#so I'm stuck in a shit job for not enough pay and don't have a social life or emotional support

[the-kestrels-feather]

Anyone else have big dreams and no idea how to realistically achieve them and a fear of inadequacy so they're worried they're going to stagnate in their current situation because they're too afraid to leave it or is that just me?

[killerchickadee]

Couldn't figure out why I'm just like, super bored and want to do things but can't and actually don't want to do anything at all, but god I'm so BORED, and then I realized.

Lol oh I'm depressed.

[milo-melon]

Been really exhausted from work lately hense much more reblogs than anything else will likely continue through the holiday season till drivers ed starts and there's even more kicking my ass so rip to anyone who followed for my rare original content (long venting in tags)

[octuscle]

The car makes the man

James didn't actually want a car. Cars were the death of the planet. Cars were an expression of a cult of masculinity. Cars were time wasters. But the new job he had required a car. He couldn't cope with his deadlines without one. The new job paid well. The car was paid for twice and three times over thanks to the pay rise. And he only wanted something small and used. The car had to be reliable and use little or no fossil fuel. And above all, it had to be small. Finding a parking space in James' neighborhood was hell.

James had prepared himself. On his iPad, he had selected a number of possible offers. And now he was walking through the rows of used car dealers far outside the city, looking for the small cars he had liked on the internet. And then he saw his nightmare: the epitome of a used car dealer approaching him. A man almost 2 meters tall, corn-fed, toothpaste grin. And a handshake like a vice.

"Hi, I'm Honest Pete, how can I help you son?" James said looking around first, thank you very much! Pete said that wouldn't be a problem. Could he offer a coffee? James nodded and tried as hard as possible not to make eye contact with the pushy salesman. Pete disappeared, only to return shortly afterwards with a tin cup. James was surprised, he had expected an espresso cup. "You look like a guy who drinks his coffee strong, black and hot. Am I right?" James was actually more of an herbal tea drinker. But to be polite, he took the cup and took a sip. Shit! It was bloody strong! "So son, who's the car for? Your girlfriend? You won't have a daughter who can drive yet." Pete laughed boomingly. James smiled curiously and said that he needed a car for work. "I knew you were lost. Follow old Pete!" James actually wanted to protest. But my God, Pete was a professional. Maybe he should make a suggestion. "On a side note, son: I like your haircut! A good honest mullet is the only way a man can wear his hair long. Not that hipster man bun shit. Am I right?" Hehehe, thought James. Business in the front, party in the back. And he had a lot of partying in the back. Pete asked what his name was. James replied and Pete slapped him on the shoulder. "Jim, nice to meet you. I bet we're going to have a lot of fun today.“ Just as James was about to reply that it was "James" and not "Jim", Pete took a tin of chewing tobacco out of his pants, took a pinch and held it out to James. "Sorry, smoking's not allowed here. But maybe this will help you." Shit, Pete was a good judge of character. James's fingers and teeth were more than enough to recognize the smoker. James gratefully accepted a pinch. Good stuff!

James and Pete passed a row of sports cars. James looked not uninterested. But Pete recognized his look and waved it right off. "Son, this European shit is not for you. You'll only fit in these cars if you're anorexic. And you easily weigh 260 pounds, don't you?" The man was good, James thought to himself…. It might be closer to 280 pounds right now, he thought as he patted the beginnings of a beer belly. "Son, no shame! A man's belly has to jiggle when he laughs. Otherwise he's not a man." Pete laughed again and his belly jiggled. James joined in and his belly jiggled too. "Besides," Pete punched James' shoulders again. "I know the problem. Still a brick wall of a man in high school, but once you have to work…" "You said it, Pete!" replied James. "I mean, in high school days, I lived on the football field and in the gym formally. But now…" Pete said, not fishing for compliments here, Jim was still one of the big boys. It was all the more important to find the right car for him. James snorted out the chewing tobacco and took a sip of coffee. It was still hot, but now it didn't burn the roof of his mouth. Pete indicated that James had something on his mouth. Fuck yeah, dew tobacco liked to get stuck in his mighty full beard. He rubbed his beard and asked "better?". Pete nodded and asked Jim's shoe size. At least a 12, right? James replied a 12 in tuner shoes, more like a 13 in boots like now. "I thought so" Pete replied. "We need something with big pedals, don't we James?" "Mate, it's Jim, not James! And the pedals shouldn't be the only thing that's big about the car." "Sure, it should suit you, big boy! But I think we've got just the thing for you here! Perfect for work. You can fit all your tools in the back. And if you go hunting, you'll have room for a dog, a rifle and a deer."

Jim took off his trucker's cap and ran his fingers through his sweaty, greasy hair. 8,000 dollars was way over his limit. His heating business wasn't making that much money at the moment. Oil heaters weren't particularly popular at the moment. But the car was awesome: big, powerful and manly! He opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat. Damn, it was like coming home. Pete was an asshole. Of course he had hit his taste exactly. He liked the car so much that he got a hard-on in his old army pants. And it didn't get any smaller when he felt Pete's hand on the bulge in his pants.

Pete became Jim's best buddy. At first they only fucked so that Jim could get a good price for the pickup. But they became the best fuck and gym buddies you could imagine. The only thing Jim couldn't persuade Pete to do was a mullet. Honest Pete was just a miserable white-collar bourgeois. But he sucked Jim's cock like the devil!

Pics by @ki-kink (he has more stuff like that!)

[weird-an]

Of course Prince Harrington is just another brat. Brought up spoiled rotten and without ever touching the dirt and blood the real world outside of palaces and lush gardens has to offer.

"I don't know why my father thinks you have to protect me," he bitches. "And can we call it a fucking day? It's already pretty dark and we'll reach Hawkins tomorrow."

Billy rolls his eyes. As if the Prince is able to fight what lurks behind the trees. He has probably never seen a spider monster or Demodog. Billy has the scars to prove that reality hurts.

It's not his usual work. Escorting royalty.

Billy is a mercenary. A sword you can buy, a tool to use if you've got enough coin. He knows most people hate him or are scared of him, most people think of him as scum except when they need him.

But apparently a lot of the Kingsguard were killed by the Demogorgon. Desperate times, even for rich people, but at least the pay is good.

"C'mon, it's time for dinner," Harrington says again. It's a luxury to have regular meals, but he doesn't know that. For him it's normal.

Camaro neighs as if to agree. What a traitor.

Billy wishes he'd already have enough coin to leave for California, to finally see the ocean again. But no, he's still stuck in Indiana doing whatever contract he can find, after Neil fucked him over and took most of his money.

Camaro stops at a clearing. Billy hears water running nearby. He sighs. If his horse agrees with the Prince, it's probably time to stop.

He slips Camaro half of the carrot, the last piece of food he has on himself. He's getting paid once they arrive in Hawkins. Times are tough, so Camaro and him eat the same shit. Doesn't matter as long as he gets to leave some day.

He starts to make a fire. Doesn't want Harrington to moan about getting cold next.

When the flames begin to shine bright and orange, eating their way through the wood, the darkness of the night is already surrounding them.

Harrington points at the log of wood he's sitting on.

Billy chews on the carrot and stares at the Prince.

"Do you want some cheese?" Harrington asks. He digs through his bag, pulling out different cheeses, a loaf of bread and a few dried meats.

The few noblemen Billy escorted in the past never asked. Never shared. Didn't even talk to him, if it wasn't necessary.

Billy raises a brow. Maybe this is a joke? Like when he was little and Neil showed him his dinner and fed it to the pigs instead to Billy.

"It's r'ly g'd," Harrington says, cheeks already stuffed full. He holds out a piece of bread.

Billy's stomach growls. Fuck it. He takes the bread and sits down next to Harrington. He's wearing expensive fabrics underneath his masterfully crafted coat. Billy's own armor is covered in scratches and dents.

He groans. The bread is delicious. Harrington shares everything with him. The cheese is strong, melting on his tongue. He hasn't realized how hungry he had been.

"Thanks," he mumbles.

"I don't know how you do it," Harrington says. "The whole day on horseback. My ass is so sore! What about yours?"

Billy fights back a laugh. The last time his ass hurt was after a visit to Heather's brothel. She knows his preferences and stayed silent, sending her hottest men to his room whenever he's in town.

