#ill just start my prompts starting from now since i finally have time!!! ^_^

[dewritoz]

ERISOL WEEK DAY 1 :: MOON @erisolweek

i had better plans in mind guysies but this is literally so awesome

(i wwas gonna finish this more earlier but exams bleeehhh was tiring)

[hongism]

what lies beneath us. - c. san (m)

➼ genre; fluff, smut, slight angst for the first half but i make it better quickly promise ➼ pairing; san x afab!reader ➼ au; established relationship, college au ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 6.4k

one busy semester is all it took for you and san to find yourselves struggling to find footing in the storm that is your relationship, yet rather than let go, he asked for one more week, one more day, one last chance to help get you back to shore

part of the ...and it's snowing collab.

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➼ smut warnings; unprotected sex, oral: m, vaginal fingering, praise, body worship, service-top san, san has some slightly submissive tendencies, coming inside

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You normally wouldn’t find yourself in Wooyoung’s apartment on a Tuesday morning, sitting at the bar counter beside his roommate with two mugs of coffee sitting on the granite between you, but you also haven’t had any leisure time to waste lately. It’s a miracle that Wooyoung is even up before ten o’clock, though that might be in part due to you pleading desperately over the phone to come over.

“Oh, you make her coffee but not me? The fuck is up with that, Hwa?” Speak of the devil, Wooyoung comes into the kitchen still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“She’s a guest, you live here. And I had to wake you up because you slept through three alarms so my sympathy levels are close to zero right now.” Seonghwa flashes a faux shrug despite the heated glare he’s sent. Wooyoung lets out a huff but lets it go in favor of redirecting his attention to you.

“Right, well, what did you need to talk about so badly that it couldn’t wait until the afternoon?”

“San is coming over tonight, I couldn't do the afternoon,” you mumble.

“Is it about him then? Did something—” he waves a hand through the air like that’ll explain his thoughts, and when confusion shows on both your face and Seonghwa’s, he gives up “—did something happen between you guys?”

“It feels a bit awkward,” you admit over the rim of your coffee mug. Wooyoung scoffs at that, but Seonghwa is far more forgiving than your best friend in that he sends you a sympathetic grin. 

“Awkward?” he prompts, toying with his own drink. Wooyoung pushes away from the counter and turns to the coffee maker.

“I don't know. Yeah, awkward, a bit. I guess. Like we don't know what we're doing or how to be in a relationship anymore.”

The brutal semester you both just suffered has been the main factor in the wedge in your relationship. Weekends full of studying, ones that you spent together at the start of the semester when he would come to your place or vice versa so that you could be together even while working. Then, San started picking up more shifts at his part-time job, and you had to redirect your focus to a particularly important internship that required you to forgo those weekends in the blink of an eye. You did have two weekends free of school and work, but San had to rush home during one of those on account of his mother falling ill. The other one was shot by you falling ill with the worst cold you’ve known in all your years of living. San came by that Friday with your favorite chicken and beer, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk getting him sick when you knew how important the semester was to him too. It didn’t keep him from coming by again Saturday and Sunday both, soup was delivered to your front door along with voice messages wishing you well throughout the night. Even your text conversations were fizzling into oblivion by the time finals rolled around, which only served to amplify your feelings of dread. 

“Has he been acting differently?” Wooyoung tunes back into the conversation, this time more serious with his tone. “Like, he's pulling away or something?” Wooyoung stands on a different footing in this conversation and knows things Seonghwa doesn't in terms of your relationship with San. He's been there for you since well before you started dating San, and you're certain that he'll be there for you if it were to end tomorrow, the next day, or years down the line. 

“It's gonna sound so childish and stupid but he hasn't been calling me nicknames since the semester ended.” You tuck your hands into your lap and shrink into yourself a little, feeling the hot burn of shame well up inside.

“That's not stupid at all, y/n,” Seonghwa reassures barely a second after you finish your train of thought. “That's not.”

“He's right. That's totally unlike San.”

“Not! Helping!”

“I'm just being honest?!”

“Look, y/n, I don't want you to start having doom thoughts or thinking the worst — that doesn't mean his feelings for you have changed.” You’re starting to think that you should’ve asked Seonghwa for advice from the start instead of Wooyoung. “Maybe he's feeling that awkwardness you are too, or maybe he's feeling insecure. The only way to know is to ask. Have an open and honest conversation about it.”

“But…” You glance past Seonghwa to look at Wooyoung's back. Without even needing to look back, he seems to feel the weight of your stare.

“You're scared that if you bring it up, the worst will happen and y'all will break up.”

“We've been dating for so long that I don't know what I would do if that happened. I don't know how to be single, no offense to either of you, but it's just that we've been together for so long now. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if it ended.”

“If…” Wooyoung bites his words back as though he's unsure of how they will come out. “I don't want this to sound harsh, but if all it takes for him to lose his feelings for you is one busy semester, then that's not someone I would want you to have a future with. I know it's not up to me and it's not my business, but I want you to value yourself more than you value your relationship with San.”

“I truly don't think he's lost his feelings for you, y/n,” Seonghwa cuts in again, hand darting out across the counter in your direction. “Woo is right; you should value yourself more than the relationship you're in, but that doesn't mean you can only have one of those things. They can coexist.”

“What if I’m fighting for something he doesn’t want any longer?” you inquire softly and under your breath.

“The spark isn’t gone, y/n, I’m certain of that much. Maybe you just… need to find a way to reignite it!” The coffee maker dings loudly behind Wooyoung. And like it’s turning on a lightbulb in Wooyoung’s head, his expression turns suddenly bright. “Why not do just that? It’s been half a decade, to be fair, so really you can’t be blamed if things feel a little stale. If you went and did things that made you fall for each other in the first place, wouldn’t that help a bit?”

“I hate to say it…”

“You always say that when I’m right!”

“Ignoring him, that does sound like a good plan, y/n.”

Despite the reassurance from both your best friend and someone you consider to be far more mature and wiser, it doesn’t fully quell the concerns settling in your gut.

It’s only been six days since you last saw San, though you would argue that it feels a lot more like six months given how absent you both have been from each other’s lives of late. While that isn’t particularly your fault or his wholly — it’s definitely a joint effort that’s kept you apart — it does make your skin itch with anxiety every time you think about seeing him again.

It’s all culminated into this moment right now, where you sit on the edge of your couch waiting for the doorbell to ring and announce his arrival. You want to see him, desperately so, you’ve missed him so incredibly much that you can hardly stand it. And yet — you’re rooted to the cushions riddled by anxieties. You tried to rid yourself of the lingering stress after leaving Wooyoung’s apartment by doing chores properly for the first time in months, going so far as to run to the grocery and restock some necessities as well. You hate to be the type of partner who cannot do anything alone without associating it with your partner, but San was on your mind throughout the day.

Will he feel the same as you even though the flame keeping your relationship alive has been inching closer and closer to nothingness? The two of you don’t fight, in fact, your friends like to say that things go a little too smoothly between you two, and while that’s true, they aren’t aware of what it looks like when you and San aren’t getting along. It looks the way this semester has, slow conversations that lead nowhere and less time spent in each other’s presence. You aren’t fighting right now, but you certainly aren’t all sunshine and rainbows. The weather mirrors your emotions — dim greys shrouded by white flurries of snow that have been falling since early afternoon.

You clench your fingers around the seam of the couch cushion. No part of you wants to play the part of the overbearing partner: if you’re too eager to see him, wouldn’t he find it off-putting? 

The doorbell rings.

It takes a moment for you to brace yourself for impact, standing and walking over to the door as slowly as you can manage without it seeming like a deliberate delay. The second you open the door, however, your worries melt away for a moment. 

San smiles so brightly like you’ve not gone a second without reveling in each other’s presence. The weather is clinging to his coat still even though he had to climb three flights of stairs to reach your door. The little snowflakes are beginning to melt into the fabric.

“May I come in?” The facade cracks a bit. It’s not like him to ask such things, but you choose not to hold it against him now.

“Yeah, yeah, I finally had time to clean the other day so everything’s — nice.” 

If your smile is strained, he says nothing about it, stepping over the threshold and into your apartment like it’s the first time he’s ever done so. He’s polite all the time, but now it makes those seeds of doubt sprout further because you’ve been together for five years now, what reason does he have to act like a stranger in your home? A home he’s been in time and time again, one he’s slept in, fucked you— 

“Do you want ramen or pizza?” You force the thoughts to come to a halt before your expression turns bitter.

“Let’s do ramen, I’ll cut up the vegetables for you.”

There’s an elephant in the room that it seems neither of you wants to address, and so you keep your mouth shut just the same as San with the thought of “maybe this awkwardness will pass after tonight”. You watch him remove his coat and hang it up on the door while still picking at your nails. He extends a hand to you, one you take eagerly, and you lace your fingers through the gaps between his. A bit like a well-oiled machine, you think, something that Wooyoung had noted about the two of you as far back as freshman year of college. San presses his lips to the top of your head. You lean into the touch ever so slightly. 

You share in a quiet synergy that carries you through the motions of preparing food, with no conversation exchanged aside from a “watch for the knife” and “careful, behind you” on occasion. You’re still trying to psyche yourself up to bring up what’s truly on your mind, so you aren’t sure that you’d be able to get any conversation out without it spiraling into insanity right off the bat. For the moment, for now, you want to simply drink in San’s presence. 

He hums as he opens a cabinet in search of bowls, but they aren’t there. 

“Oh, I—I moved the bowls to the other side.” Three months ago, your mind adds. It would do nothing but add salt to a blossoming wound. San stops dead in his tracks too. He seems to suffer the same crisis that you do right then. After a few seconds of mental buffering, he resumes his humming and shifts to the adjacent cabinet like the moment didn’t happen at all. 

You sit beside each other at the bar counter, atop the uncomfortable stools you’ve had for well over two years now, but it offers a weird comfort because it’s familiar, it’s something San knows, it’s something you share and have shared for years. 

“Thanks for the meal,” San says, still wearing a bitten-back smile. 

“Of course. Thank you for helping.” But the detrimental reality of not speaking to someone properly for a long while is that part of you forgets how to make conversation with them. There is nothing for you and San to “catch up on” seeing as you’ve been keeping each other updated on your lives through dry text conversations. “Um…” He’s eyeing you carefully now, and you could pass off the watering in your eyes as the spice of the food, but he would call your bluff in an instant. The funny thing about doubt is that once it’s taken root, it’ll keep growing back no matter how many times you chop at the stem.

“What’s wrong, y/n?”

“It’s just — I don’t — are we breaking up?”

San freezes halfway over his ramen, chopsticks nearly falling from his fingers as he rushes to put his noodles back down. Your shoulders start shaking before you can stop it. He doesn’t stop you from turning away from him, but San has always been endlessly patient and gentle with you so you don’t expect him to ask you to look at him anyway. He does rest a hand atop your forearm though, and his thumb drags small, comforting circles over your skin. 

“Talk to me, y/n, what do you mean by that? Why would we be breaking up?” The words themselves sound calm. There’s a slight quiver to his tone, however, that makes you want to crawl inside yourself and disappear. “A-Are you wanting that?” Your continued lack of response makes San more urgent than ever, and he shifts his hand to your leg, spinning you to face him. You can’t be certain of the expression on your face (though you’d wager there is some degree of hurt); whatever San sees makes him let out a distressed noise from the back of his throat. “Come here, duck, talk to me.”

Standing on somewhat shaky legs, you push yourself closer to San, and he instinctually moves his knees apart to let you tuck yourself into the space there.

“Don’t cry, baby, I’m here, you can talk to me,” he murmurs, hands cupping your face in his hands. You reach down to cling to his shirt like it’s a lifeline. 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that in weeks. This is the first time we’ve spent time together in six days. We’ve barely spoken or spent time together all semester, and I know why — I know we agreed that school and work have to come first. I know that.” Your voice drops to a whisper as you lose the confidence to speak. “I didn’t think it would mean losing you though.”

“You haven’t lost me, y/n. I’m still here, with you, loving you just as much as ever.” San smiles a little as you push your cheek further into his palm. “My feelings have not changed. I thought about you every day, wondered how you were doing, and if you responded to my texts late, I hoped you were eating well and getting enough rest. I listened to your voice memos rooting for me every night. Your face was always the first thing I saw in the morning because I still keep that slideshow of you as my lockscreen.” Reaching around to the back of your neck, he gives you a little tug, and your foreheads bump together. “The thought of you helped get me through the semester because I knew that it was you who was waiting for me at the end of the tunnel.”

“Sannie…”

“How long have you been worried over this, baby? You should’ve come to me the moment you started having doubts. I wouldn’t have let this go on if I had known.”

“I thought I felt you pulling away so I was scared to bring it up. You weren’t calling me nicknames anymore, and I started reading into it too much and freaked myself out.”

“I’m so sorry, y/n. Don’t put the blame on yourself, it’s not a crime to have anxieties. I didn’t even realize I stopped using them. I suppose I just got swept up in my own feelings and wanted to call you by your name as much as possible.” He nudges you with his head again. “Because I missed you so dearly.” Your lips turn up at the corners, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. “And because I adore you so so much, my y/n.”

“Stop that.” You hope he doesn’t, truly.

“But I’m so mushy and full of love for you, y/n.”

“You’re gonna make me blush.”

“Oh, I can think of other ways to do that, baby.” San stands, subsequently pushing his body into yours, but your hands are still on each other, his moving down to caress the back of your thigh before he hooks his fingers around the bend of your knee and hoists your leg up over his hip. “I haven’t been good to you, my sweet,” he murmurs close to your lips. “What kind of boyfriend am I if I let you feel unwanted?” Your heart skips a beat as he grips tight at your other leg, then you’re suddenly weightless for a second as he hoists you up to his waist.

“We just ate—”

“I don’t plan on letting that stop me.” You let out a gasp as San traces the line of your jaw with his lips, hot breath spilling across your skin as he carries you from the kitchen. “Unless you want it to?” This damned man knows what he’s doing, he knows the hold he has over you — your brain is already turning into a foggy mess of want, and even the prospect of waiting two minutes for him to lay his hands on you is too much to bear. Your nails drag across his shoulders, tugging at the thin material. He misses the doorknob to your bedroom thanks to your antics, sending you against the wood a little harshly and forcing the air out of your lungs. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Still on the pill.”

“Hm?” he echoes, managing to turn it right on the second try and popping it open properly.

“I’m still on the pill,” you repeat. San freezes in place to stare at your face. You bring a hand around to toy at his parted lips with your thumb. “So you can fuck me raw.”

