#pls submit things so I can suffer

[twig-vt]

ITS FRIDAY WHICH MEANS THE TIME HAS COME .....

I am accepting submissions for my FIRST EVER you laugh you lose stream! You can find the form HERE: https://forms.gle/hoFckMKwo6SN1mkt8

Submissions CLOSE ON FRIDAY, JUNE THE 30TH

Livestream will GO LIVE ON MONDAY, JULY THE 3RD

[hoseoksluna]

STRAWBERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi & spectacled boy)

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 7.8k

summary: when your ex-boyfriend's fury burns you whole, you just might need to let hobi in to pour water over you and save you.

playlist: strawberries

pinterest board: j. / taglist: join

warnings: jungkook is nasty and mean and rly needs a trigger warning, oc is lost in her negative emotions and goes through a lot, sadness, crying, shame, longing for death, minor physical violence, oc and hobi take puffs of a shared vape <3, mental and emotional suffering, fighting, belittling, mentions of sex

note: this was an absolute pain to write as i'm not used to writing this genre of jungkook and i hope it's the last time i did skfskfsk, nah i'm just over exaggerating. i'm so happy i got this done in time. two updates in one week! wow. how did i do that? i hope you like this part. prepare yourselves for this jungkook and i'm sorry in advance..... that's all im gonna say. pls, validate me! asks, comments, anything. pretty please! i love you, my babies. big mwah.

You can still sense the ghost of his touch on your shoulder blades as you’re laying halfway on your tummy upon the crumpled bedding of your mattress. Your phone lights up and shuts off like the flickering of stars and all you can do is watch the wane and the rebirth, numbly, with the knowledge that death will never come, not when you’re still a living, breathing person because Jungkook is not the type of individual who gives up. Not easily, that is. 

Hobi left but an hour ago while you slept. Kissed you goodbye. Murmured onto your forehead that he would see you again and you merely nodded amidst the magnetic pulling of your dreamland. Couldn’t peel your eyes open due to the heaviness of your tiredness, which didn’t steal, in all peculiar truthfulness, all of your attention, however. You carried on your shoulders a question way heftier. A question of how your body is still able to submit to slumber, when your blood curdles beneath your skin, when it’s so icy that you’re shivering on top of the duvet. 

And the question didn’t leave when you woke up to your empty bedroom. It thumped, vigorously, against the nape of your neck. The very place Hoseok clutched when he poured his affection and admiration all over your body. 

You wish he hadn’t left. You believe he would’ve possessed your burden, pretending it was his all along. Believe he wouldn’t need to know the alpha and the omega of it. Would pout his lips the way you’ve learned he often does, take the pain from you as if it were a backpack filled with stones. And it does feel like that, your mistake. Your torso is swathed with a double rope, whose end is tied with a stone that you’re cradling in your hands. 

A few hours ago, you cradled Hobi’s face in your hands while he kneeled for you, and now you’re anticipating the death that will never come as your stomach hurts. 

But the memory of his touch is soothing. While your imaginary wings are flaccid and lackluster on the bed, his invisible hands are the force that pumps blood, feebly, into its membrane. Still warm, though a little less firm. It’s as if he were here in the flesh. 

Your body is asking for him, emotionally, however your mind is forbidding you from conveying your need for him to him. Logic is whispering to you that he’s spent the entire day with you, canceled his work meeting because of you. You couldn’t possibly ask for more of his time, for more of him when he had already given you more than enough. 

And besides, you can’t let your attachment reach this unhealthy depth. It triggers you, reminds you of the very thing that spliced your heart open almost a month ago. You don’t want to wander there, nor do you want to be pulled there if you were to ever let go of the reins. You can’t afford Jungkook’s life to entwine around your world again. Not when Hobi diligently dug a grave for it, threw its flesh down and covered it back with the soil, his straining muscles the very force that made you forget about… everything. 

You can’t do that to yourself. And most importantly, you can’t do that to Hobi. 

It’s the latter that propels you to fight. That gives you strength to raise the top half of your body onto your hands. You don’t give a fuck about yourself—you know full well that your life is cursed. Nothing good has ever come out of the events that creeped in until Hobi came along. And you don’t wish to break him out of a selfish intent. You don’t wish to break him because of him. He’s a pure angel, a saint with an honorable heart, a God that has his eye on you. You wouldn’t take it well, if the bane of the ambrosia of your life were ever to touch his lips. 

He’s here, and that’s stable. He’s here, and that’s the reason why you need to protect him. From yourself, from the poison, from the rotten apple of your ex-boyfriend current persistence in entering your space all over again. 

You don’t want to eat that spoiled fruit anymore, and so you simply won’t. 

This decision has shifted the atmosphere because your phone is no longer going off. You sigh a breath of relief, running your fingers through your hair, and you get up, a Virgin Mary that has become a warrior for her God, and you begin to dress yourself. 

You need some fresh air. 

Clothing yourself in a matching outfit—a  light wash baggy jeans, a cropped white tank and a denim jacket with your Nike’s, you grab your phone and keys and drift out into the night. 

Your hair has dried while you slumbered and it ripples in the gentle wind of autumn. The street is lit in a darkly yellow tone, also dried from the morning’s downpour and you stop in the middle of the road, where Hobi drove past while you teased him. You breathe in the freshness of the air in effort to inhale your God, in effort to bring him into your system and your chin quivers with weakened emotions, with a weakened wish that he was here with you, holding your hand, giving you the last bit of strength you need. You know his warmth would smooth out your blood, boil it to a temperature that would cook up your joy and bring it to your heart on a silver platter. Bring it to your mind and calm the hurricane within, feed it so it doesn’t wail anymore. 

And with another sigh, you will yourself to stop. Will yourself to stop needing. You will stumble and you will fall if you keep going down that road that has never shone brighter, that looks nothing like the one you’re standing in the middle of. And as inviting as it is, you close your eyes to get rid of the blessing reaching out for you—only to discover that it’s waiting for you there, too. A circle of light, of fire amidst a cloud of pure, pitch-black darkness. 

You want to scream, and much to your neighbors’ dismay—you do. 

It’s a singular, loud stream of your frustration, swaddled with the pulsating energy of your affection. And then your shoulders tremble. And it’s your tears that are louder than that murmuring watercourse in their very silence. 

You head to the convenience store down the street with your teardrops dotting the ground as if it were the rain. You don’t want your neighbors to detect it was you, who caused the disturbance, and tell your parents. You have enough fire in your orchard, you don’t need another filling of oil. 

You ask the very drowsy guy behind the counter for a strawberry ice vape. His round eyes, behind thick rimmed glasses that make them look even bigger, are barely kept open as he reaches for it with a flabby hand. Your eye catches the glint of a myriad of plan B’s right next to the shelf scattered with packs of lung burners and your heart constricts, a rivulet of emotion cascading down your cheek, caused by the fond recollection of Hobi’s intimate desire and you break—terribly, terribly break. Fruit trees crack in you, collapse to the ground with a horrendous thud and the berry bushes… they wither until they’re mere wisps of blackness. A picture of devastation. 

The boy blinks twice when he turns around, regarding you, and he asks for your ID, only to startle when you glare at him. He tells you the price and you pay with your phone, thanking him and saying your curt goodbye. 

One he doesn’t reciprocate. 

You probably gave him the fright due to the tears marring your pallid cheeks. You hope he isn’t there the next time you’re in the mood to douse your lungs with chemicals. 

Your hands are shaking as you’re tearing up the unnecessarily sturdy packaging. And your tears resume in their outpour when your manicured nails make your life harder than it already is. The tape folded over the top of the rectangular box is too thick and you hurt your nail beds when you claw at it. You have to use your teeth and the fucking thing finally gives in. 

You furiously throw it out in the bin. 

Feel an incoming calmness when you take a deep puff. And you do it over and over again until your cursed world spins, the plump swirls of smoke mingling with the night, never fully connecting. Not like you and Hobi. 

And your world tilts on its axis once your phone lights up in your hand and there’s no picture to be found on the screen. 

Your heart hammers, threatening to fling out of your throat. 

Hobi is calling you. 

And the thing is, you don’t really believe it. 

Your vision swims as another onrush of dense tears blurs the letters of his name. You stare down at your phone, dumbly, sobbing and not caring at all that the spectacled boy can hear you. 

You don’t know who does it—who swipes your finger across the screen and allows you to hear Hobi say the pet name that stole your soul. Who anoints your tears with strawberry-scented mollification while you fail to comprehend that the person you willed yourself not to need in order to not hurt him the way you were hurt somehow heard your cries and answered them like the God he is. 

Because it couldn’t have been you. Not when you’ve become a lifeless sculpture in the middle of a yellowly-lit street. A modern, urban art—awakening ugliness in anyone’s first impression. 

Not a sculpture of the angel you saw at the museum, the one Hobi took your picture with, though. 

You're a sculpture of a road kill. A wounded, small animal, laying on its side with its guts out. And Hobi places them, with gentleness you’ve never felt before, back inside, stitches your belly closed and picks you up, carrying you in his arms. All because he repeats the pet name—with a slither of panic this time.

He acknowledged that something is wrong, validated it. 

And somehow, it snaps you out of your vapor of numb sadness and shame permeates your body, cold sweat coats it—something beyond it, too. Something that makes you shiver so hard that your teeth begin to chatter, preventing you from speaking, your tongue twisted, lifeless. 

A reality check. 

You sent a filthy video of yourself getting rocked from behind to your ex-boyfriend, in which you screamed that your most intimate parts belong to another man. 

You’re not Virgin Mary. You’re Mary Magdalene. 

You don’t hear your pitiful crying fits, but Hobi does—and it is through his inhale of a trembling breath and his words that you perceive that you’re baring your ugliness to him. 

“Pup, what’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?” 

You squeeze your vape in your small fist, sensing those words doing something in you—something that untwists your tongue and lets you breathe like him, though in painful, quick staccatos. Your frail legs hurt, not able to withstand your tremor, and they give out. You fall onto your bum, the impact and the gravel shooting a spark of pain up your spine and you whimper, your tears soaking your neckline. 

“Hobi,” you call out, the last vowel breaking, teeth chattering, cacophonously. “I made a mistake. A terrible mi-mistake.”

He coos, sorrowfully, his loud breath still trembling—a strong rope nonetheless that you want to hold onto. That cord wouldn’t lead you to your death, wouldn’t scrape your hands with its harsh texture, wouldn’t be wrapped around a stone on the other end. 

“Breathe for me, baby,” he says and guides you to do it. You inhale the night air with him, feeling like there isn’t enough of it to appease your lungs, and you exhale. 

Somehow it halts the river of your cries and you do it again. Hobi lets you, patiently waiting on the other side, encouraging you and praising you. This time, it doesn’t sprinkle you with the sultriness of sin. No, you sense it cleansing you, giving you the kind of newness you stumbled across in his car this very morning. Your palm, the one that clutches your vape, opens and it rolls onto the ground. You grab it and when you wrap your fingers around it, you perceive that you do the motion around that newness. And your heart, your submission—they’re not letting up. Not again. Not when it’s him. 

