#its a practice project!! ready to practice being DONE WITH IT

[judith-prietht]

First attempt at free motion quilting do NOT look at the alignment I obviously barely basted

[star-sim]

how you hurt him ☆ ot7

☆ non-idol! ot7 enhypen x fem! reader ☆ summary: all the ways that you hurt him (ft. song lyrics) ☆ genre: angst ☆ warning(s): toxic relationship, toxic! reader, mentions of cheating, this is practice for an english project so please bear with me, most of this is very figurative/abstract ☆ word count: 2.9k total ☆ aka enhypen boys as sad love songs, it’s like 1am i will edit later 😭

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

heeseung ☆

"why would you ever kiss me? i'm not even half as pretty" — heather, conan gray

was there something wrong with heeseung? what if he wasn't good enough for you? did you think he was ugly? disgusting? annoying? needy?

at the beginning of your relationship, you made it clear to heeseung that you weren't good with words.

"don't worry about it," heeseung had told you. "i'm not good either."

he thought you meant that you found it hard to say "i love you."

what you meant was that you were indeed good with words, just bad at saying nice things to him.

at first he thought he was being ridiculous, a prisoner of his own mind.

he knew you loved him— how could you possibly not?

but if you loved him, why did you say such nasty things to him?

"god, heeseung, you're so stupid."

"i can't believe i'm dating someone like you."

"i'm disgusted with you."

he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

what had he done to make you repulsed by him? was he being sensitive?

he hated himself for all of it.

he hated the creeping feelings of jealousy that would suffocate him like a noose to a prisoner whenever he saw you talk to another man. did you like him more than heeseung? what if you wanted to leave him?

he hated how he craved what little kind words you could give him. it was so rare for you to compliment and speak to him gently, so when you did, heeseung was drunk on it.

he hated how insecure he got.

he hated how his mind was a gallow of its own.

he hated how afraid he was.

"you're so pretty," you whispered into his ear.

heeseung's stomach did flips. did you really mean it? was he as pretty as all the other men you entertained yourself with? was that why you kissed him and not them?

did this mean that you really loved him?

heeseung felt something tighten around his neck. not in that suffocating way that made him claw at his skin until he bled as he stared in the mirror asking himself what could be changed, but in the way that made him feel warm all over.

he��d wait at the gallows like a convicted prisoner, he’d stand there proud, ready to say his last words. he’d keep his hands behind his back, he’d admire the brass noose that would be his eternal necklace.

because for heeseung, to be with you, and to love you, was to be helpless.

to love you was to wait like a dog in the cold.

to love you was to eat your every word like it was his last meal.

to love you was to be your prisoner waiting for you to execute him.

jay ☆

"pretend that we are more than friends, then of course I'll let you break my heart again" — let you break my heart again, laufey

it's not your fault, jay tells himself. it's not your fault that you can't love him.

but at what point does it become your fault?

you knew that he loved you. he'd told you multiple times, shown you a billion other times. anyone with eyes could tell that he was head over heels in love with you. everyone knew.

especially you— you who rejected him time and time again, laughing that he was just a friend to you.

but here you were, pressing yourself up against him, looking at him with lidded eyes and licking your lips like you wanted to eat him. you held his hand against your chest, whispering a soft "good night." jay knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, not with you so close to him, not with the ache in his chest.

it's not your fault that he loves you, jay thought. but it is your fault that you lead him on, that you pretend to kiss him, that you snuggle up next to him knowing that he'd lay down his life for you.

did you enjoy torturing him like this?

what pleasure did you take in constantly making him think that he had a chance with you?

was this how it was going to be forever?

were you always going to keep him waiting like this, just because you knew that he'd stay no matter what?

jay swallowed the lump in his throat.

he couldn't continue living like this, having you play with his feeling like this.

"jay..." you mumbled, reaching out for him. jay was pulled out of his thoughts, his eyes flickering to you. you looked so innocent and peaceful despite himself. how could he ever stop? how could he stop when it was you at hand?

"i'm here," he hummed, throwing an arm around you. i'm always here.

you were warm, and soft, and everything that jay could ever want in a person. your soft breathing brushed up against his cheek.

jay stared at your sleeping face.

would it hurt to pretend that you were more than friends?

he let his eyelids fall slowly.

he could imagine you and him dancing in the kitchen, laughing together as the scent of jay's cooking filled the apartment. jazz music would be playing, and you'd pretend to be an old flapper couple from the '20's, swirling around the cold kitchen tiles.

your words from earlier echoed in his head.

"i love you so much, jay!"

"you're the best."

"how could i ever be so lucky to meet you?"

it made his heart pound in his chest, unable to hide the lovesick grin spreading on his face.

he knew your words meant nothing, that you truly only saw him as a friend.

he needed to stop this delusion now, else he'd be even more hurt than he already was. you broke his heart over and over again, as if it meant nothing to you.

but as you and him twirled around his head, basking in each other's presence, jay couldn't bring himself to let you go.

he'd let you, jay thought. he'd let you break his heart.

as many times as you wanted.

jake ☆

"the other man will always cry himself to sleep, the other man will never have her love to keep" — the other woman, lana del rey

of course jake knew that he wasn't the only man in your life.

how many times did he lay in bed at night, wishing that it was him that could hold you? how many times did he dream of being the man that could call you his? how many fantasies did he have of marrying you, of giving you the world?

and how many times did he have to remind himself that he couldn't have you— that you already had someone to love?

it made jake feel sick, seeing all the pictures that you posted with you and your husband, hearing all the chatter about your 2-year wedding anniversary, and forcing himself to smile as a tight-lipped "congratulations" fell from his mouth.

but what made him even more sick was how happy he felt whenever you showed up at his doorstep in the depths of the night.

jake couldn't help it.

he couldn't help how his stomach did flips when your hands slithered up his chest, wrapping around his neck as you pressed kisses against his jaw.

he couldn't help how his body moved on its own as he took in the scent of your perfume, his head filling with nothing but you, you, you.

he couldn't help how he craved you, how he was unable to pull away from you, even though he knew you had a husband waiting for you back home.

he couldn't help how for a moment, he could pretend that you were his; for a moment, he could live in the illusion that he was the one that you came home to every night, that he was the one that you woke up with in the morning, that he was the one that you sat at the kitchen table with to discuss your weekly grocery list, that he was the one that you laughed with in the depths of night, that he was the only man that you loved.

but as quickly as it started, you were already out the door, waving goodbye with a sweet smile as if you hadn't committed a crime against your husband.

jake knew the sight of your retreating back better than anyone, and as he closed the door, he'd suck in a sharp breath.

he would deny it over and over, until his words lost meaning.

but he knew the truth.

he was a fool for thinking that he could have you, for after all this time, he was the other man.

sunghoon ☆

"i bet on losing dogs, i know they're losing and i'll pay for my place" — i bet on losing dogs, mitski

you and sunghoon were never meant to work out, and he knew this.

everyone said that you'd hurt him. he'd seen it with his own eyes, how you bore your bloody teeth and ripped into people like they were your prey, how you barked venomous words at people.

you were a losing dog to begin with, a losing dog that would never truly love him the same way you loved yourself.

and before he knew it, sunghoon realized that everyone was right.

you sunk your teeth into him, feasting on what love he could give you like a ravenous hyena.

but how could he resist you? how could he resist your touch, your warmth, your limited moments of compassion?

wounded, bleeding, scarred, sunghoon staggered away from the killing floor. yet, he was unable to stop himself from turning over his shoulder to see your face.

there was something disgusting he felt, something that made sunghoon nauseous. his stomach churned. and then he realized, he couldn't bring himself to leave you.

because you were a starving dog, thristy for a victim.

because you were a wailing dog, weeping over your kill as if it would atone you.

because you were a losing dog, a dog that sunghoon placed his bets on.

and it was time for him to pay the price of his actions.

sunoo ☆

"i know who you pretend i am" —washing machine heart, mitski

sunoo wasn't stupid.

he knew it better than anyone, that your heart didn't belong to him. it never did, and it never will.

sunoo saw the way that you yearned, he saw the way that your eyes lit up, he saw the way that you gazed with love in your eyes— all for someone that wasn't him.

so why did you kiss him like he meant anything to you? why did you hold him like he could have you?

he knew why.

"i missed you so much," you breathed against his ear, pressing him against the wall. "so, so, so much."

the taste of your lips was addicting.

you liked to kiss roughly. you liked to run your fingers through his hair and pull it harshly, making him groan lowly against your lips. you liked to slip your fingers up his shirt, making him shudder.

sunoo liked to kiss gently. he liked it when your lips would melt against his. he liked it when you played with the clasp of the silver chain around his neck. he liked it when you pulled away and giggled softly at the lipstick smudge at the corner of his lip.

he didn't like it rough like you did.

but he took it all.

he took it all, because he loved you.

he took it all, even though he knew that you were kissing him pretending that he someone else.

it wasn't hard to tell.

you wore the gold necklace that he gave you, never any of the ones that sunoo got you.

you didn't even blink when sunoo's name was said, but the mere mention of his interests or career had you reeling.

and of course, he liked when you kissed roughly so you were a rough kisser, even though sunoo liked it gentle.

you don't even look at sunoo the way you look at him.

when you said "i miss you," sunoo could tell that you didn't mean it.

you didn't miss sunoo, you missed him. you just missed the attention that sunoo gave you.

he knew who you pretended he was.

but all he could do was look into your eyes, and be reminded of a tragedy: that while you couldn't love him back, he loved you.

"i missed you, too," he whispered back, swallowing the lump in his throat, swallowing his dignity.

jungwon ☆

"if you need to be mean, be mean to me" — i don't smoke, mitski

to be vulnerable, to be at someone's mercy, to be someone's lamb for the slaughter, was jungwon's biggest fear. he'd die before he'd let someone take advantage of his weakness.

yet as you slipped out of his grip, your once loving eyes turning cold as hands that once held him in your arms became the hands that striked him, all he could do was sit back and take it.

words like daggers into his back, slashing him over and over like he was a sacrificial lamb for a god that could not save him. hot tears would line as eyes as you raised your knife at him, sending shivers down his spine that made him cower into his skin, chanting apologies like they were prayers.

jungwon should run. after all, that was all he spent his life doing.

but how could he escape you when you kissed his tear-stained face? how could he leave you, for when your anger simmered down you cradled his cheek, whispering that you loved him?

it hurt, it hurt so bad.

but if you must destroy him, if you must slaughter him until your killing floor was covered in blood, if you must cut him up into little pieces for your own pleasure, so be it.

he'd follow you into the slaughterhouse, knowing full well that the darkness was the last thing he'd ever see, and jungwon would close his eyes and thank the person that crafted your blade anyway.

you can kiss him, you can hold him close, or you can strike him, you can treat him like an animal. he wouldn't care. it would be the same either way; he'd be glad that it was you.

for he was your lamb, and you were his butcher; for if you needed to be mean, be mean to him.

riki ☆

"even though she isn’t even really gone, but things are just different ever since she cut her blue hair off" — blue hair, tv girl

of course riki noticed. how could he not?

all those bored looks when he was talking, aimless nods when he asked you a question, and loveless kisses that you pressed against his skin. it took you hours to respond to his texts and calls, and when you did, you responded curtly. you stopped coming home, always having plans on weekends with no time for him.

riki didn't know what happened.

he thought that you and him had such a great relationship, filled with love and laughter.

but somewhere along the way, you seemed to lose interest in him.

he asked all your friends, but they said nothing changed about your behavior.

did riki do something wrong? did he make you angry? all questions that he'd never find the answer to.

the silence was piercing, ringing in his ears. he'd just asked you how your day was, and all he got back was a simple, vacant stare, before you turned back to your phone, scrolling mindlessly. his heart sunk so his stomach, brows crashing together.

had riki lost you? all he wanted was for you to look at him, for you to acknowledge him. was he being dramatic?

please, riki begged. please look at me, please see me, please love me.

[mytaiyakeylover]

scary stares.

synopsis: his gaze is penetrating, like that of a predator ready to pounce on its prey, and you can't help but wonder at what point you managed to anger the gang leader.

pairing: mikey x gn!reader

a/n: i don’t even know how my sleep deprived brain came up with this. was watching some random horror movie at 3 am yesterday and this is what happened😳 part 2?

warnings: just the reader freaking out and mikey being his usual oblivious self. guess some hints of angst too. reader misunderstands mikey, which isn’t that weird.

word count: 1.3k

series masterlist | previous | next

It’s unnerving. The way he keeps staring at you. Black, abyssal eyes penetrate your soul, making you feel exposed — naked even. You don’t know what he wants — what he’s expecting from you.

You feel small under his gaze; like a mouse. It doesn’t seem to bother him whatsoever, dead eyes simply watching you from the other side of the classroom, not paying any mind to what the teacher is saying. Usually you would have at least tried to pay attention — which you are — but the blond boy sitting at the back of the classroom is staring so intently, you can practically feel his eyes lingering on your vulnerable figure.

He doesn’t break eye contact when you look in his direction, and you find yourself shrinking. Perhaps you’re overreacting. One of your friends had once told you that he probably likes you, but you’re not too sure. Not when he keeps looking at you in a similar way that a predator watches its prey. You rake through your brain, trying to remember at what exact instance you had managed to anger the gang leader, but find none.