San becomes so dumbstruck that his jaw moves up and down over and over without any semblance of noise coming out.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a horny teenager,” he says under his breath. You drop your head back and laugh. San’s hold on you feels so blissfully warm. You didn’t even have time for this during the semester, sometimes thanks to your workloads but more often thanks to sheer exhaustion. A few solo jaunts before bed are hardly enough to please you the way San does. Based on how tightly he’s gripping your ass, he seems to feel exactly the same.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He manages to get you both to the bed without further incident, laying you down on the mattress with a sort of reverence that makes your chest swell with emotion. Even through the barrier of clothing, his fingers are hot and sear a path from your hips up your waist then right back down again as San wastes no time in stripping you of your pants. 

“I missed you so fucking much it’s insane.” You want to respond, but the sight of your lover dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed stops you in your tracks. All you can do is lie there and watch him tug your pants off, lips moving to kiss each bit of exposed skin along the way. Goosebumps rise across your body when he kisses his way up higher. His broad frame cages you in the closer he gets to your face, and despite his hands being on the somewhat small side, they feel all-encompassing when they’re sneaking under your shirt and exploring the skin beneath.

“I missed you more,” you murmur, catching his chin between your fingers and angling his face upwards so you can properly look at him. “I love you so so much, San. More than I can put into words.”

“Yeah?” You make no effort to pull him higher although he moves as though you do and climbs all the way up to be right over your face. He hums before dipping down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “I think I’ve missed you more still though—” another kiss, this time to the opposite side of your mouth “—but you’re welcome to challenge me on that.”

“San,” you whine. He pulls back and sits back on his knees. Your brain goes totally blank watching him take his shirt off. It’s something you’ve seen time and time again, truly nothing new or foreign to you, but something about it now makes your gut twist in on itself. He’s lost a bit of the muscle you’ve grown accustomed to seeing on him, now softer around the edges, at the waist and across his stomach. It doesn’t curb your desire for him in the slightest; if anything it makes you want him more, to cling to him tighter and feel him firmer against you.

He throws the shirt down to the floor and drags a hand through his dark hair. His legs are splayed around yours, putting the prominent bulge in his pants on full display before you.

“I want you to use me, y/n.” He grabs your hand from where it’s resting against the bed and brings it to his chest. You dig your nail into his flesh like it’s second nature to do so. “Tonight, for your pleasure.” His eyes trail after your every moment, watching as you sit up and pull your legs out from under him. You graze the underside of his dick ever so slightly yet it’s still enough to make his lashes flutter. 

“Then…” San is like putty in your hands, conforming to every move you make while still maintaining that unbreaking eye contact. He turns with you, and you climb off the bed to stand despite feeling seconds away from toppling over. All it takes is the slightest push against his chest for him to lie flat on his back. “Will you be good for me?” 

His response comes in the form of a bitten-back whine thanks to you cupping the bulge of his cock as you withdraw your hand. It’s intoxicating to strip him of his jeans and feel every inch of his pretty tapered waist. You urge him to move further up on the bed, making room for you between his legs once you’ve tossed his pants down beside yours on the floor. The tip of his cock peeks out the top of his underwear, already stiff and leaking precum onto the elastic band. Saucy nudes here and there don’t do him nearly enough justice, you think. You tease just the bit of him that's exposed with your tongue, licking at the sensitive and swollen head, and he twitches beneath the fabric. Humming to yourself, you inch his underwear down just far enough to put his whole member on display, along with his balls, but you don’t go any further than that. It’s enough for you to get your mouth around him, after all, and that’s exactly what you do without giving San any time to brace himself for the touch.

He lets out a desperate moan the moment your wet heat envelopes his length, fingers curling into his palms around the comforter. His hips twitch with the desire to thrust upwards, but he keeps himself firmly planted on the bed, fulfilling his end of the bargain for you and being so delightfully good. The weight of him on your tongue isn’t nearly enough; you want him buried deep inside you as soon as possible, and you’d go on and do it now if you didn’t think it would hurt like a bitch given how long it’s been since you’ve taken him. San isn’t distracted enough to miss the way you retract a hand to touch yourself, and he fights to speak through broken moans.

“I w-wanna touch you, pretty.” You lift yourself off his cock until just the tip sits on your lower lip.

“I’ll let you later when I ask you to fold me in half and fuck me into the mattress.” You sink two fingers into your hole, taking San back into your mouth to revel in that full feeling again. You’re just as needy as he is, in reality, because your walls are already coated with arousal and it pools around the base of your fingers in such a way that it makes your cheeks flush. San’s noises aren’t helping in the slightest — for as quiet as he is in day-to-day life, he is ever so vocal when it comes to sex, especially when his cock is buried in your mouth. He’s just long enough to push right into the back of your throat, making it far easier for you to take him fully. 

“Your mouth feels so — fuck, fucking good, baby.” If you weren’t preoccupied, you would love to return his words with your own, so you settle for tugging at his balls a little. It earns you a delightful little yelp, and his hips buck up to drive his dick further into your throat than expected. “Hngh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I want—” you don’t finish your train of thought, too rushed to bother with it as you scramble to rid yourself of your underwear. San greets you with his hands when you climb back onto the bed and grabs hold of your waist. He tugs and pulls at your shirt until it’s gone too, leaving you with nothing more than your plain black bra. However, even that San seems to find issue with, because he toys with the clasp until it comes loose and throws that aside too.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, settling back against the mattress. He’s always told you this is his favorite position, to see you straddling his hips and bouncing on his cock, though he favors missionary quite a bit as well because it lets him see your body and face while he’s fucking you (despite how much he loves your ass). His cock is trapped between your pussy and his stomach now, hard and throbbing for the same kind of stimulation you so desperately crave. You drag your folds along his length a few times just to tease San, but he grips your hip in warning. In hindsight, you should have let him finger you open more before because the stretch is far more than you remember — not enough to hurt, but enough for you to really feel every inch of him entering your body. It makes you writhe atop him, your spine arches, and you drop your head back. San holds you like you're a precious gem, thick arms circling around your waist as you rest your hands on his chest. The position gives you some much-needed stability, but San's fingers have begun to get severely distracting. He rolls his thumbs into your skin, pausing only to squeeze and pinch at the more sensitive parts of your sides. 

“I’m gonna start moving,” you whisper like being too loud will break some sort of seal. San nods and unwraps his arms enough to simply hold your hips. Despite the decrease in definition of his muscles, his strength doesn’t seem to have gone anywhere, because he lifts you with such ease that it’s a bit dizzying. Still, he lets the control rest in your hands. You sink down slowly on his cock, letting your walls get used to the drag, before doing the same motion two, three more times. The first whimper to fall from your lips is what snaps your resolve. San’s hold on you remains firm but only to ease the strain on your thighs as you begin to pick up your pace. 

“Beautiful, beautiful, you’re so beautiful, my sweet.” San rolls his hips up in time with your movements, driving his cock up into your cunt as you drop yourself onto him, and it reaches so deep inside you that you see stars behind your eyelids. “Missed you so much, missed this, seeing your body through photos wasn’t enough — fuck, it wasn’t enough.”

“How many, ah, times did you come to those photos, hm?” You crack one eye open to watch San’s face. He’s already flushed with want, but the red in his cheeks deepens more upon hearing your question. You lean your weight further into your hands. “I fingered myself so many times thinking of you, Sannie. B-But, hngh, it wasn’t good enough. Not as good as your cock. Nothing… n-nothing feels as good!”

San thrusts up with more vigor now, all but taking over for you to go slack above him as he drives your hips down with his hands and pushes his length into you from the opposite direction. Then, suddenly, his movements falter and stutter to a halt, and he looks just as shocked as you are when his cock twitches against your walls. A blooming of warmth fills you right after, along with the realization that San has just come inside you without warning.

“I-I’m sorry, I — I didn’t mean to, ah, I thought I would last longer.” He slings an arm up over his eyes, and the red in his face deepens in hue. “I’m sorry, I should’ve let you come first.” You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Leaning down over him, you peel his arm away from his face so that you can see his shamed expression better.

“Your dick is far from the only thing that can make me come, babe. Right?” 

He nods a few times, but there’s still a pout on his lips. You kiss it away. 

“Then—” you detach yourself from his body, bringing about an unwelcome emptiness as his spent cock slips out of you, and roll onto your back beside him. He watches with rapt attention as you spread your legs and open your pussy to him. “Why don’t you?”

San moves with surprising haste for a man who has just come, rolling into the space between your legs, and while you expected him to just use his fingers to get you off, he hooks his hands around your thighs and shoves his face into your used cunt instead. It yanks a startled moan out of you, and it’s only amplified when he closes his lips around your clit. He’s lucky you don’t give him a concussion with how quickly you slam your thighs around his head. You don’t notice that he’s moved a hand until fingers are prodding at your leaking entrance and urging the come he just pumped into you back into your hole.

“O-Oh, San.” 

Normally, he takes his sweet time eating you out, bringing you to the precipice of orgasm before sending you right back down time and time again without release. Though, either out of lingering shame at coming early or simply out of a desire to make you unravel, San laps at your clit so eagerly that it sends shudders through you. You can feel your blood rushing lower as he urges you to come, walls clenching around his fingers. It only takes another second more for the first wave to hit you, and it makes you scramble to grab hold of San’s hair as he keeps curling his fingers over your sweet spot. He does so throughout each wave of your orgasm until tears burn the corners of your eyes and you’re all but pleading for him to grant you some mercy.

“You — you had nothing to prove, you know,” you say between desperate attempts to catch your breath. San giggles and looks up at you from his lewd position. “Ugh!” You shove his head away from you half-heartedly just to spare yourself more embarrassment.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, duck!”

You only go as far as the pillows, turning back to him immediately and opening your arms to welcome him into them. 

“I came too early, of course I had something to prove,” he adds once he’s snugly placed against your chest. You slot together like two pieces of a puzzle, his head under your chin and your breath stirring the messy strands of hair in your path. “I’ve fallen out of practice. When was the last time I did that? It’s embarrassing…”

You can’t contain your laughter.

“You always come a little early when I ride you.”

“That’s not fair!”

All you can do to soothe him is pat his head. You feel a tad sticky and gross all over, but San’s warmth more than makes up for it, and if you’re not careful, you’re certain you’ll fall asleep within minutes. A small sniffle coming from the man atop you chases thoughts of rest away in the blink of an eye though.

“San?”

“’m okay, promise.”

“You’re crying, baby, that’s not ”okay“.”

“I just,” he inhales and licks over his lips, skating across your sternum in the process. “I wasn’t sure I was gonna stay afloat without you.” You comb your fingers through his hair.

“Tell me when you need me and I’ll be there. Always.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt your schedule and get in the way.”

“You have to trust that I’ll take care of myself and my responsibilities even if I help you too. You always tell me that when I worry over the same things. It goes both ways, San, okay?”

“Okay.” He nods against you. “Okay, I’ll try to remember that. As long as you don’t lock yourself away when things get tough. Rely on me if you need strength. And talk to me when something is on your mind.”

“Alright, we have an agreement.” Out of nowhere, you remember Wooyoung’s suggestion from this morning. Picking at a stray piece of San’s hair, you mull over your thoughts some more. You could let things settle as they are now since things seem to be back to a pleasant state of balance. But even so, would it do any harm to try anyway? “I’d like to go on a first date again. With you. I want us to go on a first date again.”

“Hm?”

“Like… I want us to go out like it’s the first time all over again. And feel that excitement and giddiness we had back then. We don’t have to, it’s just a thought. I don’t know. Maybe it’d be a good thing after this semester.”

Silence overtakes the room. San’s breathing is so steady that you think he’s fallen asleep, but the second you try to shift and see his face, he tilts his head up and looks into your eyes.

“Alright. Let’s go on a first date again.”

…

“I figured we’d go to that little Thai place by the grocery before heading over to the Christmas light show?”

“Oh!” Your thoughts rearrange themselves around his words. “That sounds really nice, yeah.”

“The guys wanna meet up at Wooyoung’s after for chicken and beer, but I told them I’d leave the decision up to you.” He tilts his chin a bit to the side as he speaks, lips quirked up at the corners, and you find yourself so incredibly fond of him all over again.

“Let’s see how we feel after walking around.”

You offer to drive tonight, but he denies you quickly, whining about how he filled his tank full of gas just for tonight so you don’t push the matter any further than that (though, you still tease him a bit once he opens the passenger door for you). When he turns the car on, music starts blasting through the speakers, a song you recognize well, and the dash shows that he’s been listening to the playlist you made for him at the start of the last school year. 

“Sorry, forgot the volume was up so high.” He scrambles to twist the dial down, but you stop him with your hand, gripping his wrist lightly and giving a firm shake of your head.

“I didn’t realize you still listened to it. Normally you just have the radio going.”

“Ah, well,” San’s cheeks are a bit flush under the low lights of the car, “I suppose I’ve been feeling a bit sentimental these days.” His next move is a bit hesitant; he reaches across the console and lays his hand atop your thigh. You reassure him by putting your hand over his, fingers curling around his once again. It feels normal and familiar, though you can’t count on two hands the last time you’ve done something as menial as holding hands with San. 

“San?” He makes a noise of acknowledgment while watching the road. “I’ve missed you.” His nails dig into your flesh a little, and the pressure makes your heart clench in your chest.

“I’ve missed you more.” You can only see his side profile, but it’s enough for you to catch the upturn of his lips. 

“I’ve missed you most then.” The statement slips out through a pout. 

“And I love you more than the moon loves the ocean.”

The weight of his hand is comfort enough for you to be at ease for the rest of the drive.

────────────

please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

[deepfivetraveller]

King Baldwin x Time!Traveler!reader

chapter 1

Chapter 2 here

Okay I’m a little new to writing romance so please take it easy on me. Btw I’ll try to keep y/n as neutral as possible but since this is set in the ancient era and religion is very important, y/n shall be hinted as being Hindu since that’s the only one that seems neutral in this situation.

“Alright that's all for the lesson. And since its complete I expect all of you to be thorough with ‘Life of King Baldwin iv’ during this weekend since there will be a test on this very topic next wednesday. Have a great weekend by the way.” The professor stands up and closes his laptop and all the other students start packing up.

“He had a pretty hard life didn’t he?” One of your friends chimes in. You look at her unsurprised. “You mean king Baldwins?”

