#keeps you awake but barely alive 😌

[dalkyeom]

I don’t remember if I said but hhhh just in case tysm for your kind words about my Chan studies chia 🥹✨💕💕💕 I’m glad you liked them and my notes hehe I’m finishing up studies on hanji too so I’ll hopefully have those up soon 😈💕 hope you’re well!!!

You did so well, Izzy moon! 🥺💖 also not me reading the texts bc it’s so fun to understand how artists processes their observations. I think you captured his likeness very well 😌💗 like you managed to capture his key features! You really did it 🥺 I’m excited to see more of your skz art when you drop him like definitely looking forward to the Chris art 💗

Good luck with Hanji!! He has the fluffiest cheeks ever 😭 I’m looking forward to it! I remember I used to struggle with him bc it’s been so long since I drew softer features after a good few years of bara men draws😂

[angelicyoongie]

i’m sorry maggy but i’ve been reading TOP nonstop since it has been uploaded 😩

it was released around 00:48 here and i was struggling to stay awake (literally my ankle is twisted ) but coincidentally when i saw TOP in my following page, my whole body forgot sleep 🥸☝🏽

i fear if i start giving my review you'll have to read a whole book, but a canon that seokjin is sweet, but in a fucked up way. he's considerate enough and he went as far as to starve himself to keep oc with him, abides by her wishes and gives her the time to accept his proposal. wonder why? mer people can't ‘love’ anyone, atleast not in sense of what humans perceive the word, yes?

i actually feel so bad for our strong oc. seokjin is weird with emotions and doesn't feel anything, not atleast what oc does with her experiences and stress with the sea. i actually wish to give her the basic medications for her injury to heal, because a lil tmi, my shoulder is very much at this point similar to oc’s conditions and even with proper care, it's hard, so what oc is going through is just my imagination ;_; with all that hurt of losing her everything at once to being alone with a creature who isn't so cooperative is so scary, wth

but at the same time seokjin is...😩. so hot.

like, he's the advanced merman, meaning he can communicate and understand stuff better— and when he bought the captain's chest, he had my attention already 😮‍💨

like what actually made me go aww ( yes i’m so fucked up because it's been a hot day or so i realised i like him hhdjklsahsjaksk) was the fact that he was mindful of his claws and made oc feel good and was aware of it ( 🥹 ) and, all the small acts of considerations, though being the bare minimum ( apart from the biting her flesh apart, uh ) somehow made me fall more for him. He's manipulative in a way that lmskdkdkfjbsbfh. The sass he holds each time, especially in the beginning when oc started to interrogate him, ugh

overall, the story was so well written, all thanks to your hardwork ♥️ take some rest because you deserve it..

a small canon that ; both tcs kookie and top seokie are sweet but in a weirdly fucked up manner

TCS!kook being a sweet, oversized puppy who can kill you and

TOP!seokie being the sassy mermaid who can kill you and would remind you that very often as well..lol

oh no, i hope your ankle is better by now!! it happened to me last year too, it hurts like a bitch :(

seokjin's actions can be perceived as considerate in some ways but at the end of the day he's doing all of that for himself. he's starving himself not for the MC, but because he finds her amusing and wants to keep her alive for longer. he listens to her requests when he feels like it but it's more to instill a false sense of security over him actually caring about what she thinks, you know? but he does have some tact though, i'll give him that 🙈 that's correct!

this poor MC is in the trenches with her injuries, i shudder to think what would become of them over time 😩 she's not in for a fun time ahead of her, that's for sure. maybe seokjin could find some form of medication in the sunken ships but i doubt it!

sdjksd, he's hot in a scary way for sure 🤪 he's terrible when he wants to be and kinda-sorta-sweet when he wants to be, it's just hard to tell what version you're dealing with until it might be too late, lol! the sass is the best part about him haha 😌

thank you so so much!! 🥺💖💖

lol yeah, i would say that's pretty spot-on descriptions of them!!

