#i just can’t stop similing

[iwanttodance]

You know what, fuck it.

Yes everything is terrible and stressful and the future is absolutely fucking terrifying. But also. I got top surgery 5 weeks ago, and it’s truly wild how much happier I am just exist in my body now. Like fully unimaginable to past me.

I went on a short little hike with my friends yesterday and got to see a waterfall (I guess it was more of a water trickle this time of year but it was still lovely) and I spent the last couple days working on editing a cute short film about two women falling in love, while my cat sat on my lap.

So I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to happen in a few months, no one does. But I can’t help but feel optimistic. A better world is possible.

[physalian]

How to make your writing sound less stiff part 2

Part 1

Again, just suggestions that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice, as I sit here doing my own edits for a WIP.

1. Crutch words

Specifically when you have your narrator taking an action instead of just… writing that action. Examples:

Character wonders/imagines/thinks/realizes

Character sees/smells/feels

Now not all of these need to be cut. There’s a difference between:

Elias stops. He realizes they’re going in the wrong direction.

And

Elias takes far too long to realize that it’s not horribly dark wherever they are

Crutch words are words that don’t add anything to the sentence and the sentence can carry on with the exact same meaning even if you delete it. Thus:

Elias stops. They’re going in the wrong direction.

I need a word in the second example, whether it’s realizes, understands, or notices, unless I rework the entire sentence. The “realization” is implied by the hard cut to the next sentence in the first example.

2. Creating your own “author voice”

Unless the tone of the scene demands otherwise, my writing style is very conversational. I have a lot of sentence fragments to reflect my characters’ scatterbrained thoughts. I let them be sarcastic and sassy within the narration. I leave in instances of “just” (another crutch word) when I think it helps the sentence. Example:

…but it’s just another cave to Elias.

Deleting the “just” wouldn’t hit as hard or read as dismissive and resigned.

I may be writing in 3rd person limited, but I still let the personalities of my characters flavor everything from the syntax to metaphor choices. It’s up to you how you want to write your “voice”.

I’ll let dialogue cut off narration, like:

Not that he wouldn’t. However, “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

Sure it’s ~grammatically incorrect~ but you get more leeway in fiction. This isn’t an essay written in MLA or APA format. It’s okay to break a few rules, they’re more like guidelines anyway.

3. Metaphor, allegory, and simile

There is a time and a place to abandon this and shoot straight because oftentimes you might not realize you’re using these at all. It’s the difference between:

Blinding sunlight reflects off the window sill

And

Sunlight bounces like high-beams off the window sill

It’s up to you and what best fits the scene.

Sometimes there’s more power in not being poetic, just bluntly explicit. Situations like describing a character’s battle wounds (whatever kind of battle they might be from, whether it be war or abuse) don’t need flowery prose and if your manuscript is metaphor-heavy, suddenly dropping them in a serious situation will help with the mood and tonal shift, even if your readers can’t quite pick up on why immediately.

Whatever the case is, pick a metaphor that fits the narrator. If my narrator is comparing a shade of red to something, pick a comparison that makes sense.

Red like the clouds at sunset might make sense for a character that would appreciate sunsets. It’s romantic but not sensual, it’s warm and comforting.

Red like lipstick stains on a wine glass hints at a very different image and tone.

Metaphor can also either water down the impact of something, or make it so much worse so pay attention to what you want your reader to feel when they read it. Are you trying to shield them from the horror or dig it in deep?

4. Paragraph formatting

Nothing sticks out on a page quite like a line of narrative all by itself. Abusing this tactic will lessen its effect so save single sentence paragraphs for lines you want to hammer your audiences with. Lines like romantic revelations, or shocking twists, or characters giving up, giving in. Or just a badass line that deserves a whole paragraph to itself.

I do it all the time just like this.

Your writing style might not feature a bunch of chunky paragraphs to emphasize smaller lines of text (or if you’re writing a fic on A03, the size of the screen makes many paragraphs one line), but if yours does, slapping a zinger between two beefy paragraphs helps with immersion.

5. Polysyndeton and Asyndeton

Not gibberish! These, like single-sentence paragraphs, mix up the usual flow of the narrative that are lists of concepts with or without conjunctions.

Asyndeton: We came. We saw. We conquered. It was cold, grey, lifeless.

Polysyndeton: And the birds are out and the sun is shining and it might rain later but right now I am going to enjoy the blue sky and the puffy white clouds like cotton balls. They stand and they clap and they sing.

Both are for emphasis. Asyndeton tends to be "colder" and more blunt, because the sentence is blunt. Polysyntedon tends to be more exciting, overwhelming.

We came and we saw and we conquered.

The original is rather grim. This version is almost uplifting, like it's celebrating as opposed to taunting, depending on how you look at it.

—

All of these are highly situational, but if you’re stuck, maybe try some out and see what happens.

*italicized quotes are from ENNS, the rest I made up on the spot save for the Veni Vidi Vici.

[jayparked]

𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈𝓎 | 𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓊𝓃𝑔 | 𝓂

snippet: Then, looking into your eyes, he speaks firmly, “Before we begin, let’s establish some ground rules.”

pairing: lee heeseung x female reader

genre: smut, pwp

au: roommates, f2l

rating: explicit/18+, minors dni

word count: 4.3k

warnings: there’s a deep conversation about feelings, love confessions (YUCK)

sexual warnings: masturbation (female receiving), mutual pining, begging, rule making, dirty talk, non penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), body worship, light foot worship, the entire thing is based off getting reader off, heeseung doesn’t get off  :( , heeseung is kinda bossy, praise kink, heeseung calls reader babygirl, overstimulation, .001% of aftercare, moaning, hair pulling, marking, punishment kink?, dom/sub dynamics, orgasm…guilt?...sorry

The frustration builds quicker than you wanted, the groans coming from your mouth slipping out louder each time you feel your body give up on itself. You’re too god damn horny, but your body is too tired to properly masturbate.

This is probably the fifth time now that you've attempted to get yourself off only to abandon ship seconds after. Your muscles ache and sleep calls to you. Despite this, every time you try to just sleep it off, the aching, painful throb from your clit keeps you awake.

It takes everything in you to keep yourself from throwing a tantrum like a toddler.

The clock now reads just after three in the morning; you let out one last frustrated breath. It comes out louder than you intended, the grunt rising in pitch before you can even stop yourself.

Moments later, your shirtless, sleep-drunk roommate opens your door, rubbing his eyes with one fist as he holds himself up with the other hand gripping the doorway.

“Are you okay or whatever? I keep hearing groaning and other weird sounds,” Heeseung sighs, slight annoyance laced in his tone.

Your eyes are wide with embarrassment as Heeseung’s sleepy eyes jolt awake as he finally sees you.

You’re laying on top of your comforter completely naked with one hand still draped across your womanhood.

Heeseung shifts his body against the door frame, the moonlight now highlighting down his face. The shadows of your air-guided drapes chase that light, new depths illuminating across his nose and cheekbones. You’re not sure why your brain is trying so hard to think of metaphors and similes, anything to compare Heeseung to, but none of them do him justice. It would be too easy to blame it on the lack of sleep. Then again, you’ve never truly let yourself look at him in this way before and it’s killing you that you can’t read the expression on his face.

In this moment, you realize you have neither fight nor flight instincts as you lay frozen in your bed, nothing willing you to cover yourself or hide from your roommates gaze.

Heeseung’s tongue pokes out of his mouth, moving slowly against his bottom lip as his eyes flick frantically from your body to the wall across the room. Raising a hand to cover his mouth, he clears his throat and brushes his thumb against his bottom lip to wipe away the remnants from his tongue.

Clearing his throat once more, his shoulder relaxes against the doorframe, his body now leaning in a very casual nonchalant way, his eyes continue to debate where to look. “Wha-whatcha doing there?” He immediately turns his body away from you after speaking, facing the wall as he aggressively rubs at the nape of his neck, his other hand back up to his mouth.

“Oh...you know...just trying to sleep.”

There’s a brief silence- minus the light flapping of your window curtains. That, and the mental beating you’re giving yourself for trying to joke about the situation at hand. There is no hiding it. You’ve been caught red-handed.

Literally.

“Y/n…” Heeseung warns, the moonlight shifting in a way that now illuminates the tense muscles of his back. 

Your heart pounds loudly within your chest. You’ve seen Heeseung shirtless thousands of times. So why is this the first time you’re realizing just how sculpted his body actually is? 

Shutting your eyes tightly, your brain moves at hyper-speed trying to figure out what to do or say next. A million scenarios flood in and all you want is to pick the option that lets you keep your roommate and not have to live with exploding embarrassment for the rest of your life.

You’re about to open your mouth and just say the first thing that comes out, no matter how brainless it may be. Perhaps brutal honesty will help you out in the end. But Heeseung beats you to the punch.

“Do you...do you need help?” His back is still turned to you so you can’t read his expression, but you can’t help but notice the way his back muscles tense.

It takes you a moment to register what he’s said. You’re finally able to move your hand away from your cunt and you slowly sit up and lay your back against your headboard, grabbing one of your pillows and hugging it tightly to your chest.

“I guess talking about it might help even though you and I have never really talked about this kind of thing before. Have you ever just been so horny and tired at the same time but you’re unable to do either of those things? I’ve been struggling for hours now trying to sleep but I can’t sleep because...you know, and then when I try to do that I’m just too tired to actually do it right and-”

“No, I mean-” Heeseung cuts himself off with a sigh, quickly followed by a slow intake of air, puffing his cheeks out as he releases it and turns towards you. He pauses, still averting his eyes before he steps towards your bed. Determination and bravery are written all over his face, despite the fact that he’s still trying to respectively not look at you.

Sitting at the foot of your bed with his body facing the door, Heeseung takes a moment before turning his head towards you, his dark eyes looking directly into yours.

“I can help you.”

A few more moments of silent eye contact passes before you finally understand what he’s trying to suggest.

“Oh...OH!” You can’t help but gasp with widened eyes as it finally clicks in your head exactly what he’s offering to you.

“Wouldn’t that,” you gulp, your face feeling painfully warm, “wouldn’t that make things weird? Between us?”

Heeseung’s jaw is tight, his muscles jutting forward as he breaks eye contact and looks back towards your bedroom door. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” he says softly, “...if you don’t want them to be. I mean, I can honestly say I haven’t ever...you know, not thought of you in this way before.” He lets out another long puff of air, knowing he’s being confusing with his words, hand grasping at the back of his neck as he tries to massage the tension away.

You feel embarrassed and flattered and excited all at once. Your roommate of three years, best friend of over ten years, has admitted to thinking of you in a sexual way.

Heeseung lets you think for a moment. But it only allows you more time to realize that you can’t feign innocence here either. There was that major crush you had on him in high school or the time you walked in on him in the shower. There’s definitely been a handful of times where he’s crept into your thoughts while you were with someone else or even times when you were alone.

There are a million things that could go wrong if you accept his offer.

Or, a million things that could go right.

“Okay,” you say bravely, moving the pillow away from your body, “please, help me.”

Turning his head slowly, Heeseung finally looks at you, really looks at you, his eyes roaming every inch of your body slowly. He inhales, his jaw clenching once more as his gaze falls upon your uncovered chest.

Then, looking into your eyes, he speaks firmly and slowly, “Before we begin, let’s establish some ground rules.”

Gulping slowly, you nod your head, trying not to think about the lack of friction going on below.

"Rule number one," Heeseung starts with a smirk, "you don’t get to touch me." 

"What?-"

"Nuh, uh." He interrupts you, holding up his pointer finger as he shakes his head, his fluffy brown hair swooshing over his eyes. Without looking, he picks up your bare feet and pulls you towards him, placing your legs over his lap as you now lay flat on the bed. His hands start to roam over your calves and down to your toes. His fingers are just barely lingering over you to the point of sending chills throughout your entire body. The touch of his skin on yours alone is sending the signals in your body into overdrive. That mixed with the tiredness you're feeling, it's making it nearly impossible to think straight or stay focused on the words he’s saying.

"I've been thinking about a night like this for a long, long time. Respectfully, of course," he adds quickly, looking back at you and giving you a soft smile. "I never wanted to do anything to ruin what we have. But damn, I really can't deny it. I've thought about making you cum over and over and over again so many times it was like a movie constantly replaying  in my mind." Heeseung continues to stroke your feet and legs sensually as he speaks. It takes everything in your power not to pounce on him.

