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yanderedrabbles · 21 hours ago

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What's the worst thing Yan Military Contractor has ever done to the reader?

Yandere! Military Contractor

The very worst? Now that's tough competition. He's fucked you raw so many times that afterwards you can only curl up and whimper, legs aching so bad you can't stand. He's bitten you so hard that he's left a scar of his teeth on your thigh. He's bent your arm so very far up your back that on bad days your shoulder still aches. He's done anal without any prep or lube.

But the very worst? That happened on the day you almost escaped.

He likes to humour you. Likes letting you try and get away, just to drag you back at the last second. Likes the way you fight so much harder when freedom is so very close. But he never once entertained the thought of you actually succeeding.

You're too damn clever sometimes. Too smart for your own good.

You planned your escape carefully this time. Waited for a rainy day when he'd have trouble hearing your footsteps and seeing your tracks. Managed to make a mess in his armory and get out of a second story window when he was distracted counting his guns. And then you ran.

You saw a tree out on your forced walks once. Thick oak with branches that just about reached over the fence. It would be a hard fall, but if you managed to not snap an ankle you'd be home free.

He almost found you. You were up in the branches, rain pelting you in thick sheets when he walked right under you. It was pure luck that you noticed him in time. Even without the noise of the rain to cover his footsteps, he was dead silent.

He looked pissed. But that wasn't what made your heart drop.

He had his gun with him. Not one of the rifles or shotguns. That might have almost been better. Those guns felt unreal, felt like something out of a movie. No, he was carrying his chrome .50 calibre Desert Eagle.

You hated that gun. It was the one he carried on him almost all the time, the one he had the day he took you. Huge, mean looking thing. 'One of the nastiest shots you'll ever see,' he told you once.

It was scratched with years of use. A soldier's gun. A killer's gun.

You fingers went numb on the branch before you had the courage to keep moving. You dropped down on the other side of the electric fence, landing bad. You smacked a hand over your mouth to stifle your yelp.

Staggered to your feet, holding onto the trees to take the pressure off your stinging ankles. You did it.

You actually fucking did it.

You were free. Actually, finally free. You half didn't believe it until you reached the end of the trees and open farm land stretched in front of you. The rain was so much worse without the trees to protect you, but you didn't care. An empty field of wheat had never looked so damn good.

"On your knees."

You froze. No. No.

"I said, get on your fucking knees!"

You sat so fast that you felt lightheaded.

He came to stand in front of you, blocked your view of the open land and your last chance to escape. He was scowling, hand gripping his gun so tight that veins were standing out on his forearm.

The rain was sheeting down around you, running past the grooves and catches of his pistol. You couldn't see his face through the rain, but you could feel his eyes. Raking down your body, burning.

He pointed the gun at you, cocked it. The metallic sound of it somehow the loudest thing you'd ever heard.

"Open your mouth."

"I'm sorry! Please just-"

"Open. Your. Mouth."

You did. He forced the barrel passed your lips, all the way to the back of your throat. Your teeth scraped the metal.

It tasted bitter. Iron, gunpowder. It tasted like your death.

His finger was on the trigger. One little twitch, one inopportune gag, and you were done.

"Suck it."

You did, crying so damn hard but terrified to make a sound.

"No," he snarled. "Suck it like you would a cock."

He grabbed your hair, yanked your head back. "Show me why I shouldn't kill you right here and now. Remind me exactly why I keep you around."

You sucked his gun like your life depended on it. Tongue out, drooling, like you weren't a hairs breadth from death. Looked up at him with rain and tears pouring down your face.

You must have given him one hell of a show. When you couldn't take it anymore, when you were shaking from the cold and your lips were turning blue around the metal, that's when he pulled out. One hand still in your hair, he pointed the gun at the sky and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed over the trees.

Fuck. You really did just have a loaded gun in your mouth.

He holstered it, grabbed your jaw with the hand that just held your death.

"Never again. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

#Unorthodox pew pew use #Don't try this at home kids #yandere oc #yandere oc x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #tw yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #yandere male

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 2 days ago

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steve singing the cheesiest pop songs into a fake microphone at eddie just bc he's in a good mood and because eddie 'hates' it

steve singing these songs morphs into steve singing the same songs but swapping out lyrics to whatever eddie is doing, or they're doing, or to something that happened in a hellfire campaign etc

steve still singing those songs around everyone else but also starts to sing his changed lyric masterpieces to eddie specifically

One particular instance being when Steve starts to sing Frankie Valli at him while trying to convince him to go out with him and robin to this club they'd heard about.

He and Robin were trying to convince him from their spots behind the counter at Family Video, arguing about if he should come with them or not long enough for Steve to come around the counter and actually do his job, stacking away tapes onto the closest shelves, when Sherry comes on over the radio.

Steve starts to bob his head along while Robin tries telling him again that it's a good place, that she has it on good authority that it's a place for other Friends of Dorothy, but she doesn't get far before Frankie AND Steve start to sing.

Eddie can quite literally note believe what he's seeing.

Steve is staring him down, his eyes full of glee as he croons Eddie's name back at him, a well-worn copy of Gremlins acting as his mic.

"Eddie~! Eddie Baby! Eddie~! Eddie Baby--" Steve's long, high pitched (though somehow still in tune) crooning of his name in place of Sherry's is (luckily) funny enough to keep his face from showing exactly how he's feeling about being called baby.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"I agree with Buckley."

Steve ignores them, signing about his moonlit party or something, putting the tape where it goes on the shelf to Eddie's right just in time to turn and snatch up Eddie's hands in his to sing "I'm gonna make-a you my-i-ine~!", right to him, tossing his head around with the last line and spinning away to keep shelving tapes.

Eddie's face blazes hot.

"Oh my god, this is actually doing it for you, isn't it?"

He looks over at Robin, ready to snap at her, deny it all, but she looks so sincere under that mirth.

He sighs.. "Yeah."

"Can you come out tonight?" Steve sing-asks, jumping into his space and startling him.

"Really??"

He's grabbed up Ghostbusters this time, "YooOOOuUU better ask your Uncle~ Tell him everything is alright"

"He won't care!"

Steve's voice pitches lower as he continues to ignore Eddie's comments, stepping away to a nearby shelf "Why don't you come out?" then higher immediately after, as he slides the tape onto it's shelf, "With your red flannel on"

"I can't wear a dress?"

"Mmm, you look so fine~!"

"Shut up, Harrington!" Eddie's cheeks are on fire

Steve continues to ignore him, stepping back into Eddie's space and snatching him up in a spin, one hand on his hip, one grabbing his opposite hand, "Move it nice and easy,"

He's front to front with the man of his dreams and said man is, shimmying his hips to the tune, "Well you make me lose my miiiind!"

Steve goes into more long belts of "EeeEEdie bay-ay-bee" as he spins away back to shelve more tapes, leaving Eddie both entranced and bewildered at the front of the store.

"He'll be so bummed if you don't come now."

Eddie sighs, leans back against the counter to wait out the rest of the song, "Yeah.. I know."

- - - - - - - - - - -

and then they go to the bar and then steddie kiss and robin kisses a super cute girl and they live happily ever after the end

this exact scenario has haunted me every time sherry comes on the radio so today you finally get it too lmao

#drops this and runs #steddie #song fic #kinda #stevie's singin' lmao #and woo-ing his man while he does it #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #noelle writes

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softness-and-shattering · 21 hours ago

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Most of my autistic friends expect that their friendships will one day out of the blue blow up in their face as people vent built-up frustrations about behaviours that annoyed others that was never ever communicated to them, and/or because of whats called "the double empathy problem" which describes one of the main ways allistic-autistic communication goes sideways. Ive been in social groups - discord type groups - where the autistics get kicked out because we are speaking plainly and askingd questions, and the mods or admin or other authority figures interpret these questions as deliberate insubordination and challenges to their authority, get "tired and fed up" with "the disrespect" and start kicking people. I have seen this happen in disability groups.

And its not all black and white. Like sometimes I can pick up on social cues because I have deliberately learned them, or learned them the hard way. I can even sometimes say one thing and mean another, but I dont often. I might pick up on one cue and totally miss another. Sometimes I just dont know why someone is saying something, theyre obviously implying something but I dont know what. This can get tricky when someone wants to indicate something without being able to be quoted about it, and sometimes I need to ask them to clarify and if theyre still dodgy I have to guess and hope I got it right.

And sometimes we're aware of unspoken rules but we dont recognise their authority over us because theyre bad or nonsensical. We tend to stick to rules if we understand them and they make sense. When theyre crap rules, I dont care how much money someone makes I will treat them the same as everyone else. I dont care how many high status cars someone has, we are equals.

Im getting off track - my point is that basically every autistic I know has ongoing trauma of friendships and social groups suddenly turning on them for no discernable reason and no warning and absolutely no previous indication that anything was wrong - sometimes after being explicitly told everything was ok the day before. This happens to us all the time. Its so damaging and so hurtful.

Personally I dont second guess as a general rule. I someone has a problem with me I trust they will tell me about it and we can problem solve and introspect. If Im not told, no matter what vibes Im picking up bc I dont know if the vibes are real or my own anxieties, I will act like nothing is wrong. If someone wants to blow up at me that has reflects zero on me and entirely on their inability to speak up about whatever was bothering them. Thats not a me problem. I cannot do anything with zero information.

