#posting at this hour because to those who know the struggle i had this past week

[uravichii]

"best friends who kiss?"

character/s: bakugo katsuki

summary: recently, your best friend has been kissing you at random times. you have no idea why because he refuses to talk about it. either way, you're not about to let this to ruin your precious friendship.

genre & trope: fluff, best friends to lovers, angry confessions, reader is terrified of love but bakugo wants them so bad 😁, tw kind of ooc bakugo

a/n: i've been watching a lot of pride & prejudice and bridgerton scenes n i'm now obsessed angry confessions 🤩 + this is heavily inspired by that scene in little women :) ALSO i haven't posted in a year 😟 so pls be nice ik my writing's rusty in this :'D

the first time bakugou katsuki kissed you, he pretended he never did.

"what... " you brush your fingers against your bottom lip, your whole face hot. "what the hell was that for?"

"what?" bakugo shrugs, feigning innocence as he takes a swig of his soda.

you try and trace back the events that could have led to the kiss.

you said something along the lines of: "i wish i had a boyfriend. i could definitely pull a cute guy off the street."

then you heard him scoff and say: "no man's sane enough to put up with your insufferable ass." ーor something more insulting than that.

you can't remember what you said in response, and you rack your brain to figure out what prompted him to grab your face and kiss you. it's impossible when all you can think about is the unexpected supple feel of his lips, its faint ghost still lingering on yours.

"that kiss, katsuki! you violated my mouth!"

"dunno what you're talking about. you hit your head or something?"

you blink and second-guess yourself for a second.

"okay, no. you're not gonna gaslight your way out of this." you swat his arm, earning an irked glare from him. "why the hell did you kiss me?"

"you're imagining things, idiot. this stupid game's givin' ya some serious brain damage for sure."

he stands up and swings his bag over his shoulder.

"where are you going? we're not done yetー!"

and he's out of the door.

was he drunk off his soda? maybe he kissed you to mess with your head. he's not that cruel though, you think. maybe he couldn't think of any other way to shut you upー that was something he always struggled with after all.

at least the second time bakugo katsuki kissed you, he was kind enough to warn you.

after enduring the most awkward hour-long study session with him, you decide to put an end to your agony by wrapping it up. you start gathering your things when he stops you with a calloused hand on your wrist.

"what?" you turn to him, your cheeks already heating up from his touch.

there are no thoughts you could read behind those vermillion eyes, and all of a sudden, you don't know your best friend very well anymore.

he walks some tentative steps closer to you until the back of your knees hit the table. he cradles your jaw with such delicacy you didn't even know he was capable of. he slips past your awaiting lips and presses his nose on the side of your head, his warm breath kissing your flushed skin.

"punch me in the face and scram if you don't want this, got it?"

you gulp and forget to answer if not for the gentle squeeze on your wrist. "y/n, you got it?"

"s-sure."

when you two kiss, it's different from last time. it's unhurried, curious, and so intoxicating. the kiss speaks: 'i want you. i want you. i want you' but whose thoughts are these?

he groans into your lips as if to urge you to keep up with the sheer hungriness that has consumed him. you try your best to do so as he deepens the kiss with a palm on the back of your head and practically drinks you in. he doesn't pull away until he hears the tiny whine that escapes you.

"shit, sorry." he mutters, avoiding your stunned gaze.

"t's okay."

"did i hurt you?" the quiet lilt of his voice surprises you.

"no, no. i'm okay, but why'd you ki��"

"bye." he blurts out as he turns to the door and leaves, as if he didn't just invaded your mouth and permanently tainted the years of friendship you two have had. you click your tongue as the heat subsides in your cheeks.

"son of a bitch."

the third time bakugo katsuki kissed you, you let him, and he didn't stop.

you had barely escaped death when you lost your footing while sparring with todoroki. naturally, bakugo yelled the poor guy's ear off and would have murdered him if eraserhead hadn't interfered at the last second.

now, you find yourself heaving in your bed. you don't know whether your hastened pulse is from the adrenaline rush or from the fact that bakugo is all over you right now.

he's planting feather-light kisses all over youー your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your eyelids, your hands, and your wrist, as panicked murmurs spill out of him in between kisses. 'you scared the hell out of me. you have no idea, fuck. are you okay? are you really okay? tell me you're okay, y/n.'

"i'm okayー" you barely manage to gasp before he dips his lips into yours, desperate and frantic. tremulous hands find solace in your hips as he holds you, gentle enough not to mar your injuries but snug enough to assure his restless heart that you are safe.

your head feels hazy. your limbs ache and lie motionless, and though your lips could barely move to reciprocate his kisses as much as you wanted to, bakugo didn't stop. you tried to ask him about it the next morning, but of course, he ignored you and walked away.

you don't know when he stopped kissing you that night. all you know is that there was a line that was crossed, and your friendship was never going to be the same again.

bakugo katsuki is going to kiss you again. your heart thrums incessantly. whether it's dread or anticipationー you don't know.

you think about the sensation of his lips that's become so familiar to you that you've learned to crave it. it shouldn't be familiar to you, and you sure as hell shouldn't want it. so you do what you think is necessary.

you kick him in the shin.

"motherfー!" sure enough, he's pissed. "what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"i was going toー"

"no! you're not gonna kiss me again and walk away and pretend it never happened. you're messing with my head, katsuki! it's not funny!"

"wasn't trying to be funny!" he barks back.

"okay, so what exactly are you trying to do? what is this? i meanー" you stammer, struggling to find the words. "katsuki, what are we?"

he sighs and shifts his stance, his discomfort apparent. when the silence lingers on for too long, you speak.

"well, whatever it is that you want from me, we're going to stay friends. nothing more, nothing less. that's it." your breath hitches, and you don't know why you feel like crying as you speak. "... so i don't want your stinky mouth anywhere on me again."

silence weighs heavily between you. sometimes you wish you didn't know him too well, then the hurt he veils in his eyes wouldn't be so plain and vivid to you, and you would have walked away by now without an ounce of remorse.

"i like you, y/n." is all he could say when he finally speaks.

you shake your head. "no, you're just confused."

"i'm not confused. i like you."

"katsuki, you've been bitchless all your life, and i'm just the closest thing to a s/o. maybe go take a walk or something."

"i like you." he persists. "i've liked your stupid ass forー"

"stop saying that. you don't."

"i do, and you like me tooー"

"what?!" you laugh incredulously.

'who does this dumbass think he is?' is he right? surely, he's not. then what are you so afraid of in the first place? why have you been counting down the days until he kisses you again? why do you yearn for his touch as if it's something you own? why do you feel so infuriated and so tormented when he leaves the room after kissing you?

you do what is necessary again.

"you're delusional!" you yell at his face, a childish shrill that's awfully familiar to your childhood best friend.

"jesus christ." he inhales sharply in frustration. "you're a fucking pussy, y/n."

you clench your jaw and match his glare. anger surges in your chest and bleeds into your voice.

"i'm not the one who chickens out after kissing their best friend! you can't even acknowledge the fact that you kissed me because you'reー!"

"do you think i want to chicken out? why do you think i run away after kissing you?! if i stayed and confessed all this shit the first time, you would've refused to hear it like the damn coward you are!" he leans close to you, his voice lowering into a ragged snarl that quickens your pulse. "and you're just proving it right now, y/n. you're always going to shut this down and deny your feelings because you're a fucking pussy. you're terrified of relationships, and it's dumbest shit ever. pathetic, really."

you rear back from his words. if anything, you always thought it was katsuki who was afraid of love. now, you can't help but feel small and vulnerable underneath his searing gaze.

"it's not dumb..." you shuffle uncomfortably. "what, i'm supposed to ruin our friendship for a relationship that we're going to break off anyway?"

"we're not going to break it off."

"how do you know that?"

"because i'll be the best goddamn boyfriend in the world!"

"first of all, gross." you scoff. "second of all, it's never gonna work out! you're going to get sick of me in three days max."

"i've known you since we were brats, and i still want you."

"you literally said no man's sane enough to put up with my obnoxious ass."

he smirks. "i said 'insufferable ass'."

"katsuki!" you fight the urge to strangle him and punch that stupid smile off his face.

"wasn't even serious that time." he grimaces and reluctantly continues. "you know damn well you can pull any guy you want, and he'd be the luckiest bastard on earth."

if it were any other day, you'd grin at him and say 'i told you so,' but your lips remain unmoved, and your eyes stay dim. you're afraid you'll never go back to being the same katsuki and y/n again.

"this is pointless, katsuki. i mean, look! we're already fighting." you grouch and tell yourself you don't want this. "i still don't want us to happen so while this friendship is still salvable, let's agree to stay friends, and whatever sappy shit you feel for meー suck it up."

in one swift motion, he closes the distance between you, his face hovering dangerously over yours.

"suck it up?" he breathes, his face taut in frustration. "restraining myself from you is the hardest shit i've ever had to do. it takes everything in me not to kiss your stupid face!"

he shudders, weakly resting his forehead against yours as if this conversation alone has exhausted him. still, he goes on.

"and everytime i failedー everytime i kissed those lips, it was... a moment of weakness, but that's the fucking problemー you're just..." he buries his face into the crook of your neck, a desperate attempt to escape your wide-eyed gaze. "i'm weak for you, y/n. every second. and it drives me fucking insane that you keep running away from me."

he rises to meet your eyes again. the cadence of his voice changes into something weak and desperate, stripped of all the pride and anger he's ever known.

"i love youー fuck. i love you." he lets the words hang in the air, letting the words hear itself spoken because for once, you're not stopping him. "i love you, so please... let me."

after much thought and another agonizing minute of silence, you lean in to kiss bakugo katsuki.

he kisses back almost instantly and revels in the way you wrap your arms around his neck and bear your weight on him completely. he kisses back ardently, his pent-up desires and years of longing etched in the way he seeks your lips, kiss after kiss after kiss.

when you finally pull away, you're met with a devilish smirk, his begging eyes long gone. you wonder to yourself when you'll see those eyes again.

"took ya long enough." he kisses you again. he raises a brow at the way you're caging him in your arms. "jesus, no one's gonna snatch me from you."

"i'm making sure you don't run away again, dumbass."

"i won't." he says earnestly as he props his forehead against yours. "and you won't either. i'll make sure of that."

you nod your head with a giddy smile as he pecks your lips again.

"so..." you say as you exaggerate a pensive look, a cheeky grin spreading across your face. "we're best friends who occasionally kiss?"

he rolls his eyes. "you're impossible."

"recite that speech again, and i'll consider calling you my boyfriend."

"fuck off!"

TAGLIST [1/2] @uxavity @joy-the-reader @kiiraes @escapenightmare @afk-dreaminq @avocamich @theboredvee @wonderwrench @ur-local-simp @p-ol @x0xuglyh0tgrl2005xoxo @cosmonettica @melin-oe @mitzi127 @lilac-o @r2katsu @bakucumsackslut @idunnomynamesince2005 @astralwaifu @taurus852 @creepyproxies @maycat-19-142 @stella-fleurets @veenxys @devilgirlcrybabiey @drawingaddict @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @lexiv-web @angelshimaa @izukus-gf @christiansdior @homosexualjohnwayne @uwiuwi @hirugummies @cupidines @loveisningning (bold couldn't be tagged)

[callsign-rogueone]

rest

Brennan Sorrengail x chronically ill reader words: 2.5k 🏷: gender neutral reader, use of nicknames sweetheart and honey, implied past FWB-type relationship between reader and Bren. descriptions of pain and sickness (congrats, u now have my symptoms), downward-spiral of self-deprecating thoughts, reader shaming themself for being weak / ill, one (1) suggestion that reader wants to die but they don’t mean it, confessions of love, cuddles.  this may be the most self-serving thing I’ve ever written. I wrote it to process my grief and anger about my current situation, but I figured I’d post it for the Brennan girlies and anyone who feels like I do right now and could use a handsome mender boyfriend to make it all better.

The gentle movement of the mattress and the smell of smoke and soap and leather wakes you from your nap — Brennan is back. You roll over to face him, every muscle in your body protesting the movement. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispers, brushing the hair from your forehead with gentle fingers. “How are you feeling?”

“Same old,” you murmur. 

He lays a hand on your forearm, and the pain dulls. You know better now than to let him block it off completely — he’d done that once before, but when he let go, it was unbearable. 

Better to sit with it, not get used to any relief — it’ll only hurt you further when it all comes back, knock the breath right from your lungs and leave you in a heap on the floor, a mess of knots for him to untangle.

He’s done enough for you already. He does enough for everyone. Never anything for himself. Or if he does, you never see it.

“Was worried about you,” he says softly, still stroking your hair.

The idea of him worrying about you makes you feel sicker than you already are, but a different kind of sick. Guilty, maybe. Disgusted — not with him, but with yourself, for being so fucking weak and needy and such a crybaby. You’re a dragon rider, for gods’ sakes. 

Or you used to be. You haven’t acted like one in months, and haven’t felt like one for longer than that. 

You’d accepted that you’d never fly again, or told yourself that you accepted it, three months ago.

“I can keep fixing the damage, but I don’t know if I can fix what’s causing it,” Brennan had told you in a whisper late one night in this same room, holding you as if he was afraid to let go, that you’d crack and splinter even further if he wasn’t pressing the pieces of you together. 

You used to be able to hold yourself together. You used to be able to do a lot of things. To spar with him, to run with your squad and mount a dragon, swim in the ice-cold streams of Tyrrendor with your friends on days off, to spend hours tangled up in bed with him after lights-out, exerting yourselves in other ways.

But then something came and ruined it all.  You still don’t know what it was — is. It didn’t come quickly — not one big wave that drowned you, not an assailant that shattered bone and sliced through tissue, but a gradual decline that you didn’t notice until it was too late. 

No, you definitely noticed. You just didn’t want to believe it. You made up excuses for everything— reassurances, placating remarks, designed to convince yourself and those around you that there wasn’t anything wrong with you.

You couldn’t sleep through the night, but that was because of the awful things you’d seen that day. But then they started happening even if you hadn’t left the barracks, even if you hadn’t witnessed any horrible sights in weeks.

You couldn’t hold on to your daggers tightly enough, struggled to grip a pen, but that was because you’d injured your hand — but that was only one hand, and months ago. Brennan had mended it for you within minutes of the injury.

Your entire body was aching, all the time, but that was normal with how much riders were required to exert themselves. You just can’t move like you did when you were younger. You aren’t a kid anymore.

But no amount of rest days, no ice or heat or elevation seemed to be enough to recover. That’s the worst of it, really. Being stuck in bed, not by doctor’s orders, not because you physically can’t get up, but because you can’t do anything outside of this room.

Not without pain, anyway, and not without pitying looks and whispered questions about what happened to you — the very same Captain that had rescued an entire squad from certain doom just last year, the most powerful air-wielder in two generations — and concerned words from your colleagues, who miss you, and tell them if you need anything, okay? They’re here for you.

But are they really your colleagues anymore? Is Deòir really your dragon anymore? He hardly speaks to you these days. He’s just too kind to admit that he’s just waiting for you to die, so he can move on, and find a new rider.

Maybe kind isn’t the right word, but you can’t think of a better one right now. It’s hard to think of anything other than how tired and uncomfortable you are.

You used to be top of the class, and now you’re struggling to form complete sentences.

“Talk to me,” Brennan coaxes, still gazing down at you, softness in his eyes.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you whisper. 

“What?”

“I know we were… involved for a while,” you say carefully, “but you don’t need to do this for me anymore. You can’t keep worrying about me. It takes up too much time that you just don’t have. You’re running a revolution; you have more important shit to do than to play nurse.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks softly. “What happened while I was away?”

“Nothing happened, Brennan. Nothing ever happens in my life anymore, because I spend my entire day, every day, laying here, wishing I was dead.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, but it’s too late. The words are out in the air, and he’s heard them. “I didn’t mean…” you whisper, “I don’t want to die, I just…”

Tears fill your already-blurred vision, but you can see him in front of you, the mass of his chest and shoulders, the slow movement of his arms reaching out to wrap around you and hold you close, to guide you up into his lap.