Instead, you bite your bottom lip and close your eyes, resting your arms on your stomach, letting the deep grumble of Heeseung's voice soothe your body along with all the places he's trailing his fingers on.

“Anyways,” he says with a quirk of his eyebrow, “back to our rules.”

His domineering tone sends chills throughout your body again and you try your best to ignore the white noise ringing in your ears. 

“Rule number two: you can’t cum unless I tell you you can.”

The urge to question him again is strong, but his stare makes you shut your mouth tightly.

He knows the question is hanging off the tip of your tongue, you know that he knows. Instead of throwing you a bone, he sits there smirking at you, sitting on his high horse while also looking like he knows the punchline to the joke you’ve been waiting to get.

Finally, he beckons you closer, his pointer finger slowly enticing you in. You sit up slowly, your legs still in his lap. As soon as you’re close enough to see the dark flecks in his eyes, he leans in himself until his lips are hovering just over your ear.

“And I can be a very patient man, baby girl. We can be here all night until you finally get it right and do what I say.”

Admittedly, your first instinct is to laugh, the sheer shock of his words not fully settling in. But then, after a moment, you can tell just how much his words affected your body; your legs feel shakier, the core of your womanhood pulsates quicker, and you start to feel the dripping of your arousal moving down your thighs.

It only makes sense that your childhood friend, the love of your life, would also turn out to be the kinkiest person you’ve ever met.

It only makes sense.

“Okay...yes sir.”

The smugness on Heeseung’s face only increases.

“Good girl.”

“Are there any other rules...?” It still feels odd talking to your best friend about this. But it’s all worth it when you notice the growing tent in Heeseung’s sweatpants

Heeseung gets off the bed and moves closer to you, his hands behind his back. He appears so nonchalant and unbothered, almost like he’s ignoring the fact that he’s sporting the hardest erection he’s ever had in his life. 

It makes you nervous in the best of ways.

Removing one hand from behind his back, he places it on one of your knees, caressing your flesh gently before pushing it to the side, spreading your legs open wide to expose your dripping cunt. He nods his head with approval, biting his bottom lip hard as his eyes sweep slowly up and down over your entire naked body.

It feels like the room’s temperature went up another ten degrees.

Heeseung dips his hand lower, hovering over your cunt. Each time it looks like he’s about to touch you, your vagina pulses with anticipation, only for Heeseung to deceivingly pull away at the last second.

“Please, Heeseung…please touch me, I just want to cum, I can’t take this anymore. I’ll do anything!”

With a slight chuckle, Heeseung humors you, leaning his body down closer to yours and dips one of his fingers down, lightly petting the tops of your folds.

The small touch makes you shiver, your hips bucking up towards his hand. The amount of juices he accumulates on his fingers in a short amount of time exposes exactly how needy you feel. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.” And with that said, Heeseung's fingers glide past your folds with a heavenly amount of pressure, soaking in your sweet juices. Your head falls back against your bed and you wish you could sink in deeper; into the bed, the room, into him. He's murmuring something in your ears, but your mind is too focused on what's happening to your body, there's not enough mental capacity in there to comprehend words at the moment. The urge to reach out to him and feel his skin against the palm of your hand spurs deep in your chest, but not strong enough to act upon. Instead, you let your eyes flutter shut, sighing blissfully as he continues to massage and soothe your bud.

Heeseung continues a slow, sensual pace, one that you could arguably fall asleep to. It feels like every stress cell in your body slowly floats away with every stroke of his fingers.

"Just like that? Hmm?" You hear him say.

"Hmm?" You manage out, your voice sounding weak and far away.

"I just didn't think you would react to me that quickly. Or intensely."

You open your eyes and look at him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, his hand cradling his jawline. His other hand continues to make brushstroke movements in between your folds. He looks at your vagina with wonder, and like he has something more to say.

But you're too tired and enjoying him too much to ask.

Moments later, Heeseung is picking up speed, beckoning your undoing.

You don't feel ready to give up the warmth you feel with his touch, not ready to reach the top and climb back down.

You can’t take it anymore. The pressure building is too intense and you need something sturdy and stable to hold onto.

Screw his rules.

Grasping onto Heeseung's shoulder, your fingernails dig into him as you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting desperately at the orgasm crashing down on you.

"There you go, baby. That's it. Come undone on my fingers." Heeseung's sweet demeanor is long gone as he watches you with sinful eyes.

A small moan leaves your lips as you let go; your legs shake vigorously underneath Heeseung's grasp and you feel the painful twist of a muscle spasm deep in your hamstrings.

Short gasps are all you can manage in response, your mind feeling more awake than before.

And in that brief pause between ministrations, your mind increases its speed tenfold, your thoughts now clearer than ever.

This is your best friend you're laying in front of. The same guy you used to collect bugs with when you were younger, the same guy you were embarrassed in front of when he found out you started wearing a training bra.

And you just came in front of him.

"I'm so sorry, Heeseung!" you cry out, sitting up quickly and burying your face in your hands as you fight back hot tears from falling down your cheeks. "We can forget this ever happened."

Heeseung is quiet behind you as you imagine yourself shrinking into a spec of nothing.

Then, tenderly, his hand is on top of yours, coaxing it away from your face. And you let him do it.

Heeseung holds your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles before whispering, "Did I do something wrong?"

Immediately you want to scream no, but your words catch in your throat as you look at him. Heeseung’s bottom lip is jutting out slightly and he's avoiding your eyes as he continues to try and comfort you. And then you remember that this isn’t some random stranger. You know him. You know him more than anyone, hell, sometimes you know him more than you know yourself. And right now, this Heeseung in front of you is just as embarrassed and emotional as you are.

"No," you say bravely reaching out to press your palm to his cheek, turning his face towards yours, "I don't regret it at all. I'm sorry, I just-" you sigh and lean back, struggling to find the right words to say while fighting against your own embarrassment, "-I just never thought we would get to this point. And to hear you say all those things you were saying? I just don't understand. Why didn't you ever tell me? Why me to begin with?" That's when you realize where all of this insecurity of yours is coming from. Heeseung has been with gorgeous people in the past, gorgeous, successful people. And the thought of him liking you? It must feel like a step down for him.

But the way his face softens as he sighs, bringing your hand back up to his face, has you second guessing your initial judgment of him.

"It's always been you, Y/n. Ever since we first met. How could I ever for a second not want to be with you? You're my best friend, the person I go to for comfort. And because of that, I was always afraid to tell you about my feelings. Because just being in your life as your friend and your roommate, that was more than enough for me. And this doesn't have to go anywhere if you don't want it to be. But…truthfully, I want it to go somewhere. Hell, Y/n, I want to be with you. But if you don't want to be with me like that? I'll be okay."

His words swirl around your body, not quite processing into complacent thoughts. There are about a million different emotions coursing through your veins, and each one is battling to come to surface. 

It feels selfish, the position he’s put you in. Because now, it’s all on you. Your choice will determine how your relationship with Heeseung changes forever. And, let’s be real, no matter what happens after this moment, things will never be the same. The weight of that realization is pushing you down into the mattress you sit on. You’ve avoided thinking about your best friend in this way for so long it’s hard to tell if what you’re feeling has always been there or just here temporarily, clouded by the high of a mind-blowing orgasm.

On the other hand, there’s excitement, joy, happiness, relief all bundled into one giant heart floating around you. Your best friend, the person you’ve been attached to for over a century now, is confessing his feelings for you.

It’s time to be honest with yourself.

You’ve been in love with him this whole time.

Heeseung waits patiently while you figure out exactly what to say, playing with your fingers and tracing unknown shapes across your hand in the meantime.

You’re too tired for words, too tired for thoughts, too tired for almost everything it seems. 

Well, everything, except…

You lean forward slowly, placing your weight on your hands as you close the space between you and Heeseung and place a tender kiss on his lips.

Heeseung sighs and closes his eyes, putting your hand over his heart and completely melts into your touch.

How could you not do the same?

All of the tiredness, all of the frustrations from before Heeseung entered your bedroom, it was all worth it to get to this moment. And you’d go through it every night for the rest of your life if it meant you got to kiss him just like this.

The kiss deepens quickly, your mouths moving with an intensity you’ve never experienced before. Without thinking, you let your body take full control, not second-guessing any natural movement. So you let your hand find its way to the nape of Heeseung’s hair, delicately pulling at the ends until his neck is forced back and a moan ripples through his throat. It was so unexpected and out of character, but you like having this control.

It doesn’t last long, though. Heeseung quickly comes to his senses and knocks you onto your back, pushing you with one hand on your chest. He chuckles low and menacingly, his eyes staring deep into yours.

“What did I say about touching?” His voice is so low you swear you can feel it rumbling in your chest.

Heeseung doesn’t allow you enough time to answer. Before you can even open your mouth, his tongue is attached to your lips.

But not the lips on your face.

Your eyes immediately roll back as his tongue writes beautiful nothingness against your cunt and you desperately want to reach out and grip his hair again. Thinking there’s a possibility he wouldn’t notice, you reach and tangle your fingers in his locks. Almost immediately, your hand is batted away with a low warning growl from Heeseung as he continues to work his tongue against your sensitive bud. You groan in protest, but obey, somehow able to restrain yourself and settle for gripping the sheets instead.

The tongue movements start slow, but it seems you’re not the only impatient one here, despite what he may have said earlier. Heeseung picks up speed as he laps up your juices, his hand snaking up to insert a few digits inside you. His other hand is gripping one of your hips, his entire forearm pressing against your pelvic bone, holding you into place. His grip on you only seems to make your body want to shake more.

“You that close already, baby?” Heeseung lifts his head up for a moment, your juices glistening on his mouth, cheekbones and the tip of his nose. It seems like a sight you would only have in your dreams. It’s hard to believe this is happening in real life.

“Answer me,” he commands, eyes narrowing, but there’s a tinge of softness behind his words.

“I can’t help it.” You pant out, “Been building up all these years now. I could have come just by you touching my shoulder.”

Heeseung chuckles at this, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“You can cum whenever you want, baby. I’m not going to stop you,” he says casually.

Almost...too casually.

But you don’t think twice, you’re too tired to think twice. Quiet moans slip past your lips and Heeseung takes that as his cue. His fingers move faster, scissoring inside your body as his nose brushes against your clit.

It’s almost too easy to come undone.

White hot heat spreads throughout your body as everything around you starts to shake. Heeseung is watching you with careful eyes as you orgasm the fastest you’ve ever orgasmed in your life.

Your breathing only gets heavier as you come back from your high. But then, a blissful pain makes your thigh muscles jolt, a new wave of uncontainable cries escape you.

“I said I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to cum,” Heeseung devilishly proclaims, his fingers moving faster than ever inside you, “but that didn’t mean I was gonna stop.”

Your eyes shut tight as you pull at the sheets gripped tightly in your hands, too afraid to speak because of the moans you’re currently swallowing back. Small whimpers make it out as you desperately try to focus on anything other than the torture you’re going through.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby,” Heeseung coos, focusing almost all of his attention on your clit now. “Let it all out. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

There are no logical thoughts left in your brain. All you know is that you’re desperately exhausted and it’s taking too much of your energy to fight against the natural cries your body wants to release as this overstimulation continues.

So, you let go.

“Fuck!” you finally cry out, your chest rising and falling quicker than ever as the moans release deep from within you, “That feels so good! I’m gonna come again- I’m gonna- I’m gonna-”

A small scream is all you can manage as the pressure in your core finally releases. You thought your previous orgasm was intense? Nothing will ever be able to top this one.

“Damn that was fucking sexy.” Heeseung stands and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Your legs are still trembling and it feels like every muscle in your body is frozen in place. Warm liquid coats your inner thighs and drips down onto your sheets.

“Did I just…?” You ask with shock. Heeseung chuckles and nods his head, walking towards your door. He pauses with one hand on the doorframe, looking back at you with a proud smile.

“Hell yeah you did. Have you ever squirted before?”

“No, never,” you whisper, but Heeseung is already out of the room. Your eyes flutter shut, sleep threatening to finally take over.

Heeseung returns with a towel, throwing it so it lands right beside you.

