y/N. You aren't a burden, a disappointment, you aren't a chore, the only thing you took from me was my heart, but you had that before I even heard your voice. The second I saw you… I gave it to you. I don't want it back either.” 

You hiccuped breaths as you listened. He scooted a little closer and he put his hands out, palm up into your vision… asking for your hands. That was when you realized you were scratching at them again. 

You unfurled them from one another, hissing where one nail was slightly deeper, the tiny droplet of blood following soon after.

He looked at your hands, humming in the back of his throat, “One second.” He didn’t want to show it, but he was worried. You feel so much and he just wants to be there to hold you, to love you. 

Then popped up and left. He came back with a first aid kit, “Oooooookay heeaarr we goar again... criss-cross.” That made you giggle the tiniest bit. Chris always loved to hear your laugh. Your laugh is infectious and it always never fails to brighten his day. He knew he was making progress.

You couldn't see it but Chris was smirking at your tiny cute form. And hearing that little giggle made him want to channel Changbin and squeal at the cuteness overload. 

“Okay my Koala Bear… hands.” When you both had started dating, he noticed you always hung on to him. You explained that he was warm and you were always frozen, especially in the colder months. You asked if it was okay for you to hold on to him like that. Internally he was trying his best not to giggle like a school boy at the prospect of you holding on to him like this naturally. He looked at you and said, “It’s no problem, you just remind me of a Koala Bear, so cute and tiny. Can I call you that? My Koala Bear?” And you nodded blushing. Since then, you’ve been his Koala Bear. 

You presented your hands to him wincing at the stretch of the new scratches and he said “So tiny… so cute. Okay tiny sting” he cleaned the bigger scratch and put a bandage on it, and checked the rest. Once he deemed it all good to have your hands back. He kissed them then returned them to your lap. “Thank you for letting me clean them.” 

You nodded and hummed. The voices slowed down. They always slowed down around him. He always was your safe place. Like home base in a baseball game. If you made it there, you’re safe. You’re home. That thought made you sad, surprisingly. How are you safe with only one person? You should have security in yourself not in someone else. Your brain was waiting to start assaulting you again. 

“Is it loud in there?” Chris asked. You've told him about all of this before, this is the first time he's seen it this bad though. The voices, memories attack you. You explained to him that sometimes your brain will do this, you try to hold it back but sometimes it just can’t be helped.

“Mhmm”

“People don't help… right?”

“mhmm”

“Can you tell me what's going on in there?”

You told him. Some.. not all. You also told him about that pesky intrusive thought about your ex and your friends. 

His body went rigid as he said, “No… they're the ones that are wrong, not you. Your ex…” He wanted to choose his words carefully. He knew that you blame yourself at times. The memory of you explaining why you were hesitant to go further when you were dating. He assured you there was no pressure. That he loved you for you, the rage boiled in him and it still does because you were never at fault for this. Especially when you trusted that asshole enough to experiment with him. He was going to be your first for everything but after what he did. The trust was gone, rightfully so.

Chris continued, “He took advantage of you, and coerced you into consent, that is not love. That is not okay? That is sexual assault. The way that your friends acted was disgusting, the way he acted was sub-human… You are not depressing, you are one of the most beautiful, talented, funny, caring, loving people I have…” his voice gave out and he cleared his throat, “You are one of the most amazing people I've ever met in my life. I love you so much and I know you feel like you're a burden on me but being with you has been the most amazing thing I've ever experienced.”

He tilted your head up and you let him, he had tears in his eyes as he said, “You have never been nor will you ever be a monster.” Your tears picked up as you looked into his eyes. You could tell, Chris doesn’t lie. He’ll tell you the truth. His tears started falling as you leaned forward, reaching for him, needing contact. When you saw him you needed his warmth, you need him to heal you. You were losing hope, faith, everything as you watched the holes in you. Seeing him holding the needle and thread. By holding you, being with you, just being himself, it heals you. You whimpered, “Need you…” As your tears switched from self-hate to desperation… you needed him and he could tell. 

He untangled his legs and scooped you up, cradling you in his arms as he rocked you petting your hair back, “You are my inspiration, my eternal love, you are the best part of my past, my present, and my future. You are the future mother to my children, the woman I'm going to grow old with, my forever and always. You are my Y/N, and I am never going to let you forget who you are and why I love you, okay?” He started crying, shielding you in his chest, protecting you. Stitching you together as you heard his heartbeat. You cried on him, relieved that you were with him.

You pulled back from him nodding. He tried to kiss your lips but you said “I'm all snotty” and he giggled. Leave it to you to be worried about snotty kisses. You looked so adorable, cheeks and nose red, nose running, tears stopping, the twinkle coming back into your eyes as he looked at you. 

“Are you denying me my snotty kisses?” He giggled as he said “Okay fine. There's no snot on your forehead” he pecked your forehead, “none on your cheeks”, and laid another peck, this pattern continued for any expanse of skin he could get his lips on as you giggled at him and his barrage of affection. When he stopped he wiped your nose with his sleeve and he kissed you gently on the lips. He savored moments like this, being able to heal you, to pick you up. He looked into your eyes as he said, “now I am thinking I’ll draw up a bath for us and I’ll give you a nice massage. After that we order take away, from your favorite place, then we watch something, Hm?” He looked at you for an answer as he kept wiping tears.

You nodded and gently, he placed you back where you were and went to get the bath ready. You'll always have hard days, but those days turn into amazing nights with Chris. Your home.

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

LIKE MY WRITING? WANT MORE? Tell me so! Want in on the tags?? Shoot me an ask and consider it done!

[softpine]

can i just word vomit for a min...

there was a point in late 2023 where i felt like i overstayed my welcome on simblr and i planned on just wrapping frozen pines up as quickly as possible and moving on. continuing to write when it's clear that the audience for it is dwindling felt so embarrassing that i almost didn't even want to put effort into it anymore, because i was afraid it just looked pathetic (obligatory disclaimer: no one made me feel this way, you're all so lovely, it's just the nature of seeing a community change over 7 years). writing already feels very personal to me and it's becoming increasingly harder for me to put my work out there (again, for reasons unrelated to simblr and entirely related to mental illness 🤙🏻). i know my story is so long that it deters new readers, and so sporadic that it makes old readers drop off with time. this has really been bothering me lately because i don't know what i can do to fix it. i don't think there IS anything i can do.

but. okay. don't make fun of me for saying this. dan and phil returning to youtube kinda changed my mindset? they may be pulling a fraction of the views they got in their peak, but they're happier than they've ever been and they're working on things they actually want to do, not things they think will be particularly popular. seeing that has made me realize that it is possible to keep finding joy in a community that has largely moved on without you. obviously my little blog is nowhere near the same scale, so this feels kind of silly, but i've been thinking about all the things i used to do on simblr that were never fun for me, i mainly did them because i knew they would get notes or because i felt like i had to do it. making cc, lookbooks, sim requests, reshade help (oh my god the reshade help), lot downloads, etc. they DID get notes, but i can't imagine spending my time doing any of that stuff ever again tbh.

on top of that, it makes me sad to scroll through my dash and realize that i don't recognize most of the people i see anymore. i still talk to some wonderful people here who i consider friends and that's invaluable to me (💖), but the broader community aspect is something i no longer feel a part of. and believe me, i know i'm at fault here because it's not like i'm going out of my way to talk to new people or participate in trends like i used to. i don't blame anyone except the passage of time!!