It’s quite hard to pinpoint what exactly you must have done however, as neither of you had even as much as exchanged one word with each other. The teacher doesn’t make things easier for you as he starts putting students into groups for some project. By some miracle you and Sano just happen to get into the same one. But you try not to show the relief you feel when his tall friend — Ryuguji — also joins you.

They may be friends, but even you were observant enough to notice that the short boy was less intimidating with him. That Ryuguji more or less, had at least some control over the commander. It was also common knowledge that between the both, the taller one was always the more reserved and collected one.

“…So, uh,” you start, rubbing the back of your head sheepishly. “What exactly were we supposed to do?” You ask tentatively, still feeling quite intimidated by the shorter boy. Ryuguji lets out a barely audible sigh, but then smiles. You think he must be sensing your unease and is trying to make you feel more comfortable.

“Guess somebody must have zoned out, huh,” he states, a teasing smirk appearing on his lips, which urged you to let out an embarrassed laugh. “Guess so,” you mumble, smiling faintly as a soft pink hue dusts your cheeks.

The other boy doesn’t say anything, eyes vacant as he seems to be deep in thought. You’re not too sure of what he’s thinking about, but there is something in your gut telling you that you want to know. Still, the question remains unspoken, letting curiosity simply continue to eat at your sanity. Bits by bits; like a parasite.

It has always been a bad habit of yours. Sometimes you wish you had more courage. More courage to speak your thoughts. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have been here right now, feeling like this — so helpless and lonely. It's not that you don't enjoy being alone; in fact, you love it. However, there have always been moments when you wish you had done things differently.

You know you should ask. Should ask why he’s been staring at you for so long — in such a way. To clear things up. To save yourself from the growing anxiety. To protect your sanity.

Then someone clears their throat. It’s Ryuguji. You guess he must have noticed the tension between you and his friend. Sano still doesn't make any acknowledgment of either of you, and you can hear the dragon-tattooed boy sigh from your right.

“There is nothing much, we’re just supposed to answer these questions and then discuss them,” the tall boy explains, losing any hope he may have had previously for his commander. You can practically sense it by the apparent vein that has popped out above his right eyebrow.

A barely audible, “Oh,” leaves your lips at his words. Then you sit down, doing your best to avoid making eye contact with the other boy. He’s still staring, and you're not quite sure what to make out of it. A part of you hoped that it would at least be easier for you to understand what that gaze means. Unfortunately, instead of making things clearer, it only seems to confuse you further.

The closeness isn’t helping in the slightest, despite the desk separating the both of you. If anything, it only makes you more nervous. You try to break the tension by asking him questions here and there, whenever you get to a new question that you need to discuss. Sano never answers you however — never says anything at all, in fact, and Ryuguji looks truly fed up with his behavior.

Time passes. Ryuguji is speaking, but you only seem to hear the ticking of the clock, so all you do is nod. Nodding at him with a polite — and perhaps slightly awkward — smile whenever you catch his lips moving. Heart beating erratically in your rib cage as the oh so familiar irrational sense of fear and dread envelopes your senses.

The feeling leaves you confused as you had never experienced such emotions without any apparent reason. Communication was never a problem for you before. Despite occasionally overthinking things, it had never occurred unless it was due to something you had said that was foolish or poorly thought out. Your friends would sometimes tease you, claiming that you paid too much attention to trivial matters.

“(L/n)-san,” you hear Ryuguji’s voice calling out for you, pulling you out from your thoughts. His eyebrows are furrowed, a look of concern plastering his face. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes widen as you rush to come up with a response. "Of course," you say, realizing you had zoned out. The boy arches an eyebrow in response, dismissing your later stuttered apology with a wave.

A lump forms in your throat as you catch the pair of onyxes still very much concentrated on you. Your cheeks flare up at their intense look, but try not to acknowledge that fact. Instead you simply turn around, and continue on with the questions.

Minutes pass by and you feel cold sweaty trailing down your neck as they remain fixated on you. You try to form a coherent sentence whenever Ryuguji is asking you something, but they only come out as a stuttered mess. The boy is considerate enough to not comment on it however.

You feel a wave of relief flooding your system as the bell rings and the teacher announces the end of the lesson. However, it's only when your feet step out of the classroom that the feeling fully registers in your brain. Even then, you fail to notice the forgotten notebook on your former group member's desk.

Draken sweatdrops at how quickly you bolted out of the classroom, noticing the notebook you had accidentally left behind. He feels slightly guilty for the obvious discomfort you were displaying, fully aware that Mikey's weird demeanor must have caught you off guard. The short boy did look kind of creepy throughout the entire lesson.

He sighs, about to stand up and try to catch up to you, but a familiar voice stops him in his tracks. “Hey, Ken-chin?” There is a slightly dreamy lilt to it, and the addressed boy feels his brain short-circuit. He can’t help it, he’s never heard his friend speak in such a manner, like…ever.

“Don’t you think (Y/n)-chan is pretty?”

[lindsey-laufeyson]

Distractions- Chapter 13

Distractions Masterlist

Pairing: Reader x FWB!Tom Hiddleston

Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits

From the moment Tom left for Hawaii, you were battling yourself. You missed him terribly, and you wanted to take every chance you could to text or call him, but you didn’t want to bother him or appear clingy. He was working for Steven Spielberg in a tropical paradise alongside a long-legged, black-haired beauty. He would be much too distracted to think about you.

…

Tom knew he was going to miss you. After all, the two of you had become incredibly close over a relatively short amount of time. But he never could have predicted just how much he would miss you. Even halfway around the world, in one of the most beautiful places on earth, he couldn’t get you out of his head. It was incredibly frustrating. Especially when there were only small windows in the day when you both could talk, given the eleven hour time difference and your grueling schedules. Nevertheless, he took whatever he could get, whether it was a text here and there, or the occasional video call. 

“Hello, darling,” he greeted you cheerfully through panting breaths. He had just finished his morning run when his phone alerted him of a video call from you.

“Wow,” you said, looking taken aback. “It appears that in the battle between your hair and Hawaii, Hawaii has won!”

He chuckled. Ever since he stepped foot in the humid Hawaii air, his naturally curly hair had taken on a mind of its own, practically doubling in volume. He knew you would immediately notice and take the mickey out of him. “Yeah, well, humidity has never really been my friend.”

“I actually think your curls are rather adorable! Especially now they’re absolutely unruly. That being said, I’m glad I’m not the one doing your hair for this film. Whoever it is has their work cut out for them.”

“Oh I often hear her cursing under her breath when she has to keep putting the same curl back in place over and over again. Reminds me of you actually.”

“She reminds you of me?”

“No, just the cursing. I have yet to meet anyone quite like you. So how was your day?”

“Exhausting,” you huffed as you flopped backwards onto your sofa. “I’m not sure if I’ve just forgotten what it’s like to work on a project this big, or if this one in particular is just that challenging.”

Tom furrowed his brow in concern. “What’s going on?”

You let out a heavy sigh. “I just feel like I have to do everything myself if I want it done right. These children in my department are more concerned about their fucking instagram accounts than their jobs.”

“Can you have them replaced?”

“And train in a whole new batch all over again? Not worth it. I just have to power through.”

“Y/n, that’s not healthy.”

“Neither is improper sun cream application, and yet here you are with your chest as red as the glass of merlot I’m about to have, so you can save the lecture, Tommy boy,” you teased.

“I hardly think you can compare copious amounts of stress on a daily basis to a little sunburn.”

“Well, they can both lead to cancer.”

He laughed. “Oh how I miss your incomparable congeniality.”

 “I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing your face tiredly. “It’s just been a long day.”

“No need to be sorry. I just wish I could help. Get some rest, okay? I’ve gotta get ready for work.”

“Have a good day,” you told him, with as much of a smile as you could muster.

“Goodnight, darling.” And with a hint of regret, he hung up.

…

Seeing Tom all sweaty and out of breath, with his hair wilder than you’d ever seen it turned you on more than it probably should have. But it had been over two weeks since you’d seen him, meaning it had been over two weeks since you’d gotten laid, and the stress from work had you wound tighter than a ten day clock. 

Fuck this time difference. If he hadn’t had to go to work you would have told him to go somewhere private so he could watch you touch yourself, and inevitably start touching himself as well. 

Your eyes fell closed as you reached into your pants and ran your middle finger through your already slick folds. As you began to rub circles into your clit, you imagined Tom watching you on the video call with hungry eyes. 

That’s it, baby. Stroke that beautiful pussy for me, he’d say. 

You pictured him pulling his hard cock out of his shorts and slowly pumping it up and down as he continued watching you pleasure yourself. You’d put on a show for him, keeping your eyes on him as you made the most erotic noises you knew he loved. 

What I wouldn’t give to be inside you right now, he’d groan while his hand picked up speed. To be the one ushering those angelic sounds from those delicious lips of yours.

You rubbed your clit faster and harder while you thought of him using his thumb to spread his precum around the head of his dick, letting out a filthy groan as he did so. Then he’d pump his shaft even faster, breathing out, Be a good girl and cum for me, sweetheart. I wanna watch you cum.

Your orgasm hit you as you pictured Tom moaning your name while he came, the last of his cum spilling over his knuckles. 

You finished with a heavy sigh. Some of your tension had been relieved, but you weren’t nearly as satisfied as when you were with Tom. Even if you had used your favorite toy, it was nothing in comparison to how he made you feel. It was extremely irritating. Six more weeks, you reminded yourself. It didn’t help. It had only been 2 weeks and you were already going mad without him. With a huff, you got up off the sofa and resided to have a cup of microwavable noodles and a glass of wine before heading to bed early.

…

The next morning you wanted nothing more than to call in sick, just to get a break from work. Unfortunately, you weren’t one to call in unless you were actually physically unable to get to work. So you rolled over and checked your phone before you got up, and saw you had a text from Tom.

To the bewilderment of your team, you were in an uncommonly good mood for the rest of the day.

…

The next month was even more stressful for you than before. You had to train a temporary Head of Hair and Makeup to cover for you while you were gone, on top of compensating for the rest of your team’s lack of experience. You were also stressing about what to pack for your trip, worrying about all of your outfits as if you were going on a week-long first date. And for what? Tom had seen you in all states of dress and undress more or less, and being your best friend, you knew he wouldn’t judge you. But you hadn’t seen each other in person in six weeks, and in that time he’d seen a lot of Evelyn Dawson, one of the most beautiful female actors in the biz right now as well as his co-star. You had no idea if they’d slept together at this point and you didn’t want to know. Whether they had or hadn’t, either way you couldn’t help but feel like you couldn’t compete with such a gorgeous and talented woman. Most of all though, you just hated that you cared in the first place.

Despite all of your hesitations and hang ups, you managed to make it through the month feeling just as confident about the contents for your luggage as you did about your substitute: still apprehensive, but sufficient enough to get on the plane. 

Tom had gotten you first class tickets– because of course he did– and while you originally protested it, once you actually boarded the plane you were thankful you didn’t win that particular argument. It was an eleven and a half hour flight from Heathrow to LAX, and a six hour flight from LAX to Honolulu, so you were quite relieved when you saw how comfortable and spacious the first class seats were. It was like a private little suite. The seat reclined all the way back into a bed, complete with a pillow, duvet, and even your own loungewear; your tv came with endless films and series as well as noise canceling headphones; and there was even a complimentary bag of luxury skincare products. It was going to be difficult going back to flying economy after this. 

Once the plane was in the air and the captain turned off the seatbelt light, a flight attendant came by and offered you a mimosa.

“That would be lovely, actually. How much is it?” you asked, reaching for your wallet.

“All drinks and meals are complimentary, Miss,” she told you with a smile as she handed you the crystal champagne flute. 

You raised your eyebrows in surprise as you took the glass from her. “Thank you so much.”

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“I’m okay for now, thank you.” As she walked away you leaned back in your seat and took a sip of your drink. This was truly the stuff of movies, and you certainly weren’t complaining.

…

By the time you landed in LA, the local time was 1:30pm, meaning it was 9:30pm in London, and 10:30am in Hawaii. The jet lag was going to be horrendous. Luckily you had managed to get a little bit of sleep on your first flight, because you were going to attempt to stay awake for the second so you would sleep through the night when you got to Hawaii and hopefully better adjust to the time difference. 

When you got to the first class lounge, you texted Tom to let him know you arrived in LA safely, knowing he would worry if you didn't.

During your second flight you nodded off a couple of times, but you managed to stay awake for most of it, spending the last hour doing your makeup and changing into a little sundress. You were tired as shit, but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to look good for your reunion with Tom. 

As soon as you landed, you texted him, and by the time you picked up your luggage, you received a reply on your way to the exit.

As if on cue, you looked up and saw a man in a suit, holding up a sign that simply said ‘Sweets.’ You chuckled to yourself and shook your head as you approached him. 

“You’re either selling candy, or you’re here for me,” you joked.

The man chuckled. “Based on the picture I was given, I believe I’m here for you, Miss. Though I have had several kids ask me if I had any lollipops.” He winked at you. 

You laughed. “I can’t imagine why.”

The man introduced himself as Koa and explained that he was hired as Tom’s driver while he was in Hawaii and that he prides himself on his discretion. Again he winked at you before leading you to the car.