“That’s it,” Hobi praises, a hint of calmness in his tone. “Can you try and tell me what happened?” 

You nod your head, even though he can’t see you, the newness gracing you with strength that spreads feeling into your legs and you stretch them out. Blood pumps in them and you can sense the direction it’s traveling to. You tighten your grip, open your mouth to talk. 

“I sent the video to the wrong person,” you utter, and along with your grip, your lungs tighten as well. No sobs escape you, no tears. Only gravely stillness, nothingness while your shame stands behind you, menacingly, a demon set out on destroying you, the curse upon your life a bracelet around its wrist, a knife in his hand, to which it’s attached. 

Hobi doesn’t say anything for a moment and you can sense his shock, its cold tendrils the ice that courses down your legs. An agony forms in your heart, stretches out an arm of regret and strikes against your ribcage, pangs of guilt and self-disgust seizing your body. 

“I’m so sorry, Hobi, I thought I sent it to you,” you continue, your voice splitting, though no external expression of it is evident on your countenance. It’s as if you were telling him the most ordinary of a thing. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand, taking a puff of your vape. It is only now that you can taste its strawberry savoriness and it suffuses your lungs with a mockingly sweet, feigned fume. 

Hobi hears you exhale and you hear him swallow, dryly. An exchange, most redolent of the one you’ve done many times earlier. 

“What are you smoking?” he asks, and it catches you off guard. You didn’t expect him to yell at you, nor did you expect him to scold you. Truth be told, your fragile state of mind didn’t let you expect anything of him, any sort of outcome. Yet this question still surprises you. It flattens lukewarmness upon your skin and you feel like nuzzling your face into it, needing more of it. 

You take a deep breath. “I bought a strawberry vape. Scared the guy in the store with what I looked like.” 

Hobi laughs through his nose, barely. That’s the real sweetness you know. The original one, from God himself. “I’m sure he thought you were beautiful. Should I beat him up?” 

The same sound leaves you and lightness descends upon you. You welcome it in, without a fight, and the sigh you let out is of a serene kind, at last. “Not at all and besides, I almost did it myself. He asked for my ID.” 

Hobi coos, the endearment prolonging—wafting through your ear down your throat until it clings to your heart. You snivel, your inkling to nuzzle into the apparition of him lining your body growing bigger until you submit to it. You graze your cheek upon your arm, propping both of them onto your lifted knees. Feel his caress, but faintly. It should be enough, but it isn't. Could never be. 

You open your mouth again to tell him to come get you, despite the fight rising in you, but Hobi speaks first. 

“I don’t blame him that he did. You’re just my little pup. But my adult, little pup. I’ll talk to him.” You hear a shuffling in the background and your breath hitches in your throat, your heart joining it, ascending. “Where are you? I’m getting in my car.” 

Your mind, where the war is coming from, wins. That quickly. Reminds you that if you face him and tell him what you’ve done, you’ll ruin everything. Ruin the connection, ruin the affection he carries for you. 

You’re hasty as you scramble your words, but as your heart descends back into your ribcage, it throws you a lifeline. It all happens in an instant and distaste pools on your tongue from the rapidness of it all. You never liked it, and you never will. 

The lifeline of your new life, created by Hobi, changes your words, but leaves the intention untouched. 

“Can I tell you who I sent it to?” you ask, taking a puff to relax the electricity of your nerves. The strawberry flavor only heightens it, though. Out it must go, then. So you can forget about it the moment you see his face. 

The shuffling halts. “You can tell me in person,” Hobi says, lightly, but you shake your head. You know he means well. Know that he wants to reassure you with touch, but it’s a risk you can’t afford. Not when the wrong kind of neediness is at stake.

“I don’t want to talk about it when I see you,” you push, pursing your lips, finding them in a serious need of a chapstick. You begin to nibble on the flecks of skin that stick out. “I want to focus on you. I want to forget.” 

No ounce of a lie in your words, though your intention still remains hidden. Rightfully so—him leaving you because of the storm of your mental state and issues is another risk you don’t want to have staining your hands with blood. 

You hear him sit down. Hear him play with his keys—and the clanging sound is oddly comforting. “All right. Tell me, then.” 

“I sent it to someone from my past,” you start with great difficulty, pause afterwards because a light pours in from behind. The squeak of breaks, the impatient buzzing of a running car. Your mouth dries, your torso turns around. A silhouette exits the vehicle and as the person emerges from the darkness and steps into the bright lights that it’s emitting, the name that slips past your lips is more of an acknowledgement of his presence than a disclosure of information. “Jungkook.” 

Jungkook stops right behind you like the demon of your shame did, with his hands in his pocket. You don’t feel warmth radiating off of him. You feel coldness, a wintry coldness so akin to the one that troubled your body before Hobi called. He zeroes his gaze down on you, piercing your irises with a fury that causes the fine hair on the nape of your neck to rise, painfully. The muscles of his forearms are clenched, oscillating as he drums his fingers on his thighs in the cocoons of his pockets. Your breath trembles, terror prickling you profoundly until it cuts your skin open and you whimper—you whimper with a sob.

“Who’s Jungkook?” Hobi asks, softly, and you close your eyes to incarcerate your tears, curling your lips under your teeth, terribly fearful that Jungkook can hear him. 

Cursed, your life is.

He shows no sign that he does—merely burns with that fury, patiently waiting for you to end the call. Your heart stills, ache replacing it, and you think it’s been wounded so much that it can barely work anymore. 

More than ever, you feel like that Mary Magdalene, face to face with the devil that tempts her to return to her vomit like a dog. 

Hobi calls your name, panics, and it’s another lifeline—this time thrown over your torso by his own hands. You have to fight, you have to stand up to this hell and walk the fuck away from it. 

“Baby, I gotta go. Please, hurry. Please,” you pule, stressing the last pretty word to divulge to him how grave the situation is that you’re in. Hobi lets out a breath, lowly and shortly, and it’s such a relief that he understood your vague message, that you can hear him scurrying to his feet and that comforting sound of his keys clanging. 

“I’ll be there in a few, pup. Tell me where you are. Are you safe? Do you have your keys?” Hobi spews, massaging your heart with his care and there’s no ceaselessness to your tears. 

“Down the road, like less than a minute away from my apartment. And I don’t know. And yeah, they’re in my pocket.” 

A bang of his door closing. Jungkook begins to tap his foot. You scowl at him, despite your fear. He doesn’t stop. You withdraw your gaze.

Hobi’s breath quickens. “Pull them out and use them when you need to, okay? Have them ready in your hand.” You nod, doing exactly as he says, without a thought spared. “Walk to your apartment building, I’ll meet you there. You got your keys in your hand?”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, pup, I’ll be there soon. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?” 

You do, but you can’t. 

“I’ll go to my apartment now, Hobi. Thank you.” 

You don’t allow yourself to hear what he says next. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you hang up with a heavy heart. Your sudden, miserable aloneness enfolds around you, rigidly. But not as rigidly as Jungkook’s cold hand around your arm. 

The heaviness in your heart grows as its drum speeds up. 

“Get up,” Jungkook grunts, hauling you up onto your feet, awkwardly, causing you to drop your vape onto the gravel with the strength and hastiness he uses to do it with.

You stumble before you catch your balance and Jungkook doesn’t let go of his deathly grip on you until you do. Then, before your blurring sight, he bends at the waist and picks up your lung burner, skimming his eyes over it. Hands it to you with a scoff, his touch icy cold as he grabs your wrist and places it onto your palm. You sob, with ugliness that scars you, with such intensity that Jungkook’s narrowed eyes round and you pull your gaze away. You don’t want to see it. Tug your arm away from him, rubbing your wrist to get rid of the ghost of his fingers there, disgust flooding your bloodstream underneath. 

And even though he seemingly softened at your tears, it’s gone as quickly as it arrived. It didn’t touch his fury, not at all. 

“Baby, huh?” he seethes with gritted teeth, letting go of you so harshly that you almost stumble again. “Your pussy is his, huh?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, rivulets of tears rolling down your cheeks, pain compressing your entire body. It’s at this moment that you will death to take you somewhere far, far away from him, because you’re too frozen on the spot to run away. 

“You’re covered in hickeys and you’re smoking that shit again. Was it really that good? Did he fuck you so good that you had to send it to me in spite? Did he fuck you better than I ever did?” 

Your sobs gain that same agony that prevents your lungs from inhaling. And when you open your eyes, all you can look at is your shadow and his, yours blackened so much that it digs a hole in the gravel, his furling with flames. 

And along with death, you will a little strength into your anguish. 

And most unbelievably, it slinks in, and your following words come as much of a surprise to you as to him. 

“Stop.”

His shadow stills, his tremor following suit. 

“You have no business talking to me this way,” you continue, your throat constringing, and you take a big puff of your vape—to spite him rightfully this time. It loosens the tightness and you open your mouth, not finished with your outpour. 

But Jungkook stops you. 

“I have no business? You crushed my fucking heart.” 

Your head whips and the sight of him causes your pain to rise in levels. Palms outstretched towards you, his posture slouches and the breaths he lets out are wretched, the sound of a tumultuous sea at night. One would think he’s the one being inflicted great emotional violence on, not the other way around. 

Jungkook raises a finger to his heart, licking his lips before he flattens them, as if the utterance of something so private, so fervent took all of his strength. He pants and you know it’s due to the fact that he can’t catch up to the thoughts rushing in his brain. And you wish you didn’t. You wish you didn’t know him so intimately. 

“This fucking heart has never stopped being yours,” he confesses and cringes at his choice of words, triggered. Your stream of anguish is silent as you take them in. “And you crushed it. Ruined it.”

There was a time, one that used to be nearly endless during those weeks in August you spent at the beach, healing from the breakup, when you longed to hear that confession. Prayed for it. Sough it when you grazed your fingertips along the sand. And now that it’s here—now that you’re tasting something so great, greater than your entire being, something so burnt as he voiced out your tendency to cause ruination—you wish you never heard it. Wish you never had the ears that carried that message to you. 

And there’s nothing you can do. Not as darkness swallows you, confiscating any bit of strength you had left. Your eyes sting from their downpour, face features droop. Your pain is an enormous stone and you can’t carry it. You can only chase away the heft. And you do—you take a puff of your vape. 

One that he rips from your mouth and throws it out in the bin, preventing you from doing so. You don’t yelp, you don’t claw at his arm—you merely watch him rid you of your only salvation for the night, watch him exert his power over you all over again, bursting your indignation into flames. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” you ask, your voice deathly, uncannily placid, carrying no tendril of the offense and anger you feel. Adrenaline courses through you, asking to be let out. 

And you just might. 

Jungkook turns around and spits on the ground. “Don’t smoke that shit.” 

It’s not hurt, what the expression of his arrogance produced. It unlocked the door, which kept your adrenaline and your darkened emotions at bay, invited them out. 

And so you lash out, using that freedom. 

You slap him. 