"You get used to it." It's not really a lie. The riding Billy got used to. The loneliness? Not really. He's glad he's got Camaro. Better a horse as a friend than none.

"A toast to your firm ass then." Harrington grins at him, eyes twinkling. He hands Billy a wineskin.

He's pretty, Billy thinks. Big brown eyes, fluffy hair. He wonders if it feels as soft as it looks. Probably, with the fancy soap he smells like.

"Cheers." He takes a sip from the wine. It's better not to think about it. This is just a job after all.

Harrington's knee bumps against his. He doesn't move away.

When they lay down on the bedrolls, Billy listens to the cackling fire and watches the stars shining bright above him.

"I'm cold," Harrington groans.

Billy knows he shouldn't. No fucking way the Prince is cold. His blanket must be way better material than Billy's.

"Come over then," he hears himself say.

Harrington doesn't hesitate. Suddenly warm arms are around Billy's chest. The Prince's breath ghosts over his ear.

Billy turns his face around. Harrington's lips are right there, soft and hot against his own.

Maybe it's not the worst job he has ever taken.

[assmaster-8000]

"lighter?" shatters the silence that proofed the two of you in the empty hallway.

cécile frowns — very little deviation from his default expression. in all the time you've grown tentatively closer to the man, you'd really have thought he'd express more than this constant gesture of having his foot stuck up his own ass.

"no." he simply hums. his scar-ridden index and middle fingers clutch the waist of his cigarette, and he pulls it from his mouth to huff. your eyes follow the tendrils of smoke as they feel their way through the air, opting to ignore how they reel your gaze in with a suggestive curl over to his lips. his very pouty lips. you can't count the amount of times you've had to pry your eyes off their intimate entanglement with his cigarette filter, crowbar and all, in the past 30 minutes. hopefully, your own cigarette will keep you rightfully occupied.

"don't be a douche," you drawl. "you're not the only one who needs a little material reprieve."

"my patience for your shit has hit its limit 5 minutes ago. go use one of the torches in the other hallway."

"what, and singe off half my face while i'm at it?"

cécile offers you a pointed look, choosing to exercise silence. it's all you need to know that yes— he would definitely pay to see that.

"i don't think gael would appreciate you and i matching looks." you chirp.

cécile offers you a second, even more pointed look.

"you won't get anywhere using master gael to butter up to me," he flicks his wrist to send the greyed ashes from his cigarette butt flying before taking another drag.

"what? c'mon, i don't need gael to hit that soft spot of yours. you and i both know by now that you've grown weaker for me, or is your ego clogging you up from downstairs?" you laugh hoarsely, opting for a little hee-hee and a little ha-ha.

if only cécile had any humor in him.

cécile lazily pushes himself off the wall to face you, red eyes boring holes into your very skull as he backs you up impossibly further against the wall. you acquiesce to his deliberate show of power, taking one small step after the next back — not in a deliberate show of submission, however. it's not uncommon for him to use his towering stature and piercing gaze to get you to back off as soon as you cross some micro-boundary. at first, it did the job. you were smart enough to heed the big, red STOP sign. now? when you can see the ridges of the scar tissue that eat into his face, when you can smell his heady cologne, when you can almost feel his fist clench at his side... it's hard not to get a little excited in the dangerous game of 'string along the cat with your own tail' and throw all caution to the wind.

"there isn't a single moment i don't wish my hands weren't around your neck. not a single one. i've never met someone more insufferable," he hisses under his breath. alas, the usual this-secret-third-definitely-fucked-up-thing tension that pervades the air you share daily bombards your senses at full force alongside the tendrils of smoke that forcibly flee his lips when he looks at you like that. "you are so incredibly lucky you are under the protection of the sovereigns, not like you're present upstairs enough to even acknowledge that, because if master gael weren't here, i'd have—"

before you can stop yourself, the impulse rising in your throat gleefully kills all civility you did your darned best to attempt as you cave into the everlasting urge to dangle your own flesh in front of the lion.

"you'd have, you'd have— what? cracked my head open like an egg on this wall? save that charade, you'll sooner bore me to death than kill me yourself." you bark with laughter in his face. he doesn't reel back, even as you're sure your moist breath fogs his skin. no, he bares his teeth and leans into the bait.

"i might not be a god like your master, but i'll be fucked if you think i'm a helpless little damsel because i'm all alone in your world. you'd have killed me a long time ago if you were less pussy for it, that's what." punctuating the end of your little jab, you snatch the cigarette straight from his lips. it's a herculean task to ignore the thrill of nicking your pinky on his metal jaw, much less brushing his bottom lip, but you manage. fuck, by god you do. his eyes narrow impossibly smaller, before his hand flies up to clamp like a bear trap around your wrist. the blossom of pain is a dull agony compared to the tiny nick. your bones ache and protest at full under the force of his grip, so hard you fear they just might break, but somehow— somehow, you manage to wrestle your hand close enough to your face.

leaning in so close your foreheads practically touch, you bring his used cigarette to your lips— and you present to him the most grand, shit-eating grin you could manage as you take a fat inhale. the nicotine doesn't hit you first. it's the fact that the filter was damp before you kissed it.

the rush does flood your brain eventually, but in the end? you can't deny it pales compared to his pupils widening at the sight your lips. oh, it's just too much fun to not make a show of the cigarette dragging against your mouth for him as you pull away to puff smoke straight into his face. this could be your new addiction. he barely blinks as it assaults his eyes, and his gaze snaps back up to yours.

"you are impossible." he growls.

"me? impossible?" you chuckle, killing whatever meager distance that placated the two of you so you could stare directly into his eyes while you snuff out the cigarette on the lapel of his coat. he barely acknowledges the singe of fabric compared to the smell of you. "you could've just handed me your lighter, y'know. avoid all this." you gesture with a lazy roll of your wrist.

"so what? you could find some other way to get on all my nerves?"

"hah, another pussy excuse and you know it."

"you were right about one thing," he breathes. "you are no god. i don't think you are even man— you are something dirtier. more akin to a devil, tormenting me with every breath."

"you flatter me, cécile."

"that wasn't a compliment."

—

author's note; im severely sleep deprived so this is not my best work however? however? it doesn't matter. i needed to produce a cécile blurb at all costs. trying to make content off him with vague crumbs and my ever drooping eyelids is hard but ill try again when the extended demo drops lols

[ylangelegy]

I WANT YOU MORE THAN ANY BLUE SKY .ᐟ 🌧️

In a version of Seoul where it's always raining, eight boys navigate what it means to live and love despite the crazy weather. This STRAY KIDS x READER series is inspired by Makoto Shinkai's Weathering With You (2019).

LATEST: 0/8. TAG: #ylangelegy blue sky. SKZFLIX GIFS ARE BY MINHO-KNOWS.

THIS IS THE STORY ABOUT THE WORLD'S SECRET THAT ONLY THEY AND I KNOW . . .

SILVER LINING ☔︎︎ FEATURING CHAN.

This is probably the worst time in history to be a meteorologist. Chan feels dissatisfied in his job as a weatherman─ that is, until he meets you. He has a lot of questions about the world, and you seem to have all the answers.

⛈️ TAGS & WORD COUNT TBA.

HIGH WATER ☔︎︎ FEATURING MINHO.

The thing about following your passion is that it doesn't always pay the bills. Minho tells himself that, over and over again, as he works part-time just so he can keep on performing guilt-free. The most challenging part of his side job, though, is going through flood-prone places─ like yours.

⛈️ TAGS & WORD COUNT TBA.

FAIR-WEATHERED ☔︎︎ FEATURING CHANGBIN.

A lot of people consider Changbin to be something akin to a modern-day Prince Charming. Even though his firefighting has since been rendered moot by the downpour, he continues to find purpose in his work. If only he could also remember to save you sometimes, too.

⛈️ TAGS & WORD COUNT TBA.

CAT & DOGS ☔︎︎ FEATURING HYUNJIN.

When Hyunjin's favorite fashion designer hosts a contest, he knows that it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He will stop at nothing to secure the prize of apprenticeship. And, yes, that includes beating out you─ his closest rival in the industry.

⛈️ TAGS & WORD COUNT TBA.

HEAD IN THE CLOUDS ☔︎︎ FEATURING JISUNG.

Rookie cop during the day, conspiracy theorist during the night. That's Jisung. He's pretty convinced he can find the solution to this [shit]storm. Somehow, you find yourself roped in to his antics.