Lemme induct you in an autistic way of bring and introduce you to a script you can use. Something like "hi friend, can I talk to you for a second about the meeting yesterday? [If Y continue, if N ask when you can talk to them about it.*] So I dont know if you noticed, but you spent the whole time tapping your fingernails on the table, and honestly the noise was distracting and mightve been irritating for some people. I just thought you should know bevause I dont think anyone else was going to bring it up with you. Could you please find a quieter way to stim/do what you need to/move in the ways you need to to concentrate. Ok thank you, no ones super upset just mildly irritated I think. I just figured someone should actually tell you"

Or even "hi. You spent the whole meeting earlier tapping on the table and it was pretty loud. Could you please find a way to be quieter in meetings, its just a bit distracting for some people? Awesome thank you".

Just be polite and straightforward, say what you want and what the problem is. Assume competence, sometimes we make deliberate choices against the status quo for important reasons not cluelessness. And give time for them to figure out an alternative, be undsrstanding if they cant. Just use your words, communicate clearly. It might feel a little confrontational but believe me its not as bad as bring dropped as a friend or fired out of nowhere. That sucks**

*Dont just say "can we talk", give a reason, otherwise they will likely spend the time between notification and meeting inventing every worse case scenario they can possibly think of. A couple words of context goes a long way.

** I came across a youtuber who, idk for sure if theyre autistic but they talk with an extremely flat effect (meaning, little tonal variance between words, not much expression in the voice, every word comes out more or less the same, "robotic"), which is an autistic trait. They mentioned in a video that they had a 'normal' job before youtube, until one day they found themself fired, given reason was their flat effect scared people and made them seem unfriendly and unhappy to be there and interacting. Sounded like it was completely out of the blue. Thats a job lost due to ableism though possibly no one involved sees it that way. Some people cant change how they speak or dont want to. Shouldnt have to. But at least mention it, see if the person is willing to adjust, and consider if it truly disqualifies them from being able to perform the job or is it just a little unusual.

I saw some snippet of a callout post for an autistic trans woman where they list social faux pas she committed, and I think we allistic people should all feel 100x more ashamed of not telling people in the moment how we feel about what they're doing. I think its extremely evil and cruel to not only lie to an autistic person and blame them for it but also to feel justified shaming them for your behavior. And it's currently the social norm to do that

#thank you #ive struggled w this with other autistic people because i felt too rude to say sorry i cant actually deal with your infodumping right now #but i love you and ill listen another time #itz basically boundary setting skills #and healthy conflict skills #so so so important to effective communication #autism #double empathy problem #comment

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mapis-putellas · 2 days ago

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𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒓/𝑰.𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒏 𝒙 𝑴.𝑳𝒆𝒐𝒏

This has some Mapi in it. Don’t feel obligated to read if you don’t wanna

Ingrid’s fingers move slowly up and down your spine, tracing aimless patterns over the fabric of her hoodie that you’ve claimed as your own. Her other hand is curled around your hip, keeping you pressed against her as you lie sprawled across her chest on the couch. It’s quiet, peaceful. The kind of rare, uninterrupted silence that only happens when Mapi isn’t home.

You love Mapi. Love her more than you ever thought possible. But Mapi is Mapi, and Mapi doesn’t do still. She doesn’t do quiet. She does prodding and teasing and exaggerated sighs when she’s bored and dramatically flopping onto you and Ingrid when she wants attention. It’s adorable, it’s her, but it’s also exhausting sometimes.

So when she left for the weekend, you’d missed her immediately, but you’d also secretly relished the stillness. The extra bit of uninterrupted Ingrid time.

Ingrid shifts slightly beneath you, her chest rising with a deep breath as her fingers continue their slow, lazy movements. “You’re thinking too much,” she murmurs, voice low and accented in a way that makes warmth pool in your stomach.

You hum against her, nuzzling further into her. “Am not.”

“You are,” she counters. “I can feel it.”

You huff a soft laugh, but she’s right. She usually is.

You tilt your head to look up at her, chin resting on her sternum. “Miss her?”

She exhales a small breath through her nose, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Mmm.”

You study her for a second. “But you like the quiet too.”

The tiny smile turns into a proper one, eyes twinkling just slightly. “Mmm.”

You grin, stretching up just enough to press a kiss to her chin before relaxing back down against her. “Me too.”

She chuckles softly, her hand drifting up from your spine to thread lazily through your hair.

Neither of you speak for a while, just lying there, breathing in sync, soaking in the rare, undisturbed moment of peace.

Then your phone vibrates against Ingrid’s stomach, the buzz breaking the quiet. You groan dramatically, not bothering to move as you blindly pat around for it. Ingrid sighs, reaching down and grabbing it for you.

“Mapi,” she says before even looking, because of course it is.

You huff a laugh as you take it from her, unlocking the screen to see a string of messages.

MAPI

MI AMORRRR

Princesa says she misses me 🥹

You miss me too, no?

I bet Ingrid is enjoying her break from me 😏

TELL HER SHE CAN’T REPLACE ME

I’M IRREPLACEABLE

I’M A NATIONAL TREASURE

You roll your eyes, grinning as you type back.

YOU

We were just talking about how much we miss you, actually

Ingrid too, though she won’t admit it

A second later, your phone vibrates again.

MAPI

LIARRRRR

Put me on video NOW

You sigh, pushing up onto your elbows. “She wants to FaceTime.”

Ingrid groans. “Of course she does.”

You smirk, hitting the video call button before flopping back onto Ingrid’s chest. She huffs when the weight of you presses down on her again, but she doesn’t move.

Mapi answers immediately. “MIS AMORES.”

She’s grinning, all teeth and dimples, nose scrunched just slightly. Her hair is damp, messy, like she’s just come out of the shower, and she’s wrapped in a hoodie that you’re fairly sure belongs to Ingrid.

“You’re drunk,” you accuse, eyeing the slight flush on her cheeks.

“I am not,” she gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “How dare you.”

Ingrid snorts. “You’re slurring your words, Maria.

Mapi squints at her through the screen, face pulling into a pout. “Princesa, why must you betray me like this?”

“Because it’s easy,” Ingrid deadpans.

You laugh, tilting the phone down slightly so Mapi can see you better. “Are you having fun?”

She brightens instantly, nodding. “Sí! We went to this-“ She pauses, turning her head to yell something in rapid Spanish to someone in the background. You hear laughter, a few indistinct replies, before she turns back to the camera. “This bar, and there was karaoke -real karaoke, not that fake one where they mute the mic-“

“Did you sing?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“OBVIO.”

You grin. “What song?”

Mapi opens her mouth to answer but then stops, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you two cuddling?”

You blink. “Uh…yes?

Her eyes narrow even more. “Without me?”

“You’re literally in another country,” Ingrid points out, unimpressed

Mapi huffs, crossing her arms. “You’re replacing me.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ingrid mutters, exasperated.

You snicker. “We would never replace you.”

Mapi points a finger at Ingrid. “Say it, Princesa.”

Ingrid sighs heavily. “Mapi-“

“SAY IT.”

Ingrid tilts her head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like she’s calling for divine intervention. Then, finally, she relents. “You are irreplaceable.”

Mapi grins smugly. “Damn right.”

You giggle, shifting so you can tuck your face into Ingrid’s neck.

Mapi watches you both for a moment, then sighs. “Okay. I go now. I just had to make sure you weren’t too happy without me.”

“We’re miserable,” you deadpan.

“Good,” she says, blowing a dramatic kiss. “I love you both. Goodnight.”

“Night, love you,” you say, and Ingrid mumbles a soft, “I love you too,” before Mapi hangs up.

You stare at the phone for a second, then glance up at Ingrid.

“She’s going to be so hungover.”

Ingrid hums. “Good. She deserves it.”

You giggle, tossing your phone onto the coffee table before settling back against her. “Still miss her though.

Ingrid sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Me too.”

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

#soft mapi leon #mapi leon x ingrid engen x reader #mapi leon x reader #ingrid engen x mapí leon #ingrid engen x reader #woso community #woso x reader #woso appreciation #woso imagine

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on-the-clear-blue · 1 day ago

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I am thinking about, what if Jason, fresh from the grave, actually managed to get to Wanye manor?

Like, some Gothamite stumbles upon this kid in a muddy silk suit, with hands bleeding and bruised, whos hollow looking eyes are filled with tears, trying to draw in weezy breaths and let's out a long desperate whimper that sounds like..."help me"

But instead of running and calling the police because clearly the dead are starting to raise in Gotham and that is like, actually the worst, they notice something, they have seen that face before, fucking hell nearly all of gotham had, maybe a little younger, maybe with a happy smile and a twinkle in his eye even in a black in white photo put out by the newspaper, cus that's the Wayne kid, that's Brucies little boy that got killed.

And they take him home, to the Wanye Manor clearly some bullshit happened, because in Gotham the even the dead arnt allowed to rest it seemed.

Even if nobody ever made it past the front gate, everyone knows where the Manor is, it's the seat of power for like, the most important family in Gotham, criminal or otherwise.

And they feel horrible ringing the gate bell, they would wince because it sounds like a sick joke to just to roll up, and say "I got your dead kid, you want em back?"