And he takes it. Without moving an inch. Still as a grand statue. You yearn to demolish it to smithereens, so you can never see him again, and you strike at his chest with your keys in between your fingers, pushing him. Affected from the force, it causes him to unwillingly take a step back and it feels fucking glorious until you catch stars flash in his eyes. 

“You’re hitting me because I threw out your fucking vape?” he asks, his voice coated with a dark bitterness that deepens it. His brows furrow, grimness casting a shadow over his face, hiding the glitter of the stars. “I’m laying my heart out to you. I’m here in the middle of the night because of you and this is what you care about? This fucking thing that harms you is more dear to you?” 

You push him again, fuming. Jungkook grits his teeth, takes your wrists and holds them in the air. You fight against it, but he won’t budge. Tightens his grip. And you’re a bird, locked in a cage—but you still have your voice. 

“I’m hitting you because I hate you,” you mutter, burning him with the vapor of your anger through your narrowed eyes. “I’m hitting you because I hate the way you think you’re still entitled to have a say in my life. And it doesn’t even matter whether I have a man or not. You let me go and the moment you did that, your control over my life? It went fucking bye bye.” 

You let him forbid you from smoking in the past. Needed it at the time, needed a father’s hand—and you liked it because you never had it. Never had a male care about you, about your health, about your actions. Your father never spared you a glance, never gave a fuck about you. He always had your mother handle you, blaming her for the way she raised you. 

But during those weeks you healed, being alone by the sea helped you unattach yourself from that, from needing Jungkook to tell you what’s right and what’s not. The moon doesn’t tell the sea which shells to wash up onto the shore—it does it by itself, handpicks them, makes the decision. And the more time you watched it deliver it to you and you collected them with gladness, the more you understood it. 

You’re never letting him have that power over you again. You’re your own person, carrying an armful of your right and wrong decisions—your own possessions. And so you will smoke if you want to. You will bring a man home on the first date. You will fall in love. And you will speak up. 

You twist your wrists, unrelentingly, until he lets go. You will win, not your mind, not your heart. The raw, brutal, unabashed you. 

You take a step back away from him, feel your blood rushing to the places of your body parts that he held, quick to recover them. “You don’t get to dictate my life anymore. You have no place in it. You didn’t have it then when I was by myself, and you most certainly don’t have it now.”

Jungkook takes in your words with a parted mouth, a red mark forming over his cheek, the light shunned from his eyes. The glorious feeling returns, blooming thin, translucent tissues of happiness in you. 

“Hoseok is his name, isn’t it?” he chunters, placing his hands back into the cocoons of his pockets, tilting his head to the side. 

Hearing him say his name is a taste of spoiled milk and bile springs up your throat, your guts longing to empty themselves out. You stifle it, you have to, clutching your stomach, feeling so horribly faint. Your hatred for him blossoms like that poison ivy you dealt with earlier in the morning. 

“Keep his name out of your mouth,” you spit, scowling at him, clutching your stomach harder—just like Hobi did when you brought him home. A sliver of nostalgia forces you to look behind you, in case you catch a glance of his car, but the street remains empty and sullen. 

“You can hate me as much as you want,” Jungkook mutters, his words swiveling your head back to face him, and your guts ripple. “Yell at me. Hit me. But don’t send me videos of you getting fucked. That’s not fucking right.” 

You bare your teeth, seething. “I made a mistake.” 

Jungkook nods. “Yes,” he hushes. “Yes, you did.” 

You shake your head. “No, you don’t understand.” Confusion pinches his brows, creating a wrinkle in the middle and he lets you continue. You lick your lips, your face dry from the way your tears have seeped inside. “I thought I sent it to Hobi. I was too tired, I didn’t see. I didn’t do it on purpose.” 

Jungkook scoffs, running his tongue over his bottom lip swiftly, mimicking you. “Don’t fucking lie to me, little girl.” 

You mewl, painfully, at the pet name. It’s as if he sank a dagger in the middle of your sternum. Weariness descends upon you and you rub your eyes, wishing you had your strawberry vape, your salvation, in your fist. And you find no traces of any grit, any determination to convince him that you’re being truthful to him. 

You turn around halfway. “Go home.” 

Jungkook opens his mouth, but the squeaking sound of brakes causes him to close it right away. You know it’s Hobi and the knowledge is more satisfying than the dose of chemicals Jungkook threw out. Relief washes over you, bringing along lightness and something that is kindred to joy. You don’t care that Hobi is about to see your ex-boyfriend. You don’t care about anything at all—you’re just so grateful that he’s here. And you’re willing to let go of your walls, of your war that you tend to be so submissive to. You’re willing to let yourself go and let Hobi take you, handle you, take care of you. 

You need it. As much as it pains you, you need him after this encounter with Jungkook. 

And when Hobi calls your name and you pivot on your feet to watch him walk, hurriedly, to you, your legs do give out after all. Because he’s caked in blood, a trickle of it flecked and dried on his brow, illuminated by Jungkook’s headlights. You land, awkwardly, on your bum and your wrist, wincing in pain, but it’s not his hands that lift you. 

It’s a pair of hands that you know to be cold and, despising the sting of it, you shriek, pushing him away. The motion leads you to stagger into Hobi’s arm that he opens for you, his chaste, feathery touch grounding you, giving you the sense of home, even when the look he gives Jungkook is anything but warm and friendly. 

“Hobi, what happened? Are you okay?” 

You take his shiny, sweaty face into your hand. Your eyes could fall out of their sockets due to how beautiful he is, even bloodied, alarmed and bestial. You need to know what happened. Need to clean him up. Take him home. 

But Hobi doesn’t answer you. Doesn’t look your way, only acknowledges you with his scalding touch. Stares down your ex-boyfriend with such contempt that you’re surprised the man is still standing. 

You’re so pulled in, so focused on him and his unwavering expression of detestation, which flatters you and soothes you, that you don’t notice that Jungkook is leaving. Hobi snaps his fingers at him and beckons him to come back. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hobi barks, his fingers lowering and hooking around the middle belt loop of your jeans. 

Jungkook returns to that space of light, the black tank top he’s wearing making it seem like he’s hollow on the inside. Perhaps he is, he did hand over his heart. Wasn’t affected by your fragile state of mind, by your tears. Wounded you to the point that you will take days to recover. Only a person of complete nothingness would be able to do that. 

“I saw you at the museum,” Hobi continues, brows wrinkled. “Who the fuck are you?” 

You should speak. You should take this elsewhere, but you can’t. Not when you feel so small, like a little girl hiding behind the leg of her father who’s dealing with the boogeyman. And you’re reminded that this has happened before. 

Only the roles were reversed. 

In the wine-tinged room this morning while you were confronting Jungkook and his companion found him. She asked the same question, though the hostility she showed you could never be compared to Hobi’s unkindness. He emanates respect while she’s a condensation of insecurity. 

“I see you’re the Daddy from the video,” Jungkook laughs, humorlessly, dipping his chin before he lifts it in a very evident effort to reach not only Hobi’s height but his supremacy as well. He will always wish to overpower—it’s in his nature. “Trust me, you’re not the only one she called Daddy. Long before you came along, it was all I heard from her—”

You blink and Jungkook’s face is in Hobi’s hand. 

You gasp. You’re a witness to Hobi protecting your dignity as he squeezes his cheeks until Jungkook moans, pathetically, in pain. And all you can think about is how long he had that coming. For throwing out your vape, for his arrogance and now for the way that he spoke about you.

You don’t feel a slither of pity for him. 

No—your joy, fully, forms. 

“If I ever hear those words come out of your mouth again, I won’t hesitate to unable to you talk,” Hobi says with concerning seriousness and you shiver, grazing your fingertips along your collarbones after you fold your arms over your chest, touched, flattered, loved. A line of tears threaten to pour out of your eyes, but you hold them back. You don’t want to cry anymore—you’re sick of it. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

Jungkook’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything. Hobi waggles him before he lets him go and you swear you caught a tinge of whiteness scattering along his knuckles. Your mouth dries. 

“Now you’re dismissed,” Hobi finishes, turning around and grabbing your hand, tugging you back home. 

Your legs follow him, but your vision doesn’t. It remains fixed on Jungkook, on his heaving chest, on his reddened cheeks, embossed with Hobi’s fingerprints and the lines of your hand. His eyes are smothered with stars, a skyful of them, ones that expand until there’s no darkness left. 

And you’re witness to regret taking shape in them. 

And something about that tells you that this isn’t the last time you see him. 

Hobi had been in a car accident on his way to rescue you. He tells you of it as you’re cleaning him up with a lukewarm, wet cloth and your arm gets stuck in the air, unable to move, as you comprehend the life-threatening danger he underwent because of you. Another driver bumped him from the back while he was slowing down at the yellow light, wanted to race on the almost empty highway. Was under the influence, Hobi found out when he stepped out of his vehicle to grapple with him. Deemed it wasn’t worth it, especially when time was pressing down on him, and with a little manipulation and an installment of fear, the silly guy agreed to pay for everything and Hobi got his number. 

You wonder at how he managed to get back inside his car and drive when he hit his head on the steering wheel. You worry that he has a concussion. Suggest to take him to a hospital, but Hobi only shakes his head, reassures you he’s fine and once you completely clean the blood off of his brow, you can see a thin but bulbous scratch right beneath the fine hair, surrounded by violets and pinks. A different bruise from the ones bestrewn over his body from your mouth. 

Your heart aches. This is all your fault, the repercussion of your neediness, the finished work of your ruination. 

You grow solemn, your features drooping again, but Hobi isn’t blind to it. Cups your chin, lifts it, fondles it with his thumb. Pouts ever so slightly. Why is it a relief that you feel bursting in your chest amidst your lingering pain is something you can’t really understand. 

But he’s God. No wonder he’s able to mount such strangeness in you and make it work. 

“Did he hurt you?” Hobi whispers, cradling your other hand on your lap. He’s sat in your armchair, with you on his thighs, in the very corner of your dark living room, lit up coolly and solely by your antique lampshade. It’s where you read your poetry, where you recite it to nobody else but you, where you recharge your battery when your world exhausts you. The fact that Hobi chose to sit here instead of your couch speaks volumes, has a great meaning that you’re too weary to decipher and romanticize, but you like it. A lot. To the point that you’re comfortable enough to answer his question, despite the fact you looked forward to Jungkook’s absence in your alone time with Hobi.

“The way he spoke about me was the same way he talked to me,” you say, your voice coated with milky sadness. Your eyes instinctively drop to his hand holding yours, to his fist wrapped around your fingers. “He didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t send it to him on purpose.” 

Brusqueness clouds his eyes, but he remains gentle with you. “You don’t have to care about what he thinks, whether he believes you or not. You don’t have to prove anything to him. Your one word is enough,” Hobi says, drifting his hand down your arm until it winds up at his other one intertwined with yours and you sob, tearlessly. It’s precisely what you needed to hear without knowing it, the final touch to the closing chapter that had so abruptly opened. You carry it into your minuscule heart, sinking it there, letting it permeate its entirety, and you nod your head. “Did he hurt you physically?” 

