#if they are just creating a story in their mind from thin air. it writes itself. Where for ME I have always interpreted it to mean ''I have

[icewindandboringhorror]

Other Misc. Rambling Thoughts on the topic:

(~ !!!!!!!!! if you're just reblogging this post for the Poll section, please reblog the original post without this addition* lol. ~)

(*not that there's anything super personal or weird about the addition, just that it's meant to be kind of casual Side Commentary, not really part of the Main Point Of The Poll, so it would feel kind of weird for it to be emphasized by being included in reblogs unless the reblogs were explicitly about the side commentary, etc..... if that makes sense.. ANYWAY!)

It's neat to read the written descriptions that people are mentioning in the tags, since it's almost like I can see or conceptualize the idea as well, but it's just.. I'm not SEEING it.

Like for example: I can imagine a vase, it's a muted mint green and slightly translucent, elaborate golden birds sprawled down the side in streaks of thin rough watery paint, the base material shimmers gently in the light, there's a small chip where it's cracked on the handle, etc, etc. .. But as I'm thinking about this I see literally nothing.

It seems like perhaps some people can visualize an object first, and THEN describe what they see. But I sort of work backwards. I am building the object in my mind, I can never see it, but it's a collection of concepts. Rather than visualizing all details as a whole at once, I am adding each detail one by one, building onto the IDEA of the thing.

The vase doesn't have a crack on the handle because I just automatically visualized a vase with a crack. It was more that I cognitively understand the concept of a vase, what they tend to be made out of, how they tend to look and feel, the properties they have. So based purely on that knowledge, I can imagine "a chip is something that a vase could have, it would look this way and behave this way" - more like... I'm constructing a bullet point Fact List about the object rather than seeing it.

So if you tell me to imagine an object, I can, in a way, imagine that object in great detail, but it's just.. I'm not SEEING those details, more just knowing it's qualities in a purely conceptual way. Sometimes in the tags when people are like "yeah I can see the skin of the apple, texture, little dots on the surface" it's like… I can imagine that too, I can know it's there, but just with no visual attached.

I guess rather than SEEING something and going ''ah. I know what this looks like because I have seen it''. I more just skip that visual step entirely and go ''I know what this looks like, I just randomly have a list of information about the concept in my mind.'' etc. Maybe similar to how sometimes in dreams, even though a house may look completely different and be in an entirely fake 'dreamlike' environment, you just somehow KNOW intuitively that it's meant to be your childhood home or something. Even when it looks nothing like it in reality. There's a built-in base knowledge of the properties or information of some things within a dreaming mind, etc.

--

This also makes me wonder about like.. how storytelling and myth is so important to cultures all across time. Or how this could tie also into concepts of religion.. etc. etc. If so many people really can kind of conjure these vivid images in their mind, then maybe that's part of why certain things are so meaningful to them? Like a "religious experience" being something you can actually really SEE/feel/lingering with you in your head, rather than just abstract words on a page, detached purely theoretical ideas, etc... hmmm

.

Plus also just for average emotional stuff too, even outside of broader cultural conceptual attachments..

Like, I don't think there's a direct 1 to 1 link (obviously not all people with mental illnesses that significantly reduce their emotional or expressive capacity also MUST have aphantasia or vice versa), but it's interesting as someone who DOES also have a much more lessened emotional range/pretty flat affect/etc. etc. to think like.. Maybe I WOULD be more emotional, in a way, if I could have these vivid experiences..?

Perhaps memories would hold deeper significance if they could really stay with me vividly. Or storytelling would evoke more of a deep emotional reaction to me if I could really picture and feel the things that are going on. If things were more TANGIBLE in my brain, rather than always merely conceptual highly abstracted ideas.

Kind of like, it's probably easier to get over the death of a pet or something, if after not seeing them for an hour you already don't remember what they looked like (beyond just a vague fact list of traits), and you have no vivid memories or mental reminders of them (beyond just factual information stores). COGNTIVIELY you can appreciate the idea of their absence, of course, you still miss them, but there's just no remaining visceral sensory ties. A very "out of sight, out of mind" sort of thing in terms of attachments, memories, emotions, etc. Maybe certain things are easier to "get over", when you're not having constant mental sensory reminders that occasionally rekindle your feelings about the event or etc.??

(like for example, maybe someone could remain angry about an argument longer if they could vividly replay it in their head over and over again. VS just like.. 'Yes I can factually recall the fact I had an argument, and I do have knowledge stored about what precisely was said, but any sort of sensory data such as sights/smells/feelings, etc. from the actual moment of the event are long gone and can never be conjured again in my mind." etc.)

Which again, I think lessened emotional permanence and image permanence in the mind are NOT inherently linked, can all be caused by different things for different people. And, since I can't visualize anything in my head, maybe I'm misunderstanding how it happens and the effect it may have on stuff like remembering things you miss or replaying arguments, etc. etc. But it's still a little interesting to think about, if they could influence each other to some degree.... :0c --

Lastly, It's also weird because I'm actually pretty good at estimating distance and spaces? I can quickly assemble furniture without an instruction manual, pretty easily have a concept of how much space a chair may take up in a room, how two mechanical parts might fit together - BUT, I am literally not actually visualizing anything. I cannot see 3D objects in my mind at ALL. It's like.. just based on the pure List Of Facts About Things Which I Have Observed.. I can intuitively go "oh this works like this/this is this size" just because.. I know it's that size. I don't have to see anything to know..?

But then on the other hand, I'm terrible at directions without a map (I guess because a 3d outdoor environment has WAY more complexity than like.. "Will this square fit into another square?"etc. lol ).

BUT, I also draw/sculpt/etc. entirely without references, and seem to do mostly okay at that..? Like.. I can't even remember the last time I actually used a reference or looked at anything whilst drawing. It's all muscle memory, and me just adjusting as I go until something "looks right" on paper, I never have a set image in my head (or external reference) before hand.. Hrmm....

AND.. I used to say that I had a photographic memory when I was younger, which I know NOW is not true (I always thought it was just an expression, not that people could literally see things in a photographic way). But what I was describing is, I do often associate information with imagery, just... without imagery....

Like "Oh, I know that I took my medicine earlier today because I have a distinct memory, a snapshot of a moment in time, of me rattling the pill bottle in my hands as I looked up at a stop sign while in the back seat of a car". When I say this, I can't ACTUALLY see/feel/hear a pill bottle, or vividly picture a stop sign, but it's more just a factual recall, of. Even though I don't see these things, I know they happened, the information of them happening (me hearing a sound and also looking at a stop sign at the same time) has been stored in my brain as a memory, a collection of linked facts. --

As for other senses, I cannot taste or feel anything in my head AT ALL.. wild that some people mention that. I mean, again, I can have a purely factual recall as if reading a textbook, knowing the information of 'X item typically has X texture, therefore I can imagine what it may be like to feel it' or 'X usually has this taste' etc. - but I can never actually experience those senses in any capacity in my mind alone. I would say audio is my strongest mental sense (maybe a 2.5 or 3 (if it were translated onto the above scale where 1 is most vivid and 5 is nothing)), then visual (4.5 at most, usually 5), and then taste and smell and such are just complete 5, absolutely nothing, I didn't even know people could experience taste or feeling just in their mind alone.. lol...

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[arminsumi]

BOOKSTORE BOY

Yelling his "I love you" in the briny wind.

Series : Bookstore Boy / end

Pairing : Armin x fem!reader

Tags : @sad-darksoul — @ringsofsaturnnnn — @underthetree845 — @oliviaissocool1 — @crisalidaseason — @koriinsan

Note : the finale can't live in the drafts forever! i know it's short and the story was meant to have more chapters, but i don't have the "feeling" to continue it (some stories have their time and i can't write on them further, happens to my irl stories too). so please take this finale scene and let it have a home in your daydreams. thank you everyone who enjoyed this story, your comments made it a memorable and wonderful experience to write💗

Armin was in love with you. Anyone could see that even at a glance. He radiated his feelings like the sun, albeit a bit self-consciously. Sometimes when staring at you, he seemed entranced; his coffee would go untouched and turn cold, his stories would go unfinished and stay at 1300 words — 1300 words of love.

He would write each word carefully with his quill, and bring the onion-thin letter to the beach one day to give to you. God knows he couldn't say all that he felt with his voice — no way, it would shake too much and he'd stutter just like he had stuttered when he first met you in the bookstore. So he wanted to tell you everything he felt in a letter instead.

But of course, funny things happen in life.

It was a windy day when you rode on the back of Armin's bicycle to the beach. When he prepared to give you the letter, it blew right out of his delicate grip, and flapped away in the air until it swooped down into the incoming ocean waves — disappearing forever.

"I spent a long time writing that..." he shook his head.

"... what was it? Poetry?" you asked.

He was walking alongside you to the rustic wooden path that lead away from the beach. The wind whipped his hair around violently and made him squint and blink.

"I — uhm — no, not poetry... just a letter." he replied.

He started shifting awkwardly.

"A letter?" you questioned, "What did you write?"

"Ahhh, I can't say it..." he made a shy smile and rubbed the back of his neck.

He goofily backed away from you until he made a distance between you and him, and then he waved. He was stood in the sand and you were stood next to the beach grass.

"Tell me!" you yelled, smiling at his antics. "I want to know! So come back here and tell me!"

You were yelling with a smile, holding the handles of his bicycle to keep it stable in this forceful wind. Armin's cat was sat in its front basket; Umi looked at Armin, then at you, then started licking her paw.

Armin took a deep, steadying inhale of the briny scent of the sea. It gave him courage. Something about the sea always steadied his mind.

Then he yelled something into the wind at you, but it was inaudible because of a sudden and hard gust that blew by.

"WHAT?" you yelled back, "WHAT DID YOU SAY? I DIDN'T HEAR YOU."

"I LOVE YOU."

"WHAT?"

"I LOVE YOU!"

"HUH?"

He rolled his eyes. You watched his t-shirt flapping with the wind, and his hair whipping around.

He cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled louder.

"I SAID; I LOVE YOU!!"

You paused, looked at him, and slowly smiled with your eyes and cheeks. He was so red in the face, redder than you'd ever seen him. His ears felt hot. His heart was pounding like a drum.

"I LOVE YOU TOO, ARMIN!!"

His heart pounded harder and his blush spread down his cheeks to his jawline.

He inhaled and used all the strength in his lungs to yell back;

"I LOVE YOU MORE!!"

The letter he meant to give to you was lost at sea somewhere in-between waves by then. The ink of the last part dissolved;

... your love makes me feel courageous like a soldier. Thank you for everything; my bookstore girl.

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[writtenfangirl]

Secrets and Good Luck Charms

Plus size!Reader, angsty turning fluffy

Listen, as a plus size woman myself, I know that the chances of an F1 driver being attracted to me is close to 0, especially when they're literally always surrounded by supermodels. But I can live in my delulu era, even for a little while.

I challenged myself to create a fic with top-tier begging and I genuinely hope I accomplished that cause this was so much fun to write.

Enjoy!

Part 2

“Charles, I think we should break up.”

The words left her in a sudden whoosh, ceasing her boyfriend mid-story. His apartment went quiet, and Y/N felt the little hairs on her arms rise but her goosebumps wasn’t from the cold. 

Charles’s luminous green eyes widened.“What?”

A part of her wished she could take the words back, snatch them from the air where they hung heavy like smoke. But she’d been building up her courage all week and she wasn’t about to back down now just because he flashed those beautiful green eyes that Charles knew she could never resist. She said the words slower, kinder. “I think we should break up.”

He looked at her as if he couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. “Why?”

“Because you’re ashamed of me, Cha.”

And there was the truth, the conviction that had Y/N’s resolve strengthening. Charles could deny it all he wants but Y/N knew the truth, deep down. He was ashamed of her. It was a truth that had been sitting in her chest for the better part of 9 months and it was a truth that had begun to eat at her as their relationship progressed. 

He said his next words slowly, like a child struggling to learn new words in a language he wasn’t familiar with. “What would make you say that?” 

She kept her own tone even, betraying none of the hurt that sat heavy in her chest. “Because, Cha. We’ve been together 9 months, close to a year, and yet you have never introduced me to your mother or your brothers. Not even to your friends. No posts on social media, no mention of my existence at all.”

He frowned. “I thought you wanted your privacy.”

“I do want my privacy.”

“Then I don’t understand why you want to end things!” His voice grew in octave and Y/N could see him fighting to keep his calm.

“Because, Cha,” she said, struggling to keep the exasperation from her voice, “you’re ashamed of me. I don’t care that you post me on social media or not. I don’t care if the world knows about us. If you want to keep our relationship out of the public eye, that’s fine. I know you’re doing it to protect my feelings and I appreciate it, I do. But, you refuse to let me meet your friends or your family for that matter. They’re the people that matter to me because they’re the people that matter to you. But I’ve never met them, even after you’ve met mine! And I’m—“ she took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting the hurt that threatened to have tears spilling from her eyes. “I’ve dated enough guys to know when they’re ashamed of me.”

“I am not—“

“Don’t deny it, Cha, please. It hurts even more if you do.”

His mouth snapped shut. There was confusion in his face, and maybe a bit of hurt, but Y/N saw the truth in them too. The shame that coated his eyes like paint.

“I know I’m not conventionally beautiful like your exes.” Y/N said, her words soft. “They’re thin and slender and they’re beautiful. They really are. Models and influencers that I could never compete with and I’m okay with that because you were okay with that. But I see now that you’re not. You don’t like that I’m big, that I have a stomach and huge thighs. You don’t like that I have stretch marks and rolls. And you know what, it’s fine. If you prefer thinner girls, it’s fine. I won’t hold it against you because I know some people just have preferences and it’s okay. But I refuse to ever change myself and hate myself just to fit into a person’s standards. I’ve spent so much of my life being ashamed of my body, I can’t do that anymore, Cha. I love you and you are literally the man of my dreams but I love myself too, and I love myself too much to let someone do this to me.”

“You can’t just leave me. I love you.” Charles rushed the words out as if somehow, his words would stop Y/N.

“I don’t doubt your love for me, Cha. Not one moment. I know you love me. But you don’t take me on dates in public places where people can see us. When we do go out in public, you keep a physical distance between us. You never even so much as look at me unless you have to. I’ve never met a single one of your friends, work related or not. I don’t think you’ve even mentioned to them that you were with someone. Never met Arthur or Lorenzo and I’ve definitely never met Pascale. You love me in secret and that’s not okay.”

He reached for her hand but Y/N pulled away. The hurt that flashed in his eyes made her want to tell him to forget about her confession, forget about what she said so they can return to normal but Y/N knew she couldn’t do that. She owed it to herself to do what was best for her, to love a man who loved her so much he had to shout it from the rooftops. 