Imagine the pain that Alfred has to go through hearing that? Some stranger has just rung in that they have his youngest charge grandson who Alfred personally dressed in his finest to be laid to rest. The same Alfred who did the same for Thomas and Martha, who cried over their bodies in secret just as he did Jason.

He let's the stranger through the front gate, while Master Bruce has a rule against killing, Alfred is more than willing to, and his shotgun is loaded as he watches a older car slowly wind up the long driveway.

He is standing at the door, gun lowered as the stranger pulls to a stop, they don't even look surprised at the gun in the old man's hands, simply nodding at it before heading to the back seat of their car and-

Dear God they dug up his boy, anger pulses through him, the gun raises to shoot down this utter scum before...the body twitches as the stranger speaks to it, gently shaking it and...and Jason blinks awake, a strangled gasp coming from his chest before coughs, and Jason is stumbling out of the back seat.

Alfred can't move for a second, can't think as he sees Jason alive once more, the boys pained expression lessens slightly as he seems to spot thr butler, and a soft, hoarse whisper came from his lips, "A-Alfie..."

Imagine Bruce, drunk beyond the point where it should kill him, laying in Jason's bed, the curtains drawn closed, leaving the room pitch black, the only lights coming from the smattering of glow in the dark stars, done up in constellations across the ceiling, and a small night light by the door.

His son still needed a night light, his darling boy was still young enough to fear the dark, even if it was at an instinctual level.

Bruce felt disgusted by himself, hatred of the pathetic excuse of a man that he was, his son was gone gone GONE.

The lights of his life was gone, and he deserved it, he shouldn't have been so greedy, so selfish to want Dick in his life, so what if Vruce saw himself in the boy, commerserated with the searing pain of his parents, Bruce should have kept the child away, to not allow Dick to become anything like him.

It was good that Bruce was pushing him away, making the wonderful young man Dick turned out to be hate him, Bruce only deserved that, it hurt so much to turn his back on his son, but Bruce couldn't allow anymore of himself to befoul the boy he loved so dearly.

The man longed for another drink but he refused to bring the bottle into Jason's room, he wouldn't desecrate his sons space with something he had hated so much.

It was the only reason Bruce rolled out of the bed, his body felt like lead, numb and dull to the world, and as he opened the door into the hall, he saw him.

There Jason was, yet more to hunt him, his child's phantom back to torment him again.

Mind clouded with pain, Bruce would stumble up to that ghost the figment of his imagination that sought to torment him, stopping only a foot away and falling to his knees, fresh tears sting at the man's eyes. A gutteral sound of agony tearing through him as he wails in sorrow, of a future, a life snuffed out.

Only to be silenced by a weight on his shoulder, followed by a smaller body drapped across his own, the cry of pain was choked out by shock, eyes that shut fly open to see that the phantom, the ghost of his son...was not just a figment of his foul mind.

And Jason's body was not cold, not stiff with rigor mortise, it was warm and soft, the thrum if a weak heart beat pounded across his back where his sons chest was across him.

With shaky hands Bruce would, almost reverently, reach out to touch his son, pulling his hand back as if he was burned went he felt the boys body.

In a moment the man was latched onto the boy, holding onto him as if he let go Jason would fade away and he would lose his son once again.

Of course they run tests, though Bruce is never not in arms reach of Jason, always trying to keep the boy in his eyesight, and went they come back that it really is Jason? That their boy is returned? Bruce clings to his son once more, tears renewed, this time filled with relief not sorrow.

Though sadly, we don't get this, instead after digging himself out of his own grave, Jason gets hit by a car and gets kidnapped by a murder death cult and gets dunked in the evil mountain dew before getting turned against the people that love him, fed lies to fuel his pit madness and then set off on a killing spree of revenge.

#batman #batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #angst #a what if #idk how tim ends up a robin but he would still be in there some how #cus he is a little freak #bruce has depression and self hatred #jason is just a little guy in this #like i am thinking 13?#bruce is a good dad #bruce wayne loves his kids #even if his own mental issues make him push them away

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ecrivainsolitaire · 3 hours ago

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Also, describing yourself as "a dirty, inept husk, a sad sack of well-meaning but futile intentions just sapient enough to be dimly aware of everything I'm unable to be" is not something a person who is doing well in life does. It's actually what I feel like before I take my daily pills that make me able to get up in the morning and not hate everything. Incidentally, since I started taking them the suicidal ideation has gone WAY down, like it only ever happens when I've actually gone through something quite painful instead of just "ugh I have to pick up my socks from the floor I'd rather end it all". Turns out that the Real Me™ is a self destructive jackass no one wants to hang out with and who is fine with that because death comes to us all. The Pills Me just had a career change, goes on dates as often as finances allow and likes to garden and play musical instruments.

90s movies: Psychopharmacology is as good as a lobotomy. If you take pills to treat your mental illness it will literally murder your imaginary friends and you will become a boring, lotus-eating conformist drone.

Me after taking my meds: drives the scenic route home to see if there are any geese on the pond and does a little dance in line at the grocery store and comes home to throw everything in my fridge into a stew pot because I can finally taste food again while singing songs at my birds in which I replace all the instances of "she" with "Cheese" and doing a Dolly Parton impression on the phone to my sister

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 3 days ago

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Thank you for everything you do! This page is amazing! I’m looking for #Sterek where One of them is super smart and the other is the best athlete, they don’t run in the same clicks, but outside of school they are close! Anything like that? TYIA!!

I love this trope!

begin again by bleep0bleep

(1/1 I 2,501 I Teen)

Ten years ago Derek turned down Stiles for prom.

Now it's high school reunion time.

seems to me it's chemistry by HalfFizzbin

(1/1 I 4,153 I Teen)

Awkward Nerd Derek has been crushing on Handsome Jock Stiles since forever—so getting paired with him on a Chemistry project is definitely the best/worst thing that's ever happened to him.

Hot Nerd Alert by alisvolatpropiis

(1/1 I 4,537 I Not Rated)

Derek can't believe he's actually doing this: taking a selfie snap of the guy he’s been crushing on for weeks to prove to Danny that one, yes, he really does exist, and two, he really is that hot and thus he is totally justified in being too scared to make a move.

Or you know, even talk to the guy outside of the class they share.

In his defense, this isn’t just any guy. This THE guy. Hot Nerd. The utterly adorable but still somehow insanely sexy freshman in his twentieth century American Lit class who he’s been lusting over since the first day of the semester. If there were ever a time for him to be that person who tries to be subtle while taking snaps of other people, this is it.

Game On by stilinskisparkles

(1/1 I 6,391 I Teen)

Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.

But Then What... by orphan_account

(3/3 I 24,343 I Explicit)

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

The Awkward Love Life Of A Sheltered College Werewolf by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle

(10/10 I 30,134 I Explicit)

Derek had been used to being home schooled. Being used to be surrounded by pack, and nothing but pack. When he decides he's going to attend college, like a normal person, his family has a fit. Derek goes anyway. It's scary and new and exciting. Then he meets Stiles. Then...Things get even more exciting.

A Cunning Plan by yodasyoyo

(17/17 I 32,737 I Teen)

Stiles has a plan to get Lydia Martin to notice him. Derek is not impressed.

If you asked me if I love him, I’d lie by dereksstilinski (greyslittlediaries)

(18/18 I 37,305 I Explicit)

Derek has already typed the entire report out and even got all of the stuff prepared for the poster that Stiles and him will have to present. Derek found that he actually didn’t mind doing all the work when it was Stiles he was doing it for, but he wasn’t going to let Stiles get away completely. He was going to get Stiles to come over and help with the poster, so help him god.

When the Universe Comes Knocking (It’s Polite to Open the Door) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(6/6 I 135,402 I Mature)

It was like a door he’d nailed shut in his brain suddenly exploded open, all of his past confusion and anger and hurt and adoration flooding out at once. Stiles? Was it actually Stiles?!

Stiles, the guy he’d had a crush on for fucking years growing up. The guy who’d been an absolute dick to him their whole last year of high school.

The guy who’d told him he loved him in a dirty men’s bathroom on prom night while drunk and upset because he thought Kira was Derek’s girlfriend.

That Stiles? But it couldn’t be!

Burn with hellfire in the blue light of midnight by babisays

(20/20 I 203,189 I Teen)

Stiles met the Hale siblings when he was eleven years old. Now it has been six years since he lost his best friend Cora in the fire, and Derek and Laura left Beacon Hills.

Six years was a long time, so he didn't think he would ever see them again, but now he was wondering what the hell was Derek Hale doing back in Beacon Hills.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #high school au #nerd!stiles #nerd!derek #jock!stiles #jock!derek

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solarmorrigan · 2 days ago

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3 & 4 steddie? I love everyone's takes on eddie interacting with steve after the halloween party in s2💛

So! A thing about me is that I'm actually not always comfortable writing about drinking. The "why" of it is kind of a moving target, and I really should have just nixed "drunk" as an option in the tags, so that's my bad D: But! I think I got the rest of your prompt in pretty alright??

4. Cry - Eddie &/ Steve

Eddie had only been looking for a quiet place to smoke. Business is great at parties like this, but sometimes he needs a break from all the hubbub. The backyard had been milling with people, but as Eddie had trailed out towards the edge of the property, close to the tree line of the woods behind the house, the crowds had dwindled to nothing, leaving undisturbed peace in their wake.