You lay yourself down on his chest, on his bloodstained blue shirt, on his heart that you missed and Hobi locks you in, taking his hands and wrapping them around your form. You could fall asleep like this, forget and become the happiest girl in the world. 

“Not that much.” 

His heart quickens and you regret your words. 

“What do you mean not that much?” 

You’re quick to fix your mistake, not thinking it through. 

“He was rough with me. My legs gave out on me before he came. He found me on the ground and he lifted me up. Then held my wrists when I hit him—”

“You hit him?” 

You stammer, jumbling your words, deciding on just one. “Yeah.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, squeezing your arm, and this is the death you longed for. 

Never in your life had you ever experienced praise from a man in a non-sexual context and not gotten lustfully affected by it. The purity, the newness is so healing, so consequential that you can’t help but to stroke his clothed ribs in side to side motion, in appreciation and even a faint smile of fondness curls your lips, one that Hobi can very well see from above. He caresses the trace of it while it is still there, causing your smile to blossom, and you sense the orchard in you gaining life. 

“You went through so much emotional suffering today and yet you’re still able to smile. All because I praised you. You react so beautifully to it,” Hobi comments and you blush, his thumb skipping over to it, giving it the same attention, collecting it like keepsakes. You’d wonder at it, too, if you haven’t already acknowledged yourself, intimately, with his sovereign power of erasing past events. 

And you tell him, peeling your torso off of his chest. 

“It’s your doing. You make me forget about everything when I’m with you. It’s like it never happened at all. I don’t know how you do it.” 

Hobi smiles, the corners of his glimmering eyes crinkling. “If it’s my doing, then it’s yours, too. You should know how you do it.” 

You soften into liquid and it’s your heart that quietly weeps now. “You remember the poem.” 

He nods, gliding his hand up and down your side. “How could I not? It’s all I can hear in my mind. I kept hearing it on my way home and then on my way back to you.” 

That alone takes the unfateful events of the night  off of you like a layer of clothing, dressing you in strength. You need a giant puff of your vape, just to recuperate from being drowned in the sea of your past longing for this. And you reach into the pocket of your jeans, only to be reminded of what happened to it. 

It feels like a distant memory. So much had occurred that it slipped from your mind. You frown. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You purse your lips. “I thought I still had my vape.” 

“You don’t?” 

You shake your head. “He threw it out.” 

Hobi seems as offended by the information as you were when you watched it happen. And as much as you bonded over your sexual desires, the same connection clicks over this. 

“He’s such a dick. Let’s get you a new one.” 

He pats your bum and then you’re on your feet, tugged back outside, with a smile quivering your lips. And this time you follow him with your vision, too. Your eyes sail over his strong imaginary wings, on which the pink dominates the black, and you feel your own being upheaved, slowly gaining the vigor that they lost. 

And Hobi scares the spectacled boy in the convenience store. Not with his stained shirt, but with the way he provokes embarrassment in him by asking him if he wants to see his ID as well, staying true to the words he said to you over the phone. The boy didn’t even so much as peek at you, too afraid to do so. 

It made you laugh. 

Hobi double checked with you if it were the strawberry flavor that you wanted, and you changed your mind. Picked the blackberry one because you never had it before. Could use another dose of newness. 

He opens the packaging with you, struggling at first, but then he immediately uses his teeth. You smile so hard that your cheeks hurt. 

Smile even as he places it between your lips, but you can’t take a puff, can’t drop the presence of your happiness, even when he encourages you. That is until he inhales it first—you’re so struck by the beauty of it, of him that the muscles in your face let up. The smoke twirls around the feathers of his wings, adding just the right amount of white into its art, and you yearn to fall asleep on them. 

“Can you stay over tonight?” 

“Only if you take a puff.” 

He carves it between your lips and this time, as you’re so mesmerized by him, you wrap your lips around it and suck; suck in that heady, hefty, colorful flavor that pools warmly in your throat, blowing the smoke around his neck while he kisses your forehead. Takes you back inside. Dresses you in your pajamas. Lets you smoke in bed with his wings swaddling you and your little childhood bows-adorned bunny plushie. Lets you put the vape in his mouth as he strokes your hair. 

The night birds begin to sing and into their song your phone dings. You know who it is long before you prove yourself right. 

But it’s not a text message that disturbed their music. 

Jungkook sent you a picture. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two

[disabilityshowdown]

Disabled Character Showdown

Loving the tournaments like @autismswagsummit, @aroaceswagcompetition, @adhdswagcompetition, @bisexualswagcompetition, haven't yet seen a showdown for disabled characters yet, so let's give that a go!

Rules:

As usual, no real people, etc

Both mental and physical disabilities are allowed, though I'd ask no responses that are just adhd/autism as they've had their own showdowns, we wanna showcase other disabilities here

(Chronic pain also counts)

I'm on the fence about including characters who aren't disabled in canon but are in popular headcanon (eg Essek from Critical Role), so I think for now, you can submit them, but let me know in the form, and we'll make that decision later depending on the responses I get

No "Oh this character isn't REALLY disabled bc they have a perfect disability aid/don't suffer" arguments pls, different representation means different things to different people, a disability is a disability no matter how sci fi your setting

Submit as many characters as you like but only submit each character once! (I'll use number of responses where relevant to help with seeding the bracket)

EDIT: Please use the google form, no longer counting submissions in my inbox unless you have a real good reason for not using the form

Form is HERE, submissions will be open until the end of Sunday, 5th March (NZDT)

(That's Saturday 4th if you're American)

Characters I'm already pretty confident will get submitted a ton so will get an automatic nomination: Toph (AtLA), Terezi + Tavros (Homestuck), Daredevil (Marvel), Ed Elric (FMA), Kaz Brekker (SoC), Shiro (VLD), Geordi La Forge (TNG)

I can't guarantee I'll include every single character that gets submitted, especially if this goes similar to some other blogs who've gotten like 500 characters all with one vote each? (Alas, I am but a simple human being and have multiple disabilities myself), but I'm willing to do a pretty big bracket/have some qualifying rounds beforehand, so good luck, and I look forward to hearing about a whole bunch of disabled characters I didn't know before!

[niphredil-14]

Heyhey!! Can u pls write a fluff story about Brahms Heelshire x f!reader who suffers from migraines? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 I rly wanna see the gentle caring Brahms worrying about the reader at such moments uwu

This is my first time writing for Brahms, so I decided to do a drabble/hcs just to get myself accustomed to his character. I hope that's alright c:

Brahms was rarely bratty. Usually, so long as they followed the rules, and did everything as he liked, he was very well-behaved, if not a bit playful and mischievous. When he started noticing that they were straying from the schedule, even though it was only by a little bit, he decided the best course of action was to remind them just how much of a pest he could be.

It started with moving their things around, only slightly though. When he noticed that it hadn't changed their behavior, he moved on to flickering the lights on and off. That obviously bothered them, yet it only made their tardiness worse, and so begun his musical tantrums. At all hours of the day and night, he began cranking his record player's volume all the way up.

His shenanigans came to a close, however, when they burst into the music room, absolutely fuming, where not only the music was extremely loud, but the lights were flashing. Rushing to turn the music player off, they shouted at him, demanding that he stop. He had no intention to, until he noticed them swaying, and then, almost in slow motion, collapsing to the ground.

When they awoke, they found themselves in their bed, with the Brahms doll sitting in a chair by their bedside, glassy eyes staring at them. A residual headache throbbing when they went to sit up, they resigned themselves to a high-reclined position against the pillows. Only moments later, Brahms walked into the room, carrying a tray with a glass of water and some nearly burnt toast on it. Pulling up a second chair at their bedside, he placed the tray at their feet and gently moved them into a sitting position. He gave them the tray, muttering a small apology in his little voice. The toast was far from good, but with the way he was watching them expectingly, they forced it down regardless. He continued to stare at them, standing opposite of the doll, even after they finished eating. Catching on to the curiosity and worry behind his silence, they began to explain. “Brahms, Honey, it was a migraine. I’m gonna be fine.” Brahms stayed silent, still staring. After a few moments of his silence, they vaguely explained migraines to him, and how they affected them. A rare feeling of guilt crawled it way into Brahm’s chest, scraping and clawing at his insides. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, please don’t leave me.” He practically whined. The sight of such a large man, that was usually such a brat, so easily submitting and apologizing was endearing, but they knew the importance of structure and rules to him. 

“I’m not going to leave you, Brahms. And it’s okay, you didn’t know any better. But you need to understand that if you do that again, there’ll be consequences, alright?” Slowly and gently crawling into the small space next to them, he pressed his masked face into their neck. 

“Alright, just please don’t leave me.” 

“I won’t leave you, I promise.”

[majorbaby]

20 questions for fic writers

thank you so much for the tag @bornforastorm, i loved reading through yours :3 

i will tag @marley-manson / @rescue-ram / @persianflaw / @leonardcohenofficial / @raywritesthings

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 14… will be 15 in under 24 hrs ;)

2. What's your total Ao3 word count? 136,971… just over 100K of which were published this year :D 

3. What fandoms do you write for? MASH at the moment, with no end in sight. I have two ideas for twin peaks but not much motivation to write them, let alone the discipline. 

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? if you really wanna know here’s my ao3 and you can you sort by kudos, i don’t wanna link my fics in other fandoms that are almost 7 years old now… pls… 

5. Do you respond to comments? i used to be quite diligent about doing it but when i was publishing near-daily for kinktober i fell behind because i was literally writing every day. i may still go back to respond to them because i like doing it. 

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? the beejhawk sex pollen fic (heavy dubcon warning)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? i’m realizing that most of traphawk fics are only ‘happy endings’ if you see them as self-contained, which they aren’t really, because even though trapper’s exit isn’t at all relevant, i’m not consciously ‘unwriting’ that. but in-fic probably Goodbye, Farewell and Amen to That because it explicitly states that TrapHawk can handle whatever is thrown at them, which would include whatever happens post-fic. 

8. Do you get hate on fics? for a while i had an anon who submitted vagues about me / my work so like yes, i’ve read a couple vagues seemed they were about my fic but, and i know this sounds like a cop-out but genuinely, i’m kinda flattered by anyone who hates my fic and still manages to read the whole thing and write a public post about how how they didn’t like it? like, what are we??? 

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? i consider myself primarily a smut writer, only incidentally non-smut writer. i write all kinds and can’t wait to diversify more. 

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? my dream fic is a specific crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? yes

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? not recently, but in former fandoms yes. 

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? sort of. it isn’t published. but maybe soon. 