“I’m just so tired,” you sob, too-long fingernails digging into the black leather of his jacket, your hands too weak to hold on to him properly. “I’m so tired of being tired, and in pain, and feeling useless.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes. “I’ll keep looking. We can look together. We’ll figure out what this is, and how to fix it.”

“We’ve read every book in the library,” you sniff. “We’ve talked to every healer we know.”

“There are other libraries, and other healers,” he replies, as if it’s that simple, that easy. You suppose to him, it is that easy. To him, everything is easy. He’s not the one wasting away here, you are.

Wasting away. Crumbling. Deteriorating.  

Decaying.

“Why aren’t you giving up?” you ask quietly. “I’ve given up. Deò has, too. He hasn’t spoken to me in days.”

You know the answer, and it makes you feel sick, but you need to hear it.

Maybe that’s selfish of you, to make him declare it out loud to you, to your face, when you very well might not be alive this time next year to celebrate an anniversary — not that you’d be able to do much celebrating if you were. But that little part of you, the only part that’s left of the old you, from the reality where this could work, needs it — needs him. 

“Deò hasn’t given up on you. He went with us, as backup — that’s why he wasn’t responding. And I haven’t given up, either. I’ll never give up, because I love you,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you for years, and I’ll keep loving you as long as I live, and well into whatever afterlife I earn, if such a thing exists.”

You loose another sob, your nails scraping the leather as you cling to him tighter, your anchor in this storm, your lifeline, hiding your face in his neck and letting three months worth of tears continue to fall. 

“I’m not going to let go,” he soothes, laying a hand over yours, that’s still feebly clutching at the sleeve of his jacket. “Not until you ask me to.”

You release your grip, the ache lessening as you do, but your knuckles still throb with every beat of your heart; another reminder that even just existing is painful, that your body can’t even move blood around without complaint.

“There you go. Just breathe with me, honey. Nice and slow.”

You don’t know how long you spend there, trying to steady your breathing. Time has seemed to run together lately, somehow both fast and slow — that happens when you lose your routine, and spend half of a normal person’s waking hours asleep, and normal sleeping hours lying awake, enveloped in pain. He continues to murmur praises to you all the while; sweet, reassuring words that you don’t really process. 

“Do you want to lay down?” he asks after a while, his voice soft and gentle. 

He’s always so gentle with you. Endlessly patient, and endlessly caring.

You nod, thoroughly exhausted— the crying had zapped any energy you’d had left. You feel like a little kid again, soft and confused and small. 

Fragile. 

You’re still in your pajamas, anyway, still in bed. You’d only gotten out of it once today, to use the bathroom, but you’d forced yourself to brush your teeth while you were in there, leaning on the counter for stability all the while. That’s your idea of success and productivity these days.

“Okay. Let me take my boots off, hm?” — You nod, pulling back to let him get up. — “Alright. Can I get you anything? Water?”

You shake your head. “Just you,” you whisper. 

“I can do that.” Jacket, boots, and pants off, he settles in with you, letting you cozy up to him in a position that feels the most comfortable— or the least uncomfortable, really. He starts stroking your hair again in soft, slow motions, the weight and warmth of his scarred palm soothing your headache.

It occurs to you that you’d never responded to his declaration — the one you’d needed so badly that you’d nearly asked for it outright — you’d just clung to him and cried, and he’d held you, even though you hadn’t said it back. He’d stroked your hair and calmed you down from your grief over the life you no longer have and can never return to.

He’s still holding you, still dulling the pain in your body and in your soul.

“I love you, Bren,” you murmur. “M’sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve known for a long time.”

“Really?”

He hums softly. “Oh, yeah. Years and years. Since you nearly broke my jaw in challenges and then insisted on personally escorting me to the infirmary.”

You laugh at the memory. “I felt so guilty about that. I didn’t want to hurt you at all. I was pulling my punches.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “It certainly didn’t feel like it.”

There’s a soft pause before he speaks again, hesitant, like he doesn’t want to bring it up again now that your tears have dried, but he knows you haven’t forgotten the pain. You’ll never forget this pain for the rest of your life, even if it goes away.

“When I was in Poromiel, I talked to a healer there who‘s seen something like this before. She wrote down as much as she could before I left, and she promised to ask around and send more information through the boys when they do their next drop-off.”

You cuddle into him closer, ignoring the ache in your back as you do. “Thank you, Bren. I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I guess… I’m just still not used to being taken care of. I know it’s dumb, but it makes me feel worse sometimes, even though it’s helping.”

“That’s how I felt,” he says quietly. You both know what he’s talking about— his recovery from being shot in the battle of Aretia, from dying and being brought back to life. “It was always me taking care of the girls when we were young. I was never the one who needed taking care of. It felt wrong, and I felt guilty, and mad at myself for needing the help. But you wouldn’t take no for an answer. You made an excellent nurse, if a little scary.”

“I was scared myself. Seeing you like that…” You swallow. “That’s when I knew that I loved you — you don’t know what you have ‘til it’s gone, I guess.”

“I am very much not gone,” he scoffs, offended. 

“Fine. Slipping away from you,” you correct. 

“Not doing that either. I’m staying right here.” He lays a kiss on the top of your head. “And we are going to have a nice long nap, and then I’m going to draw you a warm bath and make us some dinner, because I like taking care of you, because I love you, and because you deserve it. Okay?”

“Okay.” Another pause while you work up the courage. “Bren?” you ask softly.

“Yes, my love?”

The sweet name is enough encouragement to say it. “Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He holds you in place with a gentle hand on your back, leaning his head down to meet you. You tilt your chin up, your noses brushing.

“This feels familiar,” he muses. “Very familiar.”

You roll your eyes lazily. “If you’re going to be all smug about it, then you don’t get a kiss.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

You rest a hand on his jaw, guiding him closer. Your fingers twitch and shake, but he holds them steady, his hand pressing yours against the stubbled skin gently — a silent statement that he’s not going anywhere, and he’s ready when you are.

Endlessly patient.

The kiss isn’t desperate and hungry like they had been before your affliction had started, when surges of need and emotion had led you into each other’s beds two nights a week — you aren’t taking from each other now, you’re giving. It’s gentle. Sweet, loving, reassuring.

Each soft movement is a promise, a whispered oath — he’s here, and he isn’t leaving. He’s determined to figure this out and fix it, with you.

You don’t need anything more than that.

He takes your hand, moving it from his jaw to his mouth — kissing your palm. “I love you,” he repeats, pressing his lips to your knuckles. “You’re important to me,” again, to the back of your hand, “and we will get you the help you need. But for now we both just need to rest.”

“Thank you.”

“Always,” he responds, helping you tuck yourself back into his arms, and pulling the blanket up over you both. 

“Goodnight, child,” Deò says softly. “I love you. We will get through this together.”

You’re a little surprised by the declaration — he’s never told you anything like this before — but you return it nonetheless. “Love y’too,” you murmur.

Sleep comes to you easily, and this time, you have a good dream.

[delulujuls]

birds of a feather | joost klein

hi, its me again. i know its been a hot minute since i posted here but literally i have no idea when the past month left.

anyway, im alive and i finally got a chance to write something, so here it is. its nothing that i used to post here i guess, but i it means a lot to me. while writing this i remembered all of those dark days that i managed to survive. and i guess, joost himself did too.

please, if you struggle with mental health or you just dont feel good at that moment, i do not recommend to read this. feel free to text me if you need to talk to someone.

remember that you are not alone. you can get trough everything as long as you have you.

je bent sterker dan je denkt

summary: joost is struggling with his mental health, but so do reader. but together its a bit easier to go through storm and its even better to look at the rainbow with someone dear by your side.

warnings: struggling with depression, ed, parents loss

pairing: fem!bff!reader x joost klein

Snow fell throughout the night, so the next morning, all of Leeuwarden woke up under a heavy, white blanket.

However, some didn’t get the chance to wake up because they hadn’t managed to close their eyes at all. One of those people was a girl laying down with open eyes in her dark room.

Despite having no desire, motivation, or strength, after a while she sat up in bed more than an hour before her alarm was set to go off. She wrapped herself in the blanket and closed her aching eyes. It felt as if someone had poured two bags of sand under her eyelids.

Her room was in complete darkness, with only the warm, yellow light from a streetlamp filtering in through the uncovered window. The whole house was silent, and nothing outside suggested that anyone else existed in the world but her. She could hear her tear-stuck eyelashes pulling apart with each blink.

She sighed heavily and rubbed her face with her hands before finally getting out of bed. She couldn’t afford to skip class; she had already accumulated too many absences recently. The last thing she wanted was to deal with her teacher, who kept repeating the same thing over and over— that she should talk to her parents, that she would call in a psychologist. Just let me live, woman, she thought. Or better yet, let me die.

With a soft groan of displeasure, the girl pulled off her warm sweats and quickly put on an uncomfortably cold shirt and hoodie. The jeans she put on were also unpleasantly cold and stiff. The chill around her cut to the bone.

When she went to the bathroom and turned on the light, she squinted with a grimace. She shuffled over to the mirror and looked at her reflection. Nothing surprising stared back at her. Puffy, red eyes from crying, chapped lips, and skin irritated from a runny nose. She sighed and looked down, tying up her hair and turning on the tap, trying to make herself somewhat presentable.

When she finished, she didn’t look much better. The last thing she felt like doing was putting on makeup. A shower from the previous evening was the best she could manage. Before going downstairs, she grabbed her backpack and phone, glancing at the screen. Beside the clock, it was empty. Worried that maybe WhatsApp had failed, she opened the app and clicked on her last conversation. Joost hadn’t replied to her messages since the night before. She sighed and shoved the phone into her pocket. She knew she wouldn’t go straight home after class.

Not feeling like eating breakfast, she simply put on her shoes, jacket, and left the house. It was even colder outside, so she pulled her hood over her head and wrapped herself in a scarf. She couldn’t wear gloves—how else would she change songs, she thought, putting her tangled earphones in.

Even more snow had fallen than it seemed when looking out the window. It was still early, so the streets were covered in snow. The walk to the bus stop was exhausting. When she finally reached it, she realized she still had plenty of time to spare. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and took a drag. She pulled out her phone from the other pocket, changed the song, and opened her conversation with Joost again. Nothing had changed.

you could at least read my messages. that way, id know if you were alive 06:50

She typed with frozen fingers, holding the cigarette between her lips. The girl exhaled the smoke and sent the message, glancing at the cracked screen of her phone with faint hope. Nothing.

The phone that received the message vibrated on the bed. Its owner, however, wasn’t there but on the floor. Joost lay on the ground, staring at the ceiling. He tried to focus on breathing. Only on breathing. Only on surviving.

He had no idea what time it was, how long he had been lying there. Had he made it through the night, or was it still yesterday, or maybe already tomorrow? On both sides of his head were small, wet spots from the tears that had spilled from his heavy eyelids. He was like a defeated, fallen Gulliver, his tears carving out lakes.

He didn’t feel the cold, didn’t feel the pain in his back. He didn’t feel how badly his head hurt from crying or the emptiness in his stomach. He couldn’t remember when he last ate something warm, despite his sister and brother's urging, when he last took a shower, or held his phone. When was the last time he actually spoke to someone? A few hours ago? Or last month?

If looks could drill holes, there would already be a small but precise one in his ceiling. Only when he heard a knock on the door did he snap out of it. It was morning, and his room was filled with light. He had survived the night.

“I’m heading to work, want a ride to school?” his sister’s voice came from behind the door.

It took him about five seconds to remember how his vocal cords worked.

“No, I’ll manage.”

“Are you planning to stay home?”

Silence. On both sides of the door.

“I don’t want to have your school on my back, okay? You’ll go back to class after the weekend.”

Joost sighed in relief, closing his eyes.

“Thanks, really.”

“There’s breakfast on the table,” he heard her footsteps fade away. “Eat something!”

At that moment, he regained consciousness. With great effort, he managed to sit up and lean his back against the bed. He rubbed his face with his hands and clenched his fists in his hair. After a moment, he sighed and looked ahead. The clock on the bedside table showed a few minutes before eight. He hadn’t even heard whether his brother had returned from the night shift. It was as if he’d been in a trance all night, focused only on the passing seconds, taking minute by minute, hour by hour.

When he managed to climb back into bed, he pressed his cheek against the cold pillow and instinctively reached for the phone lying nearby. In the flood of notifications, he noticed more than ten messages from his friend. He felt a pang of guilt.

He swiped and entered their conversation.

you know we can always talk. you dont have to deal with this all on your own 00:21

i know. thanks 00:46

That was the last message he had replied to.

apparently you dont know, because youre doing it again 00:54

you always shut yourself off and dont let anyone in. why cant you understand that you matter to someone? 00:55

you act like youre deliberately torturing yourself, like you purposely want to take on all the fucking pain and show that only you are suffering. surprise, youre not the only one 01:00

im sorry. i didnt mean it like that. its just been hard for me too lately, and im worried about you. i didnt want to say that. im sorry.. 01:12

i want to help you, but i dont know how. how am i supposed to do that if you wont let me? 01:18

i cant imagine losing you, do you understand? 01:19

for fucks sake, theyd bury us together. i couldnt make it without you 01:20

let me help you, please. or at least dont shut me out 04:29

im worried, joost. please reply 13:54

Missed calls x7

you could at least read my messages. as it is, i dont even know if youre alive 06:50

im alive. im sorry 08:01

He replied, staring at the screen. He read her messages several times. He knew he could rely on her, that he mattered to her. But on the other hand, he couldn’t accept it. Him? Someone cared about him? Hey, wasn’t he just the funny, slightly chubby kid who always told silly jokes and made everyone laugh? That he had problems? What kind of problems could a teenager like him have?

She, however, knew that Joost had been through a lot. Losing his parents year after year can break anyone, let alone someone like him. Since she had met him in high school, Joost had always seemed like an extrovert, the center of attention, telling the funniest jokes with his booming voice. But beneath the surface, which he had built himself, lay an incredibly sensitive boy with a big heart. He was the kind of person children smiled at, and dogs ran up to for a pet.

Joost was like a gentle giant. He could pretend that nothing bothered him, that dumb jokes or words thrown around in laughter didn’t hurt. But every one of those words or situations lodged itself tightly in his mind like a pack of rats that couldn’t be driven out for anything. It was as if his body lacked the receptors for anger or aggression. He wished everyone he knew well, but the feeling wasn’t always mutual.

When he was younger, not long after his parents died, he was often mocked for being an orphan. The mean comments and jabs were so hurtful that he stopped attending classes. When someone pointed out that he seemed to have put on a bit of weight recently, he went a week eating nothing but apples, drinking water and smoking cigarettes.

Now, even though some time had passed since then, and he had been through several rounds of therapy, he still had periods like this. When all he wanted was to be alone and let the cold embrace of sadness surround him. To rest his head on the bony shoulder of depression and weep bitterly.

But it wasn’t to be, as he suddenly flinched, hearing something hit his bedroom window. He realized he had lost touch with reality again and had been staring at his phone’s dark screen for who knows how long.

Thinking he had misheard, he settled more comfortably on his pillow.

The girl squeezed the snow harder in her hands, forming a snowball. She took aim and threw it at his window again. When Joost replied to her message, she knew she had to seize the moment. She had skipped the last two classes and immediately went to her friend’s house. She wasn’t leaving until she talked to him.

She took aim again and threw another snowball at the window. This time with success, as moments later, she saw Joost looking out.

He wasn’t sure whether to believe his eyes, but his friend tapped her finger on her wrist, signaling that she had been waiting long enough. The corner of Joost’s mouth involuntarily twitched upwards, and he quickly went to open the door. He knew that if he didn’t, this psycho would keep throwing snowballs until the window broke, and she’d climb in through the tree. He preferred to avoid that.

He unlocked and opened the door, but before he could say anything, she threw herself around his neck and hugged him tightly. She was cold, and her hair smelled like frost, but she was so alive, so different from the bony arms of depression.

“Don’t do that again,” she mumbled, holding him close.