“Duh! Poor man suffered an incurable disease almost his entire life! Imagine having skin infested in bacteria, euggh!” She recoils in disgust. “Imagine the cure to that disease being bacteria itself! Pretty sure Leprosy can be cured using multi antibiotic therapy.” Another friend joins in the conversation. You finished packing up your bag so you get up. “But no matter what, you gotta respect him. He never used his illness as an excuse to be a bad king.”

“That’s true….” Your first friend agrees. “He’s tough. When I catch a normal cold I give up all of my responsibilities since I’m sick. Wonder how hard it must have been for him.” All of you exit the classroom. A few minutes go by and topics have changed. A fun conversation lasted for a while before it was time to go, so you three parted ways.

As you entered your home your first thought was to take a cold shower after a long, hot and sweaty day. While eagerly hopping into the shower you get reminded of the conversation you had with your friends a while ago. What did king Baldwin even look like? There were no images in your textbook. Curiosity got the best of you, making you draw back the shower curtains to leave. You wrapped a towel and went towards the table where you kept your mobile, typed a quick ‘King Baldwin the 4th images’ and hit enter. Two images popped up. One being an actual painting from the 12th century while the other being an image reconstructed by scientists which looked…realistic to say the least.

His face in the second photo was majestic. His mouth and nose were almost non-existent, having only two triangular shaped holes instead of a nose. His skin was dry, withered and stretched while having the hue of a dry leaf during autumn. Even though he was severely disfigured his eyes were pure and bright, having a child like innocence towards them. King Baldwin was…Quite handsome.

Okay that’s enough now snap out of it! It’s probably just some AI prompt message image anyway. If anyone found out you found him handsome they’d call you crazy. Plus now is not the time to fangirl over a dead king, now's the time to study. In an attempt to distract yourself you pick up your books to do work. Hours painfully go by as you study but finally, finally it was bedtime. You could care less about eating dinner or even taking a shower, you plop yourself onto your bed and wrap the soft blanket around your body. Thoughts about King Baldwin strike your mind again. Seriously, what's wrong with you?! Why is this man plaguing your thoughts all day?

A sigh escaped your mouth from irritation. If only it was possible to console him for his losses or better yet, cure him entirely. The world would have been a better place if he had the lifespan of a normal man.

But there is no point thinking about this, time to go to bed now. As you try to go to sleep your body keeps doing the fake fall thing, annoying you to the core. And finally when your bodys heartbeat was steady and your breathing was quiet, your body did that fake fall thing again but this time it was actually a real fall.

Eyes widen as you try to grab onto the air to prevent your fall but of course, you fail. Adrenaline rushes through your veins for that split second before you finally make an impact on the cobblestone path?

Owch! That fall really hurt, especially at the back of your shoulders! You hope it’s not bruised there. But after that reality check, you look around only to find yourself in some village?

You can see a few small huts and buildings beyond the grassy field. Where are you? How are you here? Why are you here? Too confused and dazed from the fall, you try to look around for people for help. That is until a holographic screen with text pops up.

Congratulations Ms. Y/n. Your wish to cure King Baldwin has been approved by the ₦ł₥฿Ʉ₴฿₳Ʉ₦Ʉ₴. You are now at Jerusalem, Year: 1181.

“What?”

Yes it’s true Ms.Y/n, you really are in the 12th century.

Your blood is now boiling in anger. “Just because….Someone wishes pity over a dead king DOES NOT ACTUALLY MEAN THEY WANT TO CURE HIM!” You try to grab onto the screen to shake it vigorously but your hands go right thru.

Now now, let’s calm down and try to get over with this together I’m sure we’ll find a solution.

“Calm down…CALM DOWN?!?!?!? I’m in the middle of nowhere in Jerusalem during the 12th century and you want me to CALM DOWN???? I don’t even know French and not to mention I’M NOT CHRISTIAN!” You were screaming with your hand in the air. Pretty sure you woke someone up.

Y-Yes but that’s why I’m here. Don’t worry about communication, the language module for french had been uploaded into your brain while you fell here.

The screen flickers a little, maybe due to fear.

Uploaded knowledge? “But I’m a woman from the 21st century! I can’t live here! I’m wayy to accustomed to the privileges of my time!”

That’s one of my perks miss! By using currency of this time you may purchase products of your time thru me! The screen changes to an online store. For now you have access to basic necessities like food and clothes. As you complete missions you shall unlock other parts of the online market! The screens display brightness increases due to enthusiasm, convinced it has impressed you.

You however look at it in exasperated shock. “How is this even possible?” You say with dread in your voice. “Who sent me here?” You ask, no, demand.

Like I said You’ve been sent here by ₦ł₥฿Ʉ₴฿₳Ʉ₦Ʉ₴. I’m pretty sure you can’t read that since mortals don’t have the capacity to….

Mortals? Is this the play of some higher being? God even? Too many questions float through your head, making you visibly tired. You can feel the bottom of the skin beneath your eyes folding, an indicator you’re developing dark circles.

Ah. It looks like you’re tired. It’s night anyway. You should sleep.

“But where do I-”

“Excuse me madam.” You turn around to see a man standing behind you. “I’ve noticed you’ve been talking to yourself.”

So he can’t see the screen. From his ragged outfit he seems to be a commoner. He also genuinely seems worried so you guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask for help.

“Yes, sorry for that.” You say embarrassingly while you get up. “You see I’m from the family of wandering traders, here to sell spices from my land. I was talking to myself since I was quite irritated at how I didn’t have an inn for the night.” The explanation seems responsible enough I guess.

“But I don’t see any goods with you… And how did a young lady such as yourself travel alone? Where is your husband?”

Crap. He’s doubting you. You need to give him a reasonable explanation fast or he’ll call you a witch or something.

“Oh no sir you’re mistaken! My father is the one who has the spices, it’s his business after all. We had to split ways during travel due to inconveniences, I’m merely here to help him!” You put on your best smile to convince him.

“O-Oh I’m sorry madame! H-Here let me lead you, I know an Inn nearby.” Good. Looks like he believes you. But now it’s your turn.

“I’m sorry sir but how can I trust you?” You step back a little. “What if you take advantage of me? How shall I testify my innocence? The locals would definitely believe you over me.”

“No no please don’t! I’m a married man. My wife’s right there.” he points at the lady standing just outside the house, looking worried. You look at her and she nods her head in reassurance. “You seem like a noble from your land madame judging from your colorful dress, why don’t the both of us show you where the inn is?”

Hmm….Guess colorful clothing is rare here. And he really does seem like he wants to help.

“Very well then. Both of you show me they way.” The man eagerly tells his wife the incident and both of them show you around. The screen follows you, showing you a winking emoticon.

Congrats Ms. Y/n! You have officially begun your first mission!

[luneariaa]

✧ faciens certus.

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : { ps5 } harry osborn x reader.

✰ 𝐰. 𝐜. : 1k+

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : harry stays over your place for the night, and tries his best to convince you that he's alright.

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : just pure fluff bc he deserves the world <33

. dividers by @/saradika-graphics !! 🏹

"Just your luck."

You simply said at the auburn-haired male, who just arrived at your place. He settled himself comfortably by the couch of your home, as it started to rain quite heavily outside, hitting every part of the window that's present.

"Gotta admit that I missed the rain. It's been heating up so badly lately." You handed him the glass of hot chocolate with a small smile.

Harry thanked you while grabbing the drink that you gave him, keeping his eyes on you even after he does so.

"Yeah, it feels nice, doesn't it? I mean, the rain makes it colder than usual, but still nice in its' own way."

You nodded a bit as you returned his occasional brief gazes, before shifting your eyes at the TV, which has lost its' signal due to the harsh weather outside, which prompted you to switch it off for now.

Harry gradually puts the glass of his now finished drink down on the table nearby, before letting his eyes stayed upon your standing figure. "Mind if I stay over for the night?"

"You're always welcome to stay here, Har."

An appreciative smile is plastered across his handsome face, deciding to walk toward your direction after bringing a chair along with him, placing it just next to yours. All while his gaze never once averted elsewhere.

"Mhm, you kept staring at me for the past few minutes."

"Got something in your mind?"

The auburn-haired male elicited a chuckle, now managing to fully catch your attention.

"Honestly?"

"I was just thinking, like, you know-- those old times where we used to spend our time with each other here, watching movies till the early hours of dawn.."

By this point, his eyes are shifted elsewhere as he continued further. "My illness, my dad sort of.. kept me away from meeting you before. Surely, there are valid reasons, but still.."

"It's just nice being able to see you again like this with no one else around."

"Ah, I get that." You leaned your back against the chair you're sitting on comfortably. "I missed you for that too."

"But.."

"Nothing's gonna happen to you after this, right..?" You don't know what has driven you to ask such a question since he is, well, already there looking all healthy and fine. You couldn't help yourself-- the deep fear of potentially losing him in any time scares you so much.

His smile gradually falters upon hearing your words; simply because he wasn't expecting that type of response from you-- not in a bad way though.

"You don't have to worry about me. Nothing's going to happen anytime soon. I've taken care of everything."

Harry tried his best to reassure you, yet deep down, he hated himself for a bit due to how much he worried you.

Maintaining his cheery demeanor, he forces himself to bury the feelings of guilt deep within him, knowing quite well that you have every right to feel this concerned over his wellbeing.

He doesn't want to be a liar, but he had to, for your sake. He cared about you too much to see you in this state.

Harry just.. wanted to be normal again, and he missed how things were between you two.

"Nothing's gonna stop that now, right?"

You eventually nodded it off, processing his words within your mind. "Yeah, you got a point."

"I'm sorry, I just.."

Any other thoughts are being shut out for now, his focus-- full of pure tenderness, is now completely on you.

"Hey, you don't have to apologize."

"Just please.. Don't worry about it anymore, okay? It makes me all sad seeing you this way about me. I appreciate you for that, always."

You eventually nodded, albeit wordlessly; not knowing what to say as a reply. Sensing the sudden slight of change, Harry finally decided to stand in front of you-- placing a finger gently beneath your chin.

"I'm fine, see?" He then grabs ahold of one of your hands while squeezing it lightly, which made you stand with him as well. The shared gazes lasted longer than necessary, but none of you cared much.

Just by the way your eyes looked up into his own; it's enough to make his heart race and melt at the same time. Dare he say-- you're so precious to him. He would shamelessly show it through his actions, even after all these years.

Even words couldn't be described with the way you gazed at him like that-- it's too much, yet never enough.

Slowly, and delicately, he guides your hand towards where his heart is; allowing you to feel the beat of his heart, and how he's very much alive to you.

He wouldn't lie, but he smiles so fondly, noticing on how his heart picks up just by the mere touch of your palm against his chest.

"Feel it as much you want."

"Isn't this nice?"

The warmth radiates from your hand alone, but you thought the opposite-- thinking that his heart and body are the ones who provide the most warmth. You needed this.

He's standing in front of you and alive. That's what matters.

A warm chuckle escaped from your lips, trying your best to stay composed since you started to feel a little giddy and silly.

"You're right.. This feels comforting."

All while letting his soft grip upon your hand stays, he now moves your hand from his chest, and onto his forehead. "You can-- I mean, check for my temperature as well, just to try convince yourself further, yeah?"

In truth, he just wanted to feel your touch for much longer, especially right at this moment. The rain outside was almost being forgotten.

Harry smiled over his own words; partly joking about it, but at the same time, he wasn't. You returned his actions with such ease, simply letting your hand stay upon his forehead for a bit longer.

You were being cautious as ever, as if not wanting to accidentally hurt him or anything in that way.

"You don't have to be so careful, you know," he remarks, finding your actions quite amusing to behold, to which you simply laughed it off.

"But I wanted to."

You did something that could be considered as bold afterwards; where you actually gave his cheek a small, yet sweet kiss. It's quite new, as you never had the courage to do something as such despite being friends for years.

"That should take all the remaining sickness away, hopefully."

As much as a sap you're being right now, you couldn't help yourself, especially when he keeps his gaze at you like that. He's just so.. You can't even resist him; feeling the urge to squish him if he was a plushie or anything akin to it.

It's just a kiss on the cheek, but why would he freeze and appear to be surprised by the sudden gesture? You're scared if you might have gotten too far with your actions--

But then, his expression is failing him once the reddish hue starts to form upon his cheeks, sharing a sweet and heartwarming laugh along with you.

Harry knows how much you cared for him; on how gentle you are with him. Even if the whole ordeal turns out to be a platonic one, he wouldn't mind the slightest, as long as you are within it.

@luneariaa. do not repost; reblogs are alright. all rights reserved.

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Intervention

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Wanda requires an intervention

A/N: Stumbled upon May's medical prompt and decided WTH 😈 (Yes I realize May is over)

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, the works (mention of illness and hospitals)

“Wanda? Can you hear me?” 

Wanda forces herself to focus on that familiar voice again despite how her head is throbbing in an excruciating rhythm. She doesn’t open her eyes because she can’t bear the thought of seeing anything but the back of her eyelids at the moment. Her vision is filled with black, but she cringes anyway as she tries again to identify whoever is talking to her. 

It takes almost another minute for Wanda to register the sound of faint beeping that vaguely matches the rhythm of her pulse. She realizes she’s in medical by the time she feels someone’s hand slip into hers. 

“Wanda, if you can hear me squeeze my hand.” 

Wanda doesn’t respond immediately because she’s afraid it will trigger the nausea she’d just pushed down. It takes too much brain power to realize this isn’t likely, but when she finally recognizes your voice, she decides it doesn’t matter. She can tell you sound worried and she can’t remember exactly what happened, but she doesn’t like this at all. 

You breathe a sigh of relief and you hastily wipe tears away when Wanda tightens her hand around yours. You can’t help but smile widely at the first sign of consciousness that your wife’s shown since you saw her this afternoon. 

Today had been hell, and it all started when you got back home from work. You’d been sent home because work had been so slow. There was no point of having three doctors at work when none of them had more than one appointment all afternoon. For this reason, you’d volunteered to hang out, but your boss decided to stay for the remainder of the day. You didn’t have to be told twice, and you’d hurried home to see if your wife was free. 

You’d thought about texting her, but you wanted to surprise her if she happened to be free. You hadn’t been expecting the surprise that awaited you when you walked into your rooms at the compound. You’d dropped your things by the door and run to where Wanda had passed out in the kitchen. You’d called Pietro who’d called Steve, and only a few minutes later all four of you were down in medical.

You still weren’t sure what had happened, but you’d been able to take comfort in the fact that Wanda was at least stable. Even if she hadn’t woken up, Christine had told you that other than being dehydrated and having severely high blood pressure, none of Wanda’s tests indicated anything seriously wrong.