⛈️ TAGS & WORD COUNT TBA.

BEFORE THE STORM ☔︎︎ FEATURING FELIX.

There's something wrong with the co-owner of the bakery down your street. Scratch that. Not wrong. Felix is a sweet enough guy who makes the best baked goods in the city. It's just─ he always seems a little bit sad, doesn't he?

⛈️ TAGS & WORD COUNT TBA.

RAIN CHECK ☔︎︎ FEATURING SEUNGMIN.

A large part of Seungmin is stuck in the past. He dreams of days gone by, of dry baseball fields, of the sun beating down on him as he pitches. And, of course─ he dreams of everything that he could have had with you.

⛈️ TAGS & WORD COUNT TBA.

UNDER THE WEATHER ☔︎︎ FEATURING JEONGIN.

There isn't a time where Jeongin hasn't been sick. This terrible weather hasn't been doing him any favors, and he's seen you─ his neighborhood pharmacist─ more than he's seen some of his friends. Oh, well. At least you're cute.

⛈️ TAGS & WORD COUNT TBA.

DON'T SWEAT IT. THE WORLD HAS ALWAYS BEEN CRAZY, ANYWAY.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first ever series! ╭( ･ㅂ･)و I think it's worth noting that characters will not be published in age order. Updates will come as inspiration does (lol), but I'm aiming to have this all done before the end of the year. I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoy plotting and writing.

WANT TO BE TAGGED FOR UPDATES?

Leave a reply indicating which members you want to be tagged for! If you want to be tagged for all stories in the series, that's also welcome! ☀️

[horce-divorce]

something something about the power imbalance inherent to being an unhoused person, how similar it is to the dependency that abusers intentionally foster in their relationships to keep victims from leaving. but if you're homeless and someone is putting you up, especially if it's for free/some kind of exchange other than rent, you're basically expected to put up with whatever indignity they can imagine for you and still just be grateful. And if you set a boundary or speak up for yourself in any kind of way, that's Taking Advantage of this poor kind person who's doing SO much for you already, how could you?

sorry its 2am and I'm trying to write a better draft about this for later too but its like. being homeless is a huge, huge vulnerability. ppl people will look to exploit that, intentionally or not. and doubly so if you're homeless because you're disabled.

also something the ableism involved... about how I know so many fellow disabled people who have struggled with homelessness, and we all have similar stories about people we trusted, friends or loved ones who seemed all too happy to help and take us in, and how we repeatedly impressed upon them the nature of our health and the situation, and they swore up and down that they understood and that we were on the same page about boundaries and expectations... only to have them blow up and kick us out at the absolute first sign of conflict or miscommunication, or because we didn't get jobs fast enough, or because we didn't contribute financially even after being told that wasn't expected, and so on.

and how, I know so many housed people who have never been through this, who all have very similar stories about how they tried to help a friend in need once, and they were SO lazy and horrible and took SO long to get their shit together that they clearly were just a freeloader taking advantage who should've never been trusted, just like all homeless people, and that's why we give them socks and canned beans instead of money.

I was never allowed to complain about ableist expectations or abled people ignoring my boundaries in my parents' home. Especially not after I became a disabled adult who still needed help with housing. And that's been true of most of the couch-hopping I've done since then, too.

Currently we have a fairly nice situation... we live with a trusted and pleasant friend. It's a whole house, not an apartment. Not even in the city. We have our own entire room. We don't have to pay rent or anything. It's temporary even aside from our discomfort, it's just been a nice place to land for the cold months.

However. Friends parents are not so chill. Their dad is the most disgusting man alive and has repeatedly gotten us sick bc he's always got something, bleeds all over and never cleans it up, never washes his hands, leaves his dentures on countertops and tables with food still stuck on them, coughs all over our stuff and never masks, is actively making the mouse infestation worse with all the food he leaves out, and puts our health at risk in SO many ways.

he used to work in Healthcare btw. His wife still does. They know we're here bc we're homeless; they know we're both disabled and immunocompromised; neither of them will wear a mask. Both of them are constantly coughing everywhere and not even covering their mouths. We've tried to politely bring this to their attention multiple times and nothing changes. They just ignore us.

We could literally die from this. We could get lifelong health complications even worse than what we have now. Bel lost his sense of taste today and now we're terrified that it's gonna be long covid or something else that sucks what little joy is left from our daily lives.

You lose everything, and then you're supposed to just say nothing and accept your lot, no matter how much danger you're in, because beggars can't be choosers. If you're disabled and poor you'd better just be fine with people abusing you and putting your health and safety at risk indefinitely, because you're lucky they're even helping you at all instead of JUST abusing you.

You dont get to have a home. You dont get to collect things, or keep sentimental things, or have a whole, adequate wardrobe. You get what you can carry with you and what won't get stolen or destroyed by others, or by the nature of moving so much. You dont get to have safety and stability and roots and community. You dont get the dignity of boundaries or your own space. You get what you get and you don't throw a fit. And be happy and say "thank you" if people are merely ignoring you instead of actively silencing you. And if the people "helping" you actually give you the thing that kills you, at least you didn't die of exposure, I guess? Or something?

Its just. Every single thing you do as both a homeless & disabled person reminds you how utterly worthless you are to the """normal""" people around you. Every day. It's so demoralizing.

[featherwingfae]

Gonna try to make this a "Quick post".

(warning some light swearing)

Maybe, just maybe one of the reasons we're seeing so many new Therians nowadays is because humans have fucked up the earth so bad that the universe just went fuck it and threw in a bunch of nature brains to balance things out. People who wouldn't just be able to look at the devastation of wildlife and their homes and just move on like nothing happened. Because they can see themselves in those creatures, and it hurts them to know that they are suffering. And maybe if there's enough nature brains, seeing themselves in the withering world around them, then more and more people might stand up and say this isn't right. We need to fix this. And maybe in a human world where one of the most lovely traits of humanity is being able to work together a bunch of nature brains with human faces can make a difference. They say animals can't speak human. Well they can, and are. Maybe Therians are the voices of nature coming out from the wilds, to places and bodies where they're not comfortable, where the air is heavy with pollution and trash litters the ground. And they have to learn weird shit like math, and work exhausting jobs that are often just to pay the bills that allow them to keep surviving. All so that they can see the damage from the other side and better understand the problem and together find solutions to stop it.

I'm not saying humans (and others) can't and/or dont do anything. I'm saying it's harder to do nothing when you look at creatures suffering and see yourself. Empathy is a beautiful thing. It helps connect us. But in a world where almost no one can afford the barest minimum just to survive. Where finding happiness feels like a struggle because you're constantly grinding and pushing yourself beyond your mental, emotional and/or physical boundaries, how easy is it to just shut yourself off. To put on the blinders because you're stuck yourself and you don't feel like there's anything you can do, so why upset yourself further by caring. It's sad. Terribly sad. Soul crushingly, heart wrenchingly sad.

Most people nowadays suffer from anxiety, depression or some other mental illness. And yes those illnesses are more known and understood now, and are more easily diagnosed. But I think the reason we see them everywhere now, is as simple as everyone is suffering. The human world in its current state, is not a healthy place. Fun times are often merely distraction from the crushing reality around us. It hurts to accept how much hurt there is right now.

I'm not saying it's all on the shoulders of Therians. I'm not saying you have to quit your job or your school and run off into the wild picking up every piece of litter and chaining yourself to trees. That's not what this post is about.

This post is about the increase of Therians and my personal hypothesis as to why there's so many now. And it's as simple as this. One Therian does not shoulder all the burden of the earth. Just as one human does not. But if there are Therians in schools, going "hey look at this little/big guy isn't he cute/cool" showing their friends and classmates"it's so sad he's going extinct because his home is being destroyed" , Therians on trails, streets, beaches seeing litter and using just a little bit of their time to remove at least some of it. Therians in stores refusing to buy certain products because of animal cruelty/testing, Therians manifesting/praying to help even if it's just a little bit, Therians on the Internet/TV spreading awareness, Therians in government actually trying to do what's best for the environment and the people, instead of just what's best for their bank account etc etc.

In reference to that horrible math stuff, a million ones together doesn't equal nothing. No matter how small an act it still adds up to something. Therians everywhere means more people who can't forget, who can't move on, who can't just shutdown and hope for the best. People who feel like they have to do something. So they don't eventually see themselves disappear (go extinct).