“Y/N, please—“

“It’s okay, Charles.” She stood up from where she sat, pushing down her own feelings as Charles looked up at her, disbelief in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Really, no hard feelings. Let’s just forget that this, us, ever happened. I wish you good luck with everything, I really do. I’ll pray to every God that exists that you become a world champion with Ferrari. I’ll always root for you.” 

“Y/N, wait—“

But she fled the apartment before he could say anymore.

And Charles Leclerc is out of the 2023 Belgian Grand Prix! I have to say, Crofty. Leclerc’s string of bad luck and terrible performance has really been a blow to Ferrari’s morale as of late. It really is such a horrible way to end the first half of the season, especially after such an incredible six months! It truly is such a shame. With the way things are going, what was once a tight race for the championship between Verstappen and Leclerc could simply become Verstappen’s third world championship.  Let’s hope the summer break gives him the clarity of mind he needs to get his head back in the game and the championship race back on track. 

Charles wasn’t stupid. He knew why he was losing and it wasn’t his car or his team or their strategies.

His abysmal performance could only be blamed on one person and try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to blame Y/N. 

Because really, the only person to be blamed was himself. 

Because she was right. 

And he hated that she was right. 

He never thought he was the kind of person who was vain or who particularly cared about the opinions of others. He knew what it was like to be scrutinized by the media and while he justified keeping his relationship with her private by believing that Y/N was a private person, he couldn’t justify hiding her from his friends and family. 

It didn’t even really matter to him what she looked like. He loved Y/N, not for her body but for her soul. He was the moth attracted to her bright flame and he would have gladly let himself burn if it meant feeling the heat of her touch on his skin. She was kindness and warmth and compassion all rolled into one person, the kind of person people wished God made more of. 

And he found her beautiful. Yes, she wasn’t thin but he never cared about that before. Y/N was beautiful in his eyes. The kind of beauty meant to be admired in paintings. Her soft, curvaceous body and her sweet face made her beautiful. She may not have fit society’s standards but she fit his and that’s all that mattered. That’s all that should have mattered. 

So why did her words, her accusations, cut him so deep?

Was she right? Was he ashamed of her? 

“Mate, you okay?” 

Carlos’s voice broke him out of his reverie. It wasn’t like Charles to get distracted from the matter at hand, but his mind kept wandering to his girlfriend. Or rather, ex-girlfriend.

“You’ve been distracted.” Max noted. 

It was the summer break, a rare time in their hectic lives when they got a chance to take a breather. One of the drivers, Charles couldn’t remember who but he suspected it was George, had arranged a little get together for them. Alone time on a remote island in the tropics far from the prying eyes of their fans and the media. Not all of the drivers could make it, but those that could brought their girlfriends with them. The irony wasn’t lost on Charles that he was the only single man in an island full of couples. 

It was the kind of outing he would have wanted to include Y/N in but wouldn’t have, choosing instead to stay at home so they could spend some time alone. It never occurred to him if Y/N would have wanted to come. 

“I’m fine,” was his only brusque reply. 

“You don’t seem fine.” Pierre chimed in. 

Charles tried not to scowl. The other drivers were his friends as much as they were his co-workers and competitors. He grew up racing and competing with most of them. Max, George, Alex, Lando and especially Pierre, were constant figures in his life. If there was anyone who could help him, who could understand him, it would be them.

But it was so hard to accept the help when Charles was so… down. 

He looked at his friends, saw the expectant looks on their faces and sighed. 

“My girlfriend broke up with me.” The words left him before he had a chance to think about it. 

His friends’ expectant expressions turned into surprise before shifting to mild curiosity. 

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” Pierre’s frown could only be described as hurt. Not that Charles could blame him. Pierre was his best friend and the first person who supported him when it came to his relationships. The fact that Charles kept his girlfriend a secret probably hurt him more than he let on.

“No one knew,” Charles said reassuringly. “Not my brothers and not maman.”

“So you were only together for a short while,” Carlos guessed. “What’s the big deal?”

Charles couldn’t blame Carlos for assuming that Y/N was only in his life for a while since he never told them she existed but the insinuation hurt all the same.

“We were together close to a year. 9 months actually.”

“That long?” Alex asked, surprised. “Usually you introduce your girlfriends after two months. You kept her a secret for nine months?”

Charles winced. What sort of excuse did he have for keeping her a secret? No flimsy excuse could ever justify what he did. 

“Why did she end things?” Max asked him. 

Dread pooled in Charles’ stomach. What does he even say? He looked at his friends, at their earnest and open expressions. He knew no matter what he says, they won’t judge him. Or at least, not to his face. 

“She ended things because she thinks I’m ashamed of her.“ Charles’ admission tasted like metal in his tongue. 

“Why would you be ashamed of her?” George asked, raising a quizzical brow.

“Because she’s nothing like my exes. She’s not thin or slender, she’s full bodied. I’ve never introduced her to any of you, not even to my family. She thinks I’m embarrassed to be seen next to her.”

“Are you?” Lando asked, judgement ripe on his face. 

“No!” Charles’ defense was quick. “I am not ashamed of her. I never have been! I’m… I’m more ashamed of myself. That I didn’t reassure her. I’m ashamed that I did something that made her feel bad. I hate that I did that to her.”

“Why didn’t you introduce her to us and your family anyway?” Carlos asked this time. 

“Because with her, I feel real. I feel different. A good different. And I know how cruel people can be. I know you might not have judged her and I know if my brothers and maman met her, they would love her. Maman, especially. But if I introduced her to you, then that’s one step closer to introducing her to the world. I was scared she couldn’t take the attention and run.”

“Is she why you’ve been so bad in track lately?” Max asked. 

Charles simply nodded before closing his eyes and rubbing his face in frustration. “I don’t know what to do!”

“Well there’s only one thing you can do,” George said in that tone he uses when he thinks he knows best. “You have to go after her. Go back to her and beg her to take you back.”

“And then what?” Charles snapped, unable to stop himself from voicing out the fear that’s been plaguing his mind, “She’ll still be watched by the media. Y/N is soft and she is kind. I don’t know what I would do if people say bad things about her and I know they will. I’ve dated literal supermodels and people were mean. What more someone like her? If someone insulted her in front of me, I might actually commit assault.”

“Mate, that’s up to her and you to talk about it,” Max said. “You can’t really take the choice away from her. If you love this girl, then be with her. Fuck what other people think.”

“Charles, all that matters to us is that you are happy. If she makes you happy, then we will be happy,” Pierre reassured. “You don’t have to worry about us. This girl doesn’t happen to be an ax-wielding psychopath, right?”

The rest of their group winced at Pierre’s poor attempt at a joke but Charles smiled nonetheless. Trust Pierre to always try his best to lighten the mood. “No, she’s kind of perfect actually. I really love her.”

“Then go to her so you can get your head back in the game and beat Max in the championship,” Carlos urged. 

“I don’t know about beating me,” Max smirked and the topic of their conversation shifted to playful jibes and jokes. But Charles’ mind stayed on Y/N, at his friends encouraging words and before his mind could reconcile what his body was doing, he was already on his feet, heading to one of the yachts moored on the island. 

“Where are you going?” Pierre called out as he ran from his friends, towards the woman he loved. 

Charles answered, his mind racing as fast as his heart. “To get my girl!”

When Y/N heard the frantic knocking on her apartment door at 1AM, she expected the worst. 

Which of her family had died? Which of her friends was laying in a ditch somewhere with their car wrapped around a tree? What was the tragedy so urgent, so horrific, that it couldn’t wait until the next day and had to knock on her door at 1AM in the morning?

But when she opened the door, all she saw was Charles, eyes wide and frantic. 

“Cha?” Y/N asked, not quote believing her bleary eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he grabbed her face, bringing his mouth on hers in a searing kiss that had Y/N’s eyes shuttering close and her breath leaving her lungs. 

She tasted the salt of his sweat, felt the searing heat of his hands on her skin as his tongue swept across her mouth, kissing her as if he was underwater and she was the siren able to grant him his oxygen. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her heart deciding what her mind already knew but refused to believe. 

She had missed him, wholeheartedly. And she knew that if Charles ever came knocking back, her self restraint would crumble like chalk on pavement. She would accept him, consequences be damned. 

“I’m sorry,” he panted when she pulled away, her mind racing. “I’m so sorry.”

“Charles, I don’t understand. What are you doing here? I thought you were—“

“It doesn’t matter where I was,” he insisted, his grip on her tightening, like he was afraid that letting go would cause her to disappear. “I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like you weren’t enough. Cherie, tu es belle. Je suis vraiment désolé. Je n'ai jamais eu l'intention de te blesser.”

“Charles, slow down,” Y/N urged, pulling him into her tiny apartment and closing the door behind her. Her french was rudimentary at best and with how fast he was talking, she was struggling to translate what he said. “You’re speaking in French. I don’t understand.”

“You are beautiful.” He blurted, stopping Y/N in her tracks. “You’re the most beautiful woman I know. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you but I did anyway and I hate that I hurt you. I’m not ashamed of you but I am ashamed of how I acted. Forgive me, cherie, please. Please take me back.”

“Charles—“ Her phone trilled from where it was charging in her living room and Y/N pulled away from Charles it, ignoring her best friend's flashing face and clicking the red button to silence it.

“You deserve better than me, I know,” he continued, “and I know I don’t deserve you. But I will do everything I can to at least be deserving of your forgiveness. Please, Y/N. Say you forgive me.”.

“Charles—“ her phone rang again and with a growl of frustration, Y/N grabbed it, answering it upon seeing her best friend’s face flashing. “Y/BFF/N, I can’t talk right now. I'm in the middle of—“

“Did you see?” Y/BFF/N said frantically on the other end, causing Y/N to frown. “Tell me you saw it!”

She sent Charles an apologetic look as she answered. “Saw what?”

“Check Charles’ instagram! And I mean, right the fuck now! Call me back when you do.” And she hung up. 

Y/N glanced at Charles before following her best friend’s instructions, opening up the app and searching for Charles’ account. When she saw her picture on the first square, Y/N’s eyes snapped to Charles. 

“You told your friends about us,” Y/N said, stunned.

“I told the world about us,” he clarified. “I never told anyone because I was selfish. I am not ashamed of you. I never have been, never will be. I was scared because introducing you to my family and my friends means that you’re one step closer to being known to the world and I was scared you would run from all of it. From the fame, from the mean comments. It’s happened before and I didn’t want it to happen again, especially not to you. I’m not naive. If people can be mean and ruthless to girls who look like Charlotte and Alexandra, what more you? I thought I was protecting you. I don’t ever want you to leave. Please, come back to me.“

“I can’t believe you told everyone about us.” Y/N still sounded dumbfounded, even to her own ears. 

Charles gave her watery smile. “People should know about you and the love I have for you.”

Y/N wasn't entirely sure what it is about Charles that could have her melting into a puddle on the floor. She's been with good looking men before and none of them ever had that effect on her. But his confession, his conviction, had her abandoning her phone's incessant notifications, her arms automatically wrapping around Charles' neck, pulling him to her. His hands rested on her waist, ghosting down her back.

And, despite herself, Y/N felt her lips pulling into a soft smile. “You know, when I went to bed a while ago, I wasn’t expecting to see my ex knocking at my door, begging me to take him back at one in the morning. Especially since I know he’s suppose to be somewhere in the tropics on vacation.“ 

“Begging?” Charles raised a brow, almost in challenge, a small smile playing at his lips. Mirth and hope mixed in his green eyes and Y/N knew that there was never any chance she couldn’t accept his apology. 

She nodded, her smile turned teasing. “Oh, yeah, definitely begging. Groveling at my feet, asking for forgiveness. Never seen anything like it, to be honest. You know, some girls have a thing for that and I never really understood it before but now, I kinda do. I might not forgive him just so I can listen to him beg again.” 

“You are a cruel woman,” Charles said as he pulled her closer to him, his hands warm on her waist, his nose barely touching her own as his breath tickled her mouth.

“Is that what you’d call the woman willing to forgive you?” She batted her eyes, feigning innocence. “Even after she knows you’re only begging for forgiveness because of your losing streak? You did always call me your good luck charm.”

“You are my good luck charm.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in those things?”

“When it comes to you, I’ll believe in anything and anyone,” he said seriously before he grinned, wide and infectious. The kind of grin that promised an evening of debauchery and laughter. “So you forgive me?”

“Well, you did tell the world that I was your girlfriend so now I have to forgive you and take you back. I wouldn’t want to make a liar out of Charles Leclerc.”

He smiled triumphantly and this time, when Charles dipped his head for another searing kiss, Y/N didn’t pull away.

[thebadboyfanclub]

A Risk Taker (Daemon x Reader)

This is my first time writing something like this which was challenging but very entertaining, also I left a little detail that I really hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think by commenting. Enjoy!

“And right over here we have the iron throne, historians reported that it was created by hot steel and its rightful place was in what we now know as London, over here we have-“

(Y/n) stood dumbfounded at the sight of the throne in a result she tuned out what the woman was saying or explaining. She was in amazement at it, it was entirely made of swords, she came to wonder who came up with the idea of such a thing, who was the first to sit upon it, and who was the last. So many questions raced through her brain as she instinctively took a few steps to approach it.

(Y/n) was always interested in what historians call “the time of dragons” Some say it is just silly little stories or just tales of the church that wished to demonize the time before Christ.

“Miss you can’t touch that”

Before the security guard could stop her (y/n)s fingers grazed over the arm of the chair, goosebumps went over her entire body before she gripped it firmly and then everything went black.

“A witch! Protect the king! Disarm her”

“What?”

Before she could react or comprehend what was going on around her someone forced her hands behind her back earning a grunt from her.

“Ouch you asshole let me go”

“How dare you command anything you Bitch let go! I swear to god if I fucking bruise”

“Ser Criston, the lady is clearly in distress and pain, I believe it is best if you release her”

“Yeah that, manners much?”

Daemon had to refrain from laughing at her odd way of phrasing her thoughts. Everyone was on edge at someone that just simply appeared in front of the king and the iron throne just from thin air, her clothing was something no one had ever seen and her face was painted, Daemon carefully walked up the stairs who was rubbing her wrists to relieve herself from the discomfort.

“It is alright my lady, I am Prince Daemon of house Targaryen and you are?”

(Y/n) looked around the room, everyone was dressed in posh clothing that was decorating the museum hours ago and the man that was standing in front of her was the same person that she saw from the portrait when she walked in, also he resembled a lot the actor that played prince Philip at “the crown”.

“I… am (y/n) of house…. (Y/l/n) I guess”

“There is no such thing as house (y/l/n) she is lying, we must throw her in the dungeons”

“I fucking dare you”

“You will do no such thing Ser Criston, the lady isn’t dangerous, she is just as puzzled as we are, do you remember anything before this my lady?”