It was dark when you arrived on Oahu so there wasn’t much you could see on the car ride to Tom’s, but Koa filled the time telling you about all the things you ought to do while you were there. You tried your best to pay attention, but you were too excited, and surprisingly a bit nervous, to see Tom. Finally, Koa turned off the main road and up a long path to a secluded house on a hill. After he retrieved your luggage from the boot of the car, he bid you “Aloha,” and left. 

Immediately, you spun around sped giddily up the walkway to the front door. You barely knocked once before the door swung open.

Taglist: @chronicallybubbly, @the-princess-of-loki, @princess-ofthe-pages, @darcylikesloki, @kikster606, @foxherder, @simone818283, @newtomofgods, @christinebloodwrittings

[physalian]

11 Underexplored settings of post-apocalyptic worlds

Inspired once again by my recent binge of abandoned explorations.

The greatest hits of the sprawling city scapes and farmland that feature in everything from post-alien invasions to zombie takeovers to just worlds gone by in a not-so-distant future tend to be:

Generic office buildings

Churches

Schools

Water parks

Suburbs

Famous monuments

Cruise ships

It’s come to my attention though just how many architectural abnormalities there are, in their own current post-apocalyptic states, that would absolutely befuddle archaeologists centuries from now trying to figure out their purposes.

So whether you want to go hard into “this new world has completely forgotten what came before it” or your very own and unique road trip through desolation, here’s some suggestions for cool and/or practical settings!

1. Disney/Iconic Theme Parks

2000 years from now after X disaster strikes, survivors completely removed from historical context stumble upon…. Disney World. They presume Mickey really was a giant mutant mouse, or a mouse-shaped deity worshiped by the local populace (and I mean… are they wrong?). People who might have never left the local area without planes and feasible transport, or knowledge that land across the ocean even exists, might be astounded by the buildings of Epcot’s World Showcase, or any of Disney’s themed resorts.

Water parks are done to death, but not enough emphasis is put onto how bizarre these places would look without context, even to a younger generation that has no idea what it used to be.

Orlando has a hotel with its own rainforest in a massive atrium, with ponds and boats and boardwalks inside. But, you know, I guess strolling through Chicago or New York City is cooler. It may be unfilmable, but it’s not unwritable.

2. The foundations of unfinished construction projects

The remains of an office building that never was, a veritable modern Stonehenge with how little would survive an apocalypse. Inexplicable areas of land with massive pits for unbuilt parking garages, or sprawling swimming pools and lazy rivers.

Or massive, skeletal towers that would have been the monument to a much larger estate that just lost funding. Buildings still surrounded by scaffolding, only half-complete with their windows.

3. Survivor’s encampment landmarked by a monument/hotel/theme park that was never built

In one of those abandoned videos, a company in China was trying to build a discount Disneyland and all that remains is an unfinished Cinderella Castle with steel shells of the gables… behind a modern shopping mall.

Any structure that would have been deeply out of place either in the country it’s built in, or the newer buildings that surround it, immediately looks more creative than just ‘generic strip mall’ or ‘generic high school’. And it’s also realistic, as projects like this fall through constantly, as a unique piece of your worldbuilding. Or, it did have its run as whatever the strange building was part of, and through bankruptcy and selling the land around it, it ends up being the only structure that remains.

4. Hotels that are made up as if the staff vanished instantaneously

Or, many, many Covid victims. Having your characters scrounge for resources through a hotel with beds still made, coffee cups on the breakfast tables, serving spoons and plates ready to go by the buffet. Halloween, Christmas, or Valentine’s decorations still on display.

The schedules for the final week of business still hanging in the offices, unopened mail, packages for guests still in the mail room, pallets of new soaps and supplies still in the delivery bay from the distribution center, linens still in the industrial dryers. I worked in a hotel scheduled for eventual demolition and the disrepair the interior fell into because, what’s the point of managing mold and bed bugs when it’s all getting gutted anyway, makes it super creepy knowing guests are completely clueless on the other side.

Places that have been completely ransacked and destroyed are creepy, sure, but places that are almost frozen in time despite the decay around them are both eerie, and rather dark. Cruise ships/confined spaces like ships tend to be used more for horror, but these, too, as if they’re frozen in time.

5. Cargo ships/shipping yards

An easy-ish one to film in. Looters breaking open shipping containers, or building entire communities and homes out of those containers either on land, or on the barges and ships. A community that can weigh anchor and move once resources and scavenging dries up, or another violent group moves in on the land.

Or, in the case of a viral apocalypse, a community relatively spared from the violence out on the open ocean.

6. IKEA/Furniture Warehouses and DC’s

Warehouses especially have few entries and fewer windows to secure, but as their contents (except the showroom floor) are in mint condition at the time of the world ending and probably stored in plastic and crates, they’d be relatively spared from the elements as a good base camp.

Furniture is also too heavy to loot in a panic and absconding with a brand new mattress probably wouldn’t be at the top of people’s minds as doomsday approaches.

Your little community each having their own lavish living spaces with whatever eclectic furniture they either liked or could now get their hands on for free would just be cool to read about.

7. Penthouse suites

Climbing those stairs would suck and depending on the build quality, the safety of the structure over time would degrade, but maybe your community has manual cranks for the elevators. There might be one way down, but there’s also only one way up, and you can see invaders and catastrophe coming for miles.

These places tend to be dripping in luxury your characters might otherwise have never experienced and they could either make a base there, or have a grand old time trashing the place up because the rich are dead and gone.

8. Historical forts

They lasted this long, why not a few centuries more? The fort that comes to mind is the Castillo de San Marcos in St. Augustine, Florida, right on the beach with a built-in defense wall and a huge courtyard for your community of plucky survivors.

Castles, too, though they’d likely be prime real estate for all manner of interested parties. Aging, famous forts are just never in these types of stories, unless it’s a picture of where the military used to be, now overrun or destroyed.

9. Ski resorts

Similar to the made-up hotels and theme parks, this one comes with presumably multiple buildings, potential use of the slopes and ski transports, isolation via elevation and remoteness from major cities, and the threat of bitter winters and blizzards.

Never been to one myself in winter, but remote locations for a post-apocalypse story tends to just be shorthand for “generic farm or small town,” which isn’t super immersive.

10. Luxury malls

Seen in The Last of US, it gives you a microcosm of so many different environments all slapped together and there’s no limit on what kinds of stores you could include, or all the kiosks, all the mini attractions like trampolines, kiddie parks, massage tables, and even VR flight simulators.

Maybe it has a theater tacked onto it, or a double-story book store, one of those rental spaces dedicated to fancy cars or candy stores. Great for the main setting or even just passing through, especially as they’re already a dying breed you can go ham with. ‘Luxury’ and designer items collecting dust right across from the discount store with everything for under &14.99 could strike a powerful message about social constructs.

11. Science museums

Sure you can make some poignant message about priceless artwork being left to rot, or. When I was a kid, I went to a science center with natural disaster simulators like house fires and tornadoes and a whole-ass IMAX theater where I saw Night at the Museum, the only movie I’ve ever seen in a proper IMAX dome.

There was a whole kids section with a ropes course, area for exploring the human body, a NASA-sponsored mock up space module, mock up grocery store, and little exhibits here and there about optical illusions and the physics behind laying on a bed of nails and how it doesn’t kill you. It’s just something unique and fun that your characters can interact with and gives them plenty to play off and give little anecdotes to make them feel more human.

—

Point is, your post-apocalypse doesn’t have to be limited to the usual suspects. We’ve all seen the strip malls and Walmarts and suburban homes and farms. There is no special effects budget or filming restraint in a book and I’d love to read more stories set in unique and descriptive places, or just fresh takes on your standard survival camp that isn’t just “build a wall around a section of neighborhood”.

It’s the apocalypse. All real estate becomes free real estate.

[m-jelly]

I don't know if you've done this. 😅

Can I ask for a reader x Levi x reader? Not a twin situation just some spells practice by reader and this happen. And yes reader is a witch. It can be smut and not. I just love at how you Levi. And I'd imagine with the way you write him Levi would be super flustered having two of his y/n.

I don't think I have done this before, but I'll give it a go.

Kenko Panda <3

Magic love

Levi x fem!reader

Fantasy, magic, married, two readers (one is made of magic and you feel what it feels) comfort, being a couple, romance, spoiling Levi.

While practising some of your magic, you accidentally make a version of yourself made of light. The light you is just an extension of you, so you feel everything she feels. Levi sees both you and the light you, so you decide to spoil him a little.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a

@youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn

@bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza

@hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously

Light sparkled around your hands as you pushed all your energy into your spell. The sacred words you spoke sounded like a song that drifted so beautifully from you. Wind rushed around you as your magic intensified. It felt like something was being pulled out of you like you were making an extension of yourself.

When everything settled you blinked a few times and saw a shimmering light version of yourself before you. She glowed nicely and reminded you of the sun shining on a lake. When you moved, she moved also.

You reached towards her and touched her, it was warm and tingly but you could also feel your own touch. It was clear that she wasn't another you, but really an extension of you. So, it was close to astral projection, but you were awake.

You grinned brightly. "This is wonderful. You're me. It means I can be in two places at once and experience everything."

"Woah." Levi interrupted you and the light version of you. He moved closer and inspected you both. "You made her?"

You nodded. "She's an extension of me. I can feel everything she feels. Two bodies but one consciousness and feeling."

Levi caressed its cheek making you hum. "Did you feel that?"

You shivered. "Yes, it's like a tingle."

He smiled. "It's cute."

You tackled Levi into a hug causing light you to hug him also. "Thank you."

He stiffened up at being held by two of you. "A-Ah." He felt his head swimming at feeling two lots of breasts firmly pressed against him, so plump, so warm, so soft. "F-Fuck."

You looked up at Levi. "What's wrong?"

He looked down to see both you and the light you pressing your breasts against him and looking up. "I am having very naughty thoughts."

You giggled and kissed his cheek as light you kissed his other cheek. "You're cute."

He wrapped his arms around both of you and squeezed. "You're incredible."

You squeaked in delight. "This...this feels...wow."

He released you. "Nice?"

"Mm." You gasped. "I have an idea." You sat down and patted your lap. "Pillow."

Levi lay on the grass and rested his head on your lap. "Lovely pillow."

Light you sat on the grass next to Levi and began soothingly rubbing his chest. You tangled your fingers in Levi's hair and began massaging. The two of you harmonised in a song sending a magical vibration through your husband's body allowing him to relax and heal both his body and mind.

Levi released a long sigh. "This...this is...thank you."

You smiled. "You're welcome. We can both give you a massage too when you're ready though, don't want to rush this." You released a long sigh. "Plus, I don't know how long I can keep her projected. This is a first for me."

Levi reached up and lightly touched your cheek. "Don't push yourself."

"I won't. I promise."

"Good girl."

[beersangel]

The silver lining ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pairing: quiteguy!matt x yapper overachiever reader.

content warnings: honestly just pure fluff and angst.

summary: Aven Brooks, a driven overachiever, and Matt Sturniolo, a quiet, reserved guy with a reputation for being rude, are paired for a school project. While Aven is open to working together, Matt is reluctant, but their forced partnership begins to reveal there’s more to each of them than meets the eye.

click here for the previous part.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The morning air was crisp as Aven, Dakota, and Courtney gathered in the school auditorium for their early debate practice. Aven shuffled her notes, her focus already tuned to the arguments they’d prepared the night before. Courtney was pacing, practicing her delivery, while Dakota offered feedback between bites of a granola bar.

“Alright, Aven, your turn,” Courtney said, gesturing toward the makeshift podium.

Aven stepped forward, her exhaustion barely hidden beneath her determined expression. She delivered her points with precision, though her voice lacked its usual vibrancy. Dakota raised an eyebrow when Aven finished.

“Not bad,” Dakota said, “but you sounded like you were running on autopilot.”

Aven sighed. “I am running on autopilot. I’ll do better tomorrow. I promise.”

Courtney patted her shoulder. “You always do. Now, go survive the rest of the day.”

After practice, Aven made her way to her shared math class with Matt. As she slid into the seat beside him, she didn’t say anything, too focused on getting her materials ready for the lesson. Matt gave a brief glance her way, but, as always, didn’t speak first.

The class passed in a blur of equations and examples, the low hum of pencils scratching paper filling the air. When the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, Aven turned to Matt as he packed up his things.

“Hey,” she began hesitantly. “Are you free tomorrow after school to work on the project?”

Matt slung his bag over his shoulder, his face as neutral as ever. “Might be a bit late. I’ve got lacrosse practice.”

Aven blinked, taken aback. Matt Sturniolo plays lacrosse? she thought, her surprise almost slipping onto her face. She quickly recovered. “Oh, okay. That’s fine. I have some work to finish anyway, so I can get it done while I wait.”

He gave a small nod. “Alright. See you then.”

They parted ways, Aven heading to the library to knock out some assignments while Matt made his way to the locker room to gear up for practice.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The next day, after a rough practice session, Matt was in the changing room, pulling on his shirt, when he overheard Bennet and Williams talking in the corner.

“Man, I’m telling you, Brooks is like the one girl who hasn’t hooked up with anyone at school,” Bennet said, his tone smug.

Williams chuckled. “I bet I could change that. Give me until the end of the school year.”