The universe and the earth can sometimes have a funny way of balancing things out. Maybe Therians are one way to at least try regaining that balance.

I'm overjoyed to see more Therians. Because I feel like more Therians means more voices for nature, and more chances to save this beautiful planet ☺️✨🌍🌎🌏💚

Anyway that's my two cents. Sorry this post ended up being longer than I intended 😅

And now my fascinating and fantastic creatures, great and small, furry, feathered, scaled or whatever-ed, and all others of open mind who took time to read my ramblings, I wish upon you a most glorious day/night. May we all follow our hearts/souls to do what we feel we can for this magnificent planet. ✨

👁️🪽✨🌟🌱❄️🪻🍀🌎🍄🌹💚🌍🌵🌈⛈️🌠🦊🐁💙

Till next time

[octaviasdread]

Dead Poet Date Hc's

Anderperry - Chased by Walt Whiskers

When Todd's publisher demands that he use social media, his manager, Ginny, couldn't have envisioned this.

Accidental sweater thirst traps aside, it's Walt Whiskers driving Todd's media engagement. It's Walt Whiskers who guest stars at his poetry readings, and it's Walt Whiskers who Ginny hires a social media manager for.

Who knew his anxiety aid could be such a traitor?

Because when Todd meets Neil his life goes to shit.

Working in media had, of course, given Todd the expectation that his cat's manager would be attractive. Todd can work with attractive. He can ignore attractive, usually.

But nothing about Neil is normal. He's tall, extroverted, and a Shakespearean actor to boot.

He's not arrogant, gym-obsessed, or suppressing the temper of a stage mom. Neil is a regular guy so in love with his poorly paid job that he decimates his sleep schedule and runs ragged to pay his rent by managing the city's theatre socials.

So Ginny, like any good friend, ropes Neil in before her boss at Todd’s publishing house even finishes the call.

Unfortunately, Todd is a homebody. He is a poet with a Wikipedia page branding him a 'recluse,' and the thing about influencers is they have to exist outside.

Ginny compromises at first. Every shoot is scheduled in darkened, private spaces.

Todd watches each time as Neil's brows raise in perfect, incredulous arcs. He doesn't comment. Instead, Neil hoists Walt onto one of his ridiculously high hips and takes a walk to 'check the light.'

Todd's lungs expand.

To Neil's credit, he tries. Todd finds indoor photoshoots awkward enough as he poses with his lacklustre smile, torn notebooks, and Walt Whiskers perching irritably on his lap.

The outdoor shoots are worse.

"Poetry is supposed to stir you up!" Neil's voice projects through Central Park as he gesticulates wildly. "You look as stirred up as a cesspool."

"I'm not like you."

"Don't you think you could be? People listen to your words, Todd. Now let them meet you."

"I thought you were here for Walt."

Neil rolls his eyes, "you are Walt, dummy. Come on, let's break for coffee."

So they order drinks and commiserate through quotes, exchanging words from Tennessee Williams and Kafka until Todd is comfortable enough to allude to his own.

And when Todd isn't looking, Neil gets the Instagram reel. It's the perfect shot of Walt Whiskers wearing Neil's glasses as he slowly blinks at Todd quoting from his supposedly 'aesthetic,' ink-stained notebook.

With a trendy sound bite, the post explodes.

Todd's latest book flies off the shelves. So naturally, Ginny hauls them into her office to talk strategy.

Strategy, in Ginny's world, translates to valentine date.

"It's logic," Ginny dismisses. Tinny music pours from the speakers as the Hudson River Company keeps her cell phone on hold. "Your latest collection is called, Tides of Love, Todd. I'd be an idiot not to set up a romantic dinner cruise for PR.”

"I'm not sitting there with my cat." Todd turns and appeals to Neil for help. "Tell her what people will think."

Neil opens his mouth, but Ginny cuts him off.

"No." She shoots a firm look at them both. "I know for a fact that neither of you have valentines plans. Take the cat together and secure us a bestseller."

They take the cat.

Todd spends all night pulling at his tux. Walt has no such reservations with his mini paw-printed bowtie. Instead, the damn cat has every waitress sneaking chicken under the perfectly pressed tablecloth.

If he were a better pet owner, Todd would've noticed. In a better world, Todd would've stuck to the no-chicken diet Walt's vet prescribed. But in this world, his cat's manager is wearing a tux.

Neil could be a Hollywood star sitting there under candlelight. With the wine in his head and the river waves in his stomach, Todd wants to take Tides of Love and write it anew.

But he doesn't.

Todd pokes at his Michelin star meal. It may be pathetic, but valentines are valentines no matter how fake.

He crumples a napkin and drops it over the camera lens.

There are no witnesses when Neil pets Walt, his long, delicate fingers brushing Todd's own. Nobody shares how they linger, how they curve, almost taking Todd's hand to hold.

And when Neil makes a determined and tipsy climb up the deck, Todd doesn't turn, doesn't direct his stare away. He finds himself laughing and scrambling to race against Neil's impossibly long legs. With a fire inside, Todd snatches up the lookout post, throwing drunken taunts out in his wake.

With flushed cheeks and Walt warm in his arms, Todd isn't a tentative poet or a hermit half in early retirement. He's Jack flying high through the clouds. He's bold and he's reckless in his dreams, and in his love for a Shakespearean Rose.

Like every ship, Cupid's Arrow sweeps Todd happily into the deep.

It's only with his hangover the inevitable sinking begins. His iceberg is the size of date night floating up his fyp with over 20,000 hits.

A heart-shaped button has never cut so deep.

But with engagement comes sales and not one, but two, NY Times bestsellers, so the poet and media manager keep taking Walt on contracted dates.

Cafes roll into museums, picnic dates, and late-night Broadway shoots.

Walt poses while Neil charms and draws Todd closer and closer into their extroverted orbit.

By April, Todd's poems hang from the walls backstage at Circle in the Square. He walks between frames correcting and composing while Walt scurries beneath seats, and sniffs for wet food pouches stashed under stacks of Neil's scripts.

It's a routine, Todd tells himself. It's enrichment to exercise Walt. It's his typewriter stored as a video prop amongst the leafy crowns and Yorick skulls at home in Neil's dressing room.

It's this home the poet follows, each purr and smile like catnip until he finds himself curling up during rehearsals behind painted, woodland sets. His poems layer across the orchestra, snatches of Neil's soliloquy, and the beat of paws on wood as Todd opens his words and world to TikTok Live.

With these unique readings come sponsors, and with sponsors come trips.

As spring creeps in, Ginny packs them off on a brand deal supplying a '57 Chevrolet Corvette for the road Coney Island.

They shoot Walt in the driver's seat like a city-dwelling Grace Kelly in sunglasses and a scarf. In a second snap, Neil lounges on the red bonnet in a line of Times Square traffic, and Todd is blurrily backlit by Battery Tunnel in a final car shot, the winning polaroid cover for his upcoming collection, Epigraphs for Nostalgia.

The road to true love has never felt so smooth.

Todd knows it can’t last, but he clings to this day straight from the brand’s vintage guide to teenage dates.

Roll after roll fills with charmingly juvenile snaps.

They wave from Deno’s Wonder Wheel. Product placement smears Coney Cone's ice cream over Walt's nose, while Neil and Todd squabble over film and notebook sheets which fly loose to scatter like snow on the boardwalk.

"I told you," Neil whoops, "those dead drafts want to fly!"

Chastened by staff, but thrilled with the candid, self-timer snaps, the poet and media manager take one more shot.

"Come on," Todd grumbles, wrestling Walt into an admittedly dingy photo booth. "You can't take care of yourself."

Walt meows in protest. But the curtain falls and traps both man and cat as Neil slides onto the bench.

Flash. Walt pressed nose to nose with Todd. Flash. Todd squawks while Neil howls at the ice cream Walt smears on Todd's nose. Flash. Walt leaps and Neil dives into Todd's lap in an effort to catch the escaping cat. Ding!

Pink hearts float in bubble letters like cotton candy across the screen: Kisscam Count.

Descending digits blink in and out.

Three.

The poet freezes. His cat's media manager glances up, his body still sprawled across the poet's lap.

Two.

Neil inhales.