“I was visiting the Museum of Old England, I believe you guys call it Westeros”

“What was the year?”

“2023”

“So you mean to tell us all this just turns to…”

“History, books and movies”

“What are movies?”

“How do I explain, there is a machine that captures a scene like this for example and then it plays for an audience, like theatre but not really”

“The girl is in hysteria and probably lying, we cannot believe her words and prophecies stand true”

(Y/n) turned her head to eye the man that was talking, a man in his mid-40s she guessed that was dressed in all green and had a little pin with a golden hand, her eyes lit up at the realization of who this man was, and her mind could not comprehend what was going on yet she desperately wanted to prove herself she was being honest, probably because her life was at risk.

“Otto Hightower”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh I know a lot about you, you served the king, and has the king already married your daughter Alicent? Or is Aemma still alive?”

Silence fell over everyone, and looks of concern were being exchanged amongst the people, the lady that spoke knew everything about everyone, there was no way she could create the clothing she was wearing or whatever was on her face, could it be that she was actually from the future?

Frantically (y/n) started to search in her pockets for anything until she thankfully found her phone, she held it up in triumph before she pressed the button to open her screen

“There, see! I have pictures of the stuff that you use! Here is a portrait of one of my favorites from your family, Rhaenyra”

“Me?”

(Y/n)s eyes laid upon the young Targaryen, god the casting of her movie did such a great job the actress looked like the girl that was standing in front of her. (Y/n) smiled brightly at the princess before she took an awkward bow to the princess making her stumble on her way up.

“Princess Rhaenyra, an Oh my gosh pleasure to meet you, huge fan by the way, have you married Laenor yet?”

“We are betrothed”

“Well that is surely something ummm, excuse my weird stance but I feel like I will piss on myself from anxiety”

“Mayhaps it would be best if the princess escorted the young lady to one of the chambers, and found something more appropriate for her to wear”

Daemon chimed in, to save the poor lady from embarrassing herself or worst passing out in front of them. (Y/n) who grew self-conscious of her looks rubbed the material of her jeans as she looked down at her outfit, it was pretty stylish for a museum who would have known to dress appropriately for teleporting?

“These are my nice jeans”

“Ladies wear this?”

“Yes Otto they do, ladies also have rights which is a concept you would surely hate”

(Y/n) could feel her heart beat fast at the realization that all eyes are on her, she was someone that no one could vouch for, a girl that just stood there with no background, no title, they could behead her before the sun goes down and then what? Is death the way to go back? Or would she just die and leave everything behind?

She turned to the king to approach him once again, she swallowed the lump in her throat whilst she kneeled in a sign of respect, the instinct of survival had started to make her entire body shake at the fear of the unknown, she must come out of this unharmed.

“King Viserys, I am as shocked as you are still I ask for just some time, I can show you that I speak in all transparency, I can help you, use my knowledge to your advantage until I find a way to go home”

-

(Y/n) had become King Visery's closest advisor they were a good handful of times that Viserys specifically summoned her, he was always infatuated with dreamers so to have a woman with such power was his biggest asset.

Otto was naturally displeased and somewhat furious at her demeanor, her entire personality was just baffling to him, (y/n) interrupted him whenever he tried to offer his piece of mind to the king, (y/n) had taken away the power he had worked tirelessly to create.

(Y/n) was now lady (y/n), alongside Rhaenyra had to earn a seat at the small council which of course Queen Alicent had as well, (y/n) would of course try to stir Viserys in the right direction however a dilemma stuck in her consciousness like a thorn, she was well aware of how this would go, the dance of dragons, the war that will kick off in a few years, the hatred that was brewing between the greens and blacks, the burden fell on her chest like a pile of bricks, if she were to twist the future would the entire world become something different? Or would she save a thousand lives?

They were times that (y/n) could not have foreseen an event, Rhaenyras tragic wedding feast for example did not quite describe the death of a man, even if it did (y/n) could not have prevented it from occurring mind the fact that she was rather busy, Daemon had asked to have a minute… alone with Lady (y/n).

Daemon was always intrigued by her presence, her sharp tongue, and her reluctance to step back when it comes to an argument, she had the fire of a dragon in her, to Daemon it was evidently clear specifically when she was bare, she had confidence, experience, shameless passion, her touch did not tremble nor did she question herself, she took the reigns from him and showed him how they do it in her time.

“Lady (y/n) can I ask you a question?”

“Of course my prince”

“Father says you know the future, will I get a dragon?”

(Y/n) froze, on the morrow of Laenas funeral what would be the odds for meek Aemond to ask such a question? Today is the grim day that Aemond would lose his eye in a squabble between him and his nephews.

All color drained from (y/n)s face although she desperately attempted to keep her composure in front of an impatient Aemond who was looking up at her with eyes full of hope, all he ever wanted was to fit in, to have what everyone else had, though the cost he must pay was a rather painful one. (Y/n) reached to caress the young prince’s soft cheek and create a circle with her thumb on his soft skin.

“You will, my prince, speaking of such how would you like for us to go for a walk later? I would love to speak to you about it”

“Thank you, lady (y/n), I will be waiting for you”

“Promise me you will wait before you go anywhere��

“I promise”

“Pinky swear?”

“What?”

“It’s a tradition from my childhood, just hook your pinky to mine, like so”

Aemonds pinky intertwined with (y/n)s who was smiling brightly at him, she could not let the poor boy lose his eye over a dumb argument between children, all of the families fought but when you add dragons into the mix it can get messy extremely quick.

“May I ask what is this odd choice of a handshake about?”

“Well Otto it is something from my home, know there is where women can show cleavage and their legs and fathers do not marry their daughters to men that are twice their age”

“Yes you have been rather descriptive of the shameful customs your people hold”

“I know, a woman having an orgasm must be such a baffling concept to you or is it the fact that some of us do not wish to have children and there are actually safe ways of protecting us from conceiving that disgusts you?”

“Hold your tongue in front of the prince”

“You do not command me and you do not scare me, Otto, so I suggest you back off and let me be”

“Lady (y/n), may I have a moment alone with you?”

Daemon interrupted the conversation that was getting quite heated, to be discussing with such temper in public was something that was out of character for Otto but there was just something about her that pushed him beyond himself, to vocally express the urge of sexual desires and taunt it so freely, Parading her flesh like a succubus, no Otto refused to give in.

“Of course, my prince, remember our promise sweetling”

She whispered to Aemond before she raffled his head and winked at him playfully, all of the playfulness was gone when she diverted her eyes to Otto, a frown swiftly appeared as she eyed him from head to toe with utter disgust.

“Asshole”

She hissed making Prince Daemon choke on his laugh from being taken by surprise by her choice of words. (Y/n) walked with Daemon side by side but in utter silence, she just silently followed him waiting for Daemon to let her know what he wished to say in private.

She did as such until they reached the shore, her patience had run thin and her shoes were filled with sand, she just plopped down and took off the shoes to properly feel the sand and enjoyed the sensation of direct contact with nature.

“What is it Daemon, spit it out”

“I thought you would be gone by now”

“So did I but I have yet to figure out the way to go home”

“Perhaps you are not supposed to go home”

“Daemon we have discussed this”

“I left because you send me away, even then I send for you, asked for you and you denied me”

“I had a reason and you were married”

“You send me away”

“Are we going to reminisce about what I did the night we fucked at Laenas funeral?”

Daemon came to a halt at her question. Nobody was more embarrassed by his neediness than him, Daemon was a good-looking man and a prince, he never had any trouble with a lady he yearned for, except (y/n).

After the exceptional time they had together he could still vividly describe how she patted him on the shoulder and told him that she should walk into the feast first so they don’t look suspicious, the coldness in her voice after such a steamy affair left him with countless questions.

Daemon sat next to her and just stared at the horizon, he wanted to hug her, tell her how much he missed her, confess to her exactly the amount of letters he had to send asking about her, (y/n) made him feel weak.

“I wanted to come, I often yearned to relive our moment but I cannot offer what you are craving. I could leave at any time just like a came”

“I have always been a risk taker”

“Your end goal is marriage Daemon, I understand that my age here means I am an old maid but where I grew up I am young, I do not wish to be wed nor have children and you do”

“I have children”

“And I am sure you love them and you love being a father because that is who you are, I am simply not”

“Isn’t this lovely, you have me all figured out”

Daemon spitted with sadness dripping at every word, he could not say that she did not have a point, still, at the end of the day he wanted her, he wanted to burn himself alive in her fire just to feel her warmth.

Daemon got up to leave when he was forced to stop by someone holding him by the wrist, once he looked back to find (y/n) on her feet and had latched her fingers on his wrist.

“Daemon don’t be like this”

“Well, what do you suggest then?”

(Y/n) did not know what to say for the first time in forever, she acted on instinct when she hugged him, her head went on his chest and his heartbeat was picking up at the beat that caused a smile to decorate her lips. Daemon hesitated though he gave in and pulled her tightly.

“This is not fair, you are playing dirty”

“I never had you for a man that is afraid to get in the mud”

They both giggled and (y/n) lifted her head to take a proper look at the prince who was smiling down at her. His index finger and thumb found their way to her chin, after all these years she had frozen in time, still as breathtaking and agitating as he left her.

Daemon was taking too long for her liking so she took initiative and collided her lips to his while being on her toes which did not last long since Daemon was always quick on his feet and pulled her up for her to wrap her legs around his torso, both of them moaned in each other's mouths from the anticipation, Daemon could feel the harsh licks of her fire surrounding him an experience that was so sweet yet deadly.

Daemon made the mistake of laying her on her back which only resorted in (y/n) putting her entire weight on her legs to flip him over in an instant, she never really liked allowing someone to lay on top of her.

Their movements were messy and rushed, and both of them could not contain themselves, they wanted to see one another naked, feel their skin bare as they caressed one another, her moans were animalistic, and the way she moved was like a conqueror that raced into a battle, Daemon was left defenseless and became a mere puppet to her game of sex, he did not complain of course this was what he loved about her, this was (y/n)s favorite part of sex, the feeling of it, the urge of it, the realization that you want someone’s body, that it’s yours for the taking.

Daemon gripped her hips so harshly that he left marks behind, secretly he thought that he was being greedy by being the only one to experience such a show, (y/n) at her natural habitat, what a foolish fantasy, to have an audience in their beddings, he shoved that idea at the very back of his head when it dawned on him that other men would see her naked, would listen to her moans, they would know her magic.

Daemon was utterly unaware that his fantasy was becoming reality at this very moment, both of them blinded by passion to the point that none of them looked around, they focused on each other's eyes, the eyes that whispered everything that was left unsaid between them.

Once their connection came to its very peak (y/n) left her body to lay on top of his as she desperately worked to catch her breath, it was then that a man dressed in green decided to leave the scenery, a man that had spied on them and had frozen to his spot at the sight that had unfolded in front of him had come out of his trance to scatter away before he gets discovered.

“Was it worth waiting all these years?”

“Definitely”

(Y/n) placed another kiss on Daemon's lips at his answer, his strong body was the best bed after such an intense workout, her legs had already started to shake and she imagined this is what it felt like riding a dragon for hours on end.

The world is funny because when (y/n) went to vocalize her thought she heard a dragon approaching, once she fixed her focus on the sky she could see the humungous dragon that was heading back to land, its size was frightening, she could not remember which one was it, it wasn’t syrax and not Vermax, who could be riding at the such hour?

“Someone claimed Vhagar”

“Oh no, oh shit, fuck no”

Requests are open!

[gabessquishytum]

CW: past child abuse, past parricide

Special inspector Hob Gadling hates his job. Well, it's actually not true - he loves his job, but today specifically, he hates it. First, he was hoping for a bonus, and now he got assigned to a years-old cold case 'just to ensure that no new details emerged, and the investigation needs not to be reopened.' Second, he'll have to deal with some filthy rich weirdos.

Destiny Endless is a top-tier consulting risk manager, his services costing more than Hob's yearly paycheck. Death is the founder of a successful chain of funeral homes - after all, people always die, and rumor has it that Death is the best in her line of work. Dream is a famous writer who's able to write it all: whatever genre he sets his eyes - and pen - on, the book becomes a bestseller. Desire Endless is a porn star; the only mention of their name makes armies of fans go hard, wet, and horny. Despair founded a pharmaceutical corporation and revolutionized the world by introducing new, highly effective antidepressants. Destruction seems like the only normal person in that fucked-up family of masterminds: he had made a career in the military and then fucked off to travel the world. Last but not least, there is Delirium, an artist. Personally, Hob thinks that one needs to be constantly high to come up with such colors and forms, but hey, it's not him who's paid six figures to install some mind fuckery in amusement parks, so he doesn't get to judge.

Hob wouldn't come close to any of these freaks, but he has to verify that nothing was missed during the investigation, and so, here he goes. Mama and Papa of the Endless disappeared almost twenty years ago with no trace. Their bodies were never found, and there was no evidence of foul play. They just vanished into thin air, voilà. It was presumed that they had got bored, bought themselves new personalities, and left to live someplace else. To Hob, this seems strange yet plausible: looking at their kids, it's obvious that insanity runs in the family.

Still, Hob shows up to do his job, examine old records, and talk once again with all the Endless heirs. All goes very smoothly - there's nothing suspicious, all the kids' testimonies match. Hob would gladly close the check, but there is one tiny problem: he fell head over heels in love with Dream. Now in his thirties, he's unconventionally beautiful, insanely talented, and he's got Hob wrapped around his slender finger. Dream keeps his distance at first, but eventually, they begin dating. Hob finally closes the check for good - it's as clear as day that Endless parents must be chilling on some private island - and plunges into the relationship with Dream, learning him from the other side, as someone vulnerable, insecure, and kind-hearted. There's only one strange thing: Dream is inexperienced in bed for his age, and he's always somewhat tense during sex. Hob tries to talk to him, but Dream shuts the conversation down. Hob guiltily googles his bf and finds out that despite his high profile, there are no mentions of his exes in the media. At all.

Hob is puzzled, but it all falls into place when, one night, his lover has a nightmare. Hob wakes up from his screams and, with horror, realizes that this is more than a nightmare - it's a memory. He wakes Dream up and holds him while he cries. On the periphery of his mind, Dream's screams and pleas create a terrifying story of the siblings being abused by their parents for years.

'You killed them together, didn't you? Each of you thought you were the only one who suffered and thus kept the others safe. But once you all learned the truth…' Hob whispers into Dream's hair and holds him tighter. 'It's alright, my sweetling. I'd have killed them myself for you if they had been still alive.'

They stay like that through the night. In the morning, Hob makes Dream breakfast like nothing happened and goes to work. He's got no reason to worry about the case ever being reopened: there's no evidence, and he's determined to be the only one who sleeps by Dream's side till the end and holds him through his dreams and nightmares.