Still this was only mildly comforting when hours passed and your wife didn’t wake up. 

Now you’re sitting in a chair beside her bed that you hadn’t left for the past 2 hours. You went back and forth between watching her monitors and IV line that administered some pain medication. At least you think so, you can’t remember what Christine said. Finally, you’d reached out for her hand and held it until Pietro and Steve came back to check on you and Wanda around dinner time. Your appetite had been non-existent, but you couldn’t help but want to taste whatever it was that the duo had brought. It smelled delicious. You also talked yourself into it because you were convinced that Wanda would be upset if she woke up to find out that you hadn’t eaten dinner. 

The situation had to be dire for you to skip a meal voluntarily. 

When Wanda squeezed your hand, your gasp alerted Pietro that something had changed. He was already on his feet and ready to call for help, but then he saw you smiling and fighting back tears. 

It only took a few more seconds for him to see that his sister was stirring with a grimace. 

“Wh-what happened?” 

You wanted to know this too, but you figured that Wanda may remember if you filled her in on the details that you knew. 

So you told Wanda how you came home and found her and you watch as she cringes at the news. There’s something else that passes over her features that makes you pause briefly and cuts through your concern. You don’t have time to voice your next thought before Pietro is speaking up. 

“Do you remember what happened, sestra? Have you been feeling sick?” 

Wanda’s silence is enough for you to realize that your suspicions were correct. You force yourself not to pull away as you look to your wife with an expectant look. 

“Have you?” 

Wanda shifts nervously before she responds barely loud enough for you to hear her. 

“A little.” 

You don’t respond immediately and instead look to her monitors more closely. Her heart rate is normal but you notice that her last blood pressure reading was high. You frown before reaching out for the monitor and turning a knob before pressing it a couple of times. 

“What are you doing?” 

Pietro frowns as he watches you mess with the monitors, but you turn to your wife to respond instead of the older Maximoff. 

“I wanted to see what your next blood pressure reading is. Try to relax if you can.” 

Wanda nearly laughs at the idea of being calm enough to manage this, but she’ll try because you asked her to. 

Almost a minute passes by before Wanda and Pietro hear you mutter a ‘hmm’ under your breath. Wanda knows what’s coming before you even turn to her with a slight frown, and she sinks back into her pillow as much as possible. 

“It’s still high. I think you’re just stressed and sleep deprived, love. Well not ‘just’ but you know what I mean. These can be fixed.” 

You offer Wanda a small smile before you sit back down beside her with a sigh. You glance to Pietro who seems to understand what you’re saying and he makes an executive decision that you love, but Wanda is definitely less thrilled with. 

“Ah okay, sestra. Until Christine says otherwise, you’ll be taking time off for at least the rest of the week.” 

You watch as Wanda’s eyes widen and she tries to sit up, but you’d already reached out for her by the time Pietro mentioned their mutual friend. You keep her from shooting upright and aggravating her headache and she turns to you immediately to see if you agree with what her brother’s saying. Not that she’s surprised at all to see you shooting Pietro a satisfied look. She nearly groans when she realizes that you’re not going to side with her on this.

“But…I have meetings and I need to finish figuring out—”

Pietro shakes his head and waves her off before switching places with you with a sigh. He has always known how hard his sister works and how she puts work above her own health too often. He knows that you try to keep her from doing this, but his sister is independent and sometimes a little reckless. Short of banishing her to the couch or giving her the cold shoulder, there’s not much that can deter Wanda from overworking herself. Pietro wonders how long he’ll be able to keep his sister from working. All he knows is he’s going to need a lot of assistance from you.

“I’ll make sure it’s handled, Wanda. You need to rest, and I’m sure I can arrange to have you chained to this bed if you don’t cooperate.” 

Wanda’s eyes somehow widen further and you laugh loudly at the look on her face. You hope it won’t come to this, but you’re in complete agreement with Pietro. For once. Luckily something you both can agree on is to have Wanda’s wellbeing in mind. Even if she doesn’t. 

“You heard him, Wands. Now you better behave.”

Wanda realizes that arguing is useless and she just flops back against her pillow with a sour look. Luckily it’s already Wednesday so the rest of the week is only a few days. Unless of course you count the weekend. 

“Okay you two. You win.” 

Wanda can’t help but scowl as she watches you and Pietro smile widely. She crosses her arms and begins to plot her early escape.

Masterlist

[magentas-dystopia]

Something I really lament is the move towards digital media. Slowly we start to never own the things we like. Even if we "buy" a digital game, or movie or show. It's locked behind a certain platform or service. Once it shuts down we lose it forever.

(me when big booby anime girl explosion Is taken off of Netflix)

I also feel like there's a certain charm to owning physical media, like things you can hold and the satisfaction from pressing a clicky button or putting a disc or cassette in and seeing it work.

(oooh so classy so retro so.. expensive in the modern day)

More people should try to make copies of what they own digitally, or try to buy physical media before it's lost from streaming services and digital storefronts forever. Like the case with certain games like Godzilla 2014 and Transformers War for Cybertron. They don't exist digitally anymore. Only hard copies exist outside of emulation and at insane resell prices like... INSANE ones for a mediocre Godzilla game

So yea. Buy some more CDs of those albums you have on replay! Buy a DVD of that niche obscure anime you like! And most importantly PLEASE PLEASE START MAKING HARD BACKUPS OF SHOWS YOU LIKE THAT YOU PIRATE!!! media preservation is important!

(me downloading every episode of Daredevil onto my hard drive to burn to a DVD later so I can give it to all my friends)

This is now going to be a Comprehensive guide on how to rip a CD

POLL TIME!

Burning and Ripping Disc's❤️❤️💕💕🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

STEP ONE:

BUY A CHEAP BLU-RAY/DVD DRIVE FOR YOUR WINDOWS COMPUTER

here are some I recommend!!!

i personally use this pioneer one :)))

DVD drives in general are relatively cheap from 30-20 smackeroos, but Blu-ray drives are around 80-100 bucks depending on the manufacturer but offer better support for copying HD video such as on a Blu-ray.

STEP TWO:

FIND A PIECE OF MEDIA YOU ENJOY.

in this case its gonna be a CD!!

i really enjoy Vespertine by Bjork, but i wanna have it on my computer just in case anything happens to my CD. SO. ill open Windows Media Player

(she hasn't changed since 2011 <3333 be urself girl)

NEXT

ill insert the disc into the player. and it'll start playing!

Pause the disc and go into Rip settings

NEXT!! select the format!

if you want to conserve space and don't mind sacrificing audio quality select MP3! if you want to hear the same level of audio quality as preserved on the CD, select a format labelled LOSSLESS. I recommend .WAV files as they'll work with most devices including an android phone or iTunes on PC (more on that later ;3 )

NEXT!

create a folder on whatever u wanna save ur music to! (u can call it whatever u want the world is your oyster bestie)

THEN!!! FINALLY

go into more options on the Rip Settings menu!

select ur folder and press Rip CD!!!!

the fun thing of this now, is that you can pull these files on your computer and put it onto your Android device so you can listen to your hearts content without lugging around your CD in a player at high quality without any subscription service with free reign of who you can give your download to!

But Magenta! what if i have an iPhone?

ohohoo fear not bestie because iTunes on PC has an even EASIER way to do it

because simply putting in a disc with iTunes downloaded prompts THIS

(oooo so new age)

and if you have apple music on your iPhone this will sync to your phone if you logged into iTunes on PC!!

thank you for coming to my TED talk

[wolfjackle-creates]

In celebration of my new writing sideblog, I decided to share a snippet of the expanded version of my first prompt fill. Original can be found here. Brief synopsis: Tim and Danny became online friends when they were both neglected and lonely ten/eleven-year-olds. Before Robin and before Phantom. They have been fully open with each other since they first met and that doesn't change, even after it probably should. (This segment is a chat fic.)

Prompt from @gremlin-bot

IKnowYourSecrets = Tim's username

-xXPolarisXx- = Danny's username

Typos in chat are intentional.

Edit: I don't know why the color text is being weird. Each time I get everything to work, new random letters are black.

Edit 2: formatting finally fixed. That took way too long.

-----

Danny had been playing mindlessly when he got a message from Secrets.

IKnowYourSecrets: Thank god your on

That was odd. Secrets was always laid back and chill.

-xXPolarisXx-: Secrets? Whats up

IKnowYourSecrets: something big has happened IKnowYourSecrets: like top secret big IKnowYourSecrets: and I need advice IKnowYourSecrets: ive set up a private chat IKnowYourSecrets: one that cant be hacked so easily

-xXPolarisXx-: dude youre freaking me out -xXPolarisXx-: whats going on?

IKnowYourSecrets: :sends link: IKnowYourSecrets: not here. Ill explain

Danny clicked the link and put in his username when prompted. He had never even seen this chat room server before. Not that he spent a lot of time on chat rooms. He preferred in-game chats.

-xXPolarisXx-: ok dude spill -xXPolarisXx-: wth is going on

IKnowYourSecrets: I know who Batman is

“What!” Danny couldn’t hold back the shout. He started typing a reply, deleted, started typing again.

“Danny?” asked Jazz from the kitchen table where she was doing her homework. “Everything ok?”

He waved his hand at her. “Yeah! Everything is fine! My friend and I were just killed by something I didn’t even know could be dangerous.”

“Don’t play too long. You still have homework.”

“I know! I’ll be good.”

-xXPolarisXx-: good one secrets -xXPolarisXx-: you got me for a minute

IKnowYourSecrets: :image attachment: IKnowYourSecrets: :image attachment: IKnowYourSecrets: :news link: IKnowYourSecrets: :news link: IKnowYourSecrets: :image attachment:

The links and pictures started coming through even faster. The first was a picture of a family of acrobats and one of the links was to the story about how the parents died in an accident while performing.

The next link was about Bruce Wayne adopting a child followed by one only a few months later discussing Batman’s new side kick, Robin. Then a picture of the Graysons’ son in his circus costume next to a picture of the first Robin. Which were entirely too similar.

“Holy…” whispered Danny. But the links and images were still coming.

Robin stopped being spotted when Dick Grayson moved out. And not much later Nightwing appeared. And then there was a new Robin and a new adoption. And then Jason Todd-Wayne died and Robin disappeared.

-xXPolarisXx-: what. The fuck -xXPolarisXx-: why are you even looking into this -xXPolarisXx-: Secrets! ????

IKnowYourSecrets: your a real friend, right? IKnowYourSecrets: I mean weve known each other for like 2 years now IKnowYourSecrets: no catfisher’d stick around this long

-xXPolarisXx-: course I’m real -xXPolarisXx-: though thats also what a catfisherd say

IKnowYourSecrets: I live in gotham IKnowYourSecrets: Batmans changed since Robin IKnowYourSecrets: Since Jason died IKnowYourSecrets: he needs a robin I think IKnowYourSecrets: hes mean and harsh and people dont feel safe

-xXPolarisXx-: … -xXPolarisXx-: youre planning something

IKnowYourSecrets: help me figure out how to convince dick to go back to being robin IKnowYourSecrets: I think they had a fight IKnowYourSecrets: from what i can find online their last several meetings have ended in fights

Danny stared at his screen, mouth open. Secrets couldn’t be serious. This was too much. But he knew his friend. He might joke during a gaming battle, but he’d never joke about this. Not to Danny, or well, Polaris.

-xXPolarisXx-: Youre gonna chase down Nightwing?? -xXPolarisXx-: isnt he only out at night??? -xXPolarisXx-: dude youre gonna get yourself killed -xXPolarisXx-: how’ll you even find him? -xXPolarisXx-: do NOT tell him you know his secret identity -xXPolarisXx-: what do vigilantes do to ppl who learn their identities?

Danny watched as the dots appeared to indicate Secrets was typing. They stopped. Picked up again.

IKnowYourSecrets: awww IKnowYourSecrets: you like me ❤ IKnowYourSecrets: im not gonna die! IKnowYourSecrets: NIGHTWING will be there IKnowYourSecrets: and I can find him bc I know his patrol routes IKnowYourSecrets: easy peasy IKnowYourSecrets: im going tonight IKnowYourSecrets: just need to figure out what to say

-xXPolarisXx-: dude really??? -xXPolarisXx-: do you even know why they fought?

IKnowYourSecrets: Gotham needs batman IKnowYourSecrets: and batman needs robin IKnowYourSecrets: hes a hero he should want to help

-xXPolarisXx-: Well start with that, then -xXPolarisXx-: if youre going to be an idiot -xXPolarisXx-: and go out in gotham at night -xXPolarisXx-: tell nightwing youre worried about batman

IKnowYourSecrets: worried about nightwing as well IKnowYourSecrets: hes not as bad IKnowYourSecrets: but its clear something is wrong

-xXPolarisXx-: im just a kid from a small town -xXPolarisXx-: how am I supposed to know how to talk to superheroes?

IKnowYourSecrets: they aren’t superheroes IKnowYourSecrets: no powers

-xXPolarisXx-: not the point -xXPolarisXx-: I guess -xXPolarisXx-: start by asking how hes doing -xXPolarisXx-: and how batmans doing -xXPolarisXx-: and say youre sorry about robins death -xXPolarisXx-: but most importan STAY SAFE -xXPolarisXx-: i dont even know your name to follow any news stories

IKnowYourSecrets: its Tim if you wanna know

-xXPolarisXx-: mines Danny -xXPolarisXx-: idk why but Tim fits you

IKnowYourSecrets: dont use it on public forums IKnowYourSecrets: but were safe here IKnowYourSecrets: Danny. I like it IKnowYourSecrets: thanks for the advice!!! IKnowYourSecrets: im gonna use it IKnowYourSecrets: ttyl IKnowYourSecrets: gonna track down dick and talk to him IKnowYourSecrets: he usually starts patroling in like an hour and a half IKnowYourSecrets: and it’ll take me about that long to get to bludhaven

-xXPolarisXx-: lemme know what happens -xXPolarisXx-: im gonna check this chat and the game any chance I have at the computer

IKnowYourSecrets: will do IKnowYourSecrets: by danny

-xXPolarisXx-: stay safe tim

Danny stared at the chat box as Secrets, as Tim signed out. What. The. Hell.

“You all right there, Danny?” Jazz was looking at him from their kitchen table and Danny quickly closed out of the chatroom. No one could be allowed to see that information.

“Yeah, course. Just talking with my online friend Secrets.” Whose name he now knew. “He had to go, though. So I guess I’ll start my homework.”

“Were you two playing that game you like?”