One.

The final lines of Epigraph for Nostalgia linger on the seam of Todd's lips.

“Carpe Diem," he mutters.

There's a flicker.

An image appears of an Instagram crashing kiss.

[kingsleywrites]

If I'm Taking Care Of Your Ass Then I Sure As Hell Ain't Doing It Sober.

Revivebur x Las Navadas!Male Reader (Romantic)

Fluff, slight suggestive stuff, no smut

Prompt: Reveivebur comes to Las Navadas hurt, he's already here so why not take pity on the poor man and help him out, not without a couple of drinks first though.

CW/TW: Drinking, mentions of blood, mentions of stitching, smoking, cursing

M/N is also a bartender for Quackity

M/N is used (meaning male name)

S/C is used (meaning skin color)

M/N was sitting in his living room, bored out of his goddamn mind. Normally when he was this bored, he'd break into his liquor cabinet, open a bottle of some kind of liquor or cheap wine, and drink till he was shit faced. And he would, unless he wanted to go to work with the worst hangover known to man. You see, Quackity was oh so kind enough to stick M/N on one of the earlier shifts (early being 12) which didn't sit well with the man who stays up till 3 am and sleeps till 3 pm to go to his more normal shifts at 5 pm.

So he was stuck, he could go for a walk, but that would mean he had to leave his house. He could read a book except that it wasn't good enough. Living in Las Navadas was great, he had a great boss and a nice house and a good paying job but that doesn't mean that the slowly growing city had more to do than gamble and drink, which was fun until it got repetitive.

M/N was on the verge of entering the existential crisis talk until a knock came from his door. Which was definitely new. It probably wouldn't be Quackity, that man just spams your communicator with calls and messages till you reply, and Slime had no reason to be at your house at this hour. So who the hell was bothering your mental turmoil? M/N reluctantly got up to answer the door.

"Okay who are you and why the hell- " M/N looked up at the man standing at his doorstep.

"Wilbur fucking Soot." M/N said through his teeth, he crossed his arms and leaned against his door frame.

"In the flesh, literally considering I'm revived, courtesy of Dream may I add." Wilbur had an shit eating grin on his face as he stared at the male in front of him.

M/N did a small face laugh, "Why the hell are you here?" his demeanor quickly changed back to serious.

"What? Can I not come back and see an old friend?"

"You have to be friends in the first place to do that Wilbur, now tell me what you want or I'll just leave you here."

Wilbur straightened his posture and M/N finally noticed that he was holding his arm. His eye traveled down to his hand, where he saw blood start to drip.

M/N quickly grabbed Wilbur's hand, his eyes widening at the sight of the dripping blood. "Asshole, you're gonna get blood on my front porch!" M/N pulled Wilbur inside, closing the door.

"My, my, M/N if you wanted to hold my hand you should've just asked I would've said yes." Wilbur smirked while M/N rolled his eyes.

"Go sit on the couch and don't get blood anywhere, if you do I'll behead you." M/N let go of his hand and walked into his bathroom to find a first aid kit.

After he grabbed one he set it on the coffee table before walking over to his liquor cabinet.

Wilbur laughed lightly as he watched the male rummage through the various bottles, who turned around with an annoyed glare on his face.

"What are laughing about smart ass?"

"Does Quackity not pay you enough to afford proper rubbing alcohol?"

"No, he pays me plenty." The male grabbed a glass and filled it with a couple cubes of ice. "This is for me."

M/N slowly sipped the liquor as he walked back to the couch, sitting next to Wilbur.

"Take off your jacket so I can see what you did." M/N set the cup down and opened the first aid kid while Wilbur took off his jack and folded it neatly behind him.

M/N looked at his arm, slowly pulling the torn fabric away from the wound. "It doesn't look terrible, maybe a few stitches, but you'll live. Now take off your shirt."

"Don't you think you should ask me out first? It's a little rude to ask me to undress seeing as we haven't spoken in so long." That same smirk dawned Wilbur's face.

"Not like that idiot! I meant it as in, let me see the wound better."

Wilbur chuckled to himself, seemingly pleased with getting a rise out of him and removed his shirt placing it on top of his jacket.

M/N grabbed a few rubbing alcohol pads and started slowly cleaning the wound on Wilbur's arm, taking a "small sip" from the glass on the coffee table. After a few times of getting up to throw away blooded gaze pads and rubbing alcohol pads and filling up his glass on the way, he decided to grab the whole bottle of liquor, as well as a bottle of wine and two glasses. M/N filled up the two glasses handing one to Wilbur.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of being granted the pleasure of drinking with you?"

"Stop speaking so poshly, I get it you're fancy, now shut up while I finish wrapping your arm."

Wilbur backed off the male but kept a smile on his face as he watched him wrap his arm in bandages.

When he was done, M/N snipped off the extra and put it back in the first aid kit. He quickly downed the rest of his wine and went to put the first aid kit away.

When he got back, his body was facing forward and his head was tilted upwards toward the ceiling. "I hate you." M/N mumbled.

"How come? All I did was ask for your help, which you could've denied, might I add." Wilbur's tone was somewhat mocking and he put an arm around M/N, playing with the hair on his head.

"I told myself I wasn't going to drink tonight and look where I'm at."

"Well, it's not like I told you to drink."

"If I'm taking care of your ass I'm sure as hell not doing it sober." M/N turned his head to look at the male beside him, he brought a hand up to his face and began to trace down his jawline, stopping at the corner of his lips. M/N slowly climbed over to Wilbur's lap, neither of them breaking eye contact. Wilbur's arms rested at M/N's waist while M/N's other hand rested in Wilbur's crest feeling the soft skin on his fingertips.

M/N leaned in closer to Wilbur, lips slightly parted as they each waited for the other to make a move.

"You do realize the consequences that this can have if you go through with this." Wilbur's voice was barely above a whisper.

"And what's 'this'" M/N giggled as one of his hands slowly moved to the base of Wilbur's hair, lightly playing with the strands.

"I don't think Quackity will like it very much if you kiss his enemy."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

The two got even closer, lips brushing against each other.

"You willing to make that bet?" Wilbur's lips curled into a small smile.

"I'll bet everything I got, pretty boy."

Wilbur laughed lightly before pulling M/N in by his waist, kissing his lips. M/N's hands further tangled themselves in Wilbur's hair while Wilbur's hands were untucking M/N's neat dress shirt, almost desperate to feel his S/C skin.

The two broke apart for air, breathing heavily for a moment before Wilbur began kissing down his jaw and neck.

"God I hate you so much." M/N said, half out of breath

Wilbur hummed on his skin, lightly nipping at it before answering the male.

"If you hate me so much then tell me to stop and I will." Wil looked at M/N, still leaving a trail of kisses on his neck, none of them deep enough to create a hickey though, Wilbur was smarter than that.

M/N let out an airy chuckle, pulling at Wilbur's hair. "No, you're too hot to stop."

Wilbur kissed his cheek, looking M/N in the eyes. "And You're too drunk for me to continue."

M/N groaned, tilting head back. "Why must you do this to me?"

Wilbur chuckled, "Maybe another time darling."

M/N got off his lap, stumbling before regaining his balance, but he was still swaying back and forth.

Wilbur went to grab his jumper before M/N put a hand on Wilbur's cheek making him look back at him.

"Please don't leave." He looked at him with pleading eyes that not even Wilbur could say no to.

"Alright, I'll stay." He stood up and gave M/N a quick kiss before picking him up bridal style and then walked down the hall, M/N's arm was stretched out to one of the doors and Wilbur assumed it was his room.

Once Wilbur sat him down on the bed, M/N quickly began to take off the uncomfortable suspenders and dress shirt before laying down and making grabby hands at Wilbur, who laid next to him.

After a few minutes of cuddling, M/N spoke up.

"I hate you so much." He said holding on tighter to Wilbur and burying his face in his chest.

"I love you too darling."

********

Another one in the bags. I got this idea from reading another story on Wattpad, it's called MidNight Walks by mannequins_inafeild, despite only having two chapters I really liked it so I would consider checking it out!

Also who knew writing kissing scenes was so hard? I literally took a break to work on another story (the one that came out before this one actually) because I didn't know where to go or how to do it. I hope it wasn't too awkward. I don't know how many more scenes I'm gonna do like that in the future but give me some feedback, I'd like to hear your thoughts!