Joost felt all the air trapped in his lungs release as he closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his friend, resting his cheek on her head.

"You're letting the cold in," he said after a moment, trying to lighten the mood as the wind blew snowflakes inside. "Come on, get inside."

A few moments later, the two friends were in Joost's room. It was clear that cleaning up was the last thing on his mind. The girl glanced around and silently began picking up the scattered clothes from the floor.

"Please, leave it," Joost groaned, collapsing onto the bed. "I'll do it later."

"If you're not going to help, then go take a shower," she replied, putting the relatively clean clothes back into the closet and setting the dirty ones aside near the door.

"I'll do that later too," he mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. Only now did he start to feel how utterly exhausted he really was.

"We both know how that will go," she said pointedly, casting a glance his way. He sighed, feeling her gaze on him.

"I'm too tired. I just can't."

The girl hung up his coat and sat next to him. Joost looked at her face. Only now did he notice her puffy, swollen eyes, sunken cheeks despite the rosy flush from the cold, and chapped lips. He recognized the look.

He immediately recalled one of the messages she had sent him. You're not the only one suffering.

"What happened?"

He furrowed his brows and sat up, studying her face carefully. She knew exactly what he meant. Joost saw the same exhaustion in her that she often saw in him.

She sighed and lowered her gaze.

"I haven't been feeling great these past few days. But you probably know what I mean."

This time, it was his turn to lower his gaze. He didn't know what to say.

He didn't need to say anything.

She moved closer and hugged him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Joost desperately hugged her back, holding her in a bear-like grip.

"I'm sorry," he muttered after a while, still holding her. His voice trembled. "I should be supporting you, but instead, I'm just a burden. It's the only thing I'm good at."

"You're not a burden, Joost," she protested, pulling back slightly to look at him, emphasizing her words. "We should be supporting each other. No one else will understand us better than we understand each other. We're in this together."

At some point during her words, two large tears rolled down Joost's cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry," he said, burying his face in his hands, knowing that those two tears were just the beginning. On top of feeling miserable, guilt now added to the weight. It's not that he was unaware of his friend's struggles with mental health—he knew, just as she knew what he was going through. On most days, both of them were cheerful and lively, the life of the party. But sometimes, for a few days, a week, or even two, their light would go out. Depression was a grim lighthouse keeper.

She hugged him again, holding him tightly. Joost clung to her as if she were a lifeline.

"Everything will be okay," she whispered, stroking his hair.

"Everything will be okay," he echoed. "We'll get through this."

They sat there in silence for an undefined amount of time, wrapped in each other's arms.

"I'm not joking about that shower," she said after a while. "I guarantee you'll feel better."

Joost sighed and pulled away from her, nodding. He stood up and went to his closet, grabbing some clean clothes.

"You don't have to clean up, really," he said, glancing at her one last time before reaching for the door handle.

"And wash your hair too," she replied, standing up and continuing to organize his clothes. She looked at him and gave him a small smile, nodding her head to tell him to go and not to worry about the rest.

"Thank you," he returned her smile and went to take a shower.

When he came back, he looked much better. He also felt better. His room no longer resembled a battlefield. Clothes and trash no longer littered the floor, dirty dishes were gone, and the bed was made. But his friend was nowhere to be seen.

Joost peeked out of the door and, hearing movement in the kitchen, went downstairs. His friend was putting dishes into the dishwasher.

"This is probably for you," she said, pointing to some sandwiches wrapped up on the counter.

"I doubt I can eat anything," he replied, glancing apologetically at her. After a moment, he wondered if she had eaten. She also had trouble with eating sometimes. "But I'll eat if you eat with me."

"That won't be enough for us."

"I know, but we can make pancakes."

The girl smiled at his suggestion and nodded.

A few moments later, the kitchen filled with the smell of frying pancakes and the sound of easy conversation. The kind of conversation that, after a storm, offers a glimpse of normalcy. Joost flipped the pancakes while his friend sliced fruit they had found in the fridge. The warm atmosphere began to chase away the heavy clouds.

They weren’t alone. Even when they craved solitude, they weren't isolated. They had each other.

The girl unintentionally glanced at her friend, and noticing his damp bangs falling into his eyes, she pushed them back from his forehead with a gentle hand. Joost smiled at her gesture, unable to help it. She smiled too.

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone Can't change the weather, might not be forever But if it's forever, it's even better

Neither of them said it aloud that afternoon, but in the quiet corners of their minds, they both thought how grateful they were to have each other.

[bangchansgirlsblog]

Overprotective PT 3

!kinda proofread!

Hope you enjoy the last part :)

Don’t forget to throw in some request!

-🩷

(They will be a few time skips)

**

I sat on the dining table down stairs slowly eating my breakfast as the boys were running around trying to figure out stuff and brining their bags down. My bag was already brought down by the help of I.N who didn’t seem as mad at me like the other guys were. So, there was no need for me to go upstairs anymore.

My head phones were on and I was eating up some bacon, eggs and potatoes Leeknow had nicely cooked for me knowing that my stomach normally acts up whenever we had to travel. Which was really sweet of him really.

The house was noisy like usual. People were walking in and out of the house. Chan was running around with papers and passports in his hands in one corner obviously stressed. Hyunjin and Han arguing about who was taking what skincare, leeknow helping I.N figure out his airport outfit and Changbin, Felix and Seungmin were taking selfies to post on bubble.

Once I finish the meal the cars pulled up in our driveway and I grabbed my heavy bag trying to carry it to the car but completely failing. Stupid stylists and packing sending me all these clothes (joking I’m totally thankful for all of them)

"Here let me help you." I.N says grabbing the bags and carrying them into the car. I say a small 'thank you' really appreciating the fact that he didn't stand there and watch me suffer.

We get into our different cars knowing our trio's.

Me, I.N, Felix, then 3 Racha, then Leeknow, Seungmin and Hyunjin. Like always. It didn’t change unless there was some type of security problem. Our car was the loudest in normal occasions but today due to the circumstances, the car ride was quiet.

No one dared to speak a word. I felt myself slowly shutting down because I was so tired because of the lack of sleep.

We had been learning the new choreography the past week and barely got enough time to sleep. Even the boys started to complain about the amount of hours we were putting in.

The sleepy red eyes and eye-bags were the biggest signs.

I was struggling to stay awake there was no lie there. I grab my energy drink and start sipping on it. Hoping it could atleast get me through the walk through of the airport.

By the time we arrive I had finished the drink and put the can in the car trash bin and got out of the car with the boys.

All the fans lining up outside, probably thousands, screaming our names and trying to get a picture or look.

"Let's go this way." The guard says shielding us from the paparazzi's flash lights.

We follow him and meet up with some of the boys making our way to the front of the airport where we all stood in line and waved. Waved at everyone and took some pictures.

I could hear the burning questions of the paparazzi about the pictures from last night. The yelling growing louder and louder. Some were horrible and others were way too insensitive.

"Just ignore them, yeah?" I.N says in my ear and I quickly look over at him nod. Nobody could see the tears that hid behind my glasses. Thank God.

I just knew I had to act normal and act like nothing was getting to me because if I did it would be suspicious if the person in the picture wasn’t ‘actually me’.

"Alright shall we?" The manager motions for all of us to follow him and we do. We follow him all the way through into the crowd and into check in.

"It must not be her it those pictures from last night then. What a scam! Her hair is blonde!" I hear some people whispering in the line that was right next to us.

"Poor girl! All the hate she's getting online is so saddening. Atleast now we know it's not her." The other girl replies while tapping on her phone.

The hate I was getting? What hate was I getting?

I questioned and pull out my phone and scroll through the new articles that read.

"New photos from last night FAKE!" I sigh in relief as people were actually believing it wasn't me in those pictures. Chan was right.

I was happy for a little while until I scroll onto twitter where things started to actually get out of hand.

I start reading each and ever comment under my hashtag. #straykidsY/n

"I knew she wasn't Idol type!"

"This is honestly disgusting how could she do that to her fans"

"Does it mean to at she's getting kicked out of straykids?"

"I told y'all she was disgusting. Y'all didn't believe me"

My jaw is left hanging and I squint my eyes scanning every single comment in shock. Why were people so mean? Why were men sexualizing me as well? Grown men?

"Y/n. Keep walking," Leeknow whispers in his scolding tone. “Your slowing down.” I try and pick up my pace and when we make it past the check in point. I quickly put my phone away and wipe the tears that had fallen.

The heat under my sweater was starting to get to me. It felt like I was slowly suffocating. It felt like the walls were crashing in.

I start to sweat as I access the way we're going.

A lot of people in the airport were staring at us. A lot of eyes were watching us. Watching me probably.

Probably thinking I'm the worst or thinking of how I would like it in my panties. Disgusting.

My hands grow sweaty and start to slowly shake. I feel my legs grow weaker. We're almost at the private jet. We're almost there.

If I can get to the jet that's all. That's all I need to do.

But the icky feeling of throwing up starts to crawl in my stomach. I start to slow down which causes Leeknow to scold me again but I can't, I can't walk. It feels like I'm slowly being pulled into the ground.

"What is it?" Leeknow says holding onto my hand. This causes everyone to also stop even the guards and staff.

"What's wrong?" He looks at me worried.

The cold sweat and pale skin worries him even more and starts to worry Chan now who is now walking from the front to the back.

"P-panic attack." I manage to say in short breathes. I'm leaning on leeknow. My breathing getting shorter by each breath.

"What is it? What going on?" Chan whispers. His hand automatically placing on my back.

"I think she's having a panic attack." Leeknow whispers.

"Fuck, Y/n. Listen, you need to breathe and walk so we can get you somewhere quieter." He talks to me softly, “can you do that for me love?” He asks.

I slowly nod and start taking slow steps. The two older boys standing by my side making sure I don't collapse.

By the time we walk into the jet I gasp for air and walk to a corner far from everyone. Leeknow and Chan following me closely behind.

“Do you need some water? Talk to me what’s wrong?” Leeknow asks kneeling in-front of me.

“It’s so hot, it’s so hot.” I start to panic even more.

My hands rip through my sweater. “Where’s your bag Y/n?” Chan asks and I point by the door. He grabs it and pulls out my small portable fan and points it my way.

A hand on my lap makes me look up. Seungmin standing there looking very worried.

"Y/nie you need to breathe my love. Breathe. Here look at me." He holds my hand and squeezes it. "See your doing a good job. Everything is okay. You don't need to panic okay? I've got you."

The world slowly starts moving at a normal speed again. Seungmin sits by me and pulls me into his arm cuddling me.

"See, there you go baby girl. You're okay now. You're fine." I look over at him and couldn’t help but smile. That didn’t last long when the feeling of nausea hits me really hard.

"I feel sick Minnie,” I say trying to get out of his grip just incase I didn’t throw up I didn’t want to throw up on him.

He furrows his eyes, “What kind of sick love?"

"I'm going to throw up." I take in deep breathes and swallow really hard trying to stop it from coming out.

"Oh my God, hold on let me grab a bag." The sound of panic rises in his voice and he moves to the side. "Chan pass me those paper bags now." He tells him in a hurry and Chan does so.

I grab it out of his hands and start to gag. The gag came with all the breakfast I had eaten. I keep throwing up until my throat and stomach start to burn.

I shut my eyes in pain. A few tears falling from all the exhaustion.

His hand was holding my hair now and rubbing my back waiting for me to empty the contents in my tummy. "Are you done?" I nod my head and he takes the trash bag away.

"Here's water babygirl." Chan hands me the bottle and I drink it then lay on the chair in my eyes slowly closing.

"How are you feeling? Talk to us.” Han pops up out of no where.

"Mmm sleepy." I softly say and I hear a tiny ‘aww’.

"Here are you headphones. Get some rest then in a bit you can have some food yeah?" I hum in response and face the other way so I could fall asleep.

I keep twisting and turning until I can finally get some rest.

*

"Alright welcome to New York!" A big buff guy says welcoming us in the airport. He was accompanied with 2 other big buff guys and a tiny lady.

"You must be BangChan." She smiles and gives him a hand shake.

"Yes I am and these are straykids." He smiles and we all bow saying hello.

"Nice to meet you guys. Okay, so we heard that you guys were tired so we might just do a few pictures outside and then we can head off to the hotels." She says enthusiastically, "Your schedules will be handed to you by my assistant once you guys arrive. Any questions?"

"No not really. No questions as for now. We would like to say thank you for having us and thank you for being our tour manger this time round. We appreciate it. Also as a thank you we braught you some goodies from South Korea." Chan smiles and point to the basket Changbin is holding.

"Oh thank you so much! Please I hope you guys enjoy your stay. If you guys need anything, anything at all do not hesitate to contact me through your managers yes?" Chan smiles at her and we all give her a friendly wave before walking outside to flashing lights and into our different cars.

In the evening a few of the boys came at different times checking in on me. Luckily I hadn’t thrown up or had any other panic attack. I knew they were still mad at me but they wanted to know if I was good or not.

“Why do you guys keep coming to my room if you’re mad at me?” I ask Hyunjin and Han who were the last ones to check in.

“Just because we’re mad at you doesn’t mama we want you to be sick and unhealthy. We still care.” Hyunjin tells me while handing me a cup of warm

Milk.

“True now drink up so we can go for dinner,” I give Han a small smile before drinking the warm milk.

I couldn’t help but still frown though. The unsettling feeling of guilt just lingering in my tummy.

I just wanted my scolding to get over with so that they wouldn't be mad at me anymore and when I was sent a text to go to Chan's room. I knew it was time.

I put on my slippers and quickly make my way to his room and stare at the door.

“God I beg you, let me come out of this room alive. Amen” I whisper a small prayer before knocking.

"Hey you wanted to speak with me?" Chan answers with his laptop in one hand and phone in the other.

"Come in Y/n." He says softly and I walk into his room. Slowly by slowly I notice all the boys seating in different places; on the bed, chairs and tables.

I sigh and take a sit on the chair that was put in the middle of the room obviously for me. It felt like I was in court at this point. A sigh leaves my lips as I wait for them to start.

"Y/n. What you did was the most stupidest thing I've ever seen in my life." Chan says getting serious. His tone getting harsh.

I flinch at this but continue to listen to his scolding.

“Yes Chan I’m sorry.” I softly say looking at the carpet beneath me.

"I am disappointed in you, I really am. I'm not even going to explain to you in depth how much trouble I am in with your parents and JYP. They still think that it wasn't you in that picture because we had to lie and say you were home getting your hair dyed. Your lucky people are eating this shit up." His tone was now getting more harsher.

"As for your punishment,” I take a breath I’m hoping that it would be light, “Your not allowed to go anywhere unless your with the boys. You're grounded for 3 months. All your doing is going for practice, rehearsals and schedules. No where else. Understand?" Fuck.

"Yes BangChan." I say softly playing with the rings on my fingers.

"You can't even be trusted now. All my trust in you is gone. Do you know how many phone calls I've gotten?" I keep quiet. "Answer me, I'm talking to you."

"No Chan I don't" I reply.

"Exactly, so I hope you'll learn your lesson the hard way. Also whoever that little boy is, I never wanna see you with them until your dating contract is over understand? Fuck it I don’t want to see you with any boy at all whether they’re your friends or your bestfriends."

"Yes bangchan."

"Do any of you guys have anything to say?" He looks around the room to the rest of the boys who were giving me very stern looks.

"I hope you really learn your lesson love. We're only doing this because you're still young. You won't get it."

"Yes Hyunjin,"

"Okay now you can go on into your room." Chan says dismissing me.

I slowly get up and walk out of the room and into mine.

Atleast the scolding was over with and I wasn’t thrown out a window. Atleast now they won’t be angry at me.

My knees buckle as I make it into the dark bedroom but I'm able to stay steady. I walk and lay on the bed and scroll through my twitter reading the comments.

I find my self spiraling. The world spinning once again due to the mean comments and threats. I didn’t know why was doing this to myself, why was I reading such hateful things? I need a breather. Some fresh air. Without thinking, I drop my phone on my bed and grab my shoes.