He couldn’t tell the truth, so he decided to lie. “Yeah. We’re hoping to beat this boss so we can get a rune stone that’ll let us craft this super awesome weapon! Then we might stand a chance in the arena.”

Jazz smiled at him. “I’m sure you two’ll get it. What’s this arena?”

Danny described the game on autopilot as pulled out his backpack and books. Holy hell, he knew Batman’s identity.

-----

Part 2

I also hope to start doing WIP Wednesdays if there's any interest. Probably not every week and they won't all be for this fic, but I've got a few things I've been working on that I hope people will enjoy.

Tag List (I hope you're still all interested so many months later. XP)

@bonebrokebuddy, @britcision, @lady-time-lord-, @welcometosasakiworld, @akikkobara, @phoenixdemonqueen, @dolfay, @skulld3mort-1fan, @nutcase8691, @dreamingasters, @xysidhequeen

I'm sure there's people I'm missing. So let me know if you want to be added or if you want to be taken off the list. I won't be offended either way.

[puddle-nerd]

Our Little Family

Summary: The three of you were anticipating the birth of the newest member of the Rongloa family, though you might just have to reassure Spider just a bit.

Prompt #14 for my final submission for #𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Story Tags: No use of Y/N, Female Reader, Recombinant Reader, Omatikaya | Blue Flute Clan, Na’vi Culture, Na’vi Biology, Na’vi Language, Na’vi & Human Interactions, Pregnancy, Childbirth, Fluff and Angst, Spider is worried about the new baby, Spider needs a hug

Author’s Note: Originally, when I had first written this, I made it about Lo’ak’s future progeny with the reader but having to have some of these prompts be re-written after having my portable hard drive smashed during my move, well, Tsu’tey was determined to get more love this holiday season when I sat down to re-writes so we now have a part 3 for our Tsu’tey/Reader pairing for 14 Days of Love. This part’s not as explicit as the last chapter (Eternity) but it does involve details about Na’vi pregnancy, and it is my take on one of the deleted scenes we could have gotten from ATWOW had it not gotten cut. And since we only have the scripts to go off of, I got a little creative.

Na’vi Translation: Kuru – neural queue Muntxatan – husband | male spouse Nga yawne lu oer, oeyä’itan – You are beloved to me (I love you), my son Sa’nu – mum | mom | mommy Sempu – dad | daddy Syor – relax Tsaheylu – neural bond made through the connection of two neural queues

AO3 Link

Part 2

A nearly six-year-old Spider nestled himself into your side and kissed the side of your rounded belly tenderly, beaming up at you as you gently ran your blue fingers through his short braids that he had insisted on having to look like his adopted father, red beads, and all. (Tsu’tey had remained stoic when Spider had initially asked for his long blonde curls to be braided until the Na’vi male had had his son in his lap and then you had noticed a telltale wetness in the corner of one of his golden eyes as he carefully, gently, braided his human son’s blonde locks to match his own.) Your little family had settled into a routine after you and Tsu’tey had been married, Spider sleeping in the shack you and your muntxatan had had built to keep him close to you both. The three of you all ate in there as well as you would have your meals as a family should and you did not want Spider to suffer when the Pandoran air was toxic to him. The metal cabin was situated just outside your and Tsu’tey’s wooden kelku so that there would be no more middle of the night comm calls and rampaging through the forests if Spider was having a really bad nightmare or suddenly fell ill. Or that one very small period of time where he might have wet the bed once or twice. Now, you both could get to your human son in a matter of seconds if he needed you during eclipse. Especially as you had made the permanent switch to your Avatar body just a fortnight before the official wedding.

You enjoyed these moments you had, when it was just you and your little boy; you cherished them very much. You knew it would come to an end too quick and there would come a time when he wouldn’t want to do this as much if at all anymore, so you pulled him tighter against your body and sighed in contentment, until a small cramp made you wince.

“Sa’nu?” Spider suddenly whispered, and by his tone, you knew he wanted to ask a question, one he wasn’t sure you or he would like the answer to.

You looked down at your boy with a warm and loving smile upon your sapphire-colored lips and took a quick breath of air from the little mask hanging around your neck while you cuddled with your son within his oxygen-rich shack. “~Yeah, baby?~” you asked in English as you were a bilingual family and were determined to make sure your son understood both languages. And, you had been playing around with the idea that when your son got a little older, you wanted him to maybe start learning Portuguese in order to honor his birth mother – Paz Socorro’s – heritage, the same way you all made sure to continue to honor Sylwanin’s memory. “~What’s up, buttercup?~”

The five-year-old (almost six, he’d remind you as his birthday drew closer (it was currently forty-three days away and counting)) smiled slightly at the nickname you had given him because of his blonde hair before the grin disappeared once more, his brows creasing somewhat as he pondered how to ask. He spoke in the Na’vi language in response, asking, “When the baby comes… will you love it more than me? Because the baby will be your real child.”

You immediately stiffened, your whip-like tail lashing out in a surge of surprised rage at that innocent query and snapped your head down to look at him so abruptly you might have given yourself whiplash had you still been in your human body. “Miles te Socorro-Rongloa Tsu’tey’itan, why ~the hell~would you ask such a thing?!” You easily manhandled him into your palms, gripping his bare torso and easily holding his small body up in front of you so you could hold him up to eye-level and continue this conversation face to face. “You are most certainly my son! You are most certainly your father’s son! I might not have given birth to you in this body or my human one that I left behind, but you are and always will be ours! Do you not remember the official adoption ceremony we performed in front of the whole clan on your fifth birthday? You are ours by blood!” You referred to the small scar on the palm of his hand that had been placed there by Mo’at before she cut both yours and Tsu’tey’s palms to perform the rite that would officially make Spider theirs in the eyes of the People. Ignoring another cramp, you demanded, “Now, who ~the hell~ put such a terrible thought inside your head?!”

By the way that Spider wouldn’t meet your gaze and the way he fidgeted with the beaded bracelet he had woven for you, you immediately put two and two together and realized he had been eavesdropping on Neytiri or Ateyo, Tsu’tey’s father’s acidic words against all Sky People. Again.

You would have words with either of them one day about their attitude. And while you realized they had reason to hate most Sky People like Spider’s biological parents, your son was not one of them!

“Sa’nu, I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad,” Spider immediately pleaded, brown eyes tearing up.

You immediately pulled the boy close, murmuring words of love and reassurance that you were not angry with him, that you loved him unconditionally, and that everything would be alright. With practiced ease, he spread his little legs, his loincloth folding beneath him as he rested his bottom on the top curve of your pregnant belly and you hugged him tight, smothering him in kisses. You were noisily kissing his jaw, his cheek, his forehead, his scalp when the airlock beeped. You didn’t stop laying smooches on the boy as your mate ducked his head as he entered the shack and spotted his family upon the couch. He raised a hairless brow, the corner of his mouth lifting at your overenthusiastic display of affection.

“Your son needs some sempu-love, right now,” you declared just as Spider noticed his father, your face immediately turning into a scowl above the blonde head of beaded braids. “Someone has been putting a nasty bug into his ear that we will love the baby more than him because it will be our ‘real’ baby, Tey.”

The unvoiced threat was clear in your voice.

Tsu’tey plucked Spider up and off of you and tucked the child against his chest and immediately rubbed his cheek all over Spider’s scalp, scenting his son as he sometimes did with you. “What nonsense,” he muttered softly, coming to sit upon the couch beside you, careful of his tail and yours. “You might not remember this as you were about a year and a half old – just after the Great War and before your sa’nu and I were officially courting. Well, someone decided to put one of my braids within his mouth.” You immediately cackled, your happy mood beginning to get restored as you remembered this particular scene. Your muntxatan shot you a look but continued with the story. “And this little boy ate two of my beads.” You snorted, remembering the absolute terror Tsu’tey had experienced, thinking Spider would choke and die

Years afterwards, it was at least a little funny.

Back then, you had been just as frightened for his health.

“Your sempu commanded the scientists to perform an internal exam to make sure you wouldn’t be hurt,” you added, laying your cheek upon Tsu’tey’s shoulder and pulling at a loose thread on Spider’s loincloth. “Luckily, the beads were small enough that you were only a little uncomfortable until you pooped them out.”

You suddenly winced again, as you felt another cramp within your middle, causing your face to twist in discomfort.

“Sa’nu? Are you alright?” Spider asked. You tried to smile in reassurance but another cramp, even harsher than the one before made itself known and you groaned slightly, shifting in discomfort. Your mate frowned at you for a moment before his golden eyes widened and he sat up straight with a widening smile upon his features as you continued to scowl in pain. “Sempu?”

“Your mother will be alright in a little bit,” Tsu’tey declared, “but first, your sibling is coming.” He pressed his comm microphone button and called out, “Suli, do you hear me?”

“~Yeah, brother, what’s up~?” Jake’s voice came back half a minute later, his use of English a surprise as he had been dedicated to speaking the Na’vi language more and more.

With a proud grin upon his lips, Tsu’tey declared, “Spider’s younger sibling has decided to arrive. We need you to watch our eldest, please, while we make our way to the birthing pools.” There was a rude English curse on the other end of the comm unit before Jake agreed and said he would meet the three of them on their way to deliver the baby and that Neytiri was going to grab her mother. With a word of thanks, Spider was placed upon the ground and your muntxatan helped you to your feet, his eagerness and nervousness palpable within the air, his tail flicking back and forth swiftly.

Waddling out of the shack after securing Spider’s mask to his face, Tsu’tey guided you through the village towards the pools where you would deliver your baby’s chrysalis under the guidance of Mo’at, everyone recognizing the pinched look of pain upon your features and offering their congratulations.

Jake and Neytiri met you when you almost arrived, his mother-in-law in tow, the two Sullys looking both harried and excited for the upcoming birth while Mo’at was as calm and collected as she always did. “~C’mere, kid,~” Jake called, scooping up the human child while the baby sling on both his front and his back were laden with wide eyed toddlers, Neytiri’s sling pressing her infant baby to her chest. “You are going to be with us while your mother gives birth to your new sibling – or at least the chrysalis.”

“~I’ll see ya soon, baby boy~,” you told your son in English before reminding him in the Na’vi language once more, “Nga yawne lu oer, oeyä’itan. Understand?”

The little boy nodded and watched as your mate and Mo’at helped you away.

The water was warm upon your skin after your mate helped you out of your clothing before lowering you to sit upon his lap within the spring. Mo’at hummed a song-like prayer to Eywa as you groaned once more, hovering her fingers over the large curve of your belly. Tsu’tey took his kuru and made tsaheylu intertwining the pink tendrils of both black braids together so he could take some of your pain from you. You groaned as a sharper cramp hit you and you reached back, intertwined your fingers with your mate’s. Mo’at helped to ease your legs apart and began to sing her prayer a little louder while Tsu’tey rubbed his cheek against your own in a show of love and an offering of his strength for you. You smiled up at your mate as best as you could and tried to even out your breathing as a wave of pain washed over your senses and made you groan out loud.

“That is it, child. It is time to start pushing,” Mo’at hummed, her fingers still hovering over your belly. “Tsu’tey, help her up into a crouch. It will help ease her pain a little more.”

Your mate did as he had been instructed and he supported your body as you felt the need to push. “Oh, it hurts, Tey,” you whined, clinging to him as you felt your body trying to expel your baby’s chrysalis naturally. He grunted as he felt your pain coming through the bond but grit his teeth and continued to support your weight while you began to push, feeling the imago containing your fetus starting to ease towards your lower slit. He held you as you cried out and worked your inner muscles to force your unborn babe out of your body, the golden cocoon slowly but surely inching its way from your body while your mate took your pain as best as he could and Mo’at prayed to Eywa while making sure you didn’t run into any issues. “I think I want to wait to have another one,” you whined through gritted teeth as you pushed once more and felt your baby finally slide free of your body and into the water below.

Tsu’tey helped to ease you back down into the water and onto his lap. Mo’at gently scooped up the chrysalis and pulled the embryotic chord free of your body along with the afterbirth.

The older woman whispered, “Behold, your baby…” You and your muntxatan gazed upon the amber cocoon containing your unborn child in awe. She presented the fetus to the pair of you, murmuring, “One of you must make Tsaheylu now, to feed and nourish your baby in the last cycle before its birth.” Tsutey and you unconnected your kurus and he carefully took your braid and attached the pink tendrils to your baby’s embryotic chord, the fetus twitching within its casing for a moment before settling once again. You cooed, feeling yourself connecting with your child before glancing up at Tsu’tey to see tears trickling from his own eyes. “~Look at what we did, baby~,” you commented, feeling tears dribbling down your own cheeks. Later that night, when you were able to be brought back to your kelku and your son was brought back to your side, you hugged him tight, kissing his scalp as he beheld his baby sibling. “Is it a boy or a girl?” Spider asked, peering closely at the golden chrysalis. Tsu’tey shrugged and cuddled into his son’s back, replying, “We will find out in a couple of moon cycles when your sibling is ready to break free of this shell. Until then, you will have us to yourself for just a little while longer.”

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 14 February 2024 Word Count: 2,342

@crybabies-heart, @cryingwhilereading, @ikeyniofthetayrangi, @erenjaegerwifee , @bambithewriter, @lloreya

AO3 Link

Part 2

[eoieopda]

Yoongi + “runaway bride” I’mma leave this one up to your interpretation bc I know I’ll love it either way and also wanna see what you come up with 👀

oooooooh!!! v excited by this prompt, lol. this is, um, going to hurt kind of a lot at the beginning, but stick with me!!!! also, i accidentally made this >3.3k words….. which i will proofread when i am no longer exhausted 🤪

the one with yoongi and the fucking hydrangeas

ft. POV shift, pining & correlating angst, reader who’s🎵 a runner she’s a track star 🎵, a #nonspon vans product placement, a very unfortunate namjoon (sorry, buddy,) childhood idiots in love

2024 ETA: long after this was written, the user who requested this drabble admitted that they were a minor masquerading as an adult, violating my explicitly stated boundaries re: minors being prohibited from interacting with me and my content. this user has since been blocked.

Yoongi sat in a seat chosen specifically for him not because he wanted to, but because he knew how much time you’d sacrificed in writing every place card by hand.

To be clear, he’d never wanted to attend this rehearsal dinner in the first place. Unfortunately, he knew the stakes. That wasn’t something he’d dare to say out loud — especially not to you. Not in that restaurant while you fluttered between tables and shined your warm light on every single guest, one by one. Not ever, because you’d slipped through Yoongi’s fingers the second Namjoon slid that ring on yours.