“Goodnight, babygirl,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“Wait!” You call out just as he reaches the doorway. “What about you?” You point at his very obvious erection.

Heeseung waves you off casually, “We’ll have plenty more nights of fun in the future. But for now, sleep. Don’t worry about me.” He winks. “I can take care of myself just fine. Get some rest. Goodnight, Y/n.”

Before Heeseung even closes the door, your eyes are shut, sleep finally welcoming you into its arms.

a/n: thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed :] if you did please reblog and leave a comment!

© all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, translate, or repost. jayparked 07/30/24

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

be constantly in own world for me (level 2/3 autism) mean like. think pretty much only about self. understand only self. entire world just me n special interest, sometimes/often times not even include own basic needs, like “hair greasy clump body itchy need shower” (unconsciously feel bad sensory, n make very uncomfortable annoyed easily frustrated, but don’t consciously know am feeling extra irritated or that am feel this way because need shower). n world often limited to thing in front of me. n sometimes not even include thing in front of me. see it (as in physically capable of vision) but not see it. n thing, people, any that not put infront of me for while, stop realize they existed in first place.

n be in own world, only think only able know self, mean that, see self as normal, as norm. everyone (this abstract concept of other people that have memorized like you memorize history fact for test), everyone like me. not even “am like everyone,” but that everyone is like me. everyone same ability as me. everyone think like me.

“everyone think like that to extent”

right. to extent. thing is am far greater than that normal “extent”

to point that average day, ask me, n would only able explain that, “think everyone same ability as me, everyone think like me. everyone exist like me.” stay at vague generalization because not able think any deeper not able think of examples. to give example in this situation mean on some level need have ability understand “am think this normal but others may think it abnormal for them”. n. most times not have ability to second part, because in own world theory of mind.

sometimes try force it. try really hard force it. try really hard think, look at other people, try make sense try find what exact different. but can’t force something not have ability. so go back rely on scripting. sometimes advanced scripting n rephrased scripting.

special interest in something social-related let me cheat little bit. appear more capable. like break down complex autism community disability community dynamics. but am videotaping camera. computer analyzing research data. not participant. it thankfully happen, but it only happen because special interest allow it be part of own world, n it only part of own world because can only see these (supposedly very humanly n organic n messy) interactions as flow charts, maps, equations, inanimate objects. closest metaphor may be, with this special interest lens that allow these social dynamics enter own world, am looking at these “people” these social dynamics similar to regular person playing the sims n thinking of sims character made out of code that they control.

rare rare times able suddenly realization of outside world. usually happen in flash. n then end. n then left to chase that feeling trying so hard remember what it felt like so can memorize it like another history fact to memorize for test removed from source removed from emotion, to make self appear know what am talking about know more than am capable of, next time someone ask, “isn’t everyone like this?”

just had flash of that that lead to write this whole thing. but already gone. something about… “those funny ‘gen z fix up work force’ stories. they actually people same age as me?’” something about sudden realize what people my age my life stage expected do usually do. something about think am so normal but actually am missing out “so many” things (what things?).

friend tell me “by be young person who severely disabled you missing out so much on same age activities”. n. inside think, (i am but) “don’t know. …am i?” n for it be genuine question, or disbelief question.

n respond with “haha, yea.”

it not lying. it just script. am don’t know what my script means.

don’t follow up by ask me “so what you think you missing out on?”

don’t know. don’t have that script (a script am don’t know meaning to) yet that make other people think am understand, either.

[please don’t say you “relate” or “feel same” “this me” or similar unless am know who you are.]

[arkjamkson]

UHHHH IVE NEVER WRITTEN BEFORE, Don’t know how to tag and I didn’t proofread cause I’m real lazy. also kinda stupid, i probably used the same metaphors and similes like a million times. So uh, yeah. Read at your own discretion, I’ll tag what I think is important so read pls

TWS & MENTIONS—— Torture, blood, goreish, betrayal, heavy angst, overall gruesome and violent, mentions of relationship with simon ghost riley (implied but heavily), angst angst angst and more angst with a side of angst. Did I mention angst.

That’s it I think lmk if I missed any? Okay enjoy, hopefully!

Inspo and plot credit to users ghouljams & criminalamnesia !!!

————————————————————————

When your vision blurs and your eyes fog up— you can’t make sense out of the coarse pangs of pain running up your sides, down your legs and through your nose. For the first time in your life, it’s a weary weekend evening and you happen to be tied up to a splinting wooden chair in the middle of a dark warehouse. You think the red running down and dripping onto the floor is your own blood, but again, you can’t see. A fist collides against your stomach once, twice, then thrice, and finally relents.

"P…please— stop," You recognize your voice alongside the ringing in yours ears. Panicked— desperate. Your hands twitch behind your back on instinct, a deep familiar instinct to grab those hands and soothe your thumbs over those scared knuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Price grumbles. This wasn’t what he wanted to happen— not your betrayal, not the torturing, and most insistently— not the feelings that hit him when it all came crashing down. The pang in his heart planted the thought and truth that you were practically family. He shakes his head before slamming a door behind him.

“Fuckin’ hell is right!” Simon yells back, slamming down his mask onto the table. He catches a look at your blood smeared over it and anger flares up and over his lips again.

You look at his face and you think you’ve never seen him make that expression. You’ve seen the best and worse of him. You’ve seen the face he makes when he’s afraid, the one he’s made when he cries and his shoulder shake with sobs. It scares you how foreign they he looks now. Ten feet can’t feel anymore distant than right now. Tears boil over onto your red and purple cheeks, voice cracking and quiet.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t! I was with Gaz all the whole time, tell them Gaz!” You manage and don’t notice how through your fading conscience, you omit and slur words together. When Gaz averts his eyes you can’t help but wonder who’s the real traitor in this whole ordeal.

“You abandoned your post, left Sergeant Gaz to fend for himself, didn’t answer none of your fuckin’ callsigns,” Simon steps closer. You flinch.

“Why?” He yells. “Fuckin’ speak!” Fear runs rampant through your veins and you can’t recognize this man. This man is angry and unrecognizable, and you can’t for the life of you believe why.

“Please, Simon— I didn’t. I wouldn’t.” A few words go unsaid in the wake of pain.

“Good at lying, aren’t you?” Simon steps close. He’s quick to pull out his infamous sleek knife out one of his holders and slice it across your shoulder. Warm blood trickles down and you let out a cry so raw it hurts your throat. It hurts, burns— but nothing sears more than the look he gives you.

You shake your head and sob out. This can’t be seriously be happening. You were just returning from hiding after the Mexican cartel stormed you and Gaz’s recon location. You ran until your lungs gave out and when you thought you were safe, Johnny had tied your wrist behind your hands and forced you down onto your knees with a rougher than usual hand.

Confused, you panted out. A joke, perhaps? You look around with a small smile. It drops as quick as it formed and it’s almost comical how fast it all happened. One second your legs were aching from running and the next it was from the cut of a choppy knife. The hand that used it was just as choppy, rigid, tense.

“Please, I didn’t do it! I didn’t fucking do it!” Your voice shakes with hurt and anger. “Why won’t you all believe me!” Your voice tears out of your throat. Simon slams his hand down on a table and the noise beats fear into you and gets your heart pounding.

Silence ensues and you could’ve sworn it was worse than being tortured. Your own fucking force members. Eight years, rough and painful years, for one bark from Shephard to tear everything down and away from you.

It takes a few more beatings from Simon for it to get through your hazy mind—He’ll kill you; Right here, right now. Your history can’t save you in the face of betrayal.

When your body is bruised and raw with cuts and you can’t place anything anymore, only then are you granted a silence. Like a madman, captain Price swings open the door of the room he had cowered into.

“Fucking hell, Simon! Stop!” He pulls Simon’s arm back, voice taut and if you could see, you’d see the guilt in the blue of his eyes. His words are like a bite in the neck to everyone in the dark room.

“Shephard conned us. He— Fuck!” He grabs the bloody knife out of Simon’s hand and throws it onto the ground.

“He and graves fucked us over. Lied to Laswell and the rest of us ate it up like fucking dogs!” He yells. Frustration pounds guilt into his head.

Simon’s hand goes limp and you don’t get the satisfaction of seeing guilt seep and set into his face. It would’ve been funny had it not been due to the weight of it all.

“Shit. Shit, shit!” Price runs up to you, eyes frantic as he look over your wounds. Raw, teared and sliced open. Bruised beyond recognition.

You can’t even respond to his hands holding together some of your wounds, the panicked yells between Soap and Gaz, the pale silence from Simon. It’s too quick, you think. That or your mind is slowing down. Most likely the latter.

[cyberwhumper]

Vina thought losing his mind would be easier.

        He imagined it would be kind of a peaceful descent, like whipped cream sliding off a child’s forgotten ice cream sundae and dripping quietly to the floor, to be efficiently wiped up by a crisply dressed and unobtrusive maid while the party cracks merrily on around her.

        Huh. That simile kind of got away from him. Ice cream would be nice, he thinks absently. Cold and soothing. His throat is horribly sore, raw from the tubes and surgical instruments the doctor has shoved down into him, aggravated by the hours of crying that he can’t quite make stop. But ice cream is probably not on the list of luxuries afforded to caged rats like Vina. And besides, he doubts his newly refurbished organs would be able to handle anything richer than the bland kibble formula he’s served.

         Where was he? Ah, right. Losing his mind.

        It’s been going in fits and starts. He’s far too aware of it all; the days at a time in which he’s left to his own devices in that blank clean concrete cell give him nothing to do but listen to the nagging voices inside his head, failure useless alone alone alone, until the sight of scrub-clad ordelies coming to retrieve him feels more like salvation than a gallows walk. Even the doctor’s touch has started to feel sweet, which is how he really knows he’s cooked—he almost looks forward to his testing sessions, now, despite the agony, because the pain is a stimulus, something external he can hold on to, to prove to himself that he’s alive and real and not totally, terminally alone. He’s aware that that’s insane, of course, but what can he do? He gave up his right to complain when he signed his life away, innocent and stupid, a sacrificial lamb at the altars of chemistry and chrome and cold hard cash.

        He’s not sure how long it’s been since his last trial. His sense of time, compared to his sanity, has gone easily, washed away in peroxide showers and swirling hypnotically down the cell’s floor drain. He sniffles, curling his knees tighter against his chest and squeezing his eyes closed like it will hold back the tears. His chrome hand still feels alien, cold and hard and not at all comforting as he presses it against his aching ribs.

        The voices start up whispering again. Not hallucinations—then again, he thinks darkly, that would be the next logical step in the whole “losing his mind” process—but memories, every little wounding barb that’s ever lodged itself in his psyche announcing its presence again.

        Failure.

        Useless.

        Look at you, Vincent. You’re helpless on your own. You can’t do anything right.

        Stop trying. Just…stop.

        Behave.

        If you keep this up, you’ll end up alone.

        He chokes on a sob. His mother was right all along.

        And he is horribly, painfully, maddeningly alone.

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

Tag list: @whumpsday // @demondamage // @squidlife-crisis // @whumpedydump // @cyborg0109 // @whumpfish // @astrowhump // @the-scrapegoat // @whatwhumpcomments // @dustbunnywhump // @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question // @dokidokisadness // @moss-tombstone // @lambofmine // @maracujatangerine // @pinkraindropsfell // @writereleaserepeat // @blood-and-regrets // @littlespacecastle // @snakebites-and-ink // @unforgiven235 // @lonesome--hunter // @atomicsandwichprince // @writereleaserepeat // @whatamidoingherehelpme // @skittles-the-whumpee // @the-blind-one-speaks // @i-eat-worlds // @devourerofcheesecake // @theauthorintraining // @otterfrost // @mommymarichatfurever // @whumpifi // @catnykit // @bitchaknso // @softmutt444 // @yet-another-heathen // @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat // @burnticedlatte // @violent-ultraviolet // @limitlesstrash17 // @inspiral-rl // @coyotehusk // @mis-graves // @caffeinatedscorpio // @defire // @badluck990 // @unforgivenn //

If you’re interested in being added to the tag list, please let me know!

[thedirtygridd]

PRE-SEASON TRAINING TURNS DIRTY WITH CARLANDO AND YOURSELF.