I walk to the hotels stair case and start walking up the stairs.

When I get to the rooftop I sit down and take in the view. It was peaceful and quiet. No one was up there which made it even better.

I wipe my tears that I hadn’t noticed had fallen and start to calm down. Just enjoying the view. Enjoying being alone and taking a short break from people. From the commotion.

It felt like 30 minutes and when I come back down and walk into our corridor I see the guards standing outside us Chan is pacing up and down outside my door.

What were they doing? I question and make my way to them so I could get to my door.

"What's going on?" I ask furrowing my eyebrows.

"Y/n? Oh my God thank God." He sighs in relief. I swear I saw him tear a little too.

"What happened?" I asked everyone.

“It’s okay I found her, thank you though. I don’t know where she was but I’m about to find out. Yeah okay bye.” Chan hands up the phone and looks up at me, "Where did you go Y/n? I told you not to go anywhere without the boys!" He exclaims.

"Chan I just went upstairs to the rooftop. Is that wrong?" I ask him confused than before.

"You were just on the rooftop?" He asks unsure to believe what I’m saying.

"Yes I was. You can check the cameras if you don't believe me." I shrug and pull out my room keys.

"Then why weren't you picking up your phone? You scared me! I thought you runaway!" Hyunjin steps In.

"I left it inside because of all the hateful notifications I was getting," I sigh and look up at the boys.

"Hate notifications?" I.N asks confused.

"Yeah the hate is getting really bad, so I decided to go for a breather. No big deal. I didn't know I wasn't allowed to go anywhere in the hotel premises-"

"No no your allowed, I- I just started freaking out thinking you had run away or something. Go on into your room we'll be there in a bit." I shrug and watch him turn the guards who looked like they had seen a ghost.

Knowing the boys well, they probably had threatened them and cursed every living thing in their life time which I found kind of funny because of how Overprotective they were.

I enter my room and start dressing up for bed and removing my makeup.

When the door opens and closes and a few of the boys walk in. (Felix, Han and Chan) I look up at them confused.

"Would you maybe like to go bawling?" Han says softly.

"But isn't it late and I'm grounded-"

"We'll your grounded starting when we get to Korea. Right now we're in New York. Let's have some fun. My treat." Chan smiles and sits on my bed.

I knew they felt bad and I knew they didn't want me to be alone in the room to fight my thoughts.

"Come on it's a good distraction and we can grab some street food!" Felix chimes and rubs my shoulders.

"Okay fine I'll get dressed." I sigh tired.

"Unless you wanna stay in and watch a movie?" Han says looking at me worried.

"No no no, we can go I'm just a little tired."

"Oh then we're definitely staying in and watching a movie." Chan stands up from my bed and grabs his phone.

"We'll order in a lot of food and then go to sleeep yeah? I'll text the boys."

"Okay that's sounds relaxing."

"Yes it does AND we can finish of that game we couldn't last time."

"Yeah we can."

*

The food was really good and after so many questions about whether I wanted to throw up or not had passed, we were able to all lay in Chan's bed piling on top of eachother.

"I love you Y/nie" I.N says out of the blue and starts to poke my side.

"I love you more than he loves you," Felix jumps in.

"No I do!" Hyunjin says.

"Okay okay I get the point! I love you guys too. I geuss." I tease and they all chuckle.

"We hope your no longer sad about us scolding you, we really do mean well love,"

"I know I know, it's okay I deserved it. I'm sorry for being a handful."

"You're not a handful really, just a growing baby."

"Guys I'm 18, oh my God stop calling me a baby!!" I bury my face into the blankets and they all start laughing.

My little family.

**

[yourlocaltreesimp]

I (beg) ask if you can write anything Fierce Deity related. I don't want anything else, just that you write for my boy. (Pls us FD simps are starving).

Ah believe me I know y’all are dehydrated beyond the word’s meaning. I know the struggle (I really do) So I hope I do your boy (man) ((celestial being?)) justice!

(fir post writing: wow this is a LOT of context y’all don’t want or need, but my hands hurt so… part 2?)

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Immortality is a lonely existence. There are few beings that obtain an average life expectancy to that of a god. There are even fewer again who have immortality. Proper immortality. Not the poor results of a fae deal or some curse to age and wither without death. No. Proper immortality, exempt of aging past maturity and death herself.

That made his current predicament worse. Much, much worse than being stuck in a wooden mask.

You see, Gods and the immortal beings alike are rather fickle beings. They do glorious things to entertain or punish the mortals to have their names etched into stone and uttered in myth through centuries. They only wish to exist in temples of incense and candlelight, where the people there would do anything for even the cast of an eye.

Fierce had always thought those gods were the worst. All temples would crack. All names would be forgotten. All clay tablets and pots would be broken, ironically even by their proclaimed heroes. But that’s getting ahead of us. He was worshipped only in the grounds he was made for. It didn’t matter the land, for blood soaks into soil the same no matter what. It didn’t matter the men, the corpses were plentiful and he hardly discriminates. It didn’t even matter who won, because there are no winners in war.

He was made to fight, and he was made to kill. And so he did. His name rang throughout time between soldiers and emperors alike. Both tried to gain his favour. Occasionally there would be a temple, occasionally there’d be some mortal claiming to bear his blood, occasionally he’d care.

Regardless, it all came to the same ending. The men would die, the temples would crack and his name would fade into obscurity again.

It was supposed to.

But it seemed the others didn’t like that he was beating them at a game he didn’t want to win.

‘Cruel’ they called him, ‘Violent’ ‘Inhumane’ ‘Rabid’ ‘Irate’ ‘Improper’

And so, they condemned him. And he was forever no more.

Eras passed.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years… And truly, he was nothing.

Just as they promised.

Some relic like their old tales, except he could not crack and wither.

He was lonely, perhaps just as much as before in hindsight. The fickle attention he did have was only worth something if he willed it.

At some point, He was awoken again. There were hands on his cheeks, shaky and blood covered. And there was light. The person who had called upon his spirit was not in good shape, blood spilling from their weak body as they were chased by odd looking men. A pack of wolves set on a lamb.

He’d learn throughout the next few months of hiding you and sharing your consciousness that the people of your village had thought you to be a witch. As such, you were beaten and chased.

You were a doctor, you’d told him.

You’d just tried to cure someone.

And such began his problem.

He’d never saw the purpose of mortals. They were future bodies, to him. They’d live to die. Sure, it’s better than the alternative of there only being gods, but they never held much worth to him.

Not until you.

You are good. In every way the short comings of language can express you are good. You’d devoted your life to a thankless existence and the nature of living had caught up to you. Good things didn’t deserve that. Good people didn’t deserve to live the life you led.

He was not so cruel as to condemn you to that fate.

And so, he began to help. Once gaining a physical form, (through much trial and error) He’d do the work you couldn’t manage. Hunting, building, sewing, cooking, he’d do as much as possible. He knew what it was like to be turned back upon by everyone. But you wouldn’t be able to grow past that. Not in your short life.

He held you as you shuddered and cried. He tended to your wounds and sickness. He did and would do whatever it took to see you happy again.

He did not, however, see the consequences.

It took him far too long for his comfort to realise that you were not simply accompaniment. You consumed his waking thoughts and filled his dreams. He lived around you, your wants and your needs. He began to eat because it made you comfortable, He slept because you liked to be near him, He humanised himself because it made you happy.

He would’ve renounced his title as a god to make your life perfect, or as close to as it could be.

But He could not.

He could not simply marry you and go about your lives knowing you had one another. He could not have you to hold forever. He could not always love you in sickness and health no matter how much he tried. Because at the end of the day, it’s until death do you part.

Or… do you?

(part 2? perhaps? maybe? perchance?)

[kcrabb88]

Quinlan Vos and Obi-Wan Kenobi Are Not Normal About Each Other (A Thesis Statement)

Fandom: Quinlan and Obi-Wan have had sex, but it’s a reach to think they could be in love and/or care deeply about each other in some manner, it was just physical (this is not me saying I don't think they have sex I HELLA do and I've written a lot of smut to prove it, but I've seen wayyyy too many posts that basically say they can only be romantic as Padawans and NEVER as adults and/or were just fooling around as teens and didn't have deep feelings in some way whether they're FWB or romantic partners or whatever you like)

Me: *unrolls my scroll* I'm here to make a POINT as an addendum to this post I made recently.

Look at these little darlings! They just met and Quin's already trusting Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan WANTS Quin to trust him. In another panel from this same comic, Quin helps Obi-Wan with his anxiety and it's very sweet.

Quin's been struggling with the dark side while undercover, and everyone thinks he's really truly fallen and can't be brought back except for Aayla, Tholme, and, YOU GUESSED IT! Obi-Wan. He goes looking for Quinlan on his own and finds him and they chat. Plus, look at this flashback of these little nerds flirting. Quin literally falls into the river and almost dies trying to flirt with Obi-Wan.

What do I even say about this panel??? Look at them!! Look at Quin trusting Obi-Wan with the dark parts of himself and Obi-Wan believing in him? Look at that hand clasp? Like shut up I can't take it.

Obi-Wan refusing to leave Quinlan behind and Quinlan, stubborn Quinlan, listening to him.

Their banter here shows how well they know and play off each other and that joke in the last panel SENDS ME.

This is from the new comic that came out in September, and this is just ONE instance of several of Quinlan mentioning Obi-Wan, who only appears in this comic via a psychometric vision, but Quin keeps bringing him up anyways.

I mean this is. THIS is what made me WANT to know more about Quinlan in the first place! It's not in this gif, but the way Obi-Wan smiles in this scene? The way his eyes light UP? That's love, babey.

I could literally paste so much stuff from Dark Disciple, which to me has always been a QuinObi book in addition to Vostress. Quinlan has fallen (pretty much without understanding he has because he so badly wants to uncover Sidious) and missing his check-ins with Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan keeps going back to their bar over and over again and he's been waiting for like, two hours at this point when Ventress comes in.

"Not him." Okay, buddy. Okay. Obi-Wan has like three panic attacks and outright defies his fellow council members at various points through this book because he believes so hard in Quinlan. He is INSISTENT that Quinlan can be brought back to the light.

These two pages made me SOB.

"She saved Quinlan" in italics. Not just his life, but his spirit. Those italics speak for themselves. And "Vos knew he could never repay Kenobi for that, but he has the rest of his life to try." Do ya, Quin? The rest of your life, huh?

Anyhow, truly, this is just me scratching the surface as I was limited by only being able to use 10 photos in a post. I’m leaving out sooo many other examples. You don't have to ship them! But these guys care a lot about each other and saying that it's just, impossible for them to have romantic feelings on posts or fics where the creator is, indeed, shipping them is ... weird. So is trying to overlay other ships onto specifically QuinObi content.

This has been a PSA.

[istudyjapaneseorsmth]

Language Learning With Chronic Fatigue

[gif id: an animation of a cherry blossom branch swaying in the wind]

So! You're someone who's interested in learning a language, or you're already learning one but have trouble staying consistent because of your symptoms. I get it, I've been there.

For those who don't know, I have chronic fatigue and pain due to long covid. I've been struggling with it since early 2022, and I'm still learning how to cope, but I have enough knowledge at this point to put together a post about how to study whatever language you want to study and, y'know, not run out of spoons within a day.

Do keep in mind that I am one person with chronic fatigue! These tips may not help everyone.

P.S., I'll probably make another post like this in the future because I have terrible memory (thanks brain fog) and I probably forgot some stuff.

Take advantage of good days

[plain text: Take advantage of good days]

If you ever have days where you have more energy than usual, take advantage of those! For example, yesterday I had a ton of energy so I ended up studying for 3 and a half hours total.

That being said, keep in mind anything else you may need a lot of energy for in the day. I had to do laundry and shower yesterday, but I was exhausted after doing laundry, so I didn't get to shower. (In this regard: do not be like me.)

Keep track of what tasks drain you more than others

[plain text: Keep track of what tasks drain you more than others]

This can either be written down or just a mental note, but everyone is gonna have a certain type of studying or a certain area of study that drains them way faster. That could be something that just takes more brain power, or something you just don't like doing.

Reserve these things for the days you don't have to do anything else high energy, or just for your good days. I personally try to do more grammar practice on my good days, and more vocabulary on my worse days. And on my really low energy days? Listening.

Reserve at least one break day a week, more if needed

[plain text: reserve at least one break day a week, more if needed]

This one really depends on how fast you drain. I have Saturday specifically reserved as my break day; I don't let myself do any language practice on that day. That being said, this past week I had to take another break day just because I was tired from other commitments.

This one is super variable, but I do recommend at least one.

You don't have to study for several hours a day

[plain text: you don't have to study for several hours a day]

I think there's this weird misconception on studyblr and langblr that if you don't study your target language for the same amount of time you'd work a full-time job (or more!), then you'll never reach your goals.

That's not true! At all!

Depending on what your goals are, the only penalty for studying less per day/week is that you'll reach it slower. There's nothing wrong with that! It's your language journey, you can go at your own pace.

I hope this is useful for anyone who needs it, I know I would've liked something like this a long time ago.

[plain text: I hope this is useful for anyone who needs it, I know I would've liked something like this a long time ago.]

[nobodysdaydreams]

In Honor of All Saints Day, Here's Some Random Assumptions About My Followers Based on Their Favorite Saints 😇

Please note this is a merely for fun and not meant to offend anyone, please be kind, thank you. Also, I obviously can't possibly include every saint here, so I'm just gonna stick to some of the ones I think are most likely to be favorites of my followers.

Saint Joan of Arc- I'll start with arguably the most popular one, or at least the one I see posted or discussed online the most. If your favorite saint is St. Joan of Arc, there's a good chance you're an atheist who doesn't vibe with saints in general, but likes her because she's a girl with a sword and that's objectively awesome. You're correct for that, and welcome to the post. Another option is that you're a girl who was labeled a "tomboy" growing up.

Saint Paul- if your favorite saint is St. Paul, you have a blog or a significant portion of your blog dedicated to one ex-villain character whose redemption arc you could rewatch on loop for hours. You also might be Protestant, and yes, this particular St. Paul is the same Paul from the Bible. Welcome to the post. ✝️

Saint Olga- if your favorite saint is St. Olga, you support women's rights, but more importantly, you forgive women's wrongs. There have been several times when you've gotten upset about people questioning the validity of a female character's redemption considering her past when they overlook and forgive way worse done by male characters. There's also a chance you might be Orthodox. Welcome to the post. ☦️

Saint Nicholas- if your favorite saint is St. Nicholas, there is a chance you followed me for TMBS content. Your favorite holiday is Christmas, and you're still hyperfixated on the same book series or television show from your childhood. You're also extremely passionate about your fandoms and can't stand it when people grossly misinterpret characters or things in canon.

Saint Benedict- if your favorite saint is St. Benedict, you also probably followed me for TMBS content. You're also a very humble and unproblematic person but the haters are bitter and always trying to bring you down (via their jealousy and also poison, but you can't be stopped).

Saint Scholastica- if your favorite saint is St. Scholastica, you also might have followed me for TMBS content because you know that she's Benedict's twin sister. You also wish that God would summon storms for you whenever you find your brother annoying.

The Virgin Mary, Mother of Jesus- if you picked the Virgin Mary, you're neurodivergent, specifically the type of neurodivergent who loved those card games where characters had different levels of power. You take a similar approach to picking your favorite saint, so why wouldn't you go straight for the one that is objectively the most powerful and the best one? It just makes to most sense to you, and the thing is, you're right. You're 100% right. Congrats!

Saint Cecilia- if your favorite saint is St. Cecilia, you're a musician and were in choir either at school or church. You also probably are/were a theater kid.

Saint Lawrence- if your favorite saint is St. Lawrence, you were definitely a theater kid and tried stand up comedy at least once. You also use jokes and humor to cope with stressful situations.