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? traphawk is the ship to me. some things we should be dramatic about: there’s the traphawk that i write and then there’s the traphawk that i live, which only my irl trapper understands 

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? now that i have discovered the margaret longfic i really want to write i’ve officially abandoned my 80K canon-compliant margaret WIP

16. What are your writing strengths? i’m disciplined, i want to improve, i take risks, i’m curious, i’m honest and i welcome strong challenges from the people who edit my work.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? i have some barriers (i’m dyslexic and english is my not my first language) but i could still stand to be much more diligent about grammar and punctuation. beyond that, my prose tends to be flowery and verbose and need to be reined in a lot. i’m trying to get better at on my own but it helps that my OG beta, marley, is kind of my stylistic foil lol (hope she doesn’t mind me saying), she trims a lot of the fat from my work and helps me communicate my ideas better. lastly, sometimes i suffer from being really married to an idea that sounded cooler in my head than it does on paper, and i have a really hard time setting it down.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? i say this as someone who is multilingual - it’s almost never a good idea, especially in fic, if you’re having a main character speak partially in another language for no reason except to note that you, the author, knows that they speak another language. it could maybe make sense for atmosphere, but in that case, just say “they were speaking x language / they said something in x language”. 

i’ll be honest, it annoys me so much that if i see a character in a fic drop a few words in a language other than english and then continue on in english that i will x-out of a fic. there’s got to be some thoughtful in-universe explanation for that e.g. if you’re in Canada, bilingual service agents will say ‘Hello/Bonjour’ to you to indicate that you have an option to speak with them in either language. 

19. First fandom you wrote for? uhhh i honestly don’t remember. i’ve been writing fanfiction since before i was a teenager. first time i published it might’ve been for the legend of zelda. 

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? at the moment it’s cherry bomb! because it was a nice, smutty interlude in traphawk’s relationship and a fic that exists mostly for kink’s sake but still has a distinct vibe, unlike filthysweet which i don’t hate, but imo is unremarkable. CB is 95% style 5% substance and still contains weight somehow. i really hope i can recreate that again. 

[autumnalmind]

.: The Intro :.

Void / Aki || 25+ || They/He || Nonbinary

Cladotherian: Felidae / Cats

Therian + Past lives

Otherkin + Fickin

currently self-Dx’d system (seeking professional diagnosis)

The Rundown:

  Hiya, I’m Void / Aki! This blog is a remade version of an older one...as well as reworked from what it used to be. I am constantly learning to understand myself better, learn new things, and make friends.

   Feelings of being nonhuman have persisted since I was young, and... This is me putting it to a semi-active blog, to stretch those sides of me out, and be in a community that knows what it’s like [to have had similar experiences].

   There’s still more to say, but I'd rather keep this short. I’ll put a bit of extra information under the cut- the stuff I feel like sharing- and... Yeah, hope you enjoy being around here!

TL;DR of Rules: Don’t be an asshole. No discourse, at all, no exceptions. TERFs and queerphobes, bigots, anti-kin, stay off my blog. I unfollow/block to my tastes; it’s not that deep if it happens. I’m not consistently on this blog nor have much spoons, pls be patient with me. (I’m not ignoring you.) Please don’t assume things about me; ask if curious, sure, but I’ll (system included) bring up if I need advice on anything. Most alters can be asked to front, but don’t expect them to magically show up. Consider it more like submitting a request; either they’ll show up or you’ll wait until they do, that’s all.

  So the short of it... Always had alterhuman-like experiences, starting with Pokemon when I was in elementary school. A persistent, but subtle connection to wolves...and a connection to felines that has never stopped. If anything, only got more active with time.

    I found the fickin community first, through OFFkin, but eventually that made its way to finding therians and otherkin. Kinda been at home ever since, if very quietly; lurking for years, on and off.

.:.:.:.

   As of July 2022 (the time of me originally writing this), I’ve been self-Dx’ing as plural. To keep it short, I’ve already taken the MID with my current therapist, and we’re both working on getting me to a specialist. In the meantime, I continue to research, read other peoples’ experiences, and speak with my therapist about my experiences, but I’m unsure of when/if a professional diagnosis will happen.

   For now, I, again, use plural terms to describe my mental experiences and those I communicate with in there, but... Only time and a professional can tell, I suppose.

[ There’s still quite a lot of denial in here, but I’m working to accept it. Doubt has only created further damage, and I function better utilizing system-based tips. ]

.:.:.:.

    Decided to not save this for last, so... Links for those on mobile, as well as main blog mention.

Main Blog: autumnshaven

Sideblogs: liltieflingprincess ✦ jokersdiamond ✦ lovelybloodybites ✦ deathstime ✦ dammyrammy 

Alter Main-blog: prayersfromaerith

Her “Roommates”/Sideblogs: spring-core ❀ painters-sun ❀

Current... System List || Therian/Otherkin List || Fickin List

.:.:.:.

  ...Alright, that’s about it, I suppose. Quick bit of rules first. That will hopefully be more coherent than the quick-notes above.

Don’t be an asshole. Given that this is my space and I prefer it to be a zone I feel safe in... Just don’t. Transphobia/Queerphobia, racism, etc. will be blocked.

I’ve already blocked some people in the community, but... Don’t take it to heart if I unfollow or block you. I simply cultivate my space/what I want to see and...that’s kinda it.

I’m not consistently on this blog; I’m not ignoring you. This has been a problem in the past with new people & me, so I’ll say it now: I don’t often have a lot of spoons, these days. I need a lot of quiet time to recharge, or to limit my communications w/ people who I already know/am comfortable with. Again, it’s no spite on you if I’m just reblogging here or going silent; I just need a break.

[EDIT] Also suffering from a Tumblr glitch where my messages/IMs will be “read” for me and I won’t get the notif that I was messaged at all. Please be patient with me!

(However, if it’s been a few weeks, you’re free to poke me. Just don’t go overboard and we’re good!) But yes, I never do this to “intentionally hurt people” or whatever. Please keep this in mind.

Don’t assume things about me. I’ve taken quick note that- occasionally- there will be some anon who wants to say, “Actually, I think you’re [this].” I don’t want any part of that! No thank you! Just go, please! I will absolutely understand advice given in good faith (“Hey, what you described sounds more like [X], you should check that out”), but essentially telling me what I should do...no.

(As well, if I’m looking for help...I [or my system] will ask for it. Anything beyond that is a bit much, imo.)

I don’t get into discourse. At the current moment, I still have a lot of learning to do and I wholly understand that. So for that reason, I don’t want any- from plural sides nor alterhuman- to be brought my way. If I rb any of it, it is for __my own learning experience__. I do not want to talk about it. (You can still send an ask/DM, but there’s no guarantee I’ll respond.)

On that note: I can try to provide advice for otherkin/therians, but am uncomfortable giving advice over system-related topics. Personal comfort, as well as the prior mentions of denial I have over being a system, myself. I just personally don’t feel qualified, so please direct those questions elsewhere. Thank you.

I’m still learning terms, how to interact with the community, etc. Definitely wanted to mention this, after noting that KFF is controversial in the otherkin side and so are the terms “kinnie,” “kinning,” and “kin” [as a verb]. Wanted to give a heads up that, while I’m not the former, I’m still “learning the language” as it were, and might still use these terms. However, and I once again stress, I am not KFF.

.:.:.:.

    Thanks for reading! Keep the rules in mind, and we’ll be just fine. Asks are open, as well, for anyone curious about...anything, really. We’ll get to it when we can.

[otaku-tactician]

pls help me!

there is one thing ive wondered. did medb abuse cu alter or does he serve her of his own free will? i get that summoning him at all was sketchy in itself as it completely skewered him in a way in which hes endlessly suffering but i do admit... i thought it was the kind of relationship where she says annoying things and then he goes "thwap" lightly with his tail and carries on with his life and helps out of his own volition (where they kinda get along). Like i thought it was like he puts up with her and helps out, she relies on him, they kind of get along in a surreal way.

i do notice that some of the FGO mangas licensed by type moon also take this approach as well where its like they got on awkwardly but can teamwork (chibichuki fgo, medb medb medb and the one that has been covering singularities), so i kinda assumed that it was like him making an extreme sacrifice to make up for a guilt towards her in his past life(like lancer bond 4 where he mentions failing important women in his life) or out of a duty to help her to a certain extent... I am aware that this is an interpretation that cannot be confirmed 100% though.

And he does often avoid her too so I'm open to seeing how this interpretation may not be the be all end all.

yet i have also noticed there is another angle seen in a lot of works online where the accepted view is that she abuses him and forces him to submit to the ground and basically assaults him which i can imagine is extremely traumatic and would cast his character in an even more poignant light than before.

in other words IM NOT SURE WHAT INTERPRETATION IS CANON AND WHAT ISNT ANYMORE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

this would help as i write cu alter fanfiction sometimes and i feel like this part of characterization is Essential in writing him well.

[battleshot]

howdy! just a small slice of sanity here. those close to me know how much stress and unforeseen circumstances i have been suffering these last few weeks. i’m still on a come down from london, but even then, i was stressed and i wasn’t admitting it to myself. whilst we’re taking things one day at a time over here, my first assessment is Finished. Complete. The thing I went, hey, actually idk if i can do this and i might have to drop out of uni ( listen, we all know i’m Prompto Let Me Be Dramatic ) I haven’t submitted it yet, but that’s because i wanna look at tomorrow with fresh eyes, triple, quadruple check, badger people to download unity and be like hello pls tell me my game level works. But, my point was, whilst work and passing my daughter from pillar to post this weekend will tire me out, I’m actually able to breathe ( if only for a few days ) so, before i get stuck into the next assessment i’m gonna make myself more approachable sunday evening, through to wednesday. there are friends and family i have left on read, people very close to me who are also going through a lot, and i had to tap out when i couldn’t mentally be there for myself, let alone anyone else. and that’s not me -- to half ass caring, but god did i feel selfish for taking a minute to breathe...

today i did something that i haven’t done in forever, a shopping day, being social, with friends, and actually Laughing. No stress, it was my sanity day and it was needed. and god bless my friends near and far for keeping me sane and checking in on me. be it through message, wire, sending tik tok’s, even just random gifs... When I tell you these last few weeks had been perhaps the most mentally tiring ,,,, its no lie.

anYWAY. Small update over, I’ve got a lot to shout about still from meeting robbie ( including the video recording of him reading out a thread i wrote as prompto ) and i wanna write with my boy here again. So. Monday, I will be here Monday. I can’t bloody wait, but until then, mutuals feel free to pop up at the disco --

the trauma of prompto’s eyebrows#0031

[cruesuffix]

hi, sorry to bother, this is stevesixxstan btw, stupid tumblr won’t let me submit asks through that acc :) buuutttt idk if you do headcanons, but a thought occurred to me, either how would motley be at doctor’s visits or how would motley be taking YOU to doctor’s visits. i will ask around bc i suck at coming up w hc’s personally. anywho take care and have a great day if you haven’t already!

hi!! don’t worry about being a bother, I love getting asks (I hardly get them anyways) I love doing headcanons but i don’t really post a lot of them (not so confident in my writing tbh) BUT, that being said I love both of this ideas and if you don’t mind, I’d like to do both of them!

ok, so motley at a doctors visit would probably go something like this:

with mick, you’d actually have to drag him there. he HATES going to the doctors and would try to excuse any sort of symptoms he’d have. he could be suffering the worlds deadliest cold or something and he’d be like “nah im fine, i’ll just take some cough syrup or something!” like it would get to the point where you’d have to trick him into going that’s how stubborn he is (“oh hey wanna come to the store with me don’t say no pls.”). i wouldn’t say he’d have an irrational fear of doctors but more so a irrational distrust of them.

vince would go to the doctors at the drop of a hat. it could be raining in oklahoma and he’d claim it’s affecting him and that he desperately needs to get checked out. he’s so dramatic he could bump his elbow on a doorframe and insist it’s broken and that he needs to be taken to the emergency room asap. would exaggerate his symptoms to really drive the point home. doctors would make signs warning other doctors about him. he’d try to gaslight the doctors as if they don’t have a degree.

nikki would also be dramatic but in a way where almost everything is a sign he’s dying. has webmd bookmarked, constantly googling “why does my stomach hurt?” (or, if you want to be time period accurate: always in the library trying to look through medical dictionaries) doctors constantly have to reassure him nothings wrong with him. (he’d come in thinking he had lung cancer and come back out with an asthma diagnosis and an inhaler)

now surprisingly, tommy isn’t as neurotic as his bandmates are when it comes to a doctors visit. he usually just goes if has concerns or for a check up. I don’t think he takes anything seriously. He’s the type to joke around even during checkups. you know he’s asking the doctor if they can record his heartbeat so he can use it in a song.