I love this so much. Poor, poor Dream. And the rest of the siblings too!

Hob doesn't want to draw further attention to the case of course, but he does all he can at work to make sure that files are carelessly "lost" or at least buried so deep in the archive no one will find it for a century. It even occurs him to frame someone else for the crime to make sure that the siblings are thoroughly safe, but... its better left forgotten. God knows Hob will spend the rest of his career making sure that no one ever goes sniffing around the Endless siblings ever again.

What's more he'll spend the rest of his life helping Dream in his recovery. He makes sure that he has private, confidential access to resources that a survivor should have - none of the siblings ever told anyone about the abuse or went to therapy because they're terrified to look like they had a "motive" to get rid of their parents. Hob changes that. He persuades as many of the siblings as he can to visit trusted therapists. Not all of them go for it, but at least someone is finally advocating for them and offering a little bit of support.

Hob loves Dream most of all of course, but he considers all the siblings as his family. He hates what happened to them. He can't fix it. But he can protect and love them as they deserve. Maybe all of them can finally breathe a little easier, with a friend on their side.

[victoria-daydreams]

The Hare and The Tower

Okay, so I know I just straight up peaced out from updating this story with no warning and I really apologize for that, but after the last chapter the engagement with the story had dropped off pretty significantly and I felt discouraged. Like, I didn't even have writer's block, I just didn't feel like writing another chapter at that point. But now, I'm feeling inspiration again and ready to start posting. So, I present to you a snippet of the next chapter of The Hare and Tower. I'm in graduate school now and I have a midterm paper due by Monday, so don't expect the full chapter to be out until sometime next week.

Taglist: @dogmatic255 @sidechrisporn @amethystwonders11 @ladysindar @sweetwanderlust05 @newandykes @helloimlateforeverything @loveofvernonslife @stitchattacks @dariequeen @kishie8 @girlonfireice @snowymarvel1205 @greenlightower @harrypotteranna23-blog @ipostwhtifeel @poisonedcrowns @ninacutebee16 @watercolorskyy

A terrible dread washed through Jesmyn as she approached the carved, oak door ahead of her. The corridor was far too dark, too quiet. Her body felt heavy, and the air was akin to molasses—each step closer seeming to take a greater effort than the one before. Fear, panic, and apprehension coiled and collided within Jesmyn, the onslaught of emotions created a horrible churning, stomach twisting vortex.

Coming to a standstill just outside of the door, she reached out with a trembling hand to knock on the door, but froze in mid-air.

"I've been informed I'll be traveling to Driftmark with Princess Rhaenyra. We sail at dawn," Jesmyn informed quietly, her hand limply dropping back to her side.

Standing outside of Otto’s bedchamber door, a shiver ran down her spine for the night seemed colder than most. Jesmyn could only stare at the warped flaws in the wood, waiting for a reply, but ultimately was met by silence. Jesmyn strained her ears for a sign of movement behind his door, for she knew he was awake, and he knew that she knew it as well. With each passing second, Jesmyn felt her heart turn into lead, sinking down further and further in her chest.

She remained silent for a few more moments.

"I'm here to bid you farewell Husband, as we part on our separate journeys," she continued, placing her hand on the door. "You are angry at me, this I know," she stated, releasing a shaky breath. "But I will not depart without speaking these words. I love you Otto," she said, spreading her fingers out against the door. "Despite the harsh words we traded, my heart remains yours. Should anything—"

Forcefully, the door swung open drawing a startled gasp from her as the heat of husband’s gaze burned into her own. Otto's expression was unreadable as ever, his jaw was set tight while his mouth a thin line. They held each others stare for a few seconds, both waiting for the other to say something. Jesmyn broke first.

"I will not let our last words be ones we regret," she said firmly

Another long, uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Still, Otto only stared at her, an act which only began to draw Jesmyn's ire. She knew her husband well enough that she didn't expect an immediate reconciliation, but the hope was there in her mind. To her, this silence she was being subjected was bordering on ridiculous, did he not comprehend her words? She was set to sail on the unpredictable waters of the sea.

"I see," Jesmyn said softly, with a nod. "I shouldn't have came. I'm sorry for disturbing you," she apologized, dropping her eyes from him to the floor. "May sleep find you well, Husband," she wished, before turning away from Otto.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Jesmyn walked back down the corridor to her own chambers.

"You posses both beauty and brawn,"

A velvety voice broke through the silence, lingering in the air like a caress. Jesmyn froze in place, mid-step, before slowly turning back around. Once more, her brown eyes stared at Otto's blue and for the first time she finally noticed the tiredness around his eyes; the way his face was paler than usual. Their argument had taken its toll on him far more than he would let on.

"It's why I was so keen on securing your hand in marriage," Otto continued, deeply exhaling as he moved towards her. "Yet, your intellect fails you when it comes to Rhaenyra," Otto noted, coming to a stop in front of her. Leaning down, he pressed his lips against Jesmyn's hairline. "Knowingly or not," he uttered, before kissing the top of her head and lingering there for a bit.

Otto drew back and pushed the few loose hairs from where his lips had touched.

"Otto," Jesmyn whispered, leaning into his embrace.

But as quickly as his embrace came, he retreated from her, like a wave being pulled back into the sea. Entering his chambers, Otto spared one last glance at Jesmyn before he shut the door with quiet click.

[lovelyelbowleech]

All's Fair is incredible! I am on my third re-read and it is just as much of an emotional gutpunch as it was the first time. The emotional impact sneaks up on me every time, even when I know what's coming. It blows my mind how carefully woven everything is. Even just small characterizing details that help make the characters and situations feel so real. You also have a way of writing that flows so smoothly with the emotions each character is feeling, like I don't know how to describe it but it's so well-paced and descriptive and I can picture and feel everything when reading it both from the characters POV and also in a more objective sense at the same time, which is extremely difficult to pull off in my opinion. It is insane to me how easy you make it seem with your writing.

Another thing, too, is that this doesn't even really feel like an alternate universe. It's like you shifted one thing in the beginning with a little flick and we're seeing the ripple effects of that play out naturally, as though you're just sitting back and reporting your findings instead of crafting an entirely new story from thin air. Everyone is so in character that I can hear their voices in every line. Even your OCs feel 'In character' even though you literally created them for the story lmao?? Like I actually forget they're not canon characters sometimes.

ANYWAY- I got sidetracked. my intention for this ask was to actually ask how you pictured some of your characters in more detail. I want to draw art of my favorite scenes and am trying to compile little snippets of character appearances, particularly of Guo, Yuxuan, and Haoyu. I have sincerely contemplated starting a google doc to catalogue all the little details of every character, even the minor ones, like a Pokémon deck I can flip open and consult whenever I want to refresh my memory.

Thank you so much for such a lovely comment, it was wonderful to wake up to! I am glad you are enjoying the fic so much (enough for a reread or two even!) There is some really high praise there, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy 😂❤️

It is always very exciting when folk say they want to draw art of the fic (even if its just for themselves!) So I will try to add a more detailed description to the character description page I have somewhere. There is not too much in the way of description of the OC's in the actual fic - and there is certainly no wrong way to depict them in art! What is in the fic is not hugely detailed 😂 but a very brief collection of the descriptions would be:

Guo: Short and stocky, facial hair, and a wide craggy face. Big broad hands. Hair currently short (post East Lake) gruff and grumpy to look at.

Haoyu: on the shorter side of average, about 18, round face, green eyes and dark brown hair, currently cut short (post East Lake). Very earnest and open looking face (which has been used to get him out of trouble more than once)

Yuxuan: a year or two older than Haoyu, long dark brown/black hair and honey coloured eyes. Good looking, and has a certain amount of rakish charm.

I am not sure if that is helpful or not! I will try to update the character sheet with additional OC's this week if I can. And thank you again for the wonderful ask!

[liquidstar]

april fools is over so now im going to be slash srs instead of slash j. im going to post a little excerpt from one of the oc writing practices ive been doing :) again im not super experienced for a variety of reasons but im doing my best here.

but im going to try and put my self conciousness to the side (thats probably an important part of the practice too, right?) since this isnt final version either way, i can just say im sharing a WIP! so for now it will go the way of most of my other oc stuff..... under the cut

the only context you need is that this would be the opening scene for the story. if i post others i'll have to give more context bc most of them are taken from the middle of something. anyway here goes:

-----

“I love you

I've loved you since the beginning

From when you were only stardust

To when you will rejoin the stars

When everyone will be together again

Understand, you don’t simply live in the universe

You are part of it, taking on a form uniquely alive

You are the universe giving love back to itself

I love you so much”

“Wait!!!”

A lone girl jolts awake, crying a plea into the empty air. Tears stream down her cheeks, as she calls for someone she doesn't know. Her heart aches with a nameless yearning that fades with the memory of her dream. Still, against her will, the emotions linger. A profound sense of love consumes her, an agonizing, grieving love, meant for her. She sighs and wipes away her tears. It was an absurd dream, a ridiculous notion.

As her conscious mind clears, she takes in her surroundings; a forest drowned in the pale blue light of dawn. Her sleeping bag, now encased in dew, was laid on the cold grass. She sits for a while, gazing at the faint sliver of the rising sun’s glow with an indistinct expression, and eventually stands up.

The lone girl begins her daily routine by braiding her hair. With a wave of her hand, she freezes dew on a rock, creating herself a mirror. Her fingers carefully weave her brown locks into a braid, now adorned with a snowflake clip and a scarlet ribbon. She throws on a long blue half-skirt over her shorts, matching her shirt. She forces on a pair of black boots and cuffs on her arm. Lastly, she grabs a moon-themed spear, and she's ready for the day.

Before setting off, she made sure to pack all her belongings, including her numerous hand-drawn maps and a compass. However, she also stops to look into the bag deeper, foolishly expecting to find something new. Instead, she only sighs, "Still no food."

She puts on the backpack and trudges forward anyway, ignoring the hunger pains as best she can. She hums to keep herself distracted.

As she walks, the trees tower above her, shrouding the horizon and taunting her. Birds occasionally fly into view, but seem to disappear in an instant. She wonders if her eyes are playing tricks on her.

The lone girl scribbles on her maps, trying to record a labyrinth of identical tree trunks and twisted paths. This proves useless, as this elliptical forest has her going in circles. Exasperated, she fidgets with her compass, only to see the needle is frantically twitching around. She presses it gently to her forehead and quietly complains, “Don't tell me you're broken…”

Her train of thought was cut short by the sudden sound of running water, so loud she can’t fathom how she’s only now begun to hear it. She decided to put off one problem for another. Following the sound through some shrubs, she quickly finds the source.

Her spear at the ready, she approaches the stream. Scanning its depths for signs of fish, she walks cautiously. Her posture was awkward, her expression was uncertain, betraying her lack of experience. She held her spear to her chest with both arms as she encroached the water’s edge.

She inhales in preparation, removes her skirt and boots, and enters the water with slow, careful steps. The very surface of the stream begins to freeze as it makes contact with her skin. Tiny, thin crystals of ice form as she steps further in. Breathing deeper, as she tries to control the frost, she makes her way to the center of the stream. She stands waiting for fish.

Rather than throwing her spear to hunt, like the intended purpose, she stabs at the water. She’s not good at this, however, and only ends up scaring other potential prey away. She makes several attempts at this but is unsuccessful each time. Refusing to quit, her repeated strikes become more desperate and uncoordinated with each failure. Her growing frustration only makes the water freeze deeper, eventually solidifying around her legs. She yelps, now in a panic, and begins to frantically stab at the ice to free herself.

A mess.

Escaping this ordeal, the lone girl abandons any further attempt at fishing. It probably isn't her calling anyway. She trudges on, lost, wet, cold, and hungry.

She looks at her compass again, her face reflecting in its glass. “You're broken,” she tiredly states, as she feels her eyes begin to well with tears.

“No! No no no! Don't cry! Don't cry Polaris,” The lone girl, Polaris, reassures herself, “Last time you cried you froze your eyelids shut, and that really hurt,” She whines aloud.

Polaris takes a deep breath, slaps her cheeks, and swallows her tears. She elects to follow the river, her only hope of escape, pursuing the promise of a village just beyond this enigmatic forest. She daydreams of a warm meal in a cozy restaurant, and maybe a cold desert too. A glimmer of determination returns to her stride, as she continues her hum from before.

[one-boring-person]

Hello! xxcyberwraithxx here 😊 Thank you for accepting another request from me 💖

I absolutely ADORE the T:Salvation story you wrote for me back then and I’m rereading it til this day 🥹 So I’d like to request a sequel to “Admiration” if you will, but with a female reader. Skynet is taking the prisoner out of her cell a while after the events of “Admiration” and wants to study her further.

I’d like the story to contain a very flustered prisoner, a smug murderous AI and some aesthetic masturbation 😁 Skynet wants to see her doing it again, so to say 😈

Again, thank you so much!

I hope you enjoy this! I had fun writing it🤭🤭🤭

Admiration Pt.2

Skynet (Terminator Salvation) x reader/OC

Warnings: smut, NSFW, masturbation, voyeurism (?), stripping, slight dom/dub dynamics (slight lol)

Masterlist

If possible, the T-something-or-others seem relaxed on either side of her, unbothered in their purposeful strides. They don't bother holding her as they walk her down the artificially lit corridor, one carrying a weapon she's unfamiliar with and the other staying close enough that it could grab her should it need to - as if she'd try running, anyway. Absently, her mind goes to her own kind and what they might do in her position; she knows they wouldn't be harbouring the same shameless warmth tightening in her chest at the prospect of possibly meeting the being she's chased so long that she is. 

Nerves bite at the back of her throat, her eyes flicking nervously back and forth, observing the sterile walls around her. They're unmarked, completely bare except for a few indented panels and lines where doors must be, completely devoid of the superfluous decoration that she's seen in old human strongholds from before the war - the ones that are left, anyway. It's eerie, but she likes the simplicity, the authenticity of it, the lack of the relentless approval-seeking that still plagues the human race to this day. Just another thing that Skynet has mastered in its time being sentient.

She's shaken from her thoughts as the two terminators beside her stop briefly, waiting for a hidden door to slip open with only the slightest hiss of air. They usher her inside, one gesturing towards the lit-up icon in the centre of the room, the outlandish red glow emanating from the symbol set into the floor bathing the walls in a warm hue. Hesitantly, she steps onto it, pulling the tattered coat she has been permitted to wear tighter around her frame as her bare feet make contact with the cool glass of the light. She glances back, watching as the terminators stand at the door, crimson eyes staring into nothing somewhere high above her head. 

Glancing around, she frowns as she realises the only thing in the room is a holographic screen near the far wall. It flickers occasionally but is otherwise blank for now. Without thinking, she lifts her hand to her mouth, chewing on her chipped fingernails as she waits for something to happen, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck lift.