At least, Eddie had thought so.

It takes a minute for him to notice the new noise – the soft, inconsistent huffs of air working counter to the sound of the whispering breeze. It’s the sound of someone gasping, he realizes, cold anxiety beginning to pool in his gut.

Is someone hurt? Had some drunken idiot wandered out back here, maybe fallen or run into a tree and injured themselves? Were they too hurt to get back up? But, no – as Eddie gets closer to the source of the noise, it becomes clear it isn’t pained gasping, it’s the hitched-breath sound of sobbing.

And just as he starts to think maybe he should just give this person their privacy, let them have a good cry in peace like they clearly intended, he rounds a tree and sees exactly who it is that’s come out into the woods in their lament.

He can’t see the face, but even in the half-light spilling out from the house, the head of hair is unmistakable: Eddie’s just crashed Steve Harrington’s private backwoods breakdown.

For a moment, Eddie is frozen, unsure of what to do. He feels a little like Actaeon stumbling across Diana bathing in the forest, and at any moment he’s going to be turned into a stag for witnessing something he shouldn’t have (and take that, Mrs. Davis – he does pay attention in English class. To the cool parts, at least). Except it doesn’t seem like Steve has noticed him yet, still wrapped up in whatever’s got him miserable, so maybe Eddie can just make a clean getaway? Pretend none of this ever happened?

Intending to do just that, he takes one careful step back and puts his foot down directly on what is apparently the loudest twig in existence. The crack of it rings out like an alarm, and Steve’s head snaps up, his cheeks shining wet in the low light, glancing around frantically until his eyes land on Eddie.

“Uh,” Eddie says, raising one careful hand in greeting. “Hey.”

That seems to knock Steve back into action. He swears, reaching up to wipe roughly at his face, running a hand through his hair, probably trying desperately to look like he hadn’t just been crying. Eddie figures he should probably let him, give him some plausible deniability, pretend he hadn’t been able to see anything in the dark, that he hadn’t heard anything at all. Except now that he’s here, Eddie finds he can’t quite leave well enough alone. He’s curious.

And maybe he feels a little bad for the guy. Just a little. He looks sort of devastated from where Eddie is standing, eyes wide and wet, cheeks red, hair disheveled (but still goddamn pretty. How is that even fair?).

“You, uh… You okay?” Eddie tries, feeling a little lame in the attempt.

“Yeah,” Steve snaps, running a hand down over his face again. “I’m fine.”

Clearly.

“Did you come here with someone?” Eddie asks. “Like… someone I can go get?”

“What? I’m not drunk or anything, man, I’m fine,” Steve huffs, leaning back against the tree he’d been half-hidden behind, shoulders still slumped.

“No, yeah, I just �� like, whatever’s going on with you, I figured maybe a friend would be… better,” Eddie says, waving a hand vaguely at Steve, who scoffs at him. “Wait– Wheeler. You came with her, didn’t you?”

That doesn’t get an answer – not a verbal one, anyway. All Steve does is sniffle and glance away.

“Ah,” Eddie finds himself nodding, speaking before he can stop himself, “trouble in paradise?”

Steve scoffs again. “You know what?” he asks harshly. “When your girlfriend says you’re bullshit, and that your love is bullshit, and blames you for her friend dying, you start to think that maybe there was no paradise to begin with.”

Eddie blinks. That’s a lot to process. “I thought Holland ran away?” he asks after a moment, because apparently that’s the thing to focus on.

“Right. Ran away,” Steve spits out, and that’s – hm.

What do you know that I don’t, Steve Harrington? Eddie wonders.

He doesn’t ask, of course, because nosy as he is, Eddie also has a healthily developed sense of self preservation, and this seems like the sort of thing he shouldn’t be prying into.

“That’s kinda fucked up, man,” he says instead. “She seriously accuse you of that?”

Steve shrugs, says nothing, but still looks miserable enough that Eddie would believe it. Whatever went down between Steve and Nancy had clearly been a hell of a mess. He isn’t entirely sure why he cares (his persistent soft spot for strays is honestly a bitch sometimes), but he finds he doesn’t want to leave Steve like this, depressed and alone in the woods on Halloween.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws his pack of cigarettes, shaking two out into his hand. Steve tenses when Eddie takes a few steps closer, but the only thing Eddie does is offer him a cigarette. There’s a moment of confused staring, eyes flicking between Eddie’s face and the cigarette in his hand, but eventually Steve reaches out to take it.

Eddie takes a chance, leaning in a little closer to offer him a light, and Steve takes it, the warmth of his face near Eddie’s cupped palm feeling almost as strong as the flame from the lighter.

Eddie drops his hand as soon as the cigarette is lit. He needs to get a grip. He lights his own cigarette and takes a drag.

“Thanks,” Steve croaks once he’s blown out his first breath of smoke.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie replies.

They smoke in silence for a minute, watching the backlit figures of drunken teenagers churn in and out of the house before them.

“Maybe she’s right,” Steve finally says.

“Hm?” Eddie glances over at him, but Steve is glaring at the ground.

“Love,” Steve sneers. “Maybe it’s really just bullshit.”

And something about that just hits Eddie wrong. Maybe he’s never believed in love, as such—not the way it’s described in poetry or sung about in ballads or written about in shlocky romance novels—but Steve clearly does. Anyone who’s been around him and Nancy for more than a minute in the last year could see that. For it to be otherwise feels like it goes against the natural order.

“Nah,” Eddie says. “Love is out there, man. The real shit, y��know? Stuff worth fighting for.”

Steve lets out a little snort, more amused than derisive, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “You’re not a romantic, Munson,” he says, so sure of himself – which is fair.

“Oh, I’m a cynic through and through, baby,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve gives him a little laugh. “But you – you’re a romantic. You don’t really believe that love is bullshit. And you shouldn’t.”

Subsiding, Steve leans back against his tree, taking another drag of his cigarette like he’s stalling for time. “Why do you care what I believe?” he finally asks.

Eddie shrugs. “The world needs people like you. Romantics. Dreamers. You keep people like us pessimists from collapsing beneath the weight of our own dark souls.”

“What?” Steve coughs out, really laughing this time, and Eddie smiles right along with him.

“Just saying,” he offers.

Steve shakes his head. “Okay, drama kid. And I’m guessing people like you – what? Help people like me keep our feet on the ground?”

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Everyone needs a rock now and then. A nice solid foundation to start from.”

“Hm,” Steve hums, finishing off his cigarette as Eddie does the same. “Well – you’re, uh. You’re a pretty good rock, Eddie. Thanks.”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie says, pretending that the weird little compliment hadn’t made him light up just a bit. “Don’t mention it.”

And Steve doesn’t, but the smile he gives Eddie – well. What’s something else.

#steddie #pre-steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #fun fact: I'm taking an art history class right now and Titian's Diana and Actaeon was on the midterm #and thinking about Eddie dramatically recalling that story as part of his internal monologue is how I ended up with this fic #answers from solar #anonymous #solar wrote

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pansexualkiba · 3 days ago

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to begin with, I am sorry for your lived experiences, and I wish you hadn't gone through that. you deserve to have guardians who care for you, food you enjoy eating, and a government vested in your betterment. these are simple facts, and they are something we all deserve.

as a response, however, i am not telling you what you meant. i am making assumptions based on how you reacted to both the quoted statement and your response to someone screenshotting your starement. in short, your response was incredibly disproportionate and, frankly, inappropriate for the actual quote. what Bourdain is doing here is answering the question in a publication, "what is the sexiest thing [one] can do on a date". his response is a bit wordy, but what he describes is about how people who eat reservedly and self-consciously, as if to serve some unknown audience, are less attractive compared to, say, his wife, who has such zeal for what she eats that he, assumedly, married her. anthony bourdain is richer than both you and i will ever be (yes, combined), so assumingly he is talking about dates that he has been on, with another party who was similarly attracted to him, and were in rather fancy environments as well. he is talking about decorum here, and how, in his experience, if they are so obsessed with such in a low-light and intimate setting as a restaurant date, then in a furtherly intimate setting, such as sex, they will not be much more fun to be around.

you, admitting you do not know much about bourdain, stated that from this anecdote, he sounds like a creep and an "alpha male", because he makes a direct link from a date both agreed to to sex, and therefore further make a value judgement based on him answering a question about what he personally found attractive - a married man, who is presumably not seeking a third and spends a half of the question relating his experiences dating his wife. there is an inherent sexusm as to judging how someone eats, but you seem to misunderstand that this is supposed to be judging a woman on how she eats and insisting she should be more demure or polite - something bourdain is actively stating should not be the case. he is not taking a woman out to watch her eat (and even so, this is a rather neutral stance to have - presumably, she is also on the date because she wants to be there, and she can always leave because it is a public space), he is taking her out to eat and making a note of her dining habits to gauge her personality in private and, again, intimate settings.