Matt’s jaw clenched, his grip on his locker door firming. He didn’t say a word, but the harsh slam of his locker echoed through the room, cutting their conversation short. Without glancing back, he grabbed his bag and stormed out, his expression unreadable.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The library was quiet, the faint rustling of pages and the clicking of keyboards filling the space. Matt spotted Aven hunched over a desk, scribbling into her notebook with her face set in deep concentration.

He sighed softly, walking over and dropping his bag onto the chair across from her. “Hey,” he said curtly, taking a seat.

Aven looked up, startled, before giving him a tired smile. “Hey,” she replied, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

“How’s it going?” he asked, nodding toward her notes.

“It’s coming together,” she said, gesturing to the neatly organized pages spread out in front of her.

Matt pulled out his notebook, flipping to his own notes. “Good. I’ve got some sources lined up. You’ll want to check a few of them—I marked the ones I think are solid.”

Aven leaned forward, glancing at his pages. “Thanks. That’ll save us some time.”

Matt leaned back in his chair, watching her scan his notes. “You sure you’re good to keep going?” he asked, his tone more practical than concerned.

She huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah, i'm good”

He frowned slightly, tapping his pen on the table. “If you burn out before we finish this, that’s on you.”

Aven smirked faintly, glancing up at him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Just saying,” Matt muttered, turning his attention back to his notebook.

Aven stayed quiet for a moment, flipping through his notes, before breaking the silence. “So,” she said casually, “do you always tell people they look like zombies, or was that just special for me?”

Matt paused, his pen hovering over the page. He glanced at her for a second before looking back down at his notebook, his expression unreadable. “Special for you, I guess.”

Aven blinked, caught off guard by the blunt response. Before she could come up with a retort, he added, “It’s not a bad thing. Just… an observation.”

“Right,” she said, pursing her lips. “very..flattering observation”

Matt gave the faintest shrug, his attention not leaving his notes. “It was honest.”

Aven rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help the tiny, amused smile tugging at her lips.

The rest of the session passed in relative silence, broken only by the occasional exchange of ideas or notes. By the time they finished, the library was almost empty, the faint hum of the AC filling the space.

“Same time tomorrow?” Aven asked as they stood, gathering their things.

Matt nodded. “Yeah. Don’t show up half-asleep, though.”

She rolled her eyes, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for the reminder. See you tomorrow, Sturniolo.”

He gave her a brief nod, watching as she walked away. Matt lingered for a moment, his bag slung over one shoulder as he watched her disappear through the library doors. He frowned slightly, tapping his fingers against the strap of his bag. Not that he cared, but he found himself thinking she really needed to ease up on herself. Shaking the thought away, he turned and headed for the exit, muttering under his breath, “Not my problem.”

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

writer’s note: idk if this is good or not but I don’t hate it soooo, I hope u enjoyed it<3

- 💌

[jaysswlvrr]

Hatred

Summary☆ You and Jake were the most popular kids in school, but I never got along. You hated him. Soon, that would change.

Paring☆ Y/n x Jake

Warnings☆ Swearing, teasing, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), kind of mean dom jake, in the begging jake was kind of sub, slightest degration, nicknames, reader is on pill, slut shaming :(

You sat next to jake in lesson ignoring whatever he said.

"y/n and jake you are partners for the project" your teacher announced.

"ughhh " you groaned

"meet me at my house, around 7pm?" jake questioned.

"whatever, I hate you" you said before walking out the ended lesson.

" if she hates me that much, ill fuck the hatred out" he muttered to himself before walking out too.

Luckily, you never heard that part and skipped away to your friends house.

You were now home from your friends house and had just woke up realising you had to revise with jake. The only thing running through your head was "i dare you to make jake hard" one of your friends had dared you to do that after you said you weren't scared of doing anything, but this was on a whole another level. You had no other option to do, so you stood up and did you hair and makeup but leaving your high shorts and low-cut shirt.

ding dong

You rang his doorbell, fascinated by the size of his mansion but kept your cool. A few seconds later a shirtless jake opened the door welcoming you in. He had sloppy eyes which showed that he had just woken up from a nap, he somehow looked cuter.

Now its flirt mode (try not to cringe)

"Hii jakee, oh my gosh you've never looked cuterr" you said whilst running a finger on his abs "there rock hard" you looked up at him flutterring your lashes.

He couldn't even speak.

"Are we not going inside" he questioned moving your hand away gently.

Jake never showed he was flustered so you weren't shocked.

He led you into his bedroom which was way neater that you thought before siting down on a chair. You took of your jacket revealing you shirt hoping jake would notice.

He came back wearing a hoodie and sat next to you with spread out legs and papers ready to work.

time skipp

You have been studying for a while now and had enough.

"Jakee can we have a break-" but you stopped to notice jake staring at your- cleavage?

This gave you the idea to bend over slightly more to expose your chest.

"So, would you like to tell me what your staring at?" you said with a smug look on your face.

Before he could speak you climbed onto his lap, your clothed cunt now on his hard dick.

"Damn your really hard, do I look that good?"

mission accomplished (Hehe)

You started grinding slow but hard unto him.

"fuck" he groaned "you know how much of a fucking slut you are" but you just giggled. He lifts you off him and you lose any tension you had between him.

"whyy" you whimpered "I hate you"

"that's exactly why we are here today" jake said.

He started coming closer to you and before you could move anymore behind you back hit the wall, he grabbed your wrists with one of his big hand and lifted them above your head.

He used his other hand to slightly pull down your shirt to reveal more of your breast.

"this is what you've been teasing me with this whole time huh, you whore"

All you could do was let out little whimpers and look down.

"now any hatred that you have in me will be fucked out until the only thing in your mind will be my name" he spoke.

You looked up at him in shock whilst letting out a nervous laugh but you realised he was being dead serious.

"J-jake i think this is too far" you said with a cracking smile, but its not like you could go anywhere as jake had you trapped in his embrace, staring directly at you.

All of a sudden he started smirking which gave you shivers "if you don't strip by the time I'm back you'll be done"

done?

Well, you weren't risking anything and as soon as he left you took of your layers of your pyjamas. You hadn't even realised that you wore your light blue lingerie under.

You were now practically laying on his bed waiting for him to come back, as if he could hear your thoughts, he entered the room, once again, shirtless.

"Get up" he ordered sticking his hand for you to hold onto him. You grabbed his hand as he suddenly push your stomach onto the cold desk making you silently moan.

Without any doubt you were soaking with arousal which made jakes job easier. He started rubbing his veiny finger along your clothed pussy.

"Ughh please touch me jake" you pleaded.

"I am y/nn" but he wasn't properly, and he knew that.

"Jakee pleasee, actually" you both knew he was soaking hard as well but he clearly loved seeing you plead instead.

He didnt hesitate and pulled down your now ruined panties and stared at your dripping pussy.

"woah"

But all you could do was whimper and sulk about him not being in you even though you have been waiting so patiently.

He quickly enters you with a sharp thrust. And wow he was hard. He didn't give you anytime to adjust. He kept a steady, speedy pace which had you clenching around him already.

"If you keep doing that ill cum already" but you couldn't help yourself, his dick fit inside you like a finger around a ring.

"Fuckk jake I'm going to cum too"

He suddenly pushes your head down onto the ice cold desk, hitting a different angle.

"Jake!" you yelled

You quickly reached you orgasm followed by him.

"Where do you want me to cum?"

You pulled out from him and kneeled down with pleading eyes and a stuck out tounge.

"fuck" he groaned

You wrapped your lips around his cock as he started thrusting into you, his sperm creaming your mouth. You swallowed every bit without hesistation.

"Youre such a fucking slut" he argued.

" im your slut"

"And i still fucking hate you." You said.

"Then were going to have to have another round."

"Sure"

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆

☆Thank you for readingg pookie☆

@dependsontheday @jaeyunsprincxss

[ateez-ana]

wonderland behind scenes

「-now you are watching wonderland behind scenes by @ateez on youtube-」

#clip1

In the vibrant tapestry of Wonderland's music video, amidst towering mushrooms and surreal landscapes, Ana  emerged from the shadows, her camera poised to document the whimsical chaos behind the scenes.

'Camera's rolling!' she exclaimed, a playful grin spreading across her face. 'So, what's the tea, ATINYs? Let's spill the beans, welcome to ana vlog'

As the camera captured the antics of her fellow members, Ana couldn't resist sharing her thoughts. 'Wooyoung is trying to make a flower fort back there , while San is running around' She giggled. 'And look, Seonghwa is practicing his scene he looks so beatiful, he has always been beautiful, what do you think guys?" ana said pointing the carama at Seonghwa who was talking with the director

Eyes twinkling with mischief, Ana panned the camera over to Mingi. 'And Mingi, the chocolate thief! He dared to steal my precious candy bar. But don't worry, I'm plotting my revenge.'

"ok so today we are filming wonderland music video and to all our amazing fans, thank you for being with us on this magical adventure. You make everything we do so special. We love you.. Watching the creation of this masterpiece has been incredible. The costumes, the dancers, the choreography—it's all come together to create something truly extraordinary. We put our hearts and souls into this project, and we hope you love it as much as we do. It's a tribute to your love and support. We couldn't have done it without you, me and mingi have scenes on fire so you know "we on fire" ok that was a bad joke please cut it in the edit"

#clip2

As the crew prepared for Yeosang's solo scene,Ana,excitement crackled in the air as she watched Yeosang with unwavering admiration.

The director called for silence, and the cameras began to roll. Yeosang poured his soul into his movements, his body flowing with effortless grace. Ana's eyes widened, her heart pounding with pride and adoration. She couldn't contain her emotions as she whispered, 'Wow, you're incredible, Yeosang!'

As the scene reached its climax, Ana couldn't help but release a deafening scream. Her enthusiasm pierced through the silence, reverberating throughout the studio. Yeosang's gaze met hers, and a shy smile spread across his face. The camera captured the moment, preserving the raw and genuine bond between them.

the director called 'Cut!' and the crew erupted in applause. Yeosang bowed deeply, his cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. Ana rushed forward, unable to resist showering him with compliments.

'You were amazing, Yeosang!' she exclaimed. 'I'm so proud of you!' Yeosang looked at Ana with a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment.

#clip3

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and hairspray. It was the final day of the Wonderland music video shoot, and everyone was pushing to get the last scene – the grand finale group dance – in the can.

“Just one more, guys,” Hongjoong announced, his voice hoarse but determined. “And then we can all go home and sleep for a week.”

A chorus of groans and tired laughter rippled through the group. “I'm not even sure I can stand anymore,” San complained, dramatically collapsing onto the floor.

“You're just tired because you spent the entire day complaining about the costume,” Mingi retorted, earning a playful shove from San.

While the others joked, a quiet tension hung in the air. This scene was crucial. It was their chance to showcase their synchronized dance skills, and the pressure was on.

“Don't worry, guys,” ana said, her voice full of confidence, “We got this. We've practiced this a million times.”

“Yeah, but it’s the last scene,” Wooyoung chimed in, his voice laced with apprehension. “We need to nail it.”

'Don't worry, we're going to blow them away,' Yunho, the main dancer, said with a reassuring smile. He looked at Ana, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You ready to show them what you’ve got, Ana?”

Ana knew what he meant. Yunho was one of the main dancers, and they were both known for their dynamic and powerful moves. The director had specifically requested them to lead the final dance, allowing them to showcase their skills and bring the video to a climax.

“Ready to bring the house down,” she replied, a playful grin spreading across her face.

As the crew prepped the cameras, a wave of nervousness swept over the group. They were tired, their muscles ached, and the pressure of delivering a perfect performance was immense.

 Their movements were sharp and precise, their energy contagious. Yunho and Ana, positioned at the center, led the choreography, their bodies a blur of movement and grace. Their synchronized steps, the way their bodies moved in perfect harmony, it was mesmerizing. They were a force of nature, and their passion was evident in every gesture.

As the dance progressed, the tension in the air dissipated, replaced by a sense of exhilaration. The crew, mesmerized by their performance, forgot about the fatigue and the pressure. They were simply witnessing something truly special.

The final sequence of the dance was a complex, intricate routine, demanding perfect coordination and timing. Ana and Yunho, their bodies moving in a mesmerizing dance of power and grace, held the spotlight. The camera focused on their every move, capturing the intensity of their performance.

A few moments before the final pose, the director yelled “Cut!”

Ana, still caught in the energy of the dance, let out a playful laugh and shouted, “Dance!” in a silly voice, starting to move her body in a ridiculous, improvised dance. Yunho, unable to contain his laughter, joined her. Seoghwa, standing nearby, couldn't resist joining in, their movements becoming increasingly absurd.

The camera caught the scene, capturing their goofy antics.

“Aitiny, don’t look at that!” yunho shouted to the camera, his eyes wide with mischief, before breaking into a fit of laughter.

The crew, unable to resist the infectious energy, laughed along with them.

#clip4

Yunho adjusted the collar of his shirt, feeling the familiar warmth of the studio lights on his skin. He was in the middle of a large, dimly lit set, surrounded by rows of old television screens flickering with static. It wasn’t anything fancy, but somehow, the air crackled with an uncanny energy.