After a moment, the screen changes, conforming to a more recognisable shape. She watches, eyes wide as a humanoid shape takes form, not quite solid but far from the glitching apparition-like prototypes she's seen resistance scientists create as so-called ‘holograms’. They're not a shade in comparison to the unwavering figure in front of her, the uncanny similarity to human mannerism many ages ahead of where her own kind are in the advancement of this technology. 

The hologram looks like a man, his face chiselled and frame lean but muscular, soft brown hair pushed back neatly from his forehead. Clever blue eyes peer at her from under a hooded brow, glittering in the scarlet light, slightly distorted by the way the thin lips have curved up Into a perfect initiation of a smirk. He's tall, but not unnaturally so, looming over her as the image steps closer. 

She observes the image carefully, brow furrowed as the nerves mingle with a newfound disappointment…this is the Skynet she's waited so long to see?

‘I am curious,’ The apparition speaks, a smooth, flawless masculine voice echoing from holographic lips, ‘Most of your kind would have tried to escape by now, but not you. You've surrendered to your supposed fate with no issue.’

She swallows, fiddling with her sleeve as it cocks its head at her. 

‘One might say you've even shown a certain enthusiasm in staying. You gave quite the show before.’ It sounds proud, arrogant somehow, its eyes narrowing to mimic an accusing stare. 

Her heart almost falls from her body at that, her mind instantly flashing back to the night she spent curled on the floor, writhing in pleasure - she hadn't realised, stupidly, that she'd likely have an audience. Heat rushes to her cheeks and she bites her lip, eyes widening. A question burns on her tongue, but she doesn't dare ask just yet. 

‘Thank you for your performance, it was very informative,’ The hologram continues, standing squarely in front of her, lifting an eyebrow as it observes her, ‘You have something you want to ask.’

Every drop of moisture leaves her mouth under its imperious gaze, but the question pushes forwards regardless, stuttering from her lips before she can help herself.

‘I-is that what you really l-look like?’ Her voice sounds strange in her ears after so little use.

That seems to stump the hologram for a moment, the image flickering slightly.

‘No, it is not. I picked the avatar with the intention of keeping you calm, but it is not what my true form is.’

She swallows, then looks it squarely in the eye, ‘I want to see your true face.’

In the blink of an eye, the hologram vanishes, then reforms, the screen reappearing with a new face glowing on it. This time, her heart leaps for a different reason.

A pair of deepest crimson eyes, set over high, sculpted cheekbones gleam out at her from the screen. They're mesmerising, keeping her so fixated she has to tear her gaze away to take in the rest of the inhuman face, letting her eyes roam over the metallic structure of their head, tracing each ridge and indent carefully. There's some kind of otherworldly beauty to the carved features, something she'll have branded into her mind forever. 

‘You really are an interesting specimen,’ Their voice has changed now, indescribably inhuman, and yet entirely human at the same time. It sends chills down her spine, the warmth in her chest growing and growing by the minute. 

Their face pulls into a smirk, thin lips pulled charismatically up at the edges, their eyes staying fixed on her.

‘Now for the real reason you have been brought here,’ They continue, speaking calmly and clearly, ‘You're going to give me a repeat performance.’

She blinks, snapping from her trance.

‘W-what?’

The smirk widens.

‘Masturbate as you did before, only this time so I have a better view - do not hide yourself from me.’ 

She splutters for a moment, squeezing her legs together as heat gathers between them, their words having an undeniable effect on them. A furious blush races to colour her cheeks at the being’s next words.

‘And I really insist you don't try to hide from me, you are far too beautiful. I very much enjoyed the show the last time.’

Eyes wide, she swallows before replying, ‘Why did you watch?’

Skynet seems to lift a brow, looking amused.

‘Why would I not? You looked ravishing. Now, if you please…’ Their voice lowers an octave, becoming more baritone - her body shivers in anticipation, ‘And please remove your clothing…I would make it a crime to hide such beauty away if I could.’

She nods, biting back a shy smile at the compliment. It makes her core throb, the heat in her stomach burning. Hesitantly, she pulls the jacket from her shoulders, dropping it to the floor behind her. Slowly, she skims her hands up her abdomen, taking her shirt with her, carefully revealing her taut skin to the cool air. Goosebumps rise on her stomach but she ignores them, pulling her shirt from her body to reveal her breasts to the glowing eyes fixed on her. Almost imperceptible, the smirk grows wider, Skynet watching as she exposes herself to them, barely glancing aside as her bra follows the shirt and jacket. Nervous but enjoying the attention from her ‘captor’, she runs her hands over her chest, massaging the soft flesh of her breasts alluringly, rolling her nipples between cool fingers. She tilts her head back slightly at the stimulation, pinching her nipples until they harden under her ministrations. A rumbling sound of appreciation fills the air, the bring watching her clearly approving of her actions.

Feeling encouraged, she leaves her breasts alone for a moment and moves to pull her trousers down her legs, revealing her dampened underwear. She moves her hand down her body, pushing her heel into the heat between her thighs, sighing loudly at the stimulation. Without waiting another minute, she tugs her panties down, hissing slightly at the cold air on her slick core. 

‘Good.’ The smooth voice interrupts her thoughts, Skynet watching closely as she runs her hands over her body once more. The praise makes her thighs clench together, putting a teasingly small amount of pressure on her clit. She sinks to her knees, leaving her legs spread a little to give herself better access. 

The moment her finger brushes through her folds for the first time, a long, breathy moan falls from her parted lips, her eyes falling closed. She fathers some slick before massaging a circle around her clit, unable to stop her hips thrusting forwards into the air, craving more of the euphoric touch, but she restrains herself, going slow to give Skynet the show they deserve. Every so often, she spreads herself for them to see how wet she is, revealing her dripping, fluttering hole to them as it clenches around nothing. Groans and sighs emanate from her chest, a whimper escaping as her finger teases her hole, promising to dip inside before slipping away to rub over her clit once more. Aware of the eyes watching her so closely, she lifts her free hand to play with her breasts again, squeezing the soft skin in time with her strokes over her messy cunt. 

‘Lie back, knees by your chest and legs spread. I need to see more.’ The command comes unexpectedly, but it spurs her into immediate action, her hole clenching hard at the imperious tone of voice.

She does as she's told, exposing her wet core to the air and returning her fingers to her folds, swiping them through to tease herself once more. 

‘Finger yourself.’ Skynet issues the instruction once more, voice taking on the baritone quality again.

Opening her eyes properly, she looks into the deep scarlet depths of the eyes watching her before plunging a finger into her dripping cunt. A wrecked moan tears out of her at the intrusion, her hips bucking into the air as her feet plant the ground, fucking herself on her own hand as she plays with herself. Roughly, she kneads her breast as she thrusts her finger into herself, rubbing the heel of her hand over her clit, ecstasy racing through her veins as a knit starts to form in her stomach. 

She adds another finger, slowing her thrusts briefly for Skynet to see herself stretching around her digits, biting her lip at the obscene wet sounds that emit from where her cunt is swallowing her fingers. Tipping her head back, she speeds up again, moans accompanying every thrust into herself, sounding more and more debauched with every second. 

‘No,’ The voice interrupts her again, her head snapping back up, fingers stilling, ‘Keep your eyes on me.’

She monas out an affirmation, going to continue before Skynet says one more thing:

‘And if you're looking for a name to moan, make it mine.’

Her cunt tightens, her hand faltering for a second as the pleasure nearly overwhelms her. Profanities mingled in with Skynet's name fly from her mouth as she fucks herself faster, feeling herself getting closer and closer to completion. The only sounds in the room are her whimpers and the wet noises coming from her cunt, Skynet silent now as they watch her pistoning her fingers into herself, her hips lifting to grind her clit against the heel of her hand once more. Shockwaves of pleasure rush through her, her mind going blank except for the burning red of their eyes - all she wants now is to please Skynet, to do well for them and make herself feel good for them. Her other hand flies from her breast to her cunt, fingers rubbing her clit roughly in time with her thrusts, trying her best to keep her eyes trained on Skynet. The knot in her stomach tightens again, threatening to snap.

‘Fuck, I'm gonna cum…please, Skynet, please…’ She moans out, begging the being for their permission.

‘Good girl, cum for me.’ The voice resonates through her, pushing her over the edge.

With one last push of her fingers inside her, she climaxes, her cunt tightening around her hand, legs fighting to stay open. Her hips thrust themselves onto her hand, her body writhing as the ecstasy crashes over her, her vision almost going blank at the sheer intensity of the orgasm. She slows her thrusts, riding out the sparks of pleasure until they've dulled to a soft tingling, her breaths coming hard and fast as she comes down from her high. Swallowing, she sits up on her elbow, making sure to keep eye contact as she removes her fingers from her fluttering cunt. Feeling brave, she lifts her hand to her mouth and licks one finger carefully, seductively. 

A low sound of appreciation echoes around the room again, Skynet looking very pleased with themself.

‘I do believe I am going to enjoy having you here.’

[thevampslayer]

Stranger Things could have been "one for the ages," in season 1 with the 80s nostalgia, interconnected character ensemble stories, and sci-fi. Was the sci fi low budget and could be better? Yeah. But, that's all they needed to fix. This focus on the mind flayer that hasn't evolved since season 2, vecna's integration which you can't convince me wasn't last minute, and the addition of numerous meaningless characters that just come and go has killed a franchise slowly but all at once in the year long periods it takes for a new season to arrive. It's clear the Duffer Brothers can't develop character. Mike is unimportant as ever; the only analysis on him comes from unhinged shippers creating their own fanfiction out of thin air; Lucas remains underrated, his feelings unexplored; Eleven became a dud (how does one do that?); and the Byers are useless as the catalysts to a premiere-season plot. The characters they bring in, who limit the ability to delve deeper into characters we've seen since season 1, just vanish into thin air and never get spoken of again (so it's all for what!). Stranger Things is just a tiktok trend now with bad writing that could be better, and a joke made out of intentionally bad wigs/hairstyles (that weren't this bad in season 1). It could've been a real masterpiece and now it's just like every other "show of the moment" that just decreases in quality and relies upon fan-service (and hype) over good storytelling.

[soraviie]

you're a writer.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ about: fluff   ━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: “Swiftly.”

“Eeeehhhhh.”

“Rapidly.”

“Eeeeeeeehhhh.”

“With increasing speed.”

“Now that one,” you laugh dryly. “Was the worst.”

He scoffs, glaring at you from the side of the couch, and proceeds to toss a newspaper onto the angular coffee table. 

“Well, if you’re going to be unpleasant,” he remarks, pretending to leave. Immediately you jump out of the seat, pencils scattering in all directions, and hang on his elbow, much to his chagrin, disappointment, and overall annoyance. 

“No, please, I promise I’ll behave,” you plead, swinging back and forth. “Just help a fellow struggling artist out. Oh, please, oh, Great Namjoon!”

For a second, the facade of unwillingness cracks, and his lips quirk in a fleeting smile but he’s quick to cement it. 

“A struggling artist, my foot,” he growls. “You’ve been sitting on your ass and watching Tik-Tok videos instead of revising.”

The said ass gets a pinch and you yelp but have no excuse for it. 

“I was,” softly, you agree. “I was simply enraptured by your thirst traps.”

Just for good measure, you fan your eyelashes but unfortunately, you’re at the point of your relationship, where Joon has smelt your bullshit for so long, he’s developed immunity towards it. 

“Enraptured?” he smirks. “Now you’re sounding like a writer.”

Derisively shoving him away, you stomp towards the desk, to glare at the jumbled mess of words that wear the thinnest veneer of a masquerading plot.

“Okay, see how you like when I dedicate my book to my editor, my friends, the dog our neighbour owns, anyone but you!...meanie.”

Not even a second passes when with a chuckle, Namjoon leans down to lay a soft kiss against your neck. 

“Okay, okay, struggling, starving artist, I’ll help you but just for an hour, okay? We have to sleep.”

Seeing your rainbow in the rain, you hum agreeably. 

“An hour will do.”

“So…Abruptly?”

“Nah.”

“Hastily?”

“No,” you take one of the pencils thrown haphazardly on the desk and tap the rubber end against your lips. “What about - swiftly?”

“That’s the first thing I said!”

YOONGI: Your apartment is haunted and yet unfortunately you’re not writing a horror story and hence discard this discovery for later use. All you see and hear right now is the rain in the Canadian plains and not the traffic outside. For you, the desk is a rock, the papers littered with notes, plot points, character names, and vapid "use-this-not-this" notes make the ground. 

You reach to your left, grasping around thin air, not daring to even look away. Writing was magic and often involved time travel - you looked away for one second, and the next thing you know it’s been three months and instead of half a book, you have three pages. 

To your great misery, no matter which corner of the desk you shove your greedy, clutching hand, it simply grasps no cup of coffee. Dejected, you can only sigh to yourself. The ghost must have taken it. 

And yet mere minutes pass and you can smell the wafting scent of a good cup of coffee. At this point, you could swear that it produces a cartoon-like effect, wisping around you enticing tendrils that flow up your nose, reducing your brain to mush. Blindly, you stretch your fingers, grasp the cup, and drink. For a two year old that sort of thing would be quite the achievement. Shame you’re not two…Physically at least. Yoongi always laughed that your mind was two years old. Starkly recalling the fact that there was such a thing as Min Yoongi and your boyfriend, both of whom created a circle in a Venn diagram, you at last drag your eyes away from the cursor and with a crick in the neck, find him standing in the doorway, sporting a tender, almost imperceptible smile. 

“Ow,” you groan, putting a palm to soothe the aching muscles. “You’re home early this evening. Been here long?”

“Give or take two days,” he laughs and does so even louder when your eyes bug out of your forehead. Blinking repeatedly you realize the day and that, just as a fact in passing, Yoongi’s vacation started two days ago. 

“No!” you gasp. “No, I went to sleep and all!”

“And didn’t notice me in the slightest,” he forces out in between lingering pauses of laughter. “You kept muttering about being haunted.”

“No!” you hide in the palm of your hands, mortified. “You were the ghost?”

“The fact that your first assumption is a literal undead specter and not your boyfriend taking care of you is highly upsetting,” he shook his head pitifully. You rise to your feet, throwing your arms around his neck. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I was…somewhere else.”

“No worries,” he pats your back, twirling a strand of your hair when you part. “I know what it’s like. You’re ready to join the world of human society or are you with the cursed villagers still?”

“I’m with my boyfriend. Promise,” you kiss his cheek, quickly darting to close the laptop, just not before making sure for the thousandth time that it was all properly saved.

“Good,” he hums. “As amusing as it is to watch you be so absorbed, I’d like to cash in my boyfriend privileges.”

“What unfair deal will you stick me with?” you bemoan and he snakes an arm around your waist. 