your response and gut reaction were, in a word, disproportionate. however, this is your personal opinion, and that cannot be helped. improved upon by interacting with the text critically, yes, but i cannot put words into your mouth. however, you further responded to the text by acting as if bourdain discussing something he finds attractive about his wife (and, yes, kissing and sex, two things that tend to happen after a date) was somehow a personal attack on you. that, because he related that his wife likes lobster and beef, he is railing against veganism (a stance that comes up nowhere in the quoted passage), and therefore he is against you, as a person. he is not. you are reading so far into his words in a published interview that you are completely not interacting with the words on the page. your spite is completely unfounded and misplaced, and to simply say "its just my mental state" does not exonerate you from the fact that you decided what a person you will never meet finds attractive in someone who is not you was a personal attack against you regardless, and you lashed out against this perceived slight on a platform he will never be on on a post he will never see, and when someone else reacted to this with a picture that felt, to them, similarly absurd (allegedly), you, still feeling you were in the right for your completely detached response, said, "what's not clicking".

none of this is to invalidate your personal tribulations or your experiences as a woman. however, one must understand that, in a public forum, how you react to generally-neutral statements as "i like it when my dates don't care about restaurant etiquette" are going to be perceived by the public, especially people who read the tags out of curiosity, such as myself. no amount of "i wish to not be perceived" will change that. were my perceptions of you lacking in context and based on my own personal feelings? yes, and i apologize for overstepping in that regard. however, understand that i am also not stating you were right. because you weren't. and that, while the context for your eating habits are miserable, they do not change that you have a less-than-positive relation to both food and the act of eating, and that you took a man discussing eating in, likely, a high-end restaurant during a romantic excursion, and took it to be a criticism of you in your own house rationing out your food for the next month, and reacted publically and explosively along those lines. just because its your blog and your own personal thoughts does not mean people do not read them and react accordingly.

all this to say, i am returning to my original question: are you alright?

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glorious-spoon · 2 days ago

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a row of captured ghosts [9-1-1 | Chris & Eddie | Buck/Eddie | 1/1]

a row of captured ghosts [On AO3]

Eddie is at an open house in El Paso, eating mini quiches and making awkward conversation with another prospective buyer—single mom, two kids in the school district Chris has been attending since September, pleasant and, in retrospect, kind of flirty—when the accident happens.

He doesn't know, though later that feels impossible. He should have felt the impact from eight hundred miles away.

In the moment, he wanders through the house trying to smile around the knot in his throat, looking for flaws. It's a three-bedroom ranch with a yellow brick exterior, a manicured little strip of grass out front, and an attached one-car garage that he might not be able to actually fit his truck in. Definitely not enough room for anything else, but it's not like he'll have Buck turning up at all hours of the day or night in El Paso. Any visits he has from Buck from now on out will involve plane tickets and planning. Eddie will pick him up from the airport, probably. The Jeep and where Buck will park it is not a concern here.

It's not in the same neighborhood as his parents' house, but it's not far. The layout is accessible. That was something Buck filtered for right away, when he sat on Eddie's couch scrolling through a dozen different listing sites while Eddie did the walk-through with the real estate agent. He presented his results to Eddie after the call ended with a bright-eyed, determined enthusiasm that Eddie knew better than to trust, but what could he do? What could either of them do?

"Is it just you?" the woman asks. Her name is Leanna, he's pretty sure. She definitely introduced herself, and Eddie smiled and introduced himself back, and now they're in a corner of the eat-in kitchen, which is staged with a little round table under the window. Eddie can imagine sitting at it with Chris, should Chris ever deign to visit him here. He tries not to imagine anyone else in that picture, and only half manages it.

"Just me and, uh," he stops before he can say my son. He doesn't want to explain any of this to a stranger. "Yeah. Just me for now."

(Continue reading on AO3)

#911 #buddie #911 fic #buddie fic #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #evan buckley #my fic

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allthingsfangirl101 · 2 days ago

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Big Brother's Wedding – Glen Powell

The second I left my room, I heard voices coming from the front room. I descended the beach house stairs, recognizing the voice of my brother's childhood best friend.

"Do my ears deceive me," I started to taunt him before they could see me, "or is that the best Tornado Wrangler this side of the Mississippi?"

"Ha ha," Glen faked laughed. I rounded the corner, instantly seeing his Hollywood smile. "My dear sweet Y/N."

He laughed for real as he wrapped his arms around me. "It's good to see you, Y/N."

"It's good to see you too, Glen," I whispered. We broke the hug and I could feel my face burning. "I'm kinda surprised, Powell."

"By what?" He smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"By the fact that you actually took time away from being Netflix's Heartthrob to come to your childhood best friend's wedding."

"Are you kidding?" He chuckled as he put my brother in a playful headlock. "I wasn't going to miss this dweeb's wedding. Who else is gonna tell his girl that she's too good for him?"

"Who else is gonna tell me that I'm the only adult among the three of us?" I rolled my eyes and headed to the kitchen as they started to fight the way they did as teenage idiots.

I grabbed three beers from the fridge and opened them. Once I opened the last one, the two idiots jogged into the kitchen. They laughed as I handed them each a beer.

"Thanks, Y/N," Glen smiled as he took it. I nodded before taking a drink of my beer.

"Your room is going to be upstairs," my brother started to explain. "It's the room between mine and Y/N's."

"Should I be worried about the bride-to-be sneaking in?" Glen smirked.

"Shannon and her family are in the beach house next door," I chuckled. "and her parents are very traditional. The soon-to-be-married couple can see each other during the day, but no sneaking off in the night."

Without warning, my brother ran out of the house. "What the hell was that?" Glen chuckled. I pointed outside, making Glen follow my finger to my brother running toward a girl and picking her up, spinning her around.

"Gotcha," he laughed. "Our boy's really in love, huh?"

"Oh yeah," I elongated. "I've never seen him like this, Glen. He's really in love."

"That's great," he smiled. I watched as his smile slowly fell.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he cleared his throat. "I was just. . . Do you ever wonder if it's gonna happen for you?"

"What?"

"Falling in love."

The silence came suddenly and it was thick. I let it settle before trying to lighten the tension. "You fall in love on almost every movie set," I teased.

"True," he sighed, "but it's not real. I want something real. Something. . . timeless. I want to find a girl that I'm crazy for. A girl who if I go even a day without talking to her, it's too long. A girl who I want to be with every minute of every day. A girl who, when friends look at me, they say that I am whipped. A girl that I would happily leave my boys for. A girl who is the most important person in the world to me. I just want to find my person, my girl."

"You will," I said, my voice soft. "Someday you will find a girl who will be as crazy about you as you are about her."

"And someday you'll find a guy worthy of you," Glen smiled. I watched as his smile turned slightly dark. "And if he hurts you, I'll kick his ass."

* * * * *

We spent the next couple of days hanging out, drinking, and acting like stupid kids again. It was great. I've missed this.

After playing the version of football that Glen learned for Top Gun: Maverick, I collapsed onto my lounge chair under the umbrella. I drank some water before relaxing into my seat.

"You good?"

I opened my eyes and instantly shielded them from the sun. I ignored the embarrassment flooding me when I saw Glen standing in front of me. Very shirtless and very sweaty.

"Yeah," I chuckled, trying to relax. "Just needed a breather. The game's a lot more intense than I thought it would be."

"I know," he laughed as he sat on the chair next to me. "The day after we filmed the scene, we were all so sore. They had to give us a day off so we could feel our bodies again."

"Rumor was that you got hurt filming that scene," I said, my voice slightly softening.

"There were worse scenes," he shrugged off as he turned back to our friends. I let the silence settle between us for a few seconds before I had to tell him.

"I've missed you, Glen," I sighed, my eyes on my brother and his friends.

"I've missed you too, Y/N," he said, looking at me, but I didn't return the glance.

"I hope you know," I said, slowly turning toward him, "Matt's really missed you. As soon as he got engaged, he kept talking about planning the wedding in between your projects. He wanted to make sure you could make it."

"I would've made it," he winked. "No matter what."

"Okay!" Matt yelled as he walked over. "Let's go!"

"Go where?" I laughed, sending a look toward Glen.

"Sailing, duh!"

My head snapped toward my brother. "You. . . You can't be serious," I stuttered.

"It's gonna be great!"

"Matt, are you sure that's a good idea?" Glen asked, glancing at me, his eyes soft.

"Y/N," my brother said softly, "you'll be fine. I checked the weather. No storms. Nothing we can't handle. Plus, the boat has a railing." He patted my shoulder before leaving.

I looked out at the ocean, my mind going back to that horrible sailing trip, my brother, Glen, and I took back in high school. I fell overboard and almost drowned.

"You going to be okay?" Glen asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I said, my voice slightly breaking. I looked over to see Glen studying me.

"Y/N," he whispered as he reached over and grabbed my hand. I quickly pulled my hand back and stood up. I started gathering my things, not looking at Glen.

"I'll be fine."

* * * * *

As we left the dock, my hand gripped the railing tightly. I could feel Glen's eyes on me, but I couldn't look at him. I gasped when the boat went over a wave. I closed my eyes and tried to take a deep, calming breath. I opened my eyes when I felt someone gently grab my hand.

"It's okay," Glen whispered as he sat next to me. "We are perfectly safe."

"I know," I said shakily. I looked up at him and let out a small chuckle. "I begged my brother to do anything else for this outing."

My heart skipped a beat when he scooted a little closer to me.

"I begged him to choose something else, too," he nodded. I studied him, trying to see if he was being honest with me.

"Did you really?"