WARNINGS - 18+, strong sexual content. Lots of sweat.

Summary - You’re just gonna want to start reading when I say it has a LOT of sweaty Carlos Sainz and Lando Norris involved.

There he was. The man of your dreams. Running around the track, you noticed his sweat glistening off his olive skin. The sight of him made your mouth water. You wanted to feel every indentation of his muscles. You wanted to feel his sweat on your skin. You wanted to taste him.

He finished running around the athletic track. The small stadium was empty, and only Carlos, Lando and yourself were there. They had hired it out for the evening, for their pre season workout training.

Carlos had just finished doing 5K around the track, while lando was setting up to do some boxing training.

“Come over here and box with me carlos!” Lando shouted

You sat on the sidelines and watched, still admiring the view of the sweaty Spanish hunk.

You craved him.

They began boxing with each other. You heard landos boxing glove slap on the chest and Abs of Carlos. The sound almost sounding wet as he did it. You had never felt so jealous of a boxing glove…you wished that was you.

“Fuck it’s hot” lando complained, while stripping his own tshirt off.

You were taken by surprise at the sight of lando with no tshirt on. He was much, much musclier than you imagined. His body just as good as sainz’s. You immediately began to crave his body too.

As they boxed, you noticed their muscles tensing up - every punch exposing a different muscle in their arm, or chest.

Carlos’s abs looked incredible.

The boys both exchanged playful talk to one another.

Carlos mentioned “you’re such a pussy. Hit me harder”

Before lando added “haha! A pussy! At least I don’t actually have one”

“Oh yeah?” Carlos replied smugly before adding “then what’s this?”

His hand slid into his shorts and immediately whipped out a lengthy, girthy cock.

You stared in shock. Did Carlos really just whip out his length in front of both of us?

Lando was quick to respond. “Well look at this then”

He responded by taking out his own length.

They both glanced at one another, weighing each others cock sizes up

“I get a lot bigger when I’m hard” added lando. “I’m a grower for sure”

“That’s what they all say lando. I’m Latino. That’s Spanish for big fucking cock” replied Carlos while smirking

“Oh sure, I bet your girlfriend can’t even feel it when you’re balls deep inside her” lando responded

“Well my girlfriend is on the other side of the planet at the moment. But we could try with -“

They both stopped and turned to you. They have each other a nod of approval and then Carlos called you over.

“Hey, lando and I are just wondering, who’s bigger?” Carlos asked

You blushed. “Erm….well you’re both muscly!” You replied

Up close, Carlos looked even sweatier. You could see beads of sweat dribbling down his muscly chest and in between his abs.

“We don’t mean muscle. Although that could be another test for us” lando replied.

“Okay then how about this? We’ll both stand here and you can weigh up who is bigger and better with all parts of our body” Carlos said before adding “starting with our feet”

Carlos smirked as he pulled off his training shoes. Lando did the same.

They both stood there with their feet in front of you. At first glance they both looked as big as each other.

“You really want me to decide who has the bigger feet?” You asked

“Yeah, then we’ll do biceps and then….we’ll you’ll see” Carlos added

You took Carlos’s foot into your hand and placed it next to landos to try see the difference.

“Erm… you are both simil���—“ before you could finish, Carlos started moving

“Fuck this …. Let’s play instead” he said

He pushed you onto the floor and immediately placed his foot onto your face. You didn’t know what to do. What was going on?

He smothered his sweaty, masculine foot all over your face. The smell almost hypnotic. He rubbed it all over you, while lando pulled down your dress and began licking you out.

What on earth was going on

“Suck them” Carlos replied. “There’s nothing better after a long workout”

You took his big feet with a hand and began licking them. You took his toes into your mouth when you realised you were actually enjoying it. The taste of his sweat, the smell of his scent. The feeling of his toes in your mouth , as lando licked you out.

It was disgusting. But because of that…it was deliciously sexy.

“Oh fuck yeah you enjoy that do you dirty girl?” Carlos asked as he continued to flex his toes In Your mouth.

“Here…taste these now” Carlos added

He leant down over you and placed his sweaty , hairy armpit in your mouth. His scent was overpowering. You felt your juices pour out of you as you took in his scent. You came all over landos pretty face, but he continued to lick you out while you worshipped the Spanish hunk.

Your face now a combination of sweaty feet and sweaty armpits. You had never ever experienced anything like this before.

“My turn now lando” Carlos shouted, while pulling lando away from you. Carlos was quick to get into position, laying down on top of you, allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

He slid his hard, throbbing cock inside your tight hole. He fucked you relentlessly.

You had never been treated so badly by a guy before (but in a sexy way). You felt dominated and you loved it. Your hands gripped onto his sweaty back as he fucked you.

In the meantime, just as you caught your breath. Lando slid his just as hard cock inside your ass. Both guys now fucking both of your holes.

You were completely filled up with rock hard meat.

It didn’t take long before you heard them both moan “we’re gonna cum”

And then just like that you felt a warm, gooey fluid shoot inside both your holes simultaneously. You noticed how hard Carlos’ abs became as he tensed while filling you up.

They both pulled out of you slowly. You felt the warm liquid ooze out as they retreated.

They both sat down beside you, out of breathe. The scene of Carlos’ sweat still on your face. A smell like nothing else.

“Fuck. Let’s do that again” Carlos said while getting back up on top of you.

[thepublishingpress]

Discoveries (That I Panic About)

Hakoda stood at the front of the ship, gripping the railings to see if he could see the Fire Nation and where his children were.

He had been very busy, slowly but surely rebuilding the Southern Water Tribe with Malina. But now he had time to visit.

As he traveled to the Fire Nation, where his children were, he wondered what the announcement they had mentioned in their letters was. 

Katara had only spoke of it briefly, talking more about the young Avatar Aang, but she did say that it might surprise him, and it would be good for Water Tribe and Fire Nation relations.

Sokka was more enthusiastic, stating what Katara had said, but also that he was so pleased with the proposal that he agreed immediately. Aang, the Avatar, was apparently also excited for the announcement. Even Toph Beifong, who was all the way in the Earth Kingdom and busy with her metal bending school, had traveled to the Fire Nation.

So really, this declaration would be phenomenal, and would cause an entire chapter to be made in the history books.

But there was one specific letter out of the eyebrow-raising three that had surprised him immensely.

It was from Firelord Zuko.

Zuko, the poor boy, had sounded very anxious and desperate to please in his letter. He promised that he wasn’t forcing anyone do anything, and that he and Sokka had both agreed this would be the best route, and that he was very hopeful that Hakoda would be accepting of their decision.

And while Hakoda had to admit that he was a bit skeptical of how good this choice was, considering they were just children ruling over an entire nation, he did trust Zuko enough to not have any doubts that all parties had consented to this choice.

Suddenly there was yelling, shaking him out of his thoughts and alerting Hakoda that they were close to the Fire Nation now.

When they finally arrived, the entire Water Tribe was in for a slight shock as a massive furry bison flew in and roared. Of course they had seen the animal before, but perhaps not this close. Avatar Aang immediately leapt off his beast, apologizing profusely to the surprised warriors.

“I didn’t mean to scare you!’ He blabbered. “It’s just Appa trying to greet you! I’m so, so, so sorry! It won’t happen again!”

Hakoda gave him an amused smile, placing his hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “It’s quite alright, Aang.”

“Dad!” 

Hakoda just had barely enough time to see a blurr of blue and brown before he was engulfed in a massive hug, almost knocking him off balance. He grinned warmly. “Katara! Oh, look at you! You’ve certainly grown.”

She beamed. “Oh, Dad, the preparations are amazing! You have to see it.”

“That sounds wonderful, Katara,” Hakoda said, “But I was wondering where your brother was?” 

Katara smiled, albeit a bit mischeiviously. “Oh, he’s in the palace. He’s busy with preparations and stressing over every detail on this very, very special day.”

Hakoda frowned a bit. “Are you sure he’s okay? I don’t want him overworking himself.”

Katara shakes her head. “Don’t worry, Dad. With Zuko there, Sokka won’t even overwork an hour.”

Hakoda nodded, a bit hesitantly. “Well, if you say so.”

And then Katara and Aang started dragging him along, insisting that they can’t be late. Hakoda shot a confused and pleading glance towards Bato, who just shook his head and smiled.

Traitor.

*

“Katara! Oh, hey, Twinkle Toes,” Toph said. “And Hakoda.” She added, a bit like an afterthought.

Katara smiled at the younger girl. “Hey, Toph!” She replied, Aang following suit. “Do you know where Sokka is?”

Toph snorted. “He’s with Zuko, as per usual.” She responded, sounding incredibly exasperated. Hakoda assumed that his son and the Firelord were good friends.

Katara nodded. “That’s good. Come on, Dad!”

The dragging started up once more, with Toph following, but thankfully this time it was much shorter. They stopped in front of two massive bronze doors, accented with shining gold. It looked like a door for royalty, and it also looked very similar to the entrance of the Fire Lady’s room described in Sokka’s letters. Hakoda couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Why is Sokka in the Firelord’s room?”

Katara and Aang exchanged glances. They both smiled knowingly, as if Hakoda had said something a bit stupid and was being oblivious. He was mildly insulted by that.

“Oh, that’s not Zuko’s room! It’s Sokka’s.” Aang said casually, as if the knowledge that his son was living in a room made for royalty was inconsequential.

Katara pushed the doors open, revealing Sokka sitting at a desk, with Zuko beside him, incredibly close and having an arm around his son’s shoulders.

“Oi, Snoozles!” Toph yelled, and the two boys jumped apart. Sokka and Zuko both twisted their heads to face all four of them, their eyes blown ridiculously wide.

When Sokka saw Hakoda, his eyes grew even wider, something that had seemed impossible to Hakoda. “Dad!” Sokka exclaimed, and ran over. Sokka tackled him in a hug, which Hakoda was quick to reciprocate.

Hakoda laughed a little. “Look at you, Sokka!” He said. “You’ve grown into a fine young warrior.”

Sokka beamed with pride at the praise. Zuko looked on at them and smiled.

And this was when Hakoda discovered something very important.

He looked down.

And he saw…

A blue choker.

On his son’s neck.

Shocked, Hakoda shoved him away, confused.

Sokka looked hurt, while the others stared at him, mildly flabbergasted.

“You– you have,” Hakoda stutters through his words, “Since when? Who?”

Sokka looks confused at first, and Hakoda wants to shake him, begging for answers like a hungry, desperate man demanding apples from a tree. Thank Tui and La, Sokka understands. His face flushes right down to the roots of his hair and he glances at his sister desperately. “You didn’t tell him?!”

She shrugged, much to innocently. “It’s you who has the necklace. You tell him.”

“But– but… Ugh!” Sokka groaned.

“Sokka,” Hakoda said, very, very slowly. “When did this happen? And with who?”

Sokka paled, and swallowed. Then swallowed again. He looked like he needed a drink. And, admittedly, Hakoda did too.

“I– I,” He stammered. “It just happened, like, last week! It’s very, very recent news, Dad, I promise!”

“And who…” Hakoda started gesticulating wildly, “Was it that nice girl from Kyoshi? Suki?”

Sokka choked. “Dad, Dad, no! Spirits, no, we broke up! We’re just friends!”

“But then…” Hakoda’s gaze shifted towards the Firelord. There was a high blush on his cheeks. Hakoda looks back at Sokka’s necklace. There’s a Fire Nation symbol inscribed on the purple stone hanging from the blue collar. “You– you– Zuko??”

Sokka grimaced and nodded. “Dad,” He said, gesturing to Zuko, “Meet your future son-in-law.”

And Hakoda faints.

*

When Hakoda came back to himself, he finds he is in the palace’s infirmary.

He also finds his children and their group looking over him anxiously.

Instantly, Hakoda finds himself wrapped in another hug.

“Kids?” He said lowly.

“Glad you’re awake, Dad.” Katara said, smiling.

Zuko stepped forward, a little awkwardly because his Firelord garb was so heavy on him. He bowed. “Um, hello, Hakoda, sir,” He said. “I– I know I didn’t exactly make a, uh, good first impression as your future son-in-law–”

Hakoda stopped him when he took his hand. Maybe he should be against this. Maybe he should shout at Sokka, tell him to break it off, because this was the Firelord, and the Firelord was the leader of a nation that took so much from him. 