“Just a light massage. I’ve got some kinks to work out.”

“In all meanings of the word,” you mutter underneath your nose but he hears it and squeezes your waist tighter with a cocky smile.

JIN: “You don’t have to come. I’m alright coming home and celebrating with you. Privately," with a steady hand, you lay the final touches on your makeup and peer at him through the reflection of the mirror. Other than a form-fitting suit, Jin was wearing a deeply conflicted expression and to him, it didn't matter how many times you assured him of the opposite - he felt like a bad partner.

"You've always supported me," he muttered. "Came to greet me even when people were rude to you."

"You know, I don't care for most people," you shrugged, sliding a small bag onto the crook of your elbow. "So it doesn't much matter."

"Okay, psycho," he tries to humor, either you or himself who knows but either way, it falls flatter than wanted. As he's leaning against the wall, you press a kiss to his cheek, wiping the faint smudge of the gloss away from his skin.

"Whatever you decide, I won't take offense," you remarked in a low voice.

"But it's your night!"

"And my night never started or ended with strangers."

You shudder when the cold night seized your body, quickly rushing towards the car. Glimpsing at the clockface, you draw a huge sigh of relief. Unexpectedly, you were still on schedule. God knows why, but for some reason, you had the bizarre habit of being late to your own novel reveal.

"To the arts center, boss?" the driver inquires politely and you cast him a soft, welcoming smile.

"Exactly."

You give one last glimpse towards the apartment building before the car speeds away into the relative quiet of a Thursday evening.

For a writer, your speech was rather unimaginative, simple, and straight to the point. Thank you all for coming, enjoy the cocktails, enjoy the conversation and let the work speak for itself. At the end of the whole ordeal which was publishing a book, you were dry on words and preferred the ones that mattered, ones caught in the pages of two thick covers. You gift gracious smiles to all those who approach you, even the reporters who manage to irritate every single ounce of your nervous system. Good grief, how did Jin manage this day and night, you sighed, no wonder the man treated gatherings as a plague. As you stand to the side, successfully enjoying some peace of mind, a bouquet of plump flowers swims into your eyesight.

"Good evening, beautiful," Jin exhales smoothly, biting down on a cheeky grin. "You wouldn't mind if I kidnap you for a moment?"

Beaming, you cross your arms around his waist.

"I'm all yours," you purr. "After all that's what the story was about."

Jin's ears gain some notable blush despite the valiant efforts to remain unbothered.

"They killed their kidnapper," he objected demurely but that made your smile all the wider.

"They were a stronger person than I am."

HOSEOK: "You should publish," he belts out of the blue, forcing you to raise your gaze up from the paper and focus on the other side of the bed, where he sat, phone discarded in his lap and eyes boring into yours almost fearfully.

"What, why?" you laugh before picking up the sentence where you left it off.

"You write all the time. It's like you're addicted to it," he shrugs, presumably just so, baring no other intentions, though he was also using that "soft" voice, the one he wields whenever he wanted to change your mind. "You have entire books, completed, ready to go. Collecting dust."

"Writing is my hobby, similar to how some people knit, nothing more to it," brushing him off, you try to force your mind to retain two completely different trains of thought. One - why was Hobi using his "soft" voice and the second one - the amount of mud generated in a 19th-century backstreet alley. A completely normal thing to ponder about when in bed with an unfairly attractive man. Okay, maybe he wasn't too delusional about the addiction. With a sigh, you push the scribbled notebook away.

"I just enjoy writing. I'm afraid that if you want to publish anything that I compose, it would have to be posthumous," you scrunch your face in mocking sorrow. "You can be the grieving widow, shining a light on your partner's life's work."

His eyes glint unkindly in the muted bedroom light.

"That's not even remotely funny, ______________," he scolds. "But don't you want to...express yourself? Show your talent to the world?"

Tucking your feet under covers and pressing against the warmth of his chest, you give it a sweeping thought but remain just as indifferent.

"Showmanship is your thing," you mutter, feeling the slight tickle of his fingers brushing against your hip. "I put everything on these pages. I repaint my own life, sometimes the life that I want, or think I wanted..." at this, you trail off, thinking of the multitudes of worlds, finished and unfinished, modern and ancient, everything from the horrifying deep of the unknown to the soft passing of loving Tuesdays.

"I don't feel comfortable sharing them just yet," you conclude with a sigh. "Maybe one day, just...not right now."

"You share them with me," Hoseok notes tenderly and you smile at his obliviousness.

"Well, obviously, I share them with you," you say and the space between his eyebrows wrinkles in confusion. You lay in silence, drumming your fingers against his chest, at times of lingering pauses feeling the steady beat of his heart.

"What are you thinking about?" he hums, tightening his embrace.

"19th-century mud."

He snorts.

JIMIN: At this point, you began to regret ever giving him the manuscript. It's 2 in the morning and your head thrums with lack of sleep but the side of Jimin's bed still remains brightly lit as his feet occasionally kick at the duvet. Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he nibbles at the skin of his fingers, eyes breezing through the pages. Any moment now he'll start sweating.

"Stop that," you admonish him gently, pushing the hand away from his mouth. Dazed, he stares at you.

"Is it morning already?" he asks, croaking almost.

"If it would be morning, I'd kill you," you groan, plucking the book from his hands.

"Hey, I was reading that!"

"And now you're not," you retort casually, flinging your proverbial baby in the nondescript corner of the room, wrapping yourself like a liana around Jimin's squirming figure.

"Just one more chapter," he pleads.

"No."

With a defeated sigh, he slumps in your arms, only stretching briefly to flick off the light in what could only be described as a petulantly displeased manner. Darkness envelopes you whole.

"You worked hard on this story," he grumbles. "Shouldn't you treat it with more care?"

You don't give in to his attempts on provoking you, on dragging the night longer, instead, you simply let your eyes fall shut.

"That story is in my head and currently that head is turning into granola from lack of sleep so if you want to be a good fanboy, let me sleep."

"Fine," he huffs before whispering, now far timider. "You will sign a copy for me, right? When it's officially out?"

If not for you holding him down, he'd be twirling his thumbs.

"Babe, when the time comes, I'll sign your ass," you promise only partly joking. "Just, please, shut up and go to sleep."

"This needs to be taken out, I don't like this, and what the hell is this plot point all about?"

Rolling your eyes, the drone of your editor becomes a vague chatter, a creek gurgling somewhere in the wild that puts you in a state of removed consciousness. All the more startling was the phone call buzzing against your thigh. Jumping out of the seat, you glance at the screen and exit the room despite the tantrum unfolding behind you.

Jimin didn't usually call mid-day, too ensnared in his own duties, and looking at the screen now, you find you don't like this new development as your mind jubilantly assumed the worst.

"Hi," you greet him anxiously. "Is everything okay?"

Only sobs could be heard from the other line. Immediately, your hands grow cold and your knees buck.

"Jimin! What happened?!"

At last, through a vicious array of snot and breathy pants, he cries out.

"I'm dating a murderer!"

For a second you stand bewildered, temporarily lagging behind. Nonetheless, when it all catches up to you, creating a large, sensible pattern, you curse, drawing a heavy sigh of relief. He must have finished reading the story.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

But he keeps crying further and even knowing it was far from being anything serious, your heart clenches at the sound of it.

"It's alright," you try to comfort him. "Put the manuscript down and go for a walk - wait!" you glance at the watch around your wrist. Jimin's present. "Shouldn't you be rehearsing?"

"I told them I'm not feeling good and took a day off to finish reading," he wails and you can feel the telltale sign of an oncoming headache. "Only for you to kill them in the end!" Through the endless weeping, you can only discern a few phrases of "favorite characters" and "cruelty".

"Change the ending!" he demands and for a second you remove the phone away from your ear, grimace at his antics before diving back into the conversation. Nonsense of a conversation.

"I'm not going to do that," numbly, you reply. "That's how the story goes. They die watching a sunrise."

"And you killed the dog too!"

"Yes," resigned completely, you nod along despite him not being able to see it. "I killed the dog too. You'll have to make peace with it."

For a lingering moment, there hangs only silence, before he sniffles, thoroughly dejected.

"Your heart knows no mercy," he accuses, then adds, begrudgingly sincere. "Love you."

"Love you more," you smile and then shake your head when he ends the call.

TAEHYUNG: It was barely any secret, Taehyung wanted attention. Hell, ask him and he'll say so but this was not attention per se. He was not watched out of loving thought but of clinical intent. Uncannily, he felt too much like a lab rat in the middle of his apartment, pouring milk into cereal. Warily lifting his gaze, he meets your deadset, cold eyes and flinches.

"Good morning?" he utters. You keep staring at him for a moment, before gathering your notebook and leaving the kitchen without so much as a word. Or a vowel even. Lifting a spoon of cereal to his mouth Taehyung wondered - had he done something wrong? You don't necessarily shy away from his touch or remain silent should he ask something, despite the answers being a tad absent-minded so he shrugs it away. Odd moon phases perhaps. But days pass and he feels a shudder rack his spine, freezing him mid-way with a bottle of water.

Leaning against the table, your eyes are set on him, observing his movements down to the most minuscule detail, wearing a face with zero expression. He puts down the bottle and awkwardly shuffles out of the room. When the evening settles he finds you slumbering unsightly on the sofa, hair in the face, mouth open, and notebook precariously perched upon your lap, with the pen rolled away. As any good boyfriend, he takes a picture to aggravate you with later and moves in to stir you awake, only for his gaze to catch sight of various names scribbled on the pages of the notebook. Delicately he wrenches it free and reads, recalling that for the past few weeks you seemed to be glued to this thing. To his bewilderment, he begins to piece together a string of plot, and listing back to the beginning he realizes this was your very own story.

When you wake, back a knotted mess, the sound of giggling could be faintly heard from the kitchen. Rubbing at your tired eyes, you find Taehyung sitting by the table, and with no small amount of horror you recognize your writing pad clutched between his grimy fingers.

"Give that back," you cry out, snatching it away from him in an instant, even hiding it behind your back, hoping that out of sight out of mind was real. Though he tries to remain serious, his lips flutter with unshed laughter.

"I know it's bad. You don't have to rub it in," you grumble and he rushes to capture your face between his palms, irritatingly still laughing.

"It's not bad!" he assures, gaze softening at the sight of your anguish. "I just think it's so cute you based your main character on me."

You blink.

"You and Kaz have nothing in common."

He cocks an eyebrow, drawling an arid:

"Really?"

"You don't! Two completely different people."

"Brown, floppy hair," he lifts up one of his curls. "Brown eyes, likes jazz music."

"Lots of people like jazz music," you mumble underneath your nose and he tucks you into a hug.

"Sure, baby," he laughs, graciously ignoring your bristling. "I can't wait to read more."

You slumped in his arms, cheek lifting in a small smile. He just couldn't resist.

"Of me, obviously."

JUNGKOOK: "How fast do you think a person bleeds out after being shot?"

The question is posed so unconcernedly that it takes a while for Jungkook to register its meaning. When he does, the hand caressing your bare leg, laying in his lap, freezes. Even your eyes were still glued to the movie and he ponders whether you realized the question was even spoken out loud and not locked behind the confines of your mind.

"I don't know," he shrugs. "Depends where on the body, I think."

You hum and the conversation stops there.

"How much would it hurt to have this jammed into the eye?" you question once again out loud, holding a metal straw over the breakfast he cooked for you. Just as before, your face gains some level of absence and Jungkook quickly grasps it means you were not really here.

"A lot," he responds, suspecting and increasingly concerned about the possibility of you having intrusive thoughts. Yet when he voices this, you brush it aside, laughing that it was just a passing idea. Wary, he believes you, afraid of otherwise.

But then you mumble a name in your sleep. And it's not his name. Steam rising to his face, he can feel his blood boiling as you keep moaning someone else's name. At last his patience breaks. Roughly shaking you awake, he tongues at his cheek.

"What?" groggily, you mutter, desperately trying to process the situation. "What happened?"

"You were muttering in your sleep," hearing it now, Jungkook understands that it might sound just a little silly but obstinately, he keeps at it. "A name. Not mine."

However, instead of cursing him out or being annoyed, your gaze drops to the duvet, flustered.

"_________, the truth," he orders sternly. "Please."

You bite on your lip but ultimately crumple under his piercing stare and head hung low from shame, paddle towards the desk. Confused, he watches you open up your laptop and show him a document.

"Misfortunately, Yours," it read. "Chapter One. Drastic Consequences to a Hurried Decision Making."

"Oh, thank God," he gasps, dropping back on the bed as relief floods his system. "Thank you, ancestors."

"I don't see how they're a part of this," you grouse but it remains unheard.

For some reason, Jungkook doesn't stop thinking of that night as he pours through the entire neighborhood, in vain hopes of trying to find you. Deep snow has descended upon the world, coating everything in mountains of white obstruction. Obstruction which at this moment Jungkook desperately wanted to get rid of. Perhaps had he cheered more for you, helped you edit better...perhaps the outcome would have been different. Maybe the blow wouldn't have hit you this hard.

With freezing fingers, you numbly re-read, the last passage of the book review column, printed in the national newspaper.

"Misfortunately Yours" is nothing but pulpy, self-inflated scribble of an inexperienced pen person, writing out their fantasies on a page when it should be contained to archives of the dark internet. Offering to us, readers, nothing but ambiance, it lacks everything from characterization to a solid backstory or really anything to grip the audience's interest. 1 of 5 stars."

Well, that's that then.

"_____________! ____________!" a desperate voice calls from the distance and apathetically you meet it's familiar owner. Jungkook's jacket is unbuttoned and one end of his scarf is dragging against the shoveled snow. "Oh, baby!"

At the sound of his coos, the sting of repressed tears gnaws at your eyes.

"You're freezing," he exclaims, wrapping a scarf around your neck whilst wrenching you away from the bench. You really were cold.

"It's going to be okay," Jungkook whispers against the shell of your ear, rubbing his palms against your shoulders - warming you up. "It's going to be okay. Just don't give up. No one can decide whether you're a writer or not. That's entirely up to you."

On the way home, you toss the newspaper into the trash, without looking back.