"Of course," he said, his eyes softening. "I even brought up the time when we were in high school and went sailing."

"I begged my brother to go back to the dock but . . ."

"He ignored you," Glen finished. "I turned to him to tell him that it was probably the right idea. You screamed and when I turned around, you were gone. You had fallen overboard."

"You dove in and saved me."

"I couldn't let you drown," he said, his voice lowering.

I gasped when we went over another wave and landed hard. I instantly tucked into Glen's chest and he quickly wrapped his arms around me. I closed my eyes and tried to calm down.

"I'll be right back," he said, anger building as he stood up.

"Wait!" I grabbed his wrist before he could walk away. Embarrassment flooded me as I added, "Where are you going?"

He smiled as he knelt in front of me. "I'm going to go talk to your brother. This was a stupid idea and all he's doing is torturing you. I've had enough."

I wrapped my arms around myself as Glen went over and got in my brother's face. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but my brother looked at me over Glen's shoulder. I sent him a weak smile even though I was shaking.

My brother said something to Glen before turning back to the steering wheel. Glen patted his back before returning to me. He sat next to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

"Matt is taking us back to the dock."

"Thank you," I said, my voice breaking.

"Just focus on the dock getting closer," he tried to comfort me. With his free hand, he grabbed one of mine. We sat like that the entire ride back to the dock. The second we got back, I was the first one off the boat.

I didn't focus on what everyone else was doing. I needed to get back to the beach house before my panic attack bubbled up. As I unlocked the front door, I finally turned around. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw Glen getting in Matt's face. It was clear that Glen was angry while my brother was surprised.

I shook off any curiosity I had and went up to my room. I got in the shower and allowed the hot water to wash any anxiety away. Once I was sure I had successfully stopped my attack, I got out of the shower and pulled on my pajamas.

Everyone was already asleep when I went downstairs to make myself a cup of tea. I was just pouring it into a cup when someone else came downstairs.

"How you feeling?"

I looked over my shoulder to see Glen walking in. "I know that boats kind of trigger you and when you're triggered, you end up having a panic attack. I'm hoping I stopped it in time."

"You did," I said, a little too quickly. I cleared my throat before looking back at my hands wrapped around my tea.

"Good," he chuckled. He walked over and poured himself a cup of tea before sitting next to me. We drank in silence for a while, neither one of us breaking it. Glen eventually did.

"You ready for the wedding tomorrow?"

"I guess," I mumbled. I looked over when I felt his eyes on me.

"You guess?"

"I just mean," I stuttered, "I'm really happy for my brother and future sister-in-law."

"Then what is it?"

I hesitated. "It's the fact that, no matter how happy I am for my brother, it's not easy to sit back and watch your sibling get married while you haven't even had a long-term boyfriend."

"I get that," he nodded. "It's not easy sitting back and watching your best friend get married while you haven't even had a long-term girlfriend."

We started at each other, the tension getting thicker by the minute.

"Well," he said softly, "at least we won't be the only single people tomorrow. We'll have each other."

Part 2

#glen powell #glen powell fanfic #glen powell imagines #glen powell imagine #best friend's brother

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ylangelegy · 7 hours ago

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a lesson in begging 🚇 soonyoung x reader x jihoon.

jihoon learns the art of saying 'please', courtesy of his best friend and his best friend's girlfriend.

★ word count: 3.7k ★ genre/warnings: 18+ content. smut with 🤏 pinch of plot; jihoon-centric after the intro. established relationship (soonyoung x reader), mentions of female anatomy, pet names (s: ‘baby’, ‘goddess’, ‘good boy’). exhibitionism, voyeurism, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, so much begging, both soonyoung and jihoon are kind of pathetic [lovingly] in this one. ★ footnotes: once again, when your biases release a song single album, you write the goddamn smut (2). shoutout to urbano latino & reggaeton music for getting me through this, and to @gyubakeries, @gotta-winwin & @diamonddaze01 for the hand-holding.

Soonyoung likes to think he’s a pretty generous guy.

He’s never selfish about what he has. He shares when he can to anyone who asks. You, in particular, never have time to want anything; your darling boyfriend is attune to anything your heart might ever desire.

And if that just so happens to be his best friend Jihoon? Well, like we’ve established: Soonyoung is always going to give.

You hadn’t really been discreet about it. You’d been guilty, maybe, but you were a language that Soonyoung was fluent in. He saw the way you’d watch Jihoon while the latter worked out, saw the way your face would light up when you’d hear the other man was coming over for one reason or another.

A normal boyfriend would have been alarmed, might have thrown a fit. But Soonyoung was never normal to begin with.

And— he never admitted this to you, did he?— he’d rather it be Jihoon than anyone else, anyway.

You’re mortified when Soonyoung first brings it up. You’re ready to apologize for thinking Jihoon is sex on legs, but then Soonyoung makes his proposition.

“I promised I’d give you everything, baby.” His voice is sweet and earnest. There’s no hint of maliciousness in it; he’s not using this as leverage. “Let me get you this, too.”

That’s another thing about Soonyoung: It’s always been so hard to say ‘no’ to him.

Jihoon is convinced this is some form of elaborate prank.

The words that just came out of Soonyoung’s mouth have yet to register to him. After ‘not a threesome’ a couple of sentences ago, Jihoon just kind of blanked out.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed you share with Soonyoung. You look pretty, Jihoon thinks, but then he corrects himself. You’re always pretty.

Crap. That’s what got him in this situation, isn’t it?

Jihoon takes a steadying breath when he realizes that you and Soonyoung are waiting for a response. “I’m sorry,” says Jihoon, keeping his voice as even as possible, “but what the actual fuck?”

Soonyoung snickers. You look a little less amused. You elbow your boyfriend, a look of mild horror crossing your expression.

“You didn’t warn him before inviting him over?” you seethe.

Soonyoung rubs the side you’d hit. “I thought we could all talk about it together,” he shoots back. “You know, like a proper discussion.”

“A discussion,” Jihoon echoes. He’s not sure if it’s you or him that’s going to throttle Soonyoung first.

Jihoon’s mental list of how he intends to physically harm Soonyoung comes to a temporary pause. You’re looking at Jihoon, now, with an expression that’s almost apologetic. It makes something seize up in the man’s chest.

“I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation,” you say. “I just thought…”

You trail off, and it’s the cruelest cliffhanger Jihoon has ever witnessed. “Thought what?” he prompts, shoving his hands in his pockets. That way, you wouldn’t have to see how he’s started shaking.

Soonyoung finishes what you started. “We thought you wanted this.”

As if to explain what this was, Soonyoung reaches over from behind you and places his hand on your thigh. Jihoon’s eyes flick to the movement, but he looks away just as quickly.

Soonyoung gives your thigh a light, reassuring squeeze. His eyes never leave Jihoon’s face. There’s a bit of a challenge, a hint of something serious. Like Soonyoung is daring Jihoon to deny his wants, deny this, deny you.

You— looking criminally lovely, watching Jihoon with caution and concern. There’s an undercurrent of distress in your expression, mixing with the annoyance at Soonyoung’s lack of tact.

Jihoon swallows around the lump in his throat. He says something. It’s barely above a whisper.

“Pardon?” you call out.

To hell with it, Jihoon thinks. To hell with it all.

He tries again, pitching his voice a little louder. “I do,” he says, wavering a bit on the words, “want this.”

Want you, he had meant to say, but he chickened out at the last moment. It doesn’t matter. You and Soonyoung hear it anyway, and both your expressions shift into something more pleasant. Soonyoung looks smug. You, reassured.

The room suddenly feels a lot warmer. There’s still considerable distance between Jihoon and the two of you. It’s the only thing keeping him sane, really.

“That’s good.” The sheer relief in your tone could drive Jihoon crazy. You go on, “I would have hated to misread.”

Misread which part, Jihoon wonders. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long on the hems of your shorts and skirts? The way all his sharp edges would soften when it came to you?

Jihoon wants you, has wanted you for months. He had convinced himself that he was The World’s Worst Best Friend Ever, even. But Soonyoung is now looking at Jihoon like the latter is the opposite of that. The World’s Best Best Friend Ever— for agreeing to please you.

This arrangement would undoubtedly have consequences, even if it were a one-time thing. Jihoon can’t bring himself to care, though. He’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He closes the distance, reveling in the tension that crackles with each step. You tilt your head back ever so slightly in a bid to never break eye contact with Jihoon.

“You didn’t misread,” Jihoon says quietly. “I— you’re pretty.”

He had hoped to soften the blow with I think, but why deny himself of the plain and simple truth? You’re so soft as you look up at Jihoon, the gratitude written all over your face. The tender moment is short-lived, though, because Soonyoung inevitably butts in.

“Just pretty?” Your boyfriend sounds offended on your behalf. “Is that all you’ve got, Jihoon?”

“Soonyoung,” you chide, but the older man barrels on.

“Pretty isn’t enough,” Soonyoung insists. His hand slides up your thigh, tugging your dress up a little higher. This time, Jihoon lets himself watch, lets himself appreciate your skin as it’s revealed to him. “Do better, Jihoon.”

“What might you suggest?” Jihoon asks, unable to look away from the hint of red lace underneath your dress.

Soonyoung hums lowly. He leans forward, his teeth catching at your earlobe as he keeps your back pressed firmly against his chest.