Word Count: 1557

[petrichor-idyllic]

Hi! i'm sorry this is my first time requesting something so this might be all over the place but i was wondering if u could do a minho x reader based on The weekends song 'Die for you' " Even though we're going through it and it makes you feel alone i would die for you" Like reader and Minho got into a fight before they enter the maze (this could be before or after thomas arrives) and a griever attacks Reader but minho saves them in time, and he makes sure reader is okay. i'm so sorry this was so cringy

I have never done a song based fic before so this could be fun. I also do not know what I'm doing, but I've pulled up the lyrics so I might just sprinkle them through out as Minho's thoughts.

Also, this isn't cringy. This is a good idea which gives me a lot to work with :))

Also you didn't specify gender/pronouns so default they/them.

DIE FOR YOU

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Gender-neutral! Runner! Reader x Minho. Takes place before the arrival of Thomas. Bold/Italian text like this, is Minho's thoughts/lyrics to spice things up.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, the parents are fighting, near death experience. Yanno, the usual.

You're a Runner.

And you worked damn hard to get there.

It isn't easy, especially when you have a boss like Minho breathing down your neck when you're literally doing anything.

"You're not running fast enough."

"Those lines on your map aren't straight."

"You need to train harder."

"Pay more attention."

You're one seething comment away from fucking throwing him. You don't understand why Minho is so much harder on you then he is the other Runners.

At first, you actually kind of liked him.

You seriously admired him and wanted to be like him- out in the Maze and fighting for your friends. He's the bravest person you've ever met. He was a big inspiration to you and the second a spot was open, you trailed as a Runner.

Which is why it sucks that he's kind of a dick.

But you don't know why.

I'm findin' ways to articulate the feelin' I'm goin' through.

Which it probably why it sucks that you're stuck with him.

You had an incident on your route. You're more than capable of running on your own, but you got distracted, and then slightly lost. You made it back in time- but you did have to squeeze through the Doors and collapsed on the grass afterwards.

Minho refused to let you into the Maze after that.

For a solid week, you were begging your boss to let you do your own job. You didn't want to get fired and go back to working under Gally- who is somehow considerably worse.

Minho reluctantly agreed, as long as he could accompany you on your first run.

You're going to kill yourself. Not only does it mean you have to be on your best behaviour, but it means running a route you're not familiar with.

"I can run on my own," you tell him as you wait for thr Doors to open, Ben and the other Runners standing a fair few feet away to stay out of the splash zone.

"I've already told you," he sighs, "we're redoing basic training. I can't lose one of my Runners becausing they're failing on the basics."

"It was just one time- you wouldn't do this to Ben if he were in my shoes!"

"You only die once, (Y/N). And getting stuck out in the Maze is a sure-fire way to go about that."

"That's not fair, okay?" You groan. "You don't treat anyone else like complete shucking shit!"

Minho stands there, stunned. Okay, so, things over the past few months have finally bubbled over. You wanted to be a Runner so bad, and now it sucks and you're being held on a tight leash.

So, you've finally snapped.

And Minho doesn't really know what to do.

It's hard for me to communicate the thoughts that I hold.

The Doors open with the loud sound of stone grinding against the floor. You pull your gaze away from Minho, not giving him the option to say anything as you start running.

Minho stands there for another second, which gives Ben the chance to say something.

"You gotta tell them, man- you're acting like a complete shuckface."

"Slim it, Ben." Minho takes off after you.

Unbeknownst to you, somehow, along the way of your training, Minho developed a crush on you. He doesn't know when it happened or how, but his feelings for you have made him become overly protective.

Which to you is him treating you like you're incapable and like a child.

Minho is the incapable one here, however. Since he can't open his damn mouth and tell you how he's feeling. It is becoming a dangerous distraction.

I don't want this feelin', I can't afford love

"We're not going this way- this is the wrong route," Minho says as he jogs to catch up with you.

"I'm running my route," you grumble back.

"I already have someone covering your route- we're running my route today."

"How am I meant to train properly on your route? Wouldn't it be better for me to do my own?"

He suddenly grabs your wrist, pulling you to a halt and forcing you to face him. You feel very small under Minho's gaze. He is easily one of the most intimidating people in the Glade- strong, attractive and stubborn.

It's moments like these that he makes dealing with Gally look like child's play.

"You're a Runner, okay? And I'm your Keeper. You might not like it but I definitely didn't train you to act like a tit-suckin' baby. You wanna be one of us? One of the best? Then quit actin' like this and do what I tell you. I ain't got time to babysit, so gey your shuckin' act together- we're running my route, got it?"

I try to find a reason to pull us apart.

"Fine," you spit out. Minho gives you a stuff nod, taking the lead and starting to run off.

You stand there for another second, fists balled and rage seeping through you. If his goal was to piss you off, he's sure doing a good job.

You start following him, the rest of your run remaining in silent. You want to scream insults at Minho and demand respect, but you also prefer running over being a Builder.

When Minho isn't personally up your ass, it's like an escape. Of course, it's an escape that could possibly kill you, but sometimes it's hard to find peace of mind in the Glade. You're constantly surrounded by boys who very clearly don't know personal space.

But that illusion of peace is shattered as you watch your boss run metres a head of you.

You pass a corridor junction, open corridors to tour left and right. You start slowing when you hear faint clicking and buzzing from around the bend.

Okay, so in your defence, you've never heard or seen a Griever before. You'd briefly heard stories of encounters, but no one had ever told you about the noises they made. So, you think it's something in the Maze, maybe a clue.

You've actually been paying little attention to Minho, who has been paying a lot of attention to you.

So, when he hears your footsteps slow and looks over his shoulder to see you've slowed down, he turns fully to face you.

It ain't workin', 'cause you're perfect, and I know that you're worth it.

I can't walk away.

Your heart jumps into your throat when a gross, fleshy mound of slime and metal appears around a corner. It immediately notices you, darting towards you.

Even though we're goin' through it.

You freeze, fear taking over and your body can't seem to move.

And it makes you feel alone.

That's until Minho comes flying into you, colliding into your side and sending you both toppling over as the Griever practically dives over the pair of you.

Just know that I would die for you.

There's like a split second where he lands on top of you.

Pushing himself up, your eyes lock.

Maybe for the first time ever, you realise how stunning Minho actually is. During casual drunk Glader confessions, you'd be surprised how many of the boys talk about how attractive Minho is. There's normally a couple of "no homos" thrown in but you suspect that isn't true.

But suddenly you get it. The boy effortlessly looks flawless, and he's on top of you.

Minho is also having the same internal conflict.

But you don't have time for this.

Minho scrambles off of you, immediately grabbing you and yanking you onto your feet.

"We gotta move! C'mon!" He shouts whilst you try to get your feet under you. He keeps a grip on your wrist, making sure you're close as he drags you around the Maze.

Eventually, you find your footing, picking up pace and keeping up with Minho. "I can run on my own!" You snap.

"You're not doing a great job of proving that," though, he does let go of you.

Both of you keeping running, the sounds of the Griever starting to get quieter as the beast seems to get bored of chasing you.

Slowing down, you keel over, resting your hands on your knees to catch your breath. Minho still stands strong, his stamina easily shadowing yours.

"I think we lost it," he mumbles, mainly to himself. He looks at you. "You good?"

"Yeah," you say between breaths, clearing your throat, "I'm good."

"That was close," he groans, "why'd you just stand there?"

"Well, you didn't exactly train us for how to deal with Grievers. You just tell us run and don't look back. I just saw it and froze, I've never seen one of those things before."

Minho sighs. "Shit," you mutter, "don't fire me. Please, dude, I know I was buggin' out back there but I'm a good Runner, I swear-"

"You are a good Runner." You're taken a back. Did Minho just... compliment you?

I'm not blamin' you, just don't blame me, too, yeah.

"I just... I don't want anything bad," he throws his hand up, vaguely gesturing behind you, "like that, to happen to you. Or any of my men, okay?"

"But you're so harsh on me compared to them. I don't get it."

Minho looks at you, opening his mouth but immediately goes into panic mode when he hears the Griever again.

"Let's move. We'll go back to the Glade; my route clearly isn't safe today."

"I told you we should've taken my-"

"Don't." You immediately shut your mouth, walking my his side as he starts to pick up into a jog.