© soraviii/soraviie 2022-2023

[bettsfic]

I hope this doesn’t sound odd but I’m a bit concerned that I’m not a real artist/writer. Yes, I write. However, I have noticed that I need the real world to ground me in an idea. I have to talk about something honest in my writing. Or I listen to a song or feeling from a movie to put me in a certain mood that is necessary for a scene I’m writing. It helps me create something that is emotionally what I’m trying to achieve. Because this comes from outside of myself and I can’t just lock myself in a dark room and find gold in my mind I often feel bad about my creative abilities. All of these things count as inspiration but I guess I just want to be the writer who comes up with stories out of thin air.

you could argue that the very first (western) novel was the Decameron. and then you could argue that the second (western) novel was the Heptameron, which was directly and openly inspired by its predecessor. and thus the novel as we know it came into being. Navarre was inspired by Boccaccio. Cervantes was inspired by Navarre. Smollett was inspired by Cervantes. Dickens was inspired by Smollett. Henry James was inspired by Dickens. EM Forster was inspired by Henry James. and on and on and on it goes. we are all always influenced by everything around us.

so i'm very curious how you've developed this belief, anon. because it is simply not possible to create anything in a vacuum. even if you did shut yourself in a room and conjured ideas, those ideas would still be informed by your experiences and the other stories you've encountered in your life. inspiration cannot be immaculately conceived. you have to allow your environment to shape your work; to resist that is to deny your own potential.

[dranna]

Be Careful what you Wish for - a Wish rewrite

~ Prologue ~

Chapter 1

summary:

King Magnifico created his kingdom to protect his people because he knows what tragedies one single wish can cause, however when one entitled 17-year-old girl decided that the way he is dealing with the population's wishes is 'unacceptable', he must step in to protect the inhabitants of his kingdom, even if it means he has to use the book, he swore to never touch again...

Who is the villain and who is the hero?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ contents: noting clear yet but there will be graphic descriptions of violence and death later on, Asha is the villain of the story, there is NO goat. I’ll add the warnings at the beginning of every chapter <3

a/n: I started writing during sleepless nights. I didn't watch the whole movie bc I didn't find it enjoyable from the start, so there will be a lot of things from my imagination. I would say I stopped watching it around the 30 minutes mark ^^’

I've never written anything longer then a one shot, so it will be an interesting journey for me. Thank you for stopping by and reading it:)

- English is not my first language -

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once upon a time, there was a young and passionate man, serving a rotted and jealous king. The king had everything he wanted: immense wealth where gold grew like grass everywhere he stepped, a huge kingdom where peace bloomed in every corner, loyal men, women, happy children but  the most important of all: Power. 

However he wanted more . 

Since he walked on this earth, he had everything his heart wished for. So now, as he was sitting on his icy gold throne made by busy hands for a spoiled child, he commended the youthful man to create something for him. An object that will turn into something terrible, evil and full of hate, masked with the promise of unlimited knowledge. 

“Magnifico” - he once called the hopeful lad - “ you are the greatest apprentice I could ask for, loyal to my crown and your homeland..” - the king started his poisonous honey speech, whispering harmless sounding lies into his ear.  Besides being young and full of hope, Magnifico was also a naive and trusting soul. He listened to his king’s lies, never doubting the intent behind his tongue.  “ I have a great wish I need you to fulfill. I want you to design a book, which contains all knowledge of sorcery. A book! If someone reads from it, they magically become the most powerful in the world!” 

What wrong can one wish do?  Hung the question above the sorcerer's head, as he excited the throne room. 

Magnifico was so excited to create this book. He imagined true things being done with his creation: helping people? Putting a stop to the gut wrenching illnesses of humanity? Stopping wars , and — oh! Spawn food out of thin air?  In his mind the possibilities were endless.  However, never in his wildest nightmares could he think about the events which were born from his work. 

His loving wife warned him many times, asked, weeped and begged to not do something so terrific yet marvelous for a man like the king, but Magnifico didn’t listen. It was the first of his lists of mistakes, which will burden him until the rest of his life.

  He worked all day and all night, warm ideas filling his brain and heart, not letting him sleep during nights. A productive fire ate through his muscles and bones, illuminating the twinkling of his azure- blue eyes. 

After months of hard work, he presented the book to the king. 

Upon opening the elegant cover, cosy, silver light-strokes were omitted from the beautifully crafted pages. They gently covered the book opener, always willing to be changed, used and shared. 

To Magnifico’s horror, as months went by, his pure creation started to transform into something vile, painful and barbaric under the hands of his once beloved king. The silver light slowly darkened and lost its welcoming glow, just to make place to dark green, seaweed and tentacle-like forms. They snaked around the sorcerer who opened the earthly cell, bounding and chaining him in both physique and soul, never letting him go. 

The book consumed the king more and more, and with him wasted away his kingdom and its inhabitants. 

Magnifico couldn’t bear to see his creation causing more devastation, he stole the book from the half-dead king leaving him and his wealth to rot. 

With the knowledge he learned about magic and wishes, he created a kingdom with his wife on his side. Promising himself, that he never let any wish to destroy the happiness of his people.  And the book? He locked it deep in his castle, displaying it in his study room as a trophy of shame and deep regret, laughing and creeping its freezing fingers in blood, which he will never be able to wash clean. 

[purpleamethystsblog]

🪬I WILL TAKE BACK WHAT'S MINE (Part 6) 🪬

CW : Violence / Swearing / Character dead (not Reader)

Pronounce : She / Her

Gender : Female ( Cause it easy for me to write and I don't really write English fanfics often like other. )

Note : This story might not follow the original game storyline.

Tag : @khalhaimdad @akemiixx01

🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬

<< Part 5 : Part 7 >>

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Venti know.

Mean, he ever seen you before. It's happened when you first come to Mondstadt. He thought you're just a normal traveller.

But it's turn out that you are the most wanted criminal and the leader of Rebellion. He doesn't know why. Because he didn't saw you do anything to harm peoples or Mondstadt.

He want to convince his Creator to stop, but he afraid that Geo Archon will hunt him down like he did with the peoples who didn't accept in our Creator.

Archon of war and the oldest of all sevenths. Mean that he is the strongest Archons.

“ And I should crush you in to a pieces, should I? ”

It has been reported from villagers, that they found a group of rebellion around Guili plain. And Zhongli immediately call him for back up. Most of the rebels group are Vision user. And one of them is a Fatui Harbinger too.

Zhongli is infront of him. And Venti is stand behind ready to charge at rebellion group if Zhongli... No, MORAX give him a signal.

“ Oh~ what a surprise, I thought you all died. Hmmm, what an aura? Are you tried to mimic our Creator? How amusing.... ”

You frowned your eyebrows, what an idiot he can be? You don't know why he such a stupid or too blind to realise real or fake.

“ The ages of your isn't help to develop your brains at all? I'm pity for you, Morax. ”

No, something is wrong. You think Zhongli doesn't a person who had no reason. But it might have something that corrupted his mind or his brains.

Yes, you can say that his action make you frustration. But it might be some reason to make him like this. And you sure 80% of the reason is from that impostor.

Wait....if you remember correctly. If that gods who betrayal to the Creator and got kick out from heaven to human world...

That Impostor has a chance to be their descendants, right?

You think you can piece together some stories. Although still not sure, plus there is no clear evidence yet.

“ Stop zone out! ”

You heard Flowey scream at your ear, you flinched. And turn around to scold at him.

“ Stop playing around! Protect your grace at all cost no matter what! ”

All of your acolytes stop infront you like a human wall. You close your eyes and focus on your power. And after 3 seconds, golden shield is appear on your acolytes who come to front line to protect you.

Your shield might be not strong as Morax's shield. But you sure that it can absorb some damage and decrease a chance of injured for a bit.

Remember, your power is not fully awaken, yet.

🪬

Lilith was afraid.....

She knew, someday, she might lost everything. Even though she tried her best to keep it.

Even though, she cooperate with "ABYSS ORDER". She still afraid.

To take down the "CREATOR GOD" It's not an easy thing that anyone can do.

"Your highness, we have a message that Morax is meet with Y/N."

The abyss mage is appear from thin air, now she stayed in her chamber. And doesn't allow everyone to come in.

She can't let peoples know that she had collaboration with Abyss order.

“ Are you sure that potion will have a long affect on Morax? ”

🪬

It wouldn't be wrong to say that your side is currently at a serious disadvantage. Because peoples on your side is less more than hundreds person. Different from Zhongli, who ever once is a god of war. And there are hundreds of troops as reinforcements as well.

You and Albedo is agreed to retreat, but it need a chance or some unexpected incident first.

[ If you heard me, Flowey. ]

[ Yes, I heard you. Your grace. ]

[ Find a way to delay Morax. We can't fight him! We should retreat ASAP. ]

[ Yes, as your wish! ]

Now, the first creature that you created with your own hands is showing its effectiveness for everyone on the battlefield. You believe in the living flower that you created will save your group from this dangerous situation.

“ You think that your friend little flower can save you? How pathetic! ”

You heard Morax speak contemptuously, but you didn't bother to pay attention to him. You are confident that Flowey is not powerless despite not being skilled enough to win fight. However, Flowey is capable of creating opportunities for you and other members to escape more smoothly.

As Morax was about to attack you, numerous vines suddenly emerged from the ground and intervened, obstructing both Morax and his soldiers, causing them to pause and attempt to destroy the vines.

"Now, this time!!"

You shouted, as Albedo, Diluc, Rosaria, Childe and the other adepts quickly protected the weaker ones and hurriedly led them to escape. You and the men stayed behind to cover their retreat.

Flowey continued to create vines relentlessly, some of which attacked the soldiers to obstruct them, while others wrapped around them to immobilize them. The Pyro Vision user began to launch attacks, as fire was a weakness for a plant like Flowey, and Flowey was well aware of this.

However, Flowey refused to back down, even if it meant being burnt down to ashes. It would do everything in its power to protect its master until the last time of it life.

“ Thanks for creating me, thanks for welcome me to this world. Your grace. ”

“ TIME TO TAKE OFF! ”

While you were retreating, suddenly you felt the scorching heat in the air. You turned around to see flames rising violently like hellfire. The attack with familiar wind strings was reacting with the fire, making you scream out loud with a heart that was almost shattered.

"FLOWEY!!!!"

Albedo also turned around to look back. He was no different from you in being caught off guard. But he saw that this was a good opportunity to retreat. He reluctantly pushed your plan to move forward.

"Don't let its sacrifice be in vain."

He knew that parting was painful. He himself had a bond with that flower, not much different from you, as someone who had taken care of it during the time when it had not yet to survive in this world. Albedo also saw this flower as a child of sorts.

If it can. He wanna help it too. He know that, Flowey was your first creation and you really love it.

But if he jump in to help it. Maybe, the two Archons will kill him immediately, and all your efforts may ruined because of him.

Childe could only mourn its sacrifice in his mind silently.

The important thing now is. He had to inform Fatui about this matter as soon as possible.

🪬

The battle has been going on for a long time, with the Fatui stationed nearby and in Liyue, coming to support your side to ensure your safe escape. And it coincides with the fast arrival of the Fatui's messenger carrying important order from Tsaritsa to Childe, the 11th Harbinger is fully aware of the situation and the current important mission to convince you about going to Snezhnaya.

“ Your grace, can we talk for a moment please? ”

………

“ Is Snezhnaya really welcoming me? ” You asked Childe, furrowing your brows in suspicion. It would be good if that were the case, but you know that the Fatui, known for their cunning and deceitful nature most in Teyvat.

“ How can I be sure that the Archon of your nation isn't just luring me into a trap? ”

You asked earnestly, looking into Childe's eyes for reassurance. The tension was palpable, and he could tell that even the divine creator might not believe in him.

Childe thought for a moment, and a genuine pang of pain struck his chest.

“ If you don't believe my words, I'm willing to swear on my own life. ”

Childe said with a strained voice. He didn't know what else he could do to make you believe. Clearly, his plan to kidnap you had backfired. He surely that if he do, you will hate Fatui and Snezhnaya immediately.

Childe tried his best to persuade you with his words, hoping to sway you in any way possible.

[ FATUI ] is a name that everyone in Teyvat was agrees is an enemy. Few people trust the Fatui, and it's rare for the Fatui will not deceive anyone. It's clear that all of your followers doesn't likes the Fatui, especially the 11th Harbinger. Your decision will have consequences, whether they are good or bad depends on you. And as you're discussing this, you realize that someone has been eavesdropping.

‘ I must make the right decision on this... Whether everyone's lives will be saved or lost depends on my decided... ’

You exhale softly, acknowledging that this decision is incredibly difficult.

“ You know that all my members don't like Fatui, right? ” You ask Childe for sure, want him to aware what he was doing and saying now. Childe nodded, he knew that no one like Fatui and he don't care.

“ And everyone in here is my followers, I want to tell you something, I'm not the kind of person who rules people with a dictatorship. But I will rule the people more democratically. by choosing to listen to the opinions of the majority ”

Childe know immediately what you meant in your words. His expression was obviously gloomy. Because he already knows the result of the answer.

You turn around and walk away, signaling for all of your followers to gather in front of you. You stand on a big rock, crossed arms, on your left side is Albedo and Diluc. And your right side is Childe who is still standing in silence.

“ Is anyone interested to go to Snezhnaya? If we travel to Snezhnaya, we will be protected by the Fatui, and the 11th harbinger will accompany us on this travel. What do you guys think about this? ”

People instantly whispered to each other. As you said, no one trusts Fatui.The expressions on everyone's faces were obviously worried.

“ I think. Maybe, the enemy of our enemy is my friend. Why don't we try to trust them first? ”

Albedo spoke up amidst the chaos and confusion of the members. As soon as he finished speaking, everyone fell silent.

The whispering returned again. You caught a fleeting sense that they were considering possibilities and safety, and it was an oddly reasonable survival strategy.

Childe's expression remained calm, but he could feel a glimmer of hope emerging from the negotiations. It seemed that some people were swayed by Albedo's words, judging from his gaze, some of them were thinking along with Albedo's speech.

However, there were some who did not agree with Albedo's words, and Diluc seemed to be that person. This could be because he had a worst history with the Fatui. And Rosaria, who was not an easily trusting person, just like Diluc himself.

But they don't speak, yet. They are waiting to hear your decision. For them you are their leader now. If it's not a better choice or they didn't see it fit, they will oppose to you, and they believe that you will listen their reasoning.

“ No one can go anywhere... The journey of all of you has come to an end now, especially the one who most dangerous for an eternity like you... Y/N. ”

🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬⚠️🪬

<< Part 5 : Part 7 >>

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When this story end? Idk, but I want to write a new one. What would you guys think about Horror!Reader or Creepypasta!Reader.

Sorry, but I like to hurt and Kill characters 😂😂

Maybe I will draft it and public to Tumblr to see y'all reactions. The one that got more notes, I will write ^^

Oh! If you want to be on my tag list, you can tell me on the comment! I will add your blog to my tag list next chapter!✨

Btw, I don't know why but I think Zhongli isn't the people who have no reason. I try to write but, nooooo I can't. I should find something more reasonable to my make sense.

[urmultideadfandomperson]

Dahlia's Relationships with... (Part 2)

Character/s: Dahlia Rosenheim (OC), Alpheratz, Sirius, Vega

Genre/s: Fluff, Cracks, Mild Angst(?)