If, in twelve hours’ time, Yoongi could force his deflated body out of bed, he’d have to watch quietly while you got away for good.

There was nothing he could do about it, either, so he swallowed that grief with a mouthful of bibim nengmyun. He knew it wasn’t the food that tasted so bitter on his tongue; however, on the off-chance that it was, he followed suit with another ill-advised swig of makgeolli.

During the two subsequent hours he sat and stewed at that table, Yoongi had lost count of just how many glasses he’d had. His eyes never lingered on the bottle, sticking instead to you and the smile that didn’t seem to spread beyond the curve of your lips. Every now and then, you’d glance his way — and every time you did, there was a microscopic twinge at the corner of your mouth.

It felt like a signal, something cryptic, but he wasn’t in the proper headspace to begin making assumptions. For the first time ever, you’d hit Yoongi with a look he didn’t know what to do with, and that fact drove him insane. This was what he was afraid of, after all — that the invisible string between you would be re-routed to someone else, and the telepathic link you’d always shared would disappear with it.

Your friendship had started early because your respective mothers had grown up together, and found each other once again as adults with two kids each. Back then, both of your front teeth were missing and — if Yoongi made you laugh too hard at routine, weekend gatherings — banana milk would occasionally fly out through the gap. He was nine-years-old and had no concept of it, but now he knows that he loved you then.

He loved you when you were ten, and you kneed a classmate in the dick for bullying Yoongi on the basketball court. You were two years younger and half his size, but you were a force to be reckoned with.

He loved you when you were fourteen, and a wave of brand new hormones made you a little bit of a fucking nightmare to be around.

At seventeen, twenty-one, still.

Now.

There, while everyone around him clinked their chopsticks against their glasses and Namjoon accepted the crowd’s wordless demand that he kiss you.

Yoongi had done well enough with your previous relationships. None of them made him feel like this, though, and he’d spent two years unable to put his finger on why. Sandwiched at that carefully chosen table between his mother and older brother, it finally clicked: None of them ever threatened to last.

Yoongi had never been a particularly hopeful person, but buried deep in the back of his brain, there had always been a crumb of it. Part of him, however stupid, thought you’d end up together at a dinner like this. All of this was the last nail in the coffin, the alarm clock screaming that it was time to wake up.

Suddenly more nauseous than he’d ever been before, Yoongi scooted his chair back so abruptly that it scraped along the floorboards. Just as quickly, he got to his feet and made a beeline for the exit. Of all the heads that turned to watch him leave, yours was the only one he noticed in his peripheral vision. He could feel your eyes on his back — pictured how confused you must look — and it only made his stomach acid churn faster.

When he finally made it out to the patio behind the restaurant, Yoongi’s suspicions were confirmed: closed for the season. Fitting. He wasn’t in the mood to heed the signs, so he stepped carefully — one leg at a time — over the hip-high metal gate and gulped down sharp, late autumn air. As he did, he begged himself to get his shit together for you, if not for him.

He spent several minutes out there, maybe even hours, sitting on a bare, metal chair and glowering out at the trees at the edge of the property. He hated himself, he realized, for how easily he wasted time. Let it slip by unnoticed while he stood still.

The clock seemed to mock him, ticking faster from behind him as if time was going to outrun him again.

At least, that was his first guess.

Yoongi quickly learned that the clicks weren’t signaling the passing seconds; they were broadcasting the urgent beat of stilettos on brick. So, having figured that his mother had appeared outside to gun him down, Yoongi glanced over his shoulder and braced himself for the be-all, end-all of scoldings.

What he got instead was you and the undeserved concern that caused your eyebrows to furrow.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly once you reached the gate. With your manicured hands on the cold metal, you shivered, but you didn’t seem to notice. “Did you eat too much of the gochujang? I definitely did, and now I’ll be up all night with heartburn.”

Yoongi felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. The memory caught him in a riptide, beat him bloody against the rocks because he could’ve sworn he was sixteen again, stacking old encyclopedias under the headboard of your bed. He’d read somewhere online that, while sitting upright in a chair can exacerbate reflux, sleeping at an angle could help.

He was dizzy when he blinked back at you and saw your lips moving. He had to focus hard to figure out what you were saying.

“You remember that?”

Yoongi struggled to even out his breathing; he had no hope at all of finding the plot he’d lost. “Huh?”

You grinned and it made up for all the stars that had been hidden by grey clouds overhead. “The encyclopedias,” you chuckled, “They worked, you know.”

Yoongi didn’t mean to say it. He knew it before, during, and after it slipped out of his mouth that it was the worst goddamn thing he’d ever done, but he couldn’t stop himself — couldn’t shove the bullet he’d shot back into the gun. With the way it exploded through his chest — I love you — he was surprised that his body was still intact. No viscera sprayed out from the exit wound, no stains appeared on your chic, white cocktail dress.

You opened your mouth but closed it soon after, so clearly stunned by his unsolicited admission that you couldn’t find the words. Yoongi had no expectations whatsoever when it came down to your reaction because he hadn’t meant to provoke one in the first place. Even still, the wounded look on your face was worse than anything he might’ve imagined.

The two of you stood in tense silence for so long that Yoongi’s soul had nearly ejected itself fully from his body.

“That’s not fair,” eventually came your shaky reply. You clenched your fist tight around the top of the gate to anchor yourself and stammered, “Yoongi, that is not — Why would you —”

As soon as he aimed to take a step in your direction, your shock gave way to a scowl that could’ve boiled him alive.

“Why would you dump that at my feet? Tonight, of all fucking nights, Yoongi — seriously?” You snapped, though it sounded like a sob. “What am I supposed to do with this now?”

Now?

He didn’t know how to respond. He was paralyzed, inside and out, and he deserved it. Who the fuck was he, forcing the burden of his feelings onto you?

Selfish. Stupid. Out of time, as usual.

The makeup you always took so much time on started to run alongside your tears. Yoongi had seen you cry before, though he’d always been the reason you stopped, rather than started. He hated every single one of those muddied, black tears because he knew you. He knew you would have worn waterproof mascara if you’d had any reason to anticipate crying on your special night.

“I’m getting married in the morning!”

Your reminder was a dagger flying out of your mouth, sticking him right between the ribs. It stung as images flooded his mind — of you and Namjoon, your guests, and your out-of-season, imported fucking hydrangeas. It hurt even worse to see how badly you shook as you glared at him.

“Yoongi — fuck!”

Before you walked away, your eyes locked on his for a fraction of a second. In that moment, Yoongi promised himself that it was the last time you’d ever have to see his face.

When you were little, you pictured your wedding day like a moment ripped straight out of Cinderella. In your head, you’d wake up to birds singing at your window and mice scurrying around your feet, eager to dress you in a gown of epic and magical proportions. It’d be perfect. For years, you’d been sure of it.

In reality, there was no waking up because there hadn’t been a single second of sleep to begin with. No beauty rest, no sweet dreams of marital bliss — just you, feeling as if you’d swallowed a car battery. It sat heavy in the pit of your stomach, let acid burn all the way up to your esophagus. And it’d been all too easy to toss and turn in your hotel bed, which laid perfectly level on top of a plush, floral rug.

You crawled out of bed without the assistance of altruistic rodents and shuffled your dead weight over to the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. For once, your imagination had been accurate. Your puffy eyes were red in the aftermath of all your tears. They ached above circles so deep and dark that they would’ve alarmed you if you hadn’t expected them.

Namjoon had seen you at what you both believed to be your worst. Neither of you could’ve ever predicted that the Corpse Bride would be the one staggering down the aisle towards him. He’d love you anyway, you knew it, no matter how you looked. But if he knew what you spent all night toiling over…

You shook your head and abruptly turned away from the mirror. There were several of your dearest friends bustling around the room next to yours, all of whom were waiting on you. Swallowing hard, you headed for the adjoining door and promised yourself that the only person you’d let down today would be you.

You lost all track of time when a blur of hands went to work on you. If you’d closed your eyes while you dissociated, you could’ve pretended that your assistants were those woodland creatures you used to dream about. But you couldn’t close your eyes, couldn’t sleep through this part, couldn’t let your mind wander all the way back to that patio.

It’d been terrifying, staring your own heart in the face like that. More than anything, it was confusing because it didn’t look like you expected it would — not like an organ at all, but a person. You’d gotten so good at ignoring it that you couldn’t reasonably expect yourself to recognize it. It knew you, though, and loved you. Apparently, it always had.

As you sat in that hotel room, far away from the patio, you pictured every other moment you wished Yoongi had said what he did. The thousand times you’d thought for sure he felt the same, and all the ways you distracted yourself when you resigned to believing he didn’t. Every person you dated until you finally managed to move on —

“— please, love?”

You blinked rapidly to force your eyes to focus. In front of you, your mother stood with a knowing smile on her face and a sokchima in her hands. You didn’t need to ask her to repeat herself; you took the hint and rose slowly to your feet.

“I was nervous on my wedding day,” she hummed as she pulled the undergarment gently over your head. “Hungover, too, but your grandmother does not need to know that. Frankly, I’m surprised she couldn’t tell with how bloated I was when she helped me get ready…”

The bright scarlet chima followed without so much as a word from you. Your heart slammed helplessly against your rib cage when your mother proceeded to tug the sleeves of your jeogori up your arms. This moment should be special, you thought bitterly. All you wanted to do was cry; to apologize to your mother for your total inability to care while your wedding happened around you, not for you.

Soon enough, you were dressed. Your friends and older sister gushed about how beautiful you looked — the perfect bride — like you weren’t caught in the web of an anxiety attack. Like it wasn’t all wrong, and you weren’t dangling on the precipice of your life’s greatest mistake. Like you hadn’t spent so much of your hard-earned money on invitations and greenhouse-grown, special-ordered fucking hydrangeas.

Like you could catch a fucking breath under all the layers of your hanbok.

Sensing that a moment alone was necessary, your mother kissed your cheek and ushered the others out the door ahead of her. Before seeing herself out, too, she stalled in the threshold, turned back around to look at you, and exhaled through a pause.

“I left your shoes by the dresser,” she chirped.

The gentleness of her tone was reassuring, but there was a faint gleam in her eyes that caught your attention. Before you could ask after it, she nodded firmly once and let the door click shut behind her.

Alone again, your instinct was to do the same thing you’d spent ten consecutive hours doing — burying yourself under pillows and crying until you ran out of tears. But you had run out, which was precisely was the problem. You had no options left, nothing left to do but lean in.

At least, that was your first guess.

Your list of choices expanded by one when you saw the well-worn pair of slip-on Vans your mother had set out for you.

Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands.

Only two meters away, a garment bag hung from the hook on the back of his bedroom door. That bag — and the crisp, black suit it concealed — lingered there for weeks in the shadows, untouched since the day he bought it. Even though it hadn’t left its hanger, he felt it smothering him throughout the night. It choked him while one thought ran circles in his sleep-deprived brain:

The reason he bought it was the same reason he’d never be able to wear it.

Sick of the way he’d trapped himself with his thoughts, Yoongi pushed himself to his feet and crossed over to the door. With the way he flung it open, knob slamming against the wall, he’d likely never recover his security deposit. It felt good, though, taking his grief out on that godforsaken suit.

On his way to his front door, Yoongi stopped short. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a cabinet he hadn’t opened in weeks. As he stared at it, the devil and angel on his shoulders warred over the action he wanted so desperately to take.

Sure, he’d recently — finally — quit at your insistence, but what did that matter now?

He gritted his teeth and shook his conscience off his shoulders with a shrug. Within seconds, Yoongi was on the other side of his kitchen, grabbing an unopened pack of cigarettes and the lighter that lay in wait next to it. He closed his hand tight around it so he couldn’t see the Hello Kitty stickers you’d placed all over the plastic; your attempt to dissuade him from using it in public.

Joke’s on you, he thought as he placed a cigarette between his lips, your plan backfired. Leaving your mark on it the way you had was the only thing that’d kept him from throwing it away — and the only reason he still had a lighter to use at all.

Yoongi opened his front door with one hand as he tried to ignite the lighter with the other. No matter how many time he flicked the pad of his thumb over those little metal ridges, nothing sparked. Defeated yet again, he slumped down onto the porch swing, closed his eyes, and willed himself not to break down over something so stupid.

He had no way of knowing how much time passed as he sat like that. He had no way to tell who those urgent footfalls belonged to, either. That is, not until panted breaths hit his ears and prompted him to open his eyes.

Admittedly, Yoongi had pictured you in your bridal hanbok more than once throughout the years. Half the time, it hadn’t even been purposeful. From first to third grade, you’d rambled to him about your dream wedding on your daily walks home from school. You spoke about it so often, in fact, that even he started thinking about what embroidery a mouse might add to the hem of your chima.

As the pair of you got older, you brought it up less, so Yoongi didn’t think about it often. The image crept up on him, though, once in a while. Every time you brought him as a plus one to your friends’ weddings because you didn’t want to dance alone; and he nearly told you that he’d always want to be your partner.

Or that time you cried through your worst ever heartbreak on his couch, lamented that you’d die an old maid, and never get to wear one.

Even as recently as last night, when he drank half a fifth of whiskey and grieved over the fact that he’d never get to see you wear one.

He couldn’t make heads or tails of the real thing, not with the way you’d doubled over to catch your breath; and bunched the ends up in your fists, presumably to prevent yourself from tripping as you — ran here?

“What did I tell you about the cigarettes?” You puffed, still with your hands on your knees and your face angled at the sidewalk.

Somehow, despite running five kilometers to Yoongi’s doorstep, you hadn’t displaced a single hair from your artfully crafted up-do. Your makeup hadn’t budged, either, which meant that the only sign of your expended effort was the tint of pink on your cheeks and the tip of your nose.

You’d outrun his train of thought in your scuffed, old Vans. Yoongi had to buffer for a moment in order to catch up, but the involuntary smile fighting its way over his mouth didn’t bother to wait. Eventually, he recited your long-suffering appeal, smirking all the while, “They’ll fuck me up, and I’ll have to be wheeled out onto the basketball court in an iron lung.”

“Exactly.”

With one last, deep breath, you returned to your upright position. The second you did, Yoongi was the one choking up.

Rapid blinking did nothing to stop the tears pricking at the inner corners of his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t shake the inexplicable flutter in his chest at the sight of you. You’d always been perfect, but this was —

“Oh, my god,” he croaked, thoroughly melted from the inside out.