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t because a leader is not responsible for his nation’s past mistakes, they are responsible to fix them.

He couldn’t, because when he looked at the Firelord, all he could see was a young, terrified boy named Zuko. A young boy who grew up to fast, and was forced to save the world, a heavy burden on his shoulders.

“It’s quite alright,” He said honestly, “I was… ah, very… shocked?”

Toph snorted. “Seems like an understatement.” Hakoda ignored her.

“But, I must assure you,” He continued, “I approve of this. You were right, Katara, in the fact that this might strengthen Water Tribe and Fire Nation relations, but I can also see how close you and Zuko are, Sokka.”

Sokka looked like he was going to cry, and he hugged Hakoda even tighter than before. “Thank you, Dad,” He whispered. “Thank you.”

And so, is really any surprise that Hakoda cries during the announcement?

He is just so, so proud.

*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&

zuko: sokka, sokka, did u notice the color of the necklace???

sokka: ofc why?

zuko: its purple bc us yk?? fire nation and water tribe??

sokka: oh my god you're so cheesy ily

also why when i try to write this super light-hearted fic it just turns out to be a lil angsty does anyone else experience that????

also also zuko is a bloody simp change my mind

[s3mi-ch4rm3d]

can we stay for a while and listen for heaven?

A/N: my first fic !!!! i wrote this between the hours of 1 and 4am so i hope its not shit asjkffjkd

please please please reblog, comment and like !!! if you have any feedback please feel free to drop it too (:

"You’d told him earlier that this building was his home. You were wrong – he fights the urge to say it now. To chant ‘The four walls have nothing to do with it. My home isn’t this house, it’s you. It’s here, in my arms’ until his throat runs dry. "

desc; veteren!reader x simon riley. he comes home on leave after a (kind of) disagreement. all fluff, some non-sexual nudity (a soft little affectionate shower scene). should be fairly gender neutral!!

"Hear the storm dances outside Something set free is running through the night And the dark awaits us all around the corner But here, in our place we have for the day Can we stay a while and listen for heaven?"

Simon “Ghost” Riley, more weapon than man, almost falls to his knees weeping at the sight of you.

You stand, some thirty-feet ahead of him, holding a pistol aimed at his head with perfect precision. Hair wild and sleep-tousled, one of his shirts hanging to about mid-thigh, eyelids drooped and eyebrows furrowed in confusion, lips forming a perfect ‘O’ and he swears to whatever divine being still watching that one day he’ll be brave enough to marry you. 

He’d poetically liken himself to a man returning home from war, but the simile cuts a little too close.  

You lower the weapon, flick the safety on (he narrowly bites back the urge to praise you) before launching it towards the sofa and launching yourself at him. He ignores the burning in his injured side and returns the fervour, arms finding your waist with practised ease. After almost fifty hours awake, Simon allows himself to feel the exhaustion that permeates his bones. He sinks into you – into your warmth, your scent, your love. He fears he’ll never be able to let go again.

You somehow detach yourself enough to blink up at him, eyes still half-lidded. “You’re back,” you whisper, voice so roughened with sleep that he can only make out half the syllables, “thought you were comin’ back next week?” 

“Sorry, darlin’. Should’ve given you a heads up.” He hates how fatigued he sounds, even to his own ears, but he can’t keep up the act. Not with you. 

“Nonsense, Simon Riley.” Your nose scrunches, voice mimicking severity. The way your mouth sounds the shape of his name ringing through his head like a stricken bell, “This is your home, too. You know you don’t need permission to come back.”

He doesn’t know, not really. Especially not at the moment. He’d half expected you to shove him back out the door duffle still in hand if he were honest. After almost two weeks of not speaking, of dodging calls and ignoring texts, he figured he’d deserved it. The knot of guilt begins to twist his stomach. 

You must sense his hesitation – reading him like a book always was a favourite pastime of yours – because you press your face back into his chest, squeezing him briefly before releasing him.  He barely has time to mourn the loss of your warmth before you’re hooking your pinky with his, intertwining your fingers. 

You lift yourself onto your tiptoes, face hovering just a few centimetres away from his, before you whisper.

“You’re not getting into our bed smelling like shite, Si. ‘M hosing you down." 

He watches as the corners of your lips turn up into one of your signature lopsided grins and before he can stop himself he’s leaning in to kiss it, mask be damned. Since there are no merciful gods left, you duck out of the way before his mouth can stick the landing, letting out a squawk of laughter as you swipe out of the way of his arms. He finds his lips mimicking yours beneath the fabric. 

“You’re not kissing me til you brush those fuckin’ teeth, either. Dirty man.”

“I thought you liked the way I taste, love.”

You snort, pinky latching onto him again, leading him towards the bathroom of your darkened house. Reiterate your previous statement by muttering a “filthy man” under your breath. The radiance of dawn spills through the closed blinds as the sun begins its endeavour across the sky once more. Simon follows dutifully behind you. 

Your unoccupied hand fumbles before finding the string of the light switch. You give it a firm tug and cool light blares into the room. Simon barely has time to hiss before you’re tugging it off again, encasing the room in darkness once more. You hum softly, murmuring apologies as you lead him to the toilet seat. 

“Sit. I swear I have fake candles somewhere, I’ll find them.”

An objection rises in his throat, although he obeys instantly, perching on the lid of the toilet. He watches in the low light as you flit about the room, rummaging through bottles and loofahs and sponges before letting out a small “aha!”. 

You methodically disperse small, white discs around the room, clicking them on as you go. Warm light flickers throughout the room, much less overbearing than the beacon overhead. You turn to face him again and he lets out a sigh through his nostrils. You’re far too endearing like this; completely dishevelled, all soft smiles and teasing words. 

He can see it with a bit more clarity now, the way worry has been eating at you. In the dim 'candle' light, he notices the state of your lower lip, chapped and bitten, and the smudges of blue that frame your eyes. The knot that sits at the base of his stomach twists again, digging in, and he tightens his jaw to stop himself from spilling I’m sorry’s like a mantra.

“You planning on washing your clothes as well as your body, babes?” 

Your voice pops the bubble of his self-pity. He blinks thrice, grateful for the mask to hide the downwards tilt of his lips. He attempts to sound breezy as he replies, though it comes out with more bite than he’d like. Typical. 

“Figure it’s the quickest way to stop smelling of ‘shite.’”

It’s your turn to sober yourself as you cast your eyes over him, eyebrows furrowing. You must catch it; the way, however subtle, his body responds to his injury – hunched slightly to one side as if trying to curl protectively around it. He straightens his spine at your scrutiny. 

“You’re hurt,” you whisper, voice so tender, as you take two slow steps towards him, “your side?” Your eyebrows furrow, hands absently reaching for him. 

“It’s nowt, darls. Just some bruising. I…” He rolls the request around on his tongue. He swears it burns, to ask more of you after you’ve given so much. “I need a hand. Can’t really… bend. Sorry.”

Your reaction is immediate. You drop to your knees in front of him, hands reaching for his laces, face set in gentle determination. 

“It’s no bother, handsome.” You’re quick to soothe, to reassure. Always so quick to give him what he needs. He softens like warm butter. “Get started up there, and we’ll meet in the middle.” You toss him a cheeky wink, face still tinged in a trace of worry. 

Never one to deny you anything, he does as he’s told. Starts with his mask – easy enough. He’s too tired to have any reservations now, especially when you’ve spent so many nights devoted to tracing his scars with your lips. He unhooks the straps and slips it from his face, drops the piece of fabric onto the bathroom counter next to him. 

His shirt is… a little bit trickier. He struggles to lift it up above his head, but he manages it soon enough. On his own, despite your assurances that you can help with that, too. He’s a stubborn creature. 

Meanwhile, you’re dutifully and methodically working off his boots. He’s seen those hands broken and bruised, snaked around the grip of so many guns. He’s in awe of their softness; the duality of hands once soaked in blood, now working so gently to undress him. 

True to your word, always, you meet him in the middle. Soft hands ghost over the mottling of bruises littering his left side, shades of purple and blue deep and rich. You frown, casting your eyes up to meet his. Your teeth go to bother your lower lip again but he leans forward to intercept, covering your mouth with his own. 

You hum absently into the kiss, feel the graze of his hand against your jaw, the soft exhale through his nose. You both stay like that for a moment; making no move to deepen the kiss, keeping it light and sweet and oh-so tender. 

You disconnect, your frown banished. He watches through his lashes, eyes half-lidded with relaxation as you stand back up, hands moving to the hem of his your shirt. Simon reaches to help, you swat his hand away. 

“Ah-ah! Just sit back and enjoy the show, Riley. I don’t give ‘em out for free.” You wink, cocky grin rising to your lips. God, he has it bad for you.

“Show me how it’s done, love.”

You put him to shame. Lift your shirt off with one confident sweep of your arms. His hands twitch with the effort to keep them by his sides. The rest comes off just as easily, barring your fluffy socks. You almost end up flat on your arse, cheeks flushed as you slouch against the bathroom counter repeating ‘stop laughing, Simon Riley, or so help me God–’

A few moments later and you’re both in the shower, standing under a stream of water just below scalding. He hisses as the jets hit him, rolling down the planes of his back, slowly loosening the knots along his spine. You’re standing so close, nearly pressed against him, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from slipping an arm around your waist. Your bare forms merge and he feels like a ship returning to harbour. He feels tethered.

You’d told him earlier that this building was his home. You were wrong – he fights the urge to say it now. To chant ‘The four walls have nothing to do with it. My home isn’t this house, it’s you. It’s here, in my arms’ until his throat runs dry. 

The way you tilt into his grasp, your arms winding so naturally around him, slotting against him so perfectly makes him think you already know the words by heart.

After a few minutes, you break away. Simon is just breathing out an objection by the time he notices the loofah in your hands. You squirt a splodge of soap onto it and a wave of your signature scent fills his nostrils. His objections die on his tongue. 

You work the soap into a lather before gently taking one of his arms, eyes flicking up to meet him for a moment in a silent question. He answers with a nod and you get to work, systematically massaging away the layers of grime and dirt. You work in small circles down his arm, scrubbing his armpits and washing the grit from beneath his fingernails with precision, before moving onto his other arm. 

And so the time passes; both arms, across the chiselled plains of his broad chest, down to his navel, spinning him around so you can work your way up his back. Then you’re onto his legs, his feet, before you move on to washing his hair. 

He has to stand facing away from you (much to his despair – you look so focused, your tongue almost poking out in concentration), head tilted back to give you access to the top of his head. Still, you stand on your tiptoes, rubbing and massaging the shampoo into his scalp with firm but doting hands. You hum as you work. 

He’s flooded with warmth at the depth of your devotion. 

Hours or seconds pass by, simultaneously too much and too little time, and you’re done. You guide his form back around to face you, rising up to place a sickeningly sweet kiss to his lips. His body is sagging as the exhaustion finally drapes over him like a well-worn blanket. He blinks to keep his eyes open.

“Your turn?” He murmurs, voice a jumble of syllables. 

“Mmh, I’m okay, babs. We need to get you into bed,” you hum. His eyes close for half a second and by the time he’s opened them again, the shower is off and he’s wrapped in a soft towel. 

“Our bed?”

You huff out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, Si, our bed.”

Pinkies entwined, you lead him once more. Sunrise is fully upon you now, a kaleidoscope of peaches and tangerines spill through gaps in the curtains to bathe the bedroom in pinks and golds. You guide Simon Riley, now far more man than weapon, to his side of the bed. The man barely makes it to a horizontal position before reaching for you -- a request that you happily oblige. 

You settle against him with the same practised ease, curled against his uninjured side, head tucked against his clavicle. He hums beneath you, arms slotting into their designated space around your waist. 

A few moments pass. You’re certain that he’s already asleep when his voice, deep and full of timbre, cuts through the tranquillity. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, his large hands dragging up the notches along your spine. “‘M stupid, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t– you don’t have to, Si. I get it.” You exhale against his collarbone, arms tightening around him. “It was a bad time. I didn’t mean for it– it just came out. I get it.”

Simon murmurs in disagreement, but he returns the motion. Arms squeezing your sides like he needs an anchor, something to hold on to. 