Warning/s: None, story only has no proofread

Summary: Dahlia's relationship with the sorcerers.

Requested by: None

Note: NAHH THIS IS CRAZY 😧 I ACTUALLY HAVE THE MOTIVATION TO WRITE LIKE I USED TO NO WAY!!! Anyway, this is the second part of the story. I hope you'll enjoy the read!

Alpheratz

Alpheratz and Dahlia are not very close to each other. However, they can be described as good friends whenever they are seen together. Despite not knowing on what to say in order to create a conversation, Dahlia can bond with the sorcerer through the comfortable silence of napping.

Alpheratz is a good friend for Dahlia despite the awkwardness in almost every conversation. Dahlia is often amused of him, an example is his stubborn attitude towards Spica. When a small banter comes up between the two sorcerers, Dahlia finds herself laughing as if their argument was a source of entertainment. She knows they care for each other, so she views their arguments as something similar with siblings. There are moments when Dahlia would be annoyed at him with how he teases Pollux, but eventually, she just finds it funny. The human knows that the sorcerer is a genius, and she likes to ask him questions. To her surprise, Alpheratz did not mind her talking at all.

Although they do not talk much, Dahlia still trusts Alpheratz. There are a few times Dahlia approached him to vent something he can understand when nobody was available. It might look like Alpheratz was disinterested. But in truth, he was listening to her. Alpheratz gives her a piece of advice before suggesting Dahlia to nap beside him. She gladly accepts his invitation, finding peace in sleep under a sturdy tree.

Dahlia is highly aware that Alpheratz is not very active. She only spots him hiding around to nap in broad daylight. A part of Dahlia feels somewhat empathetic of Alpheratz. She was once known as a smart student in her school. But as time passed by, as Dahlia turned into a middle schooler, Dahlia grew more unmotivated to participate. She understands what Alpheratz is experiencing; she was just too intimidated to ask. Dahlia is fine with talking to Principal Schedar, by the way. It was rather funny in her point of view that Alpheratz was keeping her away from his own grandfather.

"Damn, what a day," Dahlia yawns out after the long classes she attended in Contell. Everything felt so bland as if the usual lively ambience of the academy disappeared in thin air. Maybe Dahlia needed a bit of rest. Yes, some rest would be helpful.

As she walks down the halls of Contell, Dahlia finds herself outside of the building, her feet bringing her to the yard full of plants and trees. The atmosphere was tranquil and carefree, the birds chirping and the wind gently blowing. Another yawn escapes Dahlia's lips. She definitely needs that rest.

"What are you doing here?" A voice asks behind the human, startling her.

"Eep!" Dahlia squeaks before turning around, only to realize it was Alpheratz. She smiles lazily at the sorcerer. "Oh hey, Alpheratz."

"Hey, Dahlia," he greets her back, letting out a long yawn afterwards. Alpheratz asks Dahlia again. "What are you doing here? Are you looking for someone?"

"No, no," the human shakes her head. "I'm just here for a nap. I'm looking for a good spot to sleep. The classes made me bored."

Alpheratz replies to her with a hum. He looked like he was thinking about something. After a minute, he gave Dahlia soft smile. "I got you. Come with me,"

Dahlia smiles in return, thanking Alpheratz before following him. There, they lay down together under a tree as exhaustion takes over their bodies, letting the two friends slumber.

Sirius

Oh. Oh no. Sirius, what have you done?

Ever since Sirius and Dahlia got along together in Contell, the human unfortunately inherited the sorcerer's personality, learning how to tease. But on the bright side, that was all. Sirius was harmless towards Dahlia, and the Guides were relieved.

In Dahlia's eyes, she admits that Sirius is hard to read, as well as untrusting. Despite that, she likes how he is easygoing and fun to be around. Whenever Dahlia needs some company, she lets Sirius take the lead. The human tries her best to be friendly despite knowing his nature.

Like said before, Dahlia only trusts Sirius partially. She is careful to avoid spilling too much information to him, though she still tries to be more open as well. Dahlia knows that Sirius is a shady person. Everybody warned her more than once to watch his traps. Sirius never says anything about his color changing eyes; how can she trust him when he cannot even tell them that? But Dahlia holds a kind heart, believing that every person needs some love. So she did just that, showing genuine kindness to Sirius.

Although it may seem out of character, Dahlia does enjoy drama in her environment. In fact, Dahlia likes chaos as she finds it hilarious. The sound of laughter and screaming back in Mid Eartheim with her siblings was almost nostalgic, and she would do anything to remind her of family. Sirius would invite her to theaters and plays, which Dahlia would watch with focus. The acting was amazing in her eyes, and after the theater, she thanks Sirius for the invitation which the sorcerer takes it with gratitude. If Dahlia is in the mood, she would sometimes act on stage with Sirius.

"Summoner," Sirius calls out Dahlia with a playful smirk, watching her by the door as the human reads a novel in an empty classroom. He crosses his arms, saying, "why are you here, all alone in this silence?"

"Because I like it," she replies to him with a nonchalant tone, her eyes never leaving the page. "I got used to this lifestyle."

The sorcerer chuckles at her bland response. He shakes his head before approaching her, standing behind as he leans in to read the words in the novel. In interest, his irises turn to purple. "Ah, a fantasy reader, I see?"

"This is none of your business!" Dahlia immediately closes the book, looking back at Sirius with a blush on her face. Even her dark brown eyes were wide in surprise. "And don't sneak up on the people like that!"

"Sneaking up?" His eyes change to blue before he smirks, turning his irises to green. "I'm just reading with you, Summoner. Is there something wrong with that?" His eyes flash purple again, now walking in front of Dahlia. "Or do you prefer to have your privacy?"

"Look," Dahlia sighs after standing up, pressing her fingers to the temple of her nose to stay calm. These headaches always come up whenever Sirius is around, but a smile was also on her lips. "Just don't spook me like that again, alright? If you're here, then you definitely have an intention."

"Haha! The Summoner truly knows me!" The sorcerer laughs in delight, his eyes now bright red. "Yes, I do have a reason. In fact, I want to bring you along to the Central District."

"Is that so?" Dahlia tilts her head, her eyes full of curiosity. She gives him a soft smile. "What plans do you have in mind?"

Sirius replies, eyes yellow as he explains. "I was thinking of buying a pack licorice candy with you. After that, we can go to a play that features Polaris,"

Dahlia furrows her eyebrows, remembering that certain theater play. "Wait, isn't that the one we watched a week ago?"

Dahlia's question makes Sirius chuckle, his eyes flashing to green. He says, "oh no, Summoner. This play does feature Polaris, yes, but they are not the main character. This time, it is one of the Great Sorcerers."

"Then it must be interesting!" She responds with awe, her eyes sparkling in excitement. "When is going to start? How do we get the tickets?"

"Excited now, are we?" Sirius asks, irises now yellow. "It's going to start in twilight. Whereas for the tickets, I already bought it for the both of us,"

"That's amazing, Sirius!" Dahlia giggles in joy. She nods her head excitedly as she tells him to wait. "I'll be ready in a moment! Let me just pack my things,"

Once Dahlia is ready, the sorcerer instructs the human to hook her arms with his, which Dahlia does just what he says. They walk together out of Contell and down the Central District. Like what Sirius planned, they bought some licorice candy (and to Dahlia's surprise, he bought a bar of milk chocolate for her which the human is thankful for the treat) and watched the theater together.

Vega

In the beginning, Vega and Dahlia were still very awkward with each other. The sorcerer was cold and untrusting towards her, and the human was obviously intimidated by his behavior. Yet as time passed by, Dahlia notices that Vega is somewhat protective of her, even being concerned for her safety. This gives Dahlia a lot of confusion.

But now that Dahlia discovered the truth of their lost friendship since childhood, she now understands Vega's attitude. She sobs as she begs the sorcerer to rekindle what was lost, and she gives him a tight embrace when Vega agrees. In the present, Dahlia and Vega are very close to each other, and the sorcerers in Contell can definitely see that. Similar with Arcturus', many tend to confuse their relationship, planting theories that Vega and Dahlia are dating. But again, nobody is actually sure.

Just like in the past, Dahlia views Vega as her best friend. If she loved him as a true friend in childhood, the human will still love him as adults. Since they try to repair their past friendship, Dahlia is more than joyous to spend time with the sorcerer. She would talk with him about their likes, she would tell him her stories in Mid Eartheim, and even tease Vega! (This is Sirius' fault, keep that in mind.) Dahlia loves to compare their complexions, described Vega's skin tone as milk and her own Filipino color as chocolate.

In the past, Dahlia partially trusts Vega, just like in Sirius' case. But in the present, she trusts him with all her heart. They were childhood best friends, as if she would lose trust in somebody she cares about. However, despite that trust, Dahlia does not often approach Vega whenever she feels conflicted. In fact, she only opens up to him when he asks. Dahlia herself is also uncertain why she cannot bring herself to do so. But whenever Vega is approaches her with worry, she breaks down her walls.

These two do any activity that Dahlia suggests. Vega will just follow along without hesitation, even noticably smiling. Even if it was something childish, the sorcerer will not mind. Both of them wanted to feel the innocence as the children they used to be, so any idea would do... except the ones that are risky, of course. Since Vega is a veteran at hand-to-hand combat and swordfighting, Dahlia often spars with him with her enchanted dagger, yet she pouts whenever she realizes Vega is going easy on her. Dahlia also likes to join Vega in the greenhouse, helping him tend the plants before getting some gelato as dessert for the hardwork.

"Dahlia, where are we going?" Vega asks the Mid Eartheim person, his blue eyes covered by a blindfold. The Mid Eartheim person was currently dragging him somewhere, smiling and giggling as they walk.

"You'll see it later!" Dahlia smiles enthusiastically at her best friend, letting out another laugh. Vega smiles as he hears that laugh; some things never change from childhood, huh?

After a few more steps, the rustling of grass can be heard under their feet. Vega's nostrils inhale something fresh and clean, a subtle and delicate scent. Where are they right now?

"We're here!" Dahlia cheers as she stops in her place, looking at the beautiful scenery in front of her. Once she knows it was the perfect spot, she removes the blindfold from Vega's eyes.

As soon as the fabric was off the sorcerer's eyes, its first response was to squint as they adjust to the bright light of the sun. It took Vega a few moments before his eyesight was now normal. And in front of him was a sight to behold.

It was a gorgeous field of small flowers, all of their petals in a blue hue. The flowers look very familiar for the sorcerer, however he cannot point out where or when he saw them before. In the middle of the field, there was a small clearing which was covered by a picnic blanket, on top was a basket with delicious baked treats. Vega swore he heard himself gasp by such a pleasant surprise.

"Tada~!" The human sings out with glee, her smile wide as she looks at the sorcerer. She asks him; "What do you think? Do you like it?"

"Summoner," Vega softly smiles at her in return, his pale cheeks turning light pink. "I love it..." He nods his head, looking around at the natural environment. It is very caring and of Dahlia to think of a surprise for them.

The human smiles as she walks to the picnic blanket, taking off her shoes before sitting down on it. She pats a vacant spot beside, inviting the sorcerer to sit there.

Vega nods at her once, understanding her gesture as he kicks off his boots to sit beside Dahlia. His hand holds hers gently, and Dahlia holds his in return. Now their fingers are intertwined together. "Shall we?"

The sorcerer nods at Dahlia, taking a freshly baked pumpkin bread from the basket. He replies, "yes, let us."

During their picnic, Dahlia and Vega talk to each other about the most random topics their minds can think about. From the lighthearted ones to the deepest conversations, they would tackle about it. Dahlia also revealed that the flowers around them were called "forget-me-nots", saying that it was a promise to never forget what they are today. Hearing this sweet oath, Vega lets out a belly laugh for the first time.

[mihai-florescu]

Do you agree with me that we should get rid of "death of the author" and that we should introduce "death of the audience" instead?

"Oooh but how will other people interpret this-" I don't know! I don't care! I wanna know what goes on inside the brain of the person who actually put their time and effort and soul into this. Not five million other people who Did Not Create the Thing.

(Sorry if this is weird but you feel like the most qualified person i know to have an opinion on this)

Disclaimer, im big on believing 2 things coexist at the same time about everything. My mood swings put me in black and white thinking often, but when i can think clearly from both perspectives im still a contrarian and have counter points for my counter points. Im gonna word vomit an answer, im not good at ordering my thoughts but i hope its fine still.

Oh brother i used to go on rants about this (authorial intent, media consumption, fandom culture etc) all of last semester and it's what ultimately led to me giving up on my degree and serious art altogether... i'll attach a few i found in my archive i think are relevant if youre curious beep meep meow. I was writing these posts at the same time as my thesis paper which was more hopeful and aiming to reframe what we consider escapism, but in the end by the finale (last assessment) the hatred won in my heart and i couldnt make a visual project with an audience in mind. I made something, but it was more like a rant with visuals and absolutely failed the "whats the future of this project?" question. Must it have a future for an audience? Its job was to be a confession and a respite, for my own expression. I dont want an audience, im too much of a misanthropic hater and possessive mother to let others see or interpret my ideas. I know it's selfish and counterproductive but i cant help it. You sending this ask made me laugh since it was so relevant to my struggles this year. Id love to break out of this cycle and mindset but i always go back here to these beliefs.

Anyway... i do think the sensible truth is somewhere in the middle. Reader's interpretation is essential for works to gain life in the world and to outlive their authors, and i revere stories for the ability to touch people's hearts and make them learn things about themselves as well as other's way of thinking (reading is a process of interpretation and contemplation afterall isnt it? Well, active reading at least. Citation to my written thesis). But im not a fan of fandom lens interpretations that so often flatten stories.

I think for our shared stories of interest authorial intent is particularly fun to think about. Commercial works made to sell gacha games but which do have heart and profound messages theyre trying to convey. But also made with an audience in mind. I havent been able to formulate any particularly riveting conclusions, but i would love to know if anyone has focused on such topics. Everything deserves analysis and attempts at understanding... and i find authorial intent an invaluable insight that can never be cast aside. Works gain lives of their own after theyre set free into the world, but they dont spawn fully formed from thin air ready for "consumption"...

Uuu im trying to decide if i should link to you a story about storytelling i wrote and illustrated in a day, and a video about humanity and the power of imagination as salvation and damnation... if i say "i'll share them, but only if you erase from your mind that i wrote them" it'd be hypocritical after everything i just spilled out. But too much knowledge about the author is scary too... not for the audience as much as the author himself. It's the audience who has the final laugh of judgement and interpretation... but it's scary to let others into your mind, to see things you spent time and energy on? I wish i could channel my death of the audience defiance into proudly sharing works without caring who sees them rather than deciding nothing is worth making anymore since im so mistrustful. Alas! Maybe one day i'll stop being a self absorbed, self sabotaging prey animal