The run back to the Glade is uneventful and you are, for once, happy to let Minho take the lead.

It's a weird feeling as you watch him. He literally saved your life today. He might act like a prick towards you, but you'd be dead if it weren't for him.

You start to approach the Glade, the open Doors and the serene setting sending a new wave of relief through you.

"Uh, Minho," you pick up pace to catch up to him. He's clearly already gained Alby's attention for being back this early. "Thank you."

He stops, turning to face you as you stand awkwardly, glancing down at the grass to hide your sudden anxiousness. "For saving me."

He scoffs lightly. "Don't worry about it." You look back up at him. "You're important to me, (Y/N), even if I'm klunky at showing it."

You furrow your brows, trying to make out whatever cryptic message he's trying to put out. "I- Uh, forget it," he scoffs, stuttering over his words slightly.

"Minho!" The Runner visibly cringes as Alby's voice sends shock waves through the Glade. "The shuck are you shanks doin' back here?"

"I should deal with that," he grumbles.

"Yeah, course- good luck," he scoffs at you before turning and making his way over to Alby.

You take a second to yourself, letting out a deep sigh and throwing your head back.

What the hell was that? Why are you feeling this way? This is new and weird and thoughts of Minho fill your head. It's like a flood gate has opened and you can't stop the river of thoughts bursting through.

"Yo, (Y/N)," you look over to see Minho casually walking backwards, facing you as Alby storms over in the background. Though nothing could've prepared you for the words he says next.

"Yanno, I'd die for you."

Another one done. I'm getting a lot of interesting requests in atm and I'm looking forward to them, though it'll take me embarrassingly long so sorry, lads.

I hope you enjoyed :)

[aerodaltonimperial]

(crack treated seriously, inspired by a convo with @homoeroticgrappling. jack, darby, concussion protocols, and chipotle.)

"Just pick what you want on—"

"I'm deliberating."

"You are stalling, just pick one—"

"I don't know what I want, there's just so many options here."

"It's a Chipotle, Darby. They are literally everywhere. Just—"

"I just can't decide, I don't—"

"Do you want carnitas or beef on your fucking burrito, Darby?"

"Jack, has anyone ever told you that, like, first, you suck, and that second, you have no patience?"

"Jesus Christ, I cannot believe I am stuck doing this. Fuckin' concussion protocols that you keep ducking out of it, and I just won Anarchy in the Arena? I should be getting accolades. Instead, I'm being punished."

"You hit me with a bus, it's your job to make sure I don't scramble my brain by falling asleep."

"That is so not what this is about."

"No, you're right, I think it was the kicks to the face thing, but our satanic EVPs didn't want to do it, so they farmed it out to their new bitch boy."

"Pick a fucking meat, Darby."

"Beef."

"Hey, do you have any rat poison back there? He'd like a generous scooping."

"Fuck off, Jack, he makes, like, minimum wage."

"Could you please hurry up, this is the longest Chipotle run of my life."

"It's 1 AM and there's no one else here, it doesn't even matter."

"I'm literally losing brain cells waiting for you to decide—Jesus, Darby, pick some fucking vegetables, oh my god."

"That implies you had brain cells."

"I think you being this annoying means you don't have a concussion and I can leave."

"Nope, rules say you gotta stay and wait for an hour to make sure I don't fall asleep."

"You're not gonna fall asleep here."

"You sincerely doubt my spite, Jack. I'll sleep in that fucking guacamole just to fuck you over."

"Hopefully that's after he finishes putting it on your burrito."

"Oh, you gotta pay, too."

"What the fuck."

"Just pull out one of those fancy Elite credit cards I know you got shoved in your defiant jeans, man."

"Uuuuuugh, fine, move. Move."

"Dude, I said to use the Elite card, not your—"

"Shut up, and take your fucking drink cup, Darby."

"...I didn't ask for a drink."

"I'm gonna shove you in the queso."

"Fine, fine, god. You're so fucking grouchy. It's all that time with those douchebags, y'know. Are you gonna sit like three tables away, or you wanna sit down next to me and—oh, across, nice, we can play footsie."

"How long is it gonna take you to eat this?"

"Why, you got some kinda hot date waiting for you, Jack? Hope they like their midnight snacks flame-broiled."

"Ha, ha. You think your nose is broken again?"

"Does it look like it is?"

"I dunno, your whole face looks like shit."

"Wow, charmer."

"I didn't say it usually does, god. ... don't do that. Don't do that thing with your face, and that expression, do not—"

"So you think my face looks nice normally?"

"You're literally just putting words in my mouth right now. I absolutely did not say that."

"I mean, you kinda implied it."

"I did not, I'm tired, and I was set on fire today, so if anything, the only thing I implied was how much I hate you."

"Don't even fuckin' lie, you had so much fun."

"That's... not the point."

"Jaaaaaaack."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Here, eat some. I got you a spoon."

"I don't... yeah, okay, fine."

"Just save enough space for all that fancy room service you'll be ordering later. Champagne, and strawberries, and—"

"Yeah, i will not be doing that."

"Date unimpressed with bitch food?"

"I don't have a date."

"But Jack. You just won Anarchy in the Arena, remember? The accolades!"

"I am sincerely going to shove you broken nose first into your burrito."

"My face that you implied sometimes looks nice?"

"I did not!"

"No, but you are laughing."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Can't recall seeing you laugh since you've been back is all."

"... well, I guess there hasn't been much to laugh about. You know, with all the bullshit. And there was being on fire earlier, if you'll recall."

"Sounds hot."

"...god dammit."

"There you go again, fightin' it. Why're you fightin' it, Jack?"

"Why are you eating so slow?"

"Maybe I just wanna make it last longer."

"You know, we tried to kill each other earlier."

"Didn't succeed, though, so... whomp whomp. Guess we'll have to find somethin' else to do."

"Like eat Chipotle at 1 AM in Vegas?"

"... yeah. Like that. Or, y'know... you got a bed in the back of that bus?"

"What exactly are you implying here, Darby?"

"I dunno, you're the one playing footsie with me under the table. Good way to make sure I don't fall asleep, huh?"

"We have hotel rooms. We don't need the bus."

"Eh, not nearly as sexy, is it?"

"Boy, you're a cheap date."

"So you admit this was a date."

"Darby, this was a concussion protocol."

"Honestly, they seem like the same thing to me."

"You gonna bring your flamethrower?"

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Jack. And no. They kept it at the arena. Bitches."

"Are you done now?"

"You gonna take me home?"

"Sure, I'll walk you down the strip."

"Dirty."

"Fuck off."

"Guess we'll see how well the walk goes, huh? ... you're laughing again."

"I'm not, I don't even know how to laugh anymore."

"Hey, can you get cash out of an ATM from that Elite credit card? Let's go hit the casinos."

"Why, you feeling lucky?"

"Y'know, I kind of am."

[respectthepetty]

hi!! i can’t stop thinking about your wild-ass theory about saifah and how it feels like you’ve predicted the whole dang plot!

im thinking next episode is gonna be mostly happy and fluffy with a bit of angst about kang and his dad (otherwise you’d think they would’ve had the saifah getting arrested clip in the trailer for the episode). but then I reckon episode 9 is where shit’s gonna go DOWN (although it might also be episode 10, but it feels like there’s several subplots that’re gonna happen and they’re gonna need as many episodes as possible to unpack them while still having a satisfying ending)

anyway this isn’t really saying anything, I just wanted to tell you how much I LOVE your theories and reading your posts, and I also love dangerous romance this series is so good, it very very quickly became my entire personality and I can’t stop rewatching it hehe

BUT YEAH, I LOVE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY YOURE AWESOME FJEKEIFJEJEJFIEJE

Wild Ass Theory Update

@quodekash, because this is you giving me a compliment and me blushing from it, I'm giving you everything that has been stuck in my head over the past couple of weeks.

TLWR: Episode 8/9 - Kanghan is going to throw a tantrum about his dad paying for him to get on the team, spend all his dad's money on Sailom on a trip, and sleep with him, only to return home and see that his dad has been shot and Saifah had something to do with it causing him to question everything about Sailom.

Thank you very much for saying that you love my theories, and that I'm awesome, but I appreciate even more that you LOVE Dangerous Romance.

Because I, too, love it. An unreasonable amount, in fact. It makes me so happy even though I know some pain is headed our way.