“So, this is my scene,What scene did i film? Something like I’m controlling members in front of the TV? I think we filmed as if it feels like I led members, Let’s go! Let’s go! To the beginning that the ending is waiting!"

unaware of the small drama unfolding behind him, Hongjoong, leaned against a towering tree, his head resting on the shoulder of a girl with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile. She, Ana had a playful hand reached up, threading through Hongjoong's soft, dark hair. Ana's thumb gently grazed his cheek, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Their laughter, hushed and melodic, drifted on the breeze, a melody only audible to those close enough to hear.

He turned his head, ever so slightly, just enough to glimpse the tableau behind him. Hongjoong, his head tilted back, eyes closed as Ana's hand traced patterns on his cheek. Their bodies were close, an unspoken intimacy permeating the air.

The realization slammed into Yunho with the force of a tidal wave. His eyes widened, a silent gasp escaping his lips. His initial instinct was to step back, to shield the scene from the prying eyes of the camera. He shifted slightly, his body strategically blocking the view of the couple behind him, a nervous chuckle bubbling up in his throat. Clearing his throat, he continued speaking, his voice tinged with a faint tremor of amusement

'So, yeah, this place is pretty amazing,' he said, a playful glint in his eyes, his gaze flicking back to the camera.

[the-s1lly-corner]

I don't know if anyone has asked for this yet, but can we have a Nutcracker (preferably male) reader and/or ballerina (Preferably female) reader being besties and just doing little performances for everyone in the circus. This can either be romantic or platonic Reader(s) x TADC, I don't mind! Go crazy with it! Go wild! I love to read ur headcanons and stuff so much man/pos

Gangle, Kinger, Jax, Caine x reader who hosts shows!

two things! i couldnt decide on the gender of the reader so you can read it as both or either </3 other thing, i still dont take reqs for the entire cast (nothing against you this is a blog wide rule/character limit) so i went ahead and ran the request through a wheel to randomly select characters with that said, i hope you enjoy!

CAINE:

i think, given that hes the circus ringmaster of the circus as well as generally being in control of things thanks to his status of an ai, he tends to host your shows... might even make the other circus members watch. whether you want to read this as platonic or romantic, he just does it because he wants to support you and allow your talent to be seen...! though he might get rather.... loud about it. ive said it so many times but im ready to say it again, he would be your number one fan and hes going to be very clear about it. probably throws roses to the stage for you when youre done with your performance... cheers and claps the loudest... hell, if youre comfortable with it, he might just wear a shirt with your name and face on it..! truly your number 1 fan

JAX:

i think if this is platonic, depending on how close you guys are he might try to disrupt the show by being a jackass. generally being annoying and trying to get a reaction out of you... though i dont think he would do this if you guys are actually. close or good friends and/or dating... now practice? thats something else... definitely a case of him being able to see that you enjoy what you do and you have passion and dedicate himself so he might just try to contain himself and his need to be an asshole and cause havoc.. i think if asked what he thought he would seem a little neutral about it, hes not going to praise you excessively or be mean.. jax doesnt seem like the type to gush over someone or something no matter how much he liked it.. best youd get out of him is a "good job,".. definitely one that hinges off of how close you guys are and how much respect and boundaries are set up between you two

KINGER:

i think he might be a toned down caine, looks like he would give you a rose after your performance.. though if youre not a flower person i think he would swap the rose out for something else. while caine might be barely containing his excitement throughout your performance, kinger is much more likely to be able to sit still and quiet... although still very much consumed by you, perhaps even sitting on the edge of his seat in an attempt to get a better look at you. i think he would notice a lot of smaller details and stuff you put in your shows, such as costumes or decoration, too... maybe its self projection, but i think he bounces between being clueless to having a really really keen eye when it comes to things... also the fact i love the hc of "clueless/chaotic/commonly zoned out character noticing something vital or making a smart point for a moment before reverting back to status quo" is one of my favorite tropes.... loves watching you practice

GANGLE:

i think she might actually help you with costumes and stage decorations! sure her thing is mostly art and you might have to recruit the help of ragatha for some things but i think gangle would be more than willing to help you out... plus it gives her something to do, and it means spending time with you! and thats always nice! very receptive to the stuff you have to say but i think she might try to offer some alternatives to make things visually look more appealing... as for actual performances i think she would love them! she strikes me as a theatre kid, and your sort of thing is adjacent i think... might gush to you about the show and how you did, though its often that she might trail off and become sheepish if she feels she was getting too into her ramble.. generally very sweet, though, but due to her shyness shes not going to do more than the rest of the crowd (throwing flowers, clapping louder than everyone else, ect ect ect)

[superblysubpar]

Hi everyone!

I just wanted to share a quick little note about my blog and writing things. It's a little long, so I'll put it under the cut.

But I just wanna say that I'm so grateful and happy for and to see all the new faces around here (I logged back on and the amount of messages and new followers and just...wow), but I'm also so incredibly grateful for those of you that continue to stick around and have been here from the beginning. It makes me very emotional! Anyways, I'm not going anywhere, there's just some updates below on the general vibe of my blog for the foreseeable future.

I love you, mean it, and I'm so happy you're here 💛

I'll be sharing Summertime Magic throughout the week this week, thanks so much for your patience with it all. I'm really excited to share all 3 of these stories, and I've been having fun writing them. It's been over a year since their initial tease to the tumblr world, and I feel like I'm finally ready to set my babies free out of the nest so to speak 😅

That being said, it may be the imminent spooky season upon us & the stories I've been more gravitated towards to read lately, the general fandom drama that seems to always suck every ounce of fun out of here, or just my attitude and attempt towards practicing writing/having fun on here vs writing stories for real projects in the real world, but I'm feeling a Big Shift coming with my writing, specifically on my blog.

A lot of the stories I've had planned here, for the fandom, I'm starting to tweak and mess with and then I think - hold on. This could be my own. And while I could write them initially as fanfic and twist them later (much like what I did with wcil) that gets really complicated and it's a lot of work, and I'd love to just write them as my characters from the get go.

But there's obviously stories I want to write and practice with, and many of those lately are not quite "rom com" centered. There's still love stories, there's still smut, but I'm craving diving into practicing writing and reading more of the sci-fi, upside down, horror, apocalypse vibes lately and, don't hate me...

Angst.

So, like I said, the smut, the love, its not going anywhere, it just might be coming to you in some new packages. I hope you stick around to read them.

To off set this shift, I am gonna open my requests more, but not in the way I've typically done. I'll explain this later, but I'm gonna have some mini writing challenges for myself, and this will involve many a blurb of the smut and fluff and spice varieties. So if that's why you've followed me, have no fear. It's just the longer versions of those stories are taking a break is all, so I can give my full attention to the rom coms I'm writing outside of tumblr that I hope you'll get to read or watch one day soon.

Anyways, this is terribly long and you honestly deserve everything good in this world if you've read this entire thing.

I hope you stick around, and if not, no worries, I still love you 💛

[fallenrepublick]

And She Shall Be Called Upon For Greater

Part 1 - Part 2

Here it is, my little passion project. Of course, this is just an introduction to it, but I wanted to start off with this piece. There's plenty more going on in the background, and I'm so happy to be working with this character and concept that I've always felt deserved better than what she was given. I think she has the potential to be fantastic, and I hope you all think so as well. Let me know what you think or if I can answer any questions!

Warnings: None

---

Steps on an empty ground have always been, and shall always be, the greatest method of measuring absence. The echo of a heel, or the swipe of a shoe’s sole, lingering in the air as replacement for the voices long since lost, serves to remind the only being, which makes their way down the oddly blue-tinted hall, of the many memories lying in wait beneath the metal and stone.

In the time of overturn, where age-old systems crumbled beneath her feet, where tradition gave way to a new, cold, soulless floor, so little had changed for her. Ghosts gripping fiercely the hilts of practice sabers ran across the space, not yet ready for the dangers of true kyber. Sage beings slipped over the patterned tiles, whispering of the war only just come to rise, drenched in heavy, neutral fabrics, fighting to remain upright in spite of the weight. Arrays of girls tip-toed to the doors that lined the wall, whispering and daydreaming amongst themselves, unable to help their speculation of why they'd been moved to such a grand temple at all.

She could almost see them, kicked up and made of old dust, no wiser to their fate than they'd been the day before it befell them. And as there was nothing to be done for them, she left the poor souls over her shoulder, keying a small code into the pad below the name plaque, reading in fanciful letters, “Ismaren”

Low lights switched on in the midst of her presence, rising in straight, perfected lines from the floor, and flickered just a touch with the shut of the door. The clasp holding together the ends of her cloak clicked as it came undone, short nails tapping the spotless gold and shoulders shrugging the covering off. It was not in her nature to litter the ground with her clothes, tired as she was, and the soft pinks, purples, and blacks folded nicely as each layer shed from her skin.

“Shall I have these washed for you, My Lady?” questioned the voice from behind, a flash of silver passing through the woman's periphery.

“Yes,” she replied.

The washroom was the place of sanctity, where one could remove the pins and gold from black hair, wipe away the pale creams and colors from her skin, dye the towels unnatural colors, remember what Roganda looked like. Rather than a deep sensation of blood, her lips were a gentle, muted pink. Rather than lined in heavy black and surrounded by reckless swipes of blue, thick white skin beneath it all, her eyes were truly unornamental, epicanthal lids held low most days, a very slight tan giving life to all she was. Water running to the floor of the shower might have drowned out the laugh she gave, if only to recognize her own features with a smile.

The place drew peace, rolling its warmth over her body, warding away reality. She breathed. It was time, that odd, damned thing that she’d wasted. How long had it been, two years, since the war ended? Waged for four years as she stood on high, witnessing an ascent to power, a schism splitting the galaxy in more ways than the Republic had ever predicted, peace brought through only the greatest of sins. She’d watched chaos reign, she witnessed loss and the fall of those she once knew. Children she had the privilege of growing beside felled by barbaric methods, mocked in their graves by violent, painted lips that believed every word their master spoke to them. How they could bear to consider it the truth was beyond her, as she herself knew truth to be the perfect opposite. Rinsing hardened product from each strand of hair, the locks slowly grew softer, falling to rest against her skin, sticking to her back and waving around her shoulder blades. And oh, she could remember it, that feeling of being a child. To run, unbeholden to where the carpet ended and began, nearly tripping over your robes, or that of your friend. To learn one day how cruel children could be, to teach yourself the greatest skill ever written as you protect your mind the most of all. She could remember the sounds, the voices of the masters, their eyes studying who was worthy of their lessons. The silence of the night she was spirited away, left to wonder whether any searched.

None of it truly mattered, not in this year, not as she dripped to the thin mat outside the shower and combed her hair, nor as she donned a soft pink robe back into her room. The droid had left, no doubt, to work tirelessly at the laundry and chores, in that age-old fashion that would keep the machines occupied for hours on end, leaving Roganda to her silence.

It was the bookcase she approached first, small and old, only a few books remaining in its shelves. Yes, perhaps it was time to remind herself of the purpose of it all. She’d never been one to question it, to find peace in the madness. To do so would be to reject the madness entirely, to claim that her god was false or used suffering for no end or purpose. No, no, she knew better, far better than that.

Hooking her finger over the spine, she pulled from its position a tome, aged leather dyed the deepest blue she’d ever known, marked on its face the symbol she held always close to her body. Between her fingers, the pages glided like silk, dark writing beautiful as it carried more so memories than stories.

Woe to all, untouched of my blessings, ignorant of curses, spiteful of pain. For what is your purpose, if not to struggle, to know that which you have earned? Do you think yourselves so entitled to virtue that you shall live only a single way? Do you live to never suffer, to never know fear, to never clench your fists in agony, yearning for what might have been instead? Those siblings of mine have known it, long before the advent of your world. My followers have known it, deeply entrenched in their creation. So cry, cry children, to my heaven, bear the weight of your sins proudly. Know absolution and await inevitability.

They were words she’d committed to memory, even in the days of her very being enthralled to the Jedi, as she’d promised herself to her god the very moment she held the book. Certainly, the Jedi would have considered her god cruel, almost sith-like, but oh, how far from the truth she knew it to be. Her god was possibly the only pure one, her teachings rooted in the reality of which they all lived, aware, perhaps too aware, of what it was to be mortal. She recalled her assertions when the world seemed to press just a touch too much, she spoke the queen’s words beneath her breath when the galaxy lost itself, when panic and grief drove every action, every thought, every conclusion. And she held the words, the shape of them, in her mind, she wondered when next the queen would speak to her.

Never would Roganda claim to be a zealot, to base her entire livelihood and perceptions on that which her god claimed as true. Truthfully, she was a realist, one that saw in the world what she had grown to know. She suffered, she was certain of that, she had since her childhood in this temple, she had since fourteen, spirited away from her barren dormitory as she awaited the possibility of an apprenticeship. And yet her acceptance of it had given her greater power than a world in which none of it had happened. Whispers of the future in her god’s voice promised greatness, promised more and more as the years went on. And from it, she found pride, a purpose stolen from her under the Jedi’s grasp. A purpose given life by the women that had once been around her, vain and greedy, blind to the lives they led. Their youth sustained her, one by one, disappearing with little trace, with little care for each other, believing it to be providence that their rivals were removed from their path. Tragedy, that was the way of the world, of their world. They never knew what they could have had, what they could have become. And so their purpose alone was to serve her own. Knowing this, her hand which supported the book began to tremble, as if the power held within this book’s ancient knowledge flowed into her veins, piercing her blood and altering the very core of what she was.