Yoongi stood before his brain could signal his legs to do so; or remind his hands not to drop the phone, lighter, and cigarettes he’d been holding. His eyes, on the other hand, knew exactly what to do. He drank in your appearance like he’d spent the last twenty-two years wandering, dehydrated in the desert — and in a way, he had.

You blinked back at him with swimming eyes as if you’d found sanctuary, too. Suddenly aware of what you were gripping, you opened your fists and let the fabric flutter down to the ground. While smoothing out wrinkles that didn’t exist, you asked softly, “Not bad for a bunch of mice, right?”

“Look just like a dream,” he replied just as gently.

Yoongi’s hands, which were thankfully now free, reached out and grabbed yours. You followed his lead as he spun you, twirled under his raised arm until you ended up with your face mere centimeters from his.

“Yoongi,” you breathed. Your eyes danced from his, to his lips, and back again. “If you wait another twenty-two years to tell me how you feel, please pick a time and place that is mutually convenient. I swear to God, I’ll —”

It came out much more easily the second time than the first; and when it did, it felt more like a beginning than a bomb:

“I love you.”

[wooahaes]

29. “i want a hug.” “then come get it.” and 42. you’re crushing me…” “you love it.” with vernon,,,, my heart is already gushing at the thought of it 😭

touch starved

pairing: non-idol!vernon x gn!reader

prompt: 29 + 42 from these prompts    

word count: 0.5k~

warnings: touch starved reader. usage of the phrase ‘skin hunger’ since that’s what i call it sometimes tbh. no proofreading, intentional lowercase.

daisy’s notes: do you ever get So touch starved that ur like. i need someone to hold me for like five seconds or ill combust. thats it thats the ‘skin hunger’ feeling.

the moment your apartment door opened with that familiar chime from being unlocked, you perked up.

vernon had gone on a week-long trip with his friends, and you were honestly feeling his absence halfway through the week. and vernon, who you’d argue knew you better than a lot of people, could see it from the moment he saw your face. you’d been sulking, a pillow hugged tight to your chest as you watched whatever you could find on streaming services that seemed even mildly interesting.

“you okay?”

the loud groan you let out had amused him a little, played up a smidge just to hear him lightly laugh.

“you wanna talk about it?”

you turned onto your side, arms winding a little tighter around your pillow as you watched vernon as he started to slip out of his shoes and into his house slippers. “my friends canceled our plans and we couldn’t reschedule anytime this week,” you pouted. “and now i’m just... skin hungry.”

he looked up. “did something bad happen?”

you shook your head. “people were busy,” you said. “it’s not a big deal. i just kinda wanted to, y’know... get hugs. hold hands with my friends.”

“well... i’m here,” he took a step forward.

that made you smile a little. “nonnie?” you sat up. “i want a hug.”

he dropped his bag beside him, smiling widely at you as he opened his arms. “then come get it.”

you threw the throw pillow aside, immediately booking it to vernon. launching yourself into his arms, you wrapped your arms around him tightly as he laughed a laugh so full of love. vernon wrapped his arms around you, hugging you as tight as he could (a norm in vernon hugs, especially if the two of you have to spend any time apart) before he began pressing kisses all over your face.

“nonnie, you’re crushing me!”

he laughed again, “you love it.”

(and you did, but he didn’t to say it. the pains of having an impossibly cute boyfriend like vernon.)

when he finally let you go, it was to pick up his bag. “i’m gonna unpack, but i’ll be back in a minute to cuddle. alright? i missed you.”

you giggled, stepping away to return to the couch. “okay,” you hummed, “don’t take too long.”

you watched vernon leave before turning back to your phone, abandoned on the coffee table for so long. you’d barely unlocked it with the intent of checking social media when he returned, throwing himself into the space next to you. he paused just long enough to watch you before reaching out, starting to pull you in. you folded yourself into his arms, and vernon buried his face in your neck--pecking a tiny kiss against your skin.

“i’ll do it later,” he mumbled.

“bad trip?”

“trip was great,” he wrapped his arms around you a little more. “just need to hold you for a bit.”

“ah. skin hunger,” you nodded solemnly.

he smiled against your skin. “yeah,” he snuggled in further. "whatever you wanna call it.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao @synthetickitsune @wonuziex

[mybrainproblems]

can you expand on what you mean about 12x22 and berens? i’ve never really looked at the writer patterns before but i’m intrigued

so jensen did a solo panel at JIB 8 in 2017 and an earlier question prompted him to recount his experience having difficulty connecting with the mary & dean relationship in s12 and the character motivation behind it. (and i think he's correct in saying that fans picked up on him not gelling with it which actually works in some episodes but feels off in others.)

anyway! berens was on-set when they were filming 12x22 "who we are" and jensen told him "oh god i get it now!" with the "i hate you, i forgive you" speech (that dean's character arc was him needing to forgive mary) and berens had no idea what he was talking about.

hopefully this embedded correctly to start at the right time code, but if not, he starts talking about it at 19:45

which yes, there's the possibility that berens was just yanking jensen's chain* about not realizing the "i hate you, i forgive you" was the thesis of mary & dean's relationship arc in s12. but also i really am inclined to believe he didn't realize he'd tied up the whole arc bc berens has been such a chronic dean misunderstander over the years. like folks will talk about dean as the "angry man" in late seasons and... that's mostly berens, baby!**

and i know you didn't ask but this is why the confession falls so flat for me. it rings hollow bc this is the writer who has done more than anyone else in the last few seasons to make dean an un-likeable prick. i do like the confession as a radical act of self-love (that "having" doesn't matter and "being" is more important) but as cas confessing his love to dean? yeah, i just can't buy it given the other stuff berens wrote over the years and the narrative framing is just off. much like the finale, it's tragedy wearing an ill-fitting ballgown and looking in a fun house mirror.

so, in summary (x)

* this is a bit unkind, but jensen is such a consummate pro that i would not be surprised if the "maybe he was yanking my chain" was a way to save face for berens since jensen has disagreed with him on his episodes before.

** i did not jive with 14x20 "moriah" until i re-watched it without the baggage of 14x18 before it (14x19 isn't great but does set up the "logic" of dean's actions in 14x20; never 5get that cas wanted to put jack in the cage... how is that different from a ma'lak box?). i think berens was just not a good fit for spn and especially not the direction they were going in during dabb era. i'm not a big fan of him in carver era either but he fit the vibes and direction way better.

[roxygen22]

Since you asked me to do the help prompt for Timothee

Now it’s your turn 😊

https://www.tumblr.com/roxygen22/750844187588673536/send-me-a-number-and-ill-write-a-micro-story?source=share

Micro story prompt: Help

Roll With It

(Young, shy, not famous Timothée)

The clock closed in on midnight as Timothée walked down the sidewalk of Austin's Sixth Street. Although the sun had been down for hours, the air was thick and humid, thanks to the Texas heat. He was lost in his thoughts, just moving along with the flow of foot traffic, when he heard a trilling voice call out.

"Finally! There you are! Where have you been?" a young twenty-something chirped. Timothée looked up and around, squinting to focus through the flashing bar signs to see who she was talking to as she waved and trotted toward him. She threw her arms around his neck when she caught up to him and whispered, "I need your help. Just roll with it - please! I think that guy is following me," she said rapidly under her breath.

Timothée closed his arms around her from their open position of shock and surprise. His eyes darted around, trying to find the alleged culprit. He spotted a shady character in a hoodie - suspicious behavior on its own in sweltering 90-degree weather. The man's gait slowed before slinking into one of the many bars when Timothée made eye contact.

"He's gone," he replied, loosening his grip on the [cute] stranger.

She exhaled a sigh of relief and stepped back to look behind her. "Oh, thank God. And you!" she exclaimed, facing him again.

"How did you know I wasn't just another creep?" he admonished. Her lashes fluttered like the butterflies in his stomach as her smile met her eyes.

"I just ran to the first friendly face I saw."

Timothée looked down at his feet to hide the blush he felt reddening his cheeks. "Oh yeah? Uh...so do you. Have a friendly face, I mean." The stranger giggled in return. "Can I, uh, walk you to wherever you're going?" he asked in a brief moment of bravery.

"Hmm, I dunno. My mom always told me not to talk to strangers," she replied, deadpan.

Timothée choked on his own breath. "Oh, right, of cour-"

"I'm kidding!" She held out her right hand, inviting him to take it. "I'm Savannah. But my friends call me Anna."

"I'm Timothée. Or Timmy, for short, i-if you want something shorter," he stumbled, his focus shifting to the feeling of her hand in his.

"Well, Timmy. Now we're not strangers. Walk me to Belmont, and I'll buy you a drink." Anna kept a grip on his hand and started to walk backward in the direction of her venue of choice.

"Are you going to walk backwards the whole time?" he replied through a chuckle.

Anna nodded playfully. "So I can see if anyone is following me," she joked.

Timothée puffed up his chest slightly. "I'll make sure nobody follows you." He pulled Anna back toward himself, nearly twirling her in dance-like fashion to walk beside him. He offered his arm after she let go. "This way, I don't have to save you twice in one night. You were going to fall keeping that up."

"Oh ho ho, so my knight in shining armor does have a sense of humor after all." Anna snuck a quick kiss to his cheek before threading her hand through the crook of his elbow. Timothée was grateful his responding blush was hidden by the dark of the night as they made their way down the block.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess

@bluizh

@jindongdongie

@groovy-lady

@pmak2002

[hiemaldesirae]

Ok this is my second attempt at this prompt so the writing is probably not that good but what if Vox and Alastor had their first real fight because of Alastor’s treatment of husk bare with me

Vox goes to the hotel to check it out but when gets there he doesn’t see anyone so he just looks around and as he’s looking around he sees a bar and he sees Husk running the bar. Vox gets really excited about this it’s been so long since he last heard from his old mentor not since his deal with Alastor. Vox goes up to bar to finally talk to Husk but something stops him in his track now that Vox is close enough to get good look at him he notices how different he looked his clothes are scuffed and his hair is a mess not to mention his movement are sloppy like he’s constantly tired. Something’s up with husk and Vox will get to the bottom of it if it’s last thing he’ll do. By the time Vox got to the bar Husk had already prepared him his drink the fact that he still remembered what he liked after all these years filled Vox with a warm feeling. The conversation went on for hours both of them telling stories about the time they spent apart as well as the reminiscing about the moments they shared together it felt good it has been sometime since they had last spoken and it felt like no time passed at all it felt so good that husk forgot to filter what he was saying and he ended making an off hand comment about how Alastor’s been treating him now luckily all of the other hotel residents were already asleep because that would’ve been a disaster if they weren’t but still that doesn’t make this any better Vox has always been one of the last things keeping Alastor together so if he left who knows what would happen. Vox hasn’t said a word everything just went quiet it stayed like that for what felt like hours the silence only breaking when someone arrived right on cue Alastor walks in but before he can even say a word Vox is already dragging him into a random room as Husk watches nervously. Vox is smart he knows not to anger the radio demon he’ll be fine right? That hopeful thinking was immediately trashed when he started hearing yelling growing louder and louder so loud infact that the others were waking up even Lucifer came down to check if anything was wrong they all went to Husk asking if he knew what was going on but Husk was too worried really give them a answer the only thing he’s willing to say is Alastor sparking Lucifer to go on a rant . The fighting lasted for a while before Vox opened the door and storming out followed by Alastor who’s missing his iconic smile instead it being replaced by a scowl. Alastor without his smile is unnatural as creepy as his always smiling face is it’s at least somewhat normal once you get used to it but this was just wrong. No one would dare say word all either too scared are unnerved to say a thing “sooo” all except Lucifer of course “trouble in paradise?”

ough. ruh roh.......... trouble in paradise indeed

this is so good nonny. really. Guys. you have to consider writing these out. or at least detail them more to me... please.... i am but a starving victorian child and this is the last thing i will see before my tragic death at the age of 7 (but you can save me by feeding me more radiostatic morsels)

anyway. ahem. sorry i dont know what just happened i think i got possessed by sir pentious- the idea of vox and al's first real fight after they make up being over his treatment of husk is just. you know what thats so real to me. because like radiostatics general (Canon because if its ME writing ill make sure to make them sappy as shit) dynamic is like, ill treat you like shit and youll treat me like shit but in the end you're mine and im yours and thatll never change- but that only applies to THEM. if vox catches al treating his previous mentor (cough father figure cough) like that it is On Sight because first of all, thats HUSK. thats the guy who taught him like basically everything he knows, almost raised him in hell and on the path to being an overlord- and also, does this mean al would pay more attention to torturing husk than he would to vox? because thats just- unacceptable. honestly. so its just so funny if vox like storms out in a fury and whisks husk away to the vees tower or something and profusely ignores alastor and their dynamic gets reversed all because vox learns about the way al treats his thralls (DESERVED)

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Prom with Vaxleth?

26. Prom setting this in grow with the flow! buckle the FUCK UP

It starts with a social media post—Vex's, to be specific. Vax groans, his phone hovering just a few inches above his face, and Keyleth turns her head away from the business email she's been writing and rewriting for the last half hour to ask, "What is it?"

"Look." And then the phone is shoved in her face, and she's looking at—

"Is that you?"

All limbs and sharp angles, a teenage Vax in an ill-fitting tuxedo, his hair slicked back with what must be an entire container of hair gel, gives a sultry look to the camera. He's back to back with his sister, who's wearing a shimmering blue strapless gown that makes her legs look a million miles long. They each wear a snowdrop, him on his boutonniere and her on her corsage.

"Is this your prom photo?" Keyleth snatches the phone, grinning from ear to ear, to look even closer. "You two look so good!"

"We look so dorky." Vax tries to grab the phone back, but Keyleth keeps it deftly out of reach. "Apparently, today's the tenth anniversary, and Vex decided to air our dirty laundry on social media."

Keyleth scrolls down to read the comments, and since Vax is tagged, the Grow with the Flow audience is having a field day. "Oh yeah, this is fun. It's half bullying you, half asking to have a threesome with you and Vex."

"Disgusting."

Keyleth finally returns the phone. "Did you guys at least have fun?"

"Well, I hooked up with both the prom queen and the theatre teacher, so...yes."

Keyleth's jaw drops. "At the same time?"

"No." That prompts more questions than it answers, but then Vax asks, "What about you? I wanna see sexy prom photos."

She snorts. "Good luck. I didn't have a prom."

Vax sits up in bed. "For real? Why not?"

"I wasn't kidding when I said Zephrah is small. My graduating class had eleven kids in it. We just had a bonfire instead. That was the first time I successfully shotgunned a beer. There may be pictures of that somewhere!"