And much like you, I think that pain is coming in episode 9. Now that Saifah is in Kang's house, we might see some warning signs in episode 8 in the shape of this beautiful giant red flag.

I feel more than confident that Papang is capable of stealing, but I don't think he has it in him to rob an employer's home or shoot someone, which is also a part of my theory (let the dad get shot, please!), so Name has to be involved!

But that's partly why I love this show. It has done a good job giving us crumbs along the way about what is to come, which is why I don't feel like it's a wild ass theory because I think Saifah does feel some type of way about Name enough to help him with a dumb plan.

Because even Kang's dad paying for Kang to get on the soccer team was implanted into the story well.

Since we knew from the first episode that he regularly donates money to the school for students, so it wouldn't seem out of the norm for some of that money to benefit his child as well.

Even Pimfah's crush on Sailom seemed written in stone to me from the first episode when the dog discussion came up since she stood firmly on the "show the dog love" side then continued to show Sailom love while Kang is in the "punish the dog" boat.

So, once again, I think the show has done a great job telling us Saifah is going to be involved in robbing that house, even if it's as simple as letting the actual robbers in. But robbing the house doesn't seem enough to split the couple up, which is why I think someone has to get shot.

DON'T LET IT BE THE GRANDMA! It must be the dad.

The grandma has to be the one to convince Kang to trust himself and his love for Sailom, so he can believe Sailom had nothing to do with this plot, and that Saifah didn't intend for anyone to get hurt.

The dad has to be shot because there is still tension between him and Kanghan, AND wouldn't it be interesting if the robbery (and shooting) were less about "eat the rich" and more of the political backstabbing variation?

So with all that being written, I think the robbery will happen either at the end of episode eight or the beginning of episode nine IF Kanghan finds out early in the episode that his dad paid for him to get on the team since Pimfah is going to drop this line in eight.

Would really suck for Kanghan to be focused and on the right path only for his last parent to get shot, and him be lost all over again, no? Would be awful for Kang to find out his dad paid his way onto the team, be pissed off about it, throw a tantrum, and use up all his money on a trip with Sailom where he tells him how much he loves him . . .

Spend the night with Sailom (possibly their first time together) telling him how much he appreciates Sailom for believing in him like the best version of a BL honeymoon

Only to return home and see his dad has been shot and think Sailom had something to do with it since Saifah is being arrested.

Kanghan will push Sailom away from guilt of being upset at his father who is now in the hospital and confusion of his feelings for Sailom, which means Sailom is going to have to start escorting again to make ends meet because Name is NOT in jail and still in charge of debts (10?)

Then Kanghan is going to assault Sailom. (10?)

The grandma is gonna be like "IDIOT!" and Kanghan is going to rescue Sailom (11?)

And Sailom is going to cry about having no one left, and Kanghan is going to be like "you still have me" (11?)

And then we get episode 12 where the real baddies go to jail.

*curtain closes*

The crumbs have been laid, and I'm following them all the way to grandma's house. Name x Saifah, don't just be my ghost ship.

Be the ship to cause some shit!

[arcanarix]

Only You. || Toji X AFAB!Reader

cw // dirty talk

you're surprised at how level-headed toji is, in spite of his upbringing and circumstances. in spite of what shit he puts up with or goes through he doesn't appear to let it deter him or prevent him from getting what he wants.

that's how he lands you, anyway. and that's how he lands, for once, a solid job with decent pay instead of continuing to enable that gambling habit of his. funny how meeting the right person can get your life back in order.

you're not sure if you declare yourself his right person. he's had one before you. there's still his first wife, that you may still compete with every now and then with how he speaks of her with so much fondness in his silky voice of his. of course you don't hold it against him; that's just plain nutty. there's always going to be something about his first love, and for fuck's sake, he's got a beautiful child with her too. even if he never sees him anymore, he has shown you pictures, and megumi takes after his father in lots of ways.

of course you have your own messy dating history that's not worth getting into as well. so why the hell are you going to give him hell for his? a part of you does get jealous at the way he talks about her, but now he talks about you that way and that should be enough for you. his first wife's gone to meet god, and you can't be jealous of someone grieving what once was. that's, again, just nutty and unhinged.

but you do wonder--does he talk about you that way to other people? you've been together, for, what, a year or so already, and a part of you wonders how toji really feels. if he's stuck around this long, then yeah, there's something more between you two here.

you can't help but desire some reassurance. that's a valid thing to feel, right?

when night falls it's a still and quiet time between you two. toji likes to take time to meditate and decompress. you're minding your own, occupying yourself with chores that need to be done around the house.

you are getting ansty. being the attention whore you are around him sometimes . . . you decide to play a little game.

you creep up from behind the couch, where he's resting. you're the master of stealth, sort of. his eyes are cloesd, and it looks like he's just reflecting on his day. grinning to yourself, you wrap your arms around his torso, loosely, and lean into bite his ear.

he grunts in response, and also chuckles. "you getting bored?"

"maybe," you say. you nip on his ear again and then move to his neck. he groans your name, and you smirk. "just wondering what you're thinking about too."

"oh yeah?" he replies, his breath hitching as if he's struggling to conceal how you easily get him going. "if you must know, i'm thinking about you and how lucky i am to have you."

your heart skips a beat. "really?"

he nods. "i'm also thinking about what i'm about to do to you if you don't quit that."

"who says i'm quittin'?"

growling your name, toji glowers in a warning. "i'm trying to be sentimental and you want me to fuck you raw, instead?"

"maybe, as long as i'm all of what's on your mind."

"you're all of what consumes my thoughts and my dreams, babydoll."

fuck. that's the reassurance you're looking for; it's like he read your mind!

"alright. take those pants off right now before i do it myself!"

[finalfrontierpublishing]

It slipped my mind that I kind of promised a making-of post - sorry @notabuddhist, who so kindly gave me permission to bind One of Many Great Fires for @pleasantboatpress!

I've tried to include as many making-of photos but sometimes i am just a shit photo taker so I am very sorry in advance.

Step 1: Stitch a text block and planning, Endband making

Anyone who knows me knows I love a good rounded book. I started rounding books from my third bind and haven't looked back.

I took a little while to get to this as it required colour printing and I don't have a colour printer at home. I finally got off my ass close to the end of Binderary and went to the printer I usually go to to print my coloured prints - luckily they didn't read my gay porn or ask me about it, though I've been getting increasingly pointed questions about what exactly i'm making.

glue round number 1 and trim with my guillotine, and then i take my trusty hammer to the spine to do some rounding.

So, okay, anyone who's read this fic knows it takes place on Vulcan. And i've seen enough imagery on star trek to know Vulcan is endless red sand and heat and oh boy, i feel hot just thinking about it.

I knew red would be a colour that fit thematically and I had recently found lovely marbled paper that really looked so much like the gas giant appearance of Jupiter but red. I then pulled out my trusty colibri cranberry bookcloth to do a couple of colour match checks- i love colibri and will never not recommend it.

Usually at this point, I do my endbands - and I did a simple two colour front bead endband because when i started this, that was all I knew how to do.

Step 2: Case making

I recently found out that what i usually do for books is called the square back bradel bind (though technically this is not square back), but you get my meaning.

Case is made, and then glued to bookcloth. Look at those crisp edges, yum yum. I'm generally a messy glue user, so you can see all the bits of paper stuck to the back of the half-done case, also with big F and Bs drawn on them because i never remember which side i want the front and back to be. The case looks pretty good with nary a glue stain. (I did a good job with glue management this time, phew)

Step 3: Decorative steps

My usual go-to is HTV because I'm not quite adept at other arty decorative methods like paint or usage of the foil quill. I decided to go with vulcan calligraphy on the back - with a river binding strip of marble paper in the middle. To make it look extra fancy, i made little silver HTV strips to border the river binding strip, though it warped a little from the heat because it was so ridiculously thin.

Step 4: Casing in

No photos of this because i'm usually hopping on one foot doing things on speedmode with PVA.

Shall pay tax with this photo - I love taking photos of my bookshelf and I really loved the burst of colour of the bookshelf after Binderary'23 was over.

I have made something like 21 case binds, but nearly 30 book binds (inclusive of coptic and stab) in total. that's a pretty decent number for someone who's only been binding for the last 9 months.