frozen pines, and simblr by extension, played such a gigantic part in my life when i needed it the most. and that's not to say that i don't still care about it, because i absolutely do, but it's a different kind of feeling. i've always promised that i would give frozen pines a satisfying conclusion rather than silently abandoning it someday, and though i do intend to keep that promise, i know it's possible that i might never get there. but i don't want to let my own insecurities get in the way of something i really enjoy doing. writing is an intrinsic piece of me that i'll never quit doing, but sharing my writing on tumblr is something that can't (and shouldn't) last forever. i know that. but i'm going to enjoy it to the fullest while we're all still here together 💞

to anyone who's still reading my silly story after all these years (especially those of you who still check in on my blog even though you're not on simblr anymore): thank you thank you thank you THANK YOUUU. you don't have to change a single thing about what you're doing. this is not me fishing for compliments or putting down an ultimatum, this is just me trying to make sense of my feelings.

but with all this being said, i've decided to quit simblr and start my own exclusive streaming service for $60 a year, i hope you'll all support me as i increase my production value 😌

(just kidding. ily. okay that's all)

[storydays]

Marry Me? John Dory X Reader

John Dory was pacing back and forth in Branch's bunker, fidgeting nervously, not noticing his siblings watching him. He was freaking out because it was quickly approaching your 40th birthday, and he'd been planning to ask you the question but didn't know how to go about it.

He smiled thinking about you; you'd been best friends since you were kids, and you stuck with him even after he'd accidentally broke up his family band. You were so special and you could've had any Troll in the world but you chose him. You were so patient, kind and so smart. You were a veterinarian and together you guys traveled around helping injured animals of all kinds

And after 20 years together, after everyone assuming you were married, JD finally was going to put a ring on it.

"ory?" "....hn Dory?" "JOHN DORY!" The oldest Troll yelped, fumbling with the ring, before dropping it in front of Bruce, who gently picked it up to admire it. "Woah, John, nice ring...are you finally ready to--" "Um, well, I...see what I..." John Dory felt his ears and cheeks turn a slight purple as he struggled to express himself. Bruce smiled to himself enjoying seeing the usually confident John Dory so nervous.

JD finally sighed before pacing again, fidgeting with his fingers. His siblings sat around him, waiting for him to find the words.

"Yes, I want to ask (Y/N) to marry me but how do I ask her? She's a such a special Troll and deserves everything and so much more, but I don't want to do a basic proposal but then nothing to extravagant but then what if she doesn't like it or what if everything changes once we're married? What if she's not happy with me anymore, or what if--"

"John!" Bruce finally took his older brother by the shoulders and stopped his rambling. The teal haired Troll blinked at his purple haired counter part, who smiled back. "Stop, all these 'what if's' are in your head. Happened when I wanted to propose to Brandi. Do you love this girl?"

"Yes, without a doubt."

"Respect her?" Clay jumped in.

"Absolutely!"

"You want to be there for her through the good and bad for the rest of your life?" Floyd asked.

"All the time."

"Then you've got nothing to worry about! You guys have been together for so long, she'd be crazier then Poppy. And I know how we can help you." Branch said smugly, as his brothers' leaned in to hear the plan.

You weren't sure how to feel actually.

John Dory's been acting weird...weirder than normal. You were used to your boyfriend's antics, but now his brothers and even Queen Poppy was acting weird.

Like they were hiding something.

And every time you asked, they'd all get these sly looks and say nothing before scampering off.

You were currently walking around with John Dory after a long day of running your animal clinic in Pop Village, you wanted to take a break and enjoy nature in his company.

He'd started to stray from your usual path, and you shrugged thinking nothing of it.

"John? Why are we here?" You wondered, as you approached a giant white mushroom.

"Just wait, baby." He smiled as his brothers' came out all smiling brightly, before they started singing.

You laughed softly, wiping your tears away before hugging John Dory tightly from where he was kneeling and kissed him hard, as he held you tightly, his brothers' cheering in the background. "Yes, yes a million times yes, my love." He laughed in disbelief before sliding the engagement ring on your finger, and scooping you in his arms and turning to his brothers and screamed:

"SHE SAID YES!!"

@vacayisland @imperatrizpirata-blog

[goodluckclove]

I've been meaning to say something. (100 follower hot take)

Hey! Thanks for stopping by. I hope you've had a nice day. Why don't you rest with me for a while? I made some chocolate chip cookies - with shortening instead of butter, so they're very soft and very chocolatey. I made way too many and they aren't my wife's favorite, so I could use some help in eating them.

You're probably a writer, right? Or maybe you think about how you could be. Browse the tags here, or on other social media platforms. Maybe you used to write stories as a kid. I bet those were fun. Teachers might've thought they were impressive, or they dissected them line by line until the words didn't make sense in your head anymore. Either way, if you're here you're probably here for a reason.

(rant alert)

I dipped a toe in online writing communities on and off. My last attempt was forty-five minutes scrolling through the writing hashtag on Youtube Shorts (so TikTok, I guess? I don't know). I didn't like it. I really didn't. The thing that sticks out the strongest in my mind is one particular video where a woman claims that every story needs a second act plot twist.

Huh? Every story? All of them? Why? Since when? Who are you? What qualifications do you have to make a statement like that?

That's the common thread that makes a lot of writing spaces very uncomfortable for me. Successful writers are really only successful in their genre and for the given moment, so they don't have that much objective authority in the craft. And yet I see a lot of people deciding the things that you can't do in writing. Or the things you have to do, and how you have to do them. It was so much of Writeblr at first glance that I almost dipped out once again. I didn't, though, and I'm glad I didn't because now I get to watch some of the next great storytellers from across the world grow and examine and forge their way forward.

No one can teach you how to write. No, that's not true. Teachers teach literacy. Handwriting. Typing maybe - do schools still teach typing? Let me try saying it in a different way - no one, not one single person on this goddamned planet, has the right to tell you how to make a story.

I was supposed to get my MFA in creative writing before my first breakdown. My uncle stayed in the program I was meant to be in, and a few years after I dropped out he graduated. Recently I had the thought to look up his thesis novella, and as I searched I found myself regretting my decision to leave school. If I stayed and got to develop my writing in an actual class, with other writers and a knowledgeable professor, how much further along would I be than where I am right now?

It was bad. His novella was terrible. It was so bad I had a small existential crisis for, like, three days. He spent so much money on years and years of professional education and came out with a truly soulless story that read as if you prompted an AI to write the next Great American Novel. So if you think you need a writing degree to be a legitimate author, it could help connections-wise, but it ultimately won't be the thing that does the work for you.

Not all advice I see online on writing is bad. I find the people who are able to capture the "I" statements of therapy and phrase advice as things that have worked for them, or things that they personally enjoy, to be fine. Some writing advice can spark inspiration.

But if someone is the type of person to boil every story down to troupes and cliches, and then immediately say that every story that uses the trait they don't like is automatically bad for everyone? I'm dropping the kindness for a second - that's trash. That's a trash take and I see far too many writers use it as a reason to stop before they begin.

I don't like whump. I say my reasons in previous posts if you go back through my blog. But you will never hear me say that any story with whump in it is bad, because I don't know that. You might prove me wrong. I am an adult human being and I have the humility to admit that I can like something I didn't expect to. I genuinely enjoy the direction of The Human Centipede (only the first one) and if you cringed just now that probably means you haven't seen it.

There are so many types of books and movies and plays and comics out there. To enjoy a specific genre is fine, to ignore the existence of everything else is a really, really, really odd thing to do. Maybe someone will hate your story because they think everything should be Neil Gaiman, and therefore have no way to understand your epistolary high-Western. You are not the wrong end of that situation just for existing.