“I shouldn’t have ignored you. I was a coward. I–”

His head turns, lips grazing over the crown of your head. His eyebrows furrow and he freezes for a moment before whispering, voice so quiet you have to strain to hear it. 

“I feel it, too. I can’t– I can’t say it, but I feel it. I do.”

You feel the corners of your lips twitch up involuntarily. This absolute muppet of a man – watching you all evening like you’d hung the stars one by one, like you were some divine creator, some source of eternal beauty that could make the angels quiver. You bite back the urge to laugh, and instead tilt your head upwards, graze your rough lips across the underside of his jaw. 

You whisper back, trying to pour as much love and devotion as you can fit into three words. 

“I know, Si.”

[soft-teddybear]

ateez - s/o gets shy when they compliment them

genre: fluff

cw: none that I’m aware

requested: @honeysugarbby

summary: ateez members compliments their s/o and they love their reaction.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction made for entertainment and form my point of view.

members under the cut.

seonghwa tells you compliments at the most random time as if they’re the most normal thing, he doesn’t sees it as something out of the ordinary, making you blush almost immediately and loves to see your surprised expresión, how you shyly mumble a “thank you” how he knows he made you happy, that he brighten up your day and that you’ll react exactly the same the next time.

hongjoong is usually super busy so you think he doesn’t notice if you changed something about how you looked but he does, he notice everything and he compliments you every time he sees the change. he thinks everything looks good on you, so he gets confused by your surprised, shy expression so he takes a mental note to compliment you even more often and to help you work on that self esteem.

yunho compliments you at every single opportunity he has, he wants to make sure you feel beautiful and loved so daily compliments it’s his way of making sure. he loves when you say them back, big smile on his face when he tells you something and even bigger when he hears a compliment back. yunho pays close attention your mood so he knows to compliment you at the right time.

yeosang thinks more than he talks, so compliments are not often but they’re precious, always making each other blush a bit, he really wants to tell them more often and he’ve warmed up lots since your relationship started, but his compliments always caught you of ward and make you smile all day, so when he sees you randomly smiling he knows it’s because of him.

san lives to make you smile and since he loves getting compliments too it becomes some sort of competition, trying to see who can make the other one blush first. he has a big simile on his face for most of the time and usually wins the “competition” but he doesn’t get upset when he loses because he thinks that getting that amount of compliments out of you it’s a win on it’s own.

mingi thinks you’re the cutest and won’t waste an opportunity on letting you know, is not with the intention of making you feel shy or blush but he can’t help feeling proud when it happens, a big smile on his face is proof of it. even though he does it often it does caught you of guard because it’s at random times, mid sentence sometimes, he just says it when he thinks it, making you blush at the moment while he smiles and keeps going.

wooyoung lives to get a reaction out of you, he loves to tease you or to randomly give you compliments just to see your face after it, watching you blush from something he said makes him feel so proud it’s not even normal anymore but he keeps it going until you tell him to stop or someone tells him to shut it, he just loves your reactions and telling you compliments. he secretly expect you to do the same, he loves compliments.

jongho is more of action and thought, not spoken words, so when he does compliment you out loud it’s such a pretty moment thar makes the both of you a blushy mess. you compliment him back and he doesn’t know what to say , a big smile on his face it’s proof enough that he loved it. after that it’s just a lot of “thank you”s and some nervous laughs, the moment might get awkward but they are always well appreciated by the both of you.

n/a: I’m sorry it took so long, i hope you liked it c:

[thefangirltreehouse]

sebastian sallow | general thoughts / headcanons with gryffindor!mc

this is just overall thoughts on the sebastian arc and his general characterisation (yes, i am continuing to update this on my second playthrough)

spoilers below

the amount of times i’ve caught sebastian looking at mc through the start of my now second play-through is hilariously adorable, like don’t get me wrong the herbology one is absolutely the best, but i noticed that throughout charms sebastian is just staring at mc (like he’s straight up starts ignoring ominis speaking to him when they walk in the room) also the slight glances in defence against the dark arts before the duel is so cute.

he does it again whilst sirona and rookwood are arguing, like he just turns to them and similes

you can’t convince me otherwise that mc didn’t grab at least his arm to pull him away from ranrok, like it genuinely looks like that and if you squint hard enough it looks like he does the same thing when heading into the three broomsticks

listen i’m specifically playing as fem! & gryffindor! and the missions with ominis feel so reminiscent of the golden trio (i’m calling it now, they’re the electrum trio - a metal mixed with gold and sliver) especially the crucio side-mission

saw someone in a comment sum their dynamic up perfectly from my perspective

“i used to have beef with ominis before this (crucio) quest happened and now it’s me, a gryffindor dragging two slytherins by their shirt collars”

slight tangent but ominis is so sweet if you start as a slytherin! i saw my friend start his game and meet him in the common room and i was like “i’m sorry, is this the same tory bastard that yelled at me for nicking his pal?”

if anything sebastian comes off worse in that section.

almost every streamer i’ve came across assumes he’s flirting, like this was absolutely intentional

when either of the boys, particularly sebastian is speaking to imelda and the conversation of mc comes up she absolutely refers to mc as “that gryffindor of yours”

i mean, it’s the age old rivalry that just gives everything that extra oomph! despite the fact nobody seems to be questioning that a gryffindor has closely befriended not one, but two slytherins because that certainly isn't suspicious (i'm surprised one of the gryffindors didn't bring it up - particularly leander)

speaking of leander, why are the more prominent gryffindors (and ravenclaws) so antagonistic or hellbent on getting us in trouble?

sebastian’s jealously towards both his friends is dripping in the crucio quest like, in the line below i know he means because mc and ominis have special abilities but...

"between the two of you, i'm starting to feel left out"

the constant proud "that's my girl" look on his face

"never know who's watching - although that hasn't stopped us before." "strictly speaking, it has. we were caught."

also at the start of the library mission, anyone notice the way he's casually waiting on mc against the banister smiling up at her? or whilst he's waiting on her and ominis to figure out the location of the scriptorium? like, this boy knows he's the shit.

listen, there are certain things that sebastian said and did during his storyline that even at that age, i would’ve noped out of but i went in with a “yes, corrupt the little goody-two-shoes gryffindor madly infatuated with you” attitude and honestly it was so much fun. cause objectively yeah, sebastian should be expelled at the very least but my mc was not gonna let them do that (they're very much giving jd and veronica)

that said, mc isn't about to let him walk all over her, she's a gryffindor for a reason, she's just had some misguided judgement

don’t love how there isn’t much of a reaction from either boy after crucio is cast on mc, especially from sebastian (again, massive red flag) but also, think the devs missed the mark on that one like sebastian is still mc’s friend, yeah he really wants to see anne healed but a little sympathy shown would’ve been nice and a proper acknowledgement of what'd he'd done.

even if sebastian shrugged it off quickly he should've helped them walk or at least offered a hand to stand up

i love the wee house jibes, i wish we got more of them!

"you're not a bad chap, for a slytherin" "you gryffindors don't have a monopoly on bravery y'know"

an awful lot of english folk in the scottish highlands

sebastian and poppy are talking whilst leaving a class and my brain was like “omg her bf + gf are talking!”

i want triwizard and yule so badly!

the red and the green / gold and silver looks, look so good!

mc makes a comment about how amazed sebastian will be when she tells him that she took down the ashwinders by herself

"it'd be wise to keep an eye on you"

_____

general headcanons (oc-ish)

he'd absolutely mutter continuous little digs and comments throughout their classes simply to get under her skin and make her smile whilst she's trying to listen to their professors (he used to do this to ominis but he's able to ignore sebastian now after years of the torment)

whilst having dinner in the great hall they won't be sitting together but they'll lightly tap or nudge one another on the back if they're passing behind each-other's designated tables

sebastian refers to the fat lady painting as the "golden gate keeper of mediocrity" after walking mc back to gryffindor tower, which earns him a mildly deserved elbow jab

he gives mc piggy-backs during their trips to hogsmead and the quidditch pitch

whilst she's walking to and from classes with cressida or natsai, sebastian is regularly seen inserting himself between them, putting an arm over mc and / or pinching her away over to ominis and nerida

"who would've thought, all it took was a snake to tame the lion" cressida noted to a disinterested leander, peering over at the scarlet robes peaking beneath the sea of green

mc likes to softly poke at his blushing cheeks, joking that if sebastian "gets any redder, he won't be allowed back into slytherin" or that "he might have to come back to gryffindor with her"

mc has on occasion accidently fallen asleep, resting her head on his shoulder during history of magic

most of the gryffindors (nellie, leander and garreth in particular) will tease sebastian as he waits for her outside the common room, claiming "she was ours first" and attempt to distract her for as long as possible beyond the painting just to 'knock 'im down a few pegs'

they're well aware she's highly capable of holding her own, but not only is he a slytherin, he's also sebastian sallow so they're protective

he much prefers bumping into natty, who'll make a light "lost puppy" joke, share laugh and proceed to actually go get mc or he would actively seek out lucan because he knows the kid sucks-up to him but eventually the older gryffindors caught-on and would bribe lucan with chocolate frogs to stop him in his tracks

mc enjoys exposing sebastian to muggle trinkets and snacks, she grew up in a travelling circus with her parents, a ringmaster and fortune teller who never attended hogwarts in their youth (i'm gonna do a separate oc bio)

the trio all share a love of pumpkin pasties and lavender tea so whoever has a free period (or when sebastian has detention) will pop down to the kitchen to collect some

forehead kisses, hugs and interlocked arms whilst exploring the castle are everything to these two (their subtle little height difference is adorable, especially when you remember fem!mc is wearing wee wedged shoes at the start of the game)

highwing isn't his biggest fan (prefers ominis) and mc relishes in that

[eddiemunsonsbedroom]

Warnings: ex!Joel, angst, mentions of child death (not graphic), drinking, swearing. Implied reconciliation, humor but mostly angst and sadness, depression, metaphors on similes on metaphors.

A/N: Maybe the best thing I’ve ever written.

-

“Ding dong, dumb ass!” you shout while pushing the doorbell continuously.

When the curtain by the door twitches, an eye and glossy blond hair peeking out, your stomach drops before you snatch your composure back together, waving your fingers at her.

The door abruptly opens- the seal between the door making that shluck noise when the suction releases- and your eyes snap up, trying to make your face look casual in your drunkenness.

He’s looking at you, doing that concerned eye-scrunch thing that he does, with his mouth slightly open, like he’s truly surprised to see you drunk on his doorstep at 6pm. The funny part is that he doesn’t even look annoyed. His hair is slightly curling at his neck how you love, thinking about all of the times you’ve run your fingers through it-both thoughtfully while his head is in your lap, talking- and gripped tightly in pleasure. You almost crack, threatening to sober up and beg him to be with you again.

Until you see that he’s wearing his nice shirt that he only pulls out for special occasions, like a backyard wedding, or when Sarah graduated from high school, and you remember he’s got some blond woman on his couch.

“You dick,” you say, almost not even aware that you actually said it out loud until his eyes soften, appearing guilty for a moment until they sharpen into something else.

There it is. Annoyed.

You shove past him into the house before he even gets the wherewithal to grab your elbow to stop you.

Your eyes settle on the woman on the couch, who seems a little startled, trying to fix her mouth into a smile. It falls flat, looking more confused than anything.

“Hi-“ she starts, until Joel twists away from the door, shutting it a little harder than necessary.

And what did you think that you were going to do once you got here? You had no thoughts aside from just being drunk and wanting to see him and torture yourself some more. Like you aren’t doing that enough on your own- barely sleeping, watching the static on your ancient tv set. Daydreaming, thinking about how your father used to tell you that the tv used to go off the air at midnight- showing the American flag. Done. Like you and Joel.

What the fuck are you doing?

Joel says your name, having the audacity to sigh, like you’re being unreasonable. Which maybe you are. But he can’t act like you’re an inconvenience. He doesn’t have the right. He inconvenienced your whole life, like an employee who calls in sick before a morning shift. He left.

The woman on the couch has the nerve to look pitying, as if she’s thinking, “this woman, poor thing. Can smell the whiskey on her breath from here. Joel is so nice letting this woman into his home. I wonder if she has someone that we can call for her.”

“I had someone,” you’d say, “you’re sitting on his couch right now.”