It wasn’t even a second after she flipped the page that her desk lit up from the other end of the room, forcing the girl to slip her tome back into place and tiptoe to the notification. She approached her desk, simple and purposeful, the glass top awaiting a command. With a few taps, the surface projected a portrait, the name “Osmond” written in basic beside the face, tinted heavily in blue light.

The man was older than her, beginning to bald from the hairline, though she’d not quite label him middle-aged. Wrinkled traced around his features, indicative less of age, and more so of experience, never truly able to assuage the sly smile he maintained, even in the motion of his mannerisms. She’d taken to liking this one, him and his warm behaviors. Shrouded in lies or not, he maintained loyalty to her employment, almost proud of his association, even if he never flaunted it. He’d proven himself reliable, willing to go the extra distance to do as she asked, and blazing the trail for others that answered to him, secure and functional.

“Any word?” she asked upon her acceptance of the call, the table’s projection changing to a live feed of the man’s head and shoulders.

Beginning the answer with a heavy inhale, his eyes slid away from hers, needing a moment to formulate the words. “It’s… complicated. They’re fragmented, no one’s really sure what anyone else is doing… It’s more of a thought than an actual movement.”

Roganda’s lips pressed together, tapping her nails against the glass. “And you’re getting this from whom, exactly?”

“Oh, the usual,” he hummed, shrugging his shoulders, “Convicts, traitors. This one guy that used to sell death-sticks. They’re reliable.”

She’d nearly forgotten his post, the very reason she’d chosen him. His affinity for the lowest levels of Coruscant and the poor souls that served as their occupants were perhaps the best to ask when it came to information, to potential uprising. In fact, nowadays, the levels became home to those the Empire despised most of all, the groups that remembered all too well the way things had been before even the war, who threatened the “peace” brought about by the Emperor. Joined by a collective desire and crudely-designed codes to identify each other, these little pockets of rebellion often found themselves vying for Osmond’s attention and the protection he offered. Armed with resources and the ability to make even the most wanted citizens disappear with a flick of the wrist, those that managed to get more than they bargained for came to him for a restart. And in return, paired with a fair sum of cash, these sad souls offered him what they knew of the impending revolts, fears quelled by promises that the Empire would never find out. With a bit of luck at his side, the man was able to glean the names of a few leaders, some senators, some not, to offer his employer.

“I realize they’re reliable,” Roganda hummed, low voice sending a chill down the spy’s spine, “I need to know if they will join the ring. Or at least give us more than what we have. It cannot be trusted what was said of Mothma and Organa without sufficient proof or corroboration. We haven’t enough channels to securely pass information to these groups, and we certainly haven’t enough knowledge of what factions they associate with. Without greater resources, what is currently known is useless to our ends.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, albeit nervously. “You’d have me do…”

“I’d have you dig deeper. Expand our horizons. There will be more defections in the coming months as higher ranking officials abandon their posts. Take advantage of it. Lengthen the chains of communications and ensure that no actor knows the identity of any other, only locations and times of information drops. Offer certainty where no others can.”

“You make it sound so easy!” the spy laughed yet again, throwing his arms from his sides, “The clones that pass through here are few and far between nowadays. People are scared to talk. Hell, they’d rather pay me extra just to keep me from asking more questions.”

For a moment, she was silent, her eyes cast to the edges of the table, though her mind remained elsewhere. “What of that scientist? The one rumored to return from Vallt?”

“Ghh…” the man half-growled, trying to come by the name by luck alone, “Aee… Eh… Ers…o?”

“Erso,” she repeated in a husky whisper, far more purpose to the word than he’d expected, “How likely is his compliance? With the Empire, that is.”

Osmond sucked in through his teeth. “He’s got a wife and child.”

“Very likely, then,” she concluded, “Though such people rarely take kindly to threats on family, you know. Keep an eye on him, will you?”

And he nodded, hesitance in the motion. “What, uh… what do you need him for?”

In return, she smiled. “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

“Fair enough, you’re the boss,” he said, a certain lightheartedness returned to his voice, tossing up a few finger blasters to remove any remaining tension, “Find new recruits, track Erso and don’t engage. Pretty typical.”

“For now, it is. Should any factions start to mobilize, send notice immediately.”

“You got it,” he acknowledged, giving a sharp nod of his head before ending the transmission. Once more, the table’s lights lowered, awaiting any further command before shutting off completely.

She was left to silence, now that the spy knew his task. She took the space to breathe, to sigh in relief that her greatest ally still lived. It was often she wondered if he would be unlucky, if he would one day cease communications, if the Empire would catch him or perhaps kill him on sight. Even still, he’d been lucky until now, she could hardly imagine that he would fail in the future.

And so she returned, dragging her book from its place yet again, carrying it as one would a child toward her small couch, curling her legs to her body, resting her feet on the cushion at her side, her back to the pillow that leaned always on the arm rest. Ever so carefully, she pulled open her book, eyes tracking over the words, over the golden designs swirling along the edges of each page, noting the gilded edges reflecting the room’s light from the corner of her eye. It quelled her anxieties, her thoughts. From every responsibility, from every role she took, the imagery painted by every sentence took her to the moment she lived, to who she remained. In time, she would sleep, taken to yet another day, and she would be called for. Soon, she knew, she would be called for greater.

[jaehyunsprincesspeach2]

He comforts you after seeing you overwhelmed for the first time

Pairing: felixXgn!reader

Warnings: stress, crying, mentions of food (cooking), slight angst, comfort, fluffy fluff

Word count: 959

AN: hi I’m back lol, enjoy, please leave comments, its greatly appreciated, much love ~ember

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been a rough few weeks for you at work. New projects, and a constant flow of paperwork had you about ready to hit your breaking point. Going home was the only thing that you looked forward to throughout the day, other than seeing your boyfriend, Felix.

Finally able to leave work, you hopped on the train, and took the time to decompress and calm your mind before arriving home. Walking in through the door, you see your best friend/roommate has already made it home, and has fallen asleep on the couch.

You figured you would start making dinner, being that you were hungry, and you knew your best friend would be hungry when they woke up from their nap.

In the kitchen, you thought that you had released the stress from work on the train. That was until you began thinking about it as you were cooking. You received a text from Felix,

”Hi beautiful, got done with practice early, I figured I would come see you. I miss you. See you soon <3.”

His message made you happy, being that you haven’t seen him in person in almost two weeks. Thankfully, you decided to make extra of the dinner that you were preparing, which was a habit that you developed since you began hanging out with Stray Kids.

Getting lost in thoughts about work, you didn’t realize that you were burning the food until it was too late. The smell of the burning food brought you out of your trance, as you rushed to turn off the heat, and remove the food, placing it on a cool surface.

Seeing the burnt state of the food pushed you over the edge, and you broke down crying right then and there. Conveniently, at that same time Felix happened to walk through the door. Smelling something burning, he rushed into the kitchen to make sure you weren’t hurt, only to find you on the floor, hugging your knees, as you silently sobbed.

Without hesitation, Felix is by your side, saying anything he can to comfort you, and pulling you into a warm embrace.

“Hey hey hey, it's okay, we can order food, or we can try cooking something else. It’s okay darling, don’t worry about it.” You could hear the worry in his voice. He was honestly frightened. For as long as he has known you, he has never seen you let a single tear drop from your eyes, let alone see you in a state like this.

Unable to speak, you sobbed into his chest, pulling him as close to you as humanly possible, taking in his warmth. You were ashamed that he had seen you like this. You hated crying in front of anyone, and hated the idea of being seen as weak, so this moment only made you cry harder, unable to hide the overwhelming emotions that you had been keeping bottled up.

You heard small sniffles coming from Felix, and you looked up at him in a panic. “Please don’t cry, I’m sorry” was all you could say before hiding your face in his chest again. Hearing him cry made you feel even worse about the situation.

You got up and began cleaning up the burnt mess that you had made, and Felix being the sweetheart that he is, joined you. The two of you crying together while cleaning up the kitchen would have been a confusing sight for anyone who walked in, and thankfully nobody did.

After the mess was cleaned up, you grabbed his hand, and pulled him to your room, where you began crying again. After about five minutes of you crying into his chest, and him silently crying with you, you finally calmed down, and began telling him everything that was racing through your mind. All of the stress that was consuming your thoughts being released, as he sat there taking in every word that you said.

“(Y/n), I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you. Why didn’t you tell me that this was going on?” He asked in the most sincere tone.

“I know that you have things that you stress about too. You’re busier than I am, and you handle it so well, I didn’t want to add any more to your already busy and stressful life.” You explained, hoping that he would understand.

Pulling you into a tight embrace, he began playing with your hair, knowing it was the fastest way to calm you down.

“(Y/n), please come to me next time you feel like this. You are never a burden to me, and I hate seeing you so upset. Please, promise me that you will come to me next time.” He asks with genuine concern and love in his words.

“I promise, I’m sorry I didn't tell you sooner Lixie. Thank you for being here with me, it means more than you know.” You replied.

After the two of you had calmed down, you decided to order food to be delivered to your house. The rest of the night was spent eating cheap take out food, watching cringey drama movies, and giggles from the sporadic conversations that the two of you had.

Felix had a way of making you happy, and that is what you needed most in this moment. As the night winds down, the two of you cuddle together, with light conversations here and there, but mostly just enjoying each other’s presence. Falling asleep in his warm embrace, he leans down and kisses your head, ever so gently, hoping that he doesn’t wake you from your slumber.

“Good night my love, I'll be here when you wake up. I’ll always be here for you.” He whispers before falling into dreamland himself.

[mariacallous]

Who is this speaking with a sneer on their lips and contempt in their voice before news of the Princess of Wales’s cancer broke? A monarchist or a republican?

“Kate's admission that she had doctored the photograph, and her apology for doing so, were the latest self-inflicted wound by the House of Windsor, for which trust and integrity are fundamental commodities.”

Those who do not know the UK might assume it is a revolutionary who wants to undermine trust in the integrity of the monarchy because they want it gone

Republican sentiment in the UK is indeed stronger than tourists like to imagine and the BBC likes to admit.

Irish nationalists and Brits of Irish descent are wary of the crown. Just 45 per cent of Scots want to keep the royals “for the foreseeable future”, with 36 per cent ready to get rid of them ASAP. Meanwhile, the constitutional pressure group Republic reports that for the first time a plurality of people under 45 favour abolishing the monarchy.

But however greatly they have grown in number, British republicans have little vim and less vigour. They (we if I am levelling with you) don’t care enough about the monarchy to abolish it, or most of us don’t. It’s not a political priority or a practical project.

Republicanism last grew in the UK in the 1990s after the marriage of Prince Charles (as he then was) to Princess Diana fell apart. Jack Straw and other Labour politicians of the day were Republicans in theory.

But in practice they imagined cancelling all their other political plans so they could focus on dethroning the Queen and recoiled at the prospect.

Even if a majority of the country favoured a republic (which it never has), an embittered monarchist minority would never forgive the government. And as the government became unpopular, as all governments do, the minority would become a majority and demand a restoration.

No way would serious Labour politicians waste their time. Nor would serious Scottish nationalist politicians who made the same calculations.

British republicanism died for the very British reason that it was too much trouble.

If you want to find creepy obsessions, and bullying, hectoring sadism, turn to the UK’s monarchists.

The quote I began with was not from some obscure Republican website, but from the Daily Mail, Britain's best selling newspaper and most-read news site. It is a monarchist institution, at least it says it is.

And if you think I am being a snotty intellectual sneering at the tabloids, the BBC was just as bad. The line between snob and mob in the UK is always thin and often invisible.

The BBC has a podcast dedicated to PR called “When it hits the fan”! In its latest episode it berates the royal family for making “big mistakes” in not explaining why Prince William missed the memorial service for his godfather, and compounding the sin by allowing his wife to be photographed without a wedding ring.  ( I know, the horror.)

The princess has now been forced by the pressure from those who claim to adore her to admit that she had a cancer diagnosis and now needs chemotherapy. She didn’t want to talk about it at first because, frankly, her health ought to be no one else’s business.

Given what we know, it seems at least possible, don’t you think, that her husband missed engagements because he was concerned about his wife

After leaving the hospital, she put out a picture of herself and her children she had edited to make her kids look good. She is not the first mother to have done this, and in any case her illness may have distracted her,

Now that they have forced her to talk about her chemotherapy, the ferrets are reversing and everyone who had hectored the royal family is sobbing and sighing.

To my mind, and I suspect to the minds of many other​s, they are displaying the sickest side of British monarchism.

Imagine a criminal who beats you up in the street. He kicks you when you are down, humiliates and destroys you. And just when you think he’s finished with you, he bends over and says with a sweet smile “how brave you are and how courageous. We are all so terribly proud of you.”

There is a limit to how much of this treatment modern members of the royal family will take.

Prince Harry and Meghan Markle have fled to America, and are hated for it. I accept that a part of that hatred is racist. A larger part is a modern version of British anti-Americanism. The self-aggrandising virtue signalling of the progressive American rich grates with many in the UK. It’s too egotistical; too “let’s talk about me” for traditional British people to tolerate​.

But the main reason why conservatives in general and the conservative press in particular hate them is that they have opted out. They don’t share royal duties. Instead of taking abuse, they call their lawyers. They just won’t play the game anymore.