Saint Josephine Bakhita- if your favorite saint is St. Josephine, you are one of those people who somehow remains positive and sees the sliver lining in literally any circumstance. Don't get me wrong, I love that for you, but please take care of yourself. 🫂❤️‍🩹

Saint Dymphna- if your favorite saint is St. Dymphna, you are neurodivergent, have struggled with mental illness, work in psychiatric or medical care, or you’ve dealt with a lot in your life, and I hope you heal. 🫂❤️‍🩹

Saint Kateri Tekakwitha- if your favorite saint is Saint Kateri, you're sick of your relatives pressuring you to date someone, and you're extremely worried about climate change (girl, me too).

Saint Anthony- if your favorite saint is St. Anthony, you have ADHD and lose things multiple times a week. On the off chance you followed me for Wolf359 content, you identified way too strongly with Doug Eiffel.

Saint Peter- if your favorite saint is saint Peter, you either watch "The Chosen" or you have ADHD and felt seen when you read about him in the Bible. That man boldly declared he would never deny Jesus and when told he would do it before a rooster crowed three times, to which he confidently replied "nah" and then immediately got distracted and preoccupied with cutting some guy's ear off and forgot all about the oddly specific terrible thing he was prophesied to do just a few hours earlier by a man he believed to be God incarnate. As someone who also breaks down in tears when I suddenly remember the important things I forget to keep track of, I sympathize with his story. Saint Dymphna is patroness of most mental illness and ADHD is technically covered by her, but if we ever get an ADHD specific saint, I know it has to be either be Peter or Anthony, and if it were entirely up to me, I'd give it to Peter. Don't get me wrong, Saint Anthony is there for us, but Saint Peter is one of us, you know what I mean? Though I feel like due to the problematic nature of diagnosing the deceased (no matter how evident symptoms might be) it would end up going to Anthony, since we do call on him often, and I think Peter would be fine with that.

Saint Mark Ji Tianxiang- if your favorite saint is St. Mark Ji Tianxiang, you or someone you know is probably in recovery from addiction, and I wish you well on your journey. You also empathize way too much with any character who suffers from addiction and if you followed me for Wolf359, that was the aspect of Doug Eiffel's character that stood out to you the most. 🫂❤️‍🩹

Saint Catherine of Siena- if your favorite saint is Saint Catherine of Siena, you've probably written a book or fanfic well over 100k words. (Yes, I know, you don't have to say it).

Saint Francis of Assisi- if your favorite saint is Saint Francis of Assisi, you either have pets or want them, and if you do have them, you've taken them or begged your parents to let you take them to a St. Francis feast day pet blessing. If you followed me for TMBS, SQ is probably your favorite character, and if you followed me for Wolf359 content, you were inconsolable when Blessie died. You're also probably the kind of neurodivergent who takes things like "if you want to follow God, sell all you have and give it to the poor" literally and as a result, this has caused conflict with your family (specifically on account of you giving all the money made from your family business to the poor).

Saint Joseph- I doubt I have a lot of followers who are parents because of how tumblr demographics skew, but if your favorite saint is Saint Joseph, you just became a dad or really want to become one someday.

Saint Monica- again, I doubt this is the case because of the age of tumblr demographics, but if your favorite saint is Saint Monica, you're a mom who really needs a break, and I hope your husband and sons get it together soon. 🫂❤️‍🩹

Saint Augustine- if your favorite saint is St. Augustine, you also like redemption arcs and likely went through a "party phase" at some point in your life that you regret and identify a bit too strongly with the younger brother in the prodigal son parable. However, in this case, you likely also love St. Monica and if you followed me for Star Wars content, you are particularly upset that we didn't get to see more interactions between Leia Organa and her son Benny Solo especially considering they led a whole war against each other the year between TLJ and TROS (dead horse, I know).

Saint Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin- if your favorite saint is St. Juan Diego, you have or grew up with a picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe somewhere in your house. You've also been in the incredibly specific situation of seeing or doing something super cool, but not having anyone believe you (but the satisfying payoff when they find out you were right).

Saint Mary Magdalene- if your favorite saint is St. Mary Magdalene, you either watch "The Chosen" or you're a woman who's faith pulled her out of a very difficult time in her life, and like St. Juan Diego, you also know what it's like to be proven right after a group of men call you a liar.

Saints Louis Martin and Marie-Azélie Guérin (Zélie)- if these are your favorite saints, you understand why you can't just pick one. This power couple comes in a set. If you picked these two, you heard about them because your favorite saint might actually be or have been their very famous daughter St. Thérèse of Lisieux. And if you're a guy and you picked these two, you're also a proud girl dad and can't stop bragging to everyone you meet about how successful your wife's business is (especially because she's so humble about it). Green flags all around.

Saint Maximilian Kolbe- if St. Maximilian is your favorite saint, you're a history guy or gal who is obsessed with world war two, but in a good way. In the "this was very not cool. Let's never forget so we never do this again" way. You also love stories of heroic sacrifice and aspire to always do the right thing even when it’s not socially popular or doesn’t benefit you.

(Soon to be canonized) Saint Carlo Acutis- You're a millennial or gen z who loves researching and talking about modern saints. You aspire to be like them and have a list of ones you want canonized (mine are Servant of God Dorothy Day and Archbishop Joseph Francis Rummel. They lived in the 20th Century and when you're dealing with 2,000 years of history, that's pretty modern).

I'm sure I'll think of more to add after I post this, but I'll leave it here for now. I hope y'all enjoy this!

[bachissidehoe]

look at the mess you made - itoshi s.

chapter 3 of 7 of the blue lock band series. chapter 1. chapter 2. chapter 4. chapter 5. chapter 6. chapter 7.

synopsis: y/n struggles to leave some of the bands' post-concert parties without the help from one of the members, but surprisingly, drummer itoshi sae is the only one around to provide her an excuse. even though she knows sae the least out of the band members, she'll still let him walk her back to her room...

warnings: smut; penetration; riding; degradation; facial; scratching; fem reader; minors DNI

disclaimer: all songs referenced are credited to THE DEEP END

w.c. 3.2k

The life of Blue Lock’s professional journalist involves awkward hours consisting of interviewing the boys, watching and taking notes on their shows, frequently meeting with Reo and Bachira to proofread articles and social media posts, and setting up discussions with potential sponsors. And so far, it’s been fantastic. Their past 3 shows have completely sold out and she’s only been working with them for a month. But it can also be exhausting, so when she gets the opportunity to wind down, she takes it. 

Tonight, however, is not one of those nights. 

“Another, miss?” 

“Let me buy it for you, gorgeous!” 

“Come dance with me.” 

The sounds of semi-important people connected to the band somehow. Rich people who sponsor them, engineers who worked the show, their families. It’s a frequent occurrence, these parties that take place after a show. It’s important that these events are good so they continue to get sponsorships, or at least that’s what Reo says. But anymore, it just seems like a festival of horny old rich dudes who ogle y/n like she’s an object for their use. She can’t even count the amount of excuses she’s had to come up with to avoid making a random guy mad that she won’t fuck him. 

“Sorry, I have to-” She stops, realizing none of her usual excuses are here. Usually, nobody will question it if she has to “ask Isagi a question” or “go over something with Mikage”. But both of them, in fact most of the band, seems to have left already. She can feel her blood start to boil, knowing that more than likely, Isagi’s found another random girl to fuck. It shouldn’t still bother her, considering she still lets him rail her whenever he sees fit, but she’s a little tipsy so she can’t help it. 

“What do you have to do sweetheart? Going somewhere?” An arm is suddenly wrapped around her shoulders, trapping her from going any further. 

“Yeah, what’s wrong? Have another guy you’re supposed to meet up with?” Another man slurs. They’re clearly drunk, and it doesn’t help that maybe y/n herself had one too many drinks, making it harder for her to think on her feet. 

She scans the bar, her eyes slightly blurred, looking for anyone she recognizes who might be able to help her out of this. 

“Goodnight y/n~” A familiar voice calls to her, halfway out the door. 

No, don’t leave. 

“Chigiri.” She says. Not loud enough. “Chigiri.” She tries again, but he’s also pretty drunk and stumbling. He might not be able to help her either. “Hyoma!” She says. 

“What’s it? Prrrretty girl~” He turns around, stumbling back through the door. “Who are youuu?” He turns his attention to the man holding onto her. “I don’t think she likes you, right y/n? She likes meeeee~” He giggles, hiccuping as he catches his balance on one of the bar tables next to them. 

“Well she’s with me tonight Chigiri Hyoma, hope you don’t mind.” The man smirks. For the life of y/n, she can’t remember his name. Some sponsor, some business owner, something like that. She’d get a serious talking to from Reo if she pisses him off. 

“Well I do~ mind.” He giggles again. “Y/n, when am I gonna get to fuck you? Like Isagi and such?” 

Y/n nearly falls over, and not because she’s slightly drunk. Why would he say that in front of these guys? Clearly he’s lost it. This doesn’t help her at all, it actually might make it worse. 

“Um, uh if you see the chance take it.” She rushes through her words, her eyes darting around again, looking for a way out. 

“Y/n! With Chigiri Hyoma!” 

“Oh no.” She mumbles, as another familiar voice enters the conversation- if this interaction can even be called a conversation. 

“Aiku!” Chigiri throws his arm around him like they’re best friends. It’s not like they’re not friends, but definitely not the type to hang over each other the way they are now. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like Oliver is sober enough to help her either. 

Oliver Aiku, the lead singer of Blue Lock’s opener, Ubers- also consisting of lead guitarist Aryu Jyubei, bassist Niko Ikki, and drummer Barou Shouei. As if the misfortune is following l/n y/n tonight, none of the other members of Ubers are around either. Just Oliver, the known fuckboy, who’s even more drunk than Chigiri. 

“Y/n, are we all taking you upstairs or what?” Oliver jokes, nudging Chigiri and the other man who still hasn’t stopped touching her. 

“That would be lovely.” The man grips y/n’s shoulder tighter, which honestly seems to sober her up quite a bit. That doesn’t sound lovely, it sounds awful. 

“Alright, that’s enough. Y/n, help me take these guys back to their rooms.” A new voice, a deep, monotone, unbothered voice. A voice that doesn’t sound drunk at all. 

“Sae!” She practically leaps for joy, meeting his striking teal eyes. 

“Let’s go. You’re pretty sober now, I could use your help with these two.” He places his hand on her shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me.” He nearly growls, dusting the man’s hand off her like it’s a bug he’s grossed out by.

Y/n breathes a sigh of relief, finally stepping out of the unfamiliar man’s grasp. 

“Have a good night sir, I have to help out with these two, thank you for coming!” She exclaims frantically, a nervous smile plastered across her face as she loops Chigiri’s hand over her shoulders. 

“This mean we’re fuckin’?” Chigiri slurs through his words, his eyes droopy as he uses y/n’s shoulder for support. 

“Why are you so fuckin’ heavy?” Sae groans, holding Oliver upright as they finally make their way out of the bar and begin the short walk across the street to the hotel. “Where’s Hyo’s room key?” Sae barks. 

“Are we fuckin’ Sae too?” Chigiri giggles. 

“You’re not fucking anything.” Sae sneers. 

“Hah! Fuckin’ virgin!” Oliver cackles, nearly slipping out of Sae’s grasp, but Sae grips harder, practically digging his nails into him to prevent him from falling onto the hard pavement. 

“Am not!” Chigiri argues. “Y/n told me when I see the chance, I should take it. Look see, she’s touchin’ me~ she wants me so bad hm~” 

“Ah, found it.” Y/n pulls her hand out of Chigiri’s pocket, pulling out his hotel room card.

“Found Oliver’s too.” Sae holds it up, looking for the room number.

Luckily, they’re on the same floor, making it easy enough to locate their rooms and put the drunk idiots to bed. It’s always someone who overdoes it, and after the long stretch of shows the boys have had, they probably deserve it too. 

Y/n sighs, leaning against the outside of Chigiri’s hotel room door and sliding down. She could fall asleep here, really. But she’ll take having to walk a drunk Chigiri home over having to fuck an ugly old guy any day of the week.

“You feeling okay, y/n?” She suddenly notices Sae standing in front of her, staring down at her pathetic looking figure. He sounds less than concerned, almost like he’s attempting to sound like he gives a fuck. It’s not necessarily working. 

Sae is the one y/n could say she knows the least out of the Blue Lock band members. He’s rude, stand-offish, and never seems like he wants to be there. Though he enjoys being part of the band, his attitude tends to spark conflict with potential sponsors and collaborators, leading to quite a few conversations between him and Reo about acting nice for a change. 

The drummer was a music prodigy as a child, having articles written about him, news stories done on him, and a number of fans even as an elementary school kid. He would frequently play shows as a guitarist with his younger brother Rin on bass, and it wasn’t until he went to study music at only 12 years old that he decided he’d become a drummer instead. 

“I’m fine, just resting for a sec.” She answers, forcing herself to her feet. 

Surprisingly, Sae grabs her arm, helping her stand. 

“I’m not drunk anymore.” She chuckles, referring to his hand tightly gripping her forearm.

“I know.” He says. “Where’s your room?” 

“Floor 10.” She answers. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Sure, but I’ll walk you back there.” 

Y/n stays silent, unsure of how to respond to a gesture like that. It seems reasonable enough, a guy wanting to walk a girl back to her room, especially after saving her from a potential harassment situation just an hour or so ago. But for Sae, it’s definitely a bit abnormal. He’s not usually one to take interest in protecting her, or anyone else for that matter. 

“What?” He asks, clearly noticing y/n’s change in demeanor. 

“Oh, nothing, I just didn’t expect you to wanna do that.” She says calmly as they begin their walk down the long hallway. 

“Why not?”

“What is this, 20 questions? I dunno, you just don’t seem like the type.”

“And you don’t seem like the type to be fucking Isagi every chance you get but here we are.” He fires back, clearly not the sudden nice guy y/n thought he turned into. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She tugs her arm away, indicating that not only can she walk by herself, she’s also slightly annoyed.

“You’re awfully attached to him, considering he couldn’t care less about you. That’s all.” 

“Isa- Yoichi cares about me.” She argues.

“Sure, as a person, as a friend maybe. But not how you want him to.” 

“Who are you to tell me how he feels? Or even how I feel?” She stutters, feeling the tears welling already. Maybe she’s not as sober as she thought. 

Bachira said the same thing to her weeks ago now. And she still went back. She still hung onto the idea that maybe he was just using those girls to purposely make her jealous. She still convinced herself that Isagi Yoichi was- is- in love with her. And she still let him take from her whatever he wanted. 

“I’m just observing.” He shrugs.

“Don’t you have to go find some girl to fuck? Like Isagi and Nagi and them almost every night?” She spits. It’s not a good comeback, but she can’t think of anything that’ll get under his skin. She’s too tired for an argument with Itoshi Sae. 

Sae just chuckles. 

He’s a complicated one, for sure. He definitely doesn’t bring girls around as much as the other band members, except for his brother Rin, who does so even less. But still, he does occasionally, and never discusses it. In fact, Sae doesn’t discuss much at all. He’s the one who wrote one of their first songs “Look at the Mess You Made”, and insists it stays on their setlist, but y/n has no idea what makes him so attached to that song out of all of them. She’d love to know more, if she wasn’t so pissed at him she’d want to ask him some questions, get inside the mind of Itoshi Sae.

“How drunk are you?” Sae asks, pressing the button on the elevator. 

“I’m not drunk anymore.” She places a hand on her hip as if he was accusing her, stepping inside the elevator as the doors swing open. 

“Good.” He says, following her and watching the doors begin to close, his teal eyes peering to the side. Suddenly, y/n feels uneasy under his gaze- or maybe something different- somewhat aroused?

She doesn’t have time to analyze it further. The split second the doors shut, Sae has her pinned against the wall, his lips feverishly slamming into hers. She can’t react, she can’t tell her body how to handle this situation. His lips are already on hers. And she finds herself letting her eyes flutter shut, meeting each sporadic movement of his soft, pink lips with her own, letting her body go limp under his rough touch. His tongue slips and slides against hers, and she lets him too, making room for him to explore the insides of her mouth. 

She can only manage quick breaths, most of which turn to soft moans. He’s so harsh, so intense with his kiss, it���s nearly desperate. One of his hands remains pressed to the wall to hold her in, the other softly yet threateningly cups her cheek, the cold pads of his fingers pressing against her soft skin as if he’s holding back from breaking her neck. 