[bright-whump]

Hey! Love your writing! Are you comfortable with non-con writing requests? If so can you write a little bit of Malcolm/John Watkins non-con in the episode “Alone Time”? Thanks! (Also, you are one of the best whump writers on Tumblr in my humble opinion)

🥺💕🥰 thank you so much omg! this made me smile so much ahhh :3 and yes i am, and why yes...yes i can... (although i wasn't totally sure how nsfw you wanted so, i guess, lemme know if there should be a part 2 😌)

CWs: noncon touching, noncon kissing, implied/fade-to-black noncon, creepy/intimate whumper, mentions of religion

"You really are just...so pretty, little Malcolm. Did you know that?"

Malcolm doesn't move. Couldn't, even if he wanted to, and he definitely hasn't even the slightest urge. He wants to lay here, eyes closed, curled into himself on the cold concrete under the single ratty, torn blanket he's been granted if only to keep him alive and pretend he isn't awake. Convince John he isn't awake, more importantly, because he doesn't want to hear any more.

John speaks again anyway. He sees himself as the only one here worthy of saying anything at all. Malcolm is meant to be silent, to be obedient, to listen and nod and accept.

"I know you're awake. That hand of yours...tsk. It doesn't do that when you're not."

Malcolm tucks his arm closer to himself, but even then the tremor in his hand shakes the blanket, and now that he's moved the chains around his wrists start rattling too.

"Oh, Malcolm. Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm. What are we going to do with you?"

He hates the way John says his name. He hates the way John speaks to him. He doesn't reply, still, and tries to make himself even smaller as John's boots tap tap against the cement with every step, as he circles around Malcolm's body and Malcolm can hear every movement, spiking his heart rate higher and his breathing into panting, no matter how hard he tries to stay calm.

He can't anymore. After what must be days of taunting and torture and withdrawal from his medications, he just can't pretend he's okay anymore. He can't glare at John with defiance so strong it would make the man try to slap it off his face, because he can't willingly risk another blow to his aching, blurry head. He can't read John's face or his intentions when he's down here because he's so dizzy he can barely see at all, and he can't try to talk to him, to get to him, because John has proven again and again and again that he doesn't want to be reached.

He doesn't want Malcolm's help. He wants Malcolm's complete and utter submission, his repentance, and that's just not something he'll allow himself to give. He won't. He just won't.

They're coming for him. Gil, his team, his friends—no, his family—they're going to save him. He knows they will. He trusts them, more than anything. And they'd want him to be strong. So he has to be.

A hand strokes down his back, and even through the blanket and his shredded shirt it burns, scratches and pulls at the wounds that litter his body underneath. He gasps, biting his lip, and keeps his eyes squeezed shut as John pulls the blanket off of him and tosses it away.

Maybe he'll give it back when he leaves, or maybe he won't. Malcolm can't expect a single thing from a man with no set behavioral pattern, doing everything and then nothing, triggered randomly into bursts of violence and then kindness, feigned and yet real enough to have convinced him the first time.

It's not kindness. It's something else, something far more dangerous, and it gets worse each time. It gets closer to something he didn't think he had to fear, but that now, with the increasing intensity of unwanted 'admiration', as John calls it, he realizes is a very real threat.

John runs cold fingers over the back of Malcolm's neck, where only Gil's hand should ever be, and it, combined with a lack of barrier to the freezing air, sends a shiver so violent through Malcolm's body that a whimper escapes his cracked lips.

"Oh, no..." John murmurs, slipping a finger down into Malcolm's shirt collar. "What was that?"

Malcolm doesn't want to be as weak as he is. He hates it. He wants to do something, to break free somehow and escape, but he can't. He's tried. He's so exhausted, so goddamn thirsty, his mouth so dry that when he whispers, "Stop..." it's barely audible at all. It's almost like he didn't say it at all.

John reaches over, pulls him onto his back, and watches with unmasked joy as Malcolm squirms and then goes still again, gasping for air because just that has taken up all his energy.

"Hush. You're a strong boy, aren't you? You can take so much, can't you? Everything I give you...you just...take it."