And at there is a definite threshold on how many writing tips you can gather before they stop being useful. If you find them interesting, that's one thing. That's fine. But if the culture of creativity online has made you feel like you need to educate yourself on every possible angle before you can write a story, you are actively harming yourself.

Imagine taking the level of structure you put on yourself in that way and putting it on children playing pretend in the backyard. Oh, Susie, don't you know that it's overdone for your Kitsune have dead parents? Xyler, shouldn't you ask someone else before you decide how Spiderman would react to this? It would make no sense and they do not need it. Kids will make a whole world out of nothing and it's the most fucked thing in my heart that at some point they get access to Reddit and dipshits start insisting that's wrong.

They aren't wrong and you aren't either. Your favorite creative influencer can't tell you your story, strangers on the internet can't tell you your story, your teachers and loved ones can't tell you your story. They can influence it, but they can't write it honestly the way you can.

You do that. That's the thing you do.

Man that makes me upset. I can't tell you how to make a story, either. If anyone sends me asks for writing advice the most I'll do is say what I've done before hopping into your DMs and starting a direct conversation. it's so personal to each individual artist, and I'd like to think that the people selling these classes and software and promoting these platforms haven't thought about that before. Otherwise it does feel manipulative. If you have a willingness to practice and imagine and really experiment with the possibilities, you are ready to write your story.

And if it doesn't work? Try again. That's what you do.

Stephen King has written roughly a thousand books and maybe five of them have decent endings. He is unimaginably successful.

I'm rambling now. I think I got that out of my system. I was really worried to say this out of fear of being too weird or somehow reverse-gatekeeping so hard that it circles back into also being a bad thing. I've just spoken to a lot of people who I still think of throughout my day, and I truly ache for them to get past the fear of creation. Because it's worth it. It's worth it and it's fun, even when it's messy and you're tired.

Let it Be just came on. Beatles. I haven't listened to The Beatles in a long time. Feels a little apropos.

I love you, reader. Reader, Writer, Colleague. Take care of yourself. Especially the little you, still sitting there in the backyard of your soul, bathing in the sun with their bare feet in the damp earth.

Consider joining them, maybe.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Re crazykuroneko & murfpersonalblog etc

You know, sometimes I get sent posts, where certain people take my posts, take them apart out of context, twist them to mean what they think they and want them to mean, and yet fail to have all the knowledge they would need to actually judge why I said what I said. Like, for example, my initial post about what I expect will happen with Amel, based on Sam's words.

And what makes me most livid about it that they LIE - they lie - about me focusing on the drop. AND the abuse. They say I want that to happen. That I want abuse apology. When I specifically said - specifically - that I do not like this. I don't like this at all. Oh, said that here, too.

And I specifically said that Amel will NOT be part of the abuse apology (re the fight itself or drop). HERE. In that post they quoted - and that they try to twist around now. And to make the claim that "them" that the ANON USED is me meaning black people... jesus fucking christ.

So yeah, to repeat what I said in the post linked in my bio:

If you like this kind of twisting words, making claims, not caring for facts? Go ahead, stay with them (lol, sorry it's the correct word to use here) and block me.

THAT I don't care about anymore. Because these people, especially these accounts and their friends have been at that for over two years. Worst faith readings, twisting words around. Not knowing what Sam said about that little subject, or ignoring it.

Oh, and this "scrolling through the tags"?

NO. They deliberately sought my blog out, to hate on me - because I have them blocked. And so they had to come, with a burner account, to find something they can hate on from me. *slow clap*

Ultimately all this won't matter anymore btw. Watch Sam's interview with Autumn. He confirms it there, at around 40 mins, iirc, when he talks about Akasha and the "toxic masculinity" thing. "the thing" inside Lestat that makes him do certain things. Yip Yip Hurray. -.- (And yes, to make this clear, that was sarcasm.)

Oh, and in this specific case "them" is definitely these two and their friends - and that has nothing - NOTHING to do with skin color you absolute wanks.

[upsidedownmvnson]

crash landed

A/N: i want to branch out on this blog and write for other fandoms too, so im dipping my toes in my baby poe dameron's pool

summary: you and poe are stranded on an unknown planet after a dicy shootout. and your injuries are getting worse by the minute.

warnings: probably inaccurate star wars stuff, graphic descriptions of injuries (maybe), broken bones,

"poe?" you whispered, shaky voice barely cutting through the loud wind noises rattling the loose metal of a broken starfighter.

he grunts, barely looking away from the twisted metal he's trying to bend back in shape with pure will. it's been hours, and with no working comms, and no working beacon.. it was time to start considering alternate escape routes.

"ugh - if it would just-" he grunts again, pounding his fist once against it, the sound lost beneath the other crashing titanium pieces.

"poe..." you said, again, holding onto your shoulder. it was starting to really hurt, and you could barely move your arm, you were sure it was broken, and with the adrenaline of a crash landing fading, it was really starting to be a problem.

he looked at you, lips tight and tense, none of the usual spark in his eyes. his mouth softens into a light frown when he sees you cradling your injury.

"if we don't leave soon i dont know how far i'll be able to go," you say, raising your voice to be heard over the weather.

"we don't even know where we are!" he shouts back, frustrated and angry.

"i know but..."

"how am i supposed to get you out of this!?"

but he softens even more when your lip quivers, and he knows he's being cold - but look at what he's done. he's hurt you. he's gotten you lost on some outskirt planet with no way out, and no medical supplies. he's just proven about himself what he always feared might be true ... he can't protect you.

"I'm sorry!" he shouts, he looks around, and harshly scratches his thumb on his temple. "you're right! we have to move."

"take the comlink! i'll try to fix it when we get ..." you squint, "somewhere."

he grabs it, although he doesn't believe you can fix it. it doesn't even look like scrap metal anymore. totally crushed during the crash landing. if he had just jumped instead of trying to outmaneuver, this wouldn't have happened. he could have gotten you to safety but he was so sure that they wouldn't see his flip coming, but they did... and managed to target the gun you'd been using at the back of the ship, causing a small explosion and sending you against the side of the ship and then when you weren't answering he...

he lost all control and crashed the ship. he was the best pilot the resistance had, and he crashed with the most precious thing in his life depending on him. he was a failure.

when he climbs back down from the trashed fighter, he puts his hand on the small of your back and guides you forward. you were disappointed when he let you go. usually, he'd find any excuse to keep his hands on you, but now he dropped his touch as soon as you'd started walking with him.

you walked quietly, holding the ripped fabric on the shoulder of your suit closed with your good arm and kept the other as snug to your chest as you could. you felt like you were trying to hold yourself together.

you knew this was your fault. if you had just made the shot... you guys wouldn't be in this mess. and the man you were in love with - and arguably the most important pilot in the resistance - wouldn't be stranded in this nowhere place. and you wouldn't be a limping burden. you try your best to hide it. to walk normally and disguise your wincing.

"i'm sorry," you say finally, unable to stand one more moment of uncomfortable silence. you'd never struggled to talk to poe before, normally you can't get him to shut up. "I should've been able to hit the fuel tank, i knew where it was and i missed the-"

"this wasn't your fault," he cut you off, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "none of this is your fault, it's mine."

you could barely hear him, and you were about you respond when both of you were taken by complete surprise as you yelped, your ankle giving way under you with a sickening crunch. poe heard it over the wind, and caught you before you could completely hit the ground.

you cried, trying to say something about the pain but all that came out were a few strangled syllables.