In truth there are not many who will. The old queen stayed on the throne too long. King Charles was too old for the job when he was finally crowned, and now he is ill with cancer, as is the Princess of Wales. Meghan and |Harry have fled, and Prince William is pretty much on his own to do the royal duties of a monarchy whose supporters demand that it conducts itself on a grand scale.

I look at his children and wonder if they will put themselves through it or run like their Uncle Harry. You should not blame them if they do.

It’s people who claim to worship the royals who will drive them away or drive them mad.

Republicans will never kill the monarchy. Royalists just might.

[inkedwingss]

I’m not a performer. I’m just a poet.

And my poetry spreads its wings wide,

as I was blessed and cursed

with an inked heart.

These words might not even be mine!

I’m not a poet, I’m a prophet.

I tell myself the next paragraph.

Don’t ask me to perform—to breathe,

and to live and to fly

I must write—or die!

I’m not a prophet, I’m a poem

lacking words—ink spilt,

hungry lines.

“tracery” by timothy cleary

Keep reading to check what I have been up to.

So, yeah we are back at doing this:

And this:

And this (my wrists crying):

You have to understand I come from a lifetime of not finishing absolutely anything (except two novels). I mean relationships, projects, paintings, books, food, degrees, whatever you can name... I'm the queen of abandoning shit half done.

So the fact that I didn't drop all of this and that I'm still writing my novel, and my poetry chapbook while working a lot, and trying to read (because there is always a lot that I want to read and I end up not doing it enough nowadays), is amazing. Also, I managed to not give up the little zines yet. A miracle.

Just recently I managed to finish my literature/language degree (dropped uni 4 times). Just recently I managed to not run from a real relationship and get married (and very happily married, but only God knows how much my husband fought for me). Just recently I managed to stay, for the first time ever, in the same job for more than 6 months. Not giving up stuff is... New.

But I'm also trying to slow down and focus more on consistency than on doing too much all the time. No rush, no anxiety around it, just a gentle unfolding: one day at a time, enjoying the journey, yada yada. I'm ready for a burnout-free, but productive 2025.

I'm back at Substack (even though I cursed that platform and the vibe is still a bit off for me), because of how practical it is to do a classical blog style and their easy newsletter system...

If you want to get poems in your inbox, subscribe. I'm always uploading stuff there because it's easy, and if it gets too complicated, I will find excuses to give up creating. And what we don't create, consumes us. I know that too damn well.

This year was very important for me to remember that I'm a writer, to connect with some lovely people here and gather strength, but this is still... just my tumblr. And tumblr people can always find me on other platforms, but I'm not interested in other platforms finding me here. Truth be told being in this space since 2009... There is a language that I speak that is mine and mine only and I honestly enjoy tumblr as the quiet space with no expectations. This will never be my writing blog, but now I finally managed to put myself somewhere else.

Maybe it's because I'm not scared to call myself a writer anymore.

I wonder why I took so long.

__

✶ A big thanks to you, lovely people:

(let me know if you want to join or opt-out)

@caustic-splines @hersurvival @canibereborn

@soulstarscape @informedimagining @thedayoftherae

@sablewing @stumbling-through-time @burntblanc

@lelestarmy @fairytaleinagem @remnantofabrokensoul

@yakultstan @illarian-rambling @cssnder @crow-with-a-typewriter

[icarusignite]

Hey! I don't know if this is the proper format (still kind of new here) but I'm sending in this prompt for an Alfred × Reader fic. There's this idea for him that was stuck in my head a couple months ago. So…

It's set either S2 or S3 but it fits better in S3 or the break between 2 and 3. Alfred is really ill which isn't unusual for him, but this time he's taking a lot longer for him to heal and he's deteriorating more seriously than he normally would.

People in court start looking around for new healers and remedies. Alfred is also kind of desperate because he doesn't want to die before England is complete or Edward is ready to take over.

Reader, who is a healer, comes to court with the intention of helping Alfred. She's neither Dane nor Saxon, if you're comfortable with it she could be of Asian or African origin/descent (eg Father Benedict in S5). She's either Muslim or Christian, either way she's well read and a bit of a scholar (if you've seen Vikings: Valhalla S2, there's a female character that might ring a bell). She's also able to reassure him, like Iseult, that she's treating him with nature's bounty and nothing sinister.

Because she's a scholar (also maybe a Christian), Alfred is comfortable that she's not practicing witchcraft so this helps him accept her more easily. It also helps them bond and they become really close friends over the course of the months she spends treating him. They have fun banter and he's able to feel like Alfred, the man around her instead of King Alfred. Then he realizes that he has feelings for her.

At this point it could go any way really. Does Aelswith factor into it much or not? Does reader reciprocate his feelings or not? If she does, would she be comfortable giving into them and being a mistress? Is Aelswith even in the picture or is this a slight AU? Do they have a sad, happy or bittersweet ending? Idk

For extra spice, Reader could also be good friends with Uhtred or Finan which makes Alfred a little jealous but also sad because he thinks that she'd probably prefer the charming, handsome, potentially single, strapping man to whatever measly affection he could offer her.

Ideally, it would be fluff or smut but whatever you're comfortable writing is fine! Sorry if this is too long but I wanted to be as clear as possible 😅. I also understand if this is too much for a oneshot and you forego the idea entirely

Alfred the great x POC! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: Heyy, so sorry this took literally eons to finally write. Thank you for your lovely request and also thank u for your patience <3 Hope you enjoy what I've done with your idea, and dw this will have another part where I'll explore their chemistry more. I watched a bunch of Alfred edits to get in the mood and ngl I'm lowkey in love with him now lmfao. 

Disclaimer: there might be some (a lot) historical discrepancies because I didn't line up the dates exactly but I did find out that the Golden Age of Islam overlapped significantly with the dates that the last kingdom spans so the reader is a prominent scholar from Baghdad. Also, Aelswith is dead (I'm sorry T_T) cuz I don't love a cheating trope even when it is sort of historically accurate. So we have single dad Alfred lol. 

The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

Entering King Alfred's throne room, your senses were immediately awakened by the unfamiliar sights, sounds, and scents of Wessex. The room itself was a stark contrast to the opulent palaces and grand courts of Baghdad that you were accustomed to. The room was spacious, yet its decoration was surprisingly humble and simple, adorned with rough-hewn wooden beams and modest tapestries that depicted various scenes of English myths and prominent events. With a flash of triumph, you found that you recognized some of them from your studies of the English culture. A faint scent of burning wood from the hearth permeated the air with an earthy aroma.

You observed the nobles in attendance, or the ealdormen as they were called here, their attire markedly different from the splendid silks and jewels of Baghdad's court. Here, the people wore simpler garments made of sturdy wool and linen, in the dark colours of the earth as opposed to the the vibrant clothing the people of your home favoured.

Your gaze then turned to the throne itself. It was a robust wooden chair, its design austere yet imposing, lacking the grandeur of the magnificent thrones you had imagined English kings liked to occupy. King Alfred's regal figure atop the throne created a dignified presence. His clothing, matched the style of his ealdormen, long simple robes of a dull grey. The seat next to him was empty and you briefly wondered about his family. The chronicles you had read stated that a king's wife usually took her place beside him when he held court, but you did not know much of Alfred's wife.

Your fingers itched for your writing instruments, yearning to document all your observations and the happenings of the court. You seldom went anywhere without them, but now they remained tucked away in your satchel as you waited for the king to acknowledge your presence. You knew he had seen you enter, his eyes briefly meeting yours, even as he conversed with his ealdormen. Eventually, your thoughts began to wander and you couldn't help but reflect on the stark contrast between the scorching heat of Baghdad and the chilly bite of autumn in Wessex. your flowing linen tunic and trousers, so comfortable in the sweltering desert of your homeland, felt inadequate against the cold English air that seeped through the cracks in the stone walls.

You discreetly rubbed your tingling fingertips together, trying to generate some warmth, as the fire blazing at the hearth did little to banish the chill that had settled in your bones. Your longing for the warmth of the caliphate's sun was keenly felt in this unfamiliar and frigid environment.

Impatience welled up within you as you glanced around the chamber, noting the courtiers' stoic expressions and hushed conversations. The king's deliberations seemed to stretch on endlessly, and you found yourself yearning for the moment when you could finally present your credentials and seek the audience you had travelled so far to obtain.

King Alfred's voice finally called out your name, his voice echoing through the chamber.

"Esteemed lady, I welcome you to the court of Wessex."

The ealdormen, accustomed to the formalities of their court, were taken aback when you did not bow or curtsy as was expected. Instead, you offered a polite smile and tipped your head in a gesture of respect.

A murmur of surprise and disapproval rippled through the assembled courtiers. Some whispered that your behaviour was disrespectful, a breach of protocol. They exchanged curious glances, wondering how their king would react to this departure from tradition.

However, King Alfred took no offence. With a gracious nod, he signalled for you to speak.

"Thank you, your grace. It is an honour to be here."

Your accent was soft, lending your words a foreign intonation, and each syllable was carefully enunciated. You had spent months learning the language, and you weren't about to embarrass yourself now by messing up your pronunciation.

"I extend my deepest gratitude to you for undertaking such a long and arduous journey at my request. I hope the discomfort of the voyage did not prove too taxing."

"Your Majesty," you replied, "it was a journey of great honour for me, and I hope to make myself useful here."

King Alfred nodded appreciatively and then turned to a servant standing nearby.

"Please, ensure that the lady is provided with comfortable quarters and all the amenities she may require during your stay in Wessex."

The servant bowed in acknowledgment and stepped forward to escort you to your residence within the royal palace. You thanked the king once more for his hospitality and assistance before following the servant out of the chamber.

As you left the throne room, your observant nature couldn't help but take note of King Alfred's condition. Despite his attempt to appear at ease in his chair, you had perceived the subtle signs of discomfort. His favouring of his left side, indicating pain or injury to his right, and the unusually pallid complexion for an Englishman raised concerns in your scholarly mind. That was your purpose, after all, to try to diagnose and hopefully cure the ailing monarch.

Just when you were gone, the noblemen of King Alfred's court wasted no time in flocking around him, their curiosity piqued by the arrival of the enigmatic woman. They bombarded the king with questions and voiced their concerns about the unfamiliar customs you had displayed.

One nobleman, his voice dripping with skepticism, remarked, "Your Majesty, did you see that? She didn't bow or curtsy as she should have! It's as if she has no respect for you."

Another, eyeing your unusual attire and complexion, chimed in, "And her clothing, Your Grace! It's unlike anything I've ever seen in Wessex. She's clearly not from anywhere near England. What could she possibly want here?"

The murmurs of disapproval and suspicion spread among the courtiers, as they exchanged perplexed glances. To them, your arrival was an anomaly, and your behaviour had raised eyebrows and questions.

King Alfred, his countenance calm and measured, raised a hand to quell the growing unease.

"I understand your concerns, but there is nothing to worry about" he began, addressing their concerns. "The lady you have just met is a prominent figure from Baghdad. She has travelled from a distant land to be here and she is not here to defy our traditions or customs. She is a scholar seeking to further her studies in Wessex. Her journey to our land is a great honour, as it reflects the recognition of the importance of our own intellectual pursuits."

His tone left no room for further skepticism. He also did not mention the other reason you were there, as he did not wish to reveal the truth of his declining health. As the nobles filtered out of the room, somewhat still unsatisfied by his answer, Alfred couldn't help but remain still, his mind going over the recent developments. When he had first written to the Abbasid Caliphate to request that he be allowed to host a medical scholar at his court, he had to admit he was not expecting a woman, and certainly not one so beautiful.

The next day, Alfred summoned you to his private chambers for a consultation regarding his health. As you entered the room, he couldn't help but notice the change in your attire. Gone was the flowing linen tunic and trousers, replaced by a sturdier, more practical woollen English dress. The deep blue gauzy veil, however, was still draped around your head and flowed down your back.

The English clothing seemed to complement you, accentuating your elegance in a way that was both unexpected and captivating. The king, not for the first time, found himself admiring you, though he kept such thoughts to himself, mindful of the formal context of your meeting.

You, ever the professional scholar, maintained a polite and formal distance as you began your examination of the king. You inquired about his symptoms, listening attentively to his description of the pain and discomfort he had been experiencing. Your deep knowledge and keen medical insight were evident as you asked probing questions and conducted a thorough assessment.

After a careful evaluation, you began to discuss your observations and your initial diagnosis with the king. You explained your thoughts on the potential causes of his discomfort and suggested a course of treatment. King Alfred was grateful for your expertise, and couldn't help but be struck by your intellect. He had a thirst for knowledge himself and he appreciated the quality in others when he saw it. In you he recognized a passion for learning and documentation, one he held himself as well. After the medical examination, he extended an invitation to you to remain in his chambers and share a cup of tea. Initially hesitant, you eventually agreed, recognizing the value of the opportunity to engage in conversation with the English monarch.

Seated in the warmth of the chamber, Alfred began to share with you the rich history of England, its struggles, its triumphs, and its cultural tapestry. He spoke of the challenges of the Anglo-Saxon period, the battles against the Danes, and the enduring spirit of the English people. As he narrated the history of his land, Alfred couldn't help but notice how your eyes lit up with a deep fascination, even though you attempted to contain your enthusiasm. Your questions flowed naturally as you probed deeper into the history and culture of Wessex. You asked about the Anglo-Saxon kings, the legends and folklore, and the development of the English language.