“Ethereal,” Soonyoung whispers reverently. “Gorgeous.”

There wasn’t a doubt in Jihoon’s mind that Soonyoung adored you, practically worshipped the ground you worked on. This made the whole situation even more surreal, but Jihoon can’t look away— at how your eyes flutter close, how your breath hitches ever so slightly.

You’re so damn responsive. Jihoon’s heart thunders in his chest. He can’t imagine how this will end, and it hasn’t even begun.

“Baby,” you say, and Soonyoung quits his teasing.

He rests his chin on your shoulder and fixes his gaze on Jihoon. “If you want something,” Soonyoung drawls, “you’re going to have to beg for it.”

For the first time that night, Jihoon’s facade of calculated calmness crumples. Beg for it? Jihoon wasn’t about to beg Soonyoung for a thing. Soonyoung was the one calling in for a favor, technically. As badly as Jihoon wants you, he can’t imagine himself ever being on his knees for Soonyoung. For anything.

Soonyoung notices Jihoon’s agitation. The blonde’s face breaks out into a shit-eating grin, the kind that promises trouble for days.

“Like this,” Soonyoung chirps, and then he pulls the rug underneath Jihoon’s feet.

Soonyoung shifts on the bed, moving around until he’s at your side instead of cradling you from behind. He presses his knees into the mattress and he wrings his hands together, his face tilted towards yours.

“Please,” Soonyoung tells you sweetly. “Please, please, baby?”

Jihoon’s brain short-circuits. He barely has time to think holy shit before Soonyoung ups his act, showering you with compliments about how perfect you are, about how badly he needs— needs, not wants— you.

You smile a bit before putting Soonyoung out of his misery. It’s not the first time Jihoon has seen the two of you make out, but it’s the first time that you open your eyes mid-kiss to glance at Jihoon, as if checking to see if he’s still watching.

Soonyoung isn’t dealing the cards tonight. You are.

Noted, Jihoon thinks, as he watches you lick into Soonyoung’s mouth. Your boyfriend lets out a sound between a guttural moan and a happy hum. He pulls away a moment later, his grin dopey and his gaze unfocused.

“Good boys get rewarded,” Soonyoung tells Jihoon matter-of-factly.

Jihoon winces. God, he’d rather die than be called a ‘good boy’ by Kwon Soonyoung, of all people. Jihoon is mentally weighing the pros and cons of this whole situation when Soonyoung shuffles backward, leaning against the headboard. Now, it’s just you and Jihoon at the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t know what he should do. Sit? Kiss you senseless? Soonyoung answers for him—

“Beg, Jihoon.” Soonyoung’s tone brooks no argument. “Tell my girlfriend what you want from her.”

You look expectant. Jihoon hadn’t noticed that earlier. So much of you was unassuming, from your perceived shyness to your sundress hiding the red lingerie that was undoubtedly hugging all your curves right. The thought of it makes the front of Jihoon’s jeans feel a lot tighter.

He clears his throat. He got this far; he might as well. And nobody outside this room would have to know, right?

“Please,” Jihoon mumbles.

He expects Soonyoung to speak up, so he’s a bit thrown when you’re the one who goes for the jab. “What was that?” you ask, and it would be innocent if it weren’t for the hint of a smirk on your lips.

Jihoon inwardly prays for the ground to swallow him whole. When that doesn’t happen, he instead grits out his next words.

“Please,” he says through his teeth. “May I kiss you?”

It’s a piss poor attempt, but you’re nothing if not benevolent. Your fingers close around the front of Jihoon’s shirt and you tug him downward.

He nearly stumbles when he feels your mouth against him. Jihoon isn’t sure if he can touch, whether he can even manage, so he ends up grabbing fistfuls of the sheets beneath you as you give him what he asked for.

You kiss him so sweetly. It’s a dangerous thing, one that Jihoon fears he could grow addicted to if he wasn’t careful. Your tongue traces Jihoon’s bottom lip as if testing the waters, and he fights the urge to grab you by the waist and show you exactly how that makes him feel.

The kiss breaks with the two of you gasping for air. Jihoon doesn’t know when he leaned further into your personal space, but he can feel your heaving chest against his own and it’s maddening.

Jihoon had been so lost in the moment he’d forgotten Soonyoung was there, even. The latter pipes up, acutely aware that the kiss hadn’t been enough. That you’d pulled away too soon, leaving Jihoon in absolute shambles.

“If you want more,” Soonyoung says, “you’re going to have to beg harder, Jihoon.”

This is either the best or the worst thing that has ever happened to Jihoon. He’ll decide later, he thinks to himself, as his hands finally find purchase at your hips.

Miraculously, Jihoon finds his voice. “Let me taste you.” Every moment in this room is chipping away at his pride, if the way he whines out the next word is any indication.

“Please,” Jihoon says desperately, despairingly.

It was the very first thing Jihoon remembered learning as a child. Say please, he had been taught. It’s the polite thing to do. It shows you have good manners.

There’s nothing polite about the way Jihoon finds himself in between your thighs. There’s nothing good-mannered about the moans he tears out of you, about the way your fingers tug at his hair in a way that’s almost painful.

You’re on your back, your head in Soonyoung’s lap as Jihoon works on you like a man starved. Your dress is pushed up your chest; Soonyoung could take the opportunity to play with your breasts. Instead, he keeps your hair out of your face and lovingly gazes at you as you thrash underneath Jihoon’s assault.

“Enjoying yourself, baby?” Soonyoung coos.

Your response— something between yes and fuck you— breaks off into a keening whine when Jihoon doubles his efforts. He diligently laps up the slick of your sopping cunt before introducing his fingers; the two digits slide in with little to no resistance, and he rewards you by sucking on your clit.

“Jihoon,” you cry out, your back arching off the bed. “Oh my God, Ji— hng— where did you—?”

“Learn all that?” Soonyoung interjects. You’re too preoccupied to care about your boyfriend interrupting, too focused on Jihoon who has started crooking his fingers. “You know what they say, baby. It’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for.”

Jihoon isn’t about to try and contest Soonyoung, not when you’re writhing so beautifully underneath his mouth. It’s borderline painful, the way Jihoon is grasping your hip like his life depends on it.

An obscene slurp and the tease of another finger is all it takes to have you falling over the edge. Jihoon slows his ministrations, enjoying the feel of you tightening around his fingers.

He pulls away as you come back down to earth. The entire lower half of his face glistens with your slick. Jihoon is obnoxious enough to dart his tongue around his mouth and smack his lips, as if trying to taste as much of you as possible.

Soonyoung cackles. He’s enjoying this far more than he probably should. You can tell, though; there’s a tent in your boyfriend’s sweatpants, his clothed hardness pressing against your cheek.

You nuzzle closer to it, a wordless whine escaping you. Soonyoung gets the message.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes, guiding you further up the mattress. As he helps you out of your dress, Jihoon situates himself a bit better at the foot of the bed.

He’s in desperate need of friction himself. Absent-mindedly, he palms himself over his jeans, watching as Soonyoung guides you to get on all fours.

Soonyoung’s clothes join yours on the floor. It isn’t the first time that Jihoon has seen Soonyoung’s cock— a story for another time— but there’s still a moment where the younger man is jolted. Having experienced, now, just how tight you are, Jihoon can’t even fathom how Soonyoung can fit inside you.

If either of you notice Jihoon’s attempts to relieve himself, you’re both graceful enough to not comment on it. Soonyoung focuses on bracing himself behind you, one hand resting at your waist while the other gives his cock a couple of leisurely pumps.

You’re already primed to be fucked, but Soonyoung is taking his time. No, Jihoon realizes.

Soonyoung is putting on a show.

There’s a lazy smirk on Soonyoung’s face when he locks eyes with Jihoon. For a moment, Jihoon is tempted to stop touching himself, but it’s like he physically can’t stop himself. Meanwhile, Soonyoung is busying himself with rubbing the length of his cock against the curve of your ass— giving you time to recover from your orgasm while also making Jihoon suffer.

“Wanna fuck my girlfriend, Jihoon?” Soonyoung taunts. “Want her greedy cunt around your cock, hm?”

You let out a low hiss of warning as Jihoon bites back a moan. Soonyoung reels in his bravado, sliding his hand up to entangle his fingers in your hair.

“Sorry, baby,” he says soothingly. “Didn’t mean to talk about you like that.”

Soonyoung pushes your hair over your shoulder so he has better access to your back. He places a couple of kisses across your shoulder blades before glancing back up at Jihoon, the earlier mischievousness considerably dialed down now.

“You know what you have to do,” Soonyoung tells Jihoon. “She’s in charge. Ask.”

The remnants of Jihoon’s shredded pride hold him back. To ask for a kiss, to ask to eat you out— what the hell, sure. To ask if he can fuck you into next week?

Jihoon squeezes himself through his pants, his gaze fixated on the way you’re looking up at him with dazed anticipation. He almost salivates at the thought of your soft, warm walls trying to accommodate him.

Alas, his blasted pride. Jihoon opens his mouth then promptly clamps it close, unable to bring himself for this.

Soonyoung lets out a low ‘tch’ of disapproval. “Suit yourself,” he huffs.