"hey, hey, hey, it's okay! i've got you!" but he's panicking. he can't support you with your arm in that condition, and he can't get you up because of the leg. he's sick. he can't breathe thinking of what's he caused. he picks you up, cradling you as close to his chest as he can as he frantically looks around for anything, anything.

a cave in the face of a rockside is all he can see, and he escapes to it's safety, at least able to get you out of the wind for a minute while he thinks. he sets you down as gently as he can, his heart shattering with each deep sob you release.

he looks around, as if help will just appear in the cave. and he stands up, watching you curl into yourself.

"poe, i'm so sorry." you sob, not noticing his confused expression as you hide your face in your arm, words coming out choked and pathetic you say, "look at what i've done."

"you can't -" he pauses, "you didn't do anything wrong, this mess is my fault."

he wants to stop and comfort you, but he doesn't have time. he has to save you, he has to save. you. he's freaking out. he's failed you, the mission, leia, all because he assumed he was better than some first order pilot.

"i have to find you some help," he says, crouching down close to you and moving some hair out of your face. the blotchy, red cheeks, and swollen eyes that hold nothing but pain behind them, made an unexpected tear fall from poe's eye, but he catches it on the back of his hand before you can see. "why can't wait these injuries out, okay?" you nod sullenly, unable to force out anymore words. "do you have your blaster? hm? can you look at me?" he asks, and you do. "i'm going to run okay? i'm going to find you some help."

poe runs for an hour, but aside from the weather finally yielding, he finds nothing. he nearly gets lost on his way back, but finds you sitting up against the hard rock wall, blaster disassembled around you, as you fiddle with the small broken comlink.

"you're sitting."

"i'm totally numb," you whisper, and you're both quiet. you both know that's not a good thing. "i don't know if it worked... but i tried to send out a signal. the transmitter looked functional enough, but the mic was broken beyond... I..." you trail off. "i hope they find you."

"us," he corrects harsher than he means to. "they're going to find us."

you smile. "you should go."

"what????"

"you can come back for me later but -"

"-no-"

"-we shouldn't both rot in this-"

"-stop saying this crap, seriously-"

"hellhole, and you're too important to lose and-"

"stop!" he shouts, crouching down to look in your eye, passion and frustration covered his face, "you're too important, don't you get that!? don't you get anything? i can't lose you too." poe's resolve falls faster than it rose, and he's sobbing before you've even really processed what he's said. "i won't survive it. if i lose you. i won't survive."

"poe?"

"i love you, you idiot."

but then you passed out. and poe is screaming your name, tapping gentle slaps on your cheek to wake you, but it's not working. he's worried you hit your head.

"what do i do!?" he's looking around, but there's nothing. he knows there's nothing. "what do i do!?"

but he hears something outside that sounds like yelling. and he doesn't care if its first order, pirates, or whatever, he doesn't care. he'd surrender himself to save you. he's only got a half broke blaster, but he's got the spark he needs to save you.

he hides behind a tree when he sees figures, waiting to ambush the first person and steal their weapon, but when he grabs them, it's finn looking out of breath and terrified.

"poe! maker, we couldn't-"

"come on!" poe shouts, ignoring his friend, letting go of the fistful of shirt he had, and taking off full tilt back to where you were. finn was hot on his trail, silent. while chewie ran not far behind, roaring in worry. no one liked the crazed look in poe's eye, especially when they knew it was bad sign you weren't with him.

when they're back to you, poe first checks your pulse, his own nearly stopping with anxiety. but however shallow, it was there, you were still there.

poe scoops you up, holds you close to his chest for a second, whispering a secret plea for you to stay with him, and let chewie take you in his arms, begging him in broken words to be gentle with you.

and then poe just sobbed as they rushed back to the ship.

you didn't wake up for a full month. poe ran defensive missions, or short trips. but he couldn't stay focused long enough for anything longer.

when he returns from a simple fetch & return for leia, he's greeted by rey and rose waiting in the hanger, chatting excitedly. at first poe is annoyed, as he takes his helmet off and shakes his hair out. how could your friends find a way to stand around and chat and smile... but when they look at him with wide grins, he hesitates to feel hope. they've said nothing but his heart is racing. he thinks it may beat clear out of his chest,

"someone wants to see you," rose singsongs, laughing as poe throws his helmet on the floor and takes off down the hallway, following his usual path straight from the hanger to the medbay.

he stops in the doorway, panting as he takes in the sight of you smiling with finn, who was sitting on the chair closest to you. he gets up when he sees poe, says goodbye, and leaves, patting his friend on the shoulder as he passes.

"you're awake," he says, taking finn's seat, and scooching it even closer to you. he gathers up your hand in both of his, and leans forward to press his forehead against the back of your hand. "please, forgive me."

"forgive you? for what?"

he scoffs, leaning back but maintaining a secure grip on your hands. "well, for nearly killing you, mostly."

"poe, i missed the shot. i had the shot and i missed it, it's my fault."

"no," he says, sternly, in a commanding voice you don't even recognize, and you listen, watching him with kind eyes. he could live in them, melt into them, stay there forever. "you saved us. you made a beacon out of a gun and a broken comlink. you're a genius, you're... you're so..." he grunts in frustration when the words get lost. "i almost lost you..." he whispers, kissing the back of your hand. he leans his forehead back onto your hand, whispering again and again how sorry he was. 

you smiled sadly at him. he looked thin, had bags under his eyes. you doubted he has been sleeping, finn said he'd spent every night by your side, curled up uncomfortably on the metal chair.

"nah," you chuckle, "i always was gunna come back to you."

"and how do you know that, hm?"

you grin, winking, "because i love you, you idiot."

[viking-raider]

Salt in Our Wounds - Chapter II

Summary-> You've brought the unconscious and injured man into your home. Now, you and Edmund attempt to get him medical attention, while figuring out who he is, and what side he's on.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 4.8k

Chapters-> I

Warnings-> PG: Blood, Language, Infidelity, Fluff, Medical Treatment

Inspiration-> Since my favorite demon, @littlefreya, asked so nicely. The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

“What are we going to tell Papa, Edmund?” You whispered, looking at him suddenly.

Edmund pushed his jaw forward and rubbed his palms over the steering wheel. “You just leave that to me, Peanut.” He replied, hitting the village round-a-bout. “I'll talk to him. What we need to worry about is how we're going to get his bullet wound treated.”

“Oh, no!” You gasped, feeling ridiculous for forgetting that.

“Relax.” Edmund cooed, turning onto your street. “I might have someone in mind, who could help us and keep their mouth shut.” He said, parking against your curb, instead of his.

“Who?” You frowned, blinking at him.

“Old man Tremblay.” He said, killing the engine. “He used to be the village's doctor, before his son-in-law, Thomas, took over for him. They both hate the Germans. So, I might be able to talk to Dr. Tremblay about coming over to the house. I'll say we need him to look at Pops. No offense to Thomas, but he's more comfortable with the old man, which is true. Once he's here, I'll explain the situation to him.”

“If he doesn't help us?” You asked, chewing on your lip, worried.

“Then, we'll wing it.” He huffed, shoving his door open and getting out.

“Wing it.” You sighed, your hands trembling. “Right. Wing it.” You gulped, getting out and meeting your brother at the tailgate. “What end are we picking up first?” You asked, quietly.

“I'll grab his top end.” Edmund replied, casually. “No need for you to drop the poor bastard on his head. He's got enough issues.” He sighed, climbing into the truck. “We all do.” He mumbled under his breath. “Go, open the front door.” He said, jerking his head towards your modest cottage.

“Fair.” You replied, scurrying over and pushing the door open. “Papa, me and Edmund are bringing something in! Don't close the door, please!” You called inside, before rushing back to the truck, helping Edmund with your load.