Every movement Sae makes is soft and smooth, riddled with an aura of sexual experience y/n would never guess he had. It’s so calculated, the way his tongue moves against hers isn’t forceful, but isn’t submissive either. She wants more of him, she wants to know how he moves, where his hands will go next, what positions he’ll put her in. She finds her hands traveling to his hips, a single finger dipping under his shirt to feel the softness of his muscular skin-

Ding.

And the elevator opens, forcing the two apart, with Sae suddenly standing at the door of the elevator to lead her out. 

They remain silent as well, y/n due to being completely stunned, and Sae due to pure smugness for pulling it off at all. He can read every emotion on her face, and most of them are horny. 

“This, um, this is my room.” She says quietly, awkwardly. It’s not that she didn’t like it, she actually wants more. But it came out of nowhere, she doesn’t even know Sae’s intentions. 

Sae stops, saying nothing as she unlocks the door. 

But she keeps going back to Isagi, doesn’t she? Even after Bachira arguably fucked her better, even after knowing he doesn’t intend to fall for her, date her, or even view her as anything other than a little fuck toy whenever he wants it. Maybe knowing the intentions makes it worse. Maybe this situation is exactly-

“Alright, night.” Sae turns around as y/n walks through the door of her dark hotel room. 

No, no. She shouldn’t. She doesn’t need any more of this. She doesn’t need to make this mess worse than it already is. 

“Wait-” She stops him, her body’s needs overpowering her logical side. 

“What’s that?” Sae turns around, a smug smirk plastered across his gorgeous face, his lips still plumped from kissing her just moments ago. 

She doesn’t say more, she doesn’t need to, instead grabbing him by the hand and pulling him through the door. 

Y/n feels like she blacks out for a while, kissing him like she’s been desperate for him for years, touching his body and giving him access to everything he wants of hers. By the time she comes back to her senses, his cock is stuffed deep in her soaked pussy, squelching noises echoing around the room as she bounces on him. It’s hard and fast, her hands pressed to his chest, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her up and down on his thick cock. 

Her legs already burn, but it doesn’t matter. She’s determined to ride him all night if she has to. She never thought it would be Sae out of all of them, she never thought she’d stare down at him, his eyes snapped shut and his auburn hair messily sticking to his forehead, short moans leaving his lips as she fucks herself on his cock. 

He’s so quiet, restricting himself to heavy breaths instead of speaking aloud. He doesn’t need to speak or tell her to go harder or compliment her- the way his body moves is enough to motivate her. How his cock twitches inside her as her walls hug him, how his chest rises and falls every time her hips crash down on him, how his hands squeeze tightly at her hips as if he wants to poke through to the other side. 

“S’good Sae.” Y/n restricts her vocals as well, but her shaking body hurdles closer to her orgasm with every movement. She leans forward on him, her lips nearly touching his as she bounces her ass on him, grinding into his cock so it hits the right spot to bring her closer. Her breath tickles his lips, his tongue, his nose- he loses himself for a moment, kissing her weakly, licking the drool off her lips. “So close~” She whines, pressing her clit into him, creating the last bit of friction she needs to drive her over the edge. 

“F-fuck~” Sae curses, his muscles tightening as he feels her pussy squeeze him in through her orgasm, his cock feeling every sensation of her wetness surrounding him like he’s drowning in it. Maybe he wishes he was. 

Y/n shakes, her body already burnt out from fucking him so hard, and she collapses on top of him, her muscles completely giving out. 

“Not done.” Sae groans, wrapping his arms around her limp body and swiftly flipping her on her back, her tits bouncing beautifully as she looks up at him, dazed and sensitive. 

He plunges back into her, feeling her warmth surround him once again, fitting snugly inside. In just a short second, Sae goes from being ridden like a dildo to fucking y/n like she’s the toy, rutting into her with a strength and speed that can only be described as godly, a beautiful destruction. 

Suddenly, Sae’s the only one who’s silent, with y/n completely unable to control the whimpers and curses that escape her into his awaiting ears, just motivating him to fuck her harder. She pushes at his chest, her weak hands pressing his skin and running through his hair, desperately clawing at him like she can’t decide if she wants him to stop or go harder. 

She sings his name like she’s praying to him, her rhythm matching with his deep thrusts, his experienced hands gripping at her tits. The overstimulation becomes too much, embarrassingly much, as she unexpectedly cums again, fluids rushing to coat the base of his cock and inner thighs as he drives it into her like a sword. 

“S’ry, Sae~ ah~” She can’t prevent the tears from streaming down her face as he leaves no part of her pussy unfucked. 

“You look pathetic.” Sae grunts, placing a hand on her wet cheek almost like he’s threatening to slap her. 

“Fuck~” She throws her head back.

“Ah, look at me.” Sae demands, forcing her gaze back to his striking teal eyes. Those eyes, they look so emotionless, which somehow makes it hotter. He doesn’t care if she lives or dies, and that’s all she could expect out of Itoshi Sae. “Gonna cum all over that pretty body.” He grunts.

It’s the first compliment he’s given her, catching her off guard enough to prevent her brain from processing his words. With a few more rough thrusts, he pulls out, stroking and squeezing at his cock as he holds it over her, finally spraying his thick load all over her. White ropes spurt from his twitching tip, coating her face, her hair, her tits. She’s covered in him. 

Her breathing is heavy as she lays helpless under him, drenched in his sticky cum, her pussy throbbing yet still pulsing for more. 

Sae snickers. “Hm, look at the mess you made.” He says, pressing his pink tip against her entrance once again. 

[mrs-snape5984]

„And there's a black mark where your heart should've been….“

„I could've laid down and died, but my head was spinning round. It was spinning round. I wanna know what it's like, so I can feel it inside…“ („The Blue, The Green“ by Lonely The Brave)

Trigger warning: I’ve written this post in a moment of frustration and grief. If anyone has a problem with reading the sad thoughts of a depressed, middle-aged woman with the tendency to curse and swear too much, please feel free to skip the following five paragraphs.

It’s one of those especially hard days today. I had to leave my dark room to be taken to a medical appointment. Leaving my dark room means crashing hard again…with prior announcement!

So, leaving the house goes hand in hand with a sudden feeling of disorientation. Noises, movements, lights…those are all things, which my brain can’t comprehend anymore since I’m struggling with ME/CFS. When I’m overstimulated like that, I’m losing my grip on reality. Everything gets blurry and I feel as if I don’t know, who I am anymore.

It’s hard to describe, but I need to be guided into the right direction in these situations: Walking very slowly with my cane…having a break after every few steps…being held on my other arm…always wearing my dark sunglasses and my noise canceling earplugs…all these aspects together are making me feel so helpless…

I have to take my mother with me to the doctor’s office, because I wouldn’t understand a single word otherwise. And when I’m home again, back in my dark room…lying in my bed, the big crash starts to hit me right into my face! I’m getting feverish…my whole skin hurts as if it would be pulled off my body…my lymph nodes are swollen…my limbs are hurting and I can’t make a single step anymore. My head seems to explode from aching and I’m losing my ability to communicate properly. Every fucking time!

After some hours (sometimes even up to 24 hours) of sleep, I’m regaining consciousness again…still not capable of leaving my bed. And this is the worst moment…the moment, when my brain starts thinking about the humiliating feeling of being so helpless in my age. The moment, when I’m realising, that there are still so many years left to live….probably the same way as I was living for the past 1,5 years. The moment, when I’m grieving for the life, I’ve lost. The moment, when I’m hating myself for being too sick to be the active mother, friend, employee, I’ve been before this goddamn disease ME/CFS destroyed everything!

And this is the moment, when Severus has to take over. This might sound strange, but drowning in my fantasies about him is the only way to prevent my mind from going insane. Every time, when my own reality becomes unbearable to me, I’m imagining myself to be hidden beneath his robes…searching for shelter in his arms. Severus has been my safe haven for the past 21 years…and right now I’m clinging to him as tight as I can…in order to stay alive.

The wonderfully talented @alinearthp has transformed my fantasy into this beautiful artwork and I’m more than happy with the outcome of it. Aline, my friend, I love your art and the way, we’re sharing our thoughts with each other. You are a precious person, my dear, and I’m grateful to know you. Thank you so much for everything!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

[being-addie]

Habits I've successfully developed since my first post🤍

If you've been here since the beginning, you'll know of my first and most popular post where I discuss developing certain habits to improve my life.

Here it is: https://www.tumblr.com/being-addie/714114582776610816/healthy-habits-im-developing-for-2023?source=share

So far, I've managed to do a lot and I'm so proud of myself. If you did some of them too, I'm really proud of you <3. It's difficult but we did it!

Here's what I managed to accomplish:

⭐Got my sleep schedule right: I FINALLY am sleeping 7-8 hours a night and it's so much better because I wake up at 5:30 am every morning and I'm more alert these days.

⭐Working out: Started going to the gym 5 days a week. I'm also looking into some hip-hop classes in the evenings.

⭐Water: I've tried drinking more water, and it's certainly working. I'm not perfect, but we're getting there!

⭐Digital detoxing: I did it. I successfully deleted social media and I'm so freaking proud of myself. It's 100% not easy and while I do get the occasional bursts of jealousy and FOMO, I'm getting better <3

⭐Creative work: I've started to learn how to crochet, and I'm planning on starting knitting soon. I also want to begin making my own jewellery (possibly try my hand at making clothes as well)

⭐Portfolio: I've begun work on my portfolio and I'm really excited with all the ideas I'm getting.

⭐Clean room: My room is so much cleaner now that I'm tidying up on a regular basis.

⭐Friendships: Currently in a really great place with two separate friend groups who value me, and I'm really grateful to past me for cutting out people I thought were my "friends".

Of course, I'm not perfect, I will be struggling with some things. I did particularly have problems with some of these:

💛My to-do list: More often than not, my to-do list lies incomplete because I just don't want to do it lol. Discipline is key, and I'm working on it.

💛Food: I've had to go out so much, and I've been consuming less-than-ideal healthy food. It's been difficult because I'm out so many hours due to classes that I literally need to buy those sugary protein bars to eat. 10 hours a day of nonstop commuting, sitting for 2-hour classes is no joke. We've also had a ton of birthdays and outings so I'm trying not to give into temptation and buy a bag of chips on a whim.

💛Self-care: I was so busy, I burned out, oof. I overworked myself to the point of a mental breakdown, and I'm still so busy, I'm finding it difficult to set aside time to even do my Everything Shower. I'm going to try and cut my day into manageable chunks so I can decompress.

Learning myself over the last few months has been interesting, to say the least. Paying attention to your mind and body's cues allows you to be more aware of what you're doing and WHY. Here's your sign to start implementing habits you've been sleeping on.

Don't wait, just start. xoxo

<3

[isalisewrites]

Mormon General Conference is over. Finally.

I've posted more than I normally do about the religion of my birth on this blog. Don't worry. After this, we're going back to our regular hella gay programming for another six months.

You can't keep my gay twinks away from me forever!!!

But I make these posts so others can see a safe space within my blog for those who are PIMO (physically in, mentally out) or EXMO (Ex Mormon). I make these posts for those who suffer and struggle during General Conference due to 9 to 10 of relentless hours from these men (with the spattering of a 3 to 4 women in there). I understand and I've been there. It's painful to be in the early stages of your faith deconstruction because you're usually navigating it alone.

I want those of you who are PIMO to know that it's going to be okay.

This pain will not last forever.

I have been PIMO for two and a half years now. The past two conferences have not affected me. I still go to church. I'm still surrounded by believers. But I am unaffected.

And you will get to this place in time, too.

You will be at peace when you're surrounded by people who are hooked by these lies and you will be okay with it. There's freedom in letting go and understanding that this is myth. You can't always fix everything, even though we've been taught that we can. You can critique and call out the bullshit without being affected by it. Even if your physical freedom isn't within reach yet, you can obtain emotional and mental freedom.

To those of you who are young or underage PIMOs, wait it out. It's okay. Nod and smile. Keep your head down and don't speak out about the church to your parents. It will bring suspicion over you and limit you. Do as little as you can in church without causing issues with your parents. Study, study, study, and go to college. Get your education because that will defend you from further cults.

You will gain your freedom one day.

Do things that bring you joy. Begin to do less in the church and more in your life. If you're stuck, better yourself as best as you can. Don't overdo it, though. You have time.

Take time to grieve time lost, but learn to live in the moment. This will be the thing that preserves your sanity the most.

The past is nothing but a memory and tomorrow doesn't exist.

There is only this moment.

There is only today, so live it like it might be your last.

Use it for what brings you joy. It doesn't have to be productive, either.

You are not alone. Continue to find community among us EXMOs and PIMOs. If you're like me and love fandom, find your fandom space online. I found my safe space and community in my little Harry Potter fandom, the Tomarry niche. I started writing a gay fanfiction and gathered beautiful people around who support me. I do what I love. As a mostly closeted lesbian, this was my way of maintaining my sanity.

Whatever your journey may be, it's the right one. I might not believe in Mormonism anymore, but I do think that our journeys have purpose and good in them. I've endured a lot of bullshit this year and I wouldn't change a thing about it.

I found out about my precancerous uterus in February. On the day I scheduled my hysterectomy, I had a gallbladder attack that would not go away. Three days later, I had emergency gallbladder surgery.

I had someone fake their death in my server, causing a great amount pain and chaos among my friends.

A family member found my anonymous online identity and discovered my PIMO status. They turned on me, attacked me, caused me great pain, and then abandoned me for months. There was a near month of nothing, before they'd return with more reverse blaming and zero accountability for their unacceptable actions. They told another family member, who was supportive of me, but I didn't give any permission of the spreading of MY business. I remain silent about my PIMO status for two years for a REASON.

Zero apologies. Zero accountability.

After 83 days of silence, they text me on my mother's birthday, who has been dead for over 5 years, that they're thinking of her.

Yet, they've scorned her daughter.

I've been to the ER four times this year, under anesthesia twice, and will be going under it for a third. I will have had two surgeries this year.

And I endured this all without a foundation of faith in Mormonism and its god. My mental health has been the best its ever been this year, even during the hard months where I had depression and anxiety.

I've excelled this year beyond other years. I've written a total of 243,000 words and will continue to write more. I am stronger than I ever was.

All without Mormonism.

You do not need this religion to live a fulfilling, joyous life. This is the most important truth you can instill within yourself. I have been lucky because ever since I was a little girl, the one thing that could never be taken from me was my love for writing. My drive to write could never be stolen. I was able to rely on that and turn to it.

If you don't have something you love, now is a beautiful time to find something. Create. Write. Read. Draw. Knit. Crochet. Pick up a hobby. Something, anything. Make content. Your life will be enriched by it, trust me. Find community in what you love.

If you lost family because of Mormonism, remember that family is more than blood. Your people are out there.

You can always send me an ask to reach out to me, too.

Life is amazing on this side. It's a little scary, but it's not evil or cruel. It's nothing like the leaders of the Mormon church have led us to believe. The hardships of life are not created by an evil one who is out to destroy you.

The hardships of life exist because you're alive.

You are shaking the chains of religious indoctrination. You are doing one of the hardest things you can do in this life. You will come out stronger than before.

And I'm proud of you.

[heian-era-housewife]

Hello all!

Recovery, diagnosis, and continued health journey below the break.

TLDR: Stage 4 endometriosis, still waiting on results for the heart condition, tired, sore, overall am going to be okay 👍 I do, however, hate being the owner of a uterus.

Most importantly, thanks everyone for the love, support, and well wishes! Glad to be back! It will be slow. Don't expect too much, but I do still plan to play catch up on Kinktober, even if it goes into November a little bit.

Trigger warnings: blood, mental health, mention of sex, gender identity, generally just Yuri whining 😅

I'm not sure where to begin. When I imagined writing this comeback post, pre-surgery I thought it would be all smiles and sunshine. I knew there would be pain, but I thought the worst of it would be behind me. Currently, I feel like I'm sitting toward the bottom of what may be a very long uphill struggle.