Like a switch that had been flipped, Soonyoung now focuses all his attention on you. “Goddess,” your boyfriend says against your skin, his tone so loving that Jihoon feels like he’s intruding. “Can I make you feel good? Make you finish a second time tonight?”

You give a jerky nod, canting your hips backward until Soonyoung is lined up with you. “Yes, baby,” you whimper, keeping your eyes on Jihoon despite the fact you’re seeking out Soonyoung. “Want you inside me right now.”

“I know, I know,” Soonyoung groans like your words have brought him pain, like it physically hurts him to hear you plead for anything. “I’ll give, baby. I’ll give.”

Soonyoung slides home, benefiting from the slickness of your first orgasm. The two of you let out twin moans. It takes everything in Jihoon not to come on the spot.

Jihoon never thought he’d been into this. He’s frozen, incapable of moving or looking away, as Soonyoung plows into you with practiced thrusts. Your fingers twist into the sheets below you and you struggle to keep your head up, your eyes open.

Your gaze is half-lidded as you watch Jihoon’s slack-jawed expression. It has you fluttering around Soonyoung, who squeezes the flesh of your ass in retaliation.

“Shit.” Your boyfriend picks up his relentless pace, his free hand carefully pressing between your shoulder blades. You sink a little further into the mattress and Soonyoung takes advantage of it, driving himself deeper into you.

“You like having an audience, baby?” Soonyoung breathes.

Somehow, you manage to nod. Jihoon’s fingers close a little tighter around the outline of his jeans and, slowly, tentatively, he goes back to rubbing himself through the rough material. It’s equal parts painful and pleasurable but he figures it’s what he deserves for getting off to his best friend’s girlfriend.

“Tell me what he looks like,” Soonyoung urges, his hands tangling into your hair again. He clutches at your roots and pulls your head back enough so that you have a better view of Jihoon. “Describe it for me, please.”

Soonyoung is always so polite and tender when it comes to you. Jihoon gets you, now; he really does. That doesn’t help the way his dick twitches when he sees the blissed out look on your face, like being stuffed with Soonyoung’s cock had somehow fucked all the thoughts out of your head.

Jihoon must not be looking any better than you, because there’s a ghost of a smile on your face as you fulfill your boyfriend’s request. “He looks desperate,” you mewl, your fingers flexing around the crumpled sheets underneath you. “Looks like he needs something, baby.”

Soonyoung chuckles. “And what does he need?”

“Dunno.” You roll your hips to meet one of Soonyoung’s thrusts, drawing a heated cuss from the man. “He isn’t asking.”

A muscle in Jihoon’s jaw ticks. Oh, this was a different kind of torture. He has half the mind to pull his pants down and shove his dick in your mouth to shut—

“Be nice, baby,” Soonyoung warns, “or else I won’t let you finish.”

It’s an empty threat. Even Jihoon knows that much. You have Soonyoung wrapped around your little finger, and your boyfriend will go to the ends of the world to please you.

Still, you play along. You attempt to apologize, but the word breaks off when Soonyoung slides his fingers over to your clit. His thrusts are uncoordinated with the circles he draws over the sensitive nub, but you don’t seem to mind.

Your eyes are watery from the onslaught of sensations, your legs are shaky, and your lips are parted in a perpetual gasp. Jihoon thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

A sound finally escapes him. It’s a quiet thing— barely a moan— but Soonyoung catches it anyway.

“You’re already on your knees,” Soonyoung tells you quietly, conspiratorially. “How about you show Jihoon how we ask in this relationship, hm?”

It’s so quick, so sudden. Jihoon barely has time to catch on and prepare himself before you’re surging forward, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. You replace his hand with your lips, mouthing his hardness over his jeans.

You’re just as sloppy as Soonyoung. There’s no method to the way you clamp your lips over Jihoon’s clothed cock. It’s all drool, a hint of teeth. A crude imitation of what it’d be like if you actually took him in your mouth.

And Jihoon— he’s surprised he’s still breathing, actually. His hands find purchase at your shoulders, torn between pushing you off and keeping you in place. He settles for the latter, his eyes blown wide as he watches you give him this perverse blowjob.

“Fuck,” Jihoon rasps. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuck—”

You look up at him then. It’s not your eyes that does him over. Not your sweat-slicked forehead or your flushed cheeks. No, it’s the way you pull away ever so briefly, your entire body rocking as Soonyoung continues to pummel into you.

Your breath is warm over Jihoon’s crotch as you whine a single word.

“Please?”

He doesn’t even know what you’re asking for. Regardless, he busts his load with a pained grunt. It’s uncomfortable to come undone in his boxers, with his pants still on, but he can’t help himself.

Soonyoung follows not long after, emptying his load into you. He hisses as he finishes, his own climax bringing you to your second high.

You slump forward, your mouth instinctively latching back onto Jihoon’s waning hardness. He’s so sensitive, but he makes no effort to pull you away from his front. Soonyoung doesn’t seem keen on moving yet either, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your hips.

“See?” Soonyoung says, his voice wrecked but his grin as annoyingly smug as ever. “Good boy, Jihoon.”

#soonyoung x reader #hoshi x reader #woozi x reader #jihoon x reader #svthub #woozi smut #hoshi smut #soonyoung smut #jihoon smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #(🥡) notebook #(💎) page: svt

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patchworkideas · 2 days ago

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I have a folder named 'Story Ideas' in my home system, for easy access.

In there, I have a folder for each fandom that I write in.

If a Wip stays a one shot or only an idea post it stays in the general fandom folder it belongs to - with AUs and Crossovers in the fandom that uses the characters or has the biggest influence.

If it grows it becomes it's own folder. If I already know the future name at that point it will be named that, otherwise it gets a descriptor that stays even after it has a name. (example: My 'Coming Forth By Day' Story is still in a folder called Subnautica AU in the Yu-Gi-Oh Folder.)

The chapters are neatly named 'Chapter 1' or 'Chapter 1-6' etc, depending on how frantically I was writing. If it got written in one file it stays in one file. (This became more common since I started dictating, where i need to check for dictation errors before I can close a file (to listen to my own voice to check) and often new ideas are howling to be given voice before the check for the prior one is finished.)

Most bigger stories with their own folder also get a subfolder called notes.

That's the danger folder, where the wild things go and nothing is safe or certain. I have doubles, often actually writen or rewritten notes, sometimes removed scenes or whole removed chapters. Notes in order and notes very much not, in whatever order they came to me or I thought they fit best.

The notes folder is the depth of my mind and very often contains a multitude more words than actual make it into the story. (Long Way Around is an extreme example - by the time I had 10k posted, I hit over 100k in notes for everything still to come. Something that has been invaluable for me as I continued writing it these past years. It's been slow going but it's allowed me to keep the plot for these last 3 chapters i still have to write after almost 4 years now. Though there's a lot more to edit and polish before we get close to posting those even once they're finally written, since I hiatused to ensure I don't drop one of the myriads of threads I'm weaving together in the critical third act.)

I love writing, and I lost so much in the chaos of not having it organized in the past. So now it is.

.... Don't look on my PC where I do most of my drafting via dictation though. There's a folder called 'transferred to phone' for everything I already copied over to my phone. My phone has fandom folders but no notes, big stories are only told apart by name + chapter number. I then send the draft from my phone via different email addresses to my tablet, where all the notes and edits etc happen. *That* is where I'm organized in the above fashion.

... There and in a dedicated backup drive where I copy my tablet files to - admittedly not as often as I should. But even if I lose edits someday I at least know that I'll never lose the original draft.

Which makes it much easier to edit without abandon since the original never lost if I fuck something up beyond recognition during editing. Or in case of technical issues, obviously.

Backups are important, doubly so for anything creative.

... And I still manage to lose track of small ideas because each fandom folder usually has a shit ton of those small idea files that never become a full blown story.

And I still very much enjoy reading through those occasionally and enjoying the diamonds in the rough, those I forgot and those I didn't.

I love writing, and I love my stories. <3

Edit: And now, after actually checking, since I didn't want to risk tumblr eating my post, I realize that for some unfathomable reason I forgot to set up the fandom folder system that I have literally been using for over a decade on my tablet - probably because I figured 'I love this new fandom! I'm going to write for nothing else ever again!' when I did it. *sigh* It always feels like that, it never is X-D

So the majority of everything has the fandom name in the title, aka 'Subnautica Yu-Gi-Oh'. The handful that don't I'll need to rename at some point and finally sort everything into folders as it should have been...

And what was i thinking when i wrote my game fandom stories in the gaming folder - which does have the 'fandom/game name' folder system at least! And I usually do back those up too, since my game notes are also fun (and just as long, looking at my +100k Oxygen Not Included notes...). And I suppose some of these are stories to help me remember what happened last...

But they're still stories, and I wonder if I'll remember to check for stories in 'Games' someday 🤔

Sigh. I have a very specific order in my head. It doesn't always make it onto the page. Kinda like in writing. But it's otherwise still as described above and I'm very proud of it.

only sort of related to the wip meme that's going around, i'm curious, now: how do you, personally, organise your wips?

this does not feel like a poll kind of situation—it's a 'just reply or reblog and add to the body of the post' kind of deal. please feel free; i'm genuinely curious.

#I also have ADHD #And I'm German #In case that explains any of the (curated) madness that is my writing and sorting process

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