You slide him half off the truck, enabling you to wrap your arms around his knees and calves, before Edmund managed the rest. Shuffling across the sidewalk and turning, so Edmund went in first, you stepped over the threshold into the cottage, feeling the heat of the fire your father had roaring in the grate.

“What in God's sake are you two bringing in!” Your father griped from the sitting room, where he occupied his favorite armchair.

“I'll explain in a minute, Pops!” Edmund wheezed back, kicking open the door to the cellar. “You go down first.” He bid you with a jerk of his chin. “Your side vision is better than mine, so you hopefully won't stubble down the stairs, while looking over your shoulder.”

“That's fine.” You nodded, turning so you could carefully go down the narrow steps into the dark basement below.

It was slow and cumbersome, but you and Edmund made it to the bottom. You sat your package down and unwrapped him. There were no windows into the basement, so there wasn't a need to hide or conceal him anymore.

“We can't lay him on the floor, Edmund.” You hissed at him, quietly.

“We're not, silly!” He growled back, shaking his head. “Pops has a camp bed up in the attic. Go, get it and bring it down here. We'll set it up in the cellar, he can lay on it.”

Nodding, you went back upstairs, peeking at your father as you came up, but found, to your relief, he had dozed off. Going upstairs and down the hallway, you reached up for a cord hanging from the ceiling and pulled it, revealing a hidden, folded ladder, leading up to the half attic. It took a few minutes for you to finally find the folded up, military green and canvas, camp bed. Once you were back in the basement with it, Edmund had the cellar door open and was waiting for you. He put the bed together like an expert, having gone on countless camping trips with it over his life.

“That should do it.” He sighed, wiping his face. “Let's get him in it, then I'll go talk to Dr. Tremblay.”

“All right.” You sighed back. “He doesn't seem to be bleeding as much.” You commented, once he was resting in the bed.

“Seems so.” Edmund agreed, narrowing his eyes at the wound in the dim lighting. “Whether or not it's a good or bad sign is yet to be determined.”

“Then, you should hurry and get the doctor.” You urged him, brow creasing gently as you looked up at him.

“I'm going. I'm going.” He defended, holding his hands up. “Can't a man take a breather?” He asked, wide eyed.

You reached out and took Edmund's hand. “I'm sorry. I'm just-”

“I know, Peanut.” Edmund interrupted, shaking his head at you. “You have a heart worth more than gold, itself.” He said softly, bending to kiss the top of your head. “With luck, I'll be back soon with Dr. Tremblay.” He called, heading out.

“You hear that?” You said, looking at the man. “We're going to get you looked after. You'll be right as rain again soon.” You smiled at him, though you weren't sure why. “How about I grab you a blanket?” You continued to babble at him. “You might get blood on it though.” You frowned, biting the corner of your lip, but scurried upstairs for a blanket and pillow anyway.

“What's that for, Peanut?” Your father asked, still half dozing.

“Oh, I just thought the basement spirit would like something comfortable to nap with.” You answered, pausing at the basement door, smirking over at him, knowing he wasn't listening.

“That's nice of you, love.” He slurred, head lolling forward.

You chuckled, continuing on. “Well, my father now thinks the basement is haunted.” You quipped, lightly spreading the blanket over your new housemate, then gently tucked the pillow under his head, noticing how sweaty his unruly, but short, curls were. “You've caught a fever.” You cooed, turning your hand to delicately rest it on his damp forehead. “Thankfully, it's cool down here.” You said, using the cuff of your blouse to dab at his sweaty brow.

“I'll be right back.” You hurried back upstairs, to the kitchen.

You grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and a dish towel from its hanger. Tossing the towel over your shoulder, you filled the bowl halfway with water and turned to the ice box and chipped ice from it, dropping some into the bowl. You made two trips between the upstairs and the cellar, taking a chair down there, before taking down the chilled water, so you had something to sit on as you gingerly dabbed his flushed forehead and face.

“Well, whoever you are.” You said, balancing the bowl in your lap. “It's a right mess this is.” You chuckled, before introducing yourself, feeling silly just sitting there in the silence. “I hope you're on our side or Edmund is going to have us both shot.”

Some of the heat in his skin cooled as you lightly draped the folded dish towel over his forehead, making you relieved to see him not so flushed.

You heard the door upstairs creak open and the floorboards overhead groan as heavy feet strode and shuffled over them. “That must be Edmund with Dr. Tremblay.” You commented, looking up at the dusty ceiling. “I should go up and check on them.” You said, standing up, setting the now warm bowl of water in your place on the chair.

“Edmund?” You called softly, appearing in the kitchen, where he was standing with a short, gray haired man, dressed in a wrinkled, brown three piece suit.

“Sshh.” He hushed you, casting an eye towards the sitting room and waved you closer. “As I was saying, Dr. Tremblay, I've brought you here not for my father, but for another matter entirely.” He continued, his voice low so as not to disturb your father.

Dr. Tremblay's bushy brows drew closer together, reminding you of a caterpillar. “Is that so?” He hummed, bringing his arthritic hand up to his chin. “Then, what was it you summoned me here for?”

Edmund's eyes twitched to yours for a moment, you nodded at him and he looked back to the good doctor. “I know you have no love for our occupiers, Dr. Tremblay, like I, myself, don't.”

“Ha!” He laughed, his head tipping back as he grinned. “Fripouilles!” He spat, with no small amount of venom.

“I agree, sir.” Edmund chuckled, smirking. “But, to the heart of the matter. My dear sister here, on her daily morning walk along the beach found something—someone, washed ashore.” He explained, his voice calm and steady, revealing no emotion or opinion. “We're sure he's of our morals. But he's been injured.”

“Injured?” Dr. Tremblay frowned, narrowing his ordinarily kind, but currently and understandably suspicious, brown eyes at him. “Injured how? Show me.”

“I would rather tell you.” Edmund answered, biting his lip. “In case, you wish not to have any further dealings in this matter.”

“Nonsense!” Tremblay huffed, waving his hand dismissively at the two of you. “Let me see this man.”

Edmund didn't move for a moment, before nodding and leading him down the basement stairs. “He was shot in the side.” He explained, entering the cellar, where your guest laid.

“I discovered he'd developed a fever.” You spoke up from the door. “So, I applied a cool compress to his skin.”

“That was a good thing.” Dr. Tremblay answered, distractedly, folding back the blanket and resting his hands on the man's injured side. “Has he regained consciousness at any time?”

“No.” Edmund replied, shaking his head and looking at you.

“He hasn't.” You confirmed, nervously.

Dr. Tremblay pulled a pair of wired spectacles out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket, before untucking the shirt from the unconscious man's trousers, for a clearer view, and began fussing around the wound. “Help me turn him on his side, Edmund.” He bid, waving your brother over. “Yes, good. Very good.” He nodded, examining his back. “The bullet went clean through to the other side.” He said, indicating the exit area, just above his hip.

“Then, why is he still comatose?” You asked, concerned.

“He may have struck his head on something, while in the water.” He answered, allowing Edmund to rest him on his back, before moving up to his head and gently working his fingers through his curls, feeling for any bumps or soft spots on his scalp. “Ah, just here.” He smiled, finding a faint knot at the back, just behind his left ear.

“Well, get my bag from upstairs. I'll treat him.” Tremblay sighed at Edmund. “Are you squeamish, young lady?” He asked, while he pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down.

You thought of the Patrol Officer for a split second, before answering him. “No, sir. I am not.”

“Very good.” He said, crooking a finger at you. “You'll be taking care of this, when I'm not here to check on him.” He informed you, bluntly.