Now if the crue had to take you to the doctors…it’d probably go something like this:

while mick is very stubborn about his own health, the one thing he doesn’t play about is you. if you had so much as said you were feeling a bit lightheaded, he’d have 911 on speed dial. likes to be stubborn about his health but HATES when you are. like he is dragging you to the car and driving you to a doctor himself. loves to act nonchalant but when it comes to you he drops everything. (also I can see him coming with you and holding your hand during the appointment…even after you told him you were fine going in alone).

vince would fight a doctor for you. if they try to beat around the bush or tell you you’re fine when you’re not vince would demand more testing or whatever it is to figure out what’s wrong with you. can be seen as overbearing, but what can I say, he is dramatic. he’d leave the office complaining about how much he hates doctors and that this is “an injustice!” while it can be seen as annoying, it just shows how much he cares about you.

nikki would probably make things worse. you know why you made the appointment and what you think is wrong, but here comes mr.dictionary coming up with at least fifty other diagnoses and problems you don’t even have. I think the doctor would have to throw him out the room at some point. I think it would also get to the point where you stop letting him come with you because he starts to make you panic as well…he’d be a mess, let’s just say that.

tommy would also panic a bit. unless it’s a routine checkup, he’d worry a bit. (I can see him nearly speeding to get you there in time too now that I think about it) you can’t let him in the room anymore after he nearly squeezed your hand off because he heard the word “flu.” instead he just takes to pacing around the waiting room hoping you’re alright. would make the people in the waiting room annoyed by his incessant pacing. once he’s heard good news he calms down, but it makes you want to leave him at home or in the car the next time you go.

I really hope this is ok for you…had a little yap session if im being honest! thanks for the ask!!

[maximuswolf]

Best streaming service &amp; TWS earbuds for underground Hi-Res music lover

Best streaming service & TWS earbuds for underground Hi-Res music lover Hi everyone! Streaming music services facilitate a lot to search for new music as well as listen to it. But I really suffer that lots of my favourite bands are absent there or their discographies are truncated. I think it is also important to mention that I prefer kinda non-mainstream music (e.g., neofolk, martial industrial, black metal, experimental stuff etc). I use Apple Music and I am really okay with that - good that I can have Hi-Res quality but sometimes the absence of lots of tracks really annoys me.So I am thinking probably I could try something else instead. The things about which I care:- high diversity of music - ideally, more than in Apple Music- Hi-Res qualityThe things which are not important for me at all:- recommendation algorithms. They might be even awful, I don’t use them anyway.- price (well… negotiable)So it would be great to receive any recommendations from you, especially if you also prefer something outside pop and rock music :) I am also curious which TWS earbuds I could buy (pls not AirPods hahaha). Now I use Sennheiser Momentum TW2, but mb they are already outdated. Submitted April 30, 2024 at 04:29PM by leere_hoelle https://ift.tt/Avsz4ZW via /r/Music

[shini--chan]

When the (allies) were chibis, the country reader, often bullied them that they aren't so strong like her. Because back than she was stronger and richer. But nower days they are much stronger and richer than her and she is a "bit" scared and trys not to be in the same room with them (alone). And goes fast away so they can't talk to her. (now a days she is little bit poor, but have a beautiful cultur/history) (even China when he was a chibi and he is freaking old😅)

This is another one of those asks where I can’t really find it in myself to write much. Pls bear this me.

Yandere Allies – Subversion

He would remember you doings very well. After all, you had been the one to convince the humans that he was a witchling, resulting in him being hanged. Besides, he really didn’t like how you sided with England when his teenage rebellion entered the phase of aggressive negotiations. And while he constantly says that emotional baggage and holding grudges is a hallmark of the Old World, he really would want to make you pay.

Under other circumstances, he would probably just have a few of your high ranking people assassinated, and make the global rumour mill spin with slander. The rest would roll without further doing. However, the twisted feelings of obsession he would harbour for you would make this a lot more personal.

Your problem would be that you would be in a precarious situation, and therefore you wouldn’t be able to afford showing any sign of weakness. For your own safety, you would have to stop when he would call your name, you would have to come when he would demand to have a meeting with you. Of course, you could exploit loopholes, such as taking people with you or using a bit of blackmail to ease the pressure off of you. If you are very desperate, you could trigger his trauma and then make it for the hills. Of course, if you would be prepared to deal with the fallout – having your allies turn against you, and maybe even have a neighbour invade you, giving him an excuse to sweep in and play saviour. Then you would be in dept to him. – America

As by humans, the formative years would have been the most memorable and shocking years of his life, especially since you were in it. He was there in the very beginning, where life was nasty, brutal and short. You really didn’t help and with you being an adult nation facing a youngster that could one day usurp you, a fledging occupying the territory you want… You would have treated him accordingly. He still sometimes has nightmare of drowning in his own blood because his throat was slit.

Now, with the whole role reversal, he would be very happy to return all the experiences you graciously granted him. After all, relationships are supposed to be reciprocal. You would eventually have to suffer by his hand anyhow – he is a patient man, and can play games and schemes until he gets what he wants. Then, he would have you submit to him. He would care little about your history and culture – you would have to play by his rules and see him as the most important thing in the world. An identity of your own would just stand in the way. Maybe he would incorporate some elements of what is yours in his own culture, but it would be limited to that.

You should have known better than to run away from the sight of him. Fleeing only alerts the tiger and makes him chase after you, if you had stayed still , then the predator may have simply passed by. – China, Russia

All to well he remember all your passive-aggressive comments across the negotiation table or at parties, when you would jab at him just how useless he was, and how he was a little bootlicker that was only fit to lick the shit off shoe soles or how the only meaning in life and only way he could get scraps of affection by being the lap-dog of an Empire.

Of course things have changed. How the mighty have fallen. He would know how sore the turn of events are to you, by how you flee by the sight of him. And he really isn’t known to be vindictive or to hold expansionistic desires! He would go ahead to drop passive aggressive comments about you in conversations with other nations, preferably when you would be in ear-shot, just to rub salt into festering wounds.

Also, you would be a fool to think you can actually escape from him. All the jokes about him being invisible cease to be funny when he is after you. Would you truly be alone? Would that be a coat rack or a person standing in the corner? Or why do you constantly feel like you’re being watched? – Canada

Considering how things were back then, with all these new nations scrambling for power and land and the title of Rome’s heir, he could be understandable. Things were cut-throat back then, with life even for them being very uncertain. Still, he wouldn’t appreciate all the looting, and house burning and being drown in rivers happening at his expense.

Besides, wouldn’t it be the way of empires to wash themselves in blood and build their thrones on human bones? As such, he would neither be kind nor understanding when the tables would finally turn. Call it emotional baggage, call it petty grudges, he would see it as justice to steam roll over you. As an empire, he would turn you into one of his colonies and assimilate you, forcing you to bow to his ways. Therefore, you would all rights to fear him.

However, if you would keep avoiding him, then he would just increase pressure on your people, indirectly causing you misery. If you would want you people to be relatively safe, then you would have to come to him to “negotiate” new terms. Then, he would possess you on an individual level as well. – England, France

[virtue-and-beneviolence]

Congrats on the milestone !! 💕 At first I wasn’t gonna submit an ask for the event cuz it’s impossible to embarrass me BUT I just remembered this one embarrassing thing that happened recently 😂

TW: sex toys mention, this post might be nsfw ??

So on Valentine’s Day I was attacked by a three legged dog after playing with my friend’s cats at her apartment, which was the second time in my life I’ve been attacked by a small dog ! Naturally it’s made me a little skittish around the little bitches, but anyways.

We agreed to walk down to the sex shop cuz we wanted to get a few toys. I had been dying to get a super cute sailor moon-esque plug and one of those dildos with a suction cup on the end cuz I figured out if you stick it on a skinny floor length mirror and lay it on your bed you can ride it 😏 but anyways I needed to try a bunch of stuff ! I found all that (my plug is super cute btw) plus some super cute strawberry flavored lube. The dude put all the stuff in like a small black bag so no one could see what we bought and we walked back to her apartment.

Sorry this is a long ass story 😂 but I’m getting there !!

Anyways, on the way back I was talking to her I think about aot or something, I was super into the conversation ! And a lady was passing with her dog, I didn’t even notice at first until the dog LUNGED for my leg (I think he was just gonna sniff me now) but I SCREAMED and kinda sprinted to the far side of the sidewalk, but I threw my bag when I screamed and !! Yeah sex toys flying everywhere.

It was honestly really funny I was laughing so hard 😅 the dog owner just gave me a dirty look and walked past but I was DYING on the floor, scrambling to pick up my shit before anyone else saw. And of course my friend was no help !! Just laughing at the tragedy that is my life

They didn’t really fall that far out of the bag and it was mostly funny so it wasn’t that big of a deal 😂 plus everything’s individually packaged so it’s not like it got dirty or anything

So yeah that’s my story !

wild start to finish i'm cRYING

Ran as fuck tho. Pls, the entire situation surrounding the ask, you know the one, you know who you are ;), the whole story, everythin sCREAMS RAN TO ME. Insufferable tease. He lives to make your life awkward but he is going to make your suffering so, so worth it /le eyebrow wiggle. He is very much as helpful in these situations as your friend, except with maybe a little more pointing and laughing. But eheheh

Thanks for celebrating my lil milestone lol

[pinkslashersimp]

Rules for requesting🌷💗

please do not submit the following in a request:

NSFW/Smut, i’m ace and have trauma related to sex/sexual things so my blog is going to be SFW. I absolutely do not mind at all if anyone who does write smut follows me and i’m happy to follow back but pls bear in mind i will not write smut

I will not, under any circumstance, write non-con, underage, or incest fics. i understand non-con can help victims of SA but given my blog is SFW and given now traumatising it is for survivors I will not write for or publish requests asking for non-con. underage and incest speaks for itself.