He reaches up, and Malcolm flinches once expecting a blow, and then again when instead, far worse, John's finger swipes across his lower lip, then the upper, and then settles there, pressed against them. Malcolm can't even protest, because he's too afraid to open his mouth.

"No," John says, quietly. "You're not very strong at all, really. Look at you. Letting me do anything I want to you. Oh, your father would be so disappointed...everything he wanted you to be...everything he did for you..."

Malcolm debates biting him, gritting his teeth, and John pulls his finger away before he can, instead cupping his hand against the front of Malcolm's throat and pushing just enough to make him gag.

"I saw that. Naughty little sinner. You will respect your savior. And you'll repent for what you did to him. I'll make sure of it. It is my mission, after all."

He looks Malcolm over, head to toe, in a smooth sweep of his eyes that makes Malcolm feel more degraded, less human than ever in his life, and then breathes in deep through his nose. He brushes Malcolm's hair back with his other hand, and smiles down at him.

"And I'll complete it," he says, "whatever you make me have to do to achieve that."

Malcolm doesn't even have the chance to fully process the words before John leans over and kisses him. It shocks him, stuns him completely, and then the adrenaline that prickles his skin and runs cold through his veins gives him enough strength to yank back, to reach up to fight—

The shackles around his wrists dig painfully into his skin as the chain connected to the floor pulls taut, too short for him, in this position, to do more than lay them against his stomach, and Malcolm chokes out a cry of despair. He kicks his legs out, tries to turn back onto his side, but John holds him still by his throat, pins him to the floor by it and forces him to stay there until John is done and pulls back.

"My little Malcolm," he says, licking his lips. "I've wanted to do that for a very long time."

Unable to form a response, unable to breathe, somehow more terrified than ever before, Malcolm can only stare up at him. He yanks on his hands again, hard enough he feels the wounds already circling his wrists start to drip blood down his arms again, and John chuckles.

"Careful, little one...oh, but I know just how you never like to be careful."

He releases Malcolm's throat, lets him suck in a desperate, ragged gasp, and then kisses him again.

"Always walking right into danger..." His hand slips under Malcolm's shirt, and Malcolm's shout is muffled by another kiss. "Always doing everything you're not supposed to...always disobedient."

"Stopstopstop—" Malcolm manages to get out at last, shaking his head roughly, but it hurts him so much, makes him so unbearably dizzy he's nearly sick, and he's forced to stop again, blinking hard and begging things to stop spinning. "J-John, stop—"

"You don't leave me any other choice," John tells him, running his palm over Malcolm's belly, index finger dipping beneath his waistband. "You don't react the way I want you to, the way I need you to, otherwise."

"Please—" Malcolm gasps, grabbing onto John's hand with a grip too weak to cause any damage, even as he digs his nails in. "Please, w-what—what—I'll d-do anything, please, I-I'll—I'll be good, John, just don't—"

John pulls him a little more onto his side, towards John, so his hands are forced even further out of his way, his arms aching as they're awkwardly wrenched, and Malcolm brings his knees up and tries desperately to protect himself, to stop this.

"Don't act shy now," John says, starting to unbutton his shirt, to slide it off his shoulders, something he's done before to cut and whip Malcolm's skin but never like this. "You've done nothing but sin your entire life, all for God Himself to see. You betrayed your blood. You dedicated your life to it. You're a traitorous little whore, boy...don't pretend you have any shame or dignity left. If you did, you wouldn't have pushed me to this."

He leans over Malcolm, kissing over his jaw, up to his ear.

"I don't mind, though," he breathes, right into it, and Malcolm's trembling so badly his teeth are chattering. "I don't mind. My purpose is to teach you. To make you truly regret all you've done wrong, and then bring you back to the right path. I realize now that this is the only way to do it."

"It's not," Malcolm sobs, and he isn't sure how he's even capable of tears, but they burn his eyes and run hot down his face as he gives a last effort to get free and gets nowhere. He can't. He can't. "John, please."