Would he have answered the phone?

His says your name a little louder in question, bringing you back to his living room. His living room. Where it ended and she must’ve began. He’s in his “first date” shirt. Out with the old and in with the new. Unless it comes to that fucking shirt. The shirt is less replaceable than you are.

“How did you get here?” he grits out. You can’t tell if it’s in annoyance from your presence or the thought of you drunk driving. You took an Uber.

Instead you say, “Unicycle. My ex boyfriend was a clown.”

God, that was a good one. You hope that you remember it tomorrow.

He opens his mouth to respond, but Couch Woman speaks up again, “I’m Angie,”

“Uh huh,” you swivel back to Joel, “so you’re good enough for Andie here-“

“Angie,” she jumps in.

“yeah, Annie-“ you hiccup, “but not me?”

He looks like he wants to slip between the floor and melt into the soil deep under the house. Maybe grow a new Joel. One with a spine.

He doesn’t say anything. Angie’s eyebrows furrow into confusion, eyes flicking between me and Joel.

“Now, either you don’t care about being ‘good enough’ for Annie, or you’re a fucking liar.”

He’s still staring. Stone-faced. Even you can’t read his expression, and you were with him for a year.

“Isn’t that what you told me a month ago? When you broke up with me? That you weren’t good enough for me?”

He still doesn’t say a fucking thing.

You shouldn’t have come here. You should’ve stayed at home, watching the static, too numb to get up and bang on the side of the tv, bringing it back to life, but somehow able to come to Joel. Maybe subconsciously- naively- thinking that he would do the same thing. Breathe that oxygen into you from the New Joel. The one under the house. The one with a spine.

But he didn’t exist until you came and confronted him.

Just like you didn’t exist before him.

“Are you guys…” the woman on the couch- the intruder that is too fucking nice, that you want to hate but can’t- trails off.

“Exes, yeah. I got the unicycle in the break up. He got the really long scarves. Judging from the look he’s giving me, I think they’re up his a-“

“Okay, well maybe I should go,” she says, polite as ever. The nerve of this woman. Can’t even call you a bitch or anything, even though you probably deserve it.

“No,” you say, “I’ll go,” crossing over the floor, wanting to trample any possible growth from the Joel Tree, wanting to wallow- wanting to be away from the Joel with a spine. Maybe he would reject you with the truth. Maybe you never really wanted the truth. The static is calling-

“Angie,” Joel speaks so suddenly when you start to pass, his deep voice breaking the silence again scaring you, “I think you should go. I’m-“

“It’s okay,” she says, not even annoyed. Just with the pity. She squeezes by you awkwardly, a tight smile that you turn your eyes down from in shame.

As they say their muffled goodbyes at the door, you take your flask from your pocket. You’re still drunk but you need to be numb again- downing the rest of the contents in several long pulls before you change your mind.

The door makes that airy suction noise and he’s behind you. You can feel his eyes on your neck.

“She seems nice,” you say, quietly. It sounds absurd as soon as it hits the air. What else can you say? Sorry? You’re not. Not really.

He takes the flask from your hand gently, and you feel so much lighter, like it was an anchor, only you think that it was weighing you down more than holding you in place. Holding you together.

You float over to the couch. The one you sat on nearly every night until last month. The spot warm, a reminder of who was here. You lay your head back, peeking at Joel, glassy eyes glinting in the low lamp light, thinking, I was the original woman on the couch. That was me.

He doesn’t tell you that he meant what he said. He isn’t good enough for you. How could he be? You’re everything. You deserve everything in return.

Sarah died after her graduation. Car accident. And such a waste. She was everything, too. She deserved everything- but instead she had it all taken away. He had it all taken away. So he pushed you away. He was too broken. And you were everything.

He can’t even tell you that she wasn’t even a date. She was a realtor.

He puts a blanket over your legs- going to sit in the armchair that’s facing you.

“Why couldn’t you love me, Joel?” you slur, head thrown back on the couch, eyes closed.

He pauses for a long time, wondering when he became so broken. Or was he always this way?

Even now, he can’t say the words. He wants to say the words. He wants to be everything.

He watches you sleep, hours later, thinking maybe he will say it when the sun rises.

And when it does, you say that you think Jackson is nice this time of year.

-

A/N (again): sorry the formatting is goofy, I wrote it in my notes app lol. Reblogs/likes/feedback appreciated. Xo

[princess-of-purple-prose]

HIII writing prompt “monster” and 7? 💕

Giggling the teensiest bit, I love you <3 No, really, I love you, because 7 was, amusingly, the wildcard number, so randomly picking landed me on TIM STOKER, and I don’t think I’ve ever written in his pov before but this CONSUMED ME?? I haven’t written this much in one go in weeks, forget this fast?? This also, uh, turned into full-out jontim, which was a complete accident because this was SUPPOSED to be a meditation on him mid-Research era. Aha. Enjoy!!!!

“—and that,” Jon declares, “is why it’s so vital to continue establishing Hope Spots, not just in spots ripe for ecotourism, but across the world.” He takes what must be his first breath in ten full minutes, and it’s only then that he seems to register Tim and Sasha’s twin gleeful expressions. His own expression goes a little funny. “Tim, Sasha, please tell me you weren’t—”

Sasha is already stabbing at her phone, fumbling a little before she actually hits the right button. “Twelve minutes and forty-six seconds! A new record!”

“The man’s a monster!” Tim toasts Jon with a whoop, and Jon—there’s really no other word for it: he fully pouts at Tim, wrinkling his nose so primly it makes Tim want to bear-hug him right then and there. He sublimates the urge by being even more over-the-top, trying to see if he can make Jon’s nose scrunch up even more. “Attenborough who! I want all my documentaries voiced by this man!” Opposite him, Sasha dissolves into tiny giggles, sweet and delicate as a spray of mayflowers.

“Sasha missed the ‘stop’ button about five times, you can’t call that—” Jon snorts, but his cheeks have turned the rich cherry of his desk back at Research, so he can’t be that mad about their subpar timekeeping of his latest incredibly disorganized, incredibly endearing overview of the last documentary he watched.

“Jonnnnnn, take the win!” Tim cries, and he gives in and slings an arm around Jon’s shoulder like it belongs there. God, the man’s teeny, they need to make sure he gets some carbs in him. On that note— “Take some chips, too, you’re built like a bird!”

“And you’re built like,” Jon grumps, “a—a—” He scowls and takes a chip, presumably only to cover the fact that he’s too drunk to come up with a simile. Contrary little bastard, he is. “Get off me, you arse.”

Tim makes a complaining sound even as he immediately pulls away—only for Jon to jolt and then practically butt up into Tim’s hovering arm, far more housecat than bird. Tim freezes, not putting any pressure against Jon even though they’re skin-to-cardigan again.

“Jon…?”

Oh, there it is, there’s that wrinkled nose. Tim loses his breath, a little bit. “I didn’t mean it,” Jon says, scowling even harder than he’d been before and refusing to look Tim’s way. “It’s—It’s cold in here, alright?”

As a matter of fact, it is a comfortable degree of stifling in here, and Jon is in a cardigan that’s more than enough to ward off the mild autumnal chill and drunk besides. Jon seems well aware of this, or maybe not aware at all, because as Tim settles tentatively against him again, he grabs for his long-forgotten glass and downs the rest of it. Tim gives Sasha a wide-eyed look, only for her—traitor! Disloyal turncoat!— to smirk back, propping her chin up with a hand and arching her perfect eyebrows at him.

“Oh, shut up,” he snips, cheeks warming, just as Jon sets down his now-empty glass. Jon turns to him curiously, having entirely missed the exchange, and Tim turns his brightest beam on him and coos, “Not you, you’re a delight and I’m glad you’re sitting next to me and not”—he aims another scowl her way, and Sasha sticks her tongue out at him—“Sasha over there, because she gives me a hard enough time without you there to egg her on worse.”

Sasha smirks harder. Tim wishes he could kick her under the table without Jon noticing.

“I’m perfectly capable of siding with her even while sitting practically on top of you,” Jon sniffs, drier than anyone should be capable of being with that quantity of liquor in them, and Tim gapes in outrage even as delight fills him up to the tips of his ears to match Jon’s still-red cheeks.

“That’s what I like to hear, Jon!” Sasha cheers, raising her own empty glass to him. Jon quirks a wicked little grin and does the same.

Tim emits a high-pitched squawk of disbelief. “With friends like you, who needs enemies?” He sags dramatically against Jon, relishing in his little grumble of annoyance as he gets crushed. “What’s a guy to do?”

“Buy us more drinks?” Sasha suggests innocently to the tune of Jon’s sniggering, and Tim groans theatrically even as he flags down the waiter for another round. Monsters, the both of them! he laments to himself. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

[wonryllis]

please give writing tips too

sure love! everyone’s different so in no way would the same things work for all but these are some tips that have helped me improve and just you know expand my horizons.

feel free to add your own points to this to help people more!!

001. READ READ AND READ (I CAN’T STRESS ENOUGH ON THIS BUT THIS IS THE MAIN KEY). be it fics, or novels or normal story books even non-fiction. reading will help in expanding your vocabulary and grammar, and give you an idea on how to build words in different kinds of scenarios. how to set the mood and what kind of details will have the most impact.

002. for expanding your vocabulary i would suggest searching up words you come across and don’t know the meaning of. don’t skip them, search them up and try understanding what they mean and look through what other words have similar meanings(synonyms)

003. CONSTANTLY PRACTICE WRITING. even if you’re not going to post it anywhere, just try writing a little bit on different themes. in that way you will be able to find out more about your writing style and flair as well as what points you need to work on.

004. STOP HESITATING TO REWRITE. there’s hardly anything one gets right at the first shot. and the same goes for writing. rewriting pieces will help you figure out what you should’ve added that you didn’t the first time and how changing the order of words or adding new literary devices(metaphors, similes, anecdotes etc) can make more of an impact.

005. DON’T BE AFRAID TO EXPLORE DIFFERENT GENRES. just 100 words can also help with experience. search up different genres that interest you and try coming up with a short scenario if you can.

13 points more under the cut!

006. TRIAL AND ERROR. don’t be let down if you fail to write a specific type of au, theme or trope. it takes certain amount of time and experience to be able to write different genres or anything as such. you need to have exposure to that topic to be able to create imagination on it.

007. with that being said, when you pick up a certain trope, au, theme or any topic you want/plan to write on: DO PROPER AND A LOT OF RESEARCH. trust me, it helps a lot.

008. as well in relation to the point above when writing a story, make sure to plan a rough outline. what kind of characters you’re going for, what events are going to define your story, how do you want the ending and the beginning to be. what your protagonist(s) is going for, what all they would be facing throughout and such.

009. SET A MORAL/POINT OF VIEW YOU WANT TO CONVEY through your writing. it helps you have a basis, a particular aim and drive behind what you wish to leave an impression through. it could be anything complex like dark themes of toxicity or even anything as simple as comfort. you just need to know what you’re writing for.

010. for inspiration i would suggest, LISTENING TO SONGS. any song you’re listening to, try thinking of a story behind it. for example let’s take taylor swift’s “no body no crime” go through the lyrics, the vibe and think what type of story could have this as background music. or what kind of a story could have that type of no body no crime summary?

011. KNOW WHEN TO SHOW THINGS RATHER THAT TELLING THEM. too much of anything is never good. when writing, it’s important to keep the balance between descriptions, narratives and dialogues. try thinking what are the things that would be better when described, for example the relationship between your characters: it’s something which is better shown than told. like how they treat each other, how they see each other, their dynamics in general is not something that can be told through a big lengthy dialogue or JUST one paragraph(short drabbles being an exception)

012. an additional point to the one above would be, try keeping yourself in the reader’s position and see what pulls you in more. what makes you feel the emotions better.

013. PICTURE THE SETTING YOU WANT TO WRITE ON. close your eyes and think of any type of place that you would like to write the story in. a suburb? or an abandoned city for an apocalypse? this will help in brainstorming for ideas.

014. INTO THE CHARACTER’S MIND. this is a very important point. explore the world within the mind of the character, something that defines them. THIS IS ANOTHER BIG KEY TO IMPROVE, pull your readers into the character(s)’ mind, show them the fears, the memories, the feelings, the thoughts, the hopes and dreams. it helps them understand the character and get into the story.