“That's fine.” You gulped, biting your lip and moving to stand beside him. “What will I need to do?”

“The dressing on both the entry and exit wounds will need to be changed.” He explained to you, calmly. “You'll make sure there's no sign of infection or the stitches I need to put in place have not come untied. As well as keep them clean.”

You nodded your head, somewhat apprehensive at the thought of doing all of this, but knew there was no other option, if you wanted to keep this man alive.

“You were correct in assuming he has a fever.” Dr. Tremblay said, lifting the damp towel and laying his hand on the man's forehead, feeling the heat there. “It's possible there's an infection in his wound from his time in the water.” He replaced the towel and looked up at Edmund as he rejoined the two of you, holding Tremblay's black, large and leather doctor's bag.

“I will show you how to give him penicillin shots.” He told you, taking his bag and setting it down between his feet.

“You mean with a needle?” You squeaked, startled, looking over at Edmund.

“Certainly not with a glass, mon chéri.” Tremblay chuckled, grinning at the contents of his bag.

The seasoned doctor removed an emerald, glass bottle of liquid antiseptic, a small package of silk sutures with a wickedly sharp needle, a tiny vial of a clear substance and a glass syringe. He laid them out on a small space on the bed, turning his attention back to the angry looking entry wound.

“Do you have any hand towels you could part with?” He asked, looking up at you. “It will help me clean these wounds.”

“Yes, of course.” You nodded, darting back upstairs and grabbing a couple of the dish towels you had that were in sad condition, bringing them back down as Edmund was wrestling an old nightstand into the room.

“Give him something to put his instruments on.” He explained to your expression.

“Ah.” You nodded, understanding.

Everything set up, you watched closely as Dr. Tremblay drew the milky antibiotic through into the syringe, pushing up the plunger slightly to remove any air, then set it aside and studied his patient for a moment, before letting out a sigh that sounded as if he was inconvenienced.

“We must remove his trousers.” He said, tapping his foot.

“Why?” Edmund blurted out, brows going up with surprised shock.

“So I may administer the shot to him.” Tremblay replied, with an air of impatience.

“Well!” Edmund started to protest.

“Men!” You huffed, shaking your head.

“Don't you dare!” He snapped at you, watching as you moved around the good doctor and removed the blanket you had laid over the injured man, but you ignored him.

First, untying his boots and dropping them at the foot of the bed, then reached up and unbuttoned his suspenders, followed by the button of his trousers.

“What if he's not wearing an undergarment?” Your brother protested further.

“Then, we will be finding out presently, brother.” You replied, shooting him a look as you tugged the zipper down, much to your relief finding the hint of white and blue striped shorts. “See, you're fretting for nothing.” You said, tugging the rough wool pants down off his surprisingly thick thighs.

“Possibly of questionable allegiance, but properly dressed.” You quipped, folding them.

“Watch closely, mon chéri.” Tremblay hummed and picked the syringe back up, with a practiced hand, squeezed the muscle at the top of his thigh and injected him, slowly pushing down the plunger. “That is how it is done.” He said, looking up at you.

“It seems simple enough.” You answered, attempting to appear confident in your ability to replicate it.

“Very good.” He nodded, turning his bespeckled eyes to the bullet wound on the man's abdomen.

Grabbing one of the hand towels you set on the table, he poured antiseptic on it and pressed it to the wound, eliciting one of the first major reactions out of your beached stranger with the stinging liquid to the open and bleeding puncture. He whined, brows drawing together as he shook his head, sluggishly lifting his hand. You moved back around to the head of the bed, hushing him gently and picking up the now wilted towel as it slipped from his forehead. You caressed his damp curls off his forehead and temple, attempting to offer some semblance of comfort as Dr. Tremblay continued to disinfect his wound and the area around it.

“You're all right.” You whispered to him, quietly. “We're just trying to help you.” You tried to explain to him, not sure if he could hear you or not. “You're safe here with us.” You mumbled, watching Tremblay set the cloth aside to pick up the needle and thread, you unconsciously took the man's limp hand in yours and hugged it to your chest.

“Is there no more light to be had in this room, Edmund!” Tremblay asked, leaning forward to stare at the wound in the dusky light of the single, naked bulb overhead.

“I may be able to find you a lantern.” Edmund replied, turning back into the basement and rummaged around the items, until he found an oil lamp. He shook it gently, hearing what oil that was left inside slosh about. “I found it!” He called out, before going upstairs, setting that lamp on the kitchen counter and crossing into the sitting room, where the once roaring fire was, but now only flickered.

He took one of the fire sticks from the holder bolted to the brick that made up the fireplace and lit it with one of the remaining flames. Carefully carrying it back to the lamp, Edmund lit its soaked wick and blew the fire stick out, before tossing it into the sink.

“Here.” Edmund sighed, setting the lamp down on the table. “I hope it's enough.”

“Yes, yes.” The doctor nodded, satisfied.

With all he needed, Tremblay squinted and made the first pick of the needle. The patient huffed, his stomach muscles flexing in response, but it didn't deter Dr. Tremblay in the slightest as he continued. You stroked his forearm and squeezed his hand, watching with an uneasy stomach as the old doctor made smooth sutures. Those sutures placed, Edmund helped roll him onto his side, so the wound on his lower back could be likewise treated with antiseptic and stitched closed.

“I will come back in a day or two, to check on his wound and ensure the fever has broken. Give him the next shot in the morning.” Tremblay said, arranging his bag and closing it. “Should he grow worse in that time, send for me.”

“We will.” You answered, staring down at him, concerned with the flush to his face.

Edmund showed the kind doctor back upstairs, while you gently tended to your sick house guest. Carefully pulling down his shirt and covering him back up, as not to leave him only laying in the camp bed in a long sleeved shirt and his boxers. Picking up the basin of water, you carried it back upstairs and dumped it out in the sink, refilling it with fresh water and a little ice, before taking it back to the cellar, resting it on the table. Dipping the folded cloth in the chilled water and ringing it out, then gently pressing it to his flushed and bearded cheeks wiping away the droplets of blossoming sweat at his brow.

“He's going to need some nursing.” You said, hearing your brother coming back.

“I can see that.” Edmund replied, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame.

“Is there any prospect of finding him a more comfortable bed?” You asked Edmund, looking the camp bed over, how it dipped under his weight, the only support were the ties that kept the canvas middle secure to the frame.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Between both houses, while Willa and I have a guest bed, that he's not welcome to, for obvious reasons. We don't have a bed to spare.” He told you, but saw the glint in your eye. “I could piece something for him.” He continued, stopping you from asking the question that was on the tip of your tongue. “Topping it with the mattress from my spare bed.”

“That would be better for him, I think.” You said, worried about the safety of the sutures on his back.

“Well, for now, it'll have to wait until tomorrow.” Edmund sighed, scratching the underside of his jaw. “It's your turn to make dinner tonight, by the way.” He reminded you, watching you fuss with the stranger as if he was someone you knew.

“I remember, brother.” You replied, catching the edge in his voice. “I got a good bit of minced beef from Remi last afternoon, with some Swedes.” You told him, dipping the cloth in the cool basin, then lightly laid it over the resting man's forehead. “Juliette told me a recipe yesterday as well. It's called Beef Loaf.” You stood, planting your hands on your hips and massaging the small of your back, sore from so much bending.

“I thought we would try it tonight.” You said, turning towards him, with a lifted brow.