Headcanons containing graphic info. I’m very happy if you wish to request a reader who has been assaulted in the past (as done with hannibal) or a reader suffering from sh, anxiety etc but I refuse to go into graphic detail or write these themes explicitly.

Misc info for requests:

I mostly write headcanons and drabbles for characters listed here, but I am more than happy to write any fanfictions requested.

Please be aware, however, that fanfiction requests will take a while longer than headcanons.

If you don’t specify which character (eg when asking for michael, not specifying OG or RZ) I will write the more popular version for you (eg NBC hannibal and RZ michael)

You may request as many characters as you’d like but please don’t request what may be seen as too many (7+)

If you have requested anything from me and it seems it’s been a while pinky please with a cherry on top bear with me! I am a college student with a job and not a lot of time on my hands because of my course, some requests I will just get to quicker than others and some may be left for quite a while, but thank you for being so patient 🤍

- Hyde💗

[mandoalorian]

Being sick with nurse Maxwell lord pls that man can't ever cook a decent soup but who cares he's adorable

Made With Love [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Summary: Maxwell Lord takes care of his sick girlfriend and makes her 'soup'.

Rating: PG

Warnings: food mention, brief mention of blood/injury, mention of throwing up, illness and death

Word count: 2.3k

Authors note: Thank you for the request! I must admit this was quite the challenge as I don’t usually write about food in my fics but the concept of Maxwell taking care of a sick reader by cooking her soup was just too adorable.

Masterlist

Submit request

gif by @santigarcia

Maxwell didn't have many regrets. If he regretted his life decisions (even the questionable ones), he wouldn't be as successful as he was today. He always told himself to embrace his choices. But…. he did have one regret. One teeny tiny miniscule regret. And that was promising you he'd cook you some soup. Maxwell Lord, the cover boy of Forbes magazine. The man who founded Black Gold Cooperative. The same man who spoke in the White House and was on the television every night, was standing in his kitchen, before an abundance of vegetables, herbs and spices.

"I hate this." you whined, dramatically stuffing a pillow into your face as you tossed and turned in your big bed. Maxwell shuffled closer to you. He hated seeing you in pain. His heart ached. If he had one wish, it would be to swap positions with you. He'd rather deal with the flu than have you suffer before his eyes.

"I know sweetheart," he sighs, taking a wet washcloth and gently placing it on your forehead. "You have a temperature, but this might cool you down." He hadn't rinsed the flannel properly so little beads of water dripped down your face but you didn't say anything because you knew he was trying his best. If there was one thing you admired about Maxwell, it was that he always tried his hardest in everything he did.

"I already feel cold though." you shivered, pulling the thick quilted blankets further up your body. He handed you a glass of water.

"Darling, you're burning up," he shook his head sadly and you let out another whine. "Drink this slowly. It's important to stay hydrated."

"It's so unfair," you groaned before taking a sip of water. He was right, the cool liquid oozed down your throat and you felt grateful for his suggestion. "How come you never get sick?" You prodded your finger into his tummy and he chuckled lightly. "It's not funny Max."

"You're so cute," he sighs longingly, his lips curving into a smile. "I love you, you know." he boops your nose with his finger.

"Stop!" you playfully slapped his hand away from your nose but instead he cupped his palm around your cheek and nursed the side of your face, his thumb brushing across the plumpness of your lower lip.

He leaned in, the curve of his nose dragging across your skin and pressed his lips softly against yours. He didn't move, it was gentle and tender. Normally when Maxwell kissed you, it was hurried and passionate as he tried to throw your clothes to one side and pin you against a wall but this— this was like a whole new side to him. He rubbed his nose against yours and pulled away after only a few seconds.

"Your breath…." he scrunched up your nose and you gasped, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarassment. "Baby, did you throw up?" you nodded sadly and his heart fell in his chest. "Oh no baby." he soothed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and rubbing your tummy.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, now you probably have all my sick germs." you sighed. You couldn't believe how foolish you had been not to tell your boyfriend.

"No sweetheart, don't worry. The kiss was worth it," he admitted sheepishly and you smiled. "I love you." he repeated.

"Maxie, you're being so soft with me. It's not like you at all." you hummed in contentment as he peppered more kisses from your cheek, to your jaw, down your neck, and on your collarbone.

"You know, when my mother got sick," Maxwell cleared his throat. "You know, when her illness got bad. Our house chef taught me how to cook her soup. I spent three or four days practicing but… I never actually got round to giving her it. Because, you know, she passed away."

You frowned, reaching out and lacing your fingers in his hair. "Oh Max, I'm sorry." you whispered sadly, finding your hand in his and squeezing it tight.

"No, I just mean," Maxwell straightened his posture and looked you in the eye. "I hear soup heals the sick."

"I wouldn't go as far to say heals." you stifled a small laugh and he smiled at you. He loved to see you laugh and he felt even better knowing it was because of him. "Wait," you paused, looking up at your boyfriend with an excited doe-eyed expression. "Are you offering to cook me soup?"

"Wh- no," Maxwell laughed awkwardly. "Me? Cook? I don't cook. You know I don't cook. I can get Lucia to come over and make you something or, we can order some soup from the Chinese place you like-"

You shook your head. "No." you said simply, but Maxwell recognised the gleam in your eyes which showed you were thinking of something. "I want you to make me soup."

"Baby," he sighed. "I can do a lot of things. But I can't make soup. Last time I tried, I was sixteen. Was like- twenty five years ago. I don't remember."

"I'm sure if you tried…. if you got all the veggies out, the herbs and spices…. I'm sure it would come back to you." you beamed. He knew exactly where this was going and he didn't like it one bit. "I know Lucia went to the farmers market yesterday and brought in some fresh veg. I was going to cook us a romantic dinner with it but since I'm bed bound… it won't get used. Unless you make me soup."

Maxwell said your name, stern but fair. Like the way he'd talk to his colleugues or business associates. You loved it when he put on that voice with you. It made you laugh.

"Yes Mr Lord?" you teased and he tsked, booping your nose again.

"You know I can't say no to you." he sighed, standing up and brushing his tailored suit down. "It's my biggest flaw."

You were beaming, a grin covering your face. You stretched your body out and folded your arms across your chest. "Life is good… but it can be better," you did your best impression of one of your boyfriend's infomercials. His head snapped in your direction and he looked just as annoyed as he always did when you impersonated him. "...if you made me some soup." you finished and he rolled his eyes.

"Finish your water." he ordered before padding out of the bedroom and heading into the kitchen.

You smiled. You loved your boyfriend so much. He had his ways. A lot of people were frightened of him but he was different with you. The feared Maxwell Lord was your cuddly teddy bear.

And that's how Maxwell ended up in the kitchen amongst a selection of vegetables. He placed a big pot on the hob and began to heat some water. He stared into the bubbling pool of water, wondering where in your conversation about soup, he had gone wrong. Wondering why he could just never deny your wishes. The water began to spill over the pot and he quickly turned the heat down, grabbing a towel and wiping up the mess.

Okay, now he had to cut the vegetables. He took some celery and carrots and began to chop them up. It was a messy job, and he had cut up way too much. Chunks of veg in all different sizes. He sliced his finger and practically wailed in pain as he bolted to the kitchen sink and rinsed the blood away with cold water. The things he'd do for you. He was just about to find a bandaid when he caught the pot of water bubbling over again. He cursed and wrapped a paper towel around his finger— a temporary fix— before turning the flame on the hob down even more.

With his good hand (the hand that he hadn't injured), he grabbed the selection of veg and tossed it into the pan. He was so rough when he done so, the boiling hot water splashed out the pot and dampened his shirt, stinging his uncovered skin. This is why I need a house chef; he thought.

The celery began to soften in the pan, and he was unsure how long to let them cook for. How soft did they have to be? He sighed, turning back to the messy kitchen counter and taking some vegetable stock to give the soup some flavour. He figured it was easy enough to make the stock. Just add water to the powder. He doesn't know how he went wrong… he must've added too much water. And the powder was all lumpy and crumbly. He emptied the jug of veggie stock into the pan, in hope the hot water would melt the powder down— or something like that.

But it didn't. He prodded the veg around with a wooden spoon, checking to see if the celery was soft enough. He still didn't know. He thought back to the house chef from his youth who taught him how to cook soup. Maybe he could find her number and give her a call. He shrugged off the idea. She'd probably be about ninety years old now, and Maxwell was determined. He wanted to do this himself.

Whilst the celery had formed a thick green mush, the carrots hadn't softened one bit. In fact, they remained just as hard as when he cut them up, despite them sterling in the pan for at least fifteen minutes. He was baffled, to say the least. Maxwell Lord wasn't a scientist but he was sure that there was something mysterious going on. This couldn't be right.

And the vegetable stock… it was brown, watery and clumpy and stuck to the green mush. As he mixed it all together, he decided it didn't look that bad. Maxwell sighed, resting the wooden spoon to the side of the pan. He could lie to the world, but he couldn't lie to himself. It looked disgusting.

Nevertheless, he had tried. He had spent time on it. He blamed you. If you didn't like it then that was on you. You should never have believed that he could successfully make soup. He did warn you. He grabbed a ceramic bowl and began to pour the inconspicuous gloop in. He popped a bit of parsley on top and slid one of the solid gold spoons into the bowl.

He padded upstairs, carefully holding the bowl of soup, and entered your bedroom where you were sat, propped up with an abundance of pillows, awaiting your meal. You held your arms out with desire as he handed you the bowl.

"Thank you sir," you said graciously, a teasing sarcasm dripping from your tongue. You looked down at the contents of what was in the bowl and the smile practically fell from your face. "Max… what is this?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows together.

He smirked. "Soup."

You pushed it around in the bowl, eying up the rock hard pieces of carrot and grainy bits of veggie stock. "No it's not." you said cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

He knew it was disgusting. He knew you wouldn't want to eat it— but this was your game and Maxwell, as always wanted to play. "Eat it." he urged and you looked at him like he was crazy.

"Maxie…" you whined. He bit his lip, watching you shuffle around in your bed. You stuck the spoon in and filled it up with the thick green pulp. "I'll have some if you have some too."

He wasn't expecting that. "No." he grimaced, shaking his head.

"Yessss," you sounded so congested, but nevertheless you made your best attempt at a flirtation, fluttering your eyelashes, leaning into him. He felt so bad for you. Once again, he couldn't say no. He just couldn't. You licked your lips. "Open wide Maxie." you smiled, flying the spoon into his mouth. He sucked the 'soup' from the spoon and his face soured, although he done the best to hide it.

It smelt, so bad. "Delicious." he gritted out and offered you one of his charming television grins. "Your turn babydoll." he cooed, taking the spoon from your hand and digging it into the bowl.

He didn't hate you, he loved you very much, and he was already feeling bad for you. He placed the tiniest amount of the green mush on the spoon, with just one piece of hard carrot, and pushed it in between your lips. You took it like a pro, tears pricking your eyes as you swallowed it up.