While my surgery went smoothly, the care I received around the surgery was eye opening. We waited for hours on end both before and after the surgery to get answers, to get help, to use the bathroom or be offered water.

Sometime before I woke up I had apparently been given some disposable underwear and a pad because I was bleeding pretty heavily. When I was finally able to use the restroom, I discovered that the pad had been placed cotton-side down with the adhesive side facing my body. The sticky part was still covered with the backing (thankfully), but this had caused blood to run everywhere including down my legs where I could not reach, as I was unable to bend. The only person available to help me at the time was a man whose bedside manner was less than desirable, so I just lived with the blood stains.

This was just one of many instances where it felt like I was almost being punished for having the reproductive organs that I do. And frankly, that has been my experience my entire life as someone who menstruates, who has had difficulty with menstruation, and who has had near constant pain and problems in that area.

Ultimately, I was diagnosed with stage 4 endometriosis. I know very little about this condition and by the time I had woken up from surgery, the surgical staff had gone home. There was no one willing to answer questions and I have since been told I will need to wait two weeks until my follow up appointment to speak with the doctor and get details. Until then, I am left with my own research. From what it seems, there is no cure and very minimal that can be done for treatment of symptoms. My discharge notes make mention of heavy scarring on my ovaries from recurring cysts, which are sure to continue. The endometrial tissue can also appear on or effect other parts of the body as they had in this past instance where tissue was present around my intestines. It can grow on lungs and even the brain, though these cases are extremely rare.

It's hard not to feel discouraged right now. I thought this surgery would be a huge step forward toward feeling better, but it feels more like a tiny drop in a bucket of larger issues and possibly more surgeries and complications to come. Not only this, but I am enraged both by the absolutely abysmal healthcare system here in the U.S. but by the treatment of and complete lack of empathy for those who have vaginas, uteruses, who experience menstruation or pregnancy and any number of complications from these things. I've said it before and I'll say it again, "women's" healthcare is a JOKE, but this goes beyond women. If I, a cisgender female, am experiencing such a lack of care and empathy, I can only imagine how any person with these organs who doesn't fit the stereotypical image or definition gets treated. I hate it.

Anyhoo...

Recovery is expected to take about two weeks. No sex for six weeks (for real this time)

Still waiting on results from my heart monitor.

Wanting to tackle mental health after squaring away what I can of physical health.

Depression and anxiety is now worse than ever. Doing my best not to slither into my little hermit hole and hide from it all.

Writing helps. Drawing helps. The love and care from amazing people on this silly little site helps.

And of course, there is Hubs, who deserves a standing ovation for the incredible job he has done caring for me, advocating for me, and reminding me every day that truly good people do still exist 🩷

If you've read this far, please go get yourself a cookie or something 🍪 and thank you, truly, for being part of this little journey with me 💕

[wyvernquill]

Another Dreamling Anastasia AU Snippet

So, this AU somehow gained some new traction over the past few days, and I remembered I still had this in my drafts! It's a direct continuation from the last post - the first time their paths cross, though I think I'll save their actual first conversation (already written!) for the next part. Mostly a lot of background and exposition, but I hope it'll be enjoyable nonetheless! Thanks everyone for your enthusiasm for this AU!!!

(Masterpost here!)

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

(I don't know why it just won't let me do the proper tag sometimes... I hope the people Tumblr refuses to let me tag will see the post anyway, I'm very sorry...)

---

There is a fight just about to break loose at the White Horse Inn.

It will happen because of a man; a pale, stick-thin skinny thing of a man, barely more than an ashen, grimy face under a mop of coal hair balanced on top of a ragged black coat, loitering close to the fireplace and trying not to be too obvious about soaking up its warmth. At his feet, half hidden beneath the torn hem-line of his coat, there is a bird, some sort of corvid, following the other guests - and their purses in particular - with its beady little eyes.

The bird’s master is watching, too, watching the inn’s staff collect coins and shove them into their pockets, watching the plates and bowls of food being carried about, hungry, starving-

And then he’s noticed watching, a barmaid muttering a word or two to the innkeep over by the beer caskets - and the moment the man’s eyes find the stranger, they narrow.

And in turn, the moment the stranger notices the hostile eyes on him, he seems to brace himself, something feral in the way his lips draw back from his teeth as the innkeep makes a beeline for him through the crowded pub.

Words are exchanged.

Words are exchanged, loudly.

An arm is grabbed - and the bird jumps up with an angry caw, beating its wings at the innkeep’s face, and the scullery boy runs over to help, as does the burliest of the barmaids.

(There’s that fight now.)

The stranger shouts and scratches and twists as he is dragged through the common room, towards the door, growling profanities in a hoarse, dark voice, while his bird squawks, wrapped in the scullery boy’s apron.

It’s a right mess, but perhaps not an unusual one - the White Horse makes quick work of unruly drunkards (and those who are here to pilfer money rather than spend it), and even as some guests are following the fight in fascination and with half a mind to join in just for the pleasure of throwing a punch, most of their clientele barely spares them a look. Soon, the stranger will be cast out into the cold and the night again, far away from the warmth of a fireplace, or the smell of food, or opportunities for thievery. Nothing special. Soon, it will be just a quiet evening, like any other…

If it weren’t for the fact that, over in the far corner, a familiar man, and a familiar something-altogether-else still managing a rather sound impression of one, have been nursing their drinks for a good hour already, trying to drown their failures in ale.

(The humans have robbed Destiny of his powers, torn his realm from him, burned his book - but destiny still shapes the lives of mortals and immortals alike; and it is that power, which makes Robert Gadling look up from the sad remains of his beer, and, for just a fraction of a second, lock eyes with the vagabond currently in the process of being removed from the premises.

That is enough.

With just one look, the wheels of fate are already set in motion, and our story can begin in earnest.)

"Hey, Gil." Hob nudges Gilbert's arm, not taking his eyes off the struggling, furious stranger. "Over there. Look."

"Hm?" Gilbert blinks owlishly, following Hob's nod to the commotion behind him. "Oh, yes, yes. Ghastly, isn't it? Disgraceful, that some hoodlums cannot conduct themselves in public houses with the appropriate decorum - in my days, I tell you, when the Endless were still-"

"No, look!" Hob cuts him off. "The hoodlum. Look at him, really look."

"Hrmmm," Gilbert makes a sound of polite displeasure, and fiddles with his circular little glasses, peering through them and across the room, where the haggard stranger is spitting abuse at the innkeep even as he is in the process of being shoved out of the door.

And then, "oh, good lord!" Gilbert gasps, and drops his glasses.

"You see it too, then?"

"I… yes. Gracious, yes. Like a ghostly apparition." Gilbert gropes for his glasses with one hand, eyes never leaving the stranger. "The physical resemblance - most uncanny. A good deal more malnourished and, ah… rather grimy, it seems… and yet, overall…"

"A dead ringer for Dream of the Endless, isn't he?" Hob finishes, nodding. “Better than any of the men that auditioned for us, certainly.”

“Heaven help,” Gilbert’s voice is weak with emotion, “even knowing it isn’t him, I feel like… ah, Robert, if he were only given a bath, some better garb… it would be as if His Lordship walked again!”

“Would be?” Hob’s grin is bright and hungry, like a hunting dog smelling his prey, as he pushes himself up from his seat. “Will be!”

“-and if I see either you or yer blasted bird thievin’ in here again," the innkeep snarls, tossing first the haggard stranger, and then a squawking bundle of black feathers, out into the snow. “I’m callin’ the coppers! Y’hear?”

The word the stranger spits back, gathering all his limbs and his dark coat around himself as he staggers to his feet and off into the night, is so filthy even Hob would blush upon saying it. A bit rough around the edges, this man, not exactly the model of a fairytale king - but such things can be taught, can’t they. Hob’s seen a production of Shaw’s Pygmalion, years ago, and if Higgins can make a fine lady out of a flower girl, then Hob and Gil can make a Dream Lord out of some vagabond.

“Begging your pardon, good man.” Hob leans against the doorframe, watching the stranger’s dark shape angrily stomp off through the snow, bird hopping along at his side. “Howsabout this, a shilling for anything you can tell me about the man you just tossed out of your establishment.”

“Whot, Murphy!?” The innkeep blinks. 

Holds out his hand.

Hob dutifully deposits one of his last few shillings in it.

“Thank you kindly, sir, much obliged.” A tip of the hat, and the coin disappearing in the innkeep’s pocket. “Murphy’s one of the local beggars. A filthy thief, too, and no mistake. He’s trained that raven of his into it - heard the city even pays him some little pittance to control the birds in the area! They wouldn’t do it if they knew what he was doing with ‘em. I don’t like seein’ him around the Horse, not with the trouble he’s causing. Stealing leftover scraps from tables I can forgive, might even give him a full meal now and then in the name of charity - but if he goes for the pockets of my regulars, the regulars don’t come back, understand? Can’t have that.”

“Course not.” Hob agrees readily. “Bad for business, a pickpocket.”

“Just so, sir. He’s been in the London area for… oh, eight, nine, maybe ten years? Hasn’t got a trade, not very willing to do an honest day’s work in any case, can’t hold down a job for the life of him as a result. Still thinks himself better than the rest o’ us, anyway. I’d leave him alone, if I were you - he’s vicious as all Hell, bit the kitchen boy once and the lad needed to get his arm stitched up afterwards. And that raven - the thing’s a demon, swear to God. A familiar, like witches have. If we were livin’ in a less civilised age, they’d’ve strung old Murphy up for witchcraft and devilry years ago!”

Hob hums thoughtfully. “Do you know if he has fallen in with that crowd? Not idle hearsay, mind, but facts. There’s still some men in London who practise the Old Arts, does he meet with them?”

(Hob has heard that the old Magus of Wych Cross died perhaps a year or two after his greatest accomplishment; for all his powers that tore Endless spectres from their lofty thrones, in the end he couldn’t defend himself against his own son finally snapping, smothering him in his sleep, and running off with the gardener. Good riddance to the old goat, in Hob’s opinion - but he had a good handful of supporters in every major city, and they can’t all have died with him.)

The innkeep takes his time answering, staring out into the softly-falling snow.

“...not that I know of, sir.” He finally says, cautiously. “He doesn’t meet with anyone, really, ‘xcept the birds. Solitary type, is our Murphy, with no family, and no-one to miss him if he freezes himself to death some night. But.”

A pause.

“There’s something wrong about that man, if you ask me. He has a look in his eyes… whatever it is, it’s not natural. Might be magic. Might be madness. I really couldn’t say.”

“I see.” Gears are turning in Hob’s head, puzzle pieces slotting into place, plans unfolding.

A man sleeping rough, with nobody to miss him or know much of him, fierce and angry and constantly on the brink of starvation, looking just like Dream. A diamond in the rough, and quite possibly desperate enough to actually agree to their mad plan just for a few weeks of guaranteed food and a roof over his head.

Dear God. He’s perfect.

“One more question, about Murphy.” Hob beams, half-giddy. “Where do you think I could find him, say… tomorrow?”

The innkeep’s eyebrows rise up into his hair.

“Can’t see why you’d ever want to,” he mutters into his beard. “But very well. On your head be it.”

He names a nearby small park, where Murphy often goes to feed his birds, and is rewarded for it with another tuppence; and then Hob saunters back to his and Gil’s table, already feeling like he can almost taste the promise of eternal life on the tip of his tongue.

(“We cannot know for certain that he will agree, Robert. He sounds like a most prideful young man - he is much like His Lordship in that regard as well, I suppose.”

“Oh, he’ll agree. I’ve been where he is, Gil, and there were times I would’ve sold my own mother to the devil for a warm meal and a bed to sleep in. Not that the devil would’ve taken the old bat even if I’d paid him, of course, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“That hardly makes it much better. We’d be taking advantage of the poor man’s unfortunate situation!”

“Everyone’s situation is unfortunate these days. And we’d be improving his, on the whole, along with ours.”

“Let it be noted, dear fellow, that I am voicing my ethical and moral quandaries.”

“I really don’t think our plan to scam the Endless is very ethical in the first place, Gil.”

“...now that I cannot possibly argue with.”

“There we are then.”

“However! You will have to be the one to suggest it. I will help you instruct him and present him to the Endless if you do convince him - but for now, I wash my hands of the matter.”

“Fair enough.”)

[choicesficwriterscreations]

March Creator of the Month: Bayleedraws-sometimesx

Each month, CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers or artists, and this month’s creator of the month is the lovely @bayleedraws-sometimesx!  The writer is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page. Past COTM's can be found here. Center photo by the lovely @bayleedraws-sometimesx!

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog

How do you want to be known on Tumblr? 

Baylee

More below...

When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played? 

I think it was in 2018, and I first played Bloodbound 1. 

When and why did you join Choices fandom?

It was December 2020. I was really struggling at that point; my whole life had changed, and I still hadn't come to terms with it after a year. It was just an escape. 

How did you pick your blog name? 

It’s just my name and what I do. 

Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it!  

It’s just a pfp i did over halloween. It’d me dressed like Sally from Nightmare before Christmas. 

Do you write fanfiction, create fan art, or are you one of those really gifted people who do both? 

I used to want to be a writer. I really love writing stories, I’ve never really written any fanfiction, but technically, I can draw and write. 

How long have you been creating for Choices and for any other fandoms?

It’ll be four years in December since I’ve been creating Choices-related stuff, but ever since I was a little kid, I’d get obsessed with different shows/ characters and write/ draw them. 

What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to create for?

My favourite book is definitely Bloodbound. I love drawing BB related stuff because I have a slight obsession with Kamiliah 

Share your first Choices fanfic or fan art that you posted with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were creating it today?

It was a drawing I did for @ao719. I think I would change a lot if I were to draw it now. I don’t really like it anymore, and my style has definitely changed over the years.  I find it really embarrassing looking back at old drawings. 

What is your favorite piece of fiction or art that you created? 

A BB animation (I still haven't finished), but it was really fun writing the story and designing/ drawing everything. 

Do you have a creation that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to do well but found it could use a little more love?

I never expected any animations to do well and was very surprised when they did. I’m really sure that I would like to get more attention. 

If you could only draw one style or type of art for the rest of your life, what would it be and why? 

I don't know. I’m moving into my own flat soon, so I’ve been drawing some scenery pieces I’m going to put up once I’m there. I find them really therapeutic to draw, so maybe that. 

Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs?

Sometimes. 

What element of art do you struggle with most?

Probably finishing the pieces off. By that point I’ve stared at it for so many hours that all I can see are  the problems with it. 

Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

Absolutely, I’m going through a lot right now so there’s quite a lot of things that i really do want to finish but i just dont have the motivation. 

If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to see your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you show them first? 

Maybe. My big brother taught me how to draw, so occasionally, I’ll let him look at some of my drawings. 

16 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing or art? Are there any artists that influence you?

I can’t think of anyone published that I looked up to or have really inspired my artwork. There’s definitely people that i know in my life that have. 

Which one of your creations would you like to see fiction written about? 

I have absolutely no idea lol 

Do you write original fiction or create non-fandom art? 

Yeah, I love creating new characters and really animations doing animations of my original characters.

What other hobbies do you have?

A lot of crafty things. I was taught how to sew, knit, and crochet as a kid, and those are things I still enjoy doing now. 

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 Fic: "For All Life and For All Time" (A CS Dracula AU in 3 Parts)

Author's Notes: Okay, so this is posted late, on a day that was luckily unclaimed. I struggled with doing justice to the work that probably began my love of all things Victorian Gothic, and re-reading it again for plotting and inspiration certainly didn't make the prospect any less daunting. While I love the original Bram Stoker novel's epistolary format, it was not something I wanted to carry on for an entire fic. Nor is this fully true to the original's narrative. I do hope that those who have read the novel and enjoyed it may find nods to the original to make them smile. I didn't want to make Killian the Dracula character - he is neither at all attractive nor redeemable in the original work - so he became my Van Helsing. Emma is the kick-butt awesome Mina Harker, quite a standout female character for that time, but I did away with the Jonathan Harker character altogether.