“Sounds interesting.” He answered, cocking a brow back at you. “You should get to it.” He added, looking at his watch. “Supper starts in two hours. You know how the Major is, when dinner isn't prompt.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, I do.” You replied, casting your eyes down to your soiled skirt. “But, I should change first. If he sees me like this, he'll likely ask questions.”

“Very true.” Edmund nodded, squinting at your skirt and just making out the stains. “Off you trot, then. I'll stay with our friend for a little while, in case he wakes.” He sighed, pushing off the door frame towards the chair. “You mind popping over to my place and grabbing my sketch pad, after you're finished freshening up? I need to make some figures on the shelves I'm putting down here.”

“Of course.” You nodded, picking the basin. “Do you have another lantern or oil? So you have more light to work by?”

“I believe so.” He frowned, slouching in the chair. “Willa can find them.”

Nodding again, you left back upstairs, setting the bowl in the sink and headed up to your bedroom. Sighing, you unbuttoned your skirt and let it slip in a puddle around your ankles, before stepping out of it and opened your little closet. Reaching blindly in for a fresh skirt, pulling out a wool, black and green, plaid skirt and slipped it on. Smoothing your hands over the garment, you hurried outside and to Edmund and Willa's home across the street, knocking lightly as you pushed the door open.

“Willa!” You called out for your sister-in-law, looking about for the slight brunette. “Lila!” You shouted, crossing to the back of the house, where they had a small garden, finding your sister-in-law there. She sat at a small table, slightly sideways in her chair, as she held one of her Debs Rose-Tips between her slender fingers, her eyes staring off over the garden wall.

“Willa.” You hailed, stepping out onto the patio.

Head jerking as she startled and taking a deep breath, Willa blinked several times and looked around at you. “Oh, it's you.” She sighed, rolling her hazel eyes. “What do you want?”

“I came for Edmund's sketch book. I also wanted to know if you had a lantern or lantern oil?” You explained to her, ignoring her look of annoyance at being bothered in whatever she was doing.

“Fine.” Willa huffed, standing up and heading inside, you following after her.

Willa opened a closet in the living room, removing a lantern and a bottle of oil, handing them over to you, before finding Edmund's sketch pad and his graphite pencil in the kitchen, motioning to them. “Will my husband need anything else?” She asked, with an air of almost callousness.

“I should think not.” You answered, taking the book and pencil up. “I'll have dinner ready soon.” You informed her, juggling all of your items. “If you're going to grace us with your presence.” You added, with an edge of your own.

“I'll think about it.” She answered, lifting an arched brow at you.

“Right, I'll have Edmund get you, when it's finished.” You said, turning for the door. “If not, I'll make you a plate.”

You were gently turning out the mixture of mince meat, dry breadcrumbs, fine onion, an egg, a pinch of salt and a can of cream of mushroom into your four by eight loaf pan, when your brother came tromping up the basement stairs.

“You'll wake the dead with all that noise, Captain.” You quipped, lightly patting the meat concoction into shape in the pan.

“That I will.” Edmund chuckled, moving to stand beside you, peeking over your shoulder to see in the baking pan. “Is that the beef loaf?” He asked, giving it a questionable brow lift.

“It is.” You nodded, sighing at it, praying you had mixed it all properly. “Now, it's supposed to cook for an hour.”

“Well, hopefully it'll look prettier by then.” Edmund chuckled, smirking at you, then brought up his sketch pad. “I finished up the drawing for the shelves down there. What do you think?” He asked, cocking his head at the dark lines.

Opening the blazing oven and grabbing the pan in a thick towel, you paused for a moment to give your brother's picture a look. “They look good, Eddie.” You told him, smiling encouragingly, bending to slide the pan onto the middle rack and shut the door. “How are we to open and close the secret door you've made there?” You asked, pointing it out, careful not to touch it so you didn't smudge the graphite.

“The lock is magnetic.” He replied, pointing it out in the sketch. “We'll put something on the shelf that'll connect to it, so when it's moved, the mechanism is tripped and the door swings up.”

“That's pretty incredible.” You grinned, enchanted by the whole thing.

“It shouldn't take me more than two days to build.” Edmund said, sounding as confident as he could as he examined the drawing a bit more, slowly turning away to head over to the kitchen table, seating himself to refine it a bit more.

“What are we building?” Your father's voice asked as he made careful steps coming down stairs.

You and Edmund exchanged a quick glance at each other and you turned away to mind the violet and dusky yellow Swedes that sat boiling in a pot of salted water top of the stove. There was a lump in your throat, waiting to hear what excuse Edmund was going to give your father for the changes downstairs in the basement. Neither of you really worried about him going down there, he struggled with stairs because of his advancing arthritis, choosing to sleep in his armchair in the sitting room most nights and only making the arduous journey upstairs to his bedroom when he needed to change his clothes or shower.

However any change to the house, seen or unseen, would draw his attention.

“I'm going to build some shelves against the cellar wall, in the basement, for her.” Edmund replied, calmly, making an adjustment to his plans. “So she can tidy things up a bit down there.”

“And what of the cellar?” Mael asked, shuffling over to his chair.

“We haven't used it once for anything since we lived here, Pops.” He chuckled, smirking at the old man's back. “Might as well close it up.”

Mael made a sound as he lowered himself into his chair, something between a dismissive grunt and a stiff groan. “Very well.” He sighed, settling himself and tossing his knitted blanket over his lap. “If it makes Peanut happy.”

You chucked, smiling. “It does, Papa.” You assured him, draining the water out of the Swedes pot and looking over your shoulder at Edmund, who winked at you.

Mashing the Swedes and getting them nice and creamy, you set them aside and checked the Beef Loaf. Opening the oven door and filling the space with a rather mouthwatering aroma, but the dish still needed a few more minutes to cook, so you shut door and started pulling down plates, setting them on the stove to warm up.

“Dinner will be ready soon.” You announced to Edmund and your father. “Do you want to see if Willa is joining us?” You asked Edmund, biting the corner of your lip.

Edmund took a deep breath, setting his pencil down and rubbed at the smudged graphite dust on his fingers for a moment. “I think we both know the answer to that, sister.” He mumbled, a hardness coming to his eyes.

“I suppose.” You whispered back, heart sore for him. “I'll make a plate for her.”

“Best bet.” He sighed, pushing his chair back and standing, moving over to the sink to wash his hands.

[merakiui]

Hi! This concept has been inside my head for a while now but which TWST boy do you think would fit this?

"Academic rivals, reader unaware that [insert character] had fallen into an obsession with her. Reader on the otherhand none the wiser of his brewing feelings until He decided to kill two birds with one stone and knock reader up.

Because not only would being pregnant cause her to possibly drop out and end the rivalry, but the baby will also be a reminder that reader is forever his <3"

I know I have a tendency to fit Azul into nearly every plot ever imagined, but this is so Azul. OTL I want to say Riddle, but he values education so much and therefore I can't see him doing something like that to you, however intense your rivalry may be. But then maybe that's also because Riddle is much too proud and he just knows he's going to be on top no matter what. If anything, Riddle will knock you up after the both of you have graduated. :)

As for Azul, he's too self-conscious (and sickly envious) and he has to prove that he's the best. You're something of a threat. On one hand, he loves you more than he loves himself and he thrives off of the rivalry because it pushes him to be even better (and it gives him a reason to be closer to you). But then he also hates the idea of being bested so often. Azul gets it in his head to knock you up because (childishly enough) he'll win the rivalry, but more importantly he can take care of you. You won't need to stress over coursework or pull all-nighters to study anymore. You can live a comfortable life with him and the baby. <3

Floyd isn't really your academic rival. He could be if he put in the effort because he's very intelligent when he applies himself. So I like to imagine that it's more of an accidental pregnancy. He's too himbo sometimes and so he doesn't realize the signs at first; and maybe you're trying to hide them for whatever reason. So when you're eating more, putting on more weight, having a warmer body temperature, being prone to bouts of sickness and sleepiness, etc, Floyd just assumes you're overworking yourself. You're super scholarly, so this is what makes the most sense to him. But he's pleasantly surprised when he finally finds out. You're not getting rid of him so easily now.