"Good girl," he praised and you nudged his arm playfully. "Proud of you."

You shook your head, and stuck your tongue out jokingly. Maxwell gasped, stumbling backwards and slapping his hands over his mouth in shock.

"What!" you cried nervously. "What is it? What's wrong?!"

"Your tongue!" he yelled, dramatically pointing his finger. "It's green! It's turned green!"

"Its-" panic coursed through your veins. "It's what?!?!" you screamed and Maxwell burst into a fit of laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" he laughed.

"Maxwell Lord!" you shrieked, throwing a pillow at him. "Don't tease! You know I'm not well!"

Maxwell's lips curved into a smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you." he admitted, clambering back onto the king sized bed and crawling over you. "I love you so much."

You chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief as he pressed some more kisses into your jaw and your neck. "You're insufferable Maxwell Lord," you said. "But… I love you too." you smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him on top of you.

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer (let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! if your name is crossed it out its because i cant tag you).

[sotorubio]

hi if it’s not too much trouble do you mind elaborating on the post about the cinematography being better in s7? bc i 100% agree and have been thinking the same but also haven’t really been able to articulate why? like if someone asked me this anon i wouldn’t be able to give them specifics but i KNOW it’s different. sorry 😅

it's definitely not too much trouble i already know this is gonna be long as shit bc i have so many Thoughts on the matter

it is indeed p hard to articulate so i'll give some examples & comparisons n share my thoughts based on that!

first i think it's important to recognize the context of a show like skam. it is made to represent every-day teenagers who might enjoy but not ever relate to characters & stories on some fantasy/murder mystery shows abt teenagers. the very core of skams is realism n accuracy to real life. we as the audience are not only supposed to be onlookers of the events we're meant to feel connected to the stories n relate to the main characters.

skamfr has some VERY beautiful shots if u look at them independently. if someone just showed me a screenshot of one of them i'd be like wow! that's stunning! but that's not what i'm supposed to feel when it comes to skams. if i go watch an artistic full length movie at the theaters i Do want to see beautiful shots that look like art n have a lot of symbolism behind them but when i watch skam i'm supposed to think "that could be me. that looks like my life" i'm not a lowly spectator who could never have such a beautiful life but instead the audience should see their lives directly put on screen.

skam france has been rly consistent w it tho! it's been their brand since like season 3.. but it did get worse in s5 & 6 i think bc they started to try too hard for original storylines. i think it's very intentional n if they were making another show i wouldn't say it's bad rly (altho sometimes it is that too bc they try too hard fmgjkd). out of context a lot of their cinematography works bc they usually tie it into the plot to represent the events but they just picked the wrong style for a web series. like babes u are not submitting this to the academy pls chill.

now let me introduce u to the most despicable shot in skam history (in my humble opinion)

HELLO??

now before anyone says. yes i know this sequence of shots has a purpose. this is exactly what i mean that if it was some other show w different goals it wouldn't be such an issue bc yeah this looks great right? it's a "sensory clip" we r supposed to "hear" what it's like to be deaf n specifically what it's like for arthur. but.

let's put this into skam context. we as the audience should see ourselves in arthur, not necessarily entirely but we should feel he's just like us, a teenager w his own unique struggles & life experiences. now tell me, when u feel depressed or sad or have had the worst week of ur life n u must drag urself to the shower... is this what it feels like? first of all do u take the shower in the fucking dark???? just for the aesthetic?? do u stand DIRECTLY in the middle letting the water hit u exactly on the top of ur head forming a symmetrical shade on u while u just... stand there. do u feel like ur ascending in the shower as u dramatically raise ur chin literally what the actual fuck is this. don't get me wrong sometimes u just actually do stand there doing nothing bc u just feel so horrible but that's not rly the feeling this clip awakens?

this leans a bit into the romanticization of arthur's season which wouldn't be as bad (still cringy but not as bad) if arthur had already accepted himself at this point but no he's basically suffering in the shower n we are looking at him like wow that's so pretty. let's imagine how we could make this clip feel more real n how we could actually see ourselves in him here:

stop making ur main characters of the season the main characters of the world. just bc arthur is feeling terrible doesn't mean the whole world imitates his feelings. in a symbolic movies masterpiece it would but not in a concept like skam. one of the worst things abt feeling terrible is seeing how the world just goes on around u. imagine how real it would feel like if he was in the shower w the generic yellowish light on that a lot of bathrooms have. we could see his silhouette slouching in the shower through a shower screen. or maybe a shot similar to the example pics but the ugly lights are on n the water is annoyingly dripping in his eyes & he doesn't look like they're trying to give him a halo n make him into a jesus archetype. the bathroom would look the same it looks on a rly happy day or a boring day bc this day only sucks for arthur n the universe isn't gonna come to his house to give him a cool background bc of it

same w this comparison

two underwater shots, both rly pretty & heavy on symbolism but the other one is literally waiting for those "this looks like a renaissance painting" comments n the other is rly pretty but still looks like real life humans who r not doing a photo shoot for vogue. which do u find more relatable? which situation makes u think Yeah that's real life?

like look at this camera position of "barely above water" this is like.. almost "ugly" but it's so fucking real n probably closest to the feeling of a first person point of view shot that u can get to

now the s7 camera decisions seem sooooo much better compared to all this. they have a lot of time to still make super dramatic shots that distance the viewer from the story line but so far so good. maybe they'll pick this up again to make the world revolve around tiff as she faces hardships but let's hope not 🙃

i genuinely love this shot like it's super down to earth & feels real but they have still easily kept in the symbolism. like tiff is literally putting walls between others n herself. jo feels like she's literally talking to a wall. tiff feels alone & secluded even tho someone is in the same room as her. yet they didn't have to make it look like smth out of an obscure indie film whose purpose is to have the audience in awe instead of representing them.

yeah the first person point of view of jo going in and out of frame while doing sit ups mightve been weird or cringy but 1. that's skam for y'all & 2. i'll choose that any day over arthur ascending like jesus in the shower.

[bluealmondpie]

haikyuu boyfriends~

ah i missed writing these but i had no inspiration recently (;-;) work has been rough. so let drown in fluffy love

some spoilers for non manga readers. a small small hint of oihina. bc i love them. i want them together all the time. i've already written their bf!hcs so now i can freely ship them. leave me to my OTP

bf!iwa chan~

* calm vibes

* think strong, protective bf? yeah that's the good stuff lol

* tbh, he was probably worried at first that u were getting close to him cos u liked oikawa, that happens fairly often so he didn't wanna get his hopes up

* but once that barrier's knocked down (idk maybe u hit him like ITS U I LIKE BOKE totally his love language hahahha and he realises like oh. OH) he's pretty happy.

* will b all like :p to oikawa cos he's got a nice, steady partner while he's over there getting dumped repeatedly (see? told u u shld give them more attention. u can't just go around accepting everyone's confession! you'll hurt people if you don't take them seriously, trashykawa)

* anyway he (like oikawa) plans dates in secret, mostly because 1. one time makki and mattsun found out, they followed him around making snarky comments and there was no second date and 2. oikawa has a tendency to crash his dates (he's trying to hide from his fans, and iwachaaaaaaan u choose the most boring places, they will never find me in a museum of all plac-OW OW OW STOP HITTING ME)

* yes so anyway iwaizumi is forever trying to yeet oikawa out of your relationship, but at this point you've probably accepted that they come as a comedic duo and u cannot escape.

* if u call iwaizumi iwachan, he will grumble about being corrupted by shittykawa and it's not fair that when they say it it's so cute

* wholesome boi. responsible af. will text u throughout the day, making sure u ate properly or work isn't too rough.

* when you're stressed out he will somehow find some time to appear in front of you with snacks (healthy ones!) and some sweet drinks, or coffee

* he also does randomly turn up with flowers. totally randomly. it makes your day ♪( ´▽｀)

* "i just saw them and thought it would look nice in your hands" so soft i cry in solidarity w u

* will hold you while you cry. when you calm down and go to wash your face he will make u a hot drink. you will b touched and cry again and he will tell not to cry into the cup while pulling you back into his arms.

* will send you to the doctor's if you're sick. will constantly text you to make sure u r resting and taking medication properly. will also drop by with food, store bought, but something healthy and easy to eat.

* he likes museum dates cos it's quiet. after all, he is training a team of explosive and loud volleyball idiots with no idea how loud they are talking. bokuto pls for the love of god SHUT UP! MIYA STOP FLIRTING WITH HINATA! HYAKUZAWA STOP HIM NO NO NOT BY LIFTING HINATA UP WHY ARE U ALL JUST SO THICK HEADED WELL?? PUT HIM DOWN U BIG DOOFUS. hinata has oikawa already anyway AND NO. HOSHIUMI IF U GET ON ANYONES SHOULDERS I AM KNOCKING U OFF PERSONALLY iwa chan is suffering (;-;) you r his refuge

* SO YEAH. a nice calm place away from all of that fuss is great. walks in the park, things like that. calming, quiet, and all his focus can b on you.

* he is generally not a pda person, but he will hold your hand and all. makki and mattsun have made a lot of bets on what kind of bf he is and constantly bug you about well? how good is the sex!!! and things like that (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

* yes so iwaizumi doesn't let u hang out with them anymore, such a pity really bc they r so fun to b around. pout a little and sulk and he will give in ♪( ´▽｀)

* he doesn't like it when u come to his matches. he will text you before and after tho. he doesn't use emojis.

* he's the type who doesn't back down in an argument. u hate to admit it but he is right most of the time. curse his logic. this perfect man. how could he b so flawless

* ofc there are times where he is illogical. he sometimes is too hard on himself. or when oikawa is around you know the average mental age of the seijoh boys drop. which means many strange shenanigans, but those are cute.

* he likes it when you comfort him, but he doesn't like you to know when he is stressed. what a bag of contradictions. basically he doesn't want you to know he is stressed, but you can tell cos he just wants you to hold him or he just holds you (you have no choice in this basically but let's face it you're probably ok with it right hahahah be i am 100% down to be enveloped by a warm iwa-chan and those yummy muscles). he will tell you the problem later, but he doesn't need a solution, he just wants someone to hear him out.

* loyal af, will never leave you. sometimes insecure, but reassure him. i mean, has he seen himself??? he had his fair share of fangirls too back in seijoh but most were the more quiet, serious types. and most were too shy to approach him, too

* he likes to nuzzle his face into your hair.

* fav place to kiss you: temple

* fav place to be kissed: soft cheek kisses, eye kisses, forehead kisses. pepper him with them. make him feel loved ♪( ´▽｀)

* anyway 10/10 boyfriend material hurry and get him while stocks last lololol

*******

requests are open! send me anything or stop to say hi (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

EDIT: this post has issues with keeping the hyperlinks there! they keep disappearing and ive already submitted a request to tumblr support, but meanwhile i've posted a masterlist and it seems to be working so check it out okay! i wanted to link it here but i'm p sure it's not going to let me do as i like. (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