015. when using dialogues keep in mind that the DIALOGUES SHOULD ALWAYS BE MEANINGFUL AND REALISTIC. unnecessary talks aren’t often attractive so write what is necessary, needed. even with humor, excessive fun is not always impressive. and short but impactful dialogues always literally always leave the best impression.

016. CHALLENGE YOURSELF. try starting off strong since the very beginning. strong meaning starting off with words that leave a lasting impression. or words that pull you in with intrigue.

017. LEARN TO PACE YOURSELF. first of all it’s okay to take a break. actually its very important. pushing yourself beyond limits would never give positive results. know when you need to stop, cause being tired is not going to give better ideas or better word building. let yourself go into writer’s block, don’t fight it. you’ll come back better than when you’re forcing yourself to stay put and continue.

018. and last but not least. KNOW THAT IMPROVEMENT TAKES TIME. don’t be disappointed or discouraged if you are not good today. not being good today doesn’t mean you won’t ever be good. keep trying and with little to little progress over time, you will see yourself getting there. don’t lose hope🤗! YOU CAN DO IT!!!

[writtenbyfawaz]

I might be the Poet but you’ll always be my Poem,

Every single detail of you drenched on paper with the ink of my pen,

Always seeking something new in you to learn,

You are the catalyst of my poems,

You are my only Gem,

You are the only thing worth writing about,

Your essence is something my poems can’t do without,

As a poet, I mold you in each verse I compose,

With every rhyme, I know what I’m seeking is close,

With metaphors and similes, your grace is revived,

With you my love, I make my words come alive,

If you were to ever leave me, I know you’ll still be with me in the verses of my poem,

If I were to ever look for you, I know I’ll find you in the verses of my poem,

If you ever have doubts about my love for you, just take a look at the verses of my poem,

If I ever stopped believing in love, I’d just start reading the verses of my poem,

You, my poem, are a reflection of my heart,

My beautiful masterpiece, a work of art,

I write this poem hoping you’ll read it one day,

Sitting under a tree, being greeted by the summer sun’s rays,

Both of our heads grey,

And then I’ll smile and say,

"These are the words my heart was scared to convey".

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

how do u come up with your titles? they read like song lyrics- and if they are could u drop the songs 👀👀++ to what extent does that song influence the story? (my bad if you've answered this before I have terrible memory)

-🦀

Ooohhh crab anon, the bag of worms you opened!! You are completely right, (almost) every title of my stories have come from song lyrics. And not only have I compiled the songs for you, I’ve written a lil blurb on why I chose that song and included recommended songs for each fic with applicable lyrics. I hope these satisfy!

another cup of wine | “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl” Looking Glass

Listen, I’m gonna be real with y’all. This one is just because Darlin’ and Sam drink wine out of cups instead of glasses. No deeper meaning here, just an applicable lyric I liked. The song does have a sort of swag and divorced dad rock vibe that I think Sam in particular would listen to.

Recommended listening

“He Needs Me” Shelly Duval

“I’ll take a chance / I will because he needs me”

“No Choir” Florence + the Machine

“And it’s hard to write about being happy / ‘cause the older I get / I find that happiness is an extremely uneventful subject”

the only anchor i have left | poem by Andrea Gibson

The only one not taken from a song. I’ll link the poem below. I think the whole thing is very good for Bright Eyes. Lost and anchorless without something to be angry about. A common Andrea Gibson slay.

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/9548512-what-if-i-don-t-want-the-monster-to-stop-being

Recommended listening

“Your Needs / My Needs” Noah Kahan

“To see a friend, to see a ghost”

“your life, your dreams / your mind, your needs/ my needs. / Your needs, my needs.”

“Second Child, Restless Child” the Oh Hellos

“And they saw the trouble in my eyes / they were quick to recognize the devil in me.”

i always wanted to die (clean and pretty) | “Last Words of a Shooting Star” Mitski

One of two or three Mitski lyrics I’ve used since she is just so good. Tbh I don’t know where I was going or where I want to go with this one. The general vibes are… tragic. I might retool later on.

Recommended listening

“Lonesome Town” Ricky Nelson

“There’s a place where lovers go / to cry their troubles away / and they call it Lonesome Town / where the broken hearts stay”

“This Too Shall Pass” Danny Schmidt

“We think too big / we think our self is one whole thing / and we claim that this collection / has a name and is a being / but deep inside / when every cell divides / well, it sets upon the rule that states / self-interest is divine”

let this whole town hear your knuckles crack | “Damn These Vampires” the Mountain Goats

Somehow the only fic so far with a title from tMG, my favorite band of all time. I’m sure I’ll find more in time. This song has western vibes that I don’t think fits the DAMN crew very well, and somehow I paired this song in my one fic that doesn’t involve Sam. However, the vibes are immaculate.

Recommended listening

Seventeen Going Under” Sam Fender

“I was far too scared to hit him / but I would hit him in a heart beat now / that’s the thing with anger / it begs to stick around”

“Saint Bernard 2” by Lincoln

“Lord make me a liar ‘cause I swore to god / when swearing still felt like the truth”

it’s my gut i can’t ignore (i’m hungry) | “Gone, I’m Gone” Eva Noblezada and the cast of Hadestown.

Also surprising I haven’t used more broadway lyrics, but here we are. My absolute favorite musical which, in part, is about hunger driving you to do desperate things. This piece was so largely focused on food insecurity for me. Every chapter revolves around food to some degree, and even the metaphors and similes Angel uses to describe the world around them are tied to food. It’s something that those of us who grew up with food insecurity can relate to; when you’re hungry, everything reminds you of food. When you live hungry, it consumes your every thought. When Noblezada as Eurydice delivers the line “it’s my gut I can’t ignore / Orpheus, I’m hungry,” you can hear it in her voice. It’s worth a listen for that line alone.

“Abbey” Mitski

“I am hungry / I have been hungry / I was born hungry / what do I need”

“Class of 2013- Audiotree Live Version” Mitski

“Mom / will you wash my back this once / and then we can forget / and I’ll leave what I’m chasing / for the other girls to pursue”

as long as you’re with me (you’ll be just fine) | “Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby” Cigarettes After Sex

This whole song has excellent David vibes. The protectiveness, the quiet possession. He’s a soft soul at heart, I think, and this song fits well. This collection is one of my faves just because we get to see many different sides of him and ways in which he can be protective, possessive. From quiet reassurance to acts of service to beating the shit out of people. As long as his pack is with him, he will keep them safe.

Recommended listening

“Cold Cold Man” Saint Motel

“Oh my love / I know I am a cold, cold man / quite slow to pay you compliments / or public displayed affections. / But baby, don’t you go over analyze / no need to theorize / I can put your doubts to rest / You’re the only one worth seeing”

there is a light (i feel it in me) | “Abbey” Mitski

Already tied to this series, this Mitski song is just perfect. An exploration of how trauma can effect us in ugly ways, this piece pairs perfectly with Mitski’s music. This song explores the deep hunger within the singer, countered by the lightness she feels within herself. Angel, in this piece, is haunted by their hunger and treats David poorly because of it. The light that he shows them helps them to reach for the light within themself. We love healing in this house!!!

See the recommended songs under it’s my gut i can’t ignore (i’m hungry).

the rest of you, the best of you (honey belongs to me) | “NFWMB” Hozier

Oh boy I could go on for ages about Hozier. His songs are on almost all of my Redacted playlists and so I listen to his work pretty much every time I write for Redacted. His lyricism and prose are evident in my work, I think. This piece, one of Angel’s first indications of how protective David is, fits so well with this song. Swinging wildly between protectiveness and possessiveness, David mirrors the song’s progression throughout the piece. I think “Belongs to me” is the operative part of this title.

Recommended listening

“You’re Mine” Phantogran

“(No one’s gonna love you) / (No one’s gonna touch you) / ‘cause you’re mine! / (No one’s gonna look at you)”

“Always Forever” Cults

“You and me, always forever / We could stay alone together / You and me, always forever / Say you’ll stay, never be severed”

i assume you’ll be coming for blood (that makes two of us) | “Venom” Little Simz

Alright so… for real… this piece should have been named “is it wickedness? is it weakness?” after the first (or last, depending on how you play it) track on Kendrick Lamar’s “Damn.” That entire album is a work of art, and it can be played cohesively forward or backward, each play telling a different story. Forward is Kendrick’s life as it is, and backward is how it might have gone had his father died when he was young.

In this story, the inciting incident for Sweetness to be so different from the Sweetheart that we know is their mother dying when they were young. I’m positing here that Sweetheart in the main universe still has their mom and that’s why they’re kinder.

Anyway. I stand by “Venom” being a banger. It’s themes don’t run as cohesively with this story as Damn.‘s do, but I can live with it. For now.

Recommended listening

“Damn. Collectors Addition.” By Kendrick Lamar.

Yes the entire album. This particular edition, too, since it is the “wicked” timeline.

“Love’s gonna get you killed / but pride’s gonna be the death of you”

“United in Grief” Kendrick Lamar

“Pray none of my enemies / hold me captive / I grieve different”

remembering again the full extent of what forever is | “Through Me (The Flood)” Hozier

More Hozier! We know I love him and the new stuff he’s put out for Unreal Unearth and all of it’s EP’s are changing me fundamentally as a person. Hozier’s work has always connected with me deeply, all the way back to when I was a repressed queer kid listening to “Take Me To Church.” Now, as he’s putting out this big push of music, I’m finding myself connecting with the core of his music again. This song, a song about surrendering to the impossibility and incomprehensible nature of love, is perfect for William and Alexis. Will’s love for Alexis isn’t healthy, and it doesn’t lead him to sound choices, but he feels he has no choice. So he surrenders to it.

Recommended listening

“Eat Your Young” Hozier

“It’s a kindness / highness / crumbs enough for everyone / old and young are welcome to the meal”

“My Love Is Sick” Madds Buckley

“You’re an infection / I am keeping / No matter the sepsis / you are staying / I’d rather the wound / Than have you removed / Enough rotting for two / Killing me, keeping me high”

the world (it burns through me) | “Through Me (The Flood)” Hozier

Oh boy two for one! I for sure snagged this from the same song as the last piece I posted too. Yada yada surrendering to love and all of that. Love is something that’s has happened to Darlin, not something they have taken an active part in. They take the opposite message from William in this song; they fight the current, don’t let the world take them under. They are a fighter, in the end.

Recommended listening

Arsonists Lullaby” Hozier

“All you have is your fire / and the place you need to reach / don’t you ever tame your demons / but always keep them on a leash.”

“Problems” Mother Mother

“I’ve found love in the strangest place / ties up and branded / locked in a cage”

and my body remains (but the person is gone) | “Divine Loser” Clem Turner

Asher’s main trauma response in this piece is dissociation, pulling away from himself and his body to protect himself. While “Divine Loser” isn’t necessarily about dissociation, there are a number of apt lyrics that tie in with Ash in this story.

Recommended Listening

“To Someone From a Warm Climate (Uiscefhuaraithe)” Hozier

“You’d shake for minutes there and move your legs / wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within / let your breath heat the air until you’d feel it getting thin / Uiscefhuaraithe.”

“Wait” Get Set Go

“Wait, wait for the dawn, my dear / wait til the sun gets here / and you will wait too long / he will be gone”

when i call, you come home (a bird in your teeth) | “I Know The End” Phoebe Bridgers

Ooohhh boy! I love this song. Phoebe does something to me y’all. This song is sad, which makes it an interesting choice for a, generally, happy ending fic. This piece, like most things I write about the pack in childhood, is tinged with a sad sort of nostalgia. It’s the knowledge that we as readers have that, whatever comfort and love David gets from Gabe is temporary. We know how this story ends. We know that Gabe will die. And so even these happy moments are seen through that lens. I Know The End.

Recommended listening

“That Funny Feeling” Bo Burnham

“That unapparent summer air in early fall / the quiet comprehending of the ending of it all / there it is again, that funny feeling / that funny feeling.”

“Black Eyed Dog” Nick Drake

“I’m growing old and I wanna go home / I’m growing old and I don’t wanna know / I’m growing old and I want to go home / Black eyed dog, he called at my door / The black eyed dog he called for more.”