I feel like Jamil might do something like this. He's really discreet about it. Rivalry with Jamil is a topic I don't often discuss, but it has so much potential because he can't stand being second to anyone or having to force himself to fit into average standards just so he won't stand out or overshadow someone like Kalim. But a rivalry with you is fair game. >:) I like to imagine Jamil is killing three birds with one stone: eliminating you as a rival, claiming you as his own (before someone like Kalim can get his hands all over you), and finally proving to himself that he can be and is better than average. Jamil's UM is so useful for this as well because he can just twist the story to make it seem like the both of you were stressed with school and decided to use one another for some relief. Knowing how Jamil plans in advance for all sorts of possibilities and is a brilliant schemer, he's definitely thought of an assortment of lies that he'll present to you so it'll start to feel believable.

Another character who I thought of was Sebek. I never discuss him on the blog (and I really should because there's potential there, as is with the rest of Diasomnia). With Sebek I think it's more of a dominance thing. He has to prove a point, has to prove he won't lose to a human, of all creatures, and that he is indeed smart enough to be worthy of first place in this rivalry. Also, he can't let waka-sama see him losing in an academic rivalry. Oh, the shame and humiliation!!! T_T Sebek gets so wrapped up in the rivalry, too. He takes it much too seriously, determined to best you and prove his own points to himself (and Malleus, but then I'm sure this is the last thing on Malleus's mind). What Sebek mistakes for hatred is actually infatuation, but that doesn't occur to him until the idea of domesticity hits him and he sees you with your growing tummy and....... wow. He's having an epiphany.

Lastly, I think Rollo might do something like this. You'll never know this, but Rollo enjoys the relationship he has with you. You drive him mad with your obnoxious behaviors, but he has to admit you do know how to get good grades. He only competes with you so he can see you strive. After all, it pleases him greatly to know you're succeeding. The rivalry isn't truly important to him, and he's not as fired up about it as you are. But your determination is admirable and he loves the way competition gets you so eager to do well (or, at the very least, well enough to beat his scores). But Rollo has been in lust with you since the first day he met you, so it's only a matter of time before that obsession of his spills over and leaves you knocked up in the aftermath.

[jewish-vents]

post 10/7 jewish culture is straight up no longer believing your goyische friends actually like you and are in for the long haul. immediately after 10/7 I lost a few people who were disgusting assholes, but ever since then my goyische friends on this website have been slowly "un-friending" me (unfollowing, soft-blocking, and blocking). I'll have other goy friends who stuck around this long say nice things about me, compliment my fics, my blog, and even me, and I just... don't believe it. I know that's a common social anxiety fear, but I never struggled with social anxiety that badly. if you asked me if I thought my internet friends really liked me last september I would've said yes and meant it. but now, after months and months of my friends dropping like flies (and I almost NEVER lost mutuals before 10/7, not in almost 4 years on this website), I don't really believe them. I just can't. I'm waiting for them to realize they don't want to put up with my jewish ass anymore.

I've decided to stop talking about i/p because of this... I'll see posts on my dash (like from jewishlivesmatter) which I think are good and I wanna put on my blog, but I feel like every post about it pushes my goyische friends a little further away, a little closer to the block/unfollow button, so I'm just... not. I used to be scared to talk about i/p, from may 2021 when I learned just how antisemitic most goyim were because of the riots, to oct 7. but now I no longer fear getting doxx'd or getting swarmed with anon hate. I just know that talking about it is the number one way for Jews to lose friends.

"do you even want to be friends with these people?" yes. if I held goyim to the standard of i/p opinions I think everyone ought to have, I'd have no goyische friends. at this point as long as they agree that hamas is a terror org and a 2-state solution is best, I'm down to keep being friends, because even that is a godsend for people my age (20s).

it's even started to affect me in real life. the other day I had a talk with a goysiche friend of 15 years about i/p (knowing where they stood, obviously, by this point). we got into a mild argument, but they had stuff to do so we had to stop. I sent them an unrelated text an hour later, and when I got radio silence for the rest of the day (our argument was in the morning) a part of me genuinely believed that was it for us and braced for losing an irl friend who means so much to me and I thought was going to be in my life until one of us dies. they'd be in my wedding party. we've penciled in figuring out some honorific my future kids can use for them instead of aunt/uncle because they're nonbinary. I caved and texted them to make sure we're still friends, and they said yes, thank fucking gd, because otherwise I might've just had a full mental breakdown.

anyone else waiting for their remaining goyische friends to leave them?

.

[lycheedr3ams]

little blog announcement

TLDR: my könig fanfics from here on out will be focused on discovering his character rather than porn

rant below the cut

before you read this, just look into his eyes for a moment. are you seeing what i'm seeing? the pain and hardships he went through? the years of training and going to bed with broken bones and bruises and a bloody nose? the tears he cried alone because he had no one? can you see how many times he had to pick himself up because he was the only one he had? can you see the man who didn't get to live his dream, who couldn't be the one thing he wanted to be?

i have been thinking a lot about könig's character, story, personality, etc., and i've decided that i want to dedicate my fanfictions moving forward (for the most part) to things that only really make sense for his character. so, this means no porn without plot from me anymore.

there is so much porn without plot out there for könig, and i'm far from the best smut writer. there is an abundance of porn for könig, but far, far less fanfictions (even fewer halfway good ones) that actually have to do with his character. i don't mean disrespect to any fanfic writer, but i'm just very tired of the mischaracterization of könig. the same thing happens to ghost's character too, and several blogs have also posted about these mischaracterization issues.

yeah, some people might say this take is "too deep" or "it's not that serious", but i feel very connected to könig since i am similar to him in a lot of ways (obviously not in terms of being a killer lol). i have spent a lot of time lately just thinking about his character, and the more i think about him, the more i realize that there is so fucking much that most fanfic writers are missing about könig.

yes, we all love könig's accent, height, cock, and everything else that makes him sexually attractive. but what about the little boy who was bullied his whole life, who never had any friends, the one who dropped out of high school to join the army? the one who worked his way up from nothing to become a fierce and respected soldier? after all the porn without plot is said and done, what thoughts go through könig's mind at the end of the day? how does he interact with others? my point being, i want to dedicate my blog more to understanding his character. if you want könig porn without plot, there are many other blogs to find that from. I AM NOT SAYING PORN WITHOUT PLOT IS INHERENTLY BAD! Just that I don’t want to contribute to it.

I will still have porn without plot on my blog, but i will not be writing it myself.

this doesn't mean that i won't post könig porn. oh fuck no, i will have könig porn, but it will be in the context of a story and his character overall than just porn without plot. now, i might break this rule here and there if i have a really good idea, but i'd like to stick as close to my new personal rule as possible. i'm still going to finish the death's angel AU, and i will still be taking requests for butcher!könig cuz that AU is just so good.

but other than that, i seriously want to dedicate this blog to truly understanding könig: to getting under his skin and picking his brain and figuring out who he is behind the hood, who he is other than an austrian military sex symbol many of us - myself included - have made him out to be

if you disagree or don't like this, just don't interact. no need to be hateful. you'll get blocked if you're rude :)