You kept diligent notes in your little notebook, your hand swiftly capturing every detail of the conversation. Your keen intellect and insatiable thirst for knowledge were evident, and your genuine interest in Alfred's words warmed his heart. It had been quite a while since anyone had paid such rapt attention to what he was saying, and he found himself rejuvenated by your exchange.

As a lull settled over your conversation, Alfred's curiosity got the better of him. With a twinkle in his eye, he leaned forward and said, "My lady, I must admit, I'm quite curious about the contents of that notebook of yours. What sort of information have you been documenting to take back to your homeland?"

You smiled, your demeanour more relaxed than when you had first come in, "Your Majesty, you need not worry. I promise you, I haven't written that the English are fire-breathing trolls."

Alfred felt a grin tug at his lips, but he suppressed the urge, keeping his hands folded placidly over his stomach.

"Well, you know, if we English could breathe fire, we might have an easier time dealing with our enemies!"

"There is a trick that performers back home use, to give the illusion of breathing fire. The science behind it is quite fascinating. Perhaps I shall explain it to you sometime."

"Ah yes my lady, you have filled your book with our tales, but have yet to share yours. Do you have any secrets from the East that you'd like to share with us humble English folk?"

You couldn't help but smirk at his words, "I'm afraid some secrets are best left in the lands where they belong, your grace. We wouldn't want you to start brewing Persian tea incorrectly, now would we?"

"I doubt it can compete with our tried and trusted English tea."

"You only think that way because you haven't tried Persian tea yet. Trust me, once you have, there's no going back."

"I suppose you make a fair point! Although, I must admit, the thought of trying to decipher the intricacies of Arabic calligraphy is rather tempting."

You paused, your light-hearted nature urging you to make another joke but you strictly reminded yourself that you were in the presence of a king. It would do you no good to offend him with an ill-timed statement. You were already apprehensive about your earlier comment about the Persian tea, although you were grateful that he chose not to see it as a slight. As if sensing your hesitation, Alfred sat up in bed and leaned forward.

"You are free to speak my lady, do not hold yourself back on my account," he reassured with a wave of his hand.

Still, you settled for a polite smile, "I was just going to remark on the difficulty of calligraphy but I am certain that if anyone would be able to master it, it'd be you, Your Majesty."

A small furrow appeared between Alfred's brows as if that wasn't the answer he expected from you. He could see you pulling away, going back to your polite, almost cold professionalism. Eventually, he nodded thoughtfully at you.

"I would be ever so grateful if you could perhaps show me the technique someday, my lady."

You breathed a sigh of relief and nodded with a small smile.

"Now, about that notebook, if you would allow me to take a look?"

"Ah yes, of course," you handed over the small leatherbound journal to him quickly without further complaints. "But I must warn you, my handwriting isn't at its most legible."

Alfred accepted the notebook with a nod of appreciation. As he leafed through its pages, his eyes quickly fell upon your meticulously written notes. Your thoughts were inscribed in your native language and although he did not understand the words, your elegant looping script impressed him.

He raised an eyebrow and turned toward you expectantly, pointing toward a specific passage, "And what does this say right here?"

"It is a description of the English weather, your grace."

Alfred leaned closer, his finger tracing the inked lines on the page.

"Ah yes, English weather. It was raining when you first arrived, wasn't it? What do you think of our English rain then, my lady? I've heard it has a certain charm."

"Well, I believe your rain can be quite persuasive. It insists that one should stay indoors and read a good book."

Alfred's lips twitched again, fighting back a smile. It seemed that the new scholar shared his interests as well.

"A wise perspective, indeed. Perhaps our English rain is simply encouraging a literary lifestyle."

"Yes, your grace."

"My lady" he continued, a note of genuine admiration in his voice, "I must tell you, your handwriting is truly exquisite. Tell me, just how many languages have you learned."

You felt a blush creep into your cheeks at his compliment. There was something sincere in his eyes as he waited for your answer, looking at you like your accomplishments were the greatest thing in the world. You opened your mouth to respond but then a loud knock sounded on the door and a priest entered.

"Yes, Father Beocca," Alfred seemed irritated at the interruption.

Father Beocca's eyes glanced from you to the king, and despite the fact that you were sitting in a chair quite some distance away from him, you felt a strange flash of awkward embarrassment run through you.

"My king, Uhtred is here to see you," the priest finally stated.

Alfred sighed and turned toward you with an apologetic smile, "Shall we continue our conversation another time then, my lady? It seems that I am needed elsewhere."

"Yes, of course, your grace."

You quickly took your leave then, choosing to take one of your books and go read in the garden. You had just settled yourself into a comfortable nook when loud boisterous laughter caught your attention. Turning your gaze towards the source of the commotion, you spotted three men, two of whom were dressed in the attire of warriors. Their boisterous behaviour was evident as they playfully teased and shoved the third man, who was clad in robes that resembled those of Father Beocca. However, a leather breastplate adorned his monk's attire, hinting at a surprising duality of roles – priest and fighter.

The two warriors were engaged in a lively exchange with the monk, their laughter echoing through the garden. You couldn't help but smile as you watched the scene unfold. Their camaraderie and jesting reminded you of the Caliph's sons back home, when your father would take you to visit the palace.

One of the warriors, a bearded man with broad shoulders and a hearty laugh, clapped the monk on the back.

"Come now, Osferth," he said between chuckles, "surely your devotion to the Lord could use a bit of levity now and then."

The monk, Osferth, grinned in response, "Aye Finan, it is said that laughter is the best medicine, is it not?"

The other warrior, a lean and quick-witted fellow, joined in with a jest, "Well, if that's the case, Osferth, then Finan here will live to be a hundred and you shall die tomorrow!"

Osferth elbowed the tall man in the ribs, "Not before I knock some sense into you Sihtric."

Their jovial banter and good-natured teasing continued, creating a lively atmosphere in the serene garden. You couldn't help but be amused by their antics and the familiarity of their interactions, watching them for quite some time.

The trio of men eventually noticed your presence, and with their laughter dying down, they made their way over to you. As they approached, their expressions revealed a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

The broad-shouldered warrior, Finan, whose eyes twinkled with mischief, was the first to speak. "Well, what have we here?" he said with a grin. "A traveller from foreign shores, I presume?"

"Yes, I am from Baghdad, my lord."

The warrior, clearly taken with you, couldn't resist a flirtatious remark.

"Lady, I must say, you are a wondrous addition to our English garden."

You snorted at his attempt at flirtation.

Meanwhile, the monk with the leather breastplate maintained a more respectful demeanour.

"Greetings, lady, I am Osferth," he said with a nod. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. May I ask what brings you to our humble Wessex?"

You found the monk's polite curiosity quite refreshing.

"Greetings to you too, Osferth. I've come to further my studies here. Wessex has much to offer in terms of knowledge and history, and I hope to make the most of it."

"Well, my lady, if ever you wish to explore our English shores, I'd be delighted to be your guide," it was Finan who spoke again and you could not help but laugh at his words.

"Thank you, kind sir. Your offer is most gracious."

“Call me Finan, my lady.”

Your change continued as they asked more about you and your hometown and you asked about theirs. You found out that they were a band of warriors who followed some fellow named Uhtred, the very same Uhtred who was currently speaking to King Alfred. As the conversation flowed, you discovered that you enjoyed speaking with these men. Their witty banter and friendly demeanour made you feel at ease, despite the foreignness of your surroundings. You shared stories of your travels, your scholarly pursuits, and the cultural nuances of your homeland. The men, in turn, regaled you with tales of their own adventures.

As you continued to engage in playful banter with the warriors, you remained oblivious to the presence of King Alfred and Uhtred, who had ventured outside and were observing the lively exchange.

Eventually, with a confident stride, Uhtred made his way toward your group to make his introduction and Father Beocca approached the king with his concerns.

"Your Majesty," he began cautiously, "I must admit, I have reservations about entrusting your treatment to a foreigner, especially one from so distant a land. We must be cautious of witchcraft and unfamiliar practices."

King Alfred turned to Father Beocca, his expression thoughtful but resolute, "Father Beocca, I understand your concerns, but the lady is no ordinary foreigner. She hails from Baghdad, a city known for its innovative medical advancements and a center of learning in the Islamic world. She comes as one of their finest scholars, sent by the Caliph himself."

"I see, your grace."

"I have read extensively about the great Islamic civilization, and its contributions to science, medicine, and philosophy. I believe we have much to learn from her, not only about medicine but also about fostering understanding and collaboration between our cultures. They have succeeded in uniting several lands under one caliphate, so perhaps we might learn how we may unite England as well."

Father Beocca, though still cautious, nodded in understanding, "Your Majesty, I trust your judgment. It is my fervent hope that the lady's presence here will indeed lead to beneficial knowledge and that she will uphold the values of wisdom and compassion."

"Thank you, Father Beocca. Let us have faith in this unique opportunity for cultural exchange and enlightenment. Her presence is a bridge between worlds, and I believe it is a path toward a brighter future for Wessex."

Over the course of the next few months, you became familiar with the routines of the Wessex palace. King Alfred allowed you to shadow him throughout his day, believing that you could provide valuable insights into his own activities. It was a decision that would lead to a profound connection between the two of you.

Every day, you diligently prepared poultices and medications for the king’s ailments, and often you’d recite the recipe to him and explain the purpose of each herb and plant that went into it. He found that he trusted you completely but he was still comforted by your transparency and the efforts you took to explain things to him. Sometimes he would insist on accompanying you on walks and you would point out the various native English plants and their counterparts back home. You also documented the king's activities and observations in your notebook. At times, he would request to see your notebook, often just to admire the beauty of your script. He marvelled at the graceful lines of your writing, and the intricate calligraphy that adorned the pages.

Your interactions went beyond the formalities of your initial meeting. King Alfred, always eager to learn, would occasionally ask you to translate certain passages from your native language and over time, your bond grew stronger. King Alfred began to look forward to each day, eager to see your bright and colourful veil, a striking contrast to your plain English gowns. He would wonder which hue you would choose, and it became a delightful anticipation in his daily routine.

Your conversations transcended the realm of duty and scholarly pursuits. The two of you shared your favourite books, discussing the nuances of various works and debating the merits of different translations. Your insights challenged Alfred's own understanding, and he cherished these moments of intellectual stimulation.

As the days turned into weeks and then months, Alfred realized that you had become an important fixture in his life. your presence was a source of inspiration, a reminder of the power of knowledge, and a testament to the potential for understanding and collaboration between different cultures.

He found himself thinking of you when he was apart from you, reminiscing about how your eyes would dance with mirth as you argued with him about the inaccuracies of translated works, or how your laughter would fill the palace corridors. You had not only enriched his pursuit of knowledge but had also touched his heart, becoming a cherished friend and confidante in the process.

Alfred could still vividly recall the way you had looked at him with genuine wonder and appreciation when he had shown you his humble library. He knew that compared to the great libraries of Alexandria and Baghdad, his collection was modest, but you had delighted in it all the same. Your eyes, filled with curiosity and admiration, had swept over the numerous scrolls and manuscripts, taking in the wealth of knowledge contained within those walls.

In that moment, as you softly murmured your thanks, Alfred felt his breath catch. He was struck not only by the beauty of your physical presence but also by the grace with which you carried yourself and the genuine enthusiasm you displayed for learning. Your voice had a melodic quality that lingered in his memory. It was a voice that seemed to breathe life into the ancient texts that surrounded you and the king found himself quite enamoured with you. The two of you spent many a late night pouring over scrolls together, and although he always kept a respectful distance, Alfred found himself wanting to brush away the stray strands of hair that fell across your forehead, having escaped the tightly bound coil you usually kept your hair in.

Tonight was one such night as the dim light of the candle burned low, and after a lively discussion on herbal medicine, you had fallen asleep on one of the ancient manuscripts. Alfred, his mind still buzzing with the echoes of your conversation, fought against the pull of sleep. Instead, he watched you slumber, his heart filled with a mixture of admiration and tenderness.

In the soft candlelight of the library, you appeared even more enchanting. Your thick eyelashes brushed against your cheeks as you slept peacefully, your features serene. Your form rose and fell with each gentle breath, a rhythmic reminder of the tranquil cadence of sleep. Alfred couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty in this unburdened state. The play of shadows and light highlighted the delicate contours of your face, and the soft glow of the manuscripts around you lent an almost ethereal quality to the scene. You looked like a vision from a dream.

As he watched your slumber, a sudden, unexpected urge welled up within him. He was struck by the temptation to lean in and kiss you, but he quickly banished the traitorous thought. What an absurd thing for a king to do, to force his affections on a guest in his home. Especially when he had no way of knowing if you returned his feelings. He would have to content himself with the simple act of watching you sleep, his heart filled with a deep and unspoken longing.

He also found himself wondering if you were betrothed, for you couldn’t possibly be married and still be here. What man would not accompany you or let you out of his sight if you were his wife? Although you had discussed many things, you did not stray close to personal topics such as family. You were only a few years younger than him and surely you had to have someone in your life. And even if you didn’t, what could you possibly want with an ailing man like him when a woman as accomplished as you could have anyone in the world?

Such melancholy things plagued him as he eventually drifted asleep on the table across from you, his final thoughts fixating on what it might feel like to have your lips against his.