This starts in the middle of the action, then has a fair bit of reflection to bring readers up to speed. The next installment should have more action and pick up where this one leaves off.

A MILLION thank yous to @myfearless-love for all the editing work she did - my writing is quite a mess when I first translate it from my handwritten pages to a doc! She made it so much better, and I am incredibly grateful!!

A Victorian, Dracula-inspired AU in Three Parts

Please Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.

**Also available on AO3, if you prefer

Part One

by: @snowbellewells

Emma craned her neck to peer out the small window of the carriage into the impenetrable darkness encroaching on all sides as the conveyance careened around sharp curves and stark cliff faces, making her stomach pitch and her heart leap into her throat. More than once, her mouth opened to call the driver, beg him to slow down, but each time a sudden jolt or swerve had her clenching her teeth and swallowing the words as she gripped the seat tightly. Pitching wildly from one side of the bench to the other, Emma was nearly toppled to the floor repeatedly as they sped on.

The torches beside the carriage doors flickered wildly behind the glass sconces but barely made pinpricks of light in the surrounding night; deep blackness which had swallowed them since leaving the small gypsy outpost where they had supped just an hour past. Emma realized belatedly that she was only becoming more overwrought by attempting to stare blindly into the void while they hurtled forward, and instead forced herself to lean her head against the seat back and close her eyes, resolutely taking deep, calming breaths.

Scant moments passed in such a manner before Emma felt her racing heartbeat slow. It was a different sort of thrill which then ran along her spine - distinct from the chill which had settled on her skin with the horrifying loss of Aurora’s sweet friendship and from the eerie foreboding which had accompanied her since setting out in this last effort to ensnare the perpetrator of her younger friend’s downfall. This determined trek higher and higher into the isolated Carpathian heights seemed to weigh on her more with every mile they gained.

Yet, despite the tightening pit in her stomach and the anxious flutter of her pulse, Emma would not fail to accomplish her part in Killian’s plan. The Professor had turned Emma Swan’s already teetering world upon its axis. He was beyond description - no words could capture what his mere presence, his voice, a glance in her direction could do to her - a power no man had ever held before, because she would not allow it. And yet every hair on her body stood on end when he was near; her awareness utterly captured by the mysterious scholar. He had introduced himself merely as Killian Jones when they met at Aurora’s sick bed, but as they had nursed her together, even when their every desperate attempt proved futile, it had become clear his vast intellect, his determination and resolve, placed him well beyond the scope of any man she had met before - or likely would again.

By the time he had spoken the truth of the fiend who had siphoned Aurora’s life before their eyes, she could not doubt him, even in the face of the utterly impossible - a vampire.

This ancient evil, Count Dracula, had ruled his isolated corner of the world for ages, but in coming to England and extending his reach, he was a threat to all mankind. Aurora had been only a prelude to what he intended. A monster of myth and legend had destroyed her innocent friend, and without pausing for rest, he had stalked and marked Emma as his next victim, only she had the advantage of awareness and warning enough to resist.

Though the threat was deadly, and knowing what she faced - stakes and dark graveyards and the betrayal of her very humanity from what she gathered of Aurora’s end that no one would speak of in full - Emma did not wish to be shielded and to wait hidden in safety while others risked their lives for her sake. She would have her hand in it, even if that meant to some extent playing the helpless damsel as bait in the trap.

To Killian, it was personal as well. He had still been a medical student long ago, traveling to study folk remedies in Romania when he met a darkly beautiful Countess, lonely and sad, all too eager to join him on his travels. She had set his world aflame - first in joy, and then in ruin, for she had not been as free as he had believed. He had fallen for her, and then seen her drained of life by her husband - the creature of night who had proven nightmares lived and walked the earth. Killian had only survived that first encounter because the Count wished him to suffer. For years, Killian had studied and prepared. He had made himself into an expert much different than he had once aimed, and he had intended for his suffering to end only when his life, or the Count’s, did as well.

There was a fine line to walk, however, between justice and bitter revenge. When he had seen the desire for reprisal in Emma after Aurora’s death, when she learned of the indignity to which the young beauty had been subjected and the lengths to which the men who cared for her had gone to assure her peaceful rest, she had sworn she would see this Count Dracula pay for his cruelty somehow. That was when Killian had told her all. “Do not fall into that trap, Swan,” he had spoken softly, though the import of his words was unmistakable. “That way lies ruin - only wasted years and endless torment.”

His blue eyes bored into her very soul as he strove to make her see. “When I lost my love, my Milah, I sore revenge upon her foul husband, the vampire who murdered her without remorse. I was nearly consumed, and when I finally came back to myself, I realized that seeking only retribution would make a monster of me as well. That was when I took on the name Van Helsing, obtained my licenses and degrees with it in fact, in the hope of evading his detection while I waited and watched and the years crept by. I must pursue the course for the sake of all, but not for my own ends, my own anger and hate.”

He would not release her eyes, his focus searing as he continued, “You too must find a way to separate yourself, to retain your purity of heart despite the terrible mission you undertake. Do what you must to save all, but do so without letting it twist your soul with similar darkness.”

And so, in their desperate alliance, they all had their roles to play - Aurora’s bowed but unbroken suitors, and she, Aurora’s dearest friend. The three gentlemen had rallied around Emma, swearing to protect her in her friend’s name. And Killian, their worthy advisor and leader, had not yet steered them wrong. She wanted justice and what retribution could be found for the torment Aurora had suffered. None of them would falter. They had taken solemn vows. Now all that remained was to see the mission through.

Emma could only wonder how had her life been altered so drastically in a few short weeks. Such thoughts replayed through her mind in what was at first a rose-tinged procession as she recalled how bright and full of promise she had been when first arriving on the coast of Whitby for a holiday with her childhood playmate. It had been some time since she and Aurora had seen each other, and those first days on the shore were spent in a haze of sunshine and laughter. They caught up with one another’s lives as they shared tea and biscuits on the wide veranda of the Spindleton’s gorgeous summer cottage. They giggled under the covers long into the nights, whispering of Aurora’s debut season, the many eager suitors who had vied to court her, and her blushing fondness for her chosen fiancé Sir Philip Thornswood, Lord Briarling. They also chuckled over Emma’s adventures - how she disguised herself in men’s pants to move freely while researching her stories, and the various pseudonyms she used when submitting her pieces for publication, subverting the male-dominated publishing world. 

It had been an idyllic change from the crowded, dingy part of London where Emma could afford to live and work. Aurora’s family belonged to the upper echelon of society, well-known and old-moneyed, and Emma had been mostly alone in the world for as long as she could remember. She was discovered on the front stoop of the Widow Lucas’ boarding house as an infant, wrapped in a snow white baby blanket with her name stitched in purple as the only clue to her identity. Fortunately, the Widow Lucas was a formidable woman, well-versed in making her way in the world against harrowing odds. She had already raised a granddaughter who was now off traveling the continent, so she took in the little blonde foundling and raised Emma as her own, teaching her all she knew. Though the tough older woman - “Granny” to all who knew her, especially Emma - had been gone for some years now, Emma remained eternally grateful that it was her doorstep her unknown parents had chosen that cold dawn so long ago.

Granny had even managed to scrounge and save enough, and was willing to spare Emma’s assistance twice a week, for riding lessons - where Emma had met Aurora Spindleton. Though poor Aurora had been an absolute lost cause at equestrian pursuits, Emma had excelled with enthusiasm, and everyone involved was relieved when she took the slightly younger future debutante under her wing during their lessons.

Emma loved the freedom riding gave her, and Granny was glad to know her charge would have the ability to get help quickly and effectively if ever needed - and defend herself too, if her skill in archery and marksmanship was any indication. In truth, Granny had been secretly delighted. She had lived long enough to know just how dangerous the world could be, and she wanted to see her girl as prepared as possible without completely tarnishing her outlook.

Though Aurora’s family was of a higher social standing, they had always been welcoming and kind to Emma whenever she visited their townhouse in Mayfair. She sensed that they were glad their only child had found a practical friend who could provide a steadying influence on Aurora’s naive, head-in-the-clouds sweetness. Since gossip photographers insisted on capturing and reporting the doings of the peerage, her parents were certainly relieved that Emma’s tips and encouragement had kept Aurora from being caught falling off her mount or in some other embarrassing faux pas. Aurora, for her part, was so endearing and open that Emma couldn’t resist being charmed. She might have been cosseted and sheltered, but she was hardly the sort of snob Emma had expected to encounter when mingling with the upper crust during her lessons. Instead, Emma was pleasantly surprised to make her first close friend - a friendship that lasted for years, with Emma always missing the Spindletons when they left for the shore in summer, counting down the days until her confidante would return.

This year, however, she had received a request, along with a train ticket, to join them at Whitby. It had been wonderful - strolling, swimming, and lovely summer hours blending together joyously - until all had gone horribly wrong. If only the happy, haze of sunshine-warm days had not gone dark and tinged with blood.

Aurora had already been betrothed to Philip by the time Emma had arrived. Still, it had been lovely to meet each of the worthy men who had sought her hand. With not an ounce of malice in her slender body, they had each sworn their friendship and fealty, even after the troth had been gently rejected. Even without Aurora there to blush and smile sweetly while introducing them, Emma could easily see why her friend might have been drawn to each in his own way, despite the obvious differences between them. All the men who had sought Aurora’s hand in marriage were honorable and true, respectable and worthy beyond reproach. Their faithfulness to Aurora tested beyond natural bounds and withstood the onslaught, and Emma felt the protection of their bravery as they had rallied around her when she faced a similar fate. If only any one of them had understood what had preyed on Aurora before it had been too late!

Philip Thornswood, Aurora’s betrothed, was the most like her young friend in Emma’s eyes. Upon first meeting the landed peer, she felt the warmth in his large, chocolate eyes, his gentle strength and charm, and she knew they would have melted Aurora’s heart irrevocably. There was a sad sweetness to his expression, as if Emma herself returned a bit of his lost love to him with her presence. He had bent over her hand to gallantly kiss its back, and she had blinked away tears for the happiness that Aurora would never enjoy, knowing the two would have been well-matched beyond her friend’s wildest dreams. All she could do was press his hand in return, and give him a wordless smile she only hoped might express her bittersweet feelings.

Graham Morris, from the wild, rolling hills of Ireland - a cowboy of sorts, as they would call it in the Americas - was a man of few words and swift action, easily winning and debonair, but  also a bit rumpled and informal. He was clearly happier out of doors, more comfortable in the woods and riding horses than in a crowd of people, and yet his easy good humor and almost bashful regard could easily have swayed her young friend. He was an excellent shot, ever on the alert, and a godsend to have in their desperate endeavor.

The third suitor, Dr. Jefferson Seward, was a celebrated and innovative physician who had fought to restore Aurora’s health with every fiber of his energy. If the foe he had battled had been a mortal man rather than an immortal being, Emma had no doubt they would have prevailed. Though he was slightly older, he was thoughtful and doting; Aurora would have naturally been fond of him. The affection between them had been undaunted by her choice of another - so much so that when Jefferson had found himself losing the fight for her life, he had urgently sent for his friend, the renown Professor Van Helsing, expert on the supernatural forces, to do what he could not.

And that was how she had come to be in this rattling horse-drawn carriage, racing up a treacherous mountain path. The devious monster who had taken everything from Aurora - and who now threatened to drain Emma’s own life as well - awaited her in the deserted outpost at the end of this long night’s journey. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. Every few minutes, her fingers reflexively gripped her reticule, its strap looped around her wrist, drawing comfort from the small Derringer hidden within its folds. She also took strength from the knife secured in a special holster at the top of her stockings, pressing against her thigh. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of Professor Van Helsing - Killian - explaining its purpose as he presented her with the clever sheath. He had been deathly serious about her safety, but there also had been a heated flicker of clear attraction when she shyly gestured to ascertain where it should be worn, a moment that had ignited a warmth deep inside her.

The gentle feathering of gray in his hair near his temples and sideburns reminded her of the vast experience and knowledge he had gathered in his life - the very things they were all counting on to help them survive. The deeper lines around his startlingly bright blue eyes and at the corners of his firm lips reminded her that he had once smiled much more than he allowed himself to now. It made Emma wish to see him do so again. Everything about the man radiated power and purpose, commanding her respect from the moment they met, just as Aurora’s terrifying affliction had reached its peak. 

They had not won the victory any of them had prayed for, least of all Lord Briarling. Emma had hardly been able to bear looking at the strong young man bowed by grief as she had boarded the carriage for her mission. Philip Thornswood had given her a hand up onto the step, and was the last to speak to her before Killian Van Helsing’s own farewell. The gloom in his demeanor made her very glad she was not leaving the young gentleman alone, but in the company of true comrades. Even so, she trusted that Philip would not allow himself to falter in their cause. That steady hand, such a gentle support for her own as she ascended into the carriage, might have trembled in the doing, but had not hesitated to drive a stake into the breast of one he loved most in all the world for the sake of her eternal soul.

Breaking from her reflection on the journey’s beginning, Emma remembered herself suddenly as an eerie calm seeming to settle over her surroundings. She was instantly on alert when the carriage began to slow. A shiver of trepidation ran up her spine, returning her harshly to the present and the task before her. Outside there was a foreboding, unnatural quiet, only the crunch of the carriage wheels and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the rough ground broke the eerie silence. They rolled to a stop, and Emma leaned from the window, intent on calling up question the driver.

To her utter confusion and horror, when she glimpsed the seat where the driver had perched, she found no one there. He was gone, and she was stranded alone in the dark. Uncertain of what to do, but knowing she could not stay on the desolate mountain pass in the cold, Emma exited the carriage and alighted on the ground. As her feet touched the rough stone and dirt beneath, some unnerving signal was sounded. The silence was broken by the howling of wolves - loud, spine-tingling, and coming from every side, all around them.

There was no way to outrun them, and as the echo and answer of their baying circled nearer, Emma knew there was no way through their number at any rate, even without being able to see. The horses stamped and tossed their heads nervously, panic driving them as instinct warned them predators lingered just beyond the faint circles of light from the carriage lamps. She would not leave them to be devoured; nor would she lie down and wait to be torn apart herself. She was nearly there!

Desperate and trembling, but steeling her resolve, Emma moved to the front of the carriage, intending to climb up onto the driver’s box, take the reins, and break through the pack, to drive them to the castle herself. It might have been her imagination, her terror breathing life into her senses, but it felt as though the creatures drew closer still. She could almost hear the heavy pants and growls between their mournful howls and feel their hot, slavering breath on the back of her neck. A nervous glance over her shoulder showed only moving flashes of grey fur and horrifying red eyes shining out of the shadows. She had gripped the metal railing to pull herself up when all seemed to fall away, the night going perfectly still.

A dark figure glided with unnatural grace through the mass of half-seen forms. The pack almost seemed to bow their shaggy, sharp-toothed heads before it, if Emma could at all reconcile that impression in her mind. One would almost believe they had been summoned.

The slim, dark, and sinister figure appeared before her, having reached her almost before Emma could mark his movement. Wearing a fine black cloak trimmed in thick fur and reaching almost to the ground, Emma saw little else but the flash of deep garnet in its lining and the glimmer of an evil, yet irresistible, smile. A pale hand reached out of the folds of the garment, outstretched to take hers in strangely formal greeting.

“I believe you are seeking me,” a sibilant voice nearly crooned.

Emma fought back a shudder at the sight of dagger-sharp nails at the end of long fingers somehow reminiscent of spider legs, pulling her into the web. She wanted to deny his claim, but all resistance failed her. What else could she do but allow the cold, dry hand to encase her own, and pull her forward through the wolves and dark and gathering mist? This was the nightmare she had come to find…

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @laschatzi

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight

@stahlop @myfearless-love @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @kday426 @lfh1226-linda

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @drowned-dreamer

@anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @resident-of-storybrooke @everything-person

@undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm

@donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @revanmeetra87

@goforlaunchcee @laianely @belovedcreation @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

@grimmswan @ultraluckycatnd