"You beg so beautifully, little Malcolm...but only to get what you want. Your father spoiled you. This world has spoiled you. But not anymore. I'm here to give you what you need."

He nips Malcolm's ear, and Malcolm cries out for help, help he knows isn't going to come fast enough, and maybe that won't come at all.

Maybe, after this, he won't want it to.

"Hush now. Remember that this is all for you. It's all for you. You just need to learn...and then you'll understand. You'll know. You'll be forgiven, just like I was. We're His favorites, Malcolm...and you are mine."

[musicallisto]

OMG ok also the name of this is so cute like?/?: (if we set aside the fact that it can kill us) ANYWAY CONGRATS MAY I PLS HAVE A ☄️ for the mcu???

idk what counts as relevant so do as you please with what you know about me and the following i consider as ‘relevant information’:

— i’m an infp which has to be my greatest shame and favorite trait MAXHFJEQ + i have a horrible sleep schedule i don’t even know where to begin anymore

— i write … detailed reviews when i ordered online and get hella mad when people rate something and don’t leave a review at all

— got a ukulele but i only know a few songs and i don’t really know the chords by names i just play it 💀

— this is bad but when i get mad or pissed i just play music that isn’t really my genre as in just anything loud idk if this is even relevant. i prefer oldies tho <3

— i’m a class and club president yay i know i said i hated it but i’m kinda liking it now HAHAHAHA i feel cool and it feels empowering when tasks get assigned to me like 😌 me? i can be trusted with this?

— random thing but in class my teacher told me (let’s call him sponge because this is a rushed codeword) that another teacher told him i had a mature voice and that i sounded like i was tall in real life and sponge said ‘only if you knew’ like?/?:?;!;&(&?8?8?8?8 to be fair i am 5’1 so i’ll let it slide but come on >:((

i’m sorry if this is long i got excited HANDHCJAKAKW

ves you are literally the most chaotic person I know on here and that is a real compliment asjcbjbbsj q i love you and also!!! whats that "if only you knew" mr.sponge huh??? shorties gang arise >:(

☄️ comet

Being class president at Midtown certainly comes with its perks. not only are you entrusted with most of the important stuff (because someone has to run things around here while everybody else is gawking at the Avengers or something), you also get to be unbearably noisy about your classmates. which is not necessarily a good thing, from a purely moral standpoint, but a girl needs her reprieve from the harsh bitterness of being a leader. Anyway, your keen eye does not lie, and it's telling you there's something weird about Peter Parker.

Which your bestest friend in the whole world MJ certainly agrees with. In between rounds of unrelentlessly teasing her about her crush on him - "why do you keep tabs on him so much? oh my god, MJ, you're obsessed with him" - and mindlessly strumming your ukulele sprawled out on your bed talking about anything and everything, you try to theorize what in the three hells your best friend's beau could really be up to.

"Maybe he's one of those Avengers." "MJ, I'm not even sure he's thrown a punch in his life."

But you have to admit the mystery is kind of thrilling. More than boring academics anyway. Especially since you have a pretty good hunch Parker's affiliated in some way with The(tm) Tony Stark, and you're set on figuring out how. And it's also during one of your ~investigating~ expeditions that you get bitten by the weirdest snake in all of Manhattan.

It's already strange enough to have a viper slithering around freely in Manhattan of all places, but to have it bite you in the ankle, unprovoked? That's just your luck these days. One second you were walking down an alleyway and the next you could barely stand on your feet from the excruciating pain, and a... bizarre thumping in your veins? MJ's frantic, she who normally does not wear anything on her sleeve, and convinced that you're going to die right there and right now, but you've actually never felt more alive. Like you could climb on the walls and take on anyone in a fight. Like you could hear every New Yorker's breaths and see the warm, reddish silhouettes of humans through the concrete walls. Like you could silently creep up to anyone, anywhere you wanted...

Oh boy. Hope this weird ass bite from a weird ass snake doesn't awake anything in you.

Hope Peter Parker's remains the only one with a whole identity to hide.