Vax pouts, hooking his chin on your shoulder. "So you've never gotten to dress up all pretty, make all the boys and girls go oooooh?"

"Um, well, I got a pretty nice dress for my mom's funeral."

"Oh fucking hell." Vax swings his legs out of bed and snags up his phone. He paces a line in the kitchen, dialing someone and pressing the phone to his ear.

"Who are you calling?"

"My sister. We are fixing this."

.

Honestly, Keyleth forgets about it. The podcast is really taking off, and pretty much any time not spent researching and scripting and recording and editing is spent coordinating sponsorships and doing the annoying paperwork that comes with owning a business. Vax has some project that he's working on, but he won't tell her what it is, which is fine, because she has more than enough projects on her own plate right now.

She doesn't think to question it when Vex tells her they're going shopping one weekend. Vex likes to shop—well, no. Vex likes to window-shop. Vex rarely spends actual money. Except this time, they go to a little corner boutique, one that sells gowns for weddings and galas. She doesn't know why, but Vex is insistent that she get this long-sleeved emerald green dress that hugs her curves. She tries to argue that it's a ridiculous expense, but Vex promises her they'll do a photoshoot with it for the podcast, and hey, they've been making some pretty good ad revenue these days, so she caves. It's especially hard to say no when Vex buys a dress herself, a slinky black number that makes her look like danger.

She definitely doesn't connect the dots when Vex and Pike burst in unannounced one afternoon when Vax is out, each laden with bags of makeup and hair products. Keyleth's tugged away from her editing to get dolled up, for fun, they insist. The next thing she knows, they're all dressed up, each in their own beautiful gown—Pike's poofy golden dress makes her look like the sun incarnate—and Keyleth's being shoved out the door.

She probably should have figured it out before Vex pulled her car up in front of the botanical garden, where a red carpet lined with silver and gold balloons leads inside the building, but no, it takes Vax, dressed in a sharp black suit that fits like a glove with a slim green tie that matches her dress perfectly, stepping out holding a homemade sign that reads Will you go to prom with me? that she finally fucking gets it.

Crying, she throws her arms around his neck, chastising him for keeping such a momentous secret from her, but Vex is there to scold her for ruining her hair and makeup. Her friends lead her inside, where she's shocked to find the gardens filled with people, most of whom she does not know. Vax explains that he put the call out for anyone in the city who missed out on their high school prom and wants a second chance, with all profits from ticket sales being donated to Keyleth's favorite conservation organization. Keyleth dissolves into a mess again, but Vex and Pike get her cleaned up enough for the evening to begin.

And oh, what an evening. Scanlan's band plays them through a night of dancing, drinking, and all around fun. Keyleth has never spent so much time on a dance floor in her life, but even though she takes plenty of spins with Percy and Grog and the girls, she is happy to have so many with Vax, who can go from an elegant waltz to a shockingly gymnastic twerk with a simple key change.

Some of the other prom attendees are podcast listeners, and Keyleth is so grateful to get to put faces to the numbers she spends more time than she likes to admit obsessing over. Everyone takes thousands of pictures, and she is so excited to see the #growwiththeflow hashtag come morning. The gardens are filled to the brim with people just loving life and enjoying each other's company, and Keyleth, who had never put much thought into what it meant to miss out on such an adolescent right of passage, is beyond grateful to experience this night with these people.

When the evening is winding down, and most of the revelers have either gone home or gone to another location to continue the party, Vax tugs her by the hand deeper into the gardens, far from the area set aside for the event. He boldly strides past a sign forbidding entry, saying "This is not even in the top ten most interesting places I've trespassed" when she stutters in protest.

He stops when they're surrounded by the most beautiful blossoming cherry trees Keyleth has seen since she left Zephrah. The glass ceilings of the botanical gardens let in the light of the stars above, and the entire scene is so fragrant and beautiful. "Vax...this is lovely."

"So are you." She wrinkles her nose at him, and he kisses it. "Did you have fun?"

"I don't think I've ever had so much fun in my life. I can't believe you kept this a surprise from me for so long."

"I can't believe you didn't catch on. I mean honestly, Keyleth, don't tell me I have to be the brains in this relationship, because if that's the case, we're screwed."

She punches his arm. "Jerk."

"Yeah, well, this jerk has one more surprise for you. Look over there." He points over her shoulder and she turns. She squints in the low light, but she sees nothing beyond the cherry trees except more plants.

"I don't understand, is there supposed to be—" She cuts herself off as she turns around to see Vax on one knee, a small box in hand. Her hands fly to her mouth, her eyes instantly watery.

"Keyleth, I am not a man of the gods." His voice is cracked, strained, like he's choking back tears of his own. "There is little that I have ever had faith in in this life. Until you. Until I fell in love with a girl I'd follow to the ends of the earth. Until I learned that fate did not mean that my life was a cart on a track, hurtling toward an uncertain future I couldn't avoid, but rather a certainty, a knowing that in this life, in any life, I am yours until I die and long after. And now my faith is in how much I love you, in how much I know you love me. And I may be a lovesick fool, but I have every faith that love will carry us through whatever the gods have in store for us." Keyleth is openly weeping, her breaths coming fast and sharp. "So, then, Keyleth..." He opens the ring box, revealing a pair of rings, one with a gorgeous smokey gray stone. "Will you marry me?"

She doesn't answer him, choosing instead to tackle him into a kiss that knocks him pack onto the stone pathway of the gardens. She kisses him until she can't breath, until the crying and the laughing and the hyperventilating has him sitting her upright before she passes out. Her hand trembles as he slides the rings onto her finger, and it isn't until he closes the ring box again that he pauses and asks, "Uh, wait, was that a yes?"

"Oh, you are definitely not the brains in this relationship." And she kisses her fiancé again, beneath the stars and the cherry blossoms and the eyes of the gods.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Towing The Line ~Casey Novak x Elizabeth Donnelly (Charlie Angst)

Summary— Set when Casey was with Charlie (her schizophrenic ex), a little fic of how Casey finally comes to terms with Charlie and how there are better fish in the sea (like Liz).

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: angst, physical abuse, implied anxiety attacks, lots and lots of angst, crying, reckless actions, freezing cold, overthinking, happy fluffy ending (sort of), Liz comes to the rescue, etc.

Enjoy (;

Casey’s heart raced as she barrelled out into the night, the pouring rain slamming the door behind her. It hadn’t even been more than two hours since she had come home, she hadn’t even gotten the chance to change out of her work clothes. One more second with Charlie and Casey swore she would have combusted. The young woman’s heels clacked along the wet pavement as she fought her way through the downpour.

Realizing just how cold and rainy it was, Casey curled her arms into her chest, shivering as she walked towards the one place she could think of. She had met Charlie three years ago and had really hit it off, eventually moving in together in less than a year. Casey’s mind spiraled as she desperately tried to understand how things had gotten so bad so fast. Placing her gaze to the horizon, the young woman saw the next stop light crossing in the near distance, now speeding up her swift walk in order to get one step closer to her intended goal.

Making it to the end of the block, Casey’s outstretched hand barely hit the crosswalk button, the imbalance of one arm out making her stumble forward slightly. One small stumble was all it seemed to take with her and Charlie for things to go downhill so quickly. I mean she’d yelled before, but she had never hit me. Not before tonight. Casey was violently pulled out of her thoughts by a driver honking their horn to tell her that the light was green for her to cross, and cross she did.

She was now effectively soaked, wading through the wet streets, Casey only picked up her pace even more. At first, things with Charlie seemed to be a dream, perfect weekends and late nights together, but soon those late nights and long weekends turned into yelling fits and tantrums. The blonde sighed in unrest, she knew that Charlie couldn’t help it. It was an illness. But did that excuse her behavior? Casey began to feel every bead of water that ran down her trembling state as she continued to tread through the downpour.

Time started to fade in and out as the young woman traipsed through five more stoplight crossings, encountering not very many people, as it was way past 3am and thundering like no tomorrow. When Casey had finally caught onto the patterns in Charlie’s behavior (a year into living together), she tried to convince the other woman to get help, but to no avail, she would not hear of support of any kind. A tear escaped Casey’s left eye, joining one of the many droplets on her person, as her mind reeled and replayed the entirety of the last two years. Even though it was late, the city’s bright, neon lights still buzzed as the blonde pulled her coat tighter around her freezing figure and could no longer hold back the floods of tears erupting from her as she sped along the sidewalk.

With her mind on anything but the path in front of her, Casey barely noticed as her right heel got caught in one of the cracks in the pavement, launching the woman forward and off balance. The crux of it all happened when Charlie got so mad, so worked up, that she had not only yelled and berated her partner, but she had also thrown things at her and hit her for the first time. Why hadn’t Charlie just gotten help? This is all my fault. If I had simply been better, been a better partner, a better caretaker… Casey’s mind was swimming as her body tumbled to the ground and her head hit the hard pavement with a crack!.

The young blonde gripped her throbbing head in the pouring rain, as she stumbled to get her bearings once more. The determination on Charlie’s face after she’d thrown that punch was singed into Casey’s memory, and she was sure that the bruise it would leave would be just as memorable. Her mind was a stranger to her now, betraying her: All she could think about was how she had messed up. That she was the failure. That it was her fault. As more tears flowed out from her eyes, she managed to get back on her feet with a quivering lip and a broken spirit.

Now with aching limbs, Casey stammered her way left and down the final street, her core shivering from the intense chill of the relentless night. She remembered wanting to just burst into tears right there in front of Charlie, but instead instinct took over and before she knew it, she was grabbing her coat and she was out the door. The blonde’s heart was pounding in her head, her thoughts had become a broken record, and she wondered if this was her destiny, living a life for others at the cost of her own. With one final push, Casey forced herself up the brownstone steps, knocked on the tall, lavish door, and finally collapsed on the doorstep, soaking the ground with the weight that she was carrying.

The door swung open moments later and a warmth drifted towards her bones, towards her soul. But her eyes were defeated, closing against her will. Her mind shutting down against her will. The last thing Casey saw was the outline of the older woman, her mentor, sweeping down and taking the young blonde’s frail body into her arms.

“Dear God Casey…” Elizabeth murmured concerningly, “What were you thinking…??”

But Casey couldn’t respond. Nor did Liz expect the young woman to. She simply carried Casey inside the expansive brownstone, closing the door behind her, and finally pulling Casey’s ice cold body into the warmth of safety.

~~~

Casey Novak Masterlist

Elizabeth Donnelly Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;

[elliemarchetti]

The Gift

Since I had a lot of fun writing the fourth chapter of The Queen of the Quills - Jily Edition (it features Petunia's PoV!), I couldn't resist the temptation to reply, but this time with Sirius as narrator. A very James-is-a-fool-in-love centric piece for @jilymicrofics prompt 14.

Prompt: Hidden

Words: 865

Although he wasn't the most rational fellow in his group of friends, James had always been a logical person, perhaps with twisted thoughts, inclined to justify acts that otherwise would have seemed crazy, but at the moment he was evidently losing his mind. Sirius had been by his side through every stage of his relationship with Lily, he had supported him even when she seemed to hate him and want nothing to do with him, he had been the shoulder he cried on when anyone would’ve given up, and his wingman when the beautiful redhead had finally come out of her shell a bit and started throwing a few too many glances in the corridors to be by mistake, but he had never behaved like this. Maybe his girlfriend had put a love potion in his morning pumpkin juice, or a bludger hit him on the head during Quidditch practice, otherwise the only sensible explanation was a sudden mental illness. Maybe they should’ve gotten him admitted to St Mungo’s, or maybe asking Fleamont for advice on how to deal with his son’s sudden wavering in self-confidence was the best way to deal with it.

The drama started on a cloudy morning, right at the beginning of May, when he announced during breakfast that their one-year anniversary was approaching too quickly for his liking.

“What do you mean too quickly?” Remus had asked, so shocked he left his fork full of food suspended halfway between his plate and his mouth.

It was probably Sirius’ fault: he knew he should’ve never told him what he had learned from Marlene in the peace and carefreeness of post-coital limbo, especially information regarding the gift Lily bought for him well in advance for the imminent milestone, but when it came to James and his doe eyes, the look of an innocent puppy he showed off only when he needed to manipulate others to get what he wanted, Sirius was a weak man, and as always he had given in, revealing every word and asking him not to divulge how he had found out that indiscretion. And James, who never broke a promise, had kept everything to himself, including the insecurity that not being able to think of the perfect present was causing him, until he exploded.

“You don’t know for sure if you will like what she got you,” Peter had pointed out, but Sirius knew that even if Lily had chosen to give his friend a stone collected on the shores of the Great Lake he would’ve appreciated the gesture, finding a hidden, deeper meaning behind it, and it would become a paperweight, or a lucky amulet to keep in his pocket when he flew on his broom and juggled between treacherous Slytherins and ruthless Ravenclaws.

“Maybe I should just hide in the infirmary until the day it’s over,” James had sighed, but Sirius knew he wouldn’t do it just as much as he knew he could find something, he just wasn’t able to picture anything worthy of representing how he felt for her. When they talked about it the last time, truly talked, his best friend made a premise, which had something to do with being aware he was exaggerating and that they were still young for that kind of thoughts, but the sentence still ended with him stating he believed she was the one, the only person he could picture himself married to and the future mother of his children.

“She’s my other half,” he had said, “and I want to grow old with her. I can’t wait to introduce her to my parents, and I can’t be more grateful to you, Remus, and Peter for having welcomed her into out little group as a sister.”

Two weeks had now passed since that moment, the day of the scheduled visit to Hogsmeade, the last before the big day, had arrived, and Sirius was dragging a distressed James – truly an anguished soul, since he had even taken off his glasses to rub his eyes so hard he declared he could see starts dancing in his field of vision in plain day light – on the muddy road leading to the only all-wizarding village in Britain.

“I’d go for something light-hearted, to not scare her,” Sirius suggested, in a desperate attempt to stop his companion from ripping his hair out and eating his nails to the bone. Doubts were consuming him, and although he was probably aware that one day he would surely laugh at how stupid and childish he had been, at the moment they must’ve seemed well founded concerns worth losing sleep over.

“What about a bouquet of edible lilies made of her favourite candies?” he went on, half joking. “If we go to Honeydukes first, they might be ready before we have to leave.”

“Wouldn’t it be a rather cheesy way to say I want to eat her out?” James asked, seemingly pleased with the idea. Maybe his gift was going to be divided in two parts, both physical, albeit in different ways, and both capable of eliciting pleased, and annoying, since Sirius slept in the same room as James, sounds of delight